Lacuna Issue 1: Old & Decrepit

lacuna
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
editor
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
Hestia...5
Nude Drawings...6
Consumer Turned Assumer...7
THEBEACHISWHEREYOUGOTOSHEDYOUR
SKIN...8
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
outro...19

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
mean?
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,
Lillian
Managing Editor of lacuna

Hestia
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
Hestia
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
about,
And the manager she grew weary.
“I am sorry to inform you, Sir,
Coke products are the only thing we
carry.”
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

THEBEACHISWHEREYOUGOTO
SHEDYOURSKIN
Striding,
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
photos
by Mary Campbell

Found Text and Aesthetic
photos
by Mary Campbell

Found Text and Aesthetic
photos
by Mary Campbell

Found Text and Aesthetic
photos
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
Heirloom
by Emily Rose Tucker

Symptoms of Unrequited
Love
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
"breakdown"
"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
about.
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."

outro
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
content.
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
content.
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.
Warmly
Erin
editor in chief of lacuna
lacunazine.wixsite.com/home