Loup
magazine was created as a creative_____ outlet for me. A way to have complete_____ freedom_____ over how and what goes in to the magazine. I recruited friends, and friends of friends to compile this magazine and it is nothing less than a work of ART.YYYY LOUPKRONE MAGAZINE is an animal____. It is unpredictable, untamed, uncut, AND exactly as the artist____ wants it. LOUPKRONE MAGAZINE would not be possible without the efforts and support of many people. i would like to THANK____ p.a., SAMUEL MAYA, & P.K. especially. if you would like to submit to LOUPKRONE MAGAZINE please email ((slfloup@gmail.com)). we accept all forms of writing_____ and ARTwork_____.
Contents Empty Words- Gerard Albert Artwork- Paula Camacho Bare Walls- Priscilla Haase Artwork- Gerard Albert Nine A.M.- Hannah Richter Artwork-Gerard Albert Immolate- Scott Murphy Dance With Her- Nicolas Salazar Artwork- Paula Camacho Blue- Carolena Albert Artwork- Hannah Richter A Day Short of Gemini Moon - Samuel Maya Artwork- Hannah Richter
Empty Words with the little I have I will sit at my keyboard type away pretend I have something to say but really now the words are meaningless forced and there is no emotion no pain no joy no joy in pain just empty words -Gerard Albert
Bare Walls She doesn’t think it hurts. But it does. Every word laden with disgust. In that house all alone What would she do? Dad’s not here to miss her. Just us. In this house all alone What would we do? But it’s already empty. Her face folds. Every wrinkle bares hate. So bitter. There isn’t a way I could please her Save forsaking all God endowed opinion. Or if i dressed up in aluminum. No, steel. Then I’d be strong Then she’d be proud.
And would dress up in steel, too. So her face couldn’t fold. So her skin couldn’t creep where anger creeps. So my tear ducts would harden. So my soul couldn’t cave where sadness creeps. “Some days I almost don’t come home.” What would she come home to? This house is hollow. Silence dances on bare walls. Pain drags across cold floors. Shame sits atop the fan blades and rains on us all. And burns through my skin as it Searches for a Host to haunt. The decimates it once it finds one. Finds one. Finds me. Finding me. Found me. -Priscilla Haase
Nine A.M.
I wish you’d consider The possibility of Dissolving in my tea, So I could have you for breakfast. You’d go perfectly with scrambled eggs, Slightly overdone. “Never perfect,” Agrees your chamomile laugh. I wish I had a wizened tablecloth To smile at the both of us, Enjoying each others pacific silence, Lips and sugar and porcelain. But oh, darling, You’re much too hot. And my throat is split In these frequent encounters. Should I ever try to appease you, And wait a minute more, You’ve turned cold, Leaving me to wonder Where exactly your ardor has fled to, Or what has become of mine. And I wish I could pluck out The moment that separates Burn from ice Right down to the second. Perhaps if I could, I would not be eating alone Reminiscing a misplaced love And the forlorn attributes Of nine in the morning. -Hannah Ritcher
Immolate That night she found out she was only human. Crying under the hot, forgiving rain from the showerhead she glared down at her arms. She wanted to pick away at herself, brick by brick. Dig deep, rip the infrastructure from its lock, from its home, and break it down to rubble. Collapse everything built before, every account of plaster, every idea conceived in the idea of a better future. She wanted to destroy something beautiful. Hellfire and brimstone galore, the fabrics of our being immolate at the core. Hopeless win when the hopeful are soon to regress. She wonders of what could go wrong, her family wonders for how long. The knife seems so far to her, yet its deep in the wound and continues to stir. I hope she’ll find a safe place to be, for the storm is coming and its not ready to leave.
I swear to you there’s good. There’s good in our failures; in our tragedies. There’s good in death; in the tears it brings. There’s good in rain; in the puddles beneath your step. Most of all, there’s good in us; in the warmness ignited. The storm has left. Come out of your shadows and into the castles, Blankets and pillows await for you in the east tower. Rest and watch the waves wake before the shore, Wake and see the water settle and rest. Peace times are here. Relax in the warmth of the sun, Let it envelop you and ease your shaking bones, Feel the fear burn shrivel and welt away, We’ll make soil from your emotions and flora from your beauty. -Scott Murphy
Dance With Her Unanimated, in a sea of the unknown. An unanticipated face appears, and pulls my arm. Now undead enjoying the moment. Pairs of feet go undisrupted, with sudden mistakes. Music stops, unmoved bodies stand. Unhappy ride home. Finally in bed, eyes unopened, underneath blankets. -Nicolas Salazar
Blue Thats the color i remember wearing most Around you I wore it tonight Nothing has really changed except for the fact i can bring myself to look you in the eyes Funny how time works I’m not going to say it’s “too late” or some other cliche Mostly because i can’t bring myself to believe it It always feels like the beginning with you Perfect I’m finished when we part and so it goes I wore blue tonight The kind I can now only find in your child’s eyes. -Carolena Albert
A Day Short of Gemini Moon When you see G-d within her smile, get on your knees. When moonlight reeps out of your skin, get closer. When her lips redden, smother them...more. When she opens her eyes seeking yours, surrender. When her moans crack your headcase, keep going. When she cries, stay. When she is tired, make coffee...or sleep. When she strikes the match with her taking hands, give her fire. When you see the devil in her absurdist eyes, stay on your knees. -Samuel Maya
Issue One