Painting: (My favorite NIKE)

My favorite Nike is a woman. In the cruelty of the world in a state of reality of mine… Women are like shoes. You like your whole collection but you can only wear one pair at a time. But a collection allows you to switch them out, pairing pairs with certain occasions and intended mood with intention, intentionally. Whether that be an event, nature walk, grocery store, bender, social calms, whatever the day may bring. You choose your pair to tackle that domain. That Tank. That’s why my favorite Nike is a woman. With love, KENDRIXX.

Her unknown is a piece of work that grew to become beautiful in her imperfections and incompleteness. She was a real girl once. A wild one at that. A girl that only existed in the night time, and never ever seen sober. Functionality is at your own discretion, because one could truly never know the state of mind she was in. Her marred beauty on canvas doesn’t depict her physical, but her internal. On the outside she was a beauty queen that could stand next to any of the elites and be a bright light as long as she stayed quiet. As soon as she opened up the smell of alcohol, tobacco, and slurred speech hit you with a passionate rage. You could only love her for who she was as you watched her blow into her breathalyzer connection realizing that she was going nowhere fast. But the crowd loved her so wherever she wanted to go she went, but not as the driver. The drugs and alcohol took her there and somewhere she’s still on the move.

The first issue of Wolves Gospel Magazine centers around the creator and pure expression. The Romanticism of Daveon.

This second edition of Wolves Gospel Magazine embodies desire from the creator, an issue centered around love and lust in so many different places.

A gift of Bria’s love. As I watched her paint this for me she smiled. She called it bubblegum bubblegum. As much as I had hurt her I often wondered how she could still be so bright. To me, she was like the bubblegum I would stick under a desk when I was done with a chewing, or the bubblegum that I would peel off and toss that had gotten stuck on my shoe. But bubblegum she was, and so is this. Proof that beauty does come from pain. The way she loved me I could never return it, because just like used bubblegum I had known too well the way she had been chewed.

A God that doesn’t know his own strength. Trapped in cages that he could easily escape from because he was not taught his own powers and never explored himself further than what he only saw right in front of him. He could easily conquer his capturers without breaking a sweat but instead he relaxes into his home as a captive. Not knowing his invincibility will cause him to out live everything he knows he knows to be true. The question isn’t if he’ll ever learn of his powers, but when he does… Will he even need them? Haaschʼééshzhiní The invincible. Haaschʼééshzhiní The conquerable. Haaschʼééshzhiní The Black God.

The Big Slice is a piece. Literally. The big slice represents your very own piece of the pie. From a time period of darkness, fresh out of a covid quarantine entrapment when skies were gray and the artists had grown tired of staying closed in and locked away. The Big Slice represents rebellion when Houstonians decided that we would no longer stay trapped in spaces alone, we threw elaborate parties in 800 sq.ft. Apartments and took back our lives. The messiness of the painting paints ann illustration of the beautiful chaos that refused to stay tamed. Our very own piece of the pie.