"Your heart is a muscle the size of your fist.
Keep on loving,
keep on fighting
& hold on
Hold on for your life."
Keep on loving,
keep on fighting
& hold on
Hold on for your life."
-"Your Heart is Muscle a Size of Your Fist", Ramshackle Glory
Fuck Art, Let's Dance
ISSUE #004 / JUNE 2014
IN THIS ISSUE:
POETRY
- Ben Austin
- Volodymyr Bilyk
- Jesus Chameleon
- Nikki Dudley
- Mitchell Grabois
- Jenna Rodrigues
- Nilofer Neubert
- Jazmin S.
- Cee Williams
ART
- Leslie Boroczk
- Bob McNeil
PHOTOGRAPHY
- "Gorgeous Vandalism" w/ Nick Romeo
- Captain Thornton
- Jeremiah Walton
INTERVIEWS
FEATURES
- "On Poetry" w/ Charles Bukowski
- "Half Empty" by Grieves
- Nostrovia! to Beach Sloth
Fuck Art, Let's Dance
ONE POEM - BEN AUSTIN
Ben Austin xx
Austin Functional Shoes Poem
Since he's the darling fuckboy
of whatever it is he does for a living,
he has highly functional shoes
and a name tag with fine print.
He has that "bump" feature on his phone
that never really took off with regular folks.
His office bathroom has wooden floors
and its own pilot light, always on.
He sleeps purposefully in segments:
7:00 pm to 2:30 am
and again from 3:30 am to 5:30 am.
The intervening hour is fundamental
and completely private (no internet).
A scintillating belt buckle, polished by immigrants,
gives away professions and waits for the morning.
of whatever it is he does for a living,
he has highly functional shoes
and a name tag with fine print.
He has that "bump" feature on his phone
that never really took off with regular folks.
His office bathroom has wooden floors
and its own pilot light, always on.
He sleeps purposefully in segments:
7:00 pm to 2:30 am
and again from 3:30 am to 5:30 am.
The intervening hour is fundamental
and completely private (no internet).
A scintillating belt buckle, polished by immigrants,
gives away professions and waits for the morning.
[ INTERVIEW w/ BEN AUSTIN ]
N!: "If you could live in any ancient civilization, which would you choose and why?"
B.A: "Ancient China, it always seems to me like you could disappear back then and no one would find it odd or eccentric."
ONE POEM - JAZMIN S.
XXX by Jazmin S.
Tonight I punched and punched a parking lot floor
He handed me a hundred bucks,
two folded fifties I had given him as a gift to fix a kink in his car.
I took three steps back, let the bills fall to the ground
and it was raining, so they landed
and stayed. He stooped to pick them up
and I should have kicked him in the mouth
that told me it was over; instead I sat down,
in the dark, in the rain, folded my legs Indian-style,
heard him screaming at me, his voice echoing
through the commuter lot like thunder penetrating
an aching brain. A mind that’d had enough, I punched,
no gloves, just flesh over and again,
bare knuckles meshing with the pavement. I banged,
debris speckled and settling into my skin. I rammed
it, as if my fist could dig for sanity, bring me back,
ground me to reality--
two folded fifties I had given him as a gift to fix a kink in his car.
I took three steps back, let the bills fall to the ground
and it was raining, so they landed
and stayed. He stooped to pick them up
and I should have kicked him in the mouth
that told me it was over; instead I sat down,
in the dark, in the rain, folded my legs Indian-style,
heard him screaming at me, his voice echoing
through the commuter lot like thunder penetrating
an aching brain. A mind that’d had enough, I punched,
no gloves, just flesh over and again,
bare knuckles meshing with the pavement. I banged,
debris speckled and settling into my skin. I rammed
it, as if my fist could dig for sanity, bring me back,
ground me to reality--
"Oi! IT'S That guy everyone copies"
“My dear, Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover."
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-Charles Bukowski
ONE POEM - CEE WILLIAMS
Cee Williams is a poet/spoken word artist residing in Erie, Pennsylvania. His work has appeared in the poetry and visual art journal Bathtub Gin (Pathwise Press) and in the "Dwelling in Possibilities" anthology, edited by Berwyn Moore. In 2010 Williams was named as a finalist for the Erie County Poet Laureate award. He is the founder and director of Poets’ Hall- the International Fellowship of Poets and Spoken Word Artists for which he was the recipient of the EMBYP 2011 award for Business Innovation.
Troop Zero
The saliva
was directed towards my cousin
so I didn't cry...like he did
the epithet however
was meant for the both us
black boy scouts
selling candy bars
in the suburbs.
was directed towards my cousin
so I didn't cry...like he did
the epithet however
was meant for the both us
black boy scouts
selling candy bars
in the suburbs.
ONE POEM - JESUS CHAMELEON
Jesus Chameleon is the anonym of an American poet, a Catholic poet, an emerging poet, and a new poet; and, an essayist. So far, published works by this poet have been mostly very obscure lyric pieces.
To & From
I
looked
askance
at a board.
In the sand,
beneath the moon,
by the rocks, onshore,
above some empty space,
a huge frog hunches forward
just beneath the rolling hillside.
Eating a tasty, pickled radish,
burying beige bowling pins in the sand,
reading a good and proper opened book,
loving a bow tie on a small pussy;
with champagne glass tipped over in sand,
the biggest heart drifted nether.
Near, the emptiness of love,
reaching for grassy blades,
climbing the hillside,
mending each step,
had returned
hither;
home.
looked
askance
at a board.
In the sand,
beneath the moon,
by the rocks, onshore,
above some empty space,
a huge frog hunches forward
just beneath the rolling hillside.
Eating a tasty, pickled radish,
burying beige bowling pins in the sand,
reading a good and proper opened book,
loving a bow tie on a small pussy;
with champagne glass tipped over in sand,
the biggest heart drifted nether.
Near, the emptiness of love,
reaching for grassy blades,
climbing the hillside,
mending each step,
had returned
hither;
home.
ONE POEM - JENNA RODRIGUES
Jenna Rodrigues is a storyteller, scientist, and advocate for social change.
Starfish
When they find your life lacking,
vent, like New York City steam
rising out ominous grates.
Hit nerves like a bad phlebotomist.
Teach your skin to thicken.
Plaque in arteries
gives more pressure
to pump blood.
This is for the kids
listening to coming out speeches
through headphones:
We vertebrates are
most related to starfish.
Chordata and Echinodermata,
two adjacent branches on
a tree equal parts family and evolution.
So when they say your sexuality is just a phase,
fillet limbs off your identity like
sport fishermen on today’s catch,
ask our cousins how to
regenerate arms.
By this, they will know
they cannot cut you.
Our bodies learned to
turn rejection to fuel long ago.
vent, like New York City steam
rising out ominous grates.
Hit nerves like a bad phlebotomist.
Teach your skin to thicken.
Plaque in arteries
gives more pressure
to pump blood.
This is for the kids
listening to coming out speeches
through headphones:
We vertebrates are
most related to starfish.
Chordata and Echinodermata,
two adjacent branches on
a tree equal parts family and evolution.
So when they say your sexuality is just a phase,
fillet limbs off your identity like
sport fishermen on today’s catch,
ask our cousins how to
regenerate arms.
By this, they will know
they cannot cut you.
Our bodies learned to
turn rejection to fuel long ago.
Gorgeous Vandalism
PHOTOGRAPHY - NICK ROMEO
"I am on a mission to clear the eyes of humanity’s instinctive apathetic pursuit of the norm; while creating unique and inspiring works of art, which challenge the psyche."
Nick Romeo is a self-taught photographer, sculptor of "spent technologies", & digital artist. He creates fractal pattern projections, 3D digital renderings, writes poetry, & produces physical audio/video art installations.
Nick's art has been published by the Pittsburgh City Paper, Streetcake Magazine, the New Pittsburgh Currier, among other venues of photography / poetry. His art / photos / installations have been display at the Sweetwater Center for the Arts, Pittsburgh Comicon, the Galleria Mall, the South Arts Gallery, & the Irma Freeman Center for Imagination, & the list goes on & on into dozens of other local / national establishments.
Dig some of his shots below:
TWO POEMS - VOLODYMYR BILYK
untitled[s]
Just for a second or so
Impudent girlie girl
annoyed by scratch
is up to cheek her cheek
in spite
in spite
of future pamper...
oh...
Gall gal, you better -
rush or gush or hush
or just rehear that line.
Impudent girlie girl
annoyed by scratch
is up to cheek her cheek
in spite
in spite
of future pamper...
oh...
Gall gal, you better -
rush or gush or hush
or just rehear that line.
***
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|
fair moment,
well-nigh daring filly swift
enrages Old Scratch
by the kissslap
- bad
the next persistency will spoil the fury
fond of knacky haste of fit
well-nigh daring filly swift
enrages Old Scratch
by the kissslap
- bad
the next persistency will spoil the fury
fond of knacky haste of fit
ONE POEM - NIKKI DUDLEY
Nikki Dudley is co-editor of Streetcake Magazine, a rag for experimental writing. She is author of the novels "Ellipsis" (Sparkling Books) & "Semblance", along with her chapbook "exits/origins" (The Knives, Forks, and Spoons Press).
"Why am I passionate? I'm passionate because life is boring if you have
no interests and things you really believe in. Writing is a compulsion
that I can't fight, which keeps me going through good and bad days."
3.
Don't dye
yourself that colour, that grey cloud
where I can't find you.
Thunder and light ending have been
on the horror eye son for months and
months have been taunting.
Closer and Closer in the mirror like a crash chasing
me as I drive us
to someplace I don't know, back
in your brain, the tissue con tauts.
-Remember- where we need
to go to gather ourselves.
Don't die I tell you but the blood pores over you
like a lover. Stop the car
yourself that colour, that grey cloud
where I can't find you.
Thunder and light ending have been
on the horror eye son for months and
months have been taunting.
Closer and Closer in the mirror like a crash chasing
me as I drive us
to someplace I don't know, back
in your brain, the tissue con tauts.
-Remember- where we need
to go to gather ourselves.
Don't die I tell you but the blood pores over you
like a lover. Stop the car
ONE POEM - MITCHELL GRABOIS
M. Krochmalnik Grabois’ poems have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad. He is a regular contributor to The Prague Revue, & has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, most recently for his story “Purple Heart” published in The Examined Life in 2012, and for his poem. “Birds,” published in The Blue Hour, 2013. His novel, "Two-Headed Dog", based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for 99 cents from Kindle and Nook, or as a print edition.
On My Way to Work
My grandmother is in every tree
Ants crawl on every branch
Dukes in top hats and
duchesses in bustled dresses
watch nubile young women
wrestle in jello
Jihad continues
without interruption
Ants crawl on every branch
Dukes in top hats and
duchesses in bustled dresses
watch nubile young women
wrestle in jello
Jihad continues
without interruption
ONE POEM - NILOFER NEUBERT
Nilofer Neubert is an educator, writer and spoken word poet. She is the Editor and Co-Founder of Prosaic Magazine, an alternative art and culture magazine based in Singapore. Her poems have been published in The Fat City Review, Wallflowers, and other literary magazines.
Why I Always Root for the Underdog
The best poet I know
is a fifteen year old daughter
who tries to put words into the mouths of comets
from the comfort of her bedroom walls.
Nobody knows that her art
creates a barrier that protects Earth
from any harm.
The best painter I know
is a three year old son
who dips his fingers in oil paint,
imitating the actions of his mother who buries herself in her drawing room.
Nobody knows that his art
is the spark that made the core of Earth warm
for all to live in.
The best photographer I know
is a thirty year old father
who captures birthdays and weddings
with a camera that colours black and white pastel.
Nobody knows that his art
shoots orchid seeds into the Earth
planting the next generation of up-and –coming artists.
The best storyteller I know
is a sixty year old grandpa
whose rusty voice
charms his grandchildren into listening to symphonies of experience.
Nobody knows that his art
fertilizes the soil, encouraging orchid plants to grow leaves
to deflect bullets that try to pollute fresh minds.
The best chef I know
is a fifty year old grandma
whose arthritic fingers
shoot magic into empty pots.
Nobody knows that her art
boils to sieve out vanilla orchids
whose petals are bandages for all the broken hearts that need mending.
The best curator I know
is me, just an average observer,
whose pin hole camera
has wide angled lens.
Nobody knows that my art
is a rare vanilla orchid fruit,
only extraordinary because of the ordinary.
is a fifteen year old daughter
who tries to put words into the mouths of comets
from the comfort of her bedroom walls.
Nobody knows that her art
creates a barrier that protects Earth
from any harm.
The best painter I know
is a three year old son
who dips his fingers in oil paint,
imitating the actions of his mother who buries herself in her drawing room.
Nobody knows that his art
is the spark that made the core of Earth warm
for all to live in.
The best photographer I know
is a thirty year old father
who captures birthdays and weddings
with a camera that colours black and white pastel.
Nobody knows that his art
shoots orchid seeds into the Earth
planting the next generation of up-and –coming artists.
The best storyteller I know
is a sixty year old grandpa
whose rusty voice
charms his grandchildren into listening to symphonies of experience.
Nobody knows that his art
fertilizes the soil, encouraging orchid plants to grow leaves
to deflect bullets that try to pollute fresh minds.
The best chef I know
is a fifty year old grandma
whose arthritic fingers
shoot magic into empty pots.
Nobody knows that her art
boils to sieve out vanilla orchids
whose petals are bandages for all the broken hearts that need mending.
The best curator I know
is me, just an average observer,
whose pin hole camera
has wide angled lens.
Nobody knows that my art
is a rare vanilla orchid fruit,
only extraordinary because of the ordinary.
ONE POEM - HARRY BAXTER
Harry J. Baxter is 19 yr old English Writer living in Richmond VA. Harry is passionate because it is the only thing in life worth doing. You can find Harry in Richmond or online http://hellopoetry.com/harry-j-baxter/.
Have You Found God?
priestess you have found me shameful in my wanting
my sin, your stubbed toe
you curse me
in ways I have never heard -
but I found God -
I found God in the silence of quiet night time street
and the bathroom floor
God came into the restaurant once
he didn’t tip
but he did turn all the water into wine
God sleeps by the bus shelter
and asks for cigarettes
God is an old insane man in the halfway house
he sells me his piano CD’s for five bucks a pop
I read his libretto once, it was alright
God is a family man - a father
but every Friday night around 630 PM
you can find him at the bar, because a guy has to cut loose sometimes
God asked me for directions to the Garden of Eden
and sleeps with a night light
Oh priestess, I know you lament your long lost husband
in long forgotten altars to the old world
just know he’s out there
always in the last place you look
my sin, your stubbed toe
you curse me
in ways I have never heard -
but I found God -
I found God in the silence of quiet night time street
and the bathroom floor
God came into the restaurant once
he didn’t tip
but he did turn all the water into wine
God sleeps by the bus shelter
and asks for cigarettes
God is an old insane man in the halfway house
he sells me his piano CD’s for five bucks a pop
I read his libretto once, it was alright
God is a family man - a father
but every Friday night around 630 PM
you can find him at the bar, because a guy has to cut loose sometimes
God asked me for directions to the Garden of Eden
and sleeps with a night light
Oh priestess, I know you lament your long lost husband
in long forgotten altars to the old world
just know he’s out there
always in the last place you look
NOSTROVIA! to Beach Sloth
"Passion ought to drive people forward. Life is not a groove life is something to be pursued with the largest possible amount of energy available."
Nostrovia! would like to extend a massive THANK YOU to anonymous writer & blogger Beach Sloth.
This Sloth was kind enough to do a write up on Books & Shovels, our traveling bookstore, & its Mission. Through 2014, s/he has been an active contributor to N!, providing thoughtful interviews sharing both emerging / established writers & creatives.
Before s/he joined up w/ N!, we reviewed this Sloth’s chapbook "I Want to Youtube Down the Rivers of America". This particularly esteemed Sloth has received coverage from publications such as The Guardian & Electric Lit, among many many other crevices of the Internet.
Add Beach Sloth on Facebook. Show this Sloth love for the hard work he does w/ providing coverage to members of our arts community, providing thoughts & promotions to a wild diversity of creative persons.