The Mag (Issue 2: Spring 2014)

The mag

The STANTON ENGLISH LITERARY MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY ALEXIS BROWN

ISSUE TWO: SPRING 2014

POETRY 路 SHORT STORIES 路 ART路 ESSAYS

THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE

“For all of the plans we've made There isn't a flag I'd wave Don't care if we bend, I'd sink us to swim We're marchin’ on” OneRepublic’s “Marchin On”

(Courtesy of Ebony Love (12))

“You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, it may be necessary to encounter the defeats, so you can know who you are, what you can rise from, how you can still come out of it.”

Maya Angelou Courtesy of Meklit Daniel (10)

“SMILE!” Alexis Brown

“I wish you held me like your sweater still does.”

(Courtesy of K.M.N (12))

Quotes of the human experience

About the issue This issue of The Mag is “The Human Experience�, a theme that encompasses all aspects of the human condition. It explores topics that are inspirational: love, self-acceptance, discovery, and optimism; while also highlighting some disappointment, discrimination, and heart-break.

The goal of this issue was to be honest and celebratory about life. Life is beautiful (even the darkest parts of it). We hope that this issue inspires you to enjoy life for all that it is, and to explore the experiences that our featured authors discuss. We stand together on one common aspect: we are all humans. When we can understand the lives of others, we can understand ourselves even better, and add to our own human experiences.

This issue of The Mag is the most ambitious yet, and we thank you so much for your support and submissions. We hope that you enjoy this issue, and remember to always value the human experience. YOLO right?

Sincerely, Inam Sakinah (12) and Alexis Brown (12) Co-Chairs of The Mag

POETRY

“Making Dumplings”

by Selina Wang (11)

She sprinkles a fine layer of flour dust Onto the board. And by her hands from dust The ruddy dough begins to morph from rough To even. Her hands: they mold each dumpling, With a fold and a squeeze, surely, fastly.

Soon, one turns into many, and many Into more, all filed into a winding Queue, waiting for the ultimate battle.

As the water bubbles to a full, Each creation anticipates the plunge.

2, 4, 6 – they jump in - bobble up and Down-44, 46- all vying to stay on top.

But no matter where, their fate is the same.

For there are no survivors in this game.

“Move on�

By jalicia Lewis (10) The kiss you always hoped for never felt or taken.

The heart beat never matched by another.

The false dreams you hoped to make real, vanished.

To be left alone with the broken pieces and forced to make due.

Submersed in darkness and sure that no light will ever come.

This is where you define yourself as a member of the human race.

Pick up the pieces to start over.

Find your own light.

Learn from your error and move on.

You're only human after all.

“forest of thoughts� by inam sakinah (12)

I meandered all lonely in the forest Searching only for a place of solace.

Desiring to release the thoughts suppressed Hoping for the warmth of a welcoming embrace.

When I noticed the trees with branches like open arms Yearning only to be informed.

Their tall, stately figures Sway from side to side.

As if in a kindly gesture An offering to be my guide Through all my trials and tribulations Requesting to know my contemplations As I began to narrate my inner thoughts Their leaves fluttered As if in simultaneous response A signal that they understood Everything I said Everything I meant In retrospect I now realize How beneficial the walk was for me I discover with utter surprise That asserting my thoughts to a simple tree Allayed my once overwhelming fear And made the conflicts in my mind disappear.

“where life begins�

By matt mcketty (11) Our Comfort Zones Those secure, controllable, predictable spaces in which we reside, Are not where all the beauty and excitement of life exists That exists outside our control, Outside the constancy that we relish.

But this is where everything that is memorable, and fun, and worth telling about takes place.

Life is too short to cave to petty fears and apprehensions of the moment, Life is too short to not step into the unknown, each time the opportunity presents itself.

Our Lives Cannot truly begin until we take risks, explore, attempt, and fail, and get back up again.

Our lives don’t begin until we leave our comfort zones

“seasons of heartbreak” by k.m.n (12)

Our paths crossed in sync With the last days of summer.

New feelings arise.

Playful tease falls from your lips like leaves in Autumn.

They break to pieces.

You leave me alone In a cold, icy prison, Taking my heart too.

Flowers are blooming When I notice you again.

Tears fall like spring rain.

“I will not look back anymore,” I say to myself.

But you never leave my mind.

“homo aestheticus”

By Gloria li (11) Art: ephemeral human perfection, fueled by practice and whetted by taste, petals blossomed from seeds of reflection, a speech-–undelivered–scrawled in such haste!

And still, tales woven by the painter’s brush, history in the eyes of stone long carved, strike so lucid, overpowering a rush, into the hearts of men for ages starved!

Oh, rapture that endures the test of Time, shine light into eyes blind for far too long, and they, civilizations in their prime, shall immortalize their artists in song!

How low you are, humanity, how flawed– and yet in your beauty how like a god!

“untitled”

By Christina parks (11) I watch my coffee and my milk do battle this morning.

Opalescent clouds rising and falling rhythmic – like breathing Like amber, or butterscotch surging to the surface Only to drop back to oblivion in the mire.

Undulations. Rising and falling I watch the shapes form and reform Break down fantasies beneath the wispy sheen of immiscibility swirling, dancing.

Beautiful, like Aurora entrancing the night sky Billowing Another drop to temper the bitterness.

I watch it sink, I watch it melt away.

The amber, the butterscotch swirling into the dark.

Perhaps I may divine some truth from my enchanting shapes?

Or maybe it’s just my milk and my coffee, Playfully warm, bitterly stimulating, Doing battle with each other.

Helping me to keep fighting my own battles – which drive me to ponder the shadows in my coffee.

“state of mind�

By e.b. (12) Dreams focused on telling the story stories however are not meant for sharing They are the method by which the darkest portions of the soul escape Writing is a confessional by which the ID wreaks havoc Control is the wind, delicate strong and ever-changing The lack of is a holocaust blazing the path of the manic episodes that leap from within Tears focus on the avalanche springing forth massacring the mind Clouds dissolving the spirit in pools of acid; remains unrecognizable Intellect is but a weapon

Let it go. Breath in the remains of demise Carbon gives birth Earth eliminating truth eradicating the past Weightlessness, a state impossible to reach balance reached, the scale equal unwavering Words no longer matter corrections of grammar, knowledge, no longer exist Smell the sweet aroma of peace Forgetting the rest of history Yet don’t forget that Erratic is just a state of mind

“sanctimonious mouth” By alexis brown (12) There were 14 doors to unlock, for perhaps one held the immaculate one The keys were placed placidly on a table by a girl with flowers in her hair She said hello mister, “how do you do?”

Her lips were imbued with a reddish hue, her dress ivory He sought the immaculate one, he recalled as she walked away rather ostentatiously Her pale heels clapping against the wooden floors with every step she took The flowers began to fall and wither as she ran away fast down the dirt road outside the quaint white building where he remained standing, a lone figure with 14 keys and 14 doors Was she the one?

How was he to know when so many had crossed his path, a beaten one at that Yet, the ivory, and the withered flowers were no coincidence he believed, surely she was not He forced the gatekeeper of his mind to abstain from objection

He outstretched his hand.

And reached for a key only for the roar of a lion to engulf his senses It flung its body from a corner of the room, gathering on its hind legs as the man backed away, castigating the beast at first only to yield to its thundering tone It pounced on the man, and ripped away his flesh, his eyes two spheres rendered to a broken home He could not cry, he could not speak for his mind was dissipated to an organic substance understood by only God The girl peaked in, her legs reluctant to carry her into the bloody room She looked for the lion; she wanted to see it To understand it, to love it It purred in the distance, its eyes darting from their forward stance to her flowerimbedded hair before it sped into the distance She stared into the man’s face

She saw darkness, She saw pain, She saw soot behind the broken skin A sickness not of the mind perhaps, no perhaps it was the soul The inexplicable, incontrovertible soul of broken hope She opened 13 doors, and 13 girls came stepped out, her sisters wearing ivory dresses, each possessing reddened lips Yet the last door was moldy, and wouldn’t budge The handle was crushed, and the wood chipped.

Worn by the claws of a lion who mutilated anything that came close to it For the door led to a place in the universe no man could go The man’s eyes moved on the ground and saw 14 girls; one had to be immaculate, for the prophecy promised so Which was it?

A question his sanctimonious mouth would not allow him to ask.

Short stories

“26 Letters Aren’t Enough” By grace halstead (12) The air around me is static yet still at the same time. Under my feet, the mixture of dirt and gravel create a texture that’s neither totally unpleasant nor satisfying to walk on; everything around me feels contradictory and foreign. A lone, single-lane road proceeds ahead of me into the forest. The trees stand tall and menacing. It’s late at night, and I’m the only one within miles of this place.

The sky is empty; not a single star shines anywhere in my line of sight. Although it’s summer, the pitch black around me makes me feel cold and utterly alone; as absurd as it is, I feel as though I’m the only one on earth in this moment. Taking a step forward, I breathe in the damp, stormy air. Suddenly, a flash of lightning illuminates the sky and all that’s around me for a brief second. Something inside of me twinges, as though I’d felt the electricity as well. It was a strange feeling that I’m not sure can be described within the parameters of the English language. The 26 letters we have aren’t enough to put that quirky rush of emotions into words.

The lightning flashes again, and again I feel energized. Actually, I’m not sure energized is the correct term for it. It’s more like…emotionized. I just made up a new word. That just happened. I felt emotionized. The lightning continued to flash continuously on and off as the approaching storm rolled in, and I started to walk again. As the bolts lit up the area, I was able to make out the details of the forest around me. Several minutes passed in this way, and my mood transitioned from lonely and afraid to emotionized and confident. I continued down the path, picking my pace up to a slow jog, as I began to notice how everything was fitting together.

The flashing bolts were making the forest come alive. It electrified the life and emotions in the nature around me, revealing the details and trivialities of it all. It changed the feel in the atmosphere from dark and cold to suddenly alive and thriving. The fripperies of nature were revealed strike by strike, and with each strike my pace continued to quicken as my emotional intensity built up.

Soon I was outright sprinting, bolting even, down the one lane road through the forest. My heart began to pound in rhythm with the thudding of my bare feet on the ground underneath me. After moments, I stop abruptly in favor of catching my breath, and throw my head back to look up to the sky. A huge grin is running across my face, and I can’t help but laugh. The impending storm finally sets in as the rain begins to sprinkle down on and around me; the growing pitter-patter of the droplets hitting the forest in my surroundings match up with the intensity I feel and have felt building up inside myself.

It’s suddenly all just hysterical. I continue to laugh punchdrunkenly at, well…everything. The way it all fits together, I think. The way it all fits together naturally. The irony dawns upon me: I’ve been trying to make sense, trying to force sense upon my life, but here “sense” is in its most legitimate, true state. I laugh at the irony; I laugh at myself. Things fall into place without trying. And things don’t necessarily have nor need an explanation. And sometimes, when an explanation exists, there are no words for it. The rain starts pouring down harder, and the thunder claps that have been accompanying the lightning flashes are now booming louder. My hysterics begin to calm down, and as I catch my breath I turn back towards the direction I had come from. Setting my feet down one at a time, one in front of the other, I go back.

Special thanks from inam and alexis/Credits: (In no particular order)           

Mrs. Johns Ebony Love Grace Halstead Selina Wang K.M.N E.B Matt McKetty Jalicia Lewis Meklit Daniel Gloria Li Christina Parks

All Photographs by Alexis Brown Photographs of Inam and Alexis

by Kirstin Nygaard.

Cover Design by Alexis Brown Thanks so much to all of our fabulous models!

The Mag is Stanton’s Literary Magazine. It operates on student submissions, and faculty support.

Thank you!