#archive2022

[royalnightshadeart]

Snake Macarons

Postcard design of a garter snake with macarons being held in it's coils in two color variations. Art by @kingrhapsody

You can buy these original postcard sized prints at our store here.

[dukearchive]

Love in Wheeler’s Participatory Universe

by Donald Pepka

“. . . The notes struck out on a piano by the observer-participants of all places and all times, bits though they are, in and by themselves constitute the great wide world of space and time and things.”

     —John Archibald Wheeler, “Information, Physics, Quantum: The Search for Links.” 

Wheeler imagined the universe as chalky possibility, information awaiting observation before setting into reality,

the future a quantum jigsaw piecing together at lightspeed forever,

existence bound by loose shrapnel from the cosmic dawn that we tenuous breaths see into being.

When my atoms question themselves, I grasp in my chest for a rope, photons warm and taut, between now and

that twilight, waiting for your bus while singers professed their divine love and we imagined this moment as past. Our eyes teared at becoming, maybe, distant memories of love—

holding your hand under that dim pink sky, I saw my love dawn.

Remembering you colors galaxies, brightens time’s ascending attic, and renders the Earth not pumice, opal.

[silantye]

С китайским новым годом Чёрного Тигра Вас друзья🦠🎊 Желаю Вам всего самого чёрного чёрного: ездить на #ЧёрномМерседесе кушать #чёрнуюИкру жить на вилле у #чёрногоМоря и, чтобы Чёрный Тигр стал Вам благосклонным в этом новом году🐾🐅🥳🎉 . . . . #новыйГод #китайскийНовыйГод #годТигра #2022 #tigerNewYear #chineesnewyear #ЮрийСилантье #YuriySilantye #новыйгод2022 #годТигр2022 #tigerYear2022 #tigerYear #китайскийИмператор #chineesImperator #selebration #праздник #хостес2022 #hosyes2022 #архив2022 #archive2022 #hostes https://www.instagram.com/p/CZ9meC8txKH/?utm_medium=tumblr

[royalnightshadeart]

Seven Daggers

"This character of mine, Cashile, is such a scoundrel and known for his lying. See if you can see all the imagery I put in here that represent deceit. I struggled with this piece but ultimately was really happy with the result." - KingRhapsody

Tarot inspired illustration of original character Cashile by @kingrhapsody.

You can buy this (without the watermark) in our store here.

[royalnightshadeart]

Sphinx Duo

Original Postcard art of two Sphinx creatures by @kingrhapsody and @voltergeists.

"I love mystical creatures especially and when I saw Volt's sphinx art I wanted to do a more greek inspired sphinx to mirror their Egyptian inspired one. (Mine is on the left here) I also couldn't help but think of that one scene from Neverending Story with the Oracles facing each other. Iconic." -KingRhapsody

You can buy these original postcard sized prints at our store here.

[royalnightshadeart]

The Alchemist and Necromancer

Original Sticker designs of original characters. Art by @voltergeists

You can buy Holographic Stickers of these designs at our shop here.

[royalnightshadeart]

Enchantment Expert

Postcard of Dionysios of the shop Potions Notions, from the webcomic anthology series The Alchemist's Collective, and original character of @voltergeists.

You can read the webcomic for free and buy a copy of this postcard size print (without the watermark) at our shop here.

[royalnightshadeart]

Proprietor of Potions Notions

Postcard of Damakos, owner of Alchemy shop Potions Notions, one of the main characters of The Alchemist's Collective webcomic anthology series, and original character of @voltergeists.

The webcomic is free to read and you can buy a copy of this postcard size print (without the watermark) at our shop here.

[royalnightshadeart]

Potion's Guide

Poster of @voltergeists' original characters from their Webcomic series The Alchemist's Collective. Check out their comic to get to know these characters more!

You can get a copy of this print (without the watermark) at our store here.

[royalnightshadeart]

KingRhapsody here! Special promo for our shop launch and cause it's my birthday on the 10th!

10% Off items in our store (except the stickers sorry). Code valid only until the end of my birthday 10/10/2022! <3

[dukearchive]

cover art by Lilia Qian; source image by Madhav Dutt.

THE ARCHIVE 2022 EDITION

Poetry:

Knit by Raj Bagjain

Yellow-Bellied Goodbyes by Maya Brookens

Testimony by Kamdon Early

A Dream and Yet a Nightmare by Mary Elizabeth Howard

I Know the Angel by Natalie Farris

Passenger-Seat Astronomy by Arial Hart

Night Light by Arial Hart

Cutting Board by Arial Hart

forgive me by Emma Huang

[Redacted] by Sarah LoCurto

Physical Touch is a Soft-Brewed Tea by Karina Lu

As the Bird Clock Sings by Oscar Nolen

Love in Wheeler’s Participatory Universe — April 10, 2022 by Donald Pepka

The Confident by Sara Shao

5 Lessons on the Language of Men by Sara Shao

Hawaiian Sunrise by Akshaj Turebylu

The Blues by Felicia Wang

Down in Nags Head it is cold today by Tina Xia

Logos by Tina Xia

Things my mother taught me by Sarah Xu

Benzodiazepines by Anonymous

Found on the bridge by Anonymous

My bedroom flowershop by Anonymous

Sanctuary - For Club Q by Anonymous

Sweet sweat and coffee and clocks by Anonymous

time capsule by Anonymous

Prose:

The Influence of Mr. Rawles by Kamdon Early

Chapter 3: Sculpted Ceilings, Stretchmark Doors, and Resilient Walls by Mary Elizabeth Howard

A Golden Throne of Arrogance by Mary Elizabeth Howard

Creekside by Miranda Gershoni

Forrest Drive by Ethan Gurwitch

awakening by Emma Huang

I think I could love you by Emma Huang

Action Potential by Monika Narain

Wordle #246 Tacit by Henry Stevens

Wordle #248 Thorn by Henry Stevens

Masthead 2022-2023: Editors in Chief: Pranav Athimuthu and Tyler King Associate Editors: JR Cassidy, Spencer Chang, Judy Chen, Marina Chen, Prisha Gupta, Catherine Johnson, Holly Keegan, Karina Lu, Sancia Milton, Megan O’Sullivan, Donald Pepka, Lilia Qian, Trisha Santanam, Ari Stern, Joy Tong, Design Editors: Prisha Gupta, Holly Keegan, Megan O’Sullivan, Donald Pepka, Lilia Qian Submissions: email original and unpublished work of any medium (writing, art, photography, and more) to the archive. submissions will be considered for both our online edition and fall 2022 physical edition. music & film will only be published online. multiple submissions welcome and encouraged. contact us or submit pieces at dukearchive@gmail.com.

[dukearchive]

Hawaiian Sunrise

by Akshaj Turebylu

Trudging along the pre-cut path In Nike shoes and with neon hat Explorers make way forward Held back by small local plants Till the late, late night stares back From the East Staring across that mystical ocean, awaiting a sign From faraway foreign lands—she scans The mountains far away, black and brooding, Covered in mist and locked away— Behind her lay hills and hills Cut and dried for play, all Eighteen holes; the homes loop Seductively along the asphalt roads With cul-de-sacs visible yet again A hush falls among the crowd And she knows to turn—again The silent, solemn water maintains Its gravity, till a glorious flare Singes the low lying clouds, blazing In full glory and spectacle the emergence Of Light for an instant Awe and reverence humble the host As yet the spectral orb rises in triumph It becomes the Sun— And it’s just another Tuesday

[dukearchive]

Action Potential

By Monika Narain

My friend Jessie has been dating Ben for three years now. An economics major and an English major walk into a bar during freshman orientation; they hook up once and they become inseparable. But now they’ve gotten into a big fight, and everything’s awkward, and they are apparently broken up.

Again.

At a surface level, Ben is a basic guy, who plays a lot of video games, is aggressively passionate about “impact investing,” and always cries during the Lion King. And Jessie, while I love her, is a pretty basic girl, who writes lifestyle and culture articles for the school paper, wears a lot of chunky sweaters, and also always cries during the Lion King. The two of them spend much of their evenings, weekends, and summers together, and they have seriously considered taking the “next step” post-graduation.

The two of them are terrible for each other.

Maybe it’s because Ben is too demanding, or Jessie is too loud. Maybe it’s because of all those other girls Ben keeps making out with, or that Jessie is too desperate to leave. Maybe it’s because I’ve never met two more stubborn people in my life. But for the majority of my collegiate career, I’ve been forcibly sucked into this coming-of-age soap opera, this endless saga that everyone is frankly sick of watching. Their love is a confusing flow of oscillatory moods, waves of anger immediately followed by brief moments of pure affection. And these arguments are routine, like clockwork, and they always occur in the same way.

I don’t think I’ll ever be equipped with the emotional language to fully describe the intricacy, intimacy, and inadequacy of such a couple. It’s too complex; it’s too stupid. 

But let’s imagine their relationship as a dynamic system, separated by a distinct border that divides the messy region of “outside the relationship” from the even messier region of “in the relationship.” Ben, of course, as the classic dominant boyfriend, takes up a greater space “in the relationship,” and exploits a variety of controlling tactics that metaphorically push Jessie “outside the relationship” into the uncomfortable sidelines where she naturally feels upset and unappreciated. Over time, her anger and resentment towards Ben accumulate, and inevitably she reaches a point where she physically can’t take it anymore. 

It’s 7:13 and Ben scowls in impatience as the basket of garlic breadsticks before him starts getting cold. He stares at his phone, then at the front door, then at the hot hostess cleaning up some annoying six-year-old’s spilled apple juice; and at that instant Jessie is staring at him from across the table. 

“You’re 15 minutes late.”

Jessie sighs. She is visibly exhausted. “I’m sorry - I was finishing up a history paper and then lost track of time and then I had to get gas on the way here and yeah, it’s just been a long day.” 

Ben loudly slurps his water, crunching on a piece of ice.

“So how was your day?”

“Fine. Had a midterm but I thought it went pretty well. Did some laundry. Took a nap.”

Jessie loudly slurps her water, spitting out a piece of ice.

At the start of each of these aforementioned “waves” is a trigger, a stimulus, a brief, inciting event that’s often the buildup of a series of smaller everyday annoyances.

“Have you finished editing my resume? It’s been like a week, and my dad’s been on my ass for getting a good job this summer.”

“I’m almost done, I promise! It’s just - it’s taking me a bit long to put all my comments in, and I’ve just been so busy and -”

“So you’re calling me stupid.”

“No! NO, no, no, that’s, that’s not what I’m saying at all. There’s just some areas that could use some work, you know?”

At that point a sixteen-year-old probable stoner in an “Olive Garden” button-down approaches the table. He says, not as a question but as a statement: “Hi my name is Derek Welcome to Olive Garden can I start you two off with any appetizers or drinks.” 

They ignore him and keep talking. “What do you mean, ‘work’?” He makes air quotes with his fingers.

“I mean, Ben, some of the skills you write about could be framed a lot better and,” she lowers her voice, “I think you might have lied about some of the things you wrote.”

Ben scoffs. “WOW, I lied? That’s pretty ballsy coming from someone like you. Do you know how hard it is to apply for major-corporation finance jobs?

Jessie doesn’t say anything. The breadsticks are a bit stale by now, and the salad has become soggy. She looks at the clock on the wall. 7:17.

“It’s not like you’d have that much to write about anyway.”

And at that very moment, something changes in Jessie’s demeanor. All of that nice-girl energy she once performed with ease transforms into coldhearted fury, as if some switch were flipped or channel activated in her head. 

What happens next is a rapid, non-reversible, all-or-nothing response:

Jessie puts her fork down. A cherry tomato from her salad falls on the floor. The kid who spilled his apple juice what feels like hours ago cranes his head in their direction.

“You know what, Ben? I’m SICK and tired of ALWAYS having to do things for you and you never accepting my opinions. It’s like, it’s like you don’t even listen to me half the time, it’s just ben ben ben ben ben ben ben 24/7! Being your girlfriend is like - a full time job, honestly, and it’s NOT fair. When are you going to start helping me with my work, get my dinner, hang out with my friends, say my outfit looks good; when does Jessie ever get anything? Sometimes, you make me so mad I just, I just, I…”

One can actually document this particular moment graphically. Over the years of observing edgy mid-adolescents in their natural element, I’ve come to observe that all young relationships are constantly fluctuating on a continuum of passivity and aggressivity, with very few (if any) consistently maintaining at the center. If we monitor points along this continuum over time, the resulting trajectory for Jessie and Ben will look something like this, beginning from the aforementioned “passive” equilibrium to a drastic rise in emotional activity that crosses into major aggression:

As is made clear, during this rising phase Jessie characteristically voices her angered sentiments in feeling excluded in attempts to normalize their imbalanced equilibrium to that of a healthier nature. And characteristically, she goes a bit too far and overshoots the monologue:

“...I just want to scream! Have you even looked at that piece of crap you sent me? You literally CAN’T. DO. SHIT. That was actually THE WORST thing I’ve ever read, and if I EVER submitted that anywhere - I honestly don’t know what I’d do to myself. And I know you flunked math, and I know your dad thinks you’re in a job, and I know ALL ABOUT Christa - did you honestly think I was that naive? God, for putting up with you as long as I have, I should get a goddamn prize, because that’s a skill way better than whatever the hell ‘synergistic analysis’ is.”

On occasion, these insults reach a point of diminishing returns. 

Now, something truly remarkable occurs. Just when Jessie feels like she has power over her boyfriend, that she’s the dominating the relationship, and her verbal attacks reach their expected fortuitous conclusion, this happens:

“Well, if I’m so bad for you,” he takes a deep, calculated breath, “maybe we should break up.” 

Jessie freezes. Her mouth is stuck in a halfway open and closed position. She’s getting a spam call on her phone but it feels like she can’t even get her hands to move. The entirety of the Olive Garden dining room lingers in suspense. Derek will probably tell all his friends about this when he gets more baked than a family-style lasagna.

In a hoarse whisper, she says,“Yeah. I think we should.” 

They pick up their things and try to leave in separate directions before realizing there is only one exit. They don’t look at each other as they get into their cars. They forget to leave a tip.

After the fallout, there is a period of relative refractory tranquility, where there’s no fighting, no rage-drinking; they barely even talk to each other. Their dynamic can still be described as passive, but now it’s through a lens of callous indifference rather than one-sided obligatory compliance. They are now pretty much “outside the relationship,” Ben more than Jessie because he’s not as used to criticism. From anyone, really. 

Despite having hit a low in their love lives, they carry on with their daily lives and pretend like they’ve never even met before. This quieter phase may be graphically represented in this manner:

But eventually, they “spontaneously” run into each other one night. He makes a joke, she laughs, even though it clearly wasn’t funny. Soon enough, they start texting and kissing and making out and before you know it they’re back to eating out of the same organic turkey sandwich and making out on the soccer bleachers. The mechanisms that have long defined their relationship - passive, active (if you know what I mean) - are seamlessly reintroduced, and things return to their default, egregiously problematic state. They seem to forget as quickly as they forgive. It makes me sick.

And the whole cycle repeats. Over and over again.

Can two people be terrible for each other, but at the same time meant for each other? I’ve always thought that this incessant emotional rollercoaster is their fatal flaw, a blatant indication of a toxic relationship. But what if this volatility is the key to their success as lovers?  What if these perpetual peaks and troughs are not only a natural, but necessary part of their love, creating its foundation and subsequent continuation? What if arguing is their way of communicating with each other, and what if it’s working? And who am I to judge whatever the hell they are, when I’ve never shared an organic turkey sandwich or made out on the bleachers with anyone?

What their dynamic reveals is more than the fascinating inner workings of juvenile lust. It actually reveals a great deal about the neural mechanisms that facilitate such romantic idiocy, namely something called the action potential. This is nothing more than a temporary disruption in electrical activity, a characteristic “spike” that sends the voltage of a nerve cell from low, to high, to low, to really low, and then back to low again. This particular pattern is namely the result of the interplay between sodium and potassium ions, two like charges that move in and out of a cell based on varying thresholds of electrical activity. Such a pattern forms the basis of all neuronal communication; and, in turn, all human behavior.

[dukearchive]

forgive me

Against all odds, I hope that you will one day return. But I know that whenever you do, I will be ready to forgive. I know how it will go. You will come to me, heart in hand, and I will rip my own out to replace your missing. I will offer it with shaking arms, bleeding out from the hole in my chest, and you will look at me with pitying eyes. I will forget what you look like when you are not terrible. And you will laugh, not unkindly, never unkindly, and hold your hand out expectantly; I will wonder if you are helping me stand or taking my resolve. I will offer you both then, and you will not choose because you have always been selfish and I have always been weak. And when I am finally level with you, I will glance up quickly and you will smile then, not unkindly, never unkindly, and ask for another chance. Another chance to change, to repent, to regret. And I will hesitate, biting my lip and looking everywhere but your eyes. You will take my hands in your own, folding them in on each other and intertwining them easily with yours, and I will notice that your hands are softer than mine. And then you will tell me to look at you, and I will (because that is what I do), and there will be tears in your eyes. They will be awful and apologetic, threatening to spill over with the thought of losing the part of me that is yours, and I will cry too. Leaving splotches on your sleeves, trying desperately to wipe them away before you notice. But you will notice (because that is what you do), and you will hold my face in your hands, and you will tell me that it is okay. And you will pull me in, whispering in my hair that it was just a mistake. And I will believe you, allowing myself to deafen the alarms I have grown accustomed to. And I will look at you again, and you will smile, and I will too. I will then pull away from you in an attempt to regain my sense of balance but you will not allow it, pulling me back into your chest and wrapping your arms around my head as if you were the sole thing holding me together. So I will tell you to wait and that I need some air and that it will only be a second. And you will not listen, and you will tighten the grip you have around me, and you will move your arms down from my head and encircle them around my neck instead. No sound will come out of your mouth, nothing I can hear anyway, but if I were to look up at that second, I would see the corners of your mouth tilted upwards, not kindly, never kindly. If I were to look up, I would see the veins on your upper arm screaming with no intention of letting me go, of letting me breathe. If I were to look up, I might catch the sweat beading off your forehead in an attempt to escape the poison emitting from your pores and I might let myself believe that I am one of those drops. That I will find some way to wrestle your arms off of my neck and fill my lungs again. But I will not, so I will not be able to breathe until you allow me to (because that is what we do), which I know that you will at some point. You will never intend to silence me permanently. You will never aim to kill. Only, perhaps, to scare. To remind. So I will know that the moments I spend in your lethal embrace are only temporary, and it will be this thought that comes to mind when I look in the bathroom mirror the next morning to find a crown of blue around my neck. And in nine days, when the blue fades to yellow, and the yellow fades into a memory, I will touch the skin and flinch because it is still raw and fresh. And when you go to reach for my hand, I will flinch again, and you will become frustrated, and grab instead.

Folding them in on each other and intertwining them roughly with yours, and the only thing I will think is that your hands are softer than mine. You will yell, and I will listen, and I will apologize, and you will not. You tell me that kinder people would be more upset, and I will nod, and I will apologize again. Will offer my hands out in desperate compromise. You will look at me then, and you will shake your head. No, you will say, you are not worth it. And you will turn, and glance back once, and leave. And, against all odds, I will hope that you might one day return.

[dukearchive]

Knit

By Raj Bagjain

Sometimes,  When I miss you so much,  I feel like knitting you a sweater,  a red orangy one,  which looks just like  hot burning coal,  to show my heart’s conditions,  burning in the pain  aching for your presence. 

While knitting,  I want to kiss each knot,  Play with the wool thread as I would play in your tresses,  fill each knot with love,  That would last a lifetime,  fill each knot with warmth that your smile brings to my heart!

Everyday,  I just want to knit you my love.

[dukearchive]

Sweet sweat and coffee and clocks

I’ve always preferred to drink my coffee black Just water and beans – and mild dissatisfaction Something my grandfather would approve   Sipping solemnly under his grandfather clock

But I’ve never know why I prefer it so Maybe it makes me feel strong like a man To grit my teeth and drink dirty dark water Pretending I had no time to find the cream and sugar

Or perhaps it’s because I’ve never known sweet – Well – at least not how to spell it Always ending up with sweet on my skin Always baking sweaty deserts

Excuse me – desserts Not one ‘s’ but two Apparently two servings is better than one, For those who like sweet desserts

Well today I couldn’t pretend And why would I try  When I’ve got all the time in the world And there isn’t a grandfather clock in sight

And now in front of me I have my options Sweeteners in the colors of the flag My mother once told me the difference One of many things I’ve since forgotten 

Clueless I chose one of each and poured And watched my coffee carefully, waiting I heard a big clock start to chime And felt my grandfather’s approving smile turn 

But it's time to taste my monster – Doesn’t seem like coffee to me, Surely sweet not sweat, Dessert with two s’s not just one

This doesn’t feel right. Too sweet and creamy  Where’s the gritting and groaning  When do I pretend?

I think I’ll do this again tomorrow And drink my dessert at grandpa’s To ask what he think of my mix And sit and listen to his clocks