LETTER FROM THE EDITOR.

All work printed in this magazine is copyright of the respective artist.The views expressed in this magazine are not necessarily those held by the Executive

Board, members of RedShift, or Stevens Institute of Technology.RedShift is named after a poem by Ted Berrigan, who spent part of his illustrious career

teaching at Stevens Institute of Technology.

Dear Readers, You are wonderful in your contribution and support, and this magazine is yours. Each member of RedShift works to bring the magazine to you for a variety of different reasons. RedShift brings you experiences that its contributors present through their work. Through visual art and words they hope to share with you their inspiration and thoughts. I hope that their creativity brings beauty and joy to your life. I have been writing poetry since elementary school, and it has become a way for me to describe my journey, to describe finding my definitions of life’s most mysterious words. The piece in this magazine was written at the beginning of this semester, and describes inspiration. It is the result of a conflict between whether inspiration is a personal feeling of astonishment or stems from the feeling of anyone’s astonishment. Does inspiration need to be felt on an individual level, or can one associate another’s inspiration with genuine motivation? The topic is especially important to me because of the challenges I’ve faced personally and in the world of academia, and the inspiration it has taken to stay as motivated as I was walking through Stevens’ gates. With that, I leave you to decide your own interpretation. Ironically, one of the truest examples of inspiration I have seen in my life took place this semester. Hurricane Sandy took the lives of some, shook those of others, and affected everyone deeply. I find it appropriate to call the disaster an example of “inspiration” because of the kindness I saw people display toward one another. Com-munities came together and made the best of a disheartening situation. My heart goes out to everyone related to the destruction in any way. I would like to thank all of the students and staff who stepped up during the hurricane to make the commu-nity feel as comfortable as possible. I would especially like to thank our advisor Holly Nelson, who made a great impact on campus during the storm and who has supported RedShift through the recent transition of Eboard members. I would like to thank Professor Lee Vinsel, who came to RedShift during the hurricane, already pre-pared to help with the Sandy issue that you will find in the back of this magazine. FinalIy, I would like to thank those who support RedShift and the rest of Student Life at Stevens. They continue to inspire students like me every day. The Sandy Tribute section of this issue is comprised of art, photos, and writing submitted by the Stevens community that express the severity of Hurricane Sandy and emotions that followed the tragedy. This disas-ter will go down in history and people's individual stories will be re-told. Please take a moment when looking at RedShift's tribute to recognize that the devastation illustrated affects real people just like you. It could have been any one of us who suffered from damage or lost a vehicle or even a home to the hurricane. I hope that after a bit of a rocky semester and a hurricane, you manage to find beauty as you browse. Sincerely, Halie J. Holmes

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR.

STAFFexecutive board

minor board

editor in chief - halie holmesmanaging editor - stephen vargaspublisher - phil barresiarchivist - rob ranallitreasurer - joe brosnan

head of layout - stephen vargaschief artistic editor - uliana dorogokupetschief writing editor - joe brosnanwebmaster - phil barresidistribution - danny argueta

2 Cnidaria by Tushar Patel

4 Alaskan Beauty by Tushar Patel

Town Center by Uliana Dorogokupets

5 The Inspiration A Carnival Cruise Line by Halie Holmes

6 Island of Hope by Emily Rautenberg

The Old City by Victor Lipnicki

7 Shattered and Spent by Samuel Thomas

Waterfall by Shaun Anyi

8 Perfect Story by Joel Oquendo

9 Defeat by Joseph A. Brosnan

The Cape by Eric Danger Palmer

10 Depth and Breadth by Stephen Prybolsky

11 Spring is Here by Anuja Shah

Neptune’s Horses by Walter Crane

(Reproduced by Nilsu Uyguner)

12 Closeup of Grandpa by Bhumika Patel

13 Power of Love by Aruna Cheruvu

Marmot in Glacier National Park, Montana by Matt Daw

CONTENTS

14 The Face by Jackson Kelly

15 Untitled by Alexander Roman

Bicyle by Nilsu Uyguner

16 Spiral by Victor Lipnicki

Oh To Be Young Again by Samuel Thomas

17 Pretty Girl (My Excuse) by Stephen Walter

Never Forget by Jiamei Zhou

18 White Horses by Nilsu Uyguner

Gulf of Alaska by Tushar Patel

19 Platypus O’ Platypus by Samuel Thomas

Ballerina by Nilsu Uyguner

20 Dear Passion by Emily Rautenberg

Consumed by Time by Shaun Anyi

Happy Attack by Krystal Perkins & Colleen Pelech

21 Tidal Pool by Victor Lipnicki

22 Sunrise at Bombay Hood by Matt Daw

23 Off to the Field by Victor Lipnicki

Cover by Chi Zang

Back Cover by Lingyuan He

24 Life is Beauty by Jiamei Zhou

Locked Girl by Joseph A. Brosnan

25 Off in the Distance by Joseph A. Brosnan

Bold by Batu Hofer

26 A Lost Friend by Anuja Shah

Viewer On The Point by Victor Lipnicki

27 Life is a Race by Joseph A. Brosnan

28 A New Feeling by Anuja Shah

Lumières by Samuel Thomas

29 This Vast Domain of the Empty Darkness by Olivia Martindale

30 Harmony by Rob May

Dry Brush by Victor Lipnicki

Nature’s Beauty by Shaun Anyi

31 Photo by Krystal Perkins

32 Foreword by Professor Vinsel

33 Photo by Yuriy Kaunzinger

34 Photos by Yuriy Kaunzinger, Krystal Perkins, Alexander H. Lee

35 Photos by Olivia Martindale, Lingyuan He

36 Hurricane Sandy by Stephen Walter

A Thunderstorms’ Thought on Nature by Thunderknight

37 Self-Portrait “In The Light of Sandy” by Professor Vinsel

After the Storm by Andrew Mason

38 Collage by Yuriy Kaunzinger, Krystal Perkins, Alexander H. Lee, Olivia Martindale, Lingyuan He, Stephen Walter,

Andrew Mason

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“Allll aboard!” Felipe announces,And each beaming face exchanges a grin With one of equal measureSomewhere across the room.

“24 hours of fun awaits!” he says, and will repeatEach person is taking a trip away From a life that was falling apartTo continue blooming into unidentified potential.

“I will be your onboard guide,” he explains,There is no “corruption” in the middle of the sea,There is what “they” see,And “their” disbelief of the beauty.

“Allow the culinary works of art while you dine…”The food is unreal compared to their past gluttonies.It is unreal that it is real when they thought They experienced all they wanted, and yet are now

“and performers while you wine…”Their fleeting looks of thoughtless, careless Feeling as they watch the showMust stem from their estimations.

“to transport you to another time.”They, conscious reflections of revolution,Shifted the path, and are happy.They feel the rush…

A CARNIVAL CRUISE LINE by Halie Holmes

THE INSPIRATION

many times more.

found wanting.

6

I’m coughing, choking in a sea of empty shells

As their salty tears rain down on me,

Threatening to drown me and pull me under the current

As waves of pain crash over me again and again,

Their grief attempting to drag me to an unseen bottom.

The darkness beneath my feet is mesmerizing,

Making my eyelids droop with exhaustion.

I don’t think I can fight the powerful tumult of emotion any longer,

And I can feel their slippery fingers reach for me,

Tangling themselves around me,

Strangling me with their empathy.

But as I struggle to stay afloat

And my limbs begin to fail me

And a sense of numbness begins to wash over my body,

I feel warm fingertips brush my skin

And strong fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling me upwards.

Cold air bites at every inch of my drenched form

As you fish me out of my sea of pain and sorrow

And onto your island of peace and solace.

Now, as I gaze out at the crying ocean,

Your arms wrapped tightly around my shivering figure,

I can see the storm begin to ebb

And sharp rays of light beginning to break through the clouds,

As if He is there and telling me it will all be alright,

And though I may not understand why,

It was just His time.

As my eyes begin to close again,

Warm waves lap at my feet,

And a smile spreads across my face

Because I am yours

And you will always protect me.

I s l a n d o f H o p e

- Emily Rautenberg

7

Cold air bites at every inch of my drenched form

As you fish me out of my sea of pain and sorrow

And onto your island of peace and solace.

Now, as I gaze out at the crying ocean,

Your arms wrapped tightly around my shivering figure,

I can see the storm begin to ebb

And sharp rays of light beginning to break through the clouds,

As if He is there and telling me it will all be alright,

And though I may not understand why,

It was just His time.

As my eyes begin to close again,

Warm waves lap at my feet,

And a smile spreads across my face

Because I am yours

And you will always protect me. Shattered and Spent Samuel ThomasWaterfall Shaun Anyi

The Old City Victor LipnickiCLOCKWISE FROM TOP

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My mind is racing a mile a minute I have never felt so much uncertainty

About how certain I am about these feelingsI’d like to think that there is a perfect time for

everything But the truth is, there is never a perfect time

For that gut-check feeling Of feeling limitless and extraordinary

There is never a right time to find what you have always been looking for

She seems to blind-side you when you least ex-pect it.

There is never a right time to know That what you’ve found is someone

special You do your best to hide it

Maybe play it cool so she won’t notice

But I’m actually a terrible liar.

I wish I could just tell you every-thing I’m feeling without scaring you

awayI need to be patient and play this

one close to the chestNo one is perfect, I know you aren’t

Your flaws are what I admire because it lets me know you’re real

I want you for all those little imperfections that make you

The perfect one for me I can’t wait to be able to tell you how I feelSometimes I feel you may already know…

Is this ear-to-ear smile really so noticeable? Is my inability to shut my mouth really that obvi-

ous?

There’s something exhilarating about this feelingWalking the fine line between nervous and ex-citedI feel like I’m walking on eggshells right nowMy nerves are so debilitating, but I know I need to relax Sometimes I feel like this is all too good to be trueAnd at some point I will wake upI feel mostly awake…Maybe this is all real and I found the girl of my dreamsThe one that makes my stomach do flips, and for

get anything I want to sayThe girl that keeps me smilingAnd wishing I could see her any chance I getThe amazing girl that makes me happy

I’m back to thinking about fairy talesBecause she turned me into a 5-year-old boy

Down to my basic beginnings, being at a loss of words Words to describe how I feel If childish nervous giggles were words, we’d have a novel Once it’s all said and done, this may have been just another missed opportunity Fairy tales don’t always have a happy endingBut what we have is pretty exciting and guess what?We hold the pens and the paper And we know what we feel is real So let’s write our perfect story together.

Perfect Story by Joel Oquendo

“SO l e t ' s w r i t e o u r perfect story t o g e t h e r . ”

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I have a habit; as I walk around, I tend to smile at people, especially couples.But then you walked past me with your hand in his.Suddenly, the world crumbled. Every thought I’d ever thought with you attached melted in an agonizing inferno of reality. My plans to take you out that following night, dashed. My dreams of one day asking you to that dance, destroyed. Any kiss, gone. All hopes and dreams of any future I had fantasized, vaporized in an instant.All because you were holding his hand.Of course, I should have realized it. You’re stunning. You showed kindness to me when oth-ers did not. Random things like sitting next to me when I was eating lunch; even though you didn’t say anything. I should’ve known you’d be taken. Who wouldn’t see the value of your soul through that brilliant smile? Who wouldn’t catch a glimpse of heaven behind those warm, chocolatey eyes?It makes me wonder, what kind of a person is he? Is he kind? Would he take you out to those dinners that I intended to take you to? Is he romantic enough? Does he share the same inter-ests I know you and I share? Would he just smile and hold your hand?Then again, I guess he would.Part of me wanted to tear him limb from limb, agitated at the sight of him holding your deli-cate hand, while another side of me cried at the notion of losing you to another. I’m happy for you, of course, but that doesn’t mean I’m pleased. With all that chaos inside my chest, taking in the horrific sight before me, it was hard to do anything. The maelstrom of emotions swirled through my heart and veins, and forced my hand. There was only one thing I could do:Smile, and walk past you.

Defeat by Joseph A. Brosnan

The Cape Eric Danger Palmer

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Depth and Breadth Stephen Prybolsky

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- Anuja Shah

I fell in love–Taken by the innocence of Child-face daffodils: Their perky April fanfares–

Clarion calls from yellow-ocher brass bandsPresaging, rejoicing, calling us: ‘Here we are! Here we are!’May soothed – sensual breeze caressing.

Snug, the birdie cooed in floral aroma; Gave artistic license–dressing up Pubescent fields, teenage woods, Jaded lanes; embellishingCraggy watersides.

Warmth is kind–sun tempered, Lifting life; erecting bluebell swathesFor good measure: late-spring treasure.

Spring is HereAt hill’s baseA mirrored lake, brooding, Bathed in halcyon haze–Yet hectic life scurried, Spurred on by procreational drive, To see it all survived another year.

Back at Garrison, garden tulips flared, Thrust aloft on rigid stems, andUnder day-time brilliance, Open goblets, clustered, Sought out heavenly guidance –Lauding hallowed tulip Gods.

May is nature’s intermission –Bridging April’s go-aheadWith hothead June.

Neptune’s Horses by Walter Crane Reproduction by Nilsu Uyguner

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Closeup of Grandpa Bhumika Patel

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Divine Resurrection

Two souls fortuitous, desperate and desolate, came together to a state, having love selfless. Immense is the power of love, Carefree of hatred; Elysium has showered upon me- feelings so sacred. Separation cannot culminate, the way I feel for you seldom will perorate, divine love I have for you. My fervor will not cease, Come death or destruction. You will live in me, Through many lives of resurrection…

- Aruna Cheruvu

Power of Love

Marmot in Glacier National Park, Montana Matt Daw

14

I was walking down the street when I saw it. I couldn't miss it, actually, no one could. If the fact that everyone around me was watching it wasn't enough to make me notice it, it had a sort of... energy. A force that compels you to look at it, in the same way that you find yourself looking at the horror of a car wreck. Except that it was significantly more horrible, and more beautiful. As vividly as I can remember that scene, as well as I can picture it, I can't remember what it was made of. Sometimes when you remember someone saying something, you realize that, in your head, you're simply hearing yourself repeat the words in your own voice - it's like that. I can't imagine it as being made of any-thing, because if was something so far beyond being made; it simply was. The material was irrelevant, any-ways.It was a face. I guess technically it was a statue of a face, but I can picture it as nothing but a real, living face. It didn't move; it just hung there, floating, a placid and expressionless mask, perhaps six feet tall, and yet I could tell it was alive. We all knew it was, somehow.It was truly beautiful, that face, that thing. It wasn't the kind of 'beauty' that you see these days, the fake kind of beauty that comes from six-inch heels and a skirt of the same length to match, the kind of beauty that comes from large breasts and tons of makeup. It was simply beautiful. Pure, natural beauty. I can picture that beauty, have thought of little else since, but I cannot

describe that face. There are no words that can express that beauty.I was simply walking past it, staring as all the others had. I was about to turn away when I saw him. He too stared at it, but not out of mere awe or beauty, but out of need, out of purpose.He walked up to it, stood in front of it, stared into its blank eyes, and in that moment, the world behind them disappeared, and they were the only two figures in ex-istence. I had been watching closely as this happened, so I can tell you with 100% certainty that the face did not move, and yet I swear that it was smiling at him, not a smile of happiness, but one of mocking. He broke then, and I saw it happen. It was the worst thing I've ever seen, and there's no other way to describe it. He just... broke.A sheet of paper, laid flat on a desk, exists, theoreti-cally, in two dimensions. If a person could somehow find themselves living in those two dimensions, they would only be able to see other things on that plane, and they would only be able to see them in those two dimensions. An outside observer looking in, even with the advantage of the third dimension, still only sees a two-dimensional scene. Think of a computer screen; it exists in our three-dimensional world, and yet the data it represents is only shown in those two dimensions.Imagine that your head is fixed in place. You are forced to stare at this sheet of paper on this desk. Let us imag-ine that things are happening in the two-dimensional plane represented by this piece of paper. To you, the world may as well be two-dimensional, because that is

The Face by Jackson Kelly

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all you can see of it, and you know no better.You are probably thinking now that I'll tell you that you are freed, able to finally see the third dimension for yourself, like in Plato's cave allegory. But that's not the case. You are still trapped, watching your two-dimensional world. You are not freed, but you are introduced to the third dimension in an-other way. As you watch, the paper is crumpled into a ball, thus becoming three dimensional. Imagine what you would be thinking if you realized the truth - that you'd been living in three dimensions, watching a two dimensional world, your entire life.You may be wondering why I went on this tangent - then again, the reason may be completely obvious to you. I wanted to try to explain exactly what happened, and this is really the only way.As I said, when he looked into that face, when it smiled back at him, he simply broke. In that moment, he was the piece of paper, and I watched as he was crumpled into a ball, extending his existence not into the third dimension, but into the fourth. The fourth dimension was the vessel that carried him from his conceptually 'flat' self to the crum-pled ball he became. I watched it happen. I saw that extra

dimension as the face, the beautiful, deadly face, crumpled up his existence and threw it away without a second thought, as no more than a sheet of paper, a living sheet of paper upon which the words scrawled were simply not satisfactory.When existence reshaped itself around me, they were gone, the beautiful face and the broken man. I felt dizzy, and the world felt overwhelming and surreal, almost fake after my glimpse of the fourth dimension. No one else around seemed to have noticed, or at least remembered, what had happened.You might say I was lucky, to have experi-enced something so interesting, so unique. I would disagree; I consider it a curse of sorts, because, ever since that day, I continuously find myself thinking of that scene. Try as I might, I cannot forget the sight of that beau-tiful face or of that broken, crumpled man.

“no words that can express that beauty.” Untitled Alexander Roman

Bicycle Nilsu Uyguner

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Oh to be young again, the opposite of adult. To wander freely, to punch a friendand not be charged of assault.

- Samuel Thomas

Oh To Be Young Again

Spiral Victor Lipnicki

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Pretty girl, for so long I’ve had my eye on you, dreaming that I could make you mine,

but you are up so high that it would take all of me to even say “Hi” to you.

Inside I feel like I would die for you,give you my best and never tell a lie.

I feel foolish to even try for you.

For you , Angel, are far off in the sky,and I have not the wings to fly to you

- Stephen Walter

Pretty Girl (My Excuse)

Never Forget Jiamei Zhou

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Platypus O platypus, you are the definition of a thing,from your duck-billed nose and soft furry hair, to your deadly, venomous sting!

- Samuel Thomas

Platypus O’ Platypus

Ballerina Nilsu Uyguner

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Part 1 in the Emotional Letter Diaries

Dear Passion,I hate you. I just thought you should know that. I just thought that you should be told how awful you are and how rude and inconsiderate you are. I guess I should also explain why you’re so awful, so pay attention. I shouldn’t have to explain this to you, but your name is Passion.

Dear Passionby Emily Rautenberg

That means an overwhelming, uncontrollable de-sire and powerful need for someone else.You aren’t Lust. He’s totally different. He just makes people want each other really badly and then let’s them figure out the rest. Those people barely ever care for each other on any level deeper than sex. But you, Passion, cause people to care about each other in the craziest, most exciting way possible. You make people want to be with each other in every possible meaning of the phrase and every possible moment of the day.But you’re not Love either, OK? Love is such a simple guy, he just makes two people decide that they are the only two people in the world who mat-ter so it’s easy for them to live for just each other in a happy bubble where all they know is their love for one another. Love one his own makes it simple. Two people love each other and that means they should be together and that’s it.You, on the other hand, make everything so damn complicated. You’re both Lust and Love rolled into one big ball of frustrating emotion. You can’t just decide to take two perfectly happy people who

continued on next page >

Happy Attack Krystal Perkins & Colleen Pelech

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hurting the sweet, innocent, not poisoned part of the we-are/were-together relationship.And that new couple…the should-be-together couple, is finally together. And they are both hap-pier than they’ve ever been. But there’s that little part of the heart breaker who will always wonder what life would have been like if you hadn’t poi-soned him, and if he hadn’t hurt his precious other half. And he will always feel guilty.And that’s your fault. Because the feelings the Lust cause can be controlled. The one’s that Love cause…can’t be. You can’t help how you feel…no matter how hard you try. So like I said…I hate you. I hate you a lot for being so cruel and causing so much pain to people that I care about so much.But I am also extremely grateful to have you in my life…otherwise maybe Love never would have come and fixed everything once you got it all cha-otic. And I never would have been this happy with the other half of my should-be-together relation-ship. So…I’m still mad at you…but thank you.

Sincerely, Emotionally Drained

Love brought together and then inject yourself into just one of them. And you especially can’t then go and sprinkle yourself all over someone else who isn’t one of those two people! Do you see the problem yet?You destroy relationships! You pick one of the seem-ingly happy people and then introduce him to someone new, usually someone that Love should have paired him with in the first place. And that’s when it gets messy. You let the should-have-been-together people meet and realize that they should be together, while half of the we-are-together couple is still stuck thinking that they should be together. If you were Love, it wouldn’t be quite as bad because then at least the should-have-been-together people both fully understand their feel-ings and can be together once the we-are-together couple ends their obviously wrong relationship.But no. You instead ease your way into their lives and slowly, painfully drive one couple together as you drive the other apart. And that’s when people get hurt. And that’s why I hate you. You destroy perfectly happy rela-tionships by showing half the relationship that he’s not truly happy, and dangling the person that is supposed to make him happy right in front of his face.And then two things eventually happen. That new person finds someone else and the should-be-together couple never gets their shot. Then the we-are-together couple starts to crack as the one person wonders and wonders what life would have been like. Or…the should-be-couple gets together…but only after really

Tidal Pool Victor Lipnicki

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MATT DAW

SUNRISE AT BOMBAY HOOD

by

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VICTOR

OFF TO THE FIELD

by

LIPNICKI

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Locked Girl Once we shared a fruitful life,Our paths entwined as one.But suddenly, you changed to me,Our fate became undone.

We set off, on separate paths,Mine, the future, yours, the past,Steadily distancing from one an-other,Yet seemingly so fast.

- Joseph A. Brosnan

It was a world of solitude that you sought,And I was not to judge,For who in their right mind,Could live around such sludge?

Notwithstanding, you shut yourself in,Blocking out the world,I was forced to stand outside,As you became The Locked Girl.

Life is Beauty Jiamei Zhou

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Great Grandpa Joe,

There is so much I want to ask and tell you, I don’t know where to begin. Silly things like “how did you manage the Great Depression?” and “What did you think of the first computer?”But, there’s only one thing I’d really like to say. It’s this thing I believe;

“Why do you have eyes on your face?”The answer is interesting. “It’s so what’s off in the distance keeps getting closer.”

I have learned to look ahead to the future, hopeful and spiritful, always marching onwards so what lies ahead gets closer. You have helped me realize this. Why? Well, the way I see it, your blood also runs through my veins and in my heart. You and all of your successes and triumphs are what are in my future. They are the things off in the distance that get steadily closer as I progress.

But please, don’t think this applies to just me, it applies to you as well. I don’t know what horizons you’re nearing, but I think you do. So, my honorable Great Grandfather, advance onwards, so we’ll all know what to advance for.

With all my love and spirit,

- Joseph A. Brosnan

Life is Beauty Jiamei Zhou Bold Batu Hofer

Off in the Distance

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I miss your smileI miss your laughI miss youAnd that happiness you always hadBut one day your smile had faded awayI still remember how I felt that dayYour warmth and comfort that was always nearYour life and joy seemed to disappearIf I said it hadn't affected meI'd just be bluffingIf I could change everythingYou know I wouldI would change it for youI know I shouldI'm sorry if I sound so desperate and needyYou have to see this is hard for me to get throughWhen every friend I had was youI can't do this to someone else

- Anuja Shah

A Lost Friend

Put them through the painThat truly doesn’t have any gainNo matter what they sayI want to screamI want to cryI have gotten to low pointsWhere I just want to dieBut the sad tears are goneNow that the damage is doneAnd All I can do is smileI can remember all of the funThe fun we had when it was just you and meI cry, but they're happy tearsWhen I'm looking back on all of our memories

Viewer On The Point - Downtown Victor Lipnicki

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Captain Jibbers, as we called him, slammed his fist into the nearest locker. The stout senior glared at us menacingly, still in his swim gear.“What the hell is wrong with you guys?” He spat, his wrath unrelenting.“What do you think?” A spunky junior questioned sarcastically, “It’s Hartland! As if we could beat them...” He trailed off as Jibber’s penetrative gaze glowered upon him.It was true, they were Hartland, nearly unbeatable, the godliest of swimmers, said to have fallen from Olympus itself. It was a fool’s dream to beat them.“True,” he eased up, “they are Hartland. But,” he tensed up, so did the junior, “does that permit you to give them their victory, without a fight?”The attacked swimmer slumped into the locker behind him, defeated.“Listen, you’re human. Like me, one day, you will die. Your life will simply stop. You won’t breathe, you won’t live. You’ll be dead; cold, lifeless, still and dead. So why do you bother living?” The swim-mers looked at each other curiously; weren’t they just talking about Hartland? “C’mon, no one? Why don’t you just kill yourselves on the spot, eh? Exactly, you wouldn’t do that. No, you will live, you will fight death to the end, knowing, full well, I might add, that you will eventually succumb to it. Until that very last breath of yours, you will live in spite of death. Life is a fight to the death. It isn’t about the victory. You, just like your great grandpar-ents before you, will lose, most pathetically too. It’s about the fight, though. The whole point of life is to live, to fight death. You know that you’ll lose, but you’ll fight it anyways.”Finally another junior piped up. “What the hell does this have to do with beating Hartland?”

“I will tell you what it has to do with beating Hartland! Absolutely nothing! It has everything to do with losing to Hartland!” Everyone looked at Jibbers, shocked, confused, distraught; was he admitting defeat? “Hartland is good, no shit. We all know they have a furious winning streak that can’t really be contested. However, what you’re doing is taking that knowledge; and giving up. You’re all flopping around in that pool like a school of Magikarp.” The high school swimmers winced at the reference. “You’re committing suicide, that’s what you’re doing. You’re giving up. You’re so shortsighted that you only see each race as a failure, because you can’t win. In life, as I just explained, you can’t win either. You have to lose, it’s a part of life!”“So wait, you’re ok with us losing?”

“No. I’m not.” Jibbers admitted, “But I can tolerate a loss, and accept that fact that we won’t win every fight. Even in some situations, you just simply can’t win. But that doesn’t warrant a walk-away surrender! What I want you all to do is to go out there, lose, but with a smile in your heart knowing that you put in everything you had to try to win. It’s about the journey, not the destination.”The team looked at each other, the short captain’s words echoing in their heads: he had said crazier.“So get the hell out there, stop sitting down so relaxed! The race of life awaits!” Jibbers started swat-ting at the freshmen, heralding them out of the locker room and onto the deck.The team lost to Hartland, as expected; but it was closer than it should have been.

Life is a Race by Joseph A. Brosnan

“ The whole point of life is to live, to fight

death. “

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I always knew that love would come find me somedayBut never did I know that it would be you who was headed my wayYou caught me off guard and took me by surpriseBut you simply captivated meThe same way you do when I look into your eyesIt's true that every good and perfect gift is from above: you were presented to meAs a beautifully packaged gift full of humor, talent, intelligence, beauty and love"it isn't finding the perfect person but learning to see an imper-fect person perfectly"We all have our flaws but when I view you through my eyes, perfection is all I see.From when you laugh to when you're upsetI still love the little things you do, especially watching you smileAnd listening to your patent dialoguesThe same way you like listening to mineComing into this beautiful relationship has been hard at timesBut we've made it throughI know as long as we're on this journey togetherThere's nothing that we can't do.Sometimes I wonder if what we have is too good to be trueToo scared to get my heart brokenAnd scared of the thought of losing youBut in the end, I trust in the author of my life."Where your treasure is, your heart will be also" Is how the saying goes...I may not know what tomorrow may bringFor God is the only one who knowsThe one thing I do know is that you are my one and onlyA treasure in my heart that I want to devote my whole life to completelyI know I don't need to prove my feelings to know they're trueBecause what I've known in my pastDoesn't come close to the experience I've shared with youI've had the experience of being in a relationship beforeHowever, this is the first time I've been truly happy...I couldn't ask for anything more, it's an honor to knowThat I am yours, as you are mineI trust God that He'll bring us together in His beautiful time

A New Feeling by Anuja Shah

For now, I'll be waiting patiently for that day when we'll be togetherThat precious moment in time when I'll say-"it's you that I want to be with forever"God made everything beautiful, precious and newJust as beautiful and precious as the day will bewhen I look into your eyes and say, "I Love You"

“Where your treasure is, your heart will be also”

Lumières Samuel Thomas

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This Vast Domain of the Empty Darkness. by Olivia MartindaleThis vast domain of the empty darkness. The quiet, choppy waves flowing in the black waters separat-ing a metropolitan world from another similar, yet more sedated world. In the still of the night, I left, leaving to seek that which I couldn't find within the room. I passed by trees, walked down a path, and gazed up at the starless sky stretching wide above me in awe. The fresh, cool air swept by, trying to usher the coming autumn into motion. And so as I left, I walked, walking through this wonderland under the starless sky. With eyes fixed upon the darkness which I couldn't see. Suddenly, I came to light and saw a bright world spread out just across these black waters. This bright world was beauti-ful and it differed dramatically from my world, the wonderland of swinging branches, the cool crisp air, and silence with the empty sky. A device, conveniently located a few feet away, offered its helpful glance at me as I slowly walked over to it. It offered me its eyes; its eyes to see that world which I could only make out a blur of. Placing my eyes upon the device, I saw tall structures gleam-ing with multicolored lights. I saw cars driving about, busy even in this still night of mine. Bustling, busy, lights on, even at the height of the night.I then shifted the device another direction to see more.

Moving the device, I saw the dark, choppy waters. The vast gulf separating the beautiful, busy, met-ropolitan world and the quieter, sedated world I found myself situated in. The gulf of the waters was jet black and reflected the light from the moon.

Very little was in the gulf. It was a giant strip of empti-ness stretching as far as I could see separating that world from mine. I then saw an odd phenomenon. In the midst of the emptiness, a vessel appeared. The vessel dwarfed in comparison to the tall structures of the other world showing off and gleaming against the sky. This vessel emitted a great deal of noise as it boldly treaded through the gulf of pitch black, breaking the waves and influencing the patterns of the water. This tiny vessel was like a figment of the other world I couldn't reach. A sampling of what was across the dark gulf.

It was at this moment I have decided to place the device back away from my eyes and return back to the room. As I returned, I gazed upon the night sky again. The night sky looked the same in both worlds; starless and boring. It was empty just like the gulf; only it held multiple worlds that it kept hidden from my naked eyes.

Both the sky and the gulf were dark and appeared empty; until examined more thoroughly. They were all part of the great vast domain of the empty darkness called the universe. Containing my wonderland and all the other wonderlands and separate worlds it could possibly ever contain. Despite this, all of the worlds outside mine were beyond my reach.

It was an exhilarating thought to know that there is far more that I have yet to see. That there exist domains even greater than the beautiful metropolitan stretched out before me just beyond the wide, dark gulf.

It was a depressing thought to know that I still had to go back to my dorm and finish up my dreaded calculus assignment.

“It was a giant strip of empti-

ness....”

Nature’s Beauty Shaun Anyi

Harmony Rob MayDry Brush Victor Lipnicki

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP

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Hurricane Sandya tribute to:

Photo by Krystal Perkins 31

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On October 29th, 2012, after already battering and killing many in Haiti, Hurricane Sandy tore through the Northeastern United States, leveling several cities, drowning many others. The event was filled with images and stories that many of us will never forget.

In Staten Island, New York, a mother watched as the surge washed her two sons away, their bodies later found in a nearby field. A hundred homes in Breezy Point burned in a storm of flame as fire fighters watched on, powerless to control blaze. Water rushed into the subways of Manhattan and the Path Station here in Hoboken, bringing these cities to a halt. Thousands lost their homes, and we are beginning to recognize how this disaster is disproportionately affecting the very poor, who are without resources to restore their lives. Sandy’s destruction will play out for months and years.

Recovery and repair have come in fits and starts. In Hoboken, the streets are lined with rubble that once comprised people’s homes. Garbage trucks come along and remove the stuff; then the street fills with trash yet again. It’s gone on like this for days. Men clean out the Shoprite grocery store at the back of town wearing HAZMAT suits. Some stores and shops that have long been important institutions in Hoboken have decided to close forever. And college students—many of whom did a great deal to help others after the storm—try to get back to work in a semes-ter they will always remember. Do we ever really recover? Or do we just go on?

Moreover, the Jersey shore—a fixture in the lives of many people in this region, a place of family, leisure, childhood, and memories—was devastated by the storm’s surge. At Seaside Heights, a boardwalk collapsed, spilling technologies of fun—a rollercoaster and other rides—into the sea. Against the ocean’s blank sky, the rollercoaster, called the Star Jet, looked like the ossi-fied bones of some dead civilization. A friend told me that the resort town where she had spent summers as a child and where she had later taken her own daughter was nearly completely destroyed. Sandy wrecked our emotional landscapes as well as our physical ones.

Psychoanalysis and other traditions tell us that traumas are experiences for which we can-not find words. The question remains: how will we find words in Sandy’s wake? Some never will. Can a mother ever fully recover from the death of two young children? For others, the process will take many years.

In the pages that follow, students at Stevens Institute of Technology have begun their search for representations. They have tried to symbolize or capture in words and images what they have seen in the world around them and what they have felt within their hearts. I invite you to spend time with their works—to witness their acts of healing and continue your own.

- Professor Vinsel

FOREWORD

33Photo by Yuriy Kaunzinger

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SANDYpictures

1. 2.

3.

4.

1. Yuriy Kaunzinger2 - 4. Krystal Perkins5. Alexander H. Lee6. Olivia Martindale7. Lingyuan He

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5.

6.

7.

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Queen, 30 points.She always used to win, some things never change,

“Who’s turn is it?”“Mine ma, we’re playing counter-clockwise,”

Lights flicker, mother jumps . . . .a small surge. Enter, 14 points.

Mother’s turn. Age is catching up I can see,She’s been working hard, it’s good to see her smile, I revel in her night off.

Blob, 9 points. “Typical mommy word,” father remarks,We all laugh remembering contests of yesteryear.

It’s been so long since we’ve played together,Myself, away at school, my sister with no time for games any-more it seems,

“Oooh! This is a good one!” Request, 32 points.Mother begrudges his smirk (I can tell) . . . .

25 some-odd years at work, a veteran of the daily grind,

A malevolent eloquence of nature,with all of peaceful wraths to come.Lighting has no bounds,let it roam the tame land.Thunder has no course,but the course of....perfection.

He deserves his smirk, to triumph, and a minute’s repose.

The storm should be. . . .expect a lot more . . . . Seven hundred and fifty thousand without pow . . . .

“What was that he said? Did you hear that Stephen?” mother asks,“Something about the storm,” the T.V. best chirp alone tonight.

Sister’s turn . . . . she pays no mind,Face-planted in her cellphone, fingers tapping away . . . .

Generational – mine too – I acknowledge, but do not understand,Finally, Rebuild (triple-word score), 36 points.

“Who’s turn is it now?”“My turn mom,”

I’ve been consumed with growing up lately,Stressing my education, obsessed with cultivating romance,

So worried about becoming more of a “man”, I think, “how nice it is to feel like a child, and play games with my family . . . .”

“Steve . . . .Stephen . . . .Stephen it’s your turn . . . .”

Hurricane Sandyby Stephen Walter

A Thunderstorms’ Thought on Nature

- Thunderknight

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Afte

r the

Storm

An

drew

Ma

son

Self-Po

rtrait “In

the

Ligh

t of Sa

nd

y” Profe

ssor V

inse

l

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Special thanks to the following whose photos were used in the collage:

Uliana Dorogokupets Lingyuan He

Krystal PerkinsOlivia MartindaleChristina M. Pico

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