JUPITER'S

ARCHIVES

VOLUME 2

FEBRUARY 2016©Alex Alvarado 2016

CONTRIBUTORSALEX ALVARADO- COVER

SONYA VELEZ- PG. 3-6

FAITH HALL- PG. 7, 11-12

KIM VEGA- PG. 9-10

NIKITA SOBOLEV- PG. 13-16

KATE HENMAN- PG. 17

ELISE COMPTON- PG. 18

NICHOLAS YU- PG. 19-21

BRANDON ZUNI- PG. 22

RYLEE WEATHERBY- PG. 23-24, 31-32

MADDIE ALLEN- PG. 25

NOELLE VICTORIA- PG. 26

DANISHA PERSAUD- PG. 27-28

ALYSSA LUJAN- PG. 29

KEIGHLEY PETERSEN- PG. 30

EDITOR'S NOTE

RyLee WeatherbyE D I T O R - I N - C H I E F

Working on this magazine has been one of the most amazing experiences, and I'm

so happy that so many people have decided to work on it with me. The amount of

talent that I have seen in the submissions for this issue has blown me away. I'm

thankful to have so many talented people take interest in this publication, and I

hope that this interest continues. I started this magazine in order to give artists that

are just starting out the opportunity to have their work be seen, and the response

has been overwhelming. Thank you for supporting this magazine so far, and I'm

incredibly excited to see where it goes in the future.

"I TRY TO TAKE MY CAMERA EVERYWHERE I

GO. WHETHER IT BE INTO THE NEXT ROOM

OR THE NEXT CITY. THERE'S ALWAYS

SOMETHING THAT CATCHES MY EYE AND

I'M LIKE, 'SO GLAD I GOT THAT PHOTO!'"

-SONYA VELEZ

Sonya Velez

"THESE ARE A FEW SHOTS

FROM MY PHOTO SERIES

ABOUT THE PLACES I'VE BEEN

AND WHERE I COME FROM. I

THINK I'VE SPENT SO MUCH

TIME FOCUSING ON WHERE

I'M HEADED IN LIFE THAT I

KIND OF TOOK FOR

GRANTED ALL THE YEARS I

SPENT IN THIS LITTLE TOWN.

THROUGH THESE PHOTOS I'M

HOPING TO KEEP MY YOUTH

ALIVE EVEN AS I MOVE ON."

-SONYA VELEZ

My 42 year old mother has an eating disorder She says she'll bring a granola bar to work for lunch Iget angry and tell her she can't have just a granola bar for lunch She'll get snappy and tell me thatshe said WITH her lunch But we both know she said for.

She is a size 10, but calls herself fat. The average American woman is a size 12, and I wonderif she knows she is less than average.

We will be in the car Finding a parking spot for the market when two people will walk out the storecarrying fast food cups. My mother will ask if they really need it They are perhaps a size biggerthan her

And as I call her out and as she responds that it just slipped out I can't help but wonder if it is selfhate, and that she is really hating herself.

Sometimes her breath will smell very bad But not typical morning breath where it’s stale andtasteless But it'll be sour and I'll ask her if she brushed her teeth this morning And she will respondthat she was rushing and forgot

But I can't help but wonder if that is the truth or that after sacrificing her last night dinner to theporcelain god, that the running of sugary toothpaste over her teeth couldn't quite quench thesmell of the chunks of partially digested food.

I know she does not eat breakfast because she's always rushing but when she picks me up afterschool, she will talk about her day, and she will say how the work food was disgusting and I knowshe didn't eat it

And I can't help but wonder, just wonder, that if dinner will be her only meal for the day? And if so,that is only 7 meals a week with unhealthy snacks that she thinks eating only a small amount willhelp her lose weight.

She thinks she is losing weight, and I will lie and say she is because I see the way she looks atherself, but she does she understand throwing up your partially digested food will actually makeyou gain weight? And that eating junk food, even in small quantities, is still bad for you and justdoing a few squats to clean the lower shelves do not count as exercise?

My 42 year old mother has an eating disorder andperhaps that's why she never called me out on mine.

MY 42 YEAR OLD MOTHERby Faith Hall

RYLEE WEATHERBY

KIM VEGA

KIM VEGA

My grandpa was a bus driver for seven years. He picked up a lot of different people, and would oftentravel for more than four hours every day. My grandpa grew up in a small town, and lived there hiswhole life. He had a few jobs over the years, but the most memorable, the one that made the stories,was being a bus driver.

My grandpa and I were sitting in his kitchen.. He was drinking coffee and I was eating my grandma’shomemade mac n cheese, while everyone else sat and talked in the living room. He had called meinto the kitchen because he wanted to show me his old fashioned radio. I know I didn’t go in therebecause I wanted to hear old stories, but my grandpa is a pretty fun guy. He’s also very old andknows many things. We just somehow got on the topic of him being a bus driver.

The first story my grandpa told me was of this teenage girl he picked up everyday. He said she was alittle off. For example, he would often catch her talking to herself, and this was before bluetooths andcellphones were invented, and it was always just them alone on the bus. And it wouldn’t be littlemumbling, like “I forgot to water the plants,” or “I gotta pick up Mother at three.” No, it was full onconversations with herself.

Everyday, this girl would always ask him, “Mr. Brown, can I spit?”

And my grandpa would say, “No, no don’t spit. You can’t spit anywhere.”The girl went, “Not on the floor or out the window?”

“No. You can’t spit anywhere.”

Right after my grandpa would say this, she would spit on the floor and he was stuck cleaning it up.One day, he got tired of this and decided to take a different approach.When the girl asked, “Mr. Brown, can I spit?”

My grandpa finally just said, “I don’t care if you spit or not. It doesn’t bother me. Do what you wannado, I really don’t care.”

That must have done something to her because she never spat on the bus again.Another story of my grandfather’s is the time he went to Sewickley, PA. There was an all boy’sdetention center where troubled kids went to when their parents couldn’t handle them anymore. Mygrandfather had to pick up a group of boys and drive them to another place.

So he picks them up and they’re ratty, they’re rude, and they’re just mean. But they sit in the backand it’s easy to ignore them. It’s not easy to ignore all the honks and beeps he was getting theminute he picked them up.

Grandpa Brownby Faith Hall

When he finally dropped the boys off and went to the back of the bus to clean up, he saw the boyshad made a giant sign and stuck it to the back doors. The sign was, “Our bus driver sucks!”

Apparently there was also all girl’s detention center too because one time my grandpa had to go pickup these girls from it. He was in the bus, parked, and the girls weren’t on the bus yet. They wereoutside, on the side of the bus, and they had to be counted before being allowed on the bus. Therewas this one girl and she was acting out, calling the guards names, pushing around the other girls,kicking up mud, just, you know, not behaving. So the guard who was counting them goes over to herand slams her head into the side of the bus. My grandfather said it was really remarkable to seebecause he realized that this was basically normal. The guards had full rights to punish this girl andthey could do it however they wanted to.

This next one isn’t really a story, but my grandpa said almost everyday he was driving this bus, therewas always this one guy who dressed up really nice in a suit and he would just talk to himself everysingle day, and he wouldn’t respond to people who tried to talk back to him.

Another time, my grandpa had to go late at night to pick up this group of people from a party. Theywere clearly drunk and high, but they sat at the back of the bus and left him alone. However, thatdidn’t mean they were quiet or peaceful. They caused a huge ruckus, being loud and rude andacting like anyone would under the influence. But he manages to get them to the place where theyneeded to be and as they leave, they give him a huge tip, way more than a bus driver usually gets. Italmost makes up for everything, until my grandpa went to the back of the bus to clean. There waspiles and piles of garbage in the back of the bus, things like food wrappers and pieces of candy, anda bunch of soda cans. He had to clean the whole thing up.

Along with being a bus driver, my grandpa was a garbage man. I asked him what the weirdest thingsomeone threw away and he could barely tell me because he was laughing so hard.He and his friend had to throw away... a toilet. A real, porcelain toilet. That wasn't the bad part. Thebad part was that someone had gone and didn't flush. And they had to lift it up to get in the garbagetruck.

My grandpa describes being a bus driver as an experience. He said it had its up and downs but hecertainly met a lot of people and learned a lot of things while driving a bus.

NIKITA SOBOLEV

NIKITA SOBOLEV

NIKITA SOBOLEV

INTERVIEW WITH THE ARTISTNIKITA SOBOLEV

I first saw Nikita's art online, and I was so intrigued that I had to know more about her,

her art, and her process. Nikita is a young independent artist who has been making art her

entire life. She draws her inspiration from all over pop culture, particularly from the

animation of Beavis and Butthead, from music, and from "atmospheric films". She also says

she is inspired by "MTV Aeon Flux Series", something she views as iconic.

Nikita says that she discovered he style through a "compilation of things", namely through

watching the opening credits of Curly Sue and Addams Family, and from other artists she

has met through university.

She says that her style has changed throughout the years, from simple line art, to

watercolors, to digital art, and finally back to watercolors. However, the eyes have always

been a large focal point in her work, and she refers to them as "hypno eyes", and they could

be considered her "signature".

She also explained that she enjoys "reviving" her works, and turning this into something

new. She does this through making collages, and also GIF animations of her artwork.

Currently, Nikita has a small shop where she sells her work, and she also posts her work on

her tumblr, (sob-blr.tumblr.com). In the future she hopes to run a larger web based blog and

collaborate on projects with friends. Another hope of hers is to create a recognizable style.

KATE HENMAN

by Elise Compton

I always smell like cigarettes and oddly, I

don't hate the smell. It reminds me of

one of the only places I've really ever felt

like home - in your arms.

The scent lingers on my skin, never

seeming to go. It's one of the many scars

you've left upon me; a broken heart and

cigarette skin.

I took up smoking just too trick myself into

thinking I was in my happy place-

anywhere with you.

The sickening smell doesn't smell the

same when it's not mixed with everything

else that makes you, you.

It makes me sick and makes my scars burn

and my broken heart stop.

It's as much of an addiction as you were.

SMOKE

NICHOLAS YU

NICHOLAS YU

NICHOLAS YU

by Brandon Zuni

November 29th 2015, the night reality turned into thatsick dream.

My sis and I witnessed an unforgettable sound, loudthud in the kitchen, my mom fell to the ground.

Spit floodin' out of her mouth, told my sister callemergency, the urgency of help is high cuz it hurts to

see this lurid scene.

Spit floodin' out of her mouth, told my sister callemergency, the urgency of help is high cuz it hurts to

see this lurid scene.

Stayin calm as can be while she was havin a seizure,posted by her side, there ain't no way I would leave her.

Tried callin her name, fear flowin' all through my veins, athousand fuckin thoughts goin' on in my brain.

She woke up dizzy confused and only speakin'

gibberish, tried tellin' her what happened but ain't noway that she was listenin'.

They here, five paramedics and two ambulance trucks,this's gotta be a dream, man, I'm panickin', FUCK! I wasstandin' there stuck, strugglin' to speak as they put heron a stretcher my conscious yellin' Brandon wake up!

They took off, my grandma followed 'em to the hospital,an hour passed by and my moms sayin' impossible.

Shocked and unaware, disbelief with every sentence, allI heard was "oh my god" then the line disconnected,negativity suggests somethin', but I say not to mention,

positivity sayin' that it's just bad reception.

STAGE FOUR

RyLee Weatherby

By RyLee Weatherby

I am in love with this boy,

and my heart is full of it.

He has a mouth full of promises

and when i hear his hear beat,

it sounds like forever.

He is so full of passion

that it burns me

and his eyes feel like home.

His lips are made of stardust

and his whispers give me the world.

I am in love with this boy

and his mouth full of yellow.

I am in love with

this boy

and my mouth aches to say it.

MUSE

MADDIE ALLEN

by Noelle Victoria

“i identify with the shadows of others”

i look in the mirror and see yearningfor a true sense of identity.Will we ever, by ourselves, achieve this?Will i ever know what to say at the beginning of a job interview?i feel the pressure -

everyone seems to know the answer but me.They fill in “I am skilled in ______”, or “I enjoy ______”

while my paper is left blank.i hide behind “I DON’T KNOW”

because i truly don’t.Personality quizzes are meant to help me,so why do they make me feel more lost?i’m stuck in a maze of mirrors -

the end goal is finding who I am,but i keep running into dead ends.Who am I?Can I turn to my friends?Will they tell me the truth?i’m too scared to ask-

which may be the only clue to my identity.Now i’m aware,that I am not my outward appearance to others.I am who i say I amand my true identity lies within myself.It sticks with my heart’s tendons,it watches behind my eyes, and eats popcorn during drama.It roughs up the calluses on my feet,and it makes my mascara run.It’s in my blood - which type? I don’t know.I wish I knew.Maybe one day I will -But for now,I’ll staylooking in the mirror,trapped in the maze.

UNTITLED

TASTE LIKE POETRYby Danisha Persaud

Twitter : NishaBabiiesz // Tumblr: PoeticallyNi

you speak in rare forms of poetry ..the kind you look for in abandoned notebooks ,

peel out of broken crooks ,find carved into raindrop curved hooks ,

there are secrets hidden in your collarbone ,& i want to make a home ..

out of you ,

a place that baffles the universe ,puts wasted words to use ,

uses the word forever into abuse ..gives kisses in whispers ..

that you never want to lose ..

you give goosebumps that pulls at skin ,like puppet strings ,resistant whispering ,i'm repositioning ,

you're peeling poetry from my scars ..i'm undressing insecurities ..

i'm glistening ..

i shine so bright for you ..you're echoing through my ribcage ,

you're noticeable .. & you want to be saved ..

tell me all your candy coated secrets ,defeat this fear of resistance ..

for i promise to stop scrambling for your deepest wishes to be seen ,if you tell me i taste like poetry ..

you fed me love poems until i didn't have anycolor left in my cheeks ,

called me beautiful as many times as it took tosweep me off my feet ,

you beat words & promises into my heart until itoverflowed like red lip prints on wine glasses ,

my heart is working overtime to makesure you're my last ..

i've been swallowing my love poems ,burying my feelings because replies are always a

clone ,doing anything to deprive myself of being alone

anything to make you feel like you're home ..again ..

prolonging the inevitable ,so our hearts can feel full ,

never forgetting the scent of your perfumebecause that's how i learned you ,

as if you were a metaphor of the truth ..as if your love illuminated my skin ,

& the sun alone , just wasn't enough to take thewin ..

maybe we're just incredulous ,of us ..of lust ..

of wanting this more than anything but just notbeing capable of what we need .. love

INCAPABLEby Danisha Persaud

Twitter : NishaBabiiesz // Tumblr: PoeticallyNi

ALYSSA

Photographer S

abino

Joson

| Stylist T

eagan

Yatco | M

UA

Laura Divero

LUJAN

KEIGHLEY PETERSEN

AUNT LINDA

It seems you hada sympathetic ear,

took those who were lost,and drew them near.

Your many

wayward souls, felt the pain of loss,

and your death took a toll,

As they remembered fondlyyour gentle hand and stern voicethat changed the path of their livesand made them feel like more than

just a second choice.

I wish that I hadgotten to know you more,and my regret for this fact has left my heart sore.

But I will continue to treasurethe last day we spent together

and hope you know that I miss youmore with every typed letter.

by RyLee Weatherby

UNCLE RON

Those who loved youwill remember clearlyyour gruff exterior

and your heart which loved so dearly.

They will cherish the wayyou made things better with a joke.and how'd you'd sneak outsidefor a forbidden, hidden smoke.

They'll wish they could join youfor one last bowling gameand hope for just a second

that things hadstayed the same.

They'll remember the way you smelled,and the night they spent by your bed,they'll think you're in a better place,

but maybe wish you were here instead.

by RyLee Weatherby