PENCIL MAG three
CLOSING HOURS BY ANN LAUTERBACH
This trace, if it exists, is alms for delusion. An arch uncurls from the floor scented with the scent of a tapestry, housed here. I recall the hour but not its passage unless dream captures and ties it to sleep: a fat bellhop smiles, shows me to the tower where I can watch the departure. But some days settle so that nothing crosses the horizon; stare as I will, no star needles the air. Now I am left on the outskirts of a forest hemmed in by wheat where plump trees hide the image, its symmetry shot up and blown across the ground like feathers. The unicorn, the grail, blue and red wings of kneeling musicians, these are embroidered elsewhere. Perseverance was crowned. Hope and Pity prayed for success. How fast is this camera? Can it record a trace? There was a voyage. Four mounted horses strain against centuries. To each is allotted: dust kicked up, smoke, plumage.
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KAREN DALTON : Something on Your Mind https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGWk11WRAlc
Josh Jefferson // Boston based artist who, from time to time, also plays the saxophone.
Color pencil, collage, and gouache on paper
A STORY WRITTEN IN 16 EMAILS WITHOUT DISCUSSION OVER THE COURSE OF ONE WEEK TRANSCRIPT: SARAH:
Hi Val, I would like to write a brief story with you. A written relay of sorts. 12 single sentence chapters. Are you willing?
VAL:
Willing and eager! One question, are there any rules?
SARAH:
Great! Ok. The only rule is that the sentence comprising the chapter must be complete. Cool?
VAL:
Cool. Game on.
S: Chapter 1 of 12 The letter, announcing the untimely death of George T. Geoffries arrived in a blue, handmade envelope which appeared to have been repaired numerous times with various layers of aging yellow tape. V: Chapter 2 of 12 She gently removed her mothers limp hand from the sweating glass of gin, placed the delicate envelope on her lap and sat nearby watching her sleep, knowing quite well that when she awoke it would be the last morning they would share together. S: Chapter 3 of 12 The truth was that George, her George, her Captain Geoffries, the father, the husband, with his dark eyes and wind scarred face had been gone for years. V: Chapter 4 As she sat memorizing the lines on her mothers face, hands, the way her white hair came to life in the humidity, Liza recalled the profound distraction that plagued her fathers soul, leaving mother to chase after his impulses even after he could no longer remember her name. S: Chapter 5 of 12 It had been 25 years since George set foot on the solid ground of Port Elizabeth and had driven gaunt and ghost-white to his house, furiously packed the family and a few belongings and drove wide-eyed through the night to Lebanon, Kansas, the very center of America, the furthest point from the sea on every side, with his young son wailing, and his pregnant wife looking desperately at her life fading away behind them. V: Chapter 6 of 12 Her mother often recalled the details of that trip in her old age, the specifics often changed but she never varied in the memory of her turning point: the evening they arrived in Lebanon she felt a shift, a momentary calm washed over her George as he watched the sunset over the unobstructed horizon, and though she was content knowing that he had found his place, she had not.
It was as if he had run from the sea into the fields and became the master of them as well, nose to the earth, hands to the plow, but she was adrift, aimless in the questioning of why he had turned his back on their life, forcing her from her shoreline, forbidding she speak of the sea, forbidding she ask him the question that would eventually tear them apart: What happened out there? V: Chapter 8 Liza knew nothing of her father’s days at sea, only that he never fully escaped those turbulent waters, it was a subject that her mother diligently and gracefully avoided. S: Chapter 9 of 12 Leaving her Mother’s side for the first time in weeks, Liza, with the cold steel of George’s Colt 45 clutched to her chest, walked out into the forgotten fields and began to scream, for the desolate farm, for the ocean she had only seen in pictures but had never touched, for the darkness that took her father, and for her mother, sickly, ruined and beautiful still. V: Chapter 10 of 12 It was as though the wind swept her cries away only to return them more fragile and sorrowful, Liza knew at once that the echo meant her mother was awake, and with a deep, quivering breath she began the walk back to her side, gun in hand. S: Chapter 11 of 12 There in her dim, stale, coffin of a bedroom, Callie Geoffries, having been ripped from the grip of death, was sitting straight as a pin, feet flat on the floor, on the edge of her bed, her nightgown slipping off her shoulder, her eyes like wild fires, clutching between her shaking white knuckles the open envelope. V: Chapter 12 Liza took the envelope from her mother, kissed both hands and looked deep into her bloodshot eyes- they stared at each other, exchanging a lifetime of memories, sorrow, love and companionship in that gaze that could have lasted an eternity - As Callie Geoffries bowed her head in prayer Liza placed the gun to her mothers heart and pulled the trigger. -The END
POST SCRIPT: Lebanon, Kansas
LAT. 39°50’ LONG. -98°35’ NE 1/4 - SE 1/4 - S32 - T2S - R11W
Lebanon is a city in Smith County, Kansas, United States, in the north central part of the state. As of the 2010 census, the city population was 218. It might also be interesting to note that, in 1918, the Coast and Geodetic Survey found this location to be the “heart of America” by balancing a cardboard cutout in the shape of the United States on a sharp point.
Many thanks to Valerie Cooley who was a good enough sport to play.
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S: Chapter 7 of 12
nineteen used matches from a Lebanon funeral