Category: Issue 05

Address

Address

*

(Address, 96 x 40, fused and cut plastic packaging material, 2013)

Reenie Charrière – Artist website

Artist statement:

“I am invested in everyday moments.  My practice is triggered by expeditions along everyday paths, and sidewalks, including public waterways and shorelines.

I investigate by walking, driving and even waiting in traffic, and I am captivated by what accumulates in the environment. Detritus is a menacing punctuation. It comes in all colors and forms. The synthetic bright colors of plastic haunt me as they interrupt and accent the natural topography.   I am also drawn to these colors, and their forms as well as the juxtaposition between organic and synthetic matter.

My current work starts with photographing this relationship. Going beyond documentation, I spotlight the situation by fabricating sculptural installations out of discarded packaging materials, particularly  plastic, fabric, paper, and cardboard. By sewing, cutting, fusing, reshaping, dangling, and weaving, I transform the material into atmospheric and surprisingly organic-like structures. Many of my installations are integrated with video, projections, and or sound.  My choice of materials reflects a collision of clumsiness, and grace and questions how consumerism drives the world.”

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Even the Title is a Safeword

A Democrat’s safeword is, “Beagle!”
A Republican’s safeword is, “Beagle!”
A Libertarian’s safeword is, “Ayn Rand!”
The President’s safeword is, “Drone strike!”
Sarah Palin’s safeword is, “This is what our troops are fighting for!”

A Presbyterian’s safeword is, “Picnic!”
A Catholic’s safeword is, “Sorry!”
A Jew’s safeword is, “Yom Kippur!”
A Buddhist safeword is, “What if this pain is an illusion?”

A common lesbian safeword is, “Patriarchy!”
or, occasionally, “Audre Lorde!”

Gay men have had the same safeword since
the late seventies, looking back on its origins
with a sense of camp nostalgia: “Mustache!”

Except of course for closeted gay men,
who seek discreet sexual partners by using Craigslist.
Their safeword is, “Bro, what the hell? I said I don’t kiss!”

Allen Ginsberg’s safeword was, “Peyote!”
Amiri Baraka’s safeword is, “Crackers!”
Walt Whitman’s safeword was, “Hubris!”
Stephen King’s safeword is predictable.

The first recorded use of a safeword
dates back to ancient Babylon,
when King Nebuchadnezzar told one of his concubines,
“Stop… Stop… Guards!”

The state safeword of California is, “Fake tan!”
The state safeword of Texas is, “Immigrants!”
The national safeword of England is, “That’ll be all, thanks!”

That woman from your neighborhood, the one
who always wears t-shirts with wolves, dolphins,
or Tweety Bird on them? She has no safeword
because she can take it.

Sometimes you’re most afraid
of using your safeword, so you just say,
“I do.”

*

Evan J. Peterson is the author of the chapbooks Skin Job and The Midnight Channel, as well as volume editor of Gay City 5: Ghosts in Gaslight, Monsters in Steam. His poetry, fiction, journalism, and criticism have appeared in Weird Tales, The Stranger, The Rumpus, Court Green, and Aim for the Head: An Anthology of Zombie Poetry, from which his poetry was excerpted in The New York Times. Evanjpeterson.com

RECLAMATION PROJECT (incentive)

Caught my attention because of the noise, something descending, then gaining altitude outside my closed windows.

Something drawing its sentence to an end, then assiduously writing each word of itself back toward
its beginning—slow work, letters large and childlike.

The local newspaper’s headline: two helicopters will be flying in tandem over the city, sent by
the Department of Homeland Security to measure natural radiation—

as a benchmark for future comparisons.

Louder than the usual ones dispatched for traffic slow-ups, police surveillance.

In lieu of talking to itself, a little knee-jerk excitement can sometimes just put on a clean shirt, and resist its normal incentives.

On any day, in any weather, a messenger might be outside, marking my front door with the color
of water,

which could be misinterpreted as the color of smoke.

On my shelf, black plastic binoculars wrapped in their shiny neck-cord stand at attention
on dark lenses.

Helicopter vibrations mimic the rumble under thought, where thought-objects originate—

though very few actually surface as utterance, where exchange would define their value.

From my kitchen window, two helicopters in full view: only the innocence of that narrow space
between them

clarifies as something to watch.

“Only” is a trick to keep logic busy, as the restlessness of intuition slips in or out.

The ambiguity of direction can sometimes be held up to the face like a cool, damp cloth to soothe
what observation can’t.

A messenger might slide a blank piece of folded paper under my back door, meaningless, whether
or not I open it.

A wily un-identical thought can nest in any dense network of expectations, protecting itself
from disclosure.

A messenger might keep readjusting her position so that the obvious is always obstructing
my view of her.

Exhaustion was intentionally inserted into the news report—

which is not the same as placing in the middle of the living room a couch that everyone must
walk around before sitting down,

but seems like it.

As a child, I’d imagine myself sitting just a little deeper, a little farther into one particular wooden
pew in our neighborhood church,

and never being found again, except by sunlight from my favorite stained-glass window at the right hour of day, and by moonlight at night.

While the church empties of people and fills and empties again, while the helicopters drone on.

As a child, I could have re-read the news report enough times for its messenger to condense, and the need for a message to disappear.

*

Rusty Morrison‘s –Beyond the Chainlink- (Ahsahta) will be published in January 2014. Her book -After Urgency- won Tupelo’s Dorset Prize. -Book of the Given–is available from Noemi Press. -the true keeps calm biding its story- won Ahsahta’s Sawtooth Prize, Academy of American Poet’s James Laughlin Award, Northern California Book Award, and DiCastagnola Award from Poetry Society of America. –Whethering-won the Colorado Prize for Poetry. She has received the Bogin, Hemley, Winner, and DiCastagnola Awards from PSA. Her poems and/or essays have appeared in A Pubic Space, American Poetry Review, Aufgabe, Boston Review, Kenyon Review, Lana Turner, Pleiades, and elsewhere. Her poems were anthologized in the Norton Postmodern American Poetry 2nd Edition, The Arcadia Project: Postmodern Pastoral, Beauty is a Verb, and elsewhere. She is co-publisher of Omnidawn.

RECLAMATION PROJECT (trash vault)

In the instant after the Chevron refinery explodes, I descend below the level of individual syllables.

Sky, through my kitchen window, a trash vault.

Punctuation without words is a primary red, then, between smoke-bursts, florid.

Everyone on the block, out on the sidewalk to watch.

Smoke unfastens its vowels from the orderly control of our consonants.

My neighbor is experiencing shortness of breath, my lungs have acquired a vanishing point I
do not test.

Conversation romances its calamities, modifies for us a commons.

We mime humanity for the already-overhead TV helicopter.

My neighbor seems to be developing a thingness in his eyes.

We are already, to each other, TV noise, a regulating background.

Theatrical value-add of windows in the houses around us sliding shut.

We all know to go back inside, as though summoned.

Event already franchised—event-technology already busily procuring event-disposal.

*

Rusty Morrison‘s –Beyond the Chainlink- (Ahsahta) will be published in January 2014. Her book -After Urgency- won Tupelo’s Dorset Prize. -Book of the Given–is available from Noemi Press. -the true keeps calm biding its story- won Ahsahta’s Sawtooth Prize, Academy of American Poet’s James Laughlin Award, Northern California Book Award, and DiCastagnola Award from Poetry Society of America. –Whethering-won the Colorado Prize for Poetry. She has received the Bogin, Hemley, Winner, and DiCastagnola Awards from PSA. Her poems and/or essays have appeared in A Pubic Space, American Poetry Review, Aufgabe, Boston Review, Kenyon Review, Lana Turner, Pleiades, and elsewhere. Her poems were anthologized in the Norton Postmodern American Poetry 2nd Edition, The Arcadia Project: Postmodern Pastoral, Beauty is a Verb, and elsewhere. She is co-publisher of Omnidawn.

Frederick Douglass Presenting His Narrative

Vacillating between
: a sublimate; an occupant
who collects identity through distance.

First, I learned how
to read, then
how to write.

Remember the ramifications
of neglecting    the ex post facto
in assuming    judgment

Homonyms—lone and loan
there, they’re, their—registering
precedent times
for my ever child while

Those miniature tea sets I displayed
at the top of my father’s stairs

like unwritten agreements

,   trying to catch explanations for themselves
should anyone ask.

An hour of talk
on the subject of who
and how you exist.

Tales of familiarity are borrowable, even
ownable and impactful equally
as they are reprehensible.

I like podiums
as much as the next person.
But,   for someone you adore,

it’s a pleasure to be sad.

Today is the pronunciation
of my name.

*

Annie Goold is an Illinois native and undergraduate at University of Illinois-Chicago where her poetic convictions first grew teeth. She has since found poetic growth, community, and sublimity under the instruction of Lina ramona Vitkauskas, Francesco Levato, and Eileen Myles along with numerous dazzling classmates through the Chicago School of Poetics. With crossed fingers and booming efforts, she intends to enter a graduate program for poetry in fall of 2014. In the meantime, she soaks in the expanding vocabulary of her dog, excellent companionship, and the art of city biking.

Queen Elizabeth I on First Addressing the House of Lords

It’s a gripping seat
here made
of glue-stiffened lace.

Have these shoulders been
let down in a decade?
Do they know another
weight than expectation?

Snake muscles—
pulsing at hold
Clearly, my face wasn’t
supposed to shine here.

The first words
for bridging diplomacy
are to be shed
in the homeland.

Trouble whelming
Think fast—
smoke has begun.

Can a time-marker occupy
more than abhorrence
for those wanting only sleep?

This is no time for
anything but iron foresight.

A ground for saber-faced horses
big cats, purple and white

Breathe into the mirror,
name your timber.

Primp the ivory lioness mane.
Choices, choices:

Required

and met.

*

Annie Goold is an Illinois native and undergraduate at University of Illinois-Chicago where her poetic convictions first grew teeth. She has since found poetic growth, community, and sublimity under the instruction of Lina ramona Vitkauskas, Francesco Levato, and Eileen Myles along with numerous dazzling classmates through the Chicago School of Poetics. With crossed fingers and booming efforts, she intends to enter a graduate program for poetry in fall of 2014. In the meantime, she soaks in the expanding vocabulary of her dog, excellent companionship, and the art of city biking.

Another Satisfied Customer

We phoned. Quite analytically we
dissected its molecular structure.

And how it made Grandma Liu
all woozy when she woke.

It conflicted with her porridge,
made her bridge chatter, even if

her gums were doing most
of the work. And you know what

they said? They said it had something
to do with politics.  The etiquette of

the matter.  Yes, it struck a chord
in the hearts of us all. They were

uncomfortable to say the least.
But what could they do? It was

only a job, after all. You couldn’t
blame them for something that wasn’t

of their own making.  Just a soldier
they said, taking orders from the

head office.  Would you believe it?
We’d a right mind to write to

our local Party secretary.  But then,
we decided against it and drew

Grandma Liu’s morning bath with
that oil that makes her smell of roses.

* * *

Marc Vincenz is Swiss-British, was born in Hong Kong, and currently divides his time between Reykjavik, Zurich and New York City. His work has appeared in many journals, including Washington Square Review, Fourteen Hills, The Potomac, The Canary, The Bitter Oleander, and Guernica. Recent publications include: The Propaganda Factory, or Speaking of Trees (2011); Gods of a Ransacked Century (2013), Mao’s Mole (Neopoiesis Press, 2013) and the forthcoming meta-novel, Behind the Wall at the Sugar Works (Spuyten Duyvil, 2104).  His most recent collection of translations is Nightshift / An Area of Shadows by Erika Burkart and Ernst Halter (Spuyten Duyvil, 2013). Marc is Executive Editor of Mad Hatters’ Review, MadHat Press and Coeditor-in-Chief of Fulcrum: An Annual of Poetry and Aesthetic.