Wolverette Zine

New issue, new theme

wolverette — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 21:50:27 +0000

see? bye-bye green gal tho =)

OMG unbelieveable!!! 5th issue finished!

wolverette — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 19:14:57 +0000

The baby’s there finally!
Contributors’ gratis issues are on their way already (btw – Hadass, Joanna & Annegang, if you want a gratis copy, too, please e-mail your postal addresse!).
But before sale is officially on, I need to make some adjustmemts (sshhhh… paypal here we come!), you’ll hear from us!
xoxo

Time’s up

wolverette — Wed, 25 May 2011 23:51:10 +0000

Please don’t send any more contributions, thanx.
I’m now in the process of making the zine

What you should listen to:

wolverette — Wed, 20 Apr 2011 17:13:27 +0000

Le Sigh

wolverette — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 13:31:08 +0000

Yesyes, I am STILL looking for contributions. Sad, isn’t it? It may be the sensitive topic but nevertheless it’s a shame that especially this issue takes so long. Maybe a deadline will help?
Okay, so the deadline for contributions is june 1st.
Hoping to hear from you.

Kisses!

Gimme your submission! ;-)

wolverette — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 12:27:39 +0000

Part VIII of Wolverette’s 3rd Print Issue

wolverette — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 02:49:46 +0000

“My name is Claudia. I am 30 years old, living in Leipzig. I guess it all started with adolescence, when writing became a kind of obsession to me. Writing diary, to be precise. An important precondition for writing is a feeling of freedom and trust. No one can write anything, when confronted with “good advises”, critizising friends or kin. So a diary is a good opportunity to write, because you can make sure nobody ever will read it. I write down everything what goes on inside my head, about things I cannot or do not want to discuss with people around me. To often peoples’ reactions on my thoughts and feelings are negative, for many reasons, which do not neccessarily have to have anything with to do with me as a person. But anyway, the problem with those reactions is: I have a good chance to get judged, hurt, rejected, fooled, exploited. Writing down my thoughts and feelings is a safe way to express myself. First of all I have to know, respect and love myself. If I don’t, I cannot expect anyone else to do so. Sometimes I compare writing with breathing. I just have to do it, to keep on living. Especially when going through a period of sorrow, the journal, the diary, the piece of paper often is the only “person” who will listen without judging me. The thing is, quite often it is just anything a person with problems needs – someone who is able to listen without judging. I’m afraid there are just a few people on this planet that have this ability. Judgement makes me sick. Why do people always have to judge? Maybe because we learned from our early childhood on to be judged, to judge ourselves, and consequently to judge others on any occasion. Keeping a journal may save you from being judged. When it comes to zine writing, the whole aspect of writing comes to a broader aspect. The lovely thing with zine texts is the personal style. It is a kind of strange thing: for me and many other people who appreciate zines the fascinating, attracting thing is the honest, true and real language. The best zines I ever had in my hands, read like quite private diary entries. But people who feel attracted by this medium are often at the same time very shy, feel ashamed of their own words. I do not exclude myself from this group. At the moment I work on a personal zine myself – and I have to remind myself from time to time, that I do not want to read things that sound artificial, boring for the sake of a so called objectivity. In my perception of human life there is not such a thing as objectivity. We all are individuals with very special stories, fears, preferences, passions – we are no robots. About a half year ago a very close friend of mine committed suicide by hanging himself at a deserted factory hall not very far from the place I live. It almost broke my heart. Being confronted with this hard outlet of reality I soon realized that I go through an elementary experience. Death, sadness, mourning – I had to express it. As I live in a death-denying culture, I found most of the people around me overstressed with my sadness. I avoided people, because any sign of happy talk I witnessed seemed to me as naïve, superficial behaviour – and of course I did not fit into this kind of society. The crazy thing about it is when you write it down, any thought that comes directly from your heart – people recept your world in a more respectful, deeper way. It is a text you produce – in most cases a text is read by people, who are open-minded, who want to learn about other peoples’ inner worlds and in the end they appreciate openness and honesty. Some time ago I read a newspaper interview with a successful artist from Leipzig, the painter Neo Rauch. There was a quote of him, written in big letters “There is nothing to embarrass me anymore”. I like this quote. It is the essence of true art, I guess. Expressing yourself without judging you. Just express yourself and create a positive relationship with yourself. So you have a good chance to be able to do the same with the person next to you. Zines are important. They connect people at a very personal level. I do not know any other medium that can do this. That is revolutionary. Next you can find a sample of my diary writings. If you want to get in touch with me, just send me an e-mail: medbh at web dot de

2008-05-02
Thank you, thank you, thank you, Virginie Despentes!!! I just read through “King Kong Theory”. I am so happy about this book. Consistent punk rock feminism at its best. I want to buy me my own copy of this book. Maybe next month? On Monday I will have to go to the unemployment office to get me a charity cheque. No money for cultural acquisition such as books. But anyway. I reckon Virginie Despentes as a very progressive thinker, who is not afraid of looking deep inside her own shadow. Her way of writing about her very own terrible experience of being raped has nothing oppressive to me, but something relieving. This is one of her great achievements. For the first time literature has a stronger impact on me as music does. That is new to me. This book “King Kong Theory” came to me as a real bombshell – the ice-axe to break the seas frozen inside my soul (thanx, franz k.)…
Last night I dreamt of Mario again, indirectly, about the mourning for him. In that dream I heard this Joy Division song “walk in silence – don’t turn away in silence – see the danger always danger – endless talking life rebuilding – don’t walk away…” having this song in my head made me so sad again. I felt Mario slipping away from me, perishing and I cannot save him. Shortly after waking up the tears rolled down my eyes. Today it is nearly half a year ago. Mario, dead. Tears in my eyes. His death was tragic but predictable. Even comprehensible. Nevertheless a shock within my small and dull-witted world. I only hope he is getting better now that in this life. I wish him his suffering is over now. At the same time I feel more and more anger with this world, where people like Mario get depressed and desperate. Until they cannot bear it anymore, until they see only one last exit letting cool down this world by forcing their hearts to stop beating. Tears. I will try to keep on living, at least for a while. We will see how far I will get. With Virginie Despentes’ reading I feel well-equipped. I feel that her texts can show me a way out of my depression. I like her language, her sadness, her anger, her abysses and her beauty. I just read two of her books. I think, now I want to read everything she wrote. And there is a new dream in my head: I really would like to get to know her some day. However, I hope her English is not as bad as my French. “

Part VII of Wolverette’s 3rd Print Issue

wolverette — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 02:47:26 +0000

It’s cold tonight.
My body racked with fierce pain
From within, and cold
From without.
The creature beneath me
Shivers from cold and fatigue.
He didn’t ask for this.

I didn’t ask for my part in this epic, either.
They’ll call me blessed, Holy, angel, queen,
So I am told.
But for now it’s whore, slut, blaspheming,
My husband, a cuckold.
I made no request for this.
I’m little more than a child.

Just a young girl,
No-one special,
My head still unvailed.
I look to my husband.
He married me in public,
Kissed me before the Lord,
Despite what he had heard.
He didn’t ask to be part of this.

My body’s quickening now,
Bite my lips, keep from crying out.
Sooth the unbidden form within me,
Not yet, not yet, not yet.
This one takes pity on out plight,
Offers a megre shelter,
A stable, a manger, a star.
(written by Amy Louise Cunningham)

*tell us a bit about this poem
Amy: I started writing it around Christmas time while I was organising the school nativity play. Of course, every little girl wants to be Mary, and that made me start thinking about how Mary might have been feeling. I decided it was something I wanted to explore.

*when did you start writing poems and why?
Amy: I’m not sure really, a long time ago! I find it relaxing, I used to keep a daily diary of my thoughts and feelings. Turning these into a pleasing sequence was just the next step.

*when do you write poems? where do you get your inspiration from, what motivates you?
Amy: i just write whenever I feel like it! I find that if I have something big going on in my life, writing my thoughts down helps me to think more clearly. I’m usually inspired by one little idea, and that’s my “jumping off” point…my brain goes Tick Tick Tick…!

*do you write other stuff (novels, plays,…), too? if yes/no, why?
Amy: I ‘ve written a number of short stories and that’s probably my favourite medium to use. I think eventually I’d like to write a novel, but whether that’ll ever happen is another matter! As a graduate of drama and English, I’ve done a lot of divised theatre pieces, which have often turned into scripted pieces.

*do you use other forms of artistic expressions than writing (drawing, playing an instrument,…)?
Amy: I play the flute (well) and the guitar (badly). I’m learning to teach piano and recorder. I like to piant, but I suck, so my artwork is usually just brightly coloured patterns.

*For what main reasons do you write?
Amy: For pleasure, and to relax. I don’t really write to please anyone but myself.

*what are peoples’ responses to your work?
Amy: Mixed, to say the least! I’ve had English teachers ask if I’d “like to have a word with the school nurse” in reaction to fiction I’ve written. On the whole though, reactions are pretty positive. I realise that some of the subjects I choose to write about are quite dark, but that’s where the interest lies for me.

Amy’s Blog:

http://justamyslife.blogspot.com

Part VI of Wolverette’s 3rd Print Issue: Malcolm Rollick

wolverette — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 02:43:21 +0000

Wolverette presenting: malcolm rollick, musician&songwriter

Wolverette: what makes you write your lyrics? where comes the urge, the inspiration from?
Malcolm: i’ve been writing forever. it’s the only way i know how to get certain thoughts out into the world… so they stop cluttering my insides. when i was a kid i wanted to be a poet or a novelist, but music was always mixed up in that. i could never really separate the two mediums. i do a lot of improvising. i write songs on stage, taking topics from the audience. i like the raw material that comes when i don’t have time to put a slant on it. most of my songs come from improvisations that i’ve captured or tape and edited later on.
what’s the difference expressing what you wanna tell in your lyrics compared to expressing it in your music? where’s the link?
when i have something hard to say, you can hear it… the tone of my voice, the way i hold my guitar. when i write i have to put all of that into the words, if it’s not going to be a song. my poetry has a different kind of weight in it. when i sing and play, i have all these different dynamics i can work together. the words can be straightforward, because they dont have to be both text and subtext. every so often i write a song that started out as a poem… the words have more dynamic, so the music is a little more liberated. the balance is different.
what is your lyrics-writing process? description, please?
lyrics come to me best in their raw form. i sit with a tape recorder and i play random chords and sing. i sing a lot of crap. then something good comes out. it’s different when i improvise on stage. the pressure of having an audience keeps my mind sharp. i get some great words out that way. i try to record all of my live shows and work new songs out of them later on.
do you think your words create something?
my words do some really amazing work. it always throws me how powerful a show can be. when i was playing in the subways back in NY we would make people freeze in their steps, miss their trains, even pause for a good cry right there in public. sometimes i don’t know where it all comes from. i’ll start out with a simple shape or form and end up vocalizing a plan to change the world. or mapping out the way women are taught to oppress themselves. or connecting the people around me, getting strangers to sing together. i think my presence alone can have an effect on people. i’m a bit of a wild-card. i carry some heavy ideas around with me but i laugh a lot, and i think the world is beautiful. i’m a bundle of contradictions.

Here are the words to a real feminist, queer anthem… it’s off my 2006 release, “Scaffolds”. I wrote the most of the words for this one first, then the music.

Mary

if i had to live on the street i’de know just how
i’de be the finest whore you ever saw ’round town
i’de teach them about god and tear the flesh back to stars
i’de teach them about god and leave them stranded in their awe

and i don’t, no i don’t forget her name
sweet Mary, Mary Magdalene

you say the witch is cold and hard and cruel
but she’s got a gift so tender that she’s trying to protect
and its poison for the ones who never learn to beg
it’s poison for the ones who try to take instead

and i don’t, no i don’t forget her name
sweet Mary, Mary Magdalene

luck be a lady i never did have to sell
the love that i give freely
and i give it to a girl

but the law is against me either way
won’t you marry, marry me Magdalene

and you think that it’s a shame
i should want to be the woman that i am
instead of a thing
and you think that it’s a shame
you cry marry, marry me Magdalene

love is poison for the ones who never learn to search
love is poison for the ones who hide behind the church
poison for the one who make the laws
lets poison all the ones who make the laws
poison for the ones who make the laws instead

and you think that it’s a shame
you cry marry, marry me Magdalene
while i cry Mary
sweet Mary
sweet Mary Magdalene

http://www.malcolmrollick.com

http://www.myspace.com/malcolmrollick

Part V of Wolverette’s 3rd Print Issue: “Diary”

wolverette — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 02:38:48 +0000

DIARY

I got a diary when I was nine years old. It was one of the typical gifts you would buy a little girl.
The covers were of a grey-blue something that felt a bit like velvet, it had a picture on front. I think it was a vase with flowers. And it had a little lock with a tiny key. I wrote almost daily. Mostly, well, the stuff a kid that age would write, what I had done that day.
Later I went on writing in a second diary since the 1st one was full. I named it „Thea“ cause I had always felt stupid writing „Dear Diary“, it was such a cliché. But still I felt like I had to write in it like I’d be writing letters to someone who’d listen. I can’t remember why I finally chose „Thea“. There were more diaries with names to come.
One I lost, never found it again. Another was burnt by me for most likely stupid reasons.
When I moved out from home I started a new diary. I hardly wrote in it, I thought it’s because I felt great and you feel more like writing your story down when it’s a depressing one.
When I did write in it though it was shit that really tore on my heart. Mostly because of my then-boyfriend. I stopped writing when I was twenty. Never read the words again in this diary after I had written them down.
Like 2 years later, a friend of mine saw a picture of me and my ex and said something like „you two look so happy“ and I had to tell her that it was a fake smile because I very well remembered that evening when the photo was taken and boy was it a terrible night. This made me pick up my diary again and reread it for the very first time. It was depressing. But also astounding.
I had become a whole of a different person since then. I identify myself with the me in my head, how I remember things in my head. But this memory is still tainted with the lack of knowledge from back then, even though I know it better now.
But reading my clearly formulated words (I would’ve never thought that I’d been able to express my feelings and impressions so clearly and nicely) made me feel different. It was more like me, the reader, was the author’s big sister sharing her soul. Big me read and felt the words but also with a bit more distance, having more experience and maybe a little more wisdom than little me. I suddenly recognized what „little sister“ really had been through, what she really survived. While the little 19 year old me that exists in form of my head’s memory and now, rediscovered as paper and ink, still sees the bad times as somewhat trivial. And me, now reading and communicating with „little sister“ sees more.
It scares me. Back then I wrote words down, not even realizing how depressing and violent the story is they form, now for the first time I can actually read their full content.
The words are powerful. You maybe never recognize it when you write them down, the really important words.
But it was shocking to read them. They also made me proud. That I had learned something, it also got me proud of the person I had become since then. I guess I can say I learned a bit about myself. I also saw that it was simply good that I wrote all that down.
Nevertheless I never continued this diary.
I once tried in holiday but what I wrote down there and what followed soon after is just a way too depressing combination to look at now.
Now I’m scared by the thought of leading a diary. At this time, being me. What’s happening is too dark, I feel like I don’t want these words fixated on paper, in my own handwriting. I’d rather want them to just go away.
Right now they are too mighty for me.
An old superstition says that burned books are the ones who will have the most power over you. Again, the power of the written word. If you destroy it you must fail.
So I choose my words carefully.
And even though it just might as well be my paranoia, right now I hope the world and things will change, so that I could write a whole new story and I fear if I write the story down the way it is now I’m gonna jinx it and things can’t be changed anymore.
And even though my fear might just look for an excuse to not write a diary again, maybe I am just ignoring it to make it bearable.
And even though so many of my words are unwritten that way, and even though this might be a mistake – I still write.
Not a diary.
But other things. Things that feel right telling somebody.