The Quarant-Times
Volume 2

We value art of the times. Of the vulnerable, the raw, the honest. We uplift those brave ones who surrender to uncertainty through the process of creation. We are a community of makers, processing fear, grief, joy and love in times of quarantine.

I. David Swick

Bedford Piano Day

Portland, OR


II. Steph Svarz

Kitchen Table: Honey

Arlington Heights, IL


III. Theo Allyn


San Francisco, CA


IV. Kevin Sterne

Assorted Micropoems

Chicago, IL


what does my dog think of all this?we struggleto communicate
identity poemi don't know who i am anymoremeaningam i this personoram i this couch
note regarding our scheduletry not to eatstanding upstaringout the living room windowat the same timeit getscrowded

V. Keerthi Harishankar


Los Angeles, LA


I wrote this about one of my favorite songs, “Bloodbuzz Ohio” by The National. I’m from Ohio. I think that’s all the context we need? Here we go!

What calms me down are not exactly my favorite songs, but the songs that remind me of something that is so exquisitely not this. What I mean by that is I listen to songs that are tied to the outside. Walking around arm in arm with my loves, lying for hours in parks, getting drunk with buddies - clinging to each other all the while, you know, the things I can’t do now. One of those songs for me is The National’s “Bloodbuzz Ohio.”

I don’t pretend to be poetic enough to understand “carried to Ohio in a swarm of bees” but to me it evokes the feeling of being dropped. Landing randomly in wherever the forward motion brought you. I have always felt like my existence was simply the result of forward motion. I’m sure that sensation occurs for everyone at some point but it feels particular poignant to me, an immigrant’s child. My parent’s life together feels like a swarm of bees. Buzzing, a little too fast, rising at a pace that was almost dangerous, but was potent. They dropped down and so did I.

“I never thought about love when I thought about home” What I remember of home are the man-made lakes of my neighborhood. I am a man-made lake in their neighborhood. That dark blue color of something that was never supposed to be there is what springs to mind when the word ‘Ohio’ pops into my brain. Deep blue, with specks of the cloud’s reflection. Tiny bursts of bright light. I know Ohio in bursts. I remember screaming so much I had headaches for weeks. I remember lying in bed for days. I remember wanting to be loved so badly it almost broke me. But knowing it? Knowing love? I laid on my lawn, staring at those clouds, dreaming and dreaming and dreaming of it.

“I never married but Ohio don’t remember me.” I don’t understand the fixation I have with my home state. It decidedly did not love me back. Except…except in those very rare quiet moments. Moments associated with no person but with the nature of the state itself. The smell of my front lawn, cut grass and crisp magnolias. The pain of leaving The Basement at fifteen, bruises fresh on my body, worn as a tattoo, a way to remember this is how deeply I felt that night. You have the capacity to do that. Don’t forget that next time you have the urge. The smell of campus district, miller light cigarettes and beautiful clarity.

Sitting next to my goof warmed hearted father, feeling him love teaching me something. Watching touchdowns and feeling my heart spike as our twin cherubic faces rose at the same time. My gaggle of girlfriends watching music videos and dancing in rooms adorned with ripped magazine pages. I’ve known so many people for almost three decades. Ohio taught me that. I guess that’s why I let the state sit on me like a badge.

“Bloodbuzz.” I miss home so much. I want to deeply inhale dark green. I want the breeze to paint the freckles on my cheeks and to feel the deep pellets of a Midwest thunderstorm on my back. I want golden fur brush against my calves and the weight of a happy puppy on my chest. Bursts of bright light.

“The floors are falling out from everybody I know.” Are you ever reminded of something you’ve never lived? I am. It’s a dream I must repeatedly have because the details cling to me. I’m in a room with burgundy walls and perfectly dimmed golden light. So warm it’s almost fire itself. I am at a dinner party. I am with the friends I cherish most. We are listening to Bloodbuzz Ohio. Or at least I am. It’s my guess that everyone is listening to their favorite song in their head, narrating this perfect moment with their own personal score. Suddenly we all hold each other’s hands. It’s not desperate, but everyone’s grabs feel urgent. We all look at each other in the eyes, smiling the whole while. We lean our heads forward, smiles fading, until our heads all touch each other’s. We collapse inward, together. We dive down, headfirst, into something. It looks like the night sky, but it’s not quite? I’m never totally sure, because when I wake up I only seem to hold onto the warm light.

Most of all I want Ohio to love me back.

VI. Ariel Baldwin

Week Two

Chicago, Illinois

she/her and they/them—@saintariel

VII. Elise LaMaster


Benton, Arkansas


VIII. Jami Hockensmith

Vows for the Skin

Chicago, Illinois


I will love this bodythere is music in these veinsthrough the hours of the nightthey paint the walls singing from rooftopseach note a snowflake on soft lips
I will hold this bodythrough the noisethe trauma has its own percussive persistenceI have learned to embrace its rhythm
I will fight for youevery cell all the loveunder your skin
This body it is so happy to existit is so grateful to truly beyes it needs my helpyes it needs rest it is the child with scraped kneesit is the grown man on the highway at midnightgripping the steering wheeluntil he remembers he can breathe
This body is love;this body is love.

IX. D. Szabreath

New Digestion #1



D. Szabreath

X. Gin To

A Theatre Piece

Chicago, Illinois

she/her and they/them—@gintonic2912

A Theatre PieceA Theatre Piece

XI. Alejandro Salinas

I Am Just a Shadow on the Street

Chicago, Illinois


Black boots on pavement ⁣echo solitude ⁣echo reflection ⁣echo redemption ⁣echo platitudes.⁣
"Construction Delayed" beyond the decay of capitalistic constraints of time both false and superfluous. ⁣
An oath virtuous and unselfishly singular the purpose-less renders this⁣ revolutionary revery.⁣
Revelry in family and friends this calamity has shown to me what is to be if history has taught us naught.⁣
This knot grows tight ⁣Round the chest ⁣Round the breath⁣Round the rest⁣Of the globe ⁣I've been told⁣The cracks are where the light comes in.⁣
But I am just a shadow on the street. ⁣
A constructed obstruction ⁣Abating destruction⁣Debating the function⁣Dissuading reduction⁣Of people to profits⁣.The people are prophets.
My hands in my pockets in black leather gloves holding the love in my chestAs it breaks at the jest.

XII. Arianna Lucas

Don't Touch Your Face

New York, New York


Don't Touch Your Face


The Exquisite Corpse Playwriting Project


Organized by Ben Kaye (he/him), this project is another instance of making space for artists to come together during these uncertain times.

The mission of Quarant-Times is to be a beacon of hope for makers and readers alike. Offering a space of community and an artistic, digital forum that reminds us we’re not alone; that our world is so much more than the walls that surround us and the uncertainty of these times.

If you are able/inclined, we invite you to donate to this volume at: All proceeds will be proportionally divided amongst the artist who submitted to be part of this volume.