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CONTENTS
curated by
Lapo Guzzini + Romalyn Schmaltz
featured artist
Diego Gomez | @designnurd
a lightning
stovetop disaster a sound
with no alarms
1
near the railroad
near the memorials lining the freeway
burned my bones
and burst my vessels
with the same hands
2
the stars in my bedroom you
Sh e lle y Va lde z 3
M MMMMMMMMMMMM
M MMM MM
INSTEAD
7
especially with police officers. I should
pledge allegiance and neutralize
my accent and purchase a stars’n’stripes
8
CCCCCC
CCCC
ABRUP
T CHANGES OF STATE
“Out of one hundred people...
living in constant fear of someone or something 79.”
Wislawa Szymborska
9
dirty bombs that kept on leaking radiation long after
the explosions.
10
MMMMMMMM
MMM
THE MA
PMAKER IS REVEALED
TO BE A W O MA N
We were navigating the sad, pulling branches off trees
with chainsaws
& bulldozing trunks. Startled birds
did not know where to go in the chaos.
Would you be able to survive in the wilderness,
have the capacity
to banish what haunts? She had a way of
moving across a page. To describe
her as a puzzle maker wouldn’t do it justice.
Everyone thought
she was a great constructor, her diagrams wide open,
but she was
discontented. I’ve been so general, she
complained. I long for
detail & am ashamed of my ambition. And if she had you
on her knee, it was fascinating the way she seemed to
draw whole constellations out of voice & air.
She conjured up a cake once,
poppy seed lemon, its circular shape
spiraling the sun. Somewhere in a northern port city,
children
devoured mangoes inside the hull of a ship, & those
of us
still on earth pointed from our huts
to her floating wicker basket & thought
surely she would fall out of the sky.
11
FFFFFFFFF
FFF
W O M AN REFRACTE D
She hated her skin. She had been only ten when the
bumps on her forehead started to form like a pink
mountain range of shame over her brow. Some girls
change early, the doctor said, patted mother’s knee.
Mother sighed wistfully. Paid the doctor.
Then she hated her hair. She was fifteen, and all the
other girls in school had feather implants already
swaying from their scalp like winged goddesses.
Feathers are boring, she told her mom, all the girls
have done that already. She was more special than the
rest, more tasteful, more unique.
13
in the old-timey movies as they clapped their knees
together and danced, looking over their shoulders
coyly. The tinsel fringe was chrome stained and tinted.
It was sewed into her scalp so professionally that the
other girls couldn’t even find the seams. Did it hurt?
They asked. How much did it cost? They touched their
own feathers longingly.
She did not like her thin, lackluster lips, so she had
them infused with dye. The color label on the tube
attached to the artist’s needle read ‘Blister.’
She did not like her teeth. They were plain. She was
only twenty and they were already beginning to yellow.
She had them replaced with obsidian rock, filed down
to perfect sharpness.
14
She did not like her fingers, the way the knuckles
bulged like the knobs of the museum trees. She had
them replaced with antique chopsticks, fashioned out
of stainless steel and molded to bend like real, human
joints. She liked the way they rung when she clicked
her fingers together.
Then she did not like her clothes. They laced and
frilled oddly. Too much frump. Plain-jane. Her stylist
suggested mirrors. Mirrors like medieval armor, but
with the grace of a chandelier. Your followers will love
it, he told her, it’s so branché.
F e li z More no 15
PPPPPPPPP
PPP
FASCINATING
“I don’t,” I said.
17
“You can if you like,” the woman sitting next to me
said, and the guests smiled like they knew something
I didn’t. “He’s a writer,” Frank said to his wife, as if
she should be aware of that now that she’d said it was
alright for me to get fresh. Was I really a writer? I
worked at Starbucks so I was more barista than writer.
Perhaps I was the first ever barista to be invited to
Frank’s house, and because of the arty, fascinating
crowd he had assembled, he was looking to cover for
me. That was generous therefore I started to love him.
Just as I was loving Frank, Cynthia moved her chair
close to mine. I worried that Frank and the guests
may have noticed. Being artists perhaps this was not
the sort of thing they gave their attention to, lost as
they might be in thoughts about shapes and forms,
colors and materials. I was acutely aware of Cynthia’s
shape and form because I could feel her legs and thighs
bumping up against mine. From my waist down to my
feet, my body tingled with a strange, unfamiliar heat.
18
on the shoulder.
P e t e r Bu lle n 19
used to from women was the look of an afterthought, a
small further investigation leading to no firm decision.
With the dishes done, she leaned back in her chair.
“Oh don’t worry,” she said, “it’s alright if you don’t have
an answer.” “I knew a man once,” she said, “with such
an exquisite mouth, a mouth you’d want to paint, if
painting is what you did. Anyway that man and I kissed.
We were in each other’s mouths. You understand?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Ah yes,” she said, “the proper place for the dishes,
20
that is quite the mystery. Perhaps you and I, untamed
and crazy as we might be, should just let it remain
unsolved.”
“Perhaps,” I replied.
P e t e r Bu lle n 21
GGGGGGGGG
GGG
T H E FI
DGET SPINNER KING
23
“Nah,” I say, gripping my Americano. I feel bad for the
guy, who appears mid-to-late twenties but radiates
the gloom of an old widower. Concave acne craters
pepper his face. His head, topped with disheveled,
short brown hair, dangles like a drooping flower as he
aimlessly flicks a green and orange fidget spinner.
24
out a Forever 21 backpack with the tag still attached
and we start talking about octopuses again: how they
have three hearts, how their tentacles contain two-
thirds of their brains, how they live briskly but briefly
underwater in a mysterious deep sea cavern, obscured
from the world.
Ga rk Mavi gan 25
of meth and heroin use, sometimes with his mom
who birthed him while she was incarcerated. Imagine
serving a nine-month sentence inside a warm womb
only to enter the confines of a cold steel cage.
26
Walgreen’s is a best-case scenario when you’re raised
by foster parents who glean parenting tips from
Leviticus.
Ga rk Mavi gan 27
balancing fidgets on his fingers like planets, whipping
up a whirlwind, yearning to spin more tales to an idle
patron; so that he can remember, so that he can forget.
28
EEEEEEEEEE
29
“What happened to John, it’s so sad.”
30
But the story made the tappings more sinister.
Malevolent, the calling of a spirit beyond the grave
who was so discontent in life that he didn’t find peace
even in death. That’s not the kind of thing you want
lurking around the house.
Eri c Ku rh i 31
bad and an arrest was made but still, I fucked with the
ghost of the suicide guy and someone got shot. I mean,
what the fuck?
32
about all wracked with depression and filled with
some kind of envious hate of the living. It’s another
thing entirely to have the spirit of an experimental
masturbator lurking about.
Eri c Ku rh i 33
AA AAAAAAAAAAA
AA AA
AA A
T H E ASS W I P E R
What am I supposed to say
when a man says,
“I like your technique,”
after I’ve wiped his ass?
Is that a compliment?
Should I rejoice?
I wonder about these things
when the disability day program
where I work as an instructor
has such a hard time
hiring and keeping men
willing and able
to wipe men’s asses,
that it press-gangs me
into helping at what we call “hygiene”
five days a week,
two hours a day.
Instead, I say,
“I was a classroom aide when I started,
but I did attendant work then.”
36
and I hesitate before answering
only to hear my colleagues gasp,
and I can hear them think,
“My God, that man has wiped assholes
longer than I’ve been alive.”?
38
Love the spontaneous erections
the client and I may have,
and learn how to finish wiping him
despite the distractions
so I could wipe the next hole.
Sometimes I wonder
if there is more to assholes
than shit and wipes.
My partner hasn’t touched my hole
nor I his in I don’t know how long,
and yet here I am
wiping other men’s holes
five days a week,
two hours a day.
41
knowledge in ritualistic arts and critical postfeminist
theory to the nonuse of money in my everyday life,
which of course, also includes ignoring my student
loan payment obligations (sorry, co-signers) and that
monthly soul-crushing tyranny called “rent.” We are
on a path of self-discovery, you see, and nothing as
pedestrian as currency should stifle our journey.
42
Robotron, whom I met on the playa last year, said they
noticed a wellspring of attentive presentness as we did
our crystal therapy.
Be Well,
AmethystRae
Ca rly Na i rn 43
SS SSSSSSSSSS
SS S
T O P L ESS
45
SSSSSSS
SSSS
WATER BROTHERS
47
I have water on the brain and that I
look at people through the liquid like
a reservoir affecting the observed?”
There was a tear appearing in her eye,
it didn’t stop her from removing her clothes
and diving into the mirage that I was
walking on. I saw her swimming underneath
my feet, it left me with a sinking
feeling on the verge of the philosophical:
I sink, therefore I am. The woman
slowly floated up and using telepathic
communication said, “I’m yours.”
I thought that was encouraging and so
we managed to coordinate the currents
running through our bodies until there was
a white water rapids of sheer feeling. It was
pouring through us like a fine rapport.
48
M MMMMMMMMMMMM
M MMM MM
GUSTAV K
LIMT PAINTING
The first time I fell in love was with a mummy. I was eleven
years old. The prone, captured, wizened and distilled body
of a time-sanctified person held me in a swoon. Blackened
fingers, naked bones revealing knuckles meant for me.
Cheekbones that knew themselves proud. Eye sockets
ornamented by their caved-in gaze. Man or woman? The
length of the body my size. How I wished to hear that
voice. My face went tight with longing to go bone to bone.
49
KKKKKKK
KKKK
A M N ESI A
AND OTHER GIFTS
52
Sometimes the casket is open. Sometimes I sing Celine
Dion, choke-laughing at how saccharine and awful the
lyrics are, but goddamn they feel good to belt out on
the highway. Sometimes my father is crying, unshaven.
Rattled and terrified. Sometimes it’s spring and the
brightness of the daffodils silhouetted against the late
March frost is spectacular; I pick as many as I can hold;
I fill her whole casket with them.
It’s one of the hardest days I’ll ever have and I think
my mind is trying to help me pre cope with my own
inevitable unravelling. Perhaps if I imagine it 100
different ways, one of them will be close to the truth
and when the daffodils rear their rippled yellow heads,
I won’t scream into the snow; I will have been here
before.
Kat i e Tandy 53
filled with indiscriminate killings, venomous spiders,
leaking sphincters, inexplicable rashes, impossible
cruelties to children and the environment—and more
like a fraught family reunion! We’re all gathered here
together for a few days...sort of by our own will! We should
all do our best to take care of one another while we’re here
and have a good time before heading our separate ways
again.
54
bowels which run with ice when you remember—tidily
blurs those edges until the memory is gauze.
Kat i e Tandy 55
remember their body in your mind it’s tantamount
to the same thing, but I didn’t anymore. So was it a
violation?
56
- july 2, 2018 -