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SE d i t e d , a n d d e s i g n e d b y T a y l o r W e b s t e rW i t h a d d i t i o n a l s t a f f o fA l e x H o m a n , B r i a n W a t e r m a nA n d r e w S c o t t i ,B r i t t a P e t e r s o n , a n d C h e l z i S c o t t

T h e S c u u p p r o d u c t i o n

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S A u g u s t 2 0 1 0V o l u m e O n e O

J O H N A N T H O N Y C A M PA N E L L I

Your tongue is shaped how lizards change color and I like to hear you read my words and I don’t care who else you’ve touched and I don’t care that the fondness handcuffs me and If you were a pair of pants that were too large I would gain weight in the winter time and wear you out and If you were a caged locker room and I was a young animal in young fur I’d get naked inside of you and I wouldn’t be ashamed to hard wire your vestibular bulbs to my brainstorms or drill my lightning in to you to power you and lay my impressions across your forehead and If you were a weather balloon I’d bellow a thunder you could understand from end to end and Maybe I’d let you float through my violence but All this talk makes me want a mas-sage and marijuana and I want to know the way around it and It makes me want to gum the the blood of my fat mind with your corn starch because You love corn and when I claw my way north like winter and hide on the surface of your gloves our Sleep is six of our ten commandments for drinking the slow hours and never getting distracted by what’s passing definition down the pue and up The dangerous powers that yield our crosswalk grind me against the pillow in your name and My fat mind is young and knows it and likes to be served too hot for consumption and Your daring coyness enthralls me like why do you stand there and Who put your legs like that and I’d eat without utensils if your cake body was at the wedding I attended and I’d abridge nothing to live the fat fantasy of barking and drooling and reading and Out the door you’d go with the sun shining through your gravy and It moves slow and mechanically like a pinwheel in a tar pit and it’s beautiful and I want my face an inch from yours and I want the breath of every morning we’ve shared to be put in a spoon so that I can freebase it and Feed my fat heart little bubbles of air from your fat lungs But the iron eyelashes of our real lives stop us from really getting close enough to dig our fingertips in to each other but I don’t mind ignoring that because it hurts much less than pretend-ing like I don’t care about you

I wanted our laugh to rise like water

in new cities. I wanted you

to be the roof above my frame,this kitchen. And I could be a downspout,

directing whatever falls onto our world according to the compass

hidden in your body. I wanted to take the names of spices,

of every ostentatious nothing, and translate them into a pidgin body

language that thrusts from my mouth like a sword of God.

And when you heard itI wanted to see you turn,

and I wanted to see all of spaceagainst your sun-lit face,

with nothing of concern behind it.

broken wine bottles aside, my Asylum was built empty.

And late at night,

it

longs—

to swing the hinges for you.

And and And and And and And

How To Make Good House Chili

Building A

[ invocation: “O muse, ape of my banana, allow me to cast off love, that cruel yellow membrane– to speak lightly of it if I ever turn about my stride, and to still– never slip!” ] Putting my nose

in your mouth, I love to have your throathold my story on Earth, as it is

in heavenYour eyes untangle knots of my history, wanting you to spit on me

when you speakAnd when we sleep underneaththat sky, the stars twinkle

so damn hard

Management of Juno and Venus

J O H N A N T H O N Y C A M PA N E L L I

B E N W A R H E I T

cuupSend submissions to TaylorDWebster@Gmail.com

SAMANTHA MAE ARNOLD

One last time I gazed at her aged, beautiful handsForever still and coldYet warmly living in eternity through all she loved and touchedHands that reached out to those in needNever displaying negative gestures or actsInviting forth the best in each life she createdHands so strong and compassionate, the true essence of shared humanityBefore and after each day’s sun she joyously toiled for family and othersHow fortunate to have received the blessing of caring through her eyes, smiles, and handsHand a top hand, at peace, and at restLove nestled over charityTogether a legacy of faith and hopeThanks mom, your children honor thee,For whatever we are and ever hope to be

By AnōnyMouse

A NONY MOUS E

we broke throughour freedomand take pleasure in remembranceof our ancestors of untamed animalswhat makes us any betterid say were pretty untamedwere killing our trainerswe are all cunning tigers

untamed. come on go to townuntamed. run away from frisky’s lounge. you’ll always be a killera cute little murdererall you untamed animals!

go to town.

Lets find the sherif.

the internet:oh i saw the sunrise in your eyesthe second they closedi flew up topto perch on my cloudand send you my thunderI cant help myselfcall me Eris andbring me your fruitgive yourself to me dont forget how to bow on thy knee anddo all i command of youSoon shall be the lunar eclipseand we all shall strip nakedand walk barefoot alongthe stream of electricity

and my hand to you shall you refuse.

TAYLOR WEBSTER

leading an army:

TAYLOR WEBSTER

TAYLOR WEBSTER

Sense. Sometimes you can make it, and sometimes it turns itself right on its’ head. There was a perplexity to the white china adorning the windowsill. All small dishes and vases sat still, at one time perfectly placed; now, inch by inch, moved by time. It was a wonderful thing to look at. I can remember the day I’d bought the set. I’d lived in this house since the 40’s, a victim to the post-war scramble for clean housing and a haven from the horror of battle. Whitewashed walls, plain, beige curtains accompanying them, tied with rope like always. I could smell the years. I could remember the number of times I’d sat in this very armchair, pondering how to make sense of all of this. By this point, I was siding with “sense just turns itself right on its’ head” argument, solely because my head hurt so badly from the unanswerable question.

As a small child, I can remember always feeling the sparks that flew through my body when I knew something was important. A “Good job, kid!” sent shivers down my spine. As I grew older, I began to notice what caused these feelings; those spoken by another human, directly. It wasn’t much like an energy boost; nay, not even a tingling sensation. It was the feeling of making a difference, for me, for them. Actions may speak louder than words, but damnit do words come out pretty loudly sometimes. Fuck. My glass of cream sherry fell to the floor - a victim of my trembling fingers. As I rose to clean up my mess; a knock at the door! I threw a pillow over the spill and paced to the door. By this time I’d set up every-thing in my chateau to act as a balance as my arthritic knees quivered. One chair to the next, I finally reached the door, and opened it, optimistically.

“I’ve just come to say hi, Pop.” It was Elias, my eldest son. A smile broke on my face, and I simply said, “Now how can I make sense of this surprise?” He returned the smile, leaned in and whispered, “I have some news; something that’ll make your knees drop out.” I became stiff with anticipation - this sounded like my daily uplift, delivered right to my door! “...yes, son... what is it?” “Well you know June? She’s been diagnosed with leukemia, and she’d really fancy seeing you.” I crumbled. Thank heavens a chair had been placed by the door for such reasons. June, June, June. The girl that got away; took my heart with her. We met in ‘52, days before I finished my tour of duty. Every night was magical, even if simply from our conversations. I could go for weeks without a treasured “phrase of depth”, as I’d begun to call them. She was the deepest person I’d ever known, the way she bit her lip could tell you a tale.

...to be continued next issue

BRIAN WATERMAN

DHER KANZ

MISC>/COLLAGE