BGK

Zine Originations

Before blogging, bulletin board systems, and social media, there were zines—do-it-yerself style; copied-folded-stapled sheets, however you did it, whatever it was for you, however you flexed your head, from music to politics to collecting poems, or Xeroxing journals, theorizing, riffing existential, interviewing your friends, sharing found art, sexxxing it up… THE ZINE AND ZINE CREATORS ARE THE ORIGINAL INTERNET.

While I was roughly piecing together my fledgling involvement with Krishna’s New York version of Hinduism in DC, my ex-wife, in West Virginia, who had a similar involvement, was also getting into Riot Grrrl and put out several zines dedicated to sexual abuse and feminist principles. I don’t think we understood at the time how these worlds would collide and force us to reassess our feelings and beliefs.

Krishnaism, I doubt, will ever cast aside its scriptural excuses and admit to its conservatism, blatant sexism, racism, and homophobia. It is guilty, as are many institutions, of hiding the essential HARM and plodding on. Riot grrrl and many others are never gonna bow down to this bullshit.

My first zine, Suffer Free, in this regard, had zero foresight, and the same was true for my Exposing The Educational System and even my beloved, well intended, Journal of Thought… at least in the beginning, until I plodded UP and OUT and ON into a sister movement, The Open Mic Spoken Word, basically greatly killing you. But now that we’ve evolved into nearly all things digital and our books and magazines are now vastly digitized into byte sizes, still THE ZINE lives on. I’ll trade mine for yours.

“The joy of life is incredible.”

A little medicine is a good thing. Midnight typewriter. All the things, the inner workings, the innards rattling with the melting ice cubes in a Summer glass, Summer wannabe glass. A friend drives me to the angry, reluctant doctor in a room marked for emergencies. This is America. Medical insurance pimps it all. We die in its slick war. She says to lie down, they’ll pump me full of fluids, to heal my stomach lining. Later will come an x-ray. I ask for gumdrops. I think back to the lobby court rooms and the arguments turned down so you can’t hear. Everyone walks around with guns holstered on their hips for protection in the blur of the argument you can’t hear. The lines are long stretching out their shadows. Stomach lining could be better, could’ve told me in English that there was a problem. I hold a red balloon in agony. If I let it go it could be the one last thing holding me here. A cord is streaming out of my right arm. A new right arm wants to grow out of my left side. They are talking to my mother on the phone. You know your son is here. We are about to tell him everything is okay, ‘cept for his stomach acids are really something else. We wouldn’t wanna be him. Know what I mean? But he’s your mess now. Would ice cream help? Just as I think this, someone calls out my name. The curtain opens. There stands a friend. Life is wonderful that way. I hope this is not an episode of House, in which case I could be getting better treatment of course. Make my heart explode to reconnect my sentiment to Billie Holiday on the radio. You wanna dress in drag as a fine gag and that is fine with me. I wanna live to see another day so I guess I’ll carry these meds with me to try and numb the pain. Make it workable. Make it heal. Paper cranes and everyone, you can hold paper hands and mute the commercials.

“The joy of life is incredible.” -RZA

Dietary paradigm shifts on a flier. Don’t eat this. And don’t drink that. Fill in the blanks. Some of this is fictional. You’re the type to get knocked out in a snowball fight. This is what I mean. You’re the type to throw a fit when you don’t get your way. When it happened to me, I’d throw a dish all the way from the living room on into the kitchen. What a crash it’d make in there. Everything but the kitchen sink. Other innocent dishes drying on the rack polite as hell.

Something could rupture, burst, drain, rise. Watch out for those eyeball whites. When Bukowski was admonished by the doctor, “You have one more single drink and you’re done for,” he walked right down to the pub on the corner and ordered some whiskey like a new lease on life was nothing. Not everyone is gonna get that kinda free pass. They’re not exactly handing them out. No booze, no coffee, no tea. “I’m making you a smoooooooothie.”

Don’t panic, for when I fall back it’s that I’m making snow angels. The temptation to make a family in the snow is… not really there.

Look the part

I don’t think much about it, this mess any more. Lie. I do. I think about it all the time. Just who I am is who you are or we are in this one together but please, please let’s have an easy go of it and try to be as happy as possible. A friend conveys to me just how frustrated he is in this “system.” Right away I begin to formulate an answer like: “well, everything is a system and what you really need to do is learn how to work it…” But the truth is, he’s probably right. The system we know and are a part of is rotten and fading out. Will we then take it down? Will it take itself down? Will a meteor wipe us out before any chance of redeption? That would be the kind of change unexpected. That too is okay. Change is change. We only have to keep on our toes in awareness of its constant pranks. Look for realness. Look for realness in yourself and other selves. Look there. Be there.

From The Sky

Bukowski’s women Jay Leno’s women Bill Clinton’s women the women in the library the women above you the women below you and the women in the library… reminding you of your fines from the sky and false fires, and those coming out with a secret to the press a symphony mistake

all the blue angels flew in formation to their demise

run away reporters, let us know about the hell down there. bitch-back. laundry. photo. kiwi salsa cale. highway freed. bargain hunter lunchbox screwdriver health beat Bermuda triangle spoilers. haters. equators. ecquador fantab figment of your imagination what you say instead blood for oil is a target hit and shopping here before was a real pit. next to a pyramid a franchise and freedom fries stomp around with your moon boots to unearth buried girls and guys from under the franchise with freedom fries with more dead girls and other dead guys a whole lot of ‘em met their demise demonize homocide

fire falls from the sky

you laugh at me while you’re sitting on the Fox and The Hound log fall of the worst year fall off and hear something snap they do talk a lot needles and darts in the beginning miss the whole board corrected mistakes and zits popped hid behind and peaked out far away safe a coward throws her malitov from the corals to the curls they come back as bratty runny-nosed fire crackers

peace to you motherfuckers peace to your attackers turn the other cheek to your attackers? don’t lust after the animal crackers

the moment taken in altered under the mooshy influence of whatever that was in the pipe some say it’s one thing, I say it’s just moss

smoking it helps more than I realize cuz I’m driving and start feeling its disassociative affects and I’m thinking, Damn, I’m high. which means Damn I’m kinda uncomfortable, then comfortable, yet kinda un…believable. life feels fairly unbelievable at least some of the time. I’ll push and warp the rest of time.

problems sting like honey bees another problem is just what I need the honeycomb gets a cereal with its name on it serial killers are eating cereal

did you see Bruno on Richard Bay or was that Straight Dave?

a fucked up hobby makes for an interesting article but not everybody likes to read many are faking it I put on war paint before cracking the books and say screw you backwards

drive around looking for Bane Park talking outloud for others to catch like This one needs more sleep he’s off his rocker he’s entering that little number where he’s a dog dreaming chasing a rabit the rabit is closer to god no one gives a hoot owl’s worth

the grass greener on the other side smoke this moss on the other side the werewolf bite is the werewolf’s way of saying go fuck yourself backwards the vampire’s bite says screw you from the sky while god says you run and you hide I’ll go and die