​Dylan Carlson is a scribe of the intangibility of tone and texture, pitch and volume. He is a quiet, reserved and rather shy man. However, once he steps foot upon stage, all reservations are gone. Cloaked in majestic tones of violet, magenta, waves of cobalt blue hues, deep somatic phthalo and Prussian blues; he is more Magus than musician.
Adrienne Davies, Earth’s drummer and Mr. Carlson’s collaborator for their latest album, Full upon her burning lips sat perched at her drum kit as a psychic weight to keep her fellow priests anchored before the altar.
It was the evening of June 27th, 2019. The Denver night was hot and still. Earth took the stage following their opening act Helms Alee (whose front man insisted upon standing in front of a wind machine the entire set, so that his long locks would flutter about) and looked out into the cavernous music hall.
Dylan Carlson thanked the audience in attendance at the Marquis Theater that evening. After adjusting what seemed to be a multitude of knobs and peddles his hands (tattooed with protective sigils, which he believes to shield him from sour notes) halted above the strings of his guitar for a vast imperceptible moment of golden eternities glimpsed through a mild static hum which squelched into the opening notes of Cat’s on the briar.
As Ms. Davies began rhythmically delineating the beat, she became more Shaman than percussionist, and a dark enchantment was cast upon those in attendance. This was a spell which fractured what the Scientologists refer to as present time. It was a spell which lifted everyone in the space above both themselves and the stage. Many of us became overwhelmed by the ecstasy of this performance ritual, and literally began floating upwards into the rafters and corners of the ceiling, our arms swaying limply like rag dolls or marionettes.
Now I know by now how the first born of Egypt felt as the terrible wrath of God fell upon them hungrily until the moment of envelopment. I realized I too was becoming a projected entity, as my soul slipped itself out of my body and around my skin like a lizard. I was Oppenheimer’s bride: Will you take to have and to hold until you both become death, the shatterer of worlds? I do.
The band went into The Colour Of Poison displacing the fractal balance of meridians bliss, cultivated only to be shattered. Collective energy was absorbed and assimilated in the string’s vibrations drawn through weightless hum of pick-ups, only to be flushed back into the atmosphere of the venue.
Feeling the squeeze and clutter of the crowd acutely, I decided a brief sojourn to the men’s room was in order. Upon entering the serene white porcelain temple of gastric passage, I discovered, much to my amazement, that it was empty aside from myself. In the distance, beyond this room, notes did unbound and were reborn in a fashion which can only be described as feebly jocular; like a dying man forgetting himself in a brief moment of joy.
As I emerged into a room tinted with touches of blue and red, I was greeted by Descending Belladonna, which the audience rode like waves of neon surf towards the stage’s plutonian boards. By now my soul had been brought back under skin like umbrella under trench coat, so I broke through the green mossen chrysalis doorway of the Marquis and into the crisp night air, carrying the notes in myself on the way home that evening and for many days thereafter.

Steven Lee Matz
July 3rd, 2019

​An Artist knows what it’s like. When you rub shit on the walls and people kiss your ass. An Artist knows how it feels to be a loser. To fuck the prettiest and ugliest girl in the class. To be ashamed for existing. To be a Product, like an object on the shelf. To get so high that you figure out God, but cant get anyone to love you. Most artists fall to their knee’s in fear. The smart one’s do, anyway I imagine. The Dumb one’s throw money into the fire, and scorch the earth aplomb. Artists grab the gun in self defense and shoot themselves in self assurance. Poking your eyes out is Bloodsport to them. They self medicate in their own bile, and bathe in your apathy. When you look away, they secretly wish that you’ve been offended. That means that they’ve done their job.

Dave MacDowell 
July 17, 2019 

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Tupelo Hassman leads us deliberately and adeptly into the underbelly of small town life in her latest novel Gods with a little g; the characters who populate this subterranean small town existence are a motley crew known collectively as the Dickheads.
Theirs is a world which many of us can recall in the recent corridors of memory yet would care very little to return to. This novel relentlessly captures the rhythms, rhymes and reasons of its characters state of mind; and, although subtle, it maintains a psychological edge which is rather Dostoevskian in its power of perception. We share in the stifling atmosphere of this world, as Ms. Hassman pulls us back into the mire of this world time and again, without us realizing until long after. The intrusive familiarity of life in the midst of such an acutely claustrophobic plane of existence as this is not merely observed by the reader but lived.
The whole of Gods with a little g is rich with the textures of both rot and ritual. Helen Dedleder, a seventeen year old is our guide in the town of Rosary, California. As is the case with many small towns across the continental United States, it is a town besieged by a collective puritanism which is little more than used by it’s citizenry to mask the collective perversion teeming just beneath the surface and occasionally bubbling to the top.
It is the opinion of this reviewer that what Ms. Hassman has succeeded in creating is nothing short of a masterpiece of 21st century literature; an instant classic.
In using such language to describe this, or any work of art for that matter, there is a temptation to compare it to other works which concern themselves the final push from adolescence to adulthood (many of which, themselves are categorized as classics) yet to do so would undermine and even cheapen the force of this books individuality.
Overflowing with originality, poignancy and profundity Gods with a little g is more than a novel, it is a transformative experience for both its audience and author. If you read only one book this year make it Gods with a little g.

                                                                                                                                                    -Steven Lee Matz

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    Zylo was drenched in the misty rain, his red clothing was dripping on the asphalt of the lower alleys near Galak Memorial. Everything around him was a blur of green and pulsating red lights, with sprinkles of blue and purple here and there. Few knew these old streets better than he, especially since these streets predated the blocks and grids of the higher, more modern, cityscape. If only so many cities and sky-scapes had places like this, with the old and the new mixed in from Grid-455 to Grid 522 of City-star, all the way up to the center of the Solar construct Valhalla of Prime-star. Alas it was not so, like he would have wanted.
    The girl showed herself once again, maybe for the last time, maybe not, hard to say. While she seemed kind and sweet, her presence was more intrusive than it was welcoming.
    "Well, I can't really help that. You're just going to have to get used to me, whether you like it or not." She had a point there, no one else could see her but him. A glitch in his eye, perhaps? He put his index finger to the left side of the head, hoping to adjust his implant so it wouldn't show him this seemingly invisible to all but him guardian angel.
    "Don't you remember? You need to use a screw-tool to get that open. And even then, it wouldn't work anyway, I’m gonna be keeping you company for the whole ride." She was really starting to agitate him. If this was some bizarre glitch, then maybe he could find a doctor and have him fix this little issue. Of course, that wouldn't be very cheap, and well, nobody would employ someone whose had sixty-five percent of their body mechanized and augmented. The price of being a Vanguard, unfortunately.
    Just then, he felt someone bump into him. He looked to his right shoulder to a some-what built man, with what looked like cybernetic wiring in his biceps. His breath smelled like Lighter Liquor, Freezed Gel, and a hint of VERY old whisky. A rather rare kind of drink is whisky anymore, most places don't even have any in stock, let alone sell any for reasonable prices. And that Lighter Liquor smell, well that alone always had an unpleasant aroma to it just out of the bottle. You couldn't get arrested for having a bottle of whisky in your home, after all, it was known to be something of a collector's item if you were into that kind of thing. He personally though, never really had much of an interest in such things. Now the Lighter Liquor and Freezed Gel on the other hand, was oh so quite illegal no matter where you lived on the construct. At best, you could get a fine of eight hundred thousand *credits for so much as having a little flask full of that stuff on your person. And at worst, you could get life in one of the many prison blocks on Cage-star, or even death if you're carrying enough of either substance. In this guy's case, he'd probably be charged decisively, and very swiftly for his transgression.
    The tall man with the breath of a dying animal, and improper wiring in his arms, looked down at Zylo as if he was some kind of immovable titan out of an old story book.
    "Hey-huh, pip-squeak...you're in th-huh...way." This idiot could barely stand. Burping and having hiccups over his words, slurring and just breathing the way he was, right in Zylo's face. He wasn't amused, not even a little bit. He's already on a mission for his fallen comrades, and people like this jerk don't know what he had to go through all those years ago.
    That was already enough for this stupid crap, he raised his hand with five of his fingers out.
    "Heyy...whatcha doin' there you little shrimp?" His thumb went down, now only four fingers were up.
    "What...ya think you're bein' funny, ya little shrimp?" His pinky went down, now only three fingers were up.
    "Uh, maybe we should just go, don't you think?" She said with concern in her voice, his ring finger went down.
    "Look, he's not worth our trouble. He can hardly stand-up, he doesn’t know what he's doing." His index finger went down, the tall man's eyes had widened as though he just found out the bar was closing early.
    "Oh I’m gonna crush ya, y...huh...ya little punk-a…" His words were cut-off as Zylo lowered his middle-finger enough for it to still be up near his knuckle, as he thrust his nearly clenched fist into the man's skull. His middle-finger having clashed with flesh and bone, and the flesh and bone of the man’s skull clashing with what felt briefly like metal and steel crashing into him. The man slumped over in front of him before Zylo grabbed his limp body and threw him into the window of a nearby club. The sound of glass shattering and women screaming as the man's bloodied skull was the first thing everyone saw in there.
    He walked to the door and swung it open, most of the patron's not paying much attention to what had just happened. They had to be pretty damn used to seeing this kind of violence if they were just sipping their drinks and eating whatever crummy food this rat infested hellhole had to offer. A couple of guys were playing what looked like a card game, with actual dollar bills piled-up to the side of their table. That was another old sight to see, tonight was getting pretty nostalgic for him.
    He walked up to the bar at the other end of the club, the bartender not shaken-up at all from the sight of Zylo's bloody hand. Another one who was used to having these kinds of disturbances in his club, this most likely wouldn't be the last time for something like this to happen here, most assuredly.
    "What can i get for ya, bud?" He was to-the-point and blunt, he wasn't terrified at all of his new violent customer. A rare quality amongst those who aren't modified, or even straight-up synthetic. Refreshing, if a bit annoying as well.
    He grabbed a napkin and wrote down his order, and slid it to the bar-keep, along with the amount of credits needed for the order. The bar-keep's eyes glossed over the order, and his hands swiftly made the order as if he had lightning in his veins. Before you could blink, the order was ready to go. Quite impressive for a human.
    "There ya go, if ya need a refill the station's right over by the door to the stair-case. If you're plannin' to head up to the balcony, remember that i get a few noisy punks up there. So, watch yourself." He's more concerned about a few delinquents than he was about a modified killer? What a world to live in.
    Zylo sipped from his mug, the bitter taste of Yellow-6 was completely lost to him. He sometimes misses being able to taste things, but then again, he really wouldn't be able to stomach this crap if he could.
    The men playing the card game motioned for Zylo to join them, with that pile of dollar bills getting bigger and bigger. Why not? He might as well indulge in some fun before he must get back to work.       


                                                                                                                                                               -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.

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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.

cult-ure
/ˈkəlCHər/

noun
noun: culture; plural noun: cultures

1.
the arts and other manifestations of human intellectual achievement regarded collectively.
"21st century popular culture"
synonyms:           the arts, the humanities; etc.
a refined understanding or appreciation of culture.
"men of culture"
synonyms:           intellectual/artistic awareness, education, cultivation, enlightenment, discernment, discrimination, taste, refinement; etc.
​
2.
the customs, arts, common beliefs, social institutions, dogma and systems of indoctrination among a particular nation, people, or other social group or sect.

As a tool of mass societal engineering, as well as influence upon the imagination of the individual, culture is more often a mechanism of the propagandist than the individual. Indeed, the modern myth of culture is a symptom of the epidemic of civilization, a collective condition which leads us back to the cardinal principle of politician, priest, and animal trainer alike: cultivation.
Cultivation is domestication, and domestication is control. Culture is a myth; a construct used to wrangle the divine spark of the creative spirit and slow its evolution. Destroy the myth of culture within, before it destroys you without.

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​Gus walked out of the station first, the rain was still pouring hard on the lit-up night. A thick mist was visible in the neon filled night, almost all the roads were nearly barren save for a couple of passing ground cars and late night workers. Although Gus enjoyed the night time more than the day, he didn't like it too much when it rained. His coat could only do so much when the weather got really bad like this, but he supposed it wouldn't be too bad tonight considering he was mostly gonna be driving tonight.
    Senny walked out of the station with a slightly annoyed look on his face, Gus could already tell what his partner was thinking. "Lemme guess, we gotta drive to the Cafinite Night Dine for a few refills for the night first, right?" Senny flipped a 150* credit coin to Gus and walked out to the car where the downpour seemed to be at it's worse. Gus whistled at the coin in his hand, "I guess a few is not the right word for this case." Gus walked over to the car and pulled out his I.D key, the lock beeped and clicked open for him while he looked around to see if there were any cars or other vehicles around the parking grid. No vehicles of any kind were coming nor going, so he and his partner were ready to head out for the night.
    "Hey Gus?" Senny asked while he pulled out a CigRet for him. "What do you think about the homicide?"
    "I think it has a lot to do with all that political crap, you know Sen?" He flipped on the wind shield wipers and pulled out of the parking slot, he pressed a button on the wheel and the rear-view mirrors were adjusted accordingly. "I would bet you anything that it was most definitely a hired hit, and the trail is being covered up to pin the blame on someone else. Hey, maybe the order could have come from someone up in the high table." He drove out of the grid and activated the car's Siren I.D for their night-shift. 
    "Gus, the high table thing might be a little far-fetched for this. I could see your point if it was a commander or admiral or someone with high rank in the corps, but as far as we know this was just another homicide and the victim was only related to someone of a high rank."
    "Well it's possible the culprit had threatened him and any person that was of relation to the victim. I mean, don't you think this could have something to do with blackmail or some other kind of scandal for anyone in politics or the army or some such thing? I think it might be."
    "The members of the high table work to balance the economy, stabilize our society, and build our culture. They're not mobsters or some secret government with a conspiracy to enslave everyone, or control everything we do in the world." Senny was starting to think that Gus was spending too much of his free time watching documentaries on conspiracies and sleepers from other galaxies, and he wondered whether drinking might be better for him at home or not.
    Gus knew a lot about the high table of Prime-Star, and he was well informed on the current state of the system, as well as the political history of the stars. But he was also too quick to judge a case when someone was threatened or even murdered because of supposed propaganda or any other crap. There was no doubt in Senny's mind that this was an exception to some of Gus's profiles on political related homicide, but he was still a little annoyed about having to hear it so much and Gus could see that.
    The Night Dine practically bloomed in the headlights and the aroma of Cafinite and some baked goods flowed out the front door, a man wearing a lift uniform walked out of the Night Dine and popped a sleep away pill in his mouth.
    The two detectives pulled up to the lot and turned on their C.P.U’s (City Patrol Updaters), and stepped out of the car. Both of them quickly getting drenched in the downpour pounding the entire city, with their coats not helping much in keeping them from getting a little cold.
    The night was young and glittered with sparking lights in the rainy, misty city. It was time for those cups of Cafinite and a few other things to keep the two going tonight.  

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.

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​by
​ Stephen Queen

It was day. Alex Kistler brought the last of his moving boxes into his new apartment. Caleb had helped him with the couch and heavier furniture earlier. There was a closet right by the front door which he hadn't noticed when the property manager showed him the place.

Bonus!, he thought to himself with a smile. He hung his one winter coat in there, rolled his vacuum cleaner in as well, and called it a night. When he woke the next day he set everything up and organized his new place. After that he went for the vacuum but upon opening the closet, he was surprised to find it completely empty. No vacuum. No coat.

I could have sworn I put those things in here, he thought.

But Alex was constantly misplacing and losing things, and dismissed the confusion as his mind playing tricks on him as a side effect of heavy marijuana use. He left for his night time job. He came home late that night and decided to throw his three pairs of sneakers into the closet by the door, out of the way of everything. He went to bed. When he went to put his sneakers on the next day he found the closet completely empty. This not only shocked Alex, but angered him. He searched every inch of his apartment and car, but found no sneaker, vacuum or coat.

"What the fuck is going on?!" he shouted as he kicked at the air. He was quite embarrassed going into the "Shoe Show" with only socks on his feet to buy new shoes. That night, before bed he put his Monopoly board game into the closet, as an experiment. The next morning - empty closet. He inspected the closet for some loose panel or trapdoor. Nothing. He made a video with his phone of him putting some old clothes into the closet, and videoed the opening of the empty closet the next day. But all of his friends that he showed thought it was a lame, unthought-out joke. He couldn't prove that he didn't empty the closet himself. 

He put nothing in the closet for a week. This is when Alex was greeted by friendly, hungry, stray cat. He gained the cat's trust with a bowl of milk and managed to wrangle the cute little feline into his apartment. That night he put the cat into the closet with a bowl of milk. 

The next day he hurried to the closet door. He pulled the door open to see a strange landscape as far as the eye could see, with no sky. It was dimly lit by what seemed like a red fire. In the distance, he could see human figures being mutilated and torn apart by horrific creatures that were certainly not of this world. He couldn't believe his eyes, and tried to shut the door, but that's when a clawed hand as big as Alex's head reached from inside the doorway and clutched his neck. The hideous, goat-like, horned head that he saw next spoke to him in a low-pitched voice that sounded like an animal speaking English.

"We've been waiting for you."

And then Alex was pulled in, and the closet door shut behind him.

​THE END...But not for Alex.

The established order of the museums and galleries is crashing. Their light and influence diminish, and all that is left are memories of what once was. What was once the heart beat of society has become commercialized and commodified under the parasitic cultural umbrella of Art World.
To understand it we must go back to another time not long ago, when the creative class had been wrangled into a self-policed gulag with the dregs of the upper class, always working towards some semblance of community or organization. Both ultimately did increase, which increased work. The harder and faster they worked, the more work there was to do; so, they handed the reigns of their economic and creative infrastructure over to gallerists and consultants. Galleries had begun as a tool of the age of enlightenment, they functioned as kind of cathedrals to art, where the wealthy and the learned could fully absorb if not appreciate the art. For in those days works of art were thought to have an almost supernatural quality and most were of the opinion that one did not need to understand it, but the mere act of being in its presence was thought to have effects on ones temperament, intellect and wellbeing, and in fact we still see this today where paintings or prints often adorn hospital recovery rooms. Many galleries became more interested in representing a groupthink aesthetic which left little room for creative individuality, all in the pursuit of the bottom line. This bottom line turned many such establishments into dens of vipers, the gallerists and consultants metaphorical (if not literal) foxes running amok in the proverbial hen house, and many a patron were in fact parasites and predators.  The exact history of the decline of the creative class is difficult to pin down, but its effects are not. Many were and still are forced to work odd jobs for very little, sweating in kitchens or sitting solitary under fluorescent bulbs in windowless gray cubes most of their waking hours (most of their lives), trying to hear silence through the ever-present hum of mechanized garble. Executing precise movements on a keyboard to manipulate the obsolescent sigils of commerce which had no real value to them, subconsciously panicked by the typical pervasive multitude of life anxieties, just so they could pay exorbitant entry and exhibition fees to the galleries to pursue the vision they had for themselves and the world. All the while pitted against a hostile dynamic complex of simultaneous coercion and persuasion perpetrated by a twisted and decadent system ruled by elitist politics and various allegiances, they have been taught to accept by that most laughable of institutions Art School. A constant force-fed rounding up of the herd is provided to us courtesy of social media, propaganda or the wholesale dissemination of the state condoned archetypes. All of which conditions us further still and we accept the chains of credit that has condemned the majority of the creative class to the corporate console, and ultimately their own imprisonment within the 9-5 system of NO THINK. Would they have done this if instead they could have pursued their visions and dreams unencumbered by the imprisonment of a forty-hour work week due to the greed of the galleries? Not in use as cogs in their machine? Their art free of societal or commercial programming and fabricated goals, just so it can hang on the gallery wall and hopefully be bought? All these mentalities and attitudes of careerism and capital gain have become the heart of Art World as they have so many facets of commerce and industry. Subsistence, at the very least for the true creative class/The New World Creative (NWC), was what Art World claimed to provide to any hard-working artist. Such a luxury would be welcomed (but much like the proverbial carrot which is so often dangled in front of the horse, it is seldom delivered and only saved for the chosen few) compared to the luxuries afforded us through working within this system until now.
    At present time creative minds are transformed into information-processors and satellites for agendas of artistic substitution. We have Devolved into serving machines; processing pop culture reality into binary code and computer logic data, and regurgitating it back into our Art. We are used more and more as either translators or the human avatar of the machine, that is, as interfaces between computerized systems. Too many of you are led by the nose of what is in vogue! Society in large is divided into labels and sectors; police, doctors and most gallerists are identical in their regalia, their speech is scripted by other administrators of the program, they are expected to do their work starting at X time, ending at Y time, and resting at Z time so they may continue to operate efficiently. The same expectations, with respect to what produces the result, are placed on every aspect of society and we are supposed to be actors in the commercial that is meant to define us. Make no mistake: you and I are little more than pawns to the upper echelon of this established order of things. Our art is looked upon as trinkets, baubles, or pretty pictures to decorate the courts of the modern aristocracy. To them we are merely workers, our work little more than objects for their amusement!
   Art World uses artists, artists don’t use Art World. It is not any single isolated institution, it is a unified system of relationships between elements and systems. Those who claim that Art World is a "neutral tool" or that it is an accumulation of independent galleries, museums, public events and institutions to be picked through selectively, fail to realize that the symbiosis of the system itself is a metaphysical whole. That it is an expression of organization, and therefore can only direct itself toward higher order, increased centralized control, and the inevitable degradation of the true creative class which it undermines and represses at every turn. In short, it has been reduced to little more than just another commercial industry. The metabolic flow of the market must speed faster, fueled by the martyrdom of the visionaries and seekers who are too often kept at the bottom of the pyramid in this life, only to be lionized after their deaths by the same pretentious greed mongers’ that once chased them from their galleries all in the pursuit of total collectability. It is in this way that they build their next commodity, for every story you hear of an artist which was never understood in his or her own time, but which became wildly popular in death are all examples of created markets. Our art can always be more valuable, but it can never be valuable enough.
   The first wave of this manufactured market mediocrity comes before us presented under the guise of the avant-garde, touted by critics with labels such as challenging or complex. We are told in so many words that if we don’t understand or like it, it’s because we are too shallow or just too stupid. It turns art into a pseudo-intellectual parlor trick which purports itself to be revelation, critics and the moneymen jump on the train and a market is created. Collectors and the media follow suit, and the vocation of the artist is further trivialized by this rich man’s game.  The role of artist has now been neatly defined within the modern caste system of the hive-mind as a high-end loafer because of these tactics of trivialization. It is fast becoming a subcultural program which no longer computes in the greater scheme of things, and that which will not compute will not survive.
As for our work, so our play: both are a communication of our individual realities, our own world, not Art World. To be silent or uninterested is to be complicit. To apply their lens to your narrative, or worse their narrative to your story is anathema to not only the ethos of the NWC but to the creative spirit in general. Our mission is to free ourselves, not just from the restrictions imposed upon us by this obsolete system, but to destroy said system.  We are starved for the next wave of real seers, prophets, poets, and madmen. We must once again become the authors of our dreams. 
   The internet has become the God surrogate for many a man, woman, and child. This cybernetic deity disperses crowds and clears streets, it keeps people lethargically chained to a screen. We now live in a post-physical era, inside our devices, estranged from our physical environments, displaced in a self-imposed corporate/governmental collective imagination. Never projecting, forever receptive and submissive to the commercial, capable of little more than high tech voyeurism.
   This is not the case for everyone. There are many of you who say: "We want to live, to be here, now”. I tell you that if that is the case, you must realize that now is the time to put your xeroxed zines on the shelf, they are worthless in our current age of quantum communication and interconnection. We do not write zines, we chart new course in cultural engineering. The printed page is dead! A relic of a bygone era which in no way suites our current societal fusion of ourselves into our technology. If one wishes to affect change within the Leviathan of Western society, even if it is on a cultural level for it is this level which accounts for the base of what is to come, then one must create a lighthouse amidst the pixilated binary reefs of their illusory world. In fact, the accepted art of any era always has a kernel of foreshadowing of what is to come, the art of the underground ultimately works through the influence it holds over the next generation and in this way affects an equal if not greater change ultimately, which brings us here. The glow which now surrounds you is the medium in which we operate. We are the agents of change, the guides of aesthetic transubstantiation. The New World Creative is all of us, forever!

                                                                                                                                       -Steven Lee 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.

All Artists Are Murderers
We come in all shapes and sizes 

 ​Some parents put a drop of paint thinner in their children’s cereal, ultimately the art of death plays out wonderfully. Some children emotionlessly murder animals, worshipping the sacred art of mass mutilation. Slashing and scratching at vulnerable wounds. Stabbing and violating our private sensitivity into a choral uprising of macabre grotesque. Too scared to kill yourself? Kill the Art Elite! Afraid of authority? Piss in their flavor of the month coffee pot! Kill your Corporate Art God’s and toss your Greedy Greedy Gallery idols violently into the volcano of disgust. You’re an artist with a strange wonderful mind. A mind that the elite simultaneously worships and detests. Your imagination has the power to trigger massive chaos in their streets. Use your weapon’s wisely with surgical precision. Pull that trigger. This is a war of Good versus Evil. Don’t just make them laugh, make them piss blood in their pants with embarrassment. Tired of getting your ankles bitten by false promises? Drop kick that little fucking dog straight out of their stained glass gallery window. Did your condescending art mentors tell you what to do? Shame them so badly in the public arena, that they run in shame toward the nearest bridge. And before they jump to their demise, look into their tear stained eyes and silently whisper “FUCK YOUUUU.” The only time that you should apologize, is when you deeply regret not killing them sooner. You’re an artist, and surely you must have zero doubt. YOU are a cold blooded murderer. Own it. Some Murderers are methodical with their weapons. Painting something so focused, to emotionally manipulate society’s feeble mind’s so precisely, that you make them resort to unconscionable acts of transparency. We walk amongst a sterile and vampiric cabal of cannibalistic tag alongs. You are only a commodity and a cash machine in their eyes. Being the producer of dreams to those so unskilled to manifest any, you must bash their brains so violently with truth and indignation, that their selfish motivations ooze from their stubborn pores. Hold up your art as a mirror, so they see how unapologetically disgusting they’ve treated you. And in kind, make them melt into the puddles of disrespecting puss that they always were. You have the power. You have always had it. They were only holding you back until now. So here we stand blood soaked and brazen. An army of Artist’s so ruthless and unwavering. Never forget what brought us here. Never forget the shame and lies and piss that they put into you, to silence your voice. Never forget the rules and the cages, and the long promised wages that they never intended to pay. Their entire existence was placed solely here to kill rape, eat and kill you. Once they see that they killed the chef, they’re banished to eat shit art until another rises. Enjoy the wait, bitches. We have always controlled the pay. Murderer’s come in all packages. Some come to maim without ever intending to kill. Their corporate masters perpetuate the rebel, but never follow through with the promise. Be Authentic. Rise above and make an example. As you slowly walk out of the gallery, after killing every mother fucker in the room, you are redeemed. No-one will ever call you a fake, or a phony. For their throats will be slashed with the sharp reassurance to never doubt you ever again. You were born to Kill. Embrace your destiny and indulge in your passion. This isn’t just blood sport. This is WAR. Let the massacres commence!

David MacDowell
January 16, 2019 

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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.

​Welcome to the final Third Friday of the year 2018. It has been a year of major growth, triumph and tremendous success. From Emerge and The Exploding Digital Inevitable, to the conclusion of our Spotlight series, this year has been filled with milestones and breakthroughs, and we thank every creative and patron who helped make it possible.
As the year 2018 draws to a close, we take but a moment, not so much for retrospection on the past year, but rather to glimpse a projection of what is to come. We look to 2019 knowing that our mission is to continue in this Golden era of artistic innovation, rejuvenation, and reinvention. As well as to embrace and subvert the methodologies of authority in art; from aesthetic ideology to censorship, from dogma to propaganda and beyond!

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The Censor Art campaign idea kinda hit me recently (spurred by the upcoming ban of "adult content" on tumblr) about how much art, and nudity, is unnecessarily censored these days on all social media platforms, as well as culture. The watering down and lack of acceptance of body parts as universal as nipples is just silly and pointless.
So instead of being able to have my art censored, I'm censoring with my art. 
                                                                                                                                                                         -JoKa

​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.

​We began the Artist Spotlight feature in January of 2017, our aim was to document our peers, those whom we found truly inspiring and unique. We wanted to present a plethora of technical and philosophic approaches. A monthly exhibition which would stimulate, motivate, and illuminate.
Over the past two years we have had the opportunity to work with a roster of truly incredible and visionary artists, and in staying true to our initial vision they have encompassed many disciplines and walks of life. We had absolutely no interest in attempting to represent merely an aesthetic, as is often the case with so many galleries and collectives, rather we wanted something which took us on a journey into their worlds. We determined from the beginning that each artist would have creative control over their individual Spotlights, and, as a result each Spotlight is unique to itself and the oeuvre of the artist’s work.
Presented below are the 23 Spotlight artists, of whom we can absolutely say, without any hyperbole, are among the finest working in their respective fields today. These are some of the creators who are working tirelessly to affect the paradigm shift in culture which we call the New World Creative. It has been our privilege to work with them in order to achieve this undertaking, and now we are honored to share their work with you here in our final addition to our Spotlight feature: Retrospective.

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Based out of Athens GA, Rick Andriola, a street artist from Saratoga Springs, NY describes himself as a “go big or go home” type of person. He has always been a fan of comic book art, graffiti, street art, and pop art and his love of film can be seen in his subject matter. He likes painting on huge canvases. To maximize the size of his paintings, he began to build the canvases himself. He now builds them for other artists as well and guarantees lifetime durability. His “designed to ship” multi panel paintings have even been shipped to China. He wants to hook everybody up, one wall at a time.

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Dave’s Work deftly combines satire, irreverence, and seething wit. A self-taught artist, MacDowell combines cultural references with the Magnetism of the “dark hook”, creating unexpected plays on pop that inject the familiar with blistering hyperboles. Seeking to unveil the feared and the reviled, while expertly weaving critical commentary with hilarity, MacDowell’s work is an effective combination of complicity and critique. Appropriately in keeping with the movement, MacDowell’s pieces combine a pop surrealist aesthetic with deliberate references that gleans and transforms the Known into powerful generational odes to discontent and dystopian irony. Abound with criticism and an acerbic wit, unearthing the nightmares that lurk just beneath the veneer of celebrity culture, his work fearlessly taunts the obsequiousness of our cultures iconographies, Creating unexpected inversions and re-combinations that gently tug at its unraveling strings.
MacDowell’s technical execution is highly detailed and seductive, contributing to the hallucinatory pleasure and draw of the work. In keeping with the tendency of the genre, the more highly refined the execution, the more effective the irreverence of the content, and this certainly is the case with MacDowell’s paintings.The work is at times controversial and unsettling, but seems to combine contention and dissent with pleasure and whimsy. Highly accomplished at figuration and color, the artist’s work effectively conveys the vision of its hyperreality. The technicolor nightmares MacDowell offers up are at times so densely populated with imagery that they feel bottomless, like the contemporary equivalent of a Hieronymus Bosch Medieval nightmare, and at other times are sparse and perfectly simple. Each piece imparts the suggestion of narrative, and reveals a story or core idea, however obliquely, that has motivated its juxtapositions and hooks. Disturbing, lascivious, and funny, each work is acuminate in its own abrupt revelations.

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Alec Huxley (B. 1980) is a painter based in San Francisco, California. His work is representational, anchored by haunting cityscapes definitively of the American West Coast and the ghostly remnants of it's historic migration. These backdrops serve as theater for space travelers and wild animals and as well as imperfect records of place, time and architecture. He is self taught with experience in printing, graphic design and photography.

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Charles Fleischer is best known as the voice of Roger Rabbit, an actor in films like Zodiac, Dick Tracy, and A Nightmare on Elm Street, a stand-up comedian and the visionary creator of Moleeds. He is also a visual artist with a passion for photography. To discover more of Charles' work follow him on Instagram @moleeds2737

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Clinton Neuhaus is an accomplished artist who has shown his work at Chet Zar’s Conjoined shows, Grind Gallery, The Hive, and Infusion Gallery, just to name a few. He currently resides in Long Beach, California.

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Beppo Zuccheri, painter, graphic designer, philosopher, manipulator of the substance and the image, was born from the Tagliamento River in 1973. After his classical high school studies, he achieved his Diploma from the International School of Venice and attended, without completing them, both the Fine Arts Academy and the Faculty of Literature and Philosophy in Bologna. 
Even so, he considered himself as being self-educated.He has recently resumed his artistic activity. Beppo lives and works in San Vito al Tagliamento (PN) / Italy ​

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Lee Harvey Roswell is a self-taught artist from Freefall, New York, whose work is noted for its blend of angst and humor. Themes of death and entropy, tribulation and futility run amok in his distinctly surreal, often-slapstick and nightmarish world. The result is at once mocking and melancholic. For the past decade plus his attention has turned almost exclusively to oil painting, though it's always a surprise what direction he'll steer things next. Lee now lives in San Francisco, and his work is shown, collected and published internationally.

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Rachael Bridge is an artist from New York whose oil paintings have gained notoriety in the dark art movement. Rachael's style is a unique take on traditional portraiture, which she warps to create an otherworldly, dreamlike aesthetic. Her works often resemble film stills, offering a snapshot of the protagonist during a moment of a deep, ominous trance. There is a wealth of emotion in the eyes of Rachael’s subjects, and their harrowing stories are told in their luminous gazes. While all of her work presents an elaborate entanglement of melancholy undertones, each delicately rendered painting is a deeply personal, and unique manifestation of the artist herself. The female figure is a constant motif in her work, and each painting stands as a kind of self portrait by presenting notions of femininity which reflect her own experiences. Rachael currently lives and works in Philadelphia, PA.

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​Bobbi Stark has been tattooing nearly a decade and creating art throughout her entire life. She began her tattoo apprenticeship at the age of 21 under several mentors for two years prior to tattooing on her own.
A licensed Body Artist in Denver, Colorado as well as Wichita, Kansas. The bulk of her free time is dedicated to creating new work and developing her fine art skills, and cultivating her craft in any way that she can. 

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Rev. Steven Johnson Leyba is a ritualistic, shamanistic painter of Mescalero Apache ancestry. His art is equal parts satanic, holistic, radical, political, and extremely personal. Utilizing various media, Leyba creates a celebration of the sacred and profane. Paint mixes with collage, beadwork, and DNA making bold statements about the world we live in and constantly questioning the very nature of Art.
Since 1989, Steven Leyba has produced 14 handmade books, huge volumes of bound works on canvas. Forms of these have been published by Last Gasp and Coyotel Press in books containing commentary by William S. Burroughs, H.R. Giger, Poppy Z. Brite, Clive Barker, and Genesis P-Orridge. He has been the subject of media attention for his controversial approach and subject matter, and in 2002 a documentary was made about the artist titled, Unspeakable:The Life & Art of Reverend Steven Johnson Leyba.
His works are multi-media explorations into the souls of both individuals and society as a whole. They are liberating, honest, and organic in experience, void of any censorship and defiant against those who would attempt it. Look for his own documentary, What is Art? Inside the Mind of the Artist as They Speak the Truth.
Leyba's artwork has been collected by Vincent Price, William S. Burroughs, Stephen King, Clive Barker, David Cronenberg, H.R. Giger, Cornell University, A.I.M. (American Indian Movement), Genesis P'Orridge, Lydia Lunch, and the Black Panther Party.

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"I've wandered through life reading, writing, drawing, and playing music... soaking in anything weird/strange/unsettling...smiling and screaming, always wanting to make stuff.  Art is a catharsis for me. I try to portray the rudely animalistic, the meaty red stuff on the inside as a representation of the animal exterior. I want to distort and slice familiar beings into horridly disfigured presentations whose distortion and violence create a sort of empathy. This does not mean that I only paint animals, I try to keep a healthy variation between my pieces, trying new techniques with each series while keeping subtle themes throughout my work.  I mainly paint with gouache but have recently begun to use oils, two mediums that vary vastly in technique but which also feel very similar to me."  
​                                                                                                                                                               -Dusty Ray

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Mortimer Dempsey is the artistic nom de guerre of Scott Aaron Stine. Under this thinly-disguised pseudonym, he has been producing art since the late-1980s inspired primarily by old-school surrealism, with Francis Bacon and Marcel Duchamp wielding the greatest influence over his work, both aesthetically and thematically. That said, he cites the whole of modern art as relevant inspirations, particularly cubism, abstract expressionism, impressionism and art nouveau.
Out of sheer necessity, Mr. Dempsey embraced the world of digital art circa 2010, in spite of his technological illiteracy. Drawing on decades of exploration into more traditional mediums, he sought to create visions that he could not achieve through purely non-digital means. This also gave him a greater opportunity to employ the “cut-up technique” as pioneered by Tzara and later perfected by Burroughs and Gysin, transposing the experimental literary method into a purely visual idiom. Much of his work employs this process, randomly combining photography of his own and others with sordid “stock” images usually culled from crime scene photos, hardcore pornography, graphic surgery footage, and the like. Aside from his reliance on art as catharsis, the artist's goal has always been to create something aesthetically pleasing—even beautiful—out of such disparate, unpleasant sources; any successes are entirely up to the viewer.

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David Van Gough is a Necrosurreal artist, using allegory and alchemy, chronicling a heightened sense of mortality, and the madness of the minds subterranean recesses. Raised in Liverpool England,in a terraced house overlooking a cemetery, his early years were colored by a tableau of EC Horror comics, 70’s occultism and Catholic guilt. 
A keen scribbler, his artistic intents were fully realized upon seeing a monograph of Bosch’s Earthly Delights. 
Enrolling to study at the Liverpool school of Art-upon graduating-he left for a decade as a commercial artist. However, upon the death of a friend--the third to die in a fifteen year period--what he calls a ‘cruel reminder of life’s fleetingness’, revitalized his early artistic ambitions, imbuing his work with “an emotional and spiritual excavation for purpose”
Moving to California in 2005, he became an Honoree Artist of 2010 at the San Diego Art Institute,and his work has been hosted in a succession of solo and featured showcases on both sides of the Atlantic, including major exhibits at the Oceanside Museum of Art,(SD) Stephen Romano gallery (NY), Copro and Gregorio Escalante gallery (LA) and Bash Contemporary (SF), as well as being represented by the London based gallery, Macabre.
His Hyaena gallery exhibit Man/son and the haunting of the American Madonna has been featured as part of the critically acclaimed documentary Serial Killer Culture by John Borowski, now streaming on Amazon Prime. 
Currently he lives and works from his studio in Julian, CA, where he is preparing his next solo exhibit-Paradiso's Fall, to be shown at the Dark Art Emporium, March 2019.​

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​"Horror movies were a huge form of escapism for me during a troubled childhood. They've stuck with me through thick and thin like old friends ever since, and of course their imagery would find its way onto the panel again and again for me later on in my forties, when I seriously decided to take up oil painting.
               It's a little early on in my painting career for me to floor you with any deep or enlightening statement about what my art means. The act of painting, especially slopping it on thick, brings me peace and contentment like nothing else. It's been a fantastic catharsis for me. And yes, more escapism. I've been a doodler all of my life, but I've only taken up the brush seriously for the last five years and I'm just now starting to get a tiny glimpse of the potential of painting.
                I'm excited by all this possibility. Where I can go with all of this? I'm overjoyed that anyone finds my work interesting or entertaining in any way.
                I'm extremely grateful to the horror community at large. The people out there who support my efforts in so many ways, including purchasing my art. Still blows me away every time I sell a piece!
               I tried to get into comics back in the 90's with only a couple of dubious publications who printed my work, worked a million odd jobs, messed around with film-making for a few years, married a great gal, got my backyard S.O.V. crap-fest The Sadness distributed in 2007, didn't make a dime. Moved down to Florida from NJ two years later, played a bunch of electronic noise shows, wised up to internalizing bad advice about being an artist when I was a kid. Got a late start, but I'm finally where I'm supposed to be.
Thank you for having me,"
                                                                                                                                                       -R.F. Pangborn

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The Theory of the Boxes

Our body is a container, a box. That body that is our box, goes out to the world through the body of our mother, another box. We live inside a house, like a box. Let's study schools: Boxes. In them we think and acquire knowledge through books, complex boxes that keep words. 
 
We are going to work for another box, uploaded to trains, buses and cars that are also boxes, sometimes we arrive at our house by means of an elevator (sinister box). We travel around the world on the boxes that come to the ships and plans that deposit us inside other boxes that are the hotels. We watch television through a boob box, and surf the Internet, through another box that becomes the computer. We have fun inside stadiums, bars, clubs, discos, cinemas, theaters; all boxes They give us pleasure, our relatives, friends, couples, children and pets that are containers or boxes. We worship our gods inside a church, another box. We slept and procreated above a box. We go to a big box, the supermarket, to buy our food and we cook them in a box, the kitchen and we eat them on another box, the table. Some commit suicide by smoking cigarettes that eat in a box, others commit suicide by eating foods that also come in pits, others commit suicide with weapons that become pits with bullets. Hopefully we'll stop at a hospital, or a box. We die last and our body without life, that is to say our box, goes to stop underground locked in a coffin: last of the boxes. Death definitely frees us from those boxes. But during the stay, sometimes, we can take a break: that recreation is called art; and let me tell you, art ... art is love.
                                                                                                                                                          -Toto Páprika

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Stephen Kasner’s paintings, drawings and photographs have been exhibited and published worldwide. Gallery exhibitions of his works have been hosted in Chicago, Los Angeles, San Francisco, New York, among many others, as well as in Europe and throughout Australia as part of the internationally renowned Collection Art Visionary. His paintings and mixed-media works have been published to accompany numerous articles and editorials of vast social spectrums. Kasner is also widely recognized as a singularly masterful visual interpreter of music, producing a remarkable number of his unique images to accompany record albums for such modern musical luminaries as SubArachnoid Space, SUNN 0))), Darsombra, Khlyst, Suma, Justin Broadrick/Final, Skullflower, and Aluk Todolo, among many others.
Stephen continues to collaborate as visual artist for a series of bands and musicians, creating original artworks for upcoming releases by Suma and Istvan Megdyesi, and has recently produced a series of unique automatic drawings for The New Recordist, an upcoming release from German experimental electronic musician, Marc Lansley.
Kasner is currently working exclusively with Dark Art & Craft, producing an ongoing series of limited edition prints, as well as producing new original works for upcoming Australian tours of Damian Michaels’ Collection Art Visionary. 

Stephen Kasner is represented by Paul Calendrillo Gallery, New York:
www.paulcalendrillo.com

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Saturno Buttò, born in Venice in 1957, started his exhibition career in 1993, when he published his first monograph titled Portrayed from Saturn: 1989-1992. Since then he's exhibited in Italy, Europe and the USA (New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco).
In addition to two other monographs Works 1993-1999 and Martyrologium (2007), the Mondo Bizzarro Gallery in Rome at the recent exhibition has published his latest catalog in chronological order: Blood is my favorite color (2012). And Saturnico, from Core art gallery of Naples. The last book (with works from 2007-2014) is Brevarium Humanae Redemptionis.
Saturno Buttò's artwork is characterized by a personal, formal interpretation of European sacred art and technical skill, that reminds one of the great masters of our pictorial tradition.
Figurative rituals, tableaux vivants, neo-Gothic altar pieces are the skillful creations with which Butto extracts the fascinating mysteries of an "obscure, dark religion". This concept is brilliantly illustrated by the juxtaposition between the body's innate sensuality and its deeper spirituality. Through illustrating the conflict between eroticism and pain, transgression and rapture, Buttò's valuable paintings on wood examine in depth the strict and conflicting vision of Western religious iconography by comparisons with the body. The body is, on one side exhibited like an object of cult, while simultaneously being denied its value of nascent erotic beauty. It's a fascinating tension that above all exalts the human figure, to the centre of the exhibition.
The human figure, which in Buttò's poem, is constantly represented as sacred, is depicted in its physical and psychological decadence. It is sometimes illustrated by instruments and/or medical tools, that represent human pain on one hand while simultaneously highlighting the will to defeat death in a Utopian way. It also manages to vividly depict the inescapable condition of physical decline, more accurately than ever. This way, a beautiful girl's parade consecrate from a golden halo, as the Byzantine icons, shine from a lively and sensual physicalness, but are hidden from a mysterious demoniac fascination, as if they were wedded in purity to destruction and decay.

​Solo Shows
2017 "Det Sorte" Rum Midtjyllands Kunst Center - Bryrup, Denmark
2015 "Rosso Saturno" a cura di G.P. Brusca - Galleria Hippocratica - PORDENONE

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Drawing his inspiration from a plethora of pop culture influences and his own unique sense of self, the work of Cyrus Fire is created using a stream of consciousness Freestyle technique. Meaning that they are executed with no preconceived ideas, rather they are birthed spontaneously, once he captures the germ of the piece it is refined and perfected.
This impetus to create was initially fueled by the confines of a sickly and often bed ridden childhood. When his mother brought him paper and pens home from her work he enlisted them in the service of his increasingly powerful imagination. An imagination which he fed with a steady diet of comic books, music, movies, and Mark Kistler’s PBS children’s art instruction series The Secret City.
A fiercely undiluted palette which blazes boldly across the canvas and burns the imagery into the viewers mind like mental pyrography, is one of the quintessential hallmarks of his work. His adept sense of color is complimented and accentuated by the fluidity of his draftsmanship, creating a style which is uniquely his own.

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My name is Gregg Watts, I am an Acrylic artist based in the Cotswolds in Gloucestershire, England.
I was obsessed with drawing as a kid, always sat in front of the TV with a sketch book and some pencils, copying from my favorite comics and inventing some of my own.
In my teenage years however, art took a bit of a backseat as a new obsession for the guitar and rock music took over my life.
Cut to twenty five years later and my love of art resurfaced with a vengeance when I discovered digital painting while doing a web design course. I was amazed at what I could create and was really inspired by some fantastic digital artists. Soon I began to get an itch to create something more physical, to have an end product I could hold rather than being stored on a computer. I loved the thought of oil painting, but I didn’t have the patience for the drying times, so Acrylic seemed like the next best medium for me.
I love to paint. That’s it. I’m not trying to make a statement, my pieces don’t contain any subliminal messages, I am not trying to make any political or social references. I paint subjects that appeal to me and inspire me, and I endeavor to paint them as well as I can. The drive to improve my painting is my motivation and my passion.
The challenge of portraiture is my main interest, animals or humans. The start of a painting can be quite frustrating for me as I try to find the likeness of the subject. Once I have the correct proportions in place I can relax and start to have fun. I like to add energy to my paintings, jarring the background with the foreground, adding contrasting colours, all to create an illusion of movement.  It’s an instinctive and emotional process, sometimes it’s traumatic, but the end result is worth it and keeps me hungry to create the next painting.
….And the next painting is always going to be the best one. 
                                                                                                                                                           -Gregg Watts

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My family has been involved in stone work since 1879. From my birth I grew up surrounded
by various kinds of stone and work such as stone lanterns and graves tones. Although I was
determined to eventually take over my family business, I entered the Metal Work Department
of Tokyo University of the Arts. The stimulating encounters with other metal artists in the school,
and their work, became the foundation of my way of thinking and of my creativity. My work can
be divided into two groups. One is solid sculpture carved from marble or granite where I alter
the natural surface of the stone into sculptural forms that do not appear to be stone but some
other material. The other group is made from beach stones where I use the natural forms of the
stones and make alterations and additions that give the natural stones different character. All of
my work in both categories relates to the ordinary images, objects and experiences in daily life.
A prominent characteristic of both types of my work is my attempt to create the illusion that the
stone is something MORE than stone or is a different material altogether. Matsumoto City, where
I live, is surrounded by splendid mountains and is richly endowed with natural beauty. The stones
delivered from these mountains have been washed by fresh streams of water over very long periods
of time, and each stone has a unique form that has been created naturally. As I gather stones on
the riverbank, I imagine stories and works of art I can create with them. However, I try to emphasize
the natural shapes, colors and beauty of these stone and generally try not to change their original
shapes. Respecting and utilizing the natural characteristics of original material is a very old and
important aspect of Japanese culture. We have a concept of creativity known as mitate, which
involves creating new values by taking something that holds certain significance in one context and
placing it in a different context. A typical example is the raked gravel in a temple garden that
resembles flowing water. Although I am a contemporary artist I feel that such ancient Japanese
concepts are deeply embedded in my DNA.
                                                                                                                                                          -Hirotoshi Ito

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Born in 1972, on a small army base in the south, Dan Henk grew up on a diet of science fiction and horror books. At eighteen Dan Henk was kicked out of his house. He spent the next eight months homeless, often living in the woods. Six months later, he was in the passenger seat of a car that flipped and his face broke the windshield. Soon after that, the tendon on his thumb was severed in a fight with a crackhead. He came down with brain cancer in 2001, and his wife died in a hit-and-run in 2007. In 2012, a car shattered his bike, throwing him through the windshield and putting him in a coma for hours. In 2017 he flipped his truck and woke up in the woods. There's a running theory that he is a cyborg.
He's done art for Madcap Magazine, Maximum Rock and Roll Magazine, Tattoo Artist Magazine, Black Static, This is Horror, Deaddite Press, Skin Deep,  The Living Corpse, Aphrodesia, Splatterpunk, Tattoo Prodigies, Pint Sized Paintings, Coalesce, Zombie Apocalypse, Most Precious Blood, Indecision, Locked In A Vacancy, Shai Hulud, Purity Records, and a slew of Memento books.
2011 saw the release of his first book, The Black Seas Of Infinity, care of Anarchy Books. Permuted Press reissued it in 2015, and a few months later released his second novel Down Highways In The Dark...By Demons Driven. Splatterpunk issued his short story “Christmas is Cancelled” as a signed and numbered chapbook. Now living in Pennsylvania, he owns half of The Abyss Art Studio in New York, and spends what little spare time he has doing Muay Thai and Brazilian Jiujitsu.

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Stuff
by JT LeRoy
​(Read by Tatum O'Neal from The Best American Non Required Reading)

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Thumbnail art in this section by Hannah Tutor

Laura Albert won international acclaim writing fiction as JT LeRoy. She is the author of the novels Sarah and The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things, reissued by HarperCollins, and the novella Harold’s End, with illustrations by Cherry Hood. She is also the subject of Jeff Feuerzeig’s feature documentary Author: The JT LeRoy Story and Lynn Hershman Leeson’s film The Ballad of JT LeRoy. Cinema Eye, the organization that recognizes outstanding craft and artistry in nonfiction filmmaking, cited Laura Albert in Author as one of its 2016 list of Unforgettables: the year’s most notable and significant nonfiction-film subjects.
Laura’s books have also been reissued in the UK by Little Brown. Brazil’s Geração Editorial also re-released the JT LeRoy books in a boxset under Laura’s name – and she and JT were the subjects of the hit Brazilian rock musical JT, Um Conto de Fadas Punk (JT, A Punk Fairy Tale).
Laura contributes to print and online publications internationally, in a career that includes the cover feature for Man About Town and articles for The New York Times, The Forward, The London Times, Spin, Film Comment, Filmmaker, Interview, I-D, Vogue, The Face, Dazed and Confused, and VESTOJ, the Platform for Critical Thinking on Fashion. She was a contributing editor to Black Book, I-D, SOMA, and 7×7 magazines and is currently an editor for Diane Pernet’s A Shaded View On Fashion (www.asvof.com), and the Outpost section of psychoPEDIA.com. She has written for dot429, the world’s largest LGBTA professional network, and been an invited speaker at their annual conferences in New York.
Laura’s writing has brought her to speaking engagements from the story-telling series The Moth in New York to Foyles bookstore in London and Brazil’s international Bienal Brasil do Livro e da Leitura, where Laura and Alice Walker were the 2012 U.S. representatives. Her interview given to Nathaniel Rich was the cover feature of the Fall 2006 issue of The Paris Review; she also gave an extensive interview to Adam Langer for the August 2013 issue of Interview Magazine.
She wrote the original script for Gus Van Sant’s Elephant, winner of the 2003 Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival, and was Associate Producer. For Asia Argento’s film adaptation of The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things, which premiered at the Cannes Film Festival, Laura served as Associate Producer. She also co-scripted Jean-Claude Schlim’s film House of Boys and was a writer for the HBO series Deadwood. Her writing for short films includes Radiance for Drew Lightfoot and ContentMode, and Dreams of Levitation and We Vault for Sharif Hamza and Nowness. In 2012 Laura served on the juries of the first Brasilia International Film Festival and the Sapporo International Short Film Festival.
The editor of Da Capo Best Music Writing 2005, she has contributed writing to such short-story anthologies as The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2003, edited by Dave Eggers and read by Tatum O’Neal on audio edition; MTV’s Lit Riffs; XXX, edited by Timothy Greenfield-Sanders; Nadav Kander’s Beauty’s Nothing; and The Fourth Sex, Adolescent Extremes, edited by Francesco Bonami and Raf Simons. She has also been published in Francis Ford Coppola’s Zoetrope: All-Story, McSweeney’s, and the Oxford American Music issue.
She has written liner notes and biographies for musicians Billy Corgan, Liz Phair, Conor Oberst, Bryan Adams, Nancy Sinatra, and Courtney Love, as well as the liner notes for the Criterion Collection DVD of My Own Private Idaho, which features an audio segment with JT, Gus Van Sant, and Jonathan Caouette. With the band Thistle LLC, she contributed songs to the film Andy Warhol: Morning Star; she was also the voice of Warhol, reading from his Philosophy and Diaries. She also contributed to a podcast project for San Francisco’s MOMA on Warhol.
Laura has collaborated with director and playwright Robert Wilson and with Noah Khoshbin for the international exhibition of Wilson’s VOOM video portraits, as well as for the catalog of Wilson’s “Frontiers: Visions of the Frontier” at IVAM Valencia.
Profiled as an “indie fashion fighter” in the Style section of the San Francisco Chronicle, Laura has served as a member of Diane Pernet’s ASVOFF fashion film competition jury. Steven Klein has photographed Laura for QVEST magazine; so has Kai Regan, for his “Reckless Endangerment” at ALIFE. She has also done fashion shoots for Christian Lacroix and John Galliano, written films for ContentMode and Nowness, and interviewed numerous designers. ContentMode has published her series of fashion-related interviews with film and television actors. She coordinated a fashion show as an HIV/AIDS fundraiser for the Academy of Friends Oscar Party, bringing together Melange Productions and the multi-talented young people of Project Level – an arts academy for at-risk youth in San Francisco, where Laura was Director of Strategic Development – to create looks for the show, which they modeled. Laura also arranged for model and activist Rain Dove Dubilewski to walk the runway as JT LeRoy for the 2014 HIV/AIDS fundraiser held by the Academy of Friends Oscar Party in San Francisco.
Laura profiled award-winner Juergen Teller for the 2003 Citibank Photography Prize catalogue, and was a catalog contributor for both the “Blind Cut” exhibition at New York’s Marlborough Chelsea and “An Autobiography of the San Francisco Bay Area, Parts 1 & 2, Part 1: San Francisco Plays Itself” at SF Camerawork. Laura has collaborated with Williamsburg band Japanther, releasing a limited-edition cassette under the name True Love in a Large Room, with original artwork by Winston Smith, and with the San Francisco band The Size Queens on The Size Queens III album.
A spokeswoman for the successful “Heart for Eye” campaign to raise funds for restorative eye surgery for children, Laura hosted a television segment and was both an interview subject and an interviewer of inspirational women such as Anastasia Barbieri and Anh Duong. As part of the campaign, she was photographed by Marc Horn in ads that ran in Korean Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, Elle, W, Marie Claire, and other publications.
She has also taught at Dave Eggers’ 826 Valencia and California College of the Arts in San Francisco, and lectured with artist Jasmin Lim at Artists’ Television Access with SF Camerawork’s Chuck Mobley.
For several years Laura was the chief entertainment/travel writer/personality for Bayinsider.com, a San Francisco City Guide produced by Cox Interactive Media in conjunction with KTVU/Fox 2, KNBR and The Ticket 1050. She has hosted a series of radio segments at KPOO and KUSF on film, food, and travel. Laura’s other credits include being weekly show host for Rolling Stone, an Internet RealAudio show for Web Entertainment Group; travel writer for a New York-based publication, Singles Almanac; and lifestyle columnist for The Web Magazine and Maxim magazine.

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​A punk musician by proclivity and an artist by inevitability, Burnie Booth began creating his primitivist collages as album covers for Folkicide, his performing moniker since 2007. Folkicide’s music, an acoustically violent folk driven exploration of extreme pessimism, despair and the nightmare of existence found a logical visual extension in the piecemeal medium of collage.
Tired of bothering his artist friends for album cover art, Booth assembled his first collage for the 2010 cover of the Folkicide release Let's Worship Degenerates. It juxtaposed Theravada Buddhist imagery found at a Bangkok street stall with ‘80s Warner horror comics, along with snippings from the Queen News of the World album cover. Surprised by the positive reaction to the odd aesthetic he had stumbled upon, Booth continued assembling collages now numbering in the hundreds.
Eschewing digital in favor of original source materials, Booth gets his imagery largely from estate sales in his native Kansas City (preferably on the final day when items are 75% off their original price), gifts from friends and other oddities he has acquired over the years. Favorite visual elements come from the aforementioned Warner horror comics, books on primitive man, Medieval art and Hare Krishna promotional material. Images are sliced and glued in a manner designed to invoke feelings of unease and existential dissonance but yet are often tinged with a deliberate element of humor: like H.P. Lovecraft whispering in the ear of a nitrous oxide intoxicated and X-Acto knife armed Hieronymus Bosch.
Over the years Booth’s collages have been displayed on the walls of various KC bars and music stores as well as a Saint Louis pop up art show. A Folkicide animated music video entitled Empire of the Ants utilizing Booth’s collage imagery was produced by local filmmaker Mikal Shapiro in 2013. His art is also to be featured on the cover of the upcoming Kool 100s record.

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Special Thanks: Seven Vegas, Ron English, Jim Mazzocco, Heather Bosch, Nickholas P. Michell, Alexandria Romero, Sierra Matz, Tatum O'Neal, and Mary Rutelidge of Federal Heights.

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Vibrant colors and neon lights, so much to take in at the vastness of the city. He stood there in the sky of sight and sound unmoving, as though he were molded by the stone and metal he stood atop of.
Staring down on the entertainment district of the city, he listened for the location and name of his foes. Wind blowing like a mighty hurricane past him, but he does not stumble. Lightning crackling in the sky like a shooting star, but he does not flinch. Thunder booming like the mighty bang of the suns, and his resolve and spirit booms and burns at the might of the universe surrounding his embodied form.
She is looking at him again, like a guardian angel from the heavens. There is no one there, yet at the same time, there is someone there.
 
Why is it that something as beautiful as her wishes to aid him and watch him? Why must she accompany him, as if to be some kind of voice of wisdom to a dark deity of injustice and vengeance? Why did she choose him? Why?
    The roof was slick and slippery from the heavy pounding of the night time rain, but Zylo was only a towering black and red clad idol. A deadly harbinger of the storm, and an even deadlier adversary to those who worship the long dead.
    "They don't need to die, they need guidance, Zylo," the angel said. Zylo didn't turn to her when she spoke, instead he stood still like he's been doing. Mute as ever, one can only wonder of what it is the angel find's so divine of what Zylo is. "Divine is not the word that springs to mind for one such as you, don't fool yourself." Perhaps not...but there are no other vanguards like him. At least, not anymore.
    "Don't be so glum, you'll always have me by your side." She was right about that, and he didn't like her for being right. "No... you like me for being beautiful, don't you?" He stood there unphased by her remark, although he could feel his heart skip a beat. She was the only one to make him do that, and he didn't like her for it. "I don't mind if you don't like me, because i know you kind of do." She giggled a little bit, teasing him as though she were a child. He let a slight smile form on his face...but only a slight smile.
 
Senny sipped from his mug of cafinite. Having filled out his report on the incident at Century's Rise, he was convinced that this was a homicide case ready to blow all over the news in a matter of minutes. His superiors were trying to keep the press off the trail for as long as they could, but he knew this was gonna be the big topic for the next morning. They found bone fractures, vital organs torn, a concussion, and even bullet wounds all over the victim's body. Though they had yet to I.D the victim, he was concerned this was someone of importance to someone important. Someone high up in power, high on the food chain, high in command...in Valhalla.
    Just then his partner showed with a digital form filled out, most likely the I.D of their victim, and a cup of chili.
    "We got it," he said. A very grim look was written all over his face. Senny looked at the form to find that he was right; this person was someone of some importance.
    "The victim's name is Randolf Vill," he said. "Born in Winter Haitus on Citi-Star, spring star date 83LX. Only family was his brother Gorden Vill, former high commander of the InterSekt Marine Corps, who is now President of Prime-Star. As you no doubt saw, the victim had bullet wounds all over his body. And it makes me wonder who would be dumb enough to do that?"
    "Or smart enough," Senny said. His partner gave him a look of curiosity. "I mean, really Gus. Who would use a slug thrower anymore when they could use plasma? Or a P.O weapon? Guns with bullets are easily traceable, maybe that's the point? Maybe we're being played for idiots by someone who likes to screw around with anyone in peace keeping or some kind of law enforcement?"
    "Or maybe it could be a hired hit," Gus said. "You gotta remember, Senny. When congress passed the Act of Justice and Swift Execution, one of the things to go was the use of cyanide laber rings. Which back then, was another means for anyone who liked keeping their hands clean, to hire and ‘fire' any employees they wished."
    "Employees to anyone high up or underground was basically another word for slavery in their business," said Senny.
    "Well...slavery isn't the word I would use," Gus stated.
 
Outside of the station sits a discreetly nestled Repulser, lights dimmed but not offline. He sat in his seat puffing some Vapor from his lit CigRet. "Hey Jerv, you get the Mic-Buggee working yet? It looks like those two are finishing up with the reports about now." He said with a slight cough from the Vapor. Jerv took a sip of some liquor as he was nestling some of the wires together.
    The Mic-Buggee was a little beaten up from years of use, and in some spots glittered a small film of dust from being locked up in a storage compartment. Some of the lights on it were faint, there was also an unpleasant whirring and grinding noise it would make when it was running. This piece of junk might as well have been scraped and melted down for some other use. Even if it was converted into some parts for a garbage burner at least it would be more useful and reliable then some half busted spying bot.
    Jerv looked up at the flickering lights on the bot's forehead, they were so weakly lit that you could only see a tiny bit of color. He frowned at this and resumed nestling the wires, hoping that the bot would spring a little closer to life than what this miserable excuse was.
    A spark jolted out of one of the ports in the spy bot's chest and nearly shocked his wrist, he swore in a startled manner and hit his head on the side of the Repulser.
    "If you weren't drinking, we could be listening in on what's going on in there right now, instead of you blundering up with that piece of junk's faulty chip's and circuits."
    Edmond was getting impatient with his partner and his attempts at making a repair job on a bot that should already be in the trash by now, and he really wished his publisher would have given them some proper spy equipment instead of this...thing. They had a job to do and right now they have to play mechanic instead of fulfilling they're journalistic duty, getting a big story for all the solar to hear.
    Suddenly, the bot flickered on and made what sounded like trumpet sounds, indicating that it was finally functioning and ready for work. Jerv grinned while Edmond stared in bewilderment, he got the thing running like some kind of miracle worker. "How did you do that?" He asked in awe. "A little booze can help when you don't want to over-think what you're working on, maybe you should try it sometime Ed." Jerv grinned smugly, like he just won a million dollars in a game of Mine. It was about time for them to get to work.

                                                                                                                                 -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.