The Journal 

Table of Contents

Letter From the Editors

Firstly, Thank you for reading the first volume of our journal. As this is the first volume, we decided to include our own pieces for the purpose of filling the pages and getting the journal off the ground. We hope you enjoy a Mixed bag of writing.

-Evi, Izzy, Jacob, and Sydney

Prose

On the Way Out

Evi Fitzgerald

The marks on my walls tell me I have been here for 487 days. In that time, babies have been born, couples wed, mothers and fathers lost, and the Earth has continued its perpetual and agonizing crawl around our Sun. The world continues without me as I wilt in here without it. I haven’t seen the Sun in weeks; or maybe it’s only been days, I can’t tell. Nor have I felt the breeze coming off the bay, or heard a bird chirp. It’s a sorrowful existence, albeit one I succumbed myself to. If I had known then what I know now, maybe I would have thought twice, but maybe I wouldn’t have, and maybe I still would have ended up here. Either way, there’s no use in ruminating on what-ifs. It will be over soon, and I’ll get out, and the Sun will feel so warm and the Earth so anew; all of this won’t matter. I won’t be able to recall the feeling of loneliness so potent it burns in my throat, or the taste of stale bread and old oatmeal, or even the way the cool metal of my shackles feel around my ankles. My wrists. My neck.

One guard has become fond of me, even though we don’t speak to each other. I know this because lately there have been two pieces of bread on my tray instead of the usual one, and sometimes even a small pad of butter to go with it. The butter days are both the best and the worst.. I wish to savor the salty fat on my tongue forever, but the yearning only makes it that much harder after the butter is gone, which is inevitable. Once I tried to stash the butter away in my cell, but it melted and covered with dirt before I could return to it. There are other, small, butter-like moments here. At night I can hear the other inmates singing, sometimes joined by a lone harmonica or the banging of spoons against metal bars, that flows through our hollow home and creates some semblance of normalcy. Once, when I had just arrived here, a guard was retiring and there was leftover cake from his going away party. They gave it to those of us on kitchen duty that week, and the Lord must’ve been shining down on me because I was one of the few who got to enjoy the sweet treat. It had the same effect as the butter, but this was before I had come to know such turmoil.

Soon I’ll be out. Soon I’ll be gone. I requested cake for my last meal. Chocolate, just like we had the day the guard retired. They don’t tell you when exactly your time is, just the date, so you spend your last moments on God’s green Earth in dread of what’s to come. I won’t let them do this to me. A man’s only freedom in these situations is to choose his attitude, so I choose to not let those bastards decide for me. Instead, I’ll spend the day dreaming of the taste of chocolate cake. I wonder if they will have gotten it frosted. Maybe there will be candles, and decorative icing spelling out “Bon Voyage” in pretty cursive. I always wondered about the kind of restraint it took to be able to write so beautifully, so precisely, with icing. Perhaps if I knew this kind of restraint I would not be here. There I go again, what-if, even up to the last second. Maybe there is no such thing as restraint, and we are all just constantly giving into our bodily impulses at whim. Maybe the cake decorators wish they could hold themselves back from creating such beautiful designs.

It doesn’t matter now. Not the restraint, nor the cake, nor the butter, nor the breeze of the bay, nor the Sun. Soon it will all be obsolete, replaced by a quiet I have only read about in books or heard of in songs. The sound of silence.

It must be almost time now, I can hear the guards shuffling down the hall towards me. What will my last thought be? Will I cry out, beg for mercy at the last minute? Repent for my sins? I’m not sure. We’ll have to wait and see. Here they come; I can hear the key in the door. The buzzer echoing through the hall to inform everyone one of us is out of his cage. This is the last I’ll see of you, old pal.

I’ve left some butter in the corner, under the bed. I hope it doesn’t melt. 

Love is Natural

Evi Fitzgerald

I curl into myself the way a river bend follows the land's curves. Skin that is squishy and soft grows taut, skin that is taut bends. I breathe in deeply, focusing on the feeling of air expanding my lungs.

         My lungs, which have kept me alive for twenty years.

I fold forwards, my face towards the Earth and my back to the Sun. She reaches down from her infinite home and caresses my bare skin. Her fingers are warm–hot–more than anything I have ever felt. She could cleanse me with fire, if she so pleased.

         Today she is feeling merciful, though, and only runs long tendrils of fingers across my exposed back. I close my eyes and hold my breath. Her touch is all consuming.

✲

Under the table, human meets human. The layers between us, his jeans and my skirt, melt away under the feasible tension between our appendages. I hold myself back, aware of every cell in my body, and feel them vibrate at a frequency only achieved through human connection.

Who makes contact first? Is it mutual?

Bone hits against bone, and there is an explosion. Searing lava breaks the surface, blowing out of its rocky prison. It leaks down our legs, branding our gentle skin with fiery patterns. Millions of years ago, did cave people experience this same feeling? Did they dare to touch their desire, and were granted with the feeling of energy bursting around them? Or is this new? Are we the first people to ever feel this?

My ears pop from the altitude, and a smile breaks my face.

✲

We scream together. I am angry, and she is angry on my behalf. I stand so close to the edge that small rocks and dirt crumble and release themselves to the darkness below under the weight of my toes. I dare to lean forward, inching towards such a fate, but she pushes me back. Her graze whips my hair, blurring my vision. She brings tears to my eyes, and I resist the urge to shut them tight. To retreat inside of myself.

I roll down the window, and she excitedly welcomes me. She pulls the skin of my face taut, singing her aged melody in my ears. I inhale deeply, testing her strength, and she consumes me from the outside in. Her entire being fills me, and I gasp, reanimated by her force. I reach out my hand and try to capture her in my shaking palms, but she is too quick. She teases me, sneaking through my outstretched fingers, close but never letting me go all the way.

✲

My heartbeat pulsates in my ears, or are those my ear drums? They work as a marching band, blasting under the stadium lights, sweating from the exertion of carrying their instruments, kept alive by the sound of cheering. You lean in. The band silences. I am holding my breath, and they cannot play without it.

I mirror you, and upon connection I release the breath through my nose and the band comes back at full force. It is the national championship, and they must be the best in show. You seem to be sending me signals from skin to skin, and I have never felt more connected.

✲

        You tickle my toes, bringing me in. I curl them inwards at your cold touch. You momentarily back off, then rush forwards, this time reaching all the way over the tops of my feet. A squeal emerges and rings through the air, was that me or you? You retreat once more, but this time I follow you, beckoned by your call. You’re silky smooth, and your salty smell evaporates towards me, soaking into my pores and hair. You smell fresh, like newly washed sheets, and you provide the same comfort. Finally, you convince me. I break through your surface and let you take me, surrounding me with your cool embrace.

✲

We are connected. Your limbs are my limbs. Your hair is my hair. Your eyes are my eyes. You place a gentle kiss on my shoulder in the same place the sun kisses me. You breathe life into me the same way the wind blows through me. You bring goosebumps to the surface of my skin and curl my toes the same way the ocean teases me.

You are connected to them, and them to me. 

Lemon House, Canary Slide

Izzy deGrasse

I woke up and looked down the hallway to my parent’s room. My mom had a towel wrapped around her blonde hair, the color that set her apart from me. But, today the air was sweet in my bedroom and I was willing to face the outside. She called me over as she sat by her small mirror propped on the windowsill doing her makeup, a morning tradition. She told me to look outside at our backyard, and asked if I saw anything yellow. My eyes darted frantically, only to be consumed by the pale-lemon siding of our house until I saw her finger obstruct my view and give me the answer- a bright canary slide that was attached to the end of our weathered playset. The playset in which the wood darkened every day from rain and active feet sliding through it on sunny days. The slide breathed new life into my backyard getaway and I was elated.

My mom asked me to wait, but I had already run past the sliding door. There I was in my pajamas, feeling the dew of the grass on my bare feet. My dad was already downstairs in anticipation of my excitement. I thanked him in one quick passing as my soles hit the warm grass, climbed up the side of the playhouse using the tattered rope that was faded from white to taupe, but still held me up. I went down the slide about ten times that morning until I was dragged inside to eat. That same day in the late summer afternoon, my dad grilled chicken kebabs with fresh vegetables and my mom brought out sliced watermelon in a large ceramic bowl. I brought my CD player outside, just so I could have my favorite things together in that moment.

It was like a collage I had dreamed. Inhaling fresh fruit, hitting play on my Selena “Dreaming of You” CD, then running to my swings and brand-new slide without wiping my mouth of the watermelon juice. I felt the fresh air on my face and stared at the clouds moving across the sky, I furiously kicked my legs dangling below the swing, getting as high above the ground as I could, and going as fast as possible.

These summer days of carelessness seem to escape my mind now. I only remember them in bits and pieces, when “Como La Flor” comes on shuffle I smile and think of running through the grass and staring up at the sky, funny how these habits still follow me today. The sky still brings me a sense of peace, even when I am burnt out on my last breath I look to the clouds and smile feeling air on my face for a moment, swing, or no swing. The little girl that would go insane for jellybeans, run across the yard barefoot just to pet my cat and jump off of the highest point of a swing is very much still alive in me. She gets lost so easily these days, but if I got the chance I would tell her to keep swinging.

Once - Second Draft

Jacob Mina

The first time I fell in love with someone, I saw all of her friends laughing at me alongside her.

The first time I had a girlfriend, I had no idea what I was doing. It cost a friendship.

The first time I confessed my feelings to someone, I already knew the answer was no.

The first time I kissed someone, my confidence and adrenaline shot up. Too bad it was with “her” of all people.

The first time I wanted to end a relationship on my terms, I was a coward and too afraid to do it myself. I thought the world of her and I didn’t want to upset her or destroy her happiness. Apparently she liked me for a really long time. I thought it was selfish to think of my own happiness first, I had to have a friend to break up for me. Pathetic I know.

The first time I walked through the halls of my high school as one of its students, I knew I would never belong, never fit it. I started as an outsider and I graduated as one too.

The first and only time I sat in a principal's office, I can’t even remember how it felt. All I remember is that the principal went easy on me, my parents didn’t.

The first time I was able to date an ex again, I was ready to fix my mistakes. It wasn’t till much later that I realized that the problem wasn’t me.

The first time I blocked someone, it felt good I can’t lie. Being able to let go and have it all evaporate.

The first time I was blocked, my emotions flew into a violent frenzy, unable to properly express how I felt.

The first time my mind slipped to a dark place, it didn’t last long thanks to the passion of a friendly voice on my phone. 

The first time I had an argument, it was my fault and I knew it. Yet my mind automatically forced me to defend myself.

The first time I was proud of myself, I looked up from a podium to see a small crowd in a school theater cheering after I read some words on a page that I myself wrote.

The first time I actually enjoyed a class, it was my 4th and final year in high school. 

The first time I said goodbye to a friend, I knew we were no longer friends, but in our memories, we always will be.

 The first moment I realized that I just wanted to be happy and not impress anyone, I was 17 years old.

“There’s a first time for everything”, “you only get one first impression”, “be the first person to do this”. People are obsessed with “the first ''. The idea of something new. It’s as if we’re always in a race against ourselves, to have our first of something mean something.

The first time I tried writing this, it sucked. 

We (asked) the People

Jacob Mina

“Alright folks! for tonight's show, our category will be: ‘Living in America’! Our contestant looks ready to go, so let’s get started!”

“Here’s question 1!”

“Of the options available, whose opinion matters the most?”

-Your parents

-School Bullies

-Your own

or

-Friends and loved ones?

“Correct you are! Those school bullies know everything about you, so you should recognize that their insults are valid.”

“Our contestant is off to a strong start as we move onto Question 2!”

“What is the lowest grade acceptable for a student to get in school?”

-B-

-E

-D+

Or

-C?

“Oh no, I’m sorry but that is incorrect! The answer is B-, everyone knows anything lower than that means the student might as well drop out! You parents out there know what I mean”

“Don’t get discouraged, we still have a lot of questions to go as we move on to question 3!”

According to society, what is the most important part of a person?

-Their personality

-Their lifestyle

-The way they look

Or

-Their Work ethic?

“Correct you are! Physical appearance is the first and only thing you should judge about a person! Make sure you really take in how a person looks and not what they say when you first meet them!!”

“That last one was too easy. So here’s a tough one folks! Question 4.”

“What should you keep away from your children?”

-Violence

-Video Games

-Art degrees

Or

-Positive Reinforcement?

“Trick question folks! They’re all the right answers! You know that we love throwing our contestant freebie answers every once and awhile!”

“Let’s back on track now though, Question 5!”

“True or false: Words hurt more than any weapon?”

“That is indeed false ladies and gentlemen! Everyone knows that you can just write off whatever is said at you. Remember that old saying ‘sticks and stones’ and nothing will ever bother you again! Those silly little youngsters are just making up stuff cause they’re lazy and so,  these so-called doctors can take all of our money. More like mental WEALTH amiright?”

*laugh track*

“Since we are halfway through the show, let’s take this time to interview our lovely contestant!”

…

“Just kidding! No one cares who you are unless you become famous! DUH! Let’s get back to our exciting questions!”

“We’re in the home stretch now folks, as we now have Question 6”

“What is the most important school subject?”

-U.S History

-English

-Race Theory

Or

-Physical Education?

“Another trick question folks! There’s three right answers in there! You don’t need to make a THEORY about the one that isn't the right answer”

Question 7

“True or False,  the movement should be renamed to ‘all-lives matter”

“That is absolutely true! All of these ‘woke’ movements have really painted us in a bad light and I think it’s unfair! Can I get an amen?”

“AMEN!”

“Moving onto Question 8”

“What area of our nation needs more funding?”

Education

Police

Corporations

Or

Non-profits?

“Correct! Those poor little corporations put in so much effort to bring us good services and products. Corporations would never do us wrong ever! Which is why I wanna thank tonight’s Sponsor Chick-Fil-A! Good food and good people!”

“Almost done folks! Question 9”

“Which well known saying remains true even to this day?”

-imitation is the sincerest form of flattery

-boys will be boys

-Maybe actually means no

Or

-A mother knows best?

“Boys will indeed always be boys! As long as your wife doesn’t hear what you say to the boys right? (honey if you’re watching, I promise I love you so much please I didn’t say anything bad)”

“Aaaannnnyyyways, how about we wrap this up”

“For our final question, our contestant will write in their answer on the provided whiteboard. And here it comes, the final question…”

“What is the one key to success?”

“I will ask again, what is the one key to success? We ask the audience to please keep their answers to themselves.”

“Alright, looks like our contestant has put in their answer, let’s take a look.”

“To answer the final question of ‘what is the one key to success’, our contestant wrote down ‘luck’.”

“And”

“That”

“Is”

“The”

“Incorrect answer I’m sorry. The answer is ‘tenacity’.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, give it up for today’s contestant, they gave a hell of a show! We are out of time for tonight, but I will see you all next week! Thank you and goodnight everyone!” 

Poetry

Soup

Izzy deGrasse

Book Reviews

Love in the Time of the Surreal: A Review of 

Someone Who Will Love You In All Your Damaged Glory

Sydney Maguire

If you pick up a book with “love” in the title, one with a jacket the color of pink candy hearts reminiscent of Valentine’s Day, the last thing you expect is to be thrown into worlds of bloody goat sacrifices and mutant creatures made from the DNA of ex-presidents. But this is exactly what Raphael Bob-Waksberg does in his debut collection of short stories, Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory. Known for being the creator of the Netflix series BoJack Horseman, Bob-Waksberg takes a look at love and relationships and breaks them down into the absurd, the relatable, the impossible, and the laughably honest.                                                                                                          

“No one can ever really understand the tangle of experiences and passions that makes you who you are. It’s a secret collection, a private language, a pebble in your pocket that you play with when you’re anxious, hard as geometry, smooth as soap,” (91).

This “private language” is at the heart of Bob-Waksberg’s storytelling. He writes about the landmarks of our broken hearts, the notes and emails we collect to remind us, and in my personal favorite of the collection, “Missed Connection–m4w”, the gaze that holds us without saying anything.

Bob-Waksberg also examines the complexity and pitfalls of platonic relationships: between friends, bandmates, coworkers, siblings, man and his dog. The relationship between half-siblings on vacation in Mexico in “These Are Facts”, as well as brother and sister witnessing an autobiographical play in “You Want to Know What Plays Are Like?” are particularly emotionally resonant and show a more realistic side of his abilities. 

As the creator and executive-producer of a show about an anthropomorphic-horse-actor, it makes sense for Bob-Waksberg to lean heavily on imagined worlds in which the rules don’t apply. This is especially true in “A Most Blessed and Auspicious Occasion”, which takes wedding preparations to a whole new level: 

“I look at her, lit by fire, caked in blood, scored by the Shrieking of the Chorus and the wailing of a dying goat, and I wish I could marry her again,” (32).

However, this novelty may start to take away from the substance, as I found myself losing my footing in “We Men of Science”, about a professor’s venture into the anti-universe, and “Up-and-Comers”, about a band given superpowers after a lightning strike. 

This is the kind of collection that could easily be consumed in a day as there’s enough variety in structure and tone to keep any reader interested. Bob-Waksberg is also not afraid of the untraditional forms and uses lists, a poem, “Rules for Taboo”, a take on a Craigslist personal ad, and shifts between first, second, and third person. 

Who should pick this up? This book is for the romantics who take things with a grain of salt, who find the absurd more comforting than the real, or who turn to humor in times of heartbreak. 

Rating: 3.8/5 stars

Review of The Wedding Date by Jasmine Guillory

Jacob Mina

I find romance novels to be very predictable and I am a little tired of romance movies and novels (probably because I have to watch them all with my wife). Yet The Wedding Date by Jasmine Guillory was quite an enjoyable little read for what it was.

Its romantic set-up is "strangers fake date but then actually want to actually date for real," seen in something like Netflix's Purple Hearts or Wedding Season. Our inciting incident this time around is when our main couple Alexa and Drew get stuck in an elevator and just like that, Drew invites Alexa to be his +1 at a Wedding (to be his Wedding Date *wink* *wink*). From there, the "fake dating" begins to have its lines blurred as the pair spend more time together.

This book's biggest strength is that for once, the main couple actually have a lifestyle in common, being that they're both "workaholics". From what I've seen, a lot of romance stories usually have our main pair be wildly different life views from each other and by the end, they teach other something about each other's lifestyle and stuff (think about how many "hard working" women are paired with the "happy-free-spirit" guy). But this time, both Alexa and Drew are actually both hardworking people devoted to their job that makes them busy and also forces them into different parts of the country, which creates part of the whole "will they, won't they" feel of the book. Instead, the difference in views stem from their different racial backgrounds. While it is a bit predictable for a story about an interracial relationship, they make it feel a lot more organic and it doesn't involve something like Drew casually dropping a slur or Alexa just constantly detesting white people. Yes the dialog in the arguments is a bit too hammed up, but that's the case with every romance "argument" scene and again, I applaud a romance novel doing something semi-different for once.

A deal breaker for some people (and I've met these people) would be that the setting of the book is modern-day America, and as such includes dialog references to stuff like Starbucks and includes the two main characters texting each other. However, these two particular aspects of the story are very small parts of the story and the parts where they are included. At the very least it doesn't feel like an SNL skit in terms of reference to modern culture (aka it's not shoved in your face 24/7 hoping that you'll laugh).

(This next paragraph contains spoilers for the ending)

What IS a deal breaker for me is the fact that this book is just another romance story with the same romance story tropes, specifically the "third-act breakup" trope. You can see it coming as soon as you read the tagline of "fake dating". Of course they'll eventually blow up on each other, thinking that the "fake" in "fake dating" was always true and no real emotions were ever felt (ignoring the fact that they quite literally have sex multiple times). Meanwhile, life is literally pushing them apart because "muh job's important", only then for Drew to do the whole "but I can still make it" moment where he rushes to be just in time to see Alexa at her most important moment in life and then they make up and love each other again. It's a sweet moment, but oh-so very overplayed and tired.

(End of Spoilers)

In spoiler-free terms, my main problem with this book is that it is too "typical romance novel," no offense to the writer or anything. Considering how many romance novels she has written, she probably knows how to write romance realistically and engagingly (I mean it's probably better than the romance I wrote in my book). And I will give the book this, no plot point feels too "unrealistic." Cliche yes, unrealistic, no (most of the time).

This book is of course not for everyone, but I just felt like too many people rag on this book because it's "modern romance." Yes the setting is our modern world, but that doesn't mean the story inside of this setting isn't entertaining and sometimes amusing (and "steamy" if that's what you're looking for). It won't change your outlook on life or anything, but if an easy-to-read book written by an author of romantic pedigree sounds fun to you, give The Wedding Date a chance. 

Prosperity and Beauty from the Eyes of a Machine –

Reflecting on Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro

Izzy deGrasse

Klara and the Sun is not for those that want to escape our world when reading sci-fi, and instead finds beauty in a different perspective of a world that is not far off from our own. Ishiguro is known for the “soft sci-fi” genre that meditates on ideas of what it means to exist, what it means to feel love and connection. Ishiguro takes our values and fears in this world and stretches them into slight dystopia, somehow keeping warmth as he does so. Klara and the Sun is no exception to this fact, our narrator Klara is an artificial friend robot. Her purpose is to be a companion to children that are “lifted” in this society, meaning privileged children that have access to school and gatherings between other children that are considered “lifted” as well (as compared to less fortunate children that cannot get education or connection to other kids). Klara is chosen by a teen girl named Josie that falls in love with Klara’s curious personality.

As a reader, I did not reflect on the dystopian system of this novel much because Klara takes the reader outside of this world. I believe the reading experience could be changed depending on what type of reader one tends to be, invested in the system and dark subtext, or more interested in the existential questions that Klara brings to the forefront. She explores human emotions and how they function the exact same in this dystopia as they do in our current world including fear of loneliness, hiding vulnerabilities and pressure to conform. One instance of this is when Klara begins to understand the guarding of oneself using harshness, she relates this to her time in the artificial friend store before she was chosen by Josie to be a companion.

“They fear loneliness and that's why they behave as they do ...

I'd begun to understand also that ... people often felt the need to prepare a side of themselves to display to passers-by — as they might in a store window — and that such a display needn't be taken so seriously once the moment had passed.”

Ishiguro hints that Josie is ill in the beginning of the novel, and builds this to an unexpected twist as Klara and Josie’s companionship becomes closer and more tender (no, the twist is not what you’re thinking). Klara then extends beyond reflecting on human emotions and behaviors, and reflects on what her purpose is as a companion and a machine servicing this family. The setting comes more to the forefront at this point, and Klara feels that she can help Josie by supplying her with the sun’s power. Her naïve view of Josie’s illness embraces the reader even more than the innocent view of a child. Klara’s great wisdom and curiosity seem to hit a dead end, she loses understanding and creates further friction on what it means to be alive. This is another aspect I found compelling, the slow build into this plot twist was unexpected, and yet seemed to fit perfectly within the story. The way Klara’s view changes and her understanding of the world develops further is a mirror to the reader behind the page itself, learning more about the world in front of us. As I mentioned, this novel is not for those that want to be removed from earth and watch a battle unfold or a new society be created. Klara and the Sun is a creation paralleling our own world, through the lens of a curious and wise artificial friend that touched my heart.

Rating: 5/5