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Staff

Co-Editors

Joshua Cox & Megan Wix

Web Development

Benjamin Davis

Chloe Jackson

Moss Grummon

Devon Meeker

Copy Staff

Pan Deines

Piper Scherr

Lilli Black

Analie Pambrun-Carnes

Layout Staff

Valeria Moreno

Emir Pirija

PR Staff

Spenser Lamphear

Caine Ryan

Megan Radley

Julia Freudenberger

Art Staff

Tatum Huegel

Roman Di Glulio

Ellie White

Kate Clark

Letter From The Editors

dear lovers of breakfast,

we hope that this issue of quarterlife is a lovely companion to your morning cup of joe/tea/juice/whatever else you wake yourself up with!

our wonderful staff has spent many early mornings (and late nights) toiling over this zine, and it is as refreshing and exciting as a cold glass of orange juice or your favorite NPR show.

incorporate quarterlife into your morning routine, plate your bacon and eggs into the shape of a smiley face, and watch the sunrise over a new day!

listen to the lovely playlists, pore over the wonderful art and writing that whitman students have crafted for your early morning aesthetic

and don't forget--breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

warm hugs,

megan & joshua

Lucky Eden
- Listen Over Breakfast

Joao Garcia
- Confessional

Calen Romig
- If Alone was a Pastry
- Kitchen

Benjamin Davis
- Over Breakfast
- Sunny Side-Up

Emir Pirija
- Morning Brew

John Bannon
- Contemplation

Coco Leusner
- Toothpaste and Orange Juice

Pan Deines
- Ode to my 10 am chocolate croissant from Cleve Cafe
- A Chef's Dream

Sonia Burns
- Time Slips Away

Henry Priebe
Morning Tea

JRB (Jack Bingaman)
- The Morning After

Lane Lallana
- Sun, rise.

Aidan Durant
- Dying in Bed in the Morning

Ella Yuen 
- Untitled

Faith Chung 
- Bread Cat

Joshua Cox
- Conversation Over Breakfast

Spenser Lamphear
- PNW Breakfast

Hanne Jensen, Karah Kemmerly, Will Greg 
- Diner of Worldly Ambitions

Listen Over Breakfast

Side A

1. Pumpkin - The Regrettes

2. Banana Pancakes - Jack Johnson

3. Maple Syrup - The Backseat Lovers

4. Cigarettes and Coffee - Otis Redding

5. Dreams - Japanese Breakfast

6. Coffee (Live in LA) - beabadoobee

 

Side B

1. Ham 'N' Eggs - A Tribe Called Quest

2. Werms - Love Brunch

3. Strawberries & Cigarettes - Troye Sivan

4. sugar - my bloody valentine

5. Strawberry Jam - COIN

6. Coffee & TV - Blur

Lucky Eden

breaky playlist.jpg

confessional

ConfessionalPt1.JoaoGarcia.png

Joao Garcia

ConfessionalPt2JoaoGarcia.png

A Chef's Dream

Pan Deines

A Chef’s Dream-1.jpg

Time Slips Away

Sonia Burns

Burns.breakfast.2_page-0001.jpg

Elegant Title

Author

untitled

Ella Yuen

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Bread Cat

Faith Chung

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Conversation over Breakfast

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Joshua Cox

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PNW Breakfast

Spenser Lamphear

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If Alone was a Pastry

Calen Roming

The aloneness that I craved was so sweet, and my sweet tooth so great, that I would only allow a

special few to share it with me.

Lately, it’s like the sweetness has been left out in the heat for too long, and has become sickly

with the summer sun. I’ll call up anyone, just so that I don’t have to eat alone.

Kitchen

Calen Roming

tatum huegel_edited.jpg

So much happens in a kitchen.

​​

That’s what a kitchen is for, really.

For things to happen.

For living and growing and sunshine and tomatoes and music and softness. But also for yelling

and spills and clattering and knives used with too much caution.

Men laughing together, women hugging.

A dinner party, dim lamp light and chattering and exclamations of joy and wine stains on lips.

Delirious words of adoration.

A startled cry when he finds them together.

Two boys getting ready for a birthday, getting more sprinkles on each other than on the cake.

A whirlwind of activity before the holidays.

Crying as she’s cooking dinner and suddenly realizing that it’s not because of the onions.

Being too tired to wash dishes, so he does them for you, giving a gentle kiss from soapy hands.

Kids baking cookies for their mother, and delighting in the flour and the failure and the chocolate.

Friends singing along to the radio as they share pizza and stories and sit crossed legged on the

counter.

A mother rolling out cookies for her best friends’ sick son.

A big family, constantly happy and shouting and busy, tripping over the dog as they unpack their

groceries.

Siblings fighting over the last piece of pie.

The light from the refrigerator door, exposing how thin she really looks.

Recipes from years ago, stained with memories and saffron and vanilla.
Hungry little ones screaming their hate for peas.
A daughter learning from her father.
A son dancing with his lover.
Someone slowly sinking to the ground, back to the pain, spine twisted between the knobs of the
cabinet, hands shaking with fatigue, mind fogged with something that if it had a name it would
kill you.
To make something from nothing is an art, and this art is done best in the kitchen.

Over Breakfast

Benjamin Davis

Over breakfast,

I tell you the dew drops cling tighter to the grass;

Our forks and knives scuttle, crossing porcelain plates.

I comment on the dimming brightness of the sun.

How the flowers have grown so confused, weary, weak;

You, flipping the months old newspaper to the next page.

I insist that time has slowed,

That minutes stretch on toward eternity.

You, reaching for your coffee; once, twice,

Faintly grasped.

I confide in you that things don’t feel like they used to;

That I don’t feel like I used to.

You, sipping.

I say I miss this.

You, reading.

I, peering through dampened hands,

Insist, muffled, that I'm finally leaving tomorrow morning.

You, turning the page.

I, defeated, implore you to look at me.

You, dissipating,

So we can begin anew tomorrow.

God,

I'm over breakfasts.

Sunny Side up

Benjamin Davis

Dear Shining Sun,

Please rise above the eastern mountain crest,

And warm my frigid, raised skin with your

Nostalgic, morning amber rays.

And please, oh please!

Bring with you the wayward winds, fierce but fleeting,

To topple all that delays my deepest, sweetest dreams.

Bring with you the crystal waves.

So that they may distill essence into this vessel of my being,

And bring it back to abundant fruition.

Lastly,

Bring with you the scarlet, flickering ember,

So that it might rekindle my soul's desire.

Morning Brew

The Sun woke me up,

and it warms my body.

On the cusp from summer into autumn.

 

The robins chirp their cheerful songs,

and somewhere a black cat has made friends with a gray hare.

Their soft bodies know warmth.

Their soft bodies know each other

 

Somewhere, a boy is reading a novel. 

About letters unsent,

and ashes that are reminders

of a once great flame. 

 

There’s a smell of coffee.

Somewhere in the distance, 

Across the Pacific.

It smells like home.

Emir Pirija

morning brew by ellie white.JPG

Comtemplation

John Bannon

Silence is as powerful as speaking.

 

Draw me to speak and I will, don't and I will be silent. Cut me and I'll scream; shoot me and I'll die; talk to me and I'll love you; smile at me and I'll cry.

 

Laugh at my face, streaked with tears, and tell me to meet you for breakfast. Sleep in and I'll make the table and dream about you there.

 

Leave me and I will be powerful alone.

Toothpaste and Orange Juice

Four out of five dentists do not recommend

Brushing your teeth with orange juice.

One says there’s too much sugar,

Another says the pulp gets caught in your teeth.

The other says it will stain,

And the last one just doesn’t like the taste.

But if I brush my teeth with toothpaste,

The orange juice tastes like shit.

So I’ll keep brushing my teeth with orange juice,

Because at least one dentist says it’s fine!

Coco Leusner

toothpaste and orange juice.jpg

Ode to my 10 am Chocolate Croissant from Cleve Cafe

Pan  Deines

I’ll introduce my friends to thee

And this is what I’ll say:

This croissant means a lot to me

And keeps me fed each day

 

My friends will pull me to the side

You just can’t love this pastry!

But thy gentle sweetness makes me high

And thy innards are so tasty.

 

I’ll remove thee from thy paper wrapping

I could not treat thee kinder,

To say I love thee would not be capping

Since the day we matched on Grindr.

 

And when thou art fully digested,

My heart doth fill with sorrow

But know our love cannot be tested:

For I’ll be back again tomorrow.

The Morning After

     Somehow, someone taught me that love happens in the dark.

     Someone told me–looking back, I think they whispered it, like it was some holy secret or perverse gossip–that romance is the moments of sparking heat in the blue-black of the night.

Love is what you can’t see, love is what falls in the cracks. Love, real love, not elementary crushes or middle school pining, is dangerously evil and addictive. Real love will make you feel

like a criminal. Real love is hot and sharp and dark, neon and shadow, sleazy and alluring.

     I like to think that, actually, love happens the morning after.

     Now, I won’t say that someone lied, but someone definitely misspoke, or maybe, whomever whispered it to me must have misheard the information somewhere along the line. Love can happen in the dark, in midnight meetings and careful covers and the passionately private corners that belong to only those who share them. Love can happen anywhere and everywhere.

     But the night ends, and the Sun rises. People, unfortunately, do not keep steady orbits quite like Earth does.

     I like to think that love is what remains. Love is the moments after the dark, the soft and calm and, let’s be honest, the slightly boring. Love, real love, if there is such a thing, is the leaky, watery light that careens its way through the blinds and spills onto the floor on sad autumn days.

JRB

     Passion is what keeps lovers warm at night, when time is short and energy is high. Romance is what keeps them warm in the morning, when the day stretches out impossibly and waking up feels optional. 

     Love is light snoring, and determined halves of the bed, and mumbled “g’murn”s. Love is bedhead and squinted eyes and raspy voices. Love is “You’re warm, don’t move” and “You stole

the blanket last night” and “I had the craziest dream.” Love is “Do we have to get up?” and “Five more minutes” and “Okay, but only five, I have to shower.”

     Love is finally waking up, making the bed, getting dressed. Love is taking turns in the bathroom and grumbling about laundry and knowing not to talk until a half hour has passed to account for non-early risers.

     Love is coffee or tea made by someone else the way you like it. Love is light breakfasts because you get sick when you eat too much too early. Love is “I’ll see you later” and “Have a good day” and “Tell me when you get to work.”

     Love is knowing you’ll have the night. Love is knowing you’ll have tomorrow morning, and the morning after, and the morning after.

sun, rise.

oh Sun,

rise with me,

over my head and heart

and awaken my soul.

 

rise, Sun,

like you were made

only to greet me

and

               me,

 

alone.

Lane  Lallana

sun,rise .jpg

Dying in Bed in The Morning

Aidan Durant

      I saw with my eyes the small flake that was caught in my window screen, I had left the window open a little bit last night because I felt too small. The light from the sun made it melt into a droplet, I guess it was a few snowflakes. The air is too cold so I move under my blanket, but I cannot move. Instead, I move where I feel under my blanket and focus on my legs, I can move them barely. I feel the soft sand washed flannel against all parts of it. The hair gets caught and then unlatches, it gets caught again and tugs away from the direction it lays and something in my spine is activated. I can’t see anymore because it is dark out, but now I feel the softness across the entirety of my back, spreading out and parting with the viscosity of magma, creeping around the edges of my body. My nose is suddenly cold again and I can hear the sound that the snow outside makes when it quiets everything else. The air is frozen, and I can’t see. I hear how the brook under the ice travels through the frozen air, it is angular. It hits me as a gentle plane passing through, perfectly straight. I am covered in sand and my nose is still cold, it must still be above the surface. I am falling backwards now through myself, and it feels like I will keep going until I have gone through all and looped back around again. My blanket covers all of me except my head and my nose is still cold, I am laying on a bed of ubiquitous grass and it is warm. The sky is dimming, it is freezing away, but I am still warm. I am still warm..

morning tea

Rays rise my body

But the boiling water raises

My spirits and mind

 

I feel connected

With those who taught me “just right”

And those who taught them

 

A brewing mirror

Shows a dreamer carrying hopes

Anchored by small things

Henry Priebe

morning tea by caine ryan.jpeg

Diner of World Ambitions

☕︎ ☕︎ Bevvies ☕︎ ☕︎

 

Hot mug of self affirmation……………………………………………...$8.75

     (add shot of superiority complex for $2.00)

 

Cup of ‘I guess it could be worse’........................................................$4.25

Served lukewarm

 

A cure for lingering regret....................................................................$4.50

Enter the void of this shot-in-the-dark to forget whatever ails you

 

Prognosticators brew

Half empty………………………..……………………………$2.50

Half full……………………………………..…………………..$4.00

 

* * House Specialities * *

 

The ‘Clean Floor’...............................................................................$17.50

Is this the day you finally get your shit together and vacuum? This special spicy hash will leave you sweating but refreshed.  

 

Laundry?...................................................$12.75 (quarters only)

Whether just wishing you had another shirt to wear, or risking running out of underwear, this clean and healthy option may not be what you want, but you know it’s what you need. **Allow at least 2 hours for extra drying cycles.**

 

What the hell is in the fridge?...........................................$13.50

This scramble of whatever savory bits we’ve got around will hit the spot after a long night out or fuel a grueling day

 

The ‘Tabletop Heroes’………………………….$20.00 per person

Please let your server know if your party plans to stay through lunch and dinner.

Hanne Jensen, Karah Kemmerly, Will Gregg

🍽 🍽 Breakfast Favorites 🍽 🍽

 

Long walk with an old friend…………………………………………….$13.95

Make it a short stack stroll……………….........…………….$6.95

 

A balanced media diet…………………………………....$10 even

 

Advance the cause of the righteous.............$12, paid in change

 

Journal entry…………………………………………………..$8.00

Extra salt….…………….………………………………………$1.89

Extra spice………………………………………………….....$2.00

 

⬭ ⬭ Omelettes ⬭ ⬭

 

In This Economy? ............................................................................$10 flat

Two hours of dead language study, unexpected nap, diced anxiety. Option of: sauce of boxed hair dye or clippings from the haircut you gave yourself that your roommate says looks great.

 

Class Crush……………………………………………..……$15.95

All your reading (all of it), dash of flannel, thick-cut daydreams, topped with your choice of unearned confidence or undeserved insecurity. Eye contact available upon request. 

 

♨ ♨ On the Side ♨ ♨

 

Memento Mori………………………..………………MKT Price 🕱

 

Inside Joke……………………………………………………$5.00

Served for half the table.

 

One Single Egg……………………………………………....$1.99

 

A quarterlife rejection…………………………………..…….gratis

We all get old someday.

Thanks for reading!

thanks for reading by tatum huegel-1_edi

Acknowledgement

quarterlife would like to thank the Associated
Students of Whitman College (ASWC) for their
financial support, without which the production of
this magazine would not be possible.


Our utmost gratitude goes to the Whitman Print Shop
and to our advisor, Professor Gaurav Majumdar.


A special thanks to our staff artists who produce
wonderful art without credit to individual pieces.
All work featured in quarterlife magazine or on the
website is displayed by express permission of the author or
artist, who holds all relevant copyrights to her or his
work. Don’t steal their stuff.

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