Esoteric Magazine was created in 2002 by students at the University of British Columbia Faculty of Law, and has since pr...
Table of contents Partners in crime 3 Sonnets 6 With these eyes 7 Sam marco square 8 A Family vacation 9 The mist 9 Potholes 10 European vacation 13 Poesy 14 Horomenon is passive 15
15 16 19 20 21 22 23 23 24 25
The man in the moon Balloons Ghosts at varadero Two goddesses B Line Legal lets My grandmother with cancer Eagle at vesuvius A shadow of his former self Contributors
From the editor We don and doff a great many hats, adapting to meet the challenges of ever-changing environments. The greatest challenge, however, is in the simultaneous and contemporaneous donning of several hats, stacking the characters of our being one on top of the other. This is the lot we have been cast. This is Esoteric. I began with the notion that Esoteric could humbly serve as an escape from the confines of legal expository; as a vehicle for the cathartic release of artistic expression, in some medium however and whatever, expression being capable of assuming nearly limitless forms. I wanted to state this premise, that we could transcend our legal training by our artistic endeavours, but I could barely get the sentence onto
paper before realizing the pervasiveness of legal reasoning within me. My mind sprouted immediately to judicial treatment of Charter section 2(b). Has the law not already told us what is “expression”? Has it not already limited my proclamation of “however and whatever”? The freedom of expression is not absolute. Has art already been caught by the ambit of the law, leaving me with no basis for my initial assertions? I recalled the obscenity provisions of the Code, remembering that judicial analysis has noted “Art” as a valid exception. Artistic merit can circumvent these provisions, evidencing that “Art” manages to simultaneously transcend the law, while still being defined by it. A compelling duality. I initially posited that we must escape the law in order to be artists. I was wrong. Esoteric is not
an escape from legal influence, it is a celebration of our duality; our simultaneous donning of many hats. Inextricably linked are the law and its practitioners, but we are not only “legal beings”. We who live under the “living tree” have continued our personal growth, feeding from the roots of our legal endeavours, but also casting our own into the soil of personal fulfillment. The law sought to define art. The law sought to define us. The world sought to call us lawyers. We shouted back that we are writers, photographers, poets, existential philosophers, free thinkers. We are artists. A statute, a precedent, a judicial opinion is but one canvass in our minds of infinite possibility. I see an artist. You see a lawyer. We are one and the same. Eric Laxton, Editor-in-chief
Partners in crime Kyla Lee, UBC 1L
The concrete pillars prevented me from seeing the face that was hissing the voice that climbed up those damn pillars and snaked around them, assessing their value and purpose and worth. I was sitting on a leather couch with striped cushions; eight others were identical to it, placed conveniently throughout the great room in a manner that allowed people to act and interact, to play out their roles with the ease of the social dance. The lady walked toward me, her heels snap snap snapping against the floor rhythmically like the tap tap tapping of a dance. I could hear her voice approaching, but she was always obscured by those concrete pillars, those fucking poles creating the divide between me and the voice, the voice of that damn lady who was selling the law school out from under her feet. From my vantage point on the couch, I could see her hand that wrapped two or three times with its long bony fingers around a pile of neon stickers shaped like circles. She held a black magic marker in the other hand and as she talked, her voice snaked out of her dirty tight mouth I could see her hand working deftly and swiftly. She wrote numbers on the stickers and stuck them to objects as she passed them. She slithered in and out of the pillars, so I could view her and her companions only for brief seconds as they danced in large arcs around the interaction foyer in the main hall of the great old concrete building. Her arms would rise as she passed a garbage can and with a flourish would fall to land a sticker on it, the price of which read 25cents. She passed a fake plant that sat, covered in dust in the hallway near the door, and marked it for a dollar. As she twirled and tapped and whirled she started discussing the chairs. Her sequined tuxedo tails flipped out behind her as she leapt on to the arms of the chairs and danced around, spinning. One of the men who was with her threw her a cane, and she stuck this between her hands, dancing a cabaret and advertising the chairs for thirty dollars each. A student walked past her. She stopped him with a hand to the forehead as she spun the cane in the air, distracting the well-dressed business men with her trickery. When she removed her hand, the student carried on his walk, a price affixed to his forehead. No one turned to look. She
jumped down from the chairs, which the men scrambled over one another for. They were fat, with robust bellies and jowls and thinning grey hair. They were wearing suits which stretched at the buttons as they rolled over and into one another, fighting scratching for the chairs, thirty dollars each. They were the fat cats of She smiled the big firms, the heads and cheeses and pals and partners from wide and Borden Ladner Gervais Fraser white, her Milner Casgrain or somebody like red lips them. They bumped and bundled stretched into their partners in the crime over her they were committing in the foyer. white teeth. Their fat asses dared to break the seam on their pants as they bent All her to pick up the chairs. They lifted venomous the chairs high above their heads teeth were and opened their mouths. Their showing. jaws dropped to the floor and they swallowed the chairs whole, absorbing them into their bodies, the shape blending into the roly-poly mess already in their stomachs. They rolled behind the woman as she snaked through the pillars, coming closer to me. Their tails flicked in anticipation. The Serpentess sparkled and shimmered. Her hair was in a tight bun on the top of her head, and her lips were painted red. She started spinning, performing elaborate turns and cartwheels. She wheeled and whirled, hands high, manipulating the cane, the fat cats following behind her, swallowing things as they went. She continued to price objects: a magazine rack for a dime, the carpet forty dollars, a soda machine four-fifty. Each spin and twirl was punctuated by a high can-can kick, and I saw her legs, which were long and lean and covered by black nylons. She smiled wide and white, her red lips stretched over her white teeth. All her venomous teeth were showing. She leaped into the air and landed in front of me with a flourish. All behind her the fat cats rolled and tumbled and bumbled and lumbered into place. They plopped their asses on the concrete floor, for one of them had already handed over a wad of bills and consumed the
carpet that was beneath them. They wobbled and wiggled and weebled and bubbled about before settling into position. The woman, the dancer, the announcer, the Serpentess had been spinning in a stationary blur the entire time they had been seating themselves. They applauded her, and the fat on their plump fingers jiggled as they clapped their hands together. They laughed and burped and huffed and breathed heavy, full of pieces of furniture and mouthfuls of the building. One of them reached out his hand and ripped a hunk of concrete from a nearby pillar. He shoved it into his mouth and crunched on it like popcorn. The others began to do the same. Suddenly, the lights went out. It was dark for a moment and there was nothing to punctuate it besides the sound of the fat cats as they munched and crunched away on the building. A few students gathered in the crowd, but they didn’t stay long because the fat men from the big firms began to eat them, too. They ate everything, consuming it with a fervor and a fever. Then, a spotlight turned on and the Serpentess was illuminated in front of me, the fat cats around her in a semi-circle as she raised her hands to the sky, clutching the cane. She brought them down in a powerful motion and threw the cane from her left hand directly into the mouth of a fat man in the audience who swallowed it without even noticing.
bids to win the chance to once again own a piece of your own history! And what a discount are you getting today, Gentlemen, for you are great friends to this Law School and we mean to offer you only the best of prices and bargain deals. These couches cost a thousand dollars each, can you believe it? But today we are starting the bidding at-- you guessed it-- one hundred dollars each. This is an as-is sale, Gentlemen, the couches are going exactly as you see them here and now! Take them today or take them never. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to try a piece of history before time consumes and changes and holds and owns it! Gentlemen, take out your fat wallets with fat wads of cash and place your bids! The fat hands shot into the air and the flab jiggled buttery on their arms as they did so. The men pushed and pulled and fought each other, scrambling to get the money, brown hundred dollar bills, into the upturned tophat of the Serpentess, as she assigned a couch to each. She started by pointing at the farthest away, and a large man rolled on his side down there. He pulled a lobster bib from his pocket and set to work on it. He ate it slowly, savoring each bite. His hands caressed the leather and fabric as it moved into his mouth. He chewed with big, slow, open bites and I could see the fibers as they were crushed by his yellowed and crooked teeth, mixing with his saliva and then being swallowed. He ate the whole couch as the others watched, staring in a mixture of awe and envy.
And now, Gentlemen, I offer you this chance of a lifetime. This is the moment you have all been waiting for. This is it. La piece de resistance! The moment and reason you all came here today. Up until now you have only had a mere taste of what is to come but now you are offered the first chance at true wonder and splendor. Can I get a drumroll please?
The next couch went to another of the fat men who waddled over to it. Two of his partners lifted it for him and he laid on the floor with his moth open. The partners were girthy fat men, with belts stretching at the buckles and buckling at the holes. Their sleeves were rolled up and the fat on their arms jiggled with the efFrom somewhere in the back, shrouded in dark- fort needed to lift the couch. He used his fat fingers ness, came the sound of a drum, softly at first to pry his jaw down to his knees and they inserted the then louder and louder. The Serpentess raised couch into him, the whole thing, and he swallowed it. her hands and punched the sky with her fists. The following four couches disappeared in much the That’s right Gentlemen, now is time to start the bidding on these same manner, with fat grey-haired men handing over fistglorious deluxe fantastic couches right here. Perhaps one day you fuls of cash to the Serpentess as she danced and twirled yourselves were seated on these very couches! Did your hopes and and laughed with a mixture of glee and disgust at their fat, dreams and legal needs soak into these striped green cushions? Did slobbering, desperate faces. The seating in the Interaction you ever hope of one day earning back all those tears you shed, all Area was disappearing at an alarming rate, and as they that sweat you dripped into your hard-earned careers? Well here’s proceeded down the line of couches I started to realize your chance, boys! Today only, bid your highest, fattest, roundest my fate: I too would be eaten if I did not get out of there.
“Doctors are the same as lawyers; the only difference is that lawyers merely rob you, whereas doctors rob you and kill you too.” A. Chekov
Et nis nos nullut adiating ent nosto ex enisci blamcom modloreet wis doluptat. Il dui ex se dolore do eugait venim eu fe umsandre tismolorper ipis nuluptat lut amcommy nos augait acipit, commolum verosto odio nt alisl delit alit autpating ero orper iuscil esto doloboreet nulputat. Ex eugueros acincip ustrud dunt acin henim autpat Met lute modit wis alit lor susil dolute eugait adiamco numan utpat, cor alisim quis aliqu I stood up and saw around me a sea of swirling and swarming blubber: fat men were climbing and crawling and twisting into each other, creating a rat king out of their gelatinous bellies. I couldn’t tell where the obese outpourings of one ended and those of another began. I climbed onto the arm of the couch, hoping I could jump over their hungry and salivating mouths, as they eyed that final prize, that delicious couch that I had selected that morning. I bent my knees. I swung my arms behind my back. I felt something hit my chest. It was the Serpentess, her hand outstretched from her body, the tophat pressed hard against my chest.
on my chest, as though in a funeral. With the greatest of ceremony, the swirling and swarming crowd slowed to a buzzing pace. They parted, forming a circle around the largest of the fat men. He was so And just where abundant in size it would have taken three of the others to comdo you think prise his shape. As if to emphasize you are going, this point, he reached out a blubyou delicious bery hand. There was no bone young articling visible, and the hand moved as thing ? if it had been made of Jell-o. He reached out and plucked one of his fat partners from the crowd, opened wide, and swallowed him down. No one said anything, no one complained.
And just where do you think you are going, you delicious young articling thing? Do you think you can escape this mess that you see before you, that a leap of faith will bring you out of and beyond the control of the masturbatory machine that feeds these greedy bellies? That there is something more out there besides a sea of consumption and disgust? You are wrong, little girl, and you will be sucked in too for you belong now to this machine and this place and you are meant simply to become it or become consumed by it, which of course means that you will become it anyway. There is no way out. So sit your skinny ass down and make a decision; you will not sail across these writhing and jiggling bodies, you will only sail into them and become them, consuming the building with them. As them. Or you will be consumed yourself.
I watched this expressionless from my gowned funeral position on the couch. This was my convocation, this pomp and ceremony, and I was merely to accept the sealed fate and cross over the stage into my already-determined future.
The fattest of the fat men, the leader, perhaps, of their society, merely opened his jaw. Without words, the rest of the fat men lifted the couch and me all in one smooth motion. They twirled it around. They danced, they chanted, they sang. The music they were making with their groaning, grunting, drooling, open mouths swelled. It reached a critical pitch as the couch spun round and round. Then, everything stopped. There was nothing-- no movement, no sound. A light was I looked around at the swarthy mass about me. I real- turned on at the back of the room and the Serpentess ized that it was hopeless, futile. There was no way my was standing there, watching the carnage from a safe disthin legs could carry me in a jump beyond the mass of tance. She had tricked me! She laughed, big chortling sweaty fatty bodies. Some of the fat men on the out- fat belly laughs that filled the silence of the space. It skirts of the mass had realized my original intentions was the last thing I heard as I was lowered into the belly and were waiting with their mouths open for my land- of the fattest of the fat, disgusting, all-consuming men. ing, should I miss my target. They were smaller than the other fat men, but girthy still. They wanted my flesh, my body, anything to feed their legal desire to grow and become a giant blobulous mass like the rest. They wanted the prestige associated with a global waistline, and I was merely a prawn in their disgusting consumption of the building and everything in it. I realized I had already been bought and paid for; my fate was sealed. Defeated, I laid down on the couch. I crossed my arms
“Good people do not need laws to tell them to act responsibly, while bad people will find a way around the laws.” Plato
Sonnets Tlell Raffard, UBC 2L
First Year Law: Exams
Obstruction
‘Midst the numbing hours and pages turning, Buried in the countless cases skimmed, Facts and facts and facts be endless churning, Here and there the players neatly limned; A pause, a breath, a moment to reflect – Was that the ratio or a mild dissent? – The discord ever dripping with respect, That banded branded crew will not foment; For equity and jurisprudence rule Where common law fills in a statute’s weal Lest it remains the lowly common mule And legislated law devours the meal.
Untold mysteries lurk betwixt the lines, Obscure a simpler meaning in the tome. Great Lexicon will sneer at lesser signs Which blur like shadows writhing in the gloam. A blink, a stare, then squinting of the eye. Provisions grasped while others slip away, Clarity a figment quick and sly. Uncertainty belied by long delay. Dissection lends itself to greater toil And grinds all forward motion to a halt Whereby the stagnant parties come to boil, Each calling out the other for the fault.
We poorly students lapping at the rim The glimm’ring Truth as yet a distant dim.
Thus resolution surely will elude A conflict counsel could have helped preclude.
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With these eyes Eric Laxton, UBC 2L
“The only power any government has is the power to crack down on criminals. Well, when there aren’t enough criminals, one makes them. One declares so many things to be a crime that it becomes impossible for men to live without breaking laws.” Ayn Rand
San marco square 1902 James Wilson Morrice, UoT dropout
“This was Venice, the flattering and suspect beauty - this city, half fairy tale and half tourist trap, in whose insalubrious air the arts once rankly and voluptuously blossomed, where composers have been inspired to lulling tones of somniferous eroticism.
Thomas Mann, “Death in Venice”
Oil and graphite on wood, 25.6 x 33.1 cm. National Gallery of Canada (no. 30424)
European vacation Laing Brown, Partner B.L.G.
“For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, Which we are barely able to endure and are awed, Because it serenely disdains to annihilate us” Rainer M. Rilke “Beauty is but an altered state of consciousness and perception, an extraordinary moment of poetry and grace.”
Poesy Ilia Korkh, UBC 1L
To A Girl So Wise And So Silly You gave me shelter, wisdom and advice To your benevolence I am eternally in debt But then you had to offer me your heart Praytell: just what the fuck am I to do with THAT?
An October Sonnet
A Resolution (Composed in the shower before sleep) Upon my Priapus I swear that tomorrow By six o’clock I shall wake up and rise; And no amount of bed-craving sorrow Shall lead to my plan’s languorous demise ‘Tis true, that it is not my disposition To greet the rising sun’s first rays, Yet if I want to nourish my ambition I must make the most out of my days.
Last Night The memories of this occasion Will fade like a dawn-stricken wight. Sweet travesties of fornication And of Bacchic excess delight. The passionate promises whispered, The sanguinal vows all forlorn. The joys of this fiery evening Shall soon become tainted by scorn
A rather doleful affectation Today has come upon my soul; The freshness of this autumn chill With pensive thoughts my mind has filled. These I wove ‘round me like a shawl, In hope that poetry would melt The stillborn passions that I felt; But like a church-bell’s lonely toll The echo of my feeling fades Among the bare October glades. And here I linger, as in thrall Of warmth that I will never know. In autumn’s melancholy wreathed My stanzas dissipate into the mist.
A Lisping Whore Serpentine and sibylline, she - sheathed In a shadow-spun shawl of dusk, syllabed Thus to thee of abysses of bliss, Whispering shameless, hissing the syllabus Of seven sins served by insatiable Sensual,sultry and shapely seductresses Luscious, lascivious, succulent succubi, Wreathed in satins sapphire, saffrons sulfurious, Writhing on sable sheets laced with silks damascene : Wraiths upon sinful thrones, their throes thronged by satyrs and fallen seraphs, Wrathful and saturnine in their Sapphic sorrows. Seventy shiny shillings gets you all this A case of sheeny herpes and some syphilis.
Horômenon is passive Steven Wexler, Professor UBC Law It’s not the seeing but the scene Not the seers but the seen Not the seeming that has been But the unseen that I mean.
What is not said inside my head As I lie in my bed pretending I’m dead What’s denied when I lie When I try not to cry.
I’m not the seer. I’m the seen. I’m the seeming. I’m the scene.
The man in the moon Steven Wexler, Professor UBC Law Can you recall when you first set eyes on the man in the moon? “Hey, yeah! There’s a man in the moon!” And how you could see him as clear as day. Only it was night, not day and the moon was bright with its quiet white light, And he was there and you could see his face. Only now you can’t. Is that pollution do you think? Does that go with the cars and their stink? Is that why you can’t see him? Is that what you think? It’s not pollution, mate. It’s educution. Education taught you, mate, it ain’t no face, it’s just the place where shadows fall ’cross lunar seas. So you cannot see what you used to see, what you used to see as clear as day. Hey! Look! There’s a man in the moon!
“Make crime pay. Become a Lawyer.” Will Rogers “I’ve never been in love. I’ve always been a lawyer.” Anonymous “Law Skul sux” Anonymous
Et nis nos nullut adiating ent nosto ex enisci blamcom modBalloons oloreet wis doluptat. Il dui ex dolore do eugait venim eu feum sandre tismolorper ipis nullup lut amcommy nos augait acipi commolum verosto odio ent al isl delit alit autpating ero corper iuscil esto doloboreet nulp tat. Ex eugueros acincip sustr dunt acin henim autpat.Met lu modit wis alit lor suscil dolute eugait adiamco numsan utpat cor alisim quis aliquis num zzr Tlell Raffard, UBC 2L
Characters LENORE JOE Scene
(Brooklyn. A small, ratty apartment. LENORE sits at the table deep in thought. Someone KNOCKS at the door. LENORE ignores it. Someone KNOCKS again.) JOE (O.S.) Lenore!
nothin’ right.
JOE Balloons! Well? Come on, they’re for you. (She takes them and holds them, staring blankly at JOE.) JOE (cont.) What, no ‘thank you’? LENORE Thanks.
(JOE goes to kiss her but she turns so he kisses her cheek.)
(LENORE doesn’t move.)
JOE (cont. O.S.) You in there Lenore? (Beat) Come on Lenore, I got a surprise for you! LENORE I don’t want no more of your surprises Joe!
JOE (O.S.) Don’t make me stand out here like a jerk Lenore! Open the door would ya! (He BANGS insistently.) Lenore! Open the goddam door! LENORE It’s OPEN!
(Enter JOE holding a bunch of helium balloons that read “Congratulations” and “Bon Voyage” etc. LENORE stands.) JOE Well hey for Chrissakes. Look what I brought ya. LENORE Balloons.
JOE So happy birthday, muffin.
LENORE I ain’t your muffin no more. JOE Sure ya are.
LENORE Not no more, Joe. I had enough once and for all.
JOE Aw come on, Lenore. I said I was sorry.
LENORE You always say you’re sorry. And I always believe ya.
JOE You know I love ya muffin, and the others, they don’t mean nothin.
LENORE I ain’t your muffin! (Beat, resigned) I oughta know by now. You can’t get
JOE What’s that suppose to mean?
LENORE Ah why can’t you just bring me balloons for no reason, huh Joe? JOE I never brought nobody balloons before. Hey, come on. Waddya expect a guy to do? Beg?
(JOE drops to a knee, LENORE crosses her arms, accustomed to this regular event.)
JOE (cont.) So fine I’m beggin. Lenore please, please forgive me I’m a weak, weak man and I’ve done wrong by you but I love ya so much and … and … I’ll do better! That’s it I’ll do better by you from now on. (Stands) So you forgive me or what? (Beat) You like the balloons? LENORE “Bon Voyage”? Where am I goin?
JOE I got a deal on the ones already blown up. They’re still nice though. Look at ‘em. (LENORE does look at them and her shoulders slump.) JOE (cont.) What’s eatin you anyhow?
LENORE You forget what you done already?
European vacation Laing Brown, Partner B.L.G.
“For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, Which we are barely able to endure and are awed, Because it serenely disdains to annihilate us” Rainer M. Rilke “Beauty is but an altered state of consciousness and perception, an extraordinary moment of poetry and grace.”
Poesy Ilia Korkh, UBC 1L
To A Girl So Wise And So Silly You gave me shelter, wisdom and advice To your benevolence I am eternally in debt But then you had to offer me your heart Praytell: just what the fuck am I to do with THAT?
An October Sonnet
A Resolution (Composed in the shower before sleep) Upon my Priapus I swear that tomorrow By six o’clock I shall wake up and rise; And no amount of bed-craving sorrow Shall lead to my plan’s languorous demise ‘Tis true, that it is not my disposition To greet the rising sun’s first rays, Yet if I want to nourish my ambition I must make the most out of my days.
Last Night The memories of this occasion Will fade like a dawn-stricken wight. Sweet travesties of fornication And of Bacchic excess delight. The passionate promises whispered, The sanguinal vows all forlorn. The joys of this fiery evening Shall soon become tainted by scorn
A rather doleful affectation Today has come upon my soul; The freshness of this autumn chill With pensive thoughts my mind has filled. These I wove ‘round me like a shawl, In hope that poetry would melt The stillborn passions that I felt; But like a church-bell’s lonely toll The echo of my feeling fades Among the bare October glades. And here I linger, as in thrall Of warmth that I will never know. In autumn’s melancholy wreathed My stanzas dissipate into the mist.
A Lisping Whore Serpentine and sibylline, she - sheathed In a shadow-spun shawl of dusk, syllabed Thus to thee of abysses of bliss, Whispering shameless, hissing the syllabus Of seven sins served by insatiable Sensual,sultry and shapely seductresses Luscious, lascivious, succulent succubi, Wreathed in satins sapphire, saffrons sulfurious, Writhing on sable sheets laced with silks damascene : Wraiths upon sinful thrones, their throes thronged by satyrs and fallen seraphs, Wrathful and saturnine in their Sapphic sorrows. Seventy shiny shillings gets you all this A case of sheeny herpes and some syphilis.
Horômenon is passive Steven Wexler, Professor UBC Law It’s not the seeing but the scene Not the seers but the seen Not the seeming that has been But the unseen that I mean.
What is not said inside my head As I lie in my bed pretending I’m dead What’s denied when I lie When I try not to cry.
I’m not the seer. I’m the seen. I’m the seeming. I’m the scene.
The man in the moon Steven Wexler, Professor UBC Law Can you recall when you first set eyes on the man in the moon? “Hey, yeah! There’s a man in the moon!” And how you could see him as clear as day. Only it was night, not day and the moon was bright with its quiet white light, And he was there and you could see his face. Only now you can’t. Is that pollution do you think? Does that go with the cars and their stink? Is that why you can’t see him? Is that what you think? It’s not pollution, mate. It’s educution. Education taught you, mate, it ain’t no face, it’s just the place where shadows fall ’cross lunar seas. So you cannot see what you used to see, what you used to see as clear as day. Hey! Look! There’s a man in the moon!
“Make crime pay. Become a Lawyer.” Will Rogers “I’ve never been in love. I’ve always been a lawyer.” Anonymous “Law Skul sux” Anonymous
Et nis nos nullut adiating ent nosto ex enisci blamcom modBalloons oloreet wis doluptat. Il dui ex dolore do eugait venim eu feum sandre tismolorper ipis nullup lut amcommy nos augait acipi commolum verosto odio ent al isl delit alit autpating ero corper iuscil esto doloboreet nulp tat. Ex eugueros acincip sustr dunt acin henim autpat.Met lu modit wis alit lor suscil dolute eugait adiamco numsan utpat cor alisim quis aliquis num zzr Tlell Raffard, UBC 2L
Characters LENORE JOE Scene
(Brooklyn. A small, ratty apartment. LENORE sits at the table deep in thought. Someone KNOCKS at the door. LENORE ignores it. Someone KNOCKS again.) JOE (O.S.) Lenore!
nothin’ right.
JOE Balloons! Well? Come on, they’re for you. (She takes them and holds them, staring blankly at JOE.) JOE (cont.) What, no ‘thank you’? LENORE Thanks.
(JOE goes to kiss her but she turns so he kisses her cheek.)
(LENORE doesn’t move.)
JOE (cont. O.S.) You in there Lenore? (Beat) Come on Lenore, I got a surprise for you! LENORE I don’t want no more of your surprises Joe!
JOE (O.S.) Don’t make me stand out here like a jerk Lenore! Open the door would ya! (He BANGS insistently.) Lenore! Open the goddam door! LENORE It’s OPEN!
(Enter JOE holding a bunch of helium balloons that read “Congratulations” and “Bon Voyage” etc. LENORE stands.) JOE Well hey for Chrissakes. Look what I brought ya. LENORE Balloons.
JOE So happy birthday, muffin.
LENORE I ain’t your muffin no more. JOE Sure ya are.
LENORE Not no more, Joe. I had enough once and for all.
JOE Aw come on, Lenore. I said I was sorry.
LENORE You always say you’re sorry. And I always believe ya.
JOE You know I love ya muffin, and the others, they don’t mean nothin.
LENORE I ain’t your muffin! (Beat, resigned) I oughta know by now. You can’t get
JOE What’s that suppose to mean?
LENORE Ah why can’t you just bring me balloons for no reason, huh Joe? JOE I never brought nobody balloons before. Hey, come on. Waddya expect a guy to do? Beg?
(JOE drops to a knee, LENORE crosses her arms, accustomed to this regular event.)
JOE (cont.) So fine I’m beggin. Lenore please, please forgive me I’m a weak, weak man and I’ve done wrong by you but I love ya so much and … and … I’ll do better! That’s it I’ll do better by you from now on. (Stands) So you forgive me or what? (Beat) You like the balloons? LENORE “Bon Voyage”? Where am I goin?
JOE I got a deal on the ones already blown up. They’re still nice though. Look at ‘em. (LENORE does look at them and her shoulders slump.) JOE (cont.) What’s eatin you anyhow?
LENORE You forget what you done already?
JOE Yeah but we worked that out. LENORE Why don’t you just take off huh? Like once and for all? JOE Hey, I’m tryin to be nice now. LENORE Why Joe? Huh? Ya got more promises up your sleeve? JOE I know I ain’t been the best to ya sometimes and I done some things, I know. I know. Look, I just think, you and me, we got a thing here, right? Or part of a thing anyhow. You don’t just throw away somethin like that. So I screwed up. You gotta make a big deal out of it? LENORE So we got a PART of somethin. Big deal! We supposed to make a marriage outta that? JOE Heeeeey, what’re you talkin marriage for? LENORE I been thinkin Joe. I been thinkin hard these last days. JOE (Rolls his eyes away from LENORE) Thinkin huh? I dunno about that. LENORE Yeah well I been doin it anyway. ‘Cause I ain’t gettin any younger, Joe, an I got the rest of my life to think of. I gotta be thinkin long term you know. JOE Right. Long term. So maybe we could be long term but why rush it?
LENORE I had plans, Joe. Or at least I’m makin’ plans. And slingin’ food at the diner in The Towers Hotel ain’t the plan! (Beat) Ah Joe. I just – I just think you an me, it was fun, but we’re through ya know?
LENORE Yesterday … and some other times too. For a while now. Then yesterday, we talked a long time.
JOE Fun? FUN? That’s it? Just like that?
LENORE Yeah about plans and … and he wants me back Joe. (Beat) And I’m gonna go. Back. To Donny.
LENORE Come on, Joe, what’d ya think? You’re just a valet for Chrissakes.
(Joe starts to pace.)
JOE Just a valet. That’s nice Lenore. You ain’t the only one with plans ya know. Me I got big plans too.
JOE Just talkin’ huh?
JOE Aw Jesus. Aw man. So you been screwin’ Donny again.
LENORE Oh yeah? Since when?
LENORE What, ya can’t take me gettin some on the side? That’s real funny comin from you.
JOE Since today. I just made me a plan to stop listenin’ to this crap.
JOE That’s different! Those girls don’t mean nothing to me.
LENORE You see? You never take me serious.
LENORE Jesus, Joe, I’m pregnant!
JOE You wanna be serious? Fine. Okay. So maybe this Valet’s got plans to run his own hotel one day huh? LENORE How you gonna do that? You got big dreams, Joe, I’ll give ya that. JOE You think I can’t do it. LENORE Sure ya will. And I’m gonna be a back-up singer. (Beat) Listen, I been seeing Donny again. JOE What? When?
(Pause.) JOE Is it … is it mine? LENORE You think I’d have your baby? JOE So it’s Donny’s. LENORE Yeah, sure. It could be. JOE Aw Lenore, Lenore. What’re you doin?
LENORE I’m takin care a me alright? Look you gotta go. I got things to do right?
LENORE I say I ain’t marryin a valet Joe. Now stop talkin crazy at me and get out would ya?
LENORE Oh yeah! Sorry! Sorry! I heard that so many times Joe it don’t mean nothin no more.
(He drops onto the sofa.)
JOE So that’s it.
JOE Fine! You wanna lay on the floor? Ya look real at home down there anyhow.
JOE Ya gotta give a guy a minute for it to sink in. (Beat) Lenore? Hey, Lenore. Listen, forget Donny. Just forget him ‘cause he’s a no-good scumbag and he’ll ruin everything. So how about you and me, we get (ahem) married?
LENORE I made up my mind. JOE You’re just wanna throw everythin away, but it ain’t like you got so much to spare.
LENORE What?
LENORE You’re just a lousy valet Joe!
JOE Yeah that’s right. We could do it right at the hotel! It’d be a helluva party.
(Joe grabs her.)
LENORE Party, party! That’s all you think about. Besides listen to yourself. Ya ainn’t even askin me right. JOE Come on, Lenore. It’s you an me here. And we got this … part of a thing, right? Well. Maybe that’s (her belly) the other part. That’s been missing ya know? Maybe it don’t matter where it comes from, just that it’s here now, growin inside a you.
JOE What if it IS my kid? Huh? You just gonna give it to that scumbag? LENORE At least he can pay for it! (He throws her from him in disgust and she stumbles, lands on the floor. Joe stands still for a moment breathing deeply. Then he goes to help her up.) JOE Aw shit. Lenore. Get offa the floor. (She bats him away but stays on the floor. He tries again.)
LENORE You’re crazy.
JOE (cont.) Just get up offa the floor would ya?
JOE Come on. I’m proposin here. Maybe you got a ton a guys proposin to you these days but come on. That’s another thing I never done for no one else. (Beat) Waddya say?
LENORE Get out! JOE Come on Lenore. Look, I’m sorry alright? (Beat) I’m tryin to help. I said I was sorry!
LENORE Go to Hell! JOE Don’t you rush me! (Lights down.)
Ghosts at varadero Michael Coleman, Coleman Fraser Parcells Lying under a strong yellow sun on this tranquil beach in Cuba seems exceeding strange. As turquoise waters softly sweep the shore, I remember university in the sixties and think of Fidel and Che, Kennedy, Khruschev The Bay of Pigs, October Missile Crisis. Tourist shops here are filled with images of Che Guevara frozen in time, rebel as poster-boy. A near half century has passed from that world on the cusp of war, only Castro remains, and he nearing the end. Even the monolithic Soviet Union has vanished. Yet the world still harbours malignancies and dangers: Bin Laden, Al-Qaeda and China rising. Sun and salt and sand under the brilliant sapphire sky seem immutable, more constant than the clash of men and arms and ideas rchoing in the fading mists of memory.
“The key is to commit crimes so confusing that the police will feel too stupid to write reports about them” R. K. Milholland
COLEMAN FRASER PARCELLS LAWYERS
MICHAEL G. COLEMAN* 202-58 STATION STREET DUNCAN, B.C. V9L 1M4
TEL: (250) 748-1013 FAX: (250) 748-2733
*Michael G. Coleman Law Corporation
Two goddesses Ilia Korkh: UBC 1L
I. Morning Awash in blazing bronze of cold November dawn Crowned with a glowing misty halo of your breath, Among the bleak-garbed tired morning crowds you shone In aeneous splendor - like Aurora deigned to bless This frozen bus stop with her presence saffron-dressed. Your sapphire eyes are calm and gleam with morning dew Like pools, kissed and bejeweled by midnight frost, Wake, melting in the rising sun. Serene, you glide. Seduced by some strange fleeting dream that crossed Your night’s repose; you gaze around, weary-eyed Blind to the one who would have worshipped you. II. Night Ereshkigal, my mistress raven-haired, How long I’ve sought you; often I’ve despaired To find your beauty - bane of bards and wolves - ensnared Within the trappings of some mortal flesh. And now I kneel before you - dusk-robed and malign. Unclasp your gown and let it fall undone; Unfurl your fragrant mane and let me twine My fingers through your tresses onyx-spun, Upon a sea of brocade couch yourself: divine Pale flesh girt by an amaranth eclipse A heathen idol on her blood-drenched shrine. Cursed wild-eyed witch, enflame my parched soul “Because just as good morals, if they With scorching droughts of your vermillion lips, are to be maintained, have need of the Upon your venomed tongue my hunger sate, And my burnt offering of passion consecrate. laws, so the laws, if they are to be obEnshrouded in your arms, how I despise Funereal cadence of the ticking clock, The bastard dawn that yearns to spur your flight, The jealous world, the clouds of carrion flies; Spent, love-drunk, them I wish to mock, Escape and drown myself tonight In stormy darkness of your autumn eyes.
served, have need of good morals.” Niccolo Machiavelli “Morality is the herd instinct in the individual.” Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzche
B-line Eric Laxton: UBC 2L
There was something about the way her hair danced She was the accident I hoped would happen to me. in the wind as she ran for the number 99 bus. Her brown locks bounced to a rhythm. The rhythm The bus will leave without her. Perwas life itself. The world around her slowed -- haps today it can leave without me too. though my heartbeat quickened-- as she came near. There was something about the way her face contorted as the heel broke off her leather pump. Had it not been raining, she may have scraped her knee much worse when she fell; like some kind of epidermis to asphalt hydroplaning. I hoped. The blood seemed to indicate otherwise. There was something about the way she chased down the rogue sheets of paper, escaping from her tote, strewn about. The blown papers would settle, motionless. But as she would approach, the wind would pick up once more, sending the white sheets whirling and waving. It was like teasing a child with candy. There was something about the way she pursed her lips, or exhaled suddenly, the breath escaping as with her hopes of catching the 99 bus. I wanted those lips to touch mine. I wanted to breathe new hope. The bus won’t wait for her. There was something about her very essence, fraught with chaos; ripe with calamity. She was poetic in her misfortune. She was beautiful in her humanity. She was perfect in her flaws. Every morning I get on the 99 bus. Every morning. This is the unchangeable routine. She was anarchy to the status quo; an accident waiting to happen.
The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.” William Shakespeare, King Henry the Fourth, Part II
Legal lets A Comparison of Squash and Law Aminollah Sabzevari: UBC 1L
The sport of squash is my true break during the week, and it is a wonderful stress reliever. When I meet someone, I identify myself first as a law student, and second as a squash player. I play other sports; badminton with a doubles partner, as well as soccer, ultimate and football with my law and residence teams. In these sports I’ve utilized and honed the teamwork skills that are crucial for a legal career. However, playing on the squash court is where my individuality takes precedence.
this freedom of movement pact, the game rules actually demand an end to the rally. This event is known as a let, and the point is replayed. When I first start playing against an opponent, we often get in each other’s way. We literally tread on each other’s toes. However, we adapt to each other, and eventually angle around each other, weaving in and out during the rally in a veritable dance on the squash court. At this level we do not have a referee or judge. It is up to both of us to judge calls, and more often than not we err on the side of caution rather Squash is a microcosm portraying the attributes I will than risk taking unfair advantage. We want to win, but have in the practice of law, and I try to emulate it in facilitating a legitimate procedure takes precedence in my daily life. If I fall behind in a game, I take full re- both a court of squash and a court of law. With these elesponsibility, and do not try to blame anyone else. It is ments of fairness and professionalism and respect for the up to me to get back into it, and make the best of a dif- rules, the play of squash mirrors the ideal practice of law. ficult situation. I keep my cool; needlessly getting angry does not help solve problems in squash or in my general Sometimes after fighting off several match points, I filife. I must adapt when my game plan isn’t working, and nally succumb to a roll out shot from my opponent. always be ready to counter a wily and fluid opponent. Among the deadliest of low probability shots, a roll out shot is when the ball rolls down from a wall onto the Being able to think independently, effectively and to solve floor and is impossible to return. Sometimes, despite all novel problems are essential requirements for practicing my training and preparation and effort, I do not succeed. law. Law also requires precision and accuracy, as does That’s as true in squash as it is when trying to help a squash. Playing good squash requires a combination of legal client. A lawyer has to be able to accept potential skill, practice and experience. Some new players have loss without becoming disillusioned, and remain coma higher innate natural ability than others. Some have mitted to the care and wellbeing of every new client. a stronger athletic background. You improve at squash through intense practice and playing with those that know Squash has been around for a long time, and like the more than you. Once you have played a lot of games, you practice of law, the involved materials and strategy have also develop the experience that helps resolve common adapted and improved over time. While wood was the situations, and also respond to unexpected situations. In material of choice in the past, graphite has replaced it. law, there is a similar combination of skill, practice, and The balls are made from improved rubber. Analogously, experience. Some may have stronger natural ability or legal resources have become increasingly, if still scantily, backgrounds upon beginning the study of law. It is through electronic and online. But all this new technology still restudy, practice, and hard work that law students improve, quires versatile and improved players and practitioners. learning from more experienced lawyers and educators. Squash was once restricted to the wealthy male elite of society, like law, but they are both now open to and seek A good squash match actually exemplifies conflict reso- a wide variety of participants. A diversity of backgrounds lution. If I have a disagreement with my opponent, we and experiences can only improve the sport of squash, aim to resolve it to the best of our abilities, fairly and hon- and the practice of law. It is into this new era of law that I estly. During match play I have to keep out of the way hope to enter, as a squash player and aspiring law student. of my opponent, and prevent potential obstruction. My opponent must do the same, and if either of us breaks
M y grandmother with cancer A Haiku Tlell Raffard, UBC 2L Sigh to cover pain Comforting other patients Eroded within
Eagle at vesuvius Michael Coleman, Coleman Fraser Parcells From a sturdy branch overhanging the harbour the imperious bird stares haughtily, a stern Roman senator, piercing eyes encased in a scalloped crown of strong white feathers. A sudden launch and wide descending arcs target the beach. Talons twist a fish head from the rocky shore amid raucous complaints of the frenzied feeding seagulls. Cacophonous crows clustered on wires above the grey ferry dock stridently applaud the show as the eagle soars aloft bearing its prize with nonchalant grace.
Portia: “A pound of that same merchant’s flesh is thine. The court awards it and the law doth give it. Shylock: “Most rightful judge! Portia: “And you must cut this flesh from off his breast. The law allows it and the court awards it. Shylock: “Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare!
(Curtain)
William Shakespeare, “A Merchant of Venice”
Contributors Laing Brown BLG LLP
Eric Laxton UBC
Laing is a partner at BLG and a UBC Law alumnus. He practices corporate and commercial law. He has been deeply involved in Vancouver community activities, particularly in the visual arts. He is former President of both the Vancouver Art Gallery and the Contemporary Art Society of Vancouver.
Eric is a second year J.D. student at UBC. He holds a B.A. in Psychology and Business from the U of O. He has also studied Professional Writing and English at York. His varied legal interests include Corporate Finance and Entertainment Law. He enjoys creative writing and derives great pleasure from the beauty of words.
Michael Coleman Coleman Fraser Parcells
James Wilson Morrice 1865-1924
Having dropped out of his legal studies at UoT, James Michael is married with three sons and four grandchil- became an intrepid traveller and one of Canada’s best dren. He practices law with Coleman Fraser Parcells in known Impressionist painters. His parents were still disDuncan. Past president of Cowichan Valley and Nanaimo appointed that he never made it to be a big time lawyer. County Bar Associations, former Mayor of Duncan and President of the Federation of Canadian Municipalities, Tlell Raffard UBC Mike’s poetry has been published internationally. Tlell received her BA in Theatre and Creative Writing from UBC, has written and produced a couple of full-length plays, and has participated in other theatre Joshua Dedora UBC Joshua Dedora was born in the dark golden age of Sas- projects in a variety of capacities. Her interests lie in katchewan from where he jumped the stubble to learn of stageplay, screenplay, and poetry, and she is explorlife and the world and literature that lead to nothing and ing how these might coincide with the study of Law. thus he is now studying the law.
Jordan Forsyth UBC
Aminollah Sabzevari UBC
Aminollah Sabzevari is a 1st year student, with a backJordan Forsyth is a first year law student at the UBC. He ground in physics and philosophy. His interests include has an undergraduate degree in English Literature from most racquet sports, etymology, and long walks on the the University of the Fraser Valley beach.
Ilia Korkh UBC In hits defense, Ilia would like to say that he is not that which he is, and everything else is a lie. But he still likes red wine, Romantic poetry and beautiful women.
Kyla Lee UBC
Steven Wexler UBC The Artist Currently known as Professor Wexler has been at UBC for almost 40 years. If he ever retires, he will be known as The Artist Formerly Known as Professor Wexler”.
Kyla grew up and honed her mind by learning the laws Eric Wordsworth UBC of Victorian trees before deciding to learn western law Eric is an unfotrunate descendant of the famed Wordthat is against nature. sworth of the Romantic Age. Eric’s life has been spent wandering lonely as a cloud among daffodils . seeking inspiration to live up to his worthy and wordy last name.
Esoteric [e-sae’terik]: adjective
1. a: designed for or understood by the specially initiated alone b: requiring or exhibiting knowledge that is restricted to a small group; 2. a: limited to a small circle b: private, confidential 3. of special, rare, or unusual interest
Thank You The Editor of Esoteric would like to thank: the Law Students’ Society for providing a platform for the magazine; Sharon Mah for her insights and guidance throughout the formative stages of this year’s issue; Borden Ladner Gervais for its generous financial support and continued involvement in student initiatives; All the contributors who submitted the fruit of their creative labours; The previous editors and contributors for creating the foundation upon which we have built this issue, and upon which we hope to continue a successful and interesting annual publication; To all our readers, we thank you for your readership and welcome your questions and suggestions. Please
help us continue the tradition of Esoteric magazine. We look forward to expansion and growth into the future. Please, contact us with comments, submissions, and criticisms at:
Esoteric Magazine
Faculty of Law, University of British Columbia 1822 East Mall, Vancouver, BC V6T 1Z1 http://esoteric.wordpress.com
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And remember to sumbit your works for our next issue.
Esoteric Magazine University of British Columbia, Faculty of Law Publication
University of British Columbia 1822 East Mall Vancouver BC V6T 1Z1
Canada Tel: 604-822-3151 Fax: 604-822-4781 www.law.ubc.ca
ART AND DESIGN: Ilia Korkh
lnieH ssuR :otohP revoC
THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF: Eric Laxton
Cover Photo: Russ Heinl
Founded in 2003, Re-launched 2009
