Crest 2002

crest 2002

0ak Park River Forest HiEh School

0rest 2002:

A literary magazine published by the students of Oak Park and River Forest High School since 189S.

Editorial Staff:

Jamiel Cornelio

Marisa Geo$he$an

Enin Graves

Lisa Locascio

Ni$el Shields

Katherine Parker

MeS Pnossnitz

Abby Van Deusen

Dave Walwank

Emily White

Anne Wootton

Adyisors: Erin Lyons

Richard Zabransky

ed ito rs' [ette r

This year we have worked hard to reinvent Crest. ln past years our litenany maf,azine has come fan, but aside from last year's Spoken Wond CD has remained on the same dusty shelf of wor"ds. We ane breakinS out. Crest as you have known it is no more. You misht notice the more stylized pages, the careful desi$n or the aesthetically penfect cover. What is most important here is the diversity of content. We, as editors of this magazine, had one main toal:to pr"operly represent the best of 0ak Park and Riven Forest HiSh School's writing by young people. ln order to accomplish this we had to completely change the way we thought about Crest.

With the help of our lovely faculty advisors Erin Lyons and Richard Zabransky, we decided to judge all of the submissions anonymously. This meant a gneat deal of xenoxing and re-xeroxing works with little pieces of paper" taped oven the authors' names. The pieces were then grouped by form--prose on poetry--and collected into bi$, forebodin$ packets. Somehow amidstthe chaos of oun evenyday lives we manafed to read and nate each compositron. This was followed by week upon week of editorial review. lr/any of us had become so attached to our favorite pieces that we fought long and hard for thein acceptance. A few submissions met with such intense debate we worried we wouldn't be speaking nicely to each othen the next day. But we eventually got thr0ugh the mountain of work and put t0gether a collection that we feel reflects our ori$inal aim.

We hope that when you read Crest this year, you notice the difference. The amount of time and love we've poured into this little journal is all for" you. We want Crest 2002to be the sort of thinB you show youn friends from other schools, the evidence to your parents that they should vote for future neferenda and the little book that you nead at ni$ht. 0f your own volition.

Crest 2002

...And in allthis heat

It is so bittersweet When you think about The things you miss. So when it came, And with a grin, It was so bittersweet, even within

Like tea and candy. They don't go together. So when I got on my feet And walked home, A bird, and a gnome, Both with a grin Together, whol ly bittensweet, But only half within

So then I decided To do somethin$ With a whole grin So when it came I stood on a hill And said I will. And it did fulfill So then, With a grin, Bittersweet, but not within

As I exit my gated utopia, lwander across a B-U-M. 0f allthe eyes on the cnowded street, mine meet his. Amidst a sea of plaster"ed smiles and deliberately starved bodies I saw him in living colon. But how could it be that we bneathe the same air and speak the same tongue, yet no one will hear his cries? They ti{hten thein grips on the hands of the young, botfle-feedin! them that if they just look str"alsht ahead the bad man will fo away and they won,t have to waste their time and money or god for"bid spark a conversation. yet they won't see thatthis man who breathes the same air and bleeds the same blood is human, and won't acknowledge they're of the same father until no 0ne Slances in their direction.

with weaktings and idiots

Vaga traced the intnicate pattern of pale, jagged scars from her elbow to her wr"ist. Bri(ht liSht fr"om passing cities filter"ed thnou$h the heavy $reen windows. It covered the cold steel rails, the gum coated floor, and the cheap plastic seats with a seasick glow. As the train murmured to a stop, Va$a pulled her^self out from under her memories t0 stare blankly out the window. Thts had become a habit by n0w, a way of warnin$ incomin$ passengens not to talk to her. She knew from expenience that conversations with stran$ers at this time of ni$ht always led to competition over who had the most tra$ic story, and Vafa nearly always won. A wave of queasiness nushed over her as she watched the reflections of the cr"eatures boar"ding the train. "All weak," she thou$ht with disgust. "They're only looking for a slow suicide by some stupid drug that they will allow to become str0nger than themselves." She pictured their deaths all too clearly, and shifted in her seat to avoid getting sick, The visions hit too close to home. She tried to remember why she was riding at ni$ht, on maybe it was morninS by now. Either way, there was still empty blackness between towns She thouf,ht about the Iast time she rode durinf the day and remembered why she would prefer to spend the nrght in the company of weaklinSs and idiots. lt was those horrible eyes. Every day-train was packed with pryinE, scrutinizing eyes People who node durinf, the day were synthetic, and afraid to tell thein stories. lnstead they would criticize everythinf about her with their eyes.

She remembered an old w0man in a suit whose eyes criticized her lon$ blond hair for" flowinf, freely down her back, and her stomach for showinf from beneath a t-shirt that she had out$rown several years before. lr/ost peculiar were the black rimmed eyes of the woman who stared at her for half an hour with complete contempt because Vaga had the coura$e t0 wear no makeup. She felt sorry for that w0man because she fisured she spent houns every m0rning putting on her mask in order to feel brave enou$h to face the world.

It seemed that the one thin$ nobody would dane criticize was Va$a's $uitar. It seemed t0 give off a kind of feelin$ that tt had been loved. Va$a carried it with the sort of pride and protection a child is carried, and it was easy to see that this instrument was not to be shoved around or insulted. As the train betan to lurch and hiss toward the next platform Vaga tried to shift to a mone comfortable position. She leaned her" thin back aSainst the window and set her $uitar on the seat next to her so that she could rest her feet on it and keep it safe. Vaga closed hen eyes and wished for sleep, but it was never easy to sleep where you did not feel safe. She searched her memony for the last time she felt safe and happy. When she couldn't nemember anything, she be$an to think, instead, of her own strength. Vaga knew she was str0nger than any othen eanly m0rning train riders. She had the scars to prove it.

from an elderly man to his wife

The truth is that I found you, So many years ago. Somewhere beneath the last whims of unconsciousness, you extended your hands out to my sleeping mind, you left your fingerprints somewhene on my brain. And then I began to breathe you, you engulfed me, and I began searching but couldn't find my dream. Now we stand staring at water, at opposite ends of a pond, under a blacktop cloud sky, now that s0meone hit the light switch on the sun.

I am staninE into you, peeling rose petals from your iris, weeping heavily into you, wishing you were still just a wish.

Cause I can't move without you, can't brinf blood to my finSer tips. Can't bend my legs to peel my body up, can't tet my eyes to forget my last image. Can't bring myself to forget love. The truth is when I found you we'd play the mystery, we'd hide from each others'skeletons in each others arms, we didn't let the enemies hinder us fnom 0ur games, nothint but time could bning us apart, for the cycles sometimes end, just so they can begin again in a mother's anms.

Now I stand staring at water, like we did before, back when you had wings to spread, back when you had wor"lds to conquer. I can't live those thinBs for you, but l'lltry real hard, to win those prizes for you, before I lay in my yard.

StarinS up at my firefly €lowing home, back into the blacktop sky, where I know you ar"e waitinS for me.

Now I stand staring at water, like we did before.

at opposite ends of a pond,

I am you born and y0u are gold memory. And the truth is that I found you, so many years ago.

Befone you turned to ashes dancing on the waten, I can't follow you there, so I wish you wouldn't go

dinner and a mummy

He had been dead for" ten years before his funeral. When I first arrived tn his home eanly this summer, he had alneady been dead for nine years and eleven months, yet he still had a place at dinner and everyone, myself included, addressed him as if he were alive. I sat down with his widow and shaned hen homemade soup, careful not to slurp it all up in respect to those who passed away. I recorded the surroundings ofthe hut. Across from me was a corpse with a bowl of still soup. I kept my back straitht. I kept my back strai$ht and took a deep breath as if I was expecting an unpleasant smell. I anttcipated the smell of a dead person but it never came. The othen members of the Snoup thanked the squinty-eyed wrdow, but lwas stunned. ltried to act nonmal, but could not control my curiosity. My eyes were focused 0n a mummy.

As I left his home I felt like what I was about to see would not be any typical funeral. Ar"riving at the burial site, I witnessed hundreds gathened includin$ cameramen squeezing throuth gangs of tribal wanniors between thatched huts. I didn't know what to think. Standing at the back ofthe crowd I felt the beating of the dr"um, startinf the procession. I heard sobs from the family, as the mummy was escorted thn0ugh the crowd for his final walk of life on the shoulders of his sons. Led by young women in the fanciest clothing performing but"ial dances, four full gnown waten buffalo were followed by four brown horses. As the mummy was carried in, families wrapped thein handmade textiles around the body. The mummy was soon weighed down by fancy colorfultextiles. Huddled around the burial altan, I seemed to be the only one surprised by the squeals of a dying animal.

I tur"ned around and saw the site of the animal sacrifice. Blood spnayed from the neck of one of the brown horses, while the other animals screamed in the face of death. The crowd was silent as four horses were offered to the mummy. Four" full grown water buffalo wene fightinS the reitns, which were pulling them into a fatal poke. After the cenem0ny the gnound looked like a warz0ne, and wind and sobs broke the silence.

The mummy made his final walkto the stone tomb, where the family Sathered to say final goodbyes to their" fallen leader. 0ne finaltextile was wnapped around him. Evenyone bowed their head as chants wished the mummy away for an after life. The stone-face s0ns fight backtears as they lift their father into the stone tomb. The lid was secured. The chants sif naled the r"etr"eat of the funeralto the feast, prepared by the famrly. I stood there and realized I would neven forget this. Alone, I walked back to the villafe, watchin$ people nealize their leaden had finally died. lsat down in the corner and looked around to find a place setting for the mummy. lt was nowhere to be found.

ashtey carnaghi Gtass photographic print

sean chambers Rooftop Silhouette photographic print

Re$ret is a black clock that shines pnoperly if tragedy is your light Findin' brothers dead in back alleys faster than we can add up last year's gross tallies Mom's at home prayin'that you come home but you not The next time they see you is in a shiny casket box followin' the hearse thinkin' of your boy but it hurts hard concentration becomes a deep thirst. It pains you Hurting internally now they comin' for me Load'em up cock'em back let'em see. This is the lrfe we live ain't nothin'you can do to change that Those are our street tactics while white cops still sayin' freeze black kids and still 6 of us still sleeping on a dirty mattness. We are fallen angels the cats that'll try to bang you we don't shine. We're in our prime. The only ones we think about is our family and dogs we get down... now, how that sound.

The tan€led web of thin blues lines crisscrossing their way tht'ouSh her arm appear in the glaring sun to be casually shiftin$ positions, a stran$e dance of spiden webs elefantly laid upon the cur"ves on the limb.

The place wher"e she sits is hot, sticky and familiar to hen, the fickle shade of a willowJUst steps away. With her eyes she tnaces a crack running thnough the sidewalk: up, around, chasing bits of shadow and dartin$ out again. With one pudBy finfer she twirls a single looping curl, mixin$ the sticky nemains of chocolate with the scent of shampoo.

ln the distance, she can hear" the baleful moan of a freifht tnain as it snakes its way to another va$ue destination. Nearer, the rustle of wind throuSh the weeds and the limbs and leaves of the willow, every so often the call of a bird. Looking up at the sun throu$h the tr"ee, she sees the silhouetted branches wave nonchalantly in the lisht breeze, sinBinB a quiet son$ to anyone who cares to hear it. She does.

Anticipation and excitement swir"l anound in her as she waits fot" the sound of mother's car, putt-putt-putt-putt... Her mother leaves every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday to do volunteen work. Ever since the woman netired she has been pickinS up odd volunteer.lobs on a part-time basis.

The girl is hopinB that her mother will brinS home a doll. She pictures the doll that Susie from next door Sot this year, when she tunned six. lt was the most beautiful thing she had ever laid eyes on: delicate hands, unblinkinf eyes, a tiny person that would sit on your bed and wait for you all day, porcelain skin f lowing in stripes where the sun hits her" face between strips of Venetian blind.

Her attention shifts and she picks up a fallen stick that had been resting on its side and begins t0 dig turrets in the soil, curving and roundtn$ them.lust so. ln the mid-afternoon heat, perspiration fonms on her fonehead, rolls down her cheek and falls from hen chin, catchin$ the sun in one blinding second before hitting the cement. Her mouth is now tiEhtly pressed as she focuses 0n controlling her hand, making sure that every line and curve is in onder.

She is almost done when her hand overwhelms the stick and it breaks in the middle.

A faint putt-putting is gnowrng louder from the east. She looks up and makes a garbled noise of deltBht as her mother pulls into the dnive and emerges, her" white hair mostly pulled back in a frenzied bun, the wrinkles at her eyes and the c0rners of her" mouth creating blue shadows that stretch acnoss her face. The woman is tir"ed and fnail in the blinding light, but her entire being softens when she sees her dau$hter beamin$ down at hen and pointing pr"oudly at the $round by her feet.

The girl has written hen name in the dirt, kamikaze letters pointin€ in all directions in the brown-black soil that rests on the fnont lawn. The old woman smiles and neaches up to wipe a smudge of dint off her daughten's cheek. ln a box under her arm, wrapped canefully in gold foil, is a tiny person with delicate hands and soft porcelain skin, staring unblinkingly, watching, waitin! to be loved.

"[/y, how the years 6o by," the old woman sighs. ,,Happy J5th bir"thday, my darling." And she kisses her daughten softly on the cheek.

Somewhere there's a (irl, She thinks of things like gtass. And enters into thoughts uncalled, Like a river cut a path. Kaleidoscopic. Catastroph ic. Mind behind sweet eyes, Smoky words and salty tears, And softly spoken lies. Thene they are For anyone, for one they step Aside. Gently like the cunve of a river, And sharp

Like the thoughts in her head. Some children beg to watch While old hands know to go. Some child thinks to play Until, 0ld hands he knows. So somewhere there's this Sirl, you say? And she thinks ofthings like glass. I met a ginl like that one time, And then she drifted past.

crowd surfing

Alice wandered slowly down the steps into the semi-dankness of the subway tenminal 0nly a few people stood on the platform, clutchinS their bulfin$ shopprng bags and waitinS dumbly for the next train to arrive and carry them back to the safety of the subur"bs She leaned a$ainst the grimy tile wall next to the exit, peppered with amateur Sraffiti and briSht white ftn$erprints in the $reasy dirt. A low rattlinS sound far down the tunnel warned of an oncominf train. As the noise fr"ew louder, light shone out from the abyss, approachin$ until Alice could see the silhouettes of the people throu$h the front window. The aluminum Juggernaut clattered to a rusty halt and the doors slid open. The crowd surged onto the platform, swarming for the stairs like hun(ry cattle. Alice smiled. She en.loyed rush hour in the city. ln this crowd, everyone was anonymous; there were n0 people, only faceless bodies all vyin$ to be first to arrive at their destinations.

A man in a neat pinstnipe suit pushed past Alice, small squintin$ eyes focused on the sunliSht streaming welcomin$ly down the stairs fnom the street above. He didn't notice hen foot in his path until he stumbled awkwandly and was sent flying into a harried-looking y0ung w0man with a portfolio under one arm. The woman shot him an angry glance as he disappeared into the mass of people, wearing the shocked expression of someone whose train ofthou$ht has unexpectedly been rerouted. Soon they wene both lost, propelled inexonably onwand by the crowd.

Alice snatched a frayed newspaper from a nearby trenchcoat pocket. She unfolded it, angling the wrinkled paper towand the lifht to read the headline. lt was the sports section, three days old She rolled it back up and deposited it in the 0pen handbag of a middle-aged woman. The woman didn't even notice hen as she shouldered her way through to the stairs.

By now the main body of people had g0ne up t0 street level to continue their exodus. Alice could hear them climbing onto the waiting bus, perfectly scheduled and synchronized. They came through here every day, the same pe0ple, followinf, the same routine. She settled back to wait fot" the next train.

The black smoke rises from the pan, You smile and whisper that I will make a good wife. Scrambled eggs with ketchup and oven baked tortillas From the grocery

You wince and eat the food all the same. I don't mind you not liking my breakfast, But that's all I have. Please leave soonYour fianc6e may wonder at The sudden sweetness of your smile.

Your belly's beer barnel's paradise-warmth in the cold night. Your" skin shines like moonlight and breath-the beat of my heart

I notice a little mole unden your ar"mpit and you try to peer with all your miSht. I laugh. You shimmer among a million scattered dneams And the haze arrives as you hold me in youn arms.

john ctark Duomo ll photographic print

Parthenon photographic print

Ctock Towers

mentaI conf usion / scattered brain

Slow mental down for 50 cent flicks/ many not $oin$ to understand the primus violence/ that we brinf winter throuSh the sprinS/ we catapult the banker through his beloved vault/ Take 1$ bills leave the fifties for the grime and Sritties/ hard times lead to swordic rhymes/ drinkin dirt to become of earthchild/ singin love for" the thrill of an estnogen geyser/ putting on mic shows for the public like the lr/iser'/ babies turn t0 50 age old carriers of rabies/ cats live the rap life/ J-5 live for equality/ suitcases filled with death and knowled$ed calvany/ 54th regiment run throu$h me/ bullets and blood saddles me/ heroin needles seen by eyes/ sold by cookie monsters parachutinf passed by pocket flow/ kids start throwin'their own cubix linked pee-wee wallet $rabbin'show/ hanE me from my penis and extend my hand of pleasure/ giving people what they want on mic's the perplexed pleaser/ to wack mc's leave the stage with mummified tongues in wraps of a seizure/ premeditate on bi$ words/ keep'em only for essays/ suck at scantrons so I close my eyes and stant $uessin$ in mode of test play/ to shar"e the shine of Norther"n liBhts/ compilations of P. Diddy and Fred Durst still aren't going to stop U.S. air str"ikes/ bombs gifting retardation and rebirthing children with the mentality to be number one and always the winner/ Conman competition concluding the contest of who's the weakest sinner/ one day a week I live these mental confusions/ l've had two lobotomies and still can see throuBh illmatic illusions.

So what if I do love her? What's that? I don't think it is a sin to love somebody. I neally don't care what she does. lknow she loves me. You can not believe everything you hear in the street. I have invested too much time in this love affair to just throw it away. No, everything ain't peachy but at least we got someth ing.

Kim been cominf home late aften work, going out on the weekends, stuff she didn't used to do. lt makes me wonder, maybe I deserve to be treated the way I used t0 treat hen. But we are past that. She forgave and forgot. I hope she did. But I can't deny, I am getting tir.ed of all my boys telling, "yo, I heard your ginl messing with him..." l'm sick of that. ljust want her to be r"eal with me. I know it is hand for her but l'm not like that anymore. l'm for" r"eal this time. lf she is gone 0n games then she can lust let me know. Cause we ain't flot to go no further.

So now it is Friday niSht. I want to d0 s0mething nomantic for my w0man. So I went out got some rose petals, some I/oet, you know all that good stuff. I even got the motion lotion out. So I called Kim at wor"k and told her. She said she got off at six and she would be home by seven. I had set a trail from the fnont door to the bathroom of nose petals, Then I put rose petals in the bath water. lknew she was g0n'love it. lfilled the bathr"oom with scented candles. I prepared her favorite meal: steak and baked potatoes. I couldn't wait for hen to get home.7:30, no Kim. So lcalled her cell phone, she must have had it off. 8:15, no Kim. At l0:00 I went to bed. I couldn't believe she did that to me. Don't nobody deserve that. I kind of felt like doing some "Waiting to Exhale" type stuff and burn up all her clothes, But l'm better than that. She stupid.

Why is it 1:00 a.m. and who is crawling in bed next to me? I didn't move. I felt like turning around and pushinf her" ass out the bed. Did she think I was stupid? l'm tryinS not to believe she cheating on me. lt is gon' be some serious complications if she is. Yeah, it is okay for me to do it; two wrongs don't make a right I know her momma taught her that I felt her touch me. I still didn't move. She said my name. lacted like ldidn't hear her. She should know I know the noutine by now as much as I did

It is Saturday morning now. Kim introduced me to some food and extra lovinS. When lwoke up lforgot about what happened the night before I didn't care. lwas living for"the moment. And it was good She was doing everything she should. This monning's extra loving was good. We laid there sex-funky, happy as we want to be, Kim and me. Kim was loving me exclusively.

So I Sot out the bed and put my clothes on To tr"y to make things better, I went to the market. I was gon' make me and my w0man some breakfast. So I went to the store in hopes of coming back for s0me more of this morning's

good and extra loving. At the market people were pushing and shovin' trying t0 be the next in line but the time was mine. As I got to the counter, I noticed the cashien: he must have been new. He looks at me and I looked at him. Was this some kind of men's intuition or somethinS? Some type of insecunity? No, cuz Kim is at home happy loving me exclusively. So I shook my head. "What's up?" I said.

"What's up," he replied. He started to ring me. "0ranf,e juice, $2.29, strawberries $1.92." He sniffed.

"Croissants $4.85, butta 89 cents, milk $5.19." He sniffed and sniffed. "Whipped cream $1.00, e69s $2.47." He sniffed and sniffed and sniffed. Then replied, "Kim right?"

"Right."

"Kim! Kim, l'm back!" I didn't hear anythin$ in the house. She must have been still asleep. I went to the bedroom, no Kim. I looked in the bathroom, no Kim. She was gone. I knew it, I felt it. There was a note on the dining room table. lt read:

Robert, l'm gone. lt is over now. I found something better. |m sorcy, but I have got to move on. lt was fun while it lasted. I will alwoys love you.

Love Always, Kim

The television glazes a mist over my eyes Feet stuck to the floor, Arms pinned against the seat, Paralyzed, I cannot stand, Cannot awaken from this death-like trance

Heart thumping against my chest, Thoughts creepinS to the edge of my mind-

Staggering, tripping, shuffling on the ocean ftoor 0f sanityMy soul cries out, I can't hear its echo Ricocheting on the opposite wall-

Cnashing painting to the floor, Bright colors of summen long past(Winter is a state of mind) -it bnings warm tears to my frozen eyes.

T.V. noaring an imaSinary channel, Mimicking blizzard on the scneenThene's snowstorm outside my apartment, Tickling feet of injured in hospital across the way, Leaving bodies to watch twirlinB snow Gather in the streets.

Snowing inside my head (winter is a state of mind) banks lining inside of cranium ach ing burning forming a barrien where there should not.. Be... 0ne...

Clawing at the sides of my head Hair pulled, skin bruised; scratched. lcy winds tear at my vulnerability

winter is a state of mind

I let myself freeze over incessantly each time lfall-

Starve my bnain of sleep to make snow stop, tr/ake it go away.

I can't be myself when l'm frozen to my cone! Shaking hands, quiverinE lips

Blue, so cold So blue, so cold (winter is a state of mind)

killing me so lonely in the place ashen walls and bane floors only hide what truly lies hene waitin€ for" something, someone to intnude Someone, something to sink their feet into the emotion-slush (winter is a state of mind)

holds me here can't escape No doors to break through No windows to shatter Nothing but pitch black beyond overtunned covers Keeping me from seeking...help. No one will see me hene(winten is a state of mind)

every year this happens when leaves bnown and crumple my heant curls inside itself dried around the edfes chills my thoughts so I can't (and winter" will always be a state of mind)

trampled into the ground my heart cannot lift itself fnom earth fall deeper into gr"oundI remember past winters Still raw in my mind

Battle scans still etched into body

Nothin[ I can do

Not much I will do To keep it from happening again.

I remember the feeling when I awoke in spring Someone touched me, hot and alive

I soaked in their energy, my blood thawed, my voice Cleared like the matter between my ears. (spninS is sweet excitation)

comatose mindset diminishingseeing beautiful wor"ld as smooth glassfantastic survival I did not fail! I am the fittest! But will spring come next year?

Will someone find me in that incnedible prison?

lf they do, will they save me? Will I emerge

0r stay locked inside winter pride of my mind? Don't know Don't know Don't know...

Staring at white walls, eyes glazinS over ls winter coming?

Please, oh god, set fire to my heart

I won't make it out this time (winter is in my mind)

no teans left to warm me quick, touch me, help me falling again reaching out this time

I hope tight to your hand, ice between our fingers

You're comin$ with me (winter's taking you too?)

NoN0!

I let you 90...

As the storm rages behind this mask

I watch you fade into that old painting-

Thinninf palpitations of heart reflect my thoughts.

Thinning palpitations of heart reflect my thou$hts. Will I make it out this time?

Stare at clock, pnay for seasons to chanBe (winter is my state of mind)

jacob hartz lmpression of a Sunset penciLdrawing

The nain seemed to float pre-contact to the surface. Tiny drops accumulate to large spheres and noll of the lined tint on the window of the purple minivan. lt is her life and it's har"d; it's hard watchinf a tortured soul attempt daily routine. lt's hard watchinS the robotic walk of a man bound by stirrups. lt's hard havingto help your gnown son piss, shit, and eat. Butthe load can only be as strong as the one it's resting upon.

Automatic Door Caution: 0ut comes he; red lightning with a loystick that decides his immediate path of travel. lt's one of those really expensive chairs with cruise control; a fine piece of Amenican machineny, made by a true craftsman, that weans ripped blue jeans, and sports flannel shirts. And has a biS mustache, with blue eyes. And has a wife named lr/illie, with thnee childnen. He relishes inside the simple things in life, such as dofs and naked w0men.

After several unsuccessful attempts, Litile Boy Bound is in the passenfen seat, void of his chair. He's now focused his energy; a lighter in hand, he tries to make them wonk. He slips it in between two decrepit fingers attached as his riSht hand. With his left hand he forces uneventful ignition. Him;a genuine pr"oduct of evolution gone awry.

lnside this minivan is muggy, fotsy; the air is thick and white. 0n the floor" amongst pieces of broken toy, and stnay Fnench fries; is the kind of plum colored carpeting we've c0me to expect from a mid-nineties minivan. Forward in the front passenger seat mediocre attempts are polished below par.

"Light foddamnit, just once." Frustratron has taken it's toll, and in one final flick the driver side door is swung open. His spent eyes meet his mother's spent eyes, and no words are necessany.

li/other wonks hard and the calluses hur"t from time to time, lifting too many lawn gnomes, I suppose. 0ne time she tried imposinf a bowling alley on her son. He didn't want to go, he r.esisted, and he wanted to drift; faded as he watches his movies. So in the end; submission forged friendship.

0utside of his mutant nature, underneath the stirrups, in back of his lazy eyes; rests a brarn that is perfectly capable of processing thought. A mone than worthy specimen cased in dank shell, a gelatin shell. which brings a question to my head: what could be passinI through his head as his own mother wipes his ass for him?

The minivan takes off into the distant fray forward that lay ahead

THE HOTUECON/ING

Home is cracked, with no feeling. The walls all painted in yellow; lventure forth to chips summing themselves. The yellow on these walls could easily be mistaken for thick nicotine Elaze.

THE KITCHEN

A sole table rests center for no neason at all. Caked; resting outside the head fault, hanging by way of a black wire, is a crooked frame with mack in flass. Underneath a shatter"ed front rests a pnint; Home Sweeter Home.

The kitchen was a place whene many things came to truthful conclusion There was this one time mother was fonced to bid farewell in the dinection of a material lie; her wedding rinS found a new home amongst raw sewage.

It was a soiled canvas, a place that was oddly frequented. Enasure; for no one wants to see cleanly. lt was in the kitchen thr0ugh a vent that he once heard hrs parents detest his personal skeletal stnuctune.

"l mean, people stare at him for Christ's sake." lr/othen dtdn't even know "What do ya want me to say? Don't take him in public any more if it bothers you. Just stay inside all day and watch television." Father didn't talk much more after that ni6ht

It was in the kitchen that everything came in clean, fnom the stains on the vinyl floor, to the splintered truths spoken oven the phone; no lies.

When they came home, they passed right through the kitchen. I/other wheeled her" bif mistake to his bedroom. She said she wanted him to have a little time to himself Her motives were almost pure in an antificial cherry flavored candy kind of way

To him th0ugh, plastic clothing was t00 transparent...

THE BEDROO[/

A place for him to sulk in his inadequacies 0r to just look out the window. A vision had. Thr"ough plated glass and across the street; a play$round full of scr"eaminS children; it was just God's way of teasing him. Atean was unnecessary because it was impossible, besides he's far too stron$ for that. A main attraction to be seen only bythe eyes of the blind A niche found inside shiny depression; his morbid sunnise.

ln this exact r00m-a cnucifix above the bed and seventeen years of necently unlocked aggression below a pillow, pieces of broken toy evenywhere, and a malfunctioning light fixture-si$ht was obtained only by way of candle-in hene..

ln this exact room, at her wits end, just as the sonrow was beginning to drain, lr/other summoned a prostitute.

The raps grew louder, and a burn surfaced. Skinny, skinny like you would n't believe; obviously supportinS some sont of ravaged mind. She attempted beauty through material flesh, but failed throuSh her" hideous ne0-nature. h/other led the prostitute down a dark and crooked hallway; last door on the left

"Now when you g0 in thene be considerate not to stare, he's shy."

"Yeah, sure Whatever" you say lady. lt's fifty dollars for a half-hour, cash. You can pay me now."

Mother paid, and the deal was done.0utside ofthe botfle, a prostitute bnoke inventoried threshold and was neanly dnawn away. But hey, fifty bills is fifty bills.

THE DINING ROOIil Dinner is carnied out through tired bodily strain. lt's a sight to say the least; and tonight rs no exception; [/ashed potatoes and pot roast. He likes to tr"y and carry, he wants to implode on his own terms, void of resiless regimen. Now is practice, and the team is a far cry.

A mess of food finds it's home on his blue Formula One Racecar shirt, and only a small token to be a bloody excrete.

lr/other's mind snapped long aSo, whacked emotion floats as a buoy, and the positive has capped to a jelly consistency. lr/other can't take this scene much lonSer, and I get the feeling she's about t0 take to the wind. The psychward of some God forsaken hospital will be her new home. Babblrng on and on in here; home sweeten home: about some mippled mutant suffering in a ceiling infested room.

"lt was his parents. He suffered for his panents, their unspeakable indecencies. It was unjust. A candle to the flame. lr/elted wax!"

Father is physically present, but in his head he's assumed the role of bottled window cleanen; blue, poisonous ammonia. The only thinE that keeps him on the function is his genuine addiction to caffeine. He brings the cup to his lips and leaves emotion out of it... naturally. A cup full of untainted nastiness; he likes his coffee black, he likes his soul black.

It goes on like this for some time; lr/other cries, Father sips...

THE BASEIilENT

A place where destiny shifts face, and dreams find solid feometry while sleeping amongst boxes filled with nostalf ic shadows, and Christmas deconation

that haven't been used in years. The stratefically placed suppont beams are lazy. Boxes of flood dama$ed photos, and pre-desifnated aspirations that never had a chance-take flifht. The wooden stairs leadinS down are warped and painted to a chipped blue. He never had to put out what he took in, and for that l'm sure he'll be rewarded as a pawn.

Greased wheels and wet brains, mindset. A fine piece of American machineny; take flight...

It was cold today. Autumn was setting in and this was the finst real cold day. I was in denial. lwone shorts with my coat and pretended thatthe cold didn't bother me. I don't know what ltried to pr"ove by that. I always end up getting sick from doint stupid crap like that. lwalked to school like I normally do, cutting diagonally across busy stneets and walking down those familiar alleys that were n0w bled dry When I got there, I walked into the building, walked immediately to my place, sat down and waited for evenybody else to come.

I never did my homework before school. I can't. lf I get myself involved in homework, lwon't see evenybody pass me by. The janitors and maintenance men come along at odd intervals startinf atthe time I arnrve. Aboutten minutes afier I arrive, the early people start coming in. Some just come in and go off to their clubs and others sit down in thein own spots and pull out their unfinished homework. From that time on, there is a steady acceleration in the student traffic. I watch my friends walking t0gethen to an unknown destination, talking about last niSht. I see couples, hand in hand, in the halls.

The couples are the best to watch. There are so many emotions that arise from beinS with someone with which one has a deeper connection to. Call me a romantic sap, but I love watchinS a couple whispering sweet nothings to each other. Even though I usually can't read their lips, their expressions are priceless. When they smile, I can feelthein joy and it makes me smile.

People are so intricate. ln everythinf they do, no matten how simple minded or bright the person may be, they have their own little thinfs that they do that make them diffenent. Even the people who want so desperatelyto fit in, they dress and act like everybody around them. They have their own little nuances that make them different. I watch them, all of them. They walk by me, some ignoring me like they're too good forthe kid with the weird pants sitting in his own little spot. Some look at me with an expnessionless face, gazing at everythinf around them with the same apathy. Everybody acts different though. Everybody. I especially noticed her. Her arrival every morning at 7:55, give on take five minutes, always made me gaze in her direction.

She didn't look like a supermodel. She wasn'ttall and thin with lonf straifht hair and a smile to seduce. She had a smile, a wonderful smile, but it wasn't t0 seduce. lt was hand cr"afted by God himself to bning joy to those who saw. She was the most beautiful Sirl I had ever seen. The finst day ofthe second week of school, when this spot became my spot, I saw her stroll down the hallway to her locken. I remember that day, she was wearing a greenish pair of pants with a solid black belt, and an old blue t-shirt, probably from the Salvation Army. She dnopped off some of her books, picked up another one, and then sat down for a bit.

ljust sat and watched her. I couldn't help it. She had captured me. I don't think she noticed me. Why would she notice me? l'm just an odd little freshman sitting in an odd inlet of the hallway. I noticed her though. I have talked to her a few times srnce then. lt took a few days of tor"tured inner conflict t0 go up to her and say hello. I didn't know what she thought about me. She's the only one I can't read almost perfectly. She's a mystery.

lfound out her name: Harmony Dunne. lchecked in the school director"y. She lived about four blocks away from mo She told me she moved her"e two summers a8o, riEht befone she started high school. She was a year older than me, but it didn't bothen me. The more Italked to her, and the more I saw her, the more I liked her. She's one of the coolest people l've met. I tot the feeling just by the way that she talked, dressed, and carried her"selfthat she was a really interesti ng person.

I had never asked somebody out before, ever. I didn't know how to go about it. lknew some people who had Sir"lfriends and boyfr"iends and they had all asked or been asked, and it had worked out. I have always wanted t0 ask girls out in romantic or memorable ways.

Today was gonna be my day. I had nothinS planned that was romantic or memorable. lwas scared out of my mind. All I knew was that I wanted to ask her out. I had been ponder"inS askinI her out for a while. This morninf she came in earlier than normal and was lookinf ever s0 beautiful She wore a pair of black pants and an0ther Salvation Army bargain shirt. I knew it was mytime to shine. I knew that if I waited too long her fniends would come back and talk to hen, so I wouldn't be able to I knew that if I didn't Eo riflht then and there, there was a larSe possibility that I would never summ0n up the courage to do it ever afain. I stood up from my spot, slung my backpack on, and walked ovento her. lwas already sweating. lcould feel the small globules forming all over my body and dripping down, but I went anyway.

"Hey Harmony?"

"What's up Dave? How're you doing?"

"l'm doinf okay, I was just chillin' over there and thinking, s0 Ith0ught l'd come over hene and say'hi."'

"Well hey " There was a short pause. lt felt like forever. I didn't know what I was doing at all. I had to say something.

"Hey Harmony. I gotta ask you a question."

"What?"

"l was wondering if you, um, mrght want to go out sometime."

"0h " "What?"

"l thought you knew." "What?"

"l have a boyfriend already. l'm really sorry. I thought you just wanted to be friends. l'm really somy."

"0h. lt's okay. No bif deal. Forget I even asked you." "l'm sonry."

"That's 0K. I gotta go though, so, l'll see you later."

"Bye." I turned, walked away, and started lookin! fon a new spot. I needed a good spot where enouSh people would come by, but not too many. I needed a spot where lwouldn't be distracted fnom the sights of the regular people around me.

,i t ]; ., .: a a :

10 t t I I f.t

ben kiet PersonaL GoaL penciI drawing

'!ro1r^-o \ G.r., t ri t

i I I

tu puedes darme una hora sin tu voz y no es justo

pero te amo y nunca voy a lloror y no voy a ver

eres mis dedos y estoy cansada, amor quiero perder

si te olvidas como la luz me beso has olvidado toda su sangre cruzo en las esterellas y vuelve a mi

fuego sin un siuno

You can give me an hour without your voice and it isn't fair

But I love you and l'm never going to cry and l'm not going to see

You are my fingers and l'm tired, love I want to lose lf you forget how the light kisses me you have forgotten [that] all of your blood crosses in the stars and returns to me

I love you, You know I really do. We all really do.

I have a weakness for walking Hand in hand With you, though you Never say much. I wor"ship your Skin so Smooth So supple And I look down At your beautiful hand At your beautiful wrist And I see Quiet Pin k Sca rs.

She's flyin$ acnoss youn opened minds, such a supensonic disco ball.

Drives a Honda, fine dust coats the silver disks. Her tunes. This chick is wheezing and sneezing, better watch out or she'll crash into the ground.

Candy flipper, Sunday school tripper.

Chava man can see the future, you can see her in your dreams, gonna blow henself out.

Soon she'll taste her last tune. Lights out. Why does it seem that her life is all but a joke?

She wastes away, all for hen coke.

First words out of the superstar"'s mouth, what's to smoke?

Wait and see one day she'll be ther"e, upon the concrete. What a mess. All bunned out. That life of her past.

Silently crashes, face meets pavement. Blue and ned waves flood in. swarm over that poor candy flipper's corpse. Drama served up in her hip-hugger style.

Blue jean lady, blue faced, somebody's baby. The wind blows from her body.

t.

11

adrian lecesne penciIdrawing

rrJ. r$.: ".,,

jeremiah reitty Sometimes I dRoot pen & ink drawing

ldon't brag ldon't boast

I like hot butter on my breakfast toast

llike bacon llike biscuits

Would you like some tasty triscuits?

pigs aren't pork chops

Grey Cold Walls, Grey Cold Stone Walls

It's dark the air is thick This is the place, They come in the door And leave in a freitht car Cows BiS Brown Cows ln the door" and out on a train This is not my life, This is the workinS man's life Chicago wasn't built on a foundation Chica$o was built on Pigs 18

E U

Pigs, Fat Smelly Pigs. A push ofthe button they come in. A swing of the blade they go out

You don't eat pigs, You eat Pork Chops

yesterday i thought it was the day before

Itell this woman something close to my heart and it gets hen down heaning me and that causes me to squint, seeing the tnuth of her reaction. -l'm never alone anymore, my empty palm c0nveys. -l go out go to work come home to my famlly ta lking and I go to bed to do it befone I don't want to do it all over. yestenday I thought it was the day before. The day befone that I didn't know what month it was if it's warm it's June coloned leaves mean October fon sure snow comes in December around here or January, and no more snow could mean opening day at Wrigley Field

50

or even later another yean and olden nePhews and for"gotten in-law's names the parties

I miss celebr"atinS family calendars I never owned stenciled incomprehensible their days and never mine a lon e. mine is my sign is the crab, with a twist: (ofthe knife, as she says, man are you ever) moving backward in time molting again to live agai n, movin$ sideways fnom memories (not that I care fon them) nemoved retreat i n $ into its shell feedinB on its shell called solitude that it may live.

when lwas thr"ee I did not know what knowledge was. I could not spell encyclopediaand did not know what 0ne was. I had not been enlightened to the fact that there ane other places besides whene I was living at the time. This changed at ate five when I started to r"ead. I started on children's books and started to become more knowledfeable. I wanted to be the smartest person on earth. when I found out what an encyclopedia was, I knew that I would have to read it. I started at the fir"st page and sounded out words that I did not know and eventually got fed up with my incompetence and quit. ltried asain at afe nine with similar results. Then at age thirteen I star"ted and did not stop until I was seventeen. I frnished on July 17, 1986. I sat in my noom staring at the wall trying to contemplate what I had done. I had r"ead the entire encyclopedia and strangely, I did not feel smarter. lwas hailed as a fenius in school and was offered many opportunities, which lturned down because I believed they were wrong. Just because I had read the encyclopedia did not mean that I was automatically a genius. I was not smart, ljust knew a lot. I knew nothing of life and of common sense; I could just rattle off a set of useless facts that I did not care about in the slishtest. tr/y life was empty until ltook up this lifestyle.

At age eighteen I decided that I would not be govenned by the laws of comm0n sense anymone. I did the "stupidest" thing I could have done. I decided not t0 go t0 college, but to inundate myself in city life, without help from anybody. I moved onto the streets in september, I think, I did not pay attention to dates and times as much as I used to. I sat there in a ratty blanket on a candboand box and thousht of the encyclopedia. After five years contemplating it I can't remember a single specific thinf out of it. I wasted my life attempting to become the smartest person on eanth and when I had become the smartest person that I had even met, I felt stupider" then where I began. I had wasted space in my brain with things that lcould not use anywhere. when lfifured this out I came damn close to going completely insane. I decided instead to do something and work my way up from there and so hene I sit, the cacophony of useless automotive noise tormenting me day and nifht. I have been on the streets for l5 months. I learn new thinfs every day. lf I had not spent so much time in a book, then I would have Iearned these thinfs before, but then lwould not be who I am today.

I have a few friends but fewer enemies. No one knows me or anything about me. I make money doinf petty tricks on people. Any question they ask me pertaining to history, I can answer and I invite them to check up on me. I do these things outside a library. I gain knowledge the only true way 0ne can: from others. Passing comments and sreetinfs contain a wealth of knowledfe, if pr"openly analyzed and nelated to c0mmon ventures. I see the interactions of

people 0n the street and learn from them how to become the perfect person. have the perfect mind, now I need the perfect personality. Normally, lwould be penformin€ on the street today but I have something better in mind. lt comes to me asthe sun nises and reflects offthe crystalline sides ofthe concrete monstrosities that I take psychological refuBe in; I am sick ofthis. I decide that I know enough to return where I came from and I tet on the train and make my way home. I need to see my family and former friends fain The time that I spent with them was good, and now that I know what I need to, I feel I have to neturn to them to apologize. I was their sole hope; the apple of my parents' eye and the fonmer fniend of many and it was time to rekindle my relationships with human beings. Now that I have lear"ned from them, I can netunn to them and embrace them. I get off the train and walkto my house in the sunli$ht I walk up to the door and ring the bell. A face that I had not known before comes to the door and asks if he can help me. I responded to him:

"No, you and yout" kind have helped me more than y0u can comprehend. Now it is my turn to help you." He looks at me with a quizzical expression on his face and decides to fetch my mother and father They come to the doon and break into tears. lwas back and I had br"ought my knowled$e and newfound experience with me. This would be helpfulto them. They could become more like me, they need to become more like me. I am better than them and perfection is the goal 0f humanity. I was vocal about this and I was shunned once again and decided that I still needed more knowled$e, this time on the art of lyin8. I need to make them believe that they did not need my help and tnick them into taking it without their consent, but allthe time helping them more then they can know. I listened to music and held mental symposiums with the ingenious c0mposers that put feelinSs into music so vividly that the music can evoke these feelings in the listener. I manvel at this remarkable phenomenon even today. I ponder"ed over this for some days and came to a conclusion All feniuses before me had expressed their $enius throufh some medium. il/ozart had his music, Einstein his physics. Bobby Fisher had his chess pieces and I have my lies. I can lie to people and convince them to do thin$s for me. I eventually decide to put these theories into practice and attempt it on my next-door neiShbor, but he will not accept. He claims he doesn't know me anymore. This is a heavy blow to my mind.

lwill not be accepted and thus lwill not have the chance to implant my genius intotheir heads l can lieto a certain extent but ifthe listener nefuses to acknowledge my existence and ideas, they do not deserve to know the key to mental happiness. I have lear"ned this, not from readin$ the encyclopedia, but listening to people and masterin$ human interaction to a point where I have

become too normal and lwill not be paid attentron to because I am only saying normalthings. They will n0t pay attention to me and will never learn fnom my genius, for they do not deserve it. I willtake it with me. Now as I stand with 500 feet below me and look down and work out that it will take me 7.964 seconds for me to hit the pavement and splatter all oven a crowd of soon-to-be hornified onlookers shouting things t0 the effect of "Don't jump.,,They don,t know whatthey have lost. lam halfway down and knowthat lonly have a litile while before my ideas are safe. The !r"ound is comins closer at a remankable rate, soon to take all of mankind's hope for perfection with it. I am the key and they have changed their lock. Before they wanted to hean me and now they do not want to, when I actually have something to say. lt's their fault, for they br"ought this on themselves. closer comes the ground and I can see the faces surnounding my landing zone. Soon all will be made Sood and those who refused mental salvation fnom previously accepted false ideas will get what they deserve: nothing. Closen comes the ground and I am happy.

Punishment delivered.

big bag o'change

I have this big bag 'o' change. I put nearly all the chan$e I f,et into it, you know, so I have some spare change for" parkin$ metens or" vendinf, machines and stuff like that. Just a simple ziplock bag, with the red and blue stnipes so its turns purple when its sealed. That's how I could always tell tt was closed all the way. Itrusted those stripes like they were my best friends. I $uess it was the commercials, the way they made it look like if those stripes were purple, they would neven let me down. I fuess in a way that's stilltrue.

Anyway, a month or so back, me and my friends wentto the Aragon to catch a Cake concert. lt was in a kinda shady net$hborhood. lwas wearin$ my Grandpa's old leather coat. lt had been around for a lonS time. tr/y Grandpa had wonn it until he gave it t0 my Dad, who just $ave it to me last year. lt was long and black, but in seemingly g00d condition. I had my ba$ of chan$e in the pocket.

We found par"king just under a block away right on the street, and it only cost a quarter for a full hour of parking time. I had some loose coins in my pocket that I hadn't put into the bat yet, so I yanked some ofthose out and put them in the meter. We went along towards the Ara$on There was a lot of homeless people askint for m0ney. Generally I like to be able to $ive somethinB to them. But I had to start cutting down a yean or so back because I started running out of money for myself. And one time, when I was, I dunno, about twelve, I was walkinS with some friends on 0ak Park Avenue by the tracks when a f,uy came up and asked if he could have a dollar on two. ltook the bills out of my pocket and gave him two or three bucks. But then he started talking about how he saw some larger bills in there, and c'mon, I could spare to five him that twenty, As a shy twelve-yean-old just barely staring to see five feet tall, I was hesitant to do much in the way of ar$uinS with him. I eventually fave him ten, I think 0r" somethinS like that. Anyway, the point is that thouBh I like to be able to Sive out some money if a person needs it, l've become a little wary about it, Anyway, back to the Aragon. So this $uy we're passing asks if we have anythinB we can spare. 0ne of the friends I was with had a bad expenience recently with a panhandler sort of rouShinf him up for thirty-two bucks, so our whole group was trying to just hurry past. I stopped, remembering the chan$e in my pocket that had not yet found a home in my ba8. I wouldn't dare brinf, out the baB itself, there's about twenty bucks worth of cash in there. 0ne look and l'd be up to my eans in people asking for" cash. But ltook what I had in my pocket and €ave it to him, tellrng him it was the "last" of my chan$e. But then somethin$ very strange happened. Somethin$ coincidental enou$h to almost make a person believe, fon a moment, that a higher force was involved. We all started walking away when lheard a metallic'clink.' I looked

anound and saw nothing, so we kept walking. But had I investigated further, I mifht have noticed that I had dropped a coin. And in examininf,that, lalso might have noticed that not only had a hole sprung in my pocket, but also in my big bag of change. But as the sound of silver fairies crashing into the pavement grew increasinsly louder, it didn't take me long to realize that, after f iving the man the "last" of my change, he had seen me turn, and suddenly see money start pourin6i out of the back of my coat like metal rain from a black leather cloud.

the ctimb

The sun rose that mornlng

A perfect morninf: the sun's wanm caress,

The cool tickle ofthe breeze on my cheek.

I stepped into the grapefruit dawn

Stretched like a cat on the doorstep.

Donning my pack lset out up0n the f,entle, well-trodden path.

LeIs fr"esh, stride lonS and stnong

My friends joined me at the trailhead and we jaunted

Glided as a flock of chatterinE birds over trees, laufhten floatinf in the breeze

At midday, the sun's gnin relaxed

And hid its face behind the veils of dishwater clouds

The wind kicked up Tickle to scratch, it chafed my cheek. lcy waten needles fell upon my arm.

The laughter died. tr/any headed back to blazin$ fires and steaming coffee.

A few followed as the trail began to rise. It continued, pockmarked by mud and stones.

Voices ceased, but my leBs beBan to talk back to me.

Shoulders hunch under the load and hooded head dnoops. I trudEe on.

The rain is piencinS now, lacenating jacket and soul

Wind creeping into my clothes, socks, soul

The trail starts up slick like a greasy slide

Friends depant wishinS luck.

A lone companion remains steadfast at my side.

Clawing up the path with cnampons and fin$ers

Hands groping fon roots, feet fot't'ocks.

LeSs and arms arguing, back bucklinf' under the tnemendous load

PullinE back, lclimb on.

Here the tr"ail vanishes

Face to face with a wall of t'ock and mud.

lr/y raw finfers are swallowed by the slud$e

Nails are gone, sweat and rain making cracked hands bunn Scarlet, blistered feet chafed by sodden socks, boots offruit leathen disinte$rate

The r"ain slices into me, its icy claws renderin$ my flesh

Sweeping away my footholds, my hope.

My companion struggles, slips, plunges into the sea swellinI up below I am left

Hanging by my finfertips the wind shrieks Strangely beautiful, the sirens call to me Turn Back! Let Go! Come Home! Nooooo!

I close my eyes to the wind, the last of my strenfth windinS its way to my fin gers. My legs kick out into space NothinS Nothing

Som eth i ng ! A foothold and another. One mone. tvly legs my out, they have done all they could They have done enough I awake

The screeching wind has been silenced, the rain passed. 0nce again I am canessed by the sun's gentle hands. I lay crumpled like a piece of paper 0n the promontory.

I unfold and force my legs, wooden legs, to stand and Sr"eet the day Below I see the cliff, the tr"ail, my fr.iends, my home. How minuscule they all seem from up here! How insi€nificant! To my back the trail g0es on into the trees.

Standinf, I stretch like a cat and don my pack. I wave to my friends, home, the frapefruit dawn, and ltunn DisappeaninS into the trees.

streets

"The streets, keeping it real on the streets of c-i-t-y of the Chi, keeping it real on the streets don't let the true sh pass you by."

Streetba I l. lvlen whose hopes have been drowned in reality of avenage skills they do not even possess, continue to do their "best" on the court. PourinS out their hearts to the punsuit of neighborhood fame in streetball. Their hoop aspirations are destined to die in their decisions to defy the almi€hty supplier of true talent. Practice, the absent stench of sweat is consumed with the unmistakable fnagrance of a black and mild. the savory scent of weed, and washed down with both wine and liquor. ln place of water. So their chances of standom dimmer, as thein thick beer belly waistlines thicken, and their fantasies fall, when at a standstill, because they are not driven.

Neven before have I journeyed down the stneets of a nei$hborhood in the city and only seen two darkfaces in 20 minutes. Hmm, I guess we just can't tolerate each other. Playin€ ball, lau$hing with only same-color" brothers, will limit tolerance for one another. Therefore we remain separated by color.

But we descend down, and into deeper depths of Division's danf,ers. and discover the existence of black neishborhoods, just across the street. and the finst person of color we meet, complains about the lack of melanin walking down the street, funny, he,s the finst penson we met, who decided to speak. Hmm, I Suess we just can't tolerate each other. Playing ball, laughing with only same-color brothers, will limit tolerance for one another. Therefore we remain separated by color.

Lonely nithts

Wherelsit&write

Thinking about the beauties of life

Clear thoughts

Which l've foutht

What shall I write?

What shall I talk?

To others l'm crazy Just because l'm all alone But the best beauty to find is your own I search for thinSs I will never find

The answers to life

A soul mate that is mine I already have everything I need pen, paper & a mind with its own destiny

I love myself so I don't need much love Maybe I do, just not the kind that comes from Kisses & huts.

61

brained

This room is as dull as my face.

Awkwand and jaggedI sit here, my thouShts bouncing from wall to wall

My body is in a trance as it wants to move But my eyes feel heavy and my mind numb. I want to talk to Chava, but he's not awake

So I close my eyes anyway and take a deep bneath Color"s of green and blue float byStream through my veins and spill through my finger"tips

I can feel the beat, It soothes my soul.

Ana's found peace, even thoulh she's at home.

There are people downstairs with no clue of their own, that I'm here all alone. Tomorrow l'll wake up, everything the same

Even though my future has changed

It makes so much sense, how can't they see Things aren't always as they seemEspecially when reality becomes a dream.

My bed is warm and swallows me inI want to touch, absorb, Clue myself in.

I open my eyes...

I watch the light make the shadows dance about And listen to the sound vibrations while they mellow me out. When you're riSht side up in an upside down world, or"dinary is interestinf. lily curiosity makes me 8i€81e, but can kill the cat.

Except I am a cat, with an obsenvant eye-chasing the air with nothing to fear l've found my skin, a place to crawl.

lmagination numbs the dull.

Porque

El Sol esta triste mi Vox esta sin logica los mares estan secos pero mi nariz sique oliendolos la tierra esta sucia pero todavia es bella para misojos. la vida no existe pero mi corozon signe amardo mis huesos siquen blancos pero mi conciente es negro absorbiendo todas las luces del sol y sus lagrimas. Y cuando tiempo pare de moner yo me levantore y caminare al cielo para abrazar el sol y reir de la locara del mundo

Beca use the sun is sad my voice is without logic the seas are dry but my nose can still smell them the land is dirty and polluted but it is still beautiful for my eyes. Life doesn't exist but my heart keeps lovinS My bones continue to be white but my conscious is black absorbing all the sun's lisht and its tears. And when time stops moving I will get up and walk to the sky to embrace the sun and laugh at the maziness of this world

o,j

Who will be able to receive that Bift you s0 uneasily seem to give

The one that allows a true glimpse of your eyes

A slight vision of your soul

A warm image of an untouchably f iven motion

Where fingertips can read a mind

A grazing of skin becomes cloud nine

A protection greater than almost anything

Where eyelashes can intertwine

And a keen sense of smell will read thou$hts

A good sense of taste can find the perfect flavor

Where a silver" chain links a bond between two hearts

That gift of a mind-numbin$ love.

Who can pull you out from the inside?

I often wonder how long it will be-

Until I witness a new version of me by Your side

The one who gets to unfold all youn layers

Smooth out creases of past pain

Use steam to inon out wrinkles of jailed Passions-locked so deep now within your soul

Who'll get brought to a place s0 serene

So carefree

So immaculate

So breathtaking

Whene a vision of the bearer can make evenything beautiful

[/ake a kiss the most sensual

An embrace the most sacred

And make soft spoken words into onef s own soothin$ lullaby

Where you're not the protector of your red passion provider anymore

A Sift where anms become steel doors

That no harm or pain could pass throuBh

And I often wonder late at nightRiEht before I close my eyes and see your face

I often childishly wonder what made up youn mind-

I often wonder who'll take my place

keith zeILer la:rrta.- f_,: r-l:. [,]l-,ar

Dawn on Lake Superior photographic print

Hung Up to Dry photographic print

inftaytd faatha

tr/y dad is one of the craziest people l've met. I know evenyone thinks their parents ane insane at least some of the time, but my dad is especially bizanne. When I was in 6th Srade, he started wishing that he could be a pnofessional napper. He made up a rappen name for himself: "lnflaytd Faathaa"-a tribute to his idol, Puff Daddy. At first, I was pretty annoyed, because I thought he was making fun of rappens and people that listened to rap, but then I realized that he was completely serious; he really and truly wanted to be a [apper. He wrote a few songs, even, althoufh for some ofthem, the content wasn't typical of most rap songs...actually, it wasn't typical of any music $enre l've ever heard of; about half of his s0ngs were about politics and his intense hatred of all things Republican. The other half were pretty normal He made a tape of himself napping, and sent it to all of his friends, and all of our relatives. For awhile, he signed all his letters, cards, and before the bank called, his checks, Lawrence "lnflaytd Faathaa" Rudmann.

After a few years, he became a little discouraBed; he wasn't satisfied with the quality 0f songs Puff Daddy was making anym0ne. Also, with Eminem's songs shooting up the chants, my dad became convinced that Eminem, as basically the first white napper, had "stolen his scene." Howeven, he soon got the idea to team up with his friend John, to make what he calls the "SuburbanWhite-Boy-Rapping-Duo." To$ether, my dad and John r"ent movies with $uest appearances by famous rappers every Friday nif,ht, and each sits on the couch with a clipboard, takinf careful notes. lf you look in his CD nack, in between the Bob Dylan and Jimmy Buffet, you'd see anythin$ fnom Dr Dre, to Eminem, to Jay-Z. Also, following in the footsteps of many well-known rap artists, my dad has started to branch out into the fashion industry. For instance, he cut the bill off a baseball cap, and now wears this every time he goes out. He calls it "NoCap-Hat-Backward." His goal is to confuse people with his hat's lack of a bill, and star"t a nation-wide trend. He also cut the sleeves off every t-shirt he owns, and wears them inside out layered oven sweatshirt. A couple of his other, nonrap-obsessed friends told him that all this was offensive, but he told them that he was just trying to do what he loved, not offend anyone.

lr/y brother thinks all this is pretty embarrassinf. lvly mom just calls it a mid-life crisis. lr/y hard-core Republican next-door nei$hbors think it's a direct conspiracy against them. But ljust think it's damn funny; and if, for some cnazy reason, my dad ever gets a recond deal and starts tourin$ with some of his idols, l'll be there in the front row, weaninS an inside-out shirt with the sleeves cut off.

t" {\' cartene truitt Faces pen & rnk drawing

if daggens could have physically ejected themselves from my eyes they would have but a deathly stare was all i could muster as i necovered from the skipped heartbeats when she walked out ofthe room and shutthe door behind hen yawning and stretching and leaving him curled up like a baby on his bed she said she felt as if she had been run over by a truck the look on my face $ave me away i wished she had i was furious at him he hadn't gone to bed early and alone as he had promised i stormed in but when i saw him curled up head at the foot of the bed tangled in the covens my heart melted

invisi bte understanding

The utopia of love, itself. Living connections between the trees and the grass. Little kids play hide and seek only knowing innocence. Peace is given by a nodding festure of each passenby. The smell of sweet potato pie with cinnamonchocolate sticks plus H20. As warm as it is cold, the yin yang effect. Columns times rows of apartments quietly sitting. closed eyes but observin( everything Chess in the par"k, as the woman feeds the pigeons. Cyclists calmly pursuing their next destination. wind breathing into all cneatures, the bird Ilides triumphantly. Protest r"allies of one love lift up the nation.

Two soy chocolate milk shakes! The boy asked from thejuice bar. 0ne day he'll bethe strongest... The stronfest... Stnong in something seeing the young neserved energy inside his chest cavity growing.

Walking out into the sunshine, a father and son, dreads root like oak tnee stems. So many tones of the nationality rainbow. 0ne dark, brute, handsome tone sticks out in the mist of pollution fnom the passing bus. pr"ofanity is rarely heard. And tr/AN! The looks from cops are hardly absurd and degnading from othen simplistic habitats.

How much is the paintinS? 0ne asks. Half off since noute of intelligence is on course

But this is only one of the midwives of its kingdom

FloatinS above neality I waft in the winds of existentialism

Possessing that of which I know and that of which I only feel

Plausible enigmas encircle my brain as thouf,h g0ing in fonthe kill

Jagged edges of once imaf,inable theories stand watch within my head Beware

There is a man present who will change youn destiny

Lady luck crouches over victories swaddlinE them from defeat

NursinS the wounded hopes of losinS victors molten ice slides down thnoats

Snake eyes flashing the devil is positioned

0nce beautiful woman now turned sour by hope dullinB propositions turn tricks

Half slunred murmuns of yestenyear fade into oblivion as the sunrises and a m bitions

Plummet

Fruit cocktails blurring with multi-colored liEht where day travels unseen

The known drift below waves of exhaustion as wallets place bets

King high on the mountain of victory soon to be swallowed by a stot"ybook creatu re Greed

CrawlinI smoke like shattered hopes stumble out of gold-coated lead

Sugar coated acid in the middle of a dessent

This is Vegas my friend

You told me that I couldn't make it.

You said I wouldn't amount to anythinS. But riSht now I can stand here and say to you, I made it

I overcame I jumped every hurdle Climbed every mountain And ran through every valley. You said I was an underachiever, Said my life would be nothinS, But a$ain I stand here and say

I forced myself, I pressed MY way, now look where l'm at today.

I am a younS black woman, so you knocked me down to see if lwould fet up Guess what I did, I dusted myself off and kept on Soin'

LOOK AT ME I AM A BLACK WOMAN.

the burger

lVan, oh man, could lflip a mean hamburger Some people view it as a simple task, but I know better. lt takes skill, neal talent to make the perfect bunfer. 0ne must use just the riEht amount of charcoal, a little lighten fluid and a match to iEnite the perfect flame. You need to know when to flip the hambunfer, so it doesn't end up looking like your charcoals. Nobody likes a blackened, I mean really burnt, bur$er. Dry, hand and crusty burgers are not much for one's taste buds. But you see, you don't want it to be under cooked, either. Pink is not a good color for a burgen, erther. There are also dangens involved with an under-cooked burger. I mean serious dangens 0ne could get e. coli poisoning on salmonella if a bunger is not cooked properly, which could put a penson's life at risk Hamburfer safety is no joke. The huge nesponsibility of producinf the perfect burf,er and pleasinf customers is weighted solely on the shoulders of the hamburger chef Lucky for me, the penfect hamburger is the only kind of burger I know how to make. Just when the juices begin to run, that's when you flip it, trappinf, pure flavored goodness inside.

Not only do you need a sixth sense to have the pr"ecision to flip burgers, you need to understand that when you top your burgen, it is a for"m of ar"t. The burger and buns are y0ur canvas, and the condiments are y0ur paints. There's mustard, mayo, ketchup, relish and pickles. This is the tunning point in the burger creation There needs to be.1ust the master"piece would end up in shambles. A dash of ketchup, a smidSe of mustard, and for those risk takers, a pinch of salt thrown over it all. A new Sistine Chapel would be born.

Let's not forget cheese, which is a whole other world. The types of cheese ane unlimited You've g0t your feta, cheddar, Swiss, N/onterrey Jack, and don't forget about the classic American cheese. Cheese is a very important factor in constructing the burf,er; it could make or bneak it. lt is necessary that rt be pout on immediately after the burger is taken off the gnll. That way, y0u are able to manipulate the natural heat rising off the bun$er to melt the queso. No othen cooking is necessary; keeping the burser perfectly cooked A cold, unmelted slice of cheese, however, will slide out of a burger and make it messy The eater of the burger will no longer" be concerned wrth the fine flavor, but preoccupied with the sliding cheese and how he wants to keep his clothes clean. A distracting sliding cheese could r"uin evenythinf Cheese plays such a key role in the burf,er industry and it has its own bur$er" named after it. lt is m0st c0mm0nly refenred to as the infamous "cheeseburger."

Swarms of children appr"oach me at the grill, demandinS that their burfers be above all. 0ne false move and it would be Armageddon. Such a task would seem impossible to some, nequirinf, c0ncentnation of the utmost level, but I handle it with ease. Flipping the steaminS pieces of bovine, I am ever so caneful

to interfere with the bondins going on between meat and gr"ill the mechanrc like motion will ensure that litile Tommy's burser is neithen too hot nor undercooked. To sit throush any complaints would be devastating. squinting a little more li$hter fluid onto the grill really sets the flame roaring, screaming at the top of her lunfs like a hungry newborn. sittrng at ten evenly placed picnic tables, my guests ar"e stirr"ing in their seats, wondering to themselves, when therr awesome burgers will be served. The tantalizing ar0ma is beckoning them to creep over and take a peek as I wor.k my maf ic. Although the heat coming off the grill is causins mass perspiration. I simply wipe my brown and continue. They're countinf on me to br"ing them perfection.

The process of grillinf was coming to a close, as my assistant chef beings he condiment pnepanations Lifting each piece of lettuce ever so lifhily onto the crisp buns. Draping the tomatoes and onions, a technique he picked up watching his father" years ag0 Finally, the t0p rs applied and the masterpiece is seeminf ly finished, bun no, rt will be put through 0ne more test. After keen in inspection by the chef, they are off to the tables full of anticipating peens who will be come the main factor, the final test A victory would not only satisfy the taste buds of this crowd, but would solidify the reputation of my super"b talents behind the frill as well. watching from a distance, intensely observing each mouth-water"ing bite, lcan sense satisfaction. what if the crowd desines more? How will I answer their demands? To feed the need, to appease their appetites? Stepping backto my gnlling position, the requests come firing in. throw on the meaty discs and rush through the delicate pr0cess, hoping to prove that I can pnoduce my fine product once again. No, wait...they wenen't requestin$ more at all. I r"ealized this, peering to my right, that the burgens had all been disregarded into the tnash. ln an act 0f disgust and rage I nipped off my chef's hat and send the flipper flying. I decided that lwould go s0mewhene where I would be appreciated. somewhere I could b tr"eated with respect. I kept walkrng until I saw the golden arches. I walked thr"oufh the doors and found my tnue calling:

"Hi, may l take your orden?"

personaI touch

I want to know what your lips taste like as the moon watches

And see the sun's expression as you move shadows with your smile.

I sit ponder"ing the effects of your magic potion

While wonder"ing the invisible steps of the Atlantic 0cean. Youn face dancing behind my closed eyes.

Your name jukin$ on my ton$ue.

Yet for the moment, only leavin$ these lips in a whisper.

Waters calmin$ my anxious soul

lvloistening this chocolate-covered warrior to your satisfaction, tilolding this enigma of lost definition

However Siven labels to be considered of normality: young, black, male Beneath the name "Marcelis," and at first $lance

That is all you will see,

Let me show you I am more than just another cneature.

SharinS your oxygen.

Let me be your oxygen.

The first breath of fresh air that consumes you when a new day is bonn, The first breath of fnesh ain that invades y0un senses at the lakefront,

The first breath of fresh air that pobs the heart of memories or being broken

And allowing the only way a tear to be shed is throu$h happiness, 0nly I can give you, but I guess, risht now, l'm just talking

Just talking and talkinS instead of doin(

Talking about what I could be doin9

But I call your name and you won't come to me So these words mean nothin$

And nothing gets done and I wanna run But in which direction? Damn I look dumb, l'm trying to undenstand where l'm going, But can't really see where I came from.

So I look up and get blinded by the sun that is jealous of you

And the moon watches.

Gravitationally stir"ning the waves to spell out your name

Still the sun warms the currents that we mi$ht

Swim in hand-in-hand one day.

Kristina Adamczewski

is a sophomone and a Taurus. She is creative and likes to write.

John Glark is a kid tryinE to open up the rest of the to new sif,hts and ounds. He listens to Ph is h.

Mathieu Brown

"l hope that my writing will inspine people to go beyond the limits of conventional wniting. So, just try writing and see what happens."

h Golky is a wniter who will be attendin€ Columbia College. He has been to oven I00 readinfs and eats a lot of mayo and cheese sa ndwi ch es.

Gaitlin Greeley "l'm the penson your panents warned you about."

Salvadore LozanoAlvarado enjoys building homes for those in need and takinS pictu re s.

Ben lfiel draws for fun He normally just doodles, but once in awhile gets inspired by a bunst of creativity and does real drawinBs.

Alyssa Haglen has been writing fon yeans for no real profit, much to her dismay. She enjoys summer vacation, new haircuts, playinB €uitan, and the sound of rain... but not composing Eeneral desriptive statements.

Ashley Garnaghi "il/y inspiration for photography stems fnom real life experiences. CapturinB one's life in photoisafift."

Phobey Gass's name is not Phoebe, but instead Phobey. She loves chemistry.

Sean Chambers

"l took the photo while was 0n an assignment for Trapeze. encourage all people intenested in photofraphy to pursue their dreams."

Zach Day is very calm and laid back. He likes wr"itinS and sometimes plays with empty beer bottles.

tlafiz "[/y goal is to break art free fnom the constnaints imposed by [/rs. Spicuzza's cultural death Srip. 0nce havinE accomplished this I will move 0nto bringing down lr/r. Noble and his reign oftenror."

Iloretha Hill was adopted when she was thnee days old. She is EoinE Columbia in the fall as an ant major. She has two rottweilers.

Billy Jackson went to lr/ann school, then he didn't. We missed him, n0w he's back.

Philip Hill writes a lot

Gerald Jefferson is an actot" and the head of the fashion merchandisinB club

Patrick Kevil neally likes black licorice.

Katheryn Kleeman is in spoken word and has been wniting since she was a little ginl. Her zodiac sign is Vir[0.

Adrain leGesne likes sunliEht and clouds. He works for his future and looks, as often as he can, at the beautiful and the pleasant. He toils, all his days, alone.

Grissie Kenninglton says,"l feel as if beauty in Iife were meant for" the day dreamers."

Ghris Melnyk

"Cheese is bad Go Bosox."

Alex Kircher says his favorite pasttime is sarCASM.

Iim Madden has been writint poetry for the past 6 weeks. His main influences are Freddie Got Fingened, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers

Kyle Michel is a senior and has been interested in art for sometime. The picture is a self-portrait and states his lndividuality.

Itohan Osaigbo, a junior", has been involved in Spoken Word all her years at OPRF and is active in youn$ Chicago 0rs.

Jerany Otero is often confused with her evil twin "Jenamy:" Try not to confuse the two.

Brandon Muench can draw his boot-ay off, in cer"tain editors'o pin ions.

Alex l{ied sometimes wnites thin€s.ln his other time, he wrrtes music for his band, A.D.D., which is working on its second album.

Patrick Mulcahy would like to encourage everyone to buy Alliance's new cd.

Bistau is an awesome kick-boxer

Dylan Rudmann is a senion. She's been wniting weekly as a stress reliever fon as lonf as she can remember, but appreciates the focus that Mr. Zabransky's Creative Wr"itinS class brought to her wonk.

Susanna Ramos credits teachers who don't nestnict their students, but let them wnite fneely. For this senior, writing has always been easiest. ilora Schlesingler is tickled pink to be in Crest. 0n behalf of Courtney, she would like to offer these wor"ds of wisdom: "You say self-rmportant ego maniac lrke it's a bad thing." Next stop: PouShkeepsie.

Strong "l was inspired to write this not only because l'm AfricanAmenican, but because l'm an African-American w0man."

Garlene Truitt

"lr/y favorite color is gneen though I hardly use it in my artwork. KK we miss you fnom all of us in drawing class."

Hillary

Williams is a senion and plays field hockey and soccer.

Smiley

"We are the music makens we are the reamers of reams. A flute h no holes is not a flute but a donut with no hole is a Danish - think about it"

llavid 0jala is a dynamic individual who enjoys scaling large works of modenn art and improving the thermal efficiency oftrain statrons on his lunch bneaks.

Jeremiah P. Reilly enj oys drawing, painting, attending book burnings, and giving up persona I riShts for' job security

Garlo Reyna has always used Spanish to convey heart and soul. Io this senior, "English is a rationalization." He started writing in junior hifh.

Dorian Shelton started wniting in sixth Snade and says, "l guess writing just blossomed for me."

Greg Shultz wants to be a race can passengen: just a guy who bugs the driver. "Say man, can I turn on the radio? You should slow down and hy do we gotta keep going in circles? Can I put my feet out the window? Boy, you r"eally like Tide."

Marcelis Wyatt

"This poem is about nobody in this school. Nothing I write even is."

Keith Zeller "The bare essentials have come. Now its e to lay down and ignore the duchkha.

JamieI Cornetio's most prominent feature used to be his long nails. Now, it's his flaf rant use of the word "pumpern ickel."

Marisa Geoghegan is a wonderful girl full of life She also smells like peanut butter

Erin Graves is one of the most wonderful people I know Unfortunately, she's also Canadi an.

Lisa Locascio was born and raised in that pit of evil, Riven Forest She's been slowly working hen way to the top, where she will battle for" the soul of the high school literary magazine. Lisa sends her love to the Crestaceans, Noah and Young Chicago Authors.

Erin Lyons is really cool but sadly, has no life outside of Crest and Say What magazine.

Niget Shietds used to be a genius. But since the pancake incident, he hasn't been the same.

Katherine Parker says don't tread on her and invest in Pixie lickin' eve ryd ay

Meg Prossnitz enjoys wearing muu-muus and watchinf, Fnench films, dah linS.

Abby Van Deusen's sole aspiration in life is winninf a national hot dog eating contest. We worry about Abby.

Dave Walwark plays outside. Fr"isbee, snowboarding, and camping, yol But when inside he can be found playing fuitar and desifning whatever he can get his hands on.

Emity White was a princess lon[, long ago Now she's on Cnest. tilY, H0W THE TABLES HAVE TURNED.

Anne Wootton has this weird thing about me carnying her into class. I mean, jeez, l've only dropped her twice.

Rich Zabransky is our favorite stuffed animal. He makes the wor"ld go 'round.

don't trash your crest!

instead, why don't you:

make paper cranes wrap gifts pick up do€ poop wall paper your room or closet make ransom letters papier mache make paper airplanes prop up uneven table le$s paper train your puppy pack boxes without those peanut thin$s make confetti make spitballs make paper hats make a paper me$aphone use it for a coaster use it as toilet paper write notes on it to your friends stuff your bra or pants donate it to a random library hide a dirty ma$azine in its vir$in pages send it to a needy child in Ghana

0r, if you are among the unmeative few, you can return it to the Crest Office in room 307A. Just please, please, please...don't throw it out!