Travels with the Snow Queen -- Kelly Link
Bug Dreams; Guest -- Gavin J. Grant
Anger -- Mai Tuyet La
Coming Home -- Edward Osowski
Alex Johnson -- Cassandra Silvia
Subject: No Subject -- Bryon Morrison
The Movie Column: Arabesgue!
Alex Johnson -- Cassandra Silvia
The Deil's Awa' Wi' Th' Exiseman -- Robert Burns
For Honest Pverty
Ae Fond Kiss
From the Annals of The Poetry Club -- Various Members
Christmas? Never Again
Ham -- Edward Osowski
The full squidgy.
Real, not-so, but certainly the full squidgy.
Hillaire Belloc: Agent wouldn't take my calls.
Joseph Bills: Co-owner of a certain cool local
bookshop, The BookCellar Cafe, ex-pugilist, screenwriter, man of many
Gavin J. Grant: Transplanted Scot whose fault
Mai Tuyet La: We are proud to present Mai La's
first published piece in the USA. Mai is Vietnamese and is assiduously
learning her third language (English) while holding down two jobs
and teaching the rest of us how to live with style.
Kelly Link: Has been published in the highly
acclaimed journal Century, and in high profile magazines such
as Asimov's.We are extremely proud to open the magazine by
publishing a new story from her. Originally from North Carolina, Kelly
works in the best bookshop (AVH) in Boston.
Bryon Morrison: The hardest working man outside
show business, only because he keeps turning them down. A veteran
of The Boston Poet, Bryon's been creating in various media
probably since birth. As an exploration of a life lived against the
consumerist norm he gives us his own self.
Edward Osowski: An intellectual historian by
trade journeying toward a PhD., Ed used to front a local band (Bondo
Vega) until he received a banjo in the mail wherein he found his musical
roots. A collage artist (that we didn't have the facility -- color
-- to present properly) and screenwriter, he is on the edge of the
The Poetry Club: A now defunct 1860s excuse
for bacchanals, this group produced some of the worst poetic atrocities
in history. A close fourth in the worst poetry list of the unedited
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, they did not make the
final radio (or book) program because of the actors inability to pronounce
the mostly 'furrin' names. (Joe Bills, Eben Taggart, Ed Osowski, Bryon
Morrison, Gavin J.Grant).
Cassandra Silvia: Has by chance worked on half
a dozen places on Newbury St., yet retains a certain charm. She writes
unflinchingly about her life and her interaction with the world. this
is her first publication and if Lady C's has a vol. 2 she'll
Eben Taggart: The other half of the coolest
bookshop under Mass Ave, a carpenter, builder of verbal monuments
and time-traveling member of the Poetry Club. (Few are the brave who
Welcome to the first issue of
Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet.
A hundred years ago Lady Churchill was one of the belles
of the Belle Epoch, that time and place at the turn of the century,
before the loss of innocence and fun known as our crazy twentieth. Embodying
a class and style that cost too much to last, this period was an incredible
outburst of arts and crafts, literature and love. Here at the end of
the millennium we cannot help but cast our thoughts back to earlier
periods such as this (fin de siecle/fin de millennia?) and consider
life as it was, and what came about after the century ended. While I
am not convinced that the present is an equal to that time, I am willing
to put forth this small compilation of ideas as a taste of what lies
beneath the commercially recognized surface.
At the end of the 19th Century the world was rumbling
with the precursors to the Great War. Peace and socialism were on the
agenda of the 'common people' and the fringes, but in everyday politics,
tokenism was the rule -- as perhaps today. Strange happenings in literature
and art were around the corner, Cubism was coming, all types of literature
were beginning to take on something of the architecture of film, as
film invaded the human consciousness. The imagist poets, the Bloomsbury
group, all were far in the future (imagine what the writing of 25 years
from now will be...).
Rather than spending the rest of the magazine considering
the whole, I think it is worth while considering just two works, and
actually with one I am cheating, for it is not an extant work, but rather
a lack. By the year 1900, Thomas Hardy had given up fiction for poetry,
the world unable to deal with his harshly over-realistic viewpoints.
Horrified by the reception he received he gave up Wessex and took to
the gentler, less controversial art of poetry. Therefore we lack Thomas
Hardy's vision in novel form of what the new century brought, what the
old left behind. Then in 1911 Max Beerbohm gifted us with Zuleika
Dobson, his tale of a fatally beautiful muse. Where recently society
had refused to accept the darkness of Hardy, from the light-hearted
yet scathing pen of Beerbohm, they were more than willing to take a
peek into male and female vanities and frailties.
It is tempting to see Beerbohm's work and the lack
of Hardy's in light of the war that came soon after, and while Hardy
wrote some heart breaking war poetry, they are of their time just as
the writers within these pages are. They were formed by the extraordinary
shifts that led to massive population growth and an equally massive
shift from rural to urban living.
Like Lady Churchill's tattooed wristlet of rosebuds
this magazine determines to be timeless and stylish and to ravish society
(in each sense of the word) while leading onward to new sights and thoughts.
In other words, the high hopes of anyone embarking upon a new adventure.
Within these slight pages you will find serious fiction
and non-fiction, political and personal commentary, humor and an old
family recipe (more reliable than the family ghost). I think we have
most things we wanted, although we're still waiting to hear back from
Due to certain copyright difficulties our original
cover had to be withdrawn, this acknowledgment is set forth as an apology
to all those involved in the debacle, and I hope that the pain and anguish
suffered by will not lead to any law suits.
Apropos of nothing:
John Muir, "The sun shines not on
us, but in us."
Directed by Stanley Donen, with Gregory Peck and Sophia Loren. Music
by Henry Mancini.
Either you prefer Charade to this or the other
way 'round, I'm of the latter persuasion. This movie is a '60s thrill-a-minute
adventure, the music grabs you, the camera work is truly unreal, and
the plot is pretty decent (for what it is). Sophia Loren is somebody
you could worship for a long time and not get tired, and Mr. Peck
does a cheesy shtick that carries him past self-parody.
Mr. Peck is the good yankee professor in England
who finds himself in the middle of an international intrigue where
he can't tell who's good or who's bad. Guess which one Ms. Loren is?
When Peck is taken for a midnight van ride and gets shot up with sodium
penthanol, then chucked out onto the freeway the special effects will
having you rolling on the floor -- or climbing the walls, depending
on what you've dosed yourself with. Most stores should stock this.
By default -- i.e. the recent rainstorms -- I rented
it from Videosmith, who have a decent selection and aren't killing
off local businesses and censoring our choice as a certain national
chain are. A hard-to-beat, late-night popcorn classic.