Issuu on Google+

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

01 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


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

03 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE |


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

07 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


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.


09 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


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


11 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


13 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


15 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


17 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


19 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


21 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


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

25 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


27 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


29 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


31 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


33 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


35 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


37 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


lost

on the

hill

PHOTOS / LILLIAN REID MODELS / ASHLEY & EVA LOCATION / A SNOWY PLACE

39 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


41 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


43 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


45 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


47 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


49 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


01 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


GARDEN COCKTAILS

PHOTOS // LILLIAN REID LOCATION // PORTLAND, OREGON


53 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


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


55 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


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


 

 

57 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


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

59 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


“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

63 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


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.

65 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE

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

67 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE

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

69 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


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

71 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


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 . . .

73 | NOVUS | ISSUE ONE


PHOTO / LIILLIAN REID NOW GO HAVE A COCKTAIL!

FIN


JULIE

SCHUBERT

Weaver . Photographer . Eco Printer tremblinginsidethecocoon.wordpress.com


Novus {issue one}