SUR ZINE // ISSUE 3 // wish you could've been there

SUR ZINE // ISSUE 3 // wish you could've been there


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Life is a series of moments,<br />

touchstones, and memories.<br />

We record these in our mind,<br />

in photographs, stories, music<br />

and artwork. Everything<br />

creative that we put out into<br />

the world is a celebration of<br />

life, its dynamics, and growth.<br />

<strong>SUR</strong> is platform to share these<br />

experiences and creations.<br />

+ California based and inspired<br />

+ London published<br />

Contributors:<br />

+ Issue 3 >> wish you could’ve been there<br />

Phroso<br />

Evan Burkin<br />

Kati Stubblebine<br />

Daniella Islas<br />

Wil Deas<br />

Kira Skye<br />

Caitlin Dinunzio<br />

Tess Venizelos<br />

Brett Marquette<br />

Editor:<br />

Daniella Islas

show me the things<br />

worth dying for<br />

Dear California, With Love<br />

By Phroso<br />

studied you<br />

from afar<br />

your divots and grace<br />

curves and complex<br />

i fell for you<br />

inched closer<br />

and closer<br />

to the edge<br />

of all i’ve ever known<br />

to the cusp<br />

of all i’ve wanted to feel<br />

show me love<br />

i begged<br />

as i ran to your shore<br />

desperate and dry<br />

show me passion<br />

heartache, bliss<br />

reckless and true<br />

canyons and springs<br />

valleys and desert stars<br />

i lived<br />

under your skin<br />

kept me<br />

summer warm<br />

summer of love<br />

but it was never enough<br />

night would come<br />

had me lost and lonely<br />

needing more<br />

needing you<br />

so i chased city lights<br />

slept on beaches<br />

drove along the coast<br />

through dawn<br />

thick in love<br />

didn’t stop<br />

until cliffside<br />

over your shore<br />

calling out your name<br />


you leave me hungry<br />

yearning for you<br />

always<br />

then it started to pour<br />

out of the blue<br />

soaked my bones<br />

i yelled to something higher<br />

where do souls go<br />

when they’re tired<br />

sunken stomach<br />

i left early morning<br />

couldn’t bare<br />

to see your face<br />

wrote a note:<br />

please know<br />

you gave me a world<br />

i will love you<br />

always<br />

from mile to mile<br />

end<br />

to end

Photo Credit: Tess Venizelos

After<br />

By Kati Stubblebine<br />

Let me<br />

slip<br />

slow<br />

slide- Yes.<br />

Hug me,<br />

see-saw Mother.<br />

Skin: wet,<br />

twisting, calm.<br />

False calm.<br />

Hug me still.

Harvesting Summer<br />

By Evan Burkin<br />

They say we’re nappers<br />

In the harvest of grapes.<br />

Eyes loose, we are<br />

Of salt<br />

From the parting coast breeze,<br />

We cry,<br />

Gentle weather.<br />

A saturation of brine<br />

A matter of preservation.<br />

We ripen in summer<br />

With seeds of sweat<br />

That splinter for your taste.

Amargada<br />

By Caitlin Dinunzio<br />

Don Quixote dumped me.<br />

Expect to see his Dulcinea<br />

wandering the freeway<br />

selling roses,<br />

knees buckling on concrete.<br />

Chivalry is dead—<br />

it’s road kill on the 55.

“On Return: Los Angeles” or “To the girl I love, that I trust<br />

beyond belief”<br />

By Wil Deas<br />

A collection– postcards scattered on the wind. Glinting off the sun– a hint of<br />

LA glow. Nowhere to stop, nowhere to call my own. A mobile home of the<br />

heart. Rib cages dancing along the sunset strip.<br />

Can you tell me? Is this what you wanted? To lose ourselves in your stars?<br />

My clouds? Tinted, beyond, ever-changing. Lighting the way passing radio<br />

waves and constellations barely visible through ash.<br />

Summer fires, burning long into fall– invisible bonds stretching over<br />

freeways, up north past the bay bridge and into the vines of my home. How<br />

did you get so far away? Love of mine, how are you?<br />

Ease of communication, latent messages tapped out by fingertips against<br />

devices prepared to drop dead at any moment. A failure of the now.<br />

Contemplation of the void, constellations be damned.<br />

I’m coming back now, to you, to us, to renewed faith. I’ll have nothing<br />

there. Some couches, friends and you– to keep me grounded before my<br />

world comes apart again. Upset by those that took me before. We don’t mind<br />

them. You don’t mind the distance. At some point it’s nice– obligation can<br />

go so far. Exploration, keep the connection.

For the second time the city of Angels provides an escape. You, the one that<br />

has given me so much hope– even after all this time apart. I’m crying now, at<br />

the thought of you standing on the ledge of the Arclight parking garage. Me–<br />

a polaroid camera bearing bystander– only a observer of your magical<br />

beauty.<br />

I long to see you. To feel that safety you’ve always shown me. I long to<br />

escape the day– to go where no producer, no pr, no fan can ruin the day. To<br />

where I can stand wherever I want– to where you know.<br />

So won’t you tell me about your heart? Won’t you tell me where I fit in?<br />

You said you’d stay forever. I have no doubts. I can say that now– after<br />

today, last night– the past few weeks. I trust you over any other soul on this<br />

earth. I know that much.<br />

So to the one I love, that I hope loves me back– I miss you. I miss those<br />

warm summer nights in Griffith Park. I miss ice cream in Larchmont. I can’t<br />

wait for the day we can share those days again– going out and just losing<br />

ourselves to the day.<br />

I’m coming home. Through my clouds, beneath your stars– ever watchful.<br />

Through the ether, to you, my sweet darling. To watch your corn-stalk hair<br />

in the moonlight. To discover your heart, and to give you mine–.<br />

A loop– a spiral ending in you–. Beyond the insanity– my own and those of<br />

others. Into you–. We’ll make it to the sunrise, if it’s the last thing we’ll do<br />


Untitled<br />

By Daniella Islas<br />

Keep me in your foggy view<br />

Don’t lose sight<br />

or get lonely with the city lights<br />

They'd all love you<br />

I've never felt so cold and so warm<br />

than with the layer of the bay creeping through me<br />

knowing you are in this city,<br />

San Francisco<br />

No one and everyone pass through these streets<br />

The ghosts of jazz past<br />

echoes of legends in alleyways<br />

Garage bands and basement tunes<br />

a smuggled flask<br />

spare keys<br />

Fingers interlocked<br />

in front of your friends<br />

Up<br />

the trolley tracks<br />

to waters edge<br />

Let me be in your breath again<br />

It’ll work this time<br />

Of all these hills<br />

ours has been the best<br />

The neon Asahi sign<br />

hailing every 34 th avenue bus<br />

the couch we share<br />

tired of standing<br />

waiting for us to begin<br />

Your legs on me<br />

Catch you staring<br />

act like I don't know<br />

That Frisco fog is rolling<br />

coming through the glass<br />

When<br />

your mind is made<br />

I'll be gone

homecoming<br />

by Kira Skye<br />

these things you thought you had forgotten but are now beginning to remember<br />

the faded stop sign of the church parking lot where you learned how to drive<br />

the wooden floorboards that creak when you walk down the hallway<br />

the rim of your glass mug that steams with morning coffee<br />

all blur into watercolor, wash away as you pull the plug<br />

down the drain of the bathtub with the silver handle<br />

your skin feels bare against the cold night air<br />

the fuzzy bathrobe on the hook<br />

and the fraying rug on the floor<br />

you can’t see your reflection<br />

in the foggy mirror<br />

it’s in the wick of<br />

the candle you<br />

just blew<br />


Photo Credit: Brett Marquette

+ Blog: surcreate.com<br />

+ Instagram: @surcreate<br />

+ Email: surcreate@gmail.com

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