Monday, December 8, 2014

Irrepressible by Katherine Parisi

Walking through the halls is like being squeezed into a box. Granted, you’re still moving forward—unless the people in front of you have suddenly decided they are unable to put one foot in front of the other—but suffocated nonetheless. And the air is hot. Your insides are melting because someone has turned the heater just too damn high, and yes it’s winter but some people need to breathe! And those feelings you get, the ones when your skirt’s tucked into your underwear, or your pants are riding too low; those feelings are eyes and those eyes are everywhere and they’re looking and prodding and judging. Take the number of people in any given hallway, then multiply that by two; two eyes, two ruthless, outnumbering and certainly overwhelming eyes, and all you can do is cast your own to the ground and hope to God that your face is at least some slight shade milder than that of the lockers.


You’re in class now. The knot in your stomach loosens. Your mind goes to the subject. You’re fine. Your lungs fill deeply and the boa constrictor wrapped around them has released its hellish grip. To find the rate at which water fills an inverted cone, one must know the formula for the volume of a cylinder. You know it. Remember the formula! The formula is ⅓ r2h. Now solve the equation. And sit up straight.

The bell rings. You enter the hall. Don’t slouch; everyone knows that people with good posture are found more attractive than those who slouch. Suck in your stomach. Fix your shirt, it’s riding up. Keep your chin up. They’re looking at you—smile! Your abdomen grows tight, crushing, compressing the air from your lungs. It makes your head pound. He’s there, look away. Keep walking, head down, don’t make a scene. Act unaffected. Don’t cry. For God’s sake, act normal!


Last class. Focus. The symbolic significance of the rivets is the power they have to hold things together. They serve a purpose. Marlow, Kurtz, the Company, etc. use them as a desperate attempt to hold their ideals together, to keep their morals intact. It’s the glue that holds us. They’re losing that hold. They’re losing control over what they've believed to be true for so damn long. They know now that the unknown is dangerous, it’s daunting and harming and vast and full of confusion. It’s going to break. It’s breaking. They’re losing it— stop tapping your foot! They’re losing that grip on reality, the lines are blurring, the river is compressing, squeezing the life, displacing the water over the banks, expelling everything in it. The dam is broken, the walls have collapsed—no, they've burst open with this animistic imminence. Everything is revealed. People are staring. Everything is revealed.




Monday, December 1, 2014

by Samentha Charles

A convenience I am,
I think not.
A fire that burns hotter than hell melts my head.
What to you I’m nothing but an expediency to be used and manipulated.
I think not.

A game piece now,
to be moved, juggled, manipulated, engineered, or controlled.
I think not.
The death of a thousand cuts injure me at the thought of a Benedict Arnold in my presence.
Am I your privy to forever take your $#*!?
I think not.  

Though I feel that I am being ripped to pieces like a middle age execution cuz of the pain you have deposited on me,
I must let it desiccate into nothingness.
You think I will keep it all inside let it accumulate blunderly,   
I think not.