Editor’s Letter
The doors to Justice have been opened. Our opal-esque universe is a place where rage and darkness are balanced by beauty and charm. Opal Age is our break from the agony we experience on our screens…endless news about AI technology taking over, no one budging on climate chaos, our world transforming for the worst, the cost of living crisis and everything else. Injustice upon injustice. What is missing in all the chaos is what makes us human. What makes our lives beautiful and full of meaning.
We are here to strike that balance.
It’s enough to make anyone emo, but the future isn’t futile. We have the power to build a tomorrow worth living for. Our Art and Our Communities are what we live for, why pretend otherwise? Creating art with a utopian vision is a daunting task, but we need to do it if we ever want justice to truly be Ours.
Opal Age is the redefinition, the reclaimation of our future. Finding beauty in the shell of our collective past like the noble shimmer left by the abalone. Opal Age seeks to redefine our concepts of justice, our concepts of beauty, and our path to a more Opal-escent future. Though we have been given nothing but hopelessness by our current institutions, we have the power to reimagine a more beautiful, lush, and just world through our collective vision, our art, our borderless dreams. It’s our duty and can also be our luxury.
As a queer publication, it was our sacred rite of passage to include excerpts from one of Oscar Wilde’s final works, De Profundis (from the depths), to further illuminate the themes of Justice. Written from prison, his lucid prose speak volumes to this volume.
“Dream, do I say? How could you dare do such a thing? Will you give as your answer that in the days of my greatness and fame I had consented to receive the dedication of your early work? Certainly, I did so; just as I would have accepted the homage of any other young man beginning the difficult and beautiful art of literature. All homage is delightful to an artist, and doubly sweet when youth brings it.”
-Oscar Wilde, De Profundis
xoxo,
Your editors,
Katie, Claude, & Peter
I miss my great-grandma every day, though she’s with me in every calming breeze. She brings the wisdom of motherhood re-done, once and for all. A gentleness only achieved through aging.
Have fun, go dancing, kiss boys. You shouldn’t have to worry about all of this. Don’t keep too many records, you won’t be able to move anywhere.
But listening to Nat King Cole will always suspend me to an easier time. Her music passed down to me holds her dreams like a snow globe. I wonder constantly about how all the pieces of her life line up to mine. How I am the extension of her. How I could do it better this time. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?
If time can be liminal, the last 7 years without her have been just that. The limbo of my 20s with none of her subtle pushes for me to live a more enjoyable, slutty life. Overtaken by the urge to figure it out, whatever it is.
In her imagination, I am sent to distant lands. In her imagination, I am so close to Frank Sinatra that he could’ve sweat on me. In her imagination, I would be out dancing every night like she was. In her imagination, I didn’t let Tr*mp win. Her youth repeating through me.
In my imagination, she is getting her hair cut in San Pedro still. The sun is dappling her skin as she lies listening to tennis on TV. In my imagination, she was everything I wanted to be. We did go to Spain, that’s the last thing she said. A traveler with somewhere to come home to with years of joy behind her.
The wisdom of her joyous yesterdays enchant me, her pink silk pillow rested on her belly a peace I will always crave. Care-full.
I lay in the balance of age, idealized in my potential. For my anything-from-here-ness. But I am nothing without what comes before and after myself. A liminality of time and endless unknowns.
And after my darkest days came a most pleasant surprise. The surprise of new life. The infinite love that is poured into newborn softness. I think about how at one time, everyone came together to welcome me home like we did for her. We promise as many happy tomorrows as possible. We love her for nothing more than breathing easy.
Suspended in the balance of age, you only see clearly the beginnings and endings, time and love rearrange themselves in perfect harmony to usher in new generations. New love, generated by life itself. It’s that simple. Why did things feel so complicated before she came?
When she was born, I discovered language again. I discovered how easy it was to laugh, to dance, to get frustrated, to run, to cry, and to go to sleep every night surrounded by love. It makes you feel all the lullabies you have ever been sung, all the big hands you’ve ever held. How one day I hope she remembers my blue silk pillow on uncle's bed for books like I do my grannies on her belly.
Did you know the comfort of your yesterdays can always be accessed? You can always hold granny's hand when crossing the street or be cooed when you fall, cause love never dies.
And how cruel a world have we devised in which we only prize this inexplicable in-between? How our elders are forgotten and children only a confusing nuisance? Another western-colonized-individualist-atrocity. A one-way ticket to looking out the window of loneliness, forever lost in the liminality of quickly fading idealized youth.
Suspended in age, I see there’s nothing more beautiful than the love surrounding you from every time's passage. Every age. Love abounds, beauty effervescent.
Beauty is always there. You can find her suspended in the balance of age. Between wonder and wisdom, she greets you gently as every laugh-wrinkle forms and as every grey hair buds. Hold my hand and let's grow old together.
Intergenerational Beauty
by claude joven
he/they
Unfinished Chew
by Ingrid Martinez
she/her
changing seasons
by cece lepa
they/she
Changing seasons
Later sunrises, chilly mornings
A deep sadness engulfs me
Nostalgia for the season not yet gone
For now, I’ll embrace the warm afternoons
Summer still clinging on
And look forward to new colors
pretty chew
by Ingrid Martinez
she/her
Hanging Planter ceramic, twine 12cmx10cmx10cm
Sweet Like C*nt
by Caitlin Victoria
she/her
I want to do over/I want to be gay for longer I want to know what its like to kiss a girl when I'm 15 and my stomach is in knots and she's soft and she smells like kiss deodorant and we're in our uniforms but we're smiling and it's sweet. I want to be gay my entire life and longer and have it stretch for eternity. Is this what it feels like to be straight? Are they as overjoyed by their own desires and do they leap a little with excitement when they see a couple holding hands in the street? I've never heard them express it this way. Why is that?
Is it so normal that they take love for granted? I once heard a woman I was dating express how she wasn't proud to be gay, that she was proud of her degree but not of her sexuality and that she didn’t understand the concept of Pride. And I guess I see her point, I guess I understand if you're looking at it from that point of view. Except I don't. I know the pride is supposed to come from not being ashamed, the opposite of what so many want us to be. Yet for me, I just fucking love being gay, I'm proud I see life this way and I'm so happy I can live this life and I pity anyone who isn't, who can't experience this overwhelming and bursting euphoria of looking at any member of this community and knowing we're stars. Also, scissoring.
I feel like the songs are finally correct and the poetry is finally correct. It wasn't true before, the musicians and the poets they were all lying and clearly on drugs and trying to bring life to a mundane existence but now I'm like. Oh. It's real. It’s really real. Those feelings exist and she exists and I exist in all my glory and that glory is fucking gay. It was all boring and muted and grey and now it's a goddamn rainbow and I thought everyone was lying and it was never like the movies but honestly I look in her eyes and it’s the fucking big screen.
Disney is real guys, it's just homosexual.
chameleon
by Cece Lepa
they/she
A chameleon no more,
I am my true self
Because you love me.
A Guide to Finding Beautiful Things
by Peter Rogers
he/they
Look Down: This first step feels a bit obvious to me, but of course it might not be. I spent a good number of my earliest years looking down. I discovered most people had access to depth perception when I got my first pair of glasses in the third grade. I found a lot of pennies in my time, my grandma would call them “Peter Pennies”. And then I started finding other things. Beautiful things, treasures, tchotkes all line up in my book. Items that have been created or customized, gracious gifts temporarily moved from the earth to my pockets, forgotten items left behind or freely given away—these are beautiful things.
Sometimes it will be Garbage: Literally. My mom will still shudder to see me stoop to pick something up from the ground. And yes, a little caution is not unwise here. However, picking up trash is another great way to discover beautiful things. Trash certainly says a lot of things, but a litter free landscape allows so many other beings to speak up.
Create Your Own Beautiful Things: Now, I know we just talked about littering but some of my most interesting pieces are ones that I found on the street. How wonderful to find some funky little dude as you’re going about. A buddy to join you for a time, a perfect gift to brighten someone’s day, a lovely addition to your ever growing collection of beautiful things. Someone painted that rock or glued that flower on and the best way to receive is to give. Also, if you ever lose or forget something you can at least think about another person finding and enjoying that treasure.
Portion of my Collection of Found & Given Treasures
(alt-text of the image included in the edition)
A gray stone painted with blue, purple, orange and red dots to form a mosaic pattern. I found this in the free pile of an apartment building where I used to be a concierge.
A wooden spinning top painted a dark blue with three groups of three white dots forming triangular shapes evenly spaced around the surface. I also retrieved this item from the free pile where I used to work.
A lovely white whorl (spiral shell) that was gifted to me by an elderly woman in an assisted living facility I previously worked in.
A gray stone that resembles the shape of gravestone, on its face are the words burger and pizza (pizza being spelled p-i-z-and then a larger blob of paint where the last two letters might be) in black paint. All over its surface there are tiny flecks of green, blue and orange paint. The reverse side (not illustrated) features a painted yellow sun. I found this sitting on our fence post one day.
An oval shaped stone with a chip on the left side, the stone has been painted a dark green, there is a smaller, lighter green oval that is outlined with yellow and has black dots creating a frame around the feature of the stone: a red heart outlined in a metallic gold. The reverse side (not illustrated) has a pink rectangle with the words, “You’ve got this,” written in all caps. I found this stone tucked away at the bottom of someone’s rain spout on a walk through my neighborhood.
A wonderful bright teal blue toy resembling a frilled lizard. Its mouth is open and its red, yellow, and green paper frill is extended (but it can also be tucked away). I found this on the sidewalk while I was on my way to a lunch date.
A gray plastic coin that reads, “copy” in all caps on both sides, in tiny print underneath that it reads, “2014”. I found this on a road verge (that little strip of plants or rocks in between a road and a sidewalk) on the way to a dinner with my parents.
A gray, oval shaped stone that’s a bit thinner at one end than the other. There are many semi-worn pits that appear a darker gray, there is one larger hole that cuts all the way through on the thinner side of the stone. My partner brought this home for me one day, she found it outside the shop they work in.
A wooden heart, which like all of these beautiful things can fit in your hand or pocket, that’s face is painted red and its sides a metallic gold. On the left of its surface is a gold plastic treble clef, on the top right is a pink rosette with two dark green leaves made of ribbon, and near the bottom point of the heart is a roughly cut circle of white paper that has a black circle with three white x’s arranged in an upside down equilateral triangle. This piece was handed out during a class I took in college, I don’t remember the name of the course but I do know the heart came from Sisters of the Road because the painted black back of the heart bears the initials “S.O.T.R”—and the black circle with x’s is their logo.
A lovely deep red and brown stone that is very smooth and has soft wisps of white swirling through it. I don’t remember where I found this.
An almost square faced black stone that has a glittery rainbow sticker on it. I received this gift from a child at the first pride parade I ever attended.
A sparkling white stone that’s a bit rough to the touch. I don’t remember where I found this one either.
Justice
by Ash
she/her
Justice brings many emotions and thoughts to the surface when I think of the many injustices Indigenous Peoples, ecosystems and the many oceans and forests that have been affected by our ignorance, apathy and greed.
My whole life I have felt this pull to Earth and nature. I was very blessed to be able to travel and see different places growing up. I deeply credit my Mother for instilling in me how important taking care of our planet, traveling and how healing and important it is to spend time in nature.
The vastness of my home state and its raw wilderness was a safe haven for me. It was my way of praying, where I felt most at peace, offered a deeply welcoming sense of belonging and helped me make sense of the world around me. The wilderness of Alaska can break you down; strip you down to your most vulnerable state, and build you up with an immeasurable amount of character, strength and humbleness for your place in the world.
As I’ve spent all but six weeks away from home this year learning, exploring, challenging myself and purposely putting myself in uncomfortable situations for growth, it’s left me with a very deep yearning for home; an unforgiving paradise of Arctic land I’ve known for so long.
This time away from home has made me think of all the things I miss about Alaska, as well as the things I haven’t/wish I’d done, and realizing actions and initiatives I should have taken.
A large swell of deep sadness and yearning presented itself last weekend, and my heart broke. Learning of the proposed Ambler Road in the Brooks Range of Alaska awakened something so intense inside of me that had been lying dormant for some time.
Fierce passion and a particular kind of rage arose from my inability to understand why more people are not equally infuriated by the lack of care large corporations and our world leaders, as well as individuals, have for the undeniable reality that is our world right now.
There was an internal calling from deep within my soul that was awakened and said:
I need to do something.
Sitting here, writing this, I’m not sure what that is yet.
Despite the uncertain knowledge and ideas of action and initiatives I want to take, there is no excuse to sit idly by when the Earth is crying for help.
Roads are destroying perfect areas of serene wilderness, companies are striving to develop beautifully undeveloped land, forests are losing a child by the minute and many animals are saying goodbye as the last of them grace the Earth before extinction.
Peoples land is being withheld from them to this day, decades and decades after it was taken by force, genocides wiped out entire tribes, children were indoctrinated, and after assimilating, they were made to feel less than others for their heritage, culture and even something as trivial as the color of their skin.
Where did such hate come from?
Where did compassion go?
Justice is coming with a vengeance, and I intend to be on the fighting lines.
My Perfect Day
by Cara Morgan
they/them
My tea is sweeter with cream, with the company of the sunrise.
I salute that being in the sky with my body, surrender to Savasana.
My body the church. My body the beacon.
I give my body gifts: water, salt, the spice of hope.
In return, my body remembers how to move me.
I am a willing sacrifice to myself.
I write a poem about the pansies outside the kitchen window.
How their dried up flowers fall spent.
How two more open to the sky.
Time stops just for me.
I unstick my feet from the past so I can be firmly rooted in the present.
The earth is my home and it truly feels like it.
I am not in trouble.
I am divine.
The fear in me stays in the backseat, sleeping.
I breathe deeply.
Rest before my heart aches.
Give my body more gifts: patience, love, trust.
My body the teacher. My body my friend.
We Deserve a Future Too
Opal Age stands in solidarity with the Wet’suwet’en First Nation and climate activists’ occupation of the MOMA 15 September 2023
“One day you come to me and ask me, as a personal favour to you, to write something for an Oxford undergraduate magazine, about to be started by some friend of yours, whom I had never heard of in all my life, and knew nothing at all about.
To please you-- what did I not do always to please you? -- I sent him a page of paradoxes destined originally for the Saturday Review. A few months later I find myself standing in the dock of the Old Bailey on account of the character of the magazine. It forms part of the Crown charge against me.
I am called upon to defend your friend’s prose and your own verse.
The former I cannot palliate; the latter I, loyal to the bitter extreme, to your youthful life, do strongly defend, and will not hear of your being a writer of indecencies. But I go to prison, all the same, for your friends undergraduate magazine, and the Love that dares not tell its name.
-Oscar Wilde, De Profundis