Saturday, 27 December 2008



A little bit about RACHEL DAY
i never usually have trouble talking about myself, but during this i have come to realise it's hard to justify yourself. hard to explain where you're coming from to a complete stranger, in just a few words & 'i likes'. Giving it a whirl never hurt, & it's as good as i can do, right? i always try to be friendly with everyone on first aquaintance, but i've been told i'm a little intimidating. it's not something i aim for. but then i've also been told i'm very easy to get along with. ambiguity is a wonderful thing. it's also a wonderful word. anywhoot.. my name's rachel, i'm 20 & currently reside in radcliffe, manchester. i'm studying my art & design foundation a bit late, after two years out of education & in full time work. going back to school was the best decision i've ever made. i'm constantly fluttering around in bouts of obsession over many different things. always penguins & wine. currently bubble tea & gouache paint. alot of my time is spent in various homely pubs or in bed. to sleep, you understand. i sleep alot. i also write in bed. i write more than i read, & when i do read it's usually other people's journals. i'm not nosey, just curious.




I'd listen as we trapsed through the weeds & silvers, putting our feet
in the gaps of the wall, to pull ourselves higher & let it all go.
A view of a lifetime, which i could never forget, as the fields were
amber & the cattle grazing.

Monday, 15 December 2008


This is the part which doesn't really have a mini-zine, for various reasons, mostly cost, but here is a brief introduction to Kevin, his music, and a photo of a carpet.
THE WEAKNESS started after leaving home and becoming very lonely from living in a different place every few months. They're basement recordings with dreams of playing in sleazy dive bars everywhere and then asking nicely to sleep on your floor.

I think the UK would be a great place to meet people and I hope to move there after I graduate.


Sunday, 14 December 2008


Kevin Doyle aka (the) weakness has written a song inspired by this whole blog/zine/project/whatever. You can download it and have a listen here. It's really sweet and kind and amazing and flattering and loads of other positive words. THANKS KEV!

Also, we're hoping to get VOLUME ONE sorted and printed and made and beautiful and ready for the NEW YEAR, it will brighten up your January and enlighten your post christmas tv induced vegetable mind. More info soon, more work soon. SOON SOON YEAAAAAH! COOL! LETS PARTY!

Monday, 24 November 2008



"'Now,' said John 'what is a LEVERET?'
'Ah, you ask because you are curious, no?', L said
'Yes, i suppose that is the reason' John replied
'And you would very much like to know the answer?'
'That is why asked.' said John, curtly
'You can not know', L said.
L went off into his house, safe in the knowledge of What A Leveret Is. Only he did know, and he was trying to keep it that way. People only started to care after he began playing his SONGS
in the park, on a dictaphone.
'Entrancing,' they said 'i can hear the bubbles move'
'Yes and I have drawn you a picture' replied the shadowy figure, to everyone he encountered there. But he was a musician, foremost, an artist close second.
Giving in to modern temptations was a thing he tried to shy away from but failed. Leveret had a myspace, an iPod, a laptop and a mobile telephone, for close friends.
If you visit his space, you may be enlightened or disgusted. It will be one of the two. Nothing less.
He is Leveret."




The forest was agitated.
It was agitated because of the groups that had taken to gathering in it’s depths. They convened weekly and discussed what? The forest didn’t know. But it didn’t like it.
They huddled in their cloaks and capes and beads and they mumbled. They did nothing but this. Just huddling and mumbling and occasionally moaning. All the while they dropped pine needles into their small fire, which the forest also didn’t like: it’s children wasted on producing a small crackle and spark. Although recently, due to the rains, this had not been practiced as much.
The forest still didn’t like them, and it tried to make this known. It tried to eradicate them. It made the creatures and the goblins show themselves, assuming this would scare the groups, but they didn’t even seem to notice the horrific beasts. They didn’t take a second look. Not even a first one.
The forest was agitated. But what could it do? It had done all in its powers. Well, apart from the frightful thing. Should it do the most frightful thing? Surely not. The forest was agitated that it couldn’t make up it’s mind. It was not a content forest.

Tuesday, 11 November 2008



A LITTLE BIT ABOUT EMMA TILLYER; "There is plenty to say upon this subject but I shall not bore you with ‘plenty’, I shall just explain that I am a second year English Literature student studying at Manchester University, that words are my first love and I have been writing poetry for the last 7 or so years but only seriously in the last 3. I like William Carlos Williams’ credo ‘no ideas but in things’; and with this in mind I try to look for the beautiful in the everyday, I try to illustrate my ideas about the world with an image, or a series of images. In my next life, if I could choose, I would come back with the face of Audrey Hepburn, the brain and soul of Allen Ginsburg, the music of Jeffrey Lewis in my fingertips and the entire poetic output of the 20th century committed to memory. Oh, and have Bonnie ‘prince’ Billy as my husband.

P.S Whoever told you that poetry is food for the soul, they lied. It’s more akin to air.

P.P.S The real soul food? Cheese and wine."

If you are Will Oldham and would like to propose marriage, you can get in touch at EMMA_MUSHABOOM@HOTMAIL.CO.UK





Out of his mother’s sewing box

a child pulls felt scraps to his feet

and kicks them into leaves,

he orders buttons into colours,

seeing plastic fruit,

a stash of gold-

Neat skeins unwound into thread walls, next door a

pincushion, rolled plumply into a head.


when it’s hair draws blood.

Pan back, a window- the child a dream.

Monday, 10 November 2008



In a far off land, a long time ago, I came across a young man named TOM PITTS. Carrying his trusty 35mm Fujica and a black biro, he was travelling as a lone wolf across the desert plains of Cheshire in search of some greater meaning to reality than krispy kreme doughnuts. Needless to say he was having a hard time. Though Sartre and Camus had tempted him, a certain emptiness within their voices left him searching for more. So, with the sun beating down upon his neck and with sand in his eyes, he told me his search would continue. Since then, he has taken numerous photographs focused on the theme of loneliness, painted Cy Twombly rip-offs, become entranced with the movement of falling leaves and generally spoken too much about rubbish. Beside art, literature, philosophy and sugared pastry, he also enjoys reading Wikipedia too much. One day, he hopes, he will have an article all about him and his amazing adventures. One day.

Say HI and join him on his travels at TOM.P_@HOTMAIL.CO.UK





I could barely move. My mind had contracted itself into a tennis-ball sized fist of mercury; hovering around at the back of my head. Only the inimitable, but frankly quite logical and well-informed need for water was able to materialise within that floating, metallic sphere. Indeed, Peter (though it may have been someone else) had placed in my hand a litre bottle of the stuff, its label hastily ripped off leaving an endless scar of paper around the pure, clear plastic; it, like me, speckled with dried mud. In my other hand was a piece of grass, for a reason that I now do not know; but on it I held my heavy, dumb stare, gripped by the infinity of its textures. ‘Are you all right, Leon?’ came the far off, meter away call of a girl whose name at this point evades me. ‘Grass’, I replied in what I expect was a rather pitiful voice ‘grass…and water. I need some water’. A trickle of gold-tinted puke lay like a veil on the floor in front of me, seeping softly into the mud. ‘You’ve a bottle in your hand, look’ she said wandering off. I felt my hand crush the clumsy plastic beneath it, smooth like silk, but rigid as thick card. To any observer, my position must have been quite a sight, crouched meekly in the mud, half conscious, half vegetable; surrounded by partially absorbed pools of my own sick and staring into the abyss-like contours of a piece of grass.

Sunday, 2 November 2008


We have been featured in the MANCUBIST blog. Thank you MANCUBIST. That's a really nice thing.


ARTISTS (in alphabetical order)
Rachel Ann Day
Jess Higgins
Alex Pierce
Tom Pitts

WRITERS (also in alphabetical order)
Katy Flynn
Daniel Marsden
Howard Melnyczuk
Emma Tillyer
Tim Woodall

MUSICIAN (in no particular order)
Kevin Doyle/The Weakness

Monday, 27 October 2008



JESS HIGGINS is primarily a picture maker but is trying to make words fit together and work and stuff. She has existed for seventeen years and has lived in Eccles since she first left the womb. Leaving the womb was something tragic and terrifying but she is learning to deal with it day by day and really thinks that it’s fine to take things slowly like that. She likes staying at home all day long when she’s supposed to be doing something, which happens a lot because at the moment she is always supposed to be doing something seven days of every week, apart from at Christmas time and bank holidays and half term and Easter and summer. She enjoys scarves and warm drinks and having breakfast on a Saturday. Her favourite things to draw with are super fine line pens, and she likes to cut things up and make new things, stuff like that. She started this project with her old buddy old pal Howard in an attempt to encourage others to take POSITIVE STEPS and do really amazing things. She’d really love to hear what you’re up to at the minute, so feel free to say hi at JHESSIGGINS@HOTMAIL.CO.UK









We are silent again.

I am always having an off week and so are you, we are young and we think that we think, we think that we think deeply and too much, but mostly we are just having off weeks. I look at you and you look the same as you do everyday, I look at me and I look the same as I do everyday. We are growing bored with seeing each others face and clothes every day. We are tired of the feel of each others' hands. I consider this and become afraid. I reach for your hand and you clutch it and there is warmth. We turn a corner and a man in a suit and a hurry walks between us. Momentarily I forget where we are going. I open my mouth to ask and in the same moment I remember. You look and smile and expect, I pretend to sneeze and you take my hand again, you point out something you find interesting. We are there now and I need to sit down a second. We sit on the steps and smoke cigarettes, we are young and think that we think and think that we feel and feel as though we are eighty years old, we are praying FATHER TAKE ME HOME, I HAVE BEEN HERE TOO LONG.

Sunday, 26 October 2008


TOM PITTS is now the guy we've been looking for all this time. He has completed us in such unimaginable ways and now we are totally ready to hit the ground running in every aspect of every thing in the entire world. seriously.

We celebrated with a group hug. It was awesome.

Wednesday, 22 October 2008


Mushaboom is a monthly night promoting independant music and whatnot in Manchester, at the head of it all is EMMA TILLYER. As well as the night's, she runs a small record label called "Little Sparrow"
She makes a fanzine about other amazing things.
She is super awesome and she is contributing as a writer to VOLUME ONE.
Check out what she's doing here;

Other contributors so far are, RACHEL ANN DAY (as an artist) and DANIEL MARSDEN (as a writer) . RACHEL is currently doing her art foundation at Bolton Uni and is pretty much awesome. Daniel Marsden is currently at Xaverian sixth form college, he likes bob dylan, snoop dog, roll-ups and coats with furry lapels. The last piece of his writing I read was about an angry italian crackhead. It was good, and it made me want to be an angry italian crackhead.

WE ARE STILL LOOKING FOR, two more artists and one more writer to contribute to volume one. AS WELL AS an artist for the core collective.

Monday, 20 October 2008


if you are here because you have seen this poster or one of these flyers, you are in the right place and we're really glad to see you. scroll down scroll down down scroll look!

Thursday, 16 October 2008


WE ARE YOUNG AND WE ARE TRYING is an art and literature zine based on encouraging undernourished creativity. Many creative people who primarily make images will write or have an idea towards writing but think "oh well, i'm not much of a writer" and will not build on their work. Similarly many writers will make images or have an idea towards doing so but think "oh well, i'm not much of an artist" and will not build on their work.
THIS IS NOT THE CASE. We believe that all creative output should be valued and we try to encourage young people who are DOING SOMETHING. It is important.

Each volume of W.A.Y.A.W.A.T will consist of one piece of art and one piece of literature (or small series of each) from ten people. We have a core group of two artists and two writers who contribute to each volume and act as a collective who are readily available for advice and collaborations. A further three writers and three artists contribute to each volume. These contributors can and should be ANYONE. Anyone who is young and who is trying but does not feel that they can hack it alone.

Each contributor has their own "mini-zine" or "part" which are free and readily available. They include information about the artist, their writing, and their piece of art as a poster which advertises the project and invites others to submit.
The full volumes of work will be printed real nice and hand made and sold through us, potentially with a CD of music from one musician who has also designed their own cover. We will make a limited amount per volume and sell them through this blog and other places. The profits from these go towards future materials and projects as well as acting as a small fund for core members and past and present contributors to use towards their own artistic ventures.

If you want to submit your work as a guest contributor e-mail one piece (or a small series of pieces) of writing and one piece (or a small series of pieces) of art/photography/images to WEAREYOUNG@HOTMAIL.CO.UK with some info about yourself.
note; each and every person who submits as a guest contributor will get their work published in a volume, we have no screening process and do not wish to have one.
If you are thinking about submitting something but don't feel confident, e-mail your art to
or your writing to
we will forward it to the other writer/artist and each of us will reply with help and advice.

If you don't want to contribute but want to support the cause, e-mail WEAREYOUNG@HOTMAIL.CO.UK with your address and we will post copies of EACH mini-zine for you to give out around your city or use to spread the word in some way.

This blog also acts as a multi-media reporting device in which we will make posts on other peoples projects, music, film, anything which we find amazing. If you do something, or know of someone else who does something, e-mail either of the addresses mentioned in this post with links and explanations.