The creative process for the following publication included Ms. Zoe Dillon putting in the effort to actually making/creating said zine, and me sleeping/sometimes providing ideas for spreads and some writing. There is no “I”, in team, Zoe, but there is one in “Ismael is a terrible cowriter.” Well, 4, but that’s besides the point. Please keep both hands and feet in the ride at all times.
I reach my sleepy arm across my wild, winding sheets, and then I blindly try to feel the air that wraps around your auburn hair. The sun slides slowly down the coastline, lighting up your side and then mind, over mountains we traversed with late night talks and whispered verse. The sunlight turns your hair to fire. Playing with it makes a liar out of me ( and you) , whose hands cross border lines to other lands. When I explore, it' s you I find.
Yo u' re s ure yo ur bo yfri e nd do e s n' t mi nd?
The smell of weed and tresseme watermelon conditioner r a suprisingly good mix It's a smell that wafted through the greyhound as soon as u stepped aboard U, the man almost to tall to stand fully up once inside, scanned the bus, evaluated the 3 other living souls left on it at 9pm on a Tuesday night, and plopped next to me U had sat uncomfortably close and I tried to tell u "too fucking close" with a piercing stare but u just returned it in the most uncomfortable eye contact I had ever experienced After a minute of excruciating awkward, ur hand shot out, ur arm configured in a way that couldn't be comfortable For just a moment i was terrified I realized I wasn't getting mugged on public transit for the 3rd time this year when in a frantic mix of bubbly and deep ur voice began to spill out of ur mouth "hey!! Sorry for sliding in on u without an introduction, I'm ryan" My first mistake was trusting you My faith was placed in the way your hair fell in curls in places that would make it hard to see, just like my brothers, and the way your eyes reminded me of the girl with " the big ol doe eyes" that I loved so much I shook ur hand and words started gushing out of ur mouth before I could tell u my name "Man, I'm really far up in my feelings , can u just listen to me vent
My 2nd mistake took the form of a slight nod suddenly a boy I had just met began explaining everything U pushed brown curls out of ur face and looked thru the camera roll on ur cracked iPhone 5c to show me pictures of ur girlfriend (soon to be fiance!!!) And ur dog and ur kid brother that u thought looked kinda like me and I laughed bc at this point were only having this conversation bc of resemblance to loved ones U asked why I giggled at that and I said I was just a giggly person and I could tell u didn't believe me but u had much more to say so u moved on I kinda believe it was a kind gesture, as if u knew I didn't want to explain that you look like the freshman who raised me after my parents left us, u knew I didn't wanna explain that I trusted u bc someone with the same corkscrew curls saved my life U had only made it halfway thru telling me abt how ur land lady wanted u to give up ur dog when ur stop came I felt like I was left on a cliffhanger but as u walked off the terrible smelling bus that I called home I thought my third mistake was not getting ur contact info, letting the deepest public transit love story I had ever been involved with pass in an instant But u had a (soon to be!!) Fiance and the only thing we had in common was a love for dogs and our siblings which meant that wasn't a mistake My 3rd mistake was forgetting to ask u where u got ur tresseme watermelon conditioner that made pot smell so fucking good
"Hey kid. If you're reading this, you know what happened. I just want you to know that it wasn't your fault I just decided it was time. I know you're gonna live to do great things, and personally, I look up to YOU. Whatever happens, dont let this stop you. And by no means should you feel guilty. DON'T hate yourself. It's nothing personal. Let your pops know I'm sorry. I'll see you soon
Much love Luis Pen Miret
To Uncle Luis, With Love I don’t know why it’s taken me 3 years to finally write this. Thank you so much for everything you’ve ever done for me. I’m so sorry for arguing with you the day before my birthday, I had no idea it’d come to this. I’m enjoying as much life as I can (hopefully until I’m old and gray, because you didn’t grow to be), and I can not thank you enough for making me who I am today. I miss you like hell, man.
curls curls curls curls curls curls curls curls curls curls curls
are are are are are are are are are are are
beautiful. beautiful. beautiful beautiful. beautiful. beautiful. beautiful. beautiful. beautiful. beautiful. beautiful.
LOVE YOUR LIONS MANE
It’s getting weird to think about the house on Manton Street. Thinking of it reminds me of the night in the back of the cop car where you told me you loved me. It reminds me of breaking down in an Outback Steakhouse bathroom while my family ordered for me on Christmas Eve. It reminds me of how watching Breakfast At Tiffany’s calms you completely and I guess Sarah Marshall does the same for me. That house is probably empty.
Trees pass over head as u rolled along staring at the sky In any other situation it would be serene But the roar of old rumbling casters and the cracks in this broken down road that crash ur head against the wood beneath it remind u that u will never catch a fucking break