THE

FLYING WALRUS
APOCALYPSES &
V.42#1

CATACLYSMS

IN THIS ISSUE:
• LAST SUPPERS
• SURVIVAL TIPS
• YORK GOES DOWN THE HOLE
• THE DARK AGE OF FILM
• DECLINE OF THE WEST
PLUS:
APOCALYPTIC POEMS,
STORIES & COMIX
 EDITORIAL

CONTENTS:
EDITORIAL
Apocalypses & Cataclysms: An Introduction – Walter F. Walrus
APOCALYPSES &
CATACLYSMS:
Resist Pop-Ocalypse! The Real Change Happens Inside:

AN INTRODUCTION
How a Proper Apocalypse Can Work For You – N. Alexander Armstrong
Apocalypse Not Now – Lori-Ann Russell
HEALTH
Sister Psych’s Last Supper – Betty M.
Five Quick Tips to Enjoy Your New Healthy Lifestyle – Michelle Lambert & Richard Cheam
The Last Supper – Maria Golikova
ARTS WORKING DEFINITION
The King Will Hide & The People Will Be Afraid – Paul Costa Apocalypse: “To Reveal, To Unveil”
Free Apocalypse Inside Every Box – Roland Singer
Blue Bird – Ernest Reid Cataclysm: “To Wash Down”
Survival Tips – Blair Beauchesne
Davey Dapper – Ted Killin
The Monkey-Brained Apocalypse – Blair Beauchesne
It’s So Friggin’ Hot! – Curran Folkers
also called “Beginnings” and “Endings” but this is vulgar
Yorku Go Down The Hoooooooole!: How Higher Education Loses Because Of a
Low Flow Problem – Sasha Makarewicz
Prelude To 2012 – Ray Garcia The FLYING WALRUS looks at History:
“Armageddon” – Elise Haskell
Dark Age Of Film – Barry Germansky “Lather, Rinse, Repeat”
Dark Age Of Film: A Response –Ali Hersi
The Decline Of The West: Why It Doesn’t Matter –Ali Hersi
or: “Reveal, Renew, Return”
Extract Verbatim – Rhys Mendes
Mike Is Divorced In: Apocalypse Now (And Then) – Richie Holdick
Three Poems – Brennan Maynard “If the doors of perception were unscrewed from their
Boom And Echo – Kira Lancaster
The Pack – Dominic Licorish
jambs, every thing would appear to man as it is, unnec-
Shredded Pages, Lost Volumes: Lessons From An Art Installation At The Gladstone Hotel
– John Nyman
essarily confusing”
Tv Party – N. Alexander Armstrong
Final Exam – Taylor Abrahamse
The Plague – Frank Myrland Some Aphorisms on Apoca-lapse and Cat-Ass-Trophy
▶Empty hearts and stuffed bellies weaken ambition.
CONTACT:
◀ The magnificence of the cosmos is directly proportionate
Walrus@yorku.ca
325 Stong College to its insolubility.
Come visit us: Mon 3:30-5:00, Tues–Wed–Thurs 2:30-4:00 ◆ “I Am” is a butterfly whose movements are unpredictable.
647.237.4247 [Editor-in-Chief ]
▶ Time gives voice to the heart.
STAFF: ◀ While Ugliness is venerated, Beauty goes unrecognized.
N. Alexander Armstrong– Editor-in-Chief
Blair Beauchense– Associate Editor ◆ A facial expression can outrun any ambition.
Haley Anderson– Design/Layout
Ali Hersi– Arts Editor
▶ A moment can be broken by a smile.
Maria Golikova– Health Editor ◀ A moment of lucidity is a difficult occasion.
Madd Hattere– Photographer
Joshua Moore– Webmaster
◆ We only know good as good because we are sick.
Thank you to Webnews Printing ▶ Observers of change can only wait quietly.
CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS: Unification ◀ Every action is unfathomable.
The Flying Walrus is looking for submissions that relate to the theme “Unification”. Ac- ◆ We truly love all that is melted.
cording to modern, postmodern, post-postmodern, and post-post-post-? theories, we
are living in a fragmented state of being. Individuals are broken off from their culture.
▶ But we cling to the solid.
Even the individual shatters when one takes a close look. We exist in shards. The centre
cannot hold.
THE FLYING WALRUS IS NOT CALLING FOR THE END OF
But are we so broken? Can we not create new structures from the fractured pieces? The
job of the artist is to transform disparate pieces into a whole. Please send us articles, ANY INSTITUTION
images, comix, poems, and anything else which explores this theme in some way. Help only the end of the power that they hold.
us put Humpty-Dumpty back together again.

Send us your your pieces in 1000 words or less to: Love,

Walrus@yorku.ca by December 12, 2010!
Walter
2
EDITORIAL
RESIST POP-OCALYPSE! APOCALYPSE NOT NOW
THE REAL CHANGE HAPPENS INSIDE:
HOW A PROPER APOCALYPSE CAN WORK FOR YOU
– N. Alexander Armstrong
Armageddon Enzymes must have found their way into our culture’s water supply. In these dark-
ening days it seems I can’t leave the decompression chamber of my fortified stronghold without
overhearing some half-spent pushing his or her sour slant on the End Times in a petulant frenzy
of biblical cliché, extraterrestrial rhetoric, and/or enviro-maniac conspiracy theory. In an age of
overriding fear, in both secular and spiritual social groups, it is radical to suggest that we should
stop focusing on doomsday scenarios and instead focus on the development of the human soul.
It is time to take responsibility for ourselves and our world. We must stop shirking the fate of
the human species over to ancient prophecy or supernatural beings. We may be traveling head-
long into an era of massive change, but that change will happen first within our consciousness. It
will reconstitute the way we see the world, affecting our thinking and being on a deep level. This
process can only happen successfully if we resist the popular notion of Apocalypse, and embrace
its original meaning: “To remove the veil.”
Here is what we know: Our zeitgeist is rife with crises: ecological, economical, social, spiritual...
Who among you can claim to be something more than decentered avatar? It is common for
societies plugged into uncertain times to turn to Armageddon situations as a fearful solution
to our public and private woes. Yet it is extremely unproductive. We should not be looking to
natural disasters (dystopic) or an advanced alien species (utopic) to solve our problems for us.
We should be looking into ourselves and our fellow human beings for realistic answers based
on intelligence and compassion, rather than paranoia and distrust. We must reject the Pop-
ocalypse and embrace the Apocalypse—we must actively work to find a revelation. It seems that
most people do not like the notion of work in this leisure-centered society. Perhaps then we
should approach the Apocalypse playfully—We must actively play in the game of the world to
win a revelation.
Apocalypse is the moment when the veil lifts and reality, beyond ideology and conception,
reveals itself. This can only happen in individual perception; it will not be delivered by aliens,
masons, horsemen, or supercomputers. Apocalypse is the moment when your consciousness
shifts into a sublime state. The sum of your knowledge, your ideals, your identity, is dropped.
You will then find yourself on the interstellar dancefloor, twisting to the rhythms of the cosmos;
do you dance or just shuffle off ?
The Apocalyptic moment cannot be spoken about in any clear language. Our mundane ways of
thinking and speaking are part of the veil that is lifted in Apocalypse. This is why the discourse
of Apocalypse must take recourse in mythic and poetic ways of speaking. The mythic image
of the Hanged Man in the Tarot deck (“Aha,” you are saying, “I knew he was a goddamn New
Ager!”) is an exemplary representation of the individual in an Apocalyptic state. The Hanged
Man, for those unfamiliar, depicts a man suspended upside-down, tied to a tree by his foot. He
is not in agony, but a state of revelatory bliss. For the first time, he is seeing the world free from
his mental constructs. By turning his perspective upside-down, he is able to remove his precon-
ceived notions about how things ought to be. Instead, he is seeing the world as it is. This image
reflects the Norse myth of Odin, who hung himself upside-down from the world tree in order
to gain wisdom and insight into how the world works. To do this, he also had to pluck out one
of his eyes. How’s that for a new way of seeing!
It certainly is not in vogue, especially in a university setting, to go around discussing Tarot im-
ages and calling for a sudden shift in consciousness. But I am doing it, as are the rest of the staff
and contributors of The Flying Walrus. We admit we are humble eschatologists; the predic-
tions contained herein are not meant to be taken at face value. This is the work of individuals
aspiring to heighten their consciousness, change their perceptions, and continue their quest for
identity and insight. No answers are contained in these articles (except for maybe that one well-
researched piece), only questions. Questions and catalysts.
– Lori-Ann Russell
“Run for your lives, take shelter now,” yells a man from the alley way.
He has holes in his shirt and a shroud of cloth that barely covers his ankles.
“People, the Apocalypse is here!”
He makes his way toward the busy street, attracting shadowed eyes upon his disman-
tled attire, yet he remains untouched by the cynical stares of disbelief that bore into
him from all directions. His ranting continues throughout the day and into the late
hours of the night. The shopkeeper turns his Open sign to Closed, and the streetlights
turn to a dim yellow. The man returns to his place in the depth of the alleyway that is
smouldering in acid. He settles into a corner, amid the darkness, as the disease-ridden
rodents take their place among him.
The next day looms and it begins again. He retreats into the street, the same as the day
before. The shopkeeper turns on the radio to drown out the doomsaying shouts. The
DJ’s voice illuminates from the speakers:
“Okay folks, here’s Prince with his latest single 1999!”
The shopkeeper smiles to himself and begins to hum the tune. Suddenly, there is com-
motion in the streets. The shop keeper races to the door with heavy breath and pulsing
heart. Through the window he can see that the sky is purple. There are people running
everywhere. It is utter chaos. It is the apocalypse...
History has a way of repeating, even if it has to reinvent itself. Apocalyptic predictions
are present in nearly all cultures. In the year leading up to 2000, it was the Y2K scare.
People stayed away from their computers for days. After 2001, everything returned to
normal. We have survived 1999 and now a new terror has come upon us: 2012. The
new age of paranoia has dawned on the millennium generation. It has been spoken
about in the media, literature, films, and music. With the current influx of technol-
ogy taking over our brain waves, conspiracy theories are easily spread through blogs
and other raw internet sources. These theories only become real when enough people
believe in them. It happened in 1999, and now, only two years away from 2012, the
world is on its toes again. Recently armageddon theories focus on the onset of the
natural disasters which seem to be taking humans by storm worldwide. Hurricanes,
tornadoes, avalanches, landslides, they all have one thing in common: they don’t dis-
criminate.
Movies like The Day after Tomorrow and 2012 re-enforce prophesies that predict the
coming of the apocalypse. These films portray the end of the world as inescapable.
Novels such as Bill Douglas’s The Awakening, and Whitley Strieber’s 2012: The War
for Souls plague the literary landscape. The real apocalypse is the epidemic of amxiety
surrounding 2012. Soon, the whole world will begin to live in fear of a multifarious
second coming.
So, when will it happen? No one knows, but people are having a hell of a time guess-
ing. Face it, the world is not frantic because the world is going to end--they are frantic
because they don’t know when the world is going to end. Deep down, people know
that this life must draw to a close, but the disaster going to strike when we least expect
it. Paranoia is highly contagious.
Although, there are other theories claiming that the 2012 apocalypse is just another
hoax, a distraction for something worse, something no one is aware of yet. It has no
date, or set plan, it is the definitive end. It is The Coming...
“Once again, that was Prince and 1999.”
The DJ cues another song on his set list when all of a sudden, silence.
“Sorry folks, there seems to be a bit of commotion down Yonge Street. It looks like a
tractor trailer carrying twelve tanks of purple paint has exploded. No worries, police
will arrive on the scene shortly...” 
3
HEALTH
SISTER PSYCH’S LAST SUPPER
– Betty M.
Grunge queen Betty M., of the highly acclaimed experimental girl
group Sister Psych, dishes out her final fantasy feasts.
If apocalypse refers to a ‘lifting of the veil’ in an age of misconceptions and falsified realities,
then let this be your reality check. Stop eating food you don’t enjoy, start cooking for yourself,
and be aware of what goes into the food you consume. The best way to accomplish all this is to
stop being so trusting of pre-prepared foods, and more importantly, the imposed idea of con-
venience. With practice and confidence, cooking is not so difficult. “Cooking with love” really
does make your food taste better, not because it is magic, but because you care enough to try
your best and assess any issues you may have along the way.
It is important to feel good and have a physical appearance that reflects that, but simply depriv-
ing yourself of good food in an effort to modify the way you look is ludicrous. Understanding
portion control and balancing a meal with various components is a more worthwhile effort. This
allows your body to break down and absorb nutrients at different times, thus allowing for more
comfortable digestion.
“Carbohydrates, for example, spend the least amount of time in the stomach, while protein stays
in the stomach longer, and fats the longest.”
http://digestive.niddk.nih.gov/ddiseases/pubs/yrdd/
Another advantage to cooking for yourself and your loved ones is that it allows for a better
understanding of seasonal produce and availability. For me, enjoying seasonal produce, whether
eaten as-is or used in a recipe, is like having a passionate love affair with someone in the prime
of their lives. You think to yourself “holy shit, it couldn’t get any better than this,” even if that
momentary conviction is fleeting.
Therefore, when the challenge was set forth for me to create my ideal last supper in the face of
an apocalypse of “the world is ending” variety, I had some serious factors to consider. My answer
would depend on the country I am residing in, and in what season the sun would finally set for
the last time. After some debate, I selected Canada (rather than my current home of Scotland
or my former home of Japan). The reason for this definitive decision is quite simply because I
consider it my home, filled with the people I love, food memories we’ve made, and my intrinsic
understanding of the seasons and general product availability.
Since I am one who likes to be prepared for all sorts of situations, I decided it would be best to
devise an outline for my dream meals within the context of each season rather than to try and
predict a fate and date beyond my control. Though some of the menus seem laden with filling
foods and too many items, I assure you they are intended for small portions of pleasure and thus
complement each other well. If my last meal, as I would hope it would be, is shared with various
valued companions, I would make more than necessary to allow for selective eaters and second
(and third) helpings. I pay special attention to the desserts because they are strongly tied to posi-
tive food memories.
It goes without saying that I would require ample amounts of music to be available for every
one of these meals and their preparation.Whether cooking for yourself or enjoying the culinary
offerings of a trusted peer or chef, you never know if your next meal is going to be your last.
If the sun were to set, for the last time, in the thick of a sweaty SUMMER…
This meal would be served around a large table in a backyard, with good friends and
good music. Most of the meal would be prepared earlier in the day, allowing for the
burgers, ribs, and corn to be finished on the BBQ between the salad and main course.
Salad: Standard Summer Salad- mixed greens, red onion, homemade candied nuts,
homemade croutons, goats cheese, dried berries, and pear, topped with a homemade
raspberry balsamic vinaigrette.
Main Plate: A Mini BBQ’d Burger (homemade burger topped with tomato, avocado,
sautéed mushrooms, BBQ sauce, mayonnaise, Dijon mustard, bacon and real cheddar
cheese) served alongside two perfectly cooked (meat falling off the bone) Sticky, Sweet-
and-Spicy BBQ Ribs, and sides of Garlicky, Sesame Green Beans and Corn on the Cob.
Dessert: I would satisfy our need for a sweet treat to beat the summer heat in a light
and fresh way, serving a family-style bowl of a heaping assortment of fresh berries with
4
freshly whipped cream and topped with fresh garden-grown mint. Bonus points if the
berries were picked as an activity earlier in the day. Also note that if an ice cream truck
were to roll down the street playing a classic, I would chase it down and get a vanilla
cone dipped in chocolate.
Drinks: Bottled beers; water with lemon, lime, and cucumber; mojitos; bloody marys/
caesars; sodas; lemonade; wine.
If the ‘quakes start as temperatures fall in AUTUMN…
Soup: Cream of Mushroom Soup or Miso Soup.
Salad: Roasted Vegetable Salad- mixed greens, roasted vegetables (potatoes, eggplant,
turnips, carrots, onions, garlic), goat’s cheese, homemade croutons, topped with a
homemade balsamic vinaigrette and a fresh lemon wedge (to be squeezed over the
finished plate).
Main Plate: A small piece of High Quality Steak, cooked to medium and thinly sliced,
served with homemade Guacamole and a Warm Mushroom Salad topped with Crispy
Shredded Potatoes.
Desserts: As autumn approaches and the summer nights become cold, I am never
bitter, because I know apple-picking season will soon be upon us. Quite simply put,
there is nowhere I would rather spend the afternoon than roaming around an orchard,
gathering the main component of nearly all my favourite fall feast finishes: Apple
Crisps, Baked Apples, Apple Pie, Spiced Apple Cake and Apple Tarts. Ideally any and
all of these items would be served warm with freshly-whipped cream.
If the earth freezes over while I want to warm up in WINTER…
Breads: Cheddar Dill Biscuits and warm Corn Bread.
Soup: Spicy Lentil Soup or Vegetable Chicken Chili.
Main Plate: Small portions of Homemade Bacon Macaroni and Cheese, Southern
Fried Chicken, and Pulled Pork; Spicy, Creamy Coleslaw (with corn kernels and avo-
cado) on the side.
Dessert: To beat the blues of winter I call on some fall favourites that don’t include
apples- particularly things that turn the oven into a kitchen-heater. Since I have never
been one to shy away from winter weight and spoil myself, I would pick Pecan Pie and
Pumpkin (or classic) Crème Brulée, both of which are perfection in any season.
If the meteor strikes as the weather softens into SPRING…
Salad: Mustardy Mushroom and Spinach Salad- spinach with warm morel mushrooms,
bacon, walnuts, homemade croutons, and homemade Dijon mustard vinaigrette.
Main Plate: An assortment of Homemade Pizzas (with a variety of toppings) served
alongside Steamed Broccoli, and Asparagus with Hollandaise Sauce.
Dessert: Surrounded by images of Easter bunnies and eggs it is not chocolate I crave
but Light, Airy Meringues and Moist, Fruit-Filled Pineapple Carrot Cake with a Lem-
ony Cream Cheese Icing.
HEALTH / ARTS
FIVE QUICK TIPS TO ENJOY YOUR NEW HEALTHY LIFESTYLE
– Michelle Lambert & Richard Cheam
Regular gym-goers expect new faces every January. These are the same unfamiliar faces that make
the common New Year’s resolution of attempting to commit to a workout routine, but quickly
fade away along with their new workout gear. Everyone knows that living an active lifestyle is
good for your health and most people want to live this type of life but can’t seem to stop falling
back into their old habits. It is time to change our perspective and realize that becoming healthy
and active does not have to be a chore. It can become part of your daily routine, something as
simple as brushing your teeth in the morning. The transition from the old way of unhealthy
sedentary living to a new life of being healthy and active can be easy and fun. So why not start
now and separate yourself from those people who make the same New Year’s resolution every
year? Why not muster up the courage and beat the inevitable January rush? Once you have put
the past behind you and commit to your new self, I will contest that every single aspect of your
life will be improved. Everything from your academic life to your sexual libido will be far better
than before. Here are some quick innovative tips to help you stay motivated and on top of your
newly committed self.
Update iPod weekly: Upload your favourite new songs to keep you up upbeat throughout your
workout routine. This will encourage you to jam to a list of new songs every week at the gym.
“Do-yourself-up”: Create your own personal positive environment at the gym. Be yourself, feel
good about yourself, and you will learn to love the gym and the environment.
Say hello to someone new: This can stir up a conversation and leading to new friendships, mak-
ing your time at the gym even more enjoyable.
Look up new exercises weekly: Not only can you implement new workouts weekly to keep you
challenged, but looking up new workout routines will also help generate interest and motivation.
Prepare a new healthy meal: Try some new healthy alternative, and mix things up in the
kitchen. You might surprise yourself how good some of these healthy meals are.
These tips can make your new healthy lifestyle more pleasurable so you can enjoy being your new
self. You will feel better, become more confident, look better, and you will be in control of your
life. Achieving this lifestyle does not have to be as hard as once thought. Don’t be like all the
other “Gym-uaries” with their wasted gym memberships. Make it a part of your day-to-day rou-
tine, have fun with it, enjoy your better life, and never look back at the way your life was before.
THE KING WILL HIDE & THE PEOPLE WILL BE AFRAID
– Paul Costa
The crashing, something disorganized is approaching,
Spilling foreword in what I think is a wave.
The King, crown askew, is speaking sounds,
Waving his arms, back to everything, the world beyond,
Addressing the people focused, muttering and analyzing,
The intricacies of his arm’s orchestrated movements.
The thing...as it arrives it reveals itself in the only way
That can be defined: as a stampede of horses
Armoured hollow eyed mustangs, spaces between them,
Coming from the vast mountainous,
Green ranges of Wyoming.
The thing and the world beyond the king with tunnel vision,
Become visible in front of his people in the marble court
At the last second before collision.
They are wiped out into the dust that blows away.
Stop.
Spin the clock like a coin, counter-clockwise,
You see it all happen in reverse.
It hasn’t happened yet.
The crashing, something disorganized is approaching,
Spilling foreword in what I think is a wave.
The King has vanished from the marbled court, hiding.
The people are fearful, they know something approaches.
Because they are fearful they build towers to lie atop of,
They run away with glorious wind whistling through their ears,
They climb the mountains. They try to tame the wild beasts.
The thing...as it arrives it reveals itself in the only way,
That can be defined, as a stampede of horses,
Armoured hollow eyed mustangs, spaces between them,
Coming from the vast mountainous,
Green ranges of Wyoming.
The thing and the world it is from become revealed
In an instant,
Just before collision with the flat empty royal court.
It is trampled and broken into shards of marble,
Jagged and rough, glimmering,
With multiple reflections of some other light
5
 ARTS

FREE APOCALYPSE INSIDE EVERY BOX

– Roland Singer
I got up one morning and the Apocalypse was in my cereal— yes, the big rev-
elation was waiting there inside the great abyss that is the hole in the center
of a Honey Nut Cheerio. The milk turned red with blood—pink actually, like
strawberry milk—and I saw a beast rise up out of the strawberry sea, having
seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns—each one a Honey
Nut Cheerio—and upon his heads the name of blasphemy. And he looked-
so there upon his wristwatch and I heard the voice of the great beast say,
“We’ll get you back in time for class. Come and see.”
And I saw my license to be a kid expire and my childhood and my surrogate sub-
stance substitutes drain from my bones leaving me stranded on a Sunday evening ,
awkward and adult. I saw my wife, bloated with child, stuffing her face, and this dis-
gusted me. And our first born was old enough to ask “Why was I born?” And to that
I have no response except “You were born to appease my instincts, you were born to
fulfill my desires and to make my life less of a bore and I have no real answers for
you.” And he says “Well I don’t want to die but many are the times I wish I had never
been born.” And what can I say then? What apolog y can be made? And there is never
enough money to be satisfied and there is too much money to tell myself I’m not
gluttonous. And there is no such thing as progress any more, only change, and I hate
my job that offers neither progress nor change, and I flirt with death as she circles
me like a vulture and whoremonger. I see her in the circle of a gun barrel that I put
to my eye, I see her in the circle of locomotive’s headlamp as I lay on the tracks, I see
her in the circle of a noose tied from the extension cord that powers our Christmas
lights, I see her in the circle of a wine bottle’s spout and the circles of the sleeping
pills beside, I see her in the drain circled with blood as my veins empty themselves,
and most of all I her in the circles under my eyes in the motherfucking mirror.
And I saw myself take a communion of strong coffee each day, and a wafer of va-
lium, and I cannibalize the holy body of capitalism five days a week and on the
sixth and seventh days I live in fear of midlife Mondays where my parents still
remind me how young I am, and my children still remind me how old I am, and
the mirror just reminds me of how still I am—how petrified I become—in those
pathetic double digit hours when I’d prefer to hear the cracking of the seal on a
bottle of scotch than the sound of my own child’s laughter, because it’s been a long
day, and a longer life, and my headache is nothing for my child to laugh at, and a
laughing child is nothing to drink over, and a dying day is nothing to think over,
and tomorrow is already hung over with the wanton wine of yesterday’s youth.
And who would believe in my visions? Who but the pure-bred dogs of war or
the eternally inbred hounds of hell—which thirst only for more souls, more
soldiers for the rapture—which are untamed yet never bite the hands that
feed because in their flaming canine hearts they know the man attached to
those bloody hands will eventually be fed head over heels into their rabid jaws
by the next man in line, and forever more down that line—and down all the
ichor-crusted corridors of history—they will feast on the men that feed.
And why must God make trouble for man? Well sit you down and write a story,
and see how interesting it turns out if everything is love and gold and perfec-
tion and pure empathy in its allusions and atmosphere. Who would read it? Who
would publish it? Who would believe it? So who would believe in heaven?
And I saw us all prancing on God’s eternal page, each footprint one of His im-
mortal words, each solemn sigh and terraforming tear is but another example of
his omniscient onomatopoeia. And every once in a while, when I’m feeling at my
lowest—my absolute lie-down dirt-eating lowest—that almighty fountain pen
descends on waxen wings from a rift in the purple and orange clouds, and its all-
knowing nib of God’s own gold circles my head like a halo and the pen fountains
straight into my ear—it flows with all of creation and youth and deterioration
and death, and the ink of existence blots my mind and soaks my soul. And black
and impenetrable as it is, I start to see my reflection in the apocryphal pool of
ink—I see that I am at my lowest but also that I am at my highest. And “apoca-
lypse” means “revelation”, and there is only one revelation, and that is that the
ennui of Earth—the malediction of man, the wretchedness of woman—is all
just part of the greatest story ever written, and that although everything is per-
fect within its gates, Heaven—if you believe in it—must be as boring as Hell.
I woke with a start and pulled my head out of my cereal bowl—my face
covered in milk and Honey Nut Cheerios and strawberry syrup.
And God damn it all I was late for class.

BLUE BIRD
We never needed that war but
I’m glad you sang it Vera.
You wrote me love letters on the radio and
I wanted to marry you.
I hear there are still churches in New Mexico;
Say yes to this little boy, to this poor fat man,
and we’ll prove ourselves pure
on those white sands
contemplating the trinity.
We’ll make a home on Mojave sheet glass and dust.
At night I’ll rub my hands against our gramophone
And keep warm by your ember records.
Crack a Fanta, curl up and trace craters on my chest,
You whisper future fires into the radio.
Audience, hear our bomb shelter acoustics
and our geiger-müller music,
keeping time with the oil wells.
(Vera and me in B-17s, B-O-M-B-I-N-G)
Our sixth toes will be our wedding bands.
So let me be your roentgen equivalent man,
Our hairs grows Gy and there isn’t much time --
Love has a half-life.
Say yes, say no, but don’t say
Auf Wiedersehen, sweetheart.
Fly over Vera sing your song
I’ll be there
Tomorrow,
Just you wait and see.
6
SURVIVAL TIPS
– Ernest Reid
– Blair Beauchesne
After announcing our theme for this issue, the Walrus inbox was flooded with emails from worried students about
the end of the world. So I thought I’d take the time to answer a few of your concerns. With the rise in popularity
of zombie movies kinemortophobia has infested the public mentality. Many of our readers asked “How do you
prevent a zombie apocalypse?” Well reader if you are asking that you are shit out of luck. There is no way to stop
a zombie apocalypse from happening, but there are ways to survive it. If you’ve seen any zombie flicks you know
there’s always that one character who goes crazy / betrays / tries to rape / generally [expletive deleted] over every-
body else. In situations where society has degraded into sparse anarchist pockets co-operation is vital for survival.
Remember it’s always the guy who splits off and goes it alone who dies first. To prepare you for the end of the world
here is a list of tips to make it through it all with your “bunker buddy”.
Share – There is nothing worse than being stuck with someone who eats all the rations or hogs
the sheets at night. To avoid eventual resentment with your partner be sure to share all supplies
according to need. Everyone is going to want more than they can get sometimes. Compromise is
important.
Weapons – Weapons are necessary. Every survivor should have one, but survivors should practice
safe habits to avoid unintended accidents. Swords and other jabbing weapons should always be
sheathed and/or covered. Guns should never be pointed at your partner’s body/face/hair in case it
accidentally discharges and makes a horrible mess.
Communication – If you are going to spend your last days with this person open dialogue is impor-
tant. Secrets will create more tension in already tense situations; eventually that zombie you let get
away is going to wander in through the door. A discussion with your partner can eliminate a lot of
nasty surprises.
Zombie “Friends” – That zombie may have been your friend since you were six, you may have
slept in the same bed that one time and totally nothing happened, but really we all know they only
want you for your brains, and they will bite your neck the first chance they get. Your partner(s)
won’t want them around for long even if at first they say it doesn’t bother them. Make sure to take
them out back and make sure they know it’s over.
Space – If you are going to see this person every day for the rest of your natural (and sometimes
unnatural) lives. To avoid cabin fever make sure to take a little bit of time each day to invest in
yourself; read a chapter of a book, play with your radio, etc. No one wants to be with someone
who doesn’t want to be with themselves. But under no circumstances go out for a walk alone.
Never go to sleep angry – Make sure to resolve all problems before you go to sleep. If you don’t
you may not to wake up the next morning.
I hope these tips have helped relieve some tension for you and keep those emails coming!
ARTS
DAVEY DAPPER – Ted Killin
THIS IS A PRERECORDED CACOPHONY DESIGNED TO ACCOMPANY A TERRIBLE The first indication of trouble appears in the still form of the family cat, Shuffles. Opening
CATASTROPHE! a tin of wet food and walking away, the Dapper son is horrified to discover an unmoving cat
face-down in its dish after five minutes—the animal succumbs to a bubbling puddle, finger-like
THE NANO-MITE EMERGENCY IS SPREADING THROUGHOUT THE GREATER TO- tendrils of food solidifying around the snout to cut off its air supply. Although the cat makes
RONTO AREA... no further efforts to extricate itself, its hair ripples as a single heaving membrane, as though a
...INVISIBLE TO ALL AVAILABLE HUMAN EYES... WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT, SIMPLE- healthy wind whips through the basement hall. Ol’ Davey Dapper brushes this event off as a
TONS? symptom of the cat’s old age, combined with a particularly hairy case of rigor mortis. He places
the body in the corner of the food stacks to dissuade familial melancholy, and washes his hands.
THESE MINIATURE MITES TEND TO BURROW INTO BASEMENT DWELLINGS
HONE IN ON CANNED FOOD RESERVES;
Soon thereafter, cans closer to the walls of the basement begin to bulge and leak. Davey Dapper
INVISIBLE TO YOUR OPEN EYE, THEY WILL CONTAMINATE YOUR
is prone to blame inferior product until he observes a can of legumes shudder and open, its con-
SAFEST FOOD.
tents spraying onto the floor in violent hiccups. Aware of the rippling flesh of the legumes strug-
THE CONTAMINATION PROCESS IS VILE AND DANGEROUS.
gling toward him, he finally decides to enter the upper basement in order to check for updates
INFILTRATION AT A DEEP MOLECULAR LEVEL ALLOWS PARASITIC MITES on the event, but he has already wasted far too much time: a wall of gyrating cans block his way
TO ACHIEVE ABNORMAL FOOD MOBILITY, and topple down as soon as he steps onto the lowest stair. He quickly retreats into the small
VESSELS USED TO FORCE A SWARM UPON YOUR PERSON. spare bedroom with his family. The sound of rolling aluminum fills the room, echoing through
the diminished space. The family can hear freed organic matter slither down the hall. The thin
THEY HAVE BUT ONE OBJECTIVE: GAIN A LARGER HOST BODY. wooden door seems painfully insufficient to safeguard against such a restless meal.
YOU ARE THAT HOST BODY.
YOU ARE THAT HOST BO-UDDY. Davey Dapper’s stomach emits a long, low rumble, a sound that breaks the standstill. Deaf to a
EMERGENCY IN YOUR CITY! fatherly warning, the daughter creeps forward slowly to place an ear to the door as creamed corn
oozes underneath. The daughter opens her mouth to scream but a cherry tomato drops from
THIS SPECIES CAN AMASS INCREDIBLE ARMIES, above, lodging in her throat, covering her larynx. A strange red glow appears around her pupils
TAKE HEED; as the tomato slips into her belly, and she utters two drawn out syllables: “taaaaaek miiiiiiiiiii.”
PREVENT A MITEDOM FROM OVERTAKING YOUR NEIGHBOURHOOD The daughter disappears under the door as it bursts from its moorings. A wave of corn, chopped
OR THEY WILL ROAM UNHINDERED potatoes, and green beans flows towards the family, each vegetable group fighting amongst
THROUGH YOUR HOMES IN A SINGLE NIGHT themselves in an undulating effort to fall upon these helpless meat-filled abodes. Davey Dapper
AS EASILY AS A PILLAGE-HUNGRY CREW OF VIKINGS CAN CUT THROUGH clamps his mouth, but the young boy and his wife slacken their mouths in fear and green beans
FIELDS OF SHEEP. secure a space between their molars in an instant, standing vertical for a moment before ruptur-
ing and slithering into their gullets. After a moment of hesitation, red clusters disperse through
YOU ARE THAT FIELD OF SHEEP. their white sclera as both wife and child smile toward Davey: “taaaaaek miiiiiii.” Creamed corn
spirals up toward his mouth, dispersing along the edge of his pressed lips, unable to penetrate
SEAL OFF YOUR BASEMENT,
his salivary sluices.
HIDE IN A ROOM WITH
NO VENTILATION WHATSOEVER;
ENJOY THE PLEASANT SENSATION THAT
He bolts upstairs to find that the way has been cleared slightly, many of the cans unable to resist
WASHES OVER YOUR PERSON. the final assault on the downstairs door. He scrabbles upward four-legged and cans slide and
burst under the pressure of his appendages. He cannot avoid slicing his hands on exposed edges.
MAINTAIN A RIGID, PLEASURABLE The more cans that slip under his grasp, the more raw material is added to the growing mass of
STATE OF MIND, uncooked fodder that seeps upwards to compromise his autonomy. The smiling faces of his fam-
FOR AIDE IS ON THE WAY. ily emerge in the mess below as they lurch after him, masticated non-perishables dripping from
I REPEAT, YOU WILL BE AIDED their incisors, flesh roiling all over their exposed bodies.
(with what immediacy can be mustered
during these hard times). “taeeeekkkkk miiiii... oooooo... taeeekk miiiiiiii...”

TAKE HEED,
DON’T DO WHAT DAVEY DAPPER DOES:
The Dapper family have always prepared for the worst of these scenarios: deep shelves of
non-perishable foods line the walls of a large lower basement built around two smaller rooms:
a spare bedroom and another packed to its utmost with a games cabinet, a small sink, a toilet
and the old, uncomfortable couch. Davey Dapper figures the family can survive with scant
entertainment for over three months. At the first ominous syllable TERR-, despite the efforts
of our prescribed announcement to convey successful parasite avoidance, Davey Dapper herds
his family of four into the lower basement and locks them all together; this dopey Dapper
practices uninformed safety before allowing the situation to sink in at all.
He rips cherry tomatoes off of his arms while they latch onto his open wounds, but he cannot
reach the pieces that crawl up his leg, that clamp to his fingers. Within moments he feels his
vision dimming, his body failing in strength; his family below smiles expectantly. He fights to
keep his eyelids moving as a voice steals into his mind:
“taaeek oooooo? taaeeekkkkk ooooooooo...”
DAVEY DAPPER IS A FOOL.
DON’T DO AS DAVEY DAPPER DOES.

THE MONKEY-BRAINED APOCALYPSE – Blair Beauchesne

Some people may tell you that the first apocalypse was millions of years ago when a rogue hunk
of space rock collided with the earth and killed off the noble dinosaur race. They would be
wrong. That is the natural history they teach elementary school students because it is “easy”. The
truth about earth’s first apocalypse has been smothered by mainstream historians, but a small
group of researchers and historians, led by Dr. VonWesterheimerton, are finally publishing the
facts. The orthodox thinkers of the old guard say that “Anyone who isn’t mentally defective will
realize there is insufficient evidence to prove that this theory is even plausible”. Evidence has
never been a requirement for the Walrus to publish something, so here are the real facts about
the “Monkey-Brained Apocalypse”.
The fossil record shows that dinosaurs were the dominant lifeforms on earth for millions of
years and the evolutionary ancestors of humans first started appearing well after the dinosaurs
had gone extinct. Dr. Roland VonWesterheimerton says this is a short sighted theory. Dr.
VonWesterheimerton has theorized that before the dominance of those cold-blooded reptiles
a civilization of proto-primates dominated the planet. Critics of Dr. VonWesterheimerton ask
“if this is true why don’t we see any remains predating the dinosaurs?” Dr VonWesterheimerton
believes that an event so violent occurred that it destroyed any and all evidence of these ur-apes.
An event Dr VonWesterheimerton calls “The Monkey-brained Apocalypse”.
In a dream Dr. VonWesterheimerton claims he built a time-machine and travelled back to this
age of primordial monkeys. With him he brought a pair of roller skates so he could see as much
of the early earth as possible in his short amount of time. The first and only creatures he spied
were a tribe of these archaic orangutans. Dr. VonWesterheimerton describes them as upright
mammals that stood nearly five feet tall, covered with luxuriously soft golden fur, with one
purple eye and one turquoise. These simple simians were so taken with his wheeled foot-gear
that they immediately began producing them. Dr. VonWesterheimerton was so impressed by
these prehistoric mammals that he studied them for several decades. The Dr. describes this
period as a golden age, a time of invention and advancement. Sadly this civilization of primeval
baboons grew too quickly. (A tear comes to the corners of Dr. VonWesterheimerton’s eyes as
he details this part of their history) They quickly realized how silly they had become. Every
single poorly evolved foot clamped within a rollerskate, arms and tails flailing trying to achieve
precarious balance. Unable to cope with their shame, the wisest chimps realized that such a
silly creature could not possibly exist. Instantly the whole species reasoned themselves out of
existance. Not even a single pair of rudimentary simian-sized skates remained as evidence for
Dr. VonWesterheimerton. All the good Dr. could do was wake up and transcribe his account of
the first apocalypse as he experienced it. Maybe one day Dr. VonWesterheimerton will find the
evidence he needs to rub it in the face of all those pretentious monkey-brained historians.
7
FEATURE*
– Curran Folkers
YORKU GO DOWN THE HOOOOOOOOLE!: HOW HIGHER EDUCATION LOSES BECAUSE OF A LOW FLOW PROBLEM
– Sasha Makarewicz
I do not mean to alarm anyone, but academia, you know that thing you are doing and spending
thousands of dollars on? It’s failing. Don’t panic, Philosophy majors, this has nothing to do with
you or your useless degree (well, being an English major I’m a pot calling a kettle black here,
but you probably don’t believe in either pots or kettles because they don’t think or doubt their
existence like you do as Philosophy majors). No, why academia is failing is very simple, and it
scares me how simple it really is.
Some students do not know how flush a toilet.
A simple problem, but a problem that piles on and a problem that should not be occurring in
an academic institution that has systems in place to weed out idiocy and inanity, and a system
that can singlehandedly destroy futures and traumatize with tuition costs, percentages, grades,
and other mental mind games. This system however, allows in these people, people the school
itself respects enough to allow into a classroom that teaches the human genome, Sartre, String
Theory, and the wonders of the Renaissance and all those purdy pictures, even though they lack
the basic familiarity with the toilet and proper use of it. They defecate into these outlets built
to defecate into, they pee on seats, they clog the bowl with unnecessary amounts of toilet paper,
and they throw Tim Hortons doughnut bags and pop cans into the water; but they lack the
spark in their head, that supposed spark the school saw when it viewed their high school tran-
scripts on a piece of paper and/or computer screen and allowed them into university, enabling
them to pull a lever that would flush all their dung down a drain. And even when they accom-
plish that, they forget to wash their hands.
8
You do not need Nietzsche. You do not need Camus. It is all right there in a toilet. These ass-
holes (forgive me, I am using the technical term) eclipse our supposed bright futures and reduce
our generation to more methane in the atmosphere. These people could be lawyers, doctors,
and Mayors of Toronto. They could be at the highest levels of government, they could be on top
of the corporate world, they could be on MTV and run NBC, they could be on Wall Street;
and the thing is, they are already there, and nothing is stopping more of them from piling on
to the dingle berry mountain of society and culture. We let this happen and we are continuing
this non-flush cycle because we are not doing anything about it. Yes, it is a simple problem, not
flushing a toilet, but that can mean something greater and fouler than what is there in the toilet.
It means letting the ignorant and arrogant people, those who do not respect us or our intel-
ligence, get what they want, and leaves us to deal with their crap. We let them get away with not
flushing a toilet, we let them start wars for no reason, we let them bomb the economy, and it
does not get better. It gets worse.
Yes, York University, the school that educated the great minds of Jim Flaherty, Ronnie Vannucci
Jr., and Keanu Reeves, is an unclean and unflushed toilet bowl because of this, but so is every
university and education, and society in general right now. It takes Tony Danza becoming a
grade 10 high school English teacher in Philadelphia to realize that academia, higher education,
society as it is now and as it progresses, is failing; and it’s going to take more than a Danza Ex
Machina to fix this, but we can start by learning how a toilet works.
FEATURE*
THE LAST
SUPPER
– Maria Golikova
(What you ought to know about food if
you want to leave a good lookin’ corpse)
It’s 2010 and the population of the planet is reaching dangerously unsustainable numbers. I
think everyone already knows how badly we’ve screwed ourselves in the food department; I’m
talking genetic modification, I’m talking pollution- and that’s not even addressing the issue of
whether or not there’s even enough of this mangled foodstuff to go around. I’m really not a big
fan of the sensationalized “reality checks” we often get in the intros of these sorts of articles (or
the lead-ins to most plans of action concerning the future, really). Here is the shit we are in:
now here’s the shovel. The problem I find is that by the time I’m done the introduction, I’m so
panicked and depressed and hopeless, I don’t even want to keep reading because I feel as though
I’m hanging on to the wall of a bottomless pit by my fingernails – and several of them are bro-
ken because I don’t get enough minerals in my diet – and no fractional reduction of my ecologi-
cal footprint is going to get me out of it. If we’re really only two years away from the end of the
world, there’s no use getting our feet stuck in the sludge of our forbearers. Let’s talk about now.
We’re still living, we’re still breathing; we’re still experiencing the pains and pleasures of being.
The plan now is to segue smoothly from the mention of broken fingernails and minerals and diets
to my topic of discussion. What is a balanced diet? What is the chemistry of it, besides the kind of
balance that’s achieved by slapping unappetizing illustrations of various foods on a rainbow?
The Breakdown
We all know that our bodies gain the energy they need, on a cellular level, by metabolizing the
fats, carbohydrates, and proteins we ingest. Eating is great, so is breathing; oxygen intake also
plays a significant role in energy production (Kin students, go nuts). But as our bodies metabo-
lize food, they also produce metabolic waste products, many of which are acidic and need to
be neutralized before they are excreted. Ever had a muscle cramp ten minutes into your brand
new active lifestyle, that time you and your buds remembered there was a whole world outside
your apartment? That’s the lacti acid produced when your cells try to gain energy without an
adequate supply of oxygen (you Kin crowd are probably familiar with aerobic training exercises
that help prevent this difficulty).
Furthermore, we all know that our bodies need vitamins (those mysterious lettered ones) and
minerals (the ones they push on you in dairy ads) in order to function properly. We get our
minerals from food, since our bodies can’t produce them autonomously. The point of all that
talk about cellular metabolizing is that for the neutralization of acids, alkaline mineral salts
are necessary and indeed very important. All that wonderful acid metabolic waste is expelled
by means of our blood stream, the pH of which our bodies vigilantly strive to maintain. Every
exhale, we discharge, in the form of carbon dioxide, the carbonic acid that is carried to our lungs
via the bloodstream. High school biology taught us that other acids are slain by our kidneys
and spectacularly banished by way of urine.
“SHOW CAKE, xxxx!!” 2010, Installation Photo : Keizo Kioku
Courtesy of MORI ART MUSEUM and Mujin-to Production, Tokyo, Japan
The Build-up
Tonight’s word is “dynamic equilibrium.” What we should strive for is a balance between acid
and alkaline mineral salts within our bodies, not to mention a balance between food ingestion
and excretion (yikes!) of all these metabolic waste products. If all you take from this article is
“blah blah blah – balance – blah blah,” I’d be more than satisfied. Ideally what you should be
striving for is a diet that factors in your own individual nutritional needs, but the general rule
is that 75% of the food you eat should be of the “alkaline persuasion” in order to maintain this
proper internal pH. Now, if you’ve been waiting for me to get to the meat n’ potatoes here –
that is, which foods it is that are alkalinizing and which are acidifying – I’m sorry to disappoint
you, but it ain’t the meat n’ potatoes. Big surprise: it’s the meats, poultry, dairy, yeasts (yes,
unfortunately, that means alcohol too), and sweets we should be limiting to about a quarter of
our entire diet. But really, it shouldn’t exactly come as a revelation that it’s the foods we already
knew were good for us that should comprise most of it: leafy greens, fruits, vegetables, herbs.
I am just hoping to explain why we need to be conscious of these nutritional considerations,
because the consequences of the unscrupulous dietary habits we engage in as North Americans
can really be catastrophic. So much so that there is already a scientific term coined: hyperacidity.
It’s a slow process, but it does make sense that if your body doesn’t have enough alkaline mineral
salts for metabolic neutralization, it’ll resort to other mechanisms to counter the imbalance.
Those include brazenly dumping all the acidic wastes into your connective tissues until suffi-
cient minerals are available again, and in prolonged cases of hyperacidity, resorting to your own
minerals (like the precious calcium in your bones) for substitution. Dynamic equilibrium.
I would not be so bold as to consider what I’ve communicated to you a “solution” to the crisis
state of affairs we’re in, amidst the hurricanes and droughts and volcanoes and famines, but
rather a set of tools to aid you be (moderately) healthy and (moderately) happy for the time be-
ing. If, for some of you, the main motivation for improving the nutritional balance of your diet
is that you want to look so hot you leave behind scorch marks on the face of the ruined world
when it ends by your catastrophe of choice, then I’m giving you some information to consider.
I might also suggest for you to allow the possibility to enter your consciousness, and purpose-
fully float somewhere, in the recesses of the same, that the world will not end on December
21st, 2012, that you may yet be faced with an entire lifetime of lethargy and indigestion in this
increasingly toxic world, and that given this possibility, you might as well start doing what you
can to turn it around now.
This is totally not an endorsement but if you want some more information, including a compre-
hensive list of alkalinizing and acidifying foods, visit http://www.energiseforlife.com/list_of_alka-
line_foods.php.
9
 ARTS

PRELUDE TO 2012 “ARMAGEDDON” – Elise Haskell

– Ray Garcia
Scene: The room is dark. Seated on a bench against the wall are 3 figures. A young man clothed
in white is seated on the left. He is barefoot and there are visible wounds on his hands, feet, and at
B ridget stood at the glass door and watched the city burn. Behind her in the apartment living
room Nina and Brenton sat on the couch and played Mario Kart. She had been on the bal-
cony watching the chaos below, but the heat had grown too intense and she relented to watch-
his side. A red haired lady sits beside him. Her dress is made up of leaves, vines and flowers. Her ing the fire through a barrier now. Even that was beginning to get too warm. She was sure if she
skin has a greenish tinge, and small animals surround her. Seated beside her is a large figure with put her hand on the glass her skin would melt to it.
a dragon-like body and a head of a squid. Its green scales and large ruddy wings are all covered in “You asshole!” Nina yelled as Brenton, who always played as Bowser, threw a shell at Nina’s
primordial slime. The three figures sit upon the bench waiting quietly. Princess Peach, sending her kart into a spin.
“Don’t hate the player, hate the game,” Brenton chuckled.
A man and woman enter the room. The woman is tall and blonde, wearing a skimpy red dress with “Do you guys think… we should do something?” Bridget asked, her eyes still locked on the
matching red heels. She has long legs and platinum blonde hair. She seems perfectly human except rising blaze.
that every now and then her eyes flash with a red light. Machine-like. “I already told you there’s a third controller,” Brenton replied, as Bowser went over the fin-
ish line. He jumped up and threw the controller down in victory.
The man is shorter than the woman. He wears a crisp black business suit with black shoes, black tie “Eat it loser!”
and black shades. A scythe with a wicked blade protrudes from his briefcase. He sets his briefcase “I don’t want to play Mario Kart,” Bridget sighed and walked into the kitchen, separated
down, and clears his throat. from the living room by half a wall, to get a glass of water. She turned the faucet, but no water
came out, just a metallic whine.
Man in Black: I would like to thank you all for meeting today. I know we all have busy schedules “Shit, the water’s gone.”
so let’s get this over with as soon as possible. Nina looked at Brenton with wide eyes
“Do you think it evaporated?”
The woman in red steps forward and the lights dim. A slide show appears on the far side of the wall. Brenton shrugged, starting a new game.
“Eh, who cares?”
Woman in Red: Ladies and gentlemen allow me explain why humanity must end in order for the “How are we supposed to use the washroom?” Nina asked as Bridget walked back into the
earth to survive (CLICK: The screen shows a picture of animal that looks like a cross of a zebra and living room empty handed.
a horse). Equus quagga: A beautiful animal that once populated the plains of Africa. Extinct by “Go on the balcony,” Brenton suggested.
1883. (CLICK: The next slide is a dog with tiger stripes) Thylacinus cynocephalus, also known The three of them all turned to look at the citywide inferno.
as the Tasmanian tiger. Extinct by 1936. (CLICK: this time it is a pudgy looking bird) Raphus “Or the sink,” Brenton turned back to the game.
cucullatus, thehe Dodo bird. Extinct within the 17th century. All said animals have one thing Suddenly the TV went black.
in common. They were wiped out by the interference of human beings. They either lost their “And there goes the power,” Bridget sighed.
natural habitats due to human expansion, were hunted to extinction, or both. Thousands of “Oh, fucking great!” Brenton sat back against the couch in defeat.
creatures face imminent extinction thanks to humanity. “To be honest, I’m surprised it lasted that long,” Nina smiled.
“Now what?”
The African Rhino, Polar Bear, Tiger, Giant Panda…the list goes on. They cannot exist peaceful- “What are other people doing?” Bridget looked back out the glass door. Yesterday she
ly with nature and defy her very laws. They are an anomaly. Where in nature do they fit in? They could still see people running around, some in a desperate panic, but many trying pathetically to
take more than they need and they destroy what they have no use for. They cut down the world’s extinguish the flames.
rainforests for fuel, farmland, and so that they can erect homes for themselves. Nearly half of the It was hard to put out fires with the sulfur raining down.
world’s wildlife is found within these rainforests. The Amazon River alone holds more species “Drinking vodka?” Brenton smiled up at Bridget.
of fish than the entire Atlantic Ocean. For every acre the humans cut down thousands of living “That’s a random guess.”
things are lost forever. “Yeah, but there’s a bottle of vodka in my freezer and we can all toast to Armageddon,” he
jumped up and giddily ran to the freezer.
A new slide appears. Barren landscapes void of any visible life appear on the screen. “Armageddon is lame,” Nina pouted.
“Can’t we just call it the apocalypse?” Bridget sat down on the couch, staring at the fire’s
Woman in Red: Exxon Valdez 1989, Chernobyl 1986, Seveso1976, Bhopal 1984, Love Canal reflection in the blank TV screen
Niagara, and the Mississippi Dead Zone. All major disasters caused by human error. Each “I hate being reminded of Michael Bay films.”
incident had devastating effects on the surrounding environments. It will take centuries for the “I kinda like the way ‘Armageddon’ sounds.”
land to heal -if ever- and to sustain life once more. They poison the very soil and air. They alter Brenton returning with three glasses and a bottle in hand, he set them down and sat be-
the very climate of earth due to industrial machines and overuse of fossil fuels. Their capacity tween the two girls on the couch. They all stared at the TV for a moment, then Bridget looked
for self-denial is staggering. They live wastefully and refuse to change while placing the blame at the clear bottle.
on others. Humans are like parasites…Once this planet is dry and dead, they will reach out to “What the hell is that?”
the stars in search of another “earth” to settle on, and the destructive process begins anew. They “Vodka.”
threaten life itself with their very existence. “It’s frozen.”
“It’ll thaw out in a minute.”
The slideshow ends “Vodka doesn’t freeze,” Nina laughed, picking up the bottle. “Dude, someone’s been drink-
ing your vodka and refilling it with water.”
Woman in Red: Their crimes against nature pale in comparison to the crimes they commit “Fuck…”
towards each other. Human beings kill and hurt each other out of greed, pettiness, and spite. “Well on the bright side, now we have water,” Bridget said.
How many wars have they fought? How many genocides have they committed? Even now they “Ash is the worst roommate ever.”
cannot live together in peace. Their so called “governments” are corrupt and unstable; they hide “God, how long has he been gone anyway?”
behind facades and grasp for power. Do you know what a nuclear war would do to this very “Hm,” Brenton looked at his watch. “I haven’t really been paying attention.”
planet? Yet they keep building weapons of mass destruction to use against each other. Bridget looked outside.
“You don’t think he…? I don’t know.”
They throw food and clothes away as if they are nothing, yet there are people starving through- “I thought we’d all get to go together,” Brenton sighed.
out the world. How can they live so gluttonously when they know that on the other side of the “I thought I’d get to graduate,” Nina muttered.
world, others are dying from hunger? “I thought this building would have collapsed by now.”
“Give it a few minutes,” Brenton reassured them.
Take a look at their society! Their actors are paid more than their doctors! Laughable! Look at “The vodka water is thawing fast enough.” Bridget picked up the bottle.
how much value they put towards pleasure than towards their very lives! “Hey, you know what vodka means, right?”
“Little water?”
Man in White: But they show compassion and try to help others in need. “Something like that.”
Bridget began pouring the mostly-water-and-little-vodka into the three glasses, leaving a
Woman in Green: And they are trying to save what little wildlife is left. small lump of ice in the bottle for later. They all took a glass and raised it to the TV.
“To…” Nina trailed off
Woman in Red: Is not poverty a human creation? They are the cause of their own strife and “I’ll be honest, I don’t really have anything to toast to.”
destruction. It seems almost comical to see them struggling to fix their own problems. They “Me neither.” Brenton swirled his watered down vodka for a moment, in thought
disrupt nature and lament when faced with the consequences. Give or take a couple centuries, “Bridget?”
the human race will have destroyed itself and Earth. In order for the earth to survive, humanity Bridget down her vodka and went back to staring at the TV.
must die. Their time is coming and a decision must be made. “Give me a minute, something will come to me… eventually.”
10
ARTS
DARK AGE OF FILM DARK AGE OF FILM:
– Barry Germansky
The international film industry is currently on life support. It exists in a tightly-sealed
vacuum, uninterested in art and exclusively concerned with the commercial viability
of its “products”. I am not opposed to the commercialization of the resources required
to make films. This does not interfere with creative integrity and makes the production
process easier. However, I am strongly against the imposed commercialization of films,
which unpleasantly results in compromised works of art. Regrettably, this business-
minded corruption is now at an unparalleled peak.
Let me explain. In the great decades of cinema (I would say beginning with its liberation
from a nickelodeon novelty into a full-blown, storytelling medium in the 1910s, to the
New Hollywood movement in the 1970s), studio heads and producers were far more
likely to have an equal interest in making both great movies and great sums of money.
Just take a look at the original Hollywood moguls, ranging from MGM’s Louis B. Mayer
and Samuel Goldwyn, to Warner Bros.’ Jack Warner. Sure, they were tyrannical, but
they loved movies and understood the creative process behind them, thus enabling their
directors and writers to prosper. The moguls didn’t use focus groups, movie-by-panel
conferences, or middlemen (AKA agents and lawyers) to commercialize the art. They
could greenlight movies with the snap of their fingers, and no one else could reverse
their decisions.
I think one of the best examples of a studio mogul standing by his word would be when
Jack Warner gave Warren Beatty the go-ahead to make Bonnie and Clyde, a movie of
then unprecedented violence, sexual candour, and technical innovations. At first, War-
ner resisted taking the plunge, but after Beatty famously bent over and kissed his feet,
the Hollywood titan gave in and let Beatty make his movie the way he wanted to make
it. This included letting Beatty choose director Arthur Penn, writers David Newman,
Robert Benton, and Robert Towne, and the cast (then unknowns Gene Hackman, Gene
Wilder, and Faye Dunaway). Despite some monetary worries, Warner’s respect and
enthusiasm for the art of film allowed Bonnie and Clyde to be the breakthrough it was.
And it wasn’t just the movies themselves that received respect. Emerging talents in every
department were sought out and then marketed. Moguls and producers of the golden
decades wanted to show off their stars and their money. Therefore, they instinctively
understood that balance was crucial to ensure success on all fronts. Judy Garland and
Mickey Rooney probably represent the best of what can come from this system. These
child actors were born with talent to spare, and the moguls did nothing to corrupt
their authenticity. Garland and Rooney could act, dance, and sing (often doing all three
within a single movie). Today, stars are grown in back lot laboratories.
Of course, studio moguls don’t exist today. Lew Wasserman, who passed away in 2002,
was probably the closest thing we had to a member of the original group. The modern
movie executive is often either a honcho from a conglomerate or a university grad with a
business degree; in other words, someone without any knowledge or appreciation of art.
Consider what happened to the great saviour of 1990s film, PolyGram Filmed Enter-
tainment. This international independent production company was responsible for
everything from Four Weddings and a Funeral, Fargo, and The Game, to The Usual
Suspects, Trainspotting, and The Big Lebowski. But, by the end of the decade, the man-
agement of Polygram’s parent company, Phillips Electronics, went through a colossal
change. The new CEO was Gerard Kleisterlee, a corporate honcho interested solely in
sure bets and who didn’t understand the principles of filmmaking. Almost every studio
today is run by a Kleisterlee stand-in.
So, something needs to change in the international film community (and it is a global
problem). How can the issue be resolved? By encouraging young and upcoming talents
as well as older power-players to seek out the better movie-making methods of the past.
Perhaps, over time, some industry hot shots will go so far as to fund talent search agen-
cies, allowing budding talents to bypass the bureaucracy of the middlemen upstairs and
submit their work directly to producers. And never forget that the commercialization
of modern films is a microcosm not only for all art mediums, but each and every societal
sector. That film is the most popular artistic medium today merely means it showcases
the epidemic of corporate interference to the highest and most visible degree.
A RESPONSE
–Ali Hersi
Throughout the entire, almost one hundred years of film we’ve seen, not just an artistic
shift and improvement in human culture, but a totally new and interesting way of viewing
ourselves while creating a way of leaving behind something very near to real for all of time
and posterity to use for the purposes of understanding our current times and ways.
During its young history it’s had a very high degree of our attention in many very impor-
tant ways. Different styles and genres developed, techniques and methods created, and
entire rain forests sacrificed and used for the sole purpose of documenting the words that
have been and continue to be dedicated to its study in both art and academia.
Not one specific time can be anointed as its “golden age” as many very wrongly have done
and still continue to do. From as early as the 1920’s it isn’t very difficult to recognize the
ingenuity, imagination and completion it required to accomplish the task of film mak-
ing, while at the same time allowing us to contemplate and watch the social and cultural
norms of a time long since passed. A re-viewing of D.W Grifiths’ The Birth of a Nation
will easily demonstrate, simply, how life at the time was; in this case a dark, shameful and
very real part of US history. The film was years ahead of its time in terms of technologi-
cal innovation, and was received very popularly, becoming the highest grossing movie in
silent film history, and was accepted and enjoyed in privet viewing by President Woodrow
Wilson, while at the same time glorifying the idea of white supremacy and justifying the
actions of the KKK. An idea acquired and admitted within the culture.
In the 40’ and 50’s it became more about a kind of deep and dark introspection, the dif-
ferent psychological conditions of man, never so naked and exposed and twisted, while
visuals and aesthetics took on a greater importance and became much more appealing
and refined, while at the same time creating the big studio and movie star format, rem-
nants of which still remain. Names like Alfred Hitchcock, Orson Welles and Akira Kuro-
sawa became icons who opened up fresh artistic frontiers and set the stage for greats like
Kubrick, Mazurski, Chemino, Scorcese who once again challenged the art form based on
what was left for them to work with.
The belief that popular film today is not comparable to what was made in the past doesn’t
make much sense, especially when we consider the level of quality in modern movies. It
has become a significant aspect and form of commentary while still maintaining artistic
credibility regardless of the idea that popular film has no intellectual or artistic merit.
Some of the highest grossing movies of just the past year include distinct titles Inception,
a critical darling, and Avatar (however you may feel subjectively) which shattered box of-
fice records while at the same time forever changing the way we view movies.
The independent movie scene has also grown in significance, defined by the auteur status
of personalities like Welles, Stone and Tarantino. So much has become possible that
niches in the past which seemed too specific, over the top and absurd are now realized
and are correct and are prevalent at the moment. Directors focused more on the creative
nuances began new processes of unconventional plot and story line development. Names
like Jim Jarmusch, Larry Clark, Gus Van Sant and the Cohen brothers have crossed over
as much as they might refuse to admit it. And these are only American names, forgetting
for the moment to mention the abundant amount of talent in both Europe and Asia.
The notion of modern film no longer putting any emphasis or focus on producing high
quality productions is simply not true. Anyone who subscribes to this idea seems like
more of a superficial film enthusiast who takes serious the common “i hated it” frame of
mind with out sufficiently taking in to consideration any of the current arguments and
ideas in regards to film today. The barrage of sequels and prequels and re-makes are what
dominate the box office, but most fail people to understand that these places are not the
only places to watch a flick, and that there are many other venues that provide a spectacu-
lar variety of selections to choose from, whatever your taste might be.
11
 ARTS

THE DECLINE OF THE WEST: EXTRACT VERBATIM

WHY IT DOESN’T MATTER
–Ali Hersi – Rhys Mendes
Even after Oswald Spengler’s prophetic prediction (which came right after the barbarous events A: She, whom you mortals call Aquarius, the Bearer of Water, for whom do you think she bears
resulting in the ruin caused by the actions of man against himself: World War I) there lingered it, but for the Drinker? Not for Vulcan’s forge, nor to cool Ra in his fury, but for the quenching
in the Western world a feeling of concealed frustration at the failure of its inability to completely of Drinker’s eternal thirst.
remove civilization from this existence. But through the heady liveliness and the unyielding sense B: But if his thirst is eternal, how can she quench it?
of enterprise man is so abundantly endowed with, he found himself once again facing a mutu- A: Simple. She has yet to give him the water she bears. If her task is accomplished, his task can
ally assured destruction, this time in the form of a much more convenient and easily accessible begin.
method of entering a few digits into a mega-computer, followed by a coordinated turn of the B: Well, why hasn’t she done it yet?
master keys. Thus was man’s tragic character. A: Ask her brother. He will tell you their tale, the tale of their loss and their gain. But he will not
tell of it freely.
In this fashion did the West (this time led by the USA), with the smile of a benevolent libera- B: What does he want?
tor, assume control of much of the world and designate itself grand imperial power. Soon after A: That which was lost by him. He will mention it in his tale, if you can make him tell it to you.
followed reconstruction and Marshall Planning. Every new nation state, with the absence of an B: (long silence) Who is he?
overt fascism, was entitled a happy meal. The assembly line was globalized and available to every- A: He is her brother. He is the Hunter-Upon-Four.
one who could use a few bumps in the national GDP section of a nation’s wealth indicator. These B: (another pause) Why will she not tell me herself ?
new states, mainly those that we call the “global south” today, could not turn away these sure shot A: Have I said she will not?
guarantees to develop a higher quality middle class population. For them, compartmentalized B: Then why did you refer me to her brother?
living and a limited feeling of newness was the never-materialized longing to rid themselves of the A: Because you cannot ask of her that which is not yours to receive.
trappings of their so called primitive yoke. B: But isn’t it the same whether she tells me or her brother does?
A: No.
The catch was, however, that for them to reap the benefits of the emerging political structures, B: Why?
they had to replace their cultural identity with something more fitting and appropriate to the A: That too, will be answered by the Hunter-Upon-Four.
changing times of the approaching nihilistic atmosphere. Centuries worth of history and culture B: You’re leading me in circles!
and knowledge were quickly traded in for paved roads and the chimerical death call of develop- A: Hardly. I have merely revealed unto you a set of points. It is for you to find the path that best
ment was sounded. connects them.
B: How many paths are there?
The streets were cleaned of all signs of dissidence. Those who would not comply were disappear- A: How many points are there?
ing (50,000 in one country) and the prisons and jails quickly become well known for housing B: (pause) Do the points move?
those alleged to have gossiped in the wrong manner. With the backing of Western governments A: Now, you are thinking at last. The proper use of your faculties will help you.
these actions were sanctioned, authorized, and in some instances directly encouraged and sup- B: If the points move, my path may loop back. Back on itself.
ported in the form of military training and financial funding. A: Yes. A circle with no center.
B: (long silence) I... I cannot even imagine such a thing existing!
The homogenization of the world was and still is becoming more and more apparent, and the A: That is the point. The center is on the circumference, and the two are not two, but one.
emergence of powerful and effective counter-cultural movements during the second part of B: So, my path... is one point?
the 20th century, forcibly pushed to the extreme collective mental psyche of society, is enough A: In a manner of speaking, yes. However, to initiate such a set of circumstances, movement
evidence to prove this. must first be established.
B: And if I consider it as such, I would be moving... inside a point? But that’s impossible! It
Today not much is different, apart from the slightly altered presence of a Unites States seeming to undermines the... the very... why, the very
teeter on the edge of complete ruin. Ultimately, this might have something to do with its leading point of a point!
role in the contemptible and very precarious actions of the West over the past ten years. A: And that, impossible though it may be, is the truth. There are more answers to question than
you would ever conceive of.
Iraq and Afghanistan seem to assume the role of “destroyed civilization for the sake of Democra- B: Such as?
cy”, both countries targeted and virtually ruined based on flimsy evidence and fragile non truths, A: The Drinker drinks.
resulting in the loss of astronomically high numbers of civilian lives and the demonization of an B: And that is the answer to which question?
entire religious group. The Times Square Mosque situation is an example of the inbred intoler- A: Will you find out?
ance created by the two wars, which manages to rear its ugly head in the most reliably absurd B: I may, if I know how to.
fashion. In Europe, France seems to be illegally deporting Roma ethnics and fellow European A: Simple. Question it.
citizens based on the idea that they are socially undesirable. The French have also recently placed B: Well, may I ask you something?
a ban on face coverings, making it illegal for certain religious groups to fully practice. In Switzer- A: Certainly.
land they passed a Minaret ban, making it illegal for the structures to appear on the facades of B: Will I ever find the answer to that question?
religious buildings and furthering the feeling of resentment and anger within the Right-shifting, A: After only a short period of time, your faculties have failed you. Your thinking has degraded
seemingly-doomsday, precursory position of Western politics. again. The answer to your question is No.
B: Why?
Even at home we’ve seen Canada’s position fall from the cherished pedestal it once held in inter- A: Because you already have the answer. It is the question you must seek. Once you learn where
national politics. Much of this can be blamed on the current government. The feeling of displea- to focus your energies, then you can establish the necessary motion to complete the path.
sure with Canada was recently demonstrated when the UN chose Portugal[?] over us for a seat B: The circle with no end?
in the UN Security Council. Many blame this on Harper’s unwise international alliances, and A: The circle with no center.
his effort to single-handedly muzzle the international environmental movement by paying little

*
attention to the more or less associated global sentiment regarding climate change.

With that said, readers can choose for themselves one of the many reasons not to really care
much if it were all to end tomorrow. One could also choose to do the opposite and try to incite Have art you’d
like to show?
change through the many available and appropriate channels. By becoming more politically
aware and active, and just generally knowledgeable, one can equip gain the tools necessary to
bring forth the necessary change required to overcome the current problems faced by many of the
citizens of the world, and to successfully enact the essential changes that will effectively lead to
the greatest good for the greatest number. The Samuel J. Zacks Gallery is a student-run gallery in Stong College.
We are located at 109 Stong College &
are open Monday – Friday, 11:30 AM – 4 PM.
Email Michael & Stephanie at zacks@yorku.ca

12
ARTS

THREE POEMS – Brennan Maynard

Metro Morning

BOOM AND ECHO

Judgement, black and white, smeared across our palms and left to stain the railings as we
stepped off the streetcar into the night. This night, above all nights, is sympathetic to the elec-
tric hustle of the fleeing lamplight and the heavy rotation of the sky. A park finds us sitting with-
in its boundaries – the trees are our slaves - and despite the limbs of their servitude granting us
cover, we can still feel the tension of these elastic hours. – Kira Lancaster
This stark naked realization sits at the bottom of our conversation: tomorrow I will be a differ- For those flash framed seconds There was nowhere for our gloom
ent person and the world will fold in upon itself without me. My threadbare metaphors will be the room was cleaner to slink to- the tombs of our memoirs
retired to the closet of my mind, the fond friction of our hands as well, and this world will be di- than bleach’s pale dreams burning in our skulls faster than light.
gested in the sickly sweet chyme of memory. Our brains became foaming embers before
The cabinets seemed to hum our children remembered to check
Failed Rejection of the Present in their gleaming state- if we really had three dimensions.
almost lit from within, like
death! new cells of washed skin. We had kept pieces of them-
death piled a thousand seconds high If only for the fragment, silver baby spoons, lunch boxes, drawings
insurmountable tragedy when we forgot the shadows -keepsakes lost in the ashes within us,
inherent in these wasted syllables and now they comb through
chair legs and our legs and the moon surface of our lives
to leak, unhinged and sieve like in a metaphor lampshades cast. That claim for the past world we promised them.
no longer whispering into a warm thigh from radiance was our space-
but shouting, scraping at the static screen not the same as darkness, never still- In the silt and sand
a modern voice trapped under glass. layers of intersection. Of memory before you can feel the wind return,
it’s placed, roaming behind our locked limbs real sun comes back as a faint tune
So rust these silver strings whistled to the elements,
that keep us so suspended, behind possessions before we fix dates, days, a doom unable to settle now
each keystroke homage dinners to them. Darkness covers shadows there are no shadows
to an age of isolation. the way this glow did, taking even our eyelids,
with our dreams patterns beneath them,
Definition leaving behind fluorescent minds.
Cataclysm is the rending of the earth, Of illumination?
the slow methodical tearing of a continent,
an ever happening never storm
reported with universal reluctance.

It is saying you don’t want kids

during the first date,
picking at your pasta salad in a way
that eloquently states
the world is ending.

It is one unremarkable snowflake

on its way down
aware it is unable to inspire
anything but silence.
– Haley Anderson 13
 ARTS
THE PACK
– Dominic Licorish
He walked along a cracked road. The sky shone white with the midday sun. On the road, he thread-
ed his way through abandoned vehicles, refuse piles, debris. His rifle was slung over one shoulder,
and the pack strapped to his back. He had been walking for a long time.
He came upon a deserted square, old advertisements still promised happiness and enrichment.
The world needed that more than anything. Unfortunately the advertisements could never deliver
on their promises. The man continued to walk. He entered a large building and unslung his rifle,
double checked it, and continued walking.
Overturned mannequins, piles of clothes, and rotting corpses decorated what was once a bustling
department store. Shafts of light cut through the musty dark of the room through the pockmarked
ceiling. The man registered vaguely that he was in Sears. He didn’t need any clothes though. He
needed food. It was always dangerous coming into the core of the city. Raiders roamed the streets,
preying on anyone dumb enough to wander into their sight. The others, people
who were not raiders, were worth avoiding too; they didn’t like the man. He used to be with them,
but they kept trying to take the pack. “For the good of the group,” they said. But they were not al-
lowed to touch the pack. No one was allowed to touch the pack.
The pack was pink, originally. Now it’s mostly dirt-covered. Before the world was set on fire, Angie
wore it every day. I have to protect the pack; it’s all that‘s left. The pack holds everything that is
important, and I have to protect it. The others didn’t like it when I protected the pack. They were
scared and tried to hurt me.
They chased me, and I was forced to protect the pack so much! When I was done there was no one
else to bring harm to the pack or its contents. The pack was safe.
The Eaton Centre: they used to come here together. Memory reared its dusty head, but the man
shooed it away. The past was dead. The pack was the future.
Picking along the rubble of the building, the man heard a noise and froze.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” a voice called. The voice was soon followed by the figure of a man, armed
with a shotgun. Upon seeing the man, the stranger aimed squarely at his chest. The stranger ap-
proached carefully; behind him a small boy attached himself to the stranger’s coat.
“You friendly? We need some water. We’re willing to trade, but you can never be too sure with
people nowadays.” He brandished his gun. “My name’s John.”
The man nodded. “I’m friendly.” He dropped his rifle.
John let loose a sigh, “Thank God! Junior and I have been hiking for days. We heard there were
people here, but all we’ve run into were gangs! If you could point us in the right direction I’d really
appreciate the help.” John shouldered his shotgun. The man watched as John opened up a pack of
his own. It was much larger than his. “How much water can you spare us?” John asked.
The man’s eyes never left the boy. “Junior, is it?”
The boy nodded.
“You know, Angie would have been about your age. Funny coincidence, eh?”
The boy said nothing. John cleared his throat. “The water, friend?”
The man finally looked at John. “I can give you a full canteen. Probably holds about a half litre.”
John grinned and Junior’s eyes lit up. John extended a hand “Thank you, erm…”
The man neither took his hand, nor responded.
“I suppose you want something in return…. We don’t have much of value, but we can work some-
thing out,” John continued. “Are you out here all alone? Where’s the Enclave?”
The man nodded, “The others keep to one of the old stadiums south of here. I keep to myself. It’s
better that way.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“People don’t understand me.”
“Understand you?”
“They can’t see what life’s priority is.”
“Life: there’s only one thing important in it now.”
14
“And what is that?” the man asked.
“Holding onto what’s left.”
The man chewed this answer over for a moment. John is wrong; the only important thing is the pack.
John checked his watch. He removed some salted pork from his pack and set up a small grill. John
once again made an offer, but the man refused. He told them that he was looking for food of his
own before they ran into each other. The man moved to continue his search.
“Wait, the water!” John reached out and stopped him. His hand is on the pack.
Two sharp cracks perforated the silence. The man’s breath slowly came under his control as the last
echo died away. He had found food. He had protected the pack. The world was as it should be.
SHREDDED PAGES, LOST VOLUMES:
LESSONS FROM AN ART INSTALLATION
AT THE GLADSTONE HOTEL
– John Nyman
Every single fucking word is vital. Without them, information melts into a mass of material pa-
per, and everything we think about the world evaporates into the recognition of nothing more
than what we can see around us: wood, stale air, and human flesh.
It’s what you learn in a small room where a slightly demented woman (perhaps, if you will, an art-
ist) sits in front of a paper shredder and a mountain of the machine’s excrement, all derived from
participant-chosen pages torn from a multi-volume encyclopaedia. Grace, Democracy, Love, the
Vikings—they all go callously into the shredder with a smile and a turn of the wrist. If you want,
you can take a handful of shreddings with you and try to remember what they once meant.
I can’t think of a better microcosm of cataclysm. A room containing wood, stale air, human
flesh and the sum total of abstract knowledge and conceptualization is transformed into a room
containing wood, stale air, human flesh and mounds and mounds of paper—from a certain
perspective, more wood.
The trick of the scenario is obvious once you’re there: destroying something that seems to bear
the weight of complex thought and knowledge, even if it’s just a sheet of paper, feels much
more surrealistically powerful than destroying anything else. The act of transforming the purely
conceptual (the encyclopaedia) into the purely physical (thick, shredded paper) reminds us how
intrinsically the two are linked. Language and material give meaning to each other; an encyclo-
paedia is an encyclopaedia because words are printed on its pages, and the words are meaningful
because they’re bound in the pages of a solid volume, a real object in the real world. Severing the
link is the ultimate form of destruction. The concepts, their typographical representations split
into illegibility by the shredder, float into mere memory as unpinnable ideas. Meanwhile, the
paper, lacking any content to designate its use, becomes indefinable matter (what exactly do you
call shredded paper, anyway, when even the word ‘paper’ suggests something that’s still blank,
something that can still be marked with meaning?).
This is what we fear. The force of a nuke can’t destroy civilization as long as there are still words
to describe it. The most frightening fire is the fire burning the pages of books. Broken up,
burned, or evaporated, matter will always be there as matter. Knowledge, unhinged from the
objects it describes, can be lost. We fear the rubble because it suggests there was once something
meaningful where it now lies dormant and dead.
The real lessons learned, however, are not lessons of fear or foreboding. The installation doesn’t
suggest an ending, only what could be an ending, and in that it exposes what existence is while
it lasts. The installation venerates the encyclopaedia. Even though it is fragile, terminally bound
to the shreddability of the material medium it exists upon, its destruction is powerful enough
to capture our sentimentality and regret. In a small room of wood, stale air, and human flesh, its
words lead us to imagine the emptiness of a world without its knowledge, how much it allows us
to think beyond the incompleteness of material existence. How it lets us keep our heads in the
clouds, like the sign board limply held by Wile E. Coyote just before the fall.
Every word is a shield that elevates us, a ward against the apocalypse of unthinkable matter. En-
cyclopaedias, novels, newspapers and even the printed characters of this article fulfil this heroic
function. If they become lost to us, that loss becomes the only thing we can know.
ARTS

TV PARTY – N. Alexander Armstrong

FINAL EXAM
My vision
My vision obviously
obviously – Taylor Abrahamse
heralds some
heralds some great
great disaster!
disaster! C'monStephen,
C'mon Stephen,
but
but the
the images
images TELL
TELLMEMEWHAT
WHAT Which of the following panels would have been
are
are meaningless
meaningless THEY
THEYMEAN!
MEAN! considered ‘funny’ (FEELINGS #128-397) to the
—I
—I can
can make
make nono average human of the 21st century? Please circle.
sense
sense of
of them
them
hoser
hoser

i idunno!
dunno!

Wish you
were still I perch for a moment on the apartment doorstep, looking over the silent

here didn’t even know how many were left.

My feet hit the sidewalk and I wrap the scarf more tightly around my
face, as though it can protect me. I step around the discarded cell
phones that lie on the pavement.
started talking
From:
louder and faster and longer. It culminated in a cataclysmic cacophony
Me
-
tion of Facebook and Twitter was decimated within a week. A Black-
To:
was unstoppable. We brought this upon ourselves. We deserved it.
I didn’t own a computer or cell phone; that’s why I was a survivor. I’d Anyone
never bothered to get “connected.” But the Plague was contagious. I’d
watched as my brother answered his phone and instantly became one of
the chattering horde, talking himself to death within a week.

THE PLAGUE
Every couple of steps I pause and listen for Talkers, my heart beating in

– Frank Myrland

15
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