hearteater: soon to be consumed by events

The hearteater book is, sadly, soon to fall victim to the demise of its publisher, Republica Press. Many factors went into RP having to close its doors, but the final straw was PayPal’s recent ultimatum to publishers of ‘edgy’ erotica. The hearteater project likely falls into one, if not more, of the categories that PayPal is exercising corporate over. And while other books being published by Republica will hopefully find homes in new places, hearteater itself will not. The collection of diverse authors came together in a unique collaboration, and I don’t think I will be able to re-gather permissions and contracts at this point for a new run somewhere else.

The hearteater blog will stay open, but your last chance to own the collection in e-book form ends on March 31, 2012. All proceeds from hearteater continue to go to the WaterAid Charity.

Continue to follow events surrounding PayPal’s policies and the ramifications at BannedWriters.com.

hearteater

by the hearteaters
edited by Monocle and Emma Holt

ISBN: 978-1-926830-28-5
Published: 10/27/2010
Pages: 271 (pdf)
Words: 31,990
Formats: Adobe PDF, MobiPocket, and ePUB
Price: $4.99

Buy at Republica Press

The moral of the story is:

“Don’ t let someone take & eat your heart”

But what is the story?

What is your answer? What is your story?

Come read, come see, how over twenty creative minds have answered that romantic and macabre question. Enter the world of hearteater.

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Stop SOPA/PIPA

Stop SOPA/PIPA.

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Breaking Celibacy

Dust settles as the wind blows
O’er an ocean eons forgotten;
Bare, desolate, arid,
The sands of time linger here.

Tread lightly with thy step
For the ground is hungry
And the sand quick to swallow,
Eager to replenish what it has lost.

Brittle bones crack under soft touch,
The sun-bleached needles prick fore’er deep;
You gasp in recoil too slow
While blood flows in long rivers down pale skin.

Parched earth drinks red life,
Pulling heart and soul through hollow veins,
Mineral deposits awaken and gorge,
Your dying breath seals gaping fissures.

Once neglected, now well nourished,
I lay beside your sleeping form,
Sated with pleasure I purr contented;
You are forever mine to love.

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Consume with Care

How is it, that regardless of which side of the heartbreak you’re on, when partners actually like each other, it feels like you have been sliced open with a dull rusty blade, had your entrails torn from the cavity, and then clumsily reordered by dirty hands and stuffed back in. Survivors are left to hold themselves together and if they can, to seal the gaping hole in who they were.

If you’re lucky, you’ll find a talented seamstress in your social circle who will help you with the task. Othertimes, a new lover may generously offer to clean the wound and seal it with carpenters glue. Most times however, we walk through the world, our arms wrapped tight around ourselves, holding everything in.

We try not to leave trails of bloody footprints as traces of our wanderings, or worse, little bits of innards that sometimes fall out when we are exhausted to the point of letting go. Those of us who are particularly unlucky end up accidentally burying someone else in a virtual avalanche of guts and gristle, leaving them completely disgusted.

This devastation happens to both parties, if you’ve mistakenly decided to be friends, as an exercise of good faith. There is no escaping that deep ache that comes from knowing that you caused deliberate, if unintended harm, by ripping out your friends heart.

And it is that involvement of the heart that is the only real difference. It’s what helps people tell the doer and the done to apart. The excision of the heart is a messy process. It involves more than just a quick, bloody incision. Ribs must be cracked, lungs displaced, blood vessels severed. There is no way to be gentle about it, no kindness in it, no real generosity. While it may be for someone’s good in the long term, damage is damage, and tears are tears.

Once excised, there are options for the heart. Unlike the rest of the viscera, there is no use shoving it back into the cavity for it to lie there, disconnected and inert. There are those cultures that believed consuming the heart of ones enemy made one stronger. Logically it follows that consuming the heart of a lover invigorates one in even greater ways. That said, consuming the freely offered heart of a true friend rejuvenates one in a way that can only be seen to be believed.

Since it’s a well used muscle, even the most tender heart is surprisingly tough. While thinly sliced heart can be eaten raw, the toughness of the muscle allows for a couple of preparation options for the diner; either an intensely quick sear, or a long slow braise. Each cooking technique results in striking results.

Seared heart, thinly sliced, is best consumed “black and blue” or intensely caramelized and darkly crusted on the outside, and quiveringly raw within. It pairs exceedingly well with a chimichurri, or similar acidic, herbally vegetal preparation. Eaters report tasting iron, and revelling in the rich micronutrients that are accessible to their palates and to their bodies. Those who consume heart this way are often left craving it with an interesting ache, one that only continued consumption can ease, but never fully vanquish.

The second preparation makes it heart easier to consume, parly because the muscle becomes indecipherable from the braising liquid and supporting aromatic components. The long, slow, gentle application of heat breaks down protein and results in a surprisingly succulent collection of morsels. The heart still maintains a more complex flavour profile than other muscles, but in this preparation, could well be passed off as another muscle altogether, much to the potential terror of unwitting diners.

Regardless of which preparation option the diner decides to employ before consuming the heart, the diner is all but guaranteed a sensory experience unparalleled by any other.

The more cruel option would be to take the generously and freely offered heart and gently hand it back to the exisiting friend or lover, suggesting an inadequacy beyond anything they can rectify and improve for future partners.

An unconsumed heart cannot be re inserted in hopes that everything will be all better. At best, the organ can be handed to an established eater of hearts, one without a specific preference or any real hesitation of consuming protein from an unknown source. At worst, the unconsumed organ putrifies into a messy pool of goo that stains all surfaces it comes in contact with. A true waste of something relatively rare, and somewhat precious.

Donors of consumable hearts are few and far between. Be very careful of whose heart you rip put, and how you treat it. You never know if you will develop a sudden craving for the dark complex taste of iron, or if you will be responsible for the cravings of another going unsated because of your poorly informed actions. You also have no way of knowing when someone may rip yours out, unless you’ve made a practice of offering it up, unasked for.

 

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Eaten Heartfelt Thank You

A thank you to all contributors to and readers of hearteater. Our first donation has been received by WaterAid, and they sent us a kind note. I hope that more comes their way as the year continues. If you’ve enjoyed the blog and wish to contribute words please do! If you wish to contribute to a good cause, consider the purchase of hearteater for yourself or, perhaps, the Valentine you’d like to devour.

=—=



Dear Raziel,

We are pleased to inform you that Republica Press has given a thoughtful donation to WaterAid America on behalf of The Hearteaters.

WaterAid works in 26 countries providing water, sanitation and hygiene education to some of the world’s poorest people.  These basic human rights underpin health, education and livelihoods and form the first, essential step in overcoming poverty.

You can learn more about WaterAid America and our work atwww.wateraidamerica.org.

Kind regards,
(signed)
David Winder PhD

CEO
WaterAid America
232 Madison Avenue, Suite 1202, New York, NY  10016
Tel: +1 212.683.0430 ♦ Fax: +1 212.683.0293

www.wateraidamerica.org

=—=

Dear Raziel,

Many thanks for generously donating the proceeds of the Hearteater Anthology!   Every amount really can make a difference – for example, just $30 is enough to help one person gain access to safe water and sanitation and learn about improved hygiene through our projects.

Thank you again and very best wishes,

Kay

Katherine Frew

Executive Assistant/Development Associate
WaterAid, America
232 Madison Avenue, Suite 1202,New York, NY  10016
Tel: +1 212.683.0430 ♦ Fax: +1 212.683.0293

www.wateraidamerica.org



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Surrender

She’d kneeled before him many times, but this time was different.
In her uplifted hands she held a thin platter of finest gold.
Her proud head held eyes soft with tears.
Her heart lay gently & quietly throbbing upon the platter,
she had finally surrendered to her love for him and
offered him her heart to do with what he wished,
not knowing what that would be, but,
it was an unconditional gift.
He smiled at her, lovingly, for he did love her, deeply.
Leaning down he gently, softly, tenderly kissed her lips.
She sighed, satisfied, deeply and completely.
Where she used to feel joy there was now a strange ache.
He picked up her heart, brought it to his nose & inhaled deeply.
Eyelids closing he appeared intoxicated by the scent of her heart,
momentarily unsteady on his feet, he swayed & swooned.
Opening his eyes he surveyed the dripping organ that he gripped in his fist.
He intently looked over its’ surface, noticing every crevice and curve.
He saw its’ every minute detail. This pleased her. She smiled.
Wetting his lips, he brought the now fading, but still beating, bloodied
heart to his cheek & tenderly rested it there, as if comforted by it.
After some minutes his eyes snapped open.
Fixing his eyes upon hers he opened his lips, she widened hers in anticipation.
She wondered what would happen, what he would do, what would happen to her.
An audible gasp came from her mouth as fangs descended from his jaw
and slowly, very slowly he sank them into her hot flesh.
She inhaled sharply, grasped at her chest with both hands, looking down,
but, it was too late.
She had offered it in the full knowledge that he could do anything with it, to it.
That was the point, complete surrender, love given with no expectation.
He had eaten it, consumed it, savoured every mouthful
as if it were sustenance for his very own soul itself.
She had given him life in her death.
It would have pleased her.
She loved him & bore a whisper of his name upon her lips
as she slumped at his feet.
He swooped to catch her, blood still dripping from his chin.
One of them would surrender, one of them would expire, it was inevitable,
they both knew this, the only question was which one & when.
At first he growled in pain, gathered her chilling body to him, crushing what life
was left in it out, then he howled her name into the night again and again.
Rocking back and forth he held her limp body, soothing himself.
He would be sustained by her, she had given him the most precious gifts;
her unending love, her unceasing desire to please him,
her desperate need for him to be happy as if her own breath depended upon it,
her craving of him, her desire for him that had burned them both,
the heat & light of which burned so brightly that it
could be seen & felt from the stars from which they came.
Such a love can never die.
Such a love merely changes shape.
Such a love lives on in all who saw it, felt it, touched it, noticed it.
Such a love can sustain a life & cause a death.
Such a love is all that really matters.
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hearteater gives

With the new year, the first quarter of sales of the hearteater anthology have been tallied, and the total donated to Wateraid. We’re off to a modest start, but every bit makes a difference. Hearteater has sold 12 copies so far, and all profits – or US $37.90, has been donated.

I had hoped to organize a blog tour before the holiday season, but got too swamped to get it together. Perhaps with the new year – and perhaps as Valentines Day approaches, we will be able to collectively get hearteater a bit more out there.

What we really need is for people who’ve read the anthology to review it – on Amazon, or goodreads, or their own blogs to get the word out more. We may be going slow, but we are going, and I’m proud of every cent we raise.

And there’s more. As you can read, the hearteaters have not been silent. More words come at a pace, and there may eventually be a second volume in the anthology if it keeps up. If you’ve read anything here, feel inspired along the theme, and wish to contribute, please contact me, or Remittance Girl, and we’ll get you set up to post a contribution here.

-Monocle

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The Prize Within

Scent of  jasmine
Flickering shadows
Between the trees
Leaves whisper
Aching tunes

He rests his  head
On a mossy bank
The river trickles
A lulling harmony
Slipping sleep

Tiny fingers
Caress his thighs
Slip off his shoes
Undo his pants
He dreams of her

His chest exposed
Soft warm tongues
Lick his skin
Sunwise
And widdershins

Tiny claws
Burrowing now
Between the ribs
Towards the prize
That beats within

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Tea Time

My homage to Jacques Prevert

She poured a cup of tea,
she put half a teaspoon
of sugar in the tea,
she looked at him,
he bit her heart.
She gave him the cup,
he added more sugar,
smiled with his mouth,
his eyes were steady,
he kissed her lips,
he bit her heart.
She looked at his face
For signs of love,
eyebrows, eyes, nose,
mouth, cheeks, chin, ears,
he bit her heart.
She picked up the cup
now empty, drained
except for tea leaves,
in the shape, she saw
the Queen of Spades.
She dashed the cup
to the marble floor
A single tear rolled
down her cheek.
He pecked her cheek
and broke her heart.

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Devil’s night

She rose from the grave, sinews glistening, flesh drawn taut, eyes missing, but not needed for this. His scent she knew, intimate nights, lusty days entwined round his promises, love, devotion, given to many others, all lovely, all soft and yielding. She rose, remembering the sensation, the shock of sliding in, the sheer ecstasy, the pulsing muscle glowing iron red, juicy, drained husk. She told him, before the chemicals stopped her heart, she told him she would return his love. She always kept her promises. Cross her heart and hope to die.

Posted in Poetry & Haiku, Story | 1 Comment