Incite Magazine - December 2013 by Incite Magazine

INCITE MAGAZINE VOLUME 16, ISSUE 4 ▪ DECEMBER 2013

TIME

TIME TO BREATHE Meg Peters

PERSPECTIVE Jaslyn English

MEASURES OF TIME Emile Shen

TICK-TOCK GOES THE CLOCK Megan Schlorff

23 MINUTES AND 17 SECONDS Raluca Topliceanu

PHOTOGRAPHY Kate Dingwall, Gali Katznelson, Ellen Li, Shreya Yugendranag

ART: THE EGYPTIAN WAY Dina Hamed

EGYPT: HOPE WAS A LETTER Yaman Al-Nachawati

TIMELESSNESS Dalya Cohen

GENERAL RELATIVITY Mackenzie Richardson

MAKING UP FOR LOST TiME Shruti Ramesh

IT’S ALL IN MY HEAD Ronald Leung

DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE TO TIME’S TEA PARTY Jason Woo

04 05 06 07 08 10 11 12 14 16 17 18 20

EXECUTIVE EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Stephen Clare Sam Godfrey MANAGING EDITORS Avery Lam (Layout) Jessie Lu (Photography) Ianitza Vassileva (Graphics) ASSISTANT EDITORS Khatija Anjum (Photography) Sarah Conrad (Layout)

ime comes to us in many forms. For the scientist, it’s a dimension, the quality of the universe that “keeps everything from happening at once.” Time creates growth and change as we inevitably move through it. Time floods the universe, warping and bending as Einstein showed in his special theory of relativity. For the worker, time is a luxury. It hacks life into Lego bricks: breakfast time, starting time, lunchtime, closing time. Suppertime, family time, relaxation time. Nice times and hard times. We block out time on our calendars and planners, and it directs our life as we shuffle from one hour to the next. For the student, time is an enemy.

There’s never enough of it. Time is what forces us to ask for extensions, to decline invitations to parties, to turn down some offers when others turn up. Time smacks us around like a cat with fuzzy mouse toy. It shows up for lazy Sunday afternoons, then vindictively runs away and leaves us writing research papers at four the next morning. Time giveth as freely as it taketh away, leaving us with as many good times as bad. For everyone, though, time is currency. We spend it, we invest it, we waste it, sometimes we even try to buy it. And, oh yes, we run out of it. Every day, we get an allowance from the universe: 1440 minutes. We start with the essentials: maybe 450 go to sleep,

CONTENT EDITORS Devra Charney Sarah Kanko Palika Kohli Julie-Anne Mendoza Kacper Niburski Jessica Teicher PROMOTIONS Emily Power COVERS Jessie Lu

while 45 or so are budgeted for a morning routine. As students we head to campus and spend some of our minutes in lecture halls and libraries. Throughout the day we’ll splurge on a few luxury items: an episode of T.V. here, a lengthy lunch there. We budget ourselves, spend some time each day on that big research paper. Later we blow whatever’s left over at parties, cafés, or in front of glowing computer screens. What I like about time is that it’s the most democratic dollar there is. Every single person on earth, from the down-on-hisluck homeless man waking up shivering in a downtown doorway to the wealthy executive who steps over him on her morning

CONTRIBUTORS WRITERS Yaman Al-Nachawati, Matthew Bassett, Rachel Brain, Jaslyn English, Madeline Lawler, Ronald Leung, Charlotte Mussells, Kacper Niburski, Meg Peters, Varun Puri, Kaila Radan, Shruti Ramesh, Mackenzie Richardson, Megan Schlorff, Emile Shen, Sabrina Sibbald, Bridget Steele, Raluca Topliceanu, Christina Vietinghoff, Jason Woo, Rachelle Zalter, Eric Znotins ARTWORK Sarah Conrad, Kate Dingwall,

Sam Godfrey, Lauren Gorfinkel, Yoseif Haddad, Dina Hamed, Gali Katznelson, Avery Lam, Jason Lau, Ellen Li, Jessie Lu, Emile Shen, Vanja Skoric, Nikkie To, Raluca Topliceanu, Ianitza Vassileva, Heather Vida-Moore, Shreya Yugendranag LAYOUT

Sarah Conrad, Lauren Gorfinkel, Tony Jin, Avery Lam, Jason Lau, Emily Power, Rahul Sadavarte, Emile Shen, Nikkie To issuu.com/incite-magazine facebook.com/incitemagazine @incitemagazine

commute, gets the same paycheck when the minute hand ticks past midnight. We all wake up each morning with a fistful of minutes and an infinity of possibilities. This freedom comes at a cost, as freedoms tend to do. We spend our time whether we like it or not; every second that flies by is a swipe of a credit card. Your daily budget shrinks by the minute, and even though it seems like every day refreshes your savings account, in the bigger picture, the universe gifts you a Scrooge McDuck-like vault of moments on your zeroth birthday, and that’s it. For the rest of your life, golden seconds flow like grains of sand through your fingers, and the only choice

you make is how many you spend working, studying, playing, or sleeping. It’s humbling that so many of you choose to spend some of your time flipping through the pages of Incite Magazine. The contributors this month have, in turn, funded the creation of this edition with thousands of minutes spent hunched over computers, cameras, and canvasses where they have explored time as a culture, a philosophy, a connection, a memory, and a mystery. Because of their contributions, it’s with a newfound appreciation for my ever-dwindling temporal bank-account that I step back from my role as co-Editor-in-Chief of

Incite after this edition for a term studying abroad, finding new places to spend my minutes in and new people to spend them with. At the risk of taking up valuable space in a busy issue of the magazine, I want to thank everyone here for letting me spend some time these past few months creating cool stuff with them. I think the return on our investment is only getting more valuable. Finally, in the spirit of Incite, I’ll leave you with two last questions: How are you spending your time? Are you happy with what you’re buying? All the best, Stephen Clare, co-Editor-in-Chief 

SILENCE. Kacper Niburski

HOW TO SURVIVE A HALF MARATHON WITHOUT PROPER TRAINING Rachel Brain & Christina Vietinghoff

TIME TRAVEL: A POSSIBILITY? Madeline Lawler

ART: RAVINE Heather Vida-Moore

BLANK PAGES Sabrina Sibbald

TIME PAST Eric Znotins

INTERVALS OF TIME: DEFINING GENERATIONAL PARAMETERS Varun Puri

ART: THRE IS ONLY ONE CHAIR Vanja Skoric

ART: TO LEAVE A MARK Jason Lau

MAKE TIME FOR THYME Charlotte Mussells & Kaila Radan

BRAIN BEAT Matthew Bassett

REMEMBER THAT TIME? Bridget Steele

ONE YEAR’S TIME Rachelle Zalter

21 22 23 24 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

TIME THROUGH THE AGES Jason Woo

“Now if you only kept on good terms with [time], [time]’d do almost anything you liked with the clock.” – Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

ime is the friend you never knew you had. He’s been there as far back as you can remember. Sometimes he’s your best mate, and other times he’s your mortal enemy. As your friendship develops through the years, Time matures with you as well. As you leave your carefree childhood to become a teenager looking to the future, Time changes with you as well. When you get older, Time will still be with you as you gaze back into the past with him. When I was a kid on the playground, leaping into the air to grab onto the monkey bars and desperately trying to swing my short legs so that they could reach the top, Time was just as energetic as me. The fifteen minutes of recess felt like an eternity – and I mean that in the best way possible. When recess was finally over, I never fretted; it would come again tomorrow. Fast-forward to my high school years and I was now on my tippy toes, peering through the window in my French classroom to catch a glimpse of Olivia in Grade 11. It was an awkward period in my life to say the least, one where I did not understand complementary colours or layering, but Time was there to guide me through it. Sometimes I wanted things to to go faster so that French class would end and I wouldn’t need to hear Madame (to whom Time seemed unkind) lecture me on the difference between jour and journée. Other times I really wished seven minutes felt as heavenly, and as long, as the fifteen back in 4

primary school. Not much later, I went on a whirlwind adventure with Time. It all started with the letter from the school I’d been waiting for. Then I was nervously awaiting the answer from the girl of my dreams. Then it was the

PHOTOGRAPHY BY JASON LAU

night to which everything had been building up. It was a little disappointing to be honest, but Stephen King did warn me with the story about Carrie, so I guess I should have kept my expectations in check. And if you really think about it, anything that you think

about too much with Time tends to be a bit disappointing anyway. But there was no chance for me to breathe. The next thing I remember was lying on the beach, watching the sunrise with my best friends. Time was more distant then, so it seemed right that we took a break at that moment. In that instant, so far from home and the bustling metropolis where you couldn’t hear anything apart from mindless chatter, time stopped for the first time. I looked around me. Up to that point I hadn’t realized that Time could never go back. He was compelled to keep pushing on. All my experiences with him are now washed out to sepia and doused with cotton candy breezes. Suddenly I find myself here. Time, now all prim and proper, is speeding away like a bullet train. Everything is now an opportunity that needs to be taken. Tonight I have to submit this story. Tomorrow I have a group meeting and a test, so I’m not sure if I can squeeze in that Skype call with my friend living in another country. It’s not so bad. Now I’m always on my feet, racing into the unknown. Time promises me it will be good, and he’s never been wrong before. The past is farther away than it was yesterday, but it always settles at the fringes of my mind, forever frozen on my photo wall. One day I would like to go back to that same playground, if it’s still there. I’m sure I can grab onto the bars standing now, but I might still not be able to swing myself to the top. Who knows?  INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2013

IT’S ALL IN MY HEAD Ronald Leung

 8:31 am My eyes are already starting to glaze over. The monotonous drone of the professor’s voice seems to blend with the buzzing caffeine rush from my morning coffee. I struggle to take some notes. 8:32 am  I quickly check e-mail and Facebook.  8:33 am How have only three minutes passed in this class? 8:59 am  What, how did almost half an hour pass by? Oh, I dozed off. Still 20 minutes to go…  9:19 am C’mon… c’mon… 

uman perception of time is a fickle beast: in moments of disinterest or boredom, the clock seems to stop; in times of excitement or joy, it ticks twice as fast. It’s a strange phenomenon, one that is relatively difficult to study since it’s so individualistic – what one person finds boring could be perceived completely differently by someone else. There’s actually a whole host of factors that mould the way we perceive time: from

We often overlook the negatives and put greater emphasis on the positives in our good experiences. body temperature to age to our emotional state, individual perception of time is built on a mountain of specific factors. Even neurodegenerative diseases such as Parkinson’s are shown to change the patient’s perception of time. It’s not surprising that a typical day would pass slower for a young child. Consider an 11-year old versus a 55-year old. For the child, one day would be roughly 1/4000 of their life, while for the adult it would be 1/20 000. It’s more likely that the child is undergoing a more novel experience, while the adult is going through established routines. As a result, the days for older folk seem to blend together, while the child seems to experience a radically different life every day. Our internal clock has ancient biological roots. In the presence of a threat or while experiencing fear, we often perceive time as slowing down. It gives us the ability to make more calculated decisions and assess our environment without using up time that could be the difference between life and

ARTWORK BY KATE DINGWALL VOLUME 16, ISSUE 4

death. There’s also the tricky problem of recalling our memories, where our perception of time plays an even bigger role. Many of our good experiences are often a mix of both unpleasantness and joy, though we often overlook the negatives and put greater emphasis on the positives. In general, we also recall recent events occurring farther back in time than they actually did, and distant events as occurring more recently that they actually did. Taking a look at animal perception yields yet more interesting facts. Elephants live longer than flies, but from the fly’s point of view, does life seem much shorter? An objective measure of time perception is the use of the critical flicker-fusion frequency, or CFF: the lowest frequency at which a flickering light appears to be a constant source of illumination. It measures how fast an animal’s eyes can refresh an image and process information. The human CFF is generally 60 hertz, which explains why the refresh-rate of television screens is set to that number. On the other hand, dogs have a CFF of 80 hertz: to them, the TV appears to be a set of changing still images. A higher CFF has a biological advantage because you’re able to process information much faster, and as a result, everything seems slower. It has allowed animals to react faster to both threats and opportunities. Flies have a CFF of 250 Hz, so it’s not surprising that they’re extremely hard to swat. To those buggers, humans appear to be moving in slow motion. Some scientists hypothesize that a smaller size and higher metabolism facilitates a higher CFF, because the signals don’t have to travel as far to the brain, and there’s more energy available for these signals to be sent out. It’s all in my head. A fly may seem to have gotten the short end of the stick, but from their perspective, a couple weeks of life already seems like a ripe old age. In light of this, perhaps I should count my blessings? A 50-minute class doesn’t seem so bad after all.  5

MAKING UP FOR LOST TiME

The Titan Mare Explorer Spacecraft – Shruti Ramesh

PHOTO COURTESY OF NASA 6

n 2012, the world – or, more realistically, people interested in space and planetary exploration – mourned the loss of the Titan Mare Explorer spacecraft, more commonly referred to as TiME. Much like time, the spacecraft never actually existed in a tangible sense. Even its demise was a conceptual one. From nothing, it came, and nothing it became. Proposed to NASA as part of their Discovery Program, TiME, and the Discovery Program as a whole, was meant to be a series of lower-cost, highly focused American scientific space missions that explored the Solar System. Discovery missions are different from traditional NASA missions for which targets and objectives are pre-specified. Discovery missions are cost-capped, proposed, and led by a scientist called the Principal Investigator (PI). Proposing teams may include people from industry, small businesses, government laboratories, and universities, and the proposals are selected through a competitive peer review process. Completed Discovery missions often result in groundbreaking scientific revelations and discoveries which add significantly to the body of knowledge about the Solar System. With every Discovery mission undertaken, we are able to understand our universe a little better and work towards piecing together this vast unknown. The TiME spacecraft was one of the three finalists in last year’s selection process, but ultimately was passed over in favour of the InSight mission (Interior Exploration using Seismic Investigations, Geodesy and Heat Transport), whose aim is to study the early geological evolution of Mars. This mission will take place in 2016, while the TiME mission, along with the other finalist, will be scrapped. But maybe (more optimistically, perhaps) TiME travel has been put on the back burner of space travel for the time being. The TiME mission planned to probe Titan, the largest moon of the planet Saturn. This TiME capsule would have launched

in 2016 and reached Titan in 2023, parachuting onto the moon’s second largest sea, the Ligeia Mare. For 96 days, the capsule would have studied this sea’s interactions with Titan’s weather and climate. Its mission is unique. It would have would have performed the first nautical exploration of an extraterrestrial sea. The mission would have involved analysis of its climatic nature and possibly observed its shoreline. This would have essentially involved a ship landing on one of Titan’s methane-ethane polar seas in order to do revolutionary extended studies of a liquid volatile cycle that has no comparison on Earth. Titan’s seas are the major surface component of Titan’s methane cycle, and understanding this cycle, as well as Titan’s prebiotic chemistry would allow for insight into the process of abiogenesis, or the natural process by which life arises from the nonliving. Other scientific goals of the proposed mission were to determine the depth of the Titan Sea in order to calculate its actual volume, as well to observe its surface properties, such as the waves and foams, in order to obtain information on the state of the atmosphere above the sea. Okay… so what? Jargon aside, why did astrophysicists and scientists alike mourn at the loss of TiME? Unlike the water-based life on Earth, TiME may have offered the possibility to discover a form of life with a different chemical basis and that harnessed energy of the methane-rich seas. The precipitation conditions on Titan have led some researchers to consider Titan the most important world on which to search for extraterrestrial life. Simply said, it may be the best chance for we have of finding extraterrestrial life in our Solar System. There’s no way to know for sure, but scrapping the project also scraps the opportunity to find out. Who knows what impact this spacecraft could have had, or if Saturn and its moons would have been within our collective grasp. All we can do is wait and comfort ourselves with the old adage that only time will tell.  INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2013

PHOTOGRAPHY BY YOSEIF HADDAD

 General Relativity Mackenzie Richardson

G E N E R

rouchy and crouchy old physicist types make it a duty to argue all day. They constantly fill the air with their gripes, and always have something to say. ach one of these brilliant and bitter old fools, think themselves right in any debate. They seek out self-serving solutions and rules; when there are none, it’s something they hate! ow many a problem has vexed and confused, but one in particular stands way out: When solving this quandary, if logic is used, the solver may kindle much doubt.

ager and Meager were twins of Kentucky, who both worked long days on the farm. In terms of visage and smarts they were lucky; each could argue and assert with charm. arely a moment would pass without bicker: the two making high claim and large bet. Eager proclaimed “Since I am the quicker, I can make things seem smaller than nature should let.

s always the brother who’s prone to be foil, Meager thought lowly of this observation. “All your drinking, dear brother, your mind it will spoil: that claim is beyond explanation.”

“L

est you forget, Meager, of Lorentz’ contraction, a claim whose truth isn’t at risk: When moving near light speed, viewers view a compaction until finally the object looks like a disc.”

“R

ather than spilling all this nonsense and chatter, prove what you say is not just a yarn: Pick up and run with that ten meter ladder, let me see if you fit it in our five meter barn.”

E L

ager stood up, ready to race, to prove to his brother that he was quite right. Eager did run at quite a good pace: at about seven eighths the speed of light!

orentz, that old fox, what he said was quite true! At least for Meager who stood looking on. For Eager, the ladder inexplicably grew, and shrank did the barn ’til it seemed to be gone

A T

t a loss for words, both brothers said naught, ’til finally they both spoke at once: “The ladder did shrink, a lesson’s been taught.” “The ladder grew longer, I feel like a dunce.” he brothers wore faces of confusion quite plainly. How could they possibly both have been wrong? The problem at hand was most certainly mainly the ladder, which neither now knew how long.

“I “V I T Y

n all of my years, I’ve seen no real magic,” said Meager while stroking his chin. “The end of that streak I find now quite tragic, for explaining this spectacle I can hardly begin.” exing indeed this problem would seem,” said Eager again from the side. “Truly peculiar, as if from a dream, I couldn’t explain it if I tried!”

n conclusion dear reader I must personally tell you The problem’s solution is clear. If solving this riddle is something you’d do, then pull up and listen right here: he answer, it seems, is just what they say. (No trick, no smoke, no sleight.) What really did happen on that fateful day Is just as each saw with his sight.

ou see, events are related by observers observing, each event being related at the speed of light. If something happens while fast it is moving, Two observers would each see aBYdifferent sight. ARTWORK IANITZA VASSILEVA 

TIMELESSNESS Dalya Cohen

here is something about Marilyn Monroe in her white halter dress and Jennifer Aniston’s hair in Friends that has caused them to remain iconic and influential for decades. Meryl Streep is the epitome of Hollywood grace and humility for her unfailing talent and portrayals of characters relevant to every era, and no matter how many times you listen to Blackbird, it still gives you chills. It is more than just the cultural influence of these people, styles, and artworks that are ingrained in our society. It is their ability to transcend time that has made them so significant throughout Western culture today. We are drawn back to these timeless ideals of beauty and talent, but timelessness is more than just an awe-inspiring effect. The timeless are revered and emulated to the point where people no longer stand out. We blend in by trying to portray others, and so rather than surpassing cultural realms, we are effectively becoming rooted in time. The fascination of individuals with their own timelessness has destroyed the ability to actually be timeless. Following cookie-cutter prescriptions only ensures that you become even more imperceptible by the masses. The wikiHow that provides seven steps to living a timeless life has no mention of choosing aspects of your life for your self or following your passions and interests. This lifestyle manifesto is an example of the flawed notion that timelessness is achieved by being indistinguishable in your time.

This contrived method is more defeatist than inspiring. Truly timeless pieces of art and iconic individuals did become iconic because they were the norm for their era. In some cases, they represented the things that people did not readily understand. In others, they were innovators and leaders with significant influence. Pushing the envelope and challenging the ideals of the day is extremely important for timelessness. Being an individual among the conventional resonates with the timeless more than being the norm ever will.

but why? There was some initial change, some person that brought about the fads and fashions that are undoubtedly characteristic of this era. And if the person in the picture is inconspicuous, it is not them that is remembered for this era, but those trendsetters and fad-starters that are timelessly commemorated. It is those who introduce the fads who are remembered. Those who say, “I don’t care if no one else is wearing lace fingerless gloves, I’m going to do it anyway” are known as the timeless of their time. It is true, perhaps, that Madonna would not have fared so well in an age where people weren’t already becoming more adventurous in the way they presented themselves, but it was not just her clothes that made Madonna a timeless icon. Perhaps her talent gave her the platform to boost herself to an iconic status, or perhaps it is some indefinable characteristic that gave her the initiative to invoke a new style. Society emphasizes an icon’s ‘look’ as the reason for their timelessness, but that is usually not what makes a person’s name remain significant for generations. The message of an individual, and what they stand for, can have an even greater influence than their clothes. To put it bluntly, you can’t be timeless by sitting on your ass. Madonna produced music that was both raved about and heavily criticized. She spoke to the changing ideals of society through representing female

To put it bluntly, you can’t be timeless by sitting on your ass.

Making an impactful change that has an enduring legacy, whether it is cultural, societal, environmental, or humanitarian, is derived from difference. Those who are afraid of the gravity of their actions or of embracing consequences may turn to conformity as a safety net. They will likely never be remembered because they may fear rising above the cultural standard or provoking people to talk about them. If you or your actions are talked about, analyzed, and reviewed, then there is a better chance that you will be remembered. Looking at pictures of someone with big hair, legwarmers, and shoulder pads will immediately remind you of the 80s era,

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2013

PHOTOGRAPHY BY AVERY LAM

empowerment, gay prominence, and many under-represented communities at the time. She altered the status quo. The ‘things’ that represent an icon – their clothes, their style, and their look – are all influential in their timelessness. But it is how they used their talents and fame to change societal ideals that have had more lasting effects: how their message can speak to future generations. Being so focused on the shallow aspects of timelessness is what prevents us from actually becoming timeless. Rather than concerning ourselves with how we will look in pictures twenty years from now, we should think about how our actions will resonate twenty years from now. We may be driven by our own ambition or a desire to affect change in the world, but we can only be remembered if we take that enthusiasm and do something about it. Whether our actions see success or failure is irrelevant. Often just trying is enough to inspire. A timeless action does not need to be large or even significant. Perhaps it won’t even matter to the masses. But for someone, somewhere in the world, timeless actions are remembered. A small action, like paying for someone’s groceries, will be remembered by that person, and perhaps it will affect change in their life. Building infrastructure for victims of any disaster around the world can be considered a remarkable way to create positive and lasting effects. Even if the act is anonymous, reverberations

can be timeless. And although in some cases these initiatives are not permanent, the motivation behind them will be remembered. I am not so naïve as to think that anyone can become a timeless iconic figure by doing charitable work or advocating for change. George Clooney’s performance in The Descendants has not cured cancer, nor has Andy Warhol’s artwork stopped hunger. And individualism may bring about iconi-

memory. In this way, timelessness is a double-edged sword. Hitler committed suicide, not wanting to face the consequences of his actions. He is not remembered as a positive influence on the world, but he is still remembered. Timelessness is not always positive. But in the end, that is the root of the problem: is it worth the risk to take initiative, for the potential to become truly timeless, even if you are remembered in a negative light? Being truly timeless may be a gamble. But the notion that being indistinct in an era can equate to timelessness is a fallacy. You have to pursue your individuality, your goals, and your potential to incite and inspire change. This is not to say initiatives such as Hitler’s should be followed to fruition. Rather, timelessness is not a pursuit for the unambitious, unmotivated, or lazy. We shouldn’t submerge ourselves in the cultural norms of traditional “timelessness”. Rather, we should focus on our self. Our passions and our actions can be equally as important when they are unique. Being timeless is a difficult goal to define. And in my pretentious way, I have tried to give you yet another set of rules to follow, another reason why society needs to change. Be an individual and don’t listen to what others have to say. Don’t even listen to what I have to say. Be unique, be yourself, and be timeless if you can. 

Timelessness is a doubleedged sword. Is it worth the risk to take initiative, even if you are remembered in a negative light?

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 4

cism, but it won’t necessarily bring about world change. The reverse is true as well. Adolf Hitler certainly changed the world, and he will forever be remembered for his actions and the devastation that he instigated. But he is not a model after which we conduct ourselves, and I am reluctant to call him timeless because of the inherent positivity that can be associated with timelessness. Nonetheless, Hitler is timeless because he will be remembered forever, despite it being a negative

EGYPT: HOPE WAS A LETTER Yaman Al-Nachawati

“Love was a country we couldn’t defend.”

n a timeline that captures the entire range of human emotion, our unbound power to do both incredible good and inexpressible evil, the bio of Egyptian photographer Mosa’ab Elshamy’s Twitter page paints a palpable image of what many felt following the Egyptian Revolution. Taken from the lyrics of “Big Black Car”, themes of heartbreak, a “haunted” past, and a “laced” future make it all too tempting to end the narrative of the last three years on that miserable note. With overthrown dictator Mubarak temporarily released from prison, deposed elected President Morsi unceremoniously thrown in it, and the host of the most popular satirical show – who had lobbied for Morsi’s imprisonment due to infringements on freedom of speech – ironically taken off the air, there seems “there seems to no salvageable light to shine on what occurred. And yet, while it may be the latest chapter written, I cannot accept that it is the last. Let me preface this by saying that I am not Egyptian. I am actually a Syrian Canadian, and while I was a complete outsider during the Egyptian Revolution, as the song goes, “I sat with an ear, just listenin’ in.” In a time when revolutions sparked all over the region, where inconceivable bravery was on full display, especially within my own country, there is something special that I will always find within the Egyptian Revolution. It will forever be the Revolution that confirmed to me beyond a doubt the adage we start to disbelieve as we grow older: “Anything is possible.” Despite all the roadblocks, against all the odds, when a person stands for their own rights and the rights of others, there will always be a path. It is further amplified knowing that the feeling which sparked it all was the empathy Egyptians felt for one another’s pain. When 28-year-old Khaled Saeed was brutally beaten to death in an Internet cafe by the already-hated police, Egyptians felt it was more than an attack on one person. “We are all Khaled Saeed” became not only a Facebook page followed by millions in Egypt and around the world, but a slogan for the revolution itself. 10

This empathy gave way to an unbreakable sense of unity that allowed protesters to march throughout Egypt despite the grave dangers posed by the authoritarian regime, making Tahrir Square, translated fittingly to Liberation Square, the symbolic base of the peaceful uprising. The sectarian divisions that were hitherto causing violence between Catholics and Muslims were not only forgotten, but a new brotherhood between the two began forming. Indeed, the two religions would risk their lives for one another, making human shields for each other during their respective times of prayer. The unity allowed for incredible individual bravery to be shown, completely breaking the fear barrier that the dictatorship had relied on for its survival. Perhaps nothing better symbolized this courageous heroism than a video of a young man, face unrecognizable, standing in front a huge oncoming government vehicle shooting water at protesters. He does not move, boldly holding his stance. The government vehicle is forced to stop dead in its tracks about a foot away, and the water cannons are no longer shooting. A realization dawned: the government was no longer in control, the people owned the streets of Egypt. The price of freedom was a heavy one, with 300 people paying for it with their own lives and many more injured or tortured in jail. It would appear to be vindicated when the Vice President at the time announced that President Mubarak had resigned. For many, the events over the two and a half weeks had been leading up to that one pivotal moment. Millions celebrated on the streets of Egypt, with a stunning display of fireworks, music, and dancing. There was a well-deserved sense of euphoria, a belief that the dream was well on its way of becoming a reality. Yet many understood that the path forward would be difficult to pave. Egypt was ranked near the bottom of the world in corruption, market labour distribution, sexual assaults, and many other vital economic and social indicators. The dream would need to live on for people to continue to face the daunting task of changing the reality they

faced. The protesters made it clear that they were ready to work to achieve it all the same as they started to clean the streets from the celebration the very next day. The search for a leader who had the responsibility not only of beginning the cross-generational task of rebuilding Egypt’s foundation, but also of keeping the trust and the unity of the people by believing in that dream’s possibility, was soon on its way. The last point is an important one, as no president could possibly change the course of a country held by dictatorship for over 40 years in a short period of time. It would also be what eventually steers the country back onto the streets, as the elected President Morsi was unable to keep the trust and unity needed for the dream’s survival for many Egyptians. Protests would eventually follow, and the military, very much seeking an opportunity for a power grab, would use this wave of public discontent as a pretext for a military coup. They would go on to kill over 600 Egyptians, who still supported the President, in one day alone, showing that protecting their civilian’s rights was not their true priority. While Egypt may not have walked far enough down that path to find the sweeping change that it hoped for, the idea that it never existed is a dangerous myth that is being written by some Egyptians to ease the pain of the loss. There is this idea that the revolution was destined to fail, undermined by a multitude of different conspiracy theories. Undoubtedly, there were many who had much to lose from a complete overturn of the Egyptian infrastructure and were continuously putting up roadblocks to deter, and indeed, attempting to hijack the steering wheel of the revolution. Simply put, however, they would not have been successful if not for the failure of those in office to keep the trust and unity of the country. For a very long time, the fact was that the power of the people was shown to be far greater than the people in power. This should never be forgotten because there is great power in that statement, and it will be one I will keep always. Even still, part of me needed a little bit of closure to tie up all the thoughts I had about the revolution. On a cold night with a light drizzle, I got on the bus with my sister to go to a concert by Hamza Namira, the singer behind “Dream with Me”, a song that symbolized the revolution. Perhaps, I thought, listening to the song live would bring me that INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2013

installation art:

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 4

Dina Hamed

closure, and the funds would go to Egyptian entrepreneurs to start a new beginning. Not five minutes from my house, the bus was forced to stop, and all of us were advised to remain seated for safety reasons for about an hour. In front of us, a seventeen car collision had just occurred. Thankfully, no one involved in the accident was seriously harmed. While a small part of me was disappointed in not being able to listen to the call for the dream, I had been shaken awake and extremely grateful that everyone else and I were walking home unharmed that night. I realized how lucky I am to live in a country where the police and firemen help take roadblocks off the path instead of becoming a part of it, and I made a silent prayer that the same starts to happen in the countries in the Middle East. The crash, as the song goes, was caused by “A Big Black Car”. While I walked home humming the song “Dream with Me”, perhaps an even more fitting end to the day would have been me singing the outro of another song: Well you were a magazine, I was a plain Jane, Just walking the sidewalks all covered in rain. Love to just get into some of your stories. Me and all of my plain Jane glory. Thank you, Egypt, for letting me dream with you. I have no doubt that I will be joining you once more in the future. May the cause of all of those who sacrificed their lives for their dream and the dreams of others be never forgotten and forever an inspiration. And thank you for reading about the dream. I hope you are just a little more awake because of it. 

Egyptian-Canadian artist

“The Egyptian Way”

Ancient Egyptian history is a thing of the past. So why is it that, today, Egyptians are widely known only for this heritage? What about the contemporary Egyptians? What are they like? During my recent visit to Egypt I discovered who I think Egyptians are. Even though Egypt has been a developing country for years, the average citizens are kind and content with their lives, resourceful, and humorous in the face of turmoil. These attributes are what I like to call “The Egyptian Way”, the title of my art piece. The installation displays the innovative ways Egyptians are currently dealing with everyday practices. If we don’t have a stove to heat our coffee, we use an iron. If we can’t afford a fancy car to go to the supermarket, we tie a basket to our bikes. If we don’t know how to swim, we float using water bottles. If we can’t buy a foosball table, we build our own using clothespins and a basket. And, if we need a helmet for that bike of ours, we use a pot and bandages to protect our heads. We’re smart people. We’re innovative and we love ideas. The photographs in the installation, taken by Egyptian photographers Amir Kamal and Butheina Shalan, tell the stories of these amazing citizens. They make do with what they have and smile genuinely about it every day, because that is just so Egyptian.  11

shreya yugendranag

kate dingwall

gali katznelson

kate dingwall

ellen li

23minutes and17seconds Raluca Topliceanu

t’s unnerving, the feeling of eyes dissecting, tearing me open and leaving me bare for all the world to see. I feel exposed, much in the same way I did in my earlier years, and no amount of fake pearl necklaces or layers of make-up can hide what the past had made of me. “Miss—” “Please,” I interject. “Call me Reina.” I could never quite get used to formalities, an old habit that has stuck with me since— “Of course, Reina,” the man says, his face turning in a manner that addresses the camera. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am really grateful that this lady has agreed to an interview. I don’t pretend to know what she went through, but I commend her on her courage for standing up here next to me and I’ll just let her introduce herself.” He adjusts himself in the cyan-coloured suede chair as the applause peaks, and gives me a quick nod as the noise dies down into silence. My throat tightens so that words are almost too large to squeeze past my lips. “Hello—” “Speak a bit louder into the microphone, Reina,” the host says. I look vaguely into the crowd assembled at the base of the stage, avoiding the eyes that try to catch mine. Part of me asks why I am even here, why I let them put me into this dress and display me, while the rest of me attempts to paste sentences together. “Hello. My name is Reina and I am a Holocaust survivor—” “And what does it mean to be a Holocaust survivor?” “It means that I have seen things that almost all people have seen at some point, but whereas they can open their eyes and realize it was just a bad dream, I would know it was real.” I like questions better; my body relaxes and I just answer without thinking. I say everything I know in the shortest number of words because there are two things Auschwitz did not tolerate: long answers and no answers. The host scratches absently at a corner of his eyebrow. “That’s definitely something for our audience to think about it. Now, could you start at the beginning?” “Yes, the beginning…”

“To the left, next to the one that looks really dark. See it?” Features were visible: a gray, fluffy body and a cluster of clouds trailing after it, much like a tail. “And an apple, a bird, a dragon.” He pointed to each one. Her eyes watched the shape in the cloud for a few moments, her mind working, before she turned on her side to face him. “We’ll always be friends, right?” she asked. Peitre reached out with skilled fingers, plucked a blade of grass from the ground, and, after placing it between his thumbs, brought it to his lips and blew, creating a sound like a whistle. “Peitre?” He discarded the grass and busied himself with another. “Hmm?” “We’ll always be friends, right?” she asked, reaching out a tiny, white hand to touch his arm. “’Course.” “Promise?” she asked. That was when she did not know that promises were not written in stone, that boys could turn into men, and men could break their words in mere moments. Yet, in the eyes of a child, a promise given made one bound to fulfill it. There was no higher assurance. Peitre stuck a strand of grass in his mouth, pondering, then took it out, hating the bitter taste it left behind. “Promise.” “We can’t break promises, can we?” “No.” “Ever?” “Yes.” She settled back down with a giggle, her fear chased away by his words. “We’ll be friends forever, Peitre,” she whispered to the air, running her fingers over the ground, the grass caressing her skin. The chilly air was fresh; it smelled of rain. She took a breath and sighed, adoring the scent of trees and forest that drifted into her nose from all around. The forest, the maze of vegetation that sprang up not far from their backyards was a place filled with memories of their shared childhood. Each day they would break away from the civilized world of rules and drift, untamed, chasing each other through the labyrinth they charted together. Each tree they knew by heart, every fallen log covered with green moss on one side, every echoing cave and breath-taking cliff. It was their territory, their land, a place in which, for few moments each day, they did not have to grow up. Peitre, abandoning his momentary fascination with making music from plants, looked to the sky once more. “We’ll play games all the time,” he said, “and then we’ll get married and be together until we get old, because that’s what grown-ups do.” She sighed. “I don’t want to be an grown-up.” “Okay, then you don’t have to.” “Good.” He lowered himself next to her, placing his hands behind his head, following the path of the clouds. The wind danced with his

There are two things Auschwitz did not tolerate: long answers and no answers.

 Peitre lay on his back, staring at the gray clouds above, trying to single out a shape in their midst. He had eyes that paid attention to the finer details of life, could catch hints of sadness in her features even when she did not outwardly display her feelings. She was stretched out next to him, feeling the prickling grass, brittle and irritating, beneath her skin. “That one looks like a mouse, doesn’t it?” he asked, lifting a hand to point at the clouds. She squinted. “Which one?” 14

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2013

sunshine hair, his blue eyes shone even though there was barely any light to illuminate them. Absently, from time to time, his hand would reach up to pull on the collar of his buttoned shirt. Reina watched the movement of his hands, soft, unthreatening. She would one day see the transformation of those youthful, innocent hands into instruments of torture. If only she knew what time would make of him, then she would have held onto those simple memories better. She would have caught his every word – treasured each one – because she would have known that it would be the last time he would be speaking to her. Oblivious of the future, she asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” “A Nazi, like my father. He’s a great man,” came the reply. “I’ll be

Is the lady that takes her dogs for walks every morning and gives us candy when we pass by her house a bad Jew?” He hesitated, thinking. “No. None of them are.” “You know all the Jews in this town. Can you tell me who the bad ones are? The bad ones who the good ones have to be punished with?” she asked, peering at him through her long bangs. She felt the brush of his temper. “No one? All of them? I don’t know! Don’t ask me this, I don’t know who they are.” She was afraid to ask her next question. In silence she remained until the last of the anger drained from his eyes. Until he was safe. Until he was Peitre again. He let his head fall back onto a pillow of grass, closed his eyes, listened to wind whistle around them. “There are bad Jews out there, Reina,” he said, his lids drawn

“We’ll be friends forever, Peitre.” old enough to join in a few years. Imagine it, being in charge – being an officer! Adults not telling you what to do.” “Don’t you know what they do to people like me?” “Like you how?” “Jews.” The word was a faint squeak, barely audible. He sighed. “Yes. Too bad the good have to get punished with the bad. That’s what my father says.” Her brow furrowed. She could not understand his words, his motives for thinking such things. Bad Jews? Surely there were bad Germans, too, but she never saw any Germans insulted with clipped words, the windows of their businesses shattered by thrown bricks. “Am I bad, Peitre?” “What? No! You’re good. You know I think you’re good.” “What about my Mamma and Papa?” “They’re good, too.” “Is the man who owns the bakery next to the school a bad Jew?

over his eyes. “How do you know?” The question was a breath drifting between them. “You see them, you hear of them. Every time you look at the paper. Every time you turn on the radio.” No reply came. He wiped his hand across his forehead, taking strands of blond hair out of his eyes. “I’ll be a good Nazi. I’ll protect good people, make sure the bad won’t get them.” She nodded, and went over to curl up against his side. He was warm. “You’ll be a good person,” she whispered. He put his arm around her as she buried her face into his shirt. “What do you want to be?” he asked. “Happy.” He did not offer a reply to her words; instead he blinked as the first drops of rain fell on his cheeks. 

ARTWORK BY RALUCA TOPLICEANU

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 4

PHOTOGRAPHY BY EMILE SHEN

TICK-TOCK GOES THE CLOCK Megan Schlorff

ow many times a day do you check the time? How many times do you glance at your cell phone on the way to class, look up at the distinct red numbers of a digital clock in a lecture hall, or check the time displayed on your kitchen appliances while you cook dinner? Checking the time is second nature to us, and we do it hundreds of times a day. It’s a craving we need to satisfy. Our reasons? They are likely along the lines of wanting to follow our schedules and stay on track. But, is this valid enough to warrant our obsession with time? From the moment we wake up in the morning to the time we crawl into bed, our world is governed by the tick-tocking of the clock. Days are planned around the ticking that marks seconds slipping away. There’s a meeting at 9:00am that will last approximately an hour, which means that we’ll have to leave our house by 8:00am to allow time for the commute and morning traffic. Then we have lunch at 12:00, class at 1:30, a lab at 2:30, dinner at 6:00 and so on and so forth. Each day follows a similar rhythm; we know what time events start at, how long they will last, and the transition time required. From sunrise to sunset, we vigilantly watch the clock and obey its commands. When the minute hand reaches the 12, we dash to the next event. To have more productive days, we are encouraged to plan ahead and maintain a 16

strict agenda. Yet, when every moment of our lives is pre-planned, it can be restricting. It begs the question: how much planning is too much planning? Schedules can be suffocating. Schedules can be liberating. They dictate when we should travel from point A to point B and how much time we should spend at each. They keep records of events and tasks so that they won’t be forgotten and guide our days. To some, these calen-

From sunrise to sunset, we vigilantly watch the clock and obey its commands. dars, with specific slots of time allocated to certain activities, are unwelcome dictators in their lives that hold them captive and prescribe their every move. Conversely, having a fine-tuned agenda, and thus reducing the chances of experiencing failure, surprise, and the unexpected, is freeing to others. The beauty of schedules, though, is that they can be personalized and tailored to their creator, who then interprets them at will. Some people follow them to a tee, others have a more relaxed approach, and

some people don’t seem to acknowledge their existence at all. One caveat is that taking time for yourself during your day is often considered to be “wasted time”. We are encouraged to be productive at all times. When we pick up a novel for pleasure, we feel guilty for not reading course texts. While going for a walk outside, we run through our mental to-do list. We are almost as obsessed with not wasting time as we are with planning it. We squeeze in additional meetings, set notifications on our phones to remind us of what we ought to do next, and multi-task in the hopes of not letting a second go to waste. Yes, efficiency is important, as is staying on task when necessary, but we should stop approaching unscheduled time with such negativity. Despite our tendencies to focus on time, we often forget the moments in between – those little breaks entirely for us – the ebb and flow of every day. When we look at the world, time is the omnipresent constant that unites us all. Wherever you live and whatever you’re doing, time always exists even if you are not consciously aware of it. We have the freedom to create a schedule for our time or use it spontaneously. Monitoring our time is an option, as is living without being governed by the clock. Time is given to us each day; ultimately, it is up to us to decide what we do with it.  INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2013

ARTWORK BY IANITZA VASSILEVA

MEASURES OF TIME Emile Shen

Prague Astronomical Clock, Prague, Czech Republic

Six hundred and three years after it was built, the Prague Astronomical Clock is the world’s oldest astronomical clock, and it’s still functioning. What is an astronomical clock exactly? In this case, the astronomical dial has a background representing the stationary Earth and sky (remember, we are back in the day when the geocentric model ruled all), and has moving components of the constellations, major planets, Sun, and Moon. This intricate clock was designed with religious elements. This clock is a feat of medieval engineering and art, and also strikes an interesting balance between religion and history. 

Clock of the Long Now, Texas, USA Prototypes for a clock that can function for ten thousand years were introduced by the Long Now Foundation in 1999 in San Francisco, and later in London, England. The first full-sized product will be built in Texas as per the $42 million donation by Jeff Bezos, the founder and CEO of Amazon.com. But won’t the battery die? What if human life as we know it is already over? While time may seem limited, or people may feel pressed for time during the hectic school year, this clock can give us perspective. This clock embodies deep time, time which is permanent yet continuous. At the same time, the mechanical ambiguities of such a project make us question what time really is; logistics play a very small part in ten, twenty, or ten thousand years. 

Gastown Steam Clock, Vancouver, Canada

In the historical region of Gastown, Vancouver, the most famous landmark is, ironically, faux heritage. In the mid-70s, homeless people were sleeping over a steam grate in the winter. To eliminate this issue, a novelty clock was suggested; one that would harness the steam released. At the same time, the municipal government was seeking to revamp the historic area to boost business and attract tourists. And so in 1977 storeowners pooled their funds to build the now-iconic steam clock. What appears to be a century and a half-old heritage symbol is in fact a modern urban development project. And if this clock looks all too familiar, that’s because you’ve seen it on the cover of Nickelback’s 2011 album, Here and Now… I guess we know what your taste in music is.  VOLUME 16, ISSUE 4

The Samrat Yantra, Jaipur, India

Sundials seem just as old as human civilization itself, perhaps because of the simple mechanism on which it is based: determining the time based on the shadow of the sun at different times of the day. Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh, the ruler of the Indian state of Amer, commissioned the Samrat Yantra – which can be translated to “Supreme Instrument” – in 1728. This sundial is beautifully made in marble and stone, with immense dimensions; standing at 27 meters tall, this is the largest sundial in the world. What’s remarkable about this clock is that in addition to its grandiose stature, this clock only has a two-second margin of error! 

Big Ben, London, England

This iconic clock was actually renamed to the Elizabeth Tower as part of the Diamond Jubilee ceremonies for Queen Elizabeth II. “Big Ben” was just a nickname for the colossal bell inside the five-tonne clock, which stands atop a 16-storey-high tower. Monikers aside, Big Ben is a distinctive symbol of London. What’s more interesting than the aesthetics of this clock tower is its role in London’s history. The chimes had particular significance in World War II when they heroically rung in the midst of air raids from the enemy. The voice of Big Ben echoed the spirit of the nation at the time, as encapsulated by the famous Winston Churchill quote: “Never give in – never, never, never, never, in nothing great or small, large or petty, never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.” The people did not yield, and neither did Big Ben. 

artwork by Ianitza Vassileva

perspective Jaslyn English

Peat smoke rises from the chimney of a thatched-roof house, surrounded by a richness of empty, lush fields. This world is asleep, except for the insatiable Atlantic Ocean. A man leaves his house and shuts the gate. Accompanied by nothing but the sound of roaring water, he walks down a dirt road, thinking about his day and the beer waiting for him at the end of it. It is early for some, perhaps, but there are things to be attended to and fish to be caught. Almost at his boat, he looks up at the sleeping town and stifles a yawn. The world is waking up.

6:00 AM: DINGLE, IRELAND

7:00 AM: BUDAPEST, HUNGARY

10:00 PM: LOS ANGELES, USA Frowning at the mirror, a twenty-something year old evaluates the reflection frowning back. Eyes, hair, nose. Nose. Too big, too sloped… not sloped enough? The noise of nighttime traffic echoes outside the window. This city is loud enough to even keep its namesake awake, and brings rest for neither the weary nor the wicked. There is still time for a late dinner or an early nightcap. The smog keeps the stars from shining, ironic in a city that is supposed to be full of them. This one, this almost star staring into the mirror, living off nothing but hope and an idealistic belief in ‘someday’, slips on an evening outfit and heads out. Accessorized with confidence and skipping down the stairs, the studied imperfections are masked for this one night with naïvely bejeweled hope. A mantra is repeated: tonight is the night.

The market is waking up. A smile appears on the face of a young woman, keeping her child close to her chest to protect him from the air’s relentless bite. A gust of wind sweeps in from along the Danube, bringing with it the leftovers of an ancient city: lost things and senses of urgency that have long been forgotten. This young mother opens her stall and waits for the crowd. With tourist season over, the locals should flood in soon for fall produce and traditional sausages. She is proud to work here, in the Great Market Hall; it has a strong history and gives her a sense of belonging. With the confidence this feeling brings, she greets her first customer, “Szia, hello, how may I help you?”

1:00 AM: HAMILTON, ON In a small city in the middle of a big country, a girl is staring at her laptop, struggling to finish an article. Imagining a world outside of her own, beyond the world of exams, beyond the struggles against MUGSI, and beyond the struggle to keep her eyes open in night class. A world with lives being lived in infinitely variable ways, with dreams being dreamt and with challenges faced. Time holds in its fleeting grasp the present moment, but not just hers. The present consists of approximately seven billion moments, each one unique and experienced at one time by one person. These presents, if you’ll allow the pun, are hoped for and imagined by so many who have no choice in what they’ll receive. Time, unbiased to human needs, trudges onwards without a single glance back. The laptop closes and the lights turn off. This one moment is over, and the girl’s world is asleep.

Traveling. On and on with nothing to keep the pace except the rhythmic beat of her walking stick. Traveling across dry lands that once had a reputation for emptiness but that are now full of people. The walk is hard for the old woman, limping along amidst her impatient and groaning family. The sun is rising, bringing with it a light that floods the vastness in front of her. This atmosphere of urgency is something inconsistent with her age and way of life, but she keeps her head bowed and her thoughts to herself, a lesson long ago learned from a life of chaos. She forgets where they are headed. Jordan? Iraq? Almost there, someone soothes her, almost there. She nods and imitates her memory of a smile. One foot in front of the other, fueled by nothing but the hope of a home far away from the fear they’ve left behind.

8:00 AM: SYRIA, APPROACHING THE JORDAN BORDER

2:00 PM: SHANGHAI, CHINA

11:30 AM: NEW DELHI,INDIA Marketplaces burst full of animals and goods of every kind and colour imaginable. People, equally as varied, are everywhere. Conversations move faster than anyone but those involved can understand, matching the whirlwind of activity surrounding them. A family skips through the streets, the mother keeping an eye on the girl and the boy as the father chatters away on his cell phone. The city is busy, music is playing in the background, and the fragrances of spices linger in the air. The city smells like tandoori, sweat, and activity. It is growing like an adolescent, shooting upwards and outwards. An abundance of fuel, money, and ambition is necessary to lift the buildings closer to the sky and India to the world stage. Up and up, higher and higher, for hope is limitless in a country pounding with the heartbeat of ambition.

School wouldn’t be as important – probably – if high expectations weren’t added to the already insurmountably tall piles of books. In a country built on innovation, in a city unaccepting of anything but success, every test is The Big One. Shaking his head, a student pushes back from his desk and looks out the window. Halfway through the day, he is inside and staring out at a smoggy city. It might be called only-child syndrome if he didn’t live in a country full of them. But nonetheless, over-achieving is a requirement and failure a concept so vague it is nothing but a long-forgotten memory. From bargaining on the streets to bowing when accepting business cards, the city is steeped in tradition. The old customs are so intricate that it requires dedication to keep them intact while charging into an ever changing world.

7:00 PM: ROSS ICE SHELF, ANTARCTICA The sun’s rays beat down with laughably little effect on the frozen landscape. It is a seemingly empty landscape with an undercurrent of bustling activity hidden from untrained eyes. Here, land goes undiscovered, the warm earth hidden beneath oceans of ice and solitude. Time is likewise frozen; with no sunset or sunrise, time does not fly or stand still, it simply ceases to be. The sun is a constant presence, bringing only relative warmth for the six months during which it appears. This land is home to marching penguins and a fearsome quiet, interrupted only by roaring winds and calls of distant animals searching for their mates. To most, this is a forgotten place, but for a courageous few, it is home.

ARTWORK BY NIKKIE TO

TIME TO BREATHE Meg Peters

am tired: not tired in the physical sense, although I haven’t slept well in days, my mind spinning on a rodent’s wheel, my limbs exhausted from pacing back and forth just to stop from twitching, and I haven’t stopped holding this coffee cup because I’m afraid I might trip if I don’t have it for support. I have a Coldplay song stuck in my head (“nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be this hard”), trying so hard to bring myself to read my emails, the ones from professors and parents and friends who only want the best for me, they only want me to excel: promising all will be well, all will be well; but I’ve already closed the browser, wondering whether I can put them off for another day, another day. The panic doesn’t strike until I open my calendar, the deadlines lined up like lambs being led to slaughter, like failures waiting to happen, like a treadmill on the highest possible setting (running, running, faster and faster; don’t stop, just feel the muscles pulse), and don’t forget your future, what are you planning to do with a bachelor’s degree anyway? A panic attack is a little like having two invisible hands wringing your neck until you can… not breathe, along with time slowing down so that your movements jerk and pull and fumble and stumble and focus on the dot on the ceiling and you can’t and don’t forget to breathe! As if one extra command might help the list grow smaller, as if letting your heart slow comes simply from realizing

that you do have control (but you don’t) and you really can (not) push down your pulse with your two free hands because at this point, you feel intoxicated with anxiety, literally sick with worry, that whatever this might be will kill you, so your hands are kind of busy scratching at the invisible thing holding your skin from outwardly exploding. “What triggered it?” my friends asked, understandably concerned for my health after things got fuzzy, and they held my hand until it was okay to breathe again, until that cloud was lifted, and the breath came back, and the real world was reoriented to my world, and I didn’t have to scream anymore because the screaming inside stopped. At this point, I shrug and lie and pretend it’s not something inside, that I drank too much coffee, didn’t eat enough that day, pushed myself too hard at the gym until my body just gave in, all the while knowing that it’s only this, it’s only life, it’s only the deadlines digging into my skin like an infection of expectation. And it might not get better. So yes, I’m tired. Tired of being lost in this constant fuss, this treadmill of life seemingly leading to nowhere, this broken record of poetry (I feel like I’ve been writing forever, time paused as I write on), but I can’t imagine doing anything else. As long as I have hands to hold, the breath will come back: I haven’t lost all my faith yet. 

ARTWORK BY KATE DINGWALL

ONE YEAR’S TIME Rachelle Zalter

 December 3rd, 2013 Jacob has been irritating lately. I keep telling myself this is normal. This is marriage. I know it’s true because I love him. But sometimes I wish he’d quit nagging me. Work was tough today too. Leon drew a picture for me this afternoon. I swear that was the only time I smiled.  December 17th, 2013 I didn’t even notice it myself. You’d think that if someone had a lump on their body they’d know. I didn’t. Jacob saw it when I threw my shirt off in a hurry to take our kids to school. Slow down, he said. I didn’t. I pulled another shirt on, not wanting to be late. What could be more important? That’s what I thought. How stupid! He pulled up my top. What’s that? He said. There was a lump on my breast. There is a lump. Neither of us knew what to say. I called the doctor.  January 2nd, 2014 Jacob asked me about it again today. I told him the appointment was booked. I have to wait. That’s all I’ve been doing these days. Waiting. I feel like there’s something trapped inside of me. I’m not allowed to do anything about it. Wait. That’s it. Wait to die.  January 3rd, 2014 I was being melodramatic yesterday. Everything is fine. It’s probably benign.  February 9th, 2014 I had the ultrasound. I was really hoping it would be a cyst. Everything was supposed to be okay! They had to stick a needle in me for “further testing”. It pierced me and I almost wished it were a knife. I don’t know why. I don’t feel strong enough to handle this. Leon is four. Amanda is seven. What happens if I… What am I supposed to tell my kids? I don’t want to write anymore. I can’t.  March 21st, 2014 The results came back. It’s official. I have cancer. Stage Two, they called it. I’ll need chemo. Radiation. Surgery. I don’t know what else the doctor said. I have cancer. I have fucking cancer.  April 6th, 2014 I had a meeting this morning and I couldn’t think of anything other than my goddamn boob.

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 4

 May 12th, 2014 You know what’s the worst part of all this? Everyone keeps promising that it’s going to be okay. It’s not! I had to leave work. I started treatment. I’m already in pain and it’ll only get worse. I’ll lose my hair. I’ll lose myself. I’ll survive, if I’m lucky. My kids will still have their mom. That’s good, right? It doesn’t feel good enough.

said goodbye. I’ll see you when you’re out, he said. I wanted to believe him. Letting my kids go this morning was the most difficult task. I know I’ll probably write in this journal tomorrow. I know this surgery has a high success rate. I’m going to be cancer-free soon. I’m going to have so many reasons to smile. That’s what I need to believe. 

 July 19th, 2014 I haven’t been able to write lately. Not that it matters. It’s not like my cancer is such a thrilling topic! Sometimes writing helps. Sometimes it doesn’t. But I’ve been too sick to write lately. I don’t want to go into detail. I knew it would be bad. The chemo. I knew it would be awful but I didn’t think it would be like this.  August 1st, 2014 I shaved off all my hair today the minute Jacob took me home. I couldn’t bear it, the way it got thinner and thinner. It looked so weak. I needed it to look stronger than I felt, but it couldn’t, so I shaved it. When my kids got home, Leon screamed. Amanda cried. I had to send Jacob to talk to them. I knew if I went I’d only make it worse. I feel so helpless. I feel like I’m failing as a mother.  October 10th, 2014 The pain is real. Is that making sense? The pain. I don’t know. Maybe this is dying. Mmm. Dying seems nice. No. No, I won’t.  November 22nd, 2014 I’m home today. It’s nice to see Amanda and Leon. Jacob never brings them to the hospital. I won’t allow it. They’re too young. It’s nice to feel okay. I know the surgery is coming up soon. But I feel okay. I have my son and daughter. I have my husband. That’s all I need.  December 3rd, 2014 I told Jacob I loved him five times before he finally

REMEMBER THAT TIME? Bridget Steele

Reflecting on three years of living in a student house with my best friends PHOTOGRAPHY BY JASON LAU

“R

emember that time?” When you live with your best friends, I think that many conversations begin with this phrase. Em: Bridge, remember that time you told me that you knew 47 percent of people in Canada? Jess: Tegs, remember that time you told us that you just kept getting accolades without trying? Tegan: Em, remember that time when you said, “If that is correct, everything I have ever believed is wrong,” after reading a physics question? Needless to say, some members of my house are prone to exaggeration. Still, it’s a safe bet that many conversations in the house have begun with the common phrase… “Remember that time” can be used in a variety of different ways. Sometimes it is obvious that the person you are talking to remembers, but you say it anyway because you are feeling nostalgic. Tegan: Guys, remember that time we spent 13 hours at a party in the middle of exams? It’s like, obviously we remember the time we spent more than half a day at another person’s house playing beer pong. Do we remember the specific details? … No… that’s probably the reason we were there for 13 hours. It’s just funny to bring it up because it makes our lives seem more extreme. Jessica: Remember like the last 20 times I have let you guys into the house after 3 am because you lost your keys and would be perfectly content sleeping on the porch? Tegan: Remember that time you secured a life ban from Pita Pit? Em: Remember that time I literally caught on fire and you didn’t do anything

Looking back, it is that kind of generosity from my friends, my neighbors and just random people that have made my experience living in Hamilton extraordinary. about it? Me: Em, remember that time you refused to let firefighters into a venue because you thought you could “handle it”? Okay, so maybe our lives actually have been pretty extreme. I mean when improv can cause physical bodily harm, when the answer to any claim about infinity is “yes, that’s correct”, when hypothetical pregnancy situations last for hours and when hypothetical destination wedding situations last for years, I can come to the conclusion that our house is not… Tegan: Normal. What do normal people do when the power goes out? We love telling the story of the first time the power went out in our house. Feeling the need to hold someone accountable, we looked up “power company Hamilton” using the data on my iPhone and proceeded to call the first name that came up. Woman: Hello… Have you checked your neighbours’ houses? … Well I would suggest finding candles and making sure that you have flashlights. … I’m sorry … No, I don’t know who this can be blamed on… Do I have recommendations? Well… you could call your power company. After fifteen minutes on the phone with this woman we realized she was just nicely answering questions from her own home. We barely hung up the phone before burst-

ing into laughter. Looking back, it is that kind of generosity from my friends, my neighbors and just random people that have made my experience living in Hamilton extraordinary. Marissa: Remember all the times Leo [our elderly neighbor] gave us more pears from his pear tree than any number of people could possibly eat? Sophie: Or remember the time when he said that he was concerned that he didn’t see enough boys coming over, leading him to believe that we would never get married? Jess: Remember when we thought that our driveway didn’t need to be shoveled in the winters when really our 20-yearold neighbour Mark got up at seven after every snow fall to shovel the entire street? Barclay Street will forever bring back good memories, even if half of the people living in the house don’t know how to find it in the dark. Em: Remember that time we placed bets on where we lived when walking home from formal? To say that I will miss living with my best friends would be an understatement. I am very grateful to have so many ludicrous memories, but more importantly I am grateful to for all the times we had sing-alongs, or baked without a recipe, or stayed up all night talking… I will always remember those times.  INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2013

BRAIN BEAT Matthew Bassett

hen you listen to music, you often find yourself subconsciously tapping your foot in time with the beat. That bobbing of your head and snapping of your fingers originates from neural bodies routed in the interaction between movement and auditory information. Researchers have begun to understand this inherent connection by conducting experiments with beat perception. Auditory information alone elicits activity in the motor areas of the cortex, and researchers manipulate rhythms to test our capacity to perceive, produce, and predict an external beat using internal mechanisms. These neural areas responsible for perceptually and functionally responding to a beat have begun to be discovered. Fiona Manning, a Ph.D. student in the Music, Acoustics, Perception, and Learning (MAPLE) Laboratory at McMaster University, is studying the effects of movement and timing perception. In order to collect evidence for a predisposed preference for certain rhythmic structures, subjects are placed through trials within three rhythmic conditions: metric simple, metric complex, and non-metric. Metric structures have even intervals, and in simple rhythms allow for a perceptual accent at the beginning of each measure, like a consistent beat. Complex metric structures have even intervals but irregular accents. Lastly, non-metric structures have uneven intervals with irregular accents. Subjects listened to a given rhythm three times and asked to immediately duplicate it. They found that subjects reproduced the rhythm far better for simple metric structures, while there was no significant difference between complex metric and non-metric rhythm production. They concluded that we have an increased ability to perceive and produce a beat in a given structure. A study done in 2007 at the University of Cambridge by Grahn and Brett analyzed the neural mechanisms involved in rhythm perception. They analyzed brain activity with respect to temporal sequencing, predictability, and internally generated movement VOLUME 16, ISSUE 4

while presenting rhythms that were either “beat-inducing” or “non-beat-inducing.” They found that simple metric structures, the “beat inducing” condition, elicited the pallidum, putamen, superior temporal gyrus, and the supplementary motor areas significantly more than the metric complex

There are complex and astonishing relations found in even the most simple of reactions. or non-metric trials. Certain areas of the brain were also shown to elicit hyperactivity when listening to a rhythm in the absence of external movement. This showed that there are distinct cortical areas for rhythm perception, distinct bodies responsible for the perception of beat, and that they

are inherently linked with the motor areas of the cortex. Both experiments centered themselves on an attempt to induce and analyze the internal mechanisms involved in beat perception by manipulating rhythmic structures presented. The discovery of distinct neural bodies involved in beat perception, integration, and production provides reasoning for countless questions. For instance, in order for these neural bodies to become specialized, certain selective pressures must have been placed on the ability to distinguish between rhythms. What is the evolutionary significance of tapping your foot to the pulse of a frequency rushing through the air? Hopefully in time these questions will be answered. There are complex and astonishing relations found in even the most simple of reactions. It is an amazing discovery that the music we listen to has a biologically intrinsic place in our mind from conception to completion. Our heart is not the only place to find a beat. 

IMAGE COURTESY OF NIBIB 23

MAKE TIME FOR Charlotte Mussells & Kaila Radan

THYME

hyme was originally used by the Ancient Egyptians for embalming. It is also recognized as a symbol of courage: warriors used to exchange sprigs of thyme in Ancient Rome in order to enhance strength in battle. This herb was associated with warding off poison, and it was this that led to people ingesting it. Ancient Romans often ate the herb before a meal in order to avoid being poisoned. Today, thyme is used in a variety of recipes often in conjunction with rosemary, sage, and parsley. We experimented with a few recipes in which thyme provides a dominant taste. We hope you find the thyme to do so as well! 

Biscuits for Brunch These fun, easy biscuits are great for when you’re low on thyme! Eat warm, with an omelette and butter. This recipe is also excellent with soup.

INGREDIENTS          

Harvest Vegetable Soup This autumn soup is so tasty it will literally make thyme slow down. Plus, it goes excellently with the biscuits!

INGREDIENTS             

1 onion 2 cloves garlic 1 acorn squash 2 bell peppers 1 cup dry lentils a handful of chopped kale 3 tbsp olive oil 1 sprig of rosemary 1 sprig of thyme 1 sprig of basil 2 cups vegetable stock 2 cups water salt and pepper to taste

DIRECTIONS Roast squash, bell peppers, and onion at 400˚ F for 30 minutes.  Fry garlic in a pot, add the roasted vegetables after 2-3 minutes.  Add water and vegetable stock.  Add spices, kale and lentils.  Let simmer for 20 minutes.  Add salt and pepper to taste. 



2 cups flour 2 eggs 1/3 cup of unsalted butter 1 tsp salt 1 tsp baking soda 1 cup milk 2 tbsp thyme 2 tbsp chives 2 tbsp basil 1/4 tsp pepper 1 cup cheddar or parmesan (for microwave) cheese

DIRECTIONS Add herbs to dry ingredients in a large bowl and mix well.  In a separate bowl, mix together the wet ingredients.  Add wet ingredients to dry ingredients and blend until you have a smooth consistency.  Fill mugs 1/3 of the way with the batter.  Microwave for approximately 4 minutes. 

Note: This recipe can also be made using the oven. Bake at 375˚ F for 15-20 minutes, or until golden brown.

Homemade Salad Dressing Although it’s usually not a huge thyme consumer, this recipe took a little more commitment, as we ended up making our own yogurt as well.

INGREDIENTS         

1/2 cup plain yogurt 2 tbsp mayonnaise 1 tbsp lemon juice 1 tbsp apple cider vinegar 1 tbsp chopped chives 1 tbsp fresh chopped thyme 3 tbsp olive oil salt and pepper to taste lettuce or greens

DIRECTIONS  

Mix salad dressing ingredients together. Toss greens with dressing.

Candied Thyme We decided to try this after realizing we had a lot of fresh thyme left over. It was a bit of an experiment but it turned out well!

INGREDIENTS   

10 fresh sprigs of thyme 1 egg white sugar

DIRECTIONS Beat egg white until frothy. Dip sprigs of thyme into the egg white and tap off excess.  Coat with sugar (roll sprigs in a bowl or plate full of sugar).  Freeze for 4 hours.  Serve with vanilla ice cream!  

PHOTOGRAPHY BY ARTIZONE (FLICKR) VOLUME 16, ISSUE 4

Jason Lau

www.be.net/jason_lau www.flickr.com/photos/arclithe

To Leave a Mark People are just like trees. No matter where we are or where we go, we will always have an effect on the people all around us, like how the trees leave their pollen all around them. We leave behind thoughts, memories, emotions, love, and care for others. Like how the trees leave their seeds to grow and blossom into beautiful new plants, that’s what the things that we leave behind do as well. When we show that we cared about someone and leave behind some positive feelings, those feelings can grow into amazing things… When we inspire someone to be better, it is like a tree leaving seeds to grow into another beautiful tree. 

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2013

Vanja Skoric

There Is Only One Chair

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This piece was created as a commentary on fracture of space and time. Although time is continuous, it is only relevant to the space and people who inhabit it. Once those people are gone, objects, space and time once possessed by those people is fractured, moved, altered and replaced in some way. Memory of that place, however, is constant. It is constant but also evolving through time. Thus, nothing is permanent, nothing is resolved, and nothing is unchanged.

22" high by 10" wide handcrafted chairs 2 ceramic bowls: one broken, one intact Strawberry flavoured candy

As a child, my grandmother use to hand out this candy to us. The whole project was inspired by her passing and the absence of her. I thought about memory and how things changed through time. ď Ž

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 4

PHOTOGRAPHY BY SAM GODFREY

INTERVALS OF TIME Varun Puri

Defining Generational Parameters

ime is a funny thing. Despite being a rudimentary component of the modern lifestyle, time remains a mystery to science and philosophy alike. We continue to study time as an objective dimension with the intended purpose of discovering its significance to the fabric of the universe. Regardless, it is already a fundamental aspect of the human experience. And this is where we come in. A base instinct of humanity is the drive to understand the unknown. We often express our curious nature through imaginative design. Time, and its key significance in understanding our history and roots, is no exception to our innovative mindset. As a society of documentation, we tend to view time as a categorical tool: an instrument by which we may define set intervals in order to efficiently organize information about our history. These intervals are key to understanding our perception of the past and our progression as a species. Depending on the

period being observed, we, as a society, assign certain values to those intervals in order to define their place in the larger scheme of things. These values originate just about everywhere: books written at the time, the dominant form of art in that period, scientific advances, wars, disasters, and even fashion. The significance of any one interval of time is often characterized by the markers that we place within it. Another key consideration to make when evaluating information from any point in time is space. As a variable, space dictates societal progression; in the overall timeline of any one society, it provides a second framework by which we may better understand contextual details. Which brings us to the overriding purpose of this categorization: to comprehend the contextual relationships of the past and how they may relate to societal progression as a whole. If this concept seems familiar, it’s because it’s something that you’re already a part of. Let’s apply this idea to a particular generation in a particular place: the Sixties in the United States. Considered a time of immense social, economic, and political development, we often view this decade through the lens of assigned characteristics. You can almost feel the sensationalized rebellion of the countercultural generation: the noise of rock ‘n’ roll and the passion of the Civil Rights Movement. The decade of free love saw the first Moon landing through Apollo 11, a war in Vietnam, and, for better or worse, bell-bottoms. In many ways, the Sixties are a defining point in the history of American culture – an era of newfound challenges and transitions. The ideas that we associate with the time, those of idealism, prog-

ress, and change, are all byproducts of this methodology; we view this decade as an era of progression, and its perceived radical qualities are a pure result of our own designated values. There is, however, a deeper consideration of rigidity. As we develop our understanding of particular intervals of time, it becomes clear that the values we assign to

The significance of any one interval of time is often characterized by the markers that we place within it. these periods define more than just ‘ideas’ of an era. They define the people within them. Members associated with other periods of time often meet transitions between accepted values, developed within set intervals, with a great deal of hostility. One particular example that illustrates this point quite clearly is that of mainstream musical culture in North America. Notable examples include the transition from classical music to jazz in the early 1900s, to rock ‘n’ roll in the 50s and 60s, to rap in the 80s and 90s, to the contemporary transition of electronic dance music. Every subsequent transition has fought hostility by those of an alternate interval, yet every single one has managed to ground its place in our modern history. Which brings us to the question of why. Why does this matter? Why take the time to consider the implications of this methodology? Because what we accomplish today, what we enjoy doing today, what we live for today, defines who we are to the future. Our role in the interconnected bigger picture matters. What we leave behind matters. Take the time to consider what our generation represents – the future will remember us for it.  INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2013

 Time Past Eric Znotins You need to move on, you say, It’s as easy as walking out the door. But do you know the price I pay, That moving on just hurts me more? I remember the sunsets and long walks And all the things that those times meant. I still think of the long late night talks, Believe me, it was all time well spent. And now the memory fades away. Time so slow now moves fast As I wonder day by day Would I rather live in the past? But I know it’s fake, I know it’s not real. But I’d do anything to make You smile. Big deal? Imagine time as a one way path A path that nothing can affect. You can try to do the math But it will never be correct. How can the power of the mind Defeat the flow of time? ARTWORK BY FIRSTNAME LASTNAME I think that I’d rather remain blind. Than live in a world I think is not at its prime. Can I live in an illusion, In a world that I have made? This isn’t a real solution, That world will only fade. So, you’re probably right, I should probably move on I‘ll turn off this one light, The past, once so strong, is gone. 

PHOTOGRAPHY BY LAUREN GORFINKEL

BLANK PAGES Sabrina Sibbald

thin strand of hair lay across her lap. She picked it up gently, the harsh glow from the naked bulb above making it seem so delicate that she was almost surprised it didn’t disintegrate between her fingertips. It was odd being here this late. Most people would say that setting foot on this floor at all was the unusual part, but that novelty had worn off somewhere between her fourth and fifth month on the job. What had always surprised her, though, was the small o that people’s mouths would form whenever she alluded to working here. Originally, she had thought it to be out of jealousy (who isn’t trying to add a hospital position to their résumé these days?), but she soon realized that it was something else – apprehension maybe? It was the type of expression that was always accompanied by averted eyes and left her feeling sheepish. She wondered what they would say now that she was the one wearing a gown. Whatever. A few days ago she hadn’t had the time to dwell on their reactions – or the time to think about anything, really. According to her to-do list, she had had to be in a million places at once and do a million things at once to make the past three years, not to mention her student debt, worth it. It would be worth it, though, of this she had been certain – one day she would sit in a cashmere robe by the fire of her downtown loft eating organic chicken, not that discount crap that looks like it was never alive to begin with, while sipping champagne. Flipping through her daily planner would no longer catalyze bouts of anxiety; instead, blank pages would proclaim ample time for what she had then craved most: the luxury of nothing. “Excuse me, Miss,” a voice said from somewhere behind the door. “We’re coming in now.”

“Excuse me, Miss, we’re coming in now.”

She was choking – on her blood, on their derision, on the smoke that would forever line the walls of her memory, if not her lungs. That day, the sign had said “DO NOT ENTER”. She couldn’t even lie when they asked her about it now because she had helped the ward secretary post it – had passed her the tape, silently laughing at the way she aggressively snapped her pink gum as if to say, “I can’t believe that I went to grad school for this.” Yes, she told them, there had been a sign. They scribbled something down on their notepads. Didn’t they understand how trivial all of that had seemed under the circumstances, though? Their arched eyebrows told her no. “What was your plan?” they wanted to know next. What had she possibly been planning to accomplish if she had been able to unhook him from the machines, drag him to the stairs, and make it outside in time? The hospital simply did not have enough money to build hundreds more rooms like his, nor to deal with the lawsuits that would have inevitably ensued from their new inhabitants. “That is why you shouldn’t have been surprised,” they told her slowly, “why you should have expected it, when the door was locked.” She had been informed on her first day, and in the interview even, that under no circumstances was she to enter the patient’s room. Her job was to prepare meals and pills for qualified and properly protected doctors to deliver. She understood that. What she didn’t understand was why they were questioning her instead of those qualified and properly protected doctors who had left their patient to die. “What about him?” she had screamed that day as the secretary shoved her to the ground, smoke angrily licking the tops of their heads. “What is the evacuation procedure for our patient?” No response. She tried to crack her gum but it spilled out of her mouth like an oozing puddle. 30

The truth was that she hadn’t had a plan. She still wasn’t even sure why she did it. She liked to believe that it was her humanity, but it could have also been because she knew that without its patient, the ward would close down and she wouldn’t even have been able to afford that lousy discount chicken for dinner. Maybe it was the fact that everyone else had been so ready to leave him there. And they were going to leave him there. One of the lawyers cleared his throat. “Miss, we need an answer.” Their lack of empathy was palpable, even from behind the thick wall of glass. Salty tears lit the scabs inside of her throat and nose on fire, and then she was choking – on her blood, on their derision, on the smoke that would forever line the walls of her memory, if not her lungs. The strand of hair on her lap grew in angry tufts, any trace of what had once seemed delicate now gone. This time, they opened the door. Figures completely clad in white masks, white suits, and white gloves rushed in. One long, silver needle later and her eyes were being sewn shut.  The first thing she noticed when she woke was that the lawyers were gone. He was gone too, but that wasn’t news to her. They had been trapped in that room alone, and her swollen, trembling fingers hadn’t been able to hook him back up to oxygen fast enough. She had closed his scabbed eyelids. The man they had built the quarantine room for was gone, but the quarantine room would not be empty. She would be here. Here, alone with pages and pages of blank space and an infinity of time to do nothing.  INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2013

Heather Vida-Moore

Ravine

Acrylic on canvas 3’×5’

During the School of the Arts’ “En Plein Air” week with visiting artist Jim Reid, I found myself spending four intensive days in a glorious ravine in McMaster’s Natural Corridor. After the first day or two, I began making predictions about how the colours and lights would shift as the day went on. I also became quite attached to the calming sound of the moving water beneath me, punctuated by the barking of two dogs from a neighbouring property who came by periodically to protest my presence. The painting encapsulates the time during which the ravine and I became acquainted. 

PHOTOGRAPHY BY YOSEIF HADDAD

TIME TRAVEL: A POSSIBILITY? Madeline Lawler

ave you ever wondered what it would be like to travel back and experience Caesar’s conquests? Or speed on ahead to when an electrified thingy-majiggy connected to our brains transcribes our thoughts directly onto metal plates while we consume dehydrated food made in test tubes? Many consider it implausible, if not impossible, to travel through time to experience epic events such as these, and are content to limit the phenomenon of time travel to movies and TV shows. But maybe it is something more than just an extraordinary thought and could be realistically implemented on Earth during the next few centuries. Physicists have pondered the idea of time travel and the challenges that would be faced by an individual embarking on such a journey. Albert Einstein’s Theory of Relativity laid the foundation for the possibility of time travel; the theory states that time and space are linked in a continuum so that one can’t exist without the other. Along with this theory, Einstein brought forth the concept of high gravity to slow down time, which could be done if voyagers parked their spaceship close to a black hole. While only spending a few days beside the black hole, many years will have passed on Earth. Thus, the voyager will have travelled to the future. But for a super-speedy rocket ship or

starship to really travel to a future time, one of the key challenges that must be overcome is the need to move at the speed of light. (Of course, if you are a time traveller in the Doctor’s TARDIS, one of the key challenges is protecting the universe from the reality bomb at the heart of the Dalek Crucible.) But for most space ships, as the ship approaches the speed of light it becomes heavier and heavier, meaning that it needs a greater amount of fuel to reach a shorter distance. An infinite amount of energy would be needed to reach the light-speed barrier. This weight and fuel issue needs to become a priority for scientists: only then

Witch and Mr. Tumnus, the faun). A wormhole instantly transfers something from one place and time to another place and time, so if someone were to put their arm through it, their arm would instantly appear on the other end. The most fascinating part about this time travelling device is that wormholes may appear on their own, without us having to use any research or technology to design them. It is possible that when the universe was first created time and space could have been so twisted up that they became frozen, thereby leaving loops or wormholes. If only Emmett Doc Brown had access to a wormhole, he could have gone back in time and stopped himself from getting plutonium from shady terrorists. Although scientists have put much thought into complicated innovations related to time travel, it would require an enormous amount of funding, research, and time to actually implement them. This fascination with time extends beyond fringe research interests into mainstream culture, with pressing deadlines and past regrets we wish we could fix. It would be wonderful to go on a time adventure and be able to fix the past, or travel to the end of one’s life to see how it will all pan out. But for now, all we can do is move forward and have adventures in amazing places on Earth in the present. 

While only spending a few days beside the black hole, many years will have passed on Earth.

will Arnold Schwarzenegger be able to make it in time to prevent robots from taking over the world. Another incredible, seemingly fantastic possible method of time travel is the concept of creating a wormhole, or a corridor through time similar to the wardrobe leading to Narnia (although without the evil White

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2013

HOW TO SURVIVE A HALF MARATHON WITHOUT PROPER TRAINING: A TIMELINE 00km

After taking a shuttle to the top of the escarpment, brace yourself for the cold and head on over to the start line. Find your people. Do not stand next to the man with the belt of energy gels or the woman frantically checking her Ultra Garmin watch. These are not your people. Stand next to the man who looks like your grandfather, and avoid any pace “bunnies” (runners who keep pace for specific time goals… and wear large rabbit ears) with signs displaying time goals under 2 hours.

03km

Enjoy what are certain to be the most agreeable kilometers of the race. Check out the crazy running gear on the people around you, thaw your extremities, and high five the kids on the side of the road. Totally ignore the impending sense of doom that creeps up on you when you realize you still have 18 kilometers left to run – because right now you feel great.

Christina Vietinghoff & Rachel Brain

07km

You’re running down the Red Hill Expressway. Take in the view and enjoy the chance to run down the middle of the highway. Pretend not to notice how far away the next water station is. You will soon begin to hear drumming. Don’t be concerned, you are not hallucinating… yet. This band shows up every year and plays on the side of the road in the numbing cold. Give them a wave and do a little jig as you run past with renewed energy.

10km

This is one of the keys to successfully running a half marathon without proper training: pick a race that has at least 7km of pure descent. ARTWORK BY SARAH CONRAD VOLUME 16, ISSUE 4

You’ve passed the 10km marker and are feeling great! Okay, maybe great is an overstatement. But at least you’re still heading downhill. This is one of the keys to successfully running a half marathon without proper training: pick a race that has at least 7km of pure descent.

12km

Porta-potties are suddenly incredibly popular. Decisions about whether to wait for a porta-potty or to pee near the side of the road become questions of paramount importance. Take a few kilometers to scope out a prime spot – behind a parked car? Some sparse bushes? You’ll have to decide how much exhibitionism you’re comfortable with. Free energy gels are offered around the halfway point. Always take free things. These may be useful, if not for an actual energy boost, then for the benefits of the placebo effect.

15km

Knowing this race will be painful for both body and mind, have some distraction strategies prepared. One option is to count the number of people wearing shorts (at –2 degrees with the wind chill, these people are anomalies). Unfortunately, most of these people will be trying to run fast enough to avoid frostbite; they’re probably far ahead. Another option is to make lists. Bucket lists are great.

17km

Prepare to “hit the wall”. You’re not quite hallucinating, but you’re probably fairly out of it. Our bucket list at this point in the race included hibernating, photosynthesis, and swimming in Cootes. Though your mental state will deteriorate, with any luck this will keep you from noticing that you are “running” in quicksand on legs of lead.

19km

There is a bystander holding a sign about beer at the finish line. As you process the idea of “beer”, you get a second wind and are able to plod on. Ensure you have a friend by your side to distract you at this point (or make a new friend). The man that looks like your grandfather is probably passing you. Chase him.

21.1km

All that matters now is that you look good crossing the finish line (there is always a photographer at the finish line). Enjoy your shiny new foil blanket. Do not look at the clock. Do, however, take as much free food as possible. You deserve it. One last “pro tip”: don’t leave your car headlights on in the morning if you’re planning to drive home after the race.  33

silen “S

houldn’t we be dead?” “Maybe we already are?” “I don’t think so.” “What do you mean?” “Well, I mean, I’m here, wherever that may be, and you’re there, wherever that may be.” “You sound so far away, though.” “So do you.” “But I’m not supposed to hear you, am I?” “Theoretically, no. But here we are...” “Wherever that may be.” “Exactly.” Silence. “Well, how’s the base communication system?” “Static.” “And Houston?” “Silent.” “I see. Did you try alternating the frequencies?” “I can’t. It’s as though I don’t have hands to reach for anything.” “Try voice activation.” “All right. Kat here.” “And?” “Not a noise.” “Same on my end.” “So, do you think…” “I don’t know, but I know at the very least it’s just you and me.” “Seems that way.” Silence. “Let’s check coordinates. Can you see anything?” ”Nothing.” “Complete darkness on your end too?” “Absolutely. I can’t even see myself.” “Me neither.” “At least I can’t have a bad hair day that way, right?” “Ha. Yeah. If we still have hair, that is.” Silence. “Turns out they were right, Kat.” “About what, Yuri?” “Everything.” “Who would’ve guessed it?” “And here I was hoping we might have been wrong.” Silence. “Imagine if we were afraid of the dark.” “I don’t think that’s exactly right.” “What do you mean?” “I think that this is something more than the darkness, Kat. Here, unlike ever before, there is no possibility of light.” “There might still be that potential. Who knows?” “I guess we’ll find out.”

“I’m afraid for when we do.” Silence. “On a brighter note, at least no one has ever seen anything like this. I mean, come on. Complete, utter, all consuming black. In a way, it’s kind of unimaginable, yet here we are…” “Wherever that may be…” “Living the reality.” “Oh, so this is that living I’ve heard so much about? I knew I was missing something when I was studying astrophysics.” “Ha.” Silence. “But who knows, maybe you’re on to something. Maybe this is a product of quantum superposition principle…” “Please. Let’s avoid nitty-gritty cold analysis here. I’ve already done enough of that.” “But we’re like Schrodinger’s cat…” “Weird. I thought I was still Kat despite, you know, this.” Silence. “And besides, that is if we still have the possibility of living.” “I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Kat.” “Maybe this is Heaven.” “It seems a little dark. And if it is, God might have deceived the human race just a little bit with those golden gates.” “Maybe it’s Hell then.” “Maybe.” Silence. “Yuri?” “Yeah, Kat?” “Why were we given this mission?” “If not us, then someone else.” “I know, I know, but why us? Why now?” “I guess it was time.” “Time for what?” “This. Time for timelessness.” “You mean time for propelling ourselves into the center of a black hole?” “If you want to put it that way.” “I do.” “Well…” Silence. “But remember, Yuri, remember back when I told them that we weren’t ready. I brought it up with the Senate.” “I know, Kat. But if not now, then when?” “Later. Another time. Who the hell knows?” “Kat, we don’t make the schedule. Leave it to the bureaucrats, politicians, and people in big comfy chairs.”

“But you’re the mission commander. How could you not be told everything you need to know to carry out the mission?” “Because that’s exactly what happened.” Silence. “Are you sure?” “Positive, Kat.” Silence. “Then why?” “What?” “You orbited us a bit off course.” “It was unknown territory. Didn’t expect the different gravitational pulls.” “I know; it’s just that…” “What?” “It was perfect. We got warped into the hole just as it was too late to pull out.” “Beginner’s luck, I guess.” “Lucky us.” Silence. “Yuri…” “Yeah, Kat.” “Are you lying?” “What?” “Are you lying to me?” “About what?” “This mission?” “Of course not.” “Absolutely certain?” “Yes, Kat. Why would I be ly—” “Don’t, Yuri. Of all the times we’ve spent together, you can’t lie now.” “What do you mean?” “I mean that here we are in the center of a black hole where nothing can escape. The gravity is so strong that light is swallowed whole, space bends at its edges, and time itself stops. Somehow we survived and so if you’re going to lie to me now, when we have both no time and all the time in the Universe flowing between us, it’s going to be a long eternity.” “Kat...” “So why, then, Yuri?” Silence. “Because, Kat…” “Yes?” “Because I thought a black hole would be the perfect place to fall in love.” Silence. “Excuse me?” “Just think about it.” “I’m doing my best to think about the most irrational, illogical, absurd statement I have ever heard.” “We are here…” “Wherever that may be…” “Yes, and we’re cemented in forever. We’re like a handprint in concrete, a fly INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2013

c e.

photography by

Yoseif Haddad

– Kacper Niburski

caught on sticky tape, but we are so much more.” “We are nothing, Yuri. Jesus Christ.” “No. We’re everything. We’re all that ever was all that ever will be. We’re the beginning and end of time.” “For fuck’s sake.” “Kat, just listen to me.” “I am, because that’s all we are. We’re just voices that somehow found the vibrational energy to speak to each other in a world of nothingness. I’m not even sure if I exist anymore, Yuri.” “But we’re together, alive or not.” “Wait, what?” “Kat, this might not be the best moment…” “Yuri, when we’re against infinity, I’m sure any moment is as good as the next.” “I love you, Kat.” Silence. “Kat? Are you still there?” Silence. “Kat?” “What did you say, Yuri?” “Kat, thank god. For a second I thought that you had disappeared.” “I wish I had.” “Kat, come on…” “Please. Please repeat what you said.” “What, Kat? How could…” “Repeat it Yuri. Now.” “I said that I loved you.” “Good.” “What?” “I just had to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind.” “Kat…” “Yuri, are you fucking kidding me?” “I’m afraid not.” “Forgetting that you shuttled us off into space leaving behind everything we have ever known or experienced on Earth, forgetting that you signed us up for a mission without disclosing the reason for it, and forgetting that that very same mission involved sucking us into a black hole, you came here for love.” “If you want to say it like that.” “What other way is there to say it, Yuri? Enlighten me.” “I came here to love you, Kat.” Silence. “Okay, you got me Yuri.” “No, Kat. Just give it a chance.” “Please just tell me you’re joking.” “I can’t. I’m sorry.” Silence. “You’re a fucking lunatic, Yuri.” “Maybe.” VOLUME 16, ISSUE 4

“If you had sense before, which I truly doubt at this point, then you have none left. The black hole must’ve vacuumed your brain, and the parts of the cerebral cortex responsible for rationality, right out.” “Kat…” “Yuri, please. Just leave me alone for now.” “But…” Silence. Eternities passed. Worlds ended. Stars began. The Universe spread like butter at its edges. Yuri spoke again just as the Sun was swallowing the Earth whole. “Kat, I’m sorry. I really am. If I could take back time, I would. But I can’t. That doesn’t mean much, but it is all I have now.” Silence. “Kat?” “Yuri, you’re a cosmic dick, you know that?” “Kat, I know, but look: here we don’t have to worry about paying taxes or making ends meet or getting old. We don’t have to see ourselves warped under our own wrinkles and we don’t have to experience rickety knees or hands that hurt to move. We don’t have to do anything except be with each other. And you wanted that. At one point, I know you did.” “Not like this, Yuri.” “What do you mean? This is an alternate Universe, and it is ours. Sure it’s not what I expected at the beginning of all this, but it is a place where you and I are together. We’re suspended in a moment forever.” “Oh for fuck sakes. Cut the crap.” “It’s not crap. It’s the truth. The only truth I know, Kat, because we’re living it. We are time and we aren’t it at the same time.” “Yuri, you don’t understand a thing about me, do you?” “What do you mean?” “If you loved me, you would have gotten to know that I wanted to see myself grow old. I wanted carve my own face with mistakes and smiles and secrets only I knew, and I wanted to pinch the cheeks of my grandkids. I wanted to watch a man I love grow more beautiful every day and I wanted to fall in love with him more and more as the time passed between us. Call it cliché, but I wanted to sit on a chair on a porch that I had spent my entire life on – maturing, caring, laughing – and I wanted to smoke a cigarette for the hell of it. Not because I usually smoked, but because I had lived a long life and a few breaths axed from my clock wouldn’t matter. Yuri, I wanted to see myself become the person I wanted to become.”

“Kat…” “I wanted to keep feeling, doing, and smiling. I wanted to wear funny hats. I wanted to have birthdays. I wanted to buy gifts. I wanted to have Christmas dinner. I wanted to stress about cranberry sauce vs. raspberry. I wanted to move for Christ’s sake. Never, ever did I want to become still.” “But I …” Silence. “Kat, now we’re really alive. Really together.” “Oh Yuri. If this is what together feels like, I’d rather be alone.” Silence. “Kat, I did this all for you. For us.” Silence. “Kat?” Silence. “Do you remember back in Houston?” “Kat, thank god, I thought I lost y—” “And we were right about to lift off, and I was so scared even though it was my sixth time up in the air, and I was sweating and you held my hand and it made me calm, if only a little bit. And I smiled. And you did too.” “Yes, Kat, I do.” “Do you know what I was thinking? I was thinking that if there was anything like happiness, it was that moment.” “I know Kat. That’s why I—” “But it wasn’t because we were lifting off or leaving Earth or anything like that. I was happy because we were going to come back one day together. Because after hurling through space like a Cheerio in a bowl of milk, I would be there on Earth again some time later with my feet in the soil or with water running through my toes on a beach. I was happy because I knew I’d be able to be happy again after the trip ended, and I was hoping that you would be there too, to experience it all with me.” “Kat, we can still…” “But now – now I’m here forever, wherever that may be, and I want to be somewhere else. Anywhere else but here.” “No Kat…” “I’m sorry, Yuri. I really am.” “Kat – what do you mean?” Silence. “Kat?” Silence. “Kat. I love you still.” Silence. “Kat? Silence. “Please answer me. Please...” Silence.  35

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