Krtsnv Srunrrucx

SrNsws Fr,oss MY TEETH

Sinews floss my teeth Like the fibers of mangos used to. I gnaw on bones until they burst, stabbing my lips While marrow bleeds onto my tongue.

Itis2052,

And nuclear holocaust has left only a plateful of survivors, Fields desecrated worse than when God Sent locus to punish Pharaoh.

We were so close! Congress promised to ratify Declarations that all restaurants must ban meatBacon was viewed as repulsive as liver. 87o/o of the population vomited at the idea of cooked muscle.

But now 99o/o of the population is gone, God has said that we're a free-for-all, And those who led the fight against Blood-soaked creatures fried on buns Realized ethics and morals are only as strong as the stomach.

We ran out of animals.

M.yb. this is punishment For not having eaten real food my entire life. If I could do it over again, Id dine with the outcasts, Laughing as gristle's stench massaged my cheeks Instead of now, so famished for survival

I have ravished my intestines with human blood, and now I feel hairs and fingernails caught in my throat As if choking me for another chance to live. If beefs fat had decorated my nose in gluttony, Muyb" God's curse to me would have been To be eaten instead ofto eat.

I think of my friend, The poster-child vegetarian fighting Bouillon cubes and sushi. I wonder if she was pious enough to wait, Searching for other sources of nonexistent food, Refusing to bend to the destruction of life Even though her stomach turned on her out of spite. I wonder if she sat,legs crossed like broken bones, Waiting for the wind to sneeze and snap her emaciated body.

What if she saw others and her faith in humanity Proved as fruitless as the scorched orchards she searched? I wonder, If in her cries of death they sensed her throat was a virgin to goreI wonder if they hesitated. But worse, I wonder if I found her, If she recognized my blood-crusted eyelashes -The mascara of the apocalypseIf she realized my hair was a showcase coffin of previous meals. Did I hesitate, Or did my eyes glaze over, Opaque as the skin on a suckled pig,

Blinding me to recognition so that she was only

Masses of blonde twine and quickly corpse's company?

But I will not fall. Hlpothetical compunction will never Be the slowing gravy to my feet; My legs will never become drumsticks. They will carry me throughout the continent, Allowing me to taste how ethnicity tints the flavor Of the shame and fear that is my saliva.

We have become wingless vulturesWe will not yearn for hands in ours unless they're toothpicks Mankind was not meant to be united but To ravage each other in understanding That nothing is more important than conquest. Only one of us can stand on a pile of skeletons clean As dinner plates of civilization.

Kntsav Snnrrucrc

/u?A

AorutNt MrutNoe

I'na Fnou rHE CoLoRED Lrcnr

I'm from the colored light, that shines through our stain glass windows. And the exaggeration that filters through my family. I'm from the crusted salt, that thrives under our fish tank. And the fresh baked snicker doodles on the counter. I'm from the tin pickle hung on the tree, hidden from sleepy eyed children, waiting to be found Christmas morning. I'm from the dog fur, littered over everything. And the reminisce of Fall scattered throughout my house. I'm from the loose hexagon tile in the bathroom, And the squeaky floor boards of the stairs. I'm from the lace of my skate, that holds my life together.

M-sunEnr,r Hatpuy

0

0 0

0

0

Cterup Dem

Frnsr BREATH Inhale sharp once before I go under. Daylight is broken, jagged bits across my vision: they sand themselves smooth the further I go. Look up to see the sun's shadow

floating overhead. If you were with me in this stasis, youd feel the darkening blue of the water curling you like a fist in sleep, untethered fetus in the deep

yawning sea. This is the pressure of loss, fingertips pushing patterns into the wet shore, washed away before the sun can see them. I want to pull away, rip the hem

of the water and let rushing air write braille on my skin. But unless I sink again, I am a veteran whose trembling hands can't piece together her promised land. Rucut MannxotLn

Uxonn oLD Locs

Desquiggle looked around at the trees that made up this forest. They resembled gnarled, gray men who had seen many miracles and were now settled into their beds, ready to dream about shadows and where the stars go during the daytime. The wisps of crinkled hair on their heads made a thatched roof of thin branches above, speckled with spring-time buds. Desquiggle noticed the way the sun dripped invitingly through the canopy in warm pools. Shining dust motes drifted lazily through those beams in an eerie dance. He watched his two crewmates explore the forest while he dithered near a large willow tree. Pig-Kite, his first mate, was intent on lifting up logs and seeing what was beneath. Awake, his second mate, was more interested in the sky. She climbed up to the highest branches she could find, no matter how thin, and peered hopefully through the great clouds of leaves surrounding her. Desquiggle wasnt nearly so bold in his searching. After all, forests can be fraught with ever sort of Danger imaginable. One might walk around a knoll and find oneself face to snout with a Lumbering Ungulor, with slobbering jaws and breath like a bog. And one never knew if one were about to fall into the nest of a Burrowing Squerritar, who had three heads and a tail made of spines. One must be constantly on one's guard. "Have you seen anything yet?" a Small Voice asked. "Because I haventl' Desquiggle jumped in a flurry of arms and legs and a sword, and faced the Voice, chest heaving and eyes wide. But it was only Awake with Pig-Kite by her side. "You scared mel'he sighed. Awake gathered up the hem of her blue dress as she leapt nimbly over a curled root. "You told us there were Incredible Animals herei'she continued. "You promised me silvery Stags! Frogs that sing arias and Birds with wings like spider-webs!" "But I also told you about the Harmful Beasts: the Eagles with three legs and one red eye, and the Lizards who jump across branches and pick travelers offthe ground with their tonguesi'Desquiggle pointed out. "Danger abounds." "I wouldnt mind that!" Awake insisted. "I just want to see some Animals, instead of these wretched trees!" "You're looking in all the Wrong Placesi' Pig-Kite told her. Awake groaned. "There are not Animals under logs!" she said. "Tell her I'm rightl' he said to his captain. Awake laughed. "He's been going on about how we have to lift up logs to find the Interesting

Animals. I refuse to help him." "But I'm righti'Pig-Kite announced expertly. Desquiggle nodded. Logs sounded safe. They would find nothing but spiders and ants. "Like sol'Pig-Kite demonstrated. He picked up a crumbling branch from the ground and peered at the wet patch of soil underneath. A white maggot squirmed out of Embarrassment and tried to hide himself behind a walnut shell, but that was all. "Nothing herei'Pig-Kite remarked, noticeably disappointed. He scratched his head. "But you see what I mean." "That was hardly a log)' Awake said irritably. If they were going to lift logs, they might as well lift Proper Ones. "Therel' she pointed at an enormous hunk of rotting wood covered in moss. It must ve fallen at least one hundred years ago; whole colonies of ants swarmed into crevasses in its blackened face, and little mushroom groves sprinkled the top. "Let's see what's under that one. It must be a Haven for Creepies and Crawlies. Civilizations may have risen up!"

Desquiggle helped her get a firm grip on the ancient slab of fallen tree. Together, they pushed with all their strength, and their toes dug into the ground for support. Muscles straining, they were able to slowly tip the mighty log upwards and behold what lay in its Dark and Mysterious Shadow. 'Oh!" Pig-Kite exclaimed, squinting at the Animal they had unearthed. "Hello therel' "Hellol' said the faguar smoothly. "You have elevated my homei' He was a Fearsome Beast indeed, with slick black fur and two shining yellow eyes. Using one paw bristling with spiny claws, he combed his tail patiently and regarded them with a careless sort of irreverence. He, with his claws and eyes, made Desquiggle extremely uncomfortable. "Do you livehere?" Awake asked him. The |aguar didnt reply. In his observation of the travelers, his gaze had stopped abruptly on Awake. Now he was staring at her blue dress in a particularly frightening way. His eyes narrowed into mere slits, and his teeth began to show. His tail gave an odd, unnerving twitch, like a bug that wasnt quite dead. "Itt a lovely spacei' said Pig-Kite politely,looking around at the hollow the |aguar must have dug out for himself. The clay floor was littered with the yellowing skeletons of mice, voles, and little sparrows.

"You knowj'the |aguar began to speak in a slippery tone, "I really just despise the Color Bluel' Awake swallowed nervously. "My dress technically isnt Pure B1uel'she said hastily. "More like a Gentle Cerulean. Passive Azure, even, in certain circlesl' "Close enoughj' the ]aguar licked his lips, which gave them a really gorgeous view of his fangs. Desquiggle saw what the faguar intended to do, and he didnt give the |ungle Cat enough time to even stand up. With one swift motion, he let go of the log's edge, grabbed Awake, and jumped back. A look of Ultimate Irritation flashed across the thwarted )aguar's face before the log fell over him with a heavy whumpt "Yikesl'Awake breathed, brushing a clump of soil offher shoulder that had fallen from the 1og. "Thanks. What a Near Miss." "Who would've guessed that faguars hated Blue?" Pig-Kite giggled as he punched her playfully on the arm. They began to walk back to the ship at Desquiggle's suggestion. He wasnt very keen to explore any more of the forest, and he really couldnt take another scare. His red bandana was already soaked through with perspiration. "I was right," he told his first and second mates. "Danger aboundsl' Awake decided to ignore him. "Do you think there'll be hot chocolate on the ship?" "I hope soi'said Pig-Kite. "Of course, there may only be enough for onei' she mused. "Which means the first one back would get it," Pig-Kite finished her thought. Desquiggle saw them lock eyes and recognized that the Spirit of Competition had descended upon his crewmates. He whimpered. "Please be careful!" But it was too late. He could only watch as Awake and Pig-Kite disappeared into the brush ahead, a swarm of dead leaves and dust scattered in their trail. He glanced nervously around. "I really should have stopped them," he told the forest, even though he knew the trees were dreaming. "They might run into an Ungulori'

YTCHIE

^I\HEEIOCK

WHIivrsy

Stained glass eyes are no more useful than rose tinted glasses. When you tumble down the stairs to your church, Your blood isn't red. I could paint with the watercolors you've left behind. The ambulance-carriage arrives to rescue-whisk you away. Its sirens don't blare jarring screams, But twinkle out the Entertainer like an ice cream truck. Under the operating lights you don't look harsh and deathly But bathed in gold and silver luminescence. The surgeons are pristine, covered in your watercolors. I prick my finger, to see if I am just as beautiful on the inside, But all I do is deflate. Quickly, I blow myself back up and cover myself in gauze. When the prince-doctor emerges from the operating room-chamber, I notice that he notices me. We plan your funeral, only it's more of a party, Because no one had the heart to close your stained glass eyes. when the pallbearer-knights carry your casket down the freshly washed steps, I trip. I hear a distant crack, see colors leaking from underneath me. In the reflection of someone's cane, I notice through my rose tinted glasses, My stained glass eyes. It seems to me, dear sister, that we had more in common than we thought. Unlike you, I don't even make it to the castle of a hospital. I die in your arrns. But heaven seems like an alright place; Here, everyone stares out with stained glass eyes. Mtnme Ctuenusrt

Ctemn DarN

0.

Sprxss WrnB Npvnn MeoE

Spines were never made to curl Around toilets. Skin matching the color Of the rim. Heaves riddle down my back Gaunt and tight. Just how I like it It's mostly liquid but Quarter meals swim Freely out of my body. The clusters can't fold anymore Holding hips in soft cushion, Between the creases in magazines Where women curve nicely Shape rightly, It will be worth it. Flesh wraps around ribs forming mouths Size two, one, zero They countdown as I weep over dinner plate 'cause Even crying burns calories. My mind can't even carry me. I'm too heavy.

So I'll eat beauty and swallow hearts just because I know I'll see them again Swimming freely outside of my body Dl.to Housrox

f

I

b; t

Aonlarva MtneNot tffi?l

SEasoNs Msrr

Lifeless leaves fall to the ground

and decay, becoming one with the dirt. A raspy crunch echoes from the crushed carcass below my boots. Rickety branches still loom, and hollowed out trunks remain rooted. Winter sneezes out snow, painting a winter wonderland on those decrepit branches. A branch breaks, leaving its mark in the snow.... A few icy snow drops pelt my hairline, The snow melts and puddles of whiny gush remain at major cracks in the sidewalk.

N,qrtty Beyan

Mrx eNo MATCH

A blessed black body, Agonized in day, dry grass path. Light face, without marble.

Her eyes like sharp glass, Twisting in his spine. Windows with purple tinted past. The silent past, a maze> From glance. Clear fire,

Peeling under thoughts. Yesterday, Is home, to that grinding road, In clear sun. Her pleased smile, Blistered his heart. Stunned, To this light milk snow. Marble, The last jar of simple day. The hour strikes, Her smile, dry and simple. He watches The sun, under the corner ofhis eye. Clear field, flying yesterday.

AtnxeNonn SnruczyszyN

Salralrraa Gnnecn

Pepen crRL

I used to be made from the bold oak tree Next to my garage.

I knew all I needed AII I needed was enough

I was that one obnoxious puzzle piece that never fit And liked it that way. Until impatient people folded me and Tore me and pinched me and smashed me. I belonged to someone else's expectations.

Steamrolled by separation, sickness, Death, depression, and divorce. Until I'm as flat as August air.

I used to be made from the bold oak tree. Nowlmjustapapergirl. I(arr DoNrrv

To Hnn, Mv FacB

To her, my face is a paragraph in English. A wilting woman, hooked over her morning grapefruit. Christening my father Rafael. My dad and I, skin heated, know that she wont correct herself, want to twist her brain to wring out his name. Her husband's name, breathless for 50 years. It's Abuelita, searching me, straining to recall mi nombre. Itt her forgetting I come home at 4, leaving the door stretched, leaving the stove chattering. My grandmother's memories, no longer able to be savored. Burnt eggs. Susaxa CanorNas

FRarvra DEL sANTo

Erncv

When you flew to paradise, You took my best friend with you Leaving me to crumble with the first blow of Winter's wind We all went to school that day broken, A flock of baby geese without their mother A trail of slimy snails trailing their salty tears down packed hallways I run into a member of the pack with every corner I turn, And we melt into a warm embrace With each hug I find myself more stuck, Unable to pull away, like someone shoved wads of wet gum in between us but like most gum wads scraped offthe bottoms of classroom desks, we become separated Memories of Mother Goose couldnt keep us together We are all afraid of loving you more than we love each other I hope you are happy in the Land of the Eternal Springs, I hope you're maturity blooms with the silk tree , I hope you know that you changed my life, My paradise is with you Dab. Mecrcpy

Nrcorr Suanr

DscBMeER 2012

Mi nina, mi tesoro, mi corazon, cielo y amore y querida hija mia.... As kitchens go, this is the coziest we know. Less a separate entitp and more a continuation of the Iiving room, which is not itself really a living room, but a wide hall with butt-beaten couches that face across the fake porcelain flowers into large glass eyes, twin display case doors, staring at the trinket gifts my grandmother has kept safe. Baptism dolls, communion crosses, the edible stale sugar flowers from wedding cakes have grown into yellow, pink, blue meadows on the shelves. But those are still memories; the living room a collection of petrified moments, it is in the kitchen new ones bloom. Before they made making ice-churning, water spitting, self-lighted metal monsters, they made her fridge. They built it and they shipped it and placed it on the left wall, and it has sat there yellowing in goose-bump skin. My grandmother dresses it in favorite saints, uses little magnets decorated with yellow and brown maize.It whines and it moans, and makes to die under its garnishments, but it stays cold. At night from the door she perjures a red Malbec, maybe from our own grapes, to grace her white table cloth next to a loaf of fresh white bread, sweet butter logs, and the table for dinner is set. The table is unapologetically intrusive, its back end sticking out into the hallway-pretending- to -be- a-living room-space. The town is small, everyone goes to the same church, which is itself so small. They sit so close together, their prayers trip into one another, become so tangled that instead of drifting to heaven apart, they leave the pews in a big web, and assault the angels with a unified babble of prayers that really all ask for the same thing. The church is so small, anyone could sit at my grandmother's kitchen table and name which sugar-flower was on whose wedding cake. The town is so small, they often do. The baker's boy, the man who brings my aunt jugs of gas soda, my father's brothers, my mother's sisters, the little boy from across the street rest at that kitchen table. My grandmother laughs, and feeds them all. And when we cook it's standing room only, dozens of elbows bump and kiss when we fold empanadas into tight little ripples, or big sloppy bows. Each pair of hands follows its own rhythm, their fingers dancing across the dusted table top.

Dona O/ga cooks facing the stove and the sink, on the farthest wall. She cooks under cabinets, boughs ripe with spices and tea. The cookies and saltines patiently sit in drawers below, pulled out for la mierienda, atime at the end and after siesta when bellies sigh thinking of long hours to stretch before dinner. Then the kettle is set no matter the heat, and hearts spades clubs and diamonds slap the kitchen table. Restless grandkids gather to play, shifting on their polyester seats,legs folded beneath them to keep the chairs from sucking their thighs. My grandmother sometimes lies down, and the youngest follow her like baby ducks, tripping over themselves and each other on the way to nest. Sometimes we beg her to stay and then she shows us her school-girl games. I walk into the kitchen before the cock crows, and flick the dull florescent lights, it reminds me of abandonment. The harsh glare and the empty seats remind me of sallow skin with age, and bitter tears that water to lament what is already at waste. Then, sitting alone at the table, the kitchen feels dead,like I am floating in formaldehyde. But when the sunlight comes in, and the day begins to pool on the ceramic floor, and the refrigerator faithfully hums her psalms, and her little virgin smiles from above the winking sink, then it reminds me of my grandmother. It smells like her, like ripe fruit and sticky candy. It feels like being pressed against her, like when she sweeps her big arms around me, the ones that have held so many babies and rocked them to sleep, or patted their bottoms clean, or fed them mashed peas. As she presses me against her loose bosom, against the flowing colored shirts and into her smell. I cry or I laugh or I kiss her cheek. And at a certain hour, that is what her kitchen feels like. It feels like warm, sticky love. Ptutt Srocco

CoruNrsrANS z3:L2

ba\ we were run to born we fight toward the ride oh god give me the power like broken wounds salted with death salt i am the jungle i am the fire that rises toward the darkness and spews fish like hail stones from the sky and fills the deep void of my soul five fingers wrapped around her pumping heart rain rain go away why dont you take my soul away like the cabinets of the deep puling me into a pit of blood sweat and tears my people subjugated me and we are the same see how they run like pigs from a gun see how they fly i am crying

like the wail of police sirens chasing me like the falcons in their own mind and only in their own mind and the crisp bark peeling temple bend with the broken spoon how does my mother's chicken soup rise on a cloud ofsteam we are free at last, we are free at last thank god almighty we are free at last

ltcx Ca:.uan DeNrcttp Koatttvc Eu Wnwnrac

Keanv loNzs Scorr DtNTBL

Coven ay Rrcaru Wnzatocx

Eprron Bros

Rucnl MnnnNpRr,B is a threat to people who act their age. She started out as Crest Supreme baby but shet gone from diapers to the throne and she's built Crest even higher than we ever expected. Wherever she goes next year, we know she'll be racing there on one of our stolen rolly chairs. Everybody submits to crest, but we submit to her.

Er.oN Sr,oeN is our hooded, robed Valley Girl. While she still carpets the Crest room in tissues, this T-iny Tape F-r is never delicate about what she believes. Whether she's Steppenwolffid it up or with us, Elon is fiercely passionate and ready to raise the level of discourse. You may remember Ms. Sloan as the fiber of our universe and the brand from the bathroom.

Fn.lNx.l DBr. S.c.Nro is a dedicated member of the Illuminati. As their resident dte/dtf anarchist, she creates all their band posters and CD cover art. The Illuminati have marked her as their most hardworking member, and have secured her position as Editor-in-Chief next year. Her next mission is to take The Tao of Badass down.

RrcHrc Wnrnr,ocx, aka R-Wnrzz <3, can literally do everything from composing piano music to spontaneous tiny origami. He is the Roald Dahl of our generation with a slightly sinister sense of humor. As Human2.0, Richie has sacrificed all of his #TTU time to perfect Crest. We love his PUNishments!

Enrc Hrxnv, by joining Crest, has conquered the OPRF club system. His love for Elon is exceeded only by the height of his back splash. Eric always looks for the best in everything and can goof about the worst. He can tackle anything with his hair and trusty motto: WWCD? (What would Cher do?)

Snnnu CeNNoN, oko "MnruA," is fomous f or her biting wit ond Fitzgerald themed blog. With her lively dresses, she reminds us of spring even in the snowiest doys of winter. Soroh's keen onolyticol instincts moke it eosy to groom her f or future responsibility in Crest. Dot gurl's friendly AF.

Brr.r.r Brr.vx has been incarcerated for most of her freshman year. She cant be trusted with silverwear, but she can juggle 3 million theater productions in one week. Even though she listens to Carrie Underwood, her unprecedented status as Crest Freshman is more of a compliment than she realized. And damn, she's cheery.

Ms. Lnn is back for her second season as our sponsor. We would have pizza dates and listen to good music with her all day if we could, but then she wouldnt have time to manage her son's band. She supports us not only in Crest, but in all of our endeavors. As a sign of gratitude we're stealing all her scarves.