Glaze Spring 2022 Vol. VI: Halcyon

VOL. VI

HALCYON

SPRING 2022

GLAZE

Glaze is an Austin-based creative community that seeks to celebrate self-expression in every form.

See more at www.glaze.community

Needless to say, we have a new world to navigate — a scary world at that. Uncertainty is at every corner causing anxiety and a collective fear. We’ve been in this world for a while now, and part of navigating it is finding our own hope, our own little silver linings. It would be so easy to let the darkness of every day consume us, but in a silent revolution, we’ve collectively decided that’s not how we’ll live.

That being said, I would like to introduce you all to Vol. VI of Glaze, Halcyon. After having a few themes with darker undertones, my team and I made the conscious decision to select a theme representing hope, light, and peace. The word “Halcyon’’ is based in Greek mythology — a story that represents peace and hope stemming from grief, loss, and pain.

We really wanted every team to run wild with this theme, and, as you’re about to see, I think that was accomplished. With concepts ranging from dark to the lightest of light, we see various views of our world today, through lenses of the past and optics from days yet to come.

I encourage you all to take a sip of water, take a few deep breaths, and dive into the ocean that is Vol. VI, Halcyon.

Skyler Burk Editor-in-Chief

ZINE Skyler Burk Mariam Ali Ryan Velasquez Aleigh Gerron John Coffee Evelyn Elizabeth Deal Beck Preciado Paloma Michel Tony Vega Joyce Kabwe Melina Perez Isabella Martinez Cat Cardenas Ella Claret Ava Perez Arjana Alamaneih Katrina Walters Maha Qadri Dalena Le

Editor-in-Chief Creative Director/Co-Director of HMU Editorial Director/Co-Director of Modeling Co-Director of HMU Director of Photography Asst. Director of Photography Co-Director of Modeling/Director of Events Asst. Director of Events Asst. Director of Modeling Co-Director of Styling Co-Director of Styling Director of Writing Asst. Director of Writing Director of Marketing/Social Media Asst. Director of Marketing/Social Media Director of Community Outreach Asst. Director of Community Outreach Director of Layout Asst. Director of Layout

Addyson Pirtle, Aidan Wilhite, Alejandro Hernández, Alexa Calderon, Alexa Dalton, Alexander Santistevan,Allyson Elizondo, Amarys Dejai, Amira Armstrong, Angelica Blaze, Anjianie Perez, AnnaKay Reeves, Ashlee Hawkins, Ashley Mack, Audrey Sinclair, Aysha Izaguirre, Ben Martinez, Benjamin Ontiveros, Brandon Moore, Britney Bulsterbaum, Britney Larios, Bryce Ray, Bryn Palmer, Carlos Vargas, Cat Hermansen, Chloe Thomson, Clare O’Brien, Colin Cantwell, Corey Brooks, Cynthia Preciado, Dani Xu, Dominique Coleman, Eileen Wang, Elina Chen, Elise Cook, Elysia Fernandez, Emely Romo, Gabrielle Lopez, Génesis Pieri, Ginger Rodriguez, Gray Mabry, Ian Torres, Inayah Mirza, Jacob Vivial, Jaycee Jamison, Jazlin Arriaza, Jesús Daniel López, Jhyzel Rojas, Joshua Martinez, Juleeane Andrea, Justice Carpenter, Katarina Tyll, Kate Mansberger, Kathleen Segovia, Katie Shanina, Kauan Dubh, Kim Pagtama, Lauren Caldwell , Lauren Lopez, Lea Čakić, Lilly Bruner, Lissie Hill, Livia Blackburn, Lizzie Dragon, Lucy Hwang, Luisa Pineda, Maddy Rojas, Madeline Thompson, Madison Huckins, Maleah Piedra, Marie Rangel Amrhein, Melanie Faz, Meredith Brown, Meredith Robertson, Michelle Arriaga, Moyosola Akinsipe, Noor Iqbal, Ophelia Brown, Payton Wyatt, Persia Nezhad, Pranav Myana, Preston Rolls, Rachel Karls, Raina Harmon, Rebeca Jovel, Rimsha Syed, Rosario Mejia, Sabrina Dennis, Samantha Paradiso, Samantha Treviño, Santiago Pacheco, Serine Elbakly, Shannon Dixon, Simeon Alexander, Stacey Alicia, Stefany Rodriguez, Stephanie Benavides, Sydney Planka, Tatianna Ramos, Tiffany Sun, Via Ceaser, Victoria Sturm, Violet Caceres, William Nye, Yasmin Champion Evans , Yoori Yoon, Zoe Bator

table of contents Lament of the Father

6

Mugler

10

It was a Summer of Love

12

Hide and Seek

14

Joker

18

Over My Shoulder

20

A Beautiful Stranger

24

Bratz

28

Gardens and Graveyards

34

Century Blues

38

Turn On, Tune In

40

I’m Not Living...

46

Interplanetary Serenity

50

Not Your Scene

52

Let’s Have a Play Date

58

Mom, I am a Rich Man

66

Wishing You Well

68

Ceyx

72

Rococo

74

Fragmented Memories

80

They Say Tomorrow

82

Saccharine

88

Biophilia

94

What’s Your Damage?

96

One

100

Dancing Queen

104

My New Forever

108

Growing Pains

112

Passion

116

issue no. 6

HALCYON [‘hal-sē- n] adjective e

1. denoting a period of time in the past that was idyllically happy and peaceful 2. calm, peaceful, prosperous, affluent

Lament

F

ather

hmua ISABELLA MARTINEZ models DALENA LE, MOYOSOLA AKINSIPE stylist MICHELLE ARRIAGA photographer JESÚS DANIEL LÓPEZ writer MAHA QADRI layout MAHA QADRI

of the

Denial held steadfast in Aeolus’ mind. His daughter? Gone? Inconceivable. His daughter was vivacious and living dreamily with her lover, Ceyx. The two were so full of bliss, they practically permeated springtime to Persephone’s envy. Even Ceyx’s venture overseas could not diminish the power of their love. Let the gods try and rip them apart; even in Tartarus they would suffer together, for even in hell they could not part. Gone? Utterly unthinkable.

Anger was inevitable. How dare the Gods rip away his beloved daughter? Her crime was the deepest love and she paid the ultimate price. Life without her love had seemed as endless as the sea, so she willingly dove further. “Curse Zeus!” Aeolus would scream, willing provocation to end his own suffering. How dare the gods ignore him! How dare they take his joy! The winds blustered among the mortal realm, his fury in every gust; his rage burned the air.

Bargaining with Zeus was out of the question. As his rage melted, Aeolus’ desperation to see his daughter again grew. His provocations shifted from rebellious to pleading. “One more chance!” He would beg. The gods continued ignoring him, and Aeolus despaired.

Depression weighed heavily on Aeolus. As a god of wind, being anchored was an unfamiliar and unnerving feeling. Alycone’s absence felt like unyielding boulders on his chest. Ceyx’s absence felt like chains dragging him underground. The winds were unpredictable, struggling against the weight. The depths of his sorrow felt endless with no hope in sight.

Acceptance came with the kingfishers. The pair were nesting, preparing for a difficult breeding season from the harsh conditions. Aeolus saw the couple, ready to smite such expressions of happiness from his domain. But he hesitated upon recognition. His daughter. Her beauty and grace and freedom captured in the most lovely little bird, and beside her, her lover, just as beautiful. Aeolus’ winds stopped, the most wondrous surprise overcoming him. The world froze as he watched his daughter and husband build their new home. Come to find, some of the Gods pitied Alycone and Ceyx’s fate and gave them and Aeolus a newfound peace. With the winds at bay, if only for a short time, and a friend in the Gods…

Peace finally found its way.

His daughter and son, the kingfishers. Their wings brought back peace, joy, and, most importantly, his daughter.

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GLAZE

MUGLER

hmua RYAN VELASQUEZ models RYAN VELASQUEZ, BECK PRECIADO stylist MELINA PEREZ photographer JOHN COFFEE layout SAMANTHA TREVIÑO

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IT WAS A SUMMER OF LOVE hmua RAINA HARMON models TIFFANY SUN, CYNTHIA PRECIADO stylist STEFANY RODRIGUEZ photographer JOHN COFFEE writer LILY BRUNER layout VIA CEASER

The stoops feel the weight of the abandoned parents across California. The children have all gone, together, storming the streets in unison. The duplicate houses that replicate all along the path they forge crumble in sight of the newborn youth. The cloud glasses they wear have a rosy tint with bouquets of sunflowers knotted to frame their faces. Cheeks are peaches with blood drawn to the front, eyes beaming underneath a spiking sun. The feet trot naked with their souls hanging at their bosoms, exposed and newly unbounded.

The tribe of the sixties run wild and screaming, held together by words that promise.

The elder, the enemy. The “enemy.” What is an enemy?

The parents look through the windows, eyes peeking through the blinds, watching the future, the flower children, flow in the wind across the street, leaving them behind. Their words beckon, the sounds from their mouths carried by a lilac stream full of vibrant swirls. It is an intoxicating truth.

The sky is blinding but there are stars up there that wait and shine even when they aren’t looking. The years will find you if you let them.

Dragonflies and daffodils and dancing. The hill they sit on is surrounded by music. It was grass. It was the heaving of the earth breathing below, the pulse aligning with its children.

Learn from us.

The congregation of change. “Love. Sex. Drugs.” It was all mom and dad could hear. It was each word accompanied by haunting music.

But then there was a velvet morning and the day became painted. The same feeling shuddered across the universe.

The older minds screamed through the windows, “The world is behind you, now.” They read the letters their children left at the stoops. They hold the handkerchief up to their eyes. “Didn’t we give them everything money can buy?” Must all suffering happen in secret?

The hairy armpits reveal themselves to the air and they shout in unison “It’s getting better after all this time.” Is it better after all this time?

The flag staff rises from the ground. The Summer of Love, the judgment day, is upon them. And some sit on their stoops looking around an adorned house. “We gave them everything.”

Freedom can’t be bought. Love doesn’t cost a thing.

HALCYON

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hmua MARIAM ALI, ANGELICA BLAZE, STEFANY RODRIGUEZ models REBECA JOVEL, BRANDON MOORE, ANGELICA BLAZE stylists LAUREN CALDWELL, STEFANY RODRIGUEZ photographer JOHN COFFEE writer DOMINIQUE COLEMAN layout VIA CEASER

14

GLAZE

Looking back now I know I won't regret because i fill my head with promises and rejoice who I was Well she's imaginary after so long I color her in the ways I want to And redraw her flattering lines I've never stopped playing hide and seek Even now i'm running like a child feet in the grass towards a lilac shadow reeling towards night Wonder if I'll ever find her Her softness and her hiding places

we can finally end all these games We've long been playing

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HALCYON

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J ◊

hmua JACOB VIVIAL models JOSHUA MARTINEZ, SYDNEY PLANKA stylist MEREDITH ROBERTSON photographer SIMEON ALEXANDER layout SAMANTHA TREVIÑO

J ◊

hmua MARIAM ALI models MADISON HUCKINS, LIZZIE DRAGON stylist BRYN PALMER photographer EVELYN ELIZABETH DEAL writer MADISON HUCKINS layout MARIAM ALI

Over My Shoulder

i think i should feel grateful for secrets kept shrouded in smoke from stolen cigarettes hidden sin and lovers crawling through windows ajar, leaving curtains dancing in the wind the way we used to but i shrink in my skin wishing i could tell my mother How much i love her and How scared i really am i apologize, but she can’t forgive me, and i can’t blame her

HALCYON

21

i crawled into this adolescent chrysalis and emerged the useless woman i promised my father i’d never become i stole their childor was it Time? add it to the running list of my wrongs, and Run along it does no good to keep one eye over my shoulder and so i’ll make each mistake a blessing and so i’ll grow from root to sturdy tree and so my future will be made for me i hope one day to turn around when i’m older and behold the mess i’ve made is only over my shoulder

22

GLAZE

A Beautiful Stranger It is rare that I am breathless, but I was that night. It was because of you. You, who had eyes so enchanting, you became a stranger I had known forever. You, who looked at me with a smile. A smile had never felt more like a hug.

You, who danced with me all night. Bodies intertwined, you knew me before I spoke a single word.

It is rare that I am weightless, but I was that night. You turned my weight into feathers and had a pillow fight with my heart. A mess of emotions floating around, still present, but never condensed. Never together. Never obstructed.

Thin enough to still see all of you. See all of you, seeing all of me. You didn’t know my feathers, my hesitancies, my burdens. You saw me, and my weightless heart.

It is rare that I am defenseless, but I was that night. I was torn. On one hand, you were a stranger. You could never know me as well as your eyes said they do. Even though your hands knew exactly where to hold me. On the other

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hand, I wanted to live in this moment forever.

I have always said I don’t believe in soulmates.

Your soul begged for a change of mind. I did.

It is rare that I am restless, but I was that night. And I have been every night since. I can’t shake the all consuming feeling of you. But I move forward knowing that we share the same world. A childlike wonder replaced my need for protective certainty. Your world outside of our night is something I will never know. But if certainty means forgetting you, I would rather be uncertain for the rest of my life.

For the first time, uncertainty brings peace.

It brings wonder, and joy, and connection.

Uncertainty brought me to you. I will look for you in every face I meet. I find comfort in knowing we lie under the same stars. The same moon, sun, and sky. This cold adult world feels warmer, knowing you exist in it, too.

Until we meet again.

GLAZE

hmua ROSARIO MEJIA models MARIE RANGEL AMRHEIN, PRANAV MYANA stylist ELLA CLARET photographer BEN MARTINEZ writer CAT CARDENAS layout DALENA LE

HALCYON

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GLAZE

HALCYON

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hmua MARIAM ALI models STEPHANIE BENAVIDES, INAYAH MIRZA stylist LIZZIE DRAGON photographer ALEJANDRO HERNÁNDEZ layout SAMANTHA TREVIÑO

Passion

4 fashion

S D R A Y E V GARDENS & A R G D N A S N GRAVEYARDS E D R A G

hmua KATARINA TYLL models ALEXANDER SANTISTEVAN, GINGER RODRIGUEZ stylist ALEXA DALTON photographer PAYTON WYATT writer COREY BROOKS layout DALENA LE

HALCYON

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Disenchanted zombies longing for a now remote reality, Stalking the stale and stagnant air, like ashen debris.

The monotony of yet another Monday mourning sighs to life, Blanched and bringing with it mundane strife: Sweltering morning air and summer showers Suffocating last spring’s deserted flowers; Smoldering clouds and day-breaking sunrays Conglomerating into overcast shadows of ghastly gray.

These are the dismal scenes snipped from the movies Framing the pursuit of happiness within a 2.4:1 screen; Yet they’re surprised to find these antiquated pretenses, Cinematic sequences with white picket fences, Are as plastic as the veneered smiles That they always admired.

This suburban haze is enough to drive someone insane.

Pausing and rewinding every day; social dignity feels so vain.

Advertisements of plastic scenes behind a sprinkler mirage.

Mortgages on financial futures only for a two-door garage.

But tears disappear quickly beneath silken sheets; And tempests of regret are easily quelled by Ambien reveries.

Grandiose fantasies and get rich quick schemes.

These are the tall tales that lull us to sleep.

The hallowed spectacle of life’s suburban conclusion: A generational tomb of hollow delusions.

36

GLAZE

HALCYON

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hmua EMELY ROMO models LAUREN LOPEZ, MADISON HUCKINS stylist AYSHA IZAGUIRRE photographer EVELYN ELIZABETH DEAL writer ANNA-KAY REEVES layout VIA CEASER

Thousands of coffee spoons, measured out and unwashed The dirty dishes of a century in the sink Two centuries or three or five of wrongs But at least now we can legally drink That bitter self-medication of the most destructive sort Before, after, between, and during wars - always As plant medicine is prosecuted for blood sport Incarceration eating people up, a wasteful, hateful, carnivorous maze Myopic alcohol and carcinogens to keep in line with the party toe… to line the… to toe the party line Let the wine flow By the time I’m writing this, the decade is well under way, quieter than the roar this time 100 years ago.

By the time you’re reading this, it’ll be today — I’ll meet you there (here), but I approach the future on tiptoe.

Waiting for the dishes to break, hoping the kitchen doesn’t burn.

hmua ISABELLA MARTINEZ, JHYZEL ROJAS models TONY VEGA, ASHLEE HAWKINS stylist ELINA CHEN photographer BENJAMIN ONTIVEROS writer ISABELLA MARTINEZ layout MAHA QADRI

In the darkness of the dead of night A glowing screen remains As the sole source of light, Illuminating the face Of a child stuck in silence Between the states of sleep and wake Though tired, waiting patient For the dark to turn to day Oh, the sleepless nights I’ve spent Watching this TV With only cartoon reruns To keep me company Her lids grow heavy by the hour Time ticks yet doesn’t move Stagnant, still, she cowers Searching for a control to Suppress the restless sounds Of creaking floors and sighing walls, Surrounded by a sense of fear Until asleep she falls Never one for counting sheep I simply sit and wait

Praying that I make it to The next commercial break Technicolor shines upon shut eyes Static hissing softly Enchanted, hypnotized Reaching through the screen to sink Into her subconscious, Wrap their claws around her mind, Coming soon: a secret message You can run but can’t hide In the haze of my escape I dart for the door Dark hallways twist before me Wait, I’ve seen this before Is this just a dream The whispers can’t be true Am I still awake Did I stay tuned Oh, child scared of darkness Though there’s light in the room, Are you watching television, Or is it watching you

HALCYON

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I'M NOT LIVING, I’M JUST KILLING TIME

hmua ANGELICA BLAZE models PERSIA NEZHAD, MADISON HUCKINS stylist MEREDITH ROBERTSON photographer WILLIAM NYE writer MADISON HUCKINS layout VIA CEASER

Nostalgia is a contradiction, floating between fleeting motion pictures of the past and daydreams of the distant future I look back on my past and retell my stories to make them more beautiful. Moments once experienced as misery feel almost romantic in retrospect. I think of the first time I lived alone. I floundered in solitude, grasping for control in every moment. The routine I developed for myself was an oppressive means to fulfill my desire for familiarity. Now that I live a more disorganized life in a different city surrounded by people who love me, I remember my old routine as something to be revered.

I admire the person who upheld such a schedule, and, incidentally, I conflate that loneliness with strength or independence.

I yearn for the past and reach for the future. I want love and comfort and safety and joy; I search everywhere but myself until lonely love is my only home.

I can’t stand to waste a moment finding myself - I want to be found.

I want to be worthy of being seen and known and loved, so I run endlessly searching for something or someone perfectly made for me. I’m always disappointed that these things I attach myself to don’t make me whole, but I continue to love fatalistically, hoping my enthusiasm can compensate for my lack of self.

How odd it is to witness the upheaval of my reality as longing casts its soft shadow. How cruel it is to behold my fantasies as they arrive pale on the horizon. Will I ever gather the strength to focus my wits on what’s before me? To have compassion for myself, knowing I did the best with what I knew? To love without expectation? I can only hope that one day my truest fantasy will be the present.

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GLAZE

HALCYON

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Interplanetary Serenity

What brings you peace?

It is waking up with your love Or to an empty bed?

Filling your journal with hopes and dreams, Or just enough to clear your head?

Is it taking a leisurely stroll on the beach?

Feeling your toes in the sand, And the salty sea air.

Is it going back to your childhood home, And having your mother comb your hair?

Peace is malleable.

Sometimes it is silence, Sometimes it is deafening.

It varies person to person, Day to day, Minute to minute.

Make peace your reality.

A world where there is no upset.

No hatred.

No anger.

Bottle up that feeling.

Take it with you wherever you go.

Where there is peace, there is rest.

Rest.

hmua KATARINA TYLL models LIVIA BLACKBURN, LUCY HWANG stylist ALEXA CALDERON photographer LUISA PINEDA writer CAT CARDENAS layout SAMANTHA TREVIÑO

Not Your Scene Profile / User / Not Your Scene

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hmua JHYZEL ROJAS, RYAN VELASQUEZ, ANGELICA BLAZE

photographer AIDAN WILHITE

models RYAN VELASQUEZ, ANGELICA BLAZE

writer AMARYS DEJAI

stylists MELINA PEREZ, CHLOE THOMSON

layout AIDAN WILHITE, MAHA QADRI

GLAZE

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Profile / User / Not Your Scene / Blog Post #43

05/04/2003

OH EM GEE!!

It was 2008 and the band 3Oh!3 had just put out their album Want. We had been sitting on the floor, doing our makeup while listening to these guys sing about some girl in a black dress and tights dancing in a bar. It was the Summer of 2008, which meant that it was Warped Tour season, which meant that we weren’t going to wear black dresses. Though tights, maybe? I hadn’t decided yet; I had been too focused on trying to blend the eyeshadow—pink to match my sweater. If anything, I knew for sure that Hello Kitty would be somewhere in my outfit.

It was 2008 and our biggest problem then was trying to decide what we should listen to on the drive to the festival. My CDs that were once stacked nicely on my desk had been spread out in disarray as we had been looking through them. Chiodos, Fall Out Boy, Paramore, The Used. The drive

was short enough that we only needed to pick one album; we’d get there before it ended, anyways. By the time we had our choices narrowed down to two, it was already time to go. We gave ourselves one last look in the mirror: fixing our hair, tightening our belts, fixing our chains. We memorialized the day with a photo and an update to MySpace that said “On our way to warped tour!! Gonna steal the setlist off of the stageeeee XD.” I flipped the coin, and we held our breath as we watched it twirl along its axis, getting closer and closer to the edge of the desk. It flipped once as it fell before landing face up and making me come face to face with George Washington. My friend reached out her hand to me, and I smiled as I placed the Cute is What We Aim For CD in her hand as we walked out of the room.

HALCYON

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Let’s Have A Play Date! hmua MADDY ROJAS models YASMIN CHAMPION EVANS, ASHLEY MACK stylist JOYCE KABWE photographer IAN TORRES writer ZOE BATOR layout DALENA LE

O HMyENaLmL e Is...

We chased each other down the grass of the playground and ignored any imperfections in the field. To us, it was the greenest, most refreshing grass and we were prancing down it and thinking about nothing else except how the wind felt against our stride. Everything we saw was in such high visual contrast as our eyes painted our surroundings with the most colorful palette—a vibrant grass green and bright sky blue looking as if they came straight out of our box of crayons. Enthralling ourselves in a land of make-believe, did anything else matter? Our wrists were practically throbbing from the excess of silly bands on them. Did we care?

Absolutely not.

It was a child-like hedonism. We were visibly covered in idealism. No one told us that we couldn’t try to be anything we wanted. No one told us that the snail-shaped band on our wrist was actually a football helmet. And if they did we wouldn’t believe them. We got to live in a world of our own making.

Going home, and looking at the Lisa Frank sticker book that captivated our attention like no other: “No, I don’t want to use them; they’re too pretty.”

Looking at their stagnant beauty and then moving them diagonally to catch the light, reflecting off the white light which we believed was a magical rainbow that only was intended for us to see—like a secret from the heavens. It was our reality: silly bands and glossy stickers were the currency. We’d spend the day

bartering “I have a glow-in-the-dark!” “I’ll trade you for this one… it’s glittery!”

Our capitalism was so colorful.

Sharing with others, we felt our first feelings of philanthropy—how good it felt to make someone smile. Our greed and selfishness left our bodies as we saw the happy faces of our peers. What was so special about money? We knew it could buy more bands to adorn our wrists and rainbow stickers to engross us, but what else? A dollar was so strange looking, so boring. We masked its ugliness with pink piggy banks and tiny fluffy pouches. Never did we fully understand how we could rely on this thin and unamusing paper. A few bucks from grandma went straight to our happiness fund. The feeling of the flimsy bill in our hands would never quite compare to the taste of cotton candy ice-cream or the pleasure of a cola-flavored chapstick.

Listening to hyperpop and playing dressup heal our inner-child, remembering what the world can look like when we take back ownership of that vision. Artists like SOPHIE and Kero Kero Bonito supply that feeling of going down the slide. And, we realize that we’ve just been idly going down the slide— passively going through the motions. We’ve been slowly dulling the color palette.

Enjoy the ride, and when we get to the bottom and see the world open as if for the first time, remember that vibrancy. Recapture that luminescent lens.

HALCYON

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HALCYON

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Feminine competition is so rife, And yet so unnecessary and futile, as I look at my best friend I hope we will enjoy our beauty together, She’s the Romy to my Michelle As we fall into the pattern of becoming insatiable with our appearances Never being fully content even when beauty is so apparent A regretful nostalgia lurks Why was I so insecure?

Should have taken advantage of it And the cycle continues A pyramid scheme of hidden beauty, only revealing itself when you’ve thought it to be passed And reemerging longer after that, A revelation That can only be reached once that reality is no longer Female opulence surrounds us Seeing my reflection in her pearls, I wish others could see me through this opal lens This is a divinity that is strictly feminine in nature —

We are the executors of this reality That is often invisible to men who will simply never understand Or more accurately…will openly ignore The pleasure of a matching jewelry set, Of a clean face on a silk pillowcase, Of kissing your best friend When she shares her sources of insecurity with me I feel special that she trusts me, but Also insanely perplexed with how her beauty isn’t so apparent to her As it is to everyone else Then I realize that this curse of discontentment with one’s self Is strictly singular in nature — When we look at ourselves together in my vanity mirror She doesn’t notice the discoloration on my cheeks Or the wideness of my forehead She thinks of me the way Cassius plead he thought of Brutus “I wish you had my eyes” Look at yourself through the lens of your best friend

hmua ROSARIO MEJIA models STACEY ALICIA, SYDNEY PLANKA stylist ADDY PIRTLE photographer MARIE RANGEL AMRHEIN writer ZOE BATOR layout MAHA QADRI

hmua JAYCEE JAMISON models ELISE COOK, BRANDON MOORE stylist VICTORIA STURM photographer LEA ČAKIĆ writer ANJIANIE PEREZ layout VIA CEASER

sometimes your name appears in my mind - whether out of longing or otherwise, i don’t wish to divulge - and with the thought of you comes another trailing close behind.

do your eyes soften the way mine do, the corners of your lips irresistibly upturned? there’s a sadness to it, i know. but so, therein lies a softness. a tranquilness.

and fed each other fruit snacks. Uno cards dealt, we decided to lie back and watch the clouds before accidentally falling asleep in each other’s arms for hours.

“i hope you’re well,” i think to myself. and i smile.

i like to keep our memories in a little glass bubble in my mind - much like an archeologist, only my reverence lies in the preservation of an unprecedented love. i preserve Us in this bubble, petrified of tainting them with the knowledge of a future Me - someone who could never fathom the possibility of living without you, and then Did.

we were on the brink of Summer, and in the thick of love.

and i mean it. i know we don’t talk anymore, and i know that each day of my life since we said our goodbyes, i have become an increasingly unrecognizable person to you. if i let you linger around my mind long enough it leaves a sour feeling in the very pit of my stomach, Familiar and deeply comforting in the same shameful manner as self-destructive tendencies often are. in these moments, the pieces of you that still reside beneath my skin overwhelm me entirely - and all i’m left with is the weight of you… the weight of an idea of you, perhaps.

so i keep us locked away, and i save the Looking Back for times when i need them most. times when the memory of love alone can heal the parts of me i thought were irreparable. i think of our day at the park, when we pitched our comforter beneath the lowest hanging tree

or a Ghost…but the weight is real all the same.

sat in the grass between concession stands, we fed each other fried oreos and funnel cake, and in every moment we shared i felt so indescribably Tender. i think as time went on, we became mirrors of each other. at the center of our respective worlds laid one another, an immeasurable stream of love and Sweetness, knowledge and growth. unequivocal Acceptance. with time, i could never quite pin down where either of us ended, and where the other began. it’s easy, really, remembering all the love we shared, the Light that shone within us. for now, i let the memories remain untouched, but every now and then i’ll indulge in the thought of you.

of course, i wonder if you think of me, and how does it happen? and when, and where?

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i put on new earrings for our one and only carnival. we watched the sunset from the ferris wheel and exchanged kisses that tasted of my own cheap lipstick.

GLAZE

HALCYON

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hmua MADDY ROJAS models LISSIE HILL, COLIN CANTWELL stylist ADDYSON PIRTLE photographer SANTIAGO PACHECO writer KAUAN DUBH layout VIA CEASER

You be Mother Mary and I your Holy Ghost Like currents, we will never die Our love is too strong, more deadly than most So when the day comes, don’t cry When you see my face only in photos and dreams

Let the wind be my arms that settle your screams And dead leaves your purgatorial crown.

Birds! Birds! Birds! They surround you on every side From their nests in the future they rise Their breasts are the gold of your necklace and earrings And their feathers blue as my eyes.

R ococo hmua MARIAM ALI, RAINA HARMON models SKYLER BURK, GÉNESIS PIERI, LUCY HWANG stylists MELINA PEREZ, CHLOE THOMPSON photographer RACHEL KARLS layout MAHA QADRI

HALCYON

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HALCYON

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hmua JAYCEE JAMISON models RIMSHA SYED stylist KATIE SHANINA photographer AIDAN WILHITE writer NOOR IQBAL layout AIDAN WILHITE

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GLAZE

On a sickeningly sunny day, the sky a nauseating blue-grey and my bare feet planted firmly in the toxic green beneath me, I hurled my pain into the world for the first time. I screamed until I cried and cried until I started falling deeper into my hurt and my mother came outside to gather all my pieces strewn amongst the ladybugs. Locked inside away from the pain I had breathed into the air and trapped by four, closing walls of concern, shame, dishonor, and misguided care, that moment marked the last time I felt like a child.

I mourn all the days I spent too much time with myself.

I became my own best friend ­— who wanted to spin hula hoops at recess with the 7-year-old pessimistic existentialist?

in 2011, we listened to “Somebody That I Used to Know” for three hours on the family computer after hearing it earlier on the radio and knew the nauseating, all-encompassing love it brewed inside could not be shared beyond us.

And then being alone became too much. Every thought became a feature film and every nightmare followed the backs of our eyes into our waking reality, manifesting themselves where there was nothing at all. We began surrounding ourselves with others, seeking refuge from the newly discovered dark side of being alone: loneliness.

The disconnect between my Inner Child and me grew, now

I do not have an answer.

Instead, I smear on shimmer shadow and lipstick, buy a pint of chocolate ice cream from across the street, and together, we spend the night stuffing our face and watching Cartoon Network re-runs until we fall asleep with a death grip on our scratchy, calloused teddy bear who’s never been washed but has always been loved.

Now I stand alone at parties and wonder if it’d be weird to break the ice by mentioning that I still want to grow up to be nothing in particular, to just be okay.

The four walls at the party suddenly look familiar and begin inching closer, as if to squeeze the pain out of me once again. There’s no guarantee of being okay, they shout from all directions. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, we respond. The walls halt, never expecting us to discover this truth.

“... that moment marked the last time I felt like a child.”

We played hopscotch with one dusty stopwatch and an insatiable desire to beat our last record.

We stayed up all night talking about how we didn’t want to be anything when we grew up, just okay. We once designed our own haircut, a two-toned green and pink crimped style that was an instantly vetoed disaster but our disaster nonetheless.

Eventually, being alone became a choice. One night

embodied in two distinct corporal spaces. Seven-year-old me did not have the language to describe how they felt then and adult me no longer has the space to hold a four-hour conversation with my stuffed animals and flowers. But from time to time, I reach inside and find their hand, reminding them that it’s okay to create so many one-person recess games.

Sometimes they’re scared and reach back, wondering if they’ll always be alone.

HALCYON

Until then, we say, we will hold teddy bears and play hopscotch and scream into the sun and mosh to our beloved music and we will keep on waiting.

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hmua RYAN VELASQUEZ models SKYLER BURK, CAT HERMANSEN stylists MELINA PEREZ, CHLOE THOMSON photographer EVELYN ELIZABETH DEAL writer INAYAH MIRZA layout DALENA LE

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They Say

Tomorrow

An optimism hidden inside a time

We’ll make a connection

That does not exist

With our verdicts, our wishes, our heated contentions

Tomorrow How promising it is A forever time to place our “not nows” in

Our love bursting sparkles through run-down radio lines

Far away when intellectual predictions

Will injustice fade

Will dust the land with man made wins

Will war decline

The electricity in the hearts

Will the beauty stay the same

Of the young and the old

Will our stars still align

A scratched up parcel of a memory

They say tomorrow

The forgotten stories they once told

We are one moment closer

They say tomorrow

To the ground caving in

The inconveniences will fade

Our fossilized mistakes beneath us

They’ll be sewn into sleek metal spaceships

Melting around us and chastising our sins

That serve our charades

But before that happens

The simplifying of thoughts

What is left for us to end what is left for us to begin

Of actions

They say tomorrow

Of time

There is more to come

Slipping into a screen of solution

There are things left unseen

Seeking out peace in what we may find

Humanity is still young

They say tomorrow

Until our innate system of creation

We will multiply as a whole

Stops its circles around our sun

Our bodies, our intelligence, our boredom, our homes

We’ll get to keep living

Perhaps in this green light

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The collective will beam like our rockets in the sky

Another tomorrow we’ve just begun

GLAZE

HALCYON

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hmua MADDY ROJAS, ANGELICA BLAZE models ANGELICA BLAZE, AUDREY SINCLAIR stylist ELLA CLARET photographer PRESTON ROLLS writer MEREDITH BROWN layout MAHA QADRI

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Salty air blows straight through our spoilt smell I’m always asking for you to get back on this sinking ship, Where the view is so lovely when the boat is on its axis as we sink with the sun Where the view is so lovely it distracts your nose from our stale stench We won’t be able to ignore the bad taste in our mouths though The spaces between the ocean and the shore are reserved seats for you and I You hope the waves don’t drown us I hope they do, but before I would like to float on my back Just for a moment

HALCYON

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BIOPHILIA

hmua JHYZEL ROJAS models PALOMA MICHEL, REBECA JOVEL stylist CAT HERMANSEN photographer BENJAMIN ONTIVEROS writer ANNA-KAY REEVES layout SAMANTHA TREVIÑO

Living can feel so dirty, here away from the dirt The polarized sterility and filth of modern life Rubbing soles of shoes, blistering souls It is too much and not enough; inside, people gaze at constellations in the stucco ceiling while others shiver beneath the night sky I keep my head by losing it now and again with the clean things that grow from the dirt, nature’s living pharmacopeia Impressions and feelings bloom, and they are as powerful and impossible to ignore as defensive instinct 50 years ago, we hoped that technology couldn’t fail to spur progress.

Hope dies hard, so we’re still launching rockets while the Earth melts.

Taking ego trips to the moon while people rot for taking trips on their home planet.

Too much and not enough I want less and I need more, or I need more and I want less.

The needs and wants of the world are so unmet, it’s hard to know And still, as I rage and squint through smog, I am subdued by the all-consuming rightness of flowing water Struck still by light coming through a leaf, bright and holy as stained glass Powerless to demand change when the sun sticks me to a rock to bask It’s love on a cellular, evolutionary scale

I used to be a sheep.

Imitation and groupthink were my bread and butter. I regurgitated the opinions of those around me and claimed them as my own. I honestly didn’t know where to begin when it came to having an opinion, so I just… didn’t.

But then I found a jacket.

In my freshman days, on a routine trip to purchase clothes with pop culture references that I didn’t even know, I found an army green jacket.

Light-weight, almost suede-soft, with black drawstrings around the waist and hood. It was by no means a pretty jacket. In fact, it was pretty unconventional and a little ugly, but it was love at first sight. I put it on, and I felt something I’d never felt before. In hindsight, it was a sense of self; something completely foreign to me at the time. I liked this jacket. A lot. And I wanted it, I wanted to wear it, and I needed to have it. After begging like a madman, my mother caved and bought it for me.

I wore that jacket every day throughout my high school years. I filled its pockets with love, memories, and my youth.

It hugged me and my friends through the cold and journeyed with me across countries and continents. Baltimore,

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New York, Paris, London, Karachi. This jacket gave Mr. Worldwide a run for his money.

My mother hated it. My best friend hated it. It never matched my outfits and always clashed with my makeup.

But I loved it, and that was what made it so beautiful to me.

When I wore that jacket, I didn’t feel like a sheep. I felt like me. The me who learned she loved astronomy and the stars. The me who learned they supported a person’s right to choose. The me who learned that my ability to love transcends trivial human structures like gender.

That jacket was the first time I ever stuck to my guns. In the face of mockery and uncertainty, I held fast that it was a great jacket and I looked amazing in it. Whether that was true or not is up for debate, but my confidence never wavered, and that’s what mattered to me.

I became who I am in that jacket, and it still hangs on the first peg in my closet to this day.

I carry that jacket with me as a way to tether me to my original sense of self. Whenever I start to feel a little empty, or “sheepish,” I put on that jacket and remember how far I’ve come and how much farther I have yet to go.

GLAZE

hmua RAINA HARMON models CARLOS VARGAS, STACEY ALICIA stylist VICTORIA STURM photographer PAYTON WYATT writing MAHA QADRI layout MAHA QADRI

HALCYON

99

ONE hmua BRITNEY LARIOS, JACOB VIVIAL models ASHLEE HAWKINS, DANIELLE XU, STEPHANIE BENAVIDES stylists STEFANY RODRIGUEZ, LAUREN CALDWELL photographer IAN TORRES writer ANJIANIE PEREZ layout DALENA LE

When I lie atop the earth, She embraces me.

White frills stained green from hushed pastures, I toss my head back and laugh for no one but Myself. Birdsong drifts along wisps of Air that carry me to my feet.

Enveloped in whirling winds, I feel Rapturous - a coupling of mysticism and Divinity that blooms within me, and extends Into the reaches of Life beyond. The Balls of my feet kiss the earth as I Spring forward - stalks of hay and long, Tall grass tickles my arms.

Can mother earth feel this too?

The immeasurable joy, boundless Quietude? Does she reach for me the Same way I reach for her? A beating sun Atop a chestnut crown, braided tendrils Draped to frame a most charming girl.

A stream rumbles quietly nearby so as Not to disturb the collective Harmony, That of which I feel all around me and Nestle deep beneath my skin.

I am the warmth of the sun as it kisses My skin; the song of the earth as She sings All around me. Wandering and Curious, Resilient and Graceful. I will perch myself Beneath a tree, and let the meadow sing to Me. I will carry Her song with me wherever I go, and I will let it be known.

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hmua KATARINA TYLL models KAT CRUZ, LIZZIE DRAGON stylists LAUREN CALDWELL photographer AIDAN WILHITE writer COREY BROOKS layout AIDAN WILHITE

Damsels in mini skirts and hunks in muscle shirts.

Hedonistic hotties dreaming of a drug called paradise.

Stars burn brightest among the explosions; Instead, they’re corroding like a bullet moving in slow motion.

Wilting blossoms lusting for luster in these lousy moments.

The salt of Sodom’s earth wishing to be washed away, Among the breaking waves to a kingdom of chaos.

Releasing the tightly wound knot of hair strangling their senses.

A stage bloomed from the seeds of their melancholy, And forbidden fruit always tastes so feverishly sweet.

A haze of weekend worship, Where the only deviancy is not dancing, Where the only sin is the vanity of innocence; A place where anybody can feel like somebody; A spectacle of splendor that sparkles for everybody.

Breathe in; clouds of cocaine settled among the liberated locks like stardust.

The unchoreographed beauty of a discotheque: A sexual fantasia on celebrity status and grotesque riches.

Performers gorging themselves on grandeur and glamour, Like galvanized ghosts of Gomorrah’s ​​gluttony.

Blood brimming through invigorated veins; Sweat scintillating like dew upon vernal skin; Tears teeming from the ruptures in hysteric hearts.

Breathe out; equilibrium coaxed the veins with ecstasy, blanketed the brain with serenity.

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Zombies seething inside with a fever for the night; Coming alive for the first time beneath strobing lights; Intoxicated by the dizzying glow of a disco ball, Refracting pain through a prism for pleasure: A pulsing rainbow of rapturous delights.

Inside, a parasite of passion shuffles alive, Unleashing the deprived mind to unbridled desire.

They found love in a lust-tinted mirror as a sultry, dreamy reflection through dilated eyes.

The fundamental law of life: inertia; You’ll move when the groove moves you.

A dazzling surge of dissonance detonates on the dance floor. The DJ is an alchemist of syncopated aphrodisiacs, Marauding the mind with melody and magic.

When the thought of tomorrow feels so sober, Suicidal spirals feel so bright beneath the moonlight.

Flying and on fire, the world was ablaze for the coronation of a new dancing queen.

DANCING QUEEN 105

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GLAZE

HALCYON

107

Finding relief in the fact that a button and a screen can reinvoke sweet places and fond memories that my fingertips in front of me wish to grasp again As I replay and often long to reset I’m off for an adventure Uncanny and unfamiliar A place where colors showcase my insides Behind the left behind feelings TV corners illuminated by the time spent healing My journey remains unclosed between the lens The women by my side my companions and my friends I’m spun into motion

A kaleidoscope of scattered residual memories of you The grip on my suitcase The tear brewed tsunami of blue I stand somewhat sturdy through the storm Eager for change Yet fearing the horizon Finding solace in my solitude The perfect revelations to reside in The glamor doesn’t phase me I leave that phase behind The promises of tomorrow Sparkle intimately in the glued glass of my eyes This pre-brewed nostalgia It’s on the tip of my tongue I am reaching the brink of betterment My new forever has just begun

hmua ANGELICA BLAZE models DANIELLE XU, LAUREN LOPEZ, JULEEANE ANDREA stylists VICTORIA STURM, KATIE SHANINA photographer KIM PAGTAMA writing INAYAH MIRZA layout MAHA QADRI

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GLAZE

HALCYON

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GROWING GROWING GROWING GROWING GROWING GROWING GROWING GROWING GROWING GROWING GROWING GROWING GROWING

PAINS PAINS PAINS PAINS PAINS PAINS PAINS PAINS PAINS PAINS PAINS PAINS PAINS

hmua EMELY ROMO models AUDREY SINCLAIR, TONY VEGA stylist LAUREN CALDWELL photographer BENJAMIN ONTIVEROS writer CLARE O’BRIEN layout DALENA LE

HALCYON

113

Growing pains don’t go away once puberty takes its bow unsure of who or what you are, feel envy, shame, and doubt; you’ll still sprout pimples on your chin wish you were a different size, feel your stomach twist in pretzel knots when you and he lock eyes.

You’ll flounder and you’ll flail a lot you’ll fight to stay afloat like an anchor wearing water wings who’s unmoored from her boat.

You’ll stumble over words at times you’ll try hard to impress, not everyone will like you and that concept brings you stress.

You’ll still feel sad sometimes, and sometimes rot in bed all day beneath a sighing sun, you’ll wonder how all the colours got so grey.

But wait it out, and soon enough the mirror shows you’ve changed grown into someone tall and wise and confident and strange.

You’re unafraid to be yourself, not scared to take up space, you’re competent and worthy even with pimples on your face.

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PASSION I float through the day My mind clouded and heavy atop my floating body Sleep evades my heart, glowing in the dark of my bedroom set ablaze with your slow-burning flame You intoxicated me with warmth and now I dread entering my blue dreams a gray, windy nightmare without your touch The world should spin without us Too slow and ordinary to match our shimmering streaks of pink electricity The sun burns your name into my skin and a quiet sob escapes my lips when you look away because I never understood the sun spoke the language of love until your fingertips sent stardust through my veins I wonder if this heat will still invigorate me when the rays lose their glimmer

CONSISTENCY Glimmer is temporary and I seek refuge from it in your embrace that remembers me no matter the weather Thinking about you transcends time and bodily space You fill the air I breathe so I exhale your name every time I speak Each hour pulling apart and stretching to accommodate your engulfing presence Do we move alongside the kids playing at the park, the birds flying in the sky?

Or are we slower, a permanent and tangible ode to loving each other in the park A home just for us Sometimes your love is a choice and other times it is a compromise, trickling out but at least it is always there

hmua RAINA HARMON models MADISON HUCKINS, ALEXANDER SANTISTEVAN stylist KATE MANSBERGER photographer EVELYN ELIZABETH DEAL writer NOOR IQBAL layout MAHA QADRI