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Letter from the Editor-In-Chief Hello readers. Welcome to the newest edition of RedShift. Once again, Stevens students have submitted their photos, paintings, short stories, poems, etc. to share their creativity with fellow students, parents, and faculty. Each semester, a magazine with new material is compiled and released. No matter how many times I am involved in this process, I feel the same great sense of pride in our student participation and talent. If this is your first time reading a RedShift, welcome. You will not be disappointed. In a school consisting of mostly engineering and technology majors, students can easily lose sight of their other talents. This magazine gives students an opportunity to either use their technical minds in a different way or to completely break away and explore a different side of themselves, using skills that they don’t get to use every day. Students work very hard each semester on their submissions and it definitely shows in the final product. Each semester, RedShift finds a new way to expand as a group. Last semester, we instated new minor board positions which enabled more students to become directly involved in the production of the magazine. These new members have gone above and beyond their designated responsibilities and have become a crucial part of the RedShift team. This past year, RedShift has become increasingly involved with other student organizations. Over the past two years, we have worked with clubs such as the Entertainment Committee, SAVE, Off-Center, the Link, and Five Elements to put together fun, interactive events to fit the different interests of students at Stevens. Working with other clubs has helped to expand our repertoire of activities and increase student participation. Although we have greatly evolved as a group over the past year, RedShift would not be where it is today without all of the previous dedicated members that kept it going over the past few years. Our current members would like to thank all students who have been involved with RedShift in the past and were an integral part in the club becoming what it is today. We would also like to thank our advisor Holly Nelson and all other faculty members that have helped in the publishing of this magazine. Last but not least, we would like to thank the contributors for never failing to dedicate the time to create these works for us to compile and print every semester. Please keep them coming! Thank you, Katelyn Sapio Editor In Chief

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 Instotute of Technology.

Table of Contents The Mentor’s Infatuation Alan Aine..............................Cover For You Abigail Vaskain...............................2 The Torch Bearers Laura Lemke..................................2 The Smoking Buddy Alan Aine........................................2 Old Haunts David D’Agostino.........................3 Oprah Winfrey Commissioned this Marble Statue of an Exercise Bike for Losing 5 Pounds Dylan Abel.....................................3 The Trail Andrew Turnage...........................4 Nick Dylan Abel.....................................5 Beauty Cecila Osterman...........................6 The Beholder Cecila Osterman...........................6 The Chase Harsh Oza......................................7 The Gold Guardian Alan Aine........................................7 The Train Charles West................................8 Samara Sunset Jeff Eyster........................................9 Duality Emily Brandsdorfer....................10 A Walk to Remember Rob Ranalli...................................10 SEEING A 24 YEAR OLD CRYING GOD ASK’S… M.S.G.P Harsh Oza....................................11 Fiori di Chiesa Kendra Appleheimer.................11 9.6 IDK................................................11 Appears a Disaster Ashley Montufar.........................12 February Summer Alyssa Kilayko.............................12 Sue Reid Alan Aine.....................................12

Opportunity Cost Sean Donovan.............................12 A Village Scene Ami M. Shah................................13 Hand Study Daniel Riggle................................13 3.2 Emily Brandsdorfer....................14 1.3 IDK................................................14 Blue Morning Alan Aine.....................................15 The Invisible Ashley Montufar.........................16 Serenity Amongst Glaciers, Glacier Bay, Alaska Amanda Nauman........................16 Love Song Emily Brandsdorfer....................17 Sky Syafiq Abdullah............................17 New York Blues Muhammad Khalis Othman.....18 Bubbly Acoustics Lindsay Crossan..........................18 A Day in the Park, New York City, NY Asli Ergun.....................................19 An Intrigue Danny Argueta............................19 Poisonous Art Joe Mangiafico.............................19 IDIOTIC-RIDE Harsh Oza....................................20 Hoboken Alley Zeynep Mine Bese......................20 Standing on the Line Between Reality and Fantasy Ashley Montufar.........................21 A Place To Rest, New York City, NY Asli Ergun.....................................21 A Day-Stevens 2011 Rob Ranalli...................................22 The Working Man Nicholas Gadaleta......................22 EAS via MineCraft Thomas Lakatos..........................23 A Theorist in the Lab Matthew Diemer........................23

Bad Hair Day Tina Singh.....................................24 Stream of Consciousness and Adulthood Abigail Vaskain.............................25 Sunny Day Asli Ergun.....................................25 Limitless Alyssa Kilayko.............................26 A Path Home Rob Ranalli...................................26 Island of Insanity Ashley Montufar.........................27 Sunny Day, Hoboken, NJ Asli Ergun.....................................27 Fist James Varbanov..........................28 The Human Element Rob Ranalli...................................28 A Balance Game Emily Brandsdorfer....................29 More Than Just A Gane Alysssa Kilayko............................29 Just a Drinking Glass Emily Brandsdorfer....................30 Lonely Lily Melissa Wiegand.........................30 A Winter’s Light Nicole Franks..............................31 Sailor’s Paradise Alyssa Kilayko.............................31 Spring 2011 Production Staff Executive Board: Editor in Chief - Katelyn Sapio Managing Editor - James Varbanov Publisher - Tariq Mirza Archivist - Melissa Wiegand Treasurer - Danny Argueta Minor Board: Head of Layout - Keith Roby Chief Artistic Editor - Emily Brandsdorfer Chief Writing Editor - Halie Holmes Head of Distribution - Jeff Eyster Webmaster - Phil Barresi

RedShift is currently accepting submissions for the next issue.

Please send any submissions to Your submission must be your original work, and you must be a memebr of the Stevens Institute of Technology community. If you wish to submit an annonymous work, please include this request with your submission. Want help with your written submission? Visit the writing center on the 2nd floor of Morton.

For You By Abigail Vaskain

The Torch Bearers By Laura Lemke

Without words. I wish to speak with you. Without words encumbering all that there is between us. all the truth that spills over my lips, silently, like the flame on a candle wick, like the breath from a newborn, like the leaves of the tree that has grown silently all along. Without words. I want to feel your chest move underneath my palm as I lay beside you, the silence that surrounds and covers, the silence that is full and pregnant with this longing and newfound comfort, I am afraid you do not feel. Without words. Unbounded, I wish to feel for you. Blindly,

The Smoking Buddy By Alan Aine


I wish to reach for you and for you to be there. Reaching for me too. And maybe I can replace the cacophony of my mind with the quiet of my heart, replace the zinging circuitry with the simple flow of blood, the calm dub dub dub, I ignore too often. I fear. I fear I am not strong enough to keep you, without words, but how I wish to. To share with you, wordlessly, effortlessly, everything. Just everything, asking nothing, silently, but for you to want this too. The truth. All my truth. As much as I want yours.

Old Haunts By David D’Agostino

Oprah Winfrey Commissioned This Marble Statue of an Exercise Bike for Losing 5 Pounds By Dylan Abel


The Trail By Andrew Turnage You look up at the sky and wonder sometimes what had happened. The event had changed so many things. One day the world was the world. Vibrant, colorful, and to some extent happy. You gaze around yourself and take in the new sights. The world is ruined, grey, and sorrowful. There is nothing left around you. Just broken trees and a shattered landscape. The life that you had once known is over now. It was taken away when the dust clouds finally engulfed the atmosphere. Where had all the people gone? You look out over the city skyline. What city had this been? New York? Chicago? San Diego? It doesn’t matter now, you realize. They are all the same. Devoid of life. Blanketed in ash. Dilapidated buildings slowly coming apart. The cities are graveyards. You keep staring outwards at this monument to the human race. What had we really accomplished? The event had occurred years ago. You cringe as you remember the shockwave that had immediately followed the clouds of fire. Tears build up as you listen to the people screaming from underneath collapsed buildings and overturned cars. How many had died on that day? You remember the following weeks, the chance encounters with other survivors. Where had they all gone? You begin to start walking down the trail. It is beginning to become overgrown and you cannot help but picture what it had once looked like. Green had been everywhere, you see in your mind’s eye. The trail had been well used and you feel a slight amount of happiness as you picture the tree roots that surely had crisscrossed this beautiful little trail. You look up and see where the Sun’s rays had once penetrated the thin tree cover to illuminate the way for the everyday hikers. Reality hits you hard as you trip and fall. A tree limb had been blown into the path and you wince as you hear it crack. So brittle now. Everything is fragile, ever since that day. The trees only need a touch to crumble. The grass had been destroyed by the wind. Buildings had come apart by just the slamming of a door. The human race had been destroyed with hardly a whisper. You roll over and stare at the grey colored sky. You begin to wonder what had happened. Why had this occurred? So many questions exist now, never to be answered. So the way things went, you know. Climbing back to your feet you cannot help but feel a twinge of sadness. You have no one. You remember your family and cannot help but wonder what had happened to them. You had been on a trip when it had happened. So far away was your home, there was little hope in making it there. It had been so long since you had thought about it. Your family and friends dead or alive? You cannot say. A mystery for eternity now. You look on ahead and see the dimly colored backpack of a hiker laying on the ground. Hesitance fills you as you approach and you cannot decide whether or not you wish to check the person. You begin to think what if the person is alive and needs help. You were always so compassionate. You slow your walk and approach the pack slowly, now seeing the legs of a woman poking out from underneath the blue pack with silver accents. You shake the body as you get closer. No reaction. Always no reaction. No one reacted anymore. Your hands begin to move through the pockets of the pack, robotic in their search for some sort of nutrient with which to sustain themselves. It was getting harder to find food and water and you are not sure what will happen when you cannot find anymore to sustain yourself with. How long has it been since you were left on your own? A week or month? You think a year but cannot tell. It was becoming harder and harder to keep yourself together. You can feel your body starting to starve and you realize that you are beginning to break down. You begin to wonder if surviving is worth this. You begin to contemplate whether or not this could even be called living. Suicide flitters through your head and you look down at your pistol hanging from your hip. It could be over so quickly. You think of the motion that it would take to finally be done with this. Your hand slowly reaches down to your sidearm and you gasp as you feel the cold gunmetal against your hip. On its own your hand grabs onto the handle and begins to move it slowly up to your head. One shot, that is all that it will take. You begin to shake as the pistol’s barrel begins to near your skull. The pressure from the trigger is all that separates you from this terrible existence and blissful unknowing. You raise the pistol to your head finally and feel the barrel pushed up against it. Your fingers a`re wrapped around it and you feel your index finger pulling on the trigger. You want so much to pull it and to exit this miserable


existence. Only one little pull and no more pain. That is all that it will take to be done with this hellish existence that you had grown accustomed to. Slowly you lower yourself to the ground and keep the barrel pressed against your head. You have nothing to live for, so why not end it? Who is here to stop you now? No one, you are alone. You realize that you could very well be the last survivor in this living hell. The barrel is pressed harder against your head and you start to cry as you realize what is going to happen. You feel the safety and push it over. Only a trigger is in the way now. What is stopping you? The hand is shaking more now and you feel the barrel moving against your skull as the vibrations from the hand begin to move it. Just pull, you want so much to pull, just pull, but you can’t do, just pull, tears are streaming down your face, just pull, the gun is shaking more now, just pull, you begin to pull the trigger, just pull. Your hand begins to move of its own accord; dread fills your body. An action to define your existence, if you can even call this existing anymore. The pistol is lowered back down and hung at your side again. You stand up and begin to walk again. You drag your feet a little bit and you feel your hands shaking as you realize what had just occurred. You look up at the trail and see what it is. It is destroyed. It is barren. It is empty. There is nothing there anymore. It is a graveyard. You see the dead trees lying all around. You breathe in the stale air, lacking the life that it once carried around the Earth. You feel the misery and sorrow that now permeates the atmosphere. It is a graveyard, a graveyard. You know not what to say but that.

Nick By Dylan Abel


Beauty By Cecila Osterman

The Beholder By Cecila Osterman



The Gold Guardian By Alan Aine



The Train By Charles West I was on the train heading towards the city when the guy made his presence known. I could tell he was nervous; he probably had never done this before. And being the kind of nihilist that I am, I decided to screw with the guy for some entertainment. After all, the worst case scenario was only that I die. I just stood up nonchalantly and plainly asked him, “Do you believe in God?” He didn’t expect anything like this to happen. He thought he had us intimidated by his antics. The guy started trembling, perhaps even sweating, as he tried pointing his gun at me. The fact that I smiled in response to that just made him worse. I was seriously on the verge of laughter at just how pathetic he and the situation he created had become. Luckily I was able to suppress it in favor of my mind games. I repeated my previous question, this time with a hint of impatience but still overall monotony. “I… I used to,” the man answered. Bingo. Just the fact that he answered me meant that I had the upper hand. The gun was, for now, just a distraction. It was time to get deeper into this guy’s mind. “What makes you think you can just change your mind on a belief as significant as that? What gives you the right?” “No God would cause what happened to my family… to my wife… No God could be that cruel.” I swear, the guy looked like he was about to cry. I took pleasure in the fact. I almost started wondering what had happened to his family, but then I remembered I didn’t care either way. “As if God would personally care what happens to any particular person. The God you used to believe in was omnipotent. He could do whatever sick desire came across His infinite mind, including whatever happened to your family. By the way, great job defending their legacy.” I just couldn’t resist adding that last comment. The man grew quite angry at my sarcastic insult, and once again aimed his gun at my head. “Your God can’t protect you from this!” he triumphantly shouted. If only he had a clue. “I don’t believe in God,” I said, feeling obligated to correct his ridiculous assumption. Just because a guy sticks up for the philosophical concept of God, that makes him a Christian? I started thinking my adversary might not be so easy to reason with, if only for his sheer stupidity. Yet again, my words dumbfounded the man. But I think he figured out my mindset all on his own after a few seconds. “Then prepare to die,” he said. I couldn’t help but sigh at how clichéd that sentence sounded in real life. “Have you ever heard of quantum immortality?” He didn’t answer, so I continued. “Basically, it’s the theory that people can never die from their own point of view. Every quantum event makes the universe branch into multiple universes, where eventually every possibility gets played out. There will always be at least one in which I’m still alive, or you’re still alive. I’ll always consciously live on in one of those universes, and so will everyone else in their own such world.” It was hard to summarize such a complex idea into such a short explanation. Yet somehow, I got my point across. I could tell that the man was contemplating the implications of what I had just said. I was fairly happy that I was able to spread the knowledge. He refocused. “It’s just a theory. What if you’re wrong? Then I could kill you right now, and you would die.” I thought pointing out his redundancy would be too big a change of topic. Besides, that redundancy was actually pretty meaningful in emphasizing his point, so I let it slide. “Then I would die. Who cares?” And for the third time, I said what the guy least expected. I would have thought he’d be getting used to this by now; oh well. He stayed silent though, as if inviting me to explain my position. This ought to be fun, I thought. “Why should I care if I die? Why should I even care if I’m alive? When I’m living, I just do stuff to pass the time. I guess some people could say that they enjoy life, but it’s not like they’ve ever experienced the alternative. When you’re dead, you don’t stop to think about how being dead is boring or a bad thing. You’re just dead.” I was finally getting to the good part, and I see my adversary’s suppressed religious passion coming back to life within him. “How can you live like that?! What a worthless, hopeless life! You only get one life—” “A never-ending life,” I interrupted. “If you’re going to live such an empty life, why not just kill yourself?” “Assuming I actually could die, what would be the point of killing myself? Death is just as meaningless as life. It would just be easier to preserve the status quo and continue being alive for no reason.” The guy was now frowning. Trembling with rage and frowning. I wished I had a camera handy to capture this moment to treasure it for years to come, but I figured my memory alone would suffice. I should have seen this coming;


most people even in a rational state of mind dislike when I talk about the worthlessness of everything. I momentarily considered the endgame of this encounter again. It was looking more and more likely that he’d pettily try to kill me in his blind rage. I was excited to have a chance to easily test the truth behind quantum immortality. And then I thought about how sad an armed robbery this had been so far. This man had lost his family in what I could only assume was some tragic and unfair accident, and to cope with the circumstances, the man irrationally became an atheist and turned to a life of crime. And then the man fired his weapon. Obviously the bullet missed me entirely; the guy was just shaking too much to properly aim. Nevertheless, I was overcome by a sudden adrenaline rush. There were screams all around me as I turned around to see that a woman sitting on the far end of the car had been hit by the stray bullet. Blood was everywhere, especially on the young baby she had been holding. I realized it would be rude to try to comfort the passengers by pointing out how the woman wouldn’t particularly care that she was dead since dead people are incapable of such thoughts. I said it anyway. And then, I heard the guy shoot again behind me. I turned back around to see him on the ground, dead. I was annoyed that I missed the climax of the entire ordeal. I was more annoyed that he missed the entire point I was trying to make for the last five minutes.

Samara Sunset By Jeff Eyster


Duality By Emily Brandsdorfer

A Walk to Remember By Rob Ranalli Walking through the park, I see flora only in my mind’s eye; others see the bodies of those youths whose souls have withered from the slight debris of gunshots. Those carcasses, those young buds not allowed to bloom, that make this great sight of flesh and lead, never stood a chance against the Monarchy. As they revolted and fought for their rights, as they stood up for their human rights, as they argued their case for justice and equality, the Monarchy attacked them with dogs and water pumps. These poor people were overwhelmed not by logical rhetoric; these poor people were overwhelmed by years of Jim Crow society and prejudice thought. However right they were in their battle, they were wrong in the eyes of the Monarchy. As I walk these Birmingham streets, I see the long gone bodies of the long ago bruised and battered. I see the flowers that their lifeless or broken bodies set to bloom. Hopefully the Black youth sees themselves as seeds that have been given a chance to bloom into wonderful flora, as I do‌


SEEING A 24 YEAR OLD CRYING GOD ASKS… M.S.G.P By Harsh Oza Seeing the heavy tears Run down my eyes.. God said Oh dear what’s the fear..??? Why are you moaning here, Who is the one that brought you there And why are you missing me so much here..?? Life is just a little vacation You took from me & heaven, then What’s the tumult you are stuck in my dear..?? Broken heart, repenting soul Why are you diverted so much from your goals ..?? Money, Sex, Greed & Power Is what you opted for. What else could be the result You have passed the exam, They are the never ending Vices to an unhealthy mind They charm - attract - influence and get you on a never ending war, Now what’s the trouble You have pleasured your pleasures Be happy you are a “WORLDLY WINNER” I still wonder why you have Tears in your eyes my dear..??

Fiori di Chiesa By Kendra Appleheimer

It is now that you stand DEEP, DOWN & DROWN in this dump. You overheard my voice And felt it like a noise When I stopped you from choosing this way. But now it is just too late my dear I am sorry, but I can’t Help you too far This body is poisoned And it won’t last too long. See if your money can Make you well, Check if your greed can Add a day more to life, Try if your power Can restrict the departing souls, And sex if can Make you Reborn…!!!

9.6 By 9.6


Appears a Disaster By Ashley Montufar

Sue Reid By Alan Aine

The persistent inconsistent flow of a human’s mind And its obsession with the idea of new Pushed me forth but lead to this When the paint fell out of my hands and on to the canvas It spelled out the word “change” And it made us nervous For I was suppose to have the steady hand And paint this picture perfect To make this something worth it Now I fear, a fear far worse than sin I fear my heart will never win

Opportunity Cost By Sean Donovan

February Summer By Alyssa Kilayko


It is a thought, so pure, so clean Of what is missed, what is unseen A thousand roads destroyed by choice Each brings regret with silent voice A single word, even uttered softly Carries much potential, but may be costly New love narrows vision, whilst it may be fleeting True Love?, or just the missed chance of new meeting Though there is but one road, where regret may not follow A trail to your heart, I leave for it tomorrow A rejuvenating exception to a most withering normal The only opportunity cost is that we’re not immortal

A Village Scene By Ami M. Shah

Hand Study By Daniel Riggle


3.2 By Emily Brandsdorfer


1.3 By IDK

Blue Morning By Alan Aine


The Invisible By Ashley Montufar My mind scrambles within itself Looking for answers and guidance Can I ask you something? How did you find it? That one thing I had left in me I searched myself, I gathered friends A large manhunt Scattered throughout this place Boundaries was not in our vocabulary

I explored hills, heavily wooded and holding secrets I explored lakes, vastly soaked and never ending I explored streets, sickly covered and always lying These trips never meant a thing Since you already found That thing I’ve been searching for That thing you stole Along with my breath You made it difficult to breathe

Serenity Amongst Glaciers, Glacier Bay, Alaska By Amanda Nauman


Love Song By Emily Brandsdorfer The radio is a-humming An all too familiar Love song Again Of butterflies, rainbows, and sunsets And Lovers with Gleaming eyes and Overwhelming Affection To be one And in love In a bubble Too perfect To be Popped But, the song fades And in lapse of sound Before the next jumpy Light-hearted Teen pop song comes on I am left behind Too absorbed With the nothing With the over Of the vanished couple To continue to listen Yet somehow Time continues Days change Calendars replaced on the wall More songs come and go Of drugs Sex And love And yet I still Remember that Song gap That was nothing In between those Empty songs Of not real people Or not real things But of images And plastic feelings Too absurd To be more than fluffy lyrics Existing In an all too perfect Bubble

Sky By Syafiq Abdullah


New York Blues By Muhammad Khalis Othman

Bubbly Acoustics By Lindsay Crossan


A Day in the Park, New York City, NY By Asli Ergun

An Intrigue By Danny Argueta An illusion that captured my mind were her eyes so delicate, so fine. Her smirk simmered within my soul producing sensations that got me stoned. Her wit had me on my feet, between the two games of a nature discreet. Her blushing face made my heart race. Mutual respect-the best aspect of a crush so fine, so delicate.

Poisonous Art By Joe Mangiafico


IDIOTIC-RIDE By Harsh Oza I remember dad what you said About the new car..! Drive it left, park it right, Lock it well, check it twice. The party was late and far In the Bacardi-hills, I reached there well on time, Things were chilling with Gaudy Guys & gurlz moving right-round.

That was more yours than the car. I wished you had said that And I too had cared… Then I would not have proven myself a foolish “wasting away life on such an IDIOTIC-RIDE..” --- HARSHHHH…

I remember dad what you said About the new car..! Don’t you drink, don’t you freak, Never loose your consciousness on music-beats. Girls may be easy to get busy Playing chizzy-wizzy on rare seats. As I promised, I won’t, I didn’t, But the rest did, calling me a sentimental-bore. Things were on end and we were leaving. I remember dad what you said About the new car..! I was slow and easy on NH road, Everyone was agitating me to get the lead in the race, And someone from inside was yelling: You too always liked the rash-drive, But I dint’s. As I remember dad what you said About the new car..! We stopped by the bridge to walk down the lanes To get by a bench, to feel the zephyr And just then we were knocked down By a cargo-car. There was blood all around I could feel my vision narrowing down, Breath struggling to get inside. The cops came and claimed the three were drunk, but I swear I dint’s. we smiled at each other knowing we wouldn’t survive. I remember dad what you said About the new car..! The car is still there parked by the bridge. But you missed instructing about something


Hoboken Alley By Zeynep Mine Bese

Standing on the Line Between Reality and Fantasy By Ashley Montufar this one is meant for everyone take the seat right next to me will you see what I see from this second story window this glass wall is so small peek at the horizon line where the earth bends down a bit too far like a man with too much faith kneeling before god or the other man kneeling down over his porcelain god but here my horizontal line kisses the night sky while you twiddle your thumbs I’m just wandering, wondering how how do the clouds move? how do the stars grove? why does all this sooth? don’t get up just yet this is what i do hey you, fill your cup way high

hey you, light up another one hey you, let’s not let the night die i’m too busy chasing dreams just dazed under another bridge just dazed standing on powdered mills just dazed out on a lake this glass wall is so small but could tell you everything you don’t want to hear like how i may be a bit manic depressive but i can be a bit impressive like how we drink till our livers scream cus we don’t know what stop means just look out my second story window cus the first story was bland this glass wall is just right

A Place To Rest, New York City, NY By Asli Ergun


A Day-Stevens 2011 By Rob Ranalli His coke-bottle glasses shone against the glare of the projector; marred in awe only by the magnificently wrinkled and loose sweater that usually adorned the top half of his slender body. The topic he spoke of almost as enticing to engage as fire would like to engage water. This fire; however, sets ablaze not the soul, nor the mind nor the spirit, nay, this fire sets spark to frustration and weariness. As the seconds tick off as slow as hours, the teacher preaches on. His lessons only hit those whose focus is far superior to that one which sets upon him at the front of the class. That one, who is this one, only grows more tired as the teacher continues his spiel. Watching that red sweater, as it hangs over his belt tightly fastened on to his charcoal slacks, pace back and forth across the classroom only to find its way to the seat facing the class. Following it still, even as it remains motionless in that swivel chair, as its wearer makes the e-board flash and pulsate. Showing examples to the class while rambling on in a low monotone voice about the wonders of this craft. If only the teacher saw himself; perhaps if he would really look at the students. Look in them, not through them; if he would look to their mettle and not to their countenance. Those faces in this audience are stale and void of the curiosity that is usually provoked in their respective bearers. But, since that is not the case, and since these faces are in the broken condition, and because the teacher is merely looking through the faces and ignoring the unspoken cries for help, the lecture goes on at its dreadful pace. Alright, I’ll let you finish this for next week. Look at that: I’m done with two minutes to spare. Perhaps the teacher had not heard the silent lamentations, but, fortunately, the heavens have. Excuse me, I have class work to make up – prayers for these torture sessions to end are time consuming…

The Working Man By Nicholas Gadaleta


EAS via MineCraft By Thomas Lakatos

A Theorist in the Lab By Matthew Diemer Jake was held up in the physics lab after hours, studying physics equations, not experimenting AT ALL (which he claims to hate). Learning physics and pretending not to experiment after hours required a flashlight he acquired in SKIL lab (to see), an apple (to avoid the inevitable hunger pains), good eyes (and today Visine came to the rescue), and, lastly, an instrument to record data (or in this case, a camera phone). Hours passed by and SCIENCE WAS BEING DONE for the sake of SCIENCE. But then a loud noise came from down the hall. Jake thought that this could be a shitty predicament as the noise could have come from an EXPERIMENTALIST. Shit, now Jake really needs to get out of there, but there was no time to pack, especially since he dropped his phone. He grabbed all the “incriminating” evidence and ran out leaving only the apple, the flashlight from SKIL, the Visine, and the camera case. He ran out of the lab, went through the hall, and ran down the stairs to make it outside to freedom!! Hunger set in. The hunger pains brought him to a feeling of almost sickness. Checking his pockets, he realizes all he has is 32 cents and his apartment, all the way in Weehawken, has no food!! He has to go back for the apple, but HOW?!?! QUESTION MARK EXPLAINATION POINT Jake canvassed the building trying to think of a way to get back in without detection, but to no avail. He could see the light was turned on in the lab from outside the building. Jake was screwed, until a lovely art major, Samantha, came by and saved the day. She gave him half a sandwich and a lovely face he won’t soon forget, except he actually does forget since he is absent minded; but he tried. Luckily, he remembered her body shape, and the fact that she was smart and lovely.


Bad Hair Day By Tina Singh


Stream of Consciousness and Adulthood By Abigail Vaskain there was something there for a while, brewing beneath the surface of my youth. i am leaving, i have left. i am going, i have gone. somewhere. there was a well filled with frozen things that left me drowning beneath the surface. scratching at the cemented rock and stone. i felt alive as my breath left me and i could not control the flood into my lungs, the rush of blood to my brain, the loss of my passions my love, my love, my love. i used to live on a stage. just a player within a drama. within a dream. but i grew tired and weary and resentful of playing. playing. playing. for, life is not a game. or a dream. or a stage. it is just life. and i am growing up, as i die. lying here next to you. lying at all to you, as i watch the city light up, as the sun fades,

i can’t see what used to be there to see. i have gone. somewhere. but no where. i am here, i am the same. yet changed. and i’ve forgotten what there is to forget. i have forgotten my passion. forsaken my muse. killed her softly and stuffed her remains where her decay cannot reach me. or god. or science. i have fallen, this time. just fallen. and i can’t find what i’ve lost. what i’ve lost beneath the surface. so all there is...all there is is this. my skin, and nerves, hairs, standing on end. just a shell. all there is. just a shell.

Sunny Day By Asli Ergun


Limitless By Alyssa Kilayko

A Path Home By Rob Ranalli These long winding roads are infinite, and wildly exotic are the thoughts that cross my mind as I follow them. Too long are these roads that my mind flutters between focus and the blur outside my window. As I get sidetracked by those whirring images, my mind slowly dissipates into mush. As the saying goes: “A mind is a terrible thing to waste.” The waste is not in the mind but in the person. For, logically if the mind is wasted, so to is the person. So: “A person is a terrible thing to waste.” “A soul is a waste if not used to believe in something greater.” Whatever the waste, these roads are far more intelligible than I. Whichever the way; these thoughts permeate my cranium at the most convenient of times. These roads are infinite; these thoughts are well travelled; this life is well spent.


Island of Insanity By Ashley Montufar I’ve lost Have I missed the boat? You all got shipped off with some sort of sanity To enjoy large campuses of pure vanity While I’m left chasing whatever sanity may be here In this town that proves to be trapped with only fear And he and I can bet, that he and I have never met Yet from his absence, I hold one thing those sailors will never The beauty of change Because to accept change You must create it yourself You must master it You must tame it You must simply change Consistently constructive but constantly careful

Sunny Day, Hoboken, NJ By Asli Ergun


Fist By James Varbanov

The Human Element By Rob Ranalli Sitting in the cafeteria, I realize the world is perceptively false. This observation is based on the injustices of its denizens, those primarily being of the species homo-sapien. These species, these wretched tormenters of their own, prey upon the weaknesses found within any other thing. Whether, another person, an animal, or nature, people have become such a force to reckon with that certain attributes such as vanity, greed, and lust have become encouraged among the babes. Strangely enough, it seems to be that when empowered by these atrocious characteristics, people become somehow a stronger presence within their community. Among their peers, being the greediest, the most lustful, and/or displaying a superfluous amount of vanity (in most circles confused with confidence) is seen as a sign of strength. This “strength” is rewarded, inappropriately, with social status and respect from the whole. The group, in such a case, is almost reverent of this outward display of forthright sin (sin not in the case of religion or literally from the Latin “sons” for “guilty”, rather in the sense of social wrongdoing or injustice as in the Olde English “syn”), and tries to imitate that behavior to join the revelry and, misguidedly, attain a societal glory. People were meant for better things; unfortunately better things elude us…


A Balance Game By Emily Brandsdorfer A balance game Between The sane and Insane Seemingly have lost my way To normal Now walking this thin line A tight rope Way up high Try not to misstep Try not to fall into The abyss That appears bottomless Swaying, and leaning I’m too far toward the edge Unable to find my footing Thoughts race Too quick to grasp Too quick to find the Right one I feel it slipping away My rationality Overtaken by impulse and Desire I slip And fall Rolling and tumbling Further and further down Picking up speed Watching the Tight rope Become a figment Stuck now Not standing or sitting But forever falling away Away from everything Still moving But locked in The blank emptiness That is all That is around me Caged into This insanity

More Than Just A Game By Alyssa Kilayko


Just a Drinking Glass By Emily Brandsdorfer I’m a tall glass The kind you put orange juice in Every morning I stand next to others Just like me Clear, with a tint of blue Thick around the rim Still open to let in I sparkle and shine But I’ve also fallen from the shelf And cracked One simple line Runs down my seam Through and Through There is no way to tell when I’ll fall to Pieces

Then Trash and shards Jagged ends Not worth fixing And easily replaced Options To cower and hide in the back Never risking an end Or tempt fate And sit at the breakfast table Every morning Filled to the brim with Orange juice Until it’s gone

I could be fine Nothing but an imperfection Still useful Still functional Still me It could be minor Little drips might slip through And pool around me Suitable and manageable As long as my trail doesn’t Stain Or it could be the end I could shatter on impact of liquid Just completely snap Glass and fluid A disaster Around me


Lonely Lily By Melissa Wiegand

A Winter’s Light By Nicole Franks

Sailor’s Paradise By Alyssa Kilayko


RedShift Volume 5 Issue 2  

Spring 2011 issue of RedShift Creative Magazine

RedShift Volume 5 Issue 2  

Spring 2011 issue of RedShift Creative Magazine