Red Door Magazine 21

R E D 

D O O R 

ISSUE # 21 WINTER 2019

R E D R E D D O O D R 

ISSUE # 21 WINTER 2019 

This 10th anniversary issue has been compiled in our current physical location in Copenhagen, 

Denmark. With collaborations from Australia, Mexico, Colombia, Haiti, Cuba, Ecuador, and other 

areas of the Americas, as well as various locations in Europe. Thank you for having us. 

www.reddoormagazine.com 

21 

Since its creation in New York in 2009, Red Door aims to serve as an 

alternative platform for voices, stories and projects to be heard 

without censorship. An independent door to connect our communities, 

participating actively in the process of self-actualization, construction and 

connection, as a space for free expression and active communication. 

W O R L D T H R E A D I N G 

Our goal is t o provide the tools for you to be the storytellers and create 

opportunities right here and now, between each city and space we inhabit. 

Starting the conversations that need to happen. 

We aim to be the open door that welcomes the future we need to create 

together. The time is now. We exist. Is 2020 ready for us? 

All content published with authorization of the authors or their representatives, 

remains the property of the respective names listed along each article. 

All rights of this publication reserved by 

RED DOOR Magazine & Gallery, 

the artists, the writers, and the photographers. 

The reproduction of this magazine in whole or in part is not authorized 

without previous written consent from the corresponding parties. 

© RED DOOR 

Copenhagen, Denmark, 2019

ISSUE # 21: TRANSITIONS 

Editor in Chief, 

Design & Art Director: 

Elizabeth Torres, Denmark 

Correspondents: 

IN this issue: 

The Neon Rebel, 

The Neon Rebellion, 

by Melaine Knight, Australia 

The House that Jan Built, 

Brandon Davis, x-USA / Europe 

INTERVIEW with 

Daniel Malpica 

poet, worldthreader, 

HELSINKI 2019 

The House that Jan Built 

Fundacion Flacquer 

by Brandon Davis 

LITERATURE: 

Give it to the GRAND CANYON 

by Noah Cicero - review 

POETRY: 

Janice D. Soderling 

Peter Boyle 

Mercedes Roffe 

Samuel Gregoire 

Julie O’Yang 

(Photography by Filip Naudts) 

Aleisa Ribalta 

Tex Kerschen 

VISUAL ART: 

Misia Martus aka Mymajo 

ECUADOR’S UNREST 

PHOTOGRAPHY BY: 

David Diaz. 

Additional content: An instruction manual to 

keep you safe when the time comes to march. 

Cover art and featured art by @MYMAJO 

Magazine designed on InDesign and 

Illustrated digitally by Eli 

www.madamneverstop.com 

Fonts: Aileron for text, 

Aktiv Grotesk for subtitles and titles 

HEX code: 008080 teal 

Tiffany light teal: 81D8d0 

RED DOOR 

MAGAZINE 

Since 2009 

10...9....8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1

MAY THE FUTURE FIND US 

the TRANSITIONS issue, and how we approach 2020 

Everywhere I go, whatever I do, from a podcast interview to the recruiting of content for 

another issue of the magazine or simply hanging out with friends, there are subjects 

resounding in everybody’s mouths. 

They’re words we didn’t often pronounce growing up, but I wonder what would have happened, 

had we grown up in a world where we did. 

Justice. Equality. Sustainability. 

Balance. Accountability. Freedom. 

From the current situation going on in Chile, Ecuador, Colombia, Bolivia, to the 16 year old 

Swedish woman standing up in a desperate attempt to salvage our future from ourselves. 

In the US there’s an IMPEACHMENT trial going on slowly but surely that has many of you 

pasted to your TV screens, while in the meantime Gaza trembles, still, and we stand here, 

watching it all with sinking feelings in suspense. 

When I ask you about transitions, and what they mean to you, poetry flows in various 

languages and stories of grief, reconstruction and unrest arrive to the inbox. But that is 

precisely what I mean. In order for us to flourish into a more accepting, acceptable society, 

a lot is going to have to burn, a lot is going to have to crash, a lot is going to have to be 

ripped apart like dead bark, and if it wants to stick around like a rotten virus, then it is up to 

us to recognize this and stand up, put on our masks and be the ones who remove it. 

Look at Hong Kong. Look at Brazil. Look at Egypt. 

the answer is one and it is coming from every angle of our 

planet, because we’re hungry, cold, tired, sick of the lies 

and sick of the pretentions, and probably exhausted like our 

planet is exhausted of the control mechanisms that have 

placed us in a wheel of agony and blindness for generations. 

Not anymore. Read between the lines. See past the headlines 

and hashtags of the constant overfeed of content and realize 

that it is up to you now to take action. 

Fear not. It is up to each one of us. We are in this together. 

May 2020 bring us the resolve and rage necessary for us to 

overcome the last of these chains and find the freedom we 

and our children deserve. 

May the future find us fighting for what is ours. 

WE EXIST. 

4 www.reddoormagazine.com 

-Madam Neverstop.

y Mercedes Roffé 

ISSUE # 21 - TRANSITIONS 5

MERCEDES ROFFÉ 

Wandering Canto - Translated from Spanish by Margaret Carson 

I don’t know how many dreams ago 

this journey began 

at the shore of the sun at the shore of death 

Like a veil sinking into memory 

apprentice to banishment 

O mirror, moon of dark omens 

From what heights will I ask the waters for the path 

at the shore of the sun at the shore of death 

Time is suspended 

and yet 

verbs still happen 

yesterday an elm tomorrow perhaps a willow 

I cross the milk-white thickness of the day 

A blind man 

a monk 

a puppet stretch out their arms from the shore 

I HAD PROPHESIZED THE LOSS OF THE KINGDOM 

I had seen the boats of madness go by 

I had seen the lofty gestures of the idle priests 

O innards of vultures, you 

had revealed to me the destruction of the temple 

But 

who heard 

Toledo and Alexandria had no room for 

the black tongue of the seer 

I HAD PROPHESIZED THE DEATH OF THE GODS 

But 

who heard 

* * * 

6 www.reddoormagazine.com 

Tears of blood 

toothless laughter 

on a river of fire the ship sails 

The altars were sacked 

and the leaves stirred up by the wind 

and the sibylline dogs tempted by the profane 

beast 

and by food 

and the nuptial bed 

and silence 

Someone hurled the Word from the top of 

the tower 

The tower is burning 

Someone dug up the corpses of my voice 

the bodies 

the names 

The earth is burning 

Someone hurled the light the canto 

The ocean is burning 

Father 

Father 

A demented child has come out of my body 

and has given me 

a zither as my fate 

and as scepter 

shards of a mirror 

on the wet spine of a serpent 

(oh moon of dark omens) 

* * *

You know 

You won’t know 

You’ve made a crown of perverse fruits 

and placed it on my head 

Prince 

Loss 

has chosen your age as a 

safe haven 

and the hour of your thirst as a sanctuary 

You’ve stolen the painted mantle of the 

bride 

and draped me in golds and purples 

(deceptive jewel 

the word) 

You know 


And you’ve threaded diamonds for my 

bare feet 

and you’ve aged honey for my body 

Instead of the battle a monotonous song 

Instead of a song a sharp stubborn iron. 

. . 

Useless to crouch down in the ancient 

valley 

Useless to tempt the hot coals 

Lamb 

The golden domes of the Abyss will not 

shine for you 

There is no shelter no flock 


And you’ve cried out 

and you’ve performed the rite 

and you’ve given it up for dead 

(Night 

nothing can hide from you 

you deny nothing 

Old wish-giver) 

And you’ve been pretending 

But 


The path has been forgotten 

if there was any 

Little Feet . . . 

MERCEDES ROFFÉ is one of Argentina’s leading poets. 

Widely published in the Spanish-speaking world, 

her books have been published in translation in Italy, 

France, Quebec, Romania, Brazil, England, and the 

United States. Her books in English translation include 

Floating Lanterns, transl. by Anna Deeny (UK, Shearman 

Books, 2015) and Ghost Opera, transl. by Judith 

Filc (US, co-im-press, 2017). She is the editorial director 

of Ediciones Pen Press (www.edicionespenpress. 

com), specialized in contemporary poetry from around 

the world. Among other distinctions, she was awarded 

fellowships from the John Simon Guggenheim (2001) 

and the Civitella Ranieri foundations (2012). 

Books of her photographs inlcude, The Blue Line / 

La línea azul (Madrid, 2012) and Otras lenguas (Santa 

Fe, 2019). She lives in New York. 

MARGARET CARSON’s translations include Remedios 

Varo’s Letters, Dreams & Other Writings (Wakefield 

Press) and Sergio Chejfec’s Baroni, A Journey (Almost 

Island) and My Two Worlds (Open Letter). 

Other translations have appeared in The Paris Review, 

Aufgabe, BOMB, EOAGH, Asymptote, Seedings, 

[SLUG], and Words Without Borders. She is Assistant 

Professor in the Modern Languages Department at 

Borough of Manhattan Community College, The City 

University of New York. 


8 www.reddoormagazine.com

JULIE O’YANG is a Europe-based poet, writer, 

artist. Born and raised in China, Julie left for 

London in the 1990s and has lived in free exile 

since. Her work covers a wide spectrum. 

She draws inspiration from her multicultural 

background and creates an imaginative world. 

She is known for her bold, edgy and stunning 

approach toward her subjects. Julie currently 

works from The Netherlands and Denmark. 

www.julieoyang.com 

FILIP NAUDTS is a Flemish press photographer 

and photography artist. His photography has 

been applauded by the media as well as the 

general audience. Today Filip Naudts is a household 

name with a strong artist’s signature. In his 

creative process, he is fascinated by beauty as 

well as its relativity. His art reflects an aesthet- 

IMAGE BY FILIP NAUDTS 

POETRY BY JULIE O’YANG 

Blue Tulip 

Have you ever forgotten a tulip 

and left her in the snow 

and as her petals would curl 

you grow feverish on her missing scent 

her hand turned up and be utterly empty 

you are puzzled how free she is, so free it hurts 

you 

the sticky toffee fingers from a dream 

floating over the white ice, quivers 

with excitement, longing for spring 

let the world be crazy 

who cares if we don’t see the sunshine ever? 

she wants to be herself 

to make a fine show 

and be good for nothing. 


ALEISA RIBALTA 

THE TRUTH 

OF A LOTUS FLOWER 

Translation by Elizabeth Torres 

A lotus flower can sleep 

but it will open its petals 

sooner or later 

from and within the water. 

Every lotus flower will be cultivated 

in still, lukewarm water 

the currents may dry out the roots 

if they’re too far-reaching 

it must always be ensured 

that they do not touch the ice 

nor are embraced by its intensity. 

After being harvested the flower 

will be sold 

preferably to the highest bidder 

who in turn will commercialize it 

in large scale. 

Anything can be made 

from the lotus flower. 

The lotus hearts can be boiled 

their sour taste goes well 

with tea, soup and rice 

stabilizing and calming 

the most unstable intestines. 

Lotus petals are great for use 

as cosmetics 

for skin, hair, teeth 

everything can be improved 

From the flower essence oil and 

creams can be made 

desired by women 

for making their lovers more virile. 

Lotus roots cut like cartwheels 

have the same form as a lemon slice 

dry and without seeds 

delicious when fried 

served in most distant 

and respectable 

Asian dining tables. 


Aleisa Ribalta (Havana, 1971). Born in Cuba, lives inSweden since 1998. 

She is a poet, translator and cultural coordinator. As a professional engineer, 

works as a teacher of several technical subjects and not directly related to 

literature such as: Graphic Interface Design, Web Design and Application Programming. 

Has published Talud (Ekelecuá Ediciones, 2018), a first book that 

has been translated into Catalan and published as a bilingual edition Talús 

/ Talud (bokeh, 2018) and Tablero (Verbo (des)Nudo, Chile, 2019). Has in 

preparation the books Cuaderna, bao y regala and Intersexuals Poems. 

Collaborated in magazines such as Animal Suspicious (Spain), Conexos 

(USA) and Verb (des) Nudo (Chile) with articles and translations. Her poems 

have also been published in Humo Magazine (Mexico), Le foil (Argentina), 

Mimeógrafo (Mexico), Kokoro (Spain) and Nagari (United States). Aleisa 

participated in the poetry anthology written by women (Verb (des) 

knot, 2018) and All women (Foundations, 2018). 

She also directs the online magazine: www.lalibelulavaga.com 

The seeds of the lotus flower 

Have the same duty o frestarting 

this arduous process 

Unless they’re taken from the heart 

of the flower 

in secrecy as smuggled goods 

to be used for obscure and varied 

medical purposes 

Whereas they end up in delicate 

beauty pots 

In tea mixtures that (according to 

the Chinese) 

can help ’clear up the heat’ 

in rough times for certain women 

the same who no longer ask 

for ointments for the member of 

their loved one 

nor for bowel-calming medications 

nor for smooth complexions, 

nor for hair-straightening tricks 

but just a bit of steadiness 

so that the currents 

don’t reach the roots 

and suddenlt dry up 

the already sour heart 

because from the lotus flower 

they have learned 

to bloom 

when noone is waiting, 

warm, still 

and even two times 

per year. 



MYMAJO says that art is the easiest way for her to talk 

to people during episodes of social anxiety. She struggles 

with words, but loves colors, especially if they POP. 

Her artistic vocabulary always circulates around illustrations 

as a direct way of processing information 

of what is around her, and expressing 

from the simplest to the most complex emotions. 

Hint: Look left. 

“I like ice cream, spaceships, occult themes, slavic 

fairytales, fast food, mental disorders, techno music, 

oversized clothes, glitter, drugs, italo disco, funny 

accents, organizing parties, candy, horror movies, 

pink stuff and chilling. If you can relate to some of 

it, you might like my shit. SHIT THAT YOU NEED.” 

She is a very peculiar artist, developing her own world. 

Combining the traditional art education and her native 

language, Polish, with the hallucinations and 

thoughts of an alien residing in this current future, MY- 

MAJO is equally outspoken, energetic and refreshing 

in real life, with art bursting out from her every pore. 

To learn more about this colorful human, 

visit the following online locations: 

h t t p s : / / o h m y m a j o . t u m b l r . c o m / 

https://www.facebook.com/tomymajo/ 

Instagram: 

@mymajo 



SAMUEL 

GREGOIRE 

TRANSLATION BY 

ELIZABETH TORRES 

ADELAIDA 

In the water, 

in the moist air 

silence is dead. 

Silence is the abandoned death 

in the dream of the abyss. 

(The abyss dreams of a heard of abysses, 

with bodies without pleasures 

dressed up of an asexual cold). 

Adelaida, 

the mounted one, 

the possessed one 

of the voices of fire, 

of iron, of blood, 

of soil, of emerald leaves, 

of sun… 

A sun god, 

a god sun, 

who only now begins to see 

the nest of light in your eyes. 

Adelaida, 

flower of bloomed drum 

over the shore of iridescent molluscs, 

of iridescent and moist flower. 

The heels suspended over your head 

of drunkened sky, 

of colors of Aida Wedo, 

letting you fall as a braceled of arid vapor 

in the wave of your cradle of water. 

Now you brush the lukewarm wave 

with your fingers of liana 

over the head of Simbi Andezo 

in love with the mist. 

Drum flower, 

flower of iridescent mollusc, 

moist flower, 

the mist falls over your petals 

with drops of voices 

that exude a symphony to water 

the dreams of your lips. 

Adelaida dances with flesh inks 

archangel and manly pleasures, 

greed, an old absurd sin. 

A red sun (the sleeping sun) 

infiltrates itself in your blood branch 

as the chromatic light 

abuses the sex of the moon. 

(The dead silence drinks from its sobs). 

The wings of the wind of the night 

your concave curly fire 

the ghost of my fantasies 

its pirouettes on your crimson libido, 

the gelatinous screams 

of your colitogenic hibiscus 

crackling spheres of orgasms. 

You are carnal, 

carnal, invented sin. 


Adelaida, 

night undresses your legs. 

The night arrives with slow wings 

to a poem country which excavates the mystery. 

Night, 

flight of the Zobop, 

death of dead silence. 

Cric crac, the stories. 

tell me the history 

of that golden and sun wind 

dead without being able to offer you 

the aroma of the Mirabilis jalapa flowers. 

Samuel Gregoire, Born 1983, Haiti. Resides in Dominican Republic. 

Studied Engineering an business administration. Samuel has a background in French, 

experimental poetry, and human rights in Journalist practices. With additional experience 

in radio, teaching, and creative coordination.Samuel has been included in several 

publications including the international anthology of Poetry by Mateo Morrison and 

his most recent book Simulacros de Paraisos y otros renacidos, 2018. 


A time of endings 

(after Ezio Bosso Rain, in your black eyes 

with images by Joris Ivens.). 

drop by drop 

a man knows the earth is changing 

and hurries on 

the streets do not wait for him 

despite their eternity 

and trapped in patience 

the past walks still across the water 

or huddles head-down 

like a gathering of umbrellas 

in a field at the mercy of transfigured clouds 

from inside the darkness a shimmer trembles 

it paints light in corners of waiting 

Peter Boyle is a Sydney-based poet 

and translator of poetry from Spanish 

and French. In 2017 he won the New 

South Wales Premier’s Prize for poetry 

with his book Ghostspeaking. 

His latest collection is Enfolded in the 

Wings of a Great Darkness (Vagabond 

Press, 2019). 

it pools in your eyes 

flutters underneath the wheels 

of some ancient grinding machine 

for used lives 

drifts in the upside down world 

where horses harvest the drizzle steaming off pavements 

where a faint hesitation in the wind that starts to turn 

carries the explosion of an Empire ending 

a pond under rain becomes a ribcage 

girls scurry, 

shielding the white of exposed legs under a blanket 

everyone goes by holding their breath upward 

the earth cracks like overladen glass 


P E T E R B O Y L E 

The plea 

after Margaret Olley, Portrait in the Mirror. 

So wide and open 

there above the flowers the fruit 

the tacked-up photographs the saints 

a haloed woman her stretched body 

almost swimming woman 

at spindle or waterwheel 

counting out the measures of her life 

While the mask (turned side on) 

male or female? pouts its lips 

in some forever repressed 

cry of self or of the world 

The twined small buds of flowers reach towards you 

towards us conch shells or funnels turn 

announcing only their silence 

In the mirror 

the world before you is all blue 

soothing its distances 

Will I meet you again? 

Swept elsewhere 

holding elsewhere 

your eyes that plead: 

Travellers among tarnished fruit 

and fallen saints 

all this and I am gone 

remember me 


Heart’s Migration 

Move deeper into the poem. 

Find 

the secret not yet whispered 

lover to lover, 

epidermis to epidermis, 

galaxy to galaxy. Find 

the gaudy colors, the tired itinerant, the broken accordion, 

the torn shawl, the child beggar, the layers of betrayal. 

Deeper. 

Find the street vendor and the swollen rain cloud, 

the wind that moves her loosened hair across her face. 

Find 

the day before the storm broke, 

his clenched hand resting on the table. 

Deeper. 

Find the eye of the storm, 

the hoarse cry of the poem. 

Janice D. Soderling is an award-winning writer and translator whose 

credits include Acumen, the Beloit Poetry Journal, Event, Fiddlehead, 

Glimmer Train, Malahat Review, Other Poetry and Tipton Poetry Journal. 

Her work is represented in anthologies and can be read online at 

42opus, Our Stories, Babel Fruit, The Chimaera, Innisfree Poetry Journal, 

Lucid Rhythms, Loch Raven Review, Right Hand Pointing and Umbrella. 

Forthcoming work at Anon, Blue Unicorn, Centrifugal Eye, Literary 

Mama, and Mezzo Cammin. Janice was born in the United States, 

but lives in Sweden. 


JANICE D. SODERLING 

Husband, I Said 

Husband, I said, you cannot make amends. 

The worm gnaws the apple. The fallen apples rot. 

(No answer came.) The worms gnaw the apples. 

It may rain today or not. 

The worms attend. The fallen apples rot. 

Husband, I said, the worm is in the apple and that lie was one too many. 

The pretty worms stopped nibbling. They listened. (No answer came.) 

It may not rain today. 

The red distends with rot. You cannot make amends. 

All the little mouths returned to nibbling. (No answer came.) 

Husband, I said, that girl was one too many. Worms gnaw our apples. 

It may rain today or not. 

The little mouths drill deep into my flesh. (No answer came.) 

The apples fall, the apples rot. And what about the rain? 

That pretty friend was one too many, Husband. A marriage is an orchard 

and you cannot make amends. Every little mouth lies with its hunger. 

ISSUE # 21 - TRANSITIONS 21

WITNESS 

ECUADOR’S 

UNREST 


ISSUE # 21 - TRANSITIONS 23 

Photo by David Diaz 

for: Bloomberg


ISSUE # 21 - TRANSITIONS Photo by David 25 Diaz


ISSUE # 21 - TRANSITIONS Photo by David 27 Diaz


ABOUT DAVID DIAZ. Communicator, documentary Storyteller. Member of Fluxus Photo. 

Diaz has worked in several State programs and various NGOs giving workshops and being 

producer of photographic and audiovisual content focused on Edu-Communication, Gender, 

Human Rights and Territory. 

Diaz has also been part of several TV Programs and is Collaborator for Bloomberg Cannabis 

Magazine, Spain. Bistandsaktuelt, Norway. and My News Desk, Denmark. 

He has published his work in the Washington Post, BBC News, DulceEquisNegra Magazine, 

Argentina. G1 Global News, Brazil. Le Monde, Commerce Peru. Digital media such as: 

Midia Ninja, Brazil. El Salto, Mex. Interference, Chile GK, Latin Faction, Pressenza, Bex Latin 

American Photography. among other assignments for UNHCR / UN. 

IG: @diaz.arcos 


Photo by David Diaz 




R 

E 

D 

Speaking of unrest... 

D 

Surely you’ve seen/heard/experienced the current turmoil 

running through the veins of Latin America and the world. 

There’s casualties all over the place and it is logical to feel 

fear, because we’ve been trained to be afraid of our governments, 

but fear is not an excuse to stand still in the face of 

human right violations and uncertainty. 

O 

If for some reason you find yourself in a location or situation 

where you find injustice and corruption taking over, (and it is 

most likely that you are already in it), stand up, speak up, and 

join those who like you, have chosen change. 

Remember that art, too, can be a form of activism. 

Rembember that activism, too, can be a form of art. 

O 

Here’s a compilation of very basic instructions for our current 

days and times, for you to protect your beautiful eyes and 

identities while you go fight the patriarchy. 

R 

It’s handwritten because so is the revolution. 

Take notes and pass it around. 

Love and poetry always, 

Madam N E V E R S T O P 








THE HOUSE THAT JAN BUILT 

BY BRANDON DAVIS 

Jan Vandendorpe is a Belgian born artist/architect living in Catalonia on an eco-estate that he designed 

and built himself. At age 64, Jan continues to sculpt, paint and draw while tirelessly maintaining 

the estate and planning for the future. He recently created a not-for-profit foundation as a way to 

open up the time and space to artists, thinkers, makers and doers in an effort to create a sustainable 

future. 

I first met Jan a few years ago when I was visiting my mother-in-law in the South of France. She took 

us just over the border to meet her friends and that’s when it happened. I saw the place, I met the man 

and I changed my mind. 


Other than his fantastic hair and burning eyes, one of the first things you will notice about Jan Vandendorpe 

is his intense energy. He is a charming and friendly man with a generous spirit. He’s also a 

complete weirdo. You’d have to be in order to lead the life that he has lead up to this point. 

In the 90s Jan had a successful architecture firm in Ghent when he and his wife bought and fixed 

up an old farmhouse in an isolated region of the Pyrenes in Southern France. After her unexpected 

passing, Jan spent the next 6 years in total isolation living and healing and subconsciously documenting 

the process in an endless series of sketchbooks, paintings and sculptures. The resulting 

work creates a Jungian autobiography; the life of a true spirit. 

And almost nobody has seen it. That’s where I come in. 


The house that Jan built is made from the ruins of an old farmhouse on 12 

hectares of olive trees. It is surrounded by mountains and about a 5 kilometers 

from the nearest village with a population of 300 people. The original 

idea was to create a retreat center for a certain group of people. Those people 

made a series of bad moves and were no longer a part of the picture. Jan 

being Jan, he finished the project and built out the spaces with immaculate 

attention to detail creating a self-sustainable masterpiece of architecture. 

Above the garage is Jan’s studio where he works constantly. Current works 

include a 2 meter sculpture of a figure hanging by two fingers and a series 

of paintings on wood panels that appear to represent the moment where 

totality and nothingness intersect. 

Over 40 years of work is stored throughout the compound. There was a 

good deal of it burned a long time ago in an event that can only be called 

a really good bad idea, but there is plenty more where that came from. In 

these works you will see landscapes that have an erotic nature, heavenly 

grotesque figures and portals of all dimensions. The narrative revealed is a 

trip through the amazon, a couple of comas and the never ending attempt 

to illuminate the substance of life. 


But the buildings and the art works are only a part of the big picture. What 

Jan has created is a way to experience life. Everyone who comes here tells me 

about their different perception of time and space and energy when they are 

here. There is a tree out front that is approximately 800 years old. There is a 

rock formation out back the is 5,000 years old. There are five wild horses and 

wilder winds. And there is the earth, the sky and the universe right in front of 

your face. 

My wife and I moved out here a year ago to find a way to make this thing 

“work.” Our first thought was to host an artists residency out here, and we’re 

doing that. But the realization of what is possible has lead us to reach further. 

We have created Fundación Flaquer, named after the original name of the 

farmhouse, in order to facilitate the development of sustainable practices in 

the fields of art, architecture, design, economics and any other means necessary 

to live for tomorrow, today! 

Our Foundation work is just beginning to take shape. There is plenty of work 

to be done and maybe YOU can get involved. Visit us on the web or in the 

real world to find out how. You can start by going to our website: www.fundacionflaquer.com 

and the next step is up to you. 


GIVE IT TO THE GRAND CANYON 

BY NOAH CICERO 

A REVIEW BY ELIZABETH TORRES 

I first heard of Noah after my crash arrival to Denmark and sudden breakup which led to 

my very improvised decision of sticking around and rebuilding my life in this city, because 

every other city I had inhabited felt broken and full of ghosts to me. So I found myself in Copenhagen, 

volunteering at a bookshop, drinking a bit too much, but filling myself with all the books 

in the world since I knew the opportunity to read so often can be temporary. i read the Human 

War, and decided that Noah and I had similar thought-processes and could one day go for a nice 

walk together and hopefully develop a nice friendship. Since Noah doesn’t often go for walks in 

Denmark, the closest thing was becoming friends on social media, and we’ve exchanged a few 

conversations throughout the years, which is how I ended up volunteering to write about his new 

book for this issue of Red Door. 

The book arrived right before I headed to the airport on my way to Greenland, almost as if the stars 

conspired to ensure that I had the chance to get the task of reading done in a good setting. 

To cover the basics, this book is titled GIVE IT TO THE GRAND CANYON. It’s 155 pages long, 

released in 2019 by Philosophical Idiot in Phillipsburg, NJ, with a beautiful cover image titled “Kop 

can een koningsgier of condor (Gypagus Papa)” by M.E van den Brink Bequest, Velp + a cover by 

Olivia M. Croom, and clearly designated to the area of fiction in the bookshelves, as stated in the 

copyright segment, repeatedly. It is light enough to be carried on a hike, and its pages smell nice. 

The back has two nice quotes by other authors about Noah. Blake Middleton (author of College 

Novel) says “Like Peyote, Give it to the Grand Canyon will give you what you need, whatever that 

might be”, and Brian Alan Ellis (author of Sad Laughter) adds that “Noah Cicero is a poet, a prince 

and a prophet and his latest book Give it to the Grand Canyon is a gift you did not think you needed 

(..)”. 


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Noah cicero is an American author who grew up in a small town 

near Youngstown, Ohio. He has lived in Eugene, Oregon, the Grand Canyon, Arizona, and 

Seoul, South Korea. Cicero currently resides in Las vegas, Nevada. He has a movie made 

of his first book called The Human War, which won the 2014 Beloit Film Festival Award 

for Best Screenplay. He has books translated into Turkish, Kurdish and Spanish. His first 

book of poetry, Bipolar Cowboy, was voted one of the best books in Goodreads 2015. 

Learn more about Noah Cicero at neutralspaces.co/noahcicero 

There is something very reassuring in Noah’s writing. I’m not just saying that he really 

knows what he is doing, I am underscoring the fact that when you read his books you don’t just 

get but relate to what he is talking about. I do not know that he’s prophet nor prince (aren’t we 

all?) but I can confirm that he’s a poet, and I committed the sacrilege of bending the pages of 

the book for the phrases that I liked until the top of the book became twice as fat because of so 

many folded pages. Just so you know that I am not simply praising, I for some random reason 

also folded the bottom side of the pages whenever I found a spelling mistake, and there was a 

few of those, too. But that’s irrelevant. Let me show you. I will do this oracle style, opening any of 

the folded pages. Listen to this: 

“It might be possible that there is only one good planet in the whole system, I had been to the 

top of Colorado Rockies, I saw that no food grew there. With a deviation of 12,000 feet nothing 

grows. We had so much luck, the planet is magnetic and reflects solar flares, we have water and 

land, the planet isn’t covered with ice, all of it isn’t desert. But we are the planet, humans aren’t 

separate from the planet, they are the planet, just like the water that floods and destroys the land, 

humans are the same as drought that kills animals, humans are the same as lightning that burns 

down a forest, humans are the same as a shark eating a school of fish, we aren’t any different. 

Is that an excuse?”. 

The talks about nature and planet and humankind, breakup and reconstruction, melancholy, 

self destruction and landscapes hit harder because each day I would get off the ship into a different 

area in Greenland, each night I would read more of the book, and off I would go again to 

explore this great island, and hear about how Americans left mines in isolated areas used for 

army exercises that local communities can’t touch, and how the permafrost is sinking and animals 

and vegetation are struggling, and as the main character broke down and had an anxiety 

attack much similar to the ones I’ve come accostumed too, I too began to weep in front of the 

great Raindeer Glacier in Kangerlussuaq. It was a combination of where i was, and where Billy 

was, in the Grand Canyon, half lost, half approaching enlightenment, even if only temporarily. 

I still believe that Noah and I could probably enjoy a lot of good conversations due to similar 

interests and “common places” of things I have found in his writing. I do not know when this 

will happen but in the meantime I am content traveling with his characters. If I add anything else 

to this review I might spoil the book for you, so please just get your hands on a copy and let me 

know what moved you. And if you get a chance visit the places that bring you back alive. Be it 

Greenland or the Grand Canyon or other locations that don’t start with a G, do it now, while we’re 

still here, they’re still there, and feeling things is still allowed. 

(and please leave the places as undisturbed as when you found them). 


TIDAL 

ECONOMICS 

--- 

SELECTED POEMS 

Please click on the images 

to see the visual poetry in the voice of the author. 


TEX KERSCHEN 

ART 

Had you been surrounded 

by white stones 

and long trees 

with thin fingers 

and new leaves; 

you may have known 

who you were 

when you began. 

You may have known it then. 

Tex Kerschen is a poet, musician 

and visual artist originating from 

Houston. A gifted showman, a skilled 

writer and a worldthreader, too. 

http://texkerschen.com/ 


D A N I E L M A L P I C A 


Identities mix and interlace in the big cities of the future. Languages become 

fluid and humanity begins to develop new techniques of communication and 

information to adapt to the speed an rythm of the ever-changing algorithms of 

life all around us. 

In the heart of Helsinki, a poet stands strong through adversity and the challenges 

of a still-broken immigration system that jeopardizes the life and projects he’s 

been building not just in Finland, but throughout the Nordic countries in collaborations 

and partnerships with many key players in Scandinavian cities, artists and 

creators... and among them, the Red Door network. 

Although this is the first time Daniel’s work is included in this magazine, Daniel 

has been an active partner and collaborator of Red Door through the creation 

and development of ideas, projects and events that involve a multimedia aspect 

and the transnationality concept that echoes in our veins. But today, let us be 

direct and speak of him and his work. 

Daniel is originally from Mexico and introduces himself as a graphic designer, 

multimedia artist and poet, but he is also a board memer of the Finnish PEN, 

which fights for writers’ freedom of expression, and also collaborates with other 

local organizations, such as Globe Art Point. 

His performances often involve multimedia aspects and other sound elements, 

and can include masks, typewriters, other artists from various nationalities performing 

alongside, projections, mapping and of course... poetry. 

In episode #6 of the Red Transmissions podcast he shares with us his creative 

process, the thought of the X as a sygil that reflects identity, the crossing of paths 

and literary forms, and much more. 

visit theredtransmissions.com or follow Red Transmissions on a podcast provider 

near you. 

www.danielmalpica.com 


X-WRITTEN 

We feel a more powerful presence / like a fish bowl for our poems that are fish / How many times did 

we want to grab the stars in the simplest of ways / without any thunder at all to string the poem between 

the two stars / as if it was just about “indicating” with words / but these days only love defeats 

us and numerical poems shatter one by one / Not for that / have I stopped writing / not for that / have I 

stopped taking your lips / in the gesture the reader makes while silently mouthing / Maybe I am reading 

you in this line / for it is said something happens after crossing this point. / It would be terrible never 

to think of me as an “a” answer / and dare to chew on a speech for myself only / mine / too much 

mine / but a leaf has both faces / in the folds new concepts are formed and the rhetoric of things will 

not suffice as the wall on which it is disposed / You’ve known about this for so long Girondo / realities 

superposed on realities / Per aspera ad astra / folding in the most rigorous way / origami of the word 

/ brotherhood and mimesis among cultures for in the universe one single mother / Something must 

be different / we grow up among the foundational and immediate classics of the individual / not 

from those antiquated monuments / indivisible / from the historic self I mean / but from the sensorial 

elements of the present / of life now / One afternoon / among the streets of that completely dead city 

I made a paper amphibian with the text of a speech on protocol / Darío, upon seeing me, observed, 

“You know, / getting to this place / and now watching you shaping the piece of paper with such simplicity 

/ something told me we had been together in another time... / and / before I wandered these 

streets / before coming across this promenade of ghosts / in my own house / I had a dream in which 

someone was practicing origami / then I found out I had already dreamt you” / I don’t know Darío / 

there are people that we do not know until we make them up / After this moment narrative was no 

longer possible and we went on with the poem. / Cosmos for death / Chaos for renovation / So how 

is it that an element of two dimensions acquires that third plane? Even so, it is possible to deduce 

reality from something we do not see / Each dimension perceives the world in relation to its consequent 

dimension: / the line perceives the dot / base and height perceive the line / the third dimension 

observes its surroundings in two dimensions and only understands itself, I repeat, by deduction; / 

like that time we moved across our flat earth and eventually got to the same place / a line became 

circle / a circle became sphere / and this poem needs you to acquire its depth / the reader poet and 

the writer poet, together we become spatial origami / traveling in the interior of language / through 

worm-holes that twist in pupils like an interrogation / origami over word ships / in the fusion and deconstruction 

of symbols / Everything nurtures and interrelates with itself / every thing is like a “like” / 

and the basic engineering of this poem comes from sci-fi: / X-Wing / But more fun than categorization 

/ is accepting the existing elements as pieces of potential new ensembles / technological marvels / 

literary marvels that go spiraling & spiraling / secular / cyclical without repeating themselves in the 

same spot / In a way / at this stage of the universe / all form tends towards the destruction of form / 

towards disintegration in the search for constant balance / so this texts deconstructs, reunites, appropriates 

and fragments itself / Spatial origami I said / like in those songs where the voices overlap until 

they are a thick paste / strictly speaking irrational / but loaded, concurrently, with information / I come 

back to you Darío / I come back to you as a resource / Between dreams and reality there is an infinity 

of folds / from the word / that names / and transforms itself: 折り紙 / papiroflexia / cocotology / That’s 

it / I come back to you to get to others / to name them / because poetry ought to be counted among 

the sciences [...] because science and poetry are nothing other, if we examine it, than a precise naming... 

/ Yes, taking up again that biblical idea of creation through the word / but ultimately / this is not 

a piece of paper / it is another thing / and those other things will always be at your discretion, and the 

discretion of the dissolution of the edges / of the piece of paper if you wish it. 

Translation by Aurelio Meza 


BY DANIEL MALPICA 


t h e 

N E O N 

R E B E L L I O N 


Im wondering … 

Why is it the litter I see on the street is always McDonalds bags + 

cups with single use plastic lids + straws that have been thrown 

out a car window 10 mins after leaving the drive through …? 

Why are people flooding Leonardo Di Caprio’s comments on a 

post of him + Greta Thunberg with insults about a 16 year old 

girl who he has openly stated admiration for because of her dedication 

to climate awareness action, which he shares? 

Why is a national tv host calling activists who chose to take 

peaceful yet disruptive social action by lying on the road to stop 

traffic, “speed humps that should be run over” ..? 

Why are so many people, namely The President Of The United 

States calling climate change “fake news” when there is an overwhelming 

amount of scientific evidence to support it? 

Is it just me or are people fucking stupid? 

I mean really fucking stupid. 


There is no reason for any of these things to be happening except utter stupidity + a determination to 

hang onto a system that supports capitalism + all its ideas that dont support anything living. 

In response to this, my activism takes its form in art + an impending performance art piece being created. 

I made these videos which could be like prequels. 

I am aligned with the global protest movement Extinction Rebellion through non-violent direct action 

seeking to raise the alarm on ecological crises + the impending extinction of our planet, due to 

climate change. 

We must make transitions to a sustainable world for our very survival. 

We cannot control nature with technology, despite all the arrogance + ignorance that thinks we can. 

We will not be silenced. 

-The Neon Rebel. 

(click on the images on pg. 38 to see the videos). 

Footnote: 15/11/2019. 

Fire is still blazing across the east coast of Australia, it’s been over a week breathing smoke filled 

air as nearby old growth rainforest continues to burn ... These are the worst bushfires ever seen + 

as predicted globally they will continue as the planet heats up from destroying forests + continued 

excessive use of fossil fuels ... 

. 

There is not enough rain fall in these areas + yet there is flooding on other parts of the planet. 

. 

The Balance is out. 

. 

As the Australian Govt. slides further to the dirty right + it maintains its position as one of the worst 

on climate agenda seeking to dodge + undermine agreements + clean energy development that 

address global warming on carbon emissions in favour of investment in continued unsound energy 

production. 

. 

Meanwhile the people suffer from harsher crippling taxes that dont serve them (like carbon tax 

which is a failed scheme + could be put towards clean energy solutions which would significantly 

turn things around) + regulations are brought in to disperse public protests or gatherings controlling 

our civil rights + freedom of speech. 

. 

Countries like Sweden dedicated to climate action are distancing themselves + removing investments 

from Australia because of these policies + old draconian views. 


ISSUE # BY 21 - MELAINE TRANSITIONS KNIGHT 55


R 

E 

The Red Transmissions podcast aims to document the work, 

behind-the-scenes moments and creative process of the 

D 

incredibly interesting characters in our network, be it in 

Copenhagen, New York, or around the world where our correspondents 

find themselves or our poetic adventures take us. 

D 

Find out why artists, activists and worldthreaders do what they 

do, how they do it, and hear about the inner workings of their 

projects. Contemporary happenings and conversations on 

O 

culture, music, art, film, poetry, environment and independent 

projects around the planet. WE EXIST! 

Want to share your story with us? 

O 

Write to: theredtransmissions@gmail.com 

R 



In this issue, participating from various countries 

and continents, our gratitude goes to the following people: 

Mercedes Roffé pg 6-7 

Filip Naudts & Julie O’Yan pg 8-9 

Aieisa Riballa pg 10-11 

Misia Martus 

pg 12-15 (and featured cover art) 

Samuel Gregoire pg 16-17 

Peter Boyle pg 18-19 

Janice D. Soderling pg 20-21 

David Diaz pg 22-31 

Brandon Davis pg 40-43 

Noah Cicero pg 44-45 

Tex Kerschen pg 46-47 

Daniel Malpica pg 48 - 51 

Melaine Knight pg 52-57 

Illustrations by Madam Neverstop. 

Find us on instagram as @reddoorkdk 

Podcast: @red_transmissions 

Everything else at: @madamneverstop 


21 

D 

R 

E 

Red Door Magazine releases digital 

issues quarterly with an emphasis on 

visual art. 

As you can see on this issue, we also 

welcome art and poetry, LGBTQ & other 

activism content, thoughtful 

D 

essays, 

photography, adventure stories & 

media articles, + occasional interviews 

by established and emerging artists. 

We’re here to give you a handful of 

essential pieces you can digest in one 

sitting. 

The magazine also includes a calendar 

for events happening in our gallery, but 

will sometimes mention collaborations 

with other projects, or events 

happening elsewhere worth noting. 

O 

We’re currently seeking visual art, 

music, film, travel and 

O 

media articles, 

poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. 

Simultaneous submissions are always 

ok, and if you have a piece accepted 

elsewhere, please let us know by 

adding a note to your submission. 

Please send your content to 

submit@reddoorkbh.dk 

R 


R 

E 

D 

D 

O 

ISSUE # 21 

O 

T R A N S I T I O N S 

R 

www.reddoormagazine.com

Red Door Magazine 21

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