1930; Modernity and Decadence.

Faces gathered around faces, 
a celebration of lust, 
Skipping through lines, 
powedered lines on bathroom glass counters
Dusted eyes, and heels
And men as woman and woman as men 
the music so loud its reaks of silence,
Body’s dripping, shaking,
Thumping
A gathering of
Silent lips, that talk nonesence,
That feel a lot,
That are constantly looking for more, hope,
Love, pleasure,
For more
sex,
Eyes, to wondering into and out of
Mind that go in terrible states of obscene oblivion,
A comatose state of satisfaction,
Or insatisfaction which ever you prefer,
Contantly retracing, repeating
What has been done before
Grabing onto the old avant garde
Making it ours
Forgething the rage that once was there within those same statements of
Art
Of avant garde
Of deconstructing what we identify ourselves so easily to.

Jasmina by Marie Jane

ROAD TRIPPING.

He hadn’t seen her in eight months, the last time had been at Auntie Clara’s 80th. She had shown up late, a gangly adolescent arm draped cooly over her shoulder. “Shawn, this is my dad” she cooed goofily, introducing the splinter thin boy to him, as if embarrassed by her fathers protruding gut and working class crew cut. Shawn had met Chuck’s forceful hand with a flimsy shake. Chuck hadn’t been impressed, the dude was nice enough, but he couldn’t help but hate the feeble fingers that stroked his daughters allibaster shoulder, and lingered too long around her jutting hip. It made him sick, the two of them, giggling away like two love drunk puppies, having lost all appetite for Clara’s baby back ribs, he retreated to the tv room, stiff drink in tow. 
Now he sat, tapping the steering wheel with his leathery hand, waiting for Lena, and Shawn. They were driving west, back to the cedar forests, and pebbly beaches of Lena’s childhood. It had been eight years and counting since he’d seen that coast, breathed that air, and kissed the back of then wife, Julia’s neck. He had been anxious to get out of Calgary, but never imaged that it would be Julia’s wedding pulling him back . 
Chuck had been waiting patiently for fifteen minutes, only two cigarettes deep, he honked the horn, turned the key, revving the engine with alpha dog prowess. As if Chuck had some sort of parental authority, which he didn’t, the door suddenly flew open in recognition. Shawn stumbled outside, two suitcases slowing down his nonchalant jaunt. Chuck popped the trunk but didn’t move, opening the window only slightly to toss the tail end of his Marlboro.
“Lena’s just taking a pee, Nice to see you Chuck!”, he pulled himself up into the dodge pickup, reclined his seat , and hastily took off his withering sneakers, exposing miss matched socks, and a faint smell of mildew. 

Lena brushed her hair feverishly, ripping through the knots that had collected in her tangled unruly main. She grabbed her pot, chuckling as she remembered Auntie Clara’s birthday, the last time she had seen her father. She had been high as a kite, giggling as she chowed down on her Aunt’s legendary cooking. Her father hadn’t said much, slumped in the corner, sipping a jack and coke, eyes fixed on TSN’s Iron Man.

Lena had wanted to fly, it was her father, stubborn and fearful, that had insisted on the sixteen hour drive, anything to postpone the eminent torture of seeing her mother happy. She had agreed, albeit reluctantly, as long as Shawn would come along for the happy union, as she couldn’t imagine facing the scene alone. Sitting squished in the back seat, Bruce Springsteen blaring through the crackling speakers, dread and hangover began to creep in. 
“Hey dad, um, can I bum a cigarette?” 
“Smoking kills, nice to see you too”
Chuck lit a Marlboro, letting the tarry smoke waft into the back seat. She had gotten her billigerence from him, and it was a fucking pain.

Two hours in and the silence hung in the air like bad gas. Shawn had offered to drive for a while, but Chuck had refused; controlling fuck. The grey of dusk had begun its transition to black and fat snowflakes were collecting on the frosty windshield, the wipers slow, used, and ineffective. 

It was 11:17, they just gotten gas, the car stinking of big mac’s and stale smoke. Exit 17 was coming up on the right, and the car suddenly jolted towards the green sign, picking up speed
“What’s going on Chuck?” Shawn shifted in his seat, his face strewn with discomfort and annoyance “Just taking a short cut, Why don’t you just close your eyes a take a little cat nap.” Chuck pressed down on the excelerator, the truck rumbling into the cold misty forest. “I can’t drive anymore, its late, I’m tired, and I need to find a motel, there must be something out here somewhere.” he said, searching for a map under his seat.
“I’m sure if we stayed on the high way we would have seen a sign or something, I mean we are kind of in the middle of nowhere” Shawn was scared, and Chuck knew it, he chuckled under his breath pulling out another smoke. He mad driven this drive before, knew the wilderness well. There was a motel 5 minutes down Deer Lake road, but it was mildly entertaining to see Shawn squirm. 

The Lucky Seven Motel stood in stark opposition to the rustic back country road. Its neon vacancy sign flashed monotonously, “What a shocker” Lena griped, as she stretched her arms around Shawn’s neck, kissing him gently on the cheek. She knew it pissed her father off, but that was part of the fun. Chuck shuddered with parental revulsion, as he started toward the sea foam green aberration. He hadn’t bargained for PDA, and if this kid thought he was gonna sleep in the same bed as his daughter, he was grossly mistaken. 

The woman behind the desk had her back turned, Martha Stewart Living echoed out of a 13 inch monitor. Chuck dinged the bell three times before she turned, seemingly stunned and agitated with the appearance of real live customers. “How many rooms?” 
“One is fine” he replied, searching for his credit card. Lena cringed, the thought of sharing a room with her boyfriend and father was a bit much considering the car ride thus far. It had consisted of 70% silence, 5% useless weather talk, and the rest farts and coughs, care of her gentleman companions in the front seats . 
“Can we get two rooms, ” Lena chimed in, “I would just feel a little more comfortable”. Chuck glared at Shawn, trying to wrap his head around this strange waif like creature his daughter seemed to find attractive. 
“anything with a single bed?, Chuck asked, half joking but mostly not “he can sleep on a cot”.
“Sorry, all doubles”, the woman answered, handing Chuck two sets of keys, and then ignoring them once more.

The room stunk of used towels and wild flower air freshener. Chuck took off his hiking boots, lying down on the creaky stale mattress. He was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. The wedding was in two days, and here he was, utterly alone, in a cheap motel. It was pathetic. He had thought about making a scene, pulling a “Graduate” and screaming at the top of his lungs, begging her to come back to him. Apologizing for the years of heartache, and fuck up moments, but he wasn’t the heroic type. Besides, it wasn’t like it would make a difference, unlike in the movies, Julia had moved on. She wasn’t in love with him anymore.

BY SARAH COLE-BURNETT

Your Queen.

I wish you could dream about me

I wish I could be you dream

I wish you could be sleeping

I wish I could be your queen

I wish you could forget your name

And whisper mine all trough the night

Never have to wake up again

No need to win the fight

I wish you could need me so hard

that you would fall like a baby

under the biggest storms

in the darkest cities

I wish you could scream to the world

how you like to dance with me

and run on tops of buildings

wearing crowns and wings 

Sometimes I wish you could scream to the world

how you love to sing to me

make melodies out of nothings

make me dream that your my king

 

Sometimes I wish you could make up stories

I wish you could dream about me

Looking for a perfect introduction for my essay on Warhol’s impact on Post Modernism. How is Warhol a turning point in Contemporary Art?

Etienne.

I will come to the place where you live.
I will pick beautiful plants and I will present them to you.
You will make tea from the moss.
We will sit in the sun and we will not talk too much, will let the heat of the sun permeate us.
We will take it in, we will take the color and we will let our skin swallow all of it.
The mist in our mouths will rise up and dance in the sunbeams, between the pine needles.
It will smell sweet and we will want to breath each other. You will feel my warmth sieve through into your veins, into your lips.
Summer will come.

BY RETEMA

Chloé.

Alex Blouin

Picture by Mathieu Dionne

” Don’t need a stethoscope 
to listen to my heart 
listen to my heart beat way to hard
I just can’t go  
‘caus you’re my lucky star
I think i need a telescope 
‘caus you’re so far. ”  

Silly Kissers

Le Motel.

This time with balloons, bubble gums, ribbons, and bubbles.
2 girls, the same motel room and some adorable results !
Pictures by Juliette Leblanc and Kalina César
Models : Joelle and Kalina.

Soul survivor.

Salute

tout se met en place ces temps ci.

Le futur, la nature mes vetements, mon poil, etc.

J’ai également decidé de prendre une partie de mes pertes de temps pour la magie, la vraie.  Celle qui nous surprend et qu’on peut parfois remplacer par de la poudre ou des choses bizarre, mais juste pour l’instant d’une soirée.

 

J’me suis décidé à plutôt me lancer dans la magie qui rapporte à long terme. Est pas facile a dompter et elle requiert beaucoup de temps de pratique.  MAIS AU BOUT DU COMPTE, on en sort gagnant.

Gagnant en crisse.

D’autres part, ya de bonnes rencontres à faire en début d’été. J’en suis même victime. Heureuse victime,

of course.

C’est gênant au début, mais bon on en revient un moment donné. La rencontre est peut être éphémère, mais bon le souvenir de sa drole de chevelure et sa grimace restera surement un bon bout.  Nostalgie meme.

C’est le fun, ben le fun.

Pas du fun sale qu’on a dans un party de sous sol gelé comme un Guérin après 3h, à penser que cette soirée est VRAIMENT la meilleure de toute ta vie de marde.

Un fun plus posé, plus intime, plus stressant.   

Mais bon. 

L’année qui vient est quasiment planifiée, à un problème de dos près. 

Les amis vont et reviennent. C’est grave mais pas trop. On s’habitude.  c’est la viede.

Ines est revenue, bien content. Tres content.

Tres gentille, pas assez de bon temps.  Vivement l’été.

Blanchon varicelle me fait rire autant qu’avant, mais parfois avec une petite larme. c’est ca le règne animal.  On peut rien y faire.

 

Les Stones prévoient une tournée en 2010, en espérant que j’aurai le temps de grandir.  Comme un grand.

Où sont Pony up! ?  hehe

Ps: j’ai de nouveaux objectifs, plus sage mais pas encore mouler. Ils depassent un peu sur les côtés.

Sinon, ca deviendrait plâte, c’est bien vrai.

Retournons aux racines le temps d’une racinette.

 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA.

Love you live.

 

Anthony Huneault.

Fluxus.