October 2010

Jesuit Journal

Two Men Inside

by Tyler Hicks The Devonian Predator

by Harrison Ainsworth An Old Woman Knitting

by Reagan McCreary

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Cover by Tim Nguyen ’12 Art by Jack White ’13

Contents & Acknowledgements Articles

Two Men Inside by Tyler Hicks ’11..........................................................................................................4 Devonian Period by Harrison Ainsworth ’12...........................................................................................7 An Old Woman Knitting by Reagan McCreary ’12.................................................................................9 No One Makes a Difference by Colin Taylor ’12....................................................................................12 The Tree by Tyler Hicks ’11.....................................................................................................................15

Publisher.......................Student Council Editor.............................Robert Uhl ’11 Assistant Editor.............Michael Gregory ’12 Layout & Design........... Michael Gregory ’12

Christopher Hurley ’12 Art Contributors............Jack White ’13

Michael Quint ’11

Zac Lucas ’12 Moderators.....................Dr. Michael Degen

Mrs. Sarah Jewell

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Artwork by Michael Quint ’11

Two Men Inside

There are two men inside One happy, one sad There are two men inside One peaceful, one mad There are two men inside One beaming, one glaring There are two men inside One shy, one daring There are two men inside One loved, one lonely These two men inside me Fighting to be the one and only Tyler Hicks ’12

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Artwork by Michael Quint ’11

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Artwork by Michael Quint ’11

The Devonian Predator Excerpt from A Predator’s Story

by Harrison Ainsworth ’12 400 Million Years Ago Rheic Ocean Slowly, drifting through the dark waters, The large bulk scans the area with its jaw hanging open, tasting the water. Tasting for blood. Without a ripple, the large bulk flicks its caudal fin and slowly, gracefully, dives down into the depths.

Titanichthys moved throughout the water gracefully, using its large pectoral fins to glide effortlessly. It had just finished feeding off of an adult Materpiscis, and was spitting out the fish’s armoured plates, blood flowing from its mouth.

Visibility was low, so the fish opened its gaping maw to taste the various water currents for danger. It kept a slow pace, digesting its meal before patiently searching for another shoal of edible fish.

Moving in complete darkness, Titanichthys continued moving at a slow pace, sampling the water for something, anything, its dark, cold eyes useless in the pitch black water. The fish suddenly jerked its armoured head up. Stopping, it opened and closed oscillating its mouth in excitement as it confirmed its find.

Blood. Food. Moving towards the source. Caudal fin flipping faster and faster.

Having spit out the armoured plates and digested its food, Titanichthys started swimming towards its next destination, a gathering of Zooplankton. Picking up pace, the fish swam on, oblivious to the shape beneath it.

It notices its prey’s sudden increase in speed, and continues towards it. Slowly moving at an upward slant, it prepares.

Approaching the shoal, the Titanichthys slaps its caudal fin hard for a quick strike. It shoots through the shoal with a gaping mouth, then swallows before turning around for another attack.

The large bulk circles from below, biding its time. Its large body prevents quick movements, so each attack must be planned carefully.

After Titanichthys has eaten its fill, the Zooplankton start to disperse.

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The predator ascends quickly, flattening its pectoral fins against streamlining itself, using the darkness as cover.

Detecting movement beneath it, the Titanichthys whips around and freezes. The waves above ripple as the wind dances on the surface of the ocean. Scanning the ocean with its taste and feeling any unnatural ocean currents with its gills, the Titanichthys turns around to finish eating.

It waits, frozen in the water. Completely silent.

The Titanichthys accelerates towards the shoal.

The predator waits.

The Titanichthys opens its mouth.

The predator waits.

The Titanichthys reaches its top speed, inches away.

There is blood.

The predator emerged from its hiding spot inside the shoal and lunged at the Titanichthys, its jaws firmly clenched around its prey’s head. The Titanichthys reacts, its body in shock. Its caudal fin flails as its spine spasms. Its pectoral fins flapping as it attempts to swim away. Too late. The predator has already torn off its head and has started to consume its innards. It devours its still beating heart in an implosion of blood. Grabbing the carcass, the predator clenched down again this time biting it in two. The intestines of the Titanichthys fly out into the open ocean as the predator grabs them and swallows them whole. Within minutes the carcass is little more than scattered pieces of flesh. The predator slowly swims away, satisfied.

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An Old Woman Knitting

by Reagan McCreary ’12 Once upon a time, there was an old woman.

She loved to knit, and she loved to love, so she decided that she would knit the world a sweater.

She knew it would have to big.

Very big.

So she went to the fabric store downtown and cleaned them out.

She had to make four trips, and by the time she had filled her house with the yarn from the store, she was feeling like she might have gotten in over her head.

Disheartened, she took a long look at the enormous stack of yarn filling her living room, her kitchen, her bedroom, spilling out into her lawn, and soaking in the water from the sprinklers.

She decided to sleep on it.

The next day she woke to the heat of the afternoon, and noticed something odd.

The pile of yarn she had spent so much time getting wasn’t nearly as big as she remembered.

So she went to get some more.

Unfortunately, the fabric store downtown was sold out. So, she called their supplier.

The following day, trucks arrived carrying boxes on top of boxes, spools on top of spools, more boxes, and a few balls of yarn.

But it still didn’t seem like it would be enough.

The world is rather big, after all.

So she ordered some more. She ordered from all over the world. The assortment of yarns arriving on her doorstep shattered any conception you may have had of variety.

Soon news reporters came. So did doctors, scientists, economists, philosophers, angry politicians, happy politicians, and some cats.

There seemed to be a common belief among them, or perhaps a lack thereof.

They didn’t think it could, should, or would ever work.

They all stepped out of their helicopters and started to complain.

Reporters flashed cameras and microphones and asked questions.

Doctors suggested drugs and psychotherapy.

Scientists explained that the Earth, being so big, couldn’t possibly be covered by a blanket produced by human hands, let alone a sweater knit by a single old woman. Some pointed out that it already had been. Some argued that a giant sweater would just make the problem a whole lot worse.

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Economists spelled doom for the markets.

The philosophers applauded her utilitarian approach to activism, but thought about it for a second, confused themselves, contradicted themselves, and then scolded themselves for being fickle.

Don’t even get me started on the politicians.

The cats, well, the cats didn’t have much to say, but they certainly weren’t happy with such a waste of yarn.

Overall, nobody really liked the idea.

Nobody but the little old woman, who sat in a rocking chair, which didn’t really rock because it was caught above a mountain of yarn. She wielded a pair of slow moving needles.

She spent years knitting. Eventually she had the beginnings of a sweater that could possibly cover the entire neighborhood if a fleet of helicopters were to assist in the process.

She worked and worked. And then one day, three things happened at once.

She finished the sweater.

She ran out of yarn.

And she died.

Unfortunately, the scientists were right about the sweater. It just wasn’t big enough. On the bright side, it was knit quite beautifully.

And it was rather big, after all.

The old woman loved to knit. She loved to love.

It was the beginning of August that year when things suddenly went all wrong.

The peaceful little neighborhood was confronted with a drought.

The ground was dry.

The buildings were dry.

The people were dry.

Even the sky, once a blue canvas painted with clouds, was beginning to lose its radiance.

People were generally thirsty, and generally unhappy.

Their world, it seemed, was ready to combust.

And one day it did.

As dawn broke and the sun emerged, flames swallowed the town.

The people fled from their homes and took refuge miles away as they

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watched the smoke rise.

As they stared into the smoke, they noticed a slight peculiarity in the sky.

The peculiarity grew.

It grew until it was a fleet of helicopters.

That silly old woman...

Despite her passing, she had forgotten to turn off the sprinklers.

Each morning the giant roll of sweater was dampened by the sprinklers in her yard.

Almost nobody really noticed, because nobody really knew about the old lady.

They had forgotten about her sweater. They had more interesting things to think about. Even the drought couldn’t distract them enough to realize that her sprinklers were running... in the middle of a drought.

By some chance luck, one man’s cable went out, and he noticed. He called the news reporters to complain.

The fleet lifted the sweater over the town and smothered the flames.

News reporters, doctors, scientists, economists, philosophers, angry politicians, happy politicians, and some cats assessed the damage.

No harm done, really. The fire was gone as soon as it had started.

And on top of that, the drought mysteriously ended as soon as the sprinklers outside the old woman’s home were turned off...

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Artwork by Zac Lucas ’12

Dreams and Wishes

by Colin Taylor ’12 Chorus: Em C G D No one makes a difference, Cause no one gives a damn, I’m stuck in stagnant water with just my pen in hand Em C G D I don’t know what I’m writing but I can’t start just yet, cause I’m too busy burying the dead.

Verse (sung) Em C G D Em C G the dead dreams the dead wishes the things that keep us givin kisses walked right out behind D Em C G D Em C G You, you say your not like them but you are cause you walkout the door and don’t even give a D Em C G D Em C G damn in your hands you had the power you had the dream but you threw it down the drain D Em C G D Em cause all you wanted was the fame. You could change the world you could make a difference but C G D Em C G you didn’t care cause you’re too busy with plastic noses and powdered hair. All I’m asking is for D Em C G D Em one thing, a leader who can do more than sing.

Bridge: Em G D C (x2) Chorus: Em C G D No one makes a difference, Cause no one gives a damn, I’m stuck in stagnant water with just my

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Artwork by Jack White ’12

Em C G pen in hand, I can’t make a difference even though I care, cause I’m not sitting in the D White House chair.

Verse (rapped): Em C G D No one is even listenin to what I’m saying cause they’re too stuck up in their Jesus and their Em C G praying, they think he’s gonna save the world but he’s not cause he wants us to do something D Em C G and see what we got, and excuse me, sir, I think I noticed the problem your poker face is better D Em C G D when your playin hold ‘em, the thing is we’re stuck in “what ifs” , rockin to the beat off the same Em C G D Em damn riff; no one does new everybody does old; they are only doing what they’ve been told and C G D Em taught from birth, its a never ending cycle from the womb to the hearse. Everybody knows what’s C G D Em C going on; they could write a new song, but they’d rather sing along; we need somebody who’s G D Em C quixotic and just like Ghandi, morally faultless who will find a nice balance to get us out of dodge, G D who acts likes it’s his job and prays like it’s God’s Final chorus:

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Artwork by Jack White ’13

Em C G D No one makes a difference, Cause no one gives a damn, I’m stuck in stagnant water with just my Em C G D pen in hand, I don’t know what I’m writing but I can’t start just yet, cause I’m too busy burying Em C G the dead. No one makes a difference, Cause no one gives a damn, I’m stuck in stagnant water D Em C G with just my pen in hand, I can’t make a difference even though I care, cause I’m not sitting in D the Whitehouse chair.

Notes from the Artist: This song was written on the ukulele. If you would like to play on guitar you can either use capo 5 or capo 3, whichever works best for your vocal range.

Artwork by Zac Lucas ’12

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The Tree Outside my home and just a stroll away Stands a tall tree, shrouded in dismay Its leaves grey, its branches bent The tree is abandoned, its lifetime spent Yet it stood resolute, never dying nor falling And as I leaned close I could hear death calling The wind howled, the rain fell All Hell was loose, but the tree it could not quell Because despite all this, and all Hell’s might The tree was unusual for from it, shone a light

Tyler Hicks ’ 11

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Artwork by Jack White ’13