::experimental candy:: #4
Experimental Candy numbers 1 - 3 were published in Seattle as an accompaniment to a live music and performance art showcase. Each issue—meaning zine and show—benefited a nonprofit organization; all musicians, performers, and zine contributors donated their time and talent. The door take, after advertising expenses, went to the nonprofit. The clubs—Seattle’s Elysian Brew Pub, and the now defunct Sit n’ Spin, donated precious weekend and weekday club nights, while print advertising space was often donated by The Stranger and The Belltown Dispatch. Many bands and musicians, including The Gossip, The Pinkos, and Carrie Akre, donated their talent. The mission of the nonprofit determined how I structured zine content; in general it ranged from literary journalism to poetry, and included a section for musician and artist bios. The last Experimental Candy happened before I moved to LA in 2004. The whole of the experience restored my hope in the power of individuals to cooperatively create change at a community level. The nonprofit organizations that I hosted, including the Sex Workers Union / Exotic Dancers Alliance, Books to Prisoners, and Home Alive, continue to inspire. This online version of the zine focuses on indie lit and art. I am excited to see how it expands. Enjoy humble number 4. tess.
intro
Field Notes: At the Hacienda with Boy Howdy
This is like a clubhouse.
We bring in our five pack of Negro Modelo and set it on the industrial green carpet. Flyers of political and musical persuasion compete on nearly every inch of wallspace.
I like that I can smoke in here.
I ask for an ashtray and Boy Howdy (hereafter referred to as BH) locates one from a desk filled with audio equipment. It is the same gold glass ashtray my mother has, has had since I was a tiny kid.
This is where I become Rider Mae. The studio reminds me of my own days as a dj, at KAOS radio in Olympia, Washington. I had a solo show for one year, and now, it's everything BH can do to make me say ten words on the air.
"Air"--this is an internet radio station.
This place, thick with record albums, compact disks, wires, fans, mikes, papers, flyers, is the perfect place to empty out the contents of your pockets. It just looks perfect.
I am reminded that I used to date musicians habitually, and I recently broke that cycle, unpurposely. Eating burritos across the street after the show, ten o'clock at night, I'm also reminded that this kind of thing was a daily event for me--the stacks of music, the freeform folks walking in and out, the empty pockets and piles of ephemera, the loud music, the late-evening dinner after two beers on an empty stomach. And I miss it.
dusk
tess lotta 03
all content--including graphics and text--cannot be reprinted without permission of the artist
Inhaling the panoramic view
Loving to be alive
I could get overwhelmed in details
But I take full breaths instead
I’ll notice the little things in time
As they make themselves known
In the cracks of rocks and
Billows of clouds
No cap on my head, or a helmet
I plunge into a swan dive
Through layers of ecstasy and skin
Holding only to “no caution”
Undressing in an exchange
With you
As we unfold
Like orchids
Forever is a myth
I’ve learned not to encourage,
so I inhale this cigarette now.
I drink down this Guinness, not counting, and
Forfeit precious sleep one more night for this moment:
Discovery
our unfolding
and trusting
being.
Not wondering where this is going
I notice that you are as bold as I am.
You fly with me.
You remind me how much I love
to hear the sound of laughter.
I see a beautiful reflection in your smile.
Can you see yours in mine?
Kept is a cliff
Kept is a
cliff overlooking
the theater: I
had known him
only weeks, and respun, jagged edges
alchemized into
the spoken words of laboratories. I feel far
from a ceiling fan
that gets started up tight in the wind
sweeping the pillow. Blue dress, like a
cliff, yep, a cliff, yep, a
cliff, a
wedding to explore process.
To touch him only.
I feel far from
the vans ambling
down Kingsley Drive.
