#pilot press

[treleaven]

Publication date: 10 October 2024

A Garden Manifesto Edited by Olivia Laing and Richard Porter 

❀What do gardens mean and how can they change the world? A Garden Manifesto gathers radical visions rooted in the earth from artists, writers, gardeners and activists, among them Lubaina Himid, Derek Jarman, Jamaica Kincaid, Ana Mendieta, Dan Pearson and Wolfgang Tillmans. It’s a seed box for an uncertain future, packed with anarchic dreams of Eden-making and humming with resistance to the colonial project of homogenisation and destruction. ❀ Featuring 

William Blake, Joe Brainard, Jonny Bruce, John Clare, Gerry Dalton, Ellen Dillon, Baha Ebdeir, Alys Fowler, Magdalena Suarez Frimkess, Gaylene Gould, Green Guerillas, Joy Gregory, Fritz Haeg, Lubaina Himid, Philip Hoare, Rosie Hudson, Derek Jarman, Chantal Joffe, Laura Joy, Jamaica Kincaid, Elisabeth Kley, Olivia Laing, Jeremy Lee, Siobhan Liddell, Alison Lloyd, Hilary Lloyd, Jo McKerr, Lee Mary Manning, Ana Mendieta, Bernadette Mayer, Rosemary Mayer, Huw Morgan, Eileen Myles, Hussein Omar, Palestinian, Heirloom Seed Library, Ian Patterson, Dan Pearson, Jean Perréal, Charlie Porter, Pat Porter, J. H. Prynne, Claire Ratinon, Jamie Reid, Lisa Robertson, Kuba Ryniewicz, Saadi, Sui Searle, Sei Shōnagon, Colin Stewart, Tabboo!, Edward Thomasson, Wolfgang Tillmans, Scott Treleaven, John Wieners, David Wojnarowicz, Matt Wolf and Sarah Wood ❀ Design and typesetting by Richard Porter Cover artwork: David Wojnarowicz, What is this little guy's job in the world, 1990 © Estate of David Wojnarowicz

Paperback

148x190mm

ISBN: 9781068758607

[deadrabbitohno]

I have a poem in this little Paul Thek anthology. Can confirm the other work in it is ridic good. They're looking for pre-orders cos printing has become spenny this year (and she's a big boy). If anyone wants some poems and essays about Paul Thek's painting Untitled (eye with comet), then here's yr chance <3

[big-gay-demons]

[lazzarachan]

Various pages from Alternative Press Magazine, 2009 and 2015.

[i-seeaspaceshipinthe-sky]

Josh's tape | Tyler's move Levitate | Overcompensate

[whirlpool-blogs]

If fighter pilots lived in a world of split seconds, bomber boys lived in one of agonizing hours, with too much time to think about their own end, which depended inordinately on Lady Fortune. In its testing and training programs the Air Force looked for different qualities in fighter and bomber pilots: physical strength, judgment, emotional stamina, dependability, team play, discipline, and leadership in bomber pilots; rapid hand-eye co-ordination, aggressiveness, boldness, individuality, and a zest for battle in fighter pilots. In a profile of the ideal bomber pilot, the Air Force noted:

"The attitude of crew members... was that they would gladly let some other crew have the hottest pilot in the group... if they could have the man who, when in a tough spot, where a decision which might mean life or death to them had to be made, would quickly... make the best possible decision." For bomber pilots, "intellectual traits" were more highly prized than sensory-motor skills. "Love of blood sports, cockiness... and lack of high intellectual stature would prove to be good qualifying factors for fighter pilots," said this Air Force study.

Ch 10, Masters of the Air, by Donald L. Miller

[snekthedemonnoodle]

did something cool with my confetti!!!

[towardthatmorningsun]

[X]

[intheorangebedroom]

please i am on my knees share your thoughts on frankie's thighs please i am BEGGING you

I’m approximately a thousand years late to answer your ask, sweet Anon, for which I immensely thank you 🧡 and sincerely I apologise. Trust me, it’s not for lack of Frankie thoughts… Especially not on his thighs…

Explicit thoughts below the cut 🔞

At first, you didn’t really pay attention to them. You’re always so… focused… Ok, no, obsessed, if you gotta be honest, with his eyes and dimple and neck and chest and shoulders and arms… 

After all, you can map the freckles dusted below his collarbone with closed eyes, you’ve studied them for hours, for entire nights… You like to trace them with the soft tips of your fingers, and the way his skin instantly reacts to your touch, it’s intoxicating. 

So it’s no wonder you remember with precision the first time ever you noticed his thighs. 

Curled on the living-room couch, tucked into his side, reading a book with your hand resting lightly on his right thigh. When he leaned forward to grab his can of beer from the coffee table, you felt the strong, lean muscles rippling under your palm. 

Your mind was done with the reading, but you still put up a good fight. Your hand wandered along his leg of its own volition, a feather-like caress, spanning his inner-thigh and you saw him looking from the corner of his eye, his jaw cocked to the side, plush lips curled into a mischievous smile.

From that moment on, you paid attention. You realised. His body as a whole, furiously in love with all of its parts. 

The press of them when he comes up to stand behind you and pecks a kiss in the crook of your neck, while you’re making your morning coffee. 

How they play into his assertive, swift gait. That particular stance of his, when he’s intently listening as you recount your day, hands on his hips, knee popped to the side.

How solid they feel, how safe, when you sit between them on the beach on a hot summer day, as you sit between them to watch a movie on a cold winter night, when they wrap around you, limbs intertwined, as he helps you find sleep at night.

You realised, you remembered, the first time ever he made you come, you were riding his thighs. 

You realised, you remembered, his broad, solid body, stepping out of the shower, water dripping down the sturdy muscles of his legs, and that oddly shaped birthmark on his inner-thigh, standing out in a dark shade of brown, that birthmark is all you can see, now.

You realised, you remembered, every time he flipped you over on the mattress, his large hands spread across your lower back, pressing you down, propping up your ass, every time he lined himself up at your entrance and shoved himself in all the way down, and it’s always so much, the heft of him, the blinding stretch that has you moaning into the rumpled comforter, fingers scrambling for purchase, his thighs pushing up the back of your thighs to make more room for him inside your wet, tight warmth.

And now you’re lying on the bed, where he has you pinned on your back, an arm banded across your belly, his lips wrapped around your clit and you already came twice but he hasn’t had his fill, does he ever? 

But you realise, you remember, and so you ask, a breathless plea, a sudden desire.

“Make me… make me make you come, Francisco.”

It’s one last dip of his tongue inside your cunt to gather your taste into his mouth, and Frankie sits up. His movement slow, measured, deliberate. Smacking his lips, wiping your slick off his chin and licking his palm, dark eyes strained on your face, god he looks like a fucking menace.

He gets off the bed and goes around it to stand behind your head, and you’re too limp, too sated, but you still twist your neck around to watch him walk, his hard cock hanging heavy between his strong thighs. 

And when he climbs back onto the bed, oh when he climbs back onto the bed you're in heaven, your head, heavy and dazed, caged between his thighs. You turn to the right and bite hard at the birthmark, the hissing sound he produces already so satisfying.

His fingers wrap around your nape to arch your neck. Docile, pliant, you tilt back your head, pressing the crown of your hair into the mattress, greedily pulling your tongue out, mouth open wide. 

He smiles, again, takes his length into his hand and swipes the fat round tip of it along your tongue. The tangy, heady taste of him like a hot stream running down your spine. 

“Make me come, baby, make me come into your mouth,” he husks, and as he slides inside the warmth of it all the way to the back of your throat, you reach back, a hard grip on his thighs.

[blue-bujo]

Last week in my Weeks. I typically don't use stickers this big, but I like how they fill out the pages. Would do again.

Fountain pen: Pilot Kakuno, F nib

Ink: Ferris Wheel Press Roaring Patina Black

Stickers: Stickii Club

Other: Zebra mildliners

[badgerthethirteenth]

Lancer - Moira Dante-Lehrmann (2022)

A character and her mech I made for Massif Press' Lancer RPG (available here massif-press.itch.io/), specifically a campaign my brother is running. She's been loads of fun so far, only one session in but hoping for more soon.

This drawing took me far too long to do, and is a little scuffed in some places, but hell, I reckon it came out alright. At least the bits that matter.

[altpress]

The year was 2013. Bagging their first major label deal, Twenty One Pilots delivered an album that would completely change their trajectory as a band. It's Vessels 10th anniversary. We're diving into the AP vault for a nostalgia trip down memory lane, care to join? We (our heavily caffeinated social media manager) spent the holidays sifting through our extensive archive to retrieve the earliest coverage we could find of Twenty One Pilots. Upon release of their 2013 'Vessel,' Alternative Press sat down with the Ohio pair who unbeknownst to them were on the brink of unfathomable stardom. Vessel houses much beloved classics "Car Radio," "Guns For Hands," "Trees" and more. Every track on that album is RIAA certified gold. "Car Radio, originally featured on their 'Regional At Best,' would be the first track of theres to reach global success. As of 2023 it has amassed 283M views on Youtube, 428M streams on Spotify, and is x2 RIAA platinum certified in the US. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92XVwY54h5k We've dug some old magazine pages and photos out of the woodwork to celebrate this time, and will have some more celebratory content over on our Tik Tok!

[kirnet]

I planned to get some work done on this flight but I was too enraptured by the beauty of Clouds and Mountains and Rock Formations

[warmglowofsurvival]

Q: if you could choose a halloween costume for each other, (next week) what’s the most ridiculous one you would choose for each other?

Tyler: for each other?

Josh: i think i’ve celebrated halloween like two times

Tyler: i would make you dress up like me in the blurryface era

Josh: yeah, i used to do that all the time after the show

Tyler: do you got one for me?

Josh: maybe that bird from zelda

Tyler: okay, just a giant bird– bird costume there you go, happy halloween

Josh: yeah

[90stvqueen]

how beautiful is it that from episode one, buffy expresses disdain for being The Chosen One, and by the end of the series, she has not only rid herself of those trappings, but she (and her friends, together) made it so that no one else ever has to carry that weight alone

[leehallfae]

did i ever tell you guys i wrote a pilot teaser in teleplay format for my ideal post-santos-administration continuation of the west wing in which joey lucas is elected president . like it slaps really hard though idk if i would ever finish out writing the whole episode so i might just post it on ao3 as is, who knows