Absurdity

S24 ABSURDITY

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MODEL ZOE

EXEC TEAM

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF AINSLEY MCRAE

EXECUTIVE PRINT EDITOR ELLA NORTON

EXECUTIVE DIGITAL EDITOR FRANCESCA MILHIZER

FINANCE AND FUNDRAISING COORDINATOR MIA MICKELSEN

EXECUTIVE WRITING EDITOR SYDNEY SEYMOUR

PRINT COPY EDITORS BEATRICE KAHN, RILEY KENNON & SYLVIA DAVIDOW

PHOTO EDITORS MARY GROSSWENDT & SAMANTHA JOH

STYLING EDITORS CAMILLE ANDREWS & MELODY MOSES

ILLUSTRATION EDITOR KAITLYN CAFARELLI

DESIGN EDITOR STELLA RANELLETTI

BLOG EDITORS KATIE MKECHNIE & KELLY KLEINBERG

MUSIC EDITOR ANNALUISA CARRILLO

SOCIAL MEDIA COORDINATOR VIOLE MILLER

EXECUTIVE PRODUCERS ZAKARY CHRISTEN-COONEY & NATALIE ROBINSON

& OUR FUTURE EXECUTIVE TEAM ANAYA LAMY, AVA WISDOM, CASS MORRISON, CHARLOTTE HATHAWAY, ELIOT CORRELL, EMESE BRACAMONTES-VARGA, ISABELLA THOMAS, JILLIAN PEFFER, RUBY JOYCE, SNEHA CHOPRA & WALLIE BUTLER

PHOTOGRAPHED BY JOHN OFSTEDAL

Four years of Align Magazine. Four years that have completely altered the trajectory of my life. I have new friends, new skills, new memories. I’ve lived in different houses, been part of various organizations and held many different jobs. The one consistent thing in my life these past four years has been Align.

This place is truly special. It’s such an amazing feeling to walk into a room full of the coolest people you’ve ever met, and know that you’re going to love many of them by the time you leave. Align allows you to be whoever you are and still belong in the room.

This term’s issue dives into our current feelings about the world while also discussing how identity and absurdity are deeply interwoven. We discuss queerness, psychedelics, spirituality and more through the lens of chaos, nonsense and irrationality.

Align itself exists in absurdity. It’s crazy to think that we were just a fashion blog only 5 years ago and now we have over 150 staff members each term. Without fail, we manage to put out an issue every term despite not having a faculty advisor supporting us (maybe that’s obvious). Whether it’s spending 40 hours in the Allen computer labs staring at InDesign or lugging boxes of issues onto campus, the exec team will do the work solely because we love Align.

This week has been full of lasts for me. Last issue arranging, last exec meeting, last Align event. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to truly walk away from Align. No place have I ever felt more inspired to create change, to foster relationships, to get over my fears and anxieties. To every Align member who I secretly looked up to my freshmen and sophomore years, I still think you’re the coolest. To all the Align members who I’ve been able to work with over my time here, I’m proud of you and you’re going to do so many amazing things.

Ella and Mia, Align could not exist without you. Stella, you are the most talented person I’ve ever met. Sydney, I can’t wait to see the way Align grows with you running it.

I think I’m supposed to walk away and not look back but I think I’m going to be walking away backwards.

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

From the girl who has been voted as most likely to show up to exec after graduating, I’m signing off (for now).

I love you all forever, Ainsley

PHOTOGRAPHED BY CHARLIE NGUYEN

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DaDa is Calling

Soon, an unnerving feeling will flicker across the air and ensnare you. We know this feeling well. We woke up with it one day – a knot in our shoulder, a hiccup, a dormant affliction – and it hasn’t left us since. This feeling wedges itself between every moment like a puppy begging for food. It represents something amiss in our tangled web of events we call ‘life,’ something disharmonious and strange clinging to the outer limits of reason.

The French philosopher Albert Camus dubbed it the ‘Absurd,’ but your friend probably calls it ‘living on a floating rock.’ All these concepts fundamentally pick at the margins of the same human condition – a single question that’s burned a hole in the sky: “What’s the meaning of all this?” The unendurable torment of being human, and of never knowing why, is crushing. What is the significance of living, if not a meaningless collection of moments that, at the very end, are to be reduced to a bygone memory?

At the beginning of the 20th century, with the political climate of World War I as a backdrop, the ugly reality of this human condition took center stage. Amidst the turmoil of war, man’s futility became impossible to ignore. Absurdity and disillusionment became endemic to everyday life, and in response – a group of artists in Zurich (and later Paris) decided to ascribe this absurdity a name: “Dada.”

Dadaism emerged in the mid-1910s as rebellion against the interests of a so-called ‘logical’ bourgeois society, which the Dadaists believed had contributed to an unjust war. Not only an art movement, but a radical experiment in irrationality, Dadaism became a rejection of all norms; a symbolic middle finger to the conventional world; an embrace of nonsense and spontaneity. For the Dadaist, the only acceptable system was no system at all. The poet Tristan Tzara says it best in his 1922 essay “Lecture on Dada,” writing, “Like everything in life, Dada is useless.” Life is nothing, so Dada is nothing.

Dadaist art is recognized as being the precursor to surrealism, best exemplified by, but not limited to, the forward-thinking collages of Jean Arp, the readymades of Marcel Duchamp, and the outlandish soundpoetry of Hugo Ball. When it came to the rules of Dadaism, it’s safe to say there were none – logic was simply abandoned.

But, despite their devotion to the god of spontaneity, Dadaists surely must’ve preserved some semblance of routine and order in their lives, right? Or did they? Would the Dadaist wake up and have a coffee? Or would they prefer to float up to space and start their mornings in the clouds? The nature of the Dadaist is unpredictable, and one can only imagine a day in their life going something like this:

7 AM: Roll off roly-poly pillow. Recite morning affirmations: carp are the most resilient fish. Earlybird cigarette before life goes kaput, followed by a rebuke of the ruling class (the French way) – that is to say, so long, Archduke Ferdinand! Each day I push the sun backward on its white-bellied cuticles. Oh well, here we go.

9 AM: Off to work...no, we invent choice. Work is off, so we become mist. Well, on second thought: wasn’t it the braids of the universe that invented choice? Forget bullets. Roll through the mortar to the yellow brick exit of ecstasy, distend belief, and suspend your gut; swallow ideas as the fog utters expressions like a monk – now there’s a thought.

3 PM: Is the day finished yet? Not quite. We are at the bitter spot. Too soon to sew hemp seeds to your muzzle? Quite. A wise R. Mutt in New York once told me, ‘This is my urinal and it begs to be liked.’ A hole is the sky: knowing the living, if bygone is and unendurable of never tormenting end. Remember the urinal. Did you forget the carp?

9 PM: I was young once, as were you; but now these little effigies of youth go ka-plunk-ka-plunk into a pillow of time. Would you look at me? In the backend of some stubbled shell, singing Oooooo to fill my soul’s vessel. Animal orchestras play fiddles to entertain the ring-ring of their majesties Good, Art, and Freedom. Memory objects coarse with wormwood. Circuses of carp perform a box step waltz, clad in greasy suits, glub-glub-glubbing: eat for a sneeze, die for a hoot? Well, no thank you. I’m

EMESE BRACAMONTES VARGA

MICA DELGADO

IS IT TASTELESS… OR IS IT CAMP?

WRITTEN

BY

BEAU GLYNN

ART DIRECTOR EVA ROSE BRAZFIELD

PHOTOGRAPHED BY EVA ROSE BRAZFIELD, MARY GROSSWENDT & SALLY FINNIN

MODELS LANE SCHROEDER, LELA AKIYAMA, BEAU GLYNN, EMMA MISKO, WILL MARTIN, EMERALD FORD, CAMERON THEUS & ZOE KERSTEN STYLISTS ISABELLA KING, VIOLE MILLER, CLARISSA PEREZ, ANASTASIA IRVINE & EITAN REUVEN DESIGNER ABIGAIL RAIKE

Five years ago, it was Karlie Kloss and a compact mirror against the world. She looked at the camera and said something that would change the face of social media for the rest of time: “Looking Camp right in the eye.” However, soon the world found out that she, in fact, wasn’t.

At the time, Kloss’ tweet was exciting to her followers, creating eagerness while wondering what she would end up wearing to the Met Gala. Imagine their disappointment as she walks onto the carpet in a mini dress that looked like it was made from gold tinfoil with bulbous, black puff sleeves. The dress was not Camp, nor was it cute, dare I say…

Despite this, her viral tweet called into question many were wondering. What is Camp?

Let’s take things back to 1964 when American writer Susan Sontag declared that Camp was a mode of aestheticism, a concept introduced by Oscar Wilde meaning “Beauty for beauty’s sake.” In her essay, “Notes on Camp,” Sontag provides a general list of the aspects of Camp and the dos and don’ts of Camp, along with the brief history of Camp dating back to the late 17th Century. Sontag’s essay

was so significantly successful in defining the parameters of the style, it stood as the founding document for the 2019 Met Gala. In her essay, she describes Camp as something with vulgarity and theatricality. Something that requires passion — if it’s not passionate, it’s not Camp.

Now, let’s fast-forward to modern-day fashion’s biggest day of Camp: the 2019 Met Gala. A slew of celebrities walked up the Met stairs in gowns and suits, jarring to the naked eye. Lady Gaga, one of the chairs for the year’s event, graced the red carpet with four outfits all hidden underneath each other, wrapped up in a gargantuan pink gown with a literal bow

on top of her head. Jared Leto walked up the stairs in a crystal embedded harness, carrying a mannequin head bearing his likeness, and the iconic Celine Dion wore the biggest feathered headdress the world had ever seen — though, it looked like she had no hair. These dramatic looks and questionable fashion choices allow for us to wonder, is Camp just bad style?

In a way, yes.

Sontag says in her essay, “Camp asserts that good taste is not simply good taste; that there exists, indeed, a good taste of bad taste.” In other words, Camp is playfully toying with tasteless fashion, crafting it in a way where tastefulness is brought forward because of its theatricality.

We can’t look at Camp without addressing its inherent queerness — what’s more Camp than drag? While Sontag is mostly mum on the subject, she does say that queer people, “by and large, constitute the vanguard — and the most articulate audience — of Camp.” Looking back through the drag scene of the 20th Century, particularly the Ballroom scene of Black and Latinx drag, developed in response to racism in LGBTQ+ integrated drag scenes. Even if you’re only familiar with drag in reference

to RuPaul’s Drag Race, you could still see the connections on the Met Gala stairs — drag queens like Aquaria and Violet Chachki were amongst the attendees of the year’s gala (for the first time, I might add).

In today’s lingo, the concept of Camp goes beyond fashion, moving into all types of entertainment where some form of richness can be found. Think of dog shows and pedigree, or slasher films with an excess of gore and cheesy plots. Anything that’s self-aware of its own poor taste, and intentionally draws further attention to it while making it seem fun and casual, can fall underneath the everexpansive blanket of Camp.

How do we discern if something is Camp? How do we determine the line between Camp and “just bad taste?” The whole point of Camp is to be playful, the antithesis to seriousness. Just because an outfit is hideous, doesn’t necessarily mean it’s Camp. However, the act of intentionally styling an outfit to be hideous is indeed deemed Camp, mostly because the designer is dethroning the role of seriousness in style.

Even at the Met Gala, where Camp is always implied regardless of the year’s theme, there are outfits that fall flat (think

of the endless line up of men in their plain black suits). While the trepidation toward taking fashion-risks is understandable, occasions like this almost always call for some outside-the-box thinking, even if it’s as simple as taking a classic black tux and swapping it out for a more vibrant color.

The audience always reacts in a much more grand way when an attendee’s gown falls flat, however, which is how we return to Kloss, and her poor, poor misguided tweet.

Naturally, upon seeing her dress, Kloss’ tweet went viral for its irony. Now, as the Met Gala makes its way around every year, as does Kloss’ tweet. The evergreen aspect of the joke has now solidified the photo and its adjoining post as Camp — a conscious mockery of poor fashion.

In Sontag’s essay, she summarizes Camp through, “The Ultimate Camp Statement: it’s good because it’s awful.” It’s consciously mocking one’s poor fashion taste on a platform where the ridicule can be recognized as unserious. So even though Karlie Kloss’ 2019 Met Gala look wasn’t Camp, maybe her “looking Camp right in the eye” post is?

CAMP?

Karlie Kloss’ 2019 Met Gala look Tiffany Lamps

Karlie Kloss’ “Looking Camp in the eye”

Dealing With Everything All At Once

How often do you find yourself trapped within the washing machine of life? You’re tumbling round and round, aimlessly slamming against the other wet garments, tossed around without any clear direction. Zoom out a little bit and you’ll find yourself in one machine among dozens of others in a laundromat. Zoom out a little more and you’re in one laundromat of many in the town, then the state, then the world, and then all of a sudden, you’re an indistinguishable speck in the vastness of the universe, trapped in a mundane, seemingly endless cycle.

Like so many others, I’ve found myself grappling with a question that has fueled midlife crises since the beginning of time. What’s the point? Life can seem so torturous at times. How can our everyday plights be worth the turmoil when there’s no clear encompassing aim to life? Are we just suffering in vain? It’s hard for someone like me to find answers, with many common indicators of meaning falling short. I can’t look to religion for guidance as it simply doesn’t resonate with me. I can’t look to work for meaning — thanks to capitalism, the nature of employment has become devoid of individual fulfillment. How can I find my life’s purpose in a bleak 9-5 office job, feeding the profit-driven, greedy, unsustainable mouth of “the man?” The vastness of the world provides me little guidance towards meaning as well. Turn on the news and the trajectory of humanity appears to be destined towards catastrophe. If anything, the universe’s grandness is yet another indicator of how small and insignificant I am in my individual existence.

“Just like the rest of your miserable lives, this is nothing more than a statistical inevitability.”

It’s times like these that I find myself spiraling towards nihilism: the philosophic conception that life is ultimately pointless, and our existence is meaningless in the scheme

WRITTEN BY KHUSHI MISHRA

of something so huge. It feels like I’m a mere puppet of the universe, being pulled and manipulated by the cosmic strings. This is a concept central to the film “Everything Everywhere All At Once,” the unexpected smash-hit that took the world by storm in 2022. The movie highlights protagonist Evelyn Wang’s exposure to the multiverse: the infinite possibilities of realities that stem from every minute decision we make.

Within the unpredictable zaniness of “Everything Everywhere All At Once,” nihilism is embodied through Evelyn’s daughter Joy, whose multidimensional counterpart becomes omniscient through her ability to experience every single reality at once. Because of her exposure to everything, she succumbs to a state of numbness defined within her pessimistic nihilism, and views life as futile. She resorts to a desire for chaos and destruction, with no conceptions of right and wrong through the detachment that comes with such heavy knowledge. Joy offers solace to her mother, a struggling laundromat owner who feels like she has failed in life, through this lack of meaning.

“If nothing matters, then all the pain and guilt you feel for making nothing of your life goes away.”

The movie invites viewers into a bizarre universe where dildo kung-fu is a triumphant martial art, a floating black bagel with everything on it can give you enlightenment, and an IRS worker is the scariest antagonist you could possibly encounter (actually, maybe that one isn’t so crazy). Despite the humorous, visually striking entertainment factor of the film, viewers are left wrestling with the final question of if Joy is right after all. It’s a grim outlook. When we view life as devoid of meaning, we become akin to the reckless and depressive tendencies observed within Joy’s character, and struggle to find comfort in our existence.

This is where Evelyn’s husband’s perspective comes into play. Waymond Wang, a warmhearted, whimsical man with an affinity for sticking googly eyes on inanimate objects, is often rendered weak and naive by Evelyn due to his good nature. However, near the climax of the film, he reveals that his positive outlook is simply how he protects himself in a cruel world. This is where the philosophical perspective of absurdism emerges.

ILLLUSTRATED BY JOEY BEZNER

“It doesn’t make any sense. Exactly. The less sense it makes the better.”

Absurdism is defined within a paradox: the paradox between humanity, who searches for meaning in life, and life, which really doesn’t have any meaning. Unlike pessimistic nihilism, absurdism encourages individuals to embrace the absurdity of existence, and find personal meaning and fulfillment rather than banking on divine guidance. Waymond highlights this ideology firsthand, through his friendly nature that eventually gets the Wang family out of many hard situations. Rather than crumbling under the weight of a world that can be so unforgiving and unpredictable, Waymond finds comfort in the fact that he can only control himself and his actions, and uses this to create his own meaning. He also uses life’s lack of meaning to allow for his day to day existence to not be so serious. By choosing silliness over stoicism, he brightens his own life, illuminating the lives of his loved ones in the process.

Waymond’s character depicts the simple tenet that the majority of us undermine in our day to day lives: the power of simply being present, positive, and kind. His character showcases that this is enough to fulfill us, and these grandiose cosmic purposes we often search for are not necessary when life’s simplicities can be so satisfying. Life is so intricate, and our sole presence is miraculous on its own. It might be enough to just bask in our existence, even if it’s the mundanity of regular life.

It’s human instinct to want to dig deeper and uncover the truth about everything. Yet, our inability to accept our position in the world at a surface level may be the root of a lot of unnecessary suffering. By accepting our reality for what it is instead of chasing guidance that may not exist, we can find our own ways to make peace with our lives. So much of our existence is out of our control, but when we recognize this, we can free ourselves of the burden of chasing meaning and simply exist.

After all, life within the washing machine doesn’t have to be so horrible. Sink into the warm water, let yourself tumble, and enjoy the ride.

Iam on my way to class as I notice a penny. Thankfully, I realize it is on tails and do not pick it up. However, I do flip the penny to heads and continue on my way.

There are many practices in my life that I partake in that relate to the idea of superstitions. I knock on wood whenever I don’t want to jinx something; I never split the pole with others; I make a wish when the clock strikes 11:11; I avoid all of the cracks for the sake of my mother; I wear my lucky earrings for job interviews; I take the needed steps after I see a black cat… the list goes on.

Honestly, if you asked me when or why I started doing all of these things I genuinely wouldn’t have an answer. These actions that most refer to as superstitions have simply turned into habits in my day-to-day life. It feels absurd that such odd practices have become routine without any specific reason

as to why they started or why I continue to do them. Alongside my classmates, Antonia Beil and Micah Williams, for J457 Curiosity we gathered information from our peers regarding questions that arose when discussing superstitions. Where do superstitions come from? Why do people follow them? How many people believe in them? And most importantly, do they actually work? Upon presenting these questions we were met with several stories of everyone’s personal connections to superstitions. Most of our classmates had familial ties to one or more of the ones we mentioned.

What most of us don’t realize is that superstitions originate from cultures around the world. Superstitions stem from several different religions. By practicing superstitions, we are carrying on traditions without even knowing or actively trying to. To name a few, Ladybug luck derives from

COMPLETELY ABSURD OR ARGUABLY SENSIBLE?

WRITTEN BY JOSIE WILLARD PHOTOGRAPHED BY HARPER MAHOOD

the Virgin Mary saving farmers’ crops by sending ladybugs to eat the insects that were harming the crops. A lucky penny has copper in it to protect us from the devil. And by knocking on wood we are calling upon the Gods of the Trees for protection, originating from Celts and Pagans.

We often feel the need to believe in something that has the power to reverse or make fate. Some bigger force that we can get our hands on, that’s where superstitions come in. How many of you blow out candles on your birthday? There is a hope we are subconsciously holding onto out of a force of a habit.

According to an article in News Gallup by David W. Moore, one in four Americans are superstitious. Many people are superstitious, and although some may not consider themselves superstitious, they most likely are practicing some form of superstition.

Even as someone who actively participates and believes in superstitions, when I take a step back and look at them for what they really are- random actions to twist fate or bring luck- it seems completely absurd. Is the wish I made at 11:11 actually going to come true? Is putting on a so-called lucky piece of clothing actually going to bring luck? I mean, is luck even a real thing?

Do you say bless you after someone sneezes? Well if you do, you are protecting them as their soul leaves our body when we sneeze. By saying “bless you” you are protecting their body as it does that.

It is hard to fathom that doing these acts could actually lead to some physiological enhancement that leads to better things happening. It seems absolutely wildly nonsensical but simultaneously so right. Superstitions have infiltrated our culture as a norm. These absurd practices have transformed to be seen as acts of rationality.

Superstitions: Absurd or sensible? However absurd superstitions are, who says all things absurd are bad? A lot of our lives flourish because of absurd things. How can superstitions add to your life? No matter your views on the topic, believer or non-believer, I believe it is safe to say that no matter the effects, real or not, practicing superstitions occur out of habit and are an attempt to grasp or gain control in the craziness of our everyday lives.

ART DIRECTOR MAURA MCNEIL STYLIST & MODEL VIOLE MILLER DESIGNER STELLA RANELLETTI

DISSONANCE DISSONANCE DISSONANCE DISSONANCE

December 9, 2085

84 years old

There’s a cat somewhere in here. I can hear it scratching the walls. Scratching, scratching, scratching, scratching. I think I had a cat long ago. Maybe it came back. Everything’s a mess. The couch is torn up — did I do that? I don’t remember much these days. Can’t find my pills; maybe I took too many. Or not enough. It’s hard to tell.

The clocks all tick, but they don’t show the same time. Who’s messing with them? I keep trying to fix them, but my hands shake too much. The coffee’s been cold for hours, or maybe days, but I drink it anyway. It’s not like anyone’s going to visit to complain about the stale taste. Nobody comes here. There’s no one left.

People are smiling at me on my wall. A woman I might recognize, and two children standing on her sides. No matter what I say, they keep smiling, even when I scream at their unwavering faces. They don’t move. They stare at me all day and all night.

I should get up. But what’s the point? The dirt just comes back. It keeps growing, but it doesn’t listen. I’m going to leave, go somewhere else. Where do I go? I should stay, but who’s going to get the door? Someone’s been knocking for hours. I heard some of my old friends are dead. Or maybe they’re just pretending to be. I would too, if I could figure out how.

Gotta find the cat. It’s driving me nuts. I know it’s here somewhere. Maybe it knows the way out of this place. I sure don’t.

WRITTEN BY EVAN HUNTINGTON

February

53 years old

20, 2055

The days are short and the nights are longer, and I find myself sinking deeper into them. The nights blur into a smear of neon and smoke, a dizzying haze. I exist within fleeting moments of foreign spaces and unfamiliar faces. I used to wake up every day next to her, her warm embrace filling my spirit as the light broke through the shades. Now, it’s all a blur of smoke-filled rooms and empty bottles. Nothing lasts forever.

Seasons pass and the air changes as it brushes through my graying hair. All manner of things seem to grow further away from me. The flowers, the neighbors, the trees, any sense of purpose or meaning I thought I was chasing. Was it really something I was chasing after, or something I was running from?

The silence in this cavernous house is a living thing, a suffocating shroud that wraps itself tighter with each passing day. Years spent yearning to break free from the gilded cage of our marriage, and now, adrift in this sea of solitude, I find myself drowning in the vast emptiness. The dreams I nurtured in secret, those vibrant whispers of a life unlived, seem like faded, broken mosaics in a dusty attic. The fire that once flickered within me has dwindled to a pile of cold ash. Each day bleeds into the next, a monotonous dirge devoid of purpose.

It feels like I’m driving without brakes, hurtling toward something I can’t see. Part of me wonders how long this can last, how long I can keep pretending that it doesn’t matter. But then I light another cigarette, pour another shot, and tell myself that I’m fine. It’s easier to lose myself in the darkness than to face the emptiness of the morning light.

October 10, 2043

42 years old

The silence at the dinner table stretches, a chasm wider than the miles I add to my commute with each detour. My wife’s eyes, usually pools of warm hazel, are guarded tonight. I can feel her accusations hanging heavy in the air, unspoken but understood.

The air in our home feels thick, a stagnant pond choked with tired words and fading passion. We move through our days with a practiced choreography, a waltz of polite smiles and predictable routines. Intimacy has become a stranger, the ghost that haunts the empty spaces in our bed. I reach out a hand but touch only the cold sheets, a stark reminder of the warmth that has leached from our love.

The truth is, I’m a ghost at my own table, a shadow flitting through the motions. My gaze lingers on the horizon beyond the window even when I’m home. The lingering of distant, unfamiliar scents on my clothes serve a silent confession of stolen moments, chasing phantoms of a forgotten self. The guilt gnaws at me, a dull ache beneath the hollowness. I long to bridge this growing distance, but maybe this was never meant to be. Perhaps the tapestry we wove was too fragile, the threads too disparate to withstand the relentless tug of time.

August 28, 2039

37 years old

The morning ensemble – giggles, milk spills, and the frantic rustle of getting my two rambunctious kids out the door – washes over me. My wife’s smile, bleary-eyed but radiant, emanates her loving spirit that I never imagined I would have. Her silky brown hair matches the richness of her brown eyes, and I’m always reminded of how I fell into them.

There’s no doubt, I love my family fiercely. But lately, a dissonant note hums beneath the melody. The once vibrant vision of a boundless life feels muted, the threads of my own ambitions gathering dust. The steady paycheck, the minivan commute, the comfort, the confining structure – they press in, constricting. It’s easy, predictable, anchoring. Is this it? I yearn for the unfurled map of my 20s, the thrill of the unknown path. The call to chase dreams, not deadlines, whispers on the wind. Maybe it’s a selfish yearning, a traitorous refrain in the harmony of our young family.

But tonight, under the cloak of darkness, I’ll allow myself to dream in technicolor, to imagine a future where purpose and passion intertwine once more.

June 17, 2024

22 years old

The worn cardboard box overflows with textbooks — vessels of knowledge now drained, their wisdom distilled into this degree, this silly paper I’ve worked towards my whole life, now clutched in my fingertips. The air thrums with a nervous electricity, a million futures crackling on the horizon. The familiar walls of my college house seem to shrink, suddenly inadequate cages for the boundless ambition simmering within me.

Tonight, the cap flies, a white dove released into the inky sky. But unlike the bird, I won’t return to my nest. The map is tattered, the compass spinning wildly – a beautiful chaos that ignites a thrill in my chest. The world stretches before me, my own canvas splashed with vibrant possibility.

I yearn to dance on the tightrope of chance, to paint my life in strokes of audacious adventure. The whispers of caution are mere cobwebs, easily brushed aside in the exhilarating rush of the unknown. The song of my soul demands a bold melody, and I, its eager conductor, will raise the baton and lead it into the exhilarating symphony of life. This is the beginning of everything.

ILLUSTRATED BY OLYVIA BANKOVITCH | DESIGNER STELLA RANELLETTI

Since the Stone Age, humans have worn clothes. At first, the clothes were quite tacky. The cave people wore full-on animal hides and furs…with NO SHAME! Talk about efforts to save the planet (and protect animals), even though this was thousands of years ago. But who are we to blame them?

People started to get a little more creative in the Bronze Age, the birth of hierarchies. In Greece, femininity started to express itself more freely in the garments Greicians wore. The icons of that era wore layered skirts, bodices extenuating their features and even gold jewelry. It’s important to note that they were the first to set these fashion trends as class structure came into play in the Bronze Age. Also, according to CNN, archaeologists who work in the ancient complexes of southeastern Spain believe women most likely held political power throughout the Bronze Age— they wore a lot of silver jewelry.

The Iron Age brought forth the idea of the “girlboss.” The “girlboss” appeared in the female warriors who wore itchy, thick fabrics designed to keep them warm, tied with ropes, the OG belts. Sandals and cloth shoes were all the rage. You go girl!

WRITTEN BY SYLVIA DAVIDOW

ART DIRECTOR MEGAN LEE

PHOTOGRAPHED BY SNEHA CHOPRA

MODEL ISABELLA THOMAS

STYLIST ALLYSSA CORPUZ

DESIGNERS HAILEY RYDMAN & STELLA RANELLETTI

Next was the toga era, associated with Greek and Roman rule. I mean the Greek gods and goddesses thought wearing a literal bed sheet tied with a robe was all the rage…like ily Aristotle and Persephone, but who knew the fashion of philosophers was so simplistic!

Years later, and I’m talking like a lot of years later, a metaphorical meteor struck the earth…and her name was Y2K. The minute she opened her eyes, the world was brand new to her, because it only left ancient artifacts from yesteryear’s fashion. Suddenly, she could make up the rules about who she was and what she wore.

During her first years on Earth, Y2K skips around, talking when she pleases, eating Danimals yogurt and watching cartoons with her stuffed animals. Life is simple. The people that dress her take pictures of her wearing polka dots, tutus with bows and butterfly clips in her hair. One day, she stumbles upon ancient fashion artifacts in the form of Disney Channel and the internet, and it changes everything.

When she turns 10 (the peak of her life), she sports her first cheetah print shirt and carries around a zebra clutch as she accompanies her mom on a grocery run because she’s too young to stay home alone. Little does Y2K know that by doing this, she is reawakening Stone Age fashion.

When she enters middle school, she joins the coolest sports team she can find. Now life is about hierarchies — she has to dress to fit in. She starts shopping at Forever 21 and Hollister, switching out the peace sign tees of Justice for the cropped tees of the 2010s.

Through these next 6 years, she blooms from a child into a woman and suddenly feels the need to show herself off, especially since she’s in the icon crowd. She has now entered into her own Bronze Age. You can see her walking the high school halls, wearing her Lokai bracelet, Chelsea boots, and Brandy Melville.

At 18, Y2K is thrust into a world where there is no curfew, access to dessert anytime of day, and the freedom to watch anything… college! As she learns about Queen Victoria, Stevie Nicks and the term “model off duty,” she realizes the world before was so small, and now she is grateful to learn about the past and the world outside of her own head.

She stumbles in a thrift store on a free weekend during her freshman year and comes across a pair of bell bottom jeans. She recalls her grandmother in the seventies, attending anti war protests and watching some of the greatest bands in history. She decides to pick up the bell bottoms in her grandmother’s honor and pairs it with a flowy white top.

Her friends drag her to a house party that weekend – the theme is toga night. Y2K must dress up in a bedsheet, which is the weirdest outfit she’s ever had to come up with. She feels awfully silly as she approaches the front door, but when her eager friends open it, Y2K is greeted by the sight of a packed room filled with people dressed in bedsheets, or togas as she learns. Welcome back ancient Greek fashion.

Shortly after turning 20, Y2K is lonely so she sits in bed and watches a favorite show of hers from her first years on Earth. She recalls the fashion, the animal print, how it was a sign of beginning. Her beginning. The beginning of fashion itself. Sure, it’s tacky now, as she’s now seen the world of fashion is wide and diverse, but there is something so simplistic about honoring the past.

So, she comes up with an idea. She will pair the animal print with a mini skirt, with a frilly top, and with the heeled boots. She’s honoring the beginning of time, the beginning of her, and the beginning of her new life in a new world where she has more knowledge than ever before. And thus begins a new genesis, another age of fashion while honoring lifetimes of the past.

Wasteland This In

Moonlight spills into the office, the harsh drumming of raindrops on the window painting harsh lines of silver trickling down. My fingers fly on the dusty keyboard as I stare blankly at the spreadsheet before me, my eyes hardly blinking except for the occasional glance at the clock. 9:34 p.m., it reads. Along with what is essentially my witching hour, the office’s silence dawns on me. I let the sound of rain drown out my eardrums for a minute, this moment of peace for just two seconds instantly rejuvenating my bloodshot eyes and probably carpal tunnel-possessing wrists. My spreadsheet is finished, and I plan to have my coworkers double-check it the next morning before the final submission. Anxiety takes the form of heart palpitations, so I open my phone and check my emails.

After a grueling commute home, I can’t be bothered to change or make myself dinner. I tumble into bed, my briefcase falling to the ground and spilling out all the paperwork I can’t even look at without feeling nauseous. My thoughts spiral down a rabbit hole. My stomach twists into a knot as I curl up into a ball under the covers. My eyes flutter, and I can feel myself drifting off to sleep. When I close my eyes, I feel as though my body is being flattened by a hydraulic press as it sinks into the plush of my mattress. I don’t want to think about anything anymore.

Seconds later, a gust of wind blows ferociously. I cough as sand particles manage to fly straight into my mouth. I open my eyes slowly, blinking before realizing I’m in a barren desert, stretching for miles. I pinch my arm,

watching as a shroud of red discoloration forms on my skin. But it doesn’t hurt. It’s a dream – a figment of my overworked brain’s psyche. I hear an array of voices and chanting, so I squint and see a strange parade marching in the distance. A fusion of inanimate objects and people march asynchronously, Xs plastered on their faces. I can make out some animals, kitchen appliances, and spiritual beings — mismatched, yet somehow a string connects us. My shadow gnaws below me as if it is chewed gum stuck to the soles of my feet. Each glance at its unsettling aura makes my stomach twist because none of this makes any sense. But does anything? Comets flash by above me, each one a different color. I think of my job that makes zero sense. What is the point in living if I am forced into a life of complete, utter dissatisfaction? Aren’t I just disgracing myself? I’ve succeeded, haven’t I? I’ve worked hard to secure this well-paying job, the life I struggled for so many years just to escape my horrid, disappointing self, and yet…

Despite everything, I’m still me.

The thought plagues my mind in the harsh heat of this desert, and I feel like I’ll vomit my guts out. This narrow, hole-dwelling that’s called life is sucking me in like a vacuum on steroids. My eyes are shaky, and all noises sound like a murmur as I feel myself crumbling. I reach down and try to shoo the shadow away, but retract my arms when I notice its eyes are bloodshot. The shadow is unattainable, but its eyes hold death and sorrow. An unexpected coldness replaces the sweltering heat, rain

pouring over and killing the shadow. My fingertips turn purple and I stumble over, tripping over myself as wind gusts push and pull my weight like a rope in a game of tug-of-war.

Suddenly, my shadow is in front of me. The storm seems to slow down, along with my rapid heartbeat. My shadow doesn’t look desperate anymore; its face is crestfallen. The shadow stands amid everything and nothing, familiar and unfamiliar. Behind me are the rugged, soulless footsteps I’ve trailed, lines dig into the sand — a sign of dragging my feet. I look up and the amalgamated parade marches around me in a circle. The Xs peel off the parade participants’ faces, all of them finally becoming recognizable and it starts to make sense, even though objectively, it doesn’t. I realize the shadow is inescapable, that it will continuously follow me until my passing, and that no matter what, it will always be an integral part of me; my identity. Somehow, that’s comforting, because within this wasteland of what we believe and what we refuse, everything is intertwined with the self. Perhaps I shouldn’t refuse myself; my shadow. The self I know; my ego and the persona through which I present myself take my shadow by its hand and together, we step into the chaos of the parade, this time, embracing it.

WRITTEN BY VIVIANN NGUYEN

ILLUSTRATED BY SYDNEY

DESIGNER

ELLA KENAN

LACKEY

ART DIRECTOR & PHOTOGRAPHED BY PARKER BELL

MODELS GIDEON BATYA & TAYLOR JONES

STYLIST EITAN REUVAN

DESIGNER ELLA NORTON

IThe absurd yet impeccable timing of Angel Numbers

jolted awake, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to escape my chest. My pitch-black room greeted me with an eerie stillness only encountered during the dead of night. My hands trembled as I fumbled around for my phone. I checked the time. It was 3:33 AM. I felt sweat run down the back of my neck. After tossing and turning for a while, I fell back asleep.

The soft morning light streamed through my window, gently rousing me awake. Before leaving bed, I opened TikTok, and the first video on my For You page had 333K likes. I opened Instagram and there it was again, the number 333 popping out at me as the like count on my recent post. A strange feeling washed over me. It almost felt like I was being watched. I blinked a few times, shook my head, and sighed as my feet hit the carpet.

It was the summer before my first year of college. I felt anxious as the move-in day grew closer. How was I supposed to leave behind everything I had ever known? I started waking up in the middle of the night with my heart pounding and my stomach swirling. My thoughts raced constantly. “What if I don’t find friends? What if I’m not smart enough?” I faced an endless stream of worry and questions that would never be answered until I threw myself into the college experience. I knew it was nonsensical to worry about something that hadn’t happened yet, but those thoughts still paraded around my head.

Things started getting weirder on my drive to work when I slammed the brakes as a car aggressively cut in front of me. Anger bubbled up inside me, threatening to boil over until I looked at their license plate number: XXX-333. My annoyance turned to confusion. There 333 was again. And again when a customer’s total rounded to $3.33. And again when I looked at the clock and saw 3:33 PM. And again when I clocked out of work and noticed I had worked 3.33 hours that day.

I vaguely remembered seeing something on social media about numerology, or symbolic meanings of certain numbers. I knew seeing 333 so many times today could not just be a silly coincidence. At this point, I needed to research, so I opened my laptop and began surfing the web.

I typed 333 in the search bar, and the first option was “333 meaning.” I clicked on it and got lost in a new world of spirituality. 333 is an angel number. This sounds strange and illogical, but angel numbers are a real belief. Each pattern of numbers has a different meaning, and supposedly angel numbers are a positive spiritual message sent to you from beyond. I have never been religious or spiritual, but this opened my eyes to a different perspective that I found comfort in.

I discovered that 333 was a sign of optimism and perseverance. It was a reminder to keep pushing, as things will get better. At first, I was skeptical. I felt unsure of myself and as far as I was concerned, that feeling wasn’t changing anytime soon. How could seeing random patterns of numbers have any connection to my path in life?

However, things did get better when I went to college. I stopped taking life so seriously and laughed more. I made amazing new friends. I realized that everything was okay, and I was right where I needed to be.

Throughout college, I started seeing 222 almost daily. 222 signifies balance and good fortune with careers and relationships. A little over a month after seeing 222 repeatedly, I got accepted into my dream study abroad program in London and found my core group of lifelong friends.

Angel numbers have brought me peace during the strangeness and unpredictability of life. They are mystical and unexplainable, but they always happened to pop up when the universe felt I needed them the most. They helped me find a deeper meaning in life. Angel numbers reminded me to keep going and have faith in myself and the universe.

WRITTEN BY HARPER WELLS

Forever Dancer

PHOTOGRAPHED BY NATALIE ROBINSON

WRITTEN BY ANA HAAPALA

ART DIRECTOR JACK WHAYLAND

STYLIST JULIET POWER-MALLORY

DESIGNER ABIGAIL RAIKE

MODELS WILL DECKER, MIKA MAII

JULIET POWER-MALLORY, MAURA MCNEIL

LINDSAY ROGERS & HARPER WELLS

Lloyd dreaded leaving work today. Usually, he didn’t want to be there – he just craved it. When he was deprived from his perfect square cubicle for more than a few days, he found himself growing agitated and antsy. As much as he hated his job, he hated being away from it more. But today was different. As he typed page after page of meaningless numbers, the image of a shiny dark coffin intensified in his mind.

It was still in front of the altar when he finally found himself walking down the stone aisle of the church. He couldn’t get away from work, he had told his sister Emily the month prior. Now he felt ashamed – ashamed to have missed his father’s funeral. How could he have sat numbly and uselessly at his desk while the rest of his family said goodbye?

Looking at his sister, delegating jobs to the volunteer cleaners, it was obvious that this church funeral had been what she, not their dad, wanted. Emily’s daughter, who sat in a pew, was just like her grandfather, with soil under her fingernails and bee stings that she wore like medals. Brooke and her grandad would be branches from the same stream. Or perhaps they were more exclusive: a pair like the two ears on either side of a deer’s head. They didn’t share the same rhythm that Emily and Lloyd trudged along to. Their father had always called Brooke his “forever dancer”— feeling the same unfettered flow that he did since her birth, like the song “Cosmic Dancer” by T. Rex. They participated in something untamed and unpatterned, leaving remnants everywhere: muddy footprints from spinning in circles, stacks of seeds on windowsills, and grass stains on sleeping bags from napping outside.

Lloyd’s father had never tried to follow the rest of his family’s tempo. But, as Brooke grew, Lloyd could tell she wanted to participate in the pattern of life Lloyd knew all too well. The other week she had proclaimed that she knew what she wanted to do when she grew up: save the planet. She pointed out that she needed Lloyd to know she had bright things in her future, like he always had. Brooke just wanted to make him happy. She understood that her mom and uncle were frustrated with her lack of drive and wanted a safe and established future for her—a future unlike that of Lloyd’s late father.

As soon as Lloyd and his sister realized their father was not driving, but rather walking through life, they both began driving themselves—and fast. Thanks to their own motivation, they both had stable jobs and stable lives. So, at Brooke’s announcement of her future plans, Lloyd could only smile. He couldn’t tell her that his future had never been bright. His father had made him believe it was, just like he had been doing for Brooke. But if he had stayed walking aimlessly towards the bright future at the end of his father’s rhythm, he wouldn’t be making six figures in the profession of his choice.

After the last of the funeral goers had wandered out, Emily pushed Brooke’s tiny hand into Lloyd’s, snapping at him, “Deal with her.”

It wasn’t until Brooke had settled into the backseat of Lloyd’s car that he noticed the tears silently pouring down her face, leaving glistening stains on her cheeks.

“Brooke,” Lloyd began in a soft voice, “I’m so sorry. I know how important your grandpa was to you.”

Brooke was still looking out of the window when she choked out, “You don’t understand that I’m alone now. You and mom are going to make me drive and school is going to make me drive and I won’t have anyone to dance with anymore—not when I’m so tired of driving I can barely stand it anymore.” Then she turned to lock eyes with Lloyd in the rearview mirror, “Aren’t you so tired of driving?”

Her question upended him. Lloyd had a comfortable life, but he didn’t have everything he wanted. He had never fallen in love, had never traveled, or done anything that had an impact. Both his sister and himself had been trying to improve Brooke, had been trying to change her rhythm and secure a successful future for her. Maybe they had been approaching it wrong. Sure, she was unorganized and lacking in drive. But her unwavering investment in the Earth and recognition of her needs and emotions were more authentic and meaningful than anything Lloyd had experienced in his whole illogical little life.

Lloyd got out of the car. “Let’s walk, Brooke.”

The two of them crossed the street and walked into the trees surrounding the graveyard. Lloyd thought of all the gray people in their gray suits that sat in the cubicles next to his. Each day they worked on pointless assignments, ate bland food from machines, closed themselves inside of concrete, stared at useless screens, and then drove and drove until they died. And he did too. It was absurd, Lloyd thought. Humans are not made for that. They could be feeling the sun or rain on their skin everyday, eating meals whenever they wanted, and resting when they needed to. Perhaps we all start out with curious and adventurous hands grasping at the natural world around us. But the irrationality of our world is an ultimately corruptive force.

Lloyd and Brooke danced to Brooke’s “forever dancer” song playing out of Lloyd’s phone speaker. Lloyd could feel Brooke’s smile as she danced in the light filtering through the trees. She knew Lloyd couldn’t sustain his current lifestyle. He wasn’t a driver. He was a dancer like Brooke and his father and the beetles under the wildflowers and the squirrels deeper in the woods and the wind dragging the leaves across the dirt. And so he danced.

Mother Nature:

The natural world and its inherent processes and systems, governed by principles of interdependence and ecological balance.

“I danced myself right out the womb / Is it strange to dance so soon? / I danced myself right out the womb.”

- T. Rex

Mother Culture:

The dominant, and generally modern, set of beliefs and narratives that shape and perpetuate the worldview of a society, often promoting human superiority and environmental exploitation.

Message from the Art Director:

“We’re not destroying the world because we’re clumsy. We’re destroying the world because we are, in a very literal and deliberate way, at war with it” (Quinn, 92). Inspired by Daniel Quinn's 1992 novel, Ishmael, this project aims to capture the irony and absurdity of our modern lives by depicting culturally relevant activities within an environmental landscape. In doing so, we visually represent the ongoing battle between mother nature, and mother culture. In correspondence with these scenes, Haapala’s piece, Forever Dancer invites viewers to reflect on the contrast between our fast-paced, driven existence and the unfeigned rhythms of nature. By viewing juxtaposed imagery and embracing the spirit of the Forever Dancer, our project challenges viewers and contributors alike to reevaluate their relationship with Mother Nature and Mother Culture, and encourages fostering a deeper understanding of our existence and role as a bridge between the two.

Flat Earth Fantasia!

Arguably one of the world’s most extreme conspiracies is the flat Earth theory. Where did it come from? Why are there people in the world that believe in it? What on Earth is the fuss about? The internet took the world into its grasp at the start of the century, enabling people to share ideas with each other around the world. The flat Earth theory populated the internet around the time YouTube came to fruition, becoming a highly debated topic that is now known by almost everyone.

An idea conceived from Egypt and Mesopotamia around 1000 B.C.: the world was portrayed as a disk floating in the ocean. Most ancient civilizations believed that our beautiful world was flat, and they argued that heavenly bodies could not walk free on our Earth if it was round. Any pushback to the flat Earth theory wasn’t until the 6th century B.C. when Greek philosopher Pythagoras proposed the idea of a spherical world. Pythagoras’ argument spread far through the Greek world and beyond, becoming the new norm. However, there was and still remains a lot of debate about which theory is true.

In discussions about the flat Earth theory, our beloved Moon often becomes a prevalent topic. The moon allows us to pose this question: Why can we see the Moon during the daytime if the Earth is round? Flat-Earthers state that if the Earth is round, the Moon should be on the other side of the sphere when it is daytime. This question should be debunked because the Moon can be visible during the day if it’s in a certain phase and its position in the sky aligns with the position of the Sun relative to the observer. Continuing with the Moon, flat-Earthers believe that solar eclipses prove that the Earth is flat. Believers think that the solar eclipse supports the flat Earth theory because our Sun and Moon are both above us at the same time, which proves that we are essentially at the center of the universe and everything is revolving around us, the audacity is insane. However, this also

cannot be true because during a solar eclipse, the Moon passes between the Earth and the Sun, casting a shadow on the Earth’s surface. This shadow can only occur if the Earth is a sphere and if the Moon orbits around it. If the Earth were flat, it would be much more difficult to explain the mechanics of a solar eclipse. Flat-Earthers have proposed various explanations, none of which are supported by scientific evidence or observations, oh no!

In modern day, flat Earth theorists are often thought of as being absurd to society. With debates about the topic on popular YouTube channels such as Shane Dawson and Jubilee, popular culture has had an impact on the perception of the flat Earth theory. Another prime example of debate would be in the popular TV show, “The Big Bang Theory.” There is an episode where the characters debate the flat Earth theory. Sheldon, the resident genius physicist, argues against it vehemently, presenting scientific evidence and reasoning. The humor comes from the absurdity of the notion that highly educated and rational characters would entertain such a theory seriously. This reflects how mainstream popular culture often portrays flat Earth theories as fringe beliefs that are dismissed by those with scientific knowledge and critical thinking skills.

Speaking of scientists, the flat Earth theory has sparked paranoia and skepticism surrounding scientific beliefs in many ways. First of all, flat Earth believers often claim that mainstream scientific authorities are engaged in a conspiracy to hide the “truth” about the Earth’s shape. This belief creates a lot of distrust in scientific institutions and the scientific method itself, leading some people to question the validity of all scientific knowledge.

Also, the flat Earth theory is associated with conspiracy theories which suggest that powerful groups are actively working to deceive the public about fundamental aspects of reality. This mentality can lead to a broader distrust of scientific consensus and evidencebased reasoning, as people may become inclined to reject any information that contradicts their preconceived beliefs. If the entire world starts rejecting factual information, even if it goes against their preconceived beliefs, all I can imagine is anarchy. We have already had many examples of how strong people’s beliefs can be and what they are willing to sacrifice to hold onto those beliefs (cough-cough).

Overall, the flat Earth theory is extremely bizarre, extremely absurd, and

WRITTEN BY RILEY KENNON

ILLUSTRATED BY AUDREY TYLER

DESIGNER CLAIRE BRADY

The Beauty of Misplacement

Toilet paper duct-taped to the ceiling fan. A painted bird house on the arm of the couch. A wall half-covered with chocolate bar wrappers. The dead Bonsai tree above our kitchen cabinets.

These are things in my college home most people would gawk at– confused by my roommate’s and my inability to “keep the place tidy.” Our house is seemingly littered by absurd ornaments and unattractive “decor” items. Items that throw off the same aesthetic it had on move-in day. But these parts of our house that don’t make sense, the parts that go against the grain of the mundane, decorate our house better than any $15 street fair poster could.

The absurdity and misplacement that we live amongst is a nod to every sacred moment shared under this roof. As dust collected on every corner we cannot reach, so did memories that came out from behind corners we did not see. Our house tells stories more intimately than words do, because only we understand its language.

Only we can understand the lingering toilet paper hung to the ceiling fan–the final remnants of Gwen’s birthday. The final birthday we celebrated in this house before graduation. The pieces of white paper still hang over us as we spend our final few weeks piled on the couch–a remembrance of all the candles we blew and wishes we made. We laugh at ourselves as things we once fervently hoped for ended up being things we never got. And things we never ended up needing anyways.

And only we could understand the bird house on our couch. Amanda’s Wednesday afternoon impulse-buy that she eagerly ran up the stairs to show us. Excited for all the animals it would attract, she painted it a cool-blue to match the outside of our house and filled it with seeds. Unbeknownst to us, bird food also attracts bees. So, after that moment of sheer terror and the “do bees eat bird food” frantically typed into my search bar, the bird house found its place on the couch. Now it sits alongside us on Sunday movie nights–a symbol of our excitement for the little things. And fear of bees.

The wall of fallen chocolate bars represents our sweet summer spent here. We sought structure in our nightly Tony’s bar, as we were void of any real responsibilities other than getting out the door for work after a long night out. We went to bed each night eager for the flavor we would try tomorrow, dreaming of sea salt caramel and the summer sun. We paid homage to every bar devoured, plastering the wall with their colorful wrapping. But as fall crept in and the leaves fell from the trees around us, so did the wrappers. A sign that perfect moments can’t last forever. But maybe that’s what makes them so sweet. By lingering in this town while everyone else fled for the season, we realized that all we’ll ever really need is each other. And maybe some chocolate.

And visitors might wonder why the lonely, wilted bonsai tree still stands with a strange pride at the top of our kitchen cabinets. But they don’t know it’s a nod to our old neighbors. The once strangers

that soon became faces we dreaded losing. The neighbors that gave us their bonsai and their silverware before they left for the real world. The neighbors that told us, “It goes by so fast.” The phrase we didn’t really listen to until we were living it. That’s the thing about time–we don’t realize how fast it is until it’s already behind us. Time crept up on us the same way it did to the tree. We were worn and weathered by the years we spent here. We gained bruises and indelible marks on our being but also let go of the things we didn’t need. Now we look at the tree and think of our old neighbors. And feel the same envy for those younger than us that they felt for us. The neighbors that climbed over our balcony and broke into our house on the first birthday we celebrated here. The birthday where we cleaned up all the party remnants the next day. ‘Cause then we had plenty of more birthdays to go.

When we moved into this house two years ago, we didn’t know that the 5’ x 7’ canvas painting wouldn’t be our home’s best asset. But rather all the unintentional marks and misplacements would turn out to be the most beautiful decorations. I had always thought that a home was defined by aesthetic furniture at the utmost tidiness, but I learned that home is a feeling. It’s memories, growth, steps forward, and steps back. It’s where you become a little more mature and maybe a little bit less mature. It’s safe. And the best kinds of decorations are the ones that tell stories. Our stories. So, perhaps our house is “absurd” and “misplaced,” or maybe everything is right where it needs to be. Just like us.

ART DIRECTOR DANIELLE COLLAR PHOTOGRAPHED BY LAC NGUYEN MODEL BELLA BOLONG DESIGNED BYAINSLEY MCRAE

The world is burning. We may be the generation that doesn’t retire. Prices are escalating and we can barely afford the roof above our heads or the food on the table. We can’t even afford the table itself. These are some of the unfortunate realities Gen Z faces, at least according to my TikTok’s “For You” page, which is the exact place I go to escape these horrors.

When scrolling through TikTok, I see a video of a girl with mascara-stained tears running down her cheeks, silently crying in front of the camera. Then, she throws up a peace sign with her tongue out. She repeats the gesture for about three takes. Viewers often resonate with these videos, commenting things like “Same!” or something absurd like “What kind of mascara do you use? Mine isn’t dramatic enough.” The video gained popularity because of its raw emotion and vulnerability, which we don’t typically see in the media.

On TikTok, sounds go viral, and people will jump on the trend with their dark humor. In South Park, Eric Cartman, one of the four main characters, says, “we’re not just sure, we’re HIV positive.” Annoyed at the absurdity of his joke, his rival Kyle Broflovski yells at Cartman to stop, arguing that being infected with a deadly disease isn’t funny. In response, Cartman tells him, in an effort to keep some optimism, “you just need to try and stay HIV positive, but if you want to be so HIV negative all the time–” to which Broflovski interrupts, reiterating that it isn’t funny. Cartman looks at him and asks, “are you HIV positive?”

Using this sound, TikTok users tweak the context to fit their jokes. One user made a video using it with the caption, “Pov (point of view) you make queer jokes

around non-queer folk and they get offended for you.” The irony lies in the dark humor that comes from a serious topic like HIV. Cartman’s nonchalant attitude towards the disease and his attempt to turn it into a pun contrasts with the seriousness of the situation. Dark humor can serve as a form of social commentary, highlighting irrationalities or injustices in society through satire and irony.

There are many videos with skits criticizing the U.S. government. There’s a video with a man in a restaurant booth facing the camera posing as a U.S. citizen saying, “I can’t afford a home. I don’t feel safe. Groceries are way too expensive. My entire neighborhood is filled with homeless people.” The camera cuts to the other side of the booth, with the same man acting as the U.S. government, casually pouring ketchup on his chicken tenders and replying, “Best I can do is ban TikTok.”

The government’s response to ban TikTok in a short time seems trivial in comparison to the significant problems like homelessness, inflation, and poverty. TikTok highlights how the government’s focus is out of touch with the real concerns of its citizens. The skit underscores the irony of the government’s nonchalant attitude towards these social issues through the casual pouring of ketchup, which sharply contrasts the seriousness of the citizen’s grievances.

However, we need to recognize that dark humor is a niche that may not be appreciated or understood by

WRITTEN BY LIZZY SOLORZANO

ART DIRECTOR EMMA BALLMAN

PHOTOGRAPHED BY LULU DEVOULIN

everyone because it often pushes boundaries of what we consider appropriate or the norm. Though, some could argue that dark humor is becoming the new norm as a coping mechanism for personal trauma. It’s reached a point where if you haven’t faced significant challenges like parental absence or mental illness, some believe you lack that edge to your character so you’re not funny. This can be problematic as it allows our generation, one that’s progressive in advocating for mental health, to normalize ideas and behaviors that shouldn’t be normalized.

In such afflicting times, Gen Z relies on finding relief and happiness. Dark humor is used to make light of difficult subjects, trying times, and pain by the laughter or amusement of them. It’d be easy to argue that all Gen Z knows are difficult times. In the face of ludicrousness from all the situations we face as a generation, we can come together and create memes to share on the internet to find connection. It allows for unity as a generation, as memes can serve as a universal language.

In the face of adversity, our generation finds solace in humor, even of the darkest variety. From the absurdity of our circumstances involving politics like climate change and reproductive rights, to the challenges we face in daily life, dark humor has become a coping mechanism, a way to find levity in the midst of turmoil. As we navigate the complexities of our world, let’s continue to find laughter, connection, and solidarity in the shared experience of being part of Gen Z.

MODELS SOPHIA TRUITT

STYLISTS OLIVIA ROBERTS & EITAN REUVEN

DESIGNER AINSLEY MCRAE

WRITTEN BY CLAIRE GRAHAM

ILLUSTRATED BY KYLIE LIBBY

DESIGNER ANANYA PANDIT

The Revolt Against Realism

In 1917, The Society of Independent Artists received an upside-down urinal. The anonymous creator had written “R. Mutt, 1917,” in black paint at its rim and titled it Fountain. The Society had solicited submissions from artists for its inaugural exhibition, promising the acceptance of any work of art if the artist paid an application fee. But The Society chose to reject this work, claiming it was not real art. One member of the board, the Dadaist painter Marcus Duchamp, stepped down in protest of the rejection, before admitting that he submitted the artwork under a pseudonym. The stunt caused chatter in creative communities around the world, with some condemning the piece as a mockery of the visual arts and others commending Duchamp for challenging industry norms and making a statement.

Fountain is one of many controversial works of art that challenged the public to reconsider the definition and purpose of art. Critics deemed Jackson Pollock’s abstract ‘drip paintings’ worthless, claiming a layman could easily copy his technique of pouring paint over a canvas. At the end of 2023, a TikTok trend emerged where people stood in front of art pieces that appeared visually simplistic, with variations of the caption: “standing next to art we think we could make.” The birth of nearly every artistic movement that challenged the world’s ideas about art has drawn controversy, much of which stems from the traditional ideas that art should be representational, complex, and contain an objective meaning. But where do these “rules” come from, and are they valid?

Emily Moore, a University of Oregon student pursuing a master’s degree in art history, is not convinced that they are. “I think no matter what, when you create something [...] it means something, even when it’s just saying ‘art is bullshit,’” she says. “Whether it is a meaning that we as the viewer are bringing to it, or it is an inherent meaning that somehow we’re all able to connect with.”

To Moore, the aversion many feel toward non-traditional art is normal, but she encourages critics to lean into these feelings of discomfort instead of falling prey to them. This is because art can act as a mirror – when an individual perceives it they unconsciously project onto it their thoughts, beliefs, experiences, and emotions. Sometimes, the onlooker doesn’t like what they see in this mirror. Perhaps a work’s apparent simplicity sparks anger in the viewer, who questions the success of the artist in comparison to themself. Perhaps it challenges a strong belief in the viewer about art or the world. It could even bring up old memories the viewer has been trying to suppress. Whenever something sparks a strong reaction, whether positive or negative, there is usually something we can learn about ourselves from it if we examine it closer.

Moore recommends noting the works that spark a strong reaction in you and returning to them more than once. Our perspective on a work of art can change as we uncover details we hadn’t noticed the first time and as our lives and minds change. Abstract art is perfect for this exercise because its subjective nature allows for a more fluid and interactive interpretation. In other words, its meaning can change drastically based on the moment in time in which you view it.

According to Mark Humes Gallery Magazine’s article “A Beginners Guide to Understanding Abstract Art,” hostility towards art may also come from the deeply ingrained human need to make sense of the world with sureness. “You have to learn to accept that abstraction does not aim to tell a story,” Mark Humes asserts. “The artist does not want you to decipher a particular meaning, but encourages imagination and involvement. This means that it is an emotional experience that is personal to each individual viewer and provokes different forms of representational realities.”

You may look at a Renaissance painting, filled with romance and bloodshed, and cast it far above an abstract painting because of its ability to depict real life. But doesn’t an abstract painting depict real life as well? As an infant, everything is abstract until we give it meaning, and even then that meaning is rarely constant throughout life. Don’t you have to step out of your comfort zone and accept change and uncertainty to fully enjoy life, just as you do an abstract work of art? Perhaps it is the work that you scoff at that you should spend the most time looking at: you may begin to see yourself in it.

five-step program

When you think of Napoleon, the first figure that might come to mind is the French military leader with historical significance and a tendency to play the romantic field. If you were thinking of Napoleon Bonapart, I have to break the news to you that I am not John Green, and this is not a history crash course. However, you are about to be schooled by one Napoleon Dynamite.

Standing at 6 ‘1, decked out in a t-shirt, corduroy pants, moon boots, and his trusty Walkman is Napoleon Dynamite; a man of true grit, athleticism, passion, and pure grooviness. He might just be an underdog, but to me, he’s the Top Dog.

“Napoleon Dynamite” is a cult-classic, coming-of-age film. Set in Preston, Idaho in the early 2000s, it follows protagonist Napoleon, as he navigates– no, conquers high school. He’s an awkward, inventive, indefinitely mouth-breathing, yet frankly iconic teenager. Napoleon lives with his grandma and his older brother Kip, in a small home located in their sparsely populated rural town. After his grandma injures her coccyx in a quad-bike accident, she asks their Uncle Rico to look after the boys in her absence. Rico is a middle-aged aspiring quarterback with no desire to let go of his glory days. He’s confident and entrepreneurial with a touch of delusion (he’s also single if that’s what you’re into). While Uncle Rico spends his time as a door-to-door salesman, Kip pursues love via an internet chatroom with his girlfriend, LaFawnduh.

Meanwhile, Napoleon befriends Pedro Sanchez, the soft-spoken and determined new student rocking a solid stache and a cool-as-a-cucumber attitude. Along with running Pedro’s election for class

president campaign, Napoleon also pursues his own quest for romance with Deb. She’s his shy, creative, and entrepreneurial classmate with an outstanding side ponytail.

From love, triumph, hardship, and courage, to an undying commitment to cafeteria tots, this movie has it all. We all can learn a little something from the movie, and I’m going to take this opportunity to break it down in five simple lessons.

The first lesson this film teaches us is the importance of quality over quantity. Napoleon’s ultimate act of friendship throughout the movie is his dedication to helping Pedro become class president. Riding onto school grounds on one bicycle, the duo distributed the campaign posters Napoleon hand-drew for the occasion. When Pedro delivers a disappointingly lackluster speech for his campaign and things look bleak upon discovering he must also present a skit, Napoleon volunteers to display his killer dance moves. Touché.

Quality, unfortunately, is not the most important factor when it comes to skills. Skills are about quantity, obscurity, and dare I say… danger? Napoleon does us all a favor by naming off some important skills one must have in life. These include nunchuck skills, bow-hunting skills, and computer skills (all of which I hope you already know). Our man Napoleon showcases pure skill in dancing as demonstrated through his fiery dance performance to

He is also quite skilled in the arts; a true Renaissance man. Not only does Napoleon create

WRITTEN BY CLAIRE CONGER | ART DIRECTED & PHOTOGRAPHED BY MARY GROSSWENDT & SAMANTHA JOH

posters for the campaign, but he draws a complex and fearsome Liger— it’s a lion and a tiger, idiot. Finally, demonstrating his act of prom courtship, Napoleon draws a portrait of his classmate, Trisha.

Even with ninja-level agility, Katniss-adjacent bowhunting, and true disco mastery, your skill set is nothing without a work ethic. Lucky for you, the film gives us some good examples of skill application and hard work. Deb is the best and most ethical example of this. She runs a side hustle of creating and selling keychains as well as glamor shots. Deb utilizes her craft and photography business to raise enough money for college (academic weapon!). On top of this, her business supports other characters such as Uncle Rico and Kip who seek out her services to help their door-to-door business appear more “professional.”

Napoleon shows a work ethic of his own when performing his high-intensity dance sequence which is rewarded by a standing ovation from the whole school. Additionally, Napoleon takes responsibility for around-the-house tasks such as feeding their llama, Tina, albeit often with exasperation. Every evening, he approaches Tina to feed her and says “Tina, you fat lard, come get some DINNER.” While this isn’t exactly the tone I would like to be taken with me upon dinnertime, I suppose I can’t speak for Tina.

Napoleon Dynamite can also encourage us to go for the gold. Ask out your crush via a portrait you drew of them. Run for president even if the odds do not seem in your favor. Pursue true love on the internet, even when everyone tells you you’re being catfished (sometimes the haters might be right, but lucky for Kip, LaFawndah is 100% real). Continue to quad bike well into your old age. The sky’s the limit and regardless of the bullies, breakable coccyxes, and risks you might come across, never hold back.

We have now arrived at the last important lesson of the movie: the power of authenticity. Napoleon is unapologetically himself, and he truly does not let others get in his way. Unlike many nerdy movie protagonists, Napoleon fights fire with fire when it comes to bullies, and he would never give away one of his precious tater tots even in the face of hostility.

This film, and Napoleon specifically, is a reminder of the value in our attitudes and perspectives toward ourselves and the world. We see this through how Napoleon treats others, fosters his strengths, and challenges his weaknesses. This in turn affects how his goals and relationships develop. There are always people out there to appreciate your authenticity (Lawfandah and Kip; Napoleon and Deb; Napoleon and Pedro) so don’t shy away from being yourself. Take a page from Napoleon’s book and live like the disco-loving, liger-drawing, icon you are.

MODELS PETER BLAINE & MARY GROSSWENDT DESIGNER STELLA RANELLETTI

As a little kid, I hated horror movies. But as I grew up and saw the real daily horrors like injustice, environmental degradation and hate, I found a certain comfort in the type of fear that ends when the movie does. And as I discovered my identity as a queer woman, I found myself drawn to the complicated and nuanced canon of queer horror.

Just the term “queer horror” can be used to describe a range of horror movies: films directed by or starring queer artists, films with queer characters, or simply films that have a strong LGBTQ+ following. And while today’s streaming platforms are littered with gay horror, it took a while to reach a point of accurate representation.

Probably pretty obviously, but historically, LGBTQ+ relationships were not accepted by society for a variety of reasons, like religion, patriarchy, and general bigotry. As such, their stories were not portrayed in the mainstream media, including horror films, and the Hays Codes of the 1930s even made it illegal to do so.

According to NPR, the Hays Codes aimed to eliminate depictions of “sexual perversion” on the big screen, which of course included homosexuality. This didn’t mean that queer characters in horror movies disappeared, just that their presentation had to change. Thus, enter the infamous term of “queer coding.”

According to The Guardian, queer coding is the practice of subtly including LGBTQ+ characters, mainly represented through stereotypes, without ever expressly stating their sexuality. This is the speculated origin behind many of the original horror villains, like Frankenstein’s Bride and Dracula’s Daughter, and added a level of unpuzzling for the viewer. However, it’s worth noting that this queer coding was almost always used to represent LGBTQ+ characters as the villain, creating dangerous implications for the LGBTQ+. Queer scholar Dr. Darren Elliott-Smith writes that “Notwithstanding the pleasures of queer appropriation, the perpetual

revering of queer monstrosity simply reinforces the ‘ongoing monsterization of homosexuality.’”

One example of this monsterization is Count Zaleska from the 1936 film “Dracula’s Daughter,” a vampire who is searching for “release from evil.” She seduces men and women alike, and there’s a scene where she’s about to kiss another protagonist, Janet, before the straight white male comes and “saves” her. The queercoding of her character is linked to her monstrosity, as seen when she lures a young girl up to her room to test her thirst for blood. She ultimately fails and kills the girl, thus displaying queerness as a villainous trait, while also sending a troubling message that queer folks are doomed for evil. .

When the Hayes Codes was disbanded in 1968, more overtly queer stories began to pop up on screen, but the representation was still lacking and turned sexual, often in a sleazy way. Hundreds of sexploitation horror films were released from the 60’s - 80’s, with most being lesbian, and often containing vampires. These films can be traced back to an 1800s text named “Carmilla,” about a female vampire who preys on young girls. The trope was often appropriated by male director for their own desires but not all lesbian vampire films were rooted in sexploitation. Nobuhiko Obayashi’s 1966 “Emotions” told a unique vampire story about two girls, and focuses instead on the emotional aspect of the girls’ relationships.

While Emi and Sari’s relationship is never overtly revealed as sapphic, there’s lots of queercoding, specifically in how Sari feels replaced when Emi starts dating her new vampire boyfriend. Not to mention, that there is an overt scene of Emi and Sari’s mom hooking up, so there are definitely some gay undertones there. The experimental short Japanese film is truly one of a kind and stands out in a genre that is Western-dominated.

Another “Carmilla” adaptation that embraces its sexuality while avoiding exploitation is the 1983 film “The Hunger.” This version is more true to the

original story, with the character of Miriam seducing men and women to be her companions. She turns her seduction on Dr. Sarah, who in turn becomes obsessed with Miriam culminating in a sex/vampire turning scene. It’s wild, features David Bowie, and was one of the first films to have A-list celebrities in a lesbian sex scene.

But as horror films started including more queer characters, the AIDS pandemic spread across the country, devastating the queer community and ramping up homophobia. Queer representations in horror movies turned more problematic, with blockbuster horror films like “Silence of the Lambs” once again linking queerness to monstrosity.

Fortunately, today’s queer horror movies have gotten better at avoiding that type of representation. There is still an appreciation to be held for the pioneering queer horror films and the queer artists behind them, but newer queer horror movies are so different, they’re almost their own genre.

In “Jennifer’s Body,” it’s not her bisexuality that is causing her to eat teenage boys, but the fact an adult man tried to sacrifice her, proving that there is a way to have a gay villain without relying on negative stereotypes. In the new cult classic “Bodies, Bodies, Bodies,” the characters’ sexualities are fully

embraced, but that’s not why the characters are being murdered, it’s just because they’re rich and stupid. And “Love Lies Bleeding” (although yes, I know it’s debatable if it’s horror) did such a good job at making a queer movie that didn’t only focus on the queer struggle that my own girlfriend didn’t realize it was a gay movie.

There are still lots of strides needed to be taken in the representation of queer characters in horror. As mentioned earlier, the genre remains dominated by white Western characters, creating a lack of representation in queer characters of color. There’s also less representation for different gender identities then there are sexual identities, another gap in the canon of queer voices. But overall, the genre of queer horror has gotten better at separating queer characters’ identity from villainry —creating a new type of queer horror that more accurately represents the LGBTQ+ community.

WRITTEN BY ELLA NORTON

ART DIRECTORS AINSLEY MCRAE & KRISHA BORGONHA

PHOTOGRAPHED BY ANYA SHETTY & SALLY FINNIN

MODELS SAMANTHA JOH & CELIA GROVES

STYLISTS CAMILLE ANDREWS & ELISE BENTON DESIGNER AINSLEY MCRAE

Grounding

WRITTEN BY LILY MOCK

ILLUSTRATED BY EMMA HARRIS DESIGNER ELLA NORTON

It seems a bit ironic that one would seek stability and grounding in the unpredictable and transformative realm of nature, doesn’t it? After all, the great outdoors is always subject to change… but so are we.

As society industrializes, humans become less connected with nature. Our ancestors lived in the outdoors, yet now it’s not uncommon to come across somebody who hates bugs or doesn’t like getting dirty, preventing them from taking a walk through the woods, let alone going camping or something else “extreme.” It’s time for those people to realize that bugs are not out to get us, and dirt always comes off with a wash. To connect with the outdoors and embrace nature’s whimsicalness are important aspects of human existence. It can be quite therapeutic to surrender all urges to control things and immerse oneself in the vitality of nature.

A simple walk through the forest can really help one feel connected to the outdoors, but it can be taken many steps further than that. Walking barefoot? Even better. In the realm of the energies of the natural world lies the spirits of the trees. Seen by many, yet acknowledged by few, trees are arguably some of the wisest beings on our earth. Tree hugging is a way some acknowledge the wise spirit that is there. Sometimes, that spirit even projects its knowledge, offering a sense of clarity and wisdom. According to the Arnold Arboretum of Harvard, in Japanese culture, it’s believed that each tree holds a spirit, and these spirits are called kodama. There are kodama attached to specific trees, but they are also able to move freely throughout the forest. Kodama symbolize the balance that trees maintain in nature, as well as the interconnectedness of everything in life. These beliefs back up the feelings that are evoked for many people when they hug a tree.

According to Lynchburg Parks and Recreation, tree hugging was first invented in 1730 when several hundred men and women belonging to the Bishnois

branch of Hinduism died while trying to protect the trees in their village from being cut down. Foresters were planning on building a palace out of the trees, but the people clung to them in order to prevent deforestation. Their efforts were eventually honored, and a royal decree was passed, forbidding the cutting of trees in their village. The origin of tree hugging enforces the idea behind it; the acknowledgement of trees as living beings on our earth, not as mere resources for us to exploit. Over the years, tree hugging has grown into a symbol of environmental responsibility.

It has been scientifically proven that tree hugging evokes mental health benefits according to the ecohappiness project. When one makes contact with a tree, their heart rate and breathing slow down, and they feel a sense of interconnectedness. It also has shown long-term benefits, like improved immune systems, lowered levels of stress, and faster recovery from illness. We can even compare ourselves to trees in a sense. Our fingerprints look like the rings that can be found within trees, and our lungs resemble the branches of a tree when you are standing under one and looking up. Trees produce the oxygen that we breathe in every day, so really, in a way, trees are part of us.

At times, the modern world can feel chaotic and nonsensical. In these times of strife, sometimes all it takes to ease your mind is a little time spent outside. There is so much comfort that can be found outdoors. Being outside really puts things in perspective for me; to stand in the middle of a forest, realizing that the trees have been there long before I was born, and they will continue to be there long after I am gone. I have found that going outside has never failed to make me realize that my problems are temporary, just like everything in life. It’s time to let go of your fears, release your attachments, and become one with nature!

the delulu solulu

When asked why she waited to start her design business until age 40, Vera Wang responded, “Is that old?”

Being around someone with unwavering self confidence is remarkable. They do not seek validation from anyone or anything — it exists within them naturally. Their energy is magnetic.

So many boundaries exist between people and their goals. Lack of money, connections, and opportunity all come to mind. Often rooted in these limitations, the worst boundary of all is when people crush their own dreams. Beforeit has a chance to see the light of day, it’s gone. Humans are really good at hypothesizing what could go wrong. It’s easier to count on the failure of the uncontrollable instead of putting faith in the one thing everyone can control: themselves.

A possible remedy to the all-too-real affliction of the negativity bias: delusional

WRITTEN

BY

GALIA GNAIN

ART

DIRECTOR KAELIN ACKEN

PHOTOGRAPHED BY CHARLIE

TOWNES

self-confidence. Is delulu… the solulu? The word “delusional” has connotations of lacking intellect. Yet when the human brain is programmed to search for failure, it can be more intellectual to ignore instinct and pick thoughts or actions that cater to self-love, efficacy, and empowerment.

Effective delusional thinking is born from taking chances. Vera Wang started her fashion line in a bad economic window for start-up companies. At age 39, she was engaged, looking for a wedding dress she couldn’t find. Wang had professional experience in the artistic side of fashion with styling, editing, and accessories. Designing dresses and running a business? Those were not on her resume until she decided to risk it all. With no light to guide her journey, she ventured forward in darkness, betting that the Sun would rise. After Wang quit her job at Ralph Lauren, doors shut in her face. Connections were lost, party invitations dried-up, and fabric manufacturers were less keen to do business with her. Yet, she

MODELS OWEN AKIYAMA, ELIZABETH BAILEY, ELISE BENTON & HOLDEN HUNT DESIGNER STELLA RANELLETTI

persevered, not letting the whims of the world dictate her purpose. When her designs debuted on Nancy Kerrigan in the 1994 Olympics, the world confirmed what she knew years before: she had it.

In 2015, Tyler Perry purchased 330 acres of land in Atlanta, Georgia. He built Tyler Perry studios on ground that used to be a Confederate military base. A place that once intended to keep Black men and women enslaved now nurtures the Black community with jobs and a platform to be seen and heard. How? Growing up in poverty, Perry watched his father build houses by hand while earning a depressing fraction of what they sold for. He realized early on how powerful the concept of ownership is. From saving the money

he made off of tax returns, he was able to open his first play, “I Know I’ve Been Changed” about surviving abuse. While making the programs, hanging the lights on set, selling snacks during intermission, and sleeping in his car, he refused to sell the rights to his work, and waited for the success he knew he deserved.

Perry is a stark example of how an unwavering mindset can have a positive cascading effect on the world. The thing is, people have to nurture their own spark first. To anyone who doubts the existence of a phenomenon like this, perhaps witnessing it in someone else can inspire the delulu.

To begin, have you ever watched a blind man

paint? Look up Turkish artist Esref Armagan. By holding objects in his hands and visualizing them in his brain, Armagan paints. When news of his artistic abilities spread, it garnered the attention of scientists instreaded in brain dynamics. While observing Armagan’s process, Professor John Kennedy of Harvard University put his head in his hands and started crying. His suspicions that a person like this might exist were confirmed. If Esref Armagan can structure his life’s work around utilizing his visual cortex, thus rewiring the way scientists understand neuroplasticity, what else is possible for us humans?

The “delulu” mindset does not have to be one that heals generational wounds or gives sight to the blind. The examples above represent the

range of possibilty. It can be as simple as applying to a job that’s a little out of scope, knowing that you have a spark that an employer will see once they watch you in action.

It could be talking to a stranger in the hopes of making a new friend. There is the option to believe this new stranger is busy, or there is the option to embrace delusion, and believe that you are in the right place at the right time, looking at a person who might surprise you.

It is about believing in the best case scenario because there is so much noise in the world offering the opposite. Everybody needs somebody who believes in them, so abandon logic, choose yourself.

I C H O O S E M E

“One tab,” he said. Unknowingly so, violently hurled into the unconscious. Initially presented with a bright, hopeful gateway of extravagant colors, abnormal shapes, and trailblazing imagery. Placed in a tunnel, each direction you see varying spectrums of vibrant, frenzied colors, and the tunnel isn’t static, writhing up and down like a worm begging to live but more vibrant than taking molly in a Madrid club. The tunnel is a spectacle like no other, but it suddenly ends; you drop, and while falling, all color is lost, and black is etched into your eyes upon splashing into a thick ocean of darkness. This pure black pool sticks to skin like a childhood band-aid, forcing a fight with each movement, and a scream with each moved limb. Feeling the pain of generations, you can’t help but notice the beauty of this black sea, like obsidian found at the coast, your mind has led you astray, a tunnel of beauty has dropped you into the deepest hole of yourself. Trapped within your own unconscious, this darkness is

a personal reality, a reflection of your darkest attributes and the poorest self. Letting people believe you’re a hero, yet hidden away, the envy, selfishness and judgment now look at you in the black sea you’ve created. These emotions manifest all around you into monstrous, unorthodox figures with piercing edges, dragging limbs and groans of a cattle’s last cry. After suppressing them for so many years, they crave revenge, their appetites grow and begin to circle you, closing in as you make an ‘escape,’ only to realize the darkness is never ending.

Above: a light, an aerial beacon of hope and promise directly above. One luminous light, like an angel from the heavens. A slave to the darkness, you’re given a final escape. Skin begins to rip, you shed like a snake, and fight your way into the light, ascending to anything more prosperous. Upon entry, the white light engulfs you, no idea of the geometrics, one solid shade is all to bear witness. A maniacal

laugh eerily sounds behind you, its legs tingling across your skin, as if thousands of centipedes blanket upon you, the laugh holds you and reaches under your eye sockets lacing them with radiation-filled burns. A face begins to take outline within this endless white. A recognizable face, a reflection, your ego. The laugh grows and as the blood begins to leak from your ears… a piercing scream, impalpable to your ego’s laugh; the laugh grows, and the floor begins to stretch beneath you, sinking like a trampoline made of quicksand. Suddenly another hole forms and the laugh is so loud, leaving the voice within your head to be long lost. Your ego looks down upon you as you’re mercifully drowned out.

Aw fall that feels infinite, back in the tunnel, the color is gone, surrounded only by nightmares. All being portrayed on fuzzy TV like screens playing your worst possible actions: killing kittens, breaking hearts, cutting off cars and drinking your pain away.

The screens are endlessly casted playing all the things you will do. This personal torture tunnel leaves you with nothing but the assurance that you’re truly evil. The tunnel slowly shrinks and compacts, what was once all around you is now wrapped around your throat til you’ve gone blue. Being constrained by your own future thoughts and actions, one last breath is found; you break free of the hold and drift away. Having not seen enough of yourself, you’re threatened by a cave of pyramid-like spikes that begin to take form, each side being another mirror. Surrounded by nothing but the threat of pain, there’s a sense of beauty. The edged triangular pyramids act as frosted mountain tops lining the ceiling and floor with no end. Confined in pain but safe with yourself. The moment is strong, and the personal reflection hurts but it is much more true than the drowning of personal darkness or purity. After acknowledging the pain within yourself and the terror you may cause, you’ve been propelled upon an infinite number of paths. Above, nothing but cosmic stars, prettier than the ocean’s eyes and your love’s first gaze. You look down beneath you and see a rooted tree of path upon path, each glance pertaining its own story, your story; different in each, another version of yourself. A new occupation, different morals, all illustrating the potential that you hold and the accomplishments you’ll reach. Overwhelmed, another hole opens, everything goes dark and you fall again, this time to the melody of what can be.

After cosmic confusion, eyes open and you find yourself grounded, frolicking in a field of flowers with the hills of Switzerland and the mountain tops of Iceland as a magical backdrop. Feeling as though you finally escaped, you pick a daisy; iridescent in every way, provoking you to sniff. Smelling a memory, your brain is flooded with nostalgia. You look into the heart of the flower and notice the memory

being played within it. It warms your skin like grandmother’s baked pies and that childhood stove. Grabbing flower after flower, you are soothed like mother’s lullabies until you’re swept off your feet, leaving the field. Now gliding across the sky, a sparrow radiating in the light, the darkness is vanquished by the perpetual light of the sun, the clouds, reminiscent of your childhood pillow. Enamored by the beauty of the world, you descend upon yourself, there you are incapacitated upon a couch surrounded by hope and purpose. Too bad they can’t see it. But now you do, look inward, choose yourself and let that be the purpose. A realization dawns, the darkness has been deeply rooted all along, stemming from one source: hatred. The final task presents itself; the darkness returns, echoed by generations of personal hatred integrated into the vampiric castle structures behind. The original darkness takes form, the edges are gone, smoothed into mirrors, a spitting image of you fueled by self-hatred. The final battle is presented, and the enemy of your infinite selves is simply you. Without fear, a swift strike and the struggle is over.

Eyes open, the trip is over, grateful for the victory of oxygen and the vanquishing of yourself hate, you urgently excite the change awaiting in your life…one quick look around the room and a voice is heard, “You want a bong rip?” he asked.

NOW CHOOSING YOURSELF, YOU INHALE.

WRITTEN BY

CYRUS BOGART

ART DIRECTOR ALEXANDRA BONDURANT

PHOTOGRAPHED BY SOFIA MOSCOVITCH

MODEL AYDEN TITCOMB

STYLIST REX BROWN

DESIGNER ANANYA PANDIT

MADISON DOOHEN

S I X D E G R E E S

In such a vast world, we continuously make small connections with each other. This past spring break, I was in Pacific Beach, California, when a group of people randomly joined us outside of a 7/11. Within five minutes, we found out that this group of people knew my close friends with whom I went to IntroDUCKtion.

This past winter break, my girlfriends and I met some guys at a bar in Berkeley, California for my 21st birthday. We later found out that one of them had been playing basketball with my hometown best friend since we were in sixth grade.

When I first came to school here, I found out that a friend from home of mine is friends with the best friend of a girl in my sorority. What are the odds of that? The odds are much higher than you would think.

The question is, how is everyone so interconnected? I challenge you to name one person that you are friends with who is not also acquainted with someone you are familiar with. You can’t, right? The Six Degrees of Separation theory is an absurd phenomenon that has yet to fail me. Every person has six or fewer social connections with each other, an invisible string that connects us all, and a continuous loop. A loop that connects us to people near, far, and in between.

This theory was coined in 1929 by a Hungarian writer named Frigyes Karinthy who wrote a short story called “ChainLinks” that explored the idea. Karinthy says that Earth continues to grow smaller as people embrace physical and verbal communication.

In 2016, Facebook researchers tested the “Bacon’s Law” theory which is the foundation for the Six Degrees of Separation theory. Eli Martinez wrote an article about Bacon’s Law on Hoag titled “Six Degrees of Bacon.” Martinez shares real data from the 2016 Facebook research that, as of 2020, people were around four social connections away from the real-life Kevin Bacon.

In 2019, blogger Felicity Ford– also known as “Knitsonik” – commented on Yayoi Kusama’s famous artwork “Infinite Networks,” depicting continuous loops and dots. Ford reviews Sarah Suzuki’s book, “From Here To Infinity,” which takes a childish perspective on Kusama’s art, highlighting the Infinite timelessness of Kusama’s work. The illustrations in the book depict dots in everyday scenarios, like out of a window or on a walking path, showing the infinite in the every day, “the infinity in the unbounded universe,” Ford said. We live in an unbounded universe, and we have these continuous networks.

These small connections are present in such an expansive world full of different cultures, countries, coasts, universities, et cetera. An article by Gardiner Morse published in the Harvard Business Review, “The Science Behind Six Degrees,” goes into depth about different psychologists who have researched and worked with this theory. Psychologist, Stanley Milgram, began studying this theory as early as the 1960s, investigating the ‘small-world problem’ and the hypothesis that everyone on this planet is connected by just a few intermediaries. According to Morse, in the business world, this theory is abundantly apparent. An example would

be the way LinkedIn uses an algorithm based on the social connections you share with other people in your career field. This is why employers and role models often push you to make connections. This past winter term, I was in a class that had a presentation from a UO alum who works at Wieden and Kennedy. She shared that the company has around 20 others who are also UO alumni!

Another network this theory thrives in is the dating world… especially at universities. A person might become interested in someone from a simple conversation. They share with their friends and discover their new interest has already been involved with someone else in the friend circle. What’s even more absurd is if you were to map it out. Start with one name, then connect them link by link with everyone they’ve kissed. From there, connect those people to the people they have kissed to end up with a massive web.

According to Milgram’s findings, everyone can be connected by a chain of acquaintances roughly six links long. This theory is outlandish, but I am here for it because it creates a pocket of comfort in a hustle and bustle culture. No matter where you go or where you end up, there is a high likelihood that you will know someone through someone else.

Next time you’re in a crowded room or even just walking down the street, take a second to ponder the fact that you are friends with someone they might also know. Seek to find your six degrees of separation.

THE ART OF ISOLATION Grey Gardens

“Grey Gardens is oozing with romance, ghosts, and other things” - Little Edie

WRITTEN BY MARY GROSSWENDT ART DIRECTOR SOPHIA SIENKIEWICZ PHOTOGRAPHED BY ZOE MAITLAND

MODELS HARPER MAHOOD & SACHIKO NISHIKAWA STYLED BY TARA ALDABAGH DESIGNER AVA WISDOM

Nonsensical chatter and cat piss fill the barren rooms of Grey Gardens, the East Hampton estate that Edie and Edith Beaule call home, and a home it is. The cousins of Jackeline Kennedy rot in the residence where photographs and records from their past pile up amongst the animal droppings. If the turquoise walls could speak, they would probably have some heinous things to say. The exterior of the mansion overflows with trees and brush with a sliver of the Atlantic peeking from the balcony. Filmmakers Albert and David Maysles venture into the mysterious homestead to document the oddball mother and daughter pair. The film beautifully and tragically displays how quite absurd and alone these women are.

Thrills of their past spark great emotion and inspiration. While Edie, also known as ‘Big’ Edie, sings along to her aged vinyl, ‘Little’ Edie brags about the many men she could’ve married. She dances around the mansion as if the two filmmakers and their camera were an audience of thousands of people. Her makeshift outfits and quirky persona don’t make it hard to believe she was once a star. However, the isolation of Grey Gardens kept her from shining. Within the decrepit and crumbling walls of Grey Gardens, Little Edie’s eccentric personality is trapped.

The women sit on the piles of photographs, letters, art, music, and stories from their past. The Beales not only live with the

ghosts of other people, but their own perished souls. They clutch on to the final threads of excitement they once experienced. How did they get to this point? After living such a wild and stimulating youth, how have they become completely isolated with no one but each other?

“YOU’RE BEING SUPPORTED. YOU CAN’T GET ANY FREEDOM WHEN YOU’RE BEING SUPPORTED.” – BIG EDIE

“I THINK YOU’RE NOT FREE WHEN YOU’RE NOT BEING SUPPORTED. IT’S AWFUL BOTH WAYS” – LITTLE EDIE

In 1934, Phealan Beale, Big Edie’s husband, deserted his wife at the Hampton estate, supposedly because of her ostentatious personality and spending habits. Years later, due to lack of funds, Little Edie was forced to decline a Broadway role and return to her family’s residence. Shejoined her mother in isolation. The two build their own eclectic world within the walls of Grey Gardens. A place where they could sing, dance, and live unrestrained by society.

The 1975 documentary highlights these theatrical, spontaneous performances, usually followed by one of the women barking critiques at the other. They continue on afterwards with bathing in the sun or chatting with Jerry, their teenage handyman that would hang around the property. It’s funny watching them interact with others. They seem so involved with their own lives that it’s hard to believe they could pay attention to the world around them. I guess that’s why they ended up this way.

The pair bicker about “freedom” and what it really means. Is freedom going out into the world and experiencing all the things, people and places while being restricted by rules and regulations? Or is it being locked up in a home with no money and no sustainable way of living, but the ability to wear what you want, say what you want and do what you want without the world watching?

“I HAD MY CAKE, LOVED IT, MASTICATED IT, CHEWED IT AND HAD EVERYTHING I WANTED.” – BIG EDIE

The misfits often reminisce about everything they had, how perfect their lives were. It is intriguing to see how two socially elevated people managed to become nobodies. They act as if they had a choice, and maybe they did, but the others just simply couldn’t keep up with them. They had imaginations beyond what other individuals couldn’t even begin to fathom.

While isolated and forlorn, the mother and daughter constantly rely on each other to keep one another’s spirit alive. Their everlasting quibbles are not only a result of living together, butgrasping onto the sheer drama and passion of their interactions. Living in exile seems to be miserable for the Beales, but would they be any happier in the real world? They’re believed to be too absurd for the real world, but maybe our ordinative, limiting society is absurd in itself.

THE RESURGENCE OF AMERICANA THE RESURGENCE OF AMERICANA

“Iknowhe’sneverhadtodomanuallabor adayinhislife,” is spat at the 20-something boy across the street, sporting worn out Carhartt carpenter pants, scuffed work boots, and a camo baseball cap decorated with a rainbow trout. The girl who made the claim? She’s wearing cowboy boots, a denim mini skirt and a red lacy gingham top, hair tied up in white bows. Across the street, he wonders if she’d ever stepped foot in the South. Neither of them ever have.

Americana aesthetics have always been prevalent in fashion, but they’ve been sweeping over pop culture the past several years, trending across fashion, decor and music. Esteemed artists like Beyoncé, Lana Del Rey and Post Malone are venturing out of their genres to create country albums in 2024, while many emerging artists, including Ethel Cain and Chappell Roan, are mbracing their Southern and Midwestern roots in their music and personas. Fashion and streetwear are dominated by aesthetics reminiscent of the American South, including cowboy boots, camo patterns, work pants like Dickies and Carhartt, baseball caps, denim, gingham, bows, babydoll dresses, and more. The infamous coquette and ‘Lana Del Rey Vinyl’ aesthetics have become the center of internet obsession the past few years. Americana has shifted from being perceived as a cringe subculture to the forefront of current trends.

The resurgence of Americana would make sense if it reflected how our generation felt about the country itself, but statistics show that the opposite is occuring. According to Harvard Institute of Politics’ Spring 2024 Youth Poll, young people’s confidence in the President, Supreme Court and Congress have declined by 60%, 55%, and 34% respectively since 2015. They report that only 9% of 18-29 year olds would say that America is “generally headed in the right direction,” while the majority (58%) say that the country is “off on the wrong track.” According to the data, young people in the US lack confidence in or affinity for their country. So why, then, are aesthetics correlated with Americana and the South resurging in pop culture and fashion? Are young people driving the return of American aesthetics in an ironic, subversive way? Is it to make fun of it? Or to reclaim it?

As with any trend, there is a multitude of factors contributing to the prevalence of Americana aesthetics. Most of the specific trends that fall under this umbrella have been commandeered from clothes most often associated with conservative styles. These trends are thus inextricable from Southern conservative ideologies, most of which greatly conflict with the beliefs of younger generations. So, young people deriving their fashion from these groups of people is not an act of admiration, rather, it’s an act of defiance, of claiming aesthetics that have represented harmful belief systems as newly proclaimed symbols of ironic subversion.

Queer communities and people of color often inspire fashion trends, which adds even more traction to the reclamation of Americana. Queer people and people of color driving the reclaiming of the fashion of conservative crowds signals a fascinating coup: fashion that once undeniably signaled ‘conservative’ ideologies is now often exhibited by the very people oppressed by those ideologies.

These trends have now dispersed into the mainstream, with young people across all identities adopting them into popular fashion. Now, if you see camo baseball caps in public, chances are they’re being sported by young people who have never gone hunting and likely vehemently disagree with conservative views. The aesthetics that, for so long, have been signals of harmful ideologies are now being turned on their heads and used as displays of irony and disobedience.

So, maybe cargo pants don’t represent manual labor very much anymore, and maybe Southern belles are popping up all over the coastlines. Fashion has a funny way of morphing trends and subverting expectations, and we truly will never know where the inspiration of the next wave of pop culture will come from.

one ticket to

Please! Inspired by a true story… ABSURDITY

They are an enthusiast of the peculiar… things that might not appeal to the broader audience. Like a tourist, they travel around the world, driving hours to places to sight-see. Unlike a tourist, they do not seek extraordinary landscapes and bustling attractions. To them, tourism is finding and visiting the tangible and historically absurd things in life. An entire wall of human skulls? Somewhere to go eat crickets? Proof that Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster and Yeti and mermaids are real? Shelves of over 900 ventriloquist dummies? The outlandish history of mental health treatment? They’ve seen it all.

This curiosity seeker laughs when other people mention that they’ve visited the most notorious for embracing the absurd and wacky, Ripley’s Believe It or Not! They question if they even know anything about cryptozoology or macabre museums. Seeker tells them to visit the Spam Museum in Minnesota, the Peculiarium in Oregon or the Bone Museum in New York, and then get back to them. The seeker is proof that there are people who flock to odditoriums, seeking absurd oddities and finding meaning within them; there are people out there who live for this shit.

How did this shit even begin?

In the 19th and early 20th centuries, museums often resembled ‘freak shows,’ according to author and historian Stephen Asma. It was not uncommon to encounter eight-footed horses, bearded ladies, mermaids, dwarves, and two-headed calves displayed in a dime museum. These museums were popular because of their low admission fees and appeal to human curiosity, featuring people and animals with physical differences. Around the same time, traveling circuses, advertised as ‘freak shows,’ sideshows, string shows, and ten-in-ones, were also at their height. Alongside people and animals born differently were labeled as “freaks,” performing absurd acts like sword swallowing, snake eating, fire breathing, and human pincushion acts.

Freak shows and dime museums remained popular until the

1940s, when public opinion began to shift. Throughout the 20th century, laws like the Americans with Disabilities Act made it illegal to discriminate against people with physical disabilities, and some states banned the exhibition of “extraordinary bodies.” Public opinion shifted, and these shows were seen as exploitative, treating people as objects of curiosity. However, the Coney Island Circus Sideshow claims performers were far from being exploited, rather they found community within their shows and an opportunity to make a living.

Despite the change in public opinion, modern sideshows like the Coney Island Circus Sideshow and Hellzapoppin continue to thrive featuring freak show acts, though to a lesser degree. The Coney Island Circus even offers Sideshow School for those wondering how to get into the sideshow industry. Their website states, “These presentations of the strange, the unusual, the bizarre and unconventionally beautiful have been woven into the fabric of American culture since the days of P.T. Barnum, and a part of the Coney Island landscape for more than a century.” American showman, P.T. Barnum made the American circus the greatest spectacle by scouring the world for curiosities, whether genuine or fake. His first successful exhibit was a hoax. The “Feejee Mermaid,” according to Britannica, combined a seemingly real human head on top of the finned body of a fish. He also showcased famous conjoined twins Chang and Eng Bunker and Charles Stratton, a man Barnum discovered who was only 25 inches tall.

While historically, sideshows recruited people with extraordinary appearances, modern sideshows like Hellzapoppin and the Coney Island Circus Sideshow center on featuring notorious names in sideshow like The Lizardman and acts like glass-walking, sword swallowing, contortion, and fire-eating.

Today, museums and odditoriums continue the tradition of exploring the bizarre and the absurd but do so with more ethical considerations. Like dime museums and freak shows, absurd museums and urban odditoriums center the human curiosity with the nonsensically different. Without the problematic exploitation of “extraordinary bodies” and with an emphasis on curiosity, absurd museums and urban odditoriums are the 21st century’s reiteration of dime museums and freak shows. Cryptozoology museums claim to prove the existence of Bigfoot, mermaids, and the Loch Ness monster. Macabre museums explore humanity’s dark side featuring artifacts related to cults, cannibalism, disease, and death. Collecting and preserving artifacts of the absurd, these museums provide a modern take on oddities and absurdity, balancing curiosity with ethical respect for individuals.

WRITTEN BY SYDNEY SEYMOUR

ILLUSTRATED BY IRELAND ELLIS

DESIGNERS HAILEY RYDMAN & STELLA RANELLETTI

International Cryptozoology Museum - Portland, ME

North American Bigfoot Center - Boring, OR

International UFO Museum and Research Center - Roswell, NM

The Mermaid Museum - Berlin, Maryland

Museum of Death - New, Orleans, LA

Mutter Museum - Philadelphia, PA

Museum of Osteology - Oklahoma City, OK

National Museum of Funeral History - Houston, TX

Salem Witch Museum - Salem, MA

Idaho Potato Museum - Blackfoot, ID

National Mustard Museum - Middleton, WI

International Banana Museum - Mecca, CA

The Salt And Pepper Shaker Museum - Gatlinburg, TN

Burlingame Museum of Pez Memorabilia - Burlingame, CA

International Spy Museum - Washington D.C

Vent Haven Museum Dedicated to Ventriloquism - Fort Mitchell, KY

Museum of Bad Art - Somerville, MA

Museum of the Weird - Austin, TX

Antique Vibrator Museum - San Francisco, CA

The Freakybuttrue Peculiarium and Museum - Portland, OR

Joshua Tree Outdoor Museum - Joshua Tree, CA

Aging Sustainably

WRITTEN BY MARK MUNSON-WARNKEN

ART DIRECTOR LIV GOBER

PHOTOGRAPHED BY ELIOT CORRELL

MODEL DREW TURIELLO

STYLIST LIV GOBER

DESIGNER ANNA CURTIS

Aprerequisite to the absurd is the human consciousness of time. Humanity and the absurd are bound by hatred, one cannot exist without the other. As Albert Camus describes in The Myth of Sisyphus, the absurd condition is “the confrontation of the irrational and the wild longing for clarity whose call echoes in the human heart” (Camus, 20). For centuries, the absurd condition has driven humanity to religion or madness. The first time in which the absurd is visible is when a child’s conscience is detached from that of their parents. The shocking realization that their parents are fallible, imperfect and very human. The realization that parents are merely children, only older, briefly unveils the absurd condition. The feeling akin to a lone sailor adrift in the bizarre and random currents of life creates widespread discomfort throughout one’s entire being. Kurt Vonnegut’s description in Slaughterhouse-Five is most telling, describing his protagonist as one who is “in a constant state of stage fright, he says, because he never knows what part of his life he is going to have to act in next” (Vonnegut,23). The cognizance that the only certainties in life are death and further uncertainty bears down upon teenagers and young adults in a dark, inexplicable cloud of angst.

The absurd condition emerges from the recesses of the subconscious and bares its fangs again in mid-adulthood in the form of the ‘midlife crisis,’ a phrase coined in 1965 by Canadian psychoanalyst Elliott Jaques. The term signifies coming “face-to-face with our limitations, our restricted possibilities, and our mortality” (Harvard Business Review). The notion of mortality coincides directly with absurdist thought. Camus states day to day

we live in the future, “tomorrow,” “next week,” “later on,” and such fallacies are perpetuated by parents, friends and culture. However, a time comes in everyone’s lives where they realize with horror that they belong to time and the end of the road is inevitable. Then “tomorrow” shifts from one’s best friend to their worst enemy they must reject at all costs (Camus,13-14). The same shift that causes such disorientation is inherent to the human condition. The absurd is an ever-present void which is only perceived in times of stagnation and inaction, where one questions the essence of their existence in relation to the world. More often than not, the reaction to such an epiphany is a desperate attempt toward self-agency—an intentionally drastic hairstyle change, the purchase of an automobile that was once the object of their desire, a new career path. Merely glimpses of development that lapse into the jaded contentment or the nostalgia of life’s sunset and everlasting night.

In the shifting sands of the past, the events that shape us and remain seared in our memories are those of conflict and change. Yet we try to avoid mental or physical challenges, coming up with excuses to soothe the voice in our heads whispering for change. In this age of convenience, our desires are ever satisfied. The only way to halt our festering infection is through voluntary struggle, to embrace the job not finished. However, it is easy to confuse achieving for the sake of the struggle with achieving for the sake of others.

Youtube creator Sisyphus 55 aptly states, “the pressure to be more and do more leads to a culturally induced narcissism.” American culture promotes the creation of self worth through constantly measuring their own metrics in relation to others. This greed-driven hamster wheel is exactly what contributes to burnout or “ego exhaustion.” According to Byung-Chul Han in The Burnout Society, “the ego grows exhausted and wears itself down; such exhaustion stems from redundancy and recurrence of the ego” (Han,35). We stare down the rest of our lives as university students, standing in the doorway to adulthood. It is challenging to discern the driving factors for the decisions that we make to reach our personal definitions of success.

In the final sentence of The Myth of Sisyphus, Camus writes “one must imagine Sisyphus happy” (Camus,123). In relation to the absurd, these words carry more weight than Sisyphus’s boulder itself. Sisyphus, a Greek ruler who angered the gods, was thrown into the underworld and sentenced to an eternity of pushing a boulder up a hill. Upon reaching the top, the boulder perpetually slips and falls all the way back to the beginning. At a glance, this fate is pointless and could break the minds of the strongest warriors. Nonetheless, while pushing his

boulder up the hill, Sisyphus is present in his task, thinking about nothing else but reaching the top. He only becomes aware of his own existence during the brief span in which he walks down the hill to begin his task anew. The fate of Sisyphus is remarkably similar to the human condition. The act of finishing a hard fought task can throw us into mental disarray. However, also like Sysiphus, presence and intention during the completion of a goal matter far more than any result. In Mediations, Marcus Aurelius writes, “That which stands in the way becomes the way” (Aurelius,60). A simple conclusion to the entirety of the human condition: facing challenges and overcoming them truly is the solution to the absurd.

As the fire of youth dims, our days will get longer and our years shorter. Responsibilities will bear down upon us like Sisyphus’ boulder, crushing us under the weight of our dreams. Nonetheless, our passionate ambition and hope for the future must remain unyielding. The meaning of our existence is intrinsic, emerging entirely from the recesses of our minds. With our future on the line, it is up to us to stake everything on the present.

Tucked away in a small corner right outside the kitchen lies my shoebox of a room. Most of my wall is taken up by photos, concert tickets, posters, postcards… and the list goes on. I don’t have the luxury of a closet so a lot of my things are shoved into a dresser or lay underneath my bed stacked in bins. The springtime is when it gets miserably hot since an entire wall is a giant window that the sun beams into all day. My records stacked on the floor waiting for me to dust them off one day and unread books lay on my shelf. My room is my safe haven in which everything has a purpose and everything has a home, and the thought of packing it all away in a few short weeks kills me. But the communal spaces I share with my 13 roommates and me–not so much. I’ve learned that not everything can have its designated place, which leads us to cluttering the junk drawer time and time again.

“Girl drawer,” junk drawer, that daunting drawer holding only chaos and neglected relics–we all have one. I braved mine the other day in hopes of finding a pen. Which only led to the frustration of sifting through old birthday cards, lighters with no fluid, and a bottle of unopened aloe vera. My roommate Shea’s dad gifted each of us pepper spray, so I found maybe 5 or 6 while rummaging through the drawer. These were my personal favorite finds–but no pen. I find myself opening that drawer at least once a day now, only to stare at the lack of organization and use of anything inside. And I close it, time and time again, disappointed by all the unwanted clutter.

While nearing the end of the school year and senioritis hitting hard, I’ve noticed I am becoming more and more lazy when it comes to the junk drawer. Recently, I lost one of my air pods. And, in an act of frustration, I tossed the extra one in its case and into that god-forsaken drawer. Why? Who is going to use that and what purpose does it hold being in the junk drawer? I’m honestly not sure, and at the moment these questions never come to mind. And I realize, it’s really not that deep, it’s an air pod. But to a certain extent, it kind of has to be this deep if I’m still questioning the thought of holding onto something that I know will never support me.

Who knows the next time we will need a “dance party button” that plays the most obnoxious music at a ridiculous volume, or a chef’s hat from two Halloweens ago. Both are useless yet it’s a crime to throw them away. Why do we hold onto things in our lives that serve us no purpose? Do I have an emotional attachment to that pack of stickers that lost their adhesive or am I just too lazy to throw them away? Time stands still inside the junk drawer. Everything is growing and maturing around me. Including myself. But when I look in the drawer I see the times when I was careless and immature. And maybe I hold on to what’s in the drawer because a part of me doesn’t want to grow with everything outside it. I don’t love change and find it hard to embrace. Hence holding onto that lonesome AirPod blind to the fact of having to replace it. I never thought how a dumb drawer tucked away in my college home could have this great

of an effect on me, but something about the strange allure of the drawer intrigues me too much to let it go.

Maybe the junk drawer is an outlet for my immature habits that I’m not ready to lose. It’s a space where I can toss meaningless items that do nothing for me just to hold onto the fear of letting go of them. And the memories that lay behind each object are far more important than the things themselves. I find that the more I shove into this junk drawer the harder it is for things to escape. It’s kind of like life. The more stress I find putting on myself the harder it is for me to let the little things go. Along with all my trinkets in my room, everything has a place and deserves a home. And when their use is expired, the junk drawer is the answer to hold onto the importance they once held. It’s scary to let things go when you confront a time when they are no longer needed but used to be crucial in your life for some reasons more important than others. It’s like when you grow up and your mom tells you to throw away old toys. It’s sad. And you realize that they are old, and probably broken, but they hold so many stories. Or maybe I’m overthinking the absurdity of the drawer, all I know is after this I am not going to be the one to clean it out at the end of the year.

WRITTEN BY BELLA MCNULTY DESIGNER PEYTON MCQUAIN

BY WALLIE BUTLER

What has allowed Lewis Carroll’s ‘Wonderland’ to transcend any sort of ability to interpret a fictional world as something of a mundane creation is the misplacement of normalcy into a land of bizarre and unexplainable peculiarities. While Alice is imaginative, she is a child from the human world who finds herself transported into a world of eccentrics and absurdity. Wonderland is able to take control of its nonsensicalness because Alice is Alice.

Albert Camus, a French philosopher particularly intrigued with the absurd, wrote Myth of Sisyphus to attempt to explain his philosophical claims by using the famous Greek myth as a tool of comparison to his reasoning. He states, “in a universe suddenly divested of illusions and lights, man feels an alien, a stranger. His exile is without remedy since he is deprived of the memory of a lost home or the hope of a promised land” (Camus). Perfectly aligned with the previous sentiment, Camus demonstrates that idea that when taken out of the standard, and placed in a reality that is entirely derivative of the ordinary, not only is the world itself a contortion beyond the imagination, the person themselves is suddenly misplaced and is incapable of

obtaining orthodox life. This is all too fitting with the themes of Alice in Wonderland. Throughout the story, we follow Alice, who is lured into Wonderland and finds herself lost in a horrorlike wonder. Alice gallivants through this new world trying to prescribe meaning to her experience while not necessarily understanding the attempt to assign said meaning is pointless.

Alice, who is pulled out of her boredom by a cloaked rabbit carrying a watch, marvels at the randomness of what she convinces herself to be illusions of fatigue. Falling down the rabbit hole and into Wonderland, she must go to extremes to assimilate into the absurd world. She takes a sip from the “drink me” potion in order to dwarf herself. The potion allows her to fit into a door and access a world she was clearly not meant to exist in. Perhaps the moment that best encapsulates the notion of absurdity is Alice’s encounter with the unfriendly caterpillar. He demands to know who Alice is, berating her for answers she feels unequipped to answer. She is angered that she must put meaning to her life, that her existence must have answers. She is unable to answer a question that is, while albeit broad, simple

in structure, “who are you?” the caterpillar asks. The failure of satisfying clarification from a hookah smoking larva sends Alice into a miniscule fit of anger after a realization that her answers are inadequate in this world.

Throughout her adventure, Alice, who is rightfully perplexed, continues to want answers to the unexplainable while she herself plays hypocrite, not having answers for her own disposition. Alice’s desire to encounter some sort of enlightenment along the way is reminiscent of another one of Camus’ sentiments which states, “Understanding the world for a man is reducing it to the human, stamping it with his seal. The cat’s universe is not the universe of the ant-hill” (Camus). In other words, it is impossible to understand the universe that you are not a part of. Stating that the world is “reduced to the human” signifies that the world is not centered around the human race and therefore cannot be simplified to view under the single lens of ‘man.’ Not only does Alice as a character undergo a similar phenomenon but we, as readers, look to a girl (who we may see a part of

ourselves in), and try to make sense of her ludicrous displacement. There is no means by which Alice or the audience is able to anchor themselves to any sort of sense which is a staple of the absurd. Otherworldliness cannot be rationalized by the martian.

It is obvious to the audience that Wonderland is not a real place. It is an extremity of the kind of reality that Camus illustrates that cannot be mentally understood by the human species. Alice, at the end of the book, finds herself overwhelmed by the complexities of ‘Wonderland’ and looks to return back to her mundane life- a life metaphorical of a ‘book with no pictures.’ The ending is familiar with the idea that “a man who has become conscious of the absurd is forever bound to it” (Camus). Despite living a life now physically separated from Wonderland, she wakes from lucid sleep and recounts her adventures, merging her absurd hallucinations with the real world.

WRITTEN BY JULIE SAIVE

ART DIRECTORS EMMA MISKO & ELIOT CORRELL

PHOTOGRAPHED BY BELLA SNYDER & ELIOT CORRELL

MODELS KATIE LANTZ & ELI PANERO

STYLING BY MADDIE MIDGHALL, ZOE FRUITS, IZZY

JURIEN & EITAN REUVEN

DESIGNER AINSLEY MCRAE

ILLUSTRATED

KAFKA REIMAGINED

WRITTEN BY LILI CALONJE

BY MADELINE DUNLAP

DESIGNER MIA ROMERO

Your alarm blares, it’s 8am. You begrudgingly slip out of bed and slink over to the bathroom. As your fuzzy vision clears, you look in the mirror. Instead of seeing your reflection, you find yourself staring into a pair of hairy, buggy eyes and their surrounding scaly skin. You jump back and let out a yelp. Horrified, you stare at yourself for a while, letting your reflection truly sink in. This is not real. You try to pinch yourself, jump, scream, do your best to wake up from your nightmare. To your dismay, nothing changes. You try one last thing. You squirm over to your bed, unfamiliar with your newfound body weight, you throw yourself on top of your sheets. The bed creaks registering your heaviness. The sheets that once cloaked you slide right off, no longer wanting to touch you. You close your eyes. Close. You lay there for what feels like an eternity, pleading with the world, begging for life to return to normal. Open slowly.

I watch as the hope washes away from their face. I almost feel for them. I watch them look down at themselves, their eyes fill with disgust. With their arms gone, legs gone, they can no longer call themselves human. No soft skin, no soft hair. Their back has been replaced with a shiny, black shell. They find themselves trapped in the body of a beetle. I find myself often appalled by my unforgiving nature. I convince myself I would change their fate if I could.

If anyone knows what to do, it may be your mother. If anyone can help you out of this mess, it’s her. It’s 9am, work starts in 30 minutes. She’ll know what to do. You hear her footsteps near the door. You are never late. She knocks shakily. Her voice wavers. You are never late. You reassure her, you are okay, but your voice cracks. Your lie gets stuck in your throat. You try to force yourself to speak but nothing comes out. What a sick joke. She barges in, motherly concern–you figure. She screams. You watch her stumble backwards. Her voice laced thick with panic. You watch as her eyes dart back and forth, taking all of you in. You are forced to watch as she tries to put as much space between your alien body and her own. She takes too many steps back, her back thuds against the wall, she flinches. Her screams must have alerted your father. His footsteps pound against the floorboards, your body lifts off the ground and thumps against it as it falls. He takes one look at you, eyes wide, brows furrowed. He decides to handle this like a man.

I must admit, I was going to leave. It was never my plan to sit around and watch this family tear itself to pieces. Maybe it was the shock factor, maybe the entertainment, maybe I’ve become bored. Maybe watching a father take a bat to their former child, now turned dung beetle, piqued my interest enough to momentarily quiet my guilt. Truthfully, I do not take any pleasure in assigning fates. It is only my job. This is not my passion, this is not my hobby. Please believe me, I am nothing more than the middle man.

You limp to the corner of your room. After the fight of a lifetime, you realize you cannot count on your family. They cannot remember all that you sacrificed. They have forgotten all the years you dedicated to them. You remember it all, it almost suffocates you. The bills paid, the days worked, the washed up dreams, your sister’s smile, your dads music, your mothers food. Your father shuts the door behind him, cruelly leaving you to simmer in a puddle of your own blood. You get it now. You are an insect, a bug, and a nasty, undesirable one at that. You wallow in a corner. You bury your head into your shell, for the first time you take advantage of the body you’ve awoken in. Maybe this is acceptance. No tears fall. You close your eyes, wanting to replay every second you’ve ever felt joy. There is no use in torturing yourself this way, but for a second it just feels good to remember what it was like. Your body aches, your head pounds, your skin burns, you pretend you hear a knock. Maybe your mother has come to offer you her embrace. Nothing of the sort. The knot in your chest tightens, maybe this is your heart breaking. It has only been a few hours, but, for some reason, this day feels eternally damning.

I don’t know what it feels like. I assign fates. I know not of hobbies, of passions, of dreams and life. It is my job and I am quite content. I can’t control who gets what. I can’t care about which card they pull. I can do nothing besides watch. This is the closest thing to fulfillment I’ve got. So, I sit there and watch. But for maybe too long.

Your pleas go unheard. You’re stuck in the same corner from yesterday. You can’t force your beaten body to stand up, why would you anyway? It’s not like you could step foot out of your room again. You would surely be killed. You can no longer hug your mother again, she would look at you with eyes full of revulsion. You could not bear it. Your sister, she could never understand, maybe she hates you too. You can do nothing besides revel in your life’s most cherished, joyful memories from the discomfort of your own home. This is your life now.

WHAT ABOUT EVERYTHING YOU HAD PLANNED? WHEN DO I TELL THEM IT DOESN’T MATTER ANYMORE?

EVERY DAY IS MAGIC

Magic often equates to a world of fairy tales where white rabbits pop out of hats and unicorns gallop across picturesque fields towards a perfectly arched rainbow. Even to most children over the age of six, magic is recognized as an impossible fantasy that while entertaining, would never be seen in reality. Yet, what about when magic is integrated into reality, making the absurd almost mundane?

This is an increasingly common narrative technique in filmmaking and writing known as “magical realism.” Unlike traditional fantasy, where magic is central to the plot, magical realism uses elements of magic as a part of everyday life where characters accept the extraordinary elements without question. While on its surface magical realism is representative of absurdist filmmaking, it also provokes themes involving the human condition and identity through a lens that makes these themes more emotionally prominent.

Mother!, the 2017 film starring Jennifer Lawerence, uses magical realism to visually represent elements of the Bible in an uncomfortable, arthouse-style horror. The film surrounds a pregnant woman renovating her Victorian mansion in the isolated countryside with her husband, a famous yet elusive poet. As the movie progresses, chaos ensues as more and

more unwanted house guests begin showing up at their home, ruining the young woman’s hard work and destroying her belongings. While this stampede of people flows in and out of the house tearing into the walls and smashing glass, the husband is happy at their arrival. When the woman gives birth to her baby, a hoard of people remain in the house continuing to destroy it and eventually take her baby. After being passed around the baby is killed and the “mother” sets the house on fire. Throughout the film, the house is a prominent element of magical realism. The house is an extension of the mother as it is something she built from the ground up. She can feel the house’s beating heart because it is her own heart. The house represents her willingness to provide for others at the expense of her well-being. The slew of problems of the house regarding structure and foundation are similar to the fragile and unguarded nature of the mother. As the house is destroyed, so is the mother. The unwanted guests also have elements of magical realism as they are symbolic of Bible characters. While the guests exhibit absurd behaviors that would not occur in reality, magical realism gives the sense that their behavior is normal and necessary in this world, further isolating the mother in her quest for solitude.

WRITTEN BY BAILEY MEYERS

DIRECTED

PHOTOGRAPHED

GROSSWENDT

Poor Things was an award-season sensation in 2023 as its unique visual elements and star-studded performances made it unlike any other film nominated. The film takes place in the Victorian era where a mad scientist, “God,” surgically places the brain of a baby inside the body of a woman, Bella, who had attempted to take her own life. The movie follows Bella as she navigates the perils of reality through the lens of a child. Bold fantasy-esque skies contrast the steampunk visuals used to symbolize the pitfalls of capitalism and the industrial revolution. Magical realism is portrayed largely through the visuals as modern scientific advances are out of place in the Victorian era. A distorted, fish-eye lens is used, creating a playful, dreamlike setting that reminds the audience of Bella’s innocence in a world that often abuses youthfulness. The absurd, distorted movements that Bella makes are also symbolic of magical realism as these movements are the result of the untraditional, magically realistic surgery that she received. They make apparent the idea of bodily autonomy and how this is often overlooked, especially in children. As Bella becomes more aware of her body, her movements become more regulated, representing her increasing awareness of the inherent objectification she faces.

Tim Burton’s cult classic 1999 film, Edward Scissorhands, explores the life of a man who was attempted to be put back together by a scientist yet was not completed, thus the “scissorhands.” What separates this film from Frankenstein and other gothic horror films is that despite the massive metal shards he has for hands, society largely accepts him. Edward is an element of magical realism because he is simply a hyperbolized example of someone who may be ostracized from society because of their differences. The film is critical of the mundane, close-minded nature of life in suburbia. Here, magical realism shows what challenging conformity looks like.

Magical realism allows audiences to see the complexities and contradictions of everyday life in a symbolic and disruptive manner. Through these symbols, themes that illuminate problems within society become prevalent. The human condition is presented in a way that allows the mundane events of everyday life to feel irrelevant as magical realism highlights the ironies of the real world.

PHOTOGRAPHED

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