Issue
#25
/
Sept
2017
Dear Readers and Moon Luvers, Happy birthday to us! We’ve been doin our thang for two years, now. That’s 25 issues! We feel so many things about this zine and everyone who is a part of it. We are lucky. We are grateful. We are sometimes tired.But mostly, we are excited! For future themes, submission deadlines, and anything else, be sure to check in with us online. (See last page.) Like our previous issues, the numbered pages are original submitted content. Other pages are altered by yours truly and unique to each edition of the issue. Thank you for taking a chance and picking up our zine. Hold on to it, or pass it on to the most excited zinester you know, as The Moon Zine is one of a kind.
To Many More, The Moon
meet the staff
Lauren Kellett - switched museums ! Josh Saboorizadeh - switched cities ! Julie Davis - Probably hanging out by the fancy hotdogs at the fancy Aldi Wes Harbison - https://youtu.be/N4CbuE6--as Allison Sissom - I got soap in my eye, never using it again. staff picks: favorite school supply
Lauren - TI-84 calculator to play Block Dude Josh - colorful paperclips Julie - Trademarked character folders Wes - i've had the same pencil bag since the fifth grade Allison - Scissors
Viewer 1 by Katryn Dierksen ***************
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Short Term Memory Loss May 17, 2017 by Hope Looking at the old files Journals Tax returns Time Hops on FacebookWho wrote that? I have no recollection. A sketch in a notebook I don’t know how to draw like that. The letter which was written, Such proper grammar-who could? In the brain, Half of the thoughts stay that wayHalf thunkSentences dropped in the middle Out loud I can’t remember what I was saying. Each day runs into the next It’s a challenge to recall which month coincides with its climate. I don’t recall things I supposedly learned. I misspell simple things.
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Opening Up by Rebecca McLaren ****************
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float on by Madison Wathen ****************
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POWER by Bob Boston ************ QUEEN ANN'S LACE by Bob Boston ************
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12 Aug. 2016 I COME FROM // quinn mccray
Plain View by Ri Zas ********
i come from a blue-eyed family of ocean-watchers and potato-peelers. no atlantic fires burn in these bones; the pacific chills deep. we watch our forebears crumble like crumbling oregon caves, the kind that echo in the wind, walled with barnacles and starfish— if you live in the upper left, you know: there’s brine in your lungs and frost on your lips and evergreen ringing in your ears.
by jackieboy **********
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Right On (revisited) by Adam Kasey ************
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Tattoos by PhysikLily Circles dot pale skin, Lines connect them and the soul, Linking everything. 10
PRIVACY by Xena Colby I’m in search of privacy Don’t look at me I’m not sure what you’re seeing Let me be that cat in a box Shut up or marked in chalk Instruct me on this paradox Now I’m on Now I’m off Don’t give up the chase, I’ll run Don’t you turn, or I’ll be gone Fog mist thunder crowd Stubborn tragedy fucking around
Blue and White by Aaron Owens I should have been a poet tramping coasts living in blue and white chanting songs digging holes to fuck the earth But I could not resist the security of peeling gutters the curling knuckles of professed love. 11
a miserable old man living in a wretched hut with no friends or companions but buzzing bees by Adam Kasey ************
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Volunteered Outtakes (Dublin, 07-2011) by SEIGAR **********
My doll into a frame (Tenerife 2011) by SEIGAR **********
Deconstrumption, revolution of love VII by SEIGAR **********
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My neighbors have--had--two trees. The one tree was a small pine, always small my entire childhood. I moved back three years ago and the tree had grown up, too. A big one, then. Taller than their house, where before it had always been the size of me. I made a wreath from its pinecones and needles. They cut that tree down. I don’t know when or why. One day I just noticed it was gone--a huge space that hadn’t been there in years. There are still some needles in their yard. You can still smell the pine, like a phantom pain. They have one tree now. It is dead and standing. The bark is almost all peeled off and you can see the parts you’re not supposed to. There are squiggly designs all over the trunk, like somebody threw wads of spaghetti at it. It’s skinny with no leaves and it looks like one of those scary trees from Snow White. And this whole time, I’m like ‘why did they cut the pine down and not the dead one?’ Like the Prodigal Son, I guess. There used to be a magical orchid that would drink from your hands. And talk to you if the moment was right. And when I would visit, I would run to her, like I was the only one who could hear her. She’s gone now. They cut her down, too. I’ll have to drink the rain from my hands, now.
by Julie Davis
Suburban Death Slide by Aaron Owens *************
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The King is Stripped of his Board Shorts A Play in No-Acts By Jeff Denight Lights up. The QUEEN, adorned in furs and cottons and golds. A SERVANT, adorned in stockings and a tunic. They both sweat, ergo it’s hot, again. QUEEN SERVANT QUEEN
Servant! It is hot. Again! What is your command, Queen. Punish the sun. Ignite a war for this ignatius warmth. The SERVANT retrieves the instrument of war-maybe a flute, drum, bugle, sousaphone; whatever you may have available in your props closet-- and plays. One swordsman enters, followed by another and another and another until there are fourteen. The swordsmen perform an intricate, synchronized dance with their blades-- they whirl them around, strike them together, point them to the sky. After one complete routine, they halt their dance and bow. The SERVANT bows. The QUEEN rises. Enter KING LOUIS XIV OF FRANCE, who stands in the center of the swordsmen. The swordsmen begin dancing again, the same as before. Now, whenever their blades point to KING LOUIS XIV OF FRANCE, the KING disrobes an article of clothing. The KING is stripped of his bearskin cape. Then of his pendants and chains. Then of his camel fur coat, his black silk cloak, his gold-threaded tunic, his jewel encrusted codpiece, his purple stockings. Underneath, he wears a business suit;
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the swordsmen begin their routine again. The KING is stripped of his tie, then his blazer, his shirt sleeves, his Rolex, his vest, his leather belt, his pleated slacks, his button up. Underneath, he wears a construction workers’ garb; the swordsmen begin their routine again. The KING is stripped of his neon yellow t-shirt, his utility belt, his heavy denim jeans. Underneath, he wears a Starbucks uniform; the swordsmen begin their routine again. The KING is stripped of his name tag, his green polo, his rown khakis. Underneath, he wears pajamas; the swordsmen begin their routine again. The KING is stripped of his fleece bottoms, his slippers. Underneath, he wears a swimming suit; the swordsmen begin their routine again. The KING is stripped of his board shorts. Underneath, he wears hydrogen combusting into helium; the swordsmen begin their routine again. The SERVANT throws a pail of water on the king, leaving only his crown on the ground. The swordsmen continue to dance. Nobody can reach the crown for fear of being torn to shreds. It grows colder and colder and colder and colder and cold. Blackout; end of play.
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endless by Valentina Caballero *****************
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CALENDAR fun thing another fun thing oh here’s one more
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Where Are We Anyhow by Hannah E. Smith ****************
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by jackieboy **********
by Amber Storey *************
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From the Ice Stadium series by Dmitriy Krakovich **************** model: Kate Kuznetsova
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•
A SHOUT-OUT TO: MADISON When we first made our issue collage parties public, we were pretty well convinced no one would ever go out of their way to cut up magazines in a stranger’s basement. One day, when an unfamiliar person arrived, we independently and very quietly assumed she must be friends with somebody else in the room and promptly waited for each other to introduce her, which never happened. Despite the fact that we must have seemed, at best, super rude, if not impossibly weird, SHE CAME BACK TO THE NEXT ONE! And nearly every one after that. She even brought her friends along. Our new friend Madison just moved away. We wish her the best and hope to see her soon. -The Moon
••• Regarding the back cover quote When fact-checking this quote, I found that the poet Jean Ingelow was not the original author, nor Sir William Jones (who it is also attributed to). Some deep searches revealed that the author is Trivedi Servoru Sarman, a Mithila lawyer. He was hired by Jones in the late 1700s to write a compilation of Hindu laws. Sarman wrote the quote in a letter accompanying the compilation to Jones. In the letter, Sarman praises Jones for employing him, comparing Jones to the Moon. WOW. - Allison
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For more info, see: The Works of Sir
William Jones (1807), Memoirs of the
Life, Writings and
Correspondence of Sir
William Jones (1835). Found on Google Books.
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Credits & Notes cover image: via Unsplash Thanks eternally to: Everyone who has submitted content and/or helped us collage The Moon Zine, and those who have downloaded + printed their own copies, making The Moon Zine's world bigger and better special thanks to: South City Art Supply for collage space and printing services
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made in saint louis, missouri, usa
"There
are
numerous
groves of night flowers; yet the night flowers sees nothing like the moon, but the moon." - Trivedi Servoru Sarman
fREE