Tailspin Magazine (Nov. 08)

8/14/2019 Tailspin Magazine (Nov. 08)

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november 2008

Lucy - Dreamproje


2/38Andrew Thorpe - At The Park

1.


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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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,


dormant...

HarmonyCrystal Dawn


5/38Lucy - The Great Metaphor

4.

Croaks repulse serpents while in shadows they stay

as forelimbs swoop on winds wings marking echoes,


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.


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.


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.


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


12/38Sam R - Druid Valley Series

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12


14/38Samantha - Clouds

13.

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


15/38Crispy - Winter Sun

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16/38Ick - May

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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


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


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


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 >>


30/38

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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.


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.


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


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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Tailspin Magazine (Nov. 08)

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