CCLaP Weekender, September 25th 2015

CCLaP Weekender

From the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography

September 25, 2015

New Fiction by TJ Davis Photography by Patrick Casutt Chicago Literary Events Calendar September 25, 2015 | 1

THIS WEEK’S CHICAG

For all events, visit [cclapce

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 26 3pm Paper Machete

The Green Mill / 4802 N. Broadway / Free, 21+ thepapermacheteshow.com

A “live magazine” covering pop culture, current events, and American manners—part spoken-word show, part vaudeville review—featuring comedians, journalists, storytellers, and musical guests. Hosted by Christopher Piatt.

8pm Blackout Diaries

High Hat Club / 1920 East Irving Park / $10, 21+ blackoutdiaries.info

A comedy show about drinking stories, a “critic’s pick” at Red Eye, MetroMix, and Time Out Chicago. Comedians share the mic with “regular” people, such as cops, firefighters, and teachers, all recounting real-life tales about getting wasted. Hosted by Sean Flannery.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 27 10am

Sunday Morning Stories Donny's Skybox Studio Theatre / 1608 North Wells / Free

We performers are pre-booked. We feature novice as well as seasoned storytellers. On or off paper.

7pm Uptown Poetry Slam

The Green Mill / 4802 N. Broadway / $6, 21+ greenmilljazz.com

Featuring open mike, special guests, and end-of-the-night competition.

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GO LITERARY EVENTS

enter.com/chicagocalendar] 7pm Asylum

Le Fleur de Lis / 301 E. 43rd / $10

lefleurdelischicago.com

A weekly poetry showcase with live accompaniment by the band Verzatile.

7pm

Sunday Salon Chicago Riverview Tavern / 1958 W Roscoe St / Free

Celebrate the return of autumn with Sunday Salon! We're delighted to be hosting four incredible writers: Bayo Ojikutu, Lynn Sloan, Garnett Kilberg Cohen, and Barrie Jean Borich.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 28 8:30pm Kafein Espresso Bar

Kafein Espresso Bar / 1621 Chicago Ave., Evanston kafeincoffee.com

Open mic with hosts Chris and Kirill.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 29 6pm Lyricist Loft

Harold Washington Library / 400 South State / Free youmediachicago.org

“Open mic for open minds,” presented by Remix Spoken Word.

Hosted by Dimi D, Mr. Diversity, and Fatimah.

9pm

In One Ear Heartland Cafe / 7000 N Glenwood https://www.facebook.com/pages/In-One-Ear/210844945622380

Chicago's 3rd longest-running open-mic show, hosted by Pete Wolf and Billy Tuggle.

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THURSDAY, OCTOBER 1 7:30pm Northside Story Club

Holiday Club / 4000 North Sheridan / $10 Suggested, 21+ storyclubchicago.com

A nonfiction storytelling show that aims to “mix the spontaneity of an open mic with the experience of live theater.� At every installment, featured readers and open mic performers are each given a microphone and eight minutes. Hosted by Dana Norris.

To submit your own literary event, or to correct the information on anything you see here, please drop us a line cclapcenter@gmail.com

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CCLaP Publishing

Paul McCartney is not a celebrity himself, but works on the edges of that industry, unhappily toiling away at a tabloid devoted to famous deaths and the public’s ongoing fascination with them. But one day he discovers a mysterious red button on a back wall of his new house, which when pressed causes the immediate death of a celebrity sometimes half a world away. And what does this have to do with the eyeball in a glass jar that his biggest fan has recently mailed to him?

Find out the darkly hilarious answer in this full-length debut of British absurdist author Stephen Moles. A rousingly bizarro exploration of fame, identity and mortality, this novella will make you laugh and cringe in equal measure, a perfect read for existing fans of Will Self or Chuck Palahniuk. You might not think a book about death would begin with the word “life” written 27 times in a row, but then you have yet to enter the strange but compelling world of Paul is Dead. Best approached with caution and with tongue firmly in cheek!

Download for free at cclapcenter.com/paulisdead

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Everything seemed so promising when I arrived at the beach.

When my friend, Aiden, hinted that I should start dating again, I was dismissive. Some men might be able to rebound quickly after discovering a dick pic on their last girlfriend’s phone, but I guess I’m old fashioned.

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ORIGINAL FICTION

“The Little Mermaid” by Benson Kua [flickr.com/bensonkua]. Used under the terms of her Creative Commons license.

ID TALE

BY TJ DAVIS September 25, 2015 | 7

When his wife, Christina, told me I should try Tinder, I was suspicious.

When Olivia and I matched after both of us swiped right, she texted me and offered to meet at the beach for a blind date, and I was curious. The beach seemed a bold choice. Only a self-confident woman would meet somebody at the beach, right? When she gave me the directions to a hidden beach, I was hooked.

I emerged from the palms and saw her swimming off the shore. She was a blur of tan arms, a navy blue top, and long auburn hair. I set down the picnic cooler and the towel I had brought and began to wave my hands in the air, calling out her name. She swam over to the shore but stayed in the water. She was gorgeous. Her eyes were the same color as the ocean.

Surprise number one: she was a fucking mermaid.

Number two: mermaids are not half-human and half-fish. They are all mammal. They’re actually half-dolphin.

I regained enough of my wits to shake her hand, which I had to bend over to reach. I backed away slowly, toward the cooler and the towel. I’d never dated anybody taller than me. Or is it longer than me? How did she measure herself? Probably like most females, by her weight.

“I’m sure you have some questions,” she said.

“Um, yeah!”

I sat on the beach towel, afraid to go in the water. She lay on her stomach, her tail lazily splashing up and down in the tide. Her long hair rested on her back, and I wanted to bury my hands in it to see if it was as soft as it looked.

We were about ten feet apart, so we had to almost shout to be heard over the water. Due to her position, I had a pretty good view of her cleavage. No starfish, seashells, or any other such nonsense enclosed the impressive pair.

Just a regular, navy blue, Nike sports bra. It was the only piece of clothing she had on.

I was wearing swim trunks and a plain, white T-shirt, sitting with my elbows on my knees. My toes nervously kneaded the soft sand. I looked away from Olivia and the water to see the most beautiful beach I’d ever witnessed, nothing but a hundred yard swatch of empty sand interrupted only by the lazy waves and the palms stretching from the forest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“Would you have believed me?”

I was feeling nervous. She was gorgeous, but I couldn’t date a mermaid.

Why did I care if Olivia liked me? It was stupid. It was ridiculous. It was confusing.

“Do you want to go for a swim?” she asked.

“I can’t swim. Is that a deal breaker?”

“To be honest, probably. Maybe I’m a little out of your league.”

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“That’s a terrible joke.” I wanted to leave.

“No, this is a terrible joke.” She pulled out a phone from her sports bra.

“Do you know what kind of phone this is?”

I squinted to see the telltale Apple logo. “An iPhone?”

“Nope. It’s a shell phone.”

A nervous laugh escaped me, but I was really wondering how I could get away from that beach. I could have just walked right back to my car. It was not like she was going to follow me. There was no way it could ever work out.

Was there?

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “You can go right now if you want. You won’t hurt my feelings. Well, actually, of course you will. You’re not the first date I’ve been on. Frankly, I’m getting a little tired of trying to find somebody. You know, mermaids are basically an endangered species. I wish I could say that was the only reason I’ve been resorting to blind dates, but it’s mostly so my mother will get off my case and stop bitching about when I’m going to find somebody to mate with.”

Maybe I could stay a bit longer. What were the chances of ever seeing a mermaid again?

“Do mermaids ever get married?” I asked.

“Of course, only with our own kind, though. But to avoid inbreeding, when mer-ladies turn eighteen, they send us out to get pregnant. If we come back without a calf, we’re shunned. It’s like Rumspringa for the Amish.”

“How do you know about the Amish?”

“Duh, Wikipedia. Plus, I’ve got Netflix on my phone. I love documentaries.”

“Me too!” I said, but then caught myself. She noticed my hesitation.

“Listen, I’m not looking for a relationship, Liam. I just really need to get pregnant so I can go back home. Think you can help me out?”

I’ve had one night stands before, but I couldn’t do it. “Sorry, Olivia. It just seems wrong. No offense, but it’s like bestiality or something.”

“It’s only half-bestiality.”

“Maybe, but that’s the half that would be involved.”

She sighed and the splashing of her tail intensified. “Well, can we at least eat? I’ve had nothing but sashimi for the past couple of days.”

I started to open the cooler, but realizing paper plates would be pretty worthless, I decided to just drag the cooler into the water. Once I knew it wouldn’t float away, I took off my shirt and tossed it back by my towel.

When I turned back to her, I caught her eying my torso, and not with lust. I know that I’m no catch.

“Maybe there’s at least a six pack in the cooler?” she said.

“No, just a bottle of wine. I hope you like red.”

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“I prefer vodka, but red wine is fine. What else we got?” She eased forward to peek into the cooler.

I took out Tupperware and the other items. “We’ve got some manchego cheese, pumpernickel bread, salami, pasta salad, papaya, mango, and some churros.”

“I love churros,” she said, and took that Tupperware first.

“You eat dessert first?”

“Life’s too short. Who knows? I might get caught by a fisherman before this date is through.”

“Let’s not call it a date,” I said. “How about lunch between friends?”

“I don’t want to be your friend, Liam. I want you to fuck me. But I guess I can forget about that and enjoy this food. Did you make it?”

“Just the churros.”

“They’re really good,” she said after putting a handful of them in her mouth. I sat in the water, eating the mangos and wondering if she had a blowhole on her back.

With the option of sex off the table, we actually started to have a nice conversation.

I asked about other mermaids, and she told me that, long ago, there’d been a shipwreck.

A school of dolphins had carried the only survivor back to shore. He was so grateful that he hugged one of the dolphins, and one thing led to another, and eleven months later, the first mermaid was born. Since then, they’ve been quietly multiplying. Having male dolphins impregnating a female human would give up the secret, so it’s up to the females to go to the shores to find bipeds that can increase their population.

She was unimpressed by my job as bicycle repairman. She was unemployed, but thanks to a few “undiscovered” shipwrecks, she could afford her lifestyle.

She swam over to clump of trees near the water and fetched her waterproof overnight bag. Inside were a bunch of beauty products, a bottle of vodka, and a bikini top, which I assume acted as her pajamas.

With very few exceptions, Olivia was more woman than dolphin. She constantly texted on her waterproof cell phone during our conversation, loved the movie Dirty Dancing, and thought Jon Snow from Game of Thrones was dreamy.

Aside from her bottom half, the only hint of her dolphin-ness was the timbre of her laugh, which sounded like a high-pitched squeaking whistle.

In some ways, she was a more resourceful human than me. She maintained a small diesel generator hidden in a small cave along the coast, which she used

With the option of sex off the table, we actually started to have a nice conversation.

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to recharge her phone and power her curling iron.

“What do you do all day?” I asked.

“Mostly just read, hunt, or watch Netflix. I write notes for my mom, but she won’t be able to read them until I get back. She refuses to get a cell phone.

Says they’re ruining communication.”

How did she even get a cell phone? She sent some topless photos to a frumpy T-Mobile worker that managed to smuggle her a prepaid phone that he dropped off at the beach. They’d never met in person.

By this time, the wine was gone. She opened her bag and took out the vodka.

“Want a shot?” she asked.

“I better not. I’ve got to drive home.”

“Come on. One shot. My date last week brought it with him, but left it on the beach before he ran away screaming. I had to flop up that beach about twenty feet to get it.”

“All right. I’ll do one.” She poured us each a drink in the wine glasses.

“Do a lot of men just run away?”

“Not really. Most of them are like you. They talk awhile, but none of them have ever actually come into the water. And you can’t even swim! I’ll cheers to that.”

I began to feel something like pity when I swallowed the vodka. Then I started to feel woozy. Then I felt my body let go and fall back into the wet sand.

I woke up wet, on a rock surrounded by water. It was full night. Aside from the unbelievable amount of stars and a quarter-moon, there was nothing but black water all around me. I scrambled to a sitting position.

“Olivia!”

I heard her splashing in the water behind me. She stayed about fifteen feet away.

“Sorry about this, Liam. I just really need to get home. There’s only so much rejection a woman can take. I gave you a chance to do this willingly, but you were obdurate. You will give me my baby.”

“Goddamn it, Olivia! Get me out of here!”

“You’ll never see land again, unless you help me. You can sit on this rock and starve, you can jump in the water and drown, or you give me my baby.”

She slipped off her Nike sports bra, revealing two perfect breasts that I knew would feel as soft as angel food cake. “Where do you think humanity is going to go when you ruin the land to the point of no return? Not the moon. Not Mars. Not in the caves. Back to the ocean! Our son or daughter will be happy.

In a few years, we’ll have enough mermaids so we won’t have to worry about inbreeding anymore. There’s no war down there. There’s no disease. Sure, we get the occasional shark attack now and again. And there’s not much light, September 25, 2015 | 11

but we live simple and good lives.” She swam closer, but not enough to where I could lunge at her without risking drowning. Her long hair floated around her, reflecting the rippling moonlight. “Of course, I will miss my Netflix. And the food. Those churros were delicious.”

I sat on that cold, wet, sharp rock. I had nothing except for my swim trunks. I couldn’t think of a way out. I hoped for a shark. I swerved my head to look for a sign of land or the light of a fishing boat in the distance. There was nothing but the rock, the salt water, and Olivia. I was marooned.

In the end, I decided to let fate decide. I slipped into the water thinking maybe she would let me sink to the bottom of the ocean, but she gently cradled me in her arms so I was submerged up to my chest. I was floating without effort, limply suspended on the border of air and sea. She kept us buoyed there for a while, smiling and silent. When she dipped one hand under the water to remove my shorts and toss them on the rocks, I didn’t struggle. I flinched a little when I felt her smooth lower-half crowd my thighs.

I hoped she would lose interest, because there was no way I was going to be able to get hard in that cold water while my heartbeat rattled like a flat tire on the highway. But here’s something most marine biologists won’t tell you: dolphin vaginas have suction.

Afterward, she swam me back to the beach, and then she simply left me curled and shut-eyed on the tideline. She slipped under the moonlit waters, leaving me with an empty cooler, an empty wine bottle, and a bottomless shame. C

TJ Davis is an international teacher from Minnesota. His published writing includes three collections of short stories, a novella, and a memoir about his three years living in Burma. His short story “Itchy,” finished in the top 16 of the Discovery Channel’s “How Stuff Works Halloween Fiction Contest.” You can find more from him at yourtyler.squarespace.com.

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Patrick Casutt

PHOTOGRAPHY FEATURE

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My name is Patrick Casutt, I am 32 years and live in Switzerland. Photography is my hobby which I operate as a balance to my work in prison as a supervisor. Here I use every free minute with the camera in hand. I work exclusively with Lightroom CC. My dream is to make sooner or later the photograph to my profession. With my pictures I want to make people think. I would point to the fact that everything has a beauty, even if you do not see at first glance.

My cameras that I use: Nikon D3, Nikon D7100, Nikon D90 and various lenses. On the road I use at the moment prefer the Nikon D7100 with the Nikkor 35mm Ć’1.8. My role models are: Oliviero Toscani and Thomas Leuthard. Everyone can feel free to contact me at p.casutt@yahoo.com.

Life is a movie. Every moment is a picture. Find your moments.

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flickr.com/casutt facebook.com/PatrickCasuttPhotography 30 | CCLaP Weekender

CCLaP Publishing

THE PUBLISHING EVENT NINE YEARS IN THE MAKING. In 2006, celebrated author Ben Tanzer began working on a series of short stories all set in the fictional upstate New York town of Two Rivers, most of them published in various literary journals over the years and eventually collected into the three small volumes Repetition Patterns (2008), So Different Now (2011), and After the Flood (2014). Now for the first time, all 33 of these stories have been put together into one paperback edition, highlighting the long-term planning of themes and motifs that Tanzer has been building into these pieces the entire time. Featuring dark character studies of childhood, middle age, and (lack of) grace under pressure, these stories are considered by many to be among the best work of Tanzer’s career, and voracious fans of his short work will surely be pleased and satisfied to have these small masterpieces collected together into one easy-to-read volume. So take a stool at Thirsty’s, order another Yuengling, and be prepared to be transported into the black heart of the American small-town soul, as one of our nation’s best contemporary authors takes us on a journey across space and time that will not be soon forgotten.

Download for free at September 25, 2015 | 31 cclapcenter.com/nystories

The CCLaP Weekender is published in electronic form only, every Friday for free download at the CCLaP website [cclapcenter.com]. Copyright 2015, Chicago Center for Literature and Photography. All rights revert back to artists upon publication. Editorin-chief: Jason Pettus. Story Editor: Behnam Riahi. Photo Editor: Jennifer Yu. Layout Editor: Wyatt Robinette.

Calendar Editor: Taylor Carlile. To submit your work for possible feature, or to add a calendar item, contact us at cclapcenter@gmail.com.

Did you like this? Pay us 99 cents and help us keep them coming! bit.ly/cclapweekender

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