Not On My Campus

By Quentin Stuckey

Act 1, Scene 1

CAMERA MAN

You said we were getting dinner. What are we doing here?

NEWSCASTER

Covering the story of the decade.

CAMERA MAN

At this place? What’s so special about a university campus?

NEWSCASTER

Don’t you pay any attention when you’re working?

CAMERA MAN

I just point and shoot. That’s it.

NEWSCASTER

Spicer University has been nothing but a hot bed for scandal,
controversy and outcry. The public can’t get enough of this place.

They eat that shit up.

THE CAMERA MAN turns around and examines the campus behind him.

CAMERA MAN

Aw man. Is the place that accidentally hired that Neo-Nazi to come speak to the History and Politics majors?

NEWSCASTER

They claimed it was a mix up. We were right to not believe them.

CAMERA MAN

And the Faculty Sex Scandal? That was here too?

NEWSCASTER

That’s right. And the Stale Bread Fiasco, and the Graffiti
Catastrophe, and the Dating App Attack and of course… the Night of the Neo-Nazi.

CAMERA MAN

Wow.

NEWSCASTER

Yeah, what a week that was.

CAMERA MAN

So, what have they done now?

NEWSCASTER

Point, shoot and pay attention.

CAMERA MAN

I’ll try.

THE NEWCASTER adjusts his hair as THE CAMERA MAN holds up the hand-
held studio camera directly in front of him.

CAMERA MAN

Three, two, one and…action.

NEWSCASTER

Good evening, I’m a common newscaster… with a new haircut. I’m
currently standing in front of Spicer University, home to over twenty
thousand undergraduate students and the last time I checked: thirty
graduate students. In the past this educational institution has been
known for its innovative programs fostering the brightest, most
articulate minds of this generation. But, lately, this has not been
the case. From Neo-Nazis to stale bread: this campus has seen better
days. And now, a new controversy is currently spicing things up at Spicer.

CAMERA MAN
Your puns aren’t funny.

NEWSCASTER

Just point and shoot Gus. (pause) Last year, the enrolment rate at
this school saw a dramatic decrease; putting Spicer under serious
financial trouble. The President of the university, Floyd Swift, has
recently come under scrutiny for his new plan to increase enrolment
and cut costs. He blames the low enrolment rate on a variety of
circumstances, but he mostly points the finger at the caffeine
consumption of the students. As such, Swift is determined to remove
all on campus cafes, coffee kiosks, vending machines and impose a
campus wide ban on all caffeinated beverages. Swift states that this
plan would save the university thousands of dollars as the cafes,
kiosks and vending machines cost a fortune to maintain and Spicer
receives none of the profits. At least not enough, to quote the
President. As you can well imagine, many students do not take this proposed ban lightly.

ENT MARDI JERRY, KATHERINE KANE, STUART GOLDBERG, ARIEL BROWNE and
STUDENTS.
MARDI, KATHERINE and STUART are all in front of podiums CS, with ARIEL
BROWNE and various STUDENTS gathered around each individual podium.
All three are delivering a speech, however each speech is self
contained.

MARDI

Fuck you, Floyd Swift!
The STUDENTS surrounding her podium cheer.

MARDI

I am a student, just like the rest of you. And when I’m on this
campus, pulling an all nighter to put the finishing touches on my
essay, I have the luxury of walking to the on-campus Starbucks and
buying myself a grande sized double double. Caffeine is a miracle
worker, I wouldn’t have made it to my third year without it. And
Spicer University thinks that they can take that away from me? Away from all of us?! Well, not on my campus!

KATHERINE

I applaud you, Floyd Swift. I lost my father to caffeine.

STUDENT

Your father died of a caffeine overdose?

KATHERINE

Car accident. Which never would’ve happened had he not stopped at
Starbucks and as a result taken a different route to work where that
Ford Ranger was practically waiting for him. (pause) Look at all the
conclusive research conducted by the Spicer Health Department. They
discovered that caffeine is ten times more harmful than alcohol,
tobacco, marijuana, MDMA and cocaine. If people need to do a few lines
to help them focus, okay. I am young just like the rest of you. But
drinking coffee in its pure, black state and even lacing it with dairy
and sugar. That’s just gambling with your life! And, there are people
out there who want to keep that junk on campus for our misguided consumption?! Not on my campus!

The STUDENTS surrounding her podium cheer.

STUDENT

Stuart, how do you feel about this whole coffee thing?

STUART

I’d love a cup. Thank you!

STUDENT

No, no. I’m talking about the proposed caffeine ban.

STUART

Oh, that business. They want to ban soda too? Like Root Beer?

STUDENT

Yeah. Soda has a high caffeine content. So, it’s out.

STUART

I really have no strong feelings about that.

STUDENT

None?

STUART

None. I just really think that you should all vote for me as your Student President of Spicer University.

Awkward silence.

STUDENT
Is that it?

STUART

What more do you need? My name is Stuart Goldberg, I’m a second year
Psychology student and I think I’d do a swell job of representing the
students of Spicer University as your Student President.

STUDENT

You’d be working alongside Floyd Swift, is that correct?

STUART
Yes.

STUDENT

Would you try to talk him out of the caffeine ban or would you support it?

STUART

I told you, I just want to win. (pause) Can we remove this person? But give him one of my t- shirts first.

STUDENT

But what if you don’t win? What if one of the other candidates beats you?

STUART
Not on my campus!

A small number of students cheer.

MARDI

Vote Mardi Jerry and your voices will be heard. We can work together to defeat the Evil Empire of Spicer University.

STUDENT

“Star Wars” references are outdated.

MARDI

No. What’s outdated is President Swift and his ill-treatment of
students so that he can save a few thousand dollars. You might as well
take away our study spaces if money is so important, wouldn’t that save Spicer a few thousand? Maybe a few million?

KATHERINE

Racism, sexism, ageism, every kind of ism would not exist on this
campus if it weren’t for caffeine. Maybe some of you think that you
look badass sipping on your to go cup, showing off some disposable
motivational quote. But do you know what’s more badass? Saying no to
drugs in travel mugs and yes to the Spicer University Caffeine Ban!

STUDENT

Katherine! What do you think of your opponent: Mardi Jerry?

KATHERINE

Miss. Jerry? A third year Arts & Contemporary Studies major, as well
as a Pro-Caffeinator. Let me tell you something about Mardi, she spent
a semester at Greenwood before transferring to Spicer. Making her an
illegal alien! She’s not even from here! Is that who you want to elect?

STUDENTS

No!

KATHERINE

Wouldn’t you rather have a fourth year English student who has stuck
by Spicer through all the multiple scandals and still believes…
KATHERINE begins tearing up.

KATHERINE

I’m sorry. I just thought about my father and how proud he would be if I were your next Student President. I miss you, Daddy.

STUDENTS (sympathetically)

Awe.

STUART

Opinions, facts and theories are overrated. Educational institutions
are overrated. Educate yourself for crying out loud. Stop asking me questions and just vote for me.

STUDENT
But why?

STUART
I just told you why.

MARDI

Caffeine ban? Not on my campus! Vote Mardi Jerry!

The STUDENTS surrounding her podium cheer.

KATHERINE

Caffeine? Not on my campus! Vote Katherine Kane as your next Student President!

The STUDENTS surrounding her podium cheer.

STUART

Me fail election? That’s unpossible!

STUDENT

“The Simpsons” references are outdated.

STUART

Not on my campus! Vote for Stuart Goldberg! Fucking do it.

The STUDENTS surrounding his podium awkwardly clap.

EXT all the STUDENTS.

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Lover’s Tangent

By Bronwen Spolsky

I don’t know. / Maybe you’re beyond it. / Beyond this.
I don’t know, maybe you, you think about what happened once or
twice a week and it’s kinda like thinking about a bad kiss or a
shit birthday present or something. The thought’s there but it
doesn’t really mean much. And you’re pretty distant from it but
of course, you still remember. It just can’t affect you now. The
memory just rolls off of you, like, like fucking water droplets
on a duck. Not that you need a stupid metaphor to get what I’m
saying. But I think I have the right to be selfish here. I mean,
I was with you for a year, or a year and a half rather and I
think I owe it to myself. I deserve to speak my mind- especially
because you spoke your mind all the time and I shut my mouth and
hung on every word. You remember that, don’t you? That took some
effort, honestly. I think I liked listening to you complain
about your art but when you talked about bullshit at work, that
was annoying as hell. But anyway, maybe you’re beyond it. Maybe.
But I’m not. I’m not. How could I be, really? I romanticized you
in too many ways too much of the time. I can’t even pass the
convenience store without a lump in my goddamn throat. And I
still can’t figure out why I keep the books you gave me where
you written on the index page some ridiculous embellished quote,
right there in the binding. With the ink bleeding to the page.
It said something like “love you to the moon and back” but
much, much worse. And don’t get me wrong, I know why you left
me. I know why. But it still rubs me the wrong way, you know?
The “what if” just irks me. It’s like I see you everywhere. It’s
like your name is spelt in my alphabet cereal or I see some girl
who looks like you from the back and I pull this crazy stunt to
see her face to only see it’s my coworker and I just terribly
embarrassed myself. And then I have to go into work and see her
and pretend I can remember her name. But I don’t. I really
don’t. / It’s absurd. And sometimes I think about other people
like me. Perhaps, there’s other whack jobs just like me who are so heart broken and misunderstood. And maybe those crazies are
out in the streets murdering their great aunts or cutting their
toenails with scissors. I don’t know. I just think that this is
how people go crazy, fucking crazy. And I don’t want that for
me. And I certainly don’t want that for you. It would be
terrible if you’re talking to Jenny, you’re still friends with
Jenny right? Well, you’re talking to Jenny and you say, oh yeah
well, my ex has gone mad and she goes, how so? And you tell some
story about me on the news and I’ve choked my cat to death or
something. That would be terrible. And I’m not close to anything
like that. I promise. That’s normal, I think, to feel sad about
someone you used to love. Or someone you even just miss. It’s
normal. But to see you here now, even to see you see me here
now, I can’t help but think you’re not beyond this. That perhaps
you’re just swimming through your days just like me. Just like
me you’re getting up in the morning to the same alarm clock, the
same beat up pillows and you might think for a moment I’m in bed
with you. For a moment you think I’m going to lean over and shut
off the alarm. But I’m not there and the alarm keeps going.
Simple things. And I notice them now more than ever. And I know
people get over shit like this. Sure. You have casual sex for a
couple months and then you move on. And that would be good for
me. Sure it would. Because I know I can find someone else but I
don’t want to. I don’t want to. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that
you have to hear me admit it. But that’s how it is. I’m sorry.

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS: PLAYTIME

Thanks to everyone who submitted to our online collection of Attachments! It is always such a treat to follow the subjective yet versatile experiences that connects individuals to our themes. We’re grateful for your thoughts!

As the semester continues, we are inclined to step away from some seriousness and elaborate further on conceptions of play. For our final publication of the year, please send us your contemplations of plays on words, times of play, excerpts of written plays, perhaps? We want it all!

Playtime will be released the first week of April at our launch party to celebrate the last publication of the semester. As always, please send writing in .doc and images in .jpg. All other playable content is welcome for viewing at our event as well; send us playlists, short films, moving content, artwork to display, etc. Send all submissions to thecontinuist@gmail.com by March 17 end of day! We quite literally cannot contain our excitement.

Playfully yours,

THE CONTINUIST


play

Where I am, where you ought to be, where I’m not by Kris Dionio

This written piece, titled Where I am, where you ought to be, where I’m not” by Kris Dionio is an emotional and descriptive post-breakup account through a home where once, two had shared their love. Kris is a frequent submitter to The Continuist and we couldn’t be more grateful for yet another one of their contributions! A big thanks to them for showing us how they see Attachment.

Where I am, where you ought to be, where I’m not

Where I am. Old sketches I drew of you–scattered, strewn over hardwood floors. Sheets of snow on brown oak. Grey mounds of ash–a desk dusted. Is it patchouli? Sandalwood? Nag champa? It all looks the same now. Journals stained with coffee rings–they remind me of your finger prints–something to hold onto when you can’t anymore. Clear plastic water bottles–on the floor, on the desk–some still filled with water, but not like you’re there to drink them anymore. Dirty ceramic mugs. Clean laundry. An unmade bed with no one laying in it–

I cannot tell if I am haunted or enchanted by the way you have left, but still remain.

By the way the light breaks through the black curtains, casting a spotlight where you should be–where you ought to be. By the way my bed has just enough room for someone else–where you ought to be. By the way the desk hasn’t shifted, the books haven’t been shelved, the walls haven’t been painted, and the posters haven’t changed since the first day you walked in. Since the last day you walked out–where you ought to be. Outside this room, outside this mess–where you ought to be. Where I’m not.

You Matter by Mario Enrique Alvarez

Just because February is almost over, doesn’t mean the love is! Sticking to our theme of Attachment, Mario sent us a poem about a lasting love; one that even through the hard times it’s still there because it is more powerful than any barrier that might get in the way.

You Matter

I woke up this morning to your gaze

And I saw that smile upon your face

You stared at me like you were in a daze

As we both occupied the same bed at your place

 

I painted a picture in my mind

From the dream I had last night

The image of you was all that I could find

As your beauty hugged the canvass tight

 

In a world so cold it embraces hate

Where we both feel like we don’t belong

But meeting you was a work of fate

Cause together we play like we’re the same old song

 

So I will tell you tonight

That it doesn’t matter who wins every fight

Cause your heart belongs inside mine

And you matter so much to feel just fine

 

Our hearts are beating but they’re still in repair

We reached a point where love just wasn’t so fair

But it’s too late now to mourn those who don’t care

And we’ll find a way to deal with the wear-and-tear

 

Something that I want you to understand

That I breathe a little easier when you’re around

And I never want to let go of your hand

I’ll always be there and you’ll be safe and sound

 

We live in a world that’s driven by hate

And it makes us feel like we don’t belong

But we both met like it was a sign of fate

And we’re so in sync like we’re the same old song

 

And I will tell you tonight

That all of our demons won’t win this fight

And I’ll keep it warm enough inside for you

Cause you matter so much to feel this blue

 

Sleep for me is not a sigh of relief

Cause my past haunts me in my dreams

But when I lay next to you I find peace

And all those dreams are now full of gleam

 

You told me that you don’t feel real

And loneliness is an activity in which you thrive

But your heart is one that I want to steal

And you matter to me cause you make me feel so alive

 

I will tell you this every night

That the darkness in our lives will soon turn bright

And even when you don’t feel fine

You’ll matter enough for me to be mine

 

And I will tell you this every night

That it doesn’t matter who’s wrong or right

And we both can stay in this bed

Cause you matter so much to me instead

The Intimacies of the In-Between by Hayley Adam

Happy Valentines day! Thank you to second year film student Hayley Adam for sharing these atmospheric pieces, and bringing an ethereal romance to our day.

The Intimacies of the In-Between

Often our lives are measured by milestones. By
relationships, by graduations, by successes. These landmarks are
deemed of most importance, yet occur so rarely. And it is this
that causes us to forget about the importance of the otherwise
overlooked. The otherwise overlooked that is squeezed into the
crevices of these overshadowing moments; that is known as the in
between. The in between is the irrelevancies of everyday routine.
It is softer and less climatic but it is the constant. It is
simple, raw and sometimes bland, but reality. And it is here, in
this time, that we do the most living. This series of photographs
documents the soft moments of importance. From the signs of a
changing season to a warm moment with friends, The Intimacies Of
The In Between explores the underappreciated moments of the
everyday.

By: Hayley Elizabeth Adam

tumblr_oqdqh7ZlQJ1uq8av0o1_400tumblr_oqdqfzuuye1uq8av0o1_400tumblr_oqdqekHbko1uq8av0o1_400tumblr_oqdq4nI0Qg1uq8av0o1_400

Two Becomes One by Matt Glavin

This piece is a beautiful addition to our February theme, exploring the implications on oneself from both emotional and literal bonds. Thank you so much for sharing with us Matt!

Two Becomes One

I want you to hold me, again. Hold me like that saxophone bit in Hot Dreams held us then; holds me now, getting intimate with my ears, winding its way through my brain tissue to peak at the thoughts within. Thoughts that, too, don’t stay. The saxophone in the song doesn’t last forever either, not even on replay. It built up the exit and crashed as its way out.

Hold me like we held each other, Hot Dreams always playing in the background; we forgot they were there. We were holding things that were more concrete, physical, real enough when you’d lean in to touch. Don’t tell me love is metaphysical. Its thick, like blood, like silence after saxophones. Sounds have substance and weight too, you know. Just like love. We tied knots, made em’ thick too. We held on tight. Strengthened with vows too, hoping it’d make our hearts stick like glue. It was concrete, we swore, squeezing our love. It was six days past New Years.

Death clings to life, too.

I hold myself now. My hand in mind. I dig from nerve-endings to neurons, doing spring cleaning, time for gardening in purifying rays of sunshine, cutting out old vines. Sometimes I trip over them, finding lost memories that have grown into roots. Their mud and muck stick to my shoes and seep into bleeding hands and scraped knees. Sometimes, I throw them aside, running to find band-aids that’ll fit cuts and tears of this size. Sometimes, I check to make sure no one’s looking then I rebury them. I’ll add a note or edit in something different because I like to think it ended better than that. I’m just hoping it’ll be easier next time I trip.

But when I’m feeling smart and (- to myself -) kind, I hold onto them. I place them, delicate as they are, in the left breast pocket of my favourite shirt. There’s a hole where that pocket was now, you kept the shirt and I don’t think I can cross the lines necessary to get it back. But anyways, when I’m smart and kind, I carry them in that shirt with me. Each of those little tragedies are all you’ve left, I have none of your things. Each one is you, are what I have left of you, but they are also mine. These precious little gifts you’ve given me, I thank you for your time. You were always so thoughtful, while I was always so full of thoughts. You’ve stolen them for a month, but we’ve had time apart and I’m getting used to the idea of having sole possession of time again. Fuck that, who am I thinking like “you” and “I” could be separates. We both knew the law of contact: two things, once connected by proximity, remain bonded forever.

I wonder what lasts longer, attachment, or eternity?
I say, it’s the silence after the sax goes.

My Letter to You by Emily Mackey and Andrea Aguiar

To start this month’s theme of Attachment, Andrea and Emily, two first year English students, wrote each other friendship letters. They took the idea of attachment and moulded it to their reality – a strong bond after only a few short months. Enjoy!

My Letter to You

Dearest Andrea,

Coming to school this year I was so worried that I wouldn’t make any friends. Or, even worse, I would make friends but the connections would not be as strong as I am used to. You see, I don’t really do well with attachment and I was scared that it was going to be impossible to meet people who pushed past those fears. The second that I met you during orientation week these fears went away for me.  You were immediately one of the sweetest, most genuine people that I have ever met. I spent a lot of that day hoping that you felt the same way, that you felt an instant attachment to me in the same way that I did with you. I know now, months later, that you did feel the same and I am so grateful for that.

I see a lot of myself in you, be it our similar interests or same love for the people around us, but I also see a lot of the person I want to become. I see your easy temper, your quiet strength, and your ability to always be selfless no matter what. I hope that throughout our friendship I can pick up these qualities and become even half the person that you are. Our bond is so strong, it is one that I will cherish forever. I feel instantly comfortable whenever I am around you. From sweaty gym workouts to two in the morning, intoxicated sleepovers. There has never been a moment where I felt awkward or uncomfortable around you. Your presence welcomes and supports me always.

Thank you for being the other half of our wonderful friendship. Thank you for allowing me to voice attachment in such a personal way, though I am finding it difficult to explain how thankful I am for you and our friendship. Twenty years down the road, when we are both successfully living our best lives here in Toronto, we will look back on our early days of friendship and laugh about all the crazy things that we did. But it will all be in good heart because, throughout it all, we had each other.

Yours,

Emily

Dearest Emily,

I think people often fear attachment because of the instantaneous relation it has to being “clingy,” or so to speak. I used to fear attachment for this reason, because I didn’t want people to see me in that way. Through coming across the people I currently hold in my life I have realized that this is not true, and that being attached is a good thing. Attachment showcases the strengths in a relationship, and I have been able to explore this idea through my interactions with those dearest to me. You are one of those people.

When meeting you, I had gone into the situation knowing already that I intended to become friends with you. I worried that something would stand in the way of this, but as I write this now I cannot tell you how happy I am that nothing did. On that day you and I formed an instant bond as we shared our commonalities, and you made me feel more welcome than ever before. As we went about the activities of the day together, I knew that there was a growing attachment between the two of us, one that I was not afraid of in the slightest. It was then that I made a new friend in a place of which I thought the opposite would happen. Today, I can say that not only is that friend still with me, but she has grown into a sister and I could not be more thankful.

Each and every day our attachment grows for the better, to the point where my day begins to feel strange as a result of me not having seen you for a little while. You inspire me every day to be the best version of myself because you are who I aspire to be. We have only known each other for a short while but it feels like a lifetime, and I am excited to continue to grow the bond between us as we go into the future together. Thank you for being the best friend I could have asked for and more, I hope I have been the same to you.

Love Always,

Andrea