Children, Churches and DaddiesVolume 159, April 22, 2006The Unreligious, Non-Family-Oriented Literary and Art Magazine
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Should the federal government be compelled to pay proterty taxes to local municipalities in which the federal government owns land? - Question asked to Ayn Rand after the lecture “the Moratorium on Brains” (Boston, Ford Hall Museum, 1971). This quetion also appears in the book Ayn Rand Answers, Centennial Edition. All I’d ask in response is, “Where would the Federal Government get the money from? They’d get it by taxing individuals...” |
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the boss lady’s editorial
       (Photo: Getty Images) |
Losing Her Chance at the Presidency
Wasn’t sleeping in the White house for eight years enough for her?
When popular opinion seems to hold that Clinton was a Godsend (because this presidency coincided with the stock market boom with the computer technology decade, so the economy was good), and every news media outlet proudly proclaims that Bush is bad after “robbing” Gore from the presidency. People have wondered that after the Clintons moved to New York and since Hillary Rodham Clinton has become a senator, people have wondered if Hillary would be a shoe-in for the presidency after W’s eight years are up.
By definition, I’m a feminist — and that doesn’t mean when should have special rights, that means women should have equal rights. But as a “classic” feminist, I believe it would be a good move if a talented woman was elected president. Now, Hillary was only the first lady in the 90s, but she was involved enough with knowing about what business Bill was involved with (Presidential business, apparently not all personal business), and she was involved with health care reform, so I’d think she would know how to step into those presidential shoes. She kept a good face for the public when Bill Clinton was going through his personal “cigar” ordeal, and both Hillary and her husband Bill are even lawyers (just proving that she’s not just some dumb cookie). But I know there are a lot of people out there who wouldn’t want a woman as their President, so any woman who runs for office will really have an uphill battle. So... going on her lawyer schooling, and her eight years of semi-experience in the White house (even if it’s only as the first lady, she probably knew more about the business of the Presidency than first ladies thirty years ago), and her position as a senator in New York now... People wonder if she has the experience. But then the question then arises: does Hillary Rodham Clinton deserve it?
Some Democrats love Hillary Clinton (but then again, they lost the Presidential election when they wanted anyone and anything to get rid of Bush), but Republicans will quickly point out that as Senator, Hillary Clinton has introduced tons of relatively useless legislation that hasn't gone anywhere in the Senate (if she actually spearheaded something of value, it would show initiative, and the desire to make positive changes and the ability to lead). A writer has even released a book hoping for an all-female Presidential battle, pitting Hillary Rodham Clinton against the Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice (who has stated she didn’t want to run for President), where race could also play a serious role in electing a new President. So where does that leave us?
It leaves me seeing television shows highlight her talking to a black group on Martin Luther King, Jr. day, saying the current government was run like a Plantation. “When you look at the way the House of Representatives has been run, it has been run like a plantation, and you know what I’m talking about,” is what this Democrat Senator of New York told the crowd at the Canaan Baptist Church of Christ in Harlem.
Yes, she said that. You know, to relate to the black people she was talking to. And well, I’m not black, but I don’t know what she was talking about with that remark. That the House of Representatives owns a plantation and the the rest of the government works like slaves for the House of Representatives? Or is it that because the government is so Republican right now, did she mean that it allows the House of Representatives to act like Plantation owners, and all American civilians are slaves? Her statement is confusing, and probably offensive to black people, and I still don’t even get what she means. When I heard about her comment, and when I even heard the liberal media comment on it on television, they even thought she was off her rocker with that line.
All I could think was, ‘doesn’t she have someone to bounce off speeches to? Wouldn’t someone have pointed out that this might not be an appropriate thing to say?’ But I was told that she probably did confer with a writing staff to pull that line off, and staff writers could have even suggested that line to her. So I thought, ‘And they let her say that?’
So then I wondered that if she couldn’t figure out how to use decorum talking to a group on Martin Luther King, Jr. day, maybe she wouldn’t be appropriate for the Presidency.
And yeah, it’s not fair of me to make a judgement about a potential Presidential candidate from one bad quote, but there are a lot of people — including Democrats — talking about her potential - and the potential demise for a Democrat as president, if Hillary is their front runner. Everyone seems to agree that she would be a shoe-in for the Primaries, but she wouldn’t stand a chance in a general election. That she’s too liberal, she’s polarizing, that people aren’t ready to vote for a woman President. And if people think she’s too polarizing, consider a nationwide Quinnipiac University poll conducted on December 16, George Bush’s negatives are even worse than hers—by six points.. Or consider Ronald Reagan, who in 1978 was only some b movie actor, who even played second fiddle to a monkey in a movie. But he strutted around like he knew he was good to be the President, and said the right things - and this cheesy actor managed to win two elections. In 1980, Democrats were praying Reagan would run in the Republican primary, believing he was too conservative, and he won. In this case, people say Hillary is too liberal, so she would never win. So who’s right?
And there are both sides to every story told. Because if people think she’s too liberal, well, since working in the Senate, she has done everything to look like a centrist, from supporting the death penalty to supporting the war in Iraq. She’s even sitting on the Armed Services Committee... And although she appears to have become more centrist, according to the National Journal, Hillary’s voting record has gotten increasingly liberal as her senatorial career has worn on.
Although she could raise a ton of money for her Presidential run, and although she’d have the charming Bill Clinton helping her every step of the way free of charge, and although she can charm anyone she meets, she still seems bland and unappealing on television. She’s got a lot of uphill battles, and... And saying things like she said
Jennifer Senior of The New York Metro noted that if this were to actually happen, we’d see two strange alternating political dynasties, one composed of husband and wife, the other of father and son. She also noted in her article The Once and Future President Clinton (http://newyorkmetro.com/nymetro/news/politics/national/features/11082/): “Unlike Bush, though, who never seemed to wrestle with his political eligibility—that’s the marvelous thing about family wealth, how it lends the illusion you’ve earned your privileges—Hillary would be dogged by the same questions that dogged a whole generation of feminists about power and how it’s acquired. Sure, her candidacy would be the ultimate suffragette triumph, but it’d also send a complicated message: So this is how we get to the White House? On a flagstone path laid by our husbands? And what would Bill be, if she won? Co-president? Just as her husband promised to end welfare as we knew it, Hillary, by definition, would have to end the office of the First Lady as we know it. Unless Bill were content to spend the next four years selecting china patterns.”
So yea, there are a lot of questions on both sides. But a Quinnipiac polls even show she’d beat Rudolph Giuliani if he ran against her for Senate in 2006. And I don’t even know if she actually could stand a chance. All the things we’re sure would be her downfall, are things others have used to actually win the Presidency.
But then again, I read on BBC News that Hillary Rodham Clinton said to ABC’s Barbara Walters she has no intention of running for the White House herself in 2008. At this point in the game, I don’t know her intentions, or her chances.
 This editorial is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 2.5 License. |
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Janet Kuypers
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eye in the shy
from NASA...
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Stealing Pluto’s thunder
by Catherine E. Borsch
It looks as if the schoolteachers may be redoing their solar system charts.
A new planet has been discovered in the solar system. And, if you were to craft this planet out of foam for a school science project, it would be roughly 20 to 30 percent larger than Pluto.
On July 29, 2005, Dr. Mike Brown of the California Institute of Technology (Caltech) announced the discovery of the new planet in the outer region of our solar system. The planet, which hasn’t been officially named yet, is about 97 times farther from the sun than Earth, or 97 Astronomical Units (AU).
In comparison, Pluto is 30 AU from the sun.
The planet cataloged as 2003UB313, at the lonely outer fringes of our solar system. Our sun can be seen in the distance. The new planet, which is yet to be formally named, is at least as big as Pluto and about three times farther away from the sun than Pluto. It is very cold and dark. The planet was discovered by the Samuel Oschin Telescope at the Palomar Observatory near San Diego, Calif., on Jan. 8.
This places the new planet in the Kuiper Belt, a dark realm beyond Neptune where thousands of small icy bodies orbit the sun. The planet appears to be typical of Kuiper Belt objects, only much bigger. Its sheer size in relation to the nine known planets means that it can only be classified as a planet, Brown said.
Backyard astronomers with modern detectors mounted on large telescopes can find the new planet, which looks like a dim speck of light moving very slowly against the starry background.
The planet was discovered by Brown, Chad Trujillo of the Gemini Observatory in Mauna Kea, Hawaii, and David Rabinowitz of Yale University in New Haven, Conn. They first photographed the new planet with Caltech’s 48-inch Samuel Oschin Telescope on Oct. 31, 2003. The object was so far away, however, that its motion was not detected until they reanalyzed the data in January of this year.
“We are 100 percent confident that this is the first object bigger than Pluto ever found in the outer solar system,” Brown said.
The planet’s temporary name is 2003 UB313. A permanent name has been proposed by the discoverers to the International Astronomical Union (IAU), and they are awaiting a decision before announcing the name. However, scientists have nicknamed the planet Xena after the fictional warrior princess.
And, to add even more wonder to the discovery itself, this planet has company out in the recesses of the solar system.
“Since the day we discovered Xena, the big question has been whether or not it has a moon,” Brown said. “Having a moon is just inherently cool – and it is something that most selfrespecting planets have, so it is good to see that this one does too.”
Brown estimates that the moon, dubbed Gabrielle after Xena’s sidekick, is at least one-tenth the size of Xena.
“Pluto once seemed a unique oddball at the fringe of the solar system,” Brown said. “But we now see that Xena, Pluto and the others are part of a diverse family of large objects with similar characteristics, histories and even moons, which together will teach us more about the solar system than any single oddball ever would.”
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To be or not to be...a planet
Not everyone in the astronomy community agrees with Xena’s, or for that matter Pluto’s, planetary distinction.“There’s been a big debate going on for some time, even before the tenth planet Xena was discovered,” Dr. Ed Barker, planetary astronomer in the Astromaterials Research and Exploration Science (ARES) Directorate at JSC, said. “I’m really on the side that it’s not a planet.”
The debate heated up as astronomers learned more about our solar system and found that Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune were not alone. Scientists began discovering objects that did not fit neatly into the planet category, but were still significant nonetheless. It became clear these objects were not planets, but “little planetoids,” Dr. Mark Matney, JSC ARES planetary scientist, said.
As a result of these findings, a separate “minor planets” category was designated. Ten years ago, there were about 28,000 minor planets, also known as asteroids. Now close to 300,000 have been discovered.
“It’s clear that Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune are a family, the gas giants. But Pluto we’ve known for a long time is different from the others. Then, with the discovery of Kuiper Belt objects, people began talking about Pluto maybe being a big Kuiper Belt object,” Matney said. “And here you find an object [Xena] that’s clearly bigger than Pluto...”
To complicate matters, Xena has a moon. “And that’s where the parallels really are. In fact, there are two or three other Kuiper Belt objects that have moons also,” Barker said.
So, is Xena just really a Kuiper Belt object with a moon – or a planet?
Unfortunately, it’s more in the eye of the beholder than anything else. The IAU has not officially ruled on whether or not Xena is a planet, or even how they plan on defining a planet in general.
There are probably more cultural reasons to classify Xena as a planet than anything else. If Pluto stays categorized as a planet because it has long been considered one, then Xena too must be a planet. Xena clearly has more heft than Pluto, and has a moon to boot.
“Whatever happens to Pluto, it sounds like Xena will be in the same category,” Matney said.
One thing is for sure. “There’s just a lot of leftover building blocks out in the outer solar system,” Barker said.
Which means, as Matney said, “There may be some more Xenas before we’re done.”
poetry
the passionate stuff
Cinema Sonnet XIV:
Baby Face
Michael Ceraolo
It was a showing of a re-discovered original print
Barbara Stanwyck sleeps her way to the top,
still transgressive, even taboo today,
with unintentional humor along the way,
proving yet again nothing is deader than yesterday’s slang
After the movie was over,
there was a showing of two altered scenes
from the censored release,
plus
the false (in many ways) ending of the altered version,
provoking laughter from many in the audience,
smugly secure that such censorship
couldn’t happen today
Adventual, art by Nicole Aimiee Macaluso
The Cell
Calvin BeckerWill I ever get out of this cell?
The walls have been greased
With insect repellant
And the fire alarm no longer works
All there is left to do
Is fly
Aether Morning
Mason Tate
In the gauzy moments of waking
missing you is comparable to breathing
tacit and more difficult in the cold
I count morningtime in thirds
waltz with your reminiscence
steep my tea in the waters of the Lethe
I Wait
Molly Wendtland
I wait for a bus
where there is no stop,
but it’s not frequent that
public transportation traverses
this country-roaded dead end.
I hear distantly
dogs barking,
22 shots firing,
and an occasional
rooster’s crow.
I take in leaves –
examples of every
lobe and venation type,
colors from at least
seven of the eight
in the crayon box –
I smell the chlorophyll,
the sand made mud
by last night’s rain,
feel the earth
at my fingertips,
and yet I wait.
Here, I wait.
Scotch & Soda On Rocks
At That Birthday Party
It could be this questor an ever last desire
that spells me go west
stimulate here is fire
Or the 10 jumbo shrimp
Taking off like my jet
Down to that Caribbean
which shall get us yet
Favored birthday party
of the odd man the out
could be one the three
of them could be about
to begin a family tree
© 2005 Frank Anthony
Perspective
Eric Bonholtzer
I see through the dragon’s eye.
Timeless viewed scales.
Alleyways with muted hymns of joy
Verandas of profound sorrow
Another stone upon the ageless back.
In another time a woman cries
As a baby laughs.
Dust chokes back mottled tears,
Settling, swirling, bodies of lies.
Clink as the stones clang together among good company
I saw a flower once
As it grew between boards bent in disagreement.
Inside the window an old man tries to scrub his face young,
And now you wash and try to become clean.
A belt of Scripture holds me straight.
All the answers are out there
But sometimes looking at the puzzle too close
Seems to be solving a riddle with cracked glasses.
One that only looks complete when it is turned upside down,
Or at a slant or a distance.
Never right before one’s face.
It’s simply too close.
This writing and photogrtaphy was also in the book Remnants and Shadows.
LIFE
Christopher Fog Peace, when the air is coolsleeping is full of pitter-patter
soft
little raindrops, easing you into the
sublime
but then the fucking phone
rings, and it doesn’t stop
Until it does, and your eyes flutter
in a deep world, gentle whispers of
waves, splashing softly against the shore
But then your four year old comes
crashing into your room, crying, with
shit all over the carpet
Easy, he leaves, and you turn over
to your lover, and kiss her
smooth
and you glide into the rhythm of
passion
Then that asshole neighbor
starts up the lawn mover at 6:00am, and
mows, and
mows
But the smell of freshly cut grass is nice
and when the sun slants into the room
warming your face with sleepy rays, you
glide
Until that piece of shit fire alarm
goes off because your teenage daughter burnt her toast
and the wailing gives you a bastard headache
Slipping quietly away
into a slumber, at last
birds chirping outside
Then one hits your window, and
he lies there, flapping
dying
and you have to go outside in your towel
and break its neck
Finally you scream
FUCK
Delta, art by Cheryl Townsend
Sharp Intake of Breath
Carol Mikoda
Scream in the darkness
but make no sound.
Flash all the lights,
but the bulbs are broken.
Clang the bell
that has no tongue.
Clap your hands,
whose skin has unraveled
in shreds.
Walk to the farthest end
of the road only to find
that there is no one there
to cry for you.
Who will sing
at your funeral?
Entry to the World, art by Edward Michael O’durr Supranowicz
Ode to a Coffee Mug
Joshua Gray
I have found no better companion
To drink my morning cup-o-joe with than the man
On the brown mug in which my coffee sits.
The man is but a face, a bas relief
That sticks out of the side of the clay cup
Like a joke. Like fattened lamb thighs
His white crossed eyes meet each other.
His big snout sits compromised above
The massive moustache that almost makes the look,
Like he had been hit over the head by a ten-pound bag
Of whole coffee beans. An elaborate handle,
Thumb rest and all, provides the macaroni
Hair style. Coffee mug,
You put a smile on my face every morning
When I open my office door, right when I remember
My college fish friends. Before I killed them all,
Even the big orange one I dubbed Poseidon,
I was too poor to buy an entire obstacle course
For the little gillies, so I put you inside the tank
In place of a plastic mini cave, and watched
The ghoti stare wide-eyed before diving
Deep into your darkened innards.
JOSEPH
Emily GriskavichJoseph has apparently gone off his medication.
Two years ago, he used to glide past me
in the staff section of the homeless shelter,
his intense gaze dressed in black
(a throwback to his monastery days),
too taciturn to say hello.
Now, he leans in close to tell me
the government is experimenting on twins
in locked rooms in the basement of the Pentagon.
And by the way, ten years ago
on Good Friday, he and the other monks
saw Jesus materialize in the incense smoke
while they were prostrate in the service.
His once-dark beard has gone grey,
and I can see pink-red scabs at its roots
like neon signs through a dirty bar window.
His intense silence has been replaced
by a flurry of blinking, grinning,
gesticulating, I-tell-you-whats.
WIRED
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
I’ve got wires
like a television.
Through my eyes
I can be seen
by government agents.
When I’m asleep
I get my privacy.
I like to write
mystery stories
when I have time to myself.
I have special
skills and powers,
which the government
wants for itself.
This is why I’m on constant
surveillance.
I cannot rest.
The demand on
my time is damn
near overwhelming at times.
It makes me crazy.
THE MEAT RACK
Mather Schneider
I know a man
who owns a bar
and it is really more of a
shrine to himself
framed photographs of himself
along side famous boxers
and actors and politicians
all over the walls
with newspaper clippings
of when he ran for mayor
and photos of himself crossing the finish line
of the New York Marathon
I’m not sure how this guy happened
to have a camera at every
moment of his life
but
there it is
and he’s apparently know a lot of
artists
because several portraits of himself also
adorn the place
he has this special deal:
if you get a brand of his face
on your arm
you will get a twenty percent
discount on drinks for
life
not free but
a twenty percent discount
the brand is the size of a
half dollar
this is what we have to be
proud of
in our
great civilization
K D Lang, art by Rose E. Grier
a Great American
Janet Kuypers
and when listening to Sean Hannity,
one of the Republican’s icons in punditry,
I hear him say to all veterans,
“you’re a great American.“
then other people
later on his show
would say that he is a great American
and it becomes like a contest sometimes
where everyone who supports
Sean Hannity on his show
is calling each other a great American
and I’m thinking:
he thanks veterans
because they fought in a war
and protected our country.
and I’m thinking,
we thank people
for finding a loophole to legally kill people,
we thank people for going through hell
in a current war that we don’t support
a war not defending our country
but killing our people nonetheless
Hell, people now aren’t even in a war
only Congress can declare a war
and we haven’t been in an actual war
since World War Two
but I’m sure they’re great Americans
because they fought
in these President-proclaimed wars
yeah, Sean Hannity thanks veterans
because they fought in a war
and protected our country
but he also calls anyone a great American
only because they agree with him
you can elevate anyone to that tall pedastal
idolize them, call them a great American
as long as they support the Bush kakistocracy
hey, we’re Americans,
we’ve proclaimed ourselves to be the best
we don’t idolize anyone
I think it’s time we all start thinking
the Sean Hannity way
and be great Americans again
Survival of the Fittest, art by Nick Brazinsky
Identity Theft
Amber May
Girl: gaping cavern of need, octopus arms flaying out
desperately for affection.
Boy: pure void, mimicking mocking mirror, moldable clay chameleon.
The parallel lines of Girl and Boy intersect arbitrarily.
Electric sparks fly as the two seeking substances collide.
Separate entities meld into a single identity.
Intertwining vine-limbs and alignment of internal ideologies,
Soul caressing, synchronize heartbeats, interwoven mind links.
Identity theft.
Boy caught stealing Girl from herself.
The embrace becomes a death grip.
With the mask of love-giver,
Leech Boy sucks greedily on his prey.
The idyllic lovers emulate Munk’s “Death and the Maiden.”
Gluttonous Girl is forced to see the hatefulness of her Need
As mirror lover mimics her affection starved cries, amplified.
Boy choked Girl with her own rope.
But she tore away, leaving behind her Need.
Biography
Amber May
By day, she’s a biology major and aspiring pre-med at University of Chicago, holding leadership positions on the Pre-Medical Students Association, Treasurer of the Classical Entertainment Society, Assistant Trainer at the gym, and Surgical Assistant. By night, she revels in the power and release of creating poems and poetic prose. As a child she composed fantasy stories, turning to free-flow, stream of conscious prose as she grew older. She has been published in various forms and has read her work at numerous poetry fests. For her, the writing process involves living deeply, contemplating experiences, and extracting the meaning. Instead of merely skimming the surface, she reaches towards the source, and through writing, heighten her senses, deepen her appreciation of aesthetics, and enhance her reception of the glory in existing as a sentient being.
The sacred moments of complete control, wielding pen in hand, electric synapses forming as the vessel connects to scroll, translating ineffable emotion into tangible transcription, saturating dictionary words with her own vibrancy. Writing spirals into a fascinating odyssey of self-exploration, uncovering her innate inner structure. As the pen hits paper, layers are penetrated. She hears the whispers of her soul.
Her mind becomes lucid to itself.
Blue Face, art by Adriana DeCastro
Self-Help
Kathryn Alison Graves
If you want to know my opinion
women should be worshiped
for God sake
think about it
Men sit and think about us
or should I say about it
and they continue to thrive
and we know it
We can sip wine
or take shots
carry the brat until term
and then sign the rest of our lives away
to everyone else’s service
We join the corporate pool
not to think about production
but to keep the suits off our back
to become successful
and don’t forget the money, honey
Meanwhile we pump our breasts
in the office ladies room
staining the new silk blouse
acrylic nails clicking on the buttons
and then we stop for a moment
to think about the small pink flowers
on a seersucker dress
that we wore when we were little girls
Les Cirques dans la Ciel, art by Aaron Wilder
First Movement
Tyler Joseph Wiseman
Migration,
I’m taking my wooly words worth
and moving on home
Diggin the concrete, time to break my teeth
upon the ample edge of indifference
I’m sitting with my pretty self
in the Santa Cruz Diner
where I was told in so many words
“Hippies use side door”
Just ordered a Jack Kerouac,
side of fries
twenty five and some scratch in my pocket
Menu, it says “life is unpredictable,
eat dessert first”
and I do
Clouds 14, art by Tracy M. Rogers
Emotions
Eriol Fox
A fine line exists
Between love and hate.
A tenuous thread,
Delicate as a spider web,
These two emotions separates.
And when this fragile string is pluck’d
The strength of the former love
Fuels the fire of the burning hate.
Tape NailsJessica Bechtold
My mom used to get her nails done,
I took Scotch tape
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No Repeating Past Mistakes
Robert Lee Brewer, editor of Writer’s Market
No matter where you travel in Atlanta,
there’s a Peachtree Street around the corner
with a Chic-Fil-A and a Starbucks
and another damn division title
for the Bobby Cox brigade.
Just give me 10 minutes to find you
alone in a room with no windows
naked, turning over past mistakes
in your head as you move closer
to another with me.
It’s not a cycle, this feeling,
because it’s different every time
but similar to a spiral through history
or a track that falls back
and works its way up.
Deer Hunter, art by Mark Graham
War on Peace
Rangzen Shanti
I have seen the war against my people
Telling the world what we believe
Cops with semi-automatics
Pointed ever at me
I have seen the tear gas clouds fill the streets
The screams of an innocent child
In pain
The black and blue brigades beat us
Till we look like them
Even when we are naked
The fires hoses pounding our skin
Every drop, like a rock
Up against the wall mother
It’s all we can do
I have seen the gross fines
For those who pine
To be free
I have seen the spies
Inspecting every speck of dirt
To ascertain its worth
I have seen soldiers atop the White House
With rifles ready to snipe
Fingers ever itching
To pick off a hippie
I have seen the expulsions
For possessions of an herb
The narcs smashing down doors
I have seen cigarette corporations
Swimming in green
Their money and the lungs they’ve ruined
I have seen the apathy towards them
The addictions, five packs a day
The villains left untouched
The victims left to rot
And the far lesser evil
Beaten into submission
-Washington D.C., fall, 2005
Fire Over Castle Mountains
Thomas Rucker
The tall mountains stand like castles,
in the red west,
The Sun gallops across the sky,
In it’s firey flight, on scarlet
wings, like a floating splendor
of burning hell.
Casting it’s volley of destruction.
The rushing bronze torch, fall behind
the mountains of tall castles.
I SCRAPPED A WALL
Donal Finn
I scraped a wall at work today, chipping nails and such.
No world event did circumvent my humble tools nudge.
The televisions death ray vision spoke of terror
bombing missions,
RapistÕs guilty plea admissions-motto of our times.
The world it went to shit today.
But my wall turned out just fine.
PICTURE THIS
Chris Major
You looked no more
than 16 or 17,
and initially we
thought you’d pissed yourself,
were just another drunk
staggering to ask for change,
as a damp patch
on your jeans spread.
But the outstretched
hand was begging help,
as you suddenly fell,
dropped 6 foot 12 years
to mumble for “Mum”.
Touch ‘n’ go the paramedics said;
all other veins collapsed
you’d stuck you’re groin,
dug a little too deep.
We watched them
stretcher your dead body,
as that siren’s whirrrrrr
swept all thoughts
all comfortable plans
to minds periphery,
where they occasionally,
still,
frame the incident................
from State of Desire State of Being, art by Stephen Mead
Reentry 16
Anne Heide
make a byword of
egested matter
a cup from which an egg
is eaten an egg ingested
attempt to convince
supporting streetlights (hooded bulbs)
incite numbers (of sparrows) to walk
into you
Getting a Ride
Heather Dorn
for a while
it was easy
to hitch a ride home
with Matt and his mom
he shared my locker
but he had no
floor or shelf, only
one hook
to balance his books
it was a fair trade
we would laugh
in the backseat
about Rosencrantz
& Guildenstern Are Dead
and pretend to flip
a coin
“heads...heads...heads...”
but one day
I started having
play practice
and quit going
home at three o’clock
I caught a ride
with my friend
Kortney, who had
a convertible
and smoked Marlboro Lights
as we pulled out
of the parking lot
she never offered me
one, I didn’t smoke, but
she didn’t know that
one day
as I watched her puff,
tossing her sun-baked hair
over her tan shoulder
I caught a look,
a mixture of boredom,
obligation and pity
and I decided
not to ask her again
and she never offered
for a few days
the drama teacher shuttled
me home, but
not wanting to see
that look in her eyes
I started saying I didn’t
need a ride
and I walked the long way
so nobody would see me
cutting through fields
of dirt and mosquitoes
grasshoppers and feral flowers
I decided
I would rather walk
from now on
The Procedure
Angela Little
Would his hair have been black?
Would his eyes have been dark?
Or would they have been blue, like the sky?
Would blonde wisps have tickled his ears?
I listen to the machines, feel the cold metal on the bottoms of my feet.
Would his feet have run like the wind?
Would his legs have been long?
Or would they have been short, and sturdy, like his father’s?
Would his strong hands have worked hard?
I am nauseated, the room spins as I stare up at the ceiling.
Would he have been persistent?
Would he have overcome obstacles?
Or would he have tried to fade away, unseen, like his mother?
Would he have caved to the expectations?
I feel the tissue paper against my back.
I see the masked faces around me.
I swim in a sea of white and blue and sterilized instruments....
I cry and begin to mourn as my unborn son is torn from my body.
prose
the meat and potatoes stuff
Lost Ivy
Mark PasseroIvy was warned to leave the Hindu Valley. She was a lost Christian mystic. She hid behind her sabbatical habit, Christian cross and priestly gown. Her age is unknown. Many Indians said she was 25 or 30 years of age. She was pretty as lotus flower with a slender Kali frame and shiny jet black milky silk hair. They claim she was a Greek or Turk, but nobody knows. My grandfather Ben met her one day back in June of 1962. She was buying candles from a hindu priest. She purchased a dozen of so. The hindu priest gave her the candles and refused her money. He shouted at her, “Blessed spirit go away, may peace be with you.” He threw white rice at her hair and face. She replied, “Back, you are a pagan and a fool, I came for my holy tools, I will pray for you soul in the light of the true God comes to you.” She walked out the door not paying any attention were she was going. Bingo, she bumped in to my grandfather Ben. She was sacred like a white rabbit ready to run. She dropped her candles on the poor poverty road. Ben replied “I am so sorry, I did not see you coming.” Ivy replied “ It is my fault, I must be going crazy with the heat.” “Ben replies “Let’s go for a drink at Adrimal Nelson Pub.” He grabs her by her right slender hand and off they go. She walks in silent shock. He grabs a table and sits her down around the table. He orders a large gin and tonic pitcher. The elder bartender walks over and smiles at them. He pours them in two large slender glasses. He wipes his fore head and says”If you need anything else I will be reading my race track paper inside the store room, where it is cool.” Ben replies, “Okay.” Ivy grabs the class like a lost infant child, drinks it down in a flash. She stares at Ben and says “Thank You.” Ben replies “You are welcome.” Ivy replies back, “You are kind gentlemen, I must leave know, my spirit is wanted in another room.” Ben replies “Another room”? You must be going crazy with the heat, it can make you feel uneasy. Let me get you a wash cloth from behind the bar to wipe your sweatie forehead.” Ben walks to the bar. A cold wind passes behind him. He feels dizzy. He turns to look back at the table. Ivy is gone. He walks towards the bar door. The Hindu Priest pushes him inside and smiles at him. They walk over to the table. A flower and a gold coin has been left behind with a napkin letter saying “Thank You for your gentle kindness, I pray for you.” The Hindu priest takes the coin, bows to Ben and leaves. Ben picks up the flower and “Says until we meet again Ivy lotus, Amen.”
Smoke, art by Mike Hovancsek
Trajectory
john sweetThree bald tires leaning up against the side of a trailer, which is not the same as the Holy Trinity. Which is not the same as this woman tied up with packing tape then raped three times, then another piece over her mouth, then another sealing her nose.
The truth, which is only a weapon. The weapon, which is always something small and innocuous. Is always something bought at Wal-Mart, paid for with a credit card and, next to the tires, a hole punched through the skirting. A child hiding underneath, but always found. A child not hiding, but hidden.
Give him a name. Give the woman a setting. An alley, a doorway, a dead end street by the railroad tracks. A city, but not the one she’s found in. A second story apartment filled with sunlight, almost warm. A girl sitting naked on the couch, says she’s sixteen, says she told me this the night before but I don’t remember, or I don’t want to remember, or I just don’t believe her.
And I was in bed with her, yes, and at some point I woke up alone. Found her on the living room floor with my roommate’s brother, the two of them wrapped up in a blanket, and she looked at me and smiled. Pulled the blanket back to invite me in, but I was tired. My head was pounding.
And of course the boy is found eventually, and then the mother, and the boyfriend has disappeared.
And her stepfather calls me on a Tuesday night, asks if she’s with me, and I have no idea what he knows. I have no idea how the hell he got my number. And I tell him that I haven’t seen her for weeks, which is the truth, and then I hang up and, when the phone rings again, it’s the police. A sergeant whose name I don’t catch, and she asks the same questions as the stepfather, and I give the same answers.
And my roommate’s brother is gone again, back down to North Carolina to stay with his parents, and a fetus is found trapped in one of the grates in one of the tanks at the water treatment plant. I can’t remember how she came to be here that night. I can’t remember if we’re still at war.
And she shows up at my door three days later, asks if she can come in, if I have a beer. She sits on my bed, flipping through a stack of CDs. I tell her that her stepfather called, that the cops called, and she nods.
What the hell is all over your arms? I ask, and she pushes the sleeves up, says Magic marker. I see smiley faces, frowny faces, a cross, an anarchy sign, and she stands up and takes her shirt off, isn’t wearing a bra, and I see that someone has drawn targets on her tips, has used her nipples for the bullseyes. I see WHORE written across her stomach, doodles all over her back as she spins around slowly. Words and pictures disappear into the waistband of her pants and I ask How far down does it go? and she takes them off, no panties, and I say Jesus Christ.
The writing is everywhere. Stubble has ben drawn on her legs, hands have been drawn on her ass, FUCK ME written up the inside of one thigh, SLUT up the other. Eyes look at me from her pubic hair.
I was staying with some guys, she says. They kept giving me booze. Kept giving me pills. I passed out last night, and she raises her arms out like she’s being crucified, stands naked in front of me. I woke up this morning like this. Everyone was gone.
You had clothes on last night, and you woke up naked? I ask, and she nods.
I’m pretty sure they took turns fucking me. She gestures with her hands. It hurts.
And I look at her. I look away. It’s the end of May, dusk, the bedroom windows open. Kids are laughing in the street. A car passes by with its stereo up loud, Zeppelin, The Song Remains the Same, and the boyfriend is still on the run. The trailer has been roped off with police tape. The windows have all been broken. The father has asked to be left alone.
And she stands in front of me, naked, near tears, and I pick up her shirt and hand it to her. Can think of nothing to say but Get dressed, and what happens is that a man has been brought in for questioning, but it won’t change anything. It won’t remove the tape, or the sock that was found stuffed in the woman’s mouth, and it sure as fuck won’t bring her back to life, but it’s all any of us have and so we embrace it. We act like justice exists. It’s such a simple form of blindness.
performance art
A Night Of Firsts, live in Chicago 06/22/04
Under The Sea
I’d like to be
Under the sea
To see the fish go swim,
I’d like to squish
A jelly fish
And then let go of him.
I’d like to grab
A soft-shelled crab
And take him for a walk
I’d like to hurdle
Over a turtle
And teach dolphins to talk.
I’d like to see
A manatee
And then go play by him,
I’d like to do
All of these things
If only I could swim!
In Love I Abide
(a song)
well you started a commotion when you walked in the placeI was flooded with emotion when I first saw your face
So I had to find out if there was a chance we could be
But I couldn’t understand how you could only want me
and as time went by my love grew stronger than before
but I never dreamt I’d get what I was wishing for
so don’t be afraid
to let your feelings show
because our love has stayed
and I won’t let you go
in love I abide
for to love I am bound
and I’ll stay by your side
with this love that I’ve found
well you parted all the people when you walked in the room
when i saw your ice blue eyes i knew you would be mine soon
but i couldn’t understand how i fell for you so fast
and i only hoped our feelings for each other would last
well do you believe that fate could make us feel this way
because i know that a love like this is gonna stay
so don’t be afraid
to let your feelings show
because our love has stayed
and I won’t let you go
in love I abide
for to love I am bound
and I’ll stay by your side
with this love that I’ve found
———
and as time went by my love grew stronger than before
but I never dreamt I’d get what I was wishing for
so don’t be afraid
to let your feelings show
because our love has stayed
and I won’t let you go
in love I abide
for to love I am bound
and I’ll stay by your side
with this love that I’ve found
the little differences
I know things are really different in China,but Shanghai and Beijing are urban areas,
so a lot of things seems really similar.
I mean, you saw signs on the walls and
in the streets in Chinese, but you understood
how to get around and what to do.
I swear, what I remember most are the
little differences,
like McDonalds, I got an
egg McMuffin because I’ve seen signs
in French for “Oeuf McMuffins.”
So when I ordered one in Beijing, I got a
hamburger bun for a muffin (egg McHamburger?),
and it was covered in ketchup and mayo,
I swear to God it was fucking drowning in the shit;
I wiped some of it off with my index finger
and chalked it up to knowing the little differences.
Like in Shanghai we went to Starbucks (because
even in China, there’s still one on every corner,
& John said I liked white chocolate frappucinos,
so Jim asked if they had white chocolate.
The woman behind the counter said,
“No, we only have black chocolate.”
(You’d never hear that in the United States...)
Knowing that a good part of China lives in squalor,
we saw that everyone hung their clothing to dry.
Jim said China’d have to build a ton of new plants
just to supply power to these dryers that people
can’t afford, so clothing dryers don’t exist.
China has no Medicare or government health care plans
(don’t say the United States is free of government intervention...)
so people save their money for accidents. It’s a good thing,
because we saw rickety bamboo stalks used
for ladders & scaffolding for Chinamen
for repairing & cleaning high rises.
But you have to remember these differences,
I mean, a stop sign is still a red octagon
even if you don’t know the language it’s in,
even Coke cans print both languages on them,
But you know, the funny thing about China
are the little differences.
tight rope affair
(a song)
i know all the movesi play the game
and it gets to you
you can’t say a word
you can’t move an inch
cause you can’t break the rules
i know what to say
i know what to do
and it sets you on fire
i have to play
on what you like
to see what you can take
and i walk out on to that tight rope
to watch you move and shake
and now we’re both stuck there
but here is where you quake
but you can’t fall from this wire
we walk a thin line
in our tight rope affair
there’s no net when you’re high
so you better beware
do you know your way down
when you’re in making your moves
and balanced in
your tight rope affair
when you’re up on the wire
you feel the fire
and you feel the fear
but you’re filled with desire
you want to go higher
whenever we’re near
what will transpire
now that we’re here
what can we do to make us right
when we gracefully step
on the paper-thin wire
we’re balancing high
we look to the ground
see a circus of clowns
as we’re touching the sky
now we both tightrope walk
and I wonder why
why we can’t bring it all into the light
-
we’re walking a fine line
in our tight rope affair
yeah, you try to act sly
when I know a part of you’s scared
but you know you’ll will try
only if you can bear
what might happen
in our tight rope affair
you balance on this twine
in our tight rope affair
cause I know you’ll be mine
yeah, be with me if you’d dare
this love is divine
but it cannot compare
to this rush
from this tight rope affair
you know how it feels
in our tight rope affair
our time is surreal
and our bond is rare
we sense this appeal
and it makes us aware
of the risks
in our tight rope affair
what we need in life
(a song)
I don’t know where this highway’s taking me anymore andI don’t know the right lines to say
I don’t feel the things that you’re feeling
down deep inside of you but I know this ain’t the way
nothing ventured
nothing gained
nothing changes
nothing stays the same
but you go your way
I go mine
maybe one day
we will find
what we need in life
I watch the ashes from your cigarette
fall to the ground and
I think this fire will die down
I think I now see what is happening herebetween us and
I have to say good bye
nothing ventured
nothing gained
nothing changes
nothing stays the same
so you go your way
I go mine
maybe one day
we will find
what we need in life
I can’t stay bitter and lonely and restless anymore and
I can’t be here with you
I see the red in your eyes and it scares me half to death and
I’ll take this road alone
nothing ventured
nothing gained
nothing changes
nothing stays the same
you go your way
and I go mine
maybe one day
we will find
what we need in life
too far
When he met mehe told me
I looked like
Kim Basinger
long blonde locks
but as time
wore on I knew
I wasn’t her
and I could never
be her and I was
never good enough
thin enough
pretty enough
I got a perm
straightened my
teeth
bought a wonder
bra but it wasn’t
doing the trick
I bought slimfast
used the stair
stepper ate rice
cakes and wheat
germ but I wasn’t
thin enough I
only dropped
twenty pounds
so I went to the
spa got my skin
peeled soaked
myself in mud
wrapped myself
in cellophane
bought the amino
acid facial creams
but I knew they
didn’t really
work so I went to
the doctor got my
nose slimmed
my tummy stapled
my thighs sucked
thought about
getting a rib or two
removed
like Cher
but I figured
they’ve got to
be there for
something
and hey, that’s
just going
too far
|
Nick DiSpoldo, Small Press Review (on “Children, Churches and Daddies,& #148; 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& #148; of politics.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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?
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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.
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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@scars.tv... 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
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Mark Blickley, writer The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. “Scars& #148; 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.
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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& #148;)
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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.& #148; Alas, that our Dusty Dog for mat cannot do justice to Ms. Kuypers’ very personal layering of her poem across the page.
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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!!!
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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& #148; 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.
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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.
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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& #148; presentations, demonstrations, and workshops showcasing its activities and available resources.
For More Information Please Contact: Deborah Anderson
dja@crest.org or (202) 289-0061
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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.
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Dorrance Publishing Co., Pittsburgh, PA
“Hope Chest in the Attic& #148; 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& #148; 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& #148; 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.
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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!
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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, butt-munch. Tough guy. This is how to win the editors over.
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.
You Have to be Published to be Appreciated.
Dorrance Publishing Co., Pittsburgh, PA: “Hope Chest in the Attic& #148; 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& #148; 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& #148; 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.
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.
ccandd96@scars.tv
Publishers/Designers Of
Sponsors Of
Children, Churches and Daddies (founded 1993)
has been written and researched by political groups and writers from the United States, Canada, England, India, Italy, Malta, Norway and Turkey.
Regular features provide coverage of environmental, political and social issues (via news and philosophy) as well as fiction and poetry,
and act as an information and education source. Children, Churches and Daddies is the leading magazine for this combination of information,
education and entertainment.
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!
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 1999 book “Rinse and Repeat& #148;, the 2001 book “Survive and Thrive& #148;, the 2001 books “Torture and Triumph& #148; and “(no so) Warm and Fuzzy& #148;,
which all have 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 and tell us you saw this ad space. It’s an offer you can’t refuse...
Mark Blickley, writer: The precursor to the magazine title (Children, Churches and Daddies) is very moving. “Scars& #148; 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.
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...
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.& #148; 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.
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.
the unreligious, non-family oriented literary and art magazine
Scars Publications and Design
http://scars.tv
Children, Churches and Daddies magazine
cc+d Ezines
The Burning mini poem books
God Eyes mini poem books
The Poetry Wall Calendar
The Poetry Box
The Poetry Sampler
Mom’s Favorite Vase Newsletters
Reverberate Music Magazine
Down In The Dirt magazine
Freedom and Strength Press forum
plus assorted chapbooks and books
music, poery compact discs
live performances of songs and readings
past editions:
Poetry Chapbook Contest, Poetry Book Contest
Prose Chapbook Contest, Prose Book Contest
Poetry Calendar Contest
current editions:
Editor’s Choice Award (writing and web sites)
Collection Volumes
Children, Churches and Daddies (ISSN 1068-5154) is published quarterly by Scars Publications and Design. Contact us via e-mail (ccandd96@scars.tv) for subscription rates
or prices for annual collection books.
To contributors:
No racist, sexist or blatantly homophobic material. No originals; if mailed, include SASE & bio.
Work sent on disks or through e-mail preferred. Previously published work accepted. Authors always retain rights to their own work. All magazine rights reserved. Reproduction of
Children, Churches and Daddies without publisher permission is forbidden.
Children, Churches and Daddies copyright
through
Scars Publications and Design, Children, Churches and Daddies, Janet Kuypers. All rights remain with the authors of the individual
pieces. No material may be reprinted without express permission.