Easy doesit! THECURRENT (ANDFRAGILE)
A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR IN CHIEF
I WASN’T PREPARED FOR HOW HARD MY TWENTIES WERE GOING TO BE. I HOPE THAT THIS ZINE MAKES YOU FEEL LESS ALONE IN THIS EXISTENTIAL PERIOD OF YOUR LIFE. I KNOW IT HAS FOR ME. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE EXTREMELY TALENTED CREATIVES WHO SUBMITTED PIECES- I AM TRULY GRATEFUL FOR YOUR IDEAS AND WORDS.
IT IS ONLY SPRING
Anadultfortwowholeyears Ateenagerwithsmallfears. Butnowthelimbostageisdone Andyouareayearofftwenty-one.
Threeyearsflashfuriously, Friendsreturnfromuniversity Andyouhavebeenslummingit Inthepublichouse-yoursandpit.
Trudgeontwelvemonthsmore Youarealltwenty-four Buttheyaresettlingdown Andyouhavebarelylefttheground.
Christ,you’reavirgin? Onthedole,stillpurging Thoseperfectchildhooddays Withasenseofdismay.
Aquartercenturyhasgone Youstilldonotbelong Toanyoneoranything Butremember-itisonlyspring.
Awholeblissfulseason Ofsummer,isreason Totakeasecondlook Atwhatisinsideyourbook.
So,pickupthespade Forthenextdecade Andgetdownanddirty Youwillbloodysoonbethirty.
ThomasCaton,42 He/Him Cumbria,England @caton_tomonInstagram
Nostalgia/Iachetobewholeagain.
I. Today I wokeup andfoundthelingeringstainsofyourshadowbymy bed,a penchantforsaudadedreamsthatawakenmywretchedlonging fortoentanglemysoulintoyours,thisbonedeepdesiretocurlupinto yourwarmth.
Thedeafeningsilenceechoestheghostofyourwords,acoldkissagainst myforehead.
TheknifetwistsinmychestforIcanstillfeelthewarmthofit.
Islaughtermyownbody,breakmyownmindandmeltintotheshadows justsothetasteofyourlipsonminefadesawayaschastekissesfrom strangersinalleywaysaimtofilltheache,
Ihatewhat’sinmymind,thelostloverinmethatstillpeelstwooranges insteadofone,justincase.
II. The halffilled bowl of foodsitsonthetopshelfofmyfridgewithapostitnoteontop,thesalt ofmytearsfindingtheirhomageinthepaper,batteredfromtheamount oftimesIhavebrushedmyfingersoverit.
Ashiverslidesdownmyspineattheimagemybrainpaints—the precariousrealisationthatperhapsyouwouldbesmilingasyoupenned downthewordsofcare.
WouldyoubelievemeifItoldyou,
HowIslitherasanunknowninmyownbody, HowIachetobewholeagain?
III.Footsteps halt
onthesacredconcrete,mybeingisheldupbysomethingurgentinthese decayeddepths,ofunnamedflowersthatreekofpoisonandstrangers growingwithinthehollowcrevicesthatspelloutyourname.Inanother universe,perhapstherainbeatingstreetswouldbelitwiththeglowof youralluringpresenceasIstoodbeforeyou,drapedinshadows,wrapped inthornsandbarbedwire, soakedtomyverybones, warmedbyyourgentletouch.
IV. I still wait
fortheghostofyounearthelightenedriverbanks,howthenipping windswouldremindmeofhowthosedarkenedstrandswouldstickto yourforehead,stardustliningyourthroatasIbrushedmymouthagainst yourforlornskin,
Thisbeatingorganinitscrazetoexplode,youheldmeclose, whisperedthosewretchedwordsagainstmylips, Icouldn’trecallmywalkbackhomebutIrememberdowntoeverydetail howtheworldseemedtoslipfromunderneathmyfeet,howIwalked barefoottowardsthehomeoftheangelsinhopesthat Icouldburnmykneesrawandscreammylungsout, Onlyforthepresenceofyoutoneverturnintoanabsence.
V. The letters
stackedontopofthedinnertable,Ieatyourfragmentedlovefor breakfastandsiponyourlastwishes,mylovecrazedboneslicking thelingeringsweetnessofyouraffection,thesmellofyourcologneI heldineventhoughitwarnedtofadeaway.
Icouldwatchmyownbeingmeltintowishes,themirrorlaughingas myreflectionburnedawayintoadesperateachingtobeloved, Icouldhavewatchedthelaststarfallfromthesky,theblack expanseofthissheetofearthcomingdownoverme, andIwouldn’tmind,
AngelofDeath
artwith,Islittheangelofdeath'so tonceathousandflies&fireflies& toutfromtheremains,&drankgre mhisblood; fromthewondermatterofhisbodybloomedmagnoliatrees ofgreatheight&width thewidecupoftheirpetals,clusteredtogetherlike handsprayingdeliverance.
Theirsmallyellowheartsshonewithangeliceyes,gleaming: itsshadowborethesmellofrum&andmusk.
&upitstrunkgreatparasiticorchids, theirbobbingheadsheavywithremorse forthecrimeofexisting. Itgrowstherestill,theangel'smagnolia.
Onthecurveofthatuglystreet,attheheartof thatuglyhomeplace-nearenough totherailwaythatthethunderoftheenginesshakestheleaves, makesthemsingbeautifully
MariaDuran,26 she/her Lisbon,Portugal @m.mar.duranonInstagram
Whenpunishingme,
Remembertheconsequencesofmyactionsrarelyhurtothersmorethanmyself, andyoucannotprovethisisalie.
PleasetakeintoconsiderationthefactthatIamverysmall,whichgavemeall mannerofneurosis-alsomyhairisnun-veillong,mymoutha
knottystitch,mymindstumblessooften.Iamverycapableofdoingtheverbtodo,initerationswhicharenotexcuses,butshrugtheirshoulders,tense withconfusion. Iamverycapableofdoingbetter
Veryabletostringactionstosigndeedstogestureandmeanit RememberIgivetosolidaritymybadbonesandgoodfaithandcheapmoneyoccasionally
Betendertowardsme:Icouldbedoingmuchmore, Oratleastrespectindulgencebetter,Icouldbechoosingjoyatleast ..................................threemoretimesaday, Butthenagainsocouldyou.
MariaDuran,26 she/her Lisbon,Portugal @m.mar.duranonInstagram
AStitchinTime
Thereisaplaceinhistorywhereyouripped Itsfineseamsapart,Aholethesizeofeverybadhabit, andneverdiditevergetsewn.
Theworktosealitislargeandterrible moresoforhowmuchfasterandfaster isthecourseoftime,evenyourown stretchofmeagerdayandmeagernights.
Ofcourseatheartyouarehumbled byyourownknowledgeoftheself-anddisdainful, andfullofawe.
Butthatisofno useinparticular,toparticularsorcollectives, ifyoudonotwashthedishes,andthegrievances,and thesilentkitchensofyoursoul.
Theholeisthesizeofhalfyourlife, exactlytheperfectamountofspaceandtime foryourhandstotakeupthemendingtask.
acontemplation
Katherine Johnson,
23 she/her Citrus County, FL
1.Animals don’t feel ongoing stress. A predator chas they carry on. They build nests and gather food for th about mortality, impending doom, or what to make o nature God what is my nature?
ebraceletsontheplaygroun reebrownstrands,orangeint wrist.Itlookedsobeautiful.Ih ing.
wretchednessofmyownhea myself,pickoutmyflaws,and metime.Meanwhile,thebirds ulorifthey’regood.Anditis. ftheearth,leavingaglowofg
ngtime,youneedacommuni obebrave;weneedcommun udentsbeforetheyweremissionaries.Theytraveled mmunitiesaroundtheworld.Theywereflawed me.Theywereoftenconfused.Whatempoweredthem? me?Ilongforit,thatclarity. etob entia ful.Iw
ALWAYS THE SPANGLED BRIDESMAID
Whenwestartedgoingbackinschool,yougavemea rhinestonehairbandfromClaire’s.Othertimesyougave meCDsor10pmix-upsorahoodymarkedwithLynx Africa.Othertatbesides.Butthehairbandcrownedthose childishyears.
WhenIfinishedmydoctorate,youupgradedmetocubiczirconia.A bracelettocelebratesurvivingstudiesatoppositepolesoftheland.You saidyou’dgivemesomethingmoreoneday.Somethingevenbetter.SoI tookitanddidn’tletonthatthehaloofcut-pricesolitaireswreathedthe wrongpartofme.
Iworeittherestofmyporcelaindecade,butit neverheldthepromisethatIwanted.Itssilver soontarnished.Yousaidyouneededlonger, longerthansixteenfoil-backedyears.Irealised you’dpeakedatthehairbandandachokerof lovebites‘roundthebackofthebikesheds.The wasteofallthattimebedazzledmycheekbones.
ghtasdiamonds.Buttheyglow hollow.Theycrumbleunderthebootofexpectationsf short.AndIwon’tbestrungalongnomorelikeyourGr oldpearls.
Failing/AfterGrades
SoonIgraduate withAinConstructivism (withaspecialisationincabinetsforcuriosities,foldingfiles,fiveyear plans,expressions), BinEntactogenics:PracticeandTheory, andDinCommunication, againonthedirtylivingroomcarpet.
Thelight–blind-broken,unemployed–stripesmyarmintoparts. There’sthatwarmth–anditsfutility.‘Therecords’,somethingsays, ‘areallthatisleft.’
Soplayitagain.’Gowalkingincircles…’ Doesitmatteriftheresultsarethesame? I’mtired,examiner. Markmedown.
JulianH, he/him UnitedKingdom
SometimesYou’reTwentyOne
Sometimes you’re twenty-one and standing in the kitchen of your grandparent's house, toeing the ground, as the neighbours dog comes and stands by your side. Nuzzling your leg, as you look down smiling and patting her head.
You move away from the counter, grabbing two mugs filled with coffee as you bring them into the living room the view from your kitchen window fading me Dancingis on tating the whole time, es.
times you’re twenty-one and you no longer into the skin that makes up your body. You everything around you feels surreal. Almost u’re trying to wade through water but you’re the middle of a lake, you don’t know how to wim and you realise that you’re in too deep
and you’re sitti r a coffee with isn’t a lot) as y bout work. nd you’re walk call home and gave it another
Sometimes you’re twenty-one and you think about how many coffees you made this year a how many times you locked yourself in the bathroom of your old work and cried. In hinds you probably should have left there sooner, b cat, and you thought it was going to get better didn't pay.
Sometimes you’re twenty-one an from 2020, where you used to wr were supposed to uplift your men You think to yourself that you sho Sometimes you’re twenty-one and you wish that you had more time and more conversations with the people you loved you wish that things weren’t so complicated.
Sometimes you’re twenty-one and you realise that this was the first year since you were sixteen that you felt real loneliness. At the same time, you’ve come to love your hometown again, you don’t hate it as much as you did. You are grateful for your siblings and grateful for all of the time you spent there this year. Even though it pains you to see your brother cry whenever you leave, you know that there will always be a place for you there.
You realise that although you don’t need much, you want more. Is that selfish?You’re not quite sure, but you don’t tell anyone just in case it is.Sometimes you’re twenty-one and you realise that living is a gift, and you don’t need to pretend to know what’s wrong or right. That watching The Avengers for the first time and hyper-fixating over Scarlett Johansson's nose isn’t a crime. That singing along to that one song over and over again five times is actually a brilliant way to pass your time. You realise that everything you do with your time isn’t wasting it, rather living it instead. That all of the walks you take down the same roads, is a gift. It’s a gift to know your way around the town you grew up in, it’s a gift to live with your partner.
Although, you’re still scarred from ableism and working is really scary right now, you think about all of the times something was horrible and then realise that you got through it.Just like you’ll get through this. Life does when a tragedy happens and you found that out the way with your grandad, so you just have to keep go course, you’re sad that you feel like this because of something that happened, and it sucks that both yo body and mind, is still reaping the effects of someth terrible, but you know it won’t be like this forever.
Twenty-one is also this: There used to be comfort in a certain number in your phone, or friends that didn’t live so far away or a family that felt put together. But now, everything feels foreign. It’s the first time that you feel old, the first time you realise that you’re an adult now. You can’t remember how you got from sixteen to twenty-one in what feels like no time at all and suddenly you’re overcome with a want to be small again. You feel like a stranger to yourself, your aunt finishes her tea. Your Mum puts the washing out. Your brother giggles at a TikTok she just saw. The dog curls up with her head in your lap. Your Grandma correctly guesses the winner You’re sprung back into reality again and you breathe in
You’ll be fine in five you’re grateful to b opportunity to reac never thought you’
Untitled
darkangel wingsshrouded insundown youwalk atmyshoulder mutteringtoyourself about eachofmy bitterfailures. iunderstand you’resimply anastyhabit anaddiction todeprecation butidon’tknow whowouldtalktome ifyouwalked away.
FlorenceHowarth,22 She/Her Edinburgh,Scotland @fleetingflorapoetry
Self Love Letter
To the girl I knew a year ago,
Itisveryraretoseeyouthesedays,whichisashame.Youdon’tknow thatbeingaroundyouislikestandingfacefirstintoasoothingocean breezewiththesunglisteningonmyfreckles.Yourpresenceisalight capableoflesseningthepressureofrealityaroundanyone.Being aroundyouranimatedandblissfuljoyfeelsliketheeuphoricwonder ofaDisneyfilm.Itisequivalenttoathousandfluorescentfireflies.Itis whatyouareknownfor;yoursignatureinfectioussmileandloud echoinglaugh.Peopleareamazedatyourgiddyoptimism.Iamtoo honestly.
Thegirlsheisnow,orshouldIsaythegirlIamnowcouldn'tbefurther fromthis.IamaghostofthegirlIwasayearago,hoveringaroundher bodywaitingtobereunitedwithherimperishablehappiness.The darknessthathaspenetratedmymindmakesmefeellikeastranger tomyself.Itsshadowslengthenintothecavernsofmymindand depletewhatjoyisleft.Noone,notevenIcouldhaveguessedthis couldhavehappenedtoabrighterperson.
Now...
Ihavelostthesparklefrommyeyesandsmile.
Mylaughhasbeenquietened.
Myoptimismhasbeencorruptedbythedarkshadowsofanxiety. Ihaveadefeatedsenseofself.
Mytunnelvisionreachesoutdesperatelytoatimebeforeallthechaos anxietybroughtinmylife.Itisanunhealthywaytoviewmyrecoveryand healing.IhavebeenmisguidedbymygoaltoregainthegirlIlostayear ago.HoweverIhaverecentlylearnedthisisunfair:acomparisonof peoplemyage,friends,family,societalexpectationsandespeciallywith myselfbeforementalillness.Thisstruggleencouragesinnerbattlesthat causespiralsofquestions.
WhydoeseverythingIdocomewithgreateffort,whenitcomesso effortlesslyforeveryoneelse?WhyhaveIlostthesparklethatusedto shinesobrightly?
Whyisitsohardtoreignite? Whyiseverythingsohardnow? Why?
ButtothegirlIknownow,Iknowyouaregoingthroughanimmensely hardtimementallythatyoucouldn'tevenimaginedayearago.Iknow thingshavechangedbutithasmadeyoustrongerandgivenyouwisdom youdidn’tthinkyouneeded.Youarelearningtobemoreforgivingof yourself,toputyourselffirst,andtostartthelongtreacherousroadofa healingjourney.PleaseknowthestrugglehastaughtmehowimportantI am.Itwasacrucialstepinbeingmoreforgivingwithmyself.Sowhenyou feelyourselfstartingtoslipbackintothedepthsofthosedarkcaves,tell yourselfitsok.Difficultthoughtsandemotionsarehard,butyouhave walkedoutofthoseplacesbefore.
Thisletterisn'tapleatogetyouback.IamdifferenttowhoIwasayear ago.IjustwantedtosaythatIappreciatethegirlwithunknowingbravery andaninnocentbeauty.Iamexcitedtoseefleetingmomentsofselfdiscoveryandtogivethisextensionofmyselfthecompassionshefinally deserves.Itwasniceknowingyouoldfriend.
Love from the woman I am becoming :)
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