some extra SVG!!!

April 30, 2007


Matthew Coleman


Never go down on a stranger no matter how sensational her snatch must be whilst barely covered with a skirt.

 Never go down on a stranger no matter how inviting those tight and tanned thighs look in the lingering low light of the boozer.  

Never go down on a stranger no matter how seductivethose eyes look at you from afar. 

Never go down on a stranger no matter how well you get on with her after she’s slowly strolled up and began talking to you with ease.  

Never go down on a stranger no matter how many times her fingers brush against your arm arousing that subtle sensation in your balls.  

Never go down on a stranger no matter how many drinks you knock back to the point where you’re both pissed out of your head.  

Never go down on a stranger no matter how quickly it is that you’re back at her place in the lingering low light of her bedroom.  

Never go down on a stranger no matter how hard your cock is whilst pressed against her with you on top.  

Never go down on a stranger no matter how round and firm her tits are in the putty palm of your hand.  

Never go down on a stranger no matter how good the putty palm of her hand gently slides over the protruding prick in your pants. 

Never go down on a stranger no matter how seductively she slurs in your ear: “Go down on me big boy..” 

Never go down on a stranger between the dark shadows of her thighs as my old man once told me about Pete, one of his Mod mates when he was growing up in Brighton years ago…  

“So one night Pete is all suited and booted and razzled with this bird he met at a club and he’s making her laugh like the right jack the lad that he is. Back at her place and the pair of ‘em were on her bed rolling round and giggling and touching each other up when Pete gets a hunger on to go down on her. He asks her if he can, like the gentleman that he is, and she’s like: “Nah, you can’t, you can’t, just put it in me, go on, I’m right ready for you now..”  

And Pete’s like: “Nah, come on, I wanna go down on you. Yeah, I got a right ‘ol hunger for it..”  

Eventually Pete wins cause he’s a right charmer with the ladies and then he gets down there between her thighs and he makes a right feast out of her gash. She tastes a little heavy to Pete, like a bit on the iron side, but he puts this down to all that Guinness he’dknocked back earlier.  

Soon she’s all wet. She’s soaking in fact, and it’s all smeared around her snatch and all over Pete’s mouth and his tongue and he’s loving it thinking he’s some kind of fucking Casanova. After he’s had his fill he finally gets up and then puts it in her and they have a right lovely fuck.  

Next morning Pete wakes up with a bladder full and has to get up for a piss. And so he’s standing there pissing into the toilet bowel whilst yawning and rubbing his face and then he’s like “what the fuck?” cause his face feels all freaky and flakey and stuff is falling off of it into the bowl of piss below him.  

So he finishes his slash and shakes himself off and then turns around to look at himself in the mirror, and I ain’t kidding you here but he’s got this dried blood-like beard all over his chops cause that bird was on her time of the fucking month…” 

Anyway, never go down on a stranger cause my old man told me that horrible story and I reckon he’s right.


April 23, 2007

new issue of SVG

 Peter Wild

Chris Major

Joel Van Noord

I’m not really sure what happened but I grew a mustache. A fat black turd of a thing crept up from the 70’s like an Oreo fart on a road trip through Utah heading south into the arid red.

    But it showed up when I hit the breaks. And boy did I fucking hit the breaks. I was on a year long high, I came back and I was almost 30, it might have been more than a year… who knows?  Had little to show for it, too, besides memories and a few pictures.

    Time had turned to nails on chalkboard and these people around me were jacks lifting the fingernails from the skin.

    There was a marine and he talked about bowling. I pressed him and he would say one-liners. There was a story of doggie style with a female (marine?) and, rocking back and forth, then a finger punched to the asshole and she bounced forward and hit her head, on the rebound it was the same thing and she knocked herself out. He pulled out and left. I asked more and there were training stories, spraying this chemical in the face to check this equipment.

    I told him about how the Khmer Rouge would put Thai babies in plastic bags and hang them from trees. In Africa they wear Chicago Bulls t shirts.

    The hours are unreal. Before they were a continuous sexual apex. I would climb and surf and write an article and take a picture. I would follow and Jen would hand me a ticket and we’d sweat together and I’d taste her salt and we’d drop from the sky and the surge would pull my toes and remove the sand from under me.

    Mongrel dogs would stray with necklaces we’d put on them. They puff loudly with their huge tongues dangling and their desperate faces turned up in a smile.

    The boats were upturned and I’d never seen them used. We went north and the jungle crept down from the hills and extended over the ocean. Bits of coral were sprinkled against the dark and the stout palms provided shade. The air was thick and being shirtless was no where near naked. Being naked was a natural condition.

    Certainly there were animals that crawled over us and sniffed and maybe nibbled but the beach is a relatively dead zone. Things pass over in pursuit or search. We are the only ones wise or conditioned enough to be able to spend such majestic hours lounging on the long flanks that snake up each continent. I tell Jennifer I will never stray from the ocean’s necklace.

    It faces northwest and they come in with power. It’s overhead and afterward I sit with the image and the feeling reeling. There is beer and Jennifer is something perfectly aligned for me. She does her thing, writes her article and it’s a different stance than I’ll take and a different niche. These senoritas? She’ll ask them and talk and she’ll make the world better. I’ll be on standby and through proximity I’ll make the world not worse.

    There is another plane and what is Mexico City? She looks to me and I smile and the passport is a colorful oddity. It’s a city with people living in it surrounded by lush hills and mountains. Is that all? No. one day we’ll know more but never enough. It is what it is and it’s adequate

    Jennifer holds my hand on the plane and there’s a movie and it’s odd. I like to feel odd with these things.

    There is India for no other reason than to investigate the most squalid and revolting conditions. Honestly? There is a pipe leading form the city and my friend in San Francisco curses these people for doing what he would do. AOL cuts through the grease and it is only the way it is. Jennifer changes things and I frame trash and children and dead cows and wet sewage and the stench is not able to be captured. There are movies and we are in hell. But it is fine. That child is smiling and this is his life. I wear a Cuban shirt and reefers. I should have boots to avoid the horrible bacteria that is untouchable to them and devastating to me.

    Does everyone have AIDS? I am content with monogamy. There is a hut and the sewer is huge and in San Diego Tony Hawk would spiral around the massive concrete with his skateboard. We have pictures and we leave as much money as we can because we are using their conditions to earn a wage. We are taking their wage but we are capable. We pay 750 dollars in rent when not in transit and they earn 2 dollars a day.

    The plane stops and starts and there are sleeping pills and the knees wonder heavily about their position and the ass wants to give the weight to the feet and the Devil Wears Prada and Adam Sandler is getting calmer and more romantic and he’s all about the awkward glances and the half smiles.

    Hawaii is American and a I yelp happily to a fat Somoan with a sick wave at the wrong beach as he puts his toes over the edge as a barrel creeps up on him and he turns with a scowl. Back in the lineup he paddles close and pulls out a knife, cuts the leash and punches out. The waves move and it’s lame but he’s 300 pounds and ‘the SHORE’ is where I belong. Apparently. Bob Marley is calming and we drive to another beach and the waves are overhead and there is Tom from Laguna and Skip from Oz. Jennifer meets us in a bar and we’re calm. Did you ever see, “Blood Diamond?” I ask and half the group has. I just want to know if they have the same types of images in their heads. I don’t have any comment and the surf falls and girls dance in palm skirts. They shake their hips like MTV tries.

    I read a book and the next day is a competition and I have a camera and Jennifer talks with looks and I’m out and they’ll carve at me and the wave will drop and I’m more about the ancillary. It’s best when there are combinations of things. But the NY Times wants the thing. The smaller flukes want the combination. Perhaps the bright Bonita casually searching under the shadow of Raj from Indo. A context, they want a context, Jennifer does, and she’ll look at the shots and smile and we’ll make love in a shack on the dry side of the island and look at the lava roll like a pillow into the sea and I’ll play with her feet cause she’s my princess and kiss the ankles and one day I’ll marry her and what next?

    Antartica? She says and there is some professor she knows studying zooplankton as the ice melts, they are the pillar of food and their assemblage will change, plus, as the ice retreats new communities are showing themselves, or, we are able to access them –freshwater lakes inside massive ice cubes and what not. We will join him and she will write an article on the verge of tragedy about rising sea levels. The Maldives are 6 feet above sea level and they will drown. I will highlight the new discoveries and professor Hersean has a thick beard from months at the bottom and the penguins are his neighbors, the seals are his clock, and the myriad of equipment and boats are his fingers.

    I shake his hand we’re back. Jennifer has to work and I have a brother who makes heart pills. He has connections and I hit the wall. My face hurts from metaphor.

    I want to learn something but I can feel it better from the media. Long assumptions are false and it’s a dry riverbed. The media is a wet sludge moving from rain to rain. He can tell me nothing.

    “B was the only one to give me a raise the entire time.”

    “Walter Reed’s making news?” I respond and everything is contradictions. It’s enough. I have to at least wait a paycheck. Jennifer is fine, she works on a computer in our flat 8 floors up. There is a window and she looks to the ocean all day. I drive down then up on a mesa and now a kid with dreadlocks tied back comes in to join us.

    They want me to spray this green solution on lab benches and wipe it up with paper towels, for eight hours. I have agreed and the marine has nothing unique and that’s fine. The most horrific has long been heavily highlighted. I know Abu Ghraib as well as him.

    The Dread finds Special K in liquid form and he stops working for the day. It’s only been a few hours and the time is moving at this obstinate speed. I look to my watch every five minutes and it’s torture.

    Everything has to go here. In this lab. It has run out of money and the amount of trash could fill India. But we can take care of it. We have faith in each other. We have infrastructure and say what you will about what you will… Everything will get incinerated at an insane temperature and there is nothing that will enter a landfill. This biotech will pay out the ass for it. But they’ll sell their pills at a premium and perhaps the government will give them assistance and where does it ultimately come from? Jennifer, she supports me and she’s the one essentially creating something where there was nothing. But she herself creates nothing essential. They buy her product after it’s said and done with. They support her after they’ve eaten, while they’re sitting at the coffee shop and wondering what to do with themselves. After they’ve spent the day working where they do.

    It’s all the earth and this is nothing profound. There is one farmer for every 100 or so people. 200 years ago there was one farmer and his wife, who had children who helped in the field. As this ratio changes so does society. Clearly, there have always been soldiers. So that’s nothing to consider. It is only me, with time like toothpicks under the eyelids. One paycheck, at least. Spray and wipe with paper towel. The pay is good. I’ll shave the mustache when I have time. Or, at least when time is more rational.

PUP ~ Chris Major

April 23, 2007

so slung out
and abandoned.
Lack of food,
hunger pains
sharp enough
to whittle ribs,
matted coat
marking spot by
circling lamppost.
Chases cars,
plenty of tricks-
not anal……….

Which brings us to vuh strangest part ov our story and hopefully explains why we done what we did.              

          We charged down vee embankment without finking too much about what it was we were doin. I dont fink eeva of us fought we were highwaymen or anyfin like vat. If we fought anyfin – which I really dont fink we did – it was just: move fast and get vis ova wiv.  

              Even froo duh vinegar, vuh smell was bad. Mi eyes were waterin so I cunt see all vat well. If I had to count voh I’d say it was maybe ten seconds from vuh top of vee embankment to us standing beneath vuh bare branches and by vee exposed roots at vuh foot of vuh shit tree. Up close it was ovvious vat vuh tree had been takin a batterin. Vere were oles all up an down vuh trunk. I say oles. Was shit really. Vere was dried shit up and down vuh trunk, dried shit vat was pluggin vee oles made by vuh fumbs over vuh last however many days an weeks an monfs and maybe even years. We dint know. 

              Was sen dat I noticed Noo-Noo had a stick voh. 

              I said to her, What are you gonna do wiv vat? 

             She grinned and she pointed vuh stick, like it was a long witchy finger, at vuh trunk of vuh tree. 

              I dint follow cos, like I say, I’m slow on vee uptake, me. So I said What? 

             Noo-Noo rolled her eyes and gently poked vuh stick into one of vuh plugs of dried shit. 

             And vat was when we heard duh voice. 

             Hannah, duh voice said, clear as day. Don’t take the kids off me. They mean the world to me. I can’t function without them. I need the kids, Hannah. The kids are my life. Please don’t do this to me. Don’t make me into the monster. Call me. Tell me where you are. I’m at my wit’s end, Hannah. My wit’s end.  

             Was like the fuckin shit tree was speakin. Soon as Noo-Noo’s stick poked a hole in vuh dried shit, vere was vis voice. Was like vee ole was a mouf. An vuh voice was sweet and sad and pleadin. I tell you. We nearly fuckin shit are pants, me and Noo-Noo. It was scary. Make no mistake about vat. But it was fuckin weird an excitin an all. 

              Do anuvva, I said. Do anuvva.  

              Noo-Noo dint need any promptin. She jammed vuh tip of duh stick into anuvva hole and ven she twisted her wrist sose vat duh stick cleared all vuh shit away quicksmart, quicksmart, quicksmart, vuh way you would if you were clearing jagged glass out of dee edges ov a windowframe after youd smashed a window.               

            We erd a diffrent voice vis time:  

             Paula. Please forgive me. I never meant to hurt you. It would never have worked out. I had to do what I did. It was the only way. You have to live your life, Paula. Live your life and be happy.  

            Anuvva, I said. Anuvva. Anuvva. Even before vuh second voice ‘d even finished speaking: Anuvva, anuvva, anuvva.  

            Kate, a fird voice said. Kate? Can you hear me? Where are you? I’ve looked everywhere but I can’t find you. You’ve got to help me a little bit. I need a clue or something. I can’t wait out here in the dark all Winter, you know? Throw me a bone. Throw me a bone and maybe just maybe we can work this thing out. Throw me a bone, okay? And throw it soon. 


              And ven:  

            Joe. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you. It was the sex. Having sex with you made me ill. You were so strange. All those sudden jerks and hiccups. It was just so weird. And the peanut butter. I hate peanut butter. I’m sorry you didn’t understand. I never meant for you to do what you did. I didn’t know how much it meant.               

            And ven:    

          Tara. I still love you. I still feel the same way. I haven’t changed. I won’t change. Please give us another chance. Please. We could be so good you and me. Just give us a chance, baby. Please.   

             And so it went on: Tracey an Kayleigh an Famida an Grace an Isabel an Milly an Heather an Jess an Sarah an Liz. On and on and on and on. An howevermany oles we stuck, vere were still more. Vuh more we lookt, vuh closer we got, vuh more oles we saw. Vere were fousands of oles in vuh shit tree. Fousands. I cunt see for vee oles. My art was racin. I was standin vere just sayin anuvva anuvva anuvva ova an ova again. Do anuvva, Noo. Do anuvva. Even after Noo-Noo stopt, I was sayin Do anuvva, Noo. Do anuvva. 

               I dint register any difference between what I was feelin and what Noo-Noo was feelin and I want aware of Noo-Noo clamberin back up vee embankment or nuffin. Vuh first fing, vuh first point of dischord, you might say, I picked up on was Noo-Noo smashing the perfume bottle sheed robbed offof her mam at the base of vuh tree. She just barged by me, barged me out ov vuh way, in point ov fact, and smashed vuh bottle against the roots. I was like fuckin ell, Noo-Noo – but vats when I saw Noo-Noo was all glassy-eyed. She lookt like a fuckin zombie or some’ing. N vere were tears streamin down her kipper an all. I was all, Sup, Noo-Noo? Sup? But Noo-Noo wunt speak. She smashed vuh perfume bottle and she started pattin her pockets. Course now I know she was lookin for her matches. 

              But she want finking straight. She want. At vuh time I dint know vat one ov vuh voices weed herd was her dad. How was I to know vat ven? I dint know Noo-Noo’s dad. Ide never been to her ouse or nuffin. All I know is vat Noo-Noo herd her dad and set fire to vuh tree and burned vuh shit tree down to vuh ground. We stood vere, vuh two ov us, watching vuh shit tree burn, watchin vuh bloody mice crisp and crackle, watchin the paint run scared offof the kettles and vuh toasters, watchin vuh bike turn black and char like a corpse, watchin vuh polyfene hiss and evaporate like the steam offof mi piss – and I know, I know now, what we did was wrong, burning vuh tree was wrong. I know vat.   

            It’s just. Fire is like that, innit? Watching somefin burn. You can’t look away, can you? 

            And Ive fought about vis a lot. Ive fought about this a lot a lot. All vuh fumbs vat sealed veir voices up inside vuh tree. All vose words. Vere better off in vuh world. When Noo-Noo burned vuh shit tree down, she was doing all vose people a favour.   

             Seems to me, you don’t solve nuffin when you bottle it up inside. You have to open your mouth and fill your lungs and scream whatever it is into vuh world. 

            You do vat and veres a chance vat you might be heard.  

            Vats what I fink.

new issue out soon!!

April 23, 2007

Extra SVG!!! Oh Joy!!!

April 6, 2007

 Peter Wild

Lee Rourke

Course I had to tell Noo-Noo soon as I saw her and first she dint believe me but ven when I showed her vuh tree she could see for herself vat vere was a bit of vuh trunk that was rucked up and covered in shit. Noo-Noo being Noo-Noo voh, she saw some’ing else as well. She pointed and said What about vat vere? an I said What about wot where? and Noo-Noo said Vere! Vere! sort of pointing wiv ver knuckles. I dint see straight away. She had to tell me what it was I was sposed to be lookin for. Turns out vere was anuvva spot, slightly higher up vuh trunk, wiv rucked wood and shit. Soon as we saw one we saw anuvva. Vuh trunk was covered in oles. We cunt believe we hant seen em before. Vere were roles everywhichwhere. Eeva vuh fumb Ide seen earlier dat day had been busy stabbing holes in vuh tree and fillin em wiv shit or – Noo-Noo pushed herself up offof her knees at vis point and punched me in vuh shoulder – or all vuh fumbs weed been seeing vis last couple of weeks were all coming to vuh shit tree. I pushed miself up an all, from elbows to knees, and opened mi mouf cos I cunt believe it even voh I fought Noo-Noo was on to somefin. But why? I said. Why would anyone stab a hole in vuh trunk ov a tree and ven fill vee hole wiv shit? Noo-Noo said she dint know but she knew how we could find out.  So we set up a camp. Right vere. Up on vee embankment. And we took turns to guard vuh shit tree and keep a lookout for any fumbs wot might chance along. Course we cunt maintain vuh camp all vuh time cos we had to go home and have are tea and sleep in are beds and sometimes we cunt get out ov school an all vuh rest of it but whenever we had vuh chance to get down to vuh canal we manned our lookout and kept watch on vuh tree.  

Vuh first time me and Noo-Noo saw a fumb proachin vuh tree we dint do nuffin, we just watched. We just watched cos Noo-Noo hant seen what it was vat vuh fumbs did so we just watched and watched and vuh fumb – who was a different fumb from vuh fumb vat I had seen – did everyfin vat I had seen vee other fumb do. By which I mean to say vat he got down on his knees in vuh shit, stabbed at vuh trunk of vuh tree wiv a knife til he made a nole then put his mouf to vee ole sose he could eat vuh tree or kiss vuh tree or do whatever it was vat vuh fumbs did. When vuh fumb was done, he filled vee ole vat he made wiv shit and ven he sortof stumbled off down the canal towpath like a pisshead.  Noo-Noo only wanted to see wot vuh fumbs did just vah once voh. She dint like it, she said. She dint like what vuh fumbs did to vuh shit tree and she said she want havin it. So, after vat, whenever we saw a fumb makin his way to vuh shit tree, we stopt em. Weed frow stones and clumps of mud and grass and weed shout and jump up and down and swear and everyfin we could fink of, basically, to get em to leave vuh shit tree alone and fuck off again. It was great. Noo-Noo said vat vuh King and vuh Queen of vuh Canal were standing up for one veir loyal subjects.  

But it dint really stop em. Vuh fumbs just came back after we ‘d gone. An it dint really help us to find out what it was vat vuh fumbs were doing in duh first place beyond vuh stabbin and vuh kissin and vuh pluggin full ov shit.  

Was Noo-Noo who got bored vuh quickest with driving off vuh fumbs. Was Noo-Noo who said we had to have a closer look at what it was vey were doin. I want havin it. I said she could fuck off. I said it want possible. Vuh smell was too bad. I said if we got close vuh stink would burn off are eyebrows. Noo-Noo told me to stop being such a pussy. She said if vuh fumbs could do it we could do it. Which kindof stopt me in mi tracks. Cos she were right. If vey could do it, we could do it. Noo-Noo had vat nailed. I cunt see a way to argue wiv her. Sayin all vat voh: Noo-Noo wanted to just march down to vuh shit tree vere and ven an I said we had to fink about it and have a plan or summat. Noo-Noo said what was vere to fink about? I told her. We had to be a bit clever about it. If we were gonna spend a bit of time down vere by vuh shit tree we should try and prepare ourselves. Noo-Noo got all arsey at vis point. What do you mean? she said with her fat black arms crossed about her big bazoomas. I dint really know what I meant when I said prepare ourselves but I said some’ing about vuh stink. If we have to go into vuh stink, I said, we should try and block up our noses. Some’ing in Noo-Noo’s eyes flashed and she said, Like highwaymen!  Which put a picture in mi mind of vuh two of us chargin down vee embankment wiv red handkerchiefs coverin our gobs and I said yeah. But it was more like Yeah!  Ven Noo-Noo had anuvva idea vat was even better van her first idea. She said she remembered somefin sheed learned at school about vuh black def or vuh great plague or one of vose kind of fings. She said vat priests and gentry – whatever vey were – protected veir mouvfes by coverin em wiv handkerchiefs soaked in somefin vat smells strong like perfume or vinegar. Noo-Noo sayin vat felt like more maths again. Soaking a handkerchief in vinegar to stop us smelling vuh shit felt like a two plus two plus two plus two idea.  

In vee end voh I cunt get a handkerchief. Mi mam said it were vuh wrong time ov vuh year or some’ing. I want really listenin. In vee end I had to half-inch a tea towel from out vuh drawer. Noo-Noo robbed a muslin square vat she said her mum was usin with vuh new baby. As weed agreed, I brought along some vinegar and Noo-Noo ‘d brought along some perfume. When we met we had ourselves a little speriment to determine which of vuh smells we could stomach. Vuh strange fing was vat vuh smell of vinegar was better van vuh smell of vuh perfume cos it made us both fink about fish an chips. Dint half make our stomachs rumble voh even voh it was only somefin like half ten in vuh mornin.  Long story short voh: we soaked vuh tea towel and vuh muslin square in vinegar and ven we each helped vee uvva to tie vuh mask on. We lookt proper spanners and duh vinegar dint half make our eyes water at first but – standing up vere on vee embankment – we lookt at each uvva an we were boaf of us finkin: its now or never.

She stood with her back to the wall and pulled up her skirt; the moss was damp under our feet.

“Stop! A Wolf!” she cried.

I stopped. I looked around. A dog had appeared. It was a dog. It was definitely a dog.

“It’s a dog!” I exclaimed.

The dog, on hearing this, scampered. She shrugged. We continued; the moon peeking out from behind a carbon monoxide-blackened London cloud. I thought of Un chien andalou.

The razorblade; the peeling eyeball.

I peered back over her shoulder, one eye open, half concentrating, and noticed three looming cranes in the distance.

They stood like gargantuan automations; moving like automations; reaching like automations; swinging like automations; working the night shift like automations.

Somewhere up there in the black night three men are controlling progress, I thought.

Then she pulled down her skirt and we walked, arm in arm, back to the boozer, without saying a word.

Lee Rourke 2007