the eyes of jumpsuit elvis
you can see the road
glisten with the rain
through the cheap
blinds
you swear the last
ten years of your
life have been lived
with one foot stuck
in the fucking grave
a woman once told
me i had the eyes
of jumpsuit elvis
i laughed hard
and whispered that
means i'm still the
fucking king baby
she didn't take that
as i was hoping she
would
that fine line of
arrogance and
confidence has
been tripped over
by many drunk
fuckers
and this isn't the
first night i have
worn cheap alcohol
that's why you never
wear the good flannel
in a place like this
---------------------------------------------------------
reminding the clueless
there's his old
guitar
all the blood and
sweat of a genius
soaked into that
old wood
strings nothing
but rust now
the demons walk
these streets at
night reminding
the clueless what
this place used to
be
some people
consume
nostalgia by
the spoon
others prefer
a damn shovel
the lost souls like
to go down to the
river and see which
brave fucker can
make it across
they have pulled
up three bodies
so far this week
-----------------------------------------------
one of the youngest ones here
the smell
of ointment
and decay
must be
tuesday
in the
waiting
room
my mother
is one of the
youngest
ones here
these other
ones are
hanging on
because no
one ever told
them it's okay
to fucking die
the one thing
i can guarantee
i will not be
one of those
miserable
fucks
--------------------------------------------
avoid any and all mirrors
snow in the
middle of
april
arthritis has
me on the
brink of
deciding
death is a
much better
place
the i love
yous are few
and far between
these days
embrace the
pain and avoid
any and all
mirrors
that man has
lost all hope
-------------------------------------------------------
from these suburbs
thoughts of murder
dance in the lost
souls of children
way too young to
know what it truly
means to lose
anything
but it's way too
comfortable from
these suburbs
to think anyone
understands life
on the streets like
the ones trapped
in that fucking
war
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is stuck in the suburbs, plotting his escape. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, The Black Shamrock, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review and Yellow Mama. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
Death is the Best Art
Death is not the end of all
Rather it fails to break life's wall
It is the media of transfer
That flies us so far
It is the beginning of mystery
That reflects personal history
Life will kill death forever
Death will not be visitor any where
We will be the permanent guest
The King of death and life will listen request
The world will be without boundary
Endless life will be first mandatory
Death is the best art
Which always dances in my heart
It is truth and beauty
Work hard and perform duty
we are living in truth and death
It is our power's beneath.
There are harmless ones, tingles that dislodge your hand so you can run your nails into your hair and along your scalp, up and down, once, twice, and that’s all it takes.
There are elusive ones, beckoning from somewhere on your back that you can’t reach and you can’t find, so you contort your elbow and slide your thumbnail across the vicinity, over and over, leaving angry red lines that you won’t notice until later, when a hot shower ignites them and you crane your neck to see what you’ve done.
There are flirtatious ones, a tickle here and then there, along your ribcage, on the side of your knee, behind your ear. Fickle ones that vanish moments after they emerged, not committed enough to stay.
There are latent ones, absent until you caress the area, tease out the ghost. Then you can scratch or press or rub, as you would with any other itch, all the while knowing that the need wasn’t truly there.
There are urgent ones. Sirens that lure your fingertips, masochists that want the pain your nails offer. You slip them over the bumpy surface. You dig their edges into the core of the call, and you know you shouldn’t, but you can’t stop, and you lose yourself in the scraping, the grating, the ecstasy of what feels like relief but is really the plea for more.
Susan Hodara is a journalist, memoirist and educator. Her articles have appeared in The New York Times, Communication Arts, and more. Her short memoirs are published in assorted anthologies and literary journals, including River Teeth, Feed and Airplane Reading. She is one of four co-authors of the collaborative memoir “Still Here Thinking of You: A Second Chance With Our Mothers” (Big Table Publishing, 2013). She has taught memoir writing at the Hudson Valley Writers Center for many years. More atwww.susanhodara.com.
Conversations with Egyptian Music Producer Loay (D.A.R.KK_)
Loay or, as he calls himself, D.A.R.KK
It was summer. I always discovered music through the long summery nights, when I’m wearing as little as possible, ice cream keeps my fingers sticky, and new tunes flow into my stream of consciousness, interrupting my train of thought.
It was summer when I first heard this mashup, this remix. I was aware of the Egyptian rap scene bursting with liveliness, angry music, and young men exploding with expletives, brokenness, and an unexpected fragility talking about everything from drugs to betrayals, sex, getting wasted, and of course, being unbeatable gangsters with stacks of cash and everything at their disposal.
Many names stood out. It started with fellow Alexandrian Marwan Pablo, then -again- fellow Alexandrian Wegz, and the names kept rolling, like mollies on a tongue. There was the mysterious Lege-Cy, Marwan Moussa who was the typical Eminem-like rapper, the more chill drug-hazed Abo El Anwar, and the gritty Moscow with street cred and a bite. Too many Alexandrian rappers, is that a coincidence?
“I am from Madinet Nasr in Cairo, there are a lot of Alexandrian rappers because rap songs revolve in so many ways about the sense of belonging and brotherhood, and that’s something crucial in the lives of people from Alexandria. But it’s important in young men’s lives in general, this invisible bond of belonging and backing each other up, which is in multiple rap and trap tracks.
Then there were talented, young music producers, working their magic with song mixes, remixes, and mashes. That was when I heard “Layali Aloomek” or -literally- “Nights I Blame You” for the first time, a remix that rocked Egyptian summers in 2022. As I dug deeper, I discovered the young prodigy behind it; Loay or, as he calls himself, D.A.R.KK.
Layali Aloomek – Remixed by D.A.R.KK, mixing “Layali” by Marwan Pablo and “Aloomek” by Marwan Moussa
D.A.R.KK is a 19-year-old Egyptian man who loves what’s new in everything, technology, the music scene, travel, etc. He loves to stray from the norm and discover new places, seeks new experiences at the core of his existence, and takes risks. He created his alter ego D.A.R.KK as a reflection of his real self but within the world of music where he found his true passion ever since he was a kid.
There was something about “Nights I Blame You”, the incorrect structure of his wording in which he just stuck both titles of the original songs: “Layali – Nights” by Marwan Pablo and “Aloomek – I Blame You” by Marwan Moussa. Both songs couldn’t be more different as both rappers had a distinctive style. Instead of calling the song “I blame you night and day” or “For Nights I’ve Been Blaming you” to make the remix more coherent, D.A.R.KK simply called “Nights I Blame You” so that listeners wonder; who is he blaming exactly. The nights, the girl, or maybe someone else?
“It all started when I was a kid, I would use anything at my disposal to create a rhythm. This lasted until 2015 when I became interested in knowing how this magical thing “music” works. I wanted to teach myself so I researched on YouTube until I discovered Fl Studio and started making experimental beats in 2018. The turning point came in 2020 when I started uploading my music on YouTube and found unexpected positive feedback. I wanted a change so I made uploading my tracks something that I do regularly.”
Aloomek by Marwan Moussa
It was like Pandora’s box, but what came out wasn’t all the evil and pain in the world, but a mix of feelings, pains, and different forms of expressing infatuation and arousal. These young boys talked about being in love like nobody else, whether it was Db Gad, who wanted to take his girl to Alexandria through the ghettos and show her the inner-city, to Lege-Cy professing his love to his girl as her fiery flames burned his insides. He melts, and betadine cannot disinfect his wounds, infected by her love.
These two songs were different. Moussa’s “Aloomek” was a double-edged blame game between two toxic people, a relationship on equal grounds where two lovers played Russian roulette. But “Layali” was typical Marwan Pablo, an Alexandrian rapper whose poetry always expresses fragile masculinity, Gen Z sense of dissociative identity, and a burden of a man whose surroundings force him to be tough but his artistic self softens him against his will. Moussa talked about a lover who was the drug to his senses and making out on the roof with a bottle of Havana Club and Goose vodka. Pablo talked about offering his love to the fair maiden, his lady, and someone with whom he can be a knight, taking care of her and protecting her from the world. With his remix, the song seemed like an extended inner monologue by a man burdened by darkness and passionate for the woman who haunted his nights.
Layali by Marwan Pablo
They are two distinct worlds that couldn’t be more alienating to each other. But his boldness and musical talent led D.A.R.KK to create a song that somehow seemed genuine and truthful.
“Since I was little, I listened to a myriad of genres, but as the music progressed in the 2010s, I found myself leaning toward genres such as trap, R&B, and hip hop, I was constantly inspired by various artists whether Egyptian or from other parts of the world. I am the kind of person who gets stuck listening to one track on a loop, so the idea wasn’t new to me. I could make a remix for a track I originally loved and try to reach the same vibe through an enhanced technique. My aim was always that the cover track would surpass the original and find its way into the original fans’ playlist.
With [Layali Aloomek] I was already hooked up on the Marwan Moussa Aloomek track and it was on repeat constantly in my playlist so I wanted to create a remix that included Pablo’s track with it using a Lo-fi beat. And I released it and found that audiences loved my track.”
People didn’t just love D.A.R.KK’s track, they devoured it. The track has reached 200k views on YouTube and D.A.R.KK has 30k monthly listeners on Spotify. The young man has since made multiple other remixes but somehow, Layali Aloomek overshadows everything else he has done.
“This was unexpected and it only proved that if you made something unique that you are truly passionate about you would reach your dreams.”
I had to ask the young man about the creative process and how long it takes to make one track,
“I have a musical ear, and for every track, I have to understand the tempo and the key before I start working on it. As soon as I find two tracks with the same key and tempo, I separate the vocals, then put them in a project, finally I build up the melody on the vocals, then drums, and so forth, until I have my track ready.”
Pablo has been the most used artist in D.A.R.KK’s music world, with his tracks being the ones most used in remixes and such, I had to ask him what he found unique about the 27-year-old Alexandrian rapper,
“When I use a certain artist’s songs for remixes a couple of times, his tracks put me through a Sufi trance of sorts. I’m just like a lot of other guys, I listen to Pablo and I try to measure every track on its own, some tracks cannot be remade, remixed, or covered. Some tracks can be standalone in the remix. Pablo’s tracks can have chemistry with many other artists.”
Intrigued by his description of music as Sufi tracks, I asked D.A.R.KK about other artists to whom he reacts similarly,
“Most young men my age listen to rappers because we are from the same age group. We have gone through similar experiences and hardships. They write exactly how they feel, and correlate with things happening in our lives. They are unlike other musicians from years before. That’s why I don’t listen to older music because even if I like something old, I prefer to remix it and create something new out of it.
Haunting has been a word that came to mind ever since watching Baz Luhrmann’s Elvis in 2022. Austin Butler’s voice and eyes haunted me as he stared down at the audience or played tunes on his piano in a dark room. “Layali Aloomek” haunted me with its ethereal qualities and reverberating sounds. I asked D.A.R.KK if he believed some songs were haunting and others were not,
“I believe in that. Whenever I listen to a track, I tie it to the time and place I am in at this stage in my life. It becomes connected with this particular moment. So that if I listen to it later, it immediately transforms me to this stage in my life.”
D.A.R.KK dreams of collaborating with one of his favorite artists. He wants to create a different wave as a music producer, synergistically meshing his talent as a music producer with the artists to create a sound unheard of before. His interest in songs surpassed a musical fascination and hit deep into the themes and elements that shape the current musical scene in general, truth was something that he highly valued,
“Guys my age love rap and trap because the artist writes their songs, it’s unlike other mainstream [Arabic] songs with all due respect where you don’t feel the truth of the singer. I am not convinced when an artist writes about pain or injustice when he’s living a completely different life of luxury. I can’t listen to something that I don’t believe in. Not to mention that other Arab singers only showcase the bright side of their lives, and they also sing it, unlike rappers who are so open and bring you into the heart of their experiences, good or bad, so that means with other singers, I’ll only listen to you if I’m in a good mood, but they can’t sell me their music otherwise.
The real world is not as beautiful as Amr Diab or Tamer Hosny -two veteran Egyptian pop singers- paint it out to be. Rappers do that for us. They sing our feelings, express our anger and frustration, our pain. We’ve all been through the same but they just know how to express it poetically.”
Poetry takes so many shapes and forms, if Bob Dylan is one of the contemporary poets, then I don’t see how Tupac and Eminem cannot be considered the same. And if this applies to the West, then why not consider Pablo, Wegz, Moussa, and other contemporary poets but their street language and gritty expressions of modern-day life can be their gospels.
We rode
the same storm cloud
together
and the Draft caught
your guard down
when I resisted
the fullness
of the moment
I LOVE Ours
It is who We are
& I am still in the Dark
entering the Light
as is often our path
and
I'm included in our happiness
that Absolute closure will
Always Leave some feet
in the door
Like We need more Sales people
I guess
that's why
it never ends
The Future always knocks at
the door
and if I resist
the hinge pins Lift
fall to the floor
I am convinced
My Locks can't stop
What I feel inside
Let the winds carry
I see that
& that is new to me.
thank you
• • •
We rode
the same storm cloud
together
& Like one droplet of water
Breaks the stunning Light
turned to drain its brilliant Breath
to say hello with colors
I can carry the moment
in my heart
to see only the future
where I AM
always rising
by John Edward Culp
January 4, 2020
♡
…please remind us using the provided pencil + so kindly since last time the string’d come ‘part provided as a token of our appreciation + hung there for this reason but somehow broken and crank, who’d a’ “known it”, ^why’s it wrong to do things different, Gimi^ who’d a’ “thunk it”, you know, “Doctor”? Do you know? You must know. I must have seen that…s..ss..no no okay maybe can a car crammed so but that’s as close [pillo] with a cow as they can without
touching.ss..s…pencil {and not just back here at the cooler oh no} dozens of times, and, uh each time I said to myself, Yes I know ^I know when I lie down I lie down very very differently from how others lie down Gimi^ there is something {what is it?}I’d like to write down there for the % kindness of their hearts brigade to go get right now, shaking down my head, and provide me uh % ice cold drink zipper, but. I could not think of it “Doctor”. No no no, just quite really
ver’simply, could not. You know that old thang, (slash) G’, eh there it was, hung on th tip o’ my tongue ( hissssssss ) so ah, I know, yes I do; that there’s something inside me, exploding to be made so much happier by the simple inclusion of one particular drinksnack to our very own communal beverage cooler, but, ^and I know they will not like me for it Gimi remember you said that yes you did Gimi^ as I cannot think of it now, I’ll just think it for next time, and, in the time between, “Doctor”, there should be plenty of time to get it out past my tongue-tip, and from there to my hand. Know sweet? Know sweet, “Doctor”? Hey, “Doctor”, know know know know, so very super
simply…z..zz..inside which also but oh yeah well half with a tipped of that’s close but not has a car touching.ss..s…damned sweet! Sooo o oo oo o o, next time I can ask for sure, but each time, “Doctor” * why does it seem some freak-law of nature { that })* nearly immediately there I am again, my dear Mickey-Wah, pressed up ‘gainst the cooler door, Mickey-Wah, slapping myself ^why’d you lie to me Gimi^ slap sl’ ‘lap ‘tindah foerre-head, thinking on thinking that What’s that Big Cyst off Your Ear? gaaaaa, here we go I plum forgot gosh-darn here I am again I could remove that for you really fast I could, “Doctor”, with it at the tip of my tongue { thin ‘s an’ ‘parro’ flying coo fly! } HUP and the pencil is there hung with write it, f’ you want it, so use me, jot it over onto the provided taped-up-tight paper, but no, so as always { sigh } I settle; ^why didn’t you mean it when you said it Gimi^ shaking and shaking down my head, I settle like I always have ended up settling, and always without fail, for much less. I get out a Pepsi settled into for less, and I say scre’ myself thu’t next time I’ll
remember ‘tween now and then I’ll think this name up but over again for X number of Pepsis I drink, forget, need a break, go there and gahhh; forgot again, ^when I stand up yes I do do it differently Gimi^ damn the sillies, so I settle; until next time always next ‘gain o’ forget, need a break, go there and gahhh; o’re and ova’ and always [ da fyne deestra-fahne’d “Hoons” ] —The same the exactly same same {oh my} So that’s the nut of my whole ‘dica”men”’ t-t-t-t, “Doctor”. ^you told me that Gimi I never forget anything you tell me Gimi^ And I swear, this goes …c..cc..so hey hey over out-spilt can you’ve been caught in a crammed inside.ss..s…on as many times as possible, in as many days as possible, yah as many times as it’ll end up to take, that we’re all stuck here doing this stupidly silly, ‘ll pointless, day after day high-priced mood and attituctivity in lieu of prison time, p-p-p-
personal improvement plan ^remember you told me I didn’t care at all what happened to you Gimi^ (hic”cup”) planet Earth Census ah, yes; but now that magical time comes when, ah, a break is needed | ah HAH ditch that bayonet right “this instant”, young man!| and ah; there it is! Snatch it down so I git it and I got it and there it is ha I got the name, ha ha ha yes yes “Doctor”, [ awk Linkletter’d-downe distra’d ] this time around’s so destined to be different—shush yah yoh ooh ahh rush to the cooler that name in my hand; stop short there’s the sheet ( ugh honeypt’d rag-man “ though ye may be” ) write it down ‘fore forgotten, yes; This time I’m different, here I am, different time hold the name in the left hand ^why’d you say that Gimi when you’ve told me over and over you know I really care^ get the pencil in the right here it is look at it but where there’s no nahh don’t dare say that write it down …c..cc..no no okay maybe with a cow so but that’s as close also has a as they can without touching no no okay with a
tipped.ss..s…no NO where’s there there’s no damned ^I want to help people Gimi I want to I do but^ Pe NO do not know that, that cannot possibly be not this time write it NO there is no pencil this time BUT yes up top the cooler NO there’s no there’s no HOLD Breath do not lose the name in the left b-b-“b-but”, slow, 0, d-damned down (eck); slow down slower to slowest drain “I am not one t’ be ‘countrashaane-shoopt’d’ ” down there’s it can’t be gone and this can’t have happened this way + ‘roun’ do-daht’s big Romanian teakettle’d clash + ho “Doctor” this the pencil the name of the thing my . left palm’s not empty .. ^why is it wrong to do it differently from other people Gimi^ !! . . hung limp brown string and I slump’d down “Doctor” that’s ::::: how I found myself walking eck ack O Doc . tor . I quit I just walked clean out off the place d oc’ TOR what can’t have ever happened to be had happened “Doctor” why was I born into this shaking and shaking and shaking down my head, and my head and my .
eck ack s n s oon, {Ah!} swoon …sh..sshh..so hey hey you’ve been car crammed inside caught in a lie.ss..s… . “Doctor”? . Why could I not have been born into that? Or those—over there “Doctor” why could I not have been born into one of those over there? Or these here?????? or possibly this ‘un up there, “Doctor”. There. That. “Doctor”—r-r-r-r-r-r oh. Leaned into the cooler, eyes closed down, a voice, Voice behind. Voice of. (8) “Say-y-y-y, excuse me, could you step aside, I need to get something out of the cooler, thank you.” . ^why can’t you tell me Gimi oh why you do this to me Gimi^ O? . Jesus Christ, Samuel, you’ve left your used Harvies all over the place [ there’s cans for that, honey ] … dont.you.know.that.honey be’damned why’s all these big spill?
. aka big Ben Harko . ‘round ‘bound me an’ that when I let go s-hot(!) into, Why? So-o-o-o, so-ooo, that you can get your very favorite drink out this “very favorite” cooler to mock me down yes yes yes yes to mock me down all the hell of the way down and get it out right ‘front of my face with ha ha ha ha see what I can do and you’ll never ha ha ha ha ha look what I can do that you’ll never be permitted to ha ha ha never be permitted { here, passacaglia!! } ^why can’t you tell me Gimi oh why you do this to me Gimi^ to oh hey who’s that dumb one we’re never to permit anything good to ever happen…sh..sshh..so hey hey you’ve been car crammed inside caught in a lie.ss..s… here, L’il whoa-whaah’td ittl bitti fugue!! }to oh this one right here officer I am glad you came fast officer this one is not right in the head, “Officer”, and you know as well as I do ^oh why oh why^ that the ones not right in the head are the really really most dangerous and deadly ones of all ones he he he he ah ha ah—why sure, be my guest.
Cooler opening blow by—somebody who’s not—me.
“Thank you.”
Not me.
You’re welcome. S-a-a-i-dde (honnk) beye, ^o’ ‘hy o’ ‘hy^ somebody who’s not me not me any more not not me s’let me quick sorry to bug you step back let me get another what is this, this’s a damned ^’ ‘h’’ ‘h’^ Pepsi, “Yanni”, s’ shut the cooler and get ‘ur fast ass back down to/or or {???} into the God-damned line that’s ^0^ what you’re here for God damn man God damn what the hell did you think do you think you were here for anyway if not no if not that?
Brian Michael Barbeito is a Canadian writer and photographer. Recent work appears at The Notre Dame Review.
Spirit of a Place, Spirit of a Thing (Artist Statement)
In an off handed remark during an interview, U.G. Krishnamurti, called by some an anti-guru, and by himself, ‘Something like a philosopher,’ said that he once thought he could sense the spirit of a place. But then he brushed it off through words and body language. It didn’t fit in with his philosophy and message. But I resonated with his statement anyhow, because I had always felt that I could feel the spirit of a place and also a thing. Old town, lake still and wide. City street, carnival game vendor and prizes. Bee. Spider. Flower. Vine. Ridge. Summit. Stone. Petal. Stream. Sun. Cloud. Bird and dusk, horizon and dawn. Lock, denoting love, affixed to lonesome bridge alone in the rain. Artifacts. Areas. Some saturnine and some sanguine. Hundreds of places and things, their spirit, against reason and logic, somehow speaking out, not with language of course, but calling out nevertheless. Semantics and nomenclature could argue what spirit means. Is it the atmosphere, the daemon, the angel, the area, the vibration, the feeling? Is it physical, metaphysical, true and there, or purely imaginary and projected? Difficult to know conclusively. But there is something I think in all that mise- en-scene, and so on the rural footpaths and metropolitan worlds also, I try and photograph it and also write about it, this spirit of a place and spirit of a thing.
