Flying a Bombardier crunches in the sight of a small jet plane with quaint propellers on each wing necessary to lift a hulk of metal into the clouds. Not always the same sight as sound and that's the type of article found in the magazine sitting in back of the seat pockets along with the CRJ200 planes.
Brittle stuff the plastic, the wrapping that keeps a copy of Human Rights Defender through the post. Breaks apart at the mere touch, yanking it from the ranks to read through and through. It is, alack, from the era of 2007 and back, so time eats away enough to render the plastic a broken dream of dreams. And gloss breaks into the light.
Breadcrumbs, dust and hair. Skin flakes too. Maybe even a dead roach or two. Hygiene is only as good as the blindness that envelops the dermis. Flood the keyboard with globs of honey (didn't anybody tell you to eat away from your computer?) and you're stuck with some StudlyCaps. And today's reading material, a literary magazine, looks to employ that titular backwardness.
With the authorities steady ready with their glocks, out drops a magazine bearing two people shooting multi-coloured guns off into the left distance. PISTOL blares large and loud for the eyeballs to line a sight in quick fashion. "Do you like guns?" they ask. "No. It's found reading material. Nothing more."
Thirteen or so hours from Sydney's Kingsford Smith to Los Angeles International. Long is the journey from coast to coast as the fires of the Big Sur cloud the windows of the approaching plane. Weary with a sense of thirst ever lingering on the lips. Lips now flaking apart and ready to bleed. Barely breaking through the skin as each flake takes the place of teaser food. Living off the grid of high prices with the face paying the bill.
Spider-Man either wears boxer-briefs or a comfortably snug and supportive thong. Nothing like the loincloth of a few years back with cogs and an elaborate pulley system. If keeping his genitals from contacting the costume directly isn't an issue, it's full on commando. Possibly making such a concession when tailoring the suit. Anything less secure and his genitals would be getting in the way of his patrols.
Most certainly a defunct publication, but a publication with text, words and things to read inside nevertheless. Well, things to do with objects otherwise looking for the recycling bin to provide its blanket of warmth and pulp goodness. Prop it up against the back of the neck and feel the abscess you monkey. Feel it!
For all the supposed worth of newspapers, warmth is a hard fought quality for those rugging it up night after night in the cold harsh reality of homelessness. Even batches hot off the presses cool in a relatively quick fashion. Their barren pages quick in turning cold and crinkly. And how many homeless people use newspapers as blankets today anyway?
If anything, it's a concept magazine.
Falling asleep halfway through, reading the December 2003 issue of Australia's Internet Directory ran in at about two and a half hours or 150 minutes —whichever sounds more bearable. Rare in the find, it's one of the few magazines that were found from the stock growing toward the apex of the roof sporting the entirety of its cover. There is no attempt at a logo for the resultant look hams across a glossy homemade newsletter for those with no desire of aesthetics. A sour looking Christina Aguilera fronts the cover and across the lower, headshots of what are no doubt pornographic and erotic websites featuring subjectively hot naked and near naked women. Apart from a guy blowing into his tissue and a headless shot of rock abs, there is no showcasing of men.
Hazed in plastic and pages baring all amounts of inked skin, a review of three tattoo magazines. A review that, much like the subject at hand, comes to the fore in a wave of bad recollection and cloudy thoughts. Made worse by the fact that sheer caution and sense was thrown to the side with the notes and thoughts written in an indecipherable clue of squiggles and malformed letters. Left now are faint images blurred to samples taken many months ago.
Scouring the obituaries leaves a sickly feeling of not having enough time in the day to ride shotgun in all those funeral processions. Time passes and the bodies move along into their destinations of burial or cremation. Gathering dust in much the same way a body left out would attract blowflies and kids on journeys of self-discovery, A Scent of Flowers Magazine, an A5 sized publication from Drake Publishing focussing on all things concerning funerals.
With so many magazines covering the television I thought I'd kick out a review on one such literary pressure release before consigning it to the recycle bin. The publication in hand are the issues of ABC's Funtime with Friends Magazine and the Funtime Special, Fimbles Magazine. Straight off I have to wonder what exactly would be on the covers of each of the issues given that not one of my copies have a cover.