Nick DiSpoldo, Small Press Review (on Children, Churches and Daddies, April 1997) Children, Churches and Daddies is eclectic, alive and is as contemporary as tomorrow’s news.

Volume 62

Children, Churches and Daddies
the unreligious, nonfamily-oriented literary and art magazine

ISSN 1068-5154

twenty-four, by john sweet susan says when she was seventeen she fucked her way across the country and back again thenty-four now divorced two kids lives in a trailer park at the edge of town overweight smokes three packs a day works register at the day and night smiles with yellow teeth when i come over says she'll blow me for twenty bucks i tell her i only have ten and she laughs says good enough and gets on her knees irony, by gabriel athens The wretched irony becomes apparent. You twitch and climb through the entangling web crawl through the intricate maze to learn that you will never reach the end but a terrifying minotaur only the center the heart where the most horrifying evil preys the towering walls grow arms an infinite sum of groping overpowering arms there is nowhere to run and hode as the walls stretch taller touching the sky they creak and move closer while the arms reach and pull you the tentacles grab you and try to destroy you the sky turns a deep dark black an infinte black there is no hope the solid ground begins to melt as the blades of grass become sharpened knives cutting slicing the treacherous teeth of the animal below suck you down and consume you there is nowhere to go but forward as you write in agony go forward forward with the only hope that soon the monsterous incidious nightmare the desperation the pain will end for c ra, by Janet Kuypers this is a man a thinking man he wants to be condemned to hell for a change he feels the plight of too many he is blamed for too much these are the words of a man remember this, my friends: this is a man a thinking man with feelings this is his pain this is his strength does he know that this is how he is supposed to feel? he lives life so fully that it ages him remember this, my friends: this is a man made you, by paul weinman you know you'd come and come back again. And it didn't take much to bring me to that place as well. Even easier. You took to the slow motion, pauses that pleased and brought the grease. Reciprocated to explode my own. Remember I'd walk way clean feeling no more need till tomorrow. they tried, by alexandria rand they tried to hold me down they tried to keep me in they didn't understand "I was different" they said as day after day I led my life with the interrogation lamp shining in my face they tried to change me they tried to bend my will they wanted to break me "We don't like you" they said but every day I faced the battle in splendid silence knowing that all like me would understand me and thank me they tried to make me beg they tried to make me cry they wanted me to conform "We don't need your type" they said and I ignored them for I couldn't let those who didn't understand and didn't want to learn or respect or treat me as human destroy me James, by gabriel athens I you hours walking conversation think the one pushed arm pulled held close think together didn't right sat park expect sat talked future past republicans confused room think doing know didn't know get something want didn't know bother care johnathan, by gabriel athens room cigarette smoke conversation lights face who envisioned figure sensivity thoughtfulness hands skin mine rehearsed mind created dinners dancing loving never crowded room music shoulder faces image laughing smiling conversing envy why me face room dream never life plush horse stories ice cream parlor, candy shop, bakery, 1986-1990 work stories ask me if i'm a truck, by Janet Kuypers so i worked in the summer time part time with about ten guys (since guys were stronger, they could scoop ice cream better, that was the idea). but they all screwed off when they were at work. they'd always write up signs and tape them to each other's backs. Once i wrote on the back of candy box paper, "i'm a boy with raging hormones" and for about an hour every customer had a good laugh at matt's expense. but my favorite was put on john's back once. you see, john used to tell everyone the same joke; he'd say to you, "ask me if i'm a truck," and when you'd ask him if he was a truck, he'd look real perplexed and say, "no." like, why did you ask him that? so anyway, we got a sign on his back once that said "ask me if i'm a truck" and when all the customers did he got real confused. it was hysterical. letters, by j. speer My mother saved all my letters and when she was at home dying of cancer, I typeset them on a manual machine, no electric connection needed. We listened to records I checked out of the public library: Pete Fountain, "Fountain in the Rain" and Duke Ellington, "The Cotton Club Stomp". I dedicated a self published chap to her and picked up the books from the copy service the same day we lowered her into the ground. She is buried in Nashville in the military cemetery. Dear Maria: It started somewhere, for a point of reference, let's say it started in the '30's, during the Great Depression, when getting job was more important than remembering the wife's birthday. No self respecting man could support his family by selling apples or pencils on a street corner. Salvation came, not in the form of sweet Jesus riding a lamb and turning swords into pruning hooks and ploughshares, but in WAR. America's major industry became the production of munitions. War created jobs for everyone: young men became soldiers, older men sold bonds for the war effort, pasted up patriotic signs that Uncle Sam Wants You, women worked in factories or as nurses patching up the mangled remains of men, boys sold newspapers of all the exciting events. And what a perfect location for war: overseas. We didn't have to bomb our cities or make refugees out of our people. We armed every nation we could, supplying weapons to the Russians to fight the Germans, helping Finland to fight Russia. We punched east and west with our righteous fists because we had "God on our die" (Masters of War). The world cheered and danced when the armistice was signed, but we were now in the business of making war supplies. What about the production line and the jobs? We had to find another war. General Eisenhower became a two term President. Korea provided the next battle ground. Of curse we had to have a cause, a reason. Yes, to stop the noxious spread of reds. In three years of fighting a limited war, U.S. casualties numbered 33,729 dead with 103,284 wounded. But in the machinations of world leaders, young men are expendable, there will be a new crop for the next war, only ten years later and near the previous killing fields. The same pretext was used, we had to help a defenseless people against the brutal invaders from the north, plus insure our security that was somehow threatened. The falsehood of our purpose and stupidity of our situation became so obvious that the U.S. had to withdraw. In 1975, the North Vietnamese received South Vietnam's unconditional surrender, thus negating anything and everything (except the dead and destruction the American soldiers left behind) the U.S. said it wanted to do there. America takes interest in the on-going wars of other nations. The U.S. has the Israel Arab League conflict to fuel, selling arms to both sides, every year the latest developments in death machines, a rocket system to the Arabs, an anti-rocket system to the Jews. Central America provides a convenient combat zone. The countries are weak, small, and close to home, a chance for America to undo its shameful performance in Asia by making sure the "guerrilla terrorists" are zapped out of existence. History is a nightmare form which I am trying to awake. j. speer The News, by d.watt The News "Paper, sir?" "No." Next one. "Paper, sir?" "What paper you got?" "Daily News." "That's not a newspaper - that's bullcrap. Get outta here with that bullcrap." He moved away to the next guy. "Paper, sir?" Without looking at Danny, the man picked up a beer-wet dollar from the bar and handed it to the boy. He folded the paper that was given to him, but didn't seem to know what to do with it after that. "Sir? Your change?" Danny held it out to him. The man looked up as if surprised to see the boy standing there. He squinted a moment then said, "Keep it." "Thank you, sir! Thanks a lot!" The next one was four stools down. "Paper, sir?" No answer. Again, a little louder. "Paper, sir?" The bent man glanced over his shoulder, looking for the voice. His death-mask face frightened the boy. "Paper, sir?" Danny asked again, gentler this time, so he didn't offend. He thought he had his attention but he didn't. Next one. "Paper, sir?" The man turned right around. Big smile breaking across his face when he saw Danny. "Hey, kiddo, what's up? How you doing?" "Fine, thank you." His Mom taught him to say that. Even if he didn't mean it. "Whatcha doin' in here, a little guy like you?" Danny held up the papers. "The Daily News, huh? How much?" This one wanted entertaining. It didn't take too many rounds of the bar to figure them out. Some just grumped or waved him away. That was okay. The guys who ignored him pissed him off cause he asked them three or four times and they never answered. But the ones that thought he was "cute" and wanted to talk to him, because they were bored, wasted his time. "Fifty cents." "Fifty!" Exaggerated surprise. "I thought they were only thirty-five." "I have to make a profit." How many times did he go through this? "Don't you get them cut-rate?" "What's that?" "You know - a discount off the cover price?" He knew what discount meant: cheap. His Mom was always dragging him to discount stores, looking for bargains. Like the clothes she bought him. Sometimes he was embarrassed to wear them. That is, if he wasn't already wearing patched-up hand-me-downs from his big brother. But Dad said they couldn't afford anything new for him. "Nope." "You mean the guy you get these from charges you full price?" "Yep." He wanted away. "Would you like one, sir?" The question was pointed. The man took a fifty dollar bill from his wallet and grinned like he was pulling some fabulous trick. I can't change that, Danny thought. The ass-hole. He's giving me a hard time, this one is. "Can't break it?" the man asked with a huge grin. "Well, here - try this." He picked two quarters off the bar in front of him and gave them to the boy. "Take your girlfriend out to dinner tonight," he laughed. Danny handed him a paper and was glad to get away. And no tip after all that. "What do you say?" the voice trailed after him. "Thank you." "That's right. Mind your manners. Someday you'll get rich doing this." Not from ass-holes like you, Danny thought. He escaped to the other side of the horseshoe bar to hit the booths and tables, but only two were occupied. At one of them two old men sat. He could tell they weren't drinking like the rest - just sitting there passing the time. But sometimes old men were good tippers. "Paper, sirs?" he asked, looking at the closer of the two. The old man sat up, a bit befuddled, as though he didn't know quite what he was supposed to say. His eyes pleaded to his friend to rescue him. The other man cleared his throat. In a crisp voice he said, as though he'd rehearsed the line many times. "No, thank you, young man. Would you like one, John?" John followed his lead and shook his head. Danny looked down, a little disappointed. He thought for sure-- "But here," the man named John said, handing him two quarters. "Don't spend it all in one place." The two old men chuckled to each other. "Yes, sir. Thanks a lot!" He looked at the coins in disbelief. Fifty cents for nothing! "Thanks a lot!" he said again. He was so happy he headed for the door, forgetting to ask the other table. They were a fat couple anyway, just slouched at each other over their beers like bookless bookends, They weren't even talking. But as Danny passed by, the man raised his hand to halt him. "Paper, sir?" The response was automatic. "You got the four-star race results?" Danny looked at the upper right-hand corner. Only the twostar. "Nope, just this," he held it up. "That's no good," the man scowled, "it's only got the first two races." "Sorry." The way the man said it, Danny felt like it was his fault or something. He looked at the woman for sympathy, but she just stared at him blankly, moving nothing but her eyes to follow him. He pushed his way out the screen door, letting it bang behind him. Which made him jump, cause the bartender yelled at him before for doing that. He looked back to see the sign "Bathers Welcome" swinging back and forth. He breathed in the sky blue salt sunshine air. Already he'd made his quota for the day, and now he could go to the beach. He felt momentarily victorious over the world. Ahead he saw a Daily News box. A new one. In front of the motel he always avoided cause the woman who ran it yelled at him for selling papers around her pool. But it didn't look like she was around. He still had three bars to go and only had three papers left, so he dropped two quarters in the slot and grabbed ten papers out of the box. So what if it was stealing? All the other paper boys did it. He was so happy - he figured with all this money he'd have a bigger bank deposit than his older brother Mickey, who wasted his money on "crap" as Dad called it. But he figured he better not tell him Mom he was selling in the bars - she wouldn't like that. Probably cause Dad was getting drunk all the time again. When Danny'd finished all the bars and quit for the day he'd sold eleven more, the three he had left plus eight from the ten out of the box. A great day. Just before he turned onto his street he tossed the rest in a trash can. Then he took off his change apron, even though he was only a block away, cause it felt goofy on if he didn't have any papers under his arm. Like it was a skirt or something. The old blue station wagon stood silently out front, so Dad must be home. Maybe he won't be drunk this time, since he just got here, and'll tell Mickey how better I'm doing than he is, he hoped. Before he reached the house he felt something wrong. As if it was more silent than it should be. From the porch he heard her sob and ran in fast. His Mom was on the couch, her face in her apron. Mickey stood in front of her, looking dazed. "What -" Mickey tried to quiet him with a look, but his Mom heard him and looked up. She bellowed out, "Your father's run away again but this time he's not coming back." She paused, then in a shrill shriek, "Never! You hear me? He'll never set foot in this house again!" The boys backed off, afraid. She was never this mad before. Suddenly Danny felt his pocket for his rolled up change apron, as if that was what he'd just lost. d.watt male bondage, by jordan weiss male bondage When the three of them got together, a visit to the emergency room was as predictable as an NFC team winning the Superbowl. Tony, Rick, and Al knew how to have fun; whether it was videotaping a couple of whores or beating up a queer in the black side of town. Tony Calzone was the most endowed in the appearance department, his thick, hardy features were accentuated by a cocksure gait. A couple of qualities the men he emulated possessed. Al, a genetic compilation of a thousand hangovers, owned the rights to a body that, as his physician glibly described as "suitable for atrophied couch potato-ism." Rick Murphy was the type of guy who would blend into a crowd. A receding hairline left a hard presence to his moldy bread colored eyes. Rick was one of the better known drunks in his soft-edged circles. The boys ended up at "Jackson's Hole", a trendy new gay bar in the lower sixties. "Look at all the rug munching "Pats" in here," Rick said with the slightest trace of white, European male superiority. "I'll bet none of these dykes have seen a stiff dick since their daddy's." he added on, feeling a deep sense of camaraderie, while sharing a laugh that seemed to exemplify their collective propensity to be correctly labeled as ass-holes. The three made no attempts to conceal the content of their conversations from the staff. Sunny, the waitress, came up, undecided on whether or not to smear a broken bottle across the ringleader's mouth. "Gimme a bleeding mary and a couple slippery nipples," announced Tony, in a successful effort to have his buddies double over in laughter. Sunny gave Jean, the bartendress,a look that seemed to ask, "How much more of this shit do I take?" Johnny Duke was sitting at the bar, facing the door; he had witnessed the three guys' entrance and was now planning their departure. He wore his hair at marine length, the same way he had during his two highly decorated tours with the Marines. He had a rather anemic appearance that contrasted with his sinewy build. Jean gave Johnny another soda water with grenadine; his standard before "showtime." As it turned out, Al was captain for this ship of fools' perilous journey. He walked up to where Johnny sat and slapped him on the back followed by his favorite joke, "Hey dude, do ya know what AIDS stands for?" Johnny batted both eyes just to make sure Al was correct in his assessment of Johnny. "Another Identified Dick Sucker," and Al let out a laugh that he hoped would bring over his partners in crime so they could give the fag the beating he deserved. "Oh, that was such a silly joke. Tsk, tsk, you are so baadd," Johnny said, stretching out each syllable and brushing Al's cheek with his palm. Al backed up suddenly and yelled, "Get yer fuckin' hands offa me ya goddamned pantywaist." Al's prophetic utterance had just about maxed his pre-Cambrian capacity for vocabulary. It also served as the call to action his pals had been anticipating. Johnny continued his more than inviting theatrics by acting surprised and putting both hands over his mouth. Al gave a quick glance to make sure Tony and Rick were at hand, then he threw a right, which he had hoped would "send the little faggot back to San Francisco." It did not, but he did feel an intense pain right where his elbow used to bend, rendered useless by Johnny's quick palm. As Al rushed Johnny, Johnny's foot stayed firmly in place thus causing Al's chin to find the edge of the table. Tony was rolling up his sleeves, preparing to vindicate Al's drubbing and said, "That was some dirty fighting., wouldn't ya say, gayboy?" Johnny looked at both of them, acknowledging their advantage in the height and weight department. He said with his polished voice inflection, "I'd like the next dance with you," as he grabbed Tony by the balls, right through his two hundred dollar pants. Tony found himself on the receiving end of a no-win situation. Johnny squeezed tighter, until Tony's head dropped to the height of a barstool, then planted his knee between Tony's nose and his upper lip. Johnny looked over at Rick and put both of his palms on his cheeks and said, "Oh, they have made such a mess! Are you going to help me clean up?" as he winked at Rick. Rick whipped out a switchblade and said something about cutting Johnny a new ass-hole. Johnny had sent two hard jabs faster than Federal Express. By this time Rick had dropped the knife and was doing anything he could to block Johnny's barrage of knuckles. Johnny lifted Rick's chin one last time and sent him with open arms to the only place where he would be safe; the floor. Johnny grabbed a towel from the bar and wiped Rick's blood from his hand, he then bent down and kissed him on the forehead speaking loud enough for Rick's two mangled friends to hear also. "There are two things I enjoy doing, either loving men or beating men." Tony and Al grabbed Rick by the arms and dragged him through the same door that Jean takes the used bottles and bags of garbage out of every Tuesday. jordan weiss plush horse stories ice cream parlor, candy shop, bakery, 1986-1990 work stories cashews, by Janet Kuypers once, i was working behind the candy counter and matt came up behind me while i was serving this customer, this young guy ordering a pound of cashews. he was a heavy-set guy, this customer, that is, matt was thin and quite the womanizer at the ripe old age of sixteen. well, matt walked up behind me, while i was with this customer, and he whispered in my ear, "fuck me til i bleed," then he walked away. i was sure the guy ordering the cashews heard him. I stood there, candy scoop in my hand, staring for a brief moment, then i said, "oh, the people i work with," trying to hid my blushing, and finished scooping cashews. camille cross, by c ra mcguirt from Lion/Wolf the dreaded beat mojo black cat john de conquer sixty minute jelly roll man everything you hear is true except, of course the lies two orange shakes at mickey d's, by c ra mcguirt for stevie the sky has already fallen and no one noticed. let's drink up and go home. longing, by gary jurechka maybe the reason i want you so badly is because i remember us better than we were or perhaps because i dream we can be more than we are met/her/for, by gary jurechka an interlude She is the full luminous moon, and I the lone wolf howling, howling for her in the haunted night. the carpet factory, the shoes, by Janet Kuypers i heard a story today about a little boy one of many who was enslaved by his country in child labor in this case he was working for a carpet factory he managed to escape he told his story to the world he was a hero at ten put the people from the factory held a grudge and today i heard that the little boy was shot and killed on the street he was twelve and eugene complains to me when i buy shoes that are made in china now i have to think did somebody have to die for these will somebody have to die for these

Nick DiSpoldo, Small Press Review (on "Children, Churches and Daddies," April 1997) Kuypers is the widely-published poet of particular perspectives and not a little existential rage, but she does not impose her personal or artistic agenda on her magazine. CC+D is a provocative potpourri of news stories, poetry, humor, art and the "dirty underwear" of politics. One piece in this issue is "Crazy," an interview Kuypers conducted with "Madeline," a murderess who was found insane, and is confined to West Virginia's Arronsville Correctional Center. Madeline, whose elevator definitely doesn't go to the top, killed her boyfriend during sex with an ice pick and a chef's knife, far surpassing the butchery of Elena Bobbitt. Madeline, herself covered with blood, sat beside her lover's remains for three days, talking to herself, and that is how the police found her. For effect, Kuypers publishes Madeline's monologue in different-sized type, and the result is something between a sense of Dali's surrealism and Kafka-like craziness.

Debra Purdy Kong, writer, British Columbia, Canada
I like the magazine a lot. I like the spacious lay-out and the different coloured pages and the variety of writer's styles. Too many literary magazines read as if everyone graduated from the same course. We need to collect more voices like these and send them everywhere.

Ed Hamilton, writer #85 (of children, churches and daddies) turned out well. I really enjoyed the humor section, especially the test score answers. And, the cup-holder story is hilarious. I'm not a big fan of poetry - since much of it is so hard to decipher - but I was impressed by the work here, which tends toward the straightforward and unpretentious. As for the fiction, the piece by Anderson is quite perceptive: I liked the way the self-deluding situation of the character is gradually, subtly revealed. (Kuypers') story is good too: the way it switches narrative perspective via the letter device is a nice touch.

Children, Churches and Daddies.
It speaks for itself.
Write to Scars Publications to submit poetry, prose and artwork to Children, Churches and Daddies literary magazine, or to inquire about having your own chapbook, and maybe a few reviews like these.

Jim Maddocks, GLASGOW, via the Internet I'll be totally honest, of the material in Issue (either 83 or 86 of Children, Churches and Daddies) the only ones I really took to were Kuypers'. TRYING was so simple but most truths are, aren't they?

what is veganism?
A vegan (VEE-gun) is someone who does not consume any animal products. While vegetarians avoid flesh foods, vegans don't consume dairy or egg products, as well as animal products in clothing and other sources.

why veganism?
This cruelty-free lifestyle provides many benefits, to animals, the environment and to ourselves. The meat and dairy industry abuses billions of animals. Animal agriculture takes an enormous toll on the land. Consumtion of animal products has been linked to heart disease, colon and breast cancer, osteoporosis, diabetes and a host of other conditions.

so what is vegan action?
We can succeed in shifting agriculture away from factory farming, saving millions, or even billions of chickens, cows, pigs, sheep turkeys and other animals from cruelty.
We can free up land to restore to wilderness, pollute less water and air, reduce topsoil reosion, and prevent desertification.
We can improve the health and happiness of millions by preventing numerous occurrences od breast and prostate cancer, osteoporosis, and heart attacks, among other major health problems.

A vegan, cruelty-free lifestyle may be the most important step a person can take towards creatin a more just and compassionate society. Contact us for membership information, t-shirt sales or donations.

vegan action
po box 4353, berkeley, ca 94707-0353
510/704-4444

C Ra McGuirt, Editor, The Penny Dreadful Review (on Children, Churches and Daddies) cc&d is obviously a labor of love ... I just have to smile when I go through it. (Janet Kuypers) uses her space and her poets to best effect, and the illos attest to her skill as a graphic artist. "I really like ("Writing Your Name"). It's one of those kind of things where your eye isn't exactly pulled along, but falls effortlessly down the poem. I liked "knowledge" for its mix of disgust and acceptance. Janet Kuypers does good little movies, by which I mean her stuff provokes moving imagery for me. Color, no dialogue; the voice of the poem is the narrator over the film.

Children, Churches and Daddies no longer distributes free contributor's copies of issues. In order to receive issues of Children, Churches and Daddies, contact Janet Kuypers at the cc&d e-mail addres. Free electronic subscriptions are available via email. All you need to do is email ccandd@aol.com... and ask to be added to the free cc+d electronic subscription mailing list. And you can still see issues every month at the Children, Churches and Daddies website, located at http://scars.tv

Also, visit our new web sites: the Art Gallery and the Poetry Page.

Mark Blickley, writer The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. "Scars" is also an excellent prose poem. I never really thought about scars as being a form of nostalgia. But in the poem it also represents courage and warmth. I look forward to finishing her book.

MIT Vegetarian Support Group (VSG)

functions:
* To show the MIT Food Service that there is a large community of vegetarians at MIT (and other health-conscious people) whom they are alienating with current menus, and to give positive suggestions for change.
* To exchange recipes and names of Boston area veg restaurants
* To provide a resource to people seeking communal vegetarian cooking
* To provide an option for vegetarian freshmen

We also have a discussion group for all issues related to vegetarianism, which currently has about 150 members, many of whom are outside the Boston area. The group is focusing more toward outreach and evolving from what it has been in years past. We welcome new members, as well as the opportunity to inform people about the benefits of vegetarianism, to our health, the environment, animal welfare, and a variety of other issues.

Gary, Editor, The Road Out of Town (on the Children, Churches and Daddies Web Site) I just checked out the site. It looks great.

Dusty Dog Reviews: These poems document a very complicated internal response to the feminine side of social existence. And as the book proceeds the poems become increasingly psychologically complex and, ultimately, fascinating and genuinely rewarding.

John Sweet, writer (on chapbook designs) Visuals were awesome. They've got a nice enigmatic quality to them. Front cover reminds me of the Roman sculptures of angels from way back when. Loved the staggered tire lettering, too. Way cool. (on "Hope Chest in the Attic") Some excellent writing in "Hope Chest in the Attic." I thought "Children, Churches and Daddies" and "The Room of the Rape" were particularly powerful pieces.

C Ra McGuirt, Editor, The Penny Dreadful Review: cc&d is obviously a labor of love ... I just have to smile when I go through it. (Janet Kuypers) uses her space and her poets to best effect, and the illos attest to her skill as a graphic artist.

Cheryl Townsend, Editor, Impetus (on Children, Churches and Daddies) The new cc&d looks absolutely amazing. It's a wonderful lay-out, looks really professional - all you need is the glossy pages. Truly impressive AND the calendar, too. Can't wait to actually start reading all the stuff inside.. Wanted to just say, it looks good so far!!!

Dusty Dog Reviews: She opens with a poem of her own devising, which has that wintry atmosphere demonstrated in the movie version of Boris Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago. The atmosphere of wintry white and cold, gloriously murderous cold, stark raging cold, numbing and brutalizing cold, appears almost as a character who announces to his audience, "Wisdom occurs only after a laboriously magnificent disappointment." Alas, that our Dusty Dog for mat cannot do justice to Ms. Kuypers' very personal layering of her poem across the page.

Fithian Press, Santa Barbara, CA
Indeed, there's a healthy balance here between wit and dark vision, romance and reality, just as there's a good balance between words and graphics. The work shows brave self-exploration, and serves as a reminder of mortality and the fragile beauty of friendship.

Mark Blickley, writer
The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. "Scars" is also an excellent prose poem. I never really thought about scars as being a form of nostalgia. But in the poem it also represents courage and warmth. I look forward to finishing her book.

You Have to be Published to be Appreciated.

Do you want to be heard? Contact Children, Churches and Daddies about book or chapbook publishing. These reviews can be yours. Scars Publications, attention J. Kuypers. We're only an e-mail away. Write to us.

Brian B. Braddock, Writer (on 1996 Children, Churches and Daddies) I passed on a copy to my brother who is the director of the St. Camillus AIDS programs. We found (Children, Churches and Daddies') obvious dedication along this line admirable.

The Center for Renewable Energy and Sustainable Technology
The Solar Energy Research & Education Foundation (SEREF), a non-profit organization based in Washington, D.C., established on Earth Day 1993 the Center for Renewable Energy and Sustainable Technology (CREST) as its central project. CREST's three principal projects are to provide:
* on-site training and education workshops on the sustainable development interconnections of energy, economics and environment;
* on-line distance learning/training resources on CREST's SOLSTICE computer, available from 144 countries through email and the Internet;
* on-disc training and educational resources through the use of interactive multimedia applications on CD-ROM computer discs - showcasing current achievements and future opportunities in sustainable energy development.
The CREST staff also does "on the road" presentations, demonstrations, and workshops showcasing its activities and available resources.
For More Information Please Contact: Deborah Anderson
dja@crest.org or (202) 289-0061

Brian B. Braddock, Writer (on 1996 Children, Churches and Daddies) I passed on a copy to my brother who is the director of the St. Camillus AIDS programs. We found (Children, Churches and Daddies') obvious dedication along this line admirable.

Dorrance Publishing Co., Pittsburgh, PA
"Hope Chest in the Attic" captures the complexity of human nature and reveals startling yet profound discernments about the travesties that surge through the course of life. This collection of poetry, prose and artwork reflects sensitivity toward feminist issues concerning abuse, sexism and equality. It also probes the emotional torrent that people may experience as a reaction to the delicate topics of death, love and family.
"Chain Smoking" depicts the emotional distress that afflicted a friend while he struggled to clarify his sexual ambiguity. Not only does this thought-provoking profile address the plight that homosexuals face in a homophobic society, it also characterizes the essence of friendship. "The room of the rape" is a passionate representation of the suffering rape victims experience. Vivid descriptions, rich symbolism, and candid expressions paint a shocking portrait of victory over the gripping fear that consumes the soul after a painful exploitation.

want a review like this? contact scars about getting your own book published.

Paul Weinman, Writer (on 1996 Children, Churches and Daddies) Wonderful new direction (Children, Churches and Daddies has) taken - great articles, etc. (especially those on AIDS). Great stories - all sorts of hot info!

The magazine Children Churches and Daddies is Copyright � through Scars Publications and Design. The rights of the individual pieces remain with the authors. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Okay, nilla wafer. Listen up and listen good. How to save your life. Submit, or I'll have to kill you.
Okay, it's this simple: send me published or unpublished poetry, prose or art work (do not send originals), along with a bio, to us - then sit around and wait... Pretty soon you'll hear from the happy people at cc&d that says (a) Your work sucks, or (b) This is fancy crap, and we're gonna print it. It's that simple!

Okay, butt-munch. Tough guy. This is how to win the editors over.
Hope Chest in the Attic is a 200 page, perfect-bound book of 13 years of poetry, prose and art by Janet Kuypers. It's a really classy thing, if you know what I mean. We also have a few extra sopies of the book "Rinse and Repeat", which has all the 1999 issues of cc&d crammed into one book. And you can have either one of these things at just five bucks a pop if you just contact us. It's an offer you can't refuse...

Carlton Press, New York, NY: HOPE CHEST IN THE ATTIC is a collection of well-fashioned, often elegant poems and short prose that deals in many instances, with the most mysterious and awesome of human experiences: love... Janet Kuypers draws from a vast range of experiences and transforms thoughts into lyrical and succinct verse... Recommended as poetic fare that will titillate the palate in its imagery and imaginative creations.
Mark Blickley, writer: The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. "Scars" is also an excellent prose poem. I never really thought about scars as being a form of nostalgia. But in the poem it also represents courage and warmth. I look forward to finishing the book.

You Have to be Published to be Appreciated.
Do you want to be heard? Contact Children, Churches and Daddies about book and chapbook publishing. These reviews can be yours. Scars Publications, attention J. Kuypers - you can write for yourself or you can write for an audience. It's your call...

Dorrance Publishing Co., Pittsburgh, PA: "Hope Chest in the Attic" captures the complexity of human nature and reveals startling yet profound discernments about the travesties that surge through the course of life. This collection of poetry, prose and artwork reflects sensitivity toward feminist issues concerning abuse, sexism and equality. It also probes the emotional torrent that people may experience as a reaction to the delicate topics of death, love and family. "Chain Smoking" depicts the emotional distress that afflicted a friend while he struggled to clarify his sexual ambiguity. Not only does this thought-provoking profile address the plight that homosexuals face in a homophobic society, it also characterizes the essence of friendship. "The room of the rape" is a passionate representation of the suffering rape victims experience. Vivid descriptions, rich symbolism, and candid expressions paint a shocking portrait of victory over the gripping fear that consumes the soul after a painful exploitation.

Dusty Dog Reviews, CA (on knife): These poems document a very complicated internal response to the feminine side of social existence. And as the book proceeds the poems become increasingly psychologically complex and, ultimately, fascinating and genuinely rewarding. Children, Churches and Daddies. It speaks for itself.

Dusty Dog Reviews (on Without You): She open with a poem of her own devising, which has that wintry atmosphere demonstrated in the movie version of Boris Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago. The atmosphere of wintry white and cold, gloriously murderous cold, stark raging cold, numbing and brutalizing cold, appears almost as a character who announces to his audience, "Wisdom occurs only after a laboriously magnificent disappointment." Alas, that our Dusty Dog for mat cannot do justice to Ms. Kuypers' very personal layering of her poem across the page.
Children, Churches and Daddies. It speaks for itself.

Debra Purdy Kong, writer, British Columbia, Canada (on Children, Churches and Daddies): I like the magazine a lot. I like the spacious lay-out and the different coloured pages and the variety of writer's styles. Too many literary magazines read as if everyone graduated from the same course. We need to collect more voices like these and send them everywhere.
Fithian Press, Santa Barbara, CA: Indeed, there's a healthy balance here between wit and dark vision, romance and reality, just as there's a good balance between words and graphics. The work shows brave self-exploration, and serves as a reminder of mortality and the fragile beauty of friendship.

Published since 1993 No racist, sexist or homophobic material is appreciated; we do accept work of almost any genre of poetry, prose or artwork, though we shy away from concrete poetry and rhyme for rhyme's sake. Do not send originals. Any work sent to Scars Publications on Macintosh disks, text format, will be given special attention over smail-mail submissions. There is no limit to how much you may submit at a time; previously published work accepted.