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I remember when I was younger I would play around with Photoshop on hours end. Now that it’s summer break and I no longer have academic responsibilites to worry about, I’m excited to spark that creativty again. I hope my coloring book never fades away. Here is a collection of illustrations and short poems. Thank you to Krista and Rosemarie for contributing written work to this zine. I’m going to fill the rest of this paragraph with hipster ipsum because Rosemarie is busy and I don’t know what else to say. Art party kombucha 90’s kickstarter health goth vegan. Viral cliche gluten-free intelligentsia vice, hella tofu food truck mlkshk helvetica butcher tacos thundercats bicycle rights gastropub. Messenger bag photo booth DIY, offal keffiyeh church-key street art bespoke flannel master cleanse austin. Microdosing cronut everyday carry, locavore small batch chillwave kombucha kinfolk venmo


she’s always waiting in the wings not the type that make her fly — but the type that make you fly use her like a spring board a list of reminders a ribbon tied around your finger to help recall what you needed to pick up on the way home use her like a framework a list of qualities to look for in anyone but her use her (she likes that, she thinks) because it’s easier than actually finding someone who cares, easier than weeding through the grass to find a leaf, or pruning a tree to find a vine use her to figure out what you want but don’t you dare choose her because that would be far too easy and no one who was given wings was meant to take the easy way out


sometimes, i imagine the sky splitting above me in silence, then in light. and it’s been years since little boy, but i still worry about a world stopped in sequence. after all, airplanes and atom bombs aren’t so different from burnt promises and the cancer of a lie.


the only love affair i’ve ever had is with the world in motion. the permanent state of impermanence that wakes me every morning to question the sky above (something no human has ever done.) and i’d much sooner heed the call of escape than the sigh of my name from your lips, because i know that nothing will ever look as beautiful as it does from the window of a moving car as i fly past it, for now. or maybe forever.



entropy: a zine