86’d by Grant Perry

In the morning bad news rings good morning on the telephone to remind me of what my dreams had ushered me to forget. I ask you what you dreamed about and you said that I had died and gone to hell, and logically you died to be with me. Only, hell was actually a business center food court and when you saw me again, I was waiting in line for coffee.

Early afternoon fuzz washes over facts and bleeds into an indoor dream state of lemon bars and creamy coffee and leftovers from last night, fry them up in oil they taste even better. By 3 I see you smiling but there is still pain in your eyes. Come on, let’s watch a movie. No, it has to be a movie neither of us have seen! Tangled on the couch in a comfy knot of limbs, I watch the light from the screen flicker across your face. I turn away once you notice, telling myself that this, right here and now, is the moment I will remember. I actually probably won’t, sorry. It’s nothing personal I just can’t be sure when the fog will clear.

At 5 I need to feel something so I beg you to dye my hair blue. Temporary, I remind you. I need to get a job after all of this. We fantasize about dream jobs until I get sad. If I go permanent and have to become a desert drifter and rob a bank to make ends meet, do you promise you'll do it with me? We'll split the cash and buy a place with big windows so you can sleep better. You say this room is too stuffy, so we can open those big windows and you'll sleep better.

The sun sets and we wash coffee from the mugs just to fill them with wine as the dining room becomes a dance floor and our phones die on the counter. I ran out of canvases and I can’t go to the store for more so I paint on your face instead. By 10 pm I see no sadness in your eyes and we cry until we become dizzy in the echo of our own laughter. Tell me I’m yours and I’ll sing it right back. Turn off the news, baby, we’ll be fine on our own.

by Audrey

further reading

by Nikola Jocic

Isolation breeds nostalgia

For a crowded bus
surfing the aisles with strangers
that you inherently love
because they too fall off balance
at each
           stop,
brush your body and shrug

For coffee shops and stops
with lines
circling around tables of
families with babies
            with innocence

For a concert that you were never sure you wanted to see-
and still aren’t
even though
they’re on their final act
and your lower back is sweaty from jumping
to the drum beat
and your heart is racing from
eye contact with a curly haired prospect and $4 BudLites

For a city street on a Saturday morning,
waking
crowded
hopeful
walking slow but talking fast
about evening plans,
                        outfits,
                                    cocktails and crushes 

For sweaty, heart racing classes
            Surrounded by people you innately care for
because they too devote too much time to a business
because we’re in love with the owners and sweating onto a floor
that’s rarely cleaned

Finally,
For kissing someone you met just 3 hours before
because they put their hands on your hips
and you moved together
            and you drank tequila
                        from the generous bartender
and you felt sexy
and curious
about someone under the haze of cigarette smoke and anticipation

Now,
now we cringe at the concept of public transit
we order coffee from a front door, accepted by gloved fingers
we play music too loud in our small apartment
and close our eyes so we don’t see the couch we’ve sat in every night for weeks
we walk in empty streets and no longer
smile at strangers
we watch virtual classes with pushed aside tables and worn out yoga mats
we kiss princes and fantasy lovers at night
            with our eyes closed and covers drawn

But,
we hold hope in our hands and
a violet purple,            
            still tragically devoted love in our hearts
for the world as it once was

Isolation breeds nostalgia and
            gratitude for knowing how it once was

by Alayna Hutchinson

I run an uber arty limited edition music label in California, called Time Released Sound...and I can be found here...and here...

I've attached here a selection of the hand altered, vintage record jackets that I did for one version of a recent vinyl release from a Polish trio called, Bastarda. It's dark, medieval clarinet music!

Colin

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