A Brief Word From The President
A Note To Our Readers:
As the millenium
comes
to a close, it is important to
realize that while this is
a
turning point in our lives and
in society in general, the road goes on. Our lives are a
conflaguration of
"Endless
Roads", and this magazine
has taken snippets from reflections of those lives.
I hope you all enjoy these artistic works as much as my
staff and I did as we put the MOSAlC together. Best
wishes for a happy holiday and a joyous new millen-
nium.
Sincerely,
James I. Pisano
President, Literary Arts Society
'99-'00.
Editors:
Maria Schiano
James Pisano
J arnie Veley
E.M Gotthardt
Front
Cover
Art
Holly Smith
Chief Editor:
Scott Neville
Advisor:
Richard Grinell
Back Cover
Art
Jennifer Hoffman







Table Of Contents
1
2
Beneath Our Drool (A Magnetic Poem)
My Muse
Time is forever
3
Untitled Photograph
Bent
4
Over You
5 -8
Emily's Burden
9
This Love
Love is this
Strength
Night Together
11-14 Cupid's Night Off
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
The Grove
The Reversion of Silence
Inspiration
I step away
Perpetual Circle
Falling
Selectively Open Mind
Untitled Photograph
Shower of Consciousness
23 -24 Run Apocalypse 2000?
25
Ten Pieces For A Penny
26
a night. a clock and a train ...
27
Untitled Photography
Michael Najunas
M.C.
Julio A Torres Jr.
Jennifer Hoffman
Sean Macomber
Caneil McDonald
Scott Randall Thompson
Caneil McDonald
Julio A Torres Jr.
Heather Oehme
Richard Lyszczek
Erica DeTraglia
James Pisano
Heather Suydam
Rich Carlson
Melinda O'Callaghan
Sarah Dowling
Ryan Conley
E.M Gotthardt
Holly Smith
Scott Neville
Chelsey Ferrigno
Jaime Veley
Heather Suydam
Jennifer Hoffman





28
The Cliffs ofTime
James A. Rovello
Christina's World
E.M Gotthardt
29
Sitting
in
the Dark
Kimberly S. Genesi
Mill's Boathouse
Scott Neville
30
Brain Matter Grey
Donna Jackson
31
Help
Ryan Conley
Untitled
Melissa Bair
32
Untamed Heart
Anonymous
33-35 Why Is Uncle Jerry Dressed Like That?
Brian Johnson
Untitled
Bill Seelig
Just This Once
Anonymous
36
To
the
Writer
James A. Rovella
Synchronicity
Kimberly S. Genesi
37
I see you
Melinda O'Callaghan
I'm Not a Poet
Jessica Canale
38
Untitled Photograph
Holly Smith
39
Don't Leave
Melissa Bair
Way of Words
Bill Seelig
40
Start Here
Maria Shiano
41
Mind Eater
Heather Clarke
42
Mourner's Lament
Dortna Jackson
Dark-haired Venus
Richard Lyszczek








The Mosaic
BENE!TII OUR DROOL
(! filGNETIC POEM}
BY MICII!EL IUJUN!S
WREN REPULSIVE RONEY II!S TRUDGED TJIROUGII SUmIER,
.
ID MY FOREST SO!RS !BOVE WEIK EGGS,
I WILL MllIPUL!TE YOUR TIIOUSID FEET.
SIIIT Mil, lIER IRON TV IS ENORMOUS,
BUT NOT !S PURPLE
IS
l JUICY BOIL.
TOGETHER BUT NOT, l WIIITEBOY LUSTS.
l COOL MIST ON lIER B!RE PRODUCE,
ID WE WITII NO URGE FOR FLUfF.
TIIE MO}!Efl WOULD MOU IN l STORM OF DEA.TR.
WE WORSIIIP TIIEIR RUSTY, TOOLY WIND,
IS
ONE ESSENTI!L PE!Clf SWIMS BY,
ID FROOIC Wll COOKS ON TIIE MOONS SCREDJ.ING Lill.
TIIE DID!OND FIDDLE IS
ll
UGLY PINK.
WHY? $}JELL TIIE LOVE ID SEE.
WHISPER. ME FRIEND, I ROCK.
1










2
:My
:Muse
:By :M.c
'Tliere
slie
:My
:Muse,
'Tired
and
Slie
s{eeps
Fall 1999
fies
across
tlie
way,
lier liead nesded on
my piffoui
worn,
6eautifuffy
6orn,
and dreams
fik,e
me
I
wonder if,
fife!,
me, slie dreamt
One
fone{y
day
fong
ago
51.
fove
on{y
dared
imagined
')'et
found and clierislied witli
lier.
:My
tliouglits caress tlie sweff of lier {ips
51.nd fee{ tlie weiglit of lier cliest
51.s
it gendy is
moved 6y
tlie
rliytlim
Of eacli
fife
foving
6reatli.
51.s
I sit and adore lier from a6ove,
If 6y cliance slie dreams of me
I
tliink.., myself tlie
most
profound{y
Mest
'Dream
I
cou{d ever liope
to 6e
.
UNTITLED
BY JULIO A
TORRES
JR.
TIME IS FOREVER
ALL THE WHILE WE LOOK FOR SOMETHING
BETfER.
BUT RARELY IS IT FOUND.
FULL OF POTENTIAL ALL ARE WE.
FULL OF PROMISE AND HOPE.
DOES ANYONE FULLY REACH THERE POTEN-
TIAL
I ASK THEE.
OR DO WE REALLY JUST COPE?








The Mosaic
By
Jennifer Hoffman
(Note
:
title is an archaic term for gay)
Seeing him
half naked
I think
if I was gay
he'd scare me straight
3









4
Fall 1999
OVERYOU
BY CANEIL MCDONALD
THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS I WANT TO TELL YOU
TOO MANY WORDS AND EMOTIONS
TEAR FILLED ADMITIANCE OF LOVE
ALL STUCK IN MY THROAT LIKE TAINTED AIR
BUT I STILL BREATHE YOU IN
FEEL YOUR WEIGHT LINGER ON MY TONGUE
AND DISSOLVE
I HAVE GIVEN TOO MUCH OF' ME TO LOSE YOU TO
A
TINY FLAME,
SUFFOCATING
FEEDING UPON ITSELF
UNTIL THERE IS NOTHING LEFT
ME,
ALWAYS WANTING MORE
MORE THAN MEMORIES AND REGRETS
I WANT LAUGHTER
SWEA1YARMS
ENTANGLED HEARTS BEATING
YOUR GLISTENING BACK MOVING BENEATH MY FINGER TIPS
LEGS, LIPS, AND CHEST
PRESSED TOGETHER LIKE REUNITED LOVERS
CLOSER AND CLOSER UNTIL I FORGET WHERE I BEGIN
I WANT EVERYTHING
I LONG TO CALL YOU MINE AGAIN
AND HOLD YOU LIKE NOTHING
HAS
CHANGED
BUT EVERYTHING
HAS
AND YOU'RE STILL GONE











The Mosaic
5
Emily's Burden
By
Scott
Randall
Thompson
"His Opinion of You After First-Time Sex" is an article mentioned on the cover of
one of a thousand women's magazines to her immediate left. She doesn't understand,
and perhaps she never will. She smiles nonetheless, to pedestrians in khakis, bright
yellow taxis, and leashed canines heeding an urgent call whose primary focus isn't her.
She takes all of it, all of the Earth, into her.
The bright yellow leaf, for example, on the tree that autumn - she sat under
that tree for hours, lying on her back, watching the colors catch the sun. The leaf fell
into
her eye, into her retina, and moved along her neural pathways until it was im-
printed like
a
nuclear holocaust silhouette of a man eternally captured inside her
forehead.
And her pupils dilated, and caught fire momentarily, and she had a pro-
found
understanding of the joy of this world. Meanwhile, pedestrians jogged past and
complained
about 401k plans, dental bills, and the esoteric nature that becomes a
modem life
.
Emily hears none of them, and in her own little world, which is ours, her
mind
is constantly
at play.
This autumn, however, the wind blows frostbit cold through the trees, and she
embraces
the fragrance of wet leaves, cloaking the smog that infests her lungs. The
unseen vendor peddling bratwurst, trying to make a sale ... the aroma
.
of his product a
better advertisement
than his vaudevillian ploys; the scent of bouillon
.
from the distant
soup kitchen feeding an impoverished, ignored, forgotten nation; the rubber of tires
from a
traveler
whose patience was as lengthy as their distance from
·
the gas pedal; the
perfume of the decomposing earth which will consume, yes, even you
,
one day. These
things and more enter Emily, and she closes her eyes to the world and takes it in
through her nose, feeling for each leaf, each homeless man, every indentured vendor,
every
impatient traveler who thinks they can race time and win.
Emily opens her eyes and sees the world anew, every crack in the pavement,
each
hue on the tree, every glistening oil puddle rainbow ... the world opens itself up to
her
and
she
returns the favor
.
She soaks the air into the lungs, so deep that she's
almost a floating water balloon on the river, so similar in nature to her surroundings
that she almost becomes them, with only her thin shell to keep her from a natural
osmosis into oblivion.
Reality draws her back in the form of Rice Krispies in milk sounding off through
a distant microphone ... she opens her eyes and looks around her. A lone sparrow in the
grass breaking the palsied twigs, who break like lepers and are spread about. The
sparrow flies up into the arch of a nearby tree, resting at the base of the V. Emily
looked but saw no nest, no permanent resting place, just a brief home.
·.
Winter was








6
Fall 1999
coming, and this creature had decided to brave
it
alone instead of leaving with south-
bound aerial friends for a better life. What could make this creature stay? And yet,
perched in the V like a child in the womb, absorbing the rays of the sun, she thought
that the bird was finally home. An engine backfires in the nearby road, and the spar-
row flies away unwillingly towards the sun. She follows the bird, twirling, circling .
.
.
sometimes in control and sometimes thrown on a whim by the indifferent air, but
always towards the sun. Emily stared at the bird that day for as long as she could,
until the light became too much and she began to see spots. Even then, she saw
dozens of sun remnants, each containing a bird, circling, circling ...
"And our Lord, Jesus Christ, shall save" are the words she ignores. The sparkle
on the stained glass Virgin Mary leaves a gleam in her eye which blocks out the apoca-
lyptic talk and what some might consider hypocrisy. None of that here. Mary's light
becomes Emily's burden, and her mind defragments the irony of Purity in stained glass
form
.
The light overshadows the darkness
,
but she absorbs the atmosphere - the
homeless man on the steps of the church who wasn't invited in; the gold cross around
the priest's neck; parents telling their children to "shut up, for Christ
'
s sake" (this she
really doesn't understand .. will the son of God really return
if
only the five-year old
would be silent?); the plume of voices singing songs they don't really believe, but oh! the
choir! the heavenly choir that reminds the congregation that even singing praise of the
Lord is a competition. Now the light begins to radiate and twirl, and the sparkle of
Mary beams into a part of Emily that she never knew existed, and in that moment of
hope, revelation, and unadulterated joy, a tear of happiness falls on the mysterious
Hymnal.
They must think that she is hungry, because they invite Emily up for a light
snack of wafers and wine, which she readily accepts, and the Light follows her steps
along the Church like a shadow's better half, and Emily felt a warmth and a peace and
a joy that philosophers or hedonists would feign aspire to understand, much less
experience for themselves because their hearts would not be
.
big enough, their essence
shattering into a million pieces through the universe with all the warmth inside of this
child.
After her snack, she returns to her seat, a moderately comfortable red cush-
ioned pew near the back of the Church. A man with a golden cross around his neck
who looks lik~ a speaker at a college graduation begins to lecture to the audience about
virtue, honesty, and overcoming sin. Emily drifts, caught in the undertow of the Light,
staring into Mary's heart in the picture where the Light originated. Emily looked away
from the light, and everywhere she saw sun remnants of the Heart of Mary, with her
sparrow circling, circling, slowly fading out of view but reaching higher and higher until










The Mosaic
7
it became
a
part of the Light, and the Light she saw grew
bright
er
as a result...
but
so
did the Light that was now inside of her.
-And He loved us so much that He sent His
...
far over her head these words
which seemed so distant from her known
experience.
Scanning the room, Emily
searches for someone
,
anyone, attentive to what she was now receiving
...
the man
checking
his watch
every
two minutes? The woman fighting off sleep three rows ahead
of
her,
and
there her head bobs again
,
lacking the divine inspiration to fight
off sleep?
The drunk, who she
cou
ldn't
really see but made himself better known that the Holy
Spirit
in an odious manner? - Your ministry is to help the impoverished, to give back
to the community,
to reinvest yourself in their stead ...
She wondered how these people
could
help anyone, so distant and disinterested
in what
this
lecturer
was saying. Was that man's watch broken? He would need
a
new
one before
he could help the impoverished. Sleeping lady needed
a
pillow
or
some
Valium or something
before she could help anyone. And that foul drunkard, isn't he
the type of person
who could use their help? Emily was confused by this .
.
who would
help
him
?
He had been here as long as
she can
remember
,
and
he doesn't seem
to
be
any less drunk
for all the time
invested
these
Sunday
mornings.
And
then, just
as
sadness was setting in,
she saw
the Light of Mary
shine down
upon a six year
old
child
near the back of the room. The
child
was hunched
over in
the
pew, propping a
book against his knee
on
drawing
...
well? What would he be
drawing?
The lecturer finished,
- And thus,
go forth
into the
world
(or
some such
thing)
and she
went to see
the
boy, smiling,
freckled, parted hair
Sunday
perfect but becoming l
ess
and less so with each fidgeting minute.
She
furled
her brow, puzzled, looking
at his
semi-toothed
grin while
his
focus on her
remain
e
d
constant, and she approached him.
He
said
nothing
...
rather
,
he handed her his program. He had
drawn a sunflower
bigger than
the
world,
which was
next to it, and she was sitting on one of the pedals
looking
over the Universe, a
multitude
of stars receiving
her light
and sharing their light
with
her
.
And she looked down upon the Earth, and
the Earth
looked up to her, and
her shadow cause
d
a solar
eclipse
in India, and nocturnal animals
came
out in
China,
and the
warring factions in South Africa
lay
down their arms
to
behold
h
er
glory, all in
shadow
but not in darkness, for the warmth of Emily showered the
Earth
with
l
ove
and
hope, and for
the
second
time
man
didn
't
feel alone, and
- Timothy, keep
your pro-
gram, don't
give
it
to this nice young lady (how do you do?) we need to
get you off to
Sunday School say
good-bye to the nice girl...
Sunday
school? When did resting on the seventh day
exclude children ... and
the child
was carried away on the shoulder of his mother, and Timothy smiled, and the
Light of
Mary followed the freckled-face boy who, alternating cupped and uncupped his
hand.
And the Light traced
him,
a carbon-copy of his essence, and the shine filled the












8
Fall 1999
come and appropriate gift for a girl on a Sunday morning. And the Light shone on the
parchment like it was the lost gospel, and Emily picked it up
..
. sitting on her petal
throne, she again soaked in the vastness of her kingdom, and the world
was
a better
place.
"Prozac Can Help" screams the newspaper, attempting to distinguish itself from
the multitude of advertisements. Emily is staring at the sky again, trying to find solace
in the clouds-is that a
pig?
Mickey Mouse? Something stands out
..
. a faint cirrus
heart, thousands of feet in the air which tells her that something out there cares about
her, about all of us. A 747 tailing a banner that says "Where Do You Want to Go
Today?" breaks up the heart, and the love wisps away from the sky
.
Emily doesn't
want to go anywhere, perfectly content with her present location. Why do people want
to be more
,
do more, keep moving, never being satisfied with their present location? In
the distance, the light of Mary breaks through the clouds over the cancer-clustered
neighborhood near the abandoned nuclear power plant.
Emily follows the light to bald children her age, playing and laughing in the
street without an obvious care in the world, save nail-biting mothers on porches that
seem just a little too concerned. Emily jumps into the double-dutch, the rope going
faster and faster, children giggling, the tribal rhythm of feet attempting not to fall
..
. can
you hear that? Whoosh -
the 747 is
the
ropes,_ twin.engines blazing, and the engine
sputters every time it bleats the asphalt. The plane catches her sneaker and she
plummets out of the sky, and streaks of red slunk down her kneecap. Breaking up the
sky are the bald-headed boys and girls laughing, smiling
,
giggling -
their angelic
eyebrows arched in glee, their foreheads creased in laughter, she-soaks-this
in
as
readily as the asphalt takes her blood
.
This kinship, this merry few ... she stands up
and takes the ropes.
"Hello, operator, please give me number nine" ... but the mothers come to take
their children away from the pigtailed girl, hurry along now, get on home, if you were
my daughter, my precious, healthy daughter, you'd never get away from me (but oh
dear I love my son just the same) oh I don't know why I'm telling you this I just can't
take it anymore, what have I done to deserve (sob) this (sniffle) I (excuse me) what did
he (sob) do, he was so (my Lord!)
is
so young, you'll pray for him (sniffle) won't you?
(moan) you seem very nice (sniffle) he's very nice (honk!) too but the Lord (sniffle)
doesn't (moan) answer maybe you'll be better
,
you blessed, fortunate girl and I
,
ac-
cursed, and my son, and my son ... forlorned unaware by some thing, some other force
beyond man's power, but it's cold and you should be getting along, dear ... oh my,
rainbow barrettes, my God, barrettes, they would look so pretty in my daughter's hair,
but oh dear ...
As the woman ran her fingers through Emily's hair, Emily felt her loss
,
the loss
of generations that will never be, the world history that was this woman's heritage ...
ending with each treatment, and the hope that withers like a violet near the first frost of
the season,
weepina,
longing,
cursing the skz who brought it life.























llntitfe6
~1>
Julio
)l
'torres Jr .
.t.o-oe
is
tijis
The
Mosaic
'Tliis
Love
'By
Canei[
:Mc'DonaU
I
don't
want
to use you
'But
I've been
takjng wliat I
need
51.nd
[eaving
you
witli
notliing
'I've
been
mending
myself
in
your
sliadow
Jfea[ing
my
lieart
wlii[e
you
protect
me
from
rea[ity,
tfre
coUness
of
afone
9
I
'v
e
[et
you
warm
me
and
caress
away
my
tears
I've
found
myself
again
In tfie
me tfiat you see,
In
tlie
person
you
want as
your own
So I ding to you,
unwiffing
to
miss
out on
tfie
goodness
tfiat ffows
tliere
fiappy
just
to
be
desired
p[aying
tfie
ro[e
of
a person wlio
foves
you
your
princess
your
prize
a
beautiju[
[iar
waiting
to
break;_
your
lieart
in
~6
is
true
6ftss.
)l
moment
I
wait
to
recefoe t~
liiss.
As
time
ff
asijes
61)
1)0U
grow
quiclif
1>
on
t~ fist.
Coreen
is
tije
6acli6rop
success m1> onf1> wisij.
As
tom6
pace ijeigijtms
f
o-oe
is
tfiis.











10
Fall 1999
·s
trengtli"
'By
J-(eatlier
Oelime
J-(ope 's
{iglit
sliines
witliin
ana gfows
insiae
one's
lieart-
binaing
peopfe
witli
its
strengtfi
no
matter
liow
far
apart.
'Eacli
aay
lioUs
liope
anew
ana joys
tliat
were
before
unli;__nown ...
'Tliese
joys
come
from
fove
ana faitli
for
comfort
can't
be
fauna afone.
J-(ope
brings
fig fit
into
tlie
aark,
refieving
fear
in
tlie
mianiglit
liour-
it's
tfie
saving grace
for
tfie
uncertain
for
even
tliey
befieve
in
its power.
'To
pass tfie
cana{e of liope
is
to
li;__eep
it
burning forever,
bringing joy
to
tfie
fives
of many-
a gift tliat no
one
can
measure.
Night T og1Zth1Zr
By 'Richard 1iy$ZCZflk
fir$t night of thfl fright1Zn1Zd f utur1Z,
what d1Zbt$ 0W1Zd
to
pa$$ion r1Zl1Zntlfl$$.
Though thought$
$ink my $OU!,
whilfl
liVfl$
arfl lift1Zd through bright1Zn1Zd
1ZYfl$.
empty th1Zir qu1Z$tion$ forc1Zd upon am~Wflr$.
OppO$fld loVfl forbid$ WhO$fl mi$takfl$ madfl,
ha VIZ captur1Zd that which,
Wa$ $Ought and carfl$$fld by fri1Znd
pr1ZV1Znt1Zd m1Z$$ag1Z clO$fld and wordl1Z$$.












The Mosaic
11
Cupid's Night Off
By Erica DeTraglia (Thanks to Nayra Pumar)
Donavon King
and
Kayla Vitto meet in
college.
She thought he was so
cute
with
that
devilish
smile
of his and those
deep brown eyes.
He thought she was the most
beautiful
woman in the world
.
Cupid
had
shot
them both with his arrows. They were
married
right
out of college and
lived
a
very normal life until one night.
"Donavon. Aren't you
going home yet?" called
his
colleague,
Davis, from
a
neigh-
boring cubicle.
Donavon looked up
and shook his head, "I've got to finish
these papers
for
tomorrow's meeting or the boss will have my head."
Davis
smiled and nodded
with
sympathy. "Well,
buddy
..
I'm
going
home
."
"Night," called Donavon without ever
looking
up
.
A few hours later, he
stretched
and stood
up to
go
home
.
On his way home he stopped at the
local pub,
Cratty
·s. The
decor
was similar to an
Irish
pub with dark oak booths, dim
lights,
and a
thick
cloud of
smo
ke that seemed to be stuck to the
ceiling
.
Donavon put down
his briefcase
and
sat
on
a stool
running on hand through his brown hair,
"Bartender,
gin and tonic
,
please."
"Donavon!"
Donavon turned to
see
Davis
,
drunk
as
mule, waddling over to him,
"I
thought you
would
never leave that office. Come
sit
with us." Donavon got his drink and walked over
to Davis' table, which
had at least three young woman waving seductively at him. Against
his better judgment
,
Donavon
sat
down and began to
chat
with Davis and his
compan-
ions.
Little
did
he know that a young man no older than twenty was watching him from
the bar.
The man's black hair had a blue tint to it and his eyes sparkled with
a
super-
natural
light. He took a shot of vodka and shook his head, "Donavon
my
boy
...
what are
you
doing? Of
course,
always on my
night
off."
Kayla had known that Donavon was working late but she always worried about
him. He was working so hard to get a promotion at the office
that
sometimes he forgot
that there was life after work. She tried not to fall asleep until
he
came
home,
but that
lasted about twenty minutes.
Nearly
at
dawn Kayla heard a soft bump on the bedroom's door
and
a whispered curse.
She
got up quickly and opened it abruptly. Donavon fell to
the
ground, surprised
.
His tie
was
gone and
his
shirt was
half-unbuttoned.
"Hi, sweetie,"
he
said with a shaky voice, trying to
incorporate.
"
Where were you?" she asked,
kneeling by his side. "Oh, Don, you're drunk!"
exclaimed
Kayla
,
as she
noticed the
alcohol smell
in his breath.
He
started
to
chuckle without control.
With a clumsy motion he tried to hug her,
failing. Kayla
noticed a red-purple
spot
in his
shirt collar.
It
was lipstick. No, there were
1WO kisses on his shirt collar,
each
one of a different color.
"Don, where have you been?" Kayla asked. grabbing his shirt
'
s collar,"and what's
this?"
"Huh?"
he
bowed
his
head, trying to
look
at
what
she
was pointing,
"What?"
I...
see
nothing ... "
"Hey!" she took
his hand,
"Where's your wedding
ring?"






12
Fall 1999
"What? My what?" he approached the finger where the ring should be to his eyes,
squinting. "Sheeesh. I swear to you that it was there when I arrived to the bar ...
suuuure ... darling." He sat and started to dig into his pockets with awkward movements.
"Wow, my head. Why is this room spinning? Or it's me?"
When he started to dig into his pockets Kayla saw that his belt was also missing.
Without a single word she slapped him on the face and ran out of the room and into the
guestroom locking her in
.
Donavon took his shirt off and looked at the lipstick-stained collar,
"
Ahh damn."
He rubbed his cheek where Kayla had hit him. He got up and stormed to the window
where he placed his hands on the window
.
"Donavon King, you're such an Jerk.
"
His breath quickened with anger as his nails
s
c
ratched the glass. He stopped and grabbed his pants when he realized that he didn't
have a belt on. His head hurt. "What did I do?"
He walked slowly down the hallway and stopped at the guest room door
.
He
wanted to knock and say he was sony but he knew she wouldn't listen now. His heart
hurt so much and he knew that Kayla felt the same. He decided to leave her alone for
a
while so she could cool down. So, he walked to the living room to sleep on the couch. As
h
e
clos
e
d his eyes he remembered something. Sitting up, he reached into his pocket and
took out his wedding ring. He slipped it on, clenched his fists, and cried himself to sleep.
Kayla walked slowly into the bedroom expecting Donavon to be there but he
wasn
'
t. Sh
e
crawled into bed and lay on his side and buried her head in his pillow,
c
iying h
e
rself to sleep.
Unknown to Donavon and Kayla but someone had watched both of them. He ran
his hand through his black hair, letting out a long sigh. A pair of white feathered wings
slowly emerged from his back as he flexed them to their full span. "Now how am I going
t
o fix this?" The man scratched his chin as a big grin crossed his lips.
Th
e
next day, Donavon was working at the computer in silence, that morning his
mind w
as e
ither getting over his hangover or tiying to remember last night. The tele
-
phon
e
ran
g,
making Donavon clench his jaw in pain. He wondered what Kayla was
doing.
Ka
yl
a
talking very severely to the building's maintenance crew. Kayla w
a
s so mad
ab
o
ut e
v
e
rything
:
Don, their marriage, and now her computer was
c
rashing. She felt
b
e
tr
a
yed. She gave it a hard thump with her fist
s
, but nothing happened
.
W
i
th a furious
g
roan she once again listened to the elevator music on the phone, which she had been
listening to for the past five minutes. Madder than before she slammed the phone down.
She stomped to the door to her offi
c
e and opened it.
"
Carl, I'm going to ... - she saw a young man with khakis and a tight black shirt on
in front of her. Is black hair shown blue under the lights and he was wearing a wide
smile on his face.
"Not Carl. I invite you lunch" he said, and without allowing her answer, he touched
her on the shoulder and both disappeared from the office, sitting in a small cafe.
"What the hell are you doing?!" she asked, looking around.
"What? Not hungry? Please, all will be explained. I Just want you to be comfort-









The Mosaic
13
"What do
you want
from me?"
she asked
fearfully.
"You
know to
talk ... chat ...
I
rarely get to
do that with my job." He took her glass
a
nd
a
bottle of wine that appeared
out of nowhere
and began to fill it.
"Be careful,
it may
be
a
little bitter
at
first."
Kayla sniflled
the wine then
tasted it.
"Do you
like
it?" asked the
man,
placing the napkin over
his lap.
"It's fine." She
put down
the glass. "You
haven't answered my question."
"I'm
sony for what happened
last
night, it was all my
fault
... "
Kayla was
a
little
taken aback. What about last
night? Who
was
this
guy? "What?"
The
man put his arms up iil defense, "I saw Don getting drunk and
I
knew I should have
intervened but
if
was my
night
off."
"Night
off? What?
Who
are you?"
The man leaded over the table, so close Kayla felt his breath upon
her
face, 'Tm
that pleasant sting you felt the first time you
kissed Donavon.
My name is Cupid, Bringer
of Love."
Kayla looked at the man in front
of
her. He was
completely
serious, "'And
that's
how
we Just appeared here ... you used magic?"
He nodded
.
Kayla whimpered and grabbed the wine bottle, filling her glass up all
the way.
"So he DID
cheat
on me! Well you blew it, didn"t you?"
Cu
pid put his finger
to
his lips, "Shhh. I
didn't say
that. I just said he
got a
little
too drunk and
let his guard down."
"So he didn't
cheat
on me?" Kayla
said
with a
smile,
but
Cupid
shrugged, "I didn't
say that either."
Kayla
frowned, surprised.
'Tm
confused."
Cupid
smiled as a waitress
came over
with a tray.
She placed
a
bowl of
soup
in front
of Cupid
and raviolis in front
of
Kayla. She
was about to protest
when
Cupid said,
"I know it's
your
favorite.
Eat up."
Kayla
did dig
in.
She
had
not realized
she
hadn
'
t
eaten since
last
night.
When
she
finished
a
bite she
looked at the
man in front
of
her.
"SO, why did you
bring me
here again?"
"Well, one is to apologize, which I did.
Second
,
I wanted to tell you
that,
you see
Don's love
is
real
.
He
loves
you so
much he
can't see where
his
soul ends and
where
yours
begin. Because your souls
are melted by
your
love that I have provided, of
course.
So, don't wony about
last night. But
if
you still don't
like the idea
of
him "cheating
on
you," you can comfort yourself
thinking
you could
also "cheat on him" as easily as he
could
do.
"Never,"
affirmed Kayla, picking her glass and tossing back the wine with great
determination.
"Sure,"
thought
Cupid, smiling. She hadn't noticed the spell he cast over her wine.
He only
n
eede
d
a few
minutes to have
it
working
on
her
..
.
Kayla felt
like she was in heaven,
she could
feel the warm evening sun
caressing
her back, laying on bed tangled in warm sheets. She rubbed her chin against the pillow,
hugging it closer to her and opened the eyes ...










14
Fall 1999
The first thing she saw were her clothes thrown on the wood floor, and the second
was that it wasn't her bedroom. She incorporated on a jump, wrapping herself with the
sheet. Where was she?
Cupid.
Kayla's eyes opened wide
as
reality
hit
her all too quickly. What had happened?
She could see a man's pair of khakis with her clothes
on
the floor.
"Morning!" Cupid entered grinning with white-feathered wings
extending
from his
back.
"You
looked so tired that I left you
sleeping
after we
... "
"We, what?" interrupted Kayla, "What had happened here
...
with us?" She didn't
want to believe what she was thinking.
"Let's see, shall we," he said
as
he picked up
a
pair of
stockings,
"We have a
woman,
a man, their clothes on the floor,
a
jumbled bed and a empty wine bottle beside
it... what cou
ld
it mean? I can't imagine. He looked
at
her
as
if
she
were stupid
,
sitting on
the bed; it was
obvious.
Kayla moaned, falling
on
her knees, her face buried on her hands.
"How could
you?" She wanted to strangle him with her
bare
hands and watch him
dying from
lack of air
.
"So
rry
,
dear, I'm immortal," he
smiled,
reading her mind.
Cupid
picked
up
her bra
under a pillow
and waved it in front
of her
face.
Kayla tried to snatch it
from him
but
he levitated
out
of
her
reach,
chuckling.
'This
is
NOT funny .
..
" she
snarled, picking
the
empty
bottle
with the
intention of
hurling it
at
him.
"Look out!
Your sheet is
slipping down,"
he
forewarned
her, distracting her.
Kayla felt a
hustle and found herself
trapped
on the bed under the winged
jerk.
He
tickled her
nose with a white feather
he
plucked from his wings, making Kayla snort.
"Sorry
dear, I win
,
" he placed the feather in her hair.
"Release
me!"
she
cried.
"Trust
him. He loves you very mu
c
h. And I
can vouch for that,"
he chu
ckled,
"
but
if
you
must
know, he
didn't cheat on you. Now, wake up."
Startled,
Kayla opened her
eyes. She
was in her office, l
ean
ing
over
her
desk. A
quick look at
the wall clock told her
that she
had been
asleep, or
whatever
she
had
been,
for half an
hour.
She
rubbed her head dazed
and confused.
Her
computer
was
still
crashing,
but
that
didn't
matter now. She
got
up
and started to
walk
to
the door. On the way,
some-
thing floated
by her. It was a white feather
.
Kayla
smiled
and plucked it out
of
the
air.
She
ran
out
of the office and got the first taxi to Donavon's office.
He was there, so absorbed reading a inventory sheet, that he didn't notice her
arrival.
Better. Kayla hugged him from behind
.
"Forgive
me, sweetheart," she whispered, kissing him on the neck.
"What?"
he turned, a hopeful smile on his face.
"Yesterday I got
mad
and I didn't
let
you explain to me what
happened
.
I didn't
trust you
...
forgive
me."
"I
thought
it
was me who
should
have
said something ... " he
frowned,
feigning
confusion.
They embraced each other and shared
a passionate kiss, not
caring who saw
them.
Cupid,
disguised as a mail
carrier,
looked into the office
and smiled. "I need
a night
off."







The Mosaic
15
The Grove
By
J
arnes Pisano











16
Fall 1999
The Reversion of Silence
By Heather Suydam
Laryngitis is a symptom of the apathy
that breeds and procreates in our society
The open mouths can speak only long
enough
to offer some form of something which
inconveniences that individual
But whose loud boisterous protests
die
in the face of adversity
leaving only silent lips
when the voices are essential
And it is with awkward silence
that we as a nation face each tomorrow
with fewer answers
for the growing questions and problems
But with greater number of grievances
to accompany those questions and problems
It
is no longer a question
of the violation of the individual's rights
but rather the individual's violation
of the sanctity of human life
and the lack of dignity in each person's life
Morality has taken a backseat and
reckless FUN is driving us down the freeway
very quickly around the hairpin tum ahead
and straight over the
cliff
of decency
into the dilapidated depths of the world
we've created for ourselves
Those who recognize the potential danger
the impending impugning of inane behavior
are often passed by in a blur in the race
to find the B.B.D. Bigger Better Deal
the opportunity that will be
high (personal) yield and
low (altruistically speaking) maintenance
And in this glaring painful silence
the crash of the car on the face of reality
will
erupt like a thousand volcanoes
spewing forth the wretchedness
which we have allowed
to
become the norm
Even the screams from broken homes
cannot break the silence that has
fallen on mankind
not the gunshots from children's guns
nor the screams of their victims
This thick heavy quiet can only be inter-
rupted
by the masses imploring God to forgive them
as He has done before
and although there will always be those
who chose not to Join in
those who do have strength enough to
succeed
And at that a trumpet
will
herald
the turning point in the path of mankind
from which
it
will
have to dedicate itself
in order to remain on the same course in time
Then the silence of
the millions of victims from the Holocaust
the silence of
countless slaves worldwide, past and present
the silence of
abused children, parents, people
will
dissolve into mournful wailing
which will lead to healing
and ultimately cries of Jubilation
No longer will silence
reign
but praises to God
will
fill the
air
and the Power that defeated death
will
be seen.

















The Mosaic
17
UNTITLED
BY MELINDA O'CALLAGHAN
I STEP AWAY
JUST FOR A LI'ITLE WHILE
TO TRY
TO FIND
.
SOME
PERSPECTM.
I MOVE
OUT
OF THE ROLE
I NEVER AGREED TO B-E IN
BUT I STAYED THERE
'
FOR TOO LONG
AND LOST MY POINT OF VIEW,
MY
SENSE OF
REALITY
.
SO, I TAKE A STEP BACK
AND SHAKE THAT SKIN
OFF OF ME
THAT
DYING THING
STRANGLING ME
CAUSING ME
TO SUFFOCATE,
BECAUSE I CAN'T BREATH
WHEN I'M STUCK
IN THIS PACKAGE,
ONE I NEVER WANTED
·
BECAUSE THERE IS BEAUTY
UNDER THAT DEAD SKIN
AND SO WHAT IF
I
WEAR MY HEART ON MY
SLEEVE.
LET ME BE EXPOSED,
BECAUSE THAT'S BETTER
TRANLMNG
IN
nns
,
PLASTIC SHELL.
ln$piration
:By 'Rich Ca
r
l$On
Thiz pizrf izct bliznd
off un and pliza$uriz,
miX!Zd With a littliz laughtizr
through a $!Zriow; $miliz.
Pant :su
i
t$ by day
,
tank top$ and $W!Zat pant$ by night.
~itting bizhind a mahogany namizplatiz
an$W!Zring phoniz lin!Z$.
~itting at a coff!Z!Z tabliz
writing poiztry lin!Z$
.
:Both 8$ important
:Both irr{Z£igtibliz.
~ilV!Zr nizcklaciz,
·
goft paliz gkin.
:Bizautif ul, ghort blond hair
framing a bizautif ul
,
dizlicatiz faciz.
~crizaming for adulthood,
not liztting go of today.
Wanting a diamond,
but gizttling for cubic zirconium
.
Pizrfizctly blizndizd.
Pizrfizctly impizrfizct.
I am in loV!Z,
With my ingpiration.
















18
Perpetual
'lJy
Sarafi
51.cross
tfie
C
i
rcle
'Dowlina
voitf
Fall 1999
'Tfie
intensity
ma
(e
of tfie
perpetua{
c
i
r
de you
in you
eyes
on{y
pa{es
to
tfie
sit
,
wortf.s
of profountf 6eau
t
y
tfiat you
come
t
o
fife
witfi
a
sing{e
6reatfi.
'Tfie
u
rge
to speak, witfi you,
t
o just 6e near you
'Tears
a gaping
fio{e
in
tfie
tfeepest
cfiam6ers
of my
fieart
.
'But I
can't.
I c
a
n
'
t cfiange even for you
'Tfiis
superficia{ mo{tf is on
e
t
fiat
I
cannot force
m
yself to fit.
:Yet I
wisfi for my patfi to 6e
tfie one tfiat wiff {eat£ to your
a
cceptance.
'B
ut tru{y
I
(now i
t
on{y {eatf.s
tfeeper into
tfie
wootfs.
I
wiff fate
to
ta(e me
to
tfiat prist
i
ne
{a~
wfie
r
e
my cfiiUfiootf was formetf
,
witfi tfie
fiopes
tfi
a
t
I
wou{tf Jina you
tfie
r
e
.
'To
stantf 6y
you sitfe
ant£ sfiare
tfie
sunset
tfiat
is forever
more
6eautifu{ tfian
tfie
fast
.
'B
u
t
tfiis
vision
of doseness
{ies just 6eyontf my reacfi,
'f
o
r tfie price tfiat it carries is mucfi too fiigfi
'Jl(p
matter
fiow
m
ucfi
you
want
me
to,
I
cannot 6e wfi
at
you wan
t
51.ntf
I
(now tfi
a
t
I
wiff 6e
me e t
again
,
On{y
a6{
e
to
ezyerience
tfie
me
to 6e.
stuck, across from you
intensity
tfiat
I
miss
Introversion
By
Scott Neville
in
so
tfie perpetua{ cirde
,
never
mucfi from
afar.
to










The Mosaic
19
i:yan
conley
I was the DJ.
You sat down.
We talked
.
They danced.
'We'
were
now 'Us
'
Days go by.
We spend
them together.
Happiness at last
.
Before we met
,
I made a commitment.
I must go,
You can't follow.
O:mre
man
th
.
Tlmen twco,,
Three
months
,
Three thousand mi
l
es
.
You come visit
For the weekend.
We stay together
,
Happy not being alone.
Tuesday comes,
You
must
go
.
We kiss
,
You fly home.
But I'm falling
Out of love
.
My parachute
Doesn't open
.










20
Fall 1999
Se{ective{y Open 'Jvfind
~y 'E.'Jvf (jottfzardt
:,You'{{ defend my position against any opposition
"Ii{
your cliud te{{s you tfzat it's slie you are defending
:,You 're a pretty confection witli a crumb{y bitter center,
•
.
:,You fzave a smue tfzat reveafs to me
"- -
5l
seasoned pretender
I
tliinl( tfzat
I
can do without
your doub{e ta{( and fies,
you (now it's fzard to liave respect for someone
Whose b{ue eyes
fi{{
witli ice
rr'o see me fove lier
rro see lier fove me





The Mosaic
21
By Holly Smith










22
Fall 1999
Shower of Consciousness
By Scott Neville
Knots slipping away, ugly man at store yelling, ex-husband bellowing, the horn
of a truck, the crash of a glass. Why am I here
,
where am I gong? A bird trying miserably
to take flight wings broken by a racing car, I'm stuck; I'll go nowhere, the horns blare
again, slowly melting ice cubes. The heat radiating from within, the rain of the shower,
pouring over all. Safety. The plush carpet of water against my naked body, a slide in the
bright sun, knots loosening; letting go of the bridge, falling, floating in a jet stream. A
feather stuck in the wind, the water pouring over my body, massaging my back, knead-
ing my head, a fuzzy glow intoxicating me, a glass of alcohol smooth viscosity, glow going
down like honey. Sweetness.
The sanctuary of a shower. Thought ceases momentarily.
The tide begins again, brain plugged back in - DC or AC? Back into the stream,
floating ...
A crash from the other room breaks the serenity
.
Cords drawn tight, knives sharpening, a silent figure, raking fingers on any icy
bl
ac
kboard; screeeech. Who's there? Mind screams - Mom, Dad, Killer, body lying on
the bottom of the tub. Horrible thoughts, block them out; cracks in the wall, black
images oozing through. The swirl of water tinged
with
blood circling the void of the
drain's darkness. Psycho, Norman. Where are you, Norman? Horns in a cacophony,
hand at the door; Is it coming for me? The mirrors are fogged, steamed, no one will see
the horror - not even me. Just the faceless man, arm with a knife, twinkling, behind the
door.
Screech of the hin,ges, click of
.
the latch; Door's not latched, one point for oppos-
ing team
.
Funny, but
not
at the same time. Falling from its nest an injured bird, no where
to hide, middle of nowhere, but can't flee the cat. Gasping for air, air dinging to ceiling,
air winning - steer clear of the lungs! Get a grip! Isn't that an Aerosmith title? No where
to go - animal in a trap, the scissors laugh from the o
.
ther side of the fog; A beacon of
safety, a lighthouse in the mist, but too far to reach, maybe the ship will pass. Titanic,
another tragedy on the record books. One dead, murder; One thousand dead
,
a statistic.
Sudden blackness, the house lights go down, end of the show already? Splnning
sensation of flight, pushing on the edges of plastic lucidity. The showerhead spitting its
bounty on my body, knees above, need to be shaved. Am I dead, worrying about my
knee hair? Didn't feel the knife, I hope he's happy, void of warmth.
*
*
*
Hear the rain, need galoshes, sand paper on face, a steady rhythm, rubbing
away the skin. Confusion, alcoholic oblivion - where's the white line? Eyes open, gate-
ways to the soul. White wetness, bubbles oozing from nostrils somewhere, submerged but
rising to the surface. Pop! Steady pulse of a motorboat, buzzzzzz, buzzzzzz. Eyes focus,
foggy depths, world sideways, drone of bees, buzzzzz, buzzzzzz.
Phrixes, licking at my face and the puddle forming on the bathroom floor - the
drain was clogged by my limp body. Sadistic cat - purring at his owner
'
s overactive
imagination.
















The Mosaic
23
.
.
~.
.
Run
Apocalypse 2000?
Wamfog:
Running
this
program
will delete 6Jename lite
As
We Know 11
OK
By Chelsey Ferrigno
I Chelsey, your sister, who shares with you in society the tribulation and the
modem world and the patient endurance, was in the city called Poughkeepsie on ac-
count of it being my current place of residence. I was in a deep sleep, and I heard in my
dream a loud voice like a trumpet saying, "Write what you see in an article and send it to
the newspapers and to the magazines, so that the people may know what you have
seen."
Then I saw the days in which the new millenium shall draw near. I saw in those
days an exodus of the cults from the land, and they sold their worldly possessions and
went to the high places to make ready for the aliens and for the angels and for their
godhead. Then was their fire on the mountaintops and on the hilltops, and the cults
made sacrifices and offered up prayers, wearing funny robes and doing psychedelic
drugs. And many aliens indeed entered the land at this time, but they sneaked silently
across the borders of the land, picking oranges and taking over convenience stores, and
those who awaited them saw them not.
In these days also, many people bought up the water of the land, so that the
stores ran dry, and a cry of despair went up from the consumers. "What shall we drink
when Y2K hits if there is no water'r they cried out. But the stores heard their cries and
lo, an angel of the stores appeared to them and brought them forth to the Juice aisle, and
they were comforted.
I saw, too, long lines at the banks and at the credit unions, though every teller
window was open, and many people closed their accounts or withdrew large sums of
money, fearing Y2K. And because of the many thousands of people making transactions,
the mainframes became overloaded and there sounded a great crash, which echoed
throughout the land.
And the people of the land became confused, saying to one another,
"
How can
this be? Surely the Y2K bug has not caused this, for it is not yet time
.
" And the people
checked their wristwatches and murmured amongst themselves, some saying that the
crash was a government conspiracy, others that it was because the computers were
made in Japan, where it had already been midnight still others that
it
was only the first
step in the plan of the Canadians.
And lo, I saw the mainframes fixed rapidly, but the people did not know this, and
because of their panic and their heedless actions it came to pass that the banks were
closed to them and allowed no transactions, and the people were cast out into the
streets.
Now appeared to me the great clock of Times, and when the first day of the first









24
Fall 1999
month in the year of our Lord 2000 arrived, then did it strike twelve times and there was
darkness in the land, for it was nighttime, and a great ball like a thousand lights
dropped from the sky. Then was their kissing and exchange of embraces.
In the next moment, silence fell upon the earth, followed by a great sound like
that of rioters. And the sound was rioters indeed, who had been deceived by false proph-
ets and believed that a bug had ravaged the land, destroying every alarm system, and
these rioters fell upon the stores and the houses and the cars of the land like a plague,
leaving shattered glass in their wakes and acting in accordance with their wills
.
But the alarm systems had not been destroyed as the people thought, and were
angered, and they sent up a great clanging and beeping that deafened the city, but this
did not stop the rioters. Police officers cried out, saying, "Stop them, oh Lord, for they will
surely destroy this city and all that is in it." But the Lord's ears were closed by the
roaring of the alarms and of the rioters, and He heard not their cries. And the rioters
destroyed the city and all that was in it. They smote the power lines and the gas mains
and the Pokemon-selling stores, and nothing was spared, and the land was plunged into
the cold and the darkness.
In this time, the inhabitants of the land became panicked, being duly afraid of
the dark, and turned to one another saying, "We're all gonna die!" Many teenage boys
clung to the girls closest to them and whispered, "You don't want to die a virgin, do you?"
And their blood was spilled upon the couches and the back seats of the land.
Seeing the land without power, those with bank accounts and with stocks who
had not already hidden their finances under their mattresses were distressed, and
among them there was a weeping and a gnashing of teeth. Yet even those who had
prepared
,
themselves, hiding their money and their beanie babies, were not spared, for
the rioters fell upon them in their tum and took these things from them.
And now I saw, rising up from the north
,
Canada, being disgusted by the antics
of the Americans, and
,
threatening to launch a nuclear attack. The government officials of
America were surprised and frtghtened, and immediately did they go info hiding. Thus
did the Western world fall into disarray and come to be left in the
f
ins of pet goldfish, who
ruled over all the land
.
And this lasted for two days and two nights, but on the morning
of the third day the goldfish were found to be floating at the tops of their bowls, as befalls
all their kind, and seeing that the world had not ended nor had it fallen forever to the
rule of the fishes
,
the people of the land took heart and refrained from further silimess.
Water reappeared on store shelves, banks reopened and conducted transactions, and
the rioters were given television to watch and were thus quieted.
The government officials ceased to hide and again pretended to rule the land,
and power was restored to the hands of those who flush dead goldfish.
I warn every one who hears the words of the prophesy of this article
if
any one
adds to them, God will add to him the title plagiarist, and
if
any one takes away from the
words of the prophesy of this article. God will take away from him his title as editor. He
who testifies to these things says, "Surely this insanity is coming soon." Amen. Come,
Y2K!





The Mosaic
25
Ten Pieces For A Penny
By Jaime Veley
Not just a day for delivery,
A day for gossip.
Men in their handmade clothing,
Gossip as they load up the pulley
.
Up goes sack after sack of flour.
"The harness jus' came unhitched and the carriage flipped."
"Johnson's barn burned right down to the ground las' night."
Up goes container after container of lard
Not just a day for shopping,
A day for gossip.
Women in their hand-sewn muslin dresses,
Gossip as they choose new material for their son's pants.
Up goes roll after roll of material
"Lucy Jane is gonna have another child runnin' around."
''The horse jus' went crazy and bit Beth's daughter's hand clear off
.
"
Up goes bag after bag of sugar
Children run straight for the candy bins,
Ten pieces for a penny.
Gotta get the round ones; they last longer
.
Hurry, the store is almost out.
Up goes bin after bin of candy






26
Fall 1999
a night, a clock and a train
(the transposition of the ordinary and the insane
during the Holocaust)
By Heather Suydam
a
night
full of
broken shards
of glass,
an
attempt to
shatter a people.
a clock wound with terror
that ticked
away
the
end of
millions
of
lives.
a train
ticket bought with desparate hope
that led
to certain
death.
and how courageous,
how
brave of a
bully
to gather a virtually
insurmountable number
of soldiers
to attempt to conquer the
innocents,
the innocence.
and how
naive,
how myopic of the world
to take a dictator at
his word
rather
than
at
his
actions
the many evils that
when
effected,
affected
many.
and how insidious, how putrid of any
human beings
to
legislate
hatred
in many
onerous forms,
that what was once amoral,
became moral.
and they celebrated it
parading
around their
prejudice
and
hatr,ed
.
flags of patriotism waving on the
nauseous winds of pride.
and they lived it
selling many on their rationales and
justifications
their
movies and fliers flooding the
conscience
of
a
nation, of the world.
and they killed
it
snuffing
out the old view of humanity and its nature.
scraps
of decency still clinging to society on the
hearts and souls of the truly good.
ultimately they faced defeat
.
ultimately they could not succeed.
ultimately they had lost at the beginning.
ultimately they could not gas and bum the Essence of Life.
ultimately they
could
not bury the Endurance of the Human Spirit.
ultimately they
could
not overcome the Divine and Complete Power of God.





The Mosaic
27
By
Jennifer Hoffman













28
Fall 1999
T\lt
(Utt5
Ot
T!Mt
JAMt5 A. ROVtllO
10
gc
AW~WA2P ltv lttt tAPIN6 UWI
VK11M5 <2055 0Vt2 itv 5ttAPOWY Pll6fil
Mitvl51t25 AtvP t00l5 51AtvP ttAtvP ltv ttAtvP
f02tvte ltvlt2lwltvtP ltv 1tti5 PYIN6 lAtvP
Rtei2ltt
i
<A51 wntt M(/(tt Pt5PAl2
10
5tt lttt ttvP 2tPtA1 wflttO(Jl 2tPAl2
"CHRISTINA'S WORLD"
BY
E.M GOTIHARDT
(INSPIRED BY THE PAINTING
BY
ANDREW
WYETH)
SHE LAY IN THE STIFF SHARP GRASS WHERE
SHE
FELL,
HER BODY
PROPPED UP BY THIN MUSCULAR ARMS. THEIR
BONY
ELBOWS
SPOKE
OF A
LIFE LACKING LOTIONS AND CREAMS, HER PINK
DRESS
WAS
FADED
AND
TORN
.
IN THE COLORLESS EVENING SKY, BIRDS FELL TO A
BARN
WINDOW,
TAKING SHELTER FROM THE MAW OF NIGHT, WHICH STALKED THROUGH
FIELDS OF GRASS, ITS ONE MERCILESS EYE ALREADY OPEN AND ALERT. SHE LAY
MOTIONLESS BUT FOR THE STEADY SWELL AND COLLAPSE
OF
HER CHEST
AND THE SWIRL
OF
DARK
BROWN
HAIR,
WHICH WAS LOOSENED
FROM A
CAREFUL
BUN BY THE NOISELESS BREEZE.
HOW OFTEN SHE HAD RUN HERE, TO A FARM THAT WAS NO LONGER A
FARM, WHERE THE SMELL OF PHANTOM COWS HUNG HEAVILY IN THE AIR.
SWEA1Y AND DIR1Y, BUT FILLED WITH AN UNEASY
CALM,
SHE CLIMBED INTO
THE LOFT AND SLEPT, SURROUNDED WITH HAY AND BARN MICE, SAFE FROM
JUDGING GLANCES, PIERCING SILENCE, AND A MAN WHO WOULD NOT
NOTICE THAT SHE WASN'T THERE TO IGNORE.














The Mosaic
§itting
in tfje
.11:>arfi
~1> Aim.6erf1>
§.
c5enesi
§itting in
tfje
JJ:>arfi
§ippingtea
.11:>rinfiing in .£if e
~.life
.£if
e of C-OeT'i>one aroun6 me
,ur
tfjese
peopfe
1>et
I amafone
tl>itfjout 1'ou 6esi& me
§itting in
tfje
.11:>arfi
§inging
af
ong
witfj wor6s
I 6on't finow
U>or6s I 6i6n't write
tl>or6s I''l>e ne-oer fjear6 6efore
tl>or6s
I'(f
ne-oer fjear
again
'tfjel) mean notfjing
If tfjel) 6on't come from 1'ou
§itting in
tfje
.11:>arfi
~eingquiet
?\n6
just
tfjinfiing
Jbow
mucfj nicer tfje
.11:>arfi
seems
U>fjen 1'ou're
in
it
witfj me
Mill's Boathouse By Scott Neville
29
















30
Fall
1999
J!>rain
:matter
~w
J!>l) .11:>onna Jac;K.son
Ct>
foofuifj mortar, wredie6
&p
;,ain,
tl>retc;fje6 an6 writfjing
in
t~ wratfj
,lgain.st
tfj' inju.stice of tfj1' fate;
Ct>
fjow 6ost tfjou see ju.stice
in
tfjis .6itter en6? tfjou ;,iteou.s man,
:mu.st tfjou tfjen rage
against
tfjine <506' s
~ternarfjan6 of £0'0e an6 .i,ate
tl)fjic;fj rea6s tfjee on tfj1' tortuou.s ;,atfj?
.i,ow mu.st I ga;e u;,on tfjl)
;,ain
1:)et
stiIT
ml) fjan6
again.st
ml)
wiIT
to sa-oe
a
wretcfje6 sour as tfjee?
Ct>
guift1> me, wfjo mu.st
stiIT
see
tfj1' funerar marcfj, t~ wre 6um!
.i,ow mal) I c;fjange tfje 6eat of fate
U>fjicfj rea6s t~ feet u;,on tfje ;,atfj
cE>f
con6emnation an6 of 6eatfj?
tfjou f oofuifj
mortan
§ti[
t~ feet
,lgainst
tfje tem;,ting 6rums of fate!
tast
off t~ sin an6 free tfjl)
min6
cE>f
fetters tfjicK. Un.6in6 t~ sour
,ln6 f-ree t~se{f from gri;,s of <506
]ln6 man afiKe.
tast
off tfjeir fjan6s!
tfjou wretc;fj, mu.st I as weIT as tfjee
J!>e 6ragge6 afong l)OUr s;,irar ;,atfj?
J!>e gone from me! if c;fjoose tfjou mu.st
tfje we66ing
song
of .11:>eatfj an6 .i,e{f.
tfjen go tfjou mu.st;
forsaKe
tm,
strengtfj,
tfjou sicK'ning
6east,
tfjou
'Oife
worm;
tast
off tfjine
fife,
em6race tfje gun,
]ln6 ;,uIT tfje trigger of t~ fate.


















Th
e
Mosaic
31
:::ya.--i
con
l
ey
The phone rings - I answer.
You ask for my help
in tears.
The doorbell rings
-
I answer
.
You are there
-
clutching the
card.
I make an appoint
m
ent
For early the next afternoon.
We sit together
In the cold waiting
r
oom
.
They call your initials
,
We walk to the exam room.
You clutch my hand
As the needle draws blood.
She hands you a card
With a phone number and code
.
We go home.
Ontitlid
:By Mizliiia :Bair
We sit on the couch
,
I dial the number.
Your hands tremble
As you enter the code.
A voice comes on the line,
You hold the receiver between
our ears
.
CHLAMYDIA
GONORRHEA
You look at me.
HIV - POSITIVE
We cry
.
NEGATIVE
NEGATIVE
:Burnizd up thiz aih!Z$ ieattizring down thiz itrizizt. I watch ai it all blowi
away. Thiz pait thiz pr!Z$iznt, goniz all of it. Oniz littliz ipark and thiz lifiz that
WM
built on ton. blood,
&: tizari go!Z$ up in a flaih. Why
i.i
a loving and earing god
iO
vieiou$ to hii followizri? Thiz prizy and prizy, yizt all thizy han i$
in
a $moky
ruin. Thiz tizari ariz ihizd but a nm~iz of rizliizf almoit thankf ulnizii
ii
in thiz air
for izvizn though if$ goniz. thiz lifiz that thizy know. at lizait thizy ariz togizthizr
.








































32
Fall
1999
-
-
-
~
. . . .
J)O'IWT
.
.... •
.ai, . . . .
,..
of
&iift..
--
.
U)i1fi
~it'•
f;i,1'11~.
·
'".
~toafwupafow
:...:.l·
•
Ron..too
m
,-
!-'
_-;;
1.~,x,itfjtficatuafpO'IPel'if..
"'
.
-
t~untamc6~
~
..
-
.,
-
...
~~~
"'·










The Mosaic
33
Why
Is Uncle Jerry Dressed Like That?
By Brian Johnson
All my life, Uncle Jerry was kind of the black sheep of the family. He was a
drunk. He would get drunk at various family get-togethers and leave everyone feeling
ashamed after being publicly humiliated and more often than not ostracized. There were
many attempts to reform Uncle Jerry
.
There were interventions galor
e
. Virtually every one
of these interventions ended in Uncle Jerry storming out. A few of th
e
m actually ended in
bloodshed. I remember one time Uncle Jerry actually stabbed Grandma Mary in the
stomach with a ball point pen. Thank God he missed her vital organs
.
We also tri
e
d
electro-shock therapy on Uncle Jerry, but it didn't stop him from drinking
,
he just started
peeing his pants a lot. Uncle Jerry was as out of control as a hyperactive 5-year-old on
four hits of acid. We had no idea what to do with him. And then, all of a sudden
,
he was
fine. We all wondered what brought about this change in him. Was
it
a
new hobby? A job
promotion? I thought he just found a n
e
w kind of booze that was very relaxing. Others in
my family thought that it might be a woman. Tums out, they were right. Well, they were
sort of right. You see, as it turned out, Uncl
e
J
e
rry had a sex change operation
.
After his
sex change operation, Uncle Jerry was a complet
e
ly different person.
After Uncle Jerry turned into a woman, I was curious about why he had done it.
So, with the encouragement of my family who were also curious, I start
e
d hanging out
with him to find out what was going on in his head
.
"First of all,
"
he said, "call me Auntie
Jehri." I looked at Auntie Jehri and tried to soak it all in
.
Where he used to have a
scraggly beard and wore only Harley T-shirts and dirty blue jeans, he now was clean-
shaven, with bright red lipstick, permed hair, and a blue sundress with yellow daisy
print. He was still 6' l
"
with a beer gut, but he said he was on a new miracle diet that
would just melt that flab away. I finally got up the courage to ask him, "OK, Auntie Jehri,
what is the matter with you?" He played with his hair and smiled
.
"Well you see honey, I
was confused my whole life. Every day I would wake up and not expect what I saw in the
mirror. It was like I always wanted to be something else but I could never quite figure out
what it was. I was so depressed
.
I would come home from work at the steel mill and just
cry in the dark. That's why I was always drinking so much. It was my only escape from
the harsh reality I had to face. My random violence was also another outlet of mine. Of
course the drinking helped that along, but I felt that I just had to lash out and hurt the
world that was hurting me. Then one day, I woke up in a pool of my own vomit in a crack
house laying next to some whore I didn't even recognize. I looked at that whore for a long
time and thought, 'You know, she's got the life that I want.' Her way of life, the whoring,
the seduction of drunken businessmen, the utter charm that she exuded, really sung to
me in a voice as sweet as Barbra Streisand. So I sold most of my possessions and paid
for my little procedure."
I stood there dumbfounded. I asked him, "Well, what are you going to do
now?You can't go back to the steel mill like that - they'll beat the crap out of you."
Auntie Jehri gave a little giggle. "Oh honey I know that. I quit that job before the
operation. I'm going to do what I've always wanted. I'm going to move to Tijuana, Mexico,
and become the best prostitute they've ever seen. I want to feel as dirty as possible. I
want to seduce all the tourists that come through and make tons of pesos. I want to be








34
Fall 1999
the
queen
of
whores
south of
the border
.
I just want to live like
a
woman. A real lady."
All of this was too much
to handle.
My Uncle Jeny now wants to be a Tijuana
whore. I
couldn't
let my family bear that kind of shame. So I walked to the kitchen
and
found
a
frying pan
to
beat him with
repeatedly
over the head until he
came
to his senses
and
reversed his operation. Sure, he was
a sloppy
violent drunk before, but at least he
was
normal I found
a frying
pan with some good weight to it when
all
of
a sudden
Auntie
Jehri
said, "You
hungry Bri-bri?
Let's
go to Burger King!" Well, I was hungry,
and
I do
like Burger King, so I dropped the frying pan and followed Auntie Jehri
out
to his re-
cently
bought flaming pink 1977
Cadillac
convertible.
We arrived
at
the Burger King. Auntie Jehri told me to order anything I wanted, so
I ordered the
chicken
sandwich
combo.
Auntie Jehri had a small french fries and
a small
pink lemonade. This
struck
me
as unusual,
because Uncle Jeny would
always
order four
Whoppers
and
two large fries.
But
I figured that I would be in for
a
lot of surprises from
now on.
We
got
our
food and sat down.
Everyone seated in the place was throwing bad
looks at
Auntie Jehri. I was
so embarrassed
to be there with him. Thank God that none
of my friends were
there. But
just as I
bit in to my
chicken
sandwich, two of
Uncle
Jerry's
friends walked
in.
I
recognized them
as
Earl and Big Roy. They
worked with Uncle
Jeny
at the steel mill and drank with
him
frequently.
I figured that Uncle Jeny would hide his
face and hope
that they wouldn't
see him because
they
would
probably beat him
to
death
with their steel-toed work
boots. But Auntie Jehri
actually stood
up, waved his hand up
and down and said, "Yoo-hoo!
Earl!
Big
Roy!
Come
on over
and say
hello to
your old
buddy!"
"
Oh man," I thought, "this isn't going to be pleasant." Earl and
Big Roy
looked at
each other and then back at Auntie Jehri. They smiled at Auntie
Jehri
and came to our
table.
"Well hello there, sexy mama
.
I don't believe I've had the pleasure." Big Roy said
as he slid next to Auntie Jehri.
"Don't know how you know us, pretty young thing. Must have heard of us by our
reputation as ladies men," Earl said as he spit in his hand and slicked his hair back. All
this time I was hiding my face behind some napkins
.
"You know me boys," Auntie J
e
hri said. "Its me. Jerry Martin! Your old drinking
buddy!"
Earl and Big Roy turned to sour milk in about two seconds. They shot up out of their
seats and shouted every swear in the book at Auntie Jehri. Then Big Roy picked Auntie
Jehri up by the front of his blue daisy print sundress.
"Boy, you done crossed the line. You disgrace the good name of Jefferson's Steel
Mill and th
e
United States of America. And now we're gonna mess up those new pretty
looks
of yours."
Earl
then
stepped in and delivered
a
shot
to Auntie
Jehri's stomach
with
a
plastic
tray. Auntie
Jehri let
out a
hi-pitched
scream
of pain. I was sitting there
and
wondering
what to do?
Should I
stop this?
Maybe he deserves this. Maybe getting beaten bloody is
exactly
what he needs to
set
him
straight.
Then I looked into his
eyes.
They weren't the
eyes of a
horrible person or
a
pervert. They were the
eyes
of a human being. And there
was hurt in them that didn't deserve to be there. I stabbed the steel napkin holder and
swung
it into Earl's genitals. Then I bashed it into the side of Big Roy's head and he



























The Mosaic
35
dropped Auntie Jehri.
··stop it! You guys have no right to do this," I screamed. "Sure, Uncle Jerry's a
woman now, but that doesn't make
him
a bad person.
It
doesn't make him any worse or
any better
.
It
just
makes him different. You have no right to judge someone for turning
into something that they've wanted to be their whole lives. He's actually a nice person
now, if you
looked
past the outside and looked at what he's like inside you would see
that. He wants to be a Tijuana whore, and I for one support him.
If
you can't chase your
dreams, then what good is your life? At least he's got guts and that's more than I can say
for most people. Let's go, Auntie Jehri." Auntie Jebri looked at me with tears in his eyes.
As we walked out of that Burger King and into the future, he gave Big Roy a last kick to
the groin.
A week
later
Auntie
Jehri
moved to Tijuana
.
I never saw
him
again, but he sent
me several
postcards that would say things like,
"Having a great time in
Tijuana.
Lots of
degrading,
dirty
sex and
margaritas. Hope
you're doing well in school!" I'll
never
forget
my transsexual Uncle Jerry
.
He
taught me that a person should set himself free and not
be afraid to show their true colors.
Auntie
Jehri's courage still inspires me. He wasn't a
good man, but he was a
great
woman.
IMJllffl
lrfllll~
~~~
~~
~1aA1m!D.
t,l.n'M'WN11Stll\'Twar'"'8f,
~~~
ltMl<:NM~\Jl'.I~~
~ ~ 1 6 1 a S ( : m , ~
~M'((,:a)(:»M)'WISR!S'IO'MM.
'1JTlOM'M:t.1'.
"'TX:Ml'l,Bl:'Jll'MlAIDOFMIRIM:,
~ C F M l a
fv,oecx,ur,,
PWMlff'FlOM'~~
'Just
'Tliis
Once•
Jll.nongmous
'.You
'
re
wfiat
fioUs
me
up from
faffing
anif wfiat
fig/its
up
my
ifay
-
tfie one I want to le.now me, tfie
one
to sfiow me
tfie way
-
/ t fiurts fik;f
fie{{ wfien I tfiin le.
tfiis is tfie enif.
It
'
{{
tak;f
more
tfian
frienasfiip
for
tfiis
fieart
to
men if
-
I'm
fieaas
over fiee{s,
I
want
you
to
le.now-
if you 'a just kjss me tfiis once ...
anif
{eave
me
afone
.
..




36
Fall 1999













'By
'Mefinaa
O'Caffaghan
I see you
as grana
as
a
p(atinum
statue
pfocea up high
as
a
perfect
scu{pture
comp{ete{y out of reach
as
something
more
than
human
I see you
not as you are
6ut,
as
J'a
{il(f
you to 6e
I
see you
as a a.ream
come
true
as the coffage
of a{{ l ever wantea
as
the
ca{m
of
my storm
as
the
heat
of
my
ffome
as
the
rhythm of my song
I
see
you
as a fantasy
not as
a reafity
ana
6ecause
of that
I have mis
s
ea
the truth
of
wfio
you are
k_nowing
fiow
I
se:e
you
I 6eg of you
to tak_e away
tfiese
rose
coforea
gfosses
ana {et me see
your face
ana fie(p
me
to stop
6eing 6finaea
6y
my
imagination
.
The Mosaic
I'm Not a Poit
:By Jia'ia'iiea Canak
I'm not a poit
It\,;
trui
I $ay
Tlnd I wouldn't han it any
othir
way
My imotion$ ari $hallow
Thiri'a,;
no pain in my hiart
37
Thi$ poim took
mi
almo$t an hour to $tart
I'll
$ay it again
If you didn't hiar it
bif ori
Whin I a'itart writing poima'i, it alwaya'i inda'i
with a a'inori
I don't a'iit and pondir
Why thing$ ari thiir way
To tilt you
thi
truth
lifi
i$ pritty okay
I ean't writi with fiiling
Or writi thing$ profound
I ean't think of a'iomithing that rhym!Za'i with
profound
Thia'i poim won't eontain
11
dizpth anymori
Than any movii $tarring Pauly ~hori
I'm writing thi$ poim
To git
ixtra
eridit
I hopi that
it'a'i
good inough that I git it
~o in$tiad of writing poim
eviry day of
thi
w1212k
I'd rathizr wateh my favoritiz a'ihow t>awa'iona'i
Griizk




38
Fall 1999
By Holly Smith


















The Mosaic
Jl:>on't
.£.ecroe
~'1'
mefissa ~air
t'fje
pain
wfjen fje fe~
was
too
intense
to
tali a6out.
l/to one un6erstoo6 wfjat
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in
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HAPPY-
39







40
Fall 1999
"
Sta.rt
H-t.re "









The Mosaic
Mind Eater
By
Heather Clarke
Things gone by
You've destroyed my mind
I've eaten
Away
The good you have wrought
IwasLeftHungyForMore
Skipped through the blood
That leaked from my heart
Painted war paint
I declared war//
Cold is the steel
So
I
had to warm
it
up
The blade is warm
But your body is cold
Oh, dear
Oh, well
Now I draw pictures of my mind
With
your
red life
I laugh now
41





















42
Fall
1999
mourner's
lament
131> !>onna Jaclison
0 misfea6 creature, sore of ijeart!
'ID'1)
min6 an6 souf
reacij
out
to
tijee
'Across tije great expanse
of space
J3etween. m1> worIB an6
tijat of
tijine.
'tijou foofisij
souf; tijou
acijing
ijeart;
t ~ pain,wracl\e6 -ooice
cries out
to
me.
tijougij
tijou
art
gone, tijou f eer st
pain
stilf
'An6 I
stilf Know t~ empt1> ijeart.
0 Wa'1)f
ai6 sour.
Jhow
couIB' st tijou taKe
'tijine
own
poor
;fate witijin t~ ijan6s
'An6 smite tije s:parK tijat stirre6
us
alf
Itt
rigijt
an6
wrong,
an6 ma6e tijee wijofe?
0
cijilli
of
&6,
ijow
couIB'st tijl'
ijeart
Jha-oe
f
aif
e6 tije f
aitij
t~ ;fatijer cra-oes?
'An6 ijow must I continue on
'Af
ong
tije patij tijou faife6
to
taKe?
'tijou foofisij sour. U>~ must tijee &«>elf
In not m1> worIB
,
6ut tijine afone?
Jhow
foofisij I,
to
ijear t~ moans
'An6 stilf con6emn tijee
to
t~ ;fate
.
;for now must I &«>elf witij m1>
pain
U>ijife tijou
art
se-oere6 from tijine
own.
Dark-haired Venus
By Richard Lyszczek
Fire burns inside hotter,
than white hot delicate skin,
to which the world melts.
An array of silent truths held,
in the depths of shadows,
lost and known unto her.
Drifting
through time unforgotten,
it sails
along bound
to
a
forever,
only
you can capture.





START THE NEW CENTURY BY BEING
PUBLISHED IN THE SPRING 2000 MOSAIC!
If
you have any poetry, prose, photography, or other ar-
tistic expression that you would like to submit for pos-
sible publication into the Spring 2000 Mosaic, please
drop a copy of the work in the Literary Arts mailbox in
the Council of Clubs room, located in the Student Cen-
ter, or get in contact with Donna Jackson for more infor-
mation. All work will be returned in its original condition.
Watch for deadlines posted around campus .




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