blown issue #1

7/28/2019 Blown Issue #1

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/blown-issue-1 1/9ver Art By Ian Casey


http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/blown-issue-1 2/9

Jack Williams, Editor In ChiefPhotos by Amber Truett

INTRO- Jack Williams, Editor In

ChiefYou are probably wondering what you have just

stumbled onto. It was my idea and even I don’t knowexactly what it is. Essentially, my friends and Ineeded an outlet for our creativity, and Blown is it. Itis a combination of all the underground culture welove. Blown is not meant to appeal to the masses. Itis not meant to report on politics or celebrities (whoin my opinion, reporting on is a waste of ink) or thenews of the day. Society is crushing creativity, withschools made to create members of the workforce,and corporations destroying originality and smallbusiness. This is our way of fighting back. This is

Blown.



Local

PieHole - Kaden CornettPizza. Oh, how I love pizza. Hot melty cheese,spicy cured meats, and veggies atop a circle ofdough. It's been done many times many ways,but my favorite is definitely SLC's quirky PieHole. It's the illest ish served on a dish. It's

creative but not over the top pizza selection, hotas hell hearty chicken wings, amazing prices,and unique yet strangely inviting atmospheremake it the bomb. It's probably one of the onlyplaces I can get three slices of New York stylepie with quality toppings and a drink for around$10 sit under a wall of PBR, play classic pinballarcade games, and then draw an artistic andtasteful set of male genitalia on the bathroomwith a sharpie the employee supplied me with.This is obviously a big spot for hoards of hipsters

to congregate, but when I go in for lunch mostthe customers are families and business men.There are other locations in Utah and Idaho, buteach one has original local art, arcade games.Pie Hole is bitchin and original, unlike its. PieHole consistently rocks my socks off and is totesthe chillest hang in the city of salt.

PieHole Pizzeria is located on 344 South StateStreet, Salt Lake City, UT, 84111

Sage’s Café-Mekenna MalanLet me preface this by saying that I am not avegetarian. However, I enjoy nothing more thanexploring ‘vegetarian organic’ restaurants solelybecause they never fail to open my eyes to newnteresting foods and food alternatives. Sage’sCafé is a rare little gem in Salt Lake City, withgorgeous design and intensely delicious food.One reason for their unique taste may bebecause they use traditional cooking techniques

– none of which include microwaves, fryers, orheat lamps. Their foods are free frompreservatives (the only canned foods they use areomatoes and coconut milk) and their sea salt is

harvested underground locally. Sage’s purchaseseas and cof ees that are certified organic,

shade-grown, and fair trade.

had the pleasure of eating at Sage’s Café on abeautiful rainy day, and after walking throughhe front door, turned to find a wall covered in

awards. Sage’s has won the award of “Best

Vegetarian” from the Salt Lake City Weekly Bestof Utah for twelve years running, as long asmany other impressive titles. I understood whyonce I took my first bite into my Nut Burger,which tasted better than any burger I’ve had,even my favorite hamburger joint. Almosteverything on Sage’s menu is gluten-free or canbe made gluten-free, and the entrée options arediverse and interesting, including a top-notchchicken substitute called seitan (pronouncedSATAN, haha) that I believe deserves a shot nextime I eat at the café.

Sage’s Café is located on 473 East 300 South SaltLake City, UT 84111.



Artwork

Salvador DaliLondon Musgrave

UntitledLondon Musgrave

UntitledMekenna Malan

UntitledMekenna Malan



PoetryMonsters, Monsters!-Noah Wilcock

Monster, monster,

hidden under my bed,

Waiting until the lights turned of , for me to

urn my head,

To fill the gap where sanity had fled.

Welcome to today, the real monster that mademe, made us,

The era of tech savvy brats, bass ackwards

baseball caps,

Political gay bashings with bibles as baseball

bats,

heir wedding rings melted for scraps.

Monster, a gym class hero,

Past high school reality awaits.

n reality nothing more,

Than a fucking zero.

Roses are red,

Roses are red,

Soaked red by my pricked thumb that bled,

Nothing is beautiful without first broken.

I see dead people, brain dead people,

Noses buried in young adult fiction,

Pansy wolves and fanged bedazzled fags,

A worthless writer who writes with witlessdiction.

Monster! Monster! Under my bed!

Mommy and daddy are happy,

Scamming tommy and sally,

Depriving them of two Christmases,

Regardless of American statistics and thei

promises.

Family reunions in fear of extinction,

Beaten to death by Facebook,

Facebook replacing face to face time,

And Facetime considered intimate.

Call me a monster; it’s better than a hipst

I drowned my sympathy and stability in th

mainstream,

As my sanity balances,

Like a drunk on a balance beam.

Why isn’t Amanda Todd sponsored by Clo

yet?



They would sell out, a dollar I’d bet,

Box by box, shelf by shelf,

Maybe even label it with a blue ribbon to

promote itself

Me, Robert and the monster within,

Share common ticks,

We roam malls in search for kids, and popular

kin,

Kids and their damn pumped up kicks!

Monster! Monster under the bed!

A troubled babysitter, with cocaine the remedy,

Doing lines as the baby cries, cries and whines,

Overdose, overdose, shallowly buried in a

comatose,

Personal choice mistaken for tragedy.

Pop goes the weasel, as the odd toddlers

queeze, then hid it in the freezer,

An aspiring Ted Bundy, having wet dreams of

pushing Humpty Dumpty of

the wall,Staring as cement breaks his fall,

Where’s Casey Anthony when you need her?

He has spoken! The monster within,

Monster, monster under my bed,

Monster, monster under your bed,

Haunting your dreams with dread from wi

You’ve met the monster under your bed.

You know, the little evil voice, in the back

your head,

Ignoring the things he’s said,

As he gads in your head.

Monster, monster, under the bed…



PhotographyRight: Amber Truett captures the

haunting beauty of Ogden’sAbandoned Rail bridge.

Below: Blown Graphic Artist Ian

Casey Is captured in a shot whilewatching the ogden river below

Right: Mekenna Malan Captures aman in thought at Sages Cafe



Short StoriesGolden State- Mekenna Malan

Although he awoke to it every morning, thehrill calls of gulls and the salty smell of pacific

waves were something he would never take forgranted. Giving way to a yawn, he squinted his tiredeyes as they adjusted to the brightening worldaround him. The air was a filtered grey-blue; theun not yet peaked over the horizon. Some devotedocals had already begun gathering at the water’sedge, pulling on their wetsuits, surfboards in tow.Shopkeepers began turning on their kitchen lightsand preparing food for the breakfast rush, leaving

he doors open to their little restaurants, allowinghe salty air to mix with the mouthwatering scentshat they were creating. It smelled delicious, and

his stomach grumbled as he imagined digging into aplate full of pancakes covered in sweet syrup. Heolled up the bed that consisted of two tattered

blankets, stuf ed them into his backpack, and slowlyhobbled out from under the boardwalk.

On his way to the most inexpensive café, henodded politely to passersby and inserted a “Goodmorning,” when necessary. They usually replied inkind, with morning greetings of their own and a

ympathetic smile. Every once and a while,omeone would return his salutation with a look of

disgust, or simply ignore him because of embarrassment. He didn’t mind. He remindedhimself that those who had a hard time being kindo others were merely going through a personaltruggle too great to be cheerful, and they needed

help. He was never bitter. He remembered eachand every struggling individual in his eveningprayer.

God, I remember the woman who pulled her childo the other side of the street as I walked pastoday. Please bless her tomorrow while she silentlyeaches her little girl the ways of life, that she might

grow up to carry this world in the right direction.Bless this young mother that she might stayeducated and prepared, and also that her husbandmight remain safe and able, so that they might be

able to live the rest of their long lives without worry of money.”“Dear Lord, I forgive the man who spat on meas I was sitting on the corner of the street. I pthat he might find the courage to face what ismaking him so angry. Make him strong in spin ethic, that his burdens might soon be lifted

He used the last crumpled dollar bills the’d acquired the day before to buy a small stpancakes and a cup of the café’s blackest cof

He skimmed the free Sunday paper and musethe crowds slowly gathering on the sand out twindow. In this setting, eating breakfast andreading the paper, he looked like any otherCalifornia man. Only upon closer examinatiothe muss of his hair and the dirt on his nose cone assume that he slept under the pier everyAs the sun got higher in the sky, the blue oceawater gleamed in an ever-changing pattern ofseaweed and white foam. It was a beautiful dand he was thankful that he was given the giftexperiencing it.

To Be Continued in Next Issue

Thank You For Reading

blown issue #1

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