by Mike Gordon There was a motorcycle gang in Anchorage named The Brothers in the early ‘70s. Rumor had it that when one of them died the rest of them would cremate him, roll some of him into a marijuana joint and smoke him. Now that’s taking brotherly love to an all new high. In the early 1970’s someone in the gang got the bright idea of teaming up with the Hell’s Angels, which they did, so then we had The Brothers roaring around town in Hell’s Angels colors. If they decided to visit your bar they would typically hang in a group and intimidate everyone else in the place,…
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Drinking = Glamorous?
by Tara Bales Drinking is widely considered, and referred to in the entertainment industry as, cool. Whether it’s a teen house party scene in a movie where all partygoers are clinging to / chugging from red Solo cups, country songs whose sole purpose is the celebration of the aforementioned cups, or websites like Texts from Last Night that alternately mock and salute what is more often than not alcohol-fueled behavior, we as a society generally glorify and add an almost shiny luster to the antics of one who has consumed alcohol to excess. Professional athlete and celebrity “role models” convicted of DUIs are given a slap on the wrist and…
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Fool’s Paradise
by Édouard Ruess Rotor blades pierce the January breeze loud enough to shatter my nightmare. Realizing the untruth that controlled my mind, The night is blocked.So starts another day at war. As the vibrations fade, my eyes struggle to regain perception. In their success, I once-over my room. Every morning, wagering my life against death, I walk out the door. The sharp breath of earth fills my lungs, Awakening every muscle in my body. I never thought the clause I signed Would have landed me here. Anticipation builds for the return home. A fool’s paradise remains my home, Until a birds view of the city reflects in my gaze. [divider]…
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Dream of Fish
By Jenn Baker We soared over great volcanoes in the Aleutian Range. From my peephole, I watched the land ripple off into grassy tundra. I took a breath. I could do this. I could live, survive, on my own. We landed on the runway in King Salmon. I walked out on the tarmac into a rough looking building, into a large white-walled room, its rows of orange vinyl chairs split to the foam, leading to large shabby check-in desks for the post-apocalypse. The commercial fishermen had followed the Salmon migration north to King Salmon, on the banks and flats of Bristol Bay. They stayed in town or flew out to…
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Silugtua Sugt’stun (I’m Happy to Speak the Sugpiaq Language)
by John Yakanak Reflecting on the growth of the Anchorage Sugpiaq language group, my journey so far has proved to be challenging, exciting, trying, and filled with blessings; the experience tested my resolve and further built my character. The adventure began when I was asked if I would be willing to start a Sugpiaq-Alutiiq language program here in Anchorage. Seeing only some of the challenges ahead and moving forward on faith and determination rather than experience, I began making calls. With different organizations doing their part to initiate a program, the Anchorage Sugpiaq-Alutiiq language preparations came together. As an Alaska Pacific University student, I was fortunate enough to incorporate the…
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Semi-Permeable Membrane
by Gabby Brandner I sat at the oak table, lost in the pattern of the wood and only vaguely aware of my wife’s distant silhouette as she brewed a pot of Seattle’s Best; it was her favorite, but to me, it was just another variation of an ordinary beverage. I heard the scrape of the metal spoon as she shoveled generous teaspoons of coffee into the filter and my mouth was filled with the taste of citrus. All of it brought me zooming back to that awkward post-adolescent idealistic phase, where I drank coffee to play the part of whoever I thought I was and assumed the role of a…
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More Poems, Less Homework
by Nikolai Windahl Robber of Gods I drank the earth shine To the very last drop I became supersaturated and Oozed light from every pore I Breathed in the dark and Exhaled golden fire I bled tears of joyous magma and Deep into the earth I melted beyond all recognition Recycling puddles of lifetime I returned to the earth its shine [divider] Finally Winter Has Come Quietly, coldly and forming Storming, howling and blowing Snowily, deepening and whitening Skiing, laughing and smiling Freely, flying and floating Resting, smoking and drinking Sleeping, snoring and dreaming Finally winter has come…. [divider] Nikolai is a Minnesota native who loves the outdoors.
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Among The Trees
by Krista Ruesch Rays of golden sunshine stretch over the tops of snowcapped mountains, across the windswept landscape and the wide expanse of the frozen river, giving the illusion of warmth, even at -20˙F. Deep within the woods, June stands shoulder to shoulder with a young spruce tree, trying to decide what direction to move in next. Her petite and muscular build holds her strong to the earth, yet she carries a subtle air of vulnerability, as if the world could swallow her whole, taking her underground and into an alternate universe, never to be seen again. Dressed in her lined coveralls and most serious pair of Sorel winter boots,…
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Demons
by Tricia Windowmaker Mira had only been in the group for a week. Ever since her diagnosis and failed surgery, she had been struggling with depression, as if cancer hadn’t been disease enough for her. Her psychiatrist, Doctor Lowry, recommended she try the center’s new art therapy program to help boost her mood. She’d never been an artist, but she thought, “Why not?” Better paint and pencils over another pill to swallow. She randomly sketched while the class listened to Bach for inspiration. When the music stopped, and she finally took care to look at her drawing, its contents frightened her. “Could something that dark really come out of me?”…
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Addict
by Nikolai Windahl The snow out at Turnagain is deep, like really fuckin’ deep. I sit in class and cannot listen because I know when this power point is over I’m free! Running to my room, beacon, probe, shovel, helmet, boots, snowboard, jacket, bibs, gloves, snowshoes, poles, everything. All these items crammed into a specific spot in my backpack. Galloping to the car my things become projectiles as they shoot into the trunk. On the road, snowy, icy, no studs, lame. Death grip on the wheel and too many contracting muscles. Relax. Breathe. After about two hours of this process I find myself in the Eddies lot with one other…
