Fickle Little Machine:
A Fickle Little Zine
by Michael Kleen
Originally printed in Autumn 2007 Black Oak Presents
Central Illinois does not normally invoke the image of a center of culture, let alone a center for independent media and the arts. This perception, however, could not be further from the truth. Case in point: Fickle Little Machine, a fickle little zine composed by a free spirited young woman who calls the Champaign area her home.
Printed in chapbook style with a sewn binding, Fickle Little Machine is a collection of memories and the occasional poem by Lindsey J. Markel. These creative-nonfiction snippets are pieced together via a visually pleasing photocopy technique that combines art and narrative in a capricious manner befitting the name of the zine.
It is hard to conceal my praise of Fickle Little Machine. Aside from my occasional disagreement over her sociopolitical views, I cannot find one significant artistic fault. Lindsey manages to capture her memories in intimate detail, dramatically creating a kind of Polaroid written in stream of consciousness.
It is impossible to read the zine and not feel as though you are drawn into the mind of the author, seeing every event unfold in front of you in vivid color. This is the power of the Fickle Little Machine. Lindsey has few qualms about bringing her reader into her world, through times both ugly and beautiful.
The name of the zine comes from a quote by the author’s friend Sam, “the heart is a fickle little machine, and its wheels constantly change direction.” This adage is illustrated over and over again by the contents of the zine, especially when Lindsey deals with the question of love. It is in these moments, I believe, that the narrative takes on its most potent form.
“I love words and I love working with my hands, and I love the response that inevitably comes when you force yourself to be brave and genuine in front of other people,” the author recently revealed to me. Fickle Little Machine is certainly a strong step in that direction. Moments that most would consider too embarrassing to reveal to their best friend, let alone an audience, Lindsey lays bare for all to see. But simple voyeurism is the furthest thing from the goal of the narrative. Through sharing these moments, Lindsey reaches out to her readers in a way that only the most callous person could reject. “We don’t share the same lives, but we can still share these weird and beautiful moments,” she insists.
In one snippet, Lindsey reveals what she would do if she had only five years to live, in another, she describes a lover delaying his morning trip to work in order to, upon request, kiss her hips repeatedly. “I do not understand how anyone could make love without loving,” she concludes. Although very personal experiences, these thoughts and moments are undoubtedly familiar to many of her readers.
As I read, I could not help comparing the overall feeling of the artistry in Fickle Little Machine with Tori Amos or the Russian musician Linda. Although radically different art forms, music and print, all three of these artists, Lindsey Markel, Tori Amos, and Linda, saturate their work with the same surreal, feminine quality that I have always found aesthetically seductive.
In our electronic correspondence, Lindsey had a lot to say about the zine culture and independent artistry in general. I asked her if she believes there is an interest for independently printed zines in central Illinois, and she responded with an enthusiastic “yes!”
“There is an overflow of independent culture in this area, whatever sort of art you practice,” she explained. “The problem is that people often feel the urge to create, or to be immersed in someone else’s creations, but they don’t always know where to direct that urge… Just cut and paste until what you have in your hands resembles what you have in your gut, and people will gravitate toward it.”
I earnestly hope Lindsey is right.
Only two of the four issues of Fickle Little Machine are currently available, Number 3 and Number 4. These can be found at Quimby’s Bookstore at 1854 W. North Avenue in Chicago, and Exile on Main Street at 1 E. Main Street in Champaign, Illinois, or online on the zine’s website, www.ficklelittlemachine.com. Numbers 1 and 2, the author told me, were too private to remain in print, a surprising explanation given the content of the available issues.
Currently, Lindsey is hard at work on Number 5.
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Copyright 2007 Black Oak Media