Lil’ Gullivers

Lil’ Gullivers by Kye Roper “The oppressors do not perceive their monopoly on having more as a privilege which dehumanizes others and themselves. They cannot see that… they suffocate in their own possessions and no longer are; they merely have.” – Paulo Freire “They talk. They think. They’re ready for adventure: Introducing Lil’ Gullivers – Playtime’s never been so alive!” – AstroGo, Inc.® “HEY.” A man steps out of his suburban home at the cul-de-sac end, wearing the contemporary attire one might expect a middle-aged member of the bougie class to wear on a casual Saturday morning (old teambuilding t-shirt from work, khaki shorts). He is pissed. The USPS driver is hustling halfway back across the lawn when he halts mid-step, startled at the yelling, and swivels around.           At the threshold, the homeowner puts on his best power stance – though little more than a minor landed gentry to the world, while on his lawn, inside his doorstep, he is secret King of his single-family detached home. Also, he’s been tracking this package all morning. “Hold on,” the man yells. “I’m right here.” The delivery man crosses back. “Just need you to sign here, please.” The man impatiently scribbles something resembling a child’s crude line graph atop the signature line. “You didn’t even ring the doorbell.” “And here, please.” The man impatiently scribbles again. “I was waiting right inside. You didn’t even bother ringing the doorbell.” The delivery man scrunches his face. “I did ring the doorbell,” which is true. “I rang it several times,” which is not true. But also, screw this guy. He doesn’t know his ‘customers’ – who are only sometimes right, but in this case a right asshole – and likewise doesn’t know the man had just prior been locked away in the basement when he arrived. Doesn’t matter. He is constantly delivering packages to this address, packages of identical dimensions, same company, multiple times a month, and has come to feel mild apprehension pulling up at this particular curb due to exactly this sort of interaction.  He figures the guy’s got an online shopping problem. Sees it a lot. 9-to-5ers burying themselves under credit card debt because damn, is it satisfying, the click of snagging some unneeded new thing, the tiny hits of endorphin bursts that one hopes in their sum will add up to some greater happiness, maybe even equal to the sort of halfway decent vacation they wish they had the time and/or cash to afford.  A vacation, those bite-sized luxury purchases – it’s never really about the receiving. The real hit’s in the waiting, the jitters of expectation for alleviating, maybe even curing the malaise of it all. The problem with next-day delivery is that there is no waiting. That’s why the clicks keep clicking unceasingly.  It’s kind of sad. Or would be, but again, screw this guy.  “Here you are, sir,” the delivery man intones.  The man gives no reply. He grabs the package. Kicks the door shut behind him. His right hand is turning the basement knob when a woman, his wife, calls down from the upstairs study.   “Jaaaaaassooooon.” “Yes?” He answers, annoyance in his voice. “Was that the doorbell?” “No, he didn’t even ring the doorbell.” “Who is he?” “Nobody. Nobody rang the doorbell. It was the wrong number.” “What wrong number?” “Wrong house number, I don’t know.” “Jason. You didn’t order another of those creepy things, did you?” “No,” tearing the tape off with his teeth, “of course not.” “We’ve talked about this.” Under his breath, half-muffled since the tape’s proving quite hard to tear off, “feels like all we ever damn talk about.” “If you’re wasting more of our money on those things then I swear, I’m not kidding, we’re returning it.” “Our money?” He scoffs to no one but himself, descending the basement stairs. “My money.” In the inner circle of the inner sanctuary of the basement, he sets the contents on the table. It’s a toy. No, an action figure. No, even worse: A collectible. The clear case is a classic plastic display box, the top of which reads, LIL’ GULLIVER. The tagline reads, Like You, But Small! This particular model’s label reads, LIL’ VELVET GULLIVER. Jason removes the figure and positions him standing up atop the table. Lil’ Velvet Gulliver is a 10-inch-tall plastic figure, wearing an early 18th century, Georgian era style of dress. Knee-length, double-breasted coat with fitted silhouette, accentuated by decorative buttons; high-collared shirt and thigh-high breeches, lots of lace; delicate stockings held by garters of elastic fabric. Everything, from the cravat tied around its neck down to its buckled shoes, is made of purple velvet. Eggplant purple. Beautiful, sensual, eggplant purple.  Lil’ Velvet Gulliver blinks its tiny eyes three times and cranes its neck up at the moon-faced giant.  Its voice is high-pitched and squeaky as befitting a lil’ figure. “Why hey there big buddy.”  “Welcome,” Jason says. “My name is Jason.” Lil’ Velvet Gulliver smiles a big smile. “Hi Jason, nice to meet ya… Don’t know who I am.” “What you are.” “Don’t know that either,” it says, its carefree smile still plastered on. “No, I’m saying you’re a what. I purchased you off ToyBuy.” Shrugging amicably, “If you say so.” “You’re a Gulliver.” “Gull-ehh-ver,” sounding out each syllable as if committing it to memory. “Correct. More specifically, you are a Lil’ Velvet Gulliver.”  “That sounds fun.” Jason shakes his head. “It’s a literary reference.” “Oh wow, I’m a literary reference.” Lil’ Velvet Gulliver scratches its head with a pause. “I can’t read.” “Of course you can’t. In short, Gulliver’s Travels was a satirical travelogue published by the Irish author Jonathan Swift in 1726, featuring Lemuel Gulliver, a fictional surgeon also trained in navigation and mathematics, who visits strange and fantastical lands on several voyages after his ships are destroyed, blown off course, and attacked by pirates.” “Sounds like our Gulliver shoulda stopped getting on ships.” “Well, he wasn’t a real person. Like you.” “Oh.” “You see, Lil’

But like, when did you know?

But like, when did you know? by Neal Allen Shipley after torrin a. greathouse     i When I was thirteen, huddled around a portable DVD player with other guys from my class. No one else home, we still closed the door and blue light radiated from a screen hardly larger than a Gameboy. We felt dangerous, watching stolen porn: Ragged breathing. No talking. No eye contact. We didn’t do anything – just shifted, uncomfortable, legs twitching to the pulse of an unfamiliar dance. Later, they talked about imagining themselves the man. That’s when I knew there was something different: Knew I should have been watching the woman cupping her breasts, tossing her hair back, moaning; knew she was beautiful, if not a little campy; knew my legs should have twitched for her. The cameraman seemed to know: Zooming in close on the man’s face so I could watch the corner of his lips curl while he whispered, fuck yeah; panned down his chest and arms (tan, smooth, just a little muscle), and still downward across taut abs; only stopping to come even closer to his dick. I convinced myself I was only looking to compare my own. I watched straight porn for a long time; the women usually seemed to have a great time with men, who I told myself I wasn’t looking at when they whispered fuck yeah to me from the blue light. Later: Search terms like just men lead me to videos that made more sense.     ii When I was thirteen, huddled around a portable DVD player with other guys from my class. No one else home, we still closed the door and blue light radiated from a screen hardly larger than a Gameboy. We felt dangerous, watching stolen porn: Ragged breathing. No talking. No of an unfamiliar dance. Later, they talked about imagining themselves the man. That’s when I knew there was something different: Knew I should have been watching the woman cupping my legs should have twitched for her. The cameraman seemed to know: Zooming in close on the man’s face so I could watch the corner of his lips curl while he whispered, fuck yeah; panned down his chest and arms (tan, smooth, just a little muscle), and still downward across taut abs; only stopping to come even closer to his dick. I convinced myself I was only looking to compare my own. I watched straight porn for a long time; the women usually seemed to have a great time with men, who I told myself I wasn’t looking at when they whispered fuck yeah to me from the blue light. Later: Search terms like just men lead me to videos that made more sense.      iii When I was thirteen, huddled around a portable DVD player with other guys from my class. No one else home, we still closed the door and blue light radiated from a screen hardly larger I knew there was something different: Knew I should have been watching the woman cupping my legs should have twitched for her. The cameraman seemed to know: Zooming in close on the man’s face so I could watch the corner of his lips curl while he whispered, fuck yeah; abs; only stopping to come even closer to his dick. I convinced myself I was only looking from the blue light.     iv When I was thirteen, huddled around a portable DVD player with other guys from my class. No one else we still closed the door and blue radiated from a screen hardly something different: on the man’s face so I could watch the corner of his lips curl while he whispered, fuck yeah   Poetry Home Art by Nick Hurlbut.

Kathleen Frank

Menu Current Volume Archive About Us Submit Categories Kathleen Frank Santa Fe artist Kathleen Frank travels throughout the American West, seeking inspiration for her landscape paintings. Using vibrant hues, she captures light and pattern in her search for logic within complex terrains. Exhibitions include International Art Museum of America, Museum of Western Art, St. George Museum of Art, Northwest Montana History Museum, UNM Valencia, MonDak Heritage Center, WaterWorks Museum, Sahara West Gallery, La Posada de Santa Fe, and Jane Hamilton Fine Art. Press includes LandEscape Art Review, MVIBE, Art Reveal, Magazine 43, and Southwest Art. Art in Embassies/U.S. State Department selected her work for Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Artist Statement: Having been an art teacher, woodcarver, and a printmaker in my formative years, I emerged as a painter, joyously overwhelmed by color and searching for pattern. Color and pattern are everywhere, but the seeing and interpretation of them are different for each of us. Pattern in nature is primal to me – which fuels my desire to find a glimmer of logic in vastly complicated, confusing and tumbled landscapes. I do also seek out the vibrant hues in landscapes. My oil paintings begin with a saturated red orange backdrop. This is overlaid with the main imagery, applied with distinct brushstrokes of brilliant color. Hints of the red background peek through like a woodcut, creating subtle impact without drawing attention away from the primary subjects. Several times a year I travel throughout the Southwest, hiking and photographing vistas for future paintings. The goal is to catch the light and design in these scenes in all its strangeness and beauty. It is a lofty goal, but I find when the quest is shepherded with paint and brush, it is a delightfully daunting adventure. Instagram: @kathleenfrank.sf

Hannah Landeen

Menu Current Volume Archive About Us Submit Categories Hannah Landeen Hannah Landeen is a multidisciplinary artist whose practice engages themes of grief, play, craft, femininity, and psychology through material and conceptual exploration. Her work examines the ways in which material manipulation and recontextualization can communicate complex emotional and psychological experiences. Landeen received her BFA from Brigham Young University and is currently pursuing her graduate studies in the Department of Art at Washington State University.

Nick Hurlbut

Menu Current Volume Archive About Us Submit Categories Nick Hurlbut Nickolas Carl Hurlbut is an artist currently living in Pullman, Washington, in his first year of the MFA in Art program at WSU. He moved to Pullman from Portland, Oregon, where he lived for 13 years. In Portland he taught high school art for five years at Milwaukie High School after receiving his Masters of Teaching with a focus in Art from Lewis and Clark College. Before living in Portland, Nickolas received his BA in Studio Art and Art Education from Cal Poly Humboldt with a focus in photography. Nickolas primarily works in photography and ceramics. His photography work is primarily film photography focusing on portraiture of the queer community living around him. During Nickolas’ time in Portland, he volunteered for Newspace Center for Photography for three years, showing in numerous galleries within Oregon including Blue Sky Gallery in Portland and Lightbox Gallery in Astoria. Sassy Ceramics is a Ceramics business he started while in Portland where he was a member of the Oregon Potters Association. Through his membership with the Oregon Potters Association he helped organize and participated in Ceramics Showcase—the largest showcase of ceramic artwork in North America and Ceramics Northwest—a pop up gallery in downtown Portland. His ceramic work is largely wheel thrown and then hand built onto. During his MFA at WSU he seeks to expand his knowledge of photography and ceramics, experimenting with bringing the mediums together through screenprinting and relating the mediums to each other within the same bodies of work. You can see Nickolas Carl’s work on his website at NickolasCarl.com or on instagram @nickolascarl for his photography work or @sassy_ceramics for his ceramic work. Website: NickolasCarl.com Instagram: @nickolascarl

Abby Miller

Menu Current Volume Archive About Us Submit Categories Abby Miller Abigail is a printmaker from Louisiana. She received her Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette in 2024. She is currently a Master of Fine Arts candidate at Washington State University. Abigail’s practice primarily focuses on the environment and meaning of home as it relates to familiar experiences. Using the avenue of printmaking, Abigail creates works that incorporate draftsmanship, craft, and technological advancements to build a unique sense of her surroundings during times of intense change and realization.

Mark Rosalbo

Menu Current Volume Archive About Us Submit Categories Mark Rosalbo Mark Rosalbo was raised in Leeds, Maine. He spent much of his early childhood exploring along the banks of the Androscoggin and Dead Rivers, the latter one of only a handful of rivers in the world that can flow in either direction. Early life socioeconomic hardships shaped much of Mark’s artistic choices as a composer, actor, and painter. Many in his circle, including his brother, succumbed to various cancers like Leukemia as a result of living along Maine’s rivers once polluted by paper mills. After graduating from high school, Mark moved to Los Angeles to study at The American Academy of Dramatic Arts. After graduating from AADA, he moved to NYC and remained in the city until shortly after 9/11 when he moved his family to Vermont to enjoy the banks of (this time much cleaner) rivers. Website: https://www.markdrosalbo.com/

Lau Seara

Menu Current Volume Archive About Us Submit Categories Lau Seara Lau Seara is an interdisciplinary artist and researcher based in Brooklyn, New York City, originally from Galicia, the northwest of Spain. Her background is originally in psychology, although in past years she has worked as a researcher and program designer from an intersectional feminist framework. She enjoys life drawing, cross-hatching and sketching re-interpretations from her own journals and photographs, and is interested in modern life objects, places, and routines at their most mundane. Current favorite topics include people going places and domestic technologies.

Winslow Schmelling

Menu Current Volume Archive About Us Submit Categories Winslow Schmelling Winslow Schmelling is a writer, teacher, and maker of things from the Sonoran Desert of Arizona, where she earned her MFA in fiction from Arizona State University. Her creative work can be found in Literary Hub, Peatsmoke Journal, Blue Mesa Review, Puerto del Sol, and elsewhere. Artist Statement: “Dis-Embody” is a series featuring elements of 1950s Lifetime Magazine advertisements with the women’s forms with reversed silhouettes in colorful but barren, manufactured landscapes. Each of these collages was mailed to a fellow woman artist across the globe, to break open and celebrate the new shapes and roles we create together. Find her at winslowschmelling.com

Kateryna Bortsova

Menu Current Volume Archive About Us Submit Categories Kateryna Bortsova At present time Kateryna Bortsova is a painter – graphic artist with a BFA in graphic arts and an MFA. Kateryna’s works have taken part in many international exhibitions (Taiwan, Moscow, Munich, Spain, Italy, USA, etc.). She also won a silver medal in the category “realism” in participation in “Factory of visual art”, New York, USA, and the 2015 Emirates Skywards Art of Travel competition, Dubai, United Arab Emirates. Website: https://bortsova6.wixsite.com/bortsova Instagram: @katerynabortsova