LEO Weekly, March 26, 2025 by Big Lou Holdings

News

Editorial

Will Doty

Kelsey Knott

CREATIVE

Creative Director - Haimanti Germain

Graphic Designer - Aspen Smit

DIRECTOR

Marsha Blacker CONTRIBUTORS

Rob Brezney

Ezra Knapp

Dan

Tre Dasher

EAT, DRINK AND SEE IN THIS WEEK’S STAFF PICKS

MARCH 30

Kentucky Vintage Festival

Greyline Station | 101 W. Loudon Avenue | $5+ | https://events.humanitix.com/kentuckyvintage-fest-7/tickets | 11am-5pm

The Kentucky Vintage Festival is making its much-anticipated return on Sunday, March 30, 2025. With over 60 vendors showcasing their carefully curated collections, this festival is a haven for those who appreciate the charm and uniqueness of vintage items. Shoppers can expect to find an eclectic mix of vintage clothing, jewelry, accessories, and home decor, each piece carrying its own story and history. Attendees can not only shop for unique items but also enjoy the ambiance and nostalgia that vintage items evoke. Whether you’re searching for that perfect statement piece for your wardrobe or a conversation starter for your home, the Kentucky Vintage Festival is the place to be.

—LEO Weekly Staff

THURSDAY, APRIL 3

Masta Killa (of Wu-Tang Clan)

The first time Wu-Tang Clan member and hip-hop legend Masta Killa ever performed on a record, doing the very first verse he’d ever written, was on “Da Mystery of Chessboxin” from Wu-Tang Clan’s legendary debut album Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers), meaning Killa has been rap royalty from day one! Known for his smooth lyrical style and conscious rhymes, he’s been on every Wu-Tang album to date as well as his four solo records. Now’s your chance to catch this hip-hop icon up close in a small venue setting as Masta Killa brings the album release tour for his upcoming fifth solo record Balance to Zanzabar. Check out “BK Harlem” (featuring Head I.C.E.), the first single from the album, streaming now.

— Jeff Polk

MARCH 31-APRIL 6

Louisville Taco Week

Louisville & Southern Indiana | https:// tacoweeklouisville.com/ | $2.50 tacos

We’re bringing you $2.50 tacos from some of Louisville’s most popular taco joints. Each participating Louisville Taco Week restaurant will be offering their own unique tacos. Let the official Taco Week app take you on a Louisville exploration; map out your week, try new restaurants, challenge your taste buds, and share your experiences on social media with other Louisville taco lovers. Minimum of 3 tacos per order. Those who check in four or more times through the app will be entered to win $250 in restaurant gift cards. We will be awarding our top point winner with the title of Louisville’s Biggest Taco Fanatic and $250 in restaurant gift cards. Watch the app daily for contests!

—LEO Weekly Staff

THURSDAY, APRIL 3

The Circle of Caring Dinner

Wesley House | 5114 Preston Hwy | $125+ | wesleyhousecommunityservices.com/ | 6 p.m.

Join the Wesley House for their annual Circle of Caring Dinner - a fundraising event focused on uplifting a member of their community that embodies the mission of Wesley House and raising funds for their next year of giving. Enjoy a VIP Reception, Bourbon tasting, and silent auction, all while celebrating the collective impact that has been made on the community. If you aren’t able to attend in-person, you have the option to donate $50 for a Bourbon pull, with a chance to take home a mystery bottle of bourbon.

—Ezra Knapp

APRIL 3

Jockey Silk Paint Party Benefitting Casting For Recovery

The B.A. Colonial Restaurant | 818 W. Kenwood Drive | $5 | https://www.facebook.com/ events/624305087019691/ | 7pm-9pm

Join in the fun at the Second Annual Jockey Silk Paint Party on Thursday, April 3rd, from 7-9pm at The B.A. Colonial Restaurant. All skill levels are encouraged to attend. Enjoy a good meal downstairs prior to the event and then head upstairs to paint your jockey silk door hanger. Then, through Oaks Day, guests will vote on their favorite jockey silk. The B.A. Colonial will announce the winner on Derby Day, with the winner receiving a $50 gift card AND a hand-made, giant paint brush trophy. Tickets are required from the host at the front door to secure your jockey silk to paint with the proceeds from ticket sales benefitting Casting for Recovery.

LEO Weekly Staff

FRIDAY, APRIL 4

What do you do when The Response guitarist/vocalist and one-half of Partners & Pals Productions, Sean Magnum, turns 40-something? You put together a hell of a show featuring four of the area’s best punk rock bands to celebrate! Expect wild, fast, loud, punk rock and roll from Godawfuls, poppy Ramonesesque punk from Mommy’s Cigarettes, grimy old-school punk rock by The Response, and the proto-punk meets garage punk of Shock Probation. And it’s all hosted by the queen of prag night herself, Jules. Wish Sean a happy birthday by demanding The Response play “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together”! —Jeff

Polk

SATURDAY, APRIL 5

Paristown Garden Show

Paristown Arts District | 720 Brent St | Free! | paristown.com/gardenshow | 10 a.m.

Fulfill all your gardening needs at the Paristown Garden Show, in partnership with Fleur de Flea Vintage Market and Master Gardeners of Jefferson County. Browse the booths for flowers and plants, vintage items, artisan garden décor, and so much more! Attend one of the talks from green-thumb experts to gain knowledge on all things garden, and make sure to check out the family-friendly children’s activity area. This event is entirely outdoors, so dress accordingly or pack a rain jacket and get a little muddy.

—Ezra Knapp

SATURDAY, APRIL 12

Feel the Thunder at the Muhammad Ali Center

Muhammad Ali Center | 144 N 6th St | $65 | alicenter.org/events/ | Doors Open at 12 p.m.

Come watch the awe-inspiring Thunder Over Louisville air, firework, and drone show with incredible views from the Muhammad Ali Center. This experience includes all-day access to the exhibits within the museum, plus food and drink will be available for purchase. You will have access to clean restrooms and indoor or outdoor viewing spaces to watch Thunder all throughout the night!

—Ezra Knapp

SATURDAY, APRIL 5

Young Widows Record Release Show with Cherubs, Porcelain, and Bad Wires

Power Sucker, Young Widow’s first new studio album in over 11 years, just dropped on March 21st. Come celebrate the release at Zanzabar where, to my understanding, Young Widows will be playing the full album live for the first and perhaps only time! This show also serves as a tour kickoff and features Austin, TX noise rock legends Cherubs, who are celebrating 30 years of their highly influential and criminally underrated album Heroin Man. Also on the bill are Austin, TX future noise rock legends Porcelain, and Louisville’s own Bad Wires, who are quickly becoming noise rock legends themselves. You are definitely not going to want to miss this!

—Jeff Polk

SUNDAY, APRIL 13

“Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon: The Super Live” Tour

Kentucky Performing Arts Center | 501 W Main St | $46+ | tickets. kentuckyperformingarts.org/ | 7 p.m.

Calling all anime and manga fans - the Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon: The Super Live tour is coming to Louisville! This incredible 2.5D musical experience will take you through action, heartfelt moments, friendship, and justice, all with the iconic music of Sailor Moon to guide the way. The all-female Japanese cast will dazzle the audience with show-stopping choreography and awesome stunts, all put together for an electrifying performance.

—Ezra Knapp

APRIL 6

Pissed On, Star Student, Why DOMS, and Widaparte

Yeah, I know, it’s a Sunday night show and you gotta go to work or school the next morning. But just trust me that this is one you’re not going to want to miss! First off you get Pissed On, who are celebrating their 10th year of Louisville grindcore domination. And you’re also getting experimental emo/pop band Star Student out of Chicago and Detroit, who are on tour for their brand new album We’ll Make It Home One Day. And you definitely don’t want to miss the undisputed tag-team champions of Louisville rap Why DOMS, (God, I love that they ran with that!) And last but not least, the Louisville debut of Paducah emoviolence band Widaparte. Yes, it’s definitely worth it!

—Jeff Polk

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 16

Voice of Nature: The Anthropocene with Renée Fleming

Kentucky Performing Arts Center | 501 W Main St | $45+ | louisvilleorchestra.org/ | 7:30 p.m.

The Louisville Orchestra will be hosting Renée Fleming, America’s most celebrated soprano, for their Spring Gala event - Voice of Nature: The Anthropocene. The performance is inspired by Fleming’s GRAMMY Award-winning album Voice of Nature: The Anthropocene, and will include visuals from the National Geographic Society to create an immersive and breathtaking experience telling the story of the beauty and fragility of our planet. There will also be a pre-concert reception, featuring cocktails, hors d’oeuvres, and engaging displays showing the Louisville Orchestra’s innovative programming.

—Ezra Knapp

Literary LEO 2025

Louisville’s favorite literary journal is back

Literary LEO returned this year with another round of submissions from our readers. We continue to be thankful for our supporters, and we were impressed with the amount of talent that our community has. Our team selected 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place winners in Black and White Photography, Color Photography, Short Fiction, Poetry, and Cartoons, in addition to a handful of honorable mentions as well.

Photography can provide the viewer an opportunity to step into the story that the photographer is trying to tell. There are photography tricks of the trade and rules of

thumb, but your submissions took us inside their point of view and introduced us to their art. Both Black and White and Color categories saw a common theme throughout their entries, many focusing on the environment, nature, landscape, and inspiration.

Short Fiction submissions provided a mixture of stories that hit close to home, ones that told of perspectives we would have never thought of, and encapsulations of creations that made us both laugh and cry. Each of these stories has their own flair, their own atmosphere, never truly touching in tone or genre,

rather a breadth of creation from Louisville’s finest contributors.

This year’s Literary LEO Poetry submissions spanned across many topics, styles, rhyme schemes, and tones. From witty pieces addressing modern-day issues, to heartwarming reminders of the beauty of life, or a remembrance of things we have lost, all of the pieces submitted evoked powerful emotions and spoke directly to the readers.

We hope you enjoy the selections and are inspired to submit for next year!

By LEO Weekly

Staff

Louisville Ballet

By David Kelm

BLACK AND WHITE PHOTOGRAPHY HONORABLE MENTION

By Tre Dasher

Comida

by Precious Perez

It was Friday, September 10, when I boarded a plane that landed in New York City’s La Guardia airport. I was coming in for an award show that was taking place the following evening and had coordinated my short stay with my Titi Lisa. My anxiety eased as I slid into the back seat of the Uber that would take me to the Bronx. A smile played across my lips under my pink mask as I settled in, knowing that I’d be home soon.

“Hi mami!” My eighty-seven-year-old great Grandma Carmen was waiting for me outside the apartment building, her ever-present smile evident in her warm weathered voice punctuated by that broken English accent I knew so well. She placed my hand on her shoulder, her short,delicate frame slowly maneuvering us both through the doors and into the elevator along with my small pink suitcase.

“Dios te bendiga. How yu doin, Puly?” Her questions were etched with curiosity and joy, catching up with me as she got me

settled in for a nap on titi’s bed. I could do nothing but beam, the Spanish version of everything I said to Grandma Carmen in English lingering on the tip of my tongue. I’ve always spoken to her in English, so I’ve always felt too shy to change that, but Grandma didn’t mind.

Lying in the comfort of Titi Lisa’s bed, I relaxed into nostalgia. The sounds of the bustling streets below, everything from Bad Bunny to Raulin Rodriguez blaring from car speakers and echoing up to the open windows, Grandma’s voice ringing through the house while she cleaned and clambered around the kitchen. I felt like I was small again, being taken care of and watched over by my great-grandma the way I had been on trips to New York with my mom when I was a little girl. Except today, I was newly married and twenty-four. I fell asleep that afternoon, soothed by warmth and love after being exhausted from early morning anxiety.

When I awoke, the distinctive blend of sofrito, adobo, and sazon filled my nostrils. As I listened, I could hear rice and beans being turned on the stove, simmering under the lid of the pot as they cooked to perfection. I heard the clang of pots and pans and the running of the faucet. I thought about

to share. I thought about my Grandma Janet’s rice and beans, the olives sprinkled throughout emulating her iron will, her love and tenderness fueled by her fire. I thought about my Titi Norma’s rice and beans, so rich wih the story of growth, unity, and joy with every bite. I thought about Titi Flora’s rice and beans, so warm and delectable the way she is both strong and tender. I thought about my godmother who I call nina’s rice, usually complemented by homemade ribs the way her love is bolstered by her dedication and warm hugs. I thought about my mom’s rice and beans, so heavenly that one bite leaves me ravenous yet needing to savor every grain, and I miss it after only a week of officially moving away. Mom’s rice is just like the way my mom’s love, strength, independence, and support are constant, deep, unmistakable, and undeniable. I thought about all the rice and beans I’ve eaten so masterfully made by every powerful woman in my family, and how they were all familiar and incredible, yet, I could always tell whose hands had sprinkled their love into every last bit. I realized then, in the midst of my reverie that food is so much more than survival or nutrients. Comida es cultura, amor, y familia. I can’t wait for the day when I get to fill my family’s bellies and hearts with the same love and strength that filled me. I know that no matter how hard I try, it will never taste quite like my mom’s. That’s okay, though, because it will taste like mine.

how grandma’s hands, even with arthritis making them shaky and pained, still had the love and strength to make dinner and ensure that I ate a heaping plate complemented by a cool bottle of water. The rice and beans, steaming on the paper plate next to tender and flavorful chicken, filled my stomach the way her love filled my heart.

As I sat there, smiling and reveling in the nostalgia of the moment, I realized that the food staples in front of me were the same, but each person had a way of sprinkling in their touch so that I could tell who made it.

Just like Grandma Carmen, her rice was hardy and yet flavorful and smooth, the caldito melding in perfect harmony with the tender chicken that fell off the bone as I lifted it. I thought about how strong grandma is, having moved here to New York City from Puerto Rico, being the rock for not only her daughter, but for her granddaughters who call her mom. I thought about how much heart she has, her endless smiles, lively laughter, and love for us all.

I thought about Titi Lisa’s rice and beans, so fresh and healthy, vegetables mixing in for good measure. In my view, they represent the way she is strong and solid, with so much depth, passion, and knowledge

taxus baccata

by Jillian Cypress

i would like to be a yew tree ancient morbid toxic

not a delicate rose grown for its beauty or a mulberry bush only valued for fruit it can bear

no, i would be a yew a symbol of death and doom

a protector of animals houser of birds fuel for moths

found in a church yard nine hundred years old

coffin of the vine strong durable indestructible all parts poisonous

SHORT FICTION FIRST PLACE WINNER

POETRY FIRST PLACE WINNER

By Robert Dorzback

Another Man Executed

by Clayy Edward

When I hear another man was executed for a crime he didn’t commit, I think of Emmitt Till and how his blood still runs through the Mississippi Delta. Staining the hands of those who ignored his screams that still haunt the towns where ghosts roam looking for another body to join his.

Where the ash from church bombings in the 60s still choke the air, and maybe that’s why we can’t breathe.

I think of the stories that southern trees could tell about the same lynchings that were hung out of our textbooks and left to dry.

Like Black men walking into corner stores scanning the aisles for spirits not knowing they’re about to become one as the clerk clutches the gun hidden behind the counter.

I can feel the electric shock waves run a marathon from my head to my feet as my hands grip at my knees.

The same way Marcellus Williams gripped the armrests of the chair he sat strapped in; bound to the same Bible Belt noose that hung around Javion Magee’s neck. Both waiting for the lever to be pulled as the priest spouts a prayer of blessed wickedness.

SHORT FICTION SECOND PLACE WINNER

ROADKILL

by Calvin Bright

Benny sat pompous as a king on the cherry velvet truck bench—threadbare, with the springs showing through. He was a scrappy blue heeler type, with a bloodline so muddled that Rackshack would say he was part deer. The lady had told him that Benny was as “Santa Fe a dog as they come,” which is what they tell you when they hand you a mutt in that city where every damn dog has at least one blue eye and a coat that looks as if it was on the wrong side of the street when a truck hit a mud puddle. Rackshack had picked Benny up that time he drove across the desert just to prove a point. And Benny had the same look as Rackshack when the deer spoke.

It had been a routine day. Rackshack woke up early to “catch the morning rush,” which is what he called it when his answering machine was full after folks had spent all night smashing into any kind of unsuspecting animal. Mostly, the types who called were mothers taking their children to the bus at first light, just to expose them to a carnage fit only for the highest of pagan gods. For

Rackshack, it was an unmemorable morning. Gas station coffee, the radio, and Benny— that was all Rackshack needed to run his Roadkill Pick-up Service. It had started in high school when Rackshack decided he had graduated from being the bait shop boy who could pick out the best worms to a sixteen-year-old with a truck who wanted to make some real money. Turns out, he had been onto something, because his halfbrained idea proved to be a highly lucrative affair. It seemed folks were willing to pay a premium for roadkill to be picked up off their streets rather than wait a week or two for the county to get to it. After all, there were plenty of critter collisions in Eastern Kentucky, where the tag limit on deer was eleven and country roads were a way of life. And so, Rackshack had stuck with it all these years.

That’s why it was a big deal when the deer spoke. Rackshack could say he had finally seen something new.

“Ten thousand years it has been, and in one day, no more! You have had your chance to correct your course, and annihilation is due. But if you heed my warning and go on my quest, you may save your kind from utter damnation. You need only say ‘yes.’”

It was a bit melodramatic, but it really packed a punch coming out of the mouth of a ten-pointer. Rackshack and Benny met each other’s eyes, wondering if the other had heard it too.

Slowly, Rackshack began to think on what the deer had said. Only the rasping of geese could be heard as they stared into the back of the truck, where lay the greatest phenomenon ever witnessed by an unbelieving man. Rackshack,

Pausing only long enough for them to count down with the last memories of freedom they have. Like a Black boy sitting in his 9th grade English class wondering why society wants to kill a mockingbird while the caged bird sings songs of freedom behind the same bars that are waiting for him.

thinking hard on what to do, slowly closed the tailgate, paused, whistled at Benny, got back into the truck— and the deer was never thought about again.

Moon and Dogwood

INJUSTICE LEAGUE PETER GUTTMACHER

POETRY

Pavlov’s Human

by Lee Chottiner

Dawn yawning through the window I sit on the sofa the basset sleeping at my side silently sharing this medicine

but for the tone a cell phone makes rhythmically repeatedly urgently imploring me to read my unread texts

I stiffen with every tone not unlike the ticks from the metronome Pavlov used to make his dogs drool

He set the metronome’s speed making his pack salivate at sequences of his choosing

My glands secrete nothing My dog barely stirs

My body though knows the tone reacting every time conditioned by the long-dead Russian who knew not what he’d do to me

I am a creature of my conditions my modern metronome one step shy of making me salivate my freedom away

Men Are Bad at Compliments

by Daniel Slaski

In the Chauffers’ Rest glade of Cherokee Park, a man stands alone. The man’s name is Scott.

By Rachel Geveden

He’s an average-looking 34-year-old, dressed in a way that would be appropriate for a backyard Sunday barbeque. A second man emerges from the woods, Ryan.

“You should wear a suit more often. You look sharp in a suit,” Scott says.

“Thanks,” replies Ryan. They stand in silence.

Ryan, rigidly pivoting from his ankles, slowly shifts his body weight from left to right and then back to left. Scott looks up at an indistinct spot in the sky and then another indistinct spot in the sky.

“I got your letter,” Ryan blurts out.

“Well, obviously,” Scott says snarkily.

“I followed the instructions exactly. ‘Be at this latitude and longitude, on May 6, 2017, at

2:45 p.m. in order to receive a compliment.’ It felt like an occasion, so I wore a suit. Anyway, here I am,” Ryan explains gleefully.

Scott scuffs the ground with his shoe. Ryan shifts his lips, like he’s warming up for a monologue he won’t deliver.

“Can I ask you a question?” asks Ryan.

“Sure,” replies Scott.

“What if I hadn’t worn this suit?”

Scott furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

“What compliment would you have given me if I hadn’t worn this suit?”

“That’s irrelevant,” Scott snubs.

Ryan persists. “It’s just that, as you know, I don’t wear suits much, so you probably didn’t expect me to show up in one. You must have had something else prepared.”

“I never prepare compliments. I come with an open and honest intention to compliment extemporaneously and with purity of heart. What if I planned to compliment your hair, but without me knowing, you had gotten a horrible haircut?” Scott clarifies, arm gesticulating for emphasis.

“Okay, sure, sure. But let’s—just for fun— presuppose I hadn’t worn a suit. Like, a divergent, parallel universe where that reality happens instead of this one. What compliment would you give me in that world?”

“We can’t know that,” Scott quickly concludes.

Ryan sighs. “I don’t think it’s a stretch to imagine, really. Knowing yourself, knowing me, knowing your process for complimenting—If you paused and thought about it for a second, I’m sure it would come right to you.”

Scott’s posture becomes stiff and tall. “There are three factors required for a good compliment:

One, authenticity.

Two, accuracy.

Three, rarity.

Creating more compliments could lead to hyperinflation and ultimately a recession. A collapse of the compliment economy would be catastrophic for self-esteem. We live in a civilized society, and I can’t be responsible for that. I won’t be responsible for that,”

“I understand. I really do,” Ryan says, voice tinged with desperation. “But it’s just us here. I won’t tell anyone else. I’m not really even asking for another compliment, per se, in the sense that I won’t absorb it. I just want to know what it would have been, as a thought exercise. It’s a way to catalog and better understand my own self-improvement process. I assure you, no harm will be done.”

“I was very precise in my letter’s verbiage: ‘to receive a compliment.’ I didn’t, for example, write ‘to be complimented’ or ‘compliments.’ I certainly didn’t use any adverbs like ‘showered,’ or ‘bathed.’

A compliment. Singular. And it has been given. As far as I’m concerned, our business here is concluded.” Scott says harshly. Both men are visibly agitated. Chests slightly puffed, nostrils flared for increased air intake, knees bent—lowering their center of gravity, primed for quick movement. “Okay. No problem. Let’s change topics. I actually wanted to tell you about this new gym I joined. The place is in this cool

SHORT FICTION THIRD PLACE WINNER

INJUSTICE LEAGUE PETER GUTTMACHER

old warehouse, it’s like CrossFit but more approachable, I think you would really like it. I have been going five days a week. I’m in the best shape of my life. Can you tell?” Ryan fishes.

Scott rolls his eyes. “Are you serious?”

“You always do this!” Ryan yells.

“What?” asks Scott.

“Pull stuff like this!” Ryan blurts out.

“Invite you to a beautiful outdoor setting to give you a compliment? A compliment that is extremely sought after for its high market value and stability?” Scott defends.

The two men start moving in a circle. As Ryan moves, Scott counters, maintaining equal distance. Their primate aggression escalating from display to action.

“Everyone looks good in a suit,” Ryan snaps. “I need something individual. Something I can use. I have waited for a long time for this compliment. I’ve paid my dues. I came here today to get a compliment I can use, and I intend to do exactly that.

Even if I have to take it.”

Ryan lurches forward in an all-out sprint.

Twenty paces.

Scott looks surprised but remains composed.

Ten paces.

Ryan barrels toward him. Scott stands his ground.

Five paces.

Ryan widens his arms mid-stride, preparing to tackle.

Two paces.

Ryan leaps forward.

Simultaneously, Scott drops to the ground. With rage-filled eyes, Ryan soars over Scott and then crashes face-first into the dusty earth.

As Ryan lies on the ground, bruised and dazed, Scott walks toward the tree line. Before disappearing into the forest, he turns back to Ryan and pauses.

“You need to get a new suit,” he advises.

POETRY HONORABLE MENTION

In Memoriam

by Shelly Taylor

Greed eats itself from the inside out Teeth capped in fear

Filled with hate

Gnawing

Like a starving dog on a bone

The three poisons Are relentless Greed Delusion Hate

Godspeed America, I will always love you, You Motherless child

by Pete Stavros

You sit there, and watch, and manage not to grimace as the nurse pierces your skin and slides the slender silver needle in your vein, purplish and puckered after she tied if off with a rubber cord to get it to wake, sleepy, like you, at this early hour. She tells you to relax and you say to yourself “yeah sure, okay, fine, why didn’t I think of that?” as she connects the IV and routinely taps a few buttons and suddenly what would be poison in any other circumstance begins to race inside the circuitous route of the tube dangling from a plastic bag suspended above your head by a shiny metal stand and then into you. It feels unnervingly cold as you trace its path up your arm before vanishing deeper.

You do try to relax, and you have been trying to relax ever since the doctor, white lab coat, typing into his laptop, hunt and peck, informed you that you needed this treatment. But it’s easier said than done, particularly when you’re not entirely sure what they’re dumping into your blood, only that it’s supposed to be a cure and at this point, when nothing has worked and it’s about damn time you start to get well, all you can do is trust that everyone knows what the hell they’re doing. You sigh and slip on your headphones and hit shuffle on the Spotify app and let chance, or the algorithm, decide what you’re in the mood to listen to, and lean back in the rigid olive green vinyl-covered chair with the worn footrest, and close your eyes, and think about everything, and nothing, but you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to die. It could be from this disease, or it could be from something different, something completely random and unexpected: a distracted tourist on a runaway scooter, a bone in a can of tuna. It’s going to happen regardless, the one certainty, because you’re no longer young and indestructible.

It causes you to consider if you’ve done enough with your life, and you’re convinced you haven’t. But it’s always this way, each time you find yourself in this situation, more times than you deserve, your own mortality breathing on your neck, hot and stale, when you vow to do more with what life you have left, an ever-diminishing sum. But then you move on, succeeding, somehow, to increase the distance between you and death, or so you guess, and life moves on, as it always does, as it always will, until it doesn’t, and you abandon the promise you made to yourself. Not this time, you swear, as you drift off to sleep.

You have that dream again, that dream you have during periods of distress: you, trapped inside a haunted house, sometimes your own house, sometimes your house from growing up, sometimes a house you don’t recognize. You’re in this haunted house, and you’re being attacked by the ghosts that have overtaken the place. You never really see them, these shapeless, shifting spirits. You can only sense their presence, and you’re quite aware they mean you harm. So you fight them off, a battle royale, with everything you have, every bit of energy and effort, an exertion, even in your

By Lori Roberts

dream, like nothing you’ve ever experienced. You fight, and you fight, and you fight. And you’re tired, and you’re beat, and you’re scared as shit of these ghosts, a near paralyzing terror. Yet you fight nevertheless. Something pushes you to persist, to keep going no matter what, and besides, there’s no alternative. You swing your arms wildly, and you kick your legs madly, and you yell, and you scream, and you curse. You struggle to exorcise these ghosts from this house, whatever house this might be, before you awaken with a startle and a gasp.

You sit there and watch as the nurse slides the slender silver needle from your vein with a splattering of crimson drops as the spiky tip emerges. She presses a cotton ball at the point of insertion and directs you to hold it in place while she tapes it down. Then she tells you, nonchalantly, as if she’s making small talk about the weather or the price of eggs, that you’re “all set” and it instantly strikes you that never has that phrase been more inaccurately

INJUSTICE LEAGUE D-REGULATOR

applied than as applied to you at this moment because you’re anything but “all set” with a bagful of poison lurking beneath your surface. The nurse hands you an appointment card for the next dose, like you could forget these sessions, then dismisses you to go, to return to what you would be doing if you didn’t have to spend a Wednesday morning at the hospital, to carry on as if none of this was occurring. She eases you from that awful chair that left you with a crick in your neck and an ache in your back, and leads you across the scuffed linoleum floor into the hectic hallway. You pause to acclimate to upright, lightheaded and stumbling to regain your balance. Once you’re able, you walk down the hall past the other rooms of everyone else in their attempts to get well too, resisting the urge to peek in on any of them, and out of the building, out into the harsh, unforgiving sunlight of just another day as far as the rest of the world is concerned.

On The Lookou

On the Subject of Religion

by Brianna Misamore

I tilted my head back and downed another shot, cringing as it burned all the way down. I’d lost count of how many I’d taken. Sam, the bartender, glanced my way, checking on me in his own way. Normally he never asked questions, as long as I paid the tab he’d continue to supply me drinks and swiftly remove the evidence of any transgressions. On rare occasions he’d cut me off and mutter something about how I was wasting my life away. I could see from his eyes it was coming. I closed my eyes and waited to hear his deep voice trying to whisper “Grace, you know you’re better than this.” My hand gripped the counter searching for some sense of stability. I knew I needed to stop, but I wanted more. Grandmother always said I was a glutton and I would burn in hell for it. I tried to focus my breathing to stop the spinning and the oncoming panic attack. Opening my eyes I realized Sam had never come by, I scanned the room hoping I could convince him I was okay enough for another drink. I needed to forget who I was tonight. Who am I kidding at this point it wasn’t just tonight. If it was, I wouldn’t be a regular at this bar.

My eyes finally found Sam, he was in the back corner of the room turned away from me. Over his shoulder I could see a woman twirling her dark hair and giggling at whatever was being said. Leaning forward I sighed, so much for getting his attention. Sam was good at two things: flirting and making drinks. And pulling him away from that woman would be nearly impossible. I fumbled around in my coat pocket trying to find the bills I’d crammed in there earlier. I tossed them on the counter and spun away from the bar a little too quickly. Dizziness kicked in and I felt myself losing strength in my legs. The stair railing leading to the bar basement was close enough to latch onto before I hit the ground. My hand grazed the railing barely missing and just before I completely

By Elizabeth Partin

made a fool of myself a pair of hands reached out and pulled me to my feet. Once I was able to focus again my eyes trailed up to the man who had caught me. “Uh thanks.” I mumbled.

A look of concern washed over his face or was it pity? I couldn’t quite tell and I wasn’t going to stare at him long enough to figure it out.

“Are you okay miss, it seems you may have had a few too many. Can I help or maybe walk you home?”

Pity but masking it as concern I decided. “Thank you but I am completely fine and capable of getting myself home. I don’t need your charity. I simply tripped.” I forced myself to make eye contact and hoped that my eyes weren’t too glazed over that it would give away my lie. His dark brown eyes masked any opinion he had of the situation. It was

then that I noticed the white collar and long black cassock he was wearing. Before he could respond I said “What is a priest doing in a place like this? I would think you would stay away from such filth.” I hoped the remark would unnerve him.

He chuckled “I am only training to be one as of now. I’m studying at the local seminary. As for my being here, this is generally where people come when they are at their lowest. So I hold a prayer circle in the basement and allow anyone who needs to talk or seek council to meet me there. Some people find going to the church to be too much.”

The dizziness and now slight nausea began taking over again. I couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or my disdain for the church causing it this time. “So you exploit people who have no where else to turn?” I hoped the bite in my voice sounded as venomous as I wanted it to.

He gave her a soft sad smile. “ I like to think of it as being an aid for lost souls.”

I decided it was time to end the conversation before I said something I would deeply regret. Stabilizing, I began to turn away.

Behind me he said “I hope to see you again, either in the church or maybe you’ll make your way to me here. God exists to provide love and hope.”

My anger flared and I whirled around on the man “Tell me what God existed as I watched my fathers hands wrap around my delicate mothers throat? Where was he once the bottle was drained and the glass was shattered across the kitchen floor. Screams erupting from the bedroom and I prayed that my mother would still be alive come morning. Did he watch as she hid her face from the oncoming fist? Surely he wasn’t in the scriptures my father clung to? Preaching of kindness

and forgiveness that extended only to him. Where was he as my mother struggled when I knew she deserved the world? And they say he is a vengeful and merciful God but perhaps he is only merciful when you’re on your knees begging and pleading for the sadness to end. He revels in your submission because he has given you no other choice than to submit. And know that I have found more kindness in bars than I ever have in between church pews.”

His mouth was agape, clearly not expecting her outburst.

“Goodbye priest.”

He stepped forward “ May I ask your name?”

“It’s Lillith.”

Meeting my eyes he said “Goodbye Lillith

Kentucky Heat

by Jackelyn Jorgensen

I step outside, and the Kentucky heat instantly clings damp and heavy on my body.

It clutches my shoulders, pushing my arms down tight against my sides.

I carry the weight of it on my back, as if the sky couldn’t bear it all anymore.

POETRY HONORABLE MENTION

POETRY HONORABLE MENTION

ULTIMATE COMPOSITION

by Elaine Barker

RESONANCE

“Phenomenon in which a vibrating system or external force drives another system to oscillate with greater amplitude at specific frequencies”

“A synchronous gravitational relationship of two celestial bodies (such as moons) that orbit a third (such as a planet) which can be expressed as a ratio of their orbital periods”

SYNCHRONOUS VIBRATION

Sounds True

The way the notes and lyrics of a song return with the nudge of a riff or two

All the past comes tumbling in and floods our NOW and blurs the meaning of PRESENT TENSE

What if not just songs but our Heavenly bodies respond to the embedded memory of past lives

Shared notes that ring with REMEMBRANCE when their orbits cross again or are drawn together What if this resonance is the Ultimate Composition?

POETRY HONORABLE MENTION

Medicine for an

angry heart

by Carly Fawcett

I’ll call it medicine for an angry heart because I don’t think Cherry Ale 8 and a notepad ever made anybody’s scans come back negative but at least they un-fog my lenses make the question a little more legible

Is it worth it to spend my in-between throwing punches at the air behind the door?

SHORT FICTION HONORABLE MENTION

Once Upon a Time by superbfinch2000

Once upon a time there was a man. Once upon a time, there was the same man, yet slightly different, and in another universe. Once upon any given time, there was an infinite array of this same man, yet slightly different, in an infinite array of universes. In one universe, the man was rich, and many people adored him. In another universe, the man was poor, and people did not hate him, but tried their best to not notice him, which hurt the man more than hatred would have. In still another universe, the man was strange and made for himself an exoskeleton out of bird bones and used chewing gum. Yet despite these differences, they were all of them the same man. One may have been thinner than another,

or one may have lost a leg during combat, or one may have grown an extra leg as a result of absorbing his twin in the womb, yet they were all inherently the same.

Then one day, the man died. He died, once upon a time. He died once upon any given time, in an infinite array of ways. Each time he died, the remaining selves felt it, though they did not know what they felt. Once upon a given time, the man is alive; once upon a given time, he is not. Sometimes, the time between living and dying is short; other times it is long. Yet the dying always comes, and at any given time, there are fewer of the man than there were once upon a previous time. And then there will come, once upon a time, when there are none of the man, in any given time.

Likewise, there will come a time when there are none of you, in any given time. I cannot say to make the most of your time, because who am I

to say that the you I am addressing is not being slowly devoured by lobsters? I do not think you would like to make the most of your time; in fact, I think you would welcome a time when you are not being devoured by lobsters, even if that time necessitates dying. Perhaps you have married the person of your dreams. You may want to make the most of your time then, unless you have terrifying dreams, then once again, dying may be preferable. But just know this: once upon a time, there was a man. Once upon a time, there is a man. Once upon a time, there will be an infinite array of the same man, yet slightly different. Once upon a time there was, is, or will be you and there was, is, or will be an infinite array of you; the same you, yet slightly different. And then once upon a time, there will not be any of you, at any given time. Make of that what you will.

Today I can even make out the follow-up question

If it’s not worth it, what do I do with my hands?

I’ve thought about tying them but I also have the privilege to refuse the rope after imagining some scratchy rug burns on my wrists and you’ve probably had it with door-opening metaphors

My hands are moving too fast to grab the handle anyway

So what sedatives do they sell over-the-counter?

All I have to give to you are selfish questions and two bobby pins that I made into a cross

They were too heavy in my hair

Jesus Christ

I could learn a thing or two about sacrifices

Echoes of Light

By Kelly Davenport

INJUSTICE LEAGUE PETER GUTTMACHER

The Red Jacket

by Don Ray Smith

Young Leeza could put on a good front in those early days.

The new employee at Eagle Eye Mapping, Inc. would show up at work—pretty, petite Leeza—in designer clothes that showed off her ebbs and flows. Her straight-ironed Black woman’s hair fell at her shoulders to frame a face some would even call exotic. Eyes cinnamon, but still somehow suggesting a depth that couldn’t be penetrated. Private Property. Keep Out.

Before she’d been there a week, Jared was flat-out smitten by her. It really did seem like a miracle. He would show up for work totally depressed with life and wife, see her, and instantly he believed that life really could be wonderful again.

Her morning chit-chat with him was flat and cool, but Jared always felt he was taking in something more. As she listened, she opened her moist lips ever-so-slightly, white teeth revealed. And just that small movement of hers, in Jared’s mind, made him come this close to saying things he had no right to say to a woman who wore a ring on her finger. After eight years, Jared’s own marriage now seemed to have no point at all.

Whenever anybody asked Leeza personal questions, her responses were automatic. Just fine, she would reply. Oh, you don’t want to hear that. But, unlike some of the other office males, whose attention for her was made up of nothing more than long leers and various forms of drooling, Jared studied her for clues that would reveal the deeper treasures he was convinced she held in her heart.

She was enough of a team player to go out to lunch with the office gang from time to time. But Jared learned that Leeza always made sure another woman came along. Otherwise, Leeza had her stock answer ready. Already made other plans. Next time! A few months into her job, the sunglasses got his attention. She’d begun wearing them into work every morning, whether the sun was shining or not. Jared noticed she always kept the shades on until she got to her desk. His view of her cubicle, from across the hallway, was as good as he could have mapped out himself. Eyes now red-rimmed and damp, delicate face puffy and troubled.

“Oh, just allergies,” she’d explained, as she shoo’ed away the office busybodies.

One day she answered her cell phone. Another call from her husband. Jared watched her literally recoil, her jaw instantly clenching so tight that he was unnerved by its sudden ugliness. Then came the hoarse words she spoke in her own defense.

“No I did not…Why can’t you….Just leave the kids out of it…“

Hearing that, Jared was tempted to ease over to her and throw out some impossibly corny line, something straight out of

By Lori Roberts

the state’s most recent thirty-seven-yearold man to die of a crushing heart attack. Several of Jared’s co-workers attended the afternoon funeral the next day. Leeza was among them. She kept her sunglasses on.

It was around 1:30 when she returned to her empty house.

Husband at work, kids not home yet from school. With the enormous house all to herself, she kicked off her heels and made her way up the winding staircase. At the top, she went into their bedroom and bootybumped the door to shut it behind her. She reached over for the light switch, but then pulled her hand away, content to be in a large room made dim by its heavy drapes.

Dr. Stamfer’s wife stepped inside her walk-in closet, found the light switch, and turned on the bright overhead light. She fanned past the expensive dresses hanging on the long clothes rod to the right, and there in the very back, she once again pulled the red jacket from its hanger.

a Rotten Tomatoes crapola movie review. Hey Leeza, wouldn’t it be heaven to just… run away?

In September, EEM prepared to celebrate its 15th anniversary. As always, it was at the 4-star Sergios, just a few blocks from the office.

A clump of them were walking down the hallway when a wanna-be office general yelled, “Better take your umbrellas!” No problem for most of the women, including Leeza. They had compact umbrellas tucked down in their oversized office totes. Jared had nothing but his jacket. He went back and got it.

The anniversary was a big success, especially since it was free for all the employees and their spouses. As the party wound down, one of the younger sales guys grinned and bellowed, “Who’s ready to go to the bar?”

Jared made a quick glance at Leesa’s table. She was already putting on her coat to go home. Did he see a hurt in her eyes? His involuntary response surprised even himself.

“Count me in!” Jared said.

An hour later, Jared began the block and a half walk back to his car. Light rain had started to fall. With that, he remembered his jacket. Must have left it at the damn restaurant.

The drizzle was quickly turning into a downpour as he splashed unevenly down the sidewalk and back into Sergios’ front door.

The party room was already deserted, dirty dishes cleared away. He looked on the back of his chair. Not there.

He checked with the servers.

“Jacket? What color was it, Sir?”

Hell, man, Jared bitched to himself.

What difference did it make what color it was? Anybody see a JACKET?

In the four months that followed, Leeza stayed her own aloof self. Jared kept at his numbing cruise-control life. And he became

She reached behind her and turned the bright light off. There, in the protective shadows, she nuzzled the cloth to her face. She inhaled deeply, desperately, turning the cloth over in her hand until she found his fading scent. That done, Leeza lowered Jared’s jacket over her shoulders, and with her finely-manicured hands, the exotic, distant, cool Leeza pulled the empty sleeves around her and wept.

INJUSTICE LEAGUE PETER GUTTMACHER

LISTEN LOCAL: NEW LOUISVILLE MUSIC

New releases by Ron Whitehead, Tin Zelkova, and more!

BY JEFF POLK

Jeremy Beck

Song of the Sky - album

Distinguished, Louisville-based composer Jeremy Beck is no stranger to success. He’s won numerous awards and honors for his compositions and has had his music presented orchestras around the world. His latest collection of classical symphonic music, Song of the Sky, (all works of which were performed by the magnificent Sofia Session Orchestra), begins with his four-part, 22-minute “Cello Concerto”, (with award-winning Bulgarian cellist Atanas Krastev), features an array of woodwind instruments presenting an overall gentle, relaxing, romantic feel with some darker, thrilling moments. This is followed by “Rhapsody”, a piece written for violin and orchestra and features violinist Dora Dimitrova. This piece was given its American premiere by our own Louisville Orchestra and is a very bright, cheery, and wondrous adventure with the occasional sadder moments. The album continues with five excerpts from Beck’s opera noir, The Highway, which features UofL School of Music instructors Emily Albrink, (soprano) and Chad Sloan, (baritone). These five dramatic, sweeping operatic pieces tell the story of a young musician names James and his attempt to forge an artistic life in the face of an indifferent world. Its controversial themes involving murder, suicide, sex trafficking, and parallel time structures have so far kept it from being performed on stage. Beck concludes the album with “Song of the Sky”, featuring harpist Denitza Dimitrova and inspired by the photography of Alfred Stieglitz. This piece is highlighted by tranquil, calming, dream-like movements that shift and flow with the moment, much like the photography that inspired it.

beckmusic.org

Kink Head Presents “Belligerents” - EP

Normally I wouldn’t directly quote much from a bio, but this one has some real gems in it! The introduction starts off with “Kink Head is a shadowy recording and songwriting project by Jackson Kinkead, a Louisville based multidisciplinary artist mostly known for organizing the former Chapel of St Philip Neri,” (which is now known as The Woodbine Chamber), going on to say “This recording marks the first step into a high-fidelity vision of Kink Head’s world of dark lounge parlors, leprosy-stricken dance floors, and intimately handmade mail bombs.” Thoroughly intrigued yet? You should be! Kinkead, who lists himself in the credits as performing vocals, Korg, guitar feedback, and contact mic supplier, is joined by drummer Conner Goldsmith (Father’s Gun), bassist Nina Kersey (Plastics, co-organizer of the Snide Hotel), and multi-instrumentalist Charles Rivera, (MINEcONTROL, Stook). The three tracks that make up Presents “Belligerents” are a 15 minute, head-first dive into the great unknown. A place where krautrock, free jazz, experimental pop, post-industrial, and postpunk have joined forces to create otherworldly soundscapes that take over your conscious and submerge you into a dark, strange, twisted world where noise seems to be the only light, and where melodies and groove are fractured, although still intact. Obviously being able to explain what I’m hearing here isn’t exactly possible, I just know it’s making me uncomfortable in a good way. Just don’t look for any tracks in the Listen Local Spotify playlist, as per the bio, this release “will never be published on Spotify, Apple Music, or any streaming service other than Bandcamp.”

kink-head.bandcamp.com

LEO Weekly has Spotify playlists for each Listen Local column featuring selected tracks from each reviewed release. Search Spotify for LEO Weekly and have a listen!

Want to see your music reviewed in LEO Weekly? Louisville and Southern Indiana-based bands/artists, send a link to your music on the streaming site of your choice along with a band/ artist bio, a high-resolution pic of the release’s cover art, and any additional information that may be helpful for the review, (the more, the better), to music@leoweekly.com.

My Infatuation

“A Kiss” - single

“Maybe what the world needs now is feelgood, back-to-the-basics pop: uptempo, toe-tappy, hummable music via guitar, bass, drums and vocals, plus some subtle textures from various instruments” reads the press release for My Infatuation’s debut single “A Kiss”. And you know what, they’re right! We could all use some bright, cheerful, fun music to help escape the daily drudge, even if it’s only for 3-and-a-half minutes. And that is exactly what you get here. Backed by a huge walking bassline that really steals the show, a catchy stomping beat, and led by reggae/ska-ish guitar riffs and smooth, flowing vocals, “A Kiss” is a song that gets stuck in your head and refuses to leave. Obviously heavily influenced by 80’s new wave and new romantic music scenes, this track grabs me as a cross between Talking Heads, Roxy Music, and ABC. My Infatuation is made up of two multi-instrumentalists with literally an ocean between them. One-half is Louisville native and resident Todd Groemling, (who also has a mostly-solo project called Tripendicular). The other half is Giles Gerry, who lives in Derby, England, (they point out that it is pronounced DAH-be, but good luck getting anyone from Louisville to pronounce it that way). “A Kiss” is a huge, unexpected, but very welcomed statement to make as a new band, and there is certainly a lot to live up to in following this debut single, but I’m definitely looking forward to seeing if they are up for the task!

myinfatuationmusic.carrd.co

Pipestem Over - album

If you’re looking for something different, and I mean different, uncategorizable, undefinable by genre, then Pipestem is the band you need to hear. Made up of three multi-instrumentalists; Louisvillians John Baird and Gregg Weaver, along with Pete Malinoski from Hyattsville, MD, Pipestem has been at it for the past 20 years. However, their musical partnership goes back over 40 years and spans a multitude of releases under a few different band names. And although they’ve since released three full length albums in the last two years, it was January 2023’s Over that Malinoski asked me to review, as he put it “This is a good starting point to ease into the somewhat hard to genre-ize music we make.” One can definitely hear the influences of Tom Waits and Portishead, but this is quite different from either. Improv jazz, electronica, shoegaze, darkwave and chillwave all dance amongst each other to sparse rhythms and smooth, almost spoken word vocals. Although a multitude of instruments are used here, they are more for setting the mood rather than for melodies, almost like a film noir background soundtrack. There is an underlying darkness to the music; not in an unapproachable way, but in a mysterious, intriguing, even somewhat sexy way. It’s calming and deep, yet a little unsettling at the same time. Malinoski sums it up best: “We believe the discerning listener is an underserved audience and we present, with that in mind, what has always been a rather bent version of non-pop music. Pipestem makes stories for people with inner resources.”

pipestem.bandcamp.com

KENTUCKY-BORN MUSICAL ARTIST ÅNGEL 004

CENTERS HER VULNERABILITY

Her new EP follows a emotional and stylistic journey across the US.

BY ARIA BACI

Kentucky-born Korean American musical artist ÅNGEL 004 shares her most vulnerable moments in her new EP, titled “LOOK ÅT ME.” Sonically cinematic and lyrically intimate, each of the three songs represents a phase of her journey as both an artist and a woman of mixed Asian and European cultural heritage. “These are my stories, out loud,” she says in a voicemail message that is a component of the multimedia release.

In 2024, ÅNGEL 004 released the single “HORSE TORNÅDO,” a hyperpop bop with a jazz-informed vocal delivery, about the animal abuse inherent to horse racing. She followed “HORSE TORNÅDO” with “ÅLLSHOUSE,” an experimental house track that she wrote to help her cope with the sale of her childhood home in Oldham Country—a home her father had built,

where her creative friends once communed to create art.

Later in 2024, ÅNGEL 004 left Kentucky for her first solo tour across the U.S. While traveling so far from home, and moving through the liminal spaces of self-discovery, she found a new version of herself, “a stronger version,” as she recounts in one of her voicemail messages. “It’s crazy how much you grow when you give yourself space,” she said of her experience writing and recording the songs.

Each of the three songs on “LOOK ÅT ME” is a personal narrative. The first track, “PLOT TWIST” describes ÅNGEL 004’s experience of being on the run. “문어 ” (“MUN-EO,” Korean for “octopus”) describes the development of her new self-image. “OPEN WIDE” describes her arrival at self-acceptance. Each

song has its own meter, rhythm, and flow— and the visuals for each song show ÅNGEL 004 in a different fashion and style—yet as a whole, the EP is cohesive.

ÅNGEL 004 incorporates a broad spectrum of influences into her songwriting, from hyperpop to folktronica to trap. Some listeners might hear elements reminiscent of German DJ and singer HorsegiirL, Korean American DJ and songwriter Yaeji, or even the soft theatricality of Mitski. But ÅNGEL 004 defies close comparisons. LOOK ÅT ME invites active engagement and rewards that engagement with songwriting that is tender yet propulsive.

The EP was created in collaboration with producer and beatmaker Kuzko Belliard, a Louisville native Afro-Latin creative whose accolades are stacked. Belliard is the producer

and engineer for the Woman-Owned Wallet podcast; a winemaker at Huber’s Orchard and Winery; and a guest chef for local culinary pop-ups. Brayden Baird co-produced the song “OPEN WIDE,” and Taylor Braddock mixed and mastered all three tracks.

“LOOK ÅT ME” will be self-released digitally on Friday, March 21 on all major streaming platforms. The release will also incorporate an interactive multimedia experience: a toll-free number that listeners can call to hear ÅNGEL 004 share her narrative for each song in more detail, accompanied by a text message with a link to the EP. Call 1-844ANGL-004 to be a part of the experience.

004 “ 문어 (MUN-EO)

ÅNGEL

Zach Jett

FREE WILL ASTROLOGY

Week of March 26

ROB BREZSNY

ARIES (March 21-April 19): Ancient Rome’s emperor Julius Caesar undertook a radical move to fix the calendar, which had become increasingly inaccurate as the centuries passed. He added three months to the year 46 BCE, which as a result was 445 days long. I’m thinking that 2025 might seem equally long for you, Aries. Your destiny may feel like it’s taking forever to unfold. APRIL FOOL! I totally lied. In fact, I think 2025 will be one of your briskest, crispest years ever. Your adventures will be spiced with alacrity. Your efforts will be efficient and expeditious. You may sometimes be amazed at how swiftly progress unfolds.

TAURUS (April 20-May 20): Guilt and fear are always useless distractions from what’s really happening. Right? APRIL FOOL! The fact is that on rare occasions, being anxious can motivate you to escape from situations that your logical mind says are tolerable. And guilt may compel you to take the right action when nothing else will. This is one time when your guilt and fear can be valuable assets.

GEMINI (May 21-June 20): The German word Flüsterwitze means “whisper jokes.” These jests make taboo references and need to be delivered with utmost discretion. They may include the mockery of authority figures. Dear Gemini, I recommend that you suppress your wicked satire and uproarious sarcasm for a while and stick to whisper jokes. APRIL FOOL! I lied. The truth is that the world needs your outspokenness. Your ability to call out hypocrisies and expose corruption — especially with humor and wit — will keep everyone as honest as they need to be.

CANCER (June 21-July 22): In the lead-up to the Paris-hosted 2024 Summer Olympics, the iconic Eiffel Tower was repainted gold. This was a departure from tradition, as the usual colors had been brown on the bottom and red on the top. The $60-million job took 25 painters 18 months. I recommend that you undertake an equally monumental task in the coming months, Cancerian. APRIL FOOL! I lied. In fact, I do hope you undertake a monumental task — but one that’s more substantive than changing the surfaces of things. Like revisioning your life story, for example — reinterpreting your past and changing the way it informs your future. I think you are ready to purge inessential elements and exorcize old ghosts as you prepare for a re-launch around your birthday.

LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): When I worked on the Duke University grounds crew years ago, I did the work I was assigned as quickly as possible. Then I would hide in the bushes, taking unauthorized breaks for an hour or two, so

I could read books I loved. Was that unethical? Maybe. But the fact is, I would never have been able to complete my assigned tasks unless I allowed myself relaxation retreats. If there is an equivalent situation in your life, Leo, I urge you to do as I did. APRIL FOOL! I half-lied. The truth is that I think you should be a little less extravagant than I was — but only a little — as you create the spaciousness and slack you need.

VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): In his film Fitzcarraldo, Virgo director Werner Herzog tells an epic story. It includes the task of hauling a 320-ton steamship up a hill and over land, moving it from one river to another. Herzog could have relied on special effects to simulate this almost impossible project, but he didn’t. With a system of pulleys and a potent labor force, he made it happen. I urge you to try your equivalent of Herzog’s heroic conquest, Virgo. You will be able to summon more power and help than you can imagine. APRIL FOOL! I half-lied. While it’s true that you will be able to summon more power and help than you can imagine, I still think you should at least partially rely on the equivalent of special effects.

LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): Researchers discovered that Egyptian fruit bats engage in extensive communication with each other while nesting in their roosts. Surprisingly, they talk about their problems a lot. In fact, they quarrel 60% of the time. Areas of disagreement include food allocation, positions within the sleep cluster, and males initiating unwanted mating moves. Let’s make these bats your power creatures. The astrological omens say it’s time for you to argue more than you have ever argued. APRIL FOOL! I was not entirely truthful. The coming weeks will be a good time to address disagreements and settle disputes, but hopefully through graceful means, not bitter arguing.

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): Unlike many modern poets, Scorpio-born Alice Notley rejects the notion that she must be part of any poetic lineage. She aspires “to establish or continue no tradition except one that literally can’t exist — the celebration of the singular thought sung at a particular instant in a unique voice.” She has also written, “It’s necessary to maintain a state of disobedience against everything.” She describes her work as “an immense act of rebellion against dominant social forces.” I invite you to enjoy your own version of a Notley-like phase, Scorpio. APRIL FOOL! I lied. In fact, I encourage you to enjoy a Notley-like phase beginning May

1. But for now, I invite you to be extra attentive in cultivating all the ways you can benefit from honoring your similarities and connections with others.

SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): The Scholastic Aptitude Test (SAT) is a standardized test that many American high school students take to prove their worth to colleges. The highest possible score is achieved by fewer than 1% of test-takers. We might imagine that earning such a premium grade must guarantee admission to any school, but it doesn›t. During one five-year period, for example, Stanford University rejected 69% of applicants with the highest possible score. I’m sorry to predict that a comparable experience might be ahead for you, Sagittarius. Even if you are your best and brightest self, you may be denied your rightful reward. APRIL FOOL! I totally lied. Here’s my real, true prediction: In the coming weeks, I believe you will be your best and brightest self — and will win your rightful reward.

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): The visible part of an iceberg is typically just 10% of its total size. Most is hidden beneath the sea’s surface. References to “the tip of the iceberg” have become a staple metaphor in many cultures, signifying situations that are not what they seem. Of all the zodiac tribes, Scorpios are renowned for their expertise in discerning concealed agendas and missing information. The rest of us tend to be far less skillful. APRIL FOOL! I fibbed. These days, you Capricorns are even more talented than Scorpios at looking beyond the obvious and becoming aware of the concealed roots and full context.

AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): In the coming weeks, I advise you to be like the 19th-century poet Emily Dickinson. She lived in quiet seclusion, corresponding through letters instead of socializing. She seemed content to write her poems all alone in her home and be unconcerned about trying to get them published. APRIL FOOL! I lied. Here’s my real horoscope: Now is a highly favorable time for you to shmooze with intensity at a wide range of social occasions, both to get all the educational prods you need and to advance your ambitions.

PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): Some systems and situations improve and thrive in response to stress and errors. Indeed, some things need strain or irregularity to be fully healthy. For example, human bodies require a certain amount of stress to develop a resistance to infection. In reading the astrological omens, I conclude you now need stimulation like that. APRIL FOOL! I lied. Here’s the truth: August of 2025 will be a great time for you to harvest the benefits of benevolent stress. But for now, your forte will be the capacity to avoid and resist stress, confusion, and errors.

Homework: What’s the best prank you could perform on yourself?

SAVAGE LOVE

COME AND GO

BY DAN SAVAGE

Hey Dan: I have a problem that I’m not sure can be solved. I’m a single gay man who hasn’t touched anybody for sixteen years. Yes, you read that right: I haven’t touched another person for sixteen years. Sit with that for a couple of moments. Most people don’t believe me. I did something stupid in 1998 and had sex in a hot tub. I ended up having surgery because of an infection and ever since when I ejaculate, what comes out is a combination of sperm and urine because an internal flap no longer closes to stop the urine. The urologist and my surgeon said there was nothing they could do to fix the problem. I did not realize that sex in a hot tub was an extremely risky sexual activity. (You should warn people.) Men find this absolutely disgusting. I can’t repeat some of the things I have been told when I’m trying to be honest with a partner. What advice or suggestions do you have to explain this to potential partners even though I’ve said I want to please them only. Please give me some help as to what to say. Any advice helps.

—Canadian Urgently Missing Sex

Having sex in a hot tub — having penetrative sex in a hot tub — is riskier than having sex on dry land or damp mattress or hard countertop. Heavily chlorinated water dries out sensitive tissues, making abrasions and STI transmission more likely, and water containing potentially harmful bacteria can be forced into the urethra during intercourse, heightening the risk of urinary tract infections in both men and women. (Best practices: get horny in a hot tub, get out to fuck, get back in when you’re done.)

With that warning out of the way, CUMS, can I ask when you last spoke to a doctor about your condition?

The “little flap” that contracts during ejaculation — preventing semen from shooting into the bladder and/or urine from exiting the body with semen — is called the internal urethral sphincter. While artificial urinary sphincters have been available for more than fifty years, the doctors you saw back in 1998 might not have been aware of them. (According to the Mayo Clinic, many doctors today aren’t aware of them.) It’s also possible you weren’t a good candidate for the artificial urinary sphincters available in 1998, CUMS, but these devices have gotten smaller (and the surgery has gotten less invasive) over the last three decades, and you might be a good candidate for a new model. You should make an appointment to see a specialist and talk about your condition.

While you wait for that appointment, CUMS, you also might wanna seek out different kinds of gay and bi men, online and off.

There are lots of queer men out there into “no recip” oral. If you were to meet up with a guy who just wanted to get serviced — if you hooked up with a guy who wanted to get head without having to reciprocate — you wouldn’t have to mention your condition in advance of your first meeting; since you won’t be coming on, in, or near him, he doesn’t need to know that your ejaculate comes mixed with piss. There are also plenty of guys out there who are into piss, and if I were to biohazard a guess, CUMS, I’d say a statistically significant percentage of those guys would view your condition not as a tragic defect, but as an exciting superpower. Leading with this fact about yourself on kink or kink-friendly hookup sites might attract so much positive attention, CUMS, that you don’t wanna get an artificial urinary sphincter after all.

Hey Dan: I am a pansexual non-binary FTM. I am able to have two types of orgasms. One is a squirty juicy wet orgasm and the other is a full body orgasm that makes my clit throb. Squirty orgasms come easy and often but I’ve only experienced the clit throbbers during solo play — with two exceptions: only my ex-wife could give me this kind of climax until I met a guy on Grindr. I update my Grindr profile depending on what I’m looking for on any particular night, and on the night I met this Grindr guy I was only looking to be eaten out. I arrived at his place and he got down to business immediately. He was patient, he was deliberate, he was rough, and it was… WOW! I had a rare, full-body, clit-throbbing orgasm! It was amazing. Then, as I was leaving, I saw the Trump flag hanging in his room. It was hanging on the wall directly behind me and I did not see it — I could not see it — while I was being eaten out. It was a Trump 2016 flag — not that it matters. (A Trump flag is a Trump flag.) So, what do I do? I suppose I can do nothing and just never meet up with the guy again, but what do I do about my conscience?

—Feeling Low About Grindr Situation

P.S. We exchanged phone numbers before I saw the flag.

You may have accidentally discovered a new way for people into ruined orgasms to get their kink on, FLAGS: strategically positioned Trump flags. I don’t think it matters whether they’re Trump 2016, 2020, 2024 or 2028 flags, the effect will be the same: a postnut yuck powerful enough to ruin whatever yum came first.

For the sake of your conscience, FLAGS, send a text to the Trump supporter that says something like this: “None of that would have happened — I would never have let you go down on me — if I’d seen that Trump flag on your wall before we got started.” Then take a screenshot of his Grindr profile, if you can still see it, and share it — privately — with other trans men you know personally, FLAGS, so they don’t wind up having the same jump scare you did. Then block his phone number and block him on Grindr.

P.S. Next time you show up in a strange man’s apartment for no-recip oral, FLAGS, do a quick 360-degree turn — a little pirouette

— before he drops to his knees.

P.P.S. There’s no need to steal Trump flags to ruin orgasms. There are plenty in the trash already, deposited there by Americans — not our best — who already regret voting for Trump.

Hey Dan: My husband’s best friend turned into one of my best friends. This best friend of ours recently started dating a woman. We were supportive of their relationship at first, even though he was joining as the third guy in a polyamory relationship. After a few months, their relationship went from polyamorous to monogamous. Our friend met his new girlfriend’s kid very early in the relationship, even spending the night after only knowing this woman for a couple of months. Within six months of dating, they shared the kid’s toothbrush on a vacation. They didn’t say they boiled the toothbrush or took any measures to clean the toothbrush until weeks later when they were pressed on it. This is when we started to distance ourselves because we felt this behavior showed a lack of respect for this child. We had a severe falling out due to this. Now they are engaged, and it raises even more concerns for us. How do we proceed? Should we stop even wanting to reconcile? Should we try to be the voice of reason about oral hygiene?

—Unhygienic Gross Humans

While I got letters about grosser things this week, yours was the most surprising letter that came in the mail for two reasons: first, that your friend would tell you about using this child’s toothbrush on vacation and, second, that you would write to me — a sex-advice columnist — about your friend using this child’s toothbrush.

For the record, UGH, I agree that introducing a child to a new partner after two months is inadvisable — which is why I’ve always advised against it — and using someone else’s toothbrush on vacation because you forgot your own is equal parts gross and unnecessary. Most hotels make disposable toothbrushes available to guests who forgot their own, UGH, and even if your friend and his girlfriend weren’t at a hotel that offered toothbrushes, they could’ve gone without brushing their teeth for a single night and gotten new toothbrushes for themselves at the nearest pharmacy or truck stop in the morning.

To be perfectly honest, UGH, I don’t really care whether you reconcile with your friend or not, just please spare me from any and all updates about your friend’s oral hygiene going forward.

Hey Dan: I am a proud kinkster in a city with a vibrant kink community, but I am worried that my community doesn’t know how quickly it could find itself at risk. I see friends grandstanding online about crackdowns on poppers, while ignoring broader attacks by the Trump administration on fundamental rights. I understand the former makes for a better social media post, but with the government deporting legal residents who were not accused of crimes, performing armed takeovers of private entities, and scapegoating

trans people, we have more to worry about than poppers. How long before Folsom attendees face legal jeopardy for public indecency? Democrats can barely stand up for Social Security. What makes us think they’ll go to bat for kinksters? Am I wrong in thinking queer and kink organizations need to be sounding the alarm?

—Rights Under More Pressure

Both houses of Congress, private universities, powerful law firms, professional baseball — the list of groups that have caved to Trump grows longer every day. So, I don’t think the organizers of gay fetish events like Folsom or Darklands (or straight ones like DomCon or RopeCraft for that matter) have the power to stop Trump. If there’s a silver lining here, RUMP, it may be the huge numbers of kinky people who didn’t feel like they needed to hide over the last couple of decades. If you can’t hide, you have to fight… and with the receipts already out there — social media posts, personal ads, gear purchases) — there’s no hiding now.

Here’s the single most important thing organizers of kink events can do: keep organizing great events that bring even more people out. Events help create community — which is a good thing unto itself — but they also create opportunities for activists to inform, organize, and activate people they might not be able to reach otherwise, which is absolutely crucial at a moment like this. (A tip for activists: DO NOT treat people having fun at fetish events or parties like they’re doing something wrong. If you want people to show up at your demonstration — or call their members of Congress or raise money for abortion funds or defend their undocumented neighbors — don’t tell them they have to pick between the party where you found them and demo where you want them. Scolds drive people away from movements, they don’t bring them in.)

Speaking of protests: The protests at Tesla dealerships have been fun, effective, and cathartic —as Tesla’s cratering stock price and Trump’s pathetic Tesla infomercial at the White House both demonstrate — and there are nationwide protests scheduled for April 5. For more information (and to find out about your local demo) go to HandsOff2025!

P.S. Please don’t vandalize Teslas. Trump’s DOJ is throwing the book at people who vandalize Teslas — and it turns out Elon Musk’s shitty cars are self-vandalizing, as we learned last week when every single Tesla Cybertruck ever sold was recalled after pieces of them kept falling off. So, there’s no need to risk being sent to a prison in El Salvador when you see Incel Caminos parked on your block. Give Elon’s shitty cars a minute and they’ll fall apart on their own.

Got problems? Yes, you do! Email your question for the column to mailbox@savage.love!

Or record your question for the Savage Lovecast at savage.love/askdan!

Podcasts, columns and more at Savage.Love

Prova LLC, hereby declares intention(s) to apply for a Distiller’s License - Class B, Small Farm Winery License, NQ Retail Drink License license(s) no later than February 26, 2025. The business to be licensed will be located at 917 E Liberty St, Louisville, Kentucky 40204 doing business as Prova Spirits.

The owner(s) are as follows: Giuseppe Paoulos, 726 Indian Ridge Rd, Louisville KY 40207.

Any person, association, corporation, or body politic may protest the granting of the license(s) by writing the Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control, 500 Mero St 2NE33, Frankfort, Kentucky, 40601, within thirty (30) days of the date of legal publication.

Public Notice

Crown Castle Fiber, LLC is proposing to modify an existing telecommunications facility at an approximate overall height of 37 feet on an existing 40-foot overall height small cell pole telecommunications structure located at 610 North Hite Avenue, Louisville, Jefferson County, Kentucky (38° 15’ 49.6” N, 85° 42’ 8.5” W). Crown Castle Fiber, LLC invites comments from any interested party on the impact the tower may have on any districts, sites, buildings, structures or objects significant in American history, archaeology, engineering or culture that are listed or determined eligible for listing in the National Register of Historic Places. Comments may be sent to Environmental Corporation of America, ATTN: Annamarie Howell, 1375 Union Hill Industrial Court, Suite A, Alpharetta, GA 30004 or via email to publicnotice@eca-usa.com. Ms. Howell can be reached at (770) 667-2040 x 108 during normal business hours. Comments must be received within 30 days of the date of this notice. 25-000730/PEW

Public Notice

Crown Castle Fiber, LLC is proposing to modify an existing telecommunications facility at an approximate overall height of 35 feet on an existing 41-foot overall height small cell pole telecommunications structure located at 111 North Wenzel Street, Louisville, Jefferson County, Kentucky (38° 15’ 16.3” N, 85° 44’ 1.1” W). Crown Castle Fiber, LLC invites comments from any interested party on the impact the tower may have on any districts, sites, buildings, structures or objects significant in American history, archaeology, engineering or culture that are listed or determined eligible for listing in the National Register of Historic Places. Comments may be sent to Environmental Corporation of America, ATTN: Annamarie Howell, 1375 Union Hill Industrial Court, Suite A, Alpharetta, GA 30004 or via email to publicnotice@eca-usa.com. Ms. Howell can be reached at (770) 667-2040 x 108 during normal business hours. Comments must be received within 30 days of the date of this notice. 25-000731/PEW

HAVE IT BOTH WAYS

BY PAUL COULTER

Puzzles Edited by Will Shortz

Paul Coulter is a retired biology professor in Glassboro, N.J. He got into puzzles through cryptic crosswords, which he set for British audiences, eventually turning to American-style crosswords in 2014. This is his seventh puzzle for The Times. When he’s not teaching or making puzzles, Paul is writing novels — 50 so far, none of which have been published. He laments, ‘‘I wonder if that’s a record for futility.’’ — W.S.

Across 1 Jeans material

6 Some P.D. alerts

10 Leaves a relationship

18 14-line poem with only two rhymes across three stanzas

20 ‘‘The African Queen’’ scriptwriter

21 Per-hour cost to record music, say

22 Host of a 1990s late-night talk show that was briefly revived 20 years later

24 Completely exclude

25 Low-fat dairy desserts

26 Columbus’s birthplace

28 L. L. Bean competitor

29 Dug through for digital analysis

30 Auto racer Patrick

32 Subway commuters, informally

37 Promoted boastfully

39 Others, to Ovid

40 Old-fashioned garnishes

47 M.L.B. V.I.P.s

48 Al Capone adversary who only ever met him once in person

53 Selling points?

55 [Boohoo!]

56 Hamlet or Laertes

57 Longtime children’s clothing store with a portmanteau name

58 Dabbles in

Loads 61 Ratted

62 Make ready for new use

63 Exhibits brilliance

64 Something one might need to look good in the morning

68 Article of faith

69 Not-so-joltin’ joe?

71 group (chemistry classification)

72 Source of the ‘‘blood’’ in a meatless burger, maybe

73 Good lighting?

74 Spill the tea

75 Playground retort

77 Doses of a certain hallucinogen

82 ____ breve

83 Russian range

84 Sounding as if the speaker has some swollen glands

85 Much high school gossip

87 Metaphor for Juliet, in Romeo’s soliloquy

89 Got up and at ’em

90 Official who reports to a president

91 Reddish-brown shade

94 Secretly communicating in class

50 Have as food, formally

51 Former Maine senator Olympia with an apt name for her state

52 Taste or touch

54 Light to stop at

55 Like the best bonds, perhaps

58 Primps

59 Slow, musically

63 Brit’s jolly cry of approval

64 Lacking a knack for

65 Zola who wrote ‘‘J’Accuse …!’’

66 Critic’s common seating preference

67 Lets go of

68 Some green cars

69 -

70 Hawkeye’s real first name in the ‘‘Avengers’’ movies

72 Smile

73 Bamboozled

75 Boxer Roberto who fought Sugar Ray Leonard

76 Chimp’s cousin

78 Attach, with ‘‘on’’

79 Attach, with ‘‘on’’

80 Cote quote?

81 ____ dog

84 Author Rice

86 ‘‘Agnus ____’’

87 Hopes that one might

88 Live, in a way

92 Girl who’s ‘‘sweet as apple cider,’’ per an old song

93 Admission

94 Tree with oblong yellow-green fruit

95 What’s on the fast track? 96 Navy group

Creator of the mystery-solving

Prior to, old-style

German soccer legend Manuel who innovated the ‘‘sweeper-keeper’’ role

‘‘Abominable’’ ones

Rap title?

BART stop, for short

Gave the go-ahead

Port city near Mount Carmel

A persnickety person might pick

makes

King of Castile

whose keypad often has

Florentine artist known for frescoes

‘‘The Jetsons’’

Tiny bit

Bars of soap

Appliance brand owned by Whirlpool

Morning in Monaco

Word with French or bench

107 Latvia, e.g., once: Abbr. 109 Drug sold in 77-Across

Compound found in marijuana, for short

Start of a bray or conclusion of a giggle 113 Sch. calendar abbr.

‘‘____ be a pleasure’’

Call off

JUNE

AUG

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