issue48streetcake

slowly boris © sean burn

contents–issue48

chris doyle - ground level

stephen philip druce - football isn't special anymore

mandy haggith - suilven

a.j. huffman - frustration

allie moh - fantasy

mark young - 7/7

chris doyle groundlevelWhensomethingthatIsnothingHappensandMyteethvibrateandGrind,IcanonlythinkOfher.Ofhimandhim.WhenmyskinbeginstocrawlAndadarkcloudgathers.WhenIseethatnumberstillInmyphone.WhenIopenDoorsbestleftClosedandboltedandbarredIthinkofthem.Thethree.WhenmybreathcomesIngaspsandshuddersShallowandquickAndIStarttolookinsideWherenothingGoodcanBe.IclosemyeyesandPicturethemeachInfineandintricateDetail.Ithinkofthem.Therestiseasy.

stephen philip druce FootballIsn’tSpecialAnymoreFootballisn’tspecialanymore-notlikewhenIwasakid.Supportersallhadsmilesontheirfaces-footballgroundswerespecialplaces-theyoungandtheold,therichandthepoor,butfootballisn’tspecialanymore,there’stoomucht.v.footballon,sothenovelty’sgone,anilnildraworatenonescore-footballisn’tspecialanymore,thefootballt.v.show-spoiltmid-flow,butthehalftimeanalysis-ascreenintrusion-wehopeditwasentertainment,butthediagramsofcirclesandlinesshatteredtheillusion,ohwhatabore-footballisn’tspecialanymore,footballshirtsonceanicesimplestripyou’dbecarefulnottotear,nowanuglykitplasteredinadvertisingshityouwouldn'twanttowear,ohwhataneyesore-footballisn’tspecialanymore,Thegroundannouncerinsultsthefansbyyellingout-theteamnames-asifthey’retoodumbtoknowwho’swalkingout,twentytwochildmascots-anabsurdapantomimeasyoucanget-playersholdinghandswithkidsthey'venevermet,ohwhatachore-footballisn’tspecialanymore,managersunderduress-topartakeinconferencesforthegutterpress-punishedwithafineiftheysodecline,thet.v.cameraworkofthepitchistoobusy,irrelevantshotsofalltheworstangles-abirdseyeview-fromapigeondangles-spinsroundandmakesyoufeeldizzy,themeaninglessobligatorypre-matchhandshakes-toencouragefairplaygesturefakes,butsnuboutofspiteanditcausesafight-oncewewerefriendsbutnowit’swar,footballisn'tspecialanymore,

t.v.camerasspying-obligedtoshowcloseupsofdramaqueenscrying-fuellingthetensionwithatroubledfacemention,awardingthemattentionascompensationforthesin,oftheheftypricestheywerechargedtogetin-arosyapplewithgreedatthecore,footballisn’tspecialanymore,there’snotoneplayerworthpayingtosee,notonewithcharisma,styleorpresence-notoneyou’dreallywanttobe,theballissolightit’snowaballoon-bouncinghighasaplasticmoon,ifyoukickithard,itwillcatchthekeeperoffguard-swervingtwowaysonitsown,sothescorerstalentisstillunknown,thewinnerscelebratewithanartificialroutine,offireworks,glitter,streamersandconfetti,bouncinglikepuppetsinpaperspaghetti-thesilliestspectacleIeversaw,footballisn’tspecialanymore,football’snowanon-contactsport,promptingdeceitbythepenaltycheat,andplayerswhochoosenottostayontheirfeet,stadiumsnowalllookthesame-likeacoffeeshopchain-bland,soulless,impersonalarchitecture-asifthetackyplasticpicturesontheoutsidewon’taestheticallyaffectya,poorkidsinthecommunityignored,bytheclubsthatdon’tcare-thattheycan’taffordtoevengetinthere,you’llpaythroughtheroof,you’llpaythroughthefloor,becausefootballisn’tspecialanymore,footballisn’tspecialanymore,FOOTBALLISN’TSPECIALANYMORE

mandy haggith

Suilven

Is this a

concrete poem? No,

Torridonian sand stone.

a.j. huffman

FrustrationisapillIswallowdaily.Prescribedatmaximumdose,itsuncoatedformstickstothebackofmythroat.Igagonitsdelayeddisintegration,trytoforceitdownintotheabyssofmyoverly-acidicstomachwithtwo,full16.9ozbottlesofwater.Iamdrowningmyselfinthetasteofnothing.ItseemsappropriateasIstareattheemptyrecyclables,seeingmyreflectionintheshadowoftheirexchangerate.

allie moh

Fantasy

Iknowwhatitfeelsliketobeinsomeone’sfantasy,doyou?It’seasy.Allyou

needtodoispickyourtargetaudience,identifyandsetthescene,thedesired

outcome,andthenitallbeginstofallintoplace.Myfavouriteoneisthecinema,

specificallytheRenoirCinema.

Ipilemyhaironmyhead,applyblackeyelinertothecurveofmyeye,wear

awhiteshirtandthen,andvariationshereabound,whetherIgoforanicepairof

jeansorapencilskirt,dependsonmymood.Ienterthecinemarightbeforethey

dimthelightsandtakeaseatdiagonallyinfrontofthemanI’vechosen.Isitup

straight,mylongneckreflectingthelightfromthescreen.IalwayspickaFrench

filmorablackandwhitefilm,soitsuitsthepersonaI’vecultivated.Heisasingle,

welleducatedculturalman.Hehashadlongtermsuccessfulrelationshipsbutwith

justsomethingmissing.He’sleftthemnowandspendstimefindingoutwhoheis

andlivingdifferentliveshewasn’tabletolivewhenhewasleapingfromone

relationshiptothenextinhisyouth.Sohe’sabitofalatebloomerwhenitcomes

todoingthingsalone.Thenheseesme,anequallywelleducatedculturalwoman,

hisperfectmatchperhaps?

Ialwaysleaveinthemiddleofthefilm.UsuallyitisinfactafilmI’veseen

beforesoIknowtheperfectparttostandupandquicklyexit.Ipickanemotional

partsosomethingwillresonatewithhim.Hestopswatchingthescreen,heturns

andwatchesmeinstead,whilewatchingmeleavehefeelslikehe’smissingouton

something,somethingthatcouldhavebeen,somethingthat,ifthefilmshe’s

watchinghastaughthimanything,wasperhapsmeanttobe.That’swhenI’vegot

them.I’vecreatedalastingfigureinhismind,asalluringandseethroughasasilk

negligee.Somethinghe’llrecallwhenhe’slonelyorhorny.

Butthereisadownside,Ican’triskgoingbacktothatcinemaforawhile.

He’llgoback,he’llsearchforme.He’llgotofilmshe’snotinterestedinjusttoseeif

I’mthere.SometimesIcan’tresistandIdogobackbutIdrasticallychangemy

hairstyle,myclothes,comeupwithadifferentpersona.

Igrowattachedtosomeofthesepersonas.They’rehardtoletgoof.That

Frenchstyledoneisalwaysawinner.I’veeventakenhertoothercountries,other

independentandsmallcinemas.There’sartstudent,singlemom,unhappily

marriedwoman.I’mnotreallylyingwhenIplaythesecharacters.Idon’tplay

charactersIcan’trelateto,that’sjusttheft.AndIdon’tbringthecharacters

somewherethey’renotbelievable,that’sjustsloppy.

Ioftenwonderhowmanymen’sfantasiesIactuallyappearin.It’dbe

impossibletotellbutthinkingaboutithelpsmegettosleepatnight,likecounting

sheep.TothinkatthatverymomentallthementhatIcan’tremember,thatonly

glimpsedmeforhalfanhouronceinacinema,arelayingdownjustlikeIamand

touchingthemselvesandthinkingaboutme.Sometimesitgetsmeexcited,but

moreoftenthannotitjustrelaxesmeandIdriftoffintoadeepsleep.

Soyousee,it’sstrangeformetobehere.I’mnotquitesurehowtobehave

insomethingthat’snotofmyownmaking.Idon’tfeelcomfortable.Idon’tthink

thiswasagoodidea.AndnowI’vegoneandtoldyouallaboutmyself,mydarkest

deepestsecret.I’mnotsurewhatyou’llthinkofme.Willyoutrytofindmeina

darkenedcinema?

Oh?Ihaven’ttoldyoumyrealname?Imusthaveforgotten,ormaybethatis

alsopartofthewebI’mweavingaroundyou,toeaseyouintosleeptonight.I’lljust

leavemypurseherethen,shallI?Pretendit’sbyaccident,youcanhaveapeakand

seeifthatrevealsanysecrets.Iwon’tbegonelong,justto‘powdermynose’as

theysay,Imightcomeback,Imightnot,butisn’tthatwhatyou’dliketoknow,as

yousitherewaitingforme,thinkingaboutwhatitisI’mreallydoing?Thisis

actuallyquitefun,thisdate.Ineverthoughtthatappwouldeverworkoutvery

wellforme,buthereweare.Andthereareyou,wonderingifeverythingI’vetold

youisalieorthetruth,butwhicheveryouchoosetobelieve,IknowI’vedefinitely

gottenyourattention.

mark young

7/7Closebytheun-edifyingsurfaceimagesofTheLondonUndergroundbombingsIcomeacrosstheMarthaGrahamCompanydancingStravinsky'sLeSacreduPrintemps&staywiththat.Thisisnotdenialbutanecessarymaintenanceofbalance.