Chavez Fall 2011 Issue - Seton Hall University

Chavez
The Literary Arts Magazine of
Seton Hall University
Volume XIII Issue i Fall 2011

Chavez
Fall 2011
A Note from the Editors
Dear Reader,
You hold in your hands Seton Hall’s refurbished Literary Arts Magazine – Chavez.
Inside this tiny book are the short stories, poetry, photography, and artwork of creative,
innovative Seton Hall students who had the courage to share a piece of themselves with our
community. We hope that this issue is something Seton Hall can be proud of, because we
certainly are.
After much deliberation and careful thought, we the editors have decided to create a
new look for the magazine you have all come to know and love. We have devoted several years
of our collegiate career to this magazine, and now are delighted to have the opportunity to put
our own spin on this issue.
We would like to give a special thanks to Jessica Camp, who generously donated
her time to design the layout of this Fall issue. Also, thank you Dr. Weisl for your patience and
devotion to the magazine, and for entrusting us with the responsibility of making it great.
Sincerely,
We are pleased to present the Fall 2011 issue to you. Pass it along!
The Editors
Samantha Khoury, Kathleen Pagliaro, Michcella Tiscornia
1

Table
Of Contents
Words
Lorak the Dwarf / A.J. Cunder 3-4
We Are Nothing / Luke Christioclyph Lachac 6
Godrillo / Christian Trinidad 8
Flightless / Christian Trinidad 9
Doppelgangers / Samantha Khoury 11
A Timeless Ideal / Thomas Hickey 16
Girl with the Red Balloon / Samantha Khoury 18
What am I? / Luke Christioclyph Lachac 18
See the Sudden Light / Alison Elgayar 19-20
Cherry and Seymour / Clare Allen
Images
22-24
Dunluce Castle / Elizabeth Wilk 5
An English Castle / Victoria Tolan 5
Moher Cliffs / Elizabeth Wilk 7
Untitled / Thomas Hickey 10
Sodium Shine / Brittany Mullen 10
George’s Eye / Andrew Pel 12
Quiet Menlo Castle / Elizabeth Wilk 13-14
Pearls / Victoria Tolan 15
Doubly Exposed / Jessica Camp 16
A Coney Island Childhood / Meghann Van Pelt 17
Wheel / Thomas Hickey 17
Rotten / Jessica Camp 20
Flowers on a Wall / Victoria Tolan 21
The Palace of Minos at Knossos / Eva Morozko 21
The Beach / Thomas Hickey 25
St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome / Victoria Tolan 25
Untitled / Elizabeth Wilk 26
Cover Image by Elizabeth Wilk
2

Lorak th
by A.J.
Middle English:
To goon this pilgrimmage a little man chees
Namor than a foot and for was alle he ros
About his cheeste was a brood reed beerde
Ynough to maken a lorn lomb aferde
An helm seet and sheene upon his heed,
“A tousand batailles has this seyen,” he said,
With a demande for th’ avysement of alle the route.
His sondry souns keped he of his toute.
Rond his waast was a bawdryk, alle fulle with rubies.
Swich beautee rivalled only by a dame, moost trewely.
Fro this ceynt a fetys sparth swoong,
Ylyk a snakke or lizard, so debonairely it hoong.
Requiem in pace was writ on the blade.
Whan axed of its nativitae, a greet lough he had.
“At me side be it allweys,” quod he,
“Since childhede whan the wepene I did see.”
Whan that words gan to fly, fro oon to another,
‘Twix the two he wold caste himself, ylyk to a mooder.
“Areste this frenesye!” wold he crye,
“And herkne to this talle,” with his note murye.
Than wold he telle a storie of a grifphon trewe,
‘Till late grew the hour, the day ‘most agin newwe.
“By Sant Jon!” his replye wold com. “Abyd ye alle,
Nat but cherles, hem that delyt in meeth and ale.”
Wrooth was he when the companaye
Failed to yelde with laude his storie.
His hand fil to his blade with a verray list,
Upon we al creyed an ooth of oure interest.
Blak grewe his yen as they alight upon evirchoon;
They were arwes to perceth ech corage biforn they’d goon.
Withouten a remedie for his cas,
The pilgrimage passen forward, alas!
Speketh under his breeth with nat a break for his longes,
Lorak went forth leaking soun bitwixt his wanges.
3

e Dwarf
Cunder
English Translation:
To go on this pilgrimage a little man chose.
No more than a foot-and-four was all that he rose.
About his chest was a broad red beard,
Enough to make a lost lamb afeard.
A helm sat and shone upon his head,
“A thousand battles this has seen,” he said,
With a demand for the attention of all the route.
His multifarious sounds kept him off his bottom.
Round his waist was a baldric, all full of rubies.
Such beauty could be rivaled only by a lady’s, most truly.
From this belt an elegant axe swung,
Like a snake or a lizard so calmly it hung.
Requiem in pace was written on the blade.
When asked of its origin, a great laugh he had.
“At my side be it always,” said he,
“Since childhood when the weapon I did see.”
When words began to fly from one to another,
Between the two he would cast himself, like a mother.
“Stop this madness!” would he cry.
“And hearken to this tale,” with a voice merry.
Then would he tell a story of a griffon true,
Till the hour grew late, the day ‘most again new.
“By Saint John,” his reply would come, “abide ye all
Naught but commoners, them that delight in mead and ale.”
Angry was he when the company
Failed to repay with praise his story.
His hand fell to his blade with a hungry list,
Upon we all cried an oath of our interest.
Black grew his eyes as they surveyed everyone;
They were arrows to pierce each heart before they’d go on.
Without a remedy for his case,
The pilgrimage passed forward, alas!
Speaking under his breath with not a break for his lungs,
Lorak went forth leaking sound from his tongue.
4

Elizabeth Wilk
5
Victoria TOlan

We Are Nothing
By Luke Christioclyph LaChac
We are nothing we were meant be,
God, Zeuess, Seuss, failed miserably,
Disney cries, a last soliloquy,
We were nothing we were meant to be.
But we sing a song about what is right and wrong and scold each other to follow suit,
Illogical logic follows imperceptible visions that all are intelligent, but truly imprisonment,
So a tip of the hat to the corner store proselytizer
Who we fear is right
Who we see as a liar.
But take me down slowly, don’t unveil it quite yet, only one truth in the world;
The only certainty in life is death.
6

Elizabeth Wilk
7

Godrillo
By Christian Trinidad
Godrillo at the heart of sea
In and out of sanctity
Forward amidst the dark and dank,
Godrillo waded and sank.
We cauterized the part that speaks
In windward gaze, we seek the words
To reunite our cardinal truths
With brazen and bold betrayals.
Godrillo found a crimson light;
Bathed in both the love and spite;
Washed his meal and ate his plate
But could not shoulder the weight.
Show me fear in a handful of dust,
You, Yourself, Destroyer of Necessity.
Twinkling stars that burn themselves undone
We traded soul for pocket lint...
Creeping toward solace on needles and pins
Godrillo went green and recycled his sins!
He thought he had won--this made no sense.
Godrillo enclosed by a white picket fence.
I who have seen the universe in reverse
At the bottom of the collective unconscious
Now whisper into the eyes of the mirror
With all the melody of a flatline:
All that once was... forever will be;
You / Godrillo / Godrillo / Me
8

Flightless
By Christian Trinidad
When a tree falls with no one around,
I am the sound.
Vacancy bound to physical form,
Storm of electrical phenomena.
Miracle? I think not.
The venom pulsing through a vein,
The thirst for acid rain,
Endurance of pain through torrential
Ceaseless downpour-
I am nothing more.
What once I was shall never be.
A question posed so famously,
“What impact on your soul was she?”
Emotions left in a foster home,
Frozen at my feet.
Lest we should meet, please let them know
To and fro the body rages;
Cages for birds who have never flown
Weighed down with feathered burden
Rust sooner than the rest.
The sun erupts beneath my lids,
Burns the pages of our story,
Melts the shackles I had hoped for.
Movement. Movement free.
We are free and frozen.
Lost.
Remnant of an echo.
I am the reverberation of a death rattle.
And in my pristine waters lies a history
Never settled.
A tree falls in the woods upon deaf ears,
Why, why, why can’t you hear me?
Wishful thinking at its finest demands an audience.
Therefore, I beg to ask of you,
“Which of you will ever know the sorrow felt by snow?”
9

Thomas Hickey
10
Brittany Mullen

Doppelgangers
By Samantha Khoury
Otto sees Otto.
Palindrome.
Anna sees annA.
Reflection.
Palindrome:
Repeating characters.
Reflection:
Replicating faces.
Repeating characters,
Walk down the street.
Replicating faces:
Duplicates.
Walk down the street,
Quickly moving bodies:
Duplicates.
Is this a mirror?
Quickly moving bodies.
Reach out and touch one.
Is this a mirror?
No. Not a mirror.
Reach out and touch one.
Eyes, lips, hands, nostrils, ears:
No. Not a mirror.
Tangible.
Eyes, lips, hands, nostrils, ears,
Seeing doubles!
Tangible.
Otto sees ottO.
11

12
Andrew Pel

Elizabeth Wilk
13

14
Elizabeth Wilk

15
Victoria Tolan

A Timesless Ideal
By Thomas Hickey
A timeless ideal
confusing and inspiring the ages
the dream of all men
that pleasantly suffocates their thought
obsessively controlling
the source of the majority of emotion
contained mercilessly in a cage
by the complexities of its game
16
Jessica Camp

Meghann Van Pelt
17
Thomas Hickey

Girl with the Red Balloon
The words come in and out
As the frequency moves
Through the white noise:
“When you miss me, I’ve gone.”
A presence lingers in the air
Like the faint scent of perfume;
Some new concoction called:
“When you miss me, I’ve gone.”
And the carpet, shifted slightly
- The left corner curled up -
Remains a witness to the statement:
“When you miss me, I’ve gone.”
Gone on like Banksy’s little girl releasing
The red balloon to the blue wind;
The sentence carried on the current:
“When you miss me, I’ve gone.”
By Samantha Khoury
What Am I?
By Luke Christioclyph LaChac
A pin dropped, and all the world listened,
I stopped, my heart a-fire,
I ran, My heart a-tire,
An arrow flew, and her eyes, they glistened.
An ego-centric bird laid an ego-centric egg,
I took my only mask off, shattered it to pieces,
I put it back on to find, it tattered into jesus,
The mother bird died, result, an impressible plague.
An internal schizophrenic, an internal war, made geographic,
Then the last arrow knew, he would never be last,
Even though her eyes glistened, he would become her past,
All my personalities fight, all masks have their day, yes, catastrophic.
Although my eyes sing loud, they hold an empty soul,
Truly what am I?
The remnants of the world, brushed from the table, into an empty skull.
18

See the Sudden Light
By Alison Elgayar
I felt it. The burning emotion inside tore me down and ate me alive as I stood there. The anger, the
hurt, the mourning that was soon to come cluttered my mind. There was no use in looking towards
a bright side. The bright side was overshadowed – not again, but forever.
He was gone. The second part of the single soul that had brought me into this world had vanished
from mine, right before my very eyes. Although my vision might not perfect and I tend to wear
glasses from time to time, I had refused to see the trouble that lend to this event.
“Was it me? Was it something I did? Did I make you so mad that you felt you needed to run away?”
Those questions plagued my mind. As I continued to sit in silence and think, I failed to notice that
I had chewed down on my bottom lip so much that I could feel the blood seep onto my tongue.
The pain of him leaving did not fully hit me until I became a mock at someone else’s expense.
Did you ever feel that? When you’re going through a rough time on one of the most cheerful and
spirited days of the year, the sadness eats you up and spits you out ten times harder than it would
on any other day.
On Christmas Day, I cried. Christmas was certainly not what it was 10 years ago, when everyone in
the family would gather around and open their perfectly wrapped presents Santa Claus had brought
to them. Christmas back then was about running out into the living room and letting your eyes
wonder on all the magic that was left from the night before. The gifts, the twinkling, bright lights
of the tree, and the spark of joy that your eyes held when you noticed the cookies and milk you laid
out were missing.
It just wasn’t the same. Not this year.
My mind goes off topic a lot. When you’re in a worked-up state as bad as mine, I think scattering,
pointless thoughts are permitted. When I felt the hot tears rolls down the flesh of my cheeks and
burn my eyes like acid, that’s when I knew things were never going to be the same.
I don’t think anyone ever feels that sad but once. Sometimes it only takes one person to make you
feel that way; then again, sometimes it only takes one person to make that feeling go away.
And then there was him.
The one that could make it go away.
I was never one to believe in that mystic connection one feels when they meet their true love, but
that day, that night, my beliefs came to a stop.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered slowly, holding onto me as if he feared I would slip away.
“I’m going to make everything all right.”
19

I shook my head at his unofficial promise. No one could ever promise such a thing.
“How can you do it? How can you be so sure?”
“Because I have you, and we have each other.”
That was his explanation. Just like that, as if it was that easy. It was ironic in a sense. I was the one
bringing the depression closer; yet, I was the one that could make it disappear.
“You seem so sure of yourself that I’m almost tempted to believe you. What does being together
mean? Is it enough?”
“It is.”
“And how do you know that?” I wouldn’t let the subject pass. I need assurance and comfort.
“Because it’s you and I.”
That was all I needed. There was my assurance. With a kiss he placed on my forehead, I closed my
eyes and let in a deep breath and let out all the suffering.
It’s not so impossible to see, but you can only know it’s there once you feel it. It’s love.
Omnia Vincit Amor
Love Conquers All.
20
Jessica Camp

Victoria Tolan
21
Eva Morozko

Cherry and Seymour
By Clare Allen
Cherry stepped out onto the stage, guitar in hand, nerves gnawing at the edges of her stomach. Her
eyes scanned the small yet dense crowd of eager county fair goers as she approached the microphone.
But she didn’t see him.
After finishing her song, she walked off stage, handed the guitar off to the next guy and tried to
maneuver her way out of the crowd. She was feeling a kind of quick-frown-and-shrug type of disappointment.
Nothing too severe, just sigh-inducing. It’s somehow worse when your disappointment
can’t even manage to be disappointed. She worked her way along the outskirts of the crown, getting
only sparse compliments as everyone was focused on the next act – a Christian themed band whose
lead singer’s shirt was opened to his belly button, revealing a large crucifix tattooed on his chest.
As she peeled her eyes away from the monstrosity that is infected tattoo and chest hair, she spotted
him standing underneath the lemonade tent. His eyes were squinting painfully against the penetrating
sunlight and droplets of sweat dotted his face. Cherry smiled and ran towards him.
When Seymour saw her coming, he smiled too – though it was a little more difficult for him in his
situation. She threw her arms around his waist and said, “Ah. You came.”
“I told you I would,” he managed through the stifling heat. He took in another raspy breath, trying
to fill his lungs as much as possible before saying, “Can we go now?”
“What?” Cherry pulled back, surprised and slightly offended. But then she noticed he was suffering
and made a concession. “Oh, uhm, yeah. Sure.” He started walking away before she even finished
the sentence and she had to jog to catch up to him.
Seymour’s hands were shaking so badly he could barely slide in his key to unlock his car’s doors.
When he finally managed this simple feat, he collapsed onto the driver’s seat, brought the car to life
and let cold air blast from the AC vents. It also appeared as though he tried to curl up on the seat
before realizing he was not alone in the vehicle. He then settled for leaning his head far back against
the headrest. Cherry reached into the backseat and retrieved her hoodie, as the temperature in the
car would reach damn near subzero in minutes.
Very little light penetrated through the dark tinted windows as she watched him breath until he
seemed to even out. “You okay?” she ventured.
His eyes flew open as if he just registered her presence. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just bright out. Not a cloud
in the sky…” His voice seemed faraway and his eyes glossed over for a second, as if he just drifted
away.
Then, he reached out and took her hand, saying, “You were good today,” then lightly kissed her
knuckles. It was a gesture he made often; he even once said he carried it over form the olden days.
Needless to say, talking about Seymour’s olden days tended to skeev Cherry out a bit.
22

He was slow to give her hand back this time, and his fingers lingered too long over her wrist. She
pulled it back the moment she felt his thumb putting pressure on it and mumbled, “Thanks.” She
cleared her throat and a silent moment passed between them. “And thanks for coming. It means a
lot to me. I know you don’t… go out… in the day…” She was fumbling and she could feel it. “I’m
awkward, I’m sorry.” A nervous laugh escaped her lips and she quickly pressed them back together.
“It’s okay,” he said with a smile, bearing his sharp teeth. His finger caught her under the chin, its
chill making her shiver more than she already was. “Take you home?”
“Yeah.”
The short rise was spent in silence until Seymour pulled up in front of her house. “Could I ask you
something?”
“Sure.”
“It’s kinda weird. And I just thought of it like a minute ago, so it’s not like I’ve been pondering it
or anything. If you were wondering.” Cherry started to squirm in her seat, regretting talking in the
first place.
“Alright.” He was starting to eye her strangely and she noticed her was paler than usual today.
“So, uhm, would a baby vampire stay a baby forever? ‘Cause they don’t age, right? Vampires?”
Her question was quickly turning into word vomit that she couldn’t stop. “Unless natural born ones
have different rules. Are there any natural born ones? There would have had to have been at some
point, right?” Seymour was just staring at her. “Vampires don’t have babies, do they? Can they
even have–” Cherry stopped herself and pushed back against the seat, staring straight through the
windshield. Too soon in the relationship to go there.
“Vampires don’t have babies,” he stated after a moment.
“Oh. Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel a few times.
“’Cause I thought it might be like being Jewish and you’re only Jewish if your mother is Jewish. Is
that how that works, or did I just make that up?” Cherry pressed her lips firmly together and willed
her word vomit to stop.
“I’m not Jewish, so…” Seymour glanced over at her, taking in her white skin, so translucent you
could see the veins running underneath. Unconsciously, his tongue began flicking over his sharpened
canine. It took him a second to register that Cherry was speaking again. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I said you’re really pale, are you sure you’re okay? Paler than usual, I should say.” She had pressed
herself against the car door and had an extremely worried look on her face.
“It’s alright, babe.” It wasn’t an answer to the question, but he said it soothingly enough that it
sounded like it could be.
23

“Huh, babe,” she pulled away from the door slightly, “I bet you call all your girlfriends that. Even
in the olden days.” She laughed a laugh about half awkward and half genuine. “Man, you’ve been
through a lot of breakups, haven’t you?”
“Not really. They mostly end the same way,” he muttered sheepishly.
“And how is that?” But she could tell from the way he just cleared his throat and stared intently at
the dashboard’s leather stitching, he wasn’t about to say out loud. “O-oh. Oh,” was all she could say
as realization dawned on her. A warm blush crept her neck and spread over her face.
Seymour couldn’t help but notice all of the blood rushing into her face, and instinctively brought
out his tongue to lick his lips, but he caught himself. At that same moment, however, his stomach
decided to complain about how hungry it was and loudly grumbled. Cherry pushed herself against
the door again and started nervously giggling. He put a hand up to cover his face where he was
blushing. Or where he would have been blushing had there been any blood in his system.
“I think I have to go now,” Cherry managed through giggles. She started fumbling for the door handle
when Seymour leaned over the middle console. She yelped and squeezed her eyes shut against
the attack, which just made him peer at her quizzically. “Oh,” she said with a giggle and leaned
forward to give him a small kiss. But she pulled back instantly when she felt his teeth on her lip.
She firmly grasped the handle and pushed the door out more forcefully than she intended, almost
toppling onto the pavement. She picked herself up and slammed the door shut with a somewhat
primal holler meant to purge herself of the pure awkward settling in her soul. When that wasn’t sufficient,
she started waving around, trying to shake it out, and she didn’t care if he saw her.
Seymour grabbed the steering wheel and watched Cherry flail like a madwoman for a moment.
Then he sighed and said, “Yep. That’s how they all end.”
24

Thomas Hickey
25
Victoria Tolan

26
Elizabeth Wilk