Headrush by The Continuist

The Continuist Presents:

Headrush

The Continuist is an online and printed publication run through the Faculty of Arts at Ryerson University in Toronto, Ontario. Our website gives local artists, photographers, writers and musicians exposure by featuring their work on a regular basis. Each small print publication is made up of original pieces that have been submitted to us by artists, and then carefully edited and designed by us. Our mandate is to provide an outlet for artists to display their work, to help them network with other artists, and to build a community of local talent. This publication is our largest zine of the year, made up of exceptional submissions that we received throughout the 2012/2013 term. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re always looking for submissions. Have a masterpiece just lying around? Share it with us! Email us at thecontinuist@gmail.com. Want more? Find us at: www.thecontinuist.com @thecontinuist www.facebook.com/thecontinuist Special thanks from the Continuist team goes out to: ACS program director StĂŠphanie Walsh-Matthews, PFACS and Faculty of Arts department. Our friends at Static Zine, Broken Pencil, Gutterbird Magazine, and the Toronto Zine Library for putting on events with us. And of course, each and every artist and friend for loving and supporting us. We love you, too. Always yours,

Emily Belanger

Ally Morris

Caitlyn Murphy

Elizabeth Barrette

Talking days and The heat of the sun And staring at Sinuous bridges with Black bangs and lips. My bangs are wisps Loved by red wine country to whom I have a flower, present and ready. My time spent in France, At night Soft canals and water pouring into them, Dark, hairy back alleys To find my way through. To have writhe and rise over me With an Apogee Moon in the sky. A country for whom I would give up the scent Of cigarettes Of typewriters And Gloom. France, I know I want to. In France I found A eulogy for myself, A boy I don’t remember. As I looked up to the sky, Laying down in the heather, Through willow tree leaves And caught her eye France finally fell And did believe That I am true And ‘til I die I’ll save this grass

For her and I.

Mitch Green

Yuli Scheidt

Michael McDonnell

& layout and design by: Francie Copelli

a small tumble of thoughts take over my space, my mind gentle - as if it were a piece of string dragged lightly, nearly floating over my body, my skin elated beneath it, soundlessly rising breathing into light my well of syncopated rhythm it stirs in me and pines and I see the forecast of nightingales, can feel their wind pushing by

Jamie Harvey

Catherine Hennessey

Laura Rojas

Michael Riggs

Rebecca Zynomirski

a Haiku for something American In my head I’m balancing on the grass you trimmed two days ago: drinking pink Fanta; see [y]our two-story toppling into the clouds like Newton’s apple Inside where You and yahoo!answers diagnosed me as crazy on December 22nd: prescribed to the tranquilizing leather La-Z-Boy; drugged with [y]our Hitachi plasma television; medicated by Lays and tragic news stories Alas! ‘tis you that utter such profanities as ‘fuck’ In the presence of a young lad teetering on a tricycle: and through troughs of tulips I see; fuck tangled in th[y] tool shed with the tarnished hedge cutters

Cameron MacDonald

Taylor Parkinson

Erin Leydon

Gabby Frank

That old station wagon in the woods is buried by trees with ropes tied round their trunks while the car keys sleep in the ignition, layered in cobwebs that surround them like blankets a group of youngsters fixed the wagon up during one rainy summer and they were giddy in their victory, but imagine their dismay when the keys turned and that old, paint chipped and squealing wagon drove itself into a pond, submerged its head in the muck and fell asleep there and I saw them then, I saw them frowning beneath the airborne and spinning tires like sad little sculptures and I went to them, as a friend, and I asked, “Why fix it? Don’t you know that it wants to be broken?”

David Eatock

Ben Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Neill

Erich DeLeeuw

Andrew Mastin

Unspooled I shall regroup myself as soon as I spool Down spooling up when I have my catch released but I am scattered currently the currents roll out rolling out as I attempt to spool Up Phoenix Simms

Andrea Manica

Nick Vo

My online persona has been Cultivated carefully Meticulously and maniacally Made for your viewing I am made out of pixels, bytes, and watts Displayed on your screen Scaled down from feet to inches Is my flesh no longer satisfactory? the colour of my eyes is replaced with a hash tag html the curvature of my hips displayed in code your fingers caress a track pad when they once caressed my cheek. Cassandra McCann

Tyler Ball

Elana Delaney

Camille Borody

& front and back covers by: Megan Stulberg

Megan Stulberg

Sofie Mikhaylova

Cale Weir

Duane Isaac