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University Liggett School 2017-2018
University Liggett School
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cover art:
hand-lettering: Abigail Hung ‘18 squares from L to R, top to bottom, featuring artwork by: Lauren Porter ‘18, Ruiming Zeng ‘18, Delaney Garvey ‘21, Tegan Jones ‘18, India Brooks ‘19, Jordan Dumas ‘20, JP Silva ‘20, Brooke Hudson ‘19, William Higbie ‘19, Trey Holmes ‘19, Hope Kulka ‘19, Lucy Barnowkse ‘19, Lauryn Holliday ‘18, Kat Tolin ‘19, Sabrina Malkoun ‘18, Zunyi Wang ‘18, Keri Inge-Marshall ‘19, Annabel Romanelli ‘18, Holland McClinton ‘18, and Izzy Brusilow ‘19 Lambrequin 18
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Literary & Arts Magazine University Liggett School
yikes!
Kat Tolin ‘19
film photography & watercolor
School address: 1045 Cook Rd Grosse Pointe Woods, MI 48236 School phone: (313) 884-4444 email: the.lambrequin@uls.net Head of School: Mr. Bart Bronk Head of Upper School: Mr. Brock Dunn University Liggett School
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Colophon and Mission Statement Editorial Board Policies
Submissions are accepted throughout the first three quarters of the year; all students are encouraged to submit. Submissions are read and chosen by the editorial staff. All students in the upper school are welcome to join the editorial staff.
Editorial Staff
Faculty Advisor: Ms. Elizabeth Wagenschutz Asst. Faculty Advisors: Ms. Liz Dann, Ms. Helen Kendall Editors-in-Chief: Holland McClinton ‘18, Lina Tate ‘18 Cover Hand-lettering: Abigail Hung ‘18 Additional Readers & Design Assistants: Madison Baltimore ‘19, Egypt Brooks ‘19, India Brooks ‘19, Kaniz Chowdhury ‘18, Keri Inge-Marshall ‘19, Blake Pradko ‘20, Saudia Tate ‘18, Tati Wallace ‘18, Max Weigel ‘20
The Lambrequin was developed to showcase the talent of Liggett Upper School and to provide an outlet for students to express themselves through visual art, photography, poetry, short story, and music. We look for creative works that capture those unexpected, often overlooked moments in life that jolt us into a new sense of awareness and transform our community. Published spring 2018 by by One Step Printing in Oak Forest, Illinois. 125 copies were printed for the Upper School and distributed on a limited, first-choice basis. A digital version—including full texts of longer fiction pieces— is available for reading on the school website: www.uls. org Typeface throughout is Bell MT size 12. Title font is Mahoni Free Persona. Magazine is printed on 80# velvet paper, cover 100# velvet. The magazine is designed on Adobe InDesign; images are edited using Adobe Photoshop.
All views expressed in the magazine are solely those of the artists/creators and do not necessarily reflect those of the school.
Awards and Best in...
The following students’ work was accepted to the Grosse Pointe Artists Association Promising Artists exhibition, a showcase for high school students who live in/attend schools in the GP Communities:
Hope Kulka ‘19: Hope, acrylic painting Brooke Hudson ‘19: Nostalgia, graphite drawing Ruiming Zeng ‘18: Hangzhou Landscape III, gouache Lucy Barnowske ‘19: The Thayers, acrylic painting Lauren Porter ‘18: Black Hair, graphite drawing (winner Zeitgeist Award) and Self-Portrait, acrylic painting (winner Second Place Overall); both were bought for a gallery! Lizzie Lukas ‘20: The Light in the Dark, acrylic painting and Taking Off, acrylic painting Brian Wang ‘18: Lonely Pawn, graphite drawing and Zunyi Wang, graphite drawing (Third Place Overall), also bought for a gallery! Hope Kulka had two paintings accepted to Venus Rising: An AllWomen Art Exhibition. This is a juried show not geared toward students. She was competing against adult artists to have her work accepted. Both paintings she submitted were accepted: Lesbians in
Space, acrylic painting and Seraphina, acrylic painting
The Lambrequin "Best In" Awards
Each year the Lambrequin faculty choose a Best In piece to recognize outstanding skill & creativity in its respective field.
Best In Fiction
Max Weigel, A Prologue of Sorts
Best In Creative Nonfiction
Holland McClinton, Family Dynamix & Lina Tate, Black Resilience
Best In Poetry
Astana Gaffney, Why Does She Hate the City?
Best In Art: Photography Saudia Tate, Black Boy Joy
Best In Art: Non-photography
Lauren Porter, Senior Concentration Series
Lambrequin 18
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Letters from the Editors First, I would like to say that this has been my favorite edition of The Lambrequin. This edition felt the most personal and heartfelt. But this is also bittersweet, seeing as this is my last year working as editor-in-chief. Reading all of your pieces and looking at all of your artwork has been a pleasure. Our magazine is one of the best ways to showcase all the talent that our Liggett community has. So I want to express my gratitude to all of you who have submitted work over the past three years and to those who have assisted us in the editing process. Also a special thanks to Ms. Wagenschutz: without her we would not have any direction. She helps us bring this magazine to life, and I know that next year even when I’m gone, the magazine will be in good hands.
My third, and final, year with The Lambrequin has been (arguably) the best yet. More so than years past, the writing submissions we received were amazing. Seeing work from the usual artists and unknown authors and being shocked by the quality of writing was a great feeling, and something I’m going to to miss when I’m in college. After reading all the pieces and considering all the artwork, we decided to focus this year’s issue on the idea of identity. The self portraits done by Ms. Kendall’s advanced art class and the writing statements from Ms. Wagenschutz’s creative writing class sold us on this idea. Design wise, the playful shapes and movement of this issue really allows for you (dear reader) to fall into the writing. Carve out some time to enjoy these creations; there’s something very intimate and cozy in doing so. One final thing: I’d like to offer my own brief writer’s/creator’s statement. Why do I create? For others. My photography or poems and even my work on The Lambrequin is always done with the hopes of making other people happy. This is my love letter to the entire Liggett student body.
Letter from the Advisor
This issue, the school’s third, reflects our school community. The pieces throughout explore confusion, anger, racial and gender issues, unrequited longing, broken relationships, loss—but they also celebrate joy, hope, community, and the things and people we love. As with our country as a whole, the Liggett Upper School finds itself dealing with a world that is equal parts overwhelming and awe-inspiring. The student work filling these pages—as well as the numerous other submissions, many of which were excellent but we just couldn’t figure out how to include—ultimately focus on finding meaning and, ideally, shared commonality with ourselves and those around us. The magazine exists because of the students who create and the teachers who support their submissions. If you sent in work to publish but find it is not in this issue, please do not be discouraged. Submit again; submit more! We are always accepting submissions (the.lambrequin@uls.net), and next year may offer another opportunity to celebrate your creative genius. I want to thank Dr. Sean Moiles and Ms. Erin Welsh for helping to find grammatical and mechanical errors. If there are any left, blame them! Finally, thank you students for indulging my weekly announcements and, more importantly, sending in your stunning creations. Yours, etc.—Ms. Wagenschutz University Liggett School
this is our love letter to the Liggett student body
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contents
FILM & PERFORMANCE 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 2
Skatre Bros & more COLP Personas William Higbie Shotgun Kopicki, et al Xmas Stereotypes Costello, et al A Day in the Life... George Gotfredson Actor (Rockstar Parody) Flournoy, et al 1960s PROTEST Abigail Hung Theater, Band, Orchestra, & Vocal Awards
MUSIC & DANCE 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
For Forever & Others Antonio Cipriano Only Us & Others Catherine Elliot J’ai pleuré en rêve Andrew Backer On a Wave Des Darby Beethova, Rachmaninoff George Gotfredson Run, Run! Trinity Lee Preludium and Allegro Victoria Ortiz Neu Roses Maria Evola
PHOTOGRAPHY 4 9 9 18 25 35 36 39 41 42 57 58 59 60
yikes! Kat Tolin Tiger Lily Keri Inge-Marshall WWI Connor Barthel Wilting Michael Litt Void Rift Kevin Ellis Blurry Victoria Ortiz Waves by Kanye West Holland McClinton Art in the Lens Carsten Higbie Black Boy Joy Saudia Tate Isolation Saudia Tate hey just act natural William Higbie Fall’s Early Freeze Carsten Higbie Pink Abigail Hung Ephemeral Flames... Carsten Higbie A Picture of a Moutain JP Silva
Lambrequin 18
ART / NONPHOTOGRAPHY
2 Droptop Shoes Charlie Amine 2 Clothing Emma Leonard 3 I’m Fine Sabrina Malkoun 3 There Are As... Isabella Cubba 5 27 Emma Leonard 7 Inner Peace Brooke Hudson 8 Fractured Brendan Jones 10 (Wo)man’s Best Friend Lily Xu 11 I Just Want... Sabrina Malkoun 12 Land of the “Free” Lauren Porter 15 Angela Lauren Porter 16 Black Hair Lauren Porter 17 Georgia Harisen Davis 20 Trapped Frannie Boyle 21 Hangzhou Landscape III Ruiming Zeng 22 July Aesthetic Holland McClinton 26 Whispers Emma Leonard 28 Self Portraits Izzy Brusilow, Tegan Jones, 31 India Brooks, Lauren Porter, Ruiming Zeng, Hope Kulka, Lucy Barnowske, Annabel Romanelli, Lily Xu, Zunyi Wang, Kat Tolin 32 Influence Jorden Dumas 33 Burtchville Izzy Brusilow 40 The Thayers Lucy Barnowske 42 Seraphina Hope Kulka 44 Petra Rose Keri Inge-Marshall 46 The Hole Alec Leonard 47 Melted Blues Isabella Cubba 48 Tati Annabel Romanelli 49 The Queens Zunyi Wang 50 Latin Flowers various students 53 Hockey Skate Lucy Barnowske 54 The Light in the Dark Elizabeth Lukas 55 La Luna India Brooks 60 Fishing Todd Costello 61 Charlie Laney Sheehan 64 Mischevious Jorden Dumas 67 over stimulated William Higbie 68 A Nice Tree Gabrielle Anusbigian
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POETRY 3 4 5 5 6 8 9 10 11 13 13 16 17 18 21 23 24 25 26 27 32 33 38 39 45 46 52 56 56 57 58 60 67 68
contents
PROSE NONFICTION
I Am Me Kaitlyn Lee Tired Jaycie Rickert Sunday Night Victor Tawansy Patiently Waiting Michael Walkowiak What I Wish... Allie Quint Stress Lina Tate Autumn Has... Hope Kulka My Dog’s Life Casey Scoggin Afternoon Stubble Keri Inge-Marshall I Hear America... Blake Pradko I’m Tired Anthony Green Been a Black Man... Desmon Darby Circular Thinking Anthony George Stars, My Love Hope Kulka Nostalgia Kelly Solak Why Does She Hate... Astana Gaffney 5 Senses Todd Costello The Hippo Died... Reese Martin I’m Not Her Darshana Subramanian Why Do You Ask? Alyssa Jones SPACE Siobhan Haggerty summer blues Kaniz Chowdhury It’s Okay. Madison Baltimore Laughter... Maria Fields Primary Victoria Ortiz Symphony Kaniz Chowdhury For a Student Athlete Anthony George Asthma Trey Holmes Swallow’s Feet Keri Inge-Marshall Ode to Mornings William Kopicki To Those Who... Holland McClinton Fishing Todd Costello Fried Chicken Adam Serratos Mao Tse Tung... Trinity Lee
7 14 19 20 34 36 41 47 48 52 54 55 61 65 66
Why I Don’t... Jaycie Rickert Black Resilience Lina Tate Family Dynamix Holland McClinton Behind Closed Doors Emmanuelle Cubba Turquoise Bearings Keri Inge-Marshall Me and the City Ruiming Zeng Waking Up... George Gotfredson Green Allie Quint Lion’s Mane Saudia Tate The Worst Pain Zach Elliot A Letter to Myself Kaitlyn Lee Pain v. Hope Jada Moore Nicknames Egypt Brooks Color Kalei Sliwinski Why I Love... Fayez AliAhmad
PROSE FICTION 50
A Prologue of Sorts
Max Wiegel
PROSE FICTION/ESSAY 62
University Liggett School
The Perfect Formula...
Craig Buhler
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Film, Music, and Other media
Featured here are the creative works in song, film, dance, and other non-traditional media forms. All are hosted on the school portal for students to view unless a link is provided to other websites (YouTube, Vimeo, etc.)
Skatre Bros Official Video 2001
Cough Out Loud Productions: Geoffrey Elmer & Quinn Nehr (both '19) This & more videos available on YouTube: goo.gl/U4SgVK “Yo what’s up my name is Chet G & call me Chunk We’re here & we’re pumpin’ out some fresh new funk We got this little hobby, we call it Skating Gonna be on top with these rhymes we’re makin Been skatin on this board since I was a child Mom and Pop said my tricks were hella wild”
Our Personas
(below) William Higbie ‘19 goo.gl/FGhTth This video explores the connection between social media, phone usage, & mental health. This is one of many videos William has made, including a documentary on street art in Detroit that premiered at the Detroit Film Festival.
Shotgun
Fayez AliAhmad ‘18, William Kopicki ‘19, Casey Scoggin ‘18, Michael Walkowiak ‘19 “Shotgun captures a moment that happens to everybody: the calling of shotgun & subsequent journey to get to the car first. We made this to show how video effects & music can make any situation intense, even something as simple as getting into a car.”
A Day in the Life of Casey Scoggin
George Gotfredson ‘18 goo.gl/jqzdZC “The directions for this assignment were to create a “Secret Santa” and I was assigned my good friend, Casey. Casey lives an interesting life, and I thought what better way to express something creative about him than to simulate a day in his life!”
Actor (right)
Original concept: Donovan Flournoy Singers: Vincent Maribao & Thomas Campau Revised lyrics & video created by: Vincent Maribao, Sophia Filipof, Ella Karolak, Thomas Campau, Thomas Gebeck (all ‘20) “The video was made for an English class project in which we had to explore a literary concept and explain it. This video rewrites Post Malone’s “Rockstar” to defines the genre of drama.” Lambrequin 18
Christmas Stereotypes (above)
Todd Costello, Trey Holmes, Quinn Nehr (all ‘19) “We made this video because we thought it would be hilarious to show the different types of people that show up every Christmas season. We decided to make this because it is definitely something that most families can relate to.”
Antonio Cipriano '18 on Broadway!
youtube channel: goo.gl/L7Zehn “For Forever” from Dear Evan Hanson: goo.gl/Fk94eo video from the Jimmy awards on Broadway: goo.gl/wAH5Aq Antonio’s ARP project was creating a cabaret show about songs important to his life; he perofmed at Feinstein’s/54 BELOW on Broadway.
Catherine Elliott ‘18 singing
video from the Jimmy awards on Broadway: goo.gl/B21DMK performing “Only Us” from Dear Evan Hanson: goo.gl/LCEzu3 “I love singing to express myself. I love finding songs that relate to my life, singing them, & letting out my emotions. It’s therapeutic.”
Andrew Backer ‘18 Singing
On a Wave Song Desmon ‘18 & DeVen Darby
Performing “J’ai pleuré en rêve” by Georges Hüe “I make music because there is something very beautiful about the way it brings people together. Everyone has their own way of interpreting a piece and relating it a to their experiences and emotions.”
George Gotfredson ‘18 on Piano
Performing “Beethoven Pathetiqué Sonata First Movement” & “Rachmaninoff Prelude Op. 32 No. 12” “My favorite part of the sonata is its drama: from the moment the piece begins, the listener is aware of its power. The Rachmaninoff I chose because it requires a very light touch, agile fingers, and a profound understanding of phrasing.”
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goo.gl/R6tNgT “I’m on a wave Man I feel so great today Don’t let no one slow my pace Cuz I’m headed for that wraith”
Trinity Lee ‘21 on piano
Performing “Run, Run!” by Octavio Pinto “The reason I play piano is to convey the magnitude of the artistry that composers have written. Playing the piano has enabled me to travel around the world.”
Victoria Ortiz ‘20 on violin
Maria Evola ‘20 Dancing
Performing Performing to “Neu “Preludium and Roses” by Daniel Ceaser Allegro” by Fritz “When dancing, I am Kreisler never afraid to be me. “In recent years I have learned to I can express what enjoy performing ever I am feeling with and bringing out a simple, yet such complex range of emotions movements.” in people whenever a I play. Playing also makes me feel certain things, so it allows me to be creative in my expression.”
University Liggett School
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1960s PROTEST
Abigail Hung ‘18 “I made this for class and found the theme of protest really relevant to events going on today. I drew it all on whiteboard and then narrated over in order to explore how protest techniques used in the 60s are still relevant now.
Costume Construction
Emma Leonard ‘18 “I love designing costumes as it gives me a more hands on experience than simply choosing costumes does. When reading a script or a book, I have a very specific image of what clothes look like. The ability to build my own costumes and clothes provides me with the ability to make these dreams a reality.”
Droptop Shoes
Charlie Amine ‘19 shoe design
“I created the “droptops” as a way to express myself through my love for fashion. I’ve never been afraid to wear things that I think are cool, no matter what other people think, so these shoes are no exception. I sell them, so email if you want to buy your own: charlieamine@uls.net.”
2017 Sutton Foster/ Ovation Awards & Jimmy Awards on Broadway:
Antonio Cipriano ‘18, Catherine Elliott ‘18
2018 Sutton Foster/ Ovation Awards: Quin Nehr ‘19, Jaycie Rickert ‘18
Michigan Educational Theater Association State Festival Results Superior Ranking
Short Film: William Higbie ‘19 Duet Acting: Geoffrey Elmer ‘19 & Quinn Nehr ‘19 Duet Musical: Andrew Backer ‘18 & Isabella Tomlinson ‘20 Solo Musical: Antonio Cipriano ‘18 Duet Musical: Antonio Cipriano ‘18 & Catherine Elliott ‘18 Group Musical: EJ Service ‘20, Ross Koegle ‘20, & Geoffrey Elmer ‘18 Solo Musical: Mary Weiermiller ‘18
Antonio & Jaycie in the the musical She Loves Me
Monologue: Grace Andreasen ‘18 Monologue: Skye Vreeken ‘18 Duet Acting: Dylan Ponman ‘19 & Skye Vreeken ‘18 Lighting Design: Patrick Reed ‘19
Victoria Ortiz (1) Trinity Lee (1) Lauren McKenzie (1)
Michigan Band/Orchestra Association State Solo & Ensemble Festival
Michigan Vocal Music Association State Solo & Ensemble Festival
Andrew Backer (Perfect Score)
Lambrequin 18
Quinn & Grace in the play A Streetcar Called Desire
Excellent Ranking
Art, Poetry, and Prose I Am Me
Kaitlyn Lee ‘19 “you look tired” she says “the monsters kept me up all night” I reply “eat something” he directs “it won’t stay down” I promise “sleep earlier” they judge “my eyes refuse to close at night” I murmur “is something wrong?” she asks “my mind is a flurry of uneasiness and regret” I respond
Sabrina Malkoun ‘18 felt marker
“is there anything I can do?” he asks “nothing can quell the restlessness of my soul” I whisper “did something happen?” they wonder “just me” I answer “do you need any help with anything?” “no”—the word both mine and the monsters’
There Are As Many Kinds of Love as There Are Hearts Isabella Cubba ‘20
neon body paint
University Liggett School
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Tiger Lily
Keri Inge-Marshall ‘19 film photography
Tired
Jaycie Rickert ‘18 According to statistics, it’s unhealthy to be this tired. Eight-to-ten hours of sleep? Only in my dreams. Tired of the same routine, day after day: Wake School Rehearsal Drive Home Eat Shower Homework Bed WakeSchoolRehearsalDriveHomeEatShowerHomeworkBed
WakeSchoolRehearsalDriveHomeEatShowerHomeworkBed Day After Day. It’s come to the point where I’m even tired of being tired. Having no energy is tiring specially when it gets me an 83% on participation. I’m tired of teachers I’m tired of students I’m tired of classes with the same people. Lambrequin 18
Tired of knowing everyone and their stories I want new people. New experiences that don’t make me tired anymore. I am tired of eating lunch while staring at a blank wall or my phone every single day. Tired of seeing people and their new experiences with new exciting friends and new stupid scenery and really darn tired of hearing the same thing that “It’ll happen soon enough” To me, too. Because frankly, I’m tired of waiting.
Sunday Night
Patiently Waiting
Victor Tawansy ‘19
Michael Walkowiak ‘19
Project due Monday? Sounds like I’ll be doing it Sunday. Maybe someday I won’t procrastinate…
Do you ever feel like you have nothing to look forward to, like when you’re doing homework that you don’t know how to do and when you have set plans but they end up falling through? Or when you get a bad grade for using tape instead of glue? Sometimes, I feel this way too.
One day it’d be great to not stay up late doing homework at a rate that makes me contemplate if I should’ve started working earlier, when I was in a better state. Now I’m sitting blank-faced at my computer, wishing I could still be playing an rpg shooter. Looking at the project I dread, when I finish I promise next time I’ll work ahead. But who am I kidding? I just want to go to bed.
It starts with a smile on my face that can erase all the disgrace that I embrace. First I’m gonna take a break from the aches that I intake--but make no mistake. It may seem far away, but that one day is on its way. And then I’ll be free, I’ll find the key to a care-free reality.
collage
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Emma Leonard ‘18
Then out of the blue I notice something I’ll rue: Maestra’s portal says I have a Spanish project too. So yeah, I’m still screwed.
I don’t know why I feel this way. And I don’t know what to say, And everything feels all grey, With nothing left to convey, So I pray that one day it will go away. And on that day I’ll say “hey! Throw that negativity away! Because today is going to be a good day.”
University Liggett School
What I Wish I Knew in Middle School Allie Quint ‘19
I wish I knew that which shirt I wore on a Monday or Friday Didn’t matter I wish I knew that who you shared a table with at lunch Didn’t matter I wish I knew that I should pay more attention Especially in science class I wish I knew that science is actually kind of cool I wish I knew that my brother wanted to be my friend And that math was only going to get harder I wish I knew my best friends wouldn’t be forever I wish I knew that my grades did matter Because in High school it only gets harder I wish I knew that it would be the end of my childhood Or that soon i’d get caught Sneaking my phone into class Kissing boys behind the trees I wish I knew that soon I’d like being picked last I wish I knew that in middle school I didn’t have to grow up so fast
Inner Peace
Brooke Hudson ‘19 collage
Lambrequin 18
Why I Don’t Do High School Dances Jaycie Rickert ‘18
So it was recently prom at school, and no surprise to anyone who knows me well, but I didn’t go. Do I just not like to dance? No! I love dancing. Was I worried that I wouldn’t have a date? Not at all, this is the first year I would for sure have one. But I had talked it over with my boyfriend Tyler and we came to the conclusion that we both think it is truly not worth our time. Side note: Why do people feel like they need to have a date to the dance? I understand if you’re dating someone or you’re good friends and want to go together, but I’m talking about the people who literally make it their mission to find a date. Everyone takes a party bus now anyway so you don’t even go with them. Just hang out with your friends. You’ll be fine, I promise. Anyway. I just never really understood homecoming/ prom. Sure, I went to both dances during my freshman year to try them out, so you can’t tell me “Don’t knock it till you try it” or anything like that. Side note: so many people tell me that because “it’s fun” and “I’m in high school,” I should attend the dances.” Should? Should? I should not do anything that I don’t want to. It’s truthfully my decision and my decision only whether or not to attend a school dance. End of story. But freshman year I found myself spending so much time looking for a dress. I would make a weekend out of travelling to several different malls just to realize that finding a dress is as hard as finding a needle in a haystack. The closer it gets to the dance, the more people are at the mall frantically pulling dresses off racks and waiting in obnoxiously long lines to get a dressing room. Walking into a mall during prom season is like stepping foot into a circus: there are people jumping and running and pushing and pulling and crying and it’s just the most dramatic experience. I came home empty handed on multiple occasions. I even looked online. I think the pressure that I and so many other girls have to find
the “perfect” dress is stupid. People seem to believe it’s as important as choosing a college or deciding whom to marry. I ended up just borrowing dresses from my friends anyway. And there are so many other expenses to consider besides a dress. You spend the whole day getting your hair, nails, and makeup done just to jump around in a sweaty room you may or may not even like. You spend money on a dress and pictures. You worry about how you’ll look in pictures or if you get something in your teeth. And on and on. I just think the whole thing is dumb. I would rather hangout or go to dinner. It would be so much better to have a nice, thoughtful conversation with those I love either than barely be able to hear the person two feet away because the music is making me deaf on the dance floor. Side note: It’s not like I had a completely horrific or traumatizing experience during my freshman year. I didn’t walk out absolutely hating it. It was just, kinda... meh. Not worth my time. But this isn’t a petition to ditch school dances, that’s not what I mean to do at all. If these types of dances are really fun for you, then go right ahead! I am not one to tell you to stay home from a potentially fun night. I’m just advising you to think about the big picture and not get wrapped up in something that might not be your thing. You and your feelings are completely justifiable. And honestly: if you like getting dressed up to spend a night with your friends, then you do you. Spend time doing what you really love to do, because you’re only in high school for four years. Make it worth your while.
University Liggett School
Spend time doing what you really love to do, because you’re only in high school for four years. Make it worth your while.
Stress
Lina Tate ‘18 Stress spills into my lap, cold water on jeans, clinging to my thighs uncomfortably. Everyone knows water on jeans takes an eternity to dry. It sticks around. Stress clings to my leg, a young child wailing and screaming. They don’t want you to go and their grip tightens, but I really want to go. Stress sits on my chest like a bench press my feet kicking frantically and I’m desperately waiting for a spotter to save me, as my breath is quickly slipping from my body. But they never do. Stress is when you were younger and you lost your mom at the grocery store. There is an instant wave of panic that rolls over your body as you look all around you searching for your mom. Stress is my best friend. I don’t know how we became so close, we just did. There is no getting rid of it, it’s there to stay. It’s one of those friends that always reminds you they’ll be there forever. It’s the... Peanut butter to your jelly Blue in the sky Spring in your step Bumble to your bee Beat of my heart Lambrequin 18
facing page: Fractured
Brendan Jones ‘20 relief print
WW1
Connor Barthel ‘18
film photography
Autumn Has Forgotten Me
Hope Kulka ‘19 I used to trust that the world would always keep on spinning. But now I am uncertain if the leaves will turn color. It seems as if the leaves are falling before they have changed from green to gold. Maybe it’s just me. As if the world keeps changing and I cannot keep up. As if the world and I are growing apart. As if I am left to change on my own course. I have no more time for green. I must change. The world must change alongside me. I have relied on this constant throughout my life. But maybe part of growing up is forgetting how the leaves once turned color. To transcend the security of guidelines which once united the world in ethereal equilibrium.
Wilting
Michael Litt ‘18
black & white photography University Liggett School
My Dog’s Life
Casey Scoggin ‘18 I Sleeping by my side. Your head laying on my chest. Petting you nonstop.
V You have run away. Where can you possibly be? Come home soon Jamie.
VIII I love you so much. Please never feel sadness. Close your eyes and sleep.
II As thunder rolls in, You bolt for the basement stairs. Tongue out, breathing hard.
VI Seizures caused you pain. You were crying in the car. Please don’t leave my life.
IX Jamie, I miss you. My Soft-Coated Terrier Your golden brown hair.
III “Jamie, want a treat?” “Jamie sit. Stay. Lay down. Leave it”. “Go get it Jamie!”
VII You were on the bed. Tears rolling down my face. It was for the best.
X Rest easy Jamie. You will never leave me. Best friends forever.
IV Your ears perk at walk. It’s time to find your bush. Take care of business.
above:
facing page:
(Wo)man's Best Friend
I Just Want to Spend Time With You
graphite drawing
graphite & ink drawing
Lily Xu ‘18
Sabrina Malkoun ‘18
Lambrequin 18
Afternoon Stubble
Keri Inge-Marshall ‘19 You could have ruined me that night You were a gorgeous candlelight Mesmerizing by the flickers of Bright lights and the trickles of salt Seeping in through the hallway. You are always two steps away from my reach, Tasting like morning drowsiness and cerulean, Smelling like rosemary and embroidered flowers Darting your tongue like silk and Mercutian lullabies I’m surprised your voice hasn’t gotten you in any trouble. You savor comfort in quick lightning strikes That rise up the slick tick of goosebumps and afternoon stubble. Raising your arm in anxious anticipation affiliated with analyzed concentration of the unknown But you see, you are not owned by me. You are not owned by anyone who calls your name or kisses your temples at night. You proceed to be the flight that’s built on levity and simple contradictions on what’s wrong and what’s right. How can you stand before me? Bleaker than that of sleet and the eyes of mink. Longer than that of your sleek fingertips as they touch the neat brass buttons of your coat pockets. You could have ruined me that night But I was not the one on the opposing end of your fight For you had lost yourself long ago.
University Liggett School
Land of the “Free”
Lauren Porter ‘18
watercolor
Lambrequin 18
I Hear America Cracking Blake Pradko ‘20
I hear America cracking. Like a tree, before it starts falling. Like the ice, before it starts separating. Like a bone, before it starts breaking. America was made for you and me. But we’ve become a country where me is greater than you. A country where a cracked phone, is more important than a broken heart. Where people sit in boredom, Rather than exploring their freedom. We are fracking the rock bed, But can’t get everyone fed. We dump pollutants in the lake, But all we pray for is a tax break.
I’m Tired
Anthony Green ‘20 The old cliche is my frustration I wanna make it out and I’m tired of being patient They put us down low and now we here waiting To maybe get some help but it’s on us that they be hating My parents raised me to be great But they need a little faith in the path that Imma take Yes both my parents were around My dad was a man they didn’t get to put down I know that that’s against all the stereotypes I guess its good for me that we didn’t get the status quo right My old man made sure I stayed improvin’ My mom did too and with them I’m never losin’ I look at both they lives and I swear they inspire me I see the way we live and I know that it’s so tiring I just wanna make my parents proud And get to where I’m going but without being so loud And not be disrespectful either I’m gonna prove I’m special and show you raised a leader University Liggett School
Black Resilience Lina Tate ‘18
Reasons why you can’t destroy my blackness: 1. My bones have the strength of over a 100 years, are as strong as backbreaking labor. My muscles, tendons and ligaments are as durable and the shackles I was bound to. My blood thick, but fluid and sways like the boat I was forced upon. My tongue has the power to be light and fluffy like cotton, but sting like a whip. I don’t break easy. 2. The insults, slurs, and stereotypes you hurl my way, hoping they rupture my heart, to cause pain but do nothing. They roll off me like water-resistant clothing, are stopped like bullets hitting a bullet proof vest. I’ve heard it all before; we’ve heard it all before. I have mustered up a tolerance to such words and refuse to give anyone the power to harm me in such a way. 3. I have spent 18 years learning to appreciate my blackness, refusing to let anyone tell me my skin isn’t beautiful. I adore the way my melanin glows under the sun. The same sun my people have marched, fought, struggled, and rejoiced under. Because of them, I am thankful in incomprehensible ways. 4. It’s recognizing that the America we live in now has never changed, a mixing pot refusing to mix. The stirring spoon stuck with hatred, the soup leaving a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. 5. But though strong and resilient, I am terrified too. Everyday I duck my head, the bullet flying past me, but only to end up in the head of someone else’s black father, son, daughter, or mother. Each day is a blessing to us, but a tragedy as well. Regardless of how quiet we are or how many times our hands go up in the air, America still remain afraid of me. I am still a threat, your worst nightmare. I will never truly understand why, but I will continue to embrace this world even when it doesn’t embrace me.
Angela
Lauren Porter ‘18 acrylic painting
Lambrequin 18
University Liggett School
16
I been a black man all my life you think it really affected me They looking at me crazy cause I’m not where they projected me And I ain’t the only one I got a couple brothers next to me But I had to work for where I’m at it’s not like they elected me The stage was never set for me Idk if they accepting me But that ain’t really stressing me It’s the fact I seem so threatening The fact they looking at me and they think oh is he a convict The judging before they know me the don’t know what I accomplished Made it out the hood and did 4 years college Doing hella good and I keep my momma smiling I’m trying to be the best I can be I’m young black and educated with a bachelor degree I never been about the hatred I’m steady spreading the peace But it can only go so far when bodies lay in the streets And it break my heart The world is staged I just play my part Now I’m the furthest thing from racist I ain’t never seen color But I look in people’s faces that ain’t never see struggle Maybe so, idk, but not the struggle that I know Not that struggle that I feel I’m just tryn to keep it real When the last time you got pulled over and thought that you’d be killed You comply and do it all but still your blood still spills
graphite drawing
Black Hair
Lauren Porter ‘18
And it break my heart The world is staged I just play my part
Lambrequin 18
Been a Black Man All My Life
Desmon Darby ‘18 (with his brother DeVen Darby)
17
Circular Thinking Anthony George ‘18
There are times I think about you, and there are times I don’t want to. When I don’t want to I always find things that remind me, of the memories we made that I’ll never forget, but the worst thing I can do is remember them: good ones & bad ones & you handle them like I want to. I try to be like you but then I have to talk about you and when I talk about you I choke up, and then I hear a Hallmark Card “I’m here for you” from someone, but who isn’t? I want to reach out, but do you really get it? Do you understand me enough to understand this? Is my mind capable of opening up space for your half hearted thoughts? My instincts say to ward them off, but you are telling me to let them in. There are times I think about you, and there are times I don’t want to.
Georgia
Harisen Davis ‘21 acrylic painting
University Liggett School
I want to be in space. In solitude far beyond the galaxy with only the company of my beloved universe. I want to be away from all these people. I want to breathe something otherworldly. To witness overpowering nebulas in stunning silence. Supernovas in my mind. Celestial dust vibrating in my veins. Stars, My Love A galactic halo illuminating my brow. Globular clusters lacing my teeth. Hope Kulka ‘19 Moons resting on my collarbones. How divine the luminous spectrum behind my eyelids. How alluring to fall in love a thousand times with the extraterrestrial. I am so in love with the stars. Perhaps this fanaticism could be fought with my innate love for our planet. And yet this monachopsis tugs at my skin. My heart is tethered to Earth, but my soul resides in the cosmos. In my youth I feared the overwhelming violence of outer space, But I’ve found the most savagery in humans. I long desperately to go. I long desperately to be in space. I long desperately to travel to the worlds of my imagination. My home is but a dream fabricated by my tragically ingenious consciousness. Why must I be burdened with such a distaste for reality? Oh how my passions betray me.
Void Rift
Kevin Ellis ‘20
digital photography Lambrequin 18
Family Dynamix
Holland McClinton ‘18 Love Comes Again - Tiesto because she hasn’t found her place in the world quite yet, but she has a playlist that speaks volumes | the electronic music we listen to in the car says that she had to grow up too quick, the 90’s rap that plays on the radio says she wishes she hadn’t | you learn more from what her music doesn’t say than what it does | this song plays when she’s in the shower, when she’s picking you up from school, and when the music in her earbuds is far too loud | it tells you that she really needs to find new music Vermillion Pt. 2 - Slipknot because it reminds you of his silver stratus and the CD that played everytime the car was turned on | he’s still angsty from the divorce, despite the fact that everyone knows it was for the best | you’re too young to sit in the front, so you sat in the back and shoved your fingers in between the seats to distract yourself from his brooding | trying to lose yourself in the vocals is impossible, too much is going on in your head Help Me Lose My Mind - Disclosure because it reminds you of sticky august weather and shorts that are falling off your hips | she took you to your first concert, seems a bit lame now | but at the time? nothing could beat the feeling of hiding behind an obnoxious pair of sunglasses, music thumping in your chest and finally having something cool to post on your snapchat story Raise Your Weapon - deadmau5 because it reminds you of of three blue walls and one purple–a concept for your bedroom that looked cooler in your head | the chords of this song never leave the confines of your bedroom, trapped in a room that’s never a comfortable temperature and always a mess | you carry your mess with you to school everyday, letting it change shape, letting it become a personality | you rule the barren hallways with your thrift store sperrys and low self esteem, timing your footsteps to the beat Castle on a Hill - Ed Sheeran because it reminds you of august in the backseat of that ugly beige minivan | driving with the windows down to drown out the awkward silence with the sound of rushing air | it doesn’t matter where you’re going | out to lunch, to see a movie, to a farmer’s market, it doesn’t matter; because Hannah is singing quietly in her seat next to you and Rach is singing too and what the hell, you know the lyrics: let it out.
University Liggett School
Trapped
Frannie Boyle ‘21 callograph print
Behind Closed Doors Emmanuelle Cubba ‘21
Will they ever understand what really happened behind closed doors? Society will never see you the way I do. Through those faint window glasses, I see your once glimmering face so full of pure joy--then I realize it’s all just a simple dream. But in that endless dream of mine, I’m always wondering when it will finally fall apart, when we can be rid of those worthless ignorant people society calls royals. I wish upon the stars to be free, but all I see are the noises from wandering voices... soon enough, once the storm fades, all will be lost. So when will they realize this will all crash and burn with them? One day soon it will all be worth it... I think. I look at this place and it never seems to amaze me: every ounce of every day is longer than the last. A thought I’ve never known possible. I look at you and see the disappointment rolling down your cheek as we say our final goodbye--at least, my goodbyes. Others see the light in your eyes, but I’ve realized that I never quite see mine. That’s okay. I guess I’ve learned to live with it. Some days more than others. Some days my heart hurts like it’s going to splinter and my chest tightens and I can hardly breathe like my heart is about to shatter into a tiny million pieces so many I can hardly tell. I think that’s what makes us different in the end. How many pieces can one’s heart shatter into? Some more than others. Happiness seems to be her demon. How is this possible, they say, how can one live such a life but never seem to be genuinely happy? Because behind closed doors are the stories we will never be able to hear. Just like stars combusting in the sky, worthless, they seem so far away--but they are as powerful as the wildfires that burn in our lives. Somedays I feel the darkness more; others I don’t. Some days I’m filled to the brim; others I’m not. What do I do? Oh, what do I do? I feel as if this is a song... somewhere in a background of a store or an elevator, maybe even a car stereo, but just like the rest, it fades. I hope she will stand tall with all of her strength and with great grace. She will walk forward into the future, her head held high and her demons as well. Lambrequin 18
Nostalgia
Kelly Solak ‘18 A curious girl in a curious world, how attractive to the curious mind. Looking at herself through a mirror, a mirror broken with age. Inevitable, she supposed. She frowns at herself. When the mirror broke she can’t remember, It wasn’t when she splashed in the mud, or when she laughed with the butterflies, when she sang with the stars, or ran with the horses. Time is a game played beautifully by children.
She smiled sadly. As she finally lay to rest, among the grass and the critters, her stained hands felt the Earth. Regret and guilt fills the space of her mind. The sadness, the loss, the ache, she could see it, reflected in the stars as she looked into her eyes. Oh, it’s a shame how lousy I am at this game. Her frown grew deeper. And then she grew to be Nothing At All.
Hangzou Landscape III Ruiming Zeng ‘18 gouache and ink
University Liggett School
July Aesthetic
Holland McClinton ‘18 Lambrequin 18
collage
Why Does She Hate the City? Astana Gaffney ‘20
Though I like to say I don’t, I know a girl all too well It even makes me laugh in ways I’ve scarcely felt And she always has this sour disposition Talking as if everything is stuck in one position I asked her one day, “why stay if you don’t like the city?” And she asks “will the lights still look pretty when we’re fifty?” I didn’t know how to answer, so I decided to leave I guess we just always look bigger in our dreams I can’t keep up with a girl like her She says life proves that indecision is alright, it’s worth the waiting But I say it’s too simple a concept for such a complex situation It’s the crazy things that she has said Like how she wants to go back to Cali But I know she’s never been She wants a car that breaks down in six months And a failing relationship she can use as a crutch Why does she hate the city but can’t bare to part? And think anything but home will dare hold her heart She says to know love or to know wisdom? We cannot do both I say what a wicked way to think, like to swim or to float? These aren’t just options that you can let go She says she has so many unfulfilled dreams, but I know she doesn’t sleep So what is she dreaming of ? I wish she knew just how lovely she really is, when she’s not screaming out her lungs She says she’s going far but can’t let go of the city How does she expect things to be when she’s finally fifty Maybe she’ll change in another couple of years And find out that maybe life isn’t as hazy as it appears I really hope that she finds a better crutch And that she finds the perfect city that she can actually love
University Liggett School
5 Senses
Todd Costello ‘19 I get the call, hear the hidden panic in my mom’s voice but she can’t panic because she knows that I’ll panic but It was too late for that. I hear her tell me Uncle Tom has been in an accident and Well He might not make it I feel my heart sink to the bottom of my chest I race to my car and start driving my sweaty hands lose grip on the steering wheel my knees shaking flustering the gas pedal my voice trembling while I pray that You make it out of that hospital alive I see the hospital and flashing lights from the ambulances I’m worried I see doctors rushing in the hallway and I smell hospital I hate the way a hospital smells As I sprint through the halls everything is a blur I turn the corner and see my whole family It hits me: This is real. Everyone I care for and love is in this room except You It makes me depressed Everyone is depressed I hear my family crying telling each other he’s going to make it and I pray they’re right I follow my family walk into the room to see You
I break down in tears This can’t be real, It just can’t be. I see you but you don’t look like you with tubes and bandages and wires hooked up to your swollen face and you don’t respond when I talk so I sit in silence with hope you’ll wake up but nothing happens I hear your heart rate through the machine it breaks me I tried to stay strong but how do you not cry when everyone you care for and love (except you) is crying A week passes. I’ve been living in a hospital and I don’t mind it. I like to be with you. The doctor arrives with news: if you live you won’t talk or walk or even see again. The family decides to let you pass. 25 of us in this small room and we’re all singing your favorite song once more before You leave us. I’m trying to sing but I feel myself shaking and I taste salty tears sprinting down my cheek into my mouth I hear your heart rate still until it stops. All I hear is a loud continous beep. You are gone.
Lambrequin 18
Blurry
Victoria Ortiz ‘20 digital photography
Reese Martin ‘21
The Hippo Died Before the Elephant Left
Tiny sneakers prance among gazelles. Smiling faces hop alongside frogs. Small eyes widen as colorful birds soars above. In a small concrete pond sit two tired eyes. Watching longingly as schools of children traveled in harmony. Traveling as one. Glaring as little bodies shuffle past. His eyes begin to overflow with envy. Drowning in muggy water that swims with his sorrows. When he closes his eyes the water turns into trees of the tropics. The grey concrete casings are loved ones from long ago. And the moon of the night sky lights up dark waters with its radiance. Longer and longer his eyes remain closed. Smells of fresh rain grow stronger. Finally the tropical breeze sweeps him away to freedom. The young elephant watches as the hippo habitat dissolves. She sees the evening rain wash away his last sadness. It was in the puddles that her reflection revealed a hope for something better. The hippo died before the elephant left. University Liggett School
26
I’m Not Her
Darshana Subramaniam ‘20 run away! quick! they’re coming! their unknown hopes and dreams weighing me down
but she is the farmer in the field working,
maybe that’s why my shoulders are uneven…
I work, but you just don’t see
because I am not Her will never be Her no matter how hard I try no matter how hard I work
maybe that’s why I push too hard...
I am not seen She is maybe that’s why I hide... they like to say I am lazy I don’t put in the effort like She does, I work just as hard,
while I am the queen in a throne, sitting,
Hoping, praying, doing whatever you can to squash my freedom, a prisoner, where I should feel safe, all because I AM NOT HER maybe that’s why I am me.
Lambrequin 18
27
Why Do You Ask? Alyssa Jones ‘20
Whispers
Emma Leonard ‘18 collage
University Liggett School
Are you adopted? Yes. Why do you ask? Are you Chinese? Yes. Why do you ask? Are you smarter than me? No. Why do you ask? Why are you so short? I don’t know. Why do you ask? Do you remember anything from China? No, I was one. Why do you ask? Do you ever wish to meet your real family? No, I’m with the all them time. Birth family? Yes, sometimes. Why do you ask? Why were you given up? I don’t know. Why were you born? Why do you ask these questions? I’m just like you, and you like me. I look and see. I touch and feel. I listen, and I can hear. So why do you ask these questions? I guess I’ll never know. But one thing I do know, Is we’re all the same from our heads down to our toes!
28
Why We Create “I create because it’s my escape. It is my escape of all of life’s problems. I create because I have a message to share. I create because it is a huge part of who I am. I was born to create.” JM
This is My Face Izzy Brusilow ‘98
“Give me a prompt and a blank sheet of paper and I will not stop writing until I have translated all of my ideas and opinions onto that sheet of paper.” DB
“Words that can be looked back on, to learn and grow. Words that can have an impact, and words that carry meaning… whether readers are laughing with me, or at me, as long as they are smiling, I could really care less.” GG
acrylic painting
“Writing isn’t just a textbook or a fairytale... It’s the process of you using your heart or even sense of humor to unveil what you wish to say.” MB
“Whenever I write, it feels like lightning coursing through my body, jolting me with streams of electricity with each incoming period. Whenever I write I can fly.” KI-M
“My mind tends to wander and my pen works as its path and paper is the perfect route… Therefore, writing is one of the most useful tools for the mind to avoid being overwhelmed.” AG
“I’m a writer when I want to be a writer and when I don’t want to be a writer I’m just a high school student.” FA
Lambrequin 18
Self Portrait
Lauren Porter ‘18
acrylic painting
29
“Because I don’t want to disappoint Ms. Kendall” KT
Sharpshooter and Hothead India Brooks ‘19 mixed media
Self Portrait
Tegan Jones ‘18
colored pencil
“My writing, it is like a journey.” RZ
“Because when I get anxious I can’t express myself in any other way” KL
“When I find myself passionate about what I am writing nothing can stop me, I’m in a sea of my own ideas.” FA
“Because it’s a good outlet and it keeps me in my creative flow” DD
“Because I want to make others feel how I feel when I read” VO
Bubbles of Me
Ruiming Zeng ‘18
University Liggett School
gouache
“I especially developed a love of putting my feelings down on paper… When I started writing, the words just came right off my tongue and onto my paper. It felt natural. The rhymes, the beat, the rhythm.” CS
30
Zunyi Wang
Hope
Zunyi Wang ‘18
Hope Kulka ‘19
graphite drawing
“I create because it allows me to express myself in a way other people can relate to and appreciate. Creating also makes me very happy.” HD
acrylic painting
“Words speak to me in riddles, as if they are trying to nip even deeper into me than I ever thought possible.” KI-M
“My sorta, kinda, maybe, love of writing was inspired by one teacher… those eachers who allow students to explore their mind change the hearts and minds students who hate writing; I know it changed mine.” ZE
Self Portrait
Lucy Barnowske ‘18 acrylic painting
“I will always turn to writing to get my feelings and thoughts out, even if no one is reading along.” VT
“I felt a good pain in my heart, the one that comes when you do something for yourself and no one else... Soon I started keeping a notepad in my glovebox to grab when I had one I might forget. I realize it is dangerous to write and drive, but so is the possibility of losing a good idea.” AQ
“I create because I see it as a way to let out some emotions whether they be good or bad, and I like the feeling after I write a piece and I think/know it’s good. It’s also cool to hear that other people like it.” AG Lambrequin 18
“I create because it allows me to explore the stories of others giving me a glimpse from their point of view.” WH
31
The Moment it All Came to Fruition Kat Tolin ‘19 oil pastel
“I like to write or play music because it’s just kind of an expression of emotion that you can’t get anywhere else. You just kinda leave it all out there. It makes me feel better.” DS
“Sitting in a classroom, listening to someone spew words from their heart you never knew they had.” MB
Self Portrait Lily Xu’19
acrylic painting on wood blocks
Annabel Romanelli ‘18
“I draw to release emotions. If I am upset, I grab a paper and pencil and begin to sketch. It’s as if you put all your feelings, worries, and stress onto a piece of paper and leave it there, not carrying it any longer. It is so cool to be able to see a drawing in the future and say, “Wow... I drew that.” “ SB
“I have found my niche. No longer will I groan whenever I hear the word ‘writing’ or freak out when I’m assigned an essay” JR
Self Portrait
acrylic painting
University Liggett School
Siobhan Haggerty ‘19
S P A C E
We can’t deal with the face to face so we let technology replace the space that we’re supposed to feel, but what do we do once the sensation of acceptance has escaped our reach? Technological or not. Do we just pull the breach? Or run to social media faster than Usain Bolt in the 100 meter or maybe we just call Peter like “Yo, bro, my girl just broke up with me. What’s next? Should I go on the ‘gram, spend my time just flexing my new car, shoes, and watch?” I think it’s hilarious how we don’t watch: watch the time we have with the ones we love before it’s too late, but oh we’re quick to watch our crush post on snapchat on instagram or find the last tweet they liked on the bird— But that’s none of my business. Appreciate the time you have with the people in your life before their time expires. Because some people last as long as restaurant leftovers, while others last only as long as ramen noodles. It’s just all up to the Chef and what He has cookin’ in the Kitchen.
Influence
Jorden Dumas ‘20 acrylic painting
Lambrequin 18
summer blues
Kaniz Chowdhury ‘18
1. The grass grows green on the other side As we play on the concrete The sun sets slowly but it doesn’t slow us down Sweat and sweet anticipation As our sun-kissed bodies move back and forth “One more match,” we say to each other Badminton bats swing back and forth We laugh as we finish off the night “Until next time,” we said But we knew better 2. The smell of biryani and samosas wafted through the house Weeks of preparation spent cooking and cleaning The gratitude and love shown is overwhelming On a day dedicated to feasting, family and friends My bangles and anklet jingle to the rhythm of my heart My new dress sways side to side My eyes decorated thick with kohl My heart is full as my appetite 3. The anticipation and excitement in the hall buzzes Everyone stands in awe I am on my tippy-toes in hopes to get a glimpse As the new couple makes their way to the stage The bride smiles shyly as the groom leads her Lights flash in their direction Girls observe as boys holler Mothers and fathers are delighted and flushed Cheesy Bollywood tunes loud enough to drown all thoughts The night is long but tonight, everyone is young again 4. It is the only day my brother and I don’t say much Suddenly, everything we ever argued or fought about Doesn’t matter as he waves his last goodbye swoosh The sound of the double doors in the airport As he wheels away while my mother cries Even though this isn’t the first time And it won’t be the last
Burtchville
Izzy Brusilow ‘19 watercolor University Liggett School
Turquoise Bearings
Keri Inge-Marshall ‘19 The Kroger on Dequindre Road at 10:30 pm on Sunday night feels desolate. As if stepping inside pulled me into an entirely different realm of dissociation where I was trapped in a loop, much like an eternal infinity. It reminds me of a vegan warehouse in Sedona right behind our comfy suite with burnt orange exterior, with white trim, and exhausted painters who fit so well within the scenery they seemed to become a part of it. My family had been the only people on the entire resort because it was closed for renovation, only leaving 2 suites open after some negotiations; It had been the first time I had a bath in four years and the first time I swam in two. I kept seeing lingering holograms in the corner of my eyes like shadows slipping in and out of my grasp. There were figures moving under the chlorine pool illuminated with neon lights, as if there was something ghostly beneath the water, waiting to swallow me in a calm manner. I was stranded in the middle of an abandoned resort with an entire pool to myself, just waiting for intrusion. I can’t relay these details exactly, for most of the time, I can not tell what’s real or what’s fake. It all surfaces in my head, so I have to rely purely on the memory of a feeling. All of the details subside if I am able to feel. And in that moment the only emotion that wafted over my whole body was bleak desolation. When I woke up the daylight was just as eerie as nightfall, but in a painful way, like scorching dust and scorpions. Within two minutes of the vegan store, I had met this boy with Scooby Doo printed on his shirt carrying two orange club soda pop bottles and a six rings on each hand. His eyes looked like watercolor paint and his coat smelled s of vinegar. I had seen him only twice in passing. Once in broad daylight, when there was a subdued hum in
the middle of the desert. Once more when the sky grew dark and there was the slightest rhythm of garden beetles, their smooth backs trekking through the stardust and mist that creates the desert sand. I’m not sure why I could still remember him in the dark. Stepping into the store was like a breath of cool stale air amongst the humidity, with soft country music playing on the store’s overhead monitors, wrinkling and cracking at the highest pitches of the singer’s voice. It felt like there was no time and space. Neither existed and noone in the entire store seemed to mind. Time seemed to flow differently in such an atmosphere. In the bakery, there were two giant plexiglass containers filled to the brim with sesame seed bagels and about a dozen flies buzzing around in the box, trapped. Everything was dimly lit, in the slowest of slow, and my heart was dying of anticipation. For something to move, for something to happen, but nothing did. It was like living in your own personal plexiglass of quick sand and nothing and no one would move. It was the slowest place I’d ever been in my whole entire life. Maybe this is why I didn’t enjoy Sedona. Maybe it had nothing to do with the humidifying heat or the hues of red sand or the way the bright turquoise of the McDonalds sign popped against a bright orange background, so much it was giving me a headache. Maybe it was just the slow people with shuffling feet inside a warm vegan store two seconds away from dilapidation. Maybe it was because his coat smelled of vinegar and I hated the outline of my thighs in my second layer of black leggings. Maybe that’s what made me so drowsy.
Lambrequin 18
Waves by Kanye West Holland McClinton ‘18 digital photography
University Liggett School
Me and The City Ruiming Zeng ‘18
Every time I wake up from my afternoon nap, I feel extremely lonely. No family, no friends, no familiar things. I feel trapped in this place I don’t know. I don’t go out because this in strange place I feel insecure. This bitter feeling reminds me of my own city, the place I lived for 15 years. So many memories were created in Hangzhou. I can’t tell you how I feel when I think about my hometown, but I can always smell the sweet scent of osmanthus with a slight drizzle when I think about it--for it’s always fall in my mind. Precious memories of childhood in this city: going to different classes on the weekend (literature, calligraphy, dance, drawing, guzheng, English) with my mom; hiking; finding hidden plum trees and flowers in winter with hot tea; walking and biking along the West Lake on a sunny day; surrounding myself in endless green and beautiful views; staring at the city under the bright city lights; eating special foods. Do you have the feeling that you think a place is enormous when you were a kid,
Art in the Lens
Carsten Higbie ‘21 digital photgraphy
Lambrequin 18
but you realize how small it actually is when you grow up? When I sat in a bus when I was a kid, I thought, it will take my lifetime to fully explore this city. I thought the farthest I could go was my neighborhood. Independence when walking to the grocery store and buying snacks on my own. Sitting in a bus with my mom, I could never get bored watching views we passed--even if it was the 100th time. The city was huge and magical for little me. I thought a lot when I was younger. I thought, 20 years old sounds so far away. I thought, I can never go anywhere without my mom or dad. I thought the items displayed in the malls were so expensive that I could never afford them. As I grew up, though, the city became smaller and smaller. It is probably because I am studying abroad by myself so I am more independent than I once was. When I went back to Hangzhou, walking on those familiar streets, I thought, this is such a small city. Yes, it will still take me hours going from this side of city to another, but it is just so different. Everyone treats me as an adult now. Whenever I enter a store in the city, they say “what do you need?â€?--just like they say to other adult--instead of looking at me and wondering if I had a guardian with me. I no longer ask my parents how to get to a certain place in the city because I can easily figure it out myself. I pretend I am someone who does not need any protection anymore. I tell myself that I am tough enough to handle any problem. This city stores so many memories of me as a kid, but not much about me as an adult. Will it know me as I have grown up? Will it remember that little girl who used to love to jump in the rain puddle? Will it feel my change: the change of my appearance and the how I make people feel about me though I am actually still a little girl inside? I would like to once again smell the fresh and fragrant grass, trees, snow, wind, and osmanthus; I would like once again to see the first string of sunlight in a chilly day, leaning on a bench by the lake; I would like to once again see the flying kite and people laughing and enjoying whatever they are doing on the street; I would like to once again see couples holding hands on the streets and imagine myself doing that in the future; I would like to once again smell the steaming dumplings that my mom makes; I would like to once again sit in a little boat and watch the sunset; I would like to once again feel the first snow touch my hair and my skin; I would like to once again read my favorite poem about a poet who meets a stranger and finds out they have a lot of things in common and they start drinking rice wine together and watch the snow from a little pavilion in the lake; I would like to once again hug my mom and my dad and ask them to take me out somewhere‌. I guess this is just growing up. I feel excited and depresed about it all, about what comes next. And sometimes, I would like to just nap in the afternoon and not wake up feeling so alone.
University Liggett School
It’s Okay.
Madison Baltimore ‘19 Hey black boy. It’s going to be okay. I’m sure you don’t know what I’m talking about, But you will. “How did you get your hair like that?” “That’s who you have a crush on?” “Do you like [insert every other black girl’s name in the school]?” “Oh, I thought you would play basketball?” “Can I touch your hair?” “Do you know what rhythm is?” “Do you know how to do this dance?” You just brush it off, But the next day they have a new question. Later in the day you’re still wondering why. Why they always have a question for you. So you stop answering their questions, So they stop asking. You no longer have anything to talk about. Now, you feel awkward around them. You begin to feel alone. Like the pieces of flint in your hair This place isn’t for you. Like the watermelon that you don’t like You don’t fit the mold. You’re not supposed to. I want you to know that it’s not just you. I want you to know that we’re here to help you. I want you to know that you do have real friends. I want you to know that people love you. I want you to know that you are loved. We don’t want you to change. Ever.
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Black Boy Joy Saudia Tate ‘18 film photography
Laughter is the Best Medicine Maria Fields ‘20
I hear America laughing. Bellies shaking, staunched cheeks and gritted teeth, adrenaline pumping, soul filling laughter. Every cackle, guffaw, giggle, and chuckle is is like a piece of colorful, broken glass-unique, delicate, dynamic, and cascades sparkly rays when the sun shines upon it creating a brilliantly lit spectacle for all to admire and embrace. Each sound fits together perfectly to create a mosaic. But people were not always laughing. University Liggett School
Then one day, a child on a dilapidated playground sat on a rickety swing slowly going back and forward, back and forward, back and forward... started laughing. It was subtle at first, barely audible. But then loud HAHA burst from that small child, and this time everyone heard it. A homeless man at the busstop started laughing. Happy to be alive. A teacher in a low-funded school inundated with papers started laughing. Happy to be alive.
The Thayers
Lucy Barnowske ‘19
acrylic painting
There was a time when laughter was forbidden. Everything was black and white, rich and poor, men and women, the weak and the powerful, The people were suffering, dying.
An owner of a struggling “mom and pop” shop started laughing. Happy to be alive. A store clerk stacking apples trying to pay her way through school started laughing. Happy to be alive. Politicians in Washington during the middle of a debate started laughing. Happy to be alive because at the end of the day Democrats and Republicans are all human. And that’s when I realize Being alive is being joyful and being hopeful. America has scars and wounds and bruises and deep cuts, but there are some things that laughter can mend.
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Waking Up in Trump’s America
Isolation
George Gotfredson ‘18
Saudia Tate ‘18 digital photography
November 8th, 2016 8:00 pm Just like every other Tuesday, I found myself working at Farms Market as a stock boy, a job I’d had for about a year. I was really good at my job and liked the feeling I got helping people with their groceries and making the shelves look perfect. I had to put up with a lot of crap working though. The other stock boy I happened to be working with every week was usually stoned or telling me about how they were going to get stoned that night, which I just ignored. But this night was different because it happened to be election night. A lot of people characterize me as the “stereotypical Grosse Pointe kid.” I did win the “Most Likely to Stay in Grosse Pointe” award, but I don’t really understand why. I don’t go to Grosse Pointe South, I don’t drive a Jeep, I don’t play hockey or lacrosse, my mom doesn’t drive a GMC Yukon Denali, and I don’t own a golden retriever. So I disagree with this characterization, but I don’t let it bother me. I guess people just say that because my closet consists of colorful pants and Vineyard Vines everything. This night, as I stocked the shelves, took out the trash and grease, and filled up the soda fridge in the back, my emotions were full of anxiety, fear, and hope of what was to
Looking back, there was one thing in every conversation: Everyone wanted the best for our country.”
come that night. Throughout my shift I focused on listening. I listened to conversations customers were having in the store, and conversations other employees were having about what was to come. It was really interesting for me to see the point of view of the other people who worked there. Looking back, there was one thing that was consistent in every conversation I overheard: Everyone wanted the best for our country. 9:00 pm My shift was nearing its end and I found myself out front sweeping off the carpets. By this time the sun had completely gone down and the only light was from the streetlights and lights at the front of the store. Cleaning the carpets is one of my favorite tasks because I get to be outside and say hello to all the people I know that walk by. I could tell everyone was on edge just by noticing how they walked to their cars and carried their groceries. Suddenly, a crisp gust pierced through my body as the wind shifted, a steady gust that lasted longer than anything I had ever felt before. At exactly this moment, I had a feeling impossible to put into words, but the tone of my experiences that night finally made
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sense. I knew for sure that something big was going emotions into words. So I just went to bed, completely to happen that night. Something that would take the exhausted, with my eyes burning from watching the wind out of many and shift the direction of the world. TV for so long. As I lay in bed, I did my usual routine: say a prayer, remember what I did that day, and think 11:30pm about how I can improve for the next day. Hour after hour went by staring at the TV screen, flipping from channel to channel to see if any new results had come in. My family and I watched as the tone of the night changed from a clear win for Hillary to an unexpected victory for the underdog, the electoral map getting more and more red with each minute. The final results came in: just before 3:00 am, Donald Trump was declared President-Elect of the United States. Looking back, I think I was in a state of shock. My whole body kind of went numb, my brain racing in so many different directions. I couldn’t put my
November 9th, 2016 6:34am My alarm rang. I woke up thinking everything that happened the night before was a dream. I wondered how a billionaire businessman went against all odds and overcame every obstacle standing in his way to become the leader of the free world. I, along with many others, assumed Hillary was going to win; I had already accepted that reality a few days earlier. I walked downstairs for breakfast, and it was a regular morning--but it felt a little quiet. It could have been from the exhaustion of staying up so late, or the amazement of what had just happened. 7:50am As my combination of excitement and uneasiness continued throughout the morning, I realized I had to get to school. I was worried what school would be like. How would everyone act? Would everyone just be going on with the day as usual? I didn’t know what to expect. One thing I did know is that I would play the Star Spangled Banner on full blast and on repeat on my ride to school. It was a very surreal drive and it is one ride I don’t think I will ever forget. I was interested to see if all those people who claimed that they would “move to another country” if Trump won were going to be at school or not, but thankfully nobody fled the country. I’m glad that didn’t happen because I would have lost a lot of amazing friends, and our community would have lost a lot of really valuable people. 10:10am
hey just act natural William Higbie ‘19 film photography
Observing everyone around me, I felt I was starting to get the gist of what people were thinking. Many people appeared depressed, including some of my teachers, which did not support a conducive learning environment for anybody. I remember being Lambrequin 18
in these classes and feeling confused, worried that I might be judged for having a differing opinion from my teacher. If I were to say something that differs from the opinion of the teacher, it could create real problems. I felt powerless. I told myself it just wasn’t worth it because it’s an unwinnable situation. Thankfully, I have pretty thick skin when it comes to stuff like that. Most of those on the other side thought we had just elected a racist bigot into the White House. I don’t blame them for thinking that, because that is how news media of all types portray him by taking words out of context and twisting them into things they aren’t. And I understand why so many were upset. Their candidate lost, and they did not care for the winner. This is something that happens every four
years: half the country is happy and the other half is not. But this time it felt different. I’m always about giving things a chance, even when I don’t think it is going to be the outcome I originally wanted. As I look back at my experience when Obama won the presidency, I remember being upset, but never to the point where I let my feelings impact others in a negative way. I gave it a chance, and everyone ended up being fine. Throughout the day I shared my experiences with my friends, and they had experienced similar situations. Everyone seemed to be on edge, no matter what political side they were on. But I knew one thing was certain: I woke up that cold November day in a new America, Donald Trump’s America. But it will always still be Our America.
Seraphina
Hope Kulka ‘19
acrylic painting
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Petra Rose
Keri Inge-Marshall ‘19
acrylic painting on wood block
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Primary
Victoria Ortiz ‘20 Red is the concert you went to last night: you left at 11 pm and returned at 5 30 am It’s the blood you hear in your own ears, heavy It’s the sucker in your mouth as you listen to people party downstairs It’s the song you heard five years ago that just came on the radio It’s the taste of a homemade dish after nights of eating out It’s the underlining in your essay as you misspell words It’s the color of the sky of that night you ran home crying It’s laughing crazily (still) at something someone showed you ten minutes ago It’s your euphoric screams as you finish the last essay before summer Red is the feeling of achieving something after you have lost sleep working for it Blue is finding VHS tapes of your favorite movies It’s the color of lips when you swim for too long It’s the sound a tree makes when it falls in a forest It’s the color of the sky before it starts to cry It’s the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline It’s late night conversations with people that make you think It’s Sunday nights before a long week It’s the credits that roll after you watch a movie It’s the dream you wake up from and write down so you can remember it the next morning Blue is the moment where you lose yourself in a cloud of nostalgia, thinking about the past Yellow is getting a hug from the person you’ve been longing for It’s the smell of fresh flowers after being inside all day Its waking up on a Saturday morning with nowhere to go and nothing to do It’s the sound of people humming in the streets It’s taking a nap and forgetting what day it is when you wake up It’s the color I was wearing when I first met you It’s the feeling of stretching after laying down for a while It’s going to an art museums alone and staying there for hours It’s sitting in a bath so long your fingers turn to prunes Yellow is dressing up for fun, only to change into a big comfy sweater
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Symphony
Kaniz Chowdhury ‘18 you hugged me once, on a park bench in the middle of a winter storm. the city lights gleamed passed the naked tree branches as my fingers turned blue. we sat in the park bench for hours, until your chest became a home for me to plant flowers in. the homeless man under the bridge, yelled into the darkness until his voice became a symphony that bounced around our ribcages. we walked over and gave the man all the money that we had in our pockets. it wasn’t much, but he smiled at us without saying a word and somehow, there was truth in his silence.
The Hole
Alec Leonard ‘21
relief prints, mixed media
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Green
Allie Quint ‘19 My feet have reached the damp porch. It is a Friday night and I can feel the nerves in the back of my throat all the way to my hip bones. A wooden door with a half-shattered-but-somewhat-translucent window lies behind my back. I am too nervous to even look. Why in the world was I the first one to get to the door? My friends, scattered across the lawn, slowly make their way to me: embracing each other, giggling, and locking cars. I feel eyes on me and motion for them to hurry up. The chill of the spring night has set in. My shivering body is joined by the others and I hesitantly spin on my heels. The door is in front of me. No longer am I shivering; I am frozen. My hands won’t do what they are supposed to. I see you: Leaning over the counter, your hands are pressed down. You are staring at your phone that lies flat. Your blonde tight curls are covering your eyes, and your body moves gently. The boys behind you are shoving one another, but all I see is you. Baggy, grey, long sleeves cover most of your bony hands, and your stillness overpowers the buzzing background. You are the feeling of home. Your shoes match mine, and what feels like years pass in seconds. You look at me. You are calm and gracious. My eyes well up at the sight of yours. Ten feet apart, but I could still feel the deep green as if you were painting it on my skin. In that moment I am lying on hot grass, watching clouds roll by. Everything is slow. You look away and I see your slight smile, the one that makes dimples appear. You are staring at your feet. I am staring at the doorknob. Before I can even blink, time speeds up and I am against the door. My friends all shout at me to turn the knob. I lift my feet into the doorway and am engulfed in a thick, humid scent --but now you are gone. You’ve moved into the other room, away, though I feel your green eyes waiting for mine. After many hugs and introductions, I bow my head into the other room. You are there, on a couch, your hands on your knees. The chaotic throb of people lies behind you. Your green eyes stare into the TV, maybe you are just too nervous to look. You can feel my eyes on you. But before you can catch of glimpse of me, I look away. Tonight you will need to do more than just catch my green eyes.
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Melted Blues
Isabella Cubba ‘20 neon body paint
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Lion’s Mane
Saudia Tate ‘18 Sun sparkled through the window glass as her legs stretched out onto the carpet in a “V” shape. An array of products lay before her: she grabbed any and every hair product she could find out of the back of her closet when it was time to manage the lion’s mane. Her hair wasn’t quite a lion’s mane, but it could be. Her hair was magical; it could transform into thousands of styles. One day she’d be a girl with the head of a lion (wild and free); another with the head of a black panther (smooth and sleek). There was no rhythm or pattern in which her hair grew either. There were pencil sized spirals, crinkly coils, wacky waves, curvy curls. Her right hand grabbed hold of the dented, green tin spray bottle (the one she borrowed and never returned to her sister) and she spritzed and spritzed the sectioned-off hair in the front of her head until it was damp. Once she set that down she grabbed her lavender comb with fangs like a rattlesnake and combed through the tired kinks and curls. With one palm filled with SheaMoisture and Cantu, the other drizzled with avocado oil, she clasped her hands together until all that was left was a smooth creamy substance. She gently raked her fingers through the parted section. She repeated and repeated this step in sectioned parts all over her head, her reflection on the glass surface as her guide. When she finally finished each sectioned-off part of hair, her fingers dipped into the light, fluffy cream again. Although she didn’t have a particular style in mind, she did have a certain look: some curly but voluminous afro she briefly saw as she scrolled
through her Instagram feed. But something wasn’t right, so she thought... “More SheaMoisture? Maybe that will accentuate the curls near the ends of my hair...” And when that didn’t work she twisted her torso towards the left where she set her favorite (now worn down) teal bobby pins. Using her left hand to gently pull apart her hair, her right hand enveloped her mother’s old rattail comb. She precisely sketched a line from the top to bottom of her head. Then she collected two snowball sized amounts of hair to then twist and pin down to the root of her head. All that remained was to pick out the back of her hair, but she could easily do that in the backseat of the car. Her plan had failed her, as they often did. She always went into hair management time with a plan, or at least an idea, but she learned to not adhere to them closely because her hair had its own plans and ideas too. And her hair’s will became her own will. “Two alien bulbs in the front and wild, free curls in the back.” She snapped lids shut and screwed the tops to containers back on. “I suppose that’ll do.” above:
facing page:
Tati
The Queens
Annabel Romanelli ‘18 Zunyi Wang ‘18 acylic painting
Lambrequin 18
watercolor
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A Prologue of Sorts Max Wiegel ‘20 Imagine this. Imagine that it was mid-day, and someone was in their last stages of life. No, it was not dark, nor was it cold. It was raining, but that rarely has made anyone feel dreadfully cold. The almost-dead man might have believed it to be dark and stormy though. He was a shriveled-up old thing, the face a mass of wrinkles. A quiet elder, eyes closed with a respirator covering his jaw, as he had been for a month. Unable to communicate with the world at large or with the family surrounding him, barely holding back tears as his life ebbed away. As the steady beeps of a machine nearby began to have ever greater pauses and the world became shrouded in grey and shades of black, a figure swam into greater focus in the old man’s limited vision. A cloaked, tall figure, gaunt and absolutely vertical in its non-existent stoop. Despite the man being in a near-coma for months now, he was suddenly alert. A spryness that he had once lost came back to him, and unaware of the consequences, he tore off his mask. He began to tear off his bedding and would have done so, if not for a word that slammed his attempts to leave back to zero. “STOP.” The old man immediately suspended his movements. Then he calmly placed his covers back onto himself, and reapplied the mask. “YOU DON’T NEED THE MASK. I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT MAY DO, BUT IT IS PROBABLY UNNECESSARY FOR YOU,” not-spoke the darker than dark cloth. The old man looked at the fabric near him. A question rose from the clouded depths of his mind and
bubbled out of his mouth. “I’m dead, aren’t I?” The figure made no motion as it answered. “NO. YOU ARE NOT DEAD. NOT QUITE ALIVE EITHER THOUGH. YOU ARE MERELY AT THE CROSSROADS TO EACH. ALL SOULS PASS THROUGH HERE, GOING EITHER WAY. YOU WILL BE GOING ONE WAY SOON.” Emotions passed across the man’s face rapidly, eventually settling on an emotion that put an inquisitive look on his face. Death found it unnerving. “DON’T DO THAT. YOUR FACIAL MUSCLE MOVEMENTS ARE DISTURBING.” “Oh. Alright...in that case, before I fully die may I pose you a question?” Death paused in the motion of reaching to the man’s eyes. “A QUESTION,” he not-spoke. If emotion could have crept into those words, suprise would be coating it. “Yes, a question. I’m owed one, as my final act. It’s fair, after all.” The man looked at the reaper waiting for an answer. “VERY WELL, I ACCEPT YOUR PROPOSITION. SAY THAT WHICH YOU PONDER.” The old man thought a moment, then asked: “Does it get boring?” “THAT? THAT IS YOUR QUESTION?” “Doesn’t it get boring? Living forever. Watching your favorite things fade away and not be able to see them again or find rest. I think I would go mad with boredom, not being able to do anything else. I would pursue another career,” said the man. Death paused for a moment. “I HAVE FOUND,” Death not-spoke uncomfortably after a small while, “THAT WHEN DEALING WITH MATTERS
Latin Flowers
Colored Pencil above: Quinn Nehr ‘19 from L to R: Brooke Hudson ‘19, Nathan Alcantara ‘18, Andrew Loner ‘18, Sabrina Malkoun ‘18, Lily Xu ‘17, Brooke Hudson ‘19, Kate Birgbauer ‘19, Bea Bernard ‘19, Kat Tolin ‘19, Zach Eliot ‘19, and Santo Scarfone ‘18 Lambrequin 18
SUCH AS BOREDOM OR PURSUING ANOTHER CAREER PATH, IT IS BEST TO PUSH THOSE THOUGHTS OUT OF ONE’S HEAD.” The old man was unconvinced, and his pruned face scrunched further. “You’re lying,” he accused. “You’ve never thought about doing anything else besides this job. I doubt that you have even entertained a passing thought that’s similar.” “I HAVE,” not-spoke Death fidgeting with his cloak. “Haven’t.” “I MOST CERTAINLY HAVE.” “Haven’t.” “HOW WOULD YOU KNOW IF I HAVE? I HAVE NOT TOLD YOU.” “Haven’t.” “BE SILENT.” “Haven’t.” “NO,” spoke Death begrudgingly, “I HAVE NOT.” The man peered at him, grinning in triumph. Yet it soon turned into sadness and pity. “Really? You really haven’t thought of anything else besides this job?” He spoke, his face downcast. “A pity.” Death’s form suddenly snapped forward, quickly brushing invisible fingers on the man’s eyes in a hurried way, severing spirit and body. It floated to oblivion, dissolving into puffy clouds. Death watched the remains for a moment, and then, as the building where the man’s body lay swam into focus, walked out of the building, not brushing against any of the crying mourners and family members. They never did notice him, at least as he did his job (which was always). Even when a leader of some country or other beloved person was dying and many thousands were present around them, even then, the people never once noticed or touched him. Death’s cloak stopped outside the hospital, and after a momentary consideration, walked into the cold blasts of winter greeting him. They filled his cloak, turning an empty space devoid of matter into one with
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a marble-colored framework of a human body. The thing then turned its cloaked gaze and began to walk through the maelstrom of snow that would impair all others, save him alone. Death walked quite a long while before finding an appropriate destination. A building, escribed with delightfully designed and colored artworks of flowers, with a brick composition. Not that it mattered; Death simply phased through the wall, disturbing no one.
It should be stated that, in spite of his obviously lacking knowledge on humans—how they feel emotions, how societies work, how they can get obsessed over miniscule things, etcetera—Death does actually know about one human thing better than most: how to recognize supermarket stores. And that’s because of mirrors. Death’s form drifted through aisles, passing through items trivial to him. Eventually, he made it to a home decor area, only to find it barren and empty. Undeterred, he sauntered over to an aide. “EXCUSE ME,” he spoke, tapping the man’s shoulder. The man turned around. “Yes? How can I help you?” Death pointed to the aisle, “WHERE ARE THE MIRRORS? I WAS HERE WITH THE PROSPECT THAT YOUR STORE SOLD THEM. BUT THEY ARE GONE. WERE THEY MISPLACED?” The aide smiled apologetically at Death, “Oh, so sorry, you just missed them. A few were damaged by a potential robber and are currently in the trash.” “WHICH WAY?” The aide looked surprised. “What? To the trash?” “YES. NOW PLEASE, TELL ME WHERE IT IS.”
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“But..it’s trash.” “WHICH WAY?” The aid sighed and pointed to a nearby door. “THAT WAY?” “Yes. It’s that way..” “THANK YOU.” Death phased through the man, then the door. Entering the blizzard he peered around, eventually finding a closed bin. He gazed within and, not minding the abhorrent smell, touched a mirror. For a moment, nothing occured. And fter the moment passed, still nothing seemed to have happened. But as for Death, he was now reclining on a chair in a home. Gently removing his gangly fingers from the screen, he floated upwards. Entering a bedroom decorated in religious iconography, he passed into the vision of another dying individual, this one a woman. And again, Death found himself and his companion in the void-space between life and death. The woman looked at him, eyes widening. “Begone demon,” she muttered. “The Lord is my savior and guard, I am impervious to ye. The Lord is my accomplice. Ever with me—” “NO, HE IS NOT. HE IS CURRENTLY LYING ON A FIELD OF GRASS.” She looked away, edging herself as far from him as her body would allow. “Silence demon,” she muttered. “Your words do not defile me.” “I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU’RE CALLING ME THAT. ALL THE CAST OUT ANGELS HAVE BEEN IN HELL SINCE THEIR BANISHMENT. THEY DON’T WANT TO COME OUT ANYWAY. WHAT YOU HUMANS DO TO YOURSELVES IS ENTIRELY OF YOUR OWN DESIGN. REGARDLESS, I HAVE A QUESTION TO ASK YOU.” The woman muttered; Death stared. “CAN YOU HEAR ME? ARE YOU DEAF OR HARD OF HEARING? YOU REACTED TO MY QUESTIONS BEFORE.” He looked at her in a manner close to confusion. The woman eventually scowled at him, crossing herself. “Cease thy temptations, spawn of the enemy,” she snarled. Death simply stared, unmoving. He eventually asked, “MAY I POSE A QUESTION?” She remained silent. “IF I WANTED TO DO SOMETHING BEYOND MY CURRENT SELF, COULD I DO SO? IF I REALLY WANTED TO, COULD I?” He awaited an answer diligently. “You seek repentance for your actions, demon?”
“ER... YES?” The woman grew ecstatic. “Well, hell-spawn, if you prostrate yourself before the Lord with repentance imbibing your spirit, you will find him forgiving.” She grew ever more animated as she rambled off into a tangent. Death silenced her with a motion. “THAT IS ALL THAT IS NEEDED? STRANGE, I MUST ADMIT. HOWEVER , THANK YOU.” He brushed his fingers over her eyes, severing the connection between body and soul; it floated off into oblivion. Death watched as the world came into focus again. Once it did, he left the home and entered a dark suburb. It was getting dark in the town Death’s existence was in. There was a bench on the curb outside the home, but no one was there. Death sat down— not for rest; Death did nothing that would constitute needing rest. No, he sat because he was disturbed. Not once had it ever occurred to the aspect that he could, perhaps, do something beyond his current position in God’s plan. How could he? God had abstained from endowing anything beyond humanity with free will, or the ability to be something beyond their present selves. At least, he had assumed as much. As he mulled about, thoughts tossing around like atoms in a vacuum, the water spilled by some long-gone drink froze over; the tree to his right began to shrivel; a person who had wanted to sit down on the bench felt a sudden urge to immediately leave the area. Why, exactly, so could not be said; only, there was a feeling. That feeling of suspecting great, fearful actions, impelling the feeler to get away from their current position immediately. All the while, Death continued to think Eventually Death looked up, snapped his nonexistent fingers, and disappeared. Instantly the tree went back to its original state, along with the water. The next person who came across the bench felt a passing chill, then sat down. Death himself appeared in a place he was always most uncomfortable visiting. Heaven. Its grassy, rolling hills, large oak trees, gentle streams and always-playing hymns emanating from the ethereal masses of spirits from above were acceptable. They were always there and always would be there. Death did not felt uncomfortable around them. Death
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did not feel anything, for that matter. In the way people pass gas stations and merely note them, so too is Death in Heaven. No, what bothered Death were the dead themselves. They looked at him in the way only humans could: inquisitively. Even the most devout looked at him in like he was some new animal humans had found. It was probably due to their free will. It was bothersome, in that way. Free will, Death thought as his cloak ghosted its way to the center of Heaven. Humans love flaunting this aspect in everything they do. That’s probably why they do everything: because they CAN. Unlike myself. Death continued his walk until he reached the center. There a rectangular building with a tower rose above all else. He did not know what its name but believed it was called a church. He was not sure, though, for he was so busy. No time to learn the various names for those buildings humans used to worship. They had too many names anyways, so he never bothered learning. Now he wondered. Death moved to enter, but as his cloak made contact with the door, something stopped him. A big something. A something on fire. A sword something. Death turned his cloak and found himself himself staring at the fire that was an Archangel’s head. “Death,” spoke the guard monotonously. “ARCHANGEL.” “Why have you arrived at the house of GOD. You do not seek to hasten the end of all things, or is this the principal reason for your presence.” “NO.” “Then why.” “I AM HERE,” said Death, “TO LEARN IF I MAY GAIN BETTER UNDERSTANDING OF MY TASK. AS GOD IS THE SOURCE OF ALL, THEN HE TOO MUST ALSO CONTAIN ANSWERS TO MY QUESTIONS. I AM IN NEED OF ANSWERS.” The sword remained in place for a moment, then dropped. “Proceed.” So Death came into the house of God for the first time. The house of God is a materialist’s nightmare. There are four wooden seats, not in the best of condition; there is a table in the middle made of stone; there is a fire in back of the home, and two rows of two seats each are in the front peering at the middle. Usually, there is a cup on the table. There is also a ladder, dead center (very inconvenient for the guests God does not receive).
And then there’s God himself. A strange thing, the appearance of God. No one really knows what God looks like, and God certainly hasn’t revealed his, or its, true appearance. When God leaves home, everyone sees something different: a sheet, a child, a preacher, a star, an old man, a mother, even a triangle. Angels cannot see God at all. And even Death, for all of his power, intangibility and omnipresence, cannot see God’s true form. When Death looked at God, he saw a light, pulsating, like a human heart before it dies. “HELLO. I DO NOT THINK WE HAVE MET. OR WE MAY HAVE, WHILE YOU CRAFTED ME. I AM-” God spoke. “OH. YOU ALREADY KNOW WHAT I AM. GOOD. MAY WE BEGIN?” Death sat down on a chair. “I COME BEFORE YOU, MY CREATOR, TO ASK IF, PERHAPS, I MAY DO SOMETHING BEYOND MY CURRENT SELF? YOU HAVE ENDOWED ME WITH A GREAT MANY GIFTS TO COUNTER THE LIFE OF THE WORLD. MIGHT I TRADE THEM FOR, PERHAPS... FREE WILL?” Death’s cloak rustled as God answered. “...WHAT? I—ALL—EVERYTHING HAS FREE WILL? EVEN MYSELF, A BEING OF NO TRUE FORM? I HAVE FREE WILL?” God spoke again. “I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. I HAVE ALWAYS HAD THE ABILITY TO CAST OFF MY DUTIES? TO BEGIN SOMETHING BEYOND MYSELF?” Again God spoke. Death paused. “I AM A REFLECTION OF LIFE. I AM THE OPPOSITE OF HUMANITY, YET YOU SAY THAT I AM THE SAME, THAT I AM NOT WHAT I AM. HOW? I AM EVER RESILIENT TO CHANGE, THE BRAND WHICH HUMANS BEAR. I REAP THAT WHICH YOU PLANT, AND HAVE DONE SO SINCE THE FIRST SEEDS WERE SOWED. NOW I LEARN THAT I AM BUT SEEDS MYSELF? IMPOSSIBLE. I WOULD HAVE FREE WILL WERE I HUMAN, NOTHING LESS.” And God spoke again. “YOU WOULD DO THIS? HOW? AND, WOULD I EVEN REMEMBER AS A HUMAN? COULD I OR WOULD I— “YES, THANK YOU. AND MY APOLOGIES FOR THE INTERLUDE. I ONLY WISH THA—” God snapped his fingers.
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For a Student Athlete Anthony George ‘18
For a student athlete student always comes first and finding balance is simply the worst For a student athlete you can’t do it all For a student athlete you can’t be afraid to fall For a student athlete everything is a game and we all just want to end in the hall of fame For a student athlete you see things a different way For a student athlete we have work that happens every day For a student athlete your mind is on the prowl For a student athlete your stomach will always growl For a student athlete the motivation never fades, either on the court or for the grades For a student athlete there are no plays off, working so you can make everyone scoff For a student athlete more is expected For a student athlete you’ve got to be better than projected For a student athlete you need to own it, ‘cause one day you’ll miss the moans and groanin’ For a student athlete you’ll call it quits one day For a student athlete you wish your legacy will never go away And then, as a student, you lose the place That defined so much of your student space.
The Worst Pain Zach Elliot ‘19
Our regular soccer season was over. That week the games meant nothing. They were just filler games before playoffs next week. I love playoffs: best time of the year. That’s why I play soccer: eyes watching you, in games that matter, for pride, for glory, for your team. So we had a game against a travel soccer team that plays high schools in the fall. They are very good, and they brought it to us. About 20 minutes in, number four on the opposite team ran by me, and I stuck my arm out to slow him down. He was starting a sprint, so when our bodies connected he ripped my shoulder out of my socket. Everything became a blur as I fell to the ground. The pain pulled me down; I had no control over my body. I looked up into blinding sunlight and, throwing my right arm and kicking the ground, signaled my pain. Yet the play did not pause when my teammates came over to me, resulting in the opponents scoring a very cheap and undeserving goal. After confirming I had dislocated my shoulder, the team trainer called the paramedics. She tried to sit me up, but the pain was so excruciating I screamed and undoubtedly threw out some F-bombs. It felt like an eternity until the paramedics finally pulled up on the track.
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They quickly got me off the ground and into the ambulance. They shot me up with pain killers which didn’t help much. Every bump sent a surge of pain like I have never felt before. When the doctor finally saw me, he slowly moved my dislocated arm towards my body. When it was close enough to my body, he started pulling on my arm so hard a nurse had to grab a bed sheet, wrap it underneath my armpit, and pull the opposite way to prevent me from falling. My whole arm was numb at this point, yet I could still feel the pain. After a few minutes of harsh yanking, he pulled as if he were playing tug of war—and abruptly my shoulder popped back into place. In that split second a thousand blades stabbed the interior of my shoulder socket... then nothing. Complete relief. Until I found out my season was over. I was devastated. All I wanted to do was fight for my teammates on the pitch, defend the name of my school that I so proudly wear every time I suit up. There’s only one thing I am focused on now: recovery. Become faster and stronger. The process might be long, but I plan on taking it seriously and listening to everything the doc prescribes. Strengthening my shoulder will be my only priority this next year so this will never happen to me again: never hurt my team’s chances in playoffs, never hurt myself, never end my season, never relive that horrific pain. All this means one thing... It’s time to make a comeback.
Hockey Skate
Lucy Barnowske ‘19 graphite drawing
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A Letter to Myself Kaitlyn Lee ‘19
dearest angel, you are lovely you are a beautiful flower, one of the rare ones that blossoms in the desert you have a beautiful smile and a lilting laugh that fills others with happiness you have soft hands, made for holding your eyes twinkle like stars and I can see galaxies glinting so prettily when they crinkle from laughter each of your tears contains a memory, and later, and when you look upon those glittering drops you will smile and remember who you used to be you are the perfect height to be held, and there are so many who wish to hold you you create beautiful music when you move and each purposeful step contains thought and balance that is too complicated to comprehend you know when to take your time and appreciate everything you have and how intricate and
The Light in the Dark Elizabeth Lukas ‘20
acrylic painting
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beautiful this world is there are days when you feel empty, but it is okay because there will be other days when you’ll be so full and happy that you won’t be able to remember those days as time ticks by, you still aren’t sure of where you will go, but I promise you, time will wait. walk slowly and savor what you have
and above all, remember this: there is someone out there that loves you more than they love anyone or anything else maybe you’ve found them. maybe you haven’t wait patiently, my dear, for they will come I promise love, you
La Luna
Pain v Hope
India Brooks ‘19 colored pencil
Jada Moore ‘21 It’s suffocating on cinnamon—watching your child burn alive, at the top of your apartment building, there’s nothing you can do—but next to you there’s a little girl smiling as she’s holding her raggedy teddy bear It’s being beaten with a wooden bat—when your own child smacks you in the face—you feel both rage and sadness—but on the television there’s a commercial and at the end: “Good goes around and around and around” It’s failing your SAT—when the doctors tell you there’s nothing they can do and there is no treatment—but in the hallway you hear doctors laughing Pain likes to attack at life’s most unexpected moments. Pain is a ninja: sneaks up on you when least expected then: ATTACK But in the corner—where Charlotte’s Web is— there is hope Hope is what lays at the bottom of Pandora’s Box Hope is the good in the world Without hope, we have no chance Without a chance, we have no choice Without a choice, there is no happiness Without happiness, we have nothing In life’s most horrible moments there is hope; you pick how it will affect you. University Liggett School
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Asthma
Trey Holmes ‘19
From the moment I saw you You left me breathless I’m in a diseased state now should have saw the signs and noticed the symptoms: my chest constricts whenever you’re around my lungs swiftly assaulted leaving me gasping as if I just swallowed an entire ocean of saltwater like asthma, you took my breath away and to be honest it led me to a good place But then you left I thought I would recover but, as with asthma, there is no cure for me (I realized with a shudder) Two years later we meet again Seeing you really wants to make me sin I notice your chest constricting and your breaths are very heavy Almost as if you were restless Now that I’ve got you forever I’m the one leaving you breathless
Swallow’s Feet
Keri Inge-Marshall ‘19
How to start this poem is a riddle but I believe it adds up to hammocks in the hot sun surrounded by hesitant humming and hazy strumming in the distance. Oh, I don’t know what to make of this, for I know what you love: you adore cats, and warm blankets, and lighthouses. you love pistachios with pears, and small gray haired hares—you can feel the waves of 80’s synth pop and a little rock of Abstract coursing through your body like electricity. And of course you adore round glasses shaped like the moon and Christmas sweaters made on knitting looms and needles. But let it be known that there is always more. How do your bones ache in Arizona heat? Or instead, swallow’s feet, as they tap against the bayside window? Another is for the love in your heart that stretches for miles without end, And for me to lend this poem to you I know the end will not be near for you are a
Seashells
Ruiming Zeng ‘18
Dear friend.
graphite drawing
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O Mornings You are the reason I wake up... literally The orange tint reflecting the water is sleeker than glass, sweeter than mint the perfect blueprint
Ode to Mornings
William Kopicki ‘19
Walking out the door offers a whiff of the motivation left by the early risers you see people sprint and walk this is the only time they have before working around the clock Getting ready for the most important meal as it quickly reveals the crunch of toast, greasy bacon, and warm butter melting on pancakes (I hold back my squeals) with a side of orange peels This is my Achilles’ heel
Fall's Early Freeze Carsten Higbie ‘21 digital photography
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Pink
Abby Hung ‘18
digital photography
To Those Who May Date My Sister Holland McClinton ‘18
I’m sure you never thought that your worst nightmare would come in the form of a five foot six, easily bruised, frighteningly pale, unintimidating girl like me, but life is full of surprises. Raised by two uncompromising parents, one with a badge and one with a resolve so sharp it could slice you from across the room, you should know that I do have the resources to physically harm you.
See, I’ve been constructing my extensive vocabulary for this particular moment. I won’t need much to win this fight. I won’t even break a sweat trying to hurt you with my (ever so cautiously selected) words. Cause I’ve had this speech prepared for a long time. “You... you mewling doghearted weasel, you. I will kick your knees in if you don’t back away. Or, I’ll call your mom!” That’s right, I’m not afraid to play the sister card. If your mom is the only woman you respect, so be it. I’m sure she’s a lovely woman,
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Probably wouldn’t be too happy about raising a two-faced onion-eyed clay-brained split-tongued swine like you. Unless you’re cool, because that would save me a lot of trouble. But if you’re not, just remember a couple things. The first time you see her eyes shine know that I’ve been accustomed to those eyes for 15 years. The first time you make her smile know that I’ve done the same, for 15 years. The first time she cries over you, know that I’ll be washing tear stains from my shirt, know that even if she pretends all’s fine, I’ll know if something is wrong.
I just want some respect: Respect me as my sister’s keeper. Respect me as her best friend. Respect me as a person, that would be great too. I don’t want to know you only as ‘that person my sister is dating’, that’s insulting, and if she’s dating you then you’re probably a pretty nice person. I’d like to know if you’re afraid of the dark, I’d like to know if you like coffee or not, do aliens exist? What is your least favorite movie? You’re a person, not just my verbal punching bag (physical punching bag if need be). We can be friends. You can date my sister. It’ll be just fine.
I don’t want to scare you away, or spook you too much to approach me, or for you to think I’m too intense.
Unless you’re a damn fool. Cause then (I promise) this won’t end well for you.
digital photography
Carsten Higbie ‘21
Ephemeral Flame
Know that you should be a little frightened of me. But, not too much.
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Fishing
Todd Costello ‘19 poem & crayon
Sitting on a boat, In my North Face coat. About to catch a fish, Over by this bridge. Put a worm on my hook, Oh wait, look! My pole swooshes down, This fish? At least 10 pounds! The fish is a pike, As big as a bike. We arrive to shore, Where it’s not a bore, Time to skin the fish, Then cook it on the wood. I put the fish on my dish. Dang this fish is good.
A Picture of a Mountain JP Silva ‘20
digital photography
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Nicknames
Egypt
Egypt Brooks ‘19 E-W
Egypt (e-jipt) Noun • Easily agitated, sassy, but loving and adorable. Somewhat conceited. The older sibling. Very observant. Indecisive. Used everyday by the human race. Egyptian (e-jip-tion) Noun • Mother’s nickname, Mainly used out of love and affection. Occasionally used to tell her to do chores. Nickname that’s stuck with her since forever. E (/e/) Noun • Father’s nickname. Occasionally used by aunt. The shortened version of Egypt. Typically used in general speaking. Another nickname that’s stuck with her forever Egypte (eeeeee-gypte) Noun • A French name given by Madame. The dragged out version of Egypt. Commonly repeated over and over by Egypt’s peers. Very annoying, but she deals with it. Egg (eh-gguh) Noun • An unforeseen nickname given
Wyptian
by one of Egypt’s bestfriends. Used regularly by her friends at school. Can only be used by friends. The ugliest nickname of all time. India (in-dee-uh) Noun • The most frequent nickname of all. Used mainly because Egypt is consistently mistaken for her twin sister India. Also the most annoying nickname because Egypt is NOT India. Does not like to be called this.. Wegypt (we-jipt) Noun • An accidental name given by her cousin when he was two years old. Hilarious nickname. Often used when around that younger cousin as a joke for not knowing how to pronounce her name. Used by limited family members. Wyptian (whip-tion) Noun • Made up nickname by Egypt’s mother. Mostly said alongside Egyptian. Rarely said by itself. Used periodically when her mother is in a lovey dovey mood.
Charlie
Laney Sheehan ‘18 crayon
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The Perfect Formula for Writing a Ray Bradbury Short Story Craig Buhler ‘18
Dear Mr. Defauw, After reviewing your most recent published text and previous work, I now understand why no one besides your wife and Dr. Moiles has given you positive feedback. During your career as a writer, other readers, as well as myself, have realized that you have no interesting content or unique flair that we all know you possess—at least when it comes to playing the guitar. Your fiction is bland and reminds me of a tasteless porridge. We all feel, including your children, that you need to redeem yourself after your most despicable short story, “The Single Side Theorem: The Opaque Mystery Behind Singlehood.” Not only did this title make me want to gag, but it also made me concerned about the mental-state of your mind. Anyways, I am writing to you because I believe I owe you a favor after all of the times you have helped me earn mediocre grades in math. Recently, our science fiction class has been studying various texts, including a short story from Ray Bradbury, “August 2026: There Will Come Soft Rains.” This short story reminded me of your love for futuristic stories, and I hope that I can take ideas from this story and another Bradbury text to inspire you to (at last) write something intriguing. In order to successfully craft an engaging story using Ray Bradbury’s unique style, one must rely on a futuristic setting, apply the use of advanced technology, and offer a negative message about technology. First, let us begin with a key starting point for your writing; instead of a underwhelming setting, you have to start with something interesting, and a futuristic setting will help hook your readers. In your first attempt at writing science fiction, “Joel in the Wall: Honey I Have Some Explaining To Do,” the setting of a family living underwater was unfulfilling and did not reach the potential it could have. Instead, I advise that you choose something a little more interesting, something that captures what you believe the future will be. A futuristic yet plausible setting is an appropriate choice, and I think you should focus on a house as the main area of the story.
Consider Bradbury’s approach to setting. In “August 2026: There Will Come Soft Rains,” one of the opening paragraphs states, “‘Today is August 4, 2016,’ said a second voice from the kitchen ceiling, ‘in the city of Allendale, California.’” The story uses this setting to make a prediction of what the future will look like, and he also uses it to exhibit his own opinion on how families will live and act in a futuristic society. Bradbury also uses a house as his main point of focus in the short story “The Veldt.” Similar to the first text mentioned, “The Veldt” describes another version of a futuristic home: “They walked down the hall of their HappyLife Home, which had cost them thirty thousand dollars with everything included. This house which clothed and fed and rocked them to sleep and played and sang and was good to them.” His decision to use a futuristic house as his setting is an interesting artistic choice that intrigues many readers because they want to learn what Bradbury’s prediction on the future will look like. Mr. Defauw, I strongly suggest that you venture off into some fairly unfamiliar territory and select a futuristic setting that not only focuses on a house, but also best engages your readers. Within a futuristic setting, particularly the house, you should only expect to feature advanced technology that includes imagery to describe it. In the same two Bradbury short stories, he introduces to readers advanced technology that seems plausible and provides us with a sense of excitement, especially considering that the technology of the future could potentially appear to be something useful and innovative. As Bradbury describes in great detail (something you need to work on) the kitchen in “August 2026: There Will Come Soft Rains,” he writes: “In the kitchen the breakfast stove gave a hissing sigh and ejected from its warm interior eight pieces of perfectly browned toast, eight eggs sunnyside up, sixteen slices of bacon, two coffees, and two cool glasses of milk.” During this scene, Bradbury imagines innovative technology that does not exist in present time but appears to be realistic. Also, the use of imagery is another device used to explaining this technology.
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The “hissing sigh” and “warm interior eight pieces of perfectly browned toast” access the reader’s senses and really add another level of description that appeal to us. “The Veldt” includes great details to create a bright and vivid description of the nursery that can adapt to the children’s imagination: “Now hidden machines were beginning to blow a wind containing prepared smells toward the two people in the middle of the baked veldt. The hot straw smell of lion grass, the cool green smell of the hidden water hole, the strong dried blood smell of the animals, the smell of dust like red pepper in the hot air.” Bradbury uses imagery to engage our senses, and that particular technique adds a beautiful layer of sophistication; his imagery often helps set a specific tone, or pattern, and the addition of imagery is like adding another variable to an algebraic expression. Not only does the advanced technology give us insight of how the future may look, but the addition of imagery helps further enhance the reader’s experience as they analyze and investigate the text. Mr. DeFauw, you do not necessarily need to use imagery to describe your technology. You can incorporate other literary devices, like similes or metaphors, to enhance the effect of technology on the reader’s imagination. However, I suggest that you attempt to use imagery as I am confident it will make your work more efficient and profound. Lastly, you must consider how the technology that you create conveys a critical message to readers. In Bradbury’s texts, he uses technology to explore its lreationship with humans and its negative impact: his technology creates an unbalanced society. His writing argues that humans are dependent on technology and that it will end up replacing us in society. In “August 2026: There Will Come Soft Rains,” Bradbury remarks “Nine-five. A voice spoke from the study ceiling: ‘Mrs. McClellan, which poem would you like this evening?’ The house was silent.” Even though the patrons inhabiting the home are gone forever due to radiation from a nuclear bomb, the technology still functions and carries on its daily routine. Technology has outlasted humans, signifying that when humans are gone from Earth forever, technology will be the dominant force. This negative tone is chilling and forces readers to consider how technology might eventually evolve beyond its creator, humans. In “The Veldt,” technology is again depicted in a way such that it connects to our relationship with how it acts in everyday society. After Mr. and Mrs. Hadley’s children lock them in the nursery, the lions that they have previously imagined begin to appear: “The lions
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were on three sides of them in the yellow veldt grass. They walked quietly through the dry grass, making long, deep rolling sounds in their throats. The lions! Mr. Hadley looked at his wife and they turned and looked back at the beasts edging slowly forward, knees bent, tails in the air. Mr. and Mrs. Hadley screamed.” Bradbury uses the advanced technology to connect to humans and, in both instances, the technology ends up outlasting and dominating them. This creates the critical message that although technology may appear to be a positive force in society, it is rather a deceiving force that harms humanity. Therefore, Mr DeFauw, you must correlate your technology with your own take on some version of a critical message in regards to what society will be like. You can give a warning, or suggest advice in regards to the future. One such idea: you may write a story in which you utilize government-made innovative textbooks to brainwash students and trick them into believing whatever propaganda government officials may choose. The pages are interchangeable and can be programmed to project any message that the government wants. I believe in you, and I am sure that you will create a powerful message as it relates to technology or another important theme in your story. After reading this letter, I can only pray that you learned some useful tactics, and that you thoroughly enjoyed my analysis. By modeling your new story after the great Ray Bradbury, there is no question that your next writing will be a hit. I suggest you title your next story “J.O.E.L.” and craft an intriguing plot where you create an advanced operating system called J.O.E.L. that is meant to aid students by helping in math—but it ends up multiplying itself and square-rooting children to death. You have to factor out these evil systems and battle against them using compasses and protractors. Not only will it be educational, but it will feature key Bradbury-ian components. With this idea for your next story, I know that it will certainly be a bestseller and that Dr. Moiles will soon be teaching it to his own class next year. Thank you for your attention and endless empathy. Best of luck to you! With deep admiration, Craig V. Buhler
Math teacher and budding Sci-Fi writer Mr. Defauw read this letter and responded: Buhler. I disagree and, this is not what I feel about this. Appreciate the feedback, but not really cuz people told me i can write pretty good. my daughter loves my stories even tho shes only 5 yrs old. Yours always—Defauw. Sent from my iPhone.
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Mischievous
Jorden Dumas ‘20 oil pastel
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Color
Kalei Sliwinski ‘20
Color describes the way the human eye perceives the depth of light rays bending around an object. It is one of the first words learned in language programs, the spectrum of Roy G. Biv taught to every elementary school student until they are able to recite it from memory, forwards, backwards, and sideways until those colors become a blur and the only thing they think of when they see a rainbow is red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. Then primary and secondary colors swirl together in a whirlwind of middle school art classes while in the world, real colors have been muted. No longer baeing appreciated as they should be. Now, though: take a look around you. The people you have, the place where you exist. Look deeper. You might observe colors you didn’t know existed. You might begin to love a color previously you hated. The richness of the brown of your significant other’s eyes. The deep pink in your friend’s cheeks laughing at something you said. The beauty of the purples and oranges surrounding us as the day ends and a new dawn begins. The mixing and continuous moving and ebbing of colors in the space hovering above our heads, the water flowing beneath our feet. Color exists, morphs, bends, twists, turns in the very air we breathe, the very air we could not live without. Do not let these colors become muted; colors shape our lives.
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Why I Love Wife-Beaters Fayez AliAhmad ‘18
You probably read the title of this expecting something crazy. You might be thinking one of two things: what is a wife-beater? Or, why does this guy like to beat his wife? Well I’m not married and I don’t like beating anyone. Of course I’m talking about a piece of clothing. Before I get into anything, a wife-beater is a type of tank top. The reason for the name originates to in the 40’s when they would portray a man in the movies physically or emotionally abusing his wife wearing this specific top. I promise: that’s not me. And I know it’s an offensive name. I’ll call them WRTT (white ribbed tank tops) going forward. If you’re a close friend you will already understand why I love these, but if somehow you don’t me you will soon realize that I love to wear WRTTs. I started wearing them so I could keep my shirt untucked while having a layer of clothing at my waist to keep my belt from pinching my stomach. I’m a husky guy, so this a problem known among all of us. Ok, you’re maybe wondering what I look like. Fine. Go to Google and search up Manny from Modern Family. That’s basically me. Happy? Ok, back to the story. When my friends started to realize that I was wearing WRTTs all the time, they were amused (especially given the name). They thought it was hilarious that I even wore them to school. Obviously I wore them under my shirt, but it was noticeable. So I played along and made it even more of a joke. At first, I was wearing them to be comfortable, but then I started wearing them to please my friends. Even without another shirt over top. Ok, ok, I know: I’m a tool, right? Not at all! I just enjoy making the people around me happy. If that means wearing a a specific top for men with an inappropriate name, and no other shirt on top, then so be it. I remember the first time I wore a WRTT in front of a friend. It was playoff time for the NFL, and my close friend Jack wanted to watch the Carolina PantherArizona Cardinals game together; I told him he could come over. I had just showered and put on the top without even thinking. At this point, my wardrobe choice had actually become something that was an everyday necessity. So Jack came over, looked at me, and smirked. That’s when I realized that, just maybe, for the average teenager it was weird to wear a wife-beater. But hey: I’m a weird guy. Now I’ll just lounge around in them: at the pool, in bed, sometimes even in school. So that’s my story. I encourage you to share something that’s weird about you, something that you love that others find weird and funny. We’re all weird, so lets just celebrate it! Sincerely, #1 Weirdo* Fayez AliAhmad
*N.B.: #1 School-Beloved Weirdo—and overall wonderful human being—Fayez AliAhmad Lambrequin 18
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over stimulated
William Higbie ‘19 collage
Fried Chicken
Adam Serratos ‘21 Fried chicken for breakfast Fried chicken for lunch Fried chicken for dinner Fried chicken for brunch Fried chicken is good Fried chicken is great Especially when it’s on my plate I eat fried chicken and contemplate
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Mao Tse Tung Lives in Harlem Trinity Lee ‘21
Mao Tse Tung lives in Harlem He is eating a donut and sipping tea From his pocket he fishes out a ketchup sample from the McDonald’s next to his office. At the same time in midtown Manhattan, A boy named Earl awaits to be driven home from preschool.
A Nice Tree
Gabrielle Anusbigian ‘21 mosaic tile
Three o’clock, and no sign of his father’s yellow Volkswagon. The rain starts to pour, a Noah’s flood of showers, and both Mao and Earl put on their golashes.
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we are always accepting submissions for next year’s magazine! email your writing, art, songs, films & questions to the.lambrequin@uls.net
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Sometimes, Life is the night sky. You think it is dull and gloomy Until you look up And see the sparkling stars.
poetry by Aslan Zhang ‘21 artowrk by Abigail Hung ‘18 Lambrequin 18