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Stevens Point (and neighbors) Calendar of Events. Art

February 2 UWSP Arts Bash. 7:30-10:30 p.m. Carlsten Art Gallery. February 8 Central Wisconsin Cultural Center Presents Alexander Landerman. 5:00-8:00 p.m. Central Wisconsin Cultural Center, Wisconsin Rapids. February 8-March 10 Dennis Nechvatal: A New Direction. Carlsten Art Gallery. Through February 17 Winter’s Garden Exhibit. Riverfront Arts Center. Through February 28 Jeff Morin: Recent Work. Reception: Jan 18, 5:30 - 7:30 p.m. Gallery Q.


February 15 Chris James. 8:00 p.m. DUC, UWSP.

Anytime, Online Working with Electricity Online. Midwest Renewable Energy Association. Call 592-6595 or visit to register. February 6-March 13 Digital SLR Photography 101. Wednesdays, 6:00-8:00 p.m. UWSP Continuing Education. Call 346-3838 for availability. February 9 Fly Tying Workshop. 9:30-1:30 p.m. Portage County Public Library. February 11-March 10 Advancements in PV Online. Midwest Renewable Energy Association. Call 592-6595 or visit to register. February 15-17 Beginning Farmer Course. Farmshed. 9:00-4:00 p.m. Register by Feb 6. 715-544-6154.

February 7 Farmshed Foodfair. 5:30-8:30 p.m. SPASH.

February 16 Rosemailing Winter Workshop. 9:30-4:30 p.m. UWSP Continuing Education. Call 346-3838 for availability.

February 14 Lovers of Wisdom Valentines Dinner. Proceeds to benefit Tomorrow River Community Charter School. 6:30 p.m. Central Wisconsin Brewery, Amherst.

February 25-March 24 PV Site Assessor Training Online. Midwest Renewable Energy Association. Call 592-6595 or visit to register.



Anytime, Online Introduction to Renewable Energy Online. Midwest Renewable Energy Association. Call 592-6595 or visit to register.



February 16 Contra and Square Dance. 7:30 p.m. Jensen Community Center, Amherst.


Mondays Sing That Tune Karaoke. 9:30 p.m. Partners Pub. Wednesdays Acoustic Open Mic with the Sloppy Joe Band. 8:00 - 11:00 p.m. Northland Sports Bar and Grill. February 1 Twenty One Pilots with New Politics. 8:00 p.m. DUC, UWSP. February 1 UWSP Jazz Festival. 7:30 p.m. Michaelson Hall, UWSP. February 2 PepperBox. 10:00 p.m. Congress Club. February 7 R.A.S. Movement (Reggae). 8:00 p.m. DUC, UWSP. February 8 Sexy Ester with BlackSheep (Punk Rock). 8:00 p.m. DUC, UWSP. February 15 Freeze Fest with RHA featuring Filligar (Alt. Rock). 8:00 p.m. DUC, UWSP. February 16 Space Capone (Funk/Disco). 8:00 p.m. DUC, UWSP. February 16 Galynne Goodwill. 10:00 p.m. Guu’s on Main. February 17 The Monteverdi Chorale Presents: Sweetheart Cabaret. 5:00 p.m. Holiday Inn. February 21 Foghorn String Band with Sloppy Joe (Bluegrass). 8:00 p.m. DUC, UWSP.

Calendar of Events (con’t), andrew peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE February 22 PHOX with Haunted Heads (Alt. Rock). 8:00 p.m. DUC, UWSP.


February 2 Free Cross Country Skiing. 8:30-4:00 p.m. Standing Rocks. February 2 Great Northern Gymnastics Meet. 11:00 a.m. SPASH. February 2 Snowshoe the Ice Age Trail. 1:003:00 p.m. Ice Age Trail Parking Area, Amherst.

February 9 Frigid Frolic 3 v 3 Soccer Tournament. SentryWorld Sports Center.

If you would like to see your event in The Bitchin’ Kitsch next month, please email the details to


February 8-10; 13-16 How I Learned to Drive. 7:30 p.m.; Feb. 10, 2:00 p.m. Studio Theater, UWSP. February 8-10; 15-17 Murdered to Death. 7:30 p.m.; Feb. 10 and 17, 4:00 p.m. @1800 Theater.

Rick, Shane, Trunk Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE Graphite on paper


content feb 2013 Scorpion Wins - Dana TalbotHeindl


Calendar of Events

monthly mission submission - pg. 7

Freedom Heindl - pg. 9

on the front cover: Scorpion Wins

Dana Talbot-Heindl Oil pastels on paper

on the inside back cover: Rick What

Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE Ink on paper

the bitchin’ kitsch video and music issue:

Check out this month’s “issue” link of video and music at or



Rick, Shane, Trunk - Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE


blue steel in the hour of chaos douglas somers Hands-Off Intellectual Property: A reaction to Glee - Chris Talbot Heindl


Ash- Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE Monthly Mission Submission


the stars on mars are different than ours - douglas somers


Tender Thought (Self-sufficient Shorty) - Terry Scott Niebeling




Guns Galore! - Kenneth Abraham


Untitled - Freedom Heindl


The African Rains. - Afzal Moolla


Blameworthy - Anand Salve


I Dream of Death - Marc Carver


How I Find the Time to Write Paul Hostovsky


There is Always Time - Zachary Frisch


Mt. Baker - Jameson Stewart


#71 - Dan Hedges


I look to you - Dawnell Harrison


At 52:13 Hours - Mike Cluff


Jesus on Cable TV - Colin Dodds


Odd Moments of Idle Musings Sy Roth Another World Away - Jason Ford


The Mare at the Gate - Holly Day


Sludge-Bot (The World Meets Dr. Wang) - Louis Marvin & XY


zaphiro - douglas somers


Donors and Index


Rick What - Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE



douglas somers. about b’k:

the bitchin’ kitsch is a zine for artists, poets, prose writers, or anyone else who has something to say. it exists for the purpose of open creativity. if you have something you want to share, please email it to are you a video or music artist? submit your youtube link or original file to all submissions are due on the 26th for the following month’s issue.


have a seriously bitchin’ idea that could make the bitchin’ kitsch that much better? we want to hear from you. email with your ideas.

community copies:

sit down and read the bitchin’ kitsch at our community locations: zest, the smith scarabocchio art museum, epic studios tattooing and piercing, the coffee studio, and noel fine arts center. want to house a community copy? email chris@


the bitchin’ kitsch is offering crazy low rates of $5 for a fourth-page ad, $10 for a half-page ad, and $20 for a full page ad. book yours today by emailing


we love our donors. If you would like to become a donor, email and make your pledge.

blue steel in the hour of chaos douglas somers Print


chris talbot-heindl. Hands-Off Intellectual Property – A reaction to Glee By: Chris Talbot-Heindl

Anyone who’s had me do or edit his or her graphic design knows that I’m a stickler for intellectual property. Anyone who’s asked me to do a collaborative piece with them knows that if they come to me with an idea that’s a spin off of someone else’s, they will get an earful about intellectual property. The thing is, whether something is copyrighted or not, I will not touch it with a ten foot pole. And you shouldn’t either. On January 24, 2013, Glee did a rip-off so clearly of indie musician, Jonathan Coulton, who covered “Baby Got Back” in a fresh, and entirely new way. (I ought to know as my friends and I, way back in 1993 must have listened to the original about 1,000 times while we made a dance that we thought was the cat’s meow. Jonathan Coulton’s version is extremely different and I’d say actually is the cat’s meow.) Glee ripped off Coulton’s arrangement. Right down to the sound effects, the cadence, the instrument choice, and all. Glee. A show that spends so much per episode, they could pay for an entire country’s deaths in a Disney factory “accident” recompense settlement. To add further insult to injury, Glee then placed the song for sale on iTunes.

the money, time, and people power to do anything. Instead, they’ve taken Coulton’s hard work and rode on his coattails to deliver it to an audience that will never know that the real brains behind this operation is Coulton. The audience is larger than Coulton will likely ever reach (based on the network exposure and the money they can throw at advertising it). It won’t matter to anyone that it wasn’t Glee, Fox, or any of their “writers” that brought them this enjoyment. It was an indie artist, Jonathan Coulton, who has not, and likely, will not receive the credit. If I wasn’t already not watching Glee, I would likely take this time to boycott the shit out of it on principle. For more information about this, visit Jonathan Coulton’s blog at http://www.jonathancoulton. com/2013/01/18/baby-got-back-and-glee/ and for god’s sake, listen to his music! Also visit the Wired article by Laura Hudson where you can hear the two tracks sideby-side at jonathan-coulton-glee-song/?cid=co5508964 And for the love of little baby jeebus, hands-off intellectual property!

So, why is this a contentious point for me? I’m all for sharing (sharing is caring), I can’t stand lawyers or frivolous lawsuits, and I understand that we are living in a post-modern world where not much hasn’t already been done. Intellectual property is all that some of us have. Being an artist is a labor of love. We wrack our brains, we stay up in the middle of the night to get everything just right, we second guess ourselves, we work at it and trash it and rebuild it better. Then we finally put it out there for the world to see. The end product and what people eventually see is a compilation of everything that we are, everything that we think, and everything that we do. Then some asshole comes and steals it, and takes your work and your identity. And this particular asshole has


Ash Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE Ink on paper

monthly mission submission, douglas somers. monthly mission submission

Every month, artists indicate that they would like to submit to The Bitchin’ Kitsch but don’t know what to draw. Every month, there will be proposed phrase to play around with. This month’s phrase is “Hollywood hot pink firecracker love” submitted by Jameson Stewart. Next month’s phrases will be “for the love of baby jeebus” submitted by The Oh Christ!. If you would like to suggest a phrase for the month of April, simply submit it on Facebook. The suggestions that receive the most likes will be the phrases for April.

Chris Talbot-Heindl Animation still (Check out the video/music edition for the full animation -

the stars on mars are different than ours douglas somers Painting 7

terry scott niebeling. Tender Thought (Self-sufficient Shorty) By Terry Scott Niebeling

She asked me if I ever got writer’s block… I thought about it… Yeah… I thought, but only when I’m in love; I can’t seem to get out of bed… *** All that stuff in the past, I can’t rewind that. Think as it passes, and then relax, its as good as trash at this juncture, in relation to my head. I was gathering dust and rust with lust, so I traded in. And found something underrated. I found something that was there with patience: Greatness. Like rocks in a river. Like cold to a shiver. Like heat to a blister. One another, together; behold a symbiotic situation. A generation waited in anticipation. Baited with cinematic inspiration. And mildly let down… Until… It Feels like a lifetime since I’ve said I love you like this. It Feels like bliss. Like that. Like old hat. Like a first kiss. Like this: Not unlike the heat of super-glue placement on flesh, but absolutely benign. Love is hope. Love stops time. Love is divine, and blind. Love loses coordination; A sea-sick sailor, oh(!), on weak knees. A maladroit, worth being teased. It’s not butterflies within my stomach, its children on


trampolines. Trapeze. Water and debris, in all its glory, just float by me. All to see; my mind’s absorbing and storing. Stuff like this needs to be remember for later, saved for a rainy day as they say. Call it Zen, call it mother hen to chicks, call it being logical and simplistic. We all need shelter. We all need a little helper. Every movement of the eyes is categorized, recorded, and translated into a statement. What do they see? Check the facts, there are no stats on love. Nothing hanging above, just pure perception, intention, and honor. Like subjective minutiae worth the weight of the world sitting on your chest. Like boys and girls. Like coming unfurled; sprawled for all to see when you’re not at your best. There is only true feeling. No embarrassment, guilt, or regret. It is heaven-sent, even to the non-believer. To live without such love would be oppression, regression of my true nature. Not a misunderstood nomenclature, just part of my culture. How one survives without someone like her, I’d be damned to know… She is like a warm drink and chaser in midwinter, she and I sat bedside as the sky turned grey. We had only good things to say; no stones to throw. And that is what I thought of on New Year’s Day. I thought of writer’s block, and how it felt when she and I were alone.

kenneth abraham, freedom heindl, afzal moolla. Guns Galore!

The African Rains.

Ah, yes, America, land of guns galore, You can buy one at any Wal Mart store, Rifle, shotgun, pistol or assault weapon with a 30 round clip, Got to get one, maybe carry it on your hip, Then, if you’re a real loony tune and the fancy strikes, You can slaughter scores of people, to your bizarre delight, Want to really claim your fifteen minutes of fame? How many young children can you kill and maim?

Soaking, the rains settle, meandering over jagged faultlines of our memory.

America averages about 11,000 to 12,000 gun deaths each and every year, In Great Britain, where only the Bobbies bear arms, the difference is clear: 35 +/Today’s proliferation of firearms is not constitutionally protected, Thank God, it seems the situation is about to be slightly corrected, Did you see the nut jobs on TV, screaming numerous inaccurate facts? Espousing very limited controls on firearms, so that any fool can attack, Sure, they have their precious right to free speech, But pay them no mind, reign them in, I beseech, As for those who would like to kick gun control to the gutter, Were their 8 or 9 year old princess slaughtered, a different tune would utter.

the thud-thudding of the heartbeat of Africa.

By: Kenneth Abraham

By: Afzal Moolla

Drenching, the rains settle, streaming through veins,

Absorbing, the rains that settle, within each of us, herald rebirth. And, if you listen, if you strain to hear, while shedding the raucous noise of your inner turmoil. If you listen, the whispers of the ancestors, speak to us all, lending us warmth, urging us to stand, even though we may stumble, even though we may fall.

Untitled Freedom Heindl Graphite and colored pencil on paper


anand salve, marc carver, paul hostovsky, zachary frisch. Blameworthy

How I Find the Time to Write

When the sun at the brink of dawn I remember you, Even at the brink of dusk I remember you, It’s all about thinking of you day and night. Is it I am blameworthy……

Today I steal it from my employer who writes me up or maybe fires me when he catches me writing this poem on his time. I don’t pay you for this, he says, holding it up to my face, slapping it once hard with the back of his hand for emphasis, like a perfect rhyme. I wince because I don’t like perfect rhymes in my poems, and I parry with this line about apocalyptic eschatology which throws him off completely. So now we’re arm wrestling on his desk, pushing and squeezing and perspiring when his secretary knocks on the doorjamb and we both look up. She has the loveliest breasts of all the secretaries. She announces matter-of-factly that henceforth she will be my secretary not his secretary and that’s when I slam his arm down on his desk which is my desk now with my poem on it and my sweat and his blood and her breasts in it and all the time in the world for it.

By: Anand Salve

One day I smiled, The next day I was filled with hatred, I buried you alive, Is it I am blameworthy…….. The day I met you I was ecstatic, With no reason I fell in love with you, As if you were the fragrance that filled my soul, Is it I am blameworthy…… I came to you to give my heart back, Instead you stab my heart, Leaving it bleeding down the street, Why I love you so much, there is no answer for that. I crossed all shores to reach you, Every moment of life has you and only you, Is this the reason I am blameworthy…… You have seal my soul and made it of no use, Be happy where you go and stay, It’s not like I am complaining, I really like this pain, But still somewhere I feel I am blameworthy………….

I Dream of Death. By: Marc Carver

There are Raphael paintings in the sky by day as clouds race by. The days are mostly the same too but i never see the same clouds. Day is now night and how bright that moon is. Not full, just like a eye. The all seeing eye. If it turned and looked it would see straight into my heart if i let it. Only good men die on nights like this. Warm death blanketed by dreams whispering the journey for you my friend is over. 10

By: Paul Hostovsky

There Is Always Time By: Zachary Frisch

I want you to be my Judas, my plague; my hollow wind. I want your subtle madness inked upon roads; dragged upon skin. I want such haunted beauty, it aspires; it transcends, the forms we lay in open ground, shallow graves; plots of men. I want such bloody love, such devastation; such devotion, to never regret the cogs we turned in life, that we designed; we set in motion. Finally, I want a tortured soul, to repair; to piece together, to tread upon a lake of fire that never quells; that flows and burns (forever)

jameson stewart, dan hedges, dawnell harrison, mike cluff, colin dodds. Mt. Baker

By: Jameson Stewart I can imagine myself somewhere in Colorado Curled in bed with a beautiful woman Her two cats nestled quietly Between our pillows One of them behind my knees Easy like the last piece of a puzzle There’s a window Opposite of her fireplace And outside the window The world is a snow globe Turned upside down Soft And the fire sings bright Flames while the cats Stretch, adjust, and fall back Into slumber as she rests Her head on my canvas Only I’m not in Denver I’m in Cincinnati And there’s no snow Only rain Not even cold rain Just rain Big Fat Drops 81 degrees And the wind pushes in the rain Through the window My chair becomes a child’s swimming pool And a man in the room across from the window Snores his saxophone As if he’s in a jazz club in New Orleans I start another poem I haven’t written in two months But here comes inspiration Only it’s a few lines short Without an ending I put down the pen Pour my last glass of wine Turn on the radio

A prelude performed by The Ukraine National Symphony Orchestra And before I fall asleep I check Craigslist for FOOD/BEV/HOSP jobs SUBLETS/TEMPORARY RENTALS In Denver The only way to begin A great romance Or end a bad poem Is suddenly.


By: Dan Hedges {you imagine yourself as a blue dot with no responsibilities in the morning except for just ‘holding it together’ that is the tone and shape of the dot; and whereas the believed blue dot has staying power our only one shot at eternity has nothing to do with personal identity}

At 52:13 hours

By: Mike Cluff

Stenciling “love” or a peace sign onto human flesh made be all right such tattooing however does not set too well with me. On an albino molly, or neon striping a tiny tetra, the act is enough to force me to abandon cod and salmon for a bit so to lose my remaining sense of hope in this race of animals I was born oh too naturally into.

Jesus on Cable TV By: Colin Dodds

I bet Jesus swore all the time.

I look to you

By: Dawnell Harrison I look to you When clouds darken And I trip over Empty roadways For no reason. I look to you When time is like A robin without Its tender wings. I look to you when The day tumbles Into the naked vastness Of a sleepless night. I look to you For guidance when A compass is not at hand.

“Blessed are the fucked.” “Forgive those assholes, Father, they don’t know their souls from their scrotums.” And he will cuss when he returns. “You have turned my father’s house into a den of bake sales and toy drives— You little shits.”


jason ford, holly day, sy roth. Odd Moments of Idle Musings

Another World Away

they hack through the earth’s core machines biting it, slipping their long pipes into the aquifer squirrling through thin layers to find water mussing lush patches of her lusting for her water. I’m thirsty.

Another world away from here Contains the melodies I seek to find As I begin to search for what is clear Among the maps which come to mind.

By: Sy Roth

a dog pees against the cobblestones, its owner tapping his foot whistling a you-don’t-see-me tune I conjectured— at the seemingly endless flow, and the dog’s ahhhhh grin as his urine burden splashes. an idle thought wiggles in traipsing through for a playful second-I see a Tyrannosaurus Rex behind my eyes and I watch him pee lifting his huge leg, evacuating his bladder-how much water would he produce? a lake? fill a cairn? I think. I imagined the waters of millions of Tyrrani filling reservoirs. I watch their water seep into the soil and leak into yellow cisterns for millennia. perhaps the waters of those gothic beasts nourish us today, we being blessed by the nurturing waters of the gargantuas. My thirst slaked. final observation-that dog scratches at the ground with its hind paws, marches snappily behind its owner unconcerned that he could be hydrating future generations the corers, as well, still pierce unwittingly. I laugh.


By: Jason Ford

Each map I read reveals the reasons why A world which exists as prone to dust Cannot contain the kind of tunes which fly Above temporal objects which turn to rust. As border line between a higher state And forms of sight restricted to the earth Becomes clear, I reach desire to now equate Myself with strength of tunes providing mirth. Only now, do I come to realise The emptiness of being left as numb To higher kinds of truth which comprise Of melodies surpassing beats of drum. Although my ears cannot taste the sound Of tunes ascending well beyond this world, Desire for higher tunes remains profound As forms of zeal are set to be unfurled.

The Mare at the Gate By: Holly Day

she senses me close by, snorts and turns around approaches the wire screen covered in morning glories and lets down her head. I give her the apple I’ve carried in my pocket all day simply waiting for this instant. when I close my eyes, the fence has vanished, the houses have disappeared, the town is gone. we lope and gallop unfettered, trampling wildflower-filled meadows pausing only to eat, to drink, to sleep the telephone calls me back to the authentic version of the world and I have to go. I stroke her velvety muzzle, rub my cheek against hers the heaviness of my desire to stay glues my breath to my lungs dragging at me as I trudge back indoors.

louis marvin & xy. Sludge-Bot (The World Meets Dr. Wang) By: Louis Marvin & XY

She’s watching the press conference on the TV, but listening to Holst’s “The Planets”. Strange that she is listening to the Mars-Bringer of War, while she is Venus-The Bringer of Peace. She’s waiting to be introduced to the world as the leader of the E R * project. She is the tough, but nurturing Doctor/Scientist/Inventor. One bilingual in English and Mandarin, able to breach the Great Wall and leap into the Grand Canyon. Now living as the hapa doctor on the islands of Hawaii, while her working worlds will be on Mars, the Moon and the ocean deep. The classic music lets her drift back to the time her and dad spread out the recycle material on the kitchen table and created the model of the Sludge-Bot. She was sent to Seattle as one of 10 kids out of 3,000 participants in this science contest from 150 cities across the U.S. The sludge-bot was real now and working and able to work with all sorts of dire to man chemical and biological spills, since it ran from remote control. She saw herself playing piano, viola, tennis, dancing and singing, always with her parents in her corner. Although they were very stern, they had great humor to go with this. Mother and her fought, complete with Chinese sayings and pictures of great-grandfather dying, and grandfather and grandmother beaten and thrown into prison. The family was relocated and split up, all while the revolution marched on. Mother was not forgiving in her assessment of the easy life of American children, and especially one in such a relaxed place as Hawaii. Mother and Chinese grandmother often had heated discussions on the phone, while she did her math and science or watched old programs and movies with dad. She often asked her students, co-workers, or those at lectures, “Anybody here have a Chinese mom?” They would laugh and she would explain why she had an M.D. and PhD. And, why she was so damned driven, in two languages on two continents. She was shaken out of her daydream by “Greensleeves”, which was at the tail end of her Planets music she so enjoyed. She was about to be introduced to the world.


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The Bitchin' Kitsch February 2013 Issue  

The Bitchin' Kitsch is a zine for artists, poets, prose writers, or anyone else who has something to say. It exists for the purpose of open...

The Bitchin' Kitsch February 2013 Issue  

The Bitchin' Kitsch is a zine for artists, poets, prose writers, or anyone else who has something to say. It exists for the purpose of open...