Tongue-in-cheek

yellerzine

Tongue-in-cheek issue autumn 2014

A Neo-Post Modern Love Poem 2

When I was a neo-post-modernist I went down to Woolworth’s and bought a tent then I embroidered the insides with the names of all the people I wished I’d ever slept with.

The first, of course, was Tracey Emin, but the second, you know, was you.

Poetry Dee Sunshine — deesunshine.com Accompanying Illustration Lizzie Quirke — quirkel.tumblr.com

Paradise ‘Paradise’ is all about playing with contrasting preconceptions of objects and their functions. I’m currently studying Sculpture at Edinburgh College of Art. I find my practice mainly revolves around my first response to materials and found objects.

Sculpture Lucy Wayman — flickr.com/lucyewayman

3

Naptime Lazy is a word that gets thrown around a lot when people talk about me. I wouldn’t say that I’m lazy; they don’t see what I get up to when they’re not around. But man, I do love a good nap. It’s about 10pm, the perfect time for a little snooze before I wake for my nightly adventures, and there’s no one about, so I stalk up the stairs to my bed, stretching myself out my entire length before curling up in the soft warmth. Other than when I go out at night, it’s these moments that I love most.

Alone, away from people. No one to touch me or talk at me. Just the gentle caress of my cushion and the slow ticking over of my heart reverberating in my ears.

Then, just as my eyes have become slits, like tiny nicks in the skin, he comes in. Oblivious to me, he goes to his own bed in the half-light of the streetlamps peering through the breach in the curtains. As if noticing the voyeurs, he jerks the curtains together, banishing the thin sliver of light and replacing it instead with the harsh glow of his laptop screen as he opens it up. Not again.

He lies back in his bed; head propped up on two pillows, and slides his headphones over his ears.

His fingers creep over the keyboard as he seeks in the caverns of darkness for what he wants. A definitive click lets me know he has found what he is looking for, confirmed by the outreached arm that swipes a Kleenex from the box on his bedside table. The headphones aren’t enough to prevent me from hearing the disturbing noises of his disgusting ritual, and when his muted grunts combine with the muffled screams heard as though from afar, my stomach turns.

I’ve had enough of this. I stand up to my full height on my bed to reveal to him my presence.

But he doesn’t notice me: too absorbed in his sadistic tastes. Instead he speeds up the violent thrusting of his right hand. Actually, I can almost appreciate this particular video – the squealing woman is wearing Catwoman leathers. But no, her blonde hair doesn’t do it for me the way black satin would.

Prose Art Cook

That’s it. I bound over and pounce up onto his naked torso, extending my claws and digging in deep. It pleases me that my projection has led to my front paw landing next to his crotch, so I avail of the split second opportunity to use his erect penis like a scratching post. As soon as I’m up, I’m back down again – not unlike his bleeding penis. He leaps up screaming and contorted, knocking me and his laptop to the ground where the screen splinters into a digital cobweb of pixels, Catwoman’s squeals suddenly piercing through the room as his headphone cable is dislodged. I swiftly extend myself upward to pull down the door handle and slink through the house out into the night. I don’t like laptops anyway. No mouse.

Illustration Laura Jayne — playingwiththecrows.tumblr.com

Painting Lana Svirejeva — lanasvi.wix.com/portfolio

5

Meatfeast I opened my eyes to find a dog eating my legs. It was a grey scrawney alsatian type animal with really long legs and it was working furiously on tearing the skin off my right leg, which was snagged on my knee and was the only thing stopping the dog from pealing all the skin off.

I sat leaning against the van mezmerized by the now exposed muscles in my leg, all over lapping and attached to various different bones, it was quite impressive. The dog gave up on pealing the skin off and sunk its teeth into one of the big thigh muscles and began tugging at it, each time jolting me and making me slide down the van onto my side where I lay. I heard a “POP” as the muscle came off and I watched the animal chewing intently on it. I let out a sign, I felt nothing, no pain.

6

Prose & Installation Jamie Cooper — naeplace.blogspot.co.uk

I looked down, examining my torn, bleeding legs, all that could be seen now was bloody half eaten meat, like giant raw slabs of beef.

There wasn’t much left of them, flys were now buzzing around and crawling in and out of the muscle fibres, laying eggs and licking the blood up.

I was being devoured.

The dog was a loud eater I thought to myself, slapping and chucking and licking as it ate, making the occasional growl in paranoia at something steeling its food.

I sat up and made a half hearted attempt at defending myself, I punched the dog in the side of the head. The dog growled a low growl but kept on eating. I couldn’t be bothered really, but punched the dog in the head again, more out of curiosity. Nothing. I punched the dog again, and again and again and again...nothing.

Hmmm..

I took out my Opinel folding knife and stabbed the dog in the chest, “YELP” ....”Finally! Some fucking action!” I said out loud. The dog dragged a large part of my leg away and continued eating it, bleeding as it did so.

I watched for a while...

It looked so good I thought. “Fuck it” I wiped the dog fur of the blade and cut a nice big cube of meat out of my leg and popped it in my mouth. I waited apprehesively for a second, then began to chew slowly....hmmm...Delicious, Juicy and warm. I put the knife down and began ripping at my muscles, they were wet with blood and slippy, but I got one and bit in to it!

The dog attacked! Biting my face and knocking me over again. I couldn’t see for the flap of skin that had fallen over my eyes. The dog attacked again, this time I managed to dodge and caught the dog in a head lock. I rammed my finger into its eyeball, “POP” no way I was sharing my food, I growled.

The dog ran away and I continued eating until I was full.

7

The flies woke me up, buzzing around, they were everywhere, crawling in and out of my ears and nose. The maggots were writhing in my eyeball sockets too and the dog was back, eating what was left of my carcass. I tried to shoo them away but my putrified arms fell off and maggots oozed out.

The written prose ‘Meatfeast’ is short story taken from a collection of written works collectively entitled ‘The Book of Naeplace’. Meatfeast functions in much the same way as the large physical streetlights lights and wind breaks in ‘Wish you were here’ in as much as their unwritten language is one of metaphysics. Naeplace is a term I have been exploring since 2008 and takes inspiration from the 70’s bumper stickers ‘you are here’.

8

Poster Sencha art — senchaart.tumblr.com

Writing Dan Brady Fernie

GMTV.

Dear Lorraine Kelly {can I call you L.K?} Can I begin my letter by saying that I am your BIGGEST FAN, although there will probably be some right weirdo out there, no doubt living with their mummy who claims to be your biggest fan, well that’s just RUBBISH! I am your No1 fan L.K! And I also have my own flat {well the council really own it but I’ve been away from my MUMMY FOR AGES!}.

Anyway L.K, the reason I am writing to you is that the other week, sometime just before Christmas, I was watching your show, L.K Today, and you had this guy on, young guy, seemed a bit gay {I’m all for that sort of thing myself but I like girls, but I will sit and happily watch DALE WINTON, GRAHAM NORTON, ANDREW CASTLE and JONATHON ROSS because their sexuality does not bother me one little bit. I enjoy watching them because they are good, infact, very good at what they do, and when it comes down to it, that’s all that matters}.

Well that guy, sorry but I can’t remember his name, Nigel? Tristram? Dale? Andrew? Nope, sorry, he goes out shopping and stuff for you, you must know him L? Anyway, one day he came back from a shopping jaunt and he showed you a great big pudding, I’m not talking about EAMON HOLMES here, ha,ha,ha,ha,ha, just a wee joke there L. It was bought in one of those very posh London shops and it looked really delicious.

The thing is L, I quite fancy one of those puddings, I have a bit of a sweet tooth and I love a bit of Christmas pudd, trouble is, I live up here in Edinburgh!!!!!

Normally I wouldn’t be so bold but I feel you are the type of person that I could ask?

I watch your show every day and I know that it is on from 8.30a.m to 10.30am, not long enough if you ask me L! That’s only two hours a day, so you have the rest of the day to yourself, you could easily nip out and get me one of those pudds?

Hopefully there will still be some left in that fancy shop {who knows it may even be cheaper now with the sales on? I’m sure you’re like me L.K and every other good Scot, we like a bargain! You could get yourself one?}.

I will send you a postal order L, I know I can trust you with the money, I don’t think you would run off with my pudding fund?

If you were too busy I would understand L. Please though, and I know it’s the sort of kindly act that you would do, please do not ask Eamon Holmes, even though he’s left your gang now, to pop out and get me the pudding, somehow I don’t think it would reach me up here completely intact?

Although from the look of him I don’t think he likes rich food?

Thank you Lorraine and I am truly your No1 fan, keep up the good work P.S. how about a signed photo?

If I can find you one I’ll send it too you! Just a tiny little attempt at humour, I try but I should leave the jokes and fun to the experts, like Andrew Castle.

P.P.S. I look forward to tasting that pudding, yummy……

Thanks L.K Yours D.F. { No1 fan }

9

Photography Michael Cradock

10

Illustration Sara Ljeskovac — saraljart.com

Stuck in the McDonald’s Curve The Yellow M possesses that deliciously malicious force which makes all my inclinations of reason subject to a cruel imprisonment.

Each time I decide to pay a visit I know I am cheating myself.

And yet it is always the same story: “I’d like to have a Big Tasty menu, please.”

“Medium or large?”

Small is apparently too big of a word to add to their vocabulary.

But then I think: fuck it.

Considering it’s called a Big Tasty I might as well go for large.

I find a nice seat upstairs, next to the window, the one where you get to look at the oh so familiar wave of strangers’ faces passing by like live entertainment.

As always I consume my french fries first, then lick and suck and smack the salt off my glistening fingers.

Next, I sweep my tongue across the shiny surface of my lips as I take a deep breath and look at the square box of the burger it stares at me and says: “I am not good for you, and still you cannot let me go.”

The salad that surrounds the burger in the box looks like a heap of wet and dirty snow encircling a sublime mesa glazed with succulent rainwater the poor bastards may not be familiar with the word small but they sure know the definition of neglect.

I eye the burger in disgust, suddenly considering fleeing.

But the burger eyes me too and says: “You weren’t planning on leaving so soon, were ya, Estragon?”

He remembers my name: Estragon.

“You’ve tried that before,” he continues. “But that wasn’t such a successful play, now was it?”

And so I sigh and stay and sit, gobble and suffer my way through the cheap plastic meat and know that I will loathe myself afterwards.

“And you know you will be coming back...” he says as I bring the last chunk to my mouth. “Because you are lovin’ it... Forever and ever...” gulp Because time is but a flat circle and in the center of it is the mighty yellow M.

Poetry Ali Esrail — amsterdamwritersguild.com

11

We at yellerzine believe in spreading creativity through print. This issue features work from a variety of disciplines from writers, illustrators, photographers, architects, painters, sculptors and poets all revolving around their interpretation of the theme of Tongue-in-Cheek.

This is a bi-(sometimes tri-)anual publication based in Edinburgh and supported by Edinburgh University Art Society.

We hope you enjoy perusing, and make sure to find us on twitter and facebook as well as our website and our new blog.

Much love, The Editors (Zoë, Grace & James) @yellerzine yellerzine.wordpress.com

facebook.com/yellerzine yellerblog.wordpress.com

Contributors:

Front Cover: ­­Laura Jayne — playingwiththecrows.tumblr.com

Back Cover: Florence Richardson — flossmakesart.tumblr.com Ali Esmail, Art Cook, Dan Brady, Dee Sunshine, Florence Richardson, Jamie Cooper, Lana Svirejeva, Lizzie Quirke, Lucy Wayman, Sara Ljeskovac, Sencha art.

Printed by Newspaper Club, Glasgow.