NOUS 5 - The Panic Issue

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FOR MODERN MINDCULTURE AND EMPATHIC THINKING

NOUS MAGAZINE FIVE

The Panic Issue hysteria, imagination and escape

spring 2015 £8

team

trident

press




Editorial & Art Direction Lisa Lorenz Proofreading George Odysseos Words Angus Stewart about.me/angoos August Priebe augustpriebe.de.vu Cathy Bryant cathybryant.co.uk Delyth Telford delyth22.tumblr.com Emily Godden auditchaos.blogspot.co.uk G. Evelyn Lampart gelamp@gmail.com Gary Beck garycbeck.com Hal O'Leary oleary37@comcast.net Jake Duff jakeduff1991@hotmail.com John Gosslee johngosslee.com Karl Astbury @Poet_is_Priest Lizz Brady brokengreywires.com Lynn Hoffmann radiationdays.com Mitchell Grabois facebook.com/mitch.grabois Richard King Perkins II roguesatellite@yahoo.com Stephanee Walker stephaneewalker.com Stephen James folknwords.tumblr.com Viltautė Krupickaitė about.me/v.krupickaite Illustration Alessandra Genualdo alessandragenualdo.com Danijel Cecelja danijelcecelja.com Eglė Gudonytė eggl.weebly.com Jimmy Slater Say »Hello« at Koffee Pot Kati Szilagyi katiszi.com Sonny Ross sonnyross.com Ezra Zubairu cultivatefilmart.blogspot.co.uk

Photography

Watch

Broth Tarn brothtarn.tumblr.com Chris Bethell christopherbethell.com Delaney Allen delaneyallen.com Gwen Osmond ladansedegwendolen.tumblr.com Martina Hoogland Ivanow martinahooglandivanow.com Primoz Zorko www.primozzorko.com Rebecca Bibby rbibbyphotography.co.uk Sara Hini sarahini.com Stéphanie Vivier stephanievivier.org

La Haine (1995) Mathieu Kassovitz Dog Day Afternoon (1975) Sydney Lumet Funny Games (1997) Michael Haneke Audition (1999) Takashi Miike Elephant (1989) Alan Clarke

Painting

Mangal Raghunath Joshi

Sound paint lesson no.3, by spuzz: Graham Wann, Jordy Alex, Ash Davies, and Ashley Van Dyck Listen Feine Sahne Fischfilet Wut The Smiths Panic POST New Built Fears Love Kult Country Hanging Crown Kyōgen Deeper Understanding Mutter Wer hat schon Lust so zu leben? Ben Khan Youth BC Camplight Atom Bomb Time Zone World Destruction MOTHER My Lies Scott Walker Hero Of The War Read The Bell Jar Sylvia Plath The Tin Drum Günter Grass The Visit Friedrich Dürrenmatt The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Douglas Adams

compiled by Ezra Zubairu cultivatefilmart.blogspot.co.uk Typefaces Arek Khajag Apelian

Paper Steinweis 80g/m² Cyclus 200g/m² 100% recycled paper Marc the Printers marctheprinters.co.uk Publisher NOUS 5 - The Panic Issue is published as Element #004 by People of Print (In Perpetuum) London, UK. Printed on a Riso in flat gold, fluorescent pink, and black in Manchester, U.K., May 2015. teamtridentpress.com Contact & Info NOUS magazine Ltd Studio 404, Islington Mill M3 5HW, Salford hej@nous-magazine.de www.nous-magazine.de © All rights remain with the authors. No parts may be reproduced or copied without the written consent of NOUS. Danke. Edition

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N O US M AG A ZI N E 路 PA N I C

But don't the days run by your window so fast, a n d d o n ' t y o u k n o w, nothing round here ever lasts.

GRAHAM M. WANN

New Built Fears Love by POST


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Cover

6

8

Eglė Gudonytė

Imprint

Editorial

Inner Cover

Chapter Links

Poster

Cards

spuzz

Rebecca Bibby

Ezra Zubairu

Stéphanie Vivier

One Hy s t e r i a CHAOS, RULES, AND DECONSTRUCTION

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Boyz

Back From Combat

Broth Tarn

Mitchell Grabois

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Tumultuous

The Shooter

Turbulence

Lynn Hoffmann

Delyth Telford 42 20

To the Right

Sting Operation

Chris Bethell

G. Evelyn Lampart Gwen Osmond

54 Progressive Engineering

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Gary Beck

Insane Society

Martina Hoogland Ivanow

Hal O'Leary Jimmy Slater Content

64 Bear with Me a Minute Viltautė Krupickaitė


Tw o Imagination TRAUMA, DREAM, AND ILLUSION

71 9780141183794

Three Escape RESOLUTION, PROGRESS, AND HOPE

Emily Godden 107

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Meret Becker

A Necessary Calm

Whilst the Monarch

August Priebe

Richard King Perkins II

Butterfly Passes Over

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Karl Astbury

Danijel Cecelja 110 82

Lunch in the

150

Hour Of The Wolves

New Century

Bangkok Panic

John Gosslee

Valentine

Delaney Allen

Angus Stewart

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152

Panic on the Streets

Needle Side Kidz

of Manchester

Broth Tarn

John Aylesworth 84 Destructive Interference Lorraine Berry Kati Szilagyi 92 Bear Heel Stephen James Sonny Ross 96 Illusions of Control Stephanee Walker Sara Hini

Lizz Brady 128 You Are Invited Cathy Bryant Alessandra Genualdo 137 Fruit Bowl Jake Duff Primoz Zorko


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Dear Reader, A FOREWORD BY THE EDITOR

Panic can be an uncomfortable feeling in your guts. It can rise up from unexpected depths, and it will go from nought to sixty if we let it.

This year started with blind panic, politically and socially, and we can only wonder how these different sorts of extreme fear and hysteria are created.

Many things make us panic: a telephone bill you cannot pay; choosing between skinny, fullfat, or soya; collapsing buildings in Kathmandu; Salafist terrorists threatening bike races; German passenger plane pilots commiting suicide; ripped shoe laces; a stain on your job interview shirt; xenophobia; the foreigners; being alone; being together with someone; being a bad influence; being forgotten; ebola; cancer; sex; love; having no words.

Can we link those feelings to the increased mental difficutlies many experience? What can we learn, and how can we understand the world around us from recent and historical observations? In the first part of this issue we will look at the post-financal-crash world we live in, a society of war, and the scary mechanisms of our health services.


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In part two, we will take a step inside. A comical yet serious intercourse with Meret Becker is followed up by the journey of a woman to the darkest depths of a forest in the search for comfort, but finding brutality. In its final part the Panic Issue will show off ways of healing, the possibility of escape, making peace, and forgiving.

I hope you will enjoy your read. If this was not enough, I am sure the reading list and filmography we put together for you will last till the next issue - coming out in November 2015. Welcome to the fifth NOUS and remember: »Don't Panic!« Lisa 0

We are most proud of having an even fatter mag with ever more and ever newer contributors. A big thank you to everyone who stayed by our side loyally from issue one till today.

Editorial


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CHAOS, RULES, AND DECONSTRUCTION


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One Hysteria TUMULTUOUS TURBULENCE STING OPERATION INSANE SOCIETY

BACK FROM COMBAT THE SHOOTER

TO THE RIGHT

PROGRESSIVE ENGINEERING BEAR WITH ME A MINUTE


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Tumultuous Turbulence Delyth Telford

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N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

Tumultuous turbulence Writhing in the veins Beyond sense Utter strains Beyond reason or rhyme A strange paradigm Utterly frantic Beyond pedantic Grasping at what need be Though you cannot see All that could And all that should Falling end over end With a message to send Sometimes pays dividend Sometimes a downward trend.


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ÂťIn law enforcement, sting operation is a deceptive operation designed to catch a person committing a crime. A typical sting will have a law- enforcement off icer or cooperative member of the public play a role as cr iminal partner or potential victim and go along with a suspect's actions to gather evidence of the suspect's wrongdoing.ÂŤ

One - Hysteria

Sting Operation


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Sting Operation WORDS G. EVELYN LAMPART

PHOTOGRAPHY GWEN OSMOND

It was a cover-up. A front.

They were on their way.

Always had been. »Use your sirens!« I said, and The accountants in the second floor

told them to have a good day.

office, together with the lawyers and the real estate agents, were all

I wasn’t going down without a

criminals, and in cahoots with my

fight. Without declaring that I knew

mother. They were going to bust me.

who was to blame for calling my

I knew they were being watched by

mother. And they weren’t going to

the cops since I told them they were

get away with making me crazy. I

plotting against me. I had called the

would let it be known far and wide.

precinct. They recognized my voice

With bristling energy I pressed TALK

immediately. And they promised

on my intercom and shouted to the

that they would come and check it

street down below, the main avenue:

out right away. It would be a sting operation. That would show the guys in the office who was boss.

»It’s a Sting Operation. Downstairs. Farber & Garfield.«


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

The people walking by would hear

When I stood outside Max’s door

and spread the word. And I did it

the night before, I rang the bell on

again. I pressed and screamed:

his intercom, and all of his neighbors’ bells as well. No one rang me in. But

»It’s a Sting Operation. I am warning you. Watch out.«

that was okay. I was giving them a warning sign. They would know. Max always knew where I was. He

They were my neighbors, after

wouldn’t break the mirror and race

all. They should know what was

down three flights of stairs and let

coming their way. And I did it again,

me come in. Max couldn’t. There

louder and louder each time:

would be no morning after if he did. I pressed his bell again anyway — a

»Sting, Sting, STING!«

code — to let him know they were getting close to locking me up. Again. A card had been left under my door from the

I needed more coffee. Nothing but grounds in the percolator. I boiled water. A smidgen of milk in a container in the fridge was a surprise. It would

Mobile Crisis Emergency Unit

take too long to brew. I ran back to the intercom. The job had to be done right.

the day before. Not good.

Whatever a sting operation was, and I wasn’t sure, I had hit the jackpot. My voices were never wrong. Winner

A psychiatrist and a social worker had come to my door. They were going

tell-all. Losers keep quiet down

to return. My apartment was no

below. I wasn’t going to be quiet.

longer safe. I left my apartment then

Not anymore.

at night. No hesitations. If I had my

One - Hysteria

Sting Operation


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beige belted raincoat from high school, I would have gone to see Max long ago. Years ago. Beige and belted I could have made my exit from Brooklyn and entrance to Greenwich Village classic. Never too late, I heard clearly. The voices knew all. They knew that I didn’t even have my black turtle neck. High School. College. My mother was crazier then. No one knew. No one saw the deep red scratches on my neck. Not even my mother. Now they would know. I was making sure. The headlines would be catastrophic:

STING OPERATION BUST IN PARK SLOPE And the cops made it. They showed up as promised. With Protective Services. And my mother. My mother would have to leave. Dreadful. She would stuff the medicine down my throat with raw eggs and mashed rotten bananas.


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

The caseworker had black hair dyed

The lime green and pale pink

darker than a bat’s wings, black nail

and dusty blue nightgowns my

polish, and a black studded leather

mother bought for my birthday.

wrist bracelet on her chalky white wrist. She wasn’t dressed right for the job. She was not going to come in. I was dressed appropriately for

All I had wanted was a card.

visitors. A brown and green sweater. Cable stitches. And brown velour pants. A find. T J Maxx. My marathon

»Yeah. I could hang out here.«

shopping sprees always paid off. The cops were getting comfortable. »Step away from the intercom,« I was ordered.

»Nice view. And quiet.« Young and American men

»Look at me. And look at her!«

could see that I had it together and knew what to do.

The cops looked at me. Good. They were cute.

»I have a sandwich. In the fridge. Half a sandwich… You can have it.«

»Sorry there is no coffee left.« I faced them all. They were »Nice place.« And the officers sat

friendly. They hadn’t handcuffed

down on the couch, new, and on the

me. Or run into my bedroom to

coffee table, also new. The apartment

see if I was hiding anyone.

was clean. No clutter anymore. Trashed. Every artifact of my last ten years were dashed out the bathrooom window,

»We’ll let him know. Tell him. It’s quiet up here. Nice.«

and down the four flights of stairs.

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I knew they meant Max. I went

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»Rules ‘n regs. No exceptions.«

with them willingly. They promised me that my mother wouldn’t ride

I knew what the next scene was

in the ambulance with me, and

going to be. I had performed it many

they sent the caseworker back

times before. I let myself go limp, and

into the field to her next case.

offered no resistance as the straps were adjusted around my waist. I

»I’ll be back.« I announced to a crowd of strangers

asked EMS to turn on the siren. »Let’s get this over with.«

gathered outside my building, and to Jeffrey from across the street. He was shooting pictures

»Can’t do that unless it’s a heart attack.«

of the cops, the ambulance. I wanted to point to my heart and A scene, with me as the star. In the

show them, but my hands were bound

ambulance I sat freely with the EMS

tight around my middle. If this isn’t

worker. No straps this time. No sirens

a heart attack, I thought, this is a big

to race me back to the hospital. EMS

mistake. Maybe it wasn’t too late

was a young woman, blonde pony tail,

for me to remain silent, and pretend

long red nails, and gum cracking.

that I wasn’t the person who had made that phone call to the police.

»If my boyfriend wrote plays about

I was about to play an old role

me, I wouldn’t be depressed,« speaking

when we got to the hospital, the

to her partner she looked at me. How

part that had made me a star.

could she know that Max wrote plays. »When do I get fed?« »How do you know?« I wanted to hear myself say EMS winked at her partner, and told

something; anything, loud and clear.

me that she was going to have to buckle me in. For my own good. She didn’t want to. But it was standard policy.

»I’m hungry.«


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

The partners assigned to watch over me turned their backs as the ambulance wound through the streets of Brooklyn, over the Verrazano Bridge, and into the fifth and forgotten borough of Staten Island. »Are we there yet?« I wanted to know. »Are we there yet?« I repeated. »Are we?« EMS wasn’t paying attention. She was busy writing in her black leather log book and the ambulance came to a sudden stop in front of a stone barrack like building. The show was over. 0

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the arch of hysteria

is

a physical release of psychological suffer ing as described by the nineteenth-century neurologist Jean Martin Charcot (18251893). Working at the Salpêtrière Hospital in Par is, Charcot sought to represent hyster ia by documenting the performances of his female patients. T he physical tension of the hyster ical arch - an intense muscular contraction, resulting in immobility and paralysis of the limbs - is emblematic of an equally extreme emotional state. Osmond explores discrimination based o n g e n d e r, c h a l l e n g i n g the misconception of hyster ia as a female malady.

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One - Hysteria Insane Society

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N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

WORDS HAL O'LEARY

VISUALS JIMMY SLATER

T hougths on the definition of insanity in Wester n culture, the dissolution of gender values, and the r idicule of law.

Insane Society I would refer you to a full

3a : extreme folly or unreasonableness

definition of insanity as stated by Merriam Webster.

3b : something utterly foolish or unreasonable

Full Definition of »Insanity« I would then ask you whether or not 1: a deranged state of the mind usually occurring as a specific

it is possible for a body politic to fall victim to insanity given this definition.

disorder (as schizophrenia) Has the body politic in America gone 2: such unsoundness of mind or lack

mad? With almost half of the public

of understanding as prevents one from

in agreement that every citizen should

having the mental capacity required by

carry arms for protection from the

law to enter into a particular relationship,

murder of each other, and now, many

status, or transaction or as removes one

of the formerly sensitive, sensible

from criminal or civil responsibility

and better half of our society are demanding the right to don uniforms with their male counterparts.


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that a nation-wide review of the very

automatic weapons to exercise

principles and morality, upon which

their constitutional right to

this country was founded, is needed to

murder men, women and children

restore at least some measure of sanity.

around the world. What other than madness could explain such

Now, lest you call me out on the

behavior, since each are acts of

constant use of the word ÂťmurderÂŤ

murder in every sense of the word.

please hear me out. The following is a justifiable description of murder and its

Have we become an insane society?

consequences as found in Wikipedia. Murder is the unlawful killing, with malice aforethought, of another person, and

I would maintain that we have

generally this state of mind distinguishes

become addicted to murder. The very

murder from other forms of unlawful

obvious fact that our own government

homicide (such as manslaughter).

can, not only with immunity, but with public approval, murder, not

As the loss of a human being inflicts

only suspected foreign enemies and

enormous grief upon the individuals

agents but its own citizens without

close to the victim, and the commission

indictment or trial, suggests that

of a murder is highly detrimental to

violence has become the accepted

the good order within society, most

means of resolving disputes, and a

societies both present and in antiquity

way of life. That the better half of our

have considered it a most serious crime

society, which has, heretofore, managed

worthy of the harshest of punishment.

to maintain a respectable sanity, seems desirous of the opportunity

In most countries, a person

to, not only condone, but to commit

convicted of murder is typically

murder in their own right, suggests

given a long prison sentence —


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possibly a life sentence where permitted, and in some countries, the death penalty

4. Intent to commit a dangerous felony.

may be imposed for such an act — though this practice is becoming less common.

These two crimes in particular represent reprehensible infringements

In most countries, there is no statute

on the rights of another.

of limitations for murder (no time limit for prosecuting someone for murder).

And, grievous though they be, I contend that the murders carried

A person who commits murder is

out by our military by far exceed

called a murderer. In this regard, I

the noxious consequences of even

imagine you would agree that the

those heinous acts. Entire families

first two examples cited adequately fit

are murdered indiscriminately.

this description of murder. There was malice aforethought which constitutes

Here, you may righteously scream that our brave soldiers are defending our

The following states of mind:

freedom and therefore the killing of the

1. Intent to kill

which distinguishes murder from

enemy cannot be construed as murder. It is what is termed »Unlawful«, killings that are done within the

2. Intent to inflict grievous bodily harm short of death.

boundaries of law, such as execution, self-defense or the killing of enemy soldiers during a war, which in this

3. Reckless indifference to an unjustifiably high risk to human life.

case, grants immunity to the military. It all sounds so legal and above board.

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BUT, what if the so-called war was

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Does this not make the bombing

itself illegal. What if the freedoms

and invasion of Afghanistan

our brave soldiers are supposedly

illegal, particularly since most

defending are in graver danger of

all of the supposed hijackers

being eroded here at home than

were from Saudi Arabia.

they are from enemies we have created abroad? We have suspended habeas corpus and privacy rights.

Does the bombing and invasion of Iraq for supposed possession of WMD which were never found

American citizens can now be assassinated

make that entire operation illegal? Neither Afghanistan or Iraq represented any threat whatever

by order of the President, or

to the United States.

detained indefinitely without even a hearing. Does that not effectively kill »defense of freedom« as our ostensible reason initiating war?

We have justified both of these atrocities under the dubious label of the

»War on Terror«

Initially Afghanistan was bombed and invaded, so we were told, because the Taliban refused to hand over Bin Laden, the supposed mastermind

which is as ridiculously designed and deceitful as the »War On Drugs«. My friends, we must understand

behind 9/11. Actually, the Taliban did

that all of these inexcusable offenses

offer to surrender him to a neutral

are not just violations of our own

country upon presentation of evidence

laws and treaties, but they are

that he was indeed responsible.

international crimes against humanity. In that respect, the killing that

This evidence was never presented.

results must be considered murder.


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While it is acknowledged that

With even American women now

an exclusion to murder is »The

clamoring for the right to kill even

killing of enemy combatants by

though it be acknowledged as murder,

lawful combatants,« it carries with

I find myself at a loss to explain why.

it the addendum, »In accordance with lawful orders in war.«

Then, when you consider that the only reason for the murders is so

The Military Code requires obedience

that a certain 1% of elite bankers, entrepreneurs and manufacturers can increase their obscene wealth at the expense and sacrifice of those

only to lawful orders. Therefore, if

who remain oblivious to the truth.

the instigation of the action is itself illegal, the orders and their execution

What else but an insane society?

must also be considered illegal and a

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capital crime. In both cases, since the attacks by us were premeditated and preemptive with no evidence of even a threat, the attack on Afghanistan having been planned prior to 9/11, there can be no plea of self-defense.

Of course there is always the possibility of a plea of insanity

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Back from Combat WORDS MITCHELL GRABOIS

A tale of the retur n of a post-war romantic to a land of austerity and old memories.


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

The arteries of peacetime were those

The arteries of wartime were

of a child, who lay on his back on

clogged. He needed to get out, but his

lawns and in meadows and watched

term in Hell had not yet expired.

clouds move across the sky. He found mythical creatures there (like those

It wasn’t the Vietnam era—he wasn’t

in the worn hardcover his grandfather

running off to Sweden or Canada or

had given him shortly before he died)

wherever. He drove his truck into a

and described them in his notebook,

group of terrorists who were firing at

which was tear-stained because:

him with Kalashnikovs. He ducked down low under the dashboard and

»Why did Grandpa have to go?«

heard their bones crunch under the oversize, knobby tires of his fifteenthousand-pound Deuce-and-a-Half. He was grim, delivering death.

The boy had not yet comprehended Death, but he would when he followed his Grandpa into the Marines, a

I'm back from combat.

foolhardy way to express his love and pride, he understood later. A

A sundial marks off the minutes

wave of youthful enthusiasm had

before the bank takes my home. The

swept him into the recruiter’s office.

Happiness of Loving My Brunette has

Later his enthusiasm waned.

been eclipsed by the misfortunes my brunette and I have experienced.

It became harder, then impossible, to see mythological creatures

Miro went to bed without any

in the clouds. Instead he saw

supper and saw shapes on the ceiling.

armaments, and body parts that

Those shapes became his paintings.

had been blown off his comrades.

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My brunette and I look in the front

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It never had a mortgage.

window of the house we worked hard to acquire and now have lost. We spend some timeless time surveying Still Life With Old Shoe.

»I will assassinate painting.«

In a hidden closet in the barn I discover a fifty pound bag labeled

Arsenic and DDT I remember: Grandpa used it in the orchard. I gingerly open the bag and examine the powder. I feel

»I will break Picasso’s guitar. I

its latent power, its deadliness.

kick in the front door. I remember once fixing the hinges.«

Our family members are hoarders. We’re cursed by too many generation

Man and Woman in Front of a Pile of Excrement.

in the same place, seven in this farmhouse. All the »cherished family heirlooms« — they’re like tenants

»You didn’t have to do that,«

who don’t pay rent and lay around

I tell my brunette

all day drinking beer, but for some

»I wanted to.«

legal reason you can’t evict them.

»Now we’re a caricature, as portrayed in news features.«

When I’m dead and rotting, all

»I don’t give a shit.«

this stuff will still be here, haughty

»You just did.«

in longevity. I fantasize a tornado coming and carrying it all away.

We dissolve in hysterical laughter and fall into each other’s

Three out of four bedrooms

embrace. Three days later, we’ve

is warehouse, so I sleep on the

retreated to the old family farm.

couch in the living room.


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

My sister Cheryl shares a room

I admit that I fantasize about Cheryl

with our mother, who is really sick.

and my mother getting spun out into

She’s a Christian Scientist so she

space by a tornado, never to return,

won’t see a doctor. She lives in a

never to be found, the house blown

Nyquil haze eighty percent of the

apart, all the junk blown away.

time. The other twenty percent — don’t ask. Cheryl has something wrong with her too, in the head.

At the end of everything, I’m sitting dazed on the lawn, wind-beaten but happy, with no obligations and

If I had to sleep in the same room with that old bat, year after year,

no possessions whatsoever, not even a fucking toothbrush. 0

my head would be twisted too. My brunette doesn’t get along with Cheryl — who can blame her? Our mother snores so loud I think that maybe

a tornado has finally come A fifty pound bag of Arsenic and DDT. I don’t tell anyone about it. It’s my secret weapon of mass destruction.

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The Shooter WORDS LYNN HOFFMANN

Head full of hornets, eyes blinking in code, cold and heat waving through his arms lips molding inquiet words hate like a baby in his belly waiting to be borne on the air, your air, your heir’s air everywhere air.


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

Shall we give him a gun? Huh? No, too narrow a screen for this shattering touch. Let’s give him bombs and planes poisoned candies and viral aerosol sprays that prey on you, me, her. Let’s give him the strings and feel what monstrous jerks emerge.

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England ha s n’t bee n kind to its working class over the past decade. T he recession plunged its capital into a housing crisis, evicting people from their homes just to replace them with luxury f lats.

To t h e R i g h t WORDS AND PHOTOGRAPHY CHRIS BETHELL

One - Hysteria To the Right


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

Auster ity measures meant

But where does this leave

that thousands were made

England’s lowest earners?

redundant, with not many

It’s hard to communicate the

new jobs being created.

intr icacies of economics, but it’s easy to find a scapegoat.

Most people no longer identif y with being a patriotic English man.

The English Defence League is a movement bor n out of a lack of understanding, a loss of control and therefore, panic.


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One - Hysteria To the Right


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Progressive Engineering WORDS GARY BECK

When cities became large enough that you didn't know everyone and needed transportation from one place to another, horses, sedan chairs on hard dirt streets in winter, muck and mire in summer, because central authority didn't repair roads. An early bureaucrat got rich maintaining the streets and charging for the service.


N O US M AG A ZI N E 路 PA N I C

As cities became larger they needed a constant supply of food, fuel, building materials, anything else citizens required they couldn't provide themselves. Carriages and wagons were needed to deliver goods, transact business, mandating road improvement and continuing attention to keep the wheels of commerce turning.

More and more people left the land moving to cities for an easier life than tilling fickle fields that broke the back, then the spirit.

One - Hysteria

Progressive Engineering


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So cities grew bigger, faster, the daily pace accelerated,

The vulnerable in urbana

daily needs became enormous,

only kept provisions

as residents discovered

that could nourish the people

their dependency on the land,

for only a few days,

distant manufacturing

except for the wealthy

to sustain a huge population

with extensive resources,

that no longer hunted/gathered,

possibly enough security

nor grew their own food.

to survive public rioting when food became scarce. . Vast industries emerged and sold to those who could buy, the government taking the rest, at least surplus foodstuff for the poor and needy, until manufacturing became too costly for capitalist owners, who built factories abroad where cheap labor meant more profit.


N O US M AG A ZI N E 路 PA N I C

Making things at home dwindled and we became more dependent

And madness possessed many

on foreign manufacturing,

armed with automatic pistols,

low-cost imports,

an urban staple, along with drugs,

until some of us recognized that daily existence relied

And they used modern transportation,

on the kindness of strangers,

car, bus, subway, train, plane,

as long as they profited.

to make surprise visits to targeted recipients

This startling revelation

and deliver fatal shots.

extended urban angst already traumatizing

Facilitated by technology

many of our citizens,

that released stored up anger,

since it was beyond

mindless, murderous sprees

our resources

ended in self-destruction,

to assist them, heal them.

part of the march of civilization in societies grown so vast they can no longer control deviate behavior.

One - Hysteria

Progressive Engineering


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N O US M AG A ZI N E 路 PA N I C

Far Too Close

Martina Hoogland Ivanow


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N O US M AG A ZI N E 路 PA N I C

Far Too C lose is a visual meditat ion on distance, both physical and emotional, of closeness to a subject and remoteness from a place. Martina inter weaves family portraits and interiors of home with landscapes of some of the most remote and far f lung locations at the very ends of the Earth. Over seven years she travelled to Siberia, Sakhalin Island north of Japan, Tierra del Fuego on the southern tip of Argentina, and the Kola Peninsula in Russian Lapland. Each of these places has its own dark history and has been the focus of dispute and discontent. Combined with photographs of her own community, a literary tale emerges which shifts f rom disturbing to familiar connecting history and emotion from afar and nearby.

Co-published in February 2011 with SteidlMack Books, London


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N O US M AG A ZI N E 路 PA N I C

Far Too Close

Martina Hoogland Ivanow


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Bear with Me a Minute WORDS VILTAUTE KRUPICKAITE

Now I'm inscribed with something tantalizing, The more I try to decipher this, The more I must consider others. But my words haven't been ringing true since I was born. I have been following a set pattern. I'm dallying like heretofore. Please, link up with me.

Please, steal my presence of mind,

I'll have a presence,

Believe me, it's not a quarry,

Your presence is required.

Just a complexity of singularity. I'm not having a clue Just giving prominence to myself, While something collosal Is unambiguously flourishing inside all around.


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

Dabar aš sužeista Kažkuo labai kankinamu, Kuo labiau stengiuosi iššifruoti tai, Tuo labiau turiu rūpintis kitais. Bet mano žodžiai neskelbė tiesos nuo gimimo. Aš einu nutiestu keliu. Aš svajoju kaip ir ankščiau. Prašau prisijunk prie manęs, Aš būsiu graži, Tavo dalyvavimas būtinas. Prašau, pavok mano proto blaivumą, Tikėk manimi, tai ne laimikis. Tik painiava vienatvės. Aš nieko nežinau tikrai, Tik sureikšminu save, Kai kažkas didingo Nedviprasmiškai veši Viduje visur aplink.

One - Hysteria

Pasidalink su manimi minute


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N O US M AG A ZI N E 路 PA N I C

TRAUMA, DREAM, AND ILLUSION


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N O US M AG A ZI N E 路 PA N I C

Two Imagination NINESEVENEIGHTZEROONEFOURONE ONEEIGHTTHREESEVENNINEFOUR MERET BECKER

HOUR OF THE WOLVES

DESTRUCTIVE INTERFERENCE BEAR HEEL

ILLUSIONS OF CONTROL


70

9780141183794 Emily Godden

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For reasons both external and internal The justification goes far beyond prevention. There is something in the psychological Situation that encourages hostility. A certain amount of these impulses Returns to original choices and conditions. The equivalent phenomenon and obsessive Illness maintained unconquerable anxiety A capacity to exploit forbidden fears. The reason given for this last restriction Seems an obvious contradiction – We do not have sufficient space. Our interest does not require us, The situation is rendered more difficult That is fine to the excess of anxious concern Of a vocabulary constantly being changed. How are we to explain the beginning? Connected to a motor impulse opinions change In various obscure premonitions. The bond of unity is conceived, regarded A stranger even, everyone was interrogated Freed from the need to trace ourselves I speak of a disillusion everyone will know. Mourning a profoundly painful performance The disorder of self-esteem is absent, I was Initially startled and collapsed – overwhelmed.




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Excerpt of August Pr iebe's

Meret Becker

autobiographical Aga Saga »Pythagoras tanzt«. A story about delir ium, dream and blur red lines.

WORDS AUGUST PRIEBE

ILLUSTRATION DANIJEL CECELJA

Während einer seelischen Krise, ausgelöst durch eine unerwiderte Liebe, entwickelten sich immer

During an emotional crisis, triggered by rejected love, I developed severe back pain.

stärker werdende Rückenschmerzen. My decision to move from Cologne Da ich auch beschlossen hatte mit

to Berlin to continue my studies

dem Studium von Köln nach Berlin

added extra stress. The move was

zu ziehen kam eine weitere große

accompanied by organisational

Anspannung hinzu. Der Umzug war

problems and concerns about the

von organisatorischen Schwierigkeiten

future of my social life in Berlin.

und Ängsten bezüglich meiner

When I finally got to moving, the

sozialen Zukunft in Berlin begleitet. Als ich schließlich umzog waren

pain had become so bad I wasn't able to do anything without taking

die Schmerzen bereits so groß dass

painkillers. Luckily, a close friend

Aktivitäten ohne Schmerzmittel

of mine, with whom I had studied

nicht mehr möglich schienen.

music in Cologne, could help out.


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

Während des Umzuges half

He had recently decided to drop

mir ein Musikerkollege, dem ich his dream subject of music science während meiner Zeit in Köln sehr in favour of the lucrative study of verbunden war. Er hatte zu dieser Zeit medicine. He chose geriatric psychiatry beschlossen sein Wunschstudium, die - well, I guess he won’t have any Musikwissenschaft, aufzugeben und problems getting enough patients. His sich dem Brotstudium der Medizin father was a doctor too. A famously zugewandt. Auch beim Spezialgebiet war er sehr realitätsbezogen: Er wählte die

pre-eminent spine

Er war sehr realitätsbezogen.

Gerontopsychiatrie

specialist. That’s why my friend had been well acquainted with the topic since childhood.

- nun, da wird es in Zukunft keinen Naturally, I panicked when he Mangel an Nachfrage geben. Sein Vater whispered sardonically: war auch Arzt, eine bekannte Koryphäe für das Rückgrat. Der Musikerkollege

»If it is a disc prolapse ... it could

war also mit Rückenproblemen seit lead to paralysis if you're unlucky.« Kindheitstagen bestens vertraut. Und so war es kein Wunder dass ich in Panik

I ran, or better, hobbled to the rental

geriet als er mir sardonisch zuraunte: car I had hired for the move and sped to the closest hospital. Eventually, I »Wenn es ein Bandscheibenvorfall was examined. They took a close look ist kann es in ungünstigen Fällen at me lying on a medical stretcher. zu Lähmungen kommen!« Being in such a state of panic they asked me if I had recently taken any drugs. I vehemently denied it.

Two - Imagination Meret Becker


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»You neither have loss of feeling in your legs, nor can we detect anything wrong with your spine. I can rule out a disc prolapse, 100%.« Ich sprang bzw. humpelte in

The all-clear and sympathy led

den Mietwagen, den ich mir to a great relaxing when, all of für den Umzug ausgeliehen a sudden, I heard a loud crack hatte und raste zum nächsten from the end of my spine. Krankenhaus. Dort angekommen wurde ich dann auch irgendwann

I knew I was the only one who

untersucht. Auf einer hochgestellten heard this crack. It came from both Untersuchungsbahre wurde ich another dimension and from my body begutachtet. Da man mir meinen simultaneously. I started to move panischen Zustand anmerkte wurde my limbs like a fakir. Like a creature ich nach etwaigem Drogenkonsum moving independently for the first time gefragt. Ich verneinte vehement. after birth. A light-energy streamed up my spine like a waterfall. My »Weder haben sie Taubheitsgefühle in conscience cracked open like a cloud den Beinen noch ist etwas am Rückgrat ceiling torn apart by the sun. And erkennbar. Also ein Bandscheibenvorfall everything was a song. Everything had ist mit an 100% heranreichender meaning. Finally I jumped up, started Wahrscheinlichkeit ausschließbar.« dancing and singing in a peculiar language which, to this day, I can still Die Entwarnung und die hear in my head and perform out loud. Anteilnahme führten zu einer großen Poles usually say it’s Russian. Russians Entkrampfung und plötzliche hörte think it’s Polish. Sometimes other und spürte ich ein lautes Knacken slavic languages come up. Yiddish am Ende meines Rückgrates. and Hebrew are other favourites.

Two - Imagination Meret Becker


diesem eigentümlichen Singsang,

seine Gliedmaßen benutzt.

charade! Vain pretentiousness!«

Mendacious mummery! Beguiling

doing? What a pitiful travesty!

between dream and reality.

time. I could not tell the difference

think I had slept at all during this

approximately half a year. I don’t

thoughts popped up in my mind:

»Hey, what the hell are you

energy: I entered a state which lasted

When singing in English, irritating

never succeed: it just felt wrong.

Back to those weird outbursts of

in those strange tongues!

English, or even German, I could

Hopeless. And now I was singing

notes. Whenever I tried to sing in

Kopf hörbar ist und auch jederzeit

der seitdem jederzeit in meinem

auf, fing an zu tanzen und sang in

Geburt zum ersten Mal selbständing

And don’t even start with German.

Bedeutung. Schließlich sprang ich

bewegen. Wie ein Wesen dass nach der

was that I knew how to hit the

But the truly peculiar thing

von der Sonne aufgerissen wird. Und alles sang zu mir. Alles hatte

sich wie eine Wolkenfront, die

ganz eindeutig in meinem Körper meine Gliedmaßen wie ein Fakir zu

hinauf. Mein Bewusstsein öffnete

anderen Dimension und trotzdem am Ende des Rückgrates. Ich begann

Eine Lichtenergie stieb wie ein tosender Wasserfall die Wirbelsäule

Doch wußte ich dass nur ich dieses Knacken hören konnte. Es war in einer

N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C


Two - Imagination

Meret Becker

blue, I had a break-down. An eternal, depressive residuum commenced. Almost in a coma, I was lying on

around and found someone who I

thought more suited for having these

ideas, something inside me said:

amp, I wandered across Berlin.

confident of success. With my portable

was so full of energy that I was still

which complicated things. But I

in Berlin - in spite of a sport injury

I started playing the electric bass

thoughts like objects in a room.

only meal of the day: Shawarma.

to Bayrischer Platz where I ate my

Just saying. Once a day I made it out

the Playboy, because of Meret Becker.

only time I bought

That was the

of Meret Becker.

a Playboy poster

apartment in Schöneberg staring at

It's him thinking this! Not me.

In my mind I could see other people’s

world blended.

inner and outer

Somehow the

me. I got it now!«

»Ah well, it’s him thinking this, not

months the pain returned. Out of the

place thoughts. When I then looked

my fold-away bed in my rear house

and then I would sing, too. But after six

surprised at thinking such out-of-

I would sit down anywhere I could find a socket and start playing. Now

Sometimes I found something

strange pop up in my head, and I was

78 0 79

andere slavische Sprachen genannt polnisch. Manchmal werden auch russisch. Russen meinen es wäre

von mir demonstriert werden kann.

Polen meinen in der Regel es wäre


N O US M AG A ZI N E 路 PA N I C


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Auch jiddisch und hebräisch

Ich konnte nicht zwischen Realität

kommen als Vermutung vor. Doch

und Traum unterscheiden. Manchmal,

das wirklich Eigentümliche war nicht

wenn mir etwas Komisches in den

dass ich in einer mir fremden Sprache

Sinn kam, wunderte ich mich wieso

sang, sondern dass ich mit Lust sang

ich mir solche, für mich untypischen,

und plözlich wusste wo die Töne sitzen. Bei meinen

Gedanken machte.

What a travesty!

Versuchen auf

Wenn ich mich dann umschaute

Englisch oder gar

und jemanden

Deutsch zu singen war mir dies

erblickte, zu dem die Gedanken besser

nicht gelungen: Es fühlte sich falsch

passten als zu mir, dachte es in mir:

an. Beim Englischsingen kamen »Ach so, der denkt das,

dauernd kritische Gedanken auf:

nicht ich, schon klar!« »Hey was machst Du hier! Welch erbärmliche Travestie! Verlogener

Irgendwie verdrehten sich innere und

Mummenschanz! Blenderische

äußere Welt. Ich meinte die Gedanken

Charade! Eitle Prätendiererei!«

anderer Menschen wie Gegenstände

Und Deutsch ging gar nicht. Absolut

Berlin fing ich wieder an elektrischen

gar nicht. Und nun sang ich mit diesen

Bass zu spielen. Obwohl eine

im Raum wahrnehmen zu können. In

mir eigentlich fremden Lauten! Zurück zu diesem eigentümlichen

Sportverletzung

Ich war so voller Energie!

Energieausbruch: Ich kam in einen Zustand, der

mir das Spielen schwer machte. Doch ich war so voller Energie dass

ich meinte es könnte wieder klappen.

schätzungsweise ein halbes Jahr andauerte. Ich meine während dieser

Ich zog mit meinem tragbaren

Zeit nicht geschlafen zu haben.

Amp quer durch Berlin.


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

Ich setzte mich mit ihm irgendwo hin

Detlev Buck und Christoph Waltz aus

wo ich grad eine Steckdose fand und

Leander Haußmanns »Herr Lehmann«

fing an zu spielen. Ab und an begleitete

lassen grüßen. Von dort wurde ich

ich mein Bassspiel mit Gesang.

aber umgehend ins Schöneberger Augusta-Viktoria Krankenhaus

Doch nach einem halben Jahr kamen

verbracht. Ich war schließlich

die Schmerzen wieder. Ich sackte von

Schöne- nicht Kreuzberger! 0

einem Tag auf den anderen förmlich zusammen. Ein ewig langanhaltendes, depressives Residuum begann.

Schöne- not Kreuzbergian! 0

Fast komatös lag ich in meiner

in Schöneberg. After all, I am

Schöneberger Hinterhofmietwohnung

me to Augusta-Viktoria Hospital »Herr Lehmann«.

starrte das Playboy-Pinup-Poster

They immediately transferred

auf meinem Schrankklappbett und von Meret Becker an. Es war das eine

from Haußmann’s film

Mal dass ich den Playboy gekauft

Buck and Christoph Waltz I assume I must have

so ganz nebenbei. Einmal am Tag

been mimicking Detlev

hatte, weil Meret Becker drin war, schaffte ich es zum bayrischen Platz, aß dort meine einzige Mahlzeit

of Urban Hospital in Kreuzberg.

am Tag: Ein Schawarma.

weird reason, I went to the A&E quite right with me. For some

Als ich es schließlich nicht einmal

occurred to me: something’s not

mehr fertigbrachte die Tür zu öffnen

then-girlfriend, Ina, it slowly

als Ina, meine damalige Ex-Freundin,

get up to open the door for my

vorbeikam wurde mir langsam klar:

where I was not even able to When I’d reached the point

Mit dir stimmt doch was nicht! Merkwürdigerweise ging ich im Kreuzberger Urban Krankenhaus in die Notaufnahme.

Two - Imagination Meret Becker


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H o u r O f T h e Wo l v e s WORDS JOHN AYLESWORTH

He hears the howls and stays awake in his room at the edge of a town surrounded by woods for a hundred miles. The pack will come after him if he sleeps, if he dreams, if he stops fighting the edges of the past around.


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

They’ll catch him and tear him to slices, leave the pudding for vultures and the bones sucked dry of marrow spread out on the highway like trophies. He feels the rustling and the hunger, hears his heart spin, sees anger left when his friends killed him for a while. Inside this room, the wolves will wander, searching for him, for dreams and memories, for a carcass to gnaw on.

Two - Imagination

Hour Of The Wolves


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N O US M AG A ZI N E 路 PA N I C

The effects of societal stigma, the encouragement of misogyny, and the loneliness of a brave woman standing up for herself.

Destructive Interference WORDS LORRAINE BERRY

ILLUSTRATION KATI SZILAGYI

The first Christmas after severing

I knew neither how to sit still,

my marriage, guilt terrorized me.

occupy the moment, let the panic

Each room in my house, empty of

wash over me; nor how to flash-burn

my family, echoed back to me that

the chemicals puddling in my gut.

I had brought this on myself.

I raced across the internet looking for anyone who might distract me. I

If I had been a fifteenth-century

found an artist, alone in his studio

penitent, I would have rent my shirt,

and hoping for company; in less

lashed my back with a custom-

than an hour of online chatting,

made whip of failure and fear.

we agreed that I should drive out to his property, where we could go for a Christmas afternoon hike.

Two - Imagination

Destructive Interference


86

The car sprayed loose stone as I

0 87

A man emerged from the cabin

gunned it up to the top of the steep

— lodge pole pine, I guessed. He

ridge on a road that had proclaimed

looked every inch my glorified view

a couple miles back that it was a

of the sensitive male artist. Soft

seasonal highway, with no winter

brown curls, checked flannel shirt,

maintenance provided. Someone had

thermal undershirt, well-worn jeans

been maintaining the road, perhaps

on slim hips, hiking boots. I don't

a collective expense shared by the

have to be alone today. I parked.

owners of the occasional houses I could not see, but which entrances to long driveways told me were there.

»Thanks for those excellent directions. I lost cellphone coverage halfway up the hill and I wouldn’t have been able to call you.«

Two - Imagination

Destructive Interference


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

I was about to mention that

I now noticed a converted barn

this qualified as what my friend,

just a few hundred yards down

Elisabeth called a »high self-esteem

the hill. His work excited me.

moment,« but I was afraid he wouldn't understand the intended joke.

Done with his artist’s hands (which I couldn’t stop staring at) and

The sun was weak as chamomile tea.

considerable skill, I thought I saw passion in the cyan, the cobalt — blues that mixed with the cadmium orange and phosphorus yellow — pigments of the shards of glass he assembled into

A sun as weak as chamomile tea

stained windows and lamp shades.

failed to break through the cloud cover. Combined with the dormant, dun-coloured trees, the beige air

»We should take that hike before the sun disappears,« he said.

smothered everything. It wanted my attention; I told it to »shush,« that

Mid-December suns set here

this guy was an artist. Going for a

around four. Cold and miserable

hike would exorcise my loneliness.

were Skaŏi's fraternal twins, but the

artist's company made everything

No one knew where I was. I

a little less bleak. We hiked a

hadn't wanted to anyone I called

couple miles of deer trails. A snow

to try to talk me out of it.

sky loomed, and I remembered the forecast had mentioned light

»Come out to the barn and

snow showers for that evening.

see my workshop.« The encroaching dusk lowered the He led the way, and I marveled that in addition to the cabin,

temperatures another ten degrees.


88

»We should go in,« he said.

0 89

I felt them then: The cold tingle of flies' feet crawled up from between

I sensed some unease in him, as if he weren’t sure that he wanted me to stay,

my fingers. At first just a few flies, but within a few seconds, more.

but he welcomed me nonetheless into his home. He built up the fire, and the chill in my bones began to dissipate. He offered me a glass of wine,

A cold tingle of flies' feet crawling up.

something from an open bottle in the fridge, but I accepted it, even as I noted

I remembered back to an old

that I would have opened a new bottle

apartment, the time we had moved

of wine for a guest. A warm ruby red,

the fridge and watched a carpet of

not this steel-colored flinty white.

cockroaches run away from their sudden exposure. I recognized panic.

»I can’t offer you much for dinner,« he said. »I haven’t gotten to the market,

I couldn't react to its terrorism in the presence of a stranger.

but I do have soup and some bread.« »You don’t say much,« he said. Typical artist, I thought. So immersed in his own work that he ate only for sustenance. Not joy.

I feared speaking. I imagined him driving me to the local hospital, dumping me off at the E.R.—the

I came into the kitchen, watched him empty a single can of organic

mortally wounded gang member thrown out of a car by his accomplices.

vegetarian soup into a pan, slice up half of a remaining baguette. The soup was thin, tasteless, and unsatisfying.

»Well,« he said, and I sensed his awkwardness — poor guy, he was just like me — »you could go home now, or I could kiss you.«


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

Something inside me told me to

He was behind me, his fingers

run, but the sad, lonely, angry —

stiff like a gun in between

yes, angry — me answered. It was

my shoulder blades.

Christmas. I was alone. Why not? Those workman’s hands weren’t

And so we kissed.

artistic at all; they were hurting me, and in a second, I realized that they only way to get through this was

And so we kissed. It was a hungry kiss, an »it’s been a long time,«

to play along. But my attempts to overcome my fear were met by cruelty.

kiss, a malevolent kiss. And yet I climbed up the spiral stairs.

»For someone who was married a long time, you don’t know what you’re doing.«

Two - Imagination

Destructive Interference


90

»Christ, Woman. You're awful."

0 91

The blowing snow filled the windshield before the wiper could

»Your tits are tiny.«

clean it. I focused at the far point of the headlights. I didn't want to lose

I closed off my brain. When he

contact with the edge of the road, to be

had finished, I briefly thought the

the shoe in the dryer drum as the car

sensitive artist might come back,

tumbled down the ridge. The primitive

and to reassure myself that he was

road vibrated up through my arms and

not going to brutalize me anymore,

shoulders through the steering wheel;

I tried to snuggle against him.

panic sent its own set of vibrations down my arms. A long-ago physics

»You’re not one of those stupid

lecture kicked up the term destructive

women who wants to cuddle

interference. I snorted a derisive

after fucking, are you?«

laugh. Officer, I was destructively interfered with I would report.

I figured I could leave now.

Better put that idea right out of your head, Lorraine. No one would believe you. At the bottom of the hill, a small

He was done with me. I gathered

town’s faint light seeped through the

my clothes and walked out the

cloud of flurries. I wanted to crawl

front door. The falling snow had

into someone’s arms — someone

covered my car, but I didn’t bother

safe — and cry myself to sleep.

to clean it. I needed to escape. Christmas night: I called a girlfriend Adrenaline pointed the car down the icy road of dirt and stones.

who lived far away. I sobbed as I told her what had just happened.


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

At first, she clucked and fussed

I hit the blinker arm, switching

over me, letting me cry. But then

from »emergency« flashers to a

she sighed. I waited for her to

single blinking left-turn light

say something reassuring.

as I swung back into the rough approximation of my lane.

»I know you don't want to hear this.«

Panic had been trying to warn me. I couldn't treat it as if it were always something to be overcome or dismissed because it made me feel

she said. She paused, and I felt something clench inside of me.

weak. Independent women didn't let fear stop them. But the artist's hands had broken me into shards of glass.

»I know how bad you feel about what you think you’ve done to the girls. Don’t

Panic frightened me, sometimes

you think that maybe you went looking

made me hide. But if I had

for someone to make you feel as awful

listened to today's panic, I would

on the outside as you do on the inside?

not have been raped.

I think you wanted someone to punish you. And I think maybe you found him.«

I needed to sit. Still. To wait for the light that would shine

I stopped crying. Her vitriol burned

through the broken parts of me.

on its way up my legs and into my

Leonard Cohen said that the cracks

guts and chest. I wanted to throw up.

were how the light got in.

»Um. Okay. I have to go now.«

But how long was I going to have to wait before the blaze within me would light my path forward? 0

Two - Imagination

Destructive Interference


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T hose big fur ry animals, too powerful to exist, too calm in hibernation. Sheer panic in a dream – or was it reality?

Bear Heel

WORDS STEPHEN JAMES

ILLUSTRATION SONNY ROSS

The Bear Heel slip, head warm and fuzzy over heels and down the stairs you go »that floor’s a deathtrap!« if only. Scars up thighs, buttocks mauled by a bear in the dead of night while you were sleeping, disturbing their hibernation. They said not to wake them. They said not to wake them. They said not to wake them. But you did; first groggy, stupid, slow, confused and unaware but then boom snap clap and they’re up straight to their feet and their mind straight to their stomachs. The hangover hits them hard but not as hard as it hits you and you fall to your knees, gasping for breath. It’s like you’ve just awoken from that dream again the one where you’re the star of the college volleyball team you look down and you look so good in your uniform yellow bikini, toned stomach glistening in the sun the whistle blows and you look up, ready but for a split second.


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

But then you look down and you see

a blurry, misunderstood time in the

your cock sticking out of the right side

morning; bloodshot. Veins creeping

of your bikini briefs you gasp, they

in and around your favourite sensory

laugh and the first pass is thrown,

organ(s) and piercing the surface like

hitting you square in the stomach

parasitic worms begging, bursting,

and you fall to your knees, gasping

pleading kneading the homely soil

for breath. The bear towers above you

within with it’s non-existent knuckles.

and growls not a growl or a howl but

Pounding at your (eye)balls until

a scream; a higher, tighter sound than

they are mush. Not knowing it’s own

you thought a brute like this could

strength, not knowing when to stop

manage hips up and over – good boy –

What have I done? Who am I? Where

knees to the floor, hands forward with

am I? the eyes, the eyes, the teeth and

your weight on the palms, the heels

the eyes the tongue, the teeth and the

that his clickety click click claws graze

eyes. Eyes forward or you’ll never get

at ankles in the air as you scrabble

out of this alive. How on earth am I

scramble over the shoulder red eye

allowed to tell you this before I can

bouldering between the legs and under

even tell myself that it’s me that I’m in

rasped tongue salivating, curling.

immediate danger because of the bear?

sticks and stones may be displaced but

A shaggy, stinking, drooling, dripping,

at least I’m not just pretending to be

bubbles forming around yellowed

getting away from this great gristly

fangs, gruesome, wretched bear.

come on down and help me tear this

There’s a bear. There’s a bear. There’s a

little wimp limb from limb, joint from

fucking bear and my legs don’t work -

hand from wrist until you know that

numb. Not fit to carry me; somewhere

you won’t be able to put him back

between my brain, my muscles

together, with the instructions or not

and my limbs something gets lost

the high quality PDF-file scanned

something is terribly, terribly wrong

in instruction manual that was the

and nobody told me about the bear

top result on a hasty google search

not now, not last night, not ever. 0

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Illusions of Control WORDS STEPHANEE WALKER PHOTOGRAPHY SARA HINI

Closets are my enemy, the stove rises up I hear threats of an explosion, hoping death will be abrupt The doors are always open, even when they’re locked Night kidnaps rationality, with adrenaline half-cocked Smoke escapes from appliances not plugged in for days In our minds we run from fear, no relief from morning rays


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

To live in a world where possibilities reign Where anything can happen, we cling to the sane We swear we can master it, bend it, break it down The struggle escalates, insanity is crowned Possibilities become certain, expand, then collide Trusting illusions of control, we’re along for the ride

Once, twice, third time starts to sink in Wait, that number’s odd—start over, end on even Room to room, fear to fear, I stumble on my way But once I leave my home, I can focus, I’m okay Through compulsions we find peace by embracing repetition Believing in our power, this isn’t chaos, it’s volition

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Illusions of Control


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The power slowly drains, the compulsions aren’t enough Burnished edges of denial begin to rust and turn rough Holding hands with the enemy, the path seemed clear at first The illusions form a tomb, we’re buried with our curse And the thoughts we had trusted become the dirt in our lungs Withering in the darkness, we lose our will to overcome

But this madness can be conquered despite how deep we’re buried Feel the fire rise within, illuminate the adversary Hope hibernates near strength, within you all along There are voices that abuse—ignore them, they are wrong There’s no time to surrender, only time to fight Breathe deep and trust yourself, the chaos ends tonight

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RESOLUTION, PROGRESS, AND HOPE


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Three Escape A NECESSARY CALM

LUNCH IN THE NEW CENTURY PANIC ON THE STREETS OF MANCHESTER

YOU ARE INVITED FRUIT BOWL

WHILST THE MONARCH

BUTTERFLY PASSES OVER

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A Necessary Calm

Richard King Perkins II

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The sociopath cannot write about panic. There is no adrenaline rush. No shaky nerves. No fingers fumbling at a set of keys. This is adaptive evolution in an ocean of random genetic drift.

Fear cannot exist in this world. Survival is methodology; beneficial learned behaviors. Love is a by-product of reproduction, commitment, an aspect of needful perpetuation.

Steadiness of voice— never let them see you sweat because you don’t. Play the role of emotive human. It’s to your advantage — most of the time. Only when the gunfire starts will the act end, your necessary part begin.


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Lunch in the New Century


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Lunch in the New Century WORDS JOHN GOSSLEE

PHOTOGRAPHY DELANEY ALLEN

At the cafĂŠ, tea slides down my throat like the fry basket into the fryer. The scruffy cook peels a colander full of potatoes.


N O US M AG A ZI N E 路 PA N I C

The teacher on my tablet instructs, a hand creates a wall, a fist, a stroke, which look like a veil, a ball, a hatchet head and handle.

I feel like what I imagine a chimp feels like in the zoo, I balance on the counter stool, gesturing toward the soup while the camera monitors my habits.

My phone reports its location to a database no one looks at unless the spoon explodes in my hand.

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Three - Escape

Lunch in the New Century


Health project - Broken Grey

gave me a list of artists who deal with psychology issues.

work had aspects of mental health – and arts organisations. And the artists were saying : »Yes!«

and I was just coming to terms

of what it is I wanted to do.

me why I wanted to do art and

was real tough love. They asked

with the artists I admired – whose

time. I was still living in Lincoln,

who helped me on my way. It

But I had two amazing tutors,

»It was tough love.«

because I was pretty ill.

I failed half of my degree

a g o h e re in M an ch es t e r.

Wires - she launched not too long

I simply started getting in touch

or will workshops be included?

become. Will it only be an exhibition,

what Broken Grey Wires would

Mental Health but I was not sure

I did lots of research in Arts and

I met Lizz in Januar y 2015 to find out more about the Arts for

I’ve left. It was quite a stressful

really start before a year after

last year at uni in 2012, but it didn’t

I got the idea while I was in my

you start your project?

Let us know, when did

BROKEN GREY WIRES

INTERVIEW WITH LIZZ BRADY

Panic on the Streets of Manchester

118 0 119


That made me discover, that I can

Bobby Baker, just to name a

alternative ways to make art.

few – so important to you?

David Shrigley, Jeremy Deller,

work since, but discovered so many

I have actually not created any

Why are these artists –

if they couldn’t get involved.

and had no money. I thought I

we can do whatever we want.

illness. I want people to see that

anything but defined by my mental

I could make it, I would never be

When I was at uni, I never thought

that Broken Grey Wires exists, even

bed, was sleeping on the floor,

was not able to do anything.

going to be that bad all the time.

I just wanted to let them know

a tiny flat, didn’t even have a

Kind of. I want to show people who are struggling that it’s not always

being part of the show. Personally,

and why it was important them

Would you call it an educational project?

big ideas but I was living in

I finished, and I had all those

how they inspired the project,

for each of the artists, explaining

additionally I wrote a personal part

I had a generic proposal and

Broken Grey Wires for other people

»Life after uni is a different world.«

my life. I then wanted to make

start with a simple email?

have space. You have equipment.

to show them that art can help.

myself. This realisation changed

How did you initially get in touch with the artists? Did it

could be an escape, a way to express

use my mental health in my art. It

in a bubble when at Art School. You

and wanted to get involved.

Well-known artists were into it

is a totally different world. You live

Yeah, I did. I realised, life after uni

You studied Fine Art?

Three - Escape Interview


These established artists seem to be the foundation, how do you get unknown creatives involved?

look at what was going on in France.

When 4 million marched for free

of the project. It’s like a cycle.

Broken Grey Wires. And she is part

travelling is an important factor.

working together. Funding for

Yes, it would be nice get them

Also between the organisations?

and get a dialogue opened up.

now I can inspire others with

many people involved as possible,

Bobby inspired me so much, and

the negative also in the everyday. Just

We always tend to only focus on

»They just looked at the downside.«

Live Wires all over the U.K., get as

just made a massive difference.

in Glasgow. I am trying to spread

It enabled me to communicate with doctors and psychologists and

because of it. I think differently but

that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

am about to get in touch with some

Creative Remedies in Warrington. I

Chilli Studios in Newcastle, and

at the minute is Core Arts in London,

The organisations I am speaking to

just Manchester or London?

»Now I can inspire others! It's a cycle.«

more remote places other than

my last year at uni.

Are you trying to reach out to

helped me a lot throughout

Keeping a drawn diary myself

How much more creative I think

different perspective. The positives!

made me see my illness from a

Use it! Seeing how art can help

what you want to do. Embrace it!

It should never stop you to do

not concern you.

Your situation should

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Other cities like Glasgow will

make a difference to people’s lives.

be on the new work produced.

her to say she wants to be part

lot of poetry and »Broken Grey Wires« was part of a phrase.

for the mentally struggling artists to be featured alongside a role-model. It pushes their selfesteem. It’s an accomplishment.

in the very beginning. She drew

a picture a day when she was

an out patient in hospitals.

hospital. I still write quite a

from the time when I was in

together. It’s really important

Broken Grey Wires comes

not to be separate. They all belong

project originate from?

Where does the name of your

it makes me feel a little bit better.

eventually force myself to go out,

want to go to town. But when I do

like I don’t want to see anyone, don’t

part of recovery. I sometimes feel

Yes, the social aspect is such a big

not fighting the battle alone.

It makes you realise you are

It’s about connection.

drawings inspired this project

Yes, I think it is important for it

We could even get the Newcastle group to come down to Manchester.

with her on a project! Her diary

It was surreal. Now I am working

come to one of her performances.

in London and she invited me to

So it is going to be a mix.

artists. But the main focus will

dissertation on Bobby Baker, for

of it was just amazing. I met her

alongside one of the established

be displayed in Live Wires exhibitions

workshops. The work produced will

health organisations and facilitate

I wrote maybe a third of my

you received to your emails?

What was the best response

will be in London this summer.

brutality and fear. It can really follow. We will work with mental

Mill here in Manchester. The second

of the Charlie Hebdo attack –

That’s what Live Wires will do. We held our first event at Islington

media just looked at the downside

speech and against violence, the

Three - Escape Interview


would be interesting to incorporate

interesting and helpful source

and academics to create original

engage with. I want to invite artists

Sunderland there was an art section.

mental health and art for people to When I was in hospital in

fence that keeps you captive.

material. Essays, and writing on

down restrictions. A grey wired

a group of friends in a safe space.

what’s been going on. That’s easier in

My first association was breaking

working on our website to provide

open up some dialogue, talk about

connected with all these people.

is steady. At the moment, I am

of a stranger. It would be nice to

Baker, I would have never

But first I need to be sure the project

There is so many ways we can go.

and the second stage.

about personal problems in front

Sometimes you don’t want to talk

zone. They know each other.

where they can work in their comfort

It’s almost like the first

I would have never met Bobby

thing. Without my experience,

my mental health is a negative

I don’t want people to think

project! It made me who I am today.

We offer the participants a space

organisations. We could join forces!

the mental health groups?

this unpleasant memory the phrase

comes from, it created this positive

access groups facilitated by arts

join who are not involved with

that control my emotions. Despite

Grey Wires, include those who can’t

Do you also invite people to

Home is Where the Art is with Broken

workshops up a bit. For example it

a cup of tea – that’s great!

It would be nice to open the

Just come in, talk, or listen, have

It’s the same with the workshops.

spider in my head pulled the wires

I always used to imagine that a

positive for you?

Is this image something

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Daniel Smith who wrote Monkey Mind: A Memoir of Anxiety. He is

something. We would just talk about how our day has been so far.

in bed can be an accomplishment.

yourself a cup of tea instead of lying

Yes, even if you’ve just made

that makes the difference?

It is the act of doing something

because you’ve come to the event.

our work, you should feel amazing

just end up chatting, talking about

amazing result in the end. Even if we

our workshops. We don’t need an

There are no restrictions, like in

Yes exactly, I remember doing

any interesting, inspiring material.

of place. I would never talk in a

I am not the only one.

I was happy to discuss things.

therapy room but in the art space

creativity or genius. There is hardly

link between mental illness and

can find are books looking at the

for so desperately. Usually, all you

am creating what I was looking

my dissertation research. Now I

than just sitting in an office type

art studio. It gave me more comfort

It’s a nice environment, like an

»I would never talk in a therapy room.«

and colouring pencils.

for mental health!

The website will be a pool of knowledge, a mini-library

Yes, and being round pens

up with our own interpretations.

minded people helped?

the book via Broken Grey Wires' blog.

interested in publishing extracts of

conversation with New York-writer

the space without even creating

Simply being around like-

writing for the website, too. I am in

But sometimes we just met in

and arts. It leaves us space to come

That’s the great thing about poetry

»It leaves us space to come up with our own ideas.«

Three - Escape Interview


create a strong structure.

material. It is solely therapeutic.

and affected my mental health further. It would be great to be in a position to take Broken Grey Wires to universities to share my experience but also to make institutions aware of our project’s archive. It could be a tool to ease the discrimination against students by staff and fellow students who don’t know how to

for Manchester Mind, is an amazing

writer. It is people like her who I

want to invite. A lot of people I

meet through the process of making

Broken Grey Wires have important

things to say. I would like to give

them a platform to share their

knowledge and experience.

situation. It created a bad atmosphere

example, Sam Whyte, who works

Yes, but it is out there! For

people did not understand my

job, my mental health is better.

when I am busy with a fulfilling

Yes! Personally, 9 times out of 10,

But rewarding work!

coming up, with a lot of hard work.

Grey Wires. A very exciting year is

only help future projects of Broken

attention right from the start it can

museums on board as well. If we get

attention to us. Hopefully, we can

artists is going to bring people’s get institutions like galleries and

When I was at university some

Wire workshop one day?

have to find their way through

well-established, successful

long time to find something useful.

back to Lincoln to host a Live

is all over the place. The readers

Starting the project with those

»Nothing works without funding.«

thousands of blogs, and it takes a

Do you think you will go

some interesting writing down, it

If you eventually manage to track

give all the content I collect and

Broken Grey Wires will hopefully

seem to provide any academic

The mental health charities don’t

124 0 125


make the same negative experience

that they are not standing alone,

Panic on the streets of Manchester!

places like Lincoln and setting up arts organisations, remote

I felt even more alone and crazy.

would be great to even employ people to help me tackle this big task.

can provide these services.

Way in the future of course, it

here in Manchester! 0

forward to the first exhibition

physically in order to offer support.

Okay, we’ll do that! Good luck with the project, we are looking

With the online platform you

And that ties in with The Smiths.

you: »The Smiths!« and at the top,

don’t even have to be there

health, but not every small town

going on with art and mental

as in Manchester. Here's a lot

network there is not as good

Yes, the creative and support

the small city Lincoln back then?

outposts for mental health.

Broken Grey Wires. Including small

research and could not find anything,

Is that also because you lived in

the headline could be: Panic …

positive step in my life. Also for

my favourite band is, and I’ll tell

or when I do it, it will be a very

Yes, I mean, just ask me what

Panic?

topic of this issue of NOUS?

who talk about it. When I did my

Maybe not for a while. But if

So for now, … not Lincoln.

so we can relate a bit more to the

Do you need to ask me something

meet, and their positive reactions.

I am inspired by the people I

there are other people out there

»I want to give them a platform.«

will prevent someone else having to of loneliness and misunderstanding.

deal with the situation. I hope this

The website is also a signal for

people affected by mental illness

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Yo u A r e I n v i t e d

WORDS CATHY BRYANT

ILLUSTRATION ALESSANDRA GENUALDO

Take me to the barbed wire party Take me to the happiness place Make me meet the screaming rainbows Tell me to pick up the pace

Offer me the food of sunshine Slicing burning canapes Introduce me to that couple Prisming in painful ways

Three - Escape You Are Invited


N O US M AG A ZI N E 路 PA N I C

Smile and smile and smile again Laugh, be clever, be interesting Point me out new torture decor Bleeding writhing hinter nesting

Take a fake a fascination New job car life glasses clink Demons howl inside your eyeballs Think I drink I need a kink


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Quieter and later on No Mans Land in a little black dress White wine flavoured confidences Gas mask hostess rues the mess

Final smile at Nazi lampshades Goodbye waves at stone and clone Cut their throats with razor shells Bliss of cutting through my own

Take me clear to frosted pavements Let the leash fall to the ground Give me back my gibber monkey Mad white ghost of self unfound

Last reserves left for the taxi Take me dark quiet safe my place Forgive me for my thoughts and feelings Let the fears roll down my face

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Stuck with insomnia, dreams are no dreams. Ir rationalities

Fruit Bowl

build reality, and nightmares are medicine – sweet escape.

WORDS JAKE DUFF

PHOTOGRAPHY PRIMOZ ZORKO

The panels above you that make up

These are less well lit, often single

the ceiling give way easily, just the

bulbs with exposed wiring that

tip of your finger pushes it upwards

runs along dusty brick, cobwebbed

and askew. Through the little crack

quietly as years have passed.

you have made, you see a rhizome of red and blue wires; some bunched together according to color, others running along on their own.

Through a little crack you see a rhizome of wires.

These wires deliver electricity to the light fixtures that hang in strips along

There is nothing there to see, there

the ceiling, they deliver electricity

is nothing there for you to see.

also to the green fire exit signs you

Though what is there is deliberately

see above doors that lead seemingly to

hidden from view; a couple of large

nowhere. When nobody is looking, you

yellow containers used mainly to

can push these doors open and make

ferry detritus from place to place

your way around the strange corridors.

without alerting customers to the


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

abjected waste that they themselves

It was deemed inappropriate and the

have created. At all costs, they must

culprit was castigated for his zeal. As

never see a black plastic bag being

you leave, you cross the stairs with the

taken quietly through a secret door.

manager – he wears a suit so that the customers can tell he is the manager.

At the end of your shift, you remove

He thanks you for the day’s work, and

your black pants and shirt and replace

you thank him back. Neither of you

them with a clean pair of jeans and a

can hold a smile for as long as it takes

jumper. Once more, you are expected

for this moment to run its course.

to slip away quietly, unseen by the customers. The illusion that must

Through the little crack you have

be maintained vigilantly is the

made, you see a rhizome of red and

illusion that staff would be waiting

blue wires; some bunched together

tables even if the customers all left.

according to color, others running

Automatons serving ghosts. In a small

along on their own. These wires deliver

corridor there is a sign, laminated

electricity to the muscles in your face

and stuck to the wall with dull pins.

and in your hands and in your feet, little instructions from the waking,

»We do not have customers, we

governing section of your brain. These

have friends. Greet them like you

wires deliver electricity also to your

would greet your favorite relative!«

bowels, your anus, your penis, your intestines, your stomach, your liver.

The text is in Times New Roman,

These are less well lit. Rarely are these

black, size 18. Last week, there

overwhelmed by the unthinking,

was a small yellow sticker just

unconscious section of your brain.

beneath the words. A happy,

There is nothing there to see, there

smiling face. It is not there today.

is nothing there for you to see.

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Though what is there is deliberately

Do these thoughts carry along

hidden from view; a couple of narrow

a kind of theme? Do you feel for

yellow corridors used mainly to ferry

example that these thoughts relate

detritus from place to place without

to something that troubles you?

alerting you to the abjected waste

Not explicitly, no.

that you yourself have created. Can you give me some examples Doctor

of what you might think of

Patient

as you’re trying to sleep? Quite often I fantasize about

How do you sleep?

committing suicide.

Badly. 4 hours a night, sometimes less.

Can you contextualize these fantasies for me? Does this

And what steps have you taken to try and improve this? Exercise, running until I am exhausted. I tried not drinking

fantasy involve anybody else? There’s very little else to contextualize. In these fantasies I am alone in my bedroom.

alcohol for a few months. And how do these And these things didn’t help at all? No.

suicides take place? Sometimes I’ll take a razor and drag it down the underside of my arm,

Do you often find that your mind

severing veins and arteries. I focus on

won’t »shut off«, that you have

the feeling of bleeding out and the way

little control over your thoughts

the blood soaks into the bedsheets.

as you’re trying to drift off? Yes, that’s exactly right.

Why do you think there is a focus on bleeding out?

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I read somewhere that it’s quite

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Once a month you find yourself

a pleasant sensation, similar

here, cold and soaked in rain, staring

to falling into a deep sleep.

in. Four halogen lights, two on either side, illuminate only the mucus-like

How else do you commit

stalagmites that hang flaccid from the

suicide in these fantasies?

ceiling. You can just about see the bare

Gunshot, through the roof of my mouth.

legs of the girls that wait, just about trace the orange glow from the tip of their cigarettes. In the daylight, you

And do these thoughts not disturb you? They seem incredibly violent.

can see where they have been stood from the saliva stains on the pavement.

They are the closest I ever come to real sleep.

It took five or six attempts to approach her, black fishnets and

It's been dark now for about 5 hours.

a leather miniskirt. She didn’t shiver, even after the temperature would plummet. You never saw her smoke, her cheekbones were almost

A railway bridge, mid-October;

noble, her complexion flawless.

it’s been dark now for about 5 hours. You know this because

You take a step into the tunnel, a

you watched the light fade away

short walk of 20 yards towards her.

from the living room walls, hands

Across the other side, a figure watches

shaking in between cigarettes.

intently; you can just about make

A little outside the city centre,

out a masculine face. He remains

a place for detritus to collect and

silent, motionless, but watchful.

communicate, not unseen but

She nods her head at you and

ignored in the misplaced spirit

abruptly walks away, confused and

of »none of my business«.

increasingly worried you look around;


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He still watches from the walls of

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She leads you towards a clearing;

the tunnel though he has moved a

somewhere you couldn’t be discovered

few feet towards the halogen light.

even by accident. You can hear the dull

He nods his head and you follow her.

roar of distant traffic over the wind in the leaves. You hand her a few notes,

Tell me about your hypochondria.

which she counts with the slightest

It comes in waves. Weeks can pass

of smiles before pointing to a damp,

by without even so much as a thought.

grey mattress on the ground with

Then I might find an unexplained mark

a dirty green mold working its way

on my skin, a little rash or a cut or

around the edges and the bottom. She

something. Or perhaps I’ll pass a loose

undresses with a mechanical lack of

stool, and that seems to trigger it.

grace, you are too ashamed to watch; she lies down on the bed, legs spread.

And how does this hypochondria manifest itself? Panic attacks, anxiety. I cannot

You glance over her naked body, the bruises of earlier clients gripping

focus on anything else but whichever

her sides and the lower portions of

symptom I think I’m experiencing. I

her ribcage; she is completely shaved.

search for illnesses and diseases on

An impatient sound tugs you out

the internet for hours and hours.

from your inspection and you too begin to undress and as you remove

Do you find that helps?

your pants you strike a previously

Of course not, it just makes

hidden seam of confidence.

it worse. But I can’t stop. You ask her how long you have

You couldn't even be discovered by accident.

and she looks back at you in silence before replying in a language you don’t understand. This frustrates you and you allow this frustration to work with your newfound confidence. At this point, you are

Is there a particular illness you find yourself fixated on?

fully erect and fully aware of how completely low you have sunk.


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

But you tell yourself that

Why do you think this is?

this woman, this whore, she

Do you think of sex as being

is lower still than you.

unclean? Perhaps shameful?

That you are the victim of a

I feel as though there’s a level of

society that values absolutely

theatre involved in sex that I find

nothing other than shallow

myself unwilling to take part in. I find

aesthetic and total surface.

that sex isn’t nearly as pleasurable as people make out. Whilst having sex

Are you sexually active?

I feel as though I want to cringe.

Yes. You’re embarrassed by it? And do you have a regular sexual partner?

Yes, embarrassed by the ceremony of it.

No. Do you achieve orgasm? Has sex ever been a problem

Yes.

for you in relationships? I don’t feel as though I have a particularly high sex drive. So then it has been a problem? Yes, it has. Sex is something that I try to avoid.

Do you masturbate? Occasionally, yes. This seems strange for somebody who claims to have no interest in sex. Do you use pornography when masturbating or can you achieve climax through imagination? I use pornography.

Three - Escape

Fruit Bowl


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You dig your fingers into her

You reach out a finger and gently

ribcage and hold her down by the

rub, sending a shudder of pain through

throat, careful to allow her sufficient

her chest. You pull your finger away

breathing space. You watch her face

wet with a sticky, brown substance.

intently; though you didn’t realize it at the time you were hoping to catch a glimmer of pleasure in her expression.

She glances back at you and looks away with guilt, before pulling a top over her head. You notice a

She is deathly silent throughout,

lesion like a leech around her left

despite your quickening thrusts and

shoulder. She leads you back under

your grunts and the sweat that drips

the bridge and this time there is no

from your forehead onto her face.

man watching from the shadows. 0

It is getting darker by the second. A final burst of frenzied bucking as you chase towards an orgasm that for a moment blinds you gives way to a feeling of disgust that makes you want to take a shard of glass to your throat. She has since begun to dress herself, with her back turned to you. Though it is getting darker by the second, you notice an unusual discoloration on the skin of her back and an ugly rust colored stain that marks where she was lay on the mattress.

Three - Escape

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Whilst the Monarch Butterfly Passes Over WORDS KARL ASTBURY

As he hears the quiet voice of a sister lewd smells wash over - bleach, chlorine – and he struggles to tell one from the other-

rising up, filling his head, he trips it over. On doctors orders takes two Clozapine now can’t make out the voice of a sister,

and slow reaching over a worn-wood bar for the old single malt or the bourbonhe can barely tell one from the other-

which has the taste of medicine and which smothers his mind? A chemical castrationhe remembers the voice of a sister.


N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C

And when he wakes and says something small, which burrows inside his head now shaven missing the presence of another.

He is now expected to recover. But he feels a loss, stops his prescription and hears the almost voice of his sister,

and the smell of paint hovers over partial portraits of Alsatians who jumped up and licked him when he was younger.

He stopped to listen. He left the anchor. Now unmoored, he’s found the right colours. He hears the cobalt voice of his sister, and can barely tell all from the other.

Three - Escape

Whilst the Monarch Butterfly Passes Over


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Bangkok Panic Va l e n t i n e WORDS ANGUS STEWART

PHOTOGRAPHY BROTH TARN


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Thud. That's my heart halfway up the hill I want to pedal hard and catch you up I want to make it beat fast for better reasons

I use the pronoun 'I' too much You probably have problems too and that sucks But you are serene – you're the best thing I've ever seen You are you and we are here At the very least, let me buy you a beer

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N O US M AG A ZI N E 路 PA N I C


THREE — IDENTITY SUICIDE AND HONOR



HONEY PIE, YOU'RE NOT SAFE HERE

www.nous-magazine.de

from Panic by the Smiths


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