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
of 500
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
8
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Boyz
Back From Combat
Broth Tarn
Mitchell Grabois
16
40
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
30
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
148
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
118
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.
N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C
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
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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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N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C
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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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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Even they would pick up
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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 —
N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C
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
0
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
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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
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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.
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»We should go in,« he said.
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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."
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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
Two - Imagination Bear Heel
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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
Two - Imagination
Illusions of Control
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N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C
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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Illusions of Control
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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
BANGKOK PANIC VALENTINE
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A Necessary Calm
Richard King Perkins II
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N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C
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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Three - Escape
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.
Three - Escape
Lunch in the New Century
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Lunch in the New Century
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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
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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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Three - Escape Fruit Bowl
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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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Fruit Bowl
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N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C
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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0 147
N O US M AG A ZI N E · PA N I C
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
Fruit Bowl
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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
N O US M AG A ZI N E ¡ PA N I C
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
Three - Escape
Fruit Bowl
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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