Issue
#06
/
February
passion
2016
Dear Readers and Moon Lovers, Happy 6th month anniversary, cuties! I can’t believe we made it this far. We are truly in love. The theme for this month’s Moon Zine is Passion. New to this and future issues are Retro Reviews. The Moon Zine staff will review past music, movies, art, and books! We also did a little rearranging this month. The last page now has submission info, our internet hangouts, and any additional things we need to mention. Be sure to check in with us online for future themes, submission deadlines, and other pretty things. Like our previous issues, the numbered pages are original submitted content. Other pages are altered by yours truly and unique to each edition of the issue. Thank you for taking a chance and picking up our zine. Hold on to it, or pass it on to the most devoted zinester you know, as The Moon Zine is one of a kind.
Til then, my beloved, The Moon
staff bios
Lauren Kellett - just watched the Snowtown Murders :( Allison Sissom - How does it feel. Said I wanna know how does it feel. Julie Davis - It’s my birthday. Wes Harbison - Five Yo La Tengo albums from the library for research. I’m a researcher. introducing...
Josh Saboorizadeh - could probably cry about anything
staff picks: ideal first dates
Lauren Kellett - anything involving tokens and tickets and where I always win Allison Sissom - Cooking dinner together, followed by beer tasting and pretzels. Julie Davis - *mouth fart noise* Wes Harbison - I don’t know... Why? Who’s asking?! Josh Saboorizadeh - Wearing my finest Karen Scott attire, Wes takes me bowling.
Message Across the Sea by Arthur Maurer
I flash a private semaphore in braille across the sea’s barren cityscape to you, night’s sailoress, receiving this S.O.S. in your star-lit Spanish courtyard, knowing my messages may make blockbusters, Oscar-winners or flail along your fragile bricolage, cast with thriftstore cordwood upon a biohazardous hill few dare to climb or gamble hypothermia venturing up, but your body in the night—skein of peach-bark at its floral peak— is a global center of commerce towering over all others, over redwoods and skylines, pulling jetliners from their configurations. With your words, you lend the gulf between us fresh currency, so that we might meet by a glittering bayou, on a pier extending far into the malarial horizon, or else mast-to-mast on some electric estuary: paper sailboats crowning the Maker’s turquoise, seasick thumb.
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Scanned List by Bill Fishback ************
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On whole milk. by Patrick Heidbreder The slight resistance before the cap slowly yields to my insistent turnings. The condensation beading into knowing drops in anticipation, I couldn't even wait to put it in the fridge before having my way with it. Doing away with all pretense I rip the seal away letting it fall to meet the floor upon which I stand transfixed by what I have revealed. Moving the sides slowly in and out I see it moving closer to my lips as if of its own accord, but truly my accord. The meeting. We meld, my lips opening to warm the molded plastic of the spout. Spout it does, the cold cold whole milk flooding my mouth, coursing down my throat. Flowing for minutes unabated I relish the sweet white fluid. I approach my fill, closing my eyes to savor every sensation I part with the jug. Chest heaving, I stare at it and
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my tongue flits out, relentlessly pursuing every drop that sought refuge in the trickles that escaped my lips' seal. I crave more, ache for more. The jug, trembling in a neat little puddle of its own dew, knows what fate awaits. To be used for what it holds and then discarded, replaced by another who has what it once did. I give it no time to continue musing, grasping in one nightly hand my whole being tips back and drains the remaining milk, lingering to let the last drops fall screaming into my gaping maw. I'm finished. In a refusal of all dignity or acknowledgment of sacrifices made I toss the jug to the floor. The cap and seal so recently part of the whole witness as I crush the jug underfoot and discard it. And so the jug expires at the bottom of my recycle bin, cradled amongst the limp bodies of friends.
Anagrams of: Passion of the Christ By Allison K. Sissom & Julie Davis
ÕÕ Chieftains oh sports.
ÕÕ Soothe, nap, fist Chris.
ÕÕ Chafer shinto ptosis.
ÕÕ Hi, Picasso, Nest Froth.
ÕÕ French Toasto is ship.
ÕÕ Pistachio fresh snot.
ÕÕ Finance his shortstop.
ÕÕ Sofia chip shot Ernst.
ÕÕ Spanish Rice, soft hot.
ÕÕ Thin soft soap riches.
ÕÕ Chain store, fish stop.
ÕÕ Pass it to his Frencho.
ÕÕ Fashion rich posse TT.
ÕÕ Scotch faps in stereo.
ÕÕ Post chaise his front.
ÕÕ Shit! Piss! Acne-Fro? HOT.
googooshlove by Josh Saboorizadeh ****************
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The Moon Zine presents: A Trista Sullivan Double Feature
Things Once Loved By Others (Liquidation) by Trista Sillivan I will, someday, be the first in line to the opening of your estate sale. I will buy all of your furniture to keep this part of you alive. We keep remnants and pieces, as we scatter your memories like your charred remains across a place you once knew. I want to love the carousel figurine you forgot you owned and sing sweet melodies of the music box you once fell asleep too each night. For the depth of something once loved and now lost, is impenetrable to pain. As all things are made, and all things are to be loved and lost or forgotten. And I want to love all the things once loved by others.
Tinder Poem (Found Poetry from Tinder Descriptions) by Trista Sillivan I'm trying to meet new people and everything in between. I like to get drunk on patios, porches, tailgates, and float trips, and any outdoor scenario. I have a definite weakness for all things sweet. Pipeline rig welder in the making. Ask me, voted most likely to succeed in high school. I watch too much netflix and enjoy crying over Frank Ocean. I am going to sue the fuck out of you. I'm a guy that sometimes carries a pocket thesaurus. Socially conscious dude who probably drinks too much. Amateur chef. Banjo jedi. New to this Midwest life. 9
True Love by Julie Davis
She turned to me. I kept my focus on the ceiling. She said, “But it’s different this time. It’s real this time.” I smiled and nodded. She was right. It was real. And it was undeniable. I flaunted my love, And I deserved to flaunt it. With each passing day, every dinner, every concert, every party I fell more in love. And at that point, as we laid on the cold, dirty floor I knew I had found my soul mate. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to lay there forever, With the only true love I’ve ever had. She stood up and brushed the dirt off her back. “It’s time.” I closed my eyes and soaked it in, that last fleeting moment. Looking back on it, now, years later I understand that it couldn’t have lasted. That love was self-destructive, messy. We were both reckless. Things change. And I’m ok with that. We’ve both grown. I am still just as proud as ever of The Aquadome, my true love.
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Between the periodic bursts by Tom Martin
Between the periodic bursts-the fuzziness that comes and goes-came a glimpse, from a frame within a frame, of snowfall, but its color turned to red. It seems to me that since I’ve slept summer slipped out the back. The first straw to break a camel’s back. A rouge rush, a lover’s blush, takes over those that never feel.
milk n’ honey by Delia Rainey *************
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I lost a dollar by Taylor Kolkmeyer
Can’t drive. Brittle teeth I think about mine like almonds- too many cigarettes and the sweets I lost a dollar
Missouri department of transportation- I can’t make sense of MONDAY AIR YELLOW
I guess I had it when I got here
Can I have a soft weight on all my bones, a frame to match mine? light and lovely, cheap tastes too tired to talk
I lost my wallet
I used to say, he’s not gonna love me forever I used to say he’s gonna fuckin miss me, tired face hollow bones
Sorry mom, mom I’m sorry I’m so unclear
the person I am now never cared about any of that I lost my mother
give me weight for my bones, a frame to match mine. I want it back, cheap tastes. I lost my friends and everyone here No I didn’t no I didn’t
Pretty sitting even breathing feeding my fear I might as well have- I think I’m lost, yeah. I think I’m dying I think I’m dying
I’ve felt that way since I got here
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Lady Killer by Maddie Smith *************
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Lust by Jared Goudsmit
She Chose a Slow Poison by Jacque Davis
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recipe by BB Nothing
your kisses were like sprinkles on a just-baked cupcake which made the eggs your home the sugar your family the flour the nighttime the butter your mood the pink icing your touch and our conversations the purple food coloring or so i presume
a taste by BB Nothing
your kisses were like sprinkles on a just-baked cupcake purple with light pink icing no candle on top your hands had me melting like chocolate chips on the stove milk or dark,, just not white your skin felt so soft like whipped cream with some coffee lots of creamer, stirred well a shared adrenaline rush
full by BB Nothing
your kisses were like sprinkles on a just-baked cupcake and boy did they fall hard on me leaving us both breathless by the end laying there in the dark wishing my eyes would adjust to see yours staring back at me wondering if you enjoyed our time together like i do or if that was the last taste and then you said goodnight
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NOTHING HAPPENED AND I WANTED YOU TO BE THERE by Delia Rainey I bought a bag of birdseed. I braided my hair in the dark and did a bad job. the art will get better when I have an empty life. if I ever visit, I will come bearing gifts like wagons or corn or art. that day will never come, though. brushing my hair with my fingers. blowing on the air like a hot soup. pretending I have cardinals the color of seashells who need me. o, dance the night away. pinecones drop like the new year’s here.
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The Moon Zine presents: a Retro Review
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title track). We hear sorrow, tragedy, lust; we hear Petty and Springsteen. Frontman, Brandon Flowers seems more polished in this second album, but his pain that was prevalent in Hot Fuss (in songs like “Smile Like You Mean It” and “Andy, You’re a Star”) still permeates through Sam’s Town, just slightly masked by more upbeat, The Killers’ Sam’s Town horn-accompanied By Julie Davis rhythms. There’s still Written as if Published 10/10/06 some similarities between the two alNone of us saw it coming, the per- bums. Synth’s there; it wouldn’t be The fection that is Sam’s Town. The Kill- Killers without it. On “Read My Mind,” ers’ sophomore album has completely The Killers use synth throughout but do blown me away. In their comeback not rely on it like a crutch--it’s tasteful album that dropped last Tuesday,The synth, if you will. Their ambiguous lyrKillers try out a lot of new things we ics are in almost every song, but I can didn’t see in their first album, Hot Fuss, handle that, in fact I like it. We’re all which was released two years ago. In well aware of the weird, love-triangle of Sam’s Town, we get theatrics--a story- “Mr. Brightside” off of Hot Fuss, where -and the emotional, electronic whining Flowers seems to just mash fantastiof Hot Fuss is replaced with substance. cal phrases together to make beautiIndeed, they are inviting us to listen to ful, yet indecipherable hooks: “Jealousy, their story with titles such as “Inter- turning saints into the sea/Swimming lude” and “Exitlude” and lyrics like “we through sick lullabies/Choking on your hope you enjoy your stay” (from the alibis.” Flowers uses those vivid words
Saving Food by Bob Dingnagian ***************
to prove himself a raconteur, once again in Sam’s Town: “He doesn't look a thing like Jesus/ But he talks like a gentleman/Like you imagined/When you were young” (from “When You Were Young”). I’ll be honest with you in saying that I’m one of those people that has no problem skipping a song on an album, but I don’t have that on Sam’s Town. Every single song is a short story that makes up the whole. My predictions for top single off this album is undoubtedly, “Sam’s Town.” Whereas, “This River is Wild” seems the underdog of the album, a solid hit you might overlook if you’re not paying attention.
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by Julie Davis *********** Lanna and Love by Sara Redel ************
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Hi Print-Your-Own-Zine folks! Dropping in to say that we tried some new printing techniques this issue, which is why we have this extra page to the right. Not sure if we’ll be sticking with those aforementioned new printing techniques, but to get the whole experience of the PASSION issue, we wanted to make sure you had this page to print at home too. So, when you’re done reading this text, cut the page right down the middle (hamburger style— which is to say from the center of the long sides of the sheet) and throw this half directly into your trash. (By which I mean the recycling, but wouldn’t it be cool to live in a world where you could just say “trash” and people know you mean “recycling.” Lovers can dream.) Take the other half and paste it right in the very last inside page. Or wherever you want! There are no rules! Thanks! XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
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Credits Cover: The British Library, ID #002069483
Before Marriage / After Marriage: The British Library, ID #002792480
made in saint louis, missouri, usa
“If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You
leave
the
same
impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating.� - Sylvia Plath
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