Candygram 2 April 2010 by James Payne

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CANDYGRAM II APRIL 2010

EDITORIN CHIEF DIRECTOROFART

SHANNON M. BYERS JACK RAMUNNI

COVER ART BY TOSHA STIMAGE ,,UNTITLED' 2010. cANDYGRAMIO URNAL@)GrvrArLCOM

A CENACLEHOUSE

PUBIJCATION

APRIL 2OIO/ VOLUME II /NUMBERI

All works found in CANDYGRAM remain the property of their owner and are repfrnrcd by permissiononly. April, Bth 2010-

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TABLE OF CONTENTS POETRY: Fnrrunpo Wnrrnn: Brett Zehner Allison Dercoli JamesPayne Amy Gallagher ScottEliis NicolasMurer Brian Sharrock Darrel Strawberry

A Small List of Things... Here and There... The Healing Aid Oh, O'Hare. THEN VS. NOW Pigeon,and the $'ramid Theory SUCK I MY LOVE DICK YOU Welcome Two 4 Tuesdays

"Milwuakee" "Mindstorm" "History" "Threshold" "Untitled" "Bird Series" "Untitled"

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"The Scalpingof Dr. Buttersworth" "Cat Trotting, Changing to a GalloP" "Our Hands" "Through the Reflection" "Mega Pixel" "Untitled" "Throbbing Gestures" "Playground" "Collage 2" "Collage 3" "Greetings!" "The ScabHaired Leper"

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ART: Eric Sweazy Caitlin Sherwood Alej andro Belbzzi JessicaSmith Pallavi Sen Daeli Frost Fn.rrunnD ARTIST: Adarn Flenderson Miharu Kato Ryan Monroe Dustin Click Paul Giovis House Ghost John Malta

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3+ 36 37 3B 39

SHORT STORIES: Matthew Scott Erman Faith Gehring CharlesSmith

Excerpt From: Hide me in Sheol Bag Me, Baby "the wind blown mind"

FROM THE DESK OF THE EDITOR

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Su,qll Lrsr or THncs I DoNtr Tmi-n or Wrmx tr Wnrru GOALS: To experiment Shorten the circuit between brain and finEers Do not be afraid of failure You may be losing it...but gaining sornething r-s. Remember everything is wondrous Figure out how to write a book that is a rnorne :. :: ,-l:rr,* x a;arn:rnr:Lu*: And oh yeah... something that does stuff rn -i. -^:r;r': (highly unlikeiy I succeed ax a:i\. :: :::*.:

INFLUENCES: My friends... (Most ideas find happ.,-l:-":* -^:i.r 31:6xmrg runrilil'T*:: *-, p,.-:,= ,ltft. with the lorelr-: Pierrette Flieuteaux... (Haven't read her sruff re:-:;sr-:

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u'aitine rrifr b,a::: :P-.;.mThe Situationists. Jack Kerouac (Cause he fleu-. [rrnrqn,, Deleuze (Pretentious Philosoph)- abc,-l: :{,ftrt nl*m wnrnrrr J.G. Ballard (Landscapes with dinosa::x e:: :r'luumr u[ rommmmu!$i,

DANGERS: Either drawing too tight a circle. or L:r ux'nrrl{ r. nnrnms uL w,TitlrJlrrsmiimmn@ rM /tm MmltreL Falling into a black hole of represen-;::r

REALITY -whimpingout -mediocrity wins in the end

Slr^q.LL Lrsr or THrNcsI DoN'r Srop THTNKTNc or WHnu I Wnrrn: GENERALLY Drums and panic America flNhateverthat is.) Swimming Tornados Gypsies X-files Pomo freak out Kansas My family spreadout all over the fucking place Maps Nomads Holes.Insides.Caves.Underground.Catacombs.tapdoors Youth Oh darlin

Flere and There (or spontaneous little cinematic topogmphiei". ((or sympathy on the internet

1. Sitting in a yellow room warm with wine and empanadas wandering around the Radioheadwebsite. Think about texting old things to my friends like"..

Pulling off toenails...lifting from tip to back. -orNothing bigger than little screaminganlsI settleonSandy court a low hum then whami Police cars screaming dor*rr the hiil'lq a ways away across the bar'.

2. "The worst that happened is we didn't get our continental b,reafiffim- Amyfimlqfi'4mmq,

3. I can't imagine that fty reading my writing) anyone will really give a shit.... too theoretical too fictional too report-y i should havejust recordedme humming.

3. (again) Aborted a story here then reversedit and rearizedijust want to talk about places sbmethingabout airports at the edgeof the world in the plains and how to get into citiesfrom them on foot

you'd be sickenedto know how many barriers you come to when you go walking you can'tjust go walking.

4. I overheardtoday that there will be no more free use of the libraries. Amazon is buying them all up and digitizing them. You'll have to buy one of thosepocket libraries... and eventuallyyou will have to buy a new one. ,'

5. a. The bereaved icecream wrappers in the medians the deceived nuclear alienation on the salt flats the facade electric cars and walkable towns the rhacabre slimey rats...helicopter bats qnd new york trash barges ,/. in the panama canal. b. It's just a few places here and there... there's still room and time it's not everywhere its just here and there...

THERE'S STILL ROOM AND TIME.

6. Static heavy carpets in dusty rooms waiting for demolition, then asthmatics pu{fing away in a nice green tower farm levels- entertainment leveland garages behind hedgerows. Its about where you draw your circle and r6al estate.

7. Gigantic doors gaping rooms little men pushingbuttonsin the corners; we are water drops evaporatingon the borders.

B. Choreographingthe whole thing from an apartment while other factionsof my will are counting down drawers at the kitchen table--I I I I

am cinematicwith the drifts live on the airwaves am cinematicwith the drifts live on the airwaves.

8 u2. Love-onlyhappenson trains.

9. It's drunk outsideand I'm still raining down the sidewalkwhat's it to you? I'm no turncoat.

10. I can't wait to welcome back the bugs... in the spring time

11. Town A existsfor X years the population of town A getskicked out by people B in X+N years peopleB move into town A and incorporate a new history: X-N years peopleA still remember X and build town B peopleA constructtheir history brick by brick (N+i$ and convincethemselvesthat town A never existed.

12. A gry feelssomethingwrong in his body checksit out online freakshimself out to the point of hysteria,

he goesto the doctor getsmisdiagnosed endsup in the hospitalwith no insurance, blah blah blah the bills pile up for somethinghe doesn'thave after another seriesof nervousbreakdowns exploratory surgeryendsup killing him in the end. The charts sing: "Circulation! Circulation! Circulation!"

The Healing

Aid

TheJuice hasbeen squeezed from the last rind of the last lemon left for aid. For bitter for sweet, for a healingaid. For a thirst lasting ten thousandsunny days. The healingaid is dry of all possibleliquid, of all possiblepractical helpful possibilities. Its poors can no longerbe sucked, squeezedor twisted to extinguishthe frugal minded road weary,broken down worriers who are alwaysthirsty for more.

Oh, O'Hare. Oh late thirties, earlyforties,smartly adorned couple,encumbered with shoppingbags,with child, the luggage,with waiting, with your conversationthat fills the moment, sipping a bon mot or two to passthe time, at the airport, always at the airport, in one line or another.You met during undergrad, coastal.Honeymoon,holidays,in-laws,full partners,heli-drops)contentedsighs, fertility drugs for the little one, though you really tried. She with the red American Girl Placeshoppingbag, he with the scarf,the coat, the watch, the shirt, the shoeshow the wait can get to you. The line being simply unending, ten minutes in all, the worker telling the six check-ins,three carry-ons) the tennis racquet backpack,to move along,what gall! No, that is too much, far too much, no that won't stand. With quick retort, a remark of geniuswas at hand: "Ma'am you know what would really get this line moving is if you had a few more workersto help the check-inman." Ah. Voila. The clarity.The mental acuity.The trenchant analysisthat had eludedthe ma'am while performing her duty.After all, it had only been three and a half months sinceher role precipitouslysoared, "You need to do more, our profits are dropping through the floor, you'll coverthe let go - we needto staycompetitive,it's a marketplaceyou know." It beingjust three and a half, perhapsmaybefour, your incisivecommentarymust haveopenednew doors,new avenues on the theory and origin of long lines,while your blithe conflation, blithest of all time, in the responsibilityof the organizationof the line, of the working and the ownershipclassand their differencein kind, beliedyour none too opaque, fixation on faraway fly-fishing derivatives,choking an escortin a Holiday Inn on a businesstrip to Duluth. And this conflation,begginga response,arapt clip to the midsection,perhaps, was filed away,moved along,into the long line that fills the day, drinks the night, keepsrent a further month out of sight. For you are the consumer,you are the customer, and my sir and my dear lovely lady,how you are alwaysright.

THENVS. NOW The moon sits,nestledin the night: the bottom of an egg shell. The top was there days ago, milky and full until you crackedit, tipped the brittle shell to your lips and drank, yolk soothing a singedthroat.

Pigeon, and the Pyrarnid Theory (pug. edited from original format) "There is somethingto be said about the tenacityof a punk," saidPigeon. lrvatchedthe words cascadethrough his thick tobaccosmoke.His teeth mold; in my drunken stupor I believedhis mouth to be a highway ^-eIe rnd his chompersto be big orange tra{fic cones. pgeon," I said, "yot should really get the municipality to clean that road up." FIeshookthis comment ofl "I have seenpunks," Figeon began, 'climb skyscrapersand pull down each steelbeam, their hands red from rust, u if they had destroyeda tyrant.I have seenangry youth ride hot air ralloonsto heaven,prove it isn't there, then huff the propane in the tank rs they plummet to hell. They have taught the deaf to hear the sweetsinging hey have taught to the mutes." (pauses, takesa drink of his beer,continues) ?unks have collectivelytaken their rage,mixed it on a pallet, and created tervshadesof a healingbruise.They puke to bring them and earth closertogether." Because,"I interjected,"sharingis caring."FIe stired at me, took out a flat black anister of spraypaint, and penned his pyramid theory.

WE HAVE WAITED HERE AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS PYRAMID FOR TOO LONG. \bu can almosthold it in your hands,"I saidto him. He shrugged. )n my walkhomethe sunwascomingup overthe dilapidatedAlliance uilding that shadowed my block.The ivy wasthickon its wall,reaching s fingersto thewarm glowof the sun.Thereweretreesgrowing reelyup the fire escapes, and the rootswerepulling,slowlybut surely, [e mortarfrom betweenthe bricks.

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Two 4 Tuesdays I parceled through the door of a 92 Ford Tempo, shoved my finger in something real warm- thought it might be Christmas custard from a Mcdonald's pie or saliva from the dead dog's mouth-.-Gums filled to the teeth with ochre colored cavities,with diet day dreams and the distant sounds of the Erie shore. Those great lakes. I pulled my finger from the door panel to reveal a mound of black banana mold, two weeks past it's expired death. It sat there atop my finger like a landmarklike that one landmark in the city where it rains, it rains, it rains. I care too much about how my hair looks to live in that metropolis. Seattle,Washington- home of Starbucks, home of the brothers blood, home of Ken GriffeyJr.the high priest of precipitation. I always wanted that baseball card.

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An Ohio native, Adam Henderson was raised in Cincinnati and later earned his BFA from the Columbus College of Art and Design. After graduating college Adam spent two years driving across America and living in the High Sierras of California where he recorded over 2000 videos documenting his surroundings. During this time he began tracking and noting the different imagery he had been digesting, building a complex catalogue of digital media from which his current works stem from. In an artistic notion to define what it means to draw or paint in a digital era, Adam is working on several self titled experimental "Beat" films along with large scale collages and drawings. He composesthesepiecesin his studio based out of Chop-Chop gallery in Columbus, Ohio. "The drawings are not an attempt to actually depict or define any one particular thing," the artist states,"but are an attempt to create an observation of the loose abstract visions that rapidly formulate in my mind as I think about and experience my own artistic thoughts. So, in a sensethey stand as studies or notes to my own artistic visions in an attempt to more clearly undress the true nature behind the various progressionsin my films." With these studies,Adam tries to exploit the use of digital media and technology using it to accessvast amounts of digitally reproduced media. Combining the computers fast and tightly calculated techniques with loose experimental ones yield unforeseen results, which encourage his work to stay in the moment and further progresshis ideas into unknown directions.

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excerpt from

Hide ?tte in Sheol I had arrived at the production, people were wandering around like stra' cats, and she stood out in a tent thirty yards in front. I parked. I didn't do anything except look at her,,an expressionlessgaze that drifted awa)'. miles into a great vastness,one I would experience first hand. I felt a great sadnessinside me that night before I picked her up, that night whe : it rained inJapan and the roads were wet, silk. I know now looking back what my sadnesswas) why my chest hurt so badly when I look at her fac. saw her body's stance droop in a weightily rain and it was for our love. One that I felt wouldn't last, one that I put my heart and soul into. I kne looking at her expressionlessface; that was my sin. My regret was doub: doubt of my love, doubt of hers. It took severalmore minutes before sh, finally spotted me; she smiled and ran to the car. She climbed inside an: I could tell the way she held herself she was tired, and had the calm of sleep pressedinto her eyes,she was ready to drift away on the car ride home and I just wanted to watch her. "Sorry about making you drive all this way out here." She said. "Its fine, it's fine." I started the car and pulled out of the production area. "So how was your day?" "You mean my last three days?Well it's been hell. The director has been really intense; the actors have been very... blech. I don't know. It hasn't been all that great. You don't want to hear about it, I know you and I know what you like to talk about and having a shitty day isn't one of them..." She signs and flips her hair. "Anyway, whatVe you been up to?" "I've been writing, watched some insaneJapanesetelevision again and finally decided it's not for me. I also was looking around before it started raining, at pet storesyou know? I know you've been wanting a grey kitten so --" I glanced over at her and her eyeswidened and she smiled. "I bought you one; the hotel saysit'li be fine keeping it there as long as any damages are paid for." "I can't believe you got me a kitten!" She was practically yelling the:

and I remember all my doubts vanishing if not for only a split second. "Did you name it yet? I want to name her? Is it a her?!" "It's a her." "I want to wait; I need to seeher personality before I get her a name." "Well...I was thinkin--" "Shush! No names until I seeher. I want no bias at all." "okay, well...I guessyou can tell me about the movie. You haven't really told me much at all about the actors or anythirg." "I had some interesting shoots; one of the actors was getting a little prickish during the rain, and decided that cooperating wasn't in his best interest. So it slowed the day down. I convinced the director to let me use this really interesting contrast, and with the film I used it made the scenes we shot look incredibly vivid in a very flat, two dimensional way." "Well, that's great. I'm hoping this gets some great reviews, when it's released.It would do wonders to your work rate and the quality of the films you work on." "Yeah I know, but I've worked on some good stuff! I mean, not all of it was crap." "Oh I know, it's just, some times you were a bit enthusiastic about some particularly bad projects." " Lik e. . . ?" "Well, I remember you did a movie about two years ago, it was just the most generic crime drama. I remember watching it and thinking it was awful." "Sometimes, the movie can be awful, but I love trying to make each shot interesting, you know? A movie can have bad acting, and directing, but if it good cinematography then sometimes it can make a bad movie, an okay one." "I guess,I guess.You're the expert right." "Well, wouldn't you say a great book cover, and great chapter titles can make a bad book, an okay book." "Ehh, I don't think it really works like that, I think the content matters more for a book, than a movie, all a book has is content. A movie has a score, composition, acting, actors, there's a lot to like and dislike. In a book, there are letters, unlessyou're someone who has letter preference, I doubt anything but the content will matter." "Good point." She said as she fidgeted with her seat belt. "You know, working on this movie has really opened my eyesto some things. I don't

knou' if r or-rLnorr' anvthing about the movie." "\\'e11from the snippetsyou've told me it's a spiritualjourney from Georgia to Tokr-o.I think that's all you've mentioned'" "\\rell, the main protagonist, is this younger man who aft---" The side of the small,Japanesecar collapsed into the left side of mr face.Aurally splotched onto a blank canvas, stuck, stick, stick stickstickstick, horrrrrrrror. careen down a side ofamountain, many long windinr hiils besidesus, Allison! Allison! besidesus where we lie, sink sinksink i {i upside, over and over four seconds--fourseconds--attachedtotheideaof four secondsafter. head still spinning, i pray to god that i survive that allison lives so to be a family that i am sorry i am so sorry i am so sorry i am so sorry please let me live pleaselet me live please let me live i dont want to dierollagar:-starting to roll over. silence.sight scattered,blurred by cracks in glasses.still attached to head, head still on shoulders. both hands still on both arms. truck abor t on the road before the hill tipped over now layi g on side. allison beside me, could seeblood and b gan to panic. th nking it was hers she was c'''' badlyon her head the blood flowed through her blonde hair striking it with lines an awfully crimson crimson. it runs down her head and like a skisiopedown her nose to a point. drip and land on severalpieces of br , n glass.satontheroof.upsidenow justrealised. al i on! lison. mouth full o; an our own voice nor not the same blood caught in the throat likeatige: suckingdown toomcuh meat.not noticed much blood, in ym right ear t]--: a ringgg only in right ear,far away voice outside the crash. "Daijoubu? Daijoubu?" "h lpwenfllfffd help---' tried culling outcouldt get words througggh her seatbelt,fell heac sp-p--it(--)fifteen seconds--fiftenseconds.unlactedh first into br k n glass.

Our eyesmeet and she begins to scream and I am rushed back into reality. "itil be okay itll be okay itll beokay." I said over and over. "Daijoubul? Daijoubu!!" blackness,her faceagain and my right ear only hears everything, moves her hands, like precise tools, unbuckles mi:--r falls, no id ont. stuckpig stuck like a stuck pig. bled pig, stuck bled pig wont budge, wont move) sheet metal car pulled back over into chest, Iar:, rod ripped into chest, chest felt like menthol h d been rubbed over' over.

over large vapors, a smell, a flash of heat, noticing the blood, pumping more, heart working, working, working. "DAIJOUBII, DAUOUBU!!!!" peeling spine outribcage out, heart out felt like eversion.bound by chest by an alminum pike to the hide of the seat in the japanese car in the part of a life to a sea to a king i pray for my wife to let see the next day in the mudand the water of the mutual blood-- and with mud and water and blood on her face and the glass in her head and stuck in her cherried hair still caught on some spectral light she said i love you with so calmness and such clarity that made my heart flutter like it was the first time id ever heard her say it, say it, say it again, please keep me alive. i love you. mem ory hazy thirty seconds -- thirty secondspassedclutched chest pike in lung hard breadths width further and flexed, tendons in neck moved i love hr, i want to tell her, she looks at me,and says; "Don't worry, don't worry. I love you." I scream. "FfIIIfIIIIIIIIffffIIaaaaaaAA AA A AA AAAA A AAAAA AACc" my body drops. pullt self off thing, felt air, water faced and now colder thus to be evr been. got dark, go back, no nonononononononono.tellher

tell her tellerher tell her. tell her_/\_/\_/\

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rainy MonThrough a shopwindow one unexceptionally ; |tl I that had to day in Muy, I sawyou and knew at that moment Shedidn,. o:'."1 you. You were on the arm of a hollow woman. l could nevertreattol.,*'you. Shecould haveno usefor you' She I storewooing a Posstbl: with the careyou deserve.A p,ppy in a pet I new owner ,youneedn,tdo-o ,.thans imp ly lo o k a t t ra c t iv e --L l at the obbehind the glass.I was the grown man gazinglongingly I new pet all ut.. ject of his desireand the littie boy wishing for.a _^ I sight' I darednot go once. What a wonderful feeling,love at first I soft names. t ul in, to approachyou, to strokeyt.,, to call you I who, during the past ten year''1.]" other any like *.,,, u .1,,,t l -ul m ar r i age,ha sdeve lopedlo vehandle s a n d lo s t mo re t h a n t " t x j my facewas as torhair. $; last night my wife informed me that I told me, why I gettableasmy p".rrorrulity,and that was,she ^,L^r I job in this town' I know what would neverbe ableto get a better I kind of man I am' rhat I would be I stayedlonger than I should have. I knew I

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the bleach blonde mommy' t'nt cadillac stroller of one middle-ased, I bags of all sizes'tipped stroller,which was mounded with brown I to the sidewalk' tn:r^crashing went and top-heaviness with its | woman,seyeswidenedsothatlcouldseethewhites.The*ill.:J as she prepared to tell nit skin on her face and neck became taught I would have where to go and how to get there' Normally' ,^r^.*J trying to renegot::tt tnl apologizJ uguin and again while clumsily I could not, wou'o ":l- *^. I bags back onto the stroller. But todd.y, at me for a moment toc flounder in front of a woman. she stared 1 and I felt that she expletives of string her long before beginning I

saw right through me. That she somehow knew of my wild fantasiesabout you and all that I dream about when I'm home alone in the tiny apartment that Evelyn and I share on the East side. But she could never have known. No one would ever know. I shoved my cracked, dirty hands deep into the pockets of my mud covered Carhartt overalls and made like abatout of hell down the street. I never heard what exactly she yelled at me as I left, but it had to be bad. when I got home that night, long after dark, Evelyn had already gone to o'Flannery's, where she tended bar on Monday and Wednesday nights. I let out a guttural sigh, pulled a Swanson TV dinner from the freezer,popped it in the microwave, and turned on the evening news. It's times like those, when I'm here alone, that I wonder what I am doing here with her and why I've stayed. I know the answers to these questions,but they return two or three times a week to fester in the pit of my stomach. I do love Evelyn. We have both let ourselvesgo a little more than we should have, but I've always considered lightly plumping up and the on set of general malaise to be part of aging, like heart diseaseand diabetes. At this point, it'sjust so much easiernot to hurt her with the truth. The truth is that I miss Ohio, and if it wasn't for her thespian'sBroadway quest, which has never materialized, we would never have come here. Had she gone to one audition , mvybe I would not be so resentful, but I doubt it. If it weren't for her, I would be home, still teaching at the middle school and frequenting bars filled with familiar faceson the weekends. The truth is also in a worn brown shopping bag hidden behind the water heater in the closet by the front door. I had made an effort when we first got here. I got a job teaching at a middle school, but I couldn't handle the kids. They were too unruly, even for me, and the violence scared the piss out of me. I never understood the cruelty of children. Maybe that's why we've never had any. Evelyn gave up on that argument about five years ago, when she suspected that I was having an affair and I knew that she was sleeping with the Samoan who lived above

us. f rt'as secreth- sorrr- n*ren the Samoan moved across town to take care of his ailing mother. I gnan'ed half-hean.dtt- at the rubbery Salisbury steak, trying to coat it in as much gra\n- and mashed potatoes as I could to mask the texture, and mv thoughts rtondered back to you. I tried to think of n'als to get )ou, hort- I could possessyou without Evelltr finding out. It is hard to hide thirs from that woman. T.ast)'ear, tluelve hundred dollars disappeared so that I could have the objects in that rt-orn brorrn bag behind the water heater. She still hasn't let that go. I managed to convince her that I lost it betting against the Yankees for the last \lbrld Series, but now I have to give her all of ml'pay checks. She's always handled the bills, but she had asked for the money before. It's like I'm some pimply adolescent begging for milk money. I get ten dollars a day. I gave up on the irnitation steak, freezer-burnt green beans and the puddle of oozing broun gunk that was supposed to be a fudge bronnie. I got up and grcbbed a Coors Light from the fridge, turned off the fii and flipped on my favorite Nancy Sinatra record, N*.)'and Ire. The ferv nights that I have a week are secret treasures that I k*p safe and quiet in my pocket. I went to the brouo btg, heand it calling mv narne as Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazelrvood crooned "Some \-elr-et Morning" to each other. I chuckled to my'self u-hen it reached the chorus and pulled the bag from behind the lvater heater. It lras \rorn to velvety smoothness and was beginning to tear at the creases. I rvould have to get another one. As tr sat carefi.rlh- exuacting the contents from the bag and arranging them on the coffee table before me, )'ou popped in to my head again. Horr perfect rou rt-ill look \r-ith all of these things. You were meant for me. just like ther- \r-ene- They are the tools with which I transform" This shift fr'om one lrrson to another is a process, a ritual for rne. that nercr laries: Ftrrq I use the cosmetic glue to tack back nn- ears and then I apply the Chanel natural base to rrn: face and necl- The acne scars disappear under

the lusty smelling oil based make-up and I can seemyself coming together. Black eyeliner and a light green eye shadow complement the rose lipstick. I put on the dressafter tediously gluing on the fake lashes. And last, but not least, I put on my long, brown wig that is made from real human hair. You will look marvelous on my arm and I will feel like a million dollars. The dress is an evening gown fromJessica McClintock. It's just a shift of a thing and when I put it on I could seethe hairs of my chest under the silky, translucent frock. It really was too early in the year to wear such a thing, and with the white heels I had I knew that this was faux pas before Memorial Day. But, it didn't bother me that day. It couldn't. As I finished dressing,Nancy and Lee were warming up'Jackson." We got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout. Been thinking bout going toJackson, ever since the fire went out. I wished I was going toJackson, but I don't even know if that's a real place or not. I waltzed around the tiny apartment, the broom as my partner, and knocked my shins on the coffee table. By three in the morning, I'd gone through a l2 pack of Coors and flipped the Nancy record over a dozen times. Evelyn would be home soon. I took off my ensemble,carefully folding the dresswhile admiring its Pucci-esqueprint. You will look so good with my dress. I went back to seeyou every day that week on my lunches and then again when I got off work. Sure, it was out of rny way, but Ijust had to seeyou. On Thursday I put a nail through my left thumb becauseI was thinking about your soft glove-leather outside and how perfectly green you are. The pain was worth it. The hospital was worth it. It was after I got out of the hospital, lessa thumbnail, plus a few stitches,that I thought of the perfect plan. That Saturday,I put on my best suit and went to Saks for the annual Memorial Day sale. The busiestdav of the year.

There \\'ere shopp.e rS i-''rr,-,-,,hrrr.I ,,'aiked in that afternoon and took )-ou. I tooli,-that I'-, a::-*; .:rd ro-anked out. It was that easy. I sau-\ou [here. 0:)nrhe arr: - i mai h*:'Xlorr' mannequin, and I put )'ou under m\-sr-litc,:,at. tr i,- "rli teel urur cool leather on the outside of mr- r' hite orfl-,rC.irin. anC I trembled u'ith excitement as Ll'llrghtnothing and been I calmlr-headectr to the exrrri-lar-rnE noticed br-no one. Fbnonce. beinE tbneettablehad worked in my favor. ,\ I left the deparrment store.I realized that my heart was pounding and I u-assu-earingthrough mr-shirt under my arms and dol'n m)'back. \\hen I qot home. Er-elrn \\:asgone, thank God. There \\'as a note on the table sar-inqthat I should meet her at some cookout on the next block. But I couldn't wait. I stripped off mr-clothes and shorvered. It took me over an hour to get rid of ali the hair. I rvanted to be fresh and clean for our first time. I got the bronn bag out from behind the water heater and painstakingly,applied the mak.-rp, the lashes,and the bron'n u'ig. I slipped on the dress. The cool silky material rustled against my neu'lv shaven body. It was a feeling that I'd never had before and it gave me goose bumps. I put on the heels, the Nancy record, and picked you up off the couch where I'd left you. I u'as right. You r,verethe perfect color of green to match the summer dress,and, since it was now MemorialDay, the white shoesu-orked. You, mv little green Prada bug, completed me.

"the wind blown mind" hands on hips man embraced woman as night embraced countryside and light escapednowhere and time had long since seemed to stop' eyes searcheddesperately about a ueat-up back seat for a sign of certainty through blanketing darkness only to be let to weep if necessary.not thoughts there, becauseyou could feel it sometimes, when they came creeping in like the black wet scent ofdeaih -*y had-surrounded you, warm and close, not breathing and feeling something that against your better judgment you allowed to remind you of the future until the future became the end' and then you knew it had you, like a shot in the arm of the bestjunk in the yard, and you were colder then and you would shut out those thoughts that you knew you shouldn't have let creep in to begin with. and alone by the river couples skipping stones would laugh as you would go by, and you would hurry to bed becauseyou would feel it in your bones, like the wind acioss the flat planJof the stoic sidewalks that catches you sometimes at night, and even in good weather, chilling you to the bone and sending you searching lbr your sweatshirt and to sit on your couch. and it really did teach you sometimes- it could happen anywhere and there was hardly any seeing it coming, it seemed' it was given more to circumstance in that way. if you were to let it, it could even slow you down, but that took desire, intelligence, and skill in awarenessand implementation. indeed, you could go about it artistically at ttmes' and it would feel alright,like suddenly you could build wonderfully but materials were short, and so short in fact that any structure you should choose to bulo would seemingly take an eternity to produce. and those were the great times- the times that really taught you something. but mostly you felt normal, with an excitable spine and sensitive skin. and aside from the fact that death was in the passengerseat you really were more or less normal. and anyway it was hard to tell at times. "did you talk to your mother today?.' she set the bag on the coffee table and it fell over letting out its bounty of a few loose beers and a.magazine she wasn't going to read' she liked to look through its pictures sometimes, at the airbrushed beauties who taunted her there- and she only dreamt, it would seem, in and of that magazine- but it would sit on our night stand the better bit of a year' "i saw that she called. you know you'd do well notto cut yourself off completely from her. . .,, she trailed off, and i knew it was because she knew me so well, and the beer was sitting cold on the counter, and the bed was waiting warm nearby. the record playing stopped and my cigarette was buming in the ash tray where i'd left it when the sound of the trumpet had been too powerful to ignore and i had wondered about that and paced the room. i walked over and picked up the cigarette, taking its last drag, and put it out before crossing to i<issher face. then up with the beer into the kitchen to shove it away and put more ice cubes in the glass whi"ch i'd left sitting on the counter next to the bottle of jameson, waiting for me when i'd decided i would-need a cigarette, and for music to be playing, and i poured the glass then and drank it much too quickly. now light fell flat in one corner of the room, indicating her profile as she thumbed through her magazine and i crossed back to the record player and flipped the record over and sat back down on the couch. she had a wonderful little nose and her cheeks looked young and full. she stood straight in the lamp light, her hair glowing a vivid blonde, her feet in something resembling a ballerina's fifth positionangled outward, one before the other, and heel pointed gingerly at ball of foot. her body was almost sexlesi except that-it had enjoyed a bit more sex than to allow that feature sincerely. but she was fit and young and i was one of many who had noticed. "will we go out tonight, doll? we can go to the vegetarian place over on buttles and high,,, she suggested,and Ieaned back against the windowsill, fixing her gazeon me tenderly. "yes, let's go out. made whole sounds fantastic," i said, and it did sound good, until i looked across rhe room toward the unfinished manuscript that seemedmore and more each day like it was going to end up with all of the others, and suddenly i could anticipate made whole tasting like ash. 'Jesus, adeline. do you ,"-"-b"r when i could do anything?" "i remember when you held tight to that opinion... dalton, nothing is changing. stay with me, darling.,' she said.

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- .::. .: .: i ::::E:.i ::i e\ et her opening.somethingshe'scurating,"i lashed,and -:: -: , ::: r, :i i :.1 : \\ ant to seeher for a long time. come on, i'll get my jacket and -iia

St e r r : - l -i -.-:-;.:-::::-: :: ::r::- 11- r er E:hr ilr r or in m ) bedr oom andcr iticiz eher fi gur el anguor ous l y and resrsned.Li::r- ;:-i-, e ii :c: x;: t:i r,esmenzing. and her breastssat beautifully proportionateto her waist and her shculde:s an: sre l:,ii:,i eienalli ei-shteen.but she couldn't seeit. she would pressher breaststogetherlongin_el1arJ tum rn ::e :: tn aii ma*keme understand.while i understoodperfectly and wanted nothing to do with the burc-- :enpties: ;13 1.pued to be. i uould tell her to lay down so that i could kiss what i loved abouther bodi and then i * ouli kjss her * hole bodr nvice over, but shejust thought i wanted to go to bed with her and after such treatmenr* as alreadr on lhe \\'av there herself. at times i felt as though i'd stumbled upon a tremendous secret.rvhen a \\'oman doesn't see the b utv of her own body or feel the pull of her sex drive she'll sometimes feel the need to prove to herself that she is capable,despitewhat she lacks. i wanted her endlessll and she wasn't to be had, which presenteda problem. i lost that feeling shortly after spring that had set me diligently to work on a new story, and in recent weeks i hadn't offered my narrative a passing thought. carson miller and his runaway bride had been shacked up in the field heights motel for weeks now, and i was beginning to wonder how the hell i'd ever get them out of there. i was also beginning to notice little holes and extraneous bits of information scattered succinctly throughout its pages, revising much too early, as i'm now well aware. still, carson's father had been lost instantaneously, the factory setting in the beginning of the story had too quickly lost all importance somewhere near his meeting his bride, and the more i noticed the weaker became my will to persevere. i had begun drinking instead of writing, which is an easy trap to set and into which a lush like myself will fall if he's not at peace. my small one bedroom apartment felt like a prison cell at times; a vast floor for pacing and small, baned windows (being on the first floor of a building out of which unspeakable commodities were sold in a neighborhood where everyone was well aware) made it feel, sometimes, like someplace to escape.or maybe it was that i was locked away there, of no use to the outside world if i couldn't sort through the problems right there in the room with me. but someone had long since given the okay to alcohol in this prison, and overall productivity had taken a big hit: the prisoners now all sat around with rocks glassesin their hands, newly washed skin radiating comfort as they watched television to avoid thinking about the past or, for that matter, the future. my hands had been manicured and set aside to let dry and i was an ineffectual inventor, visualizing plans always decreasing in scope and coherence due to creeping thoughtsconcerning implementation.sometimesi would stepoutside onto the windless back porch for a cigaretteand consider running off down broken, lifted sidewalks and never coming back to the mess i was making inside that small brick tenement.its walls oppressiveand solid. but it held me there,and sometimesi could do nothine but star as fa: arrar ::--: :.- le:!: 'i .: w h a t w as g o i ng o n u i th m1'mind. and if ther euas anr t:.lin:r :e:.:::::' :- :

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sculpted people out of clay with large hands, holding baskets to the sky or begging on bended knee. she would paint wolves with neckties and cocktail glasses,and really she was the only person i had met with more trust issues than i had. she slouched tenibly sometimes, being used to being haunched relentlessly over work for hours at a time. i remember watching her work at times when i couldn't: we had different work schedules and she was able to work far into the night without ever lying or getting too tired to be properly expository. i loved her fiercely and then not at all- she was vicious and eventually i could see it and it bothered me immensely- and she loved me as fiercely but never seemed to stop. after we split up she would come over late at night with a bag of beer and ask if i had a free bit to talk. she lived in the night, though from the hue ofher skin you would never have been able to tell. still, she was much too hostile for the day time, and she knew it and stayed out of crowded areas during the day to spare those people about whom she fantasized chastisingpublicly for the vast lack of personality she felt was assailingour nation 'founded on individualism.' i had insisted, in our time together, that in today's media feeding -frenzy,down long halls with open doors leading to rooms containing all sorts of conflicting information, individuality was becoming obsolete, and the thought had scared her greatly (as it scared me) and she had asked me never to speak of that, becausewords indicate reality so strangely, and no one really knew in which direction all of that worked (so some things were better left unsaid). she would come in appearing apprehensive, but it only ever took her five minutes to revert to being the same as she had been when we were together. she would let her hair down and sometimes she would say that the water in her apartment had been turned off because she'd been late on the bill and could she take a shower? and then she would slip seductively out of my bathroom in one of my shirts and her underwear and i would sigh deeply as she would come to sit by me and talk. she always had engaging and interesting problems to report and she always brought a bag of beer and she always got me into bed, despite the fact that i'd sworn myself off of her- she had more severe issues than i'd been able to notice offhand, and sometimes she would scare me with her contempt alone, which was one of the reasons i'd taken to her to begin with, but that was back when i could handle it. and i would say i handled it well, until she hurt herself one day and i cut away without a second thought. but, having been in a quarrel with her about the nature of our relationship, i was rapt with guilt when notified of her hospitalization via telephone. the doctor said it was poorly attempted suicide, that she would be fine and when i asked why i was receiving this call the doctor said, "you were her emergency contact, mister branford." "me? are you sure? her mother's number isn't written down?" "you were the emergency contact." and after that i'd been tempted to hurt myself- possibly as penance for desertion, although i'm not sure what good that would have done- but i could never work up the nerve. some people are built to be vessels for their emotions, and others hardly notice those little inconveniences at all. adeline refused to let the issue of amanda's opening rest. she said there was nothing strange about supporting her work after refusing her love, but i wasn't so sure. the conversations we had on the subject took the form of me hiding some strange mental infidelity behind my back like a child with a stolen toy he'd thought he'd grown past, unril the day his mother came to inventory his belongings and under the threat of usurpation he'd found new life in sordid old interests, not willing to part with that to which he hadn't been too connected from the start. every time we talked of the opening leading up to that saturday my desire to see amanda increased without my embrace. she was working. she was stable. granted, she was sufficiently unstable and frighteningly insatiable, but these were novel attributes when set beside adeline's contemptuous devotion and innocent instigation. if i'd done something to deserve two such interesting women, i'd wished, then, that i could take it back. but there was no tuming back, and soon a decision would be made under duress that would shake love by the throat and turn it a pale purple color under hot lights of interrogation and doubt. that thursday the caustic inquiry saw its shorl life in my kitchen. "why wouldn't you want to go, dalton? now, come on. can you tell me exactly why you don't want to be in a room with me and amanda for one hour? am i asking the right question, doll?" "jesus, adeline.you can really fuckin'dig sometimes." "am i digging, dalton? becauseyou wanted me believe that i already knew your reasoning behind wanting to skip the opening?no, dolly. i think you're digging." and she had been right, and there had been nothing left to say. we were engaged to aTtendan opening saturday. i took a drink and looked hard at adeline as if to suggest that i didn't appreciate one bit what she'd trapped me into, and the sentiment carried, because she looked at me as if to say she wasn't going to back down, and serves me right for feeling anything about amanda besides peace. "saturday, mister branford," she said, picking up her magazine and holding it cross-armed to her belly, and looking down her nose at me officiously through her thick black-rimmed glasses(she loved to play the teacher role around me becauseshe thought i had contempt for formal education, which i did, but only slightly: the rest was due to a breech of trust from which i gathered more a senseof pain in betrayal). anyway, i

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theybegin edbsabdinfluenceoncarson. mre ad more, little by little as the money ddbry rryEd in fu horel far too long, carson's bride gtr rhlm b U tb ams and asks her why she has rG ]u ging to do, carcon? get a job ffi 5!h6, Err D !D- tb wesl mst? and here we are in p bcl b bring any money in, you're n Xnn nc*-g ffifrm lru n*rr*b bisr is cf, tbe field heights motel itself. .irs T-firrr6 o-- dh&lfimrn il*fir/ry'rmil':b duing fu nhr% dfttr - - ffi fu tanr d b rrrrr- a yolmg boy with whom she'd been ,o-l b b,brt c."FrimE D ptDLdrelbffi*,hllwanting to go back home inrbe rmfor d # M ebeFtuqBh*qq".dtubg b dtry b and old her about his problems to Hcre re b ldr @ re M mh # n lh q : il ;s arrtu dwr it had been and in the car with the *rrrmm ffie 56 orng1 rifrr's! ritrrs rbm fu ory it's gotten so cold! can't you see d ry fu 5ry cr,ld i nT gl eml ffi htr i h fu fu mqL d e ru rm:rt m !0. h i b4 it fefi irrevocable and that feeling intensip & mrr o[ G d ! tFEo fuitiry fied sith tim. m rr ffim cf a way to punish them. i kept telling *il m I @illrm I q otiure rrr D cr€de- and this story already had one myseH ttnt killing c d h casuatty-hiredl"1rstFFrrftqHffibtG5G"A16Eiftfrqnm€n, likeaspillofwateronthick paper's iryerffi i* H n nfr in lr qou- i had crossed some irnaginary d Ib dre rr runry line and *?s Fv qrrnt r e uiua in fu rod bigh ril eH fnll of drugs. D:f my motber H b€eil ca[fut ddr* d &rs rh- d r b rq her back- sb alwals cerlod n sry *'d boca ffii cf re- rH l. - d 4q depressing- sbe ad i rlirtn'1 s ttirgs tb i yding madly aa ealrying suct rmprry d ft &'t b sbe was a loving d gerde l.m" d thql fu pfc i cdl nights Adeline and i wonld g€t iilo fieh bo.i sodd EEr d adeline would tell rc that i needed o r.c.ncih wlrr.rq fiff61-gs adeline to go to bll, and don't tell re bw to &l wi& my ffi

i'd bea pocrastinating as it came to calling ras lrEar, except that it was always so damned rr rdting prlp fiction and drinking and lovbr o sc€rn tm bappy about any of it. still, h h elrs t€ar ar dres, and those were the b &mk fr€r tbose talks with my mother and flB& nE r€zEt that way to her and i would tell because that is none of her damned business.

i called her back on saturday moming in the cbilled dawn d fu 1ink-aage patio having a cigarette.

auurrm morning while on my front

"hello, ma. i've missed some calls from you." "hey, dalton! how is everything? you know i don't want anything, i'vejust been calling to nake sure you're okay." "i'm doing well. are you well? you sound sick." "oh, i just lost my voice at an engagement, you know i always lose my voice. i'll be fine." "alright. but church is going well?" "well? yes, yes church is going just fine. you know you should stop in, everyone would love to see you." * "oh, ma. come on, you know i'm not..." "no, i know, i know. i just thought i'd suggest it. anyway, you know i didn't want anything..." "alright, well i love you, ma." "i love you too, doll. take care." adeline could float past you sometimes and leave behind the impression that her feet hadn't touched the ground and yes you had chosen the right verb. she was a vision and she had known it all her life. she worked as a waitress and eamed better tips than anyone else because she could practically reach into your back pocket with those smiling eyes and those cheeks that niade her look innocent as a cherub shooting arrows in the snow. the way that she walked, even with a tray of food in her hands, was mesmerizing; her head didn't bounce a bit as she strode, and you could tell that she'd been through cotillion, and that the training had stayed with her. there was such a grave determination about her when she walked, and that may have been what attracted me to her to begin with, coupled with the fact that she glowed that night, and the men surrounding her couldn't stop us from making eye contact continuously and meeting sneakily by the restrooms and slipping away into the night to look at the stars and really when did things like this happen? and anyway she looked beautiful in the auspiciSus glow of the full moon which fed it, then, and set it to running about your body and made you usher all of those inconvenient thoughts away. she had left him sitting at the bar that night, a few months ago, now, and he had gotten much too drunk in an attempt to set aside the despondency of abandonment long enough to leave rcompanied. he had called her as we stopped by her apartment to get her toothbrush, and she had said that it had been fun, but not to call her, and

that someday they would laugh about it all over drinks. she was lackadaisical to the point of detachment, and i remember a dark cloud passing overhead outsideter.window and blocking out the moon as i sat at the sill staring up into the sky, wondering what the chance was that i should end up in the company of such a vicious and shapely young wolnan on a night when my intentions had been but to get drunk and stumble home amongst the blooming crabapple trees and the wind that would have blown me back to work waiting patiently under the lamp on the table from which i was far away now. i could hear him lashing out at her over the phone, though not loudly enough to be able to discern any words, but her face didn't indicate any lashing, or any discomfort;t all. she was wearing the face of a mother who has just discovered her son eating a mud ple, slightly uncomfortable about the eyes but also slightly entertained and smilingly disapproving about rhe mouih und lh"eks. she told him not to worry and that he would be fine without her and that he was an attractive man whom any woman would like at least to try on and hung up the phone when he started to yell again. she was vicious and cruel and reasonable and lovely in the glow of a single lamp and the reticent light of the full moon creeping through the white lace drapes adorning the tacitum, but speaking a little of soft skin and thin, smooth Lands and the folds ytrtlty of a dress peaking out from behind a studded reading chair. then out to the street, and we 8ot into my car at some point and drove out to a field one county over, and there we learned a bit about one another, but not much- and in these days i could do anything. when things work out that wayit can be really quite devastaring. that i was being particularly perceptive that night shocked me, becausei was really quite bored irrthose days. so my reaction was to latch on to adelini and expect that she always assist to clarify my thoughts as she had seemed to that night, though the next morning i knew what was going on when i woke up and couldn't stay in bed next to her as she-dozedsweetly and steadily. when i got out of bed i sat down at my desk and tried to work, but all i could think of were damned beautiful lies that made me embarrassedand i got up and took to the street to try and see something real. that night we had talked quite a bit- and idealistically- and foolishly we had believed in each other, probably for fear of not believing in each other, or not being able to be believed in. but we held on to it, and then months later it seemed, sometimes, as though we could no longer add to each other's lives, but only take at the worst times, and love each other the way you would say rabbits love each other ifrabbits used such contraceptives. and in its absenceyou learn to cherish anything that seems to give you that same feeling you,d had. you,re a fool fool fool but you can't do anything to change it and what if this is really what it,s like? oi else then you,re no more a fool than your parents were but could you really accept that? and anyway it starts returning, and you can see something in there if not forever and what does forever really look like, for that matter? and if there were someone for you how would you ever even know? and pages sit bare and white as time stands still, un!91 a lamp you've stopped turning on anymore, in the suddenly of the same full moon that fools you time and again. :1111:-:l]lT-throueh-the-window everyrhing is orr or the .;;,;;;; * ;i ;;;;;,;;; i;;;;il;;;;;";;;;;,;r scheme seesress crabapple trees and more cheerful clubbers. the color scheme i, u"iy nearihe coletbrd tavern, which had been where i met adeline amongst the drunks and the taxi-cab drivers who would step inside to have a soda long enough to see someone stumble toward the door whose conscience they could easily attack. later i found out that one of the taxi-cab drivers had approached adeline, and we had made trief (i thought she was leaving), and "y" "ontu"t she told him that she would be fine, she thought, and went to sit by her date, but kept her eyes on me at the other end of the bar' she was quite a schemer, and back amongst the clubbers of south high street that fact permeated any thoughts i was having about an incident-free evening. and by the eddington, a bar which sits right next door to the color scheme, a rhythm and blues artist reminded us that everybody hurts, everybody cries, and everybody hurts, sometimes, and the patrons of the eddington sat talk-chant ing sadly under patio fixtures that cast blue shadows on their faces, and we walkid past the ominous into the natural-seeming light of the color scheme. amanda's exhibit was more an esoteria to me- a few notably respected minds were lost in the mossy-looking stone sculptures adorning the wooden floor of the gallery, and many spectatorsjust didn't get it, and wasn,t there supposed to be free booze at this thing?- and the creative minds wandering tlie earth-toned monolithic sculptures she,d presented were mesmerized by the way she had made single blocks of stone seem as numerous and plentiful as an orchard budding brightly in spring, but as dead and as colc as a boneyard. i felJ like i was standing in a room with her people problems, carved from one opinion and backed up by rheioric unrestrained. i saw her in the corner of the gallery, her eyes brown as solid, wet earth. her hair was iinnea uact professionally, her curves accentuated by immodesty of her equally professional-looking skiri, though at tiris pointhe reader must be careful not to lle :lim idealize professionalism beyond being another form of marketing,-as that has been all of the opinion on the subject i've been able to contrive thus far. but she was a professional now, and being treated as such, and how fitting she should look the part.

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and haven't you had this feeling before,just to let it fade and to seek it out desPerately some more once you've grown bored of solitude? you're a fool fool fool and you can't change that when the rules state that it's a part of you once you embrace it foolishly under flattering light. i resurfaced from the bleached blank restroom to find that the man i had identified as amanda's suitor-to-be had deserted his post at the drink table and that he might actually have left and how foolish i was to have gone looking for him to begin with. the room still held the interest of many and the bodies and wanton wandering eyes of many more, and amanda and adeline stood where i had left them, laughing and talking and bludgeoning, obliviously merciless, my ego. and as i crossed back to them not knowing how to feel any way but trumped there he was, my nemesis in a white oxford shirt, approaching my destination but with more confident haste. once he had met with them and didn't extend his hand for amanda's introduction of adeline my heart sank into my stomach, and i would have turned away if amanda hadn't seen me and, drawing much attention by her very movement, waved me over. "i'd like you to meet carson," she said. " carson, meet dalton branford. dalton is a writer of fiction. carson and i havejust been engaged. it would seem adeline and carson are already acquainted." "the same undoubtedly goes for you and i," he said, and extended his hand to me. "carson hingelman. it's a pleasure to finally meet you, dalton." "then you've read some of dalton's work!" amanda seemed intrigued more than excited, but i have an endless attraction toward bad actresses. "i do believe i've been the basis for a story or two. damned triumphant stories. i'll have you know that i hold no ill will, dalton." "i appreciate it," i said, looking up with tepid defiance at a man who stood almost a head lower than i did. "i'm sorry? i'm afraid i don't understand. i must be a bit behind," said amanda, and she bit her lip then in wideeyed anticipation. "carson, you'll not have your chance to dwell now. you see, catson and i were involved, you could say, the night i met dalton," adeline offered to amanda to settle tension that could be seen most clearly in amanda's eyes at that moment as they gaped, wide and anticipatory, exacerbating my feeling. "so this is the fellow," i pretended, and my ego was temporarily restored in the luminance of adeline's socialistic pardon. "i'm terribly sorry. the club wasjust so boring, and anyway i didn't know anything of you until we were far away." "i said it's alright. it's alright," he seemed to beg, and stepping down from his pedestal of seemingly christian morality (i have forgiven and almost forgotten- now don't you feel like scum?) he asked if we would excuse them, and i knew that on the following morning i would be able to finish a sizable portion of my story thanks to some revelation adeline had helped along, as they walked away talking interestedly into the crowd of admirers and those

TT:::::111_11.

adeline wore pity gracefully that night, and we had drifted carelessly amongst the critics and opportunists there, commenting on every hand-on-chin drinker, who would give amanda's piece only as long as they would give the drink occupying their glass, and upon its emptying would leave their deep thoughts in favor of a refill. adeline was especially skilled at pointing them out, i noticed. finding out about amanda's engagement to carson had flipped a switch in me. i had been in agony knowing that she would choose someone else someday and that he could be better than me, though in what way i was to be bested i couldn't have told you, and why that was of any concern to me could bejust as elusive an explanation- perhaps i had feared being made the subject of a series of paintings in which i would be made to look like a misogynistic christian charlatan in rags, with sharp teeth hidden partially behind a typewriter from which flowers were growing and over part of which wet earth had long since settled. but there she was, successful and making work that had nothing to do with me, i thought- and, for that rnatter, settled with a man whose apple i had picked' or whose apple had picked me, and either way i felt my substancequite viciously and vicariously that night.

Herets to Jack. CenacleHoilse is p,'ease cl ri:)an:',,1-rnce its acquisition of an immeasurable asset.JacL;is s,-,ne',,n.here slilnrlv abor-e6' tall, likes to ride bikes, skate boar dsr.nak e m us ic . a n d 3 s ,l i re c e n rl vs p o rti n ga very cl ean new ha il ci i t. Jac k is not onh a p l e a s L rre i o b e a ro u n d . h e ' s p retty darn excel l entto l-ork rr-ithas it eli. His rasie in eraphrc desrgn.fine art. and desktop drumbeats are a breath of neeCeCair to ihe CenacleHouseproduction team. If you read this and come to seeJackRamunnr on rhe street.gir-ehim apat on the back for me. The Collective

Unconscious

is a Tric\'Thing.

\\rithin the first eclition of C^\\-D\GR\lI's lavout I was interested in presenting an apparent rhetorical narrative to the journal's linear read. No theme rvas outrightlv presented.to n'hich indiriduals rvould most likely bend their submissionsto. hol'ever various regularitiesimmediately immerged. These regularitiessuggesteda loose but recogntzablecollectivesubconscious among the u'riters and artist rvho submitted u-orks.Through our arrangement of these r'r'riting and art in plat'together a thematic feel and rhetorical narrative was successfullvprompted from the materials themselves. I felt the collective subconsciousissuen'as not onlv a [estamentto psychologywithin the local urban landscape. but also a highlv satisfying creative endeavor to ponder over and arranse. Horuever. one is not always so lucky, and this underlying intention r,r'asrather unexecutable based on the variety of content submitted this second time around, So. rrith this edition we tried to turn out attentions elsewhere, onto various eiementsof qraphic design and layout in order to promote cohesion anC hiEhliehxtinchr-idualtalents u'ithin such a diverse body. I hope the edition has brousht a Cfierent bLrtequallv satisfyingdose of Columbus writing and art to vour cla,,. Ya'll Corne Back Nolr'. T hln qs i: -::.,, -"::-.::. -\n ac:'-la-,a' ^l -. '- -- : vurL, - p-----.,--_:

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Nejandro

Bellizzi ab ellizzi. I @ go .ccad. ed u

Jrrdy Blurne judyblu. l@gmail.com Dustin

Click dclick.l@go.ccad.edu ccad.digication.com / click

Allison

Dercoli 978 I /2 Franklin Ave. Columbus, OH +8205 adercoli.I @go.ccad.edu http :/ / ccad .d i gi cati o n .co m / ALLTED / G al l erv

David Scott Ellis +12 +80 9678 328 Maplewood Ave. Ambridge, pA 15003 l[p@iup.edu Matt Errnan po rcelainsparta@ho tmai l.com Daeli Frost dfrost.l@go.ccad.edu Arny Gallagher agallagher.I @go.ccad.edu Faith Gehring wishboxt I I I @yahoo.com

Paul Giovis pgioris.I @ eo.ccaC.eCu Adarn l{enderson -\fo rardst ld Grnaitr.cona Miharu

l(ato 2+5 S. llonroe Ar-e. Columbus. OH

5 r 3-260-8023 megajafro@qmail.com Ryan Monroe http :/ /nll'.flickr.

com /photos / godiekid /

Jarnes Payne James Parne is an artist. n-riter, and musician who lives at The \Ionster House in Columbus, Ohio. He co-curated the exhibition "This is a Comic Book" u'ith Colleen Grennan and recentlr-releasedthe zines 'lVomen's Comics Anthologr." u'ith Anne Elizabeth Moore and 'Arty Pafty" nith Sara Drake. nll-. ban alization.blo gspot. com James.D arid. Parne. 1@gmail.com Nicolas

Murcr nicola.. nlurer ,6 gmail.com

Pallavi

Sen +{-r8.'95 \. !i: S:" Columbus.OH +-ll15 3t-rl3*-: !- -,-

Brian

IL Sharrock http: / / ccad.digication.com/ Bsharrock BrianKeith Sharrock@gmail. com

Caitlin

Sherr,vood caitlinsherwood.com

Charles

Srnith charles.l. allen.smith@gmail. com

Jessica Srnith smith. 5 9 3B@buckeyemail.osu.edu Tosha Stirnage lstimage. I @go.ccad.edu ./-\ freshnancy@hotmail.com i// '\ ,,, http:/ / thepopb angfizz.blogspot.com/ / I ntti, t t r..a. ii gi.ution.com/ LSImage/ BACKGROUND-STUFF/ t ttV,/ /twitter.com/wolfmuthaa

) Darrell

Strawberrie darrell. strawberrie@gmail. com

Eric Sweazy il www. eri csweazy.blogsPo t. co m www. derickdaze.blo gsPot.com Brett

Zelnner brett. zehner@gmail.com

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