HOWL issue #2

ISSUE2 • VOLUME 1 •JUNE 2018

howl

SANDBOXES FICTION AND PHOTOGRAPHY BY ROWAN SEGURA

"The purpose of life is to experience and be experienced in return."

We reach out into the void of time and space to touch what may lurk in the darkness. Scientists reached and found stars, vast systems perfectly arranged to balance life and death. Authors reached and found their imagination, from Orwell’s utopian societies to Melville’s white whale. Chemists reached to find the cures to Polio, the Black Plague, and HIV. We reach every day we wake up, go into the world, and dream. Our mind finds countless solutions to endless problems. We are experiencing the infinite possibilities of the physical world through our finite life.

I can remember when my best friend started doing drugs; his first words on the experience were: To experience life in a closed 4-dimensional box is hardly enough to constitute living life to its fullest. His mind was drunk on the idea of taking one pill to experience far more than a closed box, he would literally multiply the experience I consider to be life by ten. Forty dimensions compared to my four dimensions. When he slipped that pill upon his tongue and let himself be swept away, he began to fly higher than any astronaut had dared. His mind was opened to the infinite possibilities of what may happen, what has happened, and what could happen. Trees that used to be silent told him stories of their long, lonely lives. He could hear the whistling in the wind that I never took the time to hear, he could see the importance of a ladybug scuttling across a blade of grass, he could feel the waves of life around him pulsing to the infinite heartbeat of creation.

What once was finite became infinite for one single, solitary moment. The more he flew into the cosmos, the farther he flew away from me. He was flying so close to the sun that his wings melted, and he plunged into the depths of his worst nightmare: addiction.

Perhaps he reached too far for his body to carry him. Or maybe he thought he could cheat the inevitable. I will never know.

Language is too finite to describe the deep sorrow that plagued my heart watching him sink into the darkness of his own personal demons. Addiction drowned him, similar to how night consumes day. He continued to pursue his only solace from my world and in return my best friend choked under the pressure of what is.

"What once was finite became infinite for one single, solitary I moment."

Is that truly living life to the fullest? Is living at the beck and call of an addiction truly living free?

It’s been three days since I got the news of his overdose. They told me he’d thrown away his life, trading it for an hour of “off-brand nirvana.” I don’t think they would understand that to him that trade was worth it. He wanted to experience nirvana. Even if it was for a moment. But who’s to know whether he truly saw what lies in the beyond? I can’t ask him if he saw David Bowie, Freddie Mercury, or Gene Wilder. I want to know if he shook hands with God and if he was how we imagined him.

Our friends wondered why I wasn’t hurt by the news of his passing, as if he had simply died.

Every time he reached for nirvana he was passing on.

If you asked anyone who didn’t know him beyond the photos and the stories, you’d hear the story of a troubled boy who played with drugs to cure his depression and anxiety.

"They’d clip his wings so they could watch and care for him."

You’d hear the story of every other child who traded their lives for one hour of nirvana. The only difference was the name printed in big black ink, number 24 font so everyone could see who they were meant to mourn this week.

This week it was my best friend. Next week it’d be someone else’s.

My parents ask me if I’m okay. Can I do the homework? Can I go to school? Can I tell them what’s wrong? I never answered their questions because if I did, they wouldn’t understand. At some point after his death they stopped asking.

His parents printed photos of him and slapped them on every wall in the school so everyone would remember his face, as if everyone was required by law to mourn the loss of one of the brightest smiles in the world. They’d remember him as he was before he started reaching into the void, before he decided that four dimensions was not good enough for his standard of living. They printed his prom photos where a girl in pink was holding his hands in hers hoping she’d be enough for him.

He smiled at her fondly because if she knew she wasn’t enough, he’d lose her. She smiled back, hiding the impending doom of their relationship. They printed his senior portraits, taken shortly after the girl in pink left. His black hair was shaved down as an attempt to hide his depression, this was his attempt at rebuilding himself. They printed what little photos they had of him and his friends, because surely he had someone who cared enough to miss him. They begged for someone to remember him as the happy boy they raised. I couldn’t remember him that way.

I remembered when I saw his forced smile plastered around the school that he’d never been satisfied. He smiled because everyone expected him to smile.

"They called it respect, I called it being comfortably numb. " He dated because girls wished to experience him. He spoke because people wished to hear him. He thought life was a performance, until he started reaching beyond what people wanted from him.

His parents never knew of his depression or anxiety. He didn’t want them to know because if they did, they’d chain him to the ground so he couldn’t fly. They’d clip his wings so they could watch and care for him.

His mother cried as she placed the bouquet of white lilies she’d bought for $12 at Fred Meyer’s into his hands, folded at his waist so they wouldn’t cover his face. She touched his cheek for the last time, before withdrawing to her designated spot beside her husband. His father stepped forward to say some words about his son, what he wanted to say was soon lost in the whirlwind of human emotion.

Everyone else who attended stared expressionlessly at him hoping no one would break the silence and force conversation.

They called it respect, I called it being comfortably numb.

An hour after the memorial service I paid my respects to his grave. My eyes traced the engraved stone that marked the beginning and ending of his life, his name carved gently in number 24 font so everyone would know who had been mourned this week. I touched the stone as my simple form of memorium.

Whatever words I wished to say had been buried with him. I started to shed my first tears since his death. Many people would’ve mistaken those tears for mourning, but they weren’t. I was weeping because I would never know if my best friend had reached his nirvana.

"We’re playing in our intended sandboxes because we’re afraid to reach into the unknown."

I would never be able to ask him if this nirvana amounted even slightly to the “offbrand nirvana” one pill constituted. I would never know if this was enough.

But was this ever going to be enough?

I’m home now, eating meatloaf with my parents and chatting about happier things to mask the underlying depression caused by his loss. We’re playing in our intended sandboxes because we’re afraid to reach into the unknown. We don’t want to be like him, we don’t want to trade sand for stardust.

We are comfortable building our sand castles letting others reach for what we cannot. We wake up every morning, go to work in our lonely cubicles, come home to meatloaf, and let our lives fall into routine. We aren’t looking for adventures, we don’t want to fly because we are afraid to fall. Some amount that comfortable, warm sandbox to “God’s Plan”, others simply admit they want a simple life.

Simple, 4 dimensional, and firmly placed upon the ground. Warm sand and a plastic shovel.

And that’s okay. Not everyone is meant to fly, but I know he was. He was meant to fly higher than anyone had ever flown and explore what no one had dared explore. He wanted forty dimensions when the world gave him four. He wanted to see every angle and revel in the perfection of the world. He wasn’t content with sand castles, he wanted to build an empire with the stardust of the universe.

That’s what made him different.

Stories can save us and my best friend has finally reached his infinity.

Words and Photos by Rowan Segura

THE FALLEN KNIGHT FICTION AND PHOTOGRAPHY BY JOSH LYONS

'He thought of his time training for the royal guard.'

As he rode his horse along the lonely winding road,he thought of the better times in his life. He thought of the times when he played make believe on his front porch, swinging his tiny wooden sword around, stabbing invisible monsters, and smelling the amazing pie his mother was baking. He thought of his time training for the royal guard, sparring with his beloved mentor while the king sat and watched stoically, finally rising to give him a standing ovation for his skill with the blade.

Thinking of these happier memories brought a momentary reprieve of light between the black clouds that hung over his head. However, the clouds started to stitch themselves back together as his mind drifted towards more unsavory memories.

=Thinking of these happier memories brought a momentary reprieve of light between the black clouds that hung over his head. However, the clouds started to stitch themselves back together as his mind drifted towards more unsavory memories. He thought of the king giving him his first assignment as a newly inducted knight, how he stared down at him with a passionate but sweet look in his eyes, while the new knight looked back with a furious determination to make him proud. He still remembered the king’s instructions even now, that there were three amateur sorcerers causing mischief in the eastern quarter and that “They shouldn’t be too much to handle.” Every so often the tower those sorcerers called home flashed in front of his eyes, causing him to jump and almost fall off of his now spooked steed. He reconstituted himself and rejoined the trail he absentmindedly wandered off from.

'After a short incantation, a giant serpent appeared in a violent whirlwind of red wind and lightning.'

He soon stopped for a rest by a large oak tree, hoping for his dreams to allow him some rest from those painful memories.

However, they began to worm themselves back into his mind, images of himself storming the tower entrance, vanquishing the sorcerer's summoned minions, and reaching the top to confront the dastardly knaves. The sorcerers had one last trick up their sleeves however, and soon pulled out a large and ancient spell book. After a short incantation, a giant serpent appeared in a violent whirlwind of red wind and lightning. With one mighty swing of its monstrous tail, he was thrown out of the tower, and the serpent started to make its way towards the capital.

When he awoke, he saw a large plume spewing from the capital. He jumped up and sprinted towards the capital with all of his strength, but he was too late. The serpent had destroyed the city and taken several citizens, including the king, as prisoners. He grabbed a horse from a nearby stable and rode it as fast it could take him back to the tower, but it had disappeared along with the king he was sworn to protect.

He woke with a start to his worried horse licking his face. Gathering his supplies he prepared to head off again when he noticed a dark spire in the distance. It was the tower! The sorcerers must have come back to start a new attack against another kingdom.

 'He saw the familiar visage of the serpent moving to launch him off again, but with all his strength he jumped over its tail and made a mad dash towards the book.'

With determination he lept onto his horse and started to ride towards the tower to face that vicious serpent. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. He had been training for years preparing for this moment, learning everything he could about the beast that destroyed the city he held so dear.

He again stormed the entrance and effortlessly beat away their minions. Reaching the top once again, he saw the familiar visage of the serpent moving to launch him off again, but with all his strength he jumped over its tail and made a mad dash towards the book.

The serpent lunged at him again, but he managed to stun it with a well placed blow to its maw.

Eventually reaching the book, the sorcerers were unable to stop him, as he lifted his mighty sword and cut the book to ribbons.

The sorcerers and their once mighty serpent fell apart into dust and a large cage appeared before him. Breaking the lock, he freed his people and his king. Riding off into the sunset they set forth in search of land for a new city, hoping that they and him would be finally able to rebuild.

Words and Photos by Josh Lyons

THIS MAN HAS NOT SEEN A BARBER ESSAY AND PHOTOGRAPHY BY DEONTAE MARTIN

"From the age 12 his mom cut his hair for him."

Deontae Martin has never seen the barber, yet keeps the freshest cut at all times. Being 18 years old and never stopped by the barber shop, how did he do it?

From the age 12 his mom cut his hair for him. This was a skill she had from cutting her younger siblings’ hair while growing up.Â

It was when he was in the 7th grade that designer haircuts in general blew up in popularity. This meant custom lines and super fresh line ups. Haircuts now needed much more time and attention, but his mom's skills were basic enough for white boy hair and but not for the style her son wanted.

Deontae and his older sister are both perfectionists and artists. Deonate gave his sister the first shot of cutting his hair and she did a tremendous job, better than his mom.

It was when he was in the 7th grade that designer haircuts in general blew up in popularity. This meant custom lines and super fresh line ups. Haircuts now needed much more time and attention, but his mom's skills were basic enough for white boy hair and but not for the style her son wanted.

Deontae and his older sister are both perfectionists and artists. Deonate gave his sister the first shot of cutting his hair and she did a tremendous job, better than his mom.

Deontae and his friend Cameron began educating themselves about how to give fresh haircuts. With YouTube and the popularity behind designer cuts, they learned quickly.

Deontae’s sister cut his hair for about a year until he was ready to take on the task himself.

In eighth grade he began cutting his own hair and growing his skills. His only setback after many cuts was having the wrong tools and cutters to make a better cut. He made many mistakes and embarrassments when cutting hair.

"He loves how during his cutting period, he can connect with his customers and build relationships."

Since then Deontae has cut his three brothers hair. Saving them much money and being a huge convenience.

Fast Forward to today and Deontae has a handful of customers who pay him to get their hair done. He invested in high quality cutting materials and cuts out of his garage. He says “It will always be a fun passion.” Because the outcome is always different and there's always room for improvement. He also loves how during his cutting period, he can connect with his customers and build relationships.

He works with his homie Somey who also cuts hair as a passion. Somey Became Deontae’s Barber because he delivers a fresh bald fade.

Which is challenging to do on yourself.

Deontae believes barbering is a great career choice job. First of all barbering is a job that will alway exist. Hair doesn't stop growing and one is guaranteed returning customers every two weeks or so. Some of these people drop in for weekly cuts. If one is good enough, they can charge fifty dollars plus for a cut. So depending on the speed of the barber, one can make a lot of money. It's also an easy way for Deontae to self brand himself behind his skills, with the power of social media.

For the future, Deontae is considering getting his barber’s license to get professional. Right now he will continue cutting his friends’ hair out of his garage, building loyal customers, his skills, and trust. His Barber dream is to become so good he can cut famous people and make a living off of it. Deontae would like to start his own barber shop.

Words & Photos by Deontae Martin

MI FAMILIA ESSAY AND PHOTOGRAPHY BY GEORGINA REYES GARCIA

"Family means having people who are always there for you no matter the situation" To me family means having people who are always there for you no matter the situation. Family to me has always been an extremely important thing. From the very beginning I was surrounded by a loving family. Growing up my parents all shared a house with my uncles. I was the first child to be born into a house of 7 adults.

This included my mom and dad and 5 of my uncles.

Being the first child everyone in my family always filled my life with love and unconditional support. Later at the age of 3 my parents welcomed by younger sister, Andy. I remember being super excited for her. Growing up my parents have always been there for me. My dad works really hard and despite that I’ve never felt that he wasn’t there.

He was always there for every thing, every step and bump that has happened along the way as I’ve grown up. My mom has always been the one I can go to no matter what, I tell her everything no matter how awkward or embarrassing I know she only has my best interests in mind and it truly is a wonderful feeling knowing that she isn’t only my mom but one of my best friends.

"When I was 13 they told us that they were expecting and it caught us by surprise" Growing up it was just me and Andy, but as we got older my parents wanted another child they wanted a boy. When I was 13 they told us that they were expecting and it caught us by surprise, but nonetheless we were excited to be able to add another family member into our family. The day we found out he was a boy we were all overjoyed. When he was born we didn’t think our family could get any better. Watching Alex grow up has been one of the best things in life as far as the amount of love and joy he brings into our lives. As he grows up we become more and more proud of him.

Being an older sibling to me is something very special and it makes me very proud to be able to watch all of their accomplishments as Andy and Alex grow older. Now we’re happy to be able to say that Alex will be able to experience what being an older sibling is like as we’re going to be able to have another member of the family. In late August we’ll get to experience the happiness that comes from babies once again.

I view my family as the most important thing in my life it is full of love and support and I know that I’m truly lucky to be able to have a family like mine. One that treats my friends as if they too were family.

Words & Photos by Georgina Reyes Garcia

SWAGGY B POETRY AND PHOTOGRAPHY BY BRIANNA GOULD

"My name is Bri aka Swaggy B..

I can do more than just shoot the three.

Attack hard, as seen in the yearbook picture. I can work the key."

1: They said I was just a kid.

That I only knew so much, but all these awards.. that’s what I did.

So many of my talents I let stay hid.

But I can’t keep it bottled up anymore.. open the jar lid.

Time to put myself on the grid.

My name is Bri aka Swaggy B..

I can do more than just shoot the three.

Attack hard, as seen in the yearbook picture. I can work the key.

Offense to defense, I play good D. That’s just something I’m trying to get people to see.

I won’t let words define me.

As many as I have, not one person could put their feet in my shoes.

"As many as I have, not one person could put their feet in my shoes."

Many think I win with my kicks, but in ways I lose.

Did a lot in every pair, especially basketball but that's old news.

They are constant reminders that I worked to an extent.

Reminders that my mom worked hard to get them for me and they aren’t just an item I happen to use.

I’m not gonna lie, I love every pair and a new pair I would never refuse.

Each pair has meaning and as many as I have I would never abuse.

: From the middle of center court, taking a

"Touching the ball on my finger tips, for old time sake.

Remembering all the memories made, something so real.. far from fake."

break.

Or mid day --early nights, when I struggled to stay awake.

Touching the ball on my finger tips, for old time sake.

Remembering all the memories made, something so real.. far from fake.

No matter the pain, I always kept going..

No matter how much my body ache.

I’ve surrounded myself by this, since I was a kid..

When I always wanted a basketball themed birthday cake, that my mom would bake.

Just a love that can’t be lost and no one could steal from me, or even attempt to take.

You’ve always been there for me.

Since before people knew me as Swaggy B or

"Constant reminders that nothing is a guarantee.

I never did this for he or she.

I did for you, the one and only."

Bri. When I first fell in love with you, I was three.

It's been years now and I’m seventeen, living happily.

They say I’m different on the court and in ways I look free.

But that's not what I feel, that's just what they see.

The fresh kicks, always looking icy.

Sad to think that this could end with one wrong move.

Constant reminders that nothing is a guarantee.

I never did this for he or she.

I did for you, the one and only.

Felt like a long day at practice, now I’m waiting

"Getting closer to night time, losing sunlight.

So I sit here, with my notebook where I write.

Might be overthinking stuff."

for my ride.

Looking to my left and right, no one by my side.

So I look ahead, think about what I did wrong, what I did right.

It's been a good minute since they said they were on their way, and I continue to sit tight.

Getting closer to night time, losing sunlight.

So I sit here, with my notebook where I write.

Might be overthinking stuff.. my ride's here now, I see them in sight.

The realization that I’m not forgotten and that everything's going to be alright.

Bedtime

WHAT WE LEAVE BEHIND PORTRAITS BY SOMEY CHAY