TeleText on a Cross
visual art and poetry
by Andreas Maria Jacobs
“Lady Bird”, Copyright © 2014 Andreas Maria Jacobs
Parking Lot Whore
like a parking lot whore
smoking crack behind the fire door
humming songs through your broken teeth
of beaten cheeks on dirty floors
among rusty bicycles without locks
dripping mouths and swollen cocks
in silent sunsets without lights
of asphalt jungles & neon nights
it was in this mental hospital we did meet
among your medicine and the drugs you need
to stop your broken heart from knocking at the door
of the hidden entrance to the second floor
in that secret city where we never were before
where golden roses were covering your sheets
~Andreas Maria Jacobs Read more
I told my father, I said, I am going to be a musician. He say magician no good. I say, why you magician no good?
Magician be gay. Woman be gay. Man be gay. Everything be gay.
He say you will I say how you think that. I am disappointed in you. What do you think you raised? How did you raise? You raised me. How can you think magic will make me not your son? Read more
by Jeffrey Cyphers Wright
“Sigmar Polke Rides Again”, Collage, Copyright © 2014 Jeffrey Cyphers Wright
Swing your partner
Round and round
Go down swinging
Write your own ticket
Imagine civic engagement
as a party
Now dive into now
(Sucking wind) Read more
Life is Now:
The Art and Music
of Michael Alan
by Mark McCawley
“Mostly figurative, and based on the performances, the drawings here suggest an artist enthralled by improvisation. Alan’s thread-like lines are manically impulsive; they barely go an inch without detouring. Short, jagged strokes, tiny loops, and quick arcs make jittery, skeletal outlines of distorted human forms. Hasty daubs of blues and pinks wrap the frames with translucent skin while also conveying the blur of movement. Alan loves motion…”
-Robert Shuster, The Village Voice, Tuesday, July 20, 2010
by Shannon Barber
Take the blade.
Her voice is smooth almost a monotone and the handle of her blade is cool against my sweating palm.
She watches me — my eyes directed to the left of the thing in my hand. I don’t tremble but my eyes shake.
I am so afraid.
Look at it. She doesn’t speak but I hear the command.