Fall 2016

Curation and graphic design by Stephanie Watson, and PR by Olivia Hu.


CONTENTS:
// Letter from the editor
// Meet the artists
// Kayla Bashe’s Queen of the Hills
// Rose Gillespie’s A God, Unheard
// Chloe Henderson’s Leaves of Fourplay
// Olivia Hu’s Bone Deep
// Olivia Hu’s Gray
// Heidi Bird’s Imaginary Friends
// Heidi Bird’s They’re Talking to Me
// Yolanda Moyo & Gary Erskine’s Ripley
// Kim Morales‘ Church
// Kim Morales‘ Toe
// Kim Morales‘ Transplants
// Myriam Tillson’s Eye
// Myriam Tillson’s The Princess
// Valeria Vigilante’s Compromise
// Valeria Vigilante’s Mismatched expectations: a work of fantasy and everyday reality
// About the next issue

Dear Fembotters,

So the Fall has hit us once again, and just like every year when the nights get colder and darker, I find myself seeking out the world of fantasy, horror, and surealism. I mean Hallowe’en is just around the corner after all, but there’s something about how Summer fades into darkness and chill that egnites a need for the unreal.

That being said, it wasn’t just the changing season that prompted the theme of ‘Fantasy,’ but it was also the idea that we wanted a theme that could literally hold any kind of art. I mean heck, what poem, what story, what painting couldn’t fit within such a theme? Even the most down-to-earth, slice-of-life piece of art can relate to fantasy in some way; our dreams, desires, even our nightmares, there is nothing about real life that can’t become fantasy.

So enough chatter; I present to you our Fantasy issue of Cyberrriot, which is filled with photo-manipulations about surreal friends, poetry about thoughts we wish we could tell our families and friends, and some kickass cosplay.

With all of this in mind, take the following pieces of art with a pinch of glitter, and enjoy the ride!

Cyberrriot on,
Stephanie

 

Stephanie Watson, co-founder of Fembot and creator of Cyberrriot, joined the site in 2010, and since then has gotten an honors degree in Psychology, and an HNC in Professional Writing. She also contributes to HelloGiggles, XoJane, TYCI, Bitch Media, and hopes to make her way further in the journalistic world. As well as her love for opinionated journalism and social media, she also writes romantic prose and cryptic poetry, dabbling in minimalist painting too. Stephanie’s goals are of a personal creative kind, however through her articles and poetry she hopes to provoke change and discussion of social justice issues.

 

 


img_2345Kayla Bashe is a binational lesbian. Her fiction and poetry has appeared in Strange Horizons, Liminality Magazine, Solarpunk Press, and The Future Fire. She has also released several speculative fiction novellas.

img_2346Heidi Bird is a University graduate from Melbourne, who is deeply invested in art of a morbid or tacky nature. She enjoys long walks on the bach, white wine and healing internal wounds left by embarassing mistakes. She is also desperate for employment and thinks she looks pretty good in this picture. You can find Heidi on Instagram right here.

Gary Erskine is a comic book artist currently living in Glasgow, Scotland with his wife, Mhairi. He has been illustrating for over twenty years working with various companies including DC and Marvel Comics, Dark Horse, Madefire and IDW. He has also worked on licensed properties such as Doctor Who, Star Wars, Star Trek, Terminator, Judge Dredd, Dan Dare and Captain America. His current work now includes writing/publishing ROLLER GRRRLS which he created with Anna Malady.

Rose Gillespie is studying science and loves fiction, mythology, and media with women at the forefront.

img_2350Chloe Henderson trained as a jeweller at Duncan of Jordanstone College of Art and Design, and graduated in 2014. Since then she has been developing her creative practice; creating jewellery and artwork based on stories and
mythologies. Chloe creates highly patterned work. Her drawings are akin to the zentangle style, and this is also reflected in her etched style metalwork. She uses the patterns to create narratives, and explore visual storytelling through the fine arts, and the wearable jewellery creations she makes in the workshop. In her spare time she tames unicorns and swims with mermaids.

Olivia Hu is a rising sophomore in high school. When she isn’t harvesting her infatuation over writing, she is wandering the café-scented streets of downtown or finding solace in old book stores. Currently, she is a blog and magazine writer for HerCulture. She also actively writers and edits for her school newspaper, and was awarded first place for prose in a national Canadian writing competition

img_2349Myriam Tillson is a french-english painter based in London, UK. She works traditionally and specialises in gouache, inks, and watercolour, and paints pieces with a surreal and fantastical feel to them. She aims for quiet empowerment and to represent the subtleties of humanity and more specifically femininity in a colourful non obtrusive manner. You can find more of her work on instagram @myriamtillson, or on deviantart @hedgesloth

Kim Morales is a student poet born, raised and struggling in Brooklyn. Her goal as a writer is to dismantle historically unjust narratives and create new and absurd ones. You can follow her at poeta-hoe.tumblr.com

img_2339Yolanda Moyo is a recent psychology graduate and has been cosplaying since 2014. She’s a fan of scifi and horror and a supporter of Black Lives Matter. She is also an aspiring dancer who wants to explore contemporary and jazz dance.

img_2399Born and raised in the sunny Italy, Valeria Vigilante is currently studying Politics and Philosophy at the University of Sheffield (United Kingdom). She is passionate about writing, cinema, feminism, political journalism and human rights. Currently looking for a cure for her obsession with animal socks and flamingos.

By Kayla Bashe

the sand burns shrapnel freckles into all human hands; she makes her gloves from poacher-skin
and patches dragons’ wings with melted coins.
she re-fledges pegasi
rekindles phoenix caught in summer storms
a rusted lighter and a prayer.
the sandstorms do not dare erase her footsteps
Sun never dazzles her aloe-green eyes
one day she’ll kiss a wanderer
indescribably sweeter
than sunlight and dust

by Rose Gillespsi

She sent word in the beginning, after she first opened her eyes and saw them.
I am here she tried to say, words falling through the wind.
What am I doing here? She asks herself, tries to ask them, shouts her existence into the world and sends messengers, but each and every one are never heard.
And she realises that they are her- feel like her, at least, and no one listens.
Then there are men- some listen, some don’t and some- the word gets twisted, somehow, but she can’t blame him, they listen to him and yet what is written is wrong-
Blessed are the life-givers, she wants to scream, blessed are the ones you refuse to hear.
But they do not listen, and they worship, and that is never what she wanted, only to tell them how she felt-
She is not creation.
She does not control them.
She is not a He.
She is not in the sky far above, not any more.
Her body cries out, for every child they are forced to bear, for every pain inflicted on them, for every scar that forms, for every scar that is never able to form, for every hurt delivered in her name and all the wrongs done.
Sometimes she wonders if she has counterparts, for each kind of injustice on each person, but there has been nothing conclusive.
Time goes by, blurring together with the pain and the screams in her head until-
She is there. A body, pain dulled and eyes seeing her for the first time.
By now her names have been used for everything they can think of, for weakness and evil, and Eve and Delilah and Jezebel run through her mind and she promises to keep them, promises revenge.

She walks among them the streets head held high, looking like everyone and no one.
The names of her sisters, daughters, friends, cover her coffee cups, trying to keep their memory alive in a scribble of permanent marker.
They would litter her skin if the ink would stick.
She calls for justice, and gets platitudes, speaks the truth and gets pushed down by insults and liars and those unwilling to see.
She fights in the streets, just for the momentary taste of iron on her tongue, to show them that they cannot get away with this, but it does not help – they are shamed, but not enough to stop.
Nothing is ever enough.

 

by Chloe Henderson

 

by Olivia Hu

Sometimes I forget
about you, like
you were ever here
to remember. The
ocean sends me
your songs
& the wind feels
like a kiss
your strawberry
lips would
have made.
Post cards from
tigresses and my
yellow wool sweater.
Knit by me, but
the hands were
yours. The songs
I sing are on islands
& the ghosts of dogs
I never owned
follow me. I never
wear your
Chanel No. 5.
Instead, the
smell of decay swells.
Sprayed twice on my
neck. I hold something
and my hands feel
like yours, my body;
too. My skin blurred.
My moans, tainted. I drive
the convertible down
the street and it’s the
first time I’ve swallowed
air since April. I park
downtown, smell smoke
& dying stars.
 

by Olivia Hu

Her body red,
mine;
not. I forget the
time when we
painted ourselves
tigers,
hugged the soil like
stars. I smell of
unripened peaches
& jam; acrid enough
to burn teeth.
The moon bruised
& the sky cut,
the opening the
the soft parting
painted on
your lips.
The space rips open
an abyss-
where there is
so much more that

we do not know.

by Heidi Bird
by Heidi Bird

Costume design and modeling by Yolanda Moyo & photography by Gary Erskine

by Kim Morales

 i was born with a toe in my mouth

my tongue, unfurled and extended,
revealed a big toe sleeping
in between the folded thing

tender like an inside out middle finger
—  the bone hanging cruelly away from the flesh —
i balled my frail hands into fists
and that’s how they photographed me

too pink to be sullen

weak but thick

by Kim Morales

I walked on a third rail all the way up and down the D line
The rats scrambled at my feet,
Gnawing at my toenails

I felt comforted by my presence in their stomachs
I was still real

I found myself on emptying avenues,
The Verrazano short on the horizon,
Looking for an alleyway to sleep in
They were boarded up
I worked for potholes on Avenue B,
To nestle in I wanted,
And they were all filled
with discarded shoes and their tattered and stretched laces
and speciality coffee

I dont have any money
I have blood and bone marrow and hair to sell
My pussy is being occupied by gutter punks
So i cant rent it out
The guys that fuck me complain about their ripe music
It smells like rotting hair and wet dog food
The squatters might need to leave soon
So I can sublet my cervix

My mother objected
When I proposed AIR B’N’B-ing my asshole
What virtue would I have left, she lamented
She taught me how to pay the rent in chocha hair mind you
I fell asleep on the A
And woke up in the hospital
Turns out I needed transplants for an integumentary disorder
I didnt even know i had

They took the trilling grease from my chest
And the booming smoke from my forehead
The squatters huddled in my coochie, unbothered

The nurses prepped me for the surgery
the years of shouts were washed from behind my ears
They scrubbed all my graffiti skin
Ground zero debris was cleared from under my retina
Cops set up light towers on my head

We need to add more bone
They said

by Myriam Tillson

by Myriam Tillson

 

by Valeria Vigilante

I wonder why,

no matter what,

Our dreams and ambition

always taste bittersweet,

and have a shade of pink.

If they don’t,

We end up

being considered,

feeling,

being

men with vaginas

by Valeria Vigilante

To my parents,

I bet you both had dreams about me, of how cute and sweet I would be, with your piercing blue eyes, dad.
But I never looked cute or very pretty; I have always had, what you dad usually tell me, some good face features. Your face looks amazing but you should do something for your body…. I mean, it’s not that hard honey.
We always end up like that.
We run in circles, dear parents, from moments of fake exceptions to moments when I eventually come to the conclusion, the one you had from the beginning hidden under the perfect façade of ‘we care about you’, that I look terrible and I need to lose weight.
It runs in circles, alongside my yoyo figure.
I go down, you shut up.
I go up, you speak loud.
We can’t do this anymore.
We are deluded.
All of us, the magic trio.
You believe in the fantasy that I will lose weight and finally my intelligence will match my appearance. You know, sweetie, it’ll help you a lot when you look for a job and do interviews.
I believe that one day, when I tell you that I don’t wanna be on diet anymore and you say okay, it will be real.

For the moment on, I choose myself over self-destruction. You won’t ever be satisfied with
the way I look. But I will be if I just stop listening to you.

Your overweight child.

 

We encourage you to submit your creative writing for consideration to be digitally published in our seasonal arts zine, Cyberrriot.

What we’d love to see from you:

Written Art (e.g. poetry, short stories, flash fiction, vignettes, fictional and non-fiction monologues, fictional and non-fiction letters, scripts, extracts from novel etc.)
Visual Still Art (e.g photography, posters, drawings, collages, digital and traditional paintings, sketches, printing, clothing and technology design etc.)
Mixed media (e.g. vlogs, Instagram pictures, gifs, music, Vimeo/YouTube videos, etc.)
Conversations & Social Media (e.g. text message, Twitter replies, Tumblr blog posts, etc.)

The theme for our 2016 Winter issue is FUTURE

The submission deadline is December 30th and the zine will be published digitally on our site January 5th.

If you wish to submit a piece of art to Fembot’s Cyberrriot, then email them to us, along with a third person bio and a picture of yourself to cyberrriot@gmail.com and we’ll get back to you within 3-4 business days. You can find more information about rules and regulations here.