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Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
Qlub July 2013
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Qlub July 2013

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  • 1.  Qlub                                                        July  2013            
  • 2.   2       Contents      Gravity  by  Kelly  Clancy  ……………………………………………................................……..…3                                                RE:  Interoffice  Memos  RE:  Appropriateness  in  the                                          Work  Place  RE:  Suck  it  Monkeys  by  Maria  Acosta  ………....……….………….......4                                History  in  plaid  by  Brian  Isett  ……………….……………………………......……….……….6                                Point  Reyes  by  Brian  Isett  .…………………………………………………...…………………..6                                Blind  Pointillist  by  Brian  Isett  ……………………………………...………..………………….6                                              Caricature  of  Youth  by  Brian  Isett  ………………………………..……………………………7                                              Retreats  by  Emily  Pinkerton  …………………………………………………........………...…..8                                              Flower  Show  by  Laura  Wolfe  ………………….………………........………………………..…16                Before  Breath  by  Jane  Pettibone  Riccobono  ……………………………………...............17     Copyright  ©  2013  by  Qlub     Artwork  by  Kelly  Clancy    
  • 3.   3   Gravity by  Kelly  Clancy              Of  the  four  fundamental  forces  in  nature,  gravity  is  the  weakest.  It’s  so  weak,  in  fact,  that  scientists   have  yet  to  measure  it:  it  can  only  be  inferred  from  the  motion  of  the  massive  bodies  it  affects.  The   graviton,  the  elementary  particle  thought  to  mediate  the  force  of  gravitation,  has  never  been   detected.  Reality  is  constantly  thwarting  scientists’  expectations  of  the  phenomena:  for  example,   there  is  a  well  documented  anomaly  wherein  spacecraft  flying  by  Earth  report  a  brief,  inexplicable   increase  in  velocity  of  13  millimeters  per  second.  Gravity  doesn’t  fit  within  the  Standard  Model  of   physics,  and  by  our  current  understanding,  it’s  too  weak  to  hold  galaxies  together  as  well  as  it  does.   Yet,  while  stars  are  bound  together  more  tightly  than  expected  for  such  a  frail  force,  the  universe  also   appears  to  be  rocketing  apart,  as  though  repulsed.  The  constellations,  familiar  forms  since  antiquity,   will  eventually  become  unrecognizable  as  the  stars  composing  them  dance  towards  the  farthest   edges  of  the  sky.  Though  physicists  must  force  gravity  into  their  equations  on  faith,  our  experience  of   it  is  inarguable:  to  most  humans,  it  is  the  mundane  perpetrator  of  wrinkles  and  prat  falls.  We  infer  it   every  time  we  drop  a  pen  or  pour  milk  into  our  cereal.            When  a  body  falls  to  Earth,  it  exerts  an  equal  but  opposite  force  on  the  planet.  In  1980  my   grandfather  jumped  from  a  bridge  into  the  Delaware  River.    “Jumped,  or  fell,”  the  obituary  politely   reported.  Assume  his  body  was  a  sphere.  The  center  of  his  mass  moved  in  a  straight  line  through   curved  space  time,  tugging–infinitesimally–on  Earth's  trajectory.    He  did  not  hit  the  water,  but  the   rocky  riverbed:  atomic  forces  binding  molecules  of  stone  repulsed  his  descent,  creating  an  inelastic   collision  wherein  the  force  of  impact  was  absorbed  by  his  frame.  The  mammalian  heart  is  not  well   supported  within  the  chest–we  might  model  it  as  an  egg  cradled  by  rubber  bands  stretched  across   the  rigid  ribcage.  My  grandfather's  legs  were  broken,  but  he  would  have  lived  had  his  heart  not  been   torn  from  the  soft  webbing  of  arteries  stringing  it  in  place.              We  know  from  relativity  that  gravity  doesn’t  just  pull  on  mass–it  pulls  on  time,  too–so,  as  my   grandfather  neared  the  surface  of  the  Earth,  time  slowed  imperceptibly.  As  he  fell,  the  arch  of  Ursa   Major  flattened  itself  out  by  one  billionth  of  a  degree:  gravity,  try  though  it  may,  cannot  hold  even   stars  in  place  for  very  long.    As  he  fell,  every  galaxy  in  the  universe  fled  farther  away  from  Earth  in  a   mathematical  arc  that  gravitation  has  no  power  to  correct.  My  grandfather’s  body  was  discovered  the   next  morning  by  a  motorist;  policemen  collected  the  items  flung  from  his  pockets  on  impact.  His  face   unrecognizable,  my  grandmother  refused  to  believe  it  was  him  until  an  officer  produced  his  rosary.   Outside,  spring  flurries  danced,  as  though  suspended  midair.   www                                
  • 4.   4   RE:  Interoffice  Memos  RE:  Appropriateness  in  the  Work  Place  RE:  Suck  it  Monkeys     I,  Charlie  Higgins,  am  writing  you  a  faithful  account  of  the  weeks  events  leading  up  to  the  departure   of  Margie  Kao.    I  am  asking  you  to  grant  me  this  professional  courtesy  and  to  take  responsibility  in   your  own  part.     Let’s  assume  for  the  sake  of  this  memo  that  I  am  a  human..    There  is  a  gap  of  $4,000  between  us  as   well  but  I  experience  pain  and  pleasure  like  the  rest  of  you.    I  do  notice  your  comments,  scorns,   whispers,  and  looks.    I  get  it.    I  walk  into  the  room  and  there  I  am  (for  future  reference  I  use  the  same   bathrooms  that  you  do  and  tagging  company  property  is  prohibited).    Do  you  have  any  idea  how   humiliating  it  is  to  tell  grown  adults  how  to  act?    To  people  like  Stevens  who  is  as  old  as  my  father?    I   wouldn’t  have  said  anything  about  the  Solitaire,  but  did  you  really  think  it  was  smart  to  play  games   on  the  day  of  our  walk-­‐through?    I  get  paid  to  tell  you  people  that  while  playing  Solitaire  may  give   you  a  sense  of  accomplishment  using  company  time  and  resources  for  personal  amusement  is   restricted.    Apart  from  the  company’s  regulations,  games,  e-­‐mail  and  Internet  usage  unrelated  to   work  is  both  distracting  and  disruptive  to  our  work.    Thank  you  for  your  attention  in  this  matter.         I  hate  that  guy  too,  but  you  all  have  got  to  start  using  your  common  sense  and  courtesy.    For  instance,   I  shouldn’t  have  to  tell  you  to  clean  up  after  yourselves.    There  is  no  one  here  to  do  that  for  you.    I   know  you  think  Jenkins  is  here  to  wipe  down  your  tables  tops  and  clean  your  fridge  out    -­‐  but  as   janitor  his  job  is  to  empty  the  trash  cans  and  clean  the  floors  for  the  entire  building.    He  is  not  paid  to   clean  up  after  you  in  that  individual  sense.    So  please,  no  more  memos  about  Jenkins  and  how  he  is   not  doing  his  job.    He  does  his  job  just  fine.      I  know  you  are  all  very  creative,  but  ridiculing  company  policy  and  directives  is  hardly  high  art.    Any   3rd  grader  can  do  that.    What  I  fail  to  see  is  how  you  take  care  of  each  other  and  our  work   environment.    There  was  a  time  when    I  really  believed  in  our  steady  incremental  growth.    We  had   those  logos  made  up.    I  was  a  different  person  then.    .    I  see  now  that  can’t  happen  at  a  place  like  this  -­‐   where  we’re  all  set  up  against  each  other.    Just  look  at  how  many  walls  and  doors  separate  me  from   you,  listen  to  how  we  talk  to  each  other  and  about  our  work,  smell  the  sterile  paper  files  and  plastic   covers,  look  how  stiff  we  all  are.     Two  days  before  Marige  Kao’s  upset  and  resignation  the  position  of  Assistant  Production  Manager   was  on  the  table  as  you  were  all  aware.      I  know  some  of  you  have  been  with  us  for  a  long  time,  I   know  each  of  your  backgrounds  and  expertise.    I  know  your  strengths  and  weaknesses.    I  know  the   value  of  each  of  you  and  the  role  you  play  in  this  company.    I  hired  most  of  you  myself.  .    And  I  know   you  all  thought  you  deserved  it  -­‐  so  how  was  it  that  I  chose  Margie  over  all  this  talent?         Once  I  saw  Margie  a  while  back  at  the  grocery  store  where  I  was  shopping.    I  was  not  in  a  suit  and  so  I   was  camouflaged  to  her  as  I  am  sure  I  would  be  to  most  of  you.    I  saw  her  there  with  her  children  and   I  watched  her  negotiate  food  choice.    She  offered  them  choices  like  whole  grain  cereal  or  no  cereal   this  week  (we’ll  just  finish  the  oatmeal  we  have  at  home).    Or  do  you  guys  want  apple  or  more   apples?      And  when  she  was  checking  out  her  daughter  said,  Mom,  how  come  Jennifer  Aniston  can’t   have  one  kid  or  keep  a  man  and  Angelina  Jolie  seems  to  be  having  more  and  more  babies  with  the   one  man  that  Jennifer  loved?    Noticing  those  magazines  for  the  first  time  I  found  myself  wanting  an   answer  as  well  and  do  you  know  what  she  said?    She  said  don’t  worry  about  those  people,  angel,  they   don’t  need  your  business.    Look  at  me,  this  is  the  person  who  cares  about  you,  right  here.         Maybe  you  think  that’s  not  the  way  to  pick  managers,  but  I  am  afraid  it  is  that  simple.    She  posses  the   skills,  compassion,  and  patience.    These  qualities  will  make  her  a  good  manager.    I  knew  this  would   be  a  controversial  choice,  but  this  is  what  makes  me  a  good  manager.    At  her  performance  review  on   Tuesday  I  offered  her  the  job.    I  could  tell  that  she  was  surprised  by  the  offer.    I  could  tell  you  were  all   surprised.    I  saw  Dennis’  face  turn  red,  I  watched  Morgan  leave  the  room,  I  noticed  Sharon  false  smile.     At  this  time  Margie  had  not  accepted  or  declined  the  companies  promotion,  but  I  observed  each  of  
  • 5.   5   you  pulling  on  her  pigtails,  kicking  the  sand  in  her  face,  tripping  her  in  the  hall  way.    Once  a  beloved   college  now  someone  else  to  you;  I  could  see  who  you  thought  she  was.     I  am  only  a  little  too  familiar  with  what  your  brand  of  hostility  feels  like,  but  how  she  feels  it  I  cannot   know.  This  kind  of    treatment  came  as  a  shock  to  her.    It  was  during  these  two  weeks  a  couple  of  you   came  in  to  see  me.    Donald,  the  voice  of  the  majority,  was  troubled  by  the  choice.    He  made  clear  to   me  that  he  personally  did  not  want  the  job  but  that  how  I  went  about  making  choices  was  “arbitrary   and  unprincipled.”    He  claimed  many  on  the  staff  were  disturbed  and  that  I  was  breaking  up  the   group  and  bringing  down  morale.    At  this  point  he  me  aware  that  one  of  the  staff  had  it  in  his  mind  to   go  to  my  superiors.    I  assured  him  that  that  is  the  prerogative  of  each  staff  member  and  I  would  not   interfere  and  deal  with  the  consequences.    I  also  assured  Donald  that  involving  my  supervisors  in   such  a  minor  concern  would  only  be  a  nuisance  as  they  approved  and  were  aware  of  the  decision  to   make  Margie  Assistant  Production  Manager.     It  was  at  this  time  that  Donald  went  directly  to  talk  to  Margie.    This  conversation  in  combination  with   a  weeks  worth  of  scorn  was  what  put  Margie  over  the  edge.    I  don’t  know  what  was  said,  but  I  only   imagined  it  went  something  like  this:    Donald,  the  voice  of  the  devil  on  your  shoulder,  smells  blood,   he  sense  her  weakness,  he  plays  with  her  for  a  little  while.    Are  you  going  to  take  it?    I  know  it  would   help  you  out  at  home.    More  work  for  you.    In  charge  of  half  the  department  with  all  the  resentment.     Isn’t  Saundra  going  into  high  school  next  year?    Were  you  expecting  something  like  this?    It’s  a  lot  for   work  for  a  little  more  money,  but  is  it  worth  the  trade  off?    Money  for  heartaches  and  bellyaches?     Everyone’s  problems  are  your  problems  now?    I  am  sure  happy  I  didn’t  get  put  in  that  position.    I   heard  they  only  came  up  with  the  position  because  they  want  to  make  cutbacks  elsewhere.    I’ll  tell   you  what  you  couldn’t  pay  me  to  take  it.    Thankless  job.     Sometime  later  I  pressed  her  for  a  response,  encouraged  her  to  accept  and  gave  her  a  deadline.    After   that  you  all  know  what  happened,  we  all  saw  it.    New  copy  machine  parts  come  on  Wednesday.     (Thank  you  for  your  patience  in  that  matter)    After  she  made  alterations  to  the  machine  she  took  her   personal  belongs  and  sent  a  memorable  inter-­‐office  memo.    If  you  happened  to  open  the  attachment   please  have  IT  come  look  at  your  computer  and  install  the  latest  anti-­‐virus  program.         On  top  of  losing  a  valuable  team  player  I  would  also  like  to  say  that  this  incident  has  attracted  even   more  attention  from  above.    I  believe  their  memo  read  something  like:  What  the  Fuck  is  Going  On   Down  there  Higgins?    God  damn!    Seems  the  virus  affected  the  entire  company.    They  will  be  in  on   Monday  to  have  an  overall  review  and  audit  of  our  branch.    Each  of  us  will  stand  on  our  own.    In  these   difficult  economic  times  attention  to  our  office  and  our  habits  couldn’t  have  come  at  a  worse  time.     The  company  is  looking  for  just  such  an  excuse  to  cutback.    They  will  ultimately  make  the  final   decision  about  our  department.     Also  for  future  reference  interoffice  memos  are  not  used  in  order  to  communicate  personal  business   but  official  company  business.    That’s  why  were  are  all  here  presumably  –  to  work.    Blogs  and   facebooks  are  for  your  little  manifestos.    We  are  not  Jerry  Maguire  –  with  a  15-­‐paged  memos.    You  do   not  complete  me.    I  can’t  help  me  or  you.    Also  please  note  that  posting  illicit  pictures  of  you  and  23-­‐ year-­‐old  interns  on  facebooks  looks  bad  on  your  resume  so  to  speak.    Don’t  check  it  at  work  and  yes  it   is  still  considered  sexual  harassment  if  you  do  it  online.         Everyone  is  fired,     Charlie  Higgins   Director  of  Operations         -­‐  by  Maria  Acosta   www  
  • 6.   6         History  in  plaid     by  Brian  Isett                                       Point  Reyes   by  Brian  Isett     Cattle  and   black  clouds  open     fissures  on  a  blonde  hill.     At  sunset     the  hoof-­‐packed  trails   drip     red  to  the  valley.                 Blind  pointillist   by  Brian  Isett     In  mist,   California  learns  my  face.         On  northeastern   thin  blue  nights  and   crosshatched  days     the  west     is  sun   cut  white  on  blue     sun  bleached   and  worn   like  memory     in  orange   or  shivering  early   in  maroon     the  amount  of  coffee   it  takes  to  live  a   normal  life     cures  to  root   my  roots   cure  to  tincture   plaid  is  a  collection  of   small  accidents     pools  like  California   wrinkles     prescribed  like  the     scrub  jay     chides  a  neighbor    
  • 7.   7   Caricature  of  youth   by  Brian  Isett       A  gate  casts  puppeteering  shadows   deep  in  autumn.     Thin  lines  spread  at  the  corners  of  a   young  man's  mouth,   drip  until  his  jaw  knocks   like  a  wooden  nut  cracker  on  his  chest,   then  jump  behind  a  bush.     Under  one  arm,  chrysanthemums;   the  other  arm  jaggedly  aligns   to  block  the  sun.     Sensing  panic,   the  cemetery  whispers  his  forgotten  lines.       www                                                  
  • 8.   8   Retreats   by  Emily  Pinkerton         I.     just  some  parallel  bars   amid  tall  grass,  riverside        
  • 9.   9   II.     traded  for  oaks  and  elms   dappled  sunlight  through  new  leaves   rustling  and  wind-­‐blurred,  peripheral     coming  to  catch  a  breath   in  the  sheen  of  summer  sweat   where  the  bell  calls  out  clear  in  the  clock  tower.     nights  wakeful  and  tinged  with  jet  fuel,  then   aromas  of  evergreen  and  honeysuckle   cold  clear  darkness  to  pant  into     terra  incognita,  shifting  shadow  horizon   warmer  toward  the  east   its  sickly-­‐sweet  smell  of  russian  olive  trees        
  • 10.   10   III.       tooth  met  tooth   tooth  met  flesh   tooth  met  tail,  smelled  blood   smelled  sweat  and  fear      
  • 11.   11       herbivores  in  the  dead  of  winter   cannibalized  each  other,   licked  wounds   through  muscle  spasms   just  before  paralysis  
  • 12.   12       (with  all  the  benevolence  of  hibiscus  blooms  in  spring)     on  a  grey-­‐dark  damp-­‐cold     bone-­‐chilled  afternoon     light  rain  fell   each  drop  illumined,  shooting   down       by   the  orange-­‐   haloed   streetlamp     three  loose  flagstones   soaked   drop     by  drop   in  the  street          
  • 13.   13       Flesh  turned  hard,     its  opening  sealed   scarred,  over  tender  heat.     Hard  to  feel,  indifferent     blood  still  beneath.     Give  hope,  open  a  darkened  seam   by  a  single  fingernail.   Blood-­‐rust.  Sharp  lust   treads  heavy,  come  in.   Feel  old  age  on  new  skin.  
  • 14.   14   IV.     the  sidewalk  acidic   hotly  reeking  and  stained   reminiscent  of  bacterial  breath   and  the  skin  of  teeth  
  • 15.   15   V.     shudder  toward  the  equinox   warm  wind  races  there.     light  by  nightfall:  the  flickering  gleam   in  the  predator's  eye,     the  primal  insistence   of  hurried  steps     a  heartbeat  sings  through,  skull  to  temples   each  breath  drawn  a  gasp.       www                                                                
  • 16.   16   Flower  Show   by  Laura  Wolfe     Hints  of  heady  cedar  bring  me  to  the  Flower  Show,  of  leaves  and  blooms  bloated  to  dinosaur  size,  swollen   banana  plants  brushing  industrial  lights  &  beams,  nudged  by  lips  of  brachiosaurs,  convention  center   ceiling  dripping  with  lush  worlds.  We  stop  to  get  a  water  at  the  white  cart  between  a  deciduous  forest  and   the  Garden  of  Eden.  But  she  only  sells  soda  cans  and  cinnamon  pretzels.  My  mother  pulls  me  away  and   spins  a  finger.  Soda  makes  your  body  stop  developing.  You’ll  want  to  grow  breasts  from  those  little  buds   soon.  I  walk  behind  her  past  a  pink  French  rose  garden  arranged  for  tea,  a  Buddha’s  Hand  and  a  blue   ruffled  ribbon  where  a  candy  farm  grows.  Marshmallow  cauliflowers  and  glowing  gumdrop  ears  of  corn,   skittle  seeds  dropped  in  tilled  dirt  to  grow  skittle  trees.  Around  the  corner  in  the  undergrowth  my  mother   finds  African  violets,  stems  with  white  fuzz  like  my  legs  I  am  supposed  to  start  shaving  next  year.  She   laughs.  Heavy  rainforest  mist  smells  like  guava,  sloping  down  black  tarp  and  deep,  moist  soil.  Parrots  cry   on  speakers.  The  downpours  come  timed  every  twenty  minutes  or  so.  Like  a  busty  woman’s  red  mouth,   magnolias  pop  open.  Those  frantic  bird  calls  echo  in  our  empty  space,  like  we  were  on  the  moon.  If  Earth   were  gone  we  could  live  here,  I  tell  her.  Where  vegetables  are  candy  and  the  water  can  quench  our   horrible  thirst,  every  twenty  minutes.   www                                
  • 17.   17   Before  Breath   by  Jane  Pettibone  Riccobono     Before  breath  I  floated  in  sound   And  a  heart  beat,  close     Then  it  vanished   Or  I  did     I  gasped  to  bring  it  back,  got  air  instead   And  cried  into  the  sea  I’d  lost     Cut  loose  I  entered  the  world   In  search  of  new  moorings   Traveling  on  waves  of  breath                                                                    
  • 18.   18             www  

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