Issuu

chris neltner

There are a few things I would like to say to introduce this year’s Expressions. First, thank you to all of the students who submitted their art and writing to the magazine. I know that Adam Grace and Mr. Reisert will agree with me that it was both a pleasure and an honor to read and view the many great works that were submitted. It’s a shame that we had to limit such an impressive field to the thirty pieces of writing and eleven works of art that are printed on these pages. It was difficult, but we feel that this collection truly showcases the level of artistic talent currently held at St. Xavier High School. This year we added a special section based on an idea of Mr. Reisert’s to reproduce William Shakespeare’s Macbeth—in parody. We decided to turn this “Macbeth Remix” into a contest and award the winner with a gift card to JosephBeth Booksellers. We received many excellent parodies, but the top prize goes to Junior Peter Garvin for his remix of Act 4, Scene 1. Congratulations, Peter! Finally, I want to thank to Mr. Reisert for all his help walking me through every step of this process; also to Adam Grace, my art editor and good friend. Without these two there would be no magazine. Enjoy, Thomas Mitchell ‘13

senior editor ///////////thomas mitchell ‘13 art editor /////////////////adam grace ‘13 moderator//////////////mr. timothy reisert /////////////special thanks////////////// Expressions is deeply grateful for the efforts of Mrs. Heile and the Young Writers’ Forum, Mr. John Hussong’s help with submissions, and the St. Xavier Bookstore with sales.

dominic dicarlo

drew weller

quelling the emotions inside of him. The safety off, he slowly squeezes the trigger. The bolt hits the bullet, the bullet hits the air, and the air steps aside. The hanging sheets tremor as the shock wave recoils throughout the room. Before the driver even hears the bang, he is dead. The car swerves and slams into the wall, exploding in a fireball. But using high velocity rounds has its drawbacks. The muzzle flash of these massive cartridges are bigger and the sound is louder. Welshâ€™s position is blown. While he was distracted with the car, a man with a rocket launcher had gotten into position on a nearby rooftop. Â§ Welsh stares up at the white sheets waving in the wind. Everything is surreal. He can hear only a loud ringing. His heart beats at random intervals as his body shuts down. The ceiling transforms into star-filled polar night. The sheets above turn from white oceans to shimmering green arches, moving like the solar winds. They sway and swirl, reflect and refract. The boundaries of the room disappear. Everything is green; simply green. The swirling aurora above condenses into two bright orbs. Nothing else exists but these two orbs, although the orbs themselves are of another existence. Welsh is drawn toward the eyes just as he had been drawn toward them on that night in Alaska. Riding on the light, Eira takes him up into the starry sky, the brilliant aurora pushing them on and upward.

drew weller

valkyrie

contents art

ergeant Welsh had just enough time to glance at the picture of his wife and kids at their stay in Alaska before he had to return his attention to the battlefield. Two pairs of big blue eyes stared up at Welsh. Even though the familiar faces of his kids gave him immense comfort, he couldn’t help but think that it seemed as is as if the eyes were not so bright today. Somehow they told him to turn away and run. Welsh’s eyes drifted upwards in the photograph until they met the face of Eira, his wife. Her green eyes were brilliant. The reflection of the green Alaskan sky, filled with Aurora Borealis, glanced and gleamed off of the two orbs. They spoke of comfort and freedom in a world filled with chaos. With that, Sergeant Welsh’s attention snaps back to the Afghan town that sprawls in front of him. Welsh nestles the butt of the M24 sniper rifle into the meat of his shoulder. The fighting will commence any moment now, so Welsh starts to calm his breathing and heart rate as he been trained to do. Through the Leupold 10x Scope he makes one last survey of the area. A road sits directly in front of him; it is about ten yards wide and three hundred and fifteen yards long, according to his army-issued rangefinder. Various cars and stalls line the street; it was once a lively place, but now, only silent. The hot sun bakes the rooftops below, but up in Welsh’s fortified room, the shade is cool. The hanging sheets around him fizzle in the breeze. They protect the one-man sniper team from detection. The air is soggy with anticipation of the fight to come. A call comes over the radio; the Humvee moves in. Thirty seconds pass, and the vehicle appears in the street right below Welsh. A team of eight US soldiers jump out and start down the road. All hell breaks loose as the Taliban fighters swarm from their hiding places. But Welsh is ready. One by one, he picks off the militia that his teammates below cannot take care of themselves. He goes for the most imminent threats first: a man with a rocket launcher, another with a heavy machine gun. Welsh even spots an enemy sniper’s muzzle flash to the East. He takes care of him too. With the sound of squealing tires, a black Suburban peels around the corner at the far end of the street. It speeds toward the Americans, its suspension low from the suicide explosives within. Assault rifles and grenades will not stop this beast. Welsh has seconds. He switches the standard .30-06 NATO-issued ammunition for a clip full of Winchester high velocity, armour piercing rounds. The innocent shine of the full metal jacket bullets is ironic compared to the damage they cause. There will be no need, nor time, for a second shot. He zooms the scope and aims the cross-hairs five clicks low to compensate for the car’s speed. There is no doubt that this shot is difficult, if not impossible. It has never been attempted before, and Welsh’s adrenaline rush shows it. Even the residual barrel heat from the previous shots will affect the trajectory of the bullet by a few inches. This may not seem like much, but then again, the target is only a few inches wide too. And it is going fifty miles per hour. And it is two-hundred-and-fifty yards away. And the fate of this target will determine the fate of the young freedom-fighters below. Dust hangs in the air as Welsh calmly inhales and relaxes his muscles, 53

Colin Shimrock Dominic DiCarlo Adam Grace Chris Bachman Collin Scott Matt Hall John Stagaman Austin Lutz Collin Cain Chris Neltner

writing

William Capella Phillip Albers Phillip Albers Quinn Graves Matthew Gretz Elliott Bostick Will Hoffer Peter Lytle Brian McCurren Mark Panning Neil Jones J.R. Goetz Gregory Warner Nick Bailey Alexander Lauber Evan McConaughy Patrick Richart Mr. Henry Ahrens J.R. Goetz Kyle Denman Joe DiSalvo Keegan Doyle Phillip Albers Nick Klein Drew Weller

front cover image, 20 1, 48 5 21 22 24 31 38 41 55

A Remembrance Desert Flight The Phone Sits Silent Spider Hymns Dance with Me Forever Death Driving on a Rainy Day The Little Old Lady in the Corner Queen Bee Time Walker Spring Comes Like a Crashing Wave AFC North Untitled Stoplight in the ‘Bird Always Busy, The Halls Are Filled Controller A Thoughtful Recommendation Vivisection Getting into College Confidence Is Key Word-Salad The Heart I Hear Swamp Song The Elm Tree Valkyrie

3 6 23 25 26 27 28 29 30 32 33 34 35 36 37 39 40 42 43 44 45 47 49 52 53

special section parodies of william shakespeare’s macbeth JP Burleigh and Sean Perme Evan McConaughy Anthony Asher Peter Garvin Mr. John Hussong

Can’t Tell Me Nothing Act 1, Scene 4 (Remix) Act 3, Scene 3 (Remix) Act 4, Scene 1 (Remix) Act 5, Scene 5 (Remix)

8 10 12 15 19

william capella

nick klein

a remembrance

the elm tree As I walked out to my backyard, I ventured off into The trees that came protruding out From where the light withdrew.

Once on a mountain I Happened upon a wolf. Fear first filled me, Then disappeared after Looking into his eyes: Black opals lodged Within golden crystal, all Polished to a perfect shine. The opals, looking into me, Shone with sure thoughts And deep wisdom, Reflecting experience Of survival Of the wilderness.

As I walked into the woodland, Into a new frontier, I had begun to feel some angst That had become severe. I thought about my other half, My lover, through and through, Who had become to feel distant, A feeling that was new.

In winter, a coat more Snowy-white than silver kept The biting of cold at bay. He even let me feel The soft, sinewy hairs, smooth When brushed by my hand. His snout was cool, while His breath told a story Of the most recent prey earlier in the day. Wet were his paws, the muzzle, his jaws From washing gore in water. He looked more like a porcupine Than an actual wolf, with his underside fur Clumping to dark-tipped points. He did not seem to mind me. It was spring when I saw him again, Stalking a rabbit, Haunches hunched in hunting position. Leaving a scent to divert The victimâ€™s attention. He lured the poor rabbit into a trap When snap! The body slumped in his jaw.

I had come to the deepest part Of the cold, darkened woods, That had become a place of waste For trash and used canned goods. In this wasteland I saw a light Escaping through the brush That piqued my curiosity, And had caused me to gush. I had begun to quickly rush Through the brush where the light Was seeping out, and leading me Into a wondrous sight. It stood there with such grace and charm That cannot be described. It wiped away all of my fears. My angst was unsubscribed. It was a beautiful elm tree, The tallest I have seen. It still retained all of its leaves, Of most which still were green.

I thought it better not to bother him, So I set off when my foot 3

william capella

phillip albers

preparedness. “How can you kill me if you cannot look at me old man?” the witch teases. Perseus scans the room beneath his brimmed hat. Spying a mirror from the corner of his eye, he targets the witch and pulls the trigger of his shot gun. The dread-locks of the witch’s hair writhe and squirm as if snakes rested upon her head. Collapsing on herself, she dissolves to a pile of dust, and once again becomes part of the swamp. A friendly bark pulls Perseus’ attention back. Reunited with his dog, Perseus heads home to sleep once more.

Settled on dead crackling wood, Sending sound waves That echoed throughout the trees. As his ears shot up, His body bent low To defend his midday meal. Those black opals swung around Until they settled on me, Gleaming with delight. He must have considered me a friend Because he then snatched The body that was painting grass red And trotted over to me, Offering up his kill to share. Politely, I refused. About a year later, I saw in the back of a truck The body of a wolf, shot by a hunter. I waved my hand to hail the driver, To stop the monster who slaughtered my friend. As I looked into the hunter’s face, I could only feel rage. I thought: Why did you kill him? Hunger was his one and only sin, The town of Gubbio could forgive, so why could not you? But all I could croak was “How much?” Now hangs the wolf pelt on my living room wall To remind myself of my friend who did fall. And I swear, every time wind travels through The peaks, I hear the mountains, and all of nature cry For the lonely wolf who had unfairly died.

adam grace

phillip albers

Perseus is scared. Hands shaking, he sets the stained white boat into motion with a kick from the belching Yamaha engine. He had only headed south into the swamp once, back when he was just starting on his own. The witch had called him, recognized his presence, and attempted to lure him to her. Her trance over him was only broken when Perseus recognized the shrill yapping of a puppy. It was almost as if Pegasus was aware of the danger, and sought out the young man to release him from the witch’s grasp. Perseus now must save his beloved companion, regardless of risking his own well-being. Navigating the swamp is a difficult undertaking to most; however, to Perseus, it was his life. Growing up in these waters makes him more capable than any to navigate his way through. Despite this, the southern swamps are different: always cloaked in a dense fog and infested with the biggest alligators north of the equator. This is what concerns him most about boating through this area, especially now that the sun is going down. Not half an hour later, a force thrusting upwards from under the boat sends Perseus and almost everything else he carried sailing through the air. Landing at the bow of the boat, he snatches his shotgun from the air, inches from the water’s surface. Perseus cannot see what shook the boat but he can hear it. He can hear them. What sounds like a hundred hissing faucets and the gurgling of hundreds of drains is in actuality the hissing and growling of the southern swamp gators. Out of instinct, Perseus grabs for his banjo. He remembers what his father used to say to him. Every creature in the Louisiana bayous loves music. Somehow, the shaking hands of the old man pick out a spellbinding melody, soothing the animosity of the hungry reptiles, lulling them into a sleepy trance. The lucidity of the music allows Perseus to weave his way through the humming reptilian giants. Until the trees reveal a decrepit shack, seemingly a part of the swamp itself. Dropping the banjo, Perseus grabs the engine propeller and bee-lines to the black house. She is waiting for him, and he knows she has been preparing for his company. Perseus stills the motor, letting the boat cruise to the front of the blackened house. The way the trees seem to wrap themselves around the shack makes it seem more like a cave. A yellowish light radiates from the windows and cracks in the doors, carrying the rhythmic sound of shaking beads with it. Perseus prepares himself, gathering his gun, and straining his back in an effort to step out of the boat. The rattling ceases, and a call emanates through the door. “Perseus! I know you are there. Come get your dog Perseus.” The witch’s voice sends shivers down his spine. Her taunt, still audible through her thick Caribbean accent, infuriates Perseus. Pegasus’ high pitched whine breaks the silence between the two. Perseus pulls the brim of the straw hat over his eyes and hesitates before pushing the door open. Afraid to look at her, Perseus keeps his hat firmly over his eyes and advances. Encircling each other, the witch becomes frustrated by her enemy’s 5

phillip albers

swamp song

desert flight

Perseus begins to toss. Shifting from one side of the decrepit bed to the other,

he awakens, sweat beading like pearls on his forehead. The musty smell of his bedroom encapsulates him, stirring him from the terror of his dreams. How long have I been asleep? The water-stained ceiling above his head comforts Perseus. Taking a breath and wiping his forehead, Perseus throws his dust-ridden linen sheet away from his body. He sighs and stands from his bed, old bones creaking. The old and decaying floorboards moan under the weight of shuffling footsteps. Pale afternoon light casts itself across the bed, revealing the moldy conditions of the bedroom. Decades of intense heat and water had left the room to its present decay. Outside, the Spanish moss hanging from the dampened trees reflects the long white hair hanging from Perseus’ head and face. Before he even begins to pull on his suspenders, Perseus calls for his dog. He has always loved Pegasus, from the time he found him as a pup, prancing through the gator infested swamps of the South. He never understood how Pegasus managed to get himself there in the first place. Now eleven years old, the mutt never fails to leave Perseus’ side. Most of the time Pegasus just sleeps on the floor next to him; however, today was different. Calling once more for Pegasus, Perseus creeps out of the room, whistling softly for his missing companion. Worry seeps its way into Perseus, settling in his abdomen. He strokes a shaking hand through the entanglement of his white beard. Perseus tears down the rotten staircase, and slams the old screen door open, calling for Pegasus. There is no sign of the dog. The swamp peat that seems to swallow up the rotting two-storey shack yields no tracks. The only other possible way Pegasus could have taken is through the swamp lying in wait in the front of the house. Thoughts swirl in Perseus’ head. Pegasus knows not to swim through the swamp. The waters to the south are gator-infested, and if the gators don’t find Pegasus, Perseus knows that something else will. She is the Calypso Queen, the voodoo witch of the swamps. It is said she is half-god, and stepped out of the Caribbean reef hundreds of years ago. Her magic is unrivaled; no one who has seen her has returned. The legend says the men are turned to stone, but their souls are still trapped inside the cold rock. The tide of the swamp heeds to her call, along with all the creatures below the surface. Perseus strains himself, not admitting to what he knows in the back of his mind. She has Pegasus. She has Pegasus because she is playing puppeteer, drawing Perseus to her, the last of the men left in this godforsaken swamp. Stepping back towards the house, evolving into a sprint, Perseus lunges towards his home. Crossing the porch, he throws the door open and pauses for a moment to right his suspenders. His quickened steps land him in the living room to gather what he needs for the journey. After snatching up his trekking boots, straw hat, and banjo, Perseus reaches above the fireplace. Reaching above the fireplace, Perseus cradles his old double-barrel shotgun and starts towards his docked boat at the front of the house. 49

We become the shadow of late pale light An eternal mind has yet to be tamed, And forever wander through desert night. Barefoot madness lifts us through arid flight. Wild haired children dance frantic through flame, We become the shadow of late pale light. Promethean desire is our plight. Primal freedom at the feet of us lain, And forever wander through desert night. Like a tree, soul spreads tendrils through the night. The plastic men simply call it a game. We become the shadow of late pale light. Quiet in our ephemeral delight, We do not have anyone else to blame. And forever wander through desert night. Run with me as part of our desert flight. Run with me and thrust ancestors to shame. We become the shadow of late pale light, And forever wander through desert night.

dominic dicarlo

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jp burleigh & sean perme

keegan doyle

the heart I hear

can’t tell me nothing (remix) RUNNER UP //RUNNER UP //RUNNER UP //RUNNER UP //RUNNER UP //RUNNER UP

after Kanye West

Hear now the sound of trumpet blasts, Hear now the sound of marching men. For around your Jericho walls I walk as wise men passed. Tell me, hold I the key to Covenant or Lion’s Den? Make of me a Joshua or a Daniel as you please For welcomed I wish to be, or else driven to my knees by that proverbial compulsion of man to see simply the hidden city. Does it glimmer as the walls, this Eden, Paradise? Or is it (I so doubtfully say) lackluster, for that would be a pity. Around your city’s walls must I walk thrice? Nay. For your heart beneath I shall walk thrice more And then a hundred times further And a thousand times after. When my feet grow sore I shall walk with my hands while days die and nights nurture. And I shall look up into the night sky and count the stars As reasons to love you, both boundless and infinite. Know that I wish not to destroy the city Jericho. I wish merely to see its beating heart. Jericho, Jericho, I am not your enemy. Jericho, Jericho, my immortal heart yearns for your own. Jericho, Jericho, let your walls tumble Jericho, Jericho, in pursuit of you, never shall I falter, nor stumble. And thus I will continue: Marching on, Striding forth, Enduring, Endlessly, until that fateful day when my ark does fell the Jericho walls.

La la la la Wait ‘til I get my money right Me and Banquo were walking through the forest Three witches popped out We could not ignore it They told me I’d be king in a second Man it’s so hard not to act reckless They said Banquo’s kids would be the best kings All these things in my ear loudly ring I tell my lady I gotta have the truth in me What she do, talk this foolery Speak some cruelty Duncan’s eulogy My common sense couldn’t get through to me The drama, my soliloquy I’m on stage talking like it’s just you and me I’m not sure how I feel man Too late, Duncan’s coming to the castle of this thane Me and my lady wined and dined him And after hours snuck in and murdered him La la la la Wait ‘til I get more power right la la la la Then you can’t tell me nothin’ right Excuse me, was Duncan saying something? Uh uh you can’t tell me nothin’ You can’t tell me nothin’ Uh uh you can’t tell me nothing Now I’m king of Scotland This is my throne homey Gotta stay on top ma Two assassins are now employed They go try to kill Banquo and his boy So they brutally overtake ‘em Banquo got stabbed But Fleance escaped away to England But homey this is my day Went back to the witches Yo, am I safe? Nope, if approached by Birnam But I can live through anyone if woman born him They say fear Macduff, my arch-nemesis Killing him’d bring benefits 8

jp burleigh & sean perme

joe disalvo

Don’t ever plot against me, Thane of Fife You conspire with Malcolm, I kill your kids and wife Let me know if it’s a problem then Aight man, holla then La la la la Wait ‘til I get more power right La la la la Then you can’t tell me nothin’ right Excuse me, was Banquo saying something? Uh uh you can’t tell me nothin’ You can’t tell me nothin’ Uh uh you can’t tell me nothin’ Let them plan my death Let them try Macbeth I’ll just slay their flesh I’ll never be stopped I stay fresh If the witches be saying the sooth Then Macduff ain’t got the truth ‘cause How he gon’ move the whole wood of Birnam? How he gon’ kill me if he born of woman? Malcolm’s and Macduff’s armies marching to my home Dunsinane’s walls impregnable like Rome Camo, army disguised Wood moving, UH Am I deceived by my eyes? So I see Macduff burst in Punish me for my sin I come to my senses right before I’m decapitated Scotland emancipated In tales of the Bard The villains die hard One thing that I did not predict Macduff from his mom was untimely ripped La la la la Wait ‘til I get more power right La la la la Then you can’t tell me nothin’ right Excuse me, were they saying something? Uh uh couldn’t tell me nothin’ 9

quickly depleted and I don’t mean to sound alarmist but Father was a fire fighter and he told me that boxing was for uneducated people and that really Great Danes are altogether better and for noble people because the cheese Danish variety especially is tasty, and the lady at the bakery who wears the hair net often catches fish in it, and she gives them to the deli in the west side of the city, Delhi, I think was where Father The thing with Kant’s a priori truths is that I swore I was telling Mother the truth and I really was, I promised it was not his dog that I took and it was stray, it really was

In seventh grade I was sitting in the school chapel because it was day for the sacrament of Adoration, wherein we sit in the pews and stare at something expensive and ornamental that ostensibly contains J.C. Himself, yet some girl fainted and fell and hit her head on a pew and I remember that the thud sounded ominously like the sound of spaghetti being slapped onto a plate in the cafeteria, so when the school lunch lady slapped some spaghetti on my tray I remember I jumped over the glass window thing and started trying to strangle her with the spaghetti because I thought she wanted me to be concussed, etc, etc., which reminds me that in Sophomore year anatomy class this girl Penelope once blew her nose and like the tissue like the stray dog Mother made me give when

My grandmother’s apartment was ten flights of stairs up, so we would fly up in the elevator except until Jesus told me it is possible the elevator could stop at any time and the government would be waiting for me, breaking through the door or through the ceiling and they would get me, so Jesus always told me to take the stairs, and if I got tired, he would grab me with his beard and it would grow fast and it would raise me up, up, up

Once Father and I were at a baseball game and the homeless person outside with the catcher’s mitt asking for money I think he voted Democrat though, which was not all surprising because I remember that Rome was a democracy and often Cicero, which is pronounced like kick – and then he kicked me, and I fell right in front of the slide, and they called me a weirdo, a freak, they said, and Mrs. Markson giggled, which made me

Jesus told me not to go to Israel, because Ben is waiting there. He is waiting everywhere

When Father and I were building a play set in the back if I recall correctly it was Godel who made major contributions to set theory when he proved the incompleteness theorem but so Russell then

joe disalvo

evan mconaughy

word-salad

act 1, scene 4 (remix)

but so but when I must have been nineteen the doctor’s tie was like an octopus tentacle1 but ten prior and there existed there2 Tiffany I tore it off his neck because it told me it was going to strangle him, the I try not to think because he can hear octapodian Necktie the doctor, I mean and but her bun I adored3 it except I have named this man Ben it would sometimes stare4 at me Ben has been watching and but I don’t know why he wants me and I once told Mrs. Markson that her bun5 called me a name he/she called me a freak I awoke restrained And he said Risperidone 4mg or Olanzapine

but Ben walked through the wall of the room and said he would kill Tiffany if I took the pills scalp her and stitch her bun to my head and it would whisper in my ear scream if I tried to cut it so I tried to escape from Stimulation Reduction Room S-126 Tiffany’s bun made me cry that day So I tried setting her hair on fire the next day I tried to break the glass on the door and break the metal lattice guarding the windows claw through the walls until my fingernails splintered like wood7 but so but when I must have been nineteen the doctor’s tie was like an octopus tentacle _______________________________________________________ 1

Coal is scarce, and energy warning is that our natural resources are being 45

but

(Enter Duncan and Malcolm) DUNCAN Has Cawdor been taken care of yet? Has anyone heard from whomever we hired to do that? MALCOLM Well, sir the man isn’t back yet with proof, but I did here from somebody in attendance. He did not deny his schemes, his treacheries, or his embezzlements, and he begged for mercy. Nothing he ever did in his career looked as good as when he left us. It seemed almost rehearsed. DUNCAN There’s no way anyone could tell what he really thought. I trusted him completely, as I did with all five of the other C.F.O.’s that I hired this month. His betrayal was even more shocking than the second, although the fourth one was the real shocker. MALCOLM world.

It’s such a pity that it’s so hard to find trustworthy men in this

(Enter Banquo and Macbeth) DUNCAN My great nephew. Why I was just upset as I was wondering whether or not I had thanked you enough. When you discovered that McDonwald had been embezzling money since the day I hired him I was crushed, as while I had only known him for a few months, I felt as though I could put my complete trust in him. And because of you we learned that another great man, Mr. Cawdor, with whom I trusted my life, had been consorting with him. It hurt my soul so much to get rid of the finest new face I had seen in quite some time. I cannot thank you enough for opening my eyes to all of my hidden enemies that sought my fortune. MACBETH I am rewarded with the opportunity to serve such a wise man as you. I’m in a position where, while very modest in pay, especially when compared to that of my cousin, I know that I have the full trust of a man so benevolent towards those he trusts. I, and the rest of the company, know that selfish pursuits of fortune, no matter how justified or deserved, comes second to serving the great man who allows us such fortune. DUNCAN That is exactly the kind of man that I need here. Macbeth, when you first came to work for me I knew that there was something that separated you from the numerous other executives that I’ve hired this week. You are the most responsible man who has ever worked for me, and you must take pride in that. For that I proclaim thee official C.F.O. of my vast company. You’ve got a very bright future ahead of you kid. Now don’t forget the man who 10

evan mconaughy

kyle denman

confidence is key

planted such seeds in your career. (To Banquo) Oh, and Banquo, don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. You deserve no less than Macbeth, and everyone ought to know it. Everyone ought to know that it was you who diligently watched as Macbeth poured through paperwork to expose the traitors. Let me hold you to my heart and reward you for your work. Just don’t forget who made every part of your future possible. BANQUO

There, if I grow, the harvest is your own.

DUNCAN Oh my. I’ve been so joyful and teary that I’ve forgotten the most important part of today’s meeting. As you all know, but refuse to believe, I am quite old. So before I die, I need to name a successor. Now I know that all of you have worked hard, but there is only one man I trust enough to run this company. This man has shown throughout his life, especially in my recent hardships, that he is more responsible than any other man on this planet. Now I believe that you all know who I am speaking about. (All eyes except Duncan’s move towards Macbeth) I believe that we all can agree that this man, for reasons that are self evident, deserves to be my successor. (Macbeth begins to stand) That is why my successor shall be my noble son, Malcolm. (Malcolm stands up to shake his father’s hand, just as Macbeth was about to do s. Duncan notices Macbeth) Oh, look at Macbeth, so eager to welcome my son that he can’t wait until I’ve finished speaking to shake his hand. Well, I won’t stop you. Go on. (Macbeth shakes Malcolm’s hand uneasily) And because you’re so eager to welcome your boss to be, I declare that we should celebrate this occasion at your new mansion tonight. MACBETH I’m not happy unless I can be working for you. I’ll call my wife so that she can hear the, uh, great news…and that you are coming…Please excuse me sir, I must… be off. DUNCAN equal.

Goodbye, my greatest friend. You truly are a man without

“I promise.” Those days I reminisce. You’ve given me hope— A way to smile And a reason to cope. You were always there when I needed a friend to dial. You gave me the answer I seek whenever I felt so insecure and meek. You are my guardian angel I see. I remember what you once told me: “Confidence is key.” You told me to stay strong Because life does not last very long. You said for me to reach my own paradise, Just close my eyes, And open my mind. You were so kind. You said you’d be here whenever I fall— I only need to give you a call. You’re right. Life doesn’t last forever. But I’m glad we could spend some time together. Fly to heaven, And close the velvet curtain. I’m going to miss you. It’s true. But I just wanted to say thank you. I’ll always use that message you once told me: “Confidence is key.” Now, rest. It’s for the best. The melodies of life are about to die. And all of the angels are about to cry. Chime the church bells to let the world know All about your life years ago. The harmoniums of heaven will let all hear its final verse. I wish time could be reversed. By your hand, Open the gates to the sacred land. Just remember the message of eternity: “Confidence is key.” 44

jr goetz

anthony asher

getting into college

act 3, scene 3 (remix) A park near the palace.

“It is a simple act.” the Ring Master says. “All you do is walk across the tightrope. The bottom will be filled with homelessness, no job and no hope. The audience will be filled with parents and friends that love you, on the condition you succeed. They have invested a lot of time and capital in this act after all. Your pole will be unbalanced, for dramatic effect of course. The right will be leaning down with SAT scores and grades too low. The left side helped up with expectations and dreams too high. Don’t worry we know you will find the balance. Everyone else has, so why can’t you? Just look to your fellow tightrope walker. Look how easy it is for him, Being a varsity athlete, National Honor Society, and good connections is a great benefit to him. You do not have any of that but since he can do it, you should be fine. When you reach the other side, a steady job, one wife, two kids, a car, house, and life awaits you.” “It will be a simple act.” the Ring Master lies.

(Enter MURDERERS. Ye Ol’ REPORTER stands front stage.) FIRST MURDERER

Who did bid thee join us?

THIRD MURDERER

Shakespeare.

SECOND MURDERER We know not who you speak o’ But nevertheless, we have work to do! (THIRD MURDERER takes out an Algebra textbook) FIRST MURDERER

‘Tis not that sort of work!

THIRD MURDERER

Forgive me.

SECOND MURDERER

I shall, but, quiet! Hark! I hear horses.

[BANQUO enters on horse with FLEANCE.) THIRD MURDERER Already are i’ the court.

‘Tis he! That are within the note of expectation

FIRST MURDERER

He comes near. Prepare for attack… Onward!

[MURDERERS stab him and he feels the pain, but no wound shows and he does not die.] BANQUO

Oh, the pain yet burdens me. Take my life, I pray you!

MURDERERS living.

We try and yet some unknown force keeps you among the

BANQUO

Oh… ‘tis my green sash!

FIRST MURDERER

From where did that come?

BANQUO. Some green knight, but the importance does not matter at the present hour. I shall throw it off so that you may complete your task. (BANQUO throws the sash and is stabbed again. Dies.) 43

anthony asher

mr. henry ahrens

vivisection

SECOND MURDERER

Amidst the confusion, young Fleance escapes.

THIRD MURDERER

Fire up the searchlight!

[The searchlight turns on and aims at FLEANCE escaping on a horse on the road. Ye Ol’ REPORTER steps out and another spotlight shines on him.] Ye Ol’ REPORTER This news does break at the present time! A white male, of the age of seven, riding a black colt, hath Been spotted evading three men. The suspect doth head Toward Tragedy Lane and the men are i’ hot pursuit. (Horse falls.) Ye Ol’ REPORTER It seems as if the young lad hath crashed And hath commenced to attempt his escape upon his feet. Wait… I do presently receive word that he has been wounded By arrows that now do pierce his legs… and it appears that the Men now do overtake the young boy. [FLEANCE lays bleeding but still alive and is expected to die.] Ye Ol’ REPORTER have spotted me.

Oh, no! Those who hath just set upon Fleance now

(MURDERERS walk up and stab him in the chest.) Ye Ol’ REPORTER That now concludes my time. Go now Back to the Lady Witches with the latest on the unnatural Occurrences and unwieldy weather that are predicted Within the coming days.

for JFH

Here’s the trick: Snap on surgeons’ gloves, Palms in, thumbs up, elbows down. Cut the thing open, no anesthetic, And run your blood-wet fingers To the delicate heartbeat Of the poem. Discover What makes it pulse, and breathe, And digest, and excrete, What makes it howl in pain, What makes it squirm, What makes it giggle. But do this all to the patient Still not etherized upon the table So that you don’t have to tell The attending physician, “I’m sorry. He didn’t make it. But I did try my best.” Can you sew it back up Without sign of a scar? That’s the trick.

[Dies. FLEANCE crawls away in the distance. MURDERERS gather themselves.] FIRST MURDERER

The work hath concluded.

SECOND MURDERER

I do but feel that something bad is to come of us.

THIRD MURDERER

What mean you by that?

SECOND MURDERER

I sense that bad is among us.

(Enter THREE BLIND MICE with canes that are used to sense their direction.) 13

anthony asher

collin cain

FIRST MURDERER

Who art thou?

FIRST MOUSE We are of the rodent descent and our eyes Do provide us with no sight. THIRD MURDERER

Who was it that sent you?

SECOND MOUSE ‘Twas noble Macbeth. He gave us the Task of murdering three men whom he did send forth to do his bidding. Have you any clue where we may find them? MURDERERS

Oh…. No, we know not who you speak of.

THIRD MOUSE Okay. Thank you for your time, we must be going. We must find these men before days end. (The THREE BLIND MICE stumble away, tapping their canes furiously on the ground in an attempt to locate the men they seek.) FIRST MURDERER time. ‘Tis not safe here.

That did go well. We should leave at the present

SECOND MURDERER

I do agree. We must part now.

THIRD MURDERER all!

It was a pleasure serving amongst you. Goodnight

[The MURDERERS exit.]

peter garvin

act 4, scene 1 (remix)

patrick richart

a thoughtful recommendation

winner // winner // winner // winner // winner // winner // winner

(Witches enter the secret lair in slow motion to the famous Doors song, “Riders on the Storm” as they approach a cauldron.) FIRST WITCH

The kitty has purred three times

SECOND WITCH

Doth pig oinked!

THIRD WITCH Guys, let’s get down to business. FIRST WITCH (Reaches into belly button and pulls out 10 oz. of lint) Wow, I could use a shower… (Tosses lint into cauldron)… Well, I don’t really know what to contribute to this mess so I’m just gonna throw in the cat’s meow and the bee’s knees. ALL

The troubles triple, the cauldron bubbles ripple.

SECOND WITCH Wait, dude! Those are just phrases. I’m pretty sure a meow isn’t even tangible. Do bees even have knees?! We need a horse’s mane, an opossum spine, and a HUMAN FOOT! (Throws objects into cauldron) Oh goodness, the smell is making me lightheaded. I’m working up a sweat in this hizzie. (Takes off shirt to famous Nelly song “Hot in Here”) ALL

The troubles triple, the cauldron bubbles ripple.

THIRD WITCH Oh, you’re gonna love this next contribution… I have a Nickelback album, a really deep V-neck that I outgrew, and one of my buddies is on the way with my final addition. (Several seconds later a figure in the distance approaches the room. A robed man stands in a shadow that hides his identity and holds out his hand with a tiger eye. THIRD WITCH takes the eye as the man walks away. THIRD WITCH prepares to drop the eye into the cauldron as the song “Eye of the Tiger” by survivor shakes the room. Suddenly, he begins headbanging and it causes him to drop the eye on the floor.) Alright, screw it, we’ll be fine. ALL

The troubles triple, the cauldron bubbles ripple.

(SECOND WITCH launches a chunky spit into the cauldron. Hecate appears with three random people.) HECATE Aw, seriously? These are new Sperry’s my mom just got me! (Lifts up one shoe to find a squished tiger’s eye underneath) Alright you’re on your own. Peace out! (“We Are Never Getting Back Together” by Taylor Swift sounds.) SECOND WITCH

Oh snap, Macbeth is checking us out… 15

Today’s parents find themselves in a binding circumstance. On occasion, the

mother or father of a failing student finds themselves in the unfortunate predicament of having to reprimand the sadistic teacher who has been allowing failure to ensue. This includes the involvement of hour-long meetings discussing the fate of the child’s final grade, and what extra credit the child will have to turn in that the parent will inevitably be responsible for putting together. Such pressures are daunting tasks that continue to apply stress American parents. But, there is a simple resolution to all this hysteria. It’s quite evident that, through their consistent battle against unaccommodating teachers, parents have a much better stranglehold on teaching than actual teachers. Thus, I propose that all licensed educators be immediately removed from their teaching positions and replaced by the students’ enlightened parents, so all necessary corrections can be made to floundering grades. There are many advantages to this proposition. Firstly, this tactic would allow students to be more socially active. Because of this new parental education, students can depend on this compassionate new system to put more time into developing people skills. Instead of having to pay attention in class, they can spend more time catching up on their lunchtime conservations, and then go home to talk more on their live gaming consoles. Assuming that these gaming sessions will go long into the night, the students could elongate their 20-minute class-time nap for a 40-minute one, in order to catch up on their sleep so they can further develop their minds during the day. Secondly, this would save parents much more time in their hectic schedules. No longer having to make appointments with teachers to try to enhance their socially undeveloped child’s grade, they could simply have the task of making sure that all children don’t have to put up with the hefty demands of teachers. This could even become a career for parents. No longer having to worry about keeping a steady job, some sort of teaching position would always be available. Also, they wouldn’t feel the need to make sure that their kids are getting their work done. Because it was already hard enough before to take 30 minutes out of a night to help their kids understand their laborious homework. With those extra 30 minutes, parents can now get some extra sleep while their kids quietly think about what they learned in school that day. But what would be done with all those evil teachers? There is an easy answer to that. Those heartless people who have no interest in helping our youth can be used in a child service to watch kids when parents are resting from teaching all day. They could try to get students to get some homework done or develop some sort of learning techniques to apply in the classroom atmosphere. Teachers need to understand that parents have many more important things to take care of than make sure that their children get their education right the first time, so excusing teachers from their positions seems completely acceptable. I hope that the administration, and maybe someday the nation, will consider this proposal. 40

evan mcconaughy

peter garvin

controller

I am a cow, branded not with a name, but with a profile. The cowboy steers me with his electric prod. The invisible lightning shocks me into submission. The wired whipcord signals me to kill, so I kill. I stampede into a hive of hornets, Battling billions of barbaric bees, Hearing the electric buzz of buttons Commanding me to kill my fellow drones. Mindless men sting me with bullets Because they see me as a killer, But the trigger is not in my hands because I am the gun. I am a puppet who sees the strings. While the controller may be cordless I can still feel the wires, buried beneath my bones, Like neurons surging through my body. I am but a frame of wires Surgically bound to the hands Of a merciless electrician. My comrades are stupid, suicidal, sheep. They hear my call and call me their bitch Who defends them and their world. But the real shepherd holds my leash. All the songs and screams and cheers and curses Are sent to this desperate goat Who cannot escape the zoo of A self-centered child playing make believe, Wishing that he could be a “hero” Just like me.

(Phil Collins descends from ceiling as the lights dim and he sings “In the Air Tonight.” MACBETH enters to an awkward stare-down with the witches) MACBETH

Sup?

ALL

Your face!

MACBETH Hah! Did you call each other up last night and decide to go buy your clothes from Salvation Army? FIRST WITCH

(Seriously offended) What do you want now, Macbeth?

MACBETH I have some questions. I really need help with number nine. I spent like an hour on it last night. Can you just put a couple on the board for me? I’m gonna need a teacher, though. I hate peer tutoring. FIRST WITCH Alright but only if you can get me a tiger’s eye and toss it in ye old cauldron over here. (MACBETH reaches deep into his pockets to come up with a tiger’s eye.) ALL

TEACHER! TEACHER!

(Loud drums sound the room as the first apparition walks in with a Trojan helmet) MACBETH

Hey, I’m here for some help with—

FIRST APPARITION Word on the street is that Macduff has been hitting the weight room lately. I wouldn’t mess with the dude. You better check yourself before you wreck yourself, man. MACBETH

Okay then…

(FIRST APPARITION goes away.) FIRST WITCH I guess he’s just grumpy… I’ll call in someone else through random selection. (BLOODY CHILD approaches) SECOND APPARITION Hey, uh, where’s the bathroom up in here? My nose has been bleeding for the last half hour.

peter garvin

MACBETH

austin lutz

Ah! It lies yonder son. (Points east)

(SECOND APPARITION comes back, cleaned up) SECOND APPARITION Well, good luck to you, man. You should be fine with that math. Use that Jesuit noggin you got, and you’ll be set. MACBETH

Okay, you guys are really just wasting my time.

ALL

HEY, SHUT UP! SHUT UP!

(THIRD APPARITION comes in hot) THIRD APPARITION

Whatcha got there, son?

MACBETH Math homework and it needs to be done. You better not mess around with this either. THIRD APPARITION Pshhhh! Don’t worry about it the teacher doesn’t even collect it. I heard Macduff figured all of those tricky ones out, though. The kid’s a genius. (THIRD APPARITION exits) ALL

And that’s the way the cookie crumbles!

MACBETH If I don’t get these answers I’m going to be upset! Oh man, what’s this jam? That stew you got going there smells quite pungent by the way. (PSY’s “Gangnam Style” plays) FIRST WITCH

Op!

SECOND WITCH

Op! Op!

THIRD WITCH

Op! Op!

ALL

Opan Gangnam Style!

(Eight kings flamboyantly cartwheel and handspring across the stage while escorting a flashy Ghost of Banquo in a tuxedo hoisting a mirror. The Ghost of Banquo begins breakdancing in a flash mob with the witches and eight kings.) MACBETH

No thank you. I’m not playing this game. Would you 17

alexander lauber

peter garvin

always busy, the halls are filled like to play Clue? Because I’m pretty sure it was Macbeth, in the back lot, with the dagger. I win. Therefore, you must lose. Always busy, the halls are filled With traffic of cars rushing past, Children stopping at lockers, running late to class. A vehicle can’t stop in time, Books and papers spill across The lines, as traffic swerves to avoid broken glass. Yet this movement can create futures. The classes that we scurry to create the ability To burn the gas to get us moving up the mountain Of work for a PhD, yet these hall seem to be filled With the hot exhaust fumes Of drop outs and grades never reached.

(Eight kings disappear) FIRST WITCH

You know what’s up, Macbeth. You already know!

(“U Can’t Touch This” by MC Hammer sounds as witches vanish.) MACBETH

Okay, Lenny! Coast clear!

(Lennox enters) LENNOX

Yes, master?

MACBETH

I mean, couldn’t you hear how psycho those chicks are?

LENNOX homework.

I wasn’t really paying attention. I was finishing my math

MACBETH Oh, Lenny! I need those answers, dog! The girls were getting me so sidetracked. Thank goodness I don’t have to put up with their kind during the school day! LENNOX Fine! I shall tutor you. And by the way, I’m supposed to let you know that Macduff has set off to England. MACBETH

Well, can you book me a first class flight?

LENNOX

I’ll get right on that, sir.

MACBETH Oh, Lenny, looks like I’ll be killing Macduff’s entire family. No more horseplay or math homework. Time to get crackin’!

mr. john hussong

nick bailey

act 5, scene 5 (remix) “oh, boy!”

stoplight in the ‘bird

(A drafty room in Dunsinane castle. Macbeth alone, musing. Seyton enters.) SEYTON

The Queen, my lord, is dead.

MACBETH Good. She was a royal pain in the ass. Now let me alone to ponder this attempt at playwriting by one of my apprentice lackeys, Spearman or Spearforth or something ... (Waves Seyton away. Reads. A look of despair clouds his expression. He thinks out loud.) “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow ... “ What’s with this repetition crap? Where’s the style? Creeps in this petty pace ... “ Creeps? This guy is creepy. “To the last syllable ... “ Syllable? It should be word! We don’t want parts of words! He’s supposed to be a writer, for cryin’ out-loud! (Reads on.) “ ... dusty death ... “Death “dusty?” How is that? Death is happy if you are good and sad if you are not. It is unexpected or planned. It is not “dusty.” “Dusty” is what collects on my books. It just doesn’t fit. “Out, out brief candle ... “ What’s with this candle? I thought this was supposed to be about death! (Pauses.) Banquo gave me a candle once. Pure beeswax. Didn’t give light worth a damn! (Returns to reading.) “Life’s but a walking shadow ... “ How can life be like a shadow? It’s real! It’s freezing my royal buns off in winter! It’s being spurned by the ladies of court! It’s scrofula for god’s sake! (He reads the final lines.) “struts and frets his hour ... “ Yeh, that’s what this popinjay does—struts and frets. Thinks the stuff he writes now will be performed on a stage years hence. (Muttering.) See, I can write, too. I used “hence.” (Focuses again.) This writer doesn’t know he will be “heard no more.” Just look at this stuff! He must have eaten some bad haggis! “A tale told by an idiot...”? “Full of sound and fury ... “? Sound and fury will be what this idiot will get from me as I pay him nothing! “Nothing will come from nothing,” I’ll tell him as I leer at at him! Let’s see what he thinks as I banish him over the border to somewhere in the middle of England, to some obscure village where in 500 years nobody will know his name. His family will probably make gloves or something. I only wish this guy had some imagination! (Macbeth exits. Hautboys and flourishes in the distance.) MACBETH (Offstage.)

Oh, boy! Hautboys!

he Bullitt-green paint glistens on the long bonnet as I roll up to the hanging stoplight. I blip the throttle to downshift and each rev lets out the sweet-smelling carbureted exhaust—a scent hardly known by anyone nowadays. A man wearing a tie rolls up in the turn lane next to me in a bland Honda. His collar wrinkles as he stretches his chubby neck to get a whole glimpse of the Firebird. On the other side a group of girls in a similar Japanese box are sharing the red light with me. I can hear their heads chattering and giggling through my hand-cranked windows as they peer into the old car. My girl sitting in the antiquated leather bucket next to me blushes under the attention and quivers her lips as she holds back a smile. She likes attention and those sorts of things, but I’m just in it for the drive. A sea of modern faces stares at me as they cross my path in the intersection—all trying to get a glimpse of what that steel coupe from God-knows-when could be. I seem to offer the blank people in their modern worlds a sense of curiosity and comfort in this passing moment. It’s as if time stops in that instant when they pass in front of my hood and catch a sight of something from the past and they’re taken back, to before technology gave everyone Attention Deficit Disorder, to a time where things had meaning and passion and when an afternoon drive meant much more to a person than a fleeting text message or the next business meeting. The people embellished with a sense of freedom and hope from something so simple being so extraordinary and they realize they do not like where the world is heading. But the moment passes and they go back to thinking about their agendas for the next ten weeks and how they’re excited to go sit at their desks for the rest of eternity. I see the opposing light turn yellow and I grab the Hurst dogleg shifter and put her into first. The new clutch I put in last week feels firm under my foot. My light is now green and all the dogs behind me get antsy to go. I take off from the line, waves of imagination from 1968 plaguing my thoughts. Radio? Who needs it when you have the soundtrack of a throaty V8 playing through straight pipes connected to the four-barrel monster. The rumble drones out all other thoughts as I bum down the road, my ‘68 Firebird playing that forgotten song. Things aren’t what they used to be. What feels more passionate than a beautiful car with a big engine at the front, stick shift in the middle and rear-wheel drive at the back? Today’s cars are just big jellybeans operated by electronics instead of a driver. What happened to taking your girl out on any Sunday just to enjoy a drive under the sun? When did the focus shift from enjoying the movement from point A to B, to aimlessly starting at point A and then going through a sort of daze to wind up at point B miraculously, only to continue the blank state of mind. Things aren’t what they used to be? The fuel gauge has stopped working—it always does that. It’s time to put the old Bullitt-green sled back into the dusty garage where it can sit next to walls lined with ancient air cleaners and timing belts until the next sunny day.

colin shimrock

gregory warner

untitled Ignition. The counting begins. Fire belches out of the exhaust. Finally, the number reaches zero, And the ground explodes, Consumed by the inferno. Eruption. Against all intuition, The steel cylinder rises Up into the sky, billowing smoke. The onlookers are deafened and coughing. Winds roar as it tears away. Screaming upward from its cradle, As planned, massive shards of metal break away as they are spent, hurtling earthward. Finally, it reaches the edge of the hard dome, shaking and smashing its way out. Silence. The craft gracefully glides through the void, Reaching out and away from the peaceful orb below. finally, it docks with the station. Our greatest achievement. Our salvation and solace. The stars themselves await our coming.

chris bachman

jr goetz

afc north From the cold of Pennsylvania. a knight made of steel rises. With six gemstones glittering from his shield, he strides forward with confidence. He is old and walks with a limp, but has eyes to ice the soul. He has been taught by heroes of old and has forgotten how to lose. Clad in armor of yellow and black he imposes his will upon the battlefield. His terrible yellow banner waves behind him as he prepares for war. From the frosty Atlantic Ocean, another knight joins the fray. He is younger than the first, but no less cruel. Dressed in dark garb he reads poetry of Poe before battle. His helmet is topped with purple plumage, and ravens cackle overhead. He believes now is the time to dominate and rule. A dreary band plays the death march as he strides forward. From the brown banks of the Ohio River, a fool stumbles forward. His orange armor, flimsy and rusted, makes him all too great of a target. He is the worst kind of loser, one who often shows potential, but hides when the horn bellows of battle. He has no band, no great champions, no banner, and no hope. No great ballads are sung of him, only tales of bitter defeats. His only good quality is that he isnâ€™t from Cleveland.

neil jones

collin scott

spring comes like a crashing wave Spring comes like a crashing wave and with it rides Americaâ€™s pastime. The fields shrug the chains of winter and slowly come alive. Its fresh cut grass is ecstasy to the incipient and aspiring athletes, filling them with dreams. Those sacred white lines, barriers from the outside world, safeguard against reality. But as time passes, just like the painted lines, the dream begins to fade. The clang and cracks of the bat and the chirps from the trees and the stands, the halcyon music of childhood, become adulterated and inured by the incessant white noise of life. Day after day the footprints are erased, only to be quickly replaced the day after. Just like the grading of the field, eventually we all disappear from the game. Eventually, we have all touched home one last time.

mark panning

phillip albers

the phone sits silent The phone sits silent upon the table. With shaking voice, inside child sits. Trembling hands wait, quiet, unable, A fire inside of my stomach lit. Tears spilled through the phone and a woman wept; Pregnant silence trails her uneasy voice. A child is planned in her belly kept. A difficult love and time is her choice. A deep breath resounds inside of my lungs, A choice my own I must begin to make. To be a father. in the air choice hung, My decision is love with risk to take. A quiet breath precedes my voice to be, And my words begin:“Will you marry me?”

time walker It has the richest blend of cultures and stands As a flourishing center of commerce in the Eastern Mediterranean Sea, with exotic imports From all over the Roman Empire showcased all Throughout the city. Constantinoplis is lined with Markets showcasing fabrics, foods and furnishings From every corner of the world and displays religious Splendor in the form of magnificent monasteries and Opulent churches that stand as the most prominent Landmarks throughout the city, most noteworthy the Hagia Sophia. I will not forget traversing the land of so Many different countries in such a compact city. The beauty of the ruins in ancient Roma, The vibrant, vivacious colors of Verona And the gracious aromas emanating from the plazas of Bologna breathe life into the Streets of traditional Italia. Gorgeous women Line the sidewalks from one end of the country To the other with the finest cuisine available at Every corner. Home of the explosion of art, architecture And the mind known as the Renaissance, I vividly Remember the workings of Leonardo, Michelangelo And Raphael displayed all throughout the city on Almost every street, even in many of the chapels And basilicas. The life that permeates every corner Of Italia is near impossible to describe in words. Everyone is always in a hurry, always hostile. New York begs that you work and work hard Without regards to the man at your side. Be on time. Do not speak out of turn. Walk straight. Eyes forward. Shoulders level. Look like you care, Not like you’re happy. Life is meant to be busy, Not to be enjoyed. The skyscrapers do not suggest Blendings of culture and tradition, but rather blendings Of caffeine pills and whiskey needed to numb the Pervasive dullness that permeates the daily life Of the New Yorker. All sources of art and life are Eclipsed by business and paperwork. Broadway? What’s Broadway? Who cares what it is, we have Paperwork due tomorrow and you’re slowing everything Down. No tradition, on culture, strictly business. So this is what I can expect from walking down One of the world’s busiest streets in one of America’s Largest cities? I probably won’t remember this trip for long...

john stagaman

matt hall

quinn graves

brian mccurren

spider hymns

queen bee

Come creep into my web, oh sweetest little fly; listen closely as I weave to you the sweetest little lies. These strands of silk will not ensnare, smells of flesh are that of flowers, the dead surrounding me are but the petals you devour. What have you to live for, oh empty little fly? Go on because you can’t accept the perfect way to die? Perhaps you wish to slowly age, to crumble and decay? Perhaps a death by violent means, a wasp who drifts your way? Come and let me comfort you, on my word it will be brief; my venom gently take you, a sword so gently sheathed. With open arms I welcome you— let your foolishness condemn the life you could have led, lulled astray by spider hymns.

The Sun flashes into existence, illuminating the world below, and the Flower’s petals perk up. Blinking in the blinding light, the Queen waves her wand and rouses her Hive Out pour the multitude of minions, and they set to their toil. The buzzing Bees fly from Flower to Flower, pollinating and frolicking in the windy, tropical air. The Flowers sway in the breeze, filled with joy at the coming of the Bees, They lift their petals to the sky in an unsung ovation. At the end of their excursion, the Queen summons her servants back to her Hive. The Flowers droop, their companions gone. As the last Bee enters the Hive, the Sun fades fast, and once again the Flowers live in darkness.

peter lytle

matthew gretz

the little old lady in the corner

dance with me forever

With one short glance, Sachi appears to be another run of the mill senior citizen, Living out the end of her days at the Genesis Nursing Home. Every day she sits at the same table, Closest to the kitchen so she can get her food first. She plays Bridge with Susan, Jim and Ralph. They talk about music mostly, In their soft reaching voices. When social time ends, The lifeless nurse prods Sachi back to her room, Which she shares with Mary-Anne, Who is bed ridden and mindless. She spends the rest of her night watching reruns of I Love Lucy, Only to fall asleep, Alone.

I touch your neck. You melt my heart. Your song, it must be sung. We dance along the music staff, For you and I are one. Your steps are light and graceful, But purposeful, no less. Tongues of fire will brush my lips, But your language I speak best. Dear violin, you know me. Youâ€™re my dancing partner still. Our souls are twined together. To be broken? We never will.

Sachi will die in this nursing home, But no one will know who she is. No one will know that she survived the hopeless streets of Camden, New Jersey. No one will know that Sachi loved to paint and play soccer. No one will know that her own kids, Whom she worked so very hard for, Dropped her off here and never returned. Sachi will die in this nursing home, No one will care.

Here still now you sit, Fourteen years with me. Accept my hand to dance again, A dance that will always be.

elliott bostick

will hoffer

death

driving on a rainy day

Everyday death shows up at my back door. Knocking he does; I hide behind the couch. He says, “Oh Paul, your mother would abhor. You are so rude, it’s not polite to pout. Let me, a jolly, old fellow, inside So we can talk o’er your life with some tea, Maybe puff the oak pipe if you don’t mind. Is this not my job? Please listen to me.” Same old, same old, I am sick of his crap; A deep breath I take and go fetch my gun. Out of anger, I point it at this chap, Saying, “Get off my lawn! You are no fun!” Trembling, he steps back while he’s crying ̶ A tough job he has: no one likes dying.

Misty droplets of rain tap on my windshield, Tendrils of water flow down until wiped away. The fate of every drop has been sealed— There is no chance for them to stay. Am I no different, in this world of ours, Where we face forces in which we have no say? I’m just in one of oh-so-many cars, Driving on a rainy day. Our entire world floats among the stars, spinning like a top; Just a piece of the galaxy, just a blip on the window screen. Are we not destined to be wiped away, each of us like a raindrop? And then a light flashes from red to green— It seems my thoughts will just have to wait, Or be washed away, sharing the rain’s fate.

elliott bostick

will hoffer

death

driving on a rainy day

peter lytle

matthew gretz

the little old lady in the corner

dance with me forever

Here still now you sit, Fourteen years with me. Accept my hand to dance again, A dance that will always be.

quinn graves

brian mccurren

spider hymns

queen bee

john stagaman

matt hall

mark panning

phillip albers

neil jones

collin scott

chris bachman

jr goetz

colin shimrock

gregory warner

mr. john hussong

nick bailey

act 5, scene 5 (remix) “oh, boy!”

stoplight in the ‘bird

(A drafty room in Dunsinane castle. Macbeth alone, musing. Seyton enters.) SEYTON

The Queen, my lord, is dead.

Oh, boy! Hautboys!

alexander lauber

peter garvin

(Eight kings disappear) FIRST WITCH

You know what’s up, Macbeth. You already know!

(“U Can’t Touch This” by MC Hammer sounds as witches vanish.) MACBETH

Okay, Lenny! Coast clear!

(Lennox enters) LENNOX

Yes, master?

MACBETH

I mean, couldn’t you hear how psycho those chicks are?

LENNOX homework.

I wasn’t really paying attention. I was finishing my math

Well, can you book me a first class flight?

LENNOX

I’ll get right on that, sir.

MACBETH Oh, Lenny, looks like I’ll be killing Macduff’s entire family. No more horseplay or math homework. Time to get crackin’!

peter garvin

MACBETH

austin lutz

Ah! It lies yonder son. (Points east)

(SECOND APPARITION comes back, cleaned up) SECOND APPARITION Well, good luck to you, man. You should be fine with that math. Use that Jesuit noggin you got, and you’ll be set. MACBETH

Okay, you guys are really just wasting my time.

ALL

HEY, SHUT UP! SHUT UP!

(THIRD APPARITION comes in hot) THIRD APPARITION

Whatcha got there, son?

And that’s the way the cookie crumbles!

Op!

SECOND WITCH

Op! Op!

THIRD WITCH

Op! Op!

ALL

Opan Gangnam Style!

No thank you. I’m not playing this game. Would you 17

evan mcconaughy

peter garvin

controller

(Phil Collins descends from ceiling as the lights dim and he sings “In the Air Tonight.” MACBETH enters to an awkward stare-down with the witches) MACBETH

Sup?

ALL

Your face!

MACBETH Hah! Did you call each other up last night and decide to go buy your clothes from Salvation Army? FIRST WITCH

(Seriously offended) What do you want now, Macbeth?

TEACHER! TEACHER!

(Loud drums sound the room as the first apparition walks in with a Trojan helmet) MACBETH

Hey, I’m here for some help with—

FIRST APPARITION Word on the street is that Macduff has been hitting the weight room lately. I wouldn’t mess with the dude. You better check yourself before you wreck yourself, man. MACBETH

Okay then…

peter garvin

act 4, scene 1 (remix)

patrick richart

a thoughtful recommendation

winner // winner // winner // winner // winner // winner // winner

(Witches enter the secret lair in slow motion to the famous Doors song, “Riders on the Storm” as they approach a cauldron.) FIRST WITCH

The kitty has purred three times

SECOND WITCH

Doth pig oinked!

The troubles triple, the cauldron bubbles ripple.

Oh snap, Macbeth is checking us out… 15

Today’s parents find themselves in a binding circumstance. On occasion, the

anthony asher

collin cain

FIRST MURDERER

Who art thou?

FIRST MOUSE We are of the rodent descent and our eyes Do provide us with no sight. THIRD MURDERER

Who was it that sent you?

SECOND MOUSE ‘Twas noble Macbeth. He gave us the Task of murdering three men whom he did send forth to do his bidding. Have you any clue where we may find them? MURDERERS

Oh…. No, we know not who you speak of.

That did go well. We should leave at the present

SECOND MURDERER

I do agree. We must part now.

THIRD MURDERER all!

It was a pleasure serving amongst you. Goodnight

[The MURDERERS exit.]

anthony asher

mr. henry ahrens

vivisection

SECOND MURDERER

Amidst the confusion, young Fleance escapes.

THIRD MURDERER

Fire up the searchlight!

Oh, no! Those who hath just set upon Fleance now

for JFH

[Dies. FLEANCE crawls away in the distance. MURDERERS gather themselves.] FIRST MURDERER

The work hath concluded.

SECOND MURDERER

I do but feel that something bad is to come of us.

THIRD MURDERER

What mean you by that?

SECOND MURDERER

I sense that bad is among us.

(Enter THREE BLIND MICE with canes that are used to sense their direction.) 13

jr goetz

anthony asher

getting into college

act 3, scene 3 (remix) A park near the palace.

(Enter MURDERERS. Ye Ol’ REPORTER stands front stage.) FIRST MURDERER

Who did bid thee join us?

THIRD MURDERER

Shakespeare.

SECOND MURDERER We know not who you speak o’ But nevertheless, we have work to do! (THIRD MURDERER takes out an Algebra textbook) FIRST MURDERER

‘Tis not that sort of work!

THIRD MURDERER

Forgive me.

SECOND MURDERER

I shall, but, quiet! Hark! I hear horses.

[BANQUO enters on horse with FLEANCE.) THIRD MURDERER Already are i’ the court.

‘Tis he! That are within the note of expectation

FIRST MURDERER

He comes near. Prepare for attack… Onward!

[MURDERERS stab him and he feels the pain, but no wound shows and he does not die.] BANQUO

Oh, the pain yet burdens me. Take my life, I pray you!

MURDERERS living.

We try and yet some unknown force keeps you among the

BANQUO

Oh… ‘tis my green sash!

FIRST MURDERER

From where did that come?

BANQUO. Some green knight, but the importance does not matter at the present hour. I shall throw it off so that you may complete your task. (BANQUO throws the sash and is stabbed again. Dies.) 43

evan mconaughy

kyle denman

confidence is key

There, if I grow, the harvest is your own.

Goodbye, my greatest friend. You truly are a man without

joe disalvo

evan mconaughy

word-salad

act 1, scene 4 (remix)

Coal is scarce, and energy warning is that our natural resources are being 45

but

It’s such a pity that it’s so hard to find trustworthy men in this

jp burleigh & sean perme

joe disalvo

Jesus told me not to go to Israel, because Ben is waiting there. He is waiting everywhere

When Father and I were building a play set in the back if I recall correctly it was Godel who made major contributions to set theory when he proved the incompleteness theorem but so Russell then

jp burleigh & sean perme

keegan doyle

the heart I hear

can’t tell me nothing (remix) RUNNER UP //RUNNER UP //RUNNER UP //RUNNER UP //RUNNER UP //RUNNER UP

after Kanye West

dominic dicarlo

macbeth remix macbeth remix macbeth h

// parody // macbeth // parody dy // macbeth

/ // / parody // macbet macbeth

macbeth

// parody // macbeth // parody // macbeth

// parody // macbeth

macbeth

// parody // macbeth // parody // macbeth

// parody // macbeth

macbeth

// parody // macbeth // parody // macbeth

// parody // macbeth

macbeth

// parody // macbeth // parody // macbeth

// parody // macbeth

macbeth

// parody // macbeth // parody // macbeth

// parody // macbeth

macbeth

// parody // macbeth // parody // macbeth

// parody // macbeth

macbeth

// parody // macbeth // parody // macbeth

// parody // macbeth

macbeth

// parody // macbeth // parody // macbeth

// parody // macbeth

macbeth

// parody // macbeth // parody // macbeth

// parody // macbeth

macbeth

// parody // macbeth // parody // macbeth

// parody // macbeth

macbeth

// parody // macbeth // parody // macbeth

// parody // macbeth

macbeth

// parody // macbeth // parody // macbeth

// parody // macbeth

macbeth

// parody // macbeth // parody // macbeth

// parody // macbeth

macbeth

// parody // macbeth // parody // macbeth

// parody // macbeth

macbeth

// parody // macbeth // parody // macbeth

// parody // macbeth

phillip albers

swamp song

desert flight

Perseus begins to toss. Shifting from one side of the decrepit bed to the other,

adam grace

phillip albers

william capella

phillip albers

william capella

nick klein

a remembrance

the elm tree As I walked out to my backyard, I ventured off into The trees that came protruding out From where the light withdrew.

I thought it better not to bother him, So I set off when my foot 3

drew weller

valkyrie

contents art

Colin Shimrock Dominic DiCarlo Adam Grace Chris Bachman Collin Scott Matt Hall John Stagaman Austin Lutz Collin Cain Chris Neltner

writing

front cover image, 20 1, 48 5 21 22 24 31 38 41 55

3 6 23 25 26 27 28 29 30 32 33 34 35 36 37 39 40 42 43 44 45 47 49 52 53

special section parodies of william shakespeare’s macbeth JP Burleigh and Sean Perme Evan McConaughy Anthony Asher Peter Garvin Mr. John Hussong

Can’t Tell Me Nothing Act 1, Scene 4 (Remix) Act 3, Scene 3 (Remix) Act 4, Scene 1 (Remix) Act 5, Scene 5 (Remix)

8 10 12 15 19

dominic dicarlo

drew weller

chris neltner