on march twentieth i made a fast friend and woke up for the first time in months. i started noticing magic again, like we met on the first day of spring and isn't that itself magic, and the next morning i woke up to sunlight and birds and beautiful tornado sirens. a long-lost friend appeared at my front door, coming out on the other side of their own winter spent losing touch with reality, we were able to honestly say, "me too." ... i felt awake though i had just been asleep and would be asleep again soon, and i recorded the sound to be sure it was real. it was real and isn't that itself magic. how is it possible that we both wish to be eaten by bears?

CLUMSY #10 is about waking up, family, trauma (& family trauma), gentrification, & Marilyn Manson, all told in Agatha's magnificent, nostalgic, midwestern loneliness, keep-it-in-a-shoebox-under-your-bed-with-your-favorite-cool-rocks style. I dare anybody else to write about intergenerational trauma, reverting to teenagerdom cuz you're afraid of not being good enough to be a grown-up, the local PD's war on homeless people, bugs, the circle of life, and pelvic floor therapy with half the entrancing charm.

Read Clumsy #10 as the northern hemisphere heads into the dark days of winter & be full of hope & companionship to get you thru to spring. It's like a hug & an incantation & maybe if I reread it enough times I'll wake up on the floor of some friend's apartment in Chicago & I won't feel knocked out of place on the east coast anymore.

This zine is 24 pages, quarter size (4.25 x 5.5), typed, fully collaged, photocopied, and assembled with love.