2017
Cover art: “After that” by Joshua Tsang. Produced by Dallas Print
per·ma·nence noun
The state or quality of lasting or remaining unchanged indefinitely.
McCallum High School 5600 Sunshine Dr. Austin, TX 2017
“Vision” by Emi Whiteside
TABLE OF CONTENTS 01. Turmoil, Harrison Smith
17. Don’t you Know, Bailee Herbold.
02. The Man with Piano Hands,
18. Only Cool Kids get Lollipops,
Emily Freeman. Pixie Dust, Claire Nelson.
Madison Olsen. Haiku No.3, Anonymous.
04. Green and Gold, anonymous. Stayed Inn, Joshua Tsang.
20. On a Hill, Emma Baumgardner.
06. MetroCity, Maya Rodriguez.
21. Now and Then, Emma
08. Untitled, Anonymous.
22. Origin, Olivia Clark.
09. Untitled, Hayley Arroyo.
23. 63, Charlie Holden.
10. Phantom Limb, Jazzabelle
24. A Day in Delhi, Isabella Giunta.
Baumgardner.
Haiku No.1, Anonymous.
Davishines. Youthful Vanity, Isabella Hernandez.
12. Goodnight Alice, Madison
Olsen. Haiku No.2, Anonymous.
14. Ocean, Anonymous.
Blue Girl, Scout Bennett.
16. Portrait of a Conflicted Man, Isabella Giunta.
26. Featured artist: Scout Bennett. 28. Featured artist: Marielle Glasse. 30. Featured artist: Orian Green. 32. Omenihu, Orian Green. 33. Lightbulb, Anonymous
34. Jason, Emi Whiteside.
51. Silence is a Sanctuary, Marielle Glasse.
35. Honey, Ruby Dietz. 36. Take a Slice, Bethany Raup. Clean, Anonymous.
52. Tahmina, Austen Juul-Hansen.
53. Underwear, Austen Juul-Hansen.
38. The Essence of Time Out,
54. Masks, Bethany Raup.
39. Tell me, Kiarra Anderson.
56. I Want this World, Ben Peralta.
Snowflakes, Charlie Holden.
Anna Marceau.
40. In God We Trusted, Io Hickman. 57. Guess, Orian Green. 41. Pupils, Tim Bjerke
58. Tastebuds, Marielle Glasse.
42. Exposure, Orian Green.
59. Wind, Scout Bennett.
43. Farmhouse, Oscar Kelban.
60. That’s a Long Way Down, Scout Bennett.
45. Bad, Jules Sease.
62. Divine Feminine, Joshua Tsang.
46. I Knew, Kiarra Anderson.
63. Acknowlegements
47. Chamomile, Emi Whiteside. 48. Steep Terraces, Karel Tinkler. Blood Oranges, Anonymous.
50. Gladiator, Olivia Clark.
64. Excalibur Staff
66. Tesoros, Amy McInnes. Tracklist.
Back Cover: Excalibur CD,
Various Artists
LETTER FROM THE EDITOR The average attention span of a teenager is twenty minutes. Given that fact, how do you get a group of them to focus long enough to produce an entire magazine? To do so, we had to stretch those twenty minutes over an entire semester. Spending the last five months wrangling a bunch of kids with this alleged twenty-minute attention span, especially as one of these kids myself, has been one of the most wild and experimental rides of my high school career. Twenty-eight angsty, distracted, creative, funny, amazing minds came together to create this magazine, and I could not be prouder of them or of the magazine that we created together. Showcasing McCallum’s talent is a reoccurring theme all across our campus, thanks to our amazing Fine Arts Academy. While our visual and performing artists are well known, our school’s talented writers are less so. That’s where Excalibur comes in. Shining the spotlight on our school’s visual, musical and literary artists gives the creators of our content more of an audience and less of the anxiety of putting themselves out there. With artists both anonymous and identified, one of my favorite parts about this collection is that every student who buys a copy of Excalibur appreciates every piece of art in it for what it is. As I’ve mentioned, this magazine would not be a reality without the brains of all twenty-eight students who created it. But we also owe a debt of gratitude to Mr. Myers, who was a great creative supervisor and inspired me to work harder because while we were working on Excalibur, he was printing his own poetry book, Bulls Bard. Charlie Holden and the design team pulled off a flawless design, and she has worked so hard to bring it to life. Isabella Hernandez and the rest of the content team handpicked each piece of art to create a great flow for the magazine. Allie Roeder and the marketing department pulled off not one but TWO kickass Coffehouses and plastered this school with posters— don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Thanks especially to the legacy of Excalibur itself, and everyone who has kept and will keep it living throughout this talented school for many more years to come. -Ella Speer 2017 Excalibur Editor in Chief
“Turmoil” by Harrison Smith
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The Man with Piano Hands Emily Freeman I knew a man with piano hands once. He had the nicest smile. He comes from a family that isn’t accepting. A family of religion driven hate. The man I knew was kind. He cared and felt with such vigor. Calling just to see if I was bored. A man who cared for others besides himself. What happened to this man? What made you change your caring ways? What made you stop being the friend I wanted and become the friend whom I didn’t even know Of anymore? course, I will never know Was it me? this answer. What if I knew the moment in time that changed everything? What course of action caused such an uncaring man? But, if I changed this action, would I be the same? Would I have never felt tremendous heartbreak? Why is the question that you can never truly understand. I have bled for the man with the piano hands. I trusted the man with the piano hands. I let so much go for the man with piano hands. And what do I get? I am gifted an unanswered phone call. A cold shoulder. An unforgiving sense of self loathing. 02
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“Pixie Dust” by Claire Nelson
Sadness and grief you only feel for the death of someone you love. l ignored the inevitable. Chose to not accept what I saw right in front of me. I wanted the man with the piano hands to still be my friend. He is gone. The man with piano hands died. I don’t know when, but he is gone. The name of the man with piano hands is still alive, but not the man that I knew. Those kind eyes have turned cold and the light is gone. I long to see the day that the man with the piano hands returns. To see that caring and kind smile. To see your eyes be full of light again. But alas, wishes can’t bring back what has been lost.
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Green and Gold anonymous An expensive green bird sits in a tight cage her small wings clipped and altered. she strikes 12 with life, the end of her strife. She now sits near death much taller. A young man stands nearby and altar proud and grinning gold. His nearly wife stops, stares, and cries, watching as she grows old. Gold and Green mark much unseen in life’s touching beauty. beware the clock, take time and stop before your time is up.
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“Stayed Inn” by Joshua Tsang
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“MetroCity” by Maya Rodriguez
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Haiku No.1 anonymous
Empty parking lots Are no longer for parking Now they may rest, warm.
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UNTITLED anonymous
Have you ever been torn between yourself and pure nostalgia, at its finest? Is it the sweetest thing to know? Is it his brown skin? Is it his flow? Or the flutter of every word Delivered from him to you As cold water hits against you? Is it his style? Or is it the chill you get when making eye contact? Or is it all in your head? You cannot sleep and simultaneously make your bed. Why are you aching for more pain and you cannot tell yourself if you’re worth his while, but you are indulged in his smile and are taking your own worth in vain. Why are you crying? You ask yourself silently. The energy and darkness puts your vulnerability in danger. You constantly build up your frustration in danger. You are a brick wall. He is a prophet in poetry and black suits him well. You are flower on the wall scared to leave hell, you’re not making sense and you’re not leaving an imprint, so what are you doing? Suffering. And it’s senseless.
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“Untitled” by Hayley Arroyo excalibur 2017
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“Youthful Vanity” by Isabella Hernandez
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Phantom Limb Jazzabelle Davishines Sometimes when I find something that makes me laugh, my first thought is to send it to you. My second thought is that your number isn’t there anymore. I still walk past your favorite coffee place even though I never go in. It’s just my route now. My favorite shirt is still the one you always liked, and the bands I always play in the car are the ones I heard through your headphones. It’s instinctual, how I still have these parts of you. I don’t remember your middle name, or the name of the creek we went to on good days, and I can’t remember making you smile. But those parts of yourself you left with me, those I can’t ever lose. A phantom limb is the sensation that a missing body part is still attached. I make a left turn I don’t need to, and find myself in front of your favorite record store. You’ve been missing for so long, so why can’t I shake you?
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Haiku No.2 anonymous Your chipped fingernails Are islands in your soft skin. Bite like a dog would.
“Goodnight Alice� by Madison Olsen excalibur 2017
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Ocean Anonymous It dances day and night, gleaming from the bright sun and glowing by the moonlight. Hundreds of shades of blue ranging from clear turquoise to midnight blue. I could spend eternity just watching the never ending array of crystal colors. On days where the air is calm, it is smooth as a sheet of glass. In an instant this can change, when the winds increase to a roar, tumultuous waves appear. Waves that gather speed and intensity as they move forward, resembling small white specks from above as the crest. Closer to the shore they gather momentum and hit the sand with a slap. White foamy seawater rises creeps up the beach, before receding back just in time for the next wave to crest. The mystery of what lies underneath those waters is what gives the ocean it’s dark, and sometimes ominous appeal. I never get tired of watching the swell of the ocean, and feeling the salty breeze swirl my hair. Or the feeling of diving under a wave and seeing bubbles form around me, or just floating and watching the distant horizon. Its beauty never ceases or dulls. Unless acted on by an outside force. Humanity and its endless stream of pollution and garbage is the only force strong enough, and cruel enough, to obscure the unparalleled beauty of the world’s oceans.
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“Blue Girl” by Scout Bennett
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“Portrait of a Conflicted Man”
by Isabella Giunta
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Don’t You Know Bailee Herbold Over the mountain Over the hill Traveling this wide land Year after year And oh, don’t you know, I love you so, forever and ever And oh, don’t you know I love you so, forever and ever Slow down the river Drifting along So many places Far from our home And oh, don’t you know I love you so, forever and ever And oh, don’t you know I love you so, forever and ever The wonder around me Bright everywhere Sunlight surrounds me Feel the evening air And oh, don’t you know I love you so, forever and ever And oh, don’t you know I’ll miss you so, forever and ever more
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Haiku No.3 Anonymous These stains won’t come out Of my heart or of my clothes. I have been ruined.
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“Only Cool Kids get Lollipops”
by Madison Olsen
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On a Hill Emma Baumgardner By the parking lot under the rain cover of an old tent in the lightning dusk of Mt. Rushmore I’ve spent my life on the road to somewhere with Willie Nelson in my back pocket Above the black and blue hills of Texas countryside starry eyed wonder of gas stations at 11pm, and what a good twizzler can do to a sleepless drive I’ve spent my life measuring the seam of a car seat the sting in the whites of my eyes that dusty sunlight the wear and tear of rubber how a good shoe never lets you down I’ve spent my life proud of the lightning, because it’s easy to forget how to start from the ground up the careful considerations the science behind astonishment it’s the pure feeling of home with parents who fit into a bigger understanding of morals to live by there are always disagreements, but there is always time This is easy to forget now when chances made to speak of love fall short to generations of details it is hard to find that bigger picture On the interstate at night on the way to Alaska in the high beams of hail and in miles of billboard ingenuity I know what it is like to feel loved by my country I know how lucky I am 20
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It is astounding growing up in the lightning in the middle of a movement of political activism in the Women’s March on Washington of presidential protest of demanding humanism but I have forgotten how to extend my hand I have forgotten all those families taking pictures at the Big Bend entrance sign and the candy bars they buy at gas stations at night I have forgotten how to put my ideology aside how not to demonize my own family I refuse to be part of the generation that discusses the future separately Because eventually, when all the lightning clears up, we cannot be left with nothing.
Now and Then Emma Baumgardner When I was little the world seemed a whole lot smaller, the learning it takes to comprehend, how to take each day by each day, falling in love, and learning to find yourself in a different way, down and dirty with the go-getters and long mornings on the floor, the “It will get better.� kind of wishful thinking, I fell in love with dreaming, raised on the crowded trails of Big Bend, on road trips, on playing pretend weeks and months of seeing nothing but road, constellations, wrapped up in a world of once-was wastelands firing up the radio and pretending to never look back. excalibur 2017
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“Facepaint” by Olivia Clark
63 Charlie Holden There is a mosquito buzzing in my car It’s not too close, but it’s not quite far. We’re stuck here together, the two of us, Sixty three miles an hour, so don’t make a fuss. Please do not look at the passenger’s seat, Feel only the pedals beneath my feet. Faster, faster, we could never be caught, This is a fight that should never be fought Because there’s a mosquito buzzing here, It’s far too close, almost in my ear. It whispers things I should never know, Do not tell me that I have to go slow. I tilt my head and feel three quick pops, I turn to you and slap! The buzzing stops.
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“A Day in Delhi” by
Isabella Giunta
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“Cuckoo Head” by Scout Bennett 26
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Featured Artist Scout Bennett Q: What inspired you to submit to Excalibur? A: This is my third year at McCallum. I’m a senior, and I’ve seen a lot of really great work in the Excalibur books. I have always wanted to submit, but I have never had the chance to, so I’m really excited to do it this year. Q: Do you have a main inspiration behind your pieces? A: I’m inspired by my own life and escapism to avoid stress, so that creates very fantastical environments and unreal places that you would escape into when you’re dealing with hard times. Q: How did you get into digital art? A: I began doing it on my own over the summer and then I took it to class, and my teacher Mr. Martinez said it would be good for me to pursue that during his class. So sometimes I do traditional art, but sometimes I work on my laptop in his class. Q: Are there any aspects in your work that relate back to your own life? A: I’ve had a lot of issues with stress and taking too many advanced classes and it’s definitely a stress reliever when you kind of go into another place and just imagine something that makes you happy. Q: Do you plan to pursue art in the future? A: Yes I do. I have been accepted to my four major art colleges and I am planning on going to MCAD (Minneapolis College of Art and Design) on a $35,000 a year scholarship so I’m really excited for my future and I’m planning on pursuing a comic arts degree.
Find Scout’s art on pages 26, 54 and 60. excalibur 2017
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Featured Artist Marielle Glasse Q: What inspired you to submit to Excalibur? A: I have been in an anthology or two before and it’s really nice to be able to collaborate with everyone and be a part of something thats all inclusive. Q: Do you have a main inspiration behind your pieces? A: My inspiration comes from all over the place, I get really inspired by feelings and the outdoors. Also the idea of culture and roots really inspires me a lot, especially by living in such a diverse place as Austin. Q: Do you like live performing your songs or poetry more? A: I’m more comfortable performing my poems than my songs because I have limited musical experience and I feel very confident delivering words because I can go at my own pace without the music behind it. Q: Are there any aspects in your work that relate back to your own life? A: Yeah, I have a lot of family in France and I write a lot about traveling and I also really like american classic literature like Faulkner whose writing style really inspires me. Q: Do you plan to pursue art in the future? A: Yes. I definitely want to major in creative writing in college and ideally I would like to connect literary works with performance art because I think the combination of the two is really powerful, especially being a theater major at McCallum.
Find Marielle’s poems on pages 28, 51 and 58.
Red Ribbons
My people come from sugar and wine. We come from mountains and the salty ocean breeze, From olives and walnut trees and secret raspberries. My feet remember soft earth and smooth sand and returning is the most natural feeling in the World. There is a yearning for connection. 28
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And in the distance, the sky blushes, illuminating with rosy light the swallows returning to their nests. There is a deep pull, Pulling like gravity And at once ears remember bird calls and the sound of the leaves making music with the wind. I am bound by red ribbon to this land. This land who remembers the unwelcome thud of boots and the raking of machines over its skin. Whose veins run thin, racing against time and want. A want that consumes, A want that erupts into iron skeletons, slight frames that litter the land in their carcasses. And the land itself is trying to remember. To remember the stillness of lakes that now buzz, humming like batteries. To remember crisp air, clean and stinging To remember the taste of mint and the smell of rain, I can hear the winds howling in the trees and screaming against the mountains. Calling, Echoing their names so that they will forget. Do you remember when we jumped off the cliff into the water? Dusty feet gripping the rocks and the feeling of pure nothing. The feeling of the in between. The exhilaration of uncertainty. And a dependence to the water, The air, The rocks. A knowing. A trust in the land. Do you remember when the water collided with out flying bodies? The icy cold fingers tickling my scalp, and the bubbles you let loose, who jittered with freedom, Reflecting shattered pieces of the sky. Do you remember? Please always remember‌ Our people come from stories They come from sun and moon and the pictures in the night sky They come from light and land and darkness Our people come from the Earth. excalibur 2017
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Q: What inspired you to submit to Excalibur? A: I had purchased the magazine both years I have been here so I’ve just seen all the cool artwork in it and this year it seems like they really pushed to get a bunch of new submissions from different people so I figured I’d send in some of my stuff. Q: Do you have a main inspiration behind your pieces? A: There’s not really like a overall inspiration behind everything but each individual piece will have some sort of meaning but there’s no overlapping theme to any of them. Q: How did you get into art? A: That’s a good question, I’ve just been really intrigued by good artists and the things they can do and create with just a mental image, so I used to try it out when i was really little and people would tell me I was pretty good at it so I just kept doing it. And then when I got to mccallum they kind of push you to take that extra step in art so I went ahead and did that as well. Q: Are there any aspects in your work that relate back to your own life? A: Yes and no. A Lot of the work I do is about other people’s lives and just what I observe other people going through and seeing and dealing with but at the same time there’s always gonna be a little bit of my perspective in there so yeah especially with photography it’s always kind of coming from my perspective and that’s why I enjoy it. Q: Do you plan to pursue art in the future? A: To some extent yeah, but I don’t see a career in art for me personally but it is my favorite hobby and pastime so I think that I’ll always kind of pursue it but not to make money.
Find Orian’s art on pages 31, 32 and 42. 30
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Featured Artist Orian Green
“XX” by Orian Green
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“Omenihu” by
Orian Green
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“Lightbulb” by anonymous excalibur 2017
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“Jason” by Emi Whiteside
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Honey Ruby Dietz sticky sweet like summer rain (in which they picked ripe strawberries and stained their mouths red as clothes grew heavy with water and hair lay flat against damp skin) like wildflower honey (hers, spread over bread and poured into tea, clinging to fingers with a gluey grip matching her eyes and tasting of her) like peppermint candies (his favorite, round balls of white and red stripes melting on tongues each one a fresh flavor with that hint of spice that he loved) sticky sweet like laughing so hard they cried like hot, lazy afternoons like when they kissed
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(honey and peppermint) and then, sickly sweet like cough syrup (for sore throats and nausea and rough edges caused by long-ignored discontent) like aged roses (left discarded by the sink, their odor filling the room as petals grew brown and once-green stems decayed) like two tastes, once perfect but now joined one too many times sickly sweet like overripe strawberries like months of peppermint candies like words stuck or tongues numb or skin drowning in wildflower honey
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Clean anonymous
I feel the droplets cascade around my shoulders I am aware of their presence, just as I am aware of this fragility that lives inside my throat. A numbness trickles up my scalp And I am no longer concerned. Someday I may hurt, but for today I feel just fine.
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“Take a slice” by Bethany Raup excalibur 2017
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Tell Me Kiarra Anderson Tell me about your favorite color. Cast into my ears like a grenade. My temples can be pillows for your tired lips. Inside of me there is a panel of judges that will always give you 10/10. For the record my favorite color is purple. I see and I think passion, but I also think passion when I think of you. The passion that flows several times brighter than the sun banging on your eyelids. Glowing so intense that smiley the best roars victoriously through the glare. My eyes are a respite each time they open and wish to see you right then and there. Build a bridge between our irises. I want to stare into your eyes until I see your soul. I want to be looked at like fireworks are. Focus on means don’t be afraid of the cracks as chips that cover my entire body. I am not perfect and you should know that along with everyone else. Life is short for some of us and I’m afraid of the clock forgetting to remind me that I’m worth it. I belong to myself, but I’d rather belong to you.
“The Essence of Time Out”
by Anna Marceau
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“In God we Trusted”
by Io Hickman
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Pupils Timothy Bjerke I watched. I Observed. I looked into eyes, Many, many eyes. Terrified eyes. Confused eyes. Lost eyes. Lonely eyes. And the soul within those eyes, behind that black pupil.
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“Exposure” by Orian Green 42
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Farmhouse Oscar Kelban
The harsh dry wind came down over the plain and the golden grass, dry and stiff, and it bristled by and went like sand scratching at the long dead stalks. The wind rubbed against the stalks and the stalks rubbed against each other and from the plain came the smell of burning. The smell held strong enough to start a spark, and the grass went up red and orange and cracked about in the wind. The thin waiting air fed the flame as it rose and twisted along the plain and spread out its roots like little fissures to the sides as it travelled. It did not travel long before coming to an empty highway and, before the small fence which divided the highway and the plain, a wooden red farmhouse. The flame fell hungry upon the farmhouse, breathing in the ready wood, splintered and rotting. The wood was old and dry as bones. The flame slipped up the walls and entered the loft where the withered hay was stored and devoured it. Then it leapt to the rafters and crawled along the heavy beams and dropped glittering bombs down to the floor, and the floor screamed and jumped in delight. It went out through the boards of the roof and a halo of angry sunrise pulsed behind the house. Soon the fire in the plains died, and the ground was littered by a swathe of black char trailing to the farmhouse. The house kept burning. Down the highway came a lone gray truck. As it neared the house it slowed and pulled off near the fence and stopped in front of the house. It sat there still for a while. Then the door opened and the driver stepped out. He put his hand on the truck and crossed the long way round to the front of the car and stood silently. Then he leaned back on the hood and put his hands at his sides and watched the flame. Now from the opposite direction down the highway came another car, blue and steel new, new enough to smell, and it too pulled along the road by the house, and its driver too opened the door and stepped out and stood still, staring. The first man looked over secretly at the new visitor, then returned his attention to the house. It was quiet. Red thunder crackled from the house. Then the second man
spoke -- rush clash of wind.
The first man paused. Diminishing shadows, straight and hard, fell from the fence to the men and the cars. The first man
replied.
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“Bad” by Jules Sease 44
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Within the house something gave. A long heavy yawn sounded out like a horn. The two men jumped. The second man
muttered something, then stepped forward and went to lean over the wooden fence near the first man. The second man
spoke.
The rich red grain of the farmhouse, long faded, now curled black, chipping off into the wind. The house’s skeleton began to appear through the thick flame. Clouds began to drift together above the plain, growing darker in their joining. The second man spoke. Obscuring light slipped over the edge of the fence and lingered before the pavement. The clouds were together now. They were very dark now. The first man spoke. Crack crack, from the house. The sky answered, Crack crack. The second man
spoke. Crack crack.
The first man did not speak. He was still, looking down across at the second man, sloped against the car door. The second man had closed his eyes; he had not pulled the trigger. The dark color began to spread under the car. The first man dropped his gun into the back of his truck and went around the truck and opened the door. Then he coughed and looked back to the burning house, then to the second man. Then he sat in the car and closed the door and drove off down the highway, opposite the way he’d come. At last the clouds came down and struck the earth and the fire in the house receded and soon went altogether. The second man, slowly at first, then all at once, like a fish drowning on grass, slipped down and fell beside the car, his face to the sky. His blood mixed with the rain and was not blood. His blood lightened with the rain. excalibur 2017
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“Chamomile” by
Emi Whiteside
I Knew Kiarra Anderson I know I shake when you don’t call, and I feel like I can’t breathe when I forget to tell you that I love you. I know that’s sometimes the words that come spilling from my mouth spilling from my mouth at 1 am make me sound crazy. I know that I love you a little too much. I know that everything really hurts sometimes. I hope you know I will always be here to keep the blood inside your veins. I hope you know that I will always be here to tell you goodnight even if I get sad afterwards. I hope you know that you are the only reason I’ve still got stars hidden under my skin. I hope you know that you’re the only thing that keeps the flowers in my lungs from dying. I know we’re not perfect and that sometimes I might make you feel like you’re choking. I hope you know that I’m sorry. I hope you know that I see you in everything. I hope you know that it’s okay. I hope you know you’re wonderful. I hope you know that I think you’re every sunset and sunrise, every thunderstorm and cup of tea in the universe. I hope you know that you’re my entire universe. I hope you know that you’re my entire universe and I love you.
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“Steep Terraces”
by Karel Tinkler
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Blood Oranges Anonymous I cannot understand my hands, The places they itch to reach, to grasp, The body they wish to forget.
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“Gladiator” by Olivia Clark 50
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Silence is a Sanctuary Marielle Glasse He heard it, throbbing like a heartbeat from a mile away. His curiosity sparked, the boy with the red hair entered the junk filled circus. Spinning wheels and lights so nauseatingly bright it made him cry. The tattoos off the woman took life. Birds flew away and stars burned into his eyelids. Fire left from the man’s throat and charred the ground where it lay. So we took the water from the boy’s red jug and sprinkled it upon the scorched earth. The steam from the Chamaeleon woman’s tea sat, acrid and fermenting in the air. There were sounds and lights and smells more than breaths. It suffocated them, and they cried on the scorched earth, crying for the warmth of the fire. The brown dirt sagged and did not reignite. So the boy put on his brown sandals and headed towards the dark night sky, leaving starry trails behind him. The tiger painted the moon red, and it bled. Down on the people and the music of the festival, it choked them. Sticky and sweet like revenge, it muffled and muted the colors. At last we found air once more and left the circus. We walked alongside the deserted road and drew pictures with the yellow lines down the middle. We decided to forget, to rediscover breath, so we followed the sound of silence, and it enveloped us, seeping through our fingernails and warming our hands. We huddled in vomit colored cloths and blankets, inhaling the beautiful nothing we had found.
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“” by Orian Green
“Underwear”
by Austen Juul-Hansen
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“Tahmina” by Austen
Juul-Hansen
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Snowflakes Charlie Holden There are snowflakes on your eyelashes. Look closer, be still. Something is there, not snowflakes, but something which I cannot place, which I cannot know. Not snow, although this too is foreign to me, but something nonetheless.
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Be still. Yes, something really is there, clinging gently to the end of one lash, of two, of three. Don’t close your eyes, do not stop looking at me, please, because I need to know,
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Need to tell you just what it is That is on the tip of your eyelashes, and on the tip of my tongue. Come closer. Be still. I hope you do not mind when I tell you that I am mistaken, That there is nothing on your eyelashes. Not snow. Not something else, something which I could not place. But come closer, be still. Your lashes are clear but my heart is not. It is on the tip of my tongue. Look closer.
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“Guess” by Orian Green 56
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I Want this World Ben Peralta
I believe there’s a safe place we all want to be in. It varies from person to person. I want to be in a place of sunshine, but also rain from time to time. The weather always has a cold chill to it, and a smooth but constant breeze. The cold is what always comforts me. And, I want to have this cold because I want someone to be by my side. I want someone to be there to hold me and warm my body whilst I warm theirs. I want to love them the way I love the cold. I want to be surrounded by those who love me, or at least act like they do with content heart. I want this to happen, because it’s a way I believe I can achieve total peace. I want to travel the stars in search of this world. Or die trying. But... Some may want to be in a warm place, like next to a fire, or under the hot summer sun next to a cool pool. Some want to go wild, and party like no night before. Some just want to stay indoors, and be alone in their own mind. But not me. I may want to get lost in my own mind, And party in it from time to time And maybe stay indoors every once in awhile, Or go wild. But I want to be there with someone on that cold sunny or rainy day, And sit under the porch if it rains, Or sit under the sun if it may be clear. I want these things. These are the only things I want. Not a shiny new car, Or the best new phone. Or the greatest game. I just want this. excalibur 2017
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Tastebuds Marielle Glasse I could feel it in my lungs like water and air. The words were like marbles in my mouth. Slippery Allusive yet almost tangible. They had texture, Color And movement I could taste blushing reds and pale blue hues. They were alive. But the watery beads kept rolling off my tongue And so I swallowed them whole, Feeling their pulse down my throat. staining the inside of my mouth I tasted their bitter sweet. Eyes shut, Mouth turned upwards, Savoring the memory of what they said and how they sounded on my tastebuds. Every word a diamond cutting with brilliance. Like a slice of the sky, salty blue with sweet pink and purple undertones. It was overwhelming and I craved nothing more than another bite.
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“Wind” by Scout Bennett excalibur 2017
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“That’s a Long Way Down” by Scout Bennett
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“Divine Feminine”
by Joshua Tsang
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Acknowledgements Thanks to the Following donors for their contributions of $50 or more: Lisa Ward Michael Barrett Nancy Sparrow
Lara Harlan Esteban Peralta Brandon Hunt
Thanks to the Following Businesses for providing refreshments for coffeehouse:
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Excalibur Staff
Franki Alvarez Canales Content: Literary
Hayley Arroyo Content: Visual
Kaitlin Billiot Content: Literary
Gordon Bolton Marketing
Jane Cooper Design
Cole Duro Landry Design
Henry Epperson Marketing
Iris Garcia Design
Marielle Glasse Marketing
Nicholas Heinen Content: Music
Isabella Hernandez Content Chief
Charlie Holden Design Chief
Cal Hurd Marketing
Oscar Kelban Content: Literary
Matilda Krell Content: Music
Riley Meacham Marketing
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Excalibur Staff
Oona Moorhead Design
Isabella Pell Content: Visual
Ben Peralta Marketing
Alex Phillips Content: Literary
Allie Roeder Marketing Chief
Lilian Sease Content: Visual Art
Ramona Sever Marketing
Harrison Smith Design
Ella Speer Editor in Chief
Ardis Warrenfells Content: Literary
Georgia Whitworth Design
Gabi Williams Content: Literary
Daniel Myers Staff Supervisor Magnolia Myers Staff Supervisor’s Chief Assistant
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Tracklist 1. Clementine, Other People 2. StormCycle, Anton Von Sherwald 3. 19 (Bruises), All the Rage 4. Colby Beef, Dalton the Terrible 5. Shattered, DD Aranda 6. Stumptown, Ian Shaw 7. Garden Funk, Jackson Brooks 8. Medium Rare, steaK funK
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