Lacuna Issue 1: Old & Decrepit

This is the first issue of lacuna, an independent punk magazine. The theme for this issue is old and decrepit content.

This is the first issue of lacuna, an independent punk magazine. The theme for this issue is old and decrepit content.


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issue 1: Old & Decrepit

editorial staff

erin: queen, overlord, communist

leader, editor in chief

lillian: our mother, protector, watfcul

guardian, managing editor

kayla: head banger, habitual helper,

procrastination afficianto, associate


kat: punk rocker, quiche chef, trinket

collector, contributing editor

mary: bad bitch, sad hoe, nazi

puncher, contributing editor

table of contents

letter from the editor...4


Nude Drawings...6

Consumer Turned Assumer...7



Friends Forever...9

Found Text and Aesthetic photos...10

Spend the Night with Me...14

Combination and Heirloom...15

Symptoms of Unrequited Love...16

Orange Series...17


letter from the editor

Welcome to lacuna. I'm Lillian, the

Managing Editor for the zine. This zine

came from a place of frustration among

a group of friends on a warm summer

night at a small university library in

central Alabama. We were discussing

our feelings of displacement in the

world, as people who feel trapped

between two deftly defined

generations, whose reputations

precede those within them, even in

daily life. Millennials are continually

defined as left-leaning, entitled, selfish,

blah, blah, blah. The list goes on for

them. Generation Z (ironically referred

to as Zoomers) are defined as dimwitted,

careless, depressed, etc.

The group of friends I was sitting with

were all born between 1996-1999, with

the majority of us being born before or

during 1998. We're often excluded from

conversations about the 1990s (we're

not quite '90s kids' enough) and from

conversations about the mid-2000s (we

were seemingly too young to

understand economic crisis and neverending

warfare). Many of us grew up

very sheltered, with parents who were

divorced for our lifetimes (or who

divorced during the financial crisis),

some access to technology, but not

unlimited or unmonitored access, and

distinct memories of the impact of

financial hardship and uncertainty in

our early socialization.

I think it's important to point out that we

aren't here to simply complain about

our childhood experiences, or say that

we suffered greatly in comparison to

anyone else. We just feel as though our

experience is often pushed aside,

forgotten between two greatly distinctly

different generations.

We're stuck in the middle. In the

purgatory, with questions about

what we're meant to do and believe

in, where we fit in, and who we are.

Those are big questions, and the

spaces to explore such questions

have been limited. Comparisons

have previously been drawn

between the Lost Generation and

our small sub-generation,

something we haven't quite put a

finger on or a name to.

lacuna stemmed from our

curiosities of the cultures,

experiences, feelings, beliefs, etc.

of others within our generation,

cuspers between Millennials and

Gen Z. Where does lacuna fall into

this? What the hell does any of this


I don't really know. And that is for

you, dear reader, to decide. We're

a scraggly group of undergraduate

college students studying at a

liberal arts university in Alabama.

We're from varying fields of study.

Erin is an English major, and I'm a

Political Science major. We know

each other to varying degrees. For

instance, I met Kat last week. But

sitting in the library, discussing

these ideas and our feelings about

who we are, brought us all so

closely together that we felt

compelled to experience and

create lacuna together.

Combining our skills and

resources, and rag-tagging this

thing together. lacuna is a

creative outlet for us, and a

therapeutic means of exploration

of self.

The last thing I'll say is this: when

explaining lacuna to my partner,

Josh, I was describing the

definition of the word. Urban

Dictionary, being the horribly

unreliable but beautifully crowdsourced

hellscape that it is, had

this to say about the word lacuna:

"impossible to replace as nothing

fits except Lacuna.

"We're impossible to replace,

as nothing fits except for us.

We want to welcome anyone

who is interested to join us in

the journey.

All my love,


Managing Editor of lacuna


Evening sun glistening on white blanched walls

while empty cupboards and cabinets strike my eyes warmth pervades

across the white tiled floor

as quiet and empty smoke rises in webs

Hestia sits in a corner

A red candle glowing high

Sheetless bed and borrowed currents

Decor set in a hotel style

I take a deep heavy sigh

This is not frustration

or a mediocre stop

This is my place

a home that I deserve no longer a thought

a home, though empty, has even more

even if it just had a cot

more than the homes that slipped out of my hand

this is a home without stakes

Not even a set plan


her grace has yet wavered

the smoke acts as her veil

bringing unlikely souls together

the veil dances under artificial wind

Oh Hestia what have you gave

for this is my new place

a home for me to stay

I pray

that each and every day

this bed is where I'll forever lay

Poem by Josh Love

Nude Drawings

by Tristan Young

These drawings are from a

Figure Drawing class I took. The

human form has always been a

fascination of mine. However,

it’s unfortunately a challenge to

render skillfully in a short time. I

don’t typically share these. I

wanted to avoid offending

anyone who didn’t understand

figure drawing on social media.

In addition, I see their flaws and unfinishedness, but as an artist I need to get

over it. We learn from our previous creations. Now, looking back on these

drawings, I see a lens of my perspective into a moment of time.

Consumer Turned Assumer

Have you worked in customer service?

Have you any idea what it’s like?

One moment things run smoothly,

And the next, disorder may strike.

It was a bustling Wednesday afternoon,

And she was the only manager around.

People were coming and going,

While music played in the background.

Most customers left smiling,

Because they were content;

But one man’s mouth turned down,

Out of shape he was bent.

“There are a few issues I have,

With a manager I must discuss;

Fetch one for me now

I’m in need of their focus.”

“I am the manager,

Sir, You have my attention.”

Sighing, she readied herself

For to hear the issues he did mention.

He drew in a deep breath,

She could very easily tell

That he would make a scene,

With the possibility he would yell.

His face grew red, and he shouted,

“This restaurant is a joke!

I asked the waiter for Pepsi,

And he brought me a Coke!”

Inquiring faces of customers turned


And the manager she grew weary.

“I am sorry to inform you, Sir,

Coke products are the only thing we


The man continued to grow angrier,

For him this explanation did not suffice,

The issue at hand he refused to let go,

He said, “Will you not adjust the price?”

Apologetically she denied his request,

From losing her cool she did abstain.

Huffing and puffing he went for the door

Saying “I won’t be back again!”

A Poem by Kayla Hendley




Through minerals, soft earth

Remnants of sea life, sense of rebirth Fleeting,

Sinking back into the sea

Letting go,

Of a different version of me

The sun is warm on my face

I can’t help but remember

The air is full of salt I can taste

All the heavy worrisome bodies

The ocean pushes back and forth waves

Of my formers selves and past failures

Has there been a sunnier day?

I have left to wither here

Poem by Kat Murray

Friends Forever

by Devani Yatsiri Grado Lopez

"Technically this art portrays (for me) how someone

in a friend group can be way too attached to their

friends. Once they grow up, they wouldn't want to be

lonely or ‘separated’ per say. So instead, they

decided to ‘get together’ so they wouldn't be away

from each other. Hence a selfish and murderous act."

Found Text and Aesthetic


by Mary Campbell

Found Text and Aesthetic


by Mary Campbell

Found Text and Aesthetic


by Mary Campbell

Found Text and Aesthetic


by Mary Campbell

Spend the Night with Me

So, we spent the night together.

It was unexpected. We ended up talking for hours, about everything important and

nothing at all. It was like it used to be, only this time we were unhurried by time.

He traveled to the bed, eventually – sitting on the edge, hesitant to cross that invisible

line. He asked me if I was comfortable, if I was sure he could be there. In my space, he

wanted to make sure I was okay with it. Of course, I was, because why wouldn’t I be?

He did that thing where he knew what I liked – the constant touching, my legs in his

lap. The hesitance to touch them, me giving him permission because I wanted him to;

it was adorable, how much he didn’t want to offend me. He drew circles into my skin,

a familiar pattern that drew me into a soft calm as we rambled on into the night.

The cuddling was what was surprising. It wasn’t weird, and I never once felt

uncomfortable. It felt natural, to have him hold me in his arms. His fingers, trailing

across my stomach in that soothing way as we spooned. I couldn’t help but think fuck,

we fit together so perfectly. I could have melted as he rubbed my back, fallen asleep

right then and there.

But I did not think about kissing him, not once. Nor did I think about trying to make a

move, because truly, we are past the point of returning to that stage of our

relationship. We have become comfortable with how things are and moved on from

how they were. It’s refreshing, but also kind of sad in a way.

I had a thought this morning, as he pulled me close and smiled so sweetly: I could

have loved him, if he had let me. It was such a truthful, grounding moment that I knew

I really meant it. Even if I can never tell him that, mostly because it would ruin what

we have worked so hard to get back.

I don’t want to lose him again.

Flash Fiction by Madison Newburn

Combination and


by Emily Rose Tucker

Symptoms of Unrequited


I fucking hate the way you make me feel with your 1am

“You up?” text just as my depression is

About to put me to sleep.

I fucking hate youA

nd I fucking hate myself for falling for you

but the feeling and need to be wanted

Overpowers whatever common sense I have left.

The insides of my stomach bubbly like a

Cauldron, one organ eating another

Until the pain is so much

I feel numb.

The internal fire erupting in my insides, blistering

My lungs—my swelling lungs, prepared to

Burst. All because I believe what you said.

Because I fell in love with that sheepish smile.

But if I hate you so much why do I keep falling

For the same thing every time you text me?

I don’t like my chest swelling with

Pain or my intestines bursting with

Blood, spewing over my scabby liver.

All of this tragic body decomposition happens

Because of you. Because of the way Y

ou look at me and smile and touch me.

Poem by Erin Green

Orange Series

by Deidre Darby

"Beauty and Smoke"

Orange Series

by Deidre Darby


"My goal in my artworks is to make people

question a sincerely held societal belief;

Question why it is there, the history behind it,

and whether it actually serves good purpose.

For example in my orange series featuring

'Breakdown' and 'Beauty in the Smoke,' it was

about my mental breakdown I had my senior

year of high school; I cut off all my hair."

"It was partly my depression and partly being

fed up with my dried out damaged chemically

relaxed hair that I was infinitely insecure


I absolutely detested the fact that so any

black women "had" to get relaxers because it

was just how things were. It was just as

normal as picking up a prescription. No one

(at least in my family) seemed to care that I

was accruing bald spots, chemical burns, and

my hair had the texture of dried hay. They did

not care that I felt so ugly everyday for years.

No one seemed to look at the science; The

same chemicals in relaxers are in drain

cleaners and detergents."


Thank you all so much! First I’d like to thank the very helpful, very

lovely, very encouraging lacuna editorial staff. Without y’all, none of

this would have even been possible to accomplish. I appreciate all of the

hardworking you do and I look forward to continue reigning as your

overlord for this indie punk zine.

Next, I’d love to give a shoutout to ALL the content creators. You guys

are so talented and I honestly love publishing your work. You all are

going to do great things and I look forward to enjoying your future


Last, I want to thank you—the reader! There is so much amazing content

in this zine (and even more on our website) and besides telling you to go

check out our sick content, let me say thank you for taking the time to

read and view other people’s work. But seriously…go look at the other


And to wrap up this outro, thank you to everyone who contributed to

issue one of lacuna, “Old & Decrepit.” Look out for printed issue two:

“Eat the Rich.” Also, all artwork here can be viewed in FULL COLOR on

our online website. Since we’re broke college students, we can’t afford

colored printing.

So with that being said…enjoy this issue, submit more content, share

this to your friends, and take a vodka shot for me. See you next time.



editor in chief of lacuna


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