Jonathan Morgan______A Midnight Ride on Paul’s Derriere

Listen, my children, and you shall hear Suffice it to say they slunk back to their lair Of that fine tradition all Johnnies revere And Peterson echoed with their cries of despair: A Poetry Contest, in your nomenclature “How now shall we manage, O Divine Mercy, Erotic in name, and though small in stature to express our deep love for all things unseemly? Healthy and bulging with tumescent pride For sodomy, incest, and good Lady Chatterley, And like many bulges, too prominent to hide. For onanists, frotteurists, and bestiality?!? A rude, hairy Tourney of frustrated gripes Freud says that what isn’t expressed will fester! Which yet managed beauty, as Pan from his pipes. What we hold in now will be worse next semester! A contest that Johnnies created, in trust. And though we are craven and burning with lust, As a repository for their various lusts. Most average Johnnies are homier than us!” On one fine spring morning, in 2004, The editors anguished long into the night. The Dean paid a call on the Moon editors. But had they a plan, by first morning light. He asked them, with feigned nonchalance, to accompany Although it would gall them, they must take a chance, Him back to his office, and they complied readily. A crash-course in administrative song-and-dance: Then, barring his door tightly behind their backs They’d barter, cajole, beseech, threaten and stall. And tuning upon them, as if to attack, said And try to appease the Gods of Weigle Hall. “this contest up with which I will not put! And lo, they prevailed, and they made their case heard The poems themselves are but licentious smut! These gallant defenders of the four-letter word. And those pictures of co-ed! Nude photography! And so there remains, at St. John’s, an arena How will this look to our good BVG?!?” For all of your vile and sick erotica. The editors nodded, and shuffled their feet— Where you, my dear readers, you base rogues and liars, To tell what they thought then would be indiscreet; Can dress up your fantasies, deck out your desires. I shall not relate what they wanted to say In iambic meter, and cheap rhyme—and hope As one of them would like to graduate in May. That elaborate trappings will hide tired tropes. If you use pretty words—who knows?—maybe we’ll think That your flowery language covers the stink. Where else but here, friends, can you if you’re smart Turn even a dmnk One Night Stand into “art”? Adam Willson So welcome back, oh my frustrated lovers. HOW TO JUDGE AN EROTIC POETRY CONTEST You impotent, pent-up and sore little buggers Welcome, all you sadomasochistic freaks. To think: how many ways there are to hammer in­ To the contest we call Le Poesie Erotique. to a soft and fleshy, womby mind that by every stretch of tongue there is behind, a sodomy of thought - the mind’s fornication. Through a mist of love acidic, we chance do spy our hollow bones, sick and syphilitic - an anal-ytic occupation left us dry and our sturdy skiff has shrunk to nullibitic. I too saw her top undone, but underneath not a pleasure-dome to which I’d come no sweet cream did her breast bequeath unto mine eye, when all was done and done. The fist does light upon my Jovan Rex for a thousand droughts lie on my sex. THE MOON Features

The 2005 Erotic Poetry Contest Bad Johnnies...Johnnies p. 16

Redefine the Enemy: Ben Mann p. 8 Six Nonspecifics for Cynical Living, pt. 2

Africa; Sarah Davis-Goff p. 10 Zingela and the Weak Woman

Beyond Reason 4: Felicitas Steinhoff p. 12 Latus Rectum

The Ring Cathy Jo McCue p, 13

News and Opinion Peace Query Adam Braus p. 6

Defenders of the Faith Gideon Culman p, 7

Some Thoughts on St, John’s Security Mark Morcos p. 15

Calliope's Corner

Blowout Jeffrey Dharma p. 22

"It Could Come at Any Time” Zacc Coker-Dukowitz p. 26 Part 2: Luo

Comics Sigfried Lucas Smith

Canto XXVI Blake Hindley p. 31 Moon Don’t like what we’re doing with the Jonathan Morgan Unrung, Unsung and...well Moon? Adam Willson The Horror...The Horror. Assistant Curmudgeon The editorial staff of the Moon is constantly being bombarded with Chris Harris questions, comments, and threats about the content of this or that Layout Editor Moon issue. Our stock response is to gently suggest that the individ­ ual accosting us write a letter to the editor. Almost universally, this Nyssa Travis suggestion has the effect of causing him to stammer, avert his eyes, Layout Assistant and shuffle away, often while muttering angrily under his breath. Trystan Popish Inevitably, no letter follows. Intern Why oh why are you so silent, campus mine? We want your input! Contributors Are you too meek to voice your opinions in a public forum, too lazy Adam Braus I Felicitas Steinhoff to type up a statement of your grievances, or do you simply have Cathy Jo McCue I Zack Coker-Dukowitz nothing to say? Jeffrey Dharma I Gideon Culman C’mon. We know you’ve got at least 95 Theses in you. Nail ‘em to Lucas Smith I Owen Stark I Ben Mann the door. Blake Hindley I Mark Morcos Jane Murray I Ben Gaddes I Kyle Simmons Send constructive criticisms, destructive witticisms, or threats of Allegra Johns I Michael Lewis death and dismemberment to [email protected] and Steven Pine Cover Photo: Camilo Alba-Navarro \______/

The Moon is the independent bi-weekly student newspaper for St. John’s College in Santa Fe, New Mexico. As such, all opinions expressed within represent only the views of their respective authors, and do not necessarily represent the views of the cuz who loves ya,"baby ? College, the Faculty, the Administration or the Moon Editors. Issues are available at no charge to all members of, and visitors to the campus, and The Moon Editorial Staff now has the distinction yearly subscriptions can be obtained for $30. of actually having staff members who are not The Moon is composed of student works and all editors. But they are few. So the call is going out contributions are welcome, but the Editorial staff for anyone interested in reporting, critiquing, reserves the right to demand an indefinite amount photography, cartooning, layout, editing, making of revision in order to uphold our strict journalistic standards and to ensure that each issue is relevant, sweet sweet love, living, drinking, being the Dean, informative, and damn fun to read. or self-actualizing. If interested contact Jonathan Morgan X4170 or Adam Willson X4324

STJOHN’S L 2 College

ANNAPOLIS . SANTA FE 4 LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

To the College Community; No student called Robby Shanker Has a tutor ever answered your frenzied attends or has attended the Graduate late-night call for help on a math prop? Institute. Ever gone out of their way to meet you in the Coffee Shop and Respectfully, read your seminar essay—even though you’re not in any of their Krishnan Venkatesh, classes? Gl Director We want your submissions—stories, anecdotes, or just plain thank yous—to tutors who have gone above and beyond to help you out and show they care. Dear Mr. Morgan, This is a missiv to strongly protest the For the next issue of the Moon we would like to print your tutor appreciation letters. So please sit down, think a minute, and thank continued publishing of lies in your rag. that tutor who went out of his or her way to help you out. The Moon, by one Gideon Culman. In your April 15 edition you published a This is an important way to show that you too care and are willing series of allegations by Culman regarding to go out of your way for them. the alleged disapearance of one Robby Shanker. As an active and sometimes naked member of the EC sangha I can qualitativly state that there has never been a “Robby Shanker” at any time in any of even took up the story! The silence at the courses. the time, in the wake of the burning city Acting on Culmans bloated assertions was deafening, man! All Koolman ever of a cover up at the highest levels, I got was a citation from the mayors office, checked with Sri Venkateswaran on this a simple soft paddling of his soft backside and he not only denied any knowledge and a one way ticket to Penobscot Bay, of the alleged student, but seemed sim­ just about the farthest away from Venice ply surprised that one would take Herr Beach as possible. How he made his way Koolman seriously on anything. Firstly, to Santa Fe is anyones guess... but you and we both agreed on this, Koolman is can bet a quick check with the Bar Harbor a known felon and blackgaurd, prevented Sherrifs Department might reveal it. from ever entering again Los Angeles Look, you print what you want to, politics. During the Rodney King riots of Morgan, or at least print whatever the the 1990’s, he was the man later identi­ Reverend Sun Yung Moon, tells you too, fied as having taken Madonna’s bustier but there is no reason to print lies as fact. from Hendricks of Hollywood. He was If Koolman has proof on Robby Shanker, wearing blackface at the time, thats why goddamit, he’d better show it. Otherwise no one originally knew. The media never I will continue to meet that depraved revealed this. They simply printed the Republican Likud drug fiend on any page fact that it was black kid in a hoodie, he manages to suck his ass on to, and I and everyone bought it, including the will fight him dammit, to my last bullet! Queen of Pop herself (This was of course And may sunyata have mercy on your in the days before Christina Aguillera). loose souls, This was the most egregious fact, and Nico Jenkins the media never printed the truth, never Peace Query

by Adam Braus

Let this article be an invitation to all. place ‘outside the bubble,’ and at a bare mini­ The Peace Query was established as a fo­ mum it improves your composition, grammar, Nonviolence Is not rum to discuss justice, peace, war, and the his­ and handwriting. It serves as the practical solely the total tory and efficacy of non-violent direct action. counterpoise to the seminars which are only It is an on-going informal conversation about theoretical. absence of physical these topics in general. Nonviolent resistance of evil conjures im­ violence. The power A word about non-violence. First of all ages of wars, the violent conflict of huge inter­ of nonviolence is most nonviolence is not solely the total absence of ests, and even sacrificing one’s life or a num­ physical violence. The power of nonviolence ber of years in prison for a cause. Thankfully fully realized when is most fully realized when there is a feeling this is not the case for participants in the there is a feeling of good-will towards one’s enemy. Violence Peace Query. Nevertheless, there are laws and is wishing to annihilate, subvert, or humiliate trends that deserve our attention and outcry. of goodwill towards your enemy into submitting to your will, by A letter is very powerful, and you can have one’s enemies. means of brute force and deception. Instead faith they will be read. There is a precedent of dominating over a submissive victim, non­ in the American Congress and Senate to read violence attempts to convert one’s enemy to every hand written letter. You can write till your side. This is done through self-sacrifice. your hand seizes up, and your representatives Nonviolence is stronger than violence. Civil are honor bound to read it. Secondly, normal disobedience is a perfect example. If you people like to get mail, so it is reasonable to disagree with the law because it is unjust and expect people to open your letter and begin it. repugnant to your conscience, you do not obey If it is well written, perhaps they might even it. You civilly admit to arrest. You plead guilty finish it. Newspapers will read everything and are jailed. Your presence and the presence they get because they are constantly looking of other innocent people in jail galvanize the for stories. What the letter accomplishes de­ conversion of the powers that be to your side, pends on many factors, especially the validity and the law is abolished. This explanation of its contents the spirit in which it is written. raises many intriguing questions, and this is A spiteful note is more readily thrown aside. why the Peace Query was created: to explore As a final note I want to make clear that it these questions and many others concerning is my hope that the Peace Query will never this topic. represent set social and political goals or The two ways to participate in the Peace ends; however, it should and does represent Query is to come to the sporadic but espe­ set means towards those ends. At the same cially interesting guerrilla seminars on works letter writing table or seminar table every by anyone from Patton to Einstein, Gandhi to goal and opinion is welcome, be it Anarchist Sun-tzu. The second and more regular way is or Socialist, Democrat or Republican, Nihilist to come write letters and converse informally or Fundamentalist. The place where everyone on Saturday at 3:00pm in a classroom up­ should meet is in the civility and integrity of stairs in the iibrary. The Peace Query is not our Means towards our separate Ends. the “Activist Club,” but it is logical that when

one is interested in justice and the means to Adam Braus says: “Moon staff, please do not bring it about that one should manifest that include a paenthetical snide remark after my name, sentiment and interest in action. The Peace thank you.” Oh, yeah? How about a sarcastic one, Query will robustly continue next year as then, Adam? Ironic? Sardonic? Eh? well. The modes of action that most easily pres­ ent themselves are letters, emails, and blog writing. Letter writing serves to strengthen your opinion about some topic, gives one im­ petus to better understand some event taking NEWS / OPINION

Defenders of the Faith by Gideon Culman

Pope Benedict XVI served as John Paul Defenders of the Faith is hardly Priest’s I don’t expect II’s defender of the faith. What does this best album. But since 1990’s Painkiller to see Pope mean for Defenders of the Faith! Nobody has a title track that’s so off-the-charts would think to place it in the same league killer it saves the whole album, we have Benedict XVI as 1980’s British Steel, which boasts to wonder why Defenders of the Faith fell at the Judas the classics Breaking The Law (immor­ short. Not one awesome song? No. All it Priest show at talized by Beavis and Butt-head) and has is heaviness. And it doesn’t use that Living After Midnight. Defenders of the well either. 1997’s Jugulator does. Even the Journal Faith is consistently heavy but not very without Rob Halford’s vocals, Jugulator Pavilion in catchy. Odd, given the thorough-going crushes bones with catchy songs and Albuquerque on catchiness of its immediate predecessor, makes you wonder how Glenn Tipton and June 28th but 1982’s Screaming for Vengeance. The K.K. Downing did it with guitars tuned opening one-two-punch on Screaming for so high. There’s a new Judas Priest album I’m certainly Vengeance, The Hellion and Electric Eye, that just came out with Rob Halford back willing to pave the way for song after song that you on vocals. It’s called Angel of Retribution take bets. can’t help but sing along to: Bloodstone, and I haven’t heard it yet. I don’t expect You’ve Got Another Thing Cornin’, to see Pope Benedict XVI at the Judas Devil’s Child', all of them really. What is Priest show at the Journal Pavilion in there to sing along to on Defenders of the Albuquerque on June 28th but I’m cer­ Faith! Freewheel Burning! Only because tainly willing to take bets. it’s repetitive. Eat Me Alive! Come on! Gideon Culman is a neverbeen who wasted his teenage years running a newsletter for the hasbeens in L.A. Guns. How metal is that? Volunteers Needed for a Clinical Hypnosis Stndy Call for info:

1-505-983-0860

7 Redefine the enemy: Part two of my "six nonspecifics for cynical living”

By Ben Mann

In the last issue, I offered up the first three I have nothing to convince you of. I just of my “six nonspecifics for cynical living,” as don’t think this is any way to live. well as my rationale for formulating them. The problem, as I see it, is that of smart, ca­ pable people embracing dumb, incapacitating However, I also have no interest in telling lifestyles as they grow up, and eventually set­ anyone how to live. That’s why my solutions tling into a boring, whiny routine of loveless are nonspecific. These are my own personal marriage, empty respectability, and career strategies for avoiding a life of decayed luxury aspirations. Followed, of course, by sweet, and popular atrophy. There are six of them. sweet death. The number is arbitrary. Mmmm. You love it. They’re just suggestions. Just my ideas. Plenty of people try to avoid this course, but Take them or leave them. Come up to me in the they end up burning out in one way or another. hallway and tell me they sucked. Whatever. Why is that? Where do people go wrong in To review briefly for those who missed the trying to set themselves apart from the crowd first three, they were: and live authentically? 1. Stop having “issues.” (Nobody wants to hear about them. They I see a lot of people who are basically wiped never get resolved. They make you suck. out by their mid-twenties. And that makes Stop.) some sense, because it’s not easy to grow up. 2. Don’t become an “adult” just because It’s not easy to get through school, work all you can. the lousy jobs to pay rent, keep your friends, (Marriage, home ownership, and other figure out relationships . . . it’s all insane and respectable things are not inherently bad. But in the end, a lot of people Just want to chill out they have a tendency to drain the fun out of with a career and a couch. life and replace it with arterial plaque. Tread The more experience I have with this pro­ carefully.) cess of becoming an adult, the more I see that 3. Watch people. it sucks the fun out of you simply because it’s (Habits. Behavior. Words. Actions. Study difficult. It takes a lot of energy. You don’t them. Study yourself. Learn from the people necessarily want to jump any more hurdles you admire. Learn more from the people you or keep pushing yourself after you’ve made don’t.) it this far. *** But I think you have to. I think I have to. The alternative -this idea that you sort of But enough of that. I present to you num­ reach a cruising altitude at around age 25 — is bers four through six of the nonspecific plan. just such a dead end. It’s just so bleak in all its comfortable domesticity. It’s nice on a certain 4. Watch the culture around you level, sure, but it’s a life without progress. I Culture can be great. Shakespeare was mean, it’s not really living, is it? When things pop culture. The Clash were pop culture. just level off and you sit around on the sofa, Then again, culture can also be a laboratory waiting to get cancer? for mind-control and human manipulation. I said it in the last column, and I’ll say it Marketing and advertising are the businesses again—was this why evolution happened? of control, backed by unimaginable quanti­ So we could bore ourselves to death, getting ties of money and with scores of psychology softer and more forgetful with every year Ph.D.’s and “communications” majors man­ that goes by? So we could order stuff from ning the guns. You’re in the crosshairs. catalogues? Someone’s got your number. They study us for a living. They’ve indexed and catalogued

8 FEATURES

all the things you think your want, for the pur­ I don’t think of any of them as “idols” -and absolutely necessary to cultivate. Not so that pose of sending you running after them. Their I think idolizing people is fundamentally you can retrace someone else’s life story or knowledge is a powerful thing. So is their ap­ lame—but they’re more than just influences. become famous, but just for the purpose of plication of it in the creation of culture. I think of them as my benchmarks. They help feeling inspired. This is where they twist your ambitions into me formulate my standards, my expectations Put a picture of Iggy Pop by your tooth­ vanity and greed. Where they strip away your for myself. brush. Put some James Brown on your stereo personality and replace it with a consumer in the morning. Find inspiration in the lives profile. This is where smart people become you admire. Musicians, Roman orators, St. stupid and stupid people become slaves. Then again, culture John’s tutors, whatever. Look to great lives. Of course, if that plan works, that’s you can also be a doing all the legwork. You’re the one chasing the phantoms. It’s your fault. To quote Fugazi, laboratory for mind 6. Don’t get comfortable my favorite band: “Nevermind what’s been control and human This might be the most important one. It selling—it’s what you’re buying.” People manipulation gets back to what I was saying at the begin­ play along. They take what’s offered. “Gift” is ning; life is a struggle, and people tend to German for “poison.” People accept the gift. accept whatever makes it easier or less com­ They suck down the poison. Greg Graffin managed to acquire a doctor­ plicated. It seems to screw them in the end. The only remedy to this is a skeptical atti­ ate in biology while writing dozens of classic So maybe that’s just not the way to go tude. You can’t remove the element of exploi­ punk songs. Henry Rollins started out as a about things. Maybe the fight is never over. tation from culture—I think it’s always going scrawny, socially inept kid, and made him­ Always on. Maybe that’s the only way to stay to be there. All you can do is be aware. Watch. self into a “human pitbull” with charisma, a alive. Not to get too comfortable. Not to settle Study it. Keep your eyes open. manic work-ethic, and a 20-year music career. down. Advertisements are fascinating things when Dogen entered the monastery after the death I know you. All you St. John’s students, you look at them critically. So are political of his parents and during an age of declin­ reading this. You’ve got a lot on your shoul­ campaigns, bad television shows, fashion ing Buddhist practice, but managed to found ders. You dared to give the school’s program a magazines, et cetera. Everything designed to a school of Zen Buddhism whose tradition I try. You undertook something big. Something appeal to people is, in some way, a mirror of follow today. that wouldn’t let you be lazy. Something that human nature. Don’t just tune out the elements I don’t attempt to model my lives on these would kick your ass. of culture you’re repelled by. You can learn a guys, but I do draw inspiration from them. Coming to St. John’s is the most ambitious lot about people’s desires and habits just by They make me realize that you can do so much thing I ever did. Probably the most ambitious paying attention to their most crass manifesta­ more with your life than pay rent and acquire thing you ever did, too. That doesn’t mean tions. neat things like cars and a wife. I’ve got laurels to rest on. It means that I’ll More importantly, you can arm yourself Then again, some of my “benchmarks” be disappointed in myself if I don’t attempt against it all. Just by watching. Just by aware­ are guys I don’t necessarily respect on a something this ambitious again. ness. Learn their game. Beat them at it. Know personal level. James Brown was a tyranni­ I don’t want to be complacent. I don’t them better than they know you. cal bandleader and did jail time for being a want to live for comfort. I don’t want to gun-toting maniac—but he tore it up onstage be defeated. Do you? so much that I can’t help but be inspired. Iggy 5. Set yourself some benchmarks Pop has led a life of speedfreak debauchery, Ben Mann asked us how we sleep with ourselves at night. We told him 'hey, when you're as sexy as we If you know me, you know I have my but the man is an undeniable beast behind the are, you'll understand.' little pantheon of culture heroes. You prob­ microphone, a force of nature. Chuck D, from ably do too. Most of mine happen to be guys Public Enemy, hasn’t made a good record in who fronted punk bands back in the 80s (Ian about a decade—but his first three albums McKaye of Minor Threat and Fugazi, Henry make me want to kick some ass. Rollins of Black Flag, Greg Graffin of Bad These guys inspire me. They inspire me Religion), plus some dead philosophers, jazz to write, run, read, go to college, play music, musicians I knew back in Denver, a 13“’ cen­ meditate, take life seriously, take life not-so- tury Zen monk named Dogen, and a poet or seriously ... all the things that people tend to two. forget about when they settle into bland adult routines. I think that this sort of inspiration is Africa; Zingela and the Weak Woman

by Sarah Davis-Goff

The impala, large and warm, is wary. should be hoped for, up to and maybe Her left shoulder is bloody from where including getting mauled by some hungry I hit her a couple of hours ago, and yes, cat. We are only warm flesh. she’s quite wary, but she’s tired too. So The peace of Zingela is real, but fragile. am I. The angle is bad and I’m trying to Every now and then an animal will cry move around so that I can hit her right out, and it is broken; but then the peace through the shoulders, make a clean kill returns so violently that somehow this of it after all. The sweat rolls down my seeming neglect is more shocking than the back, my stomach, down my forehead suddenness of the death of an animal. The and into my eyes. It stings and I squint in quiet and the noise exemplify each other the oppressive sunlight, trying to blink it until there is no difference between them. out. I lowered my father’s mulish old rifle Eventually, I imagine that you’d get used for the millionth time and slung it over to it; you’d be there one day, kneeling by my sunburnt shoulder. I rub my eyes. the river doing your washing up, perhaps, We had started at dawn. and you’d pause and wonder about as I sleep better at Zingela than I do any­ much as the bullfrogs when you heard the where else; the tent was a tent in name sound of an animal dying. One day, your only. The small, spiky trees had been acceptance would be natural too. cleared to either side, and a four-poster Lord, but I was hot. My shifting had bed with luxurious silk sheets and animal moved the animal on. Two hours ago I had skins for warmth dominated the clearing. an excellent position, at least I thought I For the most part you could see straight had, and had made a nervous shot. Right up, through to the cloudless sky. There at the flat of the shoulder. The impala had was a sink carved into rocks, and a mini­ reacted to the noise even before it regis­ bar in the cleverly hidden fridge in the tered the pain, and took off, bleeding and stones beside it. My favourite part, the stumbling a little. Killer Morrison, a pro­ shower, was in the trees a little way off. fessional hunter often hired by Zingela The water spurted from a cleverly hidden for such exploits, had shot me a look. nozzle in part of the cliff-face. Standing “Pathetic woman”, it said, “you shouldn’t under that shower, letting your eyes be allowed out with a gun.” I was angry wander over the savannah, you could and confused; the shot had been good, talk yourself into believing, and hoping, he’d given me the nod. that you were the last person left in the Two hours is forever in the baking sun. world. I had at first tried to convince myself When I was younger I used to worry that it was a good thing that I’d some­ that the elephants would, albeit benevo­ how fucked it up, that I shouldn’t come lently, stamp me to a bloody death in my away from my first big-game experience sleep, or that perhaps I would be attacked thinking that it was easy and that I was by a leopard during the night, a salivating good That had passed a while ago. Now I leopard smelling my tracks from the wa­ wanted only to drink the rest of the warm ter hole. I would sleep nevertheless. I had water in my canteen, sit under some scrub woken up to strange animals in my bed­ for a while, and then head back to camp room; warthogs, once a young bushbuck when the sun relented. But I stirred my­ -if you’re lucky enough to have found self on; leaving a wounded beast to die Zingela, it’s worth risking. Actually, slowly was unnaturally cruel. that’s not even true. These adventures 10 FEATURES

The impala had stopped bleeding, was the impala -that was all. It was Just making tracking her on the cracked red us and this hot thing between my hands, ...letting your earth very difficult, even for Killer, so we an instrument. I blinked slowly, my heart eyes wander over had to try and keep on top of her without slowed. Time passed, but I was not quite scaring her into another run. At last, we aware of it. She moved, gracefully show­ the savannah, you came upon a dip in the earth, which we ing me her bloodied shoulder. I watched could talk yourself crept into. it and pressured the trigger of the gun Into believing, and Trying not to breathe too loudly or instinctively. I am a hunter -that’s what move too fast in my hurry to catch her I felt, although I don’t think I was even hoping, that you while we had this advantage, I peeked thinking. There was more time and then were the last person over the lip of the ditch. She was stand­ it was not even me, or her, there was only left in the world. ing nearby, but had her back-side to us. her shoulder and the heat between my Dizzy, I slumped back into the shadow hands, and after that I knew that I had of the ditch, quivering with nerves and killed her. exhaustion. Killer was watching me. His Again, she heard the noise before she look {weak woman) kindled enough anger registered anything else, and sprang up in the dry pit of my stomach to make me on her back legs to pull away. When she close my eyes and think for a minute. My came down to use her front legs, they hands were going to shake too much. I gave out from under her -her shoulders need some sort of stability. Fumbling qui­ had been shattered. She fell and I ran to etly, 1 made a rough tripod on the ridge her, becoming conscious of Killer again. of the dip with two dry sticks. Slowly, She was still breathing, her eyes star­ slowly, I put the barrel of the old rifle into ing madly. She kept trying to rise, but the cradle. Loaded it. Waited for her to couldn’t. move. And tried to calm myself. “Good shot”. Killer says in a busi­ I was afraid that Killer was right. ness-like manner, and for a moment I Maybe I should let him shoot her; if I hated him absolutely. “You head back missed, the impala would take fright, and towards the jeep. We’ll need it for her.” we wouldn’t be able to track her again. Understanding, I said, “No, it’s okay. I’m There was just one shot. not squeamish.” I knelt beside her while I watched her. Impala’s are so sleek. he took the rifle from me. I laid the palm Her coat was magnificently shiny, her ears of my hand on her flank. How strange; and nostrils alert and mobile. Graceful this huge, hot, heaving thing beneath me. legs tapered down to dainty hooves. Are Killer aimed the rifle at her head, and I they even supposed to be called hooves? heard a shot. I , Sarah, could never shoot this; not be­ cause she was so beautiful, but because Sarah Davis-Goff, the Great White Huntress, says: "If anyone thinks they ’ll be out in South Africa ever, she was so alive. I couldn’t possibly wield and might want to go to Zingela (because it’s amaz­ that kind of power, to take life away from ing!!), contact me (x. 4078) and I’ll give you their the body in front of me. But I watched on, info. Killer could do with the business!" Yes, Sir, Bwana Memsahib. my sweaty hands slippery the gun. I let my eyes wander a little, feeling strangely lazy, yet alert. Something changed then; I forgot about Killer behind me, and was alone. I was not anything that I had been made into; I was simply alive, and so Beyond Reason 4: Latus Rectum

By Felicitas Steinhoff

Today’s article is titled Latus Rectum next year we can again act against the because I like the word. Enough. Things housing contract, behave mde and ri­ If birds had guns, we’d have stopped making sense. Even for me. diculous to the Dean and Housing office, Today is too bizarre to conceive. Today and reside gloriously in a suite the fol­ probably all be dead. that is 6 am on some day, one of my dead lowing year. Great standards have been days, I don’t care. You know why they set. But this is definitely not the fault of call them dead days? Because the time the SRB. Before some people get really span between your first and your last dead defensive let me say clearly: BYGONES! day of the year is exactly the time it takes Responsibility is probably the hardest for the poison in the food to accumulate thing to learn. I just wish more people and to be fatal, given that you eat three would even give it a try. times a day in the dining hall. Hahahaha! One way to know that the second se­ Revelation! mester is drawing to an end: you wake Not that it matters anymore. up, hear the birds and know that it will My unruly band of outlaws has disinte­ be impossible to fall asleep again. I hate grated. One of us lost his heart because he these birds. Apparently there are some walks the path of the philosopher with a people who buy Cds with bird sounds. bottle of whiskey, another lives in seclu­ For relaxation. Consider this for a sec­ sion, but dances the flamenco divinely ond: birds chirp because they either want when nobody sees her, the rest of the to attract future partners or threaten each selected few have disappeared into the other off each other’s territory. Birdsong mists of routine and hallway-hellos. And is nothing more than boast and threat, sort what about me? of like Europe first half of the twentieth I have an inflamed nerve in my spine century. If birds had guns, we’d probably and my sinuses are brimming with dis­ all be dead. gust and resignation. Singing Palestrina Now envision somebody sleeping and other holy songs is obviously not the and dreaming to these angry, aggressive way. I just woke up and couldn’t move. noises and you get: the way I feel walking I felt very Katkaesque: alienated. One around campus these days. of these dead dead days I shall wake Emily Dickenson wrote a poem titled: up as a snake and crawl to my last meal “Hope is the thing with feathers”. Excuse on my belly. How biblical, how very me? Hope threatens? Hope spreads “Metamorphosis”, how pathetic. disease? Hope regurgitates food for its I figure that this paralyzing malaise of young? Hope keeps me from my sleep? body and mind is my soul’s way of telling Sorry, Emily, but this is why I never really me: this year is so over. But its not. After liked you. You’re weird. all, we Sophomores still have to justify Not that it matters at all. our existence by throwing Reality. I envi­ Possible solutions for my momentary sion my next two weeks: imprisoned in lapse in....hmm.....everything: Sleep? a secret location doing secret things with Yeah, I just covered that. A drinking a glue-gun and huge markers until I pass out from the fumes. Yeah Reality! J. Alfred Prufrock thought that he should have been Apart from that I have reinitiated my a pair of ragged claws, scuttling across the floors of silent seas. Felicitas Steinhoff, on the other hand, commitment to Polity. It’s fantastic. Last thinks that she will wake up as a snake and crawl to meeting we elected a new President for her last meal on her belly. the SRB. It is therefore guaranteed that

12 FEATURES

The Ring

By Cathy Jo McCue

I wanted to share a reflection with ev­ but found out that girls were not allowed Wrestling has been in the eryone that occurred one afternoon in the for try outs. This was a pivotal moment hot seat with regard to gym. On January 17, 2005 we received for me as an athlete. our new wrestling mat from Canada. On gender issues for the 19“', after the mat had acclimated to Years later I discovered Jiu-jitsu. Like quite some time. the gym temperatures, Alex Kongsgaard, many of us here at St. John’s, it was Austin Stapleton, Blake Kiltoff, Ben Glass through Mr.Venkatesh that I was intro­ and I brought the three sections together duced to the art. I suspect that he knew in order to form one practice space. The from the first time we rolled that I could beautiful mat with red and black mark­ make a mark in the sport. After all, he has ings was purchased from Lindhurst High been a teacher for a long time, and he is School in California. No doubt many quite clever at helping students find their wrestlers have engaged in the old tradi­ hidden talents. After a twenty year hiatus, tions of training, sparing and competing I found myself on the mat again, and in on this mat. That day 1 told my students an instant I knew that Jiu-jitsu was some­ a story, that helped me realize that once thing I would truly love to do. You see. again I am being supported by the mat, by Jiu-jitsu is a lot like wrestling. the ring in which we train. Wrestling has been in the hot seat with When 1 was in Junior high school I was regard to gender issues for quite some on the wrestling team. It was an intra­ time. And institutions of higher learning mural team that at the end of the season have been grappling with gender equal­ would engage in extramural competition. ity in athletics for even longer, at least These tournaments were single elimi­ since 1972. That year the Department of nation, in which the competitor would Education passed a series of amendments continue to advance until he or she lost. I which included Title IX. In brief. Title IX don’t remember most of my matches that states: well but I can never forget one incident that had a profound effect on me. I won No person in the United States shall, on my division in my district, and so I ad­ the basis of sex, be excluded from par­ vanced to the regional level. I then won ticipation in, be denied the benefits of, or the first and second round, and advanced be subjected to discrimination under any to the quarter finals. The boy who I met educational program or activity receiving in the quarter finals was tough; he had Federal financial assistance. trained with his many brothers for a long Title IX applies to any educational time. However, I won the match after a program in an institution that receives good fight. When he got off the mat his any federal funds, the majority of schools father was very angry and proceeded to in this country, from elementary schools reprimand his son for letting a girl beat through colleges. Almost all private col­ him. I felt sorry for him, and I was angry leges, for example, are covered because that my performance was being measured they received federal funding through fi­ only by my gender. My next match was nancial aid programs like the Pell grants. the semi-finals; the boy that I met in this In May of 2002, the Department of round was very good and super aggres­ Education dismissed a lawsuit that was sive. He won the match. The next season brought forth by the Wrestling Coaches I wanted to try out for the wrestling team. Association, claiming that Title IX was continued on page 14/ The Ring 13 continued from page 13 / The Ring instituting discrimination based on gen­ throwing all his effort away, in order to me. I started to share my insights and der. They cited that many publicly fund­ ensure that the ice did not break? it had a profound effect. We all became ed institutions were ehoosing to cancel So back to that day in the Student better athletes. wrestling programs in order to close the Activities Center, here we are, Mr. I feel so blessed to have come full circle, gap between the number of male athletes Stapleton, Mr. Kongsgaard, Mr. Kiltoff, and now have a ring that is strong enough and number of female athletes in school- Mr. Glass and I—unrolling our beauti­ to support ALL who desire to train. The sponsored sports. ful new mat. I tell them the story of my people who train at the SAC seem already Title IX was created to help establish youth as a wrestler. I shared with them to have learned these lessons. When I more equality in educational athletic the sadness I had felt as I had watched shared my story on that day I didn’t have programs; it has yet to be fully instituted. my young worthy opponent berated by to say too much, because they knew what The Women’s Sport Foundation released his father for being beaten by a girl. I I was sharing. After all, we train together, a statement after the Department of shared with them my disappointment the and the time that we spend on the mat is Educations decision was handed down, next season when I learned that there was time where we can let all our judgments “The Wrestling Coaches Association’s no opportunity for me to wrestle with the disappear. The ring is a place where we lawsuit does nothing more then pit the team. It seemed to me then as now that can challenge ourselves to be worthy op­ “have-nots” (wrestlers whose teams have we are all affected by these insensitive ponents, and when we step into that space been dropped) against the “have-nots” actions. Often, gender discrimination is we are held by a ring that can support us (women who are still not getting equal considered a woman’s issue, a feminist in all aspects of training. participation opportunities and benefits).” plight, but I would encourage all of us Although over two thirds of publicly to look at how we are affected by gender It is always hard to write a bio-blurb for some­ funded schools are in compliance with bias. I could identify with that boy, but one like CJ McCue, as she is such a presence on campus, is so refined and intelligent, and Title IX at this time, some institutions could he identify with me? Was he happy she can totally kick our asses. Hfe love you CJ, continue to cut wrestling teams rather to see that girls couldn’t compete against please don’t hurt us. than redistribute funding from other pro­ him the next year? Did he quit wrestling grams. There continues to be enormous all together? expenditures in college football and bas­ In town, I train mostly with men. In the ketball programs that recently have raised beginning I was angry that some of them ethical questions regarding the business didn’t accept me and that often I was of professional sports in the academic treated differently. I even noticed that setting. at times I would hold myself back. There I’d like to share another story that I was a little tape playing in my head that recently read in Soko Morinaga’s book. said, “You can’t beat him, he’s a guy.” I Novice to Master: An ongoing lesson in would feel myself give up. I have trained the extent of my own stupidity. hard to overcome this mental block, in This story calls to mind the relationship order to improve my game. One day I between wrestlers and the ring. The rea­ realized that men must have those same son that two giant men, together weigh­ tapes. But what do they say? I thought ing in at six or seven hundred pounds, can and realized they were in an even more come together and wrestle, slamming all difficult place than I, since they had two their might into the contest, is that there messages, “you can’t beat her, she’s a is a ring under them, which, like the bond girl,” and the second message, “you can’t between master and disciple, absolutely let her beat you, she’s a girl!” How could will not break. If a wrestler, however the men have ever understood this, since skillful, were to compete inside a ring they only trained with other men? The drawn on ice, wouldn’t he creep around. only time they were faced with this aspect of training was when they trained with FEATURES

Some Thoughts on St. John’s Security

By Mark Morcos

These remarks are written in response Although most threats to the safety to student concerns about campus secu­ and well-being of the college commu­ This article was misprinted in the rity that I have overheard. I do not com­ nity come from off campus, a few, Mr. last issue. Here it is again, in its ment on any particular disputes between Davis regrets, are caused by students. It entirety, -ed. individual students and the campus is therefore necessary for security guards security department, although I have to monitor certain aspects of student life investigated some of these and formed and to enforce school policies intended to Still, campus security guards’ “judg­ opinions about them. Instead, I briefly protect students. The student functions ment” is not perfect. Most of the guards treat three fundamental questions: what with which security guards are concerned come from law-enforcement, military, the formal and informal responsibilities are mainly school-sponsored parties and or similar backgrounds and take time to of the campus security department are, large, potentially dangerous social gather­ adjust to St. John’s—an environment whether campus security guards are ad­ ings. In a community of learners that en­ that demands a more flexible outlook equately fulfilling them, and how students courages students to develop as complete than their previous occupations did. can improve relations with guards. This persons, the appropriateness of interac­ “It took me a long time to adjust,” Mr. commentary is of course incomplete; it is tions between campus security guards Harris confesses. “—I’m still adjusting.” intended to invite more discussion in the and students is measured by whether they Miscalculations of the necessary amount college community. allow the amount of freedom necessary of caution cause the most (legitimate) The chief, and formal, responsibility for students to develop intellectually, criticism from students, but, importantly, of the campus security department is to socially, and personally. campus security guards are aware of their ensure that members of the college com­ From my conversations with different fallibility and welcome students to voice munity generally and students specifically members of the campus security depart­ their comments, criticisms, and concerns are safe. The campus security department, ment, it seems as though guards are at a monthly forum for discussion exclu­ says Mr. Randy Harris, believes that the committed to upholding student freedom sively between students and guards. best way to protect the college commu­ whenever it is possible to do so with­ nity is to keep those who do not belong out risking safety. Study areas, like the Only two students—the meeting’s or­ on campus—those who would harm, vio­ twenty-four hour study rooms in Meem ganizer and myself—attended the most late, rob, or otherwise negatively affect Library and the classrooms in Santa Fe recent student-campus security forum members of the college community—off Hall, are only visited by guards once per on April 8. The campus security depart­ campus. To do so, campus security guards night to confirm that off-campus visitors ment cannot be expected to form or block the road leading to the College on have left and that nothing is out of the maintain a satisfactory relationship with weekends and admit only students and ordinary. Dormitory areas, too, are only the studentry without cooperation or, at their guests. visited once per night, and the common least, genuine interest from the students. The success of the road-block is evi­ rooms that were locked at midnight now Instead of limiting our involvement with dent in the virtual disappearance of such usually remain open until 4am. As said by security to complaints, we ought to take problems as “thefts, vandalism, rapes, Sgt. Romero, “We respect your privacy, an active role in the improvement of secu­ [and] guys coming up from town to [and] we’re not here to be pricks.” He rity-student relations. This means, on the threaten our students,” which, according continues: “We want to enforce campus one hand, dismissing petty or illegitimate to Sgt. Ricardo Romero, were frequent policy, but we also want to work with stu­ concerns and expressing legitimate ones occurrences before the introduction of dents. The rules aren’t set in stone; some­ in the appropriate forums, and on the the road-block. He notes that before the times we have to use our judgment. We other, assuming the responsibility of self- disappearance of Mr. Starr’s laptop, no know how hard you guys work here, we government. major theft had occurred on campus in know the curriculum, so we turn a blind almost fourteen months, and that female eye when you want to have a glass of It would not be difficult to assemble a students have told security guards that wine, a beer, relax... as long as nobody’s group of student chaperons for each large they feel much safer now. getting hurt.” gathering, or to watch over classmates

continued on page 28 / Marcos 4

The 2005 Erotic Poetry Contest

1 St Place February by Michael Lewis 2nd Place Shiver Me Timbers All Night Long by Benjamin Gaddes 3rd Place Spun Undone Top Wheel Real Deal by Jane Murray

Honorable Mentions judges include: Beautiful Curved Lips Jonathan Morgan Delicious Prey Adam Willson Eros Got Married Zack Coker-Dukowitz I Dream of Touching Campus Aran Donovan Crosswalk Chris Harris Oceanside Wandering Mists

16 V

POESIE EROTIQUE

Honorable Mentions

I Dream of Touching the Campus Beautiful Curved Lips (Inspired by Miriam Ard) By Anonymous by Kyle Simmons

Beautiful curved lips I oft times dream of touching the campus Your arms wrapped around my hips Of St. John’s College Drink from me in sips “Santa Fe...Santa Fe...Santa Fe” I hear myself, hearing myself say. Your hands hold my wrists And the stirring waters of the fishpond Fingers folding into fists Elicit rippled reflections of the stately spire You make my toes twist Of the Weigle Hall inside of me. Where I hear ringing bells—passionately singing bells: Can’t sleep without you That cannot be “unrung—unsung—unhung.” Tossing, I touch my lips too Can’t I sleep with you?

Delicious Prey By Allegra Johns Eros Got Married Stealthy as she is sublime By Anonymous She works herself just like a vine Round his back and up his spine. All that warm, sweet. Spring day. Sinuous and free is she We wore nothing Winding ‘round the sleek body But our wedding rings Of her live and sweating tree. And one another.

Green eyes sparkling in her head. She hasn’t heard a word he’s said Since first she snuck into his bed.

Squeezing soft, he starts to quake. His moans no man or beast could fake She has his life to spare, or take —

He quivers, sensing what’s at stake.

17 Honorable Mentions

Crosswalk By Nom deHonte Oceanside by Steven Pine I see you no thoughts look like you do no words I want the ocean spring. looking at me with the lock on eyes a primal grunt The cold hollowing breath most primal thrust in night’s soft, shaking limbs it starts the same who brings black cloth cover slow and sexy ah well he is gone now to wrap the eyesight blind. complete abandon in a starlit life just a momentary daydream Let go, be still and feel meeting of eyes in a crosswalk sea’s undulating touch the way your torso torques anonymous city with sinewy reality as shame I’ll never know his name as wave over wave comes you grow to move and wrecks the shoreline sand, made smooth and velvet black a complete ideal realized with gloss damp and soft down, your hand Wandering Mists my head’s atop the beach; neck by Owen Stark our thundering bloods mix back by rising tidal force till split by rock and rock. tracing down my thigh I am a wandering between dark and misty places. Air whisked, the ocean spray the pressure of you caress My mind stretches thinly across comes falling cool and fresh water times I never slides within upon the skin. I hear my drought-ridden sex while my palm slides down recede from sea’s stretched moan slow start lost fascinations of eternity along your body. the last rush of high tide, and watch the darkness glow to animalism Still, it feels so far from your skin, awaiting sun’s arose. as I smell which is the only bridge you change the rhythm and too thing to traverse. crackles as i taste my sweat in your kiss Only with the streams of night my I lock my own eyes upon kiss not tender anymore and be lost again in this the biology overwhelming distance. the possibility the ever remote most reptilian Which breaks. primal, basal core My fingers resting in your hair like spilled ink blown by the wind, take over and our breath leave the same. it starts as pace quickens heart quickens We are pressed together as a lunar eclipse, hairs stand on end a night becoming darker so pupils dilate love’s blindness may see. flush With you, tonight I wander amongst dark, dark, misty places. POESIE EROTIQUE

3rd Place spun undone top wheel real deal By Jane Murray

gimme that tater girl I’ll make it a tot I’m a lil’ teapot you got me steamin’ hot six and thirty ought I got the buck shot a scot wit da ascot and a zombie wit da rot

this witch’s riches, they hitches in the niches in my britches she’s suspicious, which aint malicious but auspiciously capricious these fishes in my ditches they itches and I twitches my wishes are ambitious but she dishes out the stitches

it’s parasitic symbiotic the way we click hermaphroditic this galactic tactic you inflict is climactic, lemme pick a prophylactic lick this thick dick doublequick, do a scissorkick, lemme do a magic trick in your oil slick

a bite of the lip, an unzip, a pistol grip, a dip of the hip and over I flip my plight feels quite right, tight in the bite of a dynamite sprite

19 2nd Place Shiver Me Timbers All Night Long By Benjamin Gaddes

* * * You hold my tiller And I’ll pintle your gudgeon. Make me heel, gybe ‘ho.

Spread your taut spreaders, This man’s going overboard. .. .I’m coming about!

My bowsprit’s shrinking Since pulling out of the dock. Briny seas ahead.

* * *

‘J .'j

3 I

20 POESIE EROTIQUE

1st Place February by Michael Lewis

Amidst black trunks, Dante’s own pinon blight, Arm, nipple, belly, thigh, I taste them all dry meager frost sifts down through brittle sapless and more. I stroke your hair, buried below boughs to dust small spindly grass. At night, your round quivering flesh. Laughing, you roll my only heat, mine. Warmth of a caress back, lift your skirt; with guiding hands allow.. . mere memory recalled: sun, golden hair, its scent of lavender beside the stream, I grasp taut skin. Your hips cup mine. We match your swimsuit top tied too loose—but, who cares? four thighs, two bodies, one rhythm. You gasp The dragonflies buzz busily. You seem as muscles, interlocked, contract tight, twitch, with teasing eyes and wiggling toes to tempt spasm, and release a longed-for scream. Collapsed, a theft of kisses freely given. They melt breathless, loose limbed, my stomach to your back, from mouth and tongue to soft neck and unkempt we dream awhile. Later perhaps we’ll swim— curls, like the chocolate ice-cream that you spilt Sharp ice-wind shatters sleep. I lift my pack, upon your breast. Now, syruped sticky skin thinking the coat I wear is far too thin, smells sweet. But sweeter is your bright-eyed grin. and hear, above, the raven’s mournful call. He flies alone, beneath dawn’s grey snowfall. Blowout

story by Jeffrey Dharma illustrations by Calvin Johns

“I need you to take this message to looked away from him. “Bring me Hari. Dr. Jones,” he explained to a desert Now.” cloud blowing by overhead. “She’s my He rushed to the back room to get Hari. girlfriend. You’ll find her at our house This was his fourth botched order in the on Camino Aminacoma. She’s probably "Jeffrey, 0 Man-Liar,” hour since he had talked to the cloud. In pouty right now because I’m away at the back room Hari was shaking his fist he grinned big. "You’ve work. Here’s my message: Hey, Tao. It’s at the phone. “Bho!” Hari roared into the had a hard day. me. Call me at Hari’s. It’s urgent. I was phone while grinning at him. “She says bussing a four-top when I saw Hari lead I say go home.” when my face looks away, even moon­ two nearlydeads to a table. You know light scorches her body? She says this? how when Hari takes locals to their table This is so? I say what you tell her. You he always likes to lead them past their tell her that cool moon rays scorch me fathers and grandfathers, teachers and too, and that—” Hari looked stumped. uncles, brothers, sons, grandsons, friends, “Her neglect affects your heart,” he fathers-in-law and good companions? He whispered. Hari roared, “Her neglect af­ was doing that just now when he did that fects my heart! Inflicting pain night after trick again where he reveals the whole night!” Hari slammed down the phone universe through himself. Except this and grinned big. “Jeffrey, O Bullshitter time, while all the diners were clapping Among Men, I know what’s going on. and Hari was changing back into him­ You wait here. I take care of your tur­ self, for a split second he became Robby quoise burnout.” Schanker and I think he almost smiled Hari strutted into the restaurant to ap­ at me. Tao, I can’t take the silence any pease the angry diner. He used Hari’s longer and all the cover-up and stuff. I phone to call Dr. Jones. Freaking voice- need to find out. There’s no way to rest mail. “Hey, Tao. It’s me.” Was she teach­ until I know the truth of what happened to ing yoga right now at Pontius Pilates? Not Robby. Okay, Desert Cloud,” he sniffed. likely. “I just wanted to say hi. I neither “Peace out.” He walked across the Hari’s feel nothing for you, nor something, nor Roadhouse parking lot and went back to neither, nor both.” He hung up just as work inside. Hari strutted into the back room. “Jeffrey, A turquoise-clad diner sneered at the O Man-Liar,” he grinned big. “You’ve hamburger he had just placed in front of had a hard day. I say go home.” her. “I told you to make me one with ev­ Hari was an awesome boss. He thought erything,” she snapped. “I don’t see any about this as he drove his great vehicle chiles.” He looked at the burger. There into town. Hari was always in great spir­ weren’t any chiles. “They’re there,” he its and never complained. The names Hari smiled. “They just blend in nicely with called him — Man-Liar and Bullshitter everything else to create a hidden burst of Among Men — always made him laugh. southwest flavor.” He smiled. Subterfugal They were especially funny because he force worked. “Young man,” she strained. couldn’t think of anybody who was as “I want to see the manager.” He looked honest to himself and the world around her in the eye. Her sundried face was him as he himself was. mostly tucked behind her ears. “I am the Today he needed to find out about manager,” he said. Hari had told him to Robby Schanker. Hari implicitly knew arrogate undue authority whenever it this and had therefore let him go. He felt right. “Enough from you,” the diner

22 CALLIOPE’S CORNER

stared out at the road ahead. Now who could he talk to? Wade Giles? Devon Augury? Sgt. Winthrop? Maybe Zhou Xmo? No one from his seminar would do. Now that he thought about it, not even Dr. Jones. There was no question. He had to go to the source. He turned around his great vehicle and drove to St. John’s. “Mr. Dharma, have a seat,” Mr. Venkatesh said when he burst unan­ nounced into Mr. Venkatesh’s Ganesha- shrine Graduate Institute office. He decided to stand. “I’m here for answers,” he said. “What happened to Robby Schanker?” “Oh,” Mr. Venkatesh said. “Perhaps you should come to my work­ out.” “No,” he growled. “Schanker!” “Mr. Dharma,” Mr. Venkatesh said. “I That’s when Mr. Venkatesh started scaling the growing walls with his bare hands have revolutionized the squat.” He had come for answers, not for squats. He left It was Dr. Jones, dressed in silk, dancing grazed line of hair from navel to sarong. the Graduate Institute office and drove snakelike to the sitar’s moan. Hips flicked. Now was the time. Hands away. A tabla joined the sitar and pushed Dr. roughed his hair. In his teeth the knot of At home he parked his great vehicle be­ Jones’s hips side to side. The thousand her sarong. So right. Slowly, slowly he tween the terra-cotta Buddha and the cow dervish shadows all bore down on him leaned back. Dr. Jones had bought when their seminar one slow inch at a time. Silk shrouds fell Uncounted hours and every position readings had shifted from China to India. into the candlefire. The tabla beat. The later Dr. Jones pinned his wrists and He walked carefully past the cow. The sitar sang. Her anklet cried like geese in stilled their hips. “What’s your problem?” cow hated him. He knew this. But Dr. autumn. Her rump danced up against him. she panted. Her gaze was ice. Her body Jones, a sixth-degree feng shui blackbelt, He plucked the mango blossom from be­ froze. Her shadows still danced every­ made sure that every aspect of the house hind her ear. The long hair fell down her where about the room. “I—” he tried but reflected their seminar readings. Recently back. She danced for him in nothing but she panted, “No. I asked you a question. their seminar readings had moved back to anklets and a silk sarong. Don’t give me answers. We’ve been here China. He smiled at the cow and could He reached for the knot that bound for hours, scratching, biting, and not once almost taste the beef lo mein. her sarong. She turned to him and beat have you drawn blood!” He couldn’t deny Inside the house he found darkness hid­ back his hand. She danced backwards it. Her tears were not for joy. Her skin was den by darkness. He groped for the light- down the hall, past candles, past idols, he everywhere dripping. Beyond question switch. What stirred? Where? Somewhere followed. In front of their bedroom she drenched but intact. “I—” he tried again in the nothing a sitar strummed and danced her back again into his chest. His but she slapped him hard across the face. droned. A candle took flame. He saw fingers traced slow shapes down her fron­ “Shut up,” she panted. “You willfully a rope dangling in the wind at the end tside. His head filled with sandal scent. neglect the proper lewd behavior that our of the hallway. But there was no wind. The tabla beat his heart. He reached for seminar’s sex manuals have set down for Another wick caught fire. Several thou­ the silk knot of her sarong. She gripped our guidance. I thought you loved me,” sand candles throughout the house took his wrist and twisted. The tabla raced. she seethed. “I thought you cared that I flame. The dangling rope was no rope The sitar shrieked. He hollered. Fell to love to bleed.” He flexed his hands. He at all. “Oh!” he said. “Buddhilicious!” his knees. Opened eyes. Her belly. His had no choice. “If you even think that—” breath. Folding unfolding. Heat. Nosetip she growled but he grabbed her hair and yanked her ear to his lips. She whinged. squat,” and slowly turn this reply into a presided over what moments before had Through clenched teeth he rasped, “Don’t chant: “I have revolutionized the squat! I been infinite bodhisattvas but now were let full hips idle.” He let go her hair, have revolutionized the squat!” so that by members of the Lollipop Guild walloping seized her hips. She tensed, gasped. Their the power of the mantra alone the room each other at chess. monstrous flickering shadow heaved would change from Mr. Venkatesh’s He stopped thinking about his nonsense into a slow frenzied rhythm breathless office into something vast and incom­ dream when the Dali Llama mercifully anklet bells clanging she pulled his hair prehensible. That’s when Mr. Venkatesh ended his lecture. People were stand­ clawed him heaved hard his strong hands started scaling the growing walls with his ing up and clapping and getting ready loosed their grip fingers held fast finger­ bare hands. An infinity of bodhisattvas to leave. On a lark he pushed his way tips plowed up streams of sweat up her thronged the floor as Mr. Venkatesh vault­ to the front of the Great Hall. “Hey,” he pounding pounding rump up spineflesh ed into the plump nighttime sky. Then, yelled at the Dali Llama. “Do you know pounding deep into shoulderflesh deep in out of the vastness, Mr. Venkatesh’s other what happened to Robby Schanker?” The fingertips pressing deep into flesh in deep voice would emerge. The squat-chant had Dali Llama ignored him but the ruminant beneath blades her moan in deep pain drowned out this voice the first few times posse was ruthless. The Miro Alpaca drawing up heaving hard moans piercing he had dreamt it. Now he could discern grabbed hold of his left arm while the scream. The candles blew out. His fingers the words. Mr. Venkatesh perched frog­ Duchamp Guanaco, who had just come in deep. Her scream broke. Bodies limp. like on the rippling surface of the heavens back to the Great Hall after signing all the Quivering. Arhythmic sobs. He’d drawn and stretched out his tongue toward the urinals in the upstairs men’s room, seized blood. They held each other close. His most radiant star he could see. “Robby his right. The Magritte Vicuna looked like fingers in deep. He didn’t let go. Schanker was not the brightest star in it was readying to sock his gut. Instead Ethereal panpipe music filled the Great the sky,” Mr. Venkatesh’s second voice the Magritte Vicuna drew back and spat. Hall one week later when the crowd rose boomed. “But to you on the ground this What was happening? He couldn’t see or to greet the Friday night lecturer. “Ladies is how he appeared. Robby Schanker had smell anything. His head felt like a giant and Gentlemen,” Dean Levine said. “It is a lot to say and you were eager to listen. apple in a top hat. The clouds blowing my honor to present to St. John’s College Over the course of the year he grew se- through his giant apple head made him the foremost contemporary surrealist riouser and seriouser. He liked to talk wonder why that one stupid desert cloud Andean ruminant. Please welcome the about knowledge and wisdom as if these last week had never bothered to relay his Dali Llama.” A pack of unscrupulous things were his. In truth, his part in the message. Then Dr. Jones grabbed his South American ruminants trotted into program was that which has no point. One hand and wrested him free. “You,” Dr. the Great Hall. They flanked the Dali day, as a joke, the universe undertook to Jones said, “are coming with me.” Llama as he took the stage. The Dali show him absolutely everything. Robby It wasn’t much later he was standing Llama led a prayer. Everybody sat down. Schanker couldn’t handle it. His so-called on one foot in the dim light at El Calor. For Dr. Jones and most everybody else in existence went blind from staring at the So was Dr. Jones. His head was no longer the Great Hall this lecture was a dream Sunya. With no trace of fuel he went up a giant apple and he had decided to put come true. He himself could hardly have in flames. It is not unusual for Eastern Robby Schanker out of his mind. This cared less. He didn’t want to be here. He Classicists to spontaneously combust. time for good. Dr. Jones was niggling looked at the ceiling. Not quite as dull as This is what happened to Robby Schanker. about the bogus carp in their new fish the speaker. He looked at his watch. It He was destroying the program. The uni­ pond. “I don’t know, Tao,” he said. “They melted. He closed his eyes, looked inside, verse destroyed him. Avidya killed the looked alright to me.” Her eyes narrowed. the Llama’s voice took him away. radiant star. There was nothing you could “I paid for koi,” she said. “What I got are His dreams had been driving him crazy. have done.” At this point the dream usual­ mutant goldfish. They’re only playing One dream he had had at least a dozen ly fell apart. Mr. Venkatesh became Carey koi.” A waitress brought their roasted times this week saw him storming into Stickney playing banjo at the farmer’s garlic with chevre, chorizo simmered in Mr. Venkatesh’s office and demanding market. The firmament transformed into a wine, and a plateful of deepfried man- one word: “Schanker!” Mr. Venkatesh rainbow sea of fragrant orchids. Ganesha chego. Dr. Jones described the specialty would reply, “I have revolutionized the licked a hot-pink ice-cream cone and frogs she was going to order for the pond. CALLIOPE^S CORNER

“They’re like Chinese Budweiser frogs,” compete with him. Most chefs send out communion, not with the Mr. Venkatesh she said. “Except instead of going ‘Bud- bootysattvas to distract the competition. who led the St. John’s Graduate Institute, wei-ser,’ they croak ‘Tsingtao-Tsingtao- That’s what you’re seeing right now.” but rather with the Great Cosmic Mr. Tsingtao’ all night long.” “But that guy doesn’t look distracted,” Venkatesh who was Aum. He wanted to He wondered why Dr. Jones sounded he said. “He’s Just holding out,” Dr. Jones believe what he had believed the day he so much like a frog. He wasn’t actually shrugged. “Why give up until the chef arrived at St. John’s: that taking Eastern listening. Dr. Jones followed his gaze and sends him the woman he wants? This guy Classics would make him one with ev­ saw a hideous man sitting in a booth sur­ has unreasonable standards.” erything. But now he didn’t think he rounded by three of the prettiest women “Or maybe he knows it’s what’s inside liked the universe anymore. He couldn’t she had ever seen. Two more women, that counts,” he mumbled quietly enough even say what the universe was or wasn’t. far prettier than the first three, pulled up not to have to hear his own words. All that was clear was that the universe chairs and joined the booth. The ugly man “Something’s troubling you,” Dr. Jones was conspiring against him in the matter paid them no notice. He was arranging had not heard him either. “You gonna tell of Robby Schanker and that it probably anchovies around bite-size sculptures of me what it is?” He was trying to transcend wasn’t his friend. He fingered a lump of chorizo and canteloupe. Artichoke hearts Robby Schanker and turn the disappear­ deepfried manchego and said, “I wonder skipped beats as the man’s stubby fingers ance into a non-issue. There was nothing if my tapas will ever be this awesome.” to tell. The things Mr. Venkatesh had dressed them in see-through Jamon ser- continued on page 28/ Blowout rano robes. said in his dream were not the things “Generating your own tapas in a tapas Mr. Venkatesh ordinarily said. Nor was We’re not sure why Jeffrey Dharma writes bar?” Dr. Jones shrugged. “That’s pro- Robby Schanker’s disappearance or­ about himself in the third person. We do know ably the oldest trick in the book.” He dinary. His dreams provided answers that he likes to gnaw on ladyfingers when no didn’t understand. “What do you mean?” that didn’t even seem like answers. He one’s looking. He has a whole freezer full. he said. “It gets the chef’s panties in a wanted to believe that his dreams had Calvin Johns sells them to him at Traitor bundle,” she said. “I’ve never met a tapas lifted a great veil. He wanted to believe Joe’s. chef who could stand having customers that his dreams had brought him into "It could come at any time" pt: 2 Luo

by Zackary Coker-Dukowitz

Let me tell you a story. Finally you have to breathe. But you You are alone, a man. No kids yet, no do it so quiet, so careful, like your ribs wife or girlfriend even. You are living in are broken and you know that breathing’s You realize that this could a one-bedroom flat. You have a kitchen­ going to hurt anyway, but, after all, it’s ette that looks out onto the one room in something you have to do. The footsteps have come at any time, which you sleep, sit, scratch yourself and start up again. They fade, become qui­ and that you are really anything else, and that’s it. The building eter, a door opens and slams shut like a always helpless, really you live in is very quiet and the walls are far away yell. The light is a line again never ready for it. very thin. When you go to sleep at night and the room seems much bigger all of a you can hear everything. Neighbor’s sudden. But now you’re not going to be snoring, fights, rats running around be­ able to sleep at all. You realize that this tween the walls. could have come at any time, and that you One night you are lying in bed looking are really always helpless, really never at the pencil-thin line of light coming un­ ready for it. You lie on your bed and der the door. Water drips in the sink, cars look at the ceiling and wonder if that’s pass quietly on the street outside, and you ever happened before. You wonder what know it has to be at least two in the morn­ would have happened if you had forgot­ ing. You hear footsteps, far down the ten to lock the door - did he have a knife? hallway. At first you think they must be a gun? what? You wonder if you’ll ever some noise the building is making, some sleep. You wonder if maybe you should settling or creaking of wood and metal. move somewhere else. And you never But they come closer, and become louder. stop wondering. They pound in your head, and they must When Hazel was about four years old have passed already. They have sounded we bought her a stuffed bear at a toy store. too often not to have passed. But then She loved it as soon as she saw it. We they stop, and that pencil-thin line of couldn’t leave the place without getting light is dark in the middle. You hold your it for her, she was so mad about it. She breath. You were trying to sleep, but now carried it everywhere. She called it Lou, your heart is pounding louder than the like the character in this book we would footsteps a second ago. The door knob read to her “Lou Goes to the Lake”, ex­ turns, slowly, back and forth. It makes a cept she liked to add an O at the end of “click, click” sound. Then it turns again names, something she picked it up from more quickly, rattling now. And then a me saying “Daddy-O” to her, and so the pause. It feels like at least ten minutes name became Luo. go by, and the light is still dark in the She still has him, though he’s been middle. The clock ticks once and you stuck in a closet now. When we first got realize you’ve been holding your breath. him for Hazel she carried him around so You don’t let it out, but you start thinking much that she would forget he was with - is he listening? And you start picturing her, like he had become a part of her body, him; of course he’s wearing black, some stuck there on her hip like a fuzzy benign long black coat or something, and a big growth. She would forget that Luo was hat, the shadow from it covering his face. with her, but she wouldn’t forget him. We Though he doesn’t have a face anyway. woke to crying one night, the most ter­ That would be too much, to give him a rible sounds Td ever heard my daughter face. make, sobs deep from her chest like the world had opened up and was trying to CALLIOPE'S CORNER

drag her into it. When I ran in she told me and felt that I had betrayed everything a divorce because he couldn’t stand not that Luo was gone, lost, and she had real­ and it was all so far away that I could knowing all the time, and that’s all he’d ized this when she woke alone and missed never pull it back close. We left. say. Over and over. So I asked him, and him. I found him at her side. She hadn’t Open spaces are what we left for. My he fell right into it, like he’d told it fifty looked, hadn’t felt his small body there. wife loved them, more than me I knew times in the last three days. He said. Not But he was always with her. It seemed even then. knowing with my arms and eyes. Not that Hazel missed the idea of him, like We used to go on walks out here. knowing like I know how this feels, and just having him there wasn’t quite enough There’s a trail right off the driveway, held up his ring and moved it around on to know that he was there. Sometimes I about two miles long, that ends on a ridge his finger. It’s not cheating, he said. Even hug her so tight that I’m not sure I’m not that sticks out into the middle of a valley. when we’re in the same house I feel like doing the same thing. If you walk out to the end the valley’s I don’t know. And I know she loves me, Open spaces, these are insurance. all around beneath you and there’s noth­ it’s not that. But whenever I’m leaving Cliff-dwelling Indians used to build their ing but space in front of you. After the in the morning, when I’m already on the homes so that they could see far out over first couple times I couldn’t stand all freeway and it’s too late, I wonder - is the the plains or valleys which surrounded that openness. It made me sick to my gas on in the kitchen? What if she slips them. They could see footsteps com­ stomach. She wanted to bring Hazel and falls in the bathtub and drowns in an ing far before they could hear them. In there with her but I refused, I put my foot inch of water? - I can just see her lying Utah once we climbed to one of these down. The wind blows so hard you feel there. I wonder, he said, and allowed dwellings and I looked out at the desert, like you’re walking on it there. I always himself a small smile, I wonder about red and brown and uncaring. I could see liked coming back home and sitting safe Rottweilers and German Shepherds, dust rising from miles off on the road we by the fire, the only wind coming in then about insane and dirty men and all that took when we drove in, and I knew where was that through the chimney, stirring the space outside our door and inside. I won­ everything was. It was all small and man­ coals so they glowed a little brighter. der about the fucking postal service and ageable. No tight spaces, no hallways But here I’m telling you a bunch of sto­ those with guns and those with Anthrax. and lines of light but only big splotches ries when I said I’d just tell one. When I’m holding her I don’t know and and patches of it, and air. You could sit I guess it’s about my wife, what I’m when I’m trying to leave her for a little and watch without holding your breath. dancing around. When I was in high while I don’t know. I can’t stand not I’ve stopped shaving myself now. I get school I used to talk all the time. I liked knowing. It hurts. Too much. I just want it done in town. The cold razor, the cold words a lot. My dad would say to me to be rid of it. Is there any way I can not wind, these things make me want to hide. while we were sitting around the table see her ever again?, he asked finally, as if But in front of George I can let go a little, at dinner, “If I wanted a bunch of damn I would know. And for some reason I felt let him do it all and then slink out, hoping flowers I’d go read poetry! Just say it, like I did know, as if I’d actually thought no one stops me to give condolences or boy. Then leave me alone.” And that’s about his question quite a bit even though invitations. They all want to feel better what I tell most people now. Even Hazel, I’d just met him. I shook my head no. I about me. In the city at least no one can before, I would tell her, “Tell me what said, “I don’t think so.” He left. see you for the lack of space. you mean, don’t pretty it up like you do And she fell, I guess the wind was We had Hazel in the city. Had? I guess with your dolls,” which sounds harsh but strong that night. I guess I wasn’t. She she had us. I used to laugh to people I she knows I understand her, and that I’m loved to go walking out to that place didn’t know very well that she was a nut not trying to hurt her. that made me sick, made me feel death just like her mother. In the city you meet Once, when I was still living in the city, somehow, like it was this fresh thing in a lot of people who come over for drinks and still alone, a man sat down next to the wind. And I would sit, not knowing. or meet you at museums or shows, silly me at a bar and started talking. He was Hazel close and the darkness outside stuff. At a restaurant once a man came to getting a divorce. He looked terrible, his stretching far, far away, under the open talk to us. I suppose I had met him that nice suit rumpled all over and his eyes red space and the moon light. silly way, he made the joke about our little and the sockets purple and black like he’d nut. Hazel, and I suddenly hated myself. been up for days. He said he was getting Zack Coker-Dokowitz is either a god, or just looks like one naked. ...Continuations continued from page 12/ Lotus Rectum continued from page 15 / Marcos continued from page 25/ Blowout habit? I like thinking about tomorrow who have had too much to drink—keep­ Dr. Jones eyed him with loving conde­ (fiddeldedee) and anticipate hangovers. I ing them out of situations where they scension. “Seriously, Jeffrey,’’ she said. “Is can’t even be a happily oblivious drunk. could be conspicuous or in danger. Such it Schanker?” Of course it was Schanker This is all wrong. Why destruction? I simple measures as these would have the but he was tired of thinking it. He tried want to get better in a cheap and con­ dual benefits of expanding student control to appear perplexed. He managed to look venient way. Something that is close, of student gatherings and reducing the ne­ food-poisoned. Dr. Jones laid her hand on something that is healthy, something that cessity (and probability) of interference his. “I got your cloud message,’’ she said. is almost free.... by campus security. If we really do value “I didn’t want to say anything. I figured if MEDICATION!! freedom to experience and to grow, and I I distracted you when you came home that Reminds me of my junior year in high think we all do, it’s time we took hold the day it would surely pass.’’ He wanted to school. My Czech roommate Pavla swore concomitant responsibilities. tell her something but he knew better. No an oath that if Prozac is ever available as point satisfying Dr. Jones’s need to con­ jelly she’d smear it on crackers and force- trol his wellbeing. Understanding spread feed me. The good old times. over his face. He shone a little smile at Solutions: so called because things her. His look of understanding, perfected dissolve (just like the painkillers in my in classrooms, was the only look he really Lemonade. Best breakfast ever.) knew how to fake. He set his lifted foot down and cozied up against Dr. Jones. In time he’d tell her some little something. It would pass for the truth and it would set her mind at ease. Not tonight, not tomor­ row, but sometime. He would make it up when he knew what she wanted to hear. A hug right now would help hold them over. “I’m okay, Tao,’’ he said as he wrapped his arms around her. She rested her head on his shoulder and squeezed. He kissed Dr. Jones on the forehead and said, “It’s all right, Tao. I’m really okay.” heard outside the Moon office Quotes during the Erotic Poetry judging names withheld te pretectthe innecent "Briny seas? Delicious. ” "he probably thinks that’s really good, huh?” "Oooh...can I beatbox for this one?” "he just nouned a verb! He just nouned a verb!” "blood thickens” "thought sickens” "I like chickens” "we read some Dickens” "grab me where 1 thickens” "drought doesn’t really ride ya.” "yeah, it just sort of sits on your chest” "holding hands...touching me...touching you...Ba-Bump-Bump Sweeet Caaaroliiine!!” "Mawwage, mawwage is what bwings us togewer today.” "what’s ’pintle’ mean?” "it’s good, because it has that double...that double...you know, the ’Hos’.” "some people don’t deserve to be known as sexual beings” "Dirty, dirty, dirty, DIRTY!!!!” "skullf***ing never far from my mind, and neither is it from Chris’” "What about skull-'love-making’?” Personals haiku personals party will be coming soon

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Summer Photography Residency The Santa Fe Workshops introduces an exciting addition to the 2005 summer program. For six weeks this summer, June 27 to August 6, twelve participants have the opportunity to immerse themselves in a comprehensive and challenging program encompassing three weeks of advanced black-and- white photography followed by three weeks of digital imag­ ing with photographer and professor of art, John Weiss. For complete details, visit www.santafeworkshops.com.

Keith Carter

Presenting the Workshops Summer Lecture Series* Free photo presentations by instructors each Monday and Wednesday evening at 8:30 P.M., Santa Fe Prep auditorium, Camino Cruz Blanca

Monday, June 13 - Doug Merriam, Wednesday, July 6 - John Paul Monday, August 1 - Jean Miele, Sharon Mier, Josh Withers Caponigro, Norman Mauskopf, Jim Richardson/Keith Bellows, Carlan Tapp Marcia Reifman Wednesday, June 15 - Steve Northup, Jamey Stillings, Tony Monday, July 11 - Wendy Walsh, Wednesday, August 3 - Dan O'Brien Tony Corbell, Jay Maisel Westergren, Nick Merrick, Leasha Overturf, Paul Elledge Monday, June 20 - George Schaub, Wednesday, July 13 - Genevieve Karen Tenenbaum, Dan Winters Russell, Sean Keman, Alex Webb, * Schedule subject to change Wednesday, June 22 - Terri Clark, Rebecca Norris Webb Information 505 983-1400 Alison Shaw, Doug Beasley Monday, July 18 - Miguel www.santafeworkshops.com Monday, June 27 - Bobbi Lane, Gandert, Matthew Jordan Smith, Mary Virginia Swanson, Frank Kirk Amyx Ockenfels 3, John Weiss Wednesday, July 20 - Raul Wednesday, June 29 - Maggie Touzon, Julie Graber, Joe McNally SANTA FE Taylor, Marcia Reifman, Doug Monday, July 25 - Joe McNally, Beasley Eddie Soloway, Dan Westergren Monday, July 4 - Keith Carter, Mark Wednesday, July 27 - Sean Robert Halper, Arthur Meyerson, Duggan, Anne Cahill, Shelby Lee WORKSHOPS Adams