hair metal bubblegum

Credit Edited by Jana Miller Cover photo by Jake Zilinski (circa 2010) Written/everything else by Nicholas Arthur

For Theresa

one of the coolest people

I’m ever going to meet.

Hair Metal Bubblegum Hair Metal Bubblegum Hair Metal Bubblegum Hair Metal

Bubblegum Hair Metal Bubblegum Hair Metal Bubblegum Hair Metal Bubblegum Hair

Metal Bubblegum Hair Metal Bubblegum Hair Metal Bubblegum Hair Metal Bubblegum
















Hair Metal Bubblegum Hair Metal Bubblegum By Nicholas Arthur Hair Metal

























Bubblegum Hair Metal Bubblegum Hair Metal Bubblegum.

1

Freshman Year

I still remember your Converse shoes,

covered in faded Sharpie hieroglyphs

of lost love and your favorite bands.

I remember sitting on hot blacktop,

against a parking curb

and the way your hand felt.

Everything felt permanent

in the overbearing July sun

for the first few days.

Wide-eyed teenage love.

It gave way just as easy

to glassy-eyed hatred

and hesitation marks.

We haven’t spoken in nearly

six years.

2

5/21/11

If the rapture occurs on Saturday

I’ll be behind a cash register at Kohl’s,

scanning clothes for middle age women

wearing large golden crosses and t-shirts from

their vacation bible study groups.

People who think that I’m part of a vast conspiracy

with Barack Obama to steal the money

they waste on clothes that they won’t need

if their savior really does come back,

sweeping them off their feet

to sit on a cloud,

watching us confused looking pagans

below their name brand sneakers.

3

The Laminate of Your Table

Swaying sawdust lungs cough and hack

furniture of average to

impressive quality.

Polished cherry, maple and oak.

Perfect for resting coffee and beer.

Condensation aiding water logging. Human

habits leading to nicks and scratches.

Making love, making war, wearing away

and eventually ending up at a resale shop

for a very modest value to be picked up and

used. Subject to the same practices until

one of those practices damages it beyond

reasonable repair. Tables sit on curb sides,

bitter that their cigarettes are too wet to

light as they wait for their new destination.

Dismantled on a barge.

Decomposing.

Back to the dust they were

when they were summoned out of swaying

sawdust lungs.

4

Wisconsin

I dreamed about some futuristic land in

Wisconsin.

Everyone wears sweatpants.

It’s pretty damn comfortable.

Relax.

Life is too short to be continually

uncomfortable. It creeps me out to see you

stuff your contours into society’s molds.

Falling out, falling down, flag waving.

Fingers shoved down your throat

binge,

purge,

fit,

consume,

love,

repeat.

5

Cobweb Skyscrapers

Up tight and concerned,

pressed against dope-sick eyes

heavy with sadness.

Dumb-fuck lover boy blues

are in heavy rotation

on the jukebox in the

abandoned bar.

Cobweb skyscrapers

ascend to the

bar stools.

The copper piping is

long gone,

But the jukebox

wakes up to play

everyone’s favorite loser tune

every now and then.

6

Wires

I once had a teacher who stepped

on an extension cord with the

sharp heel of her shoe as she was

teaching us about multiplication.

Inanimate electrical spirits

poured out, jumping and

dancing from the cord,

a shocked look transfixed across

her wrinkled features. It was

good to have a break from the

multiplication.

7

Ballad

They’re playing our song on

the moon. Not much makes

sense about this, but it feels

good all the same. Worn out

happiness is echoing down

the creators, falling on empty

ears. Licking wounds, kissing

bruises making up as best I

can. Even though you’re long

gone.

8

Falling Apart

I bought a cheap plant

from Meijer.

Not much water,

not much care,

couldn’t be too difficult.

When things started to

come apart more and

more

the shades were closed

more often.

Water didn’t come as much.

Maybe the increased levels

of Elliott Smith did

in my leafy green

silent friend.

Either way the once,

strong green leaves

withered brown and fragile.

falling away

behind the book shelf

and on to the sea of chords

below.

9

Young/Dumb

I wouldn’t exactly

change

any of it

I guess.

The afternoons

spent in hazy orange

bliss.

Floating

into the

ether.

Endings are usually

complicated,

pointless,

misery.

I regret prolonging that

rather

than appreciating what we

had.

10

Western

Connecting your birthmarks

in the faint light of

the neon sign in

your bedroom.

11

Whippersnapper

Dandelion love-sick kids

cling close,

attempting to slow up the hands on the clock

a bit.

You won’t always get

the chance to

make seniors uncomfortable

as you make out

on the patio furniture at Sears.

Soon they too will

tense and grimace

at youth that once seemed

never ending.

12

Abandoned Theater

You drew a picture of us together

at the theater where we first met.

You probably threw it away after we split.

Now that crinkled piece of paper

is playing re-runs of Quarantine

for an audience of other disregarded

inanimate objects.

In a galaxy of coffee grounds

spaghetti sauce and

paper plates

where we’re still as

interested in one another

as we were on that night.

13

12:35 a.m.

Cheap liquor burn and

menthol cigarette smoke

rise to the full moon.

Large fumbling

dumb nothings

splinter in two.

Trying to impress you

even though you like me

anyway.

Comb my hair messy

just the way you might

like.

Stand up straight

only to hunch over

out of habit.

14

Moon Face

I kept

poking and prodding,

scratching and squeezing

until it finally

R E L I E F

At least until morning.

When more will

sprout up

like dandelions

in an abandoned field.

15

Oranges

When waves crash over a

deserted beach at 4:00 a.m.

causing the insects to burrow

into the wet sand.

As the wind moves underneath the

branches melting into a droning silence.

We will be in opposite rooms celebrating

the same holiday that isn’t highlighted on

the calendar in the living room.

Eventually we will realize that we are in

different rooms

and the celebration will fade into longing

for one another.

16

Cures

My nasal passage clogged up

like I-94 at 5:00 on a Friday.

I blew my nose

until the goddamn Earth shook

underneath my feet.

I put all of my weight

into each fist that

hit my pillow for

the scattered sleep.

I took a bath and felt my nose

unclench and run into the water

like a broken faucet,

only to clench back up with

twice the determination when

I was dry.

I took the small round red

“decongestants.”

Not a single thing.

I woke up dry mouthed and

miserable.

The same way I closed

my eyes.

17

Tacos at the Diner down The Street

The despair still seeps out

between the cobblestones of the

dungeon that has been turned

into a tourist attraction.

Where t-shirts and snickers bars

are sold next to a place where a

portion of mankind suffered

unimaginable agony.

The breeze moves through the

shackles that remain and the fake

plastic skeletons that they wrap

around.

The gift shop’s florescent bulbs

hum and flow together with the

sustained moans that still echo

the hallways.

Despite the surreal juxtaposition

of human suffering and

commerce the only thing I can

think about are tacos.

Not even good ones.

In fact the ones encased in grease

from the local diner would work.

People might say that it’s a strange

time and place to want some

cheap tacos.

However, the ghosts that still

inhabit this 16th century torture

18

chamber could probably go for

some tacos as well. So I’m sitting

in this diner now

telling you about my day,

trying to fill in the awkward spaces

in conversation while eating this

taco in memory of the ghosts that

dwell in a dungeon that’s

now a tourist attraction.

19

Marshmallows

Wood grain dreams hula hoop telepathic nonsense

across the chair lift wires that bridge

the gaps between the snow white mountains of

your teeth.

Skiing enthusiasts zig-zag down the slopes,

laughing and carrying on

as they tumble down the mountain

and I realize that it’s hard to

stay mad at you.

20

Hey

If you’ve got a good idea

ringing in your ears don’t

be afraid to share it.

Come over and we can watch

infomercials about salvation and

exercise machines

until the sun stumbles over the

horizon.

21

Submarine Sunsets

I sat in the

same padded chair

at the end of the

fiction section.

I read the newspaper.

I dreamed we were watching

a sunset.

One where the sun looks like

a gigantic orange blimp

transforming into a submarine.

Slowly descending.

Carrying out deep sea explorations

that are the stuff of

National Geographic cover stories.

I dreamed I didn’t have glasses

that could vaporize

an ant in a few moments

with a good beam of sunlight.

I dreamed that you noticed me

as you put books away.

22

Movies about Vampires

We sat in the theater

teenage

eyes glazed over

and worried,

trying to watch the boring

movie about

vampires.

Trying not to

think too much.

23

Falling Through a Time Rift and Meeting My Future Self

When I was at work there was an

older guy that needed help finding

a card for his wife.

He said he couldn’t find

anything.

I looked around the corner and

found a whole section of cards

that were for wives.

They were the less serious ones

with cartoons and light hearted

sentiments printed across the

front.

When he saw them he said

“No, not those ones,

I’m trying to get laid.”

24

Blue

Every kiss ends with

eventually driving

home under the

haunting glow of

moonlight.

Traveling down

empty expressways.

Water appears on

blades

of freshly cut grass.

The engine hums through the

open windows.

Open the door slowly, so you

won’t wake your parents up.

Pretend you were asleep all along.

It’d be cool if

you were here too.

25

Crates

The twist of your hips, the

pressure of your lips

accented by the moonlight.

Dark blues with a white glow

round the edges. Crates full of

old soul records are stacked in

your room. Cigarette smoke

floats and weaves with heavy

bass lines. Romantic clichés

are clichés for a reason.

There’s not much skepticism

here. I don’t smoke cigarettes,

but I do now,

at least for this moment.

26

Tiny Closing Credits

I saw a spider

float through bits of breeze

on a length of web,

swinging from the ceiling fan in the

living room.

He floated down to the carpet

and made a run for it.

I’d like to think he floated

on to some happy existence:

A web full of dull gnats

and some peace and quiet.

Instead he’ll probably be crawling through

our blankets and sheets

only to be crushed by frantic

legs and feet

once dreaming and still.

27

Muted

The clouds muted

everything

to a blue gray

glow.

Goosebumps and love bites.

Scratch marks

crisscross

my spine.

Things are quiet

aside from

the drone of

the interstate.

28

Strawberries

I remember you

far off

but clear as can be,

your lips forming

closing credits

to films

that had their

funding cut.

I looked at the faded

heart you drew on

my wrist in black pen.

We were eating strawberries

on a stairwell

in a condominium.

I kissed you

and you waited until

it was over.

29

1:47 a.m.

Making mac and cheese for

myself while I watch spiders

build their homes in the

corners of my ceiling. Bob

Dylan talks through my

stereo about some girl I

don’t know who I try to

morph into a girl that I do

know.

30

Starry Canopy

Underneath the artificial starry canopy

we point out accidental constellations,

laying next to one another.

My heart jumps against my ribcage.

You’re finding more constellations,

but I’m too nervous

to focus on the false solar systems.

My thoughts are submerged in this moment

with you and the glowing stars

I typically take for granted.

I realize how beautiful you are in this moment and

wonder why I didn’t realize it sooner.

Chasing hopelessly after girls who didn’t care about me,

spending lonely nights consoled by quick fixes.

When I could’ve been here,

complete and happy,

leaning over toward you in the dark.

Our lips finally meeting.

31

...I'll Talk to You Later or Something

I like you as much as

fundamentalist Christians like

being secure in their belief

that there will be some space

in the clouds for them when

they pass on.

32

Growing Up

I remember digging through the

pebbles on the playground, hoping that

there would be some gold or other

sought after material buried away

among the small smoothed over

stones.

Financial burden melting away.

Just hair ties and strange

insects lurking beneath.

Pinchers and legs, nylon and

plastic.

I continue digging.

I reach a trapped door. All the kids

that once surrounded me are gone.

Just me and a trapdoor underneath

the pebbles.

It’s a wooden door.

It creaks a bit when I open it.

I can’t hear anything.

Pitch black.

Just a distant rustling.

I can’t see the entry anymore.

Keep crawling forward.

I can’t see what’s in front of me.

I hit a wall.

I feel the wall a bit.

Another door.

I open the door.

33

In the room is a large dragon.

The dragon is too large for the room.

He is doing tax returns. He looks up from his

tiny spectacles in a reassuring grandfatherly

like way, something that you wouldn’t expect

from a dragon stuffed into a subterranean

lair.

"Look kid, things might be tough. She

likes the other boy with more

self-confidence and parents who will

buy him whatever he bothers them

about, but he will develop a wicked

problem with narcotics.

You’ll be okay. Things are

going to work out.

Just wait it out a bit longer.” I

was back on playground.

Sounds of my classmates

rushed back to my ears.

I felt better

until the scary older dudes

started calling me some weird name

they made up for me.

People laughing at me,

the girl included.

Sometimes it’s difficult to take the wisdom of

subterranean dragons doing tax returns in the present,

even if it seems

obvious in hindsight.

34

Hair Metal Bubblegum

I thought about a moment

the other

day.

One where we were both

in each others arms

and laughing

uncontrollably.

I'm not sure about what

exactly,

but those memories tend to

leave a weird

resounding ache.

They only seem to deepen

with time.

I have

a

hard time understanding

why.

35

Motel

After mouse clicks and

frantically tapped keys

we sat on the

motel bed.

We looked at one

another with apprehension

and desire.

I turned your chin

with my thumb and forefinger

gently,

lovingly.

Then it all fell

away.

Evaporated into a

cool summer breeze

from an open window.

I was sleeping next to

someone else.

I’m glad we never met.

I wouldn’t have

been what you

were looking for.

I’m glad all of

that potential heartache

is only crammed into

dreams

rather than our living, breathing, everyday existence.

36

Flooding

I thought about you

over shop vac

hum.

My old work shirt is

covered in sewer water

and sweat.

Rain fell and

the drain hacked up

more water,

flowing over discolored

gray flecked tiles.

I thought about

distant daydreams

that haunted and lifted

my delirium filled

cranium.

I tried to imagine I

was still laying next to you,

trying to figure out

what to do with my arm.

37

Longing

You remind me

of gaps in polite conversation

where everyone would like

to start talking again, but they

can’t. Maybe they’re thinking of

a joke that no one else would

understand or maybe they’re

thinking of an odd moment

with a person they loved. Warm

tingling wide-eyed, melted

heart thud resonating through

their bones. Only to snap out of

that world to a polite

conversation that has stalled

out.

38

Broken Flowers

Flowers cut and arranged,

destined for buckets filled

with 1/3 water in an

artificially refrigerated

purgatory. Destined to be

hurled back into harsh

elements with no way

to eat or drink, griped in the

hands of forgetful lovers,

celebrating love that will

crumble and collapse. Swept into

the margins of history books.

Stuffed hastily into cheap

containers in fits of ecstasy and

agony. Dependent on the feeding

tubes of vases.

Broken flowers that are left to dry

up on a window sill. Collecting

dust, living out their last days

in a doom encased existence.

Their once lively green leaves

curling

into brown silhouettes.

39

6:45 a.m.

Remember when I used to

try to inflate sunrises

like beach balls?

Beach balls that bounced as

good as when they were

first free from their plastic cocoon.

Coffee chatter

works its way through weary limbs

as your cat licks my palms.

I watch you put on

your uniform.

Inconsiderate and lazy,

lodged in my happiness

with you.

40

Stock

Into the black tarp with holes punched in

it. Cold air flowing

in and out of weak lungs.

Tail pipe snowdrifts gather around worn

out tennis shoes

covered in snow, soaked in cold water.

The moon knows your

social security number

and that you want to

wake up two weeks earlier.

41

Drunk in a Red Aluminum Galaxxy

I just wanted to drink alone in

your sitting room and listen to

power ballads. Safe from

having to talking to people

when I’m drunk. My insides

feeling warm, my mind drifting

down stream. I wouldn’t wake

up with vomit

all over my shirt. I wouldn’t wake up with

the notion that I tried to hook-up with

you and got turned down. At 22 I’m

living in a succession of awkward

moments. This is a holding pattern, sad

and embarrassed. I seem to only like

hanging out with pets whenever I go to

parties. I’m not a social drinker,

just an idiotic slurred inconvenience,

making everyone increasingly

uncomfortable.

42

Decomposing/Growing

My back hunched a bit more.

Circles grew a bit deeper.

Fingers knotted up.

Breath fainter.

Feet hurt all the time.

Eyes heavy.

I just want one more minute

laying next to you in the

backseat. Just shut my eyes

for a bit as I peal off

and smooth

a bit of tape on the edge of the

cash register. When I open

them

we’ll still be in the back seat.

You can talk about time travel

as long as you want and I

won’t be in a future where I’m

on some weird dating site

talking to people who aren’t

you. Even though I wish they

were and maybe they do too,

even if they don’t know it.

If I went back to a lot of moments

like this though

I would never have reached that

moment with you. Awkwardly tangled

and content. Hopefully there’s another

43

moment with you off in the horizon, but

I can’t worry about it.

I can’t act like I miss you,

I have to let you go. One

potential future

(supposedly) becomes

more plausible

if I do that.

44

I Make Sure My Head is Connected to My Body

Everything would be perfect

again as we talked

on the phone.

As if nothing had changed

in the slightest.

When I came by

you were

all uneasy laughter

and distance.

Your friend picked us up

even though I didn’t really

want

to go.

I was told repeatedly that he was

a really good DJ.

I watched the tree line

from the back seat

melt together with

the dark

as we careened down

a country road.

All narrow and large hills,

no street lights.

I took a hit of cheap Windexed

green and you forced me to

blow the harsh smoke

between your lips.

45

Your friend

started falling into a Xaney

slump at the wheel.

You were yelling and screaming,

then you were driving.

A police car followed us for

a while.

It seemed like hours.

It probably wasn’t.

We got back and your friend drove off.

I walked you to the door.

You said I could come in, but

to just hold on

one second.

You came back with

ready-made excuses

and sad eyes.

We held each other for

a long time in the hallway

to your apartment.

I drove home quickly,

my stomach

square knots of

love-sick cynicism.

46

Inside

Dust mites locked lips

behind drawn curtains

over the drone of the

neighbor’s compressor.

It’s midday and I haven’t

stepped outside in a while.

It takes

longer than I expected

to get up,

but when I do

I realize that it’s

probably going to be

all right.

47

Caffeine

Rotted teeth in a

rotted skull where all

your lingering

dreams slip away.

Artificially propping

you up at a cubicle.

Hands shake,

hangovers dissipate

and headaches

sink their fangs

into your

temples.

48

Tin Can Dial Tone

I saw a barn. Paint chipping,

bare rotted wood underneath

next to an overpass. Nothing

surrounding it but tall grass,

yellowing in patches. Finished

cigarettes, plastic bottles, a

shirt torn to pieces. I saw you

strolling around by the barn.

Gaunt looking and strung out,

eyes melting black.

Mouth ajar. Pale as milk,

yellow sweat ingrained

deep. Whispering odd

nothings

into a tin can. The string spanned

some distance and ended behind the

closed door of the barn. You giggled a

bit. A strange look came over your

features. Happiness means different

things

to different people.

For some it’s someone next to you.

For others it’s material wealth.

For you it’s an old barn by an

overpass that knows all your

favorite jokes that no one else

quite gets.

49

Honey

You can call

me whatever you want

I guess,

as long as you stick around

for a bit.

We could stay in

bed all day,

snow drifts of covers,

ordering pizza.

I shouldn’t be

so particular and self-conscious.

I should just try

to be happy for once.

50

Idiot Days

I texted women

who will

never text me back.

Women who used to look at me

with starry-eyed fascination

that gave way

to bitter disappointment.

Disappointment brought on

from my

apprehension and irrational

twenty-something idiocy.

I searched through broken down

old phones

for numbers

thought lost and gone

forever.

Phone numbers I’d erased in

embarrassment or a self-satisfied sort of

renewal.

Loneliness and nostalgia

walk hand-in-hand

down city streets

of neon rainwater jarred awake

only by passing cars.

51

Sand

I’m still finding memories

of you in odd places of my

day. Brought about by

things that sort of remind

me of when we were

together. Like taking a

vacation and still finding

sand in everything you

brought with you

months after you

return.

52

Hives

Deep resounding empty jumps and howls

inside my belly.

Dinner’s getting colder, the circles grow

deeper.

Getting old is weird.

Abandoned houses with boarded up

windows and cracked concrete out front

stare back over the imaginary abyss.

Gently mumbling "stop being such a

goddamn wuss all the time.”

53

Far

Away from the fighting

that now consumes our

time together.

We’ll smoke a bowl.

I’ll make you Mac and Cheese.

We’ll lay together and talk

about how much we used to

love each other.

54

Better

We split three bottles of

cheap red wine.

My voice cracked under

the weight of alcohol

and nervous happy.

My palms sweated against

the plastic

Vanilla Coke sign I stole.

I put my arm around you

as we walked back

to your house.

55

Red Flowers

A man

with a gray beard to

his

belly

holds a bouquet of

bright red flowers.

Must’ve been something

cheaper than

roses.

His eyes are

iced over

black swimming pools

in February.

His feet are unsure.

His shirt hangs loose

and is covered in sweat stains.

It is

9:00 am

and he’s walking

quickly.

56

Ghost Town Whiskey

Soot still clung to

my jacket

as I looked up at the stars.

A mouthful of love

songs that all want to

escape at once,

feet made of springs,

bouncing two-and-fro.

Cold against my cheeks

warm in my belly.

57

23

I woke up with a few less

phone numbers

and a few new ones.

Cigarette burns against

a pillow and blankets

bunched up between my arms.

I woke up with a lot of

sorrys and goodbyes.

My stomach tangled up

granite,

my eyes

red overcast.

I woke up kind of

late

to the last of the cicada hiss

and the start of September.

58

Thank You

Mom Dad Tony Kim Alex Ridel Alyssa Hardin Amanda Shreve April Connor Audrey Mercer Ben Moxon Bryttan Johnson Christy Castillo Chuck Taylor Claire Mahoney Cody Gomez Cosette Daniel Dave Edwards Dillon White Ellen Krezezewski Erica Smith Frances Mackey Gabby Conti Gino Korkis Jake Zilinski Jana Miller Jenifer Raymond Jessica Lisey Jessica Sicilliano Justin Donoghue Kathleen Trombley Kristen Kliener Lauren McCoy Lauren Sibu Matt Booza Melissa Johnson Nate Tavel Nick O’Keefe Nik Hill Pat White Phil Pomber Rachel Krolczyk Robert Heady Sam Gurney Sam Scannell Sam Tinette Scott Stafford Stefanie Doetzkies Stephanie Love Tom White Tylar Williamson

59

????????????????

Nicholas Arthur is 24 years old and

currently lives in one of the many lake

towns in Michigan. He is a Wayne State

University graduate. Along with poetry

he dabbles in music, writing and art.

When he is not writing he can be found

looking in the bargain bin at the record

store, drinking coffee far too late at night and eating breakfast any time he

pleases. He has a cat named Simba.

hair metal bubblegum

Documents

jana miller cover photo

jake zilinski

t credit

coolest people im