The Realize Zine Art Issue
Pieces from the first Realize zine art issue.
“Paint, pen, poetry, and sculpture combine and intertwine to bring you the original artistic expression of a realized generation. Pen and empty space, darkness and light, color and intention dance together to manifest artistic visions into reality. Keep your eyes on the future and your ears to the streets because this is the first art issue of many to come. Be a part of the next issue by contributing your creations and support your local revolution! It’s all for you.”
-from Realize
www.RealizeCulture.com
http://www.RealizeZine@gmail.com
“Circles”
9.5.17.11/9:16pm
a poem by Collin Tateishi
my Circular Reasoning
resonates with my breathing
deep
I project shadows of my darkest secrets (shapeless)
into a shell without windows or lights
I remember the silence
I struggle to redesign these redefined subtle features of
my room
the perceptions
of a recluse are etched into The Corners (of his
world)
these visions are the secrets of
a sentimental mentalist that demonstrates a
separatist mentality is isolation solitude?
do circles truly bring you home?
Poetry by…
Jeffrey Wallace LaPrade
This is my overflow of silence
My inner voice defying the quiet
The pen taking my life off autopilot
Apologize if it seems violent
But into the depths I am prying
Full of emotion both laughing and crying
While you sit back watching your friends dying
This is from where comes the sighting
To look past all this lying
Even to ourselves about the way we feel
And the rescued ideas come healed and
It’s nice to see negativity repealed
Though never completely expelled
Because they whole spectrum is needed
Both heaven and hell
This interpretation of love is not lasting
Because these people are starving not fasting
And now there is too much it’s distracting
Everyone stops questioning but continues acting
I am a divine disgrace
Perfectly displaced in the human race
Consistently spaced out
From where our creativity sprouts
Hard to point out
When all these holes spout blood hate and love
All of which will be disposed of, regrown, reused
Until it’s dried up, disintegrated into dust
Collected in a depth of dirt and death
Promisingly brushed away by whatevers left
pigeonholed press 