׉?4ׁB!בCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://MO-vSjJRcX7_LBgjp83Gsvp9HlE1-P7JDEIynG4mtRk`׉ 7cassandra://Ngixc7NQKESyCKTsh2OsW-ndM4StTk-_oWyiVZX13qYW`r׉ 7cassandra://LwTwVg7ypQ3CUjnh4xSge91Fe5fKjhcaeuA4a7Q7vmA@`fXme{׈EfXmeU׉E׉ 7cassandra://LwTwVg7ypQ3CUjnh4xSge91Fe5fKjhcaeuA4a7Q7vmA@`fXmeVfXmeUבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://tBFtYY-B7RBv8z25b2UbbGjxlWhRz2x_MyOvX_YlxNE`׉ 7cassandra://ub0Mz5X4_ggqJldu6pe5lIefVYdZrlUh0jVltA-b9JUi`r׉ 7cassandra://-lDE63ZXF-Y64uKFSGakbghNaFn15QMOkRXESp9gmAY"`fXme~טu׉׉ 7cassandra://HRw_eEu5pGtRikwEJU4Gku9XMB7G_JYkq49xL1IjhVMHJ`׉ 7cassandra://zltWle44vR8gv9zRrXOCn_fKOMSKbc6BOQPfxsu7tDk|`r׉ 7cassandra://eKQQtqHL9morjQ6VgRaxR1A4uoh6z0DotzDb_gcvidE(`fXmeנfXme" 9ׁH http://BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/CONTACTׁ ׁ ЈנfXmeq̧ 9ׁHhttp://BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SHOPׁ ׁ ЈנfXmeD 9ׁH$http://BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SUBMISSIONSׁ ׁ ЈנfXmeWp 9ׁHhttp://BIRDY.MAׁ ׁ ЈנfXme@ye 9ׁHhttp://ERICJOYNER.COMׁ ׁ Ј׉E׉ 7cassandra://-lDE63ZXF-Y64uKFSGakbghNaFn15QMOkRXESp9gmAY"`fXmeW׉E}ISSUE 126 | JUNE 2024 ERIC JOYNER, INDECISION - ERICJOYNER.COM MMM SPRINKLES: KRYSTI JOMÉI BEAR CLAW: JONNY DESTEFANO CINNAMON TWIST: JULIANNA BECKERT GLAZED: KAYVAN S. 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FEDOROV, CRISTIN COLVIN, CONRAD FRANZEN SUPPORT OUR FRIENDS AND BENEFACTORS: MEOW WOLF, BENNY BLANCO’S, ART CARD DISPATCH, ASTRO TOURS, MUTINY INFORMATION CAFE, MONKEY BARREL, OFF THE BOTTLE REFILL SHOP, FRONTIÈRE NATURAL MEATS, TOXOPLASMA ARTS FOLLOW US – IG: @BIRDY.MAGAZINE | FB: @BIRDYMAGAZINE BE IN BIRDY – ART + WORDS + COMEDY + ET CETERA: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SUBMISSIONS MAILED SUBSCRIPTIONS + SINGLE & BACK ISSUES + MERCH: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SHOP ADVERTISE IN BIRDY + SUPPORT US: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/CONTACT-US/#ADVERTISE BIRDY IS A WELL-ROUNDED MEAL, DUNKIN' MONTHLY ©2024 BIRDY MAGAZINE, RELATIONSHIP STATUS: DONUTS. 1 ׉ 7cassandra://eKQQtqHL9morjQ6VgRaxR1A4uoh6z0DotzDb_gcvidE(`fXmeXfXmeWבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://ztwozkBT0Xk4wDQBKTiYih-TFeN7alYwoZ9--APPrTI2 `׉ 7cassandra://LpUFuF0gvaCq_sPagvy_OCuCefibJ3zXH6bH8eZtgTQyW`r׉ 7cassandra://uH8E4QMtdeg7GuHGl6FK6oWD0qjx5T6gY2SQH1Rca6s+`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://IwucgjyjbHBAVIKD__OsHCi9nsT763SWYAJN50wg0PkR`׉ 7cassandra://Gkli-ahPmR6aAzpMLgwS0BfvXheIQXYnMu_ik1rPHtQ͘{`r׉ 7cassandra://ID0Ub2zYypIO1BrXNRa-gRoyNkd9zdvkUl6z5ymBiDk)0`fXme׉E7RAY YOUNG CHU, DESERTED SHEEP HEAD - BEST OF BIRDY 018 ׉ 7cassandra://uH8E4QMtdeg7GuHGl6FK6oWD0qjx5T6gY2SQH1Rca6s+`fXmeY׉E3by Brian Polk I BET WHEN MR. T IS FEELING DEPRESSED, HE SELF-PITIES THE FOOL Based on the public persona of Mr. T, I can’t imagine the dude gets depressed all that often. He has the respect of almost all his peers, loads of money, and an impressive resume of acting credits in his long and accomplished career. But once in a while, the vicissitudes of life get everyone feeling a bit depressed. Sadly, I bet this is when the man in the gold chains stops pitying the external fools in his life and starts to self-pity the one fool who should know better — himself. HOW CAN THIS WHOLE WORK MEETING BE ABOUT AN ACRONYM I’VE NEVER HEARD OF? Everyone in this meeting is using the acronym BOLD like it’s something I should already know. But I swear this is the first time in my human existence I’ve ever heard it in this context. “Being BOLD isn’t just showing up to work, doing your assigned duties and going home,” the presenter of the meeting just said. “It’s being BOLD enough to go the extra mile. To not say, ‘That isn’t in my job description.’ Instead, it’s saying, ‘Sure, I can do that. I can be BOLD! What else can I do?’” Holy shit, I can’t even begin to tell you how extraordinarily difficult it is for me not to roll my eyes so far into my skull that doctors have to surgically retrieve them through the back of my neck. Since this is a “rah rah,” “let’s be happy that workplaces everywhere are adopting bullshit corporate slogans that the working people have to learn,” I’m sure it means something like Being Obedient Like Doormats. Or maybe, Bootlickers Obtain Longevity and Dollars. Whatever it is, I can guarantee you this: once this meeting ends, I will not be able to summon the necessary intellectual curiosity to figure out what BOLD means to these fucking people. HAVE YOU EVER MET SOMEONE WHO WAS OFFENDED BY SWEAR WORDS? When you find yourself in a friend bubble where everyone swears all the time, you tend to forget that certain people could be offended by common vernacular. But then one day you’re at a restaurant, and you say something like, “Some fuckwad stole my credit card number and charged like $400 at fucking Target and then they bought a $6 cup of shitty coffee at fucking Starbucks and didn’t even leave a goddamn tip — which is the most offensive part of all this bullshit. I mean, if you’re going to steal fucking credit card information, at least have the decency to leave a goddamn tip!” And then the table next to you is all angry and bent out of shape, and they can’t stop making angry eyes at you. And at first you think, Maybe they’re so against tipping that they still wouldn’t leave a dollar or two even with a stolen credit card number. And now they’re mad that I called them out. But then your friend who used to be an evangelical says, “I think they’re mad at your swearing.” And you say, “Oh yeah, I fucking forgot people still get all bent out of shape about that shit.” And it makes them even more mad. So yeah, has that ever happened to you? THAT’S IT, I’M DONE WITH LIFE, GET ME OFF THIS RIDE VS. ACTUALLY, LET’S SEE WHERE THIS DISASTER OF AN EXISTENCE IS HEADED Much like everyone in life who is capable of facing reality, I vacillate wildly between these two extremes. On one hand, I’ve seen most of the things I ever wanted to see and experienced most of the things I wanted to experience. So when I read about rising sea levels, war, famine, etc., I think to myself, You know what? Screw this. I had a good enough life. I want nothing more to do with it. But on the other hand, the part of my being that functions on a higher level counters this fatalism by saying something like, Stop self-pitying the fool. Let’s stick around this shit show to see what else could possibly go wrong. And then we’ll get drunk and laugh at the absurdity. And now that I think about it, this is probably why I like to drink so much. AS A DRUMMER, I HAVE ACCEPTED THE FACT THAT EVERYONE IN MY LIFE WISHES I WOULD SHUT THE FUCK UP I have always been a loud person. In just about every single house or apartment I’ve ever lived, I have rightfully earned several noise complaints. Although some of these infractions were the result of alcohol, laughter and late nights, most of them were because I played the drums. My neighbors weren’t impressed by the fact that I practiced all the time and desperately wished I would simply shut the fuck up. To make matters worse, I also can’t just turn off the part of my head where my drumming skills live. As such, I randomly tap on counters, arm rests, chairs, and my own legs to keep the beat going. I assure everyone I know that it’s involuntary, but that doesn’t change the fact that they all wish I just shut the fuck up for once in my goddamned life. “BUT I HAVE TO PRACTICE ALL THE TIME!” I tell them. They usually shake their heads and say something all smart like, “No, you don’t.” So then I agree with them and stop tapping on shit for a full three-and-a-half minutes before forgetting about our arrangement and commencing my practice. A lot of folks take a negative view of the fact that I can’t turn off being a drummer, but I couldn’t imagine not thinking about beats all the time. Of course, explaining this to people just gives them another reason to wish I would shut the fuck up — which, you know, I totally understand. 3 ׉ 7cassandra://ID0Ub2zYypIO1BrXNRa-gRoyNkd9zdvkUl6z5ymBiDk)0`fXmeZfXmeYבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://nBGM7Ms6DftgYoy6eXHMLlY-GjZcGfha9QtTi4DyngAkd`׉ 7cassandra://a5MNqgQdbf1b11UdHKPx5XJqbUKA46t0IBJrkL3Rgac͓w`r׉ 7cassandra://aXXOrfaHxz_jZZpbMq63HYE1PsvwBB0bvJs2xkG7qgM/`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://IDLRfkDJCxg31GqHBisEfokIVpptIhySSgx62zQcC5ID`׉ 7cassandra://ooAAA323sV8x9aMgs9bdmh2vpG5Bz-imfNiDKdAEkCsi`r׉ 7cassandra://7fXoXos12chwvJ4f71OzmUn8MBgNaHRBum8pL7RWwPs%'`fXme׉E׉ 7cassandra://aXXOrfaHxz_jZZpbMq63HYE1PsvwBB0bvJs2xkG7qgM/`fXme[׉E!EVERETT OVRK, GO FOR THE JUGULAR ׉ 7cassandra://7fXoXos12chwvJ4f71OzmUn8MBgNaHRBum8pL7RWwPs%'`fXme\fXme[בCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://HA6FOO3XIxHbtLpEaxSgPBrnqdWlgi_J_0s8SnqO5nIux`׉ 7cassandra://KX6SxDVLowhh3cJwqvsg9tr5sh1pIRsY3bxFxDyImRI͌q`r׉ 7cassandra://weH-7o6npFRi14j8_vBfLQUl_w1ImuEY3fb0_eF1psY+T`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://R_HZAXV79zlZER5Km-Bo0v9lX4XQcQDRbritnbQCcdI\@`׉ 7cassandra://mO2sJ91TB25E4XmeZ6ZQu_5toQxeyTZ6hetrmS7ujRswC`r׉ 7cassandra://6G0ZcS6mOQnvMov_0h7Sbb6mC-h2ibTdTwleSHjqeCo*`fXme׉ElBY ZAC DUNN ART BY JASON WHITE The cheese was easy and greezy Dripping down the block as skulls Rolled and savage faced youths in Bleeding the JFA outta the BOOM BOX Denim suits with pockmark faces grit teeth and chew the PIZZA MEAT like CHUMMED WATERS of the NAZARÉ PIPE PRO The waves pounded the shore as drums of death pounded in shark hearts beating like BIG MUFF SUPER FUZZ meatloaf wounds The tarantula hawk went down and all The zombies ran screaming leaving All the weasels scratching bloody valentines and an invitation to the GUN CLUB. The pool of the EL REY BORDELLO OF BLOOD was drained and wiped cleaned by the DAY GLO grommets sucking SLIME BALL VOMIT through busted teeth and crooked little fingers. the GONZO GORILLA SUIT man drops in and face plants to spike his drink over the death box screaming TRIX ARE FOR KIDS And then he did a HO HO TO HANDPLANT and a LEAN TO SLOB with no shoes on as ĘSQUIVĒL grooves moved on down the block behind the bumper of the SIX DEUCE The festivities required the DOPE from BENNY BLANCO so to the HOT LINE they SMASHED and SCREAMED out some words to order the stuff. The tall blond man named TONY in the truck, came rolling over the crest of the CAL-DE-SAC in a visor gazing blindly as if GLEAMING A CUBE with a heart fueled by PIZZA 8:54 5.28.24.000003 HOD NYC FOLLOW FOR MORE WORK — IG: @UZIEGO | TUMBLR: @WTFCRAIGSLISTNYC No. 126 ׉ 7cassandra://weH-7o6npFRi14j8_vBfLQUl_w1ImuEY3fb0_eF1psY+T`fXme]׉E׉ 7cassandra://6G0ZcS6mOQnvMov_0h7Sbb6mC-h2ibTdTwleSHjqeCo*`fXme^fXme]בCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://X3_wdDmL6O-7nu7HLEbDmSuZvjGGM8zrPXE99sEbyOkt`׉ 7cassandra://mheZt9sVSDkk_9C7mKCZus8_r59bQI6lf_Ner0gcYf8P=`r׉ 7cassandra://NENIBWd8CiAsrW7Ng73gB7dntD_VO9ftjes42a81LMwI`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://0wuHvOjiwJmpShTNhEKjm5WA5eB5M6SXtMG-yAaehms`׉ 7cassandra://wia978srI2EgZkX6dLXAejV1urfRrCQw4usKZZ9tA9se`r׉ 7cassandra://BfPYmklEQrKuXWetZsRj5DL05otM72SZmAbUj8i1BFU `fXme׉ERED PRIEST No. 126 ׉ 7cassandra://NENIBWd8CiAsrW7Ng73gB7dntD_VO9ftjes42a81LMwI`fXme_׉EpA transmission from another dimension. By Jonny DeStefano & Krysti Joméi Northern California collage artist Moon Patrol has a mind like an event horizon, a surreal point of no return for his creative visions and thoughts. But unlike Einstein’s theory of black holes, his concepts do in fact return, and more impactful than before. Beginning with an idea session, he utilizes decades of visual collections spanning from old sci-fi and pulp covers to B-movies and anything that captures his imagination. But the extreme gravity and force of his remix skills intertwined with his mastery of storytelling creates an outcome that’s unrecognizable and uniquely its own. We had the chance to catch up with him to chat about his technique, inspirations and interplanetary journey that brought him to where he landed. What’s behind your moniker Moon Patrol (and does it have anything to do with the classic arcade game)? I was looking for a cool name to give my brand new Instagram account after my wife told me to stop posting stuff on Facebook where nobody saw it. But I couldn’t come up with a name to save my life. One day I was walking past this little flea market shop that refurbishes old pinball and cabinet games (amongst other things), and one of the old cabinet games was Moon Patrol. You started your collage-making journey in the last decade. What sparked that? And have you always made art? I’ve always been interested in making stuff, but for a long time, I thought I’d be a writer. So art, yes; just not necessarily visual arts. But in 2016 I quit smoking cigarettes, and after I was able to sit still for longer than an hour again, I decided to buy myself a congratulatory gift. I did have an entry-level DSLR camera that I used to take random shots, and I thought I’d teach myself Photoshop to spruce those shots up. I didn’t want to pay for Adobe Stock images, so I taught myself 9 how to use the program with random images I found on the internet. I started to gravitate to JPEGs of old sci-fi and pulp covers, and after a while, I realized the stuff I ended up with during these practice sessions ALLIGATOR SHADOWS THEY STILL LIVE ׉ 7cassandra://BfPYmklEQrKuXWetZsRj5DL05otM72SZmAbUj8i1BFU `fXme`fXme_בCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://Rvi5LMqh7P5VBf8gnR4IXNP482z_Bpal4d6ouoIRHVI`׉ 7cassandra://LCsL-qqtrRv57aOb8DtkpZfI7GA4S7BdY5YlKQ3Uejgd`r׉ 7cassandra://3cG9qPr8peOLDMcI2mj64YwDSe4FsSO_c0bsdKF-iAQ!`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://JzkAxoQvWaDCC8Wz0gpdpLwy6dBEuU8TJFoNZpJAItUd`׉ 7cassandra://N-AtmE3BFsLcVfe5hUA1qJFL7X9rD9JCeuBhQUQYoqgn`r׉ 7cassandra://kCVETQQb_5Iudfyh39hm8RbOJra4Q6E-sjYHpmAJFNg"1`fXme׉E MOTO-CAT was way more interesting than my shitty photography. It took off from there. You describe your art technique as “Kid Koala’s turntable albums, and in part by William Burroughs’ cut-up technique.” Can you expand on this? Kid Koala is fun and energetic, and William Burroughs can create this eerie, alien vibe. I love both those things — the energy of a turntablist with the alienness of Burroughs, and I like to think I combine the two. When you first started, you preferred silence while creating to enable yourself to hear your own ideas and thoughts. Is this still the case or have things changed? Yup, I prefer silence. Things have changed, because now I have two kids instead of just one. But yes, silence is my preference. Each collage you make tells a story or is commentary with existential import that lets the viewer’s imagination run wild. Do you start with a concept or do you let an idea evolve as you create? I appreciate that, that’s a very kind way of describing my stuff. I used to try to start with an idea but soon learned that it was all about the process. Most of these images kind of wrestle themselves out of my mind at the moment. I No. 126 have a bunch of early pieces with titles that have absolutely nothing to do with what they are about because I’d name a file when I opened it, and start working. Now I wait until I’m done with a piece before giving it a title. Your pieces involve myths, legends and folklore. Any particular tale that deeply resonates with you and your work? No one particular tale or myth, no. There is a book called Funk and Wagnall’s Standard Dictionary of Folklore, Myth, and Legend, and another book called The Dictionary of Imaginary Places. Both of those texts have been hugely inspiring to me. We’re big fans of your retro aesthetic which combines sci-fi, horror, 80s cartoons, video games and pulp illustrations. What is it about retroism that appeals to you? I’m a big genre nerd, and that’s where the genre themes hide on the internet. Collage doesn’t lend itself to “realistic” work, and I’m not good at abstract art. I enjoy political art on a very limited basis, and collage lends itself to political art, I believe. But I’m not big on that either, though Winston Smith is a hero of mine. I think I am a surrealist in a lot of ways, and surrealism has always played around with commercial art, pulp art, comics, etc. So I think that may be why I gravitate towards that stuff. You have recurring series, like your Hypothetical Movie Posters, Shadowplay, and The Old Masquerade. What is it about these themes that draws you back to them? I grew up staring at movie posters in front of the theaters and looking at the VHS covers in the video section of my local grocery store while SIMPLE HEAD 9 ׉ 7cassandra://3cG9qPr8peOLDMcI2mj64YwDSe4FsSO_c0bsdKF-iAQ!`fXmea׉E THE LAST CAMPOUT II my mom did the shopping. I think a lot of the composition and stuff from movie posters really stuck with me. The shadowplay and the old masquerade stuff kind of jives with this theme I have with people’s surfaces versus their inner selves. We all have a surface self and an inner self, and we often contradict ourselves. We all are interested in identity. So I think those themes play out in a lot of my pieces because I’m drawn to the same stuff everyone else is. To Birdy, collage work is an essential art form that evolves or devolves imagination and ideas. We’re always baffled when it’s written off as “unoriginal,” when someone fails to see a truly new and unique idea, sound or vision born in this artform while dually paying homage to what has come before. Some of the best art, music and film is a reworking, remix or mash-up of an earlier idea. Why is collage work important and necessary for you? Because I can’t afford paint and art supplies. I’m only half-joking. I think collage operates on the same principles as jokes: surprising juxtapositions and irony. And I like art with humor in it, and collage often has an undercurrent of humor, even the angry political stuff. People said — and still say — the same thing about turntables, that it’s not real music-making. But turntables are a real instrument, and collage is a real art. Between your day job and being a father, what inspires you to sit down and create? Gonna be honest, I haven’t been able to sit down in a long while. My output has diminished to almost zero. But I have a second series of cards coming out with House of Roulx soon, and they paired me up with a much more established artist than myself. I’m supposed to make several “mash-ups” with their art, which they have graciously agreed to. So that’s terrifying, because I really want to do a good job, and there’s nothing like terror and desperation to make you get to work. How do you work through a creative block? I just keep working. I just don’t post the shitty shit I come up with when I’m in a rut. I have hard drives filled with shitty art that I could not bring myself to delete but that will never see the light of day. Biggest area of growth from when you started to now / something you wished you knew when you embarked on this journey? To quash my imposter syndrome. That shit doesn’t help. Artmaking is a process and it is also about processing. Do you find creating to be cathartic or therapeutic? I’m honestly not sure which one it is, or if it’s some mysterious third mode of fulfillment. But there’s nothing else that makes me feel the same way as after I just made something that I know is fucking awesome. You’re a digital collage artist who is so obviously inspired by all things analog. What you create truly appears to look like handmade paper collage work. What are your thoughts on digital and analog techniques working in tandem? I’m fine with all of it; I think some of the analog folks getting elitist is kinda dumb, to be honest. I collect comic books, and it reminds me of the “Slab vs Raw” fight that folks have on Reddit. I’m like, “C’mon, 11 INNER CHILD ׉ 7cassandra://kCVETQQb_5Iudfyh39hm8RbOJra4Q6E-sjYHpmAJFNg"1`fXmebfXmeaבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://4XfyfK91b-CSJMWFVFcyBnLrUrp63DsY4KaU6JeMi7E`׉ 7cassandra://ALVTKSZcUcS2wxiU_cW5wAKEM1wbuwUzk1_ncrzRnWQV`r׉ 7cassandra://EQC8pz2uTmObLrs5DzlHN372hXlMhIzMGe1k1HWXmoc`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://UrB1W0sSuTC8gbMG_pXTFDBn--1ZSFjisjLm0qROJJsC`׉ 7cassandra://A8LWoieV4eCUB3aTLdED84yc6L1s55BePpM_OYqY-twW`r׉ 7cassandra://4MKFRew8PG4yHH87sTZDaAaWiWoXPf_yGU7ao-D3Y-g`fXmeנfXme 9ׁH"http://HOUSEOFROULX.COM/PAGES/MOONׁ ׁ ЈנfXme8 9ׁH(http://HOUSEOFROULX.COM/COLLECTIONS/MOONׁ ׁ ЈנfXme/ 9ׁH(http://OUTREGALLERY.COM/COLLECTIONS/MOONׁ ׁ ЈנfXme_ 9ׁHhttp://THEMANSIONPRESS.COM/ENׁ ׁ Ј׉Eyou guys all collect the same damn thing.” I will say an awful lot of digital collage has the same “look,” and that folks who do digital should use less filters, and let the original images with their creases, rips, stains, tears, and Ben Day dots shine through. It gives your work texture. In our opinion, your Imposter Syndrome piece is collage perfection. Absolute comedic gold while also serving as deep commentary on the subconscious. On the topic of imposter syndrome, what advice can you give to aspiring artists who are struggling to see the value and worth in their efforts? Don’t be your worst enemy. Just work, and if people want to pay you compliments or money, take it. Your definition of an artist. I honestly don’t have one because I don’t have a definition for art. Tell us about your current projects. I’m kind of on sabbatical, what with work and fatherhood and all that, but I do have a second series of cards coming soon with House of Roulx, and volume 2 of my artbook coming out from Mansion Press next year. Bonus Questions: Top three favorite video games? Pitfall! Dragonfire Centipede (But nope, not Moon Patrol :-) Top three films? Big Lebowski Kung Fu Hustle Bladerunner Runner up: Snake in the Monkey’s Shadow Top three bands/musicians? Kid Koala Guns N’ Roses Really digging The Bug Club right now! Top three books or authors? Thomas Pynchon Cormac McCarthy Gene Wolfe What would you say to Kid Koala if you knew he was reading this? Thanks for all the inspiration!!! Anything else we missed? Nope! Thanks for the great questions. FOLLOW MOON PATROL ON INSTAGRAM TO SEE MORE OF HIS WORK & STAY UP-TO-DATE WITH HIS NEW BOOK, CARDS & MORE: @MOON_PATROL ARTBOOKS: THEMANSIONPRESS.COM/EN-US/COLLECTIONS/MOON-PATROL PRINTS: OUTREGALLERY.COM/COLLECTIONS/MOON-PATROL PRINTS, CARDS, SHIRTS: HOUSEOFROULX.COM/COLLECTIONS/MOON-PATROL SERIES 1 CARDS: HOUSEOFROULX.COM/PAGES/MOONPATROL-ARTIST-TRADING-CARDS-SERIES-1 APOCALYPSE BEAR NIGHT OF THE COMET IMPOSTER SYNDROME ׉ 7cassandra://EQC8pz2uTmObLrs5DzlHN372hXlMhIzMGe1k1HWXmoc`fXmec׉E׉ 7cassandra://4MKFRew8PG4yHH87sTZDaAaWiWoXPf_yGU7ao-D3Y-g`fXmedfXmecבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://mKb-hrTHoydMI7HuAtsgcyqF3NZvTJN66-7Bfvmu82Y.`׉ 7cassandra://vo0ACc_3_1L0Y6xkdD7XCtWMcohEd-vsqF81j86q7-Iz`r׉ 7cassandra://K2Z-Pg4hp3EAdS_dfiCD_qxuPFhtYEaB5jwsxTzyKP4%9`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://6XF3A2HU7naEczXMJOCvvmtsvSGaD1PaBGi7zexczt4r`׉ 7cassandra://HM3cK41yFTRpNjFLaYGk5K13FL1K1wCDHVVEobT_ekEM`r׉ 7cassandra://c_AKnTN_5yQJifH3caIKWd60obljELh1EQ1clxtMtF4`fXme׉EBy Hana Zittel Tripping On Utopia: Margaret Mead, the Cold War, and the Troubled Birth of Psychedelic Science by Benjamin Breen (2024) Accidentally created in 1938 by Swiss chemist Albert Hoffmann, LSD is often seen as one of the drivers of the culture shifts of the late 50s and 60s. In Benjamin Breen’s newest book, he takes us back to America in the 30s when a young anthropologist, Margaret Mead, was heading to Nebraska with her then husband to study the Omaha Tribe. There she learned and wrote on the use of peyote, particularly its ability to be, as Breen interprets, “a tool for the creation of a new culture,” and visionary and trance states as “a source of new knowledge, mutual understanding, and social cohesion, not an escape into fantasy.” Mead’s path alongside the development of psychedelic science takes a darker turn after her third marriage to fellow scientist, Gregory Bateson. With the onslaught of WWII, scientists mobilized to utilize their skill sets toward the common goal of doing anything to defeat the enemy. If it meant bringing down the Nazis, the ends would justify the means, ethical or not. This slippery slope aligned with the data-centered work Bateson and Mead had been doing together in the field. “They had wedded this information-centric approach with a deep interest in altered states of consciousness. Now, in the early months of 1942, those two interests made Mead, Bateson, and the intellectual circle forming around them in New York City important to one of the newest and most controversial methods of waging war: psychological warfare.” The demand for developing means to control the mind spurred the scientific exploration of substances like LSD and methods like hypnotism to brainwash the enemy and manipulate the will of the masses. Through Mead’s participation in or closeness to groups like the Office of Strategic Services, the Macy conferences, Project MKUltra, and the CIA, Breen explores her complicity in the misuse of science and the manipulation of psychedelics for means of warfare rather than harmony or utopia. Some of the more well-known and shocking experiments like the injection of LSD in captive dolphins or the deceptive experimentation of LSD on sex workers in San Francisco are driven by characters within Bateson and Mead’s circles. Breen’s dive into the dark beginnings of psychedelic science is massively complex. With a huge cast of actors and multiple layers of secrecy, Breen attempts to unravel an immense web of narrative surrounding this emergent field of study and experimentation. A truly fascinating dive into American culture, consciousness, and good intentions gone wrong, Benjamin Breen’s meticulously researched book illuminates a deeply complex time in American history. The Werewolf at Dusk and Other Stories by David Small (2024) Known for his award-winning children’s books and celebrated memoir, Stitches, David Small’s newest release is a collection of three short, surreal and dark graphic tales. In the first, a once vicious werewolf finds his powers depleting. Formerly a strong predator, the inevitability of aging and death has left him withered and alone. The second finds a psychiatrist lost and wandering in the “Old City,” where he self-analyzes his reality, imagining every danger on his journey is merely a symbol for his own life and psyche. In the last, a man tries and fails to avoid the musical act, The Tiger in Vogue, when he goes to the theater in 1920s Germany. There, Nazi Storm Troopers have already started berating people on the streets and Hitler can be found in the box seats of Small’s imagined theater. The Werewolf at Dusk is marked with spare use of colors that play up Small’s ability to capture emotion and dread through his drawings. Each panel has a look of watercolor overlaying scattered line drawings, highlighting Small’s characteristic style. A brief dive into David Small’s work, each story maintains an ominous grip on your thoughts long after you finish. No. 126 ׉ 7cassandra://K2Z-Pg4hp3EAdS_dfiCD_qxuPFhtYEaB5jwsxTzyKP4%9`fXmee׉E BOULDER NIGHT BY ASTRO TOURS 15 ׉ 7cassandra://c_AKnTN_5yQJifH3caIKWd60obljELh1EQ1clxtMtF4`fXmeffXmeeבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://_2w44NnbkLxTa7aP7RIPfrPXyUmtF84OiypDvXUQXB09`׉ 7cassandra://rj4U1J081kzFTSHAMIMfFgQxuukJ2f7g7qJbky3JH0QͥO`r׉ 7cassandra://FMkzHMU9tA15dc7GMfuXmNeVGLjZEaRU0poX3sD42w87Z`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://op4IBXneLp-6cuSSletAP1ox24Oc6S26Ur5qbxmRQmwx`׉ 7cassandra://DJcN5yluqiXvo_umZc_E1l09JkkY36D8uswvDvOQZQM~`r׉ 7cassandra://Py9zVbIJutPkwVzKF71Sno4gwxtTv1-pQqcJ7l103rg,`fXme׉E׉ 7cassandra://FMkzHMU9tA15dc7GMfuXmNeVGLjZEaRU0poX3sD42w87Z`fXmeg׉EKMARK MOTHERSBAUGH, FROM THE POSTCARD DIARIES AND MARK MOTHERSBAUGH: MYOPIA ׉ 7cassandra://Py9zVbIJutPkwVzKF71Sno4gwxtTv1-pQqcJ7l103rg,`fXmehfXmegבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://vwNC-94sCL8DwI0aithDuNoz2RSwl4JiTJHRSDJNd2Ap`׉ 7cassandra://8gW3F4cGCYKp9fZUT17OpWJmJ5o7Xqv2YaR7tYcJl24W`r׉ 7cassandra://ARJafjt2L2PWWhZFOmRfyPhjQAppcDfn3B6AgwNaDs0`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://I0DQTtB2JLEuFH7CszUUvbaYPgZ1cxpnid_8xxKMy7U`׉ 7cassandra://UDg2_CmMAym7PfCY3z0avaXTCgNvl4gp5iFjX3VpdmQp`r׉ 7cassandra://u3PoNB0xJBsjbwY-L1HbVi8k0s20TIwkegptzQjBQpg`fXme׉EART BY GONZALO ׉ 7cassandra://ARJafjt2L2PWWhZFOmRfyPhjQAppcDfn3B6AgwNaDs0`fXmei׉E!Suddenly aware of bells ringing in the night, Itsuro sat up, staring toward the sound. As he listened another bell joined in, and another — bells from many temples being struck ceaselessly. Minoru, unbelievably, was still snoring. Itsuro jumped up and started flinging on his clothes. “Wake up, baka!” Minoru did, with a start, looking confused. Understandable enough, at his age, but a samurai needed to wake quickly. “What?” “It’s a fire!” In minutes the whole household was up, going out to the street to stare anxiously to the northwest, where an orange light licked the ankles of a tall column of roiling smoke. “Maybe Asakusa,” Itsuro said, he and Minoru having climbed the courtyard wall for a better view. “Or Yoshiwara,” Minoru said, causing Itsuro to give him a shove. “Hey!” the teenager cried, trying to regain his balance and failing, but ending more or less on his feet on the ground. “What was that for?” “Your impure thoughts.” But of course it was Itsuro’s thoughts that were impure, drawn irresistibly to recollections of a young woman’s smooth pale thighs, her breasts, her lips, her sex, like moths to a flame. The world is on fire, the Buddha said. Itsuro had first heard the phrase from the fireand-brimstone preachings of an old priest in the village of Kawanori Mura, but he’d heard it again when he’d mentioned to Ayaka how the priest’s description of hell had terrified him as a boy. Looking out at the maples in the courtyard of the geisha house, hearing their rattle in the wind, Ayaka had replied with a poem: The world is on fire Each vermilion leaf a life Crackling in the flames “Itsuro,” Lord Watanabe called, returning from the street and spying the young man. He jerked his head and Itsuro leapt off the wall to follow him toward the stables. Once they were inside Watanabe said, “I need you to do something for me.” “Ayaka?” Itsuro ventured, trying to keep his tone level, not giving a hint of his own feelings toward his lord’s favorite courtesan, or his repulsion that this old man should touch someone so young and beautiful. A lecher, is what he was. Mind like a bottom-feeding fish and face greasy as a frying pan. “Find her and make sure she’s safe. Take her to… I don’t know, find an inn outside the city and have her stay there until she can return. Here’s a few ryo.” “It might be crowded, my lord, with people fleeing the fire. It may cost more than usual.” Watanabe’s eyes narrowed, then he exhaled in irritation. “Fine. Here. But I want her in a decent place. If I put her in some dump I’ll never stop hearing about it. Now go.” “Hai.” Itsuro considered whether it was the best idea to take his horse, a spirited silver stallion named Kaze, into an area sure to be full of smoke and possibly fire, but he would be too slow on foot, and assuming he did find Ayaka, he could hardly carry her on his back. Well, maybe for a little while. He left with the household frantically preparing its firefighting efforts, carrying bucket after bucket of water from the canal. The breeze smelled strongly of smoke. The streets were full of activity, everyone running back and forth, yelling instructions over the ringing bells, wetting down building exteriors, racing to pack their belongings in the event the fire did cross the river. The Sumida was wide, but it had happened before, and happened quickly. The orange glow on the horizon lent a gut-felt urgency to their efforts. The crowds also made it hard to ride on the street, and horse and rider constantly had to veer around obstacles. Itsuro kept up a steady cry of “Make way!” but few paid heed. He went north through Ryogoku and then turned west toward the river. Though it was night, and the fire just started, every ferryman in the city seemed to already be at their vessels, some to make an easy buck, some just to help the thousands trying to cross. He continued along the riverbank with some difficulty, the path of packed earth jammed with residents. Most were headed east or south. “Where’s the fire?” he called out to some commoners. “Asakusa, but it’s spreading fast! This wind is a demon!” He crossed near Senso-ji, where there were usually many ferries, but still had to wait a damnable fifteen minutes, cursing internally even as he tried to calm his skittish steed. It seemed the whole eastern horizon was a wall of roiling smoke — and the wind was northward. Fires like this could spread immensely fast. He used one of the ryo to get the attention of a ferryman with a sturdy boat for horses — an exorbitant cost — and soon was riding on the wide road behind the temple complex. There was a hospital adjacent the temple, and as he passed he glanced inside a cart pulled by a furiously sweating cartman to see a young woman holding up two scorched hands like claws and crying out and writhing in her agony. Then he saw another cart — and another — all seeking what little succor the monks and nuns could provide. This also meant the fire must be close, as if the smothering smoke were not indication enough, but he still thought he could reach the courtesan house before the flames. Surely the geisha had already evacuated? No matter; it was his duty to check, and his desire — imagine how grateful Ayaka would be! The things she might do in her gratitude … At last he saw the fire itself — a battle line of raging flames, brightest toward Taito, but extending north and south so far as he could see. Crashes resounded across the landscape as teams of men and horses used ropes and grappling hooks to pull down buildings a few blocks 19 ׉ 7cassandra://u3PoNB0xJBsjbwY-L1HbVi8k0s20TIwkegptzQjBQpg`fXmejfXmeiבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://rqruMAFWxSPW5iFjCDS3GLoEEyCUKxdytyXrOeXevpoD`׉ 7cassandra://8dIBjzRL5uZcK4VmmVOsn65lpaqHjKd0O1iyVRdQzSkoD`r׉ 7cassandra://v4qyk2NBwdoI2njW6tAne2m58NBNqCkwTjhMdY6rf9k`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://UDMBUg2aCLgInldPPUWNt8pvaiI-aISS1Sht5eTrKZI`׉ 7cassandra://Tyi1gUjNSq2tOn5Yeioitsq4QKIU3NGSslpHtU0I8uQFl`r׉ 7cassandra://y5VJ4NRlYfz-ebeni2jqGhyrHpIehu7VUuJVSPbETFE`fXme׉Eaway, desperately trying to create a fire break, dangerous work given the fire’s proximity. North again, paralleling the fire; and entering Yoshiwara, he breathed a sigh of relief seeing it still standing. But for how long? The air was thick with ash, and he saw sparks flying above him. He thought it wouldn’t be long before the district erupted into an inferno, and clearly the residents had the same notion, for he saw only a few bowed figures running through the darkness, possessions strapped to their backs. It was already hot as a furnace, and to the south was an inferno, lighting the curved roofs and waving branches with a red premonition of what was to come. Wrapping a scarf about his face (which did no good — he was coughing furiously), he reached Madame Haru’s place, the House of Bending Willows, and found the gate closed. He called out but no one answered. There’s no one here, idiot. Get out while you can. But he had to make certain, didn’t he? Perhaps he could even bring Watanabe some item to prove his diligence — or just to boast to Minoru of his exploits. Tying Kaze to the wooden gate handle, he scaled the wall and jumped down inside. He rapped on the sliding door at the main entry, calling out, but of course no one answered. The doors slid open without hindrance and two strides and a jump took him through the vestibule and into the main parlor. He knew the way to Ayaka’s room by memory, having been here four times before, up the stairs and down the hall. He knocked again: no answer. He opened the door. “Ayaka?” he said, stupefied, because to his complete surprise there was a woman kneeling there, looking out the open window to the street, and firelight limned her face. Then she turned and he recoiled. Not Ayaka. Not Ayaka at all, but someone else, something else. An old woman, face deeply seamed, but with long gray hair that somehow floated upward, twisting and writhing in the wind from the window, a crown of churning smoke in ceaseless movement; and her eyes were pits of flame. He stepped back to flee, but the old woman called out: “Stay, young samurai! I can help you!” Her voice hissed and crackled like sputtering logs, and orange light shone within her mouth when she spoke. “What are you?” “I’m the one who can give you what you desire.” “You’re a demon.” “That’s just a word people use for things they don’t understand. I have thoughts and desires, just like you. And I know you came here looking for something. Name it.” “I’m looking for Ayaka.” “Yes, of course. I can make her yours, if you wish. If you just do a small something for me.” “What is it?” “In Madame Haru’s perfume collection there is a silver bottle with an iron stopper. Bring it to me.” “That’s it?” “I need your help opening it. Then I will fulfill your desire. But hurry — the fire is close.” He considered just running away, but the spirit seemed confident she knew where Ayaka was — and more. Something about the way she said I can make her yours seized his attention ... seized it like the gentle fingers of a beautiful woman. “Fine. Stay here.” Madame Haru’s room was just at the end of the hall. The house mother had at least a dozen bottles of perfume on a small table, but No. 126 only one had an iron stopper. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands: nearly globular, like an orange, or a grenade. The scenes on it were hard to see in the flickering light, but seemed to depict dancing figures in a bamboo grove. He returned to Ayaka’s room and found the old woman waiting, leaning forward eagerly, spidery fingers tented on her thighs. “Here it is,” he said, though disturbed by the fiery intensity of her stare. “Now tell me where Ayaka is.” “So the girl is what you want?” “That’s what I said, isn’t it?” “And I said I could make her yours. But consider: Open the bottle, and I will grant whatever you wish. If you still want women, I can give you any woman you desire. If you want money, I can make you as wealthy as the emperor. I can make you a lord of lords, or an unstoppable warrior. I can make you a sage. I can even make you a Buddha.” “A Buddha?” he repeated, frowning. A Buddha? He thought he had known why he was here, but now he was thrown into uncertainty. After all, what greater prize could there be than Buddhahood? If he were a Buddha, all the other problems he faced, all his confusion, would dissipate like sand thrown into the ocean. Kings would bow before him, sages would speak of his wisdom, and his name would be remembered for a thousand years. What could compare to it? Was it not the ultimate glory? Then he remembered his purpose. “What about Ayaka?” “You’ll never see her again.” “You mean she’ll be dead?” “I mean her fate will be out of your hands.” He chewed on this, sweating in the heat. It wasn’t like he would be killing her. Wasn’t her karma her own? And she obviously wasn’t in the geisha house anyway. She was probably sipping tea with an auntie somewhere. “Fine,” he said. “Make me a Buddha.” “Open the bottle,” the demon hissed. He pulled on the stopper. It had obviously been put there a long time ago and he had to pull hard, but finally it popped free. He inhaled sharply as it did, and his head swam with a sudden heady scent, a cloud of red fumes billowing from the bottle. In that moment, suddenly, he understood, understood completely, and knew he had made a mistake. “I want— ” he began to say, but a spark blew in through the window. The fumes ignited. It took him a moment to even register what had happened, as his vision turned white, then black. Then agony gripped him, his face literally on fire, but most of all his eyes, and he screamed and fell, pressing his hands to the melted flesh of his ruined sockets. He might well have died there, but in a half-mad fever dream he got to his feet and stumbled down the stairs and out the gate, bouncing off the walls, until he found his horse tied where he’d left him. Somehow he managed to pull himself into the saddle, and together they escaped the flames. Blind, his life as a samurai was over. He was sent to Kamakura for his healing and in Kamakura he remained, shaving his head and becoming a monk. He spoke rarely, glad he at least could not see his own disfigurement. Eventually that too passed, until he could imagine no other way his life could have gone. When old age finally claimed his life, the other monks murmured among themselves, “He was a living Buddha.” ׉ 7cassandra://v4qyk2NBwdoI2njW6tAne2m58NBNqCkwTjhMdY6rf9k`fXmek׉EART BY GONZALO ׉ 7cassandra://y5VJ4NRlYfz-ebeni2jqGhyrHpIehu7VUuJVSPbETFE`fXmelfXmekבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://P-Rx_WxzN_41uTuUZpYeeZ5-F_z_2Lqjl8aYkBIkgCEC`׉ 7cassandra://CCh4Cs0Ups4FnxIOLRUY8F8EiXsuOpAC7A4Spgq6zuk͡^`r׉ 7cassandra://VyrpQub5WC-hUx4PgpdcZzBIP3THfl6FLrKF6RGBi1k0i`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://b6XEhZxPY0k2WyXfdyzCWmKBGI6tj5cGmDfSJlM0wPU`׉ 7cassandra://DMBqtrfPJH9kxtC6zRgRFMzT5pq6w44RvH8zisQb3Tc͕.`r׉ 7cassandra://GzMqv9tkFvarD22wyMxmy8gaQLgCAFcwf4S_nIVg_DE- `fXmeנfXmě 9ׁHhttp://MEOWWOLF.COM/VISITׁ ׁ Ј׉E LIKE MANY MEOW WOLF EXHIBITS, THERE’S THE ELEMENT OF LIMINALITY — A VORTEX THAT CONSUMES THE PARTICIPANT AND TAKES THEM TO WHEREVER THEY NEED TO BE TAKEN. BY RIVKA YEKER There is something so sweet and tingly about nostalgia as a feeling, as a daydream, as a “Private Session” on Spotify. I’m sure we’ve all heard it before, but there’s the idea that music becomes a lot harder to latch onto as we get older, unlike the stuff we listened to as preteens and teenagers. That music is what makes our hearts warm and our minds at ease — even if it was some cheesy nü metal record, an emo serenade, or a hit pop single that showed up on every radio station. This feeling is part of why we keep coming back to what’s comfortable — both as individuals and as a society. We complain there are too many sequels and remakes, yet for so many, we’re afraid to watch anything outside of what we’re used to. A lot of us stick to reruns or watching whatever we know will please us — a desire to cling onto what feels familiar is part of the human psyche. Yet, when we do decide to take the plunge and experience new media, we find ourselves connecting dots. If we have any sort of reference points ourselves, we might comment and say, “This reminds me of a Judy Chicago piece I saw at a gallery once” or “This takes me back to when I saw Star Wars in theaters” — we intrinsically look for ways to feel related to what we see; it’s part of why nostalgia is so enticing and such a popular tool for artists and creators of all kind. The market of nostalgia means many different things, sometimes at once — it’s the perfect cash cow for reunion tours, film remakes, fashion, No. 126 etc. — and it also makes for compelling art. The film Barbie (2023) made $1.446 billion in the box office because of many reasons, including all the pink, a summer release, the Barbieheimer spectacle, impeccable marketing — all catering to a huge audience — but mostly because it relied on the nostalgia of Barbie itself. In my opinion, the film wasn’t exceptional, but its marketing felt everlasting; it was impossible to escape it. As soon as the campaign began, Barbie trends re-emerged. There was a new TV show called Barbie Dreamhouse Challenge on HGTV, major brand collaborations with companies like Gap, Crocs and Forever 21, and #Barbiecore became a trending topic on TikTok, which somehow resurged the popularity of Aéropostale, a company that went bankrupt in 2016. If you’re interested in the deep dive, check out TIME’s online article, The Long, Complicated, and Very Pink History of Barbiecore. Barbie is only a recent example of the nostalgia market, one that specifically chose a very popular reference point to build upon, but it recreated a moment that triggered something in all of our memory banks, whether it was good, bad or complicated. When it comes to Meow Wolf, immersive exhibitions like Omega Mart scream a sort of nostalgia that feels very 90s/early 00s. There’s bright lights, grocery stores, childhood snacks, the desire to touch everything, products that probably have wacky commercials. Like many Meow Wolf exhibits, there’s the element of liminality — a vortex that consumes the COSMOHEDRON IN CONVERGENCE STATION | PHOTO BY ATLAS MEDIA ׉ 7cassandra://VyrpQub5WC-hUx4PgpdcZzBIP3THfl6FLrKF6RGBi1k0i`fXmem׉E participant and takes them to wherever they need to be taken. In many ways, nostalgia resembles this experience in its invitation to yearn for the past. Stepping into this portal allows for the full immersion of reminiscing. It’s clear that the artists behind this are referencing something, that they’re interested in evoking that kind of emotion — an unlocking of a door that had been stuck for too long. The artists know who/what they’re paying homage to, there’s a shared love for this particular era, trend, artist and/or moment. They are inviting you to play with the world they’ve created as your younger self. Since much of Meow Wolf’s world-building is rooted in science fiction, the genre itself is a great example of looking toward the future while respecting its past. There is an inherent appreciation for what previous writers, thinkers, artists, etc. had to say about extraterrestrial life, artificial intelligence, multiverses, quantum physics, whichever area of science fiction is most exciting to you. I think of films like Blade Runner (1982) — originally Philip K. Dick’s novel, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (1968) — which had a film sequel 35 years later in 2017. The sequel is set in a different future, but keeps certain integrities out of respect for the world that’s already been brought into the media landscape. The energy is different, but the long-winded, droney, gloomy visuals and ambiance remain intact. Obviously, there are characters who remain the same and there is an edginess to it that resembles the ‘82 classic, which makes previous fans of Blade Runner nostalgic for Ridley Scott’s vision. The film creates its own entryway where viewers remember exactly when and where they watched the other film for the first time. There are critics, of course. Perhaps the film didn’t quite align with their nostalgic vision, perhaps Denis Villeneuve didn’t quite capture the neo-noir they were patiently waiting for. That’s the risk of adopting someone else’s work into your own piece of art. Intellectual property aside, they are simply two separate entities and one is born directly from the creation of the other. The influence of eras, trends, styles and genres puts the artist’s own nostalgia and appreciation into their piece, while providing the audience with personal memory portals. In a world where everything is somehow tied to its monetary value, there is another world inside of it where people get to witness a piece of art and be taken directly to a beloved (or hated) moment in their personal time capsule. SPOT NOSTALGIA INSPIRED WORK & MORE IN MEOW WOLF'S CONVERGENCE STATION IN DENVER, CO; HOUSE OF ETERNAL RETURN IN SANTA FE, NM; OMEGA MART IN LAS VEGAS, NV; & THE REAL UNREAL IN GRAPEVINE, TX: MEOWWOLF.COM/VISIT KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED FOR TWO NEW MEOW WOLF PORTALS COMING SOON TO HOUSTON, TX & LOS ANGELES, CA! COSMIC CAVE BY PIP & POP IN HOUSE OF ETERNAL RETURN | PHOTO BY KATE RUSSELL ׉ 7cassandra://GzMqv9tkFvarD22wyMxmy8gaQLgCAFcwf4S_nIVg_DE- `fXmenfXmemבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://5piLKSoLytmXxyH7yHBwe98EwUr4a_Uuz9ZozYk1wHIv`׉ 7cassandra://GtAItoWiFjOgsYHg7rj4yLBRkzfREykVPqYoYiC-hjUͣ0`r׉ 7cassandra://gTDNc-FRr2YbB3p8GSX3SWqxPfXqINgV02rr4PbqH7E0O`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://iCUoCZNRjlvsWc7LhHMNe4ZHd0HnpWPZqstkuYN5Cp0r`׉ 7cassandra://NNdRU65kh-KxBvyTWgQikjQ6CcpYhayXIYMwZPkxFd8gv`r׉ 7cassandra://VLHRSmXUD5DGJxDJsxdL_am6fj_Tjj4yS7NYRzPAY1A$,`fXmeנfXme 9ׁH*http://QUEENCITYSOUNDSANDART.WORDPRESS.COMׁ ׁ Ј׉EBY TOM MURPHY FERN ROBERTS – A MULTITUDE ALL AT ONCE Some of the musical touchstones for this latest Fern Roberts album are easy enough to trace in the introspective and existential pop of The National, the atmospheric and gritty post-punk of Arctic Monkeys, and the spare delicacy, emotional immediacy and attention to detailed soundscapes of Grandady. But this record unfolds as a series of stories, each with a unique experiment in songwriting and lyricism, with the composition’s sound design aimed at capturing the essence of an existential experience. It follows an arc in which one becomes overwhelmed by the pressure of trying to do something important and meaningful in life. Coming to terms with the reality of what that means, they cultivate the inner strength to put in sustained effort to weather the disappointments, the discouraging experiences and the seeming lack of immediate payoff for attempting to do so. The album interweaves the messaging into multiple realms of one’s life and concludes on the necessity of being willing to start again and reinvent as essential to the whole process. Creatively it’s a big leap forward for the band. And as a loose concept album, it invites repeated exploration. JEFFREY WENTWORTH STEVENS – SONGS PERFORMED IN THE STYLE OF HAIKU [WINTER] These 10 short pieces follow the traditional haiku form of 5-7-5. Most are under a minute long with the longest at a minute-30. Yet each is a complete musical and emotional experience conjuring a succinct textural and tonal impression inspired by the stark and minimalist beauty of winter landscapes. Stevens limited his tools of composition to a Casio SK-1 and a Casio SK-5, so there is a unity of sonic frequencies and an imposition of working within the limitations of a narrow palette. But the results are an entrancing listen that doesn’t actually demand so much of your time, yet feels like an enduring and immersive listening experience resonant with the more abstract end of Boards of Canada, Labradford and Stars of the Lid delivered in more concise segments. MY BLUE HEART – MASQUERADE My Blue Heart is refreshingly out of step with most of what you’ll hear from Denver these days. Its eclectic style fuses blues rock, psychedelia, prog and Americana in an art pop style that often comes across like members of the band have a background in musical theater. Like the songs are written with the performance aspect in mind, including stage costumes and orchestrated lighting. Michelle Petersen’s vocals are melodramatic and framed by music that feels like something from another era, as though one or more members of the band listened to a bit of Carla Bley and Susan James. The production on the album fully represents the rich array of sounds in the songwriting and adds to a sense that the music was ambitiously written to transcend narrow genre considerations. By the end of the record, you feel like you’ve listened to pop songs crafted for a Broadway production. SOLOHAWK – RIO GRANDE Recorded at The TANK Center for Sonic Arts in a night of capturing a distinct mood across five songs, Rio Grande has a distinctively haunting vibe. Utilizing no effects for the recording, the music takes advantage of the rich reverb of the room and the way it elongates every tone into near infinity. The project is Til Willis and Steve Faceman, with recordings for this session done by Michael Van Wagoner, mixing by Willis and mastering by John Hruska (of Fucking Orange and Double Plus Down). Between the raw recordings and subsequent treatments, there is a mystery and majesty to the songs that do not detract from what might be described as a cosmic intimacy of the resonant emotional expressions Willis and Faceman conjure, as though channeling the energy and spirits of the setting. It is ambient, avant-folk with a core of emotional intensity that fans of the Microphones will appreciate. FOR MORE, VISIT QUEENCITYSOUNDSANDART.WORDPRESS.COM No. 126 ׉ 7cassandra://gTDNc-FRr2YbB3p8GSX3SWqxPfXqINgV02rr4PbqH7E0O`fXmeo׉E׉ 7cassandra://VLHRSmXUD5DGJxDJsxdL_am6fj_Tjj4yS7NYRzPAY1A$,`fXmepfXmeoבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://BRtkPolSiTKXEB4Dxr6J6H3SbEL1-ln1SoYXbY5c-bg`׉ 7cassandra://5FViUzEHLZ-zfjEPo-Ny_tUyvw9EEC3VycXNXLzbe3Y͔5`r׉ 7cassandra://nDH3DqN0L_n4NdokLZp9TsXbutCS48X8PfcOjFH7DGc.`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://oNjcr3XRE0_qezNOx_d9YuddxZPJ_a_lGd1_o559T_0^`׉ 7cassandra://VHoO9eUdeBl3wZfhGh_U8aUGs0b3AiOYRDcjbOEMRe4͐`r׉ 7cassandra://X-3wcHmPB6cWv3Db_xjWCHuRzBrP2rDsKa88W4b77Ys.`fXme׉E KCelebrating 3 Years Of Refill Service In Denver With Owner Dave Paco By Krysti Joméi In the heart of Denver’s Capitol Hill, you’ll find Off The Bottle Refill Shop, the neighborhood’s minimal waste refillery. Housed on the corner of the historic brick building on 13th Ave and Sherman, guests are welcomed in by a vibrant outdoor mural and artful windows lined with hanging sea glass bottles and a bounty of lush plants. Stepping through the often open door is like entering a portal to the old world, timetraveling around the globe and landing in the present. You’re transported to an apothecary meets sweet shop meets street market meets jungle to something altogether artfully new. Cleaners, shampoos, lotions, potions, soaps, detergents, salts, scrubs and jars line salvaged shelves and alley-rescued cabinets and tables, complete with handwritten detailed descriptions of each good and their respective maker information. Groovy deep cuts and world beats play over a sidewalk freebie sound system, inspiring visitors to explore the space intuitively. Knowledgable shopkeepers encourage interaction with the head-to-toe body products and home goods on display and offer help or guidance if needed from behind a beautiful handmade reclaimed white oak bar with semi-truck floorboard countertops. Hand-signed prints from local artists share the walls with upcycled wallpaper of life-size equatorial plants and the simple, yet boldly stenciled phrase, We Demand A Better Future. Owner Dave Paco took action on these No. 126 words when he opened Off The Bottle Refill Shop three years ago in the midst of the pandemic. Born out of frustration and disgust at the growing plastic waste and pollution problem, Dave and fellow Owner Daniel Landes set out with a mission to offer alternatives to singleuse plastic consumption. The result was a space dedicated to refilling customers’ already existing containers with non-toxic, sustainable home and body products. “The idea of the shop is really just creating a good energy space that can help people do good things with their shopping habits. A lot of what we do day-to-day is educational, talking to our guests about what it is we do in terms of trying to minimize waste, using already existing containers to bring home daily needs products — shampoo and conditioner, cooking oils and laundry detergents and dish soaps and teas and spices and sunscreen — and giving people the option to step away from that singleuse plastic or a single-use container. Every time you need shampoo, you’ve got to get a new bottle, a new pump and they don’t really get recycled. And so this is an experience for folks that are hoping to minimize their contribution to trash.” Guests are encouraged to bring in their own clean bottles, jars, bags, or boxes to have them filled with as much or as little high-quality, ecofriendly goods as they need, priced by the ounce in weight. There is also a large assortment of new glass, aluminum and stainless steel containers, pumps, and accessories available for purchase. But Off The Bottle takes the concept of reuse a step further by offering free jars. Part of their glass donation/freecycle program, they receive donated vessels which they then sanitize and remove any labels. “The intention is to keep them alive. When you start to use your containers over and over, you develop a relationship with them. ׉ 7cassandra://nDH3DqN0L_n4NdokLZp9TsXbutCS48X8PfcOjFH7DGc.`fXmeq׉E+Sometimes when people come in the door, I see the containers in their hand and I know what they’re going to get. He’s gonna get laundry detergent in this, body wash in that, a salt scrub in this. I’m ready to go, because I know those containers, and he knows them better than I do. It’s fun to see that and to appreciate the life of that little bottle that you can carry for the rest of your life.” Dave has always had a heart for protecting the planet and all of its inhabitants, carrying a responsibility to champion his values through art, expression and his work. Straight out of high school he ran punk label Paco Garden Records in the 90s through the early 2000s where he championed underground musicians and artists. With an unshakeable calling to experience the world and its myriad cultures, he decided to move on as a cab driver to save enough to travel. Graveyard shifts became his norm as he’d work as many hours as possible seven days a week for months at a time before taking off to Japan, India, Southeast Asia, South America, wherever he could venture before coming back to Denver and repeating the cycle. Most recently, he lived in Puerto Escondido, Oaxaca, Mexico where he ran Osa Mariposa, a boutique hostel and the first project he created with his business partner, Daniel. Though rooms 27 ׉ 7cassandra://X-3wcHmPB6cWv3Db_xjWCHuRzBrP2rDsKa88W4b77Ys.`fXmerfXmeqבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://-Uiun8eLt6sR4Ujl9pA5YYMm6qluVvv9opw5HTBKUbA`׉ 7cassandra://I5c0lFhQf2I1iNqi5tUwnifyuaRN9il4TunCn7IMlAA͞`r׉ 7cassandra://TAXQUfIJEv1XwzIwI0CsfBRnSq_sg9XE4d54Tzp5T_k2j`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://4_XNFE4bXkM7Ypyu9xs0ObFnuwh8UZFl4oBQ-ZELOJo `׉ 7cassandra://wBqe79YvA0-QrcCvi7k7xQ2lO_sYagP55cN8XmHOXk0͐`r׉ 7cassandra://Py2ovyNu8R3HY-Z-TTeDYYdl8waAWqxP2HxyN4cnYvA/`fXmeנfXme"̪9ׁHhttp://OFFTHEBOTTLEREFILLS.COMׁ ׁ Ј׉Eare private, the beachside retreat is based on community with shared outdoor spaces and vegetarian/vegan meals. “A lot of the influence for the physical shop came from seeing the world, the people’s markets in Mexico or India, a lot of color, a lot of stacks of things. We don’t sell food here, but to see those big open sacks of beans and rice and just going through being able to smell everything and see everything in this kind of abundance and mix of colors and sounds and everything. And usually most people are happy and talking to each other. It’s just awesome. And I wanted to bring that here. The sound as well has got to be a good positive vibe. The intention there is to just create almost a patchwork quilt of sound — it’s Puerto Rico and Africa and Europe and Argentina and California and everything. I want it to be colorful and I want to hear a lot of different languages and different rhythms and styles. Everything’s got to be uplifting to make people feel that good rhythm, a good time. I learned more about the environment too during my travels and what plants need, how everything works together. When I lived in the tropics, I learned how easy it is to grow things. At first it was just wonderment, really. You slice the top off of a pineapple and just put it in the dirt and walk away for like a week or two and then come back and all of a sudden there’s a pineapple growing. So I stopped and was like, Wow, the earth is blowing my mind. And when I moved back to the States, I just kind of brought a lot of that with me” Traveling opened Dave’s eyes to a more harmonious way of living with nature, our neighbors and as a collective community, which directly translates into the undoubtably beautiful aesthetic of the shop and its oasis-esque spirit in the city. But he also witnessed firsthand how plastic, trash, water and air pollution is destroying the planet on a global scale. And it’s these fundamental realities that create the core of Off The Bottle — from the majority of shop’s anatomy constructed with repurposed and found materials, to the carefully curated non-toxic, 100 percent vegan and reusable products they offer. But the shop’s soul lies in their mission to educate guests and also provide some sort of ease in No. 126 ׉ 7cassandra://TAXQUfIJEv1XwzIwI0CsfBRnSq_sg9XE4d54Tzp5T_k2j`fXmes׉Ea fight that often feels unbeatable. “We’re a wasteful society and we’re surrounded by it and forcefed it all the time. We’re almost made to feel weird or insignificant if we try to go against the current. And it can be exhausting and very time consuming. You can make a lot of your own stuff if you have time. But if you’re working 40 hours a week, you have kids, or you’re working two to three jobs, that’s not possible. But it doesn’t have to be daunting, it doesn’t have to be a colossal change from one day to another. I think the realistic approach for most people who are interested in making changes like this is to do one thing at a time, just make a couple changes here and there. We spend a lot of our time at the shop educating. So if anybody has questions about that or concerns or doesn’t know where to start, we’re happy to just talk about it. You don’t have to buy anything, you can just come in here and talk or send an email or phone us to ask questions about what you're wondering about. That’s what we’re here for." OFF THE BOTTLE REFILL SHOP IS OPEN SEVEN DAYS A WEEK, 10AM7PM AT THEIR BRICK & MORTAR LOCATION AT 220 E 13TH AVE, DENVER, CO, WITH PRODUCTS ALSO AVAILABLE ONLINE. DON'T MISS THEIR 3RD BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION ON SUNDAY, JUNE 9, 2-5PM, WITH SNACKS, MUSIC, ART & 10 PERCENT OFF ALL REFILLS. LEARN MORE ABOUT WHAT THIS INDEPENDENT, EARTH-SUPPORTING BUSINESS HAS TO OFFER ON THEIR SITE: OFFTHEBOTTLEREFILLS.COM & ON INSTAGRAM + FACEBOOK: @OFFTHEBOTTLEREFILLSHOP 29 ׉ 7cassandra://Py2ovyNu8R3HY-Z-TTeDYYdl8waAWqxP2HxyN4cnYvA/`fXmetfXmesבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://oeBaUKYQhpx0_NjUClie7jdldWUVGz1dpYrkm53MVN4k`׉ 7cassandra://CP0xEtOfoi0r2uOk9r1Rhefy4siX6zTGCwOv2ztn3Sw͋`r׉ 7cassandra://JSiAsKBNoSpgUBiUgH_syYugZ_nl06ubtyki8_zQfYE1#`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://oi6Ha1iaXMreaWVFRgESxJyX0gxGK8y7zNVHccvROgcZ#`׉ 7cassandra://a8Z9KcAtGVVsCK7ksdWSBEjWhEo8xbeRRfWNcA5_puM͝`r׉ 7cassandra://eoELNprike2XykY2iP-5_s2dH_fPNCZFlScci9LKtc4*v`fXme׉E HUNT BY LEVI HIMES ART BY PAVEL ׉ 7cassandra://JSiAsKBNoSpgUBiUgH_syYugZ_nl06ubtyki8_zQfYE1#`fXmeu׉ERThe faintest tinge of blue was beginning to seep into the night. Stars still shone high in the sky, clouds of a remnant storm barely shadowed their view of the earth below. Dew was finalizing its settlement upon every available wild surface. Wind whistled through the trees, and over the empty alpine tundra. This early hour remained one of rest and stillness. A gentle fog hovered amongst the branches, visibility was slighted to all, even one sole individual with an artificial light. Subtle cracking twigs, the compression of years worth of pine needles and other tree debris, would go unnoticed by the mountain, but there in the vicinity of the forest, the sounds echoed. The man paused regularly to adjust his stance. Mostly staring at the ground, he had to judge the sturdiest foot placements in an attempt to reduce his noise making. There was a ridge about two and a half miles out that he hoped to reach before the sky gained too much light. The truck was probably a mile and a half behind him now as he paused to blow warm air into his hands. His headlamp had been dimmed as low as it would go, only needing to see right in front of him, he didn’t want any wild thing to know he was here. He had his pack on and his bow atop of that. A revolver on his hip just in case. There were plenty of wild things out here that he was looking for, but a few might be looking for him as well. Pulling his hat further down over his ears he continued on. There was no time to slow down. Up, up, up he went as the blue hour became ever more prominent around him. Birds could be heard leaving their nests and more little rodents would occasionally cross paths with him. Once the trees started to thin he paused again. Pulling his monocular from a shoulder strap he attempted to get view of the hillside across the gully. This definitely wasn’t the spot as he looked uphill and then at the lighter blue of the sky. He kept on, breathing heavy, every exhale visible in the light beam from his lamp. The trees became thinner and shorter as he took a more aggressive trek straight for the alpine area he hoped to reach in time for sunrise. The ridge eventually made itself known and he took shelter behind a boulder as the morning light moved away from the blue hour. This was base for now, he unbuckled his pack and set it beside him. He also removed his bow from the top. When he turned away to get it prepped, an old name tag was revealed, a thick strap clipped securely to one of the loops, embroidered letters read: JOHNSON. He switched off and removed his headlamp. He was kneeling behind the boulder, continuously looking over the top. Even with squinting his eyes, the opposing hillside was still too dark to see anything moving. Now, as he settled back down behind the boulder he let out a few slow breaths. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Taking note of his surroundings, there were still a few shorter trees around him, and a few other large rocks. More light floated in, but there wouldn’t be any true sunlight for another hour or so. The sun was rising east to southeast. There were two peaks stretching the horizon skyward, holding back the direct light and warmth. He peeked over the boulder again to scan the opposing hillside. Slowly moving his monocular across the low trees and open rocky landscape, he thought he could see something shift. A tree seemed to be moving beyond the scope of the wind. He didn’t take his eye off the area. Then just on the far side of the moving tree stepped a massive bull elk. Immediately he felt his heart rate increase, he let out another breath and tried to keep his hand still. The animal’s movement kept it visible, but he feared he’d lose it at any moment. It was still too far away for a clear shot, he either had to hope it moved closer, or he would have to get himself within a good shooting range. Taking note of the direction he’d need to move, he took his monocular and bow. Leaving his pack he turned to head along the hillside just below the ridge. Just as he moved around the boulder, he noticed lion scat. His heart dropped. It was right on top of this boulder he’d been set up behind. Those droppings could be within a couple hours they looked so fresh. Nervously scanning the area again, he rested his hand down atop his gun on his hip. He let out a few more breaths. His eyes shifted back and forth, continuously arguing with himself inside to stay alert, stay focused. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Unsure of whether or not he should leave his remaining gear behind in this spot, he hesitated turning back. Conflicted still, he quickly lifted the monocular to where the elk had been. Nothing. He began to grow more concerned, frustrated as he jerked the monocular back and forth across the area, trying to find the animal again. The slight crack of a twig shot into the silent expanse. He dropped the looking device, spinning around to check his surroundings again. His pack was suddenly pulled out of sight. The hunter slowly crouch down, leaving his bow and monocular in the brush. Taking a step towards the boulder, he unclipped his revolver as he gave the hidden space distance and quietly made his way around. The pack simply rested on its side as though it merely fell over. A rough scratching sound shot to his ears. The mountain lion leapt from over top the boulder, its claws dragged on the rough limestone surface in a flash of time as though death had come for him. The man’s revolver was out, he was on his back, and the wild odor of a massive cat blanketed him. Eternity was here. An explosive shot filled the wild void and the sunlight poured over the mountain tops. Blood poured out. 31 ׉ 7cassandra://eoELNprike2XykY2iP-5_s2dH_fPNCZFlScci9LKtc4*v`fXmevfXmeuבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://gdhLPNZASN6RXrzUfjg0VlVNYk3k4EAAqdWlj9XzsEA?`׉ 7cassandra://bSK5kKu41dzLDmeWRYOFgTRXjjxvmVJloPRrWYKijoYo0`r׉ 7cassandra://X8qWZDAnNsuO8hEvHDxRCMw6ciw0C_VCNc2KQBWvWCM B`fXmeטu׉׉ 7cassandra://FlCUntdPlBmW4DypIyd4ybMj5x7MFfbB3HXg0ccl8l4Z`׉ 7cassandra://C2XziwtHqToQ1yDKs-rXaBj-l4mEwjsZP5uawNRzGwÝr`r׉ 7cassandra://MOR2GS4b5PcuhVXyHOhuH37PF8WzSROmQVnsVq0SD5I(`fXme׉E-DAN MORAN, SAMURAI MARCH - BEST OF BIRDY 062 ׉ 7cassandra://X8qWZDAnNsuO8hEvHDxRCMw6ciw0C_VCNc2KQBWvWCM B`fXmew׉E׉ 7cassandra://MOR2GS4b5PcuhVXyHOhuH37PF8WzSROmQVnsVq0SD5I(`fXmexfXmewבCטu׉׉ 7cassandra://PUjSRqO27JOGS9HN_KMghU8m9FnEflCmjjY2O0kpokM_`׉ 7cassandra://i-8NjjicI67tQHJdcGVI5HGjHc3lNWSLrOAwADt5CCc͍`r׉ 7cassandra://cAlUHENxHuJ96ZUUca281hO6ZvHy4DE6YPe5s39HHAE*`fXme׉E׉ 7cassandra://cAlUHENxHuJ96ZUUca281hO6ZvHy4DE6YPe5s39HHAE*`fXmey׈EfXmezfXmey,BIRDY ISSUE 126dPublished June 2024. Birdy Magazine is Denver's only magazine, available monthly in print or online.fX}\or