Strike Magazine Athens Issue 05

STRIKE

ISSUE O5 aTHENS

ORaCLE

eIC aSSISTaNT

eDITOR – IN – CHIeF

Nastasia Rozenberg

WRITING DIRECTOR

Shelby Wingate

Head Content DIRECTOR

Kiana Shamsbafi

CReaTIVe DIReCTOR

Sydney Burton Sunny Hakemy

CD aSSISTaNT

Maddy Taylor

aRT DIRECTOR

Skyli Alvarez

LaYOUT DIRECTOR

Nastasia Rozenberg

aSSISTaNTS

Sydney Burton

Maddie Dalsimer

Sarah Orji

Mary Renfroe

Peighton Senges

PHOTOGRaPHY DIRECTOR

Grace Lang

PHOTOGRaPHERS

Sean Corley

Emma Fender

Maggie Fuchs

Miles Harewood

Madeline Lyons

Arantxa Villa

VIDEOGRaPHY DIRECTOR

Emma Fender

VIDEOGRaPHERS

Amanda Bolin

Julia Turner

BLOG DIRECTOR

Ellie Dover

WD aSSIStaNT

Chanel Gaynor

COPY EDITORS

Anna Albright

Caroline Kostuch

Grace Maneein

Gianna Rodriguez

WRITERS

Kyndal Coleman

Ann Covington Harper

Ruby Gagnon

Alex Keezer

Gabriela Lefkovits

Katherine Rhodes

Amelia Sturkie

Blake Witmer

Haley Wolf

BEaUTY DIRECTOR

Carly Judenberg

aSSISTaNTS

Reagan Cox

Hannah George

Juliana Hartley

Maliha Hasan

Caylin Payne

Trinity Gates

Antonia Mason

Claire Wadzinski

CONTENT DIRECTORS aSSISTaNTS

Sophie Baker

Blakely Henn

Leynie Hester

Anna Serro

Cayce Sherer

Kiyoko Spencer

Chiamaka Uwagerikpe

STYLING DIRECTOR

Morgan Quinn

STYLISTS

Skyli Alvarez

Elise Carruthers

Leynie Hester

Kelsey Jenik

Evie Krakovski

Kayli McDaniel

Ana Ramos

Will Sellers

GRaPHICS DIRECTOR

Sarah Orji

aSSISTaNTS

Tori Bishop

Alyssa Jackson

Payton Pearson

Peighton Senges

SOCIAL MEDIa DIRECTOR

Carson Hart

aSSISTaNTS

Catherine McGetrick

Jadyn O’Connor

Payton Pearson

Richard Tran

CaSTING DIRECTOR

Acs Scott

aSSISTaNTS

Kyndal Coleman

Mahek Kothia

Avery Nowlin

EXTERNaL team ISSUE 05 STaFF

EXTERNaL DIReCTOR

Riley Keuroglian

MaRKETING DIRECTOR

Mary Margaret Perry

aSSISTaNTS

Emily Cassidy

Anne Cox Stuart

Brandon Hopkins

Madeline Kornitsky

Paige Robinson

Meghan Sullivan

PR DIRECTOR

Valentina Soto

aSSISTaNTS

Katelyn Bailey

Mia Bonfiglio

Maya Dubos

Olivia Fallon

Natalie Gillis

Hailey Kwak

Kennedy Moran

Ellie Romweber

Natalie Smith

Maddy Taylor

merch DIRECTOR

Sophia Boyer

aSSISTaNT

Vanessa Gissel

FINaNCE DIRECTOR

Kylie Bensalah

aSSISTaNTs

Alyssa Aghabeg

Savannah Sommer

Katie Witcher

Before even beginning the creation of our fifth issue, I knew immediately what this theme needed to be and what it needed to encompass. This past year has been full of change, growth, and learning to allow myself to feel, love, hurt, and heal. More than ever, I have learned to let go of what is out of my control, to trust the universe, and to revel in the good and bad, knowing that it is all temporary and that I will come out of everything a stronger, wiser woman. I became my own Oracle: a seeker of my future, an infallible guide for myself.

Oracle honors the divine within each of us, the yin and the yang, the acceptance of all energies, the ebbs and flows of life. We do not wait for the universe’s signals— we choose our own destinies and allow nature to run its course, trusting in the changing of seasons and turning of tides. We are free within ourselves, our desires, and our dreams. We are our own fortune tellers; every answer we need is within us.

I wanted the incredible people on Strike that I’ve grown to love like family to experience the serenity and freedom of being themselves and following their inner callings. After sitting down with my Creative Director, Sunny Hakemy, and her CD Assistant, Maddy Taylor, to discuss refinement of Oracle, we settled on three overarching concepts that encompass the divine feminine, the harmonious in-between, and the sensual masculine: Siren, Ether, and Caldera. These concepts are for everyone, regardless of gender, sexuality, race, beliefs, or appearance. We wanted to break away from the binary that has been set by societal standards— that all women must be soft and gentle, that all men must be dominant forces, and that you must choose one box to bind yourself into. We all come from the same ether of the Earth: full of mystique, multifaceted, ever-shifting, always moving forward, always in bloom.

I am so proud of the work we’ve created for Issue 05, and it has truly been magical to watch a spark of an idea evolve from one word to an entire collection of art in the form of this magazine. I’m eternally grateful for the people that Strike has given me. You inspire me every day and make me want to become a better person, artist, and EIC. With this, I want to say a final thank you to my assistant, Sydney Burton, for offering support, encouragement, and immense help every step of the way. This issue wouldn’t be the same without you. Thank you to everyone who made Oracle come to life and to everyone who makes Strike what it is. Being part of this organization is an experience that can’t be put into words, and my life is better because of it. Until next time,

Strike Out, Nastasia Rozenberg Editor-in-Chief

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

Photography by Sydney Burton

The oracle is an enigmatic force, intimately connected to the divine and the discrete. Boundless power that gently opens the eye of the beholder. To speak the word is to invoke the unknown, to step into the mystical and the esoteric realms of siren, ether, and caldera.

The elements of water, earth, and fire are the fundamental building blocks of the natural world and are embodied through these influential figures in their own right:

The Siren, a source of wisdom that can guide the worthy on a path to unbridled enlightenment.

Those brave enough to harness Ether’s power may be able to reshape reality itself but must also be prepared to face the consequences of their actions.

Caldera’s ability to see beyond the veil of mortal existence and into the realm of the divine emphasizes her role as a conduit of divine wisdom and supernatural power.

To know.

To act.

To be.

The ultimate harmony.

Together, the Siren, the Ether, and the Caldera embody the multifaceted nature of the oracle in Greek mythology: seductive and deadly, mysterious and profound, cosmic and chaotic. They remind us that the quest for knowledge is not without its risks and lures. Still, the rewards of limitless understanding are worth the journey.

XO

Sunny Hakemy Creative Director

ORaCLE

My oracle: Oh my, how the light fractures you, Every piece, ray, atom, distorted under the river’s rushing surface, Yet the river knows everything that is and does not wait for that which isn’t. You are an obscure entity, An omniscient being, A goddess that drowns and pulls asunder, An empress whose palm holds my destiny. I see you.

When I come too close, You glimmer like the moon: Merciless, lightless, A siren burning in your barrenness. My admiration halts me in my depiction of your essence, For I hold not the ability to articulate the bounds of your power. You drag me backwards, A frightening creature, alien and malign, Something dark and all-consuming. Siren: You soak my soul and seal my fate, You open my mind, Purify me, And submerge me. I come up anew, Ready to bloom, Seeking my answers, Longing to see between the lines as I gaze upon you.

I see you. Watching beyond the creek, through broken branches and brittle leaves, How beguiling your energy of knowing, Being.

It brings me warmth, the fractured light shining as the river embraces you. I no longer wish to see you.

I hope to feel you

In my blood, my brain, my being, All formed from clay and earth, Rushing slow and heavy like the blossoming of a flower. There is an allure illuminated in the shimmer of your existence, A bliss that persists inside of you, Infectious to those who run about the meadows. It strikes me deep. I become the very ether of acceptance, Waiting for it like the solstice. I die and am reborn and seldom sit, Shredding pieces of my soul like someone else’s skin, Spinning a silk cocoon of golden thread. It shines with rebirth as I wind and wound and heal, Bursting forth from my chrysalis That I will outgrow time and time again. Like the cycling of the seasons, I am new, Often unsure of when to turn over my leaves, Often untrusting of sweet suns. I settle down in the cloak of my feelings, Floating silently within myself, Meditating in the luster of my storms. I harbor the energy of good and bad. I know myself and celebrate myself. I become naked, one, and still with the movement. I bloom.

I feel you. I feel it all, The pull, The flight, The fall.

However persistent my gaze, You remain unfazed, unfamiliar to uncertainty clouding my view. There is no here or there. Is anything real?

Only the opposite of absolutes, Only acceptance and release. You accept me, So I feel you, The heat taking over, Twisting, shifting, Pushing me into dissociation as cards unfold, My fate like little flames that flicker and frighten But no longer bring me harm. I run my hands through the fire, Red flowers that rise like smoke. I touch them and run red, Feeling the brush of your fingertips, Your gaze upon me.

The words have abandoned me once again, Forgive me, I want to taste you

In the pits of desire, only fire remains, Flares of a deep-rooted yearning courses through my veins, Charring my understandin g of you, Your brazen stare runs through me. I taste you.

My senses overwhelmed with the curves of your body, Rolling hills and sensuous peaks fill my vision, My tongue abashed at the sight, Hoping the fire consumes my unfurling thoughts. Your energy fills my body.

I can taste you.

The candles cast shadows on your furrowed brow, Inviting my eyes to land upon the ridges of your soul, Staring back and forth, Pulling me in until I no longer exist. Nothing burns me anymore: Not the rage, Fear, Love, Or lust you instill, Not your cauldron of uncertainty. I am let free from a flesh-bound cage. I turn over in my own body.

I am a flame aching to become fire, A severed tether eclipsed, A glimmer alight in my fury.

Oracle: Now you can See, Feel, Taste me.

Writing: Nastasia Rozenberg, Maddy Taylor

Layout: Nastasia Rozenberg

THANK YOU TO OUR SPONSORS

Riley Keuroglian Art

Paloma Park

Kyle Cavan

Purvelo

Classic City Cycling

Pure Barre

CC Sprays

Push Pilates

Daniel Gelber

Natalya and Vladimir Rozenberg

Cindy Jenik

Donn and Ann Fussell

Speedy Bee Tees

Special Thank You to

Judith Hoefer, Owner of

Minuteman Press Marietta

Front Row, Left to Right: Maddy Taylor (CD Assistant), Sunny Hakemy (Creative Director), Nastasia Rozenberg (Editor-in-Chief), Riley Keuroglian (External Director), Sydney Burton (EIC Assistant)

Photography by Maggie Fuchs

The siren is a creature of ethereal allure and enchanting melody. Her beauty is hypnotic, and her power over those who hear her is inescapable. With every note she sings, she weaves a spell that entraps the soul, and even the strongest of wills can be broken beneath her siren song. To behold a siren is to experience the ultimate temptation, for she is both the embodiment of beauty and the precursor of destruction, a force of nature that reminds us of the dangers and seductions that lie in wait in the depths of the sea.

KORE

Content Director: Kiana Shamsbafi

Content Assistant: Kiyoko Spencer

Styling: Evie Krakovski, Elise Carruthers

Beauty and Hair: Hannah George, Juliana Hartley

Photography: Sean Corely, Maddy Lyons

Videography: Julia Turner

Writing: Haley Wolf

Copy Editing: Anna Albright, Chanel Gaynor

Layout: Sydney Burton, Maddie Dalsimer, Peighton Senges

Models: Chloe Senter, Adviti Bhanja, Kira Carruthers

Kore symbolizes youth, vitality, and feminine grace. With the delicate curves of her form and the purity of her countenance, she embodies the essence of youthful beauty and feminine charm. Her flowing garments are adorned with intricate patterns, and her hair cascades in soft waves around her shoulders, framing an innocent and alluring face. With her gentle presence and timeless beauty, Kore reminds us of the beauty and vitality that lies within us all, a source of inspiration.

EATEN ALIVE

Men always think they can outwit women, but what they don’t understand is that every selfish, playboy act they commit, we remember and replicate, but better. The disposable nature men present ends now. The tables are turning. We are coming to take back what you started.

The smell of desperation is one we are all too familiar with. Walking into the bar knowing there are very few things standing between you and your prey lights up excitement within you. You don’t want it to be easy, you need a bit of a challenge— someone who previously has also caught their own prey in this very bar. Spotting them is the simple part, but reeling them in is where it gets a little tougher. The games begin.

startsIt with seizing theirattention:aflip maybeofthehair,acasualglance, eventhesubtleapplication twice,oflipgloss.Catchtheireyeonce—maybe smooth-talking,andyou’llhavethemhooked.Fromthereit’s laughterandtheoccasionalgrazingofthe arm.Itdoesn’ttakemuchbeforethey'relockedin,thinkingthey off—haveyouwrappedaroundtheirfinger.Knowingtheirticks,whatgetsthem that’sthepremierepieceofthiswholecharade.Maybeit’sthedamselindiswanttressact,ormaybeit'sthethoughtofholdingthepower;eitherway,theylikeitandthey more.Fluffingtheiregoisthenexttactictowardsthekill—makethemfeeldesired.Menwill doanythingaslongastheyfeelliketheonesincharge.Freedrinks,dinner—playyourcardsrightanditcan allbeyours.They’retooblindedbytheirimpulsestorealizetherughasalreadybeensweptoutfromunderthem .

lasts one night. Eventually, they will get over the pain they’ll inevitably feel tomorrow, but for now, you bring them euphoria— they return the feeling by falling into your web. Joy is a funny thing because it feels infinite in one moment and fleeting in the next. It’s the ultimate power— to be able to hold and control someone's elation. Soon man's biggest fear will become a reality— they're no longer in charge and they don’t even know it yet.

You move gracefully and confidently, pulling them in closer, tighter— suffocating them with lust and desire. It’s all about subtlety—being casual yet forward, confident yet shy. You walk the line of contrasting emotions to keep them on their toes just long enough to stay entranced.

And once they’ve given us what we want, *snap* it all turns off. Every feeling that we once had, a moment we shared— gone in an instant. No longer are you the damsel, the fluffer or the one fawning over their every move. You’re cold, egotistical, and confident, walking out as if you never walked in. You leave them with the feeling of being crushed, as they have with so many before you. It’s not the morning they expected to have, in fact, you’ll probably have them reeling for days. Somehow the thought of that might even be better than the look on their face as you make your way out the door. It may seem cruel, but it’s part of life.

I can see what you’re thinking now: “She’s horrible. She has no regard for human emotion. She’s a monster. How could she do such a thing?”

Take off the rose-colored glasses and see our acts for what they really are— replications of the deeds committed against us by the people we now perpetrate. The man-eater is not the problem, it’s the men who have jaded her to be this way. They created her. Karma’s a bitch.

Objects and their names are inherently intertwined. One cannot exist without the other, and with that, it is the name, rather than the thing itself, that gives objects their power. Their meaning. It is only after an object is given a name, a story, a purpose—something to live for, that it comes into fruition as a thing. Thingdom is not guaranteed but is rather a privilege only given to those deemed worthy.

I pray on names. Seduce their meanings, draw them in, make them feel safe, loved, cared for— fulfilling their god-ordained purposes as creators of the contemporary dimension. In a twist of fate I suckle each individual letter’s glorious nectar until nothing remains. There leaves not a moment for betrayal; wouldn’t want to spoil the fruit.

Now, do not think me a monster. There are many other creatures of the night who do the same as I with far less thought— their names are unimportant. I like to think I perform my deeds with a bit more grace. It is a dance, see? An exchange of sorts. You, a disgruntled soul searching for ecstasy. Me, able to give you what you seek. But perhaps in a different form.

The question I ask you is: Do you deserve bliss? Or even contentment? And if you say yes, think again. I see you. I know you do not deserve it. There are only a handful who truly deserve euphoria and you do not fit the bill. You give me your name and I hold it in my hand with the care you have always hoped someone would. I love your name, your soul, your “person” and I will lift you up high enough to dance with the gods. And you will be happy. For a time.

T HE TEMPTRESS’

But there will come a time—I hear your protests, but trust me—there will come a time when you yearn for more. Dancing with the gods will no longer satiate you, no, no you yourself must become a god. And then you will be happy. You will. All of this is, of course, nonsense. It is not real. I literally just made it up. But now you are entangled in me. You have let me hold you, sing to you, love you and now you are mine. You are doomed, but mine. This serves as a sort of comfort to you.

Do you want to know a secret?

I care not for shipwrecked souls, the artifice of seduction and leading those who are doomed to their timely ends. No, no that dance is merely a compulsion, an unfortunate side effect of my position. The cycle goes on, the dancers keep spinning, and the game must continue to be played. Names and souls, names and lives, names and secrets are mine for the taking because you allow me to take them. You want me to take them.

TONGUE

Writing: Anna Albright

Copy Editing: Caroline Kostuch, Grace Maneein

Layout: Peighton Senges

For what it’s worth, I am sorry. You cannot help that you were named, plucked from the masses and made into a divine creature flawed beyond their understanding. We all have a part to play. These are mine and yours. So we dance. Objects and their names are inherently intertwined. This is the root of your downfall.

For as long as there are souls who should be eaten, the siren will continue to feast.

Calypso is a creature of enchanting mystery and feminine allure. With her flowing tresses and the soft curves of her form, she embodies the essence of sensual beauty and captivating charm. Her voice is like the soothing caress of the ocean waves, and her eyes gleam with the wisdom of the ages. She is revered as a symbol of both creation and destruction. Her melodies evoke the mysteries of the deep- representing both our deepest desires and our greatest fears.

Content Director: Claire Wadzinski

Content Assistant: Blakely Henn

Styling: Ana Ramos

Beauty: Carly Judenberg, Hannah George

Hair: Carly Judengerg

Photography: Grace Lang

Videography: Julia Turner

Writing: Alex Keezer

Copy Editing: Gianna Rodriguez, Shelby Wingate

Layout: Sydney Burton, Peighton Senges

Models: Faith Ebikeme, Hannah George, Skyli Alvarez

Beaded Top Designed and Created by Ana Ramos

CaLYPSO

Journal: Feb. 22

I am powerful and unafraid. I attract abundance.

I have everything that I need. I release what is no longer serving me.

I own my power. I am enough. My energy is magnetic.

I welcome a universe of possibility.

My thoughts are my reality.

I am physically and spiritually whole. I invite and allow divine energy to flow through my body. I am living to my highest purpose.

I am aligned with my divine self. I am one with all of life. I am infinite.

The women in my family developed the kind of strength that only grows more powerful with each daughter born. Nothing is more important than family, we believe. I was privileged enough to be raised on Latina values from both my dad’s Puerto Rican side and my mom’s Dominican side. I’ve always been surrounded by large family gatherings, endless plates of food and kisses on the cheeks from my titis. I watch my abuelita pass onto my grandma, my grandma pass onto my mom and my mom pass onto me the same values. When I think of my family, I think of the women. I specifically think of three women: my mom Delia, titi Wendy and my grandma Linda.

Here’s a little bit about these influential women in my life: My mom was born in New York but raised both there and in the Dominican Republic. Growing up, her dad was only there to support his family, so her mom and abuelita raised mom and her siblings.

LATINA VOICES OFMY FAMILY

Q: What was the environment like growing up?

A: When I was a child, it was nice. I mean, we had our own house with a swimming pool and a basement full of toys that we played with. We went to church every Sunday.

Q: What is your favorite memory of your mom?

A: I would say growing up, just watching her clean Saturday mornings. We were never close, but I remember her being happy. When we would be cleaning on Saturday mornings, she would be singing to Julio Iglesias. She would always put on that blue handkerchief on her head and put on a little bit of makeup. She would be cleaning and singing and then when we were done cleaning, we would go food shopping. We weren’t alone, but I was the closest one to her. I was the one always attached to her. Everywhere she went I went.

Q: Who is a female figure you look up to the most and why?

A: Abuelita. She had been through so much herself. She carried herself with so much class and poise. She put God first and still had time to hug and kiss us, which is something that my mom couldn’t do. You could never tell what she was going through because everything abuelita had, she took it off her back and gave it to anyone who ever needed it.

Writing: Gianna Rodriguez

Copy Editing: Grace Maneein, Caroline Kostuch

Layout: Mary Renfroe

My Titi Wendy grew up in Santiago, Dominican Republic, where she was raised on the notion that nothing is more important than church and family.

Q: What was the environment like growing up?

A: It was humble. A farm. Everybody was pretty close-knit, we were always together.

Q: What is your favorite memory of your mom?

A: I know this sounds crazy, but we would have to carry clothes on a donkey to the river. When I was seven or eight, We would wash clothes in the river, the moms and kids. My mom would wash clothes with a rock while us kids got in the water and did slip and slides.

Q: Who is a female figure you look up to the most and why?

A: There’s two. Even though she’s younger than me, I always looked up to my little sister Yohanna. Even though we went through a lot together as young adults, she stayed on track and always pushed me. She told me I can go back to school and have a career, husband and kids. I also look up to your mom, Delia. She taught me what family is supposed to be like. She taught me what sacrifices need to be made as a parent.

My Puerto Rican grandma Linda was born and raised in New York. She was the only daughter, which meant her dad was tougher on her than her brothers.

Q: What was the environment like growing up?

A: I had my mother, father and brothers in a small apartment in Harlem. It was good. There were always some arguments in the house with my father. It was just one of those things.

Q: What is your favorite memory of your mom?

A: All I know is that we were very close, my mother and I. A lot of memories came with the whole family, especially during the holidays.

Q: Would you say you’re now the woman you had hoped to be?

A: Yes. If I hadn’t met grandpa so early in life, things would be a lot different. I’m happy with how my life turned out.

I see femininity in my family when they tell me stories like these. There’s peace in listening to my mom tell me about her favorite dress as a kid, my titi Wendy washing clothes in the river with her mom and my Grandma Linda reminiscing about her family apartment in Harlem. All the women in my family are their own jewels shining, caring for each other.

Ether is the essence of the heavens themselves, a symbol of the infinite and boundless expanse that stretches beyond the world of mortals. It is the embodiment of the divine, an ethereal substance that flows like a river of pure light through the cosmos. Ether lies the endless possibility for growth and transformation within us all, a realm of boundless potential that awaits all brave enough to explore its mysteries.

GAIA

Gaia is a goddess of the earth, a divine embodiment of nature and the life-giving force that sustains all living things. Her breath is the wind that rustles the leaves, and her heartbeat is the pulse of the oceans and the rivers that flow through the land. She is a symbol of the unity of all things, of the interconnected web of life that sustains us all. In the presence of Gaia, we are reminded of the beauty and majesty of the natural world, and the importance of respecting and preserving its delicate balance.

Content Director: Trinity Gates

Content Assistant: Leynie Hester

Styling: Morgan Quinn

Beauty and Hair: Caylin Payne, Maliha Hasan

Photography: Maggie Fuchs

Videography: Amanda Bolin

Writing: Chanel Gaynor

Copy Editing: Caroline Kostuch, Grace Maneein

Layout: Nastasia Rozenberg, Sydney Burton

Models: Jayla Reign Jones, Nina Watson

Inside each person there is a universe. The universe is filled with colorful twists and turns that create a complex labyrinth. This universe has no end or no beginning. It is described as a miracle because others cannot define it. Even the person in possession of their universe has trouble translating the messages it sends. They cannot contain it to a definite fact.

Inside the universe lives Id, Ego, and Superego. Three powerful personalities that write the narrative of your conscious mind. They lie in the shadows of your universe, hidden from the being they control.

Id is a devilish personality. With bloody fangs and an offensive smile, he is deemed to be evil. Id is a misunderstood creature. He acts on impulses of the flesh. He is the purveyor of self, pushing the Being to be selfish. Whatever the Being wants, the Id believes they should get. He walks through the Being with an arrogant demeanor and lack of morality. He is blind to the impact he has on others, instead being a brash advocate for the Being’s desires.

Superego is a celestial personality. Her wings are as white as snow with a face that glows through the dark tunnels of the universe. Her aura is angelic and good. She holds the being accountable. Her gold encrusted scale of justice is finely tuned through the experiences of the Being. With a watchful eye she notes the effects of the Beings’ decisions. She shames the Being when it is wrong and praises it when it deserves to be rewarded.

CON VER SAT ions

Ego is an anthropoid personality. Her face closely resembles the Being itself. Although the most timid of the three personalities, Ego has the gift of communication. The Being can call on Ego and hear her wishes. In turn, Ego’s voice is carried through the intricate universe to be transcribed by the Being.

WITHIN me

Once upon a time, the Being fell in love. Two universes, two different beings, came together in an attempt to become one. The Being was nervous. It is difficult to trust the secrets of a separate universe. It is even more difficult to let them into yours.

“Do I let them in?” The Being asked.

“Of course,” Id spits out, “The Being wants to be with this person. What is the reason to be scared? Always do what you want.”

Superego glares at Id, disgusted by his lust for the simple solution.

“The Being is not ready. If she doubts this character, she has reason to. This new being could hurt us. The Being could hurt this character’s universe, ” Superego explains.

“We deal with consequences when they arise. This other Being is not my concern,” Id shoots back, annoyed with the patronizing demeanor of Superego.

Ego sits quietly as the two argue.

Superego attempts to balance her glistening scale of justice in order to come to the most virtuous answer. She becomes frustrated. No matter what she tries, the scale teeters slowly. Indecisive.

Id marches impatiently. Already set with his conclusion, he considers this contemplation foolish.

Ego contemplates the opposing views, unsure of what exactly is the right answer.

On one hand, the Being accepts the advances of this new being, in turn satisfying her physical desire of comfort and belonging. This option leaves Id triumphant, but does not consider the self preserving principles of the Being.

But is it safe? At the end, will the Being be able to look at her lonely Universe and feel satisfied that it is one and not two.

The Being deserves to be happy. The Being deserves to explore the beautiful intricacies of the cosmic clash of universes.

This option leaves the Being defenseless to the whims of this new universe. This could render the Being to experience emotions such as shame and anxiety as punishment from Superego.

“What do I do?” the Being asks.

The question wasn’t posed to the three personalities. It was silently whispered to Ego. The Being looked to Ego for an answer that kept its universe safe. The Being looked for the answer that was deemed a success by Ego.

Ego was scared for he too did not have an answer. This foe was too big. Too ambiguous. She lacked the clairvoyance to predict the outcome.

Ego sat silently, voicing no answer to the Being.

THE

WALL

A tongue held so many times it’s worn thin A voice so silenced it’s lost vigor. I try to remember what it once was like— She reminds me from the other side.

I keep hitting my head against the wall. ,

I hear a familiar voice, The one that effortlessly booms throughout a room, Opinions, narratives, and antics grazing every corner. She provokes smiles, laughter, excitement Then, the glares and whispers begin. They shock me back to reality. A dog strapped to an obedience collar; A stark retreat and she fades behind the wal The brick scraping my skin, The barrier between us Is a reminder of everything I am not, Of who I should be But can never be. I hide her behind the wall— It’s what keeps the glares away, A bird in a cage who can never sing To hide from gratuitous judgment And simply get by.

Ira is a goddess of passion, a force of fiery emotion that burns within the hearts of all who feel deeply. She is a symbol of the raw power of desire, the intensity of emotion that can consume us and transform us in equal measure. She is a reminder of the importance of embracing our emotions, of allowing ourselves to feel deeply and authentically. Ira exudes the power of vulnerability, of the courage it takes to open our hearts and souls to the world around us.

IRA

Content Director: Trinity Gates

Content Assistant: Anna Serro

Styling: Kelsey Jenik

Beauty: Caylin Payne, Juliana Hartley Hair: Carly Judenberg

Photography: Miles Harewood

Videography: Julia Turner

Writing: Ruby Gagnon, Blake Witmer

Copy Editing: Grace Maneein, Caroline Kostuch, Shelby Wingate, Gianna Rodriguez

Layout: Nastasia Rozenberg, Sarah Orji, Maddie Dalsimer

Models: Cherry Gong, Iyanna Yapo, Jerry Velasquez, Jolie Lanier, Lauren Coughlin, Surabhi Joshi, Skyli Alvarez

Clothing Designed and Created by Moxie Wrrld

THE girl WITH

There were only so many times she could accept defeat

Before the pain of rejection began to show on her skin. The scars trailing her spine Were constant reminders of the lies she’d been told, Tears she had shed, And people who had trampled on her ability to love.

She was trapped in a chrysalis of pain.

Her silhouette, Blemished and bruised, Carried elegance in every pore And glistened in the blaze of the rising sun. Thick, maroon curls rippled through The divide of her shoulder blades, Caressing the freckles scattered across her chest, And tickling the fold above her left hip.

Though her posture sank with the weight of judgment, And the bags under her eyes screamed for a break; Her beauty was never questioned. A reflection of the hope she’d refuse to let go of— People envied the light that surged through her veins. Jealous of her alluring spirit, Unable to love a soul they couldn’t understand.

It wasn’t until she lost her footing

On the ground beneath her, —Pushed by the hatred of humankind—

That she found solitude in the authenticity of nature. The flowers loved her more than any human ever had, Appreciating the resilience of her wildflower soul. Hatchlings sang in her presence of her wake, Humming for the woman who knew what it felt like To fall from her nest.

TheButterflyEffect:FindingBeautyinVulnerabilityandChaos

In 1758, Benjamin Franklin unknowingly introduced the idea of “The Butterfly Effect” in his poem, “The Way to Wealth.”

He wrote :

“For want of a nail the shoe was lost, For want of a shoe the horse was lost, For want of a horse the rider was lost, For want of a rider the battle was lost, For want of a battle the kingdom was lost, And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.”

This piece examines the idea that the things that change the world and alter the course of history are tiny ones. The lack of one nail could be insignificant, or it could lead to the loss of a war. There is no way to know which result will transpire. There is no way to know what causes each outcome. Regardless of what happens or what causes it, everything in the world is connected.

This concept was further examined in the 1960s when Chaos Theory was discovered. It looked into the suggestion that weather does not follow a linear pattern but is instead dependent on external conditions. Another component of “The Butterfly Effect” expresses the idea that something as small as a flap of a butterfly’s wing can cause a change in the weather across miles. This not only applies to the weather and butterflies but all aspects of life. Even small and fragile things can create huge changes and have immense effects on the future. No matter how slight an action, people must understand that even a minuscule change can result in a metamorphosis of the course of history.

THE butterfly EFFECT metamorphosis

We often view change as immediate and substantial; however, the reality of change is a build-up of small developments over long periods of time that amount to transformations. Change in human life is inevitable and necessary, but it is not something to fear. Human growth is comparable to the metamorphosis of a butterfly. Like the cycles, the changes are prepared for by previous life experiences (or stages). One thing someone may have done ages ago can still affect their present and future just like the “Butterfly Effect”.

The world tends to associate strength with value and view the fragile things in the world as inferior. This link, however, is unsubstantiated. To look at fragility from a different angle— not one of weakness, but one of strength in vulnerability—is to have a more complex understanding of what is truly valuable.

Gold is the most valuable metal despite it being the softest. Flowers are often bought as acts of love and are placed at high value despite their short lifespan and dainty nature. Even a single flap of a butterfly’s wing can alter the weather to distant reaches. If we as people look at our vulnerabilities as strengths rather than weaknesses, we can feel empowered rather than ashamed of ourselves. We can better understand our own power to create and anticipate change rather than just react to it.

It is extremely important to remember the parts everything and everyone plays in the world. Everything is connected. Even small things can create massive changes and even fragile things hold immense value.

Once upon a time, in the early days of summer, a tiny fairy with hair paying homage to the deep purple abyss of blackberry juice emerged from the shadows of delicately pale petals. She was shrouded literally by gossamer and figuratively by the mysterious circumstances of her exact inception, but instead opted to remain distracted by the sweet taste of berry juice darkening her lips. She came to start introducing herself as “Blackberry.”

She spent her days wide-eyed and eager, befriending her fellow woodland creatures and exploring the world around her. Sustained on dewdrops and nectar, she took off to the sky on her winged friends, floated downstream on lily-pads, skipped pebbles and traipsed toward the horizon far and wide.

The day the sun took the longest to set in the sky was the day Blackberry found herself hopelessly lost, unable to find her way back to her tree hollow nest. She had been so enamored by the new sights that surrounded her that she had forgotten the longing of familiarity. She walked until the moon rose and her legs faltered with every step before promptly collapsing into a lily pad, seeing stars and wanting for nothing but her cot.

Later, she woke, but the nightmare was far from over—she found herself eye to eye with the hiss and the humongous beady eyes and the forked tongue of a leering, hungry snake. There was malice in its eyes, and the only thing that kept her safe was the quickly decreasing distance between herself and the river banks.

So without further ado, she screamed.

A figure appeared. And just like that, the snake disappeared with a retaliatory hiss, promising armageddon for another day.

The next sight will be forever ingrained within the stars of Blackberry’s memory: her figure was clothed in a sheer white gossamer dress, atop which striking black marble eyes were inlaid neatly within a wide-set, porcelain face. She was absolutely breathtaking. And her expression read that she was just as starstruck by the girl on the lily pad.

“An angel?” Blackberry wondered aloud.

“No,” the other tiny girl replied, “My name is Nightshade.”

Gossamer

Just like that, the two quickly became inseparable. Nightshade gave Blackberry a gossamer spider-silk dress of her own and a shared passion for the delightful art of fashioning garments together. In turn, Blackberry taught Nightshade the feeling of heart-palpitating wonder that comes with going on adventurous forays. But always within the vicinity of Nightshade’s home—a delightful creekside pebble-filled alcove that started to feel increasingly like a prison as the summer days wore on. But for reasons unknown to Blackberry, Nightshade refused to leave.

And suddenly, the last puzzle piece fell into place as Blackberry realized why the snake had run away at the sight of her and why Nightshade had no friends. Her mouth stung, her pupils dilated, her stomach was on fire.

Her vision blurred as she surrendered herself to the inevitable. “If I die, will you envy the Earth that embraces me for eternity?”

“The devil will cower when he hears my name after I’m done fighting with him for your soul,” Nightshade promised resolutely. And so it went, a summer spent side-by-side, full of stolen glances and touches that lingered for a little too long and a fascination with the lithe curving movements of one another’s bodies. Blackberry found herself fascinated by the thin tendrils of hair that would curl around Nightshade’s head in the morning fog, illuminated like a halo in the morning light.

Her hair was curling just right in the dying light on the last day of summer when Blackberry succumbed to the urge to taste Nightshade’s lips, leaning in to get drunk on wanton desires and a deep stirring in her chest that she couldn’t quite shake. But the entire fantasy was shattered with a horrified gasp when Nightshade pulled away after the barest touch.

“No!” Nightshade cried, “I’ll kill you.”

The rest of her days came to pass in a subconscious haze—encompassing a tale to be told at another time— during which Nightshade journeyed to acquire a blackberry, fed it to Blackberry, saw no noticeable change in countenance, and grew full of sorrow. As the days grew ever-shorter and ever-colder, she created her two final pieces: complimentary funeral shrouds woven of gossamer spider-silk.

Perhaps it was only fitting for Nightshade and Blackberry to end this way, sticky with blackberry juice as brittle leaves fall off trees with the barest gust of wind. In time, the fae disappear enigmatically, not too unlike the way they came.

Perhaps Blackberry will reappear. As will Nightshade, respawned and waiting by the creek under the early summer sun.

Writing: Grace Maneein

Copy Editing: Chanel Gaynor, Anna Albright

Layout: Nastasia Rozenberg

Spider-Silk

TERRA

Terra is a goddess of blissful repose. A being of tranquil beginnings. She listens, waits, and then responds. She loves deeply, quietly. Her silence is her power. Watching, seeing; her eyes peer through you. It takes a brave soul to peer back and see what she sees. She’s a reminder that when everything goes dark, and you’re the only one standing, to question what you see. Touch your reflection and see what happens. Accept the image with blissful repose. Follow the call.

Content Director: Antonia Mason

Content Assistant: Cayce Sherer

Styling: Will Sellers

Beauty: Carly Judenberg, Reagan Cox

Hair: Carly Judengerg

Photography: Emma Fender

Videography: Amanda Bolin

Writing: Ann Harper Covington

Copy Editing: Chanel Gaynor, Shelby Wingate

Layout: Nastasia Rozenberg, Maddie Dalsimer

Models: Aude-Ellen Nangle, Grace-Ann Hawthorne, Kira Carruthers

Painted Eye Button Down by Sunny Hakemy

Flowers by Brett Glenn Floral Design

I’ve always appreciated the time of dusk in my town. When the sun, barely visible as it descends from the sky, is replaced by a sliver of the moon appearing from behind the clouds. Day and night simultaneously exist together, even for just a moment before the midnight sky takes control. My shoes already felt soggy, resting in the damp pine straw. I tilted my head upwards, blinking the mist away from my eyelashes and taking in the dimly lit sky.

Okay, it’s time to begin.

The trail through the forest felt like the ideal trek: not too short, not too far, not too bright, not too dark. Surrounded by a cascade of pine, standing straight and tall among the barriers, it was impossible to not feel like an empress walking with her line of soldiers on each side. Only, an empress wouldn’t be walking alone. An empress wouldn’t have the same ideas constantly swarming in her mind. An empress would never go so far down as to walk two steps in my shoes.

The Kalaloch Tree of Life was the ultimate destination. A giant created by the earth that somehow continues to live and grow, despite its visible roots not seemingly connected to any soil. What would generally lead any plant to expire only seems to make this one relish in its immortality. Somehow, with no visible nutrients, along with the lack of sunlight from Washington’s misty sky, the Tree of Life continues to go on.

I’ve been there.

It’s never a simple task to move forward when your conditions seem to be working against you. When light disappears from all points of view, your body can become a strenuous load you are forced to carry. One leg, one arm, one shoulder, all equaling three bricks weighing you down with each step. Yet, with each day, the bricks seem to feel less heavy. Not because you’re growing stronger, but because all of your energy has seeped away to the point you don’t even notice.

With each step, the trees around me seemed to grow taller and more intimidating. It makes sense, as I am just a miniscule being in the grand scheme of the universe. Walls of evergreen surround me, and the forest around acts as a shield from the rest of the outside world. Even with the night sky seeping in, how could I feel nervous with a nature-given boundary keeping me locked in? Shelter is a hard place to find, but it makes sense that nature would provide one. With its role being the ultimate master of controlling the yin and yang of the world, it’s always providing proof of the light that can come from darkness. Flowers tend to bloom after a rainstorm, and an enclosed cave always has light peaking through the singular entrance.

A flock of birds soared above me in their coordinated formation, making something so structured seem so natural. Not everyone can be so lucky for organization to come simply.

It never seems to happen in my life.

Trying to gain control is like continuously grasping at clouds: no matter how many times you reach, or however much it might seem like you’re successfully holding, you always end up empty-handed. So, you turn to other tactics, not all of them reliable, some even seeming ridiculous, but as long as they make sense in your head, it is enough. But then, you become accustomed and memorize those tactics, until the rational ones are just past memories floating in your subconscious. Not strong enough to reach the forefront of your mind, they sit and wait until you tire from the continuous failure of never being able to hold the cloud you were so focused on gaining in the first place.

A gentle rush from the ocean separated me from my thoughts, the scent of salt wafting through my nose. Picking up my pace, I rushed toward the opening of the beach, substituting the pine straw beneath me to solidified gravel. By the time I stood to catch my breath, I was face to face with the natural masterpiece itself, in all of its glory. Clear water lined the pathway leading up to it, meeting the mixture of gravel and sand that usually prefaces a standard waterfall. Yet, there was nothing standard about this.

The tree rested itself between two hardened dunes, its muscular branches and verdant leaves rising above the entire display, and its roots seemling hanging from the tree, resting in the air with no connection back to the ground. Besides the dunes, the tree is seemingly holding itself up with its own strength. Even with the smallest amount of support, it still stands tall and proud, being the center of attention of the entire area. I stood breathlessly, taking the entire picture into my mind, attempting to memorize every cosmic detail. Like the ocean pulling with the tide, a sense of ease washed over me with my deep inhales and exhales of the sea air.

I want to mirror the Tree of Life. I want to not just survive, or even just live-- I want to flourish. No matter how many bricks may be attempting to hold the tree down, it refuses to succumb to the weight and stands its ground. The bricks may become more manageable as the days move forward, not because the tree is becoming accustomed to it, but because its strength continues to grow with each brick that’s added. It adapts and becomes more powerful with each change.

I remember my life two years ago, trapped in my own mind and feeling stuck in my habits. While trying to learn how to live a better way, a pile of soil was placed in my hand with a diminutive seed buried in the center. Grabbing a watering can, I sprinkled a few drops to surround the seed, giving it the nutrients it needs to grow. And just like that, while standing there, I was playing a part in the cycle of nature. I may be a miniscule part of the world, but it is a working part nonetheless.

The control I feel is so impossible to gain may be just that: impossible. Perhaps that control is not for me to have, but instead is left to the world. If nature can create a place where a tree can grow against the odds, there’s the chance it can do the same for me. After all, nothing manmade could ever produce the same effect that nature has created with the Tree of Life. The universe is a vast and indescribable being, and although it seems overwhelming, maybe that’s exactly where the control needs to go.

Society moves fast, success drives the world. You strive for productivity, ambition and goals. You work hard, you motivate yourself and you love what you do…until you think about what else is out there.

You wake up and are immediately consumed by a never-ending to-do list, longing for time to free your mind. Longing instead for time to create, time to read, time to write, time to love, time to connect.

When you find that time, you thrive in it. Your body fills with passion and contentment, finally getting a break from the never-ending chase toward the top of the pyramid. You love this feeling… until you think about what else is out there.

Letting go is necessary, letting go frees your mind from the endless cycle of stress, but when you let go for too long, your mind finds a new cycle.

When you let go for too long, you feel lost, longing for a purpose, a calling, something you can put your name on.

You are stuck. When you feed into the non-stop push of productive society, you burn out, craving escape from the structure. But when you escape the structure, you find an endless road to nowhere.

All in or all out. There must be an in-between.

Writing: Caroline Kostuch

Copy Editing: Anna Albright, Chanel Gaynor

Layout: Sarah Orji

An in-between where productivity and freedom meet. Where the mind can wander but does not feel lost. Where business thrives and art is made, where goals are met and relationships are built, where success is accomplished and the touch of nature is felt.

But how is it possible to breathe fresh air when you are suffocated by responsibilities? How is it possible to meet deadlines when you are drowning in the lust of life?

How is it possible to find this harmony in-between?

Without the light, darkness will consume you. Without the darkness, the light will blind you. They are inherently necessary and eternally interdependent.

Society moves fast, success drives the world…but success is nothing without a life of your own and a life of your own is nothing without success.

Success is balance, success is grounded, success is found in the harmony in-between.

CALDERA

Caldera beckons the desire that resides in the pits of your stomach. The aching. The pulsating fire that resides within you and suddenly erupts without warning. One can’t help but follow the pulse of life. It’s addicting, the understanding that your desire is warranted and celebrated. Caldera reminds us of the power that can be ignited within us; the response to a seductive call that might leave some empty, but only if you stay for too long.

Content Director: Claire Wadzinski

Content Assistant: Chiamaka Uwagerikpe

Styling: Skyli Alvarez

Beauty: Reagan Cox

Hair: Carly Judenberg

Photography: Grace Lang

Videography: Emma Fender

Writing: Katherine Rhodes

Copy Editing: Anna Albright, Chanel Gaynor

Layout: Sarah Orji, Nastasia Rozenbergi, Mary Renfroe

Models: James Rivera, Alex Hoefer, Rashawn Mckelvey-Fludd

INCUBATION

AM NO LONGER HUM A N, BUT AW I S P OF

HR said I couldn’t come back to work until I had “taken some time for myself” and “cooled down,” whatever that means. I walked through the office doors that morning with the usual–coat, purse, phone, water bottle, umbrella (it was raining)–and exited into an early evening downpour minus one umbrella, forgotten on my desk, plus one 20% off coupon to a cryotherapy and deprivation tank center “to help me take that first step.”

The flotation tank is part alien sleep chamber, part hot tub. Is this what chickens and snakes feel like in their eggs? Butterflies in their cocoons? The man who answered the phone when I scheduled my appointment warned me not to shave, that the salt water would sting, but this morning in the shower my half-asleep brain succumbed to habit and now I feel tiny stinging pinpricks up and down both of my legs. Relaxing. I can feel the wispy ends of my hair tickling my shoulders and can imagine the way it’s fanned out around my head like a halo. I am eight years old, playing mermaids in the neighborhood pool.

I am dissolving. I am no longer a human, but a wisp of consciousness. I am all of my mistakes, boxed up and stacked up on top of one another, present-wrapped with the thinnest I-am-a-good-person-I-swear paper. I’m the penny that I noticed on the sidewalk last week, but didn’t pick up. I feel full and empty and heavy and light. I feel nothing.

SOMETHING HAS CHANGED

I…feel something. Something small, glowing. An ember. I am afraid to inspect it more closely. Do I want to catch fire? The flame is fanned and its warmth moves up, up, up, from the pit of my stomach to a flush gracing my cheeks. They are warm with embarrassment. I am in seventh grade again, receiving a bouquet of origami flowers from my tablemate in front of the whole class. My teacher is saying, “Get together, let me take a picture!” and all I can think about is all of the conversations I’ve had with this friend where he knew something I didn’t. My fists are clenching; I am feeling the push of water against the inside of my closing palms.

The flames are growing. They burn a ravine through my chest, charring the places they pass. I am 21 again, I’m so sorry, I’m more of a sad girl than a mad girl, I could not think of a single event that has happened to me that has filled me with pure rage]. I am fire. My flames hiss as the ocean-scented water laps against my skin. I have dissolved and been reborn ablaze. I am not the only one that will burn.

Somewhere, far away, there is an incessant beeping. I don’t know how long it’s been going on, but I can ignore it no longer. The more I focus on it, the more I realize: I am burning myself out. My time is up. The lukewarm water smothers my flames. I blink, reborn, into the dim light of the spa and feel empty and whole and rageful and serene.

Wait.

MOTHER MARS

There is a piece inside us all that is ruled by Mars. The lust, temptation and desire that swells out of our hearts and into our veins. If you’re lucky, this impulse can ensue for a feverish night of euphoric possibilities. The pulse beating so loud, it can weave you through throngs of commotion. Taking you out of your seat, like a magnetic siren, and pulling you towards the epicenter of Saturday night vigor. Sister Louisa’s Church, a watering hole for locals inhabiting a similar thrist.

Satisfying the ravenous hunger, you’re suddenly a dot in an overflowing basement. Bouncing amongst the vibrating walls, swallowed whole, stuck buzzing like a fly in a bottle cap.

The room comes alive. The stage is its heartbeat. Then the show begins.

The choir sings for The Kourtesans. Taking command, the room quickly fades from nervous chatter to full on infatuation. The hypnotizing performances from each queen coming from mother Mars herself.

The Kourtesans take the Glory Hole stage every Saturday night. Made up of local Athens drag queens, the group was founded in 2015. Show Director and co-founder Karmella Macchiato breaks barriers with her striking performances.

“There’s always been a baby drag queen in me,” Macchiato laughs as we chat over the phone.

Discussing her start, Macchiato describes her sheltered childhood.

“When I first started, I loved the feeling I got while performing, meeting new people and just being around queer people,” Macchiato said. “I was the only gay kid at my high school, so I didn’t have any sense of queer community growing up.”

Admitting a lot of her performance inspiration comes from MTV and the worshiping of early 90s pop queens, Macchiato says it wasn’t until she played Aunt Marguerite in her high school’s production of “Dearly Departed” that she realized she wanted to emulate those Britney Spears dance routines she watched on rerun.

Writing: Amelia Sturkie

Copy Editing: Gianna Rodriguez, Shelby Wingate Layout: Nastasia Rozenberg

“I just thought ‘that would be so funny to do in drag,’” Macchiato said. “I didn’t realize at the time that drag was this political thing. I just thought people did it for fun. I ended up loving it, the campiness of it all, I was having fun, I was making people laugh up on stage. I loved it.”

It wasn’t until after high school when a friend of hers suggested a four week drag competition at the local bar that it finally stuck.

“The opportunity came up where they were having a four week drag competition in Athens, and I just thought I’d go and be silly and 8 years later, I'm still performing. It did not last four weeks. I'll tell you that.”

Not long after, Macchiato began to make roots in Athens as a local Queen. Following the competition, she confesses there weren’t any open performance groups willing to offer “creative control,” something she craved.

“I wanted creative control of the shows I did, so we started The Kourtesans. We got a really good response when we first started. We were all really young, brand new performers but we had passion, energy and a true love of the art.”

Something they still emulate today, The Kourtesans take charge with every performance, easily showcasing their carefully curated craftsmanship. When the lights dim and Britney takes the speakers, an overwhelming euphoria washes over the doting gospel as they reach their hands up and praise.

“My very first show was exciting and nerve wrecking, but as soon as the music came on, I became a totally different person,” Semaj Onyx Coxring, a Kourtesan member, said. “After that, I was so pumped and ready to do another show. That’s when I knew I was a natural performer. When I hear the crowd, it gives me confidence. Performing makes me feel like a powerful woman. Performing gives me so much life. It's my therapy.”

Like any true artist, both Macchiatto and Coxring agree on how performing not only serves as a way of expression, but as a type of therapy as well.

“Drag has been my coping mechanism in a lot of ways,” Macchiatto said. “My ex passed away this past summer and through the navigation of my own feelings, I realized it was okay to put those emotions in my performance because it was such a big part of my life. I want to share those hard moments as well, not just be a character all the time.”

Coxring sympathizes, “Drag has helped me find myself and saved my life.”

The Kourtesan’s iconic, passionate and energy-filled performances always leave the gospels screaming for an encore. Their relation to the crowd is something that comes easily to them. Though their on stage presence is in no doubt fierce, both Coxring and Macchiatto explain how their off stage life is no different from anybody else's.

“Off stage I am a private person,” Coxring said. “I get along with pretty much anyone. I’m very humble, loving and kind hearted. My drag persona is a strong Black woman. I grew up around and observing strong Black women, and I idolized them. My drag persona is not too off from myself. My persona is very open and caring, but I’m not that open and personable.”

Macchiato agrees. She attempts to keep Karmella in a separate room when she’s not performing.

“I’m very lowkey when I'm not on stage.” Macchiato said. “I like to go to work, come home, chill and mind my business. I don't really go out much when I'm not dressed up, I try to keep Karmella in a separate room. I have my own drag studio in my apartment where Karmella stays. and it's really awesome for my mental health to separate the two in my personal spaces. I think she's just that cool mom, that MILF, that I just want to exude on stage. She's an extension of myself that I want to portray as an artist. It's a part of who I am on the inside but not entirely who I am. Karmella is my armor, she makes me feel untouchable in a way.”

Don’t miss their next show! You can find The Kourtesans on Instagram at @thekourtesans , @karmxlla and @ semajcoxring

Eros is a being of delayed gratification, constantly alluring and vying in the attention. Eros pulls you in greedily and awakens all that is buried within you. The energy is loud and luscious, calling out any resistance due to fear. Eros is a reverent energy that inspires both deconstruction and recreation. Fear is absolved. Love is celebrated. Embrace all that you are. Taste the power of being.

EROS

Content Directors: Kiana Shamsbafi, Antonia Mason

Content Assistant: Sophie Baker

Styling: Kayli McDaniel, Leynie Hester

Beauty and Hair: Maliha Hasan

Photography: Arantxa Villa

Videography: Emma Fender

Writing: Gabriela Lefkovits, Shelby Wingate

Copy Editing: Gianna Rodriguez, Anna Albright, Caroline Kostuch, Grace Maneein

Layout: Sydney Burton, Nastasia Rozenberg, Mary Renfroe

Models: Alex Hoefer, Jason Johnson, Chito Ogbuefi

Web Tank by Sunny Hakemy

INCENDIARY

When I was little I used to play with fire. I knew fire was dangerous, unyielding, uncontrollable, But I liked knowing there were things beyond my control. That fire would burn even if I wasn’t watching it, And that fire would eventually extinguish even if I wasn’t the one to smother it.

So I lit matches during the day And watched my forest burn at night. It was breathtaking, And it made me feel alive.

I got hooked on things that could light me up, Too reckless to fathom all the ways I could be burnt down.

Soon fire wasn’t the only thing I played with. I learned there are stronger forces than flames-And I was obsessed with finding them. I climbed the highest peaks And swam in the deepest waters. Nothing came close to what I yearned for.

Then I met you.

You dressed like a setting sun and burned me like a bad habit. I knew there was no controlling you. When you wrapped your smoke surrounded me, I felt like I could finally breathe.

The Embers of Us

Your spark set off fireworks inside of me

The colors were bright

I felt lighter, happier

The crackles made me tingle in anticipation

Everyone thought we’d be just another crash and burn

But we weren’t

I was climbing a high that just kept peaking

So I taught you about fire

Thinking it was a pastime we could share

But you were a fast learner — too fast

We set fire to everything we knew

Because who wants embers when you can have flames

Then the inevitable happened

A downpour washed over us

I guess I failed to mention matches can’t be lit with rain

So you started building your own fires

Far away from mine

I stopped hoping for your demise

About four fires ago

But I still ache for you

A brand made from flame is one that does not fade

I still play with fire

Even now that I’m grown and know better

The thrill of a slow burn was all I desired

So I got closer and closer

Until you engulfed me with your flames

You left, and I’m suffocated

All I want now is to breathe easy

InCenDiaRies IN THE making

The word “incendiary” tends to have a negative connotation. According to Google, “incendiary” means “tending to stir up conflict,” meaning something—or someone— is seen as controversial or provocative. However, the word “incendiary” can extend far beyond those negative labels. An “incendiary” can be exciting. They possess a unique energy captivating and inspiring those around them. Young creatives Jason Johnson (JJ) and Alexander Hoefer (AH) both exhibit “incendiary”- like qualities as they pursue their creative and career passions. Sitting down with both University of Georgia students, we talked about self-expression, inspiration, and how they are (or will be) “incendiaries” in those pursuits.

SW: What’s your major and classification?

JJ: I’m a 3rd year with a Cognitive Science major.

AH: I’m a Senior, double majoring in Entertainment & Media Studies and English.

SW: Are you involved in any other creative pursuits besides modeling?

JJ: Fine (creative) arts allows many of us—me included—to express ourselves in a way unlike any other. I dabble in other creative arts for the same sake and maybe the added benefit of “just cus.” (creating for the sake of creating) This ranges from creative direction, poetry, graphic design, and dance. These double as my outlets and positions I hold through the various organizations on campus.

AH: My filmmaking aspirations extend beyond the fashionable and commercial. My first love has always been action movies — big and bombastic, like true Hollywood fanfare, or more subtle and artful, like espionage films. My true love, however, has to be Asian action cinema: martial arts films, like those out of Hong Kong, Indonesia, Japan, Korea. It certainly has to do with my own identity as (1) a martial artist and (2) a sort of de facto immigrant, though I have always been legally American. I moved to the States at age eleven from Southeast Asia — my mother is Sabahan Malaysian, so I was born in Singapore and had lived in a couple other cities in the region — and my need to consume Asian martial arts films probably kicked in (pun intended) as a kind of longing for my other half.

SW: What are your life aspirations?

JJ: I aspire to serve as a model and inspiration to both those around me and those who watch/look up to me. Of course, I have my occupational, financial, and relationship (both platonic and intimate) dreams as much as the next person, but

platonic and intimate) dreams as much as the next person, but I aspire to aid others on their journeys of breaking bonds and freeing themselves from whatever box society has placed them in. Growing up, I didn’t see very many people who looked like me, nor had I witnessed many others who modeled any idealized version of myself I could formulate. It wasn’t until I started to question teachings that I started to find just breadcrumbs of who I am and could develop to be.

AH: I have plenty of common aspirations — a wife, kids, for us all to be happy — and those are just as important to me as the professional/artistic. I suppose I could sum up the latter in a single statement: I want to be great. I’ll be damned if I don’t try, though I think it’ll only seem more impossible to distinguish an individual voice in today’s media cacophony.

I want to put martial arts stories on the screen in ways that are often hard-hitting, and other times subtle. I want to be able to do Crouching TIger, Hidden Dragon, and then I want to do it way different. My magnum opus would be something like John Wick, if it was adapted from a Borges short story, directed by Wong Kar Wai, styled by Tom Ford, with dance/ fight choreography from Yuen Woo Ping: it would be a balletic martial arts film with pronounced romantic themes, multicultural/multilingual aesthetics, and a tilt toward the cerebral and fashionable. It would also have Michelle Yeoh in it.

SW: How would you describe your individuality?

JJ: The foundation of my individuality stems from stubbornness that doubles as a form of rejection; a rejection of blind tradition and harmful societal norms. Why CAN’T I be like this? Why CAN’T I do that? Confrontation I have faced has pushed me to become multifaceted in ways I never thought was possible. Each skill, each new attribute I obtain, in some way, builds upon the last. I can become everything and anything I desire, not what people choose of me.

AH: I think, for me, my individuality has always been necessary. Not always in ways that I enjoyed or felt in control of. For one thing, growing up as the only White kid in Southeast Asian public schools meant that I was always an American landmark, though I’d never been there; after that, growing up as an Asian kid who looked kind of White in a predominantly White Buckhead charter school meant that I learned to insist on my individuality—my otherness, which in this case, had become my Asianness. My individuality has always been rooted in tension, or suspension, in a neverreally-belonging. I need to insist on the parts of me that feel in jeopardy, because the moment I stop, they will cease to be.

SW: How do you express your individuality in your work— professional and creative?

JJ: I simply do me.

AH: I think film functions like a gravitational center around which my hobbies and interests revolve. I try to find the interests that seem as different from each other as possible (like Malaysia and America, or Tango and Tae Kwon Do) and mash them together in strange ways on screen.

SW: Do you sometimes struggle with expressing your individuality?

JJ: No! To some degree sure, but my individuality in essence is who I am and I don’t know how to be anyone that isn’t myself.

AH: Nah. I think I struggle whenever I can’t. Like bro. I need this shit. I need so many ways to do it, or I’ll just feel like I’ll blow up.

SW: How do you ensure your individuality is valued amongst yourself and your peers?

AH: It’s always a balance between making yourself heard and not being overbearing. Personally, I always struggled with the former, because I was so extremely shy and withdrawn as a child (I often wonder if that was an effect of my peculiar cultural upbringing). So my philosophy tends to be to remain quiet until what I have to say is valuable, or at least a little funny.

SW: How were you an “incendiary” in this photoshoot?

AH: The allure that surrounds an incendiary has a lot to do with their mystery. It’s the potential, the will-he-won’t-he that draws in the onlooker. The conversation surrounding the incendiary then is something of an attempt to fill in the gaps: to fictionalize. I think what I tried to do was leave those gaps.

DRAWS IN ONLOOKER THE

SW: How does the idea of “incendiary” connect with your career/creative passions?

AH: I feel that if I’m not generating some conversation with my art, then I’m probably not doing it right. That’s the name of the game, I think, since the whole point of it all is to approach the Other, to begin the Attempt, and so much of that Attempt is first made by language.

SW: How do you encourage your peers to be “incendiaries?”

JJ: Passion and agitation (/rebellion) can be encouraged through various means. One way to cultivate passion is to find a strong sense of purpose and actively pursue it. Agitation, on the other hand, involves questioning the status quo and challenging societal conventions. Cultivating passion and agitation requires staying true to oneself and one’s values, while pushing forward towards what inspires and motivates you.

Daddy’s Girl.

Exchanging heavy-handed love-taps.

Swallowing watermelon seeds. Eating the apple core just because. Flaunting each bruise, scrape, and scar like a badge of honor.

Gazing at sports games with heavy hubris, and letting everyone know you understood exactly what was happening. Afraid to wrangle bait onto the hook, but you’d never tell a soul. Wincing when you took a hard fall, but you wouldn’t dare shed a tear. You are a tomboy.

And if your dirty, chewed to death fingernails didn’t give it away, your persona definitely would.

“My dad says if you let the ball hit your hand, you’d better at least catch it.” You taunted the boys past the point of annoyance, and for that, they’d never once go easy on you. But you desired more than just an even match. You wanted a challenge. A rite of passage. Proof of your belonging. You wanted to emerge victorious with a head on your stake. You craved their respect. Fight after fight, win or lose it would never matter, Tomboy. You were still just a girl. And nothing you did could ever be so rough or so tough that they’d let you in.

Yet you still felt honored to be “not like the other girls,” why would you ever trouble yourself with something so frail and so unserious as the feminine? There was a great wisdom bestowed upon you. One only you could bare. And what a heavy burden you’d had, Tomboy.

Eventually, you’d settle with being the heroine. You felt like Kim Possible.

You were Buttercup, sometimes Blossom, but never ever Bubbles. Regardless, there was just one devas- tating flaw in your character. Both non-white and woman, you tried to see, to be yourself But the story was already told for you and no, you did not fit the part.

Your grit, strength, toughness all equated to one ugly thing, Tomboy. The you you fought so hard to forge would be chalked up to nothing more than a predetermined caricature.

The one fight you couldn’t win with force—what now? How would you counterattack, Tomboy?

Mom said shave your armpits

Grandma said, “women don’t say fart, they say flatulate.” You needed to be soft, sweet. Conclude each action with courtesy and a smile. Overcompensate for what they never allotted you—the feminine. You needed to be feminine. Or else.

The dread of allowing them to be “right” about you made you change, Tomboy. And you have become someone new out of guilt. fear. shame.

I’m here today to tell you it’s not worth it. They’d already decided who they would see you as and the rat race of binaries will only get you down. Tomboy, be just that. Exist in perfect androgyny. Reject what you’d internalized. Collect what’s yours. Tomboy, see to be yourself.

Writing: Kyndal Coleman

DADDY’S GIRL

Copy Editing: Caroline Kostuch, Grace Maneein

Layout: Sydney Burton

Tomboy.