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The Promethean, Volume 27, Blue Apocalypse, 2019, English Department, Concordia University-Portland

The Promethean

Like any other, this past year was full of many hard lessons that were difficult to swallow. It's easy to feel like the world is falling apart sometimes, or worse, that you're alone in the devastation. However, remember that when it feels like the end of the world, you will find sanctuary in your community, your loved ones, your passions, and in yourself.

It is my greatest hope that you also will find sanctuary throughout these pages, a collection of our voices coming together to create something beautiful.

This issue is dedicated to the College of Arts & Sciences. In …

The True Cost, Emily Garrett

Electronic Theses and Dissertations

The True Cost is a short novel set in a pre-dystopian society. The novel centers around three siblings: Lyle, Bridget, and Paul, along with their friend Reid. The group is living in the middle of an eighty-four-year war that has destroyed their society. Shortly before his murder, Jerry tells the gang to get out of Nork and to find the fabled DOCs. Throughout their journey to the DOCs the group fights through ambushes, deals with death and the destruction of war, all the while trying to figure out the truth behind the war.

Review Of The History Of Living Forever, Michael F. Russo

Faculty Publications

No abstract provided.

1999 Aaa Jrpg Quality And How A 2019 Indie-Game Developer Can Meet It, Kailynn Haskell-Harbert

Capstone Projects and Master's Theses

This paper is a delve into 1999 JRPG AAA video games and how small developers can make something of similar quality with contemporary technology. This is explored by using Final Fantasy VIII and Lunar: Silver Star Story Complete as a 1999 AAA standard, then comparing that standard to modern indie-games as well as my own experience in indie-game development. The ultimate goal of the paper is to prove that small indie-game studios can create 1999 AAA quality JRPGs with relatively minimal investment.

H.E.L.P : A Creative Exercise In Feminism And The Buddy Comedy., Bayne M. Lutz

College of Arts & Sciences Senior Theses

This screenplay attempts to reconcile the author's confusion on how to best enact social progress by examining and satirizing several competing feminist movements. Set in an off-kilter Los Angeles, the comedy tracks Alivia, a recent PhD grad who cannot leverage her education toward finding a job. In desperation, she joins a radical organization called the H.E.L.P. (Heroines for the Elimination of Loathsome Professors), which encourages her to take matters into her own hands.

Inverting tropes from buddy comedies, cop-shows, ghost stories, and Bond movies, the screenplay grapples with how women are meant to break the glass ceiling and it may …

The Roxy Letters, Mary Pauline Lowry

Boise State University Theses and Dissertations

The Roxy Letters is a comedic written in letters from Roxy—an undersexed, underemployed, well-educated, and verbose twenty-something working at the deli of the flagship Whole Foods in Austin, TX—to her ex-boyfriend Everett who is living with her, but is failing to pay rent while succeeding in totally ruining her mojo!

As Roxy struggles to raise herself from her artistic, romantic, and employment slumps, she finds a new best friend in Artemis, who is a burlesque dancing, girl goddess, and huntress of men. Roxy battles with the meth heads who live next door; reluctantly tries out a sex cult focused on …

One Night At The Ash Box, Katherine Vieck

A Midwestern Review: A Magazine of the Arts and Issues at DePauw University

No abstract provided.

Contributors, Westview Staff

Westview

No abstract provided.

Birds Of Light, Jack Cooper

Westview

Autumn streams of rain hit the maple tree and red and yellow leaves wing off in all directions

Drifting, Nan Byrne

Westview

On the bed my eyes closed I am letting drift take me

Festina Lente, Jack Cooper

Westview

I once laid a stone path in the yard and unearthed a spadefoot toad in hibernation

Here And Now, Dennis Ross

Westview

Driving along an Iowa gravel road I am sometimes jolted wide awake as from a forever sleep, struck by the immediacy of the world,

Hometown, Kenneth Beck

Westview

My hometown is a monochrome. Pack rats on every block with vintage Whatever-you-have from whatever-year.

Human Rib Bone, $10, Shiann Dawson

Westview

A little gift shop, nestled into a house of death Filled with…well, Trinkets, mostly.

Imperfect English Composition, Anne Babson

Westview

Thesis: While in love, no matter what my mother says about the milk for free, I have discovered that he is prose, not sonnet. While having sterling qualities, he is not perfect. Remind the reader that no one is. Remind self.

Interactive Sonnet, James B. Nicola

Westview

This is the place where I’m supposed to say a thing I have to say, and soundly, then expound upon it like a pregnant hen with fourteen eggs she cannot help but lay.

Ire Man, James B. Nicola

Westview

When the life is mostly moor, make it poetry.

Irises Planted On A Grave, Gordon Grice

Westview

The irises lick the wind with fragrant tongues…

New Barista, Dennis Ross

Westview

She moves like a half-grown colt, all legs and skinny arms…

On Wings, Richard Dinges Jr.

Westview

Each day, more flies descend and buzz my porch. I bathe.

Part Ii, Diane Glancy

Westview

The Erring Need of Narrative

Prayers Coagulate Around A Woman On Her Porch, Henry D. Goldkamp

Westview

Southern static : pink tongue : dewy ears : seagulls yelling Wal-Mart

Princesses, Donna L. Emerson

Westview

First grade girls are deciding who’s a princess. They say I’m not one.

Promise, Jack Cooper

Westview

Her hands looked old boney and bruised but her face young her cheeks blushed her eyes wandering

Skippings Rocks, Chad W. Lutz

Westview

There’s a place in town where the only two roads meet, marked by an old sycamore. Its bark is blotchy, and the few limbs it has left reach for the sky like the pleading arms of a dying man.

Sunday Morning, Matthew C. Brennan

Westview

Back home from Kroger, I sense that something’s terribly wrong: five squad cars flashing red cordon the street, and yellow tape extends from a fencepost to a worksite shed across from us.

The Pie Lady, Shiann Dawson

Westview

You again. You don’t even remember me.

The Yellow Porch Swing, Aimee Klein

Westview

The smell of honeysuckle carried on a breeze the soft squeak

Trash, Eleanore Lee

Westview

To find where the Johnsons used to live, You have to turn up the old dirt road, Hang left, then go on past the splintered gate

Villanelle: Flood Time, Eleanore Lee

Westview

The skies above just opened up, hear how the torrent roars… On city streets, through parks and lots, our stains are washed away.