VOLUME ONE/2017
WHAT WE’RE ALL ABOUT: SPIT POET ZINE
is the genesis of a community of writers transcending our physical, social, and financial barriers to create a self distributed publication to showcase our recent work. This first edition marks a growth from idea to action. Our goal is to push ourselves as writers and as support to fellow artists. Art is not always free, but the spread of ideas will always be worth more than money. Our expression is our biggest contribution to a constantly shifting world. Each writer included is resposible for the exposure of their own work and that of their peers. We will work together to promote written and spoken word in a variety of arenas, on a grass roots level that will include anyone willing to work for their art. FOR QUESTIONS REGARDING THE ZINE, THE ARTISTS, THE PROCESS, GETTING INVOLVED, OR OTHER WAYS TO SUPPORT US PLEASE EMAIL SPITPOETZINE@GMAIL.COM & CHECK US OUT ON FACEBOOK @SPITPOETPUBLISHING
THANK YOU!
Interstellar Hero Worship Hiccup (we all gots a lil hater in us)
My honesty cuts through space time, fabricates an irreversible dimension of lies Whats what and what is and what is meant to be mentally dementia meant to bleed I listen to each one of you and it decapitates my dreams density, I am but one dark human integrity I somehow cannot accept how fucking god-like each of you are, how your words are willing weapons in a war against the enemy. We will win, believe me! I disassociate from threads in our current connected reality Disconnections as in the meek will inherit the earth as in we are already here Too close to your heart beat, she screamed, too fucking close to your heart bleeding please! I dream weave the most silent of enemies My lies cut through space time, Kali kiss blessed to be right beneath where the Nuke touched down Once flesh returns to glass shard sands in the whisper death trance, taste that finite man Some of our eyes have reached the edge of enlightenment, happiness no longer caught up in the web of desire, by design the love flows through him as though it were his only sound All of you silence me in comparison and my wise mind is forced to black out oblivion in order to not slice my third eye open slivers of DMT multilayered linguistic multidimensional travelers My suffers wear on me similar to scar tissue wrinkles and whispers to break down the barriors between each of us, sorry if my death dreams don’t click clack never really felt connected to any particular clan, tribe, vision, unified divisions where the sun dies and rots out our internal dark webbing, what humans are capable of would astound you and I wonder where the fuck ill be when North Korea missiles meet their mark Given enough time, the survival rate for any of us drops to zero, thus far a simple determined escape may be your only reasonable ownership Nostradamus nosferatu Osiris storm drain gutter punk graff bomber diseased evils Call em D’evils cause we killed the devil soon as we were born human, minus the tail and sacred geometry buried deep creep spiral spinal tentacle wrap your neck cord Spit it in code, the need to touch to feel to bleed as one is beyond me, slit the words to render new codes, the freed medusa queen reaches for her bow and arrow, veins drying up to a ritualistic slur stone stoned Im ready to eat my maker now lord, take me to your kingdom, my peeps is mad hungry and I need my ears to their hearts in order to feel whole holy, strip a halo down to a science resurrect your inner messiah child with the fingertips of love and wonder minus the critter slang principles, one love to my lovers lost in dissection and mirror prism triangles. Barter a kingdom tho gift given being praises of none
K-BO CUTS
THE RHINO’S BALLET We see frightened ladybugs, Fallen trees, and trampled flowers And think, What a tragedy! But the rhinoceros asks, With a tear in his giant eye, Is it so wrong for me to dance?
JUSTIFYING M Y CHOICE OF FAVORITE CO LOR
(during a long bus ride home today) I think my favorite color is green because green is never bad. Green means go. Or safe. Or eco-friendly. Because when I think of green, I’m laying down in a great big field of tall grass You know, the kind of grass that molds itself into a bed around you
when you lay in it - the kind you see in cute cartoon movies.
Or, I picture a big, BIG bamboo grove that just goes up, up, up.
JASON HUANG
Split in half, and looking back while heading on, no grace is gone. Turning left to find whats right, I journey there into the night. Refracted light reflects the cracks, of untamed hearts and muddled acts. Skip to the end or press rewind, to start again only to find, the middle is the perfect place to take a pause and make some space. "Looking up from underneath, reflections still look the same to me," as before I sank into the deep. And so we ride, as the current steers, live for now, year after year. Find the chord and strike it loud, feel the quiet in the sound. Bask in the sun, like the moon when its full, surrender with force, as the tides start to pull. Trust above all in balance and heart, move with intention, and honor your part. Rolling on your left side Learn from the past, that there are no mistakes, crushing your own heart. and never neglect, that which beauty creates. Reliving and lamenting A sunset needs a dramatic stage, over how it came apart. where mighty clouds dance on parade. Running backwards So though we long for clear blue skies, Seeking answers the sun seems lonely in his eyes. To the questions He welcomes the clouds About the future and the drama they bring, Meditation as concentration? smile through storms, while covered in rain. or deep frustration from devastation.. And in the rain we all must dance, It all goes back to one. sing for love and love by chance. Vivid polarities rest in the middle Lose your mind to find your soul, The deaf man solves the blind mans riddle fire will burn and waves will roll. In ever widening circles we run So if you question what life's about.. It all goes back to one Remember theres NOTHING to figure out! Twirling up to spiral down What will become of this path we've found? When all is done, we must start again.. time tells all and love does mend. As the need to search becomes less then gone, we see it all go back to one. Energy is attention, so focus in the light. Stars carry hearts, on throughout the night. Unleash the doubt, grab hold of the wave, and long ride the current for the rest of your days. Now rolling back over and lifting your gaze, notice the sun has burnt off the haze. A new path emerges.. Winding and unknown. Lets go together now this could be fun.. (Even though we already know).. No matter what's for days to come, it always must come back to one.
ONE
NO WORRIES
JOSSLYN GRAY
A TASTE of LUCK and INSANITY Today I decided to quit smoking...When I say quit, I mean that I thought about quitting and when I say I thought about quitting I was actually smoking and got irritated because I got smoke in my eyes again...and it burned.. If I were to ever hold such an instance as a metaphor for my life it would be quitting smoking. See what I mean is the empty promises that are made by me to others and others to me has a ritualistic way of dancing in my heart space. Is it gullible or is it insanity? Because this old man with a new lease on life once told me that repeating the same mistake over and over again and expecting a different result is insane. Fuck. I wanted to ask him what spiritual discipline article he pulled that one liner from untill I realized that the truth hurts more when it makes sense. What made sense to me that day?, was it the hole I had just noticed in my favorite pair of leggings, no, it was the overwhelming amount of powerlessness that crept over my shoulders like a fog that bellows it's way onto my favorite lake, it was the fear of vulnerability and the absense of acceptance, it was my unmistakable desire to run as far away as I could from a life that was ripped apart by a self centered hail storm. See in that moment I took a drag of my cigarette and it burned my eyes and they watered up, this man, who could have passed for my grandfather, was staring at me with empathy, maybe because he had been there before..or maybe because I was drained. They watered up and kept on watering...why? Because I could no longer blame my shame and regret on a cigarette anymore.
J.M.
RUNAWAY
I fell asleep in the shadows of the Grand mesa I woke up on a table full of hand-made soap, where you found me innocent I'm a runaway I took a cab to the Waldorf Astoria because you were so heavy I couldn't walk hid in a cave of American quilts, in the comfort of British children's books, in a pile of unsigned Australian postcards but found my face on the front page of every newspaper I fell asleep with my face in the apple pie I woke up with my cheek on someone's hand, back to back I'm a liar I flew to Limuru where I listened to other people's dishonesty, so I didn't have to listen to my own surrounded myself with other cats, bigger than me and hibernated in the vacuous South African winter, which is neither warm nor cold, like you I fell asleep with my head under water I woke up with a gun on my pillow, pointed towards my temple I'm a thief I carry your future in my suitcase carry it over Moroccan dunes, coughing sand to the shores of Crete hoping security won't find it while they're poking at it with sticks praying that they can't see through me with their X-rays, at the airport in Istanbul I fell asleep with your blood in my mouth I woke up next to someone I hated, when I woke up by myself I'm a murderer Standing on the edge of the earth the only reason I didn't let myself fall was that I couldn't face you down there that I didn't have the answers yet why I did to you what I did to you So I keep waking up with you on my mind, on some cracked bathroom floor a world from home Until I fall asleep with you on my mind, somewhere else
MARIE SCHMOLL
THIS BOX.
my reach is one organ
Refuse to let femininity act as safe entrapment whenever i have been lonely it has been as a woman
ive stepped lastly on my self to marvel at me
whenever i am whole bean whole fruit
i gasp is this radio silence or music for airports
woman swoon masculinity where the I is implied
astral projection is most of which with i do fuck
mine drips with bits of sorrow hidden through analysis mine is spiritual “never let the form dictate what’s the content” that’s what milo said what form is this? they are not listening they are looking they speak fight cramps with cramp bark and trilobite magic majesty of our own doom two feet they do not speak for you they speak for us their song is a tepid laugh gas for denied hostility gas for orgin of soul perhaps defunct manifest no jungle here only tree
and a choir of ducks
modern harmony is colluding synergy from destitute chaos and gay mechanic noises organic popping these plots to destroy my own tongue
absence of noise like lit celophane melting to your pinched fingers dime bags in high school blood warm on blood moon to rid myself of this box ill be bleeding for some time ill be on with it out with it bleeding for some time ensure this entrapment inhospitable
RENEE MARINO
SAY EVERYTHING "When you left all I knew was the dark. I reached out for you and my only reply was silence. How could something so little extinguish all this fire? I got lost in the fray of the breakbeat and the blow, I miss the way you choked the insecurities out of me so gently. Your absence forced me to bury you and move on I found the curiosity of maybe again. I found a new friend. And then I found you again. You tried walking in as if two months hadn't gone by, like there wasn't anything to account for. How dare you? I made it through the forest only for you to try to drag me back in, Why aren't you happy by yourself anymore?" I said Because the emptiness tries to pull me away in all the quiet moments, drown me in waves of aether, spread me to the void, and I think I just need someone to anchor to this world, because I think I know myself all too well, and am constantly trying to prove I'm not going to die alone. I think the shock value of honesty is what we're all afraid of. The stars around your head, phonebook to the jawbone crushing reality of knowing you're becoming the friend that your friends check in on. Or should. But god forbid I reach out, I only know how to speak in scripted three minute increments I've had plenty of time to pamper and edit. But you're the only friend who ever needed me. I have no right to try and take you from potential promises kept. "Be happy we're in each other's lives at all, and learn to appreciate the good little moments, because you keep covering them with bad. Who knows. But I'm living right now. And you don't get to interrupt that. If you can't be my friend then i don't know what to say, no one is holding me either." And I guess for now, our conversations will reek of divorce and awkward sad laughs. If you end up with this new guy, I can't say I won't be sad, but that's not your burden to bear. Your job is to be happy with him, in the present. I'll have to learn how to fix my habit of gargling thumbtacks to the rhythm of thrash metal playing in my mind. But I will try my best to be there for you as a friend. Update: we don't speak anymore.
CHARLES DALTON TELSCHOW
RETURNS I kept an animal in mind as I fought the falling sands of time. I gnashed my teeth and swore aloud, as the grains ground in my eyes.
BY SEA PEAR
Then, I sunk beyond the light, and, swimming in the void, I heard the end of it all, spoken in my voice.
S t r e t c h e d,
a s
I
w a s,
like the moment of death, I was struck as a string, and lost all my breath, in that spaceless nothingness. That's what I'm for, I guess. The waves that came out of (what used to be) my mouth grew in to mountainous sounds; Stories, stories of loss, of shame all of humanity, and I watched how it all came down. I collapsed along with man, refined away, back to sand, poised to construct life again. Watching him fight endless time... I kept an animal in mind.
I’M ON A MISSION I’m on a mission Ziggy stardust kissing, Alien love Misty mountains rise up in the distance I swing left, dance with a lover, sob and say goodbye again Time I got strong, time makes you strong Muscles, electro fission, cataclysm We’re on a brink Some say we need to give up, live a life of apathy Some say we need a bloody revolution, live a life of remorse Both make a bit of bile caress my tongue What does it mean you see? To be on a mission to a place you don’t know For a vision that continues to grow Don’t let it slow Fold down the black lense, black frame, under top hat shadow Let's be blues brothers, on a mission from God Partner in crime, willing to give everything for the goal An unpaved road to nowhere That beckons like a siren song I’m willing to lose everything for it on this mission For this vision From a source unknown I have chills on the daily as I pave a way that was always meant to be made Always meant to carve I’m on a mission to nowhere Where my friends will be, where Warhol wants to be Where Kerouac and Kafka make peace Where modernism, meets farmers, meets posted up post modern visionaries Drugs and love Love and light Air and water Here we can breath here we give collective cause to the steering wheel Here we shake the tree until the fruits come out Collect the morsels, feed the masses, and plant the seeds where no trees used to be I want to grow a community like a redwood Something so big not a soul can help but admire it Not a soul can help but press their face up against it Sniff the pine of our ancestral roots | the rosemary And olive oil | the lentils and rice | Eyes reach through cracks in bark to see rings Diamond, coal, sandstone, lime, sour and candy Light so broad it will burn the unsavory out of the skin Melt the weight of the world out of Atlas’ hands As it pools at his feet, trickles down the bark Like sap that feeds the tree’s majesty Where even the greatest weights become water I have a vision On a mission to nowhere Ready to peel back my layers Until you see my nothing | my everything And like a quasar I flicker with a cosmic beat A platform with which we reconstruct everything.
GRIFFITH WENDLAND
CEREMONIOUS A star flies backward across the sky, and for a minute, I am relieved. walking along the shoulder of the highway, I wander from me to thee, wonder if you think of me, but not really. I know you don’t, wonder if the night is no longer my mistress because she no longer has anyone to compete with, her empty womb stuffed with nothing but the miscreants she has borne and who hide within her. They are not her children though, for they do not fear her might the way children are born doing. Rather, they are disobedient lovers who lay claim to her, pay no mind when she shakes in their prying hands. She bestows her intuition upon the black, lures those ungrateful to gaze at her, as she gifts them a wish, then rescinds it just as brutally. Everyone who wished upon it -- undone, unraveled by their heart thread they so carelessly cast into the unforgiving universe. The void of Space owes you nothing, you are nothing, and a star’s last journey through the cosmos is sent to remind you of that. You’re on top of the world, but Earth is a tiny planet.
LILIAN SCATHORN
CONNECTION
I've come to this realization, really more of an acceptance, after reading an interesting article about the inner workings of modern relationships. It's somewhat tough to fully understand and accept, though it makes me happy to learn something so true about myself. I've learned that I'm not really into going on dates… Just to get laid. I'm not into being played, or being the player. No, what I want is connection. I'm into making an emotional investment. Reaching far beyond a simple and basic physical message of, “You’re Sexy.” That's too shallow. I wanna build something with some serious worth! Find the feeling that holds no words, But is best described by “I love her.” These poor players have pocket fulls of penniless relationships, They could be finding the richness in simple love, and wasting it! I'm not into that, meaningless sex with no strings attached. I want more than just a score, a notch atop my belt. Another masculine story to tell…. That's all so disconnected, this modern, reckless sex mission, desensitizing the pureness and prophetic experience of love. Oh so many sadly in the shallows, So few above… But me! I'm back-stroking through the deep end, taking deep breaths! Fighting to stay afloat. And you can't beat me down, for I have hope. Sure I'm odd and could be called the feminine type, because I try to get in touch with my feelings inside, then express them in my attempt to feel alright. I shrug, give my shoulder a brush and don't give up, because I still believe a connection can be found. I mean, I'm connecting with you, right now.
Zalen Edwards
HISTORY COURSE
- Stumble into the open illustration of a submerged simian dr a g g i n g his feet through his shovels corpse. He has planted himself - here out of perceived necessity; some subterranean seed pod waiting for the season when the skies Seize Tremor And Release. This hole
This makeshift cellar of a shelter this has become his armor And his armor is his only weapon And he is accustomed to fighting Everyone Reflection included Believes he needs this exile Believes the illusion Oh he's just showing warning signs He just must be confused Oh, now he's showing warning signs Now he must be D I F F U S E D. His isolation so similar to his now singular existence Has gained him so much more than just protection This hole Has got its walls erected. And he is resolute it's his solution. R ai ndro p s hit the puddle and think they're just deluge Dil ut in g Sits behind his eyelids viewing Intimate with the storm since before the warning signs. Like an inmate. IIIIIII IIIIIIII IIIIIII I I I I I I I imitates his surroundings Like anything Monkey see . : ’ : ‘ “ ; ” ; , Monkey do Any diversion intimidates The Exit’s up visible but dirt chewers can't spit I'm saying to myself : I can't get rid of you And you can't eject when you're stuck with yourself and have nothing to give away ...And even then the hunger follows. . . . like this distance is eating at him
Digesting him in the
pit This hole Has swallowed him. And it would have him believe that he has found some peace alone
of its stomach.
Seeking : Time No To monkey around Look Again Find: Barrell not ful The barrels only holding one Chambers aimed at the sun / This same monkey is a lame duck -PullWool over eyes. No feathers and no surprises Find: Bars not swung on. He's been down. Laying face first in an empty playground. Dumb Struck And Stuck In The Structure. I need a leg up. I need an upper. Why can't I rise? Find: Bread not baked as . . . Take him to the bottom of this lake like drowning is a cake walk You know for a Monkey, it doesn't seem like he likes to monkey around a whole lot... Well he dug a whole lot... Or maybe just dug a hole in his lot...So cold even the snow forgot about the plot to run off that's what happens when you're alone; repeated action teeters on a beaten dog [G]naw It's a sleeping dog...I've been flogging my horse. You gotta soak the sod till its soggy - that's the secret for running into the greenest pastures next door||check the fence line. My shadows been meaning to ask - what's this hole story have in store? You know The one where the primate migrates to the center of the earth one thirsty spade stickin'in'ta'tha'dirt at a time / like shovels reign light \ and these dark corners of the world aren’t whats to keeping us alive. Pray the doves’ll send an olive branch. Make surrenders white flag vibrant. Yeild - I give. Gave no solutions. No science to dictate an equation / we're all just stuck here trying to figure out our relationships. Patience is a virtue, but you're screwed if you're its patient Even cape crusaders fade into the shadows of their former selves - cover up spandex with loose coat sleeve. Pick up a different tool for that utility belt. It's silly how stupid I feel for the things I think I’ve felt. Sometimes I'm not even sure if my greatest thoughts are relevant. I think that's why we hold each other through our own dark night. When the moon is down and we have dug ourselves in so deep that the surface flirts with the idea that it is an ocean to be tossed in and become lost and never see the coast again We reach our hands into the soil, and return with seeds. Of love Friendship Pain, regret, and endless doubt. We keep each other alive, not by being the seed But by being the one To pull someone else - out.
MADISON COIA
If I’ve learned anything from hanging out with poets, it’s that we are really fucking sensitive, like really fucking sensitive. We are so fragile. Our self esteem is that balloon you lost when you were a kid, you know the one you were too stupid to hold on to? Wasn't that devastating? Watching something fly away from you and all you could do is just watch. What a feeling, but poets love that feeling, it’s like fuel.
SEX
Poets are just waiting for any disaster, anything that will destroy their glass house to the floor. Cause once everything is leveled it's easier to pick out the ideas that you want. It's like a junkyard full of ideas. If I’ve learned anything about being a poet, It's to never...ever...have sex with a poet. It will fuck us up! We can barely handle our own emotions as it is, so please don't add more to that. And it's not just bad for the poet, we will tell everyone with poems after poem that we will share in front of complete strangers because we're writers, it’s what we do. We have to have to create with words. So now you know, the more time you spend not replying to our text messages, the more time we spend writing a poem about you. So never have a one night stand with a poet. That shit feels like a fire that keeps burning way after the flames are gone. Or maybe That’s just me. I can be pretty pathetic sometimes. Cause you know you're a loser when someone breaks up with you but you weren't even dating. And you know what's worse than a one night stand with a poet.. Dating a poet. Dating a poet it's like building a bomb, the longer you spend with them the bigger the bomb gets until you click the blow up in your fucking face button. And it's always by accident. And you know what's almost as bad as dating a poet...? Rejecting a poet. So yeah, there is no escape from our emotions. We are fucked either way. Cause if you're not going to fuck us, then we will fuck ourselves. Cause it’s what we do. We are poets. We have to create. We have to make art. Cause making art is like making love, but so much better.
CHANGA
S U R V I V O R ’S G U I L T
RILEY ELIZABETH FLORES
People sometimes wonder how I can be afraid of the dark at my age. Sometimes they notice my body tense and tremble when the floor creaks. Or think I’m needy because I hate sleeping alone. And I never have the words to explain how when I look into shadows I still feel her eyes watching me. I hear creaks in the floor. And I remember the way she tiptoed into my room. Every time I roll over in an empty bed. I can feel her breath burning against the back of my neck. Even now I hear her voice whispering in my ear telling me I don’t deserve to read this poem. I picture another broken child and I can’t help wondering if she’s right. I hear children playing in the park. And I know somewhere there’s a child I marked victim with my silence. And I wonder which night it was. When did those black tendrils you called fingers take enough of me away that I gave you my tongue? Maybe I don’t deserve to take it back now. maybe I don’t deserve to break the silence after all these years. I don’t know. All I know is when I told my girlfriend through sobs why I was afraid of the dark, they turned the hallway light on every night. And maybe if nothing else. saying something can be kind of like that. A light in a hallway where monsters
MAGGIE SAUNDERS
C
1. Quiet Keep quiet In silence you shine Hold it for times, When the ocean will dry Hold it for feeling, For channeling light No need for speakin When reason is live To open and say it To give into whys
2. Why so serious? Why do you ask? I’m curious about your path. Mystery makes me mad. I want to see in black and white, I want to see the facts, I want to know. Thank God I don’t, If I knew I couldn’t ask.
Sometimes sunshines enough But people take me from my trek to the sun To the depths of the dumps in darkness But I remember the taste of stardust Daughters and sons follow the marching, Where have we gone Don't guess, Shush. We're in a garden of love Guard it and shut the fuck up!
3. No more sadness It's time for action It's time for passion and hope We've been saddened By madmen and ghosts I feel maddened the most No outlet for astoundment So grounded I stay In grounded dismay Now, Spring in the step Bounce into battle Don't preach, it's rabble And if you don't bend you'll stay in shackles Moving like the car lot's air dancer An unbreakable smile will spread like cancer A flexible spirit will get an answer
JUN E BUG
we lean on your son’s treehouse flicking June Bugs, I fixate on your midlip freckle & short-ladder-smile, the one that climbs up slow as wistful stories you barely bear to tell Texas humidity and “can you imagine this mane frizzier?”, home videos of your then-alive mother, scooping baby you; a sack of gold potatoes you’ve committed these garbled 80’s clips to sanctuary halfway between memorabilia and begging we trade swigs of 2 Buck Chuck, slapping mosquitos off the other, flirting to fill our gaptoothed grief, your uncanny knack for easy intimacy suctions to your hands: two leather gloves while my spite grows that you refuse to be more callused summers later, now— I still wish I’d been sorry on time
MACKENZIE PACKARD
THE NUN Violence is her kindness, cruelty her only language. Fists fleeting to skin meeting, she's teaching how to take a beating and she has an audience, scared to strict attendance of this disciplined religion. She has made her own church.
ICARUS IN LOVE Icarus was the sun worth your death? Spending so long imprisoned, I imagine you never felt more free between the birds and the sea. Why else would you love the sun more than your father? I hope your love blinded you before melting your wings so you never had to see how far you would fall.
THE ROAD AND THE RABBIT You're on the edge of forgetfulness, but I always remember. You blur too close my breaks, seconds slower, have I killed you? My eyes wide, desperate heart rate too fast. I look for you, seeing your legs propel you forward between two wheels you live again, goodness. Factor your probability of dancing between front wheels to side wheels I saw your tail fade into the darkness long live young rabbit, a hare’s breath from death keep running.
DOT B
TO BE PLACED IN THE TEMPLE:
AN OPEN LETTER TO AARON JOEL MITCHELL When the sky shifted and looming darkness urged that it would fall, did you upturn to the panorama twilight explanation or to the bewildered faces surrounding you? Did you see the reflection of the corona in the tears of joy your comrades shed or conceal the fire radiating inside you for the first time in 41 years? I was unaware, am unable to relay, am honored to think that we sat in similar silence during the penumbra, Though our mind states likely differed, I wonder, did you feel the same unnerving itch for change bubbling beneath your skin when the temperature dwindled and stars emerged? What a bold metanoia to share with each being in attendance, 50,000 souls strong, millions worldwide, eclipsed by our expectations. We readied ourselves for a strange new world. That obscured sun and its’ displaced rays guided us toward a wholly uncertain future. I struggled to leave the forest. Did you? Inevitably, that ephemeral festival decomposed and another was said to be simultaneously materializing from the rubble in a distant lake bed. This layered hazy decompression on the blood red horizon. I wonder did you let your heart rest in between? Did you call your wife to tell her you were safe before wandering back into the abyss? Were you prepared to strap in to the next week-long roller coaster? Ready or not‌ Only one of us made it to the forbidden city. I hope they held you unyieldingly as you stepped through the gate, welcomed you home, made you roll in the dust as they always do. I hold you now heavy hearted because it is my home too. We are a family of sun beams collecting kin to build a shiny, new society. I hope you let the dust layer you with a convincing illusion of safety, let the community of dreamers and shakers swallow you whole
until your wildest ideas were fleshed out and fulfilled. They were so lucky to have you briefly. One in 70,000 beautiful creatures, all dancing out their mortal fears until the sun rose again, ready to devour the pulsing vibrant energy exploding from within. This dangerous, desolate planet was gifted to you to breathe in slowly through a mask of your choosing. Happily lost, half afraid and half excited you explore with eyes and ears and heart wide open, to absorb the light and the wisdom that comes with self-examination. I imagine you there, riding full force into the white out dust storm on a creaky old bicycle with little regard for the past or future. I can’t help but wonder if the inalienable freedom was too much for your mind and heart to bare. Did the world back home become a dark deception when you saw what was possible out there? I have held the weight and depression of that half truth, have returned to commonality in fetal position, blinders glued, have felt the flames at my back urging me to continue. This city too decomposes in the storm, the exodus, fire tornadoes to make fearful example of us. You became the funnel cloud that day, spreading ash far and wide as you ran toward what I can only imagine was your light at the end of the tunnel, breaching the barriers we all hold sacred. I know you meant no offense, only sought your own final answer, your winded dissipation. Please understand our shock, we are not meant to become the effigy. Witnessing the distance between yourself and the flame is key. I wonder if you looked like a distant star expanding, Did the lights go out all over Black Rock City in mourning? Or did they all dance your soul out into the ether with honor? I hold space for you now one month later to pass on to whatever comes next with ease. When I fill my hands with soil and search for seeds, I recognize contact we have made with each other’s atoms. I can’t claim to know why you disassembled, dissociated with your body, but I have heard it said that it is better to burn out than to fade away. Ashes to ashes, in dust we trust.
CAITO FOSTER
THE BR oKeN ETERNaL I surround myself with wonderful, beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, hilarious but deeply, deeply flawed human beings. I mean people that have been broken before. People with skinned knees and elbows, citations in their back pockets. People with bloody noses and coughs that refuse to quit, who are still picking pieces of themselves up off the ground and crudely glueing them to the spaces that are missing within. If you don’t have scars from cigarette burns on your hands, don’t come around me. If your heart doesn’t sometimes fill with broken glass, don’t come around me. If you’ve never breathed fire and melted a piece of this frozen world, don’t come around me. If you’ve never sliced open your chest and bled out onto a page, a canvas, a friend, a lover, stay the fuck away. Because my people, they’re the dreamers. Look for them. They’re the ones with the wings of eagles sprouted from their backs and the sunglasses on inside. They’re the ones with cigarettes behind their ears and wildfires capable of burning countrysides in their eyes, with lightly shaking hands and bruises from god knows where, a million losses behind them and a million wins ahead. We remember that extra bit of glue sticking out from between our dead friend’s eyelids and though we will never forget how fucking cold his skin was that night. We remain and will continue to burn hotter than this world’s molten core and when we step forward the ground will shake the same way our friend shook each of our worlds when he first stepped into our lives. So with him in mind, with whiskey in our blood, we will open the sky so that the stars may rain down upon this mortal plane and, in their absence, we shall take their place as the strength and illumination of the universe, skinned knees and all.
THOMAS RUTHERFORD
THE PERSISTANT BLINDSIDINNG BY GRIEF Deep and agonizing Bloodless wounds fresh and raw new or new yet again leaving you filled with questions. Questions answered over time, questions never answered. Lonely regardless of company, regardless of the support you have. Regardless, find a few confidants that can hold space for your ups and downs, your criss crosses that barge in with a forged invitation disguised as a smell, a word, a song, a thought that comes from nowhere and smacks you with emotions designed to tear you open, tear you larger, tear you into humanity at an all new level which can singlehandedly forge new bonds with a total stranger from overheard words of pain or sorrow.
BRUCE STERLING
Find a confidant, someone, someone that is compassionate, someone undaunted by tears, someone that can be patient, someone that can be quiet, or maybe utter one heartfelt word. You're strong, you're amazing and you're human. As I told myself those six short years ago, if there's anytime to cut myself a break, this is it. Much compassion to you. And may grace be your companion.
I want to reach into your soul and pull out your fear and doubts, your questions and your worries replacing them with the reminder of your essence, your own wisdom that has been there since before you were born. You touch it. You taste it and you put it down again too concerned about what's around you, convention and acceptance which toys with your grounding. It pulls you away, this convention does, feigning stability, denying that what's most solid. That part of you, of me, of us inextricably linked together bridging the vast amount of differences that we only suspect we have, that we're told we have. So, note to self myself and maybe yourself; turn in and breathe. Remember who I am and who I've been called to be. There's no questioning only delaying the path, the actualization. It's easy or it's hard, regardless, it's up to me. It's up to you too. Look within. Lock within before attending to anything outside. Strength and peace will rein throughout your days.
REMINDER
THE MADNESS The most terrifying doomsday scenario does not end in flames. It does not end in tidal waves or alien invasion. The most terrifying apocalypse is the one where the world ends in madness. I am what you fear most. Do not look too long into my eyes it might be catching. The nightly news is always hot with stories of lunatics *kshhht* I… I was standing right here, and he just… he just walked in and started shooting *kshhht* where a mother drowned her four children in the bathtub – I’m here with her neighbor – she was always so quiet, she seemed so sweet *kshhht* Dan, I’m standing here in front of the dorm where a janitor allegedly lit himself on fire and hung himself out of this window *kshhht* It’s always the quiet ones isn’t it, but what if we weren’t so quiet? What if it spread like a plague eating into the psyche of humanity blooming with psychosis and bipolar and personality disorders like sores on lepers? The streets would run red. Wouldn’t they? Madness only makes the news when it ends. Bloody. Like Robbin Williams and Kurt Cobain and Earnest Hemmingway Frida Kahlo Mark Rothko Anne Sexton Hans Berger Diane Arbus Ian Curtis Sylvia Plath didn’t leave a note. She left The Bell Jar. A version of her life where she got better where she didn’t have to hurt so much for her art every day.
Elliot Smith left an album in which he asked, “give me one good reason not to do it” then stabbed himself twice in the heart. I’ve got your reason right here, Elliot. This is the story of Sisyphus walking away from the boulder. This is the story of Vincent seeing the Van Gogh exhibit in the Louvre. This is the story you never heard – Albert Einstein was in therapy Martin Luther King Jr. attempted suicide Nikola Tesla, the man who summoned lightning chained it up, tamed it, shaped the future in its crackling image hallucinated. Died alone in a hotel in New York with no money to leave and no one to leave it to. The genius takes light in human minds because of their madness not in spite of it. Every pathological behavior is an honest attempt at healing. If madness really swept over the earth, the streets would not run red. The streets would run bright, and loud with art and music and poetry people falling in crazy love breaking down breaking through – imagine a world of wounded healers redemption junkies the blind leading the blind we never wanted to hurt anyone not even ourselves. We wanted to heal and didn’t know how. “I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been” - Virginia Woolfe, suicide letter I can see her walking along the bottom of the river stones in her pockets bubbles trailing from her nose hair flowing out behind her smiling. Just keep smiling.
CONNOR MARVIN
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