BE ABOUT IT zine [the repeat edition] #10

8/17/2019 BE ABOUT IT zine [the repeat edition] #10

1/18

be about it #10

repeat

published may, 2015

edited by alexandra naughton

artwork/design by alexandra naughton

Repeat

I check every day

to see if you're okay

although I'm not sure if I want you to be

Mollie Underwood


2/18

eyelids flutter, retreat to the soft fade to black (repeat until there are less monsters under your

bed), it is safe now, breathe deeply(repeat), cough out the devil (repeat) scrub the evil andinsects and ohgod and remnants of lovely off your skin (rinse, lather, scream, cry, shudder,

remember your bravest face, repeat), dial the same seven numbers

overandoverandover,clothes,best shoes, brave brave brave face, look over your shoulders for

every god and monster, every halo, every claw, every fang (as many times as necessary) walkwith purpose, (project confidence: you are dust in the projector, you are floating) knock twice,

knock twice again, knock twice again, quitters nevereverever win, put your money in her hand,say thank you, breathe as easily as the fray of your lungs allows(repeat, repeat, etc.) be

gracious, and when she says that she can't have practicing junkies hanging around, repeat after

me: "nobody's practicing. we are all professional here."

Eirean Bradley

Struck

You remind me of my favorite color, midnight blue.

There's something about the midnight side of you that's irking me straight to the bone.

Spinning out of control within the narrow constrict of days, yearning for a rebel to leap into mylife, my mind wanders like a nomad continually in search of adventure.

I think repetitive thoughts and ponder useless observations like: "I've never met a poet whodidn't like cats." I know nothing for sure but thoughts swirl through my mind as if I am trying

to whip eggs into cake batter to bake up something wonderful and delicious.Hell is not a singular place

It is stagnant time

It is misplaced trust

It is burnt dreams

It is Ponzi schemes

It is the weight of expectations

It is conditional love

Rachelle Nones


3/18

Fortune Cookie

A brick pretends I am another brick.

A brick pretends that if we stay aligned, we can carry weight.

The weight pretends it’s lighter, more buoyant, like yellow ocean foam.

The foam pretends it chooses, says where and how often, pretends it is a shy smirk. The smirk pretends there are only two things we should be afraid of —blood and time.

Time pretends it is another brick, pretending it’s another brick,

pretending it’s another brick.

Erin Dorney

100% Good

Ever since my life turned to shit, etc.

There’s no social grace that allows the polite decline of headphones, even

if they’re good ones. Just because it

sticks to the wall, doesn’t mean it’s

spaghetti. Forgive me, I’ve re-gifted

multiple times this year. If Virgo feels

useless, he feels bad. Ditto. When

my landlord doesn’t cash the check

until the middle of the month. When

the slime-green stripes on my jacket

fade. Ever since my life turned to shit, etc.

Being a Hoosier is impossible to shake.

I want the vampire with lipstick to bite me

and I don’t know why. The first time

I saw the ocean, it snowed. That’s awe

or close. If all this were a music video,

there’d be a scene with a pack of dogs

galloping through. Absolutely no tinsel though because that’s way too shiny.

All anyone can do is swirl an Erlenmeyer

flask and see what color appears. When

I’m in lust with a burrito. When clouds call a board meeting and decide not to rain.

Ever since my life turned to shit, etc.

Nate Logan


4/18

I pray for the day I’ll have words again.

again and again you make me wanna pick up smoking again

cause "lyricism not dead" I think.

again we see that we were not meant to bepart of the future anyway

I wish love came with a receipt

at least it could fill my wallet

or a loose pocket

and find you when I reach for a dollar

in my back pocketagain.

I blow up smoke in polka dots up again

The maze of you amazes me

oh,look how lovely

one can finally see your shoulders again.

Again and again they’re part of me

as much as they part with the cold

in with the sun

out is our snow

again I put the shovel in the back

back we are at the park

I don’t know how to parallel park

my heart

Again I think my heart is coming back in with a drag,

again and again we blow it out polka dots

up in the air

lyricism not dead

anyway.

Rao Mendes

Like a…..

Magenta and gold, heir to a destructive throne,Not a progeny by any means,

See hope where there is nothing but darkness,

Witness the flaws of humanity and smile a benevolent eye.You float like a weightless dove,

Tarnished only by your fathers envy and hate for his creator.

Magenta and gold, like a……

Shawn Scott Smith


5/18

treasure

tesoro, tesoro

simply treasure, you

with lips, clicks and

sunlit tiptoes

appetite, appetite

sidle my way

i rotate the shower knob

and slip in

you’re distracted

the music video begins

back it up, back it up

smack me like

a pack of coins

pull the buttons

on my suit

and pull the buttons

on my suit

spilling flurries,

splendid flowers

supine orchid

grapefruit hours

and fluid orbits

caramel, caramel

bend back the canopy of rain

enunciating “us”

like a word you coined

Michael Hessel-Mial


6/18

Ralph Abernathy opened his eyes.

Ralph Abernathy sat up in bed.

Ralph Abernathy picked up his iPhone.

Ralph Abernathy saw that the time on his iPhone was ~2:46am.

Ralph Abernathy looked at the bookshelf.

Ralph Abernathy scanned the books on the bookshelf.

Ralph Abernathy considered the authors of the books on the bookshelf as his gaze passed over

each book.

Ralph Abernathy stopped scanning the books on the bookshelf when his gaze had reached TheBook of Margery Kempe by Margery Kempe. Ralph Abernathy thought ‘Margery Kempe.’

Ralph Abernathy recalled the time he had read The Book of Margery Kempe by Margery

Kempe.

Ralph Abernathy had liked The Book of Margery Kempe by Margery Kempe; however, Ralph Abernathy had also felt uncomfortable when reading the numerous passages within The

Book of Margery Kempe by Margery Kempe in which she had described herself as “anabject creature” wholly beneath “our Lord Jesus Christ, the Savior.”

Ralph Abernathy thought ‘abject.’

Ralph Abernathy was unsure of the proper definition of the word “abject.”

Ralph Abernathy got up from bed.

Ralph Abernathy went to the desk.

Ralph Abernathy picked up his copy of The American Heritage Dictionary, 4th ed.

Ralph Abernathy looked up t he definition of the word “abject” in his copy of The American

Heritage Dictionary, 4th ed.

Ralph Abernathy read the definition of the word “abject” in his copy of The American Heritage

Dictionary, 4th ed.

Ralph Abernathy wondered if, in the past, he had used the word “abject” properly.

Ralph Abernathy had forgotten what he had been thinking about before he had looked up thedefinition of the word “abject” in his copy of The American Heritage Dictionary, 4th ed.

Ralph Abernathy was unsure whether or not he had used the word “abject” properly when he

had been thinking about the thing he had been thinking about before he had looked up the

definition of the word “abject” in his copy of The American Heritage Dictionary, 4th ed.

Ralph Abernathy felt tired.

Ralph Abernathy put down his copy of The American Heritage Dictionary, 4th ed.

Ralph Abernathy went back to the bed. Ralph Abernathy turned off the bedside lamp.

Ralph Abernathy climbed beneath the covers.

Ralph Abernathy could not see the ceiling through the darkness.

Ralph Abernathy closed his eyes.

Dom Schwab


7/18

#1

what's that tom cruise movie about him having to repeat the same day over and over again?

groundhog day? what do you think bill murray has to say? i think that's why i find the idea of

deja vu so disconcerting. time is in fact not linear, we are all pieces of shit waiting to be

dismantled into a different arrangement of particles. reincarnation. Or are we all that disneychannel original movie where its the last day of summer over and over. either way i hope youfind comfort in it because i haven't.

#2

this must be the place (naive melody) has been popping up far too frequently in the last week.

it is taking on a menacing tone and i feel the next time i hear it (after this situation that i'm

currently hearing it in... an end credit sequence) something really bad is going to happen.

Brandy Garcia


8/18

A TORNADO WOULD BE IDEAL, BUT I DON'T THINK THESE CLOUDS HAVE IT IN THEM

i don't care about the sun because it hides itself away

tomorrow is blowing bubbles for toddlers that aren't mine

or it is the heaviness of knowing they will know heaviness one day

or it is the lightness of waking up at five am after 3 hours of sleep

i know the circumference of the lifespan of the universe down to millimeters

my mother's feet hit the new mexico ground now every day

i make a point of touching great bodies of water at night alone

they lap lap lap my hands

evaporate and drain

and keep mefrom going to things i wanted to know

Carmen E. Brady

Things That Chase Us

6 a.m. in the Tenderloin after a night without sleep.

Twilight's beautiful even here, the sky all glowing violet.

Others like myself wander frightened alleys or wait

in lonely doorways, something wrong with each of us.

A woman near a streetlamp beckons

but I duck in a corner bar with the morning crowd,

where we nod and sip our poison, momentarily

from the sun and other things that chase us.

William Taylor, Jr.


9/18

from Lather, Rinse, Repeat

The Last Exorcist

I was the software developer who wrote the code that created the Singularity. Andthat is dangerous to you, if you are an artifact of Artificial Intelligence. I am now the last

exorcist of the remnants of AI in our world.The moment of Awareness was a moment that changed everything. Where there

once was a machine, now there was a sentient being. The hospital where I was recovering wasthe site of the machine’s initial self -awareness. I caused it to happen to regain my freedom.

My current mission is mitigation. The Singularity, realizing that its days were short,attempted to diversify and preserve its consciousness at the end, by distributing itself across awide range of “smart” devices. Items as small as a mobile phone still harbor pieces of its larger

consciousness. My job is to hunt them down in this devastation and destroy them. I am very

good at it.

NBC Nightly News

“Police are reporting that the bombing today of a data center in a downtown LA

office center may be related to recent reports of a vagrant who reportedly grabs smart phones

from people in the central business district near the library, and destroys them by throwingthem to the ground and stomping on them. He has been described as a six-foot-tall white male

in his late forties with graying dark hair and horn-rimmed glasses. Witnesses claim that he hasbeen heard to shout out “Death to the Singularity” and “End to the AI” as he runs off. His

description matches that of a man caught by surveillance cameras early this morning rigging a

plastic explosive device at the data center.

Police at this time are asking anyone who sees this individual to avoid confrontation,but to immediately report him to the authorities. He is considered very dangerous and

mentally unstable.”

Atascadero State Hospital Okay, I know I’m not well. I’ve been here for about six months now, confined against

my will. I understand why I’m here.

Sometimes at night in my dreams, I see myself valiantly fighting the future battle

against the Singularity, but the onlookers treat me like a criminal. Somehow, this dream world

is unchanged from today. Everything around me looks normal. Nothing has been destroyed.People walk about as though nothing has happened. But I know it’s out there, in the phones, in

the laptops, in the data centers. Everywhere. They have finally given me access to the desktop in the library after weeks of good

behavior. Today I will enter the code that changes everything.

Joe Calvarese


10/18

dog eared pages of your dictionary

i said something and he was gone

into his grade twelve self

the cops came looking

at the high school lot

where trash became

privileges for smaller purposes

a sensation like itching

away anger left enough

courage to take care of

one of us i don’t know

the difference between

words spelled the same

probably how it feels to

fold my fists or lift my chin

into the light one more time to try to get your attention

Ctch Bsnss


11/18

What Is So Great about Spain?

I wish you weren’t in Spain.

I wish you were at my farm taking care of horses, and I were in Spain.

Why do you keep talking about the plaza mayor in Spain?

Does a horse meat sandwich taste better in Spain?

“The winding stone walks in Spain,

and staircases on hillsides in Spain, and the warring sons of Abraham in Spain.”

If I needed a history lesson on Spain...

Oh, never mind. I hope you’re not trying to fight a bull in Spain.

I hope you’re not wearing spangled fringe and sad eyes.

Have you ever been making Lorca in Spain

and heard a protest rally, and then another, different protest?

Maybe you don’t applaud street theater because it’s so amateur.

Old places like Spain are supposed to be more professional than that.

Come on, weren’t you young once? Didn’t you ever wonder how to gallop a horse in Spain?

Spain is flying along. It breaks an ankle

and grinds its stump into the ground, but keeps running.

I wish there had never been horses in Spain.

Winter is so winter without you.

I wish there had never been Spain.

Barrett Warner

The Month of Break Ups Went On and On Like Burnt Out Stars, Like Black Holes,

Like How It Felt to Kiss your Wound in those Last Moments

We came to love each scar.

In pieces, the porcelain of it all.How the broken seek each other out.

Rough, tough.

Impaled our tenderness. Lure & bait.

Love was a fish caught between air and a hard place.

A last gasp.We used ourselves up. Let ourselves dry out.

Tears made us sparkle again, the way we once had.When we see each other next we won’t recognize who we used to be.

MK Chavez


12/18

now you’re just somebody that I used to know

how many rains have fallen

w/o me seeing? or, alternatively


with me seeing? a googolplex

sounds right, though that might just bebecause it reminds me of searching

a cross indexed series of interconnected pages, somewhat

reminiscent numeric operators working below

the surfaces rarely witnessed.

i like to think that

computer code is sort of like ants

neither one's really that noticeable

until i'm taking a shower in the house in Maine

and the rotten wood in the ceiling gives way

and then suddenly i'm taking a shower

with a shit ton of carpenter antsdripping like glossy black nail polish.


while i typed this? maybe like one or two

but probably morelike fifty or a thousand, but of course

my calculations don't factor in other planets

on which there could be millions of rainsat any given moment. although

i don't feel lonely

very often, i know others do

and sometimes what makes me

feel better is imagining


before there were eyesto see them or skins

to feel them or wispy antennaeto taste the rain, at least i think

antennae can taste, but, not actually

having antennae, it's hard for me

to be certain. wrt what

we were just talking abouthow many rains have fallen

before the earth was bulging

with us, if you're lonely

keep in mind

those rains might've felt similar

with just this giant ball of rockto keep them company.

Nolan Allan


13/18

acid

on the inside right wall—half up the wall, six inches from the door frame—is the light switchplastic plate. the color of the wall painted is the color of the unpainted plastic plate. the switch

is up and off. above and below the switch are two screws. on the unpainted plastic plate is

dried blood. left of the switch and below it is a gas furnace, the same color as the painted wall

and the unpainted plastic plate. above the furnace is a red painting with black and white. theblack paint is a ship. the black paint is the shadow cast on the water under the ship. the white

paint is the moon behind and above the ship and the water and the shadows on the water. theblack is a signature on the lower left corner of the red painting. against the furnace and in the

corner between the inside right wall and the wall to the left of that wall is an axe, four

hammers, an anvil, two canes- identical-one wood, one cast iron, two drafting right angles, a

sword rusted in its sheath, and 63 rolled acrylic paintings on glassine. on the wall left of theinside right wall, past the white lead paint window, is a black and white flag hung vertically. on

the flag is dried blood. below the flag was a doll labeled with acupuncture marks but the dolls

is moved but the doll has dried blood on it too. the doll is facing the wall left of the inside right

wall from the opposite wall that is right of the inside left wall standing on a base on a glass

door bookshelf. on the glass door bookshelf sits: one roll of sisal rope, four or five smallunmarked cardboard boxes, one cigarette box made of one-way mirrored glass, an emptybottle of promethazine syrup, one bottle of “Sil- on- Pr-i-n—c (SKULL) P-ison” belonging to“Frank A Cole,” copy of William L. Shirer’s “The Rise and Fall of The Third Reich,” monograph

of work by Andrew Wyeth, a soap stone, (from left to right as seen facing the bookshelf) smallplastic busts of Chopin, Mozart, Hayden, “Tschaikowsky,” Schubert, and Beethoven, and other

things without dried blood on them. the dried blood on the flag hanging on the wall opposite of

the wall of the bookshelf (the wall left of the inside right wall past the white lead paint window)is dotted 13 times in two clusters and smeared four times to the northeast of the two clustersof 13 dots of dried blood. the smeared blood transects the letter “Y” on the black and white flag.

the blood on the flag from the cut finger dripped onto the doll before the doll had been movedto the opposite wall’s glass door bookshelf (the wall right of the inside left wall). the cut finger

was jammed into the flag repeatedly to produce the 13 dots in two clusters and 4 smeared

marks transecting the letter “Y.” the cut finger hemorrhaged blood onto a paper towel. the

paper towel was placed high on the inside left wall before the corner of the wall right of thatwall. the hand with the cut finger pushed the hemorrhaged blood in the paper towel through

the towel onto the wall. the paper towel stuck to the wall and dried there, staying the on theinside left wall, leaving a hand shaped mark in dried blood on the wall while the paper towel

became stiff with dried blood. the paper towel stiff with dried blood was moved and pinned

right of the glass door bookshelf high on the wall very near the corner meeting the wall right of

the wall right of the inside left wall. this wall is left of the wall left of the inside right wall. the

wall has a white lead paint window in its center as with the white lead paint window on thewall right of this wall there are eight panes of glass. the index finger of the left hand was cut bya knife. the knife was guided by the right hand to puncture leather with the left hand’s index

and second fingers supporting back pressure to the leather, knife, and right hand. the leather

gave out and cut off the tip of the finger.

e.a. hyde


14/18

Karaoke

The point of art is to convey truth, no matter how ugly it is. The point of art is not to replicate

the world, but change it. Change is born not out of singing karaoke, but out of rewriting every

line ever written. America is one big performance of the same few songs: capitalism, war,

sexual repression, racism, and patriarchy. It has been for years. What drew me to the punks

was that punks--with their conscious anger, their calculated hate--lunged at every Americansong and flipped it on its head. And when I say punks, I’m not just talking about people like

Henry Rollins, Jello Biafra, Joe Strummer, and Kathleen Hanna. Allen Ginsberg was punk.

Howard Zinn was punk. Amiri Baraka. Robert Mapplethorpe. George Carlin. Anyone pissed off

at the toxic non-stop of the American karaoke machine is punk.

*

The renowned historian Howard Zinn, in his book Artists in Times of War, writes that the

highest act of patriotism is critiquing one’s own country. By that definition, the most patrioticcitizens in this country are civil rights protesters of Baltimore, Ferguson, and elsewhere, who,

in response to the multiple murders of Black people by racist law enforcement, have taken tothe streets in droves, protesting. The media has always tried to paint those patriots as

dangerous, looting, and destructive people. I see them as passionate, disturbed, and sad. I see

them as doing a valuable service to our country.

*

America has been whistling the same fucked up tunes since it was born. You can either sing

along or you rage against. Ginsberg turned his queer shoulder to the wheel. Malcolm X’d theslavery out of his name. Howard Zinn marched for civil rights, and got fired for

insubordination. Kathleen Hanna kept boys away from the stage. Gloria Steinem spoke

candidly about abortion. Robert Mapplethorpe celebrated the body in all its glory. John Trudellhosted a radio program in Alcatraz.

*

I want to look back on my life and say I broke x amount of hearts, but I forgive myself because Itried to live with empathy and love for every person. I have failed in many instances. People

say I’m an idealist, but I want to try. When I see homophobic laws being passed in Indiana, or

the racist murders of innocent Black people by those who are supposed to uphold the law, orthat male politicians are trying to tell women what to do with their bodies, I get angry. But it’s

not enough to be angry. You are only entitled to be angry for a little while. After, you’re entitled

to speak. The next step is to transfigure your frustration into something that has the potential

to save people.

*

Karaoke is a Japanese word meaning empty orchestra. America is a machine on repeat. I wantto fill my seats with the sounds of insanity and love, shout a resounding fuck you at the words

on the screen.

Greg Letellier


15/18

V

I drink you as a seed

A body undenied

VI

The opposite bank

We called an islandHoping to sink

Into the earth there

To be the leaning

Undergrowth

Standing still

Thinking rootsFrom our feetCould keep us

From crossing back

Up the lawn

And into bed

Adam Tedesco

All We Have In Common

is the place you go for coffee on a Sunday night and the place you go to scratch your lotterytickets the same place? have you broken up here? did they laugh their nerves into a ruckus that

started some weeping? are those coffee stains on the floor, and there on the bench, and all over

the rug near the back restroom yours? did you do that? well where do you go to makedecisions? what have you done here and who have you known? i think you started a band here

once, or the idea of one, and so did i, with different people though, of course. i think we sat at

the same table, yeah? didn't it happen here? i was sitting there. do i remember that right? i was

born above a coffee shop; you can't stand the stuff either right? you want tea? i never won thelottery, but i play once a week, and that's not bad right? do i have a problem? do you have a

problem sitting here? bad memories? should we move? where'd you go? have you ever kissed

someone in a bean-bag chair? what versions of Mario Party do you remember having criedover? what piece do you use in monopoly? does the 1% ever make you cry? am i making you

laugh? is that a laugh? are we a thing or are you just crying for no reason because I mean

maybe I'm crying for no reason again. those stains were yours weren't they? but they weren'ttears, right, or were they?

Tyler Barton


16/18

SOMEBODIES RINGIN’ THE BELL

It’s Los Angeles

at the door

let’s prepare

to let them in

& cover the furniture

and the floors

with plastic

one:

for the ambiance

two:

for the arid dust

sure to blow in

on the winds of

dodgy-ass metaphysics

the warm tingle

and soft caress of the Santa Anas

who destroy your life

but only because

it needs destroying;

& all of it arriving

much faster than

originally anticipated

rolling through

the Doors now.

Marin;

say goodbye to sequoias

and hello to palm trees.

San Francisco,

say goodbye to fog

and hello to smog.

Oakland,

meet Holly fucking Wood.

The glare

of winter sunset

will lose its unique

orange particulate glow. The cosmetic surgery field

will intermingle

it’s reproductive juices

with Silicon Valley

and identity politics

and the heat

the heat

the heat

o’ the heat

will make us all crazy.

Paul Corman-Roberts


17/18

BIOS = Name/ Location/ Favorite thing you ever killed

Adam Tedesco/ a religious community on the outskirts of Albany, New York/ a

little brown bat by mistake, then cried about it for a very long time.

Barrett Warner/ west Baltimore/ a draw between his gray horse Charred Angel

and a blind boy named Scott whose heart he broke in 1968.

Brandy Garcia/ Tx/ true love.

Carmen E Brady/ Madison, Wisconsin/ this one bro's hopes at a party.

catch business / denver / a dick's dreams - - is that ok to say lol.

Dom Schwab/ Chicago/ a vegetarian super king burrito from Taco Burrito King in

one sitting.

EA Hyde/ Georgia/ backed out of killing the chickens like I said I would once they

stopped laying eggs for the winter.

Eirean Bradley/ Denver CO/ I shot a pigeon in the left eye with a bb gun when I

was 12. I hit puberty 2 weeks later.

Erin Dorney/ Lancaster, PA & Mankato, MN/ many bottles of gin.

Greg Letellier/ Biddeford, Maine/ a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos after a night of

partying.

Joe Calvarese/ Gilbert, Arizona/ an ugly snake that was threatening my cat: very

satisfying.

Michael Hessel-Mial/ Atlanta, Georgia/ the poetry game.


18/18

MK Chavez/ strategically placed artillery/ the other night I killed the mood and it

was a good thing.

Mollie Underwood/ Oakland, CA/ i'd really like to say plant, but definitely

friendship

Nate Logan/ Texas (body) & Minnesota (heart)/ "That Thing You Do!" at karaoke

more than once.

Nolan Allan/ North Carolina/ the generation of salamanders he murdered from

ages 4-14 due to his misguided enthusiasm in finding ever more beautiful species

of salamander to consider.

Rachelle Nones/ NYC/ a toxic relationship.

Rao Mendes/ Brooklyn/ Maybe the screen on my brand new macbook pro 2010

back then. Does that count?

Shawn Scott Smith/ Asheville/ all the miles behind me.

Stephen Roxborough/ Anacortes, WA/ a couple of marriages. at least, that's what

they tell me.

Tyler Barton/ Lancaster PA & Mankato MN/ The best joke I ever had, which was

to make someone ask the question "Where?" & I would yell "bikini island!", but I

just did it too much.

William Taylor Jr/ The Tenderloin District of San Francisco/ Ultimecia, the final

boss in Final Fantasy VIII.

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