ISSUE 138 | JUNE 2025 GRAHAM FRANCIOSE, SILENT ROAR KHLA: KRYSTI JOMÉI A CLOCKWORK ORANGE: JONNY DESTEFANO CATNIP: JULIANNA BECKERT PRIMORYE CABIN: KAYVAN S. T. KHALATBARI JIJI: CRISTIN COLVIN PATTERNS: MARK MOTHERSBAUGH 9 LIVES: AMANDA SHAFER KINTARO: ALAN ROY SABRE-TOOTH: DANIEL LANDES FRONT COVER: MARK MOTHERSBAUGH, FROM THE POSTCARD DIARIES - ART FROM MARK'S 75TH BDAY BASH BACK COVER: FUTURE RUINS - FUTURERUINS.COM FERTILE CRESCENT: GRAHAM FRANCIOSE, ZAC DUNN, NICK FLOOK, JOEL TAGERT, RAY YOUNG CHU, BRIAN POLK, JOE VAUX, BEATIE WOLFE, HANA ZITTEL, JOSH KEYES, RYANE ROSE, ERIC JOYNER CARNASSIAL: DAVID PLATT, BRIAN ENO, MANUELA BATES, KENT MONKMAN, IAN WINSHIP, BRYAN BEAST, BEN MACNAIR, ALESSANDRO GALLO, DAVE DANZARA, JORDAN DOLL, JASON WHITE, MICHAEL ROGACHEVSKY, DANG. ALEYA HOERLEIN, KAIT O'BRIEN, LILAC, ISAAC BURTON HOME BASE: MARIANO OREAMUNO, DS THORNBURG, PHIL GARZA, ZAC DUNN, CRISTIN COLVIN SUPPORT OUR FRIENDS AND BENEFACTORS: MEOW WOLF, BROOM BOOK & CANDLE: HORROR WRITERS RETREAT, MUTMUZ GALLERY, MUTINY INFORMATION CAFE, DENVER THEATRE DISTRICT, UNDERSTUDY, DENVER ART MUSEUM, THE BLACK MONARCH HOTEL, MONKEY BARREL, ART CARD DISPATCH, MAGIC CYCLOPS, MONKEY MINDFUL, THE IMPLIERS: MIXED MESSAGES, PLANNED PARENTHOOD OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS, WATERCOURSE FOODS, OFF THE BOTTLE REFILL SHOP, BENNY BLANCO'S, FUTURE RUINS, TOXOPLASMA ARTS HELP US GROW - FOLLOW - IG: @BIRDY.MAGAZINE | FB: @BIRDYMAGAZINE SUPPORT BIRDY - 6 & 12 MAILED SUBSCRIPTIONS + ISSUES + MERCH: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SHOP ADVERTISE IN BIRDY + KEEP INDEPENDENT ART ALIVE: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/CONTACT-US BE IN BIRDY – ART + WORDS + COMEDY + ET CETERA: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SUBMISSIONS BIRDY IS WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT, ROAMING MONTHLY ©2025 BIRDY MAGAZINE, ALWAYS LANDING ON OUR FEET
ART BY DAVID PLATT - @DAVIDPLATTART
THE BLANKS By Zac Dunn The blanks All fired into the canvas like horns of a ram Locked in the fence so defenseless To resist the sunrise and coyotes That circle the weakened creatures Shadow and shallow breathes of missteps Or mysterious doors lacking knobs that All knock back prior to knuckles That dust the lacquered finish and Shine back hesitation rather THAN diminishing returns The spaces in places so bold yet blanks of cannons that rusted to ramparts seek to intimidate the fleet yet miss the steel balls and powders embrace Exploding over olde bays into calm harbors that hide hidden truths we used to know which way the wind could blow us out to cast nets and earn the simple harvest of respect The blanks all chained together whatever consequence or consonants prowl over rabid vowels and proud owls giving whoots and catching puss in boots on hot tin roofs or slinking on granite stoops that offer brownstone hopes that gloat mason’s spackle and integrity or audacity to place stones so precise they explode from nothingness to become a home The blanks touch of the brush so rushed it squibs forgetting canvas and crate paper wrapped so simple and left to tackle haste on galleys or bows that hunger to hide rust from the salt that eats its essence so quickly too and feeds anchors spools of steel loins that scream foul behind buoys that mark schools of fish who hope to find holes in nets and return to the blank embrace of open waters upon … FIN 8:22 on DEKALB FOLLOW FOR MORE — IG: @UZIEGO | TUMBLR: @SAVAGESNEVERSLEEPNYC 3
NICK FLOOK, RISE AND SHINE - @FLOOKO
BEST OF 107 No. 138
GRAB BIRDY AT MARK MOTHERSBAUGH'S MUTMUZ GALLERY IN CHINATOWN, LA ISSUE 135 COVER BY JOE VAUX
LEVITY FIRST, AND THEN WE CRY TOGETHER BY BRIAN POLK I EXPERIENCE GREAT HUMILIATION WHEN I WAIT FOR THE WALK SIGNAL AND THE PERSON NEXT TO ME GOES FOR IT, AND MAKES IT SAFELY ACROSS THE STREET WHILE I’M LEFT STANDING THERE LIKE AN IDIOT I remedy this by feeling like a coward and subsequently summoning the courage to go for it myself, only to have a car come out of nowhere No. 138 and honk at me for crossing against the light. I’m not sure how dignity comes so easily to you people. I HATE IT WHEN YOU GO ON VACATION AND THERE ARE ALL THESE TOURISTS THERE I mean, I paid all this money to have a good time and not get lost in
a sea of other vacationers doing the exact same thing as me. It’s just inconsiderate, is what it is. I mean, the nerve of some people (like me). THE NEXT SEGMENT AFTER THIS IS PRETTY HEAVY, SO I’M WRITING THIS ONE AS A TRANSITION Life isn’t all gum drops, moon pies, skipping down the street in a carefree manner, sleeping late because you can, orgasms, having your shoelaces stay tied all day, riding bikes at dusk, gelato, discovering a new favorite song, laughing at your best friend’s joke, dancing a jig, having your work crush compliment you, going “wooooo” at your favorite band so they play an encore, and petting dogs. Eventually you’re going to have to go to the dentist and get sick, you know? Sometimes life is sobering, because it has to be. I don’t like it either, but that’s the way it is. OKAY, YOU READY? Buckle up, ‘cause here we go. A LETTER TO AN OLD FRIEND I’m glad we got to talk when I was going through the worst of it. It may have been a simple conversation to you, but it meant the world to me. As you know, things have been so bad for me for so long. And there were many times I didn’t handle it well at all. I kind of lost it for a while there. But whenever I talked to you, it instantly calmed me down. I’m not sure what I did to deserve to have someone like you in my life. But you’ve been there over and over when things were almost unbearable. I still have pictures of us from when we were kids. We were so young and happy. It's hard to believe we were ever that way. Who would’ve known how many bad things were about to happen to us? Or how many good things as well, I guess. You know, that’s one thing wrong with me that I can’t seem to fix: I always forget to think about the good things. It’s a shame you’re so far away these days. It’d be nice to grab a drink or food or coffee. Or all of them in one sitting — just to catch up on everything. I never had to try to think of things to say when you were around. It’s almost as if the words couldn’t wait to get out — like they were just dying to get to you. And you were okay with that. In fact, that’s why our time together is always so amazing. I’m so lucky you just want to be around me because of who I am. And every time we get together, you appreciate everything about me. You love me for being me. How heartwarming and fortunate and beautiful is that? Really I just wanted you to know that I think of you sometimes. And when I do, it brings a smile to my face. After everything that happened, I did make it through, thanks in large part to you. So I wanted to say hello, and tell you that you mean a lot to me. Because I don’t want anyone else to die before they know that. So thank you for being you. I’m so glad you’re you. I’m so relieved you’re you. I love you and can’t wait to see you again. ART BY RAY YOUNG CHU - BEST OF ISSUE 017 9
JOE VAUX, GREEN MACHINE - IG + BSKY- @JOEVAUX
Ambient trailblazing legend Brian Eno and art x science innovator Beatie Wolfe followed their feelings for their new pair of sonic creations: Luminal and Lateral. Luminal is Electric-Country-DreamMusic, an unexpected journey through myriad of emotions and soundscapes with Beatie exploring new vocal frontiers in synergy with Brian’s undeniable audio wizardry. Lateral is Ambient-LandscapeSpace-Music, a continuous zero gravity theta level state of sound. United by their mutual commitment to the intersection of art and the environment at their renowned 2022 SXSW talk, Art & Climate, their paths crossed again the following year in London. Beatie was exhibiting her brain installation imPRINTING at Somerset House while Brian was showing with light sculpturist Dan Flavin at Paul Stolper Gallery. Just like their encounters, their stars aligned for this musical collaboration when they found themselves organically writing and recording throughout 2024, with the albums taking shape in real-time. As a result, Luminal and Lateral is a piece of art that serves as a home for feelings, ranging from the familiar to those never quite felt before to those we don’t even have the language to express. Audibly encompassed in a boundless dream world meets vast outer space, we’re reminded here that, like both expanses, our feelings, though full of the unknown, are ripe for exploration. We just have to dive in. No. 138 Brian and Beatie talk about feeling the feels in the making of Luminal and Lateral. Brian Eno: With these records there wasn’t a single modus operandi. We didn't think about a strategy or that we were making records. We just started playing and we enjoyed playing together so much. Like two kids who meet in the school yard and get on well. Beatie Wolfe: And share each other’s toys. Brian: Yeah, we didn’t have many toys. That was a big part of it. We did the whole three albums really on one microphone and one guitar and quite a bit of software, but not that much these days. Beatie: I think with everything we’ve made, which is really across a very wide spectrum, we started out with nothing, with each layer then informing the next, wouldn’t you say? Brian: Yeah, because of the way we work, we never start out with the thought, Let’s write a song, or let’s write a landscape or something like that. Instead we just follow our noses like little piggies and see what happens. Beatie: When a piece of music did feel like it was in the song territory, which is what Luminal became a home for, the question was, “If this music could speak, what would it say?” That was kind of the approach PHOTOS BY MANUELA BATAS
with the voice and lyrics. Brian: Yeah, making the feelings in the music a little bit more pointed. Sharpening up some of the feelings that are already there. Beatie: And also seeing if it was possible to have a voice in this land without a personality to it. Brian: Yeah. Most of the pieces I think started from us making a kind of landscape and then seeing if we could populate it with a voice Beatie: A new kind of cowboy Brian: Yep. A cowboy who loves the cows and understands them and feels on the same wavelength. Because Electric-Country-Dream-Music is about the idea of open landscapes (not people in middle America), and there’s a lot of that in this. Beatie: “Big Empty Country” Brian: It really has a feeling of openness and wideness ... Beatie: And aliveness Brian: Yes. And not sweetness exactly. But I think I’d say it had a feeling of peace to it. Beatie: Originally it was eight minutes long. I was actually back in California. Brian was somewhere deep in the heart of the English countryside and we had both, somehow, on the same day, looped the original eight minute piece eight times. Brian: Oh yeah, that’s right. Beatie: Thinking that it needed to be longer. We wrote to one another pretty much at the same time saying, “Hey, I think this could be extended to around an hour,” because it felt so good to listen to. So that was pretty synchronistic. Brian: Yes. That was very interesting. I’d forgotten that. I think people often find in music the world they would prefer to live in. Now if you are cynical, you can dismiss that as escapism, but I don't think it's escapism. I think it's about trying to find the world that you would like to live in. It helps you to make that world, and that world in “Big Empty Country” is very real to me. It’s where I would like to live. It has breadth, it has possibility, it has change, and sometimes turbulence. It's not sanitized. It has some wildness to it. So I think when you make music like that, when you make music that suggests a different world or invokes a different world, what you are really doing is saying to people, how about this as a future? What does that feel like to you? Beatie: A lot of this is really about feelings, familiar and foreign. Brian: Yeah, like “Play On” is a very unusual mood because it’s really a combination of moods, of feelings, but it’s a combination I don’t think I’ve ever heard before. Is that what you’d say? Beatie: Oh yeah, exactly. It’s a complex mixture of unlikely bedfellows ... ecstasy and anger, passion and purity, the monstrous and the beautiful … Brian: Yes, so much of the thrill of making music is finding new feelings, new mixtures of feelings. That’s when it feels like something worth doing. Beatie: With all of this music there was no forethought about what was going to happen, but then as soon as these moods or landscapes or environments started to emerge and we’d realise, Oh, I really want to be here, it was about extending and expanding that. And especially when it was complex or ambiguous. Like your fascination with perfumery because of it containing so many complex notes that in theory shouldn't go together. But actually that's what makes it so intoxicating. LUMINAL AND LATERAL ARE OUT ON ECO-FRIENDLY BIOVINYL, CD & DIGITAL DOWNLOAD. LISTEN, WATCH, ORDER: BRIANENO.LNK.TO/BRIANBEATIE 13
BY HANA ZITTEL Hunchback by Saō Ichikawa, Translated by Polly Barton (2025) “What a funny old ecosystem, where these meaningless sounds transliterated by a middle-aged, severely disabled virgin generate income by setting people’s honeypots aquiver.” Shaka was born with myotubular myopathy, a non-degenerative, genetic condition resulting in muscle weakness. She requires assistance breathing and eating, and uses an electric wheelchair to get around. Living in the care facility she owns, Shaka spends her days in distance learning, reading on her iPad, writing erotic fiction, and tweeting her innermost desires with the assumption that they would never be seen. Her tweets, expound on her fantasies, “In another life, I’d like to work as a high-class prostitute.” In another she states, “My ultimate dream is to get pregnant and have an abortion, just like a normal woman.” When the female caretaker normally assigned to bathe Shaka calls out, Shaka chooses to have a male staff member take over. Tanaka, insecure and jealous of Shaka’s wealth, is assigned the task. This experience ushers in a changed dynamic for the two characters, all the while Tanaka’s resentment continues to boil. Soon he reveals he’s seen her tweets, leading to a proposition that shifts Shaka’s desires into reality. Saō Ichikawa’s debut novella is a raw look at sexuality, desire and disability in Japanese culture. Subversive and honest, Hunchback ventures between darkness, sincerity and points of humor, resulting in an unexpected piece of fiction centered on moving through the world with a disability. Ichikawa won the Akutagawa Prize in 2023 making her the first disabled writer to win the literary prize in history. Pilot Imposter by James Hannaham (2021) Six years after the release of his PEN/Faulkner Award winning novel, Delicious Foods, James Hannaham released the amalgam of literary forms and visuals, Pilot Imposter. Consisting of poetry, screenshots, short stories and reflections, this experimental work breaks forms to result in a unique collection. An unlikely influence, Hannaham's watching of the show Air Disasters takes a central focus of the collection with many of the poems and stories exploring these famous airplane tragedies. In Pilot Impostor 3 he takes the voice of a pilot and his self-consumed, horrifying decision to intentionally crash his plane after taking a huge hit in the stock market. “The copilot is banging on the door. I wish I hadn’t had to lock him out. He’s a good person too. I guess he has a family as well, and so do the passengers. But none of them have the same kind of doubts hanging over them as I do.” Among the stories of plane crashes, the impact of his reading of Fernando Pessoa and the 2016 election of Donald Trump emerge throughout the book. Along with life, death, race, identity and love, Hannaham captures immense complexity into confined spaces with expertly crafted writing and imagery. On death, Hannaham writes, “About death, we know nothing. But our impressions make it seem incredibly boring. Eternal sleep? ‘Rest’? Perpetual silence? Decomposition? Bad. Just Bad. Not even bad like a bad vacation. Bad like a business trip to Ohio where they make you pay upfront for a nondescript hotel where it’s the anniversary of 9/11 every morning and they serve mini-muffins and complimentary Starbucks coffee between the times where the planes hit the Trade Towers.” Absurd and profound, Hannaham has crafted an engaging collection that manages to consistently shift forms while maintaining its themes. Hannaham followed up Pilot Imposter with 2022’s Didn’t Nobody Give a Shit What Happened to Carlotta, which won the Hurston/ Wright Legacy Award for fiction. No. 138
JOSH KEYES, STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN
BEST OF 018 Subject 627-119 opened his eyes to the harsh fluorescent lighting of a room he had never seen before which, oddly, felt very familiar. He sat up, yawned and scanned the room. Several serious-looking men in lab coats were hovering over some sort of clipboards, taking scrupulous notes on his every movement. Not a sound was made between them besides the hurried skitter of fingers over pads. “Hello,” Subject 627-119 said to the men, “my name is Walter Green. I’m not sure what is going on here. Was I in an accident?” Excited gasps and a fit of hurried note-taking took over the room. Finally one man stepped forward. It was then that Walter realized he was surrounded by a cylinder of glass. He looked down at the smooth white metal table he was laying on and back to the man who stepped forward. “Can you hear me through that glass?” Walter asked a bit louder this time. “Yes. Yes, Walter, we can hear you very clearly. No need to yell,” the man said. “My name is Dr. Kowalsky. Can you tell me how you are feeling?” Walter looked down at himself, lifted his hands, flexed his fingers and wiggled his toes at the end of the table. He turned his hands over and looked at them as if it was the first time. “Well, I feel a little funny, Doc. Like maybe I am still waking up. I’ve got pins and needles all over. Besides that, everything feels like it’s in tip-top shape. Moving, at least. Was I hurt?” Another bout of excited gasps spread throughout the room. Dr. Kowalsky turned on the others with a stern stare that sent them quietly to their work. “No, no. Nothing like that, Walter. You just had, uh, let’s call it a little operation. You should be up and at ‘em in no time.” “Oh, that is good, Doc. I wouldn’t want to leave my wife, Clara, all by herself for too long. Has anybody contacted her? How long have I been here? Actually which hospital am I in? St. Mary’s?” At this remark Dr. Kowalsky had to hide his own excitement. He took down his own notes in his hand. He had been discreet about it until this point, but now he openly jotted. One of the other doctors murmured, “Incredible!” They all looked at him like he had two heads and one very big hat. No. 138 After he finished writing Dr. Kowalsky said, “Yes. Right you are, Walter. We are in St. Mary’s. Could you tell me more about your wife, Clara? I’d like to know more about her.” “You sure I’m okay, Doc? You are talking to me like I am some sort of mental patient,” Walter said. “What do you want to know about her?” “Oh, anything that comes to mind.” “Is this going to be on the final?” Walter asked with a chuckle. “Well, we’ve been together for, well, right about thirty years now. She’s the love of my life. She’s had the same job all those years working as the librarian downtown. I’m sure you’ve seen her once or twice. You lot seem the type to have spent some time in a library. She’s probably worried sick about me. Or, did she bring me in? If she is here I’d like to see her. I can’t remember much before my operation. I don’t even remember getting sick.” Now the group of doctors behind Dr. Kowalsky made concerned looking faces but never looked up from their pads for more than a quick glance. Dr. Kowalsky looked uneasy for a moment before a smile spread across his face. He looked down at his watch and said, “Well, you are right, Walter. It was something of an emergency. You are lucky to be alive. Your wife did bring you here. She just had to pop back home to get you some new clothes for when you are discharged.” “That’s good I guess. She always does her best to take care of me. I hope the operation was a success.” Giddy laughter filled the space. The doctors were like school children looking at a nudie mag for the first time. Dr. Kowalsky turned to silence them once again. “Who are all those clowns anyway?” Walter asked glaring at the group of doctors who couldn’t seem to control themselves. They ranged all ages and didn’t seem to be students. Dr. Kowalsky looked at the time again and sighed, “Well, I wish I had more time to fully explain and pick your brain, Walter, but it seems our time is running out.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Walter asked, nervously checking the downturned faces of the surrounding doctors. “Just what the hell are you on about?” “Well, at this point I suppose it couldn’t hurt to tell. Walter Green, or as we know you, Subject 627-119, is the first ever human being to be completely manufactured, memories and all. We printed you, Walter. We used frozen DNA from a man who died a long, long time ago and we made you. You are the first ever Polyhumanoid.” “You’ve got to be kidding me?” Walter said flatly. “Look around you, Walter,” Dr. Kowalsky spread his arms out, “do you know any of this equipment? I don’t mean recognize, because it is the only thing you could truly recognize as it is the only thing you’ve seen in your whole life.” Walter looked with disbelief around the room. It was filled with odd looking mechanical gadgets, and he realized that Dr. Kowalsky taking notes with his finger on his palm didn’t make any sense. None of the men were holding pads. They were just pressing finger to palm. Nothing made any sense. “What the hell kind of trick is this!?” Walter shouted. “What have you done to m-m-m-me!?” He paused for a moment then quietly asked, “What the hell was that?” “We haven’t done anything to you, Walter. We made you. We are all so excited you are here, but you are not long for this world. As a failsafe, in case something went terribly wrong, your entire chamber will be filled with a toxic gas in just a few moments. I know this is a rather unpleasant way to go, but it is in the name of science, Walter. It will be quick and painless. You are the first amazing discovery in a world of new amazing discoveries. Human beings can be replicated, reprinted. This is the meaning of new life on Earth and you are the first, Walter. You should be very proud of yourself.” “What ... what … what … ?” Walter looked puzzled. He shook his head as if something would fall back into place. “Get me my wife. Get me … get me … who?” “We were also afraid something like this would happen. You see, we haven’t gotten it right just yet, but in order to push our project further we needed to show the board some results. We honestly didn’t know what would happen. We all had high hopes and I promise you, you’ve more than surpassed them. But Walter, you are not long for this world. It may be best for you to lie down.” “I just … what … ?” Walter regained a moment of clarity and shouted, “This isn’t happening! This is all some sort of sick trick! I am Walter Green! I am a man! I am a man!” Walter Green turned and swung his legs off the table. They hit the ground and then he hit the ground and that was the last of Walter Green, otherwise known as Subject 627-119.
BRYAN BEAST, À LA POURSUITE DE LA GRANDE OURSE - BRYANBEAST.ORG 19
ONLY A BUSINESS DECISION BY BEN MACNAIR The rain was coming down in sheets. A successful businessman known for his sharp suits and sharper deals, gripped the wheel of his expensive sedan. He was late. Terribly late. His biggest deal of the year hung in the balance. He sped through the downpour, the city lights blurring into streaks of color. Then, a flash of movement. Something darted out in front of him – a person, a shadow in the gloom. Brakes screeched, tires squealed, and the world seemed to slow. There was a sickening thud. He slammed on the brakes, his heart leaping into his throat. He'd hit someone. He cautiously got out of the car, the rain washing over him, making his expensive suit dark and damp. The street was deserted, the only sound the rhythmic drumming of rain on the pavement. He found the figure lying still in the puddle beside his car. Fear clawed at him. He wasn’t a violent man. He had a family. His meticulously built life felt as though it was crumbling around him. He approached the figure cautiously, his breath hitching in his throat. The person was still, unmoving. Panic tightened its grip. He knew he had to call for help. But a strange thought crossed his mind. He looked around, the empty street stretching before him, shrouded in rain and darkness. No witnesses. He could drive away. No one would know. The thought, a horrifying whisper, was a stark contrast to the responsible, upstanding citizen he presented to the world. The image of the body, lifeless in the street, haunted him. His mind raced, creating scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last. He looked at his watch again. His meeting. His deal. His future. The weight of it pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. Then, the person coughed. A weak, rasping sound. Relief washed over him, so intense it was almost painful. He knelt beside the figure, his heart still pounding. He checked for a pulse. A weak but steady pulse. He should call for help, and yet he hesitated again. What if this pedestrian was part of some elaborate scheme? What if this was a trap? His phone felt heavy in his hand. He was certain he'd made a terrible mistake, but he didn't know if he was wrong to call the police. Calling the ambulance seemed a little less risky. Yet, he still hesitated. He was trapped in a terrible, moral conflict. The rain kept falling, relentless, a mirror to the storm raging inside him. He had to make a choice. A choice that would determine the rest of his life. No. 138
ALESSANDRO GALLO, YOU CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT - @ALESSANDROGALLO_NET
DAVE DANZARA, COWBOYS VS ALIENS - @LOSTINTIMEDESIGNS
BEST OF 030 Quickly, what is the number one problem facing Americans today? That’s right, stubborn stains. Being an American is a messy job and we’ve got the stains to prove it! Grape soda, tobacco juice, ink from signing all those Declarations of Independence. Coffee, gunpowder and sooooooo much blood! We’ve tried to fight the stains. Tried to hide them under a nice blazer. We’ve even tried to banish them using household alchemy; powerful decoctions of lemon juice, baking soda and fine vinegars. And yet they continue to mock us, ruining our nice vest just seconds before the group picture, or appearing in a marinara spattered sundress in Pensacola, Florida in the very likeness of our human god! Well, I say no more! It’s time we strike back before the stains develop an unkillable super-stain like they’ve been threatening to do for so many years. It’s time to — Wait, what? They already did that? Well, crud. If you think American stains are tough you should check out what’s going on in Venezuela. For more than 30 years, the good people of Caracas, Venezuela (Caracons? Caracites?) have been battling with a mysterious substance known only as “La Mancha Negra” or “The Black Stain.” I know. Awesome. It sounds like the name of a Mexican wrestler or a vampire’s motorcycle. But it is neither of those things. What it is is a strange black stain that was first noticed by road workers patching a stretch of highway near the Caracas airport in 1986. At first the workers were like, “Oh cool, a 30 meter patch of tar-like substance seems like a good enough reason to take a break,” but then it started to grow. Soon, meters became miles, and before long, La Mancha Negra was firmly in control of almost all the roads surrounding the Caracas airport. And to make matters worse, the blob, like any good blob, seemed to be somewhat bloodthirsty. La Mancha Negra has been described as having the consistency of sticky oil or “chewed bubble gum,” with a noticeable propensity to shrink and expand in correlation to cold and hot weather respectively. You would think that roads covered in bubble gum would make for awesome traction and some Hot Wheels style loop-de-loop racing, but nuh uh. This stuff has been described as “slick as ice” to drive on and, in the time since its discovery, has been responsible for an estimated 1,800 deaths due to traffic accidents! So, if you’re anything like the hundreds of terrified Caracoolios, you No. 138 probably have a couple of questions by now. Namely, what is it? And how do we fight it? Well, the answer from Venezuela’s top politicians seems to be a stalwart and resounding, “We don’t know!” The Venezuelan government has poured millions of dollars into studying and cleaning up La Mancha Negra and the stain has even become a major political hot button, with candidates adopting a staunchly anti-blob policy during election years (the disastrous 2006 campaign of Ferdinand “Give the blob what it wants” Castillo notwithstanding). And yet, the solution evades them. So far, cleanup methods that haven’t worked at all include power washing, smothering the blob with tons of pulverized limestone, and even completely scraping clean and resurfacing the road. It has even been suggested that some of the more heroic politicians used a portion of that money to purchase new and exotic automobiles to test on the sludgeseized roadways to no tactical advantage. And even though you can have the entire history of your bloodline mapped for less than a $100, all those millions in research dollars have still yet to yield any conclusive test results as to what this stuff might be. So the Venezuelan blob-science community has become a veritable Wild West of frantic postulation, with scientists claiming everything from a neverbefore-encountered non-Newtonian blend of dust and motor oil, to sludge runoff from a nearby slum draining down into the asphalt and creating some kind of mutant slime right out of a mid 90s Spider-Man story arc. I have even heard it suggested that, in order to cut costs, the Venezuelan government used cement made from the pulverized bones of serial killers to pave those roads and that La Mancha Negra is the manifestation of their unquenchable bloodlust, returned to spread death and destruction from beyond the graaaaaaaaaaave. Sure it was me who suggested it, but why not?! If they are just making shit up then why doesn’t Werewolf Radar get to take a stab? From the sound of things, we are just about as qualified to throw out ideas as anyone else studying this mystery to date. What’s that? Do we have any solutions? Sure we do. Try a little club soda. That usually works. HAVE QUESTIONS ABOUT THE PARANORMAL? SEND THEM TO: WEREWOLFRADARPOD@GMAIL.COM. IT’S A BIG, WEIRD WORLD. DON’T BE SCARED. BE PREPARED.
MICHAEL ROGACHEVSKY, JOE VAUX READING ISSUE 134 @IDKITSJUSTART ART BY JASON WHITE JONNY DESTEFANO, FISH TANK 25
by Julianna Beckert We’ve all heard it so many times it’s become cliché: Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. But for something so overused, it really is a powerful little phrase. Let’s dig into it. When you look at your life, how often are things just happening to you? How often do they not go as planned? On one end of the spectrum, some of us cling to control. We believe that if we push hard enough, we can make other people change. That our partner will magically become more affectionate, or that our sister will stop drinking if we confront her. When they don’t, we get frustrated. We judge, blame and spiral into disappointment. On the other hand, we might fall into victimhood. “I can’t do my job well because my boss won’t provide what I need.” “I’m like this because of what happened to me.” There may be truth in these statements — but they center your suffering outside yourself. And when your suffering lives outside you, so does your power. You’re stuck in a story you can’t do anything about. Here’s a complete list of what’s in your control: • You End of list. You can control your thoughts. You can (in most cases) control where you put your body. You can become aware of your feelings and the role they play in your words and actions. Sometimes all it takes is a small tweak in language — from absolute to intentional. Take this example: “My coworker is mean to me.” That’s a fixed reality. No choice. No power. “I think my coworker is mean to me.” Now it’s subjective. A little more breathing room. “I don’t prefer the way my coworker speaks to me.” Ahh. Now we’re somewhere useful. From here, you have many choices. You can talk to them. You can adjust how you respond. You can decide what kind of access they get to your energy. You still can’t control them — but now you’re in motion. When we stop trying to change what isn’t ours to change, we reclaim the only real power we have: ourselves. We start responding, rather than reacting. And that’s where freedom lives. Control isn’t power. Choice is. The wisdom is knowing the difference. Visit monkeymindful.com to submit a question or find transformational workshops and coaching sessions. No. 138
PEOPLE OF PPRM: MEET LILAC STORY BY LILAC | ART BY ISAAC BURTON Lilac has been with Planned Parenthood of the Rocky Mountains (PPRM) for almost three years — as both a patient and a staff member — creating a safe, affirming space for everyone who walks through our health center doors. This is a look into her story: It’s such important work to be doing — especially in this time in history. I feel called to it. I get to show up to work every day and help people better their lives. There are a lot of emotions that surround this work, but it is truly inspiring and wonderful. It is tremendously important to me that I know I am here providing critical services to people who need critical services. Before I started working here, I had never been inside a Planned Parenthood. I knew we did abortion care and gender-affirming care, and that was about it. Now, I’ve been here for almost three years. Every day, we’re seeing patients coming from out of state for abortion care. We are still seeing trans patients in a time when trans people are under a tremendous national spotlight. For me, my trans identity is a driving force for every patient I interact with. I’m not only a staff member — I’m a patient here too. I come to PPRM for my own genderaffirming hormone therapy. It’s so important that I’m on both sides of the counter. I want to provide the care that I get when I walk into a health center. There’s comfort in knowing that this organization knows how to care for trans patients and staff. When I walk into one of our health centers and I see a trans person behind the counter, I feel reassured. I know we’re in this together. And I’m sure it reassures our trans patients too — to see someone who’s out and visibly trans — you can breathe a little easier. Growing up in a conservative area in the Midwest, I didn’t know any trans people until college. You drive through the suburbs of any major city, and there’s a chance folks have never met someone like me. That’s why it’s so important to hear trans stories. It helps people realize we’re not all that different. We have lives and stories, just like anyone else. The only difference is we synthesize our hormones instead of making our own. Abortion care and gender-affirming care meet at the intersection of bodily autonomy. The right to say, “I can do what I want with my body because it’s the only body I have.” I should be able to walk into a health center and say, “Hi, I’d like estrogen, please,” or “I’d like an abortion, please,” with the same ease as getting a tattoo or piercing. We’re not going to get out of this by turning against each other. The only way forward is side by side. Look to the person next to you, pick up a shovel, and say, “We’ve got some work to do.” Health care is not going anywhere. No matter who’s in office, people will still need abortions. People will still need hormones. People will still need birth control. My advice? Set aside your differences. Give back. Do the work. We need each other. THIS PRIDE SEASON, JOIN LILAC IN BUILDING A STRONGER, MORE CONNECTED COMMUNITY BY SHARING YOUR OWN STORY. WHEN WE SPEAK UP ABOUT ABORTION CARE, GENDER-AFFIRMING CARE, AND WHAT IT MEANS TO TRULY CARE FOR ONE ANOTHER, WE CREATE SPACE FOR OTHERS TO DO THE SAME. SUBMIT YOUR STORY TODAY AT STORIES@ PPRM.ORG OR BIT.LY/PPRM-BIRDY. LEARN MORE AT PPRM.ORG THIS FEATURE WAS PRODUCED IN PARTNERSHIP WITH No. 138
RYANE ROSE, LEO'S WATCH - BEST OF 040 29
CANDY CHIC – SUITE 6 As a live band Candy Chic has an eclectic flavor, and this album reflects that mélange of Man or Astro-man?-esque psychedelic surf and post-punk infused with manic punk energy. Hearing these songs recalls late nights driving while listening to a mixtape filled with only Jon Spencer, Dead Kennedys and The Cramps before waking up the next day to write a whole set of wholesomely demented party music. Think mutant, synth-tinged New Wave buoyed by sheer exuberance and a killer rhythm section. DEAD PIONEERS – PO$T AMERICAN An album this dense with pointed social and political commentary, delivered with intense poetic flow incisively taking on topics like the brutal American colonial project and its destructive fallout since the nation’s inception, is rare. Especially when paired with charismatic vocal delivery and the kind of angular punk that sounds like its tearing down some outmoded foundations of the American psyche. Pyramid Lake Paiute Tribe frontman Gregg Deal’s vocals are practically spoken word style, as he dismantles the myths of white supremacy and the legacy of capitalism in a thrilling stream of sly invective. GLASS HUMAN – THE HIVE The title track of Glass Human’s The Hive EP conveys a deep sense of space and blissful contemplation in its introduction before the ethereal swirls give way to more grounded and finely textured instrumentation, accented by lingering keyboard tones. It’s this No. 138 well-balanced dual quality that serves as a base from which the song spirals outward into an orchestrated dissonance sonically and emotionally. The rest of the EP showcases how this band is always much more than any short sampling of its songs might suggest. Yes, there is the shoegaze-inflected art rock aspect, but also psychedelic jazz fusion underpinnings and downtempo all in the same song, without any of the tracks sticking to formulaic structures. RAREBYRD$ – PA$$-A-FI$T This is the culmination of the band’s exploration of production methods and styles serving as the perfect vehicle for its songs of love, lust, personal aspiration, radical vulnerability and charismatic bravado. The fusion of trap production, organic percussion, ambient soundscapes, synth pop melodies and soulful vocals seems to find endlessly fascinating forms that are like experiencing a living, continuous thing in the listening. It’s tempting to compare this to a great gangsta rap record for the 21st century, if that music went beyond gangsta to freaky, fun and introspective, without losing a certain earthiness that lends it a constant immediacy. ROGER, ROLL – ONE THREAD Eric Peterson halted his indie rock project Roger, Roll 15 years ago but relaunched it this year with One Thread picking up essentially where the songwriter left off. Its five songs include a re-imagining of “Picture Perfect” from the 2010 Polaroids in Reverse EP as well as a song with that title. There is an added degree of warmth and intimacy BY TOM MURPHY
to this iteration of the band. Its reflective songs are a blend of a type of Americana tonally illuminated with incandescent keyboard melodies, spare rhythm guitar and Peterson’s expressive and commanding vocals. Peterson spent many of the intervening years abroad and these tracks feel like he’s reconnected with a neglected part of himself, giving voice to that specific range of emotions experienced after taking stock of one’s life and rediscovering a part of your psyche that tenderly needs nurturing now. WAVE DECAY – REFLECTIONS In the realm of shoegaze-adjacent music Wave Decay stands out, and not simply because its roots seem to draw heavily on Krautrock, psychedelic and space rock. There is an attention to sonic detail and songwriting that elevates the impact of its music. The use of abrasive distortion on “Sea Glass” is glorious in its creation of a cavern of sound in which it echoes in on itself. The motorik beat of “Motel Creeps,” with its sustained fuzz tone alongside spectral keyboards and the expertly accented bass line, would be enough to keep you in the song. But the dynamic shift a third of the way through completely transforms the mood into something more dreamlike. The whole album is full of electrifyingly kinetic entrancing soundscapes worthy of any of the band’s influences. FOR MORE SEE QUEENCITYSOUNDSANDART.WORDPRESS.COM 31
ERIC JOYNER, PURPLE FAZE - ERICJOYNER.COM
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