Spiral Collective Mission StatementWe believe in art for arts sake. Our aim is to provide opportunities for non-competitive cre-

ativity while promoting a culture that builds a sense of community. We are doing this because

it makes us happy. If art makes you happy, making it or taking it, were with you.

WHY SPIRAL?A message from the editors.

Thanks for your interest in this issue of Columns. This zine is the result of an artistic col-laboration currently underway in Lowell. You will notice above that we have included a missionstatement for an association called the Spiral Collective. As you may have deduced, this mag-azine has been produced by members of that collective as part of a broad initiative to fosterboth growth and appreciation of local art. We have among our ranks writers, musicians, visualartists, bakers, crafters, and people who just plain like creative expression. We are also inter-ested in promoting awareness of political issues relevant on both a local and global level. Tothis end, we have assembled this magazine in hopes of simultaneously showcasing the talentsof local creative minds and promoting awareness of political and personal issues. This magazinewill always be open source, and will always be open to submissions. We are committed to knowl-edge, creativity, cooperation, compassion, and equality. Read our mission statement, and if youfeel you can contribute in some way to either this magazine or the collective, please get in touchwith us.

Please direct submissions, questions, comments, and concerns tocolumns@spiralcollective.org. Also feel free to send any submissions, letters, or things for re-view to the PO Box listed on the next page.

A spiral begins at a central point and works its way slowly outward, growing exponentially largerwith each pass. We aim to be that central point.

EDITORSMatt McCarthy

Katherine QuinnAdam Caires

PUBLISHINGJarrod Delong

GRAPHIC DESIGNJarrod Delong

COVERARTAmelia Morris-Cronin

ILLUSTRATIONS & PHOTOSAmelia Morris-Cronin

Danielle LeoneSarah Lamothe

CONTRIBUTING WRITERSAdam Caires

Matt McCarthyKatherine QuinnJarrod Delong

Sarah LamotheKitty Featherbottom

Danielle LeoneDave Eger

CONTACT US

Website: http://columns.spiralcollective.org

Email: columns@spiralcollective.org

Postal Mail:

SpiralAttn: Columns Zine

PO Box 725Lowell, MA 01853

Is This AllReally Necessary? ..................................................................1

Relax and Have a Homebrew .................................................................4

Lets Call It Like It Is ................................................................................7

Sound Matters .........................................................................................9

Movie Reviews .....................................................................................12

Record Reviews ....................................................................................14

Let the Stars Play ..................................................................................18

Poetry ....................................................................................................22

1Is This All Really Necessary?By Adam Caires

Back in the spring, myself and a group ofmy friends, best defined by mostly being artisticallyinclined Lowell lifers and returned expatriates, allfound ourselves living again in our old stompingground. We were fewer in number than in our ear-lier youth, but equally high in spirits, and at a stagein our lives where it was conceivable to embark ontasks out of organized planning instead of whatused to more closely resemble chaotic spontaneitywith just enough planning injected to get multiplepeople in the same place at the same time.

Since at least the previous autumn, I hadbeen doing what I do best, and complaining in themost acerbic and dour way possible about thestate of things, whatever they were, because thegrass is always greener and all that. My self-vali-dating hope is that in some way my incessantbitching caused some good by providing even thesmallest impetus to my friend Amelia, a decidedlygood doobie, who instead of complaining somuch decided to test the waters by openly askingour social circle if they would be interested in com-bining efforts to change our lot. She was met withoverwhelming positive response, schedules werecleared, and the Spiral Collective was born. I dontsay this to attribute credit. I say it to point out thefact that I see how our intentions were similar, ourmodus operandi and their results dissimilar, andthat I somehow learned nothing on any fundamen-tal level about the merits of my general attitude.

When it became apparent that releasing azine would be among our earliest endeavors, Ifound myself somehow polarized by the idea. Itwas the single immediate direction taken by ourgroup that I outwardly expressed disinterest in. Re-gardless, I quickly found myself sticking my noseinto the zine meetings. To be fair, I should mentionthat they have all taken place, at the behest of myactively interested roommates, in my living room orin the bedroom next to mine. Being a man who fan-cies himself a writer, I considered contributing tothis endeavor, but as usual it was easy enough tofind something problematic with the idea and cre-ate an even more problematic question to answerit with. Why would I bother to write something andwho would bother to read it? Take this moment toconsider what it says about my previously men-

tioned general attitude that I consider both aspectsof this to be a bother.

Ive not yet mentioned that Im a musician,but I should now, in case were acquainted andyoure wondering whether its daft or hypocritical ofme to take such a stance on writing. Ill argue thatwriting music is different, at least to me, than writ-ing for a periodical, and Ill paraphrase my confi-dant Rich, who just this past weekend saidsomething to me about how he tends to rely heav-ily on rhyme schemes and song structure becausehes less intimidated as an artist by a smaller can-vas. I couldnt have agreed more. I just got off thephone with him, in fact. I recently started readingWomen, by Charles Bukowski. He told me I wouldprobably drink more when I read it. Fifty pages laterI find myself at one of the few bars in town where Iwont look like a complete douche bag with a lap-top, writing this column and drinking my third bour-bon.

I chose to call him primarily because I re-spect him as a writer, and also because he is highon my short list of other males who wont call me afaggot for calling him just to talk. Hes also a mu-sician (in fact, we play in a band together), and lastweek we were discussing the column he wrote forthe first issue of the zine. We were supposed to beworking on music, but shenanigans have our num-ber. He was questioning the ability of the massesto identify with his subject matter when a goodlywoman came outside of the coffee shop where wewere chasing the black dragon, pointed his articleat him, and asked, Did you write this? When heanswered, Yes, with only slight hesitation, shesang his praises and encouraged him to keep writ-ing. Ironically, we both found ourselves on the re-ceiving end of many unsolicited compliments frompassers-by that day. It was nice. Knowing Rich, thisprobably assuaged his doubts for a day or two.

Its important to point out that Rich is morewell read than myself, and has more experiencewriting outside the confines of song. This is partlyto blame for my admittedly unreasonable andnearly decade long insistence that books wereprisons for the mind. In typical fashion, I was find-ing the most conceptual and alienating way possi-ble to express one of my simple ideas and itssubsequent observations: that minds are more will-ing to accept without question the written word thanthe spoken word, and that the thought made me

2uncomfortable. Recently however, a conversationcoincidentally chasing the tail of the last zine meet-ing made me question the ways in which I prioritizemy time and the absence of literature from my life.Im only mildly ashamed to admit that a newly dis-covered Facebook application that tracks your per-sonal library also added some intrinsicallyappealing and competitive desire to begin readingagain. Its been a week and a half and Im on myfourth book let the back patting commence.

The decision to enter into this crashingtirade came recently as a by-product of one of mymany failed attempts to mix philosophy and humorwhen I was told I should write something and re-marked that I dont know what I could write aboutthat anyone would benefit from reading, or why Iwould do such a thing, even if I did. My roommateKatherine, who receives less credit for her wisdomthan she deserves, suggested I write about justthat. I found it off-kilter and philosophical enoughto align myself with, and here I am, now drinking adouble jack and coke (no ice) at a different barwhere I definitely do seem like a total douche bag.The bar I was at earlier closed and I knew that if Iwent home and allowed myself to sober up beforecompleting this article I would certainly wake upand convince myself to delete it come morning. Ifeel like this is the kind of piece that will serve itsbest purpose in just being spit out then publishedwithout tireless filtering, so Im staying out late tofinish in an attempt to protect it.

On almost all levels Ive always felt alien-ated from my peers and society, but recently Ivefelt the gap widening. Last Saturday I was out withsomeone I had only just met and I found myselfspeaking about the world in the pseudo-detachedphilosophical manner I tend to favor. On one hand,I deeply respected the lack of anxiety I had aboutit all. On the other, I greatly feared that I was alien-ating this person, and potentially that I do the sameto anyone I meet these days. Thinking about it now,I worry that Ive somehow grown incapable of en-gaging in normal conversation and participate onmuch more of a survival level than a social one.

Im a social worker by profession and had aclient some time ago with mild Aspergers Syn-drome. He called me one day to ask me if I wouldbe his reference for a resume he had submitted. Isaid, Yes, but the conversation on his endseemed very scripted. There were no frivolous

niceties. Everything he said was purposeful andcurt, in the most socially acceptable way possible,as if he had been taught how to perform the taskof social interaction, but didnt truly understand iton any emotional level. Our conversation was suc-cinct, cordial, and convenient; and while I recog-nize that the society around me views this as beingabnormal, I appreciated it very much. It wasbeautiful in its simplicity. I find myself more andmore frequently wondering whether or not I comeacross similarly to others only others who viewsuch interactions as being awkward as opposed torelieving.

Just yesterday I was talking to a friendabout how I fear Im losing my ability to engage inany conversation not philosophical in nature. Whenpeople comment on the weather, I cringe. Its sucha cowardly and desperate way to force a connec-tion. Yes, I too live on planet Earth and experiencethe sensation we humans call feeling. We all justwant to make connections, and Ill admit Ive alsodone this, but I guess my point is that I used to beable to bullshit about whatever innocuous eventspeople chose to identify with, and I feel as thoughIm having a harder and harder time mustering theenergy required to play the part expected of me insuch conversations. This scares me because (ex-cuse the reference if you dont understand it) Ivemade a practice out of breaking all humanity downinto two groups: people who saw the movie I HeartHuckabees and felt like it was life-changing, andpeople who saw it and didnt.

To explain with as little critique as possible,this guy viewed it as a particularly plot-less moviegeared toward expressing the most unenlighteningaspects of existentialism to modern day societysavid non-philosopher. I attribute the ability of peo-ple to be taken aback by this movie singularly tothe phenomenon of a person existing in what I con-sider to be a very profound world and somehowhaving no profound thoughts about it. I know Isound judgmental; I usually do. In this instance, itsnot my intention. I just dont identify with such amindset. Ive always considered the world aroundme to be incredibly mind-bending and questionedas much of it as I could think of questions for. Idont say that to seem rebellious, but through thefoggy memory of my childhood I faintly remembertelling my parents that I no longer wanted to attendSunday school because I wasnt convinced of god.

3I was in third grade and had just received my firstcommunion, the last of the so-called RomanCatholic sacraments I would participate in beforerelegating myself to the ironic ideation of being asinner.

Now, in the year of our lord, 2009, Im 26 bi-ological years old and what I imagine is some-where in the ballpark of 35 spiritual years old. Imnot sure if thats a product of modern medicine inthe early 80s allowing me to remain in utero for up-wards of 10 months before inducing labor, or if itsa testament to the fact that I seemed to get alongbetter with estranged aunts and uncles within myfamily more than my alleged peers throughout myyouth. Either way, as I sat down to write somethingfor this issue of this particular zine, I couldnt findanything better than the diatribe Im currently pre-senting to answer my original question: Why wouldI bother to write something and who would botherto read it?

Ive been thinking about how this would gofor over a week now. Im almost ashamed to admitthat I was afraid to undertake the responsibility ofwriting such a piece. I wanted to wait until I hadfound the answer to my question and then write apiece to detail that process and leave some sort ofego-mad philosophical landmark in my wake, butI, for no good reason, decided to start with what Istarted with, and am for no better reason endingwith what Im ending with.

Ive never considered myself to be good atintroductions or conclusions and Im not about tostart apologizing for it this late in the game. I willsay, that regardless of the question that I haveasked and have yet to answer, or the infinite otherslike it, I act and exist. I think thats probably just asimportant as asking these kinds of questions in thefirst place, or answering them, for that matter. Weall exist, and at the end of even the most harrowingday, no one can deny that the most unifying factorabout human existence is that we all do, in fact,exist. Its maybe the only unifying factor, aside fromour uniform awareness of the weather.

The extents to which we choose to concernourselves with our purposes, their actions, inten-tions, or consequences are our own life-shapingexperiences. Whether I obsess endlessly oversome infinitesimally small event in the universe orstare blankly at some epochal event worthy of aTolkien masterpiece, I did choose to write some-thing to perpetuate a cause and a movement Iearnestly believe in, and even if I wake up and feelIve failed to express whatever profound senti-ments I set out to record, maybe Ill find inherentvalue in the process. Maybe you will feel similarlyabout having read my hopefully coherent ram-blings, and in accordance with my typically unex-plainable and obstinate ways, Ill have found anunnecessarily complicated way to deal with the rel-atively simple task of writing an article for a zine.

Photo by Danielle Leone

4Relax and Have a HomebrewBy Matt McCarthy

So there are tons of reasons to brew yourown beer; saving money, not helping Anheuser-Busch grow their market share, upgrading from thebeer you drank in college to real beer, but ulti-mately its all about fun and the satisfaction of en-joying something you made. Home brewing is aslippery slope towards massive levels of beersnobbery. It will give you a new found understand-ing of what goes into the beer, the effects and tasteof each ingredient and how each plays off andcomplements one another. The instructions thatwill follow are for use in partial mash brewing,which is appropriate for brewers at an intermediateskill level. The reason that Im starting in the middlerather than at the beginning is because its a bitmore interactive but still very approachable to anovice. My aim in writing this tutorial is to providean easy introduction into brewing and to offer sup-port for a growing DIY culture.

So now that the why is out of the way, letsget to the what and the how. Before you startbrewing, you are going to have to acquire someequipment. Included below is a list and descriptionof the different pieces you will need to get thisrogue brewing operation underway.

Burner - You can either purchase a propane burnerfrom a homebrew shop or use your kitchen stove.If you opt for the kitchen stove be prepared tomake a considerable mess.

Boil Kettle You will need a 5-7 gallon stockpot touse as your boil kettle. The larger you can get thebetter, as you will be able to brewmore beer at a time and be lesslikely to have any boil-over.Recommended: A secondpot; not necessarily the samesize but something around 3gallons will be fine.

Stirring Spoon Pretty self-ex-planatory here, just get a spoon andmake sure its a big one.

Carboy and Airlock A 6.5 gallonfood grade bucket or a glass car-

boy is used to store the fermenting beer. The air-lock allows gasses to escape the carboy withoutletting potentially infectious ones in.

Funnel Again not much left to the imaginationhere, but I do recommend something about sixinches in diameter.

Strainer Get a steel mesh strainer that will fit in-side the funnel you get.

Grain Sock A nylon mesh bag that you will use tomash (steep) the crushed grains in.

Auto Siphon Perhaps the most essential andunder-appreciated device in all of home brewing,this will allow you to transfer your wert (pronouncedwort) from the various apparatuses to other variousapparatuses.

Wert Chiller or Ice Bath A wert chiller is a coil ofcopper or stainless steel that you immerse intoyour wert after the boil, the coil has cold water flow-ing into it and through the wonders of thermody-namics it takes the heat from your wert and flowsout the other side.

Thermometer Used to measure temperature

Bottling Bucket and Filler Once your beer has fer-mented appropriately you need to put it into bottlesfor conditioning (carbonating) and then for drink-ing.

Bottles and Caps Helps keep good beer in andbad everything else out. Either save some bottlesthat you have rinsed thoroughly or buy new ones.For a five gallon batch you will need about twocases of bottles, but it doesnt hurt to have more.

Capping Press Helps with the above.

Priming Sugar or Caps Either measurable prim-ing sugar or pre-measured priming caps are whatyou use to bottle condition (carbonate) the beer.

Oxyclean and Sanitizer absolutely the most im-portant thing you can get, pivotal, of crucial impor-tance.

DL

5All the above items can be purchased fromyour local homebrew shop or the larger nationalweb shops, but your best bet would be to just buyan all inclusive kit and ideally online or from some-one on craigslist (buying one from a local shop canbe pricey). Now that you have all the puzzle pieces,its time to get your ingredients and put them all to-gether. Below you will find a recipe for pretty stan-dard American IPA which is not only my favoritetype of beer but also an easy start to home brewingbecause the powerful flavor of the hops will maskmany small mistakes.

5 lbs. amber dry extract4 lbs. American 2-row barley .25 lbs cara-pils barley.5 oz. Centennial hops (boil 60 min)1 oz. Cascade hops (boil 30 min)1 oz. Cascade hops (boil 15 min)1 oz. Centennial hops (boil 5 min)1 tsp. Irish Moss (boil 5 min)

Step 1: Clean everything with theOxyclean being careful not to usetoo much and to rinse thoroughly sothere is no slimy residue. Once you havecleaned everything, you need to sanitize.Follow the directions on the particular san-itizing solution you have and then set all thepieces aside.

Step 2: In your boil kettle bring 6 gal. of water to152 degrees Fahrenheit and simultaneously in theother pot place the two cans of extract in water onmedium heat and let sit. Also, following the instruc-tions on the back of the yeast package, begin toprepare the yeast. Note that not everyone will haveaccess to a kettle large enough to fit 6 gallons soin that case use what you can manage and sub-tract half a pound of the 2-row barley for each gal-lon short you are. Or, since you arent trying to betoo exacting for your first time you can simply addboiled water at the end to make up the volume. Thefirst alternative is the best alternative.

Step 3: Once you have your kettle temp. set, placethe milled grains in the grain sock and then into thewater like a tea bag letting them steep, bobbingevery now and then, for 40 min.

Step 4: Remove the grain sock and discard thespent grain, then bring the water in the kettle to aboil. Once you have a rolling boil, take the extract,which has been loosening in the other pot, and withyour spoon and empty the necessary amount intothe boiling water. Cans of extract, you will notice,come in increments of 3.3 lbs. so you will have toeither weigh the remaining 1.7 lbs. out or estimate.Then following the schedule listed above slowly in-clude the necessary hop additions. Your total boiltime should be 60 min.

Step 5: Once you have finished the boil, shut theburner off and start chilling the wert. Ideally you

would like to get down to about 72-78 de-grees.

Step 6: Once your wert is cool enough,start siphoning it through the strainer

and the funnel into the carboy, let asmuch aeration as possible takeplace. Once the wert has beenemptied into the carboy and is at

the appropriate temperature, pitchthe yeast and place the airlock,

with about one or two oz. ofvodka, in the opening of the car-boy. Store the carboy in a cool

dark place for about two weeks.

Step 7: Take your bottles, which arent dirty, andsanitize them, if you have dishwasher run them ona steam cycle with no detergent.

Step 8: Take the bottling bucket which you shouldhave cleaned and sanitized and siphon the beerfrom your carboy into the bucket. (If you opted forpriming sugar, follow the directions on the packageand prepare the sugar in boiling water then pourthe mixture in the bottling bucket before siphoningthe beer. This way it mixes properly.)

Step 9: Bottle and cap the beer being sure to addthe priming caps if you decided to buy them ratherthan using priming sugar in the step above.

Step 10: Let the bottles sit in a cool dark place fortwo weeks before you move them to a refrigeratorfor at least another week, at which time it is safe todrink.

DL

6If you are anything like me, then somethingwill absolutely go wrong. If and when you run intotrouble, fret not, there is a wealth of information onbrewing available online and for just about anyissue you will have there is a solution. Remember

that this is only one of the different ways to starthome brewing and it will take a few batches beforeyou hit your stride. But above all other things re-member to sanitize everything and just relax andhave a homebrew.

7Lets Call It Like It IsBy Katherine Quinn

On Sunday, 28 June, the Honduran militarystaged a successful coup against PresidentManuel Zelaya. Troops entered his home Sundaymorning, arrested him and sent him into exile inCosta Rica. Every news source seems to think thatit is important to add that he was in his pajamas.He thinks that it is important that the people knowthat bullets were being fired as they dragged himaway. To the general public outside of Honduras,why does any of this matter? Honduras is one ofthe poorest countries in the world, with up to 70%of the population living in poverty and 50% in ex-treme poverty. A huge chunk of their annual GDPis money coming in from Honduran emigrants, withmost of the rest coming from their exports of ba-nanas and pineapples. The only thing that seemsnotable upon a first glance is that the United Statesmaintains a military base within the country, butthat is true of many places. How does this coup af-fect us? To be honest, it doesnt really, at least inany basic, day-to-day way. Kind of the way thatMichael Jacksons death did not affect any of usbut for some reason we cared anyway... exceptthat this actually is important.

Lets start with the basics. Manuel Zelayawas elected president in 2005 in a fair and demo-cratic election. He ran as a center-right candidatewho supported the Central America Free TradeAgreement (CAFTA) of 2004. Basically, he waswhat the United States wanted to see in a LatinAmerican leader; he was willing to open his countryup to US capitalists for cheap labor. As his presi-dency progressed, he came to realize that freemarkets were not helping Honduras. They were aspoor as ever and people were trying to scrape by,sewing the labels on Hanes t-shirts. He befriendedregional leaders like Venezuelas Hugo Chavez, aleftist pragmatic leader who has been trying to bet-ter his countrys and the regions situation afterdecades of repression and turmoil. So, knowingthat his centrist policies were not effective, Zelayamoved to the left, trying to improve social welfarein Honduras. In 2008, Zelaya signed an agreementto join the Bolivarian Alliance for the Americas(ALBA), which is a regional alternative to CAFTAthat focuses on social welfare above free trade. His

most recent move was to introduce a non-bindingpoll about whether there should be changes madeto the countrys constitution. Many have speculatedthat this was a ploy to lengthen his term, a movethat Hugo Chavez just recently made and that theUS does not agree with. When the head of theJoint Chiefs of Staff, Romeo Vasquez refused tohelp distribute the materials to voters, Zelaya firedhim. He was then arrested and exiled.

Making this coup more fishy is the fact thatRomeo Vasquez was trained at the School of theAmericas, which was renamed the Western Hemi-sphere Institute for Security Cooperation (WHISC)in recent years. The School of the Americas is fa-mous for many of its alumni, including dictatorHugo Banzer, officers of Augusto Pinochets juntaand the founders of Los Zetas, the mercenaries ofone of the largest Mexican drug cartels. The SOAis a part of the US Department of Defense andmany of the instructors are from the CIA. A handfulof South and Central American countries havepulled their armies out of training at the school inthe past ten years; in 2008, Bolivia removed all oftheir troops.

Hours after Zelayas arrest, congressionalleader Roberto Micheletti was sworn in by Con-gress, claiming that Zelayas move to find out ifpeople supported changing the constitution was il-legal and that he and his interim government weresimply upholding the law and not staging a coupdetat. So far, the coup has been condemned inter-nationally. Several European countries have re-moved their ambassadors and regional leaders arerefusing to cooperate with the new government.The US has had a more lackluster response, sim-ply saying that they hope democracy prevails. TheUS government has not officially labeled the situa-tion as a coup because to do so would legally cut

8off aid to the country and wouldforce the US to effect sanctionsagainst the country.

Only weeks ago, PresidentObama and other government offi-cials were calling for change in Iranand demanding action; why havethey toned down their language inthe case of Honduras? Historically,the US has not supported socialistleaders in the region, going so faras to support military coups againstthose leaders. Government andeconomic leaders have had an ob-sessive drive to spread the gospelof free market fundamentalism tothe area, regardless of its effects onthe people who live there. WhenSouth American leaders come intopower who do support social idealsand refuse to accept detrimentalfree trade, we get upset. With thenew regime, whose time may ormay not be short, we would see in-creased acceptance of traditionalwestern values and pure, freetrade.

Maybe free markets worksomewhere (Im still looking for agood example) but the economicsystem of a country needs to be de-cided by the people, not the busi-nessmen in first-world countrieslooking for a quick buck. If the trueideal is democracy and freedom,the United States needs to look atthe situation objectively and not putbusiness interests ahead of thewelfare of an entire people. Letscall a coup a coup.

Photo by Sarah Lamothe

Photo by Danielle Leone

9Sound MattersBy Jarrod Delong

Ill start with this simple fact: the compactdisc is a dying format. CD sales decreased by al-most 25% in 2008, while vinyl sales increased by124%. In fact, vinyl was the only format of physicalmedia that saw an increase in sales. As CD salesare falling, much of that market is being replacedby digital downloads, while full-album downloadsrose by about 34% in the same time frame. Whilemany still purchase CDs, a lot of people haveturned to MP3s as their primary music format. Asmaller, yet significant, amount of people (myselfincluded) is all about vinyl. For added conven-ience, many vinyl releases now include a code fora free digital download with purchase. In this arti-cle, Ill delve into just what MP3s are on a technicallevel, and how they affect sound quality. Ill alsotake a look at the reasons behind peoples deci-sions regarding their music, on a more theoreticallevel.

So many people these days are all forMP3s, but generally people dont know what theyare. They are sound files, yes, but why are they thede facto digital music format for consumers? MP3is short for MPEG-1 Audio Layer-3. MPEG is anacronym for Moving Picture Experts Group, whichwas formed in 1988 to set standards for audio andvideo compression and transmission. When youlisten to an MP3 file, youre not hearing the samething as the original recording, nor are you listeningto the same thing as the CD that it wastaken from. One reason that its such apopular format is because of thesmall file size. It makes themquicker to download, easier tomanage, and gives you the ability toput a whole lot of songs on a tinydevice like an iPod. However, thesmall file size comes at a loss ofaudio quality.

To explain this, first Illmention that all digital musichas what is known as a sam-ple rate. You see, with analogaudio (tape, vinyl, etc) youhave an uninterruptedsound flow. This is not pos-

sible with digital music, so what you have are sam-ples of the music. There are so many samples persecond (a measurement known as Hertz, or Hz)that the fact that the sound isnt continuous is notperceivable by the human ear. For example, stan-dard sample rate for a CD is 44.1kHz; thats 44,100audio samples per second. For the rest of the arti-cle, dont try to factor in what Ive told you in thisparagraph, because sample rate is not somethingyou, as a consumer, have any control over. I justwanted to explain that to show one of the main dif-ferences between digital and analog audio.

The MP3 is a patented format of digitalaudio encoding using lossy data compression.Lossy is an important term to know here. It basi-cally means that when the data (audio) is com-pressed, it becomes different from the originalwhen it is decompressed. This is what makes forconveniently small files, but at a loss of quality. Justas there are lossy formats, there are also losslessformats such as WAV, AIFF, and FLAC files. Thesetake up about ten times as much disk space asMP3s, but without the quality loss.

Bitrate is a term you might be a little morefamiliar with, as it relates to MP3 files more directly.It refers to the amount of bits per second in a file.Since digital audio is just data, its all measured inbits. All data on your computer, from text docu-ments to images to audio files, are comprised ofbits. Bits, in short, are just the way information ismeasured in the digital realm. You may see num-bers like 128, 192, 320, etc floating around whendealing with MP3s. These are all bitrates. MP3scan be encoded in a variety of bitrates, and all varyin quality. 128-160kbps (kilobits per second) is (un-

fortunately) considered standard bitrate qual-ity, but can sometimes be of noticeablydifferent sound quality. For instance,

it might be lacking bass, or it mighthave a washy effect to it. Personally, I dont

listen to MP3s lower than 192kbps, andpreferably Ill have them encoded at320kbps, which is the highest possible forthe MP3 format. If its not already obvious,

the more bits per second that are in an audiofile, the closer it will sound to the original.

This may seem like technical jargonthat you shouldnt concern yourselfwith, but if you like to really listen tomusic, sound quality matters.

DL

10

On that note, I want to change direction andtake a look at why people choose one audio formatover another. CD sales have decreased as com-puters and digital media players have becomemore common. It wasnt so long ago that youd findsomebody with a CD book in their car with hun-dreds of CDs scattered throughout. They take upmore room, they get scratched, lost, stolen, etc.They just seem inconvenient as a mobile way tolisten to music. Now, instead of that giant book ofCDs, youll find a relatively small device like aniPod, which takes up minimal space, keeps musicvery organized, allows maximum portability, and ul-timately holds more music than that giant CD book.Still, many people buy CDs, but what the statisticsdont show is that a large portion of those sales re-sult in the consumer taking the CD home, convert-ing the songs to MP3s on their computer, and

putting them on theirMP3 player. Forpeople who dontcare all that much

about having thephysical artwork and

packaging, many are justcutting out the middleman

and downloading songs andalbums directly from the in-

ternet and not buying a CD atall. It is easy and convenient,

and relatively cheap, or even free if you use any ofthe multitude of ways that the internet offers to ille-gally obtain music.

While many have gone the way of digitalmusic, analogs best consumer format, vinyl, hasmade a huge comeback. For a while, it was morecommon in the underground punk/hardcore com-munity. It has however gradually made its wayback to the mainstream. As somebody who activelybuys vinyl, its been great to have labels (after see-ing the trend of rising vinyl sales) re-pressing al-bums on vinyl, so I dont have to constantly scaneBay for one of my favorite albums that has beenout of print in that format for years. If youre notprivy to this scene, Ill just say that some recordshave gone for hundreds of dollars or more on eBaysince theyre so hard to find.

You may ask, why vinyl?, and thats a validquestion. The artwork and packaging is a lot biggerand sometimes have pretty intense layouts.

Theres something about holding a vinyl record thatjust feels better. But aside from the aestheticallypleasing elements of this format, the sound qualityis superior. I mentioned earlier that analog audiohad an uninterrupted flow of sound, and thats theeasiest explanation. I will try to explain further with-out getting too deep into the science of audio.Sound is made up of waves, and these waves arecut into grooves on a vinyl record. When the nee-dle of a turntable runs through these grooves, ittransfers the vibrations through components turn-ing it into an electrical signal. From there, the am-plifier boosts the signal to an audible level, whichyou can control. All in all, its a much more naturalprocess. Without all of the sampling and compres-sion of digital audio youll obviously just get a muchricher sound. Some people notice this, and somepeople dont, which is why theres a line in the sandwhen it comes to which format you use for yourmusic. Yet at the same time, many vinyl releasesnow come with download codes so that you candownload the MP3s and put them on your MP3player. To me, that is the ultimate convenience. Ican have my preferred format, but still have theability to bring my iPod in the car, to the gym, etc.Places where vinyl cant go.

In addition to your average person whobuys vinyl, there are another group of people whoare avid collectors. And, like collectors of anything,they will spend a lot of money acquiring rare items.One thing that always leaves me in awe is seeinga collection of every color of every pressing of asingle record. Or bigger yet, every record in anartists catalog. Ill give you a quick example of

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what Im talking about. Labels such as No IdeaRecords tend to press vinyl on many different col-ors with each pressing. For instance, Against Mesdebut album, Reinventing Axl Rose, is currentlyon its 26th vinyl pressing. Each pressing havingvarious colors, and as I just counted the differentcolors on the website, there are 77 different vari-ants that this one album has been pressed on.Some people are such avid fans/collectors thattheyll have every single color, and theyll quite pos-sibly do this for every single release, not just thisone album. Thats record collecting.

One last thing I want to touch on is coloredvinyl. The color makes no difference whatsoever inthe quality of the sound. I feel, however, that it doesaffect the overall vinyl experience. In much thesame way as having the artwork and liner notes insuch a large format makes it all more aestheticallypleasing. Bands, labels, and vinyl pressing plantsare constantly pushing the boundaries of what canbe done. Pirates Press is one of the plants at theforefront of this movement, as they produce someof the craziest looking records youve ever seen.The first to come to mind is Torches In Return

EP. It was pressed on 10 vinyl, but the packagingis what made it extraordinary. With a full-colorgatefold sleeve, and a CD included inside held byspecially cut notches to hold the CD. The vinyl itselfwas pretty amazing as well, with the first pressinghaving what they called planets on the vinyl. Mycopy is clear with three different colored circles ra-diating out from the center. Ive never seen any-thing quite like it, and it made it well worth buying.You can get one-color translucent or opaque vinyl,or split colors, mixed colors, one color splatteredover another color, or swirled throughout.

I hope Ive cleared up some of the differ-ences between analog and digital media. Not tosway your opinion one way or the other, but to in-form you of how things work. I believe we shouldalways seek to understand what is unknown to us.Everyone has their own opinion on such things,and people will always be saying analog is betteror digital is better. But, really, the only thing thatmatters is what sounds good to you. Let your ownperception dictate your listening habits. Just re-member, sound matters.

Photo by Danielle Leone

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Movie ReviewsBy Sarah Lamothe

Re-cycleDirector: Pang brothersStarring: Angelica Lee

Sometimes being such a movie nut has itsunwanted side effects. I often find myself contem-plating the lighting of a shot or obsessing over an-noying editing instead of just watching the damnmovie. Worst of all is that I have become too jadedto really get scared during horror films. Like ajunkie, I have to increase my dose to really feel thefear I used to, or try a new drug (any innovatinghorror is welcome in my home). That is why I havechosen to review Re-cycle, a film that came out in2006, but is still found on the new release wall.After seeing this carnival of nightmares I was pos-itive there were creepy creeps behind me anytimeI was alone, and I loved it.

Ting-yin is a successful author attempting towrite a new novel about the supernatural, a changeof genre for her. She begins her story, but discardsher start just a few sentences in. This action setsin motion an unraveling of our dimension and bindsTing-yin to a world of abandoned things, angry, ma-licious, abandoned things. Once completely insidethe other terrifying realm, she befriends an old manand a small girl who want to help her find her wayout and back into her previous life. Ting-yin facesmany challenging obstacles in this visually obeseland, all while being chased by a terrible ghostwoman and her hoard of zombie-esque ghouls.

The Pang brothers create for us a visuallyrich, vivid and imaginative world of pain and anger,a landscape dotted with colorful but degradingremnants from our collective pasts. Of course thereis use of cheap clichs here (raspy baby voice onthe phone, dark hallways, herkey-jerky demons,and of course the long wet black hair we havecome to know and fear) but the Pang brotherssomehow find a way to add more depth and vigorto these parlor tricks. Ironically Re-cycle does notsimply recycle the same old scares of the pasttwenty years. The level of supernatural terror in thisfantasy-saturated flick is justnot ok.

Re-cycle is not only a spooky creep of afilm, it is also a modern fantasy gem. Think Jacobs

ladder meets The Never Ending Story. It succeedsin creating the beloved absorption for the audi-ence into its world of the abandoned. The use ofCGI is nice and even, and hence not obvious. Notethe Pang brothers choice of color; their use of sat-urated reds in a grey-washed-blue and sepia worldis a well thought out attack on your optics.I love afilm that toys with my subconscious.

Yes, Re-cycle does make for a good hair-raising ride. However, the plot that is supposed tobe deep, thoughtful, and twisting just comes off asa cheap dime store tale used as a canvas for theunsettling images the Pang brothers are known for.But thats all right, that is what they do well. Themoral of this story is a little in your face, and to behonest is a little hokey. I would love to see this filmwith much less of a plot, its horror guys, keep itsimple.

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VINYANDirector: Fabrice Du WelzStarring: Emmanuelle Beart, Rufus Sewell

This film sells itself as a horror movie, andthat is a lie. It is a long and tedious stroll startingwith tragedy, floating on down a sleepy river ofnaivety, moseying through a jungle of not surpris-ing, and ending predictably with another tragedy. Iwant to not like it, I want to tell you to not see it sothat you wont resent me for suggesting you watchsuch a long haul through such an uncomfortablemovie about the two dumbest and most arrogantyuppies ever. Unfortunately this film is good, likesticks to your bones/think about it for a month-good. It just has to ferment in the dark cool re-cesses of your brain for a bit before it is palatable.

A married couple loses their five-year-oldson in a tsunami. A year later at a fund-raisingparty, while watching footage of young boys soldinto slavery on the last outskirts of civilization,Jeanne becomes obsessed with the idea that oneof the boys is her lost son. Paul sees no option butto go along with his wifes whim and start the long

dirty journey into the jungle and eventually intomadness, on a quest for their boy. They are duped,financially raped, sent on wild goose chases, andare mentally destroyed all while being guided by amysterious and ruthless snake of a man. They areeventually shipwrecked on an island inexplicablyinhabited by a tribe of feral boys.

The elephant in the room is the films strikingresemblance to Apocalypse Now: a long journeyon a Jungle river to find someone who may notexist and has probably lost their mind, all while youare losing yours, with a few vignettes on povertyand culture shock along the way. Even the styleand color saturation of the shots reek of Vietnamas portrayed by Mr. Coppola. This was obviousfrom the get go, however, what I wasnt expectingwas how capable of standing on its own Vinyan is.

Bearts performance is just right, her switchfrom a mother to madwoman to monster is soseamless that it becomes completely possible inthe practicality of your mind. Sewell wears his guiltlike a well-fitted and broken-in cellophane jacket,always there but not quite visible. The pair paint anuncomfortably accurate portrait of how the mindjustifies anything when the heart becomes de-voted. Fabrice Du Welz delivers to us a sickeningtale of how inhuman humans can be, a reminderof how love, and especially loss of love, can disin-tegrate ones moral fiber. He shows us how easy itreally is to loose your grip on yourself and reality,like a wet hand slipping out of another wet hand.

Despite its beautifully raw portrayal of a cou-ple losing their son and their minds, Vinyan is adragging and slow picture, especially if you wereexpecting the awesome horror movie about creepylittle kids the box promised and the film just barelydelivers. In the end, I find it extremely difficult togive you a yay or nay on this film. As soon as itended I was super glad that it was finally over, andreally disappointed in the lack of horror. Yet, in themorning I found I couldnt stop thinking about it. Bythe end of that day I came to realize that I reallyenjoyed the film. It is a beautiful and lush drama;its downfalls are an unrealistic plot and a mistakein genre title.

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Record ReviewsBy Jarrod Delong

OleholeHolemole

CD/LP

Admittedly, at first, I didnt give this band achance because I thought the name was stupid.However, when a friend of mine played a fewsongs for me, I forgot all about the name (which,by the way, is pronounced o-lay ho-lay). Afterhearing a few songs, I couldnt help but feel likeIve heard that voice before. And for good reason-its Brian Moss, the former singer of Chicago (viaBerkeley, CA) rockers, The Ghost.

There seems to be a lot of bands that strive for asound similar to what Olehole has created. Itssomewhere in the realm of the post-hardcore (youcan hear a little Fugazi and At the Drive-In), beard-rock (more of the Small Brown Bike, Hot WaterMusic variety), and some strange disjointedindie/punk (akin to The Honor System and TheGhost). But Olehole really nail this sound betterthan so many others that have tried, and no com-parison is really going to do justice to their sound.

The album opens with Gatekeeper, aback-and-forth guitar riff that immediately pulls youin, with the bass and drums coming in to create the

kind of groove that makes you nod your head.Brian Moss delivers the first line in a bellow thatdemands your attention. His vocals switch be-tween this clamorous barking and melodic singingthat more closely resembles what he did in TheGhost. When the vocals arent front-and-center,theres always some great riffing going on. Theguitars work as well together, melodically, as thebass and drums do, synchronously.

Throughout the album, the band creates aflow of assertive aggression, sometimes forcefuland jarring, and sometimes balanced and driving.The sound never gets stale, but it also never goestoo far. Its one of those albums that flows well, be-ginning to end. The albums second track, Osti-nato, delivers that jarring sound I spoke of, butlaunches into a heavy rock riff in the chorus, overwhich Moss yells Were such money-makers,were such earth-shakers. The way the songmoves between the scratchy and the disjointed, tothe harmonious riffs, to the heavy chorus, andmakes its way to a groove-oriented bridge laid outby the bass line, to end back on one bar of the cho-rus.

Another song that stands out to me is Talkthe Walk. It starts with driving, washy-soundingguitars, and switches between that and a more riff-based part with the same driving feel. The middleof the song switches into a driving, riffing, prog-rockgroove for almost two minutes, until it kicks backinto an earlier part to end the song on a more rock-ing note.

The last song is kind of mellow, compara-tively, but ends with a minute of unexpected upbeatrock, repeating the words Youll wake up in a coldworld today; try hard to dodge the ricochet. Well-played, Olehole, well-played. This is a solid albumthrough and through.

You can buy the LP (which comes with aCD) from Underground Communiqu Records,who also recently put out records like The HonorSystems Single File, and The Methadones NotEconomically Viable on vinyl for the first time. Ac-cording to the bands most recent news update,theyll be recording and releasing a few singles,split 7"'s and a cassette series in 2009, as well aspossibly doing some touring.

http://www.myspace.com/pronouncedolayholay

http://www.myspace.com/undergroundcommuniquerecords

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The Mountain Goats & Kaki KingBlack Pear Tree

12 Tour EP

When I first heard this EP, I didnt know whoKaki King was. I mainly listened because it was anew offering from John Darnielle, and Ill listen topretty much anything he does. If youre not familiarwith Darnielle, hes a singer/songwriter who mainlyplays under the name The Mountain Goats. Theband has had a rotating cast of other musicians(except that Peter Hughes has pretty much alwaysplayed bass in the band). The Mountain Goatshave 16 albums (according to a quick look atWikipedia), and countless EPs and singles. Also,more recently, theyve been releasing collaborativeefforts with other artists, such as the one under re-view here.

After hearing Black Pear Tree, I wanted toknow more about Kaki King, so I listened to all ofher albums and read about her. She is asinger/songwriter/musician from Atlanta. She hasa unique style of playing the acoustic guitar, in thatshe utilizes fret-tapping and something similar toslap-bass to create a percussive element to herplaying, while employing arpeggiation to injectmelody over the percussion.

The title-track on the EP features a beauti-ful, fairly static piano melody over miscellaneouslayered sounds. King changes up her usual vocalstyle by leisurely singing the words that sound typ-ical of a Mountain Goats tune, with Darnielleadding in the occasional backing vocal harmony.On the second song, Mosquito Repellant, Kingtones down her usual intricate guitar playing infavor of a few chords tastefully plucked in a con-stant rhythm throughout the song. Darnielle singsthis track, and washes his voice into a multi-partharmony in the chorus. Bring Home Our Cursessounds more typical of a Kaki King song as far asthe guitar-playing and backing soundscape.Though hearing Darnielles voice over her playingmakes it even more compelling, and though thismay be my least favorite song on the record, itsstill one that Id never skip.

Supergenesis is one of my favorite tracks,even in its simplicity. Its just a few strummedchords with an intricate soundscape keep the songafloat. Darnielle, being the wordsmith that he is,draws you in with his strange verses and poetic

vocal delivery. Roger Patterson Van seems to beabout the deceased bass player of Floridian death-metal band, Atheist. This song shows a guitar-style more typical of Kaki Kings solo work, withquick chord plucking and arpeggiation. Darniellesstorytelling lyrical style is ever-present, howeverKings fancy guitar-work is what really stands outon this track.

The final track is named Thank You MarioBut Our Princess is in Another Castle, which Idhope everybody knows is from the Super MarioBros. video game. In fact, its sung from the point-of-view of Toad, a character from the game. Thisone finds Darnielle on piano and vocals, and Kinghandling glockenspiel, drums, and vocal har-monies. This is probably my favorite song on thisrelease. Its such a simple song, though it is bril-liant in its delivery, and in contrast with much of therest of this release, it ends on a note of relief. Theyharmonize When you came in, I could breatheagain. Which, in the context of the song, wouldbe Toad thanking Mario for rescuing him. Whichoffers a fitting end to an amazing collaborative re-lease.

The Beggars Group pressed this EP in Oc-tober of 2008. It was vinyl-only, and limited to 2000copies (the first 200 of which were on ayellow/black mix color). This review may be a mootpoint since this is, unfortunately, now out of print.Although, while I was just checking out Kaki KingsMySpace page, I noticed she posted a news up-

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date saying that you can buy leftover copies of thisin her webstore, so check that out. Also, Im sure ifyou try, you can find a place to download thesongs.

Kaki King is playing a handful of scatteredshows this summer. The Mountain Goats recentlyplayed an acoustic set at the Zoop festival (in

Watkins Glen, NY), which is a benefit for FarmSanctuary (farmsanctuary.org), but they have nonews updates online regarding upcoming plans formore touring or recording.

http://www.mountain-goats.comhttp://www.kakiking.com

http://www.beggarsgroupusa.com

Photo by Amelia Morris-Cronin

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Let The Stars PlayBy Kitty Featherbottom

"Its been three years, Tony. Youhave to move on!" He said to me with his fa-ther knows best voice.

"Yeah, it has Dad and you knowwhat? I cant, and if you cant understandthat, this conversation is over!" I yelled.There were a few moments of silence, dur-ing which I was feeling so many emotions Ithought I would explode, and I am sure myfather didnt know what to think. I said good-bye and then I hung up the phone. Thesetypes of conversations have been extremelyhard for me to handle since well, sinceGina died.

Gina and I were together sincebirth. Our moms were best friends and wewere destined to be the same. At three, wewere playing in the dirt together and makingspit bubbles. We would crawl around thegrass on warm August evenings and coo atthe fireflies. At seven, we were in secondgrade together with Mrs. Barmachi, who al-ways said we couldnt work together. Shesaid we were too close for such young chil-dren and always kept us separated, but dur-ing recess, we were free to be together fortwenty-five glorious minutes. Ten was thebest year for us though. Our families wentto the beach for the summer, and Gina andI were able to spend every day with eachother. We would go swimming, build sand-castles, lie in the sun, and look at the starsat night. Gina loved the stars; she said theywere shiny bits of happiness all the way upin the sky. She had the most beautiful imag-ination. When we were eleven though,things got bad. We were put in differentclasses for the first time and never got tosee each other. To make it worse, herfriends said I had cooties and mine said shewas buck-toothed. You know how kids that

young are so easily influenced by what theirfriends say. Although I still thought aboutGina constantly, we didnt talk again until wewere fifteen. It was the summer before wewere going into high school.

I dont know what possessed her tocall me on that day, out of all days, besidespure luck. That day, I was sitting in my room,thinking about how my life was worthless. Iwas young, and at that time, apimple was the end of the world. I was think-ing that day about how if I died, or killed my-self, no one would really miss me. I mean,my mom and dad would have, but Gina wasall that mattered, and it had been five yearssince she talked to me. I was certain thatshe didnt care anymore. The way I saw it,she had new friends and a new life, a lifethat didnt need me. But I was wrong. As Isat in my room contemplating my demise,she sat in hers bawling her eyes out, tryingto catch her breath enough to stop shakingand dial my number. I remember it perfectly;the phone rang and startled me. When I an-swered, it was Gina. I knew it was beforeshe said a word, her sobs were a give away.She always cried so softly, like an angel, ifyou can imagine that. She said she neededme, to see me, to hug me. She said shemissed me, and she said something horriblehad happened, and that I was the only per-son she wanted to talk to. She told me tocome over, and then hung up the phone.

I peddled my bike so fast I thoughtit was going to break. I made it to Ginashouse in a record breaking six minutes. Iopened the door and Ginas mom told meto go right upstairs. Gina was sitting on thefloor of her bedroom with blankets wrappedall around her. She was bawling her eyesout. I sat Indian-style next to her and shelaid her head on my lap. She told methrough tears that she had gone to the doc-tor that day because she had been reallytired lately and her mother was worried. The

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doctor had run some tests, and he hadcalled the house with results right beforeGina called me. The doctor said she hadcancer. A tumor was growing in her lung,and the doctor said it was already too big toremove, but with chemotherapy they couldstunt the growth of it. Then Gina fell silent.This was all too much for her to handle, andso much for me to try and take in. Ginalooked up at me like a child looks at astranger who will hopefully be the guide tofinding a lost parent. She looked at me withso much hope in her eyes, crushed dreamsin her heart I ran my fingers through her hairand wiped the wet tears off her rosy cheeksand she sat up. She looked at me, right intomy eyes, for what felt like an eternity, andthen she kissed me. She leaned in and gaveme the softest kiss possible; her lips werelike silk on mine. From then on it was official;Gina and I were a couple. We didnt carewhat anyone would say or think, we justknew that for however long we had, wewanted to have each other.

We did everything together. Wewent to the movies or the mall, and whenGina wasnt feeling well we would sit in herliving room, watch T.V. and eat junk food oreven do homework. Her parents let mesleep over as long as we slept downstairsand that was great. Holding Gina and wak-ing up with her hair all around my face wasamazing. She used this great strawberryshampoo that made my spine tingle when-ever I caught a whiff of it. When Gina and I

spent time together, it was like wewere the only two people who mattered inthe entire universe. We were young, but notnaive, and although things between uscouldnt have been better, Ginas cancerwas always on our minds.

By the time we were seventeen shewas doing much worse. She was losing herhair from the chemotherapy and she wasvery weak all the time. The tumor wasnt

growing quickly, but all the treatments reallytook a lot out of her. She still managed to getgreat grades in school though. She was al-ways on honor roll. She would say that shewanted to make the best of her life and shealways wanted to feel like she was accom-plishing something. She wanted people tobe proud of her.

When we were eighteen, promcame around. Gina decided she didnt wantto go, and I understood. Prom wasnt a bigdeal to me, so we made prom night a datenight. I took her out to dinner at the fanciestrestaurant in the area and then we went fora walk through the park. In the middle of abeautiful opening Gina looked up and saidhow beautiful the stars were. I told her thatthe glitter of the stars could never match thetwinkle of her eyes, kissed her forehead,and asked her to marry me. Of course shesaid yes, but she was scared. She didntwant to marry me and then die. She didntwant to do that to me. I told her that even ifits only for one day, even if I only get to sayit one time, my one wish was to be able tocall her my wife.

Our wedding was beautiful. It was inthe same opening in the park. We invited ourclosest friends and family. Gina looked likea goddess. She wore a beautiful white gownand what was left of her hair curly with littlegems clipped in it. The ceremony was mag-ical and everyone there was crying. After wewere officially husband and wife, we movedinto an apartment downtown. We had al-ready graduated, but Gina was too weak togo to college. Her parents promised to helpus out with her medical bills, but for every-thing else, I was the man of the house. Istarted working with my dads constructioncompany and I made pretty good money.Ginas health was sort-of in a slump. Shewas very ill, but she had this drive to live thatkept her going. She decorated the apart-ment whenever she wasnt sleeping,

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and we enjoyed our time there so much.After about two years, Ginas health

went from bad to worse. She had to stay inthe hospital for weeks at a time for testingand recovery and more testing and we allknew what was coming. She was strongthough; she did not spend all her time crying.Instead, she was writing. She had been writ-ing in the same journal since we startedgoing out, but she never wrote this often.Now, with her in the hospital and me at workall day, she had a lot of time to write, sothats what she did. It wasnt long before wecould feel our time together coming to anend, and I needed to do something specialfor her, for us, to always have in our hearts.

One day, I went to the hospital andbegged the doctor to let me take her out forthe day. He protested that in her state of ex-treme weakness she should not leave, but Itold him that it was something I just had todo with her. He agreed to let me take her outfor the night, as long as I promised I wouldbring her in early in the morning. I took herhome and made her a wonderful supper.Then, we got in the car and drove. I drove tothe same beach that we had gone to whenwe were children. I spread a blanket out andhelped her to it. We lay on that blanket soclose it was like our bodies were one. Wedidnt speak; we just held each other there.It was our perfect moment, our memory fora lifetime. I kissed her forehead and thenshe looked up at the sky. She saw a shoot-ing star and I saw it too and we both smiled.She said it was beautiful and I said she wasbeautiful. I kissed her cheek and we both fellasleep right there on the beach with smileson our faces.

When I woke up in the morning, Ifelt the same butterflies I used to feel whenwed slept in the living room at her parentshouse. We had a perfect night, but I did feelbad that I didnt get her to the hospital reallyearly. I woke Gina up and drove back to the

hospital with her. When we got there, shesaid she was feeling very uneasy, and askedme to stay in the room with her. I figured itwas because we had slept outside the pre-vious night. We had both agreed we would-nt tell the doctors because it was ourmoment. We didnt want anyone else to beinvolved.

After all the doctors left us alone,Gina asked me to get her journal.told her that she was too weak to be awakeand writing and that she should sleep, butshe said there was something that shewanted to show me. I got the journal out ofa drawer for her and placed it in her tinyhands. She picked it up with much effort andhanded it back to me. I was very confused,and she could tell by my face. She said thatshe started it the night we first kissed, thenight she first found out she had cancer, andshe said she only wrote about me. Abouthow much she cared for me, how much sheloved me, and how wonderful it was to haveme care for her like I do. She said she wrotepoems, songs, and just some thoughts. Shewanted me to have it, to always have thememories, and to always have the knowl-edge that she loves me. I cried, we kissedlightly, and I told her to rest. She told me sheloved me and always would and then she fellpeacefully asleep. I didnt leave the roomonce that night, and I eventually feel asleeptoo, holding her hand.

That night, Gina died. She knew,she could feel, that it was her time. I didntfeel or hear her move at all, but I was star-tled awake by something. The air changed,I could feel it. When I woke up, her hand did-nt feel quite so soft and warm. I knew shewas gone. I kissed her forehead and whis-pered "I love you" and I wept. I called for adoctor and one arrived immediately. Theysaid she didnt feel any pain when shepassed, and that she had been gone for onlyabout 5 minutes. I know that somehow she

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found a way to wake me, to say one finalgoodbye as she left. Her funeral and wakewere standard, lots of people crying andoffering their condolences. I didnt needtheir condolences though, I had her wordsand her words are what got me through.

Now its three years later, thesame day that I last took her to the beach.My father, he is always giving mespeeches about how I have to "move on"

and "get over it". He doesnt understandthough. You see, I know she is gone, Iknow I cant have her back or hold her orkiss her again, but I dont want someoneelse. Thats what my father wants for me.He keeps telling me that I have to be aman, be happy, and be with someone. Ifonly he knew the way it feels when I lookinto the sky, he would know that I am notalone, not one bit.

Art by Amocro!

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June 1stBy Danielle Leone

The first day of the first month that brings in the summer season.The very beginning of lazy, hazy, days.The smell of blossoms blooming in trees above.Hot tar being laid down on the roads ahead.That little squeak in your shoe without sock.A fine line of sweat right in the center of your back.Damp rolled up jeans in the sweltering sun.Bandana tight around your moist head of hair.Crammed in basements singing your favorite songs.

Sneaking into your neighbors back yard pool.Weekend plans for camping under the stars.Getting lost in three months of memories to come.Accepting every adventure thrown your way.Open fields for open minds.Lets do this summer right without even trying.Summer photos for fall albumsAnd a winters escape.

Keeping the Beat AliveBy Jarrod Delong

We keep the beat alive, were following the night throughcloudy skies. With tired eyes that never shut, we cling to

life with no need for luck.

I still remember the days when wed roll joints from thepages of Gideon bibles in seedy hotel rooms, where

wed stop to catch our breath while driving through themiddle of everywhere. Absorbing days and weeks from

the calendar until our spirits were full of every feeling thatyou can find on the side of the road. The stories told bystrangers in familiar places that weve never been rang

out in our heads and fade out slowly as the music swellsand our realities bend.

There were basements with electric air, where the rhythm of the kick and snare was the pulse

that brought our collective heart to life. And even sour notes would still sound right.

And on to the next town, next show, next mission. We make every move with strength and conviction.

When home is on the road, youve got everywhere to go.

Art by Amocro!

Art by Amocro!

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Just RightBy Danielle Leone

Awoke in a frenzy what day is it? Is it time for action, or mere relaxation? Thoughts form with slits of vision. Remembrance of a former night, when it was comfortable, perfect, and right. Roll over to nearest form of communication and recite my ideas of a past that swam in fine line. Let the shades up only a quarter of light. Cast a shadow of what seemed to resemble stationary. Wait it out she said. Just wait it out. Summoned by a whisper, door unlocked, back turned, and under the covers I spoke. I just wasn't impressed, until I made a few encounters right. 3:42pm sounds like the grab of a refrigerator door, and the open of a bottle. Consume not one but two releases and watch as he tries to make sense of it all. A narration of fate, or just the soft hand that led him. Here I am three times deep, with a radio echoed inside a bathroom. All I could think just then...was just right.

Words Will WorkBy Danielle Leone

uncertainty certainly summonsa new nervous notion

feelings fleetingly fall face firstinto indifferent incidents

rush right roundanother awkward account

slowly slip side by sideavoiding an avalanche of emotion

constant casualties cause chaotic crashesbeyond beautiful backdrops

memorize many magnificent makeshift mishapstruth tells tender tales

let long lasting love livelike lazy licks

help hit hard hipsgorgeous growing gestures

with wincing wearyexpressions everlasting ecstasy

change chance causesoon soothing seems so

far from fetch.

Photo by Sarah Lamothe

24

Everyone Was DeadBy Jarrod Delong

I had a dream that everyone I knew was dead.But still I lived, it was not the end.

The trees were almost bare, and the ground was cold and hard.Ifelt an icy wind. My world was torn apart.

In the basement of my childhood home, I sat and moved mechanically.Peeling skin off from my hands, searching for reality.

There was blood and I was cold, and I didnt feel at home.Everyone was dead. And I wished for this to end.

I woke up alone, in a cold sweat, my heart was racing.I walked to the porch and looked over the skyline of the city.

As it slept, I watched to keep you all alive. For the night. The sun came up, my eyes were shut. And I dreamt that I had died.

Post-Structuralist Balancing ActBy Dave Eger

Oddly written the message is mistakableWith words that are more than one way take-ableEach reader interprets from a different viewWhat it means to me is different to you

But then the task turns out to beFor each to help each other seeThe message from every other perspectiveStrengthening the meaning of the collective

Seasonable StarvationBy Dave Eger

Boney cheeks peek out from under weary eyesWith every week they shrink in size

But each day makes the meal more dearAs the farmers say the harvest is near

Photo by Sarah Lamothe