Leo GuGu’s warm friendly energy shines through.

Click to see **REACH Pt. 1**

Click to see **GRAPH OF THE HEART**

Click to see **PSYCH**

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SPANK HOMEWERQ! NEW ASSIGNMENT: ELEMENTAL

THEME Elemental

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UNTRUE by Brian Bauman
Summer break in a skater’s bedroom. He’s playing electric guitar and everything smells like a sweaty t-shirt. He smokes a cigarette and taps out the tabs from a Nirvana song from the back of guitar magazine. Heart shaped box.

I stare at his thighs, wait for him to move his legs so a gap opens up and I can see into the cave of his shorts. He wears boxers so I cross my fingers and take another deep breath. His eyes are closed and the playing is awful. I’ll write a poem about this later, in my hard bound journal. I keep it in the sock drawer, next to a bottle of jergens lotion and a cylindrical paperweight I bought from a tourist shop in Rehobeth Beach. It’s a long tube with clear water and a denser liquid inside it, dyed blue. A toy sailboat floats on top of the dark oil. You can shake it and it looks like a tide. After I write the poem I stick this thing up my ass and jerk off, imagine this guy fucking me in the bed of his red truck, in a mcdonalds parking lot, his suave deodorant clumped into big white chunks in his armpit hair. It melts like candle wax in milky streams, trails down the inside of his arms.

When we hang out and play video games, he sometimes mimes the sexual positions he likes best, showing me how he holds his girlfriend’s legs back. Where he puts his hands. I use this information and push the ocean inside me. He fucks her like a monkey.

The poem is bad but I transcribe it anyway. I carefully print, the letters are exaggerated, all caps. I put it in his combo-locker and spend the rest of a school day in high panic. Every time the bell rings I die a little. Which period do we have together? I run through the schedule and realize that we are in printmaking 8th block. I throw up in a stall in the bathroom.

He doesn’t show for art class. I carve into a piece of leather with a specialty knife, ink it up and pull the print. It is of an anthropormorph-ized tree. You can make out the figure of a woman, her body is trapped beneath the bark. Her arms and hair are fractal branches. They call this technique relief.

Class ends and I’ve made it through the day without seeing him. I start second guessing the whole gesture. It’s cruel that I did that, created my own little pressure cooker, an experiment in gay panic. I see myself like a monster pansy blowing kisses, limp wrist waves and mascara cartoon winks. I shared this. I made it his problem, which is what I do. Then I get angry and think, he’s a man, he can take it.

He calls me over the weekend and we meet up in an elementary school playground. He has a pint bottle of rumplemints and we drink it together. We don’t talk about the poem, but my voice is shaky and I pretend that everything is cool. I want him so badly that my ass literally twitches a kind of morse code. He has wide hands and when he wears a ballcap he looks classic and masculine. His jaw is defined. When he removes the cap, which he does, his lips are full and pink, his face shrinks. He hands me the awful sweet schnapps. I suck it down and it feels like a warm tongue. Where is his girlfriend? She is getting a college degree in elementary education, has a big test so he didn’t drive into Albany to see her. I get her sloppy seconds. He wants to make a movie or set off fireworks, do something creative and stupid. He kicks a rock and it bounces on the macadam. I go into a giant concrete block, some kind of old sewer tube that is defaced with graffiti. It is dark and warm out. He follows me in and sits on the opposite side. Our legs are touching. I look at his wide feet, the skater shoes. I want him to say he loved my poem. He covers his mouth with the bottle. Nothing happens. We drink in silence. The liquor makes swiggy noises as we pass it back and forth. I think of the plastic sailboat bouncing around in my ass, how I’ll make him love me the way he loves her. Simian.

Eventually, I wear down his guard. weeks later, we skip school on the day of a solar eclipse. My parents both work so we can have the house to ourselves. He parks his truck at the church and walks over. It’s like 10:30. The light starts perceptibly changing, everything takes on a glowy intensity. His blond hair looks orange, now red. We sit on the steps of the deck, which plunges into the backyard and overlooks a raggedy pond, tall trees pointing up that obscure route 50 on the opposite side of the water. We can hear the mechanics at Jiffy Lube shout to one another, the whirr of their equipment. We sit on the deck stairs. They are wooden, covered in chipped red paint. The light fades, we both lean back on elbows, sink our butts into the scratchy wood, and spread our legs wide. He is looking up at the sky, not directly at the sun but around it. I am watching his face, how it looks like a child now, the grin kind of feline with whiskers on his chin. His t-shirt is too big, the neck scoops down, his chest is broad, muscular and smooth. I remember seeing his nipples when we went bridge jumping once. They were peaked like rose jujubees. The water was running down his chest and he shook it from his ears. He said “Your Turn!” and I took a running leap off the structure. Eternal seconds of falling and the roaring crash of river water like a slap. I swallowed big gulps. They found PCBs from the general electric plant up stream. Now it’s a superfund site.

This moment is so incredibly hot. The solar light keeps changing, receding, this is like the best dream I’ve ever had. Vivid and even the way we are talking to each other has slowed, a dream language. I get up and curl around his right leg, boldly put my hands on his thigh, and start to undo his pants. He keeps staring at the sky. I am afraid to look at his face. He is silently chuckling. His stomach kind of rolls. We are both excited and I don’t want to spoil this. I can’t remember if we were stoned.

I pull down his pants and his boxers have lifted. He is hard and I tug the elastic down, I want to see it now. I snag the waistband under his balls and behold his fat cock. It is thick, pink like chewing gum, and the head is dumbly bouncing. I go to town. I suck and swallow him. The whole thing couldn’t have lasted more than two minutes. He comes silently. We share a post-coital sheepishness, confusion and embarassement, like now we have this secret between us and oh shit what are you gonna do? It is a duel.

I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth, stare at my face in the mirror. So I did it. I got what I wanted. I am dizzy with adrenaline but something feels broken. I go out to the backyard and catch a quick peek of him walking to his truck. He has his back pack over one shoulder and he doesn’t turn around. I could turn to salt. I sit on the stair and listen. There are bugs buzzing and beyond that, the frenzy of the jiffy lube. I strain, lean into the men working in the garage, can hear a song they are playing on a radio.

The light normalizes, I go into the house and turn on the television. I flip to an episode of the young and the restless. The dog sleeps on the sofa. His legs kick, he is dreaming. The orange actors yell at one another. A vase is thrown and shattered. Is that all there is to a fire?

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Montreal:

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Brooklyn:

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TONIGHT, Feb. 13th, 2012
Valentine’s Day EVE
Ladies Of Soul Tribute at Joe’s Pub 9:30PM sharp.

starring:::: XAVIER, LADY RIZO, SXIP SHIREY, HELOISE (OF THE SAVOIR FAIRE), MYKAL KILGORE, CELINA CARVAJAL, DEAH HARRIOTT, ANDRE SPRINGER aka the artist fka SHAQUANDA COCA MULATTA, MATT DALLOW and more!

Joe’s pub is at:
425 Lafayette Street, N.Y.

$15 at the door

SEE YOU THERE!!!!!

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The multi-talented artist / singer/ painter / photographer/ n-y-c sensation Gio Black Peter, submitted some of his artwork for our Tough Love homeWERQ assignment. See him Friday night at our Tough Love event at littlefield  administering some real over the knee disipline!

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SPANK homeWERQ new assignment: TOUGH LOVE

As well as being shown on spankartmag.com the images will be projected Friday Feb. 10th at SPANK Tough Love.

THEME Tough Love
FORMAT illustration, story, song, film/video, painting, poem, sculpture
SIZE width 750 pix
LINK give us your website/facebook & we will link to it.
SEND submit@spankartmag.com

Take a look at some of the past homeWERQ! assignments.
Assignment Fantasy

Bull by Ian O'Phelan

Assignment Bubble

Bubble by Jason C Woodson

Assignment Robot

First Date by David Meanix

Assignment You’re Under Arrest!

On the morning of April 7^th, 2003, a group of 52 anti-war protesters (including the legendary group, Glamericans) convened in front of the Carlyle Group, a war-profiteering company, to speak out against companies pushing for the start of the Iraq war. The Glamericans, who were known to mix glamour, glitter and theatrics with their activism, had met the previous week to plan their action and had decided they would dress up as bourgeois society ladies and gents and pretend to be pro-war activists with chants like “More Blood for Oil!” They had just gotten started when the cops dressed in riot gear surrounded and moved in on them, cuffing them with zip ties and loading them into padded wagons. After a long day in jail, all the protesters were released and in the court dates that followed, charges were dropped against them. The arrests were the only illegal thing that happened that morning, and with the help of representation by Emery Celli Brinkerhoff Abady along with the Center for Constitutional Rights the protesters sued the NYPD.  After battling it out in the courts for over four years, the protesters were awarded a whopping $2,007,000 (which also went to cover legal expenses). Suddenly, some of New York’s most radical bohemians were $18k richer! And although they didn’t manage to stop the Iraq war from happening, at least they had won this battle. Wil Fisher asks three NYC night life celebs and Glamericans members Machine Dazzle, Sylvia London (wink!) and Linda Simpson what they remember most from that fateful day.

Wil Fisher (WF): First things first, what were you wearing at the anti-war protest on April 7, 2003?

Machine Dazzle (MD): I was wearing billionaire cowgirl drag:  black pumps, black skirt (or was it trousers?) black Chanel Jacket with a blouse, a faux mink stole a bandana ( i forget what color)  )with a big black cowgirl hat on top! Sun glasses of course, and earrings…pearls I think.

Sylvia London (SL): I was wearing a business suit paired with a long faux fur and some simple eye make-up with my hair slicked back. Not really full drag, but very lady boi/lesbian chic.

Linda Simpson (LS): I was in full drag trying to look like an Uptown lady in a Chanel-like gold jacket and matching skirt. Very Madison Avenue!

WF: What were you feeling when you were being arrested that morning?

MD: I felt shocked and powerless over my arrest.  It was also surreal, I couldn’t believe I was getting arrested with no cop telling me what I did wrong, no rights, no phone call, no nothing… when I did nothing wrong!!! They just hand cuffed us and put us in the wagon.

SL: I felt PO’ed! I was so shocked what was happening could happen in America- let alone NYC. Some of the cops were really rude and made negative comments about my “gender non-conformity.” The zip ties really hurt too!

LS: Along with the rest of the group I was initially in shock because we weren’t doing anything wrong.  Then the realization sunk in that we were being persecuted because of our political beliefs.  That was pretty creepy.

WF: What memory sticks out for you the most from that day?

MD: What sticks out most is my time in the cell with Linda Simpson.  We were in drag, so they didn’t mix us with the men. They gave us our own cell in the women’s section of the jail.  I remember sitting there chatting and relieving myself in front of her… At one point there were children and their mothers walking by our cell peering through the bars on their way to their own cell!! What could they have possibly done, we gasped? We found out later they were anti abortionists who had blocked an entrance to a clinic.

SL: In the padded wagon I marveled at the diversity of the group I was with. Linda Simpson sat next to a short, old, radical Jewish couple, and Machine sat next to a bearded woman from Circus amok! Gays, straights, freaks and geeks all busted just for voicing our opinion.  I actually felt really proud to be in that padded wagon.

LS: As me and the other arrestees were being led to the paddy wagons in handcuffs, some of the protesters who had not been arrested were yelling their support and advising us to only provide the police with our names, addresses and ages.  I dramatically threw my head back and hollered, “I refuse to give my age.”  It got a big laugh.

WF: And finally, what did you do with your settlement money?!

MD: I paid off some old debt and then did some shopping!  I got my first Ipod and I went to Marc Jacobs! Yay!

SL: I paid off some bills, put some in savings, and went on a gorgeous trip to Napa Valley and down the California coast in a red convertible! It was fab!

LS: I’m not sure!  I sort of whittled it away on miscellaneous expenses.  But it definitely helped my economic situation and it seemed like a fair payment for having my rights so trampled by the police.

Assignment Animal Spirits

by Charlie Welch

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