JANUARY 2016

habitual

habitualit is the nervous ticks, the daily routines, the constant

cycles of thoughts and emotions that make us us.our little habits, good or bad, add to the bits and pieces

of our person.

habitual

content

Bhuiyan, Jamil

Ber, Jeremy

Carroll, Alexandra

Klueter, Brian Lee

Rush, Emily

Sanghera, Armaan

Weiss, Summer

Yardley, Sonnet

Caves of the Mind

Stop to BreatheWandering

Each Time I Think of You

Family Tree

Ticking Time Bomb

Homes

A Sailor’s Wife For Me

Lovely Addictions

5

10

2

8

3

1

4

9

7

It is as if I am trappedI am a lab ratIn a steel cage of both time and energyLack of energy Lack of time

I cannot get out I do not have the key I do not have the passwordI cannot be freed

I work until the next bell ringsI work until the alarm soundsI work until the world tells me to stopAnd then a new project has been found

I work on autopilotI plan for days aheadThis is a habit of mineAnd it consumes my head

I can hear the clock clickSometimes slow, but mostly quickWith the steady rhythm of my heart That beats faster between deadlines, apart

I am a ticking time bombMonochromatic Monotone Montonous

My soul was not made for thisIt was not made to be trapped in a steel cageBut rather a warm body and a clever mind of old ageBut it was not made for this

I see where I am spiraling And the direction is downwardFor this idea of non-living has become a bad habitAnd it won’t stop

Until the next alarm sounds

Ticking Time BombEmily Rush

1

WanderingJamil Bhuiyan

2

My father passes me the blunt. We are on Grandma’s back porch, 2 a.m. the night before Thanksgiving. I inhale too quickly, and start coughing. Everyone’s inside. My grand-parents, aunt and uncle, cousins, they’re all asleep. “What do you think of me?” my father asks. “What do you mean?” I ask back. “When you think about me, what do you think about? What are the first things that come to mind?” “I’m not answering that. Stop asking me ridiculous questions or I’m not gonna give you weed anymore.” We sit quietly for a few minutes. The temperature is brisk, but smoking helps. The silence doesn’t. “What do you think about when you think about yourself?” I ask. “Adulterer. Divorced. Drug addict. Overweight. Unemployed. Bad father. Lover of Michael Douglas films.” “You’re being too hard on yourself,” I say. “We do this every fucking year. We sit here and you tell me about how much your life sucks, and you tell me how much of a fail-ure you are, and we do it again at Christmas. Who cares?” I pass the blunt to him, but he refuses. I put it out, and throw it behind one of the bushes by the back windows. “I once found child pornography on Grandpa’s computer,” he says. I don’t believe him. I tell him. “It was a couple of years ago, before your mother and I got divorced,” he contin-ues. “I wanted to see what photos he had on

Family TreeBrian Lee Klueter

his computer. The screensaver was on, and when I touched the mouse it was just there.” I still don’t believe him. I tell him. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Maybe it’s the weed, or the pity party I like to throw myself, or even the late hour. But it happened. I saw it. And you can’t unsee things like that.” He points his index finger for emphasis. “Why didn’t you say anything about it before?” “You know I’m not perfect. Maybe if you know Grandpa’s not perfect either, you won’t think I’m such a terrible person.” I don’t think he’s a terrible person. I tell him. “What do you think about Grandpa now, knowing what you know?” I don’t tell him. The next day we’re all at the table for dinner. My father sits across from me, eyeing the stuffing. My cousins are talking to each other about Minecraft, and my Grandma, aunt, and uncle are arguing over Donald Trump’s presidential run. Grandpa cuts the turkey slowly, with careful accuracy. He gently places the sliced meat on a shiny platter, and hands it to me. “Take some and pass it on,” he says. He looks at me and smiles. It’s not the same smile. It looks differ-ent, feels different. I hold the meat plate in my hands, and forget what to do with it. “Don’t you want any turkey?” he asks. “I’m not sure.” “Well, what do you want?” I want to live in a world where we’re sure of the things we know. I tell him.

3

Armaan Sanghera

4

“Can we get a few to-go containers?” Fifteen minutes after we had taken our seats she was already preparing to leave. Julia was an efficient type--the kind that planned her entire day out to the millisecond. She habitually carried around her event calendar and made notes in it throughout the day. I had planned to meet her here for dinner tonight two weeks earlier, as suggested in her documents. What was it she said? “I’ll check if I have time.” She talked to the waitress more than me that night. If I had any hopes of furthering our relationship, I had to catch her attention. “How about dessert?” I modestly asked both Julia and the waitress. They exchanged glances as if to say, Is this guy for real? “I don’t think so. Just the check, thanks.” She stared down at her phone as the waitress left to print the receipt. The silence was something only heard in deep space. Not even the clinking of glass-es and the chatter from the elderly couple two booths down from us detracted from the lack of noise. With a deep sigh, she raised her eyes while maintaining eye contact with her phone screen. I panicked. “Did you have a good time? I thought my burger was pretty--” “Thanks, guys.” The waitress interjected and Julia put her phone away. “Hey, you have my number, let’s talk later about...that thing.” She smiled up at the waitress as I reached for the check. Outside her apartment on the southern side of downtown Phoenix we stopped and faced each other. “I had a nice time with you tonight, Julia.” Although I didn’t know much about situations like this, I knew this was the “make it or break it” moment of the night. It was either I kissed her now or drive home slamming my hands on the steering wheel in anger. It wasn’t often that these kind of things arose for me. Leaning in and staring into her eyes, I put my arms on her shoulders. I’ll check if I have time… Her words from the back of my mind and I soon felt the sudden doubt that emerges from the caves of the mind when confronted with a situation such as this. “You want to come in?” She released herself from my arms and faced the door. The creak of the door knob turning perked my attention towards the inside of her apartment. The strange sight I was met with was intangible. It was a black abyss that Julia had disappeared into. I could only make out the faintest of outlines within. There was a closet in front of the doorway, and a glass table that I felt with my hands as I crossed the threshold into the apartment. She was gone. “Julia, where’d you go?” I called out into the dark. “I’m upstairs, come on.” Her voice fell flat against the walls and a terror gripped my throat. The front door to her apartment seemed farther away now, as if I had been walking down a long corridor. I didn’t dare look back to see how far I’d come--I could feel the presence of something watching me.

Jeremy BerCaves of the Mind

5

Somehow I made it to the stairwell and started up the stairs. With each step the urge to leave got stron-ger. I held onto the railing and counted the steps. 7...8...9...most houses have no more than 12 steps to the 2nd floor...11...12...13...14...The steps continued. As I labored up the steps I told myself there was no turning back. The stairs carried on and I called out into the darkness, feeling for each and every step. I must have been 20 stories high by now with no end in sight. “Julia?” It was the faintest of murmurs, but with the quietness inside the apartment my voice rang up the stairs. Towards the top rung of the railing I felt around and reached the top step. A blinding light from a room down the hall appeared, and Julia stood in the doorway in what appeared to be pajamas. “Took you long enough!” she shouted from miles away. Out of breath, I made my way towards her room and stepped into the light. It was dark but smoky, with the light penetrating the dark from one solitary corner of the room. “What is going on here?” “Isaac, turn around.” I felt every muscle in my body tremble at this point, and my legs refused to move. Julia’s soft hands grabbed my arms much like I grabbed hers earlier in the day, and she turned my body to face the creatures. There were three of them. Their bodies were tall and grey with smoke-filled translucent skin, and their heads protruding from their stomachs made eye contact with me. Upon further inspection, they did not have legs, but rather hovered above the ground with their square shaped lower half. The pungent odor emanating from them was much like that of a bonfire or a smokehouse. I closed my eyes and clenched every inch of my body. “No.” I whispered. It was then that I felt the knowledge coming from them. I suddenly understood everything about the universe and was at peace with myself. “Open your eyes.” a voice said. It was Julia’s. The light in the room was much brighter now, and the creatures were gone. Julia smiled and gave me a hug. “Isaac, I’m not human. You must understand this now. I’ve been on this planet for many years and I’ll be here for many more. You’re the first person I’ve ever told this, and I want to be perfectly honest--it feels good. Something in your heart, I can see, is pure. I want to tell you everything, but I need your word to keep this our secret until I’m ready to tell others. Can you do that?” “I-I don’t know what to say. Yes, Julia. Of course I will keep your--is your name even Julia?” She looked human. This was crazy, I needed to leave. Jolting for the stairs, I ran down as fast as I could and swung the front door open. The pressurized air from outer space and the rings of Jupiter were the last things I remember seeing before hurtling towards the darkness and suffocating to death.

6

Lovely AddictionsSonnet Yardley

7

I.My heart threatens to tear. The electric pulse signalsthe atria and ventricles, misfires- Shudders through fibers and strings. II.Flashes of flaked gold drift on black water Your stupid voice tells me the picture won’t turn out.I snap anyway. III.I holdMoliere and the corner of your mouth--Wrinkled sheets at our feet. IV.7 oz. can kill me-A surge; an absence, a divorce, or even a break up. V.Broken heart syndrome: associated with depression and often misdiagnosed as a heart attack VI.I can see you are ready for me to pick myself up off of the floor. To brush away tiny pebbles indented into scarred knees, wash the eyeliner out of my finger prints. VII.Stop being so dramatic. VIII.You don’t remember anymore-- the kisses I stole from you:The way my fingers fit between yours. How I stood on the platform and jumped. IX.Van Gogh’s letters to his brother are written in perfect French. X.It was all beep beep boop bop the whole time. We were just too naïve to see it.

Each Time I Think of YouAlexandra Carroll

8

Through rocky seasMy letters crept to youLonging to be uncorked

Returned messagesIn cracked bottlesWater leaked inI clutched the soggy pages

I searchedFrom top of the towerThe light never touched you

Cold winds slapped my faceBut I remainedOn the hillsideWaiting

Your letters becameLess frequent--Must be dead

The ship

Docked

You

Appeared

“Welcome home”You grimacedI cried

Sirens held your heartMermaids filled your mindDesperate, I dug into your eyesBut You were gone

I locked the lighthouse doorYou returned to the village

I am homeless

A Sailor’s Wife For MeSummer Weiss

9

Stop to BreatheJamil Bhuiyan

10

A special thank you to all who contributed.Your submissions always amaze me, and I cannot thank you

enough for the incredible work you submit.Thank you, so much-Summer Weiss

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