Me: it's what I do best

I illustrated the shit outta that text

Here's the whole poem (i'll keep it anonymous because she might kill me for putting this on here):


our chilling hands,
which dance along the backs of our wives or lovers
alternating depending upon the weather,
alternating depending upon our moods,
alternating depending upon nothing at all.
& most importantly, (in a rare moment)
when we find ourselves dancing awkwardly behind the houses of our sons
ripping our shoes off to bring ourselves down to the levels of our grandchildren,
we must shout at them,
"Goddamnit, sons, there is nothing in this world faster & more fulfilling than a bursting heart."
but we retire to rocking chairs,
with aching breaths & tired eyes
our memories locked in parking lots & time spent on highways
where city lights glowed our names & the sounds of a false future.
where we carried the words of Jack Kerouac & tattooed them on the backs of our palms,
where we best knew them.
the city lights haunting us, directing us
in the days before we lived for Prosperity
with the money now stacked in a savings account for College & a-future-in sales,
insurance,
door-to-door delivery men afraid of death.
our chilling hands,
drafting words of social protest that come crashing down upon us - red cheeked.
the soap we run across unused jaw lines & heaving chests that refuse to be satisfied,
drawing themselves instead back to when we spoke with syllables
-----now anxious gazes
& the hearts that once beat between dislocated shoulders
were often so loud,
they’d stare at us.
…but now we only attract attention during christmas-time
when we quietly & slowly lift ourselves to hang garlands from our windows
as our relations and neighbors cheer our efforts.
smiles & tongues are numbed by our useless natural pointed toes,
which flatten their stance for more walking & less movement.
the concrete on tables against our elbows & the blinding orange lights that are nothing like they should be,
the calls we extend to glittering yellow birds who laugh at our weighted, faded wings
& the children who despise us for our timely casseroles & our nightly routines
(sex without love)
(tears without grief)
(nothing. nothing. nothing.)
never knowing that we resent ourselves more than they ever could.
feet planted firmly,
we grasp our frozen hands where painful, nostalgic scars & bruises plague ivory skin
where we lift between our fingers the machine for our suicide note,
bringing pen to paper how the tax-books that keep our eyes beating
(our eyes beaten?)
are keeping our hearts numb.
& though we burn the pages before we're through,
we commit the words to memory
& as we finally leave, ending life & brimming with nothing,
caring for no one,
our eyes to the ground,
we force ourselves to repeat and repeat and repeat the mantra within our head
"I simply shall not exist."

Triptrich (look closer, it's revealing)

its still life

Truth, Lie, Laugh (but which is which?!)

Hi, I'm Zach Sands, and I am an artist. Please understand that this is never the way I would think about myself, but it is how most people will define me. And that is, despite what people might tell you, ultimately more important (I also like to start sentences with "and", and if you are a grammar hot shot and this annoys you, get over it. It'll be easier for us all in the long run). But past the artist label, there is much more too me, whether you're in the know or not. Things I love: movies, counter-culture-esque things, soccer (futbol!), being sarcastic, lying in bed for hours after waking up, skiing and snowboarding, walking around cities, (parentheses), run-on sentances, people watching, and, above all, loving. Things I hate: people and their stupid thoughts, intolerance/racism, my alarm clock, when people make things black and white (strange for a love/hate list, isn't it?).
Why am I at Tyler School of Art. This is such an interesting question, and I cannot tell you how many times I've asked this question. Let's start at the beginning. When I first looked at colleges, I wanted big. Really big. I wanted to meet new people everyday, I wanted to get lost in crowds of people, and most of all, I wanted to know that there were people in this world different from the kids I went to high school with. I also didn't want just an art school. I didn't want to get stuck doing one thing or knowing one type of people, so i intentionally looked for good art programs within larger universities. And here's what I ended up with: a school with about 800 undergrads (maybe 200 in my grade?), on a campus the size of a football field, half an hour by shuttle from the main campus and my link to bigger, better things. So why am I here? Well first of all, I am just waiting until the glorious day when my art campus moves to the main one. When in does, I am going to pray to god that I love it and I didnt waste a year of my life with something I didnt absolutely love. The second reason is art. I love it. It is what I want to do with my life. And while really considering the places I had been accepted to, I realized that Tyler could make me into the best artist I can be. Far more than the other schools I had the opportunity to attend. And the last reason is my grandparents. I'm not sure I have ever, before the day I decided to attend Tyler, really considered advice they had bestoed upon me. But they had told me that college years are fleeting, and that beyond it is a whole life that I can shape for myself. I took the advice of people with a lifetime behind them, I and threw away the social life and the "best match" for me in favor of the place that would make me a great artist. I ultimately decided, for the first time in my life, to put my future ahead of my present. And I suppose that is the real answer to why I am here.


And of course, I can always transfer.