5th Edition, Issue 1
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Dicere sicut furcifur.
Cover: Untitled, Maya Kors 2
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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
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CONTENTS Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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Tracklist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6, 7
Ode to Ye. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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Anonymous Things That Keep Me Up At Night. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 Maggie Fyfe Rule of Three . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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Alexis Patrescu In the Darkness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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Anonymous 3...........................................................
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Anonymous 3 AM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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Anonymous Sincere Apologies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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Hannah Gerring Schrodinger’s Paradox in Prose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Mr. Levesque
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INTRODUCTION 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
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TRACKLIST 2:45 Am . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Elliot Smith
Flightless Bird, American Mouth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Iron & Wine
Turf . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Aminé
Daydreaming . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Radiohead .. Stolen Dance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Milky Chance
3:00 Am . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Finding Hope
My Cell . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The Lumineers
Lavender Blood . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Fox Academy
April 25th . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Kadeem Tyrell
Breezeblocks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
alt-J
Frank’s Track . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Kanye West
Malibu Sleep . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Col3trane
Interlude - Live . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . London Grammar
West Coast . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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Lana Del Rey
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Under the Sun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jesse James Solomon, Strata . DHL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Frank Ocean
Cinnamon Girl . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lana Del Rey
Meet Me in the Hallway . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Harry Styles
400 Lux . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Lorde
I gotta Find Peace of Mind . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Ms. Lauryn Hill
February 3rd . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jorja Smith
Violent Crimes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Kanye West
PrettyGirlz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . WILLOW
Desoleil (Brilliant Corners) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Loyle Carner, Sampha
Plastic 100ยบC . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sampha
Loose Ends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Loyle Carner, Jorja Smith
Despair in the Departure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Arctic Monkeys
Let My Baby Stay . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Mac Demarco
Cherry Hill . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Russ
7 Available to listen at https://open.spotify.com/user/teganbrooke123
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Ode to Ye Anonymous cymbals
chaos my leather black jeans on i’m getting my scream on possession? ... it’s early morning you know it. do i know it? gah my leather black jeans on i’m getting my scream on
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Untitled, Cate Woodhead
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Things That Keep Me Up At Night Maggie Fyfe
-how is birthday cake a flavour of ice cream… if birthday cake can be any flavour? -how was dan humphrey gossip girl? -who thought oatmeal raisin cookies were a good idea? -the fact that tessa virtue and scott moir aren’t married yet -are shampoo and conditioner real friends or just work friends? -on victorious, when rex says something mean to robbie, isn’t robbie just insulting
himself? -the fact that the stars you see in the night sky could already be dead. -the light from the stars takes so long to reach us that by the time we see them they’ve could have already exploded. -what was up with that thing where you throw cheese in babies’ faces? -that time grace charness told me ‘i can picture it i just need to see it’ -so many people i know say that they’re hufflepuffs but that’s a load of bull sugar… you’re all ravenclaws and you know it -isn’t cheese just a loaf of milk? -one of my biggest regrets is that i never saw one direction in concert. -in titanic, there was definitely room for jack on the raft. that’s right, i went there. -you can’t breathe in and smile at the same time… i got you didn’t i? -do you think queen elizabeth ever watches the crown? -that time my mom was driving me home from rehearsal and turned down the radio because ‘the sun was too bright and she couldn’t see’ -to what extent will adding ‘to what extent’ to the beginning of my research question make me sound smarter? -that the lead up to christmas is actually way better than actual christmas -would you rather be a dog or a ghost?
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Untitled, Kaylah Carruthers 5th Edition, Issue 1
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Untitled, Joelle Masia Mandala
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Rule of Three Alexis Patrascu The lamp on your nightstand lines the crack of the door, your fingers caress the lines, the letters on the pages, balanced on your knees. Read me like you knew me once. You used to read, hide, light the night from beneath the bedsheets, where your eyes were like telescopes— you sometimes let me look into the stars, a special permission for I, I, I, ante meridian friend, moment, astronomer: charting the sky in your gaze. Read me like you saw me twice. I could tell you their names, the characters in the book, you could speak in their tongue since you understood. Understood, when I did not speak, you always listened, scrutinized, euphemized— No— tell it to me straight: 3 A.M., don’t beautify, Latinize, with your eyes. Read me like you told me thrice. 13
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Almost Home, Orla Kelly
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In the Darkness Anonymous I jolted awake with a shriek. I looked down at my body. I was wrapped in my twisted bedsheets shivering. Cold sweats soaked my body. I wrapped myself tighter in my blankets and glanced at the clock. 3 AM, it read. I sighed in relief. Finally, I could get some restful sleep. I lay back down and closed my eyes. Just before I drifted off to sleep, a thought crossed my mind. A horrible, wonderful thought. “What if?”, and then it was gone. I woke up the next morning tired as usual. I crawled out of bed and took a hot shower, just like I did every morning. I needed to wash off the horrible crawling feeling of sleep. I changed into my clothes and headed downstairs for breakfast. I met Carter on the stairs. He stared at my eyes. “Nightmares again?” he asked gently. I touched my deep nightmare scars. “As always,” I replied monotonously. He touched my arm. I pulled away. My brother is always worried about me. I’ve told him that I’m fine, but he just won’t let it go. “C’mon. It’s almost breakfast. Jillian will be upset if we are late.” I hurried down the steps with Carter at my heels. We walked into the kitchen just as the clock struck 9 o’clock. We sat down side by side in our chairs and waited. Kaya was already sitting across from us, early as always. She smiled at me and then at Carter. A few seconds later Sarah ran in dragging Billy by the hand. She pulled him to his chair and then sat in her own panting like she did every morning. Just then, Jillian came out of the pantry with breakfast. “Good morning everyone!” she said cheerily. “Good morning,” we replied. And in that moment, everyone smiled. It was hard not to in the presence of Jillian. She was the nicest matron we could ever ask for. Every one of us loved her. To me and Carter she was like our mother. We had never known our own. She had died along with our father when we were little kids. So we ended up here. “Sunnyside Orphanage”. Along with Kaya, Sarah, Billy and Chris. Kaya’s parents had died fighting in the army. Sarah and Billy’s had been killed in a lab accident. And Chris, well Chris’s story was the worst. His parents had left him at the orphanage to go travel the world. They had never intended to have him anyways. Just an accident. Jillian looked around the table and her face fell like it did every morning. “Robin—,” she started. “I’ll go get him,” I said like I do every morning. My chair squeaked as a got up from the table and out of the kitchen. I walked up the steps all the way to the third floor. I stopped at the third door like I do every morning. I knocked three times and said “Chris?” like always. I looked at my watch and waited for 5 seconds. He opened the door and looked at me. “C’mon Chris. Time for breakfast.” He followed me down as always, silent. When we got back to our table, we sat down and ate. After breakfast, we went upstairs to change for our daily outing. Carter followed me up the stairs. “Carter,” I said exasperated. “Your room is that way.” I pointed in the opposite direction. He ignored me and once we were in my room he closed the door. “What?” I asked. “Robin, it can’t go on like this.” 15
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“Like what?” I asked, feigning ignorance. “Oh don’t be ridiculous!” he cried. “Every morning at 3 AM you wake up screaming from night terrors. The only peaceful sleep you get is from 3 AM to 7 o’clock. That’s 4 hours! It’s not healthy,” he ranted. “You think I don’t know that?” I asked him softly. That shut him up. “I know, ok. I know it’s bad. I know I wake up every night screaming and sweating. It’s been like that ever since Mum and Dad died. It’s not my fault. I’ve tried everything. It’s impossible. I’ve been dragged from doctor to doctor, and all of them say there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m broken, and there’s nothing I can do about it!” At this point, my voice had risen to a yell. I slumped down on my bed exhausted. I hated getting mad at Carter. He sat down next to me and put his arm around me. I rested my head on his shoulder a took deep breaths. “I’m sorry, Robin,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just, I’m worried about you.” “Don’t,” I told him. “It’s not worth your time,” I added bitterly. “Hey. I’m your brother remember? I’m not giving up on you, and you shouldn’t either.” She glanced up into his big chocolate brown eyes. “Alright,” she said gathering herself together. “You’re right. Its just...this week’s nightmares have been worse. A lot worse.” A haunted look shadowed my face and Carter’s gaze hardened. Just then, Billy burst into the room sobbing. “Robiiiiiiiiii,” he wailed throwing himself onto my lap. Being only 4, Billy had a lot of tantrums. “It’s okay,” I soothed as I hugged him. Sarah came in a moment later with a very odd expression on her face. It looked somewhere between mortification, fury and exhaustion. “Billy...” she started. I nodded to Carter. “C’mon Sarah,” he told her. “Let’s go downstairs and get ready.” Sarah looked up and sighed. The poor girl had to take care of herself and Billy ever since their parents had died, and it wore her out every day. “Billy and Robin will meet us downstairs,” he told her, leading her to the door. On the way out, Carter turned and winked at me, I winked in return, it had long been our secret symbol. Once they had left, I took Billy to his room and helped him into his winter things. Then, together, we walked downstairs. When we met up with everyone else, Billy ran over to his sister and hugged her knees. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” he told her earnestly. She smiled and ruffled his hair. Then she took his hand and led him to their spot in line. I smiled. The good thing about Billy was that he never stayed upset for long. “Nice work,” a voice behind me said. I spun around quickly. My brother stood there smiling at me. I smiled back. “Thanks. You too.” He took my hand and led me to our place in line like every day. Jillian appeared at the head of the line to take us on our daily walk as usual. We walked out as we always do. I did exactly the same things as, and yet somehow I felt different. The phrase came back to me again, and this time I finished it. “What if I could be cured?” I smiled at the thought because for once, I actually believed that it could be true.
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Grief, Anonymous
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Bird is the Word , Chloe Somerville
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3 Anonymous do i need to tri harder i a.m. kill 3 birds with one stone? time is inevitable so a.m. i
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Ave Cesaria, Emma Farquhar
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Unnatural Light of Madness, Aahana Uppal
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3 AM Anonymous Not even in the middle Of winter Has there ever been a Colder time There’s never been More stars at night Then in this blackened Sky A stronger wind Cannot be felt Not anywhere but Here At Three AM the world Is still And life seems to Disappear
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Untitled, Chloe Somerville
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Nightmare, Cate Woodhead
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Don’t be a fool, make it easier, Hannah Gerring 27
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Sincere Apologies Hannah Gerring If at any moment I begin to fall Ill keep falling
The truth is this: what I may tell you may not be true. I’m always honest.
Hotel Lobbies never age. Neither do some streets I don’t remember. Neither do we. [But, (George) Washington told me that I would be led in silence, like a lamb, To the slaughter So why am I bathing in guilt for something I had no choice over? And why am I, in fear of stagnation, reaching to the furthest points of my safety bubble, to play pretend?]
ask me how it’s going, or how I am today, I dare you.
The answer is most indefinitely: Me okay.
28 on instagram @theselladore
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Schrodinger’s Paradox in Prose J-Sin She’s ten but she understands death better than I do. This was before her mother and I moved her to San Bernardino. We had read a few Joan Didion essays and missed the point, believing that the problem wasn’t the dream, nor the landscape, nor America itself. The problem was the people. Now we know that the true problem is believing that things like fate only apply to those with weaker wills, softer skins, more plastic minds. When the cat died we were living in North Adams. It was my daughter that saw something was wrong. Looking back it seems that the cat had been listless for months, eating less and hiding with purpose borne of something beyond playfulness. Not sinister exactly, just selfish. We were busy though. Not with anything in particular because then that thing would have to have been more important than the cat and we loved the cat. We certainly loved it more than replacing the black bathroom tiles or purchasing new lint rollers or finding the perfect brand of granola. I suppose we didn’t love it more than all of those things combined though because those things, the sum total anyway, is what we are and as much as we loved the cat we didn't love it more than ourselves. She understood that something was wrong though. Maybe for her the sum total of her life includes things like animals, as if the cat was an addition to my life but, for her, the cat was an actual piece of the whole. When it started to suffer, she felt it. I didn’t get to see what happened but I like to imagine it. In my mind she comes home from school on that Thursday a few years ago and, looking at the cat, something inside of her breaks a little. She knows that something needs to be done. I picture her lining the basket of her bicycle with good linen and guest towels to give it comfort. She rides slowly to the vet, taking over an hour for what is usually a short ride done countless times when it needed food and her mother and I were away. When she gets there, gingerly lifting it for the last time, she can feel the laboured breathing, see the slowly extinguishing light but she feels something alongside grief. Not hope, obviously, but also not fear. Comfort, maybe. Comfort in the safety of passage, in the certainty that all things will die. It’s her gift, I think, the ability to accept these small losses while I fight desperately to hold on to scraps. If I had been there I would not have been able to do what she did because she understands what I don’t. The scene continues in the saddest of ways. The vet tells her what she already knows, she holds the cat while it dies, she thanks it for all that it gave her. When my wife and I get home we find her throwing out it’s food dish with tear-stained eyes. We ask her what happened and she tells us that the cat is gone but not to worry because she held it while it died and we should all be lucky enough to be held by someone who loves us when we die. She tells us that she will hold us, when we die.
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WRITERS Maggie Fyfe Joelle Masia Mandala Alexis Patrascu Hannah Gerring J-Sin ARTISTS Kaylah Carruthers Emma Farquhar Hannah Gerring Orla Kelly Joelle Masia Mandala Chloe Somerville Aahana Uppal Cate Woodhead EDITORS J-Sin Hannah Gerring DESIGNER Hannah Gerring IMMORTAL FOUNDERS Safa Siddiqui Megan Sweeney PAST EDITORS Sophia Swettenham Madeleine Klebanoff O’Brien Linnea Dalvi Zaina Khan Abigail Butler
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