ISSUE #59 by Submissions Magazine

SUB MAG A

SUBMISSIONS MAGAZINE ISSUE FIFTY-NINE FEB/MARCH 2015

Beth Rudig Letter from the Editor

Phil Gibson I Should Live in Salt

FEATURED Lukas Jennings Footprint

Genie Ilmenev Untitled

Daniel Dickerman Kitchen

Mark Zubrovich Nayru’s Home North Carolina Hot Cougar’s Club Meetup

Vincent Wong-Crocitto Untitled

Zoe Williamson You! Oh, Word

FEATURE Wordsmiths Introduction: Estephany Payano Photographs: Beth Rudig

FEATURED Francine Hendrickson Three Piglets and the Scaffold

Will Norlander Untitled

Nicholas Farrell Only God Gives

Jia Lian Lin Untitled

Bridget Flynn It’s “The End of the Year and I Lost my Best Friend and my Boyfriend (or The World Fell to Ruin While We were Asleep)”

FEATURED Deanna Brown Forever and More

Cassidy Hammond 3 Boys in Backyard

Hannah Sheinkopf Untitled 1 Untitled 2

Danielle Llamas Solitude

Kathryn McCurdy A Literary Interpretation on the Breakdown of Chemical Components

Valerie Patritti Women

Jalen Garcia-Hall From the Desert

Nicholas Farrell Little Life, Little Death

Julianne Waber Untitled

FRONT Nicholas Farrell BACK

Nicholas Farrell

Letter from the Editor “The snow doesn’t usually give a soft white damn whom it touches.” - E.E. Cummings

We don’t usually do this, but we would like to say hello and introduce ourselves. SubMag has been working very hard this year, and we would like to thank all of our contributors and readers, old and new. We operate as a small, collaborative staff and choose the work that goes into the magazine together in meetings. We take the time to appreciate and review every single piece carefully, and what makes it into the issue is up to many deciding factors. Everyone on staff comes from differing backgrounds and tastes in regards to art and literature, so the magazine strives to reflect the diverse content of work being produced by the Purchase community. We encourage those who have submitted in the past but have not been published to continue to submit in the future. While we do not do themed issues, sometimes these things arise. In this batch of submissions we felt a particular coherence. It’s been a long, hard winter. It still is winter. And we are all feeling it. SubMag usually attempts to lighten the mood a little bit, but this issue there seemed to be a thread running among submissions we received; and that is dark, desolate, and cold. It’s dark out there for all of us right now and your work reflects it, but trust me, we are on the brink of something. Although the work presented in this issue is a little on the darker side, the snow will stop soon, and we can all crawl out of our holes and feel the sun again. But for now, please enjoy this issue and embrace the cold for a little while longer. Maybe brew some tea before getting into this one. We have a lot of really exciting events in the works this semester. We appreciate your continued contributions to the magazine, even if it is simply continued readership, and I sincerely hope you enjoy this issue. LOVE, BETH RUDIG

Editor-in-chief, SUBMAG

09.06 03.28 09.11 04.05 11.30 09.01

10.04

10.15 10.31

FOOTPRINT LUKAS JENNINGS

I stood, frozen in place, as I imagine you had been, in awe of some revelation staring blankly past the geometry of buildings further than trees waving big from the horizon You stood ankle deep in this puddle that granted your muddled reflection Its water found comfort in the lining of your shoe, the fibers of your woolen socks, collecting graciously in a pool below your heel as one does when offered such space to steal. You sponged it up until you gathered everything you knew or thought you knew and then, with some fuller realization stepped forward and released a finite deluge that froze into one perfectly contained mark a fossil of old water in concrete not like a pliable print in desert sand but lying permanent under absentminded feet. As you walked, you tripped on nonexistent stairs lithe foot no longer weighed down by the saturation of cold thought Your breath clouded, relieved, in the air At night you peeled off your tight wet socks, the wide snakes of your legs molting free You rubbed the moist spaces between your arid toes to get the warmth back in, each oasis holding frozen droplets beneath the cold skin.

KITCHEN DANIEL DICKERMAN

I’m eating alive this peanut butter and chives. it doesn’t taste very good, but I’m a glutton and I’m stoned. A dangerous combination-if your abs are toned.

YOU! ZOE WILLIAMSON

Oh, that’s what you mean, when you use tone that is reminiscent of the muckish snow globbing onto pavement making cars slide and traffic ensue.

You mean to say, “it is not my fault, they slid on me, and fell through there. I was not hiding anything behind my disgusting mud coat. Is my work now, helping people realize what I am? You slip on me, it hurts, but this is life. Life hurts. Yet, I am to blame? We do not blame tires for spiraling on me. What of wheels? Perhaps you made a call? I am tired of being insulted, because I do not feel this pain that is (not) caused by me. Your attacks are out of control.”

Out of control… You’re out of control, You’re crazy, Calm down, won’t you? Are you on - Your period? Are you on - New medication? Are your parents - Getting a divorce? This is a You problem. I’m not saying Anything wrong. Oh, right, yes, sure… Of course, I say. if I only knew to tread lightly on your slick diction, we would go forward towards our home where -- yes I see! No more spiraling, no. Yes, my dear I am on my period! How do you know so much but teach me nothing? That must be why when you yell I scream, That must be why when I die, you won’t say anything.

OH, WORD ZOE WILLIAMSON

You slid under my comfortable range of sight as a figure, dark And walking away. From that glimpse, I knew you. Or, rather, I knew him. He, who stems from us for now. You were just murk, passing. I should speak, even shout, why not shout? So long as I ceased to stare. I say one thing. This word, its mass, sat in the air. I watched it get bored of me. Too impulsive! Yet… I knew you. You approached me! But for you to touch me? Oh, Word, touch all my things, especially my car. I make cars worthless; in drive, here we are, establishing value. You touched Him, and He is you for now. Cars grunt when they’re warm, and howl when they’re cold, and we howl still to reaffirm how we know one another.

THREE PIGLETS AND THE SCAFFOLD FRANCINE HENDRICKSON

At seven years old, Schizophrenia is a brown hairy piglet crawling into the back of the family station wagon. He comes to the diner with grandma and me and my brothers and eats from everyone’s hand on the floor. He’s invisible to the adults. At ten, the adults start to notice us slipping SchizophreniaXanax with his pancakes: pink belly hand out somebody bring this fuzzy boar back to the pig pen, he suffocates our little brother Marvin on the road trip and still thinks he can play with

us in the backyard. Pig sits with my decapitated barbies. Me: an adult (almost) stuffing tissues in my ear carnal to drown out. My brother: a muddied circuit looking at the schizooophrenicc maggots contemplating if he’s real while they crawl up his back. You remember Marvin, he gone and lost his left hand to this. Pig and I get in a fist fight at twelve, I backhand him. We’re too old for this. He gets so big with eating everything in the fridge. The therapist talks back: train the conscious to hallucinate sub adult pigs eating pythons. Schizophrenia’s a bitch it ate my brother’s favorite sweater on Christmas. When my brother was fourteen, he trusted me with all his secondhand clothing. Sounds a lot cuter than it actually is, Schizophrenia the pig grew to weigh 220 pounds and lived in the basement with the hot water heater before the adults even fully noticed him. I remember way back before this poem he used to push me on the tire swing. Callmeback I’m at the hospital I’m sorry I’m sorry it’s your brother do you forgive me? bi eht time hez n adolt bad Jimmy. Did you see I set my hands on fire it scared everybody. fowl blwon I’m without my bible my mind’s the red pill but god is a melting crane1 cinerhpozihcs

IT’S “THE END OF THE YEAR AND I LOST MY BEST FRIEND AND MY BOYFRIEND (OR THE WORLD FELL TO RUIN WHILE WE WERE ASLEEP)” BRIDGET FLYNN May flips on with its named politeness asking for its heat to seep in your skin, humid his skin was paper-white like the bones beneath, his hair was pink like a melting popsicle stick, your roommate’s bare mattress looks too naked without you both on top of it he fucks a shorter girl with blonde tips and a lip ring, you egg another boy into a haunted house, and if you weren’t so scared of ghosts you would have laid him on the ground and moaned like a lost soul inside the basement of the house is flooded but the shiny new back door is open, just like the brown-grey door of your freshman bedroom, you sneak in and lay on the bare mattress and maybe you could have lived there before or maybe you couldn’t your old roommate and your ex-best friend can’t think of facts about herself to list off at the ice breaker, she needs to think of five, you could name ten maybe she can see ghosts, she is a godmother to a blue-button-eyed boy, her favorite animal is a hedgehog, her favorite color is purple, or silver you can’t remember purple or silver but silver was the color she listed on the board yours is black and you remember how the pink-haired boy had your black nails digging lightly into the skin of his acne-scarred back (pink is your favorite color, black is the one you say when you don’t wanna reveal too much)

A LITERARY INTERPRETATION ON THE BREAKDOWN OF CHEMICAL COMPONENTS KATHRYN MCCURDY

2-[[4-[(7-Chloro-4-quinolyl)amino]pentyl]ethylamino] ethanol sulfate 2: the number of techno-colored candies in the morning 4: exponent of the previous, the total sum of pop art pills by night’s end. sometimes I forget. 7: years since you’ve been with me, although I own you, you do not own me. Chloro: back stroke, breast stroke, my favorite is dead man’s float. inflamed skin, cracked elbows, an allergy 4: one milligram less than what disintegrates on the tongue’s bitter perception, each night Quinolyl: you are created by the removal of one hydrogen atom. I am created by the induction of two. This is how we are similar: exposed to light, we change. Your ancestry proceeds you, impurity in a chemical science, derivative of quinoline, which is a derivative of coal tar. you are a dye, a resin, parasites feed on your smell. I lust on your parts, suck out your solubility, desecrate your elements. I own you, don’t think you own me. Amino: building blocks to a withered corn husk of my body. 9 essential amino acids. Find them in your grocery store: egg whites, lysine in sunfish, cod, dolphinfish but please, no mercury. Maybe I have 1 left, maybe 2, after each labored breath entrapped by porcelain walls. Cool on my forehead, warm on my hands, dampened dew on fingertips with pressure on my skin, sewer raindrops on my nose. Now I’m so good (to you), I can upheave my 7 other amino acids on demand. No more dew on this fluorescent skin, I’ve always been too artificial to be compared to nature Pentyl: discovered in a collision of ultra violet light with argon, noble gas. overdose symptoms include convulsions (check), drowsiness (check), headache (check), difficulty breathing (check), vision problems (check). But not for the reasons, or for the causes, I’ve listed. Ethylamino: alcohol: a drizzle in a rainstorm. I can’t contain myself, exploding inside a glass bottle. a defective windshield wiper, reprocessing my words: “ethyl and coke tastes like cough syrup,” I say. either or, neither will help me. ethyl as fuel is not safe to drink ethyl as alcohol is not safe either. swirled away in a plastic whirl. Ethanol: black liquid gas, a nozzle in my car engine, fracked through my exhaust(ion). Burn my esophagus like sweet ginger ale gin, double chin. I’m drunk, so I’m seeing double. Refraction. Sulfate: dry collision with salty white plaster, plaster walls, my plaster teeth in the palm of my plaster hand, the same palm you touched nervously with your fingertips, when your translucent skin showed we have the same blue veins, you with no love line. I’ve ran into walls, trees, dead ends, bursts of hail, but worst of all– you

FROM THE DESERT JALEN GARCIA-HALL

I came out of my hut into a new world, Came from my land of Camel People, To face the crowds that worship DĂŠsin. I came out of my hut and saw many-peopled towns, And the grey bulge that they call the sea, And the reckless tide, which, they say, Takes their ghosts to the underworld. I came out to my parents, who left the desert When I was just a youngling, When the water of life had not flowed from my loins, And the cool waters had not touched my flesh In times of open hardship. I came Out to the sea where there is green grass And the slick feeling of sand that is not sand, To the coconuts, and all the people of the city. It is a vicious place.

Wordsmiths

BY BETH RUDIG & ESTEPHANY PAYNO 20

In the feature of our previous issue, SUBMAG highlighted senior visual artists at Purchase. This issue, we’re dedicating our feature to some seniors that depict the literary portion of this literary and arts magazine; more specifically, Creative Writing majors. Early in the first week of March, Beth and Estephany sat down had a conversation over Starbucks with graduating seniors Deanna Brown, Francine Hendrickson, and Lukas Jennings. They spoke about their writing styles, the impact Purchase has had on them as writers, their future prospects, and more.

Estephany: Okay you guys, thanks for coming. Should I just hop right into it? Beth: Yeah, why not? Or, I guess we can go around say when you’re graduating, and what your concentration is. Lukas: I’m graduating in May and I’m on the fiction track. Deanna: I’m also graduating in May, and I’m also on the fiction track. Francine: I’m graduating in May and I’m on the poetry track. E: How would you describe your writing styles? D: I guess a lot of run-on sentences. That’s kinda my thing. I get torn up through my critics for those. It’s how I know how to do things. L: Yeah, mine is very prose-heavy usually. I’m a sucker for a good metaphor so I try to include as many cool ones as I can and sometimes I go overboard but definitely a lot of figurative language and description. F: I don’t know, I’m pretty erratic. I guess, poetry- I feel like my poems are either very focused or kinda the foundations are either in language or imagery so it can flip-flop between those two.

B: What kind of themes or subject matter do you deal with the most? Or if you’re all over the map, then what’s your favorite thing you’ve done recently? L: I like that “all over the map” description because I always… I’m going to copy what I said in my cover essay and I think that a lot of what I end up writing starts from a “what if?” question. So, uh, what if an entire family decided to kill themselves? What if you woke up and everyone in your town disappeared. I definitely like looking into a random event that might not necessarily happen in normal life and then seeing what would come out of that. Oh, and, recently, within the past year or so, I’ve been very into flash fiction and trying to write a condensed story in a couple pages.

L: I’m still trying to figure out my process. It has been hard sometimes to get myself to sit down and write something. I definitely start with a notebook page that I cover with ideas and then when I’ve procrastinated enough then it’s time to actually sit down at the computer and write it out. Ashamedly, sometimes the day before a story is due. But it all works out. E: That’s what editing is for. L: Exactly.

D: Yeah. I wrote about how a lot of times I’ll dream and whatever I dream about I’ll end up developing a story from that dream. I also, sadly enough, I find myself sometimes writing a lot of angst-y things. I don’t know, my characters just kinda tend to suffer. It’s terrible.

F: If something comes to me in a dream, I always write it by hand, cause it’s very quick and it’s right there. Other than that, initially what happens, when I’m writing poetry… I don’t know, it starts as a feeling in my body first. I don’t really know what it is or what it’s gonna be about and it’s like really heavy and I’m carrying it around for a while. Sometimes I have to do stuff to get it out. I don’t sleep a lot of times. There’s something about not sleeping and sort of like slipping- On the brink of insanity is when it comes out. Or coffee is really helpful. Cause I’m really sensitive to caffeine. It makes me really jittery and emotional. And usually it’s a combination of those things. It’s like three in the morning and I had a lot of coffee then it finally just comes out in one big thing.

F: I also write a lot from dreams. Like, sometimes, I’ll dream- I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like I dream in poems and I wake up and I can usually only remember the first line. And then I’ll write it down and then the rest comes out. But that’s definitely not for every poem, otherwise, like, writing would be way too easy. That only happens every once in a while. When I’m lucky. And other than that I write a lot about mental illness. Animals also come up a lot in my poems. I’m not really sure what that’s about. And sestinas. I’m known for that. I wrote 14 of them last year.

D: No, I get that. When I haven’t written in a while and I don’t know what to write, I get kinda antsy. And I don’t focus as much and I feel kinda weighed down and then I start daydreaming a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Even when I’m driving. Then I’m like, Hm, maybe it’s time to take a seat and get this out. I feel exhausted when I can’t write. Like, when I don’t have any ideas? It’s just a very bummy feeling. My head is kinda packed with things but there’s no release so I just have to force myself to sit down and I’ve gotta write something even if it’s nonsense. Sometimes an idea will come from that. So, like, I get that feeling.

E: That’s impressive.

B: How has your work, or not even only just your writing, but yourself and how you write… How has your writing changed throughout being at Purchase? And how do you think Purchase has, if Purchase has, influenced you?

D: I guess I write anything that really comes to mind. Also in my cover essay… E: Good fallback.

F: It was really…taxing. E: So how would you say your writing process is? Is there anything in particular you have to do to sit down and write? Or does it come to you slowly or all at once? Do you need to have a certain kind of tea or sit in a certain place? Or do you write by hand or type? D: I think when I have a really good, solid idea, I wait until my family leaves and then I act it out. And if it seems believable enough, then I write it down. I mostly type but sometimes I’ll write just to feel what it’s like to write again. It just sucks when I have to transfer it. Cause it’s not as exciting. It’s exciting when I’m typing it out, or like when I’m writing it, my hand starts to cramp up, that’s always a cool feeling, cause I’m like, Yeah, I’ve got something going here.

D: I think I’m more tolerant of the things I read and write about. It’s kind of more… I can’t say that I lived in a bubble but I guess everybody learns cause you meet so many different kinds of people in college. Like, so many more experiences. It’s, like, hey, that’s something interesting to look into, learn about. I learned to do my research more. Cause I’ve learned that I can’t just write about certain things without looking into them. It’s disrespectful to people who have been through those things. So, I put a lot more time into my work. I can’t say I don’t wing it cause I do, a lot, but as I’m winging it, I’m, like, hey, this is great that I’m writing this all down [but] now that I know that it takes more than just writing I have to look into

what I write about. I learned to be cool. L: It feels too easy to fall back on “Think Wide Open” but that’s what comes to mind. Because I definitely, now, much more so than almost three years ago when I came here, I’m definitely more interested in different characters and more diverse stories. I think I was more limited in what I wrote before I came here. And now, there’s so many options, it feels. F: I think I spent a lot of time sort of fighting- Like, I feel like when I first got here, or even when I’m still here, there’s this stereotype of the slam poet or spoken word poet and so I spent a lot of time fighting against that. And at the same time embracing it, like if I’m writing a poem and I’m like, oh, this is leaning more towards spoken word. I just let it go where it wants to go. But at the same time, yeah, I agree that writing not only like different types of things but I’ve gotten really into playwriting while I’ve been in here and if people had asked me if that was something I’d see myself doing like four years ago—absolutely not. But I really love- I just declared a minor, actually.

L: Yeah, you just reminded me, talking about poetry, because… I hardly ever write poetry and even just last semester I took a U.S. Poetry class, and I just thought, I don’t get poetry, I’m never going to understand poetry. And then being around people here who write poetry, like the people in Lit Society, and going to the poetry readings, has influenced me, so I have written a couple poems since then. E: I was gonna talk about that. You’re on the fiction track and you’ve had two fiction pieces published by SubMag in the past year but now we’re publishing a poem. What do you enjoy about different forms? You mentioned that you were all over the map. What do you enjoy about having a sort of eclectic writing style? L: I think it feels- Maybe it’s because I’m still pretty young? And maybe after you have a long career of writing is when people put you in certain boxes of what your writing is. Right now I’m at the point where I can still figure out what my writing style is. And so trying all these different things has been very refreshing because it’s just exciting to start something new and having it be entirely different than what you wrote last. There was something else I was gonna say…. Hold on, I had it…. No, I lost it. B: It’s fine. E: If you think about it, we can come back to you. L: Yeah. Okay. E: So, Francine! You mentioned fighting against the stereotype of the slam poet. Now, I’ve seen you perform and I think

you’re fantastic. F: Thank you. E: But I’ve also read your written poetry and I think it’s fantastic as well. How do you fight against that stereotype of the slam poet? And how do you maintain the balance between the performer and the writer? F: I think that’s initially why I started writing sestinas to be honest. Whatever I’m doing, whether it’s playwriting or spoken word or slams, you know, which are competitions, it’s really important to me that I feel challenged. And part of the reason why I even initially started doing spoken word and competitions and things like that- Most of the things that I’ve done are outside of school so it’s like if I don’t feel challenged by my courses, I’ll go and do other things on my own time or I’ll go take a playwriting class, try other things. But yeah I think there’s definitely a stereotype out there that if you’re somehow spoken word or identify as a spoken word artist or anything like that or even if you’ve done a poetry slam once in your life- It’s somehow like a lesser form of writing. And yeah, like I said, I just started doing- When I was a teenager is when I really started doing spoken word and if you had asked me like even a year before I started doing it if I’d see myself doing it—absolutely not. I was really shy and the idea of getting up in front of people… So I initially started doing it because I was

Opposite: Lukas Jennings Next Page: Francine Hendrickson, Deanna Brown

All photographs by Beth Rudig

terrified of doing it… And, so my junior year [of college], I was in professor V’s class, he was teaching a poetry class. Was it the tone of poetry? What was it called- the Importance of Tone in Poetry. So, we had to either pick, like, a theme that semester or a form and I don’t really like, I didn’t like the idea of being stuck to one theme and I feel like that could get boring after the whole entire semester. And he was, like, “You can pick and form that you want except the sestina.” And then everyone kind of laughed because that would be insane. And then I came in next week with a sestina. And then I came in the next week with a sestina. And he’s my advisor for my senior project and he’s been very helpful and helping me revise them and all that stuff but it’s, like, the idea that I can’t do something I think really propels me to do it. B: Yeah, definitely. F: Cause I wanna be challenging myself and trying all different types of writing. So to me, I don’t- Like you were saying [gestures toward Lukas], I don’t like being put in any one box and I definitely wanna do everything. Playwriting, possibly screenwriting, writing poetry, writing fiction. Everything. E: That’s very cool. L: Yeah, I…kinda remember what I was going to say? E: Go for it.

L: That I think that it’s a good test for a writer to try out different things, not that you can’t be a great writer and just do one thing if you’re really good at it, but I think definitely I’m testing myself when I try out different forms because if you can succeed at a bunch of different things, then I think that that is really impressive for a writer to be able to do. E: Deanna, you mentioned earlier about angst in your writing, and there’s also- You have a very distinct voice and sense of humor that comes through in your writing a lot but there is that sort of darker tone to a lot of it so how do you decide when it’s time to be more lighthearted and more serious? Or does it just sort of happen? D: I think it just happens? I mentioned that I put my characters into these terrible situations and I think from the character’s perspective that you know sometimes maybe they look at the situation a bit more humorously to get through it. Also, I… Sometimes when I think of things to write and it gets to a certain point of how dark and heavy it is I’m, like, Maybe it’s time to take a tiny break and add something to bring people back cause I- It can be exhausting reading through suffering and suffering and suffering, it’s like, Alright, is there gonna be any- can I breathe for a second? I think it’s nice to give it a little of a break in between so people can breathe a little bit easier before jumping back to terrible things. Also because

sometimes the things I write about makes me nervous? Like, why am I thinking of such dark things? Let me pause. Let me think about it a bit.

E: It’s great. It’s such a great book. Magic for Beginners, right?

B: What are y’all reading right now or what have you read recently?

E: Well you’re gonna enjoy the book cause Kelly Link is great.

F: I’m taking a theater history class and I’ve been reading a lot of plays. But let’s see I’m reading a lot of Fornés. María Irene Fornés. She’s a playwright. And, what else? I’ve been reading Gene Genet? I don’t know if you guys know him. He’s a French writer. E: I’ve heard the name. F: Yeah, he writes everything. Fiction, plays, poetry. He’s really hilarious. I just think he’s a really funny dude. And I really, I like reading my peers’ poetry, honestly. People I know on campus from GRIOT which is like the poetry club. I always try to get together with people once a week and just share poems. That’s always awesome.

L: Yeah. That’s- Well, the book is Pretty Monsters. And “Magic for Beginners” is a story in it.

D: Yeah, my pleasure reading has taken a nose dive cause I’ve been focusing on reading for class and even then it’s terrible because a lot of times I never finish the books cause I like being able to pick the books that I read. Cause then I’m genuinely interested and I can focus more on them? But right now for class, Alternate Worlds, we’re reading- I think the Golden Compass is coming up so I’m reading that. I’m interested in that. But I have to do a presentation on Octavia Butler’s Bloodchild and Other Stories and I absolutely loved that book so much so I’m gonna look into more of the things that she’s written and it’s great cause she’s a black female author in science fiction. E: Really? That’s so cool!

L: I always feel like a bad person when people ask me this because frequently I am not reading anything for pleasure which I hate to admit but mostly now I’ve been reading a lot of books about editing for my Editing and Production class which has been surprisingly helpful. And I have a book of short stories by Kelly Link and they’re all very- They’re fairy tales, kind of.

D: Yeah, so, she kind of changed the world! So I’m really interested in that, in what she’s written.

E: I love her. I love it.

D: I applied to some grad schools but that was before I realizedIn our Special Topics class, our professor was speaking about how you have to really look into what the writers are into,

L: Professor Okasi lent it to me two weeks ago and I still haven’t started it but that’s gonna happen.

E: Okay, so, I have to ask, cause you’re all graduating seniors: What are your plans after graduation? L: Collective sigh… B: I have that but I wasn’t gonna say it.

what the professors are into, and I’m pretty terrified. Cause I don’t think anybody really cares about science fiction and stuff like that for grad school and it’s what I’m writing my senior project about and I’m really passionate about it and I’m worried that I’m gonna have to stick to strict literary fiction the entire time. Like, I write it. And it’s nice but I like to write lots of other genres. So, there goes that! So I don’t know how that’s gonna work out at all. L: Yeah, I used to think that I would never go to grad school for writing but now it’s being kinda drilled into us that it would be a good idea. So it’s still a possibility, but definitely not within the next year. I’m going to graduate, I’m gonna go home and hang out with my dog, and see what happens. The extra backup plan is to become a librarian. F: I definitely wanna get the hell out of New York, that’s for sure. I always imagined myself graduating from here and going and taking the New York City literary community by storm but I realized that I’ve kind of already done that with a lot of the things that I’ve done on my own time outside of school. And also that that’s not really what I’m interested in doing. I don’t know, New York, the scene there is so competitive and I wanna be somewhere where the community is very supportive and smaller. And I’m also thinking about going to grad school in Asheville in North Carolina. There’s an MA program that is in its first year now. And the head of the program, I actually worked with her back when I was in high school. She was my mentor. And she’s really really really amazing. I still repeat the same advice that she gave me like four or five years ago in my head today whenever I’m writing. So I definitely wanna try to

go there with her at some point. That’d be awesome. B: Asheville is a really cool place. F: Yeah, I lived there for four years. It’s really… I don’t know, I have a feeling it’s gonna be pretty small cause it’s just starting. But like I said I already know- Cause the key to the whole grad school thing with writing seems to be, you know, like you were saying [gestures toward Deanna] making sure that the professor is gonna be teaching things that you’re interested in or that they’re teaching a style and the community there is something you can vibe with so the fact that I already know her and have worked with her before… E: It’s all about making connections. F: Yeah. And I’ve been hearing from my professors and my family like, Oh, don’t put all your eggs in one basket, type of thing but I already kinda worked with her. So if that’s it then that’s it. B: You wanna say anything else? If anyone wants toE: Yeah, any final thoughts or comments? D: I guess a goal of mine writing-wise is to be less lazy. L: I can stand by that also. D: I get into these slumps and then that’s when I get into those whole antsy things that I spoke about earlier but I don’t wanna be lazy anymore, I don’t wanna procrastinate anymore. L: I’ve been, earlier this semester and still somewhat now, I’ve also been in kind of a slump. But there’ve been a lot of things happening that have been like a boost of encouragement. D: Senioritis? L: Yeah. Including this. So I was very happy to be chosen for this. Because I feel like even though it’s a lot of work, it’s still… Things regarding writing are looking up. That sounds so cheesy, but… F: I just wanna keep people on their toes. Like, that’s all I really want. And going back to the question you asked me earlier about how I fight against the stereotype of the slam poet or whatever. I think if anyone is struggling to either- against being put in the box or the community within your box, like if you’re doing science fiction, is not supportive or very small- I don’t like doing what’s expected of me. And so I don’t know, to not be like that- Oh, this is just a stereotypical piece of science fiction or this is just your average slam poem. I just wanna keep people on their toes.

S|M

considered to be a highly dangerous individual. The police urge you to be on the lookout. If you see anyone loitering around buildings, carrying any sort of flammable materials, please contact emergency services.” FOREVER AND MORE DEANNA BROWN

It was freezing, and she absolutely hated the cold. Jayd adjusted her cerulean blue scarf around her neck, making sure to tug any stray strands of her unruly curly hair that got caught. Blinking her eyes in an attempt to clear them, she stared expectantly ahead, adjusting her expression from one of annoyance to professionality. A man in front of her raised his hand, fingers splayed and going down, four, three, two, one. The camera was rolling. “We’re here at Milton’s Family Factory, where the charred remains of a once brilliant workshop are still smoking around us. At about three forty five today, fumes began to billow out of the windows. The factory was thankfully empty for the holidays, but the fresh shipment of goods had just been delivered this morning is no more. And here is where it gets interesting.”

Jayd motioned for the camera to follow her, walking a few feet away to point at the ground. “A message was left by none other than the one who calls themself Pyromantic. We sent our news chopper to survey the scene from overhead, and managed to capture the message as it still burned earlier today. Here it is.” Jayd stayed silent for a moment as they showed the image on screen for the viewers. Your delicate fingers Across my skin Gives a ceaseless heat From deep within I long to burn Within your hold Forever and more -Pyromantic Jayd watched the countdown again before the image was removed, and she continued her report. “This marks the twelfth fire this year, the first of which started early January. Each fire has resulted in a ruined building, and a message of a romantic nature has always been left behind. Miraculously enough, in all of these fires, no one has been harmed, but the property damage has easily reached the millions. The police, amazingly, still have no leads. Pyromantic is

Jayd walked back to the yellow tape surrounding the burnt building, staring directly into the camera. “As this year draws to a close, we can’t help but wonder if Pyromantic will ever be caught, and in the time it takes, how much more damage he will bring. This is Jayd Bristal, channel twelve, Everyday News.” She stayed posed in the camera for about five seconds before she got the go ahead from the cameraman. Sighing tiredly, she handed someone her mic before checking her phone. No new texts. She frowned. “Hey J-Jayd.” Of course. Devon. “Hey Devon,” she replied, trying to look more interested in her phone than the conversation, but as usual, he pressed on. “You did great tonight. Well…you always do great, you know. And…um, yea, it’s crazy, these fires right? It makes me, um, wonder who the messages are for…really intriguing. And romantic. You know…um…I mean, it’s still bad…the property damage and all, but like…” He trailed off when Jayd looked up to stare at him, and he at her. No one said anything for a while. “N-not like I’m the, erm, pyro, because like, crazy, but like…I don’t know it’s just…ah…you wanna uh, would you like to, um, perhaps get dinner?” Jayd shook her head slowly, watching Devon closely. “No, Devon,” she said softly, and the man bit his lip. “Oh, well, okay. Um, did you drive here? If not, I could, uh, give you a ride?” he continued, the statement coming off as more of a suggestion, and Jayd shook her head again. “I did drive. Thanks for the offer.” She continued to stare. “Oh, well uh. Okay then. I guess I’ll, you know, head on out. Drive safe.” She nodded, watching him awkwardly shuffle away, before saying her goodbyes to the crew. They gave her thumbs up and pats on the back, and she smiled, because while it was always

nice to know she’d done a good job, it was cold and she was tired, and home was calling. Walking quickly so no one else could stop her for a chat, Jayd made her way to her car, getting in and cursing at the feel of the near frozen steering wheel. She put the keys into the ignition, starting up the car and waiting for it to heat up. Looking out of her window, she caught Devon’s gaze, watching her from across the street. Frowning, she put the car in drive and left, feeling his eyes linger as she turned onto another street. ~ To her annoyance, the elevator wasn’t working, so Jayd sighed as she trudged up eight flights of stairs before making it to her apartment. She held her bags with one hand, using the other to fumble with her keys. Finally getting the door open, she was hit with a cloud of smoke. She stopped for a second before pushing the door further open, taking a whiff. “Hey babe,” she called. “Jayd?” “Who else?” Jayd placed her bags on the table, before pulling off her coat and kicking off her shoes. Two arms snaked their way around her waist and she sighed contentedly, leaning into the embrace from behind. “Missed you,” he sighed into her hair, and she smiled. “Not enough to text me once, Kile?” He laughed softly, hugging her a bit tighter before letting go to look at the bags. “What’s that?” he asked, reaching into them. “Chinese,” she answered, going into the kitchen to grab two glasses. “Ginger ale okay to drink?” she called out, and he said yes, already tucking into his food. She came back out with the glasses, sitting opposite him at the table. They ate in a comfortable silence, Jayd’s gaze drifting to the still smoking cigarette stub in the ashtray.

~ They kissed lazily on the bed, still breathing a bit heavily before Jayd’s eyes caught the time. “I’m gonna be on soon. Want to watch?” she asked quietly, and he grunted, “No.” in response, separating from the kiss to reach over and grab another cigarette. He sat up and placed it in his mouth, before flicking on the lighter. Both of their eyes were drawn to the flame. “Devon asked me out again today,” Jayd muttered from where she lay, her curls frizzed and wild around her. Kile said nothing, instead running his hand quickly through the tiny fire of the lighter, back and forth, back and forth. Jayd smiled at him. “You’re jealous,” she stated, rather than asked. “Am not,” he whispered, the cigarette almost falling from his mouth. He took it and placed it on the sheets next to his crossed legs. “Then what?” she asked, adjusting her position to sit crosslegged across from him. He glanced at the movement of her breasts before looking back at the flame. “I’m nervous.” “Nervous,” she repeated, reaching over to trace the multiple tattoos decorating his pale skin. Blue eyes followed her movements. “Did you like my message?” he asked, after a moment of silence. “I always like your messages.” Jayd answered, without hesitation. Kile reached his hand out, placing it on her bare thigh, his thumb rubbing softly against her light brown skin. “This one was special,” he continued, other hand flicking the lighter, on and off, on and off. “I know,” she mumbled, hazel eyes meeting his. “When I said forever and more, I meant it,” Kile whispered.

The crinkling of ice in Kile’s glass brought her attention back to him, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he finished off the last of his drink. Her eyes rose to see him watching her as well. He slowly placed his glass down, smirking at her. She licked her lips, and his eyes drifted to them.

Jayd smiled. “I know, baby. I know.”

Their meal was forgotten from that moment onward.

He finally lit the cigarette, and the two shared it, blowing smoke at one another.

They stared at each other for a while, neither moving nor looking away. He eventually nodded, and she placed a chaste kiss on his neck.

LITTLE LIFE, LITTLE DEATH NICHOLAS FARRELL

take me back to the layer cake sky found at the bench at the end of the world settled blood had brought us there from The Great Death I tried to recreate the peace to lose a piece when blight blissed me behind blister blue light it kissed me and I thought “this must be it” endlessly, not infinite there were magical hills by concrete reef there was a rock I could call my home there was a home I could call my rock but cuts began to appear, images too sharp now I walk to find a place with not a single bad memory and end up in places I can’t return to pumping blood has brought me here from all your little deaths that you lived yourself little to die a death to breathe a breath that becomes dead to me waiting to be lead where tragedy seems to lead has my eyesight just been burnt to light to find a darker dawn? not to be confused, or to be confused every line as much about love as it is about hate every note as hopeless as it is hopeful write your words, too personal to relate during the moments you can’t recreate or would ever want to and ask “what did I trace on the wall when I was not awake?”

SUBMIT EDITOR-IN-CHIEF BETH RUDIG ART DIRECTOR KRYSTALINA TOM SENIOR EDITORS ESTEPHANY PAYANO, LUCAS TROMBLEE COPY EDITORS AMBER FRASER, PATRICK MITCHELL LAYOUT EDITOR JESSICA DEANGELIS PUBLIC RELATIONS LINDSEY SIEBER PR INTERN ELAIZA SANTOS COPY INTERNS LOISA FENICHELL, KATHLEEN MCMANUS LAYOUT INTERNS ALEXA DRAGONETTI, LUCIA URBANIC FACULTY SPONSOR STEVE LAMBERT

PFBYM SAF