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Issue

#02

/

October

2015


Dear Readers and Moon Lovers, Welcome to our second issue! The goals for our zine are to make and share cool shit with our friends & cool strangers, to have a creative outlet and voice in our community, and to have fun. With the environment in mind, we have printed our zine on used paper. The numbered pages are original submitted content. The other pages are altered by yours truly and unique to each edition of the issue. Thank you for taking a chance and picking up our zine. Hold on to it, or pass it on to the coolest zinester you know, as The Moon Zine is one of a kind. ALSO, shoutout to our great collagers of the first issue: Bill Fishback, Caity Biberdorf, Allison Sissom, Brad Burger, Kevin Kickham, Julie Davis, Josh Saboorizadeh, Lauren Kellett, Maddie Smith, Sara Redel, Wes Harbison, M Bledsoe, and Ashley Long.

Love, The Moon


staff bios

Julie Davis - Sometimes, I only brush my teeth once a day. Allison Sissom - I get a lot of heartburn. I eat a lot of Tums. Wes Harbison - Have been accused of brushing my teeth “more than anyone.� Lauren Kellett - DAUGHTER OF WAR, PRINCESS OF DEATH

staff picks: fears

Julie - eyes gettin poked out Allison - Car related things: getting hit by a car, getting in a car crash, running out of gas, etc. Once I rolled up the car window and my hair got stuck. It was unpleasant. Wes - Scraping my chin off because I fell during some movement-necessary thing, like running or going somewhere on my bike. Lauren - nail files


Weekly Amnesia by Trista Sullivan

I wrote a poem last night, but I forgot what it said, between rolling over left, rolling over right, exacerbation. masturbation. concentration. 99, breath, 98, breath, 97, breath.... 10 Ways to Help Yourself Sleep at Night. Call your mother. How to sleep. How to stay asleep. How to pretend to be asleep to avoid confrontation. How to fool your parents into thinking you're asleep so that you can steal your best friend's dad's car, sing and dance in a parade, and let your girlfriend know you want to marry her. 58, breath, 57, breath, 56, breath.... I wrote you a letter last month, but you forgot what I said. I left it in your favorite book between the page that makes you cry, and the page partially erased by those tears. I knew you'd find it there. You were already Having a bad day. I knew I'd find you there. 33, breath, 32, breath, 31, breath.... 18 Crazy DIY Tips for Urban Farming. Move out of your father's basement. Buy a tomato. Eat the tomato. Find inspiration to grow more tomatoes and teach yourself patience in the process. Use all the skills you acquired through years of sitting in your dark bedroom, playing harvest moon on your Nintendo game cube until your eyes felt dry. 17, breath, 16, breath, 15, breath.... I promised I'd meet you last week, but I forgot who you are. 3, breath, 2, breath ..........zZzZzZz

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In Retrospect… (or “The Glorification of Swine”) By Laura Kenny I don’t remember the nights I thought of you and vomited in my mouth a little. I don’t remember the 106th time you made me feel unimportant and tiny. Or time number 107, 108, 109, etcetera, etcetera… I don’t remember the blizzard in your eyes when you tried to drown my confidence in our bear claw bathtub. I do however remember the dynamite in my smile when you cooked me lasagna and brought home tiger lilies. How it felt. And thus I thought you were a king. Of what, I did not know.

**************** Found Poem by Hayden McAnally ****************

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The Problem With Brick Stealing

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Josephine the dragon hated dining by herself. She hated being surrounded by empty chairs and being unsure about when to leave. She's done with thinking about quotes that tell you to spend time alone to find out what you really enjoy only to become defeated by lonely moments that didn't teach her anything. It's Thursday morning. Josephine wants coffee and she already knows all her dragon friends are sleeping so she’s not going to try them. Dragons prefer courtesy diner over Denny's. She takes a booth to herself, she takes her tail and pulls it over her feet. This warms them up a little. She asks for coffee and it warms her claws a little. The draft overhead is giving her something to do. She expected to have breakfast alone with nothing to do, but now there is this cold draft. Now she has the task of warming herself. Josephine is just trying to pass the time. She looks around and feels like everyone is just passing time, except some of them are getting paid. They are probably waiting for their shift to end but Josephine is not sure what she's waiting for. “Do you have a moment to answer a question for our school project?” Two young kids. There is plenty of space for them to sit but they have not sat.

by Taylor Kolkmeyer

“Mmm-hmm” Josephine hummed it as she sipped her coffee. She wished she had something to do that would make her look busy. “How do you feel about companies that steal bricks? St. Louis has a big problem, where, organized bad guys will like, take the bricks off old houses, and then you have all these doll house looking places all around town, and how do you feel about that?” “I didn't know about that. It sounds really bad” “Yes it really destroys the history of our city” “I can imagine” “Is that all you have to say?” “Yeah I feel like that is bad for the city and I agree.” “Okay. Thanks” The kids never sat down. They walked away from the table and Josephine thought about a million articulate things she could have said about the problem with brick stealing. Josephine had a lot of good things to say but no one was asking the right questions. Josephine wished that coffee still gave her the jitters, Josephine wished that someone would say, hi, can I borrow you for a project? I'm going to teach you how to love. Hi Josephine, I'd like to ask you about what you think it means to spend time


J il l a nd J a c k by Brendan Donnel l y Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water Jack fell down and broke his crown And Jill managed to avoid disaster

Jill continued up the hill and found the source of water

Jack on the ground appeared dumbfound, why didn't she come tumbling after? Jill was thrilled to have changed the nursery rhyme this time

Jack was mad, what kind of hag trying to act like he didn't matter

Jill came down to see his frown skipping as she confidently carried a pail of water Jack had words that scattered birds, but Jill knew they did not matter

Jill then said "I'd prefer we go by Jill and Jack. Now tell me Jack what do you think of that?"

Jack explained the historical relevance of Jack and Jill and the need for her to come tumbling after

"Jack that's great, but by this date I think it's important to show that I, just me! Can fetch a pail of water"

Jill and Jack is a story of equals in fact. Please feel free to share with all mothers, sisters, or daughters.

alone. How do you think you learn what you really like? Do you think you really like anything you haven't discovered yet? Do you think it matters? Does any experience matter if you do it alone? Am I asking you the wrong questions, my love? Stop me if I am because I know you've got some

great stuff saved up and I'm ready to sit here and say that you have an old, wise soul that this world needs, if only they would listen. Is it time for me to listen? Stop me now. I'm done, I’ve stopped. We love you. You belong here. Don't worry about the empty chairs and don't leave. 6


*****************

***************** Seester / by Julie Davis ************** by Lisa Y. MĂŠndez **************

[What follows are the contents of a dream transmission, received and recorded on the 9th afternoon of the 3rd month of the common year 2013.] I was sending a text to a friend of mine to let her know that the television series Buffy the Vampire Slayer was turning 16 years old, and that I had just gotten into an argument with someone who claimed that Sarah Michelle Gellar had won an Oscar for the first season of BTVS in 1996. I said that was simply 9


impossible. She could not have won an Oscar for a TV show that hadn’t aired yet (and it would have been an Emmy had it happened, not an Oscar, but that’s beside the point). Prior to the dream transmission, I only had but a hunch that BTVS had premiered in 1997 (as opposed to ’96 or ’98), but I never knew its precise original air date. Upon waking, I accessed the internet to find the series’ original air date…

March 10th, 1997. In other words, it aired exactly sixteen years prior to the date that I recorded the transmission. The universe revealed to me that BTVS was approaching its sixteenth anniversary, and urged me to alert my friend in advance. After the realization that the transmission had been correct, I did in fact text that very information to that very friend. A self-fulfilling prophecy. 10


************** Greek Takeout by Kevin Kickham **************

*************** by Bob Dingnagian

***************

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A Review of Basic Grammar by Tom Martin

“A Review of Basic Grammar” interrupted by, among other things, a lapse in illumination. Bugs don’t often, I presume, consider grammar in their day-to-day, buzzy-buzz lives. Today one does. Move closer…closer! Bring your friends! Do your little bug-butt dance. (You’re not a bee but I wish you were) Swarm to the beam where dust doesn’t do the trick. Do the trick! I need y’all more than “A Review of Basic Grammar”

Elegy for a Beetle by Arthur Maurer

How different the caresses by which we love and by which we send a beetle to its tumbling end. There is sanctity, someone said (perhaps some pope), in every life that wrangles with the earth. Wading now in the third circle of Dante's hell, that same beetle croons all night long in madrigals or Italian arias about its brutishly short, surreal life caught between descending clouds and a desert of blue sands.

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Poor beetle! your body, fashioned into a black pulp by my hands, now writhes on the denim of my Belsen blue jeans, your legs now grasping for heaven. And you were only attempting to show affection, in the fashion of beast and man.


Smoker’s Cough by Keaton Robertson It creeps up from the back of your throat like a roach. Wiggling and twisting around, looking for escape. With all your might you push it down under the bud of your throat; and while it stings and hisses, there's only one thought in your head. "Maybe this the end." "I hope so, I've gotten so restless lately. No where to go." "That's strange, I've been feeling the same lately." There will come scratch you cannot ignore. Not an itch or a rash but raw, pulsing scratch. Erupting out from your evolutionarily advanced mouth (scientific name), the cough will escape your (synonymous with hopeless) attempt to trap it. It will always and has always been that way. "It would be terrible to welcome it, right? "I think so. I'm not sure actually." "Hmmmmm. Should ask someone." "Like who? My make believe therapist?" "Shut up, you dick." You feel liter afterwards but just for a moment. Then, like a devoted ex-lover, come back all too soon and all to strong. Try to take a breath but you can't. It only makes it worse. Uncross your eyes with patient hands. IV never been more sure of anything. "I've got to start talking to people about what I'm thinking." "How would that help?" "I could try to talk to people about and then lie or talk my way out of it." "It happens every time." "For fuck's sake, I know. It's ridiculous" "There's no need to get excited." You try to pick a stationary spot on the ceiling but it's hard to find just one. There isn't a whole lot standing still at this point. The walls, the ceilings, the skies, the colors, the

************* by Will Harbison

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*************


Pigeons by PJ Carmichael

Comrades of the streets, always seeking the view. I’ve watched them enough, yet they can’t keep their eyes off me; there’s not even crumbs on these bricks. As they meander leisurely, the scuffle of business shoes goes unnoticed.

Beads of sweat pass through my shirt, similarly. Do they return to their urban nests and discuss the man who writes of them?

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My First Ren Fair by Dylan Moir

F

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acing the glorious and rare two day weekend in the post-undergraduate world is terrifying. Weekends simply don’t exist for millennials. A lot of us are working two jobs and an internship, trying to make ends meet, while simultaneously milking goats to make some extra scratch for booze and cigarettes. Youth fuels us, but there isn’t enough time. Of course, after the morning coffee has been consumed with some hot steel oats and you realize today is the time to make a move, what move do you take? Well, it has to be The Washington Midsummer Renaissance Faire. One hour later, my roommate, fiancée and I faced the tudor-style entrance-way on a farm in Bonney Lake, Washington—a hamlet of 18,000 souls. After paying for tickets via credit card, I decided post-medieval rural Washington was particularly convenient. One selfie later and we were in a different world. My senses were met with the pleasing aroma of hay. Tents of various shapes and colors dotted the landscape, which was roughly the size of two football fields sitting parallel to each other. An elf was kind enough to gift us a map and itinerary, so we obliged the cartographer by consulting our glossy instrument. Immediately, the Duchess’s Boudoir, where the itinerary said the Sea Dogs were playing, jumped out to my eyes. None of us knew who the Sea Dogs were or what this place of debauchery was, but I insisted we attend this event.

On our way, we passed hair braiders galore and a pair of Irish Wolf Hounds in a tent. These animals used to be bigger before they were fully domesticated. Indeed, if a person could force a hound into submission and train it, they were viewed with respect across the land. A quick belly rub to soothe the beasts and we were off. The day was growing hot and we were parched. Passing the tourney grounds, we presented our Missouri IDs to an ale wench. She guffawed and allowed us passage into the Red Dragon Inn—conveniently located next to the Duchess’s Boudoir, which we entered with haste. Ale could wait a mere half-hour. A great raucous greeted us from within. Commoners were seated upon haystacks whilst a ragtag group of pirates and wenches performed on stage. These were no ordinary privateers. They were there to educate us in the ways of debauch. The first mate sang about a love he lost at sea to a fellow crew’s member. Then, a port lady bellowed enthusiastically about how she received a bun in the oven from a privateer sailing here and there. Following that, the scurvy pirates sang a song about all the ways one can say a certain f-word. And finally, the whole crew joined in a crowd pleaser known as “Spank the Monkey.” Though I was tempted to purchase an antiquated and totally appropriate CD, I chose to pursue a cold beverage because singalong songs parch the throat and fourteen dollars is a lot of money.


Mead was the local poison at the watering hole. It was both strong and sweet, causing me to choke on every sip. A perfect drink for our next event—Her Majesty’s Tournament and Joust with The Seattle Knights. We found a spot of shade and dug into the entertainment. A giant of a man, reminiscent of The Mountain from A Game of Thrones, wielding a bear-head shield and war-hammer was our mascot. He shouted ferociously at us to support our noble nation of España as the flamboyant MC announced the contenders. Knights on horseback galloped into the tourney grounds as men and women-atarms followed on foot. England, Germany, France and our own Spain all battled each other in bouts of jousting and hand-to-hand melee. I couldn’t help but think that Germany was a mess of city-states

during the Renaissance, but suspension of disbelief took hold and I succumbed to mob-mentality. Rude gestures and phrases such as “Ooo la-la” and “Baaaaaaah” were shouted to our opponents. Unfortunately, our Lord failed us in the jousting events, as well as our men-at-arms. However, our womanat-arm carried a dirk into the melee and sneakily dispatched her French opponent. This was our moment of glory and it was sweet. Despite our loss, my group left the tourney merrily shouting España and proceeded to the outdoor dining hall to feast upon Scottish meat pies. Our final event for the day was the Cirque du Sewer. Surprisingly, we couldn’t decide what this event was. In fact, it was rats performing feats of acrobatics. MRSA, E-Coli, Sepsis, and Candilna performed acts of daring and navigated obstacle courses alongside an extremely confused feline, Pad Key Meow. Self-Deprecating humor and adrenaline abounded as the trainer, Melissa, walked a tight-rope during the performance’s climax. The acrobatics, heat, and alcoholinduced dehydration having exhausted us, we greeted the animals and donated some tips before leaving the Renaissance Fair in a dazed state of zombification. Presumedly, most are ignorant in the history of Renaissance Fairs. I thought they had a long and rich history, definitely not originating in the U.S., but I was so wrong. Ren Fairs are the product of a post-WWII America—like most everything we take for granted. In 1963, Hollywood, California couple, Ron and Phyllis Patterson, hosted a medieval festival sponsored by radio station, KPFK, drawing around 8,000 people. The event caught like wildfire and over the years spread across the U.S., spreading into Canada and Australia along the way. Ren Fairs are a great place to people

watch and experience an amalgam of cross-historical cultures.Whilst there, I witnessed Daenerys Targaryen, Robin Hood, Wood Elves, Knights, Lords, Ladies, Ale Wenches, Pirates, Men-AtArms, Commoners, the assassin Altaïr and tiny children drinking craft lemonade and gnawing on turkey legs the size of their forearms. Most importantly, it is a fairly cheap experience. A mere fourteen dollars for entry with a student ID and about thirteen dollars plus tip will get you a sunburn, hangover, full-belly and several stories for the workplace. So next time you don’t know what to do with your weekend, check if the local Renaissance Faire is in town.

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************* Kaboom! by Lauren Kellett *************

cold towel; steel wool by Alex Wennerberg

small broken house board drifting eggshell white, covered in snot, ORGAN GRINDER ORGAN GRINDER i want to never die

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*************

************* by Allison Plume

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*************

************* by Allison Sissom


************* by Emma Ensley *************

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made in saint louis, missouri, usa

“Whenever I gaze up at the moon, I feel like I’m on a time machine. I am back to

that precious pinpoint of time, standing on the foreboding—yet beautiful—Sea of

Tranquility. I could see our shining blue

planet Earth poised in the darkness of space.”

on the internet :

****************

**************** noperainbow by Josh Saboorizadeh

- Buzz Aldrin

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The Moon Zine #02 (Oct. 2015)