Cazenovia Odyssey 2015-2016
The Cazenovia Odyssey The Cazenovia Odyssey 2015-2016
Editor Anjali Harris
Book Creators Emma Berry & Jana Harris
Ava Gurney Mairin Rogers Julia Gavilondo Chris Becker Nick Barna Tori Slocum
Katie Davis Lucy Langan Julie Silverman Sophia Carroll Alfred Moskvich Hannah Brod
Cover: Caitlin Clonan
From missing flash drives to disagreements on poetry, the Cazenovia Odyssey remains a somehow vibrant and exciting magazine - beginning to end. This year’s edition showcases the artistic brilliance of students school wide, who openly express themselves. Whether for a grade or for fun, these students have amazing talents which do not go unnoticed. When first joining the Cazenovia Odyssey, my freshman year, I would’ve never expected to be in the place I am now. Publishing and promoting my work has not only boosted the confidence I have in what I create but also guided me in thinking more seriously about the pieces displayed on the following pages. Within this community, many doors were opened for me just by putting myself out there. Now moving on to Parsons School of Design in New York City, the fear I once had revolving my art has diminished. The work of an artist, poet, painter, sculptor, photographer, etc., is the work of the community. The ideas and emotions which are portrayed in the pieces you see in this magazine are that of an individual or collective who have something to say. The feelings we derive from the work leads to a greater perception of a single time in history. An explanation of what most are too timid to disclose. The risk of presentation to the world of what may or may not be commonly known. Awakening the audience to their previous ignorance to revive them, evoking any emotion the artist can reach from behind the magazine pages. As forms of art change with the ever changing technology, the one thing that stays the same is how it affects us. Tugging at the heartstrings or reminding us to smile. One of the many things a child is good at is rejecting care and creating exactly what is on their mind. This magazine stands as a reminder of the carefree nature we have all lost to some extent which is so easily tapped into by the spirit of a child. Even more so as angsty teens, who seem not to have a care in the world. To assist in spreading the message of a creator can be quite an honor, as it is nearly symbiotic; without the artist there is no message but without the messenger no one hears it. To put a symbolically historic mark on canvas, in film, on paper, of the traditions and lives of the Cazenovian High Schooler is to say “We were here,” which is pretty dope. The transparent truth about how people experienced their final years of adolescents is illuminated. A history book filled with pictures, who could say no? Anjali Harris Editor
Kat Kaylee Cunningham
Helen Barna The sun cut deep into her skin like fractured diamonds. The walk home was short yet exhausting, and she wasn’t feeling very well. (Only a few more minutes, focus on the goal at hand.) She was a nervous girl, cut deep by past pain, but she tried not to focus on it, instead, choosing to focus on the pain of an oncoming sunburn. In the door, hi Mom, how was your day?, it was good!, upstairs. Mara did her homework and her chores, then went outside happily with the rest of the neighborhood kids living on her typical, all-American street. No problems until later that night, after the warm sky turned dark and cold and diamonds stopped cutting and started glittering, no longer a bother on the back of one’s neck. Mara went inside and turned on the news. That was the problem. There was a reason Mara’s caring, adoptive parents never let her watch the news (the only rule consistently broken). That reason was the burnings. “Come now, darling. They don’t have a place in your life; you know we’re only doing them a favor.” “Of course I know it’s necessary, but why do they have to film the damn things? I know it’s the only solution, but do we need the constant reminders? Poor Mara, burnings everywhere. Must be so painful to watch. I don’t know how to shield her.” Painful? Yes. But Mara chose pain over ignorance. And every night she consistently turned on the news (wearing headphones, of course, so her mother wouldn’t be concerned), and began her routine: she watched the burnings, she whispered to her family. “Mama, Papa, Aja, Hasin, Lais.” She cried. She threw up. She went to bed. All very quietly, so as not to wake her parents two rooms over. At school the next day, Mara sat with her best friend, Elizabeth. Giggling about their cute math teacher and sharing homework answers, the nighttime pain was non-existent, like a nightmare easily shaken off and forgotten with the rising of a new sun. The other girls knew Mara was different from them. They could tell by the reddish color of her skin. But she was a member of their small society, and as little girls usually do, they soon forgot their initial worries as they became absorbed in games of hide and seek and tag on the playground. Waiting on the bench by the after school pick-up lane, Mara swung her legs contentedly and hummed the new song they had been working on in chorus. “Light them up now, let them burn, safe away now, no concern, hmm hm hm.” Mother drove up in her shiny blue minivan and smiled as she asked how McDonald’s sounded. Mara had a dentist’s appointment. Always McDonald’s after a dentist’s appointment. That night, no news! No throwing up in silence, only presidential debates overtaking channels.
School, same routine. Mara is happy. Little-girl happy, she eats her lunch and plays outside and paints a new picture of her family in art class and then colors it bright red first over their faces and then over their entire bodies and then, all that’s left is red. Mara gets sent home early. She wonders if she has another dentist appointment? (Could go for a McFlurry right now.) As her mother watches the news about India, no real shock (this was inevitable) but a sadness, definitely. A sadness for her Mara. Mara comes home. Helps mother make cookies, that’s a special treat! Mara has a healthy mother. She only makes cookies on very special occasions. Mara wonders what the special occasion is this time. Now she waits for her parents to shut their doors so she can watch the news. There’s been a red feeling in Mara all day, she can tell something is wrong. Yes, confirmed. Something is very wrong. Burnings in India. This is worse than usual for Mara. Her homeland. Why does the news show so much? Ghostly faces. Demon bodies with human eyes, begging. Sad. Nauseating. Red skin burning off red bodies surrounded by red flames but this is GOOD this is RIGHT explain the newscasters as if all citizens don’t already know. They tie them together, six people in a group, back to back, facing out. Some are struggling. All are injected with pain medication. All go limp, falling into each other, leaning against each other. Tossed together, the pile grows. A giant bonfire. Cords of wood? Cords of people. Mara remembers. She can still smell the burning skin. “The overpopulation problem in India has reached new heights since the last burning six years ago, encouraging the President to fund a new burning. Call the number at the bottom of the screen to donate now. Please remember, this is good. This is right. Without our superiority and our help, these people would be leading slow lives to inevitable deaths of starvation and disease. Help put someone out of their misery. Help an entire race out of a lifetime of pain. Be part of something grand. Thank you. Good night.” Throw up, throw up, throw up. Can’t control the volume, so mother wakes up. Mother is always gentle and comforting. She sits up with Mara, gives her warm milk and honey, holds her tight and kisses the tears away. “Oh my baby. Oh my little one. My precious, what’s the matter?” Upset. Defiant. “Mother, did you and Father donate money to have my mama and my papa killed?”
Repetition. Justification. All is good with the world. All is right.
All thoughts in my mind are diminished For I think that I am finished; As I am one and one with the Earth
I am stuck in an empty whirlpool of darkness, and I have not an idea of how to escape. My thoughts soon drift away, and so does my body. The deeper my thoughts go, the deeper I gountil I hit the sea’s rock bottom.
Sparks of memories flicker here and there; a home, a family, a town, a job...and a plane? All which don’t seem of my belonging.
As darkness engulfs me, it flows around me like hot lava. It seems that all life around has vanished... But where to?
A Deep Unknown
Creation Jacob F. Gilbert What I’m about to tell you, you may not believe, there is little you will believe about me or my story but it is all true however fantastic. I will start with the most profound fact about me, I am God. It must sound insane to you but you must believe me and my story that I have chosen to tell you in the most basic form of communication. My consciousness began very, very long ago a amount of time incomparable to you. When I became self aware I felt my first ever emotion, curiosity. I was curious of what existed around me out in the nothing I spawned in. This curiosity grew into full blown perplexion at how my existence came to be and if there was anything else anything at all out in the nothing. My sight expanded into my domain in search of form of substance outside my field of sight. This is when time truly began for it is the first event ever in the existence of anything all time can be measured back to that event and thus it is what I know as the beginning of time. Soon enough would feel my next emotion despair. Despair that I would never find any other matter ever and I would be cursed to roam endlessly in this void of nothing, but with despair comes another emotion hope. Hope to find something find that as you could say, holy grail, mother load, or jackpot that I searched for. This hope to find whatever the unimaginable object was is what drove me to finally come upon it. At this time is when my 4th and favorite emotion came to light, Happiness. Pure unadulterated happiness. It mixed with others surprise and interest, but most of all overwhelming Happiness. Happiness for a single hydrogen atom, but a single minuscule atom amazingly basic compared to the intense and complex organisms and matter that exists today. This hydrogen basis for all non-living matter ever created. I took this single atom into my essence and studied it intensely for it was so simple yet to someone born into darkness it was a ray of light. When I had a full understanding of this atom I began to rearrange it. In ways unteachable to simple corporeal life forms such as yourselves I multiplied, molded, melded and combined atoms into thousands of forms of matter making the most gigantic planets and smallest pebbles. From immense balls of fire to belts of icy pebbles or rivers of water. All three of the forms of matter you have encountered solid, gas and liquid surprisingly in that order. Ah, liquid, my favorite form of matter its adaptable flowing ever moving nature it was by far my favorite mistake for I was trying to create ice too close to fire and the slowing of the speeding up of the molecules created a most amazing substance or at least the three you perceive. Oh if you could perceive fully the universe around you the absolute spectacles of my creation right in front of you, you may feel even more wonder than me as I gazed upon my creation. All of it coming from a single atom. Trillions of years past of building and experimenting with matter experimenting. There is much I discovered in this time that I myself have little to no control over, anomalies such as gravity or light are just some of the wonders I have stumbled upon in my existence. After a very long time of studying and building my huge universe I was able to create planets in millisecond destroy, replace or change whole galaxies with a flick of my metaphorical wrist. This is the point where I found a new emotion; desire. I wanted more something like myself, something intelligent and thinking. I tried for centuries as you would call them, to find this perfect creation to find a way to animate matter to…bring it to life. Yes I tried and tried but never could I find the perfect formula for life. All that was born out of my efforts was frustration. Then, as I gazed absentmindedly at one of my creations; a small mundane water planet on the outer reaches of the universe I felt the most surprise in my existence when I found a small single cell floating in the water. It was with that single cell I did the same as the atom. I studied, experimented, molded, melded, reproduced. The first big breakthrough I had with life was the creation of sexual reproduction. This allowed me to step back and let the species grow and expand on their own. Something fascinating happened during that time. The plants started evolving. Adapting changing without me, another product of nature beyond me. At this point all life was plants. Non-thinking organisms but not at all simple. Plants are some of the most adaptable and easiest to mold to fit all environments. Plant life around the universe exist on the hottest stars and the bottom of the coldest ocean. Yes plant life is amazing but my greed grew even more. In my early years I was greedy even more so than you humans my greed led eventually to the creation of the most complex part of the living being the brain. The brain took me a very long time to create installing it in the first being was to say the least impossible. Alas a plant with a brain did not do much good. I needed to animate these being which was a task in itself that neared impossibility . It is not possible to describe to you how I did it but once I had perfected it it was...beautiful. Free moving thinking animals of fantastic design. Animals are finicky creatures that require quite a bit of work to create their perfect environments. Whole worlds tailored to one species, it was exhausting. The solution came to me while observing a species of plant that had evolved to fit its desert environment. This gave me the thought to let animals evolve on their own. I created worlds of many environments and let loose very basic single celled organisms into them letting that single celled organism evolve with only slight interference from yours truly. It worked on only one of the differing planets although taking some time it worked amazing creatures evolved fitting perfectly to their selected portion of the planet in which they lived. I began mass producing planets with this design with only slight variations. One included the very one of which you stand. You’re quite insignificant small ordinary planet would become the most important planet I have ever created. As these organism grew and adapted I moved through them looking for certain ones giving taps and nudges in the right direction. I spent most of my time studying working hard on my next big problem: how do I make these amazing creatures, these beings of near perfection even better.
This was my hardest problem yet and like most of my discoveries it was a stroke not of divine genius but of blind luck. When the frustration of these hard studies came to a peak I discovered all at once the destructive nature of Wrath. With blind unwavering blows I tore apart much of what I worked hard to create killing millions of my perfect creatures. At the end of this wrathful rampage while I lay in the wreckage sadness regret and remorse reared their ugly heads. I was a scientist first and foremost, a scientist cannot get good conclusive work with the emotional stability of a sixteen year old girl. This outburst was my greatest regret so much was destroyed and could never be regained. Humans believe energy cannot be created or destroyed I would have agreed if not for this holocaust I let rain on my child. I was falling in this moment into an endless pit of despair when I noticed something. That small insignificant planet I mentioned earlier the one that you inhabit now, baird ancient you. Apes on this planet were thinking intelligent sophisticated thoughts for themselves. You were the first intelligent life. I knew I needed to approach this situation with extreme caution and tact. What followed was careful poking and prodding; nudging and guiding until I knew you were on the right track that you are everything I would hope for. I was able to replicate you in all forms around my universe but making sure the originals stayed in a controlled environment I kept them away from you for fear of disrupting your fast growing species. It is amazing to see how quickly species evolve and better themselves (well quick from my perspective). Within a couple thousand years you went from apes rolling in the dirt to building amazing pyramids living in castles and writing down, recording your own history becoming self aware. WIth your high intelligence and self will came faults. As mine did your greed began to consume you, always wanting more and to be better than all others has been your downfall in the past. seeing you make the same mistakes as me was heartbreaking, a slow agonizing sadness and pity fell over me but dwindle in comparison for my new found pride in your species.That pride was bruised when the man named Cain committed the first ever act of murder. When I witnessed this horrendous act my shock and horror was overwhelming. My true fear was that you would become like that in a fit of anger you would massacre each other. To prevent your species from letting this fear come true I created a species to watch over you. They were a highly advanced kind species of what you would call Angels. Created to keep you safe and on the right track while I was off in my universe tending to other matters. I created them to be highly intelligent, powerful and pure in all their emotions. Emotionally sound as so they would not abuse their powers. I gave them your faces and bodies so that they would not terrify you. All powerful and tailor made for one soul purpose keeping you from destroying yourselves. But as all species do they evolved, twisted their purpose and eventually altogether abandoned it for they saw no hope in keeping you safe without revealing themselves fully. I had given them a rule to not reveal themselves, to not disturb your ecosystem. They failed at this task in the beginning for they had not perfected it. Sparking your curiosity with the celestial. My greatest disappointment in your species was your “discovery” of me. You were completely independent, free thinking, and willful until your curiosity of how your beautiful world was created or even how you were created brought about your more so invention of God. God became your crutch to not think about your universe not study the hard questions, it was a blatant excuse for your laziness, and it was maddening to me. There is nothing I want more for your species than for you to begin thinking freely again, to begin again to understand science and be free of my burden. This is my soul wish for you and if you have any love for me you will do this. Many questions might plague your mind at this point one I can answer may be: Who created you? Why are you revealing this to me if you wish us to not believe in you? Well the answer to that begins with me standing out on the edge of my creation. I was feeling nostalgic at this time, thinking back on my “birth” out in that darkness and I had the same questions as you did in those early years, Where did I come from. I stared out into that abyss for a long time before I noticed something. If I would appear to you I assume I would appear as light a mass of swirling light. With that said I saw out in that darkness a small spec of light, a while later another appeared and then another until the horizon of that darkness was filled with light like mine. It was purest fear I have ever felt when I realized what that light was, that light was the answer to my earlier question those lights where my kin those lights are coming closer and I fear with all my being what will happen when they get here.
Happiness Emma Berry
Once upon a time, there was a sad little girl. Her father was an alcoholic who beat her daily, and her mother didn’t care much to stop it. One day, after an especially harsh beating, it became too much. In her small, under-furnished bedroom, she looked out her dirty window and into the night. Opening it, she said to the moon, “Why am I so sad all the time? All of my classmates always play together and smile, but I never can. I wish I was happy.” Like in prayer, every night, the little girl would open her window, look out at the moon, and say, “I wish I was happy.” After many months of wishing, the little girl began losing hope. She began sobbing. “I wish I was happy,” she whimpered. Her small body draped over the windowsill, the little girl noticed a beautiful red butterfly, fluttering towards her. It passed her, soaring into the room’s center. Its ethereal glow captured the little girl’s amazement. But, insectile legs morphed into long limbs, and red wings melted into a flowing dress. And as the beautiful butterfly transformed into a beautiful woman, the little girl’s enthrallment intensified. The woman had long, coal black hair and a blood red dress that slithered down her body and pooled at her feet like hot wax down a candle. Her red lips pushed against her pale, ghostly skin as she spoke. “I am the goddess of the moon, child,” she said. The little girl looked up with a blank face. The goddess’s black eyes narrowed as she smiled. “I have heard your wish these last few weeks, but I’m afraid I cannot comply,” she said. The little girl woke from her trance. “But why?” she exclaimed, ignoring the twinge of annoyance that momentarily marred the goddess’s beautiful features. “I cannot fulfill your wish because happiness gained without labor causes corruption upon the soul,” replied the goddess kindly. “But I always feel sad! If you’re a goddess, you shouldn’t let me suffer like this!” screamed the little girl, causing a look of rage to quickly cross the goddess’s face. “Shut up, girl!” yelled the little girl’s father from his bedroom. The little girl jumped a little and looked down. The goddess snickered. “Please! Can’t you see that I need this? You really are a goddess, aren’t you?” whispered the little girl. The goddess smiled and said, “Fine. You may have your ‘happiness,’ but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The goddess snapped her finger and the little girl’s face went slack as she fell back onto her bed. When she awoke, she was happy. When she got to school, she played with the other kids for the first time, and she was happy. Even when she fell while playing soccer, she didn’t cry because she was so happy. And when she joined in the game again, and was shoved over again, she was happy. The next day everyone at the school ignored her but she was happy. After school, on her walk from the bus stop, the little girl heard an echoing snicker. She looked around but, seeing no one nearby, let it slip from her mind. When she walked into her house and was beaten by her father in a drunken rage, the little girl was happy. And when she limped past her mother on her way to her room receiving only a look of disgust, she was happy. In her room, the little girl heard the same echoing laugh that she had heard at the bus stop. When she looked in the mirror, she couldn’t stop the wide grin that crossed her face as she observed the bruises and cuts littering her little body. The next day, the little girl noticed her school bus driver staring at her, and she was happy. But the little girl’s stop was the last one, and the two were alone on the bus. The driver turned onto the highway and stopped the school bus at the side of the road. He stood up and turned to look at her. She smiled. 8
When the bus driver raped her, the little girl was happy. And when the bus driver told her she was no fun, the little girl was happy. And when he forced her out onto the highway, the little girl was happy. As the bus pulled away, the little girl stared. But soon, she began walking home. Her stretched dress hung loosely on her shoulder and her empty backpack dragged along the ground. It was around five and the little girl had been walking for more than an hour. She noticed a gray sedan, skidding haphazardly across the lanes. The woman inside was looking down at her phone. As the car began dashing toward her, she stood still and smiled, as though she was giving a polite greeting to an old acquaintance. When the woman in the car rammed into the little girl, breaking several ribs and severely puncturing her lungs, she was happy. At the hospital, the little girl’s eyes began to droop. She heard the beeping of various life saving devices and the chatter of the patients in the lobby. She heard the hustle of the doctors around her, and she heard her parents refuse her surgery. She opened her eyes wearily and looked at them. She smiled. When she died, the little girl was happy. But Elsie’s eyes opened. She found herself in a long plane of rock. In the distance she heard screaming. She saw mangled people fending off some imaginary enemy, completely unconscious of those around them, tortured by their own minds. Elsie heard a snicker and turned. The moon goddess smiled down upon her. But soon, her smile became full-blown laughter, and the sound mixed with the screams of the twisting humans around her. “Why…” Elsie started. “Just look at yourself!” the goddess screeched. Elsie was naked, like the other humans littering the plane, and covered in thick black goo. Patches of visible skin were ingrained with shining dark purple bruises. Yellow liquid oozed from her pores, diluting the shiny blackness that covered her. Blood dripped from her chest and face, down her body. “What is this?” Elsie asked quietly. “What did you do to me?” she demanded, much louder this time. “Not me. You! You did this to yourself! I told you not to blame me at the start!” howled the goddess. Elsie’s mind traveled to that night in her room. The night she became “happy.” “But…” said Elsie. Her mind flashed to the bus driver and her eyes widened. “ But I couldn’t say no,” whimpered Elsie as she began to sob. “You were having too much fun for that, weren’t you? You were too happy!” shrieked the goddess, gufawing at her own wit. “But aren’t you a goddess? Why would you–” Elsie began. “Because I was bored,” said the goddess bluntly. Elsie froze. “And soon you’ll be just like them,” said the goddess, gesturing to gnarled human around them. “But...you’re supposed to help…” blubbered Elsie as her mind filled with visions of lunacy. The goddess of the moon smiled a cruel smile. As Elsie’s psyche was corrupted with insanity, the she said, “But wouldn’t God be mad?” The goddess of the moon stopped laughing. She looked at Elsie, straight in the eye and said, “What God? There is only me.” And with that, “Elsie” turned into back into “the little girl,” and then was no more.
Compare to what people keep in their eyes like the light of an apartment in a sky scraper
The dark and dreary lamps in the city drizzle
Without knowing you’ll find yourself dancing to avoid people’s un-knowing feet and whatever they may keep there
To look at the world between light
They reflect city streets sometimes empty except when you seem to forget your spark
Ah those shadows!
We love to keep our spark in our hearts, But I also love to keep my shadows at my feet
Black Ink In Water
For we think we find that cats and half-sparked are the ones cut off
Now and again you’ll find Black cats leaping, dancing around un-knowing feet and lonely people with half-spark seem to be trampled by un-knowing hearts
Oh So slowly
They see more than anyone on city streets
on a drizzly rainy day.
All because you remembered your shadow,
You realize that people forget about their feet
Up the trail I’ve walked a thousand times There lays a tree. The tree of laughs, The tree of late nights, The tree of memories. Once had made my childhood great. Yet, now, the tree is in ruins, As wind moans through the dead branches The memories wash away. The tree that once stood, As I walk the trail one last time. By Katie Robbins
New Woodstock Shannon Croft Chips in the chimneys Dappled dam Sidewalk cracked, woods not so far back Old homes, hidden around, the station is only just back. Rolling fields and sunlit hills, hardly a sound at night.
A small place, my real home the only one I’ve ever known The smell of maple, pine; crisp and warm of streams and ponds; cold and gentle Birds roost wherever cats roam wherever I’d have it no other way I’m going to miss it someday 13
To wish it gone is to wish it here Though neither will have truly left. Lend one to the earand without fear safeguard the other from theft.
The fire of thoughts lead to war, upon which brings death. The fire of the soul leads to ardor to last till the final breath.
Two Forces, so difficult in nature, Yet bleed the same in color. Both can break the heart, Yet one no more than the other.
Shao Demyttenaere and Emma Nuñez
Uncertain, the scales continue to sway, As truth and lies begin to fray. And just to pull a single thread Is to end it all in red.
Do not inquire too avidly for one, For you will surely find the other. Only when you learn of both Will you understand another.
By midsummer’s day beneath the trees, stare into thousands of twinkling lights, and wonder perchance, do I think of thee? Will we meet again, after lonely nights? If by boat or by foot may we meet anon for doth the sun shine for you as I wait, unchanged, ‘neath the silvery spotted moon. My heart grows heavy though it be our fate, separated by a life of sorrow. Remember me though I am far from you, problems we face today and tomorrow. What, pray tell my dear will you now go through? I shall miss you till the end of my days, my only regret is we parted ways.
Opposite Ends of The World
Gifts in the Hospital
The gift of life is given and he, in turn, touches many others with his gifts. We love and are grateful. Unprepared, sudden downfall brings you to that infamous walk across the bridge. Our city glistens and the sun shines through the windows as you enter the house of many tears and memories and heartache. One last look at hopefulness before the sting of sickness traps your mind and spirit. You see him: prayers are on your tongue and weight is on your heart. Thank you for the gifts of your love and your life. Let me pass on your wisdom as you have done for me, wisdom from those whose love we both shared, and hard times we’ve gone through together. Let me grow from your experience and be able to pass on your gifts. Perhaps, one day, someone will peer over the city as they march across the bridge for me, and once again, resonate with the gifts that my family has passed down. Katie Davis
Where I’m From
I am from sleeping bags and snacks from Fischer and Decristo butting heads and fighting. I am from protecting the one I care most about from long nights in the cramped closet, holding each other tight. I am from hiding food and myself. I am from my mom saying to my sister, “No one will ever love you until you love yourself.”
I am from the Adirondack chair picture, hanging in my parents’ room from road trips and doodles I am from “Get in the car” and “Stop fighting with your brother.” I am from my mother’s beautiful garden where money was spent more there than groceries.
One circle; hand in hand. Caring hand with caring hand. Singing the songs of our hearts And dancing with the thoughts of our souls.
One circle; hand in hand. Hand of a sister with hand of a brother. Breathe on our hopes and dreams. Breathes out troubles of a day’s path.
Judgement Day Julia Gavilondo Waking up with tired eyes the sun’s not up yet but why am I? pull of the blankets and get out of bed get my thoughts together in my head need to get dressed need to look nice but who am I trying to impress? no one I tell myself but we all know that’s a lie how could you not care with all those judgmental eyes who wore this? how’d it look? we’re all now living by the book are they a jock? are they a nerd? if they don’t fit in a category, are they even worth my words? I can’t do that, I can’t think this we’re all afraid of being dismissed Judgments made in three seconds or less pile on top of all the stress everyone does it, we’re all the same we all play the judgment game continuing on and on until maybe we cease to care yet those questions still roam in the air who wore what? who looked best? can we ever put these ideas to rest? Stevie West
John Henry Light-Olson Sailing When I embark with open road ahead The slow life on shore gently fades away Cast off from home, distant lands in my head Nothing to hold me back, no point to stay The wind drives me forward, pushing me on I skim lightly over a breaking wave. Soon I am a dot in the distance, gone. Storms form ahead that I will have to brave. Dark clouds gather as the sea starts to grow How she rolls through the waves, heeled far to lee Sails reefed and ready, I head below Sunlight appears and we cruise to safety A new port nears, no time left to wander Tomorrow waits, off in the blue yonder
I have been exploited By a dubious decree. They said the charges would be dropped If I plead insanity.
But am I insane for seeing things That others cannot see? Their moral misconceptions Keep me from being free. I justify my mortal sin As I sit inside my cell. I had to commit a sadistic crime To secure my niche in hell. For if I am admitted To the Elysian Fields, The shrieking of the seraphim I know will never yield. But certainty of condemnation Will prevent their little scheme And never will I suffer through Another seraph scream. I killed her, not for pleasure; Not for revenge nor hate. I killed her because I have to know I have a certain fate. I know your shallow minds can’t grasp My motives or my pain. Just know my crime was justified And I am NOT insane.
Nick Barna Nick Barna
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Walking through the gray-green field The working murky lurkers yield To watch me and my Bloodhound tread On our way to home and bed. We have walked this way before. Footprints set in sets of four, But mine are set in sets of two. Two for me and four for you. We’re alone, yet we feel the eyes. A peaceful sorrow therein lies. A droopy cooing finds the air; Up to the sky I look and stare. A silver starling sings a song. Something simple, something strong. Its wings are tinged a hint of green, Something I have never seen. I grasp some grass and dirt in hand The grass is glass, the dirt is sand. No trees were strong enough to stand On this gritty, grainy land. The murky lurkers watch our stroll But soon will head back to their holes To sleep the night in warmth and ease Away from teasing freezing breeze. The plane of light falls to our level Night voices emerge, and in them I revel. I begin to run. My dog joins in. Oh, what a glorious day it has been. But now it is time to turn and head back. It will be easy, we’ll follow our tracks. Mine are set in sets of two. Two for me and four for you. Nick Barna
Eric Lidell and Will Huftalen
Who’s the voice that counts? Whoever pays the most.
Within this system Fogging overview These old renderings but there is a simple truth
Who’s the voice that counts? Years spent studying and learning Equal say as anyone is this fair or something yearning?
Who’s the voice that counts? Whomever is allowed to cast their view Portions represented, others silent Democracy represents many, however few
Who’s the voice that counts? “The population” “However votes amount” “Whoever has an education”
Winter is now here but you are not here nor there the snow will still fly The wind through the trees my thoughts crying out to me lovely leaves are gone reminding me of the past they will grow again.
Jamie Joseph A place that means so much but is so plain What makes it significant is the game A place where thoughts drift away A place where you can forget about your day It’s fresh grass, newly drawn lines The sun setting far behind As the lights turn on and the night gets dim The passion and desire becomes greater to win You hear the crowd, your teammates too All that matters now is the game, the ball, and you
The Toymaker Tori Slocum Some legends are based off of true stories. The Toymaker was one of those. Some people considered him a mortal man, others an immortal and grotesque beast who fed off the fear of children. I considered him to be both. I was a part of his game before, drawn in like the rest of the children by a mere music box. The enchanting music like an ice cream cart somehow drawing us in. Bringing us closer, closer, into the abandoned subway stations. Many children were taught to stay away but the music claimed all souls with no resistance. We were in deeper every passing minute. The Toymaker loves to watch his victims being drawn in. There was one way mirrors on all the walls. I could feel his eyes on me, burning holes into my back; His hands against the mirror, and his ice cold breath that sent shivers down my spine. Me, along with the rest of the children, began feeling nauseous and soon fell unconscious only to wake up in cages with the screeching of metal in our ears. This intense sound was combined with screams, human screams and maniacal laughter. As days went by, more children began disappearing from the cages. More metal screeching, more screams, and more laughter. I cover my ears as the noise is maddening. I am going to die or am I already dead... maybe i’m merely death itself. I feel my brain wither away, deteriorating. It is my turn now, my cell opens and I am dragged, no carried to the Toymakers workshop. The sights are worse than the noises. I didn’t have time to ponder further as I was thrown in a chair, one leg tied, one arm, and then the other leg. I feel the fuzziness and fatigue once again. Falling into to the darkness, further, only to consider... Will I wake up?
Emily Kielbasinski Onstage I’m in my element. I’ve always loved theatre, from the first show I saw, You’re A Good Man Charlie Brown, I wanted to be onstage and I wanted to watch more like it. I don’t remember a lot from the show but I do remember asking my grandmother to make all the costumes so I could perform it at my preschool. This didn’t stop as I got older. For birthdays and Christmas I was asking for The Little Mermaid Original Broadway Cast soundtrack while other girls in my class were asking for new clothes. When others were falling in love with Justin Bieber, I was falling in love with shows like Once Upon a Mattress, Shrek the Musical, Damn Yankees, and Annie Get Your Gun. My classmates were looking up to the quarterback on the varsity team, or the prom queen. I was looking up to the leads in the High School shows. I had my first taste of performing, (I mean really performing- not just standing in the back and singing) in eighth grade when I was Gertrude McFuzz in Seussical. I couldn’t believe how amazing it felt. I became that character. I still talk in her voice sometimes without realizing it. When I stood up there on stage and took my bow on the first curtain call, it just felt right. I knew that I didn’t want to do anything else in my life. I felt the same feeling when I saw Wicked in the second row at the Landmark Theater in Syracuse. I was a mess of emotions. I cried at the opening number even though it was supposed to be happy. I knew that Elphaba wasn’t really dead but Glinda didn’t. I cried at Defying Gravity because I was so overwhelmed with emotions. I was covered in goosebumps. I cried again at For Good because you would have to be heartless not to. By the end, I was a blubbery, sobbing mess. I stood with all of my being for the standing ovation and bawled in my mom’s shoulder, choking out, “Thank you!” over and over again. I left that theater a changed person. I felt the same way when I saw Newsies on Broadway- my first ever Broadway show. I still have some of the prop newspaper that the newsboys threw to the audience. I’ve kept every playbill from every show I’ve ever seen or been in. I have two scrapbooks full of them. When I tell people that, they give me a look. Collecting playbills is no different that collecting baseball cards though. I wouldn’t trade them for the world. When I was in 5th grade and the firemen from the fire safety presentation asked me what the first thing I would save in a housefire would be, of course at first I thought of my family, but then I realized I wouldn’t be able to leave my house without my playbill collection. Most people in my class said their phone. Theatre people are my people. When we stand together in silence before a show, holding hands, just passing energy around, it’s calming. It’s like the calm before the storm of emotions that go along with performing. I am lucky enough to have found something that makes me incredibly happy and where I feel like I belong. A lot of people never find that. I’ve known what I wanted to do with my life for as long as I can remember. Theatre is my home. I couldn’t imagine my life without it.
33 Julia Gaviolondo
i am here i am there i am nowhere
lost within glimpses of parallel dimensions
so far gone as i snap myself back with a pinch of remembrance
something so unnatural to the world only existent to us time is a social construct, to keep things neat, and organized it means next to nothing but somehow it is so valuable no one ever seems to have enough it’s continuously slipping through our fingers. ~ scared and disoriented alone as i try and try tireless efforts to escape this maze
it muddles the brain the idea of time what a simple concept