THE THIRTY SIXTH HOUR
A SELF-INITIATED ONE AND A HALF DAY FANZINE for two days we talked, told stories, did graphic design and adopted a ladybug. 6/1/2010 12:00 Weâ€™ve chosen the theme. We want to make a zine on short stories based on real life situations.
A perhaps not so plain woman London tube. Midday. A middle aged ordinary but somewhat scruffy lady sits herself down briskly on the green carpeted bench. Diving her hand into one of her crisp white ruffled plastic bags she noisily struggles to pull out a generously sized broccoli. Itâ€™s a well shaped pretty and raw broccoli. She then quiets down settles herself comfortably and amongst the ordinarily crowded tube starts nibbling at it until it disappears completely.
Beer drinker Liz is very shy. She is calm and thinks before she speaks. Her boyfriend Chris and her, both archeologists, come to the Little Irish every Friday evening after work. She usually drinks coffee or a cola, whilst Chris gets drunk. The night of the talent show in the Little Irish happened to be the same night she had her birthâ€“ day, so Liz took a decision: That night she would get drunk. Also, drinking would be her talent. Liz emptied every glass with the same precision she handles archeological objects with. Liz didnâ€™t win the talent show. But she got very drunk.
Black and White This is the story of a little girl that couldn’t have been more than three years old and whom was for the very first time meeting a black person. She found him beautiful and was very interested and intrigued by his skin color. She was eager to know if he had been dipped in chocolate at birth!
Double tongue My cousin once cut her tongue in half. My dad told us when me and my sisters were about eight years old, so I imagined her with these two pieces of tongue hanging out of her mouth. It happened during a dinner when she licked her knife clean. Since then I don’t clean knifes like this anymore.
McDeau ‘Do you want a sip of my drink papa?’, she asked beaming with joy and the faintest look of a dare in her eyes. ‘Sure, I’m pretty thirsty actually!’ he answered as she handed him over the McDonalds 0,5dl paper cup. Watching him take a long sip at the straw she examined every curve and shadow on her father’s face whilst he hydrated himself. ‘What on earth is this new drink?’ he asked half coughing it up and compressing his face into as extreme an expression of disgust he could muster, ‘it’s gross!’. ‘You can’t figure it out?’, she asked with delight staring into his startled and questioning eyes ‘Dad, it’s only water! I wouldn’t poison you, ever!’
6/1/2010 12:09 We’ve found a ladybug! We got a box and made her a den.
6/1/2010 12:47 Ladybug has disappeared. (Oh No!) 6/1/2010 12:58 We decide to write our stories in English. Eating pumpkin soup. 6/1/2010 13:39 We begin writing. Alice’s sore throat is hurting more and more. We find her some candy to suck on. 6/1/2010 16:42 We’ve finished writing. We are wonder– ing what next? We’ve decided format.
HOW MUCH DO WE KNOW AND CAN WE TALK ABOUT IT AT ALL?
I’ll kill you at four o’clock
About three or four times a year Gregory promised to kill Laurent. He ususally stor– med out the door, waited a few mo– ments, kept the suspense to a max– imum, stormed in again and informed Laurent: "At four o’clock I’ll kill you. I promise”. That is when Gre– gory’s parents usuallz were call– ed to school.
6/1/2010 20:40 We’ve just found the ladybug in her den again! A lot of talking and eating has been going on. Alice is not feeling too good and decides to try a Neocitran. We start creating illustrations. 6/1/2010 22:05 We stop illustrating. We’ve decided that we are quickly running out of time and that our illustrations are too simi– lar to the stories. We have another brainstorm. 6/1/2010 22:49 We’ve come up with a twenty– four minute game to pick out images around twelve themes. Two minutes per theme to find images. 6/1/2010 23:46 We found and compared images. Next step selection and begin layout.
From Hair to there Pauline, pauline, pauline. I don’t like the name. Sorry if that’s what your parents named you. It’s nothing personal, I just don’t like it. You see, when I was a kid I knew this girl from my class called Pauline. Now I can’t recall why but she would bully me. She wasn’t older than me, wasn’t smarter than me but she sure was scarier than me at
the time. She used to wait for me after class and walk me home pulling my hair all the way there. It got to the point where she pulled so strong I had to follow her hand with my head to the floor. I don’t know what she was trying to teach me. It hasn’t worked, obviously. All I know now is that I don’t like the name Pau– line. And never will. Oh Pauline, pauline, pauline.
Christmas drama Family can be enlightning. Or amusing. Or embarrassing. And some– times, family can surprise you so much that… that it becomes more of a shock. Lately Ann got informed that her uncle has in fact not only two children but a third daughter, now in her forties. Her uncle never knew until just recently. Now they have dinner together from time to time. But this is rather a surprise than a shock, unlike what comes next; Ann has two other cousins, from the other side of the family, a girl and a boy. The girl used to beat cats when she was a child. Now her fa– ther, Ann’s uncle by marriage this time, is restricted by law to not come closer to her grandpa more than one hundred meters. Why that is would take a long time to explain. When this uncle’s father died a few years ago, he sued his own siblings for money. Apparently, because of the loving care that he had provi– ded for their father during his illness, he felt the siblings owed him most of their heritage.
(MY) FAMILY IS CRAZY
So, baring this in mind, Ann’s mum and her sister (not the one that married that uncle) took their mo– ther to a lawyer to sign a very specific paper that states that any care coming from her son-in-law is given out of free will. Just so that after her death, the sisters of this uncle’s wife, so Ann’s aunt and Ann’s mum, would not find themselves charged with funny things like paying him for bringing her an fresh oven-baked bread every Sunday. After having had some time to digest all of this, episode two of ‘‘How family can surprise you” has been
aired. It is Christmas eve, Ann’s family has a lovely Christmas dinner at Ann’s aunt. The grandpa and his wife are there, the grandma and Ann’s family all sit around the table, enjoying the festive atmosphere. The only one missing is Ann’s sister; she gave birth just eight days earlier, and she and her boy– friend decided to get married four days after the birth of their daughter, all three of them still exhausted from the natal stress. Not to make their tiredness any worse, the couple decides to invite parents and siblings only for the civil ceremony, and to later that same year organise a big party for everyone. We are now back at the Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve. Everything is good until the moment when Ann’s grandpa and his wife hear of the birth and the wedding of their niece: They were not invited. The drama is on. Grandpa and wife, drunk before they got there, insult in turns. Every– one is targeted, saliva is spreading, eyes get bigger and bigger, until Ann’s dad drives them to the station. The railway now has them, the food on the table is still warm, its happy Christmas. A few weeks later, grandpa almost dies after a technically easy surgery, he didn’t tell the surgeons that he is an alcoholic. His dau– ghters visit, learn he’s getting better, and the first words he speaks once awake are just as insult– ing as earlier already. Isn’t it sad when a grandpa deci– des to cut off his own family in his last years? It surely is very surprising.
The little finger My sister once sat on her hand. She often did, but this time she broke her own little finger. We couldnâ€™t imagine that you could break your own finger so easily, but after three days of her insisting that her pain wasnâ€™t crocodileâ€™s tears, the generalist doctor confirmed the fracture of the bone. With a little smile on his face.
It was in the year thirteen hundred and thirteen It was in the year thirteen hundred and thirteen, in a tavern of brigands. The youngest said to the eldest, ‘Peter tell us a story’. Peter stands on the table, fills up his pipe, spits on the ground and begins: ‘It was in the year thirteen hundred and thirteen, in a tavern of brigands. The youngest said to the eldest, ‘Peter tell us a story’. Peter stands on the table, fills up his pipe, spits on the ground and begins: ‘It was in the year thirteen hundred and thirteen, in a tavern of brigands. The youngest said to the eldest, ‘Peter tell us a story’. Peter stands on the ta– ble, fills up his pipe, spits on the ground and begins: ‘It was in the year thirteen hundred and thirteen, in a tavern of brigands. The youngest said to the eldest, ‘Peter tell us a story’. Peter stands on the table, fills up his pipe, spits on the ground and begins: ‘It was in the year thirteen hundred and thirteen, in a tavern of bri– brigands. The youngest said to the eldest, ‘Peter tell us a story’. Peter stands on the table, fills up his pipe, spits on the ground and begins: ‘It was in the year thirteen hundred and thirteen, in a tavern of brigands. The youngest said to the eldest, ‘Peter tell us a
The red light kiss It’s a late breezy summer day and music is playing wildly in the car. Love is in the air, and the good mood, light spirits and general excitement of this young couple is highly palpable. The girl is finally going to meet the guys two best friends for dinner in Lausanne. He’s driving her there in his little red Peugeot. Once in the city they find themselves in quite a heavy evening city traffic. For the unconscious happy couple it’s no trouble at all and at the first red light they throw themselves at one another and dive in for a heartily passionate kiss. One kiss, the time-stopping kind but it soon is interrupted at the sound of a loud ‘plonk’. The boys
reflexes reappear within a fraction of a second, the car break is pulled and both take in the realisation of what has just happened. They had just accidently let themselves reverse into the following car. Smiling very guiltily and nervously at the boy, the girl sinks down as he rushes out to speak with the angry driver behind. After a thirty second assessment with the driver the boy calmly sits himself back in the car, pulls on his seatbelt and with a grin on his face tells his girlfriend ‘His car isn’t damaged, I told him that we were young lovers and that we are really sorry, he laughed and said it’s fine no harm done! He says he knows what it is to be in love!’.
7/1/2010 01:00 We decide it’s clearly bed time. 7/1/2010 01:02 Not sure where to leave the ladybug. We decide outside, for better or for worse. That way she can go back to nature if she wants. 7/1/2010 07:07 Alarms ring. Alice wakes up. 7/1/2010 07:38 Jessica wakes up. 7/1/2010 08:20 We’ve had breakfast we’ve started searching for types. And font sizes.
The old man, M. Fleury He’s my neighbour. But after all he’s much more than that, now, I’ve learnt, so late in time. He’s my eighty odd year old neighbour with grey hair still growing strong on his scalp and black wild hair growing way out of his earlobes. It’s the only real person I’ve ever met that has so much hair growing out of those two holes! He’s my neighbour but he’s also a proud and happy husband and father to three daughters, of that much I am now sure. Last night his wife died. And this is where this story starts. Stopping by with my dad to pay our condolences we are invited into his perfectly still and clean old fa– shioned flat. It’s the first time I step foot in his flat, I realize, and we’ve been sharing the same building for now ten years. He is dressed all in black, slightly large velour pants and what must have been a cashmere turtleneck. His body language is very calm and composed, but his eyes grey clouds betray the quiet storm that is taking place within him. He invites us without much questioning to sit down, there, on the sofa, please, he asks. We take place, shyly, gravely. He sits down on a single seater flowered couch and be– gins to talk. He says: ‘This is my story: We spent New Year’s Eve together just last week, here at home, just the two of us. We opened a bottle of champagne for the occasion and had a quiet night here together staying up later than usual for the occasion. It was a good, happy New Year’s Eve with my wife. Then last Sunday she told me she was not feeling too good and said that she didn’t want to go to church. You must know that my wife is a fervently religious woman, going to mass on Sundays is important to her. So the fact that she didn’t want to go measured the unease she was feeling that morning. The following day she had an appointment at the doctor’s to check on her blood. You know that she suffered from leukaemia right? And she had already had some blood transfusions done to her in the past. The results of the blood sample were immediate. The doctor said she needed as quickly as possible a blood transfusion, but unfortunately the process of getting the compatible blood would take about twenty-four hours. So they sent us home and told us to come back the next day. As soon as we reached home my wife started feeling very tired, she got up from the sofa and told me she was going to have a lie down. She looked pale. I went into the room with her, tucked her in, sat on the floor and held her hand. She was having more and more trouble breathing so with time I held her in my arms to help her breathe easier, but she was slipping away. Her breathing only got worse, and I kept trying to sit her up in my arms and there and then I felt her leave. I called the ambulance who came rushing in the early evening. They said they could try to keep her here longer. I said no, there can be many bad concequences because of reanimation on someone of our age. And she had lived her life, I knew that she didn’t want to go through any more operations. So I said no. You know that she has had two open-heart surgeries beside her leukaemia, she also had very poor eye sight, untreatable, it’s just due to old age, and these stains stay and pollute your vision. She couldn’t read anymore, even with a magnifying glass. It just wasn’t possible. She also would feel tired mostly and had trouble walking because of her hip. But even though she had all these operations and mishaps in her life she was a very happy and optimistic person. She lived her life, tried her best in everything she did, she made mistakes, we made mistakes, many mistakes – we all do – but she would always look on the bright side of things. But lately she had told me that she was ready to be soon reunited with her parents in the afterworld. She wasn’t scared, she would be seeing them there, and that would bring her much peace. So I knew she was ready, I knew reanimation was not what she wanted. This was the best way for her to leave. The paramedics left her with me. She lay in bed looking beautiful. I lay down next to her and
spent the night by her side. I didn’t sleep a wink. I could only just lie there, thinking tremendous amounts of thoughts at the same time. I talked to her the entire night. When morning came at ten o’clock the funeral parlour people came. I left them to attend her in the bedroom, to prepare her for her coffin. They called me back in once they had done to pick out a dress for her. I chose a skirt and a beautiful blouse. She looked so peaceful, so beau– tiful. She looked twenty years younger. Her skin was so beautiful. The clothes perfect. They took her away and drove her to the funeral parlour that is just down the road. I went to see her earlier, the coffin is so intricately cut with beautiful fabric lined on the inside. It’s perfect. There are already some flowers there now, I went to see her this afternoon. I can see her when I like, because they gave me and my daughters the code to the building, which has beautiful private rooms for all the corpses. The names are pinned on the doors, in a pretty writing. It’s nice to know she is so close. I’ve been so busy this afternoon, my daughters were just here helping my write the death announcements and all the addresses. We had to call this, prepare that.’ After he had shared his story and we were about to excuse ourselves we offered him some pumpkin soup that I had just made. Seeing his kitchen and house were so quiet we thought maybe he could do with something warm. He replied no thank you, and upon us insisting said with a grin ‘My wife cooked me this vegetable soup last week-end, it’s sitting in the fridge in a tupperware waiting for me to drink it’. The phone rang and we were getting up to leave when he excused himself from the phone for a minute and told us he wanted to show us something. We followed like two sheep, he led us into his bedroom. Showed us where she lay down whilst passing the bed to go to the far corner of the room by the window where he pointed out a photograph hanging on the wall of a young bride on her wedding day in a frail golden frame. She was lovely happy and her veil was endless. ‘We had just celebrated our 60th wedding anniversary on the 22 October of last year’. Amazed he showed us her bedside table where he had let a candle slowly burn throughout the night. I noticed her jewellery there, too. A watch and three rings, maybe a pair of earrings, I can’t remember. Also there was a photograph of the couple, smiling at me in colour, resting in a star-shaped frame.
7/1/2010 09:30 The ladybug is still in her den, out– side. We bring her back in, and she seems very dead. She seems to have stuck to the honey we had put out for her. Alice isn’t feeling good and needs a nap. Jessica begins sequen– cing the stories and images.
The mouse-woman. Every morning the same. Every morning she is too late, every morning she eats her boring bread with the boring jam in the bus, looking at the world as if being alive was her punishment. HOW PEACEFUL DEATH SHOULD BE
The glass window 1 You find the place, an office building on the corner of the street. You discover the elevator hidden behind the stairs. You hear people admiring the flat and you feel like you are in a Calvin Klein flag-store. There is some food left, a few places left to sit, so you join the smokers on the balcony, you smile, you say hi, you say bye and you step in again. Except it wasnâ€™t a door, it was a exceptionally clean, strong window. I donâ€™t like flag-store-flats.
The glass window 2 Fanny, a bright fantastically nature-orientated and overall happy funny young teenager was at her house. It was a very sunny spring morning, and she suddenly felt the urge to go out and play in the pool with her sister. She hurried into her bedroom, slipped on the first bathing-suit she could find laying about and ran, ran fast, straight into and through the glass doors that were slid sparkling clean and tightly shut.
7/1/2010 10:05 The ladybug is not dead! Sheâ€™s resurrected and very active! 7/1/2010 11:10 Jessica wakes Alice up. 7/1/2010 11:50 Rush hour, crucial grid decisions are taking place. Alice is struggling with stomach pains, and will not take anymore Neocitran. 7/1/2010 12:20 After a first printout, we decide to take to review our entire document working our way from page one onwards.
Wet parking My aunt had just parked in an underground french parking lot. Sheâ€™s the one that paints her nails and puts on mascara whilst driving. Well this time she neeâ€“ ded a pee. Emergency. Seeing the parking was quite dark and no one seemed to be around, she pulled down her pants got into a squat and peed. Leaving the parking to go out she noticed the security cabin, and in the cabin she noticed the security video camera images being viewed by the security agent. On one of the screens she could see her little van crystal clear parked next to a shiny puddle.
LADYBUG, YOU MAKE YOUR OWN LUCK
The dog under the bed It was a dangerous time for the people in the village next to the penitentiary. You had to be cau– tious for once again a cold-blooded murderer had found his way to early freedom. For some of the villagers though the world felt safe and warm, as it did for Susan, babysitting little Carl in the house of his parents. It was still early evening, and Carl was already dreaming in his little bed on the first floor. Doors and windows were shut and locked, the lights dimmed; now all that was left for her to do was to sink in the guest bed and to forget the world around her book,
guarded by the family’s dog under her bed where he liked to be. From time to time, to remind her of his watching presence, the dog would lick her hand, not even breaking Susan in her reading anymore. This particular night, whilst some other people struggled to find their sleep, haunted by a brokenfree murderer, Susan had a smile on her face while she fell asleep, feeling the comforting tongue on her hand. She could not have know that that night, the dog layed in the garden, his body dead and cold. It wasn’t the dog under Susan’s bed.
7/1/2010 15:00 Jessica leaves to go do some– one a promised favor. 7/1/2010 15:30 Overall layout is now nearly completed. 7/1/2010 16:20 We print out an entire copy of the zine. Alice leaves to meet a friend for tea in Geneva. 7/1/2010 17:00 Jessica creates a dummy zine. She corrects texts. 7/1/2010 18:48 Alice is back. We set out to write the time comments, and take last mi– nute decisions before printing. 7/1/2010 19:29:59 We’ve finished everything. At last! We rush to drop Alice off at the station. (We do still need to print.)
Thirty six hours, a fanzine marathon. Written, edited, printed and sewed by Alice Schwab and Jessica Scheurer between January 6 at 11:45 and January 7 at 19:35. Images pulled out of google, facebook and private sources. Bohemian FN Router Johnston
MONEY’S NEXT ON THE LINE
AND HAPPY NEW YEAR 2010 ! !