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photography by tiegan dakin

6/30/2016

 
Picture
hiding place
Picture
remnant
Picture
first warning
✱✱✱
Tiegan Dakin is a teenage writer and artist. Her work of many varieties appears or is forthcoming in After the Pause and Up the Staircase Quarterly, among others. She is the Founder and Chief Editor of The Drowning Gull, an associate editor for Zoetic Press, and an interview contributor for cahoodaloodaling. Tiegan enjoys writing poetry and also reading the works of Brenda Shaughnessy, one book of whose she has reviewed on her book and TV blog, Heart, what art are you? . You can find out more about her at her personal blog.

2 poems by meryem nuh

6/28/2016

 

ABUSED // DISHONEST

wrist blooms    open
like red gardenia blushing.
his index finger    slid
over my cheekbone.
once. naked. in full term.
a space where soft peels itself off    the walls
smell of raw and sweet meat.
 
sweet meat     open
like grandmother’s ash gourd garden.
his mouth climbed and    slid
down my belly button.
claim. stamp. marked territory.
body crammed into unwelcoming body    the walls
dig for unadulterated sapphire crystals.
 
sapphire crystals    open
like ice broken clean down the middle.
his eyes    slid
away silent after raking foolishly.
infidelity. dishonor. limp.
crawling on tips back into thorn bed    the walls
finally stop muttering under their breath at dusk.

A PHOTOGRAPH FROM MY CHILDHOOD

i am        smiling.
i don’t remember how       the photograph has too much
noise on it.
in it.
i suffered to be a daughter       to a father
in a country i didn’t believe existed.
 
summer crawled slow on my spine
when i was five y/o      and a leaf in the eye of abandonment.
the grayed center of a rose      when
a door closes.
lack of sunlight.
crisp      fresh      only on the edge lines.
 
muffled moans echoing.
skin       filthy skin
hurts
bleeds
skin hurts and bleeds.
worn inside out      red and virginal.
like church falling to its knees.
 
✱✱✱
Picture
 meryem nuh is a 20 y/o biracial, living in india. she writes poetry about being black, being woman, being muslim; culture and the self. her interests (obsessions) vary from cats to malcolm x. her work has appeared in vagabond city literary journal, the squawk back, sein und werden, and gravel; forthcoming in wildness. she works as a writer for qahwa project and is the editor-in-chief at artrefurbish. you can find her on her instagram, twitter and tumblr.

flash fiction by & an interview with s. kay

6/26/2016

 

BEACH BOT BAILOUT

Shore
On Vancouver Island, robots gather sea glass at the shore for entrepreneurs who 3D print settings for the finds and sell jewelry online.

Sand
People on the beach toast the bots, appreciating their bonus litter removal. Puppies play and kids caboodle on vacation beside the machines.

Shells
Robots rake shells into piles under users' docks. Fake owls perch on their heads at night. Resting, they sleep covered in barnacles.

Smartphones
Coelacanths become reanimated through a smartphone app. The beach writhes with new old life. People realize their mistake. Can tech help?
​
Scourge
Beach bots collect coelacanths along with sea glass and litter. They fight the new scourge, to save the ecosystem. They ask nothing from us.

Sunny
​Grateful, people invite bots to join them on the beach, relaxing in the sun. Without automated harvests, sea glass jewelry becomes precious.
Picture
HANDMADE SEA GLASS JEWELLERY COMMISSIONED BY S. KAY
​PHOTO: GWEN ROSSMILLER

INTERVIEW

1.  Alright - to start, can you introduce yourself to us using metaphors?

Stronger than diamonds, hummingbird-delicate, as loving as a bouquet of puppies, with the determination of a bear hunting berries, and a reasonably robotic creative writing discipline,

2.  What does the sea mean to and do for you?  

I live with a view of the ocean in Vancouver, BC, and often write outside on my deck, immersed in a marine environment. When my eyes are not on the screen, I'm taking in the sparkling waves, the diving seals, the flying birds, or the passing boats. It's super relaxing to sit and watch sea life bob along. A recent study showed that being immersed in "blue space" of water is similar to green space with trees, it's good for mental health. Often when my mind is drifting, that's when I will be inspired, either by something I see in the vista or an idea will occur to me. It's a great way to write.
Picture
PHOTO: S. KAY
 3.  What are some of your creative outlets?  How did you find them (or how did they find you)?

Aside from writing fiction, I make jewelry, crochet, and have created a variety of interdisciplinary projects over the years. I learned arts and crafts skills when I was a child, from my mum, Brownies, and school, and then as an adult I apprenticed for two years as a silversmith. But I moved on to other work. I also created some DIY pieces like an audio collage installation in a group show, and freeform crochet soft sculptures and hats.
​
One of my favourite projects was a collaboration with photographer Gwen Rossmiller in which we paired my tweet-sized tales with her art photos, using my jewelry design, in mini book necklaces. 
PHOTOS: GWEN ROSSMILLER
​Creative projects find me when I get inspired by opportunities (like unusual calls for submissions), or materials or people or culture. They're often conceptual. My fiction tends to be conceptual, too.
4.  Much of your writing explores the future.  Can you tell us a bit about that?

I'm a fan of robotics, especially interested in robopsychology, the exploration of human-robot interaction. I like to write near-future tiny tales that imagine those relationships. Often they explore foibles, amusing misadventures as we struggle to adapt to new technology. My first book, "Reliant" (tNY.Press Books, 2015), is an apocalypse in tweets, a look at a society before, during and after the end. It blends humour with doom. But although it's a favourite, I don't only write speculative fiction, I do write other things as well.
 
6.  You have a new book, "Lost in the Land of Bears," coming out this summer.  How did it come to be, what's it all about, and where can we look for it when it's out?

It began as a disparate group of tweets loosely based around building a story inspired by the forest and ocean near where I live. As I collected them, I combined elements and added new ones until I came up with a cross-genre adventure tale-in-tweets about an LGBTQ couple who travel to Canada and become lost in the forest, encountering quirky creatures and machines in their search for a way back to a futuristic resort. It's being published by Reality Hands this July in three editions: an ebook, a print on demand version, and a handmade limited edition art book with a faux fur cover. It'll be available online directly from RealityHands.com, and other book retailers TBD. Follow me on Twitter at @blueberrio for news.
 
7.  I like to wrap up interviews pretty open-ended.  Is there anything on your mind right now?  Any opinions or causes we can help you share?  Any recent experiences that are still resonating with you?  Any advice for other artists?
​

Right now it's June, Pride Month, and as a queer writer I'm also conscious of the Orlando tragedy. I'm Canadian, so I don't have the power to vote for American gun control. But as a writer with global readers, I do have the power to influence culture in a positive way, with QUILTBAG characters and modern language. I often choose to make my characters queer, or gender-neutral so the reader can project their own identity onto a protagonist. I'm mindful of representation, and don't recommend all writers suddenly make all their characters queer. But do be respectful, with inclusion and diversity. And everyone can use gender-sensitive language.
 
Finally, since it's summer, it's a chance to be outdoors in blue space. Instead of writing at the usual café, get a drink to go and take your device to a park with a waterfront view. See if it soothes and inspires you.
Picture
PHOTO: S. KAY
​✱✱✱
S. Kay is the author of RELIANT (tNY.Press Books, 2015), JOY (Maudlin House, 2016), SPAMBOT PSYCHOSIS (zimZalla, 2015), and LOST IN THE LAND OF BEARS (Reality Hands, forthcoming 2016). Follow her at @blueberrio.

i envision my mother as a child conversing with by eric cline

6/25/2016

 
I ENVISION MY MOTHER AS A CHILD CONVERSING WITH

god. words for
music when she
peers into the
sky with three
hollow sockets
for eyes. some
place over the
edge of vision
a piano plays.

her father’s face is
covered by spools of
polyester clouds and
his words sound like
the hollow hum which
is only heard as one
crafts a still-life,
the pear next to the
orange next to three
apples, each of them
more rotted than the
one drawn beside it.
 
the mask gives
form to air. i
feel my throat
knot as i open
my mouth. next
to the mask, a
doll takes the
place of every
thing that was
not yet there.
✱✱✱
Picture
Eric Cline is a poet currently residing in Dumfries, Virginia. He serves as a staff writer for Yellow Chair Review and his poems can be found or are forthcoming in Crab Fat Magazine, Vagabond City, Sequestrum, After the Pause, Clockwise Cat, and elsewhere.

bees!

6/23/2016

 
things to know about bees!
bees evolved from wasps and plants evolved to flower.  plants began enticing wasps, who were much more efficient at pollenating than the plants themselves, using bright colours and nectar.  wasps developed adaptations that allowed them to better access that nectar, which resulted in modern day bees (ex. fuzzy bodies).   there wouldn't have been bees without flowers and there wouldn't have been flowers without bees.
Picture
male bees don’t have dads and die a lot.  their only purpose is to fuck the other bees, which kills them immediately.  they’re called drones.  drone eggs are unfertilized, which means female bees don’t need sperm to lay a drone egg (DADLESS).

female bees run the show.  fertile ones have a mating flight once, then store male bee sperm for the rest of their lives.  they can choose whether an egg will be fertilized or not, controlling their population carefully.  infertile females are responsible for foraging and hive maintenance.
cool kinds of bees!
mason bees
Picture
​the solitary bee.  bashful and unlikely to sting.   females can sting (repeatedly – stingers aren’t barbed) but it’s pretty much unheard of.  mason bees don’t have hives or queens or workers or honey or beeswax.  that being said, all females are fertile (we’ll get into that with the other kinds of bees later) so each individual bee is responsible and equipped for reproduction.  they’re immune to varroa mites (the little demons primarily responsible for the rapid decline of the honey bee), but have their own ailments.  females will find small preexisting crevices to inhabit while they lay their eggs – natural or man made, preferably tube-like.  they stuff the crevice with pollen and nectar, lay their eggs on top of the provisions and seal the entrance.  they might do this a few times within their lifespan.  the cold of winter kills off mama bee, but the eggs survive and her children emerge next spring.  males come out first, wait for females, then mate (ya, it's potentially incest).  as you already know, male bees go die immediately after sex and female bees pollinate pretty things and repeat the cycle.
bumblebees
Picture
bumblebees are social, but nothing compared to honeybees (coming up next).  their colonies are quite small (~50 per nest) and are often underground.  females can also sting repeatedly but, again, mostly ignore humans.  bumblebees are probably the cutest because they’re fuzzy and have long tongues for drinking nectar.  workers can lay haploid eggs (one set of chromosomes, always turn into drones).  only queens can lay diploid eggs, which develop either into workers or queens.  female worker bees remain in the colony to care for the queen and her eggs when they're young, then are sent out to forage as they age.  male drones are forced outside to mate and die. workers and virgin drones die when the temperature drops anyway, so colonies only survive one year.  the species survives through its queens alone.  the colony queen secretes a pheromone that stunts other female bee development at the worker class – sometimes she will choose not to secrete this pheromone and feed the larvae in excess. these workers will continue to develop into queens in the autumn, after their service stage.  these new queens eat a lot to survive the winter in a resting state (diapause) underground until spring, when they wake up and go-it-alone to find a suitable space to lay eggs and create their own colony, repeating the cycle.
honey bees
Picture
these bees are really cool looking and efficient and live in huge colonies and (obviously) make honey, yum.  i also know the most about them because i took a course on keeping them and tended a couple of hives.  when honeybees sting, they die, which seems pretty noble.  also, they release a pheromone when they sting that tells the other bees that there’s something worth stinging, so you’re likely to get stung more than once if you threaten a colony.  like bumblebees, there are three classes – workers (always female), drones (always male) and queens (extra strong, special females) and the hive functions the same in terms of responsibilities.  the queen secretes pheromones that stop worker bees from laying any eggs at all (unlike bumblebee workers, who can lay drones) – workers only lay eggs if they’re queenless because the pheromone is absent, in which case they start frantically pumping out drones in hopes of repopulating the colony.  it doesn’t do much aside from spread the colony's genes to other hives, because workers can only lay males, female eggs are needed to create a queen and a colony cannot last without one.  if you are a bee keeper, this is't necessarily the death of your hive though.  you can introduce a new queen  (you can seriously order bees via regular mail) or insert a frame with queen brood from another hive and the workers will tend to it until she emerges.  to make a honey bee queen, you need to feed a lady honey bee special royal jelly.  my very favourite trait of the honey bee is that it dances to communicate, which is both adorable and highly intelligent.  by strutting and wiggling their little insect behinds, they're showing the rest of the colony where a rich food supply is (the direction of the dance communicates location via angle in relation to the sun - which, keep in mind, is always moving and needs to be factored into communications - and the length of the dance indicates the distance of the site).  more bees go check it out and, if it's good, will come back and start groovin' with the first bee to indicate their support and encourage others to head over.  eventually supplies deplete and a bee comes back empty handed.  this bee breaks up the party and the colony ceases dancing (until next time).  honey bee colonies can grow to a population of ~80,000.  queens typically live 3-4 years and workers will huddle around her to keep her warm over winter, meaning the colony is sustained year-to-year.  as you probably guessed, no men last the winter.
killer bees
Picture
​or africanized honey bees.  okay, these are technically a type of honey bee but their behavior toward people and animals is entirely different, so they get their own blurb.  killer bees look basically the same as your average honey bee - just a touch smaller.  they are descendants of southern aftrican bees and inhabit south and central america.  african bees were originally brought to brazil in hopes of introducing a honey bee better adapted to tropics.  the bees escaped quarantine during the testing period and bred with some south american bees.  the result was a super aggressive, hive minded species.  killer bees attack in swarms and pursue targets at greater distances.  things as small as a sound or vibration in what they perceive to be their territory (a quarter of a mile) can be perceived as threats and targeted.  the bees remain agitated for 24 hours.  although they aren't any more poisonous than your regular bee, they attack 10x faster and swarm a target, resulting in significantly more stings.
bees for you!
bees are dwindling so, first and foremost, be nice to them!  you don’t have to keep them, but don’t kill them.  plant things they like.  let them have their hive.  let them pollinate your flowers.  if you don’t fuck with them, they probably won’t fuck with you.
Picture
then there's lazy beekeeping!  put out a mason bee home!  mason bees will likely find it and live in it.  it won't get too crowded, as mason bees don't live in colonies.  the bees that emerge will be gentle.  the structure requires little to no maintenance from year-to-year (maybe the occasional cleaning) and can cost as little as $20.  your yard will have a faint buzzing sound and your fruits and flowers will rejoice.
my last and most hands-on suggestion is to have a hive.  honey bee hives require weekly maintenance, but they’re really fun.  you will get stung, but quite infrequently and it really doesn't really hurt all that much.  there is a lot to learn and i certainly don't know it all.  i'd advise that you take a class, read a book and i basically insist that you keep in touch with your local beekeeping community if you have a hive of your own.  beekeepers will often share concerns, strategies and advice - the enemies of the bee are constantly evolving, therefore it's essential to chat with others about pest prevention and effectiveness (whether you're open to chemical treatments or not) in your area.  you'll need to spend about $500 on equipment and bees to get set up if you choose to purchase everything for your hive.  your frames will be swarming (pictured above), so if that thought makes you squeamish, this option probably isn't for you.  that being said, honey bees are typically gentle, especially on the frame.  you can harvest the honey humanely, so long as you leave enough to get the bees through the winter and, honestly, they don't really mind you taking it.  when it comes down to it, bees are just really fascinating to observe and the world needs them.
okay, so please continue to love the bees and i'll see you next time! 

- sydney

img5325.png by dani planer

6/21/2016

 
Picture
1.
      this morning before i sleep i kiss u to hanna montana in ur car and the hills of ur eyebrows are
            asking me … what has happened to the sheep
 
      this morning in ur car i would like to tell u about ur kindness (it is a complicated shade of blue)
 
         how it is a shame the way that the members of coldplay can’t dry hump the people they like                    
                to coldplay
   
         how u cannot see ur elbows creating many boxes in the airs when u touch the people u care                    

               for the way u touch the people u care for with the fingies and the palms of ur hands 
2.
      meet me in a field today and i will kiss u with the entirety of my body in exchange
 
          spit on me today and i will try to evaporate the atoms that stop us from touching each other                     
                 fully while completely still in a field recording this all on my v nice video camera
                             (it picks up the way u say hello in v nice detail)
3.
      i would rather kiss u than sleep
 
           i would rather hear u pull the grass from the earth
           
                   close ur eyes and glide ur hands over ur own hands and the hands of the things near u
                       
                               stare at something lacking steadiness (covered by dishes)
           
                                           than sleep
                                                                  than sleep
                                                                                          than sleep
✱✱✱
Picture
dani planer likes trains. if u want some nice train material their twitter is @justababyeagle 

3 poems by alexandra cuzzo

6/17/2016

 

LOOKING OUT, WONDERING

​How often the birds How often the laughing
angels forcing us inside How often the thanking
god for the water in the bottle on the shelf at Costco
and the morning crying outside into tomorrow
morning The breakfast yes and-ing projecting us
into our own laps How often the shopping for a new
self in the aisles of Target, Whole Foods
The kisses exploding back into our mouths our hands
holding nothing holding melted threats
The comma scooping white space into its palm
and the new self emerging and the pausing
of time on the subway which has windows for a reason

​WHEN WE ARE LOVINGLY GIVING

​and we are indifferent sometimes and yes and the cuticles occasionally
bitten to softness over another tax statement and the search bar indicating
some pretty rage within or our knotted fists making houses
in the gorgeous neighborhood of our bodies our attitudes fucking
us sideways and backwards and our forgetting why

​THE MOUNTAIN IN THE HOUSE

​That small moon that tries knowing doesn’t mention
how the kid might find the other moon farther away.
I think about ice. Directions. Lighting the field ‘til prom
makeovers everyone. The simple matchbook burns
terribly in reverse. Touching someone for days: that’s
the stuff. Borrowing the pretty mouth; mouth that
leads my abdomen to the door. A small peach was
thrown, then another.
​​✱✱✱
Picture
Alexandra Cuzzo is a student and writer living in Chicago. She works at a sex shop and always misses her parents. Follow her on Twittter @alexcuzzo

spoken word by orooj-e-zafar

6/16/2016

 

​RE: “You will finally know why storms are named after people.”

I would perform story upon story for you
if you felt the worn soles of my shoes
the familiar way I wear yours. I would,
if I knew you could hear.
 
I will not ask you if you can hear me--
before sound is lost to the earth's atmosphere
it rises to become energy the universe can translate
into light-bulb revelation;
 
I know
you can hear me
 
and I know you choose not to.
 
Before you say I'll be a stage name to the next apocalypse
and I call you a poor imitator, know that it took my parents
two weeks of uninterrupted thought to conjure a name
worthy of my sake.
 
Storms make cameo appearances but I am cosmic
energy, resonating in your stirrups for decades
to come, even
if you don't know it yet. See,
 
rage you call Katrina, I call amnesty;
trust that you call fickle, I call battle-ready.
 
Name me a survivor and I'll write you
an epic till their last breaths and then some;
 
battles don't see the end of the night
 
and if you saw the ends of my fingertips
you would never run out of stories to read.
 
I would show you every strain in the bulk
of my muscles if I knew you were watching.
 
I would listen for the beat of your spine
if I knew your heart knows what it is to thaw--
 
if you called me a storm, I would write you a poem
only to show you
what aftershocks look like,
how the soles of your feet
hug the ground like fallen arches -
like bridges that never saw the fire
coming.
​✱✱✱
Orooj-e-Zafar is a spoken wordsmith from Islamabad, Pakistan who writes too many self-addressed poem-letters in hopes of salvaging her relationship with herself. She thinks she's getting there but until then, she allows herself quiet mornings with Troye Sivan and Perfume Genius. You can find her at:  http://www.facebook.com/oroojezafarwrites

josef ascends mt. purgatory by sophie e. moss

6/15/2016

 
Blood-orange flame lights
yr path toward petty concerns:
Godliness  //  supermarket specials  //
whether Death rents a condo
in the province of the living

—dig through planted netherworlds
for scraps  /  Lap blood
like cat’s milk  /  Pretend to see Adam catch

the night train from Ealing
to Eden—fashion a crown of
feather & soil  /  Think back to 2-4-1
breakfast specials—recall the day you
came home to find the lack  /  Pick a
card from the deck & say  /  we are either
Divine or Deadmeat


​✱✱✱
Picture
Sophie E. Moss is a writer, lover, human, mess. When she isn’t searching for the perfect leather jacket, she writes essays for Luna Luna Magazine and poetry for all the people she used to be. Some of her writing has appeared in After the Pause, Dirty Chai, Quail Bell Magazine, and elsewhere. You can find her on Twitter @Sophiedelays.

2 poems by colby mcadams

6/12/2016

 

glow in the dark

​I vomited for three days straight until it was just blood filling the toilet & I am so angry
with myself I want to cry I want to dissipate into the streetlight just like all the other sad
people who want to cry but can’t because of drugs and the hangover is so stale that my
mouth feels like two chalkboard erasers being banged together when I talk it is pure
dust and I want to disappear, I think I already said that, anyways I don’t disappear
& I sit in front of one of my many mirrors and watch myself because grief is
so pretty
 
to me and I’m afraid that this will be the hangover I can’t outrun and I will wear it
like a stain like the imprints of chalk eraser on the brick wall of the school & nothing
will taste as bad as water tastes to me right now except last night Sam’s friend asked
me for my number & isn’t it funny how unclaimed it made me feel so I gave him
my number because I don’t have a good enough reason not to &
it’s not that I want to feel
 
claimed just tethered as the reality TV star having a breakdown at couple’s therapy
like give me something bigger than myself so I can ruin it
I am sliding slowly
down the couch but slow as a continental drift and I don’t realize it is happening until
I am the floor & honestly that applies to a lot of my life right now and it is Sunday night
but I probably won’t fully wake up until Wednesday and one day I will finally wake up dead but until then
my neighbor is cooking dinner through the wall and most nights we cook dinner
at the same time and I slice zucchini while he pops open a jar of what sounds like sauce and
when it goes quiet on the other side of the wall I assume he is sitting alone at his kitchen table eating silently so I do the same thing and maybe we will always be mirroring each other on opposites sides of a thin wall for the rest of our lives or at least our leases & is that love? because I have no clue what love is
which creates a sadness in me so heavy I am excited it will kill me because I know
 
how loneliness because I know how loneliness because I know how loneliness is
 
as hungry as the moon behind a cloud is wanting to be seen
so I hope that the man through the wall is capable of loving visibly and I hope he makes
someone feel claimed and illuminated & if he can do that for me I will stop
fantasizing about disappearing into a streetlight because planes are so heavy but
somehow they still manage to fly & that makes me more hopeful even
when sleep tastes bad to me and I lie still at 3:37 a.m. until I hear
his mattress groan so I know he is awake too blinking in the darkness
looking for something when there isn’t anything to see

half an obituary

​I will be here not wanting
much more than the view
of Billy’s arm reaching across
the hatchback to silence his phone.
 
Later, the woman is found dead
in the other room, well
technically Rocky Neck Park,
I’ll never know how without
 
an online subscription to The Day
though when I say I imagine her
walking in to the sea, my mother
reminds me Rocky Neck is all forest
 
as if I haven’t noticed
they are being gentle around me
again. 
​✱✱✱
Picture
Colby McAdams is a graduate of the University of Connecticut with a degree in English. Some of her recent work has been featured in Potluck Mag, The Rusty Toque, and The Long River Review. Her hobbies include dominating the aux cord at parties and inviting her demons to dinner with a bottle of wine. You can also find her on twitter @Coco_erin.
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