MAGAZINE Cover Art: Andrija Klaric
In Botswana ISSUE NO.
LETTER This summer I Had the opportunity to travel to Gaborone Botswana for five weeks. During my time there, I met some incredibly talented young artists whose work inspired me to publish this special issue. Issue No. 04 is a stunning collection of art. You will find a delightful mix of styles, mediums, and stories.
Just to name a few, Lulu dreams of performing on Ellen one day. Andrija has already been featured in the inflight magazine for Botswana Air. I owe a huge thank you to all who helped make this a reality: TG, Isabel, Sarah + David, and Everyone at Maru A Pula School. Without you, I would never have dreamed so big.
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Mulalu Andrija Klaric
I am the story teller I make living through fiction I lay bread on the tableThrough colourless, paintless art My life lies in my pen My existence seeps into paper Flows from ink Imprinted onto paper It is me My existence lies upon brilliant white sheets I flutter, the wind scattering My life like dust I fall victim to the rain The tiny droplets of water from the clouds, Embed themselves upon my white surface I tear The more that is written-the more that is lost Ink flows unto me, it stains, it blackens The ink has now touched me, my gleaming white surface
I lose myself in words that are being written The ink touches my soul, I am no longer pure The ink becomes my very lifeblood I now belong to the stories The stories that came from the writing of my very hand . I am my own prisoner The stories have trapped me They torture me. They plague me. I have loved, existed and faded. I have written. Now I flutter and fall victim to the rain Let me be passed on, for I have become what I sought to be I am the story teller
AGE: SCHOOL: MEDIUM:
This is made from Highlighters in blacklight
NIKOLA GAYTENDIJA HOMETOWN
The ‘Underneath’ project was about looking at the ways in which people express opinions, and the contrast in expressing a truthful opinion and a lie. The expression that ‘The truth is
always revealed through one's eyes,’ was one of the inspirations for the project. The structural form of the installations relates to the idea of a society living in one place, and was made to resemble an apartment block. The images were suspended, rather than stuck to a rigid structure, to create the illusion of transparency and flexibility which contrasts the stiff and rigid rectangular form of composition.
â€˜Is there any competition between us?â€™ Library. Writing while we talk. Book names at the Psychology and Philosophy section. Yeah , I'm straight. Still finding yourself? Things Fall Apart. Okay, I'll read it. My favourite is The Catcher In The Rye. How can Holden not be a phony? Puppy dog cheeks . Starry eyes . You're a good writer . Hmm . . . secluded aren't we? In my dreams we held hands. Yes only a dream. I want to send her some books. She's okay, just a lump in her stomach . Is it cancerous? Fuck . You're always right. A cell dividing . . . Infinity anyone? I like Mr. Haggar. I do soccer with him.
Good. Hospital? Can I visit? That far? Moonshine girl . . . Nice picture? Oh , a poem? I sent some books . . . Yeah !
I miss you. Hey, what do you believe in? Atheist too? Puppy dog cheeks. . . Starry eyes. . . Hair short. . . In a dream of mine we held hands. . . I was reading so much so we could talk . The Colour Purple? I have a journal. I love your poetry. Please don't die. A cell dividing dividing . . . It stopped .
Aabhilwe Modise. Aabi .
I never got to tell you that I love you. I was scared for some reason . . . Probably ‘cause I'm an idiot.’ ‘No you're not.’ I was gonna visit. ‘Tawanda?’ Puppy dog cheeks. . . Starry eyes. . . Tears?
I don't believe in God. Still trying to find myself. "Hey Aabi ." Join Facebook . We're still young . Cancer girl . Platonic? Biology.
Identity. What are you reading right now? Books. Literature. Art.
Creative Writing . ... Hey. Aabi? I never did get to tell you . And you'll never get to hear this . Because you know. . . God not existing and everything . That makes me feel worse of course. I really am gonna read Things Fall Apart. And The Colour Purple. I hope you did get to listen to Pet Sounds . . . ‘Good night my baby. . . Sleep tight my baby. . .’ And I was hoping at some point me you and Simone could sing : ‘Columnated ruins - Do-hooo-mi I I i- nooo’ Because of the high notes. Hey. What a nice smile ! Laughter. Hey. Aabi? I just wanted to say. That the next time I write to you. . . I'll use neater handwriting okay?
okay? Wait. . .no. . . I mean, that too. But damnit. Aabi . ... I really do. I do. I do. ... I love you.
‘I Love You’ is a culmination of thoughts and memories in free-association, about my friend Aabhilwe who passed away from cancer not too long ago. She was one of the few people who I felt could understand the world, and could understand me… I have two regrets, that I never got to know her as well as I wanted to, and that I will never get to see her first novel. Needless, to say, those closer to her must feel even more than I could ever write.
HOMETOWN SCHOOL Medium
LITTLE BOAT EP HER EP:
Usic is how I express myself. I ccccccccccccccccchave always been quite soft cccccccccccccccccspoken, a little awkward and a bit unsure of my abilities. I used to feel like I had a small voice that nobody really paid attention to, that was until I started playing guitar and started writing my own songs. When Iâ€™m on stage that is how I communicate my thoughts and feelings to the world. I seem to have found solace in what I do. I only dream of being able to share my music on a larger scale and turn my dream of becoming a musician into
A reality. I am passionate about what I do, I love it and it’s what I want. For me, I personally love music that touches the soul and makes you think and feel through the lyrics. I love bands like Daughter and artists such As Gabrielle Aplin, Benjamin Francis Leftwich, Bon Iver. They all inspire me in the Indie-folk music style that I play. It took me a while to discover that that was the kind of voice that I had, not a powerful one like Beyoncé’s, but a voice that is unique and is my own.
MY BED PAST MIDNIGHT; YOU ARE ASLEEP. The presence of you, next to me on my bed, is gentle and existing ; ethereal as you are. And, soft as you are, it is nothing deep, nothing carnal. And, Cold as we are, In needing warmth : We cuddle, With Hair quietly tangling In the background Of our bodies ; With Blood warmly murmuring In the background Of our hearts ; With Our tired eyes talking, When weâ€™re silent; Saying things They weren't supposed to say.
I know that weâ€™re online in the pixels, of my screen, and type to tell you that I wish you were here; that my bed is empty, despite me, it always was ; that you'll only see this message when you wake upâ€Ś But The presence of you, next to me on my bed, is gentle and existing ; ethereal as it is.
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