Affectionate Issue № 1

2

CONTENTSAffectionate Issue № 1

PATRICK TROTTIThe Architecture of An Empty Skyline . . . 4

J.M.C. HARVEYi want you to hurt my face again . . . 9

K ATHERINE DUCKWORTHEvelyn . . . 13Crystal says . . . 14Dumb Again . . . 15

VICTORIA SÉLAV Ybog bodies . . . 16

ANDREW SCHNEIDERbarking at the ocean . . . 18

STEPHEN MICHAEL MCDOWELLI WANT TO BE A PEREGRINE FALCON . . . 20

LAURENS VERDONKSCHOTBeach Beaneath the Pavement . . . 24

TAYLOR EVERETTLeighton . . . 27

BEACH SLOTHSkywalk . . . 33

AFFECTIONATE ISSUE № 1 CONTENTS 3

PATRICK TROTTIThe Architecture of An Empty Skyline

The store was empty, except for a few older Hispanic men who were huddling around the counter listening to the radio. When Wilson opened the door, the crowd didn’t even turn to look at him. It was as if he was invisible. He liked this.

The aisles were crammed together, packed with out-of-date packages and cans that had a layer of dust on them. He grabbed a bag of pretzels and went to the back fridges. No overpriced foreign beers with fancy labels. Just obscure minority swill and crappy white trash beer. This was his type of place. Complete opposite of where Nancy used to take him. Coat and tie were always required and an American Express card was usually taken out. Now all he needed were shoes and a shirt to get service.

He grabbed three forties of Colt 45 and went to the

AFFECTIONATE ISSUE № 1 4

front counter. A lone cockroach scrambled in front of his feet. Wilson was jealous of the critter. He was free to do what he wanted, ignored by the masses. The two men on his side of the counter parted ways silently and let Wilson place his stuff in front of the cashier. The cashier looked at Wilson for a moment after looking down at the beer.

He smiled and mumbled to him, “Trying to have a good time?”

“Trying to forget about the bad times,” he responded, and tossed the money towards the man.

The smile evaporated from the man’s face as he handed Wilson the change.

The subway was empty. Just him and a crumpled up day old newspaper. He was tempted to read it. Give himself something to pass the time but he knew it was full of despair. Murder, rape and burglary would surely just compound his feelings of loneliness. Each stop saw the doors open and close without a single body entering the car. The lack of another person soon became suffocating and Wilson found himself trying to have a conversation with the automated voice narrating the subway’s trip.

Instead of getting off at his usual stop, he continued to

AFFECTIONATE ISSUE № 1 PATRICK TROTTI 5

ride the train all the way down past the financial district. He couldn’t quite face the scenes of his now former life. The brownstones with the yuppies quietly sitting down to relax for the evening. Happy families discussing today’s events with one another. It all seemed distant to him. His family, Nancy and their two kids, Skylar and Hope, were probably getting ready for bed. Nancy trying her best to groom them to be accustomed to nights without daddy. Reading them a bedtime story was too much for Wilson deal with right now.

He wanted to be amongst the quietness of the skyscrapers. Since the divorce he had grown accustomed to the silence that surrounded him. He got off at Wall Street and headed south. South Street was just a few blocks away, and by the time he got there, he had already finished a forty. As he walked towards the edge of the city, he began to feel overwhelmed by the greatness of the surrounding structures staring down at him from high above in the clear city night. He’d never been down here at this time of night. He was used to suits attached to their Blackberry’s walking hurriedly in and out of buildings. Now it was just him and the gray structures. The few lit windows high above looked like eyes glaring down at him, teasing him with their ability to dominate


the skyline.The wind picked up considerably as he reached the

water. Wilson gazed out across the water towards Governor’s Island, and imagined what it would be like to live on an unpopulated island. Separated from the harsh society he was a part of. He wanted to jump in and swim to it. He knew that the currents were probably strong enough to take him to Brooklyn. He opened another forty and began chugging, trying to keep his tears from overcoming him.

Things had been going great.His family loved him. His community respected him.

He had money, a great job, a luxury apartment, and an expensive car.

The final forty was beginning to get warm by the time he opened it.

He moved towards the rubble of the World Trade Center.

He had been in bed with his secretary at the time. Nancy still had no idea as to what he was doing. As much as he hated being a cliché, he couldn’t resist the warm embrace of a younger woman’s body. She adored him. Maybe it was the money and power, the fact that he was her boss. He didn’t care to know specifically.


By the time he had gotten home later that day, the news stations were all replaying live footage of the planes crashing into the towers. Nancy had been through enough just trying to get through to the kids and get them home from school. She’d probably fall apart if she knew of his indiscretions. He used the devastation, the thousands of dead bodies, as an excuse to cover up his lies.

He was amazed at the enormity of the space. The sight frightened him, for he had never been so close to such a devastating scene. He could detect a faint smell of an odor. That could have been the gas and poison the news warned about. Whatever it was, Wilson coughed violently.

He looked up into the sky, trying to place the towers back into the clouds with his imagination. He stumbled on the sidewalk as he chased a handful of pills down with the last of the forty. He wondered if he was stepping over spots where people had landed after throwing themselves off the burning tower. He wished that the buildings were still there so that he could climb the steps and jump. That was the only way he could forgive himself for what had taken place, for the hole that he created in his life, his heart.


J.M.C. HARVEYi want you to hurt my face again

if everything that encompasses the meaning and physical existence of you would flood my eyes, heart, and soul

that would conveniently fulfill my life at this point in time

being with you is like having ten million two inch speakers playing ten million different love songs from all over the world, in various languages, from various cultures, and various genres, including all sub genres, and being able to understand each song intimately

i want to whip your brain clean of all the romantic notions you have ever heard about so that i can steal the ideas behind every romantic notion ever


contrived and present it to you in a sincere, original way that makes you like me a little more

i want to overdose on the happiness you give to me

i want to be able to be legally prescribed to painkillers because a doctor will agree and confirm that my face hurts so much from the smile you bring out of me that i need painkillers in order to perform simple actions, like breathing

i want you to compare other people’s expressions of the idea of ‘love’ to my expression of my idea of ‘love’ the way i compare other people’s ideas of ‘beauty’ to my perceived idea of your ‘beauty’

which would be ‘failing in comparison’

i want you to be the only person/ object/ idea that i could classify myself as ‘addicted to’

feeling your flesh is the ultimate adrenaline rush, hearing your voice is the ultimate vibration, knowing you acknowledge me as a human is a reason to

AFFECTIONATE ISSUE № 1 J.M.C. HARVEY 10

remain being a human

i want this to mean nothing to you, so that i have a reason to try and express it again, until it does mean something to you, until it means as much to you as it does to me

i want to believe that our hearts are syncopated, and that when one skips a beat, so does the other; that when one leaps, so does the other; that when one hurts, so does the other; that when one is overjoyed, so is the other; that when one stops, so does the other

i want every small, possible moment that i could be near you to happen every time there is small, possible moment that being near you could happen

your saliva is more intoxicating than any elixir, your scent more pleasing than any flower, your sight more magnificent than any priceless painting, your ‘desolate eyes’ a place to conquer and claim as a home

i want you to feel this same feeling, even if it is not directed towards me.


i want you to feel this way about someone and be able to find the same amount of happiness as i do in feeling this way about you.

even if its not for me, i know you deserve to be this happy.


KATHERINE DUCKWORTHEvelyn

Evelyn Monette hung a tarp to protect the squirrels went to the principals office bc her daughter got caught smoking and said so what the fuck is wrong with Kate

Wait til you get to my office and we’ll smoke a pack now get the microscope out of Kate’s ass

Put this thing in rewind

Caught a cab to wal mart in hats and stilettos. There was one cab in town.

Met her husband because of a fear of spiders.


Crystal says

Don’t sit there, my cat died in that chair.

AFFECTIONATE ISSUE № 1 K ATHERINE DUCKWORTH 14

Dumb Again

Memphis isn’t the same Memphis without you in here.

Like sitting in the park where I used to scan the treeline for the back of your head, disappearing into the trails.

I hate you but I miss this city, heavier with you in it

I called you today to ask a dumb question

AFFECTIONATE ISSUE № 1 K ATHERINE DUCKWORTH 15

VICTORIA SÉLAVYbog bodies

you and me, we’re the only ones in on the joke.

those months i sat in a bog,you came by often to comfort me,growling your haunted songs until the rain cameand wrestled me free.

you’re a magic monster,a snarling saint beneath a halo of grime.you’re a punishing perfectionist and goddamn it,the world is more twisted than your spineand cruder than anythingyou’ve ever yelled with gnashed teeth.

the day we forget the punchline, i’ll light match after match until


we’re molten scraps of metal ribcages.i’m sure we’ll be recycled.that’s reincarnation, babe!born again as fighter jets, tire spokes, prosthetic legs--

smiling at nothing, free from skin.

AFFECTIONATE ISSUE № 1 VICTORIA SÉLAV Y 17

ANDREW SCHNEIDERbarking at the ocean

i am coming to terms with the factthat sleeping with someone i usedto be in love with is the closest thingto time travel.

i have two why chromosomes,and i am the x’s on the backs of your hands.we used to go to the basement shows and slam danceuntil we both had smoky eyes.

you had green eyes then.the kind of green eyes that makea big deal of themselves.you liked to run your fingersalong the veins in my hand as if you were tryingto figure out where they all led to.


we’d sleep at my apartment.i’d count sheep, and you’d recite the namesof boys you’d never kiss.in the morning, you’d leaveyour promise ring on my pillow.eventually i stopped giving it back to you.

you made me cut myself into triangle-shaped patterns,but now flashing lights entomb meas i walk to the corner store to buy your favoritebrand of cigarettes.i give you your vices,and begin digging a hole in my backyard

big enough for both of us to live in.

AFFECTIONATE ISSUE № 1 ANDREW SCHNEIDER 19

STEPHEN MICHAEL MCDOWELLI WANT TO BE A PEREGRINE FALCON

THEY’RE SO COOLONE TIME I WATCHED A VIDEO MEMOIR ON VHSABOUT A GUYWHO RAISED FALCONSIT WAS AWESOMEHE TAUGHT THEM TO HUNTTHEY ATE PIGEONSTOMMY FROM POWER RANGERS’S ZORD WAS A

FALCON IN THE SEASON WHERE THEY WERE ALL NINJAS

IN THE MOVIE WHERE THEY GOT THEIR NINJA POWERS

THE FALCON ZORD ATTACHED TO THE


HUMAN-LOOKING COMPOSITE UHH MEGAZORD

AND THEN IT COULD FLY INTO SPACEPEREGRINE FALCONS ARE THE FASTEST LIVING

ANIMALS BECAUSETHEY CAN DIVE AT THREE HUNDRED MILES PER

HOUR WHEN HUNTINGTHEIR BODIES ARE SUPER AERODYNAMICIN THE MOVIE “THE MUMMY RETURNS” MY

FAVOURITE CHARACTER WAS HORUS THE FALCON BUT HE/SHE/IT DIES I THINK

I CAN’T REMEMBERIN “TRANSFORMERS: BEAST WARS”THE TELEVISION SHOWTHE ONLY GIRL CHARACTER FOR A WHILE WAS

NAMED“AIR BLAZE” I THINKI CAN’T REMEMBERBUT SHE TRANSFORMED INTO A FALCONTO PROTECT HER BODY FROM OVEREXPOSURE

TO ENERJONBECAUSE EARTH HAS A LOT OF ENERJON AND

THE SHOW HAPPENED ON EARTHI DON’T KNOW IF THAT’S HOW YOU SPELL

AFFECTIONATE ISSUE № 1 STEPHEN MICHAEL MCDOWELL 21

“ENERJON”THERE IS A LIVE STREAM OF A FEMALE

PEREGRINE FALCONHATCHING HER EGGS RIGHT NOWSOMEWHERE IN OHIO I THINKGOOGLE SEARCH “PEREGRINE FALCON OHIO”

YOU WON’T REGRET ITWHEN I READ LORD OF THE RINGS I COULDN’T

STOP IMAGINING A FALCON-HUMAN THING WHENEVER THE CHARACTER PIPPIN WAS IN THE STORY

BECAUSE HIS REAL NAME WAS PEREGRIN (NO “E” AT THE END)

I TAUGHT MYSELF SYNTAX AND CADENCE AND GRAMMAR

BECAUSE EVEN AFTER HIGH SCHOOLI KEPT WRITING AND SAYING THINGS WITH THIS

AMOUNT OF ENTHUSIASM AND I RESENTED EVERYONE I ENCOUNTERED FOR ALLOWING ME TO BEHAVE THIS WAY

FOR SO LONG WITHOUTPROVIDING AN ALTERNATIVEMY DAD SAW A FALCON ONCE AND HE COULDN’T

BELIEVE IT


HE SAID “IT FLIES LIKE A WOUNDED BAT”AND IT’S TRUE THEY DO FLY LIKE THATUNLESS THEY’RE RIDING A THERMAL CURRENTOR MAKING THEIR BODIES INTO MISSLETO LAUNCH AT OTHER BIRDSTHEIR EYESIGHT IS VERY VERY VERY VERY GOODDID YOU GIYS FIGURE OUT THIS WAS ALL

BUILDING UP TO ME SAYING“I WANT A PEREGRINE FALCON TO DIVEBOMB MY

FACE AND SPLIT METHE FUCK IN TWO”THAT WAY FOR THE BRIEF MOMENTI’D STILL BE ALIVE, I’D TECHNICALLYBE PART-FALCON HAHAHA


LAURENS VERDONKSCHOTBeach Beneath the Pavement

i.

there are three specks on your collar bone,in your striped top, with the shoulder outthat point to qiblah, when you’re sitting onthe right couch in the right housesand your kiss feels like i’ve weighedeverything up against the weight of a feather and the

scalesremain evenyou can expect this from me:i will continue to write poems about love in countrieswith a ‘rainy season’ precluding all other loves and

seasons.and will continue to like your favourite internet things


and i willremain ‘adequately faithful’ to all of it.i will be there and i will be breathing, if muttering‘in spite of it all’ under my breath. i promisenot to adopt any sadness beyondmy core regrets. kiss me andi will not forget the deen.

ii.

i see now there is a pile of salt for each of usby the roadside, in your khaki shorts you’re lickinga perfectly shaped salt crystal — squatting against a

horizonsticky with pink light.i see there are ponds of ankle deep saltthat brines you on touch an air that sucksthe moisture from your tonguea sun that makes you sweat in endless beadsat pink beach a cooler full of crab salad sandwiches and

pâté americain, because carbssolve everything. a head full of feels forthe people that use the expression ‘all of the feels’, ‘i

AFFECTIONATE ISSUE № 1 LAURENS VERDONKSCHOT 25

know that feel’ undeniably i know the feel of eating that maraschino cherry from your cocktail from your lips, and I am at that same critical distance again, observing those dark rings around your eyes

greater than an eclipse, no, an inverted sunwhen we fall asleep on the beach and wake up at night. i

sneeze.everywhere has been salted, the terrain is sown with itmy pores sting, my eyes are wet.

AFFECTIONATE ISSUE № 1 LAURENS VERDONKSCHOT 26

TAYLOR EVERETTLeighton

Leighton ordered his fourth drink even though the bands had stopped playing and he knew he would miss the last bus. He was too drunk to care. Standing at the bar he fingered through a pile of coins, counting three of the largest to leave on the bar. In the corner his new friends were laughing, shouting at each other and messing up each other’s hair. He squeezed back in the booth with a new pint and gazed towards the middle of the table in front of him. Soft shoulders and blonde hair were on either side of him. He thought about Charlotte, and looked at his phone which he held in his lap to see if she had texted him. She hadn’t. He checked Twitter to see if she had posted anything in the last few hours. She hadn’t. “What are you doing?” said the girl to his right, her drunk eyes squinty.

Leighton finished the beer quickly, choking down the


bottom third like it was sour milk, and at quarter to one he told the others he had to get going. The guy across from him said “Shit, you’re getting a taxi, right?” and Leighton said “Yeah.” He was held back by the girl to his right, Wednesday, who insisted she save her number in his phone. “Text me, okay?” said Wednesday, with the same squinty eyes and a sexy smile. Leighton squinted back at her, forced a smile, and promised he would.

He crossed the street, his eyes closed and hands clenched in his coat pockets, and stumbled down the sidewalk, nearly tripping over his own feet and anything else in his path. “Do you have a smoke, man?” someone said. The streets were lined with snow and the half-frozen puddles on the cracked sidewalk crunched under Leighton’s clumsy feet. The cold winter air numbed his face and ears in the three blocks it took him to reach Charlotte’s apartment building. He took his phone out of his pocket and squinted at the screen out of one eye. He called Charlotte’s number before any sort of logical thinking could stop him. No answer. He scrolled down to Wednesday’s phone number and stared at it for a moment, then called Charlotte again.

“Hello?”“Hey. Can I come up?”

AFFECTIONATE ISSUE № 1 TAYLOR EVERETT 28

“What? What time is it? Leighton it’s one in the morning, what are you doing?”

“Please? Can I come up? I’m drunk and it’s freezing.”“What the fuck. No, you can’t come up, you need to go

home.”“I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m fucked, I can’t go

home. I’m sorry.”“No way. Are you kidding me? Go home, get a cab and

go home.”“I can’t afford a cab.”“Yes you can. You fucking woke me up. You’ll find any

excuse to wake me up!”“Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. What do I do? Fuck.”“Are you crying right now? What the hell are you

doing?”“I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I’m

doing. Help me.”“Leighton just get a cab and go home and sleep. You

drank too much, go home now.”“I can’t come up?”“No. I’m hanging up now. Get a cab and go home.”“Wait wait wait, don’t hang up! Please, okay, wait,

don’t hang up.”“No, I was asleep! This is fucked up, Leigh. I can’t


believe you right now.”“Hang on. Please. Okay. I got it. Can I really not come

up?”“What? This is ridiculous! No you can’t come up here!

You can’t call me at one in the morning drunk out of your mind and expect me to take care of you! I’m hanging up. I’m going back to sleep.”

“No wait okay, okay, sorry, okay, I’ll call a cab. I’m calling a cab. I’m not drunk out of my mind. Just wait until I call a cab okay? Can you wait until I call a cab? I’ll just call a cab.”

“How can I stay on the phone with you if you’re going to call a cab?”

“It’s fucking freezing.”“Leighton I can’t do this. I can’t deal with this. Stop

crying, Leigh. Please. Call a cab and go home—that’s all you have to do! Leighton. Are you there?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing.”“You just need to get a cab home! Leigh, this can’t

happen. This is so fucked.”“There’s a cab coming up the street. It’s right here.

Okay, I’m getting it. I’m going to get it. I’m getting it right now.”

“Okay, good! Take the cab. Go home and sleep.”


“I’m sorry, really. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”“Leigh.”“What?”“Just get home safe and go to sleep, okay? And don’t

call me again.”“Okay. I’m sorry. I love you.”“Goodnight Leighton.”“Bye.”In the backseat of the taxi Leighton told the driver his

address before letting his head fall onto his shoulder as watched the trails of the street lights fly across the window as the taxi sped through the city.

“No debit, only cash right now,” said the taxi driver.“What. You can’t do debit.”“I can take you to a bank.”“Okay, take me to the bank on 37th then and I’ll get

cash out.”The taxi driver stopped outside the bank on 37th

Street. Leighton stumbled out of the car and in front of one of the bank machines to withdraw twenty dollars from his checking account. He walked back to the taxi and said, “Okay here,” handing the twenty dollar bill to the taxi driver through the open window.

“Okay, thank you, you have a good night,” said the taxi


driver.“I can walk from here, thanks.”Leighton started walking and the taxi drove away. “I

needed change back,” he thought, looking down at his feet as the wind stung his face. Six blocks later he reached his apartment, walked up the stairs and into his unit, hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes, wrestled out of his clothes and got into bed.

When Leighton woke the sun was rising and he vomited for an hour. He went outside and smoked a cigarette, which made him feel worse. He ate whole wheat bread with organic honey and lay in bed listening to music out of his iPhone speaker. He took two painkillers with club soda. He thought about calling Charlotte, and at 11AM he did. No answer. At 3PM he got out of bed and took a shower, put on clean clothes, and took his anti-depressant medication. At 4PM he texted Charlotte, “I’m sorry about last night. I’m really sorry. Can we talk about it? I feel really bad.” Leighton listened to music and applied for a job online. At 11PM he went to bed and Charlotte had not texted him back.


BEACH SLOTHSkywalk

Oh fuck ukulele poetryWell suck my dick and call me a rental carYou can’t afford the lease trust meI’ve been in your shoesSorry to say but they sockWhole city dedicated to socking it to me or to youDon’t worry if you feel sadEverybody feels sadEven the sky is blueKnow your limitsPush them like envelopes in the mailBecause your day is comingSometimes it just takes a while


K ATHERINE DUCKWORTH grew up in Tennessee, lives in Brooklyn, and just started an online quarterly called milkmade.

TAYLOR EVERETT is a writer and a musician currently living in London, Ontario, Canada. He tweets at @xotaylor.

J.M.C. HARVEY can’t say anything nice about himself, so he will probably not say anything at all about himself.

STEPHEN MICHAEL MCDOWELL edits Habitat and is the first and only person on his own shitlist.

ANDREW SCHNEIDER is a writer currently living in Madison, Wisconsin. His twitter is @schneidysrevolt.

VICTORIA SÉLAV Y is a barista and salsa fanatic living in Arlington, VA. Scrutinize her internet presence at cleavermeat.tumblr.com.


BEACH SLOTH blogs hard.

PATRICK TROTTI is a writer, editor, and student living in New York. He’s prolific at maintaining mediocrity. Visit him at www.patricktrotti.com.

LAURENS VERDONKSCHOT is a poet from Brighton, UK via The Hague, Netherlands via the Dutch Antilles. He is the author of Wedding of a Colonial Princess and a collaborative ebook with Giles Ruffer, Broz ii Men.


published on8 JUNE 2013

edited and designed byTAYLOR EVERETT

also available online atXOAFFECTIONATE.TUMBLR.COM/1

Affectionate elsewhere

TWITTER.COM/XOAFFECTIONATE

FACEBOOK.COM/XOAFFECTIONATE

XOAFFECTIONATE.TUMBLR.COM

Documents

Affectionate Issue № 1