ergo fall 2014

Cove

r art

by

Char

les

Gunt

her a

nd K

else

y W

illia

ms

Fall 2014

Fall 2014

is the literary and artistic

publication of Alfred State. It is funded by the Student Senate and is freely distributed each semester. Students, faculty, and staff of Alfred State are invited to submit their original works of art, poetry, and prose by placing them in the Ergo drop-box in the library, or emailing their submissions to: [email protected] or [email protected]

Our thanks to everyone who participated this semester and keep the submissions coming!

Sincerely, The Ergo staff

Co-Editors: Audree Russac, Mary Gordon

Art Editors:Adrian Perry, Kelsey Williams

Senator: Nicholas Brunelle

Editorial Board:Brian Mothon, Nicholas Brunelle,

Janelle Scrivener, Max Hecht, Chelsea Clark, Eric Stewart, Anthony Collalto, Dawei Tao, Kali Blew, Kelsey Williams

Treasurer: Janelle Scrivener

Faculty Advisers:Dr. Aniko Constantine, Yvonne Cassidy

Janice Stafford, Dr. Brian Quinn

Staff Typist: Debra Tomm

With appreciation to those whose help and expertise make each issue possible:

Document Center:Catherine Chambers,

Brent Cobin, Darcy Hill

Marketing Communications: Molly Andrus

-Brian Mothon

This

Way

Out

- R

Kusa

ba

-Brian Mothon

-Jule Torrens

Fall 2014 Ergo | 1

-Julie Torrens

-Jule Torrens

-Kali Blew

Wave -R Kusaba

Black tears

black tears of fear drip from her face,as she cries her last goodbyes,and as her dreams fade away, her soul slowly begins to decay,confusing what is fake or real,she cannot find the place to deal,she’s lost within the nothingness inside,as the black tears and velvet blood combine.on the outside she is fighting,but on the inside she is dying,with the pain still held inside, she begins to close her once weary eyes,and as her mind slowly fades, she dies,without a care, her eyes wide open as she blindly stares,now she is in a place where she is cared for,a place where her heart’s not torn, a place where she can be reborn.

-Julie Torrens

So the Story goeS

two minds as one fleshmirrors that differ in dress

both as the other

-George Gough

2 | Ergo Fal l 2014

A mirror can say a lot about a person. I don’t mean a mirror literal-ly speaks like in snow White and the seven Dwarves. a woman may stare into a mirror for hours while she makes up a new face before a night on the town. a man may stare into a mirror for many minutes while he cleans up his face with a little pair of scissors and a razor. The reflection is almost never perceived as perfect. Why not? a mirror can’t tell a person that he or she looks awful, yet that is often the message that’s received. Women wouldn’t do their makeup, and men wouldn’t bother shaving if they could look in the mirror and be satisfied at what they see. I sometimes envy those who can look into a mirror and smile at themselves.

I was thirteen years old and chubby. I had peach fuzz growing where some guys in my grade had sideburns, and my hair was like an unkempt afro. That’s what anyone who looked at me would’ve seen. When I looked at myself, I saw a loser. I was a failure. It was eighth grade, and I hadn’t played any soccer like my friends, smoked like my friends, or let alone had a girlfriend like my friends. I was the quiet kid in class, always sitting in the back and doing my work, writing down all the notes the teacher wrote on the board, listening to the teacher’s every word while she tirelessly paced around the front of the room with a coffee cup. I earned good grades, but who cared? I was a nobody. I’d never been kissed, and I probably never would be. I looked at myself with hatred. I wanted to strangle that reflection. Why didn’t I ask kate out when I had the chance? she sat right next to me in math, talked to me about school and dogs, laughed with me. she was so cute. But I just sat there. I was scared that she’d turn me down, and I’d never be able to see that smile, those blue eyes ever again. I never once thought it wouldn’t be a big deal if she did turn me down. I was just a scared child and probably one the teachers worried about but seldom talked about in a par-ent-teacher conference. I did, after all, just sit in the back of class.

I was fourteen years old and drunk. I still hadn’t been kissed, but who cared? I was having fun with shot glasses and joints. In the mirror, I saw a cool guy with his shirt unbuttoned and his hair, short and curly. I sported a noticeable bulge in the crotch of my jeans. I was so cool. I was still the quiet kid in class, sitting in the back and doing my work. I was pretty much perfect. I was fairly good looking, got good grades, could knock back vodka like a sixteen-year-old, and could smoke a fifty-dollar bag of weed in an hour. chris was my best friend at the time, and we were pretty much the same. He was talking and drinking with me one night while I was texting some girl I met on some dating site. she sent me pictures of herself wearing only panties. Her body was…goddess-like. In her texts, she described how she was touching herself while thinking about me (Oh God, that was so hot!). I’d tell other guys about it later on, may-be show them a picture, but I stopped contacting her before the next morning. Without a buzz, I had no interest. I wanted to hang out with chris. I wanted to sit on a couch and drink, while we passed the weed around.

I was fifteen years old and in a psychiatric ward. I had cut my thighs over one hundred times in the high school bathroom.

someone with no knowledge in medicine might’ve seen my legs and thought I had some sort of flesh-eating disease. What did I see when I looked in the mirror? I didn’t even know. It didn’t look like me. I wouldn’t have cut myself like that. I guessed I wasn’t so cool. I just wanted to go home and hang out with chris and text some girl I met on a dating site. I knew that wouldn’t solve any problems, and I’d probably just end up wanting to kill myself again, but who cared? My family cared. The pretty nurses in the pink scrubs cared. even the other patients cared; they often sat with me during our meals and played childish card games with me. They consisted of a homosexual, a sociopath, a schizophrenic, and a whore (she flirted quite explicitly with all of us, even the gay guy). However, they were much worse off than I was. They had parents who beat them for not finishing their plates, left them home alone for days at a time while they went out and partied, made them smuggle heroin in their win-ter coats, supplied them with Marlboro reds. What did my parents do? They loved me. They made sure I did all my chores before I went to chris’s house. They were always around. They never hit me for not finishing my plate. I didn’t belong in that psychiatric ward; there wasn’t really anything wrong with me. When I looked in a mirror, I didn’t see myself. I just saw a loser who cut himself and couldn’t ask a girl out. I saw a nobody.

I was sixteen and in an operating room. I had an almost fatal strep infection in my left lung which caused an abcess. Before I was admitted for a medical procedure, a nurse noticed that there were no breathing sounds coming from the left side of my ribcage. My left lung had collapsed. The doctors said it must’ve been caused by bac-teria being introduced directly into my bloodstream, but they didn’t know exactly how. I knew. I had been shooting up heroin with a dirty needle for about a month. I cleaned it with hydrogen peroxide and hot water and sharpened it when it became dull, but that wasn’t enough. The doctors did their best to insert two tubes into my chest: one to drain the infection, and one to inflate my lung. It worked spectacularly. about two hundred milliliters of fluid was imme-diately removed, and my recovery afterward was somewhat swift. When I was discharged from the hospital, I received the Hero of the Month award for being so brave. I wasn’t brave. I didn’t deserve that award. I was a dirty heroin junky who just wanted to get high and didn’t care about anyone else, and when I looked in the mirror, that’s exactly what I saw. anyone else would’ve seen a skinny version of me from the previous year.

I was seventeen and in Allegany County Jail. I looked in the little mirror above the sink every day. I didn’t see anything in particu-lar, except a blotchy beard that needed to be shaved. I just hoped that one day, when my cell door opened in the morning, I would be released. I had lost contact with all my old friends, including chris. That was probably for the best. I also probably wasn’t going to graduate from high school. I just wanted to have a successful suicide attempt, not a lame one that ended with my shooting a ten-millime-ter pistol through my bedroom door, almost killing my stepfather. He wasn’t shot severely, but the bullet nicked his chest. The investi-gator said I was “very lucky.” I had made a few acquaintances in acJ.

-AnonymousA Reflection…

Fall 2014 Ergo | 3

-Ian

Pota

sh

Paradise Nights

I want to bring you to my paradiseMy little slice of heaven

Show you my world with the wind in your hairthrough the water, and the woods, and the fields

without a careto feel the sand between your toes

the cool water and the burning rocksDive into the water, stripped down to your fleshManifest from the surface, holding your breath

hold me at the sunsetKiss me beneath the starsreflections upon the water

Manufacture the summer nightfall hotter

-Mary Caitlin McVean Gordon

One was a sixteen-year-old boy named scott who had raped his little sister. He told me all about it, and I don’t know how I put up with him and the smell of his sweaty balls and reese’s Pieces while we played chess. He had been raping his poor sister whenever he felt like it, for months, and it wasn’t until about a week before christ-mas that his parents caught him in the act. another boy, nineteen-year-old Bryant, had possessed a large amount of methamphetamine and stole someone’s car. He blamed the cops because Bryant knew what he was doing; it was the cops’ fault for catching him, and apparently not his fault for committing the crimes. later on, I met an old man who was arrested for doing something stupid outside a bar, released on bail, and arrested again the next day when he got drunk and “smashed up” someone’s window. after about six months of being in jail-Was it really that long?-I looked in the mirror and knew exactly what I saw. I wasn’t someone who would rape a vulnerable child, steal some stranger’s car with the intent of using it to bring meth to my buddies, or walk around town, wasted. I didn’t belong there.

I was eighteen and a high school graduate. I was doing fine. I had been clean for almost two years, gone to a better school (Wellsville High), and made much better friends. I passed my trig test with a ninety-six, and had a total average of ninety. I could’ve done better, but that was pretty good, as far as I was concerned. What I saw in the mirror was simply myself: a guy recovering from a terrible past and living his life the best way he knew how, which didn’t include partying or spending even a miniscule amount of time with chris. I was Ok. One night, I was hanging with a couple of my friends, leah and Phil, and I wasn’t feeling so well. I had want-ed to tell them about everything-the drugs, the depression, the cutting, the loneli-ness, the hospital, the suicide attempt, the jail. I was scared. They somehow knew that. They looked at me and saw a dear friend. They must have seen me struggling to tell them something, something important, something that needed to be said. I had my legs up, sitting in a rocking chair, and I knew I looked sullen. I wanted to talk to them so badly, but I didn’t have to say anything. They said it all. They told me they didn’t care about the past. They said the only thing that mattered was that I was still around, and they would still be my friends. They said some of the best moments they experienced were because of me, including lunchtime when we talked openly, humorously, and somehow appropriately about whatever came to mind. They reflected on our study hall, when I often helped leah on her english or trig homework, and talked to Phil about bands like Primus and The residents. Phil even said I was the best friend he had; I was the only one, excluding leah, who had helped him clean his house and garage; I was also one of his only friends to contact him, just to talk. I sobbed a little, sitting in that rocking chair while I listened to them, but that was a good night. We attempted to make yellow cake, but it turned out tasting like a cornbread substitute. Before they left, they gave me the two nicest hugs I’ve ever felt, for each of them rubbed my back and rocked me a little. I knew they loved me, and they knew that I loved them, too. They must have.

I am nineteen and a freshman at Alfred State College. I look in the mirror now, and I see someone that leah and Phil can depend on. I see someone who can stay up until two in the morning talking with his friends. I see someone who feels bad for a rape victim whom he has never met. I see a recovered addict who does well in school, has nice friends, and isn’t afraid to ask a girl to Prom (that’s right, I eventually got a date). I’ve still never been kissed, but who cares? I respect myself greatly, for I know there are other people who respect me greatly, too. I know that the world is a better place with me in it. Without me, there would be one less guy baking delicious treats or things which resemble delicious treats. I am important in many people’s lives. I guess I did deserve that Hero of the Month award. after all, I am someone who can look in the mirror and smile at himself.

-Anonymous

4 | Ergo Fal l 2014

-Mario Bernardez

MOOns aGO anD MOOns tO cOMe

staring up at a full harvest moona quiet remembrance of the first night we met

The first night we danced and laughed around a fireHolding onto each other’s warmth on a cold september night

years ago

staring up at a full harvest moonFury boiling over better judgment

Throwing a coin into the well Wishing to have blue eyes and brown hair struck from my memory

The summer heat makes sparks into an unruly infernoand in a flurry of bad decisions and hateful goodbyes she walks away

years ago

staring up at a full harvest moonas memories of fire and ice fall away

The thoughts of fair weather slowly creeping back Unhindered by pride

and as warm feelings shine through the screenremember

Warm hearts, sparkling bright eyes, full moons, innocent to worldly pains and prideful wraths

and a warming heart suddenly feels icy chills knowing she’s staring up at a full harvest moon with someone I don’t know

-Anonymous

Double StanDarDS

Instant AttractionWithout a faction

of hope.how do you approach someone…

Maybe a witty pun?No.

It’s hard to stop a strangerWithout the rejection being major

on the street.Because once you’ve missed a beat,

It’s over.Do I say, “excuse me, sir? you’re hot!”

No, I’d rather notMake a fool of myself.

-Tara Goldsbury

Fall 2014 Ergo | 5-Jule Torrens

-Kali Blew

The Salt Lake City Library -R Kusaba

sIlence

You do not know I love youthough the clues are there to seeI wish that I could tell youall that you mean to meBut I know that I’m not worthyof the love you have to giveI cannot let you settlefor the life I have to liveWhen I know that somewhere out thereis a love that’s meant for youwho can give you so much morethan I could ever doand so I will stay silentabout the love within my hearteven though eventuallyit will tear my heart apart.

-Julie Torrens

Darkness

I thought about this so many times. I am used to writing about it in the books that my friends have gotten me to write in. today is the day that I am going to do this. as I look at the razor in my hand, I think is this what I want to do? I can hear my

friends outside the door as I slip into the darkness.

-ashley stell

6 | Ergo Fal l 2014

-Jul

ie To

rrens

-Mario Bernardez

a tHOUsanD tIMesI will not bow down,I will not give in,I will not wait around for you,I will not struggle,I will persevere,I will succeed,I do not need you,I will create my own happiness,I will do it all on my own,like I have a thousand times before you.

-Julie Torrens

AutuMN rot

the breeze before the freezeFalling to the ground

every step making a soundthe intoxicating smell of death in the air the reincarnation of what was once there

the harvest of the crop Creation of life grinding to a stop trees stripped to a crooked spine

the sun will never shineAn excitement and love foremost all

Not realizing what’s really happening every Fall All the color fades to gray

this autumn rot is here to stay until the winter kills it all

then rebuilds it until next Fall

-Daniel Loveless

Fall 2014 Ergo | 7

My fingers shook. My hands were soaked in sweat. The murmur of the audience flew over my head

as I heard the ticking of the clock behind me. a gentle breeze touched my face and caused a strand of hair to fall out of place. I looked up in a blur at the sheet music in front of me. snickers rippled through the audience because I wasn’t playing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father smiling with encouragement. I breathed in and out slowly, and I felt my heart reaching its normal pace. The wind blew through the door and magically cooled my sweaty palms. When I looked at the sheet music, “Beethoven’s Moonlight sonata” didn’t look difficult. My delicate fingers naturally pressed the ivory and ebony keys. The room was eerily quiet as I poured my heart into the piano. as I played the last three chords, I saw my father looking at me with a look of love and pain and an indescribable emotion. The audience erupted in applause as I stood up to bow. I zoomed in on my father in the sea of faces. When I saw him, he stood as straight and proud as a knight that won a long battle.

He walked to the stage with confidence and handed me a bouquet of flowers. He reached in for a hug, and for the first time I noticed how skinny he was. I felt his ribs through his shirt and saw how glazy his eyes were as he looked at me. I opened my eyes to reality and saw how disoriented my father was. after my piano recital, my life was completely changed.

Things have never been the same for me. My older sister called me in tears the night after my piano recital, but her words were inaudible. The only word I was able to understand was “hospital” and “dad.” My face heated up with terror. I didn’t know what was going on, but I did know something was terribly wrong. I jumped out of bed, tripping in the process, and pulled on a pair of dirty jeans. My little sister looked up at me with big curious eyes, as I got ready to talk with my older sister. she looked so peaceful as the moonlight shone down on her

tiny head. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “I don’t know sis, just go back to sleep,” I said hoping for the best. I walked out of my room on the wood floor and saw my sister and mother on the couch with a dazed looked on their faces. Their faces were enhanced by the moonlight and looked as pale as chalk. My sister said to me, “Daddy is in the hospital.” Instead of sitting down and staring into space, I decided to take action. I rapidly told my shocked mother and sister, “let’s go to the hospital.” We all rushed out of the house along with my little sister. When we got to the emergency room, I saw my father sitting down as calm as the sea on a cool day. as I approached him, he had a blank glaze in his eyes. He didn’t recognize me as his daughter, but as a woman that is trying to hurt him. He began talking about his past and about random people. I didn’t recognize the man in front of me. He looked like my father, but his whole persona was different. My little sister was old enough to understand that something was wrong, but she couldn’t understand what. The look on her face when our father looked at her

broke my heart. she aged from a strong eleven-year-old girl to a five-year-old girl

before my eyes. When the doctor evaluated my father, he came to conclusion that he was going through a nervous breakdown. The nervous breakdown was caused by stress and by his addiction to cocaine.

Our family has never been the same since. My little sister seemed as if she was traumatized the most. My father’s institutionalization occurred during my sophomore year of high school. It was very hard to focus on schoolwork, but I still worked hard. Playing the piano was what helped me cope and escape from the stress that I was feeling. It was one thing I looked forward to when I was still in shock. Going through this was an unforgettable learning experience. I was able to mature from a rambunctious teenager to a young adult, and I am proud of myself for accomplishing that.

-Seble-Wangel Evans

He looked like my father, but his whole persona was different.

MOOnlIGHt sOnata

8 | Ergo Fal l 2014

-Jule Torrens

-Mario Bernardez

I stepped on a mouse last nightThe dining room was void of sound until I heard

something shatterIt could have easily been a pretzel, or a tiny world

Upon lifting my boot and switching on the lightI stood there and watched it suffer

My body paralyzed but my mind full of movement

What kind of miserable sensations is it feeling?can I comfort it in some way?

Would it be better off simply not existing?

For several minutes we stared at each otherexpanding and yielding with the same hurried

rhythmDrinking in the same oxygen

Just as I had almost concludedThat it was only a matter of time before it would die

It did

While I gathered it into a ziplock bagGently lowering it into the trash

My mind twitched and struggled just like it had

now that it is gone, was it ever really here?What kind of shoe will extinguish my consciousness,

andWill it be tomorrow or in 80 human years?

If the result is the same, does it matter when it happens?

Will I care that I don’t existWithout hormones, neurons, or synapses?

Or how much pain I felt?Or if I touched many hearts?

Or whether or not I expressed myselfWith poems, dance, or art?

Directing my gaze to the matter before meI whispered a pointless apology

and mourned our death

-Benjamin Berry

Fall 2014 Ergo | 9

-Mario Bernardez

the reflectioNs of a chamPioN

Chorus: Don’t give up or give in, give it all -- you got, Never walk away, even when you -- Might fail, Stand the ground that’s needed, and inside -- you’ll always win, It’s not in wins and losses, where true -- Victory begins!

Verse 1: A true champion stands tall, win or lose -- he’ll never quit, When the odds are against him, he finds the -- Courage that will fit, the situation that would defeat him, will never -- Keep him down, What makes him a winner, is in the effort -- that is found.

Verse 2: his sportsmanship is found, in his sense -- of fair play, And no matter how great the challenge, he will -- Never walk away From the greatest threat that will rob him, of -- real victory, And that’s failure to self and team, which defines -- true defeat.Verse 3: he will be honest in conduct, for the “eye” is -- Always there, his reflection not only shows himself, but also -- those who care, he will walk the path of honesty, and always play -- By the rules, And in doing so, his integrity, he will -- Never lose.

(Intellectual Property of Monroe M.K. Bates)February 2011

CoRRIdoRS

The moon created a reflection off the old store window that reminded me of times past. I haven’t thought of the dusty shelves lined with fantastic worlds written into the yellowing pages. I force the door open; the bell chimes of my arrival to no one in particular. I see some old friends are lying strewn along the floor while others tilted on the shelf as if to bow at my return. Wandering through the corridors, running my hand across each one’s skin feels different, some wrinkled and crinkled, others wear a leathery jacket. I pull them to my face to read their song, listen to the tales of a lion; or the journey of a pilot; or the terrors of a monster. I could spend forever amongst the tattooed ink.

But I won’t.

-George Gough

10 | Ergo Fal l 2014

Fondly FoundFor dr. Aniko Constantine

aniko finds herself in kinko’sin search of stationery for the next publication of ergo,but in deep need of some caffeineto prolong a thus far productive day—least to say, coffee beans and steamtickle the mind, and she sits, shifts, and drivesto the nearest starbucks to satisfy.

Meanwhile…

keenan loses himself at kwik Fillin search of his credit cardto make payment for gasoline at “Pump 9,”but in disarray, midst rush-hour on Hump dayHe pays the cashier, who sneers,$20 in cash, two rusty pennies, and a new nickel --least to say, receipt not needed, and he scurries away to his 4-cylinders, --eager for a Mocha Frappuccino to murder. He parks, walking distance from the coffeehouse,and moseys into an inviting welcome of a siren,Jason Mraz serenading patrons, andan aromatherapy of beautiful roasts likeWillow Blend, Guatemala antigua, caffe Verona, and… “aniko!?” The two exchange bold helloes and breathless hugs,as the plan to sit, chat, and recap is quickly acted on.Warm cup in her hand; cold beverage in his.If smiles were worth 1,000 miles, to nice unknown whereabouts they traveled.

she speaks of semesters pastseasons like students in the coming and going:mums growing, leaves falling, tulips dancing,during her fight against illiteracy.“ergo misses your work,” she comments.keenan tells aniko no creativity lately,but tells her of what he “saw” in life,she corrects him to what he “has seen,”and a world of memories rekindle as they giggle.

He speaks of career, love and health;being promoted, broke, and unmarried (but blessed), having attended three weddings last summer,dancing to “Gangnam style” and snapping selfies tosome turtledove flying, china glass colliding, aluminum can pounding, karaoke kid singing, senior-citizen falling, newlywed kissing memories.to each couple for a gift, a 16-piece knife set—“Both useful in marriage and divorce,” he comments inconsiderately.

keenan lets out a short chuckle. aniko, an awkward silence.But they were happy for this happenchance,fun-filled years of college collaboration,blended with fond finds, poetry and art.she gasps… at the sight of a spider. He flicks the itsy bitsy eight-legged arachnidas it “hits the ground running” …dangerously scared, of course.Yet, ticking time also compels them to disperse.keenan had finished his cold beverage and aniko hers.Goodbyes for now. someday again, we shall!

© cOPYrIGHt by keenan a sIMs8/31/2014 1:33 aM

FishyBubble, bubble, bubbleGlub, glub, glubaround it swimsIn endless circles

In its own little universeUnaware of the concept of othersFood from aboveMagically appearing

no more foodBut oh so hungryslower and slower circlesThen the sound of flushing water ...

-Janelle Scrivener

Fall 2014 Ergo | 11

-Pat Vanhaverbeke

-Pat Vanhaverbeke

-Pat Vanhaverbeke

delicious little red

I watched her wander down theforest path, garbed in luscious

scarlet, her lips the samecolor and looking appetizing. A

zesty smell wafted out asshe swung her little basket.

“Perfectly seasoned meat” I thought asI inhaled the cinnamon-scent

deep down into my lungs. her dainty framecompelled me more and more. I wanted

tasty little red and her littlebasket, full of sweet goodies.

I followed her down the path. hercrimson swaying building my

appetite, my desire for fullness, myanimal hunger.

tongue hanging out and dripping, I gotcloser to my sugary treat, almost

bursting with anticipation as I got near. Nowher basket was in reach – and so was she.

I reached out and grabbed at flowingscarlet clothing. She let out a scream that

excited me more and I let out a desiringgrowl as the clothes made a satisfying

ripping noise. they ripped too much andshe got away and ran down the path.

her basket swung as she ran andscreamed, making me want it more.

I knew where she was going. I would stilldevour my delicious little red.

-Benjamin Dunn


I stand in line silently as I watch the guards execute people who aren’t qualified. A teenage boy is shot in the head, and

his body is carried away. the woman in front of me screams out of horror. one of the guards pulls her out of the line because of it. She pleads with him as he drags her by her hair. he presses a button on his wrist, and a door opens up on the far side of the cave. the woman realizes this and tries to fight him off. two guards run over to help wrestle her down.

“I didn’t mean to scream,” the woman cries as she resists arrest. “Please give me another chance!” “there are no second chances with the Sentient,” spat one of the guards. All three of the guards lift her up and walk towards the door. “Please don’t kill me,” cries the woman. the guards throw her in the room and lock the door. one of the guards presses a button on his wrist, and a horrific scream is heard from inside the room. I get the strange feeling that she is being burned alive.

I count the people in front of me. I become a little nervous as I realize after the next person, it will be my turn to be tested. If I rank lower than a B, my life will be snatched from me. two female guards place a steel helmet on the head of a teenage girl in front of me. I watch as they attach wires to her body. A muscular guard in golden armor walks over and opens up a rectangular device. he presses a button, and the device begins to make a weird sound. the two female guards take off the wires and the helmet. “you scored a B plus. you are qualified to live under the Sentient,” says the muscular guard.

I notice as the nervous expression on the girl’s face changes to relief. She is escorted to a room on the far end of the cave. “Next,” says the guard in golden armor. I walk up to him slowly as I pray to score a B. one of the female guards pushes me forward. “Walk faster!” I look back at her, and she takes out her bedazzled pistol and holds it to my head. “What did I say?” I turn around and walk to the guard in golden armor. he places the same helmet on my head. My vision gets darkened as the heavy helmet covers my view.

I squirm as I feel the sharp wires being attached to me. I feel a weird sensation as I hear the rectangular device beeping. the wires and helmet are quickly taken off of me. I stand in front of the muscular guard waiting to hear a B plus, but instead smiles at me and says, “you scored a C plus.” My entire life flashes before my eyes. I begin to lose concentration, and my stomach begins to churn. the muscular guard pulls out a gold pistol. the two female guards restrain me as he places his hand on the trigger. At that very moment I feel a strong force take control of me. A force that is not ready to face death.

I lift my leg up and kick the gun out of his hand. I throw my body to the ground in the hope of loosening the two female guards’ grips. to my relief, my weight and strength are too much for them to handle, and they let go searching their bodies for a weapon. the muscular guard headlocks me while I’m on the cold hard ground. I gasp as all the air rushes out of my body. I realize that the gold pistol is lying on the ground. I stretch my arm and grab it. I hold the pistol up to his head as he tries to choke me, and reluctantly I press the trigger. I feel his blood splatter on me as his body falls to the ground. I stand up towering over his dead body, breathing hard. I aim my new pistol at the female guards as they attempt to attack me. I look to my left and notice dozens of guards running in my direction. I look at all the people on the line and sense that they too want to fight. two guys get off the line and surprise the female guards by attacking them from behind. I shoot my pistol at the incoming reinforcements knocking some of them down.

to my amazement, everybody gets off the line and starts running towards the reinforcements. I stand there shocked as I realize I caused a revolt. I quickly scan the gigantic cave looking for a way out. I feel my body being grabbed, and I fall down behind a rock. Someone fires at me, but thankfully the rock blocks the bullets. I look to see who saved my life. Sitting next to me is a blonde-haired male, about my age. “thanks,” I say. “you got to be more careful! Name is Norpse!” Norpse holds his hand out expecting me to shake it. I only do because he saved my life. “Name is ronald.” I peek behind the rock to see dozens of prisoners and guards fighting. I see three guards approaching my position with rifles. Norpse sees this and grabs the pistol from my hand. “It only has one bullet,” I say. Norpse smiles and grips the pistol tightly. “you might want to cover your head, ronald.”

I look at him strangely and follow his orders believing that he had a plan. Norpse slowly stands up and shoots a flammable barrel causing a huge explosion. My ears begin to ring as the ground shakes. he crouches back next to me and gives me back the pistol. “here you go. I handled them.” I peek to see the damage the explosion caused. I become enraged as I notice the explosion took out some of the prisoners. I look at Norpse angrily. “you took out innocent prisoners!” Norpse looks at me with a dull expression. As if he feels no remorse. “It was either they die or we die.” I stare at him, trying to figure out if I should trust him.” “Look! It was necessary or would you rather be gunned down. I get the feeling that you expected me to take out three heavily armed guards with one bullet some other way. the barrel was the only effective way.” I look at him and realize he’s right. that was the only way to get rid of our pursuers.

-Eric StewartJustice origiN’s- Part i

Fall 2014 Ergo | 13

I peek behind the rock once more and look at the last few prisoners putting up a fierce fight with an overwhelming number of guards. I watch as the guards let their guns fire freely without any care. A girl with curly hair comes running towards us. She dives next to us as guards fire at her. thankfully the rock saved her as it did me. She looks at Norpse and begins to cry. “they took out Sara.” “Norpse shrugs and looks away. “Sara was expendable.” I look at them confused. Norpse notices and puts his arms around the girl. “ronald, allow me to introduce my worker Carla.”

Carla makes no attempt to acknowledge me. “She’s your worker?” I ask Norpse. “yes. ever since I was brought here, I allied with a couple of prisoners including Carla. under my command, we planned to escape on the day of testing. I contacted a couple of outsiders to help with our little plan. We were going to cause a revolt and then you came. you started the revolt, for us.” Carla shakes Norpse and points to the far end of a cave where a helicopter just landed. “our ride is here.” Norpse looks at me, and his eyes glare through my soul. I can’t help but feel like I’m in some way inferior to him. “our rescue is here. you can only come if you agree to be one of us.” I look at him uneasily. “one of what?” “A Justice!” he cries.

I quickly agree as I realize Carla is running for the helicopter at full speed. Norpse stands me up and smiles. “Welcome to the brotherhood.” Norpse begins to run to the far side of the cave following Carla. I look back to see the monstrous bloodshed I unintentionally caused. Dozens of dead bodies all because of me, but I quickly realize I have no time to mourn. I have to escape. I begin to run as I realize the last dozen guards are in pursuit. Luckily they are all out of ammo. I begin to pant hard as I try to catch up with Norpse and Carla. I feel like a snail compared to them. I watch as Carla acrobatically leaps onto the helicopter encouraging Norpse to run faster. I look back to see several slim guards on my tail. I give it all I have and run faster. Norpse jumps onto the helicopter, and he and Carla grab large rifles from inside. they load and take out a few of the guards catching up to me. I do not need to look back to realize most of the guards are gone. I can tell by the bullets rushing past my head and the bodies I hear dropping to the ground. As I get very close to the helicopter, I trip and fall onto the hard, cold ground. A guard jumps on top of me, and I watch as a bullet drills through his head. I push his dead body off of me and leap onto the helicopter. Norpse helps me up and pats my shoulder. “Welcome brother.” I take one last glance at the cave as Carla slides the helicopter door shut. I begin to feel nauseous as I look back at all the dead bodies lying on the ground.

-Eric Stewart

-Mario Bernardez


the things a soldier carries always serve a purpose. If you carry something

unnecessary, you carry extra weight around for hundreds of miles, for no reason. In his short story, tim O’Brien discusses one of the most valuable things that a soldier can carry: the poncho, “Because the nights were cold, and because the monsoons were wet, each carried a green plastic poncho that could be used as a raincoat or ground sheet or a makeshift tent. With its quilted liner, the poncho weighed almost two pounds, but it was worth every ounce” (O’Brien 434). Of all the things that I carried around while serving in the Marine corps, I too shared a special attraction to that awkward green sheet of plastic and its surprisingly warm inner liner. Throughout my five years of service, nothing was more worth carrying than my military-issued poncho.

The first time it came in handy was during boot camp. I remember when it was first issued to me on Parris Island. I opened it up and examined it for the first time, and I remember resenting its ugliness. at that time, I could not rationalize how an old beat up square of plastic with a hole in the center for my head could possibly be of use. I felt ripped off by the government because I had a rain coat back home in new York that far exceeded this tattered old hand me down that cost at most 20 dollars; was I not worth 20 dollars to the military? But oh how I was soon proven wrong. I remember how cold it would get at night in the squad bay. For the first few weeks of boot camp, I remember shivering myself to sleep due to the inadequacy of the paper thin blanket I was given to sleep with. Then one night I saw the recruit next to me get out of bed after lights out and rummage through his sea bag. after a minute or so, he finally produced the ugly green poncho and returned to his rack using it as a second blanket. This apparently was a new fad that was taking the squad bay by storm. terrified of being caught by the drill instructors, I hesitantly followed suit. after covering myself with my poncho, I lay in bed for a while absorbing its almost immediate warmth and thinking about how wrong I was to

THe THIng I CARRIed

-Andrew Makasziw

Fall 2014 Ergo | 15

doubt this wonderful creation. That night I slept like I had never slept before on that dreadful island. This was the first time that I took my poncho seriously, and it would not be the last.

The next time that my poncho proved worth carrying was during a training exercise at camp Pendleton, ca. It was early December in southern california, which apparently is the raining season. By this time I had been out of boot for a year and had been issued all the high speed, low drag equipment that fleet Marines are privy to. In that issue of gear, there was a thin windbreaker like coat known as a Gore-tex jacket. It was talked about as being “rain-proof,” and I liked it very much from the year of limited use I got out of it. I remember when I was packing for the exercise asking myself whether I should bother bringing my poncho

since I had this new jacket. after a while of weighing the pros and cons, I decided to take my poncho just in case. I still had an emotional attachment to it because of how well it served me in boot camp. This turned out to be one of the better decisions I have ever made; it turns out that Gore-tex jackets are not as rain proof as they are advertised to be. and actually, after further examination of the tag, it states that is “rain resistant.” For two weeks the rain fell without stop, and I quickly learned the difference between rain-proof and rain resistant. Within the first day I had abandoned my Gore-tex jacket and gone back to my trusty poncho. If it was not for my experiencing my poncho in action, I would not have believed there was a material on earth that could have resisted the amount of water that fell from the sky during those two weeks. I felt for my fellow Marines who unlike me had made the choice to abandon their trusty poncho. It was after this exercise that I made the decision that I would take my poncho with me no matter where in the world I was being shipped out to. Its value seemed to have grown exponentially.

The time that my poncho proved most useful though was during my deployment to

afghanistan. It may seem strange that a piece of plastic that is used to shield off the rain could possibly be that useful in the desert. But let me assure you that this time above all is when my poncho revealed to me its true worth. This time it had nothing to do with rain or warmth but rather the issue of privacy. In afghanistan we slept in these tiny 14 man rooms called “cans.” They were no more than 15 feet deep by 20 feet wide and had 7 bunk beds crammed into them. In afghanistan, these rooms are very much like your home, the bed that you sleep in being the only space that you can really attempt to label as your own. I don’t know if you have as acute a value on privacy as I have, but let me assure you that until it is stripped from you, its value cannot be fully appreciated. Once more I called on my trusty poncho to save the day. I was lucky in afghanistan, and I was one of the first in my can, so I got the privilege to select a bottom bunk. This is such a big deal because it turns out that when you tuck the poncho under the mattress above you, it drapes down over the opening to the bottom bunk. This had a shielding effect that hid me from outside world and encapsulated me in my own little bubble of privacy. I felt free from the world when I was in my makeshift sleeping hole. It was not that I distrusted the marines I was roomed with; I trusted them with my life after all. It was just that when I was in my personal zone, I felt like I could relax and let out the stress of the deployment. When I was alone in my personal space, I did not feel like I had to wear a mask for everyone to see. I felt like I could be true to myself and my own emotions without worry of judgment. and all along, it was my faithful poncho that gave me this gift.

For a Marine, the things he carries are worth so much more than their surface value. The things I carried were no different. My trusty poncho was always there for me when I needed it most, and for that I have found no replacement. For some, two pounds of plastic will seem hardly worth the burden, but for me it’s a lesson learned in time. The soldiers in tim O’Brien’s short story carried a poncho among other things; my story helps take a deeper look at why.

THe THIng I CARRIed-Andrew Makasziw


THySelF unknown

We are all a part of something biggerThan we know.

life’s a gun, our finger’s on the triggerWe’re ready to blow.

searching for the reason we are living On this earth.

People rarely ever realize giving Is what displays their worth.

no one truly knows where they are going.We’re more than just bodies, sacred spirits flowing.

Only time can show us how we’re growing. learning is the key to higher knowing.

keep on pushing, stop your head from lowering.

There’s no time to stop and pick apart your choices. choose with pride.

Overthinking all your options, your mind’s voicesWill eat you from inside.

You will figure out your purpose on this planet. Give it all and don’t give up if

You feel abandoned.

Through life, you’ll have so much to discover.take your time.

The highs and lows will bring about change and uncover

all the mysteries, questions, thoughts on whyWe exist here today and What we will find out by The last breath we sigh.

-Stephanie Pembleton

SIlenT SoldIeR

strength - a common misconception, misdirection Don’t think of perfect.

For strength is built from pain, emotional blood staintears pouring like rain.

The truly brave are scared, come preparedThey have dared and stared

Their greatest fears in the eyes. They are wise. courage wears a disguise, never dies.

Through the highs and lows, the tough blows,Fighting foes, all the woes.

a resilient attitude will bring, help them cling, stop the sting to the troubles you’ve endured like a king.


THe lIgHT

break me, bend me, twist me till I snap.out from the darkness I seemed to relapse

not out of hate, not out of painbut I emerge for the darkness with new

knowledge I’ve gainedthe situation is more than just give or take

filter what is real, discard what is fakelearn from your wounds, bind up your

scarsbut the most important lesson is -- love

who you are


-Alis

ha Je

nney

Fall 2014 Ergo | 17

SIlenT SoldIeR

strength - a common misconception, misdirection Don’t think of perfect.

For strength is built from pain, emotional blood staintears pouring like rain.

The truly brave are scared, come preparedThey have dared and stared

Their greatest fears in the eyes. They are wise. courage wears a disguise, never dies.

Through the highs and lows, the tough blows,Fighting foes, all the woes.

a resilient attitude will bring, help them cling, stop the sting to the troubles you’ve endured like a king.


FulleST oF lIveS

live life to the fullestenjoy it at most

For you never knowWhen you reach your final post

enjoy the small wondersas well as the great

For destiny is strangeto meet your final fate

View the small bird as well as the oceanFor the tiniest sound

and the slightest motion

enjoy all you haveeven what is notfor many people

have not a lot


-Luc

us B

ayus


-Jule Torrens

-Jul

e To

rrens

a cousiN’s disguise

My darling,My love,

My little lost son.If only you could see,

Just how much this is killing me.I didn’t mean to put you through all this:

If only you knew,Just how much you’re missed.

you were beautiful from the day you were born,Now it’s my heart that is left to mourn.As you grow up and come to realize:

you will discover.that I am your mother.In a cousin’s disguise.

-Laurie K. Hutchinson

this poem is based on my personal experience with giving up my child when he was eight months old. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I was young; my parents were getting divorced, and we were losing our home. I tried hard to keep him but wasn’t able to care for my son.

I lived out of my car for a couple of weeks and was taken in by a Christian family that took advantage of me to be their personal slave. At that point, I picked up the phone and had my uncle Dave come and get my son and me.

the moment I had to let my son go was the worst experience of my life. It was also the beginning of my life of destruction -- meaning drugs, sex, and being a floater with no stability. I no longer blame the loss of my son. I am responsible for all my choices, good or bad.

My family adopted him, but I am still unable to see him. ryan Phillip is now going on 28 years old, and I wanted to share my story. I wrote this poem back in 1991 in honor of my love for my child, and I have held onto it for that many years.

-Laurie K. hutchinson

Fall 2014 Ergo | 19

studying abroad, away from our family, friends, relatives, and our home is something which is considered an achievement in our homeland. When we get the news that we have been ac-cepted in a foreign university far away from our motherland, we can literally see the inkling of pride in ourselves and our family members. at that point, we don’t really realize that traveling abroad and staying there by ourselves will be hard. I interviewed one person, whose name is kana. Her major is social science, and she is 19. she used to live in a place called shiga, which is near Osaka, Japan.

When I asked her about her family, she told me that she has two sisters; one is older and the other is younger than she is. Their names are ayana and Mana. she tells me that she used to chat a lot with her sisters whenever she could, and they used to gossip a lot about boys, tV programs, and a lot of other things. she also told me that she misses them a lot. kana said, “Whenever I felt sad, I used to share my sorrows with them, but now they’re not here.” she cries herself to sleep almost every night because she misses her sisters. skype is the closest she’ll ever get to her sisters personally, at least for the next four years. she also has a father and a moth-er back home. she tells me that her fa-ther is a businessman, and her mother is a housewife. When I asked her what kind of a people her father and mother are, she tells me that they are both very funny, and they joke every chance they get. naturally, she misses her parents a lot too. she told me, “My father can tell if I am sad or happy just by looking at my face, and if he senses that I am sad, he will start joking, and he would always make me laugh.”

When I asked kana about the food she used to eat, she told me names which I can’t even remember now except rice and sushi. she told me that she misses her food, and she’s been losing weight because she doesn’t like american food. I asked her if she can cook, and she said, “I wouldn’t be losing weight if I knew how to cook.” Her mother never used to let her into the kitchen, and

this, according to her, spoiled her. “I will pay anyone who will cook Japanese food for me.” That actually made me realize how much she misses her food. When I asked her about her hometown, she started smiling again, and she told me that their hometown is very small, and everyone knows each other. she also said “This place is nothing like my hometown, and it can never be my home; I want to go back.”

Just like kana, I am an international student here too, and I can relate to everything she said. I miss my family more than anything, and it can be very painful sometimes. every night, when there is nothing to do and I am trying to sleep, all I can see is my mother, my sisters, my brothers-in-law, my nephew, and nieces. I wish every night that I could go back to my family and be with them, but they are the ones who sent me here to study so that I can become a better person in life and come back as an achiever. The only thing that keeps me and kana here is the hard work and dedication that our families put into sending us abroad. If anyone ever asks me the things I did to get an admis-sion, a scholarship, and a visa to this country, I tell them that I only studied, and everything else was done by my family. One of my young nieces did her part too. When I was packing my bags before the flight to the Usa, she sneaked into my room and hid packets of chocolates in my bag, and I found them after I arrived. she’s just eight years old, but she still had enough love for me to give me all her chocolates, and that brought tears to my eyes.

It’s very hard for us to be away from family and friends that we left behind, but we still persevere. even though we are going through a lot of misery, going back won’t prove that we love them and we miss them. even though they miss us a lot, they want us to stay here, work hard and study to be someone they can one day be proud of. That is what keeps us here, away from home, and away from our families.

-Ridwan Md Hafizur Rahman Mim

AwAy FRom ouR FAmIlIeS

good Boy

Is this my modus operandi,my pattern and my plan –falsely telling all that listen

you’re more monster-like than man?

having readily misled themhaving lied and stretched the facts

unconcerned that any fallout wouldn’troll right off your back.

Is it true that other menhaving walked for even less,

have tried and failed and tried againto rectify the mess?

had the living room been cleanerwould your kindness never dwindle

if the house were all in orderwould your tenderness rekindle?

If I’d only known the secrethow to open-close a door –

been neater and been faster,fewer dollars at the store.

had the holidays been gladdermore devotion just for you

gained control of my emotionhard as nails and paid my due.

Never worried for the ranting,never tried to speak my mindnever cried at all the anger

just returned your care in kind.

What was wanted, what was crucial,any love and real respect

was supplanted by your offerfor a fistful of neglect.

-Elsa A. Kemp


when others see a track, they think of running. I see more than just that. I see an experience; I see my memories and the wondrous times that I had with my team. I see the people with whom I shared that track with and the high school it was attached to. I see the hallways we ran in the winter. The jokes and laughs we had during the spring. I remember everything I ever saw and heard connected to that track. as I walk down it, I continue to relive it, and as long as I see it, I will never forget the experience. -Denton Cassels

oRIgInS oF A Boy

I am from fresh-cut grass and dewy mornings.I am from fire ants biting ankles, with no warning.

I am from a rusty mower in the yard, withering away.I am from beautiful sun rises, not to be cliché.

I am from television and video games.I am from kids in the Hall, not knowing their names.

I am from a cozy bed, keeping me warm all night.I am from being raised to be proper, and polite.

I am from no texting at the dinner table,and not judging, or giving strangers a label.

I am from a small, respectful family,and forced into education, from an academy.

I am from John and christine my father and mother.There’s more than meets the eye, more to uncover.

I am from Ireland, america, and Italy.From many heritages, but only two parents, whom I

remember vividly.(Inspired by George ella lyon)

-Dylan McCaffrey

-Computer Animation IV, spring 2014

Fall 2014 Ergo | 21

mom and grandma

It’s been over two years since my Grandma Thomas passed away. The pain of her loss has gotten easier, but it seems that the more time

that passes, the more I miss her. I miss spending almost every weekend with her when I was little and going to her whenever I had problems as a teenager. I miss that jar of chocolate chip cookies she always kept full for all the kids. I miss how she always supported us grandkids and always seemed to make things better. I miss her sitting in her spot at the kitchen table every time I came over, greeting me with a “Hey Honey” or just “Pumpkin”! now when I go over there, her memory haunts the house, and I just want to burst into tears. What upsets me the most is that when I have kids, they will never get to meet their wonderful great grandmother that everyone loved so much, but it’s okay because my grandmother left something for my children, my mother. as my mom gets older, I can see more and more of grandma in her, from the things she says, to the way she walks, even to the way she makes cookies. I will always miss my grandmother, but it makes it easier knowing that she left a little bit of herself in my mother.

-Travis Goodspeed

-Rachel Wormuth

-Rachel Wormuth


UnJUst anD UnFOrGOtten

when there’s nothing but the end there is nothing left to say I’ll give you a kiss and call it a day Pain absorbs like a sponge on the rainiest of days but I must sever must continue, forget, endeavor This connection must have lost, it was

broken or near feigned and not in the end, sadness is all that was gained. I would wave, but I might spout clouds. These words inside must not be spoken aloud. For the direction of resurrected thoughts would only kill some more so I’ll walk away

and close this door I am sorry for my sins, I never meant to injure something about this lust, I’m sorry I let linger Will you forgive injustice, let my light heart

go if not I understand the jurisdiction but in fear, my feelings stow so if the day, I do come burst let me go, Deny the grief don’t let it flow For the depth of sorrows

flows past your tears lay down a daisy and forget the years Though unjust and unforgotten My intentions were never rotten now in the cloud my light heart sitsemotions of rainstorms my body now knits so dance upon the rain and forget me

in your past sometimes it’s only the best that can seem to last.


therapy that Keeps me free the music from the speakers raises my adrenaline

As the singer from the song starts yellin My walls begin to shake

And the floor began to quake Stuff falling off the walls

the melodic sound reverberating down the halls

therapy is not what many seeBut it certainly is to me

I listen, love, and enjoy for all the hopeless memorieseven if they don’t last for more than a second

When I overcome and rise above I’ll forever remember all this hatred was caused by love

Mental health is a concern for the restI treat it like it’s a pest

I drown it out with the loud rhythms of death While others might use meth

Numbness is what I feelA euphoria of unexplainable proportions that would make you kneel

Just remember music is more than speaker deepIt helps people stay sane and in keep

-Daniel Loveless

she isn’t fragile, she doesn’t live in a bubbleaway from the pain or away from the struggle.

When it rains outside, she never wants to stay inPlants her feet in the middle of the mayhem.

The pendulum swings, serenity swaysshe adapts her lyrics to the melody played.

One with sun, birds, and the treesIn the end, free was all she could be.

-Carolina Valdez

Where I’m from everybody is trying to make it out of the hood with their own hustle. Everyone wants to make money somehow, either by selling drugs or robbing other people. Growing up, I always looked up to the rappers and drug dealers with fancy cars and their gold watches. I always wanted to have a gold watch like them; it looked like everybody with a gold watch was rich. When I used to hang around them, they had all the new sneakers and all the ladies. I was willing to do whatever it took to be like them, but I was too young.

That summer my neighborhood was indicted, and I started seeing the people with gold watches and handcuffs together around their wrists. The handcuffs became the new gold watch in the neighborhood, and the thought of going to jail was scary.

When my mother bought me my first gold watch, I felt as if I was rich. I wore the watch everywhere I went, showing off my wrist proudly. After getting my first job in high school, I was able to buy my own watch, and I felt proud of myself. I was proud because I earned it and also because I wasn’t on the corner with handcuffs around my wrist. -Kofi Gyamfi

Fall 2014 Ergo | 23

4/c

-Janelle Scrivener

-Rachel Wormuth

untitled #1

You’re living a photograph,Frozen in your own memories,The “what could have beens,”

When a motion picture is happening,right before your very eyes,In hi-def crystal clear image,

I know life is hard,especially when you’re living with a broken heart

-Julie Torrens


-Brian Mothon

-Janelle Scrivener

Who am I to judge?One should never judge another human being, unless he or she is appointed by God through the spirit to give necessary judgment–but even that scenario may be one not to take into consideration. God, Himself, is the only one who should judge. no human being is better than another. We all bleed the same color. We all should have equal treatment. When people consider themselves to be humble, they should stay consistent on the word “humble.” Being humble means showing a modest or low estimate of one’s own importance. The world may have their ranks on what “better” is. In our new high school graduates, there are large numbers of minority groups who are going down the wrong path. everything happens for a reason, right? If the “wrong” path is the path they choose to walk on, then so be it. each one of us has the choice to live our own life the way we want to. But with that privilege comes a foundation of parenting.

Parenting plays a huge part in our children’s lives. There is a saying, “you are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.” Parenting and family contribute largely in that quote. You can tell how family is just by being around a person. not only do family and parenting play a huge role, but friends play a role just as essential. For example, if one is amongst friends who are productive, then productivi-ty will develop.

Judging someone cannot only be defined as judging one person—their whole posse may have similari-ties you neither condone nor enjoy. Before judging someone, take a second to be in that person’s shoes. take a second to sway away from the peer pressure. last but not least, take a second to look at and analyze yourself.

“not one human is better than the other.” With that being said, I pray for those who are judgmental toward others. It is not only a bad trait, but it may also give off the wrong perception to the person one is sharing their judgments with.

One should keep in mind that judgments toward oth-ers are not something that should be condoned. The only person who should be judging is God himself.

-Angel Torres

Fall 2014 Ergo | 25

a hotdog with my graNdPa (Aaron’s Song)

Bridge: I’m gonna have a hotdog with my grandpa, at the Baseball game tonight After nine innings of bein’ together, we’ll both Be doin’ alright, It’s a home run for the two of us, talkin’ underneath the infield lights, And if I’m striking’ out in life, those bleacher seats Will make things right.

Verse 1: the young boy says to his momma, “what time did grandpa say he’d be here? I got some things on my mind, the kind of problems he needs to hear, I think the ball game starts around seven, and I don’t Wanna wait, I really need to talk to him, and I hope he Isn’t late.

Verse 2: the young man feels the pressures, of his life closin’ In on him, the wife and kids and job are comin’, with demands that Just won’t end, he knows his grandpa’s seen hard times, feelin’ he too Was gonna fall, I wonder if he’s got the time, to go watch em hit the ball?

Verse 3: he walks into the room, with the scent of flowers hangin’ In the air, With his friends and family gathered around, most everyone is there, he knows he’ll only need one ticket, if he catches the game tonight, But he knows his grandpa’s spirit waits there, for him Beneath the stadium’s lights.

(Intellectual Property of Monroe M.K. Bates)July 2014

Sweet dream... when you’re beckoned

come to bed nowbecause I can’t sleep without you

by the step-father who says he loves yousays he’s sorry when he hits you

accidentally ‘cause you made himfall clumsy to the floor.

says he’s willing to forgiveyour inability

to do rightand

to talk rightand

to walk rightand to love right

andto live right

andexhaustion seems to own you

wants to shut you down complete nowjust let go and close your eyes now

so you willingly obeybecause that’s the only option.

realizing as you wake upand your eyes stubbornly open

weighted with a world of dreadingand you find his bed is emptyyet, you wouldn’t be expecting

never dreaming or suspectingyou will find the step-father who loves you

hanging lifeless in his closetonly inches from the floor.This is his final act of love.

He did it all for you.

-Elsa A. Kemp


Hello, now I am not sure who is reading this or if anyone will read this at all. Honestly, I would hope no one will read this. But I know there are the few out there who will see this and be drawn to it. so I will tell you my story.

It all started one night when I was heading back to the dorms after a party. now we were smart; we did have a designated driver. Jim was a good person and a great friend, not one who was big into alcohol but once in a while he would like a good drink. I wish he could have had one. On the drive back, we decided to take a different road; we all felt a change of pace was needed because 3 out of the 4 of us were starting to feel the alcohol in our stomachs turn with the road. It was a warm night, 60 degree weather and a clear sky filled with stars. That night, however, we didn’t make it to the dorms. There was a sudden loud pop! Followed by Jim’s losing control of the car and going off the road. at that moment, everything seemed to slow down. I was amazed by how it all looked: The world being turned upside down, the broken glass frozen in air, the crumpling of the car as it hit the tree, breathtaking. Then there was nothing; it was dark but not cold, and there was only me. I walked in this dark empty space for what felt like hours, till I heard the noises. That was when I saw them. Jim was ok. The air bags did their job and protected him, same with the other two in the back. I then asked what happened, but it seemed no one heard me; they just kept saying my name over and over. something was off. I could see me. Me. at first, it didn’t bother me. It grew on me. How can I see myself? I saw Jim check for a pulse; He yelled back at the other two that I still had a pulse and for them to call 911 and hurry. I was relieved to hear the words “he has a pulse,” but then I started to think how I ended up like this. How can I see myself in front of me? I stayed close to my body at first, but then I started to experiment to see what was going on. I have seen lots of movies about people dying and coming back as ghosts, but nothing like this. When I touched myself, I felt solid, but when I went to touch the window of the car, my hand felt like jello as it went through the window and did a kind of ripple effect. I pulled it in quickly, but then I did it again, this time putting more of myself out of the window until I was outside of the car completely. I then tried to stand by putting my feet on the ground; this took a couple of tries, but when I concentrated on it, I was standing. I then walked around the car looking at myself; it was like looking into a mirror but with one small difference. When I moved, the reflection didn’t move with me.

By the time I did this however, the ambulance had arrived, and I was being prepped to go in it. I overheard them say I was lucky to have survived this long. I walked with my body as they loaded me into the van; along the way I ran into a few people and the same jello-like ripple happened, but no one seemed to notice it. after they loaded me up and put me in the van, I sat there next to my body the whole ride. I watched as I was wheeled into the emergency room

where they did everything they could to save my life or my body. after seven hours, they finished; I heard them say that my body was stable, and I was in a coma, and it would take time for me to recover. after I watched the doctors leave, I stood next to myself, wondering if there could be a way to get back to normal, to wake up.

That night I sat next to myself, thinking of ways to return to normal. First I tried to sit inside of where I was lying -- nothing. Then I tried meditating, picturing myself waking up and looking through my own eyes; this didn’t help either. after a good three hours of doing this, I gave up and decided that my body wasn’t going to be getting up anytime soon, so I would go for a walk. You know the hospital is an interesting place when you are not tied down to a bed. I had been in hospitals before because of my medical condition. I was diagnosed with crohn’s Disease. not many people know what it is, but it hurts a lot, and I have to take a lot of medication to control it. But being in the state I was in did have its benefits; I didn’t feel pain anymore.

The things you see in this place though are really something. I watched a surgery happen in which the person was having something done to her chest. as I read the chart, I found it was a girl in her 20’s about the same age as I, but she had breast cancer. as I watched the doctors perform the surgery, I wondered if she would live. I know that cancer is a hard thing to beat, but she seemed she could do it. It was getting towards the end of the four hour surgery, and I noticed the doctors nodding their heads like they did a good job. On a piece of paper, I saw the one doctor write that all the cancer cells were removed, and she was to start chemotherapy in the next two days. With this news, I left the room to see what was going on with me. There I was, just like when I left: nothing new other than it was the second day that I was in the coma.

so I left to go see what else I could find; it was then I saw that someone was watching a movie. I walked into that room and sat down to watch it. It was The Matrix, and I had seen this movie before, but this time it felt different, as if it were my first time seeing it. I was hooked from the start, and then a part played that really made me think. It was the part where Morpheus said to neo, “This is your last chance. after this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill – the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill – you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes. remember, all I’m offering is the truth – nothing more.” It was then I started thinking what if I had taken the red pill, and this is my wonderland. I stayed in the room the whole day watching the other two Matrix movies; then that night I started playing in my wonderland.

since I didn’t want to copy the movie too much, I decided to call myself a sleepwalker. I couldn’t think of a better name. I remembered when I first experienced sleepwalking, I had to concentrate on putting my feet on the ground to walk, so what else

How CAn I See mySelF? -Anonymous

Fall 2014 Ergo | 27

could I do if I concentrated? I soon found out. The first thing I wanted to try was walking through walls because walking the halls became dull and repetitive. I faced the wall trying to remember what was on the other side; I remembered that when I went through the car, I felt like jello when you shake it. I put my hand on the wall first and started to push on it; my hand slowly started to slip into the wall. I waited a minute before I took it out to see if anything would happen, but my arm came back normal with just a little ripple. so I then started to slowly put more and more of myself through the wall. as I made my way through the wall, I saw that my body only rippled when I exited the wall, not while I was in it. For the third day I walked through the hospital walls going from room to room. I thought it was funny when I stumbled into the staff ’s locker rooms. I stayed to watch the women change but then left to see what else I could find. I stayed in the doctor’s board room and listened to them talk about what they wanted to do for that day or whom they had to see. Then I walked past the cafeteria and noticed for the first time in three days, I couldn’t smell anything. It was odd. I didn’t care that I couldn’t smell or feel hungry; it just felt normal, like this world I was in was reality and my body was becoming more like a dream.

When I reached the room, I saw three people standing next to my body: my mother, father, and sister. My mom must have been crying; I could see that her face was red. My dad stood there with a stern face, not showing any emotion, but I could see in his eyes that he was concerned for me. Then there was my sister. Of the three, my sister seemed to be the most upset. I heard her say “This isn’t supposed to happen to you; you’re my younger brother, goddamn it.” I stood there watching unable to tell them I was standing right next to them. a sense of helplessness came over me. so I ran, going through walls without thinking; it felt like I was crying, but I couldn’t feel tears. Then I fell. at first, I thought I must have done something wrong, or maybe my time had come. turns out, I ran through a wall that was attached to the elevator. I landed, and it didn’t hurt; nothing hurts when I am sleepwalking. I stood up, walked through the closest wall, and found myself outside. The sun was just about to set. I watched it wishing to feel something, but there was nothing just like for the past three days, nothing. I walked around trying to calm myself down. I felt angry for causing my family pain and not happy that I could be in this world where I could do whatever I wanted. I was disgusted with myself. I looked at the sun as it went down, that last sun ray on my head with no warmth to it. That was it; I was tired of being in my wonderland; I wanted to leave it. I turned around and started fast walking to the room where my body was. I walked through people and walls without a thought. When I was back in the room, I saw that everyone had left. There I was just lying there in a coma, and no sign of waking up. It made me sick to look at my weak body; I had become so much more in three days. I could walk through walls; I didn’t need to eat or sleep. I couldn’t feel pain. I was able to see things that others could never have thought to see. But with all that said, I couldn’t talk to others or feel what it was like to be warm again.

That was going to change. I walked over to myself and slammed my hand on my chest. It was solid like it was in the car. I started to push with everything I had. I didn’t know if this was going to work, but that didn’t matter to me. I wanted out of wonderland. Then it happened; I slowly started going into my body, inch by inch. It felt like that stuff you make with corn starch and water, solid but yet a liquid at the same time. at first, I didn’t feel anything, but then it felt like someone was pricking my hand with needles. I kept going, but the pain became too much. I pulled them out as fast as I could. I stood there looking at my body wondering why I hurt. If it hurt that badly trying to go back, why should I? Why should I be the one who has to go through pain to go back to a world that would only hurt even more when I got there? Then I remembered why. I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I had my fun, but now I wanted to go back and be with people. I shouldn’t let pain be something to stop me from going back to a place where people want me. after I thought about it some more, I started again; this time reaching my shoulders. Then my face. This time, however, I noticed I was a little warmer; then it started to hurt. In a flash I felt a huge weight on my chest. I opened my eyes only to have them be burned by the leD lights. While this was going in, I was also trying to take my first breath of air, but the air tube was still in place. In a rushed state, I grabbed the tube and started pulling it out. When it finally came out, it was like my first time taking a breath of air. It hurt so bad, but feeling this pain meant that I was finally back. I could no longer see me. I was looking through my own eyes.

a few minutes passed before the doctors and nurses were aware I was back with the living. They checked me over and sewed up the hole where the air tube used to be. It was another two days of liquids before I could start to eat real food. During that time, my family and friends came by to see me. Jim stopped by as well. I had never once seen him cry in the time I had known him, but when he saw I was alive, he broke down saying how sorry he was for what had happened. I told him it wasn’t his fault. He laughed, and we then talked about what had happened in the time I was away. My family reacted in the same way. everyone was happy to see me alive. even though I was there the whole time, I kept that a secret. after another two days in, I was finally released to go home.

now here is my question to you. Is it better to stay in a world where one can detach from everything? Their friends, family, job, responsibilities? Or is life something worth living, going through the everyday pains but still being able to enjoy them because you know this is reality? You can go and talk and surround yourself with others so you don’t feel alone. Well I found my answer, you read what I did but what you don’t know is what happened after I left.

The sleepwalking didn’t end.

-Anonymous


-Brian Mothon

Cathedral -R Kusaba

the thorNs of aNger

Within the purest form, anger harms its holder most.Lurking in the dark, hate and jealousy are engrossed.

A façade is used to deceive outsiders, and those who care.the rose, a beautiful flower, has its own dark secret, beware.

holding the power to harm those who touch it, who seek its beauty.It too uses a facade, distracting from the thorns, which do their duty.

Like anger, the thorn’s purpose is to harm what they hate.Disgust and jealousy, stabbing like a thorn, the heart’s love bleeds out and abates.

Not blood, it bleeds hate, spreading its filth to others.What was once a lover, is now, the man who suffers.

once the rose is picked, it bleeds, dying, and withering.two lovers, once in love, now they are bickering.

Words act as daggers, slashing through good mood and happiness.Is there any way to get rid of this increasingly large blackness?

Mistakes are made daily, nobody is perfect,We are all human, what do you expect?

the solution is clear, to anyone who dares,hold close that person you love, and show them you care.

-Dylan McCaffrey

Fall 2014

is the literary and artistic

publication of Alfred State. It is funded by the Student Senate and is freely distributed each semester. Students, faculty, and staff of Alfred State are invited to submit their original works of art, poetry, and prose by placing them in the Ergo drop-box in the library, or emailing their submissions to: [email protected] or [email protected]

Our thanks to everyone who participated this semester and keep the submissions coming!

Sincerely, The Ergo staff

Co-Editors: Audree Russac, Mary Gordon

Art Editors:Adrian Perry, Kelsey Williams

Senator: Nicholas Brunelle

Editorial Board:Brian Mothon, Nicholas Brunelle,

Janelle Scrivener, Max Hecht, Chelsea Clark, Eric Stewart, Anthony Collalto, Dawei Tao, Kali Blew, Kelsey Williams

Treasurer: Janelle Scrivener

Faculty Advisers:Dr. Aniko Constantine, Yvonne Cassidy

Janice Stafford, Dr. Brian Quinn

Staff Typist: Debra Tomm

With appreciation to those whose help and expertise make each issue possible:

Document Center:Catherine Chambers,

Brent Cobin, Darcy Hill

Marketing Communications: Molly Andrus

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