The Zine That Fell to Earth

The Earth is a beautiful and hectic place.

Sometimes we all need a break from the hustle and bustle, from the throngs of cars and pollution, and from seeing the same faces every single morning.

Nothing feels worse than realizing we’re trapped on this planet. We wonder: how can we experience the unknown? So escape with us through this zine and imagine what it feels like to disconnect from Earth for a while. Let us give you a tour of the artistic cosmos.

The space-time Continuuist awaits.

Who are we exactly? The Continuist is an online and print collective on a mission to build a supportive network for creative minds in Toronto and beyond.

The Continuist is run by a group of passionate and ambitious students who love nothing more than giving individuals the opportunity to have their work published and connect with Toronto’s local art community. Special thanks to P-FACS and the Faculty of Arts at Ryerson University for making this publication possible.

For now, we welcome you to outer space and hope you enjoy your stay.

Love Always, The Continuist Team (A bunch of Earthlings) June 2014 thecontinuist@gmail.com / thecontinuist.com

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Kailee Mandel

& back cover by Elana Delaney

Andrew Mastin

I the sky at night is a moonlit canvas with planets adorning its cosmic face he tries to connect them with his brush-like finger as if the universe were one big spider web that everything was caught in II he leaves his room and ventures to a field beside his home where stars light the sky like myriad lanterns his body is numb and his smoke dangles loosely its tobacco coattails float up to space and he wonders if they’ll reach the man on the moon he wonders if a spider will descend from the sky III up above a star falls or dances on the moonlit canvas where constellations hang in preordained stagnancy the motions of the universe are serene, but lonely and the earth is like a prison with invisible bars IV that night he dreams of existing in space where he shakes the hand of the moon and the spider eternally scribed in the language of stars hanging there dead forever

David Eatock

& front cover by RATBATH

Megan Stulberg

Lauren Matera

Amanda Spinosa

Megan Stulberg

Kailee Mandel

Tara-Marie Phillips

Catherine Hennessey

Trisha Rolfe & Cameron MacDonald

Sydney Myles

in the midst of a loud symphony it looked like what could have been a fleeting moment being hurtled through the fabric of space marionette legs behind me into the center of a multifaceted universe, strangely gracious or maybe it was a first-person view looking up during a snowfall in the middle of some “sad, quiet valley” somewhere in Ireland, eyes fluttering slightly like her fluttering bird voice Kerouac’s children writing well-worded odes to the American night little bits of puffed up water sticking to long lashes either way both were beautiful and calming and I lost myself inside them that transcendent point in time, a passing moment

poem & drawing by Laura Rojas

Elana Delaney

Mike McDonnell

Aine Davis I wonder at times if the Moon knows of the Wind, Or how she moves the tide so?

Does she apprehend the light reflecting upon her bosom, Or shall she hold belief that she is merely in the Sun’s good graces?

I ask myself in the night if she despairs of her love, unrequited For she is merely a phantom, And glory reserved to the stars Yet we are as her: Shadows chasing some semblance of light in hope of belonging And it is her with whom we lay in the delicate dark In her pale arms, we drift Unbeknownst to such reverence Gently lulling us with pale winter’s light So elegantly suspended in desperation as we

Jad Dandashi