dimension
iliad literary-art magazine Volume XLI Clarke Central High School
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iliad
literary-art magazine 2016
dimension “To create a work of art is to create the world.” —Wassily Kandinsky Dedicated with love to Elizabeth Cromer, Darnell Shelton, and Dr. Jon Ward.
Volume XLI Clarke Central High School 350 S. Milledge Avenue Athens, Ga. 30605
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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR The human experience is that of the individual. No other person will ever be able to think, feel, or understand in the same ways that you can. This difference is what makes us all unique individuals. It adds dimension and depth to our lives, enhancing the meaning of what it means to be. High school is a tumultuous time for everyone. Being different is by no means easy. However, in this year’s iliad, we are choosing to celebrate those differences. Individuality is a hard thing to be comfortable with, but we would like to create an open and honest environment for students and faculty to do just that—to be comfortable being themselves. Art is often cathartic and by expressing oneself, viewers and readers alike are given glimpses into the life of the artist; they get to see the dimension that lies within. Understanding others is therefore essential to understanding ourselves. Through writing, art, photography, and music, the artists in the iliad highlight the dimension and depth that can be found in their own lives as well as in the lives of others. EMILY WATSON, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR
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THEME
Art is received by each person in a different way because each person is a collection of their own individual experiences. The way we measure our experiences varies, and art is a reflection of our perspectives of these experiences. Thus, the theme of this year’s iliad is dimension. We’ve organized our magazine by placing works according to each dimension that their form takes. The first dimension is distance, which focuses on the physical and emotional distance that our conscious not only experiences, but endures. The second is division. In this section, we emphasize the literal or figurative barriers that isolate the individual. The next dimension is perception, which focuses on both individual and unanimous understandings of the world around us. The final dimension is time, the measure of our lives. Here attention is paid to the effect of time and especially its reflections in art. How each of these aspects of dimension interact is represented and paralleled throughout the issue. Our intent is to showcase the effect of dimension on art and, by extension, our lives. ELIZABETH JURADO, MANAGING EDITOR
THEME
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4
Distance
Divide
9. “COGNIZANT” x Ella Sams 9. “AUGUST” x Kieffer Farber 10. “WIND THAT LETS GO” x Andrew Caldwell 10. “THE ONE” x Ruth Barrow 11. “THE CLIMB” x Christina Kurian 12. “THE PRICE OF BORROWED SUNSHINE” x Elizabeth Jurado 13. “WINDOW” x Julie Alpaugh 14. “WHY DID YOU LEAVE?” x Hannah Gale 15. “SKETCH” x Jackson Jackson 15. “GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE” x Zoe Peterson 16. “VIOLENT ROMANCE” x Luke Slaboda 17. “THEIR WORSHIIP” x Sara Goodie 18. “DEAR JALEN” x Dalace Thomas 19. “BROKEN GIRL” x Karla Suarez 20. “STRAWBERRIES” x Avery Ray 21. “WHATEVER I WANTED” x Tierra Hayes 22. “FAITH WALKS AWAY, TOO” x Marisha Christian 22. “FILAMENTS” x Emily Watson 23. “TOO FAR” x Andrew Caldwell 23. “WAVES” x Zoe Peterson
26. “ARRIVED.” x Noé Wesel 27. “GIRL WITH EYES” x Avery Ray 28. “IN UTERO” x Lela Jenkins 29. “FLIGHT” x Emily Watson 29. “DAYDREAM” x Ruth Barrow 30. “I DO NOT SMILE FOR YOU” x Sara Tonks 30. “ROSES+FACE” x Tiger Villaveces 31. “SCARY STORY” x Flynne Collins 32. “TEETH+SKULL” x Kiran Fernandes 32. “FACES” x Tiernan O’Neill 33. “IT NEVER TOOK LONG FOR HIM TO REALIZE HIS MISTAKES” x Tierra Hayes 34. “AMERICAN DREAM” x Emily Watson 34. “FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS” x 35. “EAVESDROPPING” x Sophie Fernandes 36. “MINE” x Leslie Mendoza 37. “ONCIDIUM DAYANUM” x Lela Jenkins 38. “I CAN’T SLEEP” x Anonymous 39. “BORN TO HATE: AN EDITORIAL” x Sara Goodie 40. “QUESTION: DO YOU HATE ME?” x Jackson Jackson 42. “WATERFALL” x Luke Slaboda 44. “007” x Avery Ray 45. “TEASE” x Sophie Fernandes
TABLE OF CONTENTS
34 Perception
Time
48. “CLOWNS” x Kiran Fernandes
64. “BAD GUY” x Tiernan O’Neill
49. “BLORENGE” x Jack Hafer
65. “THE OMEN” x Andre Magyar
49. “SASHAY AWAY” x Tiernan O’Neill
50. “THE LEAKY FAUCET” x Jared Warner 51. “TATTOOED GIRL” x Brittania Sinister 52. “AMBIEN” x Ella Sams
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66. “COPE” x Ella Sams
67. “I LOOK AT MY WATCH TOO MUCH” x Mara Bastow 68. “THE TRUTH OF REALITY” x Talia Williams
53. “STILLBORN” x Sara Goodie
68. “OCEAN IN THE MORNING” x Zoe Peterson
54. “HEAVEN’S DESCENDANCE” x Luke Slaboda
71. “DISCRIMINATION” x Julie Alpaugh
70. “PROGRESS?” x Julie Alpaugh
55. “DOG FIGHTS” x Elizabeth Jurado
72. “HAPPILY NEVER AFTER” x Ivonne Barcenas
56. “AN UNUSUAL DICTIONARY” x Katy Mayfield
73. “CIRCUMFLEX” x Kiran Fernandes
57. “MOUTH+NOSE” x Julie Alpaugh
75. “CHAOS” x Alice Watson
74. “MY HEARTBREAK” x Marisha Christian
58. “UP” x Zoe Peterson
76. “SOUNDS” x Amelia DeLamater
59. “THOUGHTS” x Lucia Bermudez
77. “SNUG LIFE” x Michael Jurado
60. “HOLIDAY HOROSCOPE” x Katy Mayfield
78. “THE UNDERSTANDING” x Andre Magyar
60. “ZODIAC” x Tiger Villaveces
79. “MYSTERIOUS LOVE” x Talia Williams
TABLE OF CONTENTS
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“How am I supposed to accept the fact that you’re gone?”
d i s t 6
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a n c e 7
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AUGUST L
ast night I had a dream. In it, I was climbing a mountain. At the top of a mountain stood a boy about my age. The snow and ice surrounding him had melted, and grass and flowers began to grow in its place. As I moved closer to the boy, I could feel his warmth engulf me; it was the most amazing feeling, but it was taken away too soon by the reality of this everlasting winter. It was cold. Not the cold where you can put on a jacket and be fine. This was the cold that ran through your bones; the cold that forced you to continuously shiver. Winter came as normal 13 years ago, but it has yet to end. I was only five when it came, so I only vaguely remember spring, summer and fall. As I go to school, the dream stays in the the back of my mind. Who is this boy? How can he help us? What if he can get winter to end? The questions go on and on, but I know I am being silly. There is no way what I saw could have been real; it was just a dream. Today, we are going on a field trip to Mount Aestas. It is odd that we are since it takes a lot of time and energy to get a bus to be able to travel in our weather conditions, but I don’t care; anything that can get me out of Statistics, I’m cool with. The bus is stuffy, but still freezing. I take the first empty seat, put my headphones in and await the 30 minute ride. It seems like forever that I’m watching the icy trees pass by. We get to Mount Aestas and a tour guide gets on our bus. She tells us we will view and learn about the mountain and its wildlife from the nature center, but no one is allowed on the mountain, not like we want to go outside anyway. 8
ILIA D The icy breeze hits our faces as we trek to the nature center. Mount Aestas stands tall to our right. I swear for a second I can see sunlight at its peak, not coming from the sky, but just sitting at the top. Weird. No one else seems to think anything of it. As we pass the mountain, I can’t take my eyes away from it. Something about it is mesmerizing me. I lag behind the group of students; I want to be able to get a better look at the peak. Maybe they won’t notice if I stay outside, if I hike up Mount Aestas. I slowly back away from the group. We are almost to the nature center. I have to hide, so they forget I am here. I find the biggest tree, and wait for everyone to get inside. It’s safe now. I look back at the mountain, and I know I have to get to the top. I have to know if the light I saw was the boy from my dream. I have to know if he can help this winter end. The hike up Mount Aestas is intense. Heavy snow begins to fall and the wind comes faster. I can barely keep my balance, but I keep going. The weather gets even worse as I near the peak. I can feel the water coming from my eyes running down my face. My fingers are too cold to wipe it away. I am about to give up, I’m not strong enough to make it. I want to turn around, but suddenly I see a blinding light. That has to be him. 200 more feet and I will be there. I run as fast as I can, struggling to breathe. I’m so nervous. What if it’s just the sun reflecting off of the ice? What if I’m just going crazy? But just as my doubts start running, I feel it. I feel the warmth and sunlight from my dream. The boy is facing away from me. I walk nearer and he turns around smiling. “I wondered if you would be coming.” “Who are you?” I say. “What are you?” “I’m August. I’ve come to end the winter.”
KIEFFER FARBER, senior
DISTANCE
COGNIZANT ELLA SAMS, senior
I LI AD CHRISTINA KURIAN, junior
THE CLIMB CHRISTINA KURIAN, junior
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W ND THAT LETS GO Tips of trees break the line of sky Looking up towards the top I shield the sunlight from my eye To see the hills of jagged rock The wind now rises, shrieks, then cries And in my soul I hear it talk Out there alone where peace resides Is often where I long to walk
THE ONE
ANDREW CALDWELL, freshman
DISTANCE
The bird lands in the tree the Girl runs she is free the boy Wants her to be they are one, now we. RUTH BARROW, senior
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THE PRICE OF
BORROWED SUNSHINE
I
used to think that the seasons were free and reliable, but that’s before I saw them change in front of me, before I knew I was supposed to hold on to them or they’d slip away. The seasons are regimented and stay for no one once they’ve passed, no matter how badly you need the sun. It was a cold winter night in Georgia threatening of snow, but there was an orange house on a dear street that offered warmth. I went in and in a moment everything changed. I had so many questions, but just like the first snowflakes of winter, they don’t stick. The cold of outside was forgotten because there was a fire inside me that I’d never felt before. My face was so warm. I lifted the charm on my necklace to my surely pink cheek to feel the chill. My cheeks were so soft and the colors in the room were as warm as the pit of my stomach. I looked down at the ice in the bottom of my glass and drew a smiley face in the condensation on its rounded sides. I closed my eyes. My lids were so heavy. I’m not sure how long they were closed. I opened them slowly greeted by glowing yellow walls and blue eyes like summer days. When did I lie down? I felt as though I were in a dream. I was surrounded by heat, by warmth, by strong arms. There were hands
on my hips that weren’t there before. I never said you could put hands on my hips and now your lips were on my lips. Your skin was so warm, but why was it on mine? It was so warm. I was standing. He wanted me to go with him. I asked where, but it didn’t matter. The same rough hand holding mine pulling me out the door into the winter outside. I didn’t even realize that summer had ended because I was too busy staring in his eyes bathing in the warmth of a false sun. It was so cold out there. Out here. I wanted your warm skin on mine, but you left me out there and the cold air washed over me replacing the warmth of yellow walls and a soft sky colored gaze. I looked in your eyes the next day, but there was no warmth and I realized that they couldn’t stay a summer day, they had to be a regrettable winter morning because the time for summer had passed and I’d only borrowed its warmth. The stark cold of today was the price that I’d payed, but the sale was final and I know that now. I wanted to remember the way the sky looked and the way the sun felt on my skin for the next 100 cold winter days, because once a season is over a new one begins.
ELIZABETH JURADO, junior 12
DISTANCE
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WINDOW JULIE ALPAUGH, junior
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WHY DID YOU LEAVE? Fourteen years after her adoption, 16-year-old Hannah Gale addresses her birth mother in an open letter.
D
ear “mom,” I was told that you left me in a farmer’s market. Was it the same one you regularly went to? Did you trust the people there? Is that why you abandoned me there? Because the people were friendly, or didn’t seem like they would hurt a newborn? Luckily you were right. I was found, by a cop. Taken to an orphanage, then adopted a year later. But what if fifteen years later, I was still deserted in that farmer’s market? With no one to love me. With no one to care for me. Living alone, homeless. People ask if I ever want to find you. I don’t. I don’t like you. I don’t ever want to see you. Why should I, when you didn’t want me? You didn’t even take the time to name me.
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The orphanage did: Churui. It’s now my middle name. I legally carry around a piece of the orphanage everywhere I go. I biologically carry around parts of you everywhere I go. I separated myself from Churui in hopes of separating myself from my past. Instead, it brought me more grief. But I emotionally dumped you and the orphanage down the drain the moment I realized it was abandonment. I could still be sitting in that farmer’s market. Please don’t ever look for me. You betrayed me. Even 15 years later, you’re still betraying me. I turned out like this because of you. I have held a grudge for fifteen years because of you. What a great way to start off life. Sincerely, your “daughter”
HANNAH GALE, sophomore DISTANCE
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SKETCH Do we really need features? What's the difference between the front and the back? Is there a difference? Can't they just look the same? Why is there a difference in features at all? Why can't it all just look the same Same face same body same It wouldn't make that much difference But it would— And wouldn't that be kinda nice To not have to worry about how you look Because you look the same
JACKSON JACKSON, junior
GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE ZOE PETERSON, sophomore
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VIOLENT ROMANCE LUKE SLABODA, senior 16
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THEIR WORSHIP SARA GOODIE, junior
T
here is a boy. For our sake, he does not have a name. He does not have religion. Not that this makes him heartless. But religion, it swings as another tether which does not constrain him, frayed ends clasping to dew-stricken lawns. He walks across the grass to school. It is late spring, and verdant trees and jaded kids intersperse the campus. School is school, and students are high. The boy falls in love with a girl at the school. She cannot walk to this school, because she is too far away. But she loves him back anyway. This boy sleeps long hours, bathes in colored light, and wakes and moves people around the room like furniture. And so the love he feels is probably a selfish kind, a parasitic kind. The girl has skin like bleach. It stains her furniture and dyes her hair. She wants to remove it. The boy offers her razors; she saves them in a drawer. The girl who loves the boy adopts him as her god. She worships him with her body. They paint a mosaic of masochism, confess their virginities, stain the furniture with bleached summer sweat. It has been four months and the girl is going transparent. Her skin is failing her, and she huddles under playful fluorescent lights and bathroom stalls the color of Pepto-Bismol. It upsets her stomach. Grass withers under the boy’s clean black shoes. He ambles down the street and the leaves crinkle, leap, one last attempt to swirl
DISTANCE
about his feet or perhaps scuff up the shoes. Either way, they are dead before they reach the ground. The boy and his girl cannot pretend any longer that they are not eating each other’s prayers. The girl wakes up for the boy, running like mascara down her cheeks. She is drinking more now, and his lungs have gone to ash. They call each other monsters. But still, religion is hard to break from. The girl grips the boy, her nails piercing his ribs as he pierces her. They are both crying bleach. The girl wants to leave, but she knows nothing without her god. He tells her she is nothing without him. It is the truth. So she stays. But the boy is seducing others, and the girl is searching for fulfillment. She is seethrough now, like vodka in her mouthwash bottle. The boy is screaming at her unfaithfulness. He smashes vases and tears her dress and she is sick. One hour later, he weeps for his mistake and asks for her back. She cannot deny her king. Bruises form on her peach body, malnourished and miserable. By February, the boy has called 9-1-1 to check her house for a pulse. The girl blames the boy, because he gave her the razors in the drawer. He gave her vodka for mouthwash, because he did not want to taste her. The boy does not say anything. He continues to scream. In April, a year after they fell in love, the boy has consumed her, worn away her skin and eaten the rest. Her lipstick is still on the mouthwash bottle. He drinks from it now and then. 17
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SOPHOMORE DALACE THOMAS’ 16-YEAR-OLD COUSIN, JALEN THOMAS, PASSED AWAY FROM A HEART ATTACK ON MARCH 26, 2015
Dear Jalen, There are so many things that I wish I could tell you to your face. Things that I would much rather look into your brown eyes and say, but I can’t because you're not here. You have passed on to bigger and better things. But, here is my letter to you saying everything I need for you to know.
I want to tell you that I am sorry for all the times I got you in trouble when we were little. The times when I would run and tell Mema that you were being mean to me. I would laugh and you would be giving me the death stare. Five minutes later I would run back to you and tell you how much I loved you, while laughing because I knew I was the reason you got in trouble in the first place. Remember when everyone from the family would be at Mema’s house and all the grandkids would try to pull an all nighter, but we were all asleep by 12:00 a.m? Or the times when there would be nowhere to sleep at Thanksgiving because there are always so many people at Mema’s house? My favorite memory is when Mema and I were on the way to pick you up, and I saw you and ran to you and gave you the biggest hug. I wrapped myself around you and stayed that way for at least two whole minutes. You kept telling me to get off of you so that you could go get your very unorganized bag and put it in the car. I wish I could say that we could continue to make memories together. That I could 18
continue to get you in trouble about stupid things or that you could continue to make fun of me for having no upper-body strength or eating way too much key lime pie. I wish I could run to you again and tell you how much I love you, but I can’t because you're dead. You died March 26, 2015 of a heart attack. You were only 16. You had so much life left. You were supposed to grow up. You were supposed to go to prom and graduate from high school. You were supposed to go to college and get married and have a good healthy happy life, and now you don’t have those opportunities anymore. How am I supposed to accept the fact that you’re gone? What am I going to do when I want to talk to you or see you? I have so many questions about why this happened and why it had to be you. Out of all the 16-year-old boys in the world it had to be you. I am trying with everything I have in me to be O.K., but I’m not. Everyone keeps telling me I have to be strong for your sisters and that I have to know that everything happens for a reason, but I don’t want to be strong. I want to cry. I want to miss you. I wish I could tell you this in person but, I love you Jalen. I love the person you were and the good things that you brought to the family. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you just how much I loved you when I had the chance. I didn’t tell you that you meant so much to me. I’m sorry that you died not knowing just how much your life impacted this family and every single person in it. I will always remember you in everything that I do. I will remember your smile and the way you loved life. The way you loved this family, and the way you loved me. Rest in peace, Jalen. Love you with everything I got, Your cousin Dalace
DALACE THOMAS, sophomore
DISTANCE
BROKEN GIRL
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KARLA SUAREZ, senior
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STRAWBERRIES AVERY RAY, freshman
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WHATEVER I WANTED They told me I could be whatever I wanted the nice tall teachers in the nice building with the books and the chairs and the hand sanitizer that smelt of alcohol and strawberries and then I wanted and I wanted and I wanted but I couldn’t be I struggled but but but you said the words slipping from my mouth, a life of words to make me feel important smart needed middle school high school be what we want you to be they said the not so tall teachers with the boards and the markers and the red ink pens the ink flowing across my words across the promise of being whatever I wanted crossed out correction fluid until I fit in the box of their expectations five paragraphs opening body supporting details conclusion good be whatever you want to be, but do it in this box don’t color outside of the lines we don’t want that we want nice, neat children nice, neat names nice, neat papers nice, neat boxes with less red ink spilling across their words that are supposed to be mine that I am supposed to want to write because aren’t I supposed to be whatever I want to be? TIERRA HAYES, senior
DISTANCE
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FAITH WALKS AWAY, TOO When a heart is broken it is not easily repaired. Time heals the pain and the scars again. The body shuts down. Smile turns into frown and the thoughts turn from good to bad. And the moods turn from happy to sad. The faith is gone. The faith just walked out the door with love and strength. The heart is bent and the soul is blue blood cold. The faith is sold. MARISHA CHRISTIAN, senior
FILAMENTS EMILY WATSON, senior
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TOO FAR I know
Throwing stones
News that stays news
Under the shadow of iron bars
News that isn’t news at all
A cornucopia of weapon systems
It’s true
Smuggled
Even the names are disputed
War means you hurt somebody
Hideously
Until there’s nothing soft
Look away
Or sensible left
All night long
At bottom
Since childhood
At the core
I kept an eye on
They work for the landlord
One’s perspective
The people know it
The distended shapes
Many resent it
The oldest of old hats
The oppressor
Sounds strange
Lives in a cage
Of course
Made of law, concrete and razor wire
Not complete
Twisted deep
But I found much clarified
One is allowed a glimpse of
600 violations of human rights
Disturbing power
Through struggle
How many targets?
Abduction
No scorecard was offered
And murder
Whether with security
In June
Or numbness
Active violence
No one investigates too far
Latent anger There’s no contest here Lay down your sword
ANDREW CALDWELL, freshman
There are children at play
WAVES
ZOE PETERSON, sophomore
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“I think I hate you;
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but I can’t, even though I do.”
vid
25
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Arrivé à destination. Arrivé à Destination. L’espace d’un instant A suffit et ma vie, catapultée Là sur ce sol étranger, rempli d’inconnus. Je rêvais d’un nouveau départ, Ma naïveté est parfois surprenante. Malgré cette arrivée impromptue et soudaine, Je n’ai pas vraiment changé, mais je me suis complété. Au fur et à mesure que les jours s’écoulent, Une partition lentement se crée, une dualité rageante. Tiraillé entre deux cultures. Je ne sais où donner de la tête. Là-bas, ici, maintenant, ou avant ? Je ne fais qu’avancer dans la brume.
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GIRL WITH EYES AVERY RAY, freshman
Arrived. Arrived. The lapse of an instant Has sufficed and my life, propelled Here on this foreign land, full of strangers.
Gradually, as the days have come and gone, A partition is slowly being created, a seething duality. Torn between two cultures.
I dreamed of a new start, My naïveté is sometimes surprising. Despite this impromptu and sudden arrival, I have not really changed, but I completed myself.
I don’t know where to look. Over there, here, now, or before? I am only walking in the mist.
DIVIDE
NOÉ WESEL, senior 27
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IN UTERO LELA JENKINS, senior
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FLIGHT EMILY WATSON, senior
DAYDREAM A land of opportunities is what we wish to see, “You can be anything you want to be.” Positive thoughts turn to competitive ambitions A fight to the death when reality hits us We prepare ourselves from the start To push others down so we can be a part Of Whatever this daydream is. RUTH BARROW, senior DIVIDE
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I DO NOT SMILE FOR YOU SARA TONKS, senior
ILIA D I do not smile for you Because you were a flame And I was the morning dew When you danced and shone I sparkled and warmed And we were beautiful I do not smile for you Because you tried to be my eyes You took over my sight Until all I could see was you My heart, my joy, my pain Were all in your smile
I do not smile for you Because you began to burn But you burned so cold That when you were warm I needed more to last Through the oncoming cold
I do not smile for you Because I could see you That you tried so hard To be my everything To be all that I could think about And you succeeded I do not smile for you Because I had to let you go Cut the tether that held us With a shard of glass It all felt so cold And I cried for you
But I do not smile for you Because I never needed to Every day is closer to warmth And never do I burn or freeze As I smile to myself today Because I can be my own world
ROSES+FACE
TIGER VILLAVECES, junior 30 DIVIDE
I do not smile for you And I never will again 30
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Scary story Flynne Collins, senior maybe we are most afraid of ourselves maybe this could possibly turn out well this world is a scary story and it never says it’s sorry
SCARY STORY scared. maybe we are mostI’m afraid of ourselves maybe this could possibly turn out well maybe old enough this worldwe’ll is a never scary be story maybe it’s because you’re and it never says it’s sorry nervous too I don’t know what I’m most afraid of all I’m the scared. cops or all the rapists maybe we’ll neverI’m bescared. old enough maybe it’s because you’re nervous too I don’t know what I’m most afraid of all the cops or all the rapists I’m scared. FLYNNE COLLINS, senior
DIVIDE
31
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TEETH+SKULL KIRAN FERNANDES, freshman
FA C E S
TIERNAN O’NEILL, senior
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IT NEVER TOOK
LONG FOR HIM
TO REALIZE HIS
M I S TA K E S
I
t never took long for him to realize his mistakes. Sometimes they would become clear immediately after the words left his mouth. Others not until a drink was being splashed in his face. He paid the tab for
the food and slipped out of the door. The chill of the air bit into the places where the liquid had seeped past the material of his jacket and shirt and onto his skin. His phone began to vibrate in his pocket. It was his mother. Her intuition had told her that he had a date. It was not skilled enough to know that it did not go as planned, though by now it should know. He did not answer, for every time he answered, he felt guilt. He would give her the world, and his job allowed him to. A new house, a car all the things that they never had. But the one thing she wanted he denied her, and everytime he answered the call that is all he could hear, the disappointment. The tall buildings filled the skyline and cars fill the streets. The people move hurriedly over the sidewalks, in too much of a hurry to wonder what was happening around them. An arm slung carelessly over a shoulder. A child’s hand being led along. A dog barking and pulling at his owner’s hand that was wrapped around the leash, urged to walk faster. A man with his arms swinging by his sides. The man whose last call was from his mother. His hands free and he feels it. The cold loneliness seeping though where his reality had seeped through his defenses into his soul.
TIERRA HAYES, senior
DIVIDE
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American DREAM America, the place for dreamers but my dreams never came true, The place for liberty and truth though I was never truly free, The place for opportunity even though I had none. America, the land of wealth, where no one truly succeeds. EMILY WATSON, senior
FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS
ZOE PETERSON, sophomore
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EAVESDROPPING I DON’T LIKE BEING LIED TO. YOU’RE GONNA LET OUR RELATIONSHIP GO DOWN THE DRAIN? I DON’T LIKE BEING LIED TO. I DROPPED ALL OF THOSE GIRLS FOR YOU, E V E R Y T H I N G I H AV E D O N E WA S F O R Y O U
I DON’T LIKE BEING LIED TO. CALL ME LATER? I CAN EXPLAIN MYSELF NO. F I N E , I H AV E P L E N T Y O F OTHER GIRLS’ NUMBERS SOPHIE FERNANDES, junior
DIVIDE
35
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MINE I’m not ready, I can’t do this This Is not for me How can I let this happen? Especially now So many years to come and this is what I chose to do? Filled with so much youth and freedom living the American Dream It’s not mine. Days, weeks Passed by like shallow winds lifting the leaves off the ground Lifting it nice and calm So fast, yet you can see it happening with a naked eye The day has come I gazed into the blue sky that laid upon On that summery day morning To hear the birds and bees Chirp and buzz My palms became sweaty I held her shaking hand What if I am not ready? Can I back down? I can still run right? Can I? Would I? What if she isn’t mine? “It’s time” She gave it her all and brought a life I looked away to give no interest Just to be drawn to those big brown gazing eyes of new life I have fallen in love I have fallen in love with a pure and innocent soul of new She gazed up at me through me the needs of fatherly love I saw past her I will be your guide and I will guide you I have no doubt that she is not mine Because she is all me She is mine And I will be ready. LESLIE MENDOZA, senior 36
ONCIDIUM DAYANUM LELA JENKINS, senior
DIVIDE
ILIA D
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I CAN’T SLEEP ANONYMOUS
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BORN TO HATE: AN EDITORIAL SARA GOODIE, junior
ILIA D
I recently uncovered the first documented evidence that I have always hated my younger brother.
in fact, adjectives--except for “idit,” but what can you do? don’t particularly remember seething with Third, the overall passion demonstrated here rage as a toddler. But it turns out I must is evident. My first few words were written have been. in marker, but by the time I got to “stuped,” I have a brother named Sachio. He is two everything is in pen. I suspect the gently and a half years younger than me, and has dying marker was not enough to articulate the always been smiley and charming. Sach is mature emotion I wanted to convey. actually easier to deal with than most of my And the more I think about it, the more I realfriends’ siblings, but that doesn’t matter. He’s ize I hated him a whole lot. my little brother. When he was 2, I made fun of him for not A few months ago, I unearthed a light pink being able to catch our pet fish. But I didn’t diary with a cat wearing a neckerchief on the expect that he would catch it. And the fish cover. I remembered it from my early childdied. I made him put it back and act surhood; in fact, I could recall writing in it in the prised when our parents discovered it. house my family lived in until I was 5 years I once punched him in the stomach and then old. This was clearly a relic. claimed I thought it was American Sign LanI noticed the journal had metal clasps on guage for “I love you.” I didn’t get in trouble, either cover where a tiny lock could close it, so I’m not sure what happened there. but the lock and key had gone missing years Some may view these incidents as character prior. I was secretive, but disorganized. flaws on my part. Some may accuse me of The first page was a grid of colorful animal “cruelty” or “deeply-rooted emotional disturstickers on them. I saw several were missbance which led me to despise a baby” or ing and assumed I had used them as early something. But it was warranted. emojis to animate my entries. It was delightOne time, when Sach was a baby, he went in ful. “What a pleasant little book this will be,” I the refrigerator and got a stick of butter and thought. ate it. He just sat down and ate butter like an I turned the page and read my original entry: “idit.” “Sachio is a roten, stenky, smelly, stuped; He used to poop in the bathtub when we dum, truble making, lieing, mean, idit, peace were little enough to take baths together. My of muddy scum. Drop dead Sachio.” parents could tell when this happened beSkip a line, and: “p.s. I MEAN IT!” cause I would shriek. From this, I gather three things. He ate sand out of our sandbox. He prefered to eat the wet sand. Our mom had to keep First of all, I admire my attempted use of a getting more sand every time it rained. semicolon. It was incorrect but what a precocious kid I must have been to even know The point is, my brother and I have had our about those. differences. He would be annoying and I Second, despite the spelling and grammar er- would threaten his life in my little pink diary. rors, I’m content with the range of vocabulary Siblings are lucky to have each other. implemented. Most of my descriptions were,
I
DIVIDE
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question:
DO you hate me? 40
ILIA D
What did I do? Is it that what I did wasn't good enough? It never seems to be enough. Why aren't I good enough? I've given you all I can, all that I am, and you're still never happy. You're no prize yourself, you know. You think you're so great, so helpful, such an angel. You're doing your job, that doesn't make you a goddamn saint. You're not even doing it well. Why do you always side
against me? Even when it doesn't relate to you. You just join the opposing side immediately and then claim that you were merely trying to help. I think I hate you; but I can’t, even though I do. You're doing this wrong, you know. Why don't you listen?
JACKSON JACKSON, junior 41
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WATERFALL LUKE SLABODA, senior
42
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43
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007
AVERY RAY, freshman 44
TEASE
ILIA D SOPHIE FERNANDES, junior
*This article contains sensitive subjects concering sexual harassment.
“W
hat’s your number baby? You gonna let me hit it? You’re thick, lemme hit it.” Cat calls refract off of the wall directed towards me. After being in school for six months, I am numb to these acts of derogatory subversion because I have heard them so often. Most women can relate to this awkward and uncomfortable transaction, and many respond in the same ways—averting our eyes and ignoring them. Usually, I am one to disregard their cat calls; however, this time the harmful words caught my attention. The comment dripped from his mouth as if he had no control over his thoughts. “I want to cum on your tits,” he said. I looked at him in utter disappointment and shock. What did he think gave him the right to talk to me in such a way? What kind of upbringing promotes such behavior as degrading women? What makes him think that he will find love with the use of harassment? If anything, he did grab my attention, but it was not the attention he intended. Looking at him straight in his eyes I said, “What you’re saying is disrespectful, you should watch how you speak to women.” He scoffed at me as if what I was telling him was completely ridiculous, like he had never heard a woman stand up for herself. But, I do know that I have seen him numerous times and he has not spoken to me since. I wish I could explain to him now how much his comment has affected me to this day. That night, his voice came back into my head, and I envisioned the way he looked at me. I jumped out of bed and began sorting through all of my clothes, piling up anything that could draw another pervert’s attention. My tight skirts and shirts that showed any cleavage sat there on the ground in front of me, trying to erase each memory of harass-
DIVIDE
ment that resided with the clothes. It is sort of a Catch-22 that I like wearing these types of clothes. At times because I feel good about myself in them, but these clothes do get the attention of those men who view women as sex objects. If one puts into context 1960s feminist fashion movements, and relates what was going on then to what is the fashion today, the two are not that different. Both then and now, women are wearing sexual clothes to make a social and political statement. These clothes simultaneously celebrate the female body, showing curves, and making a statement that we are in full full acceptance of ourselves. But, then I have to worry about attracting the attention of people who will assume that because I wear those clothes I am conveying some message about my sexuality. The reality is I am wearing what feels comfortable and what I think I look good in. As a young woman of my generation who wants to be a voice within the new feminist movement, let us all choose clothes and fashion that celebrates the feminine as something powerful and be ready to defend ourselves towards sexist men when necessary. The boy who hurt me with his words opened my eyes and empowered me; I was no longer going to feed into their brainwashed ideology that they have the right as men to talk to me like that. I was not going to be submissive towards them, but to stand up for what I know is right. Before this moment, these demeaning remarks left me feeling marginalized and that my thoughts and feelings did not matter, but once I found my voice, in that moment, I knew that I no longer would be a victim. I now have the strength to say, “no, you cannot talk to me like that.” I have the strength to make eye contact, because that little choice of body language will coerce them to think about what they have said. 45
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PERCE 46
ILIA D
“Taking things apart was so much easier than putting them together.”
EPTION 47
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CLOWNS KIRAN FERNANDES, freshman 48
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BLORENGE One day a man ate an orange He attempted to fix his doorhinge He saw it was made out of silver So he traded it for a chilver Then he rode the young lamb to Blorenge JACK HAFER, senior
SASHAY A W AY
he puts his coat on the rack, trudges to the kitchen, a martini and sandwich wait, she’s outdone herself this time! his gurl’s asleep, her tears still fresh in her beard, her blush is dull, mascara runny, she’s a real keeper! he turns on the TV, he slinks into the sofa as Ru poses, another girl gone but not forgotten, she’s so screwed! TIERNAN O’NEILL, senior
PERCEPTION
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THE LEAKY FAUCET
S
he noticed the leaky faucet on the sink in the bathroom. Drip drip it went, time and time again. She imagined the water slowly cascading in gentle little swirls before ultimately slipping away into the abyss that was the sewer. The faucet was mere feet from her bed, the one she shared with him. She was in bed, nestled between a blanket, a sheet, and a strange curious lump that had developed over the last few months. She toyed with the idea of getting out of bed and taking a look at the leaky faucet. Closing her eyes, she resigned herself to sleep, hearing only the drip drip as she dozed off, as if it were some sort of aural soporific.
clutter until she found what she needed. It was a bright orange toolbox. She went back inside, determined to make things right. She knew bargaining with the leaky faucet would do no good, and so it must be stopped. She approached the leaky faucet, and pulled out a wrench, whacking it into alignment with perhaps a little too much force. It went quiet for a minute, but then she heard a soft drip, which soon became a clearly audible drip drip. This had gone on long enough. She pulled out another tool to address the situation. She didn’t even know what the tool was or how to properly use it, but she didn’t care. This problem was going to get fixed, one way or another.
In her dreams she stood in front of the faucet. She gazed irritated at the never-ending noise, the constant babble of indiscernible words. In this state of suspended disbelief, she closed her eyes and imagined that she was able to understand what each drip was really saying. In some ways, it was not difficult; the subconscious dreams what it will about what it knows. She heard the secrets piling out of each drip, each one signifying a lie worse than the one before it, information she wished she had never known or could easily forget. She saw others in the drips, others not unlike herself and the people she knew. She heard the laughter of a child, the smile of a lover in the darkness, the chills of utter deceit. She heard anything and everything, and she knew it must stop. She couldn’t take the drip drip anymore. She had to stop the problem at the source. It was an easy fix.
In her hands she found a long, pointed metal screwdriver. She looked at it for a moment, trying to decide how to best use it. She gave the pipes a little jab, but that just made things worse. The liquid started spewing all over the place, and by God, some of that did not look exactly like water. In the steady stream of lies, she couldn’t help but to recall the ones she had already heard, had already interpreted. A wave of anger washed over her. This had gone on far too long. She pulled out the heaviest hammer she could find, and in a fit of rage, she swung it mightily. She swung it at the pipes, smashing them with ease. She giggled maniacally. Taking things apart was so much easier than putting them together. She grabbed another tool and started hacking away at the white porcelain edges, determined to end her suffering once and for all. Before her stood a mighty mess amidst the tangle of lies, all started by one leaky faucet.
She leapt out of bed, scurrying along to the garage. She shuffled around in his shameless
And then she turned her attention to the sink, still barely leaking. Drip drip. JARED WARNER, senior
50
PERCEPTION
ILIA D
TATTOOED SIMISTER, GIRL BRITANIA senior 51
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AMBIEN ELLA SAMS, senior 52
STILLBORN
ILIA D
The sky is a popping blue and any dry throats, any sour thoughts are told, “Go back where you came from.” Ring ring, ring ring—the songbirds call from beneath the floorboards. But hot water warps the floorboards, and the sky forgets its blue as the singing of the songbirds turns into a grinning, sour mourn. The kitchen’s phone asks to ring, and so it is the first to go. Go, you bastard, go! Go even though the floorboards are being tiled over. Her wedding ring has rusted out of a blue and pink, tastes sour. Ever seen body bags for songbirds? We held a memorial for the songbirds but no one stayed long. Had to go back and forth, callus comfort, sour pinball. Old-fashioned floorboards were not built for the weight. Blue was too harsh. Rubbing alcohol for the ring. Because in the garden, her ring dropped its diamond for songbirds to snatch up. This was before, when her daughter was born blue and she realized her child was not inside her. To go without eyedrops was to look up at floorboards in a basement, a waste basket: sour. My tongue had gone pink and sour long before pining, before the first dampened ring eclipsed dirty eyelids. I clawed at floorboards because I was there with the songbirds. The womb released me to go and join the air, which popped like blue. The floorboards must’ve been sour on that blue day, when her ring was eaten by songbirds and I had to go. SARA GOODIE, junior
PERCEPTION
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DOG FIGHTS You can’t fight a beast, but you can fight a man. That’s why when I fought you, I deserted and ran. A beast knows no rationale, but a man has his own. You make no battle cries, just an animal moan. Your words are so pointed, I thought they were claws. But that’s when I realized, you just picked at my flaws. Before you were like this, you called me your hon. So I call you a beast, because there are no battles left to be won. I used to say “choose them”, but why even try? If the moment I combat you, you say that I lie. Why fight a battle you know you can’t win? If I called you a man I’d surely have sin. ELIZABETH JURADO, junior
HEAVEN’S DESCENDANCE LUKE SLABODA, senior 54
PERCEPTION
ILIA D
55
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AN UNUSUAL DICTIONARY KATY MAYFIELD, sophomore
ADULTS \ adjective Mystical beings not present within the confines of the heretofore referenced reality Assassins of creativity and independence Duplicitous, oppressive Abstract representations of the burdens of responsibility and reality placed on human beings as a consequence of living in a cooperative self-confined society ARGENTINA \ geographical name Fresher than you COMMUNISM \ noun Perfectly reasonable in theory GRASS \ noun A better bed than any mattress (\ noun \) could ever be HYDROELECTRIC STATION \ noun A dam A water filtration system not similar to a dam (\ noun \) 56
THE FUTURE \ adjective SEE: terrifying {\ adjective \} SEE: scary {\ adjective \} SEE: worrisome {\ adjective \} LEARNING \ noun Bettering oneself through knowledge A reminder of you. MUSIC \ noun A force more powerful than any other, save popsicles, capable of bringing adolescents (\ noun \) to tears in fewer than five notes SKY \ noun A field of stars, best utilized when stared into at night while philosophizing A lonely teenager’s journal, comprised of his/her deepest thoughts and desires, a dream board A unifying phenomenon when looked to at 9:30 each night, a bridge between separated souls SWEET TEA \ noun The nectar of the gods PERCEPTION
ILIA D
MOUTH + NOSE
JULIE ALPAUGH, junior
57
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UP
ZOE PETERSON, sophomore 58
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PENSAMIENTOS
Yo soy la hija predilecta de dios, y hoy va ser el mejor dia de mi vida en la maĂąana, my mom says this to me and tells me to say it to myself throughout the day para dar gracia a dios to be hopeful and positive to set myself up para un buen dĂa y una buena vida and en la noche, I pray for my mom for her wishes to come true para su paz y felicidad for love and good things to come her way and that tomorrow will be el mejor dia de su vida.
THOUGHTS I am the favored child of God, and today will be the best day of my life, my mom says this to me and tells me to say it to myself throughout the day to give thanks to God to be hopeful and positive to set myself up for a great day and a great life in the night, I pray for my mom for her wishes to come true for her peace and happiness for love and good things to come her way and that tomorroe will be the best day of her life. LUCIA BERMUDEZ, sophomore
PERCEPTION
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HOLIDAY HOROSCOPE KATY MAYFIELD, sophomore
ARIES Sweet Aries, you’ve managed to stay out of trouble this year, voluntarily or otherwise. But when you spell the principal’s name wrong in the school newspaper, your entire reputation could suffer. Work away your troubles by watching the music video for Countdown until your crippling self esteem issues force you to work out. On the 9th the sun and moon meet, and you’ll run into a special someone or your Bio teacher at CVS Pharmacy. Either way, keep your eye out, and merry early MLK day!
TAURUS Taurus, you’re naturally hotheaded, so try to keep your cool when a Christmas friendswith-benz situation leaves your bestie with feels that she won’t stop talking about. Instead of losing your cool, use your intact frontal lobe to knock holiday shopping out of the park. But watch out, feisty bull, you know what they say about you in china shops… better leave a backup fund for situations of the “you break it, you buy it” variety. Happy Advent!
60
SCORPIO It’s looking like a hard month for you, Scorpio. With Taurus and Venus already done with their college applications and Cancer admitted to Yale on a tennis scholarship, I see a lot of forced smiles and crushing feelings of inadequacy for you! The object of your desire will find a hot blonde named Megan, but don’t worry, you won’t find another boy until college! Uh-oh, watch out: on the 4th someone close to you will be arrested for possession! Oops! Your aunt Kathy will give you weird looks at the family Christmas partytime to pull out those lie-detector-busting smiles. For some reason every bathroom you walk into will smell like pee and mothballs. Happy holidays!
ZODIAC TIGER VILLAVECES, junior
PERCEPTION
ILIA D
SAGITTARIUS Stay strong, Sagittarius, as your holier-than-thou cousin Melody glares at you for not saying the prayers at Christmas massit’s not your fault you have a newly scientific mind and have to let everyone know it! On the 12th you’ll get a B on your calc quiz, but look out for a pesky pop final: you never know when you’ll have to use inverse trigonometric functions in today’s job market, after all! Things are looking up for your love life but be sure to check his car for Carson 2016 stickers before you make a move. Have a jubilant Kwanzaa!
CAPRICORN Your dad found the GPS feature on Find My iPhone and promptly discovered you weren’t actually spending all your time volunteering at the “Susan B. Anthony Center for Girls in Knitting.” Kyle definitely isn’t waiting for you to get ungrounded, so invest in some tissues and Men’s Swimming Weeklys. The stars will align for you to get that essay in early, but a newly-dropped secret mixtape may lead you astray. Watch your back or your GPA may go from 100 to 0 real quick. Happy Hannukah!
AQUARIUS Money problems are in sight for you, reckless Aquarius. No matter how many Mocha Gingerbread lattes you get, Safwon the cute racially ambiguous Starbucks barista won’t be drawing any hearts on your cups. It looks like mom is getting another foot-rub coupon this year. Luckily, the end of the semester is in sight! Suspicious parents will wonder how you do it. Make sure that tampon box full of Adderall stays away from prying eyes when your libertarian grandparents come into town! Happy belated Diwali!
PISCES
The stars seem a bit confused for you this month, Pisces, like how all your relatives are a bit confused when you come home with Gamers Club President and self-professed Hollister fanatic Brody after you stood up and said you were gay during Thanksgiving dinner last year. Let them know it really is a choice by sitting on his lap in front of your little cousins. But don’t let your parents see: you’ll need your car to leave the house when they find out on the 27th that your brother’s been deleting his iMessages. Enjoy this Kazakhstani Festival of Cinnamon Breads!
PERCEPTION
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TIME 62
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“Who will move on? Who gets dragged down?”
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BAD GUY TIERNAN O’NEILL, senior 64
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omen
THE
ANDRE MAGYAR, senior
Often and awkward they came,
Tolerance is like a volcano,
Structured sounds,
Sits, waits, for seeming eternity.
Scattered thoughts, Comebacks that had wrong aim,
One day it ceases to exist,
The perpetrator sending them,
Dying in a fiery explosion,
No idea of their injection,
So hard is this eruption,
Of emotion into the soul,
Very existence of peace is shattered,
In the target’s mind creating a hole.
Temporary nirvana of noise and emotion. Back to primordial rage,
A hole which exists to be filled,
The target’s waiting has run out.
Deeper and deeper to be drilled, With meaningful yet unfounded hatred,
The Omen was not heeded.
Towards the perturbator who hath baited.
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COPE
ELLA SAMS, senior
66
ILIA D You stayed in the hospital for 8 days and I brought you daisies. You cried in my arms and I felt every wrinkle on your face, traced them with my fingers over and over. Something in you died that third night. Because 9 seconds into conversation, you closed your eyes. 7 seconds after that, you stopped listening to me. And I stopped trying to come up with new ways in telling you I’m sorry. That fourth day, you felt the rain, and I could tell you were unhappy. 4 seconds of each foot placed heavily on the ground, you stop. 10 seconds of silence, a silence so loud it rattled and shook me. This is me telling you I’m sorry. You can’t pull yourself into getting into the car and I don’t feel like driving. Not just because I can’t feel my hands but because we are crashing. And no one is coming to save us. So. In the time it took you to look me in the eyes and tell me you were walking home, I’d already figured out 12 different ways of telling you I don’t love you. I’ve got to get out of this alive. 12 of those ways all involve me not saving you. And I died those three days in that bleached and hollowed bed. I never moved and now I can’t feel my heart beating against my chest like I used to. I used to feel yours against me too. But now the rhythm is not steady and I don’t want your chest against me.
I LOOK AT MY WATCH TOO MUCH MARA BASTOW, junior
8 seconds of self doubt. 9 years of self-recovery. I don’t know how many times I thought of you sleeping alone. I don’t count anymore. But I wanted you to know that I’m doing better. So don’t waste your time on me.
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THE TRUTH
of
reality Success, freedom, wealth, and dreams This shiny hope never ceases to gleam. Hurt, pain, anger, and more Are just plain natural in the dangerous war. Who will move on? Who gets dragged down? ,
The circle of success keeps spinning around.
t
Follow your dreams, that’s what they say.
,
Follow your dreams, but no, not that way. Be a hard worker, you’ll get there someday.
l
TALIA WILLIAMS, senior
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OCEAN IN THE MORNING ZOE PETERSON, sophomore
69
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PROGRESS? You say we are making progress What progress have we made? Do you mean in the eyes of history or in the eyes of today? We must not just say “look how much better we are today” But “look how much better we can become in future days” New issues come and go and old ones begin to reshow. The wounds that we have sewn can no longer hold on Issues being brought to light from the blind side The ones cast around the news every top story on every sight But what about the ones we don’t hear? Where others are in a constant fight? We make progress one place while another falls behind. The cycle begins again and we ask ourselves What progress have we made? When the Fight is still strong the discrimination wrong and the ignorance not gone and now we say what progress do we have to make? JULIE ALPAUGH, junior
70
TIME
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DISCRIMINATION
JULIE ALPAUGH, junior
TIME
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HAPPILY NEVER AFTER As I sit on this noisy bus filled with uncontrollable kids I hear a small cry for love. I am going to stop beating around the bush. The girl carries on to make jokes The boy tries again. I need to get something off my chest. The girl carries on to make jokes The boy confesses He likes her. The girl says “that’s weird because we are friends”. Silence. The girl asks for confirmation desperately “We are friends?” Silence. The boy’s stop has arrived. The boy gets off. The girl finds a friend and talks about it. I feel bad for eavesdropping.
IVONNE BARCENAS, senior
CIRCUMFLEX
KIRAN FERNANDES, freshman
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TIME
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THE DARK Harrowing fear the humans do have Of the woeful and ever-dark touch Shuddering as the eternal looms near When for eons they were as such JACK HAFER, senior
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MY HEARTBREAK I hate you ! but i love you with everything in me. How can I be such a fool for loving you. Enjoying the moments we shared, and hating the tears i shed, but u always told me that you was sorry, but your heart can make you look me in the eyes and lie ‘bout loving me. Hide your heart with the secrets. Sending mixed signals, but i feel you. Say you’re scared to lose me, but yet, you would rather have temporary moments that yet in time, if we walk away we will forget. I can say it again, losing you is like my last breath, but I’m glad I put my heart together. With all I had left.
MARISHA CHRISTIAN, senior
CHAOS ALICE WATSON, freshman
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ILIA D
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SOUNDS Woooo! Ughhh... Ye a h !
The three sounds known on a fall Friday evening the sound of cheering the sound of unimportant disappointment the sound of excitement
Pop! Hiss Sip
The sounds on a Friday night the sound of relief the sound of freedom the sound of temporary happiness
Shhh... NO. Hah!
The Saturday morning sounds the sound of secrecy the sound of lies the sound of small giggles
What?! OMG! Nooooo...
The sounds of a Monday morning the sound of shock the sound of questioning the sound of denial
Are you... ? Will you... ? Who with?
Three Thursday mumbles the sound of planning the sound of help the sounds of gossip ready to stir and it all starts over again‌
AMELIA DELAMATER, junior 76
TIME
SNUG LIFE
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MICHAEL JURADO, senior
TIME
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THE UNDERSTANDING Awed does the traveler cruise, The image in his eyes his world's muse, So menial is his general perception, Of his current ethereal direction, The outlook had been figuratively ballistic, Much before the terminal point seemed mystic. Try he does to no avail, To find the meaning of his trip. For so eternal has been his sail, Beholding its span is another scale. One which his conscious cannot yet grasp, Other than the given purpose of the task. Deeper into the abyss he sinks, More and more the traveler thinks, About the nature of the divine, Which doth encompass the general mind. However yet he still fails, Regarding this never-ending tale. Although his mental trail now leads closer, To finding solace in the ever-awaiting order, Of things which are yet to be understood. Millennia passed and the consensus was equal, It was a separate abstract concept without sequel. No one knew how long it took, To truly understand this figurative book. Only the traveler and his crew, Unraveled the harmony of things askew, Finding ultimate zen in time, The understanding was most divine.
ANDRE MAGYAR, senior
78
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MYSTERIOUS LOVE Who to love, Who to hate. When do I decide, When do I wait? They say it comes, All on its own. But who want wait, And be all alone? When it comes, How will I know? What do I do with it? Where do I go? Love is crazy, Most people think that’s true. But I’ll just be me, and see what I can do. TALIA WILLIAMS, senior
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T
he iliad Literary-Art Magazine is proud to be Clarke Central High School’s open public forum for student expression, under the guidance of a faculty advisor, by means of any and all writing, artwork, original music, photography, and any other creative work. As a staff, the members of the iliad have come to a consensus that, in certain cases, elements of submitted artwork that may be seen as profane and/or obscene must be censored based around their significance within the work only. The iliad staff has no intent to cause any offense in any way or to anyone, but with the advisor, the iliad staff uses its discretion when choosing material to publish. The choices of the iliad staff represent neither the views of CCHS and its administration nor the guidelines for official school district publications.
AXIS ELLA SAMS, senior
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STAFF
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STAFF The 2016 Clarke Central High School iliad Literary-Art Magazine staff, from left to right; back row: Maddie Hall, Lela Jenkins, Dylan Gavron, Mo Conaway, David Ragsdale; front row: Emma Clarke, Luke Slaboda, Elizabeth Jurado, Emily Watson. Not Pictured: Alice Watson, Avery Ray, Mor Bothe, Tiernan O’Neill
DAVID A. RAGSDALE, ADVISOR
EMILY WATSON, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
STAFF
EDITORIAL BOARD
ELIZABETH JURADO, MANAGING EDITOR
MADDIE HALL, WRITING DIRECTOR
ALICE WATSON, ART DIRECTOR 81
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FRIENDS OF THE ILIAD DIAMOND x 300+
SPECIAL THANKS TO:
John Lewis Campbell Bob Carson and family
Julie Alpaugh Ethan Crane Elizabeth Cromer Dylan Gavron Sara Goodie Dr. Robbie P. Hooker Dr. Phil Lanoue Kevin Mobley Marion Montgomery Tiernan O’Neill Louise Platter Jessica Shelden Jessica Wilson
PLATINUM x 100+ Bertis and Katherine Downs Joel Siebentritt and Carter Vest in honor of Jesse Siebentritt
Team Reign LLC Rachel Allen and Joe Polaneczky
...and any of our friends we’ve left out.
GOLD x 50+ Jodi Boldgla Liz Conroy Robert Fecho
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FRIENDS OF THE ILIAD
INDEX Alpaugh, Julie Window 13 Mouth+Nose 57 Progress 70 Discrimination 71 Anonymous I Can’t Sleep 38 Barcenas, Ivonne Happily Never After 72 Barrow, Ruth The One 11 Daydream 29 Bastow, Mara I Look at My Watch Too Much 67 Bermudez, Lucia Thoughts 59 Caldwell, Andrew The Wind That Lets Go 11 Too Far 23 Christian, Marisha Faith Walks Away, Too 22 My Heartbreak 74 Collins, Flynne Scary Story 31 DeLamater, Amelia Sounds 76 Farber, Kieffer August 8 Fernandes, Kiran Teeth+Skull 32 Clowns 48 Circumflex 73 Fernandes, Sophie Eavesdropping 35 Tease 45 Gale, Hannah Why Did You Leave? 14 Goodie, Sara Their Worship 17 Born to Hate: An Editorial 39 Stillborn 53
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Hafer, Jack Blorenge 49 The Dark Hayes, Tierra Whatever I Wanted 21 It Never Took Him Long To Realize His Mistakes 33 Roses Jackson, Jackson Sketch 15 Question 40 Jenkins, Lela In Utero 28 Oncidium Dayanum 37 Jurado, Elizabeth The Price of Borrowed Sunshine 12 Dog Fights 54 Jurado, Michael Snug Life 77 Kurian, Christina The Climb 10 Magyar, Andre The Omen 65 The Understanding 78 Mayfield, Katy An Unusual Dictionary 56 Holiday Horoscopes 60 Mendoza, Leslie Mine 36 O’Neill, Tiernan Faces 32 Sashay Away 49 Bad Guy 64 Peterson, Zoe Golden Gate Bridge 15 Waves 23 Friday Night Lights 34 Up 58 Ocean in the Morning
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68 Ray, Avery Strawberries 20 Girl with Eyes 27 007 44 Sams, Ella Cognizant 9 Ambien 52 Cope 66 Slaboda, Luke Violent Romance 16 Waterfall 42 Heaven’s Descedance 55 Simister, Britania Tattooed Girl 51 Suarez, Karla Broken Girl 19 Thomas, Dalace Dear Jalen 18 Tonks, Sara I Do Not Smile For You 30 Villaveces, Tiger Roses+Face 30 Zodiac 60 Warner, Jared The Leaky Faucet 50 Watson, Alice Chaos 75 Watson, Emily Filaments 22 Flight 29 American Dream 34 Wesel, Noé Arrived 26 Williams, Talia The Truth of Reality 68 Mysterious Love 79
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COLOPHON iliad headlines and bylines were printed in Avenir. All copy was printed in Shree Devanagari 714. Title page and section dividers were printed in Bebas Neue. Other fonts used were Aberration, Adler, AlbertusMT, Alpaca Scarlett Demo Bauhaus 93, Belizarius, Blanch condensed inline, Britannic Bold, Century Gothic, Champagne & Limousines, Eras Light ITC, Fenwick, Fluoxetine, Franklin Gothic Medium Cond, Friday13, Futura, Helvetica Neue LT Con, Krungthep, Market Deco, NEUTRON, Orator Std, and Stereofidelic. The inside cover features a design by Mor Bothe and was colorized by Lela Jenkins. The Distance section divider was taken by Zoe Peterson. The Divide section divider was designed by Kiran Fernandes. The Perception and Time section dividers were taken by Elizabeth Jurado. The staff page portraits and group photo were taken by Julie Alpaugh. The 2015 iliad, Noumena, was recognized as First Class by the National Scholastic Press Association. The magazine received Marks of Distinction for Content, Writing, Editing, and Layout. The 2015 iliad was awarded 10th Place in the Best of Show competition for Literary Magazines at the Journalism Education Association/Scholastic Press Association National High School Journalism Convention in Orlando, Florida. The 2015 iliad earned an All-Southern rating and the Scroggins Award, top honors, from the Southern Interscholastic Press Association of the University of South Carolina for the sixth consecutive year. The iliad accepts short stories, editorials, articles, poetry, essays, art, photography, original music, and other creative work from the students, staff, and faculty of Clarke Central High School in Athens, Georgia. All submitted works are evaluated by the iliad staff. The magazine’s advisor, David A. Ragsdale, has approved all work for publication. The iliad actively recruits rising freshmen at our two feeder middle schools, Clarke Middle School and Burney-Harris-Lyons Middle School, allowing them to submit pieces. The goals of the iliad are 1) to encourage creative writing among students and faculty; 2) to support work in the fine arts among students and faculty; 3) to publish creative work in each academic year; and 4) to involve interested students in the selection and publication of literary and artistic works. It is iliad policy to not publish explicit language where it may appear in submitted work. In accordance with the age of high schoolers, censorship of explicit language follows guidelines similar to a “TV-14” rating. Submissions containing profanity will be edited appropriately with the creator’s consent before publication. The editors, staff, and advisor are grateful to everyone who submitted work or otherwise contributed for this issue of the iliad. We would also like to thank everyone for their confidence and support in this endeavor.
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