TFWMZ6_2015-07

talesfromwiltonmanors

TFWMZ6_2015-07

Tales From

Wilton Manors

Wrinkleton Comic Series

- Art by Shannon Gallogly

A lady pug with a round

bubbly mug

Zine

6 (2015-07)


Catholic School Boys In

Trouble (Part 6) Summer

Camp – by Brett Butler

Luckily enough, I was able to

pass Bible study with Luke

Roberts’ help. Each day after

school, we would meet at Java

Boys, drink coffee, and

discuss the Bible. It is a

subject I know nothing about,

since I am Jewish. Our

friendship grew and on the last

day of the term, Luke kissed

me. It was what I’d been

waiting for all year. But sadly,

it was nothing like my hot

sweaty make out session with

Jordan. Jordan had broken it

off with Daniel, but Daniel

told us that it was the other

way around. Pickles warned

me, that what Jordan does, is

love you and leave you and

that I did the best thing by not

going after him. I still couldn’t

forget him, even though I had

my eye on Luke Roberts. He

needed to be my main focus.


So now my parents have sent

me to an all-boys, sports, sleep

away camp. “Just kill me.”

That’s all I can say. Pickles

has come with me to support

me through this punishment,

but I have not seen him since

we arrived. It all started three

days ago when Pickles and me

got off the bus at “Falling

Creek Sports Camp for Boys”.

“I’m just going to die”,

Pickles said as we went to find

our bunk. Sweat poured from

our bodies. I thought Wilton

Manors was hot, but this place

was like a desert. “We have

each other to get through

this”, I told him.. “This is a

prison camp with no phones or

Wi-Fi. I won’t make it.” As we

went up the wooden stairs and

walked into a room full of

bunk beds, Pickles had a

shocked look on his face. “No

air conditioning?” “You will

survive”, I said. “No sweetie,

my hair won’t survive this


summer if I have to sleep in

this heat.” Just then, a very

cute Latino boy with a

Mohawk came over to us.

“You guys in this bunk?”, he

asked. For once, Pickles was

silent. He could not say a

word. I thought it was the

shock of no air conditioning

and phone. “Yeah, I am Blair

and this is my best friend

Pickles.” “I’m Louis, but

everyone calls me Louie.”

Pickles just stared at Louie. I

could tell he was in love. I

dragged Pickles to our bunk

beds. He could not stop

looking at Louie. As I

unpacked, Pickles and Louie

just kept looking at each other.

Louie came over. He took

Pickles’ hand. “Let me show

you around poppy”, Louie

said. “Sure now”, Pickles said

as he ran his hand through his

short blond hair. “Yes, let’s

start at the lake.” As soon as I

closed my suitcase to join


them, they were gone. I had

lost my best friend for the

summer. I walked outside and

thought about Luke Roberts.

Even though we kissed, I did

not know where we stood,

since he never said a thing. I

turned around and I almost

had a stroke as I saw Jordan

going into the bunkhouse. I

ran inside and almost tripped

over him. “What are you

doing here?”, I asked. Jordan

gave me a smile. “I’m the CIT

assigned to this bunk.” I

needed Pickles. Instead he

was making out with Louie in

the woods, while I was

passing out on the floor. Next

time: The summer is off to a

great start, but a familiar face

will throw some drama in the

mix.


Poem by Alexey Damov

A sensitive creature

Drank beer at breakfast

Lied to his wife and

Resented Nietzsche

Mind you – he said –

There’s no difference

Between a book on a shelf

And a gust of wind

And in his study among

Half empty bottles of gin

Stood lion’s skull with

Ice axe driven through it


Poem by Alexey Damov

At this hour in this room

Stand thoughtful and tall

Yours are ambition

And sexual joys

Numb city impaired night

Moon a pill to do away

headache

Stand at this hour

Proud and cold

Yours is blind heart

But also intellectual pains

Shotgun over the bed

Next to a photograph of a poet

Stand fearless because you

Had a shot or two and moral

Time slows as it makes the

corner

Yellow its fangs

Tonight the splendor

Of Latin East

Excesses of democracy

But stand among

Crashing of cymbals

And beating of drums

Defenseless against Love

And let me see you

Before you wreck my life


Art "Under Control"


- by Anggit Kunto


The Mind Is A Terribly Easy

Thing To Waste (Part 1) - by

FishSpit Bess called me and

said she was suicidal. I went

and got her and took her to the

hospital. It was the 4 th of July.

I always have lousy 4ths . . .

something bad always

happens . . . it’s an ungodly

bad day for me. It’d be no big

deal to spend it in a hospital. I

knew it’d be a day trip because

I have been where Bess was

and they take their sweet time

processing you and getting

you into a psyche facility. I‘m

sure it ain’t their fault . . .

shortage of space in the wards

you know . . . filled to

capacity! Wam ding doodle!

Everyone’s becoming a nut

job in this insane society . . .

this ridiculous gig . . . so the

beds are full and the suicide

either needs to get the job done

or slosh through the misery of

lying in a hospital for hours

waiting to get in and get some


meds in them to soften the

misery. And one can only

pray it ain’t gonna be

Thorozine . . . no . . . one banks

their sanity on a nice Librium

haze . . . or maybe some

Ativan . . . something to make

it all ok for a while. Some piss

pot, poor, poofter filled

hospitals won’t give you

nothing until you are checked

in at the ward . . . and that’s

downright cruel. Others give

you something . . . but it’s just

a drop compared to the

misery. You need a gallon of

little white pills . . . and yet

they give you a pittance. No

one can really understand the

misery of the whole she-bopshenellibang

unless it’s

happening to you. But some

places start you on a nice

smacker of Ativan . . . straight

from the needle . . . and these

places are fine . . . and you

almost . . . no! You do! You

start to enjoy the whole fiasco.


So it was the 4 th . . . and my gal

had come over from the city to

see me . . . but she’d have to

wait. It was going to be a long

day. When I went to get Bess

she was making herself up . . .

yeah! Really! Trying to get

pretty. Loonies don’t think

logically . . . and Bess’s

noodle was fried. She wanted

to look her best to go in to the

hospital suicidal . . . and that’s

what the damned woman was

up to. Unbelievable the

delusion that was going on.

Not that she could do much to

make her ugly mug

presentable. Bess ain’t no

looker. No quite the

contrary . . . she had a puss

that’d make the phantom of

the opera blush . . . ‘twould

scare the hair off a boar hog!

Besides her multitude of

mental health problems, Bess

is also a hoarder. I cleaned a

space off the only chair that

had a presentable appearance


in her tiny place and sat down

to wait. Women can’t get

nowhere fast when they are

doing up their faces. And a

hoarder can’t get hardly

anywhere at all because once

they do up their faces they got

to finish packing . . . and a

hoarder is never finished

packing. There is always

something else they are sure

they will need. I sat down and

I waited. Goddamned it was

hot in her apartment! Rumsie,

the fattest of her cats, looked

like a beached whale. He was

a smoldering puss! All that fat

and fur . . . he’d had enough of

trying to get comfortable . . .

smart cat! Resigning himself

to his lot! Fi Fo Fum is the

sweet little lady cat. She’s a

friendly sort . . . always one to

come a chatterin’ . . . give you

her little opinion on things . . .

let you know how things

stood. And the third cat, Tim,

was as fat as Rumsie. . . but he


had super long legs . . . strange

looking fellow . . . like

Tweedle Dee . . . or his better

half Tweedle Dum . . . skinny

long legs and one hell of a

paunch. He didn’t like me . . .

never had . . . he came around

to give me a look-see

though . . . express his

contempt . . . to let me know

just what a charlatan I was . . .

a grande phony . . . useless as

a tick on a hound dog! More

useless than that. Smart cat!

Smarter than his owner . . . he

could read me and see what a

bastard lay inside my

benevolent appearing

exterior. These were the three

I’d be looking after while Bess

was in the psyche facility. I’d

already agreed. I didn’t need

any more responsibility in my

life . . . but one does what one

has to do. I had enough sorrow

and enough misery on my

plate without this . . . but what

else could be done?


I am doing a one issue zine of

the male version of "The Facts

of Life". I need photos or

illustrations. The characters are

Eldridge: The head boy who

rules the school. Snodgrass:

His side kick who does all his

evil deeds. Muffy: Eldridge's

girlfriend. Jordan: The new boy

who threatens Eldridge's

power over the other boys. It is

for a short story that I would

like to have faces to match the

characters. Please send

submissions to the website.


Writer/Self-Publisher:

Brett Butler

Editor/Webmaster:

Eric Schleicher

Visit our Website:

for Color/Print Version of

our Zines plus Extras:

talesfromwiltonmanors.weebly.com

Contact us by e-Mail:

talesfromwiltonmanors@yahoo.com

Like Us on Facebook:

facebook.com/TalesFromWiltonManors

Contributors: Shannon

Gallogly, Anggit Kunto,

Alexey Damov, Joseph

Wilson AKA FishSpit

Poems, Short

Stories, Art,

Comics,

Photography,

Feedback are

welcomed.

Submissions:

talesfromwiltonmanor

s.weebly.com/

More magazines by this user
Similar magazines