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wlwl created by


a magazine about sharing the things you like

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clockwise from top left:





art & Creation

Spread Thinly

a Solitary distance


Wendy Davenport Whatley



my favorite things


photography Spread Thinly


poem: a Hole


put a Cap on it


Jessica Tremp


likes + loves: Sybianna

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short story: Ben: Chapter 3

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darjeeling Unlimited

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poem: at night

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music: The new Lightweights

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my place: Vintage dreams

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art: { 16 } Wendy davenport Whatley fashion: a Solitary distance

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Hey Lady!

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a magazine about sharing the things you like & love issue 4 * our SUMMeR issue!

alyssa Chomick Creative Director * * * * * * * *

Liz Field Managing Editor * * * * * * * *

summer love In the summer of 1967, San Francisco was the epicenter for the dawn of a new era. The release of The Beatles’ Sgt. Peppers Lonely Heart Club Band marked the beginning the Summer of Love, the countercultural movement of the hippie revolution. Thousands of people across the country flocked to the now infamous Haight-Ashbury neighborhood of San Francisco. Besides the wildly experimental and rampant drug use, people made journey in search of a different perspective and alternative lifestyle than what mainstream media was offering up at the time. Freedom and unity was central to the message of these hippie communities as they carved out a new way of doing things and inspired a revolution across North America, parts of Europe and Australia.

Shane Yuhas Staff Photographer * * * * * * * *

thank you... to our amazing contributors

More than 40 years later, we want to challenge you to create your own Summer Love (although we recommend you skip the part about potentially destructive experimental drug use). We want you to find and start your own countercultural revolution that bucks the idea that you need to look, think, feel, act and buy a certain way. We want your life to unfold the way it does on purpose, not just by passively accepting the path that lies ahead. We like and love the weird, awkward, beautiful uniqueness of you - this magazine wouldn’t be possible without it! For your summer of love, we want you to embrace the freedom and relaxed pace that summer can offer like no other season. Most of all, we hope you bask in the beauty of the sun or enjoy the sand between your toes or revel in the freckles that come to visit your skin. And then we want to hear about it! Here’s to your summer of love.

Lynsey Franks, Writer Wendy davenport Whatley, Artist Leah Van Loon, Stylist Colin Way, Photographer Teslin Ward, Make-up Artist Steph del-alba, Model aleksandra Lukasiewicz, Styling Assistant Jacob nelson, Poet dalyce Chomick, Writer & Mischief Maker Michelle Crimmins, Writer Bleubird Vintage, Photographer Sybianna Miller, Model & Style Jessica Tremp, Photographer John Moessner, Poet Megan Tipps, Photographer * Cover photo: Megan Tipps

This is our fourth issue!

wlwl is published 4 times a year it is available to purchase via Support us by visiting > Read the blog, send us an email and submit to the magazine. Thank you for your ongoing support of welikewelove! xoxo


my favorite things Jinja Safari * This is one of my NEW favorite bands. Jinja Safari is two equal halves: harmonizing frontmen & multi-instrumentalists Marcus Azon and Pepa Knight. Marcus grew up in Tasmania, the son of a preacher-man. The son of an artist, Pepa hails from the central coast of New South Wales. icons * There is something about a striking black symbol. Yes, icons are usually reserved for icongraphics and signage, but the simplicity and “blunt” image is very attractive. Popping up in fashion and on tattoos (from Kate Moss), icons are classic and here to stay. etsy shops * From vintage to jewelry to art supplies, etsy has it all. Here are some of my favorite shops:

{4} * Black Eiffel has been around since 2007 and is updated with a daily dose of design, style, inspiration and much more. It is written by graphic designer Rachel Jones who enjoys photography, likes to travel, listen to good music, watch international and well-thought out films, feel the indentation of letterpress items, consume (and sometimes cook) delicious food, and hang out with her husband and daughter. * Bleubird vintage has been putting hearts in the eyes of vintage worshipers since january of 2005. in addition to supplying the best vintage possible, bleubird continues to deliver excellent customer service and 100% customer satisfaction. Each and every item is hand selected for it’s one-of-akind style, quality construction and authenticity. In february 2010 launched menswear and children’s vintage and are busy preparing for their spring/summer 2010 debut of bleubird’s own house collection. * Established in June 2000, is the UK’s largest independent online fashion and beauty retailer. With over 35,000 branded and own label products available and over 1500 new lines added each week, is rapidly becoming the market leader in the UK online fashion world.


S Spread Thinlyy { Jessica Tremp } likes swilling red wine in balloon glasses whilst cooking spaghetti, cynical romantics & egg and salad sandwiches from country bakeries and feeding half the bread to the ducks

I grew up in Switzerland and moved to Melbourne at the age of 18. I took my childhood love for forest secrets, drama, theatrics and animals with me and tried to coax them through the lens. I’m not very gadgety. I like natural lighting and a spontaneous feel to create things. If something that makes you laugh, tugs at your heart strings or perplexes you comes out of it, that makes me happy.


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A Hole

{ John Moessner } loves collecting old books, listening to records, playing the mandolin, running in the Spring/ Fall & chipotle burritos

How far does it go? In the back of a closet Cut deep into the floor. Where the light through the door Stopped coming from the hall, I’ve been there before. Have you been there at all? Did you almost fall, Through the splintered rim? And yell from the bottom, “Its ok! Jump in!” Did you feel the weight Of the darkening dim? Did you yell your name And hear it echo thin? And when dinner is called Did you wish for more? Did you wish that time Would stop its course? I’ve been there before Have you been there at all? Or were you by the door, With the light from the hall?



Put a Cap on it { Lynsey Franks } likes sunshine, furry friends & friendly faces

The once upon a time elementary school teacher is now making hats full-time, and is covering craniums across Canada, one stitch at a time.

Christine made her very first hat because ‘Fort Mac’ didn’t have a lot of unique places to shop. “Everyone seemed to like it,” she says about the brown corduroy wonder that inadvertently nudged her toward a future career.

“I’m getting really good at spotting a fabric that would make a great hat,” says the fantastically arty Christine Svensson, an independent crafter and owner of the Sugar Soul line. She’s modest about her knack with hats, but estimates that since immersing herself in a studio full of fabric, thread and buttons three years ago, she has since made thousands of the funky garments.

Feeding off the inspiration from her peers, and reaching into her wealth of sewing knowledge, Christine decided to make a few more. She took the merchandise to her very first hat sale at a small high school craft fair in Fort McMurray, one that she describes as the tea cozy and Avon lady-type. “I sold three hats that day and had an order for five more,” she recalls. Her principal at the time joked that she’d soon be selling hats full time, and he was right. As of that following year, she would no longer be teaching crafts and sewing as extracurricular activities in the Fort McMurray classrooms.

A conception that began as a practice of necessity has quickly become Christine’s full-time job. Originally an elementary school teacher from Fort McMurray,

Christine left her hometown, and taught for five years overseas in Korea and Japan. There she stumbled across markets selling hand-made garb

She makes hats, and she’s pretty skilled at it too.

and unique hand-made items, a distinct memory that triggered her passion for the world of crafts. “I think it all really started with travelling,” she says. Upon returning home to Canada, she found herself in the “big city” of Edmonton, where she landed her first big craft fair at Edmonton Folk Festival. Officially bidding teaching adieu, she remembers jumping in to the craft scene head first. “I don’t think I could do this half-speed,” she says. “The momentum was there, so I wanted to give it all of my energy.” She also attributes her recent success to timing. “Even five years ago, there wasn’t the craft scene there is now.” Christine comes by her talent honestly too, her mother is a seamstress by trade, and taught her daughter how to sew when she was only seven. “It’s a good skill to have,” says the now 38-yearold Christine. “Everyone should know how to change a tire, and everyone should know how to sew a button.”

art & creation


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Her most popular hats are 20s-inspired, known back then as a cloche (pronounced klosh). In the late 20’s women wore their hair short, in tight curls and didn’t want their hat to hide their hairdo. Replicating that style, Christine says she plays around with the length of the brim, but notes that it is very much inspired by that era. “I have sold these hats to people in their 20’s, to parents of toddlers and even to people in their 80’s,” she recalls. “Maybe the 80-year-olds are reminiscing,” she says of the timeless style. “But the hats are easily worn, and by most everyone. It flatters any face-shape.” Her hat collection is expanding as well. Interested buys will also find cadetinspired caps and slouchy toques. Living in a province that has its fair share of cold days, she also says the winter fabrics tend to sell more quickly than the summer textiles. Unarguably, the coolest thing about her collection is that most every hat has a story. You could be wearing fabric that was once an old pant suit, or perhaps the fabric came straight from Mrs. Smith’s living room curtains. Christine repurposes used fabric from curtains, unused upholstery fabric, table-clothes and even old clothes. “I’ve only ever stepped foot into a new fabric store once,” she says. “I buy up used clothing, wash it up and take it all apart.” The process of cutting, dressing, washing, finding fabric, tagging, finishing,

lining and embroidering is done with special care and attention. On this particular day, Christine had organized her studio, but she says some days it can get pretty hairy…a sign of a true artist. “I put a lot of thought behind it, and the design,” she says sitting in a studio stacked to the ceiling in every type of fabric you could fathom. “It’s not like a store in the mall,” she says of the ‘seasonal colours,’ and lack of options. “It’s good not to have what everybody else has.” In her time off, Christine says she’s into “the usual stuff.” When she’s not keeping Kaisa and Morgan entertained, her two misbehaving canine employees, she ventures outside of her quaint living space in Edmonton’s northeast side to walk the ravine, picks up a book or spends time with her husband.

Our hats go off to Christine. You can see Christine’s designs at Portobello West Calgary, Make It, on, at the Edmonton Strathcona Farmer’s Market, at One of a Kind in Vancouver, in various retail locations around Edmonton and on her website

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{ photos by } Megan Tipps, Bleubird Vintage,

Teaching Assistant and fierce fashion enthusiast, meet Sybianna, WLWL’s new friend from Houston, Texas. We hope you like & love her as much as we do!

My fashion philosophy is wear what makes you comfortable and beautiful, and don’t care so much about what others think. Fashion is an amazing thing - its art, its a way of expressing yourself. I am also a big believer that you can pull off anything you want, as long its in a tasteful way and fits your body type and you do it with confidence. Confidence is key. For me, fashion is a way to showcase personality. Fashion can create such a strong statement and you can always tell someone’s personality by the way they dress and carry themselves in an outfit. My main ingredient

is SHOES - without the right pair of shoes you are nowhere. Passion is at the heart of the fashion industry and is continuously changing. You can be whoever you want to be in what you wear. I adore it. And the passion it inspires in people and the attitude it can portray. My taste is always changing, but I will always love skinny jeans, high waisted shorts, tights, VANS, vintage pieces, huge jewelry, v-neck tops and heels. I am such a huge sucker for jeans, especially skinny ones. These days, I tend to wear skinnys with tucked in tops or high waisted shorts with vintage tops. i love Being a girl has its advantages in fashion for many reasons, but I love that girls get to pull off menswear and masculine style. I’m a lucky girl, my husband and I wear the same size men’s shirts and cardigans, so my closet is doubled.

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1. My husband

2. My husband’s band American Fangs

3. Photography

4. Sushi

5. Dresses

6. Lil Wayne / Jay-Z


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{ ways to connect }

7. Favorite quote: “Anyone can get dressed up and glamorous, but it is how people dress on their days off that are more intriguing� alexander Wang

8. Marc Jacobs

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Darjeeling Unlimited { Liz Field } likes to drink tea from the Himalayas (and Wes Anderson films)

A recent foray to India had me return home with memory cards full of photographs, Kurti’s, fortified love of curry and stomach issues (which I think have finally been resolved), among other things. While I certainly did research to prepare, Hollywood still seemed to win out over my fact findings when it came to the part in the trip where we were to travel from Kolkata to Darjeeling by train. A self proclaimed Wes Anderson fan, ‘The Darjeeling Limited’ was always in the back of my mind, helping to romanticize the notion of traveling with two friends for 13 hours by train in India. However.

It turns out, the majority of the movie was actually shot in the Northwestern city of Jodhpur, Rajasthan and had little to do with the actual town of Darjeeling which we were traveling to. When Rajasthan, like so many other territories in the 15th century, quickly became swallowed up by the expanding Indian-Islamic super power of the Mughal Empire, the culture was extremely influenced by the exposure and cultural exchange, resulting in some of the unique and breath taking architecture and art that we see in the film. Those who go looking for an adventure to match Wes Anderson’s story on the Darjeeling Limited train will be in for a surprise, to say the least. The closest train in name is the “Darjeeling Mail,” traveling between Kolkata and Siliguri, a city on the plains of the Himalayas, offering a stark contrast to the desert city centres and country side depicted in the film. This train departs out of the Sealdah train station in Kolkata and seems to usher in the chaos (and everything else) from the streets onto the platforms. It’s also a train station I had the luxury of spending nearly six hours in the hottest and most humid temperatures the calendar had to offer, trying to sleep on the floor due to

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a delay in schedule. Plus Luke Wilson and Adrian Brody were nowhere to be found. The city of Darjeeling is located in the furthermost North Eastern corner of India in the foothills of the Himalayas, with close borders and shared history with Tibet and Nepal. The area was claimed by the British in 1866 when the land was annexed from the Bhutanese after war over the territory ended. The Brits established Darjeeling as a hill station and sanatorium for soldiers in need of rest or for British residents looking to escape the heat of the plains in summer months. Tea estates and plantations were soon established and remain a famous attraction for tourists today. The journey to Darjeeling involves a 3 hour jeep ride from the plains, on a slow moving switchback road up the mountains taking us far away from the sights and sounds (and smells) of the city. Poor road quality does little to defer the feeling that you are somehow entering a dream as the lush

greenery of the broadleaf forests abound on all sides for as high as the eye can see. I have never felt so far from home as we continued to ascend into the clouds, sometimes squinting through foggy mist to see the hills dotted with houses on sturdy stilts and small villages along the way. Though the political atmosphere in Darjeeling is ripe with separatism tension as they fight to become an independent state, we were met by an extremely warm and culturally diverse people group, showing us the most hospitality and kindness that we experienced in India. For a girl like me raised in the Prairies, the fact that the towns borders weren’t defined by east and west, but rather up and down the mountain side, fascinated me. The town itself is literally terraced into the side of the mountain as endless streets double back and forth going up and up and up. Shops and stores lined the streets of main markets and contained ancient Tibetan and Nepali artifacts,

books hundreds of years old, traditional clothing and exotic jewelry. For the first time in India, shopping turned into a history lesson rather than frantic avoidance of people trying to sell us things we weren’t interested in. Restaurant and shop owners were more than willing to sit down and talk with us, instead of gawking at us or overcharging us because we were an easy tourist target. We were beginning to understand why the Brits came here to relax and enjoy the peaceful slower pace of life and fresh air that major metropolis’ couldn’t offer and were quite sad to leave. And while I didn’t go on a journey of spiritual discovery mirroring that of Francis, Peter and Jack Whitman in The Darjeeling Limited, the movie did serve to formulate some false misconceptions about what I would experience, which in the end, is really no one’s fault but my own. But I was quite thankful for what I got instead.

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{ Wendy Davenport Whatley } likes avocados, a ceramic watercolor palette that I made last summer, the beach, reading fantasy novels & tiny containers

Wendy has been painting and drawing since she can remember, never committing to one theme, but always gravitating toward intricate detail. After graduating with a BFA from Virginia Commonwealth University, Wendy works by day for an advertising company in Austin, Texas where she lives with her husband and fellow painter.

art + creation

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{ Visit }

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I have been exploring themes in nature for over 10 years. While I gain inspiration from real life plants, on trips and in my own garden, I am not trying to record specimens in an accurate, scientific manner. I create my own variation of them, adding imaginary elements and experimenting with scale. In my new series, Florigelium, I have taken a traditional, formal presentation and pushed the boundaries of with unusual, undiscovered specimens. This approach directs the focus toward that ever present push/pull of nature’s balance between manicured and unrestrained. Through very studied and detailed documentation of these imaginary plant-forms, the viewer can discover a world otherwise unknown to them.

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Art Direction & Styling Leah Van Loon, Photography Colin way, Make-up Teslin Ward, model Steph Del-Alba, courtesy Mode Models, Styling Assistant Aleksandra Lukasiewicz

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this page Swimwear, She Apparel | Jewelry, Rubaiyat | Parasol, Sky Props |

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this page Swimwear, Hermes | Sunglasses, Holt Renfrew | Shoes, Gravity Pope | Jewelry, Rubaiyat |

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this page Swimwear, She Apparel | Bracelet, Rubaiyat | Shoes, Gravity Pope | Scarf, Sharron’s Saris |

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this page Swimwear, She Apparel | Jewelry, Rubaiyat | Coat, Paul Hardy | Scarf, Sharron’s Saris |


Hey Lady! { 25 }

Dear Hey Lady!, Are fortune tellers full of crap? Tarot cards…tea leaves…palm readings—all these things are within my grasp, and I have to admit, the power tingling my fingertips! Some of my friends have gone and say it’s a surreal experience; it is something that must be done before my bucket list kicks it. I think I’d like to have a glimpse into my future, but I also don’t want to be puking the Bride of Chuckie after it’s done, you know? Please advise, before I become one of those creepy twins from “The Shining.” -Matilda

Dear Matilda, Funny you should ask on a night such as this. I’m

looking at a full moon. I’m not even entirely sure what that means, maybe his Mars is in my Venus or whatever. Maybe it’s a “sign!” This is what your decision comes down to: you are either a pantywaste for being too scared to go, or a control freak for wanting to go. Which would you rather be? Many people fear the oobly-goobly fortune teller stuff; and for good reason-they used to burn those witches! Did you ever see “The Craft?” That movie stole my innocence! Others prefer to have a handle on knowing what is coming next; feeling as though they are somehow playing a subsequent role in their destiny. You need to do a self-check. Whenever I wonder about wandering into a gypsy’s tent, I remind myself of my history: happy, sad, happy, sad, happy, sad, happy. No matter what is ahead of

you, you need to focus on rolling with the punches, if you can do that, it will be the only guarantee you can latch onto. It won’t kill you to try it (though, I can’t speak to the Chuckie possession), but before you go all “Charmed” on me, at least stop and consider the roots of why you are going in the first place. You might find your next step in one of those roots, and save $80 at the same time! Best Wishes, -Hey Lady!

If you would like advice about a question your have or an issue you are facing, email Hey Lady! at:

CHAPter 4

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{ dalyce Chomick } likes to write, sing & get tattoos

I looked up. geisey was looking at me.


“How long are you f***in’ going to sit there staring at your f***in’ hands…”

After doing a quick mop, I decided my time would be better spent hiding in the back from any customers, my fellow co-workers and most of all, gary. So, I decided to sit on an upside down bucket in the back, behind a towering shelf stock piled for the coming apocalypse. Of course, all we could offer in this apocalypse would be 15 bags of bleached allpurpose flour, 7 cans of yeast, a bag of yellow #5, a can of raid, and 16 rolls of paper towels. After taking the above mentioned inventory, I calculated how much flour it would take to kill a large, let’s say 230lb, man if he consumed it by the handful. I guesstimated around 12 handfuls before he would render himself unconscious, moments later his airways completely blocked by the flour paste created by his stomach acid and bile as his body slowly tried to fight off the white powdery enemy that had taken siege on his body, thus, death. After all that, I decided to see if I had the gift of foresight, I stared at my palms trying to see if I would be rich, or if I even had a love line or if my life line had a break in it and if that meant I would die at the age of 34 by a self induced epileptic seizure after staring at a strobe light for 4 hours waiting to see what would happen, still living in my parents basement, still not knowing what it felt like to kiss a member of the opposite sex or any sex for that matter, still not sure if by not caring it meant I cared more than everyone else, still not sure how gladiator ever ended.

It’s weird, but this was the nicest thing any as one had said to me all day. His voice sounded concerned and thoughtful. “I was seeing if I could read the future… “ We blankly stared at each other. “I’m hiding from my responsibilities…I hate gary.” “F*** son. It’s your first f***in’ day and you are already f***in’ hiding like a turtle in a f***in’ turtle’s shell.” “Yea, I guess.” “F***.” “Yea.” I looked at geisey and I noticed that despite all the cursing, and that he’s a huge perv, and how he’s really vulgar and rude, I’m starting to think he’s a pretty all right “dude”.

I stopped staring.

“F*** son! My old lady’s here. She’s f***in’ everywhere, she’s always in my f***in’ business. I told her, f***in’ never to come visit me at work. This is my one f***in’ place, my… what’s the word… f***, my f***in’ monastery, my place to f***in’ think about S***. F***! Can’t a guy have a f***in’ place where he can come and think S*** out and f***in’, f***in’ do his own f***in’ things and not worry about f***in’ everything else…”

I’m pretty sure I don’t have foresight. I’m pretty sure that’s a load of bull anyways…

I had no idea what he was talking about, but then again maybe that’s because I had no idea about

love or women. geisey was looking out the portal window to the front, where I assume his “old lady” was waiting for him. He was throwing his hands in the air and staring out the window, just saying the ‘F’ word quietly over and over again. “F***, I better go out there before she throws a f***in’ scene. You know, f*** women, f***in’ no patience…” He quickly walked out the bakery door to the front. Where I assume that this “old lady” was waiting for him. I got up from my stoop to see the scene unfold. geisey’s “old lady” was in fact {as I’m sure you’ve already guessed} not old at all. She was actually quite young {I’m hoping legal}, really pretty, short and looked rather sweet. Like the girl from ‘The secret world of Alex Mac’ only not a tomboy. She was in a short dress that had pink flowers on it and her boobs were the size of my fist when I ball them up tight. She had a nice smile too, no crooked teeth that I could see. He walked up to her and they hugged, he had a huge smile on his face that made him look weird. I couldn’t figure it out, and then I realized, he looked normal. Like a guy who was happily married, with a dog, a family and a mortgage. They held hands and sat down at a table near the back. I stared at them for awhile. Wondering what he’s like at home, if he tells bad jokes, if he curses in front of her, if he calls his mom every Sunday to tell her he loves her, if he mows his lawn and then his neighbour’s out of courtesy... I watched for awhile maybe in shock or maybe in curious joy, I don’t know. Then my eyes met with gary’s as he panned the store, maybe looking for me, maybe looking for 40-something single moms he could hit on and be guaranteed to not strike out with. I

short story quickly walked away from the window and looked around the back room of something to make me look busy. I saw a pile of black garbage bags in the corner and tried quickly to walk over to them. But in my panic as I heard the swinging door start to open, I kinda half jumped, half tripped over my tangled feet, half threw myself towards the pile of black plastic and landed right in the middle of them, tearing one open. My face landing on an old half eaten jelly donut with a cigarette stuck in the middle of it, my left hand in something wet, brown and gooey and my legs were tangled up like a pretzel. I was in a world of pain. “What in the HELL?! What are you doing in here First Day?”

the dumpster. I waited. Looked around. And then I started to sing under my breath:

All while drumming my hands on my chest. It’s nice to know the world hasn’t been sucked up in the Tim Horton’s vortex I’ve been lost in all morning. After I finished singing, I stood back up, picked up the bags and turned around to throw the garbage into the dumpster.

She was a vixen, if I knew what a vixen was. And since I didn’t, I thought she was a wild sexy Jezebel. There’s this Queen I play with in D’n’D named Jezebel, she’s the coolest, toughest, sexiest girl on the field {which isn’t saying much, there’s only 3 girls that play with us}. But this Jezebel made that Jezebel look like a warty toad. She had long wavy dark brown hair, a leather jacket on with a black wolf t-shirt underneath, ripped jeans, undone army boots, a hand full of rings, the pirate patch of course, one giant green eye and big cherry lips. It looked like she was sucking on candy too, her lips were puckered and her jaw was moving back and forth {later I’ll find out she’s got 6 canker sores}. Oh and a black cape.

“Don’t you move charity church mouse.”

“Come with me church mouse, if you want to live.”

I decided quickly in my mind, after a recent and very painful fall into a pile of trash that my reflexes were or are a bit off today. And so it was better to do whatever this person says and not try to do anything quickly. Awaiting this impending doom would be better done slowly, I wouldn’t chance it; I’m having an off day. My arms in the air, holding two large and heavy garbage bags up, I waited to see what this stranger asked next of me. Then something I never would have expected happened, I felt a piece of cold metal tubing dress hard into my back, it dug into my ribs and it made me nervous and I started to sweat. I could feel the person standing real close to me now. Their breath made my neck hairs stand up in attention. They sank the metal deeper into my nonexistent back muscles, I winced and my arms started to shake from the weight of the garbage I was still holding up.

She didn’t speak with much expression. It wasn’t monotone, but there wasn’t a lot of intonation either. I couldn’t tell if she was mad, crazy, scared {like me}, happy, sad, etc. But there was something behind the way she said Charity Church Mouse that made me feel both nervous and a little excited all at the same time.

“The heart is a stone and this is a stone that we throw Put your hand on this stone, it’s the stone of a home you know They say we will go far, but they don’t know how far we’ll go With our legs on the edge and our feet on the horizon…”

I guess he found a nickname for me. “I’m just taking out the trash.” I tried to quickly stand up. But the slippery gooey mess I was in and my tangled legs made me struggle to find my feet and center of gravity. Gary was just staring at me. He leaned over and ran his finger down my face, through the raspberry jelly smeared on my forehead and down my cheek. “Now, listen to me First Day,” as he stared at his finger, then at me, “I eat pieces of trash like you for lunch and dinner. So I’m going to make it my personal goal to make the next 5 years of your pathetic little life hell. You are going to wish you had never gotten a job here, that you had ever met me,” {Correction, I already regret meeting you, I don’t need to wait 5 years to come to that conclusion}

“Ok, now, turn around church mouse. But do it slowly.” “I will live to make your life hell First Day.” And then he licked his finger, which was then followed by a wince and a shutter {from both of us}. This Guy is has more problems than I could count. “Take this s*** out… and the trash too…” He flipped his tie over his shoulder, spun around on his heels and walked out back to the front. I walked over to the counter and washed my hands and face. Not only was I covered in a giant coffee stain, but now I had raspberry jelly all down my shirt, old coffee grounds all over my pants and something that was either old cream of mushroom soup or baby vomit. I grabbed two bags and headed for the back door. Once outside, I paused. Fresh air. I forgot how good fresh air felt. I sat down on the cub next to

Have you ever forgotten how to breath? I’m not talking about when you become conscience of breathing and you start thinking about taking one breath in and one breath out and all that. I’m talking about forgetting how to do all that, the mechanics of breathing. I’m talking about my air way being closed up by a paste made up of flour, stomach acid and bile. I opened my mouth and a puff of flour came out, then a blue jay, then my soul. I was empty. And I couldn’t remember how to suck in the O2 that was floating around in front of me, waiting for me, flirting with me. I slowly turned around, still holding up the two black garbage bags. Standing in front of me was one large black eye patch and one large green eye. The lone eye looked at me and then blinked or maybe winked, it’s hard to tell when there is only one eye functioning in front of you. The stranger then backed away so I could see what or whom had taken me hostage.

She motioned her gun, like a pointing finger towards a blue rusty 1981 Pontiac Acadian, the motor was running and both doors were open. I looked at the car, then at her. She’s a girl, a small girl at that, I’m not that tough, but I could probably take her. But the thought of going back inside to Gary made the gun drawn Jezebel look like a grandmothers loving embrace. And then I remembered, when you inhale, you fill your lungs with oxygen by sucking like on a straw all the air in front of you, when you exhale you open your mouth and push with your stomach muscles to release toxic gases into the atmosphere to be collected by the sun and trees. I dropped the garbage bags and walked towards the passenger side door. “You drive.” We got in; she sat on her knees and turned up the radio. And what played over us was like a soundtrack to my bondage. “And no, you’re not alone. No, my cousin, you’re not alone. You’re in our talons now, and were never letting go…” All I thought was, it’ll be days before anyone realizes I’m missing. To find out where we left Ben last, grab a copy of WLWL issue one, two & three. You can find them online @ www.

{ 27 }

at night

at night in kitchens dimly lit { Jacob Nelson } loves to write poetry the loneliness of silverware nestled upon folded napkins chapstick smudges on glass-blown lips filled with lonely alcohol steaming food on single plates enough for single stomachs we gaze at empty stove-lit chairs those sagging threadbare ottomans tonight we drum at mismatched plates a sort of fingerpaint menagerie sigh this is the infinite depression we peel our soles from the linoleum we listen to the faucets drip and wonder what we’ll think tomorrow

{ 28 }


The New Lightweights are heavy on the soul

{ 29 }

{ Liz Field } likes talking with bands at her favorite cafe.

At the end of a regular and seemingly normal weekday a few months back, I was driving home from work. I was desperate to not feel bogged down by the soul sucking phenomenon better known as rush hour traffic, yet desperation grew with every pedestrian and cyclist that passed by (probably just loving life too, and feeling particularly proud of themselves that day for not being stuck in traffic, getting exercise and loving mother nature by decreasing their carbon footprint. Those walking and cycling jerks). The bumper to bumper stand still situation continued. Top 40 hits were playing on the radio and I grew closer to the brink of insanity. My salvation came from possibly the only good choice I made that day (not riding my bike to work bottomed the list of course). I changed the dial to CBC Radio 2. If I was sitting behind the wheel of my car as my soul vaporized in gridlock, the least I could do is try to soak in the intellect broadcasting from 102.1FM. There is always something newsworthy, intelligent or globally important on that radio station and I might be able to play the knowledge off as my own later that night in casual conversation with friends, right? Rich Terfry was in the middle of his show CBC Radio 2 Drive (which I have since come to know and love) and a song came on the radio that changed everything

that day. Within seconds, it no longer mattered how long i had been parked in the middle of 4th Street, and I was transported to a smoky and low lit jazz club in the 1960’s. I didn’t know her name then, but Alexa Dirks, lead singer of The New Lightweights, had just successfully transported me through time. I was captivated and held my breath until good old Rich announced The Newlightweights and their song ‘Sinking Feeling.’ I’m not sure how long it was that I was trapped in the grips of traffic that day, but as soon as I got home, Google was telling me everything I needed to know about Winnipeg bred band The New Lightweights. Shortly after that I was in contact with the quartet. Alexa Dirks, Ariel Posen, Ryan Voth and Graham Isaak have been playing professionally in and around the burgeoning music hot bed of Winnipeg, Manitoba for a number of years. In late 2008, they joined forces to create what they describe as a meld of folk, pop and alt-country. Dirks’ crooning vocals echo the soulful British belle Adele to thread their sound with warmth. While most of their shows are local, their four song EP is available at Also, visit them at

{ 30 }

{ Shane Yuhas } loves to take photos { Lynn Gentry } loves words, writing and typing on his typewriter at the corner of Haight & Ashbury in San Francisco

{ 31 }


{ 32 }

our mantra this issue is: { Summer of LOVE } it is simple. write it on your hand. Put it on your fridge. Don’t forget it.

WLWL: Issue 4  

We Like We Love is a magazine about sharing the things you like & love.

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