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HOROSCOPES SOLILOQUIZING EDITOR’S LETTER ...2 ...4 ...6
4 2 13 9 19 12 19 14
Which came first; the Jesus or the herpes? That was a trick question, everyone knows Jesus gives you herpes
OH, I’M BISEXUAL; IS THAT A PROBLEM? ...10
From short story to inspirations and fancy; One writer’s experiences on dating greedy bi’s in the modern world
TRAVELING COMPANION FROM CO TO MO ...12
In the beginning, there was a purple house right across from the cemetary. Add in some possessive chickens for extra fun
JUST SOMETHING; DON’T USE FOR ANYTHING ...13
Directions/narrative for using the toilet in the wee hours of the morning (Sorry ladies...)
BAND INTERVIEW; IMAGINARY CITIES ...14
There would be more from the interview with Canadian band Imaginary Cities however our interviewers recording is full of overlapping voices & arena sounds making transcription a very difficult endeavor
S FUTURE RESOLUTIONS
POETRY & PROSE THINGS OVERHEARD THE GUEST LIST ...16 ...19 ...20
ARIES - Your life will almost have meaning again once Jersey Shore starts airing again. You know, around January 5th or so-- that is what I hear anyway. I don’t actually watch shows that promote the decline of Western Civilization. You are known for your exquisite taste, and besides, everyone around you could use a break from hearing about your lack of a love life. Keep abbr. random phrases. GTL. DTF. TMB. IFF. ETC.
EVERYTHING YOU WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT THE FUTURE BUT WERE AFRAID TO ASK
CANCER - Everyone was really jealous you got to go to Hawaii for Christmas, so don’t be surprised when people are openly happy that you’re addicted to speed again. At least you’re not a quitter. Just remember that everyone is getting tired of your “Junky that cried wolf” bit and eventually Congress will deny your extra extended unemployment benefits. Go get a job.
TAURUS - I really don’t know what to say that you haven’t heard at least a hundred times before. Stop procrastinating cleaning your apartment unless you like scaring away potential mates with mounds of crusty laundry and old pizza crusts tucked into your couch cushions. You will most likely return several gifts this year, not because you didn’t want them, but because you want the cold hard cash baby.
LEO - You took your own advice this month and it actually paid off. With the exception of mild procrastination, slight over-eating and laziness you’ve done good for yourself. Keep up the good work and it will keep on paying off. Just don’t fuck it up. If you don’t keep your priorities in check you won’t get what you want. Keep your eye on the prize, or there won’t be one. Also... God saw you “confiscate” that iphone.
GEMINI - When a close friend or acquaintance suggested you invest time in higher learning, they did not mean pornography. Or did they? You have an excuse for everything. You make dishing out nuggets of wisdom seem neato and very Gandhi-like. Poser. A wise man once said it is better to do, than rant incessantly about... or whatever.
VIRGO - When I said you should loosen up a little bit, I didn’t mean turn into a gossipy and overbearing alcholic. Lush. You should officially get off your soapbox... now. Remember if you feel lonely, or a little let down, you can always rely on your co-workers to see you through the rough patches; they have seen you at your worst. This month try picking up a new hobby for your addictive personality like online gambling or heroin-- they’re both totally shiek and in style right now.
LIBRA - It’s a good month to pack up and move, not just for the change of scenery, but also to skip out on last month’s rent you still haven’t paid. Remember, if no one can find you, you’re not responsible for anything you’ve done. You probably did something wreckless last month and are looking for an easy way out. As usual. Make up an interesting story about how your got that black eye. Admitting that you did it to yourself will make you appear boring & attention-seeking. SCORPIO - Stop feeling sorry for yourself because no one cares anymore.
CAPRICORN - An Aries at work will keep saying random abbreviations all month-pretend you understand what they’re saying so your don’t seem dated & old. It’s a good time to start planning for a vacation and if you can’t get off of work, just call in sick; they really don’t need you anyway. A friend will call for advice in a few weeks, but instead of getting emotionally involved, cut them off all together. It’s for the best anyway. AQUARIUS - I’d say it’s a good month to feel sorry for yourself, but you’ve been doing that for what, four months now? Stop feeling sorry for yourself and if that doesn’t work, try rebound sex. You made out like a bandit this holiday season, but were probably ungrateful for everything you got. Chintzy prick. Try to glossing over your flaws with a radical change-- new piercing, tattoo, or maybe dying your hair. Turquoise makes you look like your trying too hard. Face it; you’re old & no one finds you quirky in a good way anymore. PISCES - It’s easier sometimes to fake it, Pisces. This is your mantra this month, “Do as little as hardly required”. That way no one gets their hopes too high, or expects very much out of you. Then you can catch up on your sleep, or philosophize about all the things you could be doing, if you only had the time. A Cancer will need your help relapsing this month; you just have to let people go ahead and make bad decisions anyway. Try your hardest to.
SAGITTARIUS - Congrats on making through your probation without breaking any more laws you aren’t already breaking. Now you can get reckless and drunk again without consequence. You will lock yourself out of your house in the beginning of the month. I’d suggest praying for help, but Jesus hasn’t been taking your calls since you used him as a character witness in court. Wanker. Try being nicer at work this month because you look ridiculous wielding what pretend power you already have.
SOLILOQUY doesn’t seem as bad. I’m too far in
There’s a twisting feeling inside my body. A wound and shaky anticipatory, ready to rupture and explode at any minute kind of feeling. Anxiety like a motherfucker. I’m writing this at 11:36 on New Year’s Eve and all I can think is, “so fucking what”. I feel especially guilty this time of year, as usual. Maybe guilty isn’t the best adjective to describe my feelings. Bitter? Frightened? Ashamed? A previous version of myself would be excited, and anxious about spending the holiday with others. The current version of myself is bored and tired; anxious about the future, and haunted by memories of the past. It kind of always happens this way; damn you overanalyzing brain! I have to take everything and pull it intricately apart piece by piece a lot like surgery. Actions are broken down and abstracted. Words are catagorized and evaluated. Feelings are deciminated and amplified. This time of year always brings my mind into a soft sort of quiet place where I can gather all the pieces and try to arrange them and make sense of them all. And I’m failing because I’m too objective. It’s like visiting the monkey house at the zoo. When you first get there you think, “Oh my god! It smells so horribly of shit in here!”, but then the more time you spend in the monkey house, the more it
the monkey house lately; hell i’ve set up a campsite and even changed my mailing address. All inquiries are now forwarded. Occupy monkey house. What bothers me the most is the sense of apathy. The pieces stopped fitting together and making sense a long time ago. And instead of moving on, instead of working with what I have, I’m still busy trying to figure everything out. Insert definition of insanity here. I have too often and too frequently cared about the most insignificant things (more specifically other people’s tired facades, games of gossip, rumor and treason, and even more accurately, other people’s purposely made up perceptions of me), while blurring out empathy on what really matters; the time I have left here. Because what I really have faith and control of all relies solely inside my body. I feel frightened and my body has an immediate response of fight or flight. And I reveal in the opportunity to freeze this moment and let my insides fret and panic in utter panic because then at least I can feel something again. Feel something that means something immediate to me. At this moment in time I don’t have to front, or lie, or pretend, or go along to get along. I don’t have to react to your button pushing. I don’t have to respond to your social conditioning. I don’t have to be subjected to your fear spinning out of control.
I have mine, instead. To be just one more step usual and cliche, I can resolve to listen to my own inner voice more. To embrace my feelings of fear; this is just one singular moment in an infinity of equal and opposite reaction. For this short minute meaning in time, these protons and neurons are operating seemingly under my control. And I can realize this and put it into perspective. Your neurons and protons occasionally act like they perfectly coincide with mine. In a beautiful and mutually beneficial manner. Synchronicity. And sometimes those reactions are a negative and caustic one. Insert a witty physics metaphor here that I’m too lazy and/or stupid to think of myself. Regardless of the change in instance, or temporary in instance, or temporary and meanand meaningless consequence of ingless action, I find negative consequence myself wantof negative action, I ing to write a note of warning to my find myself wanting to future vulnerable self. “Dear self, write they are only neurons and protons. The negative effects they try to spread to affect your atoms are only an effect of their own sadness and inability to properly motivate their own being.” How does that saying go? The things we loathe/attack in others are really the things we hate in ourselves? It’s a pretty shitty way to go, neurons & protons. And this is the advice I not only give myself, but also to you. You cannot change these protons & neurons. They are going to do what they do. Sometimes chemical
reaction in objectivity is not enough and the desire comes across to try to influence an outside atom, for triumph or for treachery, for rhyme or for no reason. We are all a bunch of atoms scattered through the plane of perceived reality, inferred meaning, and subjective feeling. Perspective. And insert all the metaphysical, philisophical nonsense here. It’s all the same thing. Good and bad. Protons and neurons. We all exist woven out of the same materials reacting and coinciding with one another and we don’t. It’s hard to hear that sometimes. Everything only exists because it is perceived. The matter making up everything in this ex istence is both real and not. It’s a rough thing to say to someone, enjoy your synapses firing while your brain can still assign meaning to it, because nothing is really real. Atoms fade into the ether and we are gone like we were never here. A very happy numerlogical coincidence to you. Until our protons and neurons meet again.
Maybe eating acid wouldn’t be so bad. The last time I did it, it was really good. But then I got fired the next day, so I don’t know if it made a positive change or not. The whole day, I just felt more connected to the fact that I was alive and breathing. It’s not anything that isn’t there to begin with, sober. It just makes it easier to access that part of the mind. The brain just lets the irks and hunches flow. I would really like to do it again. I just don’t know where or how. I do know both of those things. And I don’t really need to prepare for it. I just need myself. All the requirements are right there. I’m just asking for too dang much. Let go, dang. Let go let go let go, to all the things that hold you back from moving forward. Wherever that is doesn’t matter, just let go let go let go. The brain gets tired, I feel like I’m losing myself. Listen, the brain is this grey matter in our heads. If it ceases to get blood, or it ceases to be intact, if it doesn’t maintain its normal operation, our body and our mind changes. When I haven’t eaten correctly, or I introduce chemicals into my brain, I feel like my view on life has changed. I become different, me, the part that talks to you. Perhaps there is a non-material, but you can’t prove it. I know that it doesn’t make up my conscious, because drugs don’t interfere with non-material. Drugs are chemicals, like the neurotransmitters in our brain. While we’re at it, electricity in large amounts fucks with our functions, as well. Electricity in small amounts are present in our brain, and body, all the time. They are called impulses. So we have this idea of material and non-material. Well, we have an idea of the material, and its pertinence. The nonmaterial is something that you can only
FUCK YOU AN EDITOR’S LETTER
muse about. Great for art, great for allowing an objective view on human interactions, because if you’re busy working out the cause for it on a physical scale, you’re not going to provide useful answers for anyone, anytime soon. They’re still working on it. they have results. These are in the form of pharmaceutical drugs. These are bonafide attempts at chemically persuading the brain at functioning in a certain way, thereby making you consciously run in a specified frame of mind. They don’t always provide the results wanted. Sometimes they do, but it also murks up something else, obviously physically. Let’s think. A person that has problems with being social in situations that most people would have no problems. She can drink and have a good time with her friends, with the help of an old, well known chemical, but otherwise, she finds it hard to develop good relationships with people or meet new people. She is prescribed an anti anxiety medication. She now feels confident. She talks to everyone, everywhere, and doesn’t keep to her manners. She is obnoxious. All right, so we lower her medication. What I’m wondering is, was the moderating piece of her brain deadened, or the oral formation part of her brain heightened? And if it’s one or the other (probably is something else) can she consciously reel herself back in, with the help of counseling? Would it take another drug to physically alter her? “her” physically alter her brain? Is there any part of her actions and thoughts and decision making that isn’t done, physically, in the brain? That’s the basic thing I wanted to cover here. There are some other people that have a lot more success, largely due
to the fact that it has a much larger clientele. Identifying tendencies in decisions, discussing memories and experiences, thinking about things that aren’t normally thought about, looking at things but saying something other than what you normally would; counseling in a word, but not only that. Learning, whether you remember it all or not, your brain does. Kind of like when a trickle of water runs across the ground, it scoots around a little bit of dirt. Discussing and examining the way people respond and consider things with words and actions have had a lot more time in study and use than physically altering pieces of the brain using chemicals. They have a lot of success and methods. However, this gets into the same way of looking at people, only it’s not under a literal microscope. People become, once again, machines. Once you know too much about something, you can’t take it all under consideration without getting to know the person. I don’t know what I’m saying here. They don’t become robots, but they do attain a certain formula for working with them. A mental formula, if you will, to leading another person down a road. Most of the people that get paid have to stick to some certain guidelines while walking another person down this road, but we also have other people. Jim Casey, or Jim Jones, that guy. Listen, this conscious, this piece of brain that we can move around and control, this body in our head, it’s the tool we have to use to work the rest of our brain as well as we want to. It’s the only chance we have of controlling ourselves. It’s what makes us do things on purpose. The only way we can have a purpose is to develop it in our conscious. Is that true? Do we have to be conscious of our purpose? It’s not something we’re totally unaware of, we don’t wake up and get out of bed because we find it to be uncomfortable. The human brain, and the mind that we use to review our past and decide our present, is dependent on one another. The mind tells the body to eat food, and we are a food eating machine. The body is told
by other parts of the brain to move the food around and soak it in chemicals that are also manufactured under supervision of the brain. This is when we are a discombobulating machine. The body then finds uses for all of the little pieces that make up the food, and puts the pieces in places where they will do things that help the body keep going. Fat will go in the fat cells, proteins go to the …muscles, antioxidants will go to the liver. I’m making this shit up. The brain will then tell the mind that the body has something to get rid of, and then we are a pooping machine. What makes the brain do all of these things? A lot of it is from the genetic instructions on what feelings mean. I think. Do people have to be taught what pain is? A lot of it is from what my parents taught me. I think. My parents didn’t teach me how to make bile, or how to keep my heart beating. Brains that didn’t get that piece of information belong in fetuses that are dead before they get to see a bright light. Over time, I believe, the human brain developed as circumstances forced it to behave in particular ways to stay alive. The brain is made for self-preservation. Rather, the brain is made from self-preservation, and is a very good contender for making another brain. So what was I saying? That part of the things that the brain does weren’t taught to me, by anyone, except maybe by my parents (in actuality, because they gave me the genes that included such instructions), and other things my brain has picked up along the way were taught to me. Some things I learned unintentionally, like put something here. That’s a terrible example. So anyway, the next part that I’ve been wanting to go on to, but I couldn’t remember what it was. There’s this one guy, apparently, that had this idea that I could relate to, I want to say because I’ve more or less mused about the possibility, ever since hearing a poet read a piece about his heart regrowing every three years or ninety days, and his blood itself being only 180 days old, yadda yadda, he wasn’t the same person
as he was. David Hume’s Bundle Theory, is what I’m referring to. He says that a person doesn’t maintain a self, identity is an illusion. He says that when a mental state subsides, we go with it, and up comes a new mental state. The state is in the same brain that all of the previous states have resided in, but it is a different state, a different conscious and a different person. See, I haven’t been able to do anything constructive in a really long time, and I refuse to believe that bad chemicals would be the end of the story. I refuse to believe that my abilities are limited by the chemistry set in between my ears. Not so much that I can deny them, more that I can convince and persuade them. This is where I get back into this idea of counseling. “Planting a seed,” as a missionary would refer to it. The pieces of dirt the water nudge while trickling over the ground. The brain is a very physical thing, and the thoughts, retrieval of thoughts, the feelings that we have, the feelings that we have towards thoughts we’ve retrieved, subsequent thoughts in reference to those feelings, the feelings of those thoughts, telling someone else what we’re thinking and how we’re feeling, knowing that another brain is tossing around something that your mind tried to throw, hearing their subsequent thoughts, or whatever their mind tries to throw, your feelings on those thoughts. It’s all running down and through are neural pathways. This is psychology 101 stuff, here. What does it mean? It means that, as far as I can tell, the brain is a physical thing, our thoughts and memories are stored physically, and our mind is our way of using the rest of the brain. Our mind has some extra curricular activities, such as going against what the brain normally tells us. But wait! After doing this for so long, the brain even adapts to that. The anorexic, the cutter, the wife being beat, the brain is very adaptable, and tells them to be hungry, be in pain, and keep him happy to avoid pain, respectively. We change, we adapt. Are we the same person? Was the biblical Paul the same
person as Saul? One wrote half the new testament and set up the church as we know it (like some 100 years after the teacher disappeared, but whatever) and the other name persecuting and killed those who were working on the church before he had showed up. Thoughts and memories keep things similar. Pieces of people, and their personality, how we identify them with the pieces of our brain that identify those sort of things, don’t change. The instructions our brain gives us to make the heart beat and food digest stay relatively the same, except when bad chemicals convince and persuade the brain to do otherwise. So, things do change. Is it us hanging on to our convictions that keep us from changing? When a person goes comatose, what separates them from other people that die? I would say what parts of the brain have altered functions, physically. I would also like to believe that a strong conscious helps. People that have less stress on their body, who identify with themselves and want to stay alive, have quicker recovery times than people who are in the same boat. A person’s resilience will allow them to be less inclined to accept different ways of doing something. Consciously, we defend our normal neural pathways. Like love, is this the brain’s way of preserving what is considered important?
Science and Technology are the fucking greatest. They make the blind to see and the lame to walk. They rip apart the very building blocks of matter and destroy cities. They search out humanity’s lame, impotent gods and find them absent. They make it possible for old men to have erections again. They deliver cute kitten videos around the globe 24 hours a day. THEY MOST ESPECIALLY DELIVER CUTE KITTEN VIDEOS AROUND THE GLOBE 24 HOURS A DAY! Let’s talk about the myriad ways in which science is better than religion. This is a favorite topic of mine, because I hate gods. Whether they are real or not. (They are not.) ONE: Atomic energy. Blind, invisible forces hold together the infinitesimal bits that make up the insides of atoms. Using SCIENCE! we can break these bits apart, unleashing those forces for the benefit of ALL! All who are not living in the Japanese cities of Hiroshima or Nagasaki in the year 1945, anyway. Or living in Japan during the recent nuclear power plant meltdowns. Or... Just fucking don’t live in Japan, ok? It’s obviously bad for you. I know the food is delicious, and the prostitutes are top notch, but there’s a line. You know? Enough about Japan. Let’s talk about Kansas. Mother fuckers won’t let kids learn science in Kansas because Jesus, or whatever. You know who needs a giant radioactive monster attack? Kansas. Technology is better than Jesus. We’ve had Jesus for 2000 years and the number of sick healed remained very steady that entire time. We’ve only had technology for about 150 years, and the
numbers of diseases cured since that time CONTINUES to climb. Nobody spits up blood and calls 911 and says, “Hey. Can you pray for me?” No. They call a fucking ambulance. An ambulance powered by an internal combustion engine brought to you by SCIENCE that’s full of medicine brought to you by SCIENCE and highly trained emergency medical technicians whose knowledge is all based in SCIENCE and who are likely addicted to morphine due to its high level of availability to them in their line of work and because of efficient poppy farming methods created by SCIENCE so when you get to the hospital you shit still hurts because they only gave you ½ the morphine shot so they could go to a party after their shift ends and get all mellow with their other EMT junkie friends and laugh about what a huge pussy you are for calling an ambulance over a little blood coming up out of your lungs. Fuck, asshole, I’m coughing up blood right now, and I’m not even worried. It’s normal. People don’t even die anymore. Not since the rapture came last May and only 2 people actually got taken up by Jesus so nobody noticed. Have you noticed how nobody dies anymore? Not a single person has died since May. What’s up with that? And these horrible flying scorpion things that are everywhere? They have breastplates like breastplates of iron and the sound of their wings is like the thundering of many horses and chariots rushing into battle. Why the FUCK didn’t I listen in Sunday school? What the hell is the matter with me? Oh, wait. No. I think this is just the PCP kicking in. Thank Jesus. NO! Thank SCIENCE! Science gives us PCP. Jesus gives us herpes. That’s why modern medicine can’t cure it. It is generated and maintained by Jesus’ magic.
OH I'M BISEXUAL,
You’re on an impromptu date at the local Starbucks with someone you just met on BLENDR—the all-new, all-straight hook up app taking the Internet by storm. There’s some chatting, some sipping. You’re like, I went to NYU and he’s all, Oh, I went to a small school in Boston. Well, not in Boston exactly, but next to Boston. You have a couple of friends who went to that school, seems like they all say that. But that’s not even the weird part. You ignore the fact that he’s sporting one of those ironic 19th century mustaches—you’re more ignoring that it kind of works on him. You overlook the fact that though he does look exactly like his BLENDR picture, a rarity in online dating, he’s actually shorter than you. You can deal, you’re saying. This is a great guy, you’re thinking. I’d like to get to know him better, you’re saying. But then out of nowhere at the end of the date he hits you with the whole, Oh-and-I’m-bisexual-is-that-goingto-be-a-problem? thing. Seeing as how you don’t really want to come off as homophobic, you nervously sip from your double Americano, then: Um, I guess not? I mean, I was in college once so I know how that goes. At the end of the date you give him a big hug—specifically not a kiss, as you are not keen to kiss a guy’s mouth that as far as you know could have had a penis inside of it as recently as two hours ago. Once you part ways, you immediately send a BBM to Shannon, your girlfriend who always bails you out of dates
Jen Will Tell Me
Is That Going To Be A Problem?
by calling at a specific, predetermined time to tell you “something bad happened.” You say: DUDE IS BISEXUAL. SMH. How do you respond to a guy who tells you straight up he’s bisexual? Who just announces their bisexuality like that, like it’s cool, like it’s a new tattoo you just got done in Vegas? Does the biness matter? You have dinner at your gay (read: specifically not bisexual) cousin’s house the day after bi-gate, and when he asks how your vagina is doing, you ask him what he would do if he found out his boyfriend was bisexual. It wouldn’t bother him, he says. Why should it matter, he philosophizes. Deep inside your liberal, NYU-educated brain you completely understand that there are people in the world who are bisexual. You realize there’s definitely a double standard between guy bi-ness and girl bi-ness. If a dude was on a date with a hot chick and the hot chick was like, Hi I love punanny, the dude would be turned on.
But not you. No. You are not turned on in the least. No bi’s for you. The very idea of your boyfriend getting fucked in the ass or, worse, of performing fellatio on an eight-or-so-inch cock turns you all the way off. A blackout. In the bowels of your ego you rationalize that a bi guy is just pre-gay. You worry that within months of dating he will start wearing your clothes, using your eyebrow tweezer, singing to Madonna in falsetto, going to the gym five times a day. How can somebody be attracted to both men and women, you ask, frustrated. The more you think about it, the more you conclude that bi’s are just greedy. You’re like, They will take anything they can get, in any hole possible. A bi’s sole aim in life, you deduce, is to be in a relationship with a woman while having secret sex with men, or to be in a relationship with men while having secret sex with women. See, you exclaim to yourself, proud. The bi’s are just desperate to get their cake and have a threeway with it, too. Happy you’re no longer thinking like a homophobe, disgusted by the idea of two guys getting it on, you tell yourself, I can’t date a bisexual guy because his greedy ass is going to cheat on me with another guy. That’s right, right? Your gay cousin tells you that everybody is at least a little bit bi, especially in New York. It’s no big deal, he’s saying. Haven’t you ever been with a girl or at least thought about it? You tell him No, No I haven’t been with a woman except for that one time in college. Laughter. He pulls up Craigslist and shows you how many of the m4m ads are looking for gay sex on the premise that “the GF is away/ out-of-town.” You’re like, Maybe these are all posted by the same guy, to which your gay cousin agrees is perfectly within the realm of possibility.
You check a message on your BlackBerry and it’s from him. I HAD A GREAT TIME MTING U, LETS HANG THIS WKND? You’re not sure what to type back. You’re into the guy, but you’re afraid the bi thing might be a deal breaker. Do you say nothing? Isn’t that bad karma? In his message you see that, for your convenience, he has also attached a semi NSFW photo, perhaps as an incentive for you to meet him. It’s the bi’s tanned, flexed torso from the perspective of the bathroom mirror, with a pair of green boxers tilted enough to reveal just a few pubes. There is no head. Though you’ve received many headless torso pics and never thought twice, this time the photos remind you of the m4m ads your gay cousin is showing you. Expecting you to be turned on buy his exhibitionism, maybe taking to your own cellphone camera to send him a tit shot, you reply: “Nice bathroom.” He does not write back.
A TRAVELING COMPANION TO DORA, MO. FROM WINDSOR, CO.
In the beginning, for me, a purple house that was across the road from the city cememtary. I was told Grandma lived there quite awhile, I wasn’t very old but do recollect my uncle had a bicycle made of donated unwanted parts... However, it did not include brakes... Did I mention the front porch on grandma’s house had no windows? One day as I was watching, Uncle Carl came riding in... Planning on the porch to be his stopping post, he did not realize he was coming perhaps a little faster than usual. He hit the porch, the bike stopped but he didn’t... He flew through the window on one side of the narrow porch and landed on the other side as he exited out the other window... Guess he survived as he still lives in Colorado and in his 80s. He has breakfast each morning at a local resturant with his old maties and they discuss the good old days when life was not really more simple, cause you could not buy unpeeled potatoes, and hardly could find canned tomatoes. Anyhow I was born in the house back in the days when people did not go to hospital and often delivered babies at home. It was said that a young lady dropped ether in mother’s face knocking her unconscious and I was born blue. Guess some of it squeezed out and left my eyes that color. Think we lived in Greeley area for about five years, and was at 1415 5th street when my brother Wayne was born... I do not remember him being born just that we had him. Life changed even more as Mother progressively became more ill. Several surgeries followed as they would only remove the infected part, it was against Dr’s religion to remove child bearing organs completely, in todays world a hystorectomy would take the issue in hand and save the life.
After she died we moved to Mo. Much to my dismay, they had taken the bathroom away. I hated the one outside. And those chickens, they acted like they owned our back yard, and when you walked through the yard barefoot, stepper beware, they had already been there. They did not have a bathroom either, they used the yard. One day we were chasing them out of the back yard and trying to convince them to be confined into their designated area as I ran the clothes line was stretched across the yard, I colided with it, it won, and I had a dented area in my nose right between the eyes..Joe HoDo (nickname) like me, and much teasing had gone on, some of the mischievous ones decided to enhance my life stress, and where I was wearing a bandaid, they put one on Joe’s nose..They all enjoyed the incident much more than I did. And if the Sunday School had taught on murder that day, I could have told her who I would put on my list. Oh interesting fact (?) because women were not to speak in the church, our class was held outside where a lady named Flo Sanders taught. Inside the men sat on one side and the women on the other where the boys sat grinning with self satisfaction they had done something to be proud of looking over at the girls,but come spring we all got baptized in the Hodson Mill stream at Sycamore, Mo. at which time my strawberry rash turned bright red and the blue gym shorts we had put on showed through our dresses. It did not make Mom’s day, and I think we heard a lot about it, some one even shouted it (at home out of sight) in public you behaved, if you didn’t the oft quoted phrase, loud and clear, “WHAT WILL PEOPLE THINK?” I wanted to shout, “WHO CARES”.
DON’T USE IT FOR ANYTHING
on such a petty matter be damned. Put down the toilet seat and lid. If there is no lid, I think I’ve always been subjected to people in medias complaining that people of the standing peabody category often leave the toilet seat up. Why the fuck does that make sense? I don’t ever want to give Joe Schmoe 2.0 jerkoff dumbass even the slightest inkling of a chance to not think while he pees on the fucking toilet seat. Put the toilet seat up, and leave it up. Let the yellow mellow, don’t kill the drinking water, you know what, maybe you should go pee outside, or maybe not, maybe it is safer to pee into the toilets (let science sort it out, report back to me). 2:55. Whenever you need to sit to pee, poop, think, think about throwing up, have a period or a miscarriage (I’m sorry, ladies), or for any reason place something you value on the toilet seat of a toilet, here are a few simple steps that could make your experience better. Upon entering the bathroom, double check for toilet paper. Then look at the toilet seat. If you have a flashlight, always err on the side of caution, check it out. Unless you’re at home, most often, and again, err on the side of caution, spit on the toilet seat. Use a few squares of toilet paper to wipe the seat, all the way around it, it should take about two spits worth. Wipe the inside edge of the backside of the seat, as this is devil’s ledge. Two passes take care of most of them. Use a few squares of toilet paper for each of your two spits, and with both groups, wipe devil’s ledge with the last swipe. If you had lots of spit, take one more group of a few squares, and wipe the rest down. (continued to next month)
2:40. Going pee. 2:42. Back. I’ve figured some things out about going to the bathroom over the past few days, back till a little time after I was born, I guess. When we walk in, we look at the room, always, just because it’s a part of a habit that involves checking things out. Eyes settle on the toilet, check the structure, see that it seems solid. Check the sink and thing, just to know what kind of environment we’re in. Check for toilet paper. Resolve this issue, if necessary. Note the position of the toilet lid and toilet seat, and then, depending on whether you’re using the bathroom while standing, or sitting, follow the natural flow of things, and let some simple methods glide you through the process. If standing, lift up the lid with your foot. Let out your weiner, and make sure it has room to move freely without pulling it from your body, or around any garments; the weiner should be able to be loose and still reach a line of sight to the toilet. Hold the pecker from underneath, with your forefinger and thumb cradling the head, and the remainder of your palm and fingers cradle the rest of your pecker, and just let it rest so the pecker can have full use of the pressure and flow available to it naturally, whenever uninhibited completely by garment and culture and times. Afterwards, give your weiner the appropriate shrugs and shouts to get the last leaks out, and put the son of some bitch away (I’ve still yet to master this). When feeling friendly, grab a handful of toilet of paper, maybe two squares, and wipe off the rim of the toilet bowl, unless concerns of environment, germs, and/or religion prohibit you enjoying any such activity. Do it at important people’s houses, principles
Our savvy interview team was sent on random assignment and ended up in Oklahoma City at Bricktown Events Center to see the Pixies with Canadian rockers Imaginary Cities opening for them. After the set was over, our interview team approached the members of the band and started shooting questions at them.
What’s your name? M. Marti. Marti? M. Yeah. Do you know the rest of your bands’ signs? (indistinguishable jabber) Ryan’s a libra, What’s the name of your band? M. Imaginary Cities. Okay, how many imaginary cities have you been to? M. In my brain or in real life? ...in real life. M. Um well i’m gonna say zero because they’re all real. If your bus ran on dreams, how many would it take to get you from here to Los Angeles? M. From here to L.A.? Wow, it would be like 50,000... and one. Do you mind if I ask you a perIMAGINARYCITIESINTERVIEW
sonal question? M. No. How good do they have to be to sleep with them a second time? M. It has to be good enough. (laughs hysterically) That could come off as a real positive way or... ... it depends on how drunk you are? M. Yeah. What’s your favorite beer? M. Uhh the one that is in our home town Winnipeg, It’s called port gary’s. I like port gary’s dark. Yummy. How do you like Canada? M. I like Canada. Have you ever hit a moose? M. What’s that? Have you ever hit a moose in your car? M. No luckily, I think you could really die doing that. Have you ever seen a bear? M. Yep. Wolves? M. I’ve heard wolves. Caribou? M. Yep. How’re the northern lights? M. Beautiful! I saw them from an airplane once. M. Really? That’s a cool place to see them. It was a purple green thing though, have you ever done acid and looked at them? M. No. Hey Ryan? That’s not his name. What? M. That’s Dave. Dave, I’m sorry. Dave’s a Libra.
David, who’s your Savior and personal sailboat? D. Bruce Willis... What do you think his skin is made of? D. Kittens. Steel. Okay... D. If you get through the sweat you get to the softer side. How much speak? French do you
(Everyone laughs) D. Enough. Are the Pixies nice? M. Yes, they are very nice. D. They are really cool, and I’m not just saying that because you’re recording me. Have you fucked any of them? M. No! Wait... have you? D. (laughs) Uh... no, but I’ve got my eyes on the drummer. Out of your whole band, who isn’t here? M. Rusty Matyas, Ryan Voth, and Zack Antel. Do you question their dedication to the band? M. Now I do... now that you have me thinking about it... D. Thanks for the question-- the answer is yes. Clear & unequivocally. (Everyone starts talking at once about tambourines, family histories, and Jews.) If you were stranded on a desert island, and you had to eat a band member to stay alive, which one would you choose? M. Dave & Ryan both. Dave because he takes care of his body... He does look like lean meat. FIN
(Lots of people talking at once about Quebec and languages) Will you pronounce the name of the Q? M. Québec? Yeah... that’s it. What does Canada got on America? D. I’m not a big fan. Racist. Who would win in a street fight your band or REM? M. I’m gonna say we’re a bunch of pussies. D. We’re passively aggressive. Okay who would win in a street fight, your band or The Spice Girls? D. Uh,I feel like we’d almost equally match. M. I think Scary Spice would bring it.. Where is your moral compass pointing? D. Six o’clock, baby. M. (laughs) I think it just makes me (indecipherable). I’m running out of things... Are you guys making any money doing this?
Peregrine Honig After the warm rain the sweet smell of camellias. Did you wipe your feet? ... Her lips near my ear, Aunt Sadie whispers the name of her friend’s disease. Today I am a man. Tomorrow I will return to the seventh grade. Harsh Scrabble discord -someone has placed “putzhead” on a triple word score. Testing the warm milk on her wrist, she sighs softly. But her son is forty. The sparkling blue sea reminds me to wait an hour after my sandwich. Tea ceremony -fragrant steam perfumes the air. Try the cheese Danish. Lacking fins or tail the gefilte fish swims with great difficulty. Yom Kippur -- Forgive me, Lord, for the Mercedes and all that lobster. Like a bonsai tree, your terrible posture at my dinner table. Beyond Valium, the peace of knowing one’s child is an internist. Coroner’s report -“The deceased, wearing no hat, caught his death of cold.”
The same kimono the top geishas are wearing: got it at Loehmann’s. The sparrow brings home too many worms for her young. “Force yourself,” she chirps. “Can’t you just leave it?” the new Jewish mother asks -umbilical cord. The shivah visit: So sorry about your loss. Now back to my problems. Our youngest daughter, our most precious jewel. Hence the name, Tiffany. Mom, please! There is no need to put that dinner roll in your pocketbook. Concert of car horns as we debate the question of when to change lanes. Sorry I’m not home to take your call. At the tone please state your bad news. Is one Nobel Prize so much to ask from a child after all I’ve done? Today, mild shvitzing. Tomorrow, so hot you’ll plotz. Five-day forecast: feh Left the door open for the Prophet Elijah. Now the cat is gone. Yenta. Shmeer. Gevaltput my Shlemiel. Shlimazl. Tochis. Oy! To be fluent Hard to tell under the lights -- white Yarmulke or male-pattern baldness?
Michelle Nimmo remember when I was miss dark dreams spider web want story telling wishing? I wanted to be a dictionary banger my Kansas sisters pretty pens flew that way while they spit poet in my face mascara grace poked me feminist learning some dragons are tame I kept begging for hearts approval you offered me body parts peeled open pen pal wishes fantasy girls and blood showed me snip-its of the world I was missing from friend strained on where the lines should be broken, punctuated. Whilst I Capitalized in love lessons learned Sue said goodbye before hello her paint brush still pushes to always paint something me I still think on these poems though some parts are now petals in the mist
but it happened, so the act closed another secret now exposed
The Man With The Green Hat Hi My name is Sam I’m the dog that lives next door telling you whatever more you need be told Listen boy you’ve gotta be bold and believe in yourself like I do I believe in you Now why don’t you go get that gun and have yourself little fun Match that boom that booms your head with a little throwin’ lead My name is Sam and you my sun The dog that lives next door
GRACE & SILENCE
mr.ficklebritches and is it selfish to say i never wanted things this way but it happens, so the story goes whispered alone in the dark and is it reckless to stay cause the feeling won’t go away but i tried, so the adage goes another adventure never known and is it hopeless to wait the unknown frightens me every day
DOOMSDAY BY DESIGN
Sergeant Heartstomp me, i’m a light bulb that flickers quivers ever so patiently in the dark followed by a hammered paper i dare not waiver anymore but she’s gone to stage not looking back for you anymore and she’s left to stay the gloss of the limelight snickers me, i’m a chainsaw that whimpers breathes ever so delayedly in the dark beckoned by an iron patient i must not hesitate anymore and she’s on the stage dancing like she hasn’t anymore and she’s left to stage the gloss of the limelight
AND WITH ERRATA AND SO ON
Bareblue Bones Our sons were violent and our daughters were whores Generational instability and vows spent and torn lay as petulant spiders on webs of indifference. Foundation cracks ran deep into wells of blood reservoirs of volunteer transfusions. Anthems bought for a song, dollars dime a dozen. We ate our seed like butter-drowned movie popcorn while amateur entertainers stole our suffrage and licked the lips of eastern deceivers.
I WANT TO SLEEP WITH A POET
Miss Clover She weaves words into fabric and wears them like lingerie, teasing me with every line break falling from her shoulders. Every metaphor is a small moan pressing through her lips echoing off paper walls. She strips down in imagery and lets similies glide across my naked flesh. We go to bed and paint poetry into the bed sheets fusing words into reality.
Jack Alleycat Leeches undress your elbows as I hold your knees up to refinery geysers, ejecting their dictionaries on great highway yachts We climb up two-by-fours and perch on the monolith of home so we can chisel the president’s face in the side of the great breasts of our mother We paint the sunset with our brush of home cleaning products, and leave empty Pepsi bottles for Little Big Horn on US-HWY 87 We cut cloth with sewage sea glass and pay fifteen pennies to the children— on sale fifty percent off
When I tell you, “things have a way of working themselves out” what it really means is stop talking about it. I love you New York City, but take a bath and brush your fucking teeth. Did you hear? It’s awful. Tina said she saw someone using the community noodle. Any second she’s going to offer to blow you for change. You know what’s weird about being homeless? Uh, showing everyone your nipples? I love having conversations with your eyebrows. Don’t worry ma’am, we won’t give any of your donation to any starving black children. “I think revenge is a dish best served cold.” ‘what does that even mean?’ “it smells like farts in here.” “You’re wine! you shouldn’t be this difficult to come out!” Three cheers to Ben Stiller for an impressively long career playing the exact same character. “Should I mention heroin?” ‘Well, they’re not holding back any.’ I’m doing two of my favorite things, being lazy and killing things. I love this fountain, but it always makes me have to pee. “That’s the first thing I say when I know someone, ‘Want to see my vagina?’ Everyone has seen my vagina.” ‘I haven’t.’ “Yes you have.”
Okay... stop saying chicken & just start stroking it. Hey northern hemisphere, have a nice winter, suckers. Who needs courage when I own a gun? Do you like hickory burgers & onion rings? I do. I love hickory burgers & onion rings. Dear Ford Explorer, when you want to drive slower than the rest of traffic, that’s what God made the right lane for. Dumbshit. I hate people... at least 48 million of them-- probably more though.
The guy in front of me is arguing with the cashier about the price of cheese. Stayed tuned for more thinly veiled racism & homophobia through country music. Someone should tell my neighbor that no one wants to buy a dilapidated weed whacker, or his collection of shitty 80s movies. I only have penis envy for penises that drive nicer cars and make more money than I do. “Does she look like a prostitute?” “Just about...” If I was going to pay anyone for sex, it wouldn’t be a homosexual.
THEJANUARYISSUE WHAT WHITE ELEPHANT
Eloquent prostitute! Can I escort your micro breasts or is there not enough room on your tiny midget horse?
Sergeant Heartstomp - DESIGN Madame SuperDuper - HOROSCOPES Peanut Scholar - ASSOCIATE DIRECTOR IN DISTRIBUTION OF CULTURE
“¿Cómo se dice, this sucks balls?”
PEREGRINE HONIG MR.FICKLEBRITCHES
YETI DETECTIVE MR.FICKLEBRITCHES GUY DEBORD JEN WILL TELL ME BLANCHE 1943 TRASHMAN MIKE
YETI DETECTIVE BLANCHE 1943
THEMANWITHTHEGREENHAT PEREGRINE HONIG MICHELLE NIMMO JACK ALLEYCAT BAREBLUE BONES MISS CLOVER SERGEANT HEARTSTOMP