Scorpion Mag i03 - Connection by thescorpionmag

issue 03

Scorpion

Mag

CONNECTION

contents cover: photography by @sophieaitchisonn edited by @lucyait 1. photography by by @damiennbryant / models @emilyjweathers and @dama6e 2. a letter from the editor @lucyait 3. photography by by @chloeeisabellaaa / chloe isabella 4. 'only a love away' poem by by @poemsbyivana 5. photography by @graceleahphoto 6. ask the readers: what does connection mean to you? 7. photography by @sophieaitchisonn / edited by @lucyait 9. photography by @lucyait 10. 'without a face' poem by oskar leonard / @ozzywrites 11. 'trans love' photography by @jseigar /Â models: @alekaihi and @la_bichoo 13. collage art by @peachybatidos / @maryamsharkawyy 14. 'shanthi' poem by @ziawrites_ / sreelakshmi nair 15. photography by by @damiennbryant / models @emilyjweathers and @dama6e 17. art by @curatori.compositions 19. 'now playing' short storyÂ by ivy sarker / @cha.and.biscuits

21. photography by by @damiennbryant / models @emilyjweathers and @dama6e 23.'empty summer' poem by silas denver / @sweatermuppet 24. poem by by skyler saunders / @smilingatmysandwich 25. artist profile: interview with izzy staden by @lucyait 28. photography by by amalie rawding-miah 29. photography by @lucyait 30. 'i want to go home' poem by samantha nimmo / @sn.poetry 31. 'underground, out it comes' short story by @talivol6 [on twitter] 34. art by @klaudia.nd 35. art by by @katherinehillierart 37. 'twitter: the fan to artist connection' article by @talivol6 [on twitter] 39. 'imbalance' poem by @sophieaitchisonn 40. 'how to cross a river' by agustina vinograd 41. photography by melinda chang / @photos.bymeli 43. collage art by maya barter 44. 'holding hands' poem by iqra abid / @thesunbelongstothestars 45. 'saying goodbye on zoom' poem by cindy tran / @cindytranwrites 47. 'trans love' photography by @jseigar / models: @alekaihi and @la_bichoo 48. 'a call, answered' poem by amanda leon

by @damiennbryant / models @emilyjweathers and @dama6e

scorpions,

@lucyait

i can't believe i'm publishing issue 3 already! it feels surreal to be even writing this when a few months ago none of this existed out-with my mind. the growth we've experienced within the past month has been incredible, so thank you! once again i'm blown away by the range of talent shown in the submissions to this issue, and i'm proud to introduce you to issue 3 'connection'. for this issue, you were encouraged to think about the ways connection has changed - or stayed the same throughout the pandemic. connection is a necessary part of everyday life, showing itself in so many evolving forms. this is something we should celebrate despite the world we're experiencing. if the pandemic has taught me anything, it's that human beings are more connected than i had ever imagined. our interconnectedness and our bonds with each other and the world around us are never going away - the fact that this magazine even exists shows the prevalence of online connection in our society, considering that submissions have come in from all corners of the world. anyways, i hope you enjoy these perspectives on connection and hope they make you think!

sending love, scorpion mag <3

by @chloeeisabellaaa / chloe isabella

only a love away It's only 7 o'clock now We usually have dinner with wine at this time Now I only wish I could go out Touch you without feeling scared for our lives Just a few months back it seemed fine How could we spill all this precious life Right there under your rooftop, please stay safe It's the right way to show me that you care Until this dark thing is over I am only a love away Wait for the Earth to bring us close again No doubt that it's going to be rough Even though I've known loneliness for a while And sorry to the ones I haven't reached out to Never been good at talking it through So excuse me while I let the worry consume me And pray we can somehow undo this mess Until the Sun shows its face Just know I'm only a love away Will our hugs and kisses last longer Once we see the light that hid itself 10, 000 hours spent apart I'll try to make up for the lost time Replace the voice of the glitching screen Counting the numbers that don't add up They inject the fear in me, so I wake up feeling drained Not knowing if I'll see the end of this day by @poemsbyivana

connection through justice by @graceleahphoto

a bond that can stay the same without constant attention - empathy and true understanding for one another - being present - deep consciousness of yourself and another person, at the same time, no matter the distance - unifying energies - being emotionally understood - the yearn to spend more time with A S K TH E R E A D E R S :

what does connection mean to you? someone for the sole reason of bonding with them - something between two people; a locking of minds, an alignment of ideas - uniting in the passion for justice - connection lies in vulnerability - it's unspoken, just an understanding - something that brings people together despite their difference - loving myself

by @sophieaitchisonn / edited by @lucyait

without a face One letter. Two. Tapping at such speed-seconds, milliseconds, the words endlessly rush from my hands. Into the screen. Into his eyes.

Love cannot exist in pixels, yet it does. Hearts. Heart-eyes. Heart-hearts. Xs for kisses but all of it flies from me without my face, mine.

He cannot see the tear-shine, as my eyelids begin to brim, wishing text bubbles could become fantasy bubbles to transport me to his house, his side.

Only hearts. 'I love you'. 'I miss you'. Tapping, tap, tap, tap and tap again until I feel the ache, words without a face, lost, herded into his screen. His eyes. by oskar leonard / @ozzywrites

TRANS LOVE 11

webpage:Â seigar.wordpress.com Facebook/Instagram: @jseigar models: @alekaihi and @la_bichoo

by @peachybatidos / @maryamsharkawyy

// Shanthi // - (शां त) peace or tranquility How can a detachment question the whole linguistics? The cuts on my throat when I whisper your splintered name, My buoyant heart floats in agitation not peace. My body, a demolished city and I’m an archeologist some days, I try to understand the carvings on my bones, you carved. The carvings now a mere time warp, I keep on travelling back and forth, Yet fail at reconciling our connection. The connection between us like the lost ancient dialect, I don’t think it exists or we are not familiar with it anymore.

by @ziawrites_ / sreelakshmi nair

15 by @damiennbryant / models @emilyjweathers and @dama6e

by @damiennbryant / models @emilyjweathers and @dama6e

17 by @curatori.compositions

by @curatori.compositions

NOW PLAYING by ivy sarker / @cha.and.biscuits You can’t help but stare as life flashes before you. Seconds ago, you had a book in your hands “The Tibetan Book of the Dead.” The notion of death lingered but never bothered you. You thought you had time. You ask yourself where that life went as you watch it playback as you sit at the movie theatre. The book mentioned something about death and rebirth, maybe this is the rebirth. An empty movie hall where 5 minutes in and you’re still staring at the inside of your mother’s womb. You hope to god (if there is a god) that you never have to see that again. Entertainment is scarce. Popcorn most probably isn’t an option, if that isn’t here, you wonder if angels are real. Knowing your luck, most probably not. Soon enough you see the fetus version of yourself and cringe at how many times you ate your own shit. Besides the multiple incidences where you regurgitated it and ate it again. That doesn’t count. You hope it doesn’t count. Toddler days fly by and sometimes you laugh at the cute things you did. Sometimes you feel annoyed at the tantrums you had. Most of the time you focus on your mother as she smiles down at the you. What would she say to you if she knew where you were. Sitting in the empty theatre of reincarnation. Watching your life, you realize key things. Your mother knew every lie you ever told and only let you tell them because you always came home sober. Prerna from 9th grade really did steal your expensive mechanical pencil. Death is complete bull. You watch as you worked from a blob in a womb to a breathing, thinking, dreaming human being. You went on adventures to the mountains and camped under stars. You laugh as you watch your friend get poison ivy and jump into a cold lake. A scene from a spoken word contest plays and you see yourself on stage. Some words you remember so you follow along. Others escape your mind and when you see yourself saying them, you become starstruck. Never in your dying life would you think you

The last scene is at a cemetery. It’s beautiful with lush grass and detailed headstones. You stare at your funeral and listen to your family and friends cry. Your coffin is made of mahogany wood just like your desk at home. Peonies litter the top. You see your best friend crushing one of the pretty flowers in their hand. You look at their face and your heart breaks a little. What a wonderful short life you lived. All gone just because some person wanted to fix problems with 750 ml of 40% alcohol and you had to be where the car decided to crash. What horrible luck you have. Before you leave the theatre you have one last thought. Life is a dangerous wager. You lose no matter what because in the end, everyone dies. You only got the chance for a basic school life and an adulthood that never got a chance to take off. Death is a fickle thing. Sometimes it holds out until a person squeezes the last drops out of their life. Then, there are cases like yours, where it doesn’t even give life a chance. It waited for you to grow as a person and finally figure out where you wanna go. Right before you could put your plans into action your future was taken away right before your eyes. Now you sit here taking in your past but never getting to know your future. If there is a god, did he run out of inspiration and kill you off to make it easier? The afterlife is supposed to be where you find all the answers but it seems you’re asking more questions.

by ivy sarker / @cha.and.biscuits

had that talent but you did. You had them at different times and were never able to see it again. Maybe if you were famous enough someone would open a children’s home in your name. You wonder where your student debt goes now. Would they be nice enough to make it disappear or would your mother have to pay it off? You really don’t want that, she’s been wanting that expensive fur coat since forever.

by @damiennbryant / models @emilyjweathers and @dama6e

empty summer 23

by silas denver / @sweatermuppet

by skyler saunders / @smilingatmysandwich

IZZY

interviewing

STADEN

SINGER/SONGWRITER

"My name is Izzy Staden, I am a pop singer/songwriter from Greenwich, London. Though I have played music my entire life, I got into songwriting after a decline in my mental health which resulted in me being in and out of psychiatric units. Nowadays I spend my time writing music and seeking help for my obsession with my dog who is genuinely the most adorable thing on earth."

Q: WHAT MAKES YOU PASSIONATE TO SPEAK UP ABOUT MENTAL HEALTH? I suffer from Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder (EUPD) and Anorexia Nervosa, when I was first diagnosed with Anorexia people had mixed reactions, many unintentionally made me feel a lot worse, saying things like ‘just eat’ or ‘I know how you feel I wish my legs were more toned’. This continued

throughout my illness and only got worse as I was diagnosed with EUPD. EUPD is an incredibly misunderstood disorder, many have assumptions around people with this disorder that are completely unjustified. I’ve had doctors convinced I am promiscuous, attention seeking and have substance misuse issues purely based on my diagnoses. I am not a ‘stereotypical’ example of someone who has EUPD

therefore I like to be very vocal about the fact I have it to try and break the stigma. I also feel I am strong enough to deal with peoples inappropriate remarks or questions and can educate them on how to better help and communicate with those who are unwell. Q: HOW DOES YOUR PASSION FOR MENTAL HEALTH LINK IN WITH YOUR PASSION FOR MUSIC? I found songwriting a helpful outlet for overwhelming or difficult emotions as well as giving me a focus and purpose in life. Suffering with EUPD leaves me with intense emotional outbursts, if I can channel that energy into something, such as a song, it allows me to express it in a healthy way. All kinds of people have told me they relate to my songs and I think that bridges the gap between those with mental health issues and those without, although we have different

struggles we can all relate to each other on some level. Q: HOW DO YOU THINK THE CURRENT MENTAL HEALTH SYSTEM COULD CHANGE FOR THE BETTER? Simply put, there needs to be a huge injection of cash into the mental health services, at the moment more people are beginning to recognise they may have a problem and are reaching out for help however the help just isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t there. At best you will be put on an incredibly long waiting list to be seen by the mental health services and an even longer waiting list for therapy. The area they are massively lacking in is early intervention, they mainly deal with very severe cases which means they are waiting for everyones illness to become critical before they intervene. This makes the illness more difficult and expensive to treat so it makes zero sense for them to do this.

Q: WHO HAS BEEN YOUR BIGGEST INSPIRATION IN MUSIC / WHO WOULD YOU LOVE TO OPEN FOR AT A SHOW? Lily Allen has been a huge inspiration as I love how honest and real her lyrics are, I try and replicate this in my lyrics as much as I can. Most of my lyrics are phrases I have said in or about the situation I am referring to in the song to retain that authentic feel.

Q: WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS FOR THE FUTURE, REGARDING MUSIC OR OTHERWISE? I am currently releasing a song a month, my next song is being released on September 4th called ‘Lying to Yourself’. I am also trying to create as much content on Instagram, Youtube, Tiktok and so on as I can, this includes music videos which I have so much fun creating. Things have been moving in a very positive direction so I’m really excited to see where everything goes.

interviewing @izzy_staden by @lucyait

by amalie rawding-miah

I Want To Go Home I reach past oceans and jungles and a thousand skies Fingertips grazing the answers to all my choked cries Missing you is like a permanent phantom limb That just keeps on breaking; that no one can fix I ache for your voice, your strawberry hair For the last 19 years, for your old armchair For homemade cheesecakes and dark, bitter coffee No sugar, no milk, to elevate my heartbeat If I keep it strong it can beat for both of us If I could just reach you, I could fix this whole mess Let me rewind the clock, take it back a few months Remember what it was like to hold your warm hands The sound of your laugh (and not just through the phone) I took it for granted, how you always felt just like home I want to go home Please take me home. by Samantha nimmo / @sn.poetry

Underground, Out It Comes

a short story by @talivol6 [on twitter]

Cara jammed her keys in the door, rushing to lock it quickly and get going. She was already running 5 minutes late and she absolutely could not risk missing that 14.03 train leaving from Mile End station. This interview was so important that she didn’t even mind scuffing her new boots, which were very expensive and a present from her cousin Mandy may I add, as she sprinted down the road to the station. Breathing heavily, she tapped her card and almost fell down the stairs, reaching the doors just as they slid shut behind her. June shuffled down the street, adjusting her favourite teal scarf to block out the bitter wind nipping at her dark skin. She had knitted it herself and every time she wore it she felt a swell of pride and accomplishment bloom inside; the knitting group she was on route to would also be very proud of her. She enjoyed the serene click clack of knitting needs. They felt constant and sure, a stark difference from her 40 odd years working as a nurse. As she reached the stairs of the station, she hesitated, not being very fond of them, but a young man with a kind smile came and looped his arm through hers, guiding her down. Benji left as soon as his shift at the bar was over, practically flying out the door to make sure he caught the train on time to get to the cemetery for 14.30 exactly. Today was his dad’s birthday, and every year at 14.30 Benji went to his dad’s grave and played the full Born In The USA album by Bruce Springsteen. It was small, but it was important. He had only been 4 years old when his dad died, so he held onto the memories of Bruce’s voice reverberating around his kitchen

with such force. The sight of a fragile looking lady hesitating at the stop of the stairs at Mile End station snapped him out of his Bruce thoughts and he rushed forward to help her. Yannis laughed silently at the two girls sitting across from him on the train. One of them was complaining loudly about the fact that the only holiday she went on last year was to Brighton since her family’s annual trip to the Bahamas had been cancelled due to the corona virus. What an inconsolable shame, Yannis thought to himself, I’m sure my hardships as a refugee are nothing compared to the atrocity of a holiday in Brighton. Your boat trips were only an hour? Maybe you’d trade for my 48 hours from Greece to Britain. He was glad his two beautiful daughters would never be this ungrateful. He pocketed this story to tell at the refugee support group he was running today, he hoped it would make the others laugh as well. Lane waved goodbye to Sophie, revelling in the silence after having her ear chewed off by the girl about the most menial things for the last 6 stops. Lane simply didn’t care about Brighton. She opened up her backpack to check that the cookies she had baked for her grandparents were still intact. She loved visiting their house, loved hearing her grandpa play a slow, peaceful tune on the piano while her grandma told her their love story, over and over again. It changed every time, you see. Lane wasn’t sure which was the real one, but she loved it all the same. Sometimes, Lane would sit and do her maths homework while her grandma knitted and the fire crackled. She smiled to herself just thinking about it. Munira gazed at the little girl staring back up at her in her arms, feeling nothing but pure love. If her children were okay, if they were fed and loved and protected, then she knew she did the right thing by coming to this country. She looked up as a woman stormed into the carriage, out of

breath, the doors slamming right behind her. She slumped down on a seat and started chatting loudly on the phone to someone about some interview. Munira rocked baby Aida as she began to cry, hating the sound as the train engines thumped and banged all around. “It’s okay my love” she whispered, “we’ll be there soon”. The food bank she used was only the next stop. The six of them sat in that carriage. They didn’t know each other at all. Cara was on the phone telling Mandy how nervous for this interview she was, while silently wishing for the baby across from her to stop wailing. Lane, who wasn’t overjoyed at being in a confined space, was grateful for the woman knitting next to her who so reminded her of her grandma. Benji nearly buckled at this knees when he saw that the tanned man sat in the middle of carriage was wearing an old Bruce Springsteen top, on today of all days. I’m going to rephrase my previous statement; they didn’t know that they knew each other. Not directly, but they did. Munira didn’t know that whenever she went to the food bank, she made small talk with Lane’s maths teacher. They usually talked about the weather or their children, sometimes Mrs Atkins would beam with pride over her year 10’s latest exam results. And Lane didn’t know that the lady knitting next to her who smelled like warm spices went to the same knitting club as her own grandma, that if she had introduced herself, June would have been able to put a face to darling granddaughter her friend so often talks of. And June definitely did not recognise that the man with the kind smile had been the son of another kind faced man to whom she had tended to as a nurse. If she had, maybe she would’ve told Benji some stories of his father that he didn’t know, or even come with him to listen to Bruce Springsteen. Benji had no

idea that he was the bartender that Mandy had been telling Cara about, the cute one with a kind smile who Cara had insisted that Mandy should talk to. Cara would never know that her main rival for this job interview went to the same refugee support group that Yannis led every Monday. And Yannis would most definitely have loved to know that the doctor who had delivered his two girls and saved the life of his wife in what was a dangerous labour, also delivered the crying baby on the other side of the carriage. We all know each other, not directly, but we do. All of us, all 7 billion of us. Next time youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re on a train carriage, I wonder who youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll know.

byÂ @klaudia.nd

by @talivol6 [on twitter]

by @katherinehillierart

TWITTER: the fan to artist connection by @talivol6 [on twitter] For all its faults and drama, social media is without a doubt one of the easiest places to make a connection with someone. We are lucky enough to grow up during a time where a message can blossom around the world, reaching each corner and every ocean. We can create friendships that would have never otherwise been created and learn about the different walks of life we would have never otherwise encountered. It is an incredible thing. Particularly, the music side of Twitter has brought me friends all around the world. Last year, I was lucky enough to travel to both Amsterdam and Toronto to see Shawn Mendes on his world tour. One of the most surreal experiences I have had was the moment inside Torontoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Rogerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Stadium before the concert started. Every 10 seconds I saw someone I recognised from Twitter, and these people were from all around the world.

Friends from Australia, Denmark, Norway, Italy, Spain, France, L.A, New York and more were in the same room. We danced and sang together; no matter our first language, our ethnicity or sexuality, or our life at home, we were one people brought together by music. We moved as one, screamed the same lyrics and felt the same happiness. Now, actually ending up in the same room is one end of the spectrum that is the connection Twitter allows. But when you scale it back to its bones, it is just as awesome. Twitterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s connectivity has changed the way that music consumption works. The tables have been turned and the new place setting has allowed the fans to be more at the centre of the industry than ever before. We get the first choice of breads, if you will. The tables have been turned and the new place setting has allowed the fans to be more at the centre of the industry than ever before.

Examples I particularly like are when artists ask fans to create artwork for them which will actually be used in circulation. For example, latin pop star Sofia Reyes held a competition which allowed fans to submit cover art for her single “IDIOTA”. She outlined some ideas that she wanted included (such as the colour palette and the concept of the song), but then left the artists to have fun with their own creativity. Niall Horan also held a competition for fans to create artwork for his sophomore album “Heartbreak Weather”. Thousands of artists across every continent submitted entries online; this would not have been possible without the connection that the internet, Twitter specifically, provides for us. My favourite example of Twitter being used to forge fan-artists connections, however, is the story of Klaudia Novosadova, a 20 year old Shawn Mendes fan from Slovakia. In June of 2018, Klaudia tweeted an edit of a Fender guitar; the Fender models are a favourite of Mendes’, and the edit drew on the theme of flowers that Mendes had incorporated

within his self-titled album. The tweet quickly gained interactions reaching the thousands, and the replies were filled with adoration of her work. Included in the thousands of likes, was a like from Shawn Mendes himself. Fast forward 2 years, and Mendes has announced a collaboration with Fender in which they used Klaudia’s flower design: Shawn’s team tweeted Klaudia, thanking her for the inspiration. Klaudia’s instagram, (klaudia.nd), is filled with stunning, vibrant pieces of art, many of which use Shawn Mendes as inspiration. Members of Shawn’s team are constantly liking her posts, even sparking rumours among fans that she may be working as a part of the creative team for his upcoming album. All of this shows how incredible social media is for enhancing the fan experience, whether it be creating friends across borders, or creating artwork for the artists themselves, fans share a connection more vivid than we have ever seen before.

by @talivol6 [on twitter]

imbalance by @sophieaitchisonn

you leave me hanging on every word you say meanwhile you're up in space a thousand miles away you couldn't care less if my ship safely lands yet i'd run tirelessly to catch you in my hands

i'm serious about this you only seem to doubt this you're asking me to let you go with everything but words but you know i won't do that i can't put you through that but for you it's not a connection; just an imbalance

thought it would be late night whispers on the phone turns out it's just late nights crying on my own selflessly i give you everything; all of my attention but i get nothing in return, only misdirection

if you every really felt it then tell me i can't change for you to want me i'm falling for you but you're falling away faster i hope you enjoyed playing your game next time put down the imbalance and try picking up the

connection

how to cross a river

by agustina vinograd

byÂ melinda chang / @photos.bymeli

by Â maya barter

by iqra abid / @thesunbelongstothestars

we live on in each other’s being through handshakes and gentle touches.

all this just to say, our hands mold magic into something tangible for human hearts, magic that outlives the body that shapes it.

they tell us that anything can be made to fit the cupped frame of hands folded in prayer saying, “whisper your grievances and your gratitudes, speak elegies into the canyons drawn into your palms. with every touch passed on to a stranger or a loved one, your words have found them. your prayers become your legacy.”

there’s something so romantic about the movement of fingers and the malleability of palms; how poets can make anything fit perfectly into the crevices of handprints, tucked away like secrets.

Holding Hands

saying goodbye on zoom

by cindy tran / @cindytranwrites

TRANS LOVE webpage:Â seigar.wordpress.com Facebook/Instagram: @jseigar / models: @alekaihi and @la_bichoo

This series presents the love relationship between Yuli (24) and Alekai (27), who have a strong bond among them as it shows in the photographs. They have been together for two years and three months, and one year and a half with Frida: the little pet. They look like and they are a nice family. Yuli and Alekai have a dream, they want to set up a house together and get married. They dream of a beautiful wedding celebration and share it with the people they care about. Covid-19 and the so-called new reality have slowed down their plans. She is very outgoing and he is a bit shy, she loves being taken photos and he likes taking them, so they complement each other sweetly. Their past hasn't been easy, Yuli was maltreated by an expartner and Alekai suffered his dad's rejection at the age of 7. But these and other difficult experiences have made them capable to deal with other obstacles in life. They both are activists and have fought actively for social rights and against all types of discrimination. They have supported many people in hard situations. They are trans people, both straight oriented, and they just fell in love with each other because they understand love is above genitalia. The series Trans-Love shows the intimate interactions of two people who love each other, and it looks for respect and understanding through empathy.

A Call, Answered I felt you again in the quiet dimming of afternoon daylight A blessing neither of us were expecting I thought about you for hours Sacred meditations Every time I think you’re gone forever Last time was the last time You pull on our tether A gentle reminder that you still think of me I hear your voice say my name A prayer to a fallen idol Smashed up marble statues deep in a forgotten temple “I love you” is my favorite sonnet You repeat it back to me I want you is too simple for what I feel I need you I need you like cells demand oxygen from my lungs in order to live Your body vibrates I shiver feeling your light touch on my skin In quiet reverence Every inch a holy scripture begging to be dissected and said aloud I kiss you goodbye But you linger How long will be this time I feel you leave Turn your thoughts reluctantly elsewhere This is it you’re gone forever This time was the last time

by amanda leon

scorpion mag september 2020 issue 03