Yesterday, while the Germans were hard at work inventing a new word for the joyous and strangely painful emotional release produced by receiving two Frank Ocean albums in one week, people began lining up at pop-up locations in Los Angeles, NYC, Chicago and London to get their hands on a Boys Don't Cry zine.

The free zine, which was packaged with the physical copy of the album, features artwork from many of the Endless collaborators like Tom Sachs, Nabil, Viviane Sassen and Harley Weir, as well essays and interviews from Kanye West, Lil B and Frank himself.



There were three different covers:

Frank revealed a spread from the magazine on his Tumblr last night, which included a poignant personal essay about the creation of the album, his obsession with cars, and his sexuality, which is transcribed at the end of the post.

Frank also posted a text note to accompany the spread, which casually acknowledges the thirsty vigil the Internet has kept for his album since 2014.

Additional elements of the zine have begun to appear on social, including a sweet poem written by Frank entitled, 'Boyfriend'...

AND A COMPLETELY BONKERS KANYE POEM ABOUT MCDONALDS!

The McDonald's Man

Calabassas, California

McDonalds man
McDonalds man
The French fries had a plan
The French fries had a plan
The salad bad and the ketchup made a band
Cus the French fries had a plan
The French fries had a plan

McDonalds man
McDonalds man
I know them French fries had a plan
I know them French fries had a plan
The cheeseburger and the shakes formed a band
To overthrow the French fries plan
I always knew them French fries was evil man
Smelling all good and shit
I don't trust no food that smells that good man
I don't trust it
I just can't

McDonalds man
McDonalds man
McDonalds, damn
Them French fries look good tho
I knew the diet Coke was jealous of the fries
I knew the McNuggets was jealous of the fries
I could see it through his artificial meat eyes
And he only be there some of the time
Everyone was jealous of them French fries
Expect for that one special guy
That smooth apple pie


I... can't breathe. And yet... I'm screaming?

The zines are, of course, sold out, and already going for upwards of $1000 on eBay. It's a jungle out there.


Read the transcription of Frank Ocean's essay below:

Two years ago I found an image of a kid with her hands covering her face. A seatbelt reached across her torso, riding up her neck and a mop of blonde hair stayed swept, for the moment, behind her ears. Her eyes seemed clear and calm but not blank, the road behind her seemed the same. I put myself in her seat then I played it all out in my head. The claustrophobia hits as the seatbelt tightens, preventing me from even leaning forward in my seat. the pressing on internal organs. I lean back and forward to release it. Then backwards and forward again. There it is—I got free. How much of my life has happened inside of a car? I wonder if the odds are that I'll die in one. Knock on wood-grain. Shouldn't speak like that. We live in cars in some cities, commuting across space either for our livelihood, or devouring fossil fuels for joy. It's close to as much time as we spend in our beds, more for some. The first time I did shrooms, my manager had to come rescue me from Caltech's 'Trip Day.' As I got into her car, I swear to God the aluminum center console in her Porsche truck looked like it was breathing, like the throat of something. On the freeway, leaving Pasadena, we spoke and I looked away, outside, at the wheels and tires of cars doing that optical illusion thing they do where it looks like they're spinning backwards, which, according to Google, happens because our brains are assuming something completely wrong and showing it to us. Staring, I was transfixed by all the indicator lights oscillating and throbbing against the wind. We drove thru downtown LA headed west, flying on the same freeways I used to run outta gas on. Welcomed in by the perennial creatures, imperial palm trees and climbing vines living their lives out just off the shoulder. The feeling familiar enhanced, on the 10. I used to ride around in my sinewy crossover SUV, smoke and listen to rough mixes of my old shit before it came out, or whatever someone wanted to play when they hooked up their iPhone to the aux cord. A few years and few daily-drivers later I'm not driving much anymore. It's been a year since I moved to London, at the time of writing this, and there's no practical reason to drive in this city. I ordered a GT3 RS and it'll keep low miles out here but I guess it's good to have in case of emergency :) Raf Simons once told me it was cliché, my whole car obsession. Maybe it links to a deep subconscious straight boy fantasy. Consciously though, I don't want straight—a little bent is good. I found it romantic, sometimes, editing this project. The whole time I felt as though I was in the presence of a $16m McLaren F1 armed with a disposable camera. My memories are in these pages, places closeby and long ass-numbing flights away. Cruising the suburbs of Tokyo in RWB Porches. Throwing parties around England and mobbing freeways in four project M3S that I built with some friends. Going to Mississippi and playing in the mud with amphibious quads. Street-casting models at a random kung fu dojo out in Senegal. Commissioning life-size toy boxes for the fuck of it. Shooting a music video for fun with Tyrone Lebon, the genius giant. Taking a break/reconnaissance mission to Tulum, Mexico, enjoying some star visibility for a change. Recording in Tokyo, NYC, Miami, LA, London, Paris. Stopping in Berlin to witness Berghain for myself. Trading jewels and soaking in parables with the many-headed Brandon aka BasedGod in conversation. I wrote a story in the middle—It's called "Godspeed." It's basically a reimagined part of my boyhood. Boys do cry, but I don't think I shed a tear for a good chunk of my teenage years. It's surprisingly my favorite part of life so far. Surprising, to me, because the current phase is what I was asking the cosmos for when I was a kid. Maybe that part had its rough stretches too, but in my rearview mirror it's getting small enough to convince myself it was all good. And really though... It's still all good.

This is Boys Don't Cry and Blonde. First times. Worldwide.

[h/t Pitchfork]

splash image via Instagram