Callisto 2014
Art and Literary Magazine
Volume 10, 2014 Edition Anderson W. Clark Magnet High School 4747 New York Avenue La Crescenta, CA 91214
dear humble readers, You are about to enter a world of creativity, full of art and literature submitted by the best of Clark’s artists and writers. At the beginning 2014, Clark teacher Mr. Davis requested a team of talented individuals to help create the tenth volume of Callisto. We editors of eight stepped up to the challenge of looking through the work of Clark’s best and brightest, and spent many hours judging and picking the most interesting submissions. Now, after two months of hard work, we have compiled them together into the tenth volume of Callisto, which you are now holding and reading. The eight of us hope that you, our humble reader, enjoy the works of art and literature that we have chosen to display in the magazine. We also thank all the talented artists and writers who submitted their art and literature to us to make this magazine possible. We couldn’t have done it without you guys. Your art and literature blew us away, and was beyond amazing. Keep making good art! It is time to turn the page and enter the awesome, creative universe of Callisto. Enjoy!
table of contents spider web poetry soul mate painted sorrow fine china erik’s jesus piece attack on octopus the wind dance of the night to her we make beautiful music together forgotten requests I’m still broken them we... ocean sunset squirrel at clark run crinkle spectrum henna hand art poem of the word spoken with ink c. ronaldo the awakening a new milestone I am discovering this land her inspiration youth in war? soleil my father is an odd man sanctuary plage day the cup of kindness the beast the boy with wings the grass is greener around the corner hang loose goals, happy places and fictional books to see if you would bradbury
Lauren Rovello Preny Alaverdian Sarah Karimian Stella Petrossian Farah Ali Erik Sargsyan Marilyn Reyes Narek Mughnetsyan Jonna Price Aren Shaginian Jonna Price Cynthia Babakhanian Maxine Ypil Abel Kim Abel Kim Antonio Lopez Anahit Sahinyan Alexander Luke Aurora Alparaz Ida Amadian Anahit Sahinyan Hasmik Manucharyan Melina Eliasyan Mency Nazarian Wolfgang Yakkel Melanie Aghayan Lauren Rovello Shakeh Aslanyan Antonia Lopez Kahren Torosyan Ani Mosinyan Stella Petrosyan Kahren Torosyan John Bandek Andrea Vazquez Antonio Lopez Talish Babaian Talish Babaian Talish Babaian Preny Alaverdian
1 1 2 2 3 3 4 4 5 5 5 6 6 6 7 7 8 8 9 9 10 10 10 11 11 12 12 13 14 14 15 15 16 16 17 17 18 18 18 19
Sarah Karimian Ida Amadian
20 20
spider web
Lauren Rovello
poetry Have you ever heard light? Tasted colors? Seen fright? Have you ever felt a dream, Out of grasp but still in sight? Have you cried the pouring rain? And never ever felt the same? Have you seen your breath fog up, The fragile glass of window pane? Have you felt at once two things? A dying rose, a bird that sings? The brightest day, the darkest night? You mustn’t, you must, you should, you might? Feelings, sounds, views galore, Many places you explore, Just pick a poem and you just might, Find yourself asking for more. Preny Alaverdian
soul mate Since the day we met, I knew you would be special to me And you are, Without you, I am like a lock missing its key There are no words I can use to describe what I feel for you But it’s true, I do love you And I can’t help but smile when I look into your eyes Because when I do I think of all we’ve been through And no matter what you say or do, my feelings will never change for you Sarah Karimian
painted sorrow Stella Petrosyan
2
fine china She was the expensive piece of china on the top shelf, behind the glass case. People admired her from afar, and they took in her beauty. But they never bothered to flip her over, or look at her carefully. For if they flipped her over they’d see was black and blue. Beaten and bruised. Damaged and scarred; filled with bacteria and roaches. No one ever examined her thoroughly so they never knew. She had such a good cover, sometimes she even fooled herself. But the case always shook. It trembled and bathed in fear. The house roared with anger. Screams and shouts shook the case. But no one realized that with each tremble she scooted closer to the edge. Nobody realized because she looked so polished and clean. But then, once her case trembled so hard, it pushed her off the edge. She shattered into a million pieces and everyone was in awe and disbelief. Everyone saw the roaches and discoloring ooze out of her. No one realized that placing her alone in a glass case would leave her hideous and contaminated. For years, she was there, silently screaming for attention, something more than a mere glance. But when she was scattered into a ton of pieces, all over the floor, was when she was noticed. But they noticed too late, they couldn’t put her back together, nor could they restore her. Her only fear was that once she was gone, she would be replaced; they’d put someone else in the glass case, and act as if her fall didn’t crack their floor. Farah Ali
erik’s jesus piece Erik Sargsyan
attack on octopus
Marilyn Reyes
the wind Why does the wind blow? I know why the wind blows it blows to make the little children scream to make the adults angry. The wind has no feelings it is a killer, a maniac on the loose. It makes me proud to be a human being feeling the majestic breeze of the lord. The wind makes no sense it has no spine it has massive strength and an evil heart. . Narek Mughnetsyan
4
dance of the night
to her Someday I’ll be tough, Or even lose weight, Will you love me then? Someday I’ll grow up, And I’ll pay my mortgage off, Will you love me then? Because sometimes I feel like, Even though I’ll change, You’ll never love me anyway. So let me tell you this, When I gain self-confidence, I’ll try someday. I’ll work out for you, I’ll lose the weight for you, O honey believe me I’ll do. My friends said that you weren’t worth it, But I tell them I can’t stop it, You’re just too perfect.
Jonna Price
And I know that you don’t like who I am, And that’s why I am changing, But don’t worry, I want to. This might sound sad, But I’ll make you glad, That one day I’ll change for you, And only you, All for you. Aren Shaginian
we make beautiful music together
Jonna Price
forgotten requests She preserves her dreams Locked up in her design And when she dreams The stars are aligned
I’m still broken
But when she climbs Atop her drifts Her dreams begin to slip With a soft, gentle swift She chased the vivid colors That motioned her to come She slightly got a grip With her quivering thumb But with a force so drastic They descended their way down Blanketing the surface Of mother’s green gown She finally reached the closure From where was once the start And though she was uncertain This was a place set apart It was a place filled with Ambition and imagination With dreams and hopes And mighty determination With dreams of being loved And holding someone’s hand Or desires to be a someone And finding where to stand Tears cascaded To the unfinished quests For all of these Were forgotten requests Soon she noticed The lingering sorrow All these were abandoned And hers were also Cynthia Babakhanian
Maxine Ypil
them Why must they annoy me? With bright smiles And painted faces. They, the wild and free. They, with a sincerely deceptive guile. They, with no shame, no grace. Do dullards and “The Norm” Really behave this way? Too upbeat, too emotional. To love as fierce as a storm… I will leave those acts to the Fey. And remain behind my wall…. Abel Kim
6
we...
We were… Rivals, enemies. An endless war ensued Of pokes and boasts. Yet a treaty was made, And we co-existed… Somehow. We are… Allies, friends. An age of peace exists. And While we smile and laugh, I saw you In a new… Light. We will be… Romeo… and Juliet. Walking down the aisle, Hand in hand. An oath To love, and be loved… Forever. Abel Kim
ocean sunset
Antonio Lopez
squirrel at clark
Anahit Sahinyan
run The track moves with me This is my home now Let the crowd see And watch me take a bow The shot is fired We all sprint None of us get tired Our eyes glint As the finish comes closer I feel the pain Someone has to be the closer Let us see who had the gain There can only be one But who says That losing can’t be fun? Alexander Luke
8
crinkle You paint my soul gold. Maybe your olive skin has rubbed off on it. I haven’t seen you since last summer, yet I can feel the crinkle in your temples when you the magic of your soft smile appears and the silky heat of your basketball shorts. We talk in between our everyday, but you are the Earth beneath my feet. Without a current flowing between us, I’m floating in space without an air supply. With a stretch of freeway between us for eight hours a day, I feel closer to you as I send a message your way than to the girl an inch away from me, trying to bait me with gossip. Though we aren’t always touching, but you are always there. Aurora Alparaz
spectrum
Ida Amadian
henna hand art
Anahit Sahinyan
poem of the word Every time I write a line First I give myselft some time Be careful... You think I’m scared of something? No! I never feel lost from being scared I’ve always lost from others patronizing And not only from that word...the person that said it, Believe me, life never forgives brainless people. A word is much stronger than a powerful weapon, So you have to find the right word to stop a war.
spoken with ink A picture is worth a thousand words. Dare I say, a poem is worth a thousand more. ‘Tis the pain that we reveal through ink. ‘Tis the joy we pour upon those lines. The way we bring forth our hidden shine. The way we unleash our inner demon. Hidden emotions can be uncovered Hidden thoughts can be unvieled. Through the beauty of the poetry. A work of art, a masterpiece.
Hasmik Manucharyan
Melina Eliasyan
10
c. ronaldo
Mency Nazarian
the awakening
After many years He is finally alive But he is a zombie . Wolfgang Yakkel
a new milestone The idea of leaving my middle school and going to a high school was always a scary thought for me. When I found out I would be going to Clark I was actually really upset and nervous too. I came from a small middle school with people I had known for all my life, and with none of those people coming to school with me anymore, I didn’t know how to feel. I had to leave my school without any of my friends or even my brother by my side, which was something totally new for me, and I had no idea what to expect. The first week of school had to be the scariest and most confusing week of my life. All my classes were in different buildings and I was late almost every period because I couldn’t find my classes and was too scared to ask for help. I also had to get closer to new people since nobody I knew came there. Everything was new and really different for
me but I soon got used to it. I learned my schedule, found new friends, and got used to all my classes and the atmosphere of the school. I even started to like block schedule and most of my teachers. And even though I get a lot of work to finish each day, it teaches me a lot about managing my time better, which is is very important. Just like any other person my age, I still don’t love the idea of waking up at 7:00 a.m., going to school for about six hours, and then coming home and spending the rest of my day doing all the work I get. But it’s still going better than I thought it would. I’m still getting used to Clark, even though the year is almost to an end. Hopefully as time goes by I will learn everything I need to know and things will be easier for me, and hopefully I will leave the school with a good reputation and a more positive mindset. Melanie Aghayane
I am discovering this land
Lauren Rovello
12
her inspiration She stood in line in anticipation, still wondering how she’d managed to convince her mom to make the hour long drive to Huntington Beach. It had already been countless hours, and the persistent sun effortlessly beat down on her head, and yet she didn’t have a care in the world. All that mattered was that after three long years, she’d finally meet him. She’d finally meet the man who was her biggest inspiration, role model, and hero. The line seemed to go on for blocks, and she understood why. This man was an inspiration to many. She looked down at the items clutched in her hands, which included her most favorite guitar, a drawing she’d made for him, and a letter, which was the most significant of the three. In that one letter she had poured her heart out, telling him about everything she’d been through for the past few years. With security guards lined up along the line, things ran smooth and efficiently. Pretty soon, she could spot the table that had been set up for the signing, with the umbrella-like structure on top to act as a shield from the sun’s rays. At this point, her mind was flustered. Thoughts swarmed through her head. What would she say to him? Would she even be able to speak? She didn’t have time to act on these thoughts, though, because the line in front of her slowly receded. There he was, standing a mere five feet in front of her. She took in the person she’d only seen in pictures and videos, not believing her eyes. He had on some of his typical attire, a simple navy and white striped tank top and a pair of jeans. Her eyes glanced over each tattoo, finding the most important, the ‘Mom’ one he’d gotten in honor of his mother who’d passed away from Marfan’s Syndrome when he was only seventeen. The lengthy scar on his inked chest that he’d received from an open heart surgery was very visible, standing out bright pink against the different hues of the tattoos coloring his chest. He also had Marfan’s Syndrome in his genes, and the heart surgery had resulted in giving him half of an artificial heart, which seemed funny to her because although half of his heart was fake, he had the purest heart in the world. These were only a few reasons
he inspired her so. The obstacles he overcame were monumental, yet it baffled her how he could stand on stage doing what he loved every day with that big, goofy grin on his freckled face. He wore no tights; no cape adorned his back. He couldn’t fly, nor jump from building to building. He didn’t have x-ray vision, and he couldn’t run at a supersonic speed. Yet he was her superhero. His lyrics were his ability to fly, soaring over anything imaginable. They were his inhuman strength, conquering the most frightening monsters of them all. His voice was her haven, sanctuary, and everything in between, not only moving her figuratively, but also literally moving her arm over to the toilet those few years ago, dropping those dozen vile pills down and flushing them, never seeing them again. He was her alternative to the horrible things she’d do to her own body, all those angry lashes that would mark up and down her arms fading because of him. And now, her everything was right in front of her. “Hey, it’s you!” he had greeted informally, recognizing the Led Zeppelin shirt he had complimented earlier. Hearing his voice in person numbed her. She couldn’t believe it was finally happening. He held out his hand for a high five, to which she shakily returned the gesture. She watched with misty eyes as he signed one of the many posters on the table. Noticing the quiet, he looked up and saw the girl standing in front of her, completely frozen. “You saved my life,” she told him in a mere whisper, tears dripping down her face, having nothing more to say to the extraordinary man. She could see his warm brown eyes soften through his sunglasses, and the crinkles she loved most about his eyes appeared as they usually did when he smiled his world famous smile. She thought her world stopped altogether when he stood up in all of his glory and pulled her into a tight hug with only a white table flooded in stickers and posters separating the two. Her body racked with sobs as he held her, soothingly rubbing her back as he did so. She savored this moment as best as she could, shutting her eyes tightly as the tears kept free falling, never seeming to
want to stop. She felt the slight stubble of his cheek pressed onto her own cheek, and could hear his soft ‘shhh’ in her ear as he’d try and calm her down like a father would calm his daughter. It seemed fitting; he was practically a father figure to her. She felt so small, her 5’3” frame seeming ridiculous next to his 6’4”. Yet, she had never felt more comfort in her entire life. In her hero’s arms, she was untouchable. The cruel words that had cut her so deep in the past bounced right off of her like rubber. Every fear she had melted away. She was invincible. This had been the feeling she’d been craving for three years, and now she had it. She was safe. After what seemed like forever, she managed to form words and whisper a question to him during their embrace: “Austin, can I promise you something?” He nodded his head, his arms still tightly wrapped around her, as if to block out any horrible thing that could ever cause her pain again. She murmured her promise into his ear, and it was quiet as he pulled back from the embrace, keeping a hold of both of her shoulders. “Good. I want you to keep that promise. Cutting is never the answer. Once you stop, it will get easier, and it will get better. I believe in you. You can do it. I know you can. I love you, ok?” At a loss of words, she nodded her head, not bothering to stop the rush of tears flooding out of her eyes, knowing it would be impossible at this point. He wrapped her up into one last hug, before releasing her. She went home that day, her eyes becoming watery when she’d remember the encounter. And now, nearly eight months later, her arms and thighs were becoming clearer each day, the bright red marks that used to be there, constantly reminding her of her horrible battles with herself, now barely anything at all. She wouldn’t back down on his promise. If Austin could go through everything he has with a smile on his face, so would she. She would recover and conquer this: for herself, for her friends, for her family, and for Austin Carlile. Maybe one day, she’d even be onstage just like him, doing what she loves, saving lives, and inspiring others just as Austin saved and inspired her.
Shakeh Aslanyan
youth in war?
We once spent the finest day of our army-life together – the day before we left for the front. The front is a cage in which we must await fearfully whatever may happen. Men who have been up as often as we have become thick-skinned; only the young recruits are agitated. For the others, the older men, they have a background so strong that the war cannot obliterate it, it is but an interruption. We young men of twenty, however, the war swept us away.
War is not an adventure. For death is not an adventure to those who stand face to face with it. A generation of men, even though they may have escaped shells, were destroyed by the war. Lieutenant calls the young men of twenty the Iron Youth. Iron Youth! Youth! We are none of us more than twenty years old. Youth? That is long ago. We are old folk. Antonio Lopez
soleil
Kahren Torosyan
14
my father is an odd man Ani Mosinyan My father does not take sugar in his coffee Only pure dark chocolate will do He sits with the small white china cup, rimmed with gold and blue in his hand. “Why do we not have 100% dark?” he says His eyebrows furrowed and his glasses sitting atop his long, slightly crooked nose. Once I asked him if he would like some mochi with his coffee “No! No, Ani jan, I am too conservative for mochi. Why don’t we have chocolate?” Once I made him an almond butter and banana sandwich He cringed and waved it away “I won’t be American, Ani jan. I can’t.” He plays classical music at night to put him to sleep The phone by his head, the bright screen illuminates his face Mozart’s “Requiem” echoes through the house. His glasses by his pillow, in case he need wake up in the middle of the night to read the news of Russia. Once I asked him what animal he would choose to be. “A tree. Or a mountain. Because they are old and have seen everything.” He sits with his black work slacks on the couch, in his work clothes still. A couple of almonds or walnuts in his hand, recently he took a liking to pecans. His feet up on the edge of the coffee table, flipping through channels. He loves Western films. They remind him of a simpler time, of the “real America.”
And when he sleeps, my father’s lips pout in a funny way, and he looks like a baby cocooned in a red blanket decorated with teddy bears. His black socks peek out from under the blankets and pillows at his feet. Sometimes he wears his glasses still, and sometimes they lay by his head. And the remote control is held loosely in his hand, while his phone sits on the coffee table, telling of the news, in Russian. My odd father, who said something that once made me want to cry and smile simultaneously. “I am not proud when my daughters succeed. I am happy.”
sanctuary
Stella Petrosyan
plage day Kahren Torosyan
the cup of kindness In him holds a transparent cup Where everyone can see
And others want to shatter his cup So that his life can suffer and just flare-up
A cup filled with respect and honesty A cup where some some people are jealous of
The cup isn’t shattered but is surely worn out
A cup filled with precious characteristics and other good stuff
And the inside of the cup is taking an escaping route
Such as kindness, love and manners too
But that cup that is keeping him alive carries strength which is making him survive
Stuff that people have a few Kindness is a weakness than a strength
But for having a good heart this is what he gets
That is hurting his life for quite a length
A life filled with darkness and regrets John Bandek
16
the beast There once was a guy named Kyle. whose kindness was locked by a mile. He was transformed ugly inside out. He must have taken the wrong route. And who really was that beast, was it Kyle? Andrea Vazquez
the boy with wings
Antonio Lopez
the grass is greener
around the corner
hang loose Talish Babaian
18
goals, happy places, and fictional books My whole life, I’ve always believed that anything can happen; as long as you try hard enoughand truly want whatever it is you’re aiming for. Though there might be some bumps in the road, it will eventually happen. Say you strongly want to learn how to play the guitar but don’t have enough time. If you really want to, then it can happen! Don’t be pessimistic and take a shot at it. Even if you don’t have enough money, you can save up, buy a guitar, and try to learn yourself. No matter what your objective or goal is, as long as you endeavour to reach that goal, it will happen. It may take a while or perhaps a lot of effort, though you may find the effort or time worth whatever is at the end of your goal. Goals push people to continue throughout this adventure that is life. No matter what anyone has said, everyone has had a least one goal in their life. Let it be miniscule or immense, everyone has experienced the feeling of accomplishing a goal. I feel very strongly about my belief in achieving anything. I also assume that goals are a major part in achieving anything. In order to achieve something, you must have the ambition to do so. And that requires a goal, in my opinion. I dream of many things. One of my key traits that my friends know me for are my dreams. One thing I dream of is a world of my own. This may seem a bit strange, though I think it’s a unique dream of mine. I dream of a place where people are nice, marriages last, and love truly exists. I know this is a quite unachievable dream, though it is something to put me in my happy place. Another odd thing about this dream is that I crave for mystical and supernatural occurrences. I feel like reality can be utterly boring at times. Get up, go to school, go home, eat, do homework, shower, and sleep. Over and over and over again with no interruption besides those few holidays and the weekend. Some people cry out for a peaceful, normal life. I feel like life can be too irritatingly dull,
colorless, and gray. I read supernatural books and just imagine a life of color and exciting events. My mind opens up and I just pretend, pretend for just a moment, that that’s my life. I try to never act in that place for too long. The longer it lasts, the more humdrum real life seems. This is just one of the hundreds of dreams I have. What inspires me to believe that anything is possible are fiction books. When I read a good book, I feel as though what is happening in the book is actually happening in the real world. After I read a realistic book, I think: “Would that be possible if I were in their place?” I always come to the conclusion that it is. If you think about it, fantasy can become reality too (this is what powers the supernatural and fantasy part of my dream of my own world). Humans can’t possibly know everything that exists. Who knows? There might be some mystical, magical, supernatural creature living among us, just as many fantasy stories suggest. On the other side, events in the real world also inspire me. Seeing people reach for seemingly impossible dreams really inspires me to believe that anything really is possible and it’s not just me who thinks so. By reading this, you may think that I am kooky or bizarre person. In reality, everyone is in one way or another. Each and every person has their strange side and it shows in some way. For me, it shows through me beliefs, dreams, and what inspires me. When I tell anyone my dreams or beliefs, what I really wish for is to open their eyes to a whole new world. I want to inspire them to make goals and strive for them. Beliefs, dreams, and inspirations are an amazing thing that allow people to experienc new things.
Preny Alaverdian
to see if you would I woke up just to see If you would be beside me I laughed at nothing just to see If you would be laughing with me I got really upset just to see If you would manage to cheer me up I cried just to see If you would wipe my tears I ran away just to see If you would come after me And maybe I got lost just for you to find me. I put up walls just to see If you would care to break them down I fell just to see If you would be there to catch me I guess these were all dumb tests since I always knew I knew you’d be the one to find me. Sarah Karimian
bradbury Ida Amadian
20
COLOPHON and THANKS The 2014 Callisto magazine contains photography, artwork and written works submitted by the most talented at Clark Magnet High School. After not having a magazine last year we tried to get the word out by going classroom to classroom, asking for people to submit work. Over the next week anouncements and posters were made and the submissions were in before spring break. We received few hundred submissions and had the huge undertaking of going through, editing, and choosing the submissions that would make it into the magazine. This process took just under a month of frequent meetings and second opinions. After finally getting our selection down to the works you see in this magazine we got to the computers. We used Bernard MT condensed font for titles and Bodoni MT for credits and text on Adobe InDesign Thank you to our supporters in our school community: Ghada Bandek Celia Burstein Alex Day-Blattner Fred Blattner Doug Dall Nyrie Gharibian Maral Guarino Maria Juarez Eric Kursinski Sylvia Lofftus Gabriel Lopez Sharlene Lopez Julie Ann Melville Carol Pettegrew Jennifer Rangel Anne Reinhard Bill Reyna Stephanie Sajjadieh Narine Tatevosian Judy Thomsen Karine Turdjian
And thank you to our supporters many miles from our school community who suported us through our Kickstarter campaign, especially to those who were inspired by the Fireside Fiction Co.: Stephen Blackmoore Clare Bohn Dave Borcherding Beth Bristol Sara Carrero Chaosprime Nick Childs Lawrence Chu Carrie Cuinn Joshua Diaz Jesse Doogan C.C. Finlay Laurie Kenley Andreas Kjeldsen J. Lannan Deborah Layne Bart Leib
CS5 and Photoshop. All pages and edits were made by the Callisto staff, and the cover was made by Ainsley Dye. With the great amount of effort put into this magazine we are proud to bring it back. This magazine was printed by aPrintis Inc., 4695 Chabot Dr, Site 200 Pleasanton, CA. The whole Callisto team sends the biggest and earnest thank you to Mr. Davis. He has been the greatest help in putting this whole project together. From contributing his own time and work, teaching us about the creativity of making a magazine, and taking us through all the steps in making this all come together. We thank you Mr. Davis! We also express our thanks to the following patrons, as well as to those who chose to remain anonymous, whose generous donations have helped fund the publication of Callisto: Jason Manheim Doug Mayo-Wells Maureen McHugh John Murphy Sabrina Ogden Susan Parker Sunil Pate Andrea Phillips
Ariana Richards Miceala Shocklee Eric Sipple Jonah Sutton-Morse Heidi White Brian White Sharone Williams L Wong
A special thanks to Once Upon A Time for their geneous donation and support.