We are seeking contributions to a very special zine, Audacity, which is being put together in this tumbledown world of ours. 

The topic for second edition is truth.

audacity

Curated By

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We are looking for writings of up to 500 words, photographs that speak volumes, and art which shouts a thousand words at a time.

Our submissions deadline is March the 15th, so there isn’t long to get your creative on.

I suppose people will be asking: what are we going to do with all this creative truth? The answer is simple…

Audacity may well be a zine, and completely pro-bono, but it will be freely distributed across the world in electronic form. Call it a showcase, call it an anthology, call it a collection. Call it what you may, we’re going to take this inspiration, this creativity, this hope, and we’re going to add a little magic and set it free on the winds. Where it belongs.

Sometimes people only need the faintest glimmer to get their hearts racing again. That and a little audacity…

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3 thoughts on “Audacity

  1. A response to your call for submissions on the theme of hope.

    We Come In Storms

    We’re born in agonising storms
    of screams and blood and dark confusion;
    tumbling midst chaotic power,
    we’re driven into life.

    A thick, elusive fog surrounds
    our early days. Is that a pattern –
    is there meaning to be found
    within the fumbling of this baffled sensing?

    To our young minds,
    life has an endless feel. Eternal sunny days
    exuding warmth and unrestricted opportunity.
    How little do we know – or care.

    We grow into a bleak, wild night
    of winds and wetness, howls and driving rain.
    We lurch from pain, through joy, to desperate longing;
    and with the first faint streaks of dawn
    we look and see that we have changed.

    Adulthood comes
    and with it buffeting and battering
    from careless, potent gales.
    They drive us here and there,
    exposing us to what us new and different;
    and through it all we somehow gain control
    and learn to live with love.

    But then for years, for decades even,
    a thin and steady rain pours down upon our lives.
    It slakes our thirst, perhaps,
    but slakes it with monotony and greyness;
    drip by drip by drip by drip our spirits drained.

    Then unassuming autumn.
    By then we’re broken by the strains of life,
    our powers declined.
    But how our failing minds are learning to enjoy,
    despite our fallen leaves and desiccated stems,
    despite the disappearance of the glorious petals of our distant youth,
    the simple things.

    Now darkness falls and with it mad confusion.
    Thunder rips the sky apart and horror grips our minds;
    humiliation, pain and grief become our food;
    a flash of lightning showing for an instant
    a world of terrifying strangeness;
    fantastic unrelenting storms;
    an icy chill to freeze our warmth;
    a scarifying fire to burn us down to ash.
    And as we slip and slither helplessly to our inevitable end,
    we have no longer sense or courage, faith or understanding.
    No past, no future; trapped within the vastness of this one eternal moment.

    Is there some place where order can be found;
    a flicker in the darkness,
    a whisper in the silence,
    the faintest human touch within a universe of loneliness?

    unevidenced unknown unreachable
    our lives condensed
    become an essence
    reduced to hope

    @ewanandsmith

    Like

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