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Edited by No Glykon. Cover photo by Stephanie Bonham. Logo by Kristen Koenig. Reality Hands www.realityhands.com The rights to the content in this book belong to the creators.


ALICIA FYNE STEVE ROGGENBUCK CASSANDRA TROYAN THOR HARRIS NO GLYKON


ALICIA FYNE


THERE’S SOMETHING VERY ATTRACTIVE ABOUT FILTH. BEING DIRTY. COVERED IN TRASH. MADE OF TRASH. FUCKING DECAYING . WHAT ISN’T DECAYING? WHY ARE PEOPLE SO AFRAID TO DIE? HOW IS IMMORTALITY APPEALING? PURGATORY. I’M BORING. I DON’T EVER KNOW WHAT I’M ACTUALLY TALKING ABOUT. AND IT DOESN’T EVEN MATTER BECAUSE COMMUNICATION IS A BOGUS IDEA. HOW CAN ANYONE THINK CONVEYING A THOUGHT THAT LIVES INSIDE YOUR BRAIN TO A CRAPPY EAR TO BE PROCESSED IN ANOTHER CRAPPY BRAIN BE REAL? WHAT’S EVEN INSIDE MY BRAIN? NOTHING. IT’S A VAT OF DISTRACTION AND APATHY AND CONTRADICTIONS. MY BRAIN IS A CIVIL WAR FRONT. MY LEFT AND RIGHT SIDE COMPLETELY OPPOSE ONE ANOTHER. WHEN THE FRONT CALMS, IT’S JUST A TEMPORARY SETTLEMENT BUT IT’S NEVER RESOLVED. IT JUST LAYS QUIET UNTIL THE NEXT FIGHT BREAKS OUT. HOW DOES TASTE EVEN WORK? HOW DOES ANYONE BECOME A BRAIN SURGEON? WHAT THE FUCK IS A COLOR? WHAT ARE OTHER PEOPLE THINKING OF? ACTUALLY. WHAT THE FUCK IS ANYONE ACTUALLY DOING? THERE IS SOMETHING ABSOLUTELY CHARMING ABOUT DIRT. OR MAYBE IT’S JUST LOW STANDARDS, BUT IT’S BEAUTIFUL. UNWASHED SKIN. THE DIRT UNDER MY FINGERNAILS IS MY FAVORITE. YOU CAN’T TRUST ANYONE WITH MANICURED HANDS. YOU PROBABLY SHOULDN’T WANT TO TRUST ANYONE. WHAT AM I LOOKING FOR? WHAT AM I TRYING TO FILL THROUGH UNNECESSITY? I’M NOT NEARLY AS COMFORTABLE AS I WOULD EVER WANT TO BE. I DON’T WANT IT. I CRAVE IT SO TERRIBLY. WHEN I THINK OF ALL THE TIMES I FELT IT OR JUST WASHED ANXIETY CAUSED BY THE FACT THAT I DO HAVE IT OR DON’T, IT CAUSED THE


SAME AMOUNT OF STRESS. I GUESS IT’S TIME TO DO IT ALONE. WHY DO I EVER WANT TO NOT BE ALONE? I FEEL ASHAMED WHEN I DON’T WANT TO BE. THIS IS ALL IRRELEVANT. MAYBE I HAVE A BRAIN PARASITE. I HOPE THAT’S MY DOG. I’M SCARED THAT I FEEL SCARED TO BE ALONE RIGHT NOW. THAT IS EVERYTHING I NEVER WANTED. WHY CAN’T A FEELING LAST OUTSIDE OF OUR MOMENTS? I’M GONNA TURN THE LIGHTS OFF FOREVER. IS THAT EVEN BETTER? IT’LL NEVER BE BETTER. MAYBE IT WONT BE WORSE. MAYBE IF YOU THINK IT CAN BE IT ISN’T. I HEAR HAPPINESS CAN WORK. IT WONT THOUGH. IF IT’S FINE, IT CAN’T BE. WILL IT?!


COLLABORATION she opened the notebook. i read her poems by frank o’hara. “i like that i know where he’s talking about,” she said. she got up. she walked inside. she grabbed the notebook. but it was written in ebonics and they had both grown up in the suburbs. attempt after attempt. time after time. bad boys for a minute. because then she felt bad. bad for being a bad boy. we were in it for life or around the age of 35 or something. someone learned a flipper song. someone learned something else. something leaned on someone else. the lurked. it leaned. we lounged. you looked. i couldn’t tell if the gas station sign was a part of our night. maybe that just meant there wasn’t any beer left. wasn’t any beer left there. three. two. one. zero. to hero row row about time after time to die. so i dyed my shoes. it was the closest i could get to real life. playing by the rules. but i was out of bounds. and out for the count. maybe i should die. booooooring. if only i could understand (by me [goodbye]). i hate your t-shirt. it’s sad. but with out the s. so i guess death was what had or had to have happened. amen. one man.


COLLABORATION i’m going to stab myself in the face. stab. stab. stab. stab. stab. stab. stab. stab. stab. stab. stab. i’m glad we are friends. it’s nice when your trips into black holes and the bottom of abandoned surgical supply drawers are coupled with conversations about the weatherman and my face and how i am going to stab it. stab. stab. stab. stab. stab. stab. stab. stab. stab. stab. i’m glad we are friends. when i let you out of your shoebox. that i had to start keeping locked in the bathroom cabinet, you began to yell at me. you were mad at me. but best friends don’t get mad at each other. they get even. “i’m glad we are friends.” said the ghost of my friends. i stab myself in the face. stab. stab. silence. enjoy it. that’s what my mom always told me. she just turned four. i’m glad we’re no longer friends. we are a new friend type thing: ghost friends. not being friends is fine when you are ghost friends. you can only hug a ghost friend once. one one ghost hug per one time and only the first time. it sucks when you’re only hug comes from someone who always knew you.


COLLABORATION we were wearing weeks out for the name of the gamma ray carpet stained my shirt. i mean, did i mention that the carpet was what i considered my shirt? no. good. because it’s not. i swear, it’s not what you think, not the way you think the way you think sometimes sorry is good enough for you it’s good enough is enough. you couldn’t tell what shape the meatballs were. the blood wasn’t contained enough. you were all like, “what is weather anyways?” i could only take so much. my arms are only so so so what chicken hut tut this one isn’t going to be very food on my part. it had more to do with the fact than nothing else. i held up my end of the deal. or maybe i just had a shitty dealer. i didn’t even remember how i ended up at the honda dealership. but i love it hear my heart it’s racing this rice burner. that’s what they call them, right? or was i left? it was definitely right. i should’ve written it down. this is over till it’s over and over. the screen flashed game over. fuck. i ran out of quarters.


COLLABORATION with no expression, i thought about “you get what you get.” my pizza sat up. it looked emotionless is the more you know now. it said, “i didn’t appreciate it’s tone. so i phoned tone loc. and said to him, ‘tell me you need it just the way you want it.’” “no, wait, anytime you want to need it. have it your way.” it went by his waysideways down the highway. its cheese was falling off in clumps. “that’s professor clump to you,” the cheese screamed. it was a faint scream because i had fainted. that cheese was taking me places. i fucked it all up. my only true talent was fucking up, and now i fucked up fucking up. thought you’d be proud. the pizza came back. it had no cheese and no toppings left. it didn’t even know if it was still a pizza at that point blank range. i thought that was my cue. since i thought i guess i really knew it wasn’t. i stepped back and let them all have it. ”you get a car! you get a car! you get a car!” except nobody won a car. they won getting shot. they climbed into the car. get away. far away. for always. they drove to the next county. this one was a dry one on one at a time. “hold on to your butts.” i don’t want to hear any buts. but both your butts better bet. one butt put $5 down on red. double down. double dead. and dared. as in keeping kids off drugs (or butts).


STEVE ROGGENBUCK


im sory i like you better than everything im sory i like you better than everything i want to whisper into your smile come watch cops with me you make me need to write love poems this is what i might whisper in the rain come over and nap with me i want you i sleep like a raccoon in you i sleep in you like i am a raccoon somewhere do you ever want to climb into a birch tree with me somewhere in the bottom of the rain i want you


POEM i wanna cry with u but we cant because if we were together we wouldnt be sad


POEM i was okay in the sea

put me back


POEM i turn you with slow animals i turn you in the dark trees i have you with me in the dark trees i am trying to put you somewhere else in the dark trees too i am like the giraffe of you wow im kising 25 birds when i kis you


CASSANDRA TROYAN


LET’S GET LIFTED New years eve midnight 60 degrees spread me out in the back of an abandoned lot so wet and a pussy is a basin placed inside the pelvic bowl settlement of sediments it gets filtered it gets held by your cock and I can know this is a standard procedure. I feel held by its laws. There is a bent wench that gets altered and a sense of the mind calls back you yeah you get lost bitch. Who is the person that will help you receive yourself. I can be so many people. Fucking and loving several people at the same time. How can I not laugh. Fucked up girl. Fucked up girl. I’m well read but sucked dry. I will grow a thousand thrones before I recede. I will allow small advances before I creep through the slit of your time. I guess I could grow a fondness for the taste of blood. My nose it bleeds from lack of use. Every touch is a wound and the test to smear.


UNKNOWN BLOOD The good work of a bad day and the fear makes itself unclothed and I don’t press the touch. Sometimes disappointment has a copper-tinged taste. A shudder to feel so human. A deep well hangs folded in the eye’s crust. A press to fuck, the incited blow. Pile onto the bridge. Your knees stay down as the _____ finds itself _____ and _____. Do you see what I just did there? It’s called gloaming. That needy plea when I know that if I can taste the gut rot then you must already be a coward. HOLD ON I’m going to let myself explode in a way that isn’t needy. I FUCKED UP THAT ONE NOW DIDN’T I DO YOU WANT TO SEE ME FAIL AGAIN You say you just want a good woman who understands true misery, but you know _____ _____ still _____ _____ _____ departing.


I FEEL THE TREADMILL LURCH i’m on so much klonopin. always on klonopin i can barely see or breathe i drank a lot of cough syrup too who am i, i’m running really fuckin fast at the gym i never slow it down. on fox news a man holds up an abstract expressionist painting of rick santorium’s portrait. i’m waiting for an email that will never come.


THIS IS THE STATE OF AFFAIRS BECAUSE THERE IS ONLY ONE YOU ONLY GET ONE FACE AND YOU BETTER FUCKING GET USED TO SCRUBBING IT POSITIVE cities are a good metaphor right they make the feels that keep saying the same thing and that is why we like them and that is why we return. i will die before I know who you are but that is, wait what? sorry what am i listening to i hate cat power no you’re no real drunk. your book makes sun patterns on the ceiling at 3am like you have something to prove and i’m ok with that. i turn the volume on my phone up. take yr vitamins because i just had a miscarriage whoops will be late to the opening. and you look through again and gain the way that you are and the way you want to be and the line of sexy boredom fucking vanity selfhatred depression fuck me i turn the volume on my phone down. please this is getting tiresome and i am running out of methods to deplete myself of logic.


life is sick and sad DELETE ME DELETE ME DELETE ME i am the rejector the pale cunt of brevity DELETE ME fist the dry run what is a wet run DELETE ME DELETE ME DELETE ME DELETE ME i’m in an open relationship with your nightmare let’s hope this time we never wake up let’s hope this time we get closer to a feeling a feeling not a stoppage i’m going to push past the place where i think you live. kill her with photography the image not the object, as the visual life meat is mottled and gristled. why do people ask questions when they don’t care about the answers you don’t know what i’m talking about quit it DELETE ME DELETE ME i’m getting older and my hate makes me tender


THOR HARRIS


1975 I started masturbating the year my father died. I was 10. It was 1975. I also started playing drums that year. Pretty big year. I thought I was a freak for jacking off, but it felt so good I could not quit. No one told me it was completely normal & you should do it. It was the burbs in the 70s & I guess people didn’t discuss that kind of thing. I was relieved a few years later when my friend all divulged that they did it too. There was misery all around me. My mom kind of went insane for a few years. I stayed away from home as much as possible. I rode around the neighborhood on my bike followed by a pack of dogs. It was pretty alright as long as it was just me and the dogs. When I was home I was in my room learning the drum parts to all my rock records. My brother & I hated each other back then. He was a big brute & I was a scrawny art fag, so I was always trying to think of ways to kill him. My sister was pretty cool, but being 17 and very pretty she wasn’t around much. I think she too was hiding in her own world from the creeping collective sorrow that lived at our house. Sometimes she would take me with her to teenage stuff & that was a fun escape. She liked me & thought it was cool that I was good at art & music. When I spent the night at my friends’ houses I envied the security and wealth that came from having a dad. Still we did always have a lot of friends over at our house. I think the lack of supervision made it a sort of fun madhouse where you could do anything. I worked on bikes & my brother built homemade bombs.


Mom started going to a group called Parents Without Partners. Sometimes she would take us with her on outings. It was a bunch of middle aged, lonely, horny people & their kids. There were more women in the group than men, so the women would all compete for the attention of the few men. Most of the kids were dorks , so it wasn’t much fun for me. I met a cool kid named Stephen whose mom had died of food poisoning. Back then a year was a really long time. I loved my friends & my dogs & the trees around our house. There were lots of them. Our dad had our house built in a forest down a dirt road a little ways away from the nearest neighborhood near a town called La Porte near Galveston. Huge pine trees go all the way up to the coast down there and the wind blows in off the Gulf of Mexico. The decision to spend a lot of time playing music was a good one; I guess maybe the best one I ever made. Masturbating too. I feel I am no longer qualified to make such major, life changing decisions. But that year I was qualified.


NO GLYKON


▲NUMBSKULL▲

around a setting sun, she raises her hands above her head. the sun seems tiny. it what are colors the sky a diffuse pink. i watch her stare at the horizon. while stepping toward her, a haze washes my view. a row of several starburst rings emanate from the distant sun. she turns toward me. pulling at the bottom of her oxford shirt, she looks at her feet. she bites her lip. her hair hangs over her face. it’s dyed pink. it camouflages her with her shirt and the sky. “have you ever hit someone in the face while having sex with them and also, if so did you like really go for it, or just kind of like….do it to appease them, but it was really awkward?” ▲SOMETIMES▲YOU▲LOOK▲SO▲SAD▲AND ▲ABSENT▲ALL▲THE▲TIME▲ the door was closed. a sensation came in. it came out in drips. it faded away. i just wanted to be alone. the ground grew gray and i began to like it. across the room, under the curtain, i felt the glass. my fingers shivered. across the street, the leaves were dead. on the pavement, she laid as straight as she could. her arms were at her sides. she wore a white nightgown. my feelings were characterless. i dwelled on the whatness. hi ra… de. hi ra… de. hi ra… de. hi ra… de. ▲WORTHLESS▲ “no. i never ‘go for it.’ i just do it to appease them and feel awkward.”


▲EVERYTHING▲I▲COULD▲DO▲OR▲SAY▲HAS▲ ALREADY▲HAPPENED▲IN▲A▲MORE▲ INTERESTING▲WAY▲ naturally my arms bend. i fidget with ungrateful lovers. i sit up in bed. all of it’s comfort is the perfect companion. your skin is eyeball white. i pick at the label on my cup. outside the sirens wail. woooo. trying to eat myself slowly, i bite blue and blue breathing nails. i think less than better but more than nothing of it. there are two of you in bed. you and you aren’t direct but specific. you muster some will. you stay in your head. i wait for the perfect view. pretty little. you go out of your mind on the floor. pretty literal. every step you take takes you further from a standard of living. i don’t have much detachment. ▲YOUR▲VOICE▲YOUR▲EYES▲ when you’ll go this way, i’ll go that way. ▲SEE▲IF▲I▲CARE▲ there’s nothing to say. i don’t have to mention it. i look out the window. families pass me by- ours included. you compete with life till you complete it. easily your eyes open.


REALITY HANDS #1  

LITERARY ZINE

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