quarterlife the
TROLL
issue
editor-in-chief HANNE JENSEN layout editor BO ERICKSON copy editor HAVERTY BROWN staff SARAH ADLER GABRIELLA FRIEDMAN HANNAH BAUER KARAH KEMMERLY TYLER KING TYLER SCHUH ZAC PARKER staff artists NATALIE STEVENS TYLER SCHUH
7
volume issue May 2013
4
quarterlife is a literary journal published four times a year that features poetry, short fiction, drama, creative nonfiction, analytic essays, alternative journalism, and any other sort of written work Whitman students might create. Each issue is composed around a given theme that acts as both a spark for individual creativity and a thematic axis for the issue. quarterlife is an exercise in creative subjectivity, a celebration of the conceptual diversity of Whitman writers when presented with a single theme. Each quarterlife theme acts as the proverbial elephant in the room, fragmented by individual perception: each portion is ostensibly unconnected but ultimately relevant to the whole. Every piece illuminates a different aspect of the theme. In this way, quarterlife magazine participates in the writing process. The magazine is not an indifferent vehicle by which writing is published, but rather is a dynamic medium with which writing is produced.
whitman.edu/quarterlife
letter from the editor
sincerity
When someone first suggested “The Troll Issue” for our final theme of the year, I will admit I was exasperated. I am unashamedly antitroll for all of the notoriously unfun reasons that people troll others for in the first place. I didn’t want to think about the inanity of some of the stuff we would read, but, true to democratic vote, it became the theme. Immediately I thought I’d draft a strongly worded essay to put in the issue about how destructive trolling is, about how it shuts down meaningful conversations and eviscerates safe-spaces for making art. I submitted one such essay and, ironically enough, the staff couldn’t tell if it was a troll or not. But I was surprised by the submissions we received. Some were playful; some, haunting; some, just absurdly random. But the quality of the submissions we received was undoubtedly the best (and most diverse) of the year. I considered just reprinting excerpts of that strongly worded essay here, as my official letter-from-the-editor. I also considered just throwing in the towel and writing an open letter to Prison Boat, love mr. quarterlife. But I think I still prefer sincerity. So, I dedicate this issue to Bo Erickson, a visionary leader, a stalwart mentor, a pillar of the lit magazine community at Whitman, but most of all, a true friend.
contents Bo Erickson
The Stuff of Legend
07
Meritt Salathe
Last Tuesday when we were both in the light booth
08
Hannah Bauer
Tight Roping
10
Andrew Patel
Windows in BelĂŠm
11
Linnea Wald & Halley McCormick
Football365
13
Nick Michal
Condemn
Sam Alden
The Worm Troll
Gurpy Merl
The Roots of the Earth
14 15 32
Gurpy Merl
Stomping Boots in the Rain
35
Cover Art by Bo Erickson
Cameron Young
The Green Goblin
Natalie Stevens
All my friends are pieces of shit
38 39
étude 1
41
The present isn’t present at all!
43
Great Anxiety
44
My sister’s hair encases gold –
46
Talking About Elephants
47
The Dominion of Canada’s Endangered Wild Tiger Salamander Populations
49
Karah Kemmerly Max Reikosky Nick Michal Hanne Jensen Spencer Wharton Bo Erickson Elizabeth Hambleton Hannah Bauer
Maple Syrup Crusader And From the Rubble Arose a Corkboard
54 55
Bo Erickson
The Stuff of Legend Jötum’s nature-mischief isolated on the rocks and encaved chain-smoking cannibals lack modesty in their address-they offer advice and nightmares and stories that kidnap sense hunting Prufrock’s inflamed repose response ...!
7
Meritt Salathe
Last Tuesday when we were both in the light booth. Hold me, keep me here. Take these little pink and white licorice pills. We’ll cast penumbras on the dust blue light filter And like oil spots we might brighten with time. Why do we matter when everything we can think of has already been done? Nineteen times out of ten we’ll fall over. When I hear beautiful things I want to live inside of them. This is the last time we’ll ever be original. My mind is switching between frames of what I am and all of my other options. Aren’t we all just oil spots? There is something to be said for darkness, The way I sweat when you’re near. Little ruby connect the dots.
*
He said “I would kiss your hands but I don’t want to get rabies.” They were his cats. 8
* How can you miss someone who is only a projection?
9
Hannah Bauer
Tight Roping Stuck. Leaning slightly in a soft chair on a hard floor. Roly poly stomach touches down with a resounding thwack. I need to move my body, curvy like an ampersand, smooth like non-dairy creamer. I will fall from the sky, hung by my ankles like a barbecued duck. And in the end, they will read me a line: You are charged with kindness, cancer and adultery. You hang by the feet until dead, like a barbecued duck. I never regretted cutting her loose. The pretty woman who danced upon my silent moments, She told me that she knew all along. Cinder blocks pound on my empty chambers. Crushed petals line the walk she loves me not.
10
Andrew Patel
Windows in Belém I have a hard time understanding Ulysses, even if he’s talking right at me, nonetheless outside my window. I guess there’s a lot to talk about when you’re selling grilled chickens. Size of the chicken, weight of the chicken, taste of the chicken. The chicken smell is not as pervasive as the sound of chicken business. The mumbled announcement of the natural gas truck (about as difficult to understand as Ulysses words) and the explosion of the fireworks (why at six in the morning? and why did you have to set the second firework off when I was drifting back to sleep seven minutes later?) and the bass of the speakers mounted on the bite sized Chevy going the wrong way down the one-way road and the churchgoers jabber and the muffled words of church sermons and the clunk of the busses and the chicken talk come through my window. I have had the grilled chicken, but I have yet to purchase a watch or a shirt or an umbrella or a pocketknife yet. The knives are mounted on the window bars at eye level. Open the window and BAM knives staring right back at you. The nail file selection is below, a little more benign, still intimidating somehow. I think getting a chin filed is much better than whatever the knives would do to you. The clothes look nice. Generally pastel. Our neighbor dropped by, she sells the pastel clothing. She brought ramen! She passed the two packs through the window. Monica is sick and our neighbor’s 11
noodle remedy will be put to good use. They had a few things to say; I could understand them better than Ulysses’ chicken deals. I guess the topic was throat anatomy. And noodles. Our neighbor’s son came by later. We looked out the window and talked about the churchgoers among other things. We knew the window was the best place to talk about churchgoers, bribing police, beans and rice, and busses.
12
Linnea Weld & Halley McCormick
Football365 Article Tropical island, so fruitful Military involvement in a beautiful place Born of northern Borneo, neo-nihilist, Narrow streets of Boernerow, Bemowo, Warsaw-Naruszewic, noble man of many trades Writing down history for Poland Snaking, snailing, spiny River flows, water, freshwater. Random.
13
Nick Michal
Condemn Stephen Dowell had been condemned twelve times so far in his life, and that meant 400 years imprisonment, after which he would be hanged. We here at the Society for Condemning Individuals realize that, per the Handbook for the Modern Individual and his Condemmemdable State, only 364 years would be administered (as well as a clause for multiple electrocutions). This oversight was not an error. It was not an oversight, but rather a point of meticulous contention for the Society for Condemning Individuals (henceforth known as SCI) between its left leg and its thyroid gland. The former kicked about the fact that version two of the HftMIahCS, which we of course use, it being up to date, had a particular emendation in Journal of Society’s Worst Ideas: The “Man” Issue that threw their tabulation all kerfluffle. The latter secreted thyroxine in grave amounts. Nevertheless, 400 years is 400 years.
14
Sam Alden
The Worm Troll
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
Gurpy Merl, King of Infinite Squirrel
The Roots of the Earth Over these dangle the skies, a convex ocean, emerald beneath. The noble dead, spreading roots, rise the head and rise the trunk. Which seedling first will choke? The swaying towers are fire stained, a shock of grey haze, their lifeless limbs, ancestors of sprouts. Veins and capillaries root for the water like crimson vinegar eels. The summer under snow melt, silt slime, squelch. A frog in the water, barefoot and peeking, shafts of light through trees on the mountain side. Can clots of the cooing river channel spring? 32
The lagging traveler, left devising in the dusk lost a greeting with humming brambles on a Joshua tree. Theo hunches, following a soft chorus of babbling faces in the river, gawking at blue heron nearly colliding. Weary of her strict mother, a cub came searching, more scouring Big Flat carefully for savory candy and left our camp with mangos from my canister. We pack out our secret caked in dust, worn out pleasures of the flesh and its folly in trash bags. Gulls chase the treasure, tacking against the wind.
33
A metal pelican lands on a property line. Worn away, bald asphalt-scorched tires upend the grass, a rabbit hole, the sole pattern of my dad’s running shoes, in the sounds of hatching geckos, stomping boots and the sea.
34
Gurpy Merl, Queen of infinite squirrel
Stomping Boots In the sounds of hatching geckos, the sole pattern of my dad’s running shoes, a rabbit hole, the grass, bald asphalt-scorched tires upend lands on a property line, worn away a metal pelican against the wind. Gulls chase the treasure, taking folly in trash bags pleasures of the flesh and it’s in dust, worn out. Our secret caked, we pack out from my canister, our camp, with mangos for savory candy. Left scouring Big flat carefully a cub came searching, more weary of her strict mother 35
nearly colliding, Gawking at blue heron, faces in the river, a soft chorus of babbling. Theo hunches, following brambles on a Joshua Tree with humming, a greeting lost in the dusk, left devising the lagging traveler. Spring? The cooing river channel On the mountain side. Can clots of Shafts of light through trees in the water, barefoot and peeking, squelch a frog? Melt silt, slime the summer under snow like crimson vinegar eels. Root for the water of sprouts. Veins and capillaries their lifeless limbs, ancestors stained, a shock of grey haze, the swaying towers are fire. Choked, seedlings first will to rise the trunk, which 36
spreading roots, rise the head, emerald beneath. The noble dead the skies, a convex ocean. Over these dangle the roots of the earth.
37
Cameron Young
The Green Goblin I saw your flakes. Instantly I thought, you could use some lotion. You were sub-lime, not quite the color Crayola advertised on the box; Sure didn’t taste like one either. I would know I passed Kindergarten You left me suspended like the round ball of liquid that hangs From an eyedropper Reptar dreamed of being you But with his short arms stemming from his body never allowed him to deliver Your caliber punch. I like the way you tuck my roots in Wrapping your scent around my nostrils, it lingers. You sprout up my nasal cavity Extinguishing my ambition Just like how Grandma Parsons put out her Marlboro red
38
Natalie Stevens
All my friends are pieces
of shit
All my friends have bloody knees All my friends have bloody knuckles none of my friends smoke parliaments fuck my friends they’re all pieces of shit 2pm, time to drink get outta class fuck i can’t think it’s alright, ill just snap chat my bitches a dick pic 1 second, for sure. turn up the music, dawg stop skating on my patio, riley and fuck your lactose intolerance you’re a piece of shit my sex smells like sheets my kitchen smells like fucking meat my shower smells like soap and I fucking love it all my friends are shit-head boys thank god I have a vagina 39
wait, they don’t even buy toliet paper let’s put on a record and get so fucked up we forget to flip it All of my tights have holes in them and not in a good grungy way sorta forties filled with water at 11am FUCKKKKKKKKK
40
Karah Kemmerly
étude 1 I. andante haphazard navigation: i don’t remember street names, but these houses look familiar at night. II. a modern orpheus the queen delighted in his music, and (quite smitten) granted him nighttime admission to the avenues of the dead. along the river styx i found him wandering, his pondering tones ringing out seductive through this underworld shell. (not a hell, but a resting place.) his clinging songs made a cell from these streets where I dwell, constructed so well that at the doorway to life, i would gladly have laced my soul into a skin and traded this new river for the chance to die again— but he only came exploring, not for me. III. always a critic he says to me: but making rhymes isn’t all that hard he says to me: i’m a little bit scared of you.
41
IV. piano lesson loosen your wrists and straighten your spine. don’t stare at your fingers while reading that line. decrescendo in this measure, pay attention to that rest . . . learn this rhythm to distract you from the rhythm of his breaths, which months ago pressed a tune into your chest, and days ago plunked out the same notes again, vibrating your rib cage, your tongue, and your brain, unsure of the the pitches, with no voice to sing, clumsily plucking at all the wrong strings. V. fermata i never meant to scare you. VI. eurycide alone at the doorway to life his shadow swallows her. among familiar houses, she wallows in the silence, a silence so alive it sings emptiness, sings her loneliness, sings . . . her singing voice is rather nice.
42
Max Reikosky
The present isn't present at all!
There it goes. There it goes. There it goes. There it goes. There it goes. There it goes. There it goes. There it goes. There it goes. There it goes. There it goes. There it goes. There it goes. There it goes. There it goes.
43
Nick Michal
Great Anxiety There is anxiety of death when the subjective perspective is undermined by the environment in which he is placed, and not able to force their impressions on it. 1) Uncomfort in half-private spaces (anywhere not his room), but needs proof from the public 2) Problem of relations between Flynn and the boy (desire for confessions, questions he asked him for training, the boy’s fascination with how “complex and mysterious” (6) were the things he thought simplest) 3) Boy takes shelter in night, but the “grey face” (4) invades it (the space of pleasantness and viciousness); when he visits the body it is not smiling and has “black cavernous nostrils” and the “heavy odour of the room—flowers” (7). 4) That’s why, afterwards, the boy disappears from the narrative largely (even doing the cracker thing, 7) – because his anxiety of death makes it incomprehensible to him, and so it exists in suppression, euphemism, in the ellipses, the spaces where he tried to “extract meaning from [Cotter’s] unfinished sentences” (4). Since we have the perspective of the boy, we too are caught in this subjective impression, 44
where the meanings behind the ellipses exists interstitially— the boy cannot know what they are hiding for certain, and neither can we (though, as the intro. Says, “So the boy seeks to know; the adults respond by not saying, but by implying that there exists something of import behind their not saying . . . [the boy] learns at least that in this society some things must not be spoken.) 5) End of “The Sisters” can be seen as an intro into The Big Sleep.
45
Hanne Jensen
My sister’s hair encases gold – My sister’s hair encases gold – Hidden beneath a sheen – It lingers – waiting for the wind – stretching itself between the strands – to pan them out like silt – a River flowing through – yet sifting – through the earthy gleam – the precious to eschew – no chest – no lock – no silver key – in Truth – no guard save life – her tresses – rust’ling solumnly – swimming – a summer kite –
46
Spencer Wharton
Talking About Elephants i. I’ve been meaning to ask: You see this elephant too, right? But every time I stick my neck out and peer around his boulderous bulk, you’re looking back at me. It seems a shame to ruin the moment by talking about elephants. ii. In third grade, Sterling Miller flipped a penny 30 times and got 30 heads, I watched it. I’ve never believed in God, but I know He plays dice, that every moment is another spin of the slot machine, and that there are no miracles, only statistically significant improbabilities. I’ve spent so long listening to the sermons of the statisticians, the scientists, and the skeptics that I never attribute to intention what has a chance of being chance. Are you really looking for me? Do you actually see this elephant too? Or does the penny just keep coming up heads? 47
iii. The butterfly you pin to the board is lifeless. You kill the cat by opening the box. Merely by observing, we change the outcome. I’ve been meaning to ask: You see this elephant too, right? But maybe there’s no elephant at all, maybe these legs are tree trunks, this tail, a rope, the trunk, a snake. I don’t ask if you see the elephant, because what does it mean if you don’t?
48
Bo Erickson
The Dominion of Canada’s Endangered Wild Tiger Salamander Populations These days there are environmental issues all over the world, and Canada has its fair share. Canada has so many environmental issues (i.e. pipelines, habitat loss at mining and fossil fuel extraction sites, clear-cuts, water pollution and melting glaciers) that small but important concerns can be overlooked, important concerns like the Tiger Salamander, otherwise known as Ambystoma tigrinum. The decreasing population of the tiger salamander could pose a legitimate environmental problem for Canada, and is the result numerous other serious environmental problems. Conservation of The Dominion of Canada’s wild tiger salamander populations have been investigated by the Committee on the Status of Endangered Wildlife in Canada in accordance with that Species at Risk Act. Only some provinces of The Dominion of Canada have recognized the urgency of protecting populations of wild tiger salamanders. This paper will relate some of the remarkable aspects of tiger salamanders, the threats they currently face, the response of governmental bodies in the Dominion of Canada and the importance of wild salamanders to a healthy ecosystem. First of all, it is important to realize that tiger salamanders are entirely awesome. Second of all, they live in Canada. To be more specific tiger salamanders live in 49
many of the southern provinces of Canada and throughout much of North America. But to be utterly precise, the barred tiger salamander populations span “from [what is known as] the Okanagan Valley of British Columbia to [what they call] Southern Manitoba” (CARNCET). It has also been known to dwell in Ontario (SARA). The tiger salamander has stripes like a tiger, though patterns vary. They are greenish grey and black, though sometimes they display more vibrant colors. The tiger salamander is also quite large for a salamander, and although they do not always grow to full size, the tiger salamander can become engorged to the length of 14 inches (Natgeo). The barred tiger salamander is actually “the largest land-dwelling salamander in the world,” and perhaps the largest of tiger-like species in The Dominion of Canada (CARNCET). The tiger salamander is mysterious to the ignorant masses because it spends most of its time not only on land, but underground! The tiger salamander lives in burrows that can go as deep as two feet (Natgeo). As “mole” salamanders, crumbly, or “friable” soils are a necessary habitat for the wild tiger salamander (SARA). Yet, tiger salamanders are usually found fairly close to the small bodies of water where they spawned (BCGOV). They stay nearby primarily for breeding purposes, meaning that one day their little ones (which have external gills!) will likely spawn in the same permanent or semi-permanent pond (CARCNET). Despite their loyalty to local pondscum, tiger salamanders spend most of their lives as terrestrial creatures. The wild tiger salamander also indicates its awesomeness by its longevity; tiger salamanders can live up to fifteen years (CARNCET). Unfortunately tiger salamanders take a long time (four years!) to mature sexually, so fans will have a long wait before the wild tiger salamanders repopulate the Dominion of Canada (CARNCET). Appropriately, considering their name, tiger salamanders are fearsome predators. As the dominate eatersof-everything-they-see, tiger salamanders feast upon “worms, 50
51
This tiger salamander embodies the inherent coolness of his kind, and inspires conservation with his calm yet accusatory stare and forgiving smile. Photo credit: April Demes of CanadianGardening.com
insects, frogs, and even other salamanders” (Natgeo). Which is all to say that tiger salamanders are cooler than most people. The Government of the Dominion of Canada has responded bureaucratically, if not adequately, to the issue of declining wild tiger salamander populations by investigating the status of, and threats to, wild tiger salamander populations in several provinces. In 2003 the SARA, better known as the Species at Risk Act, went into effect with the goal of maintaining and recovering the wildlife of Canada. In order to steward wildlife species of Canada, the ministry of the Environment, who call themselves “Environment Canada,” do species assessments. As it turns out, conservation of the wild tiger salamander is especially important in the province of what is known as British Columbia where they have the merit official SARA status of “Schedule 1, Endangered” (SARA) . The wild tiger salamander population of British Columbia face many threats. Chief among these threats are “encroachment and roads, and loss of breeding habitat due to fish stocking, chemical runoff, and draining of wetlands” (SARA). The tiger salamanders rarely leave their snug burrows, but when the breeding season arrives they slither their naked slimy bodies out of the ground. In pursuit of pleasure and reproduction they sometimes must cross roads in order to return to their pond breeding grounds---which is often a very dangerous endeavor giving the insidious human population. The rising human tide often leads to the destruction and draining of tiger salamander habitats. As the SARA and other environmental watchdogs have found, wild tiger salamander populations are also threatened by pollution from agriculture and the introduction of stock fish for tourists, because humans rank eating and catching fish for fun as higher concerns than the preservation of majestic beasts like the wild tiger salamander. 52
Though the excellence of the wild tiger salamander could stir even the most reptilian heart, Canada would also do well to promote a rise in wild tiger salamander population because salamander populations are often indicators of a healthy ecosystem. Science has even come to count on species of salamanders such as the tiger salamander, since “salamanders are increasingly being recommended for use as bio-indicators to assess the ecological health and integrity of natural areas” (Davic, Hartwell 406). Scientists might look to salamander population as indications of health of an ecosystem because, “A large body of literature indicates that the density of some salamander species is closely associated with forest successional stage, with higher numbers of salamanders in older, more structurally complex systems” (Davic, Hartwell 412). More than just dependent on a healthy ecosystem or a correlative of such health, salamanders may in fact be a key contributor to the health of an ecosystem because they are creatures of both land and water. Amphibious creatures like salamanders may indeed be keystone species and actively contribute to the health of such an ecosystem since “biological cross-links between the aquatic and terrestrial landscapes may enhance the resilience of the ecotone” (Davic, Hartwell 418). Thus, we should save the habitats of the tiger salamander because they are awesome, we screwed up their habitat, and it is likely that they will improve the ecosystems which they bless with their presence. The government of the Dominion of Canada has begun to respond the issue of declining wild tiger salamander populations, but due to unwarranted apathy the situation remains dire. Over word-count by: 347 words Official Grade received: C quarterlife Grade: A++
53
Elz Hambleton
Maple Syrup Crusader– I love maple syrup. It’s delicious on most anything, and much better than honey. For breakfast, I have maple syrup waffles or bagels or muffins. Lunch is maple syrup and peanut butter sandwiches. My mom feeds me maple syrup on pork chops for dinner, but not chicken, it just tastes like slug slime and looks like an infection. Honey goes ok on chicken. A lot of people look down on maple syrup because they think it’s bad for the trees. Beef stew is bad for cows, and I like cows a lot, so I don’t eat beef stew. Honey is bad for the bees, which are disappearing, and I once bought a vegan smoothie that had honey in it and the cashier promised me it was fair trade and the situation was confusing and I never drank another vegan smoothie. Maybe smoothies would be delicious with maple syrup. Maple trees aren’t disappearing. If they were, I would move to Canada and tie myself to a tree so loggers can’t cut it down, but that’s not a very vegan thing to do because I’d be making life more miserable for another living creature. But I’m not vegan, so that’s okay. I’ll make sure I bring some maple syrup to share, my personal stash, aged in an oak cask for fifty years, and make amends. Hopefully they’ll understand I don’t want to make their lives miserable, just keep the maple trees from disappearing like the bees. Other people fight for baby seals and whales and dolphins – the ocean’s in a lot of trouble, you know. People also fight for jaguars and ocelots, which can definitely kill people but they don’t. So, I’ll fight for the trees that have no natural defense. I’ll cut those loggers with their own chain saws, I will. 54
Hannah Bauer
And From the Rubble Emerges A Corkboard In the next moment you will blink. My arms won’t hang limply at my side nor will they wrap around you. Instead, I will spread them like butter like crucifixion like I’m taking flight. I appreciate the montage. Flashes of chess games and walking to the moon. Hot pepper kisses and cold shoulders. Every day with you was like a funeral. You’re maddening, I am mad.
55
Thanks quarterlife would like to thank the Associated Students of Whitman College (ASWC) for their financial support, without which the production of this magazine would not be possible. Our utmost gratitude goes to John Sasser with Integrity Design, The Whitman College Pioneer, blue moon, and our advisor Professor Gaurav Majumdar. All work featured in quarterlife magazine or on the website is displayed by express permission of the author or artist, who holds all relevant copyrights to her or his work.
This magazine has been printed on paper from 100% post-consumer waste.