I spent a piece of Sunday afternoon at L.A. Zine Fest, primarily at the urging of Brodie and his friends, a cadre of friendly ladies with punk hair and vintage clothing. It occupied a big garage/warehouse-type space at the Helms Bakery Building, and it was a little overwhelming. I’m not well versed in the zine world, and I wanted to read everything with a funny title or a cute cartoon on the cover or an interesting binding or a friendly person selling it. Which is to say, pretty much everything.
That would have made it easy to get a kind of quick, general shot of inspiration and leave having purchased nothing. But I reminded myself that staying part of the literary community means diving deep and being at least a little bit extroverted. So I made my rounds and ended up with a handful of awesome-seeming zines.
|Aurora Lady's zine from Fair Dig Press. I heard her read Wednesday night, and she was funny and vulnerable and great.|
Instead, I wrote this very short found poem comprised of titles and signage found at Zine Fest.
typography & shit
shitty poetry I wrote, 16-18
thoughts I almost post as Facebook updates but then don’t
create. scheme. remember.
cheese eggs & potatoes
shit you learn in the bathroom
bathroom (fresh, local, organic)
my family’s vaginas
fighting patriarchy 1 diaper at a time
shut up you’re not my real dad
martin the satanic raccoon
abuela y los dead Mexicans
soy un perdedor
cry now, cry later
transform the police that live inside you
I hate being an adult