PressureLife Issue 10 by PressureLife

ISSUE 10

D E A D F L O W E R S love and death in the age of heroin and fentanyl

MUSIC / ENTERTAINMENT / ARTS & CULTURE / LIFE / INDEPENDENT / PRESSURELIFE.COM

S AY W H AT YO U S E E

PressureLife Creative Director, Owner

Jim Bacha

Art Director

Hannah Allozi

Operations Manager

Aaron Gelston

Managing Editor Editor Content Strategist

@gelston.design

Ryan Novak Alex Bieler Adam Dodd

Senior Writer

Dan Bernardi

Project Coordinator

Tiffany Fields

Staff Writers

Kevin Naughton Gennifer Harding-Gosnell

Contributors

A.J. DiCosimo Casey Rearick

@caseyrearickphoto

Anthony Franchino @anthonyfphoto

Annamarie Hudson Anna Yunker Chad Weaver Darrick Rutledge Eric O'Callaghan Gabe Voss Josh Womack Katharine Penrod Michael Pierzynski Wilson Rivera Distribution

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Weir's Waldo This Time? While some of us puzzle over the bizzaro alternate timeline we may have just veered into, others of us celebrate Donald Trump's historic victory in the 2016 Presidential Election. Either way, I say fuck it. Let's relax and give it a chance. After all, no matter how you feel about this election, you do feel right? All of you?! Great! We've got that in common, so let's join together like the indivisible nation we talk about in the Pledge of Allegiance and focus on something totally bipartisan: making Weir great again. Last issue, like a founding father, our patriotic reader Chad discovered Weir campaigning at Bobby O's, but once again Weir slipped through a crack in the system. A symbol for hope, unity, and the American Dream, we're all after Weir right about now, and as always, we'll have to work for it. For your chance to score a $25 gift card, locate the elusive Weir stashed in one of our advertisements and be the first to cast his location to @thepressurelife (through Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram). #WeirInThisTogether

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CONTENTS NOVEMBER / DECEMBER 2016

06 Who is Wesley Who?

Northeast Ohio’s latest and greatest two-piece rock band

09 Creating an Incubator:

The Rise of Cleveland Tapes

A mixtape mashup with RA Washington

10 On the Spot with “The Unicorn Guy”

A profile of Brooklyn, Ohio’s most unique resident

12 Leaving Levy

The life and death of Cleveland's literary heart and soul

14 Dead Flowers

Love and death in the age of heroin and fentanyl

20 Public Square Through The Years

The history of our city’s centerpiece

22 Cleveland's Hottest Heathens

A Red Hot Heathens Q&A with some T&A

26 Woodstock BBQ & The Ghost of Jimi Hendrix

Does Woodstock BBQ live up to its legendary name?

28 Different Strokes: Katy Kosman

Get to know your local Cleveland artists

30 Merry Christmas, Cleveland

A Cleveland Christmas tale to get you into the holiday spirit.

PressureLife vs. Mahall’s PressureLife Takes on Mahall’s in a One-Sided Bowling Showdown Cleveland was known as a town that could embrace a loser. But with the Cavs and Indians enjoying so much recent success—and the Browns being so bad they are unwatchable—maybe you are in need of another lovable loser to embrace. If that is the case, look no further than the staff that brings you this free, bimonthly, full-gloss periodical.

UNITL RECENTLY,

In the second installment of Pressure vs…, a terrible idea we had where our staff takes on local businesses or celebrities in various feats of athleticism or skill, we decided to challenge the good folks over at Mahall’s Twenty Lanes to a good ol’ fashion bowl off. When we took on Happy Dog in a hot dog eating contest a couple months ago, the only thing on the line was bragging rights, but this time around, the stakes were a little higher. A very confident Mahall’s team offered to cover the printing costs for this issue of PressureLife, which is a pretty hefty sum. If Mahall’s won, we were on the hook for a round of beers. How did things go? All beers were put on the PressureLife tab. Comprised of bossman Jim Bacha, art director Hannah Allozi, illustrator Aaron Gelston, and writer Adam Dodd, the PressureLife team played with great spirit and followed all the rules! Unfortunately, our team was only able to knock over 377 combined pins. On the other hand, Adam Lewis, Chris Chabek, Chris Shestina, and Daryl Shestina of Team Mahall’s fared just a tad bit better with an overall score of 763, more than doubling up Team PressureLife. To paraphrase Jim Croce, “You don’t tug on Superman’s cape. You don’t spit into the wind. And you don’t bowl against a bunch of big bearded guys who work at a bowling alley.” Unfortunately, we bit off a little more than we could chew by taking on the Mahall’s team. But, Mahall’s beer is pretty cheap, so we still had enough cash on hand after we paid off the bet to order up some of their famous fried chicken. So, the night wasn’t a total loss. See a video recap of the event at pressurelife.com/bowling or youtube.com/pressurelife.

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Who Is Burning up stages from Kent to Cleveland, Wesley Who explains it all.

Adam Dodd

elf-described as “an ashtray full of bubblegum,” there are two men fast making a name for themselves among the local indie circuit. You may ask who, but then again, you’d be answering your own question. PressureLife talked with Wesley Who frontman Wesley Holbrook and drummer Steve Wask as they began recording a new album set for an early 2017 release. The duo discusses the albums they grew up on, pros and cons of touring, and, of course, the merits of Will Smith. PressureLife: Did Wesley Who start off as a two-piece? Right off the bat, was that your conception going into it, or was this something that ended up being a marriage of convenience after you two met?

Wesley Holbrook: A little bit of both. We were a two-piece before. We were a different band before, William Lindsey and the Lies, and it was also a two-piece and then the name changed. But the reason for the two-piece is for the convenience, mostly. You’re only dividing money two ways after a show and you can fit [the equipment] all in a Toyota. If we added somebody else after five years of being together, it would be hard teaching that person all the little tricks that we know. Performing as a two-piece, was there ever a learning curve as far as finding your sound and getting down a nice set or was it something that you came into it with? WH: Personally, I’ve always been in a two-piece since high school. I used to play

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drums and more. The science of you having to split your guitar into a bass and a guitar to discover the sound. It’s a long time coming. Perfecting the sound of it is something you have to worry about with a two-piece. Again, my associate and I have made a whole career of figuring out the tricks of splitting an octave pedal and things like that, but there is certainly a learning curve. In one of your biographies you mention using tube amps exclusively, is that still true? WH: Yes. Well, currently it’s in the shop, but, yes. The amp that I try to use is a custom-made tube amp. Any place around here that you got it custom made at or was it by a friend? WH: Actually, my father made it for me. Very cool. What about you Steve? Any particular gear you like using? Steve Wask: I like Pearl, Pearl Exports. I’ve always used Pearl Export. When we talked last, you said you like to take the winter off to work on new material. Is that true now? Got anything coming up on the horizon? WH: Yeah, we actually recorded an album in March of this year and we didn’t release it yet, obviously. Over the course of the summer, we’ve been playing those songs all summer, so now we’re much better at them than when we recorded them

earlier this year. So, we’re going to re-record everything this winter and, hopefully, have something out early next year. Any working titles yet, or is that still too far off? WH: That’s too far off. We’re still working on the lyrics, let alone the title. When I mentioned you guys to the rest of the magazine, I described you a bit like Buddy Holly and the Ramones got together. There’s a gritty garage element of course, but there’s also a sense of optimism, a shimmery, fun element to everything. Is there a conscious effort when you’re composing the songs to maintain that lighter side, that pop sensibility juxtaposed against the punk side? WH: Buddy Holly is a great reference because I learned how to play guitar from Buddy Holly songs. I specifically never swear in any of my music. Will Smith doesn’t swear in his raps to sell records and I’ve always agreed with that philosophy. I also like the idea of happy-sounding songs sometimes with darker-tinged lyrics, but that’s something that everyone can agree with. They’re simple, I’m not trying to get too deep with anything. Steve’s always pushing me because he’s a big Prince fan. He’s slightly dirtier, so there’s some dirty sexual lyrics in there. That’s about as dark as it goes. Speaking of that, what albums did you grow up with that shaped who you are musically? WH: You referenced the Ramones and Buddy Holly. I always thought it was the White Stripes and Prince. Their second album, De Stijl, is a big influence for me. SW: For me, I’d say Nirvana’s In Utero and Prince’s Gold Experience.

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When you recorded your album, With The Synthetic Movement, it was at Bad Racket Studios here in Cleveland. How was the experience? Did you like the setup they had there? WH: Yeah. Usually we do our own recording, so it’s always an interesting experience going to a studio. It’s a really nice studio. They put a lot of care into the design of the studio and it’s great. James, who specifically recorded us was very helpful in the process with recommendations.

I also like the idea of happy sounding songs sometimes with darker tinged lyrics…

Do you think you’re going to record your new one there? WH: The next one we’re going to do ourselves. We feel more comfortable that way. There’s more control over it. I’m a control freak.

With sites like Tidal and Pandora and Spotify, basically the next generation of Napster, do you feel like the looseness of accessibility to your music has helped or hurt your career so far? SW: Those services are good and bad, I feel. They help get your name out there, but services like Spotify and Tidal and all that, they’re destroying the art of music. They’re devaluing music. How so? SW: We live in a streaming generation, unfortunately, and people like quick music. WH: There’s a level of, “You’re not legitimate unless you’re on all those services,” which is a terrible thing.

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PRESSURE PICKS

SW: Well, if you’re not on those services, you don’t get your name out there. We don’t really agree with how they work.

Upcoming Shows to See

As far as the pay to play? SW: That’s basically what you’re doing, but that’s what this age is that we live in anyway. We pay to play.

Machine Gun Kelly

November 20-22 // House of Blues

Sloan

November 20 // Grog Shop

Welshly Arms

November 26 // House of Blues

Steel Panther

Switching from online to live, what local places do you really dig playing at around here? SW: I like Mahall’s a lot. WH: Yeah, Mahall’s is great. The people there are nice and the basement is really the place to be. It’s really cool.

November 30 // House of Blues

SW: I like Happy Dog and the Beachland.

Harland Williams

WH: I’m specifically fond of the Westside [Happy Dog]. And a shout out to the Grog Shop. They’ve always been very nice to us.

Star Wars Burlesque: The Tease Strikes Back

Any places that have been a challenge to perform at? Not necessarily bad, but proved as obstacles that you weren’t expecting. SW: [Laughs] I’d say Canton.

December 1-3 // Hilarities

December 2 // Beachland Ballroom

8th Annual Cleveland Metal Holiday Food Drive December 3 // Beachland Ballroom

Ralphie May

December 3 // Hard Rock Rocksino

Affiance

December 16 // Agora Ballroom

Dom Irrera

December 27-30 // Hilarities

Nights

December 30 // Grog Shop

Clutch

December 31 // Agora Theatre

Bush

January 1 // Hard Rock Rocksino

Gary Gulman

January 19-21 // Hilarities

Cloud Nothings

January 26 // Beachland Ballroom

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WH: Well, yeah. Some of the outer towns. Canton’s always a weird spot. We just played our first show in Akron and it was an interesting experience. How so? WH: None of them have been difficult, but you can’t always expect a full crowd, regardless of where you are. We survive.

…we try to make the album sound like it was live and you saw it.

You’re out in the scene doing live shows. Any other local acts that you caught recently that you dig? WH: I actually just saw the band, Trios, and they’re very, very good. I was surprised I never heard of them before. They might be new. I don’t even know. SW: I like Pack Wolf. As far as the new album, can you say anything to the musical direction you’re taking it? WH: With everything else we released, especially when we recorded that album, there was no bass on it because we don’t have a bass live. Generally we try to make the album sound like it was live and you saw it. For this new one, I’d like to add a few layers, doubling myself on the vocals and harmonies and adding a bass on the record and really filling out the sound for more of a studio experience, if you will. Be sure to check out Wesley Who on Facebook as well as their Bandcamp page where you can listen to and purchase all of their albums.

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Creating an Incubator:

The Rise of Cleveland Tapes Gabe Voss

RA Washington’s Love Affair with Analog

The lost art of fixing a tangled cassette tape is a lot like mending a broken heart. The music you have been sharing is suddenly warped. Panicking, you slam-stop, popping open the tray only to gasp at the horror of your darling cassette with its guts wrapped around the parts of your tape player you didn’t even know existed. With surgical precision you untie knots, releasing it from the snare. With a personal touch, a relationship between human and analog can be salvaged. You have to work at it, but hardcopies are difficult to dump. Writer, artist, and cultural guide RA Washington (pronounced R.A. not “rah”), the founder of Cleveland Tapes, has a deep love affair with art and analog. Cleveland Tapes is an incubator nurturing a virtual honey hole of local talent. The website, clevelandtapes.com, showcases area rappers, producers, and musicians that are as varied as the artwork connected with their sound.

Gazing at a moon-like terrain sunken in the shadows of the Franklin Mountains, Washington remembers being creatively thirsty as a child: “I knew the military base I was growing up on, Ft. Bliss; El Paso, Texas; and Juarez, Mexico weren’t the only places in the world. There was no way those ugly places could be the only thing.” By the time he was 11, Washington began his writing. A love of comics and fan letter forums propelled him to make multiple contacts from all over. “I was writing from El Paso to places like Cleveland, New York, Pittsburgh, Montreal, and San Francisco.” Exposure to different ideas and places was obviously further from reach back then. The long anticipated package via mail gave penpals more time to think about what or how they wanted to frame something. Taking advantage, he received letters and tapes, and then sent tapes of music that he was listening to, that were more native to El Paso or Mexico, in an effort to broaden what little perspective he had. Being born after 1990 doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate the sound or history cassette tapes provides; it just means you may not realize just how immersed everyday people were with the medium during its peak. The catalyst was that common people had an affordable opportunity to portably record. “Anybody can get a tape deck. It kind of democratizes the process a little bit,” according to Washington.

CLEVELAND TAPES continues on page 25

The online visibility of Cleveland Tapes is only the tip of the iceberg. The Guide to Kulchur Bookstore is a cooperative press operating on 5900 Detroit Ave. here in Cleveland. Open to the public, Washington provides an avenue for writers by independently publishing all different forms of cultural expression. Events like performances by his band, Mourning [A] BLKstar, on Sunday Nov. 27 at Mahall’s in Lakewood, help benefit programs like Books2Prisoners. For Washington, production seems to be the biggest theme over anything. There are many similarities between RA Washington and a cassette tape. They are both durable and well-traveled. They both protect the vulnerability of creativity encased within. Both are adaptable and accessible. Most importantly, just like a favorite mixtape, RA Washington must be listened to intently.

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On the Spot with

“The Unicorn Guy” Making the intangible tangible with one of Northeast Ohio’s most unconventional residents. A.J. DiCosimo // Photography: Michael Pierzynski "A time is coming when men will go mad, and when they see someone who is not mad, they will attack him, saying, 'You are mad; you are not like us.'” –St. Anthony The Great

you’re from Brooklyn, Ohio, chances are you've seen Keith and Andrea buying groceries or getting dinner together. In a lot of ways it’s really no different than any other love story you've ever heard. Boy meets girl, falls in love, and decides he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. The only real difference between this classic romance and the one I’m about to tell you about is that the boy is actually a man in his late fifties that dresses in women's clothing and the girl is a stuffed unicorn with blue hair.

When I decided that I was going to write a piece about the legendary “Unicorn Guy,” I realized that all the stories I've ever heard about him were merely anecdotal and generally positive, but I still didn’t know what to expect. I mean a man who gallivants around town with a stuffed unicorn as if were a sentient being doesn't really scream “conventional.” But, I choose not to live my life in fear of these things because I've found that more often than not, my preconceived notions of what is and isn't “normal” is just that shitty part of my brain that tells me to fear carbs and terrorism, and I find that the world is a much more colorful place when I decide to shut off that part of my mind. After about a week of badgering the locals and a lot of driving around, I found his house. It's a nice little home on a quiet street. I didn't know that it was his house for sure, but I had a sneaking suspicion that the three stuffed unicorns proudly showcased in his window were a pretty good sign. I knocked on his door, and as soon as he answered, I was met with a manic ball of energy that was inescapable. We introduced ourselves and then he asked me if I realized that if you took a human

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head, split it open, and examined the hippocampus, it looks identical to the Orion Nebula. He then proceeded to talk to me for about thirty minutes on how that proves we are cosmically connected to everything. I stood there, silent most of the time, thinking, “It's like Iggy Pop, Bill Hicks, and The Mad Hatter are all sharing a sleeping bag in his mind.” The rapid intensity in which he speaks is so intense that you're left speechless at the end of the conversation because you don't know where it went, why it went there, or if you'll ever get it back. But, it doesn't matter because you've bought a ticket into the fun house and a what fun would it be if it were easy to escape? I realized early on that he wasn’t crazy. But, this man clearly knows where the line between sanity and insanity lies and is whimsically playing hopscotch with it. There is so much stuff in his head and there's only so much room for it to go. He can only keep cramming stuff into that brain for so long until it explodes out of his mouth into a volcanic eruption of words that could destroy Herculaneum. I would go into the specifics of his meta-physical philosophies, but all it would do is prove that our conversation went completely over my head. He opened the door, and I followed him inside. His house looked pretty normal, and outside of the display in the front window, you couldn't really tell that this is where a unicorn lived. On his record player he was playing Peter and The Wolf, a Russian symphony written for children from the 1930s. “I love this so, so much. It reminds me of my childhood,” he said. “I still to this day try to see the world through the eyes of a child.” I noticed a really nice high-hat cymbal in the middle of his living room and asked him if he played. He said he did and offered to play for me. I followed him into the basement, and when he sat down behind his kit, he burst into a twenty minute drum solo that can only be described as abstract and schizophrenic, but, nonetheless, entrancing. As I watched him lose himself in his playing, I started to wonder if he was gone forever, but then in a very comedic way, he said, “My drum teacher's asking me for tips these days.”

He put down his sticks, and when we came back upstairs, I asked him if he could introduce me to Andrea. He went blank for a second. When he started to describe her, he did so with such fondness and affection that can only be heard by somebody speaking of their life's work. “I'm so lucky to have Andrea because it was a change in me. Everything was closed in here,” he said, pointing to his heart. “People at work would ask me if I was an introvert or an extrovert, and I would tell them that I'm an introvert by nature, but I want this extrovert out. This was always going to be an odd way of bringing it out. But, you see, I've always wanted to be a cartoon character. I remember seeing this cartoon with Koko The Clown where the cartoonist drew him as he was, and then Koko would just end up changing himself. Whenever he wanted. His head would get really big and stuff, and he would do all these outrageous things, and that's what I wanted.” This was fascinating to me because I started piecing together the meaning of it all. I remember being a kid and wanting to be a basketball player or an astronaut, but then something happened. I woke up. I realized that the marketplace for chubby basketball players and stupid astronauts had become pretty dry. This man dreamt of being a person who can make the intangible tangible, and it was only after his mother passed away that he realized he spent his entire life isolating and burying the part of himself that made him unique.

It's like Iggy Pop, Bill Hicks, and The Mad Hatter are all sharing a sleeping bag in his mind.

“I can remember looking out that window and my most precise memory is this, frantically thinking, 'My God, I just don't see enough. I don't experience enough. I don't feel a thing and I don't know enough to keep me aware! I cannot take this. I could have a different life now and feel like I'm on stage.' An early childhood dream I had was every time a Beatles song would come on I wanted to be on stage, and then in the sixth grade I was in a play, and I was on the spot. That's what Andrea allows me to do. It's very thrilling and calming at the same time. That's the wonderment of what life should be. Not expecting or having to act appropriately, and there’s no past whatsoever. When I am with her, I am on the spot. I am here and now and in the moment when they’re judging me. So let's go forward. She is an instant psychological profile without me saying a word.” When Keith steps out of his house, he is being 100 percent authentic when he says that Andrea helps him move on from the pain he was in before she came into his life. To assume that this relationship is merely some perverted fetish would be a mistake. It is much more than that. When Keith looks at her, he sees who he really is, and through him, Andrea has some form of life. Keith is a conduit between the animate and the inanimate. It is the most personal form of performance art you're ever going to see by anyone because, here, life and art are not imitating one or the other. They are the same thing. His life is art. “One day I just stared at a blank piece of paper, and I wrote out the words love, trust, truth, beauty, peace, harmony, wisdom, understanding, patience over and over again.”

THE CATCH ALL Dust off that News Desk Adam Dodd

Mercifully, the elections of 2016 are in the rearview mirror. With the battle waged and The Don ultimately claiming the throne we are retiring our online column, “The Weekly Politic.” Thanks to everyone who read and commented on the articles. It was a pleasure and absolute blast to write. That said, thank God it’s over! Be sure to check my newest weekly column, PressureLife’s “Weekly World News” starting next week. We’ll be featuring stories off the beaten path that may have fallen through the cracks, whether they be weird, wonderful, or outright unbelievable.

“The Card is Going to Change” Podcast Kevin Naughton

Want to hear true stories involving characters with names like The Necro Butcher, Honky-Tonk Man, Vader and Dick Justice? Looking for a new podcast that’s a little outside of the box? If you answered “Yes!” to one or both of those questions, check out “The Card Is Going To Change,” a weekly show hosted by John Thorne and Chandler Biggins of Cleveland’s Absolute Intense Wrestling promotion. Whether you’re a huge fan of professional wrestling or just a curious listener, you’re in for a treat: they’ll take you inside the weird, underground world of independent professional wrestling with behind the scenes stories about some of the business’ biggest stars and unsung heroes. Whether you’re a fan of wrestling or not, these stories are bizarre, interesting, funny, and you won’t hear them anywhere else.

Cleveland’s Superhero is Back Adam Dodd

Ready for another round of Bif Bam Pow? You better be, because Cleveland’s own superhero, Apama, is coming out with volume two! The new collection by creators Ted Sikora, Milo Miller, and Benito Gallego feature the introduction of the demented super-villainess, the Tap Dance Killer, as well as classic Apama foes like, Regina the Psycho-Delic Human Bad Trip. Stocked with hometown love and plenty of punches, kicks, and hard luck heroes along the way, check out their Facebook page or apamanation.com to get your own copy today!

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LEAVING LEVY PART ONE: BIRTH OF A ICON

The Tragic Rise and Fall of a Cleveland Icon Adam Dodd “To live outside the law, you must be honest.” –Bob Dylan

ollowing a 1967 police raid on his East Cleveland apartment, poet d.a. levy (who used lowercase almost exclusively), wrote to a friend, “we give books to the libraries, we give candy to children, we don’t murder people, we’re trying to stop people from taking Bad Trips, we don’t deal with narcotics, we are trying to help Cleveland grow up by giving the city a literary tradition and bang ARRESTS.” His frustrations and paranoia proved well warranted. As the troubled writer intimated in the same letter, “we all expect to be in jail again soon and it’s not the police who are doing it, it’s somebody higher up.” By the time of this raid, the dam had already burst. It was the beginning of the end for the troubled writer, but in only a handful of years prior, d.a. levy single-handedly created an alternative Cleveland literary scene—a life’s work that cost him exactly that.

d.a. levy held court amid University Circle. Haunting the corner of 117th Street and Euclid Avenue, he could often be found in the corner booth at Adele’s, drinking cheap cups of coffee and scribbling in notebooks. Lines like, “lakefront rats race rock to rock like medieval monks,” “The Parma police are still waiting for Pancho Villa,” and “a pigmy fleet drops anchor at the East Ninth Street Pier and the lake nights are haunted by visions of fresh water Flying Dutchmen” fused the impersonal steel and concrete downtown with an inherent spirituality levy saw in everything. levy encapsulated his vision in “Cleveland Undercovers”: “the city tries to impress me with its / mass, it struggles to encompass me with / shadows, but i know it exists / ONLY because i perceive it…” His roommate at the time, Russ Salmon, recounts levy’s singular focus in The Buddhist Third

tibetan stroboscope, 1968, pages 6 and 17

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Class Junkmail Oracle: The Art and Poetry of d. a. levy: “It seemed a great outrage that Cleveland had no great poets. It was a fervent necessity to give Cleveland great poets and great poetry. [levy] didn’t bother to check with Cleveland if it wanted them, he knew it needed them.” The passion driving levy’s literary pursuits were rivaled only by his search for spiritual enlightenment. Balancing the Jewish mysticism of his heritage with his love of Buddhism. The two halves of his focus were expertly married in his “North American Book of the Dead,” which blurs ephemeral transcendence with the blue-collar reality of day-to-day life in Cleveland. In it, he details his spiritual struggle within the city: “last time i took acid / i wanted to get liberated / immediately / almost dropped dead / decided i didn’t want to get liberated / that way / too clinical … working out problems of the universe / thinking weird thoughts / writing paranoid poems about the police / nothing to do except / change the kitty litter, empty the garbage / nothing to do except go to Adeles bar / the last religious frontier / & watch it be destroyed by the University property-mongers … Everyone Sez, / write a poem about east cleveland / yah man, wouldn’t that be cute!” Working out of his dingy apartment overlooking the Flats, levy’s wiry frame was in constant motion. An unsung godfather of the indie ‘zine movement, levy produced several infamous hand-run prints including

ukanhavyrfuckinciti bak, 1967, front and back cover

The Seven Flowers Press, The Buddhist Third Class Junkmail Oracle, Renegade Press, and The Marrahwanna Quarterly that were prized and traded throughout the underground literary scene. The eccentric printings were an indispensable outlet for an enclave of brilliant locals. Paired with rare pieces by Beat luminaries such as Charles Bukowski, R. Crumb, Ed Sanders, Tuli Kupferberg, and Allen Ginsberg, levy’s publications hosted some of the most daring thoughts in America at the time. While other contemporaries of the 1960s were dreaming of idyllic West Coast sunsets or hustling to reach the authenticity found in New York’s East Village, levy knew no riper terrain than his hometown to chronicle such daily triumphs and tragedies. The infamous Hough Riots of 1966 saw Cleveland streets besieged with firebombings, looting, arson, and multiple deaths. Naturally, levy sought the center of the chaos. In “Suburban Monastery Death Poem” levy reported, “only ten blocks away / buildings burned—perhaps burning now / the august night broken by sniper fire / police men bleeding in the streets / a sniper surrenders (perhaps out of ammunition) / gun jammed? / someone sed he was framed in a doorway / like a picture—his hands in the air / when they shot him … only ten blocks away” A poignant account of the racially charged riots, levy added in the same piece, “I cld try to tell you / about the hopeless despair / ingrained in ghetto walls / & police brutality or police stupidity / or police reality is more than just words / to define situation by / students looking for a cause / the situations exist and continue / quietly in the dark while the / protest goes on in daylight—both unheard / Really the police try to protect / the banks—and everything else / is secondary / during the riots.”

levy’s publications hosted some of the most daring thoughts in America at the time.

Levy’s most socially-focused writings worked to expose an expansive East Cleveland housing scam that sought to drive out low-income housing in favor for new developments around University Circle—one of the many inciting elements that fed into the Hough Riots. levy often criticized what he considered a heavy-handed police force and Cleveland’s mayor at the time, Ralph Locher. Playing a recurrent foil for the poet, Locher was featured in levy’s seminal Cleveland: The Rectal Eye Visions. “Ole wise man of cleveland / you’re just like prez johnson / who plays / musical electric chairs / With The People. … Mayor Locher / you ain’t even smart enough to be the bad guy / & the parade of parades of death / whisper in the marching marching / of the 4th Reich America / UBER ALLES” Whether spoken or mimeographed, people were beginning to listen to the poet. As his influence grew, so too did the frustration of local authorities, who increasingly became the focus of his wrath. What happened in the coming months would see d.a. levy the target of an orchestrated series of arrests, stings, surveillance, and harassment courtesy of the Cleveland Police Department and the District Attorney’s Office—hounding the writer until a trigger was pulled…

Check out the next issue of PressureLife for the chilling conclusion of Leaving Levy in Part Two: “The Death of a Cleveland Icon”

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D E A D

A SMALL CONSIDERATION ON THE HEROIN EPIDEMIC SWEEPING THROUGH NORTHEAST OHIO

ell when you're sitting back in your rose-pink Cadillac Making bets on Kentucky Derby Day I'll be in my basement room with a needle and a spoon And another girl to take my pain away.” – Mick Jagger/Keith Richards, “Dead Flowers”

In the following personal stories, names have been changed for the sake of protecting those whose lives have been disrupted enough by the harsh realities of opiate addiction.

Steven was in the back seat when he noticed Amir, riding shotgun, opening his backpack and beginning to assemble his gear. Andy was driving. The three, all around 22, were heading out toward Nelson’s Ledges, getting high on sour diesel, with no destination in mind. “Pull up over here,” Amir told Andy.

Matthew K. Weiland Casey Rearick @caseyrearickphoto

“Dude,” said Andy. “You’re not doing that right now.” “Duuuuude,” mimicked Amir. “Pull up over here.” Andy finally did so as Amir proceeded with an air of ritual, one which Steven had never seen in person. Amir did his thing—the alcohol swab, the cook, the vein reconnaissance, the tie-off, the spike, the injection. When Amir finished up, he lit a cigarette and Andy continued driving. “He didn’t look any more high than we did,” says Steven. “There was no nodding out. He was alert. He was funny.” Steven says Amir was a smart, genuine, and generous. He says Amir insisted on burying his used needle a few feet deep in the ground of the Ledges so no kids would

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happen upon it. “It was the first time I ever saw anyone do heroin,” says Steven. “It didn’t seem like any big deal.” Four days later, Amir’s mom found her son dead on his bed in his room, a casualty of the fentanyl-laced batches that have made the rounds throughout the region this year.

There are no fresh takes on the “heroin thing.” The clinical forensics, the cryptic obituaries of young folks, the Facebook elegies of death and loss, the sad stories told of snuffed-out promise and broken lives—they are all well-documented. Google “Cuyahoga County heroin overdoses” and the headlines tell the tale: “Seven dead from heroin, fentanyl overdoses in one day in Cuyahoga County” “Cuyahoga County sees 47 heroin overdose deaths in July” “August is the deadliest month for heroin, fentanyl overdoses in Cuyahoga County” It all becomes another sort of white noise abstraction, the daily dose of everything that processes and filters and is expelled without much connection. Oh, another someone passed? God, that’s sad—What time’s the game? But then one day, you see a Facebook post from a bartender you know, 27 turning 28, who has seen some 15 cohorts disappear from her middle school and high school class pictures. Young people in their prime, all relatively healthy and happening. These aren’t Iggy Pop protégés. These are kids with game and stride. Her post laments the loss of so many

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in a small community in so short a time. And the post is met with dozens of comments echoing the cry while listing further names of neighborhood friends who’ve OD’d, a Jim Carroll-esque litany of the people who’ve died. And it becomes clear that nearly everyone knows someone who has lost someone to heroin or fentanyl or opioid use and addiction. Everyone has a sadness.

Jackie hasn’t spoken to her older sister Jenny since around 2012, the last time Jenny OD’d and the people she was hanging with left her at the MetroHealth Medical Center ER and took off. “It’s been so awful for so long,” says Jackie. “I haven’t seen my niece in four years, and my nephew is a mess.” He was delayed as a child, she says, speculating that it’s likely due to Jenny’s methadone addiction at his birth. Jackie says her sister has been using opiates for about 14 years, seesawing between heroin addiction and methadone treatment, though she qualifies that Jenny was blowing lines and popping pills to augment her alcohol use long before that. “She’s been in trouble since she was eleven,” says Jackie. When the Lakewood Police Department’s Drug Task Force busted Jenny for possession with intent to distribute and child endangerment a couple years back, she ended up doing six months in county. Jackie’s family formally learned of Jenny’s latest phase of use when Jenny was living next door to the sisters’ grandmother. One day, Jenny’s boyfriend, a heroin user himself, called to say Jenny needed help. He’d found bloody blankets strewn about the upstairs of their Clifton double, the result of Jenny missing veins and bleeding everywhere. Jenny’s son had just been born. That was

. . . A N D Y O U R E A L I Z E . Y O U in 2010, when Jackie called social services on her sister. The relationship has been pretty much asunder since. “She hit my grandma and stole five hundred dollars,” says Jackie. “My grandmother had dropped her off at a gas station and my sister walked around to the driver’s side as though she was going to hug her goodbye. Instead, she punched my grandma and stole her purse, knowing that her Social Security check had come.

D O I N D E E D K N O W S O M E O N E . A N D T H I S H E R O I N T H I N G , I T H A S T O U C H E D Y O U ,

“It sucks. And she blames us. It’s all our fault. She uses because of my parents’ divorce. She uses because of my step-dad. She uses because we don’t understand. She uses because we got her in trouble.” Jackie shrugs with resignation, any sign of sadness long subsided. “Do I think that it is a disease? Yes. Do I think that it is a choice? Yes. It’s a choice to start using drugs. And whether or not you get addicted, it’s hit or miss.”

T O O .

to be itching for a battle over trivial things,” she says. Luke then had another accident at work, trying to catch a table saw as it fumbled out of his hand, slicing off his little finger. “His mood after that just plummeted.” A week or two later, they decided to have a date night together, an effort to rekindle their initial rapport. “Then, out of nowhere, he needed to use my car,” says Stephanie. “He said he had to go down to Tremont to pick up a friend who lived in Tremont to take him to work—which was in Tremont.” Red flags went up for Stephanie. Nevertheless, she gave him the keys.

True to his word, Luke did return in 20 minutes. The two sat on the sofa, he rolling a joint, both still ready to go out, all dressed up for date night. Then, he nodded off.

Stephanie and Luke were in love. At ages 38 and 34 respectively, they moved in together after three months, inking matching tattoos and finishing each other’s sentences. They partied a little bit together, smoking pot, some blow now and then, some X. But no opioids. Then, right after they moved in, Luke injured himself at work as a roofer, and started taking percocets for the back pain. “Then one day,” says Stephanie, “a week after moving in together, Luke went MIA and his mom and I went looking for him in our usual haunts. When we got back home, we found him lying in the dining room, unconscious. He was sweating so bad he left sweat stains on the hardwood floor.” When they revived him, he was pissed off, lashing out, saying they were blowing things out of proportion. For about a month thereafter and up through the holidays, everything was cool. Then, following the first of the year, Stephanie noticed Luke’s moods start to pendulum considerably. “He always seemed

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Stephanie video recorded him as he was nodding off, her yelling at him to wake up. An intervention of sorts so she could show him how he was. To no avail. A week after that, Stephanie awoke at three in the morning and found Luke dead on the living room floor, blood and vomit seeping from his mouth. Having had nursing training, she applied CPR while calling 911. Four cans of Narcan later, Luke was pronounced dead. There were no needles, no spike marks, no way to determine the specifics in Luke’s death. The autopsy eventually showed fentanyl in his system with trace amounts of cocaine. That was nearly two years ago, Jan. 31, 2014. It was the day after her son‘s eleventh birthday and the party they had for him at Dave and Buster’s. As a result of Luke’s overdose and death, and the trace drugs found in the home, Stephanie lost custody of her son. She also lost the house in which they were living and eventually her job. “I lost my entire life over someone else’s bad decision,” she says. “And all I was left with were all the doubts about what could I have done

to save him, to avoid all this. Should I have not have loved him? The residue ruins those left behind.” The video of him nodding out is the last photo Stephanie has of Luke.

Still, you haven’t been touched by the scourge. Not personally. No one you know is addicted, much less has overdosed. Some peripheral families from the old parish days, maybe. But you’ve pretty much been buffered. Then one day, you’re sitting at the bar and a guy in a Carhartt jacket and knit hat is sitting a couple seats down. You start chatting about nothing over happy hour shots. You find out about his gig, a contractor who has succeeded in his own business. He has made it through various tough times. At some point he references working with his son. His voice quiets a bit when speaking about him. You don’t press on anything, but actively listen, bear witness. His son was his partner in the business. Was learning the trade. Was doing really well, all set to be the heir apparent. Was married. 30 years old. Was. Died of an overdose. The guy—this dad—looks past you as he speaks, over your shoulder and out the window behind you. He doesn’t know you, though for some reason you are an itinerant afternoon confidant. It feels like a story he rarely tells, if ever. He continues talking, his voice nearing a whisper at times, telling about what a wonderful kid, what bond they were developing. His voice descending lower into the swamp of sadness he has been hip-deep in ever since. No mawkish or maudlin; simple Raymond Carver sentences. He had a son. Who had a problem. His son overdosed. He died. They were just growing close. You see this guy occasionally thereafter, and you say hello. You try to pay tribute to that hour spent, the conversation shared. But there’s a distance. He’s not looking to relive it. Not looking for any further bonding. And you respect that. It’s his. Don’t trample on it with whatever you might be feeling or wondering. It’s not yours to wonder, not yours to feel. You are “Hi-Bye” friends. Acknowledgements. Awareness. Neighborliness. But that’s it. Good fences, after all, make good neighbors. Yet, you still feel the loss whenever you see him down the bar. And you realize. You do indeed know someone. And this heroin thing, it has touched you, too.

If you or someone you know is in need of help, please contact the 24-hour crisis hotline at 216-623-6888 or visit 211oh.org

Public Square Through the Years Kevin Naughton // Photography provided by: Western Reserve Historical Society

ou all know Public Square. I don’t need to describe it to you. You’ve waited for a bus there, you’ve gotten stuck in traffic there, a homeless person asked you for help there, and you may have even seen some fireworks or watched some other spectacle there. Every Clevelander has a memory attached to the small park at the center of our city. Whether or not we acknowledge it every day, Public Square is a big part of our home.

How has our city’s centerpiece change since it was created over 200 years ago?

Interestingly, it has been there as long as Cleveland (or “Cleaveland” as it was originally spelled) has been a concept. Laid out by surveyors at the turn of the 19th century, the earliest plans for a settlement on the banks of Lake Erie and the Cuyahoga included a central, public park where the streets Ontario and Superior intersected. The city was slow to grow at first, but it always grew around the plot of land we now know as Public Square. Cleveland was nicknamed the “Forest City” early on because at the time, it was, well, just a rustic settlement in the middle of a forest. Pioneer hunters would gather in Public Square, then just a clearing peppered with stumps of recently felled trees and edged with woods, to venture into the forest and hunt small game. It’s bizarre to think of gruff, buckskin-clad frontiersmen getting ready to go hunt rabbits and

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squirrels right where we wait for the Health Line. It’s perhaps even more bizarre to picture Public Square surrounded by log cabins and trees. As Cleveland’s population and infrastructure grew, Public Square was used as grazing land for cattle, but a courthouse solidified the central plot of land as the city’s center. In 1834, a church was built in the northwest quadrant, which was the predecessor of the still-standing Old Stone Church, built in 1855 to better accommodate the growing congregation. Occasionally, the Cleveland Grays, the village’s citizen guard that was organized in the early 19th century, would muster and march there. The space was occasionally used as a public gathering place, where early Clevelanders would celebrate the Fourth of July and other civic events.

By the end of the Civil War, Cleveland, like many northeastern cities, had become an industrial city. Downtown was starting to take shape, and it was around this time that Public Square started turning into something we might recognize today. Buildings went up in an effort to keep pace with the booming population, and the need for public parks and recreation areas was becoming increasingly apparent. First on the list of available

public land to transform into a park? Public Square. Pictures from this period are funny; the Square looks like the lagoon from Gilligan’s Island crammed into a busy intersection with a bunch of Victorian white people milling about. Cleveland was quickly becoming a wealthy merchant city with the ornate houses of the local rich penning in the park, which for a time was a sort of pleasure garden for the city’s aristocracy. However, the economic monster that the city’s fortunate had created eventually pushed them out. Commercial establishments gradually sprung up around the square, changing it from a semi-residential area to a business district. In a rare occurrence of reverse-gentrification, the city’s wealthy packed up and moved away from an increasingly bustling downtown. Surrounded by increasingly tall buildings and with the dedication of the iconic Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Monument in 1894, Public Square was finally becoming a place that a modern Clevelander would easily recognize. Tower City became an iconic addition to the area in the 1920s, but the park itself has changed little since then. It’s fallen in and out of disrepair and it’s had some superficial makeovers, sure, but it has remained the relatively unchanging centerpiece of our ever-changing city. Business, industry, residents, and championship teams have come and gone, but Public Square has been there for us since the beginning, whether we appreciate it or not.

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Cleveland's

Hottest Heathens The Red Hot Heathens give us the lowdown on five years of burlesque badassery

Dan Bernardi Photography // Amonte B. Littlejohn

erhaps at some point during your usual foggy weekend crawls through the pubs around Lakewood you've rubbed eyeballs with one of the city's wildest acts, the uncanny burlesque troupe known as the Red Hot Heathens. Celebrating their fifth anniversary this year, the Heathens have made a name for themselves as a notoriously uninhibited squad of freaky and funny entertainers devoted to totally dynamizing their audience. Featuring a blend of poetically psychedelic performance art and tastefully titillating striptease, every show is a guaranteed blast for anyone down for a walk on the wild side.

We’re the Andrew W. K. of burlesque…our only aim is to have the biggest party that night.”

Gearing up for the Seventh Annual Heavy Metal Food Drive in December, the Heathens' current lineup is no less than stellar. Aurora Sans, the team leader, often incorporates humor, sex, and her appreciation for classic rock into her act. Foxy Moon is the sassy resident hula hooper and poi spinner. Ooh La Lola is the fun and flirty girl-next-door type. Phoenix is the coy little sex pot. And Inferno Joe, the shameless lone male Heathen, is...pretty much up for anything. With their powers combined, they are the Red Hot Heathens, and we hit them up for an inside peek behind the velvet curtain.

PressureLife: When did the Heathens first form and how did the group come about? Aurora: The Heathens formed in 2011 due to a lack of fitting in anywhere else in the current Cleveland burlesque scene. We wanted to do something different. Our vision was to perform in dive bars, which did not designate sexual preference, as a lot of the shows at the time were being performed in gay bars. We wanted to bring burlesque to the average Joe or Jill and not have to charge a hefty cover in the process. We are a merry band of outlaws who don’t give a fuck about what other people perceive as what we should be doing and how we should be doing it. We’re punk as fuck. In what ways is Cleveland a prime spot for burlesque? Aurora: Cleveland offers many different styles and varieties to choose from along with their designated venues. In our case, we’re nine times out of ten putting on free shows, which is a topic of debate in the burlesque community. Our aim was never to make money, but to have a good time with our audience. We do this because it’s like a high to get to entertain people. How has the community responded to your epic display of creative sexiness? Tell me about your fans and the type of culture that embraces your art. Aurora: We’re the Andrew W K of burlesque…our only aim is to have the biggest party that night. It’s not about how much money we can make, or notoriety we create—although we do like a good publicity stunt. We

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have had a pretty damn good following since our inception. There are several regulars that attend every show and somehow we still manage to entertain them. Our culture equals fun. Where do you draw inspiration for your performances? How do you choose your costumes, music, and routine? Foxy: If there’s a certain song I’m digging, I’ll try to work around that. I like to just be a goof and quirky off-beat kinda stuff. Lola: I have to like the song and be able to move to it. I feel the need to incorporate humor into my acts whenever possible. Aurora: Inspiration usually comes to me when I’m in the shower or on the toilet—always the most inopportune times. The music must be classic rock, for one, and for two, everything else comes to me in some sort of weird psychedelic magical way. Phoenix: Mostly things with a lot of bass. “Big bottom, big bottom, talk about mud flaps, my girl’s got ‘em.” What's been your most glorious experience on stage? What keeps you coming back for more? Foxy: Performing with the T-Town Tassels in Toledo on their monstrous, gorgeous, historic stage. Being able to dance around in my underwear keeps me coming back for more. Lola: Looking out and seeing everyone laughing both at me and with me and just having fun because that’s what life is all about. Phoenix: I can’t deny the cheer of an excited crowd. Aurora: Emceeing and being able to introduce my friends and their talents to a welcoming crowd of people who simply want to be entertained. What keeps me coming back—and there’s been a lot of times I’ve hesitated—is the camaraderie that we have in our group and the special relationship they’ve shared. How do you strike a balance between uninhibited freakiness and tasteful exhibition? Have you ever had the inclination to go sans-pasties or perhaps even full monty? Lola: Only if it involves a merkin (look it up). Aurora: I dig the allure of leaving some things to the imagination. I like to push the envelope, but why buy the cow when you can drink the milk for free? Have you had any awkward or strange moments during a performance? What's the weirdest thing that's happened on stage? Aurora: If I had a dime for every time my damn pastie popped off my boob, I would be rich. One time though, I did walk on stage and trip, skin my knee—in the dirtiest bar ever—and begin my performance with half of my leg covered in blood. Alas, the show must go on.

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Phoenix: I forgot about 70% of my costume at home once. Luckily no one noticed because the dress I’d worn to the show worked for the character I was doing. Lola: My dress got stuck and I had to pretend that I just pulled it over my head, but it worked, nobody knew. Joe: I once stapled my fake zebra-print suit to myself, but the staples didn’t hold, and I ended up just bleeding everywhere in my underwear! Thank God the audience was entertained by the chaos. Foxy: Pastie pop… Inferno Joe, what’s it like being the only dude in the group? Joe: When I first started, I was a bit apprehensive because I thought no one would want to view me, as I am not an attractive woman. However, guys are sort of novelties in burlesque, so they can pretty much get away with murder as long as they strive to be entertaining, energetic, and interesting. Me? I douse myself in mousetraps and staple things to myself! Our latest guy member, Booze McKoot, who hasn’t been able to come around recently, was a huge influence. How have the Heathens managed to prevail this long in the burlesque scene? Aurora: There is a very special connection between all of us in our gang. Can’t quite put our finger on it or describe it other than it’s enough to fight for and want to maintain. Perhaps it’s our creative energies joining forces. Hell, it’s probably because we’re all fucking awesome—and we all have great boobs, except Inferno Joe.

We are a merry band of outlaws who don’t give a fuck about what other people perceive as what we should be doing and how we should be doing it.

-----------------------------The Heathens are in full swing for their final show of the year at the Seventh Annual Heavy Metal Food Drive at the Beachland Ballroom on Saturday, Dec. 5. While they refused to hint at any surprises they have in store, the Heathens promise to demonstrate exactly how heavy metal they really are. Expect a headbanging good time with the Red Hot Heathens and keep your motor running for more tantalizing heathenism around town next year.

CLEVELAND TAPES continued from page 11 By the time he moved to Cleveland as a teenager, he already knew he wanted to be an artist and writer. He immediately fell in with kindred spirits such as longtime collaborator and close friend Francois Fissi Bissi Okra Kongo, an area musician and artist who was vital to Cleveland Tapes. Unfortunately, Francois, who Washington referred to as “the future,” was murdered blocks from his home earlier this year. The impact of this loss was devastating, but Washington remains diligent knowing Francois Fissi Bissi Okra Krongo’s influence will remain as future artists discover him. That is why he strives to create a place where people can get confidence and are able to share with others that are like minded. “It’s very important that young people look at the world as a place where they can explore, not from a privileged perspective, but from a respect perspective.” Starting Cleveland Tapes in 2001, Washington wanted to merely create a harbor for passing musical ships. He kept guidelines of 40 minute recordings in order to preserve length for future analog production. Over time, a unique patched sound emerged which was intimate and raw. A symbiotic community evolved keeping with one of his main themes of “holding up a mirror so a person can see themselves, but not really [be] reflected.” He elaborated, “We’re so used to the grind of being unique and individual that we don’t want to see the commonality of things.” This environment fosters growth, taking the pressure off. -----------------------------Yes, RA Washington does love tapes, but he’s not blind to the opportunities global sharing provides. “When people are borrowing from each other across the oceans, the seas, and these internet highways, you might have more in common with a cat in Dubai or a little kid in Bangladesh than you would have in common with somebody that lives across the street from you.” Now a lifetime pursuit, he cherishes the decision to become a functional artist. “I feel very privileged and thankful that early on as a young person I knew what I wanted to do with my life. A lot of people don’t get that opportunity to know, so it causes a lot of anguish for them, so it’s very important for me to be humble about that.” Remaining a true artist when asked if Cleveland Tapes could be considered underground or a movement. Wisely he replied, “It’s problematic in this culture for the makers to name what it is. It’s important for us to make space.” We can all thank RA Washington for creating a little more creative elbow room.

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Woodstock BBQ

& the Ghost of Jimi Hendrix Does Woodstock BBQ live up to its legendary name? Wilson Rivera // Illustrations: Aaron Gelston @gelston.design

spent the better part of my day prepping myself for what had the potential to be the best day of my life so far. It was payday, there was fall baseball, and more importantly, I had the whole evening off. Feeling kind of famished, I decided to head to a new BBQ spot nearby called Woodstock, which is apparently where everyone's dad hangs out. In the spot formerly known as Trio’s and under new ownership, it is located on the corner of Madison and Chesterland, easily spotted by its front patio.

Since I have an irrational distaste for classic rock, checking it out was a gamble, but it was a move I was willing to make because I felt confident my good mood could help me overcome my disdain for classic rock as well as a strong aversion to the idea of Woodstock in general, which might have something to do with Limp Bizkit performing at the last Woodstock in 1999.

I decided to head to a new BBQ spot nearby called Woodstock, which is apparently where everyone's dad hangs out.

I wasn’t here for the tunes though. I was here for the meats and the sauce. The inside is pretty comfortable, and there is an upside to having a patio as well. It seemed a lot less hepatitis-y, than I remembered Trio’s being, a different kind of charm if you will. The service was speedy as I got my beer and my food order taken quickly. I ordered the beef brisket sandwich, which is nothing all that special, but I generally enjoy the simpler meals on a menu.

The Matchup When it arrived, my sandwich Will my expectations be met? looked impressive, but I went My low opinion of classic rock on to realize that it was actuchanged? We’ll see if Jimi ally pretty lame. It was lukeHendrix without his corporeal warm and though the sauce flesh can help me to better was good, I generally am not appreciate Woodstock BBQ. hyped on a sandwich being room temp unless I’m getting it with some cold cuts and deli meats. You feel me? It was really nothing special, at all. I paid my bill and left feeling bummed. My whole mood had shifted now. Apathy became grief and then grief became anger. Why would you even name it Woodstock? There was no drugs. I mean aside from having the lame music there, I really didn’t see anything about it that would resemble the legendary status Woodstock had maintained up until its involvement with Fred Durst and his anthems about non-consensual advances on women. I needed something, some form of explanation as to how everything was going to be all right. I figured a nice shower could clear my head, so I did just that when I returned home. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, gathering my gear I entered the shower. After about two minutes, I began to hear what sounded like a faint guitar solo. The lights flickered and the wind crashed, and from a cloud of smoke emerged a man in a purple suit of sorts playing a guitar. “Prince?” I asked cautiously. “No man, I’m the ghost of Jimi Hendrix. You seem down, kid. What seems to be the problem?” I was very confused. What purpose did Jimi’s ghost serve coming here? While I was showering nonetheless. “Well, uh, the spirits of Woodstock tell me you don’t get its appeal. Why is that?” “Well, I mean they probably don't mean the actual Woodstock. I was just at this restaurant with the same name and you know, it was just not great. I guess I also feel the same way about, actual Woodstock too. I just don't get it, man.” He smiled, placed his hand on my shoulder, which was pretty awkward considering I was peering from my shower curtain. “Look kid, nothing was that great at Woodstock...we were all just really, really high.” “Oh yeah. You know what? You’re right. I guess everything in life is pretty meaningless, so people just drink beers and smoke joints to hide that harsh reality from themselves. Thanks, Jimi Hendrix!” Jimi smiled and dissipated into the void. His work was done. I found solace in the fact that some things don’t exist for everyone's enjoyment. Much like how some people enjoy the food and atmosphere at Woodstock and I don’t, doesn’t mean it’s bad—it’s just not for me. Realizing this, I could finally move on with my shower in peace.

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DIFFERENT STROKES:

KATY KOSMAN A Cleveland Artist Spotlight Dan Bernardi

a plucky six-year-old girl, Cleveland native and creative Katy Kosman knew she wanted to be an artist when a first grade teacher posted her drawing of a bunny on the wall. Now as a plucky adult, Katy has pursued her illustrative talents on a much more intimate scale. A self-described black sheep in her family, Katy isn't one to shy from touchy or taboo subjects, using art as a window into her observational mind and occasionally as a vicarious outlet against depression. Each piece she produces tells an instant story, combining bold drawings and text with an exceptionally clever sense of humor.

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In 2015, Katy teamed up with publisher and clothing company Valley Cruise Press out of Los Angeles for the release of her first book, Dear Vodka. The elegantly raw black and white publication is a candid diary of Katy's blissfully sarcastic perspective pervading over 60 pages of meme-y squigglings rife with both hilarious and heartbreaking witticisms. Valley Cruise has also brandished her iconic art on pins, patches, sculptures, greeting cards, and T-shirts. Perhaps the most popular, created in hometown-loving reverence, is her “Keep Cleveland Shitty” hoodies, an edgy new inside joke for long-time Clevelanders. In the summer of 2016, Katy was honored to be a part of the Inter|Urban public art project spanning along the Red Line Rapid. She was one of 19 artists selected to help adorn the city walls with a varied display of massive eye-popping murals. Katy's contribution depicts a puffy rain cloud containing the quote “Don't be too happy, you'll get soft.” Shortly after completing the project, Katy traveled to San Francisco for a month-long showcase of her work at Park Life gallery, celebrating the limited release of her newest book, Ha Ha Ha, aptly titled within the confines of a Venn diagram.

The elegantly raw black and white publication is a candid diary of Katy's blissfully sarcastic perspective.

As evident in both Dear Vodka and Ha Ha Ha, part of the magic in Katy Kosman's concoction of words and doodles is her ability to take symbols, figures, and common public access imagery and inject them with her signature sardonic attitude. Whether it be a heart with the message, “I like you when I'm sober” or a clock that reads, “No time for your shit,” Katy is able to talk about very real, emotional, occasionally dark subject matter in a context in which you're inclined to laugh in response. Drawn from Katy's own experience and imagination, each piece is a thought provoking, giggle-inducing visual quip. Selections of Katy's work is available at valleycruisepress.com and at her former studio and local gallery Canopy Collective Cleveland. Some of her art has also been carried by Urban Outfitters, PacSun, and Nasty Gal. Going forward, Katy plans to keep pushing further down the same path, working on more books, murals, designs, and gallery shows. Starting Nov. 18, you can find Katy with her fellow artsy wordsmith Erin Guido at artist Mike Sobek's 3204 Studios downtown. Check out Katy's art right now at katykosman.com and have a few laughs while you gain some fresh perspective.

5 Clevelanders You Didn’t Know You Were Thankful For Josh Womack

ith Thanksgiving season upon us, we have a lot of reasons to be thankful. An incredible year was made by incredible people, most of them flying under the radar. For every superstar athlete or awardwinning chef, there are a lot more people behind the scenes making our city the kick-ass place that we call home. Obviously there are way more than five people that Cleveland should say thanks to, but this is a good start. David Griffin – The 10th General Manager in Cavs history made all the right moves during the team’s championship run. It was not easy to fire David Blatt, who took the Cavs to the Finals in 2015, but Griffin knew the team would be better with Tyronn Lue in charge. Adding veterans like Richard Jefferson and Channing Frye also helped a young team gain some experience when they needed it the most: the postseason. Michael DeAloia – Known as the “Tech Czar,” DeAloia is a powerhouse who is on a mission to spotlight the best and brightest tech companies in Northeast Ohio. Read his weekly Tech Czar columns in the Sunday Plain Dealer and you’ll see his passion come through. Whether it’s reporting on the current state of funding available to entrepreneurs or calling out angel investors to open up their pocketbooks to keep great companies in Cleveland, DeAloia is a consistent and information-rich asset to the region’s start-up scene. Margaret Bernstein – WKYC’s Director of Advocacy and Community Initiatives is making sure tomorrow’s leader are literally “well-read.” An advocate for mentoring and literacy, Bernstein knows that a child who appreciates reading will appreciate learning. Her social media campaign this past summer with the hashtag #WeReadHere encouraged people to take a picture with their favorite book or for parents to snap a selfie while reading to their children. David Gilbert – The other Gilbert in town might not give championship rings to everybody, but he gives Cleveland something just as valuable: the national spotlight. As President & CEO of The Greater Cleveland Sports Commission and Destination Cleveland, Gilbert never stops selling Cleveland. Landing last year’s RNC was a career milestone, and from that bigger events will now look at Cleveland as a destination worth considering. Going against bigger cities with more hotels and better weather makes it Cleveland against the world. Or David versus Goliath. Nikki Delamotte – Fresh off her new book 100 Things To Do In Cleveland Before You Die, Delamotte is all about Cleveland. A culture reporter for Cleveland.com and a former contributor to SCENE, Nikki knows Cleveland food, art, comedy, and more. If you follow her on social media, you can see how captivated she is by everything that the city has to offer. If you want to get on her good side, give her a story tip on food—preferably desert. Josh Womack is the head writer of Laugh Staff where he writes hilarious wedding speeches.

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A Cleveland Christmas tale to get you into the holiday spirit. Chad Weaver // Illustrations: Katharine Penrod and I think that means it's about time for one of old Papa Weaver's famous Cleveland Christmas stories. Where do I begin?

WELL KIDS, CHRISTMAS IS ON ITS WAY

Ahem, the year was 2016. The Cleveland Cavaliers had just won a championships, the Indians went to the World Series, and the Browns were undefeated in being defeated. There was a pierogi on every table and everyone owned a T-shirt company specializing in craft beers. It was a glorious time to be a Clevelander. However there was one person in Cleveland who wasn't happy, and his name was Scrooge McDonald Had-a-Farm. Now, Mr. Had-a-Farm had always been known to be a bit of a curmudgeon, but it seemed that this year he was especially grumpy and determined to be as much of a snagglepuss as possible. That's why, in the weeks leading up to Christmas, he had spent his time going around town trying to ruin other people's Christmas spirit by saying things like: "I can't believe she's gone." "What am I going to do without her?" "Oh dear God, I miss you, Elizabeth!" "Why did my lovely wife of 22 years have to die? Why not me? Take me! Kill me!" Mr. Had-a-Farm tried and tried and tried and he cried and cried and cried, but he couldn't break the merry holiday cheer of his fellow “Clevelandians.” While the rest of Cleveland wasn't worried about being brought down by the recently-widowed Had-a-Farm's shenanigans, they had begun to want to make him as merry as they were. So, they got together and started thinking of ideas to cheer up Mr. Hada-Farm. "The best way to get over a loss is to get right back up on that horse," said the always slightly bloody Mrs. Joyce, whose last six husbands had all mysteriously disappeared. "East 4th street!" yelled someone from Westlake, who then promptly threw up. "LeBron James," said LeBron James.

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Eventually, a young boy piped up and told the crowd, "Everybody loves the Christmas Story house!" The rest of Cleveland agreed and decided to take Mr. Had-a-Farm out to the Christmas Story house on the next snowy night. But, they wanted it to be a nice kind of snowy, you know? Like, lightly snowy so it's calm outside, not the horrible snow that gets whipped in your face. I'm talking the kind of snow in which you tell someone you love them—even though you really don't. You just feel very lonely and they're nice and cute, but most importantly they're there. So, it's not like real or true love, but it gets you by, so you feel like you should say it even though you don't mean it. So, you wait to do it at a time when it will feel like a grand romantic gesture and hope that the moment helps hide the fact that you don't even believe yourself when you tell them, "I love you." That kind of snowy. Then on a perfect wintry night, two days before Christmas, the people of Cleveland took the reluctant Mr. Had-a-Farm out to the Christmas Story house. It was the perfect scene. All of the streetlights were out, and there was a thick darkness over the street, except for a lone light from the window of the Christmas Story house, which was coming from a sexy leg lamp like in the movie. When Mr. Had-a-Farm saw it, he was speechless, and tears—not of sadness, but of joy—welled up in his eyes. Mr. Had-a-Farm looked at the people of Cleveland around him and said, "You have made me the happiest ma-" but he was cut off as he was hit and killed by a stray bullet from a nearby drive-by shooting because the Christmas Story house is located in a severely economically disadvantaged neighborhood where the residents are forced to resort to crime in order to survive. Merry Christmas, Cleveland.

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