A funny thing happened at Zine Club on Tuesday. I was sitting in the library, chatting with Chez and Heather, when two new folks showed up with a shoebox chock-full of zines to share. That isn’t too unusual, as from time to time someone will search “zines in Kansas City” or see a post on the library’s instagram and turn up for a meeting or two. We all introduced ourselves and I started a round of show-n-tell, and when we got to one of the new ladies, she pulled out a copy of a “Home Alone” fanzine by Billy and Dave.

“Hey! I know them, I’m penpals with them.” The world of zines is so stunningly small! “With Dave? Like ‘from Las Vegas’ Dave?” She said his address out loud. “Yea! Lazer Attack Dave!”

Small world. It got even smaller as she pulled another title from the box and re-introduced herself; “Oh! I should be going by my pen name. I’m Coco!” and then shared a zine about a rainbow of cats and grief and love. I got up and approached the Local Zines shelf, searching for one of my own. “I have to share a title I wrote with you. I had a cat named Coco Bean and he passed away last year,” I started rambling a little bit as I pawed through the titles, searching for his round, sweet face amongst the perzines and pamphlets. “I’d made a zine about him, and I feel like this is a sign I’ve gotta to share it with you.”

“Wait. Blue cover?”

“Yea, blue cover and shaped like Bean.”

Coco reached her hand into the shoebox and pulled out Coco Zine, his bright, soft, perfect face greeting me. Somehow he had found his way to a complete stranger. Somehow he was still out there, reaching people. Visiting me from beyond the grave. What a treasure it is to know he’s still out there, remembered and cherished. What a gift it is for him to still find me.

“Dave shared him with me.” Suddenly I remember an aside in one of his letters, thanking me for Coco Zine and mentioning he had given it to his friend who is also named Coco. And now here she was, sitting in front of me. The world of zines is so very small.

That Zine Club meeting was the second-to-last we’ll be having at Goofball Sk8boards. Goof is closing at the end of the year, the space being ceded to a bunch of crossfitters, two of whom were wandering around the park before the club meeting began, talking to each other about all the changes they wanted to make to the space, light grids and paint swatches. They peered into the Zine Library, and started critiquing the space like I wasn’t even there.

“Maybe this will be my office… but maybe not, it’s a little small” said one of the swol folk with a scoff. I always found the library cozy. From the walls, painstakingly painted a pastel ombre gradient, to all the art hanging there, the flyers for past events: it’s a space that was lovingly, intentionally constructed. A handmade Miss Piggy reading poster. The little tv with the built-in vcr, perfect for playing an ambient video during a zine cataloging sprint. The hanging swing chair and purple shag carpeting, and (of course) the rows and rows and rows of zines. When building the space, Jaydream envisioned it as looking like the coolest teen bedroom, Clarissa Explains it All as a QT punx. We talked about getting a landline phone and turning it into an events hotline.

The Neither/nor Library isn’t just a room waiting to be transformed into an office, it’s one of the hands-down coolest spaces I’ve ever had the privilege of visiting. Having gotten to help build it will always be a point of personal pride. It was a home for the zine community in KC, and it felt like a dream — a cozy space just for a zines, and it’s here, in KC? Pinch me! And that I got to play a part in shaping it? And facilitate a Zine Club outta it? I was so lucky.

We were all so lucky to have Goofball. We are so lucky. Yes, it sure is scrappy, and sure it doesn’t look polished, but it was a place — is a place — with spirit, a real, physical, beautiful Third Space, a community.

I got to Goof pretty early before the club meeting on Tuesday, because I wanted to just sit and soak it in for a bit, try and commit each space to memory, building wireframes in my mind of the massive sign above the skate ramp reading “you are welcome here” in a curling rainbow font, the half-wall made of skate decks, the cubbies in the hallway. The pole jam where I got to watch Chez land an absolutely sick trick. That little groove in the concrete? That’s the spot where Harper helped me balance on a board for the first time. Someone is out there skating today, and the sound of their wheels on the concrete sounds like ocean waves crashing.

I soak in the game room decorated with the foamboard KCZC mascots that me and Dream and a buncha organizers who have now all moved away drew and cut-out and painted by hand, years ago back before Goof, back at the Drugstore, another DIY space that came and went quick. The room with the cafeteria table (covered in the most splendid graffiti, cat girls and Pokemon and scrawled wishes and sharpied confessions) flashes me back to the Swap Meet and to that one Zine Club where almost 50 people showed up! I let my eyes linger across the Mutual Aid room, the pantry full of bread and the fridge full of produce, the racks of free clothing and books and NARCAN and nitrile gloves and tampons. Take what you need, give when you can. Our values made real.

When I close my eyes, I try and let myself flashback to the last two years of Zine Con, the skatepark full of art freaks, punks, queerdos, and zinesters and the air thick with joy. Everyone is so excited at Zine Con that the room reverberates with the sound of laughter, there is always someone laughing. This was a space for everyone, a space where everyone fit in, felt comfortable, could be themselves.

DIY spaces burn bright and quick. In the age of late stage capitalism, every DIY space is a miracle. I should have known that Goofball was ephemeral, that it would come and go like all DIY spaces do, but it felt so damn rooted, concrete. I felt rooted there. Goofball was a community.

The great thing about communities is they’re made up of people. A place can die, or be taken over by crossfitters, but that doesn’t vanish the people. A few days after hearing about Goofball’s pending demise, Zine Club member Andrew reached out and offered to host the Club at Stray Cat, KC’s DIY micro cinema, another one of my very favorite places in the city, another place that feels like a miracle, that feels like home.

.⋆•*:⋆°. nuts and bolts
It’s been so long since I’ve blogged (apologies!) that I have a couple of news items I’ve gotta tack on to the bottom of this post. One: I’m teaching a Zine Workshop next Wednesday (August 20th) at the Kansas City Public Library as part of their Creative Night series. It’s a free event, so if you wanna make mini zines with me, RSVP on the library’s website and then swing on by!

Two: I’ve got a new episode of Roll for Zine up. The algorithm doesn’t love Roll for Zine, so unless you’re an eagle-eyed viewer, it might not have crossed your feed. This one’s for all you rock ‘n rollers, all you crash queens and motor babies, for all my fellow Killjoys, listen up:

Three: I’m dropping August’s newsletter in the mail tomorrow, and if you sign up for the Snail Mail Society anytime between now and next week, you’ll get a copy sent to you. It features musings on both summer magic and summertime SADness and thoughts on joy amongst all the horrors. I am so grateful for all the folks who have become Snail Mail supporters, sustainers, and stars. Because of them — because of y’all! — I find myself motivated to write and create, even when I’m going thru a bit of a slump (fucking summer) and that is worth it’s weight in gold. Forever grateful for y’all’s support. 💗