2. 2 3
CREDITS
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cover art michael montenegro
December 2014
{LULL}
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF/DESIGN
MANAGING EDITOR
AMANDA VONG
SOPHIAANDERSEN
{
We are a zine made of
passions and creations.
We are motivated by the
comings and goings of our
adolescent muses.
}
f r o m t h e E D I T O R - i n
C H I E F
Hello, hello all.
This is the beginning of something extraordinary. Something inspirational.
Oh, it has taken quite a while for this to take off.
But here we are, at our first issue of LULL. It is invigorating to think that it is
physically in your hands, the colors of it all, oh my!
So what exactly does LULL mean? Is it a laugh? No! The word LULL is defined
as calm and serene, like the belly of a boat on a navy blue lake lulling you
gently to sleep. I thought it was a great name because I was feeling a sort of
LULL in my soul when the idea came over a raging bonfire; a silly thought of
putting together a sort of zine, a compilation of work that would be given to us
by amazing artists actually started sprouting. Well, it came alive and died a short
death, came back to life when a buffer allowed a home stretch of an assembly
line on an oversized table in an undersized bedroom.
These pages will take you on a journey, through the sensory experience of the
artist, photographer, writer, circus performer, filmmaker, the engineers of the
imagineer.
Through them, you will experience the meditation of their piece, you will
encounter that each piece is a part of their maker.
This issue is simply to bring together a tiny community of artists, a preface.
Our forthcoming issues await a home, a theme that will drive what we want
to get across to whoever these little sheets of paper land in the lap of. I want
to personally thank everyone who has submitted their beautiful work and I am
ecstatic for you to see what we have in store for LULL.
Farewell for now!
3. 4 5
photo by: armen perian
words by: eric o’keefe
The trip across
country is unique,
just like every trip
across country,
so to hell with it.
Here are the best
parts:
4. 6 7
To question your identity
is the key to your unity
but how are we mentally
if we lost our ascendancy.
photo & words by calvin khurniawan
6. 10 11
ON HOW to feel better
Film by: Joshua KAng
A short film! Yes, we are featuring a
short film in this issue because it is
one that any person who is feeling a
tad bit melancholic should encounter,
be it you or anyone you know of. Di-
rector, Joshua Kang brings to screen
the experience of how we attempt
to stimulate ourselves, how to make
yourself feel better. There’s a twist at
the end too. As you begin watching
you feel as though the main char-
acter is going through something,
something you can’t quite grasp yet.
And oh, you want to know; you’re
interested. And you don’t find out the
reason until the end. That’s probably
the best part. It gives you a bubbly
feeling. The cinematography is inti-
mate and the situations are engaging
because of course they are relatable.
Watch here: https://vimeo.com/
channels/staffpicks/60739398
CONTRIBUTORS
illustration by carolina rodriguez
All the content is the property of the individual and respec-
tive producers. Any content contained in this may not be
reproduced without the owner’s persmission.
photo by armen perian, words by eric o’keefe, pg. 4-5
photo & words by calvin khurniawan, pg. 6-7
photo by cara harman, pg. 8-9
film by joshua kang, pg. 11
photo by daria kobayashi ritch, pg. 12
lithographs by ben kasum, pg. 13
words by anonymous, pg. 14
words by horace g. wallace, pg. 15
art by caroline david, pg. 16
art by elyn kazarian, pg. 17
photo by rhombie, pg. 18
photo by jon taylor, pg. 19
photo & words by cara harman, pg. 20
words by zachary wallace, pg. 21
photo by daria kobayashi ritch, pg. 22
photo by longdeadstars, pg. 23
art by hannah chan, pg. 24
words by kate dryden, pg. 25
words by leanne kerr, pg. 26-27
photos by armen perian, pgs. 26-27
photo by heather sten, pg. 28
art by leonardo santamaria, pg. 29
art by aj dungo, pg. 30
art by carolina rodriguez, pg. 31
art by collin levin, pg. 32
art by caroline david, pg. 33
7. 12 13
lithograph prints by ben kasum
The idea is the devaluing of information or content when put into a digital context.
This miscellaneous structure within the internet allows for the juxtaposition of un-
related imagery and concepts side by side. The five concepts I chose for these prints
were beauty, sex, violence, death, and love.
This was inspired when I saw a high school class mate update her facebook status
that she had gotten married. Some people wrote long comments of congratulations
while others just liked the post. I thought it was so sad that something so monu-
mental in someones life could be reduced to a facebook status and commended by a
“Like”. This sparked this idea that I could take other monumental concepts and past
facebook likes over them to signify their devaluation in a digital context.
no. 1 - Beauty, no. 2 - Sex, no.3 - Violence, no. 4 - Death, no. 5 - Love
photo by daria kobayashi ritch
8. 14 15
Flickering eyes that shatter my mind. The unholy light devouring my
skin. Condolences no longer intertwine. No longer able to function to
what is amid chaos. Blatant hecticity roams and screeches through
epochs of memory. My memory. Nothing to be exact. Nothing to manifest.
Sole subtly amongst the injured ones. A path. The path carved by
wandering and desolate calloused skin. In the end, the journey begins,
constantly perpetuating. Nothing more. The end here was never there
and the end just ended. He howls through the bright somber moonlight.
Away. Secluded from manifested ideals or ramifications. All is simple.
Day prevails. The night sky blooms and flourishes once more. But not
now. Light. The light ascends. It plunges itself in the nothingness of
darkness. It’s obscurity remains unknown; no longer enlightened by
truth for that truth no longer ceases itself. Here. Once more I awaken
to the bright fluorescent sunday morning. It’s 8:30 and I’m still
lacking.
words by Horace G. Wallace
Fugitive
When I feel pretty you are not here, and
when you are here I do not feel pretty
My stubborn hands fight off your
warmth to preserve my less than holy
grounds, blanketed with heavy, white
flesh and scars that hold a glimpse of
my past
I like it when you touch me there, but
only in the comfort of darkness
When pleasure’s foe, sunlight, seeps
past satin curtains,
I flee your bed-leaving last night as just
a memory and taking your warmth as
my prisoner
by anonymous
11. 20 21
Vinyl and Glass
Feet planted at the hearth of the loose dirt
Where we met in the middle of autumn
When the hints of brown hues speckled the earth-toned grass
And remains until love doth pass
But the grain from the freshly chopped wood against my feet
Go against the grain of sorrow.
Neglect any temperamental hesitations
Beneath the porous skin of my face
Where the dew from the crisp morn has penetrated
Sustain my hide on this bon iver.
Yet temptation arouses around the brink
And persistently flourishes until love’s extinct
This adulation’s been frozen to preserve its truth
But her ice pick has shattered the past to fluth.
So it finally time to realize
That blood has spilled beyond repair
Red covers us and we must recognize
The yearning sensation beneath our ribcages
I want a love like you to spawn from the drops
Trickling down the window of a wagon wheeled car.
To arise from a place beneath my chest
With warmth in her breast and a soul of vinyl and glass…
But I’d rather have you.
by zachary wallace
I could spend all my time
Swimming in another sea
Under some other moon
or under some other tree
But then I’d think too much
And then it’d seem all wrong
And then I’d feel too much
And then I would be gone...
photo & words by cara harman
12. 22 23
photo by daria kobayashi ritch
photos by longdeadstars
13. 24 25
He was the most beautiful here, to me.
Shoulders twisted,
compensating the alley.
He was an adventurer; perhaps
that’s what I liked best about him.
Serious face
eyes green, aflame
lips in the line of
eternal questioning.
The soul of a poet,
lost as me.
The lo-fi indie rock that gushed
from his speakers
expelled my guts from my bones
and fluttered, however
foolishly.
He wasn’t likable; the antithesis.
Not to me or anyone,
but more.
More to me than anyone.
I don’t like the word
but I’d say it;
I loved him,
just a little bit.
by kate dryden
by hannah chan
14. 26 27
sweet thoughts about her either, but I was still upset. It did not seem fair, but in middle
school, what is really fair? When I was thirteen, I gave up my dream of being a veterinar-
ian. I watched the neutering of a cat and automatically decided that I could not handle the
needles and tranquilizers. But I read a book. I read a book that was beautiful and fulfilling
and it made me curious and inspired. I decided that if one author could take a simple situ-
ation, put it into words, and make it beautiful, then I could do that too. I wrote a fifty page
story over the course of two months.
It sucked.
However, I still aspire to be a writer and constantly challenge my abilities with words in
order to make my dream a career.
When I was fourteen, I learned that there were people around the corner who had lived there
all their lives that I never knew personally. There was a boy who taught me about sarcasm
and how to take things lightly and he taught me how to laugh at myself. He taught me how
to trust again and how to confess. He told me of his childhood love for Britney Spears and
his obsession with Wicked.
I do not believe in soul mates. I would like to believe that someone was atomically made
for me in some place in this world and if soul mates exist, mine lives two streets down from
me. He lets me cry on his bed and cuddle with his favorite pillow. He lets my scent soak
into his bedsheets when I am cold and he likes it when I paint things for his presents. He
lets me teach him how to dance and how to find the harmonies in his favorite songs. When
he is out of town, I feed his dogs and hide notes around his house where he and his family
can find them. He is my best friend. Not only did I learn from him, but I taught him a thing
or two in return.
I am seventeen. I am still learning. I am learning how to teach myself. There are things I
have to learn on my own. I am learning to be independent while I still have people to de-
pend on. Life is a complicated journey, but I am always following the directions.
photos by armen perian
When we are younger, we learn how to count and how to spell. We learn that putting the
third, first, and twentieth letters of the alphabet together spells “cat” and that two and two
makes four. But when I was younger, I learned much more than just my numbers and
letters.
When I was five, I learned that my best friend Campbell would not always want to play
with me at recess. He was a boy, and I was a girl: a forbidden friendship set apart by the
regulations of kindergarten. He was entitled to play kickball with Fielding and Layne,
and I was supposed to play pretend on the slides with Meagan and Camille. This was
a devastating realization because Campbell and I always played by the big oak tree. I
went into my class room to make my paper train but all I could focus on was that my
best friend wanted to be a boy instead of my make believe puppy. I began to cry fierce-
ly, but my tears faded quickly when my friend Brooklyn came and sat at my table. She
was very sassy at a young age and she began to ramble about how Campbell was a jerk
and I should play with her instead. I don’t remember a time in my elementary life when I
laughed harder than that day.
When I was twelve, I learned that if you give a girl a secret, she will want another girl
to tell it to. In the seventh grade, there is no possibility of trusting anyone. You fend for
yourself and keep everything bottled up. But we did not learn that until the secrets came
back to bite us. She said a lot of cruel things about me on the bus to my friend Caroline.
Caroline, of course, told me and I cried very much that year. I did not know that people
could actually have such mean thoughts about a person so innocent. Not that I had such
What I Learned In Boating School
Is...
by: LeAnne Kerr
