Documenti di Didattica
Documenti di Professioni
Documenti di Cultura
Volume Two
Contents
Poetry & Prose
Aint No More God Damn Kids
18
Serenity
30
Interviews
datagirl
22
33
Phoenix Traders
4
11
Bon Appetite
Edible Flowers: An Alphabetical
Guide
35
Elderflower Popsicles
40
37
30
Savages
19
28
Visual Art
Colored Progression
Eccentric Emotion
Norland Valley
11
4
20
Savages
Our boats broke against the beach
We our savage
Iggy Pop sings in the trees
We had a life for lustturn down the stereo
Fennario is that wayforward march
We are savage
Rapiers gleaming, we satin handed mud banks for alters and cashed in all our internet
currency for pears and Code Red Mountain Dew
Anything to survive the winter
We are savage
recommend?
whole?
that covered.
items?
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A hill of swaying grass on a cool summer night. The sky clear of clouds, filled to the brim
with countless colorful stars. The gentle hum of insomniac wildlife in the undergrowth,
the moon full and bright and gentle, and nothing but fields of tall violet grass as far as
the eye could see. It was a wonderful place. It was the world of my dreams.
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That world was so familiar to me, as I'd seen it often before. The same could be said for
the girl sitting beside me, the skirt of her white dress fluttering in the breeze. Lying in
the grass on the side of the hill, sharing with me the speckled night sky. Every time I
wandered to this place, she was there; every time I awoke in this place, she too awoke
there.
Sometimes I would call her my ghost, other times my muse. Her face was always
concealed just out of my sight, hidden in the shadows of the tall grass, shrouded in her
long, dark hair that ran down to her shoulders. I always spoke to her, but she never
spoke back to me. She never did much. She always just lied there, listened to me,
listened to the summer wind, listened to the animals in the night.
She was the faceless girl whose face I had never seen.
She was the voiceless girl whose voice I had never heard.
And then I fell back to lie on the cool grass and think for a while.
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Often when I was alone I would think about what it meant to be alone. Since I was more
often alone than not, this means I was able to spend a lot of time thinking about how
things like that were. Things like joy and sadness, and hunger and thirst, and the
beautiful way that fear and being alone work together to rule over your dreams.
I was alone without fear and alone with everything in the world to fear, both at the same
time. This was not good for my health. Living like that with my fragile thoughts left in
the void between bravery and cowardice. With things how they were, it didn't take long
for the true nature of loneliness to make itself clear to me. Even at the young and
heartless age of 18, it was all as clear to me as stars were clear in the night when life
went quiet.
Or should I say, in the night when life became even quieter than it already was during
the day.
It was always during the night that my mind would wander back to thinking about how
empty things really were, and about how they had become like that. I would fill my mind
with thoughts about where everything had come from, and where everything would be
in the future to come.
And when I was ever just on the point of falling asleep at night, I would clear my mind.
Dump it out; pull the plug and drain it out like it was one big ocean of forgotten
memories. I would return it to a state of clean, liquid purity, an empty ocean in which I
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knew nothing and nothing knew me. It was the only way I could ever get myself to
dream.
I was a big fan of Hemingway back then. He had this really beautiful way of discovering
with his words how empty life was, and of teaching how that emptiness in itself was the
most beautiful thing in the world. To him, everything meant nothing and nothing was
beautiful, and so everything was beautiful.
From him I gleaned for a long time what I thought to be the meaning of life on Earth.
But there was one thing about Hemingway that I had always disagreed with. He said this
once. Or, he wrote it. In A Farewell to Arms. Partway through the book he wrote the
words: 'Night can be a dreadful time for lonely people once their loneliness has started.'
But I had to disagree.
For me, the night was the best time to be lonely, because in the night everyone was
alone. Even if they were not lonely, everyone was alone. Even if everyone was loved,
everyone was alone, alone in their sleep, alone in their dreams, alone in the quiet of the
night. In the night, everyone was nothing. In the night, everyone was beautiful.
"To be honest," I whispered to the girl whose face I never saw, "I think that the only time
I'm ever awake is in my dreams."
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And then suddenly, I woke up with a start. I was in my room. I was in a cold sweat. It
hurt to breathe. My blanket felt like a sheet of lead on my skin, and every muscle and
bone in my body ached like a dying fire. Everything was pitch black.
I felt around for my phone on the bedside table, picked it up, and shakily turned it on. It
bathed me in its warm, blue light that reminded me I was alive.
It was morning.
She was in a pearly white nightgown. Her hair was let loose, as per usual, and fell
around her shoulders and her back and her breasts in soft, jet-black curls that cast
shadows against her pale skin in the candlelight. Sitting in a lacquered wooden chair in a
cramped, empty apartment, folding paper crane after paper crane on an old wooden
table that creaked under its own weight.
The night went on, but Katherine did not stop folding. The light shining from the dying
candle stayed just that dying, but it never died. It was like, there in the Katherine's
own world, everything was forever. The candle never went out, the origami paper never
ran out. So there was never any reason for Katherine to stop folding paper cranes.
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She kept folding, and folding, until the paper cranes began to fall off the table and
scatter onto the dusty wooden floor around her. And she kept folding, and folding, until
the paper cranes began to flood the room. She folded until she was up to her knees in
paper cranes until they flowed all the way up the skirt of her gown. She could feel the
sharp points of their wings and their tails, and their folded beaks and their long necks,
pricking against her soft skin.
Suddenly, she stopped, and closed her eyes. She leaned against her chair and tipped her
head back so that the skin of her neck was exposed to the cold night air. Then, slowly,
she spoke: "I know you don't want to hear this, but I have to tell you anyway."
And then suddenly, like the flip of a switch, she was atop the hill with the violet grass in
the endless field. The world with the sky full of stars. My dreamscape the place I
shared with the faceless girl every night, and knew better than anywhere else. The paper
cranes which had flooded the dark apartment room were now scattered across the
blades of grass in the field. and they were starting to flutter and shake in the breeze.
And as Katherine spoke with her eyes closed, the paper cranes began to take flight.
"Right now, you're afraid that the happiness you have newly found will soon end. You
are worried it's something that is just passing through, that'll soon be gone. You have
met with people joined with people known people and now, you've begun to
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know yourself, too. But you still can't help but worry that any second now, it's all going
to come crumbling down. It's a constant fear that pulls at you, claws at you. It's a
nightmare that carves its own path into your dreams. No matter how hard you try, you
just can't help but to be afraid. But I'm here to tell you that you have to be brave."
The paper cranes flew around the field, swooping and gliding, swirling and drifting in
the summer wind, and eventually, they all flew up and melted into the sky, becoming
stars, filling the sky with new light. The new starlight shone down onto the field of violet
grass and illuminated it with pure white.
"No matter what, you have to be brave. And you have to believe. Believe that your
happiness will last forever, trust that the people who you have met will never leave you.
No matter how hard it is, you have to try. You have to. Because if you try hard enough to
believe you will always be happy, then you will. You will never not find a reason to smile
when you go to sleep at night. You will always have people who care for you. Who think
of you. And even if things don't work out at least you believed. And that can make all
the difference."
And then suddenly, there was nothing. Nothing but black. Katherine was drifting in
empty blackness. The hills were gone, the field was gone, the grass was gone. The stars
were gone, the wind was gone, the swirling paper cranes were gone. There was only
black space, and the floating curves of her thick, black hair, melting into the churning
abyss. The fabric of her white gown and the paleness of her skin were the only things
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that showed against the dark. She floated like this, suspended in the emptiness of space,
as she spoke with her eyes closed.
"Never be afraid to be happy. Never be afraid to be with people. Never be afraid to show
them who you really are. It sounds hard, I know, but I know you can if you try. But most
importantly, Isaac, you just need to enjoy everything you can with everything you've
got."
And then the bell rung loud, and I woke up and class was over.
I is a bother.
How many beats is it allowed to skip on the way back to the St. Vitus crumbs of GOOD
FUCKING CHRIST JUST LET THE FLOOR BE ITSELF!
Check out the fever of that 72nd Mexican chorus.
It gets better
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Katie's Cup
Don't come here much
I fell out of touch
With the scene today
In this part of town
Where the stream runs brown
And the streets only go one way
The walls here are lined with board games and books
And musicians, they play and don't get dirty looks
And this latte I sip is the sweetest I've had
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Katie's Cup
And I'm in no rush
In the morning crush
On a Saturday
For my day is free
And the company
Makes a poet want to stay
Angela Hiss, 27
Angst
This spring, Crystal Lake artist
Heather Alice Crawford dropped
her first record. Entitled lonely
december, it is available for
download on Bandcamp under her
alias, datagirl. Crawfords
unadulterated, elusive music can
also be found on Soundcloud.
others."
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influence you?
Midwestern artists?
other.
to improve Rockford?
Rockford.
25
music scene.
Rockford
Odd
Im sure this is about making mistakes.
The young scientist inventing a ray gun to make things bigger,
someone elbowing it over a coffee table.
Shit. Shit.
What did it zap?
Thank god. Only air. You think you can breathe easy
until you realize you cant,
choking on distended molecules of oxygen, and
there goes the human race.
The reaches of a single Oops endless.
Odd that the earth pirouettes upon absolutely nothing,
much like consciousness,
the bridge between material and spiritual.
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in the same way Im sure an embrace from the right set of arms
would finally show me what its like to be comfortable.
Im sure that if our ears were able to dial-in to
the frequency of light, what we would hear would singe our eyebrows,
make us hurl our ideals out our windows
in the form of various objects, smashing deceitful glass.
The window knows this. It trembles in fear and continues to open upon
pieces of whatever we want to see.
Odd that we bleed red, the color of passion,
and not a cowardly yellow.
Odd that our insight today is our oversight tomorrow.
Im sure that I am not sure. Im sorry.
Joseph Altamore, 21
3:15.
What time is it now?
There was short bit of rustling. A plastic bag catches in the tree. I dont think that makes
a very good scarf.
3:02.
They glanced over the stretch of dead plant debris.
We didnt get to go outside today.
Nope I replied. The lights fluttered again.
An unbothered silence ensued, and I had a small headache. I shifted my weight into the
curvature of the chair and set my head on my right arm. An impermanent solution
towards a moment of ease. An interlude of soft coos drifts among the books.
The bell rung shrilly and I jumped from my comfortable position. In a rushed march we
scatter to the cadmium yellow buses lined along the pine trees. What a shame the lilac is
on the other side, passes through my head as I think of the spring to come. My shoulder
set into the nook between the cold metal of the bus and my backpack. A slow hum and
gentle honks stood against the quiet ringing in my ears. I remembered why we didnt go
outside. There were too many geese. I only yearned for sweet coos of my favorite dove.
The bus was on its way while corn fields sped through hazy eyes. They morphed into a
short brick city, and a gray-blue river shimmered as we passed by grand gray towers. A
blotchy orange spot gazed from the distance.
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A thick glaze formed over my eyes as the city changed to ruins. Robust burgundy
buildings shed broken glass onto the weed ridden pavement. The drop forge loomed
ahead, shrouded in dusk. Wire gates covered in morning glories sat in the final drops of
sunlight, long closed by the afternoon. Ivy swirled along the drainpipes as the bus
rushed to my stop.
My nose was bleeding from the air, but I knew there werent any tissues on board. The
streetlights disappeared one by one. The bus shuddered to a stop as it reached the final
lamp. It was pitch black outside save for the streetlight.
Despite being a normal day, I didnt want it to end so soon.
Aurora Harkleroad, 16
30
Graeme Lithgow.
in time
my true legacy
is you
-Eric Danhoff, 26
seeds.
consumptionPPC
readers.
to Rockfordians in pursuit of
forum?
aesthetic?
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35
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Citrus (orange, lemon, lime, grapefruit, and kumquat blossoms): The flowers of citrus
plants are sweet and their fragrance highly concentrated.
Clover: Flowers are sweet with a hint of licorice.
Dill: Dill flowers taste much like the herbs leaves.
English daisy: Although the petals are bitter, daisies add a charming aesthetic to any
dish.
Fennel: Shockingly yellow, fennel flowers bear a subtle licorice flavor, much like the
herb itself.
Fuchsia: Tangy fuchsia flowers make a beautiful garnish.
Gladiolus: Because gladioli are bland, they should be stuffed or incorporated into a
salad.
Hibiscus: Often brewed as tea, hibiscus boasts a vibrant cranberry flavor and should be
used frugally.
Hollyhock: Vegetal and rather bland, the blossoms make lovely garnishes.
Impatiens: Also bland, impatiens work well as a garnish or for candying.
Jasmine: Jasmine can be incorporated in desserts or brewed as tea. If not used
sparingly, it can easily over-perfume a dish.
Lavender: Sweet, spicy, and perfumed, the flowers are a great addition to both savory
and sweet dishes.
Lemon verbena: The diminutive off-white blossoms are redolent of lemon, making them
ideal for tea and desserts.
Lilac: The floral scent of the flowers translates smoothly to the flavor.
Mint: Naturally, the blossoms taste minty. Their intensity varies among varieties.
Nasturtium: One of the most popular edible flowers, nasturtium blossoms boast a
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complex flavor of sweet, floral, and spicy. The flowers can be stuffed and added to
salads, while the buds are best pickled.
Oregano: The flowers are a pretty, subtle version of the leaf.
Pansy: The petals are somewhat nondescript, but if you eat the whole flower you get
more taste.
Radish: Varying in color, radish flowers have a distinctive, peppery bite.
Rose: Remove the white, bitter base and the remaining petals have a strongly perfumed
flavor perfect for drinks, desserts, and jams. The darker the hue of the petals, the more
pronounced the flavor.
Rosemary: Flowers taste like a milder version of the herb; nice used as a garnish on
dishes that incorporate rosemary.
Sage: Blossoms have a subtle flavor similar to the leaves.
Squash and pumpkin: Blossoms from both are wonderful vehicles for stuffing, each
having a slight squash flavor. Remove stamens before use.
Sunflower: In addition to the seeds, sunflower petals can be eaten raw; the bud can be
steamed like an artichoke.
Violets: Sweet and floral in taste, violets give an elusive look to salads, desserts, and
drinks.
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Other fillings that you might like to swap for those listed above:
Bean sprouts
Thinly chopped green cabbage
Finely grated carrot
In a medium size saucepan, bring two quarts water to a boil. Add noodles and cook for
three minutes, occasionally stirring to assure the noodles are submerged and cook
evenly. Drain well, rinsing under cold water. Prepare vegetables and flowers, then toss
gently in a large bowl to distribute the ingredients rather evenly. Set aside near your
assembly area.
Fill a large pan, (wide enough to lay spring roll wrapper out flat) with a couple of inches
of very hot water. Place one spring wrapper into the water, submerging completely for
about thirty seconds until it is soft and pliable.
Lay the wrapper out on the towel; place one half of the filling ingredients and one
fourth cup noodles in center of wrapper; roll the edge nearest you over the top of the
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ingredients, then pull back slightly to secure the ingredients in the fold, bring right side
over to the middle, then the left side over to the middle, then roll up tightly to form the
spring roll. Place in prepared damp paper towel (or lettuce leaf) lined container; cover
spring roll with another wet paper towel or lettuce leaf. Continue with remaining spring
rolls. If serving buffet display, keep spring rolls covered with wet lettuce leaves to keep
them from drying out. Work with the wrappers one at a time; dip to soften then fill and
roll before moving on to the next spring roll.
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Elderflower Popsicles
four cups water
various edible flowers (see above list)
one tablespoon elderflower cordial
Place petals inside popsicle molds being sure to layer them on top of each other and not
compact them. Mix water and elderflower cordial in a large jug and stir well to combine.
Gently pour the cordial mixture into the popsicle molds trying not to unseat the petals
too much. Insert popsicle sticks and place in the freezer until frozen solid. To remove
from the molds, gently place bottom of molds in warm water until the popsicles pull
free.
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Sock the Monkey (STM) is a Rockford, Illinois based publication. It places emphasis on, but
is not limited to, artists from Rockford and the surrounding area. The goal of this project is to
elevate Rockfords outlook regarding self and to bring light to the accomplishments obtained
by its members. All works are compiled and edited by Esther Veitch. Cover art is accredited
to Demetrius Markham. June 2016.
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