Letters from Bummer Camp Vol. 1

LETTERS FROM BUMMER CAMP

Volume 1

I was driving devin home from work one night in early june when I blurted out,

“I THINK I’LL START A DISTRO.” “LIKE A ZINE DISTRO?” I was on tour with free cake for every creature a week later selling my own zines out of a shoe box that slowly fell apart over the course of three weeks, eight states, eleven shows, and two zine fests. I was overwhelmed with the whirlwind of realization that people “like my shit.” I was consistently inspired by everyone I met on tour, including the people I was with. I continued riding out those good vibes when I got home and promptly started setting things up. Thanks to the Internet dot com, interest started pouring in immediately and people reached out about standalone art and writing pieces. Without thinking twice I came to the decision of making a compilation zine to put out with the distro’s launch, which would take place less than two months later. Things moved way faster than I expected and I couldn’t be happier about it. I fully anticipate putting out more compilation zines like this in the future. In the meantime, enjoy volume one. It includes many of my favorite poets that I am lucky enough to call my friends, some writers that are new to me, and even some artists from overseas. I can’t believe how tired I am. Remember that self-publishing is always an option. I love you.

-alyssa august 2014 new brunswick, nj

letters from bummer camp press & distro est. 2014 lettersfrombummercamp.tumblr.com lettersfrombummercamppress@gmail.com 1

dedicated to this entire gay earth

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VINCENT MAGLORI I was awakening so early this morning so quite sorta.. slowly and I turn on you, the laptop reaching on the left side of your head while running thru a stop sign i’m so sorry i have hit your pedestrian mommy earth on this raining mourning, running, wet morning ah yet ah and yet i have slowed down since then

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MK RIX

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KAMILLE MONTOYA

“You have Saturn on your Ass” I’m riding along Saturn’s belt and I’ve never felt so lonely. Saturn looks beautiful as hell, though.

I hate that combination of words, “as hell,” but it reminds me of you. You would say that after everything: I’m tired as hell. I’m hungry as hell. I’m horny as hell. You’re boring as hell. As hell, as hell, as hell.

I’m feeling nostalgic… as hell. I don’t understand why I decided to take this trip. I mean, I love space; I love space more than myself. But I love you more than I love space. And this trip is getting lonelier by the second. Having you by my side would make this trip completely bearable, even though you hated it when I would talk about astronomy in any way.

“That shit is boring as hell, now shut up and kiss me.”

“There is nothing out there! There is no point in thinking about it.”

“Can you stop talking about this?! No one is ever going to find out everythi- oh, this is my favorite part, shh!”

You were such a little ignorant shit. But I loved you. And now, I’m 830.1 million miles from Earth, and 830.1 million miles from you and from real food, and from my bed, and from my book collection, and from the comfortable sweats I forgot to pack, and from… you.

THIS IS BULLSHIT! I haven’t thought about you until now! Until I reached Saturn… because through all your hate for the universe and astronomy, you still had Saturn’s outline tattooed on your ass.

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Although you were only sixteen, and at your ex-boyfriend’s house, and told his “homie” to do whatever he wanted, but make it “rad,” and it was the newest thing he learned so he decided to perfect it on your bare body, on your bare ass… it was still there. I would stare at it every night and fall even more in love. Even though it was a “mistake” and meant absolutely nothing to you, you still had it. Just like I meant nothing to my father, I was still his son and he still had me. And like your first goldfish meant nothing to you, but you specifically chose it as your first pet but after the first three days you stopped feeding it, and forgot about it, and on the seventh day you watched it float to the top, it was still there and you still had it. Just like your first tattoo. The outline of Saturn on your bare ass.

You became that tattoo. That planet. You pulled me in, but never completely. You had me wrapped around you, following you with no choice. For eternity. You had no end. I could never land on you. I could never figure you out completely. And I’m grateful for that. Because I love you, and I only know so much about you. If I knew more, there is a possibility of me hating you.

You are an asshole, and you leave lipstick on all my mugs. You call me an idiot every time I compliment you in any way, and your perfume gives me headaches. You used to call my dog ugly even though I thought she was the most beautiful creature in the world and made me happiest. You make me sad. You put me down. You hate space! You hate space. And I love it more than myself. And I am glad I am 830.1 million miles away from you. You hate space and I love it and I’m so happy to be here right now, right next to Saturn’s belt. I love it. I’m so happy, I could just walk out and be pulled into its gravity. I could just walk out…

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EMILY AHLERS

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ISABEL AYRE-LYNCH “She was a tiny prawn” in an enormous dazzling light box.

Looking down at her hands she saw disproportionate claws coming from her wrists and Pip’s skip, like a tiny gem clutched between the tips of her talons.

The device was a precious thing.

She was sure it would allow her to do a spell and get her the hell out of there.

Temi pushed some coloured squares across the screen.

The light around her pulsated.

She flung open the door of her box, still feeling quite prawny and grabbed Pip. His eyes were glazed.

As soon as he saw the skip he jumped to attention yelling at her.

Pip noticed the air around them shifting.

Grabbing the device, he tried to reverse the code Temi had just set into motion.

Pip’s carefully constructed world was gone.

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Pip speaks “Temi’s user experience was way different to mine.

The skip knew it.

I don’t think she’d ever even touched one before, it wasn’t used to her style.

Everyone has a different style led by their own individual experiences and desires.

Well, hers was different to mine.

It sent us to a warehouse full of mirrors.

I’d never asked it to take me there before.

Usually if it doesn’t recognise a code, it re-sets.

Temi was looking at herself in the mirror her features growing wider as time passed.

The oil had destroyed her clothes.

I didn’t have anything back at my place to offer her.

Plus she’d nicked my device pretty much before I could do anything to help.

Temi was almost crying.

I wanted the forest.

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Right before she had the chance to get into the swing of her full-blown bawl fest, the mirrors turned to strip lights.

Our reflections became vacuum wrapped packs of dead meat.

It was all lined up neatly in front of the neon lighting, shining so brightly it turned each slab of flank into a bloody red light bulb.”

Up the road Temi didn’t get there until way after dark.

The neon town had glowed around them.

Lights from the windows turned the snow pink and yellow and blue.

After she and Pip had left the meat room’s solitary luminescence behind them, they had to walk down a narrow lane.

Their hands were invisible an inch from their eyes but they could see the rays of the moon on the snow about a mile away if they looked to either side.

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Straight ahead of them, though was just darkness.

They had to stumble into it to get to the city.

About half way down the lane they were headed towards a rise in the road.

Just as they started to climb it three rings of light slashing through the night startled them.

Pip yelled and began changing the code on his device again.

Following the rings came a car, headlights on full beam.

Temi screamed now.

When the car sped past them, Pip vanished.

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DERRICK KPELI

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ALYSSA RORKE “Mental Faculties” I see the shadows of someone’s feet under the door while sitting on the toilet in a Starbucks bathroom that I’ll probably never pee in again. I keep thinking of every little place I visit on this trip in those terms. It’s pretty morbid. Though I’ve certainly had enough “Wow I’m glad I’m alive for this right now” moments to keep me from thinking about death for a while.

A sad, strange part of me thinks of my mom when I hear flip-flop footsteps steadily approaching.

Katie is walking around the library in stocking feet. Everything is very silly.

I remember being 8 and using my own disposable camera for the first time and crying when most of the photos didn’t develop, I didn’t use the flash. It happens again. I never give up taking pictures because I’m a sap.

I keep thinking about being an adult and going to the drug store and “how do you get the film out?”

I keep thinking about that. I still get a nervous sharp pain in my chest when I see someone use a camera without its flash. “The pictures won’t come out,” I say. They don’t care that much.

Spencer Madsen wrote something about still feeling bad about something you did when you were six and I want the fictional ghosts that I’m so afraid of to suck every bad memory out of my soul while I sleep on a stranger’s floor in the middle of American paradise. I am not scared of the mouse we saw in the kitchen. I am scared of guilt and romanticism and sour retrospection.

I’VE NEVER WANTED SO BADLY TO BE A WILD OAT.

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I notice a missed call when I pick up my phone to “they are playing Bright Eyes in this Starbucks right now” I send it without allowing response to “why am I a better writer when I’m far from home?”

The roads in Florida are white. They almost are in Lancaster, too.

What do you regret most about your youth? is a question Buzzfeed asks me when I just want to know which Jimmy Eat World song fits my personality. I am in bed, I do everything in my bed and if I had done it differently I would only have slept in my bed. Bring a bag of candy with me and write down all the poetic things that happen. Five red M+Ms falling out at once and a Reese’s Cup I think will taste better on the second bite. My room is messy. If this were a living room, the couch would be my bed and the TV would be everything else. My room is messy and I feel guilty.

A GIRL I USED TO LOVE CHANGED HER PROFILE PICTURE AND NOW I CAN’T SLEEP. My mom asks if I’m feeling better and I say yes, there’s nothing to feel bad about out here.

“There never is,” she says.

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JENNY MORONEY “Purple Sunset” I liked the evening because it was in between dark and light, a purple colour that makes everything clear and easy. You say let’s sit over there because that is where there is a view of big black buildings against a sunset. I look at the sky through the silhouetted leaves and say

IT LOOKS LIKE A DESKTOP BACKGROUND! You tell me I spend too much time on my laptop and give me a poem to read for later. When I read the words in my head I can't feel them properly so I read them out loud but then their meaning leaves me as soon as I am finished. Maybe this is what love is; revision and recital until the person sinks into you and you remember little bits of them always.

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PHILLIP LAUDINO “Skinny Love” we are starving to death and you are hot for me i don’t have any energy, i say looking at the dirt we will die soon anyway you assure me i am only a sack of bones, i tell you, but you don’t care and start saying dirty things in my ear i am hot for you too i can’t stop thinking about biting off a piece of your ear or leg

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CHERRY STYLES

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SARA SUTTERLIN

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KEVIN DUNN “Actually Dying�

A cat crosses the street and is immediately hit by a car.

This happens to her every day.

She has been hit by the same car every day of her life and, every day of her life, she comes so close to actually dying that sometimes she actually does. It's not true what they say about cats having nine lives. They actually have zero.

She knows that the secret to staying alive is on the other side of the street, but she has never been able to get there. One morning she is hit by the car and actually dies. The car is never seen on that street again.

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“Heirloom Tomatoes�

After walking for several days, I finally got to the market just as they're about to close. The manager tells me that they had just cashed out their register, that they really can't make anymore sales, but that they have an excess of heirloom tomatoes, and would I want to take any home with me?

I didn't have any actual money. I only came to the market to fall in love like everybody, but heirloom tomatoes seemed, at the time, like a healthier alternative. As I walk home with several baskets full of heirloom tomatoes, I wonder how many I would have to eat before I turned into one.

THIS SEEMS LIKE THE KIND OF THING MY MOM WOULD KNOW, I THINK, but I never ask her.

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“The First Time they Show you the Monster�

It is only slightly darker with my eyes closed. The first time they show you the monster he is a surprisingly upright shadow on the wall and there is a windowpane-shaped grid projected through his body and he shudders for a moment where they edit the shots together.

The whole thing is silent and although he doesn't look terribly unlike a real person, you can just tell that it's raining and that he's on his way to the beautiful girl's room to probably kill her but they'd never show that before the lights get thrown on and he disappears out into the night. When I am playing the role of the monster the lights never get turned on but I never make it to the beautiful girl's room either.

Instead, I lose my balance and begin falling down a never-ending flight of stairs in the hallway.

By the time I reach the bottom, the beautiful girl has gone off with the director and the film is left unfinished.

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CHERRY STYLES

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HANNAH ROE

The Organizer's summer was chewy.

It doesn't matter if the data boy sees you wearing yoga pants.

I gotta go 2 the other side of town 'cause I'm on this side of town.

We laugh good together.

"How should I dress??"

"Dress non-for-profit casual" I can see those middle school memories all over your face! GTFO! "I want my pp to touch the ocean" *********** I have so many friends and sisters here wondering which liberations will survive them Love them We don't need the labels We can be and love once again with feeling inspired by Audre Lorde **********

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There's a lot on my mind right now And I feel clogged and anxious and unsure what to do I attack my mind and now I'm unsure what to even think Every thought is the wrong thought

THANKS OBAMA *********** A great poet creates so many new meanings a person living as a poem does the same Her spirit animal is the pasty ass fish at the bottom of the sea Mother Nature: She a badass bitch and her friends bad too Where is the line drawn between prostitution and being expected to open up after a paid for meal? I wanna kno! I wanna flat fee!

Hush your mouth In my house there will be no talk of morals! ***************

WE ARE ALL RUNAWAYS OF EVERY PRECONCEIVED NOTION OF WHAT REALITY IS.

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MEGHAN MILSTED “Very Very High� standing behind the glass counter display case i hand over a perfume sprayed piece of paper with Lolita scrawled on it in my own handwriting to a woman with dark skin black curly hair and a baby stroller. the space is the same i fumble with my keys my father faces me in our front foyer at three thirty a.m. on a tuesday in summer he smells like Irish Spring and sweat i smell the Yuengling on my own breath.

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“An Exorcism of Some Grace” I. matthew 3:11 I baptize you with water for repentance, but he who is coming after me is mightier than I. II. jump.

II. the deer’s heartbeat pounds through the floorboards. the car has stalled the deer is stuck; antlers are tangled with muffler. the deer has stalled the deer does not care that the deer is dying the deer doesn’t care that the deer’s parents are disappointed, that the deer has no significant artistic achievements, that the deer will never get married, that the deer will never live to see the world end. the car sits on top of spindly once graceful legs. neither move, they only twitch.

III. jump. jump into the cold river.

IV. this is an anthem for a twenty year old scaredy cat. there is no sweat, only kick drum and bright lights. robotic, the words come out whiskey soaked but there is no sound.

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karaoking a new found glory song in front of your new coworkers but no one could hear you.

V. jump jump into the cold river. quickly, because the sun is coming up VI. don’t have cigarettes for dinner. don’t check google maps, see how far it is to her house, how far you can see down the highway from your open window. she is a bonfire: put her to bed.

VII. jump jump into the cold river. quickly, because the sun is coming up over the mold and rust rooftops. sink into the mud at the bottom— VIII. the water is warmer on the surface.

IX. the dock is your savior. you are new.

X. jump. jump into the cold river. quickly, because the sun is coming up over the mold and rust rooftops. sink into the mud at the bottom-the water is warmer on the surface. the dock is your savior. you are new.

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TAYLOR MCGILL “6 O'Clock�

The burn victim was worse than dead- she was ugly & everyone in the crowd felt sorry for that. Steam was rising up from her pink slug of face that was leaking out through the windshield. of the overturned car. A certain man in the crowd checked his watch & said: "Well, look at the time," & everyone started home for dinner.

Just then the News Van drove up. Cameraman hopped out. Anchorman Steve sprung from the sliding side door & started poking his microphone at the nose area of the slugheaded woman. The crowd came back & swarmed around the wreck for Camera. They were footed and squirming like stuck flies. Crowd liked Camera. Two women lifted their blouses for Camera. A small boy put his thumbs up for Camera. The ruined woman made a sound like an ugly radiator & the crowd leaned in. Anchorman Steve pushed the mic into the open lips of a wound. The woman rattled again. Camera zoomed in on her puckering jerky mouth & with it she said, "Hi Mom."

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CAILY GRUBE “How Many Calories” how many calories in envelope adhesive. how many calories from sucking on a paper cut. how many calories in swallowed semen. how many calories in fingernail bites. does the number of calories in air change with humidity. what about medication. birth control. what about toothpaste. how many calories in the seven spiders eaten while sleeping in one lifetime. tying the maraschino cherry stem into itself with the tongue. how many calories from kissing. how many calories from separating the bobby pin on your tooth.

“Counting” we classify, we classify and we count the number of luxury vehicles in the office parking lot // we measure, we measure and we might match amount of dancing at house shows against amount of sentiment in poetry at any given time // today i walk 10,000 steps // tomorrow i run 4.7 miles // there are anxieties // there are 23 unwashed dishes in the sink // there is a linguistic phenomenon // vowels denote femininity // there are 2 or 3 vowels in my first name // depending on how feminine i feel // my father counts the number of text messages i don't send him // but sometimes we both find ourselves // counting // arriving at “98” // or “134” // not knowing // how // we got there // “Haters are Going to Hate” and in the process of hating // haters hate together // with the other haters // one and the other // they hate on high school hallway memories // the grocery bill // and the workweek // the haters hate on waking up late // on the cat-gag before cat-vomit hits cat-fur carpet // on empty ice cube trays // and on weather // one hates meaninglessness // fear // and becoming // lonely // the other agrees // and adds “ripping apart cotton balls” // soon then // harder hate-filled memories are shared // and later on // one sleep-texts the other from a dream // about tooth decay // and the haters do happy hour // they both hate the time in which their knees do not touch beneath the table //

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SAMANTHA MITCHELL “A Sunday Earlier This Year” Over the past few days, since maybe Wednesday --I don’t actually remember-I’ve stared at the irises in the silver vase on the table; I’ve watched them turn brown and ugly, making this room even uglier.

I’m waiting for you to throw them away.

I CAN’T BRING MYSELF TO DO IT.

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NINA BRACA

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CONTRIBUTORS Emily Ahlers, page 7 Brooklyn, NY emily.ahlers@yahoo.com Isabel Ayre-Lynch, pages 8-11 London, UK rotinhtml.tumblr.com Nina Braca, pages 31-32 Purchase, NY nina.braca@gmail.com @ninabraca Kevin Dunn, page 19-21 Harrisburg, PA by way of central NJ issuu.com/kdunn Caily Grube, page 29 Pittsburgh, PA cailygrube@gmail.com Derrick Kpeli, page 12 New Brunswick, NJ vanillaskynet@aol.com vanillaskynet.tumblr.com Phillip Laudino, page 16 Piscataway, NJ landdial.tumblr.com Vincent Maglori, page 3 New Brunswick, NJ anewtypeofbomb.tumblr.com Taylor McGill, page 28 Highland Park, NJ she-biscuit.tumblr.com Meghan Milsted, pages 25-27 Buffalo, NY by way of Washington, DC mcmilsted@smcm.edu getmeclean.tumblr.com Samantha Mitchell, page 30 Baltimore, MD @samanthade5a7

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Kamille Montoya, page 5-6 El Paso, TX everybody-wakeup.tumblr.com Jenny Moroney, page 15 South East London, UK moroneyfjenny@gmail.com furrymindedpinkbear.tumblr.com MK Rix, page 4 New Brunswick, NJ mkrix.tumblr.com mkrix.biz Hannah Roe, pages 23-24 New Brunswick, NJ hannahjoyroe@gmail.com Alyssa Rorke, pages 13-14 New Brunswick, NJ alyssarorke@gmail.com bunkmatepoetry.tumblr.com Cherry Styles, pages 17, 22, front and back covers /runs and edits Chapess Zine and Synchronise Witches Distro/ Manchester, UK cherrystyles.co.uk Sara Sutterlin, page 18 Montreal, Quebec s.sutterlin@gmail.com sorryexcuseforsorry.tumblr.com

CURATED & DESIGNED BY ALYSSA RORKE thank you mk rix for running circuit city, curating the zine library, and always being filled with contagious positive energy cassandra gillig for watching me grow & being my cheerleader katie bennett & elaiza santos & stephanie knipe for the inspiration & encouragement to turn a strange feeling and a piece of art into something more devin & leslie, my bunkmates.

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