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September 16th, 2013 Volume 2, Issue 1

You wouldnt know what hit you until it comes around again to meet you.- Brendan Behan

UntitledEpiphany Compton

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WadAmelia Diehl

You sure you want to do this, man?

Jeremy shied weight on his eet. He looked at the bundle in his

hands, how the paper could almost resemble a dirty mountain range

aer he had crushed it slightly.

Yeah. I mean, he let out a deep sigh, yeah.

Where you wanna do it? You wanna do it here? His riend, hands

on hips, surveyed the pavement. A man walked between them, and

Jeremy stared at his shoes.

Yeah, yeah, this is good, he said.

Jeremy looked at his palms again. He olded out the bills, and held the

stack poised above the round. He grinned. Ten he let the bills all

to the ground. His riend laughed. Jeremy walked away quickly, his

riend ollowing him.

Fair rade (Delillo Orders Coee From Kerouac)Kirby Jayes

Enter the coee shop. Its an attitude as much as a place as

much as this is time. Enter: unassuming pantheon to sel-assured cool.

Grind ground air trade sel righteousness. Tree, our dollars a cup.

Material things. Immaterial beans. Pass o a complicated order like

its not a testament to compulsive have it my way. It just is, just was.

Digested. Fair trade. Please, were all busy here. Lets move it along.

Toughts kept to my sel. Everyone hates everyone in a line. Me rst

me rstMe? Black coee. Just black. Tings to be. Places to do. Busy

man, busy day. Everyones got something on their mind.

***

Its a whirling world behind the counter caught up in the earless

spellbinding jazz o the grinding beans and ritual, always ritual. Little

black clouds o dusts and subtle aromas rise up. Dominant seventh wild

bop resh grounds straight rom the jungles and coee elds. Dont ask

me exactly where, man. I just work hereorchestrator o the antasticbells and whistles o the chiming register. No soulless beeping here

analog baby down to the caeine core. Cool.

Coee: abulous poetry o the urbanite soul in its rituals

and rite. Black? I like me a black coee man. Coee black just like the

tasteless lecherous jokes some ten times a day. Yes, I can believe you

just said that. Old men with sad eyes and sad delight in the bottomless

ecstasy o shock valueall theyve got le to go on. Give them their

little kick, coee mangasppad the tip jar.

Black coee! Easy or me and easier or you. Tree seventy veprice

is just a number, work just a thinggotta get your start and its all

quality.

Fair trade.

***

I take my cup, steaming rom the red, moist hands o this

mornings king o coee. Personal baron o our morning pick-me-up.

In him we trust. In concrete and cellophane and the morality o econ-

omy. Fair trade. Lines beyond lines beyond lines. He has an air about

him. Sure hes a barista nowbarista or baristo?Gender conused

dialect o the bean merchantsbut someday hell be something. Or at

least he carries himsel like hell be something. Tis might be what he

does now but its not what he isat least not yet.

I move on to the next line. Lines beyond lines beyond lines and

another coee shop at the end o the road with another artist behind

the counter waiting on me and waiting to be something. Analog baby.

Black coee. Stay young. Stay hip.

Fair trade.

Paula Khim

We texted all morening beore class, aer you stood me up the night beore. I made a joke about being drunk o bloody marys, but I doubt you

laughed. I dont know i you ever do. But I laugh at yours. I could imagine you saying them, talking out the side o your mouth like you always do-

your tone like old cigarettes. Stale, lingering just barely in the air. A knowing smile as the words escape your mind through the mouth.

You Never Laugh Honore Santa Eulalia

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I ed on plants esh

So bent stems

O waving limbs

Ground to grot

My molars mush

Te loin o ruits

And the owing gush

Te sap sticks

About my lips

Lush goo

Te gummy gnaw

Like stalagmites

Draped my maw

Clenching teeth

With stinging gums

Crazed or laurels

And bosomed wreaths

On wooded maids

Round their necks hung

o their blossomsMy claws clung

I Fed on Plants FleshOrisha Imanja

You, A Campfreess Childress

I never kissed you, only led

your lips to mine. It elt like winning

when you combed back my bangs

with your ngers.

Tis sweater, yours,

is old, pilled, like goosebumpson my arms little blond hairs

reaching out to you.

My whole body slouches

toward LA. I wont give

your sweater back,

but Ill never call it mine.

It still smells like you,

a campre.

Te Armadillo Journal is a ortnightly space or literature and the arts. Were sel-publishing, and

dont make many physical copies, so i you fnd this, share it with your riends, amily, proes-sors, imaginary riends, whoever.

Submit to us!atthearmadillojournal@gmail.com or at our mail center box 314.

Students Look Dead in the Pearsons QuadPhotos by Hugo Alvarez

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Where are you sleeping?

I stare wide eyed as this question crumbles my knees.

We set up ort in the hallway.

Placing two sleeping bags and one pillow askew

as we umble over our nervous bodies.

We lay ourselves.

I don't know how I want him to touch me.He knows how he wants to touch me.

I ade in and out o consciousness,

never losing sight o where the wall spoons itsel.

I wonder i my boyriend is asleep,

a state away and unaware o my sins.

Ignorant to this malicious mischie.

Meanwhile,

He is a broken tree trunk against my back.

I can eel the winter storms that live inside o him.

Storms rest in their might,

bang against window pains in their sleep.I have seen the damage done by wind and sideways rain.

I have lost power enough to know

when to prepare candles and matches.

Te dull hum o his breathe,

So this is how he got so bent.

His branches rest against my stomach.

Leaves rustling on my street pavement stomach

Tere is a tsunami in my throat.

Ready to tumble over tonsils and tongue.

Spill my throat onto carpet.

I crawl away rom such a disastrous storm.Rolling my surging bones into the other room.

I hear my name whispered,

his branches rainsweep my hair.

He has ound me

somewhere around too early.

Cocooned in my sleeping bags arms.

I slowly open my eyes,

to see him planted next to me,

clasping coee.

His voice is raspy and excited.

It has soy milk,

just as you like it

He believes I drink my coee bitter

I want him to think me tough.

You took my pillow,

he smiles.

What a beautiul smile.

His breath smells like tobacco and black coee.

I ll my eyes with his ace,

my stomach with his oering,

and my heart with his storm.

What a beautiul storm he is.I have never seen a tsunami collide with a

storm.

But I imagine it is glorious.

Maybe I am better made or alling unattached

rom raincloudboys,

than or glorious destruction

through a wreckingballbody.

He taps the wrinkles on my orehead with his thumb.

He pauses in the doorway,

and shows me that beautiul smile,

Go get ready

I stare at the empty doorway,

Glorious.

Storm SeasonJulie Shaya

Megalopolis Jen JohnsonWhat is love like in Dubai?

where I imagine light arches through

windows, vaulting onto ceilings,

holding onto the rames that

glass sleeps in

and never peering through.

You sit on a leather soa looking

at the broken tile

on your lap, the color o nectarine esh.

Tey dont blend a blush like this

in the desert, but they snap it

again and again

racturing collarbones and wheel arches.

I am somewhere out o ramemaking wishes on drips o tap water,

collecting all the shattered things

I made or mysel. Tis is just

the newest building in the skyline,

how many crumbled

beore it?

Screen Shot 2013-09-08 at 4.58.09Grace Smith

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Lets get something clear: I love animals. Teyre awesome. Not only do they bring some sunshine into our oen boring lives both in the esh and

on the Internet, but theyre a vital part o the big, beautiul, planetary ecosystem that we call home. Tat being said, many o these little beauties are

also creepy as uck. odays subject, the emu, comes rom Australia and is a member o the bird amily. wo strikes already. Strike three is the stun-

ning combination o reakishly matted eathers, abnormal size, and eyes the color o spilled blood that stare straight into the depths o your sinning

soul. While I do have to give the species mad props or bucking gender conventions and having the ather be the primary caretaker o the eggs,

the coolness o this liberal amily system is completely invalidated by the act that each chick is raised with one guiding mantra: Embrace the dark

side, with particular emphasis on traumatizing all living things. It should be noted that ostriches have a similarly severe expression and are much

bigger, and thus would seem to be even sketchier; however, their bald heads and powerul legs give them a noble, Clint Eastwood demeanor, while

emus overall shagginess brings to mind the seemingly harmless neighborhood teenager who spends all his time wearing torn jeans and jamming

out to Aerosmith until the night he nally snaps and burns down an orphanage. Furthermore, ostriches can be ridden to great comedic eect. An

emu would incinerate you with its hellre gaze beore youd even grabbed the saddle. And then it would drink all your Pabsts and sleep with you

signicant other just or spite.

In short: uck emus. Fuck their evil aces and devious minds, their thick coats that no doubt conceal the corpses o victims past, their ability to

somehow become an acceptable arm animal and thereby subvert the agricultural systems o the world when theyre not busy pecking the ground

and shooting hateul looks at the very young, the elderly, the weak, and the sick. Fuck them or all they are. But dont actually, because they will give

you Evil Bird Herpes.

Sketchy Animal o the Week: EmusKiernyn Orne-Adams

Liz Hock

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Meet an Editor: Matt ArmadillonHi! Im Matt Armadillon. Im an armadillo rom Portland, Oregon. I was stolen rom a party there and brought here! I miss home.Its so cold here. And they dont give me enough sunlight. My avorite activities include listening to country music, drinking beer, andhorseshoes. I have a big scar on my tummy rom where they took out my insides. I eel dead inside. Tank god I have a hard shell onthe outside. Because lie can be really cruel to a lil armadillo on his own out here in the big world. Did you know armadillos are hairy? Ihave a lot o hair on my arms; no one shaves me ever.

Come inside. I need help. Dancing!Girl shouting to her riends at Folk and Blues

I have no clean towels so Ive been drying mysel with

paper towels or the past week.

Male student to riends

Tats the squeeze I want!

Calculus student

Everybody loves BSAAC!

Male student at Involvement Fair

I really eel like coming out ofcially this semester

Lets have a party! A coming out party! We could have a

pinata!

wo girls in Commons

Overheard at Beloit

Te Original Library Pick o the Weekerrence Malicks Te New World Matt Siebert

errence Malick loves to incorporate nature into his lms and they have

led to some o the most beautiul lms I have ever seen (Days o Heav-

en, Te ree o Lie). Te New World is no dierent, except never have

I seen him put it in the limelight the way he does in this lm.

Te New World is essentially the more realistic, serious, and

historically accurate version o Disneys 1995 lm Pocahontas. And noit doesnt have the song Colors o the Wind which is a bummer, but the

beautiul shots o nature that occur all throughout the movie more than

make up or it.

It opens with ships nding land in the New World where

many o what travelers call the naturals already reside. On board the

ship is a large crew that includes Captain John Smith (Colin Farrell).

As soon as the ship lands, Captain Christopher Newport (Christopher

Plummer) states that there are not enough resources to stay here or an

extended period o time to build a colony, which is the ships mission. He

goes back to Europe to return in the spring with supplies. Te remaining

crew is already uneasy about this new place because o all o its oreign-

ness.

What is most interesting is that the auna o the area seems todisturb them as much as anything else. Te tall grass worries them, as

they are not used to living out in nature in the native home.

While going on a trading mission, Smith is kidnapped and

brought to Chie Powhatan (August Schellenberg) and almost killed un-

til the chie s daughter Pocahontas (Qorianka Kilcher) saves him. He is

instead kept or a time as a prisoner, where he is still treated with kind-

ness and eventually alls in love with his savior.

Smith is ascinated by this culture and gives an internal mono-

logue about how those people are so surprisingly dierent because they

dont know what lying and deceit mean and because they have no

jealousy. But I think what ascinates him the most is that they have

ormed a society among nature instead o opposed to it. Smith only

knows a society that has orced its way upon and against nature to build

itsel up.When he is nally released and told to leave in the spring, he

returns to a settlement that has built barriers around it to keep them in

and nature out. Te colony is ailing miserably and tensions are high

Yet come spring, they reuse to leave, which leads to what erupts into a

violent conict between the natives and the British.

Aaaaand, this is when I stop caring. It is really a love story with

historical events in the background, like itanic, and I thought it was

a good one too, until Malick stops juxtaposing nature against the two

cultures, and I saw that it really didnt have much else going or it.

Te third act is horribly boring, I wont explain why because I dont want

to ruin anything but mostly because I dont care about it. Te emotiona

aspect, which kept up pretty well until now, all but disappears and then

you just wait or the credits to nally roll, and they could not have cometoo soon.

I you enjoy watching movies or the visual experience, then I

urge you to watch errence Malicks entire lmography, I guarantee you

will not be disappointed, just dont get your hopes up or an encapsulat-

ing narrative when you get to this one.

3/5

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