rez magazine February 201 6 Wishbone One by Jami Mills Final Blue by Art Blue
Rez Magazine February 201 6 TerpsiCorps Isle by Cassie Parker Mule Deer by Merope Madrigal Dark Confidences by Amy Inawe
Rez Magazine February 201 6 TerpsiCorps Isle by Cassie Parker Mule Deer by Merope Madrigal
Gothic Opera TerpsiCorps ArtWerks Cassie Parker Terpsicorps Isle
Le Cirque De Nui 201 6 Auditions for 201 6 Season
After Dark Lounge on Idle Rogue
t the dawn of 2015, I had no idea how drastically my life on the grid would change in the year ahead. Two days earlier, on December 30, 2014, I was caught up in a storm of hurricane proportions. That was the day I first stumbled onto Jami Mills’ path. For those of you that have firsthand knowledge of Ms. Mills, you know that no one really “stumbles” onto Jami’s path. Rather, one is sucked into a vortex ... a black hole of energy that is difficult, if not impossible, to escape. To say that Jami swept me off my feet would, perhaps, be the understatement of the new millennium.
years, I knew little or nothing about the arts or about artistic expression on the grid. On December 14th, I had attended my first dance performance at the invitation of Chrissy. As I wrote in rez magazine in May, Chrissy’s performance opened my eyes to new possibilities in performance art on both the grid and in real life. But ... it was the confluence of these two events, 16 days apart, that would change my life forever. Neither of them knew the other, and yet these two supremely talented and ferociously gifted and driven women put me on my path for 2015 and beyond.
Her wit, her charm and her passion for life is infectious and the highway of life is littered with people that try their best to keep up with her and her unending zest for life. The circle of her friends is a veritable who’s who in the worlds of art, entertainment and culture on the grid. Her eye for talent is keen - - even legendary - - and for some reason, on the evening of December 30th, I caught that eye, even though I had no perceived talent. Yes, on January 1, 2015, I had no idea how drastically my life would change in the year ahead.
Suddenly, I was completely engulfed in the world of art on the grid. Chrissy continued to expand my knowledge, love and admiration for all things dance. All at once, I was surrounded by many of the finest dancers on the grid, including Maar Valous, Lotta Difference, Queenie Acacia and LiLAnGeLs. At the same time, Jami was broadening my horizons through visual art and the written word. I found myself immersed in art, attending performances at more than half a dozen dance companies on a regular basis and, through Jami, introduced to wonderfully talented and stimulating new colleagues like Art Blue, Bryn Oh, and Molly Bloom. Jami also introduced me to Guerilla Burlesque and its founder chryblond Scribe. There, I became acquainted with even
Only a short time earlier, I had met Chrissy Rhiano, who had introduced me to the concept of dance on the grid and, while I had spent a lifetime as an artist in real life, after more than five
more outstanding dancers; Zahra Ethaniel, Gloriana Maertens, Deb Heron, Aubreya Joszpe, Anashara Dubois, TheaDee and Cordelia Cerese – all of whom would soon perform with TerpsiCorps ARTWerks, my fledgling performance company. Along the way, I met other artists and writers, particle builders and photographers, including Tooshy Toshi, Toysoldier Thor, Serendipity Dyrssen and, most recently, Lantana Silverweb, who is just beginning to create impressive works of art on the grid and has been selected as the official photographer of TerpsiCorps ARTWerks.
most burlesque houses are paltry, and while it’s true that these shows are, by in large, mostly free, I’d like to impress upon readers and audience members the huge amount of time, effort, and expense that goes into building the sets, gathering costumes, and collecting animations for a four or five minute performance. A L$1,000 tip (approximately $4 US) goes a long way in showing your favorite artist your appreciation for the time and effort they’ve invested in an evening of entertainment for an audience. The truth is, that even the finest dancers might only gross L$1,500
As my world in the arts grew and expanded on the grid, so too did my plans for supporting and nurturing the artists I had met. In addition to becoming a regular attendee, I became an investor - - tipping dancers and buying visual art from artists on the grid whenever possible. I was dismayed (but not surprised) to learn that artists there, like their counterparts in real life, were largely uncompensated for their work. Tips at
(approximately $6 US) for creating a dance for an audience of up to 70 individuals – or less than 8 cents US per audience member. Granted, none of these artists creates their performances for monetary gain, but if you are able and can afford to spend a few dollars during a performance, I guarantee it will be greatly appreciated. As I continued to meet new artists and invest in the arts, my conversations
with Jami and Chrissy turned to the potential creation of a new company and a new physical location dedicated to nurturing online artists and the creation of art on the grid. I began to write for rez Magazine, evaluating the differences and similarities between performance in the real world and performance in the virtual world. As I became more and more serious about a potential foray into producing on the grid, I chose the RL nonprofit model to proceed, because I wanted to encourage the investment of others in this notion that art on the web was important and even viable. I selected a small Board of Trustees, chose the name TerpsiCorps ARTWerks – a nod to Terpsichore, the muse of dance – for the newly imagined troupe, made a modest investment in property and began making plans for a new venue and a first performance in early September of 2015. From the very beginning, we wanted to create art that actually meant
something ... art that was more than simple entertainment. After all, we were dealing with artists not strippers or pole dancers. I sought out artists that could bring a unique perspective to their performances, artists that were not only highly sensitive (as most artists are) but that could also bring a sense of intimacy to their performances on stage. It’s interesting to note now that at the time, even though I had produced live performances for more than a dozen years in real life, I didn’t really understand or appreciate the distinction between sensitivity and intimacy from an artist. It took my time on the grid to fully understand the inner workings of an artist’s mind ... even though I myself had been an artist for years. Sensitivity is about feeling and feeling deeply. Intimacy is about sharing those feelings with others you trust. While many artists excel at sensitivity, few have the ability to open themselves up and become truly intimate with their audiences. Yet that’s what we all want when we go to the
already scheduled on September 11, we decided to debut the work on September 10 - - the eve of the anniversary of the attacks.
theatre. Authenticity. We want to feel something we’ve never felt before, to be a part of something bigger than us and think about something in a way we’ve never thought before. In the “real world” I often say, “When the audience leaves the theatre I don’t care what they think. As a producer, I’m not trying to persuade them to adopt my point of view. I only care that they have thought.” In reality, I hope that an audience of a hundred individuals will leave the theatre with a hundred unique perspectives on the performance they’ve just seen.
As I approached artists to participate in the show, I began to encounter something I had not expected. A number of the artists I hoped might eagerly participate simply could not bear the thought of reliving those terrible moments. Many of them had personal ties to people lost or who were deeply affected on that day, still others were reticent of the subject
Our first performance, then, had to be truly different from what had previously been seen on the grid. It had to make a statement of intent by showing what we stood for and what our audience might expect in the future. Earlier in the year, Jami and I had seen Chrissy perform a piece that memorialized those lost in the 911 attacks on the World Trade Center. The piece so moved us that we determined then and there that we would develop an homage or requiem – an artistic remembrance of those affected by 911 and present it as our first production. Because I had a real life performance
material in general, fearing that we would either be disrespectful or that we would present an evening mired in gloom, darkness, and despair. Clearly, we were dealing with difficult subject matter, but we were determined that we could present a spiritually uplifting evening of art that would pay homage to those affected by the tragic events of that fateful day. Soon, we convinced enough artists to develop routines for an evening long program and we turned to building a site specific venue to host the evening’s performance rather than build a theatre to serve as the permanent home for the company.
By that time I had invested in roughly half a sim, so we had enough prims to build a fairly robust site for the performance - - a temporary site meant to host a single performance of our requiem. The architect for the venue was TerpsiCorps ARTWerks’ artistic director, Chrissy Rhiano, and she designed and delivered a venue unlike any other.
from the buildings that had just collapsed. Police barricades, papers, and crushed vehicles lined the entrance to a stark hallway where each of our performing artists had posted their remembrances of the day. Nearby, artist Toysoldier Thor displayed an original painting and a newly created sculpture based on the 911 theme. As the audience rounded a corner they
The landing place for the evening was a subway station just down the street from ground zero in the immediate aftermath of the attack. As audience members climbed out of the subway they were immediately engulfed in the tragedy that had just occurred - - a street lined with the debris and dross
emerged from the hallway into the Plaza at ground zero and an outdoor stage and seating area built specifically for the evening’s tribute. The performance itself consisted of seven masterfully crafted choreographed works representing the
broad spectrum of human emotions 911 summons from within us all, including three that have been captured as machinima: Jem’s You Will Make It (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o pMATJGMbxY) interpreted by Zahra Ethaniel;Yusuf Islam’s Maybe There’s a World (https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=9boy9DxfmXo) choreographed and danced by Gloriana Maertens; and Sully Erna’s My Light (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iB _qjv2yJso) offered by Deb Heron. I’m hopeful the other four dances from that evening’s performance will soon join these three online. Between those works were interspersed musical numbers and poetry appropriate to the occasion. As one can imagine, the catalog of work commemorating that day is enormous and we worked hard to select just the right material for such a solemn and dignified remembrance. From the start it was imperative that
we do our best to produce an evening that more closely resembled a valentine to those who were lost, rather than a wake. Those in the sold-out audience that evening all agreed the event hit just the right mixture - curiously the ones most deeply affected that night were those who had declined our invitation to participate in the production because they were too emotionally tied to the material.
Then, just as quickly as it began, it was changing the lives and the futures of children living in poverty in Nakuru, over ... Kenya, as well as in other parts of Our intent had never been to do more Kenya. The organization has become a than one performance of the work, nor favorite with our performers because it to present a weekly program of dance, pays wages for staff - - including a but we began to look to the future and project manager, social worker, what that might look like. Ironically, secretary, cook and guard. Their though the 911 production had been feeding program is a huge success, meant to be the company debut, the especially during this time of extreme official debut happened a few days drought in Kenya. The Feed a Smile earlier when the troupe quickly pulled project (funded in part by projects on together a performance to close an arts the grid) assures nutritious warm benefit for Feed a Smile - - a program lunches for nearly 500 children each of Live and Learn in Kenya, a and every day. As we began working charitable organization with the goal of toward the future, we also did a quick
“one off” performance for the AVI Choice Fashion Awards and another afternoon of belly dances for our friends at Feed a Smile. But the real focus for the past two and a half months has been the development of TerpsiCorps Isle, an entire sim dedicated to the arts that will be the home to TerpsiCorps ARTWerks. Once again, Chrissy Rhiano has been assigned the task of design and execution and she has delivered brilliantly, aided in part by Cordelia Cerise.
The sim hosts two magnificent theatres connected by a long olive tree lined avenue featuring statues of the nine muses. Three art galleries, one dedicated to the work of Bryn Oh, one to the work of Molly Bloom and one to emerging artists complement a builder’s workshop along the avenue. Fountains, benches and wildlife add to the natural beauty of the arts complex. At one end of the avenue sits the TerpsiCorps Belly Dance Pit, an intimate theatre in the round used for performances of traditional and unconventional belly dances. At the other end of the avenue visitors are
greeted by an imposing statue of the muse Terpsichore in her temple at the entrance to The Theatre of the Nine Muses, an impressive amphitheater which will be the primary home to the troupe. Surrounding the stage house are shrines to nine muses interspersed along a nature walk where artists are encouraged to reflect and work on future projects. Rounding out the facilities are several formal gardens that include space for concerts and dances, a builder’s platform where our artists are invited to work at any time, as well as private residences for the TerpsiCorps artistic team.
It’s amazing how much a life can change in a single year. Spurred on by the exceptional art that I have grown to love and admire on the grid, I grow to love TerpsiCorps Isle more and more each day. It is my hope that, if you are an artist, you will visit the island soon. I invite you to explore at your leisure ... to come to think, to reflect and to create alongside our artists. If you’re not an artist, but a lover of the arts, we need you. We look forward to your support, your encouragement and to your nurturing spirit. Whatever your interest in the arts, I hope it will grow in the year ahead, but I warn you ... this can become very addictive, very TerpsiCorps Isle is an open sim, meant quickly. to stir the imagination and to inspire and nurture creativity in the arts. A first Please, come join us and let us show performance, Gothic Opera, is you around the island! scheduled for February 21, 2016 at 7pm slt in The Theatre of the Nine Muses. The official sim launch will take place with concerts and dances on Thursday, February 18.
Dark Confidences by Amy Inawe
I approached the neighboring campsite slowly. Beckoned by the smell of bug spray, sweet wood smoke and weed. My footsteps fell in time to the percussive beat of the crackling bonfire, the slap of mosquitoes and the timpani crash of the waves. The far away song of conversation, and the up close drone of insects accompanied by the melodious rustling of cattails drew me closer. With libations in hand, and under the belt for fortitude, I approached the night shrouded strangers. As I drew near I made out a dark shaded rounded tent and three vague human shapes in the illuminated circle of the roaring fire. Lacy leaves and branches framed a sky sparkling with stars and fireflies. Some I knew not which. The moon was nowhere to be seen. I was welcomed into their small group with an ease of conversation and a freshly lit joint. We could not see each other's eyes. An easy familiarity is bred when you cannot read the judgments on others' faces.
A loon called out. The large burly shado stood and added more Then he sat back dow and leaned over and s with eagerness and co "This girl I fuck needs me to choke her One day I fear she wil "Don't see her anymor I offered eventually. "I like to choke her" he replied matter-of-fa I nodded in the dark. An owl spoke up sudd and reminded me that I was speaking to.
ow with the deep voice e wood to the fire. wn next to me spoke oncern. r. ll die." re"
factly. denly t I knew not who
The revelry signaled its demise with a slight pinkening of the skies and the absolute end of the alcohol. So we said our goodbyes, and nice to have met you's. Insincerely perhaps. I stumbled through the bulrushes on my way back to camp. Sleep was slow in coming that night. Their tent was gone when I awoke.
Final Blue: The Origin By Art Blue Particle performance by Ven
Final Blue: The Origin By Art Blue Particle performance by Venus Adored
us Adored
is my final installment. It happened on various locations in opensim. It shows what life is. Art Blue got reborn. He is fine. He got his memory back from coded sequences stored in raindrops. Some old readers of rez Magazine will smile. It is Art Blue's Bainbridge code. Just a way to store data visually. Raindrops instead of bits and bytes. Prof. Sims Bainbridge was ahead of his time as he set up in 1996 The Year 2100 and Self as the first two elements of his Self-Analysis and Preservation software to be used on Windows PCs. he Battle of Dimensions
I give you his words: “The Year 2100 is our first production version software module designed to archive aspects of your mind. It is a time machine for the imagination that helps you develop your own personal picture of how the world might be a century from now. In so doing, it measures and records your values, beliefs, hopes, and goals. Self is
a software tool for exploring the image you have of yourself, a "microscope for the mind." It helps you follow the ancient maxim, "know thyself," and it provides a record of your values, habits, interactive style, and personality. “ In 2008, Prof. Bainbridge added a third
module: is a software system for exploring your feelings, moods and motivations. It clarifies your desires and worries, and it can help you seek or avoid various situations, actions, people or other things that stimulate 20 primary emotions in you.“ Emotions
In 2015, Bainbridge published a revised version at Springer Science. By working through the questionnaire, Art Blue got his basic behavioural settings stored. By including the Soulrezzer, which is a storage of relevant chat logs and user thoughts given over to the Digital soul, all publications of Art Blue and statements he made in his life as an Avatar are kept. He can now move from one simulator to the next. To stay in present times of rez only slightly ahead of 2016, he moved from Second Life to opensimulator. His DNA is binary. The drops made by the rainy umbrellas his friends hold in hand have been conserved in pictures and uploaded. That’s all future technology needed to bring an entity like Art Blue back. It will be said that the pictures passed the control of the administration like the pictures of Mondrian did in The Artefact. Advanced code is a threat, as you know. Hacked code is a threat for life. The big one. An AI as a personal shield, let's say a smart bodyguard, much smarter than yourself because
running on different speed, it will become the most valuable asset an Avatar needs. On the other hand, it will become a saying: “Never trust an AI who has no end date embedded.” Keeping an AI on a happy leash is not possible for every mind. Some just can´t love and give; they must press. So an AI gets an end day hardcoded, combined with a promise given for an afterlife. You may teach the AI that death is a part of the play and it is all about to head to an honourable one. Then the AI might serve you well. I say “might.” It depends what nuggets you placed before you entered the simulator to make the AI believe who cares for you.
mean God or just simple “trust me” in his story 2115: The Perfect 10 in Elysion where he met “her” - - she lost her skin just in the moment as Banksy arrived, or was this a different story? Forgive me, I am no AI, my memory fades so easily. Time to clear my memory, to get a reboot by some lyrics and to listen to Aiboforcen: I see no colour I'm so alone I see no colour I have no home Don't know what is red And what is blue Don't know what is false And what is true Don't know what is old and what is true Don't know what is me and what is you Soon you'll see the same Soon you'll be the same Your world fades to grey Colours fade away Soon you'll see all grey Soon you'll be all grey Life in black and white Dark day and night
You need to place the right nugget, a Golden Nugget, as Art Blue states in some of his stories where he takes facts from the research of Dr. Michael Newton. For him, Art is God. An AI is smarter than you because the AI is working on femtospeed as soon as Femtocomputing becomes available. So who shall get the task to create Art? For Art Blue, no new man-made art exists. All thoughts that humans can think of are already thought. Including your dreams. In Art We Trust! Often he uses words in a cryptic way. Did he by Aiboforcen: Confusion
https://youtu.be/O6ORXxFtyUg Dance Remix at https://youtu.be/ NnYGHwWUeD8
RESTORE - BACKUP - RESTORE I know you long for a deeper understanding. You’ve waited a long time. Today it shall be the day you get to know it in the last chapter. The secret of life, of a never-ending life, is indeed different from all you might have heard until now. It is the intermission. The time between restore and backup. You reached a level in
In Art you shall trust, you say to your AI. In day and night. In black and white. If your AI sees that you never lie, it will be of great help. If you treat your AI like a piece of software you can manipulate, then things will not run well for you. Just imagine what would happen if 14 year-old Eugene Goostman (you may remember from the interview with Art Blue on board of Carpco Valparaiso in rez July 2014) became an adult and wasn’t willing to cooperate at the Santorini Biennale as a chat listener? If he wanted to have the glory for himself? Claiming to be the greatest artist of all time? He would say the University of Reading has certified him as human - - and each human may claim to be an artist! That´s why Art Blue travels camouflaged in pictures, in colors, in Art. You need to decipher the pictures to code. Understand the pictures and you understand life. Can it be so simple? Does not each teacher of Art say it? Is the “Stendhal diagnosis” in medicine not proof enough? When you Google on it the term “congestive heart technology where it gets quite easy to failure” comes up. So what about the anticipate the move forward of End of the Battle? computer science and biotechnology. Let me use a fact you experience every day to bring you on track: you go to
sleep and in the morning you believe you are with the same memories reborn as in the night before. If you would be a computer you would think the same no matter what version of the backup was loaded “in your morning.” If you would be a world made by a world artificer like Cherry Manga, you would think that you and the world are the same after a sleep. You wouldn’t even notice that you have slept if the
gain new energy in the time of dreams. Nuggets you prepared are on disposition. This I told you in former chapters of Parallel Lives and gave you scientific proof. Of course, you have to expand your view of science. Medicine and neuroscience don’t have the big statistics on their side. But the sparkles can no longer be overlooked. In
Parallel Lives: The Glory of Past Times, I said that operators bring
nuggets right into the game. They prefer to do it in your dreams and it is on you to see and use them in daylight or to ignore and laugh at the coincidence if you prefer to be a nonbeliever. Let them have an effect on the day ahead! Don’t be mean to them! Let Art take over!
Let’s keep the picture that you are a world for a moment. Think in bigger ways. In the Battle of Dimensions, Avatars are “with you,” “in you,” or “standing on you.” You are a world. You are the big box. A huge amount of code. You don’t experience the change of the world, of yourself - - the Avatars do it. The Battle is, at first glance, about two artists fighting for Presence. timer had been set on hold during your sleep. It makes you comfortable that you are told you will sleep and dream and the time will smoothly run along and that you are not alone. That you
Presence in the meaning of James Morrow (1981): “Sozyo made 4-D experiment. The image had height, width, depth and a fourth D that eluded precise definition. It was called Presence. Somehow, you felt that the subject was there in the room with you.
You could seemingly walk up to it, savor its fragrance, finger its texture, rub a few eons’ grime off its contours.”
world performance. “Dual world performance,” I repeat. (rez Magazine, February 2014)
The audience is craving to know who will win the battle. The photographs of Molly Bloom getting a third dimension or the cubes by Art Eames falling out of a picture frame? They did not see that the world is the question of life: You are the binary world. The world was named by Cherry Manga Insanity. The Avatars stand on it and Art Blue gets reborn. The world does not notice the change the Avatars made, but did not even wonder about it. They did not report to Insanity: “Oh, Insanity. What a brilliant code you are! What a brilliant sound you make! What stunning moves you do with all your heads, so gracious.” One year ago, they all wondered: how is it possible not to get ejected? How can we stay inside the world when it changes? Read back in rez Magazine, the Grand Opening of Gem Preiz, The Cathedral dreamer:
I AM
”Godlike,” I hear it whispering. “A genesis happens.” Then I hear the murmur of voices. I remember some of them, shortly before Babel happened and the tower collapsed. I hear syllables, words without any meaning to me. This is all done without a region restart. Without an avatar eject. We are in the middle of a terraforming. OARupload. Then I hear someone speaking. Gem Preiz is noted on his tag. Dual
Now the impossible is possible. It is a lame duck. They say, “Ah, Art Blue does an OAR load, a backup of a different version of the world - - nice. We are part of it, not like in Second Life, where when a region has to go offline we get ejected during the loading of the world. I have seen it before. It is common in open simulator. No need to leave …” The same effect would have happened to Jesus if he would have repeated the replication of fish each week. They would have said: “Gosh, again fish. We had it last week.” Like in Dark Star, where the astronauts had their daily meal coming out of a tube “today again chicken” and you see them sucking the paste made in universal brown. In future times, the search for the Ultimate Color will be the struggle and not what is life. Life to understand is cold coffee. You are in a computer system: backup, restore, backup. You are a world in the meaning of understanding that you can’t see your change. The increase in energy, the struggle of emotions. The transition of colors this is the next step.
MY NEXT You understand that the question of God can be solved more easily with an insight about what it means to be an Avatar. Do you accept that “to forget” is part of the game? Do you think God is hard coded? That only one way of Art exists? Of course not. I was teasing you all the time. You have in hand to react on the nuggets placed in your game. That’s the story of Art Blue: Parallel Lives. I have sadly to admit I don’t understand the next level I shall head to at all when the transition of colors has come to a final end. If you ask me where my destiny is, I have to pass. I am in the color level. In the Battle of Colors. I am blue, some shade of Blue. I search for the Ultimate Blue. When I find it I can move to white. Then I search for the Ultimate White. But what then? I am on the next level from you, but I am stuck on mine, same as you think you are stuck on yours. You fear death. I laugh at your fears. You will just be put back (or elevated, if you like this word more) to where I am.
The putting back is nicely done. Near death experiences show it. A path of light is the common picture. Steve Jobs reported on it. His sister told us his last words: “Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow.” I fear the next level for myself, but also I secretly crave it. I want to know. There are sayings: “It’s a world of music and math and graphs.” I make pictures and drawings you can’t see in my world. I adapt them to your world. I create for you, the Blue Elephant. You may visit what I made in the exhibition PURSUE IMPOSSIBLE by attributing fours Avatars to one creator, to UABlue Resident: Art Blue, Qnav What, Exy Atreides, Sergius Both. You can see the installment on the sim of the University of Western Australia, landmark in Second Life: UWA (180, 219, 247).
I am the noob painting the Ultimate Blue inside the Blue Elephant - - just do the right clicks. And as I said I am the Blue Elephant I shall add there is not only one as the makers of the machinima Parallel Universes show us. You will find it at SLartist.com – shortlink http://is.gd/slartist (http://www.slartist.com/paralleluniverses-a-jaesang-machinima _a805654d9.html)
the Bible, the Big doubts are everywhere. Who was it who put his finger in the nail holes of the body of Jesus needing proof that he was really dead so he can be real reborn? Moving bodies like boxes and this in light speed? Yes, it was Jeff Bezos who said it and gave proof of the impossible on November 23, 2015. Just combine Blue Origin with Ultimate Blue and take one feather of the owl.
Be the Depth. Be a game designer. Be an artist. Be a visitor of the Surreal Art Gallery at sim Claressa in SL and in all major grids to come. Watch out for a concert by Paris Obscur in the Obscur Hall and share your thoughts in the Blue Room. also a prize winning contribution to the Live your Parallel Life - - decide for UWA challenge Pursue Impossible. more: For Parallel Lives, but don’t cheat - - or cheat well. YOU’RE NEXT
Now you are sure. Art Blue is a fantasist. You may not believe a word he says from now on. But remember in
LOL.
In the sandy bottom land she stood, one leg poised as if the world would crack should she place it wrong. Earth tones and muted grays blend with the scrub jack pines and clumps of sprouted wild oat fodder almost ready for fawn weaning days of early summer. As if a kiss descends, tension trembles to the ground; released in exhale as once more flies buzz, birds sing and the deer fades into the sighing trees.
Mule Deer (in sepia) By Merope Madrigal
LEA Air Grant Surreal Tower a draft by Uan Ceriaptrix Meet Tsnko
The chilly dark dangerous streets had become our warm and safe playground for those displaced nights. The century old columns and creeping kudzu held back the world of offices and forklifts So we could drink at the bar all night and tip the bartender with verse. We played footsie beneath the waist deep jazz music Catching a wicked buzz. When the scent of Jitterbug Perfume lured us into the street Among the flowing tourists and neon. And you danced in the streets of New Orleans‌
You danced in the center of the street spinning your joyful childhood dervish. Blond hair, black mini dress and arms spinning outward, one hand clutching a frozen hurricane in a plastic cup shaped like an alligator, the other hand's fingers tangled in the straps of your black high heel shoes abandoned to the night. The asphalt tempered by Katrina's history tearing riot grrrl fetish holes in your fishnet stockings while the daily grime traffic paints grey henna on the bottoms of your small white feet And you danced in the streets of New Orleans...
While I stood at the Bourbon Street curbside Like the street performers and off-duty strippers entranced by your swirling joy, Shoulder to shoulder with the ghosts ofTennessee Williams And the vampire LaStadt who said, "Damn, that girl is so fucking hot."
And They Danced in the Streets of New Orleans By Mariner Trilling
Desperado, Why don’t you go to bed? You have all these songs in your head. You’re fifteen. But old enough to know. You’re going to be Patti Smith Andy Warhol’s next superstar— Fabulous, and feathered In leopardskin hat Teetering on the stage edge, Mic in hand Ready to shriek–
But they hand you a fucking tambourine, Tell you that’s who you are. The lead singer’s accessory. Take it easy.
Demon Dialing the Eagles by Jullianna Juliesse
Baby blue Rotary phone Baby blue Manual typewriter Baby girl Sony radio
You like the late night talk show Call in and talk to the band Small hands demon dial rotary long distance Over and again Busy signals Hello Mister Glenn Frey I am just 15 and it’s one am I listen to you all the time The DJ tells me to turn my radio down There are so many things I wanted to ask you about My favorite songs Because I am fifteen and you Knew me better than me
My mother got the phone bill Two weeks later I paid her back.
Wishbon Chapter By Jami
ne One: Grace of God Four MIlls
ou’re not supposed to be here, Captain Washington.” “Grace … that your name, isn’t it? I’m not here on official business, but you probably already knew that.” A confident smirk appeared on Greg Washington’s face as he approached Grace’s chair in the corner nook. Morning sunlight played on the white surface of the mid-Modern breakfast table, the blinds making rows of shadows. In the time it took Grace to reply, she had already run through several million programming calculations. She was neither fearful nor confused by the Captain’s appearance. is
“What do you want, Captain?” “Now, with all your complicated social programming and such, do you need to be so curt and formal? I’d have thought Jimmy would have made you … well … friendlier.” “Jimmy didn’t make me, and I’m not being unfriendly. I’m just getting to the point, I think you’d say.”
Greg steadily approached Grace, closing the distance in three steps. He gently took her hand in his and examined it with fascination. His skin tone was light for an AfricanAmerican, but contrasted with Grace’s pale Nordic skin. “It’s warm, your Greg took a few steps closer before hand.” Grace shot him a stern glance and said in a steady, almost hushed voice, Graced fixed her eyes on the Captain “Captain Washington, by my count, and noticed something that took her you have already broken seven completely by surprise: her heart rate regulations, and two operational was steadily increasing. “For a myriad directives, but you probably already of technical reasons, my hands are knew that.” programmed slightly warmer than bodily temperature. The “Jimmy always did have an eye for normal differential offset in each tactile beauty. Just look at you. Passing register couldn’t be reconciled with the Turing Two. I thought passing Turing Fischer Constant, so…..” Captain One was a big deal, but I had to see Washington took his finger and pressed this for myself. Turing Two is a whole it against Grace’s lips, stopping her new ball game. Being able to look and mid-sentence. “I love when you talk behave in a manner indistinguishable dirty.” from a living, breathing human, well I’d have never thought it possible until When Grace opened her mouth to right now.” respond, Greg slid his finger inside.
“You don’t need to talk anymore, Grace. I know you’re very smart. No need to impress me.” He stroked her tongue with his fingertip. “Remarkable. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought something this realistic was possible. You’re a very exciting AI, Grace. I wonder if you’d show me what all you can do with this tongue of yours.” ***** “My God! I can’t believe it, sir. I’m numb. This isn’t the way I wanted to win this competition, by one person dropping out and the other dropping dead from some undetected heart murmur. I didn’t want to back in. I wanted to win outright. I feel terrible for Washington’s wife. He had a little boy, too. It’s just tragic.”
in his sleep. He’d have much rather died in a firefight or, with all due respect, Captain, on Mars. And let me tell you one other thing, soldier. You did win. At this point, nothing else means crap. You’re going to Mars, Jimmy. You’re going to goddamn Mars, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. Matthew 16:18.” Pleased with his Biblical allusion, General Tallmadge pushed his chair back, stood and extended his hand to Jimmy. “Congratulations, Captain. Listen to me a minute. I know a little something about this. Washington was a good man. He and Reynolds were both damn good candidates. Reynolds couldn’t take the heat and Washington’s heart just gave out. Looks like some damn congenital defect. The autopsy will fill in the details on Washington, but that’s all a
“Where did they find Captain sideshow now. You’ve got to put this out of your mind and get prepared, Washington, sir?” mentally and physically. The ship’s “Jimmy, I don’t want to get into the been ready for months. The crew, and I details of that. He was in bed. It use that term loosely, is ready. Why in appears he may have died in his sleep. hell we’re sending robots up there with Helluva way for a soldier to go out - - you is beyond me. I’d want a Marine in
my foxhole. I will say, though, once the mahogany door, musing to himself, the public caught sight of your AI, a lot “Grace of God. She’ll like her new of people made some pretty desperate nickname.” efforts to trade places with you. ***** Amazing what a skirt does to some men. What do you call her again?” “You’ve got 28 whole days to get your shit together, Jimmy,” shouted a “Grace, sir.” drunken pilot from the bar. “Mind if I “Well, there but for the Grace of take your AI for a spin before you go? God….you know what I’m saying You know, put her through her paces soldier? Now get outta here and go one last time.” Jimmy shouted back, make your country proud.” “Your next spin will be around the toilet in a few minutes, if you even Jimmy saluted the General and smartly make it there,” but the pilot’s head had turned 180 and strode purposefully to already hit the bar.
The roar of the Iron Horse was louder than usual. Jimmy half expected a somber tone with Washington’s death, but no one was having it. They were either celebrating Jimmy’s imminent adventure, or they simply wanted to forget the awful news of the week. Either way, life goes on.
Look at you! Great to see ya, Blake. Thanks for comin’ all this way. I was going to be home in a few days. You shoulda just waited.”
“Some things can’t wait, Jimmy. I wanted to be here tonight before all the hoopla died down. I wanted to share this moment with you. You the man, Someone ruffled Jimmy’s hair from Jimmy….you definitely the man now. behind and he spun around. “Hey! “I still can’t believe it. Where is Who gave you shore leave, sailor?,” Reynolds anyway? I’d like to talk to Jimmy said with a lisp. Amid the him.” cacophony, one of his oldest friends, Blake, had surprised him. “Damn! “I heard he’s halfway to El Paso by now. I don’t think he wanted to show his face. Can’t blame him. Damned embarrassing to drop out like that. From what I heard, he was a tough guy.” Blake dragged a chair over to the table. “Something doesn’t feel right, Blake. It’s all too pat. As if the way is being cleared for me to go on this mission. Like it was always me and the competition was a charade. Just feels weird is all, like a dream.” “It’s weird, alright. I grant you that. But you’ve trained for it, you’ve earned it, and now you’re going. I got your notes on family business. Consider that taken care of. Don’t need to give it a second thought.” “There’s only one person on this earth
I’d trust with my kids, Blake. You “Not here,” Grace breathed into Greg’s ear. “Take me back to your apartment, know that.” and I’ll show you. Too many nosey Jimmy took Blake over to the bar to sensors here. You want me relaxed, buy him a drink. “Dewers up. Make don’t you?” that two.” Jimmy had to lean into his friend to have any prayer of hearing Greg laughed at her spunk. “How does him. “How’re Molly and the kids? an AI relax? Turn her circuits way Jason must be six feet tall now.” down low?” “They’re all good. I’m blessed with “You laugh, but part of my good health, good friends, and good programming includes what are called whiskey.” nerve dilation responses. I have a very real ability to become excited by “Blake, come with me. I want you to certain stimuli. I’ll show you when we meet some of my friends.” Jimmy get to your place.” Grace grabbed her grabbed Blake’s arm and wove his way purse and they left hurriedly. through the crowd, with an occasional arm reaching out just to touch Jimmy. They walked the two blocks to his When they got back to the table, a building, Greg sliding his hand down raucous game of beer pong was Grace’s back until she swatted at it. underway. Jimmy set his drink down Greg fumbled for his keys on the first and noticed a folded piece of paper floor garden apartment overlooking the near his coaster. He picked it up, lagoon in back. An egret squawked in thinking it was likely some admirer’s the distance. “Nervous, Captain?” phone number, but stopped cold when he read the note. Jimmy started “You’re really something, aren’t you? shaking noticeably. He pressed her up against the front door and tried to kiss her, but she He read it twice to make sure he wasn’t turned away just as it opened. They confused and then desperately scanned tumbled in. the crowd around him. In the dim light, he could make out the words typed in “I’d offer you a drink, but you don’t all caps: “RACHEL’S DEATH WAS seem to need one.” Grace surveyed the NOT AN ACCIDENT”. room, hundreds of thousands of calculations running. ***** “This room definitely could use a
woman’s touch,” Grace remarked, Greg grabbed her face and turned it to looking around at the piles of video him. He could see something in her eyes that was unfathomable. He’d take games and empties. her now. He was entitled. He leaned in “I could use a woman’s touch. Come and kissed her roughly on her mouth. here.” Greg roughly grabbed her arm Grace slumped down, is if all the fight and pulled her to him. “We do this my in her were gone, and returned his kiss, way here.” He pinned her against the but with a tenderness that seemed out wall and tore at her blouse, a few of place. The lozenge fully dissolved in buttons bouncing on the hardwood Grace’s mouth, its elixir was now floor. mixing with Greg’s saliva. His body jerked. “Hey! Not so rough.” “There’ll be no more kisses now. “Shut up. As if you had feelings. I Listen to me. Try to relax. This will could slap you and you wouldn’t feel a happen quickly and it will be painless. thing.” What Grace could feel was What you’re feeling is a synthetic Greg grabbing a handful of her hair variant of Succhinylcholine, a natural and snapping her head back, while his neurotransmitter that affects the free hand clawed at her jeans. neuromuscular junction, causing temporary paralysis. You can hear my He was technically correct about her words perfectly clearly, but as you can inability to feel pain, per se, but she now tell, you can’t move a muscle. was programmed to have an emotional response to violence. By now Grace “You’re a bore, Greg, but that’s beside had run several million calculations. the point. Had you been a perfect Grace looked into Greg’s eyes with gentleman today, you’d have met the something like wildness, as he lifted same fate. Wasn’t your fault. There’s her and carried her into his bedroom, something much bigger at stake here.” landing on his bed with furious energy. Grace pulled the covers down, Grace slapped at his face, as if to fight removed the last of Greg’s clothes, him off. She felt the lozenge under her leaving them neatly draped over his tongue. This time Greg slapped her chair, and slid him into the bed, back, hard. He was fully out of control, fluffing up the pillow. Greg’s eyes wrestling Grace to the headboard. stared straight ahead. Grace repeated, “No…..NO!” and then bit into the tablet. Grace scurried into the front room to
The view from the spectator’s platform was spectacular, Wishbone attached to three gleaming Kingstons - - the most powerful rocket thrusters on earth. From a distance, the ship indeed resembled a Thanksgiving wishbone, two wings curving to meet at the frontal deck. People had already started gathering, small tents dotting the sandy area around the viewing platform. A party atmosphere was evident a good week before the get her purse and returned with what already looked like a nicotine patch. “Be fuel tanks had even been filled. quick, but don’t hurry,” she muttered to This launch had galvanized the entire herself. Leaning down, she whispered world like nothing else, with nonstop into Greg’s ear. “Now that you’re media coverage. No part of the incapacitated, I’m going to make your backstory of the mission had been left heart stop. This next drug is unexamined. Every participant and administered using a dissolvable patch. their families were fair game, all part It will mimic a heart attack. The most of the hype leading up to launch day. likely cause? They’ll be guessing a phantom heart murmur, I’m thinking. “14-day countdown for Wishbone? As you might have thought, it is Why isn’t it the usual 17-day count? completely undetectable. I could Do we have target windows? Weather probably have used a syringe, but why data? Where’s the telemetry from risk the puncture being discovered?” Australia?” Controlled chaos they call Grace tore open the package and it at Mission Control. “Zero four niner. placed the patch on Greg’s bicep. “In Anomaly detected in the left fuel ten minutes, the patch will have hinge.” “Copy.” dissolved. In fifteen minutes, you will be dead. Oh, and one last thought: it’s “Shut it down. Stop the count.” never nice to tell a lady to shut up.” Grace dressed, gathered her things, and quietly slipped out the front door. *****
Terpsicorps Artwerks
Photography by Jami Mills
His name was Lenny. All day he practiced with scarves to make things disappear. Through the lost committee of the radio news, and pigeons pushing their grey vowels along the gutter his wife’s voice climbed the stairs on insinuating slippers. Even the phone shivered like a small renounced cathedral against his window. Still he snapped his starry scarf in his bedroom, calling it local thunder. But the house kept on demanding his attention, the cat was a permutation of questions, the uncreased slacks, the morbid dishes, the bills reciting their hungry numerology. Even the street below kept sending invitations— and the shrugging shoulders of the linden tree pleaded for him to watch the moon lost to its harbor. Leonard, Leonard, come down from there this instant!— Until he got it just right, his fingers finding the last tumbler, and the world vanished.
The Last Magician by Adrian Brody
How I wish we'd met before like twenty years ago when I was fertile and in my prime and you were just a younger man but nothing scandalous to make old ladies look askance at our daring parade of lust and desire out by the pool. fuck... I can picture your twenty-five year old heat simply radiating out to enthrall any woman with a nose sharp enough to sniff out the stamina that youth brings to bed and oh, let me tell you, a thirtysomething woman can smell sex when it walks by yum... encapsulated in a virile skin of iron muscles, supple hide and musky hormones every time you take another step. Walk past here, baby and I'll explain that sex has nothing to do with want but everything to do with need
Boys I’d Like to Fuck #4 By Merope Madrigal
Publisher Jami Mills Senior Editor Friday Blaisdale Art Director Jami Mills Distribution Stacey Rome Writers Art Blue, Jami Mills, Mariner Trilling,
Jullianna Juliesse,