Tag: Portfolio
Hungry Pantoum
by trogers5 on March 27, 2022
Portfolio
Mariela Flores ’23
***TRIGGER WARNING: EATING DISORDER***
I empty myself out.
While the world concaves around me I center myself.
Scrapping what is left of me until I feel nothing––
moving inside of me.
I center myself in the feeling,
of sharp bones that rip through my skin.
Nothing moves inside of me,
only the echoes of a rumble I cannot hold.
Sharp bones rip through my dull skin,
I wear them like trophies proving I was good.
I want to muffle the echoing rumbles,
but my hands tire from digging deep inside myself.
I want them to see that I was good.
Their praise is enough for me to stay––
My hands are tired from digging inside myself again.
My skin is cracking from the force of myself again.
Their praise enough for me to stay this way.
Even with nothing moving inside of me.
Even with cracked skin itching red from my choices.
I empty myself out again, and again.
I empty myself out.
While the world concaves around me I center myself.
Scrapping what is left of me until I feel nothing––
moving inside of me.
I center myself in the feeling,
of sharp bones that rip through my skin.
Nothing moves inside of me,
only the echoes of a rumble I cannot hold.
Sharp bones rip through my dull skin,
I wear them like trophies proving I was good.
I want to muffle the echoing rumbles,
but my hands tire from digging deep inside myself.
I want them to see that I was good.
Their praise is enough for me to stay––
My hands are tired from digging inside myself again.
My skin is cracking from the force of myself again.
Their praise is enough for me to stay this way.
Even with nothing moving inside of me.
Even with cracked skin itching red by my choices.
I empty myself out again, and again.
Tiff and Earl
by trogers5 on March 27, 2022
Portfolio
Dear Tiff and Earl,
This spring break, I booked a trip to the Bahamas and upon landing, found out I have COVID. What are some COVID-safe quarantine activities I can do while all my friends are on the beaches having fun?
Sincerely,
FOMSB (Fear of Missing Spring Break)
Dear FOMSB (Fear of Missing Spring Break),
If the past couple of years have taught us anything, it’s that we must learn to be resourceful and have fun on our own. However, since COVID-19 has forced us to do so for approximately 10% of our lives at this point, I’ve unfortunately exhausted all my good ideas. The best advice I can give you is to purchase a Disney+ subscription if you do not have one already and watch Phineas and Ferb for some inspiration. Those kids had 104 days of summer vacation and you only have 11 days of spring breakーI’m sure they have at least a week’s worth of COVID-safe shenanigans that you can try yourself. Alternatively, you can just watch the show for the heck of it and transport yourself to a time when life as we knew it wasn’t completely upended by a pandemic.
Good luck!
Earl
Dear FOMSB,
Quarantine activities, my eye. You’ve got to think outside the box. What I’m about to describe to you is something I love to do whether I’m sick or not. This is one of my favorite beach activities: what I like to call “the ostrich.” That’s right, dig your head in. Your nose and mouth will be SO covered, you couldn’t spread anything if you wanted to. All that sand will be great for your skin, and what protrudes of you will be tan. Sounds like my kind of spring break.
Cheers!
Tiff
I Forgot to Write my Cowl Article for this Week
by trogers5 on March 27, 2022
Creative Non-Fiction
Aidan Lerner ’22
I forgot to write my Cowl article for this week. Today is Sunday, and I am a little panicked. I pride myself on my ability to be responsible and to come through for the people who rely on me, whether it be in work or school. That is why I am very disappointed to report that I definitely did totally forget that there was an issue due this Saturday. Did I agree to write a half for this issue? You bet I did. What have I written so far? Exactly this much.
In my defense, I am a senior and this week was Spring break. The jet lag of going from the central to eastern time zone is absolutely brutal and you add daylight savings time! That is a nightmare combination. So, yes, I will shoulder most of the blame for forgetting to write this article, but let the record state that I have many, many excuses ready to go.
How about I outline some of the things I had planned to write about, had I not forgotten due to the unforeseen circumstances of not remembering. One thing I love about writing for The Cowl is that I truly do feel as if I can write about whatever I want in exactly the way I want. I have written about things that I consider fun and some things which I consider more serious. This week, I had planned to write about something more serious. I wanted to write about the complicated nature of morality and the online world.
Dear reader, now it is my privilege to take you into the kitchen so you can see how the cake gets baked. Here is how I would figure out how to write about such a heavy topic. First, I would figure out what exactly I am trying to accomplish with my piece. Generally, I find that it is either a first-person argument or some sort of allegorical anecdote. Normally, I use a fictionalized version of myself as the subject so that I can be a little sensational with what I say. In this case, I would probably do a combination of both.
I would start with the story of a Twitter account. The Tweeter is a hard worker and is always kind when you ask him a question. He is knowledgeable and passionate about the same subjects you are, and he adds a lot of entertainment to your life. You are one of his most consistent followers. One day, you find out that the man behind the account has been accused by people in his life of doing heinous things. What does that mean for you? Are you immoral for enjoying his content? Are you dumb for not seeing through his kind words?
Those are questions I would have asked in my article. Then, I would get personal with my narration.
As a self-declared writer, I often find that lying is frighteningly easy. In the era of texting, I feel as if I can spin any tale and people will believe it as long as I write it well enough. When all people see are the words I put on a page or a screen, I can make it so they see whatever version of me they would like. I can come off as gracious or rude, confident or nervous. The author of the words has all of the control.
Even the most honest writer would struggle to communicate who they are with just words. It is nearly impossible to give anything but a window into your true nature. Our anonymous Tweeter can be a source of joy online and a monster offline: different aspects of the same complex person. On the internet, no one is who they say they are because no one can say who they are. So, it is our duty to be careful and recognize that there is a lot beyond the words on the screen. If you think you know who someone truly is based on their online persona, you are wrong.
I would write something like that, and then I would wonder if it makes any sense. I would hope to myself that someone will read it and think about some of the questions I raised. Since we are outlining this together, I will spell out the conclusion I really hope readers draw. Will they wonder if I am telling them the truth? Who am I behind The Cowl? Did I really forget to write my Cowl article this week?
(I totally forgot. Ask my editors.)
MVP
by trogers5 on March 3, 2022
Portfolio
Kathryn Libertini ’23
I hear “So let me tell you guys why I chose Providence College” as I turn the corner in Slavin. My heart is pounding, not from the stairs, no, but from the pressure. Tonight’s game against Creighton decides if we win the Big East Championship. Coach Cooley met with me to discuss details, and the importance of a good crowd. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I sit through class knowing only the massive role I play in the game. I failed two exams this week alone. Eventually I beg my roommate to drop me off five hours early in her Toyota Corolla Sport before anyone else is at the Dunk. I use my all-access pass to get through the front—I haven’t used the student entrance in months. I want to be the first one on the court. I put on my uniform and hear people swarm the stands. I know it’s finally my time. I step court-side, hearing only cheering fans and DJ Finesse’s remix of “You Belong With Me.” I know it’s all for me. Suddenly I hear, “Hey, Friar Dom! Can I get a picture with my kid?” I bend down and give a thumbs up for the camera.
Tiff and Earl
by trogers5 on March 3, 2022
Portfolio
Dear Tiff and Earl,
I’m a non-basketball student-athlete and I feel like we don’t get enough clout. Do I need to become the next Nate Watson on TikTok?
Sincerely,
A PC Second-Class Citizen
Dear Second-Class Citizen,
…there are non-basketball student athletes?
No cheers for you,
Tiff
Dear PC Second-Class Citizen,
Although I’m sure there are many ways that you could increase your clout, TikTok is an excellent place to start! However, instead of trying to become the next Nate Watson, you should set yourself apart and establish a unique brand. Here are a few suggestions to get you started: take videos of yourself talking to the PC squirrels, do Ray dinner reviews, or ask Dean Sears for a collab. I’m confident that you’ll win the hearts, views, and likes of Providence College soon enough.
Catch you on the ’Tok,
Earl
Listomania
by trogers5 on March 3, 2022
Portfolio
Professor Red Flags I Wish I Noticed Earlier in the Semester:
- No syllabus week
- Small word counts for essays (only for English/Creative Writing majors)
- Long word counts for essays (for every other major)
- Asks for papers single-spaced
- Wants printed and digital copies
- No laptops allowed in class (they’re cutting into my online shopping time…)
- Printing out every handout for class
- Plugs their own journal articles
- Has group projects
- Cold-calls
- Gives oral exams
- Doesn’t reply to emails
- Emails too much
- Doesn’t let you use the bathroom
- Gets mad when someone uses the bathroom
- Not enough office hours
- Doesn’t take off their jacket
- Uses a chalkboard (and doesn’t mind the squeaking)
- “I don’t really give out As…”
- Doesn’t use Sakai
- Doesn’t learn anyone’s names
- Makes due dates midnight instead of 11:59 p.m.
Figure
by trogers5 on March 3, 2022
Portfolio
Kate Ward ’23
John was the only man in his figure drawing class. He had always gotten extra odd looks when there was a female life model coming into the studio to pose for them. Most of the time the models weren’t even nude, so he didn’t know why everyone still assumed he was looking at them in a certain way. However, walking into class today with his sketchpad and pencil case full of overpriced art supplies, he was surprised to see a young man standing there. He concluded they were around the same age.
The professor wasn’t there yet, but John took a seat and began to set up his easel.
“May I see your sketches?”
John looked up to find the model standing in front of him in nothing but briefs. “Sure.” He handed the book over. “It’s John, by the way.”
“Marco,” the other replied with a small smile as he flicked through the sketchbook, arriving at a portrait of a woman with darker hair and large gray eyes.
John set up his charcoal and pencils. “Nice to meet you.” Marco nodded and handed the book back, smoothing his hair back before sitting on the edge of the stage.
“How much are they paying you to be posing for two and a half hours for a bunch of college students?” John asked, looking through the wooden slats of the easel.
Marco laughed, freckles on his cheeks bunching up. “I wish they were paying me, but unfortunately I made this idiotic mistake of volunteering in order to launch some art students ahead in their careers.”
“That’s B.S.” John shook his head.“This is 101. You’re not launching anyone.”
Another laugh. “You’re right. Well, I’m here because it pays rent for my apartment. You’re the only one so far whose art is actually pretty good. You only draw women?”
“Well, my art better be good—it’s my second major,” John explained. “And I don’t just draw women, it’s just what the class…allows? I don’t know, women are what they can get their hands on.” He put the paper up on the easel as more of his classmates strolled in, some nursing a coffee or a severe hangover. The professor came in and began pointing out a few different poses for Marco to go through as warm-ups and then longer poses to hold. John started scribbling some rough outlines. He usually focused mainly on the larger parts of the body before adding detail, but he couldn’t get past detailing Marco’s face from his freckles to kind eyes.
“You know you’re supposed to do the face last, right?” A girl leaned over and tapped his page with the end of her charcoal stick.
John looked at her before wetting his thumb and smudging the charcoal into the background. He shook his head and kept going.
As the class wrapped up and John was again the one left packing up last, he approached Marco. “I wanted to show you the art from today.”
Marco pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Oh, please do.” He leaned forward as John flicked through. At one drawing, he stopped him. “Could I keep this? Or if you need to keep it, could you come over and do another?”
John paused, stunned into silence at the request. He cleared his throat and said quietly, “Um…I need to keep this one, but I would love to come over and do you—I mean, do this again.”
Marco laughed and wrote his address and number down on the corner of John’s page. “See you soon, then.”
A Purgatory of Trains
by trogers5 on March 3, 2022
Portfolio
Sarah McLaughlin ’23
You are Plato, turned to heaven’s forms,
I am Aristotle, here on Earth.
You are Dante, looking up beyond the wall of rock,
I am Virgil, eyes upon the ground, my own consultant.
But are you really the sturdy tower, unshakeable?
What secures your soul in stringent grip? What holds mine?
You don’t make me neglect the passage of time
But make me all too cognizant.
Chocolate-Colored Mousse
by trogers5 on March 3, 2022
Portfolio
Grace O’Connor ’22
She waits for hours as her hair is bleached,
Piece by piece slowly being painted,
In order to not expose her dark roots.
She uses a mitt to spread the chocolate-colored mousse on her skin,
Spreading it over every inch of her body,
Waiting for it to slowly melt into her dry, pale skin.
Her mascara wakes up her tired eyes.
Complementing the blue in them,
Hiding her exhaustion and natural beauty.
The powder is held on by clear polish and strengthened by blue light,
Tearing away, slowly killing her soft nail underneath,
The tough layer holds onto what is left.
The tight clothing she wears hugs her rib cage.
Her skin is vulnerable to the wind.
Goosebumps are being pushed to the surface.
Her accessories are meant to distract the eye from her body,
The bling on her gold jewelry meant to hold stares,
Turning others’ eyes away from her face.
She pushes the thin lens against her eye
As the water starts to puddle in the corner.
She refuses to touch the lens that mocks her in the corner.
Fear.
She fears scrutiny and her dignity being shredded away.
Her dignity stuck to her like loose, dead skin,
Waiting to be peeled off with a simple scratch.
The temporariness of artificiality leaves her panicking,
Waiting, watching it slowly melt away day by day,
Till she can paint herself again, hiding every mark she dislikes.
Her paintbrush is held by her firm grip,
But her hand is exhausted, she loosens this grip steadily,
Till she drops her paintbrush and looks at herself in the mirror.
Recurring Dream
by trogers5 on March 3, 2022
Portfolio
AJ Worsley ’22
“I didn’t even realize it was the same place until this morning. My hands were vibrating, and I had no idea where I was. The side of my face, only mildly sticky from drool, glued me to my pillow. My bed was no longer the only familiar environment.”
I am standing in the middle of the woods when it begins, standing alongside trees taller than Him, the clouds rolling through them. I kick my sandals off my feet and run my fingers through my pockets. In my rummaging I find a set of keys. I look at the keys in my hand and drop them down into the sand. Why is there so much sand in the forest? Barefoot and empty pocketed, I begin running. Eventually there is an opening in the trees, and I run towards that. Upon getting closer I realize it is a cliff and I cannot slow down my momentum causing me to run and jump into what looks to be a massive quarry in the middle of this forest, at the bottom of which lies a lake for me to land in. For a moment I am flying. It’s the shortest moment and simultaneously the longest ever. Trees surround the quarry, the true heart of the forest, and in looking down I see the water is not a bright crystal blue, but a muddy green, tainted with ecological hurt. It resembles a Missouri swampland, beautiful shades of green that you fear because of what lies beneath. At the moment of impact, I rush under the water like a missile, my feet touching the bottom of the lake, sending me popping back up like a float. When I rise above there are suddenly dozens of worn houses floating on the lake. They are decrepit, worn, with massive holes on the side, shards of glass from broken windows on their front porch, likely housed by alligators. There are trees down in the water now too. They hang over the houses and decorate the landscape for a much less fearful green. There is only one house that is intact, so I swim towards it. Pushing myself up onto the porch, I hear rattling in my pockets. Soaked, I stick my hand in and feel the same set of keys. I knock on the door, and nobody is around to answer. After trying several keys, the last one finally unlocks the door. As I begin to walk in—
“And that’s where it ends every time. I wake up. I never get to explore the houses or familiarize myself with the environment. I expect to wake up in my bed soaked every time, but I am always dry. There is no quarry, no house, no forest.”
Her pen moves across the paper rapidly as if she were a sketch artist.
“What’re you writing down?” I ask.
“Do you consider yourself a pessimist?” she asks, dodging my question.
“Well, if I was an optimist I probably wouldn’t be in therapy.”
She smirks.
“Have you heard the theories about what it means to jump off a cliff in your dreams? On the negative side, people have said that it could relate to some sort of distress in your conscious life, a lack of control or a strong sense of impulse. On the lighter side, it could relate to a recent victory, or a fresh start.”
Her buzzer goes off.
“Well, that concludes our session for today,” she begins. “I’d really like to pick this up from right here next week.” She puts the pen and paper down and turns around to drink from her glass of water.
I lean over to see what she has written down but all I see is a vivid drawing of the quarry and the tall trees. I don’t question her. I just look forward to returning to the woods with the keys in my pocket with the hope that next time I will see what lies in that house.