By: Eric Michael Anderson

It’s all the public library’s fault, you see. My parents would routinely take me to the public library as a child so I could check out books to read. When I was in the third grade in Ames, Iowa, my main reading interest was Hardy Boys mysteries. But one day, in the Ames Public Library, I came upon a large wall-mounted rack (I believe it was in the Children’s section) covered in comic books. Prior to that day, I had never paid much mind to comic books, but that day I found one that intrigued me: Peter Porker, the Spectacular Spider-Ham. At the time, Marvel Comics had a line aimed at younger kids called Star Comics, and Spider-Ham was that line’s flagship title. I checked out the comic, thoroughly enjoyed it, and began using my allowance to buy issues of Spider-Ham that I would find on the spinner racks in the grocery store or drug store. And through the funny-animal versions of the Marvel Universe depicted in Spider-Ham, I became interested in the mainstream Marvel Universe as well.
The next comic to catch my fancy that I checked out from the library was The West Coast Avengers. It was the “West Coast” in the title that got me. I was from the West Coast, land of oceans and mountains, serving an involuntary penance in flat, landlocked central Iowa, so a superhero team from the West Coast. . . well, they must be super-cool! The West Coast Avengers quickly became my favorite comic, and from there I spun off to other Avengers-related titles (by the way, my dad always insisted that I check out two “real books” as well as my comic books).
By fourth grade, I had learned to bag my comics, keep them in order alphabetically by title and, within a title, numerically by issue. My must-read list grew to include the four X-Men titles being published at the time: Uncanny X-Men, Classic X-Men (which reprinted older Uncanny X-Men stories), X-Factor, and the New Mutants, as well as The Punisher and whatever random special or mini-series Marvel was putting out at the time.
My fascination with comics would continue (and my collection would continue to grow) until the middle of eighth grade when two things happened: I wanted to buy an electric guitar, so I stopped buying comic books in order to save my money towards my rock & roll dreams, and I just kind of lost interest in the whole comic book thing, anyway. Interestingly, in retrospect, it’s generally accepted by people who write about such things that there was a drop in the quality of comic books being published in the early 1990s, which is when I quit buying. So I guess it wasn’t just me.
Sometime in high school, I started to have that comic book itch again, but having fallen thoroughly into the indie-rock scene, I had a general interest in things outside the mainstream. At that point I wasn’t terribly interested in reconnecting with my childhood loves, the Avengers and the X-Men (also, there seemed to be twenty-odd different X-Men titles being published at the time, so I wouldn’t have even know where to start). I asked an artist friend (and fellow rocker) to recommend some “weird” comics, and he pointed me towards The Maxx and Neil Gaiman’s Sandman. I enjoyed those and would pick up the occasional issue, as well as some random indie comics, but when I headed off to college my comic reading dropped to nil again.
Until my senior year, that is. I had started college intending to go into musical composition, but ultimately found myself an English major. As such, I was fascinated with different methods of story-telling, and decided to check in on those great stories of my youth, the comic books. So I found myself routinely going to O’Leary’s books in Lakewood, WA, catching up with the X-Men, Batman, and related spin-offs. Also, at the time I was on the staff for the university’s “social justice” magazine, and had an interest in body issues and sexism and media portrayals and so forth, so to “research an article” I also bought the worst offenders in the absurdly-busty, barely-clothed, super-powered-female niche, which meant a lot of things published by Chaos! Comics and Image Comics. Some of it was crap, but there are some great Witchblade stories, and Lady Death had some cool stories, too (these days I will just admit that I like super-powered chicks with big boobs and not try to couch my interest in some “let’s fix the world” agenda. Ah, the joys of not being an undergrad anymore).
About a year later, having graduated from college, I moved to Louisiana, and ended up serving in AmeriCorps at below minimum wage ($700/month if I recall correctly), I realized I really couldn’t afford this comic habit of mine and gave it up cold turkey.
And then, about a year after that, a wonderful thing happened: I went to my local public library, and discovered, to my great joy, that they had comic books! They were collected in trade paperbacks and graphic novels, rather than individual issues, but that was actually an improvement, because then you could get a whole storyline at once, and they held up better, physically. I took great joy in checking these wonders out from the library (though I did feel mildly insulted, being twenty-odd years old, that they were all shelved in the “Teen” section). The public library has been my main means of reading comics ever since.
I do still buy the occasional comic though, and it’s a good thing: by attending the Wizard World comic book convention in Chicago in August of 2007 (and dropping my big pile of purchases), I met my soon-to-be wife. All thanks, in the grand scheme, to the Ames, Iowa Public Library.

For as long as I can remember I haven’t fit in anywhere. I still don’t, really, and I probably never will. Part of this is due to the fact that I’m a girl interested in things guys tend to be interested in, rather than things most girls are into. Part of it’s that I’m quiet, and though I’m no longer a mute for all intents and purposes, like I was as a teenager, I’m still pretty awkward around people over the age of 12 (unfortunately most people seem to interpret these characteristics as aloofness/bitchiness). Part of it’s also just fate – my parents. My dad, a once illegal Mexican immigrant who came to this country at 16 with only a sixth grade education, somehow married my mom, a middle-class WASP suburbanite who graduated from Northwestern University. Such a union was bound to create interesting, if not mixed-up, children. Though I can’t speak for my siblings, I know I’m more mixed up than I am interesting. I’m not Mexican enough for the Mexicans or white enough for the whites. The fact that I speak Spanish fluently matters just as little as the fact that I can speak English – it’s strange, really. Throw in my “radical” beliefs like clean living, vegetarianism, atheism, etc., add an early marriage and you get the social pariah that is me.

I was fortunate enough to stumble upon the Chicago punk scene when I was 16. The discovery was purely by accident – I liked a boy who was into the scene and I’d heard some of the music on my high school radio station and I liked it. So, I started going to shows at the Fireside Bowl, partially to see this boy and partially to listen to the music—it was a win/win for me. This was circa 1997 when bands like Blink 182 were popular and stores like Hot Topic began emerging at malls across America. But I didn’t wear the “right” clothes or have the “right” look. I didn’t know the “right” people and, like I said before, I was practically mute – so I got a lot of dirty looks. I won’t say it didn’t bug me, it did, but it was something I was used to – being the odd one out, so I kept going back partially out of defiance, partially because of the aforementioned boy, but mostly because I fell in love with the music and the whole D.I.Y. ethic.

For a long time I thought a lot of things were impossible, because all I’d ever been exposed to was the mainstream. I was raised by strict, practical parents who wanted me to have practical aspirations, so I never really thought outside the box much, but punk rock changed that. As I went to more and more shows I discovered kids like me had created their own record labels and zines. They were in bands that actually had put CD’s or records out and they toured—something I thought was only possible for bands on major labels. They did things on their terms and had fun doing them.

When I graduated from high school I left Chicago, hoping for a fresh start in a new town. I went to college as far as my parents would allow me to go and ended up in Rock Island, IL (a mere 2.5 hours away). There I discovered a much smaller scene. I had high hopes for this scene. I thought a smaller scene would be more welcoming. I wasn’t entirely wrong, but I was disappointed. At the time I didn’t realize it would take more than just a move for me to find a community. That to find a community I had to speak up. I was also disappointed, because though a few guys from the scene talked to me, the girls still kept their distance for the same reason they’d kept their distance in Chicago (clothes, appearance, friends, etc.). Once I realized I had to talk to make friends, I tried going up to some of them only to get dirty looks and snarky comments, whispers and giggles.

This is something that’s always upset me about girls within the scene—the judgment, the “I’m better than you” attitude. An attitude that gets us nowhere, because it doesn’t allow for any dialogue or collaboration, which are necessary for a community By excluding each other we exclude girls as a whole from the hardcore community. I always wanted to have what the boys had – they talked about stuff and did stuff – it may not have always been the most intelligent stuff, but they had a community in which they could be themselves and grow. Though a lot of the guys I met while I was out there made me feel welcome despite my shyness, I never really felt I was a part of what they had.

I did make a couple of really good friends while I was out there, though. People who are like family to me today, who’ve been nothing but supportive, who’ve been infinitely patient with me. It’s because of these people that I’ve been able to do this zine, as well as many other things. They’ve exposed me to new ideas and supported me through life changes and I’d like to think I’ve done the same for them.

I came back to Chicago a couple of years ago after an unsuccessful stint in Iowa. I realized that this is my home, it’s where I belong. I’ve realized that no matter where I find myself I will always be “odd” and that so long as I realize this and embrace who I am, I’ll be ok. The people in my life are great and if I reach out to strangers every once in a while, I just might meet some more great people. I’ve been to a couple of sXe hardcore shows at a smaller venue in Chicago this past year after avoiding the general scene altogether for a couple of years. I’ve liked what I’ve seen: a small, tightly-knit community willing to talk about things, a community that seems to be slightly more accepting than the one I remember from my youth. I wish I’d had such a community as a teen, but I’m happy to participate in it now (even if I still don’t say much ).

Punk/hardcore opened up a lot of doors for me. It didn’t make me less awkward or strange or mixed up, but it did help me learn to embrace who I am and what I stand for. It taught me that I can do pretty much anything I put my mind to. The music and the people exposed me to countless new ideas, constantly broadening my worldview and because of that I will always be grateful. I may not have found the community I was looking for, but I did find my family and a way of life I can be proud of.

-LQ

By: Brian Peterson

1994 was a landmark year in my life.
I graduated from high school and started college, was playing in bands, met some great friends, and in some ways I was coming into my own.
But despite what was propelling me forward, most of the time I felt like I could hardly breathe.
I felt awkward, unsure of myself, and felt like I didn’t belong. I was confused about everything: humanity, God, family, the opposite sex, death, life. Every step led to disorientation. My emotions were a mess because I didn’t know what the hell I felt half the time.
Truth be told I felt this way for quite some time, but everything was intensifying. I was headed toward a crossroads with blinders on.
Hardcore was one of the things that guided me through this tough time. I could identify with the anger, the passion, the rage. I was pissed about a million things right in front of my eyes and a million things I couldn’t even articulate, much less understand.
As cheesy as it might sound, there were a bunch of hardcore and punk bands that gave me hope: Endpoint, Shelter, Screeching Weasel, 108, Unbroken, Face to Face, Jawbreaker, Threadbare, Undertow, just to name a few.
But there was one band and one record, in particular, at this specific time that somehow spoke to all those unspoken emotions that clawed at me, those feelings and thoughts I couldn’t shake.
I remember the first time I heard Ressurection’s I Refuse LP. My friend Greg, an older, longtime hardcore kid who was one of my “hardcore” mentors, taped it for me. I remember hearing and reading a lot about Ressurection, but my friends and I always missed them whenever they came near our area (at the time I lived about three hours west of Chicago in the Quad-Cities). I’d wanted to hear the record for a while and Greg was the only person I knew who had it.
The first thing he said when I asked about it: “It’s pretty good, but you’ve gotta crank it to really hear it.”
And that’s the slam I’ve heard about I Refuse a thousand times ever since.
“It sounds like shit!”
“I didn’t realize straightedge bands hired crack-heads to man the mixing boards.”
Sure, the sound was muddy, but I never really cared that much. It was hardcore, right? Not some Bob Rock extravaganza. Hardcore was meant to be played loud, speakers cranked to the hilt.
And that’s exactly what I did when I put Greg’s tape in my fuzzy car stereo in my shitty brown 1981 Toyota Corrola Tercel.
I remember sitting at a traffic light and hearing the bass driven build-up to “Build.” I nodded my head for a moment and when the light turned green the guitars and drums kicked in and I floored the gas pedal.
There was a deeply personal intensity to the music and vocals of “cuts like a knife,” much like Rob Fish’s lyric in the song.
The rest of the ride home was a blur. The only thing I remembered is being totally absorbed in the chaos.
I must have listened to that tape five times that night.
Since I didn’t have the lyrics, I put on headphones and tried to pick the words out carefully. Over the next few days, I kept listening and found certain lines running through my mind at odd times.
“This feeling rules my life. This feeling steals my mind!”
“Is it so easy to prepackage me?”
“Lost to a show, a show nothing more…”
“I am more than a body. I am more than this machine!”
Although I didn’t know the stories behind the lyrics, I felt like they were somehow telling my own tale as well.
As muddy as the production was, there was also something “different” about what Ressurection was doing musically. I didn’t think about it much at the time, but along with bands like Rorschach, Ressurection was among the forerunners of the amalgamation of metal and noise within hardcore. Bands such as Deadguy, Coalesce, and Converge would all take this style in unique directions later, but Ressurection was the band that made a major impression on my friends and me and what we were trying to do musically.
To listen to I Refuse was painful but cathartic. Ressurection played like the members’ lives depended on it. At that time in their lives, I get the feeling that it did.
The more I got into the record, the more Ressurection’s songs became my songs. This happens a lot with music. It’s happened to me before and since. But for quite a while nothing hit me as hard as I Refuse.
A few weeks later I remember having a really bad day. About as bad as it could get emotionally. I just felt frustrated and absolutely spent.
By this point I had mail-ordered I Refuse on CD and I remember coming home, popping it into my boom-box, cranking it, and lying facedown on my bed.
I must have screamed half of the lyrics to the album into my pillow, which was wet with tears.
But afterwards I felt better.
I was always tempted to write Rob Fish a letter about this back in the day, but I was embarrassed.
Nearly 15 years later I’ve become more comfortable in my skin…
…and I Refuse still evokes the same feelings as it did back then, though this time I don’t have to crank it full blast to get the same impact.

By: Alex J. Ferguson

Have you ever really, truly, honestly, embarrassingly thought about how many contradictions exist in your inner mind? Have you ever considered that many of your once-crystallized, core positions from another time in life have now evolved into something so contradictory that those old beliefs can hardly be understood, let alone properly rationalized? Well, some positions, at least.

Myself, for instance, in full disclosure: I’ve often felt completely set in a life position for one reason or another at one point or another at one time or another. Then life evolved. And circumstances changed. And before long, my once-held position of strength became first less-than-strong, then weak, then non-existent before slowly-but-surely evolving toward a new line of thinking, and eventually a new position. Yet that old position still lingered somewhere in the recesses of my subconscious, reminding me of a time gone by, and a contradiction not yet fully resolved.

Yes, it’s happened to you as well, and you know it all-too-well. You remember it quite well, in fact, I’d venture to guess, that time you eventually, finally, evolved that once-hardened position on such-and-such topic that somehow grew and strengthened into a wholly differing opinion. But don’t fret, don’t feel suddenly guilty–it’s not your fault, it’s only natural, and even the best of us fall victim to this evolution more often than we realize.

For instance, I once remember, for instance, favoring the death penalty as a teenager. And at the time, my hardened conviction reverberated so strongly throughout my being that I felt compelled to write about it for a small publication. Then time changed me, as it changes all of us–for the better, in my opinion–and that once-hardened, heart-felt position evolved and grew into a position completely the opposite over the next fifteen years or so. Nowadays, it’d be easy to rationalize that old position as one borne from ignorance and environment–ignorance at not having learned and studied the facts about said subject. But old contradictions and current evolution go deeper than that.

So how does this happen, this evolving of past contradictions into current belief systems? And is it a good thing? Or bad? Well, I personally feel it’s a good thing to evolve your life’s positions and not to take old, outdated, positions and only harden them over time. Hell, even now I’d imagine we all hold at least one position that we’ll someday evolve into something wholly different; and, at such point, we’ll look back in embarrassment or rationalization at the position we once held.

In fact, in my debut novel, Life Cycle, a supernatural thriller with underlying spiritual elements, I delve into subject matter and conclusions I once would have cringed at, let alone even considered for publication. The story focuses, in part, on one man’s spiritual journey through an onslaught of shocking paranormal and otherworldly dreams and visions. And while the protagonist struggles with identifying and living through these life-altering experiences, he ultimately reaches many truths and life lessons he never before considered. And these pseudo-spiritual themes and truths I draw upon throughout the conclusion of Life Cycle are themes and truths I once would have considered unthinkable or, more accurately, implausible.

But times change. And we change. And those contradictions we once lived in so completely have now evolved into something once unrecognizable, but yet something now completely recognizable and noble. Well, some positions, at least.

Alex J. Ferguson’s debut novel Life Cycle is currently in special advance release from Unlimited Publishing, LLC and is available at http://www.alexjferguson.com and http://www.unlimitedpublishing.com/ferguson for a limited time.

Encounters at the End of the World - (2007) Directed by Werner Herzog

I sat down to watch this film on a cold January night with a slice of vegan chocolate cake and Brian by my side, ready to be educated about Antarctica. I knew Herzog’s film would be visually stunning thanks to cinematographer Peter Zeitlinger, a man with whom he has worked on many projects. I also knew it would be different – no voices droning over boring facts and drab images like all those documentaries I watched in school, nothing cutesy, no pushing of agendas – just a film documenting a place and some people as they are, because that is Herzog’s way. What I didn’t expect was for it to be funny. At times Herzog’s questions were whimsical, at times ridiculous, and at times serious. However, regardless of form – each and every question made me think. When he takes you on a journey he somehow manages to make each and every stop fascinating and when it’s all over he leaves you wanting more. His film awakened a hunger for knowledge in me and a bit of sadness at the loss of uncharted territories regardless of how fascinating they might be.

-LQ

By: Brian Peterson

They say the older you get, the more you learn about yourself…
…I never thought I’d learn that I love washing dishes.
My parents couldn’t have paid me enough money to wash dishes when I was a kid. I thought it was disgusting—scraping nasty food particles off of dishes; lipstick off of glasses. Of course, I did it anyway because I “had” to, but I sure whined about it.
As I hit my late teens, however, it didn’t bother me as much. Maybe it’s because I got used to doing it due to my high school / college job working at an ice cream store. You’d have to wash these metal collars that were used to make medium sized shakes and malts. They protected your fingers from the shake/malt machine and kept the candy inside. When we’d get busy, we’d run out of them really quickly. For some reason I always volunteered to wash them. This is probably partially because I wanted a break from the annoying customers. But after a while I actually started to like the actual process of running those cylindrical smooth metal protectors underneath the often near-scalding hot water.
By my mid-twenties I started to graciously volunteer to do dishes at family get-togethers. I’d get shot down sometimes, but often the gesture was appreciated. I am not a fan of drying dishes, so I’d strike a bargain: “I’ll wash if you dry.” Most tended to go for it.
After getting married I became the resident “dish-doer.” When she was a child, my wife helped her dad wash dishes at the restaurant he owned for a couple of years. She’s spoken of nightmarish dish “tours of duty” in which she scrubbed brains off of frying pans; wiped thick layers of grease off of plates. She’s hated doing them ever since. Luckily for her my childhood experiences weren’t as traumatizing, so I jumped at the opportunity to “claim” the dish duty…as long as she was willing to dust (one of my least favorite things to do).
We’ve now been married for roughly five years and there’s rarely a day that goes by when I don’t do the dishes. Although a sink full of dishes can be annoying at first sight (“Why did we use five glasses between the two of us today?!”), when the water starts flowing and the soap suds emerge, a calm washes over me.
I think it boils down to this: the older we get the more we have on our minds. I know my mind rarely shuts off—it’s always comparing, contrasting, analyzing, probing. It’s interesting but also sort of frustrating. Instead of just letting things be or relaxing in the moment, I’m often focused on the thousand other things on my “check list” for the week. But when I wash dishes, my mind achieves a kind of clarity. I focus my entire being on the task at hand. Sure, random thoughts do pop into focus, but they often wash away as quickly as the bread crumbs and orange juice residue.
I’ve read that monks from various faiths often adore working on menial and even labor intensive tasks in order to take their mind off of things. The work, though often strenuous, allows their minds to relax, which often brings about mental peace.
I think dish washing has that same impact on me. It allows me to relax and be in the moment—something I’m often striving to do through various other more direct activities. You’d think it would take something more profound to achieve these results. But maybe that’s the point. We’re often searching for the wondrous in every direction other than right in front of our nose.
I know dish washing is far from nirvana, but maybe it’s a step in the right direction.

The fourth and final print issue of IMUR is now available. E-mail us if you’d like to get your hands on a copy. We’ve finally decided to stop deluding ourselves and admit we live in a digital age and print zines are superfluous (regardless of how much we might love them). We are, however, planning on continuing the blog, so stay tuned for stuff from the fourth issue, as well as new stuff…

Trying to get enough submissions to put a final paper issue together.

We’re looking for stuff on being a minority in hardcore/punk, stuff on comic books, stuff on hope/new beginnings – but if you have something that has nothing to do with any of these we’ll consider that, too.

Thanks,

Lisa/IMUR

I know I promised more posts and I know the survey idea was lame, but hey, it was worth a shot. I really would like the zine to have an online presence, but so far this doesn’t seem to be working, so it’s back to the drawing board.

Since I’m participating in my own version of the annual Thing-a-Day challenge I can promise you that I won’t be making any more lame postings to this blog for a while (at least until the end of February). I will however be working on finding some great articles, art, etc. for the next issue and on the layout, so that hopefully it’ll be ready by the first week of March. So, if you’re itching to write something for us or you’d like to send us some art – drop me a line at imur.fanzine, a gmail address.

Lisa/IMUR

Okay, it’s my turn for the music survey. This is making me want to revisit some classics.

1. Favorite Beatles song: Tough one…”While My Guitar Gently Weeps”
2. Favorite Rolling Stones song: “Paint it Black” or “Wild Horses”
3. Favorite Doors song: “The End”
4. Favorite Bob Dylan song: Hard to narrow it down. “My Back Pages” or “I Threw it All Away”
5. Favorite Led Zeppelin song: Not a huge Led Zep fan (music is amazing, but not really a fan of Plant’s vocals), but “Kashmir” is pretty memorable
6. Favorite TV Theme Song: The X-Files or Saved by the Bell
7. Favorite Prince Song: “Let’s Go Crazy” or “Little Red Corvette”
8. Favorite Madonna Song: “Crazy for You”
9. Favorite Michael Jackson song: “Smooth Criminal” or “Billie Jean”
10. Favorite Queen Song: “Under Pressure”
11. Favorite ‘N Sync Song: not familiar
12. Favorite Al Green Song: “Tired of Being Alone”
13. Favorite Bruce Springsteen song: Hard to narrow down…”Born to Run” or “Drive All Night”
14. Favorite Cure song: “Pictures of You”
15.Favorite song that most of your friends haven’t heard: “Som
16. Favorite Beastie Boys song: “So What’cha Want?”
17. Favorite Clash song: “The Card Cheat”
18. Favorite Beach Boys song: “Wonderful” or “Surf’s Up”
19. Favorite Cyndi Lauper song: “Time After Time”
20. Favorite song from a movie: the Wagner opera clip that Malick uses in The New World or any John Carpenter soundtrack/score
21. Favorite Jeff Buckley song: “Hallelujah” or “Last Goodbye”
22. Favorite Johnny Cash song: “When the Man Comes Around” or “Cocaine Blues”
23. Favorite song from an 80’s one hit wonder: “Take on Me” by A-ha
24. Favorite Pink Floyd song: “Us and Them”
25. Last song you heard: the entire new Have Heart record

Brian/IMUR