ISSUE #3 - FEBRUARY 2018
who did what editor-in-chief: edyn getz
managing editor: trisha murphy
layout editor: b cavallo
submissions from:
mitch angelo alexa newman nicholas sapienza kiana livingston shanille martin matthew cullen daniela franceschetti alexson rodriguez anna tsibina gio martin solomon falls mitch angelo & two anonymous submissions
letter from the editor roses are red, violets are blue, gutter presents our february love issue xoxo love y’all like i love dua lipa, edyn getz
gutter is a non-profit magazine, paid for by the mandatory student activities fee. gutter mag is a forum for campus culture related content. any opinions expressed are those of the writers, not those of gutter mag, its editors or the psga. we accept submissions but the publication of those submissions is not guaranteed but subject to the discretion of the editors. send all inquiries to purchaseguttermag@gmail.com
to name the center by matthew cullen
Kaleidoscopic I become the night, Ever-y-thing is in me enfolded; Twinkling drops of light become my birthmarks. Here is my face, what does it say to you? Here are my words, what do they mean to you? This mouth that rambles on says nothing new; You might have the name for what the wind is Which I exhale, but do you have my name? Iridescent, I am the Night’s Last Breath, Extinguishing light hastens from Dawn’s yolk As she cracks a fresh egg against the sky. I drink the daylight as you drink your names, But there’s no name for what I have become: Kaleidoscopic iridescence, I.
anna tsibina
helium has feelings too by mitch angelo
all those balloons that float up and away from birthdays and babies and graduations, where do they go? do they disappear into the eternal blue sky? do they get eaten by falcons? do they get caught on some poor branch, and are doomed to watch human life pass right by them? forced to watch all the new years and weddings and barbeques continue without them? do they ever make it all the way to the moon? i’d like to think at least one did. that there’s an “it’s a girl!” up there. congrats on your baby, moon.
medicine by alexa newman
i come undone for you nightly after i’m finished, i stitch myself up trembling hands and a bitter aftertaste you tell me i’m beautiful words that roll off your tongue like you’ve said them before words that seems too nice to be real words that are foreign to me i smile at you and wish for the moment to never end when i’m in your arms, the world stops crashing down i no longer dream of corpses and the sweet smell of funeral homes tangled in the sheets with you is where i feel i can breathe again every breath is a year and every year ends so soon long car rides, flashing lights i long for traffic to let me have a minute more staring into an ocean, crashing on sandy shores wondering what goes on in that mind of yours blessed to have you, blessed to hold you, blessed to know you you’re celestial, the first thing i crave in the morning and the last thing i think about at night please hold me while i’m here i need you more than you need me let’s look at the stars and how they align for us
playlist for heartbreak by nicholas sapienza
silver car crash - majical cloudsz got it bad (feat. lincoln) - jackson lundy fuck feelings - olivia o’brien grey l.a. - blackbear sick of losing soulmates - dodie let me down (feat. stormzy) - jorja smith pagan poetry - björk musn’t hurry - fever ray weak - wet we’re not just friends - parks, squares, and alleys temporary nothing - mxmtoon tears dry on their own - amy winehouse mourn - corbin stone cold - demi lovato smother - daughter foundations - kate nash my smile is extinct - kane strang losin’ control - russ like a river runs - bleachers sarah - alex g samson - regina spektor cotton candy - jessie reyez
gio martin
i have never seen a gray sky by kiana livingston
I have never seen a gray sky. There was always some semblance of a memory of the colors that existed before we were left with simply gray. These were the days when possibilities were of an endless variety and my heart wasn’t shattered into crimson fragments. I searched for any trace of some hint of the celestial blue that was present this morning when the heavens were the perfect flush of daydreams and sunshine still existed in my world. Yet there was no tinge of color to be found other than gray. Gray was not a pigment that I liked to see on my paint palette. It muted the vibrancy of my creative senses. It was a dull and lackluster shade and I was a multicolored gal, who couldn’t live without her pastel pinks and royal purples. Every day with you was a scintillating escapade that required intense, rich pigments to illustrate the moments we spent in our rainbow nirvana. Like the time we laid in your neighbors garden in May. You gingerly placed my head on your chest as we observed the scenery we submerged ourselves in. Buds beginning their bloom to fruition, just like our romance, surrounded us. There was every color imaginable in this collection of flowers. The artist within me couldn’t resist the urge to hoard their radiance home to add to my repertoire. I gathered the petals that trickled down from the security of their branches. But something flashed in the corner of my eye and I then gazed over at you. The way the light hit the contoured edges of your face helped me come to a realization. You would be the perfect addition. The shade that couldn’t be created by the mere combining of colors. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. You were a touch of yellow optimism with an undertone of a pure green nature. A drop of orange happiness with specks of white innocence. You were a one of a kind find. The stain I wanted to grace every surface of the canvas that was...me. Then, your vibrant tint, faded. And on that day. Today. You wore gray. You were always the dichromatic type. The first moment I laid eyes on you, you were the spitting image of a chessboard. Classically striking yet modest. I admired that. The simplicity of you was comforting. Initially, I believed that I would immerse you in the polychromatic sea, yet remain the only color you would ever need. But today, you wore gray.
I wasn’t aware that you even owned any hues other than black and white. I have rummaged through your closet a million times before and never did I find any garment to suggest otherwise. I came to the conclusion that without me, they offered nothing to you. I guess that goes to show that I didn’t really know you. Looking back now, gray would be your product if you mixed them together. We used to mix together. We used to be us. No longer were we two separate entities. We metamorphosized into one hand. A single hand. The single hand. Our single hand. Our hand would paint every promise we whispered into the translucent air. Every stroke was a “good night” text message, a name for our future son, or a sacred “I love you” that we let be drifted away to a place where they could never be discovered by anyone who didn’t have our sight. The sight that appeared in the dark that night you stole my first kiss. I didn’t know the warmth that came from your chocolate eyes could come from your lips. Or that the overused misty rose tone from my palette could appear, in all its glory, upon my cheeks as I said, “I told you I would be bad at it.” You were the shade of reassurance as you placed your hand on my hand, thus creating our hand. Now you gle hand that
have your you hid away
own in the
hand. pocket
Your of your
own singray hoodie.
I am not partial to gray. It disgusts me. I was an artist of the permanent and concrete and gray was too abstract of an idea for me. It prances around with this “not quite this, not quite that” façade. If you’re not something, are you nothing? Were we nothing? You didn’t even look me in the eye as you stole my color wheel. Swaying back and forth as you divulged your black truth, draining every ounce of color I had accumulated before you became the only paint pot I used. Sighing in relief as you finally gained your balance; as if the weight of my multicolored love was too much of a burden for you. You turned on your heels and left me as monochromatic as a corpse; I guess I got my answer. I have never seen a gray sky. There was always some semblance of a memory of the colors that existed before we were left with this hideous gray. That is until today. Lesson learned: never say never.
mitch angelo
story of a girl by shanille martin
She doesn’t call the spots on her face freckles, “they’re too scattered” she’ll tell me. Instead, she steals a phrase from one her favorite books, some romantic and tragic one I’d consciously look over during my browses at the Strand Bookstore. It’s in Union Square, where we bumped into each other in one of the most epic meet-cutes. The bookstore became where we’d spend most of our afternoons. “It’s a constellation,” she’ll say and insult me on my inability to read her mind. She thinks she is an open book. To me, she is larger than the universe. More mysterious, beautiful, and daunting than any wonders within our galaxy. One day, I take a marker and connect the constellation on her face. It shapes a combustion of light, with bolts piercing down her cheeks. I run my hand over the marks, counting each freckle as I passed. When I’m finished, she looks in the mirror and proclaims that she’s even uglier. I tell her that’s impossible.
my path was paved by the cliches of scorned lovers by daniela franceschetti
The dust hadn’t settled when you brought them to your bed. I wonder was it still warm? Touch, still fresh Did you mistake theirs for mine? You run but I Chain myself to memory My worth can be measured now in how tall I stood when I was dropped and by no means, in the time it took for you, impatient as you are to move on. The strength with which I grabbed hands to lift myself up, out of this space is that which should be feared. You will not break this spirit; I will not suffer at the hands of fools.
at a weigh station somewhere in delaware
by trisha murphy
Maybe I miss you because at this point you are mostly memory. Maybe, it’s because the last time I did this trip we were still talking, or because Jimmy Eat World came on shuffle, and the One Tree Hill theme song played in Rite Aid earlier, or, maybe it’s because sometimes the missing is inevitable. For whatever reason, I miss you today.
untitled by anonymous
i saw paris through two sets of eyes one in the summer one in december one from the balcony the other from a cheap hotel window one with fresh bread on sunday morning the other with an eclair in a to-go box one running through the rain laughing the other waiting under an awning for the sun to come out again one with you the other without both beautiful but only one was stunning
gio martin
withholding by alexson rodriguez
In my mother’s eyes floodgates for the love-light never existed. Still we elected our father love prophet, the man who pitched a pot into our television set then tossed my mother the remote, “put on anything you want” he said. Moments later when he saw me pouting he broke my nose and when I began bawling he said “Goddamn it, no. Worse, worse!” When my children stopped speaking to me I thought of my dad’s fists in the sink, a pool of water, the drain stopped and the faucet off, an absolute silence laced with the sound of his fists dunking and turning over, the water resettling, unharmed then hour long minutes of clean silence. I hoped he was crying. On his last day he could feel his soul running ahead of him, there was still love-light for him somewhere, but no longer the time to find it. He was unaware of its absence. That bus stop wasn’t there anymore, the bus don’t run by there no more.
dumb letter by anonymous
Dear ________, It’s february. Why do I still think about you? Sometimes I imagine us running into each other on the subway. I make up conversations in my head. There is a part of me that wants to fill you in, that wants to update you on how much I have grown since I catapulted out of your arms. “I had sex, if you can believe it,” I might say, “the girl who wouldn’t even hold your hand on the first date went all the way there.” In these scenarios the train always gets to my stop first. I leave you mid-sentence, I twirl through the doors and go on my way. I think it’s your reaction I want—I want your desire, your curiosity and your quiet envy—I want to watch you wish that you had seen that much of me. It’s a blessing that you dropped me when you did, nothing good would have come from us continuing to grow closer. But you were the sweetest bullet I’ve ever dodged.
what is love?
photo and interview conducted by solomon falls with austin smith, sophomore compositon major
“love is cool, cuz it’s one of the few things you can give when you don’t have anything left to give, and like you can never stop giving it unless your dead. you can’t run out of love to give.”