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PaperfingerThe Hourglass IssueAugust 2014

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PaperfingerAugust 2014 The Hourglass Issue

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Megan Kovakby KristianeWeeks

PoetryFeature

Chasing Storms

Kristiane Weeks30Lois Goh34Michelle Clark36

Stephanie Erdman

Shortstories

Stephanie Erdman

16 Creative Writing

18 Prudence -Brandi David

20 Some Comic Relief -Andrew Daugherty

22 Bitterness is like acid rain -Michelle Clark24 Hot Coffee -Brandi David

8 Cooper Neil

34 Poetry

36 Yanping Soong40 Kristiane Weeks44 Jenny Jung46 Delia Rainey48 Caroline Hoadley50 Brandi David52 Michelle Clark

Interviewed by Katie MurphyEdited by Kristiane Weeks

Images provided by Cooper Neil and Jeremy Jones

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FEATURE

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Cooper Neil Interviewed by Katie MurphyEdited by Kristiane Weeks

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Cooper Neil is not your typical surf bro. Born in Massachusetts and growing up in Hilton Head Island, South Carolina has always provided a beach-vibe for him, and had taken up surfing early on.

“There’s always this one drawing I remember. I just remember the process of doing it. It was of this fruit, and all the color was dots. And I remember taking forever on it and enjoying, it was relaxing and it felt more natural and meditative at a young age. I couldn’t focus on anything else, but I could do millions of dots on a lemon.”

Surfing and art have played roles together to shape this no-longer beach boy. “I looked at surf art when I was younger and music poster art from the 60s that my dad introduced me to, and that is when I really took an interest in art. I looked at Rick Griffin’s art since I was in elementary school, and as I got older I got into Salvador Dali and surrealism.” A surfer with an eye for Dali and Griffin? For Neil, this has been a perfect combination. Neil has graduated from Flagler College in May of 2013 with a BA in graphic design and a minor in fine arts. Neil noted how “Rick Griffin is my all-time favorite

Interviewed by Katie MurphyEdited by Kristiane Weeks

Cooper Neil

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“I always step out of my comfort zone in art.”

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“I always step out of my comfort zone in art.”

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artist because he has influenced me from early on with his psychedelic style and cohesive use of dartwork. He had a lot of attributes of a typographer, graphic designer and a painter, which is everything I wanted to be.”

Neil’s surf-life shows through his work, the cool hues and open-minded concepts clearly display this influence. But Neil is also inspired by stepping out of any comfort zone.

“I always step out of my comfort zone in art. I want to explore new styles and integrate them with what I have learned now, such as, going to school for graphic design never touched a computer for art until my first graphic design class... Also I really enjoy painting live at shows and festivals. The energy of live music and the crowd can be really inspiring for me sometimes. I had a girl dancing nearby roll her ankle into my painting and I caught it in mid-

air. She completely face planted into my painting.”

Recently, Neil has continued his growth as an artist and has found a connection to the great Jack Shure, who has become Neil’s favorite artist “since I bought his art at Bear Creek in 2011. I moved to Boulder, CO in May of this year to pursue an apprenticeship under Jack, and I feel privileged to have the opportunity to learn under one of my favorite artists. Right now, I’m painting completely different than I used to by trying new styles and techniques under Jack. I think every artist should explore be that’s how you figure out what you really enjoy in addition to your knowledge of many different elements.”

Find Neil’s work on his website cneildesigns.com, and you can find hid art for sale on etsy.com under CNeilDesigns

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creative writing

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Brandi DavidPrudence

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She said: Sorry for being late. Austin came over for dinner and we sort of lost track of time. He said: Aren’t you two fighting again? She said: It’s not a big deal. It was just dinner. He said: What’d you make? She said: Oh, he made spaghetti and brownies. And brought some sort of wine, but I didn’t like it. He said: I see. She said: It was red, I think. He said: ...

She said: He was actually pretty nice this time. He said: When was the last time he was nice to you? She said: He made dinner. He said: … She said: And washed the dish-es. He said: … She said: Wasn’t that nice? He said: Only if didn’t cost a blowjob.

She said: …

He said: …Is there a reason you got quiet? She said: You know I love you, right?

He said: You didn’t.

She said: It’s not a big deal. He said: …

She said: We started at nine and were done by nine ten. He said: So, you put his dick in your mouth instead of coming here to pick me up? She said: It wasn’t a big deal.

He said: Why?

She said: It sounded like fun. It’ll be more fun when we get home and I get to blow you.

He said: You couldn’t wait twenty min-utes? She said: Does it matter? He said: It wouldn’t have been that long, even. If you’d left at nine, we’d be home by nine fifteen. She said: We’re in an open relationship. He said: How long has it been since we’ve had sex? She said: It’s not like I did it in our bed.

He said: …

She said: Why does it matter?

He said: I just don’t understand why you would do that.

She said: We’re in an open relationship.

He said: …

She said: I wanted to.

She said: …

He said: Do you still find me attractive? She said: Of course. He said: Are you sure? She said: Are you sure you still find me attrac-tive? He said: I know when I say I’m at work, I really am. She said: That’s not—He said: After this, I’m not sure.

She said: …

He said: I guess so. She said: You guess? He said: I guess.

She said: That’s not fair! You said we’re in an open—He said: You said. She said: You said okay. He said: Are you still attracted to me? She said: It’s not a big—He said: Just, are you still attracted to me? She said: I guess so.

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Andrew DaughertySome comic relief

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Andrew Daugherty

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Bitterness is like acid rain. Not a very colorful or poetic analogy, but accurate. As tension begins to build like sulfur in the clouds, there will be a breaking point where the beauty of my surroundings will fade with rust. It’s chemical. This hurt is now chemical. Like the oxytocin in your kiss. It was only chemical, the strange constant sweetness of your breath. I am ruined merely by biological affect. Throw your copies of Keats in the dirt young things, watch it then begin to mold from rain and mud, there is your truth. the magic of such words died before his own frail body. This world is of neurological reactions, and to say the heart had a hand in it would hurt our pride ridden reason, too much. So bitterness is like acid rain, it comes naturally, and more naturally from a toxic environment. From fates we fein to create, prompted by a genetic need we only sort of understand, we rely on the generosity of scientists, who condescend to tell us about our selves. While the poet, in the mud, will shout uncited things about rain.

Michelle Clark

Bitternessis like acid rain

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Brandi David

Hot Coffee

FADE IN

INT. SYDNEY’S APARTMENT - MORNING

1 The studio apartment is messy, with papers and clothing scattered everywhere. The dining table is the only organizedarea, with a business checkbook and several notebooks filled with recipes, distinctly labeled: “Veggie,” “Gluten,” “Dessert,” “Soups,” “Customer Suggestions”. An old radio alarm clock is blaring punk music. SYDNEY MARGRUDER--late-20’s, casual--steps out of the bathroom, dripping wet and dancing. A cell phone RINGS, he turns the music off.

SYDNEY: Yeah?(beat)On the way in, don’t worry.

He grabs the notebooks, tosses them into a messenger bag, grabs an i-pod and pulls his bike with him outside the apartment into a mid-grade level hallway.2 EXT. SYDNEY’S APARTMENT - MORNING

Poppy punk music can be heard from the i-pod as Sydney rides his bike, dodging foot and car traffic. TRACKING SHOT as he rides across an intersection. MICHAEL KOHLER--early-30’s, business-like--is crossing in the opposite direction, carrying a leather brief-case. He is on the phone The music fades away and city sounds take over as Sydney rides away.Tracking SHOT to follow Michael

MICHAEL; (on phone) Push my ten back to one, I’ll have the energy to sleep through Steve’s presentation.(laughs)No, Ellie, he really is that dull.(beat)Yes, I’ll be there in 15. Do you want anything?(beat)There’s nothing wrong with a frappe this early. I’ll grab a cab so it doesn’t melt.

Michael hangs up the phone and slips it into his jacket pocket. He enters Personal Espressions.

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3 INT. PERSONAL ESPRESSIONS - MORNING

Michael places his briefcase on a table near the window. Two baristas, EMILY--18, bubbly--and CINDY--mid-20’s, flirtatious--stand behind the counter, excited at his entrance. Emily hastily begins making a hot coffee drink.

CINDY: My my, looks like you’re running behind schedule, Mr. Michael. Lady friend over last night?

Cindy peeks around Mike, disappointed.

CINDY: (cont.) And no treats for us. How sad.

MICHAEL: Not today, Cindy. Hey, Emily? Ellie wants a frappe today too.

EMILY: What’s got her stressed out this early?

CINDY: (laughing) Does it matter?

MICHAEL: Everyone deserves a treat ever so often.

Michael turns to Cindy.

MICHAEL: (cont.) Besides, you don’t complain when I bring brownies.

EMILY: He’s got you there, Cinders.Emily hands Michael the large coffee drink and starts the frappe. As Michael pays:

CINDY: That’s very different, I have a lot to put up with since I’m always babying you.

MICHAEL: She’s not that young.

EMILY: We’re signing the lease this weekend! It’ll be great to get out of my parent’s place.

Emily runs the blender, drowning out all other noise. Cindy leans over the counter, showing her cleavage and winking.Emily finishes the frappe and hands it to Michael.

EMILY: It’s really exciting.

MICHAEL: I’ll keep that in mind for Monday.

Michael makes a finger-gun shooting motion, winking to the ladies. He grabs his brief-case and takes off, hailing a cab outside the window. Emily realizes the provocative pose Cindy is striking and hits her on the elbow.

EMILY: How long has he been coming here, again? And how long are you going to keep hitting on him?

CINDY: Oh, he’ll come ‘round eventually.With these how could he not? Cindy shimmies towards Emily, laughing.

4 EXT. GRILL’D - MORNING

Sydney pulls up next to the shop and locks his bike to a tree. RAENA--realistic, chubby, snarky--is sitting on the curb reading a science-fiction book.

RAENA: Hey.

SYDNEY: Morning. I have the new recipesfor us to try.

RAENA: Cool.

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Sydney unlocks the door and the two enter.

5 INT. GRILL’D - MORNING

The shop has a mishmash of chairs and tables. A corner book shelf with games, books, and photo albums piled onto it sits in the farthest corner. Behind the counter are two portraits, one of Sydney and one of Raena. Both are labeled with their names.

RAENA: Did you find out about thegluten-free flour from Stan yet?SYDNEY: We’ll be able to get it at a discount for the first month. After that, we’ll just have to hope enough people want that bread.

Raena goes behind the counter and picks up a broom to sweep while Sydney starts pulling out the recipe books at a table.

SYDNEY: (cont.) But enough people have asked about it, I think we’ll be good. We just need to get the word out there.

The two remain silent while Sydney ponders the recipe book and Raena sweeps. When she’s done, she opens the curtains and blinds to the windows to clean them.

SYDNEY: How are things going with Jake?

RAENA: Right out the window. He drunk dialed me last night, calling me Rita. How ‘bout you and little Marty?

SYDNEY: I haven’t called him back. The age difference is a bit much.

Raena puts the broom away and walks to the back.

RAENA: (o.s.) He’s like what, two years younger than you?

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SYDNEY: But he has no class. And he doesn’t know who Napalm Death is.

Raena shakes her head and begins painting “Gluten Free Bread! Not Free, but Delicious!” on the window.

RAENA: (sarcastically) Scum of the earth. What a fag.

SYDNEY: Yeah.(beat)He had a Cher record.

Raena turns to face Sydney.

RAENA: I thought you liked a man with vinyl?

SYDNEY: No record player.

RAENA: Wow. What a fag.

Sydney nods and Raena turns to finish her painting.

6 INT. OFFICE - MORNING

Michael walks into his office, carrying the drinks.

ELLIE--middle-aged, bookish secretary--is on the phone. The office is clean and very professional, almost sterile.

ELLIE: (into the phone) Yes sir.(beat)So we have confirmation for 1pm this afternoon?(beat)Conference room C.(beat)Change of time confirmed. Mr. Kohler

looks forward to doing business with you.

Ellie hangs up the phone. Her desk is covered in pictures of her family: 2 children, BETSY--10 years old--and JERRY--13 years old--, 1 golden lab and 1 chocolate lab. Michael hands her the frappe and she reaches into her desk and pulls out a small loaf of banana bread.

ELLIE: I confirmed your meeting for 1, in Conference Room C. Jeremy, Winslow and Kate will be there as well, Kate with her interns.

MICHAEL: Sounds great.

Michael takes a sip of his coffee.

ELLIE: Mr. Schmidt would like to know if you’re open for racquetball this afternoon.

Ellie takes a sip of her drink while Michael thinks for a moment.

MICHAEL: (beat)Do you think I can convince him for tennis in the park?

ELLIE: Hmm...(very short beat)Probably. It’s nice enough outside.

MICHAEL: 4 o’clock. Go for it.

Michael nods and begins walking towards his office.

ELLIE: (calling after him) Oh, and I didn’t put the nuts in yours. I remember what happened last time.

Michael smiles broadly and gives her a thumbs-up as he enters his office.

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7 EXT. PARK - AFTERNOON

Michael is running in the park alone. He is listening to Napalm Death’s album “Scum” on an i-pod, humming to himself. The camera follows him, showing shots of the park and various couples in the area. A healthy, attractive HETEROSEXUAL COUPLE jogs past him in the opposite direction. He turns his head after they are past him, a CLOSE-UP EYELINE MATCH presents him checking out the man’s backside.

He turns back around and continues jogging to the tennis court. LONG SHOT of Mr. SCHMIDT--mid-30’s, non-descript--on the court stretching. He waves and Michael does a slight wave back. He approaches the court.

SCHMIDT: This was a good idea, Mike. It’s nice enough to not be cooped up in the air-conditioned gym I’m paying a membership for.

MICHAEL: You could use some sun, Schmiddy. I’m sure your wife will thank me for it.

SCHMIDT: (chuckling) Yes, because my wife’s opinion matters so much.

Schmidt stands up and stretches his back.

MICHAEL: You’re right--it’s all about your mistress, isn’t it?

SCHMIDT: (defensively, but proud) I broke that off 2 weeks ago. And I saw you checking out that jogger with her boyfriend, so don’t give me that.

Schmidt picks up his racket and a ball.

SCHMIDT: (cont.) You’re on the far-side. I forgot my sunglasses.

8 INT. GRILL’D - EVENING

Following the dinner rush: the grills are dirtier, Raena is busing a table, Sydney is taking an order over the phone. Ellie’s family is there playing Clue.

Sydney holds the phone away from his ear and calls out to Raena.

SYDNEY: Hey Raena, would you be willing to make a delivery in about 20 minutes?

RAENA: Do I have to come back?

SYDNEY: You don’t want to help clean up?

Raena gives Sydney a look that says “Are you joking?”

SYDNEY: (cont.) I guess not, if you can finish those tables up before time to go.

Raena nods in response. Sydney begins making the orders as the family plays.

BETSY: Colonel Mustard, in the Conservatory, with the Lead Pipe.

The family looks at one another: no one has the cards.

Betsy gets excited and starts to reach for the “Confidential” folder.

SYDNEY: (interrupting, o.s.) Miss Betsy, wait a second!

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Betsy stops and turns toward Sydney.

SYDNEY: (cont.) Come here for a second.

Betsy looks at her mom for confirmation, who nods. She gets up and walks shyly up to the counter. Sydney washes his hands and steps out from behind the counter and whispers into her ear. She looks disappointed but walks back to the table and marks something off on the sheet. Ellie smiles at him, Sydney washes his hands and returns to the order. Raena carries a tray of dishes behind the counter and is holding them.

RAENA: So glad to go home early today. There’s a painting I’ve been itching to work on all day.

SYDNEY: Lucky duck. I should make you stay and help more.

RAENA: But I’m painting a Greek Adonis,

just for you, my favorite boss.

SYDNEY: You can just leave those in theback, I’ll take care of it. The order is just about ready.Raena carries the dishes to the back.

RAENA: (o.s.) Why don’t we hire another person? We’ve got to be doing pretty well, right?

SYDNEY: Pretty well. Not well enough, not just yet. But soon.

Raena comes back up front and grabs the order Sydney just finished prepping.

RAENA: Okay, this the address?

Raena picks the ticket up.

RAENA: (cont.) And they paid credit... Oh, Am Ex, very good. Looks like I can expect a hefty little tip from this stop.(beat)

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All right, see you in the morning?

Raena takes off before Sydney answers. Laughter erupts from the table with Ellie’s family. Ellie gets up and walks over to the counter as her children put away the game.

ELLIE: How’d you know it was Miss Scarlet?

SYDNEY: We don’t have Colonel Mustard anymore. Some kid got ketchup on him.

Ellie smiles at this and pulls a few pictures out of her purse.

ELLIE: I have a few pictures for the photoalbums. Is there a specific one you want them in?

SYDNEY: Oh no, just help yourself. I think there’s still room in the red and dark green ones.

Ellie takes the albums and adds the pictures, 2 of her children, 3 photos of the beach.

ELLIE: Alright kiddos, let’s get going.

Say goodbye to Sydney.

She rounds up the children, who wave somewhat meekly, as they walk out. Sydney looks around after they leave,contented.

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Yanping Soong

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Endurance

sometimes I can’t decide —between flying swallow and eternal skyamidst falling leaves and embittered cryabove heaving ocean, above heaving whyssometimes I can’t decide.sometimes I can’t decide —through pulsing heartbeat and racing sobsunder spreading canopy and pulsing throbsof pressing anxiety, and her cold-fingered clawssometimes I can’t decide.on green green grass here I lie:the wind breathes and the trees should sighpulling, pulling their water way up highinto their fractal, branching dendritesas they have for three hundred million years —yet sometimesI can’t decide.sometimes I gaze into the mirrorand feel her eyes — her bony monsterlurking within my insides,and I cringe.do I not have two hands? do I not have two eyes?one hand stays still and the other movescarving heme-laden groovesinto the other.I don’t know sometimes, who really watchessometimes, I can’t decide.I take in Still; I take in Now —I try to embrace my growing shroudand watch my fifteen millionth breath come and pass.this green green grass has grown — so long, so tall —singing still its ancient song; and I, barely twenty-fourshould think — to die?under falling leaves and cloudless nightmy eyes shifting to the long-journeyed starlight;and it is then, I really see.such blazing brilliance when they were born!barely leaving a trace when they are gone —if for some newer stars.and sometimes, nothing at all.what is the significance?sometimes, I can’t decide.I see the cities we build, and the roads that we prize,

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the plastics we use, and the things that we buy,three hundred years hence, will there be anything left to remember us by?for who should care that we lived, and care that we died?sometimes I can’t decide.“you are so young! and you have so long!”but you see, sometimes I questionwhat is lies at the end of the marathon;through pulsing heartbeat and racing sobsunder eternal skyabove heaving whyssometimes I can’t decide.

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Kristiane Weeks

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bankruptcy

a five (luck)year exchangeover documentslegal legalitiesoh the shimmer’s constant callthe moneydronesaway and awaydroneon and ononandthis iseverydaysigning awaymiscommunicationsevery daycyclesdwindlingspiralingforgetting to completethepuzzlegalitiesthrough a screenthis is abusinessthis has beenyour life-linedpath

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Summer’s Sky

There’s something in that hazy white-blueit brings out the sub limecolors of breathing forms—forget the usual plethoragreen leaves green flowers yellow sun light windthe summer tagsthe blue smearsintowhite clarityheavy Summer skies disintegrating into heatone two three…every seven words one person dieslooks up at the whitenesscalming blues discovers black lightoceanic depths holding her head belowhot summer cars packing fried babiessummer’s new red sublime shading,observe how it evokesone two shots from another white mandicks, guns (violence doesn’t discriminateagainst weapons)at least schools are out ofsessionfor now

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Jenny Jung

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I Had It Coming

I died a thousand deaths that dawn, and I tried to get you to bury me in the mud below the slow river. I reached out a hand, white, shaky in my wane, shaped my fingers into a gun and pointed it to your forehead. You, with thoughts threaded into a necklace around your neck, you, with fucking price tags popped into the sore, crusty hole in your ear, smiled even quieter than the reeds poking through the skin of the water. You said that your promise was polyphonic, not a deity unto itself: remember? And accepting, I bloomed slow and agonized above the silt and salt.

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Delia Rainey

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HANDSTANDS

finally wore a baseball capcan’t fling me across the bedthe smallness of your bodyconfuses me, a fillerwe suffer little bits of waterI know I am doing thisall wrong, maybe redumbrellas belong to methe metal pieces snappedunder a parachute I wasfleeing the scene of riverswhen you find me, stick a needleinto my hair like threadthen sew me into your elbowI cannot be accounted for.

THE ROLE OF THE GIRL

imagine a skull wrapped in velvet& I used to be a police officer. Iwore the blue uniform and tappedpeople on the shoulder with afirm touch. fires are similarto they way I want you to strikeme. when I’m not paying attentionI’ll imagine a skull that looks likeyour face. a baby cries, fall asleepin a pile of cinders. I’m a bad girl.you won’t want me – I will put youbehind bars like where a baby goes.the trees smell different right now.think of all the matches that couldbe extracted from this tree right now.why are we playing? I watch youin baseball caps. always inbaseball caps.

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Caroline Hoadley

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Sand and Stone

An hourglass full ofblack sandbleached sandfragments of quartzsmooth creek stonesorange Georgia claybrick dustwithpale gravelfrom distant beachesof volcanic rockan east coast shorethe continental dividebetween mountainsbehind the barnon the side of the roadand the alley to my housewhich mayone dayreside near the west coastor perhaps the grand canyonwhere rock is reduced torubble

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Brandi David

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Trenta

Cindi makes paninis ina little shop far from the Starbuckswhere Mike orders coffee. Baristaslike Mike. He gives them good tipsand once brought chocolatechip cookie dough truffles for Emily,because she left her cheatingboyfriend, who was sleeping withAnn, who only made pastries. Cindidoesn’t know Mike, and will never like him because she makes paninison white bread, sometimes on rye, not trenta quad-shoticed caramel macchiato withor without whipped cream in white cups.

Gropecunt Lane

Blonde bees swarmwatery morphed appendages:Raggedy Arm and Handy

Simple giftsreleased from Redditchpsychedelic cigars shareddelivered by skinnySanta, dolledup in bleached roses.(Mascara matches the heels.)Her name glitterson the boxin unmelting snow,“Syd.”

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Michelle Clark

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You may think I am quiet

You may think I am quiet, no, I am stifledI wait for something interesting to sayI drink the whiskeyI fill the penAll in hopes that I will be emptiedI’ve worked before, I was not always brokeI’ve walked the world drippingI drink the whiskeyI eat the ryecatching what I can in my mouthWhat communionTo whose remembrance?I drink the whiskeyHe drinks the whiskeystifle the want of love and a familyHe does not want meI drink the whiskeyI drink it slowtil the quiet leaves me

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Thank you to all our incredible writers!

Think you’ve got what it takes to write something for us?

Submit your stories and poetry to PaperfingerArts@yahoo.com

Photo Credit:Cooper Neil: 8-9, 10, 12-13, 14, 16-17, 24, 26, 28, 31, 32, 36, 38, 40, 42, 44, 46, 48, 50

Jeremy Jones: 4, 18, 22, 34-35