millardboutique Alternative Culture
Zine Issue Number Three
Zine Issue Number Three
Editor’s Note
Where are the poets of the last twenty ďŹ ve years? I feel that if you are not looking you will miss them completely. Music has hidden them, as if they were runaways slaves. A recent encounter with the music of Aesop Rock has lead me to delve into this counter culture. I have included the lyrics from the song Pigs - and dedicate this zine to the underground legend. - Aesop,Thanks for keeping poetry alive.
Thanks to all the people who contributed to the Dopeness of this zine. Thank you especially the artists who have submitted work every month. All Artists & Poets retain the copyright to their works.
Dead Poets Society (1989)
Sucking the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone.
A poem as simple as form image movement
Carlos Mercardo
Carlos Mercardo
Fiona Kennedy -Altoft
11:33 pm - Boing And yest I forget I'm awake in a time when true things true mind things mind holds not so true sometimes minds things do bleed out into times things true
Roger Kenny (aka) King Othello
Microelectronics find the Universal mind Down there near the Quantum stairs of wavy steps all possibilities instantaneously there waves of interference as waves overlap and a scene is seen in three dimensions dream holographic reality Awake long ago some curious brain doest lie in nothing and eye the lie that told did forever and ever and all the possible combinations of matter explored and seen through all of eyes that would possible exist in space of time ALive alive ghost alive animated time by choice alive in no time but infinite space we ride glowing spots in minds memory of alive we live to love to learn to live to ride to go to live to fly and in this this true we mind only too so true us too alive and 2 one. MLTIIINGMDEHT Peace and love to all ghosts on the planet -King Otho
Fiona Kennedy -Altoft
Fiona Kennedy -Altoft
Fiona Kennedy -Altoft
Barstow That anger will that no thought comes and sputtering engine no mind no hope but FIRES BURN White eyed explainations another fist a dieing palm in red light darkness. Trampled grasses and seething waterfronts no burn. No trampled grasses, Quiet -- save for the clanging of midnight machines black metal insects chomp chomp chomp the fertile fields wrapped in soft blue wrapped in dark black wrapped in questionmark infinity
Roger Kenny (aka) King Othello
Peace and love to all ghosts on the planet -King Otho
Roger Kenny (aka) King Othello Thank you Jon visions of destiny déjà vu visions of death déjà vu Impure thought machine déjà vu and Strength Of Spirit Oneness with Jesus Shadow Face Déjà vu Jon Remembers he heard it on the radio The last time the wave broke Déjà vu The war has come the fury of men ignites insanity chaotic ensues Deja The Big Stick Stirs the shit and softly spoken men laugh and profit Déjà vu Bones Blown Bodily Harm Brown people held down Republicans freed the slaves Americans pile naked Iraq while we steal their oil behind their back Déjà vu
Thought Machines however impure are each capable of knowing truth Heaven Déjà vu And thoughts in time do come Déjà vu And Fogerty Knows some things hmmm about what and how worlds can change from peace and love to death in vain Déjà vu From smoking pot to suit stained cocaine and how vicious slaves to money became Déjà vu But no Heaven exists but in this empty mind and empty mind space are all alike Déjà vu Maybe heaven isn’t a place you can go but a place you can make when minds find it within it just mike leak out Déjà vu The way of heaven is Profit without Destruction TAOja vu The tao of heaven and in this world mind is true. Déjà vu
Kazu Livingston
Noah Levin Untitled 1/5/11
REWIND. Record set, and thought consciousness skips from track to track. Me laid out - see me three dimensionally. No! see me as through all dimensions, physical reality, time past recorded and future-to-be sprayed out like book pages on floor but in full. And all of us, composed of what? This? Everything? World of now is made up of point of view I suppose. Truth is embedded but nobody holds truth like fact when that’s an impossibility. All seeing vision is lusted for and deludes EVERYTHING. Love perhaps but it’s hard to maintain when we never understand what’s in front of us. Stand in the dark and hear the world.
投稿者 非
投稿者 非
Sleeping In Coffee clutched with edge of desperation at 7pm and Coltrane has become my only salvation while the sun still creeps through my closed curtain cracks. Only tired is on my breath and even a homeless guy would tell me he could smell it. Evidentially the stench of weary can get me a seat on the subway if I were disposed to leave the closed fortress of my home. Lounging and I’m starting to saturate in myself. Another round of coffee is on the wind and I’m about as useful as a piece of acne to society at large. If the grocery store was closer then two blocks away I might stock up on provisions but even that dream has played itself off onto the winds of gone and forgotten. My tv and radio has become my only friends but even they seem to hold a certain amount of hostility to me as they’re obviously holding back the best they could offer. Outside I hear voices of productivity but I just can’t get my head around the angle they're coming from. Productivity would mean I have to put on pants and that’s energy I’m saving up for a blow out burst of ordering in dinner. Play on Coltrane, play on. Preacher man has reached for the jugular in his evangelical preach of jazz and it’s the one thing that’s touched my soul on my day of me. When I’m done soaking myself in my own uninspired spirit I’ll be sure to give you a call tomorrow.
Noah Levin
issue 3 Aesop Rock go buy his album
Chrissy Piper
Aesop Rock PIGS Sharks in the dunk tank, vipers in the garden locusts stole the groceries out the local farmers market All God's critters hold positions some are violent, some are victims each alive is an equal and vital piston I support so when the piranhas honor New York my daddy long legs dangled and mangled for sport and while I bring in every dink in the kingdom with open wings it all boils down to them shit soaked pigs. The pigs, the pigs, the dregs of which I'll aim for the gluttonous muddy stomachs under the pudgy cakehole two-track braniac usin' the food and payroll to chew up and consume every cookie crumb and peso and place a cloven hoof on the lucrative when convenient as the bourbon odor smokers' cough smolder off the C.O.E.B.A. If Noah had the beneďŹ t of hindsight on his ship he coulda snatched two unicorns and left behind the motherfuckin' pigs Goddamn pigs! Pot belly pigs! Punch drunk pigs! Take money money pigs! Loud mouth pigs! Wide load pigs! Let's make a deal... When all the wolves in wooly wigs have huffed and puffed and blew the bricks the skulls of Brooklyn's cruelest pigs will rain up Fulton's newest kicks as mulish swine of all surrounding counties sniff the gruesomeness we'll pass around the pineapples and pull the pins in unison. I will gladly feed you to the breed who wants you sacriďŹ ced No pagan or sacrilege – just bacon for scavengers. I will gladly seat you with the chickens not the passengers Hopefully the crack in his armor spreads to his avarice.
Never that – Wilburs multiply quicker than triples And hunted truffles in fistfuls but it was all bells and whistles. Bougie this and bougie that – war pig or pussy cat Glitzy to the porks ribs had to gold leaf the booby traps. Powder pink, double-breasted mess of mud and money Waddle to the fire to make his stubborn tummy roggle I'm all "I don't really know the working details of your tribes I know that that's one ugly fuckin tie, asshole" pigs Goddamn pigs! Pot belly pigs! Punch drunk pigs! Take money money pigs! Loud mouth pigs! Wide load pigs! Let's make a deal...
Apple in his mouth, maraschino eyes Party like the butcher boy's cleaver is alive I mosey into sixteen hours of smoke in the misty winter to see the county fair's blue ribbon winner is dinner then dance until the sun has kissed your blisters in the morning as the misery was dormant indignant in crispy portions Corporates fund alarm and they whore 'em Or does he whore to corporates to expand the more important forums for 'em? Push the mortar pestle past the ordinary orchard when the frilly borders faded is the product mine or yours, pig? Mine, plus I toss a token where I go – directly to the worms who shovel shit and yellow snow. This little piggy went to the market with a target and will subsequently know the armor piercing forks of farmers. Final words for the finer birds taking notes: I dig a chick in pigtails "that's all, folks!" Goddamn pigs! Pot belly pigs! Punch drunk pigs! Take money money pigs! Loud mouth pigs! Wide load pigs! Let's make a deal...
Aesop Rock (continued)
Aesop Rock *
MAO YANYANG
Noah Levin
Techno InstaSociety (The Disjointed Union)
What is it you wanted to say? A thousand voices joined into disunion. Nothing for today. No meat on the table. No voice on the radio. Reviews and self satisfaction scream in millions of digital voices. Blog your thoughts. Be the generation of me. Be the generation that fell into nostalgic dream. Pillows of yesterday suffocate voice, disjointed approval lays the land bare. Entertainment available to everyone but the food on my table costs more then I can pay. Blood for blood. Will slides away into happiness. Let me view yesterday on my computer again and I’ll inject the internet into my veins. Doped up cyber-dreams glazes will to do anything. Say our independence all together now, agree on nothing or settle for self serving slaps on the back. Grass roots points to aimless wanderings. Don Quixote says sign up! Sign Up! Forum rules into clamor pit of millions where none rise to the top.
World collapse and we can read about it on the AP wire in minute news. Watch instantaneous knee jerk reaction: Long term goals no longer exists. Voice no longer exists. A scream amongst a million doesn’t exist. Placation is supreme! DIGITIZE YOUR NOSTALGIA. Who are we?
Arlene Andrades Small Mercies Oh glorious Agony, Oh merciful Love, My heart is breaking kindly and so politely. My tears are private ornaments. My dream is slow and limping. My hands are soft and empty. Oh beautiful Pain, Oh Love, If my heart must be broken, let it be broken quickly and quietly. A merciful death. I can almost hear it now.
投稿者 非
L채dy Millard
BROWN
late night streets fueled by "the life"
Yarrow Slaps
smells of meat morsels tender cooked in the air beats in the background , the latest styles will appear cops come rushing for the exact thing that they fear…brown! _________ the color of the wings on terodactyl's brown, represents all things natural brown , underneath everything grown brown, a state of mind but where i call home brown, the struggle that we fight on the daily more than black and white , more than what they telling years backed up on a single file drive but never could they steal the strength inside brown, more than one culture, one group more than one arrow - one gun - one troop brown, the warrior in the bush walking silent leaving no footprints and standin' up defiant size ain't everything when you feel like a giant emotions at bay don't gota get things violent brown, hard work and energy spent brown always finds a way to pay their rent brown , inventors of the hustle , the muscle; and we got majority in numbers yo its kind of scary when you know your own power infrastructure says that the base is the tower - YS
Lädy Millard
Aire I am the artist I play paint for hours until I lay something down on that buy me my bread and butter.
Lay down for hours until that paint escapes my vessel blood, heart, sweat. I law down for the canvas and kneel. Blood vessel bursts. I lay down so that I can be as clear as water . Laying down color over coloreds. I law down so that no one has to see me. I am “Aire” .
Moon Haiku Red eyed lover a stone turned over inside ames The moon in clouds tucked like the cat in pillows Frosted skies cutting clouds with blades of light Bouquet of pins resting on lavender with burning coal Blooded image from position my moon is yours too I love you low and sinking Orion stapled to the sky burning through time
David Acevedo
David Acevedo All the Loves in the World All The loves in the world cycling through time distributing reality and dreams, the outside forces proclaiming once again that it won’t be believed, it will outrage, we will want to move away and on and on without any clear plan to advance beyond present day epiphanies, proclamations revelations or cover-ups-come-mystic-truths What any one is doing is what is being done. Any attempts to stop any one thing being done cannot be achieved by one complete task since any thing happening, since its already been done, is composed of numerous qualities all working inside and out to create the effect that something is doing after it’s already been done. What I do is worth as much as others who do good or bad as well as them who do nothing and just as well as those who do and do not. My dreams are rustic visions, archaic options trends and functions outcomes are powder ash and that is their reality, All the loves of the world screaming murderous wonder tormented by outside forces the intrusive evidence Advertisements for another reality subscriptions to more dreams
And the reality and dreams are fitted to my reality and dreams whether they snap to grid, conform or should be tempered and tried to fit if they fit or can’t. And my reality and dreams no longer resemble my original contained idea of reality and dreams and therefore are no longer my originally contained ideas of reality and dreams as they have become to all the loves of the world, but they do not notice it, the outside forces coming in and dressed in dead bodies going inside all the loves of the world, dressed in dead bodies. You won’t believe it, they say, name dropping every dream, advertisement and subscription And I wish that moving away were the solution. What work works best when working if it works best to present the work. Clearly then what is to work to be worked upon when working occurs, then therein can clearly be the work that works best when working. It is clear and visible inside and out, the dead bodies know, the reality and dreams that have no body as well as all the loves in the world, they know. That it is clear and visible inside and out, what is to be worked upon when work occurs, which is singular compared to the cycling and distribution of reality and dreams, the outside forces. All the loves of the world are singular in convention. Of all the loves of the world there is only one and is hardly understood making it very difficult to share, all the loves of the world. All the loves of the world are hidden inside and out and contained and fitted in my original contained idea of reality and dreams before they no longer resemble my originally contained idea of reality and dreams, like yours, before advertisement and subscription go within bodies, dead and dressed the rustic visions and archaic options, trend and function as they do work upon all the loves of the world.
投稿者 非
Bodhisattva's Suffering The black and white mornings dot my days start A grainy exposed strain moving, melting through
David Acevedo
A light burning brighter yet never fully realized exposure- just a ash in the pan A dash with time and space You know where I'm going Where I'm getting to How're we gonna get there together? Wearing a vest of thorns my heart moves close to pain, strong in weakness I just am not sure how I get by Color sinking in slowly dying the world vibrant ares High noon's kaleidoscope I see everything all the time at least once A bony leaf crashing down My tears pulled out and mustache's hoarfrost caked .
Closer to pain beating faster excited and dying Clinging to death afraid of it still, but what else is left when life is known? Enough war will end in peace You know where I'm heading off to I don't know how I'm getting there I wish we would go together Nights end like days start Fade to black and light Wake from one dream right into the next A subtle movement vibrates everything
L채dy Millard
L채dy Millard (photo)
Night Light Lightning room relax in white linen with white walls boom watch the room and pitch into the silences into the darkness and shiver of rain patter silent sweet ‘till boom look at the room shudder light reflect in tv mirror plays along the walls and falls back into quiet night, ‘till boom it’s light.
Kate Levin
Tokyo is Manhattan Dreaming Nothing but the click clack flap of manga turning and txting cell charms jingling in silence packed train —in one big round it circle’s Tokyo of Manhattan’s dreams in pinks and blues and yellows of neon perfect city of color and light and below the people looking at the candy ripples of neon reaching up at the sky where we circle and stop for more passengers who file in silent serenity of New York’s daydreams.
Kate Levin
Kate McCarthy
Manhattantown USA by Kate Levin
Kate Levin
Under the night sky, the moon is up and bright above me as I wait for Bus at street corner stop, and the skeleton of a new high-rise zombie sprawls up to the heavens next to me. And the same can be seen on each block down towards the river— buildings that had lived since the early 1900s now ripped down and replaced with black and steel and filled with rich couples. And I see them, I see it all, everything replaced, and they're packed in like rats with their suburban accoutrements and the proper address of this new fake Manhattan, with repetitive stores, same chain coffeshops and condos extending from east to west and them stacked up on top of each other with no longer views of the river, now just views into each others apartments with flat screens on walls— and most of them empty anyway because they go to the Hamptons in the summer and their country houses on the weekends. And will this be enough, finally happy to live in some generic wonderland theme park Manhattan USA, built just like they saw in Las Vegas; made of fiberglass and steel?
And not too far from home Brooklyn is dying in the same fiberglass prop trap, their children move in with painted faces of artists and struggling chic, but they don't play the instruments or hold the brushes they pose with— their apartments paid double, and Brooklyn made over like it's holding a sign stamped, "I am an artist. I am struggling." Even as money pours out of pockets to fund these vintage thrift shops, which cost the same as Madison Avenue but roughed up to give you that authentic new bourgeoisie artistic feel.
Kate Levin (continued)
No one will really be looking, I swear, we will buy each others lies and sell the image shiny and varnished, just like those cool punk artists I read about in the home of my mothers condo. Financed by the wallet in the home of my mother's condo.
And pretty soon these walking cookie cutter lies will be all that's built of Manhattan— 2D city rising to the sky. It's all you need now a days anyway, no one's really looking. And pretty soon we'll forget what authentic looks like. What our city looked like. That we even had a city, as we are pushed out, homeless. Disgusted. Looking for the inside, a place without props— we'll forget to remember what we were looking for. What it was that we lostblinded by the shine of this new world utopia's glossy magazine cover with all of its pages exactly the sam
Kate McCarthy