sample of mint leaf ÷ matrix equation ÷ the end of the season ÷ relatively peaceful ÷ a raised stone basement ÷ beyond the clouds ÷ performance and precision ÷ the science of human history ÷ seen to be sympathetic ÷ this pathway is suppressed ÷ boob tube inanities ÷ wrecked off the coast ÷ completely in lowercase ÷ eternal dream ÷ group stage ÷ coach of the dragonflies ÷ superparticular ÷ all animals be stunned ÷ the variegated pink ÷ determiner of shoe size
the first machines to meet ʘ against kinetic energy ʘ symbols and markings ʘ making of answer ʘ see graphic ʘ a complete renovation ʘ tapering to a sharp point ʘ to peak at the same position ʘ the apparent similarity ʘ prefabricated buildings ʘ approved by the unicode ʘ philology and papyrology ʘ not available in most chain stores ʘ the mirror ʘ slender and slightly narrowed ʘ this good-versus-evil plot ʘ undone by reliability ʘ a symbol of the river ʘ water pistol ʘ in times of war
MRCZ (Marcos) is a Brazilian artist born in 1991. He was born into a small town of ~3000 people and lived for years in a countryside house with his parents, which he believes to have changed him forever. He currently lives in the large city of Porto Alegre where he works in publicity. He started his artistic work in 2015, creating daily between college design courses and work. His main objective was to make something he could pour his entire heart into - to immerse himself completely. His productions are a way of expressing the challenges that come with the responsibilities of adulthood in a grand city. His inspirations include comics, music, the human mind and its gimmicks, philosophy, fiction and science. You can find more of his work here.
if i was 2 write a poem –
to marry you
have your baby
carry your luggage
allowing me to trim your moustache
u trimming my sideburns
throwing out used collected tampons
hiding the remote
letting u throw your farts at me
the UFO sized plug –
drain cover –
listen to it whistle
as the water
in its insides
too small –
i will sit on it
no that’s not grease
from a sausage roll
don’t shake your fist
it reminds me of –
my scribbling hand
no longer keeping hid
functions of the body
putting loo roll down first
the door shut
with fist to mouth
chewing silently -
do it loud enough now to –
wind you up
watch you go
love is heedless laughter
disgustingly lovely –
give us a kiss no no not an
elbow in my ribs
are u drunk
yes ioz’m drunk
look it is almost happy hour
would you rather
this won’t make sense later
i’m always trying to be somebody
as if i don’t quite fit myself
in this shell \of
difficult to control
who reads the instructions
i don’t understand Japanese
i learnt French –
now all i can remember is
and oral examinations
which were never what
i thought they may be
and an enthusiastic teacher
a voice which
and he was
in his gestures
manner of a pm
seemed to like me-
he left suddenly
a lot of people –
have left me
without say so
as if i didn’t need to be aware
their leaving but kind faces-
do not often stay
with their lessons
have i taken any of it in –
still i walk
the darkened pathway.
"I’ve been fascinated with light and the mechanics of photography for a long time. This collection of photos was about trying to capture the flow of natural light, using the southern coasts of Cape Town, South Africa, as a subject. I wanted to try and capture the mood of the environment in Cape Town in winter: cold, rainy, brooding and wet. The exposures were long enough that the ocean ended up looking almost like clouds, smoky and flowing, rather than the crispness that comes with regular exposures.
I prefer the process of taking landscapes on film and the texture that comes with the medium. Taking long exposures on film without any reference about the results is always a bit unnerving, but it’s also more exciting when you finally get back the images. Shooting with film also forces me to really slow down and carefully focus on the frame I want, as looking at the image I took and doing a quick correction of course isn’t possible. Every shot becomes more tangible. The way light moves is never really predictable, so getting back the negatives is, for me, a more interesting process than getting immediate feedback from a digital screen and then snapping off tons of pictures till you eventually get what you want. I’ve learnt to embrace the imperfections rather than dwell on them."
moved to a new city
where fountains burst into cement
my insides are on a time-change, i’m lagged
the architecture is beautiful, my insides say
i don’t understand the culture
or the street signs,
are the new city
i’m not into this city, and no
i can’t walk through walls, i’ve tried
and most of the time windows
keep you indoors
i’ll change the buildings
that hang from the sky into curtains
you aren’t even a body you are
a hallway of mirrors
you are a backdrop
a staged room
to fool me
to a room
we hang our skin
across from each other
lay my organs in the closet
as knotted stockings
pour your blood
on the bed as
out the window
at the buildings that hang from the sky
at cities where water rushes upwards
and buildings blow in the wind
we crawl out the window
and grope the tapestry
we coil fingers
and oh this
giada cattaneo is an italian illustrator and word-lover with a strong italian accent. some call her "honey jade". she momved to miami after completing her bachelor's degree in history of contemporary art at the university of bolgna. she is passionate, positive and colourful. see more of her work here.
how do I describe this to you so you can begin to understand
that I c a n n o t compromise my sanity anymore and must learn to compartmentalize
and live with the clamoring in my skull.
except that describing a migraine is the clinician’s job. if we gave it to the poet, how might she respond?
case study #31:
my mind feels like it took a dip into the aokigahara forest,
but the skull feels like nick and jordan just met owl eyes in the library.
herr doktor doktor, you keep telling me to express myself, so here goes.
the ghost keeps haunting the sugar bowl and reminds me it’s there with that imaginary ringing.
What did you call it? Sn Disease, also known as Tin Man Syndrome, cross-referenced as Tinnitus?
that should be right, doktor.
I won’t have to get BOTOX® like my mom, right? it’s not that bad, but where’s my closed car when it rains?
pedagogic recipe for fried thoughts:
in a mood that feels like drifting, throw the cutlets into a frying pan hot with oil,
sear and spatter in rosemary to linger with shriveled memories.
if to your taste, blacken it and then serve with edible flowers and sprinkled with gold dust
and 50 mg of ground up ibuprofen.
The straw that broke the camel’s back
is the same one I drew that one time
no one wanted to do the difficult thing.
Now it’s in a museum at a mid-major
university, next to an unflattering picture
of me. One of these things (the straw,
the picture of me, me) is omnipresent:
some serious philosophical territory.
Someone “into analytics” is certainly
a type of person who exists, but never
flexes their interest for humankind.
Our tour guide tries to hide this secret
love from us. He avoids the direct light.
It's like people only do these things because
they can get paid. And that's just really sad.
taking the long way home
to tell me you’re tired
I am tired
scouring the bottom of my feet
looking for reasons to look back
leaving pieces of myself
everywhere I go
a stream of everything I consider,
slipping out of my heels,
bouncing off the concrete
and back into my mouth,
but losing bits along the way
bits I’ve scavenged for
bits I’ve fought for
bits of you that you’ve been looking for
I’m tracking things in the house now
you’re upset, because I never take my shoes off
I never turn my mind off
I’m upset because you don’t call me by name
as if I blend in with the books and the towel rack
you own every bit of me you wish to see
and I keep dragging
the other bits in
the ones of me that cared for someone else
the ones of me that never cared for myself
they’re all here
in the other room
down the hall
there’s a password
knock three times and they’ll ask which way I fall
the answer is forwards
always stumbling into uncomfortability
into the heavy brown that weighs on me every time
you catch me with your eyes
and string me up in the rafters
then glance elsewhere fleeting suspension as I hover over the ground
and dropping me to the floor,
breaking the smaller bits
the bits that aren’t replaceable
you say you are tired
truly you are tired of who I made myself be
you’ve explored all my caverns
all my interesting
all my depraved
and you’d like to trade me in
for a smoother, seamless smile
one that won’t care for unwanted bits
one that will ignore your missteps
and gather your loose ends behind you
one that will fit
Jonathon Prestidge (formerly known as Jonathon Baker) has been producing collage art since early 1993, ever since he first discovered the work of artists John Yates and collage master Winston Smith. Jonathon was so impressed with the cutting, surreal and informative illustrations that he immediately decided to attempt his own creations.
Jonathon first began publishing his work in various underground magazines, including his own punk zine “Greedy Pigs”, but as the internet ballooned in popularity he began his own various web galleries and other people’s sites and blogs.
Recently, Jonathon has and has put together a free digital magazine to also showcase the work of other underground collage artists called “Cultural Dissection”. He also sells his work as t shirts and prints using various print on demand services. There is also a book of Jonathon's collage art in production.