Summer in Kansas City Once I thought I saw you at a convention center in Kansas City standing atop an escalator, typing away at words to be sent across airwaves. When we were kids, the Internet was still new. After school we shared our lives on the World Wide Web, sent each other AOL instant messages, stayed up late in Yahoo chat rooms, avoided eating dinner. In the mornings we traded fashion magazines, “thinspiration,” in the quad before school. I sat behind you in Mr. Riley’s English class, braided your hair, called you a fat-ass when he made you take off your puffer. Once when I asked you where we would be in 10 years you said that I’d be dead. I wore your words like a badge of honor, as if being sick was a place of power. The only place you wanted to be was thin. I taught you to hide the bones you saw as flabby, fed you diet pills, admired your anorexic skin too young to fall loose from dehydration. For your 16th birthday I gave you a letter in a bottle. Don't open it until you're 26, I said, as if that were an eternity. You used to wear your hair chin length and layered, but time and humidity have a way of ruining things – making them grow longer and limp. Summer is hot in Kansas City where heat sticks to you like honey, like a 3 letter word, like fat, where it hangs from your body like the past leaving you thirsty and wanting resolution. But what words are there to say about a past I no longer feel guilty for? In a future where I no longer feel anything, it seems apologies have been wasted. Once I thought I saw you at a convention center in Kansas City, but Facebook tells me time has changed you. And if you cared, Facebook would tell you, although unconvincingly, I am still alive. -------------- Image - Emily Kneeter www.flickr.com/photos/emilykneeter/ https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/ Bio: Yinka Rose Reed-Nolan holds a MFA from California State University, Fresno, and is currently pursuing her PhD at Binghamton University. Yinka's chapbook 'First Crush' is forthcoming from Hyacinth Girl Press. Her nonfiction and poetry have appeared in Bloom, Brickplight, Foliate Oak, Niche, and The Dying Goose.
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A Million Little Needles A million little needles is all I really have. They sit innocuous, used and glinting - Bent biohazards behind the glass in a Plath Bell Jar. Still as icicles dripping silver - as brown the silt of a coffee maker: They only melt as fast as my heart - an untimely springtime glacier. Or sometimes by an evil fire of the winter undertaker; he strokes my back with his red hot lips and his orange and purple fingertips - Then stokes the banks with an arson’s breath: a midnight spire, a ransom buyer - tonight we’ll marry by the fire. A million needles, ahh ‘tis all I’ll ever have - an aimless intravenous; a drip of promised land - like a virgin’s coat in summertime to defend my skin from sinner’s hands. Or could it? infuse some poison-chemo-lies into your vitriolic veins - A bone-slow death of wit and wire it's what you're in for after I am done with you - But not much worse than what you've done beneath me over the years. See, machetes and guns are not my thing you guessed it, I’m a woman - a million little needles though, for each true crime you caught me in - I’ve got some evil acupuncture on the mind, baby - a green dream potion of my mind corrosive, radioactive a shelf life of spare time. I used these little needles once It's not important why, You only need to know their used and that they’ll make you die. --------- Image - Stefan Lins https://www.flickr.com/photos/mrlins/ Bio: Elisabeth J. Ferrell-Horan is a stay at home mom in Vermont raising two young boys, feeding her animals and dreaming in poetry. When not writing, she finds peace and inspiration working with her three very special horses: Deuce, Flynnie and Bees. They speak to her without using words.Elisabeth is a survivor of many things - most recently severe postpartum depression. She wants to tell all the mothers out there suffering in pain and perhaps alone, that they are good mothers, and that it is possible to get better, if they can just hold on, and find the right help. http://ejfhoran.weebly.com/ Thursday - November 3, 2016 Portland, Oregon I celebrate Jell-O, progress, and alienation. I celebrate this city that is kind but can be dark. It’s an unseasonably warm Thursday evening and the sun is setting over the Wes Hills. I’m at Mount Calvary Cemetery on the bluff where my grandparents and great-grandparents are buried overlooking the place they once lived. I struggle with anxiety. Paying them the occasional visit has a normalizing effect on me – like Xanax, but without the dangerous side effects. Like other introverts, I can have an over-active imagination. But I’m not here out of superstition – quite the opposite actually. I’m here because the specter of death provides a rational reminder not to take myself too seriously. I clear away the brush from the gravestones, set out some roses, crack open a can of High Life and poor a little out. Fond memories pass over me. I come back down to earth. I’m excited to find a text waiting for me when I return to the car. It’s one of my newer friends in town. Her name is Lara – a “painter and poet” as her voicemail always reminds me. We became acquainted earlier this year when I was living in Los Angeles, bonding briefly over our shared affection for earth-centered feminism. Like many well-to-do millennials, she recently felt “called” to migrate to Portland. She’s showing a painting at the Portland 5 Center for the Arts – “free beer and wine” the message reads. I can’t say no to that. I notice mud on my torn jeans when I arrive. Feeling shy, I track down Lara and we exchange a brief hug. She has other guests to entertain, so I decide to look around. Growing up poor in Northeast Portland during the 90’s, my experience with fine art was limited to what I saw on TV, in print or on field trips to the Portland Art Museum. In other words – I’m no expert. But even now, I can recall how it felt being exposed to Kandinsky, Monet, Jacob Lawrence and the Russian avant-garde. I give each piece about thirty seconds. If I’m not moved in that time, I swipe left. There are about sixty altogether and I’m finding little of interest. The few that do inspire are being drowned out by the chorus of “meh” sounding off in my head. Lara’s piece leaves me with mixed emotions too. It’s a collage of sorts. There’s glue stained purple macramé and lots of feathers – a painful reminder of the vapid “put a bird on it” cliché. I’ve seen enough. Walking over to rejoin Lara’s group, I’m offered a seat. The person next to me turns out to be an old acquaintance. Her name is Tracy – A local music figure who helped get my band a few gigs a couple years back. We go to the bar for wine and start catching up. Tracy tells me about her latest ventures and how she recently came out as an abuse survivor. I acknowledge her bravery and remark how important is is that women speak out to combat the stigma that reproduces traumas like one she experienced – we strategize for a bit. The conversation soon shifts to the state of the local music scene. We discuss all the promising new developments, of which there are many. But she’s had a few more glasses of vino than me and her tone changes. She confides that, on the one hand there is more access, opportunity and diversity now. On the other hand, there is less cultural exchange, collaboration and cooperation. I asked her what she thought was causing the latter. She was unsure. I wondered aloud if the rancor and divisiveness of this year’s election cycle had a chilling effect on freedom of expression, and by extension, a similar effect on local art and music. Tracy shares the challenges she faced as “white girl from Indiana” trying to market black music in one of the whitest cities in America. As racial injustices were brought out of the shadows, she noticed people’s tendency to run from the tough conversations that are needed for reconciliation. A theme emerges – open dialogue and free expression tend to suffer when people retreat to the safety of their respective identity camps. There is a word for this phenomenon, one I know all too well growing up in an emigrant family from the former Yugoslavia. It’s called balkanization. Derived from the Balkan region of Europe, ‘balkanization’ was coined in the 1990’s following the breakup of Yugoslavia. It describes the process of disintegration that occurs when a large religiously and ethnically diverse society devolves into tribalism. This what is taking place in Syria right now. The human carnage mirrors what occurred in the Balkans. Yet it’s murmurs can be felt here at home as well. I think the CIA calls it “blowback”. I asked Tracy if she knew of Slavoj Zizek? – the philosopher and culture critic known for his Lacanian psychoanalysis and idiosyncratic style. Considering the refugee crisis in Europe, he proposes an unconventional social exercise to combat the growing threat of racism and balkanization. Zizek recalls his days in the old Yugoslavian National Army – where Serbs, Croats, Slovenes and others all served in mixed regiments. To disarm ethnic tensions, one was obliged to tell a satirical joke about their own culture. Back then, the socialist government used the slogan “Brotherhood and Unity” to help foster collective identity. According to Zizek, the only time this axiom proved meaningful was when the nation shared in the radical power of humor. Tracy found the approach quite novel and I suggested we think of some jokes for ourselves. We got a good laugh in before a second round of hors d’oeuvres came by – trout mouse. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so out of place; which is odd considering there was a time not long ago when I thought mouse was made of moose. Lara returned with a man at her side – late middle ages, rustic appearance – an art buyer I assumed. He introduced himself as “Robbie”. Small talk revealed he had recently returned from Zanzibar after selling what little he owned to build a school there. He evaded me when I asked how he managed to afford a flight home after all that. At this point, I’ve smile-nodded through several “Portlandia moments”, some more cringe-worthy than others. This validated my inner recluse and I was leaning toward calling it an early night. There would be no such thing. Tracy left to catch a set on Hawthorne Boulevard’s The Liquor Store. Lara’s pal was set on Irish music at Paddy’s, an occasion for which he appeared to have dressed. I agree to tag along. ------- At our table I notice a silver colored anomaly in Robbie’s right eye. Come to find out, it was the result of a gunshot wound. The surgical reconstruction left him partially blind for a period of months. After which, he claimed to experience super-human eyesight. Curious, I probe further – He responds with some mystical jargon about seeing into people’s souls. I didn’t understand. If I had to guess, it sounded kind of like X-ray vision. Robbie orders blackened chicken salad and Scottish eggs for Lara who had requested food. After it is all polished, he turns our attention to the wilderness photos on his iPhone. Lara becomes visibly disinterested. She pulls out her sketch book and begins doodling. When Robbie inquires, she replies that she is “all peopled out”. I took that as que to get fresh air. I take a seat outside and scroll Twitter. Suddenly, a stranger fell into my lap – “Whoa!” I exclaim. Apparently, she didn’t see me and dove into the chair thinking it empty. She’s just as alarmed and embarrassed as I am – her male friends take off down the street laughing hysterically. The dust settles and we strike up a conversation over a cigarette. She has raspy voice, curly black hair cut in a high top fade, with a sassy attitude to match. It was her birthday and her boyfriend had failed to tell his bros. She’s feeling a type of way about it; musing aloud that something might be wrong with her because she is too submissive with him, but around her girls she’s a natural dom. As an androgynous woman who’s dealt with similar confusion in the past, I feel a teachable moment coming on. I explain how sexuality is often conflated with gender, and how gender politics has spilled over into the bedroom. I clarify – as women we struggle for gender equality politically, but are confronted by the fact sexuality produces asymmetrical power dynamics. The confusion may lie in a mistaken belief that submission and dominance are themselves gendered objects – synonymous with femininity and masculinity respectively. Thus gender presentation is not a predictor of sexual persona. In other words – Her masculine-leaning gender expression needn’t be in conflict with her submissive sexual persona. She nods as if following along. Politically “woke” women like us, I say, mistake submissiveness as a Patriarchal hold-over, so we can end up living in fear of our own sexual nature. The same can apply to dominant men, who fear being labeled “anti-feminist”. I assured her everything was perfectly normal –that she needn’t feel ashamed of, nor attempt to politicize, her inter-relational power dynamic as long as it was consensual. GID crisis averted. We laugh off some awkward silence, put out our cigarettes and go back inside. ----- I reconnect with Lara and Robbie and we head out. He sneaks in an extra kiss goodbye, which she curves to avoid. I give him a single handshake. We ride east and Lara is riled up about having to sit through Robbie’s life story. She doesn’t like taking on other people’s “energetic baggage” because it distracts from her work, she says. In addition to being a painter and poet Lara is also an aspiring fiction writer. She has a book in the works where one of the protagonists is based on her life. I remark how great fiction writers all seem to have a knack for observing human behavior. We arrive at The Liquor Store and Tracy meets us at the bar. Excited, she tells me she tried out the Zizek experiment as an ice breaker and it worked really well. Lara wants an explanation since she wasn’t privy to our earlier discussion. Her eyes roll at the prospect of having to tell a self-deprecating joke – it never comes. We go downstairs and catch a few songs from the band Silver Ships – I’m reminded of Robbie’s right eye and its extra-sensory power. The night lurches on – it’s just Lara and I now. She needs to make a pit stop at the Starday Tavern on Foster Road. She left her debit card there a day earlier. I wait in the car. Ten minutes pass before I go to check on her. She’s at the bar. The bartender can’t find her card. I suspect this was a ruse to get me inside. She buys me a drink. We shoot the breeze about the election. She asks if I’m going to vote. I say yes but she squirms when I suggest I will vote third party for President. I explain how the candidates opposing narratives perpetuate a level of Orwellian discourse too absurd for me to take seriously; a diversion to avoid addressing domestic crises like student debt, universal healthcare and living wage jobs. I’m mostly disturbed (and fascinated) by the degree to which people commit to a series of illusions and drift further and further from reality in order to invest in their chosen narratives. She reaches across me, grabs my beer and takes a long draught. As we arrive at her place the conversation drifts back to art. She starts in on Warhol, whom she admires for his unapologetic pursuit of fame. I ask her what is she wants from life – “I want to run some shit” she said. This comes as no surprise. In the past, Lara has expressed resentment for her mother, who controls the purse strings to her life of travel and adventure. Lara puts the question back to me – “I just want money” I say. “Why” she asks. “So I can run some shit.” She sighs and proceeds to caution me, “Well, you should be careful. Money can be “dirty”. “Dirty how – like filthy rich?” “That’s not what I meant.” It’s getting late – The awkward conversation limps to a halt. On the drive home, I recall my emigrant grand-parents, their grave stones – then all the bones of the countless generations buried there in those rolling hills. I thought of the different worlds they left behind, and how mine might appear to them if they were alive to see it. Then I recall the name of Lara’s painting - “I celebrate applesauce, happenstance, and circumnavigation. I celebrate this forest which is dark but can be kind” I wonder what I have to celebrate… Bio: Gordana Kokich is a writer, artist and amateur folklorist from Portland, Oregon. Her latest project, To Me There Exists an Egg is a multimedia time-based anthology of autopoietic works that subvert classical definitions of authorship. Deeply influenced by the arcane wisdom of her eastern European roots, Gordana is a thought leader in the neopagan community. She can be found dancing with the Strugotsky brothers, adding new entries to Milorad Pavic's Khazar Dictionary or writing love letters to Sophia Parnok. She has been a guest contributor for God's and Radicals and Plant Healer Magazine. www.modrodnovery.com the heaven of clean linens for Danny here your mother does her work of washing, then hanging the linens on the clothesline. the pillowcases, the sheets dry in the sun, billow in the sailing wind. here everything is clean and warm. she turns to you, hair blowing, takes a clothespin from her happy lips and says a word. in your life, you have tried to remember the word your mother said to you, thought maybe it would have made a difference later on, changed what you became. it doesn’t matter. here you are her boy. she knows nothing else. Bio: Tricia Marcella Cimera is a Midwestern poet with a worldview. Look for her work in these diverse places (some forthcoming): Buddhist Poetry Review,The Ekphrastic Review, Foliate Oak, Failed Haiku, I Am Not A Silent Poet, Mad Swirl, Silver Birch Press, Yellow Chair Review, Wild Plum and elsewhere. She has a micro collection of water-themed poems called THE SEA AND A RIVER on the Origami Poems Project website. Tricia believes there’s no place like her own backyard and has traveled the world (including Graceland). She lives with her husband and family of animals in Illinois / in a town called St. Charles / by a river named Fox. Described as the love child of Sting and Edith Piaf, British singer-songwriter MIRI blends heart and grit, distilled through a smooth, melodic pop filter. MIRI co-promotes and co-hosts highly acclaimed monthly live music night "Blue Monday" at The Boogaloo in London; collaborating in 2016 with award winning music venue Green Note on two sold out female artist focused events called "Girls To The Front”. Performing regularly around the UK & Europe MIRI has gained a reputation for her eclectic gigs and stage presence. Past live shows include 100 Club for The Official Bob Marley Birthday Celebration, alternative reggae artist Natty's Vibes & Pressure at Passing Clouds, and supporting American folk artist Laura Veirs at Bush Hall. Behind the scenes MIRI works with the charity School Ground Sounds which provide additional opportunities for young people to enhance their musical education. MIRI has been a guest mentor for Wired4Music's drop in for young people aspiring to have a career in music and is also on the FAC's BEAT Board. AHC: What has this journey in music, so far, been like for you, the highs and the lows, and what sort of life lessons do you feel you've picked up along the way? My journey in music has been a real trip. There have been some incredible moments and some real low ones. The whole process has at times challenged my self belief and life purpose. You can't hide from who you are which is actually a really beautiful thing. I've learned the importance of being myself as an artist which in some ways sounds quite straight forward but it can be easy to be influenced by the wrong people when you're still finding your way. In my early 20's I gained interest from a few A&R people at major labels and I am so thankful I never got signed back then. I hadn't dealt with my sexuality which kind of led me to not feel whole as a person. I felt a lot of pain back then because of this which I channeled into my songwriting. I needed to take that time to understand and accept who I was before I could represent myself fully as an artist. AHC: What first drew you to music and what was your early musical environment like growing up? Were there pivotal songs for you then that just floored you the moment you heard them? My musical environment was a real mix. I grew up listening to a lot of musicals before discovering pop music which is where my world changed and opened up. Songs like The Police - Every Breath You Take or Cyndi Lauper's - A Night To Remember album fired me up. I'd sit outside my brothers room with my ear to the door listening with complete wonder and delight. I developed a love for R&B & Motown from the age of 12. I had albums by En Vogue & SWV on cassette and would play them over and over whilst my sister had Dorothy Moore and Aretha Franklin CDs that I loved. I was never into just one type of genre. I was constantly discovering new music. I remember when I first heard Alanis Morrisette's - Hand In My Pocket. As soon as Jagged Little Pill was available I went out to buy it and couldn't get enough. AHC: Do you remember the first song that you ever wrote? Or that first moment when you picked up a pen and realized that you could create whole worlds just by putting it to paper? I started writing little poems before songs. Having said that the first song I wrote was when I was 8 and it was about the Garbage Pale Kids. I can't say I'll be revisiting that song any time soon! Can you remember them? Every pack of stickers came with free chewing gum. I was 12 when I first began to write properly though. I never saw myself as a singer-songwriter; writing was simply a natural way for me to be heard and express my feelings. Sometimes I wrote about things that I didn't quite know about or understand like love and romance but it was about having the freedom to write and put those words to music that I loved. I use to perform my songs in school assemblies and get friends to sing them whilst I played the piano. It wasn't until I left school that I realised I had the potential to be a singer-songwriter professionally. My late singing teacher Howard passed on my tape to his A&R friend John Lloyd at Peer Music Publishing. John loved my songs and was excited about my development. He ended up moving to their LA branch and things kind of fizzled out but it was enough of an experience to set me on a path of music. AHC: Which musicians have you learned the most from? Or writers, artists, filmmakers etc? So many!! Tracy Chapman is an artist I've grown up with over the years. I learned from her the importance of stripping yourself raw emotionally when writing. Patti Smith is an artist I came to later in life. I've read both her memoirs and was drawn into her world. About 2 years ago after reading Just Kids I decided to live my next year in the spirit of Patti. I ended up gigging in Bergen and Berlin and having quite a few little adventures. I ceased the day and even managed to see her perform at Field Day Festival. My friends and I got right to the front. It was epic. The energy was unreal! AHC: What do you think makes for a good song, as you're writing and composing, is there a sudden moment when you know you've found the right mix, that perfect angle of light, so to speak? There's been times when I've been writing and I've had to stop and try something else. It has to excite me. The melody especially. If it's not doing anything for me it won't do anything for anyone else. I usually know when I've got something if it stays in my head the few days after or if I want to keep singing it. The best moments are when the song comes out so easily. You don't think about it. You just know you need to express yourself and it flows. The keys and vocals merge together and articulate what you are feeling emotionally. AHC: Do you consider music to be a type of healing art, the perfect vehicle through which to translate a feeling, a state of rupture, hope lost and regained? Does the writing and creating of the song save you in the kinds of ways that it saves us, the listener? Yes definitely. That's the beauty about songwriting and performing. There's been times in my broken moments where writing a song was my only release. Sometimes the emotion had felt so raw I cried when writing. This year I've made a pact with myself to put more time aside for songwriting. I feel like I have so much to express but need to make the time to channel it. Music is so powerful and can raise our vibration. It can empower us and give us reassurance and healing when we have no other place to go. AHC: Could you talk about the inspiration behind your monthly live music night Blue Monday, which was created for an audience of LBQT women? Who are some of the speakers you've had there so far? The night was created 7 years ago by my friend Vans. Her inspiration at that time was to create a space in North London for Lesbian and Bisexual women to go and listen to live music. I performed at the very first night and then went on to co promote with Vans before she moved away and our friend Rosered came on board. For us now the inspiration is to keep providing a space for LBQT women to come and listen to quality live music and bring people of all communities together through a positive environment. We are inspired to give artists a platform to be heard. The audience are quiet and attentive and we have built up a following which means that the acts don't have the pressure of bringing people down. The guest speakers we've had so far are the charity Stonewall, Dana Jade who runs the events Clit Rock to help end female genitilia mutilation, film director Kate Lane and Tracey Wise from Safe Gigs For Women. AHC: Girls to the front, is this inspired by the Kathleen Hanna movement in the 90's? Could you talk about the importance of keeping this cause and movement alive in today's culture? Yes it is. Rosered came up with the name idea and It just felt right. We are bringing female musicians to the forefront. I compere the event and always make sure to talk about the Kathleen Hanna movement at the start. A year before we started collaborating with Green Note on these events we put on our first ever festival celebrating women in music after reading a blog by Roxanne de Bastion and an article in the Guardian newspaper about not enough women artists being chosen for festivals. Unfortunately sexism within the music industry and music world still exists. We need to keep coming together and working together to bring balance and make sure that all the crazy talented women in music get the recognition and respect they deserve instead of being dismissed and ignored. AHC: You do a lot of mentoring work with young people, what has that experience been like and what have you learned or taken away from your time doing it? I worked with the charity School Ground Sounds last year on a music industry crash course for young people called The Grit School which really opened my eyes. I'd worked with young people when I was a young person myself but being older and going back to this type of work was pretty remarkable. The students were so talented. It made me want to keep achieving my music career goals so I could go back with even more knowledge and experience to support and encourage them. I was also invited to be a guest mentor for Wired4Music. It just felt good being able to help. I remember thinking, I so know how to help here because I've been through the good times the knock backs, I get it, I know how to offer these kids the best guidance. I definitely hope to keep doing what I can to offer support to young people finding their way in music. AHC: What are your fondest musical memories? In your house? In your neighborhood or town? On-tour, on-the-road? Performing has given me some good memories. Supporting Laura Veirs at Bush Hall was incredible; her fans were so dedicated and attentive. Singing "Revolution" with the house band at 100 Club for The Official Bob Marley Birthday Celebration was a real honour too and gigging abroad in Berlin, Spain and Amsterdam just revs me up to keep travelling. I remember also supporting actress and musician Heather Peace in Newcastle. I was feeling a bit low and remember being in the hotel room wanting to curl up into a little ball. As soon as I got to the venue with my musicians and started soundcheck I felt better. I had 20 CDs to sell and was hoping to sell at least 2 or 3. After my performance there was a long line of people waiting to buy a CD. I sold 19! It just meant so much because in that moment all the tough times made sense and almost didn't matter. It was just so nice to have my music be received and valued. AHC: When you set out to write a song, how much does 'where the world is' in its current moment, culturally, politically, otherwise, influence the kinds of stories you set out to tell? I've written a lot over the years about what's going on in my life personally and finding my place in the world. I've always felt very effected by world issues and that naturally flows into my writing. I can't stand injustice in any shape or form. I wrote a song called "Good Ones" when I found out that the majority of the MP's in the UK had voted to bomb Syria again. I was devastated and felt powerless. I went to the piano and "Good Ones" just came out. I was going through some other personal challenges too and was able to release it all in that one song. AHC: Do you have any words of advice for other musicians and singer-songwriters or anyone who is struggling to create something of value out there, who are just starting out and trying to find their voice and their way in this world? What are the kinds of things that you tell yourself when you begin to have doubts or are struggling with the creative process? Most importantly always be you. Don't feel like you need to change who you are in order to fit into other people's ideas of you and your music. Surround yourself with people who get you and your artistry and want to help you expand your work not change it. I guess I tell myself to keep going, keep persevering...the only way I cannot reach my goals is if I give up. Also celebrate the moments. If you enjoy what you're doing and who you're working with now you will most probably keep enjoying the process and your career as it grows. The worse thing you can do is to think that when you have a deal or when you get "there" that everything will be ok and you will be happy. Tap into that joy now and don't be afraid to let go of people or situations that make you unhappy. Be honest with your intentions and just keep on going. AHC: Do you have any new projects you'd like to mention? I'll be recording new material this year and am looking forward to sharing a music video for a collaborative track I worked on with rapper Cheekie Bugga called Under My Skin produced by Swift Lee. My new EP Sound Vibrations is out now too. If people would like they can follow me on my social media to stay connected and updated with all my latest news. Keep up with MIRI here: www.miriofficial.com www.twitter.com/miriofficialuk www.soundcloud.com/miriofficialuk 1/26/2017 0 Comments Art and Text by j4Testing is sexy That doesn't seem likely Do not trust this cloud PORK USER Schism Our names written together over cream. In a gastrique glaze. Openly something. I'd hug that all night. A technical love. Eyed underbodies, getgo, stalling light is paneful. The fabric would thin with the sweat. Reading in the dark, sneeze next to me. Fall bits of picture through treble glum. I am talented and they love me. The burnt edges assert themselves. I am the last goo beyond the network’s bland clods. There are those who lack vision though, I don't know. And they’s a no go for this ho, but to each his or her own or whatever. Their mouths crawl together. Bummer about that. I want you don’t exist. I was a teenage exit. See the other side of the directions. Let's all be together on this, please. Bang tango and a rapturously applauded exit. Leftovers and toenails mist. After breakfast unclean. Provide immediate confirmation upon elimination of target. Half of likeness ( bleeps blonde & liminal) can I find yourself in the mirror of me? Excuses become the only thing to even hold back anything, I guess. What the fuck are leftovers? Cook for the moment. Except don’t mention this poem to anyone, anything.After a moment they disappeared completely, and the world went quiet and still. A future in which lateness widens its quilty disguise. So many lonely guilts as yet unstitched together. Chased away my best idea on a whim. No things but in things. What say you, Bubba? One signal out, and one signal back. Blubber tingles dangles fact. (I'd only bought the thing because of the commercial.) No ideas but in irruptions & vagrancies. Sides hissese. Falling in love does not interest me. Burnt a nast or a nest but why not? All above me does less with more quiet thrill. If it isn't too much trouble would you not mind if you could? Too much description is like smelling your fingertips on other people’s hands. It can be understood through tough thorough thought though. Thinking thinking thinking, balls in an ass. Ick brand impetus. Oh my goodness, we have to do all of that to all of those? Wooden booth weeds us together through back-lit words. As long as you have sheep, you have wolves. If you could carpet the whole world, I hope you wouldn’t. As I said I hope you wouldn't. As those who leave into the noless deep. I always open my mouth and fall apart. I am too thin along the that-that. You Know. Falling apart shines its natural ease but the peckerwoods always fight it. It’s spirit’s infinite tool—also bayonets, cannons, and bodies. This is fear of the things that love me. Also the things that have nothing to do with me. Painful isn't in the picture. It hugs through thing waves. It has to be that way. I gave my love a cherry that had no stone Bio: j4 is a collective of four persons, all given names beginning with j, who are compelled to explore transindividual composition — j4work.wordpress.com — j4work.tumblr.com 1/26/2017 0 Comments Two Poems by Lynn WhiteI Am A Child I am a child of the revolution created by the wake of fascism and imperialism, that sought to construct a more just society. I am a child numbed by poverty, stultified by working class conformity, of a mother who wanted better for me, but also wanted to keep me the same. I am a child of these contradictions who became a rebel in the cultural revolution of the rock and roll generation. Who was liberated by student life, by control of fertility, by other places, by the music and art all parents hated. I am still that child. This is what made me. This is what shaped me and became part of my present, became part of my future. Sometimes I have tried to escape it. Sometimes I still do. *First published by Ealain, My Heritage, Issue 8, May 2015 How Will I Know You How will I know you, the man behind the mask. I can recognize you with the mask in place. And sometimes it may slip and reveal .... another layer, another mask, perhaps masquerading as an unguarded comment wearing stage clothes, even if naked. You are in there somewhere. But even though I peel off layer after layer, uncover mystery after mystery I still never find you. *First Published in Firewords Quarterly, Issue 6, 2016 Bio: Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. Her poem 'A Rose For Gaza' was shortlisted for the Theatre Cloud 'War Poetry for Today' competition 2014. This and many other poems, have been published in recent anthologies including - Stacey Savage’s ‘We Are Poetry, an Anthology of Love poems’; Community Arts Ink’s ‘Reclaiming Our Voices’; Vagabond Press’s, ‘The Border Crossed Us’; ‘Degenerates - Voices For Peace’, ‘Civilised Beasts’ and ‘Vagabonds: Anthology of the Mad Ones’ from Weasel Press; ‘Alice In Wonderland’ by Silver Birch Press, and many rather excellent on line and print journals. https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lynn-White-Poetry/1603675983213077?fref=ts lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com Password: Remember Me. Male 24 years old LEVITTOWN, Pennsylvania United States View My: Pics | Videos robin's Blurbs About me: "Just get naked and lay or stand, I don't care, on the bed and, like, it doesn't matter if you were born in a Holiday Inn. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Wednesday, September 05, 2007 all fucked up on all this life juice Current mood: amused i'm not allowed to smoke or drink or.. nothin for a long time. guess how happy i am about that. . . this may not sound like a big deal to some of the more "respectable" high and mighty cunts that may read this , but honestly if i can help it, i usually drink from the moment i open my eyes until i go to bed. Why?....because i can't stand any of you disgusting clowns and i wish i was dead! hahahaha. just kidding! i love you all and i look forward to the coming months! don't let me near anything sharp. I'll cut ya! hahahaha! jokes! PS: if you read anything particularly good lately and are feeling kind enough to let me borrow it, holla atcha boy… 3:55 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment - Melissa i actually just finished this morn this awesome book called 'a strange loop' by douglas hofstradter. its a sweet introspective read that jumps through many topics such as the sense of self, the presence of souls, consciousness and what exactly the fuck am "I".... suprisenly quick and entertaining with many tidbits from other philosophers throughout, leading to other possibilities for future reads as well as eye opening anectdotes on all said topics...maybe good to occupy your mind in your situation known as sobriety. i know i can't teleport it to you, but i hope to be coming down to philly in oct 5 for this sweet party at shampoo...i'll keep you posted-holla! Posted by Melissa on Sep 6, 2007 5:07 PM [Reply to this] robin thank you melissa. you neva disappoint. Posted by robin on Sep 6, 2007 5:11 PM Last Login: 9/13/2007 Last post: under “Who I'd like to meet:” Robin wrote, “a train with teeth”. He then went to the tracks, walking south along their center until an Amtrak train ran him down. His body parts were found in and around the train and the train tracks as soon as the train was able to come to a complete stop. Man killed by train is identified. Posted by The Times of Trenton September 14, 2007 3:37PM TULLYTOWN, Pa. -- Officials have identified the person who was struck and killed by an Amtrak train Thursday evening as Robin Bermudez, 24, of Levittown. Bucks County Coroner Dr. Joseph Campbell released the name Friday afternoon. According to police and an Amtrak spokesperson, Bermudez was walking along the railroad tracks when Train 137 heading southbound en route from Boston to Washington hit him. The accident happened at 7:40 p.m. Amtrak spokesperson Tracy Connell said there were no injuries to any of the 252 passengers aboard the train. All of those passengers were transferred to two other trains to continue their journey, however several passengers who contacted The Times Friday said they waited nearly three hours before they were escorted to another train and then waited about another hour before that train started moving. On Friday, Amtrak spokesman Cliff Cole said the accident was under investigation, with no further details available. COMMENTS (15)Post a comment Posted by amtrak137 on 09/14/07 at 5:25PM As another Train 137 rider noted earlier, the delay was three hours, not one, as the Amtrak spokesperson claimed. Also, all 252 passengers were moved onto one train, not two. It seems disrespectful to "spin" Amtrak's reputation at a time like this. My deepest sympathies go to the family of the young man who was killed, as well as to the crew of Train 137, who were very professional and respectful to all during this sad event. Inappropriate? Alert us. Post a comment Posted by lees910 on 09/14/07 at 10:39PM I was a train 137 rider. The delay was 3 hours - we were transferred to one train, not two. We sat on the train for well over an hour before it was finally decided that our train would not be continuing on. The updates were few and far between. And then it was another hour before another train came to get us. And then it took another hour for us to be transferred to the second train. However, the train that came to get us was full of passengers as well. Train 137 had been a sold out train so fitting us onto the second train was quite an ordeal. Most of the 252 of us were forced to stand - how is that legal? How is that safe?! How does Amtrak get away with these things?! That delay was totally unacceptable. My sympathies go out to the family of the victim but Amtrak should have better and quicker evacuation techniques in place. Inappropriate? Alert us. Post a comment Posted by youthless on 09/15/07 at 7:09PM lees910 and amtrak137--are you kidding??? You were unfortunately put out of your way for several hours while someone's death was being dealt with. Perhaps you should have used that time to be thankful for having your life. Perhaps you should have used your cell phone to call those who are closest to you and tell them you were thinking of them. We are all humans. Facts get jumbled--and this story's insignificant facts were the second train arriving a few hours later. Here's a more important fact--SOMEONE IS DEAD, and you're alive. Be grateful instead of spiteful. Inappropriate? Alert us. Post a comment Posted by amtrak137 on 09/16/07 at 9:50AM @youthless. No, sorry. There is more than one story here. I'm sorry this one man made such a terrible, final choice. But I am also sorry that 252 people missed spending the evening with their kids, or dinner with their spouse, not because of a young man's suicide but because of Amtrak's lack of planning. So no, I don't see spitefulness in correcting the facts. I see mendacity in the fact that Amtrak used a young man's suicide as an occasion for "spin." And I am especially sorry that, as lees910 points out, this tragedy shows that Amtrak will have no clue what to do in a more dangerous emergency than this one. Inappropriate? Alert us. Post a comment Posted by miriclegrow on 09/16/07 at 2:39PM He was my friend. What are you even arguing about? I'm sorry if his suicide caused you to spend a few more hours on a train. I'm sure he didn't mean to inconvenience you. Inappropriate? Alert us. Post a comment Posted by whattheuk on 09/16/07 at 9:41PM Robin was a good friend of mine and he will be greatly missed! I also think for everyone that was on that train should stop careing about the delay and stop and think about the life that was lost and why! Something was wrong for him to do this, and it altimitly took his life. And you people are worried about the passengers and the delay, it really seems like that is more important than a 24 year old mans life! Rest in peace robin I hope you are happier now than you were here.We will miss you, I just wish we had more time with you! Inappropriate? Alert us. Post a comment Posted by across on 09/16/07 at 11:29PM I didn't really get to know Robin. But I came here to perhaps find out what happened to him and why. I can't believe that there are people on here crying about their disrupted morning commute. It's rather sickening to see how self involved some people are. In short, the world doesn't revolve around you. Get use to it. To the friends and family of Robin, my condolences. Inappropriate? Alert us. Post a comment Posted by a327495 on 09/17/07 at 9:46AM i was a good friend of robins. I'll admit the last year seemed a bit rocky for him. he will be missed greatly. today is his funeral and i still just can't believe it. Inappropriate? Alert us. Post a comment Posted by captainmorg on 09/17/07 at 10:43AM I am so completely disgusted by people on this page complaining about your god damn train delay. Can you please be a little more insensitive and selfish? You write that you are upset that you missed spending time with your kids, or that you missed dinner with your spouse....get over it. A very special mans life was lost and the train company I'm sure did their best to serve you ungrateful morons as best they could. I really wish that during that terrible delay that, I mean, thank god you survived, ("I have no idea how you did") I really wish that instead of sitting there being mad about the delay, that instead you sat there and mourned on the fact that your train just took the life of someone. I wish you sat there and appreciated that you still have your life. And I know that it says above that I'm sure he did not mean to inconvenience you, but with people leaving comments like this, I know he would of loved to inconvenience terrible people like you. Robin was one of my best friends. This is a terrible, terrible thing that happened. All this family and friends are struggling with this, and the last thing they need to do is read comments like the ones that amtrak137 and lees910 left. I love you Robin Inappropriate? Alert us. Post a comment Posted by 137rider on 09/17/07 at 12:40PM A lot of inaccuracies in the reporting here. The delay was indeed quite a bit longer than 1 hour. It was closer to three. Also, there was not a second train, there was 1. Train transfer created a very dangerous situation for all passengers aboard. We were transfered in the middle of no where and were told to absolutely not touch both trains at the same time or risk injury. I can't even imagine what the conductor is going through. Thats got to be traumatic. I think the Amtrak crew did an excellent job of dealing with everyone. I'm sure the people in business class were upset as they were probably standing like the rest of us and they paid 32$ more to do so. I see many refunds coming. I also have a lot of sympathy for the trains behind us as I can't imagine how messed up their commute was. 3.5 hour delay is no good for anyone. Especially people who had obligations after arriving to their destinations. Inappropriate? Alert us. Post a comment Posted by kannacker on 09/17/07 at 9:43PM It was a very sad day for the crew of Amtrak train #137. I was a member of the crew. One of the reasons it took so long was at first we didn't even know we had hit someone. We thought it was a deer or something that someone put on the tracks. When we inspected the train and their was blood on the engine we didn't realize we may have hit someone until we saw a pair of paints attached to the engine . We the called the dispatcher who instructed us to walk back to see if we could determine if we hit anyone. We left three crew members on the train to keep the passengers informed as to what was going on. Four of us walk back almost a mile to cover all four tracks. This was no cake walk for any of us. It is very hard to walk on the tracks since you are walking on stones (ballast) plus the fact that we were looking for a body or body parts. It was a very sad day for all of us when we discovered body parts and then the torso. I was devastated when I found and read the suicide note. I really feel sorry for Robin and wish that he could have been able to get some help to work through his problems. As for the passengers the delay was long but their is a procedure that must be followed. No trains are allowed to move until the police arrive and inspect the tracks. The corner also has to come to the scene. Once all of this happens then when the police give their permission that they are complete in their investigation the trains can then be allowed to move again. As far as getting a train that is empty their are none close by. An empty train would have to come from Washington DC or from Boston, and that would take at least three to four hours to arrive on the scene. All the other trains are in use and have passengers on them. As far as I am concerned Amtrak did a very good job of getting a train to stop and load all the people on it. Yes many had to stand including myself and the crew, but we managed to get everyone on one train instead of using two trains which would have taken longer to complete the transfer. Also those who would have been left behind would have really been upset because they would have had to wait longer. Passengers were kept informed and how to transfer from one train to another without causing injury. The reason they were told not to touch both trains at one time was a safety issue. By touching both trains at one time causes a bridge of two different circuits. This can cause a possible shock or a tingling in the arms and legs as the current passes through the body. Could one be killed by this I don't really know but I have bridged the circuits before and I am still alive. My blessings and prayers go out to Robin and his family. All of you have been in my prayers every night. I will never forget that night for the rest of my life. The tapes in my head play every night when I am in bed, I think about this unfortunate accident everyday. It is just a very sad situation that this young man only lived for a short time. Robin may god watch over you and I hope you are in peace. You are in my prayers. Rick, (Amtrak Conductor) Inappropriate? Alert us. Post a comment Posted by across on 09/17/07 at 11:15PM Rick, you are a decent human being. I'm sorry such a compassionate person had such a tragic experience. And I'm almost just as sorry that you have to deal with such mindlessly selfish commuters on a daily basis. Inappropriate? Alert us. Post a comment Posted by TankGirl on 09/18/07 at 4:45PM What is wrong with society? All I keep reading about is how upset everyone was about the delay, when a good man/friend died in that tragic accident! Robin and I may have drifted apart from each other after High School but he was a good person. I just found out about this event today. And I have to say I am appalled at the reactions of people to this post. Robin was a good friend, and he will be mourned/missed. "Remember me when I am gone away. Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand. Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me: you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had. Better by far you should forget and smile Than you should remember and be sad." Quote from ~ Christina Rossetti Inappropriate? Alert us. Post a comment Posted by rdifrancesco on 09/22/07 at 10:06AM I was also a passenger on Train 137. I boarded at Penn Station, New York and departed around 6:30pm. The train came to a stop at approximately 7:30pm, one hour into the three hour ride to Washington. The Amtrak crew made a few initial announcements that they may have hit something on the tracks and needed to check the train for damage before it could start moving again. They provided periodic updates but information was limited. We sat for at least an hour and a half before we were told the train would not be resuming the trip because a police investigation was required, as such we were required to do a train-to-train transfer on the adjacent tracks. Our train was at capacity due to Train 655, scheduled to depart New York after our train, being cancelled. Those passengers were bumped up to Train 137. Around 9:30pm passengers were transferred to a single Amtrak train, most of us standing the length of that train. The report does inaccurately state that two trains were sent, however, this information was probably obtained from an Amtrak spokesperson and the crew most likely initially notified the control center they would require two trains to accommodate the heavy passenger load. According to my call log, it was at least 10pm, probably closer to 10:30pm before the second train started moving. For reference, we reached the Wilmington, Delaware station at 11:10pm. Given this, the stated delays of three hours are reasonably accurate. The train reached its final destination of Union Station, Washington, D.C. at approximately 1:00am. Given the circumstances of this incident, the Amtrak crew handled the situation in a professional manner and to the best of their ability. Infrequent updates while stuck on the train were most likely due to lack of initial information as the crew followed procedures to determine what had occurred. It was also fully dark by this time, which most likely further complicated the crew's preliminary investigation. In my estimation, Amtrak executed the contingency plans to the best of their ability. Sure, we all could have done without the three hour delay, but Amtrak generally doesn't keep empty trains hanging around at every station during rush hour on one of it's most heavily traveled lines. And yes, it was uncomfortable to stand on a moving train for a long period of time, but to say it's unacceptable is rather ignorant. Given the circumstances, standing was probably the best option for the crew and most passengers and the train did run at slower speeds because of this. Because an Amtrak ticket is for a reserved seat, having to stand when paying for a seat is a legitimate complaint. I strongly recommend calling the Amtrak Customer Relations department, as I did last night. They are aware of this incident and I stated up front that I was not calling to complain about the delay nor trying to get a refund for an incident which was completely out of Amtrak's hands. However, I, like many other passengers, had obligations and further travel arrangements beyond that of the train's destination and those were significantly impacted. Without question, Amtrak issued a travel voucher which is a satisfactory response for this situation. Lastly, let's cut the crap about the passengers being so insensitive and selfish during the incident. The truth is suicide is the most selfish act one can commit. Referring to the passengers as "ungrateful morons" shows a lack of intelligence on behalf of that writer, after all, I chose to get on the train, not under it. The passengers I was seated near all handled this maturely and understood Amtrak was not at fault. More to the point, it was not our train that took Robin's life, it was Robin's state of mind and his selfishness that took his life. To say the train took his life is to say that the train engineer is directly responsible for his death. You can't stop a train running at nearly 120MPH with over a million pounds of force behind it. Simply put, the train engineer did not have a choice, Robin did. He chose poorly. He made a conscious decision to end his life in a manner that could have very easily taken the lives of innocent passengers on that train. We all felt the tremendous jolt as our train car traveled over him. I'm still not sure how some cars did not derail. He could have chosen to take his life in another manner that didn't jeopardize others. I shouldn't be criticized for wanting to get on with my travel and personal plans simply because Robin put himself under the wheels of a locomotive I happened to be on. Amtrak and the passengers dealt maturely and properly with a situation created by someone who, by that single decision, defines selfishness. Inappropriate? Alert us. Post a comment Posted by gghumanist on 10/20/07 at 7:51PM Hi. Contrary to popular belief, the reason people who knew Robin blast the passengers who came on here to complain is not because they do not have sufficient intelligence to understand that Robin's actions had consequences which affected other people, for, believe me, they were affected. After all, while he MAY have jeopardized your plans, and MAY have jeopardized your safety, he, in fact, DID do serious, unavoidable harm to the psyches and souls of the people who loved him. They call for sensitivity, not because he was an innocent victim of a train, or of circumstance, but because they were. They are the only ones around to be hurt by the comments posted here. Your railing against his suicide as "the supremely selfish act" could not possibly be more obtuse, nor a bigger waste of time, and not just because his actions were a practically inevitable result of the bad chemicals that FUBAR'd Robin's brain, God rest his soul, nor because it is now far too late to try to sway him with bumper sticker slogans. You are a fool of the worst sort if you believe Robin's mourners need to be told by some punk on a train anything, anything, about how awful and careless and hurtful his actions were. They are living it. And yet they continue to love him, forgive him, mourn him. What does that say about him? What does it say about you, that you think now is the time, and this the audience to whom you should be preaching your high-handed diatribe? Is this the forum on which to showcase your own lack of experience, of compassion? You want to talk about selfishness? "Can true humility and compassion exist in our words and eyes unless we know we too are capable of any act?" -St. Francis of Assisi Inappropriate? Alert us. Post a comment Username (Don't Have a Username? Sign up here): Password: Remember Me ☺ Photo's of Robin courtesy of his Mother. This is a found piece and a true story, elements of which originally appeared on NJ.com Bio: Living by the Great Salt Lake, Cheyenne Nimes is a cross-genre writer currently working on poetry/nonfiction hybrids. Work is forthcoming in The Shell Game, an anthology on forms (University of Nebraska). Awarded the Edwin Ford Piper Scholar Award for Names for Water Bodies & Other Places the Water Fell: A Micro-history of American Rivers and the World Water Crisis, she was a University of Iowa Art Museum resident writer chosen by Eula Biss. Passing Through 90 Degrees, which garnered an NEA, received the Michael Rubin award from San Francisco State University. South Loop Review, Ninth Letter, DIAGRAM, Kenyon Review, etc. are recent homes, and work is forthcoming in Jellyfish Review, Threadcount, and interIrupture. She collects rocks, feral cats, & crime shows. 1/25/2017 1 Comment Unbroken by Cynthia BruckmanUnbroken It’s just the two of us, kneeling on the floor. The “care package” from our friend sits opened between us, a centerpiece. He says that it will be good, that I’ll like it. He unwraps a little black rock wrapped in foil. Inside the box, are a few joints in a film canister, and a pack of American Spirits. He lights a joint, sucks in on a long inhale. Then he tilts his head, smiling, leans in for a kiss, I move my mouth slowly to meet his. I open it to take in the smoke with his tongue. A bond, like a knot, coils us together. A shot glass of tequila to wash it down. His eyes are looking right through me. There is no furniture in his apartment, small as a hospital room. Outside, the leash on a dog tied to the chain link fence strangles his bark. The moon is full and shines through the slits of the metallic blinds. I like him, and I want him to like me. A lump in my throat sits like hardened bone. But will I die for him? No. He repeats it will be good, that I’ll like it. Tells me roll up your sleeve. I can do this I say to myself. He says slurp, slurp, virgin veins, as he pats the blue bulges on my arm. It’s better than sex he says, moving his hand inside my pants. As he slides his fingers down, he whispers something in my ear, like love, or one, not sure which. A shudder shakes through me. Now my belly is warm. The room spins, and before I know it, he is cooking the rock on a spoon, his black trench coat spilled on the floor around him, his sleeves rolled up, his thin arms so white, so pale, his dyed black hair in ringlets around his shoulders, steadying the flame like a Wizard or a Warlock. Give me your arm he says. It is a ritual he is performing now. A faint smell of vinegar fills the air. He rolls a cotton ball on the spoon, asks me to hold it as the syringe slowly pulls back, swallows what’s in the puffy ball. Are you scared? he says with a smile, and I am, but I’m quiet, so he says I’ll go first, and he ties his arm with a rubber strap. His veins stand out like ropes. Tap, tap, tap. Tiny bubbles float up the plastic tube, then disappear. My heart feels like a runaway train, barreling down the tracks. I watch as his vein jumps when the needle pushes in. If I have to call for help, there is no phone here, there are no neighbors. The night is quiet, the dog is quiet. He is breathing deeply, smiling, resting his head on my lap. His eyes are two black stones, shining. I hold him like this for a long time. There is no world outside, only he and I. The moonlight comes through the window in strips of white. I might die tonight I think to myself. The light feels cold, his eyes feel cold, I wonder if he is real. I can’t leave him like this, so still. I don’t know where I am. South Side? He sits up, kneeling, facing me. It’s your turn now he says. I let him take my arm. He holds it, gently, as if it were a baby who he is comforting in the dead of night. My breath is shallow in my chest, my hands are cold, and white. I don’t want to die. Not now. Not here. There are no cabs to call. I like this boy, and I want him to like me. But I am only eighteen. The gutted building across the street stares back at me. A train cries out somewhere very far away. I see my mother’s face. I grab my bag, and stick a smoke between my lips. I conjure cool, I muster strength. Take me home I say. Bio: Cynthia Bruckman is the author of Endangered Species (Wind River Press, 2005). Her plays have been produced in Seattle, San Francisco, and New York. She is a dual American-Canadian citizen, currently living on Vancouver Island, British Columbia. Brooklyn based artist Erin M. Riley creates awe inspiring, one of a kind tapestries, spending an insane amount of time and energy at her loom, dyeing and weaving, the process itself very physically demanding, from foot pedals and constant movement back and forth across the loom. As one reviewer wrote "guns, syringes, bongs, vomit, sex, cars crashing, no topic is too much to be recreated on Erin’s loom." One of her installations, of which the pieces are some of the biggest she has made, come from a series entitled Year of Porn, in which Erin painstakingly weaved into tapestries screen shots of the porn she was watching, these pieces she cites as being among the more difficult and technically problematic to make, as well as being thematically risky, as she put it " it serves as a dairy of things that most people don't publicly discuss. It outed me as a porn watcher, non hetero etc." Some of the tapestries also involve selfies, including a series of weaving's around young women's often nude selfies sent to boyfriends or girlfriends. When decoupled from their attendant conversations, Erin notes they often become mundane and lack the original intimacy that existed at the time the captured image was taken. Her work focuses on technology, women's bodies/issues and most importantly the sex positive, unapologetic affirmation of the feminine self, as Erin puts it "admitting a desire or a sexual proclivity towards males feels like betrayal. It's a hard concept to wrestle with that a smart independent strong woman can also want to be sexy and pretty and have all of those things be defined by them while also sometimes being for and with men." In addition there are critiques of technology, where, as Erin writes, " the down sides are the fact that cause and effect is basically hidden from view. Saying something, doing something, sending, clicking, etc etc, its all "action" but zero consumption of the recipient or other side." Spending sometimes 12 hours a day buried under mountains of wool and cotton, the energy expended is admirable and the effort translates into woven pieces that are more than just labors of love; they are labors of every human emotion, experience and topic possible. AHC: Can you talk a bit about your process, themes & inspirations? Erin: I am inspired by everything. I try to observe and consume experiences from people of all walks of life and see things from all different perspectives so that I might reach deeper into their psyche. I am trying to reflect my reality clearer so that people can understand one perspective of a human. I work with weaving, so I collect, take, and prepare to scale drawings for the loom. I dye the yarn, mixing it up and organize it for the piece and get to weaving. Each piece takes about 80-100+ hours to complete. AHC: What first drew you to art/weaving? Was there a specific moment in your life or turning point where it became clear to you that you were being called to create in the ways that you have? Erin: I kept diaries obsessively in my childhood, it was the only friend I could rely on when I was stressed or worried. I could be *me*. My mother read those diaries and yelled at me because I knew the word "boner" and as an act of defiance I ripped up all of my diaries and started basically sketchbooks, collaging, drawing, and writing in code so that no one could ever understand what I was talking about. I have been a loner since I was a little kid, I would make stuff for hours on my own and that has continued into my adulthood, its my safety net. AHC: Who are some of your artistic influences? Is there anyone outside of the art world who has had a significant impact on your work or who just generally inspire you, writers, filmmakers, musicians etc? Erin: Art is Louise Bourgeois, Francis Bacon, Kara Walker, Ray Johnson, Betty Tompkins. I love Raymond Carver, and Anne Frank. I spent a lot of time listening to folk music, politically minded, emotional and soothing. It was inspiring. AHC: In your series of tapestries around sexting and even in Year of Porn, the inspiration and its executions is very sex-positive, has there been a larger amount of people who really get that aspect of it or are there more people who are often offended without realizing the positive aspect behind the themes you're dealing with? How do you handle or navigate this with people who can't allow themselves to just take the work in with an open mind? Erin: ahhhh. the dilemma of porn! many repressed people take their fears and discomfort out on those who are trying to push themselves and those around them further. Porn is held responsible for the decline of civilization just like rock music was in the 80s. So much of sex is related to fear for women, and they are scared for my safety, for their own safety, and I worry that this fear is probably hindering their sex life or their connection to their own body. I have empathy, my own mother is worried that this work will "attract the weirdos" but she doesn't want to accept that I am a weirdo. My work doesn't shock me, does that make me depraved or just well adjusted? AHC: It seems there has always been a tension, historically, between sex positive feminists, such as Kathy Acker, Lydia Lunch, and the rest of feminism which can sometimes take a very moralizing stance toward feminists who are sex positive and who explore that through the work that they do. How do you navigate this double standard and what are your thoughts on its existence, why is there such resistance from within? Erin: I think while many intellectual feminists can speak and write about being strong and independent of men, admitting a desire or a sexual proclivity towards males feels like betrayal. It's a hard concept to wrestle with that a smart independent strong woman can also want to be sexy and pretty and have all of those things be defined by them while also sometimes being for and with men. I had a huge struggle with it in my younger years, it's complicated. But the more we talk about sex and the more we understand that our sexual life does not define or take away from our intellectual life or independence the better all genders will be. AHC: What do you see as the pros and cons of modern technology? We often hear of its many up sides, what do you think the down sides are? Erin: the down sides are the fact that cause and effect is basically hidden from view. saying something, doing something, sending, clicking, etc etc, its all "action" but zero consumption of the recipient or other side. we are too comfortable on this interweb. AHC: What is the most challenging, difficult piece you've created, both in terms of execution and of fleshing out the idea for it? Erin: I had been hiding away these porn screenshots for a piece that was a record of the date and time I was watching, over years. It was challenging technically, I had to weave many separate images and many numbers and letters, but it was also challenging conceptually. It serves as a dairy of things that most people don't publicly discuss. It outed me as a porn watcher, non hetero, etc. AHC: Is the creative process at all cathartic and healing for you personally? Does it give you a place to store and transform difficult or numb moments in life? Erin: Yes for sure. I use making as a way to have consistency in my life which is mostly mundane save for some random times of chaos. It helps me through anxiety and stress, it challenges me and encourages me. I often end my day thinking I wasn't sure I could get through some parts, and yet here I am, a few more inches closer to finishing. AHC: What is the first work of art you encountered that took your breath away? Erin: During a video exhibition at the Philadelphia ICA many years ago I sat in a small booth watching a Kara Walker video piece. This was the first time I had seen her work in motion, her work is constantly riveting but there was something about this video piece that gutted me. AHC: Do you have any words of advice or encouragement for other artists & creators who are struggling, in whatever stage of the process they find themselves in, experiencing doubt or frustration with where they are in their art form? What are the kinds of things you remind yourself of when you are struggling creatively? Erin: Trust yourself. You're the boss. I always felt like I had to know what I was making next or have a clear explanation of the body of work that I was currently producing, but the more I make pieces the more I know that they tell you what they mean when they're ready. Seeing pieces together in a group explains so much more than any statement or blurb. So I embrace the making. I know they will make sense at some point, to me at least. Do the work. AHC: Do you have any upcoming exhibits/performances or new projects you'd like to tell people about? Erin: I have an upcoming solo exhibition that will open March 4 in San Francisco California at Hashimoto contemporary. The show is titled 'Simple' and it's about the layers of visual experiences. All images © Erin M. Riley erinmriley.com/home.html Photo of the artist via Erin's Instagram: |
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April 2024
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