submissions for the frei art cooperative

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

Advertisements

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

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

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

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

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

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

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