From the heart

Four black teens in Philadelphia with nothing other than weekly tranpasses and opinions. Still, the criticism and general interpretation seem to change from day to day regardless of aforementioned teens consistency.

Whatever. We're not doing anyone some terrible injustice, and we don't claim to be changing the world or enlightening the folk beyond belief or recognition. Credences, food for thought, images, a few laughs here and there, and opinions are all that we can offer you. Whether you choose to accept or decline, you are here, as are we, daily.

To face the rain or sunshine, parade or riot, cookout or Saturday detention..We ride Septa.

- Til' the very end, Nya Ari, Samir S, Trent XIII, and Hez

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Today we had "Women's day" at Central. During my second to last period (Photography) we sat in the auditorium and listened to this English woman talk about anything that you can imagine that is uninteresting and deals with gender relations. However, during the final seven minutes, she passed out something thought provoking!

The backseat of my mother's car
We left before I had time
to comfort you, to tell you that we nearly touched
hands in that vacuous half-dark. I wanted
to stem the burning waters running over me like tiny
rivers down my face and legs, but at the same time I was reaching out
for the slit in the window where the sky streamed in,
cold as ether, and I could see your fat mole fingers grasping
the dusty august air. I pressed my face to the glass;
I was calling to you-Daddy!- as we screeched away into
the distance, my own hand tingling like an amputation.
You were mouthing something I still remember, the noiseless words
peircing me like that catgut shriek that flew up, furious as a sunset
pouring itself out against the sky. The ensuing silence
was the one clear thing I could decipher-
the roar of the engine drowning your voice
with the cool slick glass between us

with the cool slick glass between us
the roar of the engine drowning your voice
was the one clear thing I could decipher-
pouring itself out against the sky. The ensuing silence
peircing me like that catgut shriek that flew up, furious as a sunset
You were mouthing something I still remember, the noiseless words
the distance, my own hand tingling like an amputation.
I was calling to you-Daddy!- as we screeched away into
the dusty august air. I pressed my face to the glass;
cold as ether, and I could see your fat mole fingers grasping
for the slit in the window where the sky streamed in,
rivers down my face and legs, but at the same time I was reaching out
to stem the burning waters running over me like tiny
hands in that vacuous half-dark. I wanted
to comfort you, to tell you that we nearly touched
We left before I had time


-Julia Copus
_____________________________________________________________________________________

Hopefully you noticed the pattern or form, or what have you.In the auditorium it seemed like it would be a piece of cake, but this ended up taking me an hour to do. As you will see, I chose to write about an ex,and it's a bit shorter.But there she blows, go read!


I love you,still
Your final words only mirrored my intentions.
Who am I to say you understood that?
And so, misinterpretation is plausible,
left assumed in all of my reasoning.
“Is it inevitable to be unsure of the promised?”
Rhetorical question?
I can’t answer that, not now.
The ringing goes on and on until deafened by the sounds. My mind
cannot possibly escape the guilt in pursuit
of my thoughts and how I have deceived myself.
So grab my conscience and shake the premises,
wake me up. I’ve fallen in love
to fall victim to a heartbreak that we’d never intended on.
“Who?”. Was I
the one you sought or the one you didn’t need?
One day when you’re not looking, you’ll stumble. Upon the answer
an overwhelming feeling of loss will reside
deep in your soul, where I’ve been.
Through it all you are the one I love.

Through it all you are the one. I love
deep in your soul where I’ve been.
One day when you’re not looking you’ll stumble upon the answer,
the one you sought or the one you didn’t need.
Who was I
to fall victim to a heartbreak that we’d never intended on?
Wake me up, I’ve fallen in love!
So grab my conscience and shake the premises
of my thoughts. And how I have deceived myself
cannot possibly escape the guilt. In pursuit,
the ringing goes on and on until deafened by the sounds, my mind.
I can’t answer that, not now.
Rhetorical question!
Is it inevitable to be unsure of the promised?
Left assumed, in all of my reasoning.
And so misinterpretation is plausible.
Who am I to say you understood that
your final words only mirrored my intentions?

-Nya A. Tindal

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