January 2018 Cover

The B’K 2018 Issues

The B’K January 2018 Featuring: Art by: Greg Counard, Alyssa Havens, Olivier Schopfer, and Chris Talbot-Heindl Fiction by: Jonathan Ferrini and Michael Prihoda Poetry by: Arif Ahmad, Corey Joseph Brier, Kristen Clark, Richard Dinges Jr., Niina Tsuyuki Dubik, Clara B. Jones, D. Jordan, Kendra Mathias, Maria Mazzenga, KG Newman, Sy Roth, Dr. Mel Waldman, and Rodd Whelpley Prose by: Gabe Kahan and Mark Young Read the issue here. The B’K February 2018 Featuring: Art by: Read more…

The B'K Fall 2018 Issue Cover

The Bitchin’ Kitsch Fall 2018 Issue

The Fall 2018 issue features 43 pieces from 30 submitters. The issue features cover art from Giada Cattaneo as well as: Art by: Giada Cattaneo, BT Hathaway, Stephanie Jones, Mark Myavec, Robert Sundheimer Chapbook Review by: Clara B. Jones Fiction by: Dmitry Martirosov, Caitlin McGillicuddy, Christopher Overfelt, Enzo Scavone, Adreyo Sen, Lazarus Trubman, Donald Zagardo Non-fiction by: Sophia Glastein, Anagha Subhash Nair Poetry by: Roo Bardookie, Albert Davenport, Elizabeth Dickinson, Dorsía, Sydney Dudley, John Grey, BT Read more…

BK July 2018 Cover

Smoke Screen

Weekly feature by: KG Newman At Green Heart all the budtenders are women. I buy an eighth and go to Altitude, where they are women too, tatted but lacking grunge — they vape, hit the gym between shifts. When couples counseling is suggested I suggest the young blonde who says she’s a fair arbitrator and she’ll hear me out. The waterfall and incense makes it all sound and smell so promising. I open with a Read more…

BK July 2018 Cover

Day of the Flies

Weekly feature by: Salvatore Difalco Must have been the hottest day of the summer. My T-shirt was soaked with sweat, arms and face sunburned. My mother was on day shift at the Brill shirt factory around the corner, where she sewed pockets. My father had been out of the hospital for a month or so. He was in bad shape, working on one lung. He looked caved in. I’d been in the park across the Read more…

BK July 2018 Cover

My Heart is a Liver

Weekly feature by: Benjamin D. Carson For Ella “Why isn’t my heart called a liver?” my daughter asked as I stood folding laundry. Looking puzzled, I folded a shirt, as she patiently explained. “Live. Er. It’s what makes you live. So shouldn’t your heart be called that since it’s the most important part?” In the silence that followed, I turned socks inside out, pressed creases out of jeans, and felt in my core the steady Read more…

BK April 2018 Issue Cover

Ella Se Fue, Se Fue

Weekly feature by: TS Hidalgo I asked my girlfriend to leave the house. She took the things I had given her. She took the things she had given to me. She was always very fussy. What was mine was ours (and what was hers, hers). When I came home that night, there was no light. She had taken all of the bulbs. So I turned Buddhist after that breakup. Next time nobody will have anything Read more…

BK April 2018 Issue Cover

Our Cafe As Morning Vacation

Weekly feature by: James Croal Jackson On the patio drinking iced coffee you write a letter to Jane Fonda telling her you always thought you’d be an actress – that distant magical woman with a collection of workout VHS tapes, one of which you bought when thrifting. The sun is out. Lawyers beside us talk about renovations to streets near campus but from straw to lips – you and I, our city infrastructure’s solid. We Read more…

BK April 2018 Issue Cover

Lifetime Friend

Weekly feature by: John Grey There’s something about birthdays. This year, as you know, we’ll both be having one. One year closer to nothingness except you have the boys of course and I’ve clobbered the internet with my name. We’ve already carved a chunk out of the 21st century. I can remember when it was the future. Time to reflect as they say. How did we ever get where we are? You claim to have Read more…

BK April 2018 Issue Cover

A worn out tape of Chris LeDoux

Weekly feature by: Sissy Buckles The saloon on the desolate hilly outskirts of El Cajon off Olde Highway 80 looked like a barn from the road and still not even sure why I was there with a few adventurous divorced dames from work needing a sanity break from the kids at home but I heard a fiddler wailing the Cotton-Eyed Joe his western invitation moaning high from the parking lot so skirt daring I ducked Read more…