Art And Design High School - Prism Yearbook (New York, NY)

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wanted to be on this past morning. The anger and hate had been spilled. They had rallied, all right, and they had generated within themselves uncontrollable rage. They had put into motion a small riot. They had destroyed what they had so greatly wanted. I had always wanted to belong, to get in- volved in a cause, but now I came to the conclu- sion that it this was the result of believing and belonging so strongly to a cause, that reason and right were discarded, I would rather walk alone for the rest of my life than be a part in such an irrational rally of destruction. LEONA SEUFERT CONQUEST Dedicated to Miss Aldan . . . As lfall into place the silent forms drift before my eyes. And the Voice of Radio whimpers as though set upon and shaken from the Roots. It moans and screams as the forms move in silence weaving a silent song that is louder and stronger than the disgusting whimpers it mercifully drowns out. The Voice of Radio dies unnoticed its miserable dying squeak covered by the beautiful silent song, A song more magnificent than a symphony. Imarvel at the Ultimate Power, at the Ultimate Song. CRAIG STARK THE SEA Clashing waves, angry skies, prominent clods of earth: A proud sight, a euphoria to any naturalist: On calm humility rolls the dawn: Pale the shore line, glistening with nature's bliss: Gifts of life - from the sea I, the beholder of such beauty. Feel the warmth of the sun. Bathed by nature's own breath Sifting through turbulent rushes. I AM the SEA. GLOR BROWN THE GREAT ETERNAL SUNBURST lrise in the morning amidst clouds of uncertainty: The air is dark and moist. Eternity has not yet awakened to the cowardly entrance of the priestly sun. lt is delinquent. lt will come with unknown grandeur. And paralyze our eyes. The orange globe sinks from oblivion And reveals its splendor to all who disbelieve. Crimson and vibrant it yields such illumination. Orange shadows cover the world In a blanket of love Without which all worlds would surely die. In the opaque prism of the universe, We forget all that is about us. We tend to take for granted that which is natural. The omnipotent Sol reaches down with hands of coral And touches our pained souls. And lights our dark future. And heals our sick and diseased. And gives hope to the poor and needy. And gladdens the sorrowful. And like a trance lt spreads over us and engulfs us in its mystery. Leaving us only as ignorant as we began. Coral and crimson and shades of topaze Gleam over the sea. Shadowy fire reflects in the mirrors of our ego. Perhaps we do not or cannot fathom such a Godly universe Where time and air and earth and grass and fire and smoke and life and death and love and war and blood and tears and fear and vengeance and hate and disgust and dignity and unworthiness and hearts and souls and passion and indifference Can all be one and the same. Can be ignored and pushed aside Like rotten fruit. Surely in this neon world of boundless and uncensored emotions We should see the futility of our blood The uselessness of our sweat! And the grime of our tears! But we come again to the great orange ball Without which we would not exist. The great eternal sunburst. The great universal premier. The great eternal sunburst. LORRAINE BROOKS

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Cl I HAD TO CHOOSE I ioined them and hoped that in doing so I would discover if this was the action I should take. I wanted to know how they felt cmd thought about the issue. So I took up a sign and marched with them. I began to believe that they were iusti- fied in leaving school, in protesting. I read their leaflets and heard them voice their opinions on what should and should not have been done-I sided with them. So I picketed but still I could not merge with them. I was not submerged in their fervor: I could only observe. As time passed and they began to shout their slogans, I shouted too, but not from deep down as they did, only from the surface. It was more as an experiment to dis- cover what it was like, than really an emotional outburst. I voiced words but remained impassive. As time went on, the words and their repe- titions pounded into my brain and began to take hold of me. I associated them with what I be- lieved, and shouted louderg but I felt disturbedp something was amiss. I watched the reporters come, and dwelt on what it would be like to be on camera. I saw the picketers swarm around the reporter: they wanted a moment of glory. On I walked. The shouting had momentarily subsided, and I began to think. Why did they feel so strongly over this cause? Was the iniustice done to them really so great? But soon I was dragged into a sea of swarming bodies. Another reporter had arrived. I found myself in front of a camera, and many bodies pushing down on top of me. I wanted to say, Get off me, but knew that the cameras would see me. So instead I mustered all my con- trol and held up my sign. Inside, I hated every moment of it. This was not my type of glory. Now we were to march through the streets, and the whole mile of bodies and shouts to resume as before. I remembered a peace march that I had once participated in and I wondered if this would be as peaceful. The reporters followed us, and we soon received a police escort. I was tired and hot, for two hours of picketing had already passed. My throat ached from shouting meaningless words. But those around me shouted stronger than be- fore and the concrete canyons echoed their angry voices. I was silent. I thought, Did anger and loud voices ever bring about change: the desired change, or did it bring about havoc? The answer did not come. We arrived at our destination and all at once, there was an uproar. My crowd had sighted another. Before I could comprehend the proceed- ings I was swept along with the rest. Those about me screamed as they ran, but I iust ran. I feared that stopping would result in my being run over by this insane crowd. My portfolio dragged heavily on me, and anger at the foolishness of the situation rose up in me. I iust wanted to stop and drop to the ground: I was tired of the entire procedure. But I kept on, I had to see what was going to happen. Everyone finally halted. I wished that this would come to an end. Police were appearing in greater numbers and barricades were being placed around us. I wondered what would happen next. Some students spoke and defined the pur- pose of this rally. I stood and stared, my mind beginning to make associations. They spoke words that I had heard many times before, and I was afraid of what I concluded, afraid of what would follow. The atmosphere calmed down and every- one milled around, sat down or smoked. I asked one of the leaders what was going to occur. He answered in ci vague tone. We are waiting for the others. I knew that my conclusions would be cor- rect. I was confused, but I knew what I had to do. They were not to get a hold on me cis they had on others. The crowd was not going to drag me down into its depths of irrationalities. So I left. I walked on and on down into Manhattan, feeling alone and guilty of deserting the others. But soon my mind cleared. I knew that I had to do what I had thought was right, and not let mis- guided emotions of loyalty and anger govern me. I knew very well what could happen to a crowd without competent leaders. For me, leaving had been the one and only logical solution. I didn't want to be a part of this disaster. That night I heard what I was afraid to hear. I saw my thoughts and fears come to life on the very television screen that everyone had

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