Semi-OK Issue 1 / Summer 2015

Semi-Ok

Collective

Editors: Claire Gunville, Teal Bluestone Special thanks to: the Indedependat Publishing Resource Center, all parents everywhere, and the semi-ok ladies and dudes.

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welcome

claire gunville

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it’s almost 2:30

in the afternoon ha ha i’ve had a really tough week, but aren’t they all tough?

i’m going to art school in the fall and havent had to write anything that actually matters in years. i’m listening to “the split” (entering yolo county)

while, i rolled a spliff and forgot it at home because i realized i may not have enough money to pay rent all by my little self this month. but, i had great iced coffee this morning what i am trying to say is that, i am struggling to write this “editors

note” thing.

i’m not very good at talking to people, and i think everyone hates me, and wow this is getting real v fast, but it makes me extremely happy to know that i can contribute to whatever community i am in, and to make these memories last by preserving them on real-life paper. from the bottom of my heart i feel i am blessed to know the individuals that have made this zine happen. for your encouragement, artistry, and patience, i thank you so much! thank you mom, thank you dad, thank you jackson, thank you teal.

it is almost surreal the support i feel from others in this community, or collective, or whatever the fuck you want do others feel that way?

i hope this makes you feel that way

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claire gunville

editors note

Notes On Anger With Kat, Jordan, and Myself

Practicality of anger ~~only when acting negative out of anger does it become a problem ~how to use your anger for positive forces Motivation for anger Enabling you to make art, music Praise for anger Anger is conventionally thought of as x, and “if your not angry you are not listening” Its time to pay to anger, because our lack of resources makes us thirsty for anger --depends on what/how you act on your feelings, recognizing what you are actually anger about. Identifying the difference between anger and angst.

Emotions that people traditionally demonize. The ones that people normally negaitize that can be turned into a resource instead of sitting around and stewing.

Hey maybe draw a cartoon about it.

When ever you get that passionate there is a certain amount of recklessness that can be used to change. If you think about it too hard you probably are not going to do it. So to being 20, just do it, there is not much at risk so young but old enough.

This is the perfect time in our life to start getting angry and start learning about how to own it, if we are standing up for what is right.

No, not embodying hippy ideals, but aiming for this creative community with peace in mind.

Just hushed tones of peace.

With all the anger that our community feels towards the constant headaches of sexism, racism, and classism having a community present to take those feelings and put them back into the community but through a form of art needs to be screamed.

It’s our job as the young, fresh, 20 year olds with resources to make people aware of what is going on. Lets get upset and turn into something positive. It could be just complimenting our friends new hair cut who had a bad day because their loan didn’t get approved.

One last word. So get off your couch and make some art, because if there is anything that’s gonna stop the anger its gonna start with setting down those hot cheetos. Okay but actually these artist that you are about to read/listen to mean the world to me and I hope you appreciate the glimpse in to their life that they share with you.

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editors note

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teal bluestone

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what’s going on.......................................................................................... 01, 02 illustrations by danny rankin ..................................................................... 03, 04 how sioux falls helped cure my cabin fever by jacob heiteen ................. 05, 06 photography by aaron liu ................................................................................07 little victories by kat salas ............................................................................... 08 linoleum reduction print by neal mccormick ...................................................09 35mm photography by claire gunville ...........................................................10 a message to teal by noah banks .............................................................. 11, 12 summer goals by tyler bassey ........................................................................13 photography by jasmine conrad .....................................................................14 preston by dan molloy ................................................................................15-22 semi-ok mix tape ...................................................................................... 23, 24 reclaming the female nude by olivia wallace ........................................... 25, 26 just this weird little biographical essay to the music scene of portland from a girl who recently broke her neck in a river by milly wallace ..................... 27, 28 photography by danny rankin ............................................................ 29, 30, 31 poetry by jackson walker ................................................................................ 32 illustration by teal and isabelle ....................................................................... 33 portland music history: a hope for home by tony vilorio ............................... 34 spring 2015 fotos by claire gunville .......................................................... 35, 36 relationship c. kritz by collin kritz .............................................................. 37, 38 photography by dani ransom ............................................................. 39, 40, 41

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table of contents

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JULY

2015

02 - lubec / havania whaal / sleeveless / alien boy - the know - 9pm - 21+ 05 - our first brains / little star / mr. bones / rod - velo cult bike shop - 7pm 06 - winter break / leer / divers / walter etc - blowhouse - 6pm 09 - pure disgust (dc) / hard stripes (va) / barge (va) / pressing on - the know - 8pm - 21+ 10 - heavy sunsets / rod / ladywolf / studenets - smart collective - 5pm 17 - from ashes rise / the siege fire / black theory - the know - 8pm - 21+ 30 - lvl up/ upset / blowout / snow roller - analog cafe - 6:30pm 31 - andy human & the reptoids (ca) / andy place & the coolheads / mope grooves - the know - 8pm - 21+

*local shows known as of the end of june

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AUGUST 07 - welle / sabonis / amos val - mother foucault’s bookshop - 7pm 11 - arrows in her / caregiver / forever losing sleep / two moons - analog cafe - 6pm 12 - fireworks / weatherbox / dry jacket / of confidence - analog cafe - 8pm

but where are we going ? ------- - The Know 2026 NE Alberta St, Portland, OR 97211. 21+

Mother Foucault’s Bookshop 523 SE Morrison St, Portland, OR 97214. All ages

Analog Cafe 720 SE Hawthorne Blvd, Portland, OR 97214. All ages until 10pm Smart Collective 6923 SE Foster Rd, Portland, OR 97206. All ages

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danke

danny rankin

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danny rankin travles, makes music, and rad art wherever he may be

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Danny Rankin travels, cooks, and

does rad art

wherever he is.

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danny rankin

danke

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It’s

nearly two in the morning and I am wide awake, laying in a cot in a small cabin in the middle of rural Maryland with Sioux Falls playing in full volume through my headphones. I should be asleep. I really should be asleep, I have to get up in seven hours to do backbreaking labor for the whole day. That doesn’t sound like much fun, but that was kind of the point. I was going to make a drastic change in my lifestyle, leave Portland, and donate all my time doing something more worthwhile than what I was doing living at home with my parents. While looking for a way to do this I found a federal program called AmeriCorps NCCC (National Civilian Community Corps).

NCCC takes people ages 18­24 around the country to serve with various non­profits with goals that range from disaster relief, to environmental conservation, to rural and urbandevelopment. It’s a 10 month process and you basically have to give up privacy and free time in the name of service. I joined AmeriCorps with hopes that it would force me to get ready for the adult world, help cure my ever lingering depression, and possibly find my calling in life.

As I write this I am five months into my term. A lot has changed but a lot has also stayed the same. As far as changes go, I’ve lost weight, grown a decent beard, realigned my sleep schedule to that of a normal human, and have finally seeked out professional help for my depression (albeit with mixed results). However, I still have no idea what I want to do with my life and I feel no more prepared for adulthood than I did before (check back in 6 months and we’ll see if things change), but regardless I’m still glad that I chose to join the NCCC.

Flashback three months, to me lying awake in a cabin in the middle of the night and it’s a different story. I’m incredibly depressed, contemplating quitting, thinking that I’ve made a horrible mistake. My mind is cluttered with these thoughts making it nearly impossible to fall asleep.

I did not sign up to be stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowheresville Maryland. No. My team as supposed to be going to New York City for our first project, but of course the housing fell through and we were sent instead to Earleville, Maryland, a place that could barely be called a one­horse town. Instead of a NYC apartment, we get to stay in a small cabin on the property of a Girl Scout camp, where we also work. The cabin was very small, just a common area/kitchen area, a boys room, and a girls room. The boys room did not have a door, which was why it was the boys room, so getting any sort of privacy was out of the question. We were 20 minutes drive from any form of civilization. If you wanted to get something from the store the nearest place was a Wal­Mart, which we spent way too much time at. You could forget about internet in this cabin, the nearest place we could go for internet was a Starbucks that was even further than the Wal­Mart.

I guess one could say that my accommodations were rustic. I wasn’t used to rustic however.

I also wasn’t used to living so off the grid, hell I wasn’t even used to living with people who weren’t my immediate family. This was all new to me and I wasn’t handling well. I quickly started to experience what one might call “cabin fever.” When I wasn’t working there was literally nothing to do. My team 05

how sioux falls helped cure my cabin fever jacob heiteen

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and I’s idea of a good time invloed driving to Wal­Mart or Royal Farm and spending way too much time there, eating food and reading magazine that I never bought or going to restaurant where I would sit as the rest of my mostly 21 and over teammates drank. Guess who was the designated driver!?

Work at the time was starting to become boring too. Our task involved restoring and repainting a large program center building in the middle of the camp. It was supposed to only take a couple of weeks but it ended up taking almost five. The work was the kind of tedious that would drive you insane. I’d spend hours looking at walls hoping to find some kind of blemish that needed fixing and of course someone else would come by and point out several. My team was starting to get on my nerves too. I came to the realization rather quickly, that I had almost nothing in common with them. I started to resent their quirks and hate each and every one of them for the most petty and irrational reasons. All this ill will was completely unfounded by the way, I was just looking for a place to take my frustrations out on.

All in all I was unhappy. Unhappy with the program, unhappy with the work, unhappy with my team, unhappy with myself and my life. And that leads me back to this one night where I’m laying in my cot, staying up way too late, and feeling so incredibly homesick. I missed my family, I missed my friends, I missed Portland. And so I did what I always do when I’m laying awake at night, I listened to music. I decided to go with something that would remind me of home and of my friends, so I put on Sioux Falls. If you are reading this and you don’t know who Sioux Falls is then for the love of god correct that! They are basically newest highlight of the great lineage of Pacific Northwest indie rock. A lineage that includes Nirvana, Sleater­ Kinney, Elliott Smith, Bikini Kill, Fleet Foxes, The Thermals, Built To Spill (well that’s technically Idaho but fuck it close enough), and of course Modest Mouse. Sioux Falls are worshipers of the Modest Mouse alter and it shows in the music. The difference is that I actually prefer Sioux Falls to Modest Mouse most of the times, but don’t tell them that. In my opinion Sioux Falls should be right alongside all those artist i just mention as examples of PNW indie done right.

But I didn’t really think all this until I spent a night lying awake with them blasting in my headphones. I closed my eyes and put on Lights Off For Danger and suddenly I started to feel less and less homesick. It was almost as if by listening to Sioux Falls I was being transported back to my beloved Cascadia and more specifically Portland. I could feel the rain falling on my skin and smell the scent the evergreens and the atmosphere give off after the rain stops. I was walking in a gray and green world, going to a house show, eating at a food­cart, and hanging out with my friends. I felt at home again thanks to Sioux Falls and before I knew it I was asleep. The next day at work I had them repeat. I felt better about everything because I got to go home for a bit, even if it was just in my head.

I no longer felt like quitting AmeriCorps and I’m very thankful that I didn’t, my next project had me staying in Baltimore for two months which was awesome. Every now and again I’ll still get homesick though. Thankfully I now have Sioux Falls to take me back home.

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jacob heiteen

how sioux falls helped cure my cabin fever

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from top left: donkeylips, snow roller (tyler),

07 sioux falls (isaac), and caregiver (tony)

aaron liu

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The world is always folding inward it is dusting my palms and shoulders and I shake it off of me, violently. a whole knife block set in my mother’s kitchen and the first four knuckles everything is a child in a striped shirt in a small room with his foot in his mouth then his knee. teeth on teeth on bone he spends his last minutes with full cheeks everything is an invitation home to a houseboat on a fast river with some great ironic heart and everyone is asking why your not at the dinner table on a map they are all the blue areas everything is a shopping cart at winco at 9:14 PM with a honeycomb body it looks exactly like you, but in the pictures the flash is too bright you were never very photogenic Thin time and heavy sunlight; make a wish, make a wish, make a wish I wish my lungs were’nt full of dust.

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kat salas

little victories

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expectations linoleum print 12”x12”

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claire gunville

35mm photographs

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a message to teal

noah banks

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summer session

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noah banks

a message to teal

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Meet everyone you can and when you forget names remember it’s probably totally insignificant.

Pretend that going a month without drinking matters, because it does, even though it probably doesn’t.

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When someone slights you, ignore the context: jet lag is fucking with his meds; she didn’t get enough sleep to remember how she takes her coffee when it’s hot.

When someone asks you a question, whether you know the answer or not, whether you heard them or not, just say, “What?”

Feels real nice.

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When someone is an unrepentant asshole, end them.

Be offensive as often as possible so you can be certain that your friends are not sissies.

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--Only put your money toward good things if someone, who is attractive, embarrassed you publicly first.

-Always dress like you are going to a funeral, especially on first dates.

Pick peaches on Sauvie Island.

Swipe right.

Pick plums near your old job.

Use emoji instead of words.

Pick figs in your old backyard.

Find a way to lurk.

Pick blackberries all over.

Quote Drake. Just quote him.

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summer goals

tyler bassey

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jasmine conrad

35mm photographs

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I heard the scratching on the door about twenty minutes after I got home one night. I didn’t give it much attention, and kept my gaze at my computer. The

scratching kept going, though, and eventually I got so goddamn tired of it I got up and opened the door. A black cat stared up at me and meowed before waltzing in, making sure to show off its asshole. He walked to the corner and sat, wrapping itself in its tail. I held the door open and kept an eye out for Effie, the cat who had already attached herself to me and was, for the moment, living with me. I didn’t want her walking out with this other fucker. I called for the him, but all I got was the same cocked head and stare from a minute before. He turned his head and walked across the room to where Effie had apparently been sitting. They sniffed each other over and at the same time decided the other was groom-worthy, and started licking each other hard to reach spots.

I closed the door and was again pulled to the screen. If Effie took a liking to him, it couldn’t be that bad to let him spend the night. She was spayed, so if they fucked, there wouldn’t be a pregnancy to deal with. Besides, I usually overstocked on food and litter, and he walked around like he was healthy enough. Hopefully he didn’t have cat AIDS or anything. He had a collar on, but I didn’t think his owner would sweat much if he spent the night somewhere else. He was cute enough to get by without much trouble. I pressed play on whatever I was watching and drifted to sleep while Effie and the new guy got to know each other. Get some, Effie, I thought. She’d been bored lately anyway, so having a new guy around would be good for her. She’d stop sticking her asshole in my face.

The next morning I checked the new guy’s collar. All it had was his shelter information, no address or anything except a bell that added to the noise he made. It seemed whoever was feeding him liked to do it at six in the morning.

I woke up with something patting on my face and meowing, and it took me a couple minutes to realize it was my new roommate. After a chorus of meows (Effie knew she’d get something out of it and couldn’t resist), they got their food and I took the new guy’s collar off. I kept it off, since the place was small enough that I didn’t need a bell to know he was walking around.

I had extra time to kill before work, so I made myself an actual breakfast as opposed to microwaving leftovers I took home or toasting something. It was strange putting food together for myself. I’m not sure if I succeeded. I made an egg scramble, but I think the avocados were supposed to go on the outside. It served its basic function, though, because I wasn’t hungry after I ate it. I showered and dressed and found the new guy standing on my counter, staring out the window. Effie sat on the couch, ready for her eight-hour nap.

“Nothing to see, buddy boy,” I said. He turned and gave me a look I thought only existed in thirteen year-olds. I picked up the collar and found a new tag. A metallic circle with one name on one side. “Egbert?”

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He turned around. I opened the door and bid him farewell. “See ya.

Bye, Effie.”

Working in food service is a perfectly acceptable way to make you miserable, but working in a place that aims to serve breakfast food from the moment it opens its doors to the end of human existence requires some degree of masochism. I probably have enough to feed a party of fifteen, cause I don’t just start my first shift at one and my second at ten, I usually eat the food I watch people shove into their digestive systems. I have to pay for it, too.

The food itself isn’t terrible, at least during my night shift. I know the guy who cooks, and he actually kind of knows what he’s doing. Not in any professional way, but I would want to live with him just so he could do the cooking. Ed’s his name and our breaks usually line up. We shared a cigarette tonight. I told him about Egbert.

“What kind of name is that?”

“I don’t know, it’s probably long for Bert.”

“What about Albert? Or Herbert.”

There’s never been much to talk about with Ed. He’s into video games and I think they’re boring. Sometimes it seems like he’s playing a game while you’re talking to him. Sometimes I go to his place after work and play shooter games and drink. He gets more into pictures from a computer than I’ve ever seen him in real life. It must be what an opium den is like. I was at his place once and he didn’t say a word to me for four hours, just staring at the screen until he was tired. I have no idea where he learned to make breakfast food, or how he got his job.

“You wanna come over tonight?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Oh.”

“I took in this cat last night, I want to see he’s doing alright.”

“Oh, nice.”

That was how you knew Ed had stopped listening.

I keep old newspapers under my sink for when I go camping in the summer. I always run out of kindling, so having too much paper I don’t care about is always a good thing for me. When I came in to check on Egbert today, it was all over the floor. None of it was scratched, just knocked over and spread around. Effie had eaten a little bit and couched it up in the corner, but this seemed like something Egbert would do. Under the sink is too freaky for Effie.

I picked the papers up and Egbert came over. He batted his paw on my hand. I put the papers back under the sink, and as soon as I closed the door he opened it and knocked the papers down. All he did was sit on them. summer issue

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We did not work in a swanky place. Stevie Wonder came on at least three times a shift. Unsober teenagers came in, as they do, but our regulars were mainly old men getting out of the house or people going to work shittier hours at shittier jobs than mine. There wasn’t much entertainment value and I spent most of my time on the clock wanting to be asleep. I used to wonder what compelled people to come at the hours they did, but I learned that it all boiled down to one reason: they wanted food. Their level of sobriety, their age, their race had nothing to do with why there were there. They all wanted food and they didn’t care what they ate. That is a good demographic, though. You could set up an indoor trough and people would probably go for it.

I was walking through asking if anyone wanted water when I saw Aria sitting at a table. She was a regular, a nice lady who always paid with ones. It didn’t take much imagination to find out how she earned them. She worked just up the road and I’ll admit I went in a few times. It wasn’t nearly as depressing as I thought it would be. It seemed more like a social club than anything else.

Aria and her co-workers were talking to people there, but I just kind of sat in the corner. I refilled her water and she folded the straw wrapper.

“How’re you doing tonight?” I said.

She focused on her folding. “I’m alright. What’s up with you?”

“Not much, I took in a cat last night.”

“Aww. Are you gonna keep it?

“We’ll see. My cat has to like him.”

“What’s that one’s name again?”

“Effie. She’s got a bobtail.”

“That’s so cute. What’s his name?”

“His collar says Egbert, so that’s what I’m calling him til I think of something better.”

“That’s an awesome name.”

“It fits him.”

“Do you have a picture?”

“Yeah, right here.”

I took my phone out and showed her what I snapped of Egbert last night.

The flash was on and you could barely tell it was a cat, but he was curled up on the couch. If it were a normal picture it’d be pretty cute.

“Oh my God,” she said. “He’s so cute. You are so lucky.”

“He’s kind of an asshole. He tore up my couch.”

“You should get him a scratching post.”

“I don’t want to spend the money.”

“Fair enough, but he’s so cute.”

I went back to the counter and put the water pitcher down. Jimmy, my lead, approached me. Jimmy’s mission in life was to make sure he gave a shit about everything no one else gave a shit about. He’s a commenter, which 17 short story

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doesn’t mean that he comments on everything, but that he leaves comments on posts on websites. He talks about it to everyone, even though no one ever asks about it. He talks about other people’s usernames like normal people talk about other normal people. I think I know more about how abider_dude has been doing for the last month than my mom.

“What were you doing?”

“Her water was empty.”

“Why was your phone out?”

“I was showing her a picture.”

Egbert peed on my bed the next morning. His other attempts to wake me up failed, so he did what he thought was necessary. I was more confused than mad, but he hid away from me the rest of the morning except when I fed him.

It was fine, though. I need to wash my sheets more often, anyway. I probably have bed bugs by now.

Once Egbert dares to show his face, he and Effie are thick as thieves.

They spend most of their time in a two-foot radius of one another, usually grooming the other’s face. I’m happy they’re an item now, but I really don’t want Effie getting kitty STDs. Paying a bunch of vet bills is not something on my planner. I don’t even have a planner. If I am going to be taking this guy in, he’ll need to get checked up. Effie might as well need it, too.

As I look up the vet’s number, I realize that I only have one carrier.

Quickly looking through my place, I realize I only have one of everything for cats. One bowl, one litter box, enough food for one cat, only one bag of catnip. Me and Effie have learned to live a solitary cat’s life, where cat trees and constant entertainment aren’t totally necessary. Effie’s content to sleep and lick herself all day, but Egbert needs to be played with, to hunt, to be pet and nuzzled pretty much all the time. Last night when I got into bed he kept finding ways to get under the covers until I finally booted him out of the room. I don’t have what this cat needs.

Egbert jumps on the table and stares at the computer, his asshole right in my face.

“Mrow,” he says.

I scoot him aside, but he keeps looking at the screen. He makes a low, growly kind of sound, something unpleasant.

“You okay?”

His eyes are fixed on the webpage, but there’s nothing there that would make him mad. It’s just the vet’s address, number, hours, that sort of stuff.

There’s no picture of a cat or something he doesn’t like. I close the page and he stops.

“Weirdo.”

He went back to the couch and began to scratch. I’m starting to think about who I know who’s in the market for a cat. Ed would probably wind summer issue

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up starving him, and he’s too much of a shitkicker for Jimmy to want him.

There’s a community board in my building, but I don’t know any of my neighbors and people would probably wonder how he ended up with me. My friend Mark would probably like him, but he can’t have animals in his place. Maybe I should keep him.

Aria’s taking Egbert. She came in at the tail end of my second shift last night and asked about him. When she heard it wasn’t going to be working out, she offered to take him, and I offered to show him to her. She followed me home and met both of them. Effie let her rub her tummy, but she’d kill her young for a tummy rub. Egbert was a little less friendly, though he did let her pet him. If I were looking to get a cat, I would’ve gone with one that purred on me or played with me, but his cute factor is getting the better of her. Whatever gets him and his piss off my hands is okay with me.

She stayed for a little while, too. I had some beer that was only getting cold in my fridge and we split it. We didn’t talk about anything, but it was the kind of nothing talk that comes before something happens. It was mostly about Egbert and pets. She hasn’t had any yet since living on her own, but she’s always loved cats. I really think she should get a kitten and start new, like I did with Effie, but I brought Egbert tonight anyway. He’s in a carrier under the desk in the manager’s office with all the other stuff I’ve set aside for him.

Jimmy’s the highest up right now, but he never uses the office.

I tell Ed on my break. “Nice,” he says. I take him to the office and show him. Egbert likes whatever meat Ed’s been handling lately. He licks Ed’s fingers more than I’ve seen him lick himself.

“Jimmy doesn’t know, so just keep it quiet.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ed says.

“Can you get him something from the kitchen?”

“For sure.”

“Just some chicken or something.”

“You want chicken?” he asks.

Egbert meows, which Ed takes for yes.

All through my first shift I was waiting on this one family, just refilling their waters. I ran food to them once, and the youngest, a kid probably seven or so, ate quickly and thanked me every time I passed by like I made her burger. Everyone else picked at their food and barely talked. The most I heard any of them talk was when they ordered. There was the kid, who sang and talked the whole time, her mom and dad, and an older guy, who was the grouchiest.

He ordered steak and eggs and sent it back because the eggs weren’t runny enough. They were there when I got there and stayed the whole four hours.

When I come back with Egbert, they’re still in the same booth in the corner, a plate of fries in the middle of the table. The girl’s asleep now in her mom’s lap 19

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and she doesn’t look too far behind. The grandpa eats one fry a minute while the dad stares at his phone. I’m back at their table for the next four hours.

“We can’t kick them out,” Jimmy says. “I checked.”

“Can we make them order?”

“They do. Like, one thing an hour.”

“Do they take turns at napping?”

“The girl was running around before. Go check on them.”

I grab a pitcher and go to their table. I stand and smile like I’m supposed to. The grandpa looks at me like I’m retarded and contagious.

“You guys doing alright over here?”

“Doing fine,” the grandpa says.

“Want some more water?”

“We’re fine,” the dad says.

“Okay, let me know if you need anything.”

“Actually, bring some more of this,” the grandpa says. He holds out an empty bottle of malt vinegar. The fries are drenched in it already and I’m not all the way in work mode so I ask:

“Isn’t that enough?”

I didn’t ask like an asshole, just an idiot. I smile to make it seem friendlier. The grandpa holds the bottle.

“No, it’s not,” he says. “I’d like some more.”

“It looks like you have enough.”

The grandpa dunks the bottle in the water pitcher, overflowing the water and spilling a bit.

“I’ll let you know when I have enough.”

I’ve dealt with worse. Someone spanked me once. I take the bottle out of the pitcher and hold my smile.

“Alright, I’ll get you some.”

I go back to the counter, pour out the water and find another bottle of malt vinegar under the counter. I stand back up and Jimmy’s standing right next to me, a smile across his red face.

“Preston,” he says.

“Hi.”

“Take a look in the kitchen.”

Looking through the window, you can see Egbert walking along the line, sniffing the veggies. Ed holds out chicken meat for him, but he’s not into it.

He’s more into a bowl of peas.

“I heard that’s your cat,” Jimmy says.

“Yup.”

“Can you please get him out of there?”

I walk into the kitchen and pick him up. He curls up in my arms, which is more affection than he’s ever given me before, but I think it’s because he’s freaked out and I’m familiar to him by now. I walk out to the floor to check if summer issue

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preston

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Aria’s coming right when Jimmy choses to start the lecture he’s going to give before firing me.

“I don’t think you know just how many health codes you broke—”

He bumps right into me and Egbert leaps out and runs off. I push Jimmy to the side and run after him. He weaves his way under tables and takes a quick right. He finds a booth to hide under before I can see. Jimmy runs after me and looks at the booths.

“Where’d he go?” he asks.

“I don’t know, he’s under a booth.”

“Fuck.” Jimmy walks to the corner and looks under the unoccupied tables. He dives into one of them and Egbert comes out running and finds out a new dark corner. Jimmy crawls out with a redder face, staring at me. “Look!”

I start looking under the booths and find him in one by the door. I make noises to get him to come, but he won’t budge. I get it. If Jimmy were after me, I wouldn’t trust anyone either. He kind of is after me. I grab after him and he runs away. This time he goes across the place. Jimmy runs after him and falls over a chair. He gets up and stands on the chair. I walk over to where the feline went.

“Everyone,” Jimmy says. “One of our employees brought his cat to work.”

It’s obvious I’m the moron who thought it was Bring Your Cat to Your Food Service Job Day, so I raise my hand when I hear that. The one a.m. crowd finds it kind of amusing. Only a few giggles.

“If he goes under your table, please pick him up and hold him so he can’t jump. Either Preston or myself will take him away. Thank you and sorry to disturb you.”

“He’s over here,” I hear from the corner. Jimmy powerwalks there.

Walking like a normal person, I make it there a couple seconds later. Egbert sits on the table, chewing their fries. The mom and dad pet him while the grandpa slouches and looks at me. “You have the vinegar?” he asks. Jimmy glances my way. “Preston.” I walk to the table.

“Let me take him.”

“He’s fine,” the mom says.

“What’s his name?” asks the dad.

“Egbert.”

The grandpa tugs at my shirt. “Vinegar.”

Jimmy nods at me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “We’ll be back in just a sec, sorry about that.”

“I just hope the damn cat doesn’t eat all the fries.”

“On the double, then.” Jimmy powerwalks and pushes me with him.

We walk to the counter and he moves me towards the malt vinegar bottles.

“You’re planning on selling it, right?”

“Yeah, that’s why he’s here.”

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“Give it to them and get it out of here.”

“Well, there’s someone who’s actually coming tonight to take him, so I can—”

“Give them the vinegar now, we’ll get some fries for them and then get the rest of the stuff and put it in their car. Get the freaking cat out of here.”

I walk back to the corner and put the vinegar in front of the grandpa.

“There you go.”

He looks up at me. “Thanks.”

I glance at the plate and the fries are completely gone. Egbert lies on his side, wearing a look that begs you to draw him like one of our French girls.

The dad pets him and if you block out “My Cherie Amour”, you can actually hear him purr. I never thought I’d see the day.

“Thanks a lot,” the human Grinch says.

“Sorry, we’ll be getting some right out for you.”

I start to turn around when the mom asks, “Is he yours?”

“Uh, kind of. I took him in a couple nights ago, he’s a stray.”

“So why’d you bring him?”

“I’m, uh, someone’s interested in taking him in. I already have a cat and they don’t get along.”

“That’s too bad, she’s been obsessed with cats lately,” the dad says, motioning to the girl. “We thought maybe we could.”

“Uh, do you want to see if he likes her? If you want to wake her up.”

The dad shakes her arm and she opens her eyes. She immediately reaches out her hand and pets Egbert. He meows and turns his head around. “This is Egbert,” the mom says. He flips himself over and gets up. “Meow,” he says.

“Meow,” the girl says back.

Egbert starts rubbing his head on her forehead and, if you block out “Time After Time”, you can hear both him and the girl purr. Before I even think about Aria, I say, “Yeah, you can take him.” The girl squeals, the grandpa moans and the parents look relieved that something came in and took them out of that booth. The dad takes him back to the office and we get him back in the crate. The door was closed this time. Five minutes later, he’s in the back seat of their car having a conversation with the girl in meow code. Once they pulled out, I went back in, right to the lockers and put my stuff in my pockets.

I found Jimmy at the counter, ringing someone up for late-night pie. “Jimmy?”

He turned his head. “I figure since I’m fired no matter what, I’ll just head out now.”

Jimmy laughs. “You can at least stay for the rest of your shift!”

“No thanks, I’ll just quit when I’m ahead.”

I go to the kitchen. Jimmy calls after me, but he’s tied to the register. I make a peace sign to Ed and he makes something with his fingers that I guess means goodbye. I get in my car and go back to Effie. On the drive home, I remember Aria. She’d understand if she saw. I’ll tell her about adoption centers. summer issue

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SEMI-OK SUMMER JAMS sioux falls - what a weirdo dana mayer - north coast alien boy - blacking out helens - just like pet sounds bashface - useful fictions robot boy - futunen our first brains - funeral sweeping exits - danny naked hour - window pain little star - for goth easter sancho- cooler blowout - wet and reckless 23

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Like what you hear?

Find the full disography of each band on their bandcamp dot com

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reclaiming the female nude

olivia wallace

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Just This Weird Little Biographical Essay to the Music Scene of Portland From A Girl Who Recently Broke Her Neck In a River When I was seventeen the world opened up and it did at a house show.

To explain it is difficult, because it’s important to me. In my California town of 17,000 the youth suddenly had purpose and intention. We could organize.

We could be there for each other in new ways. The music scene became our support system.

I still have these really fond memories of talking for hours with friends and trying to bum cigarettes. I remember my brother and my friends walking in the middle of the street shouting the lyrics to Mistfit songs. The roads in our town are wide and at night they’re void enough of cars such that the world seems vast and endless. It wasn’t a frightening feeling back then because we were always going forward. None of my friends or I wanted to stay in that small town and two months after graduation most of us were gone and my support system disbanded.

Transitions can be difficult but the move to Portland was a breeze because for the first time in my life I was both: in a relationship and madly in love. I wish I could say that that’s when I discovered the music scene, but it wasn’t until two years later when I was completely heartbroken.

It’s strange to look back on now but as a person I had been “raised to love” meaning that at an early age it was implied my purpose in life should be finding only one other person and loving that person. So, when my partner and I broke up it didn’t only feel as though I failed at having a relationship, but also that I failed at becoming whom I was supposed to be. I was very lost.

I would wake up in the middle of the night, grab my headphones, and walk around SW Portland for hours. It felt like if I could just keep moving then maybe I could stop the world from swallowing me whole.

In 2010 I had moved to Portland sure of who I was and what I wanted, but by 2012 everything had left me the way of water. So I did what we all do when everything goes to shit and I began the reconstruction. It was like:

“Who am I? What am I doing here? What should I do? What do I even like?”

“All we have on file is that you write poetry and you like pop punk music.”

“…I guess, that’s where I’ll start.”

The first show I went to in Portland was a house show in NE. A friend from class invited me. I remember walking from the bus stop feeling pretty psyched because I was wearing a plaid shirt and a beanie, which I thought of as an original combination until I opened the door.

I saw Our First Brains for the first time at that show. And it felt like I was in one of those 90s music videos. The kind where a band uses some weird guitar lighting to turn an old timey grandpa into a leather jacket wearing, mohawk having, cigarette smoking, punk. And I was the grandpa! As soon as I got home I found the bandcamp and started playing it at full volume in my little basement apartment until my roommates hated me and I hated my 27

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roommates. It was just a really lovely time.

I started going to shows at Laughing Horse Books still not knowing anyone and too nervous to introduce myself. I used to do this “thing” where I’d pretend to get a phone call and walk around the block between sets. After about 5 or 6 shows, I met Ethan and (Jacob) Heiteen and somehow fooled them into eating pizza with me. From there I found out about Bi-Polar Bear and I met Teal, Claire, and eventually Kenzie. Next thing I knew I was living on Nebraska Street, and getting drunk with rats on the weekend.

My life was becoming this whirling storm of new people and experiences, like I was in the eye of a moshpit. It was crazy and fun. It all seemed to happen suddenly. One second I was I walking into Smart Collective just as Robot Boy began to fill the whole room with guitar…and then BAM!

I broke my neck in a river. Like a fucking idiot.

If that surprised you I apologize. It surprised me too. Personally I would like to highly recommend that you don’t break your neck in a river.

Just in case you were thinking of something fun to do this weekend. I mean sure, you’ll win over a few EMTs with your charms but you’ll also make your dad cry. So overall it doesn’t really balance out.

The bone I broke is called the “Atlas”. It’s the top vertebrae in the spine that holds up the head. I broke it drunk sometime after I said “Hey guys! I’m gonna dive into this river!” It was very stupid and it was very painful.

Since then I have had to move back home to California to recover.

It’s been this strange mixture between scaring door-to-door salesmen with my new neck brace and bed rest as I wait for my bones to grow back. At 23-years-old I’m right back where I was at 17, in this town of 17,000, except that until further notice I have to use my whole torso to look left. Some days are more painful than others and those are the days I try to sleep more. Bed rest is really hard but it’s a whole hell of a lot better when you have the Sioux Falls/Snow Roller split to listen to and here’s what I’m trying to say.

Whether it’s heartbreak or injury it doesn’t matter. Being “broken” (literally or figuratively) is not a new or surprising detail of life. I think it’s something we all know to be a part of living. However, while I am never surprised by pain I am always surprised by kindness and by support.

Even if maybe you didn’t intend to do so, this music, this “scene” it’s helped me in so many ways. It helped me survive heartbreak and rebuild myself in a city where I didn’t know too many people. It helped me feel less afraid to walk alone at night. It helped me to meet new people and make friends.

Lately I’ve been wondering whether I have really good luck or really bad luck? After all until now I’ve never broken a bone in my entire body. And yet somehow I am still alive, despite everything. Somehow I am able to write to you guys and tell you how grateful I am for the music and art that you have given this community; for all the personal feelings, times, and efforts that you have shared. So I think I can safely say that yeah, I am one of the luckiest people I know. So thank you, thank you so much for everything.

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35mm photographs

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From this moving sidewalk Electronic, perpetual I can see every part of my universe.

It seems static, but that was decided By me- I created it to be singular.

Bright yellow arrows broadcast a way off my moving sidewalk But I stay- another loop.

It’s always been easier to create the universe rather than be a part of it.

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jackson walker

from this moving sidealk

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The year 2007 was a strange and exciting time for the world. Steve Jobs had just introduced the iphone, Marion Jones relinquished her Gold Medals at the zenith of the steroid crackdown and the flaming trainwreck that was Anna Nicole Smiths career was finally put to an end. Observing the strange happenings occurring in my surroundings I buried myself deeper in the all-consuming constant that was the Portland music scene.

I had spent the two years prior attending as many shows as I humanly could. Most weeknights you could find me in the back of the satyricon watching anything from a folk punk band to a hip hop collective. One of these nights found me in front of a local band named A Hope For Home. This 6 piece proceeded to blow my teenage little mind with their use of lush keyboard passages matched by an equally dissonant and melodic dual guitar labyrinth which was rounded out by one of the most convicted vocalists I had ever seen. Their broad influence was indelible equally paying homage to Thrice and Explosions in the sky. That night I went back home and digested one of the most moving records ever to come out from Portland. The album in question Here, The End was a small collection profoundly moving emotive hardcore the likes I had not heard before, at least not from this city. The album a dedication to the memory of recently deceased founding member Kyle Cook was equally pained as it was hopeful floating from track to track in an engaging listen that demanded your undivided attention from start to finish. This listen was the beginning of a long road for this sextet as they would go on to write 3 more albums each even more impactful than the last. A hope for home was a rare breed of band in a city where the bastardization of screamo was in full effect and the dumbing down of hardcore was never at a more annoying zenith. The band is no longer around but the impact they had is carried by a few local artists including myself.

Favorite tracks: The Human Project Lives, Kyle and (Grace), We are the heirs! summer issue

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Sioux Falls Asks: Collin, why doesn’t my mom ever want to hang

out with me?

C. Kritz: Great question, Mr. Falls. Mother abandonment is a very important issue, whether the abandonment is emotional (unloving and emotionally absent) or physical (she gone and she ain’t coming back). Children with mother abandonment issues typically exhibit low self-esteem, confusion, and guilt. While these are all common themes in rock ‘n roll, these traits can make it hard for children to develop meaningful and rich relationship with other adults in fear that they will also be abandoned. I would recommend trying to separate your mother from other women and adults. Just because your mother doesn’t want to spend time with you, does not mean that you are at fault or that other women will treat you the same way. To quote the late, great Teenage Cool Kids, “our faults are never guaranteed, it’s wrong to think that way.”

Dana Meyer Asks: Bread (Brennan Facchino) moved out of cheese house, what do I do now?

C.Kritz: Ms. Meyer, loss is a very difficult emotion to deal with.

I imagine you will experience the five stages of grief, (also known as the Kubler-Ross Model,) much like an individual who has recently lost a loved one to death or a breakup. You will first feel denial that Bread left you and your house. Then you will likely feel anger and resentment towards him for leaving. Please bear in mind that this is something Bread felt like he had to do. Next, you will likely try to bargain with him to come back. Avoid this if possible. Desperation isn’t becoming on anyone. Unfortunately, you will likely feel some depression from the situation once the reality of his departure kicks in. Depression is healthy and natural as long as you don’t dwell on it too much. Seek counseling if this stage doesn’t pass or you are reliant on substances to avoid the pain of loss. Luckily though, the fifth and final stage is acceptance. Bread is gone, and he ain’t coming back. Perhaps the party lifestyle weighed on him too much. Maybe his new location is more central and convenient. Whatever the reason may be you have to support him as a friend and trust that he made the right decision for himself.

Bio Collin was born and raised in Connecticut. He now resides in Portland, Oregon and plays in Snow Roller and Loser Boyfriend.

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Alien Boii Asks: Um, Collin, I just met three great guys and we really *hit it off* in the basement but how do I keep the flame alive?

C.Kritz: Based on the information given, I am not sure of the nature of this relationship. Are the four of you polyamorous? New friends? Or perhaps the four of you getting a rock ‘n roll musical troupe together? Regardless of the label that the four of you ascribe your small group, relationship maintenance is difficult yet important. According to communication scholars, stable relationships are comprised of three essential elements. First and foremost, the participants need to agree that they are all participating in a relationship. Secondly, relationships can stabilize at different levels of intimacy and finally, the relationship must have considerable change happening inside of it. In other words, relationships are ever shifting sands, and the honeymoon period can’t last forever. It is important to be flexible and understanding of other people’s intimacy levels. I wish the four of you the best of luck and remember, communication is key to understanding how other people feel.

Dear C. Kritz, I’ve had a string of unsuccessful relationships in which

I’ve been cheated on, lied to and overall emotionally manipulated. I still feel I am deserving of love, but with an increasingly jaded mindset regarding its existence or authenticity, how do I continue to break down certain walls and allow myself to let others in without accessing every personal encounter as a risk? Also, if I do find ‘love’, will I still be able to write sad songs about late-stage youth? Thanks.

Sincerely, Thunderkitten

Wonderful questions, Thunder Kitten. First and foremost, I am sorry to hear what you’ve gone through. Of course you will feel jaded towards love and relationships based on past experiences, but your past history with love is not representative of the relationships you may encounter in the future. If you believe your future relationships will fail, you may end up living out a self-fulfilling prophecy that only leaves you feeling more jaded.

For you to break down the barriers that hold you back from being in healthy relationships, you need to trust yourself when you feel like you are willing and ready to enter a relationship with an individual. Dating other people and allowing love in your life shouldn’t feel like it’s a risk, it should feel like a potential reward.

That is, if you deem yourself worthy of such affection. Don’t cut yourself short, you still have a lot to give, and deserve just as much in return and you’re only in your 20’s.

In regards to song writing, if you stay true to yourself, you can keep writing meaningful music even if it isn’t about juicy topics like breakups. Life is full of struggles, no matter how minute they may seem at first. A ‘real’ artist can still have an interesting take on the seemingly mundane. After all, Kraftwerk do have a 22 minutes long masterpiece about the German highway system.

Thunder Kitten, your wounds will hopefully heal someday, and then you can allow yourself to feel close in intimate relationships. But really, don’t rush into anything. You have plenty o’ time.

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Dani Ransom is a Portland based filmmaker & photographer, open for commissions and collaborations, and recently graduated Portland State University with a BA in film production.

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last words looking forward to more issues of radical art and messages. let’s celebrate the growth from this zine and push the future submissions to be providing a wealth of reasources and prospectives. our goal is to create a space for intertwinement, enchantment, and partnerships for the artistic minds. xoxoxox teal & claire