This zine reminds me of this night a few summers back when me and one of my roommates hung out in our kitchen at four am, giggling our silly little heads off while playing with the magnet-poetry kit my mom had gotten me the Christmas before. Sitting on the cool linoleum, we covered the fridge with weird poems, taking part in what we called the ‘grand annual super spectacular poetry on fridge experiment’. Like many ideas born out of kitchens at four am, this one seemed to be one of genius, – we truly believed in its greatness and stood up for the idea even after our sleepy roommate threatened to kick our asses out of the apartment if we didn’t shut up and go to bed (apparently some people have jobs to go to in the morning). Rolling out of bed the following afternoon, hungover, a sick taste of metallic-like rot in my mouth, and the feel of razor blades slicing away at my optical nerves, I made it back to the scene of the crime where I was determined to retrieve a life saving jug of Sunny-D from the fridge. Our early morning poetry efforts were still there on the pasty smooth door with the addition of a note from our pissed off roommate: “This poetry is shit. I hate you both.” She was right, the poetry was shit, but I could sort of see how it might be salvaged if we were to cut and paste the words on top of weird images, print off a few copies and call it a zine. Hell is getting away with exactly that. While most of what’s included in here does not make much sense, and is not exactly thriving with genius, the strange seemingly random concoction of words are still interesting to look at. Read this, but imagine the text is pasted onto a background of unpleasant medical images: “waiting for / broken chair / an easy solution / $9 / nine dollar cigarettes / a sleeping cat / “our lawn is dying” / hell is the dog.” See what I mean? (Audrey Gagnon)
zine, brodie three three, $?, 404 33 Avenue NW, Calgary AB, T2K 0B4