birthmark

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BIRTHMARK

gold in my head press ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

nov 2015 !

wellesley’s alternative maga(zine)

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19. send a passive aggressive email to an administration office on campus 20. move out of an unhealthy living situation 21. run after the peter pan bus and miss it 22. “pocket beer” an event 23. call your mom in the stairwell of the clapp library 24. call your mom on a long walk back to east side 25. execute an art project or event that gives you that worthwhile content feeling afterwards 26. try very hard to understand your class readings 27. feel guilty that you didn’t finish all of your readings 28. still manage to say worthwhile things in class 29. send an email to a professor past 2 am 30. receive an email from a professor past 2am 31. smoke by paramecium pond 32. become co-dependent with other misfit friends 33. share details about your personal life on the college radio station 34. successfully avoid ex friends, lovers, or roommates 35. reconnect with someone you met your first year 36. cry in the collins cinema 37. go home with someone else’s family on thanksgiving, radicalize your outlook on the family structure 38. reevaluate your opinion on a friend after she joins a society 39. have an out-of-body experience at pub night (probably high) 40. start taking vitamins and then give up halfway through the semester 41. have a white person tell you they “really appreciate what you shared” 42. put someone else’s needs before your own 43. defend yourself 44. take a bus to new york city 45. shotgun a beer 46. throw up immediately afterwards 47. put up a piece of anonymous art somewhere 48. listen and learn from your peers in contemplative ways 49. start at least one new thing every semester 50. come full circle

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dear reader, hello. thank you picking up and opening this zine. there has been a lot of love and care and thought placed between these pages and we hope that becomes clear as you read it and keep it close to your heart. birthmark was conceived in a bedroom on the second floor of instead feminist coop, like most good things, in the winter/spring of 2015. this is our first issue. it is unclear who will continue this once we have left, but we don't think there is a need. most things are not meant to last forever, so enjoy this while you can.

50 other things to do at wellesley by elizabeth cho ‘16 1.

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quit something. an internship, a job, a lover. quit at least one thing per semester smoke on the roof of the new dorms strategically nap cry in office hours write/ have a friend write a fake wellesley crush/ compliment about yourself smoke at tupelo point, at night, listen to the lake completely and radically change your aesthetic run into a campus tour group after you’ve either a.) gotten high, b.) cried fall in love with someone who looks exactly like you get your hair cut at instead have a demoralizing tanner/ ruhlman experience start a rumor about yourself get on college birth control have no sex while taking free college birth control refer to taking things from dining halls as “stealing” even though it’s not get irrationally mad every time people refer to taking things as “stealing” romanticize peter pan bus rides cry in student financial services

we wanted a maga(zine) for people who may not write for, submit, or read other publications on campus. this project was borne of selfsatisfaction and expression and executed with support from the Mellon Mays Undergraduate Fellowship. thanks to all that submitted. thanks to all the did not submit. thanks to all that will read or at least pick up a copy only for the coupons. you are all important. submit next semester or don't. enjoy. x the editors

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l.a. ‘16

the board Jasmyne Keimig ’16………Editor in Chief Elizabeth Cho’ 16……….Advocate Cassandra Flores-Montaño ‘16……Web Designer Rebecca Selch ’17………Web Designer birthmark would not have been possible without help from the Mellon Mays Undergraduate Fellowship (thank you Dr. Cameron)

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elle friedberg ‘17

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why else would i keep coming back to that pub you idiot it was you! it was you! it was you! i miss you! i miss you! i miss you! i want you sing america to me and i wanna borrow your lighter. please give me more change for the juke, i’ll play whatever you want and whatever reminds me of you. you are so weird and great. i liked it when you winked at me and that you knew how to lead when we danced. i’ll whisper that i wanna kiss you and you’ll just spin me around and around and around and hook your arm under my leg and dip me, which is maybe better. when we part (for forever probably) know my intention too late, hurriedly kiss me farewell. i will imagine the way you freckle during the summer and how flat your fro looks in the morning. send me off send me off send me off. it was you i miss you i do. jasmyne keimig ‘16 1

the complete list of objectively good coldplay songs* by jasmyne ‘16 and elizabeth ‘16 next time someone tells you that coldplay fucking sucks, show them this list *however it’s commonly understood that people who like coldplay have to agree that they do, in concept, fucking suck 1.

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sparks, parachutes the scientist, a rush of blood to the head clocks, a rush of blood to the head lost!, viva la vida speed of sound, x & y yellow, parachutes viva la vida, viva la vida strawberry swing, viva la vida in my place, a rush of blood to the head violet hill, viva la vida fix you, x & y green eyes, a rush of blood to the head talk, x & y don’t panic, parachutes trouble, parachutes

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eyebrows by lily xie ‘16 ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

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OPEN YOUR MOUTH: A YOUNG WOMAN’S EXPERIENCE WITH AUTONOMY AND TECHNOLOGY After a sudden glitch in her Snapchat app today, Guterman realized technology may be more involved in our autonomy and self-regulation than we had previousy thought. This piece represents her struggle with technology’s ever-existing subconscious discourse and her own very human self-determination.

--Statement by the Artist: As for the screw up in Snapchat that caused all of the screenshots, I was surprised by how much an issue with the app could bother me.

Like.. obviously no one was actually telling me to open my mouth, but I felt like.. personally attacked!!! My "very real human feelings" were actually hurt by an emotionless glitchy computer.

As for the stupid caption for my photos, I went to a museum this past weekend and noticed that I could actually read and understand the placards, whereas at basically every other museum I've been to, I've felt winded after reading like.. the first sentence. I was making fun of the usual placards I see and I tried to use some words that I'm not really confident of the meanings of and realized later that my second sentence isn't even a sentence (and the first one... is just so stupid and may as well not be one). What even IS "ever-existing subconscious discourse" ????? Who wants to read these stupid sentences??.. they make no sense. They're silly and show-off-y and I hate them. Lol !

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A YOUNG WOMAN’S EXPERIENCE WITH AUTONOMY AND TECHNOLOGY

BY LYDIA GUTERMAN ‘18

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i am spineless but i am bound surrounded by shelves stacked high with leatherbound books years old their spines notched, embossment gleaming gold in the lamp light colonial era anthropological studies they are plentiful and wildly growing like invasive species yet they are neatly kept rows upon rows spines perfectly straight planted deeply and soundly into the earth stretched strongly and erect to meet the sun i peer out from my slumber and gaze at the monument around me my body arching to see the greatness of that which i condemn and that which condemns me in its shadow, i need not shade my eyes but i am spineless i am a body bag of organs and bones slowly starting to give and i bend and i weave so that i may one day stand straight and meet the sun beyond the shadow. but i am bound by my mother’s kajal-streaked eyes and the pleated braid that maps her spinal chord i am bound by the the words of other body bags like me who have shed their heft bag skins and unfolded and met the sun. they stand in the shadow and beyond it.

--aathira chennat ‘17 4

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sirena

by ariana gonzalez bonillas ‘18 She wanted her hair to be green. She knew from the start that that’s what she wanted out of the life that had been planned for her, but not the plan her mother wanted to see. She wanted it to be green especially in her baths, when her long hair floated and it was not a strain on her little neck. The frizz of her hair did not exist there, the hard brush strokes of Nana were not possible then, her hair was wild thing, a blob of mass like a jellyfish lazily floating towards the surface. She wanted it green like the mermaids, so that she could blend in to the reeds that she saw at the bottom of the tiny river near la iglesia that used to be used for baptisms, like in the days of the Jordan. She wanted the fishies to wriggle through it, think it an anemone and raise their babies there. She wanted the sun to be a dancing light that was wavy every time she moved. She wanted the water lilies to be her bouquet when she decided to marry her new life. She wanted to swim rather than run. She asked and asked and asked for the color of the lily pads, of the grass, of the trees, of the algae, to be the color that defines her head and identity. She wanted the little straight hair she had to look like the stalks that hold flowers up and her big curls to be something people admired when the sunlight turned them to a forest.

She got it for one day. The carnival was in town and the booths for temporary tattoos and colorful name boards to frame and stuffed animals that lasted two months of being laid on took over her senses and almost made her forget what she was really looking for. She was searching for the ladies that were doing community service and using their spray painting skills to do hair rather than walls. She couldn’t jump onto the chair fast enough. The intoxicating smell filled her little lungs and made her think that she was a mermaid taking her first breath of water – just for a second. Her mother decided to ask the Lady to forgive her for her sin of changing her daughter’s appearance that was perfect in Her eyes and to let her baby have her way for two days. Two washes until it all the green came out and the hair was boring again. La niña could not be higher than a spaceship. But she had left this world to the underbelly of the sea, a mermaid allowed to travel on land for two days. The green was horrible, horrendous, “would’ve made my Mami faint”. It was beautiful surrounding the face whose smile could not be bigger and more thankful to her mother who allowed it and La Madre that she knew would still love her mother. She showed it off, standing with her little shoulders back and flipping as if, if she stood still for too long, it would melt off and refuse to change her miniature life. Her mother couldn’t believe how ugly a color can make la niña so happy with unrestrained joy. But hey, la sirena was alive.

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by anjali benjamin webb ‘19

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by anjali benjamin webb ‘19

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by a.b.w. ‘19

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An ode to mi Pa by laura lópez ‘16

My father, a quiet man heart heavy with ternura.

Once sturdy back, broken by years of labor you told me to step onto your back Pa, to reach for the highest branches. (this country taught me that success comes with a price. I see it in you Pa.) Callused hands held on to memories carried him across borders, clenched fists held on to trains un trampa. (swimming across rivers, walking for miles on end, un pinche Olympic athlete se la rifa con mi Pa.) Your hands now offer me the billetes gained from your overtime I’m cutting into the fund of your dreams, Pa. (“one day” has been the story since we got here. You were thinking about return since always.)

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meredith ausenbaugh ‘16 28

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Wiry muscles showings signs of decay in their machine-like ability to produce love. Pa, I never new any wants growing up (but if I had known the price of my happiness I promise I would take it all back, puras chingaderas.)

Eyes forever searching for a dream (patriotic propaganda bullshit but I will try to prove him right.)

My dreams were worth his (can I offer you mine?)

My eyes reflected in his eyes, we are both soñadores (your eyes are burning red Pa, why don’t you wear protective glasses at work?)

Wrinkled skin cracked by the unforgiving sun you made me possible my complexion smooth, my stomach and heart full with the love you and mi Ma give us.

Your lungs contract under the weight of hard work, your ribcage expands with pride, your children’s progress (pero progress shouldn’t hurt us like this Pa.) I live in your pores, your sweat making for smooth sailing.

I have your dreamy eyes, Pa. Here, te los doy.

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! for the record it is red sticky notes this bra is too loose my shoulders slouch

when you shuffle only 25 songs of course you will hear some twice

what does it mean to feel the breathless slipknot of exploitation, and in the product, find comfort

who do i apologize to when i scratch myself to not define is to confine and vice versa you are the opposite of what you pretend to be. you want an audience without the people

this is an overture, overflow, overthought

you do notknow if you are not just because you read a book or hear a song i know that to listen is to project never enter a space that is not your own

poetry made by autovorrect

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diaries of a sticky note by cynthia chen ‘18

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by lucy anderle ‘16 10

I am sad! it is so tiring being black here sometimes I really wanted to share that with someone else but it didn't happen and I am sad

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dreamt it was cold outside and that i needed to wear a jacket dreamt that i ignored you dreamt i was surrounded by men i've liked/loved and men i currently like/love and it was terrifying but also very erotic "crazy for your chaat" lovers in lodhi garden just hit me with the soft brown eyes good contrasts: silver bracelet, hairy arm i am going to insist on people spelling my name properly it's a dignity thing I have an Afro and bad skin just like the most important geniuses (Hendrix, Basquiat, etc) kinda invested but not really the interns are in open rebellion the women's car collectively gasps i am Insubordinate

LAS AMÉRICAS c.f.m. ‘16

El Tata: Esto que me pasó era cuando estaba recién llegado a los Estados Unidos. Yo tendría como unos 20 años a la más 21.

Andaba yo buscando trabajo en Los Ángeles. Llegue a una fábrica y llegaron otros muchachos también, había mucha gente buscando trabajo.

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preparing to pass thru the membrane of one world to another things i will miss: the delicate skin that forms on top of my chai the chai lady who saves my life, twice a day chai

Entrevistaban a uno y otros y luego otros. Salía una muchacha y decía, “Pase usted y pase usted.” Salían unos y pasaban otros.

Pues ya me tocó el turno a mí.

love is fixing your crooked septum piercing love is me sitting sidesaddle on yr dusty motorbike, my hand on your thigh, both of us smiling love is cold beer in sweltering heat love is cold beer i love delhi but i don’t think delhi loves me

Ya estaba el señor allí en la oficina sentado. Yo también me senté allí

if you close your eyes you could almost be anywhere (but you shouldn't, keep them open ok?)

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dispatches from abroad, part ii

(a poem made of lightly edited tweets from my time in delhi) by jasmyne keimig ‘16

en frente de él. El empezó a preguntarme mi nombre, mi edad, que experiencia tenia y todo eso. Luego ya me pregunto que si sabía Inglés.

“Pues no,” le dije. Menos en aquel tiempo, no sabía ni madre.

i don't believe curiosity killed the cat but i do believe it made her life, like, really difficult for a while i want every man that looks at me to turn to stone side eyeing white boy over dosa he paid for it though thanks aesthetic: sweat long-sleeved, knee length, white linen shirt white linen pants dark fuchsia lipstick gold chain hair wild comes to u in a dream i am like a good piece of toast very brown at the corners i want to be a west coast frances ha i want to be a proud cafe owner you are not drinking enough water you are never drinking enough water boredom is a form of transcendence "why me" i whisper into the void what does all this add up to? (nothing) pukey malaise i’m falling apart idk what a depression cherry is, but i think i am that

Y luego me dijo, “¿Cuánto tiempo tú llevar en América?” Él hablaba así español medio mal pero se le entendía bien.

“Veinte años,” le dije yo.

“En América,” otra vez me dice.

“Veinte años, es lo que yo llevo,” le contestaba.

Se enojó el amigo, hasta se le hincharon las venas en el cuello.

Me dijo, “Te estoy preguntando cuantos años tú llevar en América. ¿Eres Mexicano que no?”

“Si soy Mexicano,” le dije. “¿Y cuánto tiempo tú llevar en América?”

“Veinte años.” Yo ya lo estaba haciendo de adredes también.

Ya que se enojó pues pensé, este amigo ya no me va dar trabajo.

De suerte, allí en la pared, como era oficina, tenían un mapamundo. Era un cuadro grande donde está todo el mundo.

Me levante, y apuntando al mapa le dije, “de aquí hasta acá es América. México es América también.”

Y el amigo nomas se quedó callado y ya no me dijo nada. Yo sabía que no me iba a dar trabajo ya, pero yo le aclare allí al güey. Ya no dijo nada el pinche viejo.”

i have never felt more contradictory about a place everyone understands you to varying degrees getting really tired of Being Seen i wanna PROVOKE and then attack Mmm just got back from a party where there was another black-Am girl but she didn't talk to me 23

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! table of contents from art as therapy by alain de botton and john armstrong

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OBLIQUE EROTICS a personal index... by victoria uren ‘17

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1. bad teeth (from candy or coffee -- signifying indulgence) 2. denim on denim (audaciousness; style; ... naïveté) 3. good, or idiosyncratic handwriting (dextrous) 4. keeping on your underwear (honoring the withheld) 5. naked ankles 6. scalp smell !! (-- the word “secrete”, one letter away from ******) 7. inbox (0) – or, alternatively, inbox (15,000) (sign of commitment) 8. shorts (too short) 9. willingness to laugh at oneself (attuned to reality) ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

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cicada in the house by lily xie ‘16

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BIRTHMARKS OF BIRTHMARK! !

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(stretch) mark

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BIRTHMARKS OF BIRTHMARK! !

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cicada in the house by lily xie ‘16

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OBLIQUE EROTICS a personal index... by victoria uren ‘17

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1. bad teeth (from candy or coffee -- signifying indulgence) 2. denim on denim (audaciousness; style; ... naïveté) 3. good, or idiosyncratic handwriting (dextrous) 4. keeping on your underwear (honoring the withheld) 5. naked ankles 6. scalp smell !! (-- the word “secrete”, one letter away from ******) 7. inbox (0) – or, alternatively, inbox (15,000) (sign of commitment) 8. shorts (too short) 9. willingness to laugh at oneself (attuned to reality) ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

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! table of contents from art as therapy by alain de botton and john armstrong

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dispatches from abroad, part ii

(a poem made of lightly edited tweets from my time in delhi) by jasmyne keimig ‘16

en frente de él. El empezó a preguntarme mi nombre, mi edad, que experiencia tenia y todo eso. Luego ya me pregunto que si sabía Inglés.

“Pues no,” le dije. Menos en aquel tiempo, no sabía ni madre.

i don't believe curiosity killed the cat but i do believe it made her life, like, really difficult for a while i want every man that looks at me to turn to stone side eyeing white boy over dosa he paid for it though thanks aesthetic: sweat long-sleeved, knee length, white linen shirt white linen pants dark fuchsia lipstick gold chain hair wild comes to u in a dream i am like a good piece of toast very brown at the corners i want to be a west coast frances ha i want to be a proud cafe owner you are not drinking enough water you are never drinking enough water boredom is a form of transcendence "why me" i whisper into the void what does all this add up to? (nothing) pukey malaise i’m falling apart idk what a depression cherry is, but i think i am that

Y luego me dijo, “¿Cuánto tiempo tú llevar en América?” Él hablaba así español medio mal pero se le entendía bien.

“Veinte años,” le dije yo.

“En América,” otra vez me dice.

“Veinte años, es lo que yo llevo,” le contestaba.

Se enojó el amigo, hasta se le hincharon las venas en el cuello.

Me dijo, “Te estoy preguntando cuantos años tú llevar en América. ¿Eres Mexicano que no?”

“Si soy Mexicano,” le dije. “¿Y cuánto tiempo tú llevar en América?”

“Veinte años.” Yo ya lo estaba haciendo de adredes también.

Ya que se enojó pues pensé, este amigo ya no me va dar trabajo.

De suerte, allí en la pared, como era oficina, tenían un mapamundo. Era un cuadro grande donde está todo el mundo.

Me levante, y apuntando al mapa le dije, “de aquí hasta acá es América. México es América también.”

Y el amigo nomas se quedó callado y ya no me dijo nada. Yo sabía que no me iba a dar trabajo ya, pero yo le aclare allí al güey. Ya no dijo nada el pinche viejo.”

i have never felt more contradictory about a place everyone understands you to varying degrees getting really tired of Being Seen i wanna PROVOKE and then attack Mmm just got back from a party where there was another black-Am girl but she didn't talk to me 23

12

I am sad! it is so tiring being black here sometimes I really wanted to share that with someone else but it didn't happen and I am sad

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dreamt it was cold outside and that i needed to wear a jacket dreamt that i ignored you dreamt i was surrounded by men i've liked/loved and men i currently like/love and it was terrifying but also very erotic "crazy for your chaat" lovers in lodhi garden just hit me with the soft brown eyes good contrasts: silver bracelet, hairy arm i am going to insist on people spelling my name properly it's a dignity thing I have an Afro and bad skin just like the most important geniuses (Hendrix, Basquiat, etc) kinda invested but not really the interns are in open rebellion the women's car collectively gasps i am Insubordinate

LAS AMÉRICAS c.f.m. ‘16

El Tata: Esto que me pasó era cuando estaba recién llegado a los Estados Unidos. Yo tendría como unos 20 años a la más 21.

Andaba yo buscando trabajo en Los Ángeles. Llegue a una fábrica y llegaron otros muchachos también, había mucha gente buscando trabajo.

11

preparing to pass thru the membrane of one world to another things i will miss: the delicate skin that forms on top of my chai the chai lady who saves my life, twice a day chai

Entrevistaban a uno y otros y luego otros. Salía una muchacha y decía, “Pase usted y pase usted.” Salían unos y pasaban otros.

Pues ya me tocó el turno a mí.

love is fixing your crooked septum piercing love is me sitting sidesaddle on yr dusty motorbike, my hand on your thigh, both of us smiling love is cold beer in sweltering heat love is cold beer i love delhi but i don’t think delhi loves me

Ya estaba el señor allí en la oficina sentado. Yo también me senté allí

if you close your eyes you could almost be anywhere (but you shouldn't, keep them open ok?)

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diaries of a sticky note by cynthia chen ‘18

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by lucy anderle ‘16 10

! for the record it is red sticky notes this bra is too loose my shoulders slouch

when you shuffle only 25 songs of course you will hear some twice

what does it mean to feel the breathless slipknot of exploitation, and in the product, find comfort

who do i apologize to when i scratch myself to not define is to confine and vice versa you are the opposite of what you pretend to be. you want an audience without the people

this is an overture, overflow, overthought

you do notknow if you are not just because you read a book or hear a song i know that to listen is to project never enter a space that is not your own

poetry made by autovorrect

!

9

26

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Wiry muscles showings signs of decay in their machine-like ability to produce love. Pa, I never new any wants growing up (but if I had known the price of my happiness I promise I would take it all back, puras chingaderas.)

Eyes forever searching for a dream (patriotic propaganda bullshit but I will try to prove him right.)

My dreams were worth his (can I offer you mine?)

My eyes reflected in his eyes, we are both soñadores (your eyes are burning red Pa, why don’t you wear protective glasses at work?)

Wrinkled skin cracked by the unforgiving sun you made me possible my complexion smooth, my stomach and heart full with the love you and mi Ma give us.

Your lungs contract under the weight of hard work, your ribcage expands with pride, your children’s progress (pero progress shouldn’t hurt us like this Pa.) I live in your pores, your sweat making for smooth sailing.

I have your dreamy eyes, Pa. Here, te los doy.

!

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by a.b.w. ‘19

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An ode to mi Pa by laura lópez ‘16

My father, a quiet man heart heavy with ternura.

Once sturdy back, broken by years of labor you told me to step onto your back Pa, to reach for the highest branches. (this country taught me that success comes with a price. I see it in you Pa.) Callused hands held on to memories carried him across borders, clenched fists held on to trains un trampa. (swimming across rivers, walking for miles on end, un pinche Olympic athlete se la rifa con mi Pa.) Your hands now offer me the billetes gained from your overtime I’m cutting into the fund of your dreams, Pa. (“one day” has been the story since we got here. You were thinking about return since always.)

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meredith ausenbaugh ‘16 28

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by anjali benjamin webb ‘19

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sirena

by ariana gonzalez bonillas ‘18 She wanted her hair to be green. She knew from the start that that’s what she wanted out of the life that had been planned for her, but not the plan her mother wanted to see. She wanted it to be green especially in her baths, when her long hair floated and it was not a strain on her little neck. The frizz of her hair did not exist there, the hard brush strokes of Nana were not possible then, her hair was wild thing, a blob of mass like a jellyfish lazily floating towards the surface. She wanted it green like the mermaids, so that she could blend in to the reeds that she saw at the bottom of the tiny river near la iglesia that used to be used for baptisms, like in the days of the Jordan. She wanted the fishies to wriggle through it, think it an anemone and raise their babies there. She wanted the sun to be a dancing light that was wavy every time she moved. She wanted the water lilies to be her bouquet when she decided to marry her new life. She wanted to swim rather than run. She asked and asked and asked for the color of the lily pads, of the grass, of the trees, of the algae, to be the color that defines her head and identity. She wanted the little straight hair she had to look like the stalks that hold flowers up and her big curls to be something people admired when the sunlight turned them to a forest.

She got it for one day. The carnival was in town and the booths for temporary tattoos and colorful name boards to frame and stuffed animals that lasted two months of being laid on took over her senses and almost made her forget what she was really looking for. She was searching for the ladies that were doing community service and using their spray painting skills to do hair rather than walls. She couldn’t jump onto the chair fast enough. The intoxicating smell filled her little lungs and made her think that she was a mermaid taking her first breath of water – just for a second. Her mother decided to ask the Lady to forgive her for her sin of changing her daughter’s appearance that was perfect in Her eyes and to let her baby have her way for two days. Two washes until it all the green came out and the hair was boring again. La niña could not be higher than a spaceship. But she had left this world to the underbelly of the sea, a mermaid allowed to travel on land for two days. The green was horrible, horrendous, “would’ve made my Mami faint”. It was beautiful surrounding the face whose smile could not be bigger and more thankful to her mother who allowed it and La Madre that she knew would still love her mother. She showed it off, standing with her little shoulders back and flipping as if, if she stood still for too long, it would melt off and refuse to change her miniature life. Her mother couldn’t believe how ugly a color can make la niña so happy with unrestrained joy. But hey, la sirena was alive.

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by anjali benjamin webb ‘19

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A YOUNG WOMAN’S EXPERIENCE WITH AUTONOMY AND TECHNOLOGY

BY LYDIA GUTERMAN ‘18

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i am spineless but i am bound surrounded by shelves stacked high with leatherbound books years old their spines notched, embossment gleaming gold in the lamp light colonial era anthropological studies they are plentiful and wildly growing like invasive species yet they are neatly kept rows upon rows spines perfectly straight planted deeply and soundly into the earth stretched strongly and erect to meet the sun i peer out from my slumber and gaze at the monument around me my body arching to see the greatness of that which i condemn and that which condemns me in its shadow, i need not shade my eyes but i am spineless i am a body bag of organs and bones slowly starting to give and i bend and i weave so that i may one day stand straight and meet the sun beyond the shadow. but i am bound by my mother’s kajal-streaked eyes and the pleated braid that maps her spinal chord i am bound by the the words of other body bags like me who have shed their heft bag skins and unfolded and met the sun. they stand in the shadow and beyond it.

--aathira chennat ‘17 4

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OPEN YOUR MOUTH: A YOUNG WOMAN’S EXPERIENCE WITH AUTONOMY AND TECHNOLOGY After a sudden glitch in her Snapchat app today, Guterman realized technology may be more involved in our autonomy and self-regulation than we had previousy thought. This piece represents her struggle with technology’s ever-existing subconscious discourse and her own very human self-determination.

--Statement by the Artist: As for the screw up in Snapchat that caused all of the screenshots, I was surprised by how much an issue with the app could bother me.

Like.. obviously no one was actually telling me to open my mouth, but I felt like.. personally attacked!!! My "very real human feelings" were actually hurt by an emotionless glitchy computer.

As for the stupid caption for my photos, I went to a museum this past weekend and noticed that I could actually read and understand the placards, whereas at basically every other museum I've been to, I've felt winded after reading like.. the first sentence. I was making fun of the usual placards I see and I tried to use some words that I'm not really confident of the meanings of and realized later that my second sentence isn't even a sentence (and the first one... is just so stupid and may as well not be one). What even IS "ever-existing subconscious discourse" ????? Who wants to read these stupid sentences??.. they make no sense. They're silly and show-off-y and I hate them. Lol !

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eyebrows by lily xie ‘16 ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

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why else would i keep coming back to that pub you idiot it was you! it was you! it was you! i miss you! i miss you! i miss you! i want you sing america to me and i wanna borrow your lighter. please give me more change for the juke, i’ll play whatever you want and whatever reminds me of you. you are so weird and great. i liked it when you winked at me and that you knew how to lead when we danced. i’ll whisper that i wanna kiss you and you’ll just spin me around and around and around and hook your arm under my leg and dip me, which is maybe better. when we part (for forever probably) know my intention too late, hurriedly kiss me farewell. i will imagine the way you freckle during the summer and how flat your fro looks in the morning. send me off send me off send me off. it was you i miss you i do. jasmyne keimig ‘16 1

the complete list of objectively good coldplay songs* by jasmyne ‘16 and elizabeth ‘16 next time someone tells you that coldplay fucking sucks, show them this list *however it’s commonly understood that people who like coldplay have to agree that they do, in concept, fucking suck 1.

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sparks, parachutes the scientist, a rush of blood to the head clocks, a rush of blood to the head lost!, viva la vida speed of sound, x & y yellow, parachutes viva la vida, viva la vida strawberry swing, viva la vida in my place, a rush of blood to the head violet hill, viva la vida fix you, x & y green eyes, a rush of blood to the head talk, x & y don’t panic, parachutes trouble, parachutes

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elle friedberg ‘17

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l.a. ‘16

the board Jasmyne Keimig ’16………Editor in Chief Elizabeth Cho’ 16……….Advocate Cassandra Flores-Montaño ‘16……Web Designer Rebecca Selch ’17………Web Designer birthmark would not have been possible without help from the Mellon Mays Undergraduate Fellowship (thank you Dr. Cameron)

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dear reader, hello. thank you picking up and opening this zine. there has been a lot of love and care and thought placed between these pages and we hope that becomes clear as you read it and keep it close to your heart. birthmark was conceived in a bedroom on the second floor of instead feminist coop, like most good things, in the winter/spring of 2015. this is our first issue. it is unclear who will continue this once we have left, but we don't think there is a need. most things are not meant to last forever, so enjoy this while you can.

50 other things to do at wellesley by elizabeth cho ‘16 1.

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quit something. an internship, a job, a lover. quit at least one thing per semester smoke on the roof of the new dorms strategically nap cry in office hours write/ have a friend write a fake wellesley crush/ compliment about yourself smoke at tupelo point, at night, listen to the lake completely and radically change your aesthetic run into a campus tour group after you’ve either a.) gotten high, b.) cried fall in love with someone who looks exactly like you get your hair cut at instead have a demoralizing tanner/ ruhlman experience start a rumor about yourself get on college birth control have no sex while taking free college birth control refer to taking things from dining halls as “stealing” even though it’s not get irrationally mad every time people refer to taking things as “stealing” romanticize peter pan bus rides cry in student financial services

we wanted a maga(zine) for people who may not write for, submit, or read other publications on campus. this project was borne of selfsatisfaction and expression and executed with support from the Mellon Mays Undergraduate Fellowship. thanks to all that submitted. thanks to all the did not submit. thanks to all that will read or at least pick up a copy only for the coupons. you are all important. submit next semester or don't. enjoy. x the editors

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19. send a passive aggressive email to an administration office on campus 20. move out of an unhealthy living situation 21. run after the peter pan bus and miss it 22. “pocket beer” an event 23. call your mom in the stairwell of the clapp library 24. call your mom on a long walk back to east side 25. execute an art project or event that gives you that worthwhile content feeling afterwards 26. try very hard to understand your class readings 27. feel guilty that you didn’t finish all of your readings 28. still manage to say worthwhile things in class 29. send an email to a professor past 2 am 30. receive an email from a professor past 2am 31. smoke by paramecium pond 32. become co-dependent with other misfit friends 33. share details about your personal life on the college radio station 34. successfully avoid ex friends, lovers, or roommates 35. reconnect with someone you met your first year 36. cry in the collins cinema 37. go home with someone else’s family on thanksgiving, radicalize your outlook on the family structure 38. reevaluate your opinion on a friend after she joins a society 39. have an out-of-body experience at pub night (probably high) 40. start taking vitamins and then give up halfway through the semester 41. have a white person tell you they “really appreciate what you shared” 42. put someone else’s needs before your own 43. defend yourself 44. take a bus to new york city 45. shotgun a beer 46. throw up immediately afterwards 47. put up a piece of anonymous art somewhere 48. listen and learn from your peers in contemplative ways 49. start at least one new thing every semester 50. come full circle

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BIRTHMARK

gold in my head press ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

nov 2015 !

wellesley’s alternative maga(zine)

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