Cliché Literary & Arts Magazine: Spring 2017

ClichĂŠ

CLICHÉ STAFF & BOARD MEMBERS Board Members President Alexandra Lopez-Nadal Vice President Tiffany Nielander Marketing Director Devan Schnecker Treasurer Anna Riso

Magazine Staff Editor-in-Chief, Design Alexandra Lopez-Nadal Copy Editor Cassidy Kammerer Multimedia Editors Ilana Rothman, Cassidy Kammerer Webmaster Tiffany Nielander Writing Editors Anna Riso, Devan Schnecker Thank you for reading ClichĂŠ. For any questions or comments on this issue, please email us at clichelitmag@gmail. com. To be considered for publication in our next issue for the Fall 2017 semester, send us original photography, writing, visual or multimedia work.

Special thanks to our advisor, Professor Rachel Luria.

Our cover photo Yellow Hut was taken by Christopher Valdes. Valdes also photographed the photo on the back of our issue which is entitled

Subway Metal.

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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR Dear reader, This issue was kept short and sweet. We set out with a goal to only publish the work of those not associated with our club, and mainly students who have never been published by us before. I am happy to say that this issue succeeds in doing just that. This issue also includes a feature on our Spring Senior, which we started last issue with our Fall Freshman; we are very proud to share with you the entrancing work of artist Daniel Rico. Lastly, my brilliant staff came up with the idea for the cover designs that you see thanks to the photography of the talented Christopher Valdes. While the first thing you see are the bright colors you may find at any local beach, you are left with its parallel: a dark musical moment in an underground subway on our back cover, which is reminiscent of the train mentioned in our last published work.

Whatever mood you find yourself in or if you are looking for mystery, satire or specifically Shakespeare, you will find it among these digital pages.

Due to the amount of rising seniors we have in our staff, ClichĂŠ is currently looking for dedicated students of the Jupiter campus who have an interest in the arts and would like to be part of the 20172018 magazine staff and/or board members of our club. Prospective members would be taught to run our club and to produce magazine issues so that they can take over ClichĂŠ in the 2018-2019 school year.

It is a wonderful opportunity to support and represent the arts on a campus that is so science-driven and I hope you consider joining us. And hey, it looks great on a CV...

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TABLE OF CONTENTS Theatre in the Raw’s As You Like It............................................................5 Photos by Alexandra Lopez-Nadal

Changing My Major Parody.......................................................................10 ContrAFactor Up Too Early................................................................................................13 Alyssa Jacobson Thoughts on I-95........................................................................................14 Cassidy Kammerer Low-Riderz..................................................................................................15 Christopher Valdes Sekiguchi [An excerpt]................................................................................16 James Adaryukov Spring Senior: Daniel Rico........................................................................22 Interview by Tiffany Nielander Tadpoles [Abbreviated]................................................................................26 Cassidy Kammerer Brick Streets and Good Eats: A Guide to Adulthood outside the South............................................................................................................28 Joanna Beazley

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THEATRE IN THE RAW PRESENTS SHAKESPEARE’S AS YOU LIKE IT

On April 20th, 2017, Florida Atlantic University’s registered organization Theatre in the Raw produced a unique rendition of As You Like It for three days. The following pages are our coverage of the show on its opening day.

During the play, actress Marlee Novack shows the audience this illustration that she drew for her character Celia.

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Marissa, Arielle Routledge

Actress Cachae Alford applies makeup on her fellow actress, Britton Welliever, in preparation for the show.

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Theatre in the Raw decorated AD119 of the Jupiter campus with the sonnets of Shakespeare, inspired by those written by the character Orlando in As You Like It, along with crafted trees and real Spanish moss.

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Marissa, Arielle Routledge

Set design by Sarah Mirza.

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Marissa, Arielle Routledge

Set design by Sarah Mirza.

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CHANGING MY MAJOR PARODY ContrAFactor

What happened last night Did he really win?

Trump Trump Trump Trump Trump It’s Trump, President Trump Oh my God, last night Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God last night I got irritated I was upset and uneasy Not what I expected And I got a bit intense At one point when they were counting votes And I said who would vote for him And she called them deplorables And I just have disgust ‘Cause the president’s an idiot If nothing else, incompetent I cannot lose control And I now need to adjust So I must say that I’m Changing my major to change I’m changing my major to climate change I’m changing my major to climate change With a minor in social change Foreign study to India’s heights A seminar on our basic human rights And America’s plights Trump the U.S. president Oh God, that sounds ridiculous 10

I’ll get off the computer And I’ll work on calming down So by the time I’ve woken up I’ll be cool, I’ll be collected And then I’ll write a parody But life’s a parody ‘Cause this is quite a nightmare I’m questioning reality Writing a thesis on change It’s a cutting edge field And these times are strange I will gladly discuss in a calm exchange All the facts about climate change I will write on how we’re in a fix Familiarize myself with his cabinet picks And his devious tricks I don’t know why he thinks He should do what he does Why bring back the past With how America was Overnight, everything changed I am not prepared I’m dizzy, I’m nauseous, I’m shaky I’m scared Are we fighting against fascism Or flying into something like wartime I don’t know but I’m Changing my major to change It seems that our lives will now rearrange Now that the new president interchange Caused my concentration change 11

Look, he’s tweeted some more garbage, so dumb All ugly and orange tinted, he’s such a bum And my heart feels so glum Let’s never graduate How about we stay here ‘til Trump’s gone I’ll go to school forever We’ll fix all the demented things that Trump will derange ‘Cause I’m changing my major to change

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Up Too Early, Alyssa Jacobson

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THOUGHTS ON I-95 Cassidy Kammerer

we went seventy eighty ninety five miles an hour hands rising boldly from the open top like towers against the wind blonde and brown curls entangling like the strings of my headphones just as reluctant to disengage themselves driven by the coffee bittersweet awareness of only half an hour left driven by a sense of urgency to fly off the fast lane and away from the goodbyes we hurtled toward

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Low-Riders, Christopher Valdes

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SEKIGUCHI

or Skin Games, an excerpt by James Adaryukov

From the moment I saw Miho arrive with her new paramour, I knew that I would hate him. It was far from an unexpected sensation; as long as I could remember, my friend had a poor taste in men, most of whom were after her bank accounts more than anything else. Then again, my own proclivities for the opposite sex were little better, and I could only suppose that Miho disliked my liaisons as well. This man, though, was different.

We met one morning at the train station, each headed to our respective workplaces. Miho wore her usual cloche hat and cardigan, blending seamlessly into the fashionable crowds that threaded through Tokyo. On her left arm she slung a handbag, which I knew held the names and addresses of her former lovers. Miho was always meticulous at keeping records. Her right arm wound itself around that of a young man, no older than his early twenties.

“Ah, Houtaro!” She waved me over. Though I was in that state of mind where one is loath to interact with any living being, I moseyed over to her position. Though the station was thronged with people today, I could hear her heels clicking against the concrete as she met me halfway.

Accompanying them, in harmony, were the dull thuds of a less glamorous pair of shoes. I assumed these belonged to her companion, but for all I know, they might have been my own. “I want you to meet my friend Sekiguchi. Sekiguchi, this is my friend Houtaro.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said with trepidation, bowing to this new arrival. I couldn’t help but notice the blandly pleasant smirk on his face, the kind people use when they are forced to pay attention to something that can’t hold their interest.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Houtaro,” he said in barely a whisper. As he returned the bow, I started to glance him over, paying careful mind to each of his features. His face was not soft enough to be inviting, nor hard enough to be imposing. His hands were of the same mild, inoffensive quality, scarcely moving from his sides even as he bowed. There was nothing to note about his fashion sense – a simple black suit with a white shirt.

Sekiguchi was the face in the crowd that one knew on sight, but could never care enough to place. “Have you known Miho long?”

“We’ve been close for a few years,” I answered honestly. Close might 16

have been too strong a term; although we freely discussed our various affairs, we never made attempts to probe into each other’s characters.

I knew nothing about her past, beyond the fact that she had come from Odaiba to find steady work and new pleasures. She knew nothing about mine, although I might have told her if she asked. Yet we would regularly swap stories of our lives in Tokyo: the women I’d wooed, the men she’d courted, the booze we drank, the money we spent. On occasion, when her usual lifestyle became boring, she would call me, and we would test the limits of our respective vices on each other. But no matter how far we went, she never stayed the night. The bond we shared, such that it was, was one of mutual exclusion and inclusion at once. “What about yourself?”

“Oh, we only stumbled into each other recently. But I hope to get to know her better soon!” It was the perfect non-answer. Already I liked this man less than a minute ago.

“I hope you two will get along,” said Miho, although she probably cared little. “I think you have quite a bit in common.” Why was she comparing me to this fool?

“I suppose we’ll see!” said Sekiguchi, and laughed with a strange cadence. It might have seemed like an ordinary laugh to some, but a close examination revealed a void underneath. I felt compelled to chuckle along, but there was no mirth to be had. I stared hard at Sekiguchi, trying to get a glimpse of his true character. But I couldn’t discern anything behind his eyes, not even malice.

At long last, the train thundered down the tracks. Miho and Sekiguchi boarded, still arm in arm, their steps nearly in synch. Miho bade farewell, while Sekiguchi nodded in my direction. I responded in kind as their train rolled away. By Miho’s account, I kept staring, transfixed, at Sekiguchi’s wan face. ****

If you were anybody in Tokyo, you went to the Red Rabbit bar.

Smoky and cramped, with only a neon glare breaking through the haze, its lacquered wooden furniture suggested elegance in its youth, but those days were far behind it. Now, it was made appealing only by its clientele: politicians, authors, artists, and social climbers, all jockeying for influence and another glass of beer. That was our sanctum, a place where we could freely discuss the events of the prior week and gossip about Tokyo’s higher society under its nose. Tonight was no different, although there was an 17

unusual stilt to our conversation. I would make a joke, and she would smile wryly before gazing off into the distance. Then, she would talk a little more, and I would try again, only to meet the same reception. Neither of us cared to mention her new acquaintance. Yet we still found things to talk about.

“You know, Houtaro,” she told me, “I don’t think we would be talking like this if it weren’t for this bar.”

“Why do you think that?” I asked, head half-cocked. Miho shrugged.

“There’s a saying in the West, don’t you know? In vino, veritas – in wine, there is truth. Granted, this is far from wine,” she took a swig of Sapporo beer for effect, “but I’m sure the principle is the same. I’ve never told anyone the things I’ve told you, not a soul, and I think it’s the booze that makes me want to tell you, too. We’re so different otherwise, I don’t think we could be friends.”

“So you’re saying we’re friends now?” She paused, stared down her glass, and collected her thoughts.

“I’ve never thought about it,” she shrugged. “I suppose we are.” This was more than I had expected her to admit, given how closely she kept her cards to her chest. But on reflection, I had to agree. Somewhere down the line, we’d become friends. In fact, looking deeper, she might have been the only real friend I had.

“I’m glad,” I said. “Some of the things I’ve told you, I couldn’t tell anyone else, either.”

“We’ve all got our secrets to keep.” Obviously, she was speaking more about herself than me. “Speaking of, how’s that girl you have on the side – Azuki, her name was?”

“Akari,” I corrected her. “We broke it off a month ago. She couldn’t keep covering for me to her husband. Honest girl.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. I liked Akari.” Of course, she didn’t like her enough to remember her name. Then again, sometimes I forgot their names, too.

But our unspoken arrangement entailed accepting each other’s tales without question, so I held silent. “So you’re alone, then?” I nodded without shame.

Miho smiled tenderly. “You’ll get back up. If it weren’t for Sekiguchi, I would be alone now, too.” Finally, she mentioned her new lover! I saw my chance to probe for more details.

“How did you two meet?”

“I found him drinking alone one night, at a dive two miles south of here.

Most people like that are crying into their beer, but he was serene as a 18

Buddhist monk. I ordered what he was having, just to get his attention. We started talking after that.”

“Is it serious?”

Miho laughed at this. “As serious as any of them, Houtaro! Who do you think you’re talking to here?” It was a stupid question of me to ask, but she played off of it with grace. By now I expected no less of her.

“Then do you love him that much?”

“…Perhaps?” she shrugged. “Honestly, it’s hard to gauge him. It’s not that his moods vacillate, like some people I could name.” Here she was alluding to a man by the name of Morooka, whom she had the misfortune to bed one June evening. For weeks he would swing from violently happy to uncomfortably morose, to the point where Miho didn’t know what to do with him or herself. “It’s that he doesn’t seem to have moods at all. I’ve never seen him unhappy, but I feel like I’ve never seen him happy, either. Then again,” she traced the rim of her drink with a single nail, “that kind of attitude has its advantages. It means he’s more than willing to play along with my whims.”

“And what whims are those?”

Miho grinned and raised a finger to my lips. “There are some things, Houtaro, that even you can’t hear.”

We finished our drinks in silence. I walked out the door at about midnight, still ruminating over her words.

I saw Miho rarely after that night. She came to the Red Rabbit less and less, and when she did, she seldom stayed for more than one quick drink. No more did I hear stories of her conquests, and no more did she listen to mine. It was not as if I had much to share. Nor, anymore, did we ever attempt our usual play outside of the bar. After our encounter at the train station, a wave of malaise came over me, and I lost all interest in the opposite sex. Once or twice I tried to pick up a girl at some club or another, but these trysts always ended prematurely, without so much as a kiss goodbye. I was adrift.

While I severed my ties, Sekiguchi burrowed his roots deeper. On a walk by the river or coming home from work, I would bump into the two of them, whispering sweet nothings at each other, always arm in arm.

We exchanged no words, but when Sekiguchi saw me, he would nod courteously in my direction, no more than a slight bob of the head. His expression, that same smirk I had seen on the first day we met, never 19

wavered. It was as if he could not do otherwise.

It occurred to me, of course, to ask my associates in Tokyo about Sekiguchi’s nature. Like Miho and myself, they were the kind of people who knew everything about everybody, and would happily share at the right price. But even these esteemed fellows didn’t know about Sekiguchi.

The most I learned was that he was a polite, but quiet young man, who rarely started conversations and quickly ended them when he began. As for points of interest, aspirations, sexual deviancies, he seemed to have none.

Nobody even seemed to know where he worked. With each further inquiry, I became more baffled. Sekiguchi could not have been a man; he must have been a doll, a vessel of some sort. Otherwise, how could he be so empty?

Though I was only half aware, Sekiguchi had indeed become a vessel.

All of my jealousies, all of my loathing, I poured into his being. Every time I glimpsed him, no matter how briefly, I found something new to dislike, whether it be his scarecrow-like posture or his moon-pie of a face. I wanted to take this man by the throat, squeeze out all of his pretensions and falsities until there was nothing left, and ask him once and for all, “Who are you?” But such aggressions are impermissible in civilized society, so I kept them to myself.

Each night I ruminated upon Miho’s words. “He’s more than willing to play along with my whims,” she had said, but no further. When we first met, we had agreed not to withhold anything from each other, and I had held up my end of the bargain. Her “whims” were compelling to my mind, but I kept a bland face as she made her confessions. Why, now, was she playing the recusant? Were her encounters with Sekiguchi like ours? The more shameful these fantasies I weaved about the two of them, the larger and more frequent they grew, and the more uneasy I became.

Eventually, my curiosity could no longer go unsatisfied. So I cancelled my appointments, put on my coat and hat, and walked to the Hall of Records. Fortunately, I passed neither Miho nor Sekiguchi on my travels, although I doubt they would have had me explain my destination. Tilting down my brim to hide my face, I ascended the building’s steps in silence.

At the front desk, I was greeted by a pleasant clerk whom I did not recognize. Though he looked of little note, even he was more distinct than the object of my query; he had prominent cheekbones, spectacles which framed his face, and a look of tired wisdom that belied his youth. “Welcome, good sir,” he said, and bowed to me. I nodded curtly. “What can I help you 20

with today?”

“I need you to pull up all the records you can on a Tomomi Sekiguchi.

Birth certificates, newspaper articles, anything you might have.”

“Sir, such information isn’t a matter of public record. I am sorry, but I cannot fill your request out of hand. I need a good reason.”

I reached into my coat pocket surreptitiously, turned just enough so the clerk could observe my movements, and withdrew a 10,000 Yen bill.

Concealing it in the palm of my hand, I held it out to the spectacled man.

“Is this reason enough?” I could tell by the sparkle in his eyes that I had my man. He bowed vigorously and rushed, half-traipsing, to the room where the records were kept. Finally, I would have my answer.

An hour later, the clerk returned, ashen. Gone was his tired wisdom, replaced with a kind of irritation. “Sir, is this some kind of a joke?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

He spoke in a whisper now. “I combed through every record we had.

There’s no information on any Tomomi Sekiguchi – no birth certificate, no nothing. Moreover, my supervisor almost caught me in the act! I had to talk circles around him to keep my job. Please, don’t ask for such things again.”

When he finished, he looked around briefly to make sure he remained unheard, then bowed again. “Thank you for your patronage! May you find what you’re looking for!” It was as if nothing unusual had taken place.

On my way out, I realized that the clerk had not returned the 10,000 Yen bill. I was now not only short on information, but short on cash.

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SPRING SENIOR: DANIEL RICO Interview by Tiffany Nielander

Q: How did you get into the arts? When did you decide to major in art?

A: I never really had one of those transformative moments. Ever since I was little I would always do art; I really liked watching the tutorials and doing the tutorial books on how to do art stuff, and doing tracings. So, I’ve been doing art since I was little and I stuck with it through school, but I never took it very seriously, and that’s probably why I came into college as ‘Undecided’.

I wasn’t very aware of myself as an artist. I didn’t really think about myself that way even though I did all the things, like kept a sketchbook all the time.

I think I decided the summer between freshman and sophomore year on a study abroad to Spain that I would change my major to art. When I told people, they said, ‘Well, yeah, that was obvious.’ So, yeah, I never had one of those transformative moments of inspiration where I decided, ‘Oh! I’m going to be an artist.’

Q: How was your experience pursuing art at the HC and your experience here in general?

A: All-in-all it was positive, especially because of Professor [Dorotha] Lemeh. There isn’t a huge art program here, nor huge facilities or anything like that, but Professor Lemeh is dragging the college forward into what other colleges already have, like getting the computer room with Photoshop on all the Macs and whatnot, so I’m thankful for her. She’s also been a great teacher. I’m glad that I came to the HC for my Bachelor’s, instead of going to an art school, because, for one, I was undecided in the beginning, and two, I feel like I’m more well-rounded, but I do have to do a lot of skill development beyond basics on my own outside of courses. Which I think is good because then you learn how to be self-directed in your growth as an artist. I find that if you are made to do something, you aren’t as motivated to do it upon leaving that situation, whether after graduation, etc. So overall the HC has been good, but interesting.

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Shrine, Daniel Rico 23

Q: What would you say your favorite mediums are to work with?

A: Aside from animation, I am technically trained as a painter more than an animator. I like gouache; I like water-based mediums because they’re easy to clean up and they’re portable. I also really like how opaque acrylic is, and that’s what I’m used to using, but it’s expensive, not as portable, and it’s messy. So right now, I’m favoring gouache as my traditional painting medium because it can get the look of acrylic, but I’m not quite used to using it yet. I like ink and pen drawings, but pencil not so much. And then digital, but beyond animation, digital painting, which is like gouache, but even easier. I like installations that incorporate sound, that transcend what perceived art is supposed to be.

Q: What direction are you hoping to see your career go after graduation?

A: Well, in the short-term: currently I’m wait-listed to a small program at USC, which is really exciting. In the long term, my loose plan is to attend grad school for animation or art stuff to have the rigorous, intense training, because animation is very niche. While there are many tutorials online, which is how I’ve been able to do everything that I have here, there is a lot of tacit knowledge that I’m missing, and that I want. Past that I’m looking to work in a small studio. I, personally, don’t want to go to Disney or Blizzard, where most young, starry-eyed artists tend to go to. So, depending on the direction or specialization I go for in grad school, I may end up working for LAIKA, which the stop motion for movies like Kubo and the Two Strings. I’d like to work in the industry for a while, but eventually build my own IP, [and] make graphic novels and stuff. Essentially I want to transition from school to industry to independent.

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THE STORY OF A LIFE

by Daniel Rico

Click the image above to play the animation.

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Tadpoles [Abbreviated], Cassidy Kammerer 26

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BRICK STREETS AND GOOD EATS: A GUIDE TO ADULTHOOD OUTSIDE THE SOUTH Joanna Beazley

My Nana taught me how to take care of people.

“I’m bringin’ Mrs. Kitchens some squash” was one of the most Common phrases I heard as a child, And I think that’s part of becoming an adult away from The culture that raised me: Remembering rather than living.

There’s a saying I grew up hearing that told me That no matter where I am or where I go My heart will always feel as planted there as the tomato Garden in my grandparents’ backyard.

Sure I don’t live in a big city up north, (Or a big city anywhere) But I still feel like I’m looking forward to the cookouts my father’s father Would put on every weekend.

Through the layers of béarnaise and barbecue I learned patience.

Smelling the pig roasting over the pit for hours Or seeing the peanuts boiling on the stove Taught me to appreciate the time we put into others.

My best friend taught me to love.

In a time where I needed someone, I wouldn’t have guessed The awkward, nerdy girl in my fifth grade class Would be the one to bring me out of a personal hell for years to come.

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The kudzu invading my town’s… well, everything Taught me to cling onto what is important.

The pine cones taught me the importance of falling.

A lot of the time, you need to let go to discover something greater.

I fell asleep to the lulling sound of a train the other night, But I couldn’t help but fall asleep smiling because I remembered the way the house shook when it would barrel through my hometown, Delivering people and things to far away places.

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© CLICHÉ LITERARY AND ARTS MAGAZINE 2017