douglas somers. about b’k:
the bitchin’ kitsch is a zine for artists, poets, prose writers, or anyone else who has something to say. it exists for the purpose of open creativity. if you have something you want to share, please email it to chris@talbot-heindl.com. are you a video or music artist? submit your youtube link or original file to dana@talbot-heindl.com. all submissions are due on the 26th for the following month’s issue.
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self portrait as a happy little tree douglas somers Print
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the bitchin’ kitsch content may 2013 on the front cover: James Cagney
Loren Kantor Woodcut Print woodcuttingfool.blogspot.com
on the inside back cover: the squidlords
douglas somers Screenprint Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE - pg. 9 James Cagney - Loren Kantor
cover
2 self portrait as a happy little tree - douglas somers 4-6 Artist Opportunities Calendar Lifedrawing 1, 4/13/13 - Chris Talbot-Heindl 500 mg of Boxytocin - Ross Brown
grtz - Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE A Change - Mandal Bijoy Beg Zoot Sims Crying - Doug Draime Screaming Mimi’s Cafe - Cindy Small
a very little lawyer - Christopher Mulrooney The new princess wars - SarahJean Krahn Speculative Disconnect: On Sodomy, Homocriticism, and Modern Homosexuality - Tyler Furo Nobody’s Truth - Gautam Sen snare - Janna Payne
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Kiss in Heaven - Alon Calinao Dy
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NO. 2 - Jnana Hodson
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On the Inside - Dana TalbotHeindl
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The Middle of Nowhere - Howie Good The TRUTH About the TransActive Walnut Shell - Robert Allen Beckvall
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The Depths of Inner Strength Jason Ford
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They Cured Him - Sy Roth
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11-16
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10
Son of a Gun - Tendai R. Mwanaka
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The Visitors - Lois Mintah
8 The Swaying of the Grass - Afzal Moolla 8-9 i want YOU to dream about ME en francais; or He Who Jumps First Loses - Eddy Habib Untitled - Jan Haskell
Don’t Call Me Fat - Gerald Bosacker
Dana Talbot-Heindl - pg. 20
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20 20
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24-25 Spider and Fly: Collaborations and Works from Roo Bardookie and Louis Marvin - Roo Bardookie and Louis Marvin cosmopolis - douglas somers
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Ode to Miss America - Burton H. Wolfe Lifedrawing 3, 4/13/13 - Chris Talbot-Heindl
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Wormwood - Kevin Robillard
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Changes in the Wind - David Schmidt
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Loneliness - Dawnell Harrison
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War on Drugs - Kenneth Abraham
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Lifedrawing 1, 4/1/13 - Chris Talbot-Heindl
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Feelings of Love - Anand Salve
Midnight Apparition at Two A.M. - Danielle Dragona Untitled - Mike Cluff
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Lifedrawing, 4/13/13 - Dana Talbot-Heindl
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Carl - Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE Super Imposed - Anthony Ward
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unforg - Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE
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the squidlords - douglas somers
Scientific Screen Print - Riley Furmanek
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Rejected Headlines for the Onion - Ron Reikki Watching a fat girl cry on Jeremy Kyle- Michael Ashley
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Donors and Index
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30 31
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artist opportunities calendar. Awards/Open Call
Deadline: May 1 Artraker Award. GBP 2,500. http:// artraker.org/ Deadline: May 1 2013 Flash Drive Flash Fiction Competition. thumbnailmag. submittable.com/submit/14201 Deadline: May 1 The Artist’s Magazine’s 30th Annual Art Competition. $25,000 in cash prizes. www.artistsnetwork.com Deadline: May 1 The Montana Watercolor Society’s 31st Annual Juried Art Exhibition: Watermedia 2013. $1,000. www. montanawatercolorsociety.org Deadline: May 6 2013 Cape Fear Studios Annual National Juried 2-D Competition/ Exhibit. $1,700. www. capefearstudios.com Deadline: May 6 Photo & Print Open Salon 2013. www.charlieduttongallery.com Deadline: May 12 Queens International 2013 Open Call. www.queensmuseum.org Deadline: May 14 First Street Gallery 2013 MFA National Competition. www. firststreetgallery.net Deadline: May 15 Loraine Williams Poetry Prize, sponsored by the Georgia Review. $1,000 and publication. garev.uga. edu/submissions.html Deadline: May 31 NIU Art Museum: On Watching and Being Seen. (Art). www.niu.edu/ artmuseum/
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Grants
Deadline: May 1 South Arts Literary Arts Grant Program. 50% of the writers’ fees up to $2,500. www.southarts.org Deadline: May 5 burn magazine Emerging Photographer Fund Grant. $10,000. www.burnmagazine.org Residencies
Deadline: May 1 Colorado Art Ranch. (Ceramics, Drawing & Painting, Film, Media Art, Literature, Multi Media, Music & Sound, Photography, Performing Arts, Printmaking, Sculpture, Stone Carving, Textile, Visual Arts, Woodcraft). Livermore, CO, U.S. www.coloradoartranch.org Deadline: May 1 Dionysia. (Dance, Theatre, Film, Media Art, Literature, Multi Media, Music & Sound, Photography, Performing Arts, Visual Arts). Reykjavik, Iceland. www.dionysia.is Deadline: May 1 Norman Mailer Writers Colony. (Literature). Provincetown, U.S. www.nmwcolony.org Deadline: May 1 Rockefeller Foundation Bellagio Center. (Literature, Film, Multi Media, Visual Arts). Lake Como, Italy. www.rockefellerfoundation. org/bellagio-center Deadline: May 2 International Center of Art and Landscape at Vassiviere Island. (Design, Drawing & Painting, Media Art, Literature, Multi Media, Music & Sound, Photography, Sculpture, Visual Arts, Woodcraft). Beaumont du Lac, France. www. ciapiledevassiviere.com
Deadline: May 3 Banff Center for the Arts. (Dance, Theatre, Drawing and Painting, Media Art, Literature, Music and Sound, Sculpture, Textile). Banff, AB, Canada. www.banffcentre.ca Deadline: May 6 Neighbourhood Spaces. (Literature, Music, Performing Arts, Visual Arts). Essex County, ON, Canada. www. brokencitylab.org Deadline: May 7 Arcus Project. (Drawing & Painting, Media Art, Multi Media, Photography, Sculpture). Moriya, Ibaraki, Japan. www.arcus-project. com Deadline: May 10 Ox-Bow, School of Art and Artists’ Residency. (Ceramics, Drawing & Painting, Glass, Performing Arts, Printmaking, Sculpture). Saugatuck, MI, U.S. www.ox-bow.org Deadline: May 10 Seventh Gallery. (Dance, Bronze Foundry, Ceramics, Drawing & Painting, Jewellery, Media Art, Literature, Multi Media, Photography, Printmaking, Sculpture, Textile, Visual Arts, Woodcraft). Fitzroy, VIC, Australia. seventhgallery.org Deadline: May 10 White Rabbit Arts Residency. (Visual Arts). Nova Scotia, Canada. www. whiterabbitarts.ca Deadline: May 12 Residence Suddenly. (Dance, Drawing & Painting, Graphic Design, Film, Media Art, Literature, Music & Sound, Photography, Visual Arts). Beauchery-Saint-Martin, France. www.residencesuddenly.com
artist opportunities calendar (con’t), freedom heindl. Deadline: May 14 Thespace - Intensive Art Residency. (Visual Arts). Barcelona, Spain. thespace.es Deadline: May 15 Ragdale Foundation. (Applied Arts, Drawing & Painting, Jewellery, Media Art, Literature, Multi Media, Music & Sound, Stone Carving, Woodcraft). Lake Forest, IL, U.S. www.ragdale.org Deadline: May 15 Dar Al-Ma’mun. (Literature, Visual Arts). Marrakech, Morocco. www. dam-arts.org Deadline: May 15 College International des Traducteurs Litteraires. (Literature). Arles, France. www.atlas-citl.org
Deadline: May 20 Aomori Contemporary Art Center. (Drawing & Painting, Media Art, Multi Media, Music & Sound, Photography, Performing Arts, Visual Arts). Aomori, Japan. www. acac-aomori.jp Deadline: May 23 The Blank Residency. (Film, Media Art, Multi Media, Music & Sound, Photography, Performing Arts, Visual Arts). Bergamo, Italy. www. theblankresidency.it Deadline: May 24 Artscape Gibraltar Point. (Dance, Theatre, Drawing and Painting, Media Art, Literature, Multi Media, Music and Sound, Photography, Sculpture). Toronto Island, ON, Canada. www.soifischer.com
Deadline: May 1 The Quotable: Space issue. (Art, writing). thequotablelit.submittable. com/submit Deadline: May 1 Sawmill: Summer 2013 Issue. (Writing). thequotablelit. www. typecastpublishing.com/sawmillmagazine/ Deadline: May 1 Spark: July/August issue. (Writing). sparkanthology.org/submissionguidelines/ Anytime 491 Magazine. (Art, poetry). www.491magazine.com/ submission-guidelines/ Anytime Anobium. (Writing). anobiumlit. com/submit/
Deadline: May 15 Catoctin Mountain Park. (Drawing & Painting, Film, Media Art, Literature, Multi Media, Photography, Sculpture, Textile, Visual Arts, Woodcraft). Thurmont, MD, U.S. www.nps.gov/ cato/supportyourpark/artist-inresidence.htm
Deadline: May 30 Artist-in-Residence Krems. (Drawing & Painting, Media Art, Literature, Music & Sound, Photography). Austria. www.air-krems.at
Deadline: May 15 Terra Vivente Art Studio. (Drawing & Painting, Earth Works, Performance, Photography, Video). Campania, Italy. www.terraviventeartstudio. com
Deadline: May 30 Werkstatt Wendorf. (Theatre, Drawing & Painting, Film, Literature, Music & Sound, Photography). Wendorf, Germany. www. werkstattwendorf.de
Deadline: May 17 A Studio in the Woods. (Media Art, Literature, Multi Media, Music & Sound, Performing Arts, Visual Arts). New Orleans, LA, U.S. www. astudiointhewoods.org
Deadline: May 31 Lab 43. (Printmaking). Venice, Italy. www.lab43.it
Anytime Élan Magazine. (Art, Writing). elanlitmag.com/?page_id=6
Submissions
Anytime Filling Station. (Art, Writing). www. fillingstation.ca/submit
Deadline: May 30 AiR Celeaia Celje. (Visual Arts). Slovenia. www.celeia.info
Deadline: May 1 The Gap-Toothed Madness. (Art, writing). www.gaptoothedmadness. com
Anytime The Bad Version. (Writing). thebadversion.com/submit-to-thebad-version Anytime Barrelhouse: The Comedy Issue. (Writing). www.barrelhousemag. com/submissions/the-comedyissue/ Anytime Diabolique Magazine. (Writing). diaboliquemagazine.com/contact/ submissions/
Anytime Fjords Review. (Art, writing). www. fjordsreview.com/
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artist opportunities calendar (con’t), chris talbot-heindl. Anytime FRiGG. (Writing). www. friggmagazine.com/editors/ editors39.htm Anytime Jiggered. (Art, writing). www. jiggered.co.za/submit Anytime litbomb. (Writing). www.litbomb. co.uk/#/submissions/4572988060 Anytime Literati Magazine. (Art, writing). literatimag.com/?page_id=11 Anytime Moonshot. (Art, writing). moonshotmagazine.org/ submissions/
Anytime Silent Things. (Art, Writing). silentthings.com/about/ Anytime Slings and Arrows. (Writing). submissions@saamagazine.com. Anytime smoking glue gun. (Art, writing). smokinggluegun.com/contact/. Anytime The Speculative Edge (Sci fi, horror, fantasy). sites.google.com/site/ thespeculativeedge/submissions Anytime Spilt Magazine. (Writing, video). lukemuyskens@gmail.com.
Anytime Nostrovia! www.nostroviatowriting. com/publishing-opportunities.html Anytime OVS. (Art, writing). ovsmag.com Anytime Passages North. (Writing). passagesnorth.com/submissions/ Anytime Pithead Chapel. (Writing). pitheadchapel.com/submissionguidelines/ Anytime Poydras Review. (Art, writing). poydrasreview.submittable.com/ submit Anytime Retort. (Art, music, writing, video). retortmagazine.com/live/ submission-guidelines/ Anytime Roadside Fiction. (Writing). roadsidefiction.com.
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Lifedrawing 1, 4/13/13 Chris Talbot-Heindl Ink and gouache on paper www.talbot-heindl.com
Anytime Sword and Saga Press. (Writing). www.swordandsagapress.com/ Submissions.php Anytime The View From Here. (Fiction). www.viewfromheremagazinesubmissions.com/ Anytime Word Riot. (Writing). www.wordriot. org/submissions
If you would like to see your opportunity in The Bitchin’ Kitsch next month, please email the details to chris@talbot-heindl.com.
ross brown. 500mg of Boxytocin By: Ross Brown
‘Darling, have you had your vitamins?’ It’s good to be married. He might have forgotten those vitamins had it not been for his lovely wife. Multivitamin, cod-liver oil and the weekly shot of Boxytocin. As usual, he’d avoid the one that contained oestrogen - he didn’t want a set of tits. Even still, this would hardly have mattered - Dawn would be attracted to him regardless of how he looked. The effects of the vitamins and the cod liver oil were dubious. But for the placebo, he couldn’t be certain that they did anything at all. The benefits of Boxytocin, however, were indisputable. He palmed the pills into his mouth one at a time. The multivitamin descended with ease, using up his small stock of saliva. The cod liver oil tablet felt as though it was tumbling in slow motion, clinging helplessly to mucus in his throat. Now for the important one. There might have been something tragic about this scene had it been filmed to emotive music. As it was, he stood in a modern kitchen, surrounded by conventional food and cookery tools. He felt calm and there was no music. It was a normal day. Although he was happy to go through this ritual, the thought of Dawn doing it often chewed at his stomach. He wanted to feel love for her forever and this was the solution, yet he wished that his wife didn’t need to do it. She should feel love for him without pharmacological intervention. It was now 43 years since they’d met. They’d quickly announced their discovery of the truth behind the feeling that had begot the art of poetry. Gradually, things had begun to slip, as things do. When those endless days came to the close that no one quite believes in, they had been left with two children. The children were loved, there was no doubt about that. Brent and Dawn had never been guilty of parental apathy, which was just as well: adding that to the Boxytocin cocktail would be another thing altogether though it wasn’t impossible. Brent often thought of the benefits they had missed out on - if only they’d been able to raise children in an obviously loving partnership. Unfortunately, it was only when Lina, their younger child, had left for university that Boxytocin had become available. Perhaps the benefits would have made no difference - it was almost impossible to tell.
They could have done with it long before - Brent had relied on silent chanting, repeating positive phrases in an attempt to reverse his tread from emotional satisfaction. He’d also suffered from depression, using various pills to level his moods. Dawn’s work had regularly taken her abroad, which had exercised Brent’s propensity for vicious jealousy. In the end, he got what he half-wanted - Dawn admitted to having committed adultery with a far-flung social connection. ‘Do you love that ugly, shite, cunt?!’ he’d asked. She’d denied this, using every persuasive word and tool at her disposal. Company-funded Martinis were to blame, she’d said. She’d also suggested that Brent’s jealousy and depression had pushed her away. They’d engaged in exhausting philosophical wranglings over the conclusiveness of Dawn’s non-monogamous impulse. Eventually, they’d reached a decision: this needn’t be the end, but they did require some biochemical assistance. Neither was so blinkered to think that much in life permits clear calculations; however, they were united in the belief that sex is sex and love is love... It hadn’t simply been a case of taking the easier option; Brent knew that for all his hurt, Dawn was the woman he wanted. Although the years had eroded the Hollywood blissfulness of the relationship, he believed in solid reasons for staying with her. Even now, having been transported back to the romantic obsessive stage, he felt small tugs of betrayal. The genius of Boxytocin was that it dissolved his need to lean on jealousy to prove to himself how he felt. It also made him far more grateful for what he had. As he thought of her now, it was amazing how many common pitfalls Boxytocin had allowed him to avoid. He might have considered her bosom to be crepey. He might have been repelled by the smell of everything organic breaking down. But this wasn’t the case; she was still beautiful. As he prepared himself for the resurgence of a glorious high, an unwanted thought occurred to him: should I really have to do this? He quickly dispelled this inconvenient point, blaming the ignorant freedom of his talking mind. He swallowed the pill. Brent felt an instant excitement and looked around his kitchen in satisfaction. He stared at a decorative bottle of whisky. As rays of sunlight passed through it, there was something glorious about the auburn liquid, but only visibly; he felt no urge to drink it. 7
afzal moolla, eddy habib. The Swaying of the Grass
i want YOU to dream about ME en francais; or He Who Jumps First Loses
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i.
By: Afzal Moolla
A path leads, to where wild grass grows, sashaying in the summer breeze. 2.
Along the path, lightness settles within, feeling the grass, swooning, tickling ankles, swaying to the lilting bird-song, in a dance of intimate abandon, brushing the remnants of pain away. 3.
Melodies float across fields of green, delicately caressing my heart, teasing emptiness to flee, comforting the mind, to silently be. 4.
Walking on, savouring the peace, a momentary respite, from the burdens of the now, all is quiet, a stillness cradling fractured emotions, the grass in the fields sway, dusk descends,
By: Eddy Habib
I am trying to convince you that you made a mistake a lapse of judgment based on not knowing all the facts, faulty research. I am trying to convince you by looking over at you and smiling and not making it seem like I’m too dejected from my failed attempt to court you. I want to leave my body to look at myself from your eyes but I’m blurry and dull barely sharp enough to cut butter. Zooming in at 3x magnification I am a sad sad zit-faced yearbook picture saddled between prom queen and the blank space signifying the student was not present on picture day. (“J’ai utilisé de rêver en français”, she says. “C’était assez cool. Je ne fais pas plus.”) ii.
I keep smoking bowl after bowl to see if I can get higher than ever before. Sometimes I pretend I am a monk meditating on the great spirit and trying to achieve Nirvana (an earlier draft contained a Pearl Jam joke.ed), something wholly other from this world. Lately I’ve started praying when I’m taking a shit, but not to your god or your God but a god who thinks that what I’m doing at that moment is beautiful. Taking a shit is probably the most Zen thing you can possibly do though shitting outside might be a bit more Zen and being the shit itself is probably a level of Zen that would blow your mind. I am probably wrong about what Zen is.
nudging dimming light to take leave,
I’ve been spending a lot of time hating the smell of my own body. No one else can smell it. The odor is sweaty relish, strong and potent like the stuff is packed densely into my armpits.
of the day
shadows lengthen,
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eddy habib (con’t), jan haskell, andrew peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE, mandal bijoy beg, doug draime. iii.
Starting tomorrow I will not see or hear from you until after the New Year. I need this time to try and stop liking you. Maybe it will be easy like a blood transfusion.
Untitled
By: Jan Haskell All my heart has are words, words that seem inadequate in expression to you. Worst of all, today, I find myself a mute
A Change
By: Mandal Bijoy Beg There was a time I was passionate In mundane attachment, But now, I am passionate To attain yoga And salvation A change !
Zoot Sims Crying By: Doug Draime softly through the gruesome plaster walls There were bloody screams earlier of fuck you, asshole! and I’ll kill you, bitch! And something horrid like screaming death pounding again and again on the unyielding linoleum floor But now there is only jagged laughter, the clanging of glasses and Zoot Sims his sax crying Autumn Leaves softly through the gruesome plaster walls so softly grtz Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE Digital Illustration
it breaks my heart again
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cindy small. Screaming Mimi’s Café By: Cindy Small
The Ruby Red Slipper Retirement Home for Aging Drag Queens was located in Savoie, Louisiana (population 783). It was imperative that aging drag queens counted on sustenance and continuous noshes in a most pleasant appetizing surrounding. Queensie, resident manager, decorated Screaming Mimi’s Café with a Spanish flair matching his Carmen Miranda alter-ego. Inside the dining room, things not real were real. A large dining room had dimmer switches — (“makes everyone look pretty, ya know”) — and bright white stars hand-painted on the dark blue ceiling. Spanish shawls draped over fake balconies that Queensie built himself with leftover plywood from his favorite Homo Depot store. His resident girls fantasized they were dining inside a Spanish palace in Madrid. Murals of nude male flamenco dancers were painted on dark crimson red walls while salsa melodies played in the background. This was not just about digesting three meals a day; it was a glamorous place for retired drag folk who savored civilized Southern dining. And the food was “slap-yomama’s-ass” good! Queensie wanted familiar Southern food for his hefty ladies —waffles with fried chicken, fried plantains, lox and bagels for the Jewish gays, and strong chicory coffee and beignets for the Catholics gays. However, on special occasions, he made creative cocktails and penis cakes while offering lap dances to residents in his Carmen Miranda outfit. Lunch and dinner depended on the day of the week. Mondays was red beans and rice since the gays had to do their laundry all day; Tuesdays was spaghetti and meatballs; Wednesdays was fried chicken; Thursdays was meatloaf and mashed potatoes; and Fridays always a seafood dish plucked fresh out of Lake Pontchartrain. Two waitresses worked the restaurant. Stella Mae owned the mornings and Hairy Mary was the evening shift. Both were over six-foot four, a forty-six-inch pant size, with puffy auburn wigs, flip flops, white nurses’ dresses and matching vintage nursing caps. Hairy Mary was known for her hairy toes and flip-flops and prepared you for a buzz-kill appetite. They both loved the perk of free food and as much as the whalebones in their girdles could handle. “Where y’at dawlin’?” Stella Mae and Hairy Mary 10
announced, taking orders. “You want yer seafood in batta, dawlin’?” Hairy Mary mumbled with pen in hand. “You want yer ersters dressed wit lots of mayo and a red drink?” She knew exactly how to work the room and what each resident wanted every day of the week. “Awright, heart, gib me some of dem shrimps wit lots of mayo! An trow in one a dem alligator pears” (New Orleans avocados), a diner announced across the room. “Whatever you ax for, sweet potato.” If a resident had a birthday, Hairy Mary and Stella Mae slammed through the double chrome kitchen doors carrying the biggest sheet cake shaped pyramid. Chocolate with caramel icing, a dozen blond Ken dolls dressed in long, red, sequined dresses perched in a circle on top of the cake. Each wore a rhinestone tiara attached on their heads with the word “QUEEN” mounted just perfectly. Mary and Stella knew that if they dropped that damn cake, some hormonallyimbalanced drag queen would take hot candelabra candles from the table and gouge out eyeballs. Cake or death? Queensie knew that damn sheet cake would arrive fluffy and fresh, with no debauchery allowed. Following each decadent meal, the girls flowed into the “dance galley” for a little twist-and-shakin’-a-booty. Short, stout Bang Bang had a tiny fashion emergency when he twisted his ankle sliding into his long-lined girdle before dinner one evening. No time for an E.R. visit. Problem solved. He wrapped his foot in an Ace bandage, covered it in foil paper, scrunched the ends while hot-gluing black lace and pink bows on top. His leg was propped on an arm chair at the dining table and became an exquisite sculpture for the evening. Bang Bang received so much attention and, most important, he didn’t feel cheap and poor. One of Queensie’s best friends, Edna Earl, smashed on copious amounts of dirty martinis, had a chard of steak relocate inside her throat. All hell broke loose and Queensie remained calm. He sashayed behind Edna’s chair, wrapped his huge burly arms around her sequined dress and pushed. Out flung the charred piece of steak across the table! Edna Earl, most relieved, took a wee sip of martini (just to flush any remnants down), straightened his jewelry, and cleared his voice while dancing resumed.
cindy small (con’t), christopher mulrooney, sarah-jean krahn. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, sweetie, I thought I was going on to my sweet rewards. I need to give big money to Saint Jude tomorrow,” said Edna Earl with relief. After all, he was a devout Catholic, attended Our Lady of Lourdes Church each morning of his life, and drank like a fish. “Enough already with the Saint Jude. Look, bitch, hang on to your money; there’s lots of shopping in our future!” demanded Queensie. Queensie decided to make a speech after saving Edna’s life on that particular Saturday night. It calmed the girls’ last nerves. Queensie then toasted the crowd with his crystal goblet, and the residents cheered. He wanted to blow out the candles quickly on the cake and have everybody get the hell out. In his mind, when the party was over, enough was enough. Queensie, always nervous and on high alert, wanted to be home at the Ruby Red Retirement Home on his Temperpedic mattress with a good book of porn and a vodka tonic. He believed it safest being in bed smoking a Viceroy along with a hand mirror, probing facial pimples. As dinner ended, the girls dove into the cake with one last finger lick, smacked their lips and were as content as fat cats on a porch in summer. Eventually, all the retirees were in a sugar coma. It was time to return back to their rooms, slap wigs off sweaty scalps, unsnap bustiers, kick off stilettos, and fall into bed. Just another evening of fine dining at the Ruby Red Slipper Retirement Home. For aging drag queens. Who loved to bitch.
a very little lawyer By: Christopher Mulrooney
we were there to see the show he stepped into it like a showman out of the ranks a Washington insider a member of the Cabinet for Christ’s sake the charitably disposed might have mentioned Pope in his little suit afterward they named it City of Creatives
The new princess wars By: Sarah-Jean Krahn
To form a female ball, to reproduce and grow eroticized, to worry all the neighbours Requires a finely-tuned balance: A pluripotent pink chromosome, secreted by primary germs, results in two waste daughter cells, furious At each other’s wounds:
Arms on Monday, legs on Tuesday, Wednesday early cleavage
Nipple-bleeding Thursday, dielectric Friday, post-surgery bikini
Saturday things can get ugly on an untucked belly
Sunday drags by with boots to the knees and passively acquired circumference.
She says: “The person I am caring for is only a body” just like the mother cell She says: “I like the simplicity of the out fit” found 60 miles from her apartment
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tyler furo. Speculative Disconnect: On Sodomy, Homoeroticism, and Modern Homosexuality By: Tyler Furo
Sodomy was prevalent in early modern Italy. It was particularly prevalent in Florence,1 and in Venice, where “the vice had now become so much a habit” it was “commonplace.”2 The word sodomy is an umbrella term for acts “contra naturama” or “against nature,” including all non-procreative bestial, homosexual and heterosexual acts, even between spouses. Therefore, one who is a sodomite should not, based on this label, be assumed to be either homosexual or heterosexual in the modern sense. In reality, a binary concept of sexual attraction, homo versus hetero, simply did not exist in early modern Italy. Men were assumed to be attracted to, or at least capable of being attracted to, both women and boys equally.3 This assumption is inherited from the antique and thereby inherently misogynistic. Intergenerational gay sex was acceptable by normative standards of Italian culture because boys were separated from men socioeconomically and hierarchically, and often dependent on adult men even into their twenties.4 Through language, particularly sexist epithets,5 and unequal sexualization, men likened boys to women, therefore hetero-normalizing sex between men and boys.6 This ultimately reinforced a social hierarchy that maintained the younger male generation in an economically stagnant, delayed adolescence.7 The prevalence of sodomy does not imply homosexual identity on behalf of Italian men or boys, but actually operated to reinforce socially encouraged hierarchies of age and gender, in a culturally specific context. One could argue that the anti-sodomitical crusades of Gianfrancesco Pico della Mirandola and Fra Girolamo Savonarola, aimed especially at adult male sodomites who transcended the gendered restrictions of intergenerational sex, ironically gave voice to a theretofore un-conceptualized personal sexual identity, the self as homosexual.8 I will not argue for that concept as given fact, but it has a grain of truth. Identities are often formed in opposition to otherness and/or oppression, usually in preparation for war. In varying degrees during Florentine history, war was waged against sodomy and sodomites. Two thirds of Florentine men were, before age forty, indicted on sodomy.9 Many, 12
like Leonardo da Vinci, were not convicted. Some, like Benvenuto Cellini, were convicted but avoided jail. The wealthy, both men and women, were generally able to avoid morals charges or paid only small fines for sexual embroilments. However, even though some evaded punishment, sodomy was indeed heavily policed and at times severely punished. In Florence there was, from 1432 to 1502, the Office of the Night, an anti-sodomy gang of mostly youths that patrolled the streets.10 Alleged sodomites could be jailed or executed.11 In imaging the connection between our society and early modern Italy, we must acknowledge the cultural construction of sex and psychosomatic (dis)associations of gender and biology. From there, we may speculate that the identity of modern homosexuality perhaps evolved, in a small part if at all, in opposition to the antisodomitical rhetoric typified by Pico della Mirandola and Savonarola. Perhaps due, in part, to the prevalence of sodomy in early modern Italy, many of its philosophizers and artists have been deconstructed in light of their alleged sexual preferences. One aspect of Renaissance art that has been particularly analyzed as mirroring modern homosexuality is the homoeroticism perceived in portraits of male youth. The homoerotic elements of male Renaissance portraits serve several iconographical functions: aesthetic, Neoplatonic and Christian. Art was believed capable of inspiring in its viewer the positive qualities of its subject, and art as inspirational model for youth was particularly prevalent, even if its idealized portrayal did more to assuage adult fears about youth than it did inspire anticipated behavior.12 The supposed beauty, or erotic attractiveness, one finds in Renaissance portraits of male youth may be in some cases the result of its creator’s or patron’s personal sexual preferences. However, the aesthetic qualities of beauty, and of nudity, which have been implicated in homoerotic readings of early modern Italian art, have cultural origin and significance, unrelated to modern homosexuality, which took precedence in iconographical intent. If sodomy operated as social conflation of boys and women, so too did the aesthetics of beauty and nudity as seen in portraiture of male youth. Beauty, nudity and youth coalesced in conveyance of spiritual virtue. In On Painting, Alberti states, in non-gendered language, that “round and delicate” features should be used to represent “youthful members.” Alberti goes on to entreat “we ought to give our every care to discovering
tyler furo (con’t). and learning beauty.”13 This beauty, representational of spiritual virtue, applied to women and boys, in conjunction with a gender likening enacted through sodomy and patriarchal self-protection. Round and delicate features rendered androgynously, and the search for beauty, are to be found in the work of Leonardo da Vinci. An often cited example is Leonardo’s Saint John the Baptist [Fig. 1] (1515).
Fig. 1 Leonardo da Vinci, Saint John the Baptist, c. 1515. Oil on wood, 69 x 57 cm. Paris.
Leonardo is typically described as homosexual because he was charged with sodomy, supposedly with the apprentice who modeled for Saint John, though not convicted, and because he socialized within a circle of “overtly gay” men.14 Sigmund Freud, Sander L. Gilman
and others have dissected Leonardo’s sexual identity and its relationship to his artistic output. Leonardo may have understood heterosexuality and homosexuality as equally diseased, and his writing and art, public or semi-private, may have been the distillation of his perceived Otherness.15 Maybe, but more than likely this interpretation is conjectural. Leonardo’s reputation as a homosexual is reputation only. Meanwhile, the androgyny of his artistic subjects reflects Neoplatonic ideals of beauty more than it implies sexual or sodomitical confession. The homoerotic reading of male youth portraiture also considers artworks depicting antiquarian allegories of homosexual subtext. Such allegories were popularized by Neoplatonism, and subjects include Apollo, Hyacinth and Ganymede. Representations of these allegories have been understood to convey messaging regarding their given artist’s sexual preferences. Two artists in particular, Benvenuto Cellini and Michelangelo Buonarroti, have been singled out as imbuing their artistic renderings of antique allegory with psychosexual subtext. Benvenuto Cellini was convicted of sodomy twice. The second time he avoided jail by undergoing house arrest in Cosimo de’Medici’s palace. Although Cellini publically acknowledged a sodomitical leaning, he was also a
Herzig, Tamar, “The Demons’ Reaction to Sodomy: Witchcraft and Homosexuality in Gianfrancesco Pico della Mirandola’s ‘Strix,’” The Sixteenth Century Journal 34:1 (2003): 65. 2 Chambers & Pullan, (c) Homosexual practices unpunished, 1509 from “Crime and Punishment” Documents from Part III, “Law, Order and Social Policy,” section 6, “The Defence of Morality.” 3 Trumbach, Randolph, “The Transformation of Sodomy from the Renaissance to the Modern World and Its General Sexual Consequences,” Signs 37:4 (2012): 832-838. 4 Fulton, Christopher, “The Boy Stripped Bare by His Elders: Art and Adolescence in Renaissance Florence,” Art Journal 56:2 (1997): 31-32. 5 Chambers & Pullan, (c) Homosexual practices unpunished, 1509 from “Crime and Punishment” Documents from Part III, “Law, Order and Social Policy,” section 6, “The Defence of Morality.” 6 Rocke, Michael, “Gender and Sexual Culture in Renaissance Italy,” in Gender and Society in Renaissance Italy, eds. Judith C. Brown, Robert C. Davis (New York: Longman, 1998): 156. 7 Fulton, Christopher, “The Boy Stripped Bare by His Elders,” 31-32. 8 Herzig, Tamar, “The Demons’ Reaction to Sodomy,” 72. 9 Rocke, Michael, “Gender and Sexual Culture in Renaissance Italy,” 166. 10 Ibid., 165. 11 Ibid., 170. 12 Fulton, Christopher, “The Boy Stripped Bare by His Elders,” 31-33. 13 Alberti, Leon Battista, episode on “Zeuxis” from On Painting, 1435-36 in On Painting, trans. and notes John R. Spencer, rev. ed. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1966), 93. 14 Gilman, Sander L., “Leonardo Sees Him-Self: Reading Leonardo’s First Representation of Human Sexuality,” Social Reasearch 54 (1987): 151. 15 Ibid., 165-167. 1
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tyler furo (con’t). notorious braggadocio who fathered several children out of wedlock.16 Whatever his personal feelings were, his behavior evades any easy reckoning of the binaurally sexual. One Cellini work is Apollo and Hyacinth [Fig. 2] (1545-48), a sculpture based on a myth that explicitly relates same-sex love. This sculpture conveys tenderness between its subjects, Apollo and Hyacinth, but nevertheless reflects as well the intergenerational restrictions on Renaissance homosexuality. One discerns these restrictions in Apollo and Hyacinth not only through the ages of its subjects, but the clearly unequal presentation of their deportment, exemplified by Hyacinth’s subservient, kneeling position. That said, the work may have resonated nostalgically for Cellini, perhaps sexually, as evinced by that fact that he installed this sculpture in his workshop throughout much of his life. Fig. 2 Benvenuto Cellini, Apollo and Hyacinth, 1545-48. Marble. Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence.
Michelangelo Buonarroti is another artist of the Renaissance whose homoerotic depiction of male youth in antique allegorical context has factored into deconstruction of the relationship between sexual self and artistic expression. Although Michelangelo is known to have written poetry regarding heterosexual experience, “relations with men were more likely and more frequent.”17 In particular, Michelangelo’s relationship with Tommaso de’Cavalieri, his writings to and about Tommaso, and the “presentation drawings” that Michelangelo gave to Tommaso, have been decoded as reflecting Michelangelo’s homosexual desire.18 Michelangelo’s poetry does in fact convey some emotional fervor for Tommaso. For example, Michelangelo writes about Tommaso: “You know that I know, my Lord, you know I have to come to enjoy you closer by; You know I know you know that it is I, 14
So why put off our greetings longer now? If you the hope you have given me is true, And true the good desire that’s granted me, Let the wall set between us fall away, For there is double power in secret woe.”19 This sonnet depicts not only a shared closeness between Michelangelo and Tommaso, but a shared secret. What is it exactly that Michelangelo and Tommaso “know” about the other? What is this “secret woe,” hindered yet empowered by duality? Perhaps it is the shared attraction of men, disparate by decades in age, yet nearly socioeconomically equal. Whatever Tommaso’s feelings were, Michelangelo’s desire for Tomasso and his conflict therein is exemplified not only in his poetry but in the “presentation drawings” which he gave to Tomasso. The “presentation drawings” are a group of four drawings, Neoplatonic in subject, which Michelangelo gave to Tomasso. The fact that Michelangelo requested Tomasso not share these drawings suggest a deeper resonance of meaning. That meaning has been interpreted as homosexual desire and a conflict therein. Two of the “presentation drawings” are The Rape of Ganymede [Fig. 3] and Tityos [Fig. 4]. The Rape of Ganymede has been interpreted as Michelangelo’s justification of desire for Tommaso by relating that desire to spiritual virtue. Ganymede was shorthand iconography for pederasty, but its allegory and iconography also represented spiritual aspiration. Fig. 3 Michelangelo, The Rape of Ganymede, 1532-33. Fogg Art Museum.
Fig. 4 Michelangelo, Tityos. Royal Collection, Windsor Castle, London, UK.
This spiritual aspiration is psychologically conveyed through Ganymede’s physical conveyance upwards,
tyler furo (con’t). to the heavens, towards intellectual and spiritual enlightenment.20 The Neoplatonic grounding of Ganymede’s ascension is found, in one example, in Masilio Ficino’s written statement that “our soul by means of the intellect and will, as by those twin Platonic wings, flies toward God, since by means of them it flies towards all things.”21 Tityos, unlike Ganymede, has on the other hand been interpreted as reflecting Michelangelo’s deep-seated discomfort regarding homosexual desire, based on the Tityos myth’s association of sexual desire with negative consequence.22 Of particular interest is the nearly identical physical rendering of Ganymede and Tityos as drawn by Michelangelo. However justified or conflicted in erotic nature Michelangelo’s feelings about Tommaso may have been, he nevertheless, as seen in Ganymede and Tityos, cloaked those feelings in the socially acceptable terms of Neoplatonism. Homoeroticism of male youth is also recognized by modern scholars in Renaissance Christian imagery, particularly of St. John and St. Sebastian. In the same way Neoplatonic art pedestaled beauty and nudity, so did art featuring Christian subjects. Leonardo, Raphael and Baroque bad-boy Caravaggio all portrayed St. John nearly nude or nude. Yet the intention of St. John’s disrobement, in Christian and cultural context, is not sexual but symbolic. Its symbolism conveys piety through exposure before God, as well as disavowal of earthly, material trappings. If an eroticism, presumed on disrobement, is found in a St. John painting, its disrobement can be understood as religious.23 Additionally, while the homoeroticism of a St. John painting may privately be the transposition of artist’s or patron’s sexual preference, that is secondary to both religious intent and the beautifying trends of Neoplatonism.
Like St. John, St. Sebastian, the Roman Christian martyr, is also frequently portrayed by Renaissance artists as disrobed, with homoerotic subtext available to those who seek it. Homoerotic readings of portraits of St. Sebastian have applied to Sandro Botticelli’s St. Sebastian [Fig. 5] and Guido Reni’s St. Sebastian [Fig. 6]. Botticelli’s androgynous males recall those of Leonardo’s, fostering much of the modern association between Botticelli and homosexuality; but just as with Leonardo, delineation of homosexual subtext is possible but mostly conjectural. Reni, “generally thought [to be] a virgin” who “lived without the services of women,” also painted men who resembled women.24 Fig. 5 Botticelli, St. Sebastian, 1474. Staatliche Museen, Berlin.
Fig. 6 Guido Reni, St. Sebastian, 1615. Capitoline Museum.
The disrobement of his St. Sebastian reflects biblical passage and symbolic nakedness before God. St. Sebastian’s passive expression represents Christian piety, while his nudity and demeanor have specific
Saslow, James M., Ganymede in the Renaissance: Homosexuality in Art and Society (New Haven: Yale Press, 1986): 142-143. Wallace, William, Michelangelo: The Artist, the Man, and His Times (New York: Cambridge Press, 2010), 43. 18 Salsow, Ganymede in the Renaissance, 17-62. 19 Buonarroti, Michelangelo, Complete Poems and Selected Letters of Michelangelo, trans. Creighton Gilbert, ed. Robert N. Linscott (New York: Modern Library, 1965), 38. 20 Salsow, Ganymede in the Renaissance, 21-33. 21 Ficino, Marsilio, “The Soul of Man,” The Portable Renaissance Reader, 391. 22 Salsow, Ganymede in the Renaissance, 34-35. 23 Fulton, Christopher, “The Boy Stripped Bare by His Elders,” 33-34. 24 Malvasia, Carlo Cesare, on Guido Reni from Felsina pittrice, Vite de ‘pittori bolognesi, 2 vols. (Bologna, 1678) as in Enggass and Brown, 88-91. 16 17
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tyler furo (con’t). religious associations in Renaissance culture.25 This representation and the Christian root of its symbolism does not negate a homoerotic power emanated from St. Sebastian, it just precedes it. Imagery of St. Sebastian, and by extension all Renaissance depictions of male youth, can indeed have homoerotic meaning to the viewer. The best example of Renaissance art’s homoerotic pull on the modern viewer comes from Yukio Mishima’s autobiography, wherein he describes Reni’s St. Sebastian: “[E]ven this painting of the death of a Christian saint has about it a strong flavor of paganism. The youth’s body—it might even be likened to that of Antinous, beloved of Hadrian, whose beauty has been so often immortalized in sculpture—shows none of the traces of missionary hardship or decrepitude that are to be found in depictions of other saints; instead there is only the springtime of youth, only light and beauty and pleasure.”26 Mishima goes on to describe his psychosexual connection to St. Sebastian, as ignited by Reni’s work, in increasingly graphic terms. Clearly, depictions of the male body, beautiful and disrobed, can elicit a strong sexual response. Even so, that does not negate the primarily non-sexual iconographical functions of aesthetics, Neoplatonism and Christianity. In conclusion, sodomy is not homosexuality, and sodomitical actions of early modern Italians do not translate to the modern homosexual identity. Nonetheless, it has become commonplace to read the lives and works of several artists—Leonardo da Vinci, Benvenuto Cellini, Michelangelo and Guido Reni among others—through the lens of their assumed sexual orientation. This reading often confuses context with modern sexuality and categorizations thereof. Investigations of a psychoanalytic or biographical nature absolutely matter, as well as the impact of an artist’s individual identity, sexual and otherwise, on his work. We still however, as modern interpreters, must separate our precepts and presets from the sociological historicity of sexual construction. We must acknowledge cultural construction and its indirect shaping of artistic creation. Finally, we must acknowledge our biases,
as well as the truth that we simply cannot know the personal desires of Leonardo, Michelangelo or others, nor can we adequately imagine the constructs of their social world, no matter how enjoyable we find the speculation. Bibliography
Alberti, Leon Battista. “Zeuxis.” In On Painting (1435-36), trans. and notes John R. Spencer, rev. ed., 93. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1966. Buonarroti, Michelangelo, Complete Poems and Selected Letters of Michelangelo, trans. Creighton Gilbert, ed. Robert N. Linscott, 38. New York: Modern Library, 1965. Chambers & Pullan, (c) Homosexual practices unpunished, 1509 from “Crime and Punishment” Documents from Part III, “Law, Order and Social Policy,” section 6, “The Defence of Morality.” Ficino, Marsilio. “The Soul of Man.” In The Portable Renaissance Reader, 387-395. Fulton, Christopher. “The Boy Stripped Bare by His Elders: Art and Adolescence in Renaissance Florence.” Art Journal 56:2 (1997): 31-40. Gilman, Sander L. “Leonardo Sees Him-Self: Reading Leonardo’s First Representation of Human Sexuality.” Social Research 54 (1987): 149-171. Herzig, Tamar. “The Demons’ Reaction to Sodomy: Witchcraft and Homosexuality in Gianfrancesco Pico della Mirandola’s ‘Strix.’” The Sixteenth Century Journal 34:1 (2003): 55-72. Malvasia, Carlo Cesare, on Guido Reni from Felsina pittrice, Vite de ‘pittori bolognesi, 2 vols. (Bologna, 1678) as in Enggass and Brown, 88-91. Mishima, Yukio. Confessions of a Mask. New York: New Directions, 1958. Rocke, Michael. “Gender and Sexual Culture in Renaissance Italy.” In Gender and Society in Renaissance Italy, eds. Judith C. Brown, Robert C. Davis, 150-170. New York: Longman, 1998. Salsow, James M. “Michelangelo: Myth as Personal Imagery.” In Ganymede in the Renaissance: Homosexuality in Art and Society, 17-62. New Haven: Yale Press, 1986. Trumbach, Randolph. “The Transformation of Sodomy from the Renaissance to the Modern World and Its General Sexual Consequences.” Signs 37:4 (2012): 832-838. Wallace, William. Michelangelo: The Artist, the Man, and His Times. New York: Cambridge Press, 2010.
Fulton, Christopher, “The Boy Stripped Bare by His Elders,” 31-40. Mishima, Yukio, Confessions of a Mask (New York: New Directions, 1958), 39.
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gautam sen, janna payne, gerald bosacker. Nobody’s Truth
By: Gautam Sen
There was no CCTV footage of the happening, But it didn’t happen The way it was shown on TV -The first of the TV photographers arrived there An entire three minutes After it had taken place, And a lot had happened In that tiny stretch of time. After all, it might take one just a second or two To die Or become a cripple. What the TV photographers showed Were interpreted one way By the government, And in a different way By the opposition – Both were thoroughly convinced Of the soundness of their positions,
On which they held forth In several news conferences And TV programs, And which they bolstered With specious, “infallible” evidence. Of course, the three minutes they missed out on Was never on their conscience.
Or hurled it to the ground And stamped on it, Or proceeded to pour kerosene over it And set it on fire. Or carried out permutations and combinations Of these things,
The only person Who knew the real truth, The only eye-witness, Was Nobody, A single person, An individual with no Political or organizational affiliations, A humble man without a swagger, And when he placed his truth before the world, This is what they did with it: They ignored it, Or ridiculed it, Or spat on it, Or tore it up in pieces,
There were some who commiserated with Nobody And feelingly placed their hands On his shoulders. Wanly he smiled at them, And went his way, Knowing that the truth would always remain stored in his mind, like in a safe deposit vault, And wondering whether there were more stars in the sky Or truths that did not see The light of day.
snare
Don’t Call Me Fat
bind us together, lord, bind us together with cords that cannot be broken, we sing as i scan the premises for an exit, picturing myself: trapped in a snare, swamped in an interconnected web, stuck in eternity with the heavy breather next to me. no-thank-you. now i’m baby in the corner, picturing myself: running free, honouring my independent voice, bringing my truest, finest self into community. i’m on my own and in my glory until the reverend announces, we can’t escape—no matter where we end up— we carry the tradition in our hearts. no-thank-you-buddy. Much later, i realize, he’s right. baptisms, funerals and christmas eve, i catch myself: chanting the creeds, tapping my knees, accidentally singing along to my jesus, my saviour, lord there is none… gasping, pausing, re/membering midway through the chorus that i’ve changed and trailing off just in time to honour my truest finest self.
Doctors condemn obesity as diabetes plagues they assault, but fat-fried foods taste best to me when deluged with catsup and salt.
By: Janna Payne
By: Gerald Bosacker
King sized portions of Cola I drink, with true sugar, not that fake stuff plus giant refills too, I think, to really get myself enough. Out with folks, dining in a café, I harangue with insistent voice, for one with an endless buffet, but growing fat was not my choice.
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tendai r. mwanaka, lois mintah. Son of a Gun
By: Tendai R. Mwanaka Africa! birth you gave to beauty son of a gun are the beautiful ones Africa! in tears of blood over your sons slaying each other cold-bloodedly Africa! o, the bleeding carcass now youth who taste-not, sweet youth-hood but like innocent old man they strangle and are trigger-happy like strangers son of a gun, it is a gun you hold in Ethiopia, Angola, Eritrea, Algeria Egypt! son of a gun what have you chosen? the law or the gun, the light or the darkness son of a gun what have you chosen? hope or to despair, to live or to die son of a gun, is it the past or the future? blood spiralling everywhere, kith and kin like water it waters and quenches thirst to trees and grass, crops and animals tastes just look at what they are muck-wrecking in Sierra Leone, Liberia, Sahrawi, Lesotho Somalia! Africa! what hope of no war? what safe heaven have we left Africa! what peace is still left? when your soul wears away everyday Africa! what is truly yours now? oppression, ruthlessness, extermination gun-totting, blood-thirsty, in berserk a mayhem for power and pound’s sake behold the maddening self-destruction in Rwanda, Sudan, Uganda, Senegal Burundi! son of a gun, you have destroyed everything at whose flesh will your gun be pointed? son of a gun, what else will you destroy? at whose head will your gun be pointed? son of a gun, it will be pointed at your head
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death and sorrow is Africa’s history warring and killing is Africa today what will our sons inherit tomorrow? what grains have we harvested in The Congos, Gambia, Chad, Namibia Zimbabwe? Africa! now ravaged endlessly by famines, diseases, poverty, despair Africa! what then must we do? live and work together harmoniously Africa! it is the only hope we have.
The Visitors By: Lois Mintah
The Visitors come in the dead of night telling me something isn’t quite right. The world is in turmoil, in so much pain, who knows who is crazy and who is sane? Friends come and go, leaving me in their wake, with nary a thought or a care for my sake. The Visitors have large, hollow eyes of gray; They listen to everything that I say. The Visitors come so often, it’s true, I’m no longer sure who is visiting who. If you knock and the “occupied” light is red: The Visitors are here inside my head.
alon calinao dy, jnana hodson. Kiss in Heaven
By: Alon Calinao Dy
I know our life here on earth Is just one short breath Darling I’ll kiss you in heaven There we would feel no pain. I miss you when you’re gone. I’ve been thinking to follow you. But, what can I do? I’ve a little mission to be done. Darling I terribly miss you so much Someday I’ll meet you in heaven’s place There I’ll ask you again to marry me With a blessing by our Almighty God. My love, I know I feel very lonely now. Somehow, I will have a greeting kiss in heaven And my soul will be happy once again.
NO. 2
By: Jnana Hodson She gave nothing but her body and even there, she was stingy. She insisted I’m a talker who tries to impress rather than share true insights or communicate with my companion. To which I would add, listen fully. I’d balled only two girls. Some accomplishment. (This, by Christmas 1970. So was she was No. 2?) This girl, who had two shrinks. Or a decade later, the fiancée who claimed I was only her second.
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dana talbot-heindl, howie good, robert allen beckvall. The TRUTH About the TransActive Walnut Shell
By: Robert Allen Beckvall
There is a file, and it is classified. It tells the tale of a walnut and the faint light giving shell. The story includes the idea that there may be some things in this great wide world that cannot be explained by science or maybe even God stories. There was a family that ranched some land that had passed from generation to generation in some Texas region of dusty paradise. One day, the rancher and his daughter were out taking a walk. The girl saw something between a couple of rocks. It gave off a little bit of golden or maybe light blue light. This drew the girl to it. She picked it up and put it in her pocket. It was many years later that the rancher, after his kids had grown up and moved away and his wife had passed, was in his dimly lit adobe ranch house having some whiskey and watching some lie filled news show. Every time some bullshit came out of someone’s mouth, the faint light glowed. This caught the eye of the rancher. He still worked the ranch and mended fences and shot a coyote or two, but mostly drank whiskey and listened to Johnny and Willie and whittled like Jed Clampett.
On The Inside Dana Talbot-Heindl Graphite on newsprint www.talbot-heindl.com
The Middle of Nowhere By: Howie Good
She was doing her eyes in the rearview mirror as I drove. I felt a constant urge to give everyone the finger. She nodded as if this was normal, by which I mean something we shared. Passages of plagiarized music were running through my head. She told me she occasionally heard a series of gunshots, ten or more, on her voice mail. We might have been staring out at a sunlit picture of hell. Someone had left behind a pair of little brown birds in a crooked tree. 20
He took that damned walnut, and just for the heck of it, planted it outside the house and watered it. The story goes that the next morning when the paper man drove out in his pickup, his eyebrows lowered because he couldn’t remember that fairly large tree that was now just out front and to the right of the house. He shrugged his shoulders and tossed the paper. You could make out the brake lights through the dust. The only sounds were his breaks and some birds. The rancher got up and patted his dog, and threw a boot at the cat because he was eating a lizard in the house. He got the coffee started and went out the door and bent down to get the paper. The rustling leaves were a weird sound to his ears. He jumped back a bit, as that damned walnut tree had grown overnight. So the story goes.
jason ford, sy roth. The Depths of Inner Strength
They Cured Him
As I am reaching land which I desire to tread, I hear your words echoing in my head.
Featherdown comforter, coat of red cilia, saw him through cold and death. Sere freckled blanket fried by the sun, buffeted by frigid winds the Empire State Building could not crack, finally Benedict Arnolded him. Caught him unawares. Betrayed him.
By: Jason Ford
Your noble song is strengthening me with zeal As I am prepared to uncover what is real. Although a type of fear is one which still exists Inside my mind, a certain kind of strength persists. With strength of soul immersed inside my bones, I hear every single word that the song intones. The song is now leading me to a set of gates Where each shade of doubt dissolves as fear abates. I walk into a land which seems to be unknown And see no other people as I am left alone. Despite the loneliness which travels through the land, The song uploads my soul with strength that I understand. Only now, do I start to see where I truly stand As barren acres of land are ones which must expand. I start to learn of how a life exposed as bare Can come to find the tools which bring about repair. The experience of walking through a land so dry, Helps me to learn the skills which songs of hope supply.
By: Sy Roth
Mirrors were his friend. Reflected his red hair well even when it turned gray. The smile, chiseled fixture, froze in his fool’s paradise. His arms wrapped about his head in sweeping strokes, combed it back revealing a broad, crenellated brow etched with glimmers of hope. They said that they could cure him. Afterwards, the mirror refused the sham. Smileless foe stared back, lip corner turned down in a perpetual snarl, eye nerve snicked obstinately open, stream of tears, a steady Quasimodo reminder, flowed north to his brain. They did cure him, of his lust for life. Madness swallowed him whole.
Although a wind is blowing against my face and back With force unlike former times, my strength will never crack. The rough terrain instils a zeal which has transpired In my mind as I can walk without becoming tired. The words you sing within the song are proceeding Through my heart as shades of fear are receding. As strength of song combines with values I uphold, My deepest depths of zeal are ones which must unfold. This song of strength is breathing air into my soul As it advocates the noble virtues I extol.
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danielle dragona, mike cluff, andrew peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE. Midnight Apparition at Two A.M.
Untitled
It’s slightly paradoxical that I rely on you for solace, for relief from the horrors that seize me instantly upon opening my eyes each day. I curse the arrival of the morning sunlight, beaming like a jagged laser through my filthy bedroom window, shepherding in the arrival of a new day that I wish would never come. Dope driven fiend in Manhattan’s squalid streets. You’re my Savior. Messiah. Blasphemy blankets my tongue like a thick coat, warm denial. You’re there to resurrect me when truth is too close to touch, burning and tearing through my skin, flesh falling, suffocating reality. The glowing city lights. The dealer on the corner.
Jethro will wait by the stagnant sea and pray for a decent peach melba recipe his sparkling sports coat and mid-1880s timpani remain in sight of the sterile sea.
By: Danielle Dragona
When my brain is marred by today’s sunset or last night’s dawn, you quell my hunger with high powered dope, feeding my insatiable illusions, numbing my grief, anesthetizing, deadening until I feel human again. I buy serenity like a book off a shelf. I buy tranquility instead of enduring endless waiting for my guts to cease from crawling with gnawing regret that pangs in the hollow recess of where my core used to be. Everyone has a cross in life to bear. Mine just happens to be a divine aberration. A curse. I’ve become a stranger to myself. Walking death, sinking deeper into nothingness. You glow hot fire, demonic eyes that shine gentle ice. You’re a beatific vision, junkie man, a gift from the God Almighty to us below. We’re your apostles who line these city streets like beggars in waiting. You’re worthy of our prayers, magic man, who else can turn their blood into dope?
By: Mike Cluff
The bay window is grime free and the fish in the brook ‘neath the tree slander no one afore four thirty Jethro reads Malthus and Poe here a ways from the enviscerated city. In the meanwhile, Jethro sees the sea begin to wrinkle in its melbaed pity the fish move naught, not being free and the drum pounds out no melody yet Jethro remains in sight of a gleaming dullard sea.
And then she raised her young face to the black sky, glittering with burning stars, thanked God for His abundant harvest and without thinking, shot it right into a waiting vein screaming for nourishment, fulfillment, like a baby begging for another taste of mother’s milk from a weary nipple. Then dawn broke a second time.
Carl Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE Graphite on paper
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anthony ward, ron reikki, riley furmanek, michael ashley. Super Imposed By: Anthony Ward
She appears super imposed, Standing high above us, Stretching the heights Men aspire to conquer. Everyone looking up to her, In awe of her scale, Looking towards the celestial With their idyllic lives, Hoping they may be in with a shot As they get her within their sights, Sniping from the gutter For a perspective of the high life Climbing out of limousinesTheir bulbs flashing! Bearing their talents, Leaving nothing to the imagination. So exceptionable to see She’s practically endangered.
Scientific Screen Print Riley Furmanek Screenprint
Rejected Headlines for The Onion By: Ron Reikki
OBAMA TO MAKE HIS FIRST PRESIDENTIAL VISITATION TO ISRAEL IN THE SPRING SANTA MONICA MOUNTAINS: CEANOTHUS BLOOMS AT PEAK BUSINESS PLANS FOR 24-HOUR SUSHI DELIVERY IN LAS VEGAS MARCO RUBIO TO DELIVER GOP RESPONSE TO STATE OF THE UNION OBITUARY: PAUL TANNER DIES AT 95, GLENN MILLER ORCHESTRA TROMBONIST (note: he really did die)
Watching a fat girl cry on Jeremy Kyle By: Michael Ashley
I take a sip of warm coffee the lie detector test tells the girl that her partner (Kev) has had sexual contact with another girl in the last twelve months she falls to bits the small dirty fragments of something (with little meaning) scattering across the floor the camera zooms in for a close-up the audience gasps & I take a sip of warm coffee.
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roo bardookie and louis marvin. Spider and Fly: Collaborations and Works from Louis and Roo
By: Roo Bardookie and Louis Marvin
Death of books. The forgotten feel of a book in hand, where the weight was more than on your fleeting mind Of a whetted finger, that went for spittle but has a drop of blood from the silent tongue This drop your DNA giving you to the book, while the book enters and haunts your own soul-forever The great hunts are no more, in this cyberspace cold and clinically inviting, but as warm and cozy As shots in the arm or a steel table to lie upon while the doctor looks you up You were a hunter of words in the olden days, the library jungle and that great game knowledge Or maybe just the bird song, simple seussian or shel retreats Lit like the match that fires a sad nazi book burning Or a religious fervor elvis and beatles record smash-a-rama Cuz the devils in them hips and in them lennon words Popularity references and Jesus shakin’ his hips-good god! They are going away like ghost to the ceilings, like our minds in decline Our minds to the borg, assimilated and connected No original thoughts, in this cyber army minus the hand of God Or is he/she in there after all? This brain of ours, a sad noble creature who requires deep thought In a chair by a fire place or book surrounded library with hot rums Or hot teas and other books or references to times when the reading was like God creating It is now an afterthought or an inconvenience Now you capture and cage the books In your I this and I that, Pad and phones and lap top pop You shot it with ease, no hunting, just a credit card A book in hand, like your cock when father’s playboy collection was found A woman asks why do you always have it in your hand, to feel it, to mull over it To stimulate my mind, I must have the book-cock in hand What worlds has the cyber world eaten, and they want to have you invent things like they did In their garages, now they pour their billions into your educations so you can make the new monsters Like a mom and pop person operation crushed under the Godzilla foot of Walmart, where you can get these ghosts of books for cheap, like a washed up whore who needs KY jelly to turn her page You bleed into this one now with disdain Oh to the pretend world we fly through our finger tips Pretend mind die Pretend money buy Pretend bird fly Pretend truth lie 24
roo bardookie and louis marvin (con’t), douglas somers. Like a Sun in a pretend sky The books are dying Professors are crying How will the mothers read to their children? Ghost mothers reading to the ghost children in a ghost world Where no old books gather dust. Where we would come together and I human being with nose would smell the must, but melt that stale smell with the word that came from within this little tomb, and let it’s author live again in me. They have killed the hunting grounds, the game has died, the hunt is off.
cosmopolis douglas somers Print
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burton h. wolfe, chris talbot-heindl. Ode to Miss America
By: Burton H. Wolfe http://mindopeningbooks2.com
Rubescent lips with lustrous moisture drops, sparkling like dew on flower petals at dawn; Soldier-straight teeth, freed from barnacles, and shining white from their fiery red encirclement; Technicolor face, patted like a smooth wedding cake into unspoiled, untasted delectable; Strandless hair swept into a majestic black concinnity surpassing in nobility the tiara of treetops; Dual sounds of succulent flesh bunched and straining for release from their wonder-woman halter; And men, breathless, lusting impotently, wishing, fantasizing, wanting futilely, leaping at her with their wistful eyes, as they beat their hands together roaring like pained lions, or hippos, substituting shouts for orgasmic relief. But what will you be, Miss America, when the camouflage is stripped away from you and your breasts are popped loose from their bastion and you are what Nature has created, and not men? Suppose you were dressed in the coveralls of a farmer’s wife, or the apron of a cook or a baker or a scrub woman? Would you still be enchanting, Miss America? Would men lust for you and would they paste you whole or even in pieces in their publications and on their walls?
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I have seen wigged men dressed like you, painted like you, fleshed out like you, with birdseed for their foundation instead of pads or wires. I have seen them dressed in silk stockings with veinless legs like yours, curved into scintillating shapes from high-sceptered, dainty shoes that click metallically on the marble floor. Until their camouflage is removed along with yours, I cannot distinguish between them and you for love, even as I could not distinguish between soldiers on the battlefield to which I was sent for fighting. What, then, is your beauty, Miss America, and how should I celebrate it?
Lifedrawing 3, 4/13/13 Chris Talbot-Heindl Ink and gouache on paper www.talbot-heindl.com
kevin robillard, david schmidt. Wormwood
By: Kevin Robillard
Dropping signals, missing the pick-up lines Floating around, debris of hope in somber skies They’ve seen more somber Howling speculations shoot towards rocks that oversee The rules of the game are Want, pray, demand, polish off Funny papers are read, for a second a desperate plea is made After all shouldn’t there be at least a little consummation? Pointed fingers shoot towards the rocks oversea The rules stay the same, just different pieces now Want, pray, demand, polish off Myths are read, sycophants join clubs Fingers are crossed, pinky promises are made for the Apotheosis of Apophis to miss its appointment, late for the dice roll Worms, of course, are always there Loving to squirm about patiently In broken bits of a fallen tree that fell so gracefully, holy wood, for Wormwood to finally approach as well, a brash hero Blazes forth, in a flaming glory, as a chariot of fire Hope that trumpeter has his instrument tuned to Play nice jazz with those somber skies to Make the stars get off their seats and waltz for once The nice smoooth stuff, some bebop that will Make them dizzy for miles upon Miles, following a bumpy high road Where the lost will be now found Where the lies of elusive order becomes the Truth of hopscotching chaosThe harboring gargantuan feelings For the seemingly minuscule Has been the manifesto of the ages It’s “what’s in”, a statement where They’ll ask you, and you’ll ask him and He’ll ask her, and she’ll ask me Heard throughout the same somber skies, and beyondThe rules are starting to change, the pieces scatter and are Warned to go back to square one, easier said than done for When the board has been cleared, where is square one? Dark, dark, dark cold lonely alleyways are suddenly Becoming warm and inviting, flourishing with
Winos and their loaded dice, playing the new rules Passing around cheap Bordeaux, with dark dry red eyes Celebrating the myths about the New Gods It’s the same stories, with same lessons The rules may change, the pieces may switch around The board may be cleared, and the players might change It’s always the same game
Changes In The Wind By: David Schmidt
the balance has shifted and the scale is bent the name Fair can no longer be trusted the Voice of Descent has become a scream cracks in the Dam of Good Sense are beyond repair the Winds of Calm have become a storm bumps in the Road To Reason are deep pot holes the sweet songs we use to hum are raspy lyrics the old dream turned into a nightmare the faces we trusted are wearing masks the Gate to Heaven has rusted and lost its pearls Happiness is locked inside a glass box and no one can find the key the king is wearing a new crown but he says he can’t afford to fix our leaking roof wolves are coming closer to the flock suggestions to reload are offered to the ones with the guns promises drip from the sharp white teeth responses of complaints are muffled by the burps of over fed bellies the word Disgust slips quickly beneath the gap of the door and into the gutter shoulders ache from so many shrugs necks are stiff from so much head shaking the word Hope is losing its sheen time to paint a brand new picture
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dawnell harrison, kenneth abraham, chris talbot-heindl. Loneliness
War on Drugs
Loneliness is a knife At my throat.
The “war on drugs” started 40 years ago…and 40 years later, what’s it got to show? A nation plagued by all manner of drugs, as we all well know, You can find them in any city or town, anywhere you go, It’s a preposterous, catastrophic, failure, I shall holler, Wasting trillions of our citizens’ had earned dollars, The money’s not the major cost; it’s the lives destroyed, The ruin of many lives, of parents and girls and boys, The criminal justice system is BROKEN by the “war on drugs”, Our streets are crowded with users and drug dealing thugs, There’s a much better way to reduce drug use and to save lives, Which could also raise billions of dollars to spend in ways more wise, Oh yes, I’ve written a detailed plan, called “Common Sense Drug Reform”, And with a lot of work and a little luck in 10 years it may be the norm, For America’s “war on drugs” obviously needs a brand new strategy, To change current policies, which are ineffective, and cause so much tragedy.
By: Dawnell Harrison
Cold stars glare At me from above. The silence completely Shadows the air. I stand as bare as a Skinflint tree. Love has no home here.
Lifedrawing 1, 4/1/13 Chris Talbot-Heindl Charcoal, sanguine, and white on paper www.talbot-heindl.com 28
By: Kenneth Abraham
anand salve, dana talbot-heindl. Feelings of love By: Anand Salve
Beloved, No one can describe you as I can, Coz I am your sweet loving perfect man, Heartbeats run like a thunder when you stare, I know the same happens to you when I stare. Guitar plays in my heart when you see me, And Trumpet in your heart when I see you, Just come beside me and have a sit. Don’t hide your feelings coz I already know it, I will take you high if you are with me, Just be with me and see what we can achieve, Your eyes tell everything that you miss me, And my eyes make you feel stunning, It stares the way you like. You make me attract towards you, I know why you do that to make me go on crazy, The way you walk, The way you talk, The way you look, The way you smile, I can’t describe it in a single word. My love is so bizarre, I want to feel your love, I know you are still waiting for the same, Just open up and say, Coz I want you to be the first. Wind blows me every time, Each moment I would have feel you If I was it, My heart whisper only you, Come beloved with me, Will start our new life of love.
Lifedrawing, 4/13/13 Dana Talbot-Heindl Charcoal on newsprint www.talbot-heindl.com
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andrew peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE, donors, index. artists Abraham, Ken
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Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE 9, 22, 30 Ashley, Michael
23
Bardookie, Roo
24-25
Beckvall, Robert Allen Beg, Mandal Bijoy
9
Bosacker, Gerald
17
Brown, Ross
22
Dragona, Danielle
22 9
Dy, Alon Calinao
19
Ford, Jason
21
Furmanek, Riley
23
Furo, Tyler
11-16
Good, Howie
20
Habib, Eddy
8-9
Harrison, Dawnell Haskell, Jan Hodson, Jnana Kantor, Loren Krahn, Sarah-Jean Marvin, Louis
we love our donors!
7
Cluff, Mike Draime, Doug
unforg Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE Digital illustration
20
28 9 19 cover 10 24-25
Mintah, Lois
18
Moolla, Afzal
8
We love our donors, and to prove it, we’re going to let you know who they are. Without their generosity, the Bitchin’ Kitsch would probably not make it through the year. If you would like to become a donor and see your name here, email chris@talbot-heindl.com and make your pledge.
Mulrooney, Christopher
10
Mwanaka, Tendai R.
18
Payne, Janna
17
Reikki, Ron
23
acquaintences of the bitchin’ kitsch ($1-10) - Colin Bares, Casey Bernardo, Eric Krszjzaniek, Dana Lawson, Jason Loeffler, Justin Olszewski
Robillard, Kevin
27
Roth, Sy
21
Salve, Anand
29
Schmidt, David
27
Sen, Gautam
17
Small, Cindy
10
friends of the bitchin’ kitsch ($11-50) - Charles Kelly, Kenneth Spalding lovers of the bitchin’ kitsch ($51-100) - Scott Cook, Jan Haskell, Keith Talbot partners of the bitchin’ kitsch ($101-1,000) - Felix Gardner parents of the bitchin’ kitsch ($1,001 & up) - The Talbot-Heindl’s
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somers, douglas
2, 25, 31
Talbot-Heindl, Chris
6, 26, 28
Talbot-Heindl, Dana
20, 29
Ward, Anthony
23
Wolfe, Burton H.
26
a talbot-heindl project 1600 reserve st, stevens point, wi 54481 www.talbot-heindl.com