#3 Sound: The Subway Ride

SPRING 2016 ISSUE #3: SOUND

THE SUBWAY RIDE

The Subway Ride is an all-inclusive publication that recognizes the humanity of the artistic and literary process, prioritizes celebration over criticism, and provides a common space in which individuals with different backgrounds and identities can contribute to a welcoming artistic space.

When we ride the subway, it’s hard not to notice the other people around us. We form an unknowing community, comprised of individuals who might never have met outside of the subway car. Everybody has a different reason for being on it, and different directions when they leave. But on board, we stand, sit, and lean against each other, sharing the same space and air in a brief moment of unity. This magazine is an attempt to recreate that community through print, giving all individuals, regardless of prior experience with publishing or art, an equal opportunity to get on the subway with us.

This edition of The Subway Ride, with the theme “Sound,” is comprised of works by Wesleyan students and staffs, residents of Middletown and other parts of Connecticut, professional artists, and more. The age of our contributors ranges from 6 to 102 years old. We encountered our contributors in various places on and off campus, including Wesleyan Center for Prison Education, Veterans’ Writing Workshop at Russell Library, One MacDonough Place, Vinnie’s Jump and Jive dance studio, and Green Street Teaching and Learning Center. In addition to textual and visual contributions that we have traditionally showcased, in this issue, we also feature audio and film contributions on our website to accompany this magazine. Please find the link to our website on the last page of this issue.

Lastly, as a team, we would like to thank all of our contributors for having the courage to share their intensely personal works with us. We, and our community, are better because of it.

Please enjoy.

The Subway Ride Editorial Team

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Table of Contents

“SOUND”

(Crescendo)

1

Interview with Kota Yamazaki

Drawing by Vanessa Kent

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The Things I hear by Jason Torello

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Echoes by Clyde Meikle

American Goldfinch by Yvonne Kenny

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The Look by Jason “Iyan” Casiano

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by Phoebe Chen and Shoko Yamada

Quoth the Raven and Mother’s Love by Gerry Begin

Sounds like Justice by James Davis

The Loud Colors of Autumn by Felicia Roth

Drawing by Chong Gu

High Definition by Shirley Fang

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On the March by Arthur Wiknik, Jr.

Sound by Al

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SOUND!!! by Sheldon Higgins

Playlists by Belen Rodriguez and Eloise Tencher

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exploitation in process by Samuel Medrano

Green Street drawings

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SOUNDS by Jerry Augustine

Sounds by Gene Sullivan

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I am amazed by Shawn Gallagher

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Playlist by Ann-Dorie Webley

Drawing by Christianne Padilla

Painting by Betty Watts

Fleeing the dust storm by Joshua Hinman

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Sound by Aaron Roome

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Bake It Easy: Episode 2

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Watercolors by Hanh Pham

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High Journal #1 and Amy Amy Amy

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Arrival by James G. Masso

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by Nick Yeager

An Evening with Music by Bulelani Jili

Distorted Sounds by Andre “Dre” Pierce

Sounds by Vance

The Mixed Tape of Life by Jason Torello

Playlist by Joel Serrano

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Painting by Phyllis Rau

Digital Painting by Justina Yam

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Playlists by Amanda Li and Hoi Chung Liu

Sounds of the Flight Line by Harvey Goldstein

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The End Colin McKernon

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The New Myth of Selene by Samuel Stern

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(Descendo)

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Jeter

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Links to blog and friends’ websites

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Photograph by Phoebe Chen HIMNODE LOS DURMIENTES

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by Liminar, Omar Fraire, and Rolando López

Shoutouts

Drawing by NICE

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Response to drawing by NICE

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Photographs by Julian Johnson

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Photographs by Adeline Hafemeister

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Editing Team

Cover and Back: Responses to “What is your favorite sound?” by random passerbys, digitally altered by Justina Yam

< crescendo

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Vanessa Kent

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The Things I Hear Jason Torello

Can you see the music of sound?

It’s like flowing waves, the score of life draping hours upon the days.

Look amidst the light- the dancing dust arranges dots, shimmering notes on the maestro’s page.

Sometimes I can smell the sound of sunny-side up and crackling bacon.

Then the horizon crows and my hungry heart becomes that of dreams, reluctant to waken.

I’ve tasted the sound in early wine.

Its sparkling mist pops the inner eye’s spine.

Just like Dionysus dancing towards death in a long-stem tulip, I too choked on the acidic wrath of summer and her grapes divine.

On her lips I still touch the sound of thundering wild horses clashing their hooves together and vowing within tones of whispering voices.

Red in the meadow’s ecstasy the mare and her stallion’s words are a holy trinity….

I love you.

I love you!

I love sight.

I love sound.

I love taste, I love touch!

I love sound!

I, love, life. ...

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American Goldfinch, Yvonne Kenny

Motherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Love, Gerry Begin

Quoth the Raven, Gerry Begin

The Loud Colors of Autumn, Felicia Roth

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High Definition 5

Shirley Fang 4’ by 4.25’, Mixed Media (Watercolors, Acrylic, Charcoal)

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Sound: A World Full of Sound Al

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Vaporwave Playlist 1.

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Belen Rodriguez

fortune500 -- vhs logos Yotsuya-san -- SAINT PEPSI Surfing -- Your Touch 18 Carat Affair -- Desire crystalmist -- MACINTOSH PLUS | リサフランク420 / 現代 のコンピュー

Radio Show, #221

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soolgorae -- Ammonia Clouds bastardjazz -- My Soul Eats Twice luxury elite x tendencies -- glowing ghostly -- Klymaxx Lazerhawk -- So Far Away

Eloise Tencher

new ones as well and makes them her own, with her unique voice.

8.: VAYA CON DIOS, is a 80s band from Belgium, who sing in many languages.

This song in particular, I heard for the first time, at a little hole in the wall cafe in Venice, Italy. I loved it right away and I went to the owner and asked for the name. Once back in the US, I found it in iTunes and bought it. It’s a fast and fun song and always gets me going. Their music is great.

1. Tu t’en vas (Remastered) // Alain Barrière 9: Another French singer, MIREILLE MATHIEU, interprets this old song which 2.

Emporte-moi // Alain Barrière Linda Ronstadt made famous way back in the late 60s. I love the way it sounds 3.

Quatre saisons pour un amour // Noëlle Cordier in French, so I always play this version of it. It’s such a beautiful sound. It’s again 4.

L’amour est bleu // Michèle Torr a very nostalgic sound for me.

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Everything I Love // Souad Massi 6.

Ma solitude (ft Georges Moustaki) // Pink Martini 10: ZUCCHERO, my absolute favorite Italian singer. I love his raspy voice and when he sings with other famous people, like here, CHEB MAMI, from Algeria, 7. Toute la nuit // Nana Mouskouri 8.

Nah Neh Nah // Vaya Con Dios his songs take on another dimension, and they all sound great. This music gets 9. À Blue Bayou // Mirelle Mathieu me going and puts me in a great mood for sure.

10. Cosi Celeste // Zucchero & Cheb Mami 11: CYNDI LAUPER, well, she’s absolutely fabulous and super talented. This 11. All Through The Night // Cyndi Lauper song I originally heard in French, sung by NANA MOUSKOURI, and fell in love 12. Because Of You // Kelly Clarkson with it. I like how Cyndi sings it and so it’s become one of my favorites. A feel 13. House Of The Rising Sun // The Animals good song and easy to sing along.

14. Ripple // Grateful Dead 12: KELLY CLARKSON, American Country Music singer with a beautiful voice.

15. AS TEARS GO BY // Rolling Stones This song gets me going as well.

16. I Can See Clearly Now // Jimmy Cliff 13: THE ANIMALS, who didn’t love this song? An absolute and endless favor17. Teach Your Children // Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young ite. This music brings me back to my “hippie” days. LOVE IT!!!

18. Boots Of Spanish Leather // Joan Baez 14: GRATEFUL DEAD!!!!! Who didn’t like the DEAD in those days? I went 19. Miles To Go // Alison Krauss & Union Station 20. Coimbra // Amàlia Rodriguez to about 12 concerts, including the 1972 in Frankfurt, Germany, during their 21. Pais Tropical // Sergio Mendes & Brasil ‘66 European Tour. Best concert I’ve ever been to. They played for about 5 hours 22. Lo Siento Mi Vida // Peter, Sue, & Marc with only one, 15 minute break (or so it seemed t us, if you catch my drift!!!!)

15: ROLLING STONES, this is my all-time favorite Stones’ song. Beautiful 1-4: Are beautiful French songs, which I’ve loved my melody, a happy feeling song. entire life. My first schooling was at an all French school, 16: JIMMY CLIFF, great musician, love his music. This is my favorite song bein Chile, (where I lived from ages 2 to 15). My family cause it makes me feel good and makes me want to be dancing in the Islands. listened to this music all the time and now I play it in 17: CROSBY STILLS, NASH & YOUNG, great 60s band. Everything they did my radio show at WESU and at my restaurants, BREW was good. It was a great era of amazing music. This is my personal favorite BAKERS and BREW BAKERS CAFE, and I have pretty song. Very beautiful. much exposed so many people to all this beautiful music 18: JOAN BAEZ, what can I say, her amazingly beautiful voice can make any I play. They love it. song sound incredible. Never saw her in concert but always listened to her 5: This song by Algerian singer Souad Massi, is not only music. Her little sister, Mimi Farina, was a lovely singer as well, but cancer got beautiful, but her voice is very soothing to me. I don’t the best of her and unfortunately is not with us anymore. When I play Joan’s know what she’s saying here, but, the lyrics must be music in my radio show, the phone rings and rings and people go crazy. beautiful as well. She sings in many languages.

19: ALISON KRAUSS, great American singer. Just really love her songs.

6: I love all music by Oregon band, PINK MARTINI. They 20: AMALIA RODRIGUEZ, Portuguese singer with a very captivating voice. take these old songs, from when I grew up to now and 21: SERGIO MENDES & BRASIL ‘66, one of the best groups out of Brazil from do their own interpretations, and again, very beautiful, the 60s. This song is my favorite, I love rhythm. I was still living in Chile during soothing music. When I play this music, people love it. this time that they came on the music scene and they were huge.

7: Here again we have French music, which is very 22: PETER, SUE & MARC, a Swiss folk group, very much like our Peter, Paul & soothing and nostalgic to me. NANA MOUSKOURI, is Mary. I particularly love this song. It’s a sad song about lovers and sometimes a Greek singer who sings in many languages and always love is sad. Here it is exactly that, but a beautiful song nevertheless, with beausounds great. Like Pink Martini, she takes old songs, and tiful voices. I love this group.

For the most part, all this music takes me back to a very happy era in my life, the late 60s and early 70s. I kind of never really left that era and keep it alive through my music.

Below, the numbers represent the particular song and why I like it, etc. etc.

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What Is Your Favorite Sound?

Students of Green Street Teaching and Learning Center

Drawings by the Tuesday musical mentoring class when asked, “What is your favorite sound?”

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8

Sounds

BY MESHES

Gene Sullivan

automatic flush

Some number of years ago there was a movie about the Newport Jazz Festival, starring Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Grace Kelly, Louie Armstrong and a host of others whose names elude me right now. The love story entwined in this sugary tale is all about Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly. And of course, when they are not singing songs of love and endearment, they are off on his sailboat, appropriately christened, “True Love”. As their craft leisurely glides across the screen (sans wind), there is not a sound from the wind, or the sails fluttering, or the halyards banging against the standing rigging, or the waves splashing against the gunwales of the boat……only the sound of Bing crooning his love for Grace.

The fact of the matter is when one is onboard a sailboat, irrespective of whether one is at the dock, or mounting an ocean grown wave in the mid-Atlantic there is always sound, whether wind induced, or whistling through the metal stays, or water slapping the sides, or the cranking of lines through winches to adjust the sails to accommodate the force and direction of the powers that make your boat go forward.

In the course of a leisure day sail the sounds you may hear are certainly more tame than when you are on board an international class racing yacht pinching every bit of wind out of the sky to outdistance a competitor hell bent on beating you to the finish line for the America’s Cup or the Newport to Bermuda Race.

I will omit the sounds one might hear from the crew members as they “coffee grind” the winches to adjust the boat’s running rigging, and the winch handle slips, or when a crew member loses his footing on the slippery deck.

Halyards are the lines used to raise the sails up the mast of a boat. There could be several, as one is perhaps needed to hoist the mainsail, the jib, the spinnaker and any number of signal flags or pennants. These lines are loosely fed through a pulley arrangement at the mast top, and therefore, unless held tautly tend to bang against the mast with the slightest movement of the boat itself. And if the mast is a wooden one the resulting sound is a slap-like, leather on wood sound. Whereas if the mast is aluminum, the resulting sound is that of a high pitched bell ringing------or perhaps a campanile full of bells.

But even in the quietude of a secluded marina I have known people who have chosen to trade-in their perfectly good new fiber glass boat for an old style wooden one precisely because they were distracted by the different sound the water made against the hull while they slept.

The daiya dreams leading towards the cauldron of burntness Umbr’ing in sponges around the rim, I ask’der fera ladel The cane slanted with every whisper My toes tickled the knots of my grabb-ed gown Warm soil in a way knownst I’ve never foiled spoilage It invites me alida down a patha Ca-da- ver cava-vaca Skipping scircle of ca-da- ver Ancient ears the slits still listen The past still a piston Rasta stilts stagger raga quelches Q’weens me off my feet Prince with satin gloves keepez discreet I sift around for stubble She snatches her last ruble The duvet trembles The ottoman mechanic pepper spray of endearment Near-ment closingin-ening on clothes hankers Krinanig grinning nn enzon The pensisular village of sanity Sanitation cruiser somewhere half-sunk Marooned to his burgundy is where I strap myself Phoy-well, phoy-well my bokchoy

Betty Watts 9

OLD SCHOOL REGGAE JAMMZ Ann-Dorie Webley

This is inspired by my parents. It’s reminiscent of my childhood and the music that I heard every day, a Jamaican expression of various forms of love. For relaxation, for Slow dancing, for cultural immersion, let this music take you on a trip into Caribbean paradise.

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Make You Sweat -- Inner Circle Jamming -- Bob Marley Give it to Her -- Tanto Metro and Devonte Murder She Wrote -- Chakka Demus and Pliers Everyone Fals I Love Sometimes -- Tanto Metro and Devonte No Letting Go -- Wayne Wonder Tempted to Touch -- Rupee Turn Me On -- KevinLyttle Action -- Nadine Sutherland Twice my Age -- Shabba Ranks ft Crystal Telephone Love -- Shabba Ranks Mr. Loverman -- Shabba Ranks Close to you -- Maxi Priest Mr. Boombastic -- Shaggy Angel -- Shaggy ft Rayvon Is This Love -- Bob Marley Tempted to Touch -- Berres Hammond and Cutty Ranks Shy Guy -- Diana King Say a little Prayer -- Diana King Champion -- Buju Banton

Youtube: Search for Old School Reggae Jammz

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Sound Aaron Roome Sounds but no fury ...

The lows between the highs were becoming interminable ... Or not. It’s a forty-five year old memory, so who knows. Truth becomes approximate this long after the expiration date. I do remember that there were times when there was just nothing going on. No missions, no drills, no emergencies of any kind, no refueling or replenishments, no mail. They didn’t make us paint or clean or inspect us or search us for drugs or ... anything. We just stood by and waited. War is monotonous.

Vietnam is over there. In between the sea is glass with slight imperfections. The wind is nonexistent. From this distance the shore is a strip of dark green hills. The rest of our existence is the usual blue sky dominated by the ever-present sun that seems to be at high noon about six hours a day. We are not making more than a knot of headway in long slow ovals. Other ships here and there around us do not move at all. Every once in a while one of the ships will sling a round at the shore. No result can ever be seen from these although we always look. A puff of smoke from the barrel followed a second or two later by a low-pitched muffled bang. That’s all. Five-inch shells go miles inland. The quiet and heat are deadening. Even the funniest and most talkative among us are terminally depressed.

George Patton said, “This naval warfare is quite comfortable.” ... He’s aboard a ship briefly while it fires a few shots at an enemy ship. What the hell does he know? Army puke ... Though, to look at us now, maybe he was right. Lounging disorganized all over the fantail. I was barely staying awake. We were always tired.

The daylight hours were often quiet or quieter anyway while the nights tended to come alive with pyrotechnics. War is entertaining. In between missions we sat on the gun mounts or sprawled around the deck watching apocalyptic explosions one after another. Quang Tri? Hue? Somewhere in there. Fireworks. Enormous blossoming flames that must have been secondary explosions of fuel. Lit up the night and put a weird glow on our faces. But no sound reached us. A silent war. During the day you would never know one of the key battles of the entire war was playing out. It would eventually be known as the Easter Offensive and the South would win it or pieces of it but like all the other battles our side won, victory would be frittered away into debacle. The summer of 1972 was the last time the United States would approach the war with anything like resolve. By October Kissinger would inform us, “We believe peace is at hand,” fooling no one, of course. For now though we are still in it, ironically in our last gasp acting as though we actually intended to win: bombing as never before, mining Haiphong harbor, summoning ships all the way from the east coast, blockading and shelling all the way to China. Lots of ships were there shooting around the clock ... and making good targets. That summer some fifteen Navy ships were struck by fire from shore, the Warrington hit a mine, and just before we got there the Higbee had a gun mount blown to smithereens by a MIG. The cruiser Newport News exploded one of its gun mounts killing nineteen sailors. War was uncomfortable for them, George. My ship, the Glennon, was shot at from time to time but in the lower magazine two decks under the gun mount I never knew anything about it. I

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had no concept of the larger world. On this day the extent of my thinking is, “Maybe I should get a haircut.”

I am still on watch and it is not allowed to just up and leave but I figured I could get a haircut and be back before anyone noticed I was gone. What the hell. I take off. I am amidships in the barber chair and my haircut is well underway when I hear the after gun mount fire. A single shot. I jump out of the chair and race aft down the starboard side hoping it won’t fire while I am in the open. I see the barrel poking out ahead of me with just a bit of smoke coming out. I picked the wrong side of the ship to run down ... War makes you do stupid things. Please don’t fire! I am almost to my hatch and maybe twenty feet from the mouth of the gun barrels ... It fires. Of course it fires. Holy shit that is loud.

Pain. The concussion slams me. I am positive my left eardrum has needles in it. Guns firing in the movies? Not even close. Live fire in the open is LOUD loud. Ever had lightning strike near you? I had a strike across the road from me once ... hit a fence post. That close you get the thunder and crack of a billion volts of electricity, and a blinding flash of light all at once but only a split second in duration.

It scared the bejesus out of me. It was like that. I was inside before they fired again but damn, I bet I wrecked my ear drum ... I jump down the hatch thinking I definitely wreaked my eardrum. I can’t hear on that side except for a musical tone, b flat major maybe.

Boats sees me and yells, “Where the fuck were you?” The boys are already busy moving shells and powder cans around. The guns are firing in earnest. My ears are still ringing. I could tell he was pissed but relieved to see me too. It would reflect poorly if the gun mount ran out of ammo. I dropped down one more deck to the magazine. Peach is there by himself and I resume my lowly role as powder monkey — and get out of Boat’s sight. The shooting continues, the pace accelerating to as fast as the crew can move the shells. Being a World War II ship means everything is manual. Peach and I will not speak much unless one of us makes a joke, above us there’s the occasional yell, the omnipresent cussing, even laughter now and then, a little cordite in the air, the clattering of expended powder cans on the main deck, and the rhythmic banging away of the guns. War is noisy. We will do this until we stop, maybe twenty rounds, maybe a hundred and twenty rounds. War is good exercise.

Of course, however long the mission was, Boats was waiting for me when I climbed up out of the magazine. I told him I was getting a haircut, words that I figure will always soothe the savage breast of a lifer. “Well,” he says, looking me over, lucky me I can hear again, “Get back there and tell him to finish it.”

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Hanh Pham

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Arrival James G Masso

As I stepped out onto the airliner staircase, the heat blasted me in the face. Inside the commercial jet, the atmosphere was controlled, comfortable, under the circumstances. The bird had just delivered me and a hundred other passengers to Vietnam. I started sweating profusely. I hadn’t expected the oppressive temperature. What did I expect? I expected to hear bombs exploding, rockets swooshing by overhead, machine guns vomiting a continuous stream of bullets, an M16 popping off single rounds, all aimed at the enemy just like the Sergeant told us back in basic training.

I didn’t hear any of that stuff. That was a relief. I half thought we’d be clunking across the tarmac in our combat boots trying to avoid the bullets buzzing by us. Instead, we walked calmly from the jet to a Quonset hut to await our duffel bags and further instructions. I heard some laughter off to my left. Two soldiers in sun-faded fatigues and muddy boots were smoking and joking. They looked the opposite of this group of newbies, still all spit and polished.

I did see and hear a helicopter flying nearby. The single prop swooshing through the sky as it passed out of sight.

A jeep went by and groaned as the driver tried to change gears, accelerated then quietly moved away. Unknown voices shouted commands to unseen underlings. Boots stomped and kicked up dirt as soldiers, without weapons, scampered on the baked dirt ground to my right from one duty to another.

The sounds reminded me of what I was missing at home. Heels pinged on the sidewalks side by side with the flat sound of loafers as pedestrians scurried from place to place. Were they hurrying to work, lunch or shopping? I guessed a combination of all three. Teenagers giggled as they huddled together on a street corner. A single engine plane, high overhead, purred as it approached the airstrip about two miles out of town. Cars up and down Main Street, changed gears smoothly – most probably with automatic transmissions – occasionally a gear grind. One car shifted gears and accelerated, the muffler imitating a stream of flatulence as the vehicle moved up the street to the next red light.

At first impression, these sounds of war weren’t what I expected. They did heighten my sense of some similarities with what I left back home.

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An Evening with Music Bulelani Jili (Jilz) I sit kneeling by a radio.

Hearing and tasting the chords of music, I feel how the melodies whirl in my inner ear.

My breath is still and patient, waiting to improve upon the silence.

Music always rains on days when nothing seems to grow

Sounds Vance

On this moonless night during my tour in Vietnam the silence outside my hooch is almost deafening; gently punctuated only by heavily muted murmurs from the neighboring hooches. There are no “night sounds” such as insects or other nocturnal animals in a combat zone. The only illumination comes from the dim lights in the showers and latrines two hundred feet away. Our hooches are open framework wrapped with insect screen, roofed with corrugated steel and surrounded by three foot high sandbags. Outside was better than the stifling confines of the poorly ventilated hooch. I have tomorrow off so I have plopped myself into my trusty aluminum beach chair and begun a cassette tape which I hope to get off tomorrow. The artillery unit across the airstrip begins a fire mission. “Daddy, you recall that friendly artillery fire in Belgium and Germany, don’t you?”

(He was a WW II veteran). Any combat veteran will tell you that gunfire and exploding shells cannot be accurately captured on tape. To this day I do not know whether it was the sound of the blast, the concussion, the smell, the taste or the flash which first registered on my brain when the enemy mortar round landed 30-40 feet away from me. I was flat out on the ground, dazed; not even aware of whether I had been unconscious or wounded. I am definitely not going to stand up and expose myself to any potential follow-up rounds. All in one piece and uninjured I am finally convinced it was a one time shot so I simply continue my tape recording with “And you know the difference between friendly fire and incoming, don’t you?”

My next letter from home was to the point. I burned that tape! Don’t ever do that again! You frightened your mother nearly to death!”

No more combat stories were ever sent.

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Mi lista de música - My playlist 1. Romeo Santos -- mi santa Esta canción se trata de aver encontrado tu media mitad y saber que tienes a una persona muy especial a tu lado y hacer lo posible por hacerla feliz.

This song is about having found your other half and understanding how special that person is and everything he or she means to you.

2. Aventura -- hermanita Muchos hemos sido presentes al abuso de una relación de un familiar y aunque queramos ayudar no podemos porque la persona vuelve y perdona al agresor.

This song is about domestic violence, having your sister or loved one in a bad relationship and wanting to help but you can’t because she keeps taking him back.

3. Sam Smith -- lay by your side Esta canción es muy personal para mi porque expresa todo lo que siento y todo lo que le quierera decir a mi bebe de 6 añitos.

This song is very personal to me because it describes exactly how I feel and would like to say to my 6-year-old son.

4. Christina Perri -- only human Me fascina esta canción porque me recuerda que todos somos humanos y cometemos errores pero tenemos que levantarnos y seguir hacia delante.

This is one of my pick-me-up songs, it tells me that nobody is perfect, we all make mistakes but pick yourself up and keep moving forward.

5. Fantasia -- when I see you Todos hemos tenido esa persona la cual nos atrae y nos pone a sentir mariposas en el estomago cuando se encuentra en nuestra presencia.

Everyone has a crush on someone during their life and this song catches those emotions perfectly.

Joel Serrano

6. Kid Ink -- body language Todos sabemos como dejarle saber a otra persona quienes atrae sin tener que decir una palabra, solo con el lenguaje de nuestro cuerpo.

This song is about telling someone that you like them without saying a word but just with your body language or knowing what someone wants by theirs.

7. Lyfe Jennings -- stay together Esta canción me fascina porque trata sobre haber cometido errores y haber perdido a tu pareja pero estar dispuesto hacer lo que sea para arreglar las cosas.

This song is about the ups and downs of a relationship but being able to fight through it and staying together.

8. Jaheim -- back tight Esta canción me fascina porque trata sobre haber cometido errores y haber perdido a tu pareja pero estar dispuesto hacer lo que sea por arreglar las cosas.

This one is about admitting you made a mistake and willing to do whatever it takes to get that special person back in your life.

9. Kelly Clarkson -- piece by piece Esta canción es muy especial porque me recuerda la promesa que le hice a mi hija de nunca dejarla sola en este mundo.

This is a very special song to me, it reminds me of the promise I made to my daughter to never leave her alone in this cold world.

10. Kanye West -- real friend Aquí habla sobre tener amistades falsas solo se encuentran a nuestro lado por beneficios.

This is one of my favorite songs at the moment because it relates to the ones who are around you, the ones who claim to be your friends but wish and want your downfall.

Phyllis Rau

Phyllis Rau turned 102 a couple of months ago. She didn't pick up a paintbrush until she was 100. She throws herself into nearly every activity.

-- Cheryl Anne Hale THE SUBWAY RIDE

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Sounds of the Flight Line – and Beyond

Harvey Goldstein

For early morning flight assignments in Viet Nam, the sounds began in the middle of the night. I would awaken around 3:30 a.m. and head out to the shower building in my flip-flops and Air Force issued briefs. I tried not to wake my bunk-mate, but that was sometimes hard not to do because I was on the top bunk and had to climb onto a chair to get down.

The sound of water dribbling out of the shower was followed by the sound of water hitting my body and waking me up. I dried myself off and flip-flopped back to the barracks to get dressed in the dark. The next few sounds were the zip of my flight suit, the THUNK of my feet going into my jungle boots and me tip-toeing outside into the still morning. The only sounds for the next 10 minutes were my boots hitting the pavement, an occasional hoc tac (a Vietnamese motorized wagon) or the engine and the tires of a USAF military vehicle.

At our first briefing, I tried not to nod off to the droning sounds of the Sargent in charge telling us what our mission was and where we would be flying. Other early morning sounds were coffee being poured into cups or the tabs of Coke cans being pulled, the initial fizz of the Coke and the soda being swallowed, usually followed by loud burps.

Next up was the sound of our Air Force vehicle driving us to the flight line and another briefing and more droning, but this time by an officer who explained what weather we might encounter, the terrain we will be flying over and the possibility of enemy guns. The last part of this message always perked my ears and woke me up from my stupor. This briefing was followed by more coffee being poured, another Coke can tab being pulled, fizz, a swallow and another burp or two. There were now 8 of us as we walked to the revetment where our airplane du jour was parked. If our parking space was too far to walk, the sounds of another Air Force vehicle could be heard as we drove along the taxi way to our spot.

Most of us sat outside the airplane on the tarmac, listening to other planes rev up, taxi and take off while our pilot and co-pilot did the initial pre-flight check and start to rev OUR engines. While sitting, sipping our coffee and Cokes, we sometimes heard an airplane landing, but mostly other planes preparing to take off.

When the initial pre-flight was complete, the engines were shut down and we climbed the 3 metal steps into the back of our EC47 airplane fitted with spying apparatus. Once aboard, we walked to our positions (I was up front over the right wing) and placed our holstered .38 Smith & Wessons over the back of the seat; mine was never loaded – I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. We were now ready for the final pre-flight to begin and we could hear the entire checklist of the pilot (also known as the AC – aircraft commander) and the co-pilot through our headsets, with the AC an co-pilot double checking everything. Then it was time to start the right engine and hear the roar as the propeller increased velocity.

As the right prop was rotating noisily, the left propeller was started and the roaring increased. Not only did the roar increase, but the plane began to shimmy and shake as we got ready to taxi.

15

We didn’t have a back door on our airplane, so as we taxied down to get in line, I could hear the propellers and jet engines of other airplanes waiting to take off. When it was our turn, the AC revved both engines, the propellers became a blur and the entire plane shook as we began our trip down the runway until we were airborne and I heard the AC say, “Gear up” and the co-pilot retracted the wheels into the belly of the plane, ending with a loud THUMP when they were securely inside.

Because it was a noisy aircraft and because we didn’t have a back door to keep the extraneous noise out, we wore headsets with microphones so we could communicate with each other. I heard the headings from the navigator, who sat in the rear of the plane, to the AC and co-pilot up front. As we got airborne and were getting ready to leave Tan Son Nhut air base, the navigator would tell the front end to turn left at Tay Ninh Mountain, or maybe it was the Go Dau Ha Bridge. At this point, we either headed west to Cambodia or south to the Delta.

My next 4 hours were spent rolling a radio dial seeking North Vietnamese voice communications, while the other enlisted personnel on board were listening to the VC’s Morse code. They had lots of dits, dots and dashes to listen to, but there weren’t many North Vietnamese voice targets. We sometimes picked one up in the Delta, but more often in Cambodia. Once I heard a viable voice target, I listened, turned on the tape recorder and recorded his coded message for 20-30 minutes while we got a triangular fix on his location below us. Once that was completed, my job was done for the day; there usually weren’t more than one voice target in any given frag area. I spent the return trip to Tan Son Nhut listening to either Armed Forces Viet Nam radio (AFVN) and the current hits of the day, or if I wanted a change of pace, I might roll the dial to the Australian radio station and listen to their music.

The remaining flight sounds were happy sounds, the wheels coming out of the belly of the plane and hitting the runway, taxiing back to our revetment, the truck’s engine as it came to pick us up to bring us to the post office to pick up our mail before it brought it back to the barracks.

The final happy sound of the mission happened in front of our barracks, as we partially unzipped the front of our flight suits because of the heat, grabbed a cold beer, preferably a VB Green or a Carlton Draught left by one of our Australian friends, and the wonderful sound of the opening of the can and taking a big gulp.

Soundingly, Harv Goldstein

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The New Myth of Selene

Samuel Stern

She was rich in names. There were those who didn’t know what they were, for lack of a name, a descriptor, or so she had heard.

Hers was the opposite problem. Everyone in the world had named her, hung words on her or offered them at her feet by the dozens, by the thousands. She had a name for every curious woman who had ever watched the sunless sky; every stargazing child in history had added to the trove.

Nyx. Candrama. Yué. Laila. Mond. Nacht. Selene. And, more recently, Night. All of them were as beautiful and mysterious as she deserved, but none of them had ever told her what she was, and she’d tried on every last one. Maybe names were overrated.

Yet everyone in the world had given her one, and she knew them all. She was always listening, as well as watching and wondering.

Sometimes she got the impression that Day was jealous of her, and for good reason. Night liked to think that she owned all the interesting things. Still, she sometimes wished that she could know what Day knew, because what she saw she didn’t understand. Hers were geniuses and shepherds focused at all hours on their work, eternally chasing some prize which was never hers to see. They never acknowledged her along the way, never took stock of all of their stolen time, never stopped to name her. Hers were lovers stealing away from houses and cities and schools, running off under her generous cover, although only Day knew how such things started.

Hers were the dancers, the revelers, the gamblers and addicts. The wild men liberated from Day’s chains, although it was beyond her what they were always celebrating, or why Day oppressed them so.

And then there were the sleepers, the dreamers, in their own way the most interesting of all.

Sometimes one of them caught her eye. She was allowed to take an interest in them, or so she assumed. (Nobody had ever given her a rulebook, and she probably wouldn’t have read it anyway.)

As to whether she’d ever fallen in love, as the poets and the playwrights insisted, she didn’t know. If archetypes could love, it was news to her. The men and women who interested her were neither the first nor the last to do so. She was always watching someone, on account of whatever strange action happened to draw her attention. Eons had passed and she could still be surprised by something new.

“Why are you working this late?” she asked. “Is it for me? I’ve seen you here before.”

“I don’t have enough time during the day,” he snapped, starting to sound annoyed. “Poor time management. I have other work to get done then.”

“So…” She shook her head. “This must all be very important to you somehow, even if you don’t remember why. Do you enjoy it?”

At that he slammed the pencil against his table in frustration.

“What kind of question is that?” he snapped, reflexively picking up the pencil again, almost without realizing it. He turned his head to glance at the bright face of a monitor, still not facing her, though she was brighter by far. His hand continued to mark the pages on its own.

“I hate this, but it must get done,” he muttered, while images scrolled across the screen. “It’s too important.”

“For what?” she asked, but he wasn’t listening anymore. He continued to scribble, and his hand began to wander. When he reached the end of the page, his pencil strayed towards the edge of her silvery shawl. As far as she was concerned, this had gone on long enough. She let him get one mark on her before leaning in and kissing his creased forehead. Immediately his face fell forward onto the table, onto his papers. His hand was finally still, but even in his sleep, he held tight to the pencil.

She arranged the meaningless papers for him, and replaced them beneath his head before leaving. Not that he would remember any of it the next day, of course. It was always best to take precautions, and she’d never hear the end of it if Day found out.

Nothing in the pages and pages had told her what she was, or what she might be named. But for that night, and several nights thereafter, she traced her finger along the single gray mark he’d made. It wasn’t a name either, unfortunately. But if she ever found some kind of meaning to it, she’d let him know.

One night there was a boy alone in a tower, filling pages with graphite in precise measured rows. Her grip on that territory was beginning to fade already, and yet the boy remained awake, determined or desperate.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Working,” he replied, not taking his eyes off of the pages he was marking, not looking up through the window to meet her gaze.

“Always working.”

“Why?” she asked, expecting the answer to be something to do with Day. “I don’t know,” he muttered, never ceasing to scribble. “Does it matter? I remember it’s for something important.”

She glanced at the pages, but the markings were nonsense.

THE SUBWAY RIDE

Phoebe Chen 16

HIMNO DE LOS DURMIENTES Liminar + Omar Fraire + Rolando Lรณpez

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by NICE 19

Never Incarcerate Creative Energy

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what do you hear?

A collection of responses by various people to the question: What do you hear when you see this (drawing on the left)?

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Julian Johnson

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Adeline Hafemeister

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Interview with Kota Yamazaki Interviewers: Phoebe Chen & Shoko Yamada TSR: 私たちは 今学期は「音」 というテーマでやっていて、 インタビューとか、あとスピーチって言葉ですけどでも音じゃ ないですか、喋っているっていう時点で。 ということで、いろん な方にインタビューをしてみようということで、山崎さんがウ ェスリアンにいらして、 フィービーもパフォーマンスを見に行 って、 ちょっとお話を伺えないかなということで、 ご連絡させて いただきました。 KY: この前僕がトークをしたとき、同じようなことをちらっ と言っていたような感じがしますね。 TSR: あ、 フィービーがですか?

KY: ええ、言霊と、 日本語の言葉の性質というか、特徴とい うかですね。 TSR: […]そうしましたら、せっかくその話が出たので、 日本 語の音とかについて山崎さんが感じてらっしゃることとか、授 業でおっしゃったこととかぶっていても構わないんですけど、 聞かせていただけますか。 KY: 日本語の特徴は、あんまりロジックじゃないですよ ね。 で、結構なんか、例えば何か言葉を、言葉と。。あ、発すると いうことと、発した言葉と、物事が、以外と一緒になっている。 例えば、 「あー」 と言ったら、 「明るい」 とか「朝」 とか、そういうな んかニュアンスがある。だから伝える言語がロジックじゃなく て、例えば「き」 っていう感じがあったら、 「き」…「気違い」はあ れだけど、 「き」…「奇妙」 とか「嫌い」 とか、なんかちょっとスト レインジな感じがするとか。なんかその言葉によって、印象を 伝えるというか、ニュアンスを伝えるところがある。だからすご くロジックじゃないから、その辺がかなり英語とは違って、英 語はかなり100%ロジックに近い言葉のような気がするんです けど、そこが結構違っていると思うんですよね。 TSR: ああ。そういう日本語の音の感触というんですかね。 KY: そうですね。あと主語とかほとんどないじゃないです か。 TSR: ああそうですね（笑） KY: うん。何言ってるのみたいな感じになっちゃう （笑）だ からたぶんその辺が日本人が英語を習得できない一番の理 由のような気がするんですけどね。なんかもう言ったらそのま ま意味が通じるみたいなところがあるじゃないですか。 TSR: たしかに主語がないのとかは本当にそうで、誰がや っているのか言ったらもうわかってるっていうのが当たり前。 KY: そうですね。 TSR: そういうことを普段話される時とかも気を付けたりと かされますか？日本語で話すとき。 KY: 授業でも話したんですけど、僕は方言で育っていて、 成長するにしたがって方言じゃない言葉にせざるを得なくな るじゃないですか。そこにかなり葛藤があって。 で、人に伝える ことができなくなって。やっぱりロジック、なんだかんだいって やっぱり人に伝えることはロジックじゃないといけないから。 その辺に幼いころ葛藤があって、だから国語とか１とかでした

23

TSR: So, our theme for the semester is “sound”, and if you think about it, things like interviews or any speech is a sound, as well as language, because we need to speak to do these things. So, we’ve been interviewing a lot of people, and you came to Wesleyan, and Phoebe went to see your performance, and we thought it would be great to interview you.

KY: When I gave a talk [in the fourth-year Japanese class], she mentioned something like that as well.

TSR: You mean Phoebe?

KY: Yeah, about kotodama [word-spirit] and the nature of the Japanese language.

TSR: […] Then, now that you’ve mentioned that, can you talk a little bit about what you feel about the sound of the Japanese language? It’s okay if it overlaps with what you talked about in class.

KY: The interesting thing about the Japanese language is that it’s not really logical. The act of speaking, the word spoken, and the its meaning all come together. Like if you say “Ah”, you can think of words like akarui [bright] and asa [morning] - they already have those nuances. So the communication through language is not about logic. If you say “ki”, you think of words like… not kichigai [craziness], but kimyou [oddity] or kirai [to dislike], and you feel strange. I guess words convey certain impressions, or nuances. So, it’s not really about logic, which is very different from English, because I feel like English is a language that’s almost all about logic, and that’s really different.

TSR: I see. Like the texture of the sound of the language.

KY: Yeah. And also there’s usually no subject [in a sentence].

TSR: Yeah! [giggles] KY: Then it can get really confusing. So, I think that’s why Japanese people can’t really speak English, because we assume that [whoever you are talking to] understands what you are saying.

TSR: Especially for the subject [of sentences], it’s just assumed that you know who the subject of the action is [without specifying it].

KY: Exactly.

TSR: So, do you keep things like this in mind when you speak Japanese?

KY: I mentioned this in the class too, but I grew up speaking a dialect, and as I grew up, I had to switch to the standard Japanese. I struggled a lot [with that transition], and at one point, I couldn’t communicate with people at all.

Because ultimately, you need to use logic to communicate, but I had a lot of struggles with logic. So, my grade for my

THE SUBWAY RIDE

Kota Yamazaki is a choreographer from Niigata, Japan, currently based in New York.

This February, he and his company, Fluid hug-hug, came to Wesleyan to perform his new piece “OQ“, which eatures dancers from diverse cultural and dance backgrounds including Western contemporary, butoh and hip-hop. As a native Japanese speaker, he also visited the fourth-year Japanese class during his brief time here. Phoebe (a fourthyear Japanese student) and Shoko (a native Japanese speaker) from our team had an honor to skype-interview Kota. To hear the “sound“ of this interview (in Japanese!), check out our website!

ね…

TSR: （笑） KY: だからそれもあって、 ダンスだったら直接体だから、 直接何か伝えやすいっていうのもあるし。だからダンスに走っ た傾向はその理由もありますね。逆にだからアートとかに入っ た、興味をもったっていうのもその辺ですよね。 TSR: 標準語はロジックだと感じられたのはどのへんだっ たんですか？ KY: うーん。 TSR: やっぱり学校という環境ですか？ KY: やっぱり主語と述語と目的語っていうのがあまりなじ めなかったんですよね。 まあだから頭悪かったの（笑）

Japanese classes were always really bad…

TSR: [giggles] KY: That’s actually part of the reasons I got really into dance, because dance is about the body, so it felt easier to communicate [through dance]. And I also got really interested in art.

TSR: What made you feel like the standard Japanese is also about logic?

KY: Hmm… TSR: Was it the school environment?

KY: I guess I couldn’t get my head around ideas like subjects, verbs, and objects. I guess I wasn’t really smart. [giggles]

***** TSR: ほかの言語にも同じような感じがあると思いますか。 例えば英語とか。それとも、例えば日本人ですからその感じが あると思いますか？ KY: […]今回すごく刺激的だったのは、その言霊的なニュ アンス、 日本人があ「あ」 と言ったときに感じるニュアンスとア メリカ人が感じる英語系のニュアンス、 もしくは、中国人が感じ るニュアンス、 というのは、 どこが違ってどういうふうに分析で きるのかっていうのがすごく面白いなと思ったんですよ。 もし それがひとつのワークショップになって、発展できるのかなっ ていう。逆に何かその違いからコミュニケーションだったりと か、気づかなかった理解することがあったりするんじゃないか なっていう。 日本人の言葉の言霊的なもののニュアンスを、 も ちろん体でもいいし、それをシェアすることによって、なるほど そうなのかっていう感じがあるっていうのをやってみたいと思 うなっていう感じがありました、今回。 TSR: それはすごく面白いですね。それも、同じ 「あ」 ってい うのでも、体の動きというか、喉の動きとしてはたぶん同じじ ゃないですか、 まあ多少は違うかもしれないですけど。[…]

KY: そうですね。あと母音と子音の感じもすごく違うじゃ ないですか。英語と日本語では。ほとんど母音がフラットだか らね、 日本語は。 アクセントがないじゃないですか。 TSR: 上下はありますけどね。 でもまあその辺がまたコミュ ニケーションのニュアンスに影響を与えるんでしょうね。 KY: そうですね。逆に、英語の一個の言葉としてbookって いうのがありますけど、 「ブ」 っていったら日本人だったら 「ブー ッ」 っていうとなんか重くて、 ブタのようなイメージがあるし、 「 ブーッ」、 で、 「ク」になると、なんか急にひきつった感じになる っていうか。そういう感じ、だからすごく運動的なものにするの も面白いかもしれない。すごくダンス的かもしれないですね。

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TSR: So, do you think that there is similar sort of power in other languages, like English? Or do you think you feel that way because you are Japanese?

KY: [… ]What was really interesting this time was, it would be very interesting to see how the kotodama-like nuances, the nuances that Japanese people feel when they say “Ah”, differ from the nuances Americans feel in the English language, or Chinese do, and how we can analyze those differences. Maybe we can make this a workshop, and [it would be interesting to see] how that would develop. Perhaps we can foster our mutual understanding and communication through the differences. I felt like I want to try something where we share the kotodama-like nuances and feelings, maybe through our bodies, and understand how we are feeling.

TSR: That sounds interesting. Even when we make the same sound “Ah”, [even though people with different background have different feelings], the movement of the body itself, or the throat, is probably the same for the most part[...]

KY: Yeah. And the use and impression of vowels and consonants are also very different between English and Japanese. Vowels in Japanese are very flat because there is no accent.

TSR: Well, [the intonations] can go up and down. But yeah, these differences probably really shape the way we communicate.

KY: Yeah. In English, on the other hand, for example, there is a word “book”, but for Japanese speakers, the sound “b” reminds us of something like “boooo”, and it feels heavy and maybe like a pig [buta]. Then after that “boooo” comes “k”, and it feels like twitching. So, maybe it’s interesting to think of them as dynamic. It almost feels like dance.

24

The Look Jason “Iyan” Casiano

Echoes Clyde Meikle Sound-less-ness unfolding about you. Listen to yourself lingering…

Presence, like the echo emerging from nowhere, in collusion with absence. The precise moment the echo unfolds out from itself appertains love. Everything beautiful is an illusion here. Listen closely, analytically onto these reversals that collapse all around me. [this point of departure is a secret place for new beginnings] From nowhere I sprinkle these screams onto silence so we can envision its detail. The sound of sound-less-ness folding upon me.

Echoes from nowhere clinging to my conscience…”I love you” never said but felt. Silence is folded within sound-less-ness, which is enfolded by an echo awaiting emergence. [thoughts divulging, desire collapsing onto words … then into you perhaps] Then there is speech, and love is no longer felt but heard. So how can love grow there? Perpetually echoing words that inveigle our being into grooves of desire rather than fire. The precise point where the echo folds in on itself reveals a secret. [if speech is an echo I delude its reverberations when I write] Sometimes I can feel the echo but this point eludes me now.

Often I listen to myself lingering. The precise point where the echo unfolds in on itself contains the seed of a secret. Everything ugly is an illusion here. I seek to find the point where the echo escapes by first concealing itself in sound-less-ness to find silence.

SOUND IS ONLY REAL BECAUSE IT STANDS OUT ON AN ECHO. PERHAPS ALL BEING STANDS OUT ON AN ECHO. IF I COULD RIDE THE ECHO TO THE POINT IT FOLDS IN ON ITSELF I WOULD FIND THE ULTIMATE SELF. …echoing.

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Sitting in my first Wesleyan class, a question is posed – “What does it mean to you to be a Wesleyan student?”

Flashback: A rainy day, drenched clothes, wet books, and I’m on my way back from computer repair class (hot coffee is my only goal). Walking through a loud heavy door, I’m back in the main prison building. A few more steps... a collision(!) with a group of people just as wet as I -- their books in hand too. Startled, we exchange pleasantries. I’ve seen these people before; they weren’t prisoners or guards. As I walked the long hall back to my cell, my sloshing sneakers echo trailing behind me. I’m thinking: What the hell? Why do these people want to be in here? Then it hit me with great force, along with instant shame. I recalled noticing the look those people had, a look with determined motivation – a purpose.

That’s why they were here, wet clothes and all. I shared an instant affinity with them (now no longer those people). With that brief encounter, the drive behind their look was unmistakable. My environment demands that you learn how to read and interpret people (their eye movements, voice fluctuations, and body movements) rather quickly. Such has been of great value to me in all my social interactions. The look before me that wet day expressed a modest confidence that I’m not easily hindered; I endure oppositions and deliberately-placed obstacles while working toward the goals I believe in – in fact, I welcome the chance to be engaged, or to become an ally.

As I have been working on my goals over the years of helping the marginalized and stereotyped prison class, their look became familiar to me as I networked with others having similar missions.

I later learned about the group I collided with: it was the Wesleyan CPE staff and aides. I had heard about this group and their audacity to believe in the transformation of human elements by way of engaging education while bridging together sincere human connections. CPE had been penetrating the hardened wall of skepticism my class has erected (largely justified, but not always).

My class watched this group called “CPE” to see if they would use us for some brief social experiment, pack up, and leave without any further word. However, CPE never wavered in their mission, their special audacity. Above all, their consistent commitment radiated through our wall – shattering it. Both sides gained loyal allies who shared the mission of betterment. All of the above would be my answer to the question of: “What does it mean to you to be a Wesleyan student?”

After that collision that rainy day, I found myself sitting in my first Wesleyan class – the look.

--Shoutouts to the entire CPE staff, supporters, and professors.

Special thanks to: Dara, Kristen, Coady, Emily, Sarah, Haenah, Matt, Zelda, and all the other TAs. All of you go so hard with us and are instrumental to what we, in CPE, would never have had an opportunity to accomplish otherwise. Gainsayers are becoming amazed at what we all are collectively accomplishing by the way of the program. Such is part of your legacy, always. Peace & creativity.

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Sounds Like Justice James Davis The clicking, clanking, crashing of metal doors reverberates through your soul click, clank, crash keeping you off-kilter so that you are in a constant state of imbalance resulting in an impatience filled with self-hatred and self-pity.

The sounds, the non-stop sounds of an institution of unloving grates against the reality that is lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x201C;outside-the-walls glimpsed through the barbed wire of criminal justice where the unforgiven are sentenced to this sad, hate-filled state of unliving as if unliving is a state only they visit.

Where the drab greys play like mournful tunes the emotions of those entombed in the quieted violence of imaginary prison riots that hypothetically kill the spirit in the library with monotony, but most donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have a clue.

And each dawn is a renewal of the misery of yesterday which is the fraternal twin of tomorrow whose sad notes never completely fade from consciousness even as consciousness fades like sad notes because tomorrow, though unborne, is the fraternal twin of yesterday whose miseries will be renewed at dawn.

The infernal background music is the discordant tunes of being in a suspended state where sanity is assaulted, kindness defaulted and tears insulting as humanity runs away down the drain as it drained by each moment of wakefulness.

And each moment of wakefulness bears witness to the corruption of power demonstrated by unprofessional professionalism where rules change like old memories and strings are pulled at the whim of fools who know not what they do even as the next fool canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t wait to do it too.

So pain is swallowed like brackish water because brackish water is all that there is and so you learn to make do with the pain that is all day and loud too.

And the you that you are deep inside hurts, hurts from being fettered and forced to endure a kind of absence of treatment that no human being should have to endure, incessantly searching for the cure for the callous indifference that is intrinsic of the treatment of prisoners and captured in sound.

Sorrow is the chorus sung by the captive choir that forever sings of the desire to wake to natural soundsthe wind whistling, birds chirpingwhich are drowned out by radio chatter and the screech of key fighting key because locks are opened at the press of a button.

So grown men exist on bunk beds in cramped spaces with alien smells and open cases only semi-conscious of their existence because suspicion runs wild faces hardly smile and each minute tastes like bile.

Chong Gu THE SUBWAY RIDE

26

On the March

Arthur Wiknik, Jr.

The US Army devotes ten weeks of basic training to convert a platoon of forty untrained individuals into a team-oriented unit. The transformation begins almost immediately through daily exercises known as close order drill. This is when new recruits are taught the formal military movements that instill obedience and organization within the unit.

Close order drill begins with recruits standing in a rigid formation. All eyes are forward and chests are out. Arms hang straight against the legs with hands forming a fist. Boot heels are touching while the toe tips are spread open to a forty-five degree angle.

There is no talking, no subtle head movements, no fidgeting, no throat clearing and no swatting of buzzing insects.

Complete silence and statue-like stillness is the rule and making unsolicited eye contact with superiors is forbidden.

A dedicated and intense drill instructor surveys the recruits for real or imagined infractions of military dress and conduct – he never fails to find at least one offender. If a button is not fastened, a gig line is crooked (shirt, buckle and trouser alignment), or even a loose string is spotted, the recruit is chastised in front of the entire platoon, followed by the time-honored punishment of dropping to the ground and pumping out an arbitrary number of push-ups.

As the offender counts off each repetition, his labored grunts are sure to elicit a sympathy glance from an unsuspecting nearby recruit. When the drill instructor catches the unwarrant-

SOUND!!!

ed peek, and he always does, the recruit is immediately ordered to the ground to perform push-ups as well. The platoon soon realizes that basic training is a game of details, and that personal appearance and following protocol is the best way to prevent unwanted attention.

Marching is also an essential aspect of close order drill because it provides a method of moving and controlling troops efficiently. The moment the platoon steps off to march, the drill instructor begins barking rhythmic cadence calls to maintain organization and control. Unfortunately, not everyone is in step as clumsy shuffling boots indicate that someone’s stride is not conforming to the rest of the marchers.

Once everyone’s feet are synchronized, the repetitive dull slaps of leather boots hitting the pavement at one hundred and twenty steps per minute creates an inviting tempo that onlookers find themselves drawn to observe.

Routine commands such as column left or column right are sure to draw attention but the real eye-catcher is when forty men flawlessly reverse direction or perform an oblique turn as if marching is an Olympic event.

Basic training also includes a variety of other military fundamentals such as map reading, weapons familiarization, physical training, first aid, aptitude testing and more. Upon the conclusion of the training cycle, the recruits are now soldiers but have yet to earn the distinctive title of veteran. That comes later.

Sheldon Higgins

Hear the sound, Word sound, Speech sound Laid down and written down.

I call forth to consciousness Consciousness I call forth and he aroused To know my existence and my environment To know facts and objects He speaks and I hear words of power…

Feel this vibration, oh soul of sensation Make a supplication for my salvation I am what? I can become what I am I am a Bantu! A human spiritual entity A spiritual human being.

I came into this world naked All things are learned from our experiences Acquired in this world of condition and circumstances…

One inherent not separate nor distinct The voice of reason and utterances I see what men saw but think what no man thinks…

So is he as that mind believe he is though beliefs cure it can also kills Intervene for me when you accomplish what you will Am I clear, have you been attentive It is I your person You are reading your Self Interpreting your own communications You are the subject in its written form…

Understand the meaningful sound It stands for an idea that I’ve found They say I’m an introvert too intuitive It is nature not habit nor instinct Learned from one acquainted with all things

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THE SUBWAY RIDE

exploitation in process SOUNDS Jerry Augustine

Samuel Medrano

US Army 1965-1967

When I was growing up in Middletown, Connecticut in the 1950s I would almost cherish the sounds that were going on from just about everywhere.

into a product. So I was witnessing all these parts being produced all day long. Quite a thrill for a young boy.

Middletown was a great industrial city. We had Goodyear Rubber Co., Remington Rand, E.IS. Brake Parts, The Russell Co., Wilcox Lace, and Carmela Coats, just to name a few.

Morning, noon and late afternoon the factories let out their steam whistles to proclaim that the workday started, lunch was to be had, or the day was done. When we heard the 5PM whistle it was a clue to lay down our baseball bats and head home for dinner.

Wilcox-Crittenden Forge which produced marine hardware that was sent all over the world was situated not a half mile from my home as the crow flies. Every time we heard a loud “BOOM” sound, another tool or piece of molten steel was formed

I often think back to the simpler times and the sounds of the whistles and “BOOMS” of growing up as a young boy and what those simple pleasures meant.

THE SUBWAY RIDE

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“I am amazed” Shawn Gallagher

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THE SUBWAY RIDE

Fleeing the dust storm Joshua Hinman

Christianne Padilla THE SUBWAY RIDE

“Sebastian, the wind is hitting 50 clicks now, and the pressure is dropping.

I think you should abort, it looks like a pretty strong blow.” KT’s voice sounded in my earpieces. The red Martian dust added a soft hiss as the thin wind swept across the pancake flatness of my 2500 hectare oxygen farm on the outskirts of Frontier Station, the Colonial Provisional Authority’s forward operating base in this sector of Mars’ equatorial plains.Two small figures jumped and leaned forward into the gusts, stumbling when the weak wind couldn’t hold them upright. I keyed my microphone.

“Okay boys, let’s head inside.” I finished tying down the piece of farming equipment in the yard adjacent to the large, perfect half sphere of the inflatable habitat that I called “home” with my family.The habitat’s thick walls were made out of Kevlar and carbon nanotube fiber and could withstand not only the high winds but also the dust and rocks that the increasingly thick Martian atmosphere threw around. I took a last look over the laser measured fields of waving black grass as the protective covers on the solar panel farm came down with a click. My crop, I thought.

The grass was genetically modified not only to withstand the thin and cold Martian atmosphere, but also to photosynthesize the entire light spectrum, therefore the black color. The more hectares that I was able to plant, the more oxygen the crop would produce. Plus, the black color raised the planet’s albedo, increasing the temperature. These two factors created a positive feedback loop that would eventually, over the next few centuries, make the atmosphere breathable and survivable for humans without suits.The CPA paid me per hectare planted, and we were doing pretty well. The hissing wind outside my helmet increased in intensity as the visibility dropped to about 20 meters. I moved over to the two boys and shepherded them into the dome’s airlock. The outer door closed with a hydraulic slam, and the room’s pressure began to rise as air blasted in. I reached over and touched a metal panel on the wall, which electrified the copper nanowires in the skin of my suit and made the red dust jump off and fall down through the floor grate.The boys copied the procedure. When the airlocks’ LEDs changed from red to green, we began to disrobe from the suits. Helmets went into the hutches, and the form fitting suit were peeled off. The boys, skilled practitioners of the procedure, stood fidgeting as I finished, checked the cleaning cycle of the suits lockers, and activated the inner door. It opened with a hydraulic clunk, and the boys ran inside, splitting around KT, who exited the dome’s greenhouse.

“The solar farm’s covers are locked down, so we are running on battery.

The weather service at Frontier is saying that the storm is a big one, a Category 3, and will take a few days to blow over. It looks like the boys will have to VR to school tomorrow”. I smiled. KT was a Navy engineer who then became a NASA astronaut. She ran the dome like the Space X Colony Transporter she had commanded on the passage from Earth to Mars. I, on the other hand, handled the genetics of the oxygen crop, and had trouble detaching the rover’s battery hookup when I drove the boys to school at Frontier three days per week. They used VR for the other two.

The wind shook the walls of the dome. They had a skeleton of injected epoxy resin that had been pumped into hollow channels sewn into the wall’s fabric. The skeletons prevented the wind from deforming the dome during storms.

KT looked at the rippling fabric of the upper dome, then down at me with a smirk.

“That’s your fault, you know”. I snorted. The grass I grew increased the atmospheric content and pressure.That increased the density, and strength, of the wind that was beating the outside of the dome. KT walked past to finish her prestorm checks. I stood and listened to the wind and hiss of the sand. It sounded like progress.

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Bake It Easy

Episode 2

Toys Koomplee

Hi there! Welcome back to Bake It Easy with me, Toys. I hope that you got to try making Key Lime Pie from the last episode.

Isn’t it such an easy and delicious thing to make? :) Since the theme this time is ‘Sound’, I would like to present to you a sweet snack that (sort of) requires you to listen while cooking, but still simple and easy to follow. Although you won’t be baking this time, this snack is a great addition to many baked goods, cereals, and even ice cream. It’s extremely brittle, crunchy, and, of course, delicious! I am talking about the magical, delicate ‘Honeycomb’.

This ‘Honeycomb’ is not the actual honeycomb, rather a combination of cooked syrup and sodium bicarbonate, commonly known as baking soda. Once the baking soda is stirred into the syrup, the mixture foams up. Once dry, it sinks down and becomes a lovely candy bar. If you break this bar, you’ll see the air bubbles allover inside, like a honeycomb. That’s the reason behind this name. :) Since this recipe requires more precise ingredients and time, I will not be giving my adjusted version this time, just to be safe. (I will give you tips, of course!). This recipe is primarily from Gemma Stafford. (She also has her lovely channel on YouTube.)

Before we start, I would like to give you a kind warning that this cooking process happens really fast! So please read the recipe carefully and get everything prepare before you start cooking. Here we go!

Gemma’s Easy Honeycomb 1. Prepare the surface to pour and dry your honeycomb by Ingredients lining a container or a tray with parchment paper.

• ½ cup of sugar 2. Combine sugar and honey or syrup in a pot over low heat. Stir • 4 tablespoons of honey until the mixture dissolves.

Although you can also make honeycomb using only sugar, I person3. Bring the heat up to medium and let the mixture simmer until ally prefer to add some honey into it. It gives a much more pleasant the color is darkened like the maple syrup. (You should hear aroma. If you don’t want to use honey, you can also use golden the bubbling sound at this point.) Be sure not to overcook, syrup or glucose syrup for this. otherwise you will burn the caramel. This shouldn’t take longer • 1 ½ teaspoons baking soda, sifted. Baking powder won’t work than 3 minutes. Do not stir the mixture or the caramel will start to caramelize. Instead, swirl the pot if needed.

4. This happens fast!! After the color is darkened, turn of the heat. Pour in the baking soda and whisk it immediately. The caramel will start to foam up. This is the time that you will hear the foamy sound. :) Before the sound is gone, within about 3-4 seconds, quickly poor and equally spread this mixture onto the prepared surface. Do not touch the caramel! It’s extremely hot.

5. Let it cool. This could take anywhere from 30 minutes up to 1 or 2 hours, depending on the weather and the humidity. To test if it’s completely dry, try breaking its end with a utensil. If it sends out a clean crispy sound, it is ready to be served. :)

Nick Yeager

High Journal #1

Amy Amy Amy

If my head hurts so dizzy and jangling and sirens as it does, is the snow outside truly falling in these diagonals I see? Is the glow of this room truly so bright, so buzzing as I perceive it? I only know that people walk outside silently, it is no matter how hard I try to hear their footsteps on the muffled sheet of snow. And the water Jordan spilled in the cafeteria would have ruined someone’s night if I had not cleaned it up. And hearing voices can be heavenly to my battered feeling ears. And the walk through snow in socks may be the most painful but the most alive, and the slow thaw into warmth back inside just as powerful and fleeting. The boy who walks with socks outside has thousands of secrets locked up, and thousands more open feelings expressed, cried, stated, flurrying out there among the freckled flakes and the strong, homeless birds heading south to shelter.

Sorrow creeps in from all directions And safety fades in the crowding shadows Her tongue is an atomic bomb She licks her lips and lights the fuse Grinning as her structure swallows itself A demolition site predestined for implosion She self-destructs in fire’s glory So as decay spreads over her body’s surfaces Like moss over cave walls And trouble weaves itself deeper in her intestines Cowardly tangled jellyfish She bathes in blue light Resenting the beauty of her pain

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THE SUBWAY RIDE

Chong Gu

Usdan Playlist

DJ Kraze

2004-180 - Nelly - Flap Your Wings 1998-167 - La Bouche - You Won't Forget Me 2002-031 - No Doubt Featuring Bounty Killer - Hey Baby 2004-104 - Mase Featuring P. Diddy - Breathe, Stretch, Shake 1999-154 - New Radicals - You Get What You Give 2003-216 - Lonestar - Walking In Memphis 2003-044 - Tyrese - How You Gonna Act Like That 2012-006 - Kelly Clarkson - Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You) 2002-019 - Cam'ron Featuring Juelz Santana, Freekey Zekev & Toya Hey Ma 2013-106 - Phillip Phillips - Gone, Gone, Gone 2010-116 - Paramore - The Only Exception 2013-049 - P!nk - Try 1998-A06 - Brian McKnight - Anytime 2003-039 - Justin Timberlake - Rock Your Body 1999-279 - Kid Rock - Cowboy 2005-022 - Bow Wow Featuring Ciara - Like You 1998-A02 - Matchbox Twenty - 3AM 2004-023 - Kevin Lyttle Featuring Spragga Benz - Turn Me On 1998-005 - Aerosmith - I Don't Want To Miss A Thing 2006-066 - Cascada - Everytime We Touch 2006-160 - Kanye West featuring Lupe Fiasco - Touch The Sky 2001-112 - Mikaila - So In Love With Two 2011-040 - Pitbull Featuring T-Pain - Hey Baby (Drop It To The Floor) 2006-062 - Fall Out Boy - Dance, Dance

THE SUBWAY RIDE

2009-090 - Beyonce - Diva 1999-281 - Blondie - Maria 2002-028 - Vanessa Carlton - A Thousand Miles 2006-039 - Juelz Santana - There It Go! (The Whistle Song) 2007-008 - Fergie Featuring Ludacris - Glamorous 2005-130 - Maroon5 - Sunday Mornin 2004-002 - Usher - Burn 2009-166 - Ester Dean featuring Chris Brown - Drop It Low 2002-160 - Paulina Rubio - Don't Say Good-Bye 1999-149 - Lauryn Hill - Everything Is Everything 1998-152 - Natalie Imbruglia - Torn 2011-219 - David Guetta Featuring Rihanna - Who's That Chick 2009-024 - Kid Cudi - Day 'N' Nite 2010-118 - DJ Khaled Featuring T-Pain, Ludacris, Snoop Dogg & Rick Ross - All I Do Is Win 2008-197 - 50 Cent - Get Up 2006-286 - Tenacious D - The Pick Of Destiny 1999-167 - Roots featuring Erykah Badu - You Got Me 2004-101 - LL Cool J Featuring 7 Aurelius - Hush 2006-046 - Chris Brown - Yo (Excuse Me Miss) 2005-014 - Rihanna - Pon de Replay 1998-102 - INOJ - Love You Down 2009-138 - Fray - Never Say Never 2012-200 - Avicii - Levels 2008-042 - Akon - Right Now

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Distorted Sounds

Andre “Dre” Pierce

Andre “Dre” Pierce is an Ebony poet, social activist, and prison scholar.

He is one of approximately three dozen prisoners enrolled in Wesleyan’s Center for Prison Education (CPE) program at Cheshire Correctional Institution.

Old familiar sounds can become distorted when the mind is cultivated through learning. The sounds can either become unintelligible, grating to the ears, or convey new meanings when this distortion occurs. I began hearing distorted sounds when I entered prison and devoted myself to becoming learned in letters.

When I first entered prison, I was living by the code of the streets, and my native language was slang. Like many of my fellow prisoners, I passed the time by telling “war” stories. These stories are essentially narratives of criminal exploits, either experienced or witnessed, but told to either distract us from facing the harshness of prison life or to perpetrate bravado.

At a very early stage in my incarceration, I redirected my focus inward and became committed to improving myself through study, meditation, and self-reflection. As I changed, so too did old familiar sounds. War stories began to grate my ears and convey new meanings.Those sounds went from being refreshingly distracting to disturbing. Why? Study had sharpened my mind to a degree where I was able to pierce those sounds and hear the socio-economic, moral, and political implications of the experiences behind those sounds.

While the stories were abstracted away from their actual lived experience by time and space, thus creating an emotional distance, they nonetheless spoke of destructive behaviors that actively harmed communities and families. Furthermore, these narratives that we exchanged to pass time, or to enhance our reputation by performing a certain bravado, were also used by politicians to create failed and discriminatory public policies and situations such as the War on Drugs. The criminal activities that we encapsulated in sound waves were the very cause of our parents being left childless, our children being left fatherless, and our friends being left friendless. It was those past deeds that we dramatized in oral tales that justified the prison-industrial complex. These are the new meanings that old familiar sounds begin to convey the more

The Mixed Tape of Life

Work Cited Douglass, Frederick. Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave. 2014. New York: Penguin Books.

Jason Torello

1. Caves of Altamaira -- Steele Dan. My father taught me everything about music, and Steele Dan was his favorite band so this was the music that I can first remember.

2. Mother Nature’s son -- the Beatles. My mother loved his album and later this was the first song that I leaned how to play on the acoustic guitar.

3. Voodoo Child -- Jimi Hendrix. Then I found Jimi….

4. No quarter -- Led Zeppelin. Zeppelin is simply the DNA of my youth, and this song holds key lyrics describing the point at which I knew that I was on my own.

5. Hemispheres -- Rush. I love Rush and I play bass guitar. If you’re a bass player and you can’t play Hemispheres note for note, you can’t play bass! This was my music school.

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educated I became. Frederick Douglass wrote of a somewhat similar experience after tricking some white kids to teach him the alphabet that led him to educate himself. He wrote about the way his new insight led him to hear with new meanings the slave songs he once sang for pleasure: “I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. I was within the circle; so that I never saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension” (Douglass 27).

Once Douglass, like me, began to lift his mind, he, like me, developed a sociological imagination that enabled him to see the social, economic, and political implications of the slave experience. Education can potentially clear the mind to such a degree that one’s ability to process his or her experiences is radically improved. DougIass’ and my educations enabled us to understand our experiences with new meanings. Our newly found ability to detect hidden sounds reflected a new consciousness -- one elevated by letters.This in turn enabled us to transcend our confining conditions.

It’s funny how different states of consciousness can alter sound. My intellectual ascendancy forced me to hear old sounds in new ways. My education aIso enabled me to detect sounds that already existed. I now hear sounds that, while composed of familiar words, are rich with implications and symbolisms. My learning seemed to have fine-tuned my inner ear, which has opened a portal to a new world – a world pregnant with ideas, concepts, ideologies, theories, and perspectives. I have been fundamentally changed by both my discovery of and ability to detect new sounds.

The famous philosopher René Descartes had once said, “I think therefore I am.” I say, “I began to be when I began to hear.”

6. Standing in the shower… -- Jane’s Addiction. This was in L.A. and Venice beach in 1989. All I wanted to do was to play live.

What the hell is alternative? I just thought it was Rock n Roll.

7. Blood sugar sex magic -- the Red Hot Chili peppers. This album was a major influence for my early bands…. Nights at Toad’s place, when it was a real club.

8. The golden days -- Beck. The album Sea Change was given to me in the hospital right after the doctor told me I would never walk again. This song in particular, along with mega ocxy, pulled me out of a wheelchair.

9. Woman -- John Lennon 10. Starting over -- John Lennon. Both of these songs have a significant connection to my wife. She has stuck by me through everything, and all we want is to be together again.

THE SUBWAY RIDE

Justina Yam

For Justina’s

Future Trips 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

Spotify Playlist Amanda Li

Infected Mushroom -- Bass Nipple Infected Mushroom -- Converting Vegetarians Infected Mushroom -- Now Is Gold Afterworld (Mandragora Remix) -- Black Tiger Sex Machine Tune In - Skazi Infected Mushroom -- Pink Nightmares Liquid Soul -- Perfect Day (Freak &amp; Octagon Remix) Feed Me -- Patience Feed Me -- Alarm Clock Infected Mushroom -- Fields of Grey (ft. Sasha Grey) Infected Mushroom -- Nerds on Mushrooms (ft. Pegboard Nerds) 12. Infected Mushroom -- Never Mind 13. Infected Mushroom --. Where Do I Belong

THE SUBWAY RIDE

Hoi Chung Liu

1. 你不知道的事 -- 王力宏 Leehom Wang 2. 我的歌声里 (You Exist In My Song) by 曲婉婷 3. 曹操 -- 摘星怪張偉 4. 拯救 -- 黑天鵝丁當 5. 千年之戀 -- 黑天鵝丁當 6. 海闊天空 -- BEYOND 7. Right My Wrongs -- Bryson Tiller 8. Sing About Me, I&#39;m Dying Of Thirst -- Kendrick Lamar 9. Bohemian Rhapsody (cover) -- Randy Coleman 10. Casoy -- FKJ 11. The Bridge -- Mateus Asato 12. Twice (cover) -- lITTLE dRAGON 13. 聽媽媽的話 -- Jay Chou 周杰倫 14. 七里香 -- 周杰倫 15. 第几个一百天 -- 林俊杰

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The End

Colin McKernon Vicious lips service a radioactive dream Spectral spires of sound reverberate through my mindâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eye I listen to the world beat away at my soul A drummer, my muse Lemmings shuffling to the end.

Should I follow round the bend?

Who will save my battered soul?

Terroristic rhetoric inhabits the Earth Cynicism seeps through the walls Inhabiting my comfort zone Discordant cacophony, Sounds of silence, exigent Comfort in the esoteric Desolation in its absence How will I survive but to listen to my heart?

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THE SUBWAY RIDE

> descendo

THE SUBWAY RIDE

36

Silence Jeter

Unnerving, Yet calming.

Explosive, Yet quenching.

Consenting, Yet deferring.

Defying, Yet complying.

Ignoring, Yet attentive.

Empowering, Yet oppressive.

The purchase of violence.

The profit of peace.

Deafening.

Deafening…

Death’s end.

Life’s beginning.

The absence of love, Yet easily a lovin Rejection’s Comf

U

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THE SUBWAY RIDE

, ng embrace. s native land, fortâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s greatest refuge.

Unfiltered,

Yet filtering all.

The absence of God, Or the fullness of a divine presence.

THE SUBWAY RIDE

38

thesubwayride.weebly.com

WE

The sounds and films that could not be printed are posted on our blog:

VIDEOS coast to coast // experimental by Wilson Lai Fireworks by Caren Ye The World is on Fire by Yohei Okada Battlefield by Omar Fraire SONGS Blue Light Special and Catcher’s Pier by Lingba Flare The Caraprace by Josh Collela The Well by KeNdLM The Fair​-​Weather Friend (album) by Saint Savage SOUND ART Nocturne No.5 by Ailish McMahon Public Noises by Haenah Kwon

PLAYLISTS

by Belen Rodriguez, Eloise Tencher, A Serrano, Jason Torello, Amanda Li, Hoi Chung Liu, DJ Kr (T-Shirt design by Phoebe Chen)

SHOUTOUTS to....

Team members away from campus: Caren, Alison,Toys, Siri, Alice, and Chong Gaby, Miles, Jacob, and Mia for recording public sounds for Haenah’s sound art Ailish for being part of our team during her time at Wesleyan Cheryl for always be willing to connect us with amazing artists of One MacDonough Wilson for always motivating and creatively inspiring Justina Toast and Yesel, for always shining light on Christianne’s cloudiest days Arron for giving Phoebe Russell and alpaca Coady for being a great sandwich eater and driver Nick Yeager and Samuel Stern for always submitting to us (we wanna meet you!)

Daichi and Austin for being our fan :3

...and YOU for reading our magazine!

Contribute to our next issue (Fall 2016) or join our editing team! Email us at thesubwayride@gmail.com 39

THE SUBWAY RIDE

EB friends

ISKRA

iskraisspark.wordpress.com ISKRA, a blog-space for community members and prisoners across the country to interact, understand, and learn about one another

Chong Gu

chong-gu.com

Ann-Dorie Webley, Joel raze, and James Davis

Artist and good friend Chong Gu’s portfolio

EDITING TEAM Haenah (Heya) Kwon Shoko Yamada Tai Taliaoa Christianne Padilla

THE SUBWAY RIDE

Adeline Hafemeister Justina Yam Phoebe (Hanzhi) Chen Ailish McMahon

*us in a subway on a “sound”

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