Dear reader,
In this Fall issue of Hoot, we invite you blissfully into all of our nonsense. Through an ongoing body of celestial imaginings, we isolate and temper the wisdom of chance, the pitfalls of perception, the absurdity of being, and that weird, horrible feeling underneath it all. The nonsense appears to us as a dream: with all the illustrious fantasy, contradiction, and swampy clarity necessary to enthrall us in its ever-changing winds. Prided on being preciously useless, its tenderness may be its true defining worth. But the nonsensical must not merely be a virtue. As a gift, we will offer you one preliminary pleasure. El Jardín de las Delicias wafts a romantic atmosphere of queer Latine culture through Catholic iconography, uncovering the absurdity of colonial religious roots and swaying the dirty towards the fantastical in a painterly premise. How does a simulated absurd offer up reality? In create the characters. enjoy the chaos, readers enter a haunting world of play. Fascination with the projected and constructed mind-body come as no surprise when faced with uncanny artifice… Interrogations of absurdity surely must follow… Fools FM refers to the mystical as truth while uncovering womanhood and agency set aside from unevolved conceptions. Inspired by the nine-tailed fox in Korean folklore,
Artwork by Maeve Flaherty
gumiho also examines expectations about womanhood—particularly with respect to sexuality and power. Surreal scenes of mischievous seduction reveal fetishization as the intersection of the mundane and the grotesque. With dutiful dexterity, the nonsense issue transposes mythologies of past and future. Thus, Outfits for the End of the World builds an eschatological world of mundane GORE-TEX utility. And this time technology must atone for the divorce between humanity and its home. This issue features original artwork and writing that warms my heart (seriously) and endlessly proves and provokes the creative condition within. Here we offer you: making as a means of swallowing and spitting back up. Here we gather with the knowledge that everything must change—except for the love abounding. Here we gather with the helplessness of this small beginning. Thank you, and please enjoy. All these moments treasured,
Grey Bakwin
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EL JARDÍN DE LAS DELICIAS CREATIVE DIRECTOR Celeste Ramirez Estrada
PHOTOGRAPHER August Cao
ASSISTANT PHOTOGRAPHER Bri Martinez
PRODUCERS
Bri Martinez Oscar Ortiz Ryann Chalmers
PRODUCTION ASSISTANTS Romi Marckx Chanel de Los Santos Morales
STYLISTS
Celeste Ramirez Estrada Angelina O’Connor Romi Marckx Natalie Najar
MUA
Mason Harper
HAIR
Karen Chavez Natalie Najar Chanel De Los Santos Morales
NAILS
Chanel De Los Santos Morales
MODELS
Dani Franco Natalie Najar Isabela Garzon Chanel De Los Santos Morales Ryann Chalmers Karen Chavez Angelina O’Connor Oscar Ortiz Jennifer Guizar Bello Lily St. Remy
SPECIAL THANKS
Barnard Theatre Department Costume Shop Denisa Lata
All My Girls Don the Newest Fur, Rockin’ the New Year Right and We Sad, O Baby, We So So Sad
Boy Child did you know there
are two popsicle sticks waiting for me
up
there in dirty tennis sneakers tucked in
a
warm blanket holding my hands
you know
close watching as i
they take bullets down the side of their meat
their babies young and lap sewage just cause
eat them whole? did
bags Curse
i’m hungry and this little mouth is
asking? my
crying Boy. Little Boy Child. Baby did
you know
i Got my lovers now? two and they all
cat fur stuffed bettween the pockets of their wallets did you know
they watch movies with
their eye lids cut open and
you know they like to fold inside themselves all could you ever guess one body
did
Big and take me down with them? Boy
‘d be so inlove with two
faces? with noses and sprinkled sweat and smiling creases How I love them So tender i feel my lung slide right off the bone? call
and watch
Please Boy baby Please don’t tell them. how i stay
up all night on their
tapes of us dancing against car light// for the rain coming
up side ways.
how i rub coffee grounds all
holler when i’m
up against my breast and wait
for the moon to come
not in that Company. And i talk so loud. don’t tell them
how i told Sugar that high evening that loving really meant taking Whole. I meant gimme the girl too and if you
take them both i’ll do someth
ing angry Like use my teeth to graze the
grass clean until it bleed. Like use
my flesh as tarpaulin , my fingers wrapped around bad boy wrists like bracelets. like boyChild i am a wolf
when it
comes to these babies
i am so
deep
in this feeling Remember? Remember Boy Child?
How I promise: I wanna take them both by the throat // with music and hope if i’m ever thrust Looooong without them that the slow whine of their Bedroom door CLOSING takes them back to fall sunsets around naked–––like the slow touchin’ of Foxes
to running
Like Screams and Mango Tea and leavin’ place
S
early
Renee Morales
their hair sprawled wet and Cryin’ all across my babygirl
pillow.
amsterdam party report, Jocelyn Liu
I Write for , Gulp Water, Fill in Gaps, Say I, I, I. However-if Tristan Tzara were a schoolgirl––a thing biting on her pencil Deadened , how underneath a signature, an anthropologist melds safer: everything after I. Pretty girl of conversation. Years deep, comparative, were it instead nothing after I. Snow making motion. So today, music. And if she is pretty, music. And music, satisfied because all humor’s sullied in the moon and music, all things becoming lesbian. Sweet, but she really said: “how I see the world.” Five-octave, a banjo pervading imagination. How ultimately, women born to niches––all water to time. Nipples, a spectacle. Many see desire, a satisfied entrance, how it melts as though writing. The pen leaking and a baby breaking systematic. If there is an absolutely, my own child-sweet, empathize the _____ with recognition. But the letter. Perhaps it really was breast full. 1945: the marker saying “I just.” Whisper, whisper, wisps. Mine. Six. A girl wrapped in blankets. The I.
Renee Morales 14
gaming life... as real as it gets!
but sometimes, you just want to lie in bed.
HOW WOULD YOU PLAY WITH LIFE? CREATOR
C
Intense Creativity Strong Imagination
HOOT
Readers Interact
what will you choose? create? destroy? will you revel in the chaos? life isn’t easy. it can break you, sure. but they can’t take away your power to decide.
design your own character from scratch.
h
create createthe the characters. characters. enjoy enjoythe the chaos chaos
A PLAYTHROUGH GUIDE OF... YOU ARM PAPER CUT-OUTS WITH AN ARSENAL OF TRAITS.
YOU SET OUT TO CREATE THE PERFECT CHARACTER.
B. OR WILL YOU CHOOSE PERSON B?
A. PERSON A?
17.
RPG OR LIFE?
CUSTOMIZE YOUR CHARACTER. A. CLOTHING B. PERSONALITY X. LUCKY ITEM Y. SCRAP AND START OVER
YOU’VE CREATED 2 CHARACTERS. MAKE ANOTHER ONE?
MAKING THE PERFECT CHARACTER
A. YES!!!!!!
18.
MAYBE IT’S TIME TO...
A. GO OUTSIDE.
TOO MANY SIDE STORIES... WHICH WILL YOU TAKE?
PRESS B TO RESUME
20.
CREATIVE DIRECTOR Erin Ikeuchi PHOTOGRAPHER Siqi Deng PHOTOGRAPHY & LIGHTING ASSISTANTS Sungyoon Lim, Maya Shkolnik MODEL Makenna Cherry, Malvika Reddy STYLIST Kiahra Read MAKEUP Andee Sunwoo Lee PRODUCTION ASSISTANT Elisabeth Siegel
ch
ar
ac
te
rs
on
bo
xe
s
IS LIFE A GAME?
fools fm
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25
DIRECTORS Lina Infante, Jalen Lee PHOTOGRAPHER Sungyoon Lim MODELS Udonne Eke Okoro, Ana Sofia Harrison, Jalen Lee, Mychal May STYLISTS Chambit Miller, Julia Neely PRODUCER Lina Infante MAKEUP Isabella Garzon
구미호 (九尾狐)
G U M I H O
28
gumiho explores the themes of surrealism and physchoanalysis,
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the discomfort from
combining the mundane and the grotesque.
CREATIVE DIRECTOR & STYLIST Claire Kim PHOTOGRAPHER Sungyoon Lim MODELS Yoon Kim, Allison Zhang PRODUCER Will Park PRODUCTION DESIGNER Grace Li MAKEUP & HAIR Anna Han PRODUCTION ASSISTANTS Grace Zhang, Em Chmiel, Ara Kim, Lily Kwak
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The Soft Bit on a Baby’s Skull By Sadie Hornung-Scherr It was all blood and entrails and burning hair and sexless torsos and stranded sinew. And it was June and it was bright and the sun was meant for me and a boy called my name as I brushed my hand over the top of the buffalo grass. “The problem with a belief in God,” said an unbeliever, “is that lowercase he doesn’t exist.” But it was June and a boy called my name and he both lowered and lifted my white dress in equal measure and slowness and what was the point of that if God had nothing to do with it? And it was burning hair and sinew and screams and little children running and what am I supposed to do with that, besides look to God? I speak to the catalpa tree in the front yard and uppercase She tells me She’s been around longer than mothers smoothing over that soft bit on a baby’s skull, and fax machines, and moleskine notebooks, and the hate of men, and goddam Jimmy Carter. “What have you learned?” I, with greedy eyes, ask She.
She bends her branches divinely and says, “I learn nothing. I swing with the wind and grow the blossoms that you sit on in Spring. Is that not enough?” It’s absolutely not fucking enough I reply and stomp away to Paris to pout by the Seine. I tense my forearms to see the line in the muscle and I scratch at the mark on my wrist. I flip angrily through
Exodus to prove my brother wrong and I crack my neck but nothing cracks. I repent and return to my catalpa tree and prostrate myself at Her feet. “I’m awfully sorry. I was such a cunt to you.” “That’s okay. You’ll apologize over and over and it means nothing to me.” “Okay. So what have you learned?” A gust passes her and she sighs with it, leaning back, cracks running up the bark. She doesn’t say anything. I walk away and have a sudden urge to gather everyone in the world around me and tell them exactly what I think about everything and how they all have failed me until they all cry and beg for my forgiveness. But it was blood and June and entrails and mothers and screaming children and babies with soft skulls and burning hair and a white dress lowered. All of this, in equal measure. I feel now, that instead of screaming at everyone in the world, I must speak for everyone in the world, a profane attorney to the Creator, to explain how shitty of a hand we were all dealt. But how wonderful it is, in June! I say this to She, from across the yard, and She smiles and caresses me with Her leaves before She falls back asleep. She’ll never have screaming children but perhaps She never had June either. But perhaps (and this bit blows) June wasn’t worth it. Then again, he called my name as I brushed my hand over the top of the buffalo grass. Artwork by Maeve Flaherty
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OUTFITS FOR THE END OF THE WORLD
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CREATIVE DIRECTOR & EDITOR: Maddie Madsen PRODUCTION ASSISTANT: Tito Adesanya MODELS: Khanh Le Doan, Sophia Virkar, and Anuka Manghwani PHOTOGRAPHERS: Andee Sunwoo Lee and Jocelyn Liu
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EDITORIAL BOARD PRINT EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Grey Bakwin DIGITAL EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Sungyoon Lim EDITOR AT LARGE Cate Mok ART DIRECTOR Danielle Feit TREASURER Julia Neely
FASHION DIRECTOR Annie Buda EVENTS DIRECTOR Andee Sunwoo Lee SENIOR EDITORS Erin Ikeuchi, Olivia Treynor
HOOTIES LAYOUT
Anna Song, Antonia Casariego, Juna Kawai-Yue Kaylee Casas, Lilia Miller, Sophie Johnson
WRITING
Abby Foster, Catie Knight, Leah Overstreet, Leila Sheridan Lina Infante, Lyla Wolf, Poppy Needham, Sadie Hornung-Scherr, Selah Blue Smith Selah Smith, Su Ertekin-Taner, Sydney Alleyne, Tiffany Kim, Vidhi Buch Yadyvic Estrella Batista,Isabelle Shi
DIGITAL
Leila Sheridan, Maimuna Islam, Natasha Last-Bernal Orlie White, Romi Marckx, Ryann Chalmers,Sophie Fisher
MERCH
Anusha Wanganoo, Marionna Saunders,Tobechi Onwuka
EVENTS
Anuka Manghwani, Qulani Mohammed
FASHION
Crosby Brown, Kimberly Zhu Victoria Jonsson,Samantha Pratt
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Abby Foster Aliza Yona Abusch-Magder Allison Zhang Ana Sofia Harrison Andee Sunwoo Lee Angelina O’Connor Anna Han Anna Song Annie Buda Antonia Casariego Anuka Manghwani Anusha Wanganoo Ara Kim August Cao Barnard Theatre Department Costume Shop Bri Martinez Cate Mok Catie Knight Celeste Ramirez Estrada Chambit Miller Chanel De Los Santos Morales Claire Kim Crosby Brown Dani Franco Danielle Feit Denisa Lata Elisabeth Siegel Em Chmiel Erin Ikeuchi Eva Beeman Grace Li Grace Zhang Grey Bakwin Isabela Garzon Isabelle Shi Jalen Lee Jalen Lee Jennifer Guizar Bello Jocelyn Liu Julia Neely Juna Kawai-Yue Karen Chavez Kaylee Casas Khanh Le Doan Kiahra Read Kimberly Zhu
Leah Overstreet Leila Sheridan Lilia Miller Lily Kwak Lily St. Remy Lina Infante Lucia Auerbach Lyla Wolf Maddie Madsen Maeve Flaherty Maimuna Islam Makenna Cherry Malvika Reddy Marionna Saunders Mason Harper Maya Shkolnik Mychal May Natalie Najar Natasha Last-Bernal Numa Fiorentino Olivia Treynor Orlie White Oscar Ortiz Poppy Needham Qulani Mohammed Renee Morales Romi Marckx Ryann Chalmers Sadie Hornung-Scherr Samantha Pratt Selah Blue Smith Siqi Deng Sophia Virkar Sophie Fisher Sophie Johnson Su Ertekin-Taner Sungyoon Lim Sydney Alleyne Tiffany Kim Tito Adesanya Tobechi Onwuka Udonne Eke Okoro Victoria Jonsson Vidhi Buch Will Park Yadyvic Estrella Batista Yoon Kim
ys been so b I have always been so blatantly a beast; By Aliza Yona Abusch-Magder
I have always been so blatantly a beast; Devouring the void of fluorescent hallways and linoleum (slight cleaning chemical wafting into all memory). Beasts like me flock towards unnamable truth-- blind bumbling moth towards a purpose. I am moth, and worm: such fables once upon a time imbibed obligingly. By third grade, insects are not cool because dirt is not cool, and believing in self as a dirty insect is really not cool. Wanted a build-a-bear so bad (unsophisticated, delicious) but never became hanukkah present--it was deemed too goyish-- so I became polyester puff on a pedestal. Splitting seams of fabric-skin packed dense with mounds of fluff I call flesh. Turned out to be that i wasn’t Whatever that is Took four violations (five if u count eating skittles off my bare breasts) to ponder the elemental makeup of my insides I want to bleed everywhere
You’re
Tests reveal its glory guts that I am spilling silly. Entrails follow my footsteps like a limp old dog down broadway. Made eye contact with conviction-- a prayer that the harsh raw edge between slabs of sidewalk may snag my insides. Or better worse: a rat enticed by my life sausages, leaking their raw element onto concrete. I could be supper to a colony of confident vermin. Second and last prayer: I wish to partake in this banquet. Amen.
Artwork by Eva Beeman
blatantly You’re full of grime, son. By Lucia Auerbach
you are full of grime, son and you have nowhere to turn you fall asleep in between the stitches of your sweaters what a lovely place to sleep do you ever think about dying? I am begging to ask you that here is not the time now is not the place I encourage you to decay
My smile bursts into laughter As I lay on the floor of the dental office. I keep laughing as blood pools in my open mouth. I start coughing And spurting blood onto the floor.
full of grim My teeth are pulled one at a time As the horn section adds another chair It’s a symphony and my neck is Dyed red And I am toothless And grinning And I have never known anything at all.
Our blood must have combined in a past life. I can’t get rid of you. I’d never want to. Tell me I’m not bleeding. Oozing as you see me. Can I be the one that leaves this time? I’ll be clean again tomorrow.
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Photo from Fools FM, full story on p.21