tailspin magazine (nov. 08)
TRANSCRIPT
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november 2008
Lucy - Dreamproje
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2/38Andrew Thorpe - At The Park
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3/38Klarabella - Orange Juice
contents
3. Harmony Crystal Dawn
5. Artist Spotlight Bertrand Gadal
10. Cigarettes Taymaz Valley
13. This Familiar Place Fern Yates15. The Perfect Kiss Sin
18. No More (A Rant) J.C. Wooley
22. My Love Nyki Kish
23. Scribbles Juniperlillie
27. Like Trees In November L.A. Temple
31. Snake Man Lauren
34. TAKS Entry Jessica Dennison
36. Her Penitent
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3.
Twilight mist drizzles dewdrop kisses upon clay
as forlorn creaking of tattered limbs thirst new life,
and frosted green blades beneath oaks canopy lay
dormant...
Night prowlers fall victim to ravenous birds of prey
as hollowed trees echo crickets combative chirps,
and frosted green blades beneath oaks canopy lay
dormant...
HarmonyCrystal Dawn
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5/38Lucy - The Great Metaphor
4.
Croaks repulse serpents while in shadows they stay
as forelimbs swoop on winds wings marking echoes,
and frosted green blades beneath oaks canopy lay
dormant...
Sunlights affection kisses dawning eyes with warming
rays
as songsters twitter a melodious symphony, arousing
dance,
and spirited green blades beneath oaks canopy begin
to play.
Harmonynatures furynatures dancebegins with
a kiss.
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6/38Bertrand Gadal - Hope
5.
BertrandGadal
I was born in 1974 in Brittany, France. I studied Frenc
literature and art for my Baccalaureate and was
accepted by the Ecole dArchitecture de Nantes.
I decided to enter a private university, the Ecole Pivau
(Nantes), and studied product design for 5 years.
Whilst studying at the Ecole Pivaut, I entered and won
a competition to develop and design a new entrance
door of the Parisian Underground. That system of doo
can be seen in every entrance of the Parisian
Underground today.
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7/38Bertrand Gadal - Dreamer
6.
I moved to London in 1998 to work as a web designer
and was painting in my free time as a hobby. I have
now decided to bring my painting to a professional
level.
My interests lie in portraits of men and women. I amparticularly interested in close-up facial expressions. I
uses acrylic paint along with felt-tip pens and various
inks for added detail.
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8/38Oushka - Kev
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9/38Robotmanreg - Faces
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10/38Mary - Hands Of Time
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11/38Fernella Dragony - Whipping Smoke
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Im smoking my last pack.
Chain-smoking more accurately.
Reading, I light one after other,
Then another.
Duffy and her Rapture;Words bring meaning and aim
Through time,
Time and time again.
Plath my darling Plath,
When you killed a man indeed
You killed all
To be born again redeemed.
Eliot that jewel of verse,
With his great humour sense.
That eternal gentleman wearing his coatRock and no water and the sandy road
The Bard, The Bard, The Bard;
What precious gem survived.
How can one compare to thee,
This lost souls undying guide.
Hugo, Breton, Baudelaire,
Tzara, Cocteau, Mallarme,
Prevert, Salmon, Apollinaire,
Voltaire, Voltaire, Voltaire.
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
Dantes Comedy Divine,
Ferdowsis Book of Kings.
Hafez and his Divan.
Virgil O Virgil,
No angel shall dare bar your path.
Homers Gods and their wrath.
And Im done with my cigarette pack
Taymaz Valley
Cigarettes
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12/38Sam R - Druid Valley Series
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14/38Samantha - Clouds
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As I lie in this familiar bed
Ideas bobbing around my head
Upon a sea of turbulent thought
Fleeting, darting amounting to noughtDo I look at the r tree, so aloof
Peeking over the neighbours roof
Do I hear spectators in the park,
And a distant canines persistent bark
Rain clouds roll in, across the hill
It feels like time is standing still
The birds cease chirping, in anticipationOf the storm breaking, its a weird sensation.
My muscles relax, my breath is deep
All worries forgotten, lost in sleep.
This Familiar Place Fern Yates
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15/38Crispy - Winter Sun
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16/38Ick - May
15.
without logic or reason
a spontaneous re
of anger and strength
that gently slips into
a tender tear of ones
love sick heartknowing nothing of
blame or regret
it knows only of the moment
where time stands still
and all other memories
cringe with envy
full of passion and desire
but tainted with heartbreak
for it must
end.
sinthe perfect kiss
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18/38Jonny - Crossing Over
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The waves of the lake consume me and yes my painconsumes me as well.
All of existence is consumed by us the consumer and
as for us, we consume each other. Like confused
cannibals we let the good go to waste and let the
diseased esh of us all rule our hearts and minds. We
nail saints to crosses, send patriots to spill there blood
on foreign land and murder or martyrs, leaving them to
be forever left forgotten buried beneath histories lies.
But what is a martyr and what is a saint if they are not
recognized as such?
Well then they are nothing. So why then do we pay
tribute to the tyrants of our world? Why should we
afford them the privilege of history?
Let the names of men such as Rockefeller no longer
scar the face of humanity. Let the Rockefellers and
Hitlers of the present and of the past be erased from
the history books, for why is it that they shall forever
live while I am left to dwindle into oblivion?
If these men are not martyrs or saints (which theyrenot) then why should we the people grant them the
sanctity of eternal life? Is it because they are rich and
powerful? Maybe. But ask your self, did they not
become rich by picking our pockets while we stood in
the bread lines? and did they not rob us of our
natural right to self rule by breaking our independence
through the cruel means of an empty stomach?
So I say to you o brothers and sisters NO MORE! N
more shall they pick my pockets and no more shall I
grovel at their feet. Like a tumor to the brain I will cutthem free from the minds of humanity and in doing so
shall free myself. I shall remember the names of every
poet and of every beggar and of every martyr so that
they shall live on for as long as I am privileged with th
gift of life. Where as we have been buried beneath the
lies of our self proclaimed rulers we shall bury them in
the freedom of knowing the truth.
For without that freedom we shall forever be ruled wit
lies.
No More (A Rant) J.C. Wooley
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20/38Pseudoghost - Red Line
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21/38Pseudoghost - Pseudoscene
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22/38Hejtejp - Awe Vilket Tjoller
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I will not live forever,
Cant always be round to see.
My life is but a moment
In this worlds long history.
My path may go unnoticedFor Im but one small person,
Yet greatness Ive accomplished,
When all is said and done.
Ive held your hand; Ive touched you,
Ive had your gaze lock mine.
And Id trade 100 days or years,
To return to that time.
No others been so lucky,
I pray, nor shall another be;
For I feel blessed above the rest,
Ive got you all to me.
So I need not of titles,
Awards or fancy things.
Need I do of your love though dear;
For wonders your love brings.
. And I wont live on for always,
My name may fade away.
But the love that you and I do share
Shines so strong it will always remain.
Dedicated to my Jeremy.
nyki kishmy love
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24/38Jessie Jermyn - Flying Children
23.
There are scribbles on this page
I did not put them here
Im certain that it was somebody near.
A tiny someone, with tiny hands
A tiny someone, with a curious mind
There are scribbles on this pageReminding me Im not alone
A pencil lays beside me,
A pencil thats not mine
A tiny bit of jelly smeared along its side.
This page that sits
before me
once so clean and pure
Ready for my inward thoughts to pour -
Its covered now in lines of tiny fury
made in quite a hurry.
I look around and ask
who scribbled on my
page?
I spy a tiny child with jelly on her chin.
She looks like she could cry and
I cant help but grin
At two years old shes already got
Her mothers love of pen
Over to the bookshelf I take her tiny self
Pulling out a notebook I offer her some help.
Theres still jelly on her pencil and jelly on her face,dishes in the sink and toys all over the place.
To the dust bunnies in my house I say:
Youll live another day!
My baby girl wants to write,
so your battle Ill not ght.
I have better things to do
on this most beautiful night;
For there are scribbles on my page, you see,
and they did not come from me.
cribblesJuniperlillie
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25/38Willowing - Red
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26/38Hyla Levy - Bloor Subway Station
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28/38Edward Garvin - Self-Similar Form
27.
Trisha turned, her coat snagged on the pram and shetried to pull herself free. Luckily the man from next door
was close by to offer her a helping hand. Perhaps too
kindly; his hands were too brisk and his breath was too
close but she brushed it off and thanked him profusely.
Lately she had been getting herself caught on things,
tripping on things and dropping things. As if she was
losing her perception of space. She studied the man
with an intensity as he bid her a no worries and went
to leave. Firstly he checked the pram, then he smiled
weakly before moving away at pace.
L.A. Tempike Trees In November
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Typical man! Sees the pram, scary reality bites and he
off. Doesnt even like to be around the idea of
something serious and requiring commitment, let alon
be in the psychical company of such a thing. She tuts
and attens her coat arm. A spindly thread remains
loose but she left it for the time being and continued
towards the shop.
In the shop, the list is as follows, give or take a few
reduced items or irresistible offers; toilet roll, talcum
powder, baby food (pureed apple, carrots >>
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>> and sweetcorn, creamy rice breakfast, veggie bake),
orange juice, two pizzas, garlic bread, milk, nappies
(12 pack this week half price!), a loaf of bread, a bag
of salad and two tins of baked beans. Only so much
she can t under the pram. Bags over the handle and
shoved underneath, making the pram a packhorse.
Outside the shop she ran into a friend of her mothers.
A dreadful woman, all Trisha, darlliing, how are youmanaging?, a woman full of opinions and questions
and bile. The rigmarole lasted some time before she
managed to shake the haughty hen away, nodding at
the pram and making excuses. The woman looked
at the pram for a moment, and then she attempted a
face of pity and sympathy. It came out as patronising
and belittling. She left in a urry of lovely to see you
agains.
Trisha continued home, remembering the faces of all
those who had been around her recently; friends,
companions, family and strangers. She was reminded
of a description she once read, in a book she had >>
>> otherwise forgotten, of faces looking like trees in
November. It seemed to suit these people, faces grey
and drawn,haggard and strained; seemingly for her.
She had not a clue why.
She walked briskly on and in the pram nothing stirred.
It simply bounced along the pavement, as empty as
the promises of a politician. It had been that way for
a few months now. She remembered being two days
late and full of life. She remembered being two monthsearly and full of pain. No one else spoke to her for the
rest of the journey, and she stopped only when her
coat snagged on the gateway that led up to her empty
home.
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31/38ManDartin - Dust Storm
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32/38unservicable.prophet
31.
Unnished.
When I rst met him there was no trace of love. He
scared me. I dont know why, I didnt even know him.
But he put the fear of life into my heart. For somereason he decided that he wanted me and the more
he chased me the more I ran. That day he grabbed my
wrist, I thought he was going to hurt me... He had a
rm grip but he wasnt hurting my arm. He turned me
towards him and kissed me, just once on the lips and
my outside shell of fright melted away. From then all I
had felt was this immense, intense love. I had been in
love before but this was awless. It was as if we were
one soul split into two bodies, seamless. We spent
three thrilling weeks together without leaving each
Snake Man Laure
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others side. We lay in bed watching lms, eating,
having sex and doing nothing else. Sometimes I was
so happy I would start crying inexplicably and he would
hold my face in his hands and gently kiss my lips, the
way he had the rst time that had turned my fear into
love.
It hadnt occurred to me to wonder why he hadnt been
at work, or even what he did. Maybe I assumed he was
a student like me. One day Robert rang and spoke to
him on the phone for a long time. I didnt wonder howRobert knew him either, but Robert was my friend. I
hadnt introduced him to anyone yet. He hung up the
phone and explained to me he was in danger. That
some people wanted to hurt him and that normally he
would have run but they knew who I was and were
threatening to hurt me as well. He said that he had to
confront them to keep me safe. I begged him to stay;
I said we could run together, I could nish my degree
somewhere else. He shook his head and smiled. How
could he be so calm? My whole body began to panic,
my heart and my stomach hurt and my brain was
shouting at me to stop him! I frantically started
searching in my drawers for the right clothes to wear.
I wasnt going to let him go alone. Where were my
shoes? I took his hand and walked downstairs, walke
round the house looking for my shoes, still holding his
hand. I wasnt going to let him out of my sight; I knew
hed go without me if he got the chance. We walked
back upstairs and he lay down on the bed. We have
some time, he said. Come lie down, have a sleep. I lay
down beside him, fully dressed and put my face on hichest. He put his big arms around me and held me. I
fought and fought to stay awake. I knew if I fell asleep
hed use the chance to go on his own.
I woke up on my own. And panic set in. The same sic
feeling of dread, my heart and stomach hurt again. I
rang Robert, Where is he Rob? I dont care, tell me
now dammit. Where is he?! I put down the phone
and ran. I ran and ran. My feet were pounding and my
stomach was excruciating but I kept running.
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34/38Gobblynne Animation - Flutter (www.gobblynne.com)
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I settle a custard white canvas onto my easel. I stare
at it a moment as if challenging it. Then I look down attwenty-four bottles of acrylic paint. I pop open a brand
new bottle of white and pour it onto a paper plate. Then
I reach for black. Next to come red, Tuscan, chocolate
brown, forest green, pumpkin orange, lemon yellow,
purple, sunshine yellow, and more. The globs are so
shiny and perfect I never want to touch a brush to
them. Like a birthday cake too pretty to eat, but you do
anyway. I grab a large brush from the cup of water and
take a breath.
I am ready now. There is an image in my head. Thebrush grazes the white and takes on its luster. I spread
it along the bottom of the page. I dip again. My arm
runs smoothly along the canvas like when you lay down
in a swimming pool with out any interruptions. Now I
touch the grass green and layer on the white. The
canvas takes the color from the brush and holds it
tightly. I look down at my favorite color, forest green,
now in the form of a shining island of color. I timidly put
my brush in and add dimension to the ground. Its a
start.
My hand is moving quickly now, streaking robins egg
blue in the center of the page. I highlight this with wisof true blue. Im in a state of pure control. Like a tranc
When you think so hard you leave your body. My
brothers love to wave their hands in front of my face
and break my concentration. Not this time though. Ive
locked myself in my room. I add another layer of green
above the blues. Then a layer of sky blue and white
above that.
I carefully pick a smaller brush and paint in trees and
bushes. Then I add grass, moss, owers, and stones.
dip into the black and white to shade all these objectsI play around with lights and darks until its perfect. Fo
days I add details and touch up the edges.
Finally I feel satised. I look at it for a moment as if
surrendering. But there are two more things I must do
smoosh a sponge into pure white. When I dab the
canvas it creates Texas inspired clouds on the sky. No
for the moment that concludes everything. Slowly, in
black paint with a writers tip brush, I initial the bottom
and it is magnicent.
Jessica Dennison TAKS entry
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36/38Ant Smith - Pinhole Clock
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She sits, a mistress of darkest black,
within a distant star, perhaps,
or as a cloud of reddish dust.
Pulled by forces unknown to her,destroyed by unknown means,
somewhere so very unknown to me.
How I miss her.
I pray, (not so much to god or devil),
but more to pure chance,
that one day I return to her,
I wish to savour her warm embrace.
God, I miss her.
I was part of her, and she was part of me,
I hoped so much that we were meant to be,
I dont know what happened, or why we fell apart,
But I know that between us, all that beats is my heart.
Instead she waits, anywhere, everywhere,
For something I cant comprehend,
Perhaps for me, for me.
Christ! I miss her.
Ill return to her one day,
If my end is not in some other place,
Fortune alone will bring me back to her,
Ive all the time till the Universe ends.
Ill nd her.
Fuck! Fuck...I miss her.
Shes quite close, but very far.
She sits inside a perfect star,
Perhaps for her, theres someone else,
Perhaps to her, Im just myself.
I miss her.
her penitent
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eppers
Live each season as it passes; breathe the air,
drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resignyourself to the inuences of each.
Henry David Thoreau
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