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Stevens Point (and neighbors) Calendar of Events. Art

Through October 4 Ryan Weisenfeld. Scarabocchio Art Museum. Through October 28 Time Transcending Iron. Wroughtiron forgings and sculpture by Boleslaw Kochanowski. Riverfront Arts Center. Through October 28 Benjamin D. Rinehart: Recent Work. Carlsten Gallery, Noel Fine Arts Center. Through November 3 Inside the Q Artists by John Hartman. Gallery Q. October 2 Visiting Artist: Leo Tecosky (Corning Museum of Glass). 5:30 p.m., Room 221, Noel Fine Arts Center. October 2 A.R.T.S. Night. 5:00 - 9:00 p.m. Holiday Inn Hotel and Convention Center. October 5-7 Rising Star Mill Open House featuring the photographic exhibit of The Barns of Portage County. 11:00 - 4:00 p.m. Nelsonville. October 5, 6, 7 Bounty in Portage County: An Arts and Culture Weekend. Oct. 5 Manhattan Short Film Festival, Jensen Center, Amherst and Sky Club, Plover. Oct 6. Toast to the Arts, Sentry World. Oct. 5-7 Artist Hidden Studio Tour, Portage and Waupaca Counties. www.artsportagecounty. org for more details. October 9-November 21 Douglas Somers. Scarabocchio Art Museum.

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October 20 Fall Art Show. 10:00 - 4:00 p.m. First Baptist Church.

Music

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. October 5 Irene’s Garden. 7:30 p.m. Drefus Center, UWSP. October 6 Sigmund Snopeck, Lou Dog, and Unity Band. 12:00 - 6:00 p.m. At Plo-toberfest. O’so Brewing Company, Plover.

October 25 The Hallowgrass Bash featuring Horseshoes and Hand Grenades. 8:30 p.m. Players’ Lounge. October 27 Dirty Logic. 9:30 p.m. Q’s Pub and Grille, Mosinee. October 27 The Mustache (Funk). 7:30 p.m. Drefus Center, UWSP. October 27 Halloween Bash 2012. Featuring Lords of the Trident, To the Ground and Speaker Eater. 10:00 p.m. - 1:30 a.m. Polack Inn, Wausau.

Outdoors

Mondays Moonlight Bike Ride. 9:00 p.m. UWSP sundial.

October 6 Harvest of Harmony (a cappella). 3:00 - 5:30 p.m. and 7:30 - 10:00 p.m. Sentry Theatre.

October 6 26th Annual Ice Age Trail Fall HIkeA-Thon. Hartman Creek State Park, Waupaca.

October 6 Funktion (Funk). 7:30 p.m. Drefus Center, UWSP.

October 13 Letties Central Waters River 5 Mile Run/2 Mile Walk. 10:00 a.m. Central Waters Brewery, Amherst.

October 12 Teknicolor with Guarantees (Dubstep). 7:30 p.m. Drefus Center, UWSP. October 12 Pistolbrides, The Real Lazy Genius, The Cost of Living, Moon Tunes. 10:00 p.m. Polack Inn, Wausau. October 19 The Goddamns at the P.I. 10:00 p.m. - 1:30 a.m. Polack Inn, Wausau. October 25 Noah Hoehn (Loop Artist). 7:30 p.m Drefus Center, UWSP.

October 27 2012 Rake-A-Thon. 8:00 - 1:00 p.m. SPASH. October 27 MoonWalk Wisconsin. 5:30 p.m. Tomorrow River State Trail, Plover.


Calendar of Events (con’t), andrew peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE. Theater

October 12-14, 18-20 “The Importance of Being Earnest.” Jenkins Theater, Noel Fine Arts Center. October 25-28 “Camelot.” Fri. and Sat. 7:30 p.m., Sun. 4:00 p.m. @1800.

October 27 Chef on the Square: Bistro 212. 11:00 a.m. Main Street Square. October 27 Chef on the Square: Christian’s Bistro. 11:00 a.m. Farmers’ Market, Wisconsin Rapids.

If you would like to see your event in The Bitchin’ Kitsch next month, please email the details to chris@talbot-heindl.com.

Other

October 6 Solar Tour of the Education Center. 10:00 - 4:00 p.m. George Mead Wildlife Area, Milladore. October 6 Cutler Country Comfort Farm Tour. 3:00 p.m. Milladore. Contact Sally and Randy Cutler, 715-457-2781. October 8-November 18 Basic Photovoltaics (Solar Electricity). Online. www. midwestrenew.org/workshops. October 9 Farmshed Community Potluck: Back to Your Roots. 6:30 - 8:00 p.m. The Greenhouse Project. October 13 Nelsonfest 2012: A celebration of green building and craftsmanship. 1:00 - 11:00 p.m. Rising Star Mill, Nelsonville. October 13 25th Annual Festival of India. 3:00 9:00 p.m. SPASH. October 20 Empty Bowls. 11:00 - 1:30 p.m. SPASH. October 20 Hallowgreen Barn Bash. 5:00 midnight. Wetter’s Farm. www. farmshed.org for more information.

Mummy Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE Ink on paper

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content oct 2012 Untitled - Jacob Zurawski

cover

Calendar of Events Mummy - Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE summertime can kiss my ass douglas somers The Inadvertent Hero - Robert Lavett Smith The Kings and Queens of Yard Sales - Dan Hedges

monthly mission submission - pg. 8

douglas somers - pg. 11

the bitchin’ kitsch video and music issue:

Check out this month’s “issue” link of video and music at www.talbot-heindl.com/bitchin_kitsch.html or www.youtube.comTheBitchinKitsch

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Monthly Mission Submission

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MLK - Ken Abraham

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Miller’s Bend - Mike Cluff

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as is - Randy Wagner and Buzz Burinski

Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE Ink on paper

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O You Poets - David E. Patton

on the inside back cover: Scarecrow

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Jacob Zurawski Micron and Prism colors on paper

Untitled

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The Postman - Marc Carver

A Great-Great-Granddaughter of the Chinese Revolution & The Copper Coated Desert Rat Collaborate Yet Again - RB and XY

on the front cover:

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Taking the Cake - Paul Hostovsky

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zend - douglas somers

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Words of Love, Truth, Conscience and God - Alon Calinao Dy

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Prison Filled Pharmacy - Brian Hardie

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Halloween 2012 - Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE

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Why - Jan Haskell

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One Million Variations of the Face I Know Best: #54 - Chris Talbot-Heindl

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Donors and Index

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Scarecrow - Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE

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douglas somers.

summertime can kiss my ass douglas somers Oil painting

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 chris@talbot-heindl.com. are you a video or music artist? submit your youtube link or original file to dana@talbot-heindl.com. all submissions are due on the 26th for the following month’s issue.

ideas:

advertising:

community copies:

donation:

have a seriously bitchin’ idea that could make the bitchin’ kitsch that much better? we want to hear from you. email chris@talbot-heindl.com with your ideas. sit down and read the bitchin’ kitsch at our community locations: zest, the smith scarabocchio art museum, monkeywrench tattoos, and noel fine arts center. want to house a community copy? email chris@talbot-heindl.com.

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 chris@talbot-heindl.com. we love our donors. If you would like to become a donor, email chris@talbot-heindl.com and make your pledge.

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robert lavett smith, dan hedges, marc carver. The Inadvertent Halo

By: Robert Lavett Smith

Old hippie, certainly—his ice-gray hair Precariously pinned atop his skull Though we can’t see quite how it’s fastened there; His face sports a thin beard’s unruly scrawl. He’s led the writing group who knows how long; Asks only that we give encouragement; His voice is gentle, and his spirit, strong; His presence always kind, benevolent. One poet has described him as “a saint,” And now he’s placed himself unwittingly Before antique stained glass, light like soft paint, That frames his faded tresses perfectly. He wears—although he doesn’t seem to know— A well-deserved, if inadvertent, halo.

The Kings and Queens of Yard Sales by: Dan Hedges

While we hoard shiny things, we also cling to narratives with happy endings. In this pattern, we manifest our regional bravado as Kings and Queens of the yard-sales.

Postman

By: Marc Carver I stood in the front room got an urge to pull my trousers and pants down so down they came then i started to wave my prick around and shout “Hello, hello out there.” Then there was a clunk through the letter box and i saw some parcels on the floor. I pulled up my pants the quickest i have ever done then the postman walked by. It was a good job for him he did not come the other way.

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david e. patton. O You Poets By: David E. Patton

O you poets Old and young And you poets Yet to be born. The dead need not use My sound advice In flesh they can not All our lives nor rest. We to the battle must march. We wind blown horns Sounding of our poems. No rest in life No home our own. Shall we storm across Earth convulsed in wars. Shall we walk Time’s element And eternity disappears Faithful to only goodness Not good cheer. Shall we strike down And call them fault Even the rules of Gods That gives us tattled cloth. Are we shock stuff Of equality and Nature’s liberties. Shall we tell that bitch. America that she has yet To live up to All men are endowed For she adds on Not the Blacks for they Are not as human As the chosen men The narrow nose and lip-less Of the white man. Poets, drown not your words The holy of the holy Is still unsaid. The promised land Is still a promise still. Shall you open sesame! The human will The filament is organic Not made of man.

The virtue of the church Is a gloved hand It feels not the sweaty flesh As not to be contaminated. The tree is not dry It is dead. To the church I say Off with your head But I will take your hands Instead because I am A poet; a just man Who live by the vision That poetry instructs And perishes ignorance It is supernaturalism Of all life that fills me As ink from my pen And the twin phantasms Time and Space Leads all to an open grave. And where is Time? And where is Space? But in the mind of our brains And that grave that waits Once held, never lets go. The dead be dead all along ago And raise or rise none from that lay Sleepless sleep, not even the Son Of which lairs speaks. The iron swim is tossed to Kings If nature be not the Author Then here there is no line And Luther’s stained wall Is ink and not blood. And time again and again still Affirms the conception of itself But time has no meaning Without the breath. Poets, you are the standing wonder Miraculous your inspiration Burn down De Cioitate dei’! Let all Julius fall And sheet the dead A stain red And joust in your joyous loss. We poets are now Dancers of the dead Not to call the world To shame for it’s treatment

Of it’s fellow men. We wonder our poems Unborn, still dead On the unspoken tongue No where to rest our heads What the hell are we Waiting for to be? Let Byron rest in The Isles of Greece It is to late now For night long since Laid the first egg Birth life prolific To flutter her wings And little Gods was born To people our little heads. O poets, O friends The fine frenzy Of our sight Glances day and night From earth to heaven to hell And back again. O poets are you My worthless friend One born without A Dionysus’ ear. And now can not Construct one our own? Know this as I go Death is the key To the prison we know. Poets, be you Drutrusque poetical The monstrous wen That is America The philosopher’s stone Is the American’s soul. It will always be bruised metal Denied by its original sin.

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monthly mission submission. monthly mission submission

New to The Bitchin’ Kitsch, “monthly mission submission.” Every month, artists indicate that they would like to submit to The Bitchin’ Kitsch but don’t know what to draw. Now, you don’t have to! Every month, there will be proposed phrase to play around with. This month’s phrases included “half-man, half-machine,” and “a goth kid and his/her bike.” Next month’s phrases will be “your mom,” and “If you can’t beat them...Waffles!” If you would like to suggest a phrase for the month of December, simply submit it on Facebook. The suggestions that receive the most likes will be the phrases for December.

Chris Talbot-Heindl Graphite on paper

Chris Talbot-Heindl Graphite on paper Sam Gustafson Ink on paper

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monthly missions submission (con’t), ken abraham, mike cluff.

Dana Talbot-Heindl Graphite on paper

Dana Talbot-Heindl Graphite on paper

MLK

Miller’s Bend

Sometimes God creates a man, Uniquely suited to His plan, With just the right wiring and chemistry, To bring some Grace to humanity, He gave one such man an eloquent mouth, A quiet, humble, reverend from the south, One could feel in the words he spoke, A force not found in ordinary folk, With faith and hope and courage to spare, Martin Luther King came out of nowhere, To burst upon the national scene, With this proclamation: “I have a dream!” Attack dogs, fire hoses, bill clubs…did not slow him down. He got right back up off the ground, He kept right on walking, steadfast and proud, Through hatred, bigotry, a real nasty crowd, For he had a mission, a job to do, To create a better country for me and for you, To create a country where we could say; “Yeah, Mama, We have a president named Barrack Obama!” Sometimes God creates a man, Uniquely suited to His plan, And, yes, it’s absolutely true, He also has a plan for you.

Surpression needs its own rest fillet mignons seldom borrowed jerboas will have to do instead veronicas speed well towards soignee gazpacho is gehenna to some hubris not such a homely dish unless tabors fall out of tune; mandibles stretch to ingest limber egrets under plexiglass ionized by purdah-less woman bold enough to be themselves timberlines are descending as you speak kleig lights miss the point and quaffle and peculate cinders rival nuggets in popularity ergots and feigning aside xebecs have floated up the Columbia deterimental to the volcanoes’ cones rife with fruition wainscottted on kiwi and tangerines auburn in the luciferic maw and purl quanit and papal in some minds noted for sang froid zithers, fleur de lis, olicooks olios and obbligatos your pandemic soul.

By: Ken Abraham

By: Mike Cluff

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rb and xy, randy wagner and buzz burinski, paul hostovsky. A Great-Great-Granddaughter of the Chinese Revolution & The Copper Coated Desert Rat Collaborate Yet Again

By: RB and XY

The Crying Christmas Hands

I give gifts, which look gift-wrapped and inviting, but hidden inside are tears tears that hold the reality of the salt of the earth, the real people, the dogooders these Christmas hands make and bake and caress and wipe tears when knees get scraped these Christmas hands bake pies and sew buttons and dig ditches for the progress of man but these Christmas hands have spanked you and yanked you and smashed windows these hands of love always hold their shattering surprise tight in their palms until unleashed in a slap that changes the world The Music Teacher From Another Planet

like Clark Kent disguised as a newspaper man, or today an internet news man the music teacher from another planet, teaches music at a middle school but at night, he teaches the instruments to dance and play he sheds his human skin, and brings the music of the universe into the bows into the wood, into the strings and if you listened, just outside of the school at night you wonder if you are hearing science, as the universe pulsates in the woodwinds and the brass and drums and cellos you can hear life breathe, you can hear where you come from The Triple Twisty, Twirly Twins

Twisted, twirling twins three in red, pink and grey twist and turn on the page, like dust devils or maybe cosmic colored dusty bunnies each trying to attract the female look of your eyes then they mate and give birth to the triple, twirly twins travelled an eon, from my eyes to the pen

as is

By: Randy Wagner and Buzz Burinski ...from institution to institution to institutionalized.

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Taking the Cake By: Paul Hostovsky

The urinal cake, that deodorizer thingy: small, white, hockey pucklike, lozenge-like, lemon Italian icelike, deceptively fragrant in the urinal’s sepsis, ultimately irresistible to the three-year-old that you were when you reached your hand in to take it and put it in your mouth while I stood next to you, not seeing you because I was looking blissfully up at the dropped ceiling, peeing the jumbo regular coffee of the last rest stop out in torrents, exhaling contentedly, feeling good about life in general and you and your beautiful mother waiting in the car in particular, not to mention my perfectly functioning bladder emptying itself the way it should, which always feels good no matter how you cut it.


douglas somers, alon calinao dy.

zend douglas somers Oil painting

Words of Love, Truth, Conscience and God By: Alon Calinao Dy

One day, I met Ms. Love. She was so lovely. Mr. Hate got jealous, As he wanted to take away Ms. Love from me. Mr. Bad, a friend of Mr. Hate,

Was always mad at me. He even put blame on me. But Mr. Truth was there Who was willing to testify Against Mr. Bad’s dishonesty.

Now wherever I go, Here’s God, my true hero. He’ll defend me against my enemies And from my nemesis, Mr. Ego!

Though Mr. Conscience, Was a close friend of Mr. Bad. He couldn’t tolerate anymore The injustice acts of his bestfriend. That’s why Mr. Wave, Not my real name, Had won the final verdict! 11


brian hardie, andrew peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE. Prison Filled Pharmacy

By: Brian Hardie

seduction lies in your grin when finished connecting beauty below the stars above, our rations of sunshine months of 3am Thurman and 24th night mural dream shadows My northwestern holiday grey normality prison camp personality of a cloud blanket over this Pacific misty nail gun shower over one who by the moment lives without the frown, getting beebees shot in the ass where the 15 Bus turns off Belmont onto Morrison, Where I smoked first joints of life, where little shits of such should be at least brought into and merely had the living brat piss beat the hell in them out of them, then would I smile, be content alone any time of the year Without grieving – a place I dreamthe loss of lost she’s, where simply selfish I couldn’t please, though with ease finally content alone with no resentment shown I can be alone now if must I be stillin thought Thanking a poem I can write to be empty of feeling ya know, to being lonely, remembering every being of life living is always with me as I with them. Confusing thoughts negative when had, returning to remember an invisible unseen vibration of sharp love, has been ordered to be filled in an angels pharmacy, for simple love is always with me especially when I believe love had taken final leave, I see it clearing up after me, melodically, poetically, I carry on dramatically meaning normally, credit for I take lightly, O the spice of my personality. A green light to just simply be……I just need another light the one from within me to lead me along a path no regrets are had to believing me fatigued, bitterly. Though a holy humble, something spiritually assures gloomy me that killing what in the past haunted hunted me, says killing life’s demons was its proud specialty. After a moment, asks I, genuinely to practice mine, and to keep on scribbling my unique musically poetically.

to found alone. Though now enlightened own-ly to me if thus had be, Life layed quietly next to me. And I slept. I go now awakened I smell the bacon, and on my face from an empty vast sea of itself a sky, still more bacon, and I dance a jig to friends funny n’ known. That sun, known, the star of our life, I know to the least mine. And today because of this day will be but of one extremely fun, and I am done with what I had in fact found, on the tips of a dirty thumbnail of a god, that again had again, my human fun is a scream skydiving. Off to it, one with one

In return I wrote quickly d o w n a poem proud to read about out loud to this healing, enlightening entity though humbly responded that it asked me so I would when finished writing it down, havesomething of my own to do what I could had I need

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Halloween 2012 Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE Ink on paper


jan haskell. Why

By: Jan Haskell It is 2012, and we are in another election year. The problem I always seem to have is that it is all bunk. Most of the people I know are more then likely going to vote for Obama rather then Mic, but the only reason, if we are to be honest, is that we put our hopes with him. In truth though, our hopes have long since been sold, and I’m tired. Aren’t you tired too? It is just not America, but as humans, we all seem to be feeling the same thing, wanting the same thing. Yet, each time the powers at be shut us down. We ask for truth and they give us lies. we ask for reconciliation, and we get partisanship. We ask for unity, and they divide us further. And I am tired. There were dreamers ones who put down in words ideas that expressed a natural human want, freedom, liberty, life. We as people have been beat down by the powers that pull the strings, and our dreams too have been beat down. We wish to heal, and they leave the wound open to fester. And I am tired. We are tired. Let us end this now. Let us stop putting hope, and dreams in the power of puppets. The divisions, the roadblock that have been put in place must be put aside, the walls must be torn down. We must stop putting power in others and ones again take back that which is ours. We can do this, but we need to listen not to the rhetoric that are the listening points of division, but to our hearts, to our dreams.

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chris talbot-heindl, donors, index. advertisers Bitchin’ Kitsch

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mcfishenburger

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Second Space www.talbot-heindl.com

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artists Abraham, Ken

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Andrew Peterson of OVER NIGHT EMPIRE 3, 12, 15 Burinski, Buzz

One Million Variations of the Face I Know Best: #54 Chris Talbot-Heindl Graphite on paper www.talbot-heindl.com

Marc Carver

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Mike Cluff

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Dy, Alon Calinao

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Brian Hardie

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Jan Haskell

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Dan Hedges

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Hostovsky, Paul

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David E. Patton

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RB and XY Robert Lavett Smith douglas somers

we love our donors!

We love our donors, and to prove it, we’re going to let you know who they are. Without their generosity, the Bitchin’ Kitsch would probably not make it through the year. If you would like to become a donor and see your name here, email chris@talbot-heindl.com and make your pledge. acquaintences of the bitchin’ kitsch ($1-10) Colin Bares, Casey Bernardo, Eric Krszjzaniek, Dana Lawson, Jason Loeffler, Justin Olszewski friends of the bitchin’ kitsch ($11-50) Charles Kelly, Kenneth Spalding lovers of the bitchin’ kitsch ($51-100) Scott Cook, Jan Haskell, Keith Talbot partners of the bitchin’ kitsch ($101 & up) The Talbot-Heindl’s, Felix Gardner

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Chris Talbot-Heindl

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Wagner, Randy

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Jacob Zurawski

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a talbot-heindl project 1600 reserve st, stevens point, wi 54481 www.talbot-heindl.com

The Bitchin' Kitsch October 2012 issue  

The Bitchin' Kitsch is a zine for artists, poets, prose writers, or anyone else who has something to say.

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