December 2011

JESUIT JOURNAL December 2011

Haiku, Essays, and Artwork

Cover by Tim Nguyen ’12 Artwork by Jeff Barone ’13 and Patrick Barone ’12

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Contents & Acknowledgements Table of Contents Haiku Entries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Descent into Delirium . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .14 Crème Brûlée . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 You Got This . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .19 The Shelf . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .20

Editor............................ Michael Gregory ’12

Assistant Editor.............. Kevin Chen ’13 Layout & Design........... Michael Gregory ’12

Tim Nguyen ’12 Art Contributors............ Jeff Barone ’13 Patrick Barone ’12 Leo Luna ’13 Joey Kishpaugh’12 Jason Uy ’13 Jackson Pyke ’14 Emmanuel Salazar ’14 Harrison Ainsworth ’12 Hector Mejia ’14 Ivan Maduka ’13 Joe Powell ’12 Miguel Sotelo ’14 Will Towle ’13 Luke Olinger ’12 Ryan Cunningham ’12 Richard Antoon ’13 Jack White ’13 Moderators.................... Mr. Ian Berry

Dr. Michael Degen

A special thanks to all the haiku entries and the art contributors from Mrs. Hoskin’s art classes. ~Kevin Chen Assistant Editor Kevin really took the lead on this edition, and he put it together with almost no guidance or help. It’s a really great edition. I know he will make an excellent editor next year. ~Michael Gregory Editor

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Haiku Competition “My Future”

Artwork by Leo Luna ’13

Artwork by Joey Kishpaugh ’12

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Uncertain could be The title of this poem.

For sure though: “The End” Ben Cordell ’12

Quietly jogging, My happy heart beats faster, The finish in sight.

Grant VanKirk ’13

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Artwork by Jason Uy ’13

Artwork by Jackson Pyke ’14

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Leaving the oak doors The sunlight flashing around I see the new school

Kevin Chen ’13

Snow crested mountains Corner office skyscrapers Which shall I summit?

Will Brown ’13

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A man for others Serving others selflessly For rest of his life Nathon Krog ’13

Determination Striving for the best in life I need Common Sense Jeff Barone ’13

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I see a large boat Rolling in the open sea My heart loud in love Edmundo Zarate ’14

Journey of the mind the winding path’s Parallel through phantasm’s mist Tony Duong ’13

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Studying my faith, I begin to contemplate My own vocation Michael Boone ‘13

Future Adventures Hold for me maturity And growth moreover Trent McRae ’15

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The road to freedom Is paved with whimsical joys.

The future is now.

Basil Seif ’13

As I plant the seeds, The whimsical harvest anew, The fruits of joy nourish Basil Seif ’13

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The vast pool below Waves of Destiny Ripple Jump, drown, live anew.

Marshall Huggins ’13

Artwork by Emmanuel Salazar ’14

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A debate of truth, With a goal of innocence, I strive for justice.

Grant VanKirk ’13

Sprinting through the fog, I score a heroic goal, Cleats moist from the dew.

Grant VanKirk ’13

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Artwork by Harrison Ainsworth ’12

Artwork by Ivan Maduka ’13

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Descent Into Delirium Colin Traver ’13

A

ll poets are mad. Such are words from Robert Burton’s The Anatomy of Melancholy, published in 1621.

Some believe Burton was merely articulating a satirical hyperbole; however, others believe this exaggeration contains much more validity, an eerie actuality concerning the world of bards and writers alike. Throughout history, numerous writers and poets have exhibited mental insanity, a phenomenon immersed within the creative writing spectrum.

One of the more profound mental deficiencies is neurosis, which has possessed many writers. Neurosis is characterized by anxiety, compulsivity and obsessive/quirky behavior. Historians oftentimes point to the English writer Oscar Wilde as a prime case of neuroticism. Wilde was known for his flamboyant and whimsical behavior, especially for the time period in which he lived (1854-1900), a time period known for cathartically expressed moral values. Consequently, Wilde held an anomalous set of ideals and morals compared to the prevailing standard of the time. He is rumored to have engaged in homosexual relations with the poet Lord Alfred Douglas (1870-1945), and also resorted to alcoholism. Eventually, Wilde was convicted of “acts of gross indecency” (referring to his homosexual experiences) and imprisoned. His imprisonment lead to the gradual downfall of his career and life. Though a victim of injustice, it is believed that Wilde’s values and beliefs were so atypical partly because of his neurosis.

Agoraphobia is another mental illness which has consumed a copious number of writers. A fear of large crowds and occupying open areas amongst many other people typifies this mental disease. Historians often describe the famous poet Emily Dickinson as a classic example of agoraphobia, as she was frequently referred to as an “eccentric recluse”, spending much of her life shut up in her house writing. Towards the end of her time she began to refuse direct contact with others. Perhaps one of the primary reasons for her agoraphobia was her spending too much time with ogres. These ogres generally wore bunny rabbit ears while spending time with her, contributing to her mental deterioration because she was horribly frightened to fall into a pit of ice cream sundaes.

The ogres were regularly spotted in wide open fields eating the sundaes and banana splits and frolicking along with the cherry basket that the goose feather punched and flew across the rainbow sky with the chocolate ants who sing the national anthem of Slurpees in the fairy world where they eat candy corned apples that have the flamboozled button noses and cry whee whee whee all the way home to Walley World. Marty Moose! Marty Moose!

Marty Moose! Yaaaayyy! Cry the blue apricots who haven’t seen a groovy acorn since the winged antelopes came and spat anthropology upon the stars where they jump around from dot to dot and the mice say “Screw you! I’m already married!” and then they come down and Pow! Right in the kisser and pleasurable fire massages the skin of the porcupines if they agree to not stab people with their caramel flavored quills when they rub oil on their backs and low and behold He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named comes down to Earth on the backs of the piglets in Roman ancestry who are ashamed to eat peanut butter from the can unless their mommy ‘fweeds it to ‘dem and by that time I already caught the niner and was on the way to Candy Land Station at Krypton in the middle of the sun.

And then I came and went and moooooo there goes the horse again I’m off! To thetotaldestructionofpoultryhomogenous zelaxdoublejininthehooporamaupsiloninskysdkdsadhgijasdftyfudfg57he5678jyo57k3686jr6jrgjytjsjlum!

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! WHAT’S GOING ON!!!! AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!.....

-Unfortunately, the writer who was writing this informative essay has gone mentally insane and will not be able to finish writing. We apologize for the inconvenience.

Sincerely, The Jesuit Journal

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Photograph by Jared Pearson ’12

Artwork by Hector Mejia ’14

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Artwork by Jason Uy ’13

Artwork by Joe Powell ’12

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Chocolate Crème Brûlée Jeff Barone ’13

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½ cup of half-and-half 1 tsp. of vanilla extract ½ cup of chocolate chips 1/3 cup of granulated sugar 1 ½ cup of heavy cream 4 egg yolks

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preheat oven to 375 heat half-and-half on stove pour in vanilla and cook for 5 minute or until boiling add chocolate and stir until melted In a large bowl, mix eggs and sugar together slowly pour half-and-half in egg bowl and whisk constantly add heavy cream and whisk until combined pour into custard ramekins place in larger pan and add water to larger pan until the water level is halfway up the dishes. bake for 35 minutes or until edges are set and middle is slightly jiggly. refrigerate until ready to be served evenly coat top with extra sugar and, either with a cooking torch or the broiler in your oven, melt sugar until golden brown.

13. serve

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Artwork by Miguel Sotelo ’14

Artwork by Will Towle ’13

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You Got This

by Alejandro Ortiz Life may present challenges that you’ll stress over, but you got this Burdens may come that will seem impossible to bear, but you got this Sadness may darken your days, but you got this People may try to bring you down from success, but you got this Anger may lead you to regret, but you got this You may need someone who loves you and will carry you in times of struggle, now God’s got you

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The Shelf

by Chris Axmann In the house that I grew up in, there was a certain shelf.

On its panels rested the triumphs of youth, the shiny baubles of soccer games, chess camps, and blue ribbons for reasons unknown.

On its panels hung accolades and warmth, the sum of good intentions that formed a child, stumbling into life, into a man, stumbling out of it.

For years I didn’t even notice the shelf was there.

Many nights it would go unaddressed, Nights would turn into weeks; nothing adorned the shelf.

The shelf held firm. Nothing could undo the little victories of childhood.

Memories could not collect dust, just as moments could not lose their luster, just as innocence could not cease to exist.

But I realized, I grew older, and I knew that life was not defined in silly trophies.

I could not measure a lifetime in golden figurines; The little league championship could not answer my questions.

The molded legs of an artificial atlas could no more shoulder the weight of the world than the burden of my struggles.

Paint chips away.

Letters peel off.

The little men break and crumble with age.

I did not even notice the shelf was there.

Until one day it was gone.

The dust and dirt had marred its unpolished wood and time had relentlessly assaulted its teetering frame.

It looked shoddy in my room. It looked silly.

Immature.

Even childish.

It was an eyesore to say the least.

I was glad to see it gone.

It’s strange. I couldn’t care less when it was there.

Now it wasn’t, and I didn’t know what to do.

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So I cried.

And the monsters under my bed howled, And papa bear roared, mama bear wailed, baby bear blubbered, Even Superman whimpered.

All of Whoville mourned as the page folded, the chapter closed, and the book was tucked away on the shelf, never to be retrieved again.

When the tears ran out, I stopped.

I moved on.

I grew up.

Childhood came and went, as chapters often do.

I shook the broken remnants of lost life from my shoulders, and embraced adulthood.

One day I think I’ll build a shelf.

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Artwork by Luke Olinger ’12

Artwork by Ryan Cunningham ’12

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Artwork by Richard Antoon ’13

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Photograph by Jack White ’13