PARAPHILIA IV 1 2 CONTENTS Cover art by John Coulthart Edited and Designed Artwork by Arnaud Loumeau p2, 43, 81, 155, 191, 249 By Paraphilia Editorial p4 ―A Hopscotch Ballad‖ Text & Photos by Jim Lopez Editors p5 ―Eleven Letters‖ p9 Díre McCain ―Menacing Daze‖ by Michael Roth, Images by D M Mitchell Chris Brandrick p12 ―Green Eyed Monster‖ by Claire Godden- Rowland, Photos by Malcolm Alcala p34 Kate MacDonald – Musical Editor ―The Good Cock‖ by Salena Godden, Photos by Jim Lopez – Columnist & Pistolero Thomas Evans p40 ―Market Street Greyhound Station‖ by Gene Gregorits p45 Contact Paraphilia Artwork by Dolorosa p70, 205 [email protected] ―Cult Of Exhultation‖ by A D Hitchin p71 Three Anamorphic Images by Jim Lopez p72, 120, Website 131 ―Fragments Of Humanity‖ by Christopher www.paraphiliamagazine.com Nosnibor, Photos by Max Reeves p73 www.myspace.com/paraphiliamagazine ―The Broken Novel‖ Text & Artwork by Ian Miller p77 Many thanks to; Johnny Coolart, Max ―Weight‖ by Rich Follett p79 ―The Serpent and the Starlight‖ by Nick Tosches Infeld, Pablo Vision, Jim Lopez, p83 Michael K, Nick Tosches, Sue Fox, ―Kastellorizon‖ by Charles Christian, Artwork by Robert Agasucci p86 Darius James, Tom Garretson, Stewart ―Necro-Dead Animal‖ by Ele-Beth Little, Drawing Home, Chris Morris, E. Elias Merhige, by Alfred Muro p96 and everyone who‘s extended ―The Persistence Of Memory‖ by David Conway, Photo by Max Reeves p98 kindness and encouragement. ―Gumbo‖ by Darius James, Artwork by Destiny McKeever p121 Submissions ―Genetically Modified Metzger Manifesto‖ by Stewart Home p132 This a free magazine distributed in the ―The Sleepbringer‖ by Patrick Wright p133 interests of giving culture back to the ―Death Wish Chameleon‖ by Cricket Corleone, people instead of the industry. We Photos by Richard A Meade p136 ―The Man With Two Hearts‖ by Rick Grimes p152 cannot pay for contributions to this ―The Good Schizoid‖ by Michelle Facchini, Photo publication. However, please see our by Little Shiva p153 website for details of our other ―Sweetie-Pie Begonia Babyhead‖ by Hank Kirton, Photo by Sid Graves p157 publishing ventures. ―Lend Me Yr Teeth‖ by Craig Woods, Artwork by Jad Fair p164 Any opinions or beliefs (religious, ―Carving Angels‖ by Claudia Bellocq, Photos by Guttersaint p192 political or moral) expressed anywhere ―When You Open This…‖ Artwork by Angela in this publication are not necessarily Suzzanne p197 those of the editors. We take no ―Crunch Time At Project Forever‖ by Ron Garmon p198 responsibility for anything we have ―Whimpers‖ by David Gionfriddo p206 published in the interest of the ―Sounds Abound‖ by Kate MacDonald (with Mary freedom of speech and expression. Leary, Craig Woods, Chris Morris and tENTATIVELY, a cONVENIENCE) p223 Contributors‘ contact information p258 3 EDITORIAL When analyzing and evaluating, the to endure is to succumb – to tighten the vast majority of human beings rely safety belt and cling to the handgrips. almost entirely upon the perceptible, often leading to reductive, and at times, Of course, the instant this happens, erroneous judgments. Whether it can pragmatism takes over, often be attributed to social and obliterating the intrinsic “idealism” that environmental influences, innatism, or a every human being possesses at birth. combination of the two is debatable, but What’s most absurd is that the rigid, unconscious self-induced confinement mechanical nature of “normal” society is the inevitable byproduct. in fact conflicts with Homo sapiens’ true inherent nature, which has been Others possess the ability to see beyond willingly suppressed via life-sustaining the superficial, enabling them to make ossification. Acclimation – while thorough, accurate assessments, which necessary for survival – equals afford both free will and extrication compliance, which often serves as an from the seemingly preordained. Their obstacle to self-realization. eyes are truly open, thus rendering the universe panoptic, and the possibilities Now the question is: What would limitless. Unfortunately, these people happen if human beings were granted are faced with the arduous task of trying consummate freedom? Liberated – not to harmonize in a contrasting, dissonant from the indispensable laws, but from world that revolves at a breakneck the prescribed restrictions, regulations, speed as the floor drops away. They and everyday stresses that have forced are, in essence, trapped on an them to adapt in order to subsist in a uncontrollable Gravitron that continues society that often breeds discontent? to spin, regardless of how many riders are thrown off. Ironically, the only way 4 COLUMN THE LAST DREGS OF POVERTY: A HOPSCOTCH BALLAD Text and Images By Jim Lopez The night started with a friend who in me, or maybe she didn‘t give a shit, wrung out his paint brush to be a as she broke a bag of ice loose on the regional manager for a Cable-TV Service cooler making a kissing sound. Provider, in New York. Now he can‘t get off the sofa except to hit, shit and The cold echo of a bar-well didn‘t say fumble his BlackBerry. I had to fly all much of anything except, ―There‘s a the way from Los Angeles to Queens to hollow sweetness in loneliness.‖ Her smash an empty bottle of whisky, hair was weaved in a braid, and her labeled, ―Paddy,‖ over his head, as he down-cast gaze darkened her eyelids. tried to mash my face in a pile of coke, Her small, firm breasts begged for which I rolled out of and got into a cab, mother‘s milk. She pressed her lips alone; but not before he tossed $160 at revealing the depth of her thoughts and me, and shouted, ―Have a good time. the tightness of her heart. Rusted, Casino will be waiting to tickle your antique tears dripped through her veins, balls when you get home.‖ His dog, watering seeds of…seeds of… Casino, was staring at me, panting, with a horny look in his eyes and I had the Awe Fuck! I can‘t even smoke a scratch marks on my arm to prove that cigarette in this place! the little devil was in the mood. New York: a city populated with The Holiday Cocktail Lounge was cultivated loogie-hockers; where a trio closed so I walked into Banjo Jim‘s. The sings, ―If you need us, call us, or maybe band had packed up and gone home. I we‘ll just come over and spit in your was one of five left in the place: Doc face.‖ Boggs, Freddie King, Lightning Hopkins, myself and a tired barmaid, The barmaid‘s rusted tears stained an wearing a red dress under her jeans and indefinite seed of another vanished love T-shirt. Her smile was hidden by a that took too long. I asked for another slight, faint scent of hope. We didn‘t drink as my arms burned from holding recognize each other as anything more the fresh wonder of what it meant to be than a drink and a money transaction. treated as I believed I wanted to be, only Maybe I saw more in her than she saw I had no idea what that felt like. 5 She informed me that the she would be municipal chorus singing, ―You make closing at 3:00 a.m., but she was closed me feel like a disease I never asked for.‖ long before that. At least that‘s what I But who the fuck ever directly asked for told myself, since I wasn‘t clever enough a disease? to offer her what she wanted. New York is inhabited with a bunch of Need is easy to figure out and slow-walking kids trying to rule the accomplish. Want takes a delicate world, and they think that they do. charm that has no want of its own. Whereas, Los Angeles is populated with exhaust-hungry werewolves, practicing How is it possible to listen to Doc Boggs yoga, believing they‘re a star. New without having my own bottle of Yorkers are too unimpressed with the whisky in front of me, a knife in pocket stars because they‘re too preoccupied and a lit cigarette hanging from my with the dimming lights of culture. But mouth? it‘s still the York of New and there is so much damn concrete that one can‘t help but be breath taken, especially when the pollution will rip your lungs out whether you like it or not. So what difference does it make whether I smoke in an empty space with a lovely barmaid fifteen feet away and a jukebox, which is the only thing alive in this place? This might be Banjo Jim‘s but it sure as hell isn‘t Jim‘s Banjo. But it is the nicest surprise I‘ve had in a long time, so I‘ll just hold my cigarette and have another drink. I swallowed like a graduate maudlin who auctioned off his degree on E-Bay and made my way to an ―Irish Pub.‖ The Spartans should have done the world a favor and cast us all down as blemished children. You could hold a cigarette in your New York makes me want to wear a mouth in New York, but you better not Dodger‘s cap and make love to a cripple light it, or you‘ll be arrested by the 6 because she would be more honest than my boots, mouthing close into my ear, the rest of us. ―I‘ll be you‘re Rock-N-Roll dream and cream your jeans into the gutter of my A corner church with wrought-iron bars hopscotch court, you goddamn square.‖ was closed, as was the bar next door named ―Company,‖ so a drunk has no I choked, wondering if this would take alternative but to piss in the shadows of five years or five seconds and then the sanctuary.