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artwork by emma pesin
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glenn federico emma pesin channa goldman jessie levin carly sorenson monoculus rex murum william broich bradley rabinowitz olivia adams julia montilla uri sarig daniel rahal & mitchell angelo
Editor in Chief: Muse McCormack Layout Editor: Bailey Hummel Managing Editor: Mitchell Angelo & Special Thanks to our newest team member Olivia Adams!!
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artwork by emma pesin
5 Dear Gutter Readers, February is many things; The Shortest Month, this year a Leap Year Month, Black History Month, and The Month of Love. Somehow February snuck up on me and as soon as it was here it was gone, but in fond remembrance of this short, but packed month I want to reflect on some history. I was consulting with Grumble (the resident Gutter Ghost) and they were telling me about how Gutter was founded. How long ago Gutter was merely an idea in the head of a young fish who longed to attend an institution of education. This fish came from the rivers that flow through our sewers. She would not just make a poor human, but even on her good days she made a poor looking fish. One day she rose from the sewers and learned to breath on land, she stole a face she found on a beautiful corpse, and she set off to find a place that would accept her. Purchase did not accept her, but they did not care enough to notice that someone had snuck into their realm. The fish was named Senara, a name she stole from a girl she met at sea, and as she spent more time inside brick walls she began to miss the Gutter and her home. This institution did not answer all her questions and it did not hold hers fins as she navigated a strange world. She was often punished for the things she could not help but be ignorant of and rewarded for merely keeping quiet and conforming. So Senara started Gutter Mag as The Load then it became The Brick, she wanted to talk about these things that weighed her down, then it was The Indie, named after a girl who’s attention she was trying to get, before it was The Load again. Finally she realized that the name of this sacred
sacred publication should be in honor of the place that birthed her, the place that made all this greatness possible; The Gutter. It was here she found a home again and here where she met others that were not content merely sitting on their scales. Senara died long ago, but it is said you can sometimes find a hard chunk in your D-Hall food and it is one of her bones reminding you she will always be there for those who are lost in search of a home. Gutter really is a home and in honor of that home I want to thank all those who make it one. Olivia is our newest Gutter volunteer and she is a dream. Funny and clever and she knows how to operate roombook like a boss. Mitchell as ever is the gay space cowboy to my gay alien mermaid. His ideas and joy keep the team buoyant and on top of that he was in an amazing play this month about robots! And Bailey. This magazine could not run without them. They ground the team, bring logic to a mostly illogical place, they are extremely good at their job, and above all I love them as I love my whole team; with all my heart. Even outside of the Gutter Team, I want to thank the people who come to our meetings, who submit, and who support us. Though they can be a small pack at times, they are loyal, they are funny, and they are passionate. This is what Gutter runs on; the humor and passion of strangers who come together to make a kick ass magazine and share a few jokes. Even if you are just picking up the magazine and reading it, you are a part of Gutter. Thank you. XOXO Gutter Loves You <3 Muse McCormack (Gutter Magâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Current Editor in Chief)
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artwork by monoculus rex murum
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Kat’s bike fit perfectly on top of Jeremy’s car if you used stolen 7-11 brand bungee cords. Their haul filled the back of his 1999 Toyota Corolla so high they could hardly see out of the back window. Kat had hardly buckled her seat belt before Jeremy peeled out of the parking lot, turning up the volume on his speaker to blast (and you’ll never guess this one) Guns n’ Roses across the city blocks she couldn’t count as they flew down the street. There was something ethereal about it as he put their windows down, the speedometer flying forward. She wasn’t scared. Confused? Sure. Surprised? Absolutely. Excited? Maybe so. Something told her to stop thinking about any of it. To not think about anything but the feeling of air in her face, hair whipping her cheeks, the pulsating bass of a song she didn’t know the words to but somehow sounded so familiar. She watched the speedometer inch up to 65, up to 70, now 81 mph in a 35. She gripped the seat as Jeremy went faster and faster. There was the Costco she used to shop at with her mom. There was her best friend’s old bus stop. They screeched around a corner and there was the McDonalds where she and Andrew first met. There was the library her first bike got stolen from. She sees it all and can feel it,it is flying with her and she can’t do anything but breathe and be there and laugh. Laugh and laugh and laugh until, out of nowhere but somehow expected, sirens.
Jeremy whipped down a small street and Kat’s stomach sank.
But Sweet Child O’ Mine was blaring again and Jeremy was grinning, the absolute mad lad, and despite the police being hot on their trail he kept going. He weaved across a curvy suburban neighborhood with the skill of someone who’d been in a high speed chase before, getting so close to curbs as he cut corners that Kat could practically touch them. He flew around one corner, made a right, a left, two more rights, then shot into an empty driveway and killed the engine, cracking his door to turn off the headlights. Moments later, a squad car raced around the corner past them, then down the street, then making a left, the lights slowly drifting into the distance.
Silence, for a moment.
Then, laughter again.
oliva adams
artwork by emma pesin (left) & jessie levin(right)
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about a climax (love poem to my clitoris)
planet with no visitation rights, only the god that is your owner, you caress yourself betewen our thighs, pink and burning and alive like tastebuds sweet and sour, placed in your folded throne iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll pledge to you my allegiance from outside the palace in which you reside, nestled between blankets warm and electrical, how could anything so existing be mistaken as not even there? you are spherical and ruthlessly holy, iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll touch you any damn day i please and afterwards, thank you for jeweling our temples with a dew dropped glow like that which could only come from someone like yourself, pulsed up with the blood of angels in the form of a swollen
channa goldman
bliss.
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“collection of texts i’ve hearted over the last couple months” uri sarig
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drawing by uri sarig
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artwork by glenn federico
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cavities for valentines day
love poem for my period blood as it stains your elbows crimson. we drank the wine from the refrigerator door and let it expire in bellies clashing against one another, skin upon other skin, sheets thinning and moonbeams drunk. we, eating up the hour, we did it because we said so. thighs like a cavity but not in a bad way, only in the way that assumes that somewhere, at some point, there had been too much sugar - and there has been. it rains down from the sunroof never asking for permission, all around and everywhere, it takes up a home in our wounds and lets us know it is here to stay. mixing with my bloodm getting all over your elbows, we decide we like this best - the burn of sweet in our bodies empty spaces. we rub it in until we can see new names appear where it was our skins once were. then we write some more love poems.
channa goldman
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darren wang in â&#x20AC;&#x153;psycho stunnaâ&#x20AC;? photos by daniel rahal
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An excerpt from “Escape” by Carly Sorenson
In the beginning, no one lived on the first floor of
the old East Village tenement. It was empty for many years, and then it was a shooting gallery, and then Ben, my dad, broke in with the help of four other squatters. They used the first floor as a communal kitchen, a performance space, an art studio, and a place to mediate disputes between tenants. A writer and adjunct professor lives there now, chosen from among thousands of applicants by a co-op board composed of the building’s residents, Ben among them. The writer/professor got the apartment because Ben liked a book he’d written. The board also liked his leftist politics and meager salary.
But back when the first floor was held in common, Ben
claimed the second floor for himself. His greatest challenge in those days was repairing the plumbing system, which consisted of crumbling clay pipes, and siphoning running water to the building. In the meantime, he shat in a bucket behind a curtain as far from his mattress as possible. He painted t rompe l’oeilshutters on either side of his two windows. He did this by sitting on the window ledge with his knees inside and his torso outside the building. Ben used thick, smelly indigo paint - smelly according to Tati - and when she noticed him working, she asked him to paint some for her windows as well. Soon every squatter had blue shutters.
Tati moved into the apartment above Ben’s. She’d
grown up in the neighborhood, specifically in the Jacob Riis Houses on Avenue D. She even received her first communion at the Catholic church nextdoor to the squat, and was instrumental in reassuring the congregation that the squatters would be good neighbors, not drug addicts or
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sexual deviants. They allowed her to run a power cord from the church to the first floor of the squat, and that’s where they got their power for several years.
It was Tati’s idea to plant a garden in the empty lot
on the other side of the squat. She enlisted the squatters to clear away trash and rubble, and invited parishioners to plant rows of vegetables. Ben built her a compost bin. Sara, her best friend and roommate at the time, tacked the Puerto Rican flag to the wall and embedded bricks and bits of crockery in the dirt to form a path between the plots. (Sara is also my mother. We don’t talk about her much but Tati says she has a freckle on her chin like I do, and the same restless energy.) Tati called it Jardín de la Santa Virgen , in honor of the church, but everyone else called it Tati’s Place. Each spring, a stray cat birthed a litter of kittens in some corner of the garden.
The top floor was uninhabitable at first because
the roof leaked. Ben’s college roommate, Marcus, spent a summer on that roof, layering mesh and tar over holes and rotten patches, descending only to nap indoors during the hottest hours of the day. He liked Ben’s indigo shutters as well, and decided that his cosmetic contribution to the squat would be a rooftop garden. Not a vegetable garden, like Tati’s, but a sculpture garden. Marcus built pinwheels out of scrap metal - soda cans, pipes, caps, wires - and decorated them with broken glass, colorful labels, plastic toys, and beads. He planted them along the edges of the roof, so they could be seen from the sidewalk. Ben says the pinwheels used to glitter as they spun, but after Marcus died they rusted until they could no longer move.
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artwork by william broich
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two playlists by mitchell angelo (availabile on spotify)
like like save room for us - tinashe, MAKJ vanessa from queens - stephen malkmus, the jicks got you - amyl and the sniffers body biology - pizzagirl chantilly lace - r. stevie moore so hot you’re hurting my feelingss - caroline polachek i dare you - the regrettes if you know that i’m lonely - FUR marlboro nights - lonely god archie, marry me - alvvays atop a cake - alvvays pumpkin - the regrettes spice girl - animé want you in my room - carly rae jepsen instead of my room - charlie burg crush - duckwrth (your love keeps lifting me) higher and higher - ezra furman revolution lover - left at london edward 40hands - mom jeans. i was born to love you - queen got to get you into my life - the beatles do i ever cross your mind - chet atkins and dolly parton holding ur own hand
hopeless - screaming females true blue - mark ronson, angel olsen i wish you the best of everything - the ink spots out like a light - the honeysticks right side of my neck - faye webster i don’t wanna be okay without you - charlie burg say me name - hozier someday we’ll linger in the sun - gaelynn lea divorce and the american south - aaron west and the roaring twenties letter from last summer - charlie burg i wanna be your girlfriend - ezra furman love you so bad - ezra furman cellophane - FKA twigs not enough - FUR cherry wine - hozier lover, you should come over - jamie cullum hello my old heart - the oh hellos i’ll sing you a love song - pete seeger take care - SASAMI don’t let me cave in - the wonder years friday i’m in love - phoebe bridgers please never fall in love again - ollie MN
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two playlists by julia montilla
feel that love babeyyyyy toronto - snoh aalegra*** drive safe - rich brian rose - inner wave sweet to me - summer salt we’re alright - rattleshake dance with me - sir, please*** ninety - jaden rockaway - summer salt girl (feat. KAYTRANADA) - the internet sunday candy - donnie trumpet & the social experiment more than a woman - bee gees*** you da one - rihanna late nights (feat. father & abra) - hiko momoji how deep is your love - bee gees glass in the park - alex turner young hearts run free - kym mazelle*** tattooed heart - ariana grande thinking bout you - frank ocean roses (feat ROZES) - the chainsmokers so hot you’re hurting my feelings - caroline polachek everywhere - fleetwood mac*** don’t - bryson tiller never forget you - the noisettes*** coffee (f**ing) [feat. wale] - miguel can’t take my eyes off of you - frankie valli & the four seasons fred astaire - san cisco better - estelle chanel - frank ocean emotions - mariah carey*** recover n feel good because thats all we can do in this cursed life blow me (one last kiss) - p!nk cruel - st. vincent gives you hell - the all-american rejects*** hang on little tomato - pink martini circles - post malone leave me alone - kari faux don’t chase - arin ray alright - kendrick lamar*** don’t start now - dua lipa block list - rico nasty*** anything - SZA she won’t dance with me - rattleshake only if - steve lacy*** E.V.O.L - marina and the diamonds we belong together - mariah carey afterglow (original mix) - wilkinson***
*** if you read this and don’t care about a playlist at least listen these crucial songs to get you dancing
february 2020
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