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Thank you for visiting. Inter Sekt is an organization that works hard to continue bringing new and fresh artistic content from The New World Creative. You can show your support by shopping in our store where you will find select prints, original art and a variety of other items. Our store is powered by PayPal and is capable of accepting both PayPal and most major credit cards as payment. You may also make an anonymous donation by clicking the button below where you will receive confirmation for your contribution. Thank you again from The New World Creative.

For the most immersive experience we recommend using a PC for the duration of your Third Friday viewing.
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Thanks for visiting Rogue Gallery! Enjoy your stay!

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​Thank you for visiting. Inter Sekt is an organization that works hard to continue bringing new and fresh artistic content from The New World Creative. You can show your support by shopping in our store where you will find select prints, original art and a variety of other items. Our store is powered by PayPal and is capable of accepting both PayPal and most major credit cards as payment. You may also make an anonymous donation by clicking the button below where you will receive confirmation for your contribution. Thank you again from The New World Creative.

For the most immersive experience we recommend using a PC for the duration of your Third Friday viewing.
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Thanks for visiting Rogue Gallery! Enjoy your stay!

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​ Leyba: What was your vision for The Patina Press?
 
Amy: My vision for Patina Press is simple, to give people with a powerful voice a place to use it. Anyone can of course self-publish these days so I am trying to offer something special, a curation of authors and artists that I believe the world would benefit from hearing. 
 
The idea to start publishing came to me last year in 2019. I was meditating in my backyard trying to make sense of the rest of my life. I’m calling it my “Summer of Discovery” in which I discovered meditation and yoga and micro-dosing after a major change in my life, namely the shocking and sudden end of my twenty-some year marriage and creative partnership. I suddenly had no plans or obligations. I was nothing and nobody. Then I realized if I didn’t matter than I could do anything I wanted, who cares? As I looked back over my life, I realized my happiest times were when I was publishing and writing and making stuff. Now, in my new world of limitless independence and zero obligations, perhaps I could find my own joy, and I would start with those three things. And so, I started my own publishing company. Why not? 
 
As I look at the authors and artists I am working with, there appears to be only one common thread, all of them have lived life on their own terms. The name Patina is  a way to say the voices here are those of experience, and sharing their knowledge and wisdom is something I find vitally important no matter the delivery method — poetry, novel, non-fiction, whatever. 
 
My first book is of course your memoir, and it’s so much more than a memoir, it’s a beautiful book full of your magical art and the raw emotion of your words. I am so thankful to be part of it’s release into the world, and I am honored you would be willing to be the first author of The Patina Press. It’s definitely been a learning experience for me, and I appreciate your patience with the areas in which I have not exactly succeeded, but it’s the likely experience of the first release. I feel really optimistic overall and I hope you do too. Then the next book is primarily poetry from a commercial fisherman and pioneering environmentalist, it’s from a completely different view from your book, but with the same zest for life and exploration of both the great and the terrible moments in a life lived. 
 
I’m cringing as I ask this, as I probably don’t really want to know, but how do you feel about your book? I imagine you texting your  friends throughout this miss-adventure saying “WTF is wrong with this lady?!?!?” “When will she get her act together?”, “Where’s my hatchet?”.
 
Leyba: I am honored and humbled. You published my book because of the passion, vision and unbridled honesty. As I said about the memoir 
WE ARE ALL INDIANS NOW
 
“I didn’t set out to make great literature but, like with my painting, I wanted to create what I want to see in the world. Some of it is so dark and/or heart breaking. It was hard to finish. I was still living it as I was finishing it. I call it my “tell more than all” book, with all the chaos and what I call A.S. (Active Sabotage) from people who enter my life with an agenda and a distorted view of who I am. But that is the path of the warrior. I am here to learn, help and grow, not make myself out to be some sort of hero or guru. I am a human being and that is the book I wanted to write and did.” 
 
In this age of social media every is on the hustle to be a celebrity. There is very little authenticity coming through all of the ego driven self aggrandizement and so few put time in to master their creations and some just promote themselves as a brand. Everyone’s and internet superstar. Slaves to the corporate masters, the parent ego state. There are very few radical publishers these days. In 90’s you were a underground publisher that had lots of influence. You are taking a chance with my writing and believe in the work. I don’t paint myself as a pretty picture. I have for over 30 years DIY it is so hard to do it yourself if your doing everything yourself all the time and self promote and make a living from ones own art. You get it.
 
We both are veterans of the D.I.Y. Do it yourself Transgressive Underground of the 1990’s part of the history of the actual cultural underground before the corporate masters co-opted it. 
 
Do you feel there are visionary’s out there to continue the traditions of radical, political and progressive art and literature that is authentic and not part of all the narratives playing out and being illustrated by ego reacting against ?
 
I feel great about the book as You trusted my vision. You put it out in the world. As for the hatchet it’s right here and it’s for chopping wood and those that seek to destroy me not intended for you. It is utilitarian and self defense and pretty sharp. It has a saw on it and I used it whole sawing a branch in your back and I cut myself on the hatchet blade and blood it the dirt. As you know I have been painting pages in my 18th hand made book EARTH using dirt in your yard and you helped film me burying and unburying it. In our times now so few people have grounding in nature and seldom physically in the dirt. So few people know or see that we are nature. The Church then the various governments and corporations have divided people so as to conquer and control. I seek to live this life and learn more and more of who I am. I wrote about that in the memoir and writing the book is an exploration of my place in the world and what I can do with my creations. Thank you for taking a chance, making the investment and putting my book into the world. It’s scary and wonderful.

Amy: I believe there are visionaries out there, of course. They exist at all times in some form or another, I have to believe that. But, it’s hard to find them because it’s so difficult to know what’s happening right now. Think of all the things we were part of over the years, how many people know about those various deeds and doings? How many people today are influenced by those things without even knowing directly about our various works?
 
Think of all the music and art and literature that has happened over the last forty, fifty, sixty years we are just learning about now. Like that last exhibit we saw at the Portland Art Museum when you first got to Portland — pre-pandemic in preparation for your show at AFRU, the artist was Robert Colescott. I never heard of him before, but I was compelled by his work to go see the show twice before the whole no-more-museums thing. Let me say here, I have a major concern right now that all the museum collections are being stolen while we shelter in place. Whose watching the back door? Opps. Sorry, I digress. 
 
Leyba:I have that fear also. Just before the Nazi’s invaded Paris the French moved as much masterpieces out of the Louvre and hid them. Now that culture is canceled why wouldn’t the control freak so called leaders and multinational corporations steal art from museums? Who is guarding it? It is a resource and their is a world resource and money grab happening before our eyes. 
 
Anyway, I think there are lots of people doing amazing work in the world and every so often they appear from their creative mist to be seen. It’s mystical, like seeing a deer in between the trees in the woods. I cannot name names, but they’ve got to be out there. I don’t want to consider a world absent of such individuals! As I say this, I am reminded of how small the underground is… but look at yourself. You’ve been doing all this incredible work for decades and lots of people know you but plenty more do not. Some people are never known in their lifetime like Van Gogh, or Vivian Meyer, or Henry Darger, but they are immortal today. It’s impossible to know all of the amazing creatives out there doing work at the time they are doing it. 
 
I think of all the artists and authors and movies you’ve told me about that I’ve never heard of, and all the artists and authors and movies I’ve told you about you’ve never heard of. Life is short, how could we ever know all that’s going on?
 
Also, things have changed. Much of the work we’ve done, back then and even now, becomes difficult to explain in a society that doesn’t want to think about the ugly side of life, that prefers erasing history to learning from it. The transgressive work of our youth and that movement would not fly in todays’s world. Look at the controversy your use of the swastika continues to receive and how people perceive you based on your work. 
 
But I don’t know, what do you you think? 

Leyba: I find your optimism so inspiring. It’s easy to make the assumption that their isn’t any other visionaries out their because the art shoved in our face every second or what is promoted and and sold and resold is awful. It’s propaganda or propaganda. Not very meany creators or people that could create things have the time or drive to manifest their visions. There are so many things to distract everyone. We are all supposed to reach for the gold. Fame and fortune has nothing to do with master works of true visionaries. Sometimes somethings that people have created and truly believe in get through the cracks and everyone gets to see. I hope there are those people who really mean it and break new ground and don’t need to be propped up by the Art System and the Entertainment Industrial Complex. I have seen no visual art from a living person in the past 40 years I could even say was good much less masterpieces. Most art created now that is forced on us is stillborn. Only those dead masters have inspired me why is that? I feel most so called artists that are known are contrived and don’t mean it. Why should I buy what is created for markets and money systems not because the artist has to create? It doesn’t matter who says this is art and that’s not because anyone can see or read something and can tell if they meant it. Not everyone’s an artist but everyone should create. I am reaching for new ground and feel my breaking new ground will inspire someone who can break even more ground. Underground culture used to be a culture created by the creators of it. Now it is something marketed and sometimes fashionable.
There must be those people making stuff and meaning it. We live in a time where it is the end of belief. I feel most don’t believe in anything they believe in what they are told and sold. Indoctrination and subjugation. People are half ass, they do t even believe in their religions and money. I mean they are going through the motions half ass. Religious fanatics are half ass, presidents are half ass and terrorists are half ass. I see few who are doing anything 100%. They need to be validated and propped up. They need to be told what do do and think and they seek to tell others what to do and think. There must be people making shit that is real and they believe in even if no one else believes in it. Like Van Gogh. I remain optimistic but all I can do is forge a new path further so those great unknowns can then make the new trails.
 
Disingenuousness is what culture and society now. We have had many conversations about how there is so little science and journalism or art that isn’t about the artists ego these days and corporate science and corporate journalism. I feel so little out there appeals to me because the ego is the message and that is such a bankruptcy of the imagination. 
 
Now that many people are making art as we are all forced inside for months I’m inspired by reaching inward into an inner space rather than being on the day to day ego careerist promo hustling on social media. I am inspired by quantum physics and instinct and unknown factors, instead of being ruled and governed by so called leaders. What great unknowns do you see or feel that could or is the possible next level and exalt and inspire you? 
 
Amy: I would imagine it is difficult for artists not to be swept up in all the politics of the day. This could be a pivotal moment toward world freedom or oppression, based largely on arts ability to motivate the masses and whose message is genuine. Who will own the narrative? I suppose artists and thinkers have to ask themselves, are they putting forth their message in a true way or is it about ego? I understand we all need to earn a living, but using the premise of making a stand with the building of one’s personal brand is, dare I say, gross. It’s just being part of the same failing capitalist system we are dealing with right now in America, the same one they are claiming to be fighting against. It’s the same dance, or as you say, “New boss same as the old boss”. There are other ways. One can choose a completely different perspective and we can solve societies ills with a more sharing society, one that uses kindness and creative thinking. Everyone can shout about the problems, let’s now figure out how to solve the problems and not just put a different dictator system in charge. 
 
But as is always I feel like I am on the outside observing society. 
 
These really are times of great change, every day is the great unknown. I’m pretty comfortable gazing into the abyss of uncertainty, it’s always been part of my life, anyone who believes they have certainty in life is fooling themselves. The last eighteen months have been full of great change for me. I’ve had every part of my perceived identity stripped away, and the death of the ego in being a woman turning 50. I’ve spent a lot of time looking inward, being contemplative about the temporariness of life, and reentering into a singular mindset which took time even though I’ve always been a bit of a loner. Micro-dosing, helped a lot. Gardening. 
 
Gardening is really a great study in the Tao. My garden is by no means spectacular, but just putting my hands in the dirt and basking in growing things has been a longtime salvation for me. It’s gotten me through some really dark times over the years and continues to give me great joy. I’m into the power of trees and plants, I can feel it.
 
I’m not really sure what exactly you are asking, and I don' think I actually answered what you are asking. 

​Leyba: Patina Press published my memoir WE ARE ALL INDIANS NOW and I did a ritual performance “ INVOCATION OF THE NEW CREATIVE AEON”  which is in the memoir and you you were part of this ritual at AFRU Gallery in Portland Oregon. 
     we have had conversations about this invocation becoming very real. Did the invocation become real?
What was it like to be part of the INVOCATION OF YHE NEW CREATIVE AEON”?
 
Amy: Between the ritual performance you did in Long Beach CA in February and the one at the beginning of March in Portland, it would seem they were extremely powerful! Even in March who would have imagined half of American workers and all students would suddenly have so much time on their hands and almost nowhere to put it except into constructive or creative projects? It’s incredible! 
 
It’s the most beautiful thing to see on my social media feeds all of the people making art and being creative. For example, one woman I know here in Portland started painting after years of never finding the time, then her eight-year-old daughter began painting with her and they began to sell their works on Facebook. It is so cool! 
 
I think the power of the two rituals had great consequence, both intended and unintended. Who would’ve guessed we’d still be here together through spring and into summer with so much of typical life at a standstill?
 
My being part of the ritual that evening is something I don’t think we’ve actually spoken of at all. I had so much apprehension about discussing it that I’ve actively avoided it. Did you know I was avoiding this topic for all these weeks we’ve been pandemicingtogether? 
 
Leyba: I figured as such but didn’t bring it up because the ritual is still happening. Meaning I did the INVOCATION OF THE NEW CREATION to hold space. You drew on and I painted on the camping blanket we used. It was a focus point a symbolic porthole but as I said to the people at AFRU gallery in Portland concentrate on this circle. Pinpoint how you see your life created as you want it not as your told. What do you want your life to be. And I am seeing people manifest their lives how they want it.
While many are trapped in the Covid narrative and in survival mode many are doing exactly what they want and that is a beautiful thing that no one can take from them. its a very difficult thing ritualizing with art and holding space or holding the door open for others.
 
Amy: So what better place to talk about it than a public forum, I guess. Being such a private person, I have always ritualized alone and if I’m honest, I’ve often had to hide it to avoid ridicule or questioning. So the discomfort of that along with participating in any public manner was extremely difficult for me. To explain, the opening of your exhibit at AFRU Gallery was also the de facto premier of the pandemic in America, so your planned participants all bailed, as was completely understandable given the circumstance, but left you in a predicament of having no one to assist. When I offered to fill in I had no idea how difficult this would be for me, I was just trying to be a good hostess and make things happen, you know, by any means necessary. And, it’s challenging to even explain, but I felt like I failed you. Piercing your forehead was easy in comparison to participating in your performance in a public way. I tried to just go with it, and bask in the terror and embarrassment, but later I felt ashamed and disappointed with my part of it, yet I could not talk about it to you. I’m sorry. 
 
So there you go, what do you have to say to that? 
 
Leyba: I think we lost control and that is a beautiful and necessary thing. Well that is magic right? You do a ritual to manifest your will by whatever means necessary then let it go. No attachment because that would fuck up the magic(your intentions ability to manifest). My performance art is ritualistic and not theatre. It is chaos and improve. The best performance I have done in the past 30 years are the ones that go wrong and get out of control. That to me is art and magic where they can become the same. Nothing is repeated it’s different every time and it’s discovery. You did a perfect job with the performance. It was terrifying to me also because when I was performing it I felt who am I to say and do this? It’s fucking ridiculous and people will think that and say so. But who cares? It’s on them what they get out of it. Many others will see and feel and be changed forever. Thank you Amy we manifested the reality of people owning their lives and their time. What will they do now that we opened the door and turned the light on? What the fuck are you going to do now? What the fuck am I going to do now? We helped bring this pandemic on some level and we gave people back their lives. Now we are all completely responsible for our lives. How will this play out?

​(Amy Eir Stocky is a publisher artist, author, journalist, filmmaker and pioneer of underground culture www.thepatinapress.com )
 
(Steven Johnson Leyba is a contemporary avant-garde artist, radical hand made book maker, author, activist and a questioner of all things especially authority www.stevenjohnsonleyba.com)

​Thank you for visiting. Inter Sekt is an organization that works hard to continue bringing new and fresh artistic content from The New World Creative. You can show your support by shopping in our store where you will find select prints, original art and a variety of other items. Our store is powered by PayPal and is capable of accepting both PayPal and most major credit cards as payment. You may also make an anonymous donation by clicking the button below where you will receive confirmation for your contribution. Thank you again from The New World Creative.

For the most immersive experience we recommend using a PC for the duration of your Third Friday viewing.
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​The Orange Zone was just as it's name suggested. Orange fog, humid, and a place where trouble was
never too far off. Most of the inhabitants here have a shady background in some form or another. If you
even so much as entertained the thought of stepping foot on the rocky soil here, chances are, your
hands ain't exactly clean.
Zylo was familiar with the man in charge here, guy goes by the name of Rax. He typically imports
cybernetic implants from other quadrants for a rather hefty sum of money. Not exactly the honest type,
but business is business. Even if it was of the shady variety, you couldn't find a better place for top of the
line gear. And it wasn't just cybernetics either, even though that was where most of Rax's business had

found success. He also dealt in arms dealing and weapons development, as well as high stakes boxing-
bot matches.

The parts Zylo took from the youngsters at the club would fetch a nice discount for what he's looking
for. Of course, some of the components were a little wet.But the change in temperture should help dry it
off. Even if it will get a little dusty instead. Rax most likely won't care though. Just bring him the parts and
he'll make them practically brand new, for a price, of course.
The girl kept following him even in this barren landscape, with no sign of her leaving anytime soon.
He'll ask Rax about that while he's in there, maybe he can fix it this time.
"You can keep trying as many times as you like, i'm not going anywhere." She said with a smile on her
face. Zylo was getting so annoyed by her that he wants to tear out his opticle implants if it means getting
rid of her.
He looked up the walkway and saw some guys pushing a rather large bin, probably containing tons of
scrap and other items as well. The way work is done here is, you put most of the "materials" in the
bottom of a bin. Then you fill it up with lots of scrap and any other useless junk. That way, if any cops
show up, you can hide the stuff in plain sight. And they can't do anything about it, because they need a
warrant to dig through the bins.
A man in a blue jacket walked up to Zylo, another scan and check, no doubt. This has always been a
tedious process, but it was the only way for him to see Rax.
"Spread your arms out." Right down to business as usual, never one for small talk, perfect for the both
of them. The guy in blue pulled an old metal detector out of his jacket. A loud beep rings out as it is
switched on, with a yellow light blinking on the handle.
At first glance it seemed a little banged up for the job, but the motto in this place was simple, "make it
a masterpiece on the inside, and a peice of shit on the outside." Inside would be a true work of technical
art, circuits and other gizmos making a fine string of criss-crossing craftsmenship.
A minute of scanning, and the light turned green.
"This way Zy." If Zylo could talk right now, he'd tell this guy to watch his mouth. Something about the
way he says it just comes off as disrespectful. Rax should really discipline his men more often.
Over the catwalk and about ten flights of stairs later, into the the office of the man called Rax. His
office looked more like a garage then anything else. Blueprints and parts of varying machinary,
organized in numerical value.
A younger man walks up to Zylo with an automatic pistol in his hand, smirking like some kind of clown.
"You got business here, pal?" Rax looked over at the youth with a steel gaze, anger just barely visible
in his eyes. "Nick, i've told about that tough guy act before. Now knock it off."
So Nick was his name. Zylo seemed to keep forgetting about that, along with a few other details, he
was sure.
"Give us a little space, boy. The place isn't gonna run itself." Rax motioned for the guy in blue to leave
with the kid. Both of them bumping past Zylo as they shut the door, an electronic lock clicking into place.
"I apologize for my nephew's behavor. He's been acting that way since i brought him in a couple
months ago." That was his nephew? Oh yeah, Zylo had forgotten about that too.
"Now, what'd ya bring me this time?" Zylo dumped a bag full of parts on the table. Rax smiled like it
was his birthday. He rummaged through the pile with the occasional grin and raised eyebrow. "Ha,ha.
You always bring back some good stuff, friend."
The girl looked at him curiously, almost confused as to just what she was seeing. He tapped his finger
on his optical implant. Rax looked at him with a face that said "i'm not surprised."
"You having that Ghost problem again?" Zylo shook his head in a yes motion. "Well, if it's not a
hardware problem, then it's a software problem." He grabbed a tiny screwdriver off the rack by the table.
"It might be a Ghost-Virus you got there. Meaning, if you want to have it taken carer of, you need new
implants." Zylo motioned no, he wasn't about to spend the next week or two adjusting to new hardware
like that.
"Well, alright then. Your problem." The girl giggled, he really wised he could just get the new implants.
"Offer's on the table." She could be a real smart ass sometimes.
"Alright, just the tune-ups i guess." Good, this shouldn't take too terribly long. It'll give him a chance to
take it easy till he has to head out again. He looked over at the monitor on the wall, and saw what looked
to be a cruiser very VERY similar to the one he saw at the club.
Damnit...not now. Not yet.

-Sam Matz

​Thank you for visiting. Inter Sekt is an organization that works hard to continue bringing new and fresh artistic content from The New World Creative. You can show your support by shopping in our store where you will find select prints, original art and a variety of other items. Our store is powered by PayPal and is capable of accepting both PayPal and most major credit cards as payment. You may also make an anonymous donation by clicking the button below where you will receive confirmation for your contribution. Thank you again from The New World Creative.

For the most immersive experience we recommend using a PC for the duration of your Third Friday viewing.
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​Thank you for visiting. Inter Sekt is an organization that works hard to continue bringing new and fresh artistic content from The New World Creative. You can show your support by shopping in our store where you will find select prints, original art and a variety of other items. Our store is powered by PayPal and is capable of accepting both PayPal and most major credit cards as payment. You may also make an anonymous donation by clicking the button below where you will receive confirmation for your contribution. Thank you again from The New World Creative.

Special Thanks:

Laura Albert
Casey Spooner
La Santa Muerte Internacional
The Vine Family
​&
Zebulon Whately and Sons of Perdition

For the most immersive experience we recommend using a PC for the duration of your Third Friday viewing.
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Thanks for visiting Rogue Gallery! Enjoy your stay!

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​Thank you for visiting. Inter Sekt is an organization that works hard to continue bringing new and fresh artistic content from The New World Creative. You can show your support by shopping in our store where you will find select prints, original art and a variety of other items. Our store is powered by PayPal and is capable of accepting both PayPal and most major credit cards as payment. You may also make an anonymous donation by clicking the button below where you will receive confirmation for your contribution. Thank you again from The New World Creative.

​I travel a mile
From my home, to the train, to the street
Walking on paths of sunlight of glimmering lakes
For a little fresh air every once in a while
I spy a man from the corner of my eye
Beaming on Morrison street
Walking from stall to stall for a little water in his glass
Burning, not quite the colour of barley or rye
Youth's stubborn fervor
Blazing in glance and flesh
Building in uncertainty and frustration
Stays yet to unnerve her
However, I admit to wonder
In times of pestilence and isolation
Where will the train take that man
When his path runs on the thunder?
As for the vernal tide
I must say, I remain at a loss
Drifting in a haze that grows thicker as days seem to clear
As this seems to be the storm I'm stuck to ride
Though I can't quite say I mind
Hearing the tremble of hail stones pelting the street
As whispers of promise fall quieter and silent
And the rain comes again to give sight to the blind
And to the deaf, the falling rain will speak
Pounding into the soil and upturning each new leaf
A tender age, every equinox
Coming to life with each touch of the cheek
Life's sweetest ingredient
Mana from heaven
Fill the cup and run into the tears
So this sickness may leave, ever expedient
Blooming beyond these mortal fears

​    It took two long hours for the crime scene crew to arrive, traffic and faulty comms being the culprit. Gus was already questioning one of the punks on the balcony by the time they wheeled away one of the bodies.
    Senny was examining the scene, blood stains on the busted table, and bullet holes in the heads of the victims. Blast marks on the walls, each angle required laser-precision from the shooter. Most likely from a modified Mk-3 phase pistol, with the chamber replaced with something from an antique Desert Eagle.
    Odd that someone was mixing older weaponry with modern technology, probably salvaging scraps of whatever the perp could get his hands on. A tactician and expert survivalist with some cybernetic gear from a few punks in a bad block. Not bad for an urban jungle.
    "What have you got this time, detective?" Senny faintly jumped as he turned to face the chief. His hat dripping wet, while his slightly receding hair was perfectly dry. His right brow raised at the sight of the chaotic aftermath and his left hand in his coat pocket.
    Senny cleared his throat before answering his boss. "A massacre and a bad gamble."
    The chief pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it up. He chomped down on it and started puffing rhythmically, smoke flowing to the ceiling with each huff and puff. For as long as Senny knew his boss, one thing was for certain, he didn't care at all for CigRets. The flavor of a cigar was such a rare luxury anymore that the chief had to go out of his way to buy one from time to time.
    The chief looked all around the pile of corpses, puffing his cigar with each nod he made. "A bad gamble with a bad patron." He leaned down and pointed at a shattered drinking glass. "With some bad drinks to go with it." He examined the glass, not daring to lay a finger on it, for risk of contamination. "Call me crazy, but i don't think there was even a drop of anything a human could drink." He stood back up. "See the grimy coloration in the the glass?" Senny looked hard at where the glass was. For what it was worth, some of it managed to hold together quite nicely. A translucent yellowish tint could be seen in the glass, as well as some of the small shards scattered about.
    Gus approached the two of them as Senny finished examining the scene. He handed the chief a small notepad, detailing the events described by one of the boy's upstairs.
    "The both of you..." the chief started, looking through Gus's notes with a more than focused eye. "You misspelled modification, detective." Gus hated it when his boss would point out spelling errors in his writing. To him, there was nothing more annoying than a stickler for proper grammar. Senny didn't have to worry so much about it. His spelling was usually on point, with some minor errors here and there.
    They both watched as he adjusted his glasses and pulled out a tiny box, with a little white bulb on the top. He handed it to Gus and looked them both in the eye, with as much of a commanding presence that said he was the authority figure here more then either of them have seen.
    "The both of you are going to the orange zone. I don't want to hear any questions or any back talk, get your asses over there and don't report back until you've got a lead. You boys want to get paid, work'n earn."
    He walked over to the bartender, pulling out his notepad and pen. Still puffing his cigar, with smoke flowing out his nostrils.
    Senny and Gus walked out the front door, with the box tucked away in Gus's pocket. Beeping and whirring could be heard from the corner. A little bot was wheeling down the street, most likely a trash bot. They both dismissed it and walked on over to the car, their next destination being a little far off. They knew they'd better get started, it was going to be a long drive.   

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​Pausing and remembering
A reverie beyond the isle and mountains
Dreaming torturously of that fated day
The one that never came
A coin lost to those emerald fountains
Flights in my mind
Desperate as they now appear to me
Weighed down in doubt and denial
No test, but still a fiery trial
A false ardor which forbade me to see
The visage didn't lie
With crooked eye and blackened tooth
Yet how heavy was the sickness below
That allowed that foul venom to flow
To poison me in my naive youth
The tongue of a silver spike
Twisting truth in plain daylight
Despite some kind word and loving speech
You alluded me in my sleep
But clouded my hopeless sight
Despair encased me
Misery my only companion
Free and feeling when the spirits ran forth
Running dry when came the morn
Wandering alone in a vast canyon
Awakening was abrupt
Far too long a time coming
In that time I stood tall
Holding myself above all
Refusing blows that were shocking or stunning
Away I walked
Afraid if my boldness was wrong
But bold it was not
When harbouring respect and considerate thought
Though it still proved your anger quite bitter once I was gone
So here we sit
Having long since passed this mysterious test
Separated by life and many an hour
Though this expanse appears quite dark in light and form
To otherwise, honestly, I see no reason to attest