SUR_ISSUE_3
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 />
lover,
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 />
tonight.
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 />
out
Photo Credit: Brett Marquette
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