editor
letter from the
We do not take responsibility for the accuracy of this brain representation. For clarification, ask your bio friends.
contributors:
Al Qamar Charlotte Curtis Hannah Saitta Mark Calabio Mindy Lam Rose Quezada Saki Chan Shannon McPeak Sonya Redi Vannie Nguyen Vy Lam Vivian Moon Layout Editor
Stephanie Nowinski Asst. Layout Editor
OCCIPITAL LOBE : visual processing
PARIETAL LOBE : somatosensory and visuo-spatial mapping
FRONTAL LOBE : emotional control, strategy
Steve Bass Editor-in-chief The publication may have been funded in part or in whole by funds allocated by the ASUCSD. However, the views expressed in this publication are solely those of Mania Magazine, its principal members and the authors of the content of this publication. While the publisher of this publication is a registered student organization at UC San Diego, the content, opinions, statements and views expressed in this or any other publication and/or distributed by Mania Magazine are not endorsed by and do not represent the views, opinions, policies, or positions of the ASUCSD, GSAUCSD, UC San Diego, the University of California and the Regents or their officers, employees, or agents. The publisher of this publication bears and assumes the full responsibility and liability for the content of this publication.
Vannie Nguyen Managing Editor
Shannon McPeak Text Editor
TEMPORAL LOBE : auditory processing, higher visuals
staff
Our cover art for this issue is Charlotte Curtis’ “Magnified.”
poetry
august types with black ink. by Rose Quezada space Galaxy page vacant, full of same/similar/segments ephemeral language coming in sections, fizzing out like folding stars clinging on to light. meteors tumbling full of something, like a being. similar to exception, or extracting meaning from a feeling that is fleeting in directions of sensational emotions birthed from within and growing while I talk and talk and talk
before definition
into words and punctuation
there was feeling
that devalue with inflation
which surged from a hole
of my pretense
like an oil well, oozing with darkness a face round with words to say
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so thrown and caught by a page they’d be saved in a memory net
meaning looks elsewhere to a split-veined word carrying consequence so I ask questions no more and resign to speak in codes.
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It hurts from the upside
the morning
gallery
May Bend d a o by Hannah Saitta TeR
by Cindy Lam
Down Whispering pain to everything But the frown Gracing the edges of your sanity But who says that this is the end After all, the road may bend Your eyesight may limit your motivation Leaving you nothing but trepidation You are your own stand still Oblivion lies on the left Of what’s right Try but you will Lose your best fight Swift words never see the countering blow But who says that this is the end After all, the road may bend The twilight may limit your dedication Leaving you nothing but inspiration You are your own stand still You look to the north Afraid you’ve gone south Muttering excuses For the sin of your mouth You think amen will save you But who says that this is the end After all, the road may bend Tonight may limit your admiration Leaving you nothing but this generation You are your own stand still
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Opposite page (clockwise from top-left): 1 “ How was your day?” by Cynthia Mar 2 “Jawbreaker” by Charlotte Curtis 3 “hhjkljk” by Cynthia Mar 4 “Untitled” by Cindy Lam Current page (clockwise from top-left) 1 “Once Familiar Home (an imaginary place we both miss)” by Charlotte Curtis 2 “The Fly By” by Charlotte Curtis 3 “Portrait (Lisa)” by Charlotte Curtis 4 “Portrait (Dawn)” by Charlotte Curtis 5 “one” by Cindy Lam
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gallery
“Sing of Love” (left) and “Three, Four at Your Door” by Charlotte Curtis
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poetry
by Mindy Lam by Sonya Redi
My pillow is hard But I don’t care I just need a sleeping brick.
My hair got caught on a cloud when I tried to catch you but you were too fast and so I just hung there in pain waiting to fall on the world hoping you would catch me.
My head is hard But I don’t care I just need a sleeping brick.
by Vannie Nguyen
by Vannie Nguyen The rising sound of electric static Buzzes down the metal tracks The train is coming.
by Mindy Lam So I have this dream, okay. Where I’m flying. Only it’s not really like flying at all, more like I’m running, Jumping higher in the air with every step Until the atmosphere is thin, so thin I can’t Breathe. They’re chasing me with sirens and choppers, And I’m running so fast, Except that I’m struggling to find a foothold. Because, you see, there’s nothing in the air But clouds and sunshine as far as I can see. And I’m falling.
For a moment, I stare at the empty space ahead of me And wonder what life would be If I cross the yellow paint on the platform What would it be like To stand on the edge Just to reach the blue static To see it To feel it To be it. I find myself standing The desire swelling up in me And moving my legs ever so closer Toward the dirty chipped yellow paint STAY BACK OF THIS YELLOW LINE The bold yellow become an invisible wall And rationally suffocates desire. The static grows louder now Living and screaming The train is coming. I long for the farthest reaches Past the yellow beyond the tracks And into the blue static. Metal clanking Loud screeching of breaks Deafens the static As the train reaches to a halt.
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by Mark Calabio darling, I’ll love you until we die so why don’t you fucking die already
by Saki Chan When I’m tired and uninspired, I write in prose; however, I like to rhyme from time to time to show that I am clever.
You look past your lids peacefully And dream a dream You wish when You were waking Twitching Tossing Tossing twitching Those eyes Fluttering Flashes Time elapses Your sleeping face Still in contrast to Your waking one. In the darkness I think deeply. Morning comes When misery cant You slowly spread Your soft smile It is your waning face I wake up to. But I like this face too. Your sleeping face. Your self-seeking face The one you yourself cannot see The one I myself can see With that will I Transcribe What is with time Til dawn peaks Dreaming peacefully.
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poetry
by Sonya Redi
by Al Qamar If you’re missing the essence of your soul You might know where he is All curled up with me While I make my morning tea. If you feel arms around you A feeling of longing, yearning and Incessant kissing; Behold! That would be your other half missing. There is a valley of love down that hill On the cliffs of it, I am hanging Losing ground, clutching a twig Twig, separating My world from Ours. In love that mirrors the emotion I want to give In friendship that reflects the strength I want to feel In those hopes, I looked and looked away I put them in a box, and decided I was naive. Why, I can climb up and stroll away Stroll away into this sleep-walking world Away from that valley, with only the thought Of that Perfect moment. When every piece in life’s puzzle Once misplaced were finding their way Around one galloping glow in the center Waiting to interlock and meld. In that box, of all things ephemeral but beautiful Was a face. Was a fantasy. Was a faraway truth. In our time, on that argosy of magic sail I could see the glimmer of that key That could only be for that lock. On that box. Of all things that could Grip you by the soul And dunk you, in that valley In that roaring river Of sincerity, of finality, of something worth living for.
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A tall frame, a tint of glasses and grey Out of the corner of my eye Passing by. Down in that box, Something rattled. And then went quiet. And floated atop, hovering about The words in blood When I stood behind you. Life, you have always dealt me 3 Like Portia’s caskets One in Gold One in Silver And, One in Lead. I’ve battled. Burnt a trail in the forest. Rummaged in your wickedness. Weighed myself. But, no. I will prick through the thicket And, find my casket. My casket of Lead. A journey not as smooth, not as easy. Alas, I am compelled by something Isn’t that amazing?! Something, my mind cannot control! And that my soul desperately wants. It is your most challenging card. But it is the one I want. The one that is mine. And, that … Is how I know from the choice of 3 Gold, Silver and Lead That you’ve dealt And you’ve Dealt me. That is how I know. Who I am. What I do. And, that I was meant for you.
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