ojos que no ven. | A Personal Essay

Words and artwork by Daniela Bologna, a longtime creator for Sunstroke

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My family’s never really been superstitious, but growing up I remember being surrounded by evil eye pendants, charms and jewelry. Always glaring back at me, wide and unassuming. When asked, my mum would explain that the purpose of these eyes is to protect you from “el mal del ojo” – malevolent glares that wish you ill – and in doing so they consequently fall off. We had no need for charms to fend off spirits or demons, for the true evil that needs warding off is just other people.


Believe what you will, but not one of us was successfully able to keep an evil eye charm for long. Not in one piece, anyway. The eyes always found ways to break in public and disappear before our very eyes, teaching us subtle lessons about the times we wore them and the times they disappeared.


* * *


My sister and I had matching bracelets with our names inscribed as children, since before I could even remember. In every family photo, the little bracelets were there, honey-coloured evil eyes catching the sunlight as they dangled from the chain. I’ve been told that I lost my first evil eye very young, sometime I was still in a stroller. It fell right off, leaving no trace that the charm had been there to begin with. I had apparently taken quite a liking to this eye even if I had not learned it’s meaning yet, so dismayed I refused to wear the bracelet without it. My sister, on the other hand, was luckier. She kept her bracelet intact for much longer, until one day when she was eleven and hiking in the woods. The entire bracelet had come off and been swallowed by the foliage that glazed the forest floor, still damp from the rain. She spent the rest of the afternoon retracing her steps with her friends at her side. Although she never found that evil eye or the moment that triggered its loss, she found the people she could count on.


* * *


The first evil eye I actually remember losing was a woven bracelet gifted to me by a Brazilian and Greek couple, with teal, ivory and golden thread. It fell on a ferry to the mainland from the Isle of Wight during a Geography class trip. I didn’t even try looking for it. I didn’t really need an extra indicator but the bracelet reminded me of what I needed to hear: I didn’t belong. The next year I started Sixth Form at a different school.


* * *


I asked my mother about a time she lost eye jewelry that really stuck with her. She paused for a little while and then said that, yes, one time when she was a new mother and doing grocery shopping with my sister in McAllen. She was reaching for something in the frozen section when she felt as if someone was pulling her hand. Flustered, she finished quickly and took my sister back to the car. My mum’s bracelet was intact, but the evil eye that hung from it was gone. She searched everywhere around the section where her hand got stuck and found nothing. To this day, she still remembers the weight of feeling someone watching her. My sister always caught the eyes of passerbys because she was a really beautiful baby, but my mum said that that day something was amiss with the stares they were receiving, and she still can’t quite shake it off.


* * *



The only person we know that has never lost or broken an evil eye charm is my father. For years would wear it around his neck, as if daring someone to even try looking at him wrong. I wonder if he still wears it.


* * *


The last one that broke was this summer. It was an evil eye ring I found tucked away in a thrift store on 5th Ave. I was later warned against this purchase by my mum because she said it would carry the weight of its previous owner’s ill-meaning glares but at the time I thought nothing of it. It didn’t even last me a month. I was waiting for an elevator in an deserted London building when it snapped in half, like if the eye had been cut clean off. Its bounces echoed down the hall, as if it had been thrown at full force. I still have no clue how it even physically happened, but as they say  “ojos que no ven, corazón que no siente” (eyes that cannot see, heart that cannot feel) – what you don’t know cannot hurt you. I wanted to glue it back together but everyone protested because it had lost its protective power”. Instead, I rebelled by buying four very similar-looking evil eye rings and stacking them in a row on my bedside table. For the first time I feel prepared for the next occasion a ring chooses to break. Tthere will be plenty of other rings in line waiting to be worn; plenty of other lessons waiting in line to be learned. That doesn’t count as cheating, right?

Eight Months In the Making

Journal entrees by Kelsey Marek

“Concept: a book, 9 months ago you wouldn’t leave the house without it. A little book about him, and who you were during the time you were with him. The book was not in order, when something hit you, you opened up to a random page and scribbled it down. A little book, eight months in the making, filled with tears, love, him, more him, you, 3am thoughts, 10am thoughts, and goals now just another book on the bookshelf.”

Learning To Be Alone

Words by Ellie Connor-Phillips

Photograph by Daniela Bologna

Photograph by Daniela Bologna

My friend recently lent me the novel ‘Cien ãnos de soledad,’ or ‘100 Years of Solitude,’ by Gabriel García Márquez. I have spent many hours during the summer dwelling within its paper world, and the city between its pages. It follows the life and death of a town, before phones and computers, internet and Instagram; and the lives of its founders. Each have a life, an experience of the world around them that exists undocumented by picture or video, who without this book (were they real people, that is) would never have had their stories told. And yet, I couldn’t help but notice the vibrant colours of their day-to-day lives; the way moments shape their whole being, the dedication they have to craft, work or learning without the pressure of online presence to motivate them, or the rose-tinted glasses of social media changing the way they behave into something shaped for the public eye.

It awoke in me a sense of longing for this free world, where actions alone spoke as loud as those witnessed by others. A place where tasting, smelling, feeling was as valuable as capturing an experience on camera, or staging photos to present a false life to strangers on instagram. I wonder at what point I lost this freedom? As a child, moments were mine and I collected them like conkers falling from the trees, keeping them as they hardened and wrinkled. I used to listen to birdsong and try to separate the individual songs from each other. I would sit, knees bent, reading on the kitchen counter upstairs, reading and watching the wildlife outside. Spending time with others was about what you said, and what you did, not what photographs you posed for or what ones were posted on whose story.

I noticed it most on the first night alone in my new home, a shared house in which I inhabit along with friends. I watched myself in the mirror, getting into bed after taking care of my skin, and realised I was now the only person who witnessed these small moments. What I ate, how I cooked it, how much work I did, how well I slept – all moments I no longer shared with anyone else, or was seen to have done by anyone else. Wrapped in warm water, rubbing olive oil soap into my hair, I marveled at the fact that this enjoyment and comfort of a bath was only mine. An urge pulled me from the pit of my stomach to tell people, to share this with people in some way; why couldn’t I be content with just my own company and observation? Why did I only feel content when others knew that I was feeling content?

Olivia Laing’s The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone picks up on probably the most interesting part of this inability to be happy by one’s self: “these days, I don’t think the cure for loneliness is meeting someone, not necessarily. I think it’s about two things: learning how to befriend yourself and understanding that many of the things that seem to afflict us as individuals are in fact a result of larger forces of stigma and exclusion, which can and should be resisted.” It is suggested that this sort of loneliness, this incompatibility to being unwatched, is firstly not fixed by other people, and secondly, not caused by us, but potentially the society and systems to which we have grown accustomed. Perhaps, as Laing says, we have fallen out with ourselves, lost touch with the self we maybe knew as a child. A life spent working, fitting into social circles, trying to “be” something – it’s easy to imagine how a slither of clarity over your own being could be lost along the way.

I tried, with this in mind, to hold off on my urge to share my solitude, and instead focused on trying to fill my alone time with positivity. I fed myself, took baths, slept well, worked – and tried as much as possible to allow myself to enjoy these moments undocumented. I just want to feel content with my own mundane moments, the normality that is living from day to day. It isn’t always easy, but I have discovered the wealth of benefits there are to living in the real world and not a virtual one. My kitchen boasts living herbs, my garden flowers; succulents grow in my bedroom, which remains tidier and as if someone lives there, rather than just someone visiting. My bookshelf is growing yet not remaining unread; and my long-lost desire to make art and write has returned with a vengeance. On my birthday, I checked my phone only once, living every moment, even the ones spent alone, or in transit from one memorable moment to the next. The hours passed like months, the day like a year, and I swear the air tasted sweeter and the wind felt softer on my skin. It’s not about giving up technology altogether, or becoming a recluse; it’s learning to live in the moment, enjoying it with your senses, and not always through posts you share to others on a phone screen.

November Playlist

Words, artwork, and playlist by Blakey Bessire

NOVEMBER

The cells in our bodies are tiny. They are so tiny and there are so many of them that maybe the “I” that we think of as “ourselves” is actually a misinterpretation and could be considered “we.” We practice life as symbionts, amidst private microscopic biota that are tiny and yet retain the ultimate use-value of biological subsistence. I like thinking about all of the things that will happen to my body after I die, these small mechanized and bodily programmable pieces will continue on. 

Maybe it’s just November, right? There is something so raw about it. So sucky. So small. My mom was texting me about being sad. We are both sad right now. It’s Scorpio she says. She is a Scorpio herself but doesn’t identify with it. I’ve been reading a book of short stories. One was by Abe Akira and it was called Peaches. It’s about memory and being a baby and peaches. He tries to recall a memory but each piece of it is jumbled. He never figures it out. But an image of the moon and peaches that could be bruised easily keeps returning to me in the last week or two. 

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 “Peaches. Fruit like pure, sweet nectar – nothing else. Easily bruised, quick to spoil. And each one heavy, almost unnervingly so. Filled with several dozen of these heavy peaches, the pram must have been more difficult to push than if it had held a live baby. And like the downy skin of a newborn, each could be scuffed and bruised in an instant if my mother did not push the pram slowly and carefully.”

We are made up of cells that make up a greater being. We are made up of skin that is easily bruised. Scuffed. I keep thinking about the pram and pushing it, or being inside of it.It is in the treatment of small peaches that I want to melt into. We have to push these prams slow and breathe in the air that let’s our cells expand and contract. This November let’s take care of our bodies, remain shielded against this month of genocidal holidays and grey skies, take big belly breaths. Hold our forms like symbionts with the sky and reject a cold month of stasis.

Have a listen and hopefully feel a bit brighter. A good bop can do wonders, you know. 

 
 

Trascendental South | A Personal Essay

Words and visuals by Frankie Climenhage

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A month ago, my band went on tour for three weeks in the United States. We drove from Montreal to Texas, with shows along the way there and back. This was the longest amount of time my bandmates and I had spent on the road and our first time in the South.

“It’s 9 AM in Chattanooga, Tennessee. The air is is sticky and grey from the neighboring hurricane and I am restless. I go for a walk around a little suburb tucked behind the highway and sprawl of motels and strip malls where we had stayed the night before.

The houses on these streets sit on large plots of land. Some are well kept with fresh coats of paint and well trimmed lawns that display politics and football team preferences. The other houses are decomposing. There are no sidewalks. It’s a cross between farmland and subdivision. A flock of domestic ducks waddle from yard to yard between cactus gardens. I see acres of land and rotting barns but only rusted trucks sit on the back plots. Rocking chairs and strollers on sunken front porches indicate multi generational households.

Residents give me dirty looks from their driveways. Maybe it’s because I am not a neighbor or a familiar face to them. Or maybe it’s because I look like a “weirdo”. A young girl waves at me from her yard and I relax my shoulders and feel like a person again.

I don’t take any photographs in this neighborhood.”

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On tour, there is never enough time to really explore the cities where we play. The days are spent in the car, driving from one show to the next. I see the states through highways and gas stations, fast food chains and farm land. It doesn’t really look all that different from Canada this way. It is in the bumper stickers, BBQ joints, cotton fields, firework stands, gun stores, discount liquor warehouses and dirty looks that I am reminded that I’m not at home. I take photos of my meals and the places we sleep in the morning light before getting back on the road. The taco bell menu is better in America and I feel less safe using its bathrooms. I opt for the single stall washrooms at coffee chains like Dunkin Donuts and Krispy Kreme to keep negative eye contact and comments to a minimum. The cashier at a Dunkin Donuts in North Carolina tells me to “be careful out there” as she hands me my sour cream glazed and small coffee and for a moment I forget that she is talking about the hurricane.

These American landscapes- the neon signs and beat up station wagons, bungalows, star spangled flags and old school diners- are all scenes I had admired in the works of my favourite American photographers. These men that I look up to who have the confidence to ask someone if they mind being photographed and who navigate most American streets with ease. Maybe this confidence can be learned, or maybe it's not safe for me to ask a blue collar Tennessee truck driver if I can make a portrait of them.

And so, for now, I photograph myself and empty parking lots. Motel signs and houses that I can only speculate as to who might live inside them.

Remembering the Small Moments | A Photo Series

Words and visuals by Rachel Shoppy

There is more than just being known and understood. There is a desire to be free and unruly. Uncut. Uninhibited. Raw. An expression of humanity so real that those around you question if you are honest or crazy. Real or imagined. 

How can we love when we do so with legalistic intentions? Love is not bound. It’s not supposed to be understood. It’s meant to be treasured. Two souls that recognize each other. Perfectly broken and perfectly honest. Real. 

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November Poetry Slam

The monthly poetry slam idea was inspired by a friend of ours: Emma Czerwinski at Messy.


by Ellie Connor-Phillips

by Ellie Connor-Phillips

“Late October Nights” by Elida Vargas

Saxophone song and sirens sway,

caressing the inner most corrosion 

for a moment i feel the world stand still

my breath trickling down the street 

four full blocks of neon 

where angry bluish men standing guard 

and I

imbalanced as if on crows feet,

shift my weight 

thinking about parmesano garlic fries

and another caipirinha.

Photograph by Ellie Connor-Phillips

Photograph by Ellie Connor-Phillips

Untitled by Bree Cranfill

To the stars who listen,

I’m trying to breathe in the healing I require, but the suffering sets fire to my lungs. It’s weighing tons on my chest, I’m begging the universe for a rest, asking for some release. I’m so tired of my struggle being used as a conversation piece.

 

To the stars who listen,

I’m proud of who I am, and what I’ve overcome. Pushing through even when I thought “I’ve had enough.” This being is not what I wanted, it wouldn’t have been my choice. But damn, now that I’m here, all I can do is raise my voice. 



But, stars, if you’re out there, know that i feel like no one hears me. And If I don’t get my message out then I soon might disappear. It’s clear, in some ways, where my purpose lies. But I’m running low, and all that’s left to show- are the silent cries behind these tired eyes, from 6 feet down below. 



So, stars, please if you’re listening, send out some love and guidance. I can’t promise I’ll get it right but I’ll listen to what’s provided. I’ve been misguided. Life has been one sided, but I truly have belief. If you’re there, I know you care, please send me some relief.



Photograph by Julia Morgan

Photograph by Julia Morgan

Untitled by Julia Morgan

Cement


I have an aversion to fall.

Garish pieces of it

Litter and die

Along with my hope

But

The earth cries with me

Validating my mourning with

Mountains jacketed in mist

Acoustic tones

Settle sediment

Into my bones

'The Driver Era' New Single "Low" Out Now

Ross and Rocky Lynch (The Driver Era) New Single 10/26

Streaming links: here

The Music Project from Ross and Rocky Lynch Debuts New Single "LOW"

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"LOW" Featured on Ross's Teen Party Playlist Takeover via Spotify - Stream HERE

Ross Starring in Netflix's The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina - Out today! 

photo by Anna Lee

photo by Anna Lee

THE DRIVER ERA, the much-buzzed about music project from brothers Ross and Rocky Lynch, have released their new genre-defying single "LOW," out everywhere today. Written and produced by Rocky Lynch himself, the track premiered earlier this week on Consequence of Sound. 

"Groovy strums, smoky synths, and an urgent beat merge with atmospheric vocal effects that give Rocky's sultry delivery a depth that suits the song's tenderness." - Ben Kaye, Consequence of Sound.

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Stream "LOW" everywhere HERE


"Low" comes after the band's laid-back summer jam "Afterglow" and their pop-rock debut "Preacher Man." "Preacher Man" debuted at #15 and #21 on Billboard's Alternative & Rock Sales Chart, and currently sits at over 11 Million combined audio streams. Since it's release, the band has graced the cover of both Ladygunn and Grumpy Magazine, and have earned praise from V Magazine, Cosmopolitan, Live Nation's Ones to Watch, Elle Magazine and more. 

"Combining Alt-Rock with EDM and hints of trap produced beats, their multifaceted take on pop music is sending them up the charts." - Flaunt 

"Their new music feels fresh, alive and bursting with flavor." - Paper

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The Driver Era played a few festival dates over the summer, including 107.7 The End Summer Camp, and most recently Jay-Z's Made in America Festival. The band will play Florida Man Music Festival in Orlando on 11/30  with Weezer, Young The Giant, Bishop Briggs and more, and will share the stage with the likes of Panic! At The Disco, Sublime and more at Riptide Music Festival on 12/1 in Fort Lauderdale, FL. 


About The Driver Era:

Like the band name, the music of The Driver Era captures a certain classic feeling while looking toward tomorrow. With the two brothers, Ross and Rocky Lynch, writing, performing, and producing most of the tracks, their stylistically unpredictable pop also conjures up every romantic association with heading out on the open road: limitless possibility, the thrill of escape, a refusal to stay in one place for any real length of time.

On their debut single "Preacher Man," The Driver Era channel their restless creativity into what's arguably one of pop music's most epic themes: the existential crisis. With its raw rock-and-roll energy and gospel-like intensity, the track unfolds in stomping rhythms, heavy piano riffs, and soulful vocals that slip from free-form confession to feral howl. But despite the spiritual undertones, "Preacher Man" telegraphs a weary desperation and uneasy lack of faith (sample lyric: "My mouth is just too damn dry to utter out a prayer").

"From the title you might think there's some kind of religious connotation there, but if anything there's more of an atheist quality to it," says Ross.

With massive hooks and immaculate production, songs like "Preacher Man" show the tight musicianship that Ross and Rocky have honed over the years in their longtime band R5-a five-piece whose self-produced 2017 EP New Addictions was praised as "full of sharply constructed pop confections" by Rolling Stone. It was during that band's recent worldwide tour, the two began dreaming up a new project that would allow them to explore their more experimental tendencies.

"We had a bunch of songs we'd been gathering for a while," says Rocky. Although they avoided restricting their vision to any specific sound or style, the duo did set some firm intentions for the new band: to create music without self-imposed limitations, and to always push for sonic innovation.

In between polishing off the new songs-and getting a jump on making remixes for that material-The Driver Era have completed their first video with the gritty and cinematic cut for "Preacher Man." Shot in a seedy motel and partly lit in the lurid glow of a neon crucifix, the video delivers a bit of bleary hedonism and showcases Ross's acclaimed acting chops (he recently drew raves for his title role in the serial-killer biopic My Friend Dahmer and currently stars in Netflix's The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina). And when they're not actively creating, the two are often out riding around, listening back to mixes and working out song ideas, constantly expanding what's possible in The Driver Era. 

"A while ago I was reading a book that talked about how if you and a person are able to connect deeply enough, you almost form a third consciousness," says Ross. "I think Rocky and I have that on some level. I don't think either of us has felt so creatively charged up in a long time, and it's just a really cool feeling. The whole thing's opened up our minds in this amazing way."

For more information about The Driver Era

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/TheDriverEra/

Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/thedriverera/

Twitter - https://twitter.com/thedriverera

FOR INQUIRIES PLEASE CONTACT:

RACHEL MARTIN - RACHEL@CORPTA.COM




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The Rise in Non-Gendered Clothing and Why It Isn’t Cutting It

Words and imagery by Ellie Connor-Phillips

Modeled by  Alice Martin

Modeled by Alice Martin

It has to be said, London Queer Fashion Show was the most exciting event this fashion week in the UK. A multitude of talented designers shared their work with us on probably the most diverse catwalk of models the world has seen. Gender, physical ability, race – it just wasn’t relevant - and rather than including “different” models to tick diversity boxes, this show cast people as themselves, and that just so happened to be incredibly intersectional (as most things are when you cast based on talent alone). One of the most interesting parts was the rejection of gender – clothes were modelled on a variety of gender identities and marketed to all. It’s what the fashion world has been “moving towards” for several years now, but still not quite achieved. London Fashion Week is still split between “Men’s” and “Women’s,” as are the courses that young designers study at universities across the country. Everything is centred on making that choice, the decision to tick either box. Even new brands such as Collusion for ASOS, who describe themselves as being non-gendered and “for the coming age,” still are sold under “Men’s” and “Women’s” on the ASOS website. It begs the question – if we are really so forward thinking, why can’t we get gender binary out of our heads?

Modeled by Izzy Khakiq

Modeled by Izzy Khakiq

A lot has been changing in society in the past year. Camden Council held a survey open for people to have their say about the Hampstead ladies pond being open to transgender women. Right now, the Gender Reformation Act is being discussed, with people living in the UK able to have their say on whether they think people should easily be able to have their identity legally recognised. This is hoping to cut out a lot of the unnecessary “proving” that is currently needed, and recognises non-binary gender identities as well. Things are happening. People are mobilising to make real social change to benefit those of us who do not identify as cisgender, and educate each other on ways to improve our acceptance and understanding of diversity. Obviously there’s a lot more to be done, but the path is being paved towards change. However, this change isn’t being reflected in the field of fashion in quite the same way. Brands seem to be holding up an image of progression, yet not actually changing their set up or business to truly reflect their apparent beliefs. Universities, who benefit from the success of gender non-conforming students or who use their existence as proof of their diverse student clientele, still use only male and female models, and still insist on young designers choosing only one gender on which to base their work. It seems that, like diverse casting in fashion photography, it's not something that is done with pure intent but rather a latching onto intersectionality as a “trend” that will help guarantee the company more press coverage, and sales of either their products or their course. This could clearly explain the lack of real change in fashion marketing - it’s not that they can’t, it’s that they probably don’t want to.

Dilara Findikoglu is an example of a true progressive designer: not only are catwalk shows diverse in terms of gender, but also clothes are marketed online to all, categorised only by their occasion or style. The designs are not altered to be “gender-neutral,” just simply available to any gender interested. It works much more smoothly and comfortably than something like Zara’s infamous “ungendered” line, which were actually just hoodies and minimal basics...already worn by everyone. By marketing it as progressive and gender-neutral put pressure on the designs to be new, exciting, showing some kind of real change: however in fact just simply removing gendered labels could do exactly the same thing in an easier way.

Modeled by Izzy Khakiq

Modeled by Izzy Khakiq

In order for fashion to really empower its followers, it needs to be acting on the messages it seeks to promote. Whether that be sustainability, model diversity, body positivity or non-gendered clothing - brands and universities alike, need to show that they really do want to see real change happen and aren’t just going along with today’s social movements to follow a trend. At the end of the day, it is as vital in fashion, as in all things, to practice what you preach. When clothing fully embraces and reflects the natural diversity of all folk - only then will gender barriers be fully removed and fashion will truly speak louder than words.

Modeled by Izzy Khakiq

All photography shot by Ellie Connor-Phillips

"Coterie": A Sunstroke Project

Huge thanks to Ember SLC for sponsoring this project and providing a beautiful space to film. Check them out on Instagram @emberslc or online at http://emberslc.com/

"We are the granddaughters of witches you couldn't burn."

In honor of the new website launch this October, we made a film dedicated to femininity, unity, and a dash of classic Halloween.

Scotland | A Photo Series

Words and visuals by Emma Mutch

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“These were taken in Scotland, where my mom is from and where my grandma still lives in a small town called Castle Douglas. I used to visit frequently as a child and it's always strange visiting somewhere that so strongly resonates with childhood when I am now an adult. It almost feels as if new memories can't be made and it's simply a place of nostalgia, stuck in time. I have millions of memories from when I was small in these spaces exposed in the photographs, and this is a glimpse into where I made a lot of memories in my childhood.”

photo gallery:

October Letter From the Editor

Cover image by Auden Winchester

Words and photo gallery by Brindy Francis


Dear reader,

Welcome to the online portion of Sunstroke: our webzine. As we take a leave from the next print issue, we wanted to work on providing some kind of regular content for our engaging audience. We now have a new staff that will be helping us provide that regular content through imagery, words, activism, and art all in the form of a website. We will be posting a few times a week. You will also be hearing from me once a month, where I provide a letter with my own words, images, playlists, and more. In honor of our new website launch in the month of October, we shot and directed a halloween-themed short film here.

In the future of editor letters, I will be providing a lot of creative writing and monthly reflection, but this month, I’m mostly excited to announce our latest chapter of Sunstroke.

As for submissions, we will be taking them on a rolling basis for the website. Send any articles, poetry, photography, photo series’, and artwork to our email (sunstrokemagazine@gmail.com) to have the opportunity of being featured on our site!

For now, enjoy the website and the few blog posts we have up and be sure to keep your eyes open for more posts and content. Put us on your favorites tab.


Yours truly,

B


Playlist

Lovefool - No Vacation

I’m Just Snacking - Gus Dapperton

Always Forever - Cults

One Too Many Mornings - Bob Dylan

Tieduprightnow - Parcels

California Here We Go - The Garden

Pencil Full of Lead - Paolo Nutini

Photosynthesis - Saba, Jean Deaux

Drinkee - Sofi Tukker

Banana Pancakes - Jack Johnson

Film photos by Auden Winchester

Femme, Fuck, & Mellow: Three Playlists from Purple Haze

featured photograph by avery stagg

femme ‘17

 

atomic bongos - lydia lunch

soda pop-rip off - slant 6

where evil grows - gore gore girls

rebel girl - bikini kill

the barracuda - the 5.6.7.8’s

a new wave - sleater-kinney

fat calmed kiddos - hinds

had ten dollaz - cherry glazerr

luxury problem - lunachicks

straight outta vagina - pussy riot, desi mo

fairytale in the supermarket - the raincoats

bomb the twist - the 5.6.7.8’s

i heard through the grapevine - the slits

the day the world turned day-glo - x-ray spex

 

 

“fuck” ‘17

 

buddy holly - weezer

blister in the sun - violent femmes

where eagles dare - misfits

frankly, mr. shankly - the smiths

the air near my fingers - the white stripes

alone, together - the strokes

no waves - fidlar

this is the day - the the

she don’t use jelly - the flaming lips

six different ways - the cure

dear god - xtc

moon rocks - talking heads

rock & roll - the velvet underground

miley - swmrs

roadrunner - the modern lovers

 

 

mellow ‘17

 

anyone else but you - the moldy peaches

outside with the cuties - frankie cosmos

honey pie - the beatles

wanted you - twin peaks

when i’m with you - best coast

rock and roll night club - mac demarco

sheep - mt. joy

a heartbreak - angus & julia stone

the end - the doors

salad days - mac demarco

keep on loving you - cigarettes after sex