The Moon Zine #23 - Hot (July 2017)

Issue

#23

/ HOT

July

2017

Dear Readers and Moon Luvers, We won’t mind if you only use this as a fan.

For future themes, submission deadlines, and anything else, be sure to check in with us online. (See last page.)

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 sunburnt zinester you know, as The Moon Zine is one of a kind.

Warm wishes, The Moon

meet the staff

Lauren Kellett - Bout to get very freckly.

Josh Saboorizadeh - Eh-Speecy Spicy Meatball Julie Davis - I got that right temperature.

Wes Harbison - nighttime bike rides!!

Allison Sissom - "Jinkies! My glasses! I can't see without my glasses!"

staff picks: hot...

Lauren - Singles in Your Area Josh - Box Julie - Fuss Wes - Fuzz Allison - Pants!

Queue

by Dan Leifeld ************

1

"you've got a friend in me"

by Dan Leifeld ************

2

"A Shirttail Man"

by Keenan Schott

While genuflecting To a shelf of products Out of respect for Global Capitalism My boss informed me That I was coming untucked.

Undone I corrected him, But it turned out He was referring to my shirttail.

3

Following the News, the Weather

by Meeni Levi

Self-esteem trickling down my lips Like an image of mauvais goût : Beach-body ready, Now do I dare to eat a peach ?

Never knew T.S. Eliot For a lesbian icon.

Then again I say : “Do I dare to eat a peach?”

Am no more a lesbian icon.

Sorry for playing Freud With long-dead poets: I lied about my body, It's melting Got thrown out of the beach-volley “All-Welcome” amateur team.

I say this is the way the world ends: Everybody screaming “Fire!”

Or “Bang!”

Or “Wolf!”

Or something else!

Violent & Painful And there is no police response.

4

5

I stopped using store-bought deo and antiperspirant because it made me itchy the day before Thanksgiving.

Most days, I use nothing.

Some days, I use coconut oil and baking powder mixed together.

Some days, my BO smells like mangoes.

I told my family that. They rolled their eyes.

I told my friend that and she said “I think mangoes smell like body odor.”

Recently, I’ve been using salt that looks like soap.

I dropped it the first day I got it.

One day, I ate falafel.

The next day, my BO smelled like falafel.

I think people think it’s a statement, but really I’m just cheap and lazy.

And I like my BO.

by Julie Davis

6

7

8

Hot is

by Aaron Owens

Hot is being sunburned on a beach.

That time in Florida, the snorkel stole your sunscreen and left you with a red face and a silvadene prescription touring Miami, an eleven year old with an alcoholics blistered nose. That time in Thailand, traveling alone, laughing to yourself when that tanned european in the black trunks, running like in the movies, spit in the wind, saliva misting his scrunched, disgusted face. He could have been laughing at you in the beginning stages of a serious crisping.

Shoulders red and tender, like your father, too cheap to rent an umbrella.

Not much sleep that evening between your burned back sticking to the sheets and the couple fucking in the room behind the headboard. You scribbled your thoughts in a pocket notebook the movers lost when they took your things to California. Hot is camping on Bahia Honda Key. Sunburned again and trying to find sleep in a nest of gumbo limbo trees. You drove the seven mile bridge to a Publix to buy battery powered fans and ice. The makeshift air conditioning lasted only half the night.

Hot is memory, a story being told without your knowing. Hot is past pain and blisters, the echo of a fever. It is your

9

context for December. Hot is middle school basketball camp, the din of dribbling and industrial fans, the unfulfilled promise of a breeze, the search for the last remaining dry spot on a soaked shirt. Hot is alcoholic quarter life nights, sweat pooling in your deformed chest, ruining shirts with rust colored stains. Hot is Death Grips, The Press Club, and Old Ironsides, Dan Deacon, Boise, and the basement of Blank Space.

Hot is wrinkled fingers and drying your shirt out the window on the drive home.

Hot is your face at your grandmother’s funeral, your burning eyes and running nose as they started that protestant hymn, the same song they sang at your grandfather’s, the same church and the same smell of incense. Hot is that stranger's funeral, an altar boy holding the crucifix at the foot of the casket, the heat and the smoke taking your feet. There is the sound of you hitting the floor and the hands of men dragging you out.

Flame Study 06

by Aaron Owens *************

Flame Study 03

by Aaron Owens *************

Flame Study 09

by Aaron Owens *************

10

11

Mister Hot Sunny Man

by Jacque Davis ************ Mike's Spicy Beef & Chedder

by Katryn Dierksen ***************

12

13

THICCBURGER / by Bad Guy ***********************

14

Trashy Alchemy

by Sarah Kristin

It's March and it's fucking cold because it always seems to be here. I insisted on a slushie anyway because I had big plans for this slushie. I'm explaining them to you now in a way that only a wasted college student can; full of useless knowledge that I attempt to make sense of the world with.

"It's like alchemy. I'm transforming this slushie into something greater with the addition of alcohol."

This moment, like all the others, feels immensely important. I try to enjoy them but I'm becoming increasingly manic about it. Everything I do has to top the thing before it. Every night has to last longer, every drink must be drained faster, every second has to bring me closer to something I don't really know how to name. I keep stretching out my hand waiting to find the edge but I only find more open space and I'm drunk on the thought of action without consequence.

You've expressed doubt over my understanding of alchemy and drink mixing abilities. The alcohol will thaw the slushie you say. This is hardly the point of course so I do it anyway. With a melted drink in my hand, officially warmer than my body after the windy walk, I proclaim my success.

"Alchemy. Trashy alchemy, but alchemy nonetheless."

My tongue turns blue, another form of alchemy I decide. It'll be 3 a.m. soon and May even sooner. My thoughts turn from one form of fantastical science to another and for my next trick, I'm going to stop time.

15

16

SOLAR MYTH

by G. M. H. Thompson

" And I stood upon the sand of the sea " and saw there a beast rise up out of the sea " having seven heads and ten horns, and " upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his " heads the name of blasphemy. " — Revelations, 13:1, King James var.

An elephant, an obelisk, An arid land, an angel's kiss: The tyrant sun beats down upon the horizon: a throbbing heart, Set's molten dart, light of Isis, sight for Horus— a hawk circles high above the brown land, the hungry land of skin and bone, a waste land home to eyes of hunger and islands of darkness amidst a sea of nix: King Set, the coffineer;— fortnight Sahara lost & broken like cedar trees in Lebanon, 17

shadowed, scorpioned, mummified & petrified, perfumed & columned, exhumed yet solemnly nailed shut— oh but how I long for you on my throne of cold & death oh but how I wish that we once more could share selfsame breath— I am alone I yearn for you I now desire Forevermore

my realm a tomb my deepest wound my eyes to close to end our woes:

vultures & flies: crocodiles feast: a sea of eyes: a nameless Beast . . .

18

Untitled

by Lindsay Weigel ****************

21

CALENDAR fun thing another fun thing oh here’s one more

22

It’s Too Hot for Sleep: A Play in No-Acts

by Jeff Denight Light ups. It’s bright, supremely bright. On stage, June 21st, early morning on South Decatur Blvd. A city block on the same street. It’s already hot, temperatures in the upper 80s and rising.

Two apartment buildings and an alleyway between them. At least one box fan in every window, some have two, few have three or four. From a window, a man finishes screwing in a box fan, which has fifteen box fans lined back-to-back-to-back reaching across the alleyway to the neighboring apartment. The neighbor notices the fans.

NEIGHBOR (Speaking through the fan blades; that robotic sound.)

What do you think you’re doing? Stealing my A/C! A/C THIEF (Through the blades.) Oh, come on! Be a good neighbor.

It’s so hot!

The temperature increases.

NEIGHBOR leaves for a moment, comes back with a screwdriver and unscrews where the fantunnel connects to her window.

All fifteen or so fans tumble to 23

the alleyway below. She slams the window closed.

Below, in the alleyway, the fans hit the blistering and popping asphalt. Previously unseen, a young child appears from where they had been playing, popping the black tar bubbles with their finger. The child brings finger to face and draws a third eye on their forehead with pitch. Then, a fourth eye, a second nose, a second and third mouth, drawn in tar on various parts of their head and neck.

PARENT (Unseen.) Child, come inside. It’s hot out there.

The temperature increases.

The asphalt aberration child scampers in the other direction and vanishes.

Next to a stoop, a man bronzes, dressed in only an extra-short pair of cut-off jeans and dark sunglasses. His skin is already deeply tanned and heavily damaged; his hair is pure white.

He’s completely immobile. He has been on stage this whole time, only getting tanner and more burnt.

From stage right, a large black truck rolls into view playing a chilling music that relies 24

heavily on a light, clinking percussion. In large letters, it says “ICE CREAM.” A person, dressed in all black, an apron, and paper hat, opens the side window. The truck lingers on stage for almost an hour.

Anytime a person walks by, the vendor asks: ICE CREAM VENDOR Care for some ice cream on a hot day?

The temperature increases each time. Nobody acknowledges or patrons the vendor. Steam emits from the top of the vehicle every few moments. Eventually, it rolls away.

Two people come out of a building. They are dressed in workout gear; athletic pants, shoes, the whole get-up. One takes out a sweatband.

RUNNER 1 Gonna need these today. It’s hot!

The temperature increases. The sweatband combusts. RUNNER 2 takes out an iPod and pop in a pair of headphones.

RUNNER 2 I listen to Christmas music; serves as a distraction.

Gotta do something when it’s this hot.

While fiddling with it, the 25

device combusts into a full blaze.

BOTH RUNNERS Wow! Better stay hydrated. It’s so hot!

The people take a drink of water from their bottles; as they drink, the bottles combust and crack open. When the liquid hits the stoop, it bursts into flames.

The people go back inside.

The sound of thunder. A person enters from stage right, carrying an open umbrella, which is sagging and wilted. Directly behind them, a wall of rain pours on the city street. As they approach the tanner, they speak.

Sir, are you alright?

Tanning. I like it hot.

UMBRELLA TANNER The temperature increases.

UMBRELLA Better go inside. It’s about to rain.

I like it hot.

TANNER The temperature increases.

UMBRELLA walks away, trailing the rain behind them. When it 26

rains, it brings no relief.

Boiling rain falls onto the tanner. He remains immobile. The tanner is reduced to a skeleton.

After the rain, the day continues on like this. More people venture outside for various reasons-- little league baseball, rooftop cook-outs, trips to the city pool, etc.

All are affected by the heat-baseball bat becomes a roman candle, rooftop cook-out becomes a rooftop griddle, city pool becomes lava pool. All comment about the heat. The temperature increases.

Eventually, but not soon, night falls. It does not get dark.

Nighttime temperatures reach into the 190s and rising. People speak to their partners, we can hear it from the bedroom windows.

VARIOUS TENANTS It’s too hot for covers. It’s too hot for pajamas. It’s too hot for sex. It’s too hot for sleep.

The temperature increases. The temperature increases. The temperature increases. The temperature increases.

There is no blackout.

End of play.

27

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Credits & Notes cover image: via Unsplash

minizine: by Allison Sissom

back cover quote: from 100 Love Sonnets (original title: Cien sonetos de amor), first published in 1959 Thanks celebratorily to: the fine folks at Foam, and Alex Stewart, Honeydew, and Paper Ceilings.

Thanks for making our Summer Jam perfect.

eternally to: Everyone who has submitted content and/or helped us collage The Moon Zine, and those who have downloaded + printed their own copies, making The Moon Zine's world bigger and better special thanks to: South City Art Supply for collage space and printing services

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made in saint louis, missouri, usa

“Full thick

woman, smell

of

fleshly seaweed,

apple, crushed

hot mud

moon, and

light,

what obscure brilliance opens between your columns?

What ancient night does a man touch with his senses?�

- Pablo Neruda

fREE