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When I received Aleksandra's work I was astonished by its eerie, captivating, dark beauty. There is mystery hiding behind every piece, something you can't quite grasp but that you feel. Deep, deep down, far, far in your inner self. You feel it in your guts. And there I was, carried away by her self portraits: through her struggles, her surreal, pure vulnerability. "There is some beauty in pain after all", I thought. It gave me hope somehow. - Célia Schouteden (founder)- I'm a 20 years old self-portrait artist.  If you want to see more of her, go check her beautiful IG gallery...
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 PC: Lexi JudeHylomorphism is a Subdermal Infection Hymns of water-wheels and smokestacks phosphor feathers in the chronology of revelation a kind of malignant transcendence what are you looking for? Communion wine flows as piss in a diaper each drop caught in sacral cotton what are you looking for? you say that the line gives rise to eidos that there’s no apex in ascending to the depths of the dead, but you still harbor green-plank schooners set for shore, what do you hope to find amidst these chimeral meat sacks? What do you find to hope in disincarnation? Just a flash of brilliance and buffet set for reaping: It’ll eat you up, it’ll eat you up, it’ll eat you up, it’ll eat you whole. About The Author - Jake BaileyJake Bailey is a schizotypal confessionalist in Antioch University Los Angeles’ MFA program and an associate editor of Lunch Ticket. He has forthcoming work in catheXis Northwest Press, The Hellebore, Rhythm of the Bones: Dark Marrow, Neon Mariposa Magazine, The Laurel Review, and FlyPaper Magazine and has been published in The Esthetic Apostle and Prairie Light Review. Jake lives in Chicago with his girlfriend and three dogs.
 PC: Amy Krenciusi will never be a zookeeperthat’s what they told me when i asked if they’d take me to arizona. the loose bone in my foot, accident prone, memory of a goldfish a liability— the xrays were inconclusive but the rattled rib was proof enough. why fight for something so average? what do you consider your strengths? nothing you could pay me for, but i am well versed in falling. i can paint myself a pretty picture putting my carcass on a canvas, or frag myself onto ceramic plugs the way one performs surgery on a coral; i can be left right center and never be able to tell you the difference. it took me five years to learn my name. i consider that a talent. i misplaced my head a few times and used my weak wrists instead. they call that ingenuity, right? we would never fight against you, we just wouldn’t fight for you. i watch as your plane takes off, phoenix-bound and steel. isn’t that the same thing, though? comorbidmy parents want me to go to therapy. they want me to ruin a day a week by spending a few hours in a quiver, talking to some lady about chemicals, horses, fish, the string theory of the fear that i will never be loved. they said they would pay for it. they said they would stop helping me with rent if i didn’t go. “we’d prefer not to, but if that’s what it takes…” if that’s what it takes then what does it give? the nauseating smell of a rotten wrist? or is it just the endless searching for the end of a circle. About The Author - alyssa hannaalyssa hanna graduated from Purchase College in May 2016 with a degree in Creative Writing and a minor in History. Her poems have appeared or are upcoming in Reed Magazine, The Naugatuck River Review, Crack the Spine, Rust + Moth, BARNHOUSE, Pidgeonholes, and others. She was also nominated for a 2017 Pushcart Prize and was a finalist in the 2017 James Wright Poetry Competition. alyssa is an aquarium technician in Westchester and lives with her fish and special needs lizards. |
