Thursday, November 15, 2012
3 mags I read recently & loved: Pop Serial Issue 3, Habitat: Doom, Illuminati Girl Gang Vol. 2
Hi. Stephen Tully Dierks here. The third issue of Pop Serial is being serialized online. A print edition is forthcoming. The magazine also has a regularly updated tumblr with news and things concerning past, present, and maybe future contributors.
The third issue features writing and/or visual art by the following people: Tao Lin, Luna Miguel, Ben Brooks, Sam Pink, Steve Roggenbuck, Blaise Larmee, Frank Hinton, Timothy Willis Sanders, Richard Chiem, Ana Carrete, Crispin Best, Poncho Peligroso, Andrew James Weatherhead, Cameron Pierce, Shaun Gannon, Michael Inscoe, Cassandra Troyan, DJ Berndt, Madison Langston, Zachary Whalen, Liam Bjartrun Adams, Spencer Madsen, Elaine Sun, Jackson Nieuwland, Omar De Col, Stacey Teague, Meggie Green, James Duncan, Cassandra Nguyen, Marshall Mallicoat.
To celebrate, I asked random questions to friends of mine who were on gchat at the time. Omar De Col and I came up with some questions while intoxicated. I gave each person a choice of question. The vague topics/subjects from which to pick were: bloodthirsty Lappet-faced vultures; otters; poop; Omar De Col; fish butt-rape. Some people picked the same question as each other. Fish butt-rape was the most popular question. Below are the questions and responses.
edited by Stephen Tully Dierks
'Pop Serial is the project of Stephen Tully Dierks and his ... issue hits so hard that everyone is weeping not from pain but from sheer exaltation of it finally making its Internet peace with a smooth new site.
'All of your faves or should-be faves and undiscovered faves have a piece in here -- really capturing 'something' -- whether that's a new style, a new view or rehashed styles of minimalistic heroes -- I'll let you decide, but it's all fine and enjoyable, possibly even more stimulating than the sno-ball-cone-shaved ice thing I got yesterday when it was a 100 degrees.' -- Impose
Contributors: Tao Lin, Luna Miguel, Blaise Larmee, John Campbell, Sam Pink, Megan Boyle, Steve Roggenbuck, Timothy Willis Sanders, Ana C., Richard Chiem, Cameron Pierce, Andrew James Weatherhead, Michael Inscoe, Poncho Peligroso, Cassandra Troyan, Shaun Gannon, Madison Langston, Zachary Whalen, Cassandra Nguyen, and more.
by Richard Cheim
CHLOE IS DISTRAUGHT and momentarily she considers starving to death on purpose, driving fast in her car with no headlights turned on. Palm trees sway in the breeze above the dark wooden fences surrounding the house and large estate. She has the sense she has never been here before. She turns and waits, trying her best to relax her face. She swears the road was glistening in the dark when she was driving on the way over. Chloe nods: the drug inside her pleasantly nods, her eyes glaze and space to Jesse uphill, who is unrolling his window down and getting out of his car. Jesse in his red board shorts watches her as she silently takes off her blouse, unbuttoning from top to bottom and unhooks her bra and she drops them both at her heels holding eye contact with him in the wind. She says, I don’t know you. I know Alyssa. You don’t know me.
There are people jumping into a swimming pool behind the house: sounds of muffled splashing, muffled laughter, sounds of girls screaming. There is smoke coming from behind the house. She asks, Are you having a party or something, staring at his crotch somewhat light-headed and pale in her face. She is transfixed by a small hole in his board shorts. If only there were no boundaries. She is thinking, If only. And then Chloe faints. Jesse hopes that he knows her. He brushes her hair from her eyes, covers her with his jacket from the car, and asks if she is okay. She is still breathing. The party vibrates from inside the house. He is thinking his roommate must be having a gala. There is a little green in his eyes in the light from the driveway, she can see when she regains consciousness a few minutes later. Jesse cannot remember what he ate this morning or why he woke up this morning or what song was playing on the radio, but he remembers feeling peaceful imagining a basketball game in his head instead of paying close attention to the road driving home fast as though enlightened. Chloe is topless in Jesse’s arms, her warm thighs on top of gravel, claiming she has regained consciousness. Jesse is wearing a wool sweater and board shorts. Chloe, for a moment, opens her eyes and says, I don’t understand what you’re wearing.
by Meggie Green
I Am Your Friend IRL
by Liam Bjartrún Adams
is it tantra, or scrying
to be under a duvet all day
divining words, some bullshit about
butts i wanna kiss,
the unbelievable energies
in our online megalith,
bitches i got
i dunno i just wanna balance
pure violence and healing,
reconciling the internet
and the life forces around me, us,
just make myself do the things
i wanna do and take a
fuck load of cocaine and just
be alive in a maelstrom of sensation
and just fly up into space and
just suffocate on the love of the universe
and just be rough fucked by a
quasar jet and have
nice friends and i dunno
mostly i just want the ridiculous
and for somebody to be
running their hand down my chest
or pressing buttons to make
my insides work, tantric
massaging nerves and neurones,
or scrying for something worth keeping
Cassandra Troyen 'Untitled (drowning)'
DJ Berndt 'MATCH DOT COM'
Steve Roggenbuck and Stephen Tully Dierks read 'I LOVE MUSIC'
'Earth and Uranus drive around Beta Quadrant looking for Starbucks. Uranus feels severely hung over. Uranus wants a tall mocha and a new pack of cigarettes. Uranus remembers he told Venus he’d send her a text message once in Beta Quadrant, to find out where to meet or something. Uranus thinks, ‘I hope that she and the other planets are close by. Feel worried about the stability of my head.’
'Earth and Uranus find Starbucks but it is on a one-way street near a busy intersection with no docking spaces and so Uranus’s brain shifts to ‘fucking super nova waiting to happen’ status. Venus replies via text that she and the other planets are at a small diner and that it is stressful as fuck there as well. She says that she would prefer them to meet later or wait somewhere for the group to finish eating.
'Uranus feels mild disappointment but doesn’t want to drive around Beta Quadrant anymore—or ever again—so they take a wormhole to the suburbs and look for a liquor store. They find one and grab a six-pack of Magic Hat but the cashier doesn’t let them pay. She wants to see both IDs and Uranus left his passport in Alpha Quadrant, so guess what yeah his head explodes.' -- Stephen Michael McDowell
edited by Buttercup Mcgillicuddy/Stephen McDowell
Habitat is a quarterly arts/media/literature magazine presented as a ‘clusterfuck’ of material by various artists, poets, writers, filmmakers, musicians, and programmers from around the world. It is curated by Stephen Michael McDowell.
Contributions: videos by Maggie Lee and Walter Mackey, music by Mallory Whitten and Jordan Castro and poetry and stories by Stacey Teague, Carolyn DeCarlo, Alice May Connelly, Natalie Chin, Mira Gonzalez, Sarah Jean Alexander, Jackson Nieuwland, Beach Sloth, Ana Carrete, Brittany Wallace & Matthew Donahoo among others.
this is a wednesday, i am 70% hungover, i am not emotional.
by Sarah Jean Alexander
by Jackson Nieuwland
by LK Shaw
Walter Mackey 'après l’ouragan'
Maggie Lee 'National Anthem'
Willis Plummer 'Lol. Thx Texas I Will Never Love Again', 'On The Motion of Bodies'
'It has been a while since anybody’s heard from the Illuminati Girl Gang. Law enforcement breaks up gangs all the time. For many months literally tens of people wondered where the illuminati girl gang had gone. Thankfully they turn up in the midst of the hurricane. What the hurricane offers the illuminati girl gang is the ability to begin looting their hearts out. Rumors of a Tao Lin ‘looting spree’ have already surfaced. Others within the alt lit have tweeted aloud about the looting possibilities. None of them are the illuminati girl gang. Dedication to the illuminati will greatly improve their looting chances. ...
'Yes the illuminati girl gang does end up looting. What they take isn’t tangible. The amount of time they steal is remarkable. What they give back is a form of enlightenment. Is this it the most massive thing the girl gang has ever undertaken? Sure, but wait until the next issue out in 2013. For that issue they will have over 80 submissions. People need to get ready.' -- Beach Sloth
curated by Gabby Gabby
Illuminati Girl Gang is a zine for female expression in the arts.
We are not accepting submissions at this time.
Please use past issues as a guideline for what type of work we are looking for.
Email all submissions and press inquiries to gabbygabbypoetry [at] gmail [dot] com
Contributors: Samantha Conlon, Natalie Chin, Cassandra de Alba, xTx, Cassandra Troyan, Bunny Rogers, Clara Lipfert, Alice May Connolly, Júlía Hermannsdóttir, Maggie Lee, Laura Marie Marciano, Emma Dajska, Mira Gonzalez, Penny Goring, Roxane Gay, Chelle Whitchurch, Sarah San, Luna Miguel, Juliet Eldred, Carolyn DeCarlo, Hilary Gardiner
by Cassandra de Alba
Yesterday I Cut Myself With Blood and Watched It Leave My Body and All I Could Do Is Agree
Has anyone decided anything? A type of juice or a fake sort of animal fur? What will you cover yourself in? I have a mother, a dirtywet sheet, an old friend. We could take turns lying to each other. I will point to other things while I know you are trying to watch me. Stroke my penis with an effervescent look in your eye. Make sure you are watching while I come. OMG lick my balls. I just want my balls in your hotwet mouth.
If my mother were alive. If my mother were a person who believed in me. If there were these things, then, maybe there could be a different type of me who cared about what you might think I should care about. Right now there are balloons and texts from girls who work at Mexican restaurants serving girls who don’t want you to have boyfriends.
I am thinking about serving chili dogs. But the buns would be epic–a household of carwash front-meister tinglings. The chili made of human meat. Chopped onions. Cheese. Sour cream (optional). A grandfather digging in with two forks. A toothless mouth searching for food on a fork. See that. Take a minute. Watch him with his pestering nomnomnom and think about death. See the redbrown drool streaming through his beard. A soundtrack of a dying man feeling around for a cellphone. Feel sad for the elderly. The end of the longest race. How your mother cried at her father’s funeral. Death is a happy thing. Wear a red dress. Get drunk. Fuck people who don’t care about you.
I have so many friends my life can only be 100 percent better than yours. All of my dildos are actual dicks. Horse dicks with pulses and veins that don’t bulge too much attached to men who find me attractive. Men who think I am the fucking hottest shit around. I have a bag full of fake fucking dicks I pretend are men that want me. I fuck them with my pussy and no, I never cry. I AM NOT CRYING. I am a fullfilled soul that feels good about herself and feels pretty at all times and needs no validation from any men whatsoever.
I am not crying.
Any bears that escape from the zoo can live here. Kill anyone else but be safe with me. You see, but I take their claws and rub them across my skin. All tasted with rabies and every disease that needs to get inside my skin. It doesn’t even matter. I scrape them hard. Because I deserve everything I get. Even on a molecular level.
by Samantha Conlon
Roxane Gay reads
Bunny Rogers 'waiting for Anne'
Júlía Hermannsdóttir/Ryan Manning 'table of contents'
p.s. RIP: Pete Namlook. Hey. The LA run of 'Them' shows begin tonight. I'm nervous, and there's a bunch of work still to do this afternoon, but hopefully it'll go okay. Joel Westendorf is shooting photos of the rehearsals and the performance, so I'll post a 'you are (sort of) there' slideshow early next week. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi, David. Great, thanks for the link to your Fandor. I haven't seen the new Assayas yet, and I'm very curious. Everyone, the venerable David Ehrenstein has a new article up at Fandor about Olivier Assayas' latest film 'Something in the Air' (Apres Mai), and you are hereby strongly urged to go read it, and this should make that ultra-easy. And maybe you'd also like to make a stopover at Mr. E's mighty Fablog before he leaves your field of reference for today where he has a little ditty entitled 'Jefferson Davis vs. Tammy Wynette'. Care to solve the mystery of that title? Again, easy. ** Wolf, Hey! Yeah, I guess God would ideally be a sort of very neutral, even-tempered sort of bloke or bloke-ess, but I can't think of a religion that lets Him or Her be the mellow, Mr. Spock-like mega-creature whom He would have to be. So, fuck the whole idea, I guess? Oh, money and Paris do kind of go paw in paw, I guess, right? A Recollets job, hm, interesting. You could have been the mouse catcher until a couple of weeks ago when I think they brought in some murderer to take them out. Heck, look, I'll mosey into the office when I get back and try to use my charms to suss out the hole in their game plan that would need to you create the Recollets' perfection. Oh, right, the semiotics MA. That is a good reason. Of course, there's got to be a bunch of hella thorough semiotics studies situations in Paris where, if semiotics wasn't actually invented, it was at least finessed to within an inch of exhaustion. I so don't want to be called ol' man, so I so won't call you k***o again, promise. ** Cobaltfram, Hi, John. I just watched the first bit of that porn. Over 5,000,000 hits! I like how American they talk. I can see how they would meet the needs of many gay guys, but, you know, not mine, so I'll wait to read what you write about it. Well, I hope this thing I'm writing ends up being something I can publish in a book. That's the first goal, or the first editing-phase goal, or maybe the 10th goal or something. Iow, thank you, me too. Sorry about the afternoon effect. In one week, I'll be back to waking you up again. ** 5STRINGS, I don't mind noisy Americans as long as they know they're just special guests in an ensemble like, I don't know, if Jack White came out for Daft Punk's encore and played his characteristic styley guitar stuff along to some Daft Punk song, although that does sound like it would sound really miserable, so never mind. Anyway,you laid out the dilemma and solution far more than adequately, so I bow to your acuity. ** The Dreadful Flying Glove, Hi, pal. Thirty years is a long time, but that's a big motherfucking outcome, so maybe it's just a job well done. And I definitely felt some cosmic in your insight. Now I'm tempted to shave the top of my noggin, except I've got this nasty post-axe wound scar there, and, despite appearances, I am not in fact into shocking folks. I think you're offline now. But when you see this, you won't be. Strange, that timing thing. Interesting, though. Anyway, thank you for your good wishes re: the theater thing, and I will look forward very much to see you again on our respective other sides. ** Steevee, Great about the interview having gone so well. I never did see that Sean Penn/Goth rock star movie when it was playing in France. The trailers made it look like very odd fun. The people I know who saw it said something on the order of: film itself is disappointing given the tasty premise, but that Penn himself is pretty mesmerizing. What did you think? ** Misanthrope, No, seriously, criticizing The Doors is the magic key to great health and happiness. In fact, I might even open a school to teach that methodology. Weird, the Morrison death spot is so not a dump. I don't know where that dump thing came from. Very pleasant, mildly chic place. A favorite restaurant of my French publisher. And when Morrison died there, it was a very trendy dance club, so whoever reported that dump thing is wrong on all fronts. Anyway, I'll get you in. It's near St. Michel. Just around the corner from Rimbaud's old Paris apartment. You've almost walked by it a few times probably. Fleas? Well, then you shouldn't be having sex with your nephew's friends, George. That's the moral of that story. ** Postitbreakup, Hi, J. Well, no reason for you to pay more attention at all, but, yeah, I'm here doing 'Them'. And how are you, my friend, if I dare ask? ** Jeff, Hi, Jeff! Oh, cool. Everyone, courtesy of d.l. Jeff, here's an except from Kenneth Anger's film 'Elliott's Suicide'. And, oh, that is exciting about that new Jahnn book! I have to get that. Really nice yet simple cover too. Atlas has a treasure trove forthcoming there. Would love to get the Leiris novels combo reprint. Thanks a lot for all that good stuff/news, and for being here, man. ** Rewritedept, Hey! Thank you again so much for the great fest yesterday! LA is swell. I've been semi-living at the theater, but, hopefully, if the premiere goes well and none of the performers break their ankles or anything, I'll get more away time starting tomorrow. I'll check 'Skagboys' then, cool thanks! Hope you're doing wonderfully. ** Bollo, Hi, Jonathan. Video is fucking awesome, man! If they don't sweep you into that show, their heads are clearly screwed on sideways. Joel is shooting a lot of 'Them' photos, and I'll post some next week. Pleasant day, sir. ** Starlon H, Hey! I owe you an email. Sorry, it's been a bit crazed, but hopefully it'll ease up tomorrow, and I'll write to you then. Fantastic, thank you so much for the hook up with the Mister Ugly track! I'll get to hear it later on or tomorrow at the latest. Everyone, here's an exciting chance to hear a track by musical maestro and d.l. Starlon H's band/ project Mister Ugly, and this is a momentous gift, and do not miss your chance. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, Ben! It's your birthday! Everyone, it's the birthday of the one and only _Black_Acrylic aka the realms-sweeping talent and dude Ben Robinson. Wish or at least think him a very happy one, guys! I guess your b'day is bordering on over by now, and I hope it continued to be worthy of you, my friend. Sucks about that title's pre-existence. Hateful, or least sad, when that happens. Take the very, very best! ** Chilly Jay Chill, Hi, Jeff. Um, I make the scrapbook pages when a novel dilemma comes up, or when I need to take an askance view on something, I guess. All the scrapbook posts I'm doing here are influenced both by the limitations and pluses of the blog format, and they are at least semi-consciously made with the obvious knowledge that they're being made public. I'm sure they would be different in at least most cases if I was making them in a private space. Clearly, sharing them is part of the point of their construction, but that aspect feels like a crapshoot, I guess, or the exposing of something so intense and personal for me has a frightening quality that I think is at least conducive if not even helpful in some way to the emotional and psychological state that I'm putting myself in and then exploring to write this book. If that makes sense, Yeah, thank you a lot for caring and asking, Jeff. ** Joshua nilles, Hi! It's the 'real' you! I think I understand. Beautifully thought through and put. Take care, buddy. ** Okay. I think that's that. Today I alert you to three more totally free-to-read online mags that I've loved and learned a lot from recently. Obviously, I highly recommend that you investigate them. And, with that, I will see you tomorrow.
Posted by Dennis Cooper at 8:35 AM