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iliad Literary-Art Magazine Volume XLII Clarke Central High School

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Literary-Art Magazine 2018

EQUILIBRIUM â€œArt is one of the sources through which the soul expresses itself and inspires others. But to express art thoroughly, one must have the inner emotions opened thoroughly.â€? -Meher Baba Dedicated with love to Stephen Hinson, Billy Wade and Marie Yuran.

Vo l u m e X L I I Clarke Central High School 350 S. Milledge Avenue Athens, Ga. 30605 Enrollment: 1584 Phone: (706) 367-500 1

TA B L E O F

C O N TE N TS

DY N A M I C

STATI C

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8. Balance 9. I Wish, I May 10. Love Letter to New York 12. Within-Without 14. Lana 15. Diccionario/ Dictionary 16. The American Dream 18. Vibrance 19. The Culture of Tiki 20. Press on 22. Breezy 23. This is for the Girls 24. Fruit Basket 25. Afterwards 26. Italia 28. 5 Senses of Disdain 29. Brokenhearted Girl 30. Vignette of Three

BY NATALIE RIPPS BY LUCIA BERMUDEZ BY ELENA GILBERTSON-HALL BY DYLAN GAVRON BY SYDNEY GREGG BY VALERIA GARCIA-POZO BY KATY MAYFIELD BY CLAIRE WALLER BY CHRISTIAN HUDSON BY SUNĈANA PAVLIĆ BY KATIE GRACE UPCHURCH BY ELENA GILBERTSON-HALL BY AVERY RAY BY VALERIA GARCIA-POZO BY ZOE PETERSON BY JORDAN RYHM BY RIANNA’ PEARSON BY GRAHAM COLLINS

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34. 35. 36. 38. 40. 41. 42. 44. 45. 46. 48. 50. 52.

She, the Center Charcoal In Bloom Lemon Squares Monarchy The Sun and the Moon Atomic City Post Malone My Girl Puerto Rico Horoscopes False Advertisement Ghost I Don’t Know What To Do With Myself and I'm Sorry About it 53. Breakups 54. 1905

BY PRESTON HARDEN BY AVERY RAY BY KATIE GRACE UPCHURCH BY GABRIEL MANTIONE-HOLMES BY AVERY SEPESI BY AIDA BERMUDEZ BY ANEESA CONINE-NAKANO BY SYDNEY GREGG BY PAULINA HAFER BY EMMA CRANE BY HAYES PHILLIPS BY ZOE PETERSON BY LUIS GARCIA BY ALYX MORRIS BY MOR BOTHE

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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR W

e practice expression every day, be it consciously or unconsciously. The way we dress, who we interact with, what we say in class and to our peers and how we act around others. Not every way that we present ourselves to the outside world aligns with how we view ourselves, or who we hope to be. In that way, with the creation of art in its many forms, from prose, to photography, to painting, we are gifted with reflection, introspection and clarity. It allows us to process our experiences, our emotions and ourselves.

enough to do so. And that is what the iliad seeks to create. A vehicle in which our art, ergo our innermost selves, can be received with open minds and hearts. As the 2018 Editor-in-Chief of the iliad, I am very proud to present the first edition of this publication in color. It has long been a goal of ours, and with the support of our community and donors, we have been able to make it a reality. While color is not a necessity for the appreciation of art or design, it affords the iliad another tool with which to highlight and showcase the art and writing we publish.

To share our art is to share unique feelings and events. It is intimate, and it can make us feel vulnerable. Therefore, it requires courage. But by With that, I hope you enjoy the taking that risk, we can rejoice in the 42nd edition of Clarke Central High community that makes us feel safe Schoolâ€™s iliad Literary-Art Magazine.

Violet Merritt Editor-in-Chief

THEME LETTER T

he theme of this yearâ€™s edition of the iliad is Equilibrium. We expressed this idea through the implementation of two complementary subsections: Dynamic and Static. These two states of moving express two sides of a complicated spectrum and together, create a perfect balance of expression that we have denoted as equilibrium.

that the creator views their past experiences, with a new perspective that provides them with a way of progressing and moving forward in their lives.

In contrast, Static describes things that lack in action or change. Art and writing provide us with a way of expressing our feelings when they seem to be at a standstill. The As writers and artists, we either use pieces in this section deal with comcreativity as an outlet to reflect on plex feelings and thoughts, but the past experiences or emotions, or as pieces are not indicative of someone an outlet to understand our experisearching for change. The section ences in an attempt to change and embodies people seeking catharsis better ourselves. This seemingly sim- and clarity for events, both negative ple idea allowed us to categorize and and positive, that have occured in represent a wide variety of works their lives. from people in different stages of their lives. Both sections are broad, inclusive, and exhibit the duality of writing To the iliad staff, Dynamic represents and art, and together, we hope that current movement. Pieces in this this balance has created a cohesive section depict change in the way and fluid magazine. Bea Acheson Visuals Director 5

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DYNAMIC 6

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BA L A N C E DIGITAL NATALIE RIPPS / FRESHMAN

I W I S H , I M AY The stars shine brightly. I wish upon them all, but all I want is you.

HAIKU LUCIA BERMUDEZ / SENIOR

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L OV E L ET TE R t o N EW YO R K FICTION ELENA GILBERTSON-HALL / SOPHOMORE

The lights were on in full force that night. I’ve always said nothing beats NYC at midnight (except maybe a hot cherry danish fresh out of the oven, but even that…).

see the Empire State,” he said as he pointed into the dark. I wondered if he was a tourist, if he just came here because his guidebook said you could catch a glimpse of the Empire in the distance. He smelled like a subway station early in the morning, steaming coffee and faint, second-hand cologne. The smell was years and years of built up New York -- definitely not a tourist. “I like to give names to the buildings,” I said, wondering if that was too much information. “That one’s Bruce.” I pointed to a medium-sized highrise with a warm white glow. He smiled as though he thought I was charming. His eyes sparkled like the skyline. I offered my hand, “I’m Amelia.” “Pleasure, Amelia,” he said -god, his voice was the perfect tenor. “I’m Anthony.” I didn’t tell him that the

It was a rooftop bar -- yes I know rooftop bars are for tourists and heartbroken souls searching for the stars -- but it was a rooftop bar and I was neither of those things. I sipped on a cherry-garnished Manhattan as I watched foolish people taking shots and forgetting about Brooklyn behind them. A man came and sat down next to me on a vintage pink bar stool. He ordered a Queens cocktail with two straws, and I noticed his hair was dark, really dark. “The view is really nice tonight, isn’t it?” I asked as I took a sip of my drink. He nodded and smiled --(god his jawline was to die for). “If you strain your eyes, you can

skyscraper right behind me was also named Anthony. “It’s funny,” I said. “I’ve lived in New York City for so long. But I’ve never been to the top of the Empire State.” His eyes widened, “Never?” “Never.” “Well, you have to go. I’m not kidding. You have to go, like, as soon as possible,” he said. His eyes glittered like the skyline. “You busy tonight?” I asked, grabbing my purse and popping the cherry from my drink into my mouth. We grinned at each other, sharing in a moment of pure spontaneity. Electric energy seemed to course through us as we ran to the curb, hopped in a cab, and sped towards the tallest spire in the city. “Did you know that some cities don’t have yellow cabs? Like they’re black or white or something,” I said, not sure of anything else to say. He laughed and slid closer to me in the backseat of the taxi. “What’s your favorite thing about New York?” he asked, turning to me -- (god his lips were so red). I turned my head to look out the window as I thought. “I can’t decide if it’s the view at night, or the smell of bagels on every street corner, or the totally crowded subway cars, or maybe the fancy hotel lobbies, or super tiny apartments, or the

fashion on every street corner, or the sound of life at three a.m., or--” I was cut off as we arrived at our destination. I was feeling generous and I tipped the cabby extra. Another couple stood in the elevator with us, holding hands. The woman used her free hand to press the button for the top floor. Anthony looked at me in the elevator mirror and a slightly distorted, dusty image of me looked back. He slid his hand into mine and I noticed again just how bright his eyes were. We reached the 102 floor, the doors sliding open as a gust of wind hit us, the chilly night air pushing our arms around each other. I gasped for breath, feeling totally overwhelmed as I looked out over my city. The lights of the city gleamed, a helicopter flew over my head, and somehow I could still hear the honking from the street below. I turned to look at Anthony. “Did you ever know your eyes looked just like the New York City skyline?” I whispered. I began to feel something I think they call falling in love. But when I turned away from Anthony and towards the city I realized who I had fallen in love with. The New York skyline glittered as the clock struck midnight.

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W I T H I N -W I T H O U T

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D I C C I O NA R I O / D I C TI O NA RY FREE VERSE VALERIA GARCIA-POZO / JUNIOR

brava \ adj. bra·va \ bɾaβa a woman, of the strong and powerful variety fierce, unforgiving (see: savage, ruthless) sobremesa \ noun. so·bre·me·sa \ soβɾeˈmesa a moment after mealtime reserved just for talking a dreaded, lengthy discussion that has nothing to do with you pero hay que quedarse, porque eres una señorita educada querer \ verb. que·rer \ keˈɾeɾ con todo su corazón to love, but not intensely -- not quite amar amar \ verb. a·mar \ aˈmaɾ dar amor del bueno to love wholly, completely and totally del bueno \ adj. del · bue·no \ del ˈβweno the good shit only the best kind solo lo mejor ACRYLIC SYDNEY GREGG /SENIOR

L A NA 14

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AMERICAN DREAM

Older generations who grew up before Twitter and The Rachel Maddow Show told me to work hard to achieve my American Dream of a home in a nice neighborhood, a husband, two kids and a dog. “Isn’t the American Dream inherently racist, sexist, classist, homophobic, xenophobic, ableist and inexplicably anticat?” I said. “Shhhhhh shh shh shh shh” they said. Politicians with names like “Jeb” and “Willard” told me America is a land of freedom and human rights. “What about the millions of people locked away in solitary confinement, often those who have accrued many lower-level offenses or have severe mental illnesses, despite the fact that every other nation in the world and in fact a number of politicians and scientists in the year 1829, a year in which most Americans didn’t recognize a large swath of the population as people and voters thought the incomprehensible nickname ‘Old Hickory’ ‘sufficiently conveyed the message ‘badassery’ to describe the man who

NON-FICTION KATY MAYFIELD / SENIOR

somehow won the Presidency, found that it LITERALLY decays the human mind?” “Shhhhhhh shh shh shh shh, if enough white men chant a nickname it becomes cool and frat,” they said. My teachers told me if I didn’t like the system, I could take advantage of the freedom of speech and action enshrined in our society’s structure to opt out of it by defying authority and eating my standardized tests instead of taking them. “Okay but even if I technically have free will, a decision to effectively ‘opt out’ of the system by rebelling against its structures and therefore the steps I’d have to take and rules I’d have to comply with to succeed in that system would ultimately result in my inability to secure employment and therefore provide for my own basic needs like food and shelter and $3 face masks from CVS, not only depriving me of what I need for my human body to survive, but also the mental security and emotional fulfillment associated with autonomy, increased responsibility, growth and upward mobility. Furthermore, I would be unable to escape to the woods and live 16

in a cabin I built myself not only because clean air smells weird and animals are scary, but because today the woods are where kidnappers hide their victims and logging companies will be tearing down those forests to make way for CVS stores at which to sell face masks anyway, so I might as well bite the bullet and graduate high school so I can apply to work at CVS and maybe get an employee discount on those face masks, since my efforts to opt out of the system will either arrest my development or end in defeat anyway.” “Icghaa hsnt hefghar yeghw whiubsu arr thsws puhpw eehn muhtho,” he said. “What?” I said. “I said ‘I CAN’T HEAR YOU WITH ALL THIS PAPER IN MY MOUTH,’” he said. The people working in my friend’s chosen field of engineering told him the only jobs left were designing and building missiles, the things used to kill people he didn’t know or disagree with living thousands of miles away. So do that or starve, buddy-o. “What the HELL,” I said. “It’s a little heavy-handed, but this is actually the only real example,” they said. NON-FICTION KATY MAYFIELD / SENIOR

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VIBRANCE ACRYLIC CLAIRE WALLER / SOPHOMORE

TH E C U LT U R E O F TI K I MARKER CHRISTIAN HUDSON / JUNIOR 18

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PRESS ONS

Because picking up the pennies with the press ons did not resonate the same image, yet I still wish I assumed your image.

I woke up with licorice around my neck and as the smoke pulled up in membranes And I floated with those clouds strangled by youth strangled by you

Cause have you ever smelled yourself burning? What I call thick skin is more crisp now as the infinite roads I press have no pride for I am supposed to choose one road less traveled But I your road that has been walked the wrong direction. Yet who am I to say you’re not alone.

And it’s not okay to admit I enjoyed the feeling. The inextricable force pressure that allowed the disavowed mind let alone hair of mine no longer have blackness. I straightened it out. From C to B to A, might I add a little backwardly, that you, yes, you, asked for this -that you, yes, you, unknowingly discovered something. Because I said the unknown was scary and and you said it was the darkness Now I remain in your fear of my own shadow. But you played with poofy. Calling as though you were a friend -a loved one. I would say your statement was too “that four letter word.” As your shame blinds you. The A that rests upon your mind you hate of false face, false mind, false love to self.

Because I am the coin I wanted you to flip for so long. So I have not known your world of uniculturalism fear. I don’t know your world of forced culture, but why How do I learn? Who will let me learn? Or is it myself who likes To let Yet Hurts When this let is not told By you Because I, like you, am unaware. Of who I am? Or who am I trying to be? So I consume with blackness Predisposed as dirt With colors unlike my own Phobic to my skin Phobic to each other And left alone with straight hair. FREE VERSE SUNĈANA PAVLIĆ / SENIOR

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TH I S I S F O R TH E G I R L S FREE VERSE ELENA GILBERTSON-HALL / SOPHOMORE

This is for the girls, the women. Who are not everyone’s friend, but everyone’s sister Who water the flowers in a garden that’s not theirs A ray of light in a place where light is so often squished like a flame by wet fingers

B R E E ZY DIGITAL + COLORED PENCIL KATIE GRACE UPCHURCH / SOPHOMORE

This is for the girls, the women. Who rebel, resist, lead a revolution Whose voices rise like the dove that rouses us at dawn

Whose voices are soft then raised, a piano pedal held and released This is for the girls, The women. Who hold their shoulders up, no matter what but let their sisters be their crutch and slide their shoulder under another girl’s limp When the sign says exit → but, she stands in place and gives her hand to her sister This is for the girls, the women.

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A F TE RWA R D S FREE VERSE VALERIA GARCIA-POZO / JUNIOR the mornings will still open with pineapple juice the color of sunrise cold and sweet and energizing the afternoons hold the promise of the unfiltered, uncensored laughter of a meddling younger brother who finds the perfect thing to share with you there will be car rides with music that blasts forth from the speakers preventing any further thoughts

F R U IT BA S K ET PASTEL AVERY RAY / JUNIOR

and the small green honda becomes the world the evenings will fade into brisk autumn nights when the cool air takes you by surprise and makes you long for a sweater and the subsequent warmth of the indoors your heart will still leap at a connection, an understanding an unspoken agreement between two hearts a feeling you forgot you could have.

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I TA L I A FILM ZOE PETERSON / SENIOR

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SENSES of DISDAIN

B R O K E N H E A RTE D GIRL She was quiet; oh so quiet. But she made friends; many, many friends. She became social; she really enjoyed it. But none of her “friends” stayed in the end. She began to get bullied; bullied almost everyday.

All I could feel was pain, After my body crashed onto the cold cement, when you knocked me down All I could taste was iron, After I decided to hold and bite my own tongue All I could see was your confusion, After you said those two hate-filled syllables

Because she was different; and didn’t act the same way. She would go home and cry herself to sleep, Hoping the next day she’d have peace. But she didn’t, it was the same. They pushed her, teased her and called her names. She was hurting; hurting bad on the inside. But all of her pain, she chose to hide. But she still would laugh; she still would smile. She dealt with everything for a while.

All I could smell was the dirt you compared me to, After using those five letters

She became the way she was before, She decided to stay to herself more. Because she was hurt yet no one realized,

All I could hear was a hard R After you called me a ni**a.

Instead she wore a fake smile in disguise. She knew she wasn’t the only one in the world... She was just another one -- a brokenhearted girl

FREE-VERSE JORDAN RYHM / SENIOR 28

FREE-VERSE RIANNA PEARSON / SOPHOMORE 29

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V I G N E T TE O F TH R E E WATERCOLOR GRAHAM COLLINS / JUNIOR

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STAT I C

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S H E , TH E C E N TE R It must not be only me She must be the object of all affection Everything in the universe drawn to her She must be the center of centers The middle of all things For nothing else could have a greater pull

FREE-VERSE PRESTON HARDEN / SENIOR

CHARCOAL AVERY RAY / JUNIOR 34

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IN BLOOM DIGITAL KATIE GRACE UPCHURCH / SOPHOMORE

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LEMON SQUARES There is nothing I hate more than lemon squares. They are too sweet and the powdered sugar dusted on top makes me choke. They are sticky so they get all over your hands and there is no clean way to eat them. These are all the things I tell myself I hate about them, but I hardly think it’s fair to hate a food for things it can’t control. It, being in control of nothing but how it tastes. My mother has been a dessert maker my whole life. She would make pies and cakes and cookies and candy, but I would never request anything as often as I did lemon squares. Lemon was my favorite citrus fruit because I hated limes -- and not because I thought they were too sour, but because I confused them for lemons. While traveling in Mexico I ran only for two reasons: when I was chased by the little boy bigger than me with his pistol that could have been real or airsoft, or when my brother was in charge of the slingshot I had bought at the local bazara. It had a bear carved into the handle and when it was pulled back at the armspan of my brother, it sent small projectiles at speeds that made me cry. We stayed while the lemons were not ripe so they were still green and I thought they were limes. The juice the rind let out on impact stung the welts the force would make and leave my back black, blue and burning. So I wanted lemon squares, because my sister said lemons were the best fruit and I already knew limes were the worst so I believed it was true. My sister said a lot to me, though. I also believed a lot was true so even when I tried not thinking of only the taste of lemon in my mouth, I would remember a lot. But my mom said she was the best at making lemon squares so that’s what I wanted. My sister and my mother said a lot to each other. So even when I was in my room with the door shut and my ears closed, 38

trying only to taste this treat, I could still hear a lot ringing through the house. Growing up the youngest meant I got the best advice from my older siblings and I quickly learned that no matter what, authority is always right. Even when it seems wrong or makes you cry, it’s right. My sister said lemons were the best and my mother said they were her specialty so lemon squares were my favorite. When I went to school and saw my father come in with his guitar, I knew he would play songs. He was my favorite and he would only play to me while the other children saw and enjoyed their sight. The fact that my classmates saw my father as often as I is not what hurt. I cried not because he left but because he brought lemon squares. My birthday was for me and no one else and I didn’t need my mom talking to him nicely when I wasn’t there to hear it. No one needed to be talking about what my favorite was when I wasn’t around. When I was around, I was told what to do only when we went to the drive-in movie. The movie was too old for me, so I needed to take the earbuds and listen to the DS that was almost out of batteries. I could hear everything, but I still was never allowed to look, and the same was true with the phone calls in the car. Even if it had power to produce sound I would never have been able to block out their yelling. So I cried. Because after I tasted the sweetness and felt the powdered sugar hit the back of my throat and stick after I swallowed, I remembered a lot. The taste was there, but my father was gone and now everyone else had seconds, but I had one, and they were loved more. He was gone and all I had was the remains of a lemon square on my fingers and that too left because my greedy mouth wanted the taste to be the only thing I felt. I hate lemon squares. I tell myself it’s because of what they are but it’s because of what they do to me. They remind me of a lot and a lot is too much to remember in just one bite when all you really want is something to satisfy a sweet tooth NON-FICTION GABRIEL MANTIONE-HOLMES / SENIOR 39

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THE SUN

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THE MOON I hear her cries at night.

The moon wishes her lover was there. She is so thankful for his light. They wish to be together but it is not right. So when everyone else is sleeping I look at her and stare. I hear her cries at night. Oh how he wishes he could hug her so tight. He wishes he could meet her somewhere.

MONARCHY

DIGITAL AVERY SEPSI / SOPHOMORE

She is so thankful for his light. She looks for him at midnight. Theyâ€™ve never met but still she knows he cares. I hear her cries at night. Because of him the moon shines so bright. She dances in circles up up in the air. She is so thankful for his light. One day they will meet and everything will be alright, To the sun there is no other beauty who compares. I hear her cries at night. She is so thankful for his light. VILLANELLE AIDA BERMUDEZ / FRESHMAN

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AT O M I C C I T Y NON-FICTION ANEESA CONINE-NAKANO / SENIOR

August 6, 1945. This is the day the first atomic bomb was ever dropped. To some, this date represents the beginning of the end. A victory for the United States of America. To others, it is the day they first saw a person die right in front of them. As an American born, Japanese-American citizen, I am conflicted. During wars there are violent and terrible tactics used to presumably to prevent more tragedy, but the ultimate question is “at what cost?” Amid threats of nuclear war from President Donald J. Trump, I think people have lost touch of what this cost was and could be. It is easy to threaten others with war and speak carelessly about mass weapons. It is way too easy, and that disturbs me. Behind every action is a consequence. Behind a mass action, there are mass consequences. My grandfather was born in the US to a mother who could not support any more children. She let family friends adopt him at a young age, and they, along with many other Japanese-Americans moved to Japan as tensions rose pre-World War II.

In hindsight, there was no win for the Japanese-Americans. In the US, they suffered the fate of the internment camps: being dehumanized by their fellow citizens. In the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, they were bombed. Thousands died initially and even more continued to perish from radiation poisoning. On that August day, my grandfather was 14 years old. He was working with classmates in a field when the first bomb dropped. He survived. Others weren’t so lucky. Half of his classmates died that day. He once described that when he was trying to get to his home in the wake, he had to step over mangled bodies. This grotesque image is imprinted in my mind. This was the cost.

His optimism and pride in this country was inspiring. I can’t help but feel less so. Recently a classmate of mine wore a shirt with “The Atomic City” accross it, referring to the place where they created the atomic bombs. The fact that there is even paraphernalia that glorifies this so called “necessary evil” is disgusting. Regardless of what it stopped, there is no reason to celebrate the terrible cost. It all comes back to the fact history is always repeated because we forget. And then we never learn. There will always be difficult and complex decisions to make. It isn’t black-and-white, but there are better solutions. The first instinct shouldn’t be to raise weapons. Some people are scared of an impending war. Some people are skeptical if it will even occur, but either way, these fears are valid. We should be afraid. We should remember. If we are not, we are doomed to fall into the vicious cycle of destruction again.

My grandfather eventually would say they he never thought the war was going to end, but he also said that the US was the place that should never do something like that to civilians. He went on to serve in the US Army during the Korean War and raise a family in Seattle.

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POST MALONE ACRYLIC SYDNEY GREGG / SENIOR

MY GIRL P U E RT O R I C O DIGITAL GRAPHIC PAULINA HAFER / JUNIOR

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HOROSCOPES EMMA CRANE / SOPHOMORE

ARIES

LIBRA

Your year should be good, opportunities arise Make sure to keep time for yourself Love may come your way, with beautiful eyes But don’t neglect your mental health

TAU R U S

Use hobbies as a form of escape Passion may ignite old feelings Controlling finances will keep your life in shape Relaxation should soon be ensuing

GEMINI

Keep track of the difference between need and want A new person may come into your life Your excess of energy may keep your brain taunt But arguments cause an abundance of strife

S A G I TA R R I U S

CA N C E R

You guys always get it the best Your year will be incredibly smooth Like everyone, make sure to rest Be trusting so friends don’t move

CAPRICORN

Your year should be fairly eventful Make sure to communicate with friends Employ moderation, and money will be plentiful For you, relaxation never ends

LEO

Desires are hard to fulfill This is the year for hard work When done, put down the quill And start a new project and smirk

A Q UA R I U S

Your year should be great overall Changes are sure to come Don’t splurge on things you don’t need AT ALL Relax, this year should be fun

Exercise and staying fit are important this year Turn up the heat in a romantic situation Concentrate on balancing the scales, my dear Your long lost ideas may meet their gestation

VIRGO

You need to remember to breathe If so, your year will be full of bliss Problems should be solved with ease though, don’t shoot too high or you’ll miss 46

SCORPIO

Your year seems to be quite favorable Make sure to review logic twice Challenges emerge, so be fit and able Overspending may be a prominent vice

Your year shouldn’t be too wild Tests will come your way, Make sure to have fun, be mild If you shut down, your lover won’t stay

PISCES

You fish have an uphill battle As far as relationships, this year will be tough To keep friends, don’t give them the saddle If you focus on what matters, it will be enough.

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FA L S E A DV E RTI S E M E N T DIGITAL GRAPHIC HAYES PHILLIPS / SENIOR

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GHOST

FREE VERSE ZOE PETERSON / SENIOR

sometimes i think i’ve thought myself thin spent too much time thinking (not enough feeling) that i can’t comprehend anything (not why, not how) anymore

i could be anywhere but i’m probably nowhere, thinking of nothing and doing the same (maybe this is why i can’t maintain a good friendship) my white sheet is lifted and i slowly let it fall the wind refreshes my face, as if i was riding on the highway--my head dangling out the window (go faster, will you?)

unable to understand why i feel the way i do why this affected me the way it did why i can’t bring myself to do that

it starts to feel like a broken record, so i succumb back to what i know my white sheet encompasses me once more and i return to its embrace (why does being alone feel so right?)

maybe the reason i can’t make sense of it is because i feel nothing? since when did i become so faded?

and when i come back it’s not for long i cycle around, over and over, until i become radio silence

faded in the sober way, (i never thought i would say that) ((sober)) i hide under a white sheet (please don’t talk to me--please don’t) flickering in and out like a holograph, they try to hold onto me but my light dims, i’m lost, again.

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I D O N ’ T K N O W W H AT TO DO WITH MYSELF and I’m sorry about it

BREAKUPS

Sometimes, I get that feeling of not knowing what to do with my hands But applied broadly to every visible part of me. Stares feel like freezing cold tidal waves at times. I apologize at every moment possible to prevent any awkwardness. Sorry if that’s awkward. I don’t know what people expect of me unless they detail it Word for word Like an instruction manual. Competency has a restraining order on me. I can’t read between lines. For some people, that’s their favorite place to put stuff. Every pair of eyes is Medusa’s And I’m a captive statue. Writing comes natural to me. Speaking, however, seems to have roughly the same effect as chugging boiling hot Alphabet Soup and spitting it unto the recipients face, hoping the letters are more kind and spell out what I’m saying. I guess what I am saying here is, I’m sorry if the Alphabet Soup scalds your face. I’ll write you an apology letter, if you want. If only humans communicated in apology letters.

FREE VERSE LUIS GARCIA / SENIOR 52

CHARCOAL ALYX MORRIS / JUNIOR

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1905

EQUILIBRIUM

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ABOUT US

EDITORIAL BOARD

he iliad Literary-Art Magazine is proud to be Clarke Central High School’s open public forum for student expression, under the guidance of a faculty advisor, by means of any and all writing, art, original music, photography and any other creative work.

As a staff, the members of the iliad have come to a consensus that, in certain cases, elements of submitted artwork that may be seen as profane and/or obscene must be censored based around their significance within the work only. The iliad staff has no intent to cause any offense in any way to anyone, but with the advisor, the iliad staff uses its discretion when choosing material to publish. The choices of the iliad staff represent neither the views of CCHS and its administration nor the guidelines for official school district publications.

VIOLET MERRITT EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

STA F F

EMBRACE ACRYLIC SYDNEY GREGG / SENIOR

DAVID RAGSDALE ADVISOR

KIKI GRIFFIN BEA ACHESON CAMILLE FLURRY MANAGING EDITOR VISUALS DIRECTOR OUTREACH DIRECTOR

The 2018 Clarke Central High School iliad Literary-Art Magazine Staff met throughout the year to collect submissions from student creators, which were then processed and used to create the magazine by the Editorial Board. Pictured below from left to right; back row: Camille Flurry, Jack Fischer; middle row: Eloise Griffin, Rianna’ Pearson, Georgia Blue Simmons; front row: Violet Merritt, David Ragsdale, Kiki Griffin. Not pictured: Bea Acheson.

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F R I E N D S O F TH E i liad RED DIAMOND $500

DIAMOND $300

Troy Coleman and family

Bertis and Katherine Downs John Lewis Campbell and family

PLATINUM $100

GOLD $50

Rachell Allen and Joe Polanezcky Amy Flurry Dr. John Campbell and family Alice Kinman Lisa Ray Dr. Bob Fecho SILVER

Michael and Liz Conroy

$25

Coleman Barks Dr. Peter Smagorinsky

SPECIAL THANKS TO: Hugh Acheson Bryn Adamson Zoe Peterson Marion Montgomery Marie Yuran 58

EQUILIBRIUM

INDEX Bermudez, Aida The Sun and the Moon 41 Bermudez, Lucia I wish, I may 9 Bothe, Mor 1905 54 Crane, Emma Horoscopes 46 Collins, Graham Vignette of Three 30 Conine-Nakano, Aneesa Atomic City 42 Garcia, Luis I Don’t Know What To Do With Myself and I’m Sorry About It 52 Garcia-Pozo, Valeria Diccionario/ Dictionary 15 Afterwards 25 Gilbertson-Hall, Elena Love Letter to New York 10 This is for the Girls 23 Gavron, Dylan Within-Without 12 Gregg, Sydney Lana 14 Post Malone 44 Hafer, Paulina My girl Puerto Rico 45 Harden, Preston She, the Center 34 Hudson, Christian The Culture of Tiki 19 Mantione-Holmes, Gabriel Lemon Squares 38 Mayfield, Katy The American Dream 16 Morris, Alyx wBreakups 53 Pavlic, Suncana Press On 20 Pearson, Rianna’ Brokenhearted Girl 29

Peterson, Zoe Italia 26 Ghost 50 Phillips, Hayes False Advertisement 48 Ray, Avery Fruit Basket 24 Charcoal 35 Ripps, Natalie Balance 8 Ryhm, Jordan Senses of Disdain 28 Sepesi, Avery Monarchy 40 Upchurch, Katie Grace Breezy 22 In Bloom 36 Claire, Waller Vibrance 18

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COLOPHON iliad headlines were printed in Vollkorn. Bylines were printed in Lato. All copy was printed in Vollkorn. The inside cover features a graphic design by Kiki Griffin. The Table of Contents features a digital photograph by Avery Sepsi. The Static section divider is an acrylic painting by Kri Hair. The Dynamic section divider was digitally designed by Emma Sharp. The staff page portraits and group photo were taken by Zoe Peterson. The graphics on pages 10-11, 17, 38 and 43, were created digitally by Violet Merritt. The graphics on pages 46-47 were illustrated by Violet Merritt in watercolor. The 2017 iliad, Entropy, earned an All-Southern rating and the Scroggins Award, top honors, from the Southern Interscholastic Press Association of the University of South Carolina for the 11th time in 13 years. The 2017 iliad received a First Class evaluation by the National Scholastic Press Association. The 2017 iliad was rated as a Gold Medalist in the Literary-Art Magazine critique for 2017. The magazine received All-Columbian honors (top ranking) Verbal and Visual. The 2017 iliad was rated as All Georgia – Best of the Best for 2016-2017 from the Georgia Scholastic Press Association. The iliad publishes short stories, editorials, articles, essays, poetry, art, photography and other forms or creative works from students of all grades attending Clarke Central High School in Athens, Ga. In addition to accepting work from high school students, the iliad staff attempts to collect submissions from Burney Harris and Clarke Middle Schools. All submitted works were evaluated by the editorial staff. The goal of the iliad is to encourage the creation of writing and artwork within our school community, and to provide an outlet for the publication and expression of these works. We also aim to involve students with the production aspect of the magazine. It is iliad policy to not publish explicit language where it may appear in submitted work. Censorship of explicit language follows guidelines similar to a “TV-14” rating. Submissions containing profanity are edited appropriately and with the consent of creator. We are so grateful to everyone who submitted work for the 2017-18 issue of the iliad and to our community for their support and confidence in this endeavor. 60