if you’ve got any of that that explores or makes reference to your heritage, culture, region, hometown, neighborhood, community, etc etc etc. any type of art or writing welcome.
deadline february 15!
(but send it anyway if you still have something after that)
more info here: http://mapsforteeth.wordpress.com/submit/
and then send it here: email@example.com
if you know anyone that might be interested, please pass this on. thank you!
My names Weasel and I’m the managing editor for a small, non-profit literary magazine called Vagabonds. We publish twice a year and we’re currently calling for submissions! We have a full list of guidelines available on our website for all to review. We’re a magazine that has a beat generation mentality looking for dedicated artists and writers to feature in our upcoming issue.
Thank you for your time!
I close the back cover of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. It is an unsatisfying feeling in my fingers due to the warped pages that prevent a flat close - probably from water damage. Or semen. Who the fuck knows? I wonder if this is what prostitutes and whores feel like near the end of their life - like a handled library book. Full of dents and bends and rips. Passed along between any sad pathetic person with cash like some sort of hopeless reverse assembly line. Instead of workers inspecting and building a product they chip off parts of it until it’s nothing more than a couple pieces barely held together and covered with cheap paint. Depressing thoughts on this stark black Thursday night.
How is it possible for a man to flood his brain with so many psychedelic chemicals and still function? I guess Hunter had quite a tolerance living though the LSD counter culture movement. I imagine that his savage journey to Las Vegas - and the drugs that rearranged the chemicals in his brain like an amateur scientist in a room full of beakers and test tubes - was no match for his seasoned (and fried) grey matter. His brain, at that point, was the scabbed over knee of a young skateboarder in the late summer months. The rigid, slightly oval scab acting as a dark shield against the unforgiving pavement.
Is this what people want to read about? Someone else taking all the wild and risky adventures for them and then documenting the results. Would the world be full of artists and open minded people if we all went on our own adventures? I’m reminded of when I planned to take weekend trips to …wherever. Louisiana, Oklahoma, Arkansas . Anywhere. Just drive around and look for an adventure. I have morphed into an introverted mustachioed person and I felt that spontaneous trips would help me break - or at least significantly crack- this outer shell. Of course those solo trips never happened and I lie here in my bed with my laptop slowly cooking my cock as I write about what ifs. Oh well, there’s always next weekend. Stay positive! Like HIV!
Something has been annoying me all day like a small hair causing a tickle in my throat. A particular trend within the rap community - mainly with female artists - has begun and threatens to destroy an experience for young men (and women) everywhere. What am I talking about? A comparison of the delicious and sweet flavor of Skittles to the female vagina.
I first heard this downright untrue metaphor in Iggy Azalea’s very catchy tune, Pu$$y. After comparing her wet nether regions to the Amazon rainforest, the chorus kicks in and she give you a verbal road map to her preferred cunnilingus method, “Head on swivel neck til I quivel, Open ya mouth, taste the rainbow taste my skittles ah!” (I wish every girl came with a manual like that)
Iggy, one of the most interesting artists right now, is clearly comparing her secret trap door to the popular Skittles candy, and I have a problem with that. I’m an experienced (kind of ) grown man and I know better than to take this artistic metaphor as truth. What about the younger boys? For a young boy to go through their formative years nowadays and hear that song before experiencing that situation…the amount of shock they could go through would be detrimental to both them and the girl. Both parities are in a vulnerable state during that experience and when someone makes the trip down expecting Skittles and is instead face to face with…not Skittles - that’s a recipe for disaster.
So what, one artist made a silly comparison. That would be a good point, if it was true. When you live with a female roommate and she offers to drive places, it isn’t abnormal for a Beyonce song to make its way into your ear canal. This was the case 30 minutes ago when we escaped the cold (30 degrees is cold for Texas ya’ll) in her silver Mazda 3. She has been listening to Beyonce’s new album on repeat and the song Blow was playing. You can immediately tell that this song is about something naughty from the accompanied moaning that begins this ballad.
The intro begins with some semi-vague lyrics, “I love your face, you love the taste.” All right, this song could be about a delicious chocolate chip cookie. Nothing too specific yet. Then the first verse and pre-hook start to paint a more detailed picture, “You like it wet and so do I […] I know you never waste a drip […] Keep me coming, keep me going…” Ok so this song is obviously about Jay-Z getting a healthy dose of his Omega-3 fish oils and that’s fine. Beyone is a sexual being and a human, everyone loves a little head. And then it happens again. The very first line of the hook is, “Can you eat my Skittles.” What. The. Hell. Stop comparing your vagina to Skittles!!
This is the horrifying scene the runs through my head when I hear this blatant falsity:
Boy: Jessica, I really really like you and I want to respect the fact that you want to wait to have sex. I think that’s great, but I want to show my affection in other ways…if you’re comfortable with that.
Girl: Oh, James, thank you for saying that. And I want to show my affection as well. I’m comfortable taking this next step with you.
[James and Jessica begin to kiss. James slowly and passionately starts to kiss her neck, lower around her collarbone, then to her stomach, and, finally, the soft skin of her inner thigh. James goes straight for the “Skittles” that he heard about in popular pop/rap songs and pops up immediately.]
Boy: OH MY GOD. What the fuck?! You’ve got to go to the hospital or something!
Girl: What? Why?! What are you talking about?
Boy: I think you’re sick! That does not taste like Skittles. At. All!!
Girl: What..do you mean?! I’m not sick.
Boy: Well then you’re past your expiration date. That is not right.
Girl: I hate you, James. I’m so embarrassed.
[Jessica runs out of the room, mortified and emotionally scarred for life. She roams the earth constantly questioning herself, never fully letting down her hair or trusting anyone. James is terrified to ever go down on any woman - confused and brainwashed from modern pop.]
That short sketch ends with a woman plagued with self confidence problems and a man that is afraid to give, arguably, one of the greatest foreplay pleasures known to (wo)man. All because some pop artists tried to correlate sweet addictive treats to their vajayjay. Male rappers are guilty of this too. Both 50 Cent and Lil’ Wayne compare their Johnson & Johnson to a lollipop. This trend has to be extinguished and we must come to terms with the true taste of all of our genitalia: weird salty skin.