Qlub July 2013
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Transcript of Qlub July 2013
Qlub
July 2013
2
Contents
Gravity by Kelly Clancy ……………………………………………................................……..…3
RE: Interoffice Memos RE: Appropriateness in the
Work Place RE: Suck it Monkeys by Maria Acosta ………....……….………….......4
History in plaid by Brian Isett ……………….……………………………......……….……….6
Point Reyes by Brian Isett .…………………………………………………...…………………..6
Blind Pointillist by Brian Isett ……………………………………...………..………………….6
Caricature of Youth by Brian Isett ………………………………..……………………………7
Retreats by Emily Pinkerton …………………………………………………........………...…..8
Flower Show by Laura Wolfe ………………….………………........………………………..…16
Before Breath by Jane Pettibone Riccobono ……………………………………...............17
Copyright © 2013 by Qlub
Artwork by Kelly Clancy
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Gravity by Kelly Clancy
Of the four fundamental forces in nature, gravity is the weakest. It’s so weak, in fact, that scientists have yet to measure it: it can only be inferred from the motion of the massive bodies it affects. The graviton, the elementary particle thought to mediate the force of gravitation, has never been detected. Reality is constantly thwarting scientists’ expectations of the phenomena: for example, there is a well documented anomaly wherein spacecraft flying by Earth report a brief, inexplicable increase in velocity of 13 millimeters per second. Gravity doesn’t fit within the Standard Model of physics, and by our current understanding, it’s too weak to hold galaxies together as well as it does. Yet, while stars are bound together more tightly than expected for such a frail force, the universe also appears to be rocketing apart, as though repulsed. The constellations, familiar forms since antiquity, will eventually become unrecognizable as the stars composing them dance towards the farthest edges of the sky. Though physicists must force gravity into their equations on faith, our experience of it is inarguable: to most humans, it is the mundane perpetrator of wrinkles and prat falls. We infer it every time we drop a pen or pour milk into our cereal. When a body falls to Earth, it exerts an equal but opposite force on the planet. In 1980 my grandfather jumped from a bridge into the Delaware River. “Jumped, or fell,” the obituary politely reported. Assume his body was a sphere. The center of his mass moved in a straight line through curved space time, tugging–infinitesimally–on Earth's trajectory. He did not hit the water, but the rocky riverbed: atomic forces binding molecules of stone repulsed his descent, creating an inelastic collision wherein the force of impact was absorbed by his frame. The mammalian heart is not well supported within the chest–we might model it as an egg cradled by rubber bands stretched across the rigid ribcage. My grandfather's legs were broken, but he would have lived had his heart not been torn from the soft webbing of arteries stringing it in place. We know from relativity that gravity doesn’t just pull on mass–it pulls on time, too–so, as my grandfather neared the surface of the Earth, time slowed imperceptibly. As he fell, the arch of Ursa Major flattened itself out by one billionth of a degree: gravity, try though it may, cannot hold even stars in place for very long. As he fell, every galaxy in the universe fled farther away from Earth in a mathematical arc that gravitation has no power to correct. My grandfather’s body was discovered the next morning by a motorist; policemen collected the items flung from his pockets on impact. His face unrecognizable, my grandmother refused to believe it was him until an officer produced his rosary. Outside, spring flurries danced, as though suspended midair.
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RE: Interoffice Memos RE: Appropriateness in the Work Place RE: Suck it Monkeys I, Charlie Higgins, am writing you a faithful account of the weeks events leading up to the departure of Margie Kao. I am asking you to grant me this professional courtesy and to take responsibility in your own part. Let’s assume for the sake of this memo that I am a human.. There is a gap of $4,000 between us as well but I experience pain and pleasure like the rest of you. I do notice your comments, scorns, whispers, and looks. I get it. I walk into the room and there I am (for future reference I use the same bathrooms that you do and tagging company property is prohibited). Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to tell grown adults how to act? To people like Stevens who is as old as my father? I wouldn’t have said anything about the Solitaire, but did you really think it was smart to play games on the day of our walk-‐through? I get paid to tell you people that while playing Solitaire may give you a sense of accomplishment using company time and resources for personal amusement is restricted. Apart from the company’s regulations, games, e-‐mail and Internet usage unrelated to work is both distracting and disruptive to our work. Thank you for your attention in this matter. I hate that guy too, but you all have got to start using your common sense and courtesy. For instance, I shouldn’t have to tell you to clean up after yourselves. There is no one here to do that for you. I know you think Jenkins is here to wipe down your tables tops and clean your fridge out -‐ but as janitor his job is to empty the trash cans and clean the floors for the entire building. He is not paid to clean up after you in that individual sense. So please, no more memos about Jenkins and how he is not doing his job. He does his job just fine. I know you are all very creative, but ridiculing company policy and directives is hardly high art. Any 3rd grader can do that. What I fail to see is how you take care of each other and our work environment. There was a time when I really believed in our steady incremental growth. We had those logos made up. I was a different person then. . I see now that can’t happen at a place like this -‐ where we’re all set up against each other. Just look at how many walls and doors separate me from you, listen to how we talk to each other and about our work, smell the sterile paper files and plastic covers, look how stiff we all are. Two days before Marige Kao’s upset and resignation the position of Assistant Production Manager was on the table as you were all aware. I know some of you have been with us for a long time, I know each of your backgrounds and expertise. I know your strengths and weaknesses. I know the value of each of you and the role you play in this company. I hired most of you myself. . And I know you all thought you deserved it -‐ so how was it that I chose Margie over all this talent? Once I saw Margie a while back at the grocery store where I was shopping. I was not in a suit and so I was camouflaged to her as I am sure I would be to most of you. I saw her there with her children and I watched her negotiate food choice. She offered them choices like whole grain cereal or no cereal this week (we’ll just finish the oatmeal we have at home). Or do you guys want apple or more apples? And when she was checking out her daughter said, Mom, how come Jennifer Aniston can’t have one kid or keep a man and Angelina Jolie seems to be having more and more babies with the one man that Jennifer loved? Noticing those magazines for the first time I found myself wanting an answer as well and do you know what she said? She said don’t worry about those people, angel, they don’t need your business. Look at me, this is the person who cares about you, right here. Maybe you think that’s not the way to pick managers, but I am afraid it is that simple. She posses the skills, compassion, and patience. These qualities will make her a good manager. I knew this would be a controversial choice, but this is what makes me a good manager. At her performance review on Tuesday I offered her the job. I could tell that she was surprised by the offer. I could tell you were all surprised. I saw Dennis’ face turn red, I watched Morgan leave the room, I noticed Sharon false smile. At this time Margie had not accepted or declined the companies promotion, but I observed each of
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you pulling on her pigtails, kicking the sand in her face, tripping her in the hall way. Once a beloved college now someone else to you; I could see who you thought she was. I am only a little too familiar with what your brand of hostility feels like, but how she feels it I cannot know. This kind of treatment came as a shock to her. It was during these two weeks a couple of you came in to see me. Donald, the voice of the majority, was troubled by the choice. He made clear to me that he personally did not want the job but that how I went about making choices was “arbitrary and unprincipled.” He claimed many on the staff were disturbed and that I was breaking up the group and bringing down morale. At this point he me aware that one of the staff had it in his mind to go to my superiors. I assured him that that is the prerogative of each staff member and I would not interfere and deal with the consequences. I also assured Donald that involving my supervisors in such a minor concern would only be a nuisance as they approved and were aware of the decision to make Margie Assistant Production Manager. It was at this time that Donald went directly to talk to Margie. This conversation in combination with a weeks worth of scorn was what put Margie over the edge. I don’t know what was said, but I only imagined it went something like this: Donald, the voice of the devil on your shoulder, smells blood, he sense her weakness, he plays with her for a little while. Are you going to take it? I know it would help you out at home. More work for you. In charge of half the department with all the resentment. Isn’t Saundra going into high school next year? Were you expecting something like this? It’s a lot for work for a little more money, but is it worth the trade off? Money for heartaches and bellyaches? Everyone’s problems are your problems now? I am sure happy I didn’t get put in that position. I heard they only came up with the position because they want to make cutbacks elsewhere. I’ll tell you what you couldn’t pay me to take it. Thankless job. Sometime later I pressed her for a response, encouraged her to accept and gave her a deadline. After that you all know what happened, we all saw it. New copy machine parts come on Wednesday. (Thank you for your patience in that matter) After she made alterations to the machine she took her personal belongs and sent a memorable inter-‐office memo. If you happened to open the attachment please have IT come look at your computer and install the latest anti-‐virus program. On top of losing a valuable team player I would also like to say that this incident has attracted even more attention from above. I believe their memo read something like: What the Fuck is Going On Down there Higgins? God damn! Seems the virus affected the entire company. They will be in on Monday to have an overall review and audit of our branch. Each of us will stand on our own. In these difficult economic times attention to our office and our habits couldn’t have come at a worse time. The company is looking for just such an excuse to cutback. They will ultimately make the final decision about our department. Also for future reference interoffice memos are not used in order to communicate personal business but official company business. That’s why were are all here presumably – to work. Blogs and facebooks are for your little manifestos. We are not Jerry Maguire – with a 15-‐paged memos. You do not complete me. I can’t help me or you. Also please note that posting illicit pictures of you and 23-‐year-‐old interns on facebooks looks bad on your resume so to speak. Don’t check it at work and yes it is still considered sexual harassment if you do it online. Everyone is fired, Charlie Higgins Director of Operations
-‐ by Maria Acosta
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History in plaid by Brian Isett
Point Reyes by Brian Isett Cattle and black clouds open fissures on a blonde hill. At sunset the hoof-‐packed trails drip red to the valley. Blind pointillist by Brian Isett In mist, California learns my face.
On northeastern thin blue nights and crosshatched days
the west is sun cut white on blue
sun bleached and worn like memory
in orange or shivering early in maroon
the amount of coffee it takes to live a normal life
cures to root my roots cure to tincture
plaid is a collection of small accidents
pools like California wrinkles
prescribed like the scrub jay chides a neighbor
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Caricature of youth by Brian Isett A gate casts puppeteering shadows deep in autumn. Thin lines spread at the corners of a young man's mouth, drip until his jaw knocks like a wooden nut cracker on his chest, then jump behind a bush. Under one arm, chrysanthemums; the other arm jaggedly aligns to block the sun. Sensing panic, the cemetery whispers his forgotten lines.
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Retreats by Emily Pinkerton
I. just some parallel bars amid tall grass, riverside
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II. traded for oaks and elms dappled sunlight through new leaves rustling and wind-‐blurred, peripheral coming to catch a breath in the sheen of summer sweat where the bell calls out clear in the clock tower. nights wakeful and tinged with jet fuel, then aromas of evergreen and honeysuckle cold clear darkness to pant into terra incognita, shifting shadow horizon warmer toward the east its sickly-‐sweet smell of russian olive trees
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III. tooth met tooth tooth met flesh tooth met tail, smelled blood smelled sweat and fear
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herbivores in the dead of winter cannibalized each other, licked wounds through muscle spasms just before paralysis
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(with all the benevolence of hibiscus blooms in spring) on a grey-‐dark damp-‐cold bone-‐chilled afternoon light rain fell each drop illumined, shooting down by the orange-‐ haloed streetlamp three loose flagstones soaked drop by drop in the street
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Flesh turned hard, its opening sealed scarred, over tender heat. Hard to feel, indifferent blood still beneath. Give hope, open a darkened seam by a single fingernail. Blood-‐rust. Sharp lust treads heavy, come in. Feel old age on new skin.
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IV. the sidewalk acidic hotly reeking and stained reminiscent of bacterial breath and the skin of teeth
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V. shudder toward the equinox warm wind races there. light by nightfall: the flickering gleam in the predator's eye, the primal insistence of hurried steps a heartbeat sings through, skull to temples each breath drawn a gasp.
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Flower Show by Laura Wolfe Hints of heady cedar bring me to the Flower Show, of leaves and blooms bloated to dinosaur size, swollen banana plants brushing industrial lights & beams, nudged by lips of brachiosaurs, convention center ceiling dripping with lush worlds. We stop to get a water at the white cart between a deciduous forest and the Garden of Eden. But she only sells soda cans and cinnamon pretzels. My mother pulls me away and spins a finger. Soda makes your body stop developing. You’ll want to grow breasts from those little buds soon. I walk behind her past a pink French rose garden arranged for tea, a Buddha’s Hand and a blue ruffled ribbon where a candy farm grows. Marshmallow cauliflowers and glowing gumdrop ears of corn, skittle seeds dropped in tilled dirt to grow skittle trees. Around the corner in the undergrowth my mother finds African violets, stems with white fuzz like my legs I am supposed to start shaving next year. She laughs. Heavy rainforest mist smells like guava, sloping down black tarp and deep, moist soil. Parrots cry on speakers. The downpours come timed every twenty minutes or so. Like a busty woman’s red mouth, magnolias pop open. Those frantic bird calls echo in our empty space, like we were on the moon. If Earth were gone we could live here, I tell her. Where vegetables are candy and the water can quench our horrible thirst, every twenty minutes.
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Before Breath by Jane Pettibone Riccobono
Before breath I floated in sound
And a heart beat, close
Then it vanished Or I did
I gasped to bring it back, got air instead
And cried into the sea I’d lost
Cut loose I entered the world In search of new moorings
Traveling on waves of breath
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