Image provided by: Texas A&M University
About The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current | View Entire Issue (March 29, 1985)
.fc=?§^reHg^ -4—i c/“) >—J O—. —■ P*^- >~. G-i i/; o ^ o £ .2 w - .^ ^ _o ,o .is ^ — z3-^5 1/5 ^ jz: tr ^ 'o J2 H £ d S-gH^ £ ’> o S^ oV~ a] a ^ <u -z: y. o^-— i- rz: r c ^ „ uy Q-q, Jr c <u aj - aidjCXO 1-5' -§e 3 V 3 —• ^ r— »—< —< Z,. ZT* c ^ 5 ^ O ^ (U o c o -5 CL O ^ LC u ^ ; '■ ■ ;. ■■ vriter contemplates tHe mystery of tire universe. u, L iu L -*'u “ S i_ =^5 “ t. 3 v 's: t- Cl cj ns ^ iv LuChi doubts are green sometimes as if fields of clover d and shifting past. Red shoots bury through until yel- eces break and fall into a black velvet when they hurt, in and wisps of lavender moan. Purple thunder. A grey comes from the center edges fraying, reminding of Anne’s lace and then seeps back into and disappears, from nowhere silver edges not unlike and gold that curls ack again. ic washes clean and over and under bringing back the ide. Orange from a sunset comes open wide. The friends liars of gratitude dressed with those sharp peieces but itil tissue pink is trampled into the rain sadly too much iper butterflies. Mention that they were all once brothers meone takes them inside each time. A round entrance un here with black again. nnot really forget about a white bear not thought of. No ?ason just a bear. Over and over bright cold and clear, ig is ever bluish or reddish. Just like the younger things ev er saw frail yellow. That miserable yellow that begs to e with grey and grey bleeding and ruining the softness of r of the whole of eveiything of all thought of velvet black. moving in stereo Richard V. McLamore God...? speak to me...! as I lap across the floor, impulsing in time, after time across deepened gulfs, my calls flow’ softly into a Jungelland I see caught in transparent oblivion, folding gently, a w ake up call to a friend and acquaintance creeping into Seeing— I can’t speak of truffles or trifles on an empty stomach — indw ell, speak, counsel, w hat blue light flashes from my window on the w orld? outside a lightstream I wait, I see reds and I look somewhere in the night I look for soft dreams she’s left her doorway, I’m still in the room, singing aimlessly groaning silently:: ...as the pen scriffs by- marking paper’s flesh transmuting soul onto pulp, washing adagio across my mind, legato outlook, unison fifth minor sev enth harmony, vague consoling clashing conversation vapors through my mind, an eternal visitor unnameable love, spirit, allways by the chair at the floor lie I winds sigh outside friction noise currents clacking leaves pastel overtures of wind ink on page ink on page blueflashing mindpicture friend snoring, girl now sleeping accidental a speaker of peace vibrator of spirit lucent signs melt to a bluewhite glow a message from somewhere? a message an answer vainly searching after time for a watch in the dark so I can go home, bittersweet harmony, joy in minor washing pastel across me; heart through body, watch always with me, ticking time rubato, ostinato murmuring unconscious vibrations not mechanical a speaker of peace. • Richard V. McLamore, 21, a junior English major from Ft. Worth. “It means what it says it means. It’s about watching MTV at 3 o ’clock in the morning with your best friend and seeing a Cindy Lauper video. It said, ‘Write me.’ It became a little plaything. I spent about a year on it.” i P. Cain, 23, a graduate English student from “several conti- ie poem means a lot to me and I’ll let everyone else decide what ns to them. Art is more for the sake of beauty than for anything Pasar Burung (Bird Market) EricJ. Polzer Enter the twilight aisles, swimming in exotic perfume. Gaily dressed dancers dash in flurried choreography, twirling orange, green, red blurs moving to an orchestra of high pitched cheeping, razor sharp w histles, each raised to drown the others, but the w hite, yellow’ crowned fat lady squaw ks her opera above all, a still majesty amongst the madness. Then look into the black-hole eyes of the white owi, silent sanity sucking eveiything through his pupils and suddenly the air smells like shit, the cages are filled with panic and the songs are anguished pleas for freedom and light. • EricJ. Polzer, 23, senior English major from Ja karta, Indonesia. “We used to go down to the bird market and it was kind of a different thing to see. I really like Indonesia and it just felt like I had to put some im pressions down.” Untitled j Marc A. Sommer Our moon sings such lush electro :balloon rub, shards of rainbow so soon intimate innerglow in ruin: sunrise paints a painbow • Marc Sommer, 19, a fresh man biological engineering majorfrom Minnesota. “I was alone in my room one night and imagined my self outside walking around in the dark — what it really feels like emotionally, not just physically.”