NOVUS ISSUE ONE // SUMMER 2014 // YELLOW
MELLOW SUMMER YELLOW LOVELESS AFTER WAR A VETERAN’S STRUGGLE TO TRUST
LOCAL ARTIST SPOTLIGHT
CROW & STONE
{GARDEN COCKTAILS}
crowandstone.com
WWW.LEAFLING.HU WWW.ETSY.COM/SHOP/LEAFLINGOOO
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NOVUS LETTER FROM THE EDITOR Four months have past since I left Arizona to live in Portland. With every creative person I meet and every experience I have, my fascination with the area grows exponentially.
Being that NOVUS is still so new, it is exciting to have so many talented people share their work and donate their time to helping me get this thing off the ground.
I randomly search Craigslist for story ideas, usually ending up in the “Missed Connection” section. The day after Memorial Day I was doing just that and stumbled upon a remarkable post by a young U.S. Army veteran. I contacted the author and he agreed to let me publish his post. I hope that if you read only one thing in this issue, that it will be this piece. “Loveless after war: A veteran’s struggle to trust” (pg. 59) is a feat of brutal honesty.
Special thanks to the three people who drew bathtubs filled with yellow water, JR for sending me poetry from coffee shops nearly every weekend, and Alan Prevallet for being a genius writer and awesome guy. Advertising space is now available. For ad specs you can email us at novus.staff@gmail.com. Thank you for stopping by and enjoy the issue!
I am also excited to introduce you to a Portland jewelry company called Crow & Stone, that has a line Lillian Reid of brass bling that I covet. Editor -in- Chief / Publisher
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09 25 P. 07 P. 09 P. 25 P. 39 P. 51 P. 59 P. 63 P. 73
LOCAL ARTIST SPOTLIGHT MELLOW SUMMER SUN DAYS LOST ON THE HILL GARDEN COCKTAILS NONFICTION: LOVELESS AFTER WAR FICTION: YELLOW POETRY: 11 YELLOWS
07 39
63
ON THE COVER: FRESH LEMON JUICE PHOTOGRAPHED BY LILLIAN REID
51
CONTENTS
NOVUS
SUBMISSION GUIDELINES ISSUE #2 GREEN
• Photo and art submissions: Please send 4 - 6 lo-res / 72 dpi images or a link to your online portfolio to the email below. If chosen, we will email you to request hi-res files. Please take into consideration how images or art will flow as a 4 to 12 page layout • Written work should be sent in .doc format, maximum of 2,000 words. • If you are emailing us a question please write “question” in the subject line to get a more speedy response.
Deadline August 14, 2014 novus.staff@gmail.com
Ready. Set. Submit! 05 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE
I SS U E 2
GREEN
S U B M I SS I O N
DEADLINE 8.14.14
LOCAL ARTIST SPOTLIGHT: NICOLE HIRAI-STINNETT
PHOTOS / LILLIAN REID MODEL / NICOLE HIRAI-STINNETT JEWELRY / CROW & STONE LOCATION / LAURELHURST PARK
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CROW & STONE
To be a quintessential Portlander is seems you have to be both a bartender at a hip establishment and a massively talented artist. Nicole Hirai-Stinnett is just that. You can buy her beautiful jewelry at crowandstone.com or if you run into her on the street she might sell you the jewelry she is wearing.
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MELLOW SUMMER PHOTOS / PETER LIN / COVENTRYAUTOMATIK.COM MODEL / CASSIE STYLIST / PETER LIN MUAH / AMANDA C. LOCATION / PORTLAND VASES / Dylan Brams ClassicalTwistGlass.etsy.com SHIRT / Susan Olson designs FB BOWLER HAT / Brixton COMBAT BOOTS / Yosuke Japan BIKE / Model’s own
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COMING NEXT ISSUE ISSUE #2
G R E E N • • a Leafling bag made in Hungary travels across the ocean and goes on an Oregon adventure • • eco art: natural dyes & eco printing in central Arizona • • carless in PDX a transportation style guide • • getting ready for the cold: hipster popsicle recipes • • plus much more! NOVUSMAG.WORDPRESS.COM FACEBOOK.COM/NOVUSMAG
I SS U E # 2
GREEN
sun days PHOTOS / LILLIAN REID MODELS / BRANDY HAGAN + RACHEL BLANKENSHIP LOCATION / OAKS BOTTOM IN SE PORTLAND
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lost
on the
hill
PHOTOS / LILLIAN REID MODELS / ASHLEY & EVA LOCATION / A SNOWY PLACE
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GARDEN COCKTAILS
PHOTOS // LILLIAN REID LOCATION // PORTLAND, OREGON
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KILLER BEES KNEES
RECIPE // 2 OZ GIN 1 OZ HONEY SIMPLE SYRUP 1/2 OZ FRESH LEMON JUICE 1/2 OZ FRESH GINGER JUICE RIM GLASS WITH POWDERED SUGAR AND GARNISH WITH LEMON TWIST // SHAKE AND STR AIN OVER ICE PHOTO // LILLIAN REID MODEL // BR ANDY HAGAN
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PALERMO
RECIPE // 1 1/2 OZ TEQUILA 1 1/2 OZ FRESH GR APEFRUIT JUICE 1 OZ HONEY SIMPLE SYRUP 1/2 OZ FRESH LIME JUICE 1/2 OZ FRESH LEMON JUICE 1 TABLESPOON FRESH GINGER JUICE RIM GLASS WITH POWDERED SUGAR AND GARNISH WITH GR APEFRUIT // SHAKE AND STR AIN OVER ICE PHOTOS // LILLIAN REID
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HIATUS RECIPE // 3 OZ FRESH GR APEFRUIT JUICE 3 OZ HONEY SIMPLE SYRUP 1 TABLESPOON FRESH GINGER JUICE TONIC WATER RIM GLASS WITH POWDERED SUGAR AND GARNISH WITH GR APEFRUIT // SHAKE AND STR AIN OVER ICE // TOP OFF WITH TONIC WATER PHOTO // LILLIAN REID MODEL // COOPER REID
LEGAL EASE RECIPE // 1 1/2 OZ GIN 1 1/2 OZ FRESH PINEAPPLE JUICE 1/2 OZ HONEY SIMPLE SYRUP 1/2 OZ FRESH LEMON JUICE 1 TABLESPOON FRESH GINGER JUICE TONIC WATER RIM GLASS WITH POWDERED SUGAR AND GARNISH WITH LEMON // SHAKE AND STRAIN OVER ICE // TOP OFF WITH TONIC WATER PHOTO // LILLIAN REID MODEL // EMILY GILCHRIST
NON-FICTION
LOV E L E S S A F T E R WA R
A VETERAN’S STUGGLE TO TRUST
BY D.L. WEBB
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“You give suffer, but
them your
it’s curiously
last smoke
you’re chasing a veteran who
comforting
and the
doesn’t seem to notice, maybe
and even
last cookie
this will help.
joyful, to
from your
hurt with
Christmas
The looks, never letting me stray
them. You
package.”
too far at a bar or a party, quick
give them
glances to see if I’m jealous
your last
about another guy chatting them
smoke and the last cookie from
up. They must all think I’m not
your Christmas package. You
interested, but they couldn’t be
learn to ALWAYS look out
more wrong.
for others. You learn to forget
IT’S NOT ABOUT LIKING or
disliking someone, so if
I see all the signs girls give me.
The thing is, I can’t trust anyone.
about looking out for #1. Then
Trust, to me, is ruined because I
you come home. Your war is
will never trust anyone the way
over. You leave those brothers
I trust my brothers. How can I?
to rejoin society, and it kills
We fought, sang, laughed, cried,
you inside.
bled and died together. We put
It’s the worst death you can
the group before ourselves. Hell,
imagine. You’ll never have 40
we put the group before any one
friends who will kill for you.
individual.
You’ll never have 40 friends who
When you know you’d give
won’t care if you cry or scream
life, limb or eyesight for
or throw punches in your sleep.
someone, the worst thing is
You’ll never have 40 friends who
still being alive to see them
will give you the last of their
Photo // U.S. Army Spc. Jeffery Moore prepares to exit a Bradley fighting vehicle on Camp Ar Ramadi, Iraq, following a raid in the Tameem district of Ramadi, Iraq, Sept. 3, 2006. Moore is with Bravo Company, 2nd Battalion, 6th Infantry Regiment, 1st Armored Division based out of Baumholder, Germany. (U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Jeremy T. Lock) (Released) // https://www.flickr.com/ photos/soldiersmediacenter
“She wasn’t there when we passed the sorrow and guilt around so meal and go hungry the
everyone
shelled. She wasn’t with
rest of the day — and
could have
us when the radio was
you’ll never have 40
a little, just
shot to shit, leaving us
friends that you’d do
to lessen
vastly
all that and so much
it for the
surrounded, cutoff and
more for. That amount
rest of the
low on ammo. She wasn’t
of trust is impossible
group.”
the face I saw when I woke
outnumbered,
without war, at least
up, deafened, bloodied,
it’s been impossible for
scared
and
confused.
me so far. To make it worse, the
She wasn’t there when 11 of
resentment I hold that life here
us were shot, but kept fighting
continues as normal is just as
anyway. She wasn’t there when
illogical as it is normal.
we passed the sorrow and guilt
So, why didn’t I talk to the
around so everyone could have a
girl staring at me on Powell?
little, just to lessen it for the rest
Why didn’t I chat up Chrystal
of the group.
at that party? Why didn’t I buy
She wasn’t there so she’ll never
a drink for the little black dress
understand
at Montana’s bar? Because she
She’ll
wasn’t there when we were
deep my compassion, loyalty,
61 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE
never
how
that
understand
feels. how
gratitude and devotion go. She
for her. Don’t worry about #1.
can’t
because
Just walk away. You’ll be fine.
she’s never had to develop such
You always are. Just walk away...
intense feelings just to help
Damn. Shit. Fuck. FUCK! What
someone else take another step,
if...?”
understand
it
another breath; and if she can’t understand it then she can’t feel it, so how do I trust her?
D.L. Webb first published this
Or anyone? Even if I DID trust
story on Craigslist in the “Missed
her, what’s the difference? The
Connections” section on Memorial
thought process is the same:
Day of 2014. We thank him for
“Don’t say a word, Brother. She’s
not
handle
NOVUS and for his service in the
someone like you. She’s not
armed forces. We would also like to
ready
your
wish him luck on the Pacific Crest
screams, cheer your depression
Trail as he walks from Oregon to
or subdue your temper. Take
California this summer.
to
ready wake
to
allowing us to republish it in
up
to
another drink. Attaboy. Numb the pain. She’ll forget you soon enough, and that’s the best thing
FICTION
Y E L LO W BY ALAN PREVALLET ARTWORK // DEHLIA ACKLEY, EMILY GILCHRIST & BARRY SUPALLA
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“
Don’t
make me get the gun,” he HE CAME TO ME. I DIDN’T
me. My canary
told me the
do anything to deserve him. He had
is chirping from
last time I
brown eyes but he didn’t have the
another
showed up.
brownest eyes. I am sorry I didn’t
I’m not tired.
ask his name before he left because
Daddy is over there against a wall,
I loved him and he did something
mumbling something.
for me. My hand is on my chest and I am
room.
I am related to keeping a loaded gun in the drawer in the kitchen
feeling the rhythm of my science in a
next to the dog’s leash and
room with severe yellow prosthetic
shampoo. That gun, there, always
walls in it. Taking a bath is a trip. I
tip-toeing through our thoughts.
have an iced gin drink drooling into
Would one of us find a reason?
Who would be the one to pull it
Daddy looked down at it and a tear
out? What would be the reason and
fell with his gaze. I picked the bottle
who against and why? Its intent
up, took a swig and handed it back.
was safety but its dreams were something else. Daddy’s been getting drunker than he should. I don’t mind
“Hey, that’s mine.” He turned with a fit of motorized flatulence and lurched to the couch. I left daddy and walked Luscious
because I don’t live with daddy
around my childhood. It was only
anymore. I’m in a cottage upstate.
blocks from where I grew up, a
But I do drive to visit daddy every
homelier, less manicured house.
weekend and every weekend he’s a
We went to the park I used to eat
little worse off.
lunch at to be alone. I didn’t like
He likes to mention the gun — bring it up.
being around the other kids. Not most of the time. “I needed breaks,
“Don’t make me get the gun,” he
Luscious.” Luscious’ scruffy white
told me the last time I showed up.
head was in a Wendy’s bag. “Did
It was eight in the morning and
you hear me? Luscious!” His head
he was holding a bottle of ale. It
popped out and looked at me
was spilling onto the clean, white
expectantly but when I couldn’t
marble floor, creating pools of cruel
think to say anything he put his
yellow at our feet as he spoke. “You
head where his head thought it
buy a gun, you gotta find something
should be.
to shoot with it. And Luscious needs a walk.” He dropped the bottle, landing it right side up at his feet.
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I caught the man at my cottage, in my home. I bought the cottage fifteen years
“
Hey,
that’s ago when I was given an advance on my book and, almost simultaneously, I fell in love with the brownest eyes.
Immediately
I
thought, a cottage in the country. The advance was
mine.” He
truck door and hopped the
turned
four steps up to my porch.
with a fit of
The man was chewing
motorized
very
flatulence and lurched to the couch.
slowly,
smacking
his lips, mouth open. I watched the dog being steadily ground up in the old man’s maw. His dainty,
easily spent but my love, he wasn’t into the countryside. He
yellow-stained fingers grasped the
wanted to feel a community. I was
nubbin of the remainder of his stolen
not a community. He left without a
treat. His yellowed eyes tracked the
word one night and when his eyes
movements of mine, dark and beady.
asked, I had no words to give. The man was on my porch when
“You found the snacks.” He continued to chew and smack.
I arrived home from daddy’s on
He
brought
the
last
bite,
the
a Sunday. He was smoking with
nubbin, to his mouth and placed
one hand and eating a cold hot
it meticulously, tenderly upon his
dog from my refrigerator with the
white tongue. This man wore a
other. I shut off the engine in my
blank and filthy pink baseball cap.
pickup and stepped out of it into
He had an eye-matching mustard
the pine needles. Returning home
scarf tied around his neck and no
from my weekends with daddy are
shirt. His jean cut-offs were upper
my favorite part of my weekends
thigh length, his feet bare and
with daddy; the scent of pine is
brown with remnants of trek. He
fresh and new again. I shut the
chewed the meat, never blinking or
Daddy put one quarter into one looking away from me. I stared back and searched for his mind and what it was working out. Then I went inside. I
drew
daddy’s
bath
machine
ashtray. My blanket was
and made love to my mother that night a millionaire.
while he beat the dog. He
daddy. I walked eight miles to a mall and slept in a bioswell until daylight. When I woke, I entered the mall and bought a poodle puppy. I walked the puppy eight
was yelling at Luscious for getting
miles back to daddy’s, bundled and
in his way. I heard a kick and the
whimpering in my coat.
poor mutt scream into it. Knowing
“Dad! Bath time.”
Luscious, he is always returning,
I heard him mumble, mumbling.
begging for forgiveness and sure
He was getting nearer and knocking
enough I heard another kick and
into walls when he fell and the dog
another terrible scream.
squealed again. My daddy screamed
I bought Luscious for daddy after
Luscious’ name like Luscious was
mom left him a few years ago. She
the one who made daddy’s heart
died in a hospital post her departure,
run away from him. I heard daddy
of leukemia. She hadn’t told daddy
retreating from bath time and I
or I she’d been ill. Daddy and I sat
sighed as I stood my heft upright.
in his house watching television
“Dad! Come on, dad!” I lumbered
and getting drunk for two weeks.
down the hallway until it opened
We didn’t say a word. I woke up
into the expansive living area. The
one night and couldn’t remember
massive, U-shaped brown leather
anything about myself. My pillow
couch, glistening marble floors,
was
transparent glass tables, this house
a
moist
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and
overflowing
meant nothing to me. The house I grew up in, the one where bath time meant mom stayed in her room and daddy made the water
change
colors, house
that was
a sweatshirt
home. Tiny with knick-knacks.
was
A
wet
with
boozy perspiration and
porch. Dirty carpet. Luscious came whimpering to me, limping with his front paw held up.
his yellow sweatpants weren’t on him at all.
He was happy to see me and seek
“Come on, dad,” and I moved
forgiveness, despite any pain. He
toward him, “You have to take the
laid himself down, snout between
top off too.”
his
paws,
breathing
unsteadily,
dark eyes rising to meet mine.
“I’ll bet ya wonder what I was up to in there.”
“Dad! Come on, dad. You need a
“No,” I grabbed his arm. He
bath and then I need to take your
yanked it back and spit at me
dog to the vet. You’re going to have
except it just dribbled down his
to give me some cash.”
mouth, mixing with the sweat and
Daddy limped into the living area
creating a tiny river that traveled
from the kitchen. His face was red
from his chin, down thyroid valley
and sweating. His stained yellow
to hide beneath his sweatshirt. I
Daddy drank. Mom watched aggressively,
thoroughly
removed his sweatshirt and he stood there holding his
glistening
self,
a
frail, malnourished body tweaking and sputtering
premium cable television and developed cancer.
and after making my mom orgasm for the first time daddy
could
remember,
they went into the casino and daddy made an extra two
hundred
grand
at
craps, a game he’d never
in the dim. “I was thinking about the gun,” he
thought to play. Also, that night
told me, eyes fluttering at me, “I’m
he purchased the first alcoholic
always thinking about it.”
beverage of his life. sighing
They told versions of this story
was halted to allow forth a self-
repeatedly over the following years
deprecating moan.
until daddy, drunk one night with
Luscious’
arrhythmic
Daddy made a lot of money in Laughlin one year.
old friends, told mom to shut her cunt mouth as she entered into the
After twenty-seven years ringing
familiar introductory throes of the
up customers at a Cash ‘n Carry,
tale. He’d grown weary of it and
Daddy put one quarter into one
told everyone it was a boring story
machine and made love to my
with a dull outcome and who gives
mother that night a millionaire.
a shit, anyway. The friends left and
They drove their RV to the best
mom, humiliated by her increasingly
hotel along the Colorado River
alcoholic husband, a man who was
and had it valet parked, a concept
always sober, timid and kind, locked
that thrilled them. They paid for
her person in their bedroom for a
the best room money could buy
few days. Friends were never again
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invited to their swanky abode and my
one
parents stopped traveling, shopping,
other. I smiled and
winked at
spending any money. Daddy drank.
him. He caught the
wink
Mom
opened his mouth,
wriggling
his tongue around.
He
watched
premium
cable
television and developed cancer. I was seated with the man on
yellow
hand,
then
the and was
hungry.
our porch. He had rolled all of the cigarettes we would need. He had forgiven me, bathed me. I had hand washed his yellow scarf, his jean cutoffs.
We Inside,
were closing
my pet canary
our eyes and smoking
sang as I melted
and
cheddar on top of
feeling our bodies, concentrating
on
their various parts, then on those parts as a whole.
four hot dogs. My television was broken on the floor. I smiled and thanked
The sky beyond the towering pines
the old man, screaming so he could
was blue and the sun sent its rays
hear. I grabbed the plates and
down like soothing hands on the
headed toward the door. The old
earth, massaging out wrinkles and
man stood at the screen, yellow
knots. The old man smoked from
teeth exposed in an unconscious
grin of drastic love.
was dry, despite the wet air. He
I was sitting in the vet’s waiting
was lying on daddy’s chair. Daddy
room with Luscious curled on my
was passed out, still clean, in his
lap. I ignored the scratched-up
bed. The water I gave to Luscious
yellow tiles on the floor to focus
was in a bile-tinted puddle in the
on the speckled, off-white ones. I
kitchen where he orally expelled it
closed my eyes with speckled off-
immediately after lapping it up for
white in my mind and thought
what seemed like an entire child
about daddy and how I could save
hood, in dog years.
him. I thought about moving in
I looked at Luscious and began
with him and instantly pictured
to cry. I began to apologize and
yellow water infiltrated by a hot
cry and Luscious shut his eyes to
red. Hold on, Caleb, quiet down and
drown me out. That’s when the
you can watch all of what the colors
gun went off and I saw for the
are when we make them together.
last time the stowaway from my
I walked out of the office and
cottage grinning at me. Luscious
into the muck of an increasingly
was fur and blood now, the head of
humid summer day. I opened my
a used mop awaiting replacement.
eyes and the welled-up tears fell
My cottage is warm and I am
out of them.
warmer in my paint bath in the room
Luscious didn’t feel okay after
with yellow walls. I didn’t go to see
the vet’s waiting room visit. His
daddy this weekend. Wouldn’t you
breathing was off and his slit eyes
know it? He came to see me.
were caked in something hard,
I am looking at daddy now,
crystallized and yellow. His nose
slumped against a wall, the one
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I decorated with fire tornadoes. There are delicious lemon bitters in this gin drink. He is not snoring anymore and I sit up a little, hearing the bath water splash, noticing its harsh yellow tint, my yellow body within, the water dyeing me, daddy alone over there. I want to go touch him, soothe his withdrawals but I can’t. The wall where I painted the maroon clouds I will never see again, I won’t look. I am only living once after all. I will keep looking over my shoulder, in case I happen to see it all again, to see for my adult self.
takes
long
I know the whole of it is probably
Alan
there, behind daddy, but that wall
baths and writes short fiction in
and…what I mean is it is sealed over
Portland, Oregon.
with an uncannily impenetrable and
He can be harassed and praised
multi-layered meld of high-grade
at thisisalp@hotmail.com.
caulk. It’d be too much work at this point and it’s just nice finally having daddy here where I live, where he can see me paint and take my baths.
Prevallet
POETRY
1 1 Y E L LO W S BY JR
old dog democrats always have their morning eggs sunny side up while taking notes on legal pads and talking about journalists and the cowardly stand of some over high Chinese taxes on Texas roses smiling buttons and sharp Wisconsin cheese . . . but while sipping sweet lemon tea will flirt with the the server in the yellow shirt . . .
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PHOTO / LIILLIAN REID NOW GO HAVE A COCKTAIL!
FIN
JULIE
SCHUBERT
Weaver . Photographer . Eco Printer tremblinginsidethecocoon.wordpress.com