6th Edition, Issue 1 The Selladore | Carpe Diem

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The Selladore

6th Edition, Issue 1

1/11/2021

The Selladore

1/11/2021

THe Selladore

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Saint-Lambert -la-Potherie, France, Emma Farquhar

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CARPE DIEM -

SEIZE The day

Cover: Untitled, Maya Kors

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Dicere sicut furcifur.

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The Selladore The Selladore

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SELLADORE "I was astonished when someone first showed that by writing cellar door as Selladore one produces an enchanting proper name.” - C.S. Lewis “Your language too has soft and beautiful words, but they are not always appreciated. What could be more musical than your word cellar-door?” - W.D. Howells “The modern small home or apartment has ... deprived today's child of ... the pleasant summer afternoon activity of sliding down cellar doors. Just what happened to the slanted cellar door in this efficient age isn't clear; although cellars have remained, nothing has disappeared more quietly from modern life than these cellar doors.” - William Chapman White “This famous linguist once said that of all the phrases in the English language, of all the endless combinations of words in all of history, that ‘cellar door’ is the most beautiful.” - Karen Pomeroy “Sell a cellar, door a cellar, sell a cellar cellar-door, door adore, adore a door, selling cellar, door a cellar, cellar cellar-door. There is damned little meaning and less sense in such a sentence, but there is, unless my tonal balance is askew, twice more rhythm and twice more lovely sound in it than in anything, equally idiotic, that Miss Gertrude ever confected.” - George Jean Nathan “I’m like you ...I remember everything.” - André Aciman “No. It’s not a name. It’s something else. Selladore, it’s not a princess’ name, it can’t be. Selladore… is a place… It is a place which is revered by all who know of it. A sacred place marked at its centre by… by trees.” - David Gleeson and Stephen Beresford

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Contents Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Tracklist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7,8 Blood Moon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Lily Underwood Untitled. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Aimee Bagde Bathroom Wall. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Emma Farquhar A Response to Bathroom Graffiti . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Emma Farquhar Misommar. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Lily Underwood Babylon. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Anonymous Je t’aimerai toujours ma puce. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Emma Farquhar I............................................................

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BMJS Window into a Cat’s Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Emma Farquhar tik tok. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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BMJS April 27. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Anonymous Failed Physics. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Emma Farquhar The Witching Hour. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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BMJS Seize the Day or Something. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24, 25, 26 BMJS

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INTRODUCTIO Within these pages are entire worlds, constellations of meaning and purpose brought to bear upon us by the girls of Elmwood. There is a startling array of techniques and styles fraught with humour, passion and intent. Though each piece says something different they are similar in that they all say something, meaningful and forcefully. We started this journal for this express purpose, to give the girls of this school an opportunity to regain control over language, to exert agency where there might exist passivity. These authors have tamed language to meet their emotional ends and, in so doing, give you the reader an understanding that such things are possible, no matter your age or intent. We ask simply that you read these words with an open mind, an open heart and with the understanding that, should you choose to express yourself as well, we will be waiting for you with the next issue. Sincerely, Your Editors

N

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TRACKLIST Meet Me At Our Spot. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The Anxiety, Willow Smith

City of Angels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Em Behold

Mama Said. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lukas Graham

Bruxelles Je T'aime . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Angèle

Nazende Sevgilim. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Figen Genç

That Funny Feeling. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Bo Burnham

Goodbye. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Bo Burnham

Pierre . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Ryn Weaver

Achilles Come Down . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Gang of Youths

Dog Days Are Over. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Florence + The Machine

Oxford Comma . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Vampire Weekend

Line Without A Hook. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Ricky Montgomery

Cigarette Daydreams. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Cage the Elephant

Like or Like Like. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Miniature Tigers

Fire on Fire. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sam Smith

Besâme Mucho . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Dalida

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Poems . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Hippo Campus

What A Heavenly Way to Die . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Troye Sivan

Burning Pile. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Mother Mother

How to Save a Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The Fray

Flares . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Script

Be Alright . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Dean Lewis

Water Fountain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alex Benjamin

Memories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Maroon 5

Black Hole . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Griff

Immortals. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Fall Out Boy

Someday . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The Strokes

Electric Love. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

BØRNS

Married Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Michael Giaccino

Wake Me Up . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Avicii

Comment Te Dire Adieu . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Françoise Hardy

Une Belle Histoire . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Michel Fugain & Le Big Bazar

Souvenir . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Pink Martini


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Blood Moon, Lily Underwood

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Untitled Aimee Bagde

I hate you. I hate you for making me believe that I was actually something meaningful to you, I hate you for making me smile with every thought of you, I hate you for giving me butterflies in my stomach because of the way you held me, I hate you for staying up with me every night even though you were tired to make sure I was okay, and I hate you for telling me that you love me. And when I say that I hate you, I really mean that I love you. You tell people the same things that I say about you. The only difference is that when you say that you hate me, you really mean it. And that kills me everyday. I should be the one who hates you, I should be the one who gets to leave at every minor inconvenience, and I should be the one who gets to manipulate you - not the other way around. The only reason that you’re able to do that to me in the first place is because no matter how many times you screw up, I will always “hate you”

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Disco Heart at the Rainbow Getaway, Cate Woodhead

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Bathroom Wall, Emma Farquhar Quebec City, Quebec Chez Temporel


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A Response to Bathroom Graffiti Emma Farquhar Live every day like it is your last, what does that even mean? To live each day trying to cram in as much as possible, thinking that we will never see, feel, touch anything ever again? I prefer to live everyday as though it is my first: to be surprised by even the smallest things and to want to make the most out of a day without worrying about what I might not be able to do tomorrow. Because it is the first day everyday, and every day is new. There is no desperation to do as much as possible before the day is over, but instead, I sit in awe at the sunset ending the day. I live my life knowing that I have all the time to fulfill my dreams, while not taking anything for granted. To live every day like it is my last would suffocate me. To think that I must do everything before the day ends, to wonder if I am using every single minute to the most of its use. Children don’t think this way when it is their first day on earth: they stop and look at everything that catches their eye, no matter how insignificant. Because to us it might be insignificant, but to them it is the first time they see something as beautiful or as interesting. If we all lived our lives as though they were our first, maybe we would realize that our happiness does not depend on how productive we are, or how many big events happen in our life, but instead depends on our ability to stop and smell the roses.

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Midsommar, Lily Underwood

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Babylon Anonymous

I don’t understand you Je ne te comprends pas No te entiendo Δεν σε καταλαβαινω 私はあなたを理解していません Я не понимаю тебя non ti capisco นไ เ าใจ ณ Andikuqondi Ես քեզ չեմ հասկանում 나는 당신을 이해하지 못합니다 Chan eil mi gad thuigsinn Ég skil þig ekki आपको न समझता

คุ

हीं

ข้

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ม่

ฉั

मैं

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Je T’aimerai Toujours Ma Puce, Emma Farquhar Quebec City, Quebec


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I BMJS

I I am what? I am endless. I am finite. I hurt. I live. I die. I am all. I am nothing. I am endless. I am what? I

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Window into a Cat’s Life, Emma Farquhar

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6th Edition, Issue 1Emma Farquhar Deuxièmement,

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tik tok BMJS Time is strong yet it is weak. Everything hinges on the steady tik tok. It mends and breaks, cold and constant. Much, more, how much more? Never slowing, never leaving. Angel and devil over your shoulder. Stop, go, yes, no. Time doesn’t wait, even if you break. Seconds are minutes. Minutes to hours. Hours, hours, nothing. Nothing is left.

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Bird is the Word , Chloe Somerville

Untitled, Chloe Kwan


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Untitled, Chloe Kwan

April 27, Anonymous

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Failed Physics, Emma Farquhar

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From under oppressive currents we rise.

EDITORIALS

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Quebec City, Quebec, Emma Farquhar

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Evermore, BMJS 23

Untitled, Chloe Somerville

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Seize the Day or Something BMJS The boy wakes in darkness. For a moment he is unsure he’s even opened his eyes as everything around him is completely devoid of light. His eyes dart back and forth, desperately trying to make sense of something, anything. After a few moments, his eyes adjust to the unfamiliar shapes of gnarled trunks and arching branches. His ears perk at the rustling of hundreds of leaves. He’s in a forest. The boy shivers, for the first time realizing the cold around him. “Rune!” a voice calls, smooth and soft around the edges. Rune can’t place the voice, but he knows that it is he that is being called. He remembers his own name, of course. Why shouldn’t he? “Y— yes. I’m here!” his voice comes out a harsh rasp. He swallows the dryness in his throat. A faint outline of a boy appears before him. He fathoms it is the owner of the voice. The boy is fairly average in height and size, but in the darkness, Rune can see the glow of his peacock blue eyes “Rune! Are you alright?” he asks. Rune detects worry in the boy’s tone. He reckons they must know each other. Why can’t he remember? The other boy furrows his brow, kneeling down in front of Rune. “Hey. Are you alright?” he repeats. “Um,” Rune starts. “I— I’m not sure.” The boy cracks a grudging half-smile. “That was pretty bloody mad. What you did back there. I reckon it was your craziest one yet.” Rune frowns, trying desperately to remember. “My craziest?” “Yeah, I know you’re a big fan of the whole ‘jumping in the freezing lake’ one. But I still think this is more impressive.” “I jumped in the lake?” Rune repeats, receiving no response from his barren mind. The boy raises his brows and chuckles dryly. “Quit playing around, Rune.” “I— I’m not,” he breathes. “I don’t remember.” “Remember what?” Rune shudders at the realization. “Anything. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what I did. I don’t know who my family is. I know words and definitions but I have no memories. For all I know my life started today. Heck, I don’t even know what your name is,” he says. Rune has been enveloped in a strange sense of resignation. He sees no point in panicking. That is, until he sees the look on his acquaintance’s face. “This isn’t funny, Rune,” the boy says, voice cracking with fear. “What’s my name?” Rune delves back into his empty mind, finding nothing. “I don’t know,” he says, truthfully. “Dammit, Rune! What’s my name?” “I. Don’t. Know.” The boys stare at each other, unsure of what to do. “What if I give you the first letter?”

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Rune crosses his arms. “It’s not kindergarten, just tell me.” “Levi. My name is Levi, Rune. C’mon, say you remember.” Rune wishes he could. He really does. But it would be a lie. He shakes his head, slowly. Levi slumps to his knees. “I wish you were kidding. But I know what lying sounds like from you.” Rune feels a pang of shame at having disappointed this boy. “Why are we in a forest, Levi? Levi is quiet for a moment. “You really don’t remember?” Rune heaves an exasperated breath. “No.” Levi bites his lip. “All this time. I thought your lucky streak would last forever,” he murmurs. Rune is so fed up with his own ignorance that he rockets to his feet. He nearly collapses as his leg explodes with fiery pain. His knees buckle and he would’ve fallen on his face if Levi hadn’t rushed forward to catch him. Rune gasps in pain, flinging his arm around Levi’s shoulders to support himself. “F***,” Levi mutters. “It’s worse than I thought.” “What’s going on?” Rune breathes, head spinning. “What happened to me?” “You jumped from the bloody tree, Rune. That’s what happened.” Rune tries to look at his companion. “What? Why would I do that?” Levi grunts under his weight. “Why do you do any of your stunts? Because you’re bloody insane. And you’re too scared of letting life control you. Carpe Diem. Seize the day or whatever. That’s what leads you to do stupid things like this.” “It’s a regular occurrence?” Rune asks, frowning. “Yes. For you anyway,” Levi says. “It’s a miracle you’re not dead yet. You never seemed to be severely injured, no matter what stuff you did. Well… until now that is.” Rune pinches the bridge of his nose with a free hand. “And now I what— have amnesia?” Levi snorts. “How should I know? You’ve never injured yourself before. Plus, I’m an art major. I don’t know medical stuff.” He takes a breath. “We need to get you to the hospital I reckon. My car’s just up the way if you can make it.” Rune tests putting some weight on his leg. It’s painful but bearable. “Alright,” he tells Levi. They start walking, slowly and painstakingly. “Bloody mad. Your luck was bound to run out, but I just didn’t think it would be today,” Levi says, quietly. Rune grits his teeth. “You’re not helping.” Levi grunts, pulling him over a fallen branch. “Sorry, sorry. But it was your dumb idea that got you here.” Rune growls. “I can’t even remember what the dumb idea was.” “You jumped out of the goddamn tree. I told you,” Levi snaps. “Why are you so mad?” Rune demands. “You’re not the one without memories.” Levi snarls. “Because Rune, I’ve been telling you for years not to do all this stupid stuff. And every time you’re like ‘no Levi stop worrying. Shut up Levi, nothing’s going to go wrong. Levi, get that stick out of your a—”

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“Alright!” Rune interjects. “I get it. But none of that was me, right? Because I don’t remember.” Levi laughs humourlessly. “You’re still as stupid, with or without your memories.” Rune glares at him. “Were we enemies or something?” He demands. Levi seems to falter. “What?” Rune says nothing, knowing that Levi has heard him. “No, Rune,” Levi says, eventually. “Quite the opposite.” Rune barely has time to process this before he feels himself being thrown forward. He feels the root tripping his foot and Levi’s fingers digging into his arm. And then something hard smashes against his skull and he sees a bright flash of light. It all comes rushing back to him, every moment. He hears himself murmur something softly, a name. And then it’s darkness again.

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WRITERS Emma Farquhar Aimee Bagde Bianca Sugunasiri ARTISTS Emma Farquhar Bianca Sugunasiri Lily Underwood EDITOR Bianca Sugunasiri DESIGN COMMITTEE Bianca Sugunasiri Lily Underwood Emma Farquhar Stella Fisher IMMORTAL FOUNDERS Safa Siddiqui Megan Sweeney PAST EDITORS Sophia Swettenham Madeleine Klebanoff O’Brien Linnea Dalvi Zaina Khan Abigail Butler Hannah Gerring 27

Shediac Bridge, New Brunswick, Emma Farquhar

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