Beacon No. 11 — Big Mouth

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KSUSHA ITWAZCOOL Indivisibility Bro

FOREWORD Kailla Coomes



Serena Braida


Vessels For Our Filth #04

PRODUCE OR NO JUICE Interviews by Beacon



Carlie Hoffman





29 30 32 33 34 36 37 38 39 40


Yessica Klein


Fatima Elmusbahi



Nathan Wade Carter


Shon-Lueiss Harris

DAVID WIEN The Legislator







BAM BINO by Serena Braida

When Ba mbino knocked a t my door it was way past my usual bedtime. I was a nalysing a mosquito bite on the ba by skin on the inside of my left a rm. As a young girl, mosquitoes fully ignored me a nd bit a ny other crea ture, huma n or a nimal, they could perch themselves on. Wha t I was experiencing now, in my thirties, wasn’t a craving for ba bies or a sudden apprecia tion of French wines but a sweetening of the blood. Mosquitoes now loved me a nd feasted on me night a nd day. The buzzer sta rtled me. I wasn’t expecting guests. I spied through the peephole of my door, no more tha n a glea ming, black button in the upper section of the surface tha t had the colour of a pota to chip — tha t is, a da rker, slightly fried hue of yellow. It was Ba mbino: therefore I knew tha t I

could unlock the door without a ny risk tha t the unexpected guest would sla m it open, push into me head first (like a ba ttering ra m), fly me to the sofa in the left corner of my pink living room (pink a nd green, to be precise: the room I a m most proud of), open my legs (I was wea ring nothing under my blue negligé) a nd fuck me. A quick flash of the scena rio flew past my eyes but I couldn’t really hold it down. I now knew who was behind the door, but the opportunity to not open it, to just stay there a nd listen to his brea thing, was too enticing. Would Ba mbino — whose real na me was Rya n— wa it there? And how long was he willing to wa it to be in my presence? How long could he possibly wa it? Oh, I knew wha t he wa nted. He must have known it was me beca use everybody knew

wha t everybody else was up to. Not tha t we really talked to each other, but Ba mbino a nd I were pa rt of the sa me scene, one might say, a nd a rtists like gossip. I clea red my throa t to buy

I sta rted thinking tha t a nother thing Ba mbino could do for me was he could pay my bills. I pictured him waving a round fa t stacks of pound notes as I did a silly da nce a nd prepped a line of coke.

some time a nd I felt tha t he If I opened the door now, the first thing Ba mbino relaxed on the other side: now would see was the mound of resta ura nt menus a nd he knew I was there as well. lingerie ca talogues I piled on the key ta ble. I like the Was he resting his body glossy feel of the pages a nd I like to read them when aga inst the surface? I couldn’t I’m on the phone, a n actual la ndline I insisted on see him in the peephole having installed. I read a bout smacked cucumber a nymore, but I could still hea r a nd D-cups when I talk to my mum in the evening him. Did he try, as I did so every other day, a nd when I cha t to my girlfriend often, to peer back into the Rosa. They a re the only two people I gave my la ndline hole, well awa re tha t it was a n impossibility, tha t there number to, but sometimes I get cold calls, a nd if I’m was nothing to see but in the right mood I have a cha t with the call centre da rkness? worker. I let them do their spiel Was he a bout to say something to me? a nd then point-bla nk I ask a bout Suddenly I realised tha t I was flustered a nd tha t the wea ther. You see I’m housemy brea th was speeding up. The unexpected turn bound, I say. No, I ca n’t even get of events — Ba mbino knocking on my door, up without my ca rer, a nd last Ba mbino wa iting for me, the simple fact of his week I had to fire her beca use she living body there, for me — was exhila ra ting. was stealing from me. I ca n’t get Could I possibly make a n exception? Was he very to the window a nd I don’t like uncomforta ble right now? the internet. Is it nice outside?

Wha t would it take me to make a n exception? The days of my diet of lager, ca rrots a nd fried eggs were over but still, like ma ny of my genera tion I was cashflow poor. Our fa milies maybe owned a house but tha t was it, they had no other asset. No steady source of money. I ha ted the entire idea of money a nd I fra nkly didn’t know how to have a rela tionship with it.

Usually there is a moment of silent cringe as they try to think of something to say, something to say to me who ca n’t look a t the sky, a nd tha t’s my cue to end the call. I a m not sure wha t it is I like a bout it. It would have been very nice of Ba mbino to take a fridge — my new fridge, mea ning I’d have a lot of spending money — upsta irs, 9

to the apa rtment. A fridge I’d have bought without having to ask my pa rents, without having to pepper the request message with pa thetic “sorrys” a nd infinite “tha nk yous”. A Smeg fridge? One of the 1960s design fridges in lacquer shades a nd with round corners. I like them milky, sa nd a nd a zure. Perhaps this fridge though,

like, I’m here beca use of x, or I just need to talk to you for a moment, or maybe, I have your pizza. I wrinkled my nose. The rape fa ntasy ca me back. I didn’t pa rticula rly fa ncy Ba mbino but the funda mental fact of his presence outside my corridor, the fact of this grown person who’d had a solo

now towering a nd shimmering in my imagina tion, is sta inless steel. Very tall, very cool to touch. When I open the door a nd see Ba mbino with it, he is lifting it

exhibition a t the South London gallery, there for me, as if I were still in the ga me, was too fa ntastical. I wa nted to say something but a t this point things were

with two ha nds (a nother impossibility), keeping it in front of his torso like a child. Ba mbino’s skin is sta inless steel as well, as is his cock. If I’m butter, then he’s a hot knife. “I know you’re in there.” His voice interrupted my silent rumina tions. “I hea rd you.” I ca ught my brea th, then let out a voiceless sigh. Ba mbino sounded firm, with a tinge of a nnoya nce but still in control. Wha t the fuck, why wouldn’t he say something

irremedia bly weird. So I let him wa it outside my door for some more minutes (three, according to the ca t clock on the wall). Did Ba mbino know I wasn’t a citizen? The sudden thought filled me with dread. I left my post in front of the closed door a nd ra n to the window. I put both ha nds on the windowsill a nd took in as much a ir as I could. I thought I might hyperventila te. Now Ba mbino was a US Border Pa trol inspector, here to put me on a pla ne tha t no activist could stop. A pla ne where the

only thing they give you to ea t is pea nut butter sa ndwiches, so the gra nula r paste gets stuck in my teeth a nd I ca nnot smile. Realistically, there was only one reason why Ba mbino would have walked five flights of sta irs a nd taken

socialising unless it was with somebody who could understa nd her accent, or better, her la nguage (she has plenty of friends a nd doesn’t consider this a flaw, but a preference).

the time to show up here, without wa rning, just Would my mum like Ba mbino? Surely she would find the calling in, like a n Irish neighbour. Wha t’s worse, having to say yes forcibly, having to nickna me silly, a nd insist on open the door, letting the basic facts of hospitality calling him Rya n, his actual kick in, offering him a glass of wa ter a nd maybe the na me, ignoring the ba by face bourbon tha t was the only booze left in the house? gimmick a nd the hood vibe he Or looking cra zy, brea thing behind a closed door? literally exudes from every Or like, I thought, should I turn all the lights off a nd pore. She would pronounce his na me delica tely, chirping bird, screa m something to make him go away? The way my making the “y” a n “ee” sound. Reea n, she would say friend Eileen pretends she’s a on our wedding day, bless iu end your femeelee. mad woma n talking gibberish Ba mbino would wea r a blue dress a nd softly ca ress to herself when she walks my belly (already full of his ba bies). home alone a t night, to make “Lea,” his bass voice seemed to shake the door a nd herself preda tor-proof? Had I me, travelling through my body from the feet up. “I done tha t, Ba mbino would will come back tomorrow evening a fter work. I’m have immedia tely realised it is not in a rush, but I wa nt it back. Ok?” never a good idea to get mixed I looked in the peephole a nd saw his gorgeous neck up with a feral cuckoo. He a nd his butt disappea r down the sta irs. would have seen in a moment Oh Ba mbino, I wa nted to tell him. I will fall in love tha t there was a reason why I with a woma n a nd leave you only a fter five or six didn’t have a pa rtner, a n yea rs of ma rriage. We will vacay in Malaga. I give Instagra m account, multiple fa ntastic a nd frequent head. Come back to me! But pa rtners, or even somebody to he was gone, a nd there was no way to verbalise the take to lunch; tha t I didn’t volca nic complexity of my hea rt. I hadn’t expected have pa rents but only one him to ca re so much a bout ma terial things. I killed immigra nt mother who was the lights a nd went to my small bedroom. Ba mbino’s doing fine but whose accent a rt was there, the pictures sta ring back a t me with was thick to the point she was their pa inted eyes. I sta rted smiling. sometimes undeciphera ble, so she normally avoided 11




Produce Portland is a brand, a retailer, a music collective, a lifestyle. Created by a series of events and a group of friends, Produce hit the public strong in late Summer 2019 opening a corner boutique in Chinatown and showcasing a nine-person line up in Fruit Cocktail at the Doug Fir. When close friends Donte Thomas and Bocha Hayes were brainstorming a clothing line they naturally thought to reach out to Jordan Carter who had been hustling his own brand, Bro Pluto aka Pluto Heights, and managing Compound, a well-known Portland retailer. Jordan had been working towards opening his own shop and was developing his relationship with a Compound regular, Wyatt Savage. Wyatt had been in similar talks with Reese Burnett, another regular Compound consigner. It was from these connections that Produce Portland began to formalize into what it has become today. The retail side of things, run primarily by Jordan, Wyatt and Reese, offers an array of high end consignment pieces, vintage sport collectables, select local brands such as Chuck Labs, Armed with Hustle or Swabkin, streetwear like Supreme, Bape, Palace or Off White, and of course, an exclusive line of Pluto Heights and the full collection of house brand, Produce. Produce Organic Records is the music side of things and is made up of a very talented crew of friends: Donte Thomas, Bocha, Chief Curry, Scooty, Reclusive, Fountaine, Julian Granade, Neal, Ki$, Corey G, Marcus McCauley, and YoungShirtMayne. Together, the collective produces a highly gifted arrangement of rap, hip-hop and other sounds as they develop projects and finish albums. 15

What started as a seed of an idea, grew into some of the ripest fruit in Portland today evident from their countless events, community involvement and release of Donte Thomas' sophomore album, Colors. It's no wonder they say it's Produce or no juice!


BOCHA / GRAPE From: Rockwood Artists' inspiration: I find inspiration from everything. From musicians, to movies, to dancing, to friends and family. Just living everyday life. How you started rapping: Back in high school, myself and a few of my friends finished an AP US History assignment, and one of them wanted to make a song, so we did. Since then, I haven’t stopped. Fave song from within the label: Marcus McCauley - Fuck Work. Fave fruit that you eat: Watermelon

CHIEF CURRY / BANANA From: South East Portland Artists' inspiration: It’s the only way to really let out my inner self. A way my other entrepreneurial avenues won’t allow me to. I’ve always been a hustler so once I felt confident I started putting my life into this. How you started rapping: Donte forced me to in sophomore year so he started writing my raps until I got good at it hahaha. Fave song from within the label: Devils Pound Cake - Donte & Ki$$ Mixed & Mastered by Chief (Myself). Fave fruit that you eat: Bananas

DONTE THOMAS / APPLE From: North East Portland Artists' inspiration: My inspiration as an artist came from not having an outlet to express myself. Not playing sports, I turned to art for my comfort zone. How you started rapping: My homie Nestle used to put me on the spot & tell all the girls at our school I could freestyle. Fave song from within the label: A$$ET$ by Ki$. Fave fruit that you eat: Pears


SCOOTY / PINEAPPLE From: Houston / Portland Artists' inspiration: Music is my anti-depressant anxiety release. How you started rapping: I’ve always played instruments and sang but one day my brother sent me a beat and asked if I could write to it and it was so effortless and natural that I can’t stop now. Fave song from within the label: Either Marcus idontwannadoanything or obviously Magentaaaa. Fave fruit that you eat: Honeydew

RECLUSIVE / AVOCADO From: North East Portland Artists' inspiration: A large portion of my inspiration stems from music, the homies, and anybody doing something that nobody ever thought they could or told them that they couldn’t. How you started with Produce: I got into photography through my love for music and passion for visual storytelling. Fave song from within the label: Emerald by Donte & Bocha. Fave fruit that you eat: strawberries

FOUNTAINE / MANGO From: Woodlawn Artists' inspiration: I was in jazz band for 8 years I heard The Cool by Lupe Fiasco, the song Gold Watch was my fave and it inspired me to produce. How you started rapping: One day my homie Tyson Tidwell brought me to SEI Studios and I learned how to produce a year later, wrote my first rap, dropped a mixtape, did a show, and caught a wave through college. Fave song from within the label: A$$ETS by Ki$ / M.A.A.N. by Bocha. Fave fruit that you eat: Mango

JULIAN GRANADE / PEACH From: South East Portland Artists' inspiration: I wanted to make dope clothes since I didn’t have enough money to buy them. How you started with Produce: My bro and I pitched $11 together and went to the mall to print our first shirt. Fave song from within the label: Petunias Fave fruit that you eat: Apples 19

KI$ / CHERRY From: Dallas, TX Artists' inspiration: Ain’t have shit so now I want shit. How you started rapping: I don’t even know. I remember a nigga just had the gift and I opened that hoe one day, and decided to use the bitch. I was like 13 and had adult bars already. Fave song from within the label: Mikey Fountaine’s “Midnight Knock.” Fave fruit that you eat: Pineapple

YOUNGSHIRTMAYNE / WAS PERSIMMON NOW WATERMELON From: North East Portland MLK ave trappin ass Artists' inspiration: The smell of Target popcorn. How you started rapping: My high school had a radio station that ran Adobe Audition and I started recording my raps in there. Fave song from within the label: Wonderland/Blang/I Dont Wanna Do Anything. Fave fruit that you eat: I don’t really have a favorite fruit but boy do I enjoy myself a good brussels sprout or a nice piece of cauliflower.

MARCUS MCCAULEY / LEMON From: North Portland Arists' inspiration: The things everybody’s afraid to talk about. How you started rapping: Me and a bunch of people were freestyling after school one day. They said I was tight so I started writing songs eventually. A few years later I started producing beats. The rest is history. Fave song from within the label: KI$ - Interview with a vampire. Fav fruit that you eat: I can dig a nice orange.

COREY G / TANGERINE From: Repping Inglewood CA Artists' inspiration: I’m inspired by my family - grew up in a family of church musicians, and I’m inspired by music of the past like Quincy Jones, Miles Davis, and Stevie Wonder. My grandpa used to own a record shop, and he kept a lot of his vinyl records. I made my first beats sampling those records. How you started rapping: I got started producing when my dad bought a copy of Fruity Loops in like 2007 or so. He introduced me to making beats and hip hop. I grew up mostly listening to gospel though. Fave song from within the label: Saphire by Donte. Fave fruit that you eat: Cherries... or strawberries. Close call. 21












explode autumn sunsets in their opaque burgundy hues remind you of Williams on our first week together when abandoned in the icebox a texture so flour-y not sweet but tangy in the back of our jaws same poem randomly in that Jim Jarmusch movie in synchrony we smile hands held in the dar k plums explode bright green or is it radioactive yellow the joy of finding them bouncing over someone's fence in Sur biton all plumpier fresher tastier stolen. you take them








I don't like plums anyway, I say.


IMA ELM T A F US HI BA Fear that resides within is indeed a brewing, conspiring affair that can interact and inflict with the very art of your living. Your ability to create,

your ability to live beyond merely existing -all diminished by the will of your hand. And fear of what one may ask? For behold is a woman! By nature,

you were made to construe a biological fashion.

A mechanical will to create life and hold the antidote of love, that is cherished eternally through the ages.

Beyond your conformity, lays your alluring nature.

Your features so bold and unrefined. TA N L I N E S

Why must one admire Michael D’Angelo,


when amidst their very eyes is art.

Such might of a woman that lays before I,

such might of a woman that lays before he. The might of a lion in form of a she.

you wander,


A raging war finding the will to emit such mighty roar


Within your trail of thoughts,

in earnest motions of wind, fire and earth and water. You wish to smite them with your glory,

to honour and conquer further by the likes of your predecessors: Pankhurst, Beauvoir, Friedan, Hooks.

They too, had taken responsibility of wielding such great greatness.

They too sacrificed and lingered within moments of fear such as yourself. Rest assured difficult roads lay ahead.

For the road untraveled is not paved nor parallel, not by any means.

The battles you must face, by the will of yourself

- you shall rid all ‘be gone’ with might and grace. They would utter such words:

‘here before us lies a woman with a big mouth, a woman that has no means to unite the world -never mind the North and South.’ Yet here before yourself you stand. A woman,

which by no means does that entail to be a weakness.

You WILL be woman that will no longer be loudly opinionated, just within her residing mind.

You ARE a woman that shows no promise of reform, nor oppression.

And you shall never know of consuming fear again. Living for the moment, in the moment.

Using procured wounds of living

as a remembrance and glory of your past curiosities. 31

I have not broken in a way unassemblable to tap into a crust

all that is taken & left half eaten the Bermuda triangle in my aerated heart the matter of vanishing

& being found cast bones of meaning all words lost with this misused system of learning circulation poor

a wrap cannot fix this battle

I am accomplished at diss tracks I wish I was

I am too new age to hate you but I find my way around it I tweet an admonishment I vent in person

& read self help books the years of sealing breaches every vision a light leak these forming peaks

wearing as soon as a height is reached our prime a dissolving thread NATHAN WADE CARTER

of a thing

and me my own planted panting






When was the last real question was how you And yet time is precious. I time you looked at the would manage to hear and know that because I spend world? Really looked, like find them all. You probably more than half of my waking

you did that very first time. When your eyes opened, watering from all that majesty spread out before you. I bet you were speechless. Maybe you cried, most of us do.

Countless possibilities and sights beyond what you could even conceive and something new around every corner. It was the kind of experience that puts a spark in your eye, telling everyone that this moment is a first for you and perhaps through you, they can relive that first time, too. A feeling of youth that starts in one and, not unlike a virus, spreads and spreads and spreads. Symptoms include coming upon doors you had never noticed and finding fresh experiences on the other side. Joy, wonder, and imagination all hiding right under your nose the entire time. Everyone was a story longing to be heard. Every place hid secrets waiting to be discovered. That much was obvious. The

tried to write these stories only to find all of them all coming out at once, a nonsensical string of apparently unrelated words. You might have snuck into peculiar places looking for treasures only to have your curiosity mistaken for delinquency. Either way, your ambitions were interrupted. And right before the best part, too.

hours working to pay the bills. More time driving to a building that houses a nondescript desk then driving back than caring for my children. That’s a bitter pill to swallow.

All that majesty haunts me. I wonder if that world still exists beyond my fading memories.

The truth is if we’re honest, this feeling describes most of us with horrifying detail, yet we refuse to so much as acknowledge the fact aloud. We all know and none of us will say a thing. Others may suffer the pains of thinking they alone must endure such thoughts, but we would prefer to hear the agonies of another over admitting the truth.

This isn’t news. You probably felt this way before too. No, this is set dressing for the real insight. The revelation that takes a bleak view of the world and restores it to the child-like wonder we all You haven’t stopped remember. searching, have you? The door you had never I sincerely hope not. noticed is about to open.

Somewhere along the way, the glimmering sights dulled for me. It’s not my eyes, at least not in the way I mean, but recently I noticed how quickly the time seems to pass by. Lately, it feels like the hours are slipping through my fingers until days and Is it sad or ironic that a few weeks go without so much honest words might save us as a memory to show for all? them.


There is no air conditioning in Germany. In the months I lived in Berlin, it did not seem to bother anyone but me. Hair plastered to my forehead and sweat pooling in my Doc Martens, I would descend unwillingly into the airless hell-scape that was the subway. I gasped for oxygen, muttering curses at the blissful couples who locked lips and wrapped their arms around each other until their armpit hair intertwined. Berliners were blissfully unaware or maddeningly accepting of the heat. To them, stifling subway cars were just free saunas. Leave a loaf of muenster cheese on your countertop for five minutes in the mid-afternoon? Lucky you! You just got yourself some free fondue. Hanna Brandt



MOHAMMAD METRI / MR. LEO ISOLATED | 2017 pg. 26 Producer: Mohammad Metri Model: Sarvenaz Yaqobian Stylist: Mohammad Metri MUA: Mohammad Metri Locale: Karaj, Iran @mohammadmetri

CARLIE HOFFMAN PALE | 2015 pg. 23 @carlieelianahoffman

NATHAN WADE CARTER DISS TRACK | 2018 pg. 33 @purrbot



ERIKA LEE SEARS LIPSTICKS | 2019 pg. 38 @erikaleesears

PRODUCE PORTLAND / PRODUCE ORGANIC RECORDS PRODUCE OR NO JUICE pg. 14-21 Photographers: @reclusiveimages, @milesblaq, @connortoday, @24pxl

FATIMA ELMUSBAHI BIG MOUTH | 2018 pg. 30-31 @fatimaelmusbahi HANNA BRANDT SUMMER IN BERLIN | 2019 pg. 37 @weekend_hat JARED OLIVAS UNTITLED | 2019 pg. 39 @daydreamjared JAYNEE WATSON VESSELS FOR OUR FILTH #04 | 2018 pg. 12 Photographer: Mario Gallucci @jayneewatsonart JUSTIN ANANTAWAN PORTRAITS OF SUSAN KHAN cover Model: Susan Khan @justin_anantawan KSUSHA ITWAZCOOL INDIVISIBILITY BRO / HUNGRY pg. 2, 22 @itwazcool MASSIMO NOTA I'M HERE / MOVE pg. 32, 40

SERENA BRAIDA BAMBINO | 2019 pg. 8-11 @serenabraida SHON-LUEISS HARRIS SPEAK TRUTH | 2019 pg. 34-35 @lo_pellegrino YESSICA KLEIN PLUMS | 2018 pg. 29 @yessicaklein

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