I love zines: they’re the perfect intersection between art and poetry and prose and photography with just a dash of weird-creative and jarring-aesthetic and shakes-you-up-prose. Sorry not sorry, but I’m having a major art nerd attack right now: I’ve found zines on zines on zines! And it is, I tell you, ama-zine. Normally, zines are small print booklets distributed by hand. But many–as I discovered last night–are uploaded onto Issuu and it’s f–king fantastic.
Before I forget, here’s a link to the vast array of zines littered across Issuu.
It makes me wish I could write poetry the way these writers do. But poetry always feels so personal. I mean, writing’s pretty personal in general, but poetry’s, like, the stuff of the heart. I only ever write poetry when the heart-stuff’s threatening to overflow and coat everything in sight so I jot it down real quick and show it to nobody.
But I guess that’s why I like these zines so much. They’re raw. Made of heart-stuff. Not like the glossy magazines–they’re more like the, uh, hashtag nofilter creative underbelly cousins of the magazine. Magazines are all dolled up, stuffed with ads. Zines aren’t. And that they’re oft produced by creatives and minorities makes it all the better.
God, all the art and writing is so inspiring.