Cover Art by Ian Casey

Intro- Jack Williams
I would like to begin this issue of Blown by thanking all my friends and co-workers for helping make our first ever issue of blown a success. I am so proud of my team (and it was definitely a team effort). This achievement was worth all the lost sleep and the frustration. We are continuing to expand and to achieve more goals. In this issue we are expanding our existing sections. So please read, like us online, give us feedback, and most of all enjoy!

Heebeegeebeez Comics - Jack Williams One word. Nerdgasm, that is what describes this mecca of everything that makes up the underground culture of geek. Heebeegeebeez is a haven of comic books, trading cards, and collectors memorabilia. It has three locations, but my favorite is the Ogden location. Take one step in the door and you will notice that they are friendly and open to questions about everything you could want to know about their products. I especially appreciate the store because I am a huge geek. I know the workers of the store on a first name basis and I have periodical conversations/ debates about my favorite super heroes. So if you are looking for a place to let your geek flag fly, check out Heebeegeebeez comics. Heebeegeebeez is located at 2574
Washington Blvd Ogden UT 84401

Lucky Slice- Mekenna Malan

! Photos By Amber Truett

Nestled in the heart of Ogden, Lucky Slice sits on Historic 25th Street, changing the way the Ogden people think of pizza forever. It’s true that after introducing Lucky Slice to my family, they have a hard time eating pizza from our former favorite pizza chains. It’s no doubt that Lucky Slice is the best pizza in town, and you don’t have to take my word for it – several people have told me so, which was the reason I tried it in the first place. Lucky Slice offers a wide variety of pizzas, from the spicy Fire Island to the vegetarian-loving Herbivore. With different specialty pizzas offered daily as well as the classic pepperoni and cheese, there is definitely something for everyone’s taste buds. It’s also true that Kaden called me a bitch because I wanted to write this column. It’s worth it. I’m such a fan of Lucky Slice that I easily fill up my punch card in two weeks max (hello, free slice of heaven). What’s not to like? New York style thin crust, huge slices, crazy toppings, and red cream soda. Lucky Slice also features a new artist every couple months, whose masterpieces you can browse while creating your own on the chalkboard in the back of the restaurant. I’d definitely recommend the Bleu Moon pizza, which is basically a triangle shaped heart attack, but worth a taste for sure. When you’re finished exploring all the pizza flavors Lucky Slice has to offer, order some of their zeppoles to go to satisfy your sweet tooth. With specialty pizzas at only $3.25 for a slice that’s bigger than my head, I might as well head down right now. They’re also open until 2 AM on Fridays and Saturdays, so maybe I’ll stop by for a midnight snack as well. Lucky Slice is located on 2000 Historic 25th Street, Ogden UT 84401.



Mekenna Malan

Ian Casey

Connor, Tj, Jackson (Drugs)-

London Musgrave

CoCo Pawn -

Amber Truett

Man- Amber


Jack Williams Drowning, Burning This story is without its final punctuation Its ups and downs an endless fluctuation The happy ending seems so far away Supposedly it grows closer everyday Turn the pages, see if you can get close Instead grow further with every dose The taste of cough syrup calms me down By now I’ve had enough to drown I feel so far away, tricks of liquid deception Isolation matching my minds normal perception This whiskey quiets my thoughts Clouded by lust, I forget what I’ve been Taught With every drink I make another bad decision Alcohol impairing more than just vision Sleeping pills aid me well Prevent me from being conscious in endless hell The more resilience, the more I take It does nothing to numb the endless ache Faked friendships smother reality Im using you, you cant see I need these things to dull the sting Of the world, essentially everything Home seems to be a place To set hatred free with little grace The war never ends, Although I lose every battle Any hope of salvation has become a sacred cattle People target me with petty remarks Hoping to light my rage with mere sparks But nothing is more sad than this Words like fag, bastard, and idiot, I can dismiss And a media making profit off of these useless things So here I lay, drowning in my misery Fight the fires of hate with the waters of agony In the end I burn with hate Not wanting to seem melodramatic, I silently carry this weight Never showing an ounce of my pain For even if I did, what would I have to gain?


Amber Truett.

Ian Casey.

Amber Truett.

Ian Casey.

Amber Truett.

Amber Truett

Short Stories
Golden State part 2 -Mekenna Malan once
every drop of syrup was removed from the plate, he took a long walk along the shoreline, picking up sea glass and stashing it in his pockets. When he had gathered as much as he could hold, he sat down on the sidewalk, emptying the pieces out onto the cement. He expertly and patiently rubbed the rough edges off of the glass by skimming it lightly over the asphalt. Some expert handiwork and a thin coil of junk wire later, he had crafted a small bracelet. He planned on adding it to his collection until he later walked past an elderly woman sitting by herself on a bench underneath the shade of some palm trees. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” he politely said as he sat down on the other end of the bench. “Good afternoon,” she replied, obviously surprised, as she looked at him over the rim of her glasses. He lifted his hand in an obligatory gesture, and her hand trembled severely as she lifted it to shake his. She smiled at him, the corners of her mouth tight, obviously wondering why he decided to start a conversation with her. “I couldn’t help but notice that you looked a little lonely,” he said. “And I believe the lovely color of your blouse would match this bracelet.” He fished the handmade piece of jewelry out of a pocket on his backpack. “I made this earlier this morning, my father taught me how. Would you like to keep it?” The elderly woman stared at the bracelet in his hand, and then up at him. She seemed startled by his offer, but a reminiscent beauty shone from her face as well. He handed her the bracelet and stood up without a word. Tears began forming in her eyes as he walked away. After doing some begging of his own and earning enough for his dinner, he came across a street musician. It was obvious that the musician was worse off than he was, because you can often tell the status of a man by the condition of his shoes. The musician’s shoes were scratched and faded, and the soles were worn down to almost nothing. Because he was carrying with him only a guitar case, it was obvious that this was the only pair he owned. He was sitting cross-legged on the corner, a shabby guitar in his lap. “Why’s everyone still singing about California Haven’t we heard enough about The Golden State I guess if you like sandy beaches and blue ocean water There’s just something about it to which I cannot relate.” He stopped with several other strangers, quietly listening to the musician’s ballad. The irony of the song was so apparent, he could only think of all the reasons why California was the only place he wanted to be. He dropped a couple dollars into the threadbare hat before he went on his way, because the musician was obviously struggling and was in need of some dinner. “People still follow their dreams to sweet California And from time to time I’ll pass on by But I will never stay.” By the time the sun skimmed the ocean’s horizon and the surface of the water reflected bright oranges and pinks, he was already back in his bedroom underneath the boardwalk. He carefully arranged his blankets over the sand, breathing in the sweet night air. He kneeled in prayer for a moment, thanking his maker for another successful day. The woman who he’d given the bracelet had been recently widowed; her children lived across the country. She was lonely and longed for company. The shabby musician had been walking from city to city for days, unable to earn enough money for a lunch or dinner, unfamiliar with the area in which he was begging. He didn’t know this when he gave the elderly woman the bracelet, or dipped into his own funds to help pay for the musician’s dinner. Although he was abandoned and a beggar

Short Stories
himself, he still had something to give them. Although he was in the same situation as they, he thought himself much richer and satisfied. In California, with the warmth and the stars and the breeze rustling his hair, he had everything he wanted, much less needed. He exhaled a sigh of fulfillment as the sound of the waves gently rocked him to sleep.

The End

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