Paraphilia Xi
Total Page：16
File Type：pdf, Size：1020Kb
PARAPHILIA XI CONTENTS Cover art by Stafford Stone ‗The Man With The Big Pants‘ by Hank Kirton, Frontispiece by Dolorosa De La Cruz photos by Max Reeves p175 ‗Interesting Times: Art School‘ by Andrew ‗Violet‘ by Claudia Bellocq, art by Lana Gentry Maben p4 p180 ‗Come Daylight Saving Time‘ by Kenneth Rains ‗James Jackson Toth: Troubador Savant‘ Shiffrin p15 interviewed by Robert Earl Reed p183 ‗The Grotesque Body‘ by Matt Leyshon, art by ‗Blind Worm Cycle (4 Extracts)‘ by Christopher Yann LeGrand p16 Brownsword, images by Gary Vettori p186 ‗Soma‘ by Lisa Wormsley p22 ‗Confusion and Lust‘ by Jana, images by Kerry ‗University of Strangers: An Excerpt‘ by Bob Evans p194 Pfeifer p30 ‗Balcony‘s Rail‘ by Michael O‟ Donnell p199 Various paintings by Susan Te Kahurangi King ‗Goodhue‘s Woodfried Grill‘ by Conley (Lee) P36, 41, 99, 160, 164, 209, 222, Landers, photo by Sid Graves p206 ‗The Costa Rica Eight Mile: Chapter 9‘ by Gene ‗Turbines and Throat Bones (Part One)‘ by Craig Gregorits p37 Woods p210 ‗The Devil Within, Something of a Primer‘ by ‗Who‘s Afraid of Tobias Wolf?‘ by David Danny Baker p42 Gionfriddo p223 Artwork by F.X. Tobin p44, 55 ‗Flaps Three Zero‘ by Steve Davies p238 ‗Death Wish Chameleon XI‘ by Cricket ‗From a Biographical Guide to North American Corleone, photos by Richard A. Meade p45 Monsters of the Long Emergency‘ by Ron ‗Bukkake Brawl‘ by Made in DNA, art by D M Garmon p239 Mitchell p56 ‗Face of Communion‘ by Sue Fox, art by ‗The Tent Whisperer‘ by Salena Godden, photos D M Mitchell p245 by Ffion Nolwenn p61 End Piece by Dolorosa De La Cruz ‗Solemn With The Moon‘ by William Krill p69 Contributors‘ Links ‗Rumours From The Balcony; an interview with Chris Madoch p75 Editors ‗Bitter Suite Embittered‘ by Chris Madoch p80 Díre McCain ‗Ah Pook Is Coming: An Interview with D M Mitchell Malcolm McNeill‘ Christopher Nosnibor, images by Malcolm McNeill p100 Contact Paraphilia ‗Last Night With Uncle Bill‘s Last Word‘ by A. [email protected] Razor p112 ‗The Seduction Of Solitude‘ by Kimberly Dallesandro p115 Website ‗Magnetic Ascension‘ by E. Elias Merhige p123 www.paraphiliamagazine.com ‗Lucifer In The Machine Age‘ by Stephen Sennitt p131 Submissions ‗Hollow Earth‘ by Kate MacDonald, images by This a free magazine distributed in the interests of D M Mitchell p137 giving culture back to the people instead of the ‗Oceana‘ by John Ladd p143 industry. We cannot pay for contributions to this ‗Anomaly by dixe flatlin3 p150 publication. However, please see our website for details of our other publishing ventures. ‗Dirty Snowball Nativity‘ by Jim Lopez p161 ‗The Gas Man Part II‘ by Stagger Lloyd, photos Any opinions or beliefs (religious, political, or moral) by Guttersaint p165 expressed anywhere in this publication are not The Fury of Gracie May‘ by Claire Godden necessarily those of the editors. We take no Rowland p168 responsibility for anything we have published in the ‗No Place Like Home‘ by Rick Grimes p172 interest of the freedom of speech and expression. INTERESTING TIMES: ART SCHOOL By Andrew Maben temerity, nor the ill-manners, to have launched such an epithet at a dear friend so publicly… I do remember that Barbara and Margaretta invited me to join them to see John Mayall at the Hastings Pier on the Friday evening of that first week, but don‘t ask me how we got there, or anything about the show, still less how we got home. I suppose someone had a car. I was also befriended early by Bob, a rather scruffy, almost furtive figure who seemed to always wear a long overcoat and a French beret, giving him a distinctly beatnik air, that contrasted with the mostly fashionable looks of the rest of us. Rave magazine had decreed that summer that the nation‘s art schools had become the latest forefront of youthful fashions. I think it was a role that we were all conscious of in an amused kind of way, but as budding artists we were, surely, much more concerned with establishing each our own unique Memory is still a misted night journey: soft, individuality, to be projected primarily in unshaped forms loom and fade, with our art for sure, but also through our occasional bright oases of light. The first projected personas. None would have week: a time of excitement, a time of admitted that our carefully assembled uncertainly finding our bearings, tentative wardrobes were as much masks to hide friendships. Names do remain, almost but ourselves behind as they were costumes to not necessarily in their order of appearance. express our true natures, but surely it was First, certainly, were Barbara and so. Margaretta. Barbara a slim red-head, ethereal and earthy and Margaretta her There were also others I remember fondly. friend a voluptuous blonde with a slight Peter, red-haired, sweet natured and a resemblance to Dusty Springfield – a dedicated fan of Bob Dylan, he suffered resemblance that cost me some from a wretched stammer, and his embarrassment the day I shouted, ―Good girlfriend Lillian, a soft-spoken, ethereal morning, Dusty!‖ Everyone in earshot beauty who might have stepped from a heard ―busty‖, which she most assuredly Rossetti painting, who was soon to be was, but I would never have had the surprised to discover that not everybody 4 constantly heard voices in their heads. some small suspicion that Sally‘s glances Jenny, a beatnik chick, with long black hair, were prompted by something more than a dark eye makeup and pale lipstick, she curiosity naturally aroused by the fact that I dressed always in black and drove a hearse. was the only boy in the class, something Meredith, known as Pip, who lived with her more than simple amusement. But I was far mother in a cottage in the woods outside too naive and far too shy to take any serious Brighton, and her friend Linda from notice. And besides: Tina… What a fool. Hastings. Grenville with his ancient Austin Seven, and air of an eccentric curate. Chris We first year students were more than a from Uckfield, whose friends‘ band often little in awe of the second year, who in turn played at our dances. Tina and Sally the regarded us with a certain condescension. It Mods. Annie, who I nicknamed ―Noggin‖. was the fine artists, I remember in particular Judith. Beautiful bespectacled Helene, Paul, an accomplished painter, and the breaking free of the restraints of a Catholic sculptor brothers Hamish and Phelan, who upbringing. Stella, troubled daughter of a owned the greatest cachet, though there conservative Methodist minister. There was a graphic designer who went by Binky were many others whose faces have become who also had a measure of cool. blurred and whose names are now lost to Impressionable young fool that I was, I me… allowed myself to fall under the thrall of the fine art mystique – we‘ll hear more about The two year pre-diploma curriculum for that later… which we had all enrolled had at its center Basic Design, a Bauhaus derived As I suppose is the way of people course that covered exactly what the name everywhere thrown together by implied, and also included life drawing, circumstance, we formed into small groups principles of color and form, painting, whose membership was not by any means sculpture, ceramics, printing. We were also rigidly fixed. After my years of isolation granted a discretionary class or two. for and solitude it was a liberation to be reasons that seem more than a bit obscure to accepted, even warmly welcomed by my me now I chose fashion drawing. In an odd new peers. I‘ve already mentioned Barbara way it would prove to be one of the most and Margaretta, and Bob. Tina and Sally fateful decisions I have ever made, as it was were inseparable and only peripherally a in this class that I first came to know Tina part of our little band, which also included and Sally. Tina was a devastatingly Peter and Lillian. Also often with us were attractive honey blonde, the very Annie, Helene and Judith, who soon personification of the swinging sixties in her became Bob‘s girlfriend, Stella, Noggin, minis and Biba blouses. Sally fell in her Jenny. shadow, a far more hesitant mod, shy, almost mousy. They would whisper to each At lunch time virtually the entire school other as we sat across the wide drafting would walk down the hill into town, as table, whisper and cast sudden glances my there was no cafeteria at the school. It was way. As a little time went by, Sally‘s on one of these lunch-time walks that I whispers became loud enough for me to passed Tina and Sally and a couple of other make out, after numerous hearings, an girls. unintelligible incantation: ―Ay guy lay guv ay gan dray goo!‖ While my desires were ―Andrew!‖ I stopped and joined them. firmly directed at Tina, I think I have had ―Say ‗prune‘,‖ said Sally. 5 ―Prune,‖ I said. They all laughed. Then there were Friday nights. A mob of us would converge on a pub and drink ―Not at all,‖ someone said. determinedly until closing time. My usual approach would be to start the evening with ―Not at all what?‖ a vodka in a pint of bitter, which would usually wipe out my funds, I‘d drink for the Nobody answered, though again they rest of the evening by winning pint- giggled downing bets – I could pour a pint of beer down my throat in no time flat.