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Looking Good, Feeling GorgeousBy Alex Carrigan @carriganak QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: This piece was written as a daily commentary leading up to a Pride event on the 17th of September. I came out earlier this year, and September 17, 2016 is the first Pride event I’ll be able to go to since I came out. I bought a ticket for a special event that evening, where there will be food, cocktails, and drag performances, including famous drag queen, DJ, and adult filmmaker, Chi Chi LaRue. Because this is my first Pride, I wanted to fit in with the event and feel like doing something new. I thought about what I could do, and I came to a conclusion: I would try drag. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Art AlexakisYou were sitting on a curb on the ‘Bash next to Art Alexakis. He wasn’t the real Art Alexakis from Everclear, but they looked the same—bleached hair paired with culpable dark eyebrows—and that’s why you were bothering to crush on him. No, you were bothering to crush on him because he recognized the back of your head at the orientation for Summer Honors camp and you were like the back of my HEAD? And he said, “Yeah, me and my friends know you by the back of your head.” You were strangely flattered—you could be picked out of a crowd by someone you’d never met who didn’t even know you by your face?
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Not All Snake Oils Are Created EqualChinese Snake oil, from the erabu sea snake, has been a traditional remedy for arthritis and bursitis for hundreds of years, and seems to have been introduced to the U.S. in the 19th century when thousands of Chinese laborers were contracted to help build the Transcontinental Railroads—an estimated 180,000 emigrated to the U.S. between 1849 and 1882, according to Richard White's book Railroaded.
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A Very Spoopy ComboI’m. So. Excited. For. Halloween. Like beyond excited. Pour me a cauldron of Butterbeer and hand me some pumpkin pasties on a plate painted with cute, non-threatening spiders with a side of the finest Milk Duds in your Trick-or-Treat bucket. Give me all of the fake spiderweb bags to decorate my dinner table with one of those skull candles that bleeds when you light it. HaveThe Exorcist on repeat and “This is Halloween” blaring everytime someone walks past my mailbox. Bring out ALL of the dankest memes as this year’s costumes. Come to Mama.
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Upcoming Album: Hollow GlowEven if you’ve never heard of Hannah Telle before, you’ve definitely heard her.
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Let Us RunBy Jamie Wagman QuailBellMagazine.com Thirty-one-year old Alexandra Nicolette ran on a dirt road in Rose Township, Michigan. Thirty-year old Karina Vetrano ran on a trail in Spring Creek Park in Queens, New York. Twenty-seven-year old Vanessa Marcotte ran in the woods near Princeton, Massachusetts. These three women were all killed between July 30 and August 7, in cases police have called unrelated. Alexandra was shot and killed; Vanessa was found raped, murdered, and burned; Karina was raped and murdered. And they were all killed in broad daylight under the afternoon sun.
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Body Prayer“All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” --Julian of Norwich
I am laying in savasana, corpse pose, the final assimilating pose of any Hatha yoga practice. I am sprawled on my back on my yoga mat and my right hand receives a pleasant weight that I can wrap my arm around. I hold this weight and I know suddenly in that inner way of knowing that I am holding my own soul. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Lapsed YogiI haven’t done yoga in years. And yet I still consider myself a yogi. Why is that? I took up Crossfit and still turn my hip-mobility cycle into Utthita Parsvakonasana. I long to bind it. When we do handstands, I desire to curl my back into Vrschikasana--scorpion pose.
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Remembering Uncle J.P. I lived in Vienna, West Virginia until age eleven, we then moved to Marion, Ohio where I entered sixth grade in 1951. Formative years unveil perpetual newness.
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The Light In Me Honors The Light In You It was one of the nights my boyfriend and I had one of our countless bad fights. I was so grateful to see the clock turn 7:30— “We’ll talk later,” I said. “I have to go to yoga.” I could clear the tension that filled up the apartment like carbon monoxide. It was my first visit to this particular studio, though not my first try at yoga. A few times in college, I had taken to the mat and bent my body in all sorts of ways, but I was posturing, playing pretend. Here, in this small studio tidily lined with colorful mats, yoga was more than just putting your arm here or your leg there. It was about something else—a way of opening up. A way to get closer to anxiety, and settle in instead of running away.
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Saddam Hussein Ruined Valentine’s Day: A Quick Millennial Reflection on Life After 9/11“Saddam Hussein is going to drop little parachutes of poisonous gas from the sky,” said my friend Alex. We were in 2nd grade. It had been a year since 9/11, and as a seven year-old, I couldn’t distinguish between the politics of Middle Eastern affairs. Essentially, I lumped all of the bad events together. All I knew was a year before, two tall buildings collapsed a few days before my birthday in New York and a plane crashed into the Pentagon, but President Bush would fix everything.
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A September Nightmare, 15 Years LaterBy Leah Mueller QuailBellMagazine.com I awoke from a nightmare around 4 AM on the morning of September 11th. I'd had nightmares before, but this one was a doozy. In my dreamscape, I stood alone inside a tall, slanted building. The walls and ceilings were made of glass, and large panes shimmered above me. Suddenly, a tsunami-sized tidal wave hurtled towards the structure. I glanced frantically upward as the wave began its descent. For a moment, I thought I could make it stop through sheer will, so I remained absolutely still and prayed for the wave to evaporate.
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Interview with Tara FayTara Fay’s warmth and excitement exuded through the phone as I spoke with her about the opening of Women, According to the Internet, the exhibition she curated at Bunker Projects throughout August in Pittsburgh. The independent curator and manager of Social Status Sneaker Boutique took her time researching feminist exhibitions and artists before putting the exhibition together with eight regional artists exploring feminism and what it means to be a woman in the age of social media. She took time to chat with me about how she came to love being a woman, how she met and put this group of artists together, the growth experienced while curating at Bunker Projects, the show’s provocative and poignant work, how this show might open minds to the sexism in the current election and more…
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Genie DietDear Margot,
Can you lose weight by constantly rubbing your stomach until it disappears? -Can’t Afford Jenny Craig The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Kenopsia...and the Haunted HouseBy Richa Gupta QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: This post was previously published at Voices of Youth, a UNICEF-based platform. Kenopsia (n). the eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that’s usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet (Source: Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows) A haunted house is reminiscent of malicious ghosts, hidden shadows, and strange noises at night. It makes us think of a dark mansion surrounded by skeletal trees, ready to be inhabited by a joyful, unsuspecting family. It reminds us of lightning, howls of fear, and an attic choked with darkness. From what we’ve read and watched, a haunted house is infused with a chilling backstory—one of sacrifices, betrayal, flames, unexplained deaths. It’s been so recycled in popular culture and media that people seem to forget the true meaning of a “haunted house”. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Learning to be an AlumnaMonday August 29th was my first day of not having to go back to school. It was only in the evening I realized some of my friends went to classes. They bought textbooks and moved into dorms. They met up with professors and classmates. Monday was the first day I didn’t have to suffer through the awkward standing to get my photo taken by my mom. No more smiling stiffly while my parents’ eyes were trained on me. After going to school constantly from kindergarten to getting my BFA in Creative Writing, I had no school left.
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Stop Romanticizing Mental Illness!By Betsy Jenner QuailBellMagazine.com Last year, I was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome. I realized that it was the revolutionary answer to the questions I've always asked myself : Why am I this way? Is there something wrong with me? Am I different from others?
When I first told one of my friends that I had this syndrome, she expressed her sympathies although she had no idea what Asperger's was and as though I had just told her that I had brain disease. After I briefly explained what it was, she said, more in an attempt to lighten the mood, " It's cool in a way, isn't it? It's like something out of a movie or something." I was then reminded of an article I had read earlier about the romanticisms of mental illness publicized by films and social media steadily over the past years. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Life After My Assault, and Why I Haven't Reported My RapistAnonymous QuailBellMagazine.com *Content Warning: This essay goes into detail about material that could be sensitive to some readers, such as assault and rape. Saturday evenings and Sundays are the worst. They’re a constant, weekly reminder of the first weekend of June, a weekend that was supposed to be full of birthday celebrations and a sardonic beginning to the summer. Instead I met a man who put me in a cab and drove me six hours into hell. It’s a cruel fate for someone who works nonstop and used to cherish the rare quiet weekend curled up in some fireside corner, pint of ale in hand and some fresh new novel in my lap. A sweet respite from work and the gym and the perpetual gloomy weather.
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Hushed DaysThe involuntary spiritual experience started when Rick wanted to introduce me to his neighbors. Trailing behind him, the first thing I notice is that it’s dark. Really dark, but the stars seem to puncture the blackness surrounding us. How can people live here? Rick is telling me how beautiful the landscape is during the day. He grins as he says they plant their own food to harvest and eat. That they tend to the grounds everyday as part of their meditations. It’s too dim to see the garden but the reflection of the moon gives me an idea of where the pond is. Where are the people? Where are the sounds of cars? Rick can’t wait to show me the Benedictine monks, his neighbors, who he and his wife first discovered when they moved into their new Vermont home.
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