We settle at the bar, our eyes hooded, hard-ons rising behind suit coats. A shot a Johnnie, we say to the barkeep. We’re sweating. We’d stopped to admire half-slips made of lace on plastic male torsos at Slipwreak. Then quickened to the bordello, hurrying past Pearls, a pierce and tattoo parlor. We could see ourselves, we’d said to each other, on a beach, gold hoops pierced through our penises, tattoos running delicately up and down our manly legs. We’re square jawed, linebacker-big, nearsighted undercover cops. We squint at the barkeep, now, hands in our laps holding it down. Just wait.

But what we do instead is brush them off. We smile, pat down our hard-ons. Pat them as we head to the door. See ya in the clink, we say and radio for reinforcements. With our pants still jumping, our eyes hooded, we and the squad close down the bordello. We’re out cleaning up the scene, flashing our badges, disposing of the elfin men. But later, when we retire from the force, we may need them and, by God, we hope enough of them survive.

Text by AJ ATWATER

Yesterday, Publish and Be Damned presented a new edition of their fairs, displaying an impressing declension of artist-led and self-published magazines, journals, periodicals and other printed format experimentations… Mountains and mountains of them. Too much. So much, I suspect ICA went way beyond their maximum visitors allowances during the afternoon as between 3 and 6, waves of people were coming in and only very few coming out, not to mention the fact that this is a sunny Spring saturday in London we’re talking about.

Paper hustle and paper chaos, fingers looking for change (only cash in that market place, of course) in addition to the frenetic insecurity of most of the artists, publishers, writers, etc. on spot, us, our usual mad scramble for status, position, affirmation, and attention. On top of it all, add in the tekila shots drinking that started at 6pm…

What are some tropes we’re tired of as publishers? Things we wish we’d see more often as editors? Things we wish our readers would see more often? Are conceptual poems and flash political manifestos scrutinized differently when submitted? Yesterday was an intense attempt to (briefly, of course) characterize the landscape of contemporary independent publishing and share advice.

More details here.

NICOTIANA UMBRELLA


-I could look at a woman smoking for hours.
-I got nothing but breath…

(dialogue improvement)

Instructions:

1. Lie down on your bed.
2. Position unlit cigarette between first and second fingers of right hand; grasp lighter in left hand.
3. Lean head forward until forehead touches knee.
4. Extend arms forward, flicking lighter. Slowly rise, and bend backwards. Cigarette is lit.
5. Place cigarette between upper and lower lips and inhale; cough on exhale.
6. Focus on the release of tension attained through the power of totally organic nicotine.
7. Sleep.

Faye smoked 3924 cigarettes. I smoked 2024. Taken together in two hours, it was probably the single greatest of cigarette smoking in history. We made a list of the top ten greatest songs of the month and the songs are from number ten to number one: Make Me Proud; All I Really Want; More; Thinking About You; What We Do; Let Me See the Booty; Why Were Fighting; Too Easy; Have Your Way; Rockin’ That Shit.
I said, I will need many millions of dollars. Faye said, Why should I give them you? I will build up an infinite Nicotiana trees forest that will embrace all aspects of ultimate truth and beauty, I said, we will then chew the tobacco, smoke the tobacco and and people will give you money to view us chewing and smoking. Faye said, I’ve heard these promises before. Many times. Daily. Watch this, I said. And Faye burst into flames. I can respect this kind of power, she responded, but I am not convinced, she said. Watch this, I said. And outside our panoramic conference room the sun set behind a perfect, amazing bluff that we had never seen before and soon the stars rose in a bright and hazy streak across the forest smokey sky.


Terius walked up the driveway and went to the front door and knocked the knocker and asked the Mom: Is Faye home? The Mom said, They’re in the forest, Terius. We said: Hi, I’m The-Dream and I’ve got a nice purple splotch on my face. Hi, I’m The-Dream and I walked in the Nicotiana forest and Elvira and Faye spit warm and wet chewed tobacco at me and I didn’t even realize it. The Mom said, Don’t chew too much tobacco kids or you’ll get sick. Terius said, Can I have some? He stepped foot in direction of the forest and tried to approach the sacred route. We told him: You’re not allowed until you pass the test. What test? asked Terius. The test took place underneath the back porch, right next to the forest. Terius got on the ground and pulled down his pants. Don’t give me a wedgie, he said. Faye sat on Terius’ legs and struck the little green garden hose that attaches to the big black garden hose in his butt. She dropped three stones one by one into the hose. The stones rattled and clanked. She poured a handful of dirt into the hose. The dirt sifted and slid slowly. Terius yelled: Cut it out. Hey, cut it out, Faye, it hurts. Faye said, pussy. Confirmed, I said. We told him: Rule number one. Never pronounce the E when a name ends with E. Tiger got up and went into the corner and bent over and made a face. Faye said, Jeezy’s greatest line from Standing Ovation is, “Calculate my every step, I’m a mathematician, Make them pigeons disappear, I’m a damn magician (yeah)”. I said, “I’m the author of the book, yea a genius wrote it ‘jeah’, There’s a message in my words you gotta decode it ay’”. Thug Motivation, Faye said. “Ay” she repeated. Correct, said I. Terius said, can I enter the forest now? We told him: You got a pussy. That means you have to pass set number two. Terius said, What’s test umber two? Faye said, Do you know what the best song is? Terius said, No. Faye said, The Night Chicago Died. Terius said, So? Faye said, Do you know what the best movie is? Terius said, No. Faye said, The best movie is Total Recall. Terius said, So? Faye picked up the bicycle pump and showed it to Terius. Faye said, Do you know what this is? Terius said: Bicycle pump. Faye said: Wrong. This is the most unbelievable farting machine ever created. I said, You won’t believe it. Faye said, This is the best. I said, It’s unbelievable. Faye said, Bend over. Terius bent over. Faye took the end of the bicycle pump and stuck it in his butt. Stay still, I said. I started pumping. I pumped and Terius started giggling and I pumped and he grabbed his stomach and giggled and I pumped and Terius said, That’s enough and I pumped a couple more times until it got hard to pump the lever and Terius reached around and pulled out the end of the bicycle pump and cut the single greatest fart in the history of farting. He farted one long fart which didn’t change in pitch or volume but just kept going and Terius held his stomach which was puffed up and said, Make it go down. Faye and I hit the dirt. We rolled in the dirt and laughed the soundless laugh. Then we went on youtube, watched bits of Total Recall and ruled that it was not the best film. However we agreed that the best lines were:

Elvira: Open the goddamn door!
Faye: I can’t.
Elvira: Open it!
Faye: They’re all connected.

Then we changed our minds. The best lines were actually:

Elvira: What is it that is exactly the same about every single vacation you have ever taken?
Faye: I give up.
Elvira: You! You’re the same. No matter where you go, there you are. It’s always the same old you. Let me suggest that you take a vacation from yourself. I know it sounds wild. It is the latest thing in travel. We call it the Ego Trip.

We confirmed. We began to watch bits of Basic Instinct but did not really finish because Faye got the runs and had to go home.
The myth if you is broken, I said. The myth if you is broken too Elvira, Faye said. You’re still young I said, It could be a phase. Faye looked at me: The smell of the dentures, she said. What’s with the smell of the dentures, I said. I can’t take it anymore, she replied. For you, I would improve my brushing technique, I said. Faye said, We need security. You are ineffectual and silly. She stuck a toothpick between her teeth and hopped a passing wagon train. She waved her arm twice, long and slow, then did the same with one of her legs, long and slow, before turning away and vanishing into the dusty horizon ahead.
I said to Terius: Faye’s left. Who’s Faye? He said. Still, I sat on the forest floor. I developed a sudden need to smoke. My teeth rattled in my palm like dice. Welcome, Terius said. Shut up, I said, I am a girl, if I was not a girl I would tear at my guts, but there are none. I am a girl. Terius replied, I have never been so happy. The forest is a failure, I said. Fuck the forest, Terius said. My name is The-Dream, for Christ’s sake. We stared at each other for a long moment. Red juice stained his chin. You’re bleeding, Terius. Show me your tongue, I said. I don’t want to be unseemly, he replied and sighed. I said, If there was some place we could cleanse. Plant what I have taken from you in the forest Elvira, he said. I buried my teeth, small and worn now, under a young Nicotiana tree. We lied down, it rained, and afterwards, a rainbow.


I woke up I said, Hi Terius. He was now sitting in his new car, listening to the radio. He said, My mother says I can’t play with you anymore. I lit a cigarette, we shared it and rode to Faye’s house, pushed the doorbell but no one answered. We moved around, climbed onto the house’s wall over the garage and looked throughout the window and saw Faye. She was smoking a huge cigarette and watching an unspecified episode of Episodes. She was wearing braids and therefore looked a little bit like Ludacris. Hi, I’m Faye and I look a little bit like Ludacris. Hi, I’m Faye and I have very bad breath. Hi, I’m Faye and that’s the way it is for now. Hello you two, I’m Faye’s father. We startled, my hand slid on the edge of the window, I fell and grabbed The-Dream’s foot, his hand slid too and we both fell in front of the garage like bird craps. The father said: She’s lying down. She’s nauseous. Her tongue was dark brown when she came home and she made in her pants because she couldn’t help it. I want you to promise me to stay out of the Nicotiana forest for two days. Promise me, Terius. Promise me, Elvira. Promise me that you won’t let Faye enter the forest.


My phone rang. I startled again, jumped off the edge of the driveway’s wall as if to pounce on my own pocket where the phone was ringing. Then I hear Faye’s shrill voice speaking to me, and I withdraw to a dark corner of the garden. Yo E, it’s me Faye, Pick up… I think she’s not answering… no, I think it’s a Beverly Hills number… who the fuck knows? E-E, I’m doing book signing tonight and wanted to see if we could hook up after… E? This is the only chance I got. I won’t be in town for a couple of weeks, book tour in Italy. Who knew that pomodori could also read? Ha ha. I can send a car, E. OK, I’m running out of time here, Seven o’clock, I’d love to see-


Phone ran out of battery. Now Faye was listening with her headphones to the Elton John album Elton John, which should have been at least number twenty-five on the all-time top 100 album list. There was no noise except for Faye’s breathing. She nodded when she saw me. I sat on the sofa across from her sofa. I lied down. Faye said very loudly although she thought she was speaking normally: Baby, you make me wish I had three hands. I am not a three-breasted hooker, Faye. There was a plate on the living room table with fruits in it. I took a banana and pretended to smoke it. Then I took a mandarin and placed it between my breasts. Then I went to the window and peeled two other mandarins, well one mandarin and an orange, and threw the peels towards Terius’ house. It landed in the bushes and on the father’s car. I wound up and threw another. Then i threw the naked fruit itself. It all bounced off the side of the house. Faye removed the headphones and picked up a orange peel and hurled it. It bounced off Terius’ window. Then I threw an orange and a mandarin and they both hit the window. There were no more mandarins, no more oranges, no more peels. A couple of minutes later the doorbell rang and we looked out the window and saw Terius’ mother standing on the doorstep with a pile of dripping orange and mandarin peels in her hand. We went into Faye’s father’s closet and closed the door and pulled the rope to make the ladder come down and climbed the ladder into the attic and crawled into the crawl space beside he attic window where absolutely no one I repeat no one could possibly find us no matter how long they looked especially not Terius’ Fat Ass Mother and her stinky fruit peels. Faye said: I got the runs but it was worth it. 3924 cigarettes, a new all-time record. A shiver ran down my spine, as it always did. I could never tell for sure whether she could read my thoughts or not. We lied there patiently.

Barfly (1987)

Trouble Rainbow 2, Favorite Goods, CA

Hailed as one of the most notorious erotic novels of all times, Story of O follows the beautiful young Parisian woman as she falls into the fateful clutches of her lover’s sadomasochistic urges. She submits to the life of a slave and surrenders herself completely to the terrifying bonds of desire. The book was written in 1954 by the French author Anne Desclos under the nom de plume of Pauline Réage and in 2000 it was illustrated by the Italian comics artist Guido Crepax.

‘Keep me rather in this cage, and feed me sparingly, if you dare. Anything that brings me closer to illness and the edge of death makes me more faithful. It is only when you make me suffer that I feel safe and secure. You should never have agreed to be a god for me if you were afraid to assume the duties of a god, and we all know that they are not as tender as all that. You have already seen me cry. Now you must learn to relish my tears.’

Olive Oatman was kidnapped from her Mormon family in the Gila River (present-day Arizona) by the Yavapai Indians, while her family were traveling across the South West of America in 1851.
Most of her family were murdered but her and her sister, Mary-Ann were kidnapped by the Yavapai. After receiving harsh treatment by them for a year she was ransomed by a band of Mohaves. Olive went on to be accepted into the Mohave lifestyle and spent four years living with them. This was most famously acknowledged with her blue chin tattoo.
Mohaves considered tattoos to be a form of identification in the afterlife. The tattoo was secured by pricking the skin in small regular rows with a cactus pine until the skin bled freely. The cactus spikes were then dipped in weed juice and blue stone powder which was then applied to the pinpricks on the face. These chin tattoos indicated that the woman was ready to embark in adult tribal life.
Chin designs with the Mohaves were chosen by the tattooists and were based on the shape of the face. Narrow faced people usually wore designs of narrow lines or dots to accentuate the length of the face. Patterns for broad faces tended to have wider lines and cover more of the chin, making the face look even broader.
Olive was ransomed in 1856 by the United States Government at Ft. Yuma. On her discovery she was apparently found in nothing but a skirt made of bark which fueled suspicions of debauchery and sexual exploits.  Considering her puritanical upbringing, Olive’s experience was deemed as outrageous. An ambitious Methodist minister named Royal Byron Stratton wrote a scandalous book about her story which was named Olive and Mary Ann. The book sold 30,000 copies, a huge best-seller for that era. Rumours of her mothering two children by the chief’s son circulated but she denied this thoroughly.

Her story gripped the country so much that in the 1880′s, the “tattooed captive” became a popular circus theme. Their stories turned provocatively, on the notion that people of colour could transform whites into people of colour  ethnically and decoratively, as a means of exploitation and degradation.
Images and stories of Oatman’s tattoo fed the new America’s fear and ignorance’s towards the First World. In many ways Olive’s tattoo has captured a rather colonial view of the First World as terrifying primitives. Rather than a rather uplifting story of acceptance of this new culture and lifestyle bestowed upon her. Olive often proclaimed her love for the Mohaves in interviews and her brother indicated that she would weep night after night after leaving them. It has been said that she was the first white woman in America’s recorded history to have a tattoo.
Much material written about Olive appears to be confused and sensational but a  comprehensive book, The Blue Tattoo has recently been written about Olive’s life. Check it out here.

Heiner Goebbels’ will be performing his response to the 1890 journals of Joseph Conrad in London’s Queen Elizabeth Hall tonight. Goebbels will be joined  by Senegalese Griots Sira and Boubakar Djebaté (voice and kora), the French musician Xavier Garcia (electronics) and the actor André Wilms.

Although this performance for tonight has sold out it will be watchable online for a week afterwards!

Watch it here from tonight after 7pm GMT: http://aroomforlondon.co.uk/sounds-from-a-room