B.S.C. OR BEEF JERKY, SWEAT, AND CIGARETTES (DIGI-ZINE)

Spring 2016

(BEEF JERKY, SWEAT, & CIGARETTES)

“BEEF JERKY, SWEAT, & CIGARETTES” A series of memorial poems and captions written by Alicia Eris.

Creative Direction:

S S UPERLATIF presents

“BEEF JERKY, SWEAT, AND CIGARETTES” (B.S.C.) POEMS, NOTES, AND MODELING Alicia Eris CREATIVE DIERECTION Adrián González

This compilation of poems represents a part of my life and more specifically my times as a teen in high school. Writing these I thought about nothing but the situations around me. As I reminisce I begin to realize what makes these poems so unique.

Young adults today are changing the way the world see literature, but by writing these. In my case I'm changing the way I see my own world.

Each word holds a strong sense of meaning. In high school trying to find myself as a person, now heading to college I am trying to find my place in the world and as a writer.

I’m find myself through the depiction of my words and writings. I’d like to start with this collection. Without further do…

Beef Jerky, Sweat, & Cigarettes

Alicia Eris

( Introduction )

By Adriรกn Gonzรกlez

Last winter in an evident and prominent school in New Haven, CT I payed a visit to an older/ wiser friend.

A poetry major (which was achieved as an undergrad). He and I talked about a whimsical amount of things, all themed exclusively around the field literature.

From Joyce’s possible autism, Whitman’s bon mot, and the alter ego 50 Cent had served for Curtis James Jackson III. When talking about “Fiddy” my friend declared he wasn’t much of a “rap” person although he did quite enjoy some urban music. I asked him if he saw importance in rap, somewhat in the lines of historical importance.

I asked this because to me the format of rap— brother like— to poetry allows an aperture to a world loaded with stories and anecdotes. Which present a setting different to the common basis, and simultaneously talks is loaded with all human feeling. If my memory does’t cease then my friend pulled a small book on Paul Celan poetry. He asked to me read a piece and see what I made out of it. I don’t remember much of it now; something cosmical and a heavy grief whose load went beyond this world. After reading he explained this was the work and life of a Jewish-German writer who e sensibility upon which we look at Celan.

I asked myself that if the work of rap is given the literary analysis of that we give a poem in literature, how should one choose and approach contemporary poetry? This zine of poems BEEF JERKY, SWEAT, & CIGARETTES with the work of Alicia Ran-

by the means of a tragic life ended in suicide. The bridge that existed between the orchestration of words was porous in feeling to the events in Celan’s life.

This night remains a bit abstract but just a few months later I realized the importance of such occurrence when I was reading through the site rap.genius.com. It was clear to me then then how important it is to understand the contemporary approach to literature, like the work of ‘Fiddy’, but also consider the sensibility upon which we look at Celan. I asked myself that if the work of rap is given the literary considerationthat we give a poem in literature, how should one choose and approach contemporary writing?

This zine of poems BEEF JERKY, SWEAT, & CIGARETTES contains the work of Alicia Randolph in an attempt to analyze a “post-modern writer”.

These raw poems by a high school girl (now heading towards her first year at UCLA) document the times of self (those foreign to us) and the causes that lead to the written work. She breaks down the poems in the art and manner one looks at a rap song via rap.genius.com.

a song he sang with a warm voice static, beautiful, invisible electricity the room vibrated to the sound of his voice

melody, melody sound filled the air he did too belong

<<<

I wrote this after I heard a classmate sing karaoke to Creep

by Radiohead. People didn't view him as someone who "fit in", but hearing him sing this I felt like he belonged.

cold, empty the room became the music stopped his voice put to a rest he did not belong so he sang

Wake, wake, wake

People live their lives to please a God to get to a "Heaven" one day, but in reality we don't know if that truly exists. How funny would it be if people lived the opposite of their instincts all for nothing.

Up to the day that speaks of yesterday and yearns for tomorrow Today is no gift, But another stepping stone To a place we’ve never known

<<<

the walls fragile like glass, waiting for the slightest whisper to break them down frozen we’d become radioman, why don’t you sing? vibration cinematic echoes the walls shattered to pieces his voice was sad

Unknown imageries planted in our brainwashed, filthy, sickening minds

his voice was harmony his voice was the connector

Today, We work to fix yesterday And step backwards into tomorrow A twilight zone of our mother, our planet For she does not want us here And neither does He

We work, Work past our half-grown hearts and our tortured souls for a spot In an un-promised land Speak today what you would tomorrow Change the future before it arrives For today is not short, but indefinite.

energy, his voice energy, he was sad, beautiful energy “radioman, i am” radioman he sings

I’m missing my muse I don’t know who I’m missing a laugh I like to hear A face to grab and kiss A body to hug Someone to love

Love was always more special when I created someone in my >>> mind.

<<< I was willing to welcome anything and anyone.

I don’t want a person Just a muse Just an idea I saw a demon in my room the other night I smiled at it’s company If I see it again, I might even let it slip into bed with me Bad company still fills the space Sometimes company is just enough I felt a tap on my shoulder I turned to greet him We fell asleep like we’d known each other for a while I woke He was gone.

I’m missing my muse I now know who

How long must I wait How long will it take For you to love me You’re boring That’s okay <<< I don’t want much

All I wanted was to find "love"... ugh.

I want you Every inch, every ounce I hate to admit it I feel like a fool, But I’d be a fool for you any day I won’t love you right, But I swear it’s still love I can give you so much of me Without getting any of you in return I just want a piece!

Fucking love me, dammit. <<< I probably wasn't in the best state to love someone, but that had to count for something, right?

i don’t wanna be a pretty girl i don’t wanna curl my hair i don’t wanna wear heels or go anywhere i don’t wanna wear make-up i wanna be bare i’m not a lesbian,

<<<

i just don’t care i don’t wanna be friends with everyone in school or party with them to seem cool i don’t want a golden opinion or respect from a tool i don’t wanna be a pretty girl just to make the boys drool

PRETTY GIRLS

Growing up I noticed the amount of pressure put on fitting into a certain stereotype. I never wanted to be in any category. Certainly not for the way I looked. I never fit into the ways of an "ide girl".

We are more than skin, bones, and hormones We are unfitLove comes around in the most fucked Up way Unrequited, Never longing to stay We sleep too much, we don’t sleep at allFor life, happiness It isn’t our destiny.

We are skin, bones, and hormones <<< With emotions in between Feeling numb Always desperate to be free

People hear no depth in the word "teenager", yet we are the ones most in touch were our emotions.

We are broke, we’re alone not independent Stressed beyond belief, depressed no question.

Our skin filled with dirt Our bones too rusty And too weak Hormones are raging We’re out of control so they speak Skin, bones, hormones, forevermore Everyday that’s lived, we die a little more.

SKIN, BONES & HORMONES

Your voice is the bass line of my life One slow, deep rhythm into another Humming, Vibrating, Gliding A heart beat much too slow Much too low

For a long time, I thought the only way to be with someone was if they were in the same emotional state as I was.

>>> I didn't want someone who would help me get "better".

Loan some pity my dear, great guest I’m in need of a friend, Or some sympathy I suppose I’ve wallowed in sweet darkness alone Far too long, And I’d only love to share With someone as broken I am <<< One qualification need be suited And none other I wish to find that in you May the most courageous knight Ride his black horse across a steep, and Near-dilapidated bridge Over the depths of the fire and doom May he fight the fire-breathing dragon, And I’ll know he’s not the one I want fire and nothing more Rejection be sent to he, Who attempts to expel my flames

BEEF JERKY, SWEAT, AND CIGS!!!

tonight was the first time in a while that i held someone and didn’t feel empty i love the way you speak the way you laugh

I think I was just lonely. >>>

you think i’m weird for kissing your belly, but you let me do it anyway

i like your tooth that’s not completely in line with the others i think it’s cute how you can only grow hair on your chin and if you shaved your head again, i would still think you’re just as handsome

i love hugging you and how you scratch my back without me having to ask i like when you play with my hair, but get mad when i play with yours i like how you’re strong enough to carry me i like when you call me “doll” that’s how you make me feel- like a doll

i don’t ever want you to leave i wanna kiss your mouth even when you smell like cigarettes I wanted someone... and he happened to be there.

>>> i

don’t ever want you to leave,

but tonight you at least left me with your sweatshirt it smells like beef jerky, sweat, and cigarettes.

S.S. and Alicia Eris 2016