https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/4f827f428a3b99a387346941d80ed4d8.pdf c48d7213efbbe3381d8c95fa25e3dc27 PDF Text Text LisniEiak Space Weston Chorak I've looked at a screen for so much of my life that my dreams have pixels. They always start feeling real, and I’m back sitting in the home I grew up in with quaint curtains and dust and a little clock on the mantle of a fake fireplace that clicks offbeat with the passing of seconds. Stale air and distant rattling behind the vent grille push me further into the chair while my head vibrates, I’m falling back into memories of yellowed carpet and sickly green lampshades when it all melts into a datamoshed slush pile of fetid encryption and broken glass. I think It's cruel. I live every damn day of my life plugged into this diseased world, and I can't even escape it in sleep. 1 work in tech. Went straight from my degree to a remote back-end programming job for a startup you’ve never heard of. I clock in every day for ten hours to work on our shitty chatbot app and then spend the rest of the day browsing social media. A bartender for faceless alcoholic engines getting off work to blow his paycheck on cheap digital booze and short-form crack cocaine. I can see it in my eyes when I look in the mirror. They’ve got those same dark rings under them with glossy redness filling each iris. It’s always the eyes that tell. I don't leave my apartment often, but when I do, I can see who else has the sickness. Most peoples' eyes say something. 1 don't make eye contact enough, they say, but their eyes yell at me if I do, so I look down and walk past. The eyes of my father tell me THINGS THE DEMOCRATS DON’T WANT YOU TO KNOW with the same voice as my roommate when his eyes tell me of DIGITAL MEAT MARKETS - WATCH SEXY XXX VIDEO NOW NOW NOW, I try not to speak to either of them. 1 just work and browse before going back to sleep. I always dream back to times of youth, There was a weight to it that the distance has lifted, i never remember the pains and frustrations of growing up tn a world that hates itself. I remember the 65th Edition 169 �LiminalSpace image of a time when 1 did not have to care. I dream and I’m on a subway train going home from school. I saw snow from windows walking down to the station and I know there's a dark cold waiting on the walk home. Beside the door, there was a girl who sat there. She went to the same school and she rode the same way I did every day but got off one stop before me. I remember the backpack she wore off her side with a half-torn arm strap and the way her eyes would speak. They told me QUIZ - WHAT MENTAL DISORDER DO I HAVE, They asked THE FIVE SIGNS THAT YOU AREN’T GETTING ENOUGH SUNLIGHT and pleaded for BEST HOME REMEDIES FOR SEASONAL DEPRESSION. I sit in the dream and watch her leave at the stop before mine and I’m left alone in an empty train and its hissing silence. Yesterday, after nearly two weeks inside, I went to the supermarket. It was getting dark and I was tired and hungry, but the fridge was empty other than old ketchup and bitter milk. It was a quiet night. I drove a road dark and twisting, my headlights the only glow save a moonless sky of stars and the reflections of stop signs. Grass dropped steep from the side of the street, and it was as though I drove a freeway orbiting the Earth, with nothing aside to catch me should I drift off to sleep, the endless crackle of radio, a lullaby punctuated by stings of corporate pop music when it caught bits of a signal, and gone again in a moment. I pulled into a mostly empty lot and locked the car and went into the store. I walked the back aisles. The food was mostly unappealing. I stood for a while and considered the various bags of Doritos in different colors, crouching to reach the ones on the bottom shelf and grab them. I felt to see how full they were and put them back. I walked to the next aisle. There was a person in this one. Familiar. An older face wore a demeanor I knew. We were friends, I think. Back in high school. We liked the same music. When it hurt, he would drive us around town and we'd just talk for hours and it didn't make it better but we did it anyway. I looked at his eyes as he glanced up. Plain eyes. No words. They watched mute and went back down and he walked away with a few cans and 1 was left alone in an 170 Expression Magazine �Liminal Space empty supermarket aisle with the lights turned low that stretched on further than I could see. Always empty. Clicking of a clock and rattling of fishplate on steel rails. The floor starts to move and takes me home to that same chair under green lampshades and adrift in a sea of yellow carpet. I know I’m watching it through a television, It’s playing the same home video on repeat but the remote is gone and I don’t dare pull the plug. It all wastes away eventually to a mass of faded grain and I wake up to the start of it all again. 65th Edition 171 � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Print Magazine Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Liminal Space Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <p><a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a></p> </div> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns offset-by-two"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns offset-by-two"> <p><em>Expression</em><span>&nbsp;</span>claims first North American rights to submissions selected for publication. All rights revert back to the author/artist after publication.</p> </div> </div> </div> </div> Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 2025 Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Weston Chorak Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Expression Literary and Arts Magazine, CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA_04.ii.c.2022.01_Exp_2025_Prose_04 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Casper College