Unlikely 2.0

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Editors' Notes

Maria Damon and Michelle Greenblatt
Jim Leftwich and Michelle Greenblatt
Sheila E. Murphy and Michelle Greenblatt

A Visual Conversation on Michelle Greenblatt's ASHES AND SEEDS with Stephen Harrison, Monika Mori | MOO, Jonathan Penton and Michelle Greenblatt

Letters for Michelle: with work by Jukka-Pekka Kervinen, Jeffrey Side, Larry Goodell, mark hartenbach, Charles J. Butler, Alexandria Bryan and Brian Kovich

Visual Poetry by Reed Altemus
Poetry by Glen Armstrong
Poetry by Lana Bella
A Eulogic Poem by John M. Bennett
Elegic Poetry by John M. Bennett
Poetry by Wendy Taylor Carlisle
A Eulogy by Vincent A. Cellucci
Poetry by Vincent A. Cellucci
Poetry by Joel Chace
A Spoken Word Poem and Visual Art by K.R. Copeland
A Eulogy by Alan Fyfe
Poetry by Win Harms
Poetry by Carolyn Hembree
Poetry by Cindy Hochman
A Eulogy by Steffen Horstmann
A Eulogic Poem by Dylan Krieger
An Elegic Poem by Dylan Krieger
Visual Art by Donna Kuhn
Poetry by Louise Landes Levi
Poetry by Jim Lineberger
Poetry by Dennis Mahagin
Poetry by Peter Marra
A Eulogy by Frankie Metro
A Song by Alexis Moon and Jonathan Penton
Poetry by Jay Passer
A Eulogy by Jonathan Penton
Visual Poetry by Anne Elezabeth Pluto and Bryson Dean-Gauthier
Visual Art by Marthe Reed
A Eulogy by Gabriel Ricard
Poetry by Alison Ross
A Short Movie by Bernd Sauermann
Poetry by Christopher Shipman
A Spoken Word Poem by Larissa Shmailo
A Eulogic Poem by Jay Sizemore
Elegic Poetry by Jay Sizemore
Poetry by Felino A. Soriano
Visual Art by Jamie Stoneman
Poetry by Ray Succre
Poetry by Yuriy Tarnawsky
A Song by Marc Vincenz

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by Melanie Browne


I've been thinking of how unfair our relationship has been. I mean, you didn't even know me, And so I have a slight advantage. You might call it a disadvantage. Yet, to love, knowing you will never be loved in return is a wonderful thing. Ok, it's sick and twisted, but it works for me.


He was getting perplexed by her emails lately. They seemed to have turned that corner from fandom to stalker and yet he still wasn't overly concerned. There were times when he would check his email and be a bit worried if he didn't see her name in his inbox. He wondered where she was if she wasn't asking him what he had for breakfast, or analyzing his astrology chart. He had never responded to a single email, and yet strangely she seemed able to read his thoughts in a timely manner. This morning she mentioned a dream that she had where he was signing autographs inside her local grocery store. She was upset with him because she had waited in line for eight hours and when she finally made it to the front of the line, he left to grab a sandwich from the deli and never returned. He had never signed autographs in a grocery store but later that day he was due to make an appearance at a Starbucks and he ended up leaving right before lunch. It was a good thing too, because his ex-girlfriend wandered in asking for him not long after. The days were lengthening and insomnia kept him from his work. He feels a shadow in his soul, but he has earned this life. He has worked hard to get to this place.

Jamie is stuck in traffic, listening to Eddie's third album through her shitty speakers. The fuel gauge is showing nearly empty and the next gas station is a few miles away. She rolls down the window to throw out the remains of this morning's coffee. She finally pulls into the parking lot of Mr. M's convenience store. Her head is sweaty and she digs in her purse for some aspirin but swallows a couple of Klonipin instead. She thinks about cigarettes. She wants to smoke, but she isn't a smoker. She convinced her third husband to buy her the '69 Chevy Nova if she gave him enough blowjobs. He is technically still waiting. Jamie took off with the Nova, a taffeta white, the day she got it and hadn't been around the house much. After the Klonipin starts to kick in, Jamie forgets what she needed in the store and heads home.


I had an epiphany today. I have a lot of those. It depends on which of your albums I am listening to.
Some epiphanies are small. Some are large and I wonder if I might need a U-Haul to get them where they are supposed to go. Today the epiphany was about loneliness. I think some people would still be lonely if there were a million adoring fans shouting their name . Do you get lonely? I have been forgetting things very quickly these days. Do you think I have early onset Alzheimer's?

Love and kisses,

After his shower, he called his girlfriend.


“Can I call you back? I was eating some Haagen-Dazs.”

This chick online was bugging him. She was hoping his life was one groupie encounter after another. One long crazy cocaine binge .The crazier the better. He couldn't even remember some of that scene. It didn't matter. None of it did. His reality would never change. His days began the same and ended the same, just like hers did. He felt tired and turned on the television. He watched as the world spun around on its axis but he felt too tired to watch and soon he was asleep.


Do you have hepatitis? I really didn't think so, but this chick said you had it at one time but that you cured yourself. I bet you did acupuncture. I think he if you really had hepatitis I would have heard about it by now. She also said you like to abuse women sexually. I told her it's all bullshit.
I need to stop going on these fan sites. It's boring and pointless and totally unfair to you. It makes me feel guilty, for talking to these people, for spreading these lies, but I can't help it. I'm drawn to every last secret, to everything, to the lies, the half-truths, the self-delusion, anything that has to do with you.


He never abused women sexually. He was sure he didn't have hepatitis, either. But he did get Chlamydia just the once. That was all it took. He slowed down a bit after that. He was feeling bad that there weren't enough secrets to be had, not enough dirt being spilled He knew there was no such thing as bad publicity.

My Love,

I'm sorry for the earlier e-mail. None of those things are my business. If you cured the hepatitis on your own, you are my hero. There's just one thing I need to know. Did you really bang a chick in the CBGB basement with some sort of pyrotechnic device? Of course this is none of my business either and you probably never even read fan email, right? I got my nails done in this Vietnamese salon today and I saw your picture inside Rolling Stone. The top 100 most influential musicians. I think some of those women that do my nails are lesbians. They kept staring at me and smiling. I have never been with a woman, I am completely straight, although there was this girl in college named Wendy who always tried on swimsuits in front of me. I kind of enjoyed that. I can't believe I just told you that. Anyway. people end up in the hospital when they play with fireworks/ pyrotechnics, so please be careful.


He had to get out of this god-forsaken city. He couldn't tell where his pseudo-fame ended and his soul began anymore. He started walking. No sunglasses, no entourage. Ok, there was no entourage. He had to admit that. Just a coffee mug filled with Vodka. A torn pair of jeans. Just some sandals, and forty bucks or so in his wallet. Of course he was recognized. Quickly. But he was walking so fast. He was thinking of his first girlfriend. When he had stuck his tongue in her mouth and she let him do it. She let him explore her mouth like that. It was very erotic at that age to put your tongue in someone's mouth. She tasted a bit like suntan lotion. She smelled a bit like sweet rolls. They had recognized him. He wasn't walking fast enough. He couldn't think while walking. He never mastered that art. They soon overtook him. A woman in a black jacket with a space between her teeth. It was sexy on Madonna, but not this woman, not with the Doritos.

“Are you Eddie Cooper?” She said while stuffing her face with Doritos.

“Yes. I am.”

Oh my god, I knew it was you. I always get you mixed up with Eddie Vedder, but you are so much better looking. Eddie always looked sloppy in all that flannel. You always had so much better style.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I have an autograph. Or anything. A vial of your mucous?'


He took the book she was carrying. A Dan Brown book purchased from a resale shop. He borrowed her mechanical pencil and scrawled his name and practically stabbed her with it when he gave her the autograph. He didn't think she noticed. He tried to walk faster.

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