DEMOGORGON FINISH THE STORY

Blind Dancer

Hillary was a just dance star and she knew one day she would go just dance far. Some people said that she blew, but that was not a Hillary thing to do. So Hillary blew the balloon until it was ten feet tall. But the balloon got so big she could not see. She was blind. Due to her blindness, she had to crawl to get from one place to another. This caused the skin on her knees to peel off. The pain grew more and more. But, something weird happened. The skin went back on the knees and grew stronger. And she became a hero for her knee kicks. In fact, on her birthday, her parents hired a professional cake sculptor to make a fancy cake. It was precisely in the dimensions of her knee.

Burger King, My Love, and Chickens

As I walked down the hallway, I noticed strange pieces of paper on the floor. Where was I? I approached the exit and fled the place. When I walked outside, I saw the sign: Burger King. My eyes popped out of my head, Burger King was my one and only true love. Not a day passes that I don think about my burgery wurgery King. My passion overwhelmed me and I busted inside. I busted inside so hard that I scared everyone around me. But then, the popo came. When the popo came, it started caw-cawing, as chickens do. It was a mating call because thousands of female chickens stormed the area before I knew it. The chickens had taken over the town and eaten all the corn. The people needed more food or else they would die. That is how the Great Chicken War began, to stop all chickens.

Frozen then Plants with No Kneecaps

¨It began with two sisters. One born with magical powers, the other powerless, and their love of snowmen infinite”. I’m not really sure what to do here, so I wrote a quote from Frozen 2, but anyway uh… *Ahem* okay, the real story starts here. There was once a plant in all the land but then, he has a botched height enhancement surgery. The little plant now has no kneecaps and he feels very de-plantscamated. No kneecaps mean he can’t make any pollen! The plant was so sad. He could not make any pollen because he had no kneecaps. So, he made his own kneecaps. But even though he could now make his own pollen, it was not as fertile as everyone else.

Owl of the Forest Sarah Weber '24

Workshop

Valerie Wang '23

26

A Distant Shore

The rainbow faded The light disappears slowly A new beginning

Salty Sea Cerulean

Sea, sky, sadness in the air. Slowly subsides from the sun.

The sandy shore and serpents form all to have fun.

The salty sea, shines from land to tree, The sails fall down at sundown only to see work is done.

If the sea salt turned to sugar, I think the seals would agree to drink tea, during their lunch.

Anonymous

Not About You

Well, why you when I can have Honeyed sunlight in my empty room?

I think of all the days that I’d need to give you—The pleasant days

I’d be happy to share, where We would hold hands and feel less strongly Than we did. Where kissing you Would have gotten more bitter than warm.

And you know: there’s that overwhelming Sharpness in this solitude

If I seek it out. Who wants Their tongue honey-coated, oversweet

Speech? You didn’t. I don’t Need the mask of you to touch the dread You asked to know. Do you see I was right? Do you even remember?

Cracked throat, what I was, unnerved

You and oversteeped your desire. Hear its speech, crushing joy

Out of days; You know, finding more in sleep.

Grant Yoon '23

Singable Alone

Breathe in,—

Imagine a totally empty space. Emotion imposes so many blades That glow and fall like rain upon themselves. Look–they’re melting into a plane stretching Across the void, flat. One blade with no edge. What could make a cascade of light and sound Into this plainest sheet? Arrogance and Thinking one knows oneself. Aspiration.

Something else: from chaotic shifting or Reflective oneness, desire, as its Heartbroken pulses attune to the turning of an axis, Learns and mimics that image, imperfect. Grief molds the soul into a conduit, Which shapes the futile currency of breath

To piercing music. Sense the gaping holes, Locked in stunting fullness except in pain,— And release. Grant Yoon '23

To Forget a Dawn

It all glides inward, from all sides, This sea of stimuli;

Alighting upon every nerve— What measures this, the trees’ downcurves?

A breath learning to pull alone, And eyes upturning sight like stones:

They drink the leaves’ puddles of sun And bleach gold of what once was won.

Atmosphere

Mason Dempsey '23

United when cleaved to another, I cleave two unlike things apart: One, total circumstance; the other, Pure will; their atmosphere, the heart,

Resolved cosmic dissonance, ripping Dumb ache from unsunned, barren ground; Design from the mystery dipping In the first’s view, then out, around,—

Broke leveled color from evening light; Ordered phenomena—delight Made tranquil the maker of one art. That was intent. That was untrue.

The stagnant, cold body becoming What was dead is left to die there. What was moonlight is left to lie there. The heart named, built, and ends itself.

It said what it could, and could have cared. But the material’s useless; Intellect’s not above, but fully About what is felt. And judgement’s

Dead here, where thought’s free of form and bound. Nothing endures but time’s passing; Unlike delusion, empty of comfort, but painless. Apathetic.

Voices

Nate Greene '24

Thanks for the Pen and Paper

To Yarden, in Financial Literacy

My mind (what speaks of it, at least) Is drifting like a matterless balloon Through clouds of heavy, slow thoughts That, when they grasp form, release it as soon.

But what I’m given ties the felt

Into the known— the droplets can condense And be incredulous at last.

The speaking mind says: “What names for what sense!

Air, inside me, heavier out; Medium that cognition occupies— Is that what I am? Container without essence in deep skies? So I hold

And there’s nothing else?” But listen. In parched altitude, it whistles out some Of its stores; built pressure within, The mind employs its faculty, and hums.

Treble Clef

Kayla Tabares '25

Bach Stradivarius

Kayla Tabares '25

Silhouette

Mason Dempsey '23

Music Sun

Kayla Tabares '25

Scene For My Father

The blood dried and being bled alike Is forgotten into the slow pour of time; The wounds are closed as if parted skin were hands Guided gently together by hands;

Dismissed is what precedes freedom and breath, when Christ touches down from his long-suffered post; His limbs and lungs lithe, sensing wet sand, dry air, Then—abounding gratitude; but cries:

“Those torn apart in your name must rise from Their corpses, from whose throats they gave You screams. Absolution cannot unstain the soul, And heaven’s choirs sing haunted half-lies.”

But deep in the tombs of His soul, That scar parts into an eye; that lantern finds The treasure irredeemable; flesh, proof— But this must stay; all time converges there.

Dark Forest

Aron Kabai-Tokes '23

Cotton

Silence fills up the walls, stifling me with venomous glances and curt nods. Beats of time come and go They dissipate and reform like clumps of gelatin. My fingers quiver against my will

I try to quell my restlessness and stare comatosely at my dim phone. My heart thumps furiously

I feel a pulse in my right ear, my left knee,

Faster And Faster.

I strangle my pillow and breathe in the scent of cotton

A wiff of comfort Pain. My nail has split My perfect manicure ruined.

Valerie Wang 23'

Portal

Aron Kabai-Tokes '23

Land of a Dead Bird

The shapely beak’s wrong in death. The entrails no longer pulse. The air sits and stales, unmade Into music. The clouds drag.

Dark is matted on the earth Like damp feathers on the skin. The world’s a dead bird. Unused And wasted, but better dead.

What good, to say I love him?

What’s good in acting fevered? The bird’s inanimate eye Stares at the greyed dawn. The sun

Is full of grey light behind The curtains, and the world’s grey’s Alive like wood. The bird’s dead, Its song hanged in the sheer sky.

Grant Yoon

'23

Waterfall

Jay Arato '23

Aron Kabai-Tokes '23

Confidant

Forgive the paint-stained hands, for they lie of mischief and thievery that comes by.

Forgive the fool with multiple shadows that observe everything and any minute detail like a tallow.

Forgive the plague for it tries to reconcile its past mistakes with experiments and smiles.

Forgive the justice that is given, for the truth to be told is to be driven. And forgive the doctor who wants to make things right, with no pain, anger, harm, or strife.

If the mask falls and the night forgives, may we be saved by the angel that lives?

If the mask is broken and the demons run rampant, may the people's hearts be safe and not be taken.

Anonymous

-Anonymous

Like licorice

Blackened like licorice my soul is laced with bitterness

I burst with desire and ambition

Covered in a sugary coating

Perfectly smooth Words of poison devour me

I weaken

I am rubbed raw.

Dear Society,

DEMOGORGON A Losing Generation

Remember when we all thought that by the late 2010s we would have flying cars and everything would be futuristic? Instead we had wildfires, riots, death at every doorstep, a virus that spread through bodies, hearts, and minds. Isolation held strongly and people departed this station of life.

A society where we laughed at others misery and hid what's really happening in our lives. To be picture perfect, to be everything they want us to be, to be a shell of nothing.

Society, where a fire that lingered through the wind that caused skies to look apocalyptic. Ice caps melted, floods that made towns to ruins. And all we did was sit and watch the destruction. Our generation will die seeing nothing except pain all because of the older generations putting their problems to us. Never getting a real childhood because of what they did to us. Telling our kids how we had to fight battles that they gave us.

Fear society, for we will die destitute with nothing left, but the one video we thought that would make us popular. Whether we can change our future for better or for worse, we will always be lost with no place to truly belong.

The Lost Generation is to describe the people of 1883-1910, but really, we are lost and losing a battle that time will tell if we have truly perished. Beaten, dying, lost.

Sincerely,

Cecilia Tavares '23

Silk

Hazy with morning dew the air glimmered. Just above eye level, a single thread of spider silk connected the bushes beside the door. The silk oscillated in the wind, up and down, swaying with the glossy leaves. The spider was nowhere to be found.

Snoopy and Woodstock

Kayla Tabares '25