The Wasp - Volume I Spring 2017 by The WASP

wasp /wɒsp/ AmE /wɑsp/ noun [C] 1 a black and yellow flying insect which can sting you: There’s a wasps’ nest in that old tree! 2 when translated into the language of the country where the weather is schizophrenic and where even refugees do not wish to go (see: Poland), it becomes an osa – a place where all meanings collapse: Yesterday, I spent an amazing day at OSA! (here: an abbreviation for Ośrodek Studiów Amerykańskich, English: American Studies Center)

LILLA ORLY Editor-in-chief ALEKSANDRA BRACISZEWSKA NATALIA OGÓREK ALEKSANDRA GRABOWSKA Associate editors KAMILA MARIA WYSZYŃSKA PAWEŁ PAŃCZYK DTP TERESA BAKALARSKA Illustrations: pages 22, 33, 34 MAŁGORZATA DUDO Illustrations: pages 10, 28, 35, 37, 38 PAULINA FRELEK Illustration: page 23, 39 MAGDALENA KRZEMIŃSKA Front and back cover MARTA RAPACKA Caricatures: pages 41-43 MARTYNA WRÓBLEWSKA Illustration: page 7 NADIA BŁASZCZYK PR

The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

We’ve Got (Unorthodox) Obsessions Lilla Orly 4 ARTICLES POETRY Dame Más Gasolina: Bubbles Machismo in Latino Culture Teresa Baklarska Nadia Błaszczyk 33 6 Subway The Perks of Being a Fangirl Teresa Baklarska Joanna Nędzyńska 34 10 *** We, Asteroid Hunters Maja Nowak Dominika Grotek 35 12 **** FICTION Maja Nowak 36 Les Feuilles Mortes Aleksandra Braciszewska Fall 18 Adrian Wesołowski 37 I Come Undone: A Story of Stockholm Syndrome The Churches of the Mind Lilla Orly Ventsislav Dyankov 23 38 Platform 9 Foolhardy Małgorzata Dudo Lilla Orly 28 39

The next issue’s theme: What is Love? Baby Don’t Pervert Me, No More We’re still recruiting! If you’re interested in writing for The Wasp, please contact us: thewaspjournal@gmail.com Facebook: facebook.com/thewaspjournal American Studies Center: asc.uw.edu.pl

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We’ve Got (Unorthodox) Obsessions Disclaimer: The WASP does not support the abuse of intoxicating substances, the purchase of illegal substances, or the act of irresponsible driving. Neither does it encourage unhealthy obsessions. The ideas and opinions expressed within the text below are merely satirical musings. Any actions or behaviors expressed by readers are of their own will and are not the responsibility of The WASP or any individuals associated with the publication. Read at your own risk. It has to be said that all of us have our peculiar obsessions and/or addictions that we would die for. Certain A-type personalities have positive, productive, constructive passions that are lauded by a general public that gets a hard-on for diligence. I’m talking athletes who push their bodies to breaking point for discs of shiny, colored metal; photographers who put themselves in life-threatening situations involving molten lava to get the best shot; risk-takers who climb ninety-degree steep cliffs to reach something they call a ‘natural high’ (whatever that is). We at The WASP, however, recognize the beauty in the more destructive devotions of life. Forbidden romances with worlds of fantasy, flirtations with the reaper of death, and, of course, the explicit artistry of violence.

Exceptional are also those with enough confidence to express their atypical amour on air. The heroes who have starred on the television series My Strange Addiction are the true suffering artists of our age. One man who has consumed hundreds of glasses of champagne enjoyed the crunch of the chalice as it shattered between his teeth. A woman, aware of the harmful quality of one illegal white dust, supplemented it for something more accessible: baby powder. Yet another woman, enamored by the fragrance of gasoline, would unwind in moments of stress by inhaling its chemical stench. Numerous other episodes depict individuals ingesting dangerous materials, hoarding obscure curiosities, and eloping with inanimate objects; each has indeed found what they love and is not afraid to let it kill them. The piece of the month for this issue is a wonderfully carbonated creation by Teresa Bakalarksa. The poem speaks in a whirl of twinkling champagne, provoking the reader to reconsider just how they might value themselves in rare elements, and robs them of their speech by the end of the Joycean composition. A refreshing read, ideally coupled with a popped bottle of something bubbly, this piece of writing is certainly lethal. This issue alone will give you all the giggles of being drunk, all the ecstasies of being high, and all the thrills of breaking the speed limit. So sit back, relax, discover your favorite words penned by our fiendish writers, and read them ‘til your eyes roll back in your head. Enjoy.

Lilla Orly Newly-minted editor-in-chief. BA student at the ASC who finds catharsis in drumming. Dabbles in miscellaneous pastimes when not scribbling nonsense furiously into notebooks, on pavement or walls… any surface where writing is possible. 4

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ARTICLES

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Dame Más Gasolina: Machismo in Latino Culture To some extent we are all aware of the cultural connotations of machismo and its influence on social, or rather, gender hierarchy in Latino countries. We are constantly reminded of the clear division between the male and female worlds, as well as the subsequent distinction between the social roles of men and women in Latino communities. However, people from outside of Latino groups tend to ignore the fact that such a phenomenon is rather a problematic issue. Public discourse does not focus sufficiently on analyzing the causes and consequences of machismo, nor on finding solutions to this state of affairs. It is high time for machismo to be redefined. In popular culture, Latino women are often depicted as “sex bombs” with attractive curves and breathtaking dance moves. Moreover, in their everyday life they are expected to be guardians of their families—good and loving mothers, daughters, and wives. On the contrary, males are typically presented as very dominant, masculine, and strong individuals who openly express their interests in women; generally, they are trying to prove their superior position in society. The social structure, common values, and cultural norms strengthen the division in society and influence the development of the machismo concept.

Well, some may think: what is bad in expressing your interest in a beautiful woman? Isn’t it natural? Not if it is connected to the image of a macho. More and more often, the term ‘machismo’ has a pejorative meaning, and refers to extreme masculinity encouraged by the structure of society. Machismo is characterized by the aggressively masculine behavior of males in Latino societies. A macho is the embodiment of physical strength, courage, self-confidence, and sexual power over women. The term machismo is rooted in the Spanish word la gasolina, which means “male” or “manly.” Depending on a situation it can also mean being courageous, valorous, and superior in terms of gender. The origins of the word already show that machismo is strongly related to hierarchy in the Latino communities. Therefore, the question is: how to define a macho? According to Dr. Leopoldo Villela, a San Francisco psychologist specializing in sexual abuse and parent education issues, the term macho cannot be defined in only one way. It encompasses many dimensions and refers to different characteristics of a man. As a result, every macho acts differently. That is why there are four archetypes of machismo defined in cultural studies. Rolando Andrade, a researcher and an author, distinguished these four groups basing their behaviors on the following: the conqueror macho, the playboy macho, the masked macho, and the authentic macho. Machos represent belief in conservative gender roles. Their mentality is very difficult to change. The superiority of men reveals itself in the social acceptance of men’s extramarital affairs while expecting women to be at home cooking, cleaning, looking after children, engaging in local female communities, and, of course, being faithful. There is no place for women in traditionally male positions in the Latin society. Dr. Villela explains that a macho typically feels that he holds the power over a girl and that he can have any woman he wants. However, being confident outside and continuously proving masculinity is often juxtaposed with macho’s insecurity in terms of intimacy and showing emotions. Being intimate is a sign of vulnerability. Thus, the fear of revealing oneself is too big and leads to disrespectful behavior towards women and family values.

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Unfortunately, machismo is a concept that drives the Latino culture. Typical characteristics of machos are visible in their everyday lives, their attitude towards women, or, for instance, intolerance of homosexuality. Every day, the behavior of men is projected on Latino art, music, politics, economics, and more. Men occupy the public sphere while women are expected to stay at home—they are supposed to be perfect mothers and wives. I was inspired to dig into the topic by some comments of my American Latino friends, who literally hated popular representation of Latino machismo, for instance, in the music of artists such as Daddy Yankee, Pitbull, or even Enrique Iglesias (I completely understand that it might be a little bit risky to call them “artists.” Yet, their popularity is my excuse for putting them in this group). Analyzing one of the most popular songs in 2004, “Gasoline” by Daddy Yankee, and Pitbull’s song from 2009, “Hotel Room Service,” as well as Enrique Iglesias’s “Duele el Corazón,” we can learn again that the songs’ lyrics focus on love, but rather in terms of sexuality. The songs describe females as sexy, and their videos present dancing women as sexual objects tempting men; they simply promote the idea of male domination. Even though we are talking here mainly about the culture of the countries in Latin America, machismo is present in Latino communities in the United States as well. However, it shows some significant changes. The process of Americanization and sharing values of both the US and Latino country of origins contribute to weakening the concept of machismo and traditional gender roles. Yet, it takes a lot of time to change the mentality of a community. Moreover, the culture of Latino countries is often represented in movies, TV series, music, and literature, but not in a way suggesting that the concept of machismo might be a problem in itself. Such form of representation is sometimes the only source of knowledge for a foreign receiver. The lack of insight in the Latino culture results in misrepresentation and misunderstanding of the Latino reality. Consequently, the people from outside are indifferent and ignorant towards the problem because they are not aware of its existence at all.

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The examples of the three Latino songs mentioned before illustrate that the presence of machismo as a cultural concept can be proved even by such a trivial example as the character of popular music in Latino Culture. However, redefining gender roles in the contemporary world leads to some changes within the Latino group. As a consequence, there is a constant heated discussion on the representation of machismo and femininity in popular culture. New generations are rather skeptical about historically rooted gender roles and are rejecting the macho ideal. Nevertheless, the cultural values are hard to change. So is the mentality of people. In my opinion, the machismo concept is a topic definitely worth exploring, both in European and American environments. The American culture can have a big influence on the changes in people’s mentality when it comes to macho prevalence in the Latino world. There is no doubt that machismo is la gasolina of Latino relations, shaping both the reality and the social norms. This is why we have to aim to reduce the role of machismo in defining gender roles of the contemporary world. The question is: how can we contribute to that process? What can we do to help raise the position of Latino women in society? There are no correct answers to these questions. But one thing is certain: reality can be changed only through altering one’s mentality.

Bibliography: Corona A. (1996, September 22). Rethinking Machismo / What has long been a code of honor among Latino men may not work for a generation that places more value on equality. SFGate. com. Retrieved from http://www.sfgate.com/ bayarea/article/Rethinking-Machismo-What-haslong-been-a-code-2965999.php Machismo and Marianismo in Latin America [Blog post]. (2013, November). Retrieved January 16, 2017, from http://historyworldsome. blogspot.com/2013/11/machismo-andmarianismo-in-latin-america.html Watson K. (2015, August 18). Struggling with sexism in Latin America. BBC.com. Retrieved January 16, 2017, from http://www.bbc.com/ news/world-latin-america-33939470

Nadia Błaszczyk Her biggest passion is travelling, so she tries to travel as much as possible. She hates to sit in one place for too long so in her spare time she plans new trips and explores new places (even if they are just around the corner). Addicted to drinking tea, even in summer. Her favorite piece of clothing is a smile. 8

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The Perks of Being a Fangirl

Yes, you’re guessing right. It’s time to deal with…FANDOMS! Being a super, freaking huge Harry Potter fan, I’m going to focus largely on my obsession, and try to generalize it and see if other fandoms work the same. So, the Harry Potter series (films and books) are awesome. You can’t argue with that (at least not with me around). I stumbled upon them when I was 10-ish, and I’ve been stuck with Pottermania until now. But, it’s not just Harry Potter that people (me included) are obsessed with. Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Marvel heroes, The Witcher, The Hunger Games… the list could go on and on and on. So, here is something I know you’ve been waiting your whole life for: a little handbook titled, “How to Deal With Your Fandom Obsession!” Each and every craze about a fandom starts more or less the same. You probably told yourself, “Ooh, that looks interesting…maybe I’ll read this book/watch this TV show?” The moment you like it…you’re done. You will want to read another chapter/watch another episode, you will keep on thinking about what is going to happen next (and be super surprised when the events don’t develop the way you thought they would). When you’re done reading/watching, you will want more (believe me you will). Why do you guys think Harry Potter and the Cursed Child and Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them (awesome movie, by the way) were so successful all over the world? Because Potterheads wanted to meet their beloved characters once again to know how their lives developed, and to just get into this world one last time. Although, not really for the last time as there are going to be at least 4 more movies picking up where Fantastic Beasts left off.

After you read/watch everything, there are several options for you to remain in touch with the fantastic world you have chosen to live in (of course you can mix them all at once). First, (especially when it comes to Harry Potter or The Witcher) you can play video games. With video games you can: a) relive the moments that took place in a book/film, and b) participate in them even if through a PC, Xbox, or any other console. Although there is no place for imagination, it’s cool to run around the castle, cast spells, gain experience points, and make potions. PC games give you the one and only chance to spend some time IN this world AS one of the main characters. If that’s not enough, your next option of experiencing this world in reality (even if it is just for a couple of hours) is role-playing. Numerous fans gather together, dress up and… PLAY! It is really fun—a bit like acting in that you can forget about who you are and pretend to be your favorite character. Though you will not get an Oscar for your performance, it is still worth trying. If you’re not a fan of role-playing, maybe you’re a sports fan. Did you guys know that there is a Polish Quidditch League? It consists of three teams: Warsaw Mermaids, Kraków Dragons, and Quidditch Hussars. And it is expanding. If you want, you can join them – recently they have been looking for new players. I tried playing real-life Quidditch once… I was a seeker and I have never run back and forth that many times trying to catch a stupid Snitch (you can see from the way I’m writing this, that my team lost…).

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Another option is reading fanfiction. Loving the characters means that you want to know what happened to them. So, even if fanfiction is not written by the original author of the series, you’ll read it eventually (believe me, you will). The real—let’s use the word—craze starts when you start writing fanfiction. Now you’ll have the same power as your beloved author to play with characters and design your own vision of their lives [evil laugh]. Isn’t that exciting? Playing God in the fictional world? Next stop, of course, is buying stuff connected with your obsession. Okay, Potterheads, time to claim yourself. Who owns a replica of a wand? (God, I hope it’s not just me…). Yet, the things you buy do not have to be useless (unless you are a true witch/wizard and you really needed a wand from Ollivander). Those items can be, for instance, a mug, a T-shirt, a dress, or jewelry. As long as they have a logo or a picture of something connected with the series, it is okay. These items are not just some usual stuff that you buy. A true fangirl/fanboy will try to prevent them from getting ruined. Why? Because those things represent your affiliation with the fandom of your choosing. Thus, they also represent who you are as a person. So, what is it that draws us into a particular fandom? Each and every fandom has that special little thing that makes people love them. This thing unites fans all over the world. It may be the fantastic world that they represent—a world in which we can sink in, and forget about our problems and the reality around us. It may also be the characters with whom we can identify. There are many different reasons why people get crazy about a series of movies, books, cartoons, etc. But the truth is that once you get into a particular fandom, you will stick with it until the end. As Potterheads say: “After all this time?” “Always.” Joanna Nędzyńska Graduated with a distinction from the ASC this June. Currently employed at an international law firm. But she has not said “goodbye” to studying yet. Right now she is in the middle of one-year postgraduate studies in political science. In her free time, Joanna likes to play guitar, sing or… read Harry Potter. 10

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We, Asteroid Hunters An apocalyptic version of the world in which a large asteroid is inevitably approaching the Earth stimulates the imagination of people around the world. Why do movies and books of this kind arouse such strong emotions? The answer may be that humanity knows very little about the objects in the cosmos. Especially about asteroids, as there is only little or no knowledge about what material they are made from, how to locate them with accuracy, and how to change their trajectory; in case they fly straight toward Earth. The idea of 'planet hunting' has already been around for a while. Since 1995, scientists have been engaged in the search for new planets. However, back then, the idea of hunting for asteroids was unknown, or, in more suitable words, not popular. Of course, the scientific community seemed aware of the risks that resulted from the possibility of an asteroid hitting the ground. According to Livescience.com, the hypothesis that dinosaurs became extinct because of a large asteroid hitting the Earth is more than possible as there is undeniable evidence that can prove it. Although the idea was first introduced by Mexican scientists, Louis Alvarez and his son, Walter—as the place of the probable impact is in Mexico—American scientists from California quickly followed the clue, and began their own research (Choi, 2013). The aforementioned study was conducted to determine the size of the asteroid, the force with which it hit Earth, and what repercussions exactly caused this collision. Also, a very important question arose: how to protect Earth from such an event? The simplest answer would be to find asteroids before they pose a real threat to Earth and to not allow them to ever reach our planet.

According to Mathewson (2016), every year, thousands of meteorites hit the ground. They are very small, so a majority of them are not even noticed by anyone. Moreover, most of them come to Earth unexpectedly. The news that small meteorites fall to the ground every year does not arouse panic in anyone. Therefore, an unexpected asteroid strike in Russia in 2013, surprised people. Witnesses of that event thought that it was a falling aircraft or missile. They did not expect, however, that a real asteroid hit the Earth with a power 30 times greater than the atomic bomb in Hiroshima. It happened 14 miles above the city of Chelyabinsk. Over 1200 people were injured. Space.com called this event a ‘wake-up call for Earth.’ A few days later, the whole area near Chelyabinsk became a field of study for Asteroid Hunters, or, more appropriately, Meteorite Hunters, because these people were looking for pieces of the asteroid that reached the ground (Howell, 2016). Such pieces are called meteorites. After two weeks scientists were able to present some facts about the asteroid. For instance, the asteroid was about 17 meters long and weighed about 11000 tons (Howell, 2016). A few months later, it was revealed that parts of the asteroid were formed more than 4 billion years ago (Howell, 2016). Despite the fact that monitoring the sky for Near Earth Objects was already practiced for many years, only in 2013 after the Chelyabinsk event, did lively discussions about the safety of the Earth appear in the scientific community. Scientists returned to the ideas presented by NASA in 1970 to design a spacecraft that could land on an asteroid threatening the Earth and change the trajectory of its flight (Nasa.gov.com). Mike Wall (2016) states that the Earth is certainly vulnerable, however, people are not technically and technologically prepared to design, use, and therefore depend fully on ARM, which stands for Asteroid Redirect Mission, in case of an asteroid threat.

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In 2013, NASA announced The Asteroid Grand Challenge. According to NASA, it is, “A large-scale effort that will use multi-disciplinary collaborations and a variety of partnerships with other government agencies, international partners, industry, academia, and citizen scientists. It complements NASA's recently announced mission to redirect an asteroid and send humans to study it.[…] Grand Challenges are ambitious goals on a national or global scale that capture the imagination and demand advances in innovation and breakthroughs in science and technology. They are an important element of Obama's Strategy for American Innovation.” Lori Garver, the NASA Deputy Administrator, states: “This Grand Challenge is focused on detecting and characterizing asteroids and learning how to deal with potential threats. We will also harness public engagement, open innovation and citizen science to help solve this global problem.” The Asteroid Grand Challenge is primarily designed to involve ordinary people in helping to observe the sky, or at least to help spread the idea of paying attention not only to earthly affairs, but also to space. According to an article written by Leonard David, it is crucial to maintain good communication. The author states that only thanks to communication through many channels is it possible to warn people about possible danger (David, 2014). Jason Kessler, the Asteroid Grand Challenge Program Executive, declares that, “By tapping into the innovative spirit of people around the world, new public-private partnerships can help make Earth a safer place, and perhaps even provide valuable information about the asteroid that astronauts will visit” (Jet Propulsion Laboratory, 2014). Paul Chodas, manager of NASA's Center for Near-Earth Object (NEO) Studies at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) in California states: “The key thing is to have a system that alerts us and alerts the observers.” He introduced the SCOUT program, which is sending spacecrafts that will observe and explore using a multispectral camera into outer space. The units will send back results of the observations to specialists on Earth, where they can analyze the results and decide whether or not to take any action (David, 2014). Astronomers on Earth can also contribute to the work done by SCOUT (Redd, 2016). On The Minor Planet Center website they can post their observations, mostly notes about suspicious objects they found through their telescopes (Redd, 2016). Such information is reviewed by SCOUT’s computer system and appropriate action can be taken (Redd, 2016). For instance, the system can calculate the trajectory of the object and decide whether it is a threat to Earth (David, 2014).

According to NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory (2007), there are four points that make it possible to detect hazardous asteroids: finding the object, tracking it, characterizing it, and studying solutions that will help to prevent its collision with Earth. Here, a program called NEOWISE, similar in purpose to SCOUT, will play its role. This program, first launched in 2009 as WISE (Wide-field Infrared Survey Explorer) was reactivated in 2013 as NEOWISE; it is all about sending spacecrafts that will take pictures of space with infrared cameras (Nasa.gov.com). Taking pictures with infrared cameras makes it possible to find objects that are dark and, therefore, difficult or impossible to identify by conventional telescopes. NEOWISE is also using infrared telescopes (Howell, 2016). With the use of Asteroid Radar Research—a radar that measures echo delays and the Doppler effect from space (Ostro, n.d.)—it is possible to create 3D models of asteroids. The aforementioned finding would have a huge impact on the assessment of what action should be taken to change the trajectory of an asteroid threatening Earth. For instance, if the object is considered relatively small and with a surface suitable for landing of the ship, a Kinetic Impactor could be sent to the asteroid (Nasa.gov.com, 2015).

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According to NASA, a kinetic impactor is a high-speed spacecraft that can land on the asteroid and change its trajectory. Mass culture embraced the idea and a similar action can be seen in the film Armageddon from 1998. In the movie it was a matter of 18 days to build a ship that could land on the asteroid, recruit and train the crew, and send them to the asteroid with the mission of changing its trajectory using explosives. In real life, if such an asteroid were to be detected it would take about 20 years to prepare a whole mission (Nasa.gov.com, 2015). That is why it is necessary to think about the future now and be ready for what it can bring. Research on such devices is already in progress, thanks to research centers in Utah and California. According to Howell (2016), a mission that will include the use of a kinetic impactor has been already planned by NASA and the European Space Agency. The mission is called AIDA (Asteroid Impact and Deflection Assessment). The purpose of AIDA will be, “[…] to change the path of a small moon orbiting the asteroid Didymos using a kinetic impactor. A kinetic impactor (perhaps with a nuclear bomb inside) would deflect the orbit, tugging the asteroid slowly using a spacecraft, redirecting it with solar heat, or blasting it with a laser.” (Howell, 2016).

The most recent mission designed by NASA is dedicated to gathering information on Near Earth Objects. The mission is called OSIRIX-REx (Origins, Spectral Interpretation, Resource Identification, Security, Regolith Explorer). According to Asteroidmission.com (n.d.), “[…] the goal of the OSIRIS-REx mission is to collect a sample from an asteroid and bring it back to Earth.” Scientists chose an asteroid named Bennu as the subject. Why Bennu? Mostly because it is a carbonaceous asteroid, which means it is the most primitive type of asteroid. Therefore, it has not changed much since its formation. Also, “ […] it completes an orbit around the Sun every 436.604 days (1.2 years) and every 6 years comes very close to Earth, within 0.002 AU. These close encounters give Bennu a high probability of impacting Earth in the late 22nd century. Bennu’s size, primitive composition, and potentially hazardous orbit make it one of the most fascinating and accessible NEOs and the ideal OSIRIS-REx target asteroid” (Asteroidmission.com, n.d.). On September 8th 2016, the OSIRIS-REx spacecraft was launched and began its travel to Bennu. According to Asteroidmission.com, “OSIRISREx will orbit the sun for a year, then use Earth’s gravitational field to assist it on its way to Bennu. In August 2018, OSIRIS-REx’s approach to Bennu will begin. It will use an array of small rocket thrusters to match the velocity of Bennu and rendezvous with the asteroid. The spacecraft will begin a detailed survey of Bennu two months after slowing to encounter Bennu. The process will last over a year, and, as part of it, OSIRIS-REx will map potential sample sites. After the selection of the final site, the spacecraft will briefly touch the surface of Bennu to retrieve a sample. The sampling arm will make contact with the surface of Bennu for about five seconds, during which it will release a burst of nitrogen gas. The procedure will cause rocks and surface material to be stirred up and captured in the sampler head.” The spacecraft will arrive back on earth somewhere in 2023. Furthermore, “NASA will preserve at least 75% of the sample at NASA’s Johnson Space Flight Center in Houston […]” Between the 9th-20th of February 2017, the spacecraft will activate its on-board camera in order to search for Trojan asteroids, which are asteroids that are assisting some planets in our Solar system – for now, scientists are aware of 6 such planets: Jupiter, Neptun, Mars, Venus, Uranus, and Earth. (DSLAURETTA, 2017).

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As previously mentioned, NASA also has a mission, ARM, with a goal of sending a spacecraft to an asteroid and redirecting its orbit around the Moon (Jet Propulsion Laboratory, 2014). Afterwards, a selected group of astronauts will be sent to the asteroid in order to conduct research (Jet Propulsion Laboratory, 2014). However, such an asteroid has not yet been selected, nor the crew. This research would help in planning a mission to Mars. According to NASA, “ [The] Asteroid Redirect Mission will greatly advance NASA’s human path to Mars, testing the capabilities needed for a crewed mission to the Red Planet in the 2030s.” Up until recently, every single manned mission was planned so that astronauts could return fairly quickly to the ground, whether in the event of a failure, or to replenish stocks. A mission to Mars is a different, requiring astronauts to stay in space more than few weeks. In the article ‘How Will NASA's Asteroid Redirect Mission Help Humans Reach Mars?’ it is stated that a mission to Mars will last years, therefore, it should be independent from Earth's support. By testing equipment and transport of large cargo, but also by training how to control and dock the spacecraft, scientists on Earth will design the most sufficient and safe plan to colonize Mars (NASA, 2014).

In conclusion, I would like to paraphrase the theme of this issue of The WASP and instead of writing about finding what you love and letting it kill you, I want to send you a message: 'Find what can possibly kill you and do not let it do that!' This research I did made me realize that, nowadays, sitting and waiting for someone else to do something good for the world is very passé. Today, almost everyone on our planet has access to technology; one does not have to be a millionaire to buy a telescope, nor to be a scientist to publish his or her comments and observations. In an era where almost everyone has got a computer with Internet access, even a child can contribute to an important discovery, or simply forward the message to someone who wants to do something good for their environment. The main message of the Asteroid Grand Challenge is to contribute to the research in any way: by observing the sky using an ordinary telescope, forwarding adverts to colleagues, or even by reading the news on Space.com. Whatever you choose, you will be sure to see the benefits. Who knows, maybe you will be the one who discovers an asteroid that NASA overlooked.

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Bibliography: Greicius, T. (2016, April 6). Asteroid-Hunting Spacecraft Delivers a Second Year of Data. NASA. Retrieved from https://www.nasa.gov/feature/jpl/asteroid-huntingspacecraft-delivers-a-second-year-of-data. Choi, Charles Q. (2013, February 7). Asteroid Impact That Nasa Jet Propulsion Laboratory. (2007, February 7). JPL Killed the Dinosaurs: New Evidence. LiveScience. Retrieved Video: CSI - Comet/Asteroid Scene Investigation. YouTube. from http://www.livescience.com/26933-chicxulub- Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_ cosmic-impact-dinosaurs.html. continue=183&v=sYU-OKga6G0. David, Leonard. (2014, November 20). Asteroid Impact NASA (n.d.). Near Earth Objects Program. National Threat: Experts Report on Early-Warning Strategies. Space. Aeronautics and Space Administration. Retrieved from com. Retrieved from http://www.space.com/27809- http://neo.jpl.nasa.gov/neo/. asteroid-impact-early-warning-system.html. Howell, Elizabeth. (2016, August 2). Chelyabinsk Meteor: Wake-Up Call for Earth. Space.com. Retrieved from http:// www.space.com/33623-chelyabinsk-meteor-wake-up-callfor-earth.html. Mahoney, E. (2014, June 27). How Will NASA's Asteroid Redirect Mission Help Humans Reach Mars?. NASA. Retrieved from https://www.nasa.gov/content/how-willnasas-asteroid-redirect-mission-help-humans-reach-mars.

Ostro, S. (n.d.). Asteroid Radar Research. NASA. Retrieved from http://echo.jpl.nasa.gov/introduction.html. Redd, N. (2016, September 23) Incoming! New Warning System Tracks Potentially Dangerous Asteroids. Space.com. Retrieved from http://www.space.com/34149-asteroidimpact-warning-system-scout.html. DSLAURETTA (2017, January 20). Searching for the Earth-Trojan Asteroids. DSLAURETTA: Life on the Astroid Frontier. Retrieved from https://dslauretta.com/2017/01/19/ searching-for-the-earth-trojan-asteroids/.

Bonilla, D. (2015, July 31). Kinetic Impactor. NASA. Retrieved from https://www.nasa.gov/content/asteroidgrand-challenge/mitigate/kinetic-impactor. Wall, M. (2016, September 14). Earth Vulnerable to Major Asteroid Strike, White House Science Chief Says. Space. Mathewson, S. (2016, August 10). How Often do com. Retrieved from http://www.space.com/34070-earthMeteorites Hit the Earth? Space.com. Retrieved from vulnerable-to-major-asteroid-strike.html. http://www.space.com/33695-thousands-meteoriteslitter-earth-unpredictable-collisions.html. Wilson, J. (2015, July 31). What Is NASA's Asteroid Redirect Mission? NASA. Retrieved from https://www.nasa.gov/ OSIRIS-REx Mission (n.d.). Mission Operations. Asteroid content/what-is-nasa-s-asteroid-redirect-mission. Sample Return Mission. Retrieved from http://www. asteroidmission.org/objectives/mission-operations/. Nasa Mission Pages (2013, June 21). NASA Announces Asteroid Grand Challenge. NASA. Retrieved from https:// www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/asteroids/initiative/ asteroid_grand_challenge.htm.

Jet Propulsion Laboratory (2014, June 19). NASA Announces Latest Progress in Hunt for Asteroids. NASA. Retrieved from http://www.jpl.nasa.gov/news/news. php?release=2014-195.

Dominika Grotek Most of her passions come and go in waves, and she can definitely say that she is interested in a bit of everything. But to give you some hints: she loves zombies and music (rap and deep house). Also, she is into dead lifts and Youtube.

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FICTION

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Les Feuilles Mortes DISCLAIMER: written by real people, gathered by a real psychiatrist, this piece of fiction includes real life suicide notes. Hypnotized, for three stations already, he has been studying someone’s palm hungrily clutching a stanchion. The rest of this animated corpse wasn’t that interesting. But the palm. Never before had he seen such a wide and muscular palm. Even though the owner decided to wear gloves this particular morning, he just knew that underneath this cheap, polyester fabric there is a hand that had crushed, squeezed, rubbed, punched, till it became the acting part of this body. The stanchion wouldn’t last if the palm decided to enforce the grip even a tiny bit. For a second, Mark wondered what kind of sensations it could provide if, accidentally, it slipped astray further down-down, down to the place desperately longing, for the first time ever, to turn into a stanchion. Attention à la marche en descendant du train—damn. He bid the palm farewell and watched it walk away as it indeed minded the announced gap between the platform and the train, yet left a gap of insatiate speculations of the ogler. “Excusez-moi, est-ce que, vous, em, je… I’m sorry, do you speak English?” Oh boy, does she look lost, Mark thought. “Yeah, I do,” Mark had always been the number-one choice of religious fanatics longing to save his soul, lost foreigners looking for that particular rue, this exact place, and the hobos for whom he apparently looked like a compassionate and understanding Rockefeller; “anything I can help you with?” “I think I got lost,” the girl said. No shit, he thought to himself. “I was supposed to meet with a friend at Les Halles, but she knew I was supposed to take line 11. And I can’t see that station anywhere and I’ve no idea where to go and could you—“ “Sweetie, can you read a map at all?” “Of course I can but it says—“ “You see these three white connected points? One looks like, let’s say, a tube of lipstick. The other one is a shorter, mini version of your regular lipstick. And the last one, the smallest one, well, I would compare it to something that you surely do possess, but let’s just stick to the lipstick analogy: it looks as if you were looking down at it. All these lipsticks—Châtelet, Châtelet Les Halles, and Les Halles—they are magically connected. As if one lipstick were all these three lipsticks we have discussed. 3-in-1. As in, I don’t know, eyeshadow, blusher, and powder. All. In. One. Magic,” he did his usual I’m-making-such-an-exquisite-insult, Wingardium Leviosa–move for the final emphasis to his speech. “So you leave at Châtelet and you can walk to Les Halles from there, just follow the signs,” he summarized in case she was a special kind of stupid. “Thank you, Sir,” sobbed the girl whose eyes suddenly began to need no eyeshadow—a simple tissue would do magic—and she moved to the farthest part of the train. Wow, he thought to himself. Sarcasm has always been his way of dealing with people’s stupidity, yet it was the first time he had made someone actually cry over his unpremeditated words. Mark grew up in Pennsylvania, raised by parents who decided to have a baby to save their marriage. Yet, even if for his mother this experiment turned out to be the best decision in her life, his father left when Mark was fifteen. And, just for fun, abused him for fourteen of those fifteen years. Childhood filled with fear and uncalled for violence engraved bitterness and rage over Mark’s soul. He had been trying to cover it up with professional success and sarcasm, but frankly, only his mother’s love worked as a perfect, emotion-tight and sadness-proof band-aid. Hurting this girl made him realize what an astounding impact his words might have. Uttering the most piercing, poisonous words had always given him a numbing head rush. Yet seeing her empty eyes fill with tears made him wonder whether there was more to this—more than pure satisfaction of the upper handful of words. If, by any chance, this girl’s emotional stability were 18

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in the smallest fraction as fragile as his, she could be reliving his lipstick sermon till next week. Hell—maybe she will remember it the next time someone points it out to her that she is, indeed, a moron. One day, perhaps, after a marvelously idiotic comment, she’ll think to herself: Yeah, this probably is true. Even this guy who didn’t know me told me that so it must be true. Mark tried to spot the girl on the train, but she has blended in between the crowd of hypnotized zombies of Paris. “What if”—Mark wondered—“this situation was the last straw that broke the camel’s back? What if she had been so hurt before that she simply couldn’t bear suffering anymore?” In a second, her life became too clear to him. She fell in love with one of those bad boys in the hood. She had been a pushover all her life and, most probably, an emotional punching bag for him, because—let’s face it—an assertive person would just slap him right in the face after that wave of insult. So he used her any way he wanted to, manipulated her into thinking that she was the one to blame for whatever issues they had. Mark knew this kind of women. This pathetic, easily manhandled, willing-to-do-just-about-anything-for-their-men kind. Pathetic. Maybe that’s why he absolutely cherished his gayness so much. “What if”—he continued—“she decided to end her life… I wonder what her last words would be.” My dearest Andrew, It seems as if I have been spending all my life apologizing to you for things that happened whether they were my fault or not. I am enclosing your pin because I want you to think of what you took from me every time you see it. I don’t want you to think I would kill myself over you because you’re not worth any emotion at all. It is what you cost me that hurts and nothing can replace it. All of a sudden, years of therapy where he struggled to open like a clam to reveal his sappy, velvety viscera—all that appeared as a misunderstanding. All these years where Frederick tried to make him realize that being hurt doesn’t mean that one has to reciprocate and spread the rage around—bullshit. It took him one metro ride to figure it all out by himself. People materialized as actual human beings who live outside this particular now-and-here moment. People whose cross to bear gives birth to splinters that go deeper with every move, with every breath. Splinters that with the weight of the cross are brutally thrusted into their arteries, onto capillary tubes, amidst neurons, inside pulmonary alveoli. Splinters that freeze their bodies in an automatic, monotonous motion. Yet the infected dread the removal, for the wood fragments have become an integral part of their paralyzed selves. Bridges that if destroyed, would forever disintegrate the body. Mark’s eyes immediately landed on the aura of despair that surrounded a man in his mid-40s. The man had been struggling for some time with swallowing peanuts he carried inside his briefcase. Each consumed peanut provoked an excruciating pain that filled his eyes with tears, and incited his left hand to navigate it down the throat like a tour guide whose job was to keep him alive. His fingers would gently locate the nut, wrap around it, and slowly relocate it further down. Perhaps the operation would have gone much smoother if it hadn’t been interrupted by writhing movements that, surprisingly, were of no surprise to the man. Mark’s seen it—his friend’s father was diagnosed with Huntington’s disease when he was only 30-something. Gradual loss of control over one’s body was a tragic spectacle to watch and, eventually, it made Mark cut the friend off. “What if—” The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

Jimmy! Remember what I told you and always respect, protect and obey your mother and always remember that I love you so much. I am going to leave you forever because I am too sick to go on. God bless you my Son and when your time comes to go to Heaven you will find your ole Pappy waiting for you. Daddy. Later that day, a pregnant woman from across the bench on the subway headed to the alcohol aisle in Monoprix, even though she had only intended to buy some 10-hours-ago-fresh baguettes. She took Johnnie’s hand, and they gracefully rumba-walked home. Quick, quick, slow; quick, quick, slow. 2,3,4-1; 2,3,4-1. Similarly to her metro mantra, she began mournfully stroking her tiny yet already-visible baby bump, while singing Presley’s “Always on My Mind”—her mom would hum it each time when she was down. At some point, Presley became a much more frequent guest in their house than her own mother. She turned her computer on, poured some Johnnie, played the B-side of the “Separate Ways” single, and began the last—as it turned out—letter of her life. Quick, quick, slow; quick, quick, slow. My boss, Kenneth J., seduced me and made me pregnant. He refuses to help me. I had not had intercourse in two years. He says that I will have to suffer through it by myself. Several people know about this—my doctor, Dr. James R., and Pete M., who works at Williams. Pete and I never had a love affair, although Kenneth would like to drag Pete into it. Also, Dr. Arnold W. knows about it. I have always been such a good girl. Daddy dear – As much as it hurts me, I cannot make it this Friday. I may be in very serious trouble. I have always been a very good person, but it looks like I really got in a mess, through no real fault of my own. I must have been born to suffer. Love – Elizabeth P.S. Call me if you can. When will Sally be back? I may need her desperately. Imagining this young girl reading her fate as fatal filled his soul with inexplicable void that longed for more; more of sorrow, more of hopelessness. There existed nothing else that fueled his existence. He craved for misery that, step by step, tarred and feathered his soul for prying too much into the incomprehensible, the verboten, the veritable. The next victim of his trespassing was male, around 50, whose wedding ring shined with the disgust he had felt towards it for years now. Mark noticed a Swiss watch on his wrist, with an observation case back and skeleton dial display that exposed the watch’s movement which, most probably, also revealed the inner workings of the man’s agony. The mobile phone in his left hand has been on fire for at least two stations, transmitting frustration along the wire to a person who was, most probably, the man’s lawyer. Dark circles around the man’s eyes told Mark that this phone call was one of many previous tête-à-phone encounters, measured by the watch that matched nothing in the man’s outfit. The coat had its own coat of dust and crushed hopes, 20

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his closed-toe shoes began to open up to the world, and his pants were as worn as his will to live. His letter, most probably, would go: Dear Claudia, You win, I can’t take it any longer, I know you have been waiting for this to happen. I hope it makes you very happy, this is not an easy thing to do, but I’ve got to the point where there is nothing to live for, a little bit of kindness from you would of made everything so different, but all that ever interested you was the dollar. It’s pretty hard for me to do anything when you are so greedy even with this house you couldn’t even be fair with that, well it’s all yours now and you won’t have to see the Lawyer anymore. I wish you would give my personal things to Danny, you couldn’t get much from selling them anyway, you still have my insurance, it isn’t much but it will be enough to take care of my debts and still have a few bucks left. You always told me that I was the one that made Sharon take her life, in fact you said I killed her, but you know down deep in your heart it was you that made her do what she did, and now you have two deaths to your credit, it should make you feel very proud. Good By Kid P.S. Disregard all the mean things I’ve said in this letter, I have said a lot of things to you I didn’t really mean and I hope you get well and wish you the best of everything. Cathy – don’t come in. Call your mother, she will know what to do. Love, Daddy Cathy don’t go in the bedroom. *** He watched the last horse chestnut leaf of this fall swirl around in the air, just to softly land on the half-broken but so-parisian bench. On the radio, Yves Montand was reciting the part that always tore him apart but this time, somehow, it comforted him. Fallen leaves can be picked up by the shovelful. So can memories and regrets. And the north wind takes them into the cold night of oblivion. Little moments of coincidence like this one used to bring a sour smile onto his face. “No, don’t try to convince me, you’ve had your chance,” he said partially to the radio, partially to the leaf, and most probably to himself. Having unpacked his last stationary ever, there was no turning back. “Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s’aiment/Tout doucement, sans faire de bruit/Et la mer efface sur le sable,” the lyrics gave his writing the necessary rhythm. Long slides with the pen, commas that penetrated the sheet of paper, quotation marks that scarred the page; curved ‘d’s, pointed ‘i’s, empty ‘u’s—les pas des amants désunis. Dear… You, As you probably know by now, I won’t be able to tell you all this myself. I’ve never intended for this letter to be the source of regrets or reproaches. Neither do I want to tell you that it’s your fault; yes, you’ve contributed greatly to the state I’m in. But you were just a catalyst for whatever issues I have had over the past several years. You were the source of unmeasurable happiness and fulfillment that I wouldn’t have discovered if it hadn’t been for you. There was nothing for which I’m not immensely grateful—grateful for even a snippet of what people would call “love.” You pushed me to the farthest margins of my very self, which, unfortunately, made me realize how innately broken I have been. Considering the peculiar arrangement we have engaged ourselves in, you should know that abandoning a vulnerable person can do a lot of harm to The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

them. So, that is the only advice from me to you—please, the next time you’re in a similar situation, be more considerate of the other person. Dear Mom, There are no words that would express how much you’ve meant to me. I’m doing what I’m doing so that you can finally take care of yourself—I don’t want to be an emotional burden for you. There was nothing you did wrong; you just loved me too much and I wasn’t able to handle it properly. You were the only reason why I’ve prolonged the inevitable for so long—I never wanted to cause you any pain. However, I know you are a strong woman who can manage the most hurtful situations in her life. I can’t stress enough how much I don’t want you to blame yourself, even the tiniest bit. I just want you to forget about me—I know it will be difficult, but I’m begging you to hate me for what I’m doing. Since there is nothing after this life, I can’t promise I will always love you. What I can promise, though, is that the pain you will feel—it will go away eventually. This is best for both of us. Love, Mark

Aleksandra Barciszewska Former editor-in-chief. ASC-survivor. Vampiric psychoanalyst by nature. Extracting the sexual from the mundane, rejecting reality for the sake of the very-tale of momentary satiation of the urges for creation. 22

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I Come Undone: A Story of Stockholm Syndrome

She adored Her like a mother, a sister, a lover. It was an emotion that kept Sybil so far-gone she would lay on the floor for hours just swimming in the all-encompassing pleasure. To think Sybil could have gone so many years of her life not knowing Her: Her attention, Her presence, Her doctrine. She had given Sybil a room of her own, for this Sybil was eternally grateful. The floor was a familiar spot; a cold hard alternative to the screeching springs of the uneven bed. She was fond of a particular spot in the corner of the room. The rough concrete molded in such a way as to create the illusion of a face. Sybil had run her finger down one of the ‘cheeks’ so often that a thin groove had been etched, resembling a trickling tear. Now, to be clear, Sybil never spoke to the face; she was not a lunatic. She would speak aloud, at times, to feel her voice bounce off the six sides of the inverted cube she inhabited. However, she saw the face as something of an unintentional, crude carving. Life imitates art, she recalled. Sybil had been found by Her. When Sybil was younger, she was told that She had been drawn to Sybil because an angel had tethered a light directly between the two of them, bonding them for life. Sometimes Sybil could almost envision this umbilical cord with all its luminous fibers interwoven, stretching up the stairs to wherever She was. At times Sybil had the impression she could feel the pull of the rope when she sensed that She was too remote. When She would come walking down these same steps, Sybil could see the length of the string tightening as the distance between them closed. Then Sybil felt complete. ***

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*Television Flickering* News Anchor: Good evening. This is Angela DeLanci, reporting to you live from just outside the Mason household where only eighteen hours earlier a young girl was kidnapped from her own bed. Twelve-year-old Jane Mason was sound asleep when a man jolted her awake demanding she come with him or she lose her life. Her younger brother, Rory, with whom she shared a room, was a witness to the horrifying event. He reported that Jane silently and obediently followed the man out of the house while their parents slept, unawares, one bedroom over. Up to this point the investigators have found CCTV footage from a parking lot a few streets over from the Mason home, showing young Jane getting into a vehicle with two men before the car drove away. Officials are still unable to identify the suspects. If you have seen Jane Mason or have any information on her whereabouts, please phone the number at the bottom of the screen. *** Sybil loved Sunday the most. She would be woken up by Her early in the morning and they would walk up the stairs hand-in-hand. She would sit Sybil down at the head of a table laden with exotic fruits, divinely cooked meats, the highest quality smoked fish, and bottles upon bottles of well-aged wine. She would feed Sybil course-by-course, every morsel of food handled and sliced ceremoniously before gracing Sybil’s lips. Towards the end of the meal, She would gently lift a handful of vitamins to Sybil’s mouth, washing down the pills with the wine. Standing up from the table, Sybil’s head would always feel both heavy on her shoulders but light within; it was a feeling that used to frighten her, but now gave her peace. Next, Sybil would be taken to a washroom at the top of the stairs where a steaming bathtub would await her. She would scrub Sybil down with various soaps and oils, the entire time singing songs of some other time and reciting words of conviction. She would dunk Sybil’s head under several times, accentuating words that forever remained unknown, yet, enchanting to Sybil. Once the water was drained from the porcelain tub, She would delicately comb out Sybil’s fair blonde hair before weaving in flower buds and thin, tangling vines. Finally, Sybil would be taken into a room towards the front of the house with armchairs draped in rich fabrics: velvets, satins, silks poured seductively over every surface. Directly in the center of the room stood a full-length mirror. Sybil would stand on a slightly elevated spot before the mirror and She would transform Sybil into another self. Extravagant gowns would slip onto Sybil’s slender frame, the second her head appeared through the garment she felt changed. Then, She would bring an antique box filled with jewelry and painstakingly choose dozens of gold rings, bracelets, necklaces that would be put on then removed if deemed inappropriate. By the end of the laborious preparations it would be night. Sybil would stand before the front door of the house where She would place a dense sac over Sybil’s head. After this moment, Sybil ceased to exist for an indefinable amount of time. She felt so distant from every nerve-ending of her physical being that she hardly noticed the various hands pushing her and pulling her towards unknown directions, into vehicles, and around invisible obstacles. More often than not, Sybil would end these visionless journeys in uncontrollable fits of laughter, simply from the unreality of it all. This time, as the sac was removed from her head Sybil found herself outside in a clearing surrounded by trees, from the branches of which were suspended a deluge of objects ranging from reflective disks to pornographic images to worn stuffed animals. Masked women and men, many in assorted levels of dress, filled the clearing. Some danced though no music played, others embraced, while most began clustering around Sybil. Unsurprised by the setting that she was undeniably a part of, Sybil stood waiting for instruction. One-by-one women would saunter up

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to her, the subject, and perform acts. Some inspected Sybil’s dress, lifting the layers of material, spinning Sybil around. A few women would caress Sybil, running their fingers over her flushed cheeks, occasionally kissing her gently on the lips. Still, other women would scratch or pinch Sybil, sputtering vulgarities in her face. The men never approached Sybil, though often while She was preparing Sybil, She stated that it was the men who were most important. All of these unions were ceremonies disciplining Sybil to the final hour when she would become The Wife. Sybil knew that this was the second-last meeting before the end. On numerous occasions, She had told Sybil that the 312th meeting would be the final assembly when Sybil’s divinity would be sealed. It was vital for her to never be touched by the hands of a male that, before the 312th meeting, would only soil her purity. To Sybil, the men seemed inhuman, though not frightening. Due to the distance at which the men always stood from her, in Sybil’s mind the men were no more than bite-size figurines that she could compress between her thumb and index fingers held up to her eye. Indeed, over time Sybil even forgot the sound of a man’s voice. This is why the sudden cacophony of yelling startled her . *** *Television Flickering* News Anchor: Breaking news. Jane Mason, the girl who disappeared at the age of 12 from her own bed has been found alive. Mason, now 18, was discovered among the members of a cult gathering just outside of Lancaster, Pennsylvania. The girl, responding to the name Sybil, was taken in for interrogation after a police raid, along with the other approximated 100 others in attendance. It was uncovered through the girl’s odd behavior and further DNA investigation that she indeed belonged to the identity of Jane Mason. There are currently two men in custody, though it is suspected that a third female offender is still at large. Mason, in poor physical and mental condition, is expected to be reunited with her family within the next 24 hours. Stay tuned for more updates on the matter. *** Sybil couldn’t stand their faces or their voices. So many twisted lips and raised eyebrows— their looks were distorted and confusing to her. Complete strangers were pretending to show concern, repeating that, ‘it was all over now,’ as though these were words of comfort. Should she have had a prickly hide or venomous fang she would have bristled and spat at the foreign hands that probed and pulled under bright white lights. The worst, however, were the questions and comments. There was a woman always asking these questions and a man who accompanied her, writing things down while the woman stared pitifully in Sybil’s direction. The woman would tell Sybil things. Things that lined up with the events that she had witnessed and the people she had seen. As the woman spoke, Sybil felt her words drilling into the space above her eyebrows and stirring something long lost inside her. Sybil answered when she felt it necessary but otherwise remained aloof, treating the interview as a final step towards her 312th week. It was only when the woman slid a photograph across the table that Sybil displayed any other reaction. The photo was of Her. She was photographed from afar, her face pointed in the direction of the camera though her eyes not meeting the lens. Sybil hated the photograph because it made Her look ugly; for the first time, Sybil noticed the cleft in Her chin and the pock-marks on Her cheeks. Sybil did not want to believe that this was Her, but she could see the familiar purse of her lips and squint of her eyes. Without warning,

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a single tear tumbled down Sybil’s cheek. The woman pulled the photograph away, but Sybil still stared at the spot that the picture had occupied. Sybil was taken to another room that reminded her of her own. There was a bed and four walls. Only the bed was soft, the sheets smelled fresh, and the walls were painted a soft orange that Sybil felt radiated straight through her. Also, one of the walls contained a window, that Sybil would wander over to every so often to glance out of, noting the buildings and objects that she saw. Though she tried to discern any cracks or stains on the flat surfaces around her that could keep her company, the areas were painfully smooth and pristine. Sybil felt alone. Then the woman came back into the room. “Sybil. There are some people who would like to see you,” the woman said, placing her hands on her thighs and bending slightly to meet Sybil’s gaze. “Now, they don’t remember you as Sybil, so it’s important that you remain patient with them. Alright?” The woman stepped aside to reveal a man and a woman huddled in the doorway. Sybil looked passively at them just as she had every other face that had entered her vision within the last stretch of time. The couple stepped into the room, clasping their hands to their chests in a manner that Sybil felt looked ridiculous. “Jane? Jane, honey? Oh my god, it is her, I didn’t believe them at first but it’s really her. I could just… Jane! It’s me! Do you remember me?” With every sentence the woman spoke, her voice rose higher and higher, irritating Sybil extremely. She looked up to scrutinize the woman who had protruding blue eyes rounded with deep bags and whose sallow face was framed by stringy blonde hair. An itch somewhere in the pit of her stomach arose as she looked into this woman’s face. Sybil looked away feeling the discomfort. A third figure stepped in through the doorway. This figure was the only presence that seemed to calm Sybil. It so moved her that she rose from her spot on the bed and stepped towards it. Getting closer to the figure the itch in her stomach spread through her whole body. “Rory?” Sybil heard herself say, inspired by some echo reverberating within her. With that simple utterance the couple rejoiced and the figure before her smiled. The next stretch of time passed as a blur in Sybil’s mind. It ended with her getting into a car with the couple and the figure and driving away from many buildings and signs and lights. While the car remained in motion and the other bodies within it spoke in happy tones then serious tones then sad tones, Sybil felt the tether between herself and Her tightening to an uncomfortable degree. She was convinced that the woven strands were beginning to pluck themselves away and soon would snap entirely. Sybil was distraught. *** It had happened as she was sleeping, back then as it had now. Before it had been a man – she was forced to remember by the therapist – who had ripped her from her bed; tonight it was her thoughts. All the months of torture speaking about things that were so intimate, so private, so foreign to the new world she inhabited. Sybil felt she was hanging from a thread—and tonight she would. Sybil now stood in the attic dressed in her nightgown, a poor imitation of the extravagant fabrics she had been so used to being adorned in. In her hands she held the last of the cord, its once fluorescent glow now faltering, ebbing weakly. Sybil closed her eyes and pictured Her, an exercise that had been forced on Sybil as a means of expulsion but that she used as an escape. Her coarse grey hair streaked with white, the ink below Her skin that was warped by the creases and folds of age, Her clear blue eyes that truly saw Sybil. Sybil could still feel Her hands on her shoulders, Her soft breath in her ear:

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“You are Sybil. You are mine. I will dress you and feed you and bathe you. To me you are perfection and I am priming you for The Sacrament. The people you shall meet from today are your family. You belong to us.” Now Sybil belonged to no one. She certainly did not belong to the people that called themselves her family. The blonde woman and her partner, the boy in the room next door – no, they were figments. Sybil peered down at the thing in her hands and felt warmth pooling in her eyes. She stood on the wooden chair she had found and tied one end of the cord to the beam above her head, and secured the other end around her neck. In one implicit motion Sybil kicked the chair from beneath her and swung violently from the force. The cord tightened around her neck and she was closer, closer, closer than she had ever been before. I belong to Her, I belong to them, were the words flooding her last thoughts. *** *Television Flickering* News Anchor: In other news today, Jane Mason, the girl who was found alive just last year after 6 years in captivity was found dead by her family this morning. It is said that the young woman committed suicide after trouble readjusting to her life outside of the clutches of her captor. Her psychologist confirmed on multiple occasions that Jane experienced a severe bout of Stockholm Syndrome due to the copious amounts of narcotics she was given during her confinement, as well as the indoctrination received from her cult-leader carers. The family asks for privacy in this moment of grieving. Up next, rising gas prices and its consequences on the sale of champagne, more from Channel 4 News at 8.

The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

Platform 9

Everyone at the subway station saw that those guys were beating a boy, but nobody did anything about it. Why? It’s Psychology 101; they were scared. They thought it didn’t concern them. They thought if there were so many people on the platform, someone else would do something. Well, this time that last assumption was right. There was such a person: me. “Hey!” I shouted and started walking towards the group of beaters. “Stop it!” There were three of them. One was bald and was sitting on the boy’s stomach, throwing punches at his head, while the two others were just standing and staring. They looked about eighteen years old. “Stop it, you’re gonna kill him!” I repeated once I’d come near them. The bald one stared at me. “Why do you care?” “Why are you doing this to him?” I asked. “Because he has a stupid face,” he laughed. “And now that I look at you, you have a stupid face too.” He stood up and moved towards me. The beaten-up boy stood as fast as he could and limped into the crowd. The two others had disappeared as well—not very courageous of them. “I don’t wanna harm you. Leave,” I said. The bald guy looked at me with a condescending smile and threw a punch at me. Now, there’s an important thing you need to know about me: I may seem to be just a medium-height, twenty-something guy, but these last years I’ve spent a lot of time at the gym learning how to box. So I dodged the punch. But that condescending smile made me snap, and the anger I’d been suppressing for years came back all at once. And then I hit him for the first time. Punch. This was for the time Fred Marks pushed me down the stairs during freshman year of high school. Punch. This was for that smirk I saw his parents share with each other when they were leaving the principal’s office. Punch. This was for the fact that the first attack was only the beginning; it only taught Fred and his friends how to bully me without getting punished. Punch. This was for that time they put my backpack in the teacher’s desk. Punch. This was for that time I was reading Harry Potter during a break, trying to avoid sitting there and doing nothing, because then they would notice me and start picking on me. They noticed me anyway. They came, took the book—my favorite book—and started throwing it around. Punch. This was for the absent look the teacher gave me when I asked her for help and when she said that they hadn’t hit me—they’d only been playing with me. Punch. This was for the time the school psychologist came to our class and, treating me as if I had a 28

The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

mental condition, said that I was a “very sensitive boy” and asked the other students to “take care of me.” Punch. This was for all those times I entered the class and everyone suddenly stopped talking. Punch. This was for all the times I used to hide in the bathroom during the lunch break because all the tables in the cafeteria were occupied by people who didn’t like me. Punch. This was for all the times my classmates were choosing people to join their teams during PE and I was the last one to be picked. Punch. This was for the conformists who talked with me in private, and knew what it meant to be bullied, but didn’t have the courage to talk with me in public or help me. Punch. This was for the smirks I heard each time I raised my hand in class. And for the teacher who was trying to be cool and smirked with them. Punch. This was for that time they caught me in the darkest, unsupervised part of the corridor, pushed me to the ground, and spread my arms and legs on the dusty floor. Four of them were holding my limbs while Fred said, with that condescending smile, “Yes, he really looks like a starfish.” Punch. This was for later that day, when I was trying to tell my mother what they’d done, but I realized that it sounded too ridiculous and that I couldn’t describe why it’d been so humiliating. Punch. This was for the next ten or so times they did it again, even though I tried fighting them or running away, but there were too many of them and they always got me. Punch. This was for the next God-knows how many times, when they did it again and I wasn’t fighting anymore, because there was no point. I just let them get over with it, as I was trying to shut my brain off and not think about what was happening to me. Punch. This was for all the times I spent wondering what was wrong with me. Was it because I was a bit overweight? Or because I wore braces? Or because I didn’t have designer sneakers for PE? Was it enough to make somebody’s life a living hell? Punch. This was for the time I thought it was all my mother’s fault, that she didn’t protect me. Or that it was my father’s fault that died too early. And for the time I thought that, actually, my mother protected me too much and that’s why they made fun of me and this made me hate her so much that I decided to get away from home as far as I could. Punch. This was for all those hours I spent studying computer science at Stanford (after I got a scholThe WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

arship), thinking how I would show my ex-classmates that I won in life. Punch. This was for all those hours I spent looking at their Facebook profiles, their exciting parties, exotic holidays, and attractive spouses. Punch. This was for the time I spent at the gym hitting the punching bag, imagining that it was Fred’s face. Punch. This was for the fact that it took me three years of college to relearn how to make friends again. And for that feeling I still often had, that I wasn’t good enough to have friends. Punch. This was for the fact that I still couldn’t walk down a corridor without feeling that I was being judged. I still couldn’t eat in public without feeling that I was being judged. I still couldn’t look people in the eye without feeling that I was being judged. And it was really exhausting. Punch. This was for the time my roommate (my first friend since primary school) told me about a book about social psychology, which I read and made me realize that hurting Fred wouldn’t solve anything. Even hurting all of the people who had let the bullying happen wouldn’t help. Because each day in every class there was a kid who was bullied. That’s how society worked. That’s how schools socialized children to live in society. And the conformism of the witnesses let the bullies get away with it. I couldn’t do anything about it. Punch. This was for the time I got a really good job in New York City after I’d graduated from college, but I couldn’t enjoy it because I was still angry—only at that time I didn’t know who I was angry at. “Hey!” someone shouted and brought me back to reality. “Stop it!” I looked up. There was a redhead boy standing in front of me. I looked back at the bald guy I’d been punching. His face was bloody, he was barely breathing. “Stop it, you’re gonna kill him,” the redhead said. He was right. I didn’t want to kill him. I wanted to make the world a better place, and killing one bad guy wouldn’t be enough. Was he actually bad, anyway? I wasn’t sure anymore. I stood up and entered the train that had just arrived. The redhead disappeared into the crowd. In the days that came after, I thought about that incident and regretted having beaten up that guy. I had naively thought that there had been a finite amount of anger in my body and that if I let it all out, it would go away and I would be able to start a new life. But it wasn’t true; I was still angry. After a while, I was able to start burying my anger once again at the back of my head, hoping that it wouldn’t resurface. I called my friend and we talked about setting up a foundation that could prevent bullying in schools and how to do it effectively. We were pretty hyped. And the more I thought about it, the more thankful I was to the redhead who stopped me from killing the bald guy. I even started to think of him as my guardian angel. But then, two months after the event, I was eating breakfast and saw the redhead’s photo on a milk carton. It said that his name was Patrick Lucas, 16 years old, and that he’d been missing for four months. The next day the police came to my house. “You are under arrest for the murder of Patrick Lucas,” they said. And that’s how my life ended before it even started.

Małgorzata Dudo ASC overstayer. Trivia collector. Author of many unfunny jokes. 30

The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

POETRY

The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

Piece of the month Bubbles bubble gum, bubble wrap, and bubble bath bubbles in champagne you slowly sip you're a Bubble girl in the Bubble world Princess Peach peachy mind and peachy lips 7/11-years-forever-old immature tantrums over public voice idols pour innocent bubble words glitter on your wounds 7/24 you had always known you are worth in gold to the weight of hair proportionally and inverse to mass of your social fear in no rain – no pain red convertible careful, love, till this bubble splashes clear witch of world gave you labels but took voice you will find yourself floating in a pool bubble foam between oblivion and bath toys

The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

Subway lost tickets make me cry in vodka tears it blinks electric light of this midnight subway train one foot in one out in vain we ride this city's sober skyline forgotten babies of classrooms and bell rings we used to scream for numbers and measures untied are shoes of progress, look at mine let's take a shot, cling-clang the glass broken synapses, third track of time shoe polish comes from pure graphite I used to love learning about life distorted mind's reflection smiles be warned – this window never lied now I am scared of lack of sleep and taste of caffeine in my heart

Teresa Bakalarska A human, a crisp, a professional whiner. Writes everything from poetry through prose to god–awful rap lyrics. Thinks that Buffy The Vampire Slayer is the greatest achievement of humanity. The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

*** I look up at the stars and they seem to know that I am just like them distant, unattainable, old My eyes level back on the street and I know people walking past me wouldn't understand They would despise me if they knew of the bolt that rushes through me when I drive a hammer into the back of a woman's skull of the thrill when the bone cracks open and the brain all that who she is spills onto the sidewalk Her limp body isn't a mother anymore a lover a daughter just a cluster of particles left on the ground to rot

The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

**** The moon hangs low tonight Yellow-orange, ominous, vile The beasts with their teeth poised sharp hide beneath its glow They wait To hunt To tear apart your throat And rip out the heart To feast on it Drink the blood like wine Letting it spoil their precious furs Mark them for the night For the feast has just begun

Maja Nowak A cat person who loves outdoors and freediving. She reads and writes whenever she can. Maja's heart has always been with the macabre and the uncanny. The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

Fall I smoked in a window sure there is enough death in the world when it detached from a wall plummeted oh old window sill a tile somewhere something insecured as a stone straight down heavy two men it's still breathing shorts whitelegs older fat neighbours round husband hands on his head bald they kill'd 'er, kill'd 'er the pulse enough

Adrian Wesołowski Long–loved collaborator of ASC and doctoral student in the Department of History of <<a very respectable university>>. Trying to keep up some not–boring characteristics of his profile, he has written a poem or two. Yet, on a daily basis his tedious past social patterns recognition is interrupted only by <<a trendy sport hobby>> and passionate reading of <<fancy names of hipster writers>>. One could say <<metaphor far too sophisticated for a byline>>. 36

The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

The Churches of the Mind Here it’s alright to be quiet, The mind sprints, And we all breathe, In a different way. Unlike it, out there, Where everyone is passing by, Escaping spaces, Destined to be somewhere else. Here you are glad to be. Here, you become of it. The small plants, popping out, The aroma of the clean and aging paper; A sedative of the highest calibre. Sometimes, not a few are left around, And those who read, Transcend the land. The chair is a spaceship seat. The corridor a quantum tunnel The lady is a friendly robot, Or an eccentric neurosurgeon. And the girls, Visitors from distant planetary systems.

Ventsislav Dyankov Just an ordinary guy. 1st year BA. Born in Varna, Bulgaria. The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

Foolhardy What you loved wasn’t so easy to find, Far too many spitting-images, Uncouth as you said they were, But finding them charming all the same. It killed you to know the search was irresolute, Someone following your footsteps would be amused, All the skidded tracks from a sudden halt, And the deep-set footprints from hesitation. You seeked salvation in celebrations, Fizzy faces obscuring your view, Popping bass rhythms tying your laces, Despite the din, what you loved was not there. Treading the waters of another nation, You believed in the line of the horizon, With its own unyielding siren song, Yet, the tide’s indecision proved you wrong. Still clamouring for what you loved, Sickened by its venom, you concluded; Desire outweighed the reality of love, And hatred was the antidote.

The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

Contributors

The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

Aleksandra Barciszewska Editor–in–chief. ASC–survivor. Vampiric psychoanalyst by nature. Extracting the sexual from the mundane, rejecting reality for the sake of the very–tale of momentary satiation of the urges for creation.

Ventsislav Dyankov Just an ordinary guy. 1st year BA. Born in Varna, Bulgaria.

The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

Paulina Frelek Graphic designer, too lazy for existence. Addicted to coffee, TV shows, games, and chicken nuggets. A proud mom of two cats. Dominika Grotek Most of her passions come and go in waves, and she can definitely say that she is interested in a bit of everything. But to give you some hints: she loves zombies and music (rap and deep house). Also, she is into dead lifts and Youtube.

Joanna Nędzyńska Graduated with a distinction from the ASC this June. Currently employed at an international law firm. But she has not said “goodbye” to studying yet. Right now she is in the middle of one-year postgraduate studies in political science. In her free time, Joanna likes to play guitar, sing or… read Harry Potter. Maja Nowak A cat person who loves outdoors and freediving. She reads and writes whenever she can. Maja's heart has always been with the macabre and the uncanny.

Natalia Ogórek Singing is her biggest passion, but she does not connect her future with it. Lover of TV series and Marvel. 70% funny, 50% weird, 100% organized.

Lilla Orly BA student at the ASC who finds catharsis in drumming. Dabbles in music production when not scribbling nonsense furiously into notebooks, on pavement or walls… any surface where writing is possible.

The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017

Marta Rapacka –year BA student. Apart from being utterly in love with TV series, she loves spending her free time discovering mysteries of Adobe Photoshop. Coerced into accepting the new goal of her existence, namely being The Very First Caricaturist of The Wasp – an honorable title she proudly bears and exploits (see: above and below).

Martyna Wróblewska 1st year BA student at the ASC. Fashion, design, and architecture lover. Fascinated by Californian lifestyle, Scandinavian minimalism, and French nonchalance. One day will spend every day surfing and longboarding, even though she can do neither of those. Almost always smiling, but combative when it comes to minority rights. When you can’t find her she’s probably lying in bed with a huge cup of coffee and watching favorite TV series. Kamila Maria Wyszyńska Studies Graphic Arts at the Academy of Fine Arts in Warsaw. American Studies is her second faculty. Loves to travel. Wants to live and create across the world.

The WASP | Volume I | Spring 2017