Mosaic_S_1998.xml
Media
Part of The Mosaic: Spring 1998
content
Literar\r Arts
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5 / 9 8
Stumbling Through Dreams is a MOSAIC that walks a fine line
between reality and illusion. Within you'll find various works of
incredible imagination and gripping description. Between these
covers you'll discover works of romance, humor, and oddity.
Among these words will be uncovered the mysteries of your heart.
Will you like it? Of c
o
urse! Just
g
ive it a try and immerse
yourself in a world of complete fantasy.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Cover Art by Mike Kershaw
Rear Cover Art (Infocalypse) by Gambit32
Marist Funk by Ekralc Rehtaeh
Untitled by Janna
De
Vito
Between Extremes
by
Chelsey Ferrigno
Untitled by Maria Schiano
Middle Amet;ica
by
Eric Tucker
Art by Jay Dymond
Nothing Wish by Christian Tenczar
History of an Orange Peel by Giovana Coppola
Untitled by Lauren Kahofer
Untitled by Jennifer Williams
Untitled by Lydia Damasco
Metal
Rain
by Joseph Laposta
Kneeling Soldier,
art
by
Sue Goodwin
Untitled by Molly Larkin
Untitled by J~ Patriss
Untitled by Heather Suydam
Restless by Jaime Smith
Sunset by Donna Jackson
The Sleeper: photo+story by Scott Neville
Restraint by fhomas Gallagher
Photo by Shannon Iko
Art by Heather Clarke
Blackwell by Scott Thompson
Untitled by Lucas Tucker
Photo by Marek Mezyk
The Mountain by
J.
Veley
Untitled
by
ORG
Art by Unknown
The Beach
by
Kara Cerrilli
Ashes of Fire by Jason Martin
Nonsense by the Literary Arts Society Editor-&
List of Editors:
Heather Clarke
Christian Tenczar
Chelsey Ferrigno
Joe Patriss
Eric
DeRiggi
Mike Kershaw
Donna Jackson
Maria Schial)-0
Eric Dahlen
James Pisano
Aileen Sargent
Mark Bielaweic
Amy Spero
Angela Lovei;so
Chief Editors
:
Scott Neville
Jeff Novakouski
03
04
05
05
06
07
08
09
lO
11
11
12
13
14
15
15
1-6
17
18
20
2()
21
22
23
24
24
25
26
27
28
29
001-000-666
Conspiracy
Theory:
B
y
: Ekralc Rehtaeh
Marist Funk
Here at Marist College we have all smelled the lingering stench that seems to emanate from somewhere
behind
Leo
and Sheahan Hall
,
a stench which on a good day can be smelled from much farther awa
y.
Students tend to
just wrinkle their noses and continue on their way. What they do not know is that this stench, this so-called "Marist
Funlc," is actually a devastating gas
.
This
"
Marist Funlc
"
is actually a biological weapon which is being tested on the many students of this fine
college
.
The government has made a deal with the superiors of Marist to administer the test on the unsuspecting
students
.
The effects are very hard to notice at first
,
but the long time effects can be extremely devastating
.
What is even eerier is that it appears that the government wanted all computer science majors to be immune to
this poisonous gas
.
This is probably because they did not want the CS majors snapping and hacking into a large
business or government computer and wreaking havoc
.
Or
it could be that the creator of this gas was himself (or
herself) a computer science major and has a weakness for them
.
For whatever reason
,
they have been given the
immunity
.
The immunity was achieved
by
having subconscious programming tell the brain which antibodies to create
.
The subconscious programming was done
by
flashing messages across computer screens at a rate too fast for the
conscious mind to detect. This seems to be done after a person has been a computer science major for more than two
semesters
,
just to make sure the student will not change majors
.
Unfortunatel
y,
CS minors do not seem to have the
privilege of this immunity
.
Faculty are also immune to an
y
and all s
i
de effects
.
But the
y
are aware of the gas and are regularl
y
administered a
pill which keeps the gas from doing any harm to their system
.
The
y
are also paid a hefty amount to keep their mouths
shut. (Your tax dollars at work, folks.) Unfortunatel
y,
the so-called
"
adjunct
"
professors and teachers are never allowed
to know of the existence of the gas or administered the pill
.
But the government believes that since the
y
spend so little
time around the
funk,
they will suffer little to no side effects
.
At least
,
that is what they hypothesize
.
Onl
y
t
i
me will tell.
This
gas
has varying effects on the student body
.
To some it creates an unnatural high at the most inconvenient
of times
,
a side effect to which I often fall victim
.
The person usuall
y
bursts into fits of laughter at the most
inconvenient times and is unable to stop
.
The victims tend to babble on about completely random subjects and create
outrageous ideas at this time. Dancing about campus
,
spinning in the rotunda
,
playing outside in the snow late at night
with shorts on
,
and
sc
reaming at people who live in Champagnat for no apparent reason are common with side effects
.
Delusions of grandeur are also common effects
.
This tends to follow the unnatural high
.
This side effect seems
to have people who come up with outrageous ideas
,
and then actuall
y
follow them through. This can often result in
bodily harm or fellow peers believing the person to be far past the sanity line
.
When a group of students all ha
v
e fallen
victim to this at the same time
,
all hell can break loose
.
If
y
ou see a group you believe ma
y
be in this stage
,
run
.
Listlessness is also common
,
especiall
y
after a long bout of the unnatural high
.
This causes man
y
students to
sleep much later than they intended, often resulting in missing earl
y
morning classes
.
Alarms are of no use when this
occurs
.
Often a student will just smack the alarm or sleep through it entirely. When someone suffering from listlessness
actually moves about
,
the
y
drag their feet and often mumble nonsense
.
It
is not uncommon for them to do this out loud
to themselves.
Detachment from reality is another effect on the brain
.
Students who role-play (AD&D
,
Vampire
,
etc
.
) and those
who watch anime (Japanimation) seem to fall victim to this side effect the easiest. The student often forgets where the line
between reality and fantasy starts and ends
.
They will also sometimes create names for themselves to fit their fantasy
person
,
such as Mistress Undead (a case where the student actuall
y
believed she was undead and ruled over armies of
other undead, a sad case really) or nicknaming themselves after anime characters and prancing about as
if
they actuall
y
were the character in question
.
The long-term effects usuall
y
take the form of one of the explained side effects
,
but become permanent. The
long-term effects settle in after the student has gradua
t
ed
.
This is due to an almost withdrawal-like affect on the mind
which becomes used to the body inhaling the gas
.
The brain then slips into one of the side effects and ne
v
er slips back
out again
.
There are a lucky few who
,
after escaping the
"
Marist Funk,
"
ma
y
never suffer from this and will onl
y
have
relapses ( almost like 'Nam flashbacks) once
in
a while.
The onl
y
bit of advice I can give you is to either become a CS major or ride the wa
v
e of insanity
.
As the sa
y
ing
goes
, "
I am not suffering from insanity
,
I enjoy every minute of it.
"
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Cfie(se91'errigno
5
Middle America
By Eric Tucker
Dad sits and smokes his pipe while reading the paper in Middle America.
Mom is baking cookies in a prim white apron that says kiss the cook in Middle
America.
Bobby has his first, nervous groping slow dance in Middle America.
They all grow up young in Middle America.
The paperboy is throwing crooked and nursing his hangover in Middle America.
Young love blossoms young and brings young to those too young in Middle America.
They play games and ignore TV and the rest of the world in Middle America.
The churches are always full and so is the cemetery in Middle America.
A little boy dreams of dragons and elves and will never see his tenth birthday in
Middle America.
Three teens join hands around the pentagram and chant to Satan in Middle
America.
The lover's rut and
r**
like beasts in the backseat of Daddy's Pontiac in Middle
America.
He hits her to show his love and kisses the bruises to prove it in Middle America.
A black family moves in one door down in Middle America.
A cross burns bright to show in the night in Middle America.
The bath water runs red and her wrist hangs limp in Middle America.
The young boys get their porn off the internet now in Middle America.
Three kids cry while their mom dies in Middle America.
Boy Scouts do their community service and celebrate with a joint in Middle America.
The preacher says Utopia exists in Middle America.
The Clintons say Utopia exists in Middle America.
The haggard bums and wandering vagabonds hope Utopia exists in Middle America.
The wistful long for Middle America.
We all die young in Middle America.
6
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•
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you c\ose your eyes and wish that you cou\d f'\y away
Ruby s\ippers,, P\astic eyes
the Devi\ sees through your disguise
just c\ick your hee\s and hope you wake
up
f'rom this dream
What you see is what you get
just grab another cigarette
Trynottof'a\\
Pray that you don't ran
There's nowhere to f'\ee
I wish I was not me
smoke in and out,, it shou\dn
1
t be too \ong now
The thought or it made me possessed
and through it l•ve become obsessed
it's not my rau\t I want you orr my mind now
Christian Tenczar
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hello, it's me again and i
(you know, i'm never the same when tonight
is eight months ago i whisper blue air)
only wanted to say hi perhaps
i can sit here a minute and
( what? i disturbed your sleep and close your
eyes again against my breasts i breathe your sky)
be near the you that you were
but i am always here i ain
your control group ( experiment
gone awry, perhaps) i am constant
(touch me i shiver
in
the lack of blankets your
nakedness something beautiful i feel no lust only
love and pain the space betw~en us thins as you
become yourself.)
so here i am, take me i'm yours
take me away, carry me off on
your careful hands; you sleep
wrapped around me like a string
around a special-delivery parcel
(i
wake in the early morning hours brush
a kiss against your naked arm your naked face
is perfect in sleep.)
i carry myself out on bare
feet cold floor cold bed empty
in my room your sweat painted
a picture on my flesh that
evaporated by the time my
head hit my own pillow
...
By Jennifer Williams
11
I'm missing your presence
Everyday I wish that you were here
Although you're still near
To my
heart.
I beg to take back all the hurtful
Words that I said to you
Why I did, I wish I knew
And I know it's long past
The time of justification and chance to start
anew
It was supposed to be me
But he took you
I thought he of all people knew
You were getting your life together
Mine was falling to shambles
You were given the chance to start over
,
Mine needed to end
I feel that my heartless cruelty
Crushed you heart.
Until your final demise
As the day drudges into the night
I wish you were here
To help me fight
A battle I cannot bear
A battle called
life
I will always miss your presence.
By Lydia Damasco
MrrA!. RAIN
BY JOSEPH !.APos·r A
AND IHEN A f!.ASH Of UGl-H AND IHE WHISPER
Of "fHE
IHUNDER AND WIIH IHIS IHE RAIN s
·
rARIED IO FA!.!.. IHE SHEER
WEIGHI AND VO!.UME Of rr HAS NOI BEEN \j\/rfNESSED FOR
aurrE SOME ·nME. wrrH EVERY fA!.UNG DROP IHERE IS AN UP..
Of CO!.ORS AND A MOMENI !.AIER I FIND MYSE!.f LOOKING
IHROUGH A ~<ALEIDOSCOPE Of PAIN AND IERROR. FOR AL!. I
WANI IO DO IS RUN.t BUI IHIS OP"flON IS No·r FEASIBLE Bf ...
CAUSE rr EQUALS DEA"fH ON MANY fRONIS. AL!. I CAN DO IS
KEEP DOWN AND
WEEP
AND OH HOW ·rHE IEARS IASIE!
·r1-1EN AffER AN HOUR OR so ·rHAI SEEMED
u
KE AN f"fER ...
NffY.t IHE RAIN SIOPPED AND ·rHE SUN CAME OUI Of rrs !.AIR
AND SHONE A MOCKING BEAM UPON IHE SCENE IHAI ff!.!.
BEFORE HER WARM Yrr MORBID GRIN. AS IHE BLOOD BLURRED MY
VISION I SA\/\/ IHAI I WAS BLESSED.t If ONE COU!.D CAL!. rr
IHAI. I HAD SURVIVED ANO"fHER Of ·rHE MAE!.SIROMS.t ON!.Y IO
REGRE'f IHE P!.AY IHAI I AC-fED IN. I HAVE BEEN HERE SO !.ONG
IN IHE CONFUSION IHAI IS "fHE SIORM. I AC-fUAL!.Y MISS ·rHE
EMBRACE Of JV\OR"fA!. ·rERROR AND IHE HAND Of INSANrfY
UPON MY SHOU!.DER.t AS If rr WERE ·rrtYING ·ro COMFORI ME. I
DO NOI EVEN KNOW WHAI rr IS IO BE CON\fORIABLE ANY ...
MORE! 'J\/HAI HAS HAPPENED IO MEI?
12
13
1.
I
was writing something to make your vampire
nature rise up and overtake you again.
But then
I
rem em hered that even the darkness
,
of
3
a.m. can't hide your burning fingertips,
itchy to drop rhe spoon
The dim candlelight can't change the way
the walls bounce off your Imagination.
The great legions of your metaphors crowd
your lmle room-the honey on your lips
invites their sting.
2.
I
can't quite master the machinery
of the ohscure-
yet provincial verses can't win hack
your handsome infirmity,
So
I
was casting something to make
your vampire nature creep up
and overtake you again.
But then
I
remem hered that
milky darkness can't hide
even
your burning
f
ingertlps,
quivering over morning porridge.
A
clouded candle's flame
can't change the way
the walls hounce off your
coarse imagination
Legions of your metaphors crowd
your little room-
the honey on your lips invites
their sting.
14
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15
Restless
By Jaime Smith
The sun goes down and here alone I stand
And my restless feet are walking circles in the sand
The darkness of the shadows are like glimmers of my past
You co{Jld be my future if you'd give me half a chance
I think you know I'm here but you don't know who I am
I'm hidden by a fear only you t:ould comprehend
My shroud is the silence of the words I want to say
But if I were to speak I'm afraid you'd slip away
My emotions are betrayed by the color of your eyes
Your eyes are reflections of
the
blue of distant skies
By looking in the mirror, you know some of what I feel
But it's only if
I
speak that the rest will be revealed
The sun goes down and here
-
alone I stand
And my restless feet are walking circles in the sand
The darkness of the shadows are like glimmers of my past
You could be my future
if
you'd give me half a chance
Alone in the darkness, it's more than I can stand
Deep shadows of the night are stretching long across the
sand
Even though you're close, I know you're still
so
far away
And now my eyes are crying tears of clear white rain
The sun comes up; I'm still lying here awake
The silence is unbroken, but the silence I can take
The sky-above -is
~
deep familiar blue
It
doesn't do a thing to dispel my thoughts
-
of
you
The sun-goes down and
-he-re
-
alone I s-tand
And my restless feet are walking circles in the sand
The darkness of the shadows are like glimmers of my past
You could be my fut-0re if you'd give me half a chance ...
16
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17
The Sleeper
Photograph & story by Scott Neville
Sinking. Soundlessly floating
down
into the darkness of slumber. His peace
was
complete.
The
raspy breathing filled
the emptiness of the
chamber.
As the sleeper
dove
deeper into
the abyss of
sleep, his furrowed
brow relaxed
and his
eyes began to twitch. Dream.
The darkness slowly faded away,elucidating a
silent
grandeur. The watery
scene,
angelic fish passed unaware of
him.
Their fascinating colors and dazzling
eyes
hypnotized
him as he was steadily propelled by their presence. Deeper, following the unseen path into
the darkness, the sleeper moved
towards
nothing.
Light. A magnificent glow erupts
in
front of his eyes, bringing tears of awe and
disbelief. Gliding down into the
scene,
the _sleeper
1eels
the antiquity and honor of the
marble ruins surrounding him. Tarnished.swords, broken with superhuman force upon
ancient helmets, lie discarded and forgotten, relics of a past beyond the reach of today's
grasp.
Was it Troy of old, or the fabled city of Neptune? The sleeper didn't know, but the
honor and pride of the building, the care and
love
etched
in each
pillar, poured
into
his
bones like parched lips awaiting a drop of
rain.
The feeling was electric, but Silence's hand
choked back even the sigh of amazement.
Suddenly the broken marble wall landscape began to recede, fading into oblivion.
18
The sensation of being pulled back to the surface of the watery depths enveloped him. He
opened his mouth to scream, yearning to catch one more glimpse of the abandoned para-
dise.
A hand gripped tightly around the mid-section, its gentle but firm grip prohibiting
breath to flow into his chest Faster. The unseen force dragged
him through the watery
unknown - an eerie noiseless void.
Darkness veiled the sleeper again, a claustrophobic fear gripping his heart as tightly
as the other hand gripped him like a ragdoll. As it did
this, the darkness slowly brightened
to a gray as
the
motion decreased.
The hand's grip slackened, pouring a sweet breath into his lungs, as though the
sleeper was cloaked in a liquid night.
The upward motion, rising from the depths, ceased as he blinked his eyes for the first
time since the onset of his journey.
Upon opening his dreamy eyes, the sleeper's stomach somersaulted, the chains of
gravity freeing him
of their cumbersome weight The sleeper's eyes adjusted as the scene
lightened.
Floating. A figure was lying soundlessly below, a boy veiled by the cozy cloak of
slumber. A grin was frozen upon
his
serene visage.
Hovering. He saw the dark sheets feet below him. The boy's sleeping chest rising
and
falling, rising and falling.
Only at this point did he realized that the sleeping body was his
own, the body of the silent soul watching himseH from above.
The body continued to sleep, eyelids twitching with dreams as
the
floating spirit
watched in agony.
How could this be? How would he get back? Thoughts rushed through.the
air
that
his phantasmal form hung in.
Wake up! Silence's
heavy
curtain would not lift as the floating soul shrieked sound-
lessly. Ghostly tears streamed down his translucent face, disappearing as they dripped from
his chin.
Let me sleep! Let me live! He reached down, trying to frantically pull himself into the
breathing corpse below. Choking sobs racked his phantasmal figure, as
he
w-atched
his
clawed hands pass through the arm resting on the sheets.
No more! Take me away! The spirit turned his head toward the darkness again,
tightly cinching his-eyelids shut
Light. Warmth. A searing pain pierced his eyes as he opened them slowly. Blind.
Heat The sun of morning caresses the sleeper's face and as he rose from
the
indent in the
soft pillow.
Life. Morning. The aroma of spring crept into
his
nostrils as he rose fo-enjoy the
gift
of consciousness and wholeness.
19
lestrai1-t
t,,seri,afiw:
Waafiq ..
uhflo
tie,1
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20
/
Blackwell
If my lids were open, then could I see
ihe opens her purse and traces
A
~impse
of
Immortality ·
icott Thompson
Lipstick, nylons, and ten thousand faces
But my eyes are dosed, not though I am blind
ihe opens her eyes for a kiss
To help me flnd
Out that failin( s like this·
I smiled fore could cease to
cry
Yield standard heresy ·
Repent mine faith fore aver -
Thy sin of apathy-
I read not but took notice
iaid Truth lost never found -
Heed Pious Truth the Beauty-
Myopic Book renown -
I heard a Tenet preaching lies
Ye tout-de-suite condemn-
iound ofimbued Moloch spies -
Exult! iemper Aedem!
22
Hast thou what I cease to have
lest I found what was lost -
Blithe my spirit -gain -
Immortality- the cost -
That love hath made me blind from Death
Or was it Thou, prithee-
iir Death hath loved both I and Thou
With perfect
symmetry-
Kindred Death -eternal ion -
Inferno hie Us blind -
With I - a veil of solace-
Thee- the spots behind -
Mote the ghosts oflogic
Arisen from the floor-
Behold the Comfit! Exalt!
Aphrodite
-
-nor -
Apollo deter one day, just
Madame alacrity -
Coterie revel -tenet -
With memento mori -
Emotion controls, the fire now coals
Depressions depth, depression's breadth
Boredom aloneness into a shell regress
Hate, feai; annoy, and jeer
Moments away never repay
Hate, fate, date, bait
Lure it in as it's always been
Seventeen-
He has seen Heaven, Hell
In each he's dwelled
Pain suffering disgrace
Those he can't erase
Leave them behind
And happiness find
Seems an impossible mission
Like nuclear fission
To live like a king
Has a false ring
Surrounded by degradation
Take a vacation,
Destitution, restitution, prostitution
I have a vision
Vision helps us see
But the heart must be
The true connection
Here he finds dejection
They tum away
I'll repay
Death attracting
Weapons are calling
Take us up
Take us out
No, I can't he shouts
Even in the worst
My honor I can't burst
Honor keeps him alive
In depression he must strive
Just to stay afloat
As
others are above him in their boats
Those who don't know
Don't understand
Try to give a helping hand
Things just get worse
This place just a curse
There's no way out
No need to shout
Well he'll scream
And he'll dream
(iive what he can
Take from the man
Silence
In depression's steps
There is no escape
Pull back the dark drape
I feel his pain
An injury I'll feign
23
Trampled under the man's foot
Covered in the old fire's soot
Find a way to rekindle
Drawing life's thread off the spindle
Life is there
A hair's distance awa_y
Though he may
try
all day
He can't mov.e
Trying to prove
Not even that small distance
He's contained by a fence
In his hand he holds the key
In his eyes he can see
The keyhole in front of him
But he can't even touch the rim
Depression's walls he can't escape
Its darkness is depression's cape
Drawn over his face
Keeping him in this place
lfhe could
And he would
He should. Race
From this place
He can, he won't
Why stay! Don't
He chooses to dwell here
Is it fear
Escape so close
Hell at most
There he'll roast
The door is opened
Light let in
He drops the key
Knowing he is free
He takes a step
To leave this place where he was kept
The door is then slammed
Theloc-kisjammed
The key he can no longer reach
The room is small to reach
Escape while you can or you'll continue to be banned
Tothehome
Never allowed to roam
,
If there you ever
go
I want you to know
There I'll be
If an exit you want to see
I hold the key
Just look for me
I'll give it to you.
Oh, I thought you knew
Here I'll never myselfleave
What you don't believe!
Then why don't I use the key!
The answer isn't known even to me.
By
Lucas Tucker
24
%eXountain
Grincfi in color
%espring mountains
(ie
'.Protecting tfieir sister,
'1a{{t9
A_p(ace for
tfie sun
to
fii3e
Stcmalng
ta((
cma strong
,-afing
6eating
after
6eating
Creatinga<anasc~e
.,\_pleasant contrast
Against
tfie stonewasfioo
sig
ln tfie narrow _picture
iJflgfif
9
signlf tecm
t
%rougfi tfiewiat
(ens
.,\ mere
fie&. ••
Oie
two
{O\?ers stanaing ato_p
%emountain
I bought a gun today.
Nothing fancy, just a small revolver. Holds five bullets, but I only ne.e.d
one.
I've been sitting here in my bed for the past three hours holding the pistol rubbing my finger along
the chrome of the barrel.
I suspect that it's not real chrome for the f Jty I paid for it, but then again I
haven't owned a gun before so I could be wrong.
At any rate, I memorized every detail of the gun while
daylight still streamed though the edges of my drawn curtains.
But Just
·
as everything else does, the sun
abandoned me to the darkness of my room and the darkness of my heart.
'Why?' I ask myself as spin the gun around my ftnger.
Why dtd I fall in love with her?
Why
did she fall in love with him and not me?
Ah! Silly questions. They matter not.
I cannot change the
truth -
that I'm unwanted, that I'll be unloved for the rest of my life.
The metal of the gun feels cool to my touch as I hold It, and I marvel at the power of release
it holds, just a finger-squeeze away.
Release from the torment, release from the sadness, release from
myself.
Would she break up with him In the future?
Is he destined to die?
Should I kill him?
Does
she have any feeling for me at all?
Is there hope?
I'd like to think that there Is hope, but there Isn't
.
Hope is an idea formed
by
the moronic to give meaning to this Joke of a phase known as life.
There
is no hope.
The lone candle I lit In my room in an attempt to stave off the darkness begins to flicker.
Once
again I will be thrust into the darkness, a bandoneJ
.
by
even.. the small light of the flame
.
know it's
not the candle's choice if it is to burn or it is to go out, but it hurts just the same.
I have always admfred her from afar -
the way she walked, her laugh, her voice, her body, her
mind, her soul,
her -
but he is always to have her, the bastard
.
I should use this gun, my friend, my
release, for a nobler cause than my own suffering, and liberate her, so I can have her, so she could know
happiness, so I could know happiness.
But I won't.
He is a better man than I if he has her.
Hope, is there?
Do I even have a chance in my time on this planet, or should I help nature along
towards its goal to purge the earth of my presence?
There must be hope
.
There has to be. There better
be.
No, I am deluding myself. There is no hope.
I raise the gun to my temple and press the barrel to my flesh.
liked, damn you!
I know the truth. I've always known the truth!
I pull the trigger.
Damn you all who say that I am
There is no hope!
Silence.
I watch the candle finally burn itself out.
The gun slips from my fingers to land on the
floor with a metallic ring.
Maybe tomorrow I'll buy some bullets.
-Ors
25
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29
Thinking of submitting something to the Mosaic?
The Literary Arts Society is looking for submissions for
next semesters MOSAIC. Submissions may include
poetry, short stories (1-4 pages long), artwork,
photography, etc. Original works will be returned to the
owner upon request of the submitter.
Anyone interested in submitting should contact Heather
Clarke or Scott Neville. Completed submissions may be
placed in the Literary Arts mailbox
in
the Council of
Clubs room, located near Student Activities.
Sponsor:
Tel.
(914) 462-4545
Fax# 462-2417
462
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BY
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Owned and Operated by
568
South
Rd
.
"
The
Coppola
Family
"
P
oughkeepsie, NY
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Your Hosts John Coppola
&
Vin
cen
t
Coppola
Mosaic_S_1998_001
Mosaic_S_1998_002
Mosaic_S_1998_003
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Mosaic_S_1998_005
Mosaic_S_1998_006
Mosaic_S_1998_007
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5 / 9 8
Stumbling Through Dreams is a MOSAIC that walks a fine line
between reality and illusion. Within you'll find various works of
incredible imagination and gripping description. Between these
covers you'll discover works of romance, humor, and oddity.
Among these words will be uncovered the mysteries of your heart.
Will you like it? Of c
o
urse! Just
g
ive it a try and immerse
yourself in a world of complete fantasy.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Cover Art by Mike Kershaw
Rear Cover Art (Infocalypse) by Gambit32
Marist Funk by Ekralc Rehtaeh
Untitled by Janna
De
Vito
Between Extremes
by
Chelsey Ferrigno
Untitled by Maria Schiano
Middle Amet;ica
by
Eric Tucker
Art by Jay Dymond
Nothing Wish by Christian Tenczar
History of an Orange Peel by Giovana Coppola
Untitled by Lauren Kahofer
Untitled by Jennifer Williams
Untitled by Lydia Damasco
Metal
Rain
by Joseph Laposta
Kneeling Soldier,
art
by
Sue Goodwin
Untitled by Molly Larkin
Untitled by J~ Patriss
Untitled by Heather Suydam
Restless by Jaime Smith
Sunset by Donna Jackson
The Sleeper: photo+story by Scott Neville
Restraint by fhomas Gallagher
Photo by Shannon Iko
Art by Heather Clarke
Blackwell by Scott Thompson
Untitled by Lucas Tucker
Photo by Marek Mezyk
The Mountain by
J.
Veley
Untitled
by
ORG
Art by Unknown
The Beach
by
Kara Cerrilli
Ashes of Fire by Jason Martin
Nonsense by the Literary Arts Society Editor-&
List of Editors:
Heather Clarke
Christian Tenczar
Chelsey Ferrigno
Joe Patriss
Eric
DeRiggi
Mike Kershaw
Donna Jackson
Maria Schial)-0
Eric Dahlen
James Pisano
Aileen Sargent
Mark Bielaweic
Amy Spero
Angela Lovei;so
Chief Editors
:
Scott Neville
Jeff Novakouski
03
04
05
05
06
07
08
09
lO
11
11
12
13
14
15
15
1-6
17
18
20
2()
21
22
23
24
24
25
26
27
28
29
001-000-666
Conspiracy
Theory:
B
y
: Ekralc Rehtaeh
Marist Funk
Here at Marist College we have all smelled the lingering stench that seems to emanate from somewhere
behind
Leo
and Sheahan Hall
,
a stench which on a good day can be smelled from much farther awa
y.
Students tend to
just wrinkle their noses and continue on their way. What they do not know is that this stench, this so-called "Marist
Funlc," is actually a devastating gas
.
This
"
Marist Funlc
"
is actually a biological weapon which is being tested on the many students of this fine
college
.
The government has made a deal with the superiors of Marist to administer the test on the unsuspecting
students
.
The effects are very hard to notice at first
,
but the long time effects can be extremely devastating
.
What is even eerier is that it appears that the government wanted all computer science majors to be immune to
this poisonous gas
.
This is probably because they did not want the CS majors snapping and hacking into a large
business or government computer and wreaking havoc
.
Or
it could be that the creator of this gas was himself (or
herself) a computer science major and has a weakness for them
.
For whatever reason
,
they have been given the
immunity
.
The immunity was achieved
by
having subconscious programming tell the brain which antibodies to create
.
The subconscious programming was done
by
flashing messages across computer screens at a rate too fast for the
conscious mind to detect. This seems to be done after a person has been a computer science major for more than two
semesters
,
just to make sure the student will not change majors
.
Unfortunatel
y,
CS minors do not seem to have the
privilege of this immunity
.
Faculty are also immune to an
y
and all s
i
de effects
.
But the
y
are aware of the gas and are regularl
y
administered a
pill which keeps the gas from doing any harm to their system
.
The
y
are also paid a hefty amount to keep their mouths
shut. (Your tax dollars at work, folks.) Unfortunatel
y,
the so-called
"
adjunct
"
professors and teachers are never allowed
to know of the existence of the gas or administered the pill
.
But the government believes that since the
y
spend so little
time around the
funk,
they will suffer little to no side effects
.
At least
,
that is what they hypothesize
.
Onl
y
t
i
me will tell.
This
gas
has varying effects on the student body
.
To some it creates an unnatural high at the most inconvenient
of times
,
a side effect to which I often fall victim
.
The person usuall
y
bursts into fits of laughter at the most
inconvenient times and is unable to stop
.
The victims tend to babble on about completely random subjects and create
outrageous ideas at this time. Dancing about campus
,
spinning in the rotunda
,
playing outside in the snow late at night
with shorts on
,
and
sc
reaming at people who live in Champagnat for no apparent reason are common with side effects
.
Delusions of grandeur are also common effects
.
This tends to follow the unnatural high
.
This side effect seems
to have people who come up with outrageous ideas
,
and then actuall
y
follow them through. This can often result in
bodily harm or fellow peers believing the person to be far past the sanity line
.
When a group of students all ha
v
e fallen
victim to this at the same time
,
all hell can break loose
.
If
y
ou see a group you believe ma
y
be in this stage
,
run
.
Listlessness is also common
,
especiall
y
after a long bout of the unnatural high
.
This causes man
y
students to
sleep much later than they intended, often resulting in missing earl
y
morning classes
.
Alarms are of no use when this
occurs
.
Often a student will just smack the alarm or sleep through it entirely. When someone suffering from listlessness
actually moves about
,
the
y
drag their feet and often mumble nonsense
.
It
is not uncommon for them to do this out loud
to themselves.
Detachment from reality is another effect on the brain
.
Students who role-play (AD&D
,
Vampire
,
etc
.
) and those
who watch anime (Japanimation) seem to fall victim to this side effect the easiest. The student often forgets where the line
between reality and fantasy starts and ends
.
They will also sometimes create names for themselves to fit their fantasy
person
,
such as Mistress Undead (a case where the student actuall
y
believed she was undead and ruled over armies of
other undead, a sad case really) or nicknaming themselves after anime characters and prancing about as
if
they actuall
y
were the character in question
.
The long-term effects usuall
y
take the form of one of the explained side effects
,
but become permanent. The
long-term effects settle in after the student has gradua
t
ed
.
This is due to an almost withdrawal-like affect on the mind
which becomes used to the body inhaling the gas
.
The brain then slips into one of the side effects and ne
v
er slips back
out again
.
There are a lucky few who
,
after escaping the
"
Marist Funk,
"
ma
y
never suffer from this and will onl
y
have
relapses ( almost like 'Nam flashbacks) once
in
a while.
The onl
y
bit of advice I can give you is to either become a CS major or ride the wa
v
e of insanity
.
As the sa
y
ing
goes
, "
I am not suffering from insanity
,
I enjoy every minute of it.
"
3
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Cfie(se91'errigno
5
Middle America
By Eric Tucker
Dad sits and smokes his pipe while reading the paper in Middle America.
Mom is baking cookies in a prim white apron that says kiss the cook in Middle
America.
Bobby has his first, nervous groping slow dance in Middle America.
They all grow up young in Middle America.
The paperboy is throwing crooked and nursing his hangover in Middle America.
Young love blossoms young and brings young to those too young in Middle America.
They play games and ignore TV and the rest of the world in Middle America.
The churches are always full and so is the cemetery in Middle America.
A little boy dreams of dragons and elves and will never see his tenth birthday in
Middle America.
Three teens join hands around the pentagram and chant to Satan in Middle
America.
The lover's rut and
r**
like beasts in the backseat of Daddy's Pontiac in Middle
America.
He hits her to show his love and kisses the bruises to prove it in Middle America.
A black family moves in one door down in Middle America.
A cross burns bright to show in the night in Middle America.
The bath water runs red and her wrist hangs limp in Middle America.
The young boys get their porn off the internet now in Middle America.
Three kids cry while their mom dies in Middle America.
Boy Scouts do their community service and celebrate with a joint in Middle America.
The preacher says Utopia exists in Middle America.
The Clintons say Utopia exists in Middle America.
The haggard bums and wandering vagabonds hope Utopia exists in Middle America.
The wistful long for Middle America.
We all die young in Middle America.
6
·
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fio
thiog
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sh
Heaven doesn
'
t p\ay your game
your f'avorite doesn
•
tknow your name
you c\ose your eyes and wish that you cou\d f'\y away
Ruby s\ippers,, P\astic eyes
the Devi\ sees through your disguise
just c\ick your hee\s and hope you wake
up
f'rom this dream
What you see is what you get
just grab another cigarette
Trynottof'a\\
Pray that you don't ran
There's nowhere to f'\ee
I wish I was not me
smoke in and out,, it shou\dn
1
t be too \ong now
The thought or it made me possessed
and through it l•ve become obsessed
it's not my rau\t I want you orr my mind now
Christian Tenczar
I --pa55Q.d 1r)rougD J.<155f~Q.Q. on
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hello, it's me again and i
(you know, i'm never the same when tonight
is eight months ago i whisper blue air)
only wanted to say hi perhaps
i can sit here a minute and
( what? i disturbed your sleep and close your
eyes again against my breasts i breathe your sky)
be near the you that you were
but i am always here i ain
your control group ( experiment
gone awry, perhaps) i am constant
(touch me i shiver
in
the lack of blankets your
nakedness something beautiful i feel no lust only
love and pain the space betw~en us thins as you
become yourself.)
so here i am, take me i'm yours
take me away, carry me off on
your careful hands; you sleep
wrapped around me like a string
around a special-delivery parcel
(i
wake in the early morning hours brush
a kiss against your naked arm your naked face
is perfect in sleep.)
i carry myself out on bare
feet cold floor cold bed empty
in my room your sweat painted
a picture on my flesh that
evaporated by the time my
head hit my own pillow
...
By Jennifer Williams
11
I'm missing your presence
Everyday I wish that you were here
Although you're still near
To my
heart.
I beg to take back all the hurtful
Words that I said to you
Why I did, I wish I knew
And I know it's long past
The time of justification and chance to start
anew
It was supposed to be me
But he took you
I thought he of all people knew
You were getting your life together
Mine was falling to shambles
You were given the chance to start over
,
Mine needed to end
I feel that my heartless cruelty
Crushed you heart.
Until your final demise
As the day drudges into the night
I wish you were here
To help me fight
A battle I cannot bear
A battle called
life
I will always miss your presence.
By Lydia Damasco
MrrA!. RAIN
BY JOSEPH !.APos·r A
AND IHEN A f!.ASH Of UGl-H AND IHE WHISPER
Of "fHE
IHUNDER AND WIIH IHIS IHE RAIN s
·
rARIED IO FA!.!.. IHE SHEER
WEIGHI AND VO!.UME Of rr HAS NOI BEEN \j\/rfNESSED FOR
aurrE SOME ·nME. wrrH EVERY fA!.UNG DROP IHERE IS AN UP..
Of CO!.ORS AND A MOMENI !.AIER I FIND MYSE!.f LOOKING
IHROUGH A ~<ALEIDOSCOPE Of PAIN AND IERROR. FOR AL!. I
WANI IO DO IS RUN.t BUI IHIS OP"flON IS No·r FEASIBLE Bf ...
CAUSE rr EQUALS DEA"fH ON MANY fRONIS. AL!. I CAN DO IS
KEEP DOWN AND
WEEP
AND OH HOW ·rHE IEARS IASIE!
·r1-1EN AffER AN HOUR OR so ·rHAI SEEMED
u
KE AN f"fER ...
NffY.t IHE RAIN SIOPPED AND ·rHE SUN CAME OUI Of rrs !.AIR
AND SHONE A MOCKING BEAM UPON IHE SCENE IHAI ff!.!.
BEFORE HER WARM Yrr MORBID GRIN. AS IHE BLOOD BLURRED MY
VISION I SA\/\/ IHAI I WAS BLESSED.t If ONE COU!.D CAL!. rr
IHAI. I HAD SURVIVED ANO"fHER Of ·rHE MAE!.SIROMS.t ON!.Y IO
REGRE'f IHE P!.AY IHAI I AC-fED IN. I HAVE BEEN HERE SO !.ONG
IN IHE CONFUSION IHAI IS "fHE SIORM. I AC-fUAL!.Y MISS ·rHE
EMBRACE Of JV\OR"fA!. ·rERROR AND IHE HAND Of INSANrfY
UPON MY SHOU!.DER.t AS If rr WERE ·rrtYING ·ro COMFORI ME. I
DO NOI EVEN KNOW WHAI rr IS IO BE CON\fORIABLE ANY ...
MORE! 'J\/HAI HAS HAPPENED IO MEI?
12
13
1.
I
was writing something to make your vampire
nature rise up and overtake you again.
But then
I
rem em hered that even the darkness
,
of
3
a.m. can't hide your burning fingertips,
itchy to drop rhe spoon
The dim candlelight can't change the way
the walls bounce off your Imagination.
The great legions of your metaphors crowd
your lmle room-the honey on your lips
invites their sting.
2.
I
can't quite master the machinery
of the ohscure-
yet provincial verses can't win hack
your handsome infirmity,
So
I
was casting something to make
your vampire nature creep up
and overtake you again.
But then
I
remem hered that
milky darkness can't hide
even
your burning
f
ingertlps,
quivering over morning porridge.
A
clouded candle's flame
can't change the way
the walls hounce off your
coarse imagination
Legions of your metaphors crowd
your little room-
the honey on your lips invites
their sting.
14
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15
Restless
By Jaime Smith
The sun goes down and here alone I stand
And my restless feet are walking circles in the sand
The darkness of the shadows are like glimmers of my past
You co{Jld be my future if you'd give me half a chance
I think you know I'm here but you don't know who I am
I'm hidden by a fear only you t:ould comprehend
My shroud is the silence of the words I want to say
But if I were to speak I'm afraid you'd slip away
My emotions are betrayed by the color of your eyes
Your eyes are reflections of
the
blue of distant skies
By looking in the mirror, you know some of what I feel
But it's only if
I
speak that the rest will be revealed
The sun goes down and here
-
alone I stand
And my restless feet are walking circles in the sand
The darkness of the shadows are like glimmers of my past
You could be my future
if
you'd give me half a chance
Alone in the darkness, it's more than I can stand
Deep shadows of the night are stretching long across the
sand
Even though you're close, I know you're still
so
far away
And now my eyes are crying tears of clear white rain
The sun comes up; I'm still lying here awake
The silence is unbroken, but the silence I can take
The sky-above -is
~
deep familiar blue
It
doesn't do a thing to dispel my thoughts
-
of
you
The sun-goes down and
-he-re
-
alone I s-tand
And my restless feet are walking circles in the sand
The darkness of the shadows are like glimmers of my past
You could be my fut-0re if you'd give me half a chance ...
16
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17
The Sleeper
Photograph & story by Scott Neville
Sinking. Soundlessly floating
down
into the darkness of slumber. His peace
was
complete.
The
raspy breathing filled
the emptiness of the
chamber.
As the sleeper
dove
deeper into
the abyss of
sleep, his furrowed
brow relaxed
and his
eyes began to twitch. Dream.
The darkness slowly faded away,elucidating a
silent
grandeur. The watery
scene,
angelic fish passed unaware of
him.
Their fascinating colors and dazzling
eyes
hypnotized
him as he was steadily propelled by their presence. Deeper, following the unseen path into
the darkness, the sleeper moved
towards
nothing.
Light. A magnificent glow erupts
in
front of his eyes, bringing tears of awe and
disbelief. Gliding down into the
scene,
the _sleeper
1eels
the antiquity and honor of the
marble ruins surrounding him. Tarnished.swords, broken with superhuman force upon
ancient helmets, lie discarded and forgotten, relics of a past beyond the reach of today's
grasp.
Was it Troy of old, or the fabled city of Neptune? The sleeper didn't know, but the
honor and pride of the building, the care and
love
etched
in each
pillar, poured
into
his
bones like parched lips awaiting a drop of
rain.
The feeling was electric, but Silence's hand
choked back even the sigh of amazement.
Suddenly the broken marble wall landscape began to recede, fading into oblivion.
18
The sensation of being pulled back to the surface of the watery depths enveloped him. He
opened his mouth to scream, yearning to catch one more glimpse of the abandoned para-
dise.
A hand gripped tightly around the mid-section, its gentle but firm grip prohibiting
breath to flow into his chest Faster. The unseen force dragged
him through the watery
unknown - an eerie noiseless void.
Darkness veiled the sleeper again, a claustrophobic fear gripping his heart as tightly
as the other hand gripped him like a ragdoll. As it did
this, the darkness slowly brightened
to a gray as
the
motion decreased.
The hand's grip slackened, pouring a sweet breath into his lungs, as though the
sleeper was cloaked in a liquid night.
The upward motion, rising from the depths, ceased as he blinked his eyes for the first
time since the onset of his journey.
Upon opening his dreamy eyes, the sleeper's stomach somersaulted, the chains of
gravity freeing him
of their cumbersome weight The sleeper's eyes adjusted as the scene
lightened.
Floating. A figure was lying soundlessly below, a boy veiled by the cozy cloak of
slumber. A grin was frozen upon
his
serene visage.
Hovering. He saw the dark sheets feet below him. The boy's sleeping chest rising
and
falling, rising and falling.
Only at this point did he realized that the sleeping body was his
own, the body of the silent soul watching himseH from above.
The body continued to sleep, eyelids twitching with dreams as
the
floating spirit
watched in agony.
How could this be? How would he get back? Thoughts rushed through.the
air
that
his phantasmal form hung in.
Wake up! Silence's
heavy
curtain would not lift as the floating soul shrieked sound-
lessly. Ghostly tears streamed down his translucent face, disappearing as they dripped from
his chin.
Let me sleep! Let me live! He reached down, trying to frantically pull himself into the
breathing corpse below. Choking sobs racked his phantasmal figure, as
he
w-atched
his
clawed hands pass through the arm resting on the sheets.
No more! Take me away! The spirit turned his head toward the darkness again,
tightly cinching his-eyelids shut
Light. Warmth. A searing pain pierced his eyes as he opened them slowly. Blind.
Heat The sun of morning caresses the sleeper's face and as he rose from
the
indent in the
soft pillow.
Life. Morning. The aroma of spring crept into
his
nostrils as he rose fo-enjoy the
gift
of consciousness and wholeness.
19
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20
/
Blackwell
If my lids were open, then could I see
ihe opens her purse and traces
A
~impse
of
Immortality ·
icott Thompson
Lipstick, nylons, and ten thousand faces
But my eyes are dosed, not though I am blind
ihe opens her eyes for a kiss
To help me flnd
Out that failin( s like this·
I smiled fore could cease to
cry
Yield standard heresy ·
Repent mine faith fore aver -
Thy sin of apathy-
I read not but took notice
iaid Truth lost never found -
Heed Pious Truth the Beauty-
Myopic Book renown -
I heard a Tenet preaching lies
Ye tout-de-suite condemn-
iound ofimbued Moloch spies -
Exult! iemper Aedem!
22
Hast thou what I cease to have
lest I found what was lost -
Blithe my spirit -gain -
Immortality- the cost -
That love hath made me blind from Death
Or was it Thou, prithee-
iir Death hath loved both I and Thou
With perfect
symmetry-
Kindred Death -eternal ion -
Inferno hie Us blind -
With I - a veil of solace-
Thee- the spots behind -
Mote the ghosts oflogic
Arisen from the floor-
Behold the Comfit! Exalt!
Aphrodite
-
-nor -
Apollo deter one day, just
Madame alacrity -
Coterie revel -tenet -
With memento mori -
Emotion controls, the fire now coals
Depressions depth, depression's breadth
Boredom aloneness into a shell regress
Hate, feai; annoy, and jeer
Moments away never repay
Hate, fate, date, bait
Lure it in as it's always been
Seventeen-
He has seen Heaven, Hell
In each he's dwelled
Pain suffering disgrace
Those he can't erase
Leave them behind
And happiness find
Seems an impossible mission
Like nuclear fission
To live like a king
Has a false ring
Surrounded by degradation
Take a vacation,
Destitution, restitution, prostitution
I have a vision
Vision helps us see
But the heart must be
The true connection
Here he finds dejection
They tum away
I'll repay
Death attracting
Weapons are calling
Take us up
Take us out
No, I can't he shouts
Even in the worst
My honor I can't burst
Honor keeps him alive
In depression he must strive
Just to stay afloat
As
others are above him in their boats
Those who don't know
Don't understand
Try to give a helping hand
Things just get worse
This place just a curse
There's no way out
No need to shout
Well he'll scream
And he'll dream
(iive what he can
Take from the man
Silence
In depression's steps
There is no escape
Pull back the dark drape
I feel his pain
An injury I'll feign
23
Trampled under the man's foot
Covered in the old fire's soot
Find a way to rekindle
Drawing life's thread off the spindle
Life is there
A hair's distance awa_y
Though he may
try
all day
He can't mov.e
Trying to prove
Not even that small distance
He's contained by a fence
In his hand he holds the key
In his eyes he can see
The keyhole in front of him
But he can't even touch the rim
Depression's walls he can't escape
Its darkness is depression's cape
Drawn over his face
Keeping him in this place
lfhe could
And he would
He should. Race
From this place
He can, he won't
Why stay! Don't
He chooses to dwell here
Is it fear
Escape so close
Hell at most
There he'll roast
The door is opened
Light let in
He drops the key
Knowing he is free
He takes a step
To leave this place where he was kept
The door is then slammed
Theloc-kisjammed
The key he can no longer reach
The room is small to reach
Escape while you can or you'll continue to be banned
Tothehome
Never allowed to roam
,
If there you ever
go
I want you to know
There I'll be
If an exit you want to see
I hold the key
Just look for me
I'll give it to you.
Oh, I thought you knew
Here I'll never myselfleave
What you don't believe!
Then why don't I use the key!
The answer isn't known even to me.
By
Lucas Tucker
24
%eXountain
Grincfi in color
%espring mountains
(ie
'.Protecting tfieir sister,
'1a{{t9
A_p(ace for
tfie sun
to
fii3e
Stcmalng
ta((
cma strong
,-afing
6eating
after
6eating
Creatinga<anasc~e
.,\_pleasant contrast
Against
tfie stonewasfioo
sig
ln tfie narrow _picture
iJflgfif
9
signlf tecm
t
%rougfi tfiewiat
(ens
.,\ mere
fie&. ••
Oie
two
{O\?ers stanaing ato_p
%emountain
I bought a gun today.
Nothing fancy, just a small revolver. Holds five bullets, but I only ne.e.d
one.
I've been sitting here in my bed for the past three hours holding the pistol rubbing my finger along
the chrome of the barrel.
I suspect that it's not real chrome for the f Jty I paid for it, but then again I
haven't owned a gun before so I could be wrong.
At any rate, I memorized every detail of the gun while
daylight still streamed though the edges of my drawn curtains.
But Just
·
as everything else does, the sun
abandoned me to the darkness of my room and the darkness of my heart.
'Why?' I ask myself as spin the gun around my ftnger.
Why dtd I fall in love with her?
Why
did she fall in love with him and not me?
Ah! Silly questions. They matter not.
I cannot change the
truth -
that I'm unwanted, that I'll be unloved for the rest of my life.
The metal of the gun feels cool to my touch as I hold It, and I marvel at the power of release
it holds, just a finger-squeeze away.
Release from the torment, release from the sadness, release from
myself.
Would she break up with him In the future?
Is he destined to die?
Should I kill him?
Does
she have any feeling for me at all?
Is there hope?
I'd like to think that there Is hope, but there Isn't
.
Hope is an idea formed
by
the moronic to give meaning to this Joke of a phase known as life.
There
is no hope.
The lone candle I lit In my room in an attempt to stave off the darkness begins to flicker.
Once
again I will be thrust into the darkness, a bandoneJ
.
by
even.. the small light of the flame
.
know it's
not the candle's choice if it is to burn or it is to go out, but it hurts just the same.
I have always admfred her from afar -
the way she walked, her laugh, her voice, her body, her
mind, her soul,
her -
but he is always to have her, the bastard
.
I should use this gun, my friend, my
release, for a nobler cause than my own suffering, and liberate her, so I can have her, so she could know
happiness, so I could know happiness.
But I won't.
He is a better man than I if he has her.
Hope, is there?
Do I even have a chance in my time on this planet, or should I help nature along
towards its goal to purge the earth of my presence?
There must be hope
.
There has to be. There better
be.
No, I am deluding myself. There is no hope.
I raise the gun to my temple and press the barrel to my flesh.
liked, damn you!
I know the truth. I've always known the truth!
I pull the trigger.
Damn you all who say that I am
There is no hope!
Silence.
I watch the candle finally burn itself out.
The gun slips from my fingers to land on the
floor with a metallic ring.
Maybe tomorrow I'll buy some bullets.
-Ors
25
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Aailocr'ta, 3ocrE1tf1; AacrKorocrKt,
Ma't; Ao<;Epcro, A vyEAa; MolfJEP,
3of1v; NEmtAAE, LXO't't;
Noma1eoucrKt, 3E<p<p\fl; Ilapq>E't't,
Xflptcr; Ila'tptcrcr, 3om1tf1;
Iltcravo, 3aµEcr; Pa<p'ttcr, Xflptcr;
PoPEp-rcr, ~ovva; LUpyEV't,
AtAEEv; LXfltavo, Mapta;
LAEmtv, MEAtcrcra; Lµt'tfl, 3aµtE;
L7tEpo, Aµ\fl; TEvx~ap,
Xflptcr'ttav; <;EAE\fl, 3aµtE;
<;EPXEAAt, AV'tflOV\fJ!
29
Thinking of submitting something to the Mosaic?
The Literary Arts Society is looking for submissions for
next semesters MOSAIC. Submissions may include
poetry, short stories (1-4 pages long), artwork,
photography, etc. Original works will be returned to the
owner upon request of the submitter.
Anyone interested in submitting should contact Heather
Clarke or Scott Neville. Completed submissions may be
placed in the Literary Arts mailbox
in
the Council of
Clubs room, located near Student Activities.
Sponsor:
Tel.
(914) 462-4545
Fax# 462-2417
462
-
4546
CAPPIJ>CINO
BY
COPPOLA'S
ITAL/AN
-
AMERICAN BISTRO
Owned and Operated by
568
South
Rd
.
"
The
Coppola
Family
"
P
oughkeepsie, NY
12601
Your Hosts John Coppola
&
Vin
cen
t
Coppola
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