Time & Energy by JustinCecil

From a series entitled ‘Confessions’, this poem by JustinCecil perfectly reminds us all that at little effort and faith in difficult times can make all the difference.

She said to me
Just try – you’ll see
Everything takes
Time & energy

Like Moses cleaving
The deep red sea
To reveal steady
Land for retreat

No one believed
Till below their feet
The ground made way
And goals were reached

Nothing’s gained
Everything takes
Time & energy


Tamirah Taylor

We hope that these two delicate and emotive water colour portraits brighten this cold November day for all of you! Thank you to artist Tamirah Taylor for submitting these lovely paintings.




Dear Perfect Stranger by Jasmine Bhullar

An entertaining and creative excerpt from a series of poetry titled “A Sampling”, sent in by writer Jasmine Bhullar. Enjoy!

Dear Perfect Stranger

Your honey coloured hair draws me into you.
Into you like a moth to a flame.
The honey coloured mane of yours,
decorated with speckles of mud brown strands,
is the first thing my eyes seek.

When I climb aboard the train,
I swing my head around.
Hoping my eyes would catch a glimpse of your hair.

Your eyes are the colour of dried dirt.
Dried dirt speckled with specs of beach sand,
not really white but a light brown sand.
Slightly anti climatic to look at but why not.

Your body looks like it could use a work out.
Lets be real, quite more than just a work out.

But, to me you’re perfect.
Perfect for what I have planned.
That’s right I have plans for you.
Perfect plans.

I want to climb onto you.
Run my fingers through your honey strands,
decorated with the mud.
I want to look right into those dirty eyes.

I want you to look back, back at me.
I bet my eyes will be shinning a bright icy blue.
A gloss that I know is there because I’ll be excited.
I’d run my hands over your warm flesh and hope your just,
just as excited as me.

I’d reach behind my back,
pull my hair out of the rubber band.
And let the strands roam freely,
and gently graze your chest.

Slowly, my hands travel down the back of your neck,
towards your collar bones. Gently touching you.
My white bio gel nails contrasting against your skin.
I would slowly bring my nails in towards your throat.
Slightly graze your Adam’s apple with the tip of my index finger.
I would put a little more pressure.
Keep on pressing until the end.
Until those dirt eyes shut, until the head of honey mud speckled hair falls back.

I would get up.
Tie up my hair.
Smooth down my dress.
And walk, walk towards the nearest Tim Hortons.
I need a medium French Vanilla with Half Regular coffee.
Maybe even a donut.

Joy Division by Tristan Calayan

It was a clear April morn’

Swirling clouds reach the room,

People’s voices hasten the room’s atmosphere.

Alcohol and liquor splurge themselves,

Empathy and reason, left the room.

Call me tonight, I’m free.

Neon lights the street.

Collapsed on the floor, don’t call mum.

I’ll be alright, after all

Nothing I do makes any difference.

Questions, thoughts and queries,

Write me off, I gave up.

Brain danced itself away.

Celebration took away by concern and anger.

I can’t beat it all.

Say my name quietly,

“Mr. Nobody”


Welcome back to The Continuist! We are so excited for the 2018/2019 year and can’t wait to be able to experience your talent and celebrate with you

Our first publication of the year is focused on the idea of firsts. The first time you rode a bike, your first kiss, your first favourite film, your actual first time, we want to hear it all. We are taking submissions in forms of poetry, prose, visual art, and any other outlet that best showcases how you connect to the theme of firsts.

We are asking for submissions to be sent in by Thursday October 18th. Make sure that all images are in .jpg format and documents are .doc format. Please send all submissions to thecontinuist@gmail.com.

We cannot wait to hear from you!



Not On My Campus

By Quentin Stuckey

Act 1, Scene 1


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


Covering the story of the decade.


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


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


I just point and shoot. That’s it.


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.


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


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


And the Faculty Sex Scandal? That was here too?


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.




Yeah, what a week that was.


So, what have they done now?


Point, shoot and pay attention.


I’ll try.

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


Three, two, one and…action.


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.

Your puns aren’t funny.


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.

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


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


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!


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


Your father died of a caffeine overdose?


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.


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


I’d love a cup. Thank you!


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


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


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


I really have no strong feelings about that.




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

Awkward silence.

Is that it?


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.


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



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


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


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

Not on my campus!

A small number of students cheer.


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


“Star Wars” references are outdated.


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?


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!


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


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?




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.


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)



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.

But why?

I just told you why.


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

The STUDENTS surrounding her podium cheer.


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

The STUDENTS surrounding her podium cheer.


Me fail election? That’s unpossible!


“The Simpsons” references are outdated.


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

The STUDENTS surrounding his podium awkwardly clap.


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.


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,