׉?4ׁB!בCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://N0HeEE8EnCmvH_PU0mm62HFXp_A24Y8YgUqtKDDmFoY`׉ 7cassandra://uY2AdH557f0rlb-YCXyFhRAASX6jHfeNo0Cl2AXs7Wc>A`r׉ 7cassandra://9VcxIc52i_qUSJsyEYaEbYkepKU_CwEvtMPk-Yy9yCUH`iTy׈EiTS׉E׉ 7cassandra://9VcxIc52i_qUSJsyEYaEbYkepKU_CwEvtMPk-Yy9yCUH`iTTiTSבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://GSwKKMC2NxBI97KrrsGp0AXsoTAP5mRsyLrPZaleZqUx`et׉ 7cassandra://G9GeQLhJ3K6JC7xJMkAKVUV57YEAagu5oB-t80sVwD4`׉ 7cassandra://n2j3uc_CdsVkjbUnpu7G_4VQwD_LsoN_6JQAY45SWAgL`iT|נiT 9ׁH http://BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/CONTACTׁ ׁ ЈנiT 9ׁH$http://BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SUBMISSIONSׁ ׁ ЈנiTY̧ 9ׁHhttp://BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SHOPׁ ׁ ЈנiTV+p 9ׁHhttp://BIRDY.MAׁ ׁ ЈנiT~0h 9ׁHhttp://ERICJOYNER.COMׁ ׁ Ј׉E׉ 7cassandra://n2j3uc_CdsVkjbUnpu7G_4VQwD_LsoN_6JQAY45SWAgL`iTU׉EISSUE 147 | MARCH 2026 PHOTO BY SERGEY URYADNIKOV SUN DOGS: JONNY DESTEFANO MELLOW GOLD : KRYSTI JOMÉI CHEESY PUFFS: JULIANNA BECKERT MOONRISE KINGDOM: KAYVAN S. T. KHALATBARI GOLDEN ENERGY: MARK MOTHERSBAUGH MAGNESIUM FLARE: DANIEL 'DL' LANDES TIGER LILY: DIDI BETHURUM FRONT COVER: ERIC JOYNER, NIGHT ALIENS - ERICJOYNER.COM BACK COVER: PETE KORNOWSKI, NOWHERE TO TURN - @PETEKORNOWSKI CHOCOLATE COINS: ERIC JOYNER, BRIAN J HOFFMAN, DAVE DANZARA, JOEL TAGERT, BRIAN POLK, CHRISTOPHSKI, HANA ZITTEL, JOE VAUX, HYEIN LEE, ZAC DUNN, MATT HAVER, TOM MURPHY, NATE BALING, ROB GINSBERG, BRIAN J HOFFMAN, PETE KORNOWSKI RED DEVIL CICHLIDS: SERGEY URYADNIKOV, BRYAN KLIPSCH, MUNGO MCLAGGA, BRIAN ENO, BETTE A., VANESSA PETERSON, NATSUKO HAMADA, HARI REN, CAMERON BUTTERFLY SMITH PILLOW LAVA: MARIANO OREAMUNO, DS THORNBURG, PHIL GARZA, ZAC DUNN, CRISTIN COLVIN, ALAN ROY, CHELSEA PINTO, MATT HAVER, IZZY DOZIER SUPPORT OUR FRIENDS & BENEFACTORS: PHOTO BANG!, MONKEY BARREL, MUTINY COMICS AND COFFEE, EXPOSED[STORYTELLING], HEROINES! MOVEMENT, EARTH/PERCENT, UNDERSTUDY, DENVER THEATRE DISTRICT, PLANNED PARENTHOOD OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS, BRAND BABES, ANALOG SALON, OFF THE BOTTLE REFILL SHOP, COLORADO FESTIVAL OF HORROR, BENNY BLANCO’S, COCREATE, RADIO RETHINK, KGNU, DENVER DIGERATI FOLLOW US – IG: @BIRDY.MAGAZINE | FB: @BIRDYMAGAZINE KEEP PRINT UNDEAD – MAILED SUBSCRIPTIONS + ISSUES + MERCH: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SHOP BE IN BIRDY – ART + WORDS + COMEDY + ET CETERA: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SUBMISSIONS ADVERTISE IN BIRDY + SUPPORT INDEPENDENT ART: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/CONTACT-US BIRDY IS CREPUSCULAR ACTIVITY, SOLAR DECOR MONTHLY ©2026 BIRDY MAGAZINE, FRIEND OF THE MUSES 1 MARTIN WOJNOWSKI, IF ONLY WE TALKED MORE - @MARTINWOJNOWSKI iTViTUבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://mJ5Xr4HbDYpn-U0HnPCONAjqCn7kA1QXEfhYXrht0zUp`et׉ 7cassandra://egWrgk5TBogYN9Nt534gEiliFe41dSHEYEKyjNQ3RgUƝ`׉ 7cassandra://ZYHxaq3FhYGSYo9RvHBV_pQRgkq9ErTnmMGP-TfQX9A8`iT׉E׉ 7cassandra://ZYHxaq3FhYGSYo9RvHBV_pQRgkq9ErTnmMGP-TfQX9A8`iTW׉EHThe doomsayers crowded the corners but between them there was no agreement. NEW YORK WILL DROWN, read one sign. NUCLEAR WAR 10/21/35, said another. Still others mentioned plagues, droughts, assassinations, but no one took them seriously. Everyone knew the really successful prophets were behind paywalls. As a child everyone had called her Breezy. But in college, one of her professors pulled her aside and told her to ditch the nickname. Since college she'd done nothing in particular. Tried teaching children at a preschool and generally liked it, though she got angry sometimes, and finally the pay (or lack thereof) drove her back to the coffee shop where she still worked, five years later. Now she was convinced, suddenly, that she'd found her hidden talent. "I was thinking of trying forecasting," she told Jared that evening as they were readying for bed. He frowned. "You mean a personal reading? Half of those fortune tellers are bogus, you know. Just frauds. And even if you find a real one, it won't necessarily help you. I was talking with Ignacio at work the other day, and he— " "I don't mean my forecast," she interrupted. "I mean doing it professionally. Going in for an audition." He looked at her like she'd announced she was going to get a tattoo of an asshole on her forehead. "Those people are crazy drug addicts. You didn't see them downtown this afternoon? The world’s gonna burn!’ and that stuff." She rolled her eyes. "Sure, except for Maisie Spence, and Virtuoso, and all the corporate forecasters you don't even hear about." "They’re still addicts, Breezy," he argued. "They're just better at keeping it under control." "Don't call me that," she said. She had wanted to tell him about the dream she’d had, about the Statue of Liberty and the wave engulfing the city, but he kept at it and finally she acted like she agreed. — On Friday, she sent Jared a text saying she was going out with some friends, and went instead to an office building in lower Manhattan. She had tied her hair back severely for the occasion, seeking a more professional look. The building was a rectangular monolith unbroken by ornament, a black fist striking the face of November. She took an elevator to the fifty-third floor, where she took a number and waited with several others, all believing they had some inkling of what was to come. "I saw you," one woman confided to her. She had yellowish skin, body lumpish under layers of sweaters, scarves, coats. "When?" Brianna asked. The woman smiled like she knew a secret. Her teeth were bad, her gums a disturbing dark bruised color. "In the winter. You're running on the beach." "I like beaches." "You're running away from something. Running for your life." It could be true. Obviously someone here thought this woman had talent, and by the wild light in her eyes she certainly believed what she was saying. "Do I make it?" The woman's smile fell, and suddenly she looked angry. "I don't know. I'm not God. You take what you're given, don't you, no matter how much purp you got, you can't see everything, and even if you do, you can't take it with you. No one can remember all that, and anyway there's always the big ones at the top fucking with things. Even if you see something you don't know that they won't change it. You're just— " "Celia Hayes," the receptionist called from the doorway, and the woman stopped mid-rant, put her mad smile back on and stood up. Brianna wondered if they'd called her just to shut her up. A guy sitting across from her gave her a sympathetic look. He had very dark, smooth skin, shaved head and face. Neatly dressed in tan slacks, blue button-up shirt and red sweater, but cheap, like he'd bought it all from a Goodwill rack. "Purplemouth," he said. "Sorry?" "PRP addict," he enunciated. Something Caribbean in his accent. He shook his head. "I'm surprised they let her in here at all, but maybe she had some talent once." He rubbed his chin, musing. "Doesn't matter. They're not going to take her." Brianna glanced back at the doorway. "Why not?" He looked off to one side. "She's going to die next Wednesday." Brianna frowned. "Are you serious?" "Yes." "How do you know?" He shrugged, a little helplessly. "I dreamed it." "What, does she overdose?" "No. Brain tumor." He didn't seem crazy, she thought. Actually very calm. With a burst of inner enthusiasm she suddenly felt that this could be real, and understood that until then she hadn't really believed, had been unconsciously on the side of the skeptics. Now she thought dizzily, I could actually see the future. "What's your name?" "Damay." "Brianna." She offered her hand and he took it and smiled. "I know," he said. — The doctor she saw after the tests, Dr. Braun, looked to be in his midforties, with weathered skin and light reddish hair and eyebrows. With the pleased air of someone delivering good news, he said, "So it looks good." "Oh!" Her eyes widened. “So ... good is good, right?" "Yes! You're very healthy, psychologically stable, no problems on that front. And your neurological profile, what we'd call your prognostic profile, is very promising. I could try to explain it to you, but honestly unless you have an advanced degree in neuroscience it'll be a bunch of gobbledegook. Suffice to say, we like your profile, and would like to begin the clinical phase." "What does that mean?" "Basically, you'll be taken to another room, and given a small amount of prognostisone perzisec. We'll monitor your responses, and afterwards ask you a series of questions about your experience." They were actually talking about it. PRP. The Purp, Purple Dragon, Purple Rain, Purple Haze, the Purple People Eater. "When?" she squeaked. iTXiTWבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://2MZpQFjzJ2yZHAFaq4t7bWfye4WJh07DcxOxpuT56Pg- `et׉ 7cassandra://cMtA7H_ytu7F9sHK1usBfAY8sioCc3QfQpTihtEkGCE`׉ 7cassandra://9wyDEPp8Qj6i_RF6w086sGA8ebHM8rq10qolu2Pe0w0I.`iT׉E >“It's up to you. You can go home and think about it if you want, and schedule a later appointment. Or we can move ahead right now." "Can you ..." She swallowed. "Will it turn my gums purple?" He chuckled. "That kind of discoloration is an effect of the street drug. Users rub it on their gums. This, on the other hand, is pharmaceutical grade PRP administered via syringe, completely clean. For your first experience, we'll give you just five micrograms. You should regain normal consciousness within a couple hours." Seeing her still hesitating, he continued, "We can give you some more materials to review at home, if you want to schedule a later appointment." "No," she said suddenly. "I want to do it." Before she lost her nerve. — The room they took her to was completely different than the medical lab she'd expected. Comfortable-looking couches, carpet soft and thick as good latte foam, art on the walls. A door and a big mirror on the righthand side. And for the far wall, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the Hudson. She slowly walked over to them, hugging herself, and there was the Statue of Liberty, seen in profile. I saw this in my dream, she thought wonderingly. "Make yourself comfortable," Braun said. "Feel free to use the bathroom if you need to." He crossed to the right-hand door and went in. She glimpsed computer equipment, cabinets. The big framed mirror, she realized, was an observation window. After a minute's wait she decided she did need to use the bathroom after all. When she returned Braun was wheeling a little cart out from the observation room. "Where do you want to sit?" She chose a chaise and lay back. First he handed her a coronet like the one she'd worn in the initial testing. "Can you put this on, please?" "Do I have to wear it the whole time?" "Afraid so. Don't worry, you're not likely to even be aware of it." "What will I be aware of?" "That depends. Can you hold out your right hand?" He fastened a magnetic wristband onto her arm. "This will monitor your heart rate, blood pressure, all that stuff." He stepped back to the cart. "It's not dissimilar from dreaming. Just more intense." "Have you ever done it?" "No. But I'm guessing you want your doctor to stay sober." He smiled winningly. "Really, there's nothing to worry about. This is a safe environment and you'll be under constant monitoring. If there’s any advice to be had, it’s not to resist it. Just let the experience wash over you. Okay?" She nodded. "Can you pull up your sleeve for me?" With her inner elbow bare, he swabbed the area with a little Bactine, then turned away and reached into the top drawer. When he turned back around he held the syringe with his arm loose and dangling, below the level of his thigh, keeping it out of sight until the last minute. She'd seen dentists do that, like they were sneaking up on a sidling horse. "All set?" "Sure." As he lifted the syringe she saw that its contents were a deep purple. The color of eggplant, or the night sky before the dawn. The night drew her in. — She thought she slept but dreamt that she would wake. She would stand up and see Dr. Braun there. He would ask, "Doing all right?" And she would nod. She opened her eyes. Her limbs were like distant planets, her head floating far above the sun of her heart. She stood up. Dr. Braun asked, BRYAN KLIPSCH, PASSING EYES - @COMFORTABLENOMAD No. 147 ׉ 7cassandra://9wyDEPp8Qj6i_RF6w086sGA8ebHM8rq10qolu2Pe0w0I.`iTY׉E "Doing all right?" She nodded. I will walk to the window. She walked to the window. This was the beginning. She saw it rippling outward from there, saw her path through the building as she left. She was upset about what she had seen. She would stand in the elevator and look at the numbers and know who was getting on. She would tell the taxi driver his brother was in the city and where to find him. She would walk home half in a daze, half in a panic, feeling frozen at the knowledge. Jared would be depressed. He would have lost his job. He would be irritated by her absence. She would lie and say that she was drunk and Mary Anne had bought shots. She was still walking toward the window. Each step was writ in stone. They formed a continuum that extended onward endlessly. She thought of Marcel Duchamp's Nude Descending a Staircase, the stuttering images. She would return to this place and see the doctor again and again. She would become important to them. Jared would be angry but would let her pay the rent. She would quit her job. She would split with Jared. She would change apartments. She would become distant from her friends. Mary Anne would see her and look afraid. Flashes, images on a fluttering film reel. Damay, who she’d only just met in the waiting room: Damay's flashing smile, Damay in bed, Damay walking with her in orange-leafed woods with a fearful feeling. Something was coming. She would lay in bed alone, a phantom pain in her shoulder, blood on the walls, people shouting. A crowd in the streets, hungry and shouting. A blue banner, a white fist holding a sheaf of wheat. Gunfire. Something was coming. She was at the window. This is now, she tried to think, but when she raised her hands to her face it was just one bubble in the stream, one flickering frame in the reel: she raised her hands, she had raised them, she would raise them, she was raising them. She was holding her head in her hands and staring out at the city below her, at the time radiating out from this point, at the Statue of Liberty, who seemed to turn toward her in concern. "The wave," she whispered, in warning and terror, only it wasn't a wave but a blinding flash of light that seared some inner eyelid. Another flash, or the same one over again, and again, like God's camera, but now she heard the boom and the roar and saw the fire exploding out through the city, a giant's fist smashing the buildings to glowing shards at a thousand miles an hour, hundred-story structures disintegrated to puffs of dust in a fiery hurricane. She heard the screams, a million cries of mortal anguish rising in a single howl only to be silenced by the next flash of light. She saw the panicked and futile attempts at escape, cut short by flash after flash, the city pounded flat and melted to glass. She saw the firestorm rising above the annihilated city. "No," she cried. "No, stop it, stop it!" She was weeping and shaking, she was hammering her fist on the glass, she had fallen to her knees, she was burning and blasted along with everyone and everything she had ever known. Then Braun was beside her holding a pneumatic syringe, murmuring useless reassurances. She looked up at him pleadingly, tears streaming down her face. "We're going to die," she told him. "We're already dead. We burn, we burn alive– " "It's okay," he said calmly. "Everyone sees that the first time." With a hiss like letting the air out a tire he pressed the syringe against her arm. BEST OF 092 iTZiTYבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://fxQw9p9ogHu_MXz3XJFpLDVQ9RZFtGHY2aTZwyaU21o`et׉ 7cassandra://KdNtIZ0CL0vp1o2BBCg1ghLPzqYdZwBIdBEOe0CIcbw`׉ 7cassandra://FrcNwfnbWF5roEugRR6OZslLOE3aTYgKSC8m9PfNJJsO`iT׉EFMARK MOTHERSBAUGH, FROM THE POSTCARD DIARIES: DEADLINE - MAY 10, 2025 ׉ 7cassandra://FrcNwfnbWF5roEugRR6OZslLOE3aTYgKSC8m9PfNJJsO`iT[׈EiT\iT[בCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://CZHUXkMt7qtvjtjMatgeYxOBFrd8Oonz59Thy4k8Xqs!`et׉ 7cassandra://ASwAhAlnuzfy6y-099Ylbo52JW8kNMI4MyP8XrAm5GE*`׉ 7cassandra://8Hfrax_sBKYXap5FfKPpnUS7mV6BMgqjtmbxCcyCeM0K`iTנiT!C j9ׁHhttp://ERICJOYNER.COMׁ ׁ Ј׉EA NEW DOG AND NO MONEY: MY LIFE IN A FEW SHORT STORIES BY BRIAN POLK | ART BY ERIC JOYNER ALRIGHT, WHICH ONE OF YOU ALL HASN’T SEEN PICTURES OF MY NEW DOG? Tom, Amelia, Tucker, Sammy and Harper, I know you all have seen No. 147 pictures of my new dog. But Owen, Suzie, Carmen and Danny, you haven’t, so gather around the warming glow of my phone and tell me how cute my dog is. His name is Beaux and he’s an angel from heaven. ERIC JOYNER, WALKING THE DOG - ERICJOYNER.COM ׉ 7cassandra://8Hfrax_sBKYXap5FfKPpnUS7mV6BMgqjtmbxCcyCeM0K`iT]׉E Here he is collecting sticks, just like almost every other dog. Here he is sleeping, also just like every other dog. In fact, I’m sure all of you will find most of these photos unremarkable, because I am a proud father and you are not. But that doesn’t mean you get to skip this little photoshare session, so here’s another one of him walking, just like every other dog. Go ahead and say, “Aww.” Thank you. Here’s another one of him sleeping on a different surface in my house … MOST OF THE TIME I SNOOZE AND WIN I know the saying about snoozing and losing is quite popular. But I have a bone to pick with it. Most of the time when I get a good snooze in, I feel like I’ve won something. I will go through the day with a triumphant swagger, and people will stop me and say, “Brian, did you win or something? Because you look great!” And I’ll say, “I snoozed pretty good last night, so yes, I did win!” On the flip side, if I don’t snooze, I most definitely feel like I lost. That’s when people say, “Brian, you look like shit. What are you a loser or something?” And I reply, “I didn’t sleep much last night, so yes, I am one big loser!” The more I think about it, the more I really take umbrage with this expression. One of these days (when I’m well snoozed and have the energy, of course), I’m going to give the people down at the idiom factory a real piece of my mind. THANKS TO DRUNKEN OPTIMISM, I START NEW BANDS VERY FREQUENTLY I have to stop going out to drink with my fellow musicians, because every time I do, I end up in a new music project. When the booze flows, so does the level of dopamine in our brains — so when we imbibe, we get extremely optimistic about how much time we actually have. And we don’t stop to think that shoehorning another band into our busy schedules may not bring us the amount of fun and joy that our drunk brains are convinced it will. So yeah, many bands have been started on bar stools by people who don’t have the time or energy to follow through. Of course, it’s not like it matters, since most of the time we all forget about our cool new bands by the next morning. IF IT COSTS MONEY, I’M AFRAID I SHAN’T BE IN ATTENDANCE Sure, I chose to be a civil servant. And yes, I did just go through a life event that effectively tripled my monthly expenses. And I will go ahead and admit I appeared on this earth when the old world order is collapsing around me and working stiffs like me just can’t get ahead. So yeah, I brought a lot of these money issues on myself. I suppose what I’m saying is, if your dog show / horse and pony show / showtunes listening party / fireworks show / game show / agricultural show / shit show / etc. costs money, you definitely won’t see me there. OH HEY, NEW PERSON, WELCOME TO THE CONVERSATION! CHECK OUT THESE PICTURES OF MY NEW DOG! Tom, Amelia, Tucker, Sammy, Harper, Owen, Suzie, Carmen and Danny have all seen photos of Beaux, so now it’s your turn. Here’s one of him collecting sticks … 9 iT^iT]בCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://E9tnMjRYps7rPyUlW_r7S_sfYxfjFt3l20D0XcG0m2U z\`et׉ 7cassandra://vwyWxC0cIRLNMRCbr2MD2cN9_GyhoikNPagbP64WiI4a`׉ 7cassandra://Xe85NcQuIg9PvVN9Lr9qaM5iyXlXPD98tgLr3UZ7tF4b`i T׉EW2 3 1 North East England’s Christopher “Christophski” Parkin never set out to become an artist. An accountant by day and musician for fun, he rediscovered drawing during the 2020 lockdown, quickly growing a daily ritual into something entirely unexpected. Experimenting across artistic mediums with a spirit of curiosity, Christophski found linocut, or perhaps linocut found him, through an art subscription box. And the rest was history. He developed a distinctive style that blends bold relief printing with playful nods to folklore, film, music, pop culture, and the simple moments in life, creating work he enjoys making and that others enjoy in turn. He is now celebrating his first solo exhibition, Introducing Christophski, at the Heart of the Tribe Gallery in Glastonbury, England, and took time out for us to reflect on this serendipitous journey and what this milestone means for him. You’re a lifelong doodler and musician who only started making art seriously again during the pandemic, leading you to discover linocut. How did you take the leap to start creating? And how did you stay motivated through all the learning curves, artistic blocks and daily ups and downs of life? I absolutely did not start out with any great ambitions to make “art” or to be creative, and I feel like this is an amazing “thing” that has happened to me, which evolved during lockdown. We were trying to keep our young kids entertained, educated and motivated whilst also working full-time from home when my wife came across an art challenge with a new prompt each day. That seemed like a great addition to the daily routine to give the kids another thing to keep them busy. My wife and I joined in to help motivate them and we’d all compare and talk about what we’d drawn. I was soon hooked and looked forward to the next prompt as soon as I’d finished the current one. Before long I found myself eagerly checking my phone at midnight to see what had been posted for the next day’s prompt. I continued taking part long after the kids lost interest and I became part of a fantastic little online community, many of whom I remain friends with. However, the prompt has long since become defunct and sadly, that particular community is no longer as active as it once was. Though I continue to regularly take part in the Drawingskool weekly prompt, which is another fantastic little online community. I relearned how to draw and began experimenting with painting, which I’d never really done before, and ended up signing up for a quarterly art materials subscription. What initially kept me motivated was an extraordinarily supportive online community, the challenge of trying to create everyday, and also a sense of friendly competition and camaraderie with a chap who has become a very close friend. We now take the time to meet up with each other in person, despite living at opposite ends of the country. I also started to develop a sense of purpose from being creative which I really hadn’t expected. In the early days I didn’t suffer from creative blocks particularly as I didn’t take it too seriously or feel like there was much at stake. At worst, if one day I didn’t feel particularly excited about a prompt, I would do a quick doodle to mentally “tick the box” and move on. But after a while, I started to enjoy finding different or alternative takes on a prompt, sometimes finding ways to subvert it, and bizarrely, I found a bit of a crutch in incorporating a cartoon King Kong into my pictures. This came about after drawing Kong as part of my response to an “Empire State Building” prompt. The following day I was met with the ׉ 7cassandra://Xe85NcQuIg9PvVN9Lr9qaM5iyXlXPD98tgLr3UZ7tF4b`iT_׉Ez5 6 4 prompt “pea pod” which was much less exciting. So I drew a picture of a gorilla bursting out of a pea pod. That then resulted in a series of silly Kong drawings whenever I didn’t like the prompt. I do something similar now to help get my creativity flowing, but it’s not Kong so often these days. I now tend to riff on themes such as tentacles, Baba Yaga or ghosts. Bring us back to the first time you carved into lino. This was at the very end of September 2020. I’d received a linocut starter set as part of the quarterly subscription and I pretty much instantly fell in love with the process. My first design turned out to be what I now realise was a quite ambitious, red and black jigsaw block (a lino block cut into more than one piece so different colours can be applied to each piece with the block put back together for printing), featuring, of course, Kong. I didn’t quite know what I was doing but it seems I had an intuitive grasp of it. I got an overwhelmingly positive response from my little online community when I posted my first print, which seemed to go beyond the polite pat on the back for having had a go, and it really blew me away. I didn’t switch to lino exclusively straight away, but I found myself increasingly drawn to it. By March 2021, I had pretty much decided that lino was my thing and abandoned all other mediums. There’s something risky about printmaking. It’s a notoriously hard to master craft as the outcome never promises perfection. How do you feel about this in approaching a piece? And what’s it like to experience the final pressing of a print? I try not to overthink printmaking, and it helps if you can be fluid with the design and roll with any minor errors. Unless it’s something glaringly obvious, nobody else necessarily knows what 7 you intended to do. That doesn’t mean I haven’t had any disasters however. But thankfully, there have been relatively few from which I have been unable to recover. Owing to the relatively expensive nature of the material, realised that if I wanted to make prints regularly without I bankrupting myself I had to work on a small scale to cut down on costs. But this also had the advantage of forcing me to really hone my skills. The other advantage of working like this is that if a disaster does happen, then although frustrating, not too much is wasted. Using lino for the daily challenges forced me to learn to work quickly and this has also helped in my approach to printmaking. It's meant that I know, should I have to start over, I haven’t lost too much, and that’s made me brave (or perhaps blasé) in terms of executing the carving. However, I do find working on a larger scale more challenging as there is more to lose. On the rare occasions where I find myself procrastinating, it tends to be when I’m confronted with a larger piece of lino. That said, there is nothing quite like the satisfaction of pulling a print and finding it’s worked out as you’d hoped, or the devastation of realising that you forgot to carve a letter in reverse and it’s printed backwards (as these are relief prints, everything has to be reversed when carving so that it prints the right way round). Early on in my journey, I excitedly carved a little Gameboy Mini only to find I’d forgotten to reverse the whole design and the print was back to front! Talk about your discomfort with the label “artist”? I continue to suffer from an incredible sense of imposter syndrome when it comes to thinking of myself as an artist. I’m an accountant by profession for which I’ve worked hard and studied 1. FIRE 2. PANDA IN THE BAMBOO GROVE 3. AT-ST 4. PUNK 5. TENTACLE 6. UMBRELLA 7. THE TOWER iT`iT_בCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://IyaHPD-MfJ_ZBQBqRYM-12vncIsFffEhK2rQEl24ki4 `et׉ 7cassandra://GRdmpytCjefg8Ew0ywk5ff9F0hGdxMNeRc63xvB3STw__`׉ 7cassandra://qsAK4Z5qSW7xu0hQVHY3Eqe68PMALUNkjkc-YK7QDNga`i Tנi T 9ׁHhttp://HEARTOFTHETRIBE.COM/OURׁ ׁ Јנi T'<̐9ׁHhttp://HEARTOFTHETRIBE.COMׁ ׁ Ј׉E9 8 11 10 for to earned a qualification in, and that was difficult to attain. But I haven’t studied art since high school nearly 30 years ago. And as it started off as a hobby, despite putting in countless hours of work, it hasn’t felt like work. So I almost feel like I haven’t earned it. I’m gradually becoming more comfortable with the idea, and I must confess, I’d much rather introduce myself as an artist than an accountant. The more I find myself connecting to others through my art, the more I feel I’ve earned the right to call myself an artist. Although I’m not entirely there yet! Your work is a remix of pop culture, folklore, music and the everyday. Do these subjects collide organically in real-time as you're sketching? Or are you consciously building a specific mythology through all of your art? I’d say it’s a bit of both. Quite often something will come together organically, and then I’ll contrive a follow up, or multiple follow ups. A really good example of this is my movie themed tarot cards. These came about because of a Drawingskool prompt “Jester!” As I often like to take a circuitous route to approaching a prompt, I was brainstorming things associated with Jesters. I liked the idea of doing a print of Charlie Chaplin as he’s pretty iconic. And being from the era of black and white cinema I thought he’d work great as a lino print. I also liked the idea of doing a print of The Fool tarot card, and then it occurred to me to put them together. Subsequent cards in the series have been a mix of me specifically trying to fit a film I like to a card, a flash of inspiration, or often another response to a prompt. My second tarot card Death which has a Jaws theme, was a response to “Card Shark!” I’ve also had recurring themes simply because I’ve found the experience entertaining or have liked the result of print and wanted to build on that. I occasionally find ways to incorporate my maker’s stamp into the composition of a piece which is a deliberate attempt to put a bit of me into the art — my stamp representing me, interacting with the subject. Which I think is a bit of mythology I have deliberately tried to build on. What does your first solo show, Introducing Christophski, represent for you on a personal level? I honestly can’t believe I’ve had the opportunity to do a solo show. It’s been quite overwhelming. I’ve talked a bit about my imposter syndrome and I think it’s clear that I never set out to become an “artist.” So the fact I’ve had work exhibited at a gallery, let alone a solo show, is something I’m still getting to grips with. It’s a boost every time someone leaves a positive comment on an Instagram post or sends me a message of support and it’s still an incredible feeling when someone wants to buy a print. I’m extremely grateful for all the support I’ve had from friends and followers on Instagram. So being asked to do a solo show felt like winning a marathon having not entered the race. And Heart of The Tribe Gallery has been great to work with, offering support and advice and generally giving me the confidence to feel like I belong there. So it’s certainly given me a sense of validation to some degree. But as a creative, the best part of it all is knowing that my work connects with people and gives them a bit of joy. When people walk into the exhibtion, what do you hope stirs in them and what do you hope they take away? I reflected on this while I was preparing for the exhibition, and I’ve got a short, simple answer: I really hope more than anything else, it makes people smile. You can bring one of your pieces to life. Which one do you choose and what do they do? That’s a fun question! I’d probably say Raven and the Wisp, which depicts a flying raven carrying an old-fashioned storm lantern containing a smoky, ghostly character. This was an image 8. SAMURAI 9. GHOST CROWD 10. SHARK 11. FLINT'S FIRE STARTER 12. THE SUN 13. ROOFTOPS 14. BIG YELLOW TAXI 15. THE COUNT 16. RAVEN AND THE WISP 17. K-2SO 18. FIRST LINOCUT PRINT ׉ 7cassandra://qsAK4Z5qSW7xu0hQVHY3Eqe68PMALUNkjkc-YK7QDNga`iTa׉E16 13 14 17 12 that fermented in the back of my mind for weeks before I finally committing it to paper. It came about as I wanted to bring together two persistent themes in my work, ghosts and ravens. And then I got talking to a lovely chap who uses a storm lantern for his business logo and the three things just came together. As I was drafting out the initial sketch, I felt like I was illustrating a book I’d never write, and the feeling intensified as I was carving out the image in the lino. It made me ask lots of questions like: Who are they? Where are they going? How did they get here? I like to think that if they came to life they’d be able to answer my questions and I’d be able to write that book. And that’s despite having never had any literary aspirations. Having said that, I never had any artistic aspirations either, so maybe one day it’ll happen! Top three bands/musicians in your current playlist rotation. Oh, this is a tough one, partly because my playlist has been taken over by my daughter and is currently dominated by TV Girl, Big Thief, Olivia Rodrigo and songs from Hamilton, which I’m fine with as I’ll quite happily listen to them all. But while I’m printing, I frequently find myself putting on old Pixies tracks, who I almost feel like I’m discovering for the first time as I didn’t give them the attention they deserved back in the 90s. But Weezer, Third Eye Blind and Fountains of Wayne are, and forever will, be long term residents on my playlists! Your definition of art. Oh, you should know by this point that I really don’t feel qualified to answer this one. I think the best thing I could go with is what art means to me. And to me, art is a means of connection, whether that be with a subject, a feeling or with people. A golden nugget of wisdom to share with aspiring artists. I’ve been asked this a few times by aspiring linocut artists just 15 starting out, and what I always say is: “Do what you want to do, not what you think you ought to do, and enjoy doing it!” Any projects, goals or dreams in the works for the upcoming year? I’ve spent so much time prepping for the exhibition that I’m now desperate to get back to creating some new prints. I’d really like to add to my movie themed tarot card series. I’ve had some ideas that I’m really quite excited about and my ultimate ambition is to come up with a full set of Major Arcana cards, although that’s definitely a longer term project. After years of making small, often tiny prints I’ve recently started making larger ones, and that’s something I really want to build on, and I’m sure they’ll involve a raven or two. I’d also like to build on my recent gallery experience and get myself “out there” in the physical world a bit more, rather than stick to the confines of Instagram. I have a couple of irons in the fire that I need to make a bit of time for, but I also hope to continue working with the Heart of The Tribe Gallery, as it’s been such a great experience. I’ve also got a couple of collaborations on the horizon which I’m really hoping will come off and I’m keeping my fingers firmly crossed. But if we’re talking dreams, it’s increasingly to quit the rat race and become a full time artist! And of course, continue to work with the wonderful Birdy! INTRODUCING CHRISTOPHSKI ON VIEW THROUGH APRIL 19, 2026 HEART OF THE TRIBE GALLERY MORE INFO: HEARTOFTHETRIBE.COM FOR PRINTS + COMMISSIONS, MESSAGE: @CHRISTOPHSKI ON INSTAGRAM LIMITED PRINTS AVAILABLE AT: HEARTOFTHETRIBE.COM/OUR-ARTISTS/ CHRIS-CHRISTOPHSKI-PARKIN 18 iTbiTaבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://D9IUBvf4TbXQgE7MN3X5ktvMXfzhOvsAnXZFfdzOelM`et׉ 7cassandra://KqKdTO7FdPEF8n0-o-5kQwNYkhv4SIa5vvUATBQqqmke`׉ 7cassandra://EGVXvQxFxGvkXMbMQP_mKem8j2t-PVFKe1iPOQjGm5kU|`i T׉E By Hana Zittel The Unworthy by Agustina Bazterrica, Translated by Sarah Moses (2025) The world has ended and a remaining enclave of women, the Sacred Sisterhood, maintains a fierce hierarchical convent requiring ritual bloodletting, sacrifice, and self-harm to appease a god that determines their rank and worthiness. Enforced by the Superior Sister, the unworthy class rest at a rank just above the servants and aspire to become one of the Enlightened. Writing as an unnamed narrator, one of the unworthy uses anything she can find to tell her story: blood, charcoal and found ink. Existing in a culture of punishment, the women punish each other and relish watching the others atone for any sin through brutal, creative harm often dictated by the Superior Sister. Kept secluded from the outside world, they reject male, child or elderly wanderers, leaving them to die or, as the women suspect, be murdered by the Superior Sister. When the narrator discovers a young woman wanderer inside their walls, she provides careful instructions so she will be accepted into the Sisterhood. She tells her to hide and then pretend to faint in the garden to be discovered by a servant. This act of salvation leads to an intense bond between the narrator and this mysterious stranger, who seems to have otherworldly powers that alter the rigid social constructs of the Sacred Sisterhood. As their mutual trust is solidified, this relationship spurs the narrator to question her brutal present and write down her memories, remembering the world and the possibility of love in a time before the convent. The Unworthy is the second novel and third book from Agustina Bazterrica translated to English and follows up her grotesque horror novel, Tender is the Flesh. Displaying Bazterrica’s limitless creativity as a horror writer, this book is a realistic, fresh climate apocalypse tale centering on women. Initially ruthlessly gruesome, The Unworthy’s jarring twists make for a genre-melding novel, with tiny glimmers of hope lighting up a world marked in misery. The Unworthy was a finalist for the 2026 Andrew Carnegie Medal for Excellence in Fiction from the American Library Association. Shadows of the Sea by Cathy Malkasian (2025) Cartoonist Cathy Malkasian, whose work includes The Rugrats, The Wild Thornberrys, and previous graphic novels, returns with her newest book, Shadows of the Sea, which centers on an unlikely pair that meet after a run-in with a group of bandits. Doris is attacked by three men trying to steal her medals for being the fastest fish gutter. A quiet dog, recently let go from his position as a landmine sniffer, looks on and decides to intervene. He crushes their wagon while Doris slices one with her gutting knife, giving them time to get away. The two begin to look for food when Doris requests he sniff something out for them and they start to wander the countryside. Doris talks on and on, injecting stories of home, the sea and her husband while the dog stays silent. Eventually they find an eerily abandoned town that leads them to the sea, where they must face their individual pasts to move forward. Shadows of the Sea is a sweet, poignant tale of trauma and grief told through two memorable, fantastical characters. No. 147 ׉ 7cassandra://EGVXvQxFxGvkXMbMQP_mKem8j2t-PVFKe1iPOQjGm5kU|`iTc׉E'15 JOE VAUX, THE LAST DANCE - @JOEVAUX iTdiTcבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://p2399xbmgHF8qG9LvyGRaQtoj4Z7gYEbVi4fsIUaFxM`et׉ 7cassandra://u1IwiVy2wra8lBhbgGgjfvmElSldinRUSC10uVUOUxI`׉ 7cassandra://R6TF7Ok5fDl0nHPaR_f6Jb0L3WuQia-b6_zVyfK880gD;`i T׉E!HYEIN LEE, DOOMSDAY - @HYEINPAIN ׉ 7cassandra://R6TF7Ok5fDl0nHPaR_f6Jb0L3WuQia-b6_zVyfK880gD;`iTe׈EiTfiTeבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://iXWICuBSG2h7Wh477iA3PiWEMNiIhzN6tZHjbm7aK_g+`et׉ 7cassandra://--o6e9BvGUOqxGMChS1LIR5o7qkpOq_K3Hsz1HC21_U`׉ 7cassandra://D0EETpsUBB1QXMqWlvq83fgJxvmDm97FUfQsogw8daEH`i T׉EPHOTO BY MUNGO MCLAGGA ׉ 7cassandra://D0EETpsUBB1QXMqWlvq83fgJxvmDm97FUfQsogw8daEH`iTg׉ERADICALLY SLOW A CONVERSATION WITH BETTE A. ON HER NEWEST COLLABORATION WITH BRIAN ENO INTERVIEW BY KRYSTI JOMÉI & JONNY DESTEFANO Slow Stories by Dutch author Bette A. is a collection of short stories that mutated across two decades. Written, rewritten, and pared back over time, the stories shed plot and excess, becoming shorter, stranger and more distilled. Two of them expanded beyond the book into Slow Stories: A Collaboration of Storytelling, Music, and Art, Bette's latest multimedia cocreation with artist and musician Brian Eno. Each limited edition bundle serves as both a portable gallery and music box. With a hardcover book, a vinyl recording of two stories — The Endless House and The Other Village narrated by Bette and scored by Brian — and a one-of-akind signed painting created by both artists, there’s a total of 444 available. Proceeds go to the Heroines! Movement, a global storytelling collective centering around women role models, co-founded by Bette, and Earth/ Percent, a charity channeling funds from the music industry to organizations that do the most impactful work around the climate emergency, co-founded by Brian. We connected with Bette who was in Amsterdam, bringing our worlds together with a conversation that moved at its own pace, unfolding with the same openness and attention of the project itself. Birdy: You and Brian put out the book, What Art Does: An Unfinished Theory, last year. And now, Slow Stories, a multi-faceted creation that’s so symbiotic and organic-feeling. How did this project come about? Bette A: We have a very similar approach to making art, which is not very goal-oriented, it's very process-oriented, we’re very much in the moment, and just having fun and not really thinking where it's heading. We were working on What Art Does, which is about the theory of making art, and I said, “My publisher would like me to record some stories to music.” And a minute later, we were in the studio. I never thought we would use my voice because I have a Dutch accent. He said, “Just try it. Record it.” And he kept saying, “Go slower, read slower.” At some point I was reading at an incredibly slow pace, just half a minute between sentences. The first sentence in the first story is: “A girl was born in a village in a desert.” And Brian wanted me to read: “A … … … girl … … … was … … … born … … … ” Birdy: Wow. Bette A: So that was very new for me. We put his music to it and started experimenting with different tracks and audio. And I realized it’s really doing something to the story. Where normally you’re so plot-oriented when you’re reading, you want to know what is the next thing, where is it going? But if you linger on, “A girl was born …” and then you get one minute of Brian’s beautiful music to kind of rest your brain on that, the sentence just unfolds like a flower. You get all these associations, visual imagery. So we immediately thought, Oh, this feels right. This is what we want to do. Birdy: I love that. Creating anything meaningful should be like play, but it’s also beautiful that you challenged yourself with recording your voice being a writer for decades. I can only imagine how different of a process that must have been. Bette A: Absolutely. It’s the realization you can rely on the listener or the reader very much to ignite their own imagination. I've never liked adjectives and elaborate descriptions. I just like to say, “There was a forest.” What I’ve learned from this process is that when you give your listener a lot of time, they will generate an entire forest in their minds and it’s enjoyable. And Brian’s music really helps with that. Poets are very comfortable leaving a lot of white space on the page. And we fiction writers always want to get to the thing that’s happening. So it gave me a lot of confidence in giving the sentences an enormous amount of space and working with Brian helped me a lot too because he is very minimalist. We also made paintings together and he’ll paint a couple of lines and say, “Oh, this is great,” and I think, It's just the beginning. But it’s because I have this preconceived notion that everything has to be elaborate and take a certain amount of time. Well actually, sometimes simple is a great place to sort of hang the hat of your attention on and then let your imagination do the work. So that’s what I learned from Brian, to pair down a bit, keep it minimal and trust more in the listener or the reader that they want to do some work as well. Birdy: We feel the same way. We don’t want to insult the intelligence of our readers. We are intentionally image-driven and often ambiguous as we assume that people are willing to dive in and make their own interpretations. It is a balance though, because you want it to be great, but you’ve got to let go and just trust that what you're doing is going to be understood. Bette A: It comes sometimes from insecurity to want to do more work and elaborate more 19 PHOTO COURTESY OF BETTE A. iThiTgבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://NYqWVXaZhTm77UNOUh6b9xjOcCLrwHxNZq3EUN_ABkI g`et׉ 7cassandra://frbxxsD-6ngJ-vB7Cp5KEUcY0llYlWGg59GJ2J2BpyoG+`׉ 7cassandra://yPrSbtvoOmcFTgXvwhh9MzeQG3foC5T-QqvEto48cXI^`i T׉Ehow we relate to the world and ourselves. Bette A: Well, it's similar to what you're doing. Just go make something physical that isn't slick and sleek but interesting and maybe slightly challenging and fun and different each time, perhaps hard to summarize. That is radical at this moment. I think physical objects like a physical book or a magazine, putting on a record, you cannot really multitask. You have to consciously choose this moment: I will engage with this. Even the turning of the pages will slow you down a little bit. That’s why I think the physicality of things also helps us to return into our bodies into the now and not just always in our minds to the next thing. We made this record and we also made paintings. We're selling it as a bundle to raise funds for our charities [Heroines! Movement and Earth/Percent]. The fact that we made a painting is so confusing to some people. They said, "You shouldn’t do that because you need a clear story and you need to just make a record.” Brian immediately said, “I like it when it’s complicated. People can handle complicated, can handle a story that’s slightly unusual and isn’t totally simplified with a nice pink ribbon around it.” Birdy: It’s funny because when I first saw your paintings I thought, This and tinker with it some more. It takes confidence to say, “This is it,” and create a really nice invitation for people to engage with it. Birdy: It also takes confidence to sit in stillness and slowness and not gogo-go all the time. We have this fear of falling behind in life or never being ahead enough. And I think that it’s so crucial for us to have space to just be. Bette A: That’s how we feel. We hope these are stories that help you slow down, the music helps you slow down. And you take 30 minutes for something that would take eight minutes if you read it on the page at a normal pace. It’s very unnatural for people of our day and age to take three times as much time than is needed for something. So we hope that this trains the imagination muscle and trains the capacity for slowing down, which our society is completely geared at us forgetting. We lose that skill because everything wants our attention all the time and people want to know, “Where do you see yourself in five years, in 10 years?” We ask children, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” It’s always something ahead, something in the distance. Even in our Western world when we meditate, we meditate for a purpose. And we might even take a picture of it and post it on Instagram. It’s commodifying this thing that is part of our human nature which is just be. But it’s hard. Brian and I were just talking about this yesterday that we get approached by interviewers as if we are the gurus of slowing down. But we both struggle with it. Brian said, “If I’m on the train, I put my phone away to look out the window and then a minute later, without realizing, I'm looking at it again and I’m completely the same. So I need these oases in my life that remind me to slow down.” Birdy: We’ve always been really attached to the connection of analog formats, because we remember a time when the phone wasn't hijacking our existence, our amygdalas. So what you two are doing is really important work in bringing the pendulum back to having some semblance of sanity with makes absolute sense! Even the way you packaged them by hand with a handwritten “slow” in gold. And the visuals, the abstract images, they’re like representations of the sonic elements, the stories, the music, your voice. If you're holding a piece of art while listening to the album, it helps you expand your mind even further, to think about the story, through those colors and and patterns, they’re like environments. Super immersive. Bette A: I’m very glad to hear it. I think sometimes that’s the thing with art. It very often intuitively makes sense and then the story comes much later and the story can even mutate. It's just feels right and not overthinking is something that I really try to do and just release it, put it out there and see if other people also like it. Birdy: It’s so special that each painting is going to be a unique gift to people, they’re not mass-produced. People are craving slow media. They’re craving getting together in community. They’re craving realness. Bette A: I like things that are flawed. And that’s why I felt comfortable using my for voice for this record because Brian said, “I love accents.” And I had a little bit of a cold and he said, “Well, that will make you more human. You don’t sound like an AI, you sound like a human being.” And that’s what I like about the paintings as well. They’re all individual. Somebody made them, made the envelope. It was not the most efficient way to do it. So, it’s very human. When we get together in person, there's friction, there's flaws, there's awkwardness. Sometimes we don’t get each other. But that is life. And I think so many people are starting to realize we don’t need everything to be so smooth and frictionless or to be able to duplicate it with a perfect narrative. We just want to feel good, to feel alive. That’s what I’ve been practicing in my work. And I like what you said about gathering. I’ve also started something that we’re now raising funds for, which is an online school for women in Afghanistan. It’s part of the Heroins! Movement. I teach there with an Afghan poet [Somaia Ramish], and she talked about women in Afghanistan who are now banned from doing any art, it’s a crime. They’re banned from PHOTOS BY VANESSA PETERSON ׉ 7cassandra://yPrSbtvoOmcFTgXvwhh9MzeQG3foC5T-QqvEto48cXI^`iTi׉EHAfghan women. It’s like you're giving a hug through the the screen, a breath of hope. So they know that what they're thinking or dreaming of is actually happening in other parts of the world and can be attained, and that they don't have to buy the narrative of their oppression. Bette A: I’m also learning a lot. I thought it would be hard but it's an raising their voice outside of the house, for gathering. We were having a conversation about it and some people said, “It’s hopeless. There’s nothing we can do.” And Somaia said, “There is something you can do. You can interact with them. They're not dead. They're online. You can teach them and you can have meaningful moments. And maybe that won’t lead to gender equality in Afghanistan, or maybe it won’t liberate them, but we forget that the moment also counts.” So we did this beautiful exhibition with art school students in Amsterdam who went into a digital exchange with the women in Afghanistan to create the exhibition together. Again people said, “But what will this achieve? This won’t get rid of the Taliban." No, but it was an amazing experience for everyone involved. And some of the Afghan women said, “We wouldn’t survive without art, it keeps us afloat.” Again, this appreciation of not result-oriented things, but things that are in the here and now, they also have value. Just a nice talk with somebody, laughing with your neighbor, it is an actual thing. Birdy: Yes! And you never know how you’re going to affect someone. A simple smile or a wave has made me nearly burst into tears of relief on a hard day. We have these grand notions of wanting to make a huge changes, especially as creatives. But like you said, it’s the small shifts that often have the most impact. Bette A: Yeah, I think so. And we do see results in the sense that these women are seeking out these things because they are developing themselves and they’re in ongoing resistance. I think this corporate way of always looking at — What will be the outcome? How can we scale it up? — is something that has infected all of us. Like you said, a meaningful moment can be huge and you cannot always see the outcome. About 20 years ago, I was standing outside at a red light and it started raining really hard, that rain where immediately your underwear is soaked. And then I looked at this man who was standing next to me who was holding a suitcase on his way to work. And we just started laughing together, just at the weirdness of the moment of both of us getting soaked to the bone. I think about this moment a lot. What did it achieve? What does it mean? What it's about? I don't know. But it I still think about it. Birdy: I love that glimmer of humanity. And what you’re doing with the enrichment of my life. The students are of such a high level. Nobody has their camera on, they're all anonymous. I just pictured my regular 20-yearold students and then after I got to know them, it turned out that one is in her late 30s and a master chess player who use to be a math teacher. So I thought, Oh, that's why I don't feel like I'm teaching. I feel we’re just working together because they're so talented. And I'm learning about the use and power of art through it, how we can connect. An Afghan fairy tale can form a bridge between different worlds. How can you ever plan for that? The person who came up with it likely didn't think, Oh, 300 years from now this is going to … That's how we make art. We don't know. We make it because we like it. And maybe other people will like it. And maybe 20 years from now, people will still like it. Or maybe it's just your grandma who likes it, or pretends to like it. Birdy: It's like Nietzsche’s quote: "Art is the proper task of life.” I'm under the impression that everybody is an artist. Bette A: Beautiful. Birdy: I think it's innately human. It's a birthright. It's ancient. It's tied into our DNA. But people will say, "No, I'm not an artist." My siblings and I are very creative. But my parents claim not to be artists. But my dad would write random poetry, or strum a guitar, or my mom would take us on these creative adventures or give us prompts for writing. They are artists! They don't see it. And it actually breaks my heart. It's important for us to explore our innate creativity, and also to not compare ourselves to others’ art. And that's what I get from your project. iTjiTiבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://WUe4aGLonNv6rbt_Pd_H4_jobGMF_fuseeTsp8YyU9Ur`et׉ 7cassandra://V0lP7GWvzasY9Kfl1M-uak7-4-eil83KFDrYJ640RPEn`׉ 7cassandra://N8zOAnYbtCjzOyNK-mkW9RXUyKIG2h2QIdYv_PU_lUgGz`i Tנi T~ȗ 9ׁHhttp://EARTHPERCENT.ORGׁ ׁ Јנi Tup 9ׁHhttp://BRIAN-ENO.NETׁ ׁ Јנi Tof̽ 9ׁHhttp://HEROINESMOVEMENT.COMׁ ׁ Јנi Tfb 9ׁHhttp://BETTE-A.COMׁ ׁ Јנi T:u 9ׁH$http://UNNAMEDPRESS.COM/VINYL/P/SLOWׁ ׁ Ј׉ELike these spaces you create make more sense to the core of being a human than the facade of being bombarded with constant advertisement and news and noise. Bette A: It’s why I write. I feel like the narrative of the place you're in or the narrative that's put on you by the media can become so dominant that you don't really see the clear picture anymore. Right now in our Western world, in the past week, all of us have had one thought about Donald Trump, about Melania, about maybe Kim Kardashian, because it's been put in our minds. The speed that this is coming at us is really high and it's all alarming, and to detach from it is so hard. When you're in an office environment or in any kind of environment, the narrative of that place also becomes your narrative, and can pollute your experience of reality. It's very hard to stay within that core of yourself. Ever since I was a young child, I wrote stories. If I was confused by something Bette A: That’s the thing that Brian and I connected over. We both feel really strongly that there is no difference between your dad writing fun poems or your mom taking you out on adventures outside or my grandma thinking for half an hour which wool she wants to pick for the pillow. There's no difference between that and the people who make operas and paintings and the so-called “high art." It just has a different skill level, a different appreciation level, but it's completely the same. People don't feel included when the conversation is about art, but it’s about all of us. We all do art all the time. I think our education system drops the ball where we don't explain to kids what art is for. It's our self-expression. It's enjoyable in the moment. It's a way to engage with our feelings. That's why when kids hit age 9 or 10, which they call "the rational age" in developmental psychology. They want to know: What is it for? They have to learn to read to learn more, to ride their bike so they can get to school. I's unclear what art is for. So then they start judging it by the wrong standards — Am I the best singer in my class? Will I stand on a stage later in life and will people clap? Are my drawings photo realistic? And you hear people when they're 40 or 50 say, "Oh, I loved singing, but I stopped. I don't know why." Nobody tells you what it was for. It was for you! You enjoyed it, and that was enough. Art is useful for the purpose of engaging with your feelings and it can sometimes be really clear to you and sometimes it can be a mystery. Birdy: And we don't always need the answers! I think that's the bane of our existence in this form of life as we know it — always trying to figure shit out and sometimes shit is not meant to be figured out. Bette A: Just enjoy that moment of mystique. When I wrote the stories on the record, The Endless House and on the other side, The Other Village, I sent The Other Village to a few people. My sister who's a scientist got back to me and she said, “This is about science. This story is a critique on science.” And I was kind of baffled by this. Another friend got back to me and said, "You wrote this story as a warning for me that I shouldn't fall in love with someone else, and if I do, I shouldn't explore it." And my publisher said, "This story is about Trump's America." And so three really different interpretations, but apparently the story had enough room for people to engage with it and actually feel like it was about something. So I think that some art can be a great vessel for your feelings and create a container for you to see it more clearly, and there we have to cherish that ambiguity and mystique and possibility. Yes, I could also write a non-fiction essay, but I write these stories so then you can put yourself in it if I do it well. I like that art leaves room for this mutating truth. Birdy: Maybe I'm just a total weirdo, but these stories you wrote, these otherworldly fantastical worlds that couldn't happen in reality on these records, I feel they are more of a reality than what we're living in currently. No. 147 or I had a lot of feelings, I turned all the characters in the event into animals. And it was a way of getting rid of all the rubbish and getting closer to a core of what was happening. So in that sense I agree with you that it feels truer. I personally like stories that get rid of all those details and go into the core of those feelings that we have and the way we relate to each other. What does it mean to be among others? What does it mean to fear others? How can you protect yourself and still be open? Those are the kind of questions that occupy my mind. And that's not saying that we shouldn't read the news. I mean, we need to know what's going on. I use stories to get somewhere without all the clutter in my brain. Birdy: There’s a quote from one of my favorite musicians, Trent Reznor: “Art is resistance.” Intentionality, slowness, as you say, is radical. It’s an act of rebellion. Bette A: I love that. I think slowing down is dangerous now because it will remind you of what actually matters to you. You're actually not afraid of immigrants. They never really hurt your life in any way for most people. What if you slow down? What are you afraid of? What is giving you that unease? Diving deeper is dangerous for the people who want to control the narrative because then we figure out it's actually other things that bother us. And I think that's why art now feels almost like resistance and like a radical act, because art allows you to think your own thoughts, to feel your own feelings. LIMITED COPIES OF SLOW STORIES: A COLLABORATION OF STORYTELLING, MUSIC, AND ART ARE AVAILABLE AT: UNNAMEDPRESS.COM/VINYL/P/SLOW-STORIES-VINYL SEE MORE FROM BETTE A. & BRIAN ENO: BETTE-A.COM | HEROINESMOVEMENT.COM BRIAN-ENO.NET | EARTHPERCENT.ORG PHOTO BY NATSUKO HAMADA ׉ 7cassandra://N8zOAnYbtCjzOyNK-mkW9RXUyKIG2h2QIdYv_PU_lUgGz`iTk׈EiTliTkבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://SxrS-sZ2ZmZT78CncRso4o3c-edo3y6LljUB_lA7OM0p`et׉ 7cassandra://FaIm_cocXjcqAEi4x7YfkXVPwMjDPl619Nrv1LyXbPod`׉ 7cassandra://5GP5FqnXOa30CnGjl9Y51RFkIuAYJgU1vLzfgjEEdfwJ`i T׉ETHE RATS THAT PASS BY ZAC DUNN | ART BY HARI REN The streets sleep only as many winks as the sky and trucks collecting refuse at dawn will allow. The tiny steps of tiny creatures scurried like rain drops that turn to HAIL and thump louder than the tiny breathe taken. Squeezing like shrill BIRDS of paradise SINGS a tune under the lush CANOPY of VINES and MANDRILL hands crawling slow up old trees. Mating the match to outsmart the last PIGEON’s torrent that consumes foods left to ROT, they ought not beg for scraps and simply take OVER. But across the block an EEK of a RAT calls GYRATION and the invitation to dance next to gutters and utter sweet nothing SQUEAKS that summon the next GENERATION. So perilously quick and sick to scamper over TARMAC so BLACK, the TAR and FEATHERS of FLAT PIGEONS not so clever to land up for a PECK. But breathe that is followed by the SEMI wheel that pushes its CARCAS into LOIN CLOTH of the KING OF THE ROAD. The RAT eyes it spies lies wait just several more steps ahead and over the JELLY RED PIGEON mess. A tail curled up tight on a filthy backside and a breathe of WILD on WING of PAWS that claw faster to not be No. 147 FLAT TOO. But the IMPALA hood was a good enough home for the eve to find an old brown pack SACK and SHACK UP for the night to MAKE SQUEAT LOVE in the DEAD OF NIGHT. A half crescent MOON smiles down on a crisp evening of glory, not failure that tires call JOY, ROLLING OVER ALL and making the CIRCLE a SQUARE, that sits so pretty next to anything else lucky enough to taste the RADIAL’s text messages. But GOOD YEARS and RAT babies yawn at DAWN for the NEXT chance to slip out and take another chance or step or bite of PIZZA crust that the LUSTY LADIES discard in haste wearing DIVINE fancy BOOTS. The RATS THAT PASS laugh last as the remains sustains the brood and crew to do in instinct what they were only formed TO DO. 5:44 10.12.24.0000003 OGE IG: @UZIEGO | TUMBLR: @SAVAGESNEVERSLEEPNYC HARA REN, STREET - @HARIR3N ׉ 7cassandra://5GP5FqnXOa30CnGjl9Y51RFkIuAYJgU1vLzfgjEEdfwJ`iTm׉E>ALGORITHM BY MATT HAVER every heart every click every swipe every like every pause as we scroll each message each post each tag each share each comment we squeeze tighter between glass plates of surveillance snuggle deeper into the pre-programming petri willingly twisting the focus knobs of billion dollar lenses the guillotine of suggested content knifing through need decapitating mind from soul the needle of narcissism driven deeper into veins already bulging with dopamine dependence what to do fellow homo sapien when all of human interaction of late seems to manifest best in one and zero especially zero do we digitally draw and quarter ourselves for invisible tyrants? and in tearing ourselves from their talons also rend the umbilical connecting us to what is left of human relationship? hmmm let’s go ask chatgpt 25 iTniTmבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://2Yr_jc48hedyU1OBKrTzqDb3-mQByZXZ6uJyNOUt148$`et׉ 7cassandra://mo-MXimRjuQR1zETbrdssICl_1jsuVc6WSAspsB0OZM$`׉ 7cassandra://jgFxQXPoh4TmlOyojhg-a5GBoW1hIpWJB6sgRPFXMcY\w`iTנiTǵ̒ 9ׁHhttp://QUEENCITYSOUNDS.ORGׁ ׁ Ј׉E׉ 7cassandra://jgFxQXPoh4TmlOyojhg-a5GBoW1hIpWJB6sgRPFXMcY\w`iTo׉ECALM. – PUSHING ON PORTALS Arguably the duo’s most musically daring work to date. The record explores the theme of using a time travel device to go back and more or less edit your life. We hear a psychedelic backdrop lending the record a haunted vibe that is equal parts Legendary Pink Dots, Coil and Dilla. The sonics alone are worth the listen. But Time and AwareNess weave a story arc that goes from playful to a re-litigation of nostalgia, before moving straight to a powerful assessment of the core drivers of our psychology. These self-imposed limitations that we’ve held onto as an essential part of our identity can be let go, without having to disown our lived experience as the threads of our authentic selves. GENTLEMAN DELUXE – WAY HIGH This debut EP from Aaron Howell’s solo project is likely not what one might expect from the veteran songwriter more known for punk and hard rock. Instead, it is a collection of stories about life told in the language of countrified power pop. Whether he gets credit for it or not in other projects, Howell knows how to convey heartfelt emotions with a combination of conviction and sensitivity. With these five songs the songwriter takes on classic themes of love and loss, relationships, blue collar life and parenthood. But he does so by approaching each as an adventure within the grander adventure of life, while sounding like a long-lost classic pop artist we should have known about all along. GLUEMAN – GLUEMAN III With enough slap back reverb on the vocals to give the songs a touch of the psychedelic, this third full album from the Denver-based garage punk band goes well beyond the safe borders of many bands that have drunk deep of the influence of Oblivions and John Dwyer’s back catalog. One imagines The Cramps, Negative Approach and Black Flag touring together and having a third band develop of mutual members who would open the show with a searing set of disorienting fury. The fiery, raw momentum of this album is infectious and somehow stays fresh for the duration of its nine tracks. MCLUSKY – I SURE AM GETTING SICK OF THIS BOWLING ALLEY Seething, slabs of impressionistic noise rock and free verse deconstructions of mediated life under the failing infrastructures of technocratic late capitalism. The title of the album alone speaks to a revolutionary ennui that inspired the raging spirals and abrupt starts and stops of songs. Together, they sound like civilization coming unraveled with a commentary track on the dramatic dissolution of the world as we know it. What could be a more mundane symbol of inadequate bread and circuses offered by a third-rate ruling class than a bowling alley and its snack bar with dubiously nutritious fare? PRIMITIVE MAN – OBSERVANCE A crushing flow of gritty, atmospheric doom like the endless barrage of information and demands on your time that are part of every day existence. The music, even though it is at times the band’s most melodic and accessible, really sounds like a cry of outrage and resistance to the destruction, deprivation and diminished expectations we’re expected to adopt as normal. Influenced in part by the work of San Francisco poet laureate Tongo EisenMartin, this album doesn’t bother with the expectations of genre. We hear raw, processed environmental noise throughout, like the ambient and corrosive presence of civilizational greed that manifests in genocide, abuse, corruption and the destruction of the shreds of remaining institutions, seemingly unchecked by the shadow of the rule of law. A bracing and essential statement. TOTEM POCKET – CHUMP Strands of MBV’s tonal warp, Dinosaur Jr.’s noisy melodicism and psychedelic garage punk, Totem Pocket turns what could be heard as lo-fi into a virtue. Live, this music is searing and engulfing. But on a recording, it makes more sense for the vibe to come across with the vocals sounding like they’re navigating the fiery guitar haze with a grace and elegance, elevating each song into something transporting. Sure, the band rocks out across this album. But what makes the songwriting standout is how the vulnerable, melodic vocals shine through the beautifully noisy bombast of guitars, bass and drums. SEE MORE: QUEENCITYSOUNDS.ORG BY TOM MURPHY iTpiToבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://5_Jr-UWXtPL1wotjxYmwkk7FePTxGI0wnr2I4oLmLRo`et׉ 7cassandra://_JxyeEeGTd4LySwMbBoxrOPZ11Euq3hcuZKvdg643bsv`׉ 7cassandra://NhY6L0qKVYgA4mZpOqWeoqZ4tSab5TNCBHEyNctbjp0O`iTנiTځu 9ׁHhttp://ROBGINSBERG.COMׁ ׁ Ј׉EoBY NATE BALDING As the song goes, "Short people got no reason to live." Nobody ever mentions the fl ip side that tall people are fucking horrifi c. Slender Man? Second-story peeper creeper. Goliath? Big-boned bone grinder. Even basketball players of suffi cient height are venerated as regional demigods. As they carry the provincial weight of collective hopes in a battle presumably fulfi lled in the purgatory where souls are measured and many regular-sized persons are sentenced to whichever hell their team represents. Dying during a bad year for the Lakers is how you end up eternally owing too much rent in Toluca. Historically speaking civilization has enjoyed seeing tall fi ght tall. And we’re correct in thinking that it’s pretty cool. Specifi cally, tall guy Finn McCool who, according to National Geographic (I know, just go with it), “… had a problem with a Scottish giant.” It was said he honored his surname by sporting a leather jacket with a pocket for Lucky Strikes that was said to contain a portal to a fridge-dimension full of Natty Lites. Benandonner, the Scottish god of combat, had taken to yelling insults across the ocean that McCool, perfectly reasonable person that he was, heard and assumed were intended for him. Modern linguists have unsuccessfully tried to parse the trenchant language but assume it was something about dicks, as something about dicks has been a source of worldwide violence from creation. Having been challenged to an anger of penises (technical term for more than one), McCool answered by screaming back until both men attempted to sail into a mid-channel punch-out and found they would not be suff ered by traditional buoyancy. Their boats sank in harbor and they went back to skipping insults shore to shore. UNTIL! McCool, in a fog of ingenuity, began dropping stone columns into the ocean to build a land bridge between two sets of fi sts. These basalt columns would eventually become the fi rst Irish UNESCO World Heritage Site, but at the time, they merely served to lend a heavy stepper a way to go knuckle plug a couple lungs. Benandonner took no urging to cross the newly formed causeway. And McCool posted up against a tall tree on the other side. Flipping a coin and chewing a spear he started using as a toothpick purely by accident, but then doubled down with a Fonzie shrug when someone gave his activity side-eye, McCool watched with growing terror as the tall man’s form approached. It turns out he had a shaky understanding of telescopic vision and as such, was unprepared for what he believed to be a tiny, tiny man to grow larger as he came closer. This was a mouth-written check that McCool was not ready to cash in on for a short-lived bout of annihilation. He let off one last high-pitched zinger, gulping down a quick, “Yar boo and sucks!” while hastily retreating to his wife, Sadhb. She immediately recognized the groundwork of a very stupid fi ght and decided it was in nobody’s interest to let McCool chew punches. Sadhb quickly swaddled her aging hipster husband and laid him in a crib. When Benandonner came knocking he was let inside to meet his transoceanic heckler. Instead, he was run afoul of a man pretending to be a baby, and had some second thoughts about losing his mind over a few well-timed words. Benandonner gave the man a condescending grin and exclaimed, “Oh no, if the baby is this big then the father must be a real giant’s giant!” and walked all the way back to Scotland, destroying the rocks McCool had placed and cementing the legend of the Giant’s Causeway. McCool would ride into history as Ireland’s cleverest giant and as one of the great insult comics of the time. We have no record of his end but it’s been theorized that, having mistaken the Grither for not taller than a poplar tree, McCool made some incisive jests before fi nding out that the Grither is, in fact, taller than a poplar tree. If you’ve seen Tales From the Darkside you know how poorly this turns out. HAVE QUESTIONS ABOUT THE PARANORMAL? SEND THEM TO: WEREWOLFRADARPOD@GMAIL.COM OR TWITTER: @WEREWOLFRADAR. IT’S A BIG, WEIRD WORLD. DON’T BE SCARED. BE PREPARED. No. 147 BEST OF 093 7 JASON WHITE ׉ 7cassandra://NhY6L0qKVYgA4mZpOqWeoqZ4tSab5TNCBHEyNctbjp0O`iTq׉EjROB GINSBERG (D.A.S.A.) - ROBGINSBERG.COM 29 1. DUTY NOW D.I. ROBOT! 2. DEVO CROSSING 3. A CLOCKWORK DEVO iTriTqבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://H4_25ZXbOfEm6ws5ZfbLu__NI2aJGGwcGVyEuds3l8s`et׉ 7cassandra://NvS-hyP_k1QkM3ax2U2KMkfsfyKMuvZZEjbtxZQjrkck`׉ 7cassandra://mVAZZCwMOkbeyhDGsHpvionOixFkupRy91ZOapMbyv4G7`iT׉EART + STORY BY CAMERON BUTTERFLY SMITH Night falls in the old wood and the air stirs with the smells of fire and food and the small sounds of subdued life. A band of men with burly backs crouch around the blaze. Bluster and laughter are squeezed out beside mouthfuls of the day’s hunt and prideful voices. Clinks and scrapes of wood on metal from the cooks play percussion to an ambient pouring of liquids. Excited noise settles into satisfied grumbles once they are taken by the warmth of coated ribs, burnt wood and whiskey. Just past their realm and enveloped in ours as deep rest draws near, then we strike. First, we circle their circle at a distance unseen, taking care to embrace each singular sound we can shake up from the forest floor. Cacophony and confusion replace clinks and comfort as each raucous snap of twig and torrential flurry of leaf, each circular pulse and beat syncopate with their gasps, bated and virginal. Their eyes look at everything and nothing in an effort to make linear the tangled unknown. Speed up, slow down, leave no surrounding spot untouched. Keep trampling, remain unseen, make them afraid. Subtle gasps make way for frantic No. 147 exclamations as dread sets in. An unfettered scream slips out. Then, we cease, leaving them with a silence appearing endless in human breadth but a mere flash to us. Voices chime in with bargain and reason; woebegone whispers of wolves, wendigo, and what could it be? The sharp ones act immediately, briskly under the veil of hush. The sharp ones gather themselves, draw on their sharpness and orient themselves back in the direction they came from, every desperate attempt made to blend in with the silence we allow for them as they make their escape. Soon we need not watch them again, those sharp ones. The dull ones — four of them this time — panic and break the corral, sprinting into the wood, spilling headfirst like a dam of cold water into a mouth, so thirsty and pleased. We hurry in after them and begin our hunt. One is found days later in shock, gnawed on, dragging himself by finger and nail along the forest floor; one is fetal underneath an uprooted tree, chattering uncontrollably, beside himself; one is rocking, cradling his body with eyes rolling far into the back of his head, muttering BEST OF 017 ׉ 7cassandra://mVAZZCwMOkbeyhDGsHpvionOixFkupRy91ZOapMbyv4G7`iTs׉E whimsically about watching his own thoughts. We gather the three and usher them surely back to their institutions through the coax of kindly mirage and encouraging whispers. We do not show ourselves. They will never have to know how close they were to facing unthinkably worse — it’ll be like a dream. Good and gone, never to be watched again. But a man who has been swallowed and spat out will carry himself wraithlike once back in his own world. Like a crudely neutered alley cat with a threat around every corner and no home to return to. This is not our problem. One of them is unaccounted for. There is one more fool we must find; one who burdens us with spades of dullness. Irrational hubris urges him further into the wood and downward into the throat with the bravado of conquest, brandishing his weapon and exercising keen eyes for shelter he does not know is as useless as his pride. We must follow. Early each day of his trek the man is shaken awake by a deep shudder, shuffling off nightmares that echo millennia of anguish. We place comforts, bits of food and cloth in the direction of safety like transposed baitworms in insignificant defiance of the throat’s will. But the man’s senses are flooded with obscenities to untether his cognitions — a compass deciding it was incorrect on a whim; a pack of preserved food now maggotous and inedible; a vision hung midair of tree branches slithering and undulating in loose circular motions — hypnotic and yet barbarous to rationality. It’s my mind playin’ tricks on me, his mantra insists as he deftly advances further into the pit of that old wood. Many would gain flashes of sharpness at these checkpoints; ceasing the dullness of bravado, sprinting in the opposite direction in a lastditch hope of finding the mouth and prying it back open with whatever tool the last traces of their rational minds can conjure. This one, however, continues flickering with a sharpness rationalized only by his own hysteria. He is overheated and sopping as the humidity of the pharynx closes in around him. Our methods mutate to the logic of consoling a traumatized child. As he nears the bottom of the esophagus, he is barely a whisp of what he was before the wide smile closed around his fragile body. He glimpses a flash of our watchful eyes. We coo motherlike to him — a final bid to wrap the wretch in vestigial ease before the unthinkable — and still, he assures himself that we are predators, we are hunting him, and there is only one place safe from us. A man enslaved to the sensibilities of the stomach must be digested. We do not dare attempt to retrieve him at this point. Our eyes no longer watch, but we dream vividly of the rendering; invasive sprouts penetrating gangrenous skin, and plant matter seizing the extents of the body’s mechanisms. Acids break down all the remaining meat. Mangled old sinew disconnects and purposefully rewires. As he enters the intestinal finale of the digestion process, all his cells come undone; an all-embracing panopticon before eventually trickling downward, droplet by each suffering droplet, slowly organizing back into the lowly, unmistakable form of a man. He is alive but accustomed now only to torture. A man that has been digested is nothing less than a virus born of waste. A venom, a danger lurking with a vow of sadism; noxious and senseless to his world and his people. As the infernal digestion comes to an end, we must meet him at the cloaca. We have no choice but to usher him back to the realm of man where he belongs. 31 iTtiTsבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://FLW9mrGCWWnrzbBST1Coxl_4pI3bxBr4laKhUgD79kA`et׉ 7cassandra://cvi6z2_aIBzjODaUh03qwG-gCa0u6nS1XUb4vYVJGOEͿ`׉ 7cassandra://q8tyjs8QbJGFJaY1PldLx444f3PHvfW9i5GfKQ2HtkcC`iT׉E^CHRISTOPHSKI, RAVEN: A PORTRAIT - @CHRISTOPHSKI BRIAN J HOFFMAN, FENCELAND - @BRIANJAYHOFFMAN ׉ 7cassandra://q8tyjs8QbJGFJaY1PldLx444f3PHvfW9i5GfKQ2HtkcC`iTu׈EiTviTuבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://x4kbq6CylSoOMTzYFA5yoCes0xcx_q9ISNmR0HsofWk֠`׉ 7cassandra://o0lHsI_BAlrSntbRAQUQd_jBP062Zr9rtmSlyIoLpRAP`r׉ 7cassandra://WbXzCefXQuMTjpLo-Euw_3Mwuhs7lWZfmcMURnndeuwD`iT׉E׉ 7cassandra://WbXzCefXQuMTjpLo-Euw_3Mwuhs7lWZfmcMURnndeuwD`iTw׈EiTxiTw,BIRDY ISSUE 147Published March 2026. Birdy Magazine is Denver's only magazine: art, words, comedy, et cetera. Available monthly in print or online.ib^l