The Bitchin' Kitsch July 2011 issue

the

bitchin’ kitsch At the time of publication, we considered the piece on this page appropriate. At this time, we consider it appropriation. It has been removed for that reason.

Vol 2 Issue #7 July 2011

content july 2011 Vikki

cover 2

Koi Fantasy One - Tanya Haller -

Tanya Haller

Samantha Russell - pg 16

on the front cover:

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In Memory of The Supreme Bean - Chris Talbot-Heindl

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I Lost 100 Pages of Poetry - Robin Lee

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obedience/ascension -

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Koi Fantasy Two - Tanya Haller

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The Streets at Night - Kelleigh Cram

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A short blurb for gay pride month - Kelleigh Cram

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Koi Fantasy Three - Tanya Haller

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Jan Haskell

Vikki

on the inside front cover: Koi Fantasy One

Shadows: Prologue - Jan Haskell

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The Funniest Stories Are the Ones You Don’t Want to Be a Part Of samuelbeaton

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Shadows: Part One - Jan Haskell

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Tanya Haller

How I Became a New Born Atheist 13-14 - Kelleigh Cram

tanyahaller.moonfruit.com

American Studies - Samantha Russell

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Donors & Index

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on the inside back cover:

17 Pen and marker on paper sighgremlin.blogspot.com

about b’k: poets, prose writers, or anyone else who has something to say. it exists if you have something you want to share, please email it to chris@ talbot-heindl.com.

donation:

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tanya haller.

Artist Interview: Scott Hintz By guest columnist: Tanya Haller

Oksana Ink:

At the time of publication, we considered the piece on this page appropriate. At this time, we the artist featured in this interview to rely on appropriation. It As a child, my parents always encouraged has been removed for that reason. naturally, I would draw Batman and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

When most kids were outside kicking a ball around, I was inside while, I would master a given character and be able to draw them in my sleep. As I got older, my horomonal from superheroes to women. I have yet to grow out of that phase. don’t think I will.

Oksana Ink:

What mediums did you one you use now?

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I B-Side: Magalomania

tanya haller (con’t).

Oksana Ink: I agree with the basic idea that it doesn’t makes their image. image is what’s important. Sure, the wrestles with the idea of digital mediums.

At the time of publication, we considered the piece onofthis tangible nature art page appropriate. At this time, we the artist featured in this interview to rely on appropriation. It is a very important quality. I’m not has been removed for that reason.

respect. Which is why I’ve yet to bring my digital work in the physical realm. I’m very picky with the digital art, paper

Oksana Ink:

Parameters: Ladie Lane

The female nude has always been a subject of controversy. How do you handle people who think its It has always been a subject of controversy. And yet, throughout history, it has always been the most the day, each person will have their opinion and the only person that can change one’s opinion is themselves. That being said, the kind of people that tend to argue that nude art is pornographic tend to be the kind of people that hang a half-naked man on their walls above their beds.

for one day, she’ll leave you for two.

You use live models. Do you think it adds more life to your work to study from experience rather than people who only learn from photos?

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tanya haller (con’t).

How each par sits into the next. Bodies in general are elegant machines. A mechanic learns best how an engine works by actually touching it and working on it. Not everything can be truly understood Oksana Ink:

image in my head exactly the way I want it to be and go about of research and At the time of publication, we considered the piece scouring other images this page appropriate. At this time, we the artist to piece together on in my featured in this interview to rely on appropriation. It mind an idea of what the work will lookhas like.been removed for that reason.

I have folders on my computer that have literally thousands of reference photos. I can go months without using any of them, but it’s always nice to have them around when I’m Parameters: Jewlz stuck. With my latest work, however, they was, “How do I get my work seen by more people?” Tumblr happens to be a place that is not easily

quite boring now that I think about it. I should have said that I roam the streets of Paris looking for Oksana Ink: Thank you. Make art for yourself.

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chris talbot-heindl.

In Memory of The Supreme Bean by: Chris Talbot-Heindl

On June 24, 2011, a staple of our small city’s downtown area, The Supreme Bean, closed its doors forever. The Supreme Bean graced our fair downtown for 22 years, and was a family-owned, communityoriented coffee shop.

The Supreme Bean was where I met my husband, Dana, and where The Bitchin’ Kitsch made its official debut. On our wedding day, Dana and I went to The Supreme Bean for a taste of normal during the wedding set up. In the hubbub, we had forgotten our wallets, and a Bean regular bought our coffees for us with the simple request to pay it forward at some point. Which we did, and a man and his son ended up receiving free coffees about a week later. The Supreme Bean ended up being our coffee shop of choice, and our office away from home.

were crossing the sewer grate in front of The Supreme Bean, one duckling fell in. Bob ran over to the sewer grate, moved it, and went in while someone held his feet. All the way in. He was able to save the duckling.

Everyone on the street applauded him.”

Well, The Supreme Bean, the most historic of the shops in downtown, will no longer be in historic downtown, but there will still be a branch at St. Michael’s Hospital if you wish a taste of home.

In honor of The Supreme Bean, my husband and I asked a few regulars their stories.

Freedom Heindl: “As a kid, we didn’t have money to go anywhere, so I never did. When I was six, Chad Zimmerman brought me here and got me a hot chocolate, and I thought he was pretty cool because of that. As an adult, the good memory stayed, and with my own paychecks, I started coming here nearly everyday.”

My dad and I at The Supreme Bean on my wedding day

Nikki Lee: “I was walking down the sidewalk and right in front of the coffee shop, I almost stepped on a white mink. The mink was darting in a snow pile over and over again. I was afraid it was in my head, so I asked the guy sitting in front of the shop if he saw it too. He did and told me that white minks aren’t from this area. So, I watched the white mink dart in and out of the snow pile while I drank my coffee.”

Tom Hering: “My best memory is of a fellow who used to come here all the time. I forget his name...hold on,” he walks into the shop and asks Joy, the owner. “Well, he was a professor of Anthropology here, but he died two to three years ago of pancreatic cancer. Bob was his first name.

“We were all out here one day, and a mama duck and her ducklings were walking down the street in the gutter. And one lady was walking down with them to make sure they didn’t get run over by a car. As they 7

robin lee, scott cook.

I Lost 100 Pages of Poetry by: Robin Lee

I lost 100 pages of poetry.

I lost 1000 brilliant rhymes.

I lost irreplaceable reflections, of unrelivable times.

I lost 100 pages of poetry, all time invested was a waste.

100 pages of poetry, left in the rain in haste.

I’ll never remember the poetry.

Poets can’t compensate time.

I have lost a priceless cost, I’ll never have back what was mine.

The best 100 pages I’ve ever written.

The best I’ll ever write.

Lines that paid tribute to the girls that smitten and ignite the fuel to fight for our rights.

So many white hot feelings.

So many cold hard facts.

So many leagues of the drifted sea.

So many paths so many tracks.

So many incredible people.

I was lucky to ever meet.

Characters of character Funny happy and sweet.

Hysteric fits of politics.

Emotional bouts of rage.

The meat of my manifesto, all lost on the same page.

100,000 little scribbled letters.

Million dollars worth of thought.

Billion bucks of product, that can’t be sold or bought.

Working and working for hours, working and working for days.

Racking my brain, again and again, steadfast for no pay.

Where on earth could I have left it?

Somewhere in the morning rush.

Did I cram it in my tent bag?

Did I throw it in the brush.

I could’ve put it in Steve’s car?

I called Steve, he said “sorry, no.”

I remember having it in the morning, How far could it go?

I only want to the top of the hill.

I pushed down Michael’s car.

I checked with Jenny, I checked with Brian I checked with Ifdikar

obedience/ascension Scott Cook Pen and marker on paper

sighgremlin.blogspot.com 8

I checked all over Wisconsin From 608 to 262. contacted random strangers.

There’s nothing more to do.

robin lee (con’t), tanya haller.

The words I read fill me with joy.

Full of beauty and grace.

Reminding me of the time.

Reminding me of the place.

He writes: Oh Mr. Lee In a haze I woke Morning wood in The hollow of the Green room glen Hugs, high fives, pounds all around Then I am alone On a chair over there Compositions...Compositions A volume of work And I think, Someone else will surely carry it Back from the brink Perhaps Sa, or Slingshot Or the Toeman’s Sam That’s how I recall My final moments On that tranquil grassy knoll But alas, nay....Hark!

As I unload and disembark Here are the pages Compositions...Compositions A volume of work So truely dear To a friend so near I see only now the haze has rendered my mind clear

Koi Fantasy Two Tanya Haller Photoshopped illustration tanyahaller.moonfruit.com

Nothing to do but give up, to hang my lowly head.

To not even consider starting over, to consider the project dead.

Till what’s this….ooh, a message!

A comment on my wall?

What’s this? What’s this?

My book’s not lost at all?!!!

Nothing to do but feel bad.

To curse and moan and wine.

How everything is always lost, and impossible to find.

On my wall reads a poem From Michael my dear friend.

THE BOOKS NOT LOST! THE BOOKS NOT LOST! My worries can finally end!

Come and claim your wayward pages Dearest friend and gentle Sir Time will have patience No need to fear delay They rest with me in safely At the Alchemy Cafe So I sing and I smile.

I sigh of sweet relief.

I can forget all the worries I can neglect all the grief.

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robin lee (con’t), kelleigh cram, tanya haller, jan haskell.

My hundred pages of poetry. weren’t left on the wet meadow ground.

Shows when you most need to find things a good friend can make it found.

The Streets at Night by: Kelleigh Cram

The Streets at Night Deep, Dark, Damp. It is Dusk.

The sun has fallen The street lamps are fireflies The people glide by in flocks I feel a tap on the back It is only a child “Can I help you?” I ask He cries softly “I cannot find my dog,” says he “Gunther is its name He is lost.”

“I cannot help you son,” I reply He sobs and leaves Minutes go by I see an outline On the ground by the road sadness rushes over me It is the dog, dead.

A short blurb for gay pride month by: Kelleigh Cram

They say that love is blind, but is it really?

If that is true, why does gender not fit this rule?

Love is love, but hate is hate.

Which one will you choose?

Hate is everywhere, in our schools, churches, even in our own hearts.

Hug you love and your friends.

Hold them while you still can.

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Koi Fantasy Three Tanya Haller Photoshopped illustration

tanyahaller.moonfruit.com

Reflections by: Jan Haskell

The years have passed, one after the other, moments built upon moments.

Like a razor’s edge, I walk the thin thread that binds them to me.

All the memories of one life, subtle reminders of truths.

I wish only to walk forward.

To let the present vanish as quickly as the moment passes.

jan haskell.

Shadows: Prologue By: Jan Haskell

When I was taking classes down in Chicago, my philosophy professor put forth the question, “If stuck on an island, what books would you want?” I thought about books I see as my bibles, (books that have awaken me every time I read them) and authors I like to read.

The class shared our lists, discussing the similar books, the reason for the choices, ect. This was the professor’s lead into the class. One of his main books was Plato’s Republic, more specifically, The Allegory of the Cave. He felt that this story in particular, would provide us the best understanding of Plato’s work.

If you have never read the story here is a quick plot summary: A town is attacked, and the survivors are shut up in a cave, chained, facing the back wall. They live in shadows and darkness. The only light comes from a fire kept by the guards at the front of the cave. The guards project shadows on the back wall of life outside the cave. For the prisoners, these shadows become their reality of the world. The guards use the images as a game of who can identify what the shadows are and give rewards who guessed the quickest.

Then after many years, even maybe generations, the guards pull one man from the group of prisoners (Socrates) and show him the fire and the puppets they used to make the shadows, and then throw him out of the cave. At first the man is blind from the light, hiding during the day, and only going out at night. Slowly the man’s eyes become accustomed to the light, and he sees a horse, a real horse. He is awakened to the real world; to that of a world of shadows. He goes back to the cave, and tries in vain to tell his fellow prisoners that the world they perceive is the illusion and what the real world is. Of course, the man is ignored, laughed at, beaten, and exiled.

Yes, i know, why Plato? An old white guy from over 2,500 years ago. While all that is true, it is of interest that from his work we can see parallels to others, throughout time, who have tried to show us that we live in a shadow world.

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samuelbeaton.

The Funniest Stories Are the Ones You Don’t Want to Be a Part Of By: samuelbeaton

www.samuelbeaton.com So, I’ve been doing some stuff for a website where they ask me questions and I answer them as best and, possibly, as funny as I can. Turns out that it’s a problem.

You see, it’s easy to be funny when you don’t think you’re being funny or you’re not trying to be. I find the the stuff people laugh at, I didn’t do intentionally. I will now give you a few examples of what I’m talking about: The UPS Incident

I’m always excited to get mail, even when they are bills. I think I just like seeing my name on things because it reminds me that I am not imagining myself. So, last year in June, I heard a truck outside.

I investigated, because I don’t live in the greatest neighborhood and thought it might be a drug deal that would end in gunfire. No, sir. It was a UPS truck.

The emotions that ran through my body were some that could be compared to first love, or even what I imagine the birth of a first child to be. I ran down the stairs, tripped on a pair of shoes I had in the hallway, fell to the first landing while slamming every vital organ in my body in the process. The pain was going to be overwhelmed by the exciting gift package I was about to recieve. Or so I thought. When I finally hobbled down to the door, I noticed the UPS driver going across the street with the package. I can only assume this must be what losing a child is like.

The Old Woman At The Store

I always find it funny when someone recognizes me in public. And no, I’m not vain, and know that they don’t know me from anything that I’ve written. It’s usually because I’m a horrible person to someone they know. So, I go to the store a few weeks back and a woman (whom I’ve never seen before in my life) says “Hey, aren’t you Samuel Beaton?” “Yes, ma’am, I am”, I respond. She then just rolls her eyes and walks away.

Obviously not a fan of my work- business or otherwise.

However, I became a fan of her for embarassing me in front of 20 Mexican dudes.

The Fort Fun Story

Now, I’m not gay. I just want to point that out for this story. Anyway, I used to be the manager of a miniature golf place called Fort Fun. Awesome name, 12

right? It was probably the most fun job I have ever held on to. One day, this young girl (probably about 18 or so) comes in and puts her ticket into our prize machine after she’s done golfing. When she doesn’t win a prize, she asks “Well, did I win something or not?” A co-worker then answers with, “Yeah, a date with Samuel Beaton”.

She asks who I am, and he points to me. She then exclaims “Great, a date with a queer!”. I didn’t return to work the following summer.

The Slap

I was celebrating my 26th birthday some years back at a local bar in Green Bay with about 10 of my closest friends. We were laughing, having drinks, making fun of each other….you know, the usual. In walks a girl that I don’t believe I’ve ever seen, and she goes into a hardcore rant about how I cheated on her, never called her, and then she slapped me. I’ll admit that she was super drunk, so I’ll let it slide. However, my friends were in shock and will not let it go. To this day, I don’t even know that girls name, and I’m not a whore, so I think I may have a really horrible doppleganger out there.

All the best, kids.

samuelbeaton

jan haskell, kelleigh cram.

Shadows: Part One by: Jan Haskell

Many years before I was born, my town was invaded and the survivors were taken prisoners. All I had known came from the darkness. Shadows of images would appear on the wall from which we would learn about how life was. Then one day, the guards came and unchained me from my family and friends. They took me away toward the front, leading me. As we came to a large rock, I could smell the dankness of smoke burning my nose and throat. The closer we came to to the rock, the stronger the smell got, and a dim light was casting shadows on the floors. The guards stopped, showed me objects on the floor that were puppets, then showed me the dim light and smell that was hurting my eyes and throat came from a fire they made. After that they dragged me to the entrance and tossed me out into the light of day. I was blinded by the brightness of the light.

At night, I was able to open my eyes, but it seemed I was still living in shadows. One night I was drinking from a pond, and I saw myself for the first time in the reflection of the water. I saw another reflection too, that of a horse. My name is Ralf and this is my story.

As I knelt, looking into the water, something happened inside me. I was frozen in fear, and then a change came over me. I wanted to lift my eyes up and see this horse as it is and not as a reflection. I knew this was something real, real like the grass under my feet, or the smell from the blossoms in the trees. I was tired of living in a world of reflections, reflections of shadows, but the most I could do was reach out and touch the water, When the water had settled back to stillness, the horse was gone and i was left with only my image, I stayed there staring at myself, making faces jumping, and spinning around quickly to see if i could see my back. As the darkness started to wane, I left to take shelter from the day.

My eyes were getting stronger, and while it was still hard to go out on sunny days, I could go out when the light was dim. I was able to look around and really see.

It was about a week later that I was back at the pond.

As I drank, I heard something that made me froze. I couldn’t move, my body full of panic. Maybe if I don’t move it wont see me.

“Hey, you there, man.”

There it was again. In my fear and panic, like a little child, I turned to see who was talking to me. In the early morning rays, I saw that it was the horse.

How I Became a New Born Atheist by: Kelleigh Cram

I believe religion is the most powerful force in existence.

It has the effect over the mind resembling mass hysteria. As much as I hate to admit it, I once fell into its trap. I was manipulated into believing that there was a God who cared for me, created me, and had a plan for me. It sounds nice, doesn’t it? Who wouldn’t want to believe everything will turn out okay and we can see our loved ones after we die?

I first heard about Jesus at the age of six. I remember the sermon was about the resurrection, an idea with

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kelleigh cram (con’t). which I was not accustomed. I asked myself, “Who could raise from the dead? That’s impossible!” It genuinely scared me. I wondered if the congregation was some kind of cult. Where they crazy? I wanted to leave.

In the beginning, my prayers were as such: “Dear God, please let me fly,” or the classic, “Dear God, if you are real make the lights turn on.” In my early teens, the questions became more serious: Did God love me?

Was I going to Hell?

That was when the depression hit.

I was diagnosed with major depression and anxiety disorder at 17; however, my symptoms arose at age 11.

It was during this time of struggle that I turned to God. He gave me hope. He was (or I thought he was) on my side. I prayed constantly. I would beg forgiveness at the slip of a cuss word. I would cry out for help. I would do anything for Him; if only he would make me well.

The ups and downs of depression confused me. I would get sick, pray for assistance, get better, praise him fervently, get worse, and repeat. It was a vicious cycle of hope and devastation. I felt that God was playing with me. After being let down again and again, I began to doubt God. Within two months of study and careful deliberation, I became an atheist with a new-found interest in the study of religion. The more I read the Bible and other religious texts, the more I became satisfied with my decision.

I am happy as an atheist. I feel more comfortable in my own skin and more confident. I can relate to myself, feeling as though I belong.

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chris talbot-heindl (con’t).

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artists 8, 17 Cram, Kelleigh Haller, Tanya Haskell, Jan

American Studies Samantha Russell Photograph

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Russell, Samantha

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samuelbeaton

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Talbot-Heindl, Chris

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