Shot on 35mm, hand-developed
Raw Crevices— (things that I want to say out loud, but I don’t out of fear)
……….fuck…….fucked……this is all ……fucked…
..….as you watch…… ….what consumes you…
…wiping away all recollection’s past.
It is a….. CURSE. ….where pigs fly high casting shadows on to you and me.
…fighting… for the last chicken in the street. ……just to…..
SURVIVE….
do something………. who are we…….. ….wake up.. …Sit up… ….open your eyes…. people are DYING…. ….. the earth… …..is REJECTING.
Human civilization
As we know it
let the REVOLUTION
Begin.
brutal deaths….
anonymous deaths……
meanwhile, consciousness is slowly slipping away… The rest of us today… with hearts that still beat.
who are we….
I’ve never seen a hero…
…
Just walk.. ..away.
Not just 1
Do you want this?
Where is a generation when you need one?
EVERYONE.
Strange brew is located AT 8650 w 103rd st, Palos Hills
Home to the best avocado toast In town !
Strange brew hosts monthly open mics and many community days for all to join!
Delicious eats and a loving environment
Can be found anytime at strange brew
FINDYOURUNIQUE
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FINDYOURUNIQUE!
Evolved Ends of the Earth
By: Jonathan Petra Kramarsky
I got the message from a pigeon early that morning. It left its message and took off after picking at an old apple I left out near the misshapen opening of my home’s window.
I sat up from the grass mat covering half the floor and reached the window where I wedged a large flat stone for the floor of the entryway. A soiled book with its mouth swung open wide from moisture sat in the corner beside my spear. On the ledge at the window hung a few branches I slung avian offerings, now coupled with small parchment. I read the note addressed from the Ecology Watch dispatch:
The sixth crocodile this week came up from the Mississippi. It had been tearing up the fragile fauna along Lake Michigan. They were calling for someone to redirect or dispose of the crocodile.
Those damned pigeons, I thought. Chicago’s metropolis was converted; the miles of lifted concrete were let down and buildings were left to fall. Water levels sank most of the town. That was one of Ecology Watch’s first recommendations for Chicago more than a hundred years ago. Dams and canal ways were mostly demolished and without the old canal locks, it didn’t take much for the Gulf of Mexico to swim up the Mississippi. I picked up my obsidian-tipped spear and barked shoes to leave my modest dwelling. It was made from vertical branches and trunks stacked up against the rocks of a small cliff among a few others. Many were almost ready to decay, showing signs of the process starting with their softened wood and entirely mossed-over exterior.
I lived at least ten miles from Lake Michigan, near the Des Plaines River. The floodplain marshes have already leveled the lower-density suburbs that used to be here. My house nestled against a forested and rocky hill that used to sit a market for Willow Springs. We kept the name since we also kept the few willows that still grew stubbornly against the thriving gardens.
Stepping out, a red, fat fox ran by me and my gaze followed it to my left where it caught sight of a shorter copper-toned man with a bow and quiver who'd propped himself between our shelters in a reclined seat.
“Jonathan! Good morning. I figured you’d heed Ecology Watch’s call.” said Antony. Bristles of his unkempt fiber roof stuck to his bare neck. “Bring my cousin, Amyra, our family worry stone. They need it more than me.”
He tossed the stone from his pocket.
“Why aren't you going?” I asked after I caught it, not about to let the stone drop.
“You know they tried to get me to go out there first. I helped with the first one only because they begged me and when it was the first in a decade, it sounded serious. But it’s starting to feel systematic.”
I shook my head, “Sounds like you’re just throwing worry away.”
From our hill, we could barely see the low-lying and lazy water. Reeds, grasses, and trees that might as well have been grasses shrouded the river. Cicadas, late in brood, were rattling themselves into heat with the dawn of day. I breathed deeply along with Antony, only a little more soundly.
Life is simple now. Reading last century’s literature tells me so. Capital, real estate, conversion of deserts to farmland. Endless tasks for external value. We lost this cultural prerogative when we felt our world dying.
Too many people chose to do nothing about it for far too long. By the time we changed, our population already divebombed. The Deindustrialization took hold within one generation. Ecology Watch spearheaded the initiative after replacing the Environmental Protection Agency whose mafioso racket only profited off the stripping of the earth.
“Let me walk you to the worm at least.” Antony conceded. And after my measured look, he replied, “Least I could do.”
He rolled off his perch to stand beside me and padded my shoulder. Even though I was a head taller, his chest and arms were as wide as mine. We both wore our summer linens, sparse fibers clipped snuggly on us and covered most of our torso and trunk. Tony’s linens looked thicker only for its threaded matte of back and chest hair.
I brushed his arm off and started walking, “If you’re scared of the worm, you don’t gotta dance around it.”
Antony said, “I can go as I please, dancing, hiding, and straying from that leviathan. Did you know this one’s head
is already at Lake Superior?! That worm is hundreds of miles of aberration.”
“It sounds like I am a long way from its mouth, aberration or not.”
“All I am saying is if we were supposed to return to nature, how did we grandfather in gene splicing for hell’s sake?”
I grabbed his shoulder to stop him. “How do you think we’d survive?” I plucked a tree’s low-hanging bushel of browning
walnuts just behind his head. “We made a food forest everywhere. We still need to get around and worms are more natural than trains and cars.”
Just before the Deindustrializaton, another lurch in technological development was driven by none other than CRISPR, a rudimentary tool for gene editing. Though it was first discovered in the 20th century, it took many years for genes to be cataloged and serve as a palette for creation. While most other modes of production were outlawed for their use of resources, biological sciences, animal husbandry, and organizations meant to repopulate the earth with life were broadly subsidized. Without the internet, no one really knows all that's out there anymore. He looked like a child frustrated with a poor gift. “Instead it’s boars, crocodiles, and whatever else is eating good now too. And what else, they seem more angry for it.”
“Yeah, and so it is I am going to ride a worm to kill a crocodile.”
We did not talk so much the rest of the time. His attention was mostly for scarfing down mushrooms and berries and I ate some pods of seeds we brushed by on our way. Walking behind him, I couldn’t tell whether he was gassy or if the swamp stench and decay were reaching unusually far. I hoped for Antony’s health, it was the wind.
Read more in New Rhythm Zine’s 2024 Issue,
Evolved Ends of The Earth
NewRhythmZine.com
