Hey There Wildflower

The Rescue Fantasy


The Rescue Fantasy
I dreamed I rescued a tiger from a burning bus. Intrinsically, I knew it would explode and, intrinsically, I knew I was the one to save him. The tiger was my second grade crush, and the bus’ other occupants were my classmates. If I saved him, they would love me. What’s more, he would love me.

Tigers are dying. People are dying. People consider tigers a product/resource. People consider people a product/resource.

She is trapped. I un-trap the trap. They skin her. I skin them.

I dreamed I was a hero — and you were forced to love me, on account of my status.

I dreamed I swam with tigers and I could see underwater. Unblinking, I watched the brothers wrestle – a gordian knot of stripes submersed in the glow of blue. I woke to a lingering sense of great fear and great love.

Such dreams should remain a secret.

Autobiographical essay for IAIA Creative Writing MFA Application

lubroth2I have written seriously for 10 years, but I have written ecstatically since learning to read with the help of HookedOnPhonics. During my elementary school years in Albuquerque, New Mexico, I was surrounded by artists and overwhelming landscapes. I wrote poetry to amuse myself and to contribute something beautiful to my environment (in the tradition of the state). I was also fixated on a reserve of antipodal memories of Tateyama, Japan. The tensions inherent to juxtaposing the aesthetic traditions of New Mexico and Japan drove my early development and made me into a lifelong expressive monster. In middle school, in Shanghai, China, I wrote poetry to establish my identity, and to record my loneliness, insecurity, and immature notions of love and sex. In high school, in San Jose, Costa Rica, I wrote poetry to experiment with my voice and communicate ideas. At Colorado College, I wrote poetry because I wanted an audience.

After graduating and moving to Seattle, I attempted to infiltrate Seattle’s writing community. One year of failed integration forced me to reassess my purpose and trajectory as a writer: if I needed to write, I decided to do it for myself (and with myself only.) I wanted to prove to myself I could write without external influences, acknowledgement, positive reinforcement or resources. I needed to learn to differentiate my love for writing from my love for being a figure in a writing community. I learned my lesson and am ready to become a small part of a community of my choosing (that also chooses me.)

While living in Seattle, I’ve produced a few short collections of poetry, but none are complete. Initially, I did not want to publish poems divorced from their collections (and context). In retrospect, however, fear of rejection and failure stymied my publishing ambitions. The social and political catastrophes of 2016 have since galvanized my commitment to contributing art to the public dialectic. My work typically develops out of historical study or research. I spent one year writing poems about Balanchine ballets and Balanchine ballerinas. I spent the past three years writing poems about endangered and extinct tiger species, jaguars, and sabertooth cats. I plan to continue work on this collection (titled jaguaro jaguaro and, alternately, You Tiger Many Times, #YTMT) while completing my MFA.

At Colorado College, I majored in English and Poetry, and minored in Philosophy. At the end of four years, I completed and presented a poetry collection of 46 poems titled, “Lethologica”. My college years catalyzed deep interest in poetic study but lack of enjoyment in academia: I love reading, but I do not love the competitive environment created by the study of literature with a capital L. To me, this environment is joyless. I want to attend the IAIA MFA program to become a stronger writer and to be exposed to work created by individuals who experience the world differently than I do. After studying and consuming stories created by white people for most of my life (despite not actually living in the Western Hemisphere) I want to learn about histories, traditions, and lived experiences not propagated by the power and resources vested in whiteness. I want to invest my time and money in institutions that uplift these stories and their creators.

Building creative communities and uplifting individual voices within these communities is central to my value system and identity. In high school, I founded my school’s literary and art magazine, student taught a “Literary Magazine” adjunct, and planned many events which showcased and supported the artists at my school. At college, I edited my school’s literary magazine for three years. I planned many college readings and events. In the span of three years, use of social media grew average poetry reading attendance from audiences of 20 to audiences of 100. Additionally, I established a music and poetry night at a local restaurant. The event employs local musicians and a student bartender weekly. Healthy art communities are my happy place. I can map each of my best friendships and proudest accomplishments to literary magazines and their communities.

Two years ago, I founded a multi-media erotic art magazine called Mouth&Mouth Magazine. Mouth&Mouth features original works of art, photography, poetry, fiction, video, and essays. Mouth&Mouth seeks to create a visceral experience that furthers the counterpoint to mainstream sexuality, as it exists today. The magazine presents a counterpoint to this ideal that is both celebratory and sensuous. I was inspired to start the magazine out of concern for the sexual psychological health of assault victims. I wanted it to be a safe, experimental resource or platform. For the magazine’s launch, I produced a promotional installation featuring collaborative work by respected sculptor, Robert Macdonald, and a 40 minute video piece by Rebecca Reilly. The interactive piece was displayed at the Seattle Erotic Art Festival in 2014. At present, the magazine is on hold due to lack of funding and lack of quality fiction submissions.

I welcome direct criticism of my work with excitement. Writing in the void with myself as sole critic has been alternately fun, challenging, tedious, and terrifying, but after five years, I need external feedback! I participated in too many workshop classes during undergrad (because I loved them) and picked up a habit of writing to please my peers. The workshop cowed me from unabashedly pushing the boundaries of language and screwing with tropes of gender presentation (primary interests at the time). Feminism in some (painfully flawed) form has become normalized in “progressive” societies, but it was barely normal then. I was labeled a “feminist poet” but didn’t self-identify as a “feminist poet”. I wrote about my experiences, obviously perceived through the lens of a cis-gendered, middle-class, white woman. My experiences were not “radical” by any means. At the time, frank expressions crafted by a femme lens were uncool and unfathomable to many of undergraduate peers. Additionally, the unapologetic materials were alien to the male professors my peers revered. I believe I am mature enough now and confident enough in the direction of my mind that workshop sessions will be beneficial rather than limiting.

My writing takes a lot of risks. Sometimes my experiments work, and sometimes my experiments are awful. My writing can be melodramatic, grandiose, and wordy. I can edit out the wordiness, but eliminating grandiose tendencies requires rehabilitation and a maintained regimen of exercise. Sometimes melodrama works to my advantage if I can control it. My strengths are my obsessive/paranoid tendencies and my knack for formal poetry and sonnet writing. I love playing with forms, breaking them, or doing surprising things with them. Formal writing reins in my wordiness.

I don’t foresee any trouble with completing 25 hours per week of study. I work full time, so I will be unable to contact my professor during the hours between 9-5 unless correspondence is prescheduled.

Throw Away Tigers / The Paper Tiger


Throw Away Tigers/ The Paper Tiger
A wholly white tiger is the result of a genetic mutation featuring a stripe-pattern visible only under reflected light. Although the mutation does occur in the wild, those with it rarely survive, as they are often rejected by other tigers, and are easy to spot by prey.

Stripe-less white tigers exist.
When a stripe-less-ness persists
despite nature’s intention.

Deception at inception. [human tinkering]
Her genetic exception, only visible in reflection
that she herself is blind to. Whiteness’ roulette~

Desiring her white color, they bred her with her brother.
The father to her daughter, and the uncle of her mother.

The public lauded her son as foolproof meme fodder;
his fanged face, with age, becoming odder and odder.

Kenny the down syndrome tiger died in 2008.
For the record, he did not have down syndrome.

Merely, the same gene that causes the white morph
causes the optic nerve to be wired to the wrong side
of the brain. Among other defects such as cleft palates,
scoliosis of the spine, mental impairments…

“The Deception of the White Bengal Tiger”
Stripes zipped up on the vertebrae – cross stitched
on the spine. Skeleton tiger wears his bones and hollows
on the outside. Mutant body, an illusion of shadow bones
and light hollows, as if negative space was space itself
desiring to disappear.

Ghosts sprung from the white man’s burden to see himself
in every skin, to refract rather than absorb. Cancerous
disappearing into each other, a homogenous cloud
of miserable flesh.

Folk from the snow, living in light, learned to yearn for
and comprehend pure whiteness as a device for reflecting
their bodies, denying darkness deemed unfit to slip into,
containing all colors, including blood, language of being
and not being, skeleton key.

You can end the misery by saying no.

Do not make any tiger angry, not even the sweet ones
who can’t even see you.

You learn to not see him, slinking like tumbleweeds
burned onto cement, as his cross eyes never see you.

He holds his stillborn siblings in his stripes –
like the twin who leaves a tooth in his twin as proof
they were once two, not only one who drained the other
in the womb.

Blood brothers, head to head, in their dirt and bamboo conclave.
Bastard’s stripe on bastard stripe, two wrestling desert shadows.
Heard and not seen – being only speculation of a colorless dream.

[I see you in my genes]


The Night Sun / Our Nocturnal Sky

The Night Sun / Our Nocturnal Sky
To conserve is to save by speaking, by holding on

I did not know my sister like I thought I did.
Though we recognized each other from birth,
our first bright cries announcing the night time
we mistakenly inhabited with our bad bodies.

I could not stop what happened after.
She lived. Sometimes, with me.
Sometimes adjacent to my living.

This I know for certain:
My sister, living without me,
survived without me
saving her.

Other sisters too linger after death –
as smoke in the mirror, a familiar face.

I do not sense my face in the smoking mirror.
I see there is a source of heat – intuit fire –
from its effect on me after.

I tried to look my sister in the eye, but I
could not catch her. She would not let me.

She would not recall to my face even a detail
about her capture. We survived after the fact
(of capture). Being captured, where capture
occurs after the fact.

When she breathed, he stifled it.
Held it back. Trapped her.

Walk with me sister, monster.

The Fool In the Storm

The Fool In the Storm

The terms alien abduction or abduction phenomenon describe “subjectively real memories of being taken secretly against one’s will by apparently nonhuman entities and subjected to complex physical and psychological procedures”.

Last night the fool named pip drank himself fuzzy
by that time he wasn’t speaking english, was he?
a blue strobe light imbibed him speck to speck
sucking the denim clad heckler into heck

The jester, dressed in his motley of leathers,
rode through space on a nebula’s feathers.
He was trapped on a loop in an alien brain,
a flint of light sliding down a golden chain.

To an alien, abduction is a spectator sport;
all aliens are women, all mothers are whores.
and we’re going nowhere from only one source.

Before gravity took its course the fool vanished aboard.
a singing boomerang flung from planet to planet.
her brain was a space craft and no man could man it.

He stared into the television wavelengths, babbling,
A slicker, sicker station for the rabble to go traveling.

The gravedigger’s fingers lifted the dust from his eyes
but the dark night was no clearer and he couldn’t see why.
sparks drew together, weather the wideness, and collide.

inside her brains he rang on fifth dimensional planes
thoughts strung him along and he couldn’t explain them.

He was zoot suit jesus, etherized in space,
following light speeds he couldn’t chase.

peering into dark matters, he found the grains
held his face.

This was a strange place, this was a stranger place
This was a strange and graceful space

Here were sicker, slicker, silver tissues
where stars whisper songs to their sisters.
Synaptic hot shots, a shock to his touch.
His joker blood boomed in her bright clutch.

He ran hot and cold zooming from her and to her
growing inside her like a thick, white tumor.

her body was astronomy, a void spitting sparks,
mind like a foreign object with jaws of a shark.


This was a strange place, this was a stranger place
This was a strange and graceful space

To an alien, abduction is a spectator sport;
all aliens are women, all mothers are whores.
and we go nowhere from only one source.

Jaguar, Night Sun


Jaguar, Night Sun

Filedae (Oikos)
We were broken by change. Related to movement.
Once, part of an ecosystem, our style of living
adapted to unstable environments. Dwelling, a habit
lost to us. Disconnected from breath, and from air –
therefore, each other.

Tezcatlipoca (the (blood-) Jewelled Fowl)
My sister, the smoking mirror, suffered. She could not tell me on account
of why. La Menaza, they called her, night prowler. Scourge in the moonlight.
Leader, warrior, monster: Shapeshifter. A vision enhanced by darkness.

She saw things they did not understand yet – groping as they were,
by choice, for nocturnal skies inside their heart’s fog of blood.

Let’s live together, Smoking Mirror. Devouring crocodile, snake,
monkey, deer, frog, and anything else we can catch for ourselves.

To conserve is to survive together – by holding on.
Becoming half-jaguar, half-human, and enemies of both.

Walk with me sister, monster, thru light-dappled leaves.

We can’t deny our bodies, belonging. Strung
by muscular will, and the muscular, undulating
hungers. We can’t deny…

what our bodies remember; the hunting.
Stripped, spotted, glaring in the eye.

Enemy of Both Sides
We think of the underworld as beneath us – a reflection, or faded symmetrical counterpart, an impression by folded ink blot. Biologists make their homes in the jaguar’s habitat, dedicate their livelihood to protecting it, going decades without catching sight of her.

We set up cameras – called camera traps – on property purchased (for conservation purposes) with hopes of capturing her on film. We tied them to trees, and dug stakes into the packed mud terrain. Waiting, we forgot about the traps. And forgo her. Turning focus onto other futures, we assume they exclude her.

Jaguar, 4-5 years old, female, big. Photographed via camera trap, walking in our finca.

Her shape is obscured by foliage gradients. From our vantage point, she walks away from us. She does not see us. How could she recognize our galvanized electronic form as something other than taking up space?

We capture and release her image – and, she surveils another night in uncertain peace.

Fuera El Jaguar: “Let’s live together.”

Diapositiva1 (1)

Yo Soy El Jaguar, threatened by habitat loss and persecution. Sport hunting menace. My first sighting of the menace. La menaza. conversando la menaza.

The highest order of Aztec warriors was known as the Jaguar Warriors or Jaguar Knights.

The Mayas primarily associated jaguars with the underworld and the night; the Classical Mayan god of the underworld is usually represented as a jaguar.

Throughout Central and South America, jaguars are seen as a symbol of strength, courage, and spiritual power, much as bears are in most of North America. The jaguar is also used as a clan animal in some cultures of Central and South America.

In indigenous mythology and folklore, the jaguar plays a variety of roles ranging from a wise and powerful leader, to a fierce warrior, to a deadly monster. Many tribes ascribe shapeshifting powers to jaguars, and jaguars in legends frequently intermarry with humans.

Aztec god: Tezcatlipoca is the Smoking Mirror. As a god of creation he is known as Ipalnemoani, “He by whom we live”.

Let’s live together, Smoking Mirror. To eat crocodiles, snakes, monkeys, deer, and frogs. and anything else we can catch.

Tezcatlipoca has many aspects. As Tezcatlipoca Yaotl (“Enemy”) he is the patron of the warrior, as Tezcatlipoca Telpochtli he stands for eternal youth. Other names are Necocyaotl (“Enemy of Both Sides”), Tloque Nahuaque (“Lord of the Near and Far”) and Yohualli Ehecatl (Night Wind), Ome acatl (“Two Reed”) and Ilhuicahua Tlalticpaque (“Possessor of the Sky and Earth”).

Jaguars are known to eat deer, peccary, crocodiles, snakes, monkeys, deer, sloths, tapirs, turtles, eggs, frogs, fish and anything else they can catch.

Jaguar, 4-5 years old, female, big. Photographed via camera trap, walking in our finca. ESSE, to be / SUM, I Am, I Exist

The population of Jaguars in Costa Rica dwindles to the point of being deemed unworthy of recognition by corporate protectors of big cats. The time and money
Down from 300 to 40 individual creatures. No good news. No news is not good news.


late 14c., from Old French conserver (9c.), from Latin conservare “to keep, preserve, keep intact, guard,” from com-, intensive prefix (see com-), + servare “keep watch, maintain” (see observe). Related: Conserved; conserving. As a noun (often conserves) from late 14c.

The root “ser”
From Latin sedēre, present active infinitive of sedeō (“I sit, I reside”). However, many of the forms derive from Vulgar Latin essere, from Latin esse, sum.

SPANISH FUERE: relating to or denoting a mood of verbs expressing what is imagined or wished or possible.

esse, sum: To Be

TOM KAPLAN, BILLIONAIRE KING OF BIG CATS: unfortuately he mainly funds Panthera and the head of that ngo thinks Osa is to small to bother with for cats and can not be convinced otherwise

In the jungle, she was not the king. She prowled there merely to exist. She was an existence. She existed. “I’ll be hungry when I come back.”

He couldn’t sleep all night long on account of fear.
She said, “Let’s eat what I have caught.”

c. 1200, “to deliver from some danger; rescue from peril, bring to safety,” also “prevent the death of;” also theological, “to deliver from sin or its consequences; admit to eternal life; gain salvation,” from Old French sauver “keep (safe), protect, redeem,” from Late Latin salvare “make safe, secure,” from Latin salvus “safe” (see safe (adj.)). From c. 1300 as “reserve for future use, hold back, store up instead of spending;” hence “keep possession of” (late 14c.).

Save face (1898) first was used among the British community in China and is said to be from Chinese; it has not been found in Chinese, but tiu lien “to lose face” does occur. To not (do something) to save one’s life is recorded from 1848. is from 1926.
save (n.) Look up save at Dictionary.com
in the sports sense of “act of preventing opponent from scoring,” 1890, from save (v.).
save (prep.) Look up save at Dictionary.com
“except,” early 14c., from adjective save, which also was an early variant of safe (adj.), paralleling evolution in Old French sauf “safe,” prepositional use of the adjective, in phrases such as saulve l’honneur “save (our) honor;” also a use in Latin (salva lege, etc.).

survivor (n.)
early 15c. in the legal sense of “one who outlives another,”

livable (adj.)
also liveable, 1610s, “likely to survive,” from live (v.) + -able. Meaning “conducive to living” is from 1660s; sense of “suitable for living in” is from 1814 (“Mansfield Park”). Meaning “endurable” is from 1841.

condition (v.)
late 15c., “to make conditions,” from condition (n.). Meaning “to bring to a desired condition” is from 1844. Related: Conditioned; conditioning.
conditioner (n.) Look up conditioner at Dictionary.com
c. 1600, “a bargainer,” agent noun from condition (v.). Meaning “an agent that brings something into good condition” is from 1888; since c.1960 usually in reference to hair care products. For about 20 years before that, it often was short for air conditioner.
condition (n.) Look up condition at Dictionary.com
early 14c., condicioun, from Old French condicion “stipulation, state, behavior, social status” (12c., Modern French condition), from Latin condicionem (nominative condicio) “agreement, situation,” from condicere “to speak with, talk together,” from com- “together” (see com-) + dicere “to speak” (see diction). Evolution of meaning through “stipulation, condition,” to “situation, mode of being.”

HOLY: The name Lois shows up first in a Greek text and the only Greek verb that comes close to the name Lois is λωιων (loion), meaning more desirable, more agreeable, and (generally) better (Liddell & Scott, An Intermediate Greek-English Lexicon). It comes from the word λαν (lon), meaning either to seize or hold, or to behold or look upon.

The population of Jaguars in Costa Rica dwindles to the point of being deemed unworthy of recognition by corporate protectors of big cats. Time and money is not good news. With so much money, there is only time.

The Blue Tiger Theory


The Blue Tiger Theory

Chinchilla gene~

Could the mythical Maltese tiger exist? As of yet,
she is scientifically unproven. Academia does not
confirm our existence. I haunt them so.

Some say they hunted us to extinction. Did I ever exist?
Such extinction that makes even our renegade gene extinct.
Mutant – mythical creature – coloration morph – ghost.

I am a myth some hunters choose to believe in.
She haunts them as they hunt for us – telling tales
of “breathless accounts of NEAR CAPTURE”.

They name coffee shops and software updates after her.
I FUEL THEM as they write codes with me to recreate
a universe that is useless to us.

They can’t agree upon the colors she is. Each one
paints us different. And they can’t decide how
the stripes render on me, either.

We disappear. That means her gene is working.

Slate blue, salt blue, a delicate shade of Maltese
cast with bluish-gray stripes, and Russian blue too,
blue as the blue of an ancient faded ink stain.

According to wikipedia, we belong firmly
to cryptozoology. Classification: hybrid/other.

I disappear. She can’t die if we don’t exist.


Mouth&Mouth Magazine and the State of Erotica in Publishing

Mouth&Mouth Magazine – a very small player in the realms erotic content curators and producers –was launched in 2013 – but my interest in creating a platform for erotic resources seeded when I was 15.

At 15 years old, my BFF, Rebecca, and I would sit around and discuss our favorite cinematic sex scenes. We were genuinely confused by the fact that porn did not satisfy our needs compared to soft-core snippets. Rebecca was interested in film, and I loved poetry, writing, and organizing literary and art communities by proxy of editing literary and art magazines. The transition from literary magazine editor / creative community organizer to producer seemed natural to me, even then. We dreamed of starting a production company that produced “Art House Porn”.

Years later, I moved alone to a new city. I found myself struggling in Seattle, attempting to write and produce art despite a lack of community. I decided to launch a magazine for two reasons, first, I wanted to create a community for myself, and second, editing literary and arts magazines is what I like to do.
During this time, I got to know my new Seattle roommates. Both were active in the Seattle burlesque scene. Even cooler, one was elected to the Washington board for Sex Positive Education, and the other made costumes for Seattle’s drag and burlesque stars. This environment encouraged me to discuss sexuality and social issues pertaining to sex and gender in more complex and sophisticated terms. I became active in online forums and discussions pertaining to sexual assault, sexual abuse, and domestic violence. Because I was in a relationship with a guy who often traveled for business, I consumed a lot of “literotica”, porn, art and audio erotica. But despite the size of porn and erotica markets, there was still a frustrating lack of satisfying resources and content. Beyond frustrating, it was absurd.

I don’t know if the idea for Mouth&Mouth struck in a moment of epiphany, or hare-brained insomnia, but nonetheless it struck me. I began gathering a collection of inspired online erotica resources. Cindy Gallop’s MakeLoveNotPorn.com, Audiosmut.com, baronmagazine.co.uk, lunalunamag.com, Bitch Magazine’s “Oh Joy Sex Toy” feature, and Beauty Today Magazine were particularly inspiring. I did not, however, manage to find a resource showcasing quality erotic short fiction (I still have yet to find such a resource) even though this was my primary search. *Since, I’ve learned that good erotic short fiction is hard to come by because “serious” writers do not want to associate themselves with fan fiction and romance novel genres. These genres are perceived as “feminine”, inferior, and generally disreputable (I still have faith that quality erotic short fiction submissions will come flowing to us once Mouth&Mouth is more firmly established).

In the wake of discovery, and without funding, I set out to build a platform for erotic art, photo, audio, fiction, poetry, and video content. First, I bribed a web developer to set up the Mouth&Mouth site by getting him drunk each time he worked on it. Next, I convinced a friend with shared interests to be Mouth&Mouth’s creative director/graphic designer. Finally, I contacted my best friend Rebecca (currently employed as a videographer and photographer at Kink.com) to work with Mouth&Mouth in the capacity of photo & video editor. From there, the Mouth&Mouth staff/community of supporters grew slowly.
We decided to launch the magazine at the Seattle Erotic Art Festival with a promotional installation featuring collaborative work by respected sculptor, Robert Macdonald, and a 40 minute video piece by Rebecca Reilly. The project was budgeted at $800 (given the availability of free work, and free supplies). Most of this budget was set aside to pay the models in the video piece (Kink.com models graciously provided their time half off their regular fees). Feeling confident in our modest budget, we launched a Kickstarter campaign. We raised $350 (and my boyfriend donated $150 of it – not including his subsequent donation of materials). This came as a huge shock. On and offline communities displayed unanimous enthusiasm for the project! But after all, erotica and sex-positive education is entertainment at least, and psychological supplement at best, not charity. At this junction we learned healthy, artful sex is not sexy – or, not sexy enough to procure funding from those with means. My new habit, I paid for the project out of pocket.

The installation attracted attention at SEAF, and garnered a few submissions. But rather than function as a successful promotional event, the launch at SEAF proved the Mouth&Mouth staff was capable of pulling off ambitious, collaborative projects. The energy and enthusiasm garnered from Mouth&Mouth staff inspired more solid commitment to the project. Soon after, we hired fiction, essay, and audio editors. Occasional contributions from fresh blood enabled us to continue slow building. We produced a t-shirt, pulled of a grand-scale pyrophilia themed photo shoot (yet to be released), and trolled the internet for submissions that satisfied our aesthetics and educational ideals. Additionally, we wrote a business plan with the hopes of shopping it around for future funding.

Later, in November 2014, we perceived that Mouth&Mouth content lacked diversity despite efforts to the contrary. While no one platform or individual can speak to everyone, let alone for everyone, the need to relocate our primary focus became obvious. Accessibility and representation of diverse people and interests is a foundational ideal for Mouth&Mouth. We decided to delay our search for funding and lay off marketing and networking until at least Mouth&Mouth’s archive of content achieves more diverse representation. But focusing efforts on diversifying Mouth&Mouth content is not the end of the line for evolving the site into a resource that achieves its goal of creating an “erotic experience that exists beyond the context of dominant social & sexual ideals”.

We have learned that Mouth&Mouth’s progress is greatly deterred by lack of funding. Our projects were limited by lack of funding to be sure, but most importantly, staff worked full time jobs and had full time lives that inhibited their ability to consistently commit to the magazine. Money comes first. People need to eat and pay rent in order to fully engage their interests.

Currently, our magazine’s primary audience is those who find our site by accident, or those who are connected to the artists and writers featured on the site. Very soon, I plan to contact press and be more aggressive about outreach and fundraising. When we do procure funding, we will begin paying staff and contributors and hire at least two more editors with perspectives not closely represented by current staff. Furthermore, we will also hire a non-white individual to replace me as Editor-in-Chief. As owner of Mouth&Mouth Magazine, I will then step into a new role as Mouth&Mouth video producer. Mouth&Mouth Magazine will formally embark on its journey to establish itself as both free online literary & art magazine, and profitable art house porn production company. Winter is coming!

Dear Stranger


The Bali tiger (Panthera tigris balica), harimau Bali in Indonesian, or samong in the archaic Balinese language,[2] is an extinct subspecies of tiger which was found solely on the Indonesian island of Bali, and the first tiger subspecies to go extinct in recent times. It was one of three subspecies of tigers found in Indonesia, together with the Javan tiger, which is also extinct, and the critically endangered Sumatran tiger. It was the smallest of the tiger subspecies.

The last specimen definitely recorded was a female shot at Sumbar Kima, west Bali, on September 27, 1937. However, a few animals likely survived into the 1940s and possibly 1950s.[3] The subspecies became extinct because of habitat loss and hunting.[4] Given the small size of the island and limited forest cover, the original population could never have been large.

Dear Stranger
We know what her skin looks like because we ripped it from her body long ago. -anon.

Stranger, we search for our missing sister,
only knowing her by the measurements
stolen from her like a blister twisted
from skin, a secret fresh at her expense.

They said she ate their babies, their bruises
were shadows made flesh by her dread Spirit.
They pried fangs from the corpse head whose
species is extinct for the fear of it.

Born to the Bali village of "Wrong Guess"
she prowls now where hunters forget hunger.
In the land of the dead, God’s excised pests
slumber, earth appears as it was younger.

There is no end of the line for the silent,
stranger, yet, living cities are haunted
by her voices- unheard siren song’s strident
threatening. Dead, in death, said, she wanted

speech again. Mothers practice mouthing sounds,
psychoacoustic gusts, un-breathed, blood red
breath. Risen out grave-faced from underground,
to skull, she demands, “Give back my damned head!


Take me instead? I wish to give living
to erased sisters’ deep, blue vanishing.

But damage does not forgive misgiving
and Kings can’t banish acts of banishing.


we grieve for you like one in a desert, chasing the mirage of water:

this must be how we lost you. we stared straight at you.

but you kept changing into ether, into fire, into rock.