After celebrating its thirtieth anniversary last year, Montage had the opportunity for renovation and redesign, and we've been looking forward to surprising everyone.
We're trying to do our part to make literature and art as essential to human life as breathing. We wanted to showcase the most innovative, fearless writing and artwork we could find on the Quinnipiac campus. This year is a new and exciting one for Montage.
-Gaby Catalano and Danielle Susi
I was reading the dictionary. I thought it was a poem about everything.
I remember that time when I hated some girl for a few days because I thought she beat me.
Since the time of thick scared knees, each with a tale or two of a tall, twisted slide
that forced you down onto the pebbles, while thick red color seeped
and ran down the twigs you walked on.
And we aim for the journey of it all, dirtbags to some, and adventurers to others.
We envelop ourselves in greens with purple or orange hues that are quite majestic.
A season of many final changes.
What language can instruct a whole chance to be reasonable?
In the middle of a Sevillan art gallery,
Lust walked in with a face of handsome ruggedness.
To be deficient, emotionally limited
There are no bad pictures; that's just how your face looks sometimes.
There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
Our neighbors to the right both died last month. (To the right if you’re sitting on our front steps). There’s an empty driveway, now, where my brother and I used to ride our bikes up into when we were kids. The neighbors to the left are gone too, though only one of them has died.
I think I left the water running again. I tend to do that from time to time, these bouts of forgetfulness are becoming more and more regular. It’s not Alzheimer’s, I know that for sure. But who am I trying to deceive; I know exactly what the problem is. Sleep deprivation. Insomnia. Whatever, call it what you want. I splash water onto my face and stare at the reflection in the mirror.
The halls of the manor appeared to be filled with water, clear and crisp. The geometric and rust-colored tiles appeared cleaner, and the table set with the mustard flowers held on to its place.
I realized that I had fallen in love when my pen wrote words heavy with love. Each word was sodden with emotion, dripping with fear and uncertainty. Each letter intertwined with another, forming horizontal cascades along paper.
There are thousands of ways to hurt, to feel, to die. But the knife, the razor; oh man, that sharp blade. Sends shivers down my spine. You can carve, and I do, however deep you want.
Look at all the Christmas stuff!! Wow, Christmas. We love Christmas, don’t we? We need to get juice, your favorite! I have grown accustomed to this sing song voice ever since Ben Jr. was born. I have unfortunately exchanged nights at the bar with the guys for Saturday nights at Target getting juice, and on top of the horrible Target experiences, it leads me to spend more time with my wife. I would not say I rushed into marriage and the whole deal, but rather got bombarded into it.
No matter how the night turned out it always started with a bottle of wine and the river. The cheaper it was, the better, never in a box...always a bottle. A confident wild side had been craving to come out, while still staying responsible and alert. Adapting to my new home, soaking up all the sights, smells and sounds of the Andalusian accent.
The hole: the bagel’s defining characteristic. The middle, a black hole for thought. It is the circle that separates the bagel from the fascists that lives inside Cousin Donut. I wholly believe this circle distinguishes the aware from the un-informed.
In a distant and majestic land, it is said that there is a river made of tears. These tears were shed by those who had suffered from the pain of loss. When violence and death first introduced themselves to the great land, a single tear was shed for each soul that was lost. Soon, there was enough death, enough suffering, and enough tears to produce a river that flowed elegantly through the great world.
I’ve always had a hard time making friends. It’s not that I never tried because I have. The other kids at school just don’t seem to like me. I think that’s why I have Jenny. But Jenny can be really bossy and when I play with her at school the other kids begin to laugh at me and call me weird. I don’t think they like Jenny.
Slingshot knew the path back to his farm in Winston County naturally. He followed it like the wolf followed the scent of its prey, like a hunter followed tracks in the woods. The Native Americans had carved his path centuries ago. He studied their culture for years after sundown, when he no longer could work on the farm. He loved them like friends, brothers, and members of the same pack.
She is blue. She has blue hair, blue eyes, and blue metal piercings in both of her ears. What we try to force out of her is not blue, though. Her appendix is about to burst and I’m staring at her, ready to operate. Come to think of it, we’re all blue. The surrounding nurses, the doctor, and myself, are caught in a wave and rush of lighter blue than the ocean.