Please. Take Off All of Your Clothes. I Need You to Be Naked and Cold
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1 PARAPHILIA MAGAZINE ISSUE #1 2 CONTENTS Cover art by Jim Lopez Edited and Designed Inside front and back illos by Laurie Lipton By Paraphilia Editorial p4 ‗The Eleventh Letter‘ p5 Editors ‗Beat-Up: The Generality of a Pitiful Man‘ Díre McCain text & images by Jim Lopez p11 D M Mitchell ‗I Should Be So Lucky‘ by Salena Godden, image by Thomas Evans p19 Kate MacDonald – Musical Editor ‗Endless‘ drawing by Dolorosa de la Cruz p23 ‗Waiting for My Mocha to Cool‘ by Charles Jim Lopez – Columnist & Pistolero Christian, drawing by Alfred Muro p24 ‗Moon Suite‘ by Michael Begg, drawings by Jo Contact Paraphilia Kelso p39 [email protected] ‗That Old Bump and Grind‘ by Tom Website Garretson p42 www.paraphiliamagazine.com Artwork by Jeane Trend-Hill ps 66, 104, 160, 166 www.myspace.com/paraphiliamagazine ‗Blood‘ by Sue Fox p67 ‗Sensitivity Suite‘ by Rich Follett p69 Many thanks to; Pablo Vision for his ‗Psychology in the Cubicle‘ by Pablo Vision, unconditional help, Steven Severin and images by Colin Lowe p74 Richard Meade for spreading the word, ‗Madness Part III‘ by Brian Routh & Patricia Ruby Friedman and Salena Godden for Wells p79 connecting us with some remarkably Artwork by Simon Evans ps 92, 138 talented people, and Norman Spinrad for ‗Graven Images‘ by Patrick Wright p93 gracing our fledgling, impecunious ‗The Train to Shang Man Du‘ by Norman Spinrad , drawing by Alfred Muro p105 publication with his brilliance. ‗Death Wish Chameleon Part III‘ by Cricket Corleone, images by Richard A Meade p129 Submissions ‗Burrows‘ by Ele-Beth Little p139 This a free magazine distributed in the ‗Maple Leaf Tears‘ by Craig Woods, images by interests of giving culture back to the Brian Blur p141 people instead of the industry. We cannot ‗The Overwhelming Human Desire to be pay for contributions to this publication. Loved‘ by Claudia Bellocq p154 However, please see our website for ‗Twilight Fuck of Three‘ by Hank Kirton p161 details of our other publishing ventures. ‗Lenin Rots: A Mortuary Fable‘ by Ron Garmon , image by Guttersaint p167 Any opinions or beliefs (religious, Statement of David P Gionfriddo p180 Sounds Abound by Kate MacDonald (with political, or moral) expressed anywhere in Dominic Marceau, Vargr Wolf, Martin Rouge this publication are not necessarily those & Mary Leary) p187 of the editors. We take no responsibility for anything we have published in the Contributors‘ details and contact information interest of the freedom of speech and P211 expression. 3 EDITORIAL Life is indescribably complex, and with sentience, how could solitude be indefinable. It is both simultaneously possible? Part of us wants to break homogeneous and beautifully down those walls we’ve erected, to heterogeneous – a unity that is also a touch other individuals, to rid ourselves diversity. It perpetuates itself via of the self-imposed burden, because contradiction and complexity. By deep down, we know that no matter attempting to pin it down and define it, how ‘remarkable’ we are, without other we unweave ourselves from the people, it’s altogether meaningless. intricate web of existence. But in the end, all our manmade ‘philosophies’ Solve et Coagula. Nature demands and ‘-isms’ are nothing more than an complexity, and therefore, everything attempt to fashion a fortress we hope we create is subject to the laws of will withstand the effects of entropy. entropy. Our mania for fabricating Yet, paradoxically, entropy is the structures is merely an attempt to creative force itself, viewed from a simplify, to control, and in fact, limited and anthropocentric perspective. constitutes an affront to Nature. The truth of the matter is, no one can define In our innate desire to be human nature, including us, the editors ‘remembered’, to be ‘important’, to be of this publication, and we make no ‘loved’, we erect towering walls, and claims or pretences to that. Suffice it to sever ourselves from the Given, from say that we deal with the human anything that tugs us in an ‘undesirable’ condition, wherever and however it direction. We cling to ludicrous ideas of manifests itself. We acknowledge that it our ‘individuality’ in the face of a often appears to be ‘in extremis’, which universe that couldn’t care less. Little by is not posturing on our part, or an little, in our quest to assert ourselves, affectation of ‘angst’. It’s been our we increasingly lose sight of the very experience that only when one’s back thing we seek to promote. is against the wall, is one capable of shedding the protective illusions, and Yet, there is always a part of us that is coming face to face with one’s ‘true’ aware, that suffers. Our natures are not nature, whatever that may be. entirely solitary. In a universe teeming 4 THE ELEVENTH LETTER Dear PM, don‘t know. I wish I had a drink in my hand and a spliff in my hand, You don‘t know what it‘s like. and was attracted to the dark Maybe you do. Maybe it‘s me that underhanded belly of things and doesn‘t know. I‘m on the nth week pain and...could communicate a without a drop of alcohol which bit more freely and widely then, hadn‘t seemed a problem and still couldn‘t I? Get into a bit of the isn‘t, you know, because I don‘t dark stuff and probably enjoy it, remember the last time I had a for funk‘s sake. I‘ve stepped into drink, which is why I said „nth places before where it was a bit of week without‟. It must be twice that, that, you know, a bit of the blinds maybe three or four or five or six pulled during the day, and the times that since I last had a spliff. black room and hash and sex, and In fact, it‘s even longer…I‘m sure afterwards a proper wallow in of it. And I‘ve just given up the Burroughs‘ place at The Beat fags as well. Hotel. Not that I knew that at the time. I only caught up with him None of this seemed to matter last month. Anyway, it wasn‘t until I read the second issue of bad. I stayed quite a while. Days Paraphilia Magazine and without the sun in the flicker- somebody‘s tale of something or tapes I‘d heard of but never seen. I other, which mentions drink and liked it. I saw the attraction but I spliff, as some column in the didn‘t fancy the tattoos, you see. Sunday papers might mention tea and biscuits or wine and cheese, There‘s darkness and there‘s almost a prerequisite for being darkness and to my mind, the two there reading the magazine. seem connected. My little friend having UVF carved into his face I felt deprived. I hadn‘t thought when they caught us in that park that maybe I was missing in North Belfast. It was stupid to anything. It‘s not that I live a think we could take a shortcut. I particularly healthy life… or an escaped but not before I saw their unhealthy one. It‘s just that…oh, I tattoos as they killed. A fish in Japan, still alive as that proud 5 Nipponese diet takes off the flesh. wasn‘t alarmed by them, that I I doubt the UVF murder gangs didn‘t think of the UVF when I see listened to Nick Cave but, all the them. I wish I didn‘t get a bit same, I know that when there are queasy with piercings and want to empty beer cans used as ashtrays turn the strobes down and mute in a living room that hasn‘t seen the squeal of the feedback. the sun for eternity and the bin is Observe the Curfew. I can hear the not emptied and there‘s dark grass grow. matter in the wallpaper, that I‘m somewhere near their place. THEY Not that I‘m a pipe and slippers COULD BE NEXT DOOR. man or anything like that. And I do have that Velvet Underground So…me, I‘m far too squeaky to LP. I seem to have been homeless stay for more than a few days for years now, with a little period even for the strange, cathartic sex here and a little period there in that wipes the slate clean. I‘d between, but nowhere in rather stay in the bath near the particular to be but in this shaggy mountain with a candlelit and the dog of a story. So I see a lot of window open to the sun, the different places and fuck a lot of moon and the stars. different faces. And I fit in as much as I can for as long as is Not that I‘m a good-living necessary. Only if they really try Christian or anything like that. I to make me a tool of dark desire kept my ‗original‘ sin and seem to will I turn all dark myself. Mostly be doing fine patching together a I‘m all sweetness and light. No, bit of this and a bit of that and really. It‘s just a defence thing for standing back to have a look at it. me, darkness. It still looks like the tree to me. And I‘m still original, you know. I prefer barbecues in a back Despite the tyranny of the fungal garden under a cloudless sky. Not historian, The Precedent of The that I‘m too fussed on Australia. I United Stats, I stand with the born don‘t really like having it all my yesterday as they invent the play own way, though.