10 15 4134 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/3ef4fe2896b25b16c0b465a2cf0df69e.pdf a23c0e5f581dc7e1c4bf27550b1e1195 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript: Literary Magazine, 1947-present Subject The topic of the resource The Manuscript Society of Wilkes University has been publishing its creative written and visual art magazine, Manuscript, continuously since 1947. Currently, the student-led editorial staff publishes one issue per year, and copies are complimentary. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Wilkes Manuscript Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDFs Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1947-2020 Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript is a student-run literary magazine, published by the Manuscript Society since 1947. It is currently published once a year. Individuals may submit creative fiction, creative nonfiction/short personal essays, poetry, photography, drawings, paintings, digital art, and music compositions. Submissions are open to all Wilkes University students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Anyone can read or obtain copies of any of the material for research purposes, but if the researcher wants to quote from the materials, they will need to obtain copyright permission from the <a href="https://www.wilkes.edu/academics/colleges/arts-humanities-social-sciences/humanities/manuscript/index.aspx">Wilkes University Manuscript Society.</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript: Literary Magazine is arranged chronologically. The series ranges from 1947 – present. The magazine is currently published in the Spring only, but has previously been published seasonally, each semester. The series also includes a folder with supplemental materials from the Manuscript Film Society in the 1970s. The folders include a date range which may hold more than one issue of the magazine. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript, Spring 2002 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/47f18b0e08f770ab1b5977f639fa7790.pdf 7b3cad5f9d26e00f8aab5247214a3ab5 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript: Literary Magazine, 1947-present Subject The topic of the resource The Manuscript Society of Wilkes University has been publishing its creative written and visual art magazine, Manuscript, continuously since 1947. Currently, the student-led editorial staff publishes one issue per year, and copies are complimentary. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Wilkes Manuscript Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDFs Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1947-2020 Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript is a student-run literary magazine, published by the Manuscript Society since 1947. It is currently published once a year. Individuals may submit creative fiction, creative nonfiction/short personal essays, poetry, photography, drawings, paintings, digital art, and music compositions. Submissions are open to all Wilkes University students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Anyone can read or obtain copies of any of the material for research purposes, but if the researcher wants to quote from the materials, they will need to obtain copyright permission from the <a href="https://www.wilkes.edu/academics/colleges/arts-humanities-social-sciences/humanities/manuscript/index.aspx">Wilkes University Manuscript Society.</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript: Literary Magazine is arranged chronologically. The series ranges from 1947 – present. The magazine is currently published in the Spring only, but has previously been published seasonally, each semester. The series also includes a folder with supplemental materials from the Manuscript Film Society in the 1970s. The folders include a date range which may hold more than one issue of the magazine. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript, Fall 2003 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/452c15a136431e0c8a0224882a4a0ead.pdf dd28ce063d19ff4b222b939227b6b702 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript: Literary Magazine, 1947-present Subject The topic of the resource The Manuscript Society of Wilkes University has been publishing its creative written and visual art magazine, Manuscript, continuously since 1947. Currently, the student-led editorial staff publishes one issue per year, and copies are complimentary. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Wilkes Manuscript Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDFs Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1947-2020 Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript is a student-run literary magazine, published by the Manuscript Society since 1947. It is currently published once a year. Individuals may submit creative fiction, creative nonfiction/short personal essays, poetry, photography, drawings, paintings, digital art, and music compositions. Submissions are open to all Wilkes University students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Anyone can read or obtain copies of any of the material for research purposes, but if the researcher wants to quote from the materials, they will need to obtain copyright permission from the <a href="https://www.wilkes.edu/academics/colleges/arts-humanities-social-sciences/humanities/manuscript/index.aspx">Wilkes University Manuscript Society.</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript: Literary Magazine is arranged chronologically. The series ranges from 1947 – present. The magazine is currently published in the Spring only, but has previously been published seasonally, each semester. The series also includes a folder with supplemental materials from the Manuscript Film Society in the 1970s. The folders include a date range which may hold more than one issue of the magazine. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript, Spring 2003 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/a28bac12892c3a1e7c851e1b7bfa5ae4.pdf c78ed758c86049c571d0683874e7a92c PDF Text Text ARCHIVES ~CJ / A ( [v.L/~) FALL2004 MANUSCRIPT \ Wilkes University �F'a!l 2004 \ E.S. FARLEY LIBRARY WILKES UNIVERSITY WILKES-BARRE, PA WILKES UNIVERSJ1Y ~ 2004 by the Wilkes University Manuscript Society, All rights reserved , �• 100·1 by th.: Wilk.:s University Alanuscript Society. All rights reserved. 1'1 in t ·d in th e United tates of America by Offset Paperback Manufacturers. I )11 ll us. P/\. No part of thi s publication may be reproduced. stored in a retrieval , ~~1.:m. or transmitted in any way. shape. or form-electronic. mechanical, phi tm:opy ing, etc. -without express written consent from the publishers. I he fo ll owing step must be completed in order to gain permission: A nice letter to the 1\Jan11scripl Society requesting permission. \ I\ ·r th e letter is received, one or more of the following twenty-five steps 11111y be ass igned to you. Please note that the Manuscripl Society reserves Ili c ri ght to change these steps without notice: 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 l) 10 II 11 11 l•I l (i 17 18 I I) Complete memorization of l\1/anuscript journals from the first issue to present. (You will be quizzed.) Push a blue Chevy Malibu out of a muddy field. Push a camel through the eye of a needle. Re\ nvent the wheel with a used Kleenex and a small, mint11a~ored toothpick. Transmute lead into gold, and vice-versa. Insert five golden tickets into random Wonka bars, then give the five lucky children who find them a tour of the Wonka factory, where four of them get into situations where they could potentially die horrible deaths, while writing a timeless children ' s book about it, even though the whole thing is a metaphor for the time period between the Depression and the space race. Write the staff a nice thank-you note. Sharpen and/or polish Ben Kushner's vast array of weaponry . Actually attend the lvlanuscripl Movie Night. Complete, unquestioning servitude for a period of no less than five and no more than ten years to Dr. Mischelle Anthony, Dr. Bo nnie Culver, Dr. J. Michael Lennon, and Deb Archavage, as the ·ta rt's way of saying thank you for everything they ' ve ever done fo r us. Feed my fish twice a day while I'm on vacation (not too much, we d,in •t want to cloud the tank). Write my lit. paper that ' s due tomorrow. (I haven't started it yet.) I ) ·fea t c urrent Jeopardy champion (Ken Jennings), showing the wo rld th e true power of 1\4anuscript readers. <,o to th e bank to withdraw money to pay my phone bill. Pi ·k up my dry cleaning. S ·w new buttons on my coat. I' ·11<.: h a pack o f feral , kamikaze squirrels how to drive. S111r1 research fo r my philosophy paper. �20 Go to the store for I doz. eggs, I gal. milk, and a nice steak for tonight. 21 Figure out when this turned from the steps needed for permission for use to my to-do list. 22 23 MANUSCRIPT SOCIETY If you can read this, you don ' t need glasses. Figure out how many degrees of separation you are from Footloose star Kevin Bacon. 24 Make sure I'm not drunk for next semester's copyright page. (Remember, kids, don't drink and write copyright pages.) 25 Submit to Manuscript . Chief Editor Helene T. Caprari Assistant Editor Rebecca V. Goodman Junior Editors Drew Amoroso Joseph DeAngelis Chris Hodorowski Benjamin Kushner Staff Raychil Arndt Lauren Carey Kristin Derlunas Alaina Fife Jessika Geisler Amy Kaspriskie Marissa Philips Angelina Teutonico Faculty Advisors Dr. Mischelle Anthony Dr. Bonnie Culver �-Acknowledgementscript Society would like to thank Dr. Mischelle Anthony, Dr. Bonni e C ulver, Dr. J. Michael Lennon, and Debra Archavage wh e g uidance, reassurance, and many hours of therapy got us th r ugh this . Manuscript Society would also like to thank the tudcn ts, faculty and staff in the Wilkes Community. Without your 11b111i s ions this book would be a lot shorter. The Society would uls li ke to thank ourselves. This really would not have been completed without us. Good job, us. M 1111u \ �I klcnc T. Caprari .I Michae l Lennon I )rcw Amoroso I ·~,;ika Geisler .lnmcs Warner I )11 11 DiMaria I hristina Harowicz \111 Kaspriskie l(11hcrl Schreiber < I 1rissa E. Dudeck 111111111111 urtin 1111 ,11 Phillips I ,11 11 · 11 The Ring [Grace was you and I standing] [I was the mysterious, new, forming essence] Pan is Dead 300 frames per second driven*thru it's 4:55 everywhere eventually unemployed carpenter vs. trophy wife Sitcom Ending, A Short Play Untitled Meditation on Hopeless Hero Worship Pajka arcy 11l11 l1111 Na pl es xiii The Professional Writer: Seven Archetypes xiv The Photograph \11 1y Steele < '11rcy Editor's Introduction Man Like So Many Before 2 3 4 6 7 8 9 10 12 19 20 Wish Pennies Affair with the Dawn Ivan the Terrible Every Woman Deserves a Poem Seven Year Ache Backseat The Downfall of Men Regina Conversation " Not Listening ... " T hi s Bowl While in Japan My Co untry ' Tis of Thee 24 25 26 28 29 30 32 33 34 35 36 37 �Lusting Thursday Read Me ;: ¥AGES Josh Orloski Snow Shatters The Moon Keith Hubbard Rusty Loopholes to Bliss Leonard Before the E 6 Sabrina A. McLaughlin Red Brick Cruciform The Detrimental Effects of Viewing Too Much Arty Cinema The Calm Hysteria of Surreal and Intense Sensation Sergio Pedro Dali ' s First Mistake Broccoli Beat Helene T. Caprari Perverted Beatnik Billy Collins Pop American Poetics: A Satire Conditions of Light Joseph Cortegerone For the One through Whom all Chances meet 66 Chris Hodorowski A Razor's Fascination 67 Mathew Koch Prayer Tlie Imps of Possibility 7 MMP Maxim 75 J.W. Davies Homeschool Jukebox Americana 77 78 Ron Lieback Art of America Does it really matter? Marriage Misplaced Medication 80 81 82 Gabe LeDonne The Lost Van Buren Column 87 Benjamin Kushner Faith [FADE IN:] The Nintendo Haiku System 90 91 94 John Michael Vore Dali Lama Traffic Jam 95 X 4 4 4 71 79 l(11yc hil Arndt 111 y tee le ' lurissa E. Dudeck Joseph DeAngelis 'larissa E. Dudeck I uthry n Skaluba ' lnri sa E. Dudeck my Steele c·,ystal Wah I{ ryc hil Arndt Knt hryn Skaluba Jim Feeney Eric Wolf ' rystal Wah 'ry tal Wah foe DeAngelis liric \ olf A Walk in Town l onely Wash Blowing in Wind Death of the Glory Days Dusty Road at Crystal lake Buttercup Falls I Chapel at Hickory Run State Park Fading Grace In Bloom Reflections Buttercup Falls 11 The House Band War Was Not The Answer Texture Hand in Hand Mother 's Delicious Bread City Hall, Philadelphia 5 6 11 19 22 23 31 32 36 39 41 49 65 70 71 86 97 �Editor1s Introduction I) • 11· Readers, Welcome to the first book of two for the 2004-2005 semesters, the • ·ond consecutive year we will publish two journals within a 1l1n f'rume of one academic year. This is quite a feat, but one that we 11uld not have reached if it weren't for an incredible staff of brilliant l11dlv i luals in personality and dedication working as a team, two 1111 nificent faculty advisors, those in the English department, and • ·ryo ne in the Wilkes community who submitted work to Manuscript. one of the oldest, continual college literary publications in the ' lllll lry, I think that these are journals with which we can all be proud. Man uscript Society is always trying new ways of communicating to I' •11ders. T~is semester we worked closely with layout. Such a feature 111 11 literal)j\journal_like Manuscript is quite valuable but often 11v ' rl oked .. Recently, I had an experience that brought me to thinking thou l its importance. In the weekend following the layout sessions to lid s semester' s Manuscript I traveled to Provincetown, MA. Traveling 1 1 • always a very important component to my life, but it is easy to l\l r ct that feeling once I am grounded in one space for too long. This •I ht -hour drive to the tip of Cape Cod, a place of mythic proportions, hrn ught me to thinking again about place and what it means for a p 'l'I! n to be where he or she is at any given moment. There are many v 1y to apply this thought and it is only as profound as one can make t, h11t let us for a little while think about place as it has to do with the 1 11di ng processes. How does each page connect to the next, or are they llnk1.:d at all? What happens to us cognitively as we immerse ourselves 11 un idea of traveling page by page? Many literary and art journals know what types of submissions they are looking for, but Manuscript's 1u1 I requirement is that those who submit are in someway connected 111 Wi lkes University. Perhaps the voices in Manuscript create a kind ,it d i. urse around this place. W • should keep in mind that this is not necessarily a meaning11111king process, but it is potentially an imaginative experience much I k lh c creative act itself. Like Dickinson ' s and Joyce ' s heavy use of ll lpscs ca lling readers into the empty spaces so they might fill in the I lnnk, , Manuscript urges you to move about the landscapes of the 11 ruturc co llected here. Helene T. Caprari Chief Editor, 2004 xiii �~ - - - - -- - - -- -- - - - - - - -- - Lennon The Professional Writer: Seven Archetypes By J. Michael Lennon Preface: Writers are not alike. Arguably, they are more singular than the rest of humanity. By nature, experience and choice, they are stubbornly individualistic, idiosyncratic and/or eccentric, as well as reserved or gregarious. Under the gregarious rubric we can list F. Seo and Zelda Fitzgerald, Norman Mailer, Marianne Moore, Vachel Lindsay, Truman Capote, Lillian Hellman, James Jones and Dorothy Parker, all of whom partied hearty. Mark Twain and Allen Ginsberg were famously extroverted. The reserved category includes Joan Didion, Elizabeth Bishop, Cormac McCarthy, Wallace Stevens, Robinson Jeffers and Eugene O'Neill. And then the reclusive: Emily Dickinson and J. D. Salinger, obviously. Thomas Pynchon is another shy writer, although he is seen occasionally. But the truth is that all writers shuttle from party animal to hermit, moving back and forth to escape from the work and then, inevitably, to get the work done. Jame Joyce claimed "silence, exile and cunning" as his watchwords, but spent his evenings in the cafes of Europe drinking-by choice-with disreputable companions, escaping from the labor of Ulysses and Finnegans Wake for a few hours. The extrovert/recluse division is one of many ways writers can be classified. We can slot writers by when they lived and where they lived, what genres and forms they worked, and their thematic preoccupations. For example, there are nature essayists (Rachel Carso and John Muir), playwrights who examine the family (Eugene O'Neill and Lorraine Hansberry), love poets (Chr~tien de Troyes and Pablo Neruda), novelists concerned about the individual and society (Nathaniel Hawthorne, George Eliot and many more) and so on. But perhaps a more useful typology is to consider writers as economic creatures : to classify them by how they earn their daily bread, how tl}e generated the wherewithal to tum out manuscript. The following seve categories may or may not be true archetypes, but they cover most of the ways, in general, that writers have maintained themselves ever since the patronage system began to crumble in the eighteenth century. Note: Perhaps one-third to one-half of the writers named below could easily be placed in two categories, a few in three. 1. The Independently Wealthy Writer: those who have been born into or inherited or married enough wealth that they never have to take a paid job except by choice. There are not all that many of these, although most writers are supported to some extent by one or more of the three modern successors to noble patrons: family, friends and foundations. Count Leo Tolstoy, James Merrill, Henry Adams, Amy XIV l 1,w •11 , Alexis de Tocqueville, Gertrude Stein, Henry James, Lord Ilyrnn, Wi lli am Styron, Edith Wharton, Harriet Beecher Stowe, llin m Burroughs, Hart Crane, Gustave Flaubert. T he Self-sufficient Writer: those who earn enough by their pens, r1i1 i' c mpletion of schooling, to avoid other employment. Many in iii , ·ategory, if they are sufficiently prominent and/or engaging, 11pp lement their income by lecturing or giving paid readings. John \ lpll ike, Gore Vidal , Norman Mailer, Ezra Pound, Flannery O' Connor, lm;lair Lewis, Susan Sontag, Jack Kerouac, Ralph Waldo Emerson, ;\11 11 Beatt ie, John Cheever. ,I , The Journalist Turned Writer: those who write regularly for the 111 •dia at the beginning and, in some cases, throughout the length of Iii •ir careers. Almost all writers of this and the last century have w1 ii 1cn book reviews for the periodical or daily press. The pay is small, hil t reviews keep; ne' s name before the publ_ic between major projects. I rncst Hemingw y, Joan Didion, Mark Twam, Edgar Allan Poe, ' ii •rwood Ander on, WiHiam Faulkner, Theodore Dreiser, Mary • 'arthy, Lillian Hellman, John O'Hara, Gay Talese, Ji1;1my Bre_slin, l\r I I larte, H. L. Mencken, Charles Dickens, Edmund Wilson, Willa c' 11hcr, Stephen Crane, Emile Zola, John Dos Passos. I. The Teacher Turned Writer: those who teach to earn a living or to 11p plcment meager royalties or because they enjoy it. Poets, • ,p 'cially, are likely to have academic positions for the simple reason th 111 v lumes of poetry usually have modest sales. Joyce Carol Oates, W. 11. Auden, Toni Morrison, Philip Roth, Vladimir Nabokov, Galway l1111cll , John Berryman, James Dickey, James Joyce, Robert Stone, I 11 lph Elli son, Stephen King, Robert Frost, Lionel Trilling, Allen Tate, Ili" d Kazin, Annie Dillard. , The Double-Barreled Professional Writer: those who work in a p111 1' •ss ional job--banker, editor, manager, bureaucrat, diplomat, ,111 •1nr, ctc .--during the day and write at night and on weekends. Not 11 one discovers the writer' s vocation early on, and many have 111hli 8hed themselves in another profession first. Wallace Stevens, 111 111111 arlos Williams, T.S. Eliot, Stanley Kunitz, E. L. Doctorow, Wl lll11 m Dean Howells, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Nathaniel West, 11\ h()ny Tro llope, Anton Chekov, Carlos Fuentes, George Orwell. 1 Oohemian Writer: those who work as laborers, short order sail rs, migrant farm workers, factory workers, and other lowp11 v 11 1-& , irregular jobs. Starving in a Parisian garret is largely a cli~he, 11111 111 ,ny o f those named here did live hand-to-mouth for long penods. ti , l'h , 1111k , xv �Lennon_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Charles Bukowski, William Steinbeck, James Jones, Alex Haley, Herman Melville, Richard Henry Dana, Tennessee Williams, Eugene O'Neill, Henry David Thoreau, Raymond Carver, David Mamet, Russell Banks. 7. The Free Lance Writer: those who live solely, and often precariously, by their pens. Free lancers are highly flexible, even opportunistic. They are ingenious in proposing profiles, interviews, essays and articles, or suites of articles, to publications, and sometimes help write the grants that pay their fees. Their names are not widely known, partly because they write for newspapers, magazines, the Internet, advertising agencies, corporations, government agencieswhoever will buy their work-for-hire. They will take on business and professional clients and often write corporate reports. xiv j �DREW AMOROSO The Ring I smell her tears: Sunday morning crossword puzzle and lilac hand soap. She's sleeping; until she hears the beat ofmy heart in the hallway. 1·m scared - 1 sense the ring. I move towards her bed: " Would you like some ofmy milk?" She would say that. I wonder if those tubes are necessary ; "'Or a piece of my toast?" Her face sounds cold, her voice looks fragile. I see her words; they're suspended: "How's Valerie?" Her toes try desperately to drill a hole through the blanket; no luck, the ring is too heavy. I miss him too . Her veins - a bitter black and blue - have a race down her arm , toward her hand, which has crawled into mine. Her cheekbones puncture her wrinkled skin; her eyes have melted into a single tear that pierces her nightgown . ·' J can't do it without him." She wears the ring around her neck. The drilling stops; I squeeze her hand; it breaks off into mine. 1 squeeze harder, it turns to dust. As I open it l hear the coolest breeze; maybe her breath, probably his . The dust is gone. The ring remains. �JESSIKA GEISLER - - - - -- - - - -- -- - -- -- - - -- - -GEISLER Grace was you and I standing, I was the mysterious, new, forming essence like sycamore trees of light spirals of life; in the rain and glittering fall of this space and time, the embrace of dark sod in our toes, our roots, the sinking endless depth we were formed from, the white larva, the burrowing white worm we sprung from, cocoons of lifetimes the butterfly - Spring springing into the sky the fertile rain of April where you and I grew through the underbrush and skin, into the endless soul. the liquid current, the moon and intuition turned the black to iridescence like dreams, our hearts are formed into tw inkling lights of hope like the unreachable stars, oh god we carry such heavy skins and pasts .. . to just let go There is no mold, no map, no clear view through the dark No, we light ourselves up and find each other as glowing sparks, · stars, dreams, intuition the night was an ocean ofus - unformed we were currents of life - intersecting and embracing, entwining enlightening. Grace was you and I, in the fertile glint of rain, growing. We become the intangible forces of existence. not the beginning, not the end ... not confined to these times and measures of who and when .. . we are, t~ s beginning. 2 3 �GEISLER_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Pan is dead It's not warm. It's November. The green has retreated like blood does, beneath the skin. It sinks deeper into the heart when I step into the cold. There's no ink left in colors; only black, for recording what vague forms we remember. What could r paint you in November? A Walk in Town, Raychil Arndt 4 5 �I AMES WARNER AMY STEELE 300 frames per second The Photograph Moving faster to slow down, the rush is just another four letters when push eases into pull. Seduced by the camera tricks and the parlor lens under glass we hold the pose fast like glue or a collection of insects, butterflies, and moths. The entomology of amber fossilsThe life we hung along in the blood I'm stripping you of all your color tonightTake that shade of red and replace it with your light; For only you could be so beautiful in black & white. Laid out, naked, before my eyes, The sublime reveals itself in youMy foreign inspiration is not foreign to me. Everything disappears but what is essential; I see the rainbow become you And it is astounding. is the force we apply to wounds dressed like obscure legends observed by dark horse shadows taller than the timbers we fall from. The film frame exposed in rapid succession fails to catch us: celluloid is a net broken , ·'Tomorrow" and " later" when spoken at times like these ......_________ are promises broken like limbs at thirty-two feet per second per second. Gravity and speed both accelerate with accent exponents Lonely, Amy Steele 111 11 ii 6 they hit hard against a rigid scientifically brutal truthful surface. 7 �WARNER_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ __ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ WARNER it's 4:55 everywhere eventually driven*thru 1he profile of the sky betrays lhe ongoing forever of the ocean. night lowers darker hues of blue curtain sandwiching the yellow until it bleeds to red agai nst the sea. I started to drive in circles to keep track of time so late and darkly passing. This dime-store-ride needs a break and a new set of stops. On a track in a one-horse-town, I've got a chance and a place to show my wins by; ~ome take to the beach to be witness (but) luck turns into wish when all the stars go out in the building across the Market Street bridge. The neon constellations are open 24 hours and myths about our youth get easier to embellish the later it gets around here . 8 i prefer the window of my suite, leet propped up like my ego by leaning hard against softback chairs. hot air fills the room, i empty my eyes to the rolling tide, giving way to the accumulated thoughts of an eight hour road trip and the reversal of movement: we passed by people exits at a time now people pass by me and i wonder if life just laps and laughs even a little at the thought of the end of another day. 9 �WARNER·------ - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -~ 1 unemployed carpenter vs. trophy wife Dollar painted housecoat dance without its arms, Legs naked to the knees, then breakfast washed against the stockings. The library turns its books to page 29 and Then saws and drills filled the silent ears of uniform readers: To be such a clown to Cathy's A to Z was to know the history of R O C K but not to learn from it. Recreational drugs for the soccer mombereft of lemonade sandwiches and WashingmachinesexShe took up the cause to matter more than a semi-colon in junkmail form letters ... _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ WARNER \11d fro m the medicine cabinet rai ned white and blue and other assorted soothing colors. I Il e porcelain played the notes of a busted piano. \ song with John Cage as a father and 1111eonscious artistic trappings as an orphan. 11 Whate ver wasn ' t swallowed by the drain was drained by the throat. l1e fla iled. He choked. And even though they would never have the chance to read about one another in the newspaper, people could clearly see they could ' ve been in love. Taste the absence of children and honeymoons, Just to cry when she folds the laundry. But from the open second floor window, he started freeing the contents of the nearest bookcase: Art Criticism (Ho-Ke) They hit the sidewalk, flapping their covers like the useless wings of leather-bound pigeons, Each hit was a final , definitive statement: A fire escape ejecting steps on its way to Wash Blowing in the Wind, Clarissa E. Dudeck Hell. II �COREY PATKA _ Sitcom Ending A Short Play Cast of Characters: Aaron- a young man in his mid-twenties, he gives an impression of intelligent naivete, someone with limitless questions, but few answers. At the mercy of circumstance. Kelly- a young woman, also in her mid-twenties, Aaron ' s soon-to-be girlfriend. Her nature should not be construed as vicious or hostile, merely two-dimensional. _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ PA JKA n,ere is a moment of silence. Then taped audience applause breaks the 1·/lence as trendy theme music, similar to that which is played on any 11opular sitcom, is heard over the sound system. Then the lights slowly 1·0111e to full on the entire stage, revealing a vety well-furnished, l' rpensive-looking apartment in New York. The apartment is clean, 111odernized, and contrasts sharply with Aaron ' s modest demeanor and 11yle of dress. As the music fades, we hear the announcer over the sound \\'Siem say ... nnouncer (vo): Aaron and Kelly is filmed before a live studio nud ience. O-,e sound dies out. Aaron wanders onstage looking confused. Announcer- operates only as a voice-over, should be flashy and comical, similar to Don Pardo on Saturday Night Live. Scene: A solitary light slowly encircles a man, Aaron, slouching in an armchair watching television. He is dressed casually, form-fitting Levi jeans, a rock band T-shirt, no shoes or socks. He randomly flips the channels until he comes across a commercial for some popular primetime sitcom. For directing purposes, the commercial can be tape but if authenticity is your game, the television can be given a live cable connection. Aaron watches the commercial with little interest and snap the set offafter it is over. Aaron: (under his breath) I fucking hate sitcoms. (he rises, then to the audience as the lights rise slightly) No offense or anything. I realize many of you probably enjoy stuff like Will and Grace, or Seinfeld, or Friends, but none of that ever really appeals to me. I guess I' m just too serious a person to laugh at some reinvention ofreal life that's meant to portray things "as they are." Seinfeld may be a show about nothing, an Will and Grace may be advancing the acceptance of the gay community but I just don ' t see how this can possibly be a representation of what w as people, struggle with on a daily basis. (slight pause) Kelly, my girlfriend, left me last week, and I just don't know how you can tum heartache like that into "Must-See TV." We were together for four years. I saved up for six months to buy her an engagement ring, and then, just like that, she packs up her stuff and leaves. Was it because of my job? My dreams? Was it because she said I had commitment issue (with pain) Or was it just never there between us to begin with? I'd lik to know what NBC would do with that. (black out) 12 aron: (to audience) I don ' t live here. There ' s no way I could afford- Ke lly storms onstage with her arms full of various personal belongings she stuffs into luggage pieces and cardboard boxes that are preset ,omewhere. She is very annoyed, rushed, and does not seem to notice aron at all. 111/,ic h aron: (happily surprised) Kelly! What are you doing back-? Kelly: Don ' t even talk to me! nron: Kelly, listen, there' s something you should know! Kelly: And there' s something you should know : it' s over! .nron: Look, I don ' t blame ~ 4- for being angry, but at least hear me out. This is important. • "----- ' clly: All right, let's hear it. uron: I know you called me a commitment phobic, and with good (she snorts, and continues her activity ofpacking, Aaron fo llows l1t•r) But these past six months I' ve been working, for us! And I think l' v1,; come up with something that will convince you not to leave. 1 ·oson! lllly: (laughs) You ' ve "come up" with something? I don ' t know h111's more laughable, your thought process or Liza Minelli ' s last 11111 rriage! 13 �PA)KA, _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __,: _ terrible as this. Kelly stands as if she is waiting for her next cue line, Aaron looks around, bewildered, trying to find where the laughter is coming from. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ __ __ _ __ __ P AJKA \'111111d Cue: Audience laughter. i\n ron: What does that have to do with anything? You"re not making nse! Aaron: What the hell was that? l\'.clly: And you're not making anything else! Money! A career! (a Kelly: What the hell was what? /,, ,111, then) An engaging sex partner! Aaron: That-laughing noise, it was coming from everywhere! You can't tell me you didn ' t hear that! Sn11nd cue: Audience gives various ''oohs," "aahs, "and other snide , 1•111arks. Aaron is dumbfounded. Kelly: Oh, I didn't hear something? That sounds familiar! You mean the same way you just didn' t hear about our last anniversary? An ron: What are you talking about? What you're saying isn 't natural! this way, you don ' t think-act this way! This isn ' t even We live in Reading, Pennsylvania. You're an •lcmentary school T.A. I'm a rock journalist-or at least I want to be. Yo u don ' t talk our apartment! Sound cue: Audience laughter, not as loud as before, with a few "Ooh' and "Aah 's. " clly: Oh, so it's all about you again, is it? Never a thought about the woman you share a home with! I suppose next you ' ll call yourself a ictim. Aaron: What are you talking about? That never happened! On our las anniversary we stayed in and watched This is Spinal Tap. Kelly: Oh, of course we would, knowing you and your excelsior taste! nron : I didn ' t mean that. You ' re putting words in my mouth. Aaron: But you love This is Spinal Tap! What's wrong with you? Kelly: Me? You ' ve got some nerve! With all your whining, it's no wonder we got thrown out of the opera last week! The divas must have gotten jealous. Sound Cue: Audience laughter. Aaron: What are you talking about? You hate the opera! We haven ' t even been to the opera before. Ever! We met at Bonnaroo for Christ's sake! clly: How could I? It's already so crowded in there with your foot in l so frequently! So und Cue: Audience laughter. Note: ff any of the actual audience II/embers react in a manner similar to the taped reactions, the actor /!laying Aaron may ad lib something akin to "You 're not helping!" to them if he wishes. aron : (laughter)~ rlon't get this! What you're saying isn 't even l\mny! ';~ clly: You think this is a laughing matter? God, I pity you sometimes, and your homemade Television t-shirts. How passe ! Kelly: Bonnaroo? ou Aaron: Yes! We met during Sonic Youth's set. Don't you remember? They were playing the guitar solo in "Wildflower Soul." That' s when we--(he stops, she looks lost and confused) don ' t you remember? (a beat) What's going on here? Sound cue: Audience says "Ooh" in unison as if offended. Aaron ,•rimaces. Kelly: What's going on? It's a little something called "me-centered living," something you're all too familiar with! n~on: ?e~? Th~re it is again! How can you not hear that? Don 't you ·nl1 ze this 1s all like some bad T.V. show? Are you trying to kid me? Is !his a joke? Ifso, your material needs a facelift. r know a plastic 1irgeon in L.A. who could help. 14 t �_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ P AJKA PATKA·--------------------------"'Sound Cue: Audience laughter. Aaron reacts with regret, knowing wh he has just done. Kelly: Why does everything have to be one big joke with you? so immature! Aaron: With me? Listen to yourselfl No, it's not you, it's that laughter! I can' t believe you don't hear it! (a beat, then) I don't even recognize you anymore. Kelly: (as if she did not hear his last line) Laughing, huh? The only laughing you' ll be hearing soon is mine, chuckling all the way to the singles scene! Sound cue: Audience hoots and hollers. Aaron does not seem as affected. Aaron: (clearer) You' re like a different person. I guess I just wanted things to stay like they were in college. I wanted to be twenty years old little bit longer. I wanted to be a kid forever, but you changed, I guess I did too . The job, the apartment, the ring. I guess I just wantedKelly: (very overdramatic and unconvincing) You want! You want! Well what about what I want?! I want to live! J want to be loved! And more than anything, I just want to move, to breathe, to break out! Can' you understand that, Aaron? For the love of God, I can' t live this way! If you can' t see that, well, then I pity you. It' s a cruel fate we share, Aaron, and the affections of two people are all we can hang on to. This is it, the smallest indivisible human unit is two people. I knew you one I loved you once. But, you' ve changed, oh, how you' ve changed. (Sound cue: Overly sentimental music) The first time I met you was r something out of a storybook. You were standing in the comer at the High School formal. You were so cute in that hand-me-down suit your mom made you wear. (laughs) And me, I just was doing my best not t be seen, but I couldn' t get past you. Something about you just made m feel special. Just like a little girl in my own private Neverland. But that was then, and this is now . (Kelly slowly moves to center stage for her speech 's emotional climax) 1 just don ' t believe in fairy tales anymore. The little girl ' s grown up, (to him) Peter Pan has run out of fairy dust, and it looks like that crocodile has finally caught up to Captain Hook. (Aaron is aghast at the speech 's horrors) And it's time for Tinkerbell to fly away . That is, unless you (to audience) believe in fairies. 16 \'r!llnd cue: Audience says "Aww" in unison, then applauds loudly at the 1/l('ech. Aaron almost looks nauseated. nron: That was bullshit! Who the fuck wrote thi s? ! Kelly: (close to tears) You ' re so cruel! A11_ron: NO! ! NO, I"M NOT! You don ' t make any sense! Thi s is ild 1c~ lous!_ T~at sp~ech was just you talking! There was no buildup, no motional Just1ficat1on! You just did it for its own sake! Can' t you see 1hut? You ' re not making any sense at all! You just go about thin gs as if our every move is written down for you, choreographed, and rehearsed. I very moment of your life is a fac,:ade, a charade! You·re not li v ing fo r 1:1c_or even for y~urse((anyn_10re! You' re li ving for every person on this 111th who yo~ thmk might give you a raise, or a promotion, or a letter of 1:commendation, or some cheap thrill! Don ' t you get it?! YOU' RE A I UC KING SITCOM CHARACTER!!! (a beat, then, calmer) T he 1·ason why I haven ' t been as available for the past few months was hccause I was saving up to get this ! (Aaron reaches into his pocket and ll't_r:eves a small j ewelry case) Do you have any idea how many double hilts I had to :,,vork at the record store to afford it? (He opens it and 1·c,r,oves the dtamon~ ,:ing within) Twelve-carat cut with genuine opal illam?nds. Look at 1t 1fyou don ' t believe me. It 's a symbol. After the I,~t time we fought I thought long and hard about where I am and where I want to go. I stayed out all ni ght. I went up to the spot by the high ·hool where I used to take my old girlfriends and just thought about all '!'c passi? ~s I've had before. For people, for moments, fo r rock bands, l'.lr te l~v1s1on shows; for all the things that, briefly, anyway, made me I •cl alive. Then I thought of you. I remembered Bonnaroo, and Sonic Y uth. I remembered bee~ in the back of the Mustang, miss ing every I ne of Waitmgfor Guffman}J~ause we were too busy with each other. lh u~ht of your laugh and the first time we made love. Then I realized 1hat it '-:as love, not sex that drew me to you. I realized I didn ' t have to h' afra id of commitment, not when I knew there couldn ' t be anyone else l1 r me. So then, when the bank opened, I went to the ATM , withdrew 1111 my cash and bought you this. It's a symbol , Kelly, a symbo l of all 11'.a_t I feel for you. We had a future . A life. It's not about the money, l,s about us, a~d what we could have had. I just didn ' t know until now 1 not ab~ut sitcom endings. This isn' t the last episode of Fr iends, j ust lhc last episode of us. I' m pulling the plug. The premise wore itself out. I h pe someday you ' ll come to realize this too. I long pause. Kelly is shocked, unable to move. Aaron slowly, with 17 I 1 �PAJKA _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _---"■ I great labor, begins to exit. He pauses as he leaves. _ _ _ __ __ _ _ _ _PAJ KA The screen flickers dimly Across the dull , gray walls The sound gently Through a mind newly stalled He is gone. Kelly: (haltingly) Yeah-well!-it, it sucks to be you! _ __ ll 11litled Meditation on Hopeless Hero Worship I love you. Another long pause. Kelly stares about the empty stage, realizing she is alone. For a brief moment, she is human. But then, before she can run after him .. . _ __ _ __ _ _ __ I I I I wa nt to wa nt to wa nt to wa nt to be Bob Dylan be James Dean be Art Carney make a scene. Sound cue: Audience erupts into riotous laughter and applause as Kelly gathers her belongings andforcefully exits. Climactic applause fills the stage as the trendy theme music refrains. The lights slowly fade to blac as the announcer says ... Announcer (vo): Don't miss next week! We've got two new world premiere Aaron and Kelly spinoffs! From the creative team that brought you Aaron and Kelly, it's a must-see T.V. event featuring Kelly and a new rotating love interest role each and every week. It's Kelly and Fillin-the-Blank, all new at the time you'd normally see Aaron and Kelly, and then-(the announcer's voice becomes less comical and more reflective) A heartwarming new drama. He's a lost soul in search of a place to call home, somewhere in America. Armed with nothing but his heart, his Mustang, and a stellar record collection, he's out trying to fin d himself, love and a few vintage Rolling Stones tour t-shirts. It's the series premiere of Aaron America, next week after Kelly and Fill-in-theBlank. Your local news is next. Black out Death of the Glory Days, Joseph DeAngelis 18 19 I , �DAN DIMARIA _ Man Like So Many Before I try to stare out ofmy prison, burthe light of the real world blinds me, so I return to my manual labor and consider escape, scaling these lofty mountain walls, if only to gaze out upon the immoral ruins o Western civilization for but a moment. All I have craved for lies out there - love, lust, free-wheeling sin upon sin. But instead I'm made to settle for my shovel, two mortgages, a smart-ass Irish girl who won't shut up and a job with minimum wage - no benefits. Yeah . Great. I bring myself back to the real, stare out into nothing. I' m on my porch, on my house that is the same as all the other houses on all th other streets. It' s hot, damn hot. I'm smoking a cigarette and I know it' hot. I don't want to finish my smoke. I know it' s hot because the smok ~o~'t float away. It just hangs like an odious mist, clouding my vision, h1dmg the truth. My little girl, Amy, runs by me, wearing a low-cut ·s h' that bares her midriff and low-rise jeans; it' s the same outfit I asked her to never let me see her wearing. Her red hair is shimmering in the sun mocking it - it's the only good thing she got from her mother. ' "Bye, daddy. I'll see you tonight." "Where ya' goin ' - and I promise I won' t ask why you' re goin there wearing what you are." "Daddy!" She pauses, waiting for me to recant. When I don't she continues. "I'm just going over Ali ' s house for awhile. I'll be horn around eleven." I sigh, regrettably. She knows I'll be passed out on the chair· ~ont _of a blank TV screen with God knows how many beers in me by ' nme-1sh . I used to be able to play her game and I was damn good at it. Not anymore. My daughter leans over, kisses me on the cheek, a gesture both warm and mechanical, stirring feelings of love inside me, love for the warmth, nothing for anything else. She gets into her car, starts it up, backs out, pulling away from t~e house slowly, knowing I' d yell at her if she didn ' t. I look at my cigarette, slowly burning to ash, like the rest ofmy life. I glare at it disgustingly and put it out. If only it were that easy. I get up off my ass, which has gotten steadily fatter over the years, and make my way back into the house; the house I built with my bare _hands, out of brick cast out of the furnaces of my burning desire to provide and shelter and care for the family I knew that I would one day have. My wife is in the kitchen, boiling something, like all Irish wiv tend to do from time to tim~. When I met her twenty-five years ago, sh was a flawless woman, as kmd and as gentle and certainly as beautifal a 20 _ _ __ _ __ _ __ _ _ __ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ DIMA RI A 111y I had ever seen. She had kept her beauty this past quarter-century, hut. as housewives often do, she grew bitter and I felt her longing to ·~cape this place, this wicked fortress of solitude, so she could care for omething other than cooking and clothes and this damn house she ' s hcen begging me to fix. I also felt her growing apart from me. " Did you fix that bulb in the basement yet? I alm ost fell down 1hc stairwell and broke my neck this morning." I could always depend upon her to speak gently, wh ether she poke of something as frivolous as a light bulb or as morbid as her near di.:ath. I say, "You know I would, Allison, but we don ' t have any ha logens." I could feel her cold stare on my back, as if daring me to turn 1111 d face its wrath. " I'll write it down on the list. I don ' t need any ln undry done - if you do, I' ll just go down there with a flashli ght and do t." "OK, that'll be fine. Oh, by the way, I was at the mall today 1111d I passed by that new store with antiques and I - " I zoned out. I knew I wasn ' t going anywhere while this ·onversation went on so I settled in for the long run. I thought about that li ght bulb in the basement and how much we had in common. Once it hud shone brightly, illuminating the paths of anyone who summoned its li ght, always ready, always prepared should someone require its services. N w it was burned out, dead inside, useless to everyone, sitting alone in lhe dark, waiting to be discarded. "Are listening to me?" my wife asked, obviously quite sure lhat I hadn ' t been.>_ " Yeah, of'course I was. You went to the antique store and saw omething you liked. Are ya gonna keep me in the dark all day or are ya onna show me it? I' d like to see it." "Oh," she said, obviously convinced that I had been listening. "13ut I didn ' t buy it. That' s the problem. It matches the theme of the ki tchen and it's the same color as the paneling but I wasn ' t sure so I did n' t want to buy it until I was." " Well , just go back tomorrow and -" ·'See, I was going to go back today, seeing as, heh, I don't have 1111ything to do. Do you think you can watch the stove ' ti! I get back?" " Actually, I. .. " "Thanks, hon. I' ll be back in an hour." " OK. See ya then." She left out the back door, without another word, without so 111uch as a glance back in my direction. I removed myself back onto the porch, still as sweltering as it w11s before. I realized I had a beer in my hand, so I opened it, and was Y°'\ 21 I I II �DIMARIA,_ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ 'II RISTINA HAROWICZ delighted to be greeted by the fizz-pop of the can and the smell of hops, fine companions in such temperatures. I continued my actions from before, matching the angry gaze of the mountains that formed my cell, a if willing them to crumble down upon themselves, making easy my escape from this place to freedom . Of course, they didn ' t. But it was probably better that way. What would this place do without me? ish Pennies lh'•p, I >11rk, lh',1utiful lake of all lost hope. \ tlk up to it1.tke a wish. I hin 't close your eyes, though . l ' • your maker, she will heal you . It 1ht fi st full of pennies. Inst are dirty, I l'W hine like stars. ill() tight1' •1,nies drip from your hand. i l ' 1ve some luck I nr another desperate soul. I l.'lln back. 1,,1i n momentum . I nss them in. ,1 IT 1, ~ 1 Buttercup Falls I, Kathryn Skaluba 22 23 I �AMY l<ASPRISKIE Affair with the Dawn Open all the windows, Let the sin in. Hear me roarrrr! Penetrating in between The sheets and comforter, Sweats the warmth of which I have come to imprison. Oh shit! I' m not wearing my waterproof knickers! Why? So tangible, I can almost sink my teeth in. Does Ivan have cooties ? Ewwwwww! Ivan has cooties?! Slipping into something More comfortable, The window discards the shade. Articles of light falling upon The follicles on my head, Distorting my vision. I do not! Ivan 's a dirty, dirty Communist. 'ome give Ivan a kiss! No Ivan! I don' t like dirty Communi sts! You' re gross! So unkempt, 1 am violated from within . mooch es Sweating from the bedside table After a one night stand, Kiss upon kiss, Blushes the glass, The object of rejection. I use 0000000. You kissed Ivan! You and Ivan sitting in a tr •e, f-u-c-k-i-n-g. Shut up you! It wasn ' t consensual! So reliable, It is always in the kitchen . it was! She told me she liked it. Did not! Liar! Shut all the windows, Naked face on naked pillows, Naked pane on naked windows, And let the sleep creep in. You love lvannn! You love lvannn! use You're right. I do love lvan. 'ome, my dear. Let us be perpetually consensual together. And 'ommunist. Yes! Yes! l will come! I will! I 'm so j ealous. Why can 't I have that? 11 ce d e 24 25 �- - ------- - --- ScHRJEBER _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ __ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ __ _.SCHREIBER Every woman deserve. n f'OCm I I No shit. Right? (sigh) I'm clearly enlightened But when you trace her fa 's lopo ruph wilh yo ur fingers and find the secrets to the Univ ~rs in It •r ullil11d • It adds up With maternal eyes see ing lhrc u It m • Instincts beyond me Nurturer to my inner child Or never making sense of cnts Pheromon~s my nose can't fat h<m, fhrl s, 1111d ull the feelings in between and following Silent_lip~ smiling when they sc • surpris •s in my eyes Me thmkmg of her breasts back bottom Her coll~bone caressing the naked nap • Jund a pe Connecting the dots with my eye and everything surrounding lho:;c d ts like all the lands a min , I love that shit Include insecure actress with that chemical imbalance Her presence is that of a celestial bei ng and what the celestial being crap ut rolled up kneaded then sculpted into Erection I mean perfection but then who's kidding who? when you feel her Energy Animal attraction with mathematical probabilities Innately innate Reach out and try to touch Can you touch? A tangible symphony? Too much? Too much! A poem's poem poeming a poem The ocean and the earth with no makeup on And a hair that poses finically across her face - independently minded from the other strands All said is inverted inside a mind's depth compacted with the seasoned cycles she inhabits Thinking thoughts of how things should be thought out I don ' t understand and never will But will always strive Always strive Strive because I am compelled Never getting enough can be too much to take but it will be taken for taking ' s sake So the sum of al I that cannot be said or understood mentally but is felt on the highest levels is she There's something in the way she does or is or ... you know what I mean? You do. It is a women 's privilege to change her mind God damn right! Tum Away So ... More than words on paper More than this ( old, stale, and crusty wheat bread of a poet) can conjure (but with the purest emotions underlying the clearest intent) For the reasons they know For the reasons we know For the reasons they know we know they know (and all known knowledge) For my sake (sigh) WOMAN 26 27 �CLARISSA ~iI I E. DUDECK SHANNON CURTIN Seven Year Ache These crisp fall nights awaken my the stars are out, the moon hangs I the wind rustles through the corn I stand outside and smoke my cigar tt , th ink in , r membering Just like I did years ago, waiting for y u t pl ·k me up Smoking, hoping that mom and dad d n' I n1 II it, I hould be ok the windows are closed I touch up my make-up. You should be pull In d wn the driveway any minute I'll hop in and we'll be off You are my first love and 1' m on top of th w rid Everything is new and exciting Kissing a little longer because we know I can ' t tay Tiptoeing in, skipping school to be with y u I can't believe my fairytale has come true, it mu t b fo rever You hold me on this frosty night, waiting in lin fi r the haunted hou e You hold my hair back while I' m sick at a Hall You ' re always thinking ofme You are a little older and so intriguing \ You have so much more to offer than boys my age You have a car . .. and money Now it's our first Christmas together, all of the nice g ifts You kiss me for New Year' s, you send me fl ower ti r Valentine' s Day Things start to fall apart You ' re kicking yourself in the ass for being with omeone younger Someone that doesn 't know what they want My cigarette bums down to the filter Every year when the leaves turn I think about us It' s now been seven long years It's harvest time, and you 're back in my life Coming just as unexpected as the first time Your calls make me smile Seeing you still makes my heart beat a little faster Everything is brand new again, but not. .. There ' s no starting at square one, no uncomfortable first dates Now we start where we left off.. . Backseat As we sat there, your backseat bathed in moonlight . . fog coloring your windows with the occasional reflection of pass mg headlight beams I temporarily lost connection to the world . Stripped of my past, my ties, and my consciousness as easily as my shirt floated to the floor to slide into a turbulent tide of empty acts of tepid emotions. Fueled by the milk of the night leaking from the stars and the crooning in the air. Waked from my wonderland by the ache of the safety belt buckle wedged under my back. Consistently growing and tossed aside. Refusal of acceptance of reality until like the seatbelt, it becomes unbearable. Responsible for the brevity of my delus ion and denial. Now the moonlight only illuminates the illusion I tried to feign and the radio points fingers at my malady while the stars just glisten, like the sweat from your brow refusing to give me hint of my future . They spell out my past. Just take me home. 28 29 �MARISSA PHILLIPS The Downfall of Men I like to watch the downfall of men. Intimacy. Sputtering useless sentiments, I watch them unwind. Stand strong! They have no option but to become feminine. The less you respond, the more they give back. (Let him hold the door open, humor him. He misses his masculinity.) It's kind of sad to watch the downfall of men. Such vamps women are. II I, Ii,, l Chapel at Hickory Run State Park, Clarissa E. Dudeck 30 31 �LAUREN CAREY SABRINA NAPLES Regina Conversation "This is how I came to love my vagina. " -The Vagina Monologues I didn't love it Until he loved it And he touched it Before I did. So . .. have you ever heard of a prickly pear? Prickly pear? No ... Well ifs orangish--Yeah. Kinda ... spiky. Looks a little like a--Cactus? No, not quite ... Like a pear? Yeah .. . yeah thafs it . .. That's weird. It's all about me. But 1 couldn't see How to be me Until he did. He let something out That hadn't been out. He cast it out Before I did. Yup. So ... you want an apple? Sure. The pleasure I feel Is hard to conceal. He let me feel The way he did. Conclusion: Prickly pear is a foreign and dangerous fruit. Fading Grace, Amy Steele 33 I. �NAPLffi;_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~ - - - - - - - - - _ "Not Listening ... " This Bowl Don't tell me what to write, for once. I'll tum on the Faucet this time And let every word fall Dripping From my Pen Like a punctured juice box. Every Letter leak onto the paper until it is runny, saturated with Ideas, and soggy, soaked with Opinions aJI my own. And then, When Inspiration is scratchy and dry, I just might allow that sip of Advice From your Pitcher of Good Intentions. This bowl filigreed, Under golden dust laced, Two-by-two people marching with ivory skin. And slanted eyes painted tropical flowers Pink, jungle jade, crimson to sea blue, All curved tempting rainbows, and I can't Buy it, Clean it Or Hold it: I' ll sit and groan Watching my precious, beautiful artifact as it crumbles in a miasma of educational neglect, Nesting it in my brain with a tight straw of spite-Because this porcelain egg which would be, Co uld be, Should be, Mine, mine, mine Will never, ever, hatch. 34 _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ NAPLffi �L_ NAPLES._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ AMBER LAWSON While in Japan Out there upon the still lake there is a sudden splash and a ripple and bubbles, rising from unmarked depths of silver water. This cherry blossom tree dropped a few petals in token of a rather un-mourned disappearance throughout the hair of an abandoned maiden with both eyes and an expression of raven black. Her pale white face betrayed no sorrow toward the abduction of an absent letter an overturned boat in the midst of an empty wash. Why mourn one who has chosen what is blacker than sin. You know honor from dishonor and yet the Jure of a water-demon ensnares pure and flawed alike. My Country 'Tis of Thee Every night another coffin draped In stripes silent stars falls dropping into dust where no one will ever see its light In Bloom, Crystal Wah 36 37 �- - - -- ------------------~LAWSON Read me Lusting Thursday Paper thin leaves of linen spiral bound wound tightly to the center heartstring u nfurled to trap the shadows of your world I drive sixty down the sidewalk 0 b I V 0 u s You are a CASUALTY to my consciousness Reflections, Raychil Arndt 39 38 �_ _ __ TOSH ORLOSKI _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ __ _ _ _ _ _ O RLOSKI The Moon Snow Shatters When we walked the path to see the moon, you stayed more than two steps in front. From my two feet down, and two feet back, you stood so tall and bold on that night. A dry mouth, cracking hands, together with a soul waiting for the coming snow. You took my hand and pulled me to the rock, watched as I stared at the silver sun and cried. You walked me back down the slate steps, and we went across the lake and back to camp. And when it comes all my blood will freeze. Slowing down the beats and leaving crystals in my heart. Then I will explode leaving pebbles and memories floating through the air, cutting through the cold. \ And it will tear apart the sky . Later that night, you asked me why I cried and I looked at you and truly believed that the moon would never look so big again. Buttercup Falls fl, Kathryn Skaluba 40 41 �Keith Hubbard _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ HUBBARD Rusty Loopholes to Bliss Because hummingbirds Will always have their blue-hot dances in the Arctic. All you have to do Is wait for the glaciers to melt their way free And sail on down. Gather your feathers And build some wings. Use them to fly into A self-inflicted, self-destructive, Self-fulfilling self-discovery. While we may lack grace, We can fly steadily north While strobe light samurais Stay hot on our trail Slicing through the stratosphere With 2-D katanas. If you don't use the wings To escape whatever cage you're in, Use them for truth The truth ... Is that fragility means one thing: No bones No heart No blood No flesh Just 6,000 tiny marbles Held together at -9.8 meters per second .1 The fragility ... Is flying to the sun With a porcelain Easter basket That is included in such A close proximity. You want my advice? Wait till night to go for the sun. Catch it off guard. And when you 're hurled back To the bathroom floor, Don't feel sullen About the rust spots on your soul. 42 43 �HUBBARD,_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ __ __ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ Leonard He is untouched by the lies Because he knows a secret. What' s a Jewish snake charmer Doing in a San Francisco jailhouse? _ __ _ __ HUBBARD There is never a lie Because there is never a truth . I read the police report: They found him on a stage In front of women in a mixed audience. With his right hand, He calmly beat a snare drum Beckoning the preposition And teasing the verb. When this portion was done, He pulled three syllables from his back pocket. And while the hipsters howled The family men ran to the restroom To disinfect their ears. I In the paddy wagon, The arresting officer Tries to issue a citation of shame In the most by-the-book manner he knows. In return, Leonard interrogates the officer, Questioning him on his oral sex life And making threats of purgatory. In the court room, The questioning men use their occupation As an excuse To perform this snake charming act themselves, While Leonard sits with an ostentatious smirk. I I His grin widens As his own suppression nurtures him With power, violence And viciousness. They throw lies Like Aryan stars While Leonard sits Unaffected. 44 45 �HUBBARD _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ Before the Eb 1 dropped my ax, _ _ _ __ __ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ Ran to my car (for Lanye Staley) And drove fast To the information superhighway You turned my head for the first time By the ears, In the presence of naked youth In an absence of consequence I got off at extension MTV And the billboard read What my eyes could not read, Blinded as they were By my black and white tears. The dirty Eb Jerked my chin, Followed by a sharp F# Which twisted my neck In unison with the string From your sludge factory guitar. That Eb instantly changed my priorities, Cigarettes and fuel Were put on hold To spin the disc And read the book. With help from a mouse And five years of skill, My fingers followed your work To a nutshell full of equations Urging me To bemy own. Then On the pothead' s holiday, I stayed sober To play your songs for a room of strangers And be the other man Fora woman Stacked with a fetish for men of string. And that split second Before I plucked your Eh, Your beautifully ugly Heavenly demonic Eh... Once the disbelief faded There was only one thing I could do . I went back to her porch, Picked up my guitar, And let your Pluck me And brush away my disbeliefs e e My soul danced to that My body vibrated with that My heart beat to The 16ths The 8ths The quarters The halves And wholes. e These songs were all of you, The whole spectrum. You vocalize exactly what the hell you have, Feeling fire around you with little pride. You symbolize agnostic depression For an optimistic social parasite. You epitomize the demon I wish I was And the angel I' ve tried to be. ' You harmonize my withdrawal Of syringe virginity . . . .I was given the news 46 47 _ _ _ _ _ H UBBAR D �HUBBARD _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ In passing times You gave me campfire lullabies, With embers tattooing The sun to my back. Just today you drove by my studies Begging From the first person Of a future slab of veil To come and save you. And while it may be too late, I hope these words will help you sleep. ( It is you, Whose sulfur voice And fly sunglasses Give me a reason To sing on a long drive You, Whose songs echo Through my mainline, Baptizing my blood With lilypad melodies. The House Band, Jim Feeney You, Whose death Crushed my faith in coincidence. Giving me beliefs Without the obligation To comprehend a single one of them . These words are to clear the debt. These words are to balance the equation. These words are the coil of an Eb' s pick scrape That I feedback to you. 48 49 �_ SABRINA A. MCLAUGHLIN Red Brick Cruciform The diminutive and ancient nun Dressed in white habit Crisp clean linen white Going from room to room Doling out prayer cards and comfort. The sombre black of priestly garb, Mirror-shine black shoes Shuffling footfalls on creaking old waxy floors \ Whispers of sick-bed prayers And squeak of leather and soles speak Of Extreme Unction, pray for us poor sinners, Holy Mother of God. Returning To the same Catholic hospital Where once I kept My fretful adolescent vigil Of the watchful, weary, worried Loved one In these wards of the sickSleeping curled up like strays In waiting room chairs And on roll-away cots, Sunrise to sunset, Sunset to sunrise. Living on What a vending machine Can provide, The one in the basement cafeteria That would dispense Into a flimsy Styrofoam cup: Cappuccino, plain coffee, hot tea, chicken noodle soup-It didn't matter which; it all tasted the same: Steam-scalding and antiseptic. I was born here: St. Joseph' s on the hill. On the wall Over the beds so _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ M C LAUG HLI N In every room Of Catholic hospitals There are crucifixes affixedThe image of Christ, Limbs stretched out Pinned in a forced rigid posture . She wore her rosary Around her neck. Five decades to a rosary, Like one for every decade Of her married adult life. The mysteries: Sorrowful, Joyful , Glorious, Luminous. Red wooden beads rosewood Silver crucifix. ' She said, I named Saint Joseph as your patron. The foster-father of Jesus, Patron of the poor, God help us, A poor carpenter, Saint Joseph the WorkerPray to him that you find a job. How long will you be here, I ask; Tuesday I will be released, she says. It is so hard for me to be within these walls How much harder for one held down to a b~d Chained to an IV? ' Here I am confronted With my own fear and cowardice: The smell of hospitals repelling meScent of gauze, bitter medicinal And chemical cleansers ' Unnatural scent ofunw~shed bodies Pumped full of artificial compounds And pharmaceuticals, The sour-sweet smell Of sickness, anxiety, distress51 �MCLAUGHLIN,_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Odour of old blood and old death, Whole decades worth, Nearly palpable and asphyxiating Like a breath of noxious vapour Attacking the nervous system In this rabbit warren Of tunnel-like halls . .. . Four wings meeting at the centre, cruciform; A visitors' waiting room at each end .... (to wait, defined as: to remain inactive in readiness or expectation; o attend; to be ready; vigilant ....) To wait is to keep watch, With hope, patience, Fear and trembling. The building rises Brick by brick, Floor by floor, Tower-like, A fortress on a hill. ... (fortress: a variation of fort, meaning a fortified place, from the ltalianforte, meaning strong, from the Latinfortis; fortitude, defined as: strength ofmind that enables a person to meet danger or bear pain or adversity with courage.) I watch From the windows Of this darkening waiting room As the sun declines Into the west Behind darkening mountains, I see glimmers of conversation Coming to me From another room Down the corridor: M CLAUG HLI N Of another faith: The nurse is ji·om Back Mountain, Ma .. . I don 't know when the time changes, it changes in the fall. doesn 't it? Spring fo rward; fall back. .. make a fist, Mom, hold my hand... what does it mean, to have a stroke? ... A statue of Christ in the corner Standing in a shrine Of imitation marble Would reach the height ofmy shoulderSacred Heart ablaze with g ilt paint, Holding the orb of the world Suspended in His palm, The other hand extended, Plaster chipping. The phrase " Lamb of God" Comes to my mindI am free associating images and words From catechism classes of a bygone age, I recall another depiction Beheld years ago By my appalled and pitying Child 's eyes: A mosaic set into the face Of The Church of the Most Precious Blood (where I was baptised) Flakes of white stone Assembled to compose the figure Ofa lamb, Agnus Dei, Scraps of crimson tile Forming a flooding jet of blood Issuing from its wounded heart. A Sacrifice. Suffering. Sorrow. Mom, the minister's com in' with the church people ... the preacher ... tomorrow ... I realise they must be Protestant, Wonder if they feel uncomfortable Surrounded by all these trappings 52 53 II I I 1, ,,I �I, M CLAUGHLIN _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ M CLAUG HLI N The Detrimental Effects of Viewing Too Much Arty Cinema Fuck reality. I'd rather see the world Through the stained glass and celluloid Of our happily hallucinatory fictionsCinema has robbed me Of my concept of real life (pun intended), And I am confused, Because I do not understand Why everything is not ( In black-and-white today, Or why time does not flow In a very post-modem non-linear fashion, Or why there are no: Freeze frames or dream sequences, Or pastiches or dramatic monologues, Or deus ex machina a.k.a. avatars Bollywood-style, Or love scenes for that matter, And where is my fucking soundtrack?! Ifl could bear the separation from the rural scenery I would like to seek the Pulse-electric of cities Because-I hate to admit itI wish I could be That cool girl, The one in all of the Critically-praised films (Something by Godard perhaps?): The flighty but fascinating, Enigmatic, charismatic, And avant-garde one, A seductress-first-class Who sits in cafes and salons and pubs Drinking exotic liqueurs Revelling in her own intensity, Hovering like a gypsy caricature In the mysterious candlelight, Peering romantically through Tobacco-smoke, Attracting other Intense lean-and-hungry souls Old and young, Getting high off of Deep philosophical musings on: Poetic Theory, Method Acting, Straussberg and Stanislavsky, Social Contract Theory, Jungian psychology, Kierkegaard, Marxism, Surrealism, Modernism , Revisionist History, And Theatre of the Absurd (Jarry, anyone?), All while plotting Anarchy. Then I wake up, Go back to daily existence! can ' t live The independent film; No one is go ing to cast me As the ingenue, Or the heroine. I am weary of supporting roles. 54 55 I 11 II i' II I !,it I I ,j i ,I 111 11 1 1 11 I I I I I I �MCLAUGHLIN, _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ __ The Calm Hysteria of Surreal and Intense Sensation At some transitional point, An apex and a crux, A crucial locus ... Roses ceased to smell Like saints and church festivals And chaste English gardens, And began to smell Like love and heat and sin and sex ... Hibiscus, the synesthetic scent / Aroused by the lush Tahitian tropicality Of a Gauguin painting. They say all Truly great painters go mad. Ifl was acquainted With any I would ask: Is it an alarming thought, To wonder what the blood Underneath my skin Looks and feels like-Hot, thick, sticky-Would it make an impressive Ink, or paint, or fixative? This must depend on Internal weathers, And shifts in temperament. Bitter almond Scent of cyanide; Sugared almonds tossed Instead of rice. Mediterranean custom. Like Frida Kahlo who saw Veins and arteries Joining together Her two dichotomous selves I see my veins branching Out like vines; Colours are jarring, Clotted in texture As in Van Gogh creations, And my eyes are seeing Strange visuals, 56 - -- - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - -MCLAUG HLI N And I dance with Self-conjured shadows Of sense memories summoned, And momentarily My world has become Carnivalesque, Bizarre, But not always Unpleasantly so-A nightmarish dream sequence inspired by Dali. II I I 11 II I I 57 I �_ SERGIO PEDRO She is, and shall ever be Woman at a Window. ' Figures cannot live here, Because figures don ' t have windows And only walls build dreams. ' Dali's First Mistake He could have called her Woman at a Window. I don't know if she' s pretty. Pretty doesn't matter here. In this place, this common place, She is always unadorned; Cleaning rag and simple shoes, The day' s chores lingering behind her. . ' _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ P EDRO I Yet, I cannot defy her poise. She knows that window well, And I can sense what she sees; Take the weight off my weary feet as I lean out, Over the window sill, Inhale deeply and maybe just touch the icy sting of the waters; Stand on that irresistible threshold, That amazing place, Where the real and the almost real mingle. I never wander far from her. When I do, or when I think I do, She lets me know that she is near. She is not subtle. Like the beckon of a Siren, when I least expect it, I can hear her silence in the echo of my steps. Yes, I hear; I hear Mary at the foot of the cross, I hear Joan of Arc' s answer to the inquiry that no one ever made, I hear Sor Juana in her last vow, And the emptiness, the nothing, is deafening. She has learned to veil her indignity in stoicism, Else she would surely fly out over the water, And then, confident, in her new white poise, Look back, Ease my jaded ears and Proclaim, softly, "That is not my window." Figure at a Window, he called her. No. 58 59 �PEDR01_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ Broccoli Beat A mother's eyes dart up from a book, and smirk, knowingly, from across the room at a small piece of broccoli. "lck!" I've lost this bout. Or maybe not, "Muse." "lck." "Muse." Her toddler face contorts. Broccoli flies, milk splatters, artless hands beat on the table, "Ba, ba, ba, ba, ba." Drip, drip. "lck," I concur. She laughs. I What was a smirk is now agape. Puzzled, I look from one to the other. The cover on the book reads "The Song of Babel." HELENE T. CAPRARI Perverted Beatnik Billy Collins Pop American Poetics: A Satire Falling from white birch brown decay of memory you press lowlypeeledstrips of woolymasochism, ro lling fingernails over skin to peel the scars away . Press the shavings, prismatic scabs of dry ribbon pubescence, into a collage of masturbatory in tent ions of Iight years away . Li nen rags, coagulated off-white putridity, drip steadily lo the ground below: cockwardly and reallywhat you want is the mad sex of the stars as they 60 61 �CAPRARII_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ __ _ _ __ _ _ _ __ _ _ __ _ __ _ __ _ _ C -\ PRARI Conditions of Light ejaculate*• across the universe- I. Bold Spaces Between Trees or, at the very least, awann chicken-tender embrace with America's remotecontrolgenitalia. Manet, Light arranges pale skinned prostitutes; but these are in fact modem Parisian women. What is the good in that? I We might think they should be nymphs in that forest but we will not see them draped in lilies with long, loose, inviting hair. We tum our faces fro m the woman who says ·•1 want you to see ... " She is a prostitute among young scholars with skin neither smooth nor bronzed. She exists through a light that makes her seem too pale. Sti ll she says, "look." She is a modem Parisian woman, disrobed, plain. 11 . Divine Messenger ne summer on my uncle 's fann I watched beauty pass through the flight of a blue heron. I was brought from sleep to see the great bird, fishing in the marsh. 62 63 �CAPRARI,_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ ( The heron raised its great wings and flew away; the report of the gun still ringing through my ears. My cousin said the bird would probably land in a nearby field to die. "The damn birds eat all my father's fish." _ _ _ __ __ __ _ _ __ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ ,C APRA RI 111 . .. Who Dreamed That Beauty Passes Like A Dream? " W.B. Yeats My uncle led my cousin and me swimming through the warm, beige sun and through the trampled reeds towards the great bird. I crept up slowly, with great reverence, barefooted in my nightgown. I did not tum my eyes into my sleeve when the shocking barrel lifted and the blast burst and buckled off the hills; one solid, lasting palpitation. _ Manet, We turn our faces from the prostitute. Among young scholars her skin is neither smooth nor bronzed: she bears a i'ight that makes her seem too pale and yet still asks . .. "look." We are of indeterminable answers once the flesh is pierced. She is not a goddess of moral virtue; nor is she a symbol for the spiritual health of a Nation at large. She is a modern Parisian woman: disrobed, plain and in bright revealing light. Walking back to the cottage I could smell the sweat from my skin, the sun was so hot. They talked about Justice and acting on what is right but Truth is not draped in lilies with hair Jong, and loose, and inviting. When that heron beats her wings in the copper frames of my head, I am peeking though bold spaces between trees; the conditions of light blur distinctions in leaves and I am less defined and more whole. 64 War Was Not The Answer, Eric Wolf 65 �CHRIS HODOROWSKI JOSEPH CORTEGERONE A Razor's Fascination For the One through Whom all Chances meet Rough grey sleep Tells the last one to come home That the fastidious night is over And from out the most withered door . Some ancient prophecy fell fallow in the dirt Odysseus' sperm spattered on Scylla' s rock He could smell the infinite womb And as if reaching towar~ heav~n Opened his hands within its resmous walls A single tooth stuck in his flesh ls it that We are both Space and T~me And standing half the time halfrumed Always manage recompense Or that a cruelty so vain and coy And all at once mistreating Has bound us in laughing misery With one chance in many But no sense of purpose in the end? 66 I His dreams must have passed him by on way to a dove ' s impasse, fo r when midnight came, although his eyes were still closed, somehow Palmer watched the sky tum along with the night. Behind hi s closed eyes a burning flare was high in the dark, which he naturally believed to be the impression of the moon. His limbs, no less his than another' s, were leaden and remote from his chest as he rested deeply w ithin a memory of his Amy. The memory was warm, and he lay in bed as if bes ide her under his covers for a little longer, as if it was Palm er' s first ni ght without her. It wasn' t until he opened his eyes and pulled down hi s sheet before hi s head fell into his hands to rest for a while longer. Palm er never felt weaker. Hi s clock read two-eleven. So he lit a ci garette and tous led his hair, but not in the moon above the mountains nor on hi s yellow walls did he see anything familiar. Palmer imposed a match to a candle and stepped into his jeans and reached for his overcoat. He quietly opened his door and, in his most unusual way, left for a walk. He passed through the streets restively, as though someone were expecting him around a comer, but he wasn' t far fro m his apartment before he looked up to the sky. It was a sky so consolate and familiar that he could feel nowhere but near its centre. The University had changed and now floodli ghts glared above the sidewalks. There was a path at the edge of the campus which Palmer had wandered across when he was younger, and on that path Palmer passed Sturgeon Hall and walked farther beyond the greenway, near the Falls, but saw no one. Palmer looked on the dormitory walls and, of the many dark windows, saw only a single lamp burning. Palmer wondered, was it the floodlights that had taken their breath and put the students to sleep or had it just driven them to darker places? At the edge of the campus was a bronzed plaque of alumni names. Although he was sure that his name would not be among them , Palmer earched for his own. The names, as he read them, sounded obsolete. In the distance, he saw the girl walking with her hair and body behind her. He turned and followed her distantly away from the campus, having assessed she was alone. But when she came to a coffee house, a pair of her friends received her inside. Palmer waited at the comer for a while, but walked ins ide noiselessly and sat at the counter. An older man looked over at the girls and winked to Palmer. The girls sat at a table in the comer beside the windows. Palmer on occasion heard a word of theirs, but Palmer' s girl sat opposite her friends, silent. A strike of Palmer's match, though, incited her eyes toward hi s, but only for a moment, before she looked away. Her look was to the 67 �HOOOROWSKI_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ - - - - - - - - - - - -- -- - - - -- - - - HODO ROWSt-.:1 "f n of Palmer's pleasure. Palmer was confident to wait over de fimi 10 • h gh that when Palmer coffee but it was with indefinite patience, t ou , . h ' d"d "th t ever sparmg her anot er finished his next two cups, he ' so w1 ou d glance To pass the time, he reached for the paper antretended t~r~a ' but it ~as heavy in his hands, so he folded it down on he counter e ore ''To places like this," she said. " I don ' t have many fr iends e ith er." ·' But when you leave tonight, what will you do?" " I'll study into the morning." ·'You don ' t sleep?" ·' In the daytime," she said. " I was a student once," Palmer said. " What did you study?" '' I don't want to talk about it. I didn 't like the books much, they were a trial more to my eyes than my soul. The University is a dead system of my past." "The University will survive you ." ''That's true, but I don 't like to live within those terms." ·'Do you believe in God, Palmer?" "Yes," he said. " Do you?" "No, but sometimes I' m persuaded otherwise." " I have seen certain things, I wouldn't call them miracles, that were exceptional and led me to believe. And I felt loved after I believed," he said. "To be certain God is not love. Your emoti ons are yours, you need no one else to personify them. You see, Palmer, everyone, when they are young, is visited by a Faust. Faust is not real, he is just a coincidence of our imagination, but every child who will believe in him will sell his soul to him. Precocious children sell their souls for beauty, and dull children sell their souls for knowledge. Some children even sell their souls for a candy bar," she said. " I admire my life in more literal terms." ''The point is that if a man is childish enough to believe in a soul, he is childish enough to believe he has sold it. " " I don' t like to ask those questions. I think it's absurd to live for the sake to have justified living. I' d rather die." "But it must be nice to die, when your family and chi ldren are about you. I never watched someone die who believed in God, but I imagine that I wouldn ' t deny any promise to them," she said. Palmer could not convey another word from beyond the silence. Her words persisted like antagonists in his ears. "Sometimes," she said, " I think sometimes that we forget to look inside ourselves for the answer." She reached into her purse and held a razor. ''But there are other ways to remember." She placed the razor on the top of Palmer' s hand, hesitated and walked away. On the razor he beheld the word: Fascination. Palmer sat with the razor upon his hand. He knew it was still dusk, although Palmer had only an hour before daylight, for already the stars had faded away and the birds of night had left their callings. Palmer him.As he expected when her friends left, Palmer's gi l abided. Palmer studied the timid ;dge between them. Perhaps silence was natural to her, he thought and he spoke. "Would you know the time?" he asked from across the c?,unter. . She gestured towards her bare wrist. "It's well after two, she replied. Palmer went over to her table with his coffee. "Are you feeling alright?" she asked . "Yes, I'm just tired." The girl looked around. "May I sit?" he asked. . ,, "Well, I suppose, but I should be leavmg ~oon. " Palmer gave his hand to hers, "My name ,s Palmer. d The girl studied his open mouth and restless hand. "Do you nee something?" she asked. . 't do anything for me it's just that before 1 met you, "I guess you can . . ' ,, earlier tonight, I was in bed with terrible thoughts. "Y h ldn't study She looked down on her hands around her CUP,ou s ou our own psychology you will lose your humor. y "Oh, I'm not worri~d ifl lose my humor. It's hard to laugh on a Saturday night." • h " "It' s Sunday night," she said. "Monday mornmg, rat er. h" Palmer turned away from the table to the counter and turned ,s paper over. . "Then I lost a whole day," he said. "That's unfortunate." ,, "I was waiting for someone at home, ~ut sh~ nev_er ca~~"Maybe you should go home and see ,f s?e s arrived. "I don' t think she is coming back," he ~~id.,, "Oh so then you were never really waitmg. "I c;n't live there without waiting." "Why don't you go somewh ere e lse.?" "I have no where to go." "You don't have any friends to call?" . "No " Palmer said. "I work a lot. I find that people are difficult to be withou; once I am with them." , . •s "It's not your fault, Palmer, if people don t like you, but no one I obligated to breathe under water." "Well, where do you go?" he asked . 68 69 I I �HOOOROWSKI _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ MATTHEW KOCH thought of the time, how it was after three and how soon work would come at eight, when he was overcome by all of it. He rested his back on a wall, lighting a cigarette, wanting to believe t/4 night persisted forever, therefore taking for granted how tired he was, a/ d he opened his veins. Prayer I fasten my seatbelt unusual I don ' t want to die before I can think about how to fix my life My friends are falling like little toy trees The first with a push funny How little effort it takes for the rest The fear dominates me _ not my feeling But that of others watching Me fall through a tear in your coat pocket Texture, Crystal Wah 70 Hand in Hand, Crystal Wah 71 �KOCH!_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ The Imps of Possibility f "Are you sad?" "He is not sad. He is pondering. He is analyzin us." . The little hands reach upward, grasping. One and one-half mches, each finger wraps slowly around the curve of the ~lass._ Th~y fl~x outward and inward, like a cat stretching its paw, leavmg httle unprmts on the clear surface. "You are too young to drink." " I am not real. I am not really here." _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ __ _ _ _ KOCI-! He hears the sliding glass door open. Moonlight suddenly spills into the roo_m. I? the split second before he can focus on the face of the little girl , he 1magme~ the two small children as hideous figures. their ski n pulled tight on their faces, collapsed eye sockets dripping flesh . Her face is the same as before. It seems paler now, but that is only an effect of the cool light. " Is that better? I will marry three times and die, a miserab le death in childbirth." "You have ~II your senses now. You will clean fragments of my sca lp off the bedside lamp when I am twelve years into this world. There are other _worlds than this for you, but not for me. You create. You are God. I am m your image." The glass touches tiny puckered lips and the w~iske~ slide~ over them, unnaturally young, perfect lips. On the other side, httle pamted fmgers pluck a cigarette from a pack on the end table. The flame bursts upward and glints in crystal eyes, light bouncing off the wal~s of ~ndl~ss c~vems into a hollow depth. The opposite hand alights on his wnst, tmy piano keys tipped with crimson. A shiver runs up his arm into his neck, tightening his throat. He scrapes bac~wa~d in the chair, trying to defy gravity and slide up the wall, a pale, plam, ignorant white. He feels little arms like cuffs around his _an_kles and he drops forcefully down into the chair. There is a sound, a h1ssmg, on the edge of perception, an unknown dialect on the edge of reason. The room becomes unnaturally cold. He pulls his arms to his body. The leather feels like ice against them - cold, red ice. "Why did you leave her?" "Yes, tell us why." ··This is impossible. I am dreaming." " I am not real. Perhaps you were falling asleep and now you are waking up." Two little heads push closer, tiny eyes staring, unblinking open . windows. Small bodies press against the leather upholstery - squeakmg, creaking, sliding. The leather is red, not dark, but a dull version of the pure color, like coagulating blood. "That is none of your business. Who are you . . . Why .. ." "He tells us why. We are not real. We are not here. Our business is not business. It is you." Four li~le feet digging _in the carpet. Ten tiny toes, blood pooling around them, like water emerging through the sand as the tide floods the beach He shifts his feet uncomfortably and finds his shoes saturated with liquid as he presses down . "Listen, listen, Christian. We are not here to judge you." "We are here to love you." The word " love" exits the tiny female mouth with a hiss, then gurgle, fo llowed by a ~orren~ of vomit filled with worms and flies, grapes and rose petals. His leg 1s covered. There is a pool in his lap. The little bodies lean back. The room rains light. Symmetric fragments fall to the floor, hundreds - a shatt~ring of the . background in pure silence. As the shards fall he sees h1mse~f as a _child, then as a young man, then on his deathbed. The foregro~d 1s left m an opaque darkness. Four little lights blink on, two on the nght, two on the left. " What the hell was that? What in the name of God are you!" " In the name of God, we do not exist. We are not real." "Now you cannot see us. We frighten you. We can see you." . "You frighten me! You suppose that plunging us into darkness will resolve that feeling? I am not resolved. I carmot see!" A small male head cocks to the side, a curious kitten looking at a ~utterfly through the wi?dow. An eye falls out and hits the wet carpet like a golf ball dropped m mud . There is a silence. The world stops, 72 73 �+-------------- KOCH! _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ MMP ends. The world begins. Maxim "You pre-murdered us. She loved you. There is no balance in this world between right and wrong. There just is. You had no reason." "You are not real. This is not who l am." A strong hand lashes out. A liquor glass flies from the end table and pulls two small figures along with it, like a kite with two tails trailing off into space. There is a disconnect. The door opens, a cool breeze. A wife enters, young woman, tired I do not like my hands. They 're worn and coarse, as if I had been using them , forty years, for hard labor. I haven ' t, because I have not yet counted so many years. Why do I care? Why should I care? shoulders. "Let me get changed and I'll get started on dinner. What is that on the floor?" "I spilled my drink. Let's go out to eat. I'm sick of this place." Everyone in my town knows the pleasant woman who rides around, unashamed smiling, ' with no hair on her exposed, naked head. She is a true heroine. Life eating madness-C-A-N-C-£-R-c laimed the fife of her first husband, stole the childhood breath from her only son, and robs her from her feminine qualityyet she rides through town, without any hair, smiling. Life goes on. I hear the phrase exhaling from my mouth. Do I live by that? What is it in these frail temples of our souls that inhibits us from regaining strength? Why is it so painful, so draining to say: Hey. I am okay. Never better. 74 75 �MMP_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ [. W. Davies human nature Homeschool Yet we see them every day-those superhuman beings, taking small strides, smiling, never allowing us to see any sign of lost hope ... because there isn 't any. smiling without any hair My hands-coarse, hardened, scarred, but alive. My soul-coarse, hardened, tried, tempest tossed, but alive. Life goes on. Light still permeates the darkness; the moon only reflects that light on one visible side. Among the stones they throw A pebble has been cast By a child perhaps. It makes no difference If they do not know The pain and hate In their minds they sow. Out of the womb it seems A ripening time for seeds. To form a gentle mind Into the killing kind. So subtle the instruction begins. A smirk, a scowl, a comment offhand. Sitting pale before the warm TV Twelve hours a day. Natural world neglected A place, too far away. Today's lesson: Fucking Homos, Lazy Blacks, Dirty Mexicans And Japs. For tomorrow Perhaps, Abuse: Domestic, Sexual, Mental. Bring a No. 2 pencil. Smiling-without any hair 76 77 �DAVIES_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ !,,,: RONLIEBACK Jukebox Americana Art of America Spade in the ground Needle through the clouds The wind skipped a beat Past the choking street Bitter drops of sky Tapering grey and white Fell upon swollen laps And fifty-dollar hats While sharp eyes Looked left and right But not inside They scolded and scowled With secret smiles And laughed with sweaty, Burning pain As they danced Moving simple and same Unaware; their lover' s name Dancing, and waiting in vain Never knowing the tune has changed. Whitewash the souls, minds, and Thoughts and bless the bodies of children flowin g On top of the dream-worked soul of America. Art, With your beauty and ongoing mind bopping To a spontaneous work of jazz-Coltrane-ride-the-tenorUntil-midnight-breathes the morning dew with the incantation Power of the rhythmic foot-never-stop-to-sway until Sunrise, Do it for the churning experimental soul-searchers, Art, With your ideas instilled in the hands of Albrecht Durer, neverMelancholia I, just a knight, not Death and Devil , and free-willFast-splash-strokes making the patriarch jealous of creati vity, Not creations, and the obscure-abstract-pop-minimalism-feeling Warhol buff zones, daily regime-morning-urbane-meetings-in Unforgettable-NYC-warehouse-creating, employ ing, seducing Do it for the future mind bogglers of conceptual apply ing, Art, With your free-lance-world-of-unconformity- and lovely criticism From-blue-and-corporate-ladder-grieving world of normalcy-the Correspondent-poor-starving-loose-amiable-eye-of-unfo rgetting Passion-round-the-ticked-clock-of-no-time-relevant worker in the Busy streets of Americana folk today, Do it for the Kafka ' s, Kerouac' s, and unconformi sts to come, Art. 78 79 �LlEBACK:_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _- - - - ; - - - - - - _ _ _ _ _ __ 2 S it really matter? Parental love, creeping 9 ep in a hole, . Covered first by a red, white and blue flag with crooked, un-pressed lines, folded by two drunks who don't know how to recite literature, synchronize three shots deep into the gates of somewhere, who trip . . and whack their brow slightly with the palm of their long skmned hands, -with the austereness of a masturbating monkey, just nodding waiting for a stiff one, either up or down, in a VFW stamped with irrelevant numbers, Next the flag, after crease folded crooked cricket, Handed to a woman who spoke little, Knew and probably cared little about the 74-year-old stiff corpse, Infected with the feeling of security, She weeps and moans vague cries of soreness, Feeling pity, pity on herself, . marked by rosebuds and the folding of wrinkled hands, she will forever cease to live, equally dead on earth as well as beneath, forever lost. Then cometh the dirt, Layered in a Steinbeck style by a pale, gut-wrenching Schmuck just creating dust to cover the new loan from the Big, orange sun, the rain, the wind, and the June-bugs, to keep the birds from shitting, To keep the river rats from nibbling, To keep water ceased out of mind, But It still appears naked to the Society-enriched eye, Behold a new loan, Embarked and engraved letters on a chipped stone, Now eternity is granted. 80 _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ LI EBACK Marriage Take a walk through the madness, iso lation of one-s ingle-used-toBe-woman, Never-looking-at-another-again feeling, critical shadowi ng, Ambivalent chaos, mind boggling-thought-to-will-1-ever-seeHer-again mind trance, thoughts of who the hell was she, And what have I become, Or never succeeded in, Crystal blue eyes between the void underneath heaven , blue Sky's foreshadowing a blue sky, Above the void of hell a red-when-glaring-in-my-m ind-he ll . Basement nights in the aunt' s scene, embattled with ardent twistmy-heart-until-you-leave-and-music-fingers, but at the Very same, minute second, imbrued with myself-saddest-day-I ' ve-ever Known, glass house, realization, Am I infatuated? The realms and qualms prove nothing, Nothing so far ... where, Vibrant flesh-screaming-the-triumphant-alto-thumps-song-of-the-echoin-lover's-cabin-rug-by-blazing-log-fire, layi ng the created beast in the third world, or third country. Rome? United States? Rome? Who's mad? Surely not the lovely, Italian-skin-wrapped-so-tightly-maniacal-hip-upAll-Morrison-lover-please Marriage-are YOU kidding me .. . he loves you? 81 �LIBBACK:_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ Mistced Medication "Finger lobotomy special," read the menu on the elevator. "Twenty dollars for a blood shot. Level 24." The advertisement was poorly laid out, but it still attracted me. My grandmother's appointment with the hearing doctor was going to take up about an hour ofmy time anyway, so I decided I would check it out. "Level 7," the portentous electronic voice on the elevator said in four different languages. Thank god my grandmother, Helen, was hit by a car in March and lost her hearing. Her prejudice against foreign language was overwhelming, and I personally used to hate listening to her talk. I held Helen's soggy, shit-paper hands and guided her to the Doc's room. I explained to the doctor that she told me she had an epiphany the other night while studying a telephone book and she related to me that she heard some weird, astral voices. She told me she needed a doctor. I told her she had sloppy handwriting. "Maybe she meant a psychologist," I told Dr. Griggen as I was shutting the door. As the last light was seen from the Doctor's bright office while I was shutting the door, I heard the doc yelling, "Hey, I don't know sign language. How the hell do you suppose I communicate?" I was already in the elevator by the time he finished the word "communicate." Now, I thought to myself, $20 for a bloody shot. "Select floor now," the electronic lady Jiving in the shaft said. I slammed on the number 24. The numbers, once white, were worn with time and fingerprints from elders, and about three foot from my knees there were smudge marks from eclectic children. I remembered when I was young and innocent. When I arrived on the floor, a man with a prosthetic right hand was waving to himself and he was streaking the white tile floor black with his apparently cheap boots. "Hello, Mr. Wangaloo. Did you ever bite into a hot dog and lose a wisdom tooth . But Ohh. I forget, the lizard took my teeth while I was fishing in the Mojave," the waver said. I thought he was talking to me, but when I tried to ignore him and tum around like there was someone else there, a weird event occurred. Before my swollen, morning eyes stood an identical man. The only difference on the twin of this waver was his left hand was prosthetic. "Identical twins," I pondered. "Hey, hey, hey," the twin waver said. "Space robots are for chickens and my funk is swooshing away with a bottle cap in the fog of old London. Utt Ohh. I forgot, London lost the spice and fog when Dickens died." 82 _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ LI EBACK The waver and twin waver were obviou ly whacked ut o f their minds. 1 don't mean a good whacked like acid or any oth er drug, I mean mental stability. I figured I would inquire n wh ere the $20 blood shots were executed. " Do you know where the lobotomie ccur?" I a ked, wi hin g I didn't. " I'm looking for the Doctor." " Dr. Kettleman, huh? He is in with a patient. ti ohh . I f rgot. was the patient. He is in room 248. He'll be waitin g,'' the ori g inal waver said, as he was walking toward his twin , waving lik e a fat, Times Square cop directing traffic. ''Thanks," I said relating well and proceeded toward d As I was walking down the hallway, I cou ld hear tw et f feet streaking the sparkling floor. They never stopped. They ju t kept streaking. "Finally, 248," I said out loud to myself, after a five-minute wa lk down the mirror-covered hallway on old floor 24 . I opened the door happy to get away from the mad wavers. The lazy advertisement that attracted me there and the word DR. MAN the KeTTLE-man were posted on the door. " What is with the spelling," I said out loud as the door, while only three quarters of the way open, hit the left wall in side the office. Upon entering the office, which did not appear like an office, but like a long hallway that was angled to the ri ght, the walls were covered with eye-soaring pink wallpaper with ocean blue, baseba ll bat-sized paper clips painted every three feet. They resembled 12:00, 3 :30, I 0:30, 11 :45 and 7:30 in succession. The look-alike metal apparatuses were stacked three high and were on both sides of the wall. At the end of the roughly 20-foot hallway, the stench of the inside of an outside shit house in the baking sun saturated the air. "What in the hell," I said loudly, again, covering my nose with a red handkerchief similar to the one Beckett used in Endgame. I came to the window at the end of the hallway. The frame was a bright red and had dents as if someone was shooting nickels at it with a .270 Sako rifle. 1 tapped on the tinted window and ye lled in the little opening that was the size ofa paper dish those assholes at the Olive Garden serve their shit food on. "Anyone there?" I inquired because I couldn't see what was on the other side. " Hello," a woman said tapping on my back. I turned my startled body towards her. An unbearable feeling of anxiety ran through my body, similar to what it was like when the towers fe ll. " Where did you come from?" I asked wiping the sweat from my brow. 83 �LIEBACK:_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ "I was right here ~ o l e time reuphol~tering the floor with this cowhide, guts and all," she said. "My name 1s Mandy Kettleman. I am the doctor." .. "What the hell," I said to myself, finally noticmg the floor. The hardwood floor was covered with real cowhide. Traces of blood were everywhere. Tendons resembled kite string with mucus and ~y feet perceived it as if I were walking on greasy, raw hamburg. Qmte unusual, but certainly intriguing. . "The lobotomy special, is that still on?" I asked, takmg a long pause between my words . ,, . . . "Oh, so that is why your normalcy is here, she said, ~ushmg h~; harr behind her left ear with rubber gloves that were_ covered m blood. We only perform those during the afternoon. But smce I am slow_ today, which obviously I am, WE can get you in. Please take a seat m my office." fb"ll t She directed me to her oval-shaped office. Pictures o I Y goa s grazing on a sandy beach were hung on the unpainted walls. She had a collection of shoehorns on her desk. Every third one was plated gold, and some were on display in boots. One shoehorn had an engraved ,, platform below it that read, " I continue to save the world ~oot by foot: "It's a tough career I chose," she s~id. ''.They, along wit~ my classic record collection, are the only relaxat10n pieces I have left. "What are they used for?" I asked. . . "You'll find out," she said, preparing a mixture of some med1cmes I assumed were for the lobotomy special. She turned around from her desk and, after admiring the shoehorn collection, directed me to stand up. I obeyed. She told me to take the preparation medicine. . . "How about paperwork," I said, guzzling the mixture, ,:•or insurance ...or the procedure or ...or. .. my ... name ... at least... A flash of white light. A flash of red. The distinct sound of July thunder. . The questions of Kettleman were rolling in the room while my senses refused to let me observe. . "Oh yes, Richard Barbenium. I ran for council last year. O~ yes'. you are right he is an asshole. He was one of your patients? That 1s we1rd. yeah h~ can run the city like a tyrant sometimes. His grandmother? Whe~ did this occur? Oh really, only that long ago. Wow, she must have been a whore. Who me? I live in my grandmother's house. S~e doesn't realize it, though. Yeah, she is very ~Id. She has some medical problems. She likes to lick bathroom floors m amusement park_s. No, I don't think she ever worried about viruses, but once she did _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ __ __ __ _ __ __ __ __ L IEBACK get sick. No, not for that reason, she blamed it on oth er race , using derogatory sayings like towel heads, kikes, you know. h no, I don't think she ever liked Elvis. She liked his name beca u e he loved Hitler's dog. Oh yeah, could you image that, less than 150 ca lori es a day. Yeah, starving must be painful. No, her husband died in the war. 1942 , I believe. Never heard of them , but I bet she did. Pocono D wn ? It did start in I 965. Yeah, the track was a service center fo r people of th e Agnes Flood. 1972, that's right. No, can't say I liked London. No, actually a guy was just mentioning Dickens. Wait, the twin wavers sa id you were a ...were a .. .man?" I woke up about an hour later. My throat was all cratchy and the bandage on my head felt wet and warm. I was in shock, but I fe lt better than I ever did. I tried to stand up, but I had no balance. No balance at all. "Just relax," a white-haired man said to me holding a pen in hi s hand. ·•1 just need your signature and WE will be done in an hour." I tried to speak but my language came out in a jumbled slur. The thoughts were clear but there was no way to reveal them. I signed without reading, just like Grandma would call a man a racial slur without knowing him. It was just that easy at that point in tim e. When the disheveled feeling of rag ing dysenteric stomach whoops left my system, and I was fin ally able to leave, I rea lized my grandmother was still in the building. I stumbled into the elevator, listened to the phony voice echoing, and went to see if she was still with Dr. Griggen. The receptionist- a big blonde with milky thighs- informed me that Grandma called a taxi and was worried about my whereabouts. I was happy I wouldn't have to bring the whore home. While walking to my car, I kept having visions of the cowhide rugs and the female doctor that drugged me. The thoughts were moving freely in my head now, the smoothest ever. My past existence all made sen se. " I could use another," I said rolling a Turkish Gold Camel cigarette in my fingertips . "That was good shit for sure." Before my very eyes were the twin wavers. I realized they were just happy ejaculators of life. I understood everything now, and realized I better keep taking my medication on time, because dreams like these seem make believe. But completely normal to the unaltered mind. 84 85 II I I I I I I �I GABE LEDONNE The Lost Van Buren Column: Dear Uncle Jumbo By Al ., Uncle Jumbo" Van Buren (Uncle lo Ahi~ai/) Kevin Smith writes: Dear Uncle Jumbo, wlty do men lta ve nipples? Tltey don't do anything. Mother's Delicious Bread, Joseph DeAngelis Now that is an excellent question, Kevin . Ma le nippl es, much like those of the female, are highly sensitive and , wh en u cd in sex ua l foreplay, can greatly arouse a man (Source : Men 's ff ,a /1/1 , .June 1998). So, from that aspect, one might say that they erve a ex ua l fun cti on. However, others might argue that they are a vesti g ia l rga n, lik e an appendix. This would mean, then, that at one tim e men could l·~c tate. This is an aspect which quite frankly freaks me out, and o I choo e not to dwell on the possibility. There is, of course, one other explanation- and th e 111 0 t pr bable as well. As any good Christian could tell you, the Bible tate th at God created man in God's own image. Now, since men have nippl es, this would imply that God has them as well , which would mea n that God is in fact a woman or, more specifically, a woman with a peni s. Thi s, of course, would mean that the brains behind Dogma were not a ll that far off when they cast Alanis Morrisette in their comi c cl ass ic. Hellen Keller asks: Dear Uncle Jumbo, why do drive-tltru ATM's ltave Braille when blind people can't drive? Since most A TM manufacturers make ATM's for both drive-through and stand alone stations, it's easier to mass produce the buttons with the Braille than to have two separate manufacturing lines for those with and those without it. However, there is another reason to have them. You see, Hellen, although you are right that blind people "can't even" drive, that doesn't always keep them from driving anyway. Oftentimes, you'll see these overly independent non-visionaries driving around town (especially Wilkes-Barre) in large sedans (i.e. 1991 Ford Crown Victorias). While it is obvious to the rational public that these people shouldn't be driving, state law allows them to drive under the protection of the AARP . Since these vision-impaired "senior citizens" drive anyway, they need a way to check their retirement funds and draw off of them occasionally to buy daily necessities such as denture cream , Centrum Silver, Ensure, lottery tickets, and Depends-because they have a lot of Iiving to do. 86 87 �/ LEOONNE Jessica Simpson writes: Uncle JuLbo, why is the sky blue? Scientists "claim" that the sky is blue because as the white sunlight enters our atmosphere, it induces the atmosphere's molecules' dipoles to "wiggle" causing the blue waves oflight to scatter around the atmosphere and hence paints the sky blue. However, I believe the sky is really blue because God is colorcoordinating conscious. You see, because God is a woman (as proven previously), she is obviously design savvy. Sky blue goes with everything-the greens of spring and summer, the oranges, yellows, and reds of fall, and the snowy white of winter. Blue was simply a stroke of interior/exterior design genius. Kudos to the woman with the penis. (She probably watches Trading Spaces.) LEDONNE._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ __ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ God couldn't very well have her creati on be " 111 re pcrfoc t" than she is. (I mean, it irks her to no end already that those models on th e cover of Cosmo are airbrushed to perfection beyond her wn .) So od made all men and women have ugly big toes so that he c uld li vc with her new imperfection. In short, the basic lesson here i that, like in the rea l world, we all suffer from a woman's bad sense of directi on. Paul Mitchell inquires: Uncle Jumbo, wltat do tit •y put /11 hair spray tit at makes your It air stiff and /tow did th ey come up wltlt it? Actually, they put alcohol in hairspray to do th at to your hair. When you think about it, it's really amazing to see all of th e different ways that alcohol can make you hard. It's a wonderful thin g. Stephen Hawking asks: Why do people buy stars for each other as gifts? Al Roaker writes: Why are weathermen always wrong? Well, Stephen, whenever we buy anything for anyone, we usually do it under the auspices that we want to show that we care for that person ... that we like/love tJ;iem. We never claim that we desi_re something in return. But this is utter bullocks. Whenever we buy anythmg for anyone, it's because we want something in return. Now what that . something is varies from person to person and present to present...but, m the instance of buying a star for someone, it's because that person wants sex. When we buy a star for someone, what we're really saying is, "I bought you that piece of the Heavenly bodies .. .now I want a piece of your heavenly body." Needless to say, I don't own a star. Lyle Lovett asks: Why are big toes so damn ugly? Good question, Lyle. You see, as discussed earlier, God created man in her own image, which is why men have both nipples and penises. But this is also why we have ugly big toes . You see, after God created the world, she went on vacation for a little while in the outer cosmos. Unfortunately, she got lost (which is, incidentally, why women are instinctively bad with directions). Anyway, God "stumbled" upon the earth after a few centuries of looking for it in the dark; actually, she stubbed her toe in the Gulf ?f Mexico. This did two things: first, it caused the death and destruction of all the dinosaurs. Second, it also gave God a nasty bruise on her big toe. 88 Thanks for asking, Al. Since God (the woman with a peni s) makes and controls the weather, she is the one who time and tim e again makes our weathermen look like dumb-asses. Now, you may ask yourself, "Why does God want to make weatherm en look like dumb-asses?" It's actually quite simple. You see, when weathermen try to "predict" the weather, they are really trying to read God's mind. Like every other woman, God hates it when a man tries to read her mind. Out of spite, she makes them wrong on purpose-even if they were right originally. For example, when I broke up with my girlfriend----explaining that she was being much too overbearing, clingy, and overly dependent on me-rather than admit that I was right, she acted as though she didn't need me at all, that she was a big girl and was only hanging around me for my benefit. It was all in the sad attempt to make me feel foolish. So, really, God is a lot like an embittered ex-girlfriend- they are spiteful , revengeful bitches .. .oh, and they have cocks. 89 �I BENJAMIN KUSHNER / _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ K US HNE R Faith At the age of four, I tested my faith as a Christian and found it wanting. At the age of six, my best friend's older brother gave me a rabbit so large that I couldn't hold it, and a silv¢r blade wrapped in crimson velvet. At twelve, I fell into a meditative trance so deep that it took me three days to come out. At thirteen, I was sent to the hospital when I attempted my own circumcision. At fifteen, I tried to follow the noble eightfold path, but I could only live six of the folds . Seventeen years old: Money became my God, I had gotten my first job. Nineteen years old: Eros and Aphrodite hold sway. Now I am twenty. I believe in UFO's, Magic, and the ability of people to change. I believe that politicians have my best interest in mind. I believe that one day, people will live on Mars, that my old dog went to a farm where she could run all day and was happy. I believe I can still be friends with my ex-girlfriend, that the end isn't near. I believe that the homeless man I gave my last dollar to will spend it on a sandwich and a cup of coffee. But I believe in no god. I'm not that gullible. FADE IN: INT. <POEM'S LOCATION> - TIME Maybe I watch too many movies . .. read too many comic books . .. surround myself with fiction. Maybe I immerse myself in unreality so far that I don't want to, Or can't, Return to the real world. My life is spent in two-hour increments Twenty-four pages, once a month. Uma Thurman fights an army to kill the man she loves. Jesse Custer takes on God Himself. If they can do it why can't I? Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, But it works for love too. In a story, love means "Happily ever after" My father was no help either. A side story : DISSOLVE TO: INT. MY GRANDPARENT'S -TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO My grandparents once held a party in my father's honor. Friends and family came from L.A., Louisiana, and all over North America to see him. In the middle of it all , he announced to the crowd, "I'm going to Bethlehem to see a girl," and left. CUT TO: EXT. MY MOTHER'S - LATER 90 91 �-1-------------- KUSHN ER._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ She didn't know he was coming an wasn't home. My father waited on her doorstep for eight hours. CUT TO: _ __ _ _ __ _ __ __ __ __ _ _ _ _ K US I-IN ER INT. <POEM'S LOCATION> -TIME , DIS SOL VE BACK: This is the real world. I am nothing but a mundane. Maybe that's why I hate loose ends, love drastic answers to simple problems, think anything worth doing is worth taking a chance for. As Terry Pratchett says: CUT TO: :-1athybe the '!1an begging three sheets of college rul e wa ke · up m e morning screaming CUT TO: INT. TERRY PRATCHETT'S OFFICE- EVENING MAN ~ have it! I know what that Kushner kid 1s gonna do next! TERRY PRATCHETT Million to one chances crop up nine times out often. CUTBACK ((INSERT STANZA HERE)) SPEAKER Surprisingly, this is a comfortable thought. CUT TO: FADE TO BLACK INT. A ROOM - NIGHT ROLL CREDITS A man begins a story and gets so engrossed in it that he stops anything but writing it. His power is turned off-he writes by candle light. He gets evicted-he hits the streets, bumming for some paper and a pen so he can get his next fix. THE END CUTBACK ((INSERT STANZA HERE - POSSIBLY COMIC-BOOK MOVIES)) CUT TO: A world where Rambo lives next door to Gandalfthe Grey (or White). As the camera moves down the street, you see other members of the neighborhood. Hannibal is inviting a troupe of Girl Scouts into his house for lunch, Wolverine is mowing his lawn, Han Solo is playing the latest Star Trek game on his PC. Any problems are resolved within two hours, and everyone gets along. 92 93 �KUSHNER _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _\--- - - - - - - - - - - - JOHN MICHAEL VORE Dali Lama Traffic Jam The Nintendo Haiku System Bloomington, IN September 7, 2003 J . Super Haiku Brothers lfwe don't speak of our bodies the Dali Lama traffic j am on 70 Bloomington acres might just be any other Mass Exodus ... Jumping on Goombas Princess in other castles Down pipes and up vines 2. Super Haiku Brothers 2 ...the diverse religious ethic gathered together, today, no more than spiritual golden o ldies ... under the sun ... Lethal thrown turnips your choice of the elite four Mario useless 3. Super Haiku Brothers 3 The man in a Lotus stares at me. I can't tell if it's bliss or boredom I see on his face. Tanooki? Statue! Whistle takes you to warp world Special Goomba shoes 4. Legend of Haiku So I give the intro another try : "this mass exodus would be ... let me think ... 'spiritual vehicles .. . moving in ... love and compassion ... towards their destiny?"' Naughty Gannondorf Link can take the Master Sword Remixed quests? Zelda! 5. Haikuroid Fight, kill Mother Brain Underlined Justin Bailey Destroy the Metroids! He smiles upon me, so I continue: "Directed to Snotty Road .. .by ... by ... ...overweight. .." And the backlit picture of serenity shakes his head. "C'mon, they are heavy .. . " I try to reason. Buddha closes his eyes- the old Dough Boy seem s, ironically, touchy ... ! give in : "Directed to Snotty Road by Monroe County Sheriffs on overtime .. ." Yet, what is the anchor( I have to ask) the weight of compass ion ? this space by which no Muslim kills a Jew? 94 95 �_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _VORE Through which Christian believers in Allah hold hands-all together, now-that refuse the love of dykes and faggots? Even this most likable of Holy Men-our hostwon't defend us. Yet we hear the cry of Tibet: the price of freedom is in our bones. The 7 pillars on stage think the roof might cave in , but we stand among you not in a house of worship but this consecrated field. As you struggle with the weight we watch and love even a distant star slow of walk hunched, puffy-faced shaking non-stop, silent. The courageous broken body called Muhammad Ali . An old hippie in a Dodge Sport minivan bumps me twice, pulls up beside me, and parks. He rushes towards the tents. Inside, on the seats, the flyer says: BUY THE VIDEO! Outside the signs say: NO CAMERAS ALLOWED. iry Hall, Philadelphia, Eric Wolf The greatest story ever told-if we do not speak of our bodies. 96 97 �-AUTHOR BIOSDrew Amoroso, a junior English major, considers himself delightfully unrefined, yet tacky. He would like to attend graduate school to study the cause-effect relationship between global warming and the misuse of the comma splice. Inspired by his favorite tyrannical Texan, Drew has adopted the following motto, working hard (because it's hard work) to defend its ideals in his everyday life; "l know the human being and fish can coexist peacefully." Raychil Arndt is a freshman psychology major. She likes many forms of art including photography, sculpture and textiles. Raychil is afraid of dinosaurs and holding balloons outside because, she says, "You never know when a vicious dinosaur balloon will blow away." Helene T. Caprari is a senior English major at Wilkes University. She is the Editor-In-Chief of Manuscript, Vice President of Sigma Tau Delta, member of the Provost's Women in Leadership Class, the Interdisciplinary Committee, the Norman Mailer Society, and Pennsylvania College English Association. Helene is active in organizing creative events on and off campus and plans to attend graduate school in fall 2005. In her spare time, you will not find her. Lauren Carey is a freshman English major who loves her dog, Bear, very much. In fact, there are very few things she loves more than Bear. Among these are rice pudding, tortilla chips, pipe organs, Ringo Starr, leopard print, and vampire hunters. Joseph Cortegerone is a Wilkes University alumnus who majored in English and Philosophy with a minor in German. Joseph has lived in Germany, Ireland, and Quebec. He is currently working on a novel, a song cycle for mezzo-soprano and piano using texts by Yeats and a short chamber symphony. He plans to pursue a PhD in Literature. Shannon Curtin is a freshman studying English/ Pre-Optometry. She hails from Berwick, Pa. J.W. (Jonathan William) Davies 4/20/80 - ? Joseph DeAngelis has survived a lot of hard losses in this rough semester. He witnessed the impossible when the Red Sox won the World Series and George W. Bush was re-elected. Joseph feels that with this new trend of Red Sox World Championships and Bush in charge of an already destroyed country, the world might single-handedly explode into the dark depths of the universe. 99 �Dan DiMaria is a native of Northeastern Pennsylvania, a familiar face in the bourgeois street-scenes of Wilkes-Barre. His favorite poets and writers are John Keats, e.e. cummings, William S. Burroughs, Oscar Wilde, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson and Victor Hugo. He is also influenced by the music of the Flaming Lips, Radio_head, th~ Velvet Underground, Nick Drake and Rage Against the Machme. He 1s a graduate o~ Wyoming Valley West High School in Plymouth, PA, where his words were stolen and molded to make "student safe" propaganda and where he was screwed over by mindless staff and faculty time and agai~, ~us forever denying him the opportunity to achieve his true ~otential m a mid-level private university ten minutes from where he _hves. He_hopes to one day salvage the shards of his wasted life and attam so~e higher level of meaning and existence, or else just do a really ~ood Job of . pretending that he has. Dan wants to leave you with _this phrase, which he says is not necessarily transcribed into proper Latin, alth~ugh he feels that that further comments on his character: Adrienne, vos s1gnum meus ortus unto is novus universitas ofdecor verum quad diligo. Clarissa E. Dudeck, 22, is from Hegins, PA where she attended TriValley High School. She currently resides in Wilkes-~a~e near the APlus ghetto and is a P-3 phannacy student. Her hobbies mclude photography, pharmacy school, partying, and writing to get her . frustrations out instead of banging her head off walls. She also enJoys tacos Corona and vintage 80' s clothing. Clarissa hopes that everyone can ;elate to her work in some way. She leaves you with a quote, " Rock On! " ... James D. Feeney was born on March 19, 1985. Throughout his childhood, he developed an interest and a passion for the arts. Never experiencing any proper training, Jim has independently explored the realms of the visual arts, music, writing, and film. Altho~gh a man of various trades, Jim's ultimate goal is to become a professional film director. Jessika Geisler has hitchhiked across America three separate times and decided to settle in Wilkes-Barre for a while. She is a part-~ime st~dent at Wilkes University this semester, where she has exce_lle~ ~ fencmg,. writing, and editing for Manuscript. Hopefully, she will JOID the English major brigade in the near future. In a past life, Christina Harowicz was known as ~he bloodthirsty_ pirate "Tina the Terrible." She was notorious for throwmg reluctant sailors overboard and leaving them for the sharks. She invaded ~ numbe~, o~ countries and pilfered their riches. As a source of entertamrnent, Tma the Terrible" would put shares of the loot into giant pi.fiatas and watch JOO her crew beat the papier-miiche animals, as they hoped to find the gold inside. Christopher Hodorowski leaves much to be desired. (Editor's Note: The views expressed in Chris Hodorowski ' s Biography are in no way related to the views held by those in the Manuscript Society.) Keith Hubbard hails from the small town of Archbald, PA. He is a sophomore at Wilkes University and is currently majoring in Communications. He has aspirations of becoming a writer, mus ician, or possibly King of Great Britain . When he is not rescuing infants from burning buildings, he writes poetry , songs, and blueprints for the destruction of Finland. (Keith hates Finl and .) Amy Kaspriskie feels that a person is supposed to know him/herself better than anyone else. Amy was a writer from birth, which carries over into the academic portion of her life, explaining why she is pursuing a major in English. If she had to predict where she would be in the future, Amy would just hope to be happy in what she was doing, whether she was wealthy or not. Other than writing, Amy's passions include dancing as well as a plethora of other disciplines and personal interests. More than anything else, Amy is passi onate. Matthew Koch is a current staff member of Wilkes University and an alumnus of the English department. When not fixing computers that everyone seems to keep breaking, he enj oys a good glass of bourbon and writing/reading poetry and fiction . Senior English major Ben Kushner is interested in scary movies, dancing the Lambada, and listening to Ringo Starr. He seeks poetry, short fiction, plays and black & white photography. Work must be clever, well written, and not cliche. Hallmark poetry need not apply. For more information you can call Ben at 1-867-5309. Amber Lawson is a senior English/Secondary Ed major. Originally from Tunkhannock, she is truly a country girl at heart. Her interests include hiking, reading, writing, and spending time with her family . After graduating, Amber hopes to ga in a teaching position in a local or not-solocal secondary school and plans to continue her education to attain her Masters degree. Amber would like to thank all of her professors in the English department for recognizing her talents and for always pushing her to become a better writer. Gabe LeDonne smacked his head on a paved playground in New Jersey when he was three. This traumatic event has served as explanation for many of Gabe's actions throughout his life- the most recent being this IOI �semester's Manuscript submission. His childhood injury has also been attributed to his life-long mantra: "Some men se~ things as they are and?"' ask, 'Why?' I see things that don't exist and ask, What the hell was that. Tony Kushner's Angels in America: "Nothing's lost forever. In this world, there's a kind of painful progress. Longing for what we've left behind, and dreaming ahead. At least I think that's so." J. Michael Lennon is a professor of English at Wilkes Univ~rsity. His latest publication is Norman Mailer's Letters from An Amencan Dream, 1963-1969. Marissa M. Patterson is a senior English and Spanish major with concentrations in Secondary Education and ESL. She plans to graduate in 2005 provided that she excels in the " surprise" math class requirement. She believes in two things: " Mas vale tarde que nunca" (better late than never) and "No hay rosa sin espinas" (there is no rose without thorns). She enjoys Thursday night bowling with her girls (*winning, of course) and reading everything that is not included on the fall syllabi. She can frequently be heard saying, ·' Life goes on ." Ron Lieback hates fake people, especially people who write poe~s about their girlfriends. Ron would like to_qu~te Ch_arles Bukowski: ~ intellectual is a man who says a simple thmg m a difficult way; an artist is a man who says a difficult thing in a simple way." 11 Sabrina A. McLaughlin is currently suffering throu~h her quarter-life crisis. If she survives it with her sanity more or !ess mt~~t, she hopes to pursue advanced degrees in Literature and C~eat1ve Wnt_mg. Her aspirations are to become a published poet with the d~y-Job of colleg~ professor. Contrary to rumour, she is not a_C~m~umst although she 1s quite liberal and will believe in the equal distr1but1on of wealth as lon_g as she is poor; if she ever manages to become reasonably wealthy she will then believe in a well-stocked wine cellar, thorou~bred_ raceho~ses, and a BMW. After seeing the results of the recent presidential election, Sabrina is considering possible expatriation, preferably to another . English-speaking nation such as The Republic of Ireland or Australia because the only foreign words and phrases she _knows ar~ obscure _swear words and drinking toasts in Italian, German, Insh, Albanian, Russian, and Yiddish which although they come in handy at times, are not adequate fo; developed intellectual conversation. Sabrina Naples, 21, is a Wilkes-Barre native and senior at Wilke~ University, majoring in English and Psychology. A lover of all thmgs fantasy, she is obsessed with anime, manga, an~ the supernatural, as well as being a proud admirer of Sailor Moon. Sabrma plans to ~ursue an MF A in creative writing and perhaps rule the world on the side. Her favorite foods are cookies, icing, and marshmallows. Her p~t parrot, Caesar, says "Hello" and offers tours of Wilkes-Barre startmg at $6.29. Special News Release: "The Government of the United States o~. America has scientifically proven that exposure to Josh Orloski 1s not hazardous to your health. Wait, or maybe it was that exposure to Josh Orloski is hazardous to your health. We really can't remember." Corey Pajka is a Senior Theatr~/Engli~h major and is ~ery grate~l for the chance to write for Manuscnpt agam. Sorry, but he s also a httle jaded right now; this message was written on Novem_ber 3_, 2004. Check back in four years. Corey would like to leave you with this quote from 102 Sergio Pedro is a visiting professor of Spanish at Wilkes University. He has a Masters in Spanish Literature from the University at Buffalo and is currently completing his doctorate at that same university with a specialization in early modem Spanish literature. His influences are eclectic, for they include the Spanish Generation of 1927, Octavio Paz, and "untouchables" like Keats and the 17th century Spaniard, Luis de Gongora. Marissa Phillips is a freshman Communications major who wishes she were in Philadelphia studying fashion design. Every so often she writes a poem or story which may or may not be good. Marissa enjoys reading good books, playing the lottery, and people who wear tapered pants. In her spare time she buys milk from Rite Aid. Robert Schreiber enjoys writing, but not as much as he enjoys lovemaking. Something about lovemaking just rubs him in a way that writing does not. Maybe ifhe were more sensitive to writing's needs, it would rub him the way lovemaking does. One might assume that Robert enjoys lovemaking because of the so-called "Instant Gratification Theory." One would be assuming correctly. Kathryn Skaluba is a criminology major in her junior year. She graduated from Tunkhannock High School in 2002. Photography and writing are two of Kathryn's favorite pastimes. Amy Steele is a student at Wilkes University. John Vore comes to Wilkes University from Indiana University-Purdue University, Indianapolis (Indiana), where he has served as an Associate Faculty member in the Department of English. He holds the M.F.A. in Creative Writing and the B.A. in Philosophy from the University of Notre Dame. His list of publications includes three nonfiction books published by Firetrap: Moving into History: Therapy for the American 103 �Identity, The Raft: Notes Towards Rules of Order for a Digital Age, and Tell Me What Home is Like: A Map/Memoir in Lieu ofa Place. He also has two books of poetry: The Requiem for the Man with Two Dicks and The Buddy Poems . His recent in-progress works include The ReadingWriting-Meaning Triangle, "a kinesthetic method for teaching writing" and "The Four Plateaus." He suggests you check out Firetrap.com where you can see his list of publications in more detail. Crystal R. Wah is currently a junior, finishing up her last year ofprepharmacy. Photography has been a hobby of hers for the past five years. Crystal's photos have been displayed at the Fine Arts Fiesta in WilkesBarre and at White Pines College in New Hampshire. When he is not being thrown out of restaurants in the greater Orlando area, Jim Warner hosts several poetry readings throughout the valley. A Wilkes alumnus, Jim also performs regularly in New York City and is scheduled to be a featured reader at the Cornelia Street Cafe. His shoe size is 9 1/2. Eric Wolf of Clarks Summit, PA is a graduating biochemistry major with a career interest in pharmaceutical research and molecular biology. Eric has been taking photography as a hobby for about five years. 490 5 104 � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript: Literary Magazine, 1947-present Subject The topic of the resource The Manuscript Society of Wilkes University has been publishing its creative written and visual art magazine, Manuscript, continuously since 1947. Currently, the student-led editorial staff publishes one issue per year, and copies are complimentary. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Wilkes Manuscript Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDFs Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1947-2020 Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript is a student-run literary magazine, published by the Manuscript Society since 1947. It is currently published once a year. Individuals may submit creative fiction, creative nonfiction/short personal essays, poetry, photography, drawings, paintings, digital art, and music compositions. Submissions are open to all Wilkes University students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Anyone can read or obtain copies of any of the material for research purposes, but if the researcher wants to quote from the materials, they will need to obtain copyright permission from the <a href="https://www.wilkes.edu/academics/colleges/arts-humanities-social-sciences/humanities/manuscript/index.aspx">Wilkes University Manuscript Society.</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript: Literary Magazine is arranged chronologically. The series ranges from 1947 – present. The magazine is currently published in the Spring only, but has previously been published seasonally, each semester. The series also includes a folder with supplemental materials from the Manuscript Film Society in the 1970s. The folders include a date range which may hold more than one issue of the magazine. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript, Fall 2004 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/96635d3e1164ce24cf10a191121e4b61.pdf a2b523fed3678b21f860398a365bdb19 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript: Literary Magazine, 1947-present Subject The topic of the resource The Manuscript Society of Wilkes University has been publishing its creative written and visual art magazine, Manuscript, continuously since 1947. Currently, the student-led editorial staff publishes one issue per year, and copies are complimentary. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Wilkes Manuscript Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDFs Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1947-2020 Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript is a student-run literary magazine, published by the Manuscript Society since 1947. It is currently published once a year. Individuals may submit creative fiction, creative nonfiction/short personal essays, poetry, photography, drawings, paintings, digital art, and music compositions. Submissions are open to all Wilkes University students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Anyone can read or obtain copies of any of the material for research purposes, but if the researcher wants to quote from the materials, they will need to obtain copyright permission from the <a href="https://www.wilkes.edu/academics/colleges/arts-humanities-social-sciences/humanities/manuscript/index.aspx">Wilkes University Manuscript Society.</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript: Literary Magazine is arranged chronologically. The series ranges from 1947 – present. The magazine is currently published in the Spring only, but has previously been published seasonally, each semester. The series also includes a folder with supplemental materials from the Manuscript Film Society in the 1970s. The folders include a date range which may hold more than one issue of the magazine. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript, Spring 2004 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/3e03b5f9c72a5733ccb64193f3c2d834.pdf 5bae9ecbf51bfbdaee2684e39da96d91 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript: Literary Magazine, 1947-present Subject The topic of the resource The Manuscript Society of Wilkes University has been publishing its creative written and visual art magazine, Manuscript, continuously since 1947. Currently, the student-led editorial staff publishes one issue per year, and copies are complimentary. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Wilkes Manuscript Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDFs Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1947-2020 Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript is a student-run literary magazine, published by the Manuscript Society since 1947. It is currently published once a year. Individuals may submit creative fiction, creative nonfiction/short personal essays, poetry, photography, drawings, paintings, digital art, and music compositions. Submissions are open to all Wilkes University students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Anyone can read or obtain copies of any of the material for research purposes, but if the researcher wants to quote from the materials, they will need to obtain copyright permission from the <a href="https://www.wilkes.edu/academics/colleges/arts-humanities-social-sciences/humanities/manuscript/index.aspx">Wilkes University Manuscript Society.</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript: Literary Magazine is arranged chronologically. The series ranges from 1947 – present. The magazine is currently published in the Spring only, but has previously been published seasonally, each semester. The series also includes a folder with supplemental materials from the Manuscript Film Society in the 1970s. The folders include a date range which may hold more than one issue of the magazine. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript, Spring 2006 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/463cdecf72bf30a44bca3e56cd4894bd.pdf 4b868e82b4b385a5677d8abb0c1dbcce Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript: Literary Magazine, 1947-present Subject The topic of the resource The Manuscript Society of Wilkes University has been publishing its creative written and visual art magazine, Manuscript, continuously since 1947. Currently, the student-led editorial staff publishes one issue per year, and copies are complimentary. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Wilkes Manuscript Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDFs Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1947-2020 Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript is a student-run literary magazine, published by the Manuscript Society since 1947. It is currently published once a year. Individuals may submit creative fiction, creative nonfiction/short personal essays, poetry, photography, drawings, paintings, digital art, and music compositions. Submissions are open to all Wilkes University students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Anyone can read or obtain copies of any of the material for research purposes, but if the researcher wants to quote from the materials, they will need to obtain copyright permission from the <a href="https://www.wilkes.edu/academics/colleges/arts-humanities-social-sciences/humanities/manuscript/index.aspx">Wilkes University Manuscript Society.</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript: Literary Magazine is arranged chronologically. The series ranges from 1947 – present. The magazine is currently published in the Spring only, but has previously been published seasonally, each semester. The series also includes a folder with supplemental materials from the Manuscript Film Society in the 1970s. The folders include a date range which may hold more than one issue of the magazine. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript, Spring 2014 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/326a425d89ebfdfa6784c0a9297d0bd3.pdf 620f3ee5b59efbb61bd74379758fe823 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript: Literary Magazine, 1947-present Subject The topic of the resource The Manuscript Society of Wilkes University has been publishing its creative written and visual art magazine, Manuscript, continuously since 1947. Currently, the student-led editorial staff publishes one issue per year, and copies are complimentary. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Wilkes Manuscript Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDFs Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1947-2020 Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript is a student-run literary magazine, published by the Manuscript Society since 1947. It is currently published once a year. Individuals may submit creative fiction, creative nonfiction/short personal essays, poetry, photography, drawings, paintings, digital art, and music compositions. Submissions are open to all Wilkes University students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Anyone can read or obtain copies of any of the material for research purposes, but if the researcher wants to quote from the materials, they will need to obtain copyright permission from the <a href="https://www.wilkes.edu/academics/colleges/arts-humanities-social-sciences/humanities/manuscript/index.aspx">Wilkes University Manuscript Society.</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript: Literary Magazine is arranged chronologically. The series ranges from 1947 – present. The magazine is currently published in the Spring only, but has previously been published seasonally, each semester. The series also includes a folder with supplemental materials from the Manuscript Film Society in the 1970s. The folders include a date range which may hold more than one issue of the magazine. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript, Spring 2015 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/2a1e44f57911af71a20b3d708911b109.pdf 208ae95e6638c4bebd6d75e6df18b65f Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript: Literary Magazine, 1947-present Subject The topic of the resource The Manuscript Society of Wilkes University has been publishing its creative written and visual art magazine, Manuscript, continuously since 1947. Currently, the student-led editorial staff publishes one issue per year, and copies are complimentary. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Wilkes Manuscript Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDFs Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1947-2020 Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript is a student-run literary magazine, published by the Manuscript Society since 1947. It is currently published once a year. Individuals may submit creative fiction, creative nonfiction/short personal essays, poetry, photography, drawings, paintings, digital art, and music compositions. Submissions are open to all Wilkes University students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Anyone can read or obtain copies of any of the material for research purposes, but if the researcher wants to quote from the materials, they will need to obtain copyright permission from the <a href="https://www.wilkes.edu/academics/colleges/arts-humanities-social-sciences/humanities/manuscript/index.aspx">Wilkes University Manuscript Society.</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript: Literary Magazine is arranged chronologically. The series ranges from 1947 – present. The magazine is currently published in the Spring only, but has previously been published seasonally, each semester. The series also includes a folder with supplemental materials from the Manuscript Film Society in the 1970s. The folders include a date range which may hold more than one issue of the magazine. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript, Spring 2016 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/6da6f5d7a6b4da9819ca301b65a0cd1c.pdf 46219c2e55e4bd0c7b96fd864b9bef92 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript: Literary Magazine, 1947-present Subject The topic of the resource The Manuscript Society of Wilkes University has been publishing its creative written and visual art magazine, Manuscript, continuously since 1947. Currently, the student-led editorial staff publishes one issue per year, and copies are complimentary. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Wilkes Manuscript Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDFs Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1947-2020 Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript is a student-run literary magazine, published by the Manuscript Society since 1947. It is currently published once a year. Individuals may submit creative fiction, creative nonfiction/short personal essays, poetry, photography, drawings, paintings, digital art, and music compositions. Submissions are open to all Wilkes University students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Anyone can read or obtain copies of any of the material for research purposes, but if the researcher wants to quote from the materials, they will need to obtain copyright permission from the <a href="https://www.wilkes.edu/academics/colleges/arts-humanities-social-sciences/humanities/manuscript/index.aspx">Wilkes University Manuscript Society.</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript: Literary Magazine is arranged chronologically. The series ranges from 1947 – present. The magazine is currently published in the Spring only, but has previously been published seasonally, each semester. The series also includes a folder with supplemental materials from the Manuscript Film Society in the 1970s. The folders include a date range which may hold more than one issue of the magazine. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript, Fall 2017 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/88bc20eb6231839689e529f1a5bd7de1.pdf 92bddd67ea4817495c0f0df8a1695c06 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript: Literary Magazine, 1947-present Subject The topic of the resource The Manuscript Society of Wilkes University has been publishing its creative written and visual art magazine, Manuscript, continuously since 1947. Currently, the student-led editorial staff publishes one issue per year, and copies are complimentary. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Wilkes Manuscript Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDFs Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1947-2020 Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript is a student-run literary magazine, published by the Manuscript Society since 1947. It is currently published once a year. Individuals may submit creative fiction, creative nonfiction/short personal essays, poetry, photography, drawings, paintings, digital art, and music compositions. Submissions are open to all Wilkes University students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Anyone can read or obtain copies of any of the material for research purposes, but if the researcher wants to quote from the materials, they will need to obtain copyright permission from the <a href="https://www.wilkes.edu/academics/colleges/arts-humanities-social-sciences/humanities/manuscript/index.aspx">Wilkes University Manuscript Society.</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript: Literary Magazine is arranged chronologically. The series ranges from 1947 – present. The magazine is currently published in the Spring only, but has previously been published seasonally, each semester. The series also includes a folder with supplemental materials from the Manuscript Film Society in the 1970s. The folders include a date range which may hold more than one issue of the magazine. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript, Fall 2010 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/23e7b3177e8b9dc769cc5b57c8634d04.pdf a0ada072d7e6ccededd4e752c45d31f3 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript: Literary Magazine, 1947-present Subject The topic of the resource The Manuscript Society of Wilkes University has been publishing its creative written and visual art magazine, Manuscript, continuously since 1947. Currently, the student-led editorial staff publishes one issue per year, and copies are complimentary. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Wilkes Manuscript Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDFs Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1947-2020 Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript is a student-run literary magazine, published by the Manuscript Society since 1947. It is currently published once a year. Individuals may submit creative fiction, creative nonfiction/short personal essays, poetry, photography, drawings, paintings, digital art, and music compositions. Submissions are open to all Wilkes University students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Anyone can read or obtain copies of any of the material for research purposes, but if the researcher wants to quote from the materials, they will need to obtain copyright permission from the <a href="https://www.wilkes.edu/academics/colleges/arts-humanities-social-sciences/humanities/manuscript/index.aspx">Wilkes University Manuscript Society.</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript: Literary Magazine is arranged chronologically. The series ranges from 1947 – present. The magazine is currently published in the Spring only, but has previously been published seasonally, each semester. The series also includes a folder with supplemental materials from the Manuscript Film Society in the 1970s. The folders include a date range which may hold more than one issue of the magazine. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript, Spring 2020 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/fa0e1d86c872171b770c446faaf799a3.pdf 181656b4c635f08082624bd6deb7bce4 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript: Literary Magazine, 1947-present Subject The topic of the resource The Manuscript Society of Wilkes University has been publishing its creative written and visual art magazine, Manuscript, continuously since 1947. Currently, the student-led editorial staff publishes one issue per year, and copies are complimentary. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Wilkes Manuscript Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDFs Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1947-2020 Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript is a student-run literary magazine, published by the Manuscript Society since 1947. It is currently published once a year. Individuals may submit creative fiction, creative nonfiction/short personal essays, poetry, photography, drawings, paintings, digital art, and music compositions. Submissions are open to all Wilkes University students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Anyone can read or obtain copies of any of the material for research purposes, but if the researcher wants to quote from the materials, they will need to obtain copyright permission from the <a href="https://www.wilkes.edu/academics/colleges/arts-humanities-social-sciences/humanities/manuscript/index.aspx">Wilkes University Manuscript Society.</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript: Literary Magazine is arranged chronologically. The series ranges from 1947 – present. The magazine is currently published in the Spring only, but has previously been published seasonally, each semester. The series also includes a folder with supplemental materials from the Manuscript Film Society in the 1970s. The folders include a date range which may hold more than one issue of the magazine. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript, Summer 1947 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/405a748a8cce7a55d2aa8707dfcbafed.pdf cf7dea94e85832e216faf80a66da7055 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript: Literary Magazine, 1947-present Subject The topic of the resource The Manuscript Society of Wilkes University has been publishing its creative written and visual art magazine, Manuscript, continuously since 1947. Currently, the student-led editorial staff publishes one issue per year, and copies are complimentary. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Wilkes Manuscript Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDFs Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1947-2020 Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript is a student-run literary magazine, published by the Manuscript Society since 1947. It is currently published once a year. Individuals may submit creative fiction, creative nonfiction/short personal essays, poetry, photography, drawings, paintings, digital art, and music compositions. Submissions are open to all Wilkes University students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Anyone can read or obtain copies of any of the material for research purposes, but if the researcher wants to quote from the materials, they will need to obtain copyright permission from the <a href="https://www.wilkes.edu/academics/colleges/arts-humanities-social-sciences/humanities/manuscript/index.aspx">Wilkes University Manuscript Society.</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript: Literary Magazine is arranged chronologically. The series ranges from 1947 – present. The magazine is currently published in the Spring only, but has previously been published seasonally, each semester. The series also includes a folder with supplemental materials from the Manuscript Film Society in the 1970s. The folders include a date range which may hold more than one issue of the magazine. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript, Spring 1948 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/0898983a896cc999611fe8493c3b1f48.pdf 18721665b90ca903d785579c2a9eb8e6 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript: Literary Magazine, 1947-present Subject The topic of the resource The Manuscript Society of Wilkes University has been publishing its creative written and visual art magazine, Manuscript, continuously since 1947. Currently, the student-led editorial staff publishes one issue per year, and copies are complimentary. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Wilkes Manuscript Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDFs Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant 1947-2020 Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript is a student-run literary magazine, published by the Manuscript Society since 1947. It is currently published once a year. Individuals may submit creative fiction, creative nonfiction/short personal essays, poetry, photography, drawings, paintings, digital art, and music compositions. Submissions are open to all Wilkes University students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Anyone can read or obtain copies of any of the material for research purposes, but if the researcher wants to quote from the materials, they will need to obtain copyright permission from the <a href="https://www.wilkes.edu/academics/colleges/arts-humanities-social-sciences/humanities/manuscript/index.aspx">Wilkes University Manuscript Society.</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource The Wilkes University Manuscript: Literary Magazine is arranged chronologically. The series ranges from 1947 – present. The magazine is currently published in the Spring only, but has previously been published seasonally, each semester. The series also includes a folder with supplemental materials from the Manuscript Film Society in the 1970s. The folders include a date range which may hold more than one issue of the magazine. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Wilkes Manuscript, Winter 1948