babyteeth winter '25 issue 2 by carlsbabyteeth

[INT: MYSTICAL DREAM SPACE THAT RESIDES WITHIN YOUR OWN MIND, LYING VACANT, WAITING FOR DIVINE INSPIRATION AND BABYTEETH EDITORS TO SPEAK TELEPATHICALLY INTO YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS]

E(ditors): Heyyyyy.

R(eaders): Hi?

E: How are you?

R: I’m ok.

E: Oh, we hope things go from just ok to VERY GOOD for you in the near future.

R: Well, I’m sure it will now that I’m holding (and reading) the newest and most beautiful and young issue of babyteeth!

E: Your mind is going to be blown at THIS announcement… BABYTEETH WORRRKSHOP on SEVENTH SATURDAY! (i.e. february 22nd) and before you ask: yes, there WILL BE COOKIES!

R: Wow! I want to go to that! I think it will be a great, low stakes opportunity for me to make some art.

E: I bet you’re right.

[YOU ARE TELEPORTED OUT OF YOUR DREAM UNIVERSE AND BACK INTO SENSORY CONSCIOUSNESS]

R: Gosh, maybe I should read the rest of the issue now that I am back in the physical realm, yet forever changed by my temporary metaphysical union with babyteeth.

[CURTAIN FALLS AND THE STAGE GOES DARK. A FOGHORN BLARES. THE BABYTEETH EDITORS TAKE A SOLEMN BOW]

olivia “chekhov’s fart” ho sofia “deus sex machina” durdag lily “a midwinter’s night dream” akre adiana “andrew lloyd weber? I hardly know her!” contreras

editors

adiana contreras

luke hargrave

olivia ho

sofia durdag

ada camp

lily akre

max votruba

kaya shin-sherman

contributers

ella peoples (COVER!)

stewie goon toby pasternak

miranda asad elly pickette

mahida tully carr

olivia ho grecko-bezzeko

nicky pierce ralph sofia durdag cole urban

billy bratton annie bergmann eila planinc

catalogue of my fever dreams, night of january 14th/morning of january 15th.

went to book across the bay this year but Mike Strong from high school was there as a chaperone. For the first time I knew every song he played in the car and he was not unnecessarily cruel about the music I played. There was a thunderstorm and the bay melted completely, so instead of booking across the bay we watched biplanes skim the water. I drank two and one half beers with sequoia when it was raining.

driving through a highway suspended on the ocean and surrounding me were huge smoke stacks with white plumes and painted in blue were the names of people with my last name. but i couldn’t recognize any of the names.

an old woman went to carleton. she was a math major and was working on her comps.

my parents and Alli were here but all the snow had melted and it was at least seventy degrees and we were in Paris. for a birthday present we thought about getting my dad a hairpiece (my dad is not bald or really even balding). But when I spoke to the fancy ladies in the department store none of the hairpieces were right and they couldn’t dye it to his hair color.

I took a shower and something weird came out of my vagina. sorry to the reader because I know that’s gross.

Paul D. and Sethe from beloved were swimming in the ocean and singing. they were both holding heavy panels of stained glass. I woke up and took my temperature, and it was quite high but I felt fine. I told Kate I couldn’t go to class and she said that’s ok. then I woke up and I had not taken my temperature nor gotten out of bed, and I did not feel fine.

dear straight A’s, when we were little i’d go sit with grandma out on the driveway. i would present her with leaves from the bushes out front and tell her they’re earrings. she’d hold them up to her ears and say thank you, very pretty. and i’d go pick more leaves. only later i realized that the reason she was always sitting outside was because mama didn’t let her smoke inside. i bet that house was filled with smoke. i bet when you were elected to class president in eigth grade went all the other

olivia ho,

layout & writing & illustration.

Miranda Asad

Thanks for dying cleanly so I could draw you.

TOBY PASTERNAK

What This Means

by Mahdia Tully Carr

When every breath you take is resistance do it out of love for the people who have held you up do it out of spite do it so that they will have to strangle you down; you will not go quietly even in the ground. In the grave them them hear your voice suck up all the air curse

the people who watch you struggle turn their heads as you lie there as you die there.

Sing a sweet lullaby “We Shall Overcome” remember who you are fighting for.

photo by nicky pierce ralph

in the library

my feet swell as the soles of my shoes make contact with the carpeted floor of the library—humming the sounds of pleasing neglect. the swelling tingles its way Up to my perspiring palms as i Sit, on a stiff chair. the dread of the impending, neglected assignments secretes From all my glands, the sweat glands—of course, But they—who are my stress signals—fail to alert the student that is within me, that is Of me, that is expected of and from me—all by me—to do what Needs to be done. the role that was assigned To me—one that requires me to do, well, to complete. to produce knowledge///

\\\the role of the student that i am of today will evolve to the designation of me as a worker—a worker until i retire. Or until i drop dead. to produce capital For another, the other that is not me. so—my feet swell; they are swollen. But, i sit. I sit. and i think. i write and i think. I read. i do both as my brain Becomes stimulated by the content that lays in front of me, But the anxiety, the sense of overwhelm brews in my head—the///

\\\state of perfection hinders me from being and doing: a student. That role continues, as i preserve my curiosity—fracturing the manufactured shell of the library, with its wrenched stench of stress and perfectionism.

baby teeth

Do I Look Like Someone Who Cares What God Thinks? by Cole Urban

jesus did not stay dead for our sins because he wished to see what his world became when their light in the darkness was put out like a flame between spittled fingers. he rose on the third day and was greeted by a pair of honey brown eyes that matched his and dark curly hair that matched his and a small feminine frame that didn’t quite match his sitting at the edge of his tomb. and the figure asked him if they were forgiven for what they had done and, as any reasonable son of god would do, jesus asked them what they did. and he was once again met with honey dipped eyes as they looked upon his naked and barren body, scanning for all the imperfections in his holy skin.

the blood still dripped from the heavy crown they had pierced into his scalp, crusting its way down his beautiful jawline and pooling into brown swirls in the crooks of his clavicles. more of it poured from the regrets of Longinus and its jewels of red clung to his ribcage and hip bones. tanned skin stretched dangerously over bony, angular limbs that creaked when he walked and his dick hung limply between his grimy thighs, hairy and soft and barely concealed beneath yellowing cloth.

what son of god was he in this condition?

long eyelashes fluttered over the pools he was using to drown his thoughts and he listened as their plump pink lips began to move. they did not speak words but jesus listened anyway.

he listened as they clawed uncut fingernails over their chest, scraping until ribbons and ribbons of blood ran in thick streams down to their kneecaps.

he listened as they wrapped long unkempt hair around their throat and tightened until their cheeks purpled and their eyes leaked seawater tears.

he listened as they fingered themselves open too fast, too hard, too painful to enjoy and yet they continued until they were satisfied with the sweat that rivered towards the small of their back and the white puddle that had formed underneath them. and when their sacred confessional was over, jesus collected their collapsing body and fucked them until he finished.