Idealism & Rust

VISIO a cr eat ive cr u cible & lit er ar y/ ar t e-zin e

volu m e. 1 / issu e. 2

IDEALISM&RUST

VI SI O Editor in Chief/ Literary Editor Adriana Green Contributors Elizabeth Adan, James Flux, Kris Bond-Cote, Kara Buchok, Thomas Hannah, KT Chambers, Adriana Green Contact visioliterary@gmail.com Next Issue "Psychedelia" Poems, visual art, photography, and short stories all sharing one common denominator - hallucinogenics.

The Psychedelia issue will available July 16th 2020 Colophon VISIO MAG is an online literary/arts e-zine established with the goal of assisting contributors with publication development and to provide a safe space for literature and art

CONTENTS TITLEHERE COPPER CHERRIES Visual art by Elizabeth Adan

SADBOY A photo series by Adriana Green & James Flux

IT'S ALL JUST ORANGES A poem by Elizabeth Adan BLOSSOMING A poem by Adriana Green GOLD A short story by Kris Bond Cote GROWL Prose by KT Chambers L I F T ED Prose by Adriana Green BLACK HOLES Visual art by Elizabeth Adan THE CHOICE IS YOURS Visual art by James Flux THE BEARS ARE QUICKLY APPROACHING A poem by Elizabeth Adan

ALL THIS LIGHT A poem by Elizabeth Adan SUICIDE BLONDE A poem by Thomas Hannah TRY AGAIN Prose by Kara Buchok REINCARNATION A poem by Thomas Hannah REAWAKENING Visual art by Elizabeth Adan THREE A poem by Adriana Green MOVING ON A poem by KT Chambers MORNING SICKNESS & POLISHED WILDERNESS A poem by Thomas Hannah

""SCRATCHTHESURFACE OFANYCYNICANDYOU WILLFIND ADISAPPOINTED IDEALIST"" - GEORGECARLIN

In this issue... we will be exploring the theme of innocence lost, and innocence redeemed. Through the trials that life brings, our once attainable ideologies of how we want this world to work, turn into forgettable vestiges of what once was. But with the loss of one sense, another will always grow. Through the worst conditions, we can come out to the other side, bruised, and growing more thorns than before, but knowledgeable, and strong... A strength that would have never been conjured if it was not for those bitter times.

This specific theme is one that lays close to my heart. The urgency that came with the creation of this issue was overwhelming... palpable. Some might argue that innocence is never really lost, that with sustained optimism you can somehow resist the inevitable flood of apathy. Some might. I was not so lucky.

This issue is an anthem for the lost ones. The underdogs.

The ones with sore throats and eyes like fountains. Because I see myself in them. The ones who saw their perfect, sculpted utopias dashed and divided before their eyes. But we do not stay down. We do not retreat only to surrender. We get back out there, with new knowledge... with more patience and humility.

When we realize that in order to change the world like we once hoped for, we must first change ourselves, well... what can't you do then? These are the stories of such a paradigm shift.

I hope you enjoy.

Adriana Green Editor in Chief

Copper Ch er r ies by Elizabet h Adan

It 's All Ju st Or an ges a poem by Elizabeth Adan

something I wrote for you was never finished if you look closely all that's left on the counter are the oranges you tell me to eat my vitamins this where I would say no because I hate when you act like my parent I look at my hands and I can see the melanin lines forming distance between the front and the back and my palms are cracking dry toward April these are the black hole nights and you love the pull stars when they grow in the darkness are as beautiful as you when you enter a room you've entered a million times before each new light turns on as the night continues to eat pressed up against the counter between you and the bowl of fruit it's all just oranges and losing to the pull of event horizon

Blossom in g a poem by Adriana Green I'm learning that I must focus on a different way of viewing what my window sill frames each day because I'm only getting older and it's beginning to look like it might not change.

Not anytime soon, at least.

So I stay in this city and I show love for those I must occupy space with as I gather moments to commemorate our time spent together.

Lately though, I've been missing out. Those that love me and show me with actions tried and true; it does no good.

The truth is that I, a vessel of subdued ferocity, cannot hold anyone close without wondering what they can do for me.

And I was hoping it would be the other way around but it doesn't answer all the questions that have been piling up.

Why I have had to be alone to know what's right and why I still can't fully love myself without wondering if I'll be loved in return. - I write about it as if I haven't found the answers yet.

But I've got notebooks upon notebooks Stacked And they're saying things I haven't heard in years And they're preaching verses from inside a teenage heart so long ago And they're singing songs as pure and as honest as gold And as I return to them I feel like I'm returning to what once was But still walking towards the new And I'm grateful.

GO L D a sh o r tst o r yb y Kr i sBo n d -Co t e Gold wins wars.

He told me, "Not for what it buys but for what it is."

The Arch Sage toiled over the encampment forge as I passed him the tongs he vaguely gestured towards amidst sentences like punctuation.

"Gold is pure yes, rare indeed, valuable beyond its peers.."

He often went on ramblings as he worked.

Beating the metals and binding the shapes were tedium, yet he trusted none other with the task save few of the King's great Battle-smiths.

As the sweat worked its way through his bound silver hair It gave a sheen to his extensive beard. Wrinkled and graying as would befit a man of such age and wisdom, but far from frail. Working the metals gave him a forge-master 's physique that rivaled some of the greatest soldiers in their prime. ".. WHY IS THE GOLD IMPORTANT LAD!?"

I snapped out of my trance.

He wasn't just handing me a hammer to be absentmindedly put away, his grip remained as I tried to take it by impulse. His eyes were an intent and burning amber.

My mind and soul were perhaps being probed, by magic or pure wisdom he tore me down with a stare.

"Um.. I-it's-s.. conductivity.. sir?"

My sentence sucked the life from the air, as if the tent itself held in a breath. In an instant that lasted an eternity, I would have believed the passage of time itself had ceased if it not for the forge popping and hissing to illuminate the Sage's silhouette.

"So you have been listening then lad? Good. You might even age into someone useful."

The grip on the hammer ceased as he turned to tend to the runes again. "Unlike the rest of these witless farm animals.. what am I to do with bare Iron!? The Trappers are already overburdened with planting the forest. How are we to make ground without

conducive runes!?"

Divulging his frustrations and logistical puzzles at me was his favorite way to keep his mind occupied while the body toiled away. Often I never understood what he was saying, by way of context or lack of wits. It seemed most often I was talked at rather than to. Sometimes he would spend hours grumbling about some problem beyond my understanding and come to a conclusion without my saying a word. He would thank me nonetheless and head running off elsewhere in the camp to implement his grand designs.

Being addressed so straight and plainly was the rarest of occasion. Beyond that asking for my input, this was a first.

I'd gleaned many small insights into magics and runes as the campaign went on and I tended to the Battle-smiths. The fundamental aspects of runes, how their relationships were the important part of a rune. I could probably recreate some of the runes from memory after years of observing the masters churning piece after piece, not that I understand why or how they work.

"This, Forgerat, this is a work of art..."

The sage held up the glistening gold ring of concentric filigree. A web of conducting bridges traced stacked geometric shapes and curves from emblems that dotted the edge in semi-regular intervals, decorated with ancient simple looking script composed of dashes of various lengths.

"What will it do, Sage?"

I caught a sidelong glance as our concentration on the head-sized golden ring briefly shifted to each other 's presence. He became pensive for a moment.

"You're clever. You tell me what you think it does."

I caught my own tongue in my throat as it struggled to stuff my heartbeat back down into my chest.

The emblems were more than familiar.

"Well.. the uppermost bridges are a.. triangle...?" "..Yes boy? go on."

I managed to take a breath and lock focus on the rune. www.website.com

"The triangle is grounded on the Celestial Cardinal, and.. bound to.. fire, and.. void?"

I looked to the Sage for approval.

"And what could that mean?"

I hazarded a guess.

"You always say that, fire is energy made manifest, so are you asking the Celestials to manifest energy from the void?"

"Clever, but void is not simply a place. It is-" "- the space between!"

I rushed up to the rune with excitement. The disparate thoughts in my mind forming linkages in ways that stirred a small fire in me. The Sage was not used to being cut off by King or Lord alike, yet he didn't let the lowly forgerat's interruption anger him. His amusement was palpable.

I studied the rune harder.

"Energy and stone are linked to time after that here! And energy back to stone underneath! Fire is the linkage between energy and the physical of stone, but they intercept at time... the spell Draws energy manifest...gifted by the Celestials themselves from another place.. or it travels..but it manifests at a specific time?"

The Sage's amusement grew into a visible smirk. "..And the rest?"

A small loop in the bottom right hand corner. Sky and Air bound to each other. The loop itself bound to time and energy in the lowest and smallest linkages like.. "..a fuse."

The shape and relations of the spell connected like words to form sentences.

"After the rune is activated it travels and activates calling energy manifest... to stone.. to the ground!"

"Made of what, boy. What wins wars?"

"Gold sir!"

The tone of his voice was dramatically different. His own excitement fueled off my revelations as if they were his own.

"Because it's.. a conductor?"

The grin curled itself into a great and terrible smile. The ambient light of the forge in his amber eyes was warm but sinister. As he turned and walked from the tent he gripped the still-hot ring of precious metals and the inscriptions began to glow the same as his gaze.

I followed him from the tent as he walked to the edge of the encampment, the cliff overlooking the forest where tomorrow's battle was to take place.

Small sounds and lights dotted it's expanse as our trappers skirmished with the enemy's under cover of nightfall.

The Sage wound his body and with one swift motion like the crack of a whip, tossed the rune from the cliff.

We watched as the glow overtook the rune. When all of the throw's momentum should have sapped and it should have fell from the sky, it kept going. Growing brighter and brighter as it flew farther and farther over the forest. Past our lines, past the sounds and skirmishes, until like being struck awake from a dream the sky lit up in a blinding crack of light, stretching from earth to heavens like a great white tear in a sheet of parchment, branching and forking all the way down. For an instant the tops of the trees were illuminated like daylight.

Just as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished with a clap that boomed and deafened all thought and perception. The great bolt of lightning setting alight the distant trees and stirring the entire encampment into alarm. Thousands of lights and voices erupted from the tents but also deep in the forest.

The Arch Sage laughed. The hearty kind of laugh generally seen surrounded by ale and company.

The shock had barely drained from my body when the garrison started to gather to watch the fire.

"Sage! Is this disturbance you're doing!?"

The booming voice of general Arden was coarse and seething. He and his retainers

marched up to the small gathering beginning to form, and it dispersed as quickly as the thunder had.

"This is the eve of battle and you're disrupting the careful planning we set in place!

Interfering with the rest of our troops who are supposed to be holding off an offensive tomorrow morning, and-!"

The Sage spun on his heels and clasped his hand firmly on the general's armour-clad shoulder, the Sage's rings clacking against plate.

"Inform the king we'll be needing four wagon loads of gold, and two of silver! Wake the Battle-smiths and have them and their scribes meet me at my tent to copy new plans!"

His hearty and commanding tone took root over the conversation as a weed would. Leaning in he grew quieter and gathered his gravitas into a final order.

"The offensive is ours now Arden."

They locked eyes like competing predators before the Arch sage walked nearly through him on his way back toward his tent.

"Come Forgerat! We've work to do."

Reaw aken in g by Elizabet h Adan

Gr ow l a poem by KT Chambers 1.

There is no returning from you.

You are in my blood.

You are with me where ever I am.

2.

I don't want you here anymore.

3.

I leave. I leave before they can leave me...

Prepared,knowingly, and in a way that I can live with their absence.

4.

I allowed you to do it because I wanted to sin too.

5.

He kneels down to me.

He calls me Misery because I keep him company in the dark.

I've dried every flower he has given me.

6.

You go back to your reckless ways and I go back to spending the night with men who never call the next day and drink bourbon straight from the glass.

7.

Their eyes are never as blue.

8.

I hurt myself so no one else can.

9.

When I feel the cool spring air at dusk, I think of a time when I was young and untrammeled...

I think of a time before true heartbreak existed in me.

10. I have loved you longer without you than I have with you.

11. I still don't know what to do with my hands but I am trying to let go.

12. The Spring air has been poisoned with all our grisly sins.

13. He is saying, "I love you" and I am growling because what I love you means to me is, "I am eventually going to leave."

I can hear the birds again.

As if I n ever k n ew t h ey cou ld sin g bef or e. As if I n ever list en ed f or t h eir son g bef or e.

But now they're up with the mornings, acting out their instincts.

And I suppose I should be too.

THE FOG WAS LIFTED TO NEW HEIGHTS A sigh t t oo br igh t f or m y n ew eyes and when my muscles couldn't

remove the frown from my lips, there was shock, and little bit of pity. but I don't think I had felt more like becoming my true self than at that very moment

Adriana Green

Black Holes by Elizabet h Adan

THECHOICEISYOURS

ARTISTSTATEMENT&PAINTINGBYJAMESFLUX

The piece seems to be a commentary on the change that's coming to the world. I?ve heard a lot of speculation about the effect of the Covid-19 virus, but I?ve also heard the voices of many others who talk about the change that will come because of the virus. I believe that is where the real conversation is.

The painting is a self portrait that Not with the fear that the virus is was in no way planned. Part of the bringing, but the reality of how much different the world is going to be in the magic for me as a creator is not knowing what?s going to come out aftermath. of me. Rather than coming to the canvas with a preconceived idea, I In the painting one figure has use what is called the automatism dissociated. He is depressed, stagnant, and caged. The other is in the process technique where I enter a flow state and create without thought. of walking away. As he turns, the cage that holds the first figure in place breaks to pieces and a golden The journey is more about illuminated aura is now present. There listening to my intuition and is a fire in his eyes, and his chakras are painting where it leads me. The less thinking the better. Through years of this process I have found "Inlife,weareoftenconfronted that when I sit with the art afterwards, it has things to teach withachoice; toclingtowhat me.

In 2017, on the last day of being 29 years old, I began a painting and finished it as my 30th birthday took place. This is a practice I have continued each year, and 2020 marks my fourth installment of this series.

The following is my interpretation of what I painted.

wasor tolet goandwalkinto theunknown"

aligned, symbolizing alignment with self and greater consciousness.

The figure on the right is stuck in the old way of doing things.

The figure on the left is walking into the unknown.

They are the same person.

In life, we are often confronted with a choice; to cling to what was or to let go and walk into the unknown.

In the painting addiction is present. An addiction to people, to the things that keep us trapped, to a "normal" route or way of doing things. The unknown is a naturally scary place to most, and fear is a strong emotion. But fear is a cage that leaves you trapped if you let it.

The painting is a reminder.

"The choice is yours"

" Th e Ch oice Is You r s" 16 x 20 Acr ylic on can vas

Th e Bear s Ar e Qu ick ly Appr oach in g a poem by Elizabeth Adan this won't last the bears are out to sea or hiding in holes or watching my every move, metal panic the day will set in as the morning finishes waking after oatmeal and steel cut sweetness I'm singing next to the coffee again but I can't place the tune some memories are french-pressed deeper than others a finer grind hat gets into my eyes as stardust or sandstone glitter dusty contact solution and the silver hoop you wore on your left ear which somehow I still have wearing your jewelry and stroking the heart scars catches the attention of the bears who come in rushing and the eagles are singing, singing building their nests next to my house and next to the owls so they can watch me in shifts so long to the sun so long to the boats in the bay so long to white cars and drinking on golf courses and that tight tight swimsuit you wore in the winter be strong as the smell gets more familiar remember to only choose caverns with lights and red velvet ropes remember to fade but not too much or too fast or too far into the background the bears are quickly approaching

SADBOY Photography&poembyAdrianaGreen Model: JamesFlux

Never thought it would get like this Guess I?m not too tolerable But I?m feared and I?m respected Know not my face, forget my name I've been sad before I'll be sad again And I'll be sorry about it But I won't make that change Until I have to.

Until that's all there's left to do Until my bones ache with atrophy I've been sitting so long in apathy I should refuse to let this sadness become me But I've seem to have left my idealism out on my sleeve To inevitably rust in that rain A storm I can't escape A rage I need to tame But rather teem with Grinning teeth spread across concrete I fill up every night With anxious energy Leaving me dead weight An anchor on your ability To see past this sadness I carry with me I'm craving a shift in the paradigms a transparency, a clarity something to thin the veil between what I want and what I need

All Th is Ligh t a poem by Elizabeth Adan we are the thirsty camels we are sand in the desert organizing in clouds we are electricity traveling in currents across the town we are the thin lines that we have to hang clothes on and the lilac wind that blows though them we are sharks in the wilderness searching for a piece of meat we are the fresh scent of new beginnings and we keep ourselves warm with sheets of cotton we are zebras confused by the colors and always see the world in shades of grey we are friends and neighbors and we evade capture we are octopuses in trying times as we squeeze through the keyholes we are trying and learning and changing our stripes we are energy captured in bottles and we are sympathetic of the fireflies who have to carry all this light on their shoulders once my grandfather zapped the bugs outside in the evening when we were sitting on sticky plastic lawn chairs surrounded by twinkle lights and I couldn't stop thinking about how sad I was that he wanted to extinguish their light

Su icide Blon de a poem by Thomas Hannah with your weathered palms on my wilted heart you brought me back to life my tender CPR you patched up my punctured lungs & drew a deep breath to my blue lips for inflation my defibrillator my lover my mother its uncomfortable at the bottom you can't sleep in the gutter dreams don't bless the unconscious just a fog of figures I was a silhouette on my shell sort of like a tortoise exactly like a cockroach a wino but now I'm upright and steady take the scissors from my hand sister I feel like dancing

Tr y Again prose by Kara Buchok In writing, I find myself being able to better understand the path of my life.

The trials that brought me to where I am today.

Reading through old mind states and life events.

Thankful.

Thankful for the stolen youth brought on by uncontrollable circumstances.

The world was conspiring against me. I knew it.

Poor core beliefs became poor life choices.

Spiraling into a tunnel of self-pity and doubt.

"Reaching for a hand, but here's no one here to help. Trying to escape, stuck inside myself" (2015).

But there were so many hands reaching to help.

Back then, I couldn't see the glimmers.

Now, I am grateful..

Grateful for everyday I couldn't think about the next.

Through pain I became stronger.

Through hate I learned to love.

Reading through stages of confusion and epiphanies; Proud of the girl who overcame adversity.

Excited for who she will become.

I thank my writing for giving me concrete evidence of my story and growth.

Through failure I found purpose.

"Close your eyes and inhale deep Find yourself some meaning to keep Don't bow your head don't let eyes weep When you feel like falling get up and leap

You live and you learn and you learn and you grow Put to the wayside the ways that you know Take your knowledge and make your own flow Your life is your own not one for show Stop making excuses and irrational decisions You are the only one whose life you'll life " (2018).

Through doubt, I discovered hope. Hope turned into faith.

I don't believe innocence is ever really lost.

Shunned maybe.

Scared off into the depths of a soul by the sometimes harshness of this reality. Light, love, hope... glimmers of truth that coax the youth back out to try again.

Remembering that you can only do so much. Just do the best you can.

Rein car n at ion a poem by Thomas Hannah in another body beyond this holding feinting eyes blinking for reprieve from seeing I could've been sweet in safety free from waking sleep & conscious dreams of dying death scares the life out of me but whats the point of living when love is fleeting & reality phony?

Only when I notice none of this means anything & the subtraction of chance I never had shows its empty hand of meaning only holding mirages of unattainable fantasies filling up my ego's cup with ignorant nothings I realize whats the point of waking but simply to be happy & breathing sharing breath with others celebrating your happiness that's the meaning of life all should strive for that surely is existence

Th r ee a poem by Adriana Green my personality split at the seams became three became three became three three times a charm three times looking back; hindsight would have done you well lizard brain emerged walking straight into bedlam, but what?s a flame to a mind on fire?

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

And it's all a spiral and it's the land, sky and sea that keep this marble spinning I think I said I loved you and I think you said and we thought it was our love.

I'm sorry and I think I should have said thank you when you left me even black comedies come in threes and I was gutted but I had my vices I forgot what it was like to wake up with a song in my head but I took my time with my inner child to see just what she's like superego usurped we were friends we were fools we are strangers and I still keep the memories playing, there's still negatives on film strips in my closet, but I still haven't been able to find my ego To mediate the distribution of all this loss To counterbalance the laments of my id and the judgment of my superego.

I just can't seem to do this well enough all alone.

M ovin g On a poem by KT Chambers When I realized I would never be the same again, it was the first and last time The Monster cried.

Now I carry bombs and knives and I question words like, "I'll be home soon."

What am I now?

Now that I'm not with you.

Whose pictures are on the wall?

Whose eyes have taken my face?

Maybe I'm actually closer to you.

Maybe I'm the monster that's in you too.

Maybe I'm more myself than I've ever been.

I left you somewhere I can't find, with all the other things.

This is my final goodbye.

M or n in g Sick n ess & Polish ed Wilder n ess a poem by Thomas Hannah once the care package

season

from our welfare master

to the shower

had landed

& slung it over

in our squalor

you can?t save this monster

I went wandering

mother

looking for purpose

I felt I brave

or tranquility

I thought of Joan of arc

lonely & tired

but I was dying for nothing

tranquilized

and she was burned at the stake

on train lines riding the bloodstream

so standing there

of a city sober

trying to think of anything

unwilling

poignant or poetic or something

I felt nothing

trying to fight the visions my but a little dope-sick dust in the wind mind's projecting of war criminals & the palpable sense of doom when Hades has his eye on you

swinging in their quasi medals

it was time to end this

like frauds in the Nuremberg breeze

it had gone on long enough I took the scarf mother gave me for the winter evenings after reading warnings for the flu

even they had an audience who else was strung up Kelly Saddam

that mad bastard

I smelt her & held her in a while

I wanted a death like that

then fell to pieces

with a black hooded executioner

she turned on the faucet

sharpening his scythe

& pushed me under

like a real grim reaper

like John baptizing Jesus

then that'd be something

I told her I loved her

then I'd be somebody

she just smiled & said

happy

you're crazy

& worth dying fuck trying fuck quitting love to my friends & family death to who cursed me but before I could fuck god & cheat him out of his divinity in walked Daisy white as a sheet softly speaking with eyes screaming I said nothing lifting the woolen noose above my head

with the water over us our clothes became heavy she looked like freedom with her makeup running I gave her everything that's bent to fuck me over life is for the living but it had almost killed me she listened she understood I kissed her I owed her everything

& stepping down

I loved everything about her

like the coward I am

in that moment

she ran to me & embraced me

in her eyes

I saw her future align with mine I was living & we were alive like two weathers in a widening storm colliding electrified rattling our bone marrow upon each other never hiding like lightening lighting the blackened sky encompassing

the water washed over her she washed me after we dried each other with towels her white hair fell to the tiles I told her I loved her she said I was crazy

CONTRI BUTORS Wit h ou t t h e f ollow in g t alen t ed cr eat ives, VISIO w ou ld n ot be able t o exist .

Th an k you , f r om t h e bot t om of m y h ear t , f or don at in g you r t im e an d t alen t t o t h is passion pr oject .

Elizabet h Adan www.ElizabethAdan.com Twitter/IG @EdgeOfElizabeth

KT Ch am ber s @KTChambers_tattoos

Jam es Flu x @JamesFluxArtist

Kr is Bon d-Cot e @Magnamus0

Kar a Bu ch ok @PoemsByKara

Th om as Han n ah @BrokeSellOut

Su bm ission Deadlin e: Ju ly 9t h Pu blicat ion Release: Ju ly 16t h

t he

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