6 Issue
continue the voice Time 28/03/21
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A Letter To Our Readers
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am starting this letter off very different than how I usually do. As a woman in the UK, I have spent most of my life living in fear of my safety, presuming sexual harassment was just part of being a woman and always working ten times harder than my male counterparts for the same results. But that ends now, I will no longer live-in fear and to every single woman not just in the UK but in the whole world we deserve better, and we are here for you not just as a company but as individual women who make up our small team. I hope that my children do not live in a world own protection. On a lighter note, I am so excited for us to be sharing out sixth issue with you on ‘Time’ marking out six-month anniversary! Time is a concept I have always found so interesting because time is... well, just a manmade concept which so much of our life is based on. Recently, I have been loving our longer reads such as ‘Morning Ritual’ by Yash Seyedbagheri, ‘Plastic Breath’ by Alfredo Salvatore Arcilesi, and of course part two of Bob Ritchie’s ‘Sultan, Pretty and Me’. I am also very excited to be featuring the talented Rude Cookies Glasgow for our small business feature as I am absolutely obsessed with their cookies on Instagram, and I am ordering some right now! So, please sit back, relax – whatever the weather and the state of the world – grab a beverage of your choice and perhaps a blanket or a fan and immerse yourself in this issue on Time! And remember to show up for and support the women in your life. Kirsty Taylor She /Her
Front cover photography by Natalie Leanne Magazine Design by Anna McFarlane
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CONTENTS
Time Hurts by Shannon Gardner- 6 Are We Running Out of Time? Being Single in a Pandemic- 7 Poetry Corner 1- 8 A Morning Ritual- 10 Insertico by Rosa Gravino- 11 Poetry Corner 2- 12 Interview with an Author- 14 The Gallery- 16
Tick Tock by Kirsty Taylor- 23 Trees in Life- 24 Short Story: Plastic Breath- 26 Something To Remember- 30 Making Time For You- 32 Instante by Rosa Gravino- 33 Passing Time at the Sea- 34 Art by Ingilosi- 35 Part Two of Sultan, Pretty and Me- 36 Things We’re Loving- 38 Playlist- 40 Sustainable Art: Wild and Kind- 42 Restaurant Highlight: Blasta- 44 The Art of Makeup- 46 Small Business Spotlight: Rude Cookie Glasgow- 48 Coorie Moments- 50 If You Could Live In Any Time Period, When Would It Be and Why?- 52
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Time H by Shanno
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By Shannon Gard use of India and creates beau while crafting an appearance. assists the view the Asian aesth appreciation of Her use of d impression drawing. St clusters of value texture and de illusion of change
Hurts on Gardner
dner. Shannon’s Ink is unforced uty within flaws n earthy grunge This technique wer to observe etic Wabi Sabi; imperfections. dots creates an n of a technical ippling creates e implying crisp epth, giving the e through time.
Are We Running Out of Time? Being Single in a Pandemic M
any of us called ourselves hopeless romantics pre the ‘turbulent twenties’
none of us truly understood the meaning of hopeless romantics until we were hit with a global pandemic whilst single and had to just put up and shut up (or so a sex ban. Now, you might be reading this and thinking, ‘Come on, aren’t there bigger things happening right now?’ And you would be entirely correct, and noone is denying that, but this article is not about that. As someone who has not had more than a few dates with the same person, let alone a serious relationship in now twenty-four years of living, the realisation that my ability to meet people was now destined for the world of internet dating only, gave a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘hopeless romantic’. I can ensure you for many years I was the person who said I would never get dating apps, and seeing what the app was all about. How the tables have turned, as I actually met someone on Hinge, and I am using the word ‘met’ very loosely. To chat through Instagram DM for a whopping three because you want to be upset, but the reason is entirely valid so you are just left feeling hopeless. There are two things that are so incredibly gut-punching to leave the house, don’t want to break the rules and don’t necessarily want to commit to someone you barely even know. The second is that you constantly feel like you are running out of time, as a woman who literally just turned twentyfour, I often have nightmares of my biological clock running out; and if they are not about that, they are about calculating how long I will need to have known someone, before getting engaged, and then getting married, and then having a child, and if there is enough time left for all of that. This is one of the deep problems rooted within our society for young adults, this timeline set out for us that we are ‘supposed’ to follow, and for women, mothers. As much as this article is about how much of a disaster it is to be single to follow that timeline. In fact, not everyone even needs nor wants romantic love, but there is nothing wrong with it if you do. What I miss most of all is physical touch, there is only so much that Love Honey can do. I hope reading this article as a single person in Britain has made you feel validated and if you are not single right now I hope it has given you an insight into what it is truly like to be single right now. People may be joking on Twitter single people right now is this is wasting away our dating years. However, I want to leave you with one thing: time is a social construct and you are not running
By Kirsty Taylor
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Poetry Corner 1 Nothing and all Only so much time allotted our soul’s walk On this, dry earth A‘fore plucked still budding we Are taken up into Nothing or something Scholars cannot decide The gender, purpose or guile of God Whether in DNA we make him Or clay, form, those deities Clash in storybook Causing futile war In human reach we fear so much Never admitting this is why Strangers are not Welcome and we turn More to those who resemble What we know In our small skulls we Do not know as much as We think but still This awareness of something May a curse be To know is to fall To fall is to be
By Candice Louisa Daquin. Candice is of Sephardi French/Egyptian descent. Born in Europe, Daquin immigrated to the American South West to study and become a Psychotherapist, where she has continued writing and editing. Prior to publishing her own poetry collections, Daquin regularly wrote for the poetry periodical ‘Rattle and The Northern Poetry Review’. Daquin is queer woman of mixed ethnicity and passionate feminist beliefs concerning equality, Daquin’s poetry is her body of evidence.
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Beyond Barriers If imagination was a graceful bird I would imagine that I had turned into one that soars higher and higher with the smiling clouds travel across boundaries till I could reach you and sit next to you singing sappy love songs to make you happy.
If dreams were wishes I would dream that I could surpass beyond invisible barriers that separates us to be right next to you at this very moment my eyes drinking you my body warming you and my heart loving you.
If thoughts I would think that I had blossomed into a sassy rose whose fragrance is carried across the seven seas to reach your nostrils and let you slumber into blissful dreamland.
By Aminath Neena. Aminath is an English lecturer from the picturesque archipelago nation of the Maldives. An avid lover of words, poetry is a hobby closest to her heart. Her poems usually revolve around themes such as love, relationships, spirituality, society, and global issues. Her poems are published or forthcoming in a range of international platforms like the Trouvaille Review, Spillwords, Open Door Poetry Magazine, Fiddles & Scribbles, Inspired magazine and Borderless Journal. Aminath holds an MA. in TESOL from the Uniher thoughts, her feelings and her life.
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A Morning Ritual A
a dozen emails rising through early morning shadows. The same as every other morning, except for mornings where there’s inexplicably emails until after breakfast, though. And try not to think of their contents. But that’s futile. They creep into your mind with manic precision. Are they lit mag responses? Invitations to parties? You try not to dream too much.
It’s just you now. You, Nicholas Alexander Botkin, are the inhabitant of this apartment. The master of half-empty spaces, rife with chipped oak desks and plastic bowls and cups. Or half-full, the optimists would say. You are a man whose fridge holds eggs, Diet Pepsi, TV dinners, and onions. On top of that, you live in editing gigs and tutoring services. And of course, you have Merlot and episodes of ‘Barry’ and ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm’.
You still store the rejections from writing contests you entered after a couple glasses of nightly Merlot. And you still recall the attempts to start a
day will be long. For breakfast, have your customary eggs with toast dipped in it. There’s something soothing and brown mingling. A colourful explosion. You always eat at 7:00. At least you have some sense of time. Wash the bowls, trudge back to your whitewalled room. 7:17. The day is long. At least time hasn’t slipped. Open the emails, but not in one burst. Unfurl each like packages that Mom and Nan got you back when adulthood was on the precipice, but still oddly seemed far away. When funny hoodies and gift cards seemed like the sweetest things and when the packaging itself seemed even sweeter, festooned in shades of lavender, navy blue, gold. An acceptance from a lit mag would be good. An indicator that you’re not just reacting to the world, but acting. Putting yourself out there, submitting with fervency, transmitting your opuses (or opera, to use the technically correct
like balloons. Old friends and strangers alike said maybe they’d join next week, maybe next month. Maybe, of course, was and still is the most obvious form of ‘no’. Your mother and older sister Nan always promise to visit too, but things keep tripping them up. Teaching duties for Mom, Nan’s duties as a reporter for a venerable paper, covering movies and culture. They proclaim love, but love is a painful thing when spoken from a distance, something that holds the past, holds reminders and drunks in the suburbs are the ultimate cliché, of being part of a unit. you are fearless. You are the man who submits to 10
But you took Hitler, anyway. You might as well walk. Fortify responsibility. You need positivity. What’s more positive than pale blue skies and white puffy clouds, the smell of coffee wafting from the coffee shop around the corner with its smiling yellow walls? Out in the morning, you absorb coffee, pot, even pizza, mixtures mingling. Even the march of students to campus offers a certain cheer, even though among these seas of sociability. Maybe you can steal a snatch of laughter, absorb a dirty joke about sex, even a broad smile which they still wear, even though the students are certainly old enough to be cynical.
Walk slow. Walk very slow. Drag each step, absorb each clickety-clack of feet on pavement. Absorb the way the pale blue and white cast fresh shadows on the streets and rooftops. Take comfort in the last patches of snow. Watch the world move and remember what it means to feel ambition. Love. The day is long. By Yash Seyedbagheri. Yash Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA Be A Good Episcopalian’, and ‘Tales From A Communion Line’, have been nominated for Pushcarts. Yash’s work has been published in The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, Write City Magazine, and Ariel Chart, among others.
Insertico by Rosa Gravino
Pieces by Rosa Gravino. She was born, lives and works in Cañada de Gómez, Argentina. She graduated from the School of Fine Arts, National University of Rosario Visual artist whose work consists mainly of Objects, Artist’s Books and Visual Poetry. She has participated in numerous exhibitions in her country and abroad. Her works are part of important public and private collections and her Visual Poems have been published in art magazines, books and digital media.
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Time Time can speed up slow down turn back travel Stop
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By Carl ‘Papa’ Palme in Ridgeway, Virginia Place, Washington. H the military and
‘Papa’ to his grand being a Franciscan Ho
The Year Has Its Hours The Year Has Its Hours A moment will shine on itself, then go, leaving matters, hooks, and time.
er of Old Mill Road a, lives in University He is retired from Federal Aviation
descendants and ospice volunteer.
To write about this year may take forever. Though we work at aspects repaying with lies; the ones we tell ourselves; our stories unwind, so, perhaps we’ll remember the good ones, any, which holds to truth.
By Antoni Ooto. Antoni is an internationally published poet and
Time Clock Terrorists
for his abstract expressionist art, Antoni now adds his voice to poetry. Reading and studying the works of many poets has opened up another means of self-expression.
Last to arrive the bell has rung they barrel into the time clock line the clock hasn’t yet clicked over to ‘one’ You can set your watch with this smoke break band sitting in restroom stalls with cigarettes and cellphones in hand to warm up their lunch I’ll bet you have a hunch Clean-up done and ready to leave camped out promptly at ten ‘til crowded around the time clock like hyenas surrounding a kill The clock ticks to top of the hour and expressing considerable sorrow they punch out before the ringing dies so they can do it all again tomorrow
By Douglas V. Miller. Douglas is an author of 17 chapbooks, a bible study, and two novels, and he resides in Northeast Indiana.
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INTERview with aN AUthor
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distant future where the remnants of humanity need to move on from Earth and set off on an epic
right in this new Eden. The planet is not pristine and unoccupied. New masters have turned it from a refuge into mankind’s worst nightmare. Who will be victorious in this collision of two civilisations? How did you get into writing? Weirdly, from gaming – as in tabletop role-playing games. That was my creative/story outlet for years, and then TSR brought out the Dragonlance novels, which were books writing up a D&D campaign. That basically bridged the gap in my head from me, as a gamer, and Weiss and Hickman as professional authors, and I felt ‘I can do that!’. And I couldn’t, as it happened, because it takes work and practice and a long honing of writing style, but it was the start. Throughout the novel, there are very interesting differences between the spiders’ societal advancements to human development – why did you use spiders instead of the more obvious monkeys to demonstrate this? The spiders predate the book. Dr Fiona Cross’s research into the Portia labiata species was the inspiration, because she showed how fearfully bright the little spider is, far better at problem solving and complex ‘thinking’ than received wisdom says a spider should be. I wanted to run a thought experiment to see what might happen if the species had a clear run at becoming a dominant sentient species. And monkeys and other primates have been done by other writers. And I like spiders but I don’t really have much attachment to monkeys. And, frankly, Gareth Powell knocks them out of the park in Ack-Ack Macaque and Hive Monkey. And the humans in the spaceship – we see what happens when the aim becomes to survive, whatever the cost, especially with an authoritarian rule. It’s quite an uncomfortable look into the human psyche. What was your inspiration behind that? Well I feel quite uncomfortable about humans, so that kind of comes out in the book. I write about human power and capability dynamics as I see them (and to be frank, little in the intervening years since I the human culture that limps off Earth for Kern’s World and the spiders is very much a ‘What Rough Beast’ sort of event. They’re a badly broken culture poured into a spaceship without anyone really thinking about how it’s going to work in the long run. Also there’s an obvious dynamic and contrast between the spiders, on their upward evolutionary curve, and the decline of their parent human culture.
Portia (or the different generations of Portia) is often a more relatable character than any of the humans on the spaceship – do you think that is because the humans no longer resemble a humanity that we would recognise now? The humans resemble modern humanity very closely. They are us, and their culture is built from our ruins in our image. The spiders are arguably more sympathetic because they aren’t us. They certainly they have a thread of empathy to them that makes them sympathetic. Also I suspect that my own love of spiders comes out heavily on the page.
“Well I feel quite uncomfortable about humans, so that kind of comes out in the book” What’s the next project that you’re working on? As it happens, I have literally just sent off a submission draft of the third Children book to my agent, hopefully for onward transmission to the publisher. There’s already one sequel out in Children of Ruin, of course, and this will be another step further still. I’m now working on a new novella for Rebellion, a story of someone getting lost in a strange place to follow Walking to Aldabaran and One Day All This Will Be Yours. And lastly, as this is our Time issue, if you could live in any time period, including the future, what would it be and why? I’d love to visit various eras of the prehistoric past, but I suppose I wouldn’t want to live there. If there is a Culture-esque Banksian post-scarcity future out there, that would be the one for me. Otherwise… Well, there’s an oft-repeated maxim about time travel that most periods are great if you have some modern kit and are of the right demographic to live as a rich person. I’d like to go back to the Harappan civilization of the Indus Valley and future-proof it so that it stuck around, maybe. It seems to have been pleasantly enlightened, what with big cities with all sorts of mod cons long before the Romans came along, and no big house for rich people. Words by Grace Balfour-Harle
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THE GALLERY
This weeks Gallery features work by Natalie Leanne. She is a self-taught photoshop artist from a small town in the UK. She posts daily on her Instagram page with a focus on dreamy, whimsical images. After a tribute image of hers went viral attracting favourable comments from Hollywood A-listers, she has now made available a number of her images as prints on Etsy and is also available for personalised commissions.
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Lockdown
by Rifa Tasfia Choudhury As humans, we think we are superior from all other beings in this world. We are capable of doing and making everything. When the coronavirus spread like crazy all over the world, with so many technologies and knowledge, we couldn’t and still can’t were locked behind bars, trapped in our four-walled homes, some of us were relating our lives to zoo animals – inside those cages all their lives. But to be honest the entire world needed a small break from us humans, trees were more green, sea beaches were Once again nature proved just who is the superior in our lives.
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TICK TOCK Poem
Tock, Tick Tick, tock, tick, tock Tick, tock, tick, tock, To walk. Tick, tock, tick, tock, Tick, tock, tick, tock, Fingers frantically typing, Lots of lip biting. Tick, tock, tick, tock It’s nearly time, I’ve made my dime. Tick, tock, tick, tock Tock, tick, tock, tick As the moon rises, Not realising they’re making compromises. Tock, tick, tock, tick The sun rises, Working like machines. Tock, tick, tock, tick The sun sets, The moon rises. Tock, tick, tock, tick.
By Kirsty Taylor. When Kirsty isn’t head-editing our zine, podcasting or teaching she likes to spend her time pouring her heart and soul more of her poetry on her Instagram or website.
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Tree in Life I
during Kochi Muziris Biennale, an enormous contemporary art festival. I was walking through the streets when I saw Wilson’s poem displayed in his Poetree installation. It was written on the wall behind a photography gallery. I took a photo of this poem and two years later I contacted him saying that I wanted to create this video. Tina Šulc Resnik is a freelance video artist from Slovenia, who graduated in Visual Communications at the Faculty of Design in Ljubljana. She works as a videographer and cameraperson. In her artistic endeavours, she focuses on nature imagery in a variety of forms of expression. Tina has worked on many different projects, mostly for theatres and festivals. Her artwork is exhibited internationally in galleries, museums, video festivals and as public art. You here. Kuzhur Wilson. ‘Without poetry my life is a broken arrow.’ This is what Kuzhur Wilson has to say about his poetry. Though it sounds like a naïve realization of oneself, poems by Wilson don’t compromise on their meaning. Born in is one of the major voices of young generation Malayalam poetry. He started publishing poems from 1990 at the ence in the world of Malayalam poetry through online and of the most read and discussed blogs in the Malayalam blogosphere. Wilson, who has spent a decade in the Gulf, has published six volumes of poetry and one collection of essays about life in the Middle East. He is the recipient of N.M Viyyoth Smaraka Kavitha puraskaram and Arabian was selected as one of the Best Ten Books of the Year
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Kuzhur Wilson has recently bagged the Youth Icon Award here.
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SHORT STORY
Plastic Breath Trigger Warning: This story mentions suicide.
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time to free herself. And, if she could manage, Clara. She had been testing her crippled body since the morning darkness, inundating her extremities task; she guessed her weight to be just shy of one-hundred pounds. Her legs, however, remained stubborn, anchoring her to the bed. For all the training she had subscribed to these counterparts, none was more rigorous, more vital than her breathing regimen. Izzy’s relationship with oxygen had always been of a toxic nature. A university athlete who had relied upon her immaculate lungs for victory, it had been an unreliable ankle that decided ten of depression, and enrol her in a new, lifelong sport: smoking. Three packs a day, four when she And now the ghosts of cigarettes past were preventing her, in spite of her cooperative arms, from liberating herself, and, more importantly, Clara. Izzy exhaled a laboured breath, painfully inhaled another. She should have been accustomed to it the rather stale intake race through her mouth and nostrils, hoping to reach the pair of black bags that kept her going for no real purpose. Save for Clara. The clean dose of oxygen reached her ashen lungs, then exited her mouth and nose in another laboured exhalation. Izzy imagined the polluted molecules warning the new wave of respiration about what corruption lay within her. She looked to her right, locked eyes with the never-blinking Clara, and, with a look that said ‘Don’t you dare move now’ – she couldn’t risk precious breaths on her roommate’s deaf ears – began the arduous journey. Izzy watched as she willed her right arm across the centimetres that felt like kilometres of bed. The feeble limb made pitiful progress before stopping entirely so she may regain what energy she could. A surge of anger propelled her arm against the plastic sheet dividing her and Clara. Her hand slid down the thick material until it landed in the crevice between the sheet and edge of the bed. Using this newfound leverage, Izzy began pulling her weight with her right arm, while pushing against the mattress with her left. The juicy idea of giving up had crossed her mind, just as it had to slow her run to a crawl at the three-thousand-metre mark. Her conditioned lungs had burned then. Now they were volcanic. But the agony and certain death would be worth it. Not only for herself, but Clara, who had never felt a pang in her endless life. Izzy now found herself at a ninety-degree angle: the top half of her body sprawled laterally across suicide mission of sorts. After a quick mental team huddle with her barely-working parts, she used her right hand to push against the plastic sheet. The damn thing was like a wall of concrete. Her reluctant body threatened to pull the plug on the whole operation, but a little bit of that wholesome anger, and a lot of thinking about what would happen to Clara if she failed, helped free the bottom of the plastic sheet from between the mattresses. Izzy exhaled so deeply, the fog outside of her only window found its way to her eyes. One breath. Her vision slowly... Two breaths. ...slowly... Three breaths. ...returned. She felt her old nemesis oxygen assisting her rushing blood to restore her vision. But she knew better; death had brushed past her. 27
‘Move it’, she urged herself. Izzy hadn’t intended to escape by falling on her head, but as she shimmied herself closer... closer... closer, then over... over... over the edge of the bed, it seemed the only way. Her head free of the plastic sheet, the faint aroma of cooking bombarded her olfactory. She couldn’t help but sacusing too much garlic powder,’ she thought, the seasoning burning her sinuses. But that was Isabelle: too much or too little of everything. Her shoulders hanging over the edge of the bed, thinned blood rushing to her head, Izzy wonarms,’ she thought. She wondered if her daughter would even care. The pair of Izzy’s had lived a life of few kisses and plenty of bites. Izzy had made the cliche atindeed run; not on the track, but away from home, turning the typical one-off act of rebellion into a quarterly sport. When she was home, Isabelle would blame Izzy for all of her life’s unwanted respiratory ailments courtesy of her chain-smoking. That her only child had decided to punish her by never marrying, never having children, was not lost on Izzy. Still, when Izzy had become too ill to breathe on her own, it was Isabelle who rushed her to the hospital; and it was Isabelle who brought her home, tucked her into bed, and made sure the oxygen tent kept her alive. seven days of no words exchanged save for begrudged greetings and farewells, Izzy had decided that this foggy afternoon was the right time to free herself. And, if she could manage, Clara. Beloved Clara. She could no longer see her only friend, but knew she was right where she had left her. ‘I’m coming,’ she thought, hoping the suffocating air out here wouldn’t render her a liar. Like in the old days, when slower competitors somehow cruised past her, good old-fashioned anger fuelled her cause, and she writhed her dangling body further over the edge of the bed like comforter, worked alone to send her over the rest of the way. In the space of seconds, Izzy saw the ceiling, then her abdomen, then her legs, the latter two crashing down on her. Within the same seconds, she had felt emptiness beneath her, then the her, and the fog returned, this time most certainly accompanied by death. It took her a few moments to realize that death smelled an awful lot like garlic. A few more moments, and Izzy understood she hadn’t died... and that her daughter wouldn’t have heard a thing Alive enough to save Clara.
ter remained downstairs, oblivious, or willfully so. But in case obliviousness turned to awareness, Izzy needed to move as quickly as her lame body would allow at this late stage in the race. ‘Last one-hundred metres,’ she implored. to her level. ‘Could’ve just grabbed her, and brought her into the tent,’ she scolded herself, ‘save yourself this stupidity.’ But she knew it wouldn’t have been fair to Clara, to have her lifelong com-
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past the bottom drawer, then the middle, then – She stopped, having reached as high as she could go. She looked at the progress her hand had close to Clara. disparate breathing became shallower, more disparate. The retinal fog grew thicker. And she was certain the last time she would see Clara was in the memories she had very limited time to relive: Sneaking into her late mother’s bedroom – this very same bedroom – to sneak a peek at Clara, high on her shelf. Receiving Clara on the eve of her mother’s passing – in this very same bedroom – on the condition that she pass Clara on to her daughter, should she have one, when her own end was near. Asking Isabelle to take Clara off the shelf, and sit her on the nightstand; the plan to release Clara
Her nicotine-stained spider-hand rediscovered the nightstand’s feet, and, once more, began its ascent. Past the bottom drawer. Forty metres. Past the middle drawer. Thirty metres. Past the bottom of the top drawer. Finding the top drawer’s knob... Ten metres. ...where it hung... Come on. ...unwilling to move. COME ON! Her hand sprang back, the drawer with it. Sliding. Sliding. Sliding. Until the heavy piece abruptly stopped, having reached its limit. The nightstand leaned slightly But the nightstand had other plans; before it settled back into place, it made sure to shake free the tall, glossy box. The impact was painful, a sharp corner hitting her perfectly in the eye, but nothing compared to the torture her lungs were putting her through. Instead of fog, there was rain. Izzy blinked the burning tears away, bringing not the nightstand into focus, but a face. And what a beautiful face it was. Skin made of meringue. A faint smile on pink lips barely formed. Rosy cheeks forever pinched into dimples. Black eyebrows arching over a pair of unblinking bejewelled eyes. Had they seen Izzy? All the Izzy’s? From Grandma Izzy to this sorry-excuse-for-anIzzy? They stared at each other for some time, Izzy refusing to blink, like her little friend, lest she slip into death during one of those slivers of blackness. The smell of garlic was fading. She couldn’t tell if her daughter was altering the recipe in some way, or if her senses were gradually shutting down. above Clara’s head. Not with anger, but love, Izzy tore open the lid that had sealed the doll in her
Popular Vote in the Best of Rejected Manuscripts Competition. In addition to several short pieces, he is currently working on his debut novel.
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Something to Remember T
his work is from the series Beyond The Consequence Of Time.
Beyond The Consequence Of Time is a parable of man’s destiny and his relationship with what is beyond. The theme here is a conceptual and philosophical dialogue among different positions that combines the downfall of an old-world and a human tendency for something exalted. In both cases, what brings the interest is not what is factually happening, but how we see reality and the world and how we project in them our inner thoughts and feelings. In that regard, the reality is just a personal projection, something that only exists when perceived in a certain way. Man lives in this world he created, in the world of spiral meanings, colour values, equalised contexts, and mythological symbols.
By Alexey Adonin. Alexey Adonin is a Jerusalem based abstract-surrealist artist. He graduated in 1993 from the State Art College named after A. Glebov (Minsk, to Israel. In his creative endeavor, Alexey mostly strives to get away from banal copying of reality, preferring to create one inner world. He uses his art as a platform to express his profound ideas about reality, humanity, and their intertwined behaviours. Alexey’s works have been showcased locally and internationally and are held in private collections around the Facebook, Instagram or his website.
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Making time for you S
elf-care has been a mental health buzzword for a while now. There are whole social media accounts dedicated to it; Jonathan Van Ness in Queer Eye says it at least once an episode. But what actually is self-care? It can’t be all face masks and candles. that is deliberate, under your control, and self-initiated. It is time spent doing a task that looks after you, and the time is only dedicated to that task, no distractions. Self-care can equally be just taking time away from screens, and learning about yourself and what you enjoy doing. But mainly, it’s about taking an active role in looking after your mental health. One of the problems with making time for self-care when you’re anxious and busy is that it is easy to worry about doing self-care ‘right’. When you view self-care as something slightly different from someone else’s, it can be stressful if you directly compare. What works for me may not work for someone else. I’m certainly not a crafty person, but I have lots of friends who are. I’m someone who loves doing something, creating something. So inactivity doesn’t always make me feel better. I have tried almost every hobby under the sun, but only a few have stuck – colouring in, crossstitch, a daily workout, going for walks, yoga. While I enjoy them a lot, they are not always things I can do daily or always go back to. But learning to recognise what I need that day is important. I’ve started to pick up meditation, especially if I can’t sleep. If I’ve been feeling lethargic, a walk in the park to my favourite song is a great pick-me-up.
“Whatever your self-care is that day, make it different from the daily tasks that you need to go through.” I didn’t need to buy all the snacks etc, but I would set aside time to go see at least one ism. I also love to dance, and always enjoy letting myself go and just dancing – in a class or in my room alone. Self-care is something that you enjoy doing, that has no pressure or expectations attached to it.
giving yourself some self-care. Your self-care could be making time for a dance class, or baking. Someone else’s could be having a really special hot chocolate. Or a quiet moment in the morning before everyone’s up. And not everyone has time for the same level of selfcare. For many busy people, their self-care is having a slightly longer shower than normal, or their favourite chocolate bar with a cup of tea. It could be calling your Mum for a good old blether. Whatever your self-care is that day, make it different from the daily tasks that you need to go through, or if you don’t have What you need one day can be different to time to add another thing, take your time the next. So you’re not stuck only doing one over your favourite task. Just make the time thing. Sometimes all you need is a glass of for you, whether it be three minutes or three wine and a luxurious bubble bath. Sometimes hours. You always deserve it. you want to read a trashy magazine, or watch the next episode in a TV show you’ve been Words by Grace Balfour-Harle enjoying. Before Covid-19, my ultimate selfcare time would be going to the cinema. 32
Insante
by Rosa Gravino 33
Passing Time at the Sea by Hannah Weber
By Hannah Weber. Hannah is a writer and editor based in Brighton, UK, where she seaswims as often as possible. By day, she does media work and communications for a national domestic abuse charity. By night, she reviews literature in translation, especially by women.
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Ingilosi ‘INGILOSI’ is a Zulu term that we use in my native language which simply means an Angel. According to the Christian faith an angel is known as a servant of God. INGILOSI is about being a faithful servant of Jesus too. This photo series is about void and exploring being holier than thou. It’s about expressing different aspects of being an angel and discovering different ways of being and seeing. I had the pleasure of photographing myself recently in my room as INGILOSI and exploring different aspects of being Holy in your comfortable place. But yet this series also ties into ISOLATION because as I was photographing myself in my room, I felt isolated in my own environmental space. The images also represent a creative approach to reinforcing the importance of self-isolation during the coronavirus pandemic. It was a wonderful process to document. It’s an extended way of myself exploring my own ideas of being an angel and my personal gender identity. By Mpumelelo Buthelezi. Mpumelelo is a photographer born and bred in Soweto, South Africa.
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SHORT STORY Sultan, Pretty and Me Part 2
In February’s issue you were introduced to part one of this story and you can now read it along with part two, with part three coming next month. If you haven’t read last month’s issue just head to p30 to read part one.
a king, or Sultan of Sloth, as I liked to call him. Sult for short. Long ago, as a young tom full of enthe height of the next building’s roof was at least as important as the next meal, when the quick turn of a bird’s wing would have him off like a muscular, orange missile, long ago, he had had a When Leticia had gone, JonTom grew listless and started a milk belly. And let the birds go by. The birth of a sultan. They say that pets grow to resemble their owners. The sallow visage in the mirror indicated that the reverse was true: sparse, grey whiskers, tattered hair... with the burst vessels of age and long-forgotten over-indulgences, were yellowed and opaque, the irises and pupils shone with all the verve and energy I had ever had. Looking into my eyes was like looking at the ancient light of a distant sun. The energy, palpable and shining, weighed heavy I turned away. Tired from my self-examination, I slumped against the edge of the bureau, envying the sleeping grip on the sprightly beam. Light danced and shimmered, but away and away. Sultan, feeling the weight of my attention, raised his head, looked up. His drooping whiskers begged comfort and love. Pet me. A familiar command, almost urgent enough to override the perpetual accusation of his solemn, pink-tongued smile: How could you let her go? Where is she? ‘I don’t know Sult, I don’t know.’ The old guilt resurfaced. Survivor’s syndrome squeezed my heart. I stepped to the bed, arms and head hanging. Sult bumped his head up into the palm of my criminally unoccupied hand, reminding me of the I ran my hand down his back. ‘Okay Sult, old man, looks like you’ve got me.’ Recalling my earlier, dark contemplations, I added, ‘For a while at least. Now, if you can bestir that hefty ass of yours, I’ll give you some pets.’ I smiled through the insults that came so automatically. It was a part of our relationship: I bugged him about his weight, he woke me up at zero dark thirty in the blessed AM to go out. Or come in. Or just from contrariness. Long ago I had realized that cats don’t care what you say as long as you say it through a smile. In those days I would grin like an idiot and state happily, ‘JonTom, you insufferable piece of batshit, get off my paper.’ And long ago I realized that you don’t make anyone so happy as yourself by talking to an animal. What you say doesn’t matter. Leticia had often observed, ‘You talk to that cat more than me!’ Mock hurt. Then she would lose the fake frown and laugh. And hug us both, warm embrace. Her shiny black hair would fall over us then. Leticia possessed and gave it in plenty. Her Hispanic upbringing had instilled in her a sense 36
of family that no American could possibly hope to equal. Not always easy for me, her demand for affection: My parents had been remote and cold; I was remote and cold. An ingrained trait, hard to excise: the standing-off and letting emotion pass without affecting. Our inability to have a child – on which she could lavish indiscriminate love – had hurt her beyond my capacity to heal. But she showed me; taught me how to participate in her healing. I learned. Now that I have fully and completely broken the habit of self-containment, she is gone. Weak from memory, I lowered myself to the musty, mushy mattress. I continued to stroke the old and coarse fur of my old and coarse friend. With old and coarse and spotted hands, depending from frayed, grey-white sleeves. I stared in amazement at the bulging blue veins, the spider-leg person’s. I was simply borrowing them until mine came back from the cleaners. Sultan stretched under my ministrations, purring, a low rumble. Like a tractor engine idling. mewed from the other room. I could hear her scratching at the screen, one of the bad habits she had picked up from the Sult himself. It remained a constant source of argument between us, as I had to repair the two-foot square of shredded mesh every third month or so. Night-time. Time for the romping and playing so essential to catness. Time to act the deadly again, impatient. ‘Just a minute, Pretty.’ Her ‘mew,’ never having grown past kittenhood, transported me. For a lovely moment another light. ‘Leticia.’ She smiled and held up a kitten. Tiny and thoroughly soaked, it was grey from wetness, writhing by Leticia’s dusky beauty, grey-streaked hair, and a myriad sun and smile wrinkles bracketing her eyes and pink lips, would have made a lovely photograph. ‘She’s so pretty.’ Knowing I would not easily agree to the trouble – and expense – of another cat, Leticia rushed on, ‘She’s a stray. I found her under the lip of our stairs, trying to stay out of that awful, freezing downpour.’ dropping their light burdens, resulting in a sprinkle of rain. It was spring, so the rain was probably cool, but the day was warm. I looked back at Leticia, words forming in the back of my throat. loving arms, basking in their warmth, showed me complete purring contentment. From within the already drying puff of white, a pair of solemn blue eyes peeked out at me. Someone ‘mewed’ and I lost my heart and my resistance. By Bob Ritchie. Hailing from California, Bob Ritchie now lives on the lovely island of Puerto Rico, where he discovered, among other things, that wet heat is of stories and has penned several things that he believes are good. His work has appeared in Unlikely zine, and others; two of his stories were nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Neither won. Oh well. Go well. Background Image by Chen Yi Wen
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Since the beginning of January, my best friends and I have got into the rhythm of a weekly Sun-
Things We’re Loving!
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Most recently we got through ‘Little Women’, and it’s Saoirse Ronan as Beth who really takes the biscuit for me in this movie. The love between the four sisters is palpable, and every scene is a feast for the eyes; there’s a vibrancy and energy that I didn’t envisage when I read the old and charming book back in Lockdown 1.0. ‘Princess Diaries’ 1 and 2 were also great in our group watch party, Julie Andrews is of course a total diamond as the Queen of Genovia, and I think we’re all a little envious of Princess Mia (Anne Hathaway aka Catwoman) who gets to have mentally separate one day from the next, schedule some virtual weekend fun every weekend with the gals and guys you love, and give yourself something to look forward to on a weekly basis.
I
have a love/hate relationship with lockdown. It’s been cool to have the time to brush up on my French, paint, bake and read more. But still, there’s that deep-seated yearning to break up the days by going to the cinema or a restaurant with your friends and doing those ‘normal’ things that we always took for granted. To get me through this weird time, I’ve learnt the importance of choice; choosing to keep yourself energised and choosing to keep feeling fresh in the face of monotony. To help me, here’s some things that I’m loving… By editor and illustrator Sophie Freestone
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a I
Watc h
a bo as P
Like all of my fellow Falmouth University graduates, my degree was presented to me by Falmouth University’s Chancellor, Dawn French. Having grown up watching ‘The Vicar of Dibley’, this was a great honour and only deepened my love for the Cornwall-dwelling actress and comedian. Therefore, when I stumbled across ‘Titting About’, French and Saunders’s hilarious podcast, I swallowed all six episodes in 24 hours. The series consists of the charismatic duo chatting away and generally add to this, Dawn French also features on Chris Evans’s podcast ‘How to Wow’. Each episode is an hour and a half interview with a celebrity; other favourites so far include Graham Norton, James Blunt, Dame Emma Thompson and Dame Judy Dench. Chris Evans and his deep-rooted interest in other people always brings out the best of his interviewees, which makes for fun conversation to keep you company whilst you’re doing the cooking, going through your morning routine, or on your daily lockdown walk. When out for runs and exercising I’ve (ironically) rediscovered Daft Punk’s ‘Discovery’ album. Wow. If there’s any song that can failsafe get your blood pumping and muscles moving, it has to be the groove of ‘Digital Love’. Head over to our playlist page for more musical inspo.
Even though French wasn’t my strongest subject when doing my A Levels, I’ve begun reading ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’ in French. It’s not as leisurely as reading a book in
a new word and writing it into my vocab ook. However, it’s an enjoyable challenge, ever since I was a child, I’ve loved Harry Potter, and if you’re learning a new language or wanting to challenge yourgiving it a go! Choose to push yourself.
REA D
Listen 39
PLAY Digital LoveDaft Punk
Face
Daft P
MirrorballTaylor Swift
‘Tis t
Taylor
Billie Jean-
Micheal Jackson
My H
Black
Tilted-
Christine and the Queens
Non B
London
ChampionsJames Blunt
Ange
Mama
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Listen o
n Spoti
fy
YLIST
e to Face-
Punk
the Damn Season-
r Swift
Humps-
k Eyed Peas
Believer-
n Grammar
el Eyes-
a Mia 2: Here We Go Again
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Sustainable Art: Wild and Kind W
hat inspired you to start Wild and Kind? Like many social enterprises, Wild & Kind was born from a desire to create social change. In our case it was recognising the lack of safe spaces for people with marginalised gender identities that was really the catalyst behind everything. We began running free craft
We adore your transparency in your business, why do you believe this is so important? It’s just being honest, isn’t it. I think people really resonate with honesty and value being told the truth. One of the reasons we set up as an assetlocked Community Interest Company was so that people knew that although our goal is to
to meet and socialise, and we built the printing our social aims and it protects the company side of the organisation around this with an aim from corruption further down the line. I’m always of making these events sustainable. happy to talk with anyone about where we’re at How do you ensure sustainability in everything you create? We’ve always wanted to be as sustainable as we can be, right from the very start, and it’s something that we will keep working on as our company grows. We only use a handful of suppliers, offering only 100% organic or recycled garments, which in reality has held us back over the years in terms of the products we can offer. Growth has been slow in the early years because of this, but we’ve always valued people over
have nothing to hide. If anything, we hope that others mimic this way of operating. I also love how dedicated you are to helping creatives of all scales grow – why is this so close to your heart? I was once a start-up, testing the waters in the creative industry. I started making and selling
from art school. There are SO many things that I learned from making mistakes, and while that’s a great experience in itself, I’d really love to help where we would like to be, being an ethical, anyone who is struggling to navigate the ins and sustainable company is an evolving challenge, outs of making a living from their craft. Wild & but we just try to question everything that we Kind also really only exists because of my own do and the impact that we have on the people involved and the environment. opportunities that I have had, and the access to resources that has helped me generate income We love how community-driven you are, as that others haven’t and I want to make sure that being community-driven is very close to our we can give as many folks a leg up as we can! heart also. Why do you believe community is I believe that redistribution of wealth is key in so important? creating a more equal society, and my way of For us, community is everything. In fact the lack contributing has been building Wild & Kind. of physical spaces for folk to meet in Glasgow Your blog is such a wonderful read, where do you get your inspiration for it from? Our blog is written by the wonderful Kaye events to offer a safe space for people to feel Symington. Kaye is the co-founder of a a part of a community, but unfortunately the marketing company called ‘Paved with Gold’ pandemic hit a matter of weeks after opening. and she has been helping us tell the stories of Humans are social beings, and even before the pandemic we are seeing more and more people little tagline was ‘Promote - Support - Empower’ isolated and lonely for a variety of reasons. We so shouting about the people that we get to hope that once we can re-open safely that we work with is really something that we’re always can begin building research on how community- thinking about. driven spaces can impact the mental wellbeing of our community members and actively develop a model that can be rolled out further. 42
Is there anything right now you want to continue the voice on? One thing I’m interested in hearing more opinion on is actually the concept of kindness itself. It’s in our name, and we value true, radical kindness deep in our hearts. But with the internet the way it is, we’re seeing how the manipulation of what it means to be kind can have an impact on people’s mental wellness. Wherever there is a movement, there are people primed and ready to exploit it. This issue is all about time, if you could live in another time period which one would you choose and why? (including a time period in the future) This is a tricky one. I’m a ‘90s gal for sure in terms of style and music, but I think looking forward to the future we can at least be hopeful for a more equal society, although things seem to be looking more like an episode of black mirror with every passing day. work? We’re most active on Instagram and if you’d like to see more about what we do as a company our main site. Interview by Kirsty Taylor
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Resturant Highlight: Blasta I,
like many students right now, was made to stay at home for longer than I had ever planned on being at home in my twenties and with that three month experience came a lot of highs and lows. However, one high I was lucky enough to experience when at home was a new homegrown takeaway: Blasta. Just a quick drive to Stanley from where I grew up. Blasta often does a range of weekly specials, and there was always excitement in our household when they were announced for the day. Some of our favourites absolutely being the euro burger, the venison burger and the chicken and peppers pizza.
Blasta’s chef, David, has 22 years of professional chef experience and trained many years before that. David is so addicted to the kitchen that he worked part time in three different places whilst studying at Perth College, and you can absolutely tell in the best way when you have any of Blasta’s dishes. Throughout his career, David has worked as a patisserie chef, private chef, sous chef, head chef, executive chef, and of course owner and head chef of Blasta. David amounts much of his “It is very clear success to the people was lucky enough how important he to train and even get Blasta and to know on a personal making good level throughout his career such as Jeremy quality, delicious Wares and his wife food is to David Shona, Martin Wishart to name a few.
redecorating the building himself, all through time for him. Unlike the rest of us though, when Blasta still couldn’t fully function as a restaurant instead of relaxing, David rented a property were expecting their third child and thus Blasta takeaway was born. takeaway sold ten stones of haddock, 175kg of chips and their fryers broke down twice, and although this might sound like a staggering amount to you, to me it is completely unsurprising because their food is immaculate. Blasta is a homegrown, family business with a true community feel and that comes through in the taste of their food and the impeccable customer service. Their team is growing but with more expertise and as a result is just becoming more and more unbeatable, and yet they do not have sky high prices. Blasta are soon going to be offering a vegan menu, a dessert bar and a grab and go lunch.
It is very clear how important Blasta and making good quality, delicious food is to David and his team. As even on his Sunday off with his family the whole family are out foraging for seaweed so they can develop the banana blossom in their menu. If you are lucky enough to live near Blasta I absolutely recommend ordering for them and if you are far away I recommend travelling to Blasta when we are able to again. I just have one request David, as a scampi lover, please and his team.” add scampi to your menu. If the story of Blasta and it’s delicious food taught me anything it is However, David did not get such a lucky start to never underestimate your local takeaways. to the start of business adventure with Blasta as he received the keys in February 2020, and Words by Kirsty Taylor we all know what happens next. So naturally David’s plans had to adjust but the jump from working eighty hours a week to none is a real shock for anyone so David went overboard with getting the restaurant ready for when it could open: reframing, rewiring, replumbing and
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The Art of Make-up
M
y look is inspired by Salvador Dali’s famous painting “The Persistence of Memory” (or what I typed
daytime, sunset and eventually into night. Initially I just thought that this would be a good way to push myself artistically as I don’t tend to venture much into body painting, but as I was adding the intricate details on be symbolic of time slowly melting away from us during this pandemic.
By Naomi Howell. Naomi occup of her time creating content for h media platforms, which you can foll She manages the make-up dep at a popular alternative clothing London, as well as doing freelance the education sector. On top of th loves to sing, dance, cook and not one but two podcasts which here and here.
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pies most her social low here. partment store in e work in his Naomi co-hosts you can
Night-time/Daytime
T
here’s this viral video that circulated the internet maybe ten years ago now that featured funny dialogue played over footage of wild animals. There’s this bird in the video that hides under his wings and pops his head back out occasionally and the audio is this silly voice saying ‘nighttime, daytime’ as he does this over and over again. So for the past ten years, my family will periodically have a week or two every couple months where we all remember that video and family is currently in one of these periods and when I was
By Alexa Gordon. Lex Gordon is an Aries and also a Canadian university student. She grew up near the city but on a farm. This means that her personality is a wonderful mix of pretentious city slicker and down-to-earth farm girl. The best description she has ever heard for who she is was from Dolly Parton, a Backwoods Barbie. She is obsessed with the art of makeup as it provides a new and fun medium to create and tell stories with. work on her Instagram.
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Small Business Spotlight: Rude Cookies Our small buisness feature of this month is Rude Cookies from Glasgow, a company that is a personal favourite of our head editor, Kirsty with some delicious cookies and great artwork on them! What inspired you to start Rude Cookies? It all started as a joke! Magda was baking Christmas cookies and made a couple of rude ones. We decided to put them on social media for a laugh and called our page Rude Cookies. We were originally going to post our uncensored bakes only to entertain people. We are both very sarcastic, have a good sense of humour and nothing offends us. We thought like-minded people would enjoy a bit of fun in these crazy times as much as we enjoy making them. It’s like therapy, but with wine and lots of laughter. What are your favourite cookies that you have made so far, if you had to choose? Magda: I love making portrait cookies or anything that’s detailed and hand painted. The bigger the challenge the more excited I get about making it. I avoid making cookies with any text on them as I’m really shit at calligraphy, and being left handed I can’t really see what I’m writing. Agnieszka can do it beautifully though. Aga: I really miss getting tattoos lately so edible
on the bond between us rather than being jealous of each other. We are sisters, not competition. Empowered women grow strong together, learn from each other and celebrate each other’s successes. We celebrated International Women’s Day by making 100 cookies with empowering messages and gave them out to women of Glasgow so we could brighten up their day. The smiles of women who got a cookies saying ‘fucking gorgeous’ were priceless. Any woman that runs a small business is an inspiration. People don’t often realise how many jobs a small business owner has. We look up to a lot of very talented cookiers, and hope we’ll be as good as they are. Here at CTV, we are big fans of your tees! What made you decide to start creating them as well as your cookies? We always wanted to create more than just cookies! We made tees for ourselves as part of our baking uniform and people liked them so much we just had to sell them. Our main focus is always around cookies, but creating non-edible things brings us a lot of joy too.
I‘m a crazy cat mum so there’s no such thing as too many cats, even on cookies. And How do you ensure sustainability in your cats are arseholes so they’re my eternal business? inspiration. We only make cookies when we get the orders in or we plan to give them away, Where do you come up with the inspiration nothing goes to waste. Most of our for your unique and brilliant cookies? packaging is made in the UK and is either Literally everywhere! We have the best recycled, recyclable or biodegradable. customers in the world who give us a lot of Even our tees are sustainably made and weird ideas. We like putting rude twists on printed locally by the girls from Wild & cute themes and doing things that people Kind. We sell them on a pre-order basis don’t expect. We both have crazy ideas and only so we don’t hold stock that might we push each other’s creative limits. As it women’s history month, what does female empowerment mean to you and who are some women who inspire you? Female empowerment to us means focusing 48
Why do you believe shopping small is so important? When you shop small you support another person’s dream. We do a wee happy dance
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when we get an order in and celebrate all the wee successes. It’s also great to know that the thing you just bought was made with love and care, not in a faceless factory. We also put all of the money we make back into the business so we can bring you more than just cookies. Is there anything right now you want to continue the voice on? Women supporting women. When you stop being jealous you quickly realise, how empowered other women can make you feel. When you actively encourage one another, you build a unique connection that strengthens and inspires both of you. This issue is all about time, if you could live in another time period which one would you choose and why? (including a time period in the future) Magda: I always wanted to go back to a time when the air and soil were pure, and all the produce grown was organic – just imagine how
delicious everything must have been! All I can think about is food! Aga: I am quite happy where I am. I think my generation was the last one to have a childhood without computers and mobile phones, but also experienced enormous technological development. Yes, I’m a bit of a nerd. work? We are on Instagram @rude_cookies and on Facebook – Rude Cookies Glasgow. We are currently working on launching our website. We’re also planning a few pop-ups: we will cookies and other goodies will also be available
Interviewed by Kirsty Taylor
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Coorie M As the world opens a little more, we want to life so we are including a monthly feature of
Realising you have more time to do something than you thought
nition of Coorie: a Scots word meaning “to and positioned as a ‘lifestyle trend’, similar to involves ideas such as cosiness.
When your body clock has adapted to your routine, so you don’t have to set a blaring alarm
Having a nap for the perfect time so you wake up refreshed and rejuvenated
Catching up with a friend who you lost touch with over time
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Having a spontane
Moments
Being on time for something you were sure you were going to be late to
remind you to appreciate the little things in Coorie moments written by our head editor snuggle, nestle”. It has been appropriated o the Scandinavian concept of hygge, which
a schedule-free, eous day
Being with someone who relaxes you so much that time just stops still
Taking a moment to be fully present
Getting so lost in a book that, for a while, you lose track of time
Listening to an album that matches the time of your journey perfectly
Words by Kirsty Taylor & Illustrations by Sophie Freestone.
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‘If I could live in any time period, I believe I would choose the 1800s. I come from a camping, hunting, survivalist background. I was also a historical reenactor focusing on the periods between the French & Indian War and the War pers, mountain men, buckskinners; whatever title you choose. I was very comfortable portraying the period because I have a good grasp of the history, and cultures involved. I think I could successfully live during that time and prosper in the ways most important to me. Just imagine, if I could go back with my current knowledge, what I could do.’ Douglas Miller
If y ou c ou p e e m t i y n a wo ul d it wh
‘I would choose to live sometime during the future. When thinking of this question initially, I couldn’t come up with an
idolize the good and overlook the banal. All nostalgia ‘If I could choose any and no substance. The future holds so much potential time to live, I’d like it to b and change I would favor it over the past. I am excited to see modern technology mixed with old furniture, similar to decor at the moment, but changed through decades thing that comes to mind is the sen of evolution. I imagine a climate-conscious world where At that time, the photos were analog decisions are based on science and not earning realways a record of really special mome ports. A world focused on inclusivity and empathy. sphere, when we met someone, the tim A future where people are free of monotonous alogue and not like now that each one labor and can pursue their talents and creawith their own networks than with who t tivity unbound.’ them. There were also long and deep d Shannon Gardner ent from the emoji gesture that is used were made of paper and over time the and accumulated underlined senten ‘I think I would live texts. There was less amount of info fondness for the music of that Rosa Gravino era, especially Fats Domino, The Platters, Elvis, and a multitude of other artists. The power and rhythms of the music really make me pine for that era, in spite of its ugly underbelly.’ ‘I would like to Yash Seyedbagheri live during the late 1960s c power, driving around in those hippies’ vans around the world, without any stress or pressure.’ Tina Šulc Resnik 54
the wa Is futu pr
n i v e l i l d u n e h , w d o e ri t be an d hy ?
y be the
‘My answer is this time right now. These dramatic times will be written in history, so others may ask, ‘I wonder what it was like to live in answer.’ Antoni Oderived
nse of privacy. gue and almost ents. In the social me was used to diis more connected they have in front of debates, very differd now. The books ey smelled of lignin nces and added ormation but it
‘If I could live in any time period, I
19th century when romance was prevalent in the literary world. I have always admired the language style used in literature in general, during this era and I would have loved to meet some of the most renowned poets of the era such as Emily Dickinson, John Keats and William Wordsworth, should I get the opportunity. Besides this, I have always preferred simplicity in living and the inclusion of nature around me. Hence, I would have enjoyed living in a simple hut in the woods, pondering about nature and writing candid poetry derived straight from my heart.’ Aminath Neena
‘If I could live in some other time or era it would be in the ‘80s. Because life back then was turbulent and vibrant, so cool and independent. Come to think of it we sometimes purchase vintage clothings or ornaments, we couldn’t hold on to that fashion sense but every now and then it’s great to see something new. Because nowadays everything is the same. Everyone is wearing the same thing, eating or doing the same thing. Nothing is authentic, anything authentic is either looked down on or people are just amazed by it. I haven’t lived in the ‘80s era but i would have loved it to be honest.’
‘It will have to be in the future, because ‘I used to think I’d I’m very much curious as like to live in the past, where to what the future holds for we hadn’t turned the world into me and for us as a millennial concrete cities. But I think I idealised generation.’ e past, and when you really study it, it Mpumelelo Buthelezi as very hard to live well in the past. So suppose I would choose to live in the ure and imagine a future where we apreciated unspoilt beauty and smaller populations.’ Candice Louisa Daquin
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SUBMIT YOUR WORK! Continue The Voice presents Issue 6: Time Continue The Voice presents ISSUE 9: Pride Why does Pride matter to you? How do you celebrate Pride? due to a hetronormative society? What do you know about the history of Pride? What is the importance of Pride in history especially for you personally? Share your thoughts and submit your art to Continue the Voice’s zine Deadline: 18th of April at Midnight Head to www.continuethevoice.com for all the details or email continuethevoice@gmail.com with your work/proposal and a short (100 words
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Issue 6 Time Follow Continue The Voice
