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Download the digital issues of Bangs Zine issue 10, The Sound and the Fury.

Hey mamas! Grab that lukewarm coffee microwaved enough times to qualify as ritual sacrifice. And come get ready with me while I perform sentience for the household.   First: hydration. Because women are basically houseplants with credit cards.

Let’s talk about noise.   Not just the good kind—music, laughter, a voice you love saying your name—but the constant, low-grade everywhere-ness of noise. News, content, opinions, updates. A never-ending scroll. Everything meaning something and nothing. We’re living in a kind of permanent surround sound. We have always been listening.

I hear the car before it turns the corner — that engine, a whispered warning, like birds dropping silent before the storm, and something in my chest lifts with it, tightens with it, names itself Dread before my mind can find the word. I become ears. I become a creature made entirely of ears. The garage door lifts its iron jaw and I stand very still at the kitchen counter, reading the sound the way sailors read the sky before a squall — the pressure-shift, the temperature drop

Take a deep breath.   My eyes...myotic, My thoughts...neurotic, This rage feels psychotic. I won’t do it, but I thought it.  

Shrieking mystery. A voice calls to me. Remembrance of pain long ago- waiting in the shadows. Tap, tap, tap. Knock, knock, knock. Ring, ring, ring. Echos of yesterday vibrating.   Oceanic waves rushing. I hear them sing.  Symphonies from ancient ruins. Calling from the ethers. Drumming on my heart. Vibrations ripple through the fabric of reality. Drip, drip, drip.  Whistling wind at my window. I hear the songs of the trees, singing through me without a sound. In the liminal s

Lullaby https://youtu.be/luIndg-gNlo Cau-coffee-nay https://youtu.be/PNe6FK_69rs --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bob has been doing photography since the age of 10 years old. He has a Bachelor of Arts in photography. After his 50 years of photographing the genres of family, sports, and portraiture, he now concentrates on photographing and videoing community events, nature, musicians, dogs and their huma

My car is a sanctuary It careens me across space and time I arrive places with haste The brakes firm and easy It suspends me, skipping over potholes and mangled carcasses like a smooth stone skips over crystal waters

little sounds  we take for granted and toss into the adjacent void  of white noise   a pebble  at the window birds  in the treeline   behind suburban street

Our Pine Tree waves me over To share the gift it gives, When it’s melody takes place.  So the breeze leads me up.

I think of 17 I think of Puerto Vallarta I think of spring training,  and the Jays repeating.   I think of how do you say  “Happy Birthday” in Spanish? I think of escaping  matriarchal embarrassment at the resort.

Forever live in those imperfect moments. When you allowed yourself to be free.