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The Spot Magazine • OCTOBER 2011 3

The Name of the Story | www.spotmag.com


www.spotmag.com

TABLE OF CONTENTSOCTOBER 2011 | vol.2, issue 23

OWNER | TYLER MALNERICH

EDITOR IN CHIEF | JAMES WILLIAMS

GUEST CREATIVE | BRYAN WADE

WRITERS:JYOTI

KYLE BYERS/ SARA WITSKINTYLER MALNERICH/ JYOTI

SUZANNE BRONSON/ JOEL DYARDOUGLAS MORGAN SUMBER

COMIC:KEVIN MAHONEYPHOTOGRAPHY:

LA TEE DA - MELISSA PRUITTSUSTAINABLE ROOTS - sustainable-roots.org

PHOTO LOOK BACK - LISA ASKEW

CONTACT: THE SPOT MAGAZINEPO BOX 3192 GRAND JUNCTION CO 81502

970- [email protected]

THE SPOT MAGAZINE IS A PRODUCT OF NEXUS MEDIA

SUSTAINABLE ROOTS............................PG. 6

COUNTER CULTURE...............................PG. 11

LTD MODEL OF THE MONTH.................PG. 18

THE LAST VISION...................................PG. 2

THE ANTS GO MARCHING TWO BY TWO..........................................PG. 32

TIDE.........................................................PG. 36

ISIS...........................................................PG. 37

WORLD TAX ROUND-UP.........................PG. 38

PHOTO LOOK BACK...............................PG. 41

REGULAR FEATURES

COMIC.................................................................PG. 9SEXTROLOGY.................................................PG. 14 MUST HAVE MUSIC....................................PG. 23MOVIE THROWBACK..............................PG. 24

FEATURE


THE SEED OF SUSTAINABILITY | www.spotmag.com

By Sara Witskin

Catch a bus out of Quito, Ecuador headed toward Tena, get off the bus at the left hand turn off the highway that runs through Cosanga. Take an hour walk (if you aren’t lucky enough to hitch a ride from someone) and find the biology station Yanayacu. This is where Ryan, Drew, Pamela, Genoveva, and Toni met in 2005. They were studying caterpillars and plants in the eastern Andes. During their various studies and projects in Ecuador throughout the next few years, they were introduced to the culture, the people and the development problems facing the country.

In 2008 the group decided to form a non-profit and de-velop a plan to help the town they lived so near to. Their plan was to help build greenhouses, and to encourage interest in ecotourism by teaching English. In February 2010 Sustainable Roots became a nonprofit and began fundraising.

There was an art show here, a benefit concert there, throw in some salsa dancing, and we had enough to fund our projects! Toni and the first volunteer in Cosanga, Rachel Helmerichs were off to see what they could do in the unsuspecting little town. We rented out a few rooms in the only Hostel in town which is also a restaurant, and small store. The family of five that owns it lives in large room on the side of the restaurant. Starting English classes was the easy part. We walked in and asked the director if she wanted an English program. The next week, we started teaching classes, one hour a week for each class. To start a high school program, we spoke to a few teenagers that were around and suddenly (due mostly to the fact that there isn’t much for a teen-ager to do in Cosanga) we had students, and everything we needed to start this program. The program has been a great success we have many students slowly grasping a new language and more. The class is a place for our students to make new friends and see the world from another point of view.

Starting the greenhouse was another story all together. We needed someone who knew the technical side of building a greenhouse. We enlisted the help of a “maestro” who was referred to us by the President of the Parroquia, and a friend of ours, Don Efren. In January of 2011 the maestro was able to help us build the green-house. The greenhouse was built and the soil prepared by the six families that would take part in the planting and harvesting. The group worked hard the structure was

completed in March. Rachel talked the ministry of Agri-culture into helping us with some amazing soil and Sara Witsken joined the ranks of Sustainable Roots volunteers helping us home make organic fertilizer and pesticide. We feel very proud to have been able to help our friend Venancio one of the participants in the greenhouse pro-gram. When we met him he was working for ten dollars a day if he was lucky, if he wasn’t lucky that day he was working for an I.O.U that probably wouldn’t be paid. His wife had been ill for months and was diagnosed with severe anemia. The community reached out to this family when they needed it most and found that they had only a small sack of potatoes to feed six people. The family now has space to grow food for their family for years to come.

When Amanda Stahlke and Eliana Socha came for their 6 month stay beginning in June, the greenhouse had been finished, and it was time to find our own place to live. We decided to rent out the upstairs of a house and the two worked hard outfitting it with all the necessary ele-ments. They also spearheaded the first “summer” school program for elementary students in Cosanga. Each of the four volunteers of Sustainable Roots has committed months of their lives to the project working hand in hand with community members to realize their goals.

The Rough Guide to Ecuador describes the village of Cosonga by saying “Despite its pretty location, there’s not much to the village, though the area as a whole is rich in birdlife.” The volunteers and board of Directors of Sustainable Roots respectfully disagree. The statement made referring to its beauty and the birdlife is set in stone as far as we are concerned, but we have learned what this village has to offer. We have been witness to the spirit of the town that is hidden beneath its reserved and ordinary appearance. We have been able to see the hearts of the inhabitants, and the love that oozes out of them like the jelly on a PB&J. We’ve shared in their celebrations, triumphs and even their heartaches. We have been able to see that this town is much more than just a “pretty location.”

The town has grabbed a hold of our work and fought for its results. We are looking forward to starting a new greenhouse project in the next few months and have re-quests for seven more. We dream of a sustainable future for Cosanga and Ecuador and are excited to be a part of that future.

SUSTAINABLE ROOTS:the Seed of Sustainability

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short story The Name of the Story | www.spotmag.com



FEATURE


Counter Culture?

Non-conformist, anti-establishment, counter-culture, sub-culture, through-tout time it’s been called a lot of different names. Basically, it just means wanting to be different. But is it?

Tattoos, once a taboo for the mainstream, have become a work of art on the bodies of an ever-growing percentage of teens. During and after WWII, Sailors were said to have “tied one on”, only to wake up the next day and dis-cover a palm tree or the name of their sweetheart inked on their arm. Until resent years you rarely saw a female with a tattoo. It was considered cheap and unattractive.

Today it is hard to walk down the halls of a high school and not see tattoos on both the female and male students. They are worn other the back, shoul-ders, arms, and ankles, as a work of art and a rite of passage. So, have they rebelled and become non-conformists or are the masses once again following like sheep. Ten years ago a girl with a tat would have been a rebel, a member of a counter-culture, but today she is is just like most teenagers.

Another phenomenon in the past 25 years is piercing. It first began with ears.Today you can see piercing in the lips, tongue, eyebrows, nipples, and the nose.

Did these non-conformists strive to be different? Only to find that within a very short period of time there were the norm?

Did the beatniks of the 60’s and the hippies of the seventies want to stand apart? Absolutely. However within a short time, the smoky coffee houses, filled with dim lights and smooth jazz were filled with want to be beatniks. The same with the hippies in the 1970’s rebelling against the war and the government. It was a time of wild clothes, longhaired men, love, and peace and of course drugs. These people really were making a statement. Then once again, the posers. The cities were filled with wayward kids trying to follow the free hippie lifestyle with no idea of the original cause of the movement.

Vegetarians were the rebels of the 70’s, when discovered and the movement grew they became macrobiotic fanatics, then in recent years vegans.The question is, can you succeed at being different and if so for how long. There will always be leaders and followers but how do you hold on to your individualism?

By: Kathleen Buckley

COLUMN

Did these non-conformists strive to be different? Only to find that within a very short period of time there were the norm?

Sextrology By Jyoti


Sextrology | www.spotmag.comSextrology By Jyoti

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FEATURE

Jamie Larie KnowldenLa Tee Da Model of the Month - October 2011

Age: Twenty Three

Hometown: Grand Junction Colorado

What pushes your buttons? Pet Peeves: I think some of the things that get on my nerves the most would have to be: bad spelling, fake people, someone reading my magazines before me (especially my Cosmo), someone eating the last of my [insert food here] and poor driving. If someone cannot spell, that is fine. But there is such a thing as spell check. I detest reading Craigslist ads or Facebook posts that are littered with bad spelling. And then people that are fake come in all varieties. Fake attitudes, fake personalities, fake in the way that they look. I hate when someone fights with their friend, talks mad s**t on them, and then two days later they are BFF’s again. I just think that life’s too short to conduct yourself in a way that you think will make people like you. And poor driving? I don’t think I need to explain that one...

What makes want to wake up each day? Goals: A couple of my main goals in life right now are to get into shape so I can model more, and work on having a new addition to my family. I suppose I never really realized that I could go as far as people are saying I can in modeling, until recently. I went to Las Vegas in August for a modeling competition for Inked Magazine and Sullen. Needless to say I did not get very far, but I never really knew until then that I could even get there. Aside from modeling, I would really like to become a Mommy. I am married to an amazing man and we (he) has a beautiful five year-old boy. I know that I am very blessed, but I really want to experience pregnancy and motherhood for myself. Family is the most important thing to me.

Who is your biggest influence? Look up to: I have a couple of “Heroes” per-say...The first is my Husband. Most people look up to some celebrity or iconic figure, but it’s closer to home than that for me. My husband has to be the smartest, most caring person I have ever met. When there was no one else around and I needed support and love, he was there for me. I guess this is so important to me because I have had a few pretty rough patches in my life. Times when I had no one to count on, or lean on. He has given me a hope that not all people are the way I thought they were. He is always tremendously supportive in anything I do whether it be modeling, switching jobs, or even a vicious 13 mile hike. He has taught me that it is ok to be my own person, and make my own decisions. He is unlike anyone I have ever had the privilege of meeting.

The second Hero is my Mom. Her and I have had our up’s and down’s as well. I really feel like we are now closer than we have ever been. That is one thing I have wanted ALL of my life and I am so happy to finally have it. I think she has taught me that no matter how bad it seems, you can always turn it around and end with what you deserve. No matter the circumstance, big or small. She is actually getting married this month to a real man that respects and treats her like the amazing, hard-working woman that she is. It’s nice finally to see her with someone that makes her giddy, and happy. Things change. You can get what you want, be who you want, and feel how you feel.

Anyway, I LOVE to model, so if you have a shoot in mind (I am VERY versatile) and you think I am your girl, do not be afraid to hit me up! My Facebook page is under the name “Larie Kay” and my email address is [email protected]. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy our work!


La Tee Da GIRL OF THE MONTH | www.spotmag.com


MUST HAVE MUSIC

The Black LipsArabia Mountain

Release Date: June 7, 2011Label: Vice Records

Produced By: Lockett Pundt and Mark Ronson

IncubusIf Not Now, When?

Release Date: July 12, 2011Label: Epic, Immortal, Red EyeProduced By: Brendan O’Brien

Death Cab for Cutie

Codes and KeysRelease Date: May 31, 2011

Label: Warner Music, Atlantic Records, Barsuk Records, Fierce Panda Records,

Sub Pop RecordsProduced By: Chris Walla

MOVIE THROWBACK

Back to the Beach

Year: 1987

Directed by: Lyndall Hobbs

Cast: Frankie Avalon, Annette Funicello, Lori Loughlin, Tommy Hinkley, Damian Slade, and Connie Stevens just to mention a few.

Plot: This spoof on “Beach Blanket Bingo” is the story of the Big Kahuna (Frankie Avalons character) returning to his home beach in California with his wife Annette and son Bobby, to visit their daughter Sandi on their way to Hawaii. There stay turns out to take a little bit longer than they planned. Through the long drama filled vacation the characters in the movie remember who they really are. This movie has many cameos such as Pee-Wee Herman, Fishbone, and an epic musical performance by Stevie Ray Vaughn and Dick Dale. Back to the Beach is a sure fire movie if you are looking for a good laugh.

short story THE LAST VISION PART 2 BY: DOUGLAS MORGAN SUMBENR

It was late that night before the eyes began to affect Hualpa. Lying on his bed-mat he tossed and turned while violent images raced through his head. Death, destruction, carnage and conflagration all assaulted his psyche. He wanted to scream aloud when, like a sudden breaking fever, the visions were gone and he was in peace. In fact, he felt better than before; lighter as though a weight were lifted. The dissipation of the night-mares left him assured of the safety in his home. He had the sudden desire to roll over and kiss Inguill when he realized that his body would not move. He tried to call for help but couldn’t. He tried to wave his hands in desperation but they did not respond to him. Instead they began to float defiantly in the air. The weightless feeling spread over his entire body and, to his distress, Hualpa realized that he was suddenly levitating parallel to the ground. He did his best to telepathically send Inguill a silent plea for help, but her deep snoring assured him that she was far from waking. “It’s just a bad dream,” he told himself, “You’ll wake up at any mo-ment.” Still, try as he might, he could not wake himself. Instead, his body floated higher and higher. As he approached the ceiling beams he tried to scream again, afraid that he would be squashed against the roof. Not a syl-lable could be uttered. To his surprise (and horror, for things had actually become worse), Hualpa’s body passed right through the straw thatch roof and up into the night sky. There was nothing to be done as each passing second took him further into the sky where he could now see the entirety of his village, happily asleep as it clung to the Andes mountainside. Higher still he flew. There, he told himself, that must be Cuzco. A distant glow radiated from another mountain top. Even in the dead of night the Golden City eternally shined.Now Hualpa had stopped panicking, for he believed that the worst had already happened and he was already dead. No point in panicking if you’re dead, he told himself now determined to enjoy his trip to Hanan-Pacha5, (logically Hualpa knew he must be going there if he was traveling up-wards). Hualpa burst through the upper atmosphere and just kept floating. By now the earth was just a big blue disc. Hours passed as he continued to travel farther from the Earth. He actually was becoming quite bored when he felt strange soft ground beneath him. At this moment he regained control of his body. Hualpa sat up and shook the grey dirt off his clothes. Finally, he told himself, took long enough. He looked around. Apparently paradise isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. The landscape was a dull grey, which gleamed silver on the horizon. “Alright man,” he said aloud, “what are you going to do now?” He surveyed the area. Welcome Umu Hualpa, a voice from behind him transmitted into his mind. The priest-doctor whirled around; amazed that behind him stood a huge silver castle, which was not there a second ago. It dominated his sens-es with humming luminescence that radiated palpable godly power. The ninety-nine foot doors opened outward revealing the glowing silhouette of a giant woman. Immediately he dropped to his knees, for now he knew where he was. It was not Hanan-Pacha. I see you know me, the voice said inside his head. It was you who desired this journey, she answered, when you con-sumed the stranger’s eyes. Hualpa was in shock. Eating the eyes had brought him here? What had he done? Was the stranger a servant of Mamaquilla? If that were true he could be in serious trouble. The Gods could be both benevolent and wrathful.

Great Goddess, he thought as piously as he could, please be kind to your faithful servant. I do not know if what comes next is kindness or cruelty, She replied, for now you are to see and know what the eyes have seen and known. What do you…, Suddenly he felt himself ripped from the lunar surface and thrown like a shooting star back down towards the Earth. Farwell Umu Hualpa, Mamaquilla said, I hope you find the knowledge you seek. Hualpa found the benediction less than encouraging, especially since he was hurtling with awesome speed back towards the hard ground of his native planet. He closed his eyes and screamed, hoping that such inad-equate measures might prevent him from being squashed. He screamed and screamed and screamed, until he realized that he was doing an awful amount of screaming compared to the speedy distances he was covering. When Hualpa finally opened his eyes, he stared disbelievingly at the ground. He was on all fours looking intently at a gridded surface. It was polished smooth stone interlocked to make an almost perfectly flat road. “¡Cuidado, cuidado! ¡Salga del camino!” A voice called behind him. This time when Hualpa turned around he saw something he did not recognize barreling towards him. AND IT WAS STILL COMING! He barely jumped away before the horse-drawn carriage swept past him. The driver wasn’t impressed. “¡Idiota! ¿Trata morirse?,” the man shouted from his driver seat and then the carriage swiftly disappeared into the night. His heart was already pound-ing when he finally got a chance to examine his surroundings and, to his surprise, he found that it actually could beat more frantically. It was still night (which was thankfully familiar), but as the cloud block-ing the moonlight began to move the street lit up with a silver brilliance. Hualpa could only stand aghast as he looked up to see buildings, ten-times-taller than any man, choking the night sky. In the distance a great, “BONG, BONGY, BONG,” spilt the silence of the dark. He turned toward a strange looking tower. There, standing taller than any house of Christ on Earth7 and drenched in Mamaquilla’s moonlight, was a giant cathedral. All these bizarre stimuli were more than Hualpa could take. His senses overloaded, his knees weakened and Hualpa stumbled back, throwing his hands down to catch his fall. His right hand splashed in something foul. “Oh Shit,” Hualpa said aloud. “It probably is,” another strange voice said behind him. “Most likely from a chamber pot emptied out of one of those upper windows.” Surprised that he understood the language, he turned to see, not a God or strange travel machine, but simply a man in a brown robe. “I’m sick of people popping up behind me!” He shouted at the figure in frustration. “Now who the hell are you and where the hell am I?” “Well, you’re in a city called Seville within the Empire of Spain,” the man said, “And I’m the ghost of Father Alejandro Santiago. We’ve never actually met before, but…now this may upset you a bit, but… I believe you ate my eyes.” For the first time since he had eaten the eyes, Hualpa felt physically ill. Explaining the situation to Hualpa was not easy for the ghost. They had been arguing on the street for the better part of an hour. The Inca could not quite understand that he had been transported halfway across the globe (that the world was round was still an item of debate between the two), to an entirely different society. It was still night time in Seville and the streetlamps did their best to illuminate the cobblestone street ways, but Hualpa could not take in anything. There were too many new sights and not enough refer-ence points. Hualpa answered back without speaking, Queen Mamaquilla6, he thought, why have you summoned me to your palace on the moon?

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A soft ringing of bells brought them fully out of their slumber. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she climbed over him and stood upright. Her pearlescent skin shimmered in the sunlight casting a prism of color to be reflected on the walls of the room. She lifted an arm to press a green light just under the skin, and in the next moment she was clothed in hexagonal metallic scales that swam across her body connecting to one another across her torso and pelvis. Again the soft chimes echoed in the small apartment. She walked to the door and pressed a hand against it. “Yes?”

“Francis-Twilight,” sounded in her ears.

She pulled the door open, and two women, who looked almost identical to one another save for Twilight’s slight overbite and thin noise, walked in.

“Delazni-Igneous, good to see you,” said Francis, nodding in acknowledgement to both of them. Then in a nervous terse tone Francis asked, “Is it safe to talk?” Igneous nodded and pointed to a small signal inhibitor dish drilled into the upper corner of the apartment.

Francis nodded and continued, “We were hoping that,”

“You had had a chance to procure our requested materials,” finished Twilgiht.

Delazni, who had similarly covered himself in Ig-neous’s fashion of small hexagonal plates, brought out the green pyramid and began to twist off the top.

“Now,” he began, “I want you to realize that this will separate you from your Duality. You will only be able to directly communicate to one another through physical contact. This process will sever the link between your minds, and the process is extraordinarily difficult to reverse.” As he was speaking he had walked behind the two women and placed additional thumb-sized paralyzers on their backs.

“But it will also disable the link with the Admin network correct?” Francis asked.

“Yes, it will firewall any indirect ports. They will notice you dropping off the grid, and so you will have to move from your designated living area. From this point on you will be illegally coded. You will have to avoid the entire Administration and its security.”

Francis-Twilight looked long at one another, but they had already discussed the matter and had their minds made up before they came in the door. There was no way for them to get out of the Locked-Down Zones with the network mapping their movements. It was the only option.

Delazni produced a thin green razor from the side of the pyramid, and then he walked behind Francis-Twilight who knelt with eyes closed. With implacably steady hands he made a circular hole in the back of each their smooth skulls. He dipped the razor into the now reprogrammed tertiary specks that they had stolen last night, and then slid the razor into each of the holes in their skulls.

Panic took Twilight first. “Wait,” she gasped the second the link had been terminated from the mind she had known as closely as her own. “I am not ready.” But it was done. Delazni replaced caps from their skulls, which the skin immediately began to form over. Twilight reached around to her back to pull off the paralyzer. Pain came to her numb body without the device. The inflammation of her skull and the missing voice became unbear-able. She tried to stand, but faltered, ending up huddled on the ground hugging herself. Igneous, noticing the shock on Francis’s face, bent over to hug Twilight. Delazni tried to say something but stopped after making a strange sound.

Twilight felt the presence of another with her, but it was not Francis. Her firewall opened to the thoughts of Igneous, and for the first time in her life she felt a presence other than the one she had been Dualed with at creation. Tears streamed

THE ANTS GO MARCHING TWO BY TWOpart 2 of 3

Written By:Kyle Byers

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THE ANTS GO MARCHING TWO BY TWO | www.spotmag.com

from Igneous’s eyes as she felt the hopeless terror and confusion of the lonely mind that fretfully darted through memory and emo-tion. She remembered her own severing many years ago with Delazni, and the chaotic feeling of incompleteness. She tried to calm Twilight with words, but nothing was getting through; she felt her own calm degenerating. There was a moment when each mind thought it would lose consciousness in the consuming darkness, but Igneous suddenly focused intently on something. Her thoughts carried so much intensity that soon Twilight calmed: the words repeated over and over in her head.

Together they spoke aloud:

“Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be; For the gentle wind doth move Silently, invisibly.”

Very slowly Igneous pulled her hands away; Twilight, still lying on the ground, reached for Francis who took her hand while sitting beside her. They sat that way for a very long time. Igneous sat on the foam cushion for a bit while she collected her thoughts. Delazni had watched with concern, anxiety, but now only curiosity.

This was maybe the most joined the lives of Francis-Twilight had ever been as they realized the link they had always taken for granted was a not absolute; there was a profound seren-ity, but it lasted for no longer than precious moments before the glass of the window in the apartment erupted from a deafening shock-wave. Delazni had been the only one to see the Raptoropter. He saw the warped image in the reflection of the glass on the sky-scraper ad-joining their building. It was like an enormous raven with fixed wings. The two person assault aircraft had crept silently over their living com-

plex, and moved swiftly down to their window. Delazni had tried to leap quickly to the closet and yank out the jackets, but his efforts had been interrupted by the EMP round that had detonated against the glass of the apartment. Convulsing spasmodically, he experienced a seizure of electronic overload that left him and the others unconscious.

Delazni-Igneous awoke alone in a circular white room with a thin red wall at the perim-eter. Outside the translucent wall on either side stood two pairs of crypto-suit guards, holding X124 Rifles at their sides. Above them was open sky, not counting the invisible plasma window that acted like a dome roof. There were other cells with red walls spaced about every 20 meters, but it was hard to tell how many were occupied and how many were empty. Delazni couldn’t figure out how long they had been out. The sky was blue, but the view didn’t reveal the sun. He decided it must have been somewhere in the early afternoon.

He looked to Igneous who was also staring up into the sky, and for the first time, he realized they had not been reconnected. Had no one done a diagnostic of their systems? Why hadn’t they repaired the hack? Also Francis-Twilight was not with them, but this wasn’t much of a surprise they had probably taken them to a different cell.

Igneous took his hand, and they found one an-other within each other. They realized neither knew quite what was happening. They knew protocol for illegal activity was immediate format and reboot, but they still retained every memory they had had before being bagged in their apartment. Their speculations were as varied as they were unlikely. Once they were tired of guessing their predicament, they made up their mind to call for a hearing.

“Habeas corpus,”

“Ad subjiciendum,” They said.

They heard a message relayed in their ears, “You have opted for a court date. Your place in queue is 45 of 45. Please wait.” The sky was their only distraction as they waited in the cell. They measured time by the counting down of their place in the queue. The red cell wall went black before lighting itself back up again with the image of a pair of men wearing white metal shirts. They sat in a bench that was designed to look like wood.

“We are Judge Rudolf-Sondes, case 7Z800 is in session. Delazni-Igneous, you have been ac-cused of illegal manipulation of hardware, in-tent to flee the nation,” spoke the grey-skinned man on the left.

“ And the manslaughter of unit Francis-Twi-light. How do you plea?” finished the other.

“Manslaughter? We are not guilty of any kind of murder.”

“Francis-Twilight was found dead in your habitat due to a neuro-toxic virus that,”

“Originated from a piece of corrupted hard-ware. Once unconscious the virus deteriorated their life support systems. Do you deny that you committed unlicensed modulation on this unit prior to being arrested?”

“My hack was perfect. If Francis-Twilight was fatally injured it was in the arrest. You popped us with way too much juice,” objected Delazni.

The judges looked confused and taken off-guard for a moment, but they looked into a touch screen in the desk, “The surge was recorded at safety regulation power.”

“Delazni produced a thin green razor from the side of the pyramid, and then he walked behind Francis-Twilight who knelt with eyes closed. With implacably steady hands he made a circular hole in the back of each their smooth skulls. He dipped the razor into the now reprogrammed tertiary specks that they had stolen last night, and then slid the razor into each of the holes in their skulls.”

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Suzanne BronsonPOETRY

TideThe moon whispers

and the tide responds,laying back bare the sand –

open, wet and smooth.

The unheard song of surrender – the pull and attraction.

When time languishes calmin the rhythm of the waves.


TIDE and ISIS | www.spotmag.com

IsisSwimming through the nectar

of a tawny afternoon,her black dress falls away.

The sun drapes her fleshin the skin of the gods,

coating her body in that golden light.

With the heat at the end of the day, she steps toward the flame

in her lovers eyes.

By: Joel Dyar

WORLD TAX ROUNDUP

Taxes? What Taxes?

You’ll hear it time and again. Our taxes are too high. The American worker sees their hard-‐earned wages

threatened by an endless onslaught of wealth redistribution to the lazy, idle, old, and worst, ethnic. Spendthrift government has shackled the mythic freewheeling soul of cutthroat American commerce

(where the well-‐meaning rich simply can’t afford to hire you, sorry), meanwhile wasting a million trillion billion dollars on the latest hackneyed scheme to save the endangered Alamosa squirrelrat. The Obama

stimulus’ rescue of fat cat corporate bankers has put us on a road to rival socialist Europe, and its pitiably oppressed denizens who not infrequently earn more, work less, live longer and happier lives,

and have sober, qualified individuals to vote for in elections. And so forth.

Discussions of asking those for whom the system is working to pitch in with new taxes during this summer’s debt ceiling crapshoot on Capitol Hill and Republican “debates” have been fervently rejected

by the zealots now holding the GOP and country hostage. They have been eagerly abetted by no small number of mollycoddle Democrats who don’t get that our economic problem is one of demand, not

taxation and regulation, and that solving our deficit problem at the expense of efforts to right our economic ship solves little. The fact of the matter is, however, U.S. taxes – on individuals and

corporations alike – are among the lowest in the advanced world. This month’s Spot on the World details a number of startling figures that show just how out of touch anti-‐tax American voices are with

the consensus of civilization.


World Tax Roundup | www.spotmag.com

The fact of the matter is, however, U.S. taxes – on individuals and corporations alike – are among the lowest in the advanced world.

Many Americans are surprised to find just how unequally our system distributes wealth.

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short story** New Event starting this month **

Open Mic Night

Every Wednesday

@ Naggy Mcgee's

359 Colorado Ave.

Grand Junction, Co.

9pm 21+ no cover

Open Mic Night

Every Thursday

@ The Rockslide Brewpub

401 Main St.

Grand Junction, Co

10pm 21+ no cover

Wednesday October 5th

Sticky Mulligan

@ The Hot Tomato

124 N. Mulberry St.

Fruita, Co.

7pm no cover all ages

http://stickymulligan.com/

Saturday October 8th

Straygrass

@ The Hot Tomato

124 N. Mulberry St.

Fruita, Co.


Friday October 14th

Willie Tea Taylor & Friends

@ The Hot Tomato

124 N. Mulberry St.

Fruita, Co.


Friday Oct 14th

The 2011 Family Health West Dirt Dance

featuring:

The Pineapple Crackers

Civic Center Park

Fruita, Co.

6pm donations accepted *** Saturday October 15th ***

The 2011 Bikes, Bands, & Brews Festival

featuring;

-The Williams Brothers Band (Grand Junction, Co)

with special guests

-The Calamity Cubes (Lawrence, Kan)

-Willie Tea Taylor (Oakdale, Ca)

-Tom VandenAvond (Austin, Tx)

-Lowlands (Grand Junction, Co.)

-Almost Heroes (Fruita, Co.)

& more tba

Civic Center Park

Fruita, Co.

12pm - 9pm all ages

the spot magazine

Documents

featurethe spot magazine

english program

english classes

teaching english

spot magazinepo box

unsuspecting little

sara witskincatch

orgphoto look