FUTROMAG 3.1

notes on operating

our ability to dream is a lie. our belief in growth is a fantasy. our search for betterment is a quest that will never be completed. the /mental/ environment is in crisis.

//

the Futro is a new paradigm for progress. nostalgic futurism. there is health in remembering what community means. connective truth transcends digitization.

…..

excerpt from “Stealth Likes”

Watching commercial before seeing someone get gatted down by police officer softens effectStill feeling nauseous I check out the next video Google suggestsHappens to be something funny I guessNow how should I react to thisEmotional mix upI’d rather forget

…...

Excerpts from “Highway, For To See Them Coming”

By Frances Ritchie

Sam and Stone/

Where was the highwaywhere we found the anchora four lane highwaythrough blue valleys andAppalachian + Georgiathrough coal mines,and textile mills withblack and red front roads.Grey and white and French Broad liquor. Sammie was her name. Her fingers ashes of the river.Sam and Stones. Whiskey spread through his lipsas honey goes to vinegar -In the snowIn the snowwere the buried. In the grey

In the night In the snowIt was a highwayA four lane highwaywhere we were Mississippi Public Television

spun static spun bloodspun pew into oak bedrock into me and forget. If we loved each other we would never buy a cradle. If we loved each other

it would feel like scratchy red cushions, orange red burning cushionson our damp thighsSide by Sideon the highway, on the lipsof christ of the four lanes.

Brady, Texas/

Our tongues are causticSpitting god into gardensand toilet bowls,the saliva and sap on the dogwood branches - sold and gone. Katie would hold the wheel she would hold the wheel while I pulledlines of pills with a greased box cutter.Barefoot on Union Street[I thee wed, Brady.]Katie would hold the wheelshe would hold the wheel while I cut into my armswith splinters of nicotine and ash. Our hips are held together with spider legsand they belong to God’s thief. [I thee wed, Brady, Texas.]

Boo Boo shot the klan catshot the cat off the hood of the Pontiac,Rowan thunder, Rowan dead.I had put on his mother’s pink cotton morning gown. It was damp and grass stained with my blood soaking through. Four snakes silent slithering through the glass coffee table. He had been reading Hemmingway, he had been reading the tribune after hours of oxy, after hours of dreaming. His hair was slicked back, his hands covered in oil.I wanted to die in his arms. It would have been mercy, sparklers of mercy.

The clouds opened hot skillet, hot oysters Big Daddy’s neon sparkling blueceiling. My grandmother had cancer eleven years ago on my 14th birthday.

She hated being alone. Her voice craved the chapel. The clouds broke - broke over the house, where the black-berry bushes had been raped up from the ground.His river hands were steaming, and guarded the car lock. Open - hot. Pulpits for lungs and chains for wrists.My cherub cheeks rug burned and illuminated like little pink tobacco flowers. [I thee wed, Brady.]I thee wed North Carolina. I thee wed Robeson. Black sun, bible school Shermanbible school yellow books and sugar.Take me down!We were running. We were always running. Throw me down in the frozen mud and cover us in canned foodwe were running blue. When I fell in love with Katie, I was baptized into a comet.And in my tail was a heart so gold, they named me Carolina.

Firmament/

The pine orchards fell pastthe blue fin tuna windows of Swansboro. The North Caroli-nastate motto, “To be rather than to seem”was etched into her bottom lip.Bourbon and cigarettes,smoke filled barbed wire in Red Springs -Blueberry patches, Burlington atlas, she goes onto Texas, where the Austin spring looks like the Portland autumn

and her eyes glance over me like a whittled woodenMorganton seal balancing a ball with my teeth. All things fall. My palms opened tormented and charred, open to close, light to dark. The fig seeds sprouted into heaven.I have nothing left Cather-ine. Come clean about the saw. Come clean about the saw. I have nothing left Catherine. The blood family is left for the rocks, sweet baby. And she shook me to the door.I waded like tiny Moses in reeds of glass. NAKED SHOOT-ERS (THE II)The parking lot overcast with the weed. SO MUCH WEED. Ashly. Where was you steeple set?The nuclear firmament of betrayal,Die on Duke, Die on Durham, with your road kill in the fridge, Pall Mall cigarette butts, honey bakedrape and bullet hole ribs exploding from the strip polestages - from the soapy bubble cages. Her accent was restless and cracking, her tongue echoed in thefirmament of our legs. She as a sandspur caught in my right thigh pullinglike the Nantahala from the dam --- rushing water of the heav-ens.I AM NOT THE ONE TO SAVE CATHERINE.And there I am walking through the birches. And there I am coming up from the blood and the dustand the darkness. I have nothing left Catherine. He pushed me to the floor like an Easter Sunday sunset. Die on Wadesboro, an empty bottle of Creme de Menthefloating south of the power plant - Lake Norman baby birdsdanger dancing radioactive.

Codeine fits, adderall fists - cat calling cocaine blue dogs with their secret doorsof salted spices and twenty bladed saws. I AM NOT THE ONE TO SAVE CATHERINEThere I am at the 1st Presbyterian church making dreams. There I am running

through the pews spinning spider, CITADEL, SKIP, GABRI-EL. SKIPSKIP, SKIP, and the row machine. I am the road where we lost. I am your wedding dress hanging in his teeth. I am your hand sliding down the pole, down his thigh -I have nothing left Anna. Except for this firmament scar on my inner left arm. My friend, she ate the heart of a live cobra in the Vietnam eveningjust as I sipped my way into a burial spring of trepidation,crossing redemption into the 16th chapter of Mark.And they shall drink strychnine,and gather serpents among their hands so that the Lord may conquer my internaleternal sinof being borninto the wrong quiettextile town 700 miles south of JOLO.

t h e w o r t h / b u i l d i n g u p t o w a r d s a / f i n a n c i a l s t a n d a r d / c e r t i f i e d / b r a i n w a s h e d o n

w h a t t r a d e i s a l l a b o u t / l e t a l o n e c o m p e t i t i o n / n u m e r o u s

i n f o r m a t i o n a l i n c i s i o n s /c o m e i n t o p l a y /

n o w a d a z ep e o p l e p l a y i n g

f o r a l l t h e w r o n g r e a s o n s /

b l i n d e d b y t h e g o l d /

t h a t g r e e n g l e a m s t h r ut o m b s t o n e s

s e c o n d g u e s s y o u r m o v e s / c o u s i n / n e w s u r r o u n d i n g s r a n d o m s o u n d s b u z z i n g /w h a t i s t h e t u n e o f t h e p e r c u s s i o n

i c a n n o t h e l p b u t b e a p r o d u c t o f m y e n v i r o n m e n t s u r r o u n d e d w i t h t h u g s / h o o l i g a n s / b a n d i t s / t h e y p l a n n e d i t / i t w a s i n e v i t a b l e t o f a l l t h r o u g h t h e l o o p h o l e s a n d c r a c k / t h e p r o d u c t o f m y s u r r o u n d i n g s / i n f a c t l e a d i n t a c t f o r t h e n e x t t o p i c k u p / r e l a x . . .

n o o n et o b l a m e

o n h o w t os c o o p o n e s

v i e w s o f t h ef r a m e s / c h u m p c h a n g e

/ c h u m p . c h a n g e / g a m e o n t h e m i n d s o /

l o o k a t t h e j o u r n e y

m e s m e r i z e /t h e s o c a l l e d i l l u s i o n o f f a t e / r e a l i t y h a t e s /p i t t e d w i t h t h e r o o t o f a l l e v i l s /s o w e p i c k t o c h o o s e /t o c h o o s e t h e p i c k /d e p i c t e d , b y t h e v i e w s // w i s h t o s h a r e , c a u s e t h e p i c t u r e /i s t a k e n f o r t h e v i e w s /a m i r r o r /w h a t w e d o /t h e t o u c h o f t h e h a n d s // s h a k e n c a u s ew e k n o w n o t w h a t w e b l e w /f o l l o w o r l e a d /j u s t k n o w t h a t t h e r e i s a r i g h t e o u s /t r i b e i n i t t o o /t o g e t h e r w e s t a n d /a l l / w e / f a l l/ w h a t i s t h e m o v e

t h e y s a y a s e r p e n t d i e s a d a y t h a t t h e m i n d b e c o m e s s t r o n g e r l i k e a s t a r i s b o r n a d a y w h e n w i l l y o u t a k e a s t a n d a n d a w a k e n i n r e s t o f t h e a c t u a l p l a y

k a r l o s a n t h o n y . c o m

t h e w o r t h / b u i l d i n g u p t o w a r d s a / f i n a n c i a l s t a n d a r d / c e r t i f i e d / b r a i n w a s h e d o n

w h a t t r a d e i s a l l a b o u t / l e t a l o n e c o m p e t i t i o n / n u m e r o u s

i n f o r m a t i o n a l i n c i s i o n s /c o m e i n t o p l a y /

n o w a d a z ep e o p l e p l a y i n g

f o r a l l t h e w r o n g r e a s o n s /

b l i n d e d b y t h e g o l d /

t h a t g r e e n g l e a m s t h r ut o m b s t o n e s

s e c o n d g u e s s y o u r m o v e s / c o u s i n / n e w s u r r o u n d i n g s r a n d o m s o u n d s b u z z i n g /w h a t i s t h e t u n e o f t h e p e r c u s s i o n

i c a n n o t h e l p b u t b e a p r o d u c t o f m y e n v i r o n m e n t s u r r o u n d e d w i t h t h u g s / h o o l i g a n s / b a n d i t s / t h e y p l a n n e d i t / i t w a s i n e v i t a b l e t o f a l l t h r o u g h t h e l o o p h o l e s a n d c r a c k / t h e p r o d u c t o f m y s u r r o u n d i n g s / i n f a c t l e a d i n t a c t f o r t h e n e x t t o p i c k u p / r e l a x . . .

n o o n et o b l a m e

o n h o w t os c o o p o n e s

v i e w s o f t h ef r a m e s / c h u m p c h a n g e

/ c h u m p . c h a n g e / g a m e o n t h e m i n d s o /

l o o k a t t h e j o u r n e y

m e s m e r i z e /t h e s o c a l l e d i l l u s i o n o f f a t e / r e a l i t y h a t e s /p i t t e d w i t h t h e r o o t o f a l l e v i l s /s o w e p i c k t o c h o o s e /t o c h o o s e t h e p i c k /d e p i c t e d , b y t h e v i e w s // w i s h t o s h a r e , c a u s e t h e p i c t u r e /i s t a k e n f o r t h e v i e w s /a m i r r o r /w h a t w e d o /t h e t o u c h o f t h e h a n d s // s h a k e n c a u s ew e k n o w n o t w h a t w e b l e w /f o l l o w o r l e a d /j u s t k n o w t h a t t h e r e i s a r i g h t e o u s /t r i b e i n i t t o o /t o g e t h e r w e s t a n d /a l l / w e / f a l l/ w h a t i s t h e m o v e

t h e y s a y a s e r p e n t d i e s a d a y t h a t t h e m i n d b e c o m e s s t r o n g e r l i k e a s t a r i s b o r n a d a y w h e n w i l l y o u t a k e a s t a n d a n d a w a k e n i n r e s t o f t h e a c t u a l p l a y

k a r l o s a n t h o n y . c o m

neo nostalgia

Destruction brings renewal. Ever since I was a young boy I’ve seen the results of devastation be glorified in the promise of the new. Neo Tokyo. With the fall of a great city, comes the opportu-nity for growth. A re-polishing of change. Towering new buildings, shining, stoically reflecting polluted sunsets. Why should we resist our dream-directed path of de-struction when the future opportunity still shines so bright. The good is intrinsically connected to the bad, birth to death, re-birth to redeath. Ever present neutral. Perhaps it’s time we re-member who we are and re-collect what we’ve lost. All things come to an end. There is no more hurrying for me.

…...

Ms. Lead

Rapture rips beneath her limbsShe hears of voice beyond these baron lands

She no longer sings the heaven hymnFor the waste and greed has become the kind of man

Such blistering blatant cradles her warlike grinIn hopes of becoming undone once more, once again

For the presence is desolate, bleak and far from friendsYet, her vengeance shall ether the weak before times end

She will winShe will win.

Cover: MARK KLINK - facebook.com/srcxor //

1,17: NEO G YO - yofutro.com/neogyo // Notes On Operating, Excerpt From

Stealth Likes, Neo Nostalgia

2: TRE SLIM - yofutro.com/treslim // Flesh Eater

3/4, 7/10: MARY FRANCIS RITCHIE - maryfritchie@gmail.com // excerpts from

“Highway, For To See Them Coming”

5,19: KOOLAID - yofutro.com/djkoolaid // ONECO

6: LAUREN RIEGELMAN / facebook.com/riegelmandesignstudio // Idle Hands

11/12: MIKAEL KEMP - mikael@gmail.com // Refugee Camp

13/14: KARLOS ANTHONY - karlosanthony.com // Sinnceer_Era

15/16: ANDRÉ ALVES - andreneverdie.tumblr.com //

18: Q.W.E.S.T. THE VISIONARY - yofutro.com/qwest // What Now Is

20: WALT CURTIS - waltcurtis.blogspot.com // The Nightmare

21: YAFE AROS - yafemusic.bandcamp.com // Ms. Lead

Back: BIRDIE - yofutro.com/birdie // The Last

All background photos:

CHRISTOPHER DIANA PEEBLES - yofutro.com/christo //

Front Cover: PARTNER PROJECTS - partnerprojectstradingpost.comBack Cover / Poster: BIRDIE - yofutro.com/birdieInside L/R: MITCH POSADA - mposada.tumblr.com1/2: SÂTYR OØO - facebook.com/dionysianchoristas.satyr3: CARLY JEAN ANDREWS - @carly.jean.andrews4: ELENA GARNELO - elenagarnelo.tumblr.com

YOFUTRO.COM

Mag 3.1 was brought on by a unification of the potentialities of a very possible, dark, foreseeable, realistically dystiopian, future. Inspirations include, but are not limited to: alcohol, mannequins, likes, power plants, Edgar Allen Poe, cyber sex, deserted sky scrapers, reality, and flesh eating. The Futro collective is grateful for the ever unifying collection of co-conspirators that share their watts to help make the Mag what it is and isn’t.