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paintings you re doing it again zeldor mexican corn shane bendaña university of new hampshire at manchester home is where the heart is jenn hawes ink blot spring 2011 edition when i speak with you zeldor impossible number zeldor inkblot is unh manchester s first student-run creative arts publication the inkblot as part of unh manchester s art club has been soliciting submissions of writings paintings photography and drawings all year long hopefully you all enjoy and appreciate the taste of artstraight from the granite state caution some works in this publication may be offensive outside looking in while the rich eat shane bendaña inkblot 2011:1 page 20 www.unhm-activities/inkblot

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table of contents photography 3-6 writings 7-16 drawings 17 18 paintings 19 20 for full size images and author bios please visit the website a big shout out to everybody who contributed in this historic project for unh manchester i have enjoyed seeing all of your work also a big thank you to jamie saucier the man behind the production plan without all of you guys this dream project would have not been possible also i want to thank my dreams my nightmares and my muses for giving me this idea to start off with last but not least i want to thank dani schmidt for bringing me aboard to the art club and allowing me to tinker with it in efforts to make ink blot a mainstay club in unh manchester one day -andres reyes president paintings untitled shane bendaña potatoes jenn hawes the tree of life dani schmidt snowy owl kristin lewis lennon samantha allwood a flower zeldor the virgin mary shane bendaña © 2011 unh manchester s inkblot this project is coordinated by the student group inkblot and the student activities office disclaimer these opinions ideas and creative objects are the reflection of the individual artists and authors the opinions reflected in this publication do not represent unh manchester inkblot the activities office and are those of the individuals also none of these stories drawings paintings or photos are owned by inkblot still life in the dark shane bendaña inkblot 2011:1 page 2 www.unhm-activities/inkblot self portrait shane bendaña inkblot 2011:1 page 19

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photography society contrast andres reyes anarchy andres reyes unstitched daphne nichols untitled dinalee devarney epilogue daphne nichols gaz dinalee devarney drawings mistake andres reyes addiction andres reyes gentle walrus casey fitzgerald the finale joey burns obey c.r stoker the road less traveled christine thibodeau butterfly jehniva jackson chief 1 jenn hawes repair justin martel inkblot 2011:1 page 18 www.unhm-activities/inkblot inkblot 2011:1 page 3

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photography invisible daphne nichols obama justin martel 42nd street daphne nichols parrot jehniva jackson drawings chief 2 jenn hawes far away jehniva jackson kayak justin martel abandoned daphne nichols lighthouse jenn hawes 4th of july christina mccann loyal jehniva jackson sexi jehniva jackson snoop roast beef justin martel untitled casey fitzgerald inkblot 2011:1 page 4 www.unhm-activities/inkblot inkblot 2011:1 page 17

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tarot jacqueline geisheimer i hate this place with the stingin scent of cotton candy and the screams of children everyday i hate bart s loud megaphone callin one and all to see magnificent freaks like mama i hate the blindin lights the whirlin rides the dirt in my eyes from your goddamn shoes watch where you re goin just because i work here it doesn t mean i ain t a person too i hate the travelin carnival but i can never escape it i was born here after all and once a carnie always a carnie my papa could be a mark could be a freak could be the manager mama don t know i don t know and i don t care much we get along fine without knowin mama s got sores all over her body had `em as long as i ve been on this earth her family always said she was cursed they took her to a priest and he tried his darnedest with an exorcism but it didn t work they figured sellin her to the carnies when she was little would be better than bein shunned by the big man upstairs mama became the woman with the pox her pitch is she s survived decades and decades with this disease one of the only ones to survive without doctor s aid the marks eat it up oohin and ahhin gaspin and backin away as the sores weep with puss some of it s real and some of it s icin they put on mama before she went on stage truth is no one knows how she got the sores or if it s genetic mama says she don t know if anyone else has got it since her family gave her up so young she don t care it pays the bills so no doctors for her i get dreams sometimes though where i have a little red mark on my cheek i scratch it and my skin flakes off and i m left with muscle and weepin flesh i wake up breathless and mama asks abby you ok i say yeah mama just a bad dream she grunts and falls back asleep scratchin at her sores her scratchin it s soothin it s my lullaby i can fall back asleep once she starts scratchin i m a tarot reader here it s not hard at all it s more about readin people than cards you just tell `em what they want to hear i get marks all the time who want me married men who want a quick ride or teenagers lookin to relieve themselves all carnie girls have their ways of dealin with it i give `em a card with a blank back and write a trailer number and a time on it give `em a little wink on their way out of my tent when they knock peter the lizard man opens the door of his trailer and sees my card in their hand he roughs `em up a bit and they run scared shitless durin twilight when the carnival is closed and all the marks have gone home i make my move i do it once in every town i sneak out of my trailer when mama s snorin hard and go off towards the ferris wheel i begin my climb to the top i gotta make sure no one sees me or i ll get yelled at real good you fall from that climb and it s over i ve seen a carnie young boy about 13 fall from about half the height i normally climb he was dead the moment he hit the ground everyone said it was a tragedy but i don t think it was a bad way to go he touched the ground and went right to heaven i reach the top gondola it s the best seat in the house especially when the ferris wheel is still i sit up there until the sun starts wakin up you can see everything i ve seen buslin cities that never sleep towns that never wake and wide oceans up there i always cry in that gondola seein everything like that it makes me feel so damn bad i ain t never been to a city or a town or a beach driven through `em sure but that s the thing about bein a carnie you re workin when you re sleepin i can see your house from here you marks with your love of everything i hate you love the rigged games the food that makes me vomit the rides that bore the hell out of me i see the light in your window i ll read your fortune ah the seven of pentacles this means movement plannin on movin why not come over here come here to the carnival aha the ace of wands now a symbol of invention why yes it is your destiny to be here you must have a talent that is of the bizarre that is of great value to you that others would scoff at we would never scoff at you we value you and finally we have the two of wands mmm this means courage to strike out on a new path yes yes this is what you are meant to do it is hard to move on but no one will miss you who needs that borin job of a salesperson a naggin mother a quiet life let s trade you can be a fortuneteller have a freak mother an excitin life you can live in the world of dreams and colors i will take your old grey life in exchange it will take some gettin used to though i need the sound of scratchin to fall asleep spooky christine thibodeau creative cricket christine thibodeau alone in a crowd daphne nichols black dahlia casey fitzgerald survivor justin martel house of blues daphne nichols apology andres reyes thugonomics andres reyes beech street justin martel inkblot 2011:1 page 16 www.unhm-activities/inkblot inkblot 2011:1 page 5

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still got it jacqueline geisheimer count von phasma moved into the run down victorian on the corner of beech and lowe last november by june the mansion shimmered von phasma was surprisingly young for a count and helped with the renovations sweat drenched his frilled blouse in the virginian sun this did not mean however that he did not have a full staff of servants bustling day in and day out wearing aprons and little matching hats von phasma spent his mornings inside his victorian doing who knows what at night exactly at 11pm he drove his black volvo into the dark returning at 3am his neighbors only saw him around two when the schoolchildren made their way home on skateboards and buses he leaned against his front door with his arms folded tight against his chest scowling with his long dark hair flowing in the wind and his beady eyes following their every move the children often stopped all conversation as they passed the victorian eyes wide occasionally he would hiss at them and they would shriek away von phasma would be left smirking and uttering an amused guttural laugh miss betty hill shuffled up to 38 beech street her wrinkly eyes fell on the victorian s owner who stood outside menacingly not a whole heck of a lot could phase a seventy year old and count von phasma failed to even set off a slight alarm in fact miss betty found him to be quite attractive give him a few years and he d look like bella legosi especially if he cut that hair of his his little pout made her shiver in places she thought were numb with age and his velveteen suits looked so soft gosh if she were just a few years younger she would have loved to take him out for a jitterbug and maybe a little more she giggled von phasma heard her and raised an eyebrow she winked at him in response and continued about her walk a mischievous grin on her face and a twinkle in her eyes sunset andres reyes chain casey fitzgerald 10 minutes shane bendaña the evergreen tress stood frozen above the blue sky cape cod always seemed still before the summer time charlotte a twenty-year-old junkie and her also heroin addicted boyfriend artemio walked along the shore with trashcan swimming hands that looked for its victim if the couple didn t act quick in two hours they would be feeling the excruciating sickness of withdrawal five years living off the streets was enough time for charlotte to learn that no one in their right mind would give charlotte and artemio shelter as long as they didn t kick their addiction my tree eye christine thibodeau off ahead they spotted a beat up ford suv with the license plate snowcat artemio walked toward the black-colored suv with charlotte s hand squeezing out the circulation from his wrist she stumbled to follow his footsteps they imagined mountain-shaped lines of heroin on the dashboard as they got closer and closer to the body of the car the aroma of toast penetrated out the windows hey i m hall you you guys want a hit a man inside the driver s seat said his eyes were blood-shot a belt was securely tied to his forearm a needle laid in the passenger seat ready to be plunged into gorging addicted veins charlotte knew this was bottom she could no longer endure the long nights of waiting one someone else s hit to escape the realities of life she wanted to be able to see for the first time the sight of artemio forever wove into her memory making her restrain the urge to pass her life up pool table solar system andres reyes little box of butters casey fitzgerald tony sk8 justin martel scully folds daphne nichols hawk justin martel inkblot 2011:1 page 6 www.unhm-activities/inkblot inkblot 2011:1 page 15

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the whole town is made of death c.r stoker its four in the morning and the whole town is made of death nobody rides the street in cars except for cops working the graveyard shift just looking out for that one dead ringer i ride the street on my vehicle of choice my shiny new razor scooter such a smooth ride a smooth glide smoother than satin falling through the air both move too much like a ghost gliding gently never really touching more like existing and i glide over the ground the ghost in this town its four in the morning and this whole town is made of death shops and houses shut up and uninviting empty windows might as well be black brick walls the streetlights cast an inch of makeup on the houses those corpses just like the corpses in pine boxes no matter how well done up you are you can see it in the eyes you can see the lights ain t on nobody s home and nobody s coming out not while you re around i m here to pay my respects to this funeral home i m not here to shop not at four in the morning when the whole town is made of death these roads are rickety bumpy as all hell but that s ok according to my salesman my salesman explained that my razor scooter is brand new wheels so big they ll have me saying `what bumps big wheels like novocain i ll never feel a thing trouble with novocain you still hear it all every bump takes on a place in some ungodly rhythm badup badup badup badup like a dentist with a sledgehammer with all that novocain i never feel a thing until my pants get caught in the fancy new spring loaded breaks the back wheel jams and i go flying catapulted by the one moving wheel in front the novocain wears off when i land palms first knees next land right on those rickety bumps how humiliating good thing its four in the morning and the whole town is made of death everyone is dead now or might as well be everybody has slipped into a coma some are hallucinating pretty hard good thing the doctor says that an 8 hour coma is normal i wish i could slip off like that into my coma i wish i wasn t sprawled on the ground in the middle of a bridge so close to the edge of town to the last building alive and so close to feeding my insomnia no coma for me please i have my red bull fix but without my coma without my hallucinations what have i got i ve got nothing nothing but a fistful of words and a head full of paper nothing but the cops who drew the short straw and wound up watching nothing but untouchable smoothness tantalizing like a condom for a ken doll nothing but the comas patients in the corpse skulls nothing but four in the morning when the whole town is made of death unhm activities/inkblot for more writing including a special by andres reyes visit the website oakum lungs patrick hefferan i cough with the interstate between the green apple hills and the pipes and plumbing and sht-in drive going nowhere here hot tar sticks in the passageways throat i stub my cigarette out and relax i am neutrino a wind rushing through an eternity of trees still shivering the ecstasy of an unadulterated purpose a farm which no one sees nowhere keeps to itself we meditate in communion :a field grown free validates this vessel parked in a boneyard-the old rain-dark road divides the dream in two one half litmus d jesus back to a black hole ones and zeros fifty fckin fifty-the other is wildly alive rearing bitterly against traffic turkey scratch andres reyes day one my family died by the gun brains splattered blood gathered i became a parentless son day two feeling glum and blue farmers drained me constrained me what is a turkey to do day three still got personality they re coming after me humans want to eat me a turkey s life is insanity day four hope i haven t been a bore i die tomorrow feel no sorrow soon i will be sold at a store final day to my dismay i m gonna die eaten with pumpkin pie here s my last words to say turkey scratch is better than chicken scratch the lamp c r stoker she smells like cinnamon she says that she loves me she has my cck in her hand she takes me to her place she takes her clothes off she has a condom in her hand she says she wants me inside her we smell like sweat now she says it feels incredible i notice she has my wallet in her hand the whore she takes my money she sees me grabbing the lamp she feels it collide with her head she says she s sorry she s getting cold she just smells like copper now splashing with the fattiesdoug murray permed and colored icebergs float in chlorine all around me bejeweled glasses with gold leashes translucent skin and liver spots november s song for all i stand and breathe move old limbs i push pull and stretch we cheer each other on use it or lose it gravity is denied youth returns when fluids ease suspension bridge mechanics lady grace knows well no more the siren temptress no more a source of life no more a workforce wonder but life goes on deep water camouflages shy burgs sigh and stay near shore old beauty queens keep hope and look for joy sustaining glances an easy gift beneath the waves the thunder thighs and bubble butts muffin tops and swollen veins hide with my food baby girls look like hourglasses boys like triangles eventually we all look like eggs inkblot 2011:1 page 14 www.unhm-activities/inkblot inkblot 2011:1 page 7

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fathoms patrick hefferan the architect fell before the id run through by the superintendant meanwhile maintenance smokes himself to death between shifts in reality you jacqueline geisheimer you you with your fatness and your snorting your spring spring spring down the stairs your flying nun ears that perk whenever i say anything resembling treat potty outside or walk the devil s words you are a bearskin rug when you lay on the kitchen tile you wiggle your little butt when i coo at you and it s a wonder you don t fall over that is a lie you have fallen over you are spoiled and i need to lift you on the bed because you are so fat although it s more of an awkward toss that luckily hasn t missed yet you scare people because you are loud which is silly you are afraid of lightening and hide in the closet under blankets you bring me my own stuffed animals pillows shoes anything to greet me but refuse to give them back you were starved they thought you were worthless they left you on a philadelphia bridge alone they wished you dead we drove six hours to rescue you you were found flicker for ed wilkinson matthew richards i when the brittle neck of an incandescent filament snaps there s a moment when you don t know whether to change the bulb or watch it burn out ii be more candle flame than hand grenade watch beads of wax mourn themselves solid from want as you extinguish the olympic flame is a twig and flint spark that has been flickering for 3000 years you men who drop lit matches into gasoline are unimpressive you chew filament and walk around with sodium lamp halos then spit krakatoa until no one is left to worship you you would set the gulf of mexico on fire and call it poetry lighters that romance the skin and leave do more damage than five minutes of fireworks that are all burn and no smolder iii icarus wanted to explode upon impact with the sun i didn t let him carpets to incarceration patrick hefferan the juror selection procedures manual uses dismissal in two separate contexts two different ways the judge wrote the manual eighty three year old main security guard gary takes my eleven dollar pocket watch for the chain i almost broke when giving it to him there-newsflash 110 sharpened pencils are thereafter distributed amongst a random assortment of civilians the atmosphere is heavy black robes like white hoods getting to the points they televised his buddy s trial but we re not supposed to remember that now most of the armed peace keepers are dying of natural causes right before my eyes save that one 28 year old who looks terrified seeing what i see-just wake up tomorrow and there you ll be misdiagnosis matthew richards autism you are not my diagnosis you are the garbage bag i got thrown into when even adhd didn t want me anymore you are judgmental psychiatrist viewing microscope slide me with scalpel eyes and dissecting with you are not normal take pills to change who you are you are public service announcement of 1 in 150 that really means 149 belong and the rest of the population should be herded with iep cattle prods into the designated special needs room and forced into the lowest level classes possible so their different-ness is not longer a threat to academia there is no trial by jury of peers there is no innocent until proven guilty it s autistic until proven otherwise and you have to deceive persuade and negotiate with guantanamo guidance counselors to prove you are worthy of respect to prove you are worthy of college to prove you are worthy of accomplishment there is no escape tunnel lawsuits are pointless money is power and there s no such thing as misdiagnosis autism you are the bell i cannot unring all i can do is sneak behind teachers cover their ears intercept transcripts and convince them there s another matthew richards but hiding from a hurricane every day is difficult and the day he asked are the special needs kids even in upper level classes i wanted to dig my fingernails into the chalkboard and scream we exist we are the gum paved into the school patio we are the lockers without numbers in the corner of the basement we are the names on the attendance list the teachers can never pronounce we are the ghosts that will haunt the halls of west high school just as unnoticed and forgotten as when we were alive but instead i shrugged erased the board and sat at my desk because if he couldn t see my sped barcode while standing in front of me it only means i ve done a good job scraping it off autism i will not be your microscope specimen i will not be the campbell s cream of crazy rotting in the bottom of your garbage bag you cannot own me you cannot control me i am too good for you to have my kite rises phasing with doldrums colored kindling for catching solar flares i am here too spooled in twine webbing yarns and you dart across skies a baby mocks its captors with imitative babble i am ill received laughing for the child s insight the thing is still immortal immaculate satire the kite dives into the halogenocean as this cafe has developed a stormsystem out of my hands ultimately ego cuts the line allows for drowning there is a light house without a soul to signal heart on my sleeve matthew richards i told you it was freezing so you lent me your jacket and i sneezed my heart on your sleeve you drove me home at the end of the night and i returned your jacket too embarrassed to tell you but unable to wipe it off i m still cold i want your jacket back i am a-17 and i can no longer wear my hat legally inkblot 2011:1 page 8 www.unhm-activities/inkblot inkblot 2011:1 page 13

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temporary insanity kristin lewis you are only given a little spark of madness you mustn t lose it robin williams i the yellow fluorescent lights of my kitchen give it a sickly sheen in the otherwise dark apartment it s ten o clock at night and i d forgotten to eat again as i melt butter in a frying pan and mix it with rice i contemplate the day s events and how the hell i keep managing to forget about dinner i close my eyes feeling relieved over the fact that i can give them a break from the harsh light of my computer and the piles of books that lay ominously beside it i pour cold water into the pan and it lets out a sizzling scream sweeping the kitchen with my eyes it s the only part of the apartment that never really stopped being solely mine i d always enjoyed the silence it provided and now in your wake the stillness is almost serene ii the last thing i remember was the most horrid crunching sound i had ever heard the noise was made more garish by the fact that it was coming from my torso tears began to trickle and freeze on my face before the pain even arrived next came panic beautifully disorienting panic iii today was sunny it was a nice break in all of the rain we d had over the past few weeks and i was going to enjoy it before it was gone i made my way to the entrance to the red line stargazer for pépère bill matthew richards swiped my charlie card and took my place on the crowded train stargazer you were never one for the spotlight pulling out my mp3 player i put nirvana s heart-shaped box on you blew the candles out every morning loop being sure to leave out one ear bud so i wouldn t miss my stop built telescopes and prayed for sunset a mass exodus at south station left me alone with an older man in you faced upward and watched dreams airplanes a green sweater and grey tweed jacket the smell of whiskey sours and shuttlecraft fly into the distance like filled my nose he smiled crookedly at me i turned up kurt cobain balloons you had to let go you sifted asteroids hoping that the man s voice would drown in krist novoselic s thumpthrough your hands let the light still traveling ing bass after several minutes it became impossible i can t really from the big bang enter your retinas and said tell you exactly what crossed my mind but made eye contact with this is the kitchen where perfection was made my temporary companion and i began to laugh his eyes gazed back the universe was never too big for you glazed over but clearly in shock his thin lips slowly revealed yellowed your view was peripheral and we were all horse-like teeth pieces of stardust twinkle crafted just the right and his eyes narrowed he abandoned his drunken advances for a few size to fit in your eyes when neil armstrong left moments of shared madness he wasn t looking for a new home his vision iv was too broad for the ground he was walking on sitting on your roommate s bed in a musty mallet hall dorm hubble telescope only captures long-distance images room i take in the smells of dust popcorn and moxie it s been one of you wanted to paint billboards in orbit that read those days when productivity is an unspeakable word i was perfectly this is earth but you can call her shore content to sit there all day and idly chat with you in the four hours when i turned eight you gave me your telescope we spent you never made your way over to me even though it was i asked you what i should look for clear that you wanted to we continued to talk until a wild glint apyou told me that a star dying is the most beautiful peared in your eye before i could blink you devoured my mouth thing ever witnessed since man started looking with yours toward the heavens once a sun burns all its v hydrogen fuel into helium it goes supernova i remove the beige ace bandages from my black duffle bag releasing high-energy gamma rays strong and wrap them around my feet i try my damnedest not to stare too enough to heat the cold ends of the galaxy long at my split and bloody toes as i slip on the pair of rigid lavender the cosmic dust left behind condenses and shoes my feet remember the crushing feeling that rushes in when i burns to form a new sun another sparkle in go up on my toes the idea of the entirety of a dancer s weight resting the night to remind us we aren t alone on material no bigger than a silver dollar is a decent one on paper i stargazer your lungs were full of helium wrap the ribbon around my stiff calves and rise to my feet to join the stargazer you re the balloon we had to let go other dancers at the bar in front of the mirror i take first position stargazer the universe was too big for us and shortly after feel a medium tap on the small of my back which stargazer look we aren t lonely anymore straightens it instantly the familiar and equally infamous black cane retreats quickly back to my dance teacher s side i must have been three steps past insane when i first agreed to do this inkblot 2011:1 page 12 www.unhm-activities/inkblot the lonely empiricist thomas hutchinson the daylight disappeared the natural world dimmed and the asphyxiating tunnel of artificial light led him to subterranean transportation he stood on the platform waiting for the inbound red line train the concrete columns separating his track from the outbound stood about 30 feet apart and framed everyone like a picture if and when they remained motionless he always wanted to take a photograph here but never did the train approached old newspapers hurriedly took flight to avoid the advancing railcar musty subway air rushed the tunnel with the smell of last winter rush hour commuters in their office uniforms raced to fill in the last few letters of their crossword puzzles they fastened their decorative scarves and began jockeying for position the most inconsiderate of the group as per custom were first to board the train and last to form a line he could always recognize the first ones on the train even those that boarded at various stops before they made the least eye contact with all the other passengers although if one happened to catch their direct gaze they held eye contact the longest an abandoned bottle still three quarters full danced between gravity and inertia as the train squealed through its route the bottle made its rounds formally introducing itself to sauconys nikes boat shoes and work loafers before finally and firmly colliding with his foot he worried unnecessarily about it fluctuating between placing the discarded drink in its proper receptacle and letting it continue assaulting his shoe like a broken record in constant repetition no one else on the train had acknowledged the bottle probably to avoid having to deal with it however nor had their shoes been violated by it more than once everyone watched with minimal interest how he d deal with it they wondered if he would kick it aside sending it into another orbit or continue pretending it wasn t there he wondered the same the train broke down about 500 yards short of his stop long after the first ones on became the first ones off he was not prepared to deal with the abruptness of this the future was already in motion unlike the now static worrisome bottle exit the train right side or left side he mouthed to himself go up the escalator no use the stairs everybody will be on the escalator plus he muttered i could afford to burn the calories he anticipated ascending the staircase take the left side everyone that doesn t skip stairs the same stairs that he always skipped stays to the right he peered over at two other commuters who hadn t been the first ones on at their stops either and wondered how they could read their books uninterruptedly while he could barely resist temptation give into anxiety and make a break for the emergency exit what s wrong with them or me both of them were female but only one caught his eye her book was entitled rebecca he couldn t make out the author s name on the cover her glasses were brown with a thick frame she looked like an art student maybe literature but this was just a wishful first impression more likely she worked at a clothing boutique she wore great jeans the inviting kind making it impossible not to stare or she served coffee to businessmen flirting with them for tips to afford the great fitting jeans she probably had a boyfriend with a job a hip job where he s allowed to wear whatever but paid enough to dress current i barely have a job he scolded himself under his breath nor could i dress current even if i could afford it he caught himself staring so did she he acquired this habit of staring when he decided to write about things he was told by a forgotten source that a good writer has to be like a fly on the wall well flies get swatted for a reason especially when they land on walls the train started again and he stopped sweating the doors opened at davis square he watched her exit and was momentarily consumed by her not dangerously obsessed or anything but it was more than simple animal attraction however it was less than love this wasn t novel in fact it categorized most of his relationships she like him had developed a habit herself an adaptation that helped her avoid flies on walls without having to swat them conditioned by these very situations she walked towards the stair case keeping her head in the book the whole way this was a tactic she learned within two months of moving to the city he watched her eyes though they helped her negotiate the foot path all the way up the stairs not the escalator she didn t look up once she knew that if she happened to make eye contact he would hold it the longest inkblot 2011:1 page 9

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latinos on mission street shane bendaña painted murals of frida kahlo and la virgen maria cover the walls of san francisco s mission district on 24th and mission street down to all of its intersecting sidewalks stopped at york street measuring a distance of approximately six and a half miles the brooklyn style brick buildings hide the burning sun from above on summer days with their blue painted adobe roofs the mission was built for the working community for the community that a carried at least a dozen mothers who would rather starve themselves than let their children hold death s hands the community who show patches of recycled pain from a runaway love at age fifteen the workers who prefer the name latino instead of hispanic the word latino has more spice in its pronunciation hispanic was made by the white man whoever he was he liked its non-vulgar sound through cracked teeth the mission shows this spice most vividly through those who are of mexican origin when i was a young boy my dad would take me all through the streets of the mission my little brown hands loosely dangled on the tips of his short chubby rough fingers as i walked beside him on the wide sidewalks that housed women with pink and white colored aprons under rainbow beach umbrellas the women s faces disappeared with the smoke of the grill as one piece of steak after the other quickly flipped onto its side with one motion of the metal spatula the women sliced white onions into thin flawless circles without shedding a tear to then be dipped into the pool of the ingredients that made up a tightly wrapped express burrito rain or shine these women made sure they cooked outdoors their families depended on the money they earned as i walked by with my dad my stare would catch one of the woman s attention while chunks of flour dipped into the tips of her fingernails she smiled at me i was too young to smile back i kept staring awkwardly my hand griped tighter at my dad s as people came down upon us from every direction hurrying down to catch the next bus the bus that would take them to a hot family sized meal under spanish soap operas on tvs that had seen better days the ninety-nine cent stores mexican taquerías that established themselves on almost every other building catholic churches they all hold small patches of bright colors all in contrast to the san francisco sky that hovered above the city growing up in this urban city one quickly realizes that the majority of the time the national sky color is that of a grey-ish mud shade the fog mixes in with the women s smoked filled faces the mission brought about a certain fantasy to my pre-adolescent period along my timeline in my room i would go into a trance state for hours thinking about the color the concrete sidewalks created the color of which i speak is that unique color that picasso encountered during his blue period in man with a guitar i imagined dark blue gardens on low rooftop houses of the salvadorian women from the rich end of town the white man would be looking down from the 34th floor of his building complex witnessing the fresh tomatoes growing into adulthood tomatoes that fed the community in adulthood i have walked the mission as many times as my vacation permits me when i spend a couple of months out of the year back from the east coast the women cooks i admired as a kid have been replaced by younger more serious latinas who have less tolerance of the san francisco weather too cold for their pink aprons they became frustrated with the power of the wind blowing away napkins into the sewers but the beauty of the culture is that as soon as a customer pays one of them for her work she can share laughter and talk to that customer like they have known each other for a lifetime like familia her frustration disappears and blows away with the wind i get to walk by graffiti tags and murals of my inspiration the woman with the most famous eyebrow frida kahlo it was in san francisco that she was introduced into my life in third grade my teacher mr luis sierra showed us slides of some of her less explicit artwork for dia de los muertos day of the dead since her pieces demonstrated pain and death perfect for that holiday her festive tejuana dresses produced a certain passion in my heart in the small storage space where i keep the things that i want to see touch and become a part of her costumes gave me the juice that only orange and pink paper mache cut out flags gave me at age seven flags that were hung across classroom doors frida kahlo and i are bound by blood ribbons like those added in most of her paintings of love and death the accident she survived at the age of nineteen mirrors the struggle i dealt with since being born into a skin not my own her broken body suffered with the loss of her first love alejandro arias who ran at the first sight of her almost dead joints in her bedroom in la casa azul frida s alejandro speaks to my cinthia vanessa torres sevilla my first love the fifteen-year-old woman who ran at the first sign of my gender dysphoria another wound had been created left opened for years until the next lover came along singing false songs of love to comfort what was already broken the brown-skinned woman with the gorgeous brow and i had two things in common we could not have biological children of our own and we understood the true meaning of emotions of pain solitude and addiction the slicing of onions on 24th and mission symbolized a flesh wound being cut open for the world to see then another and another layers of struggle being chopped off as if nothing had ever happened as a young boy walking along those heavy culturally themed streets i did not come to this conclusion but for some reason my little slant eyes did not let go of the image i was attracted to something but i did not know what that something was the murals of frida roared out every hidden pain in her joints and heart causing me to feel a needle being slowly pushed into the left side of my chest breaking the skin entering the hole where my heart should ve been a cry screeched out from my insides the same cry frida produced as the trolley s bar plunged into her hip through and out her vagina leaving her paralyzed and infertile this is called love it hurts flesh wounds are less painful than heart wounds they heal faster that patch of recycled pain from a runaway love at age fifteen is something that i own it is woven in the color of my skin above my brow it was placed there as a curse whoever placed it there wanted me to see the memory of my past lover each day of my life the runaway love is cinthia a warm-colored skinned girl i fell in love with in nicaragua outside of her school one summer day i can see her through frida s eyes through angry expressions that demanded my freedom in her hands freedom that i would use to fix my biological betrayal it was through her love of life i gained the extra love for my culture in another country inkblot 2011:1 page 10 www.unhm-activities/inkblot continued one of the most rewarding things abut working in retail is the constant opportunity to people watch example one it s an agonizingly slow tuesday night and i m hanging out behind the seafood counter i m leaning against the sink tracing little pictures of the recipe cards we hand out and wishing to god that a light bulb might burst above my head or a sudden power outage would shut down the store or maybe even a mass flood would erupt forcing all of us to flee with loud panicked screams erupting from our weak tired bodies you know the norm anyways as i m tracing some salmonwith-a-side-of­potatoes-and-beets i hear the most charming cough i think i ve ever heard to this day so i look up less annoyed-because you know the cough was charming and see a young handsome kid-lets say early 20 s in a long classy black coat and a 5 o clock shadow that makes me suddenly love facial hair he greets me and calls out to his equally charming girlfriend gina gina sweetheart what kind of fish would you like his voice is raspy and deep the kind of voice that tells me he s been smoking his entire life-and the smell from his clothes backs this the woman he calls gina turns towards me-she was beautiful she wore a baggy sweatshirt and an old grandpa hat that looked like it had come from a well-aged thrift store her dirty blonde hair was pulled back messy freelyshe didn t have a care in the world she looks up says she doesn t care and turns back to her previous task alright the charming man chuckles to himself so he orders the salmon i can t help but notice the irony here and wonder if he will in fact have it with a potato and side of beets thanks me and leaves with his beloved walking away i wonder to myself about their life they re artists i think and they live in a dirty loft just outside of boston or maybe new york city they re poor but they don t care because they have each other and their art and what else does anyone need in life but love and art it was wonderful this life i had created for them and for a moment i was envious but just like that they were gone and i was left to my day job-skinning fish and rearranging them in a sick flow which represented what they may have looked like in life equally charming right inertia a response poem matthew richards it s december i refuse to switch my clocks over to daylight savings time time is relative the relative i avoid on thanksgiving because i know he will only burden my body with what ifs maybes and movement i will not answer the door when time rings if i hide inside my winter narnia cacoon perpetually trapped between the parallel lines of 12 and 1 am my ears will resonate with the slow tick of absolute zero and the numbness of movement will never find me he says time is marching by quickly where he is but i can only watch as he passes the event horizon a particle of light frozen in the distortion of gravity too great for even atlas to shoulder i will not rescue him i choose not to move forward because black holes make parallel lines intersect and i won t allow time s jagged defibrillator to restart my heart as long as i remain safe in this cryogenic stasis i can still feel every single moment seafood mill loft couple angela mastrogiacomo inkblot 2011:1 page11

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