2009-2010

Volume 8

A journal of literary and visual arts Volume 8, 2009-2010 Rose-Hulman Ins tute of Technology Advisors Dr. Patricia Carlson Dr. Rebecca Dyer Dr. Corey Taylor Co-Editors in Chief Samuel Howell Jessica Lipscomb Layout Editors Katy Dimon Jacob Slifer Submissions Editors Angelica Pa no Phillip Rodenbeck Marke ng Editors Brandon Abad Annie Bullock Online Editors Kelly Macshane Bri any Willis

Sta: Adam Esch, Hannah LaFleur, Kelli Phillips, Jeremy Wachter

On the Cover: by Kyle L. Wilson

Logo Design: Carlton Kenny

Editors Note
The editors wish to thank everyone who contributed to Ink, and to congratulate the ar sts whose work appears on the following pages. We would like to acknowledge one especially outstanding visual work by Gregory Larmore, France. During our four years here at Rose, we have seen Ink progress profoundly. When we rst arrived at the Ins tute, Ink was a small-scale opera on made largely by a single student and faculty member. Over the past few years, it has morphed into the product you see here a vibrant publica on with ten editors, four contribu ng sta, and three faculty advisors. We would like to rst and foremost thank the en re sta of Ink for all of their hard work, par cularly our fellow editors Brandon Abad, Annie Bullock, Katy Dimon, Kelly Macshane, Angelica Pa no, Phil Rodenbeck, Jacob Slifer, and Bri any Willis. We would also like to thank the faculty advisors, Pat Carlson, Rebecca Dyer, and Corey Taylor, for their support and guidance. Without the hard work and support of all the individuals involved, Ink would not be possible. Lastly, we wish to thank Je Schoonover, the Elsie B. Pawley Fund, and the Department of Humani es and Social Sciences for making publica on of the magazine possible. The commitment of contributors, sta, and readers allows the Rose community to showcase their under-adver sed ar s c and crea ve abili es in an exci ng way. We would encourage you to visit our website, www.rose-hulman.edu/ink, where you will not only nd an electronic copy of this years edi on, but also copies of previous edi ons.

Samuel Howell and Jessica Lipscomb

This years volume of Ink is dedicated to the Rose-Hulman students who recently lost their lives: Mohammad Habeeb Robert Rea

Contents
Gregory Larmore Phillip Rodenbeck Kelli Phillips Angelica Pa no The whiskey on your breath could make a small boy dizzy. The Passionate Shepherds An phon France the doorkeepers feet are seven armlengths long 1 2 3 4

Samuel Howell Kelli Phillips Andrew Hopkins Aleksandra Krasutskaya Aleksandra Krasutskaya Jonathan Kor Andrew Hopkins Jessica Lipscomb Maarij Syed Kyle Harbison Kelli Phillips Phillip Rodenbeck Jessica Lipscomb Bernade e Pa no Jonathan Kor Melissa Schwenk Adam Carlson Chris Wlezien

5 6

The Devils Hands Are Idle Playthings Demonstra on B Witness 2 Broken Ci es Frozen In Time Door to Nowhere Solitary The Petals Were Worth Their Fall

7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

The Co age Abandoned

16 17 18

Tonight Diering Perspec ves

19 20 22

Dear young man who assaulted the pregnant woman in the DQ parking lot, Tell us again that people are not ugly, the world conspires to make us happy, and magic exists.

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Angelica Pa no

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Michael Williamson Abisha Varatharaj Aleksandra Krasutskaya Bernade e Pa no Yuejun "Kenny" Zhu Samuel Howell Jessica Lipscomb Annie Bullock Kimberly R. Handoko Phillip Rodenbeck Andrew Hopkins Chris Wlezien, Je Van Treuren, and ASME Welding Group 2010 Kelli Phillips Michael Williamson Gregory Larmore

Ethereal Morn Dream Echos Persistence of Certainty

27 28 29 30

Reec on Des ny Immanuel Cows in Spain Alex Turner Autumn Requiem Dino Disaster Wanderer

31 32 33 34 35 36 38 39

40 False Inspira on Java 41 42

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France

Best Work
Gregory Larmore

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the doorkeeper's feet are seven armlengths long

- Inspired by the fragment from Sappho-

How such I rose the frozen planes Samadhi cinders rolled below And cowboy kings parade with leveled barrels made of glass Beneath a sheet of living ice I smiled twice Be as it were blood parody Must paradox in each in-head And waketh claw the cradle horn of incubated past One knifepoint saw the ceiling shriek Two were meek Or thus dread sha ering befell Cool vapor then the lustrous shard And splinters lay in mesh the bi erness of glazing walls Gone ether ice enact before The twel h door Before once I could coalesce Came the shade at door-foot slinking And the doorkeepers feet are seven armlengths long to nail A scalp enwreathed with ash and eyes Twelve lies When gone then for the going by The doorkeeper all maws and hook And clack-crack the cobble jaws whi le teething long and thin Nine jaws agape saliva ng Nine wai ng A er them he ate my dreaming Myrrh owing from his altar mouth And dapple rhythms roll immortal in one winter mind Moscow sings my evening re The ninth choir Oh once awoke before the door I thought of cellars drowning slow And doorkeeper consigns the night with verbs over Russia The wallowing of mist and coal Coupled whole Fair sleeping for Abiamor Ascend through cloven frozen clouds And doorkeeper half blinks his crown of nervous golden eyes Then sealed the shu ng doors of ice I died twice

Phillip Rodenbeck

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Kelli Phillips

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The whiskey on your breath could make a small boy dizzy.

Angelica Pa no

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The Passionate Shepherds An phon

In a perfect world where all are young, No lies accorded to shepherds tongue; Blisses, banal, would not thee move To live with me and be my love. Time may shi , but not abase, Lovers will and Natures grace. Cares to come are paramours fate! But they will only our love assay. Your wayward winters prove trivial; Without bane when so convivial, And from the Earth every spring Winters water new life brings. Though caps and kirtles, and beds of roses Will break and wither when year opposes, Compassion will drape thy peerless form, My love will cradle and keep thee warm. If not moved by amber studs, A belt of straw, nor ivy buds, Perchance aec on may thee move To live with me and be my love. If ecstasy were so professed, Commonplace would be largesse, And never would thee pleasures move To live with me and be my love.

Samuel Howell

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Kelli Phillips

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The Devils Hands Are Idle Playthings

Andrew Hopkins

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Demonstra on B

Aleksandra Krasutskaya Photographed by John Gardner

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Witness 2

Aleksandra Krasutskaya Photographed by John Gardner

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Broken Ci es

Down hollow streets in the driving snow Through splintered glass and concrete bones Brick facades and broken homes In silent splendor of fractured stone Stands the old cathedral all alone The quiet peace of howling wind Screams out a name without an end Through sca ered pillars that never bend Heads of roofs that no shelter lend And I cry with them for my long lost friend A hand at my mouth, ice in my eyes It's a mournful call, this lover's cry That echoes through caverns where spirits die And ings itself at the open sky To die itself in the halls of me Cold res u er in windows dim longing for the warmth of home again As I fall to the ground with a nal plea Don't bury me in this broken city Take me home, take me back to Irene

Jonathan Kor

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Frozen In Time

Andrew Hopkins

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Door to Nowhere

Jessica Lipscomb

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Solitary
Dedicated to Aung San Suu Kyi and poli cal prisoners all over the world who sacrice their independence for the idea of freedom.

Sealed away in a Hermits cage Stolen from My days, my age I sit alone and stare at the walls At bricks and stone Awai ng the call A call that I know may never come. Some mes I open A window or two To let the outside Come in for a view The sounds come rushing And colors too They enrich my solitude Give my walls some hue There comes a me When these visits cease All colors fade And ghosts are trees The owers are all dead But their fragrance stays I close the windows And loose all sense Of passing days

Maarij Syed

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The Petals Were Worth Their Fall

Her lips taste so nice on Sundays... or was it such a day? Was it the delicate sounds of thunder echoing between our breaths, or the muted fa gue wa ing around our hearts that made that day so...achievable. I bled my love through poetry to her. Poetry painted on a canvas dripping crimson, a stained glass within only she could nd beauty. Word a er word depicted how roman c a death it is to betray an unrequited love. The love that had been the darkness that denes light. Our light. Shadows of gray swept upon us like waves as she stopped my trembling with her hand upon mine, gently separa ng my ngers into hers. She knew how weary my voice rasped as each no on held back its own defeat... And she knew how much I needed her to bo le her distress and carry me through this. She was all I had, as others had fallen before me. And she made sure I would not choke on the dust she wiped from my feet. As I le I exposed my body to the rain, tas ng each drop that saturated my being. My hands had worn so thin, and the water lling those cracks burned with a sweet intensity; refreshing the emo ve drops forming at the corners of my eyes. I had never felt more alive than those moments where the rain blurred our eyes and our emo ons blurred our separa on. Never before had I felt so defenseless. I could see only but the rain as it mixed with my own regret. I could hear only but the thunderous silence as it rang through my head. And yet I could sense her hiding her bleeding paence... And yet I could feel the despera on in her warmth... I was only but a dying boy with ngers reaching out for her hand. And I s ll wondered why it was her door I knocked on, that night I was so afraid. And I wondered why she welcomed me in... The stars wept their silent hymn for us that night, proving that as the rst tear dried before ever leaving her eye... the petals were worth their fall.

Kyle Harbison

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Kelli Phillips

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The Co age

Wherever born such sepulcher of classic Americana? Only shi ing as the sediments, Ship-damned stones wash away, erode, In the many layered blues of an otherwise pallid bay. But pallid wanes in crashing across the beachhead, That, over the years, has augmented such elaborate dress. An oak grove plays renegade in the sand, Bearing harbor for the beach beetles, white ies, cricket, Fat-blade grass, and the occasional, warbling songbird, Swooning those amongst his shade-garden. Is it wondrous when the immovable shi ? No. It is barely felt. The great tectonics of the soul and muscle, heart and sinew, Surge in volcanic, ruptured, convulsing cataclysm and yet, It is the silence of a moment And the skin only ngles. It is no more wondrous than the sun-silken bee Waltzing on a ger lily that bows at the foot of the co age. He is corpulent of honey, as we of self-love, and inhibi on. But that, in itself, is quite wondrous. How then, am I at peace? I feel as do the lumber walls, Slathered with a thick and hearty paint So they do not have to bear the elements. But elements are the blessing of bare men, bequeath to change. For it is only non-existence which transforma on escapes; Not even death, when the breathless succumb to dirt tombs And the earth swallows them whole; Not even life, or patriarchal morals, or all such unwavering things Escape the cadence of the waves upon the co age bay.

Phillip Rodenbeck

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Abandoned

Jessica Lipscomb

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Bernade e Pa no

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Tonight

The genera ons we know Love to put on a show Cause the feelings we feel Tell us everything's real And the passion and anger That ll up our minds Convince us that nowhere Is a land of the kind Hate is a thing that can take your life Oh, nobody's growing old tonight When you nally fall, to red to ght Oh, nobody's growing old tonight So we pull back from extremes And we live in the norm But the truth is out there Hidden in unfamiliar forms From hos le takedowns to ra onal breakdowns We've dissected the lies that we used to ignore With jade for our hearts and a cynical mind We're too apathe c to even follow the blind Walk away from the stress and all the strife But nobody's growing old tonight When you're all alone and you missed your life You'll see nobody's growing old tonight

Jonathan Kor

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Diering Perspec ves

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Melissa Schwenk

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Adam Carlson

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Dear young man who assaulted the pregnant woman in the DQ parking lot,
You are the coolest person in the world! I have to tell you something that I just havent been able to get o of my mind and I sincerely hope you havent forgo en our brief encounter because of all the other countless adventures you have been on since our paths crossed. I am just an old and content Vietnam war vet who loves ice cream very very much, you see. And why is that important? Well it was a li le more than a month ago when I just so happened to be frequen ng the same Dairy Queen as you, good sir. I was enjoying my banana split and watching the young and old wander down the bright street taking the night in for everything it had. The breeze was lovely and there wasnt a thing to complain about un l the unmistakable sounds of a skateboard riding, ght pants wearing hooligan came to my ear. I tried to divert my a en on to bring myself back to serenity, but the asser ve and pestering tone of this punks conversa on was too great, so I had to listen as he agitated you to the best of his abili es. What kind of ice cream are you ge ng? Oh a shake, what kind are you ge ng, hu? Hu? You replied in that sullen and not amused way that you seemed to know so well (probably from years of making these punks cry), but I digress. You say, Its strawberry. The punk vigorously inquires, How is it? How is it!? You coolly respond as you ponder a solu on, Its delicious I rather enjoy it.

But without giving up that easily you consider your opons. You can let this punk get away with disturbing anyone who walks by so he can aunt his bravado, or you can do what you always do, which is call him out, and show him who the veteran is. Its sooo good that you should taste it, yeah, here just taste it. Ummmm no thanks? Yeah, do it, just come over here and taste it! The dialog ended. The punk put his head downhe and his friends walked away. Your group of friends appeared oblivious to what was going on around them, but it was a pleasure to watch the scene con nue to evolve. Did you know those guys? Nope, they were just some skater punks that I told o. One of the girls in your group cri cally responded, You have been doing that a lot recently, kinda blowing up and all What are you talking about, that was jus ce, they tried to put me down and they deserved that shit, somehow you con nued your reply even more seriously like you were speaking an oath, I just wont take shit from anyone anymore! As you and your friends walked away I decided it was about me to leave, but instead of taking the street home I decided to walk through the parking lot and listen in on a bit more of your conversa on. At this exact moment a group of bumbling drunks wandered past me. Watch it, old man, one u ered, but he was barely able to speak because of the amount of alcohol he had recently enjoyed. Even though one of the drunks spoke to me, the second

Chris Wlezien

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his eyes le mine he had forgo en completely that I was even there. He went back to his group and began searching for their car. By the me I got my bearing on your group again it seemed that some of your friends disappeared and just three of you were ge ng into your car. I seriously doubted our drunken friends would nd their car, but to my surprise they found it very fast, and it just so happened to be right next to yours. Your reverse lights went on as I heard one of the stellar inebriates yell, We are going rst! The minivan they were driving peeled out rapidly in reverse; pulling out into the area you were about to reverse into. At that moment you lived up to your new mantra, keeping up with them, backing up even faster in reverse right next to their car. I would have sworn you were a mad man at that me. They hit the gas and began to drive past you as you rst began to open your car door to confront them. One of their hands shot out of the window. The beer bo le glistened as the last ray of sunset cast through it during its ight. I could see it in your face. You knew its intended target was your car, though it missed and landed amongst the sea of parked cars to your starboard. I knew it the moment I saw it, you couldnt back down, you wouldnt back down, and you did exactly what I imagined, as I imagined it. A pink rainbow through the sky. The impossible shot. A wave of vibrancy with echoing ripples of cream. This was a physical manifesta on of a long history of throwing things at no-gooders everywhere. The, well, it was the strawberry milkshake, a delicious milkshake, and as it struck the target its pink ripples were ingredients turned into impromptu hair care products. At that moment all the tension and anger in your body seemed to relax as you gained the upper hand of this conict. You looked to your passengers almost asking Now what do we do? Almost hesitant to run or stay, but it all came together when your lost band of friends reappeared in a blur of black hot pursuing Acura MDX excellence. At once your decision was made; you must take o a er the drunks. Your friends were standing up for you, and you sure as hell were going to join them.

I dashed across the parking lot in pursuit of the ac on, dodging cars and trash bins like foxholes and land mines. Out of breath, I made it near enough to the delta of the lot, luckily the cars stopped just within earshot of where I wheezed. It was at this moment and in this spot where it all came together; the MDX had pulled up almost bumper to bumper with the now pink minivan leaving the drunks sandwiched between a group of pedestrians and a very determined friend of yours. There is silence from the minivan, piercing screams from your female friends in the MDX, and an even louder set of screeching res accelera ng your car as you catch up, and box in the front of the minivan. They arent going anywhere, and with that in mind you exit your vehicle to confront the van of felons. You approach the window cau ously, yet asservely, and bark your commands. Roll down your window! You shout as you rap the glass. Roll down your window! The window slowly rolls, limited by the speed at which the driver can turn the crank. This is where everything starts to set in; the picture unravels like a ball of twine down a long and curving stairwell. There is milkshake on what seems to be every part of the minivan; you certainly got a deal that day at DQ. I would swear that that magical shake hit the back window, bounced up into the air twirling and launching the contents of the shake in every direc on conceivable. The shake then made its nal res ng place right smack dab in the center of the windshield, collec ng on the wiper blades as they moved back and forth, which despite the drivers best judgment, just made it that much harder to see. It became obvious that the group likes fresh air because judging by the amount of shake on all the passengers, their windows must have been down during your throw. When you rst encountered this bunch of drunkards they were belligerent, but even though this was the closest they have ever been to you, this me they say nothing as you rap and tap, calling them out. Their windows were now shut ght; a delicious prison of shame has covered them like a veil of pink jus ce.

Chris Wlezien

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But I digress. The driver rolls down the window, hair covered in strawberry shake, long blond hair covered in strawberry shake, her hair covered in strawberry shake. Shake collects on the window ledge as the communicaon begins. A pause, presumably because you are taken aback that the driver is female, but unyielding you ini ate and directly inquire, Have you been drinking? There is no response besides Youre an ass, but now, because of your ques on, I realize that I was right to reserve judgment about your sanity. Have you been drinking tonight? The driver responds Why did you do that? You are such an ass! Have you been drinking tonight? I am going to call the cops if you are drunk; Im not le ng you leave. The mood sets in. A crowd has gathered and many more are on their way. At this point, the water is beginning to become murky and it is obvious you are losing passion in your convic on. You look to your friends and they indicate for you to leave, but you hesitate and look to the minivan one last me. Have you been drinking tonight? No, of course not, asshole; Im pregnant and cant drink. You take a step back. The situa on has changed and you take o back to your car. Speeding o, you cruise into the distance and the MDX is quick to follow. In the a ermath the crowd slowly digests what has happened. Judging by the look on her face, it is apparent the driver and her drunken passengers arent even completely aware of what has happened. With no obvious course of ac on and no specic felon or vic m every party goes back to doing what they have always done, forge ng the incident almost en rely. As the tension in the air is relieved the driver begins to understand and is upset, but she and her passengers as well quickly forget the incident of that

night. Alcohol will do that, ya know. She may not have made it home safely and frankly I have no idea where her story ended; thats why I decided to tell yours. Your night didnt end in your negligent drunk driving or in your boisterous ridicule of others to make you feel be er about yourself. You stood up when all others backed down, and even though these situa ons may appear trivial I have never forgo en them. I dont mind talking a li le trash and cracking skulls when need be, and it is obvious that you dont, either. I just want to warn of two things. Always make sure you know where you stand, and always stand for those who cant on their own.

Regards, Chester P.

Chris Wlezien

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Tell us again that people are not ugly, the world conspires to make us happy, and magic exists.

Angelica Pa no

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Ethereal Morn

Michael Williamson

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Dream Echos

Fi een by een Surrounded in chaos Smells and aromas Torn papers and empty glasses Images of the past unite Songs of love and sorrow play so ly Drops she could not suppress Typing con nuously, tex ng sporadically Banter in the hallway Intermi ent cha ng Music in the background Consciousness interrupts and nally leaves Anger followed by frustra on Her eyes slowly close Floa ng in air; a strong sensa on Surrounded by layers of warmth Vibra ons grasp the moments in clouds Once again lapsed in dreams Not even the buzzing can be heard Seconds of happiness, hours of longing Finally footsteps awaken her The door le ajar An abundance of silence ows in The dim light shines alone A screen lled with bullets Red numbers separated by a colon Sparkling slippers on foot The room is behind her, forever forgo en

Abisha Varatharaj

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Persistence of Certainty

Aleksandra Krasutskaya

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Bernade e Pa no

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Reec on

Yuejun "Kenny" Zhu

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Des ny

An old man once revealed to me This thing he called my des ny; Two whispers long , quite succinct; A fragile thing, not much to see, I found then, when I went to think, Of ways to oat and not to sink, That decisions did not worry me, I faced my fears with naught a blink. I sailed into lifes choppy sea, Far from safety, man, and beach; Towards typhoons I steered my cra , Braving des that others ee. This life of mine did not last, I fear that moment and damn the past, I know how and why my end Ill see, What the man foretold would pass. My brief immortality, Persists despite persistent pleas, Mans not meant for this remorse, The burden of wretched des ny: To know it ends despite course, That trying is vain, and struggling worse; In living for a single breath, All other moments eet perforce.

Samuel Howell

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Immanuel

Jessica Lipscomb

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Cows in Spain

Annie Bullock

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Alex Turner

Kimberly R. Handoko

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Autumn Requiem
Auurziel has been brooding in his sols ce chamber. Bea ng the walls of his solar asylum, Wan ng to burn. And when September turns Bleeding into his colder brothers, The augury axis parries its slant And sublimates the chains of murky shadow Who restrain the Autumn serpent, Phantasmal cretaceous relic Lurking in the East, That, for nine months, has gestated winds of ame And now will feast Upon our trees. Like Carthage they burn, without history. But linger, something splendid and perfect, some beau ful beholding, Caught in the crisp, the face of death, the unfolding. The winds lo high the arboreal elegy Spoke on leafy tongues, They sing it to the painted skies, who care not, Who are deaf to all but Auurziel, They hark his hoary frost. So they sing it to the pumpkins And mahogany squashes, But they are busy with bravado, Pung out their polished shells for the delight of li le ghouls, Pung out from a cavernous bowel of orange slop. So they sing it to the orchards And hope to catch an apple ear Before they are claimed in the cider press Or lost to apple pox, beleaguered of black spots; But here too, Auurziel has consigned them to s rring res And they wither in the night chill. But the glass lake listens. And he pi es the trees And gives harbor to some of their forlorn foliage, And there they glide on the mirror of re.

Phillip Rodenbeck

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And I stop to listen to a white birch With haphazard scars of black and smoky taupe And every leaf a erce red, A virulent red, Like his mesophylls were re and out they bled In seasonal hemophilia. He whispered, The dusk is cold, and creeping close. My face is ever usher And soon Ill stand, a barren ghost With Auurziel, the Autumn Usher. But I have no contempt for guise, The ames beneath the arc c wind, The fading phaeton in the skies, And all my pigments that rescind. The re trickled down my head, Leapt on every limping leaf And piled up a crunchy bed For me to weep my Autumn grief. But children! Blessed wee ones Robed in wooly knits and caps Scrapped amongst my fallen tons, Played un l the sun elapse! They wore my leaves as noble wreaths Woven in their curly hair And drew their swords from phantom sheaths, And clashed their s cks throughout the air. And they were happy in my going, Happy in a cool Midwest, So Ill succumb to woodland snowing In winter, let my res rest. His requiem ended, Looming Auurziel clutched him in bi er jaws. I spoke, Rest, my friend.

Phillip Rodenbeck

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Dino Disaster

Andrew Hopkins

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Wanderer

Chris Wlezien, Je Van Treuren, and ASME Welding Group 2010 Photographed by Angelica Pa no

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Kelli Phillips

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False Inspira on

Its here! Its here! Somethings going right. A le er, a word, a sentence, a page, A whole book if I have to, maybe even more, I feel light-headed, I can li o the oor! A vision of day; a bright, blue sky, With the wind and the trees and a li le red kite, And a child and a parent and uh somethings not right Its falling away, and I cant, I cant, I cant quite catch it, Theres no rhyme, theres no reason, theres not even a point! Theres not an emo on, not even a icker Not an idea, nor chime, nor rhythm, nor sliver! Just nothing but words, no end in sight. I cant stop it; not with all my might! Oh, just a failure, a train stopped cold Stopped in its tracks by a big brick of lead Its engine all mangled, its momentum all disrupted, And what? And what? And what? And what? Theres not even a line, nor word, nor le er, Theres nothing in this mind, not even a speck Oh, its all going wrong, wrong, wrong! And its gone all gone, all gone!

Michael Williamson

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Java

Gregory Larmore

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Ink 2009-2010 Ar st Biographies

Annie Bullock is a senior biomedical engineer who traveled to Spain last year and saw invisible cows. Adam Carlson is a freshman civil engineering student. Some ac vi es he is involved with include varsity soccer, Triangle Fraternity, ASCE, and the Homework Hotline. In his free me he enjoys drawing and pain ng. Kimberly R. Handoko Colour is my day-long obsession, joy and torment. Monet Kyle Harbison is a senior biomedical engineer with a minor in anthropology by trade, however a colorblind painter at heart. While currently on assignment at Biomet and planning on gradua ng in May, he hopes life a er commencement will bring with it the depth of ar s c crea vity that has not been experienced since a ending Rose. Andrew Hopkins grew up in a small town in Hawaii. All of the landscape photos were taken in Hawaii with his D90. He is a freshman CSSE. Sam Howell is a senior Engineering Physics major ac ng as Co-Editor in Chief of ink for his second year, who writes a li le in his spare me. He would like to thank all of the editors and sta he has worked with for a great experience, and for a wonderful publica on. Jon Kor hails from the mountains of North Georgia. He has been wri ng short stories and poems since he was in grade school, although his me to write has fallen o signicantly since star ng at Rose-Hulman. As a-soon-to-be graduate he looks forward to having me o to con nue wri ng. Aleksandra Krasutskaya is an ar st. In her artwork, she studies human adapta on of memory, the abili es to believe and to dream. Currently, she is employed as a part- me sta in the art oce at Rose Hulman. She is sworn to make your life look beau ful, and do no harm. Gregory Larmore is an ar st born and raised near Chicago, Illinois. Currently, he is a freshman majoring in Electrical Engineering. When he has me to draw, he works mainly in black and white media such as charcoal, pencil, and most notably pen and ink. He con nues to draw in his very, very minimal free me. Jessica Lipscomb is a senior Electrical Engineer who enjoys the occasional escape from Rose behind the lens of her camera. Angelica Pa no hands you h p://ihardlyknowher.com/pa noam/sets. Bernade e Pa no bites some mes. Kelli Phillips is a sophomore civil engineer. Kelli enjoys drawing, pain ng, and photography in her free me. But since she never has any, she is usually found analyzing the age old formula of water + dirt = mud.

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Phil Rodenbeck doesnt remember his dreams, so he makes them up on paper. Melissa Schwenk is a sophomore chemical engineering major with several outdated talents such as wri ng thank-you notes and kni ng. Her fall-back plan if engineering doesnt work out is either journalism or being a hot secretary. Maarij Syed teaches physics (and actually enjoys it), and has been part of Rose-Hulman since 1998. He lives in Indianapolis and is only star ng to realize that his kids are a lot smarter than he ever was. Je VanTreuren is a senior mechanical engineer from Waco, TX. He will start working this summer at Space Exploraon Technologies. In his spare me Je likes to work in the machine shop fashioning things out of metal, or working on the human powered vehicle team project playing with carbon ber and Kevlar. Abisha Varatharaj of Springeld, OH, was born in India and came here when she was two. She is a graduate student in the Engineering Management program, works at Homework Hotline, and plays on the Womens Golf team. Chris Wlezien is a senior mechanical engineer from Chicago, IL. He has been known to enjoy designing anything mechanical, going to B Dubs on Thursdays with his crew, and driving really fast. Chris is currently trying to win Roses third Human Powered Vehicle Compe on na onal championship and he is looking for a job in Chicago. Michael Williamson is a Computer Science and Civil double major freshman student. He has a hobby of making all sorts of art possible, whether wri en, graphite, computer generated or musical, and probably should be spending more me on homework than doing those things. Kyle L. Wilson has been taking photos since a friend of his loaned him a camera a year ago. Now he seldom goes anywhere without it. He mostly looks for interes ng colors and contrasts in light, and mainly tries to nd beauty in the crea on around him. Yuejun Kenny Zhu is a sophomore majoring in electrical engineering. He is originally from Shanghai, China and has a great passion for photography.