Social

submissions for the frei art cooperative

Posted on by grace

we are looking for submissions: poetry, short stories, articles!   if you are an indie artist we would love to hear from you!

we have several projects going on right now.

the contritions of the phoenix zine that focuses on indie art (visual, written, musical) and social commentary that sheds light on classism, queer related issues,the environment, sexism as well as global events.  we also like jokes-a lot of jokes.

wild flowers for eric is a zine that focuses on mental illness.  we are looking for stories, art, music that brings mental illnesses to the forefront in order to help people understand the struggle of living with mental illness, loving someone who has a mental illness and hopefully how to navigate through society to find help.  all the proceeds will be going to a family who lost a husband/father to suicide.

and the topic is…a panel of individuals from varying backgrounds all presenting their side of a different queer related topic every month.

we want to present a wide variety of artists!  if you have art, stories, articles, rants, reviews, comics, music, etc that you would like to submit please email thefreiartcooperative@gmail.com 

thanks-grace

who do you talk to when the wizard of oz is not home

Posted on by grace

o i wish i had the power to transform

better yet the power to conform

i want to be made of play-dough

a mojo combo of flour, water, oil and salt

dyed a lovely yellow or mellow purple

as to not offend the eyes of others

but that ain’t real and never will be

it’s cold outside of life

and everyone looks the same from behind

begging and pleading has just scuffed my knees

attempting atonement for sins unknown

is a lavish regurgitation and flagellation of ego

i was born a derelict

keeping company with the best of pariahs

a slow decay and a quick tongue remain

i would have liked to be better

i would have liked to be pretty and dumb

i would have liked to never know consequences

i would have liked to live in a world painted by others

but my liking and my living have never jived

always hold onto the helium balloon

Posted on by grace

every minute ticked by

slowly

like a strung out snail

a turtle on heroin-time

looking through windows

at the lives of others

shivering and shaking

as they drank their swiss miss

from over-sized mugs

smelling of beets, patchouli and other organics

rosey cheeked fuckers with cream-like chins

dancing sparkling eyes and the proper bmi

every smile of delight made me shrink

the definition of me

lay solely

in the definition of they

but that ain’t life, man

the human being isn’t built

for the rat race

i stored my morals in my pocket

i pulled them out or tucked them in

depending on the who’s what’s when’s why’s where’s

the nouns and verbs of the situation

the only thing that can grow in nothing

is nothing

and that is all i was

nothing

and it’s too much to be nothing where you need to be anything but

so i charted and planned and catered

i was going out like a rocket ship and not a child’s balloon

then it was amazing

the most amazing of graces

there was a smile and a greeting

that was it…..

when there is a pair of nothings

you have something

and shit

that is a something to fucking believe in

we keep the door open

the light is on

and the fire is lit

there is bread out and cheeses

always look for warm drinks in winter and ice when the sun is high

everyone is someone

everything is something

in this place we are a band of miscreant ex-nothings creating a grand circus of delight

too happy, too sad, too blonde…….too much effort

Posted on by grace

when i was 11 i tried to giggle

it seemed the more you giggled

and the less you laughed

the better off everyone was

when you were at the party

or the store

or shopping at the mall

-i was never shopping at the mall…

i was loitering and rummaging

which is all i could afford to do-

i was not beautiful

i was not quiet

i was not a half-wit

and i was not at all good at giggling

i would practice in the mirror

behind the closed bathroom door

i watched the girls who were loved

the gaggles of gigglers

they would talk about things

things i could not understand

the proper way to be blonde

the right huge bow to wear with this or that

cars, trips over-seas, clothes clothes clothes

and makeup

but mostly the talks and scores of giggles

were directed at other people

the boys who were so cute

the girls who were so unworthy

what they had heard of this one

or that one over there in fake keds

the gaggle of gossiping gigglers

there was never talk of the news

or of the environment

they all read books

a series of garbage

“sweet valley high”

i worked and saved every dime

wiping snot from the nose of toddlers

and delivering papers

and walking door to door to con strangers into buying the newspaper

so i could go out and buy

every single sweet valley high book

i read the first paragraph of the first book

it dawned on me

one of the unimaginative toddlers

i watched weekly as their parents went

to the club or suppering (verb) with proper people

one of the children filled with green mucous

wrote the entire series in baby hieroglyphs

after one paragraph i was exhausted

from trying to find the meaning

and justification for publication

of mental diarrhea, which is a kind description

but i kept them in case

and i hid my love in the closet

under blankets and dirty panties

stacks of paperbacks mostly stolen

jack, chuck, willie, allen, robert, tim…..

books of roads and whores

insanity and herion

drinkin druggin and too much

motorcycles and buddhism

beets pan and perfume

in hopes i would giggle my way into friendships

it was a skill i never mastered

i was never fully aware when the giggle

was the appropriate response

when i was 12 i laughed and embraced madness

i truly was

glory and praise to destroy the wicked

Posted on by grace

some increments of time

moments building centuries

tides of outside

roll in

crashing

smashing

consuming

bringing varieties

of parasitic assholes

tapeworms feeding

making a delectable meal

of life and laughter and love

the beauty that pulses

the light that connects

us

the clan of crusaders

the thinkers and shakers

we band of doers

seeing wrong

smelling pain

tasting moral injustice

touching deceit

refusing ignorance

refusing lethargy

refusing invitations of ease

screaming, screeching, howling

bound in kinship by choice

born for love and honor and valor

intuition of trust and hope and faith

in crisis and in captivity

kith and consaguinity never too far

breakable but never be broken

when shadows whisper

lies and loathing and temptations

promising heaven and pricing utopia

just follow the yellow brick road

breath deep in fields of red poppies

and be cherished in christ

fools we are

but foolish we are not

we are happily damned

rejoicing in our wretchedness

dancing together

covered in mud and blood

we are embodied

tisiphone

megaera

alecto

nemisis

eris

hecate

demeter

persephone

thanatos

gaia

agdistis

cybele

attis

we are the overlooked

we are the forgotten

we are the secret

marching on tip-toes

battleground bound

to raze and eliminate

the separatist dogma

we are the paradigm shift

odd man out and lessons learned with ladybugs

Posted on by grace

the distinction

lines and boundries

one side

or another

team captians

and the choosing

some in gold

others green

each holding

virtues and morals

locked in tin boxes

never evolving

i sit on the grass

odd man out

subscribing to none

other than my own

they forgot to teach me

how to smile and giggle

when i see horrific acts

they didn’t teach me

not to see tears

or to pretend they were rivers

instead of pain and fear

they forgot to tell me

i am not supposed to think

it was too late to learn

not to cry with others

even those who’s ammunition

arrows spears knives of words

protruded from my skin

it was much too late

to learn to hate them

i was not instructed

in camoflouge

to melt into avergae

what they told me

they never forgot

to remind me

i am less than

i am ugly

i am unwanted

i am unclean

i am the measuring stick

so in comparrison

they look wonderful

i am the reflection

in the funhouse mirror

short fat ugly trollish

they never forgot

those lessons

taught in english

taught in german

taught daily

even still

no uniform

no green

no gold

just a compass

and grass

and silence

the mouths of volcanos

Posted on by grace

monsters in the mirror

screaming clammering

bleeding and ready

ogres live

in the middle

of the shadow

and dissolve in the light

the spider web

silk and lovely

a predator’s alarm system

mermaids in the foam

where the fresh and salt

collide and mingle

like the people

those people

the dirty martinis

and unpronounceable wine

they are the center

the danger

alchemists of social constructs

those holding trinkets

lovely rare and shimmering

worthless, useless and vile

but once established

they need to be owned

the rat-race and the mazes

idiot after idiot pushing

trampling children and mothers

killing elders

destroying wisdom

those once lovely in spirit

those who were meek

the kind, the gentle

the most honorable

morphed into creatures

in three piece suits

beautiful skin

lovely mouths

screeching, demanding

more and more and more

to break the body

is a simple task

pulling the soul

detaching morals

dissecting happiness

these are skills

hideous and macabre

the game of humanity

the have and havenots

the different boxes

and silly sneetches

accountability

karma

universal judgement

a separation from your god

outcomes and repercussions

will always take their turn to dance

and at the bottom was hope

Posted on by grace

there are journeys

a one creature path

necessary and frivolous

a mind needs respite

and the body purged

taking trips to real

spiraling down

consumed in darkness

thick moist cold

with water sprouting

from every pore

fear hatred sadness

news flashes:

  • “a deadly disease killing morality-story at six”
  • “they are not human enough”
  • “the war on terror….”
  • “dead”
  • “friendly fire”
  • “war on drugs”
  • “cartels and automatic rifles”

another child dead

another child dead

another child dead

another man of color

caged, sitting in pink shorts

another family shattered

another mother caged

too poor to buy hotdogs

her life stolen for $0.99

another woman too pretty

used as a cum depository

it ripples and writhes

through all of us

when you turn off

your internal dialogue

their screams

their pleading

their terror

swims through you

turn on the television

and drink a beer

in the lazyboy recliner

or close your eyes

and spin in circles

holding your breath

for hours and days

for months and years

disregard humiliate destroy

there can be no absolution

no pardon, no award

so stumble and stutter

away from

them

us

you

we

her

him

scream and convulse in darkness

you cannot escape

matter is connected

energy never dies

there is no place to run

and not hear humanity’s cries

heroes without capes

Posted on by grace

darkness can lay heavy on the shoulders of those who scrape together the audacity to be

there are days it comes alive, fingers wisping out and wrapping around the neck, squeezing

it is a darkness brewed in the cauldron of the fearful, bubbling for days, incantations whispered

taking form and finding thought, the monster sniffing the air, the hunter has spotted prey

the girl born into the body of a man, demanding to be themselves despite scorn from townsfolk

refusing to live miserable, risking everything for a chance to show their true beauty, to shine

force-fed guilt and dogma perfected over the centuries, deemed unacceptable by biological ties

threats of violence emerging from long-time friends, once playmates now cowboy enforcers

the safety of social acceptability has scurried out the window, tidal waves of fear pounding

despite the wall of flesh wielding bats and poles of rusted iron, thirsty for blood and domination

to stand tall as the truth, a refusal to deny even when filled with fear, a love for self, this is bravery

a young man, so smart, so kind, so misunderstood, living in the punchline of jokes, modern pariah

unwavering empathy refusing to allow retaliation for the inhumane and torturous treatment, anguish

outcast and ignored, all action distorted or misinterpreted and used as kindling to burn him at the stake

signs taped to his back, while “peers” invade personal space grabbing, touching, humiliating, degrading

the sadness painting his face gaunt and tired, holding his smile back, very unsure of social footing

name calling and twisting nails into the insecurity of a teenage boy, digging into the all of him

despite cuts and scars seeing his attacker hurt causes him pause compelling him to show true concern

the very idea that he may have hurt another person is devastating, a sin of nature he can’t live with

hearing the words echoing through the all of him, reverberating in subatomic crannies

yet in the face of sadness and the public lashing of ego, he refuses to allow it to dominate him

he shows up, he speaks his truth despite deaf ears, refusing to give up compassion, this is bravery

darkness can come and try it’s hand, attempting to possess that which is beautiful, strong and brave

there is no taking away the light and the hope found coursing in the beauty of the courageously valiant

to live a satisfying and benevolent life is not to avoid discomfort, it is to see the darkness, face the pain

eyes wide open

then kick it’s ass

graeae in small town oklahoma

Posted on by grace

we aren’t quite sure why

the what and the how are clear

but the essence of propulsion

the driving force

is locked in boxes in boxes in boxed in code

we have spent long nights in electric parlors

designing philosophies of pinpoint accuracy

anthropological physics drawing x&y equations

burning calories in conversational warfare

intellectual mechanics

churning

hopping

bopping

expelling ticker tape in ancient swirling symbols

the attempts of the few free minds

the psyches unchained, unhindered

the original mint condition cadillac of mentality

resorting to guessing games and scavenger hunts

all in the attempt to unearth the source of your madness

you are a plague, a pestilence, the fall of emotional economics

a brush fire among the dry mesquite of walking talking clowns

is there a new disease unleashed

and you without an umbrella or vaccine

or is it a poison, radiation seeping

into the water flowing into your veins

a green, nuclear sludge from bullets and bombs

the idea of demonic possession almost valid

to those pragmatist toting atheist philosophies

your magnitude can make the devil appear

your evil wicked cruelty makes demons cringe

is it the ghost of ancient cultures and dinosaurs extinct

haunting the halls in your mind, howling and scratching

did they forget your shiny new toy in your happy meal

you and yours, kindred souls nestled in hate

created by the capture and drowning of angels

the most dangerous of all monsters

has a dazzling smile, loving eyes, grey hair

whispering hippie rhetoric

bringing in those poor saps who signed up for self sacrifice

your love of baked goods, cookies and grandchildren

your love of seeing the full explosion of pain and eruption of tears

the salty drops you collect in bottles living in the spice rack

bedazzling and beading injustice, degradation, cruelty and threats

your gaggle of witches and your coven of bitches

spreading nightmares and progressive famine

the clown with the red lips and the dumpy hips in the lead

the unassuming whispering nymph of poetry and pen

sporting the used pastel floral print dresses and bongs

because smoking weed and hemingway are the true blue

the new call of your battle

acapella escaping tiny mouths

belting out voices

saying the lines you placed in tiny brains

your club of unreasonable hatred and destruction

gluten free brunch for faux feminists

the flaunting of a new brand of cruel

call it surreal and fools fork over payola

there are those who see your clothed hatred

the time for unveiling has arrived with the mail

and you the hateful, the liars, the pretenders

you have been exposed and highlighted

the triple divinity with las vegas personas

the plastic skin bubbling and dripping off

exposing the suffering and loathing gooey middle

but your darkness cannot block the light

the moon still hangs bright in the night

friendship, comradery, an end to loneliness

are dazzling jewels of hope out of your reach

so do your dance

shake and jive

swing those hips

speak your hypnotic bullshit and flash the dentures bright

you the lying clan of agitators, the red wine stain of spite