March 30, 2021Campus Life, Features, Greek Life, Lifestyle, Lifestyle, Student Lifestyle, Uncategorized RSO Spotlight: Kappa Delta Pi Education Fraternity More
October 6, 2020Campus, Community, Lifestyle, Student Lifestyle, Students CMU Is Fired Up For Hispanic Heritage Month
April 28, 2020Academics, Campus, CMU Alumni, College Life, College Living, Student Lifestyle, Students To The 2020 Seniors
March 25, 2021Campus Fashion, Men's Style, Student Styles, Style, Style & Beauty, Trend and Beauty Men’s Spring Fashion: Comfort and Style More
March 19, 2021Campus Fashion, Style, Style & Beauty, Trend and Beauty Revive: The Organization of Black Unity’s first ever virtual fashion show
January 11, 2021Men's Style, Student Styles, Style, Style & Beauty, Trend and Beauty, Uncategorized, Women's Style Winter Fashion Trends
November 25, 2020Campus Fashion, Men's Style, Student Styles, Style, Style & Beauty, Women's Style Zoom Thanksgiving Outfits
February 14, 2022Arts & Entertainment “The Revolutionists” comes to Bush Theatre, introduces four French Revolution feminists
November 9, 2018Archives, Arts & Entertainment, Community, Food & Beverage, Seasonal Issues, Style, Style & Beauty Check out the Spring Issue 2018
September 21, 2010 Lifestyle Creative Writing Contest Winner: Kyle Eveleth Kyle Eveleth is a connoisseur of coffee, cheese, and sleep; a proud member of the Scottish diaspora; and a graduate student in English at CMU. He has published two collections of poetry, The Division (2007) and The Cruelest Month (2008). In addition to poetry and research, he writes sporadic, highly-detailed adventures for groups of like-minded geeks who also roll 20s. Mme. Le Sabre (la voiture belle) Shoes stained slick by that ick, the machine-god ichor in the lane, dropped from the beast that made the impression of my wallet on my ass that much smaller. It’s $3.99/qt for the lifeblood that lubes magically, like KY Yours and Mine, makes things slide when they might grind because today, tonight, I don’t have the time to usher you in. I can’t drop everything just to shower you with attention, getting my fingers dirty in those slick crevices only trained professionals should be probing. You whine when I leave it be, sweetie, but you whine more when I’m inside. It isn’t until I pull off your belt that I silence your cries and hear that low, throaty purr. That’s when I get to work and roll up my sleeves, dive in to the elbows, then get down on my knees, work from the top-down and get underneath. pull out the dipstick and cram it in your sheath. She drips when we’re done for maybe an hour before her moving parts settle and cool for a nap; I sit grinning, chewing a toothpick and my shoes are stained slick by her ick. Beacon Street I was ribcage-deep in the mechanical icebox, digging for 3/4 pint of Natty Light for him, Corona for me mum, and ripe Killian’s for m’self when he muttered something dirty about them jungle girls in the cheer squad for the Saints. I drew disgust like a scalpel across my face and split open a sour wound, gaping in disappointment at that man; said I to him, ‘what if I loved a girl whose skin was lovely dark and deep and whose hair curled round my fingers in the night when I slept close to her, feeling heat from her wide, sexy hips radiating into my cold white hand’ and said he ‘boy, stay away from them jungle girls they don’t know what love is’ All I thought in bed that night was sweet sweltering ‘jungle dreams’ where colors bled into a fine tanned cafe au lait and blue eyes browned to hazel and green and my red hair burned out to a deeper auburn in a face made magnificent mulatto from my rather russet, unbecoming Scot and her high-cheeked Nile blood; He could not recall those blurry bygone days in the 70s when a man could not walk into Townside or down Brookline street without hearing blasphemy split the city silence, saying ‘sonny you in da wrong parta town wit da wrong kinda crowd,’ where he and Bird would ball up hard knuckles capped with scars and brawl the beer off. I dreamt of races more distinct than palette swaps I dreamt of blood thicker than veils of false acceptance I dreamt of love more pervasive than hatred and disgust I dreamt of riots and fevers, jungles and wine bottles I dreamt and thought of what precisely love is