Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter is, essentially, a story of a woman being cancelled—poor Hester Prynne was subjected to endless suffering by her Puritan neighbors. That shouldn’t come as a surprise, really; Puritans aren’t exactly remembered for their ability to move on. These days, however, it would generally be frowned upon to force someone to wear a bright red “A” for “Adulterer” on all their outfits.

That’s not to say our urge to label people has gone away. Think about it—if a person transgresses in some way, mightn’t you want an easy way for everyone to know to shun them? In place of a scarlet letter, mightn’t you reply to one of their tweets with a little red “x” emoji? Mightn’t you send them a flurry of insults, asking why they are so intent on depriving the world of joy? Honestly, if someone is responsible for a really heinous crime – for example, getting Baby Yoda suspended from Twitter – what else wo...

This is only my second semester at the University of New Hampshire. That would be fine and dandy if I was 18 years old and fresh out of the public high school meat grinder, but unfortunately for me, that’s not the case. I graduated in 2016 and turned 22 last week. So the question arises, “Um... what the fuck are you doin here bud?”

My academic experience is much different from what most students at UNH probably share. I didn’t live in a dorm with a stranger when I was a freshman. I don’t have an embarrassing college romance story. I never joined a shitty fraternity. For the first three years after I graduated high school, I went to a community college.

Community college is a vast hellscape with dim lighting and a shitty vending machine. It’s also anything but a community. My senior year of high school, there was a sentence I constantly heard as loud as police sirens coming from the mouths of my teachers,guidance counsel...

Lately, I’ve been having a difficult relationship with time. It feels as if time is some foreign czar with an iron fist and an oddly-attentively-groomed moustache who’s brought along his whole regime with him. Not only that (although his moustache is exponentially important), but he’s changing and restructuring everything. Putting everything into

a box. A square peg in a round hole. All that. And the clock is his empty-minded muscle. Think the enforcer in any mob movie: the big guy with the block body and an unchanging expression. Clocks have this pragmatic blank face—a death march of austere fist sandwiches. And the thing is, all they want to do is tell you how to live. I wish I never had to look at those two clenched hands and that paper face again, but everything I do throughout the day is dictated by exactly that. I have to be here, then. I have to be there, when? I have to do this, now. It’s frustratingly silly th...

We already lost this unbearable race.

Overanalyzed and unverified

numbers chased us through

twisted tinted mazes,

painted eyes melt into blue lights

destroying our shape

from head-

to toe.

Self-rejected

flaws fall insight.

We search—we beg

for meaning

In the shallow depths of a glass lens.

Frozen like statues—

Heads titled – bodies twisted

Hollow games—

Lonely friends and monuments.

We’re perfectly aesthetic

social butterflies. Through empty

rooms we fluttered,

electronic connections—

barely touched

Anything.

Refreshed feed

never felt complete.

300 likes and 30 comments

fill our hollow gaps.

March 31, 2020

Something abstract,

immaterial assumption

bursting breathing

in color.

Rainbow eyes.

Wicked psyche

and the curvature of ink blots.

Associative breath in the ether

makes a murderer of you or I

or some passersby

on a street corner.

Breathe me into essence

or some feint vestige

of reality.

Whisper the world

to sleep.

Inhale lest

you asphyxiate.

Unsteady hand

of a jitterbug.

Jitter jitter and

fritter away

all that time you made.

Damn we’ve got a great gig going.

And that eternal eclipse

mutes the sky and

rainbow eyes.

I see the vague portrait of a butterfly

up here in the ink awry.

1942 and they decided

to lobotomize me for it.

Ain’t that crazy.

If there’s one thing I remember vividly from this past January, it’s the morning I woke up to the release of Mac Miller’s posthumous album Circles. Dazed and confused from my slumber, yet ecstatic and smiling from ear to ear like a kid on Christmas Day, I grabbed my headphones and absorbed what I had been anticipating for what felt like a lifetime.

As intimate lyrics and melancholy instrumentals swirled in my head, I began to feel let down. Before you turn the page and call me a hater, you should know that I was not let down by the production quality, or more importantly, the substance of Mac’s work. Rather, I wasn’t ready to hear the message Mac delivers on Circles. I was hoping for the punctuation at the end of Mac’s sentence to be a jubilant exclamation point, reminiscent of the happy-go-lucky rapper from older tracks like “Senior Skip Day.” I was hoping for the selfless undertones that encompassed GOOD A.M., the al...

Chelsea Cutler is a leading artist who has helped to shape the tone of the genre through her intimate lyrics and style. Cutler has worked with artists like Kygo, Jeremy Zucker and Quinn XCII to create poppy sounds with melancholy lyrics. Like many fellow alternative and Bedroom Pop artists, Chelsea Cutler is a bit of a sad boi. There is vulnerability in the topics she talks about, focusing on her own experience with relationships, her struggles with mental health and the uncertainty of being a teen and twenty-something today.

She paints a lyrically-raw portrayal of what it’s like to deal with personal struggles like depression in a way that steps outside of the mainstream. In her song “Sometimes,” which she wrote with Jeremy Zucker, the delicate vocals, piano melody and minimal use of instruments takes the listener on a trip into the world of her inner thoughts and struggles.

“God only knows why it comes and it goes / C...

There is a secret that all women are expected to keep. But this secret plays a role in everyone’s life; this secret is the reason any of us are here. This secret is often assumed to be true, but should never be explicitly revealed. This secret exists as a beautiful fantasy in the minds of many but transforms into a condemnable reality once it comes to fruition. This secret is one that men do not have to keep; for them, it is often quite the opposite of a secret. This secret is meant to keep women contained and digestible.

But we are ready to stop keeping secrets—to be honest, we have been for a long time. As we all know, secrets don’t make friends. And thanks to women in the R&B industry today, the curtain has finally been drawn to reveal...

GIRLS LIKE SEX.

The hip-hop/R&B industry has always been testosterone-heavy. As a result of this, women become the object of conversations in songs about sex, rather than the subject...

All photographs by Jack Bouchard. 

instagram: @gnarbouchard

Every year, approximately 6.5 million animals are brought to shelters around the country. That is over 6 million animals who are homeless, abandoned and oftentimes abused or neglected. Many others are not rescued, and 2.7 million are euthanized in kill shelters every year. And for what? So people can have a purebred dog with perfectly pointed ears and just the right colored fur? Sorry, but the cost benefit analysis is just not adding up on this one. 

A little over a year ago my family adopted our beautiful, friendly and stubborn mutt Stella. Her story is sad, much like all the other dogs posted on adoption websites, but seeing her, you would never know. After being wronged by so many humans during her life, all she wants is to make up for lost time and receive as much love as possible. Like seriously, she won’t leave you alone until you pet her for at least 20 minutes, and if you don’t acknowledge her when she walks in...

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