After launching On Thinking Things on February 23rd, The Continuist is excited to announce that we are jumping right into our annual perfect bound publication. As in past years, this zine will consist of the best work we’ve received all year round, as well as fresh submissions from all of you lovely people! There is no theme for this zine, so send us all those photographs you have stashed in file folders, those words scraped together in cryptic .doc files, and any other form of art you’d like to showcase to the Ryerson and GTA community. I repeat, there is no theme, so send us all you got!
And another cool feature about this new zine: we are accepting music submissions! We’ll be putting together a soundtrack of songs made up of Continuist audio submissions that will be available for streaming and/or download. Covers of Ye will also be accepted to ensure maximum mixtape fire.
As usual, send us your submissions to firstname.lastname@example.org, and make sure they’re in by Sunday, March 20th 11:59pm. The launch will be happening on April 7th at the Arts & Letters Club (14 Elm Street, Toronto ON); further details will be available in the near future.
PS: If you missed our table in the SLC last week, here’s a sneak peak!
you ship you have no hold for this
no shoe box under bed for this
no tea glass, no ear holes, no eye drops to water with
have you must oar holes then
and a shore to row to in a boat so full
must have you a cliff there to niche to
and a square of fence to tend
you have must heard from far bells
felt the warm slick of earthworm on your stem and speckled terrace
your cabin weed, your salt fare, your sailing jar, your air holes
you must have taken a garden aboard
if you will not take my lavender in your terracotta shoulder bowl
my lilac on your summer raft
alfalfa to the loamy shore
Jordan Donovan, frequent submitter of both written and visual content, graces us with one of her minimalist collages for this weeks, “‘Find Me’ on Friday”. Her piece combines a neutral setting with supernatural elements; interweaving text and visuality to you for your Friday.
“Am I Dreaming” is the first of what we hope to be many multimedia submissions to our Friday collective. Submissions for the collective can be sent to email@example.com, and we also welcome general submissions for our blog and print publications at any time!
Happy Friday, dreamers ☺️
“Am I Dreaming” – Jordan Donovan
Back from Reading Week, we are ready to launch the “On Thinking Things” zine! We will be tabling our current and past zines along the Ryerson SLC-Library bridge this Thursday, February 25th. Come by anytime between 1-5 and pick up a zine, make a button, or just sit and talk much.
Look out for our upcoming call for submissions for the perfect-bound zine, it’s coming up soon, folks.
It’s that day of the week again: Friday, Friday, Friday. A day to watch the hours melt into Saturday, or to force productivity in one last attempt to end the week on a high note.
This week, we are pleased to present you with a piece by The Continuist’s very own, a one Cameron MacDonald. In his own words (before we get to the ones he’s found), Cameron describes his process.
Process for Finding Words
This piece was written with two main sources: Donald Allen’s The New American Poetry and PsycInfo, an online database of international psychological literature. I chose pages of Allen’s seminal compilation of postwar poets with a random number generator, put my finger down on the page, and typed out the line that was closest. I would then type in the middle word inPsycInfo and use the amount of words in the aforementioned line of poetry to determine which title I would type down. The words in these two lines would then be scrambled at my discretion, with some grammatical symbols added for poetic effect. Each stanza represents each line pairing. This calculated yet indeterminate approach was utilized in an attempt to represent the dissonance in the 1950s between poetry’s “anti-tradition” and the conservative, clinical approach to writing, paralleled by the resurgence of psychoanalysis.
And here is the final product, a found poem just in time for Friday.
New American Psychology
The concentration increased.
More fluid are we
in it, the sun’s disease.
Soluble beauty of light—
the Alzheimer’s white.
videotape disorders the student
of behavior. The linen on
the chairs with purple effect!
On emotional feedback;
on a behavioral task. Of
extinction and place.
Of gated preference. Of isolated
effects. I will only place
naloxone there. And was a queer
conditioned by ethanol? Is aversion
induced and conditioned? Place
is voice for when you are alone:
you love it different.
Ever wonder what it would be like if the glistening, lo-fi sounds of indie-rock and shoegaze coalesced with a kaleidoscope of mid 20th century stock footage? I hadn’t either, until I watched Commuted and birdboy’s stunning collaboration below.
Former Continu-kid David Eatock’s most recent release All’s Well That Ends Well is a weaving sonic narrative that merges fuzzy distortion, glittering, glassy sweeps, and chilling pitch orientations that would melt any DIIV-lover’s heart. Though the vocals sometimes have a difficult time cutting through the layers of aural bliss, the lyrical uncertainty and octave harmonies only add to the album’s overall cloudy, muddied feel.
On a track-by-track basis, the album is chock-full of paradox. The album waltzes in with the sombre doo-wop “Prom Night,” followed by the catchy cleans and pulsating crunch of “Matilda,” a character that plays out through the tracks both lyrically and sonically. With the clatter of what is indeterminably a snare or a train track, the listener is enchanted by the simultaneously distant-yet-intimate acoustic track “The First Child.” “It’s Understandable” maintains a similar aura of desperation, but the clicking drum track and the reverb of the guitar brings a certain hopefulness and clarity that carries into “Go Where Your Friends Are,” a shimmering tune with an irresistible bridge of crisp strums and a repetitious synth line that drives the song. The most jarring collide occurs at the end of the album between the cacophonous noise and falsettos of “Dream Coffins” and the multi-layered, explosive dreamland of “Farewell Matilda.” It’s these types of contradictions that make this album shine, creating an intricate and atmospheric sound-story that is paralleled beautifully by the collage of film clips put together by bird boy. The visuals emphasize the despair that carries through the album, and bring along with it a sense of nostalgia for a lost time both missed yet ungrudgingly remote.
Without further ado:
To support Commuted, click here.
To support birdboy, click here.
Another found poem for your Friday by Kristina Pantalone. Words borrowed from Melina Marchetta’s beautiful novel, Jellicoe Road (pages 186-187). If you find yourself finding yourself in someone else’s words, submit them to us for next week. We hope you have a splendid weekend!
Nothing to Forgive
132 complicated minutes
hovers over to warn me
days before he left,
as he traced marks
left by slightly scratchy buttons at eye-level;
he says “forgive me,”
despair spilling like fire
towards the boys around here;
he says, “solace,” wanting to take her hand
but doesn’t dare ground her with shadows;
he could not comprehend it the whole time,
covered in sobbing,
she says, “nothing to forgive;”
no one felt the hand disappear and
she died right there.