Seams by Migueltzinta Solís

By Migueltzinta Cah Mai Solís Pino Gender, the garment, has been tailored. But does it know the body like spandex? Is it a pair of jeans—machined, carved in that way, its fibers dilating and contracting as demanded? Or possibly the gender garment is a knit tube sock—a strange color, loose in places? A tiny knot in a corner and, otherwise, seamless. Really, a body, a gender, a self-presentation that is seamless is like nothing else. It is owned—yes, with a little help, I made this. Where are the seams? You marvel aloud. Show them to me, highlight them, use this laser pointer, show me where to touch that I may feel with my fingertips where they hid the seams. Make the distinction known between this decision and that moment. When did you know? When did you become…? What was the moment when woman became man, dyke became queen, marimacha became maricón? I’d say the moment was when that man got into his pickup truck, while, broom in my hand, I watched him through one-way glass. That was in late 2010, in rural Oaxaca; the sky blue with rain, but the earth dry and split open in places. A thief, I stole...
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in defense of art by Aimee Herman

By Aimee Herman replace body with round of applause slap deportation of immunized bones draw map of grade nine depression sloppy kiss cartographer for compass brand benefactors & advertisements into forearms non–narrate the spaces of gender utilize humor when categorizing medicinal habits call framework pre–Reconstruction index teeth as artifacts due to lack of care belly is a sanctuary of bent laws how paradoxical is this panic what border are your shoulders crossing hybrid outcasts called lips territories or terrorists problematize the concept of veins mixed–media thighs decolonize wounds what is the occupation of this anatomy invent inventory for what is missing does this morning breath perplex what is the chosen medium can this blood be a contribution gift pulsate sweat into curved signature [it may be possible to] alienate audience enforce live ritual of dramatized history curators will fill in gaps of forced memory record visceral reaction onto comment cards photograph face interrupting art exercise risk through prohibited camera flash embody theory of missed communications or anthropologized dysfunction

Poems by Patrick Rosal

by Patrick Rosal The Halo-Halo Men: An Anthem We are the halo-halo men the mix-mix men the fresh-cut- mango-in-your-mouth men The men who pee-pee in your Coke The joke that yokes the beasts of vinyl and diamond men The bit-of-salt-to-cut-the-ice men The wineskins-without-wine blunt-hilt-of-the-bolo-to-your-head men We are the how-how men the carabao men back-to-ten men Pen-pen men de sarapen de-kutsilyo men de-alamasen The when men Come-again men The middle man and omega men You build fences for we might steal your hen men Kimat and Pang-or men First to suicide in the cypher men We use our inside voices for an outside fight men say three Hail Mary’s and whisper Hallelujah flip the new testament like we do judo men vodou men raw blood and garlic men kilawen men I say ag-yaman ak you say A-   Kundiman: Hung Justice Love, a child dreamt hard of bread and got history instead. Someone dreamt of maggots jeweled in meat and brought out blades in the name of good science, ardor. But who’ll list kinships in English between slaughter and laughter? Who’ll recruit heaven’s splendid refuse, junk, our silent brigades of busted blue-black horns, swordless squadrons, the hum and ruckus of strung-up...
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Poems by JD Scott

by JD Scott Validator [There is going to be a suit you will wear while you read this poem. Please make sure you say your own name aloud at each instance you put on this suit. This it vital. Saying your own name is a prerequisite for feeling validated. Please log into AOL at this time.] WELCOME: in this artificial garden of regressed desire which bird of paradise will come to life and squawk? [HAHAHA] First comment! Such mouthiness! ENTER Spam Paradiso, mâché’d with the debris of language! Which herby tincture will gift the youth? Like totally “alkali earth metal” BBQ rib plunged into Eve not Adam&Steve / Such verbosity! / Sugary XXX / “A pseudo-intellectual twattiness for the 100% f’real patriot” / Which pixel of neon will pop as apple pie, fragma firework, which binary string will verify me? / Upload me / Check my code against yours / Youz youz youz / so 1% / so #1 / so 1.0 / so ephebophile and “50 States Baby Diary Lover” / Legs kicking in the air all BDSM slave:master ratio / handcuffs & super kawaii police brutality & haute couture death penalty / The millionvoice says, “Validate me.” /...
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Featured Artist: Devin Kenny

Devin Kenny “$ap rocky cover a capella”, 2013. Single-Channel Video “Untitled/Clefa”, 2013. Performance with Audio: A performative reinterpretation of the short-lived meme, Trayvoning (named after Trayvon Martin), which circulated through a variety of message boards and social networks. Here the artist collapses forward, and the ensuing explosion of Skittles and Arizona Iced Tea droplets proliferate. The duration of the performance is set by playing Migos featuring Drake’s “Versace Versace” song four times in immediate succession.

Poems by Ladan Osman

by Ladan Osman That Which Scatters and Breaks Apart Everywhere they turn, the walls ask, why, why not. From every space someone calls a question and there echoes so many answers, it’s impossible to hear. Save me, he calls. Open me, she calls. Divorce me. Their despair is a bird in an abandoned nest, its brother has jumped out and died, its sister is dying beside it and still it perches: Do I fly? Can I fly? You’re here because you said, I hate you instead of, I’m sorry. You’re here because you couldn’t forgive but kept on making stews and hand-washing his good socks, blowing curses into hot water.   Trouble I have a chill in my womb. I have a child in my wound. Everything is massed up. The sea doesn’t blow. The wind rivers the sea in the wrong direction. How will I get along with this man wolfing me? How will I get alone? He herd me. It never bordered me before, what I got as a regard. We used the hardest language. We cast threats. We’ll born in hell. Some of us fall by the waistside and some of us sore to the stars.

Poems by Kenzie Allen

by Kenzie Allen Determination of Racial Affinity A shapely nasal spline, rounded maxilla and that flick of a scalloped incisor, this one is Asian (in all likelihood). We can’t be certain when only bone remains, but compare ulnar length, mandibular jut, these caveats of origin. Mongoloid, Caucasoid, alternate morphs for sun-soak, overcast, sweet tilt of the sockets the way Draw Girls Around The World explained ethnic realism. Make her lips large and full, give her beautiful hips and tiny shoulders define her muscle thus. They don’t say it starts in the skeleton, in fragments of fragments and the .002 gram that could be user error or could mean your ancestors sent you down the river in a basket, nothing mentions variability and how every time you look at that skull of hers it changes, how you can’t pull off your own skin and ask your body questions. Foundational Alabaster, Porcelain, Ivoire, Light Porcelain, Light Ivory, Light Ecru, Fawn, Classic Ivory, Soft Ivory, Ivory Beige, Warm, Fair, Fair Medium, Toast, Olive, Tan, Natural, Natural Beige, Natural Buff, Pure Beige, Warm Ivory, Nude, Fresh Beige, Buff Beige, Shell Beige, Creamy Natural, Light Delicate Beige, Medium Peach, Medium Sand, Medium Almond, Buff Medium,...
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Russell Walker, by Daniel Lanza Rivers

  Russell Walker Daniel Lanza Rivers   When I remember Russell Walker, I remember him in sounds.   The tsk tsk tsk’s that escaped his lips when he was bored, and the percussion of his fingers against the countertop.   The roar of wind that filled his car as we spent that summer hunting for water—in pools and lakes, and rivers snaking inland from the coast.   The creak of his bed as he craned over the edge with sleep in his eyes to ask about my dreams.   The snap of his father’s voice, the night he caught us together in the basement and called Russell by his brother’s name.   The quiet that overtook him sometimes, like the rest of the world hung at the far end of a long corridor.   DANIEL LANZA RIVERS is a PhD student in English and Cultural Studies at Claremont Graduate University, where his research explores the relationship between landscape and utopia in twentieth-century North American literature and social movements. His writing has also appeared in Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet, Connu, and Women’s Studies: an Interdisciplinary Journal.

A Common Amnesia by Alex Cuff

By Alex Cuff   But not yet have we solved the incantation of this whiteness, and learned why it appeals with such power to the soul; and more strange and far more portentous—why, as we have seen, it is at once the most meaning symbol of spiritual things, nay, the very veil of the Christian’s Deity; and yet should be as it is, the intensifying agent in things the most appalling to mankind. –Herman Melville, Moby Dick, 1851 white butcher paper wrapping the white bagel with the white sesame seeds inside white wax paper white spray paint tagging the framing store on metropolitan before 1691 the word white did not exist white letters of Brooklyn Seoul six white people in the bagel store white napkins the white Nissan sedan parked across the street left over dirty white snow before 1691 the word white did not exist in a legal document the white help wanted sign in the bagel store window me a white girl sitting under the bright white light bulb that many things I do or do not do think or do not think say or do not say are related to this “fact” the pistachio ice cream green...
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