2019 Brick House Review

Brick House Review

2019 Edition

1 Founding Editor PJ Jongbloed

Layout & Design Vicky Rios

Produced by Michelle Rubiera

A special thanks to Rick Greco

2 3 Contents

Katelyn Tineo, Untitled ...... Cover Art Acknowledgements...... 2 James K. Bradford, Black and White...... 3 Contents ...... 4 Johnny Nguyent, Isabella Von Carstein...... 5 Kalum Eaddy, Battle of New Moria photo...... 6 Kalum Eaddy, Battle of New Moria poem...... 7 James Bradford Sr., Bottle Cap Bouquet...... 7 Kimani Worghs, As I Lay Dying...... 8 Jennifer Kirichenko, Unnamed photo...... 8 Katy Mae Gunter, Death Comes in Threes...... 9 Matthew Shea, Layla...... 10 Matthew Medina, Dear Wizard...... 11 Matthew Shea, Layla description...... 11 Laura Bradford, Long Drive poem...... 11 Samuel N. Sam, Goose Shit Alley...... 12 & 13 Vicky Rios, Mushroom photo...... 13 Aaron Farnum, Unnamed man...... 14 Emily Heropoulos, ADHD in Four Parts ...... 15-18 Matthew Shea, Sheabo...... 18 Vicky Rios, Warped Perception...... 19 Katelyn Tineo, Unnamed...... 20 Gail L Antokal, My Wrap Around Time...... 21 & 22 Johnny Nauyent, Alarielle & Fay Enchantress ...... 21 & 22 Leah Naylor, Possession...... 23 Moses E. Gonzalez, Penguin...... 24 Moses E. Gonzalez, The Sleeping Dragon...... 25 James Bradford, John Howell’s Soul...... 27 Gail L. Antokal, Prose From My Heart...... 28 & 29 Princess Appian, Anime Drawings...... 29 Alexandra Ford, Unnamed couple...... 30 Aaron Farnum, Unnamed man...... 31 Diane Toussaint, Remember Please poem...... 31 Katelyn Tineo, Unnamed woman...... 31 Olwen Dowling, Unnamed landscape...... 32 Isabella Von-Carstein Artist Johnny Nguyen

4 5 The Battle of New Moria

In the plains of New Moria, there rages a battle between the Orcs of the Wild Hunt Tribe and their enemies the Dwarfs of Moria. In the land of seers where the Knights of Gondor posses a power to foresee the future. Their leader and King Argorn uses his abilities to map out a plan to stop this blood thirst that is claiming the land. In the name of peace, King Argorn has forge a pledge to come to the aid of the Dwarfs of Moria.

Through a long standing brutal battle the Orcs of the Wild Hunt Tribe have beat back the Dwarfs of Moria and took their land. Leaving the Dwarfs of Moria with no place to call home. After many long winters, the Dwarfs of Moria and the Knights of Gondor have trained long and hard. Together they have managed to increase their armies skill and size. As a united force they will be able to march and meet their common foe with dignity and pride. Along with the foresight of King Argorn they will quietly travel through the forest of Gardenia. Where the massive Gembooksa alligators consume anything moving. If they can skillfully manage to stay out of the view of the Gorbelly and enter through the caves of the Hidden Valley.

This will give them the advantage of a surprise attack on the Wild Orcs. Making their battle a guaranteed success. Once the battle is won on the Plains of Moria. Mother Nature will return to her former glory. New Moria will become a peaceful place and the Dwarfs of Moria will have their land and homes. This will bring a long lasting prosperity and happiness to everyone.

Even though this plan sounds so great. There still remains one big problem that can not be overlooked. The chieftain of the Orcs of the Wild Hunt Tribe will not go down so easily. He will fight to the very last orc under his command. He has never been known to lose a fight or battle. This is how he has gain his status and name. The great and all powerful Chieftain Procrusteous. Under his command he has several extra large trolls at his side. Who are willing to fight to gain the spoils that have been promise to them. Many lives will be lost on both sides before this brutal battle is over.

Kalum Eaddy

Bottle Cap Bouquet Artist James Bradford Sr. Battle of New Moria Artist Kalum Eaddy

6 7 Death Comes in Threes, Also Known as 15 Months Underwater

Part I - Mother April 2017 At 30,000 feet above bucolic flyover country, words on this page, and the anchor starts to grow I’m on my way to my first Coachella. In a moment exponentially. Margaret, the sister closest in age my head is underwater. Breathing and hearing to me, is dead. I am swimming again, unable to are no longer second nature, all senses seemed to surface, the anchor is holding me to the sea floor. vanish except for a deep, black sinkhole forming She was only 37. An overdose, I’m told. Lack of in the very center of my chest. The message I had surprise washes over me in equal parts of inevita- been dreading popped up on my phone, she is bility and sorrow. gone, and there is nothing I can do about it. I’m A week earlier, I visit her in rehab. The nerve trapped in a metal tube being hurtled hundreds of disease she suffered from was flaring up, so I care- miles per hour in the wrong direction, away from fully cut her fingernails while making small talk. home. I land and enter a sea of a terminal, people A simple, intimate moment that meant nothing swimming around like fish without a care in the at the time. This is the last memory I have of her. world. This infuriates me, I can feel my cheeks I replay that moment over and over in my mind, getting red and hot. Don’t they know that death trying to pry out some deeper meaning from this exists? Don’t they know that it’s happening to me, inconsequential act, another riddle which I could right now? Don’t they know I’m drowning? Of never expect to find an answer to. course they don’t, but this is no consolation when your entire life was just changed in 4000 miles. Part III- Father August 2018 The next 3 days were spent in an airport hotel It’s been almost a year since Margaret died, Top: As I Lay Dying, photo by Kimani Worghs before being able to get a flight home. The kind and the anchor dragged itself behind me in the of thinking you do in a Motel 6 outside LAX in snow of the past winter and deep into the sunny Bottom: Untitled, photo by Jennifer Kirichenko the days after losing your mother fuel a machine days of Summer, it’s weight as unrelenting as it of rage, confusion, and pain. 2 months. 2 months is invisible. There is another phone call from my is all it took to go from okay to gone. No one tells oldest sister, another feeling of dread. My father is you how fast people can fail, and when it happens dead, and I am drowning again within an instant. no one is there to tell you how to be okay. You find A stroke after trying to quit drugs cold-turkey, I’m yourself examining every moment, every hug, ev- told. I feel again a lack of surprise. His body was ery phone call. Were you good enough? Did they a rubber band, used to the point of being brittle know how much you cared? These things don’t and dry, and the band finally broke. I tell myself matter in the end, but they become a singular that grief is something I have a masters degree in mental obsession, a riddle that you never receive at this point, but that education does nothing to the answer to. I flew home and was surprised the stem the tide washing over me. plane could even take off considering the weight of I look like my father, I talk like my father, and the anchor I could feel tied around my neck. I think like my father. Looking in the mirror is a daily reminder of his absence, like seeing an old Part II - Sister October 2017 photograph. Anger, not at him but at the situa- Things have gotten better since April, the tion he was in, is a constant feeling that will never weight of the anchor has decreased to just a dull leave, it’s a coat I can never take off. As the days ache, and time has been a band-aid over my go on, the anchor slowly shrinks. I find myself wounds. It’s 9am, and I’ve just walked in the house with less of a feeling of being underwater, but the after dropping my husband at the airport. My weight will always be there. I spent 15 months phone rings, and it’s my oldest sister. My gut sinks drowning, and I’m ready to breathe again. to my feet, I know something is wrong. When she asks if I’m sitting down, I can see it as clearly as the Katy Mae Gunter 8 9 Dear Wizard,

This arrogant strut brings me no closer to serendipity. I sit on my hands and let myself drown. In my credulity I let the wizard make craft of my head; Terraform my cerebellum with magic contrived from science. I wonder what value he sees; for when I roll back my eyes and look into my skull, I see only a charlatan.

What do I owe you, oh wizard? What amalgam have you brought this wrought child? What magic could you cast to make this cavernous chasm pregnant with life?

These scenes are best left to witches or on front doors as Halloween decorations. My apologies, dear wizard, but I needn’t your spells today. May this gaping chasm leave you slack-jawed in mirth lest it remain vacant—parched.

If you cast a spell, noble wizard—artisan of consciousness—make it one to bring forth the rain.

Matthew Medina

LAYLA Long Drive

Art Deco inspired interpretive Long drive. piece. Layla was created using Weary eyes, cloudy skies Adobe InDesign & Illustrator, as traffic rumbles on around the corner. based on the self-titled song by well You wonder if there’s a word known artists Eric Clapton and for traffic that is not quite jammed, Jim Gordon. The song was inspired not quite moving. by a love story that originated A radio jingle plays. in the 7th century. You hear it, and you don’t. The book moved Clapton Eventually you cut through. profoundly, because it was You’re moving again. the tale of a young man Soon you will be home for dinner. The sun blazes one last ray at you. who fell hopelessly in love You wonder if there’s a name with a beautiful, young girl, for the way windows catch went crazy and so he the orange-red glow of sunset, Layla Artist Matthew Shea could not marry her. so bright they could be on fire.

Matthew Shea Laura Bradford 10 11 Goose Shit Alley

he twin bells continue clanging from the alarm water and makes me glad I have a Ma like her. Pa is that’s why they call it a mill town. The company paycheck “. That’s bullshit I said how they can do Tclock on the table next to the bed I’m sleeping already sitting at the round wooden kitchen table built all the homes as cheap as they could and then that to us without no notice”. “I don’t know but they in; clearing the cobwebs from my brain. “Shut up” with my kid sister. “Glad to see you could make it rented them to poor immigrants like my Pa. It did” good luck Stan I’m afraid to go home and tell I yell! My hand slams down on the clock stopping out of the sack Stanly” he says. “When I was your didn’t matter if he had fought in the war and was my wife, it’s been hard enough as it was the way we the shriek for good. “Get up Stanly” Ma yells from age I was already on my way to work”, “the boss said hurt; they made money selling their steel for it. As were living, Good luck”. the bottom of the stairs,” you got to get moving if if he had more men like me the plant wouldn’t be I walked I thought what my friend Baldy always As I walked towards the entrance a sick feeling you want to eat before you go to work” she yells. I losing money like it was”. “Even with half burned said “bullshit walks and money talks”, there would settled in my gut like I had just ate a pound of raw lay there thinking I had just flopped into the old lungs like mine I was always the first on the job always be working stiffs like us to fill the dangerous bread dough. As I walked on more men passed all iron framed bed a minuet ago, god was it morning ready to go”. “God it’s starting already” I thought jobs at the mill. Baldy had a forty foot fishing boat feeling the same way , no notice just like that , like already. “I hear you Ma; stop yelling I’m getting up”. and before I could stop myself I said angrily “look he worked and had been like a second dad to me as we were pieces of crap to flush down the commode I stumble out of bed pulling on my work clothes and where it got you Pa” two bad lungs, a tiny pension I grew up. Pa was always there but with bad lungs they said loud enough for all to hear. When I got boots. Another hot day at the mill I think I think from the plant and nothing from the army for being he wasn’t much good at throwing a ball or listening to the gate that asshole Plankey and five Pinkerton to myself, yesterday seemed like it would never gassed in thetrenches.” As soon as I said those words to a kid growing up in hard times. The times I went guards stood handing out layoff slips to each man as end. The plant must have been ninety degrees by I felt bad for saying them. Pa was only mad because out in Baldys fishing boat were some of the happiest he walked up to the gate. With a smug look on his the blast furnace where I work. That stinking straw he was so fucked up from the steel mill and the war times of my short life. face he gave me mine “I won’t have to see your ugly boss on my shift Mr. Plankey was a pain in my ass he couldn’t help feeling like he wasn’t the man of the I got through the gate at the sprawling mill mug for a while Dombrowski”. “Now you won’t have the whole day. No matter how much I did it wasn’t family anymore. towards building five where I worked. Immediately to bitch taking orders from your betters knowing enough. I felt like pushing him into the furnace “Ok Pa I know you had it hard but look the way I was puzzled as I saw men walking back out of the you don’t have a job and any pay coming”. My face more than once but knew it wouldn’t change any- they treated you after all the years you worked there gate who weren’t from the graveyard shift. One guy turned red with anger as I said “you’re lucky you got thing but put me in jail. “Goddamn I have to find and ending up with lungs that hardly worked”. You’d I recognized who I had worked with in the past saw those guards with you or I’d knock that smirk off a better way to make money” I said out loud as I think they would’ve given you a small pension at me and shouted “this is fucked up Stan, we got our your ugly mug”. He just handed me my slip saying stalked towards the bathroom. least”. Pa just sat there looking at me and then he layoff slips till further notice”! “Not even a week’s “enjoy your vacation big mouth” and left me stand- When I get there the door is shut, I can hear my started hacking from the bottom of his lungs. “Both warning, they told us to go down to the union hall ing there fuming. “Next, let’s keep this line moving” kid sister Patty singing “How much is that Doggie in of you stop it can’t you see all this fighting is making and talk to our union boss.” “I don’t know what I’m he said as if I never existed . the Window” as she gets ready for school in the only Pa worse, he can’t breathe half good now” Ma said. going to do I was just making it living paycheck to Samuel N. Sam bathroom in the house.” Get moving Sis, I’ve got to Pa took his big handkerchief from his back pocket get going for work” I yell. She just keeps on singing and covered his mouth and finally stopped cough- as if she can’t hear me. This only makes me madder, ing. “I’m sorry Pa but that pain in the ass boss of but what can I do she’s only a kid. Finally she’s done mine Mr. Plankey has been riding me like a jackass and walks out of the bath with a smirk on her face, all week and I’m ready to knock his block off”. Ma “it’s all yours Stanly” she says sweetly as she walks raised her hand to her mouth in mock shock. “Now down the stairs to the kitchen. “God that kid burns don’t you go and do that” she said, “you know your my ass” I think to myself as I step into the bath- pay is what’s keeping us going now”. “Yeah well he room to wash and get ready. I lift up the seat on the better think twice before gets into my face with his commode and relive myself from the nights previ- stinking breath”. “I was inches from clocking him ous beer drinking. I turn on the hot water washing yesterday; it took all my willpower from not doing my face, lather up shaving brush in the cup and it”. Ma looked at me with those sad eyes the way she Mushrooms soap my wet face in quick swirling motions. After I does when she knows I’m right and can’t do any- photo by shave with the straight razor Dad had given me the thing to help me. I sat and wolfed down the meager Vicky Rios Christmas before I finally feel like a human being. breakfast sopping up the eggs with Ma’s homemade After finishing, I jump down the stairs two steps bread and a cup of black coffee. I grabbed my lunch at a time rushing into the kitchen. Ma is at the cast pail Ma packed for me and was out the door head- iron stove frying slabs of salt pork and eggs in the ing to the mill at the end of our street. cast iron frying pan wearing a bright red flowered I passed the yards in the mill town neighbor- house dress. The smell of the food makes my mouth hood; all the houses looked the same. You know

12 13 ADHD in Four Parts

Ninth Grade Before high school, pep rallies only existed as to my old self, and soon I was laughing with them distorted blurs of color and noise in my brain; I had as we walked back to class, shoes squeaking on the no image to match up to the quintessential high linoleum floor. school experience. This was soon remedied, as the My mom was waiting in the parking lot to pick first two months of the school year drew to a close, me up. and the event lurked close by, baring fangs masquer- “How was school?” she asked. ading as megaphones. “Fine,” I replied. As is high school tradition, the pep rally was pre- ceded by “Spirit Week,” an event where students strut Tenth Grade through the halls, adorned with themed costumes. The summer before sophomore year came to an We must have been quite the sight that Thursday, sit- abrupt and unwelcome end. I had spent nine days in ting in the cafeteria, where the smell of stale tomato Denmark with my brother, while our parents ex- sauce coated every surface, clustered in white, green, plored Ireland. I wanted to remain blissfully happy, blue, and black flocks, each color advertising our mouth watering at the intoxicating scent of the respective grade. butter-coated, chocolate-filled pastries on display, a The monster finally made its nest in our au- package of candy a boy gifted to me crinkling softly ditorium on Friday, the finale to Spirit Week. We in my hand while I gave him a hug. filed into the room, the air becoming just warm Nothing good can ever remain. As I made new enough to make me wish I had worn short sleeves, friends from Germany, China, South Africa, and and the smell of the cheap cologne the boys insist- other countries thousands of miles away from home, ed on dousing themselves in seeping through the the coming school year slunk through the shadows, air. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Movies had shown ready to sink its claws into my unknowing leg. everything from loud cheering and performances Of course, I had heard rumors about the miser- by mascots to public humiliation with embarrassing able man who reigned tyrannically over the man- photos, though the latter seemed rather unlikely. datory Chemistry class. It wasn’t hard to confirm What movies get wrong is the sound. the rumors; all students had to do was walk past his A wave of screams smothered me, pushing me room during a class, and they would inevitably hear further into my seat as my peers jumped up at the his hoarse screams filtering through the door. I was instruction of the football coach. My ears rang, and confident this class would be a breeze; I was good at though I could see my friend’s mouth moving, hear- science, and I’d never had a teacher dislike me. ing her words was impossible over the drone of the Chemistry quickly became my most hated and crowd. Sounds were coming at me from every di- dreaded class. My teacher go through PowerPoint rection, seeming more like gunfire than the excited slides rapidly, with no concern given to whether his shrieks of teenagers. students were keeping up. I struggled to pay atten- I sat back, unable to think, unable to breathe, tion and focus in this class, my mind drawn in sev- unable to do anything other than let the assault of eral directions at once: what my teacher was saying, noise run its course. I could feel the vibrations of the movements of my classmates out of the corner of the speakers humming through the air, but my head my eye, the scratching of pen on paper, the color- and body were numb, and it seemed like someone ful posters plastered on the wall, the way the glitter Artist Aaron Farnum had set off a bomb three rows away, the shockwaves embedded in my pencil reflected the light. The only coursing through my limbs. reprieves I had from the monotony were the occa- I had a difficult time stitching my mind back sional experiments we performed, the sapphire and into my body when the pep rally was over. I felt stiff emerald-tinted flames holding my interest longer and walked out of the auditorium in a trance, feeling than any lecture could. like I had just come out of the trenches. Back in the 14 hallways, a friend’s hand on my arm jerked me back continued on page 16>>> 15 <<>> 17 SHEABO Artist Matthew Shea

Warped Perception photos by Vicky Rios 18 19 MY WRAP AROUND TIME

It’s my time. The sun this time of the year. Find. It’s just time. How can I find the time? I will be fine. Why whine. I am not in line. Shine. Although sometimes I rhyme. It’s fine. Where is the line to completion? It’s my time. It’s not a competition. I am not standing in a line. Or an elimination. It’s not troubled time. Move on to positivity. My time. Creativity. The axis is aligning. Determination. The formula is done. I can hear the call across the nation. It’s not about my ABC’S. The weather today is fine. Or my 123’s. There is something to share if you are aware. Work! Work! Work! A process. It’s all about the books. Designation. Tick! Tock! It’s only my clock. An appropriation. Someone’s watching. An administration. Why! An evaluation. Professor standing by. Troubled past with no rest. The questions why. It’s about class. The answers done. There are no places to explore. I am not on the run. There couldn’t be more. It’s all about fun. I don’t what to score.

continued on page 22>>>

Alarielle Artist Johnny Nguyen

Artist Katelyn Tineo 20 21 <<

It’s a past I don’t find. Time found. It could take years. Ground. I am not blind to the future. Sound. Here I am standing in line time after time. A Jurassic creature with no future. I am not hard to fine. There is no fear. Even if it doesn’t rhyme. Or crying tears. A line or boat. Bleachers. The boat floats. Creatures. The line is fine. It’s just time. Adventures incomplete. Mid-afternoon features. Sweet. Spheres. Contribution not met. Glass. It carries some sweat. Green grass. Jeans over time. It’s all about class. That’s fine. Distribution. My time. Confusion. Combusting. Their time. Thrusting. It does rhyme. Rusting. Fussing. Chasing. Not wasting. Time lost. Walking in line. It’s not the zoo. Time lost. Walking in a line. It’s not the zoo. It’s not about any who’s. Don’t lose your mind. You have got the time. Stand in line. We are all waiting. It’s not deflating. Stand straight there is time. The weather is fine. Remember the good times. It’s our adventure. Journey on. It’s our mind and thoughts that count. It’s fine. Its motion and devotion. Fay, Enchantress There is no commotion. Artist Johnny Nugyen We are here for inspiration, creativity and believability. It’s our time. I am fine! Possession Artist Leah Naylor Gail L. Antokal 22 23 The Sleeping Dragon

From over the mountain, came a bright light. So, I looked away, and closed my eyes tight.

But the ground did shake, and the wind wasn’t right. I was brought to my knees, despite all my might.

Then over the mountain, came an odd sight. A mushroom in the sky, where a dragon took flight.

I surrendered my youth, And continued to fight. But had already lost, When came the bright light.

Moses E. Gonzalez

Penguin Artist Moses E. Gonzalez

24 25 “Here are ceramic tile coasters that were made using alcohol inks and a spray bottle of basic rubbing alcohol. I absolutely love the effects of this technique. These are later sealed and covered with a clear resin epoxy”.

Artist Ana Ortiz

Artist James Bradford 26 27 PROSE FROM MY HEART

Absent from my thoughts leaving it all behind. Socket. Cup. I follow thru not knowing what to do. A moment in time. Cake. You who! Fish. Dessert. Me too! Dish. Bottle. Leaving it all behind. Defined over time. Flower. I can’t think. The sun. Sunfish. I am not blind to it. Time. Tired. I can move. Define. Alas I cannot miss. We can get thru it. A prose, poem, story or a thought that is mine. Asleep I am headed. I can draw. Time. Too tire to write. Whew! Line. Asleep without a peep. Blue. Open. Done! Move. Believe. Shake. My moment in time. Break. Mine. Gail L. Antokal Love. Line. Groove. Written. See. Drawn. Screw it. Post. Across the miles. Written. Anime Drawings With deep thoughts I prevail. A store or even more. Artist Princess Appiah Perceiving. Date or mate. Blinking. Apple. My thoughts prevail. I wish. A seashore full of shells. The blue sky. Sea glass. I don’t have an answer why. More to explore. A beach. Great. A moment in time. Don’t hesitate. A lesson learned not earned. That’s great. Rhyme. It’s my motivation. Time. The light is in our smiles. My present. Across the miles. Phone. It’s not on file. Grasp it. Spring renewal is set in motion. Wrap it. Attained. Play. Gained. Stack it. Along the road there is a mist. My place. A twisted stick. Cup. The lights are bright. Cake. Step forward in time. Dessert. Sublime. First. Rhyme on my time. Second. My time. Third. A rocket. Pack. Face it.

28 29 Artist Aaron Farnum

Remember Please...

Confusion fills the streets below.

So many people on the go.

Why don’t they stop and look around,

at all the love that can be found.

The blue of the sky.

The green of the sea.

A grassy meadow where one feels free.

Of all these things that are so true.

Remember please,

I love you.

Diane Toussaint Artist Katelyn Tineo Artist Alexandra Ford 30 31 Artist Olwen Dowling

Support the Arts and visit The Amy H. Carberry Fine Arts Gallery. They present approximately six exhibits each academic year featuring works by artists of local and national repute, as well as Springfield Technical Community College student work. All exhibits are supported in part by funding from the School of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences. The gallery is free, open to the public, and handicapped accessible. The Amy H. Carberry Fine Arts Gallery is open Tuesday – Friday 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m.

32 and Saturday 10:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m.