Issuu

ROUX Student Magazine EST 2022 Issue 8, 19th October 2023 Luxembourg Print run: 500 copies Chief Editor: Walter Gisnacht a.k.a. Aleister Creepy-Crowley

Contents 2

Connecting with SINGA

In the mood for love

Franny and Zooey

Father Aggression

Interview with

Love Song Playlist

by J. D. Salinger

Essay on bunnies

Book review

and chocolate milk

a volunteer

The City of Ladies by

Centrefold Poster

Cold & Clear

Unlove Song

Christine de Pizan

Bitch I’m a Cow

Short story

Poem

Medieval Girlbossing

Caution: Rats

Farewell to Fermi

Did I Do

The Hollow King

S P O O KY

Tentacles and stuff

The Right Thing?

Poem

Video game review Team: Eleni MOUZAKITI – writer; social media chief Jacopo MOGLIA – writer; chief contemplative officer Jason BILLARD – post-medieval gleeman José FERNANDES MAIA – poster boy; Mr. Inker Upper Jo Yi HOON – writer; elegiac coastal granddaughter Kasra KARAMI – cage builder Kieran SALT – Mr. Roux from now on Kristina SHATOKHINA – woman of vision; high priestess Romane GELHAY – memes like a Pez dispenser Sofia MILLER – entertains the primordial Hylemxylem Valère GAUBE – homme à tout faire et n’importe quoi Zoltan TAJTI – Eastern machinations Davide Di Ronco – our guest from LëtzWrite We are thankful to: Office of Student Life, Veerle Waterplas, Sonja Di Renzo, Antonio Tavan, Repro Team, Espace Cultures, Anouk Wies, Karin Langumier, Bianca Pirrelli, Andy Adams of the Alumni Network, Véronique Heitz and Rotondes, Student Lounge Belval and all children of SAUL, Dalmat Coffee House, Julie Toussaint, LLC, Julie Jephos, Inès Planchenault, Vere Van Gool, Melissa Dalton from RTL Today and Silvia from Café Saga. ROUX is thrilled to announce its partnership with RTL Today Radio.

Unless otherwise noted, all images in the magazine are public domain as described in the Creative Commons CC0-1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication licence, and fall under no copyright obligations. Direct all copyright claims to: paper.roux@gmail.com Find us at: campus buildings (reception areas, magazine stands), Student Lounges, chill-out-zones, Dalmat Coffee House, and LLC. Join us! We are always looking for graphic designers, writers, artists, photographers, reporters and all sorts of sailors willing to man the good ship ROUX. Contact us: paper.roux@gmail.com Find the magazine online: https://issuu.com/ rouxmagazine Instagram: @roux.magazine Cover and poster p. 14–15 hand-drawn by José Fernandes Maia Illustration p. 20 hand-drawn by Jason Billard ©ROUX Student Magazine All rights reserved

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What’s cooking in the Hexenküche? With kitchen prose and gutter rhymes. Jethro Tull, Songs from the Wood Here is an issue that will stir up a few old pots in the witch’s kitchen, thanks to the talented newcomers who have recently joined the ROUX team. There will be admixed a blend of spices never tried in the cauldron where our brewages are concocted: a taste of flageolets and underbelly garlic, perhaps, or of locusts and wild honey, the nourishment of the best gents… Time will tell; and we should expect the magazine’s identity to not be indifferent to their increased involvement. Time will tell. For now, let them be cordially thanked for the good work, will and mood they have already brought along. To be hailed in pomp appropriate is also ROUX’s newest partner: RTL Today. Since last month, you can consult their website to read two articles taken from each new issue of the magazine. One of these articles will come out a week after each issue’s official release; and the other, one week prior, as a way of giving you a sneak-peek into things to come. On top of these shared releases, RTL Today will also regularly host exclusive articles written by members of the ROUX cast. We would like to thank them here for these amazing opportunities they offer us. About this issue. We have, for once, no disembowelled animal on the cover, but a playlist of love songs instead, curated by the very members of this magazine. This tenth month of the year, which we call October and which to Halloween leads up, seemed the perfect time to dedicated thus a few pages to the spirit that haunts humans since the Origin, this merciless enemy of quiet that pierces them through the armour’s gap and always finds its way to the heart: Love, that grabs you by the shoulders, calls you by your name, annihilates what you thought was vital and casts you headfirst into an abyss of bliss or a sky of sorrow. What is truly scary about this is that it gives you a glimpse into the psychic-psychoticpsychedelectric state of each of ROUX’s members. Furthermore – and here we might be reaching the summum horroris –, this may turn out to be the occasion for you to realise that your favourite ROUX member has, in fact, shite taste in music. Enjoy this issue and stay tuned for the next, where we might publish a list of the stuff we smoke during our meetings. by Valère Gaube

I N T E RVIEW

A Conversation with a SINGA Volunteer Can a fresh graduate seeking their first work experience and starting their career realistically help people and fight for inclusion? Apparently yes! That is exactly what I discussed with Joana when we met on a Sunday afternoon. After finishing her studies in Social Sciences and Educational Sciences, Joana went on to enter the workforce which as for most young graduates today proved to be a challenge. Soon enough she realized that what was missing from her CV was more work experience and that’s when she decided to join a program from the Service National de la Jeunesse to find open volunteer positions. One of the organizations that stood out to her was SINGA Luxembourg, a nonprofit organisation, part of an international network, established in the country of Luxembourg in 2019 and aiming to connect people and facilitate inclusion. This September marks the fourth month that Joana will be a part of this organisation and she’s more than excited to talk to me about her experiences and work with them. “SINGA means “to connect” in Lingala, “one of the languages spoken in the Democratic Republic of Congo” she says smiling at me. “SINGA is now an ecosystem which already operates in 7 countries and 18 cities and has been created in France in 2012.”

She showed me some of their online material, where I can learn about their missions and activities. Already I’m impressed and amazed at their work and passion, but one section, their glossary, stands out more to me than any other. “We don’t use the terms refugees or immigrants since they tend to be negatively connotated. We prefer the terms “newcomer”, “local people” and “members of the community”. Out of sheer curiosity, I asked her “But what is SINGA Luxembourg doing to connect people and help individuals in Luxembourg?”. “We actually have three types of projects. One of them is “Mentoring”, which is held through the OneStepForward program with our partners BGL BNP Paribas and the University of Luxembourg. One of our main goals here at SINGA is to provide support to students to bridge the gap between education and entering the workforce.

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The second one is Employability “where every month CV and Motivation letter workshops are being held, to help newcomers in Luxembourg integrate and find a job. Often, people with such diverse backgrounds are used to doing these processes differently and SINGA provides them with more information on how to apply more successfully for jobs in Luxembourg.”

“I can say that I am much more confident in my communication skills ever since I started working with SINGA Luxembourg. I interact with multiple people every day, both within and out of the office, so I feel much more secure in handling any situation in a future professional environment. I have also gained valuable experience by creating the organization’s newsletter and helping with administrative tasks.”

“The third one is “Community building”, which includes all the activities that we organize and have a more cultural or social aspect. One of them is based on the concept of the human library, where we split into two groups: the active listeners and the ones who share their stories. We also organize sports events like the SINGA Cup or promenades in nature and visits to museums.”

And so how can any of us support SINGA’s work in Luxembourg?

It sounds lovely to me, and I quickly ask her about her role in all of this. I wonder how it helped her expand her knowledge and experiences and how it can translate into her future career growth.

This can be done in several ways! You can either donate through their website or come up with an idea for a future activity. Do you have a talent or a hobby that you’re eager to share with other people? Then you can reach out to them and organize an activity together. Or you can simply participate in one of their events as a newcomer or a local person and get to meet new people. by Eleni Mouzakiti

You can find SINGA Luxembourg in any of their social media! SINGA Luxembourg @singa_luxembourg SINGA Luxembourg 3

ROUX L O V E P LAYLIST

love songs from our members

Why are we discussing love songs in October? At ROUX, we are creatures of love... enamoured of love in all of its splendour, both good and unkind. We are epicurean yet humble beings that are self-indulgent and reclusive. Although we don't necessarily need further encouragement, the time change in October inspires us to spend extra moments with our loved ones – helping us to graduate from the lush outdoors to the cosier warmth the indoors offers during the crisp darker months. Grab a hot drink and bathe in a pool filled with numerous forms of love the rich autumnal and winter times offer.

There’d Better Be A Mirrorball – Arctic Monkeys (The Car, 2022)

Fade Into You – Mazzy Star (So Tonight That I Might See, 1993)

Merging and blurring into somebody until ‘There’d Better Be A Mirrorball’ is an the lines are no longer distinct: here, put your ambiguous journey towards hope and love. blindfold on; here, hold my hand; here, I shall The instrumental introduction builds towards guide you through your darkest times. Mazzy the suspense of slowly walking towards Star’s ‘Fade Into You’ evokes a deep-nestled something you hope would be good at the feeling of longing, a flourishing admiration for end, an incredibly twisted feeling one can have, somebody. This song is for when your gaze especially when it is unreciprocated. Taking lingers on your lover while they’re occupied away the ability to love the one you love the with the mundane – when they’re the most most is soul-destroying. The mirrorball is the beautiful, yet so unaware of it. It’s when you quintessential trophy of hope, the embodiment realise you’re locked in; when you recognize of loving someone and being loved in that there’s an intense, inexplicable feeling that return. Allow me to indulge in my temporal cannot simply be wrapped up in a word or two. selfishness, it’ll be nice to get it my way for – Sof once, and I hope a mirrorball will be waiting for me at the end. – Jo Yi

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I Get a Kick Out of You – Anita O’Day (Anita O’Day Swings Cole Porter, 1959) The song has been gazillion times covered: by Ella Fitzgerald, by Sinatra, by Lady Gaga, to name a few. This version is special: it’s up-tempo, and it’s a swing, orchestrated as if meant as soundtrack for a Tom and Jerry episode. Anita O’Day started out as a drummer, thus are her tempo, phrasing and timing unmatched; her syllables are percussive, her intonation is well aware of length of both vowels and consonants. The track is a freakish masterpiece, akin to the whole album, actually. And Cole Porter... you gotta adore. – Zoli All Mine – Portishead (Portishead, 1997)

Lover Lover Lover – Leonard Cohen (Field Commander Cohen, 2001)

You will think me cruel, very selfish, but love is always selfish – the more ardent the more selfish, – or so said vampyress Carmilla as she embraced her lover-lady, with each fierce caress bringing her closer to death. By this time you must have learnt: Desire is a cruel jailer. Portishead’s sensual love hymn of my choice is all about that sweet torture of love that possesses us whole, clouds our minds and leads us – blissful and blind – straight into the abyss. I too dedicate it to my eternal bride, the precious one who sets my heart aflame. Beware: tenderness will last forever. – Kristina

I mean the version on the Field Commander Cohen live album. Cohen’s best songs always have him weaving together themes sacred and profane, spiritual fulfilment and carnal love, often searching for the former in the latter. This song achieves this alchemy through its verses recounting a dialogue between the singer and his “Father”, while the chorus brings the focus back down to earth with its mantra-like “Lover, come back to me”. The last verse finally blurs this clear-cut duality: who is speaking? Cohen, or his “Father”? In works worthy of scrutiny, multiple interpretations complete rather than compete. – Valère

L O V E P LAYLIST

The Universe Expanded – Franz Ferdinand

Another Love – Tom Odell

(Right Thoughts, Right Words, Right Action, 2013)

(Long Way Down, 2013)

This song about a break-up that manages to be more a love song than a breakup song, this mellow medley about a close relationship that has since ended, albeit with one party not fully accepting this, is just a superb track to put on and chill to when you’re feeling less than enthused about your love life. At once earnest and delusional, the irony of the song can’t help but make you smile while, at the same time, the melancholic vibe can be quite comforting. – Jacopo

“I want to cry and I want to love, but all my tears have been used up”. Love can be hurtful and frustrating, especially when you try to love again after a hard breakup with someone you thought was the One. Even after time has passed, loving someone new is hard – it can feel impossible. And so you try different ways, only for it to feel useless, as you did the same before with your previous love. It is saddening to want to show how much you care only for it to not be as pristine as it was before. How angersome, when you notice that you cannot show to the one that matters right now how much you love them because of a past love that didn’t deserve it in the end? – Romane

Picture Cards Can’t Picture You – Blaze Foley

(Live at the Austin Outhouse, 1989)

Much like open heart surgery, love is also inseparably tied to feelings of vulnerability and uncertainty. Blaze Foley finds an incredibly tender way of expressing the emotions, which have mostly been confined to our lived experience; only vaguely put into human language through general claims about what appears to be desired at first glance and foolish accounts of the unknowable. Foley omits the word and thus all the previous misconceptions about “love” and invites everyone to accept love in its purest forms; straight from the beard-wreathed lips of an Arkansas hobo. – José Do Panjereh – Googoosh

(Me and the Sparrows of the Hous, 1995) This song tells the story of a love between two windows in a stone wall that forever separates them. Its symbolic lyrics convey the depth of this love, filled with constant suffering. The realisation of this unfulfilled love is striking: “We remain prisoners as long as we live, and true liberation for us is death”. The embodiment of hope in the hearts of these two lovers brings the listener closest to the feeling of love – a suspension of insurmountable bitterness and sweetness: “I wish this wall would break down, and we could pass away together. Perhaps in another world, there are no barriers between the windows.” – Kasra

“Είσαι εσύ ο άνθρωπος μου”

(Ise esi o anthropos mou) – Andriana Babali

(The Rose Tattoo, 2009)

“If I were to lose you… I’d disappear from this world…”

This is a Greek song that is very dear to me, with the title meaning “You are my Soulmate”. A small pleasure in the darkness of life that can so easily envelop you. Quiet whispers of a better future and a happier tomorrow lie in the arms of a loved one. A smile to share, a shoulder to cry on, and the unrestrained fear of what would happen if such a sacred and precious feeling was lost. Andriana sings about the big contrast and yet the realities of love – the coexistence of hope and fear at the same time. – Eleni

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BOOK REVIEW

J.D. Salinger’s

Franny and Zooey An Overlooked Classic by Jo Yi Hoon

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Franny and Zooey, written by Catcher in the Rye author J.D Salinger, explores the two titular characters from the fictional Glass family in the years following the tragic passing of their eldest brother, Seymour Glass.

as two separate novellas and narrated from two different perspectives. Franny’s story is told from an unknown third person, while Zooey’s is told by their second elder brother Buddy Glass.

Salinger’s indulgent Glass family narrative, set in mid-50s America, is a source of immense comfort and joy for me. The themes explored, such as social isolation and the struggle to fit into society, resonate deeply due to their familiarity. It is crucial for us, both as individuals and as social beings, to acknowledge the challenges of integration.

The novel begins with Franny, a 20-year-old college student visiting her boyfriend Lane in New York City. However, she finds the issues Lane discusses to be superficial, and irrelevant, leading to her question her existence alone. Franny seeks solace in Eastern Philosophy and in the book she carries, The Way of the Pilgrim, a reminder of her deceased brother. I believe Franny and Zooey is relatable due to Salinger’s meaningful approach to today’s renewed general interest in Spirituality and Eastern philosophy too.

The isolation experienced by the Glass family is partly a result of their inherent intellectual prowess, the burdens that come with their privileged upbringing, and their distinctive spiritual curiosity; an unconventional notion during the mid-1950s. The issues they face can be seen as incredibly relatable, as it is not often discussed and dismissed as trivial. I truly believe the Glass family is Salinger’s long-lasting legacy, due to their relatability and richness in the characters. Franny and Zooey was originally published

The theme of spiritual direction is carried on in the second part Zooey, as it is narrated from Buddy’s point of view. I want to emphasise that Franny copes with her sorrow in a typical manner that is deemed appropriate for someone of her social status and personal background.

Conversely, Zooey, a sceptical young man in his mid-20s, takes on a very assertive demeanour and adheres to traditionally masculine traits. He treats his mother with bitter unkindness but holds dear memories of his two older brothers, Seymour and Buddy. Zooey even goes to the extent of pretending to be Buddy on the phone to Franny. She catches on to his act but the conversation continues. In other words, Zooey through Buddy performs as both a spiritual and a traditional brotherly figure. I believe this is Salinger’s way of challenging the societal expectations of gender roles during that time. Women are expected to handle things softly and always seek male guidance, while men are expected to be wilful solid leaders to emphasise their masculinity. The novel is written in Salinger’s typical grand style, but it is also equally whimsical, with a smooth transition between passages, reflecting his introverted nature. Salinger admirably handles many topics. With how much I enjoy exploring this overlooked classic that is Franny and Zooey, I hope you too will enjoy reading about them year after year as often as I have.

E S SAY

FATHER AGGRESSION by Zoltan Tajti Front matters

Examples

At the end of Lord of the Flies, Ralph breaks down in tears when saved along with the other islanders. He does not cry from joy; he cries in sorrow, grieving the passing of the private innocence a mere week prior believed civilisation had formed out of the art of the social and culture. He – they – are saved by gunmen, soldiers taking away by force what others presume to own.

0.1 –

Alan Sorkin’s Colonel Jessup stands guard on the perimeters of an already established society and state, of a working culture, and mourns the guarded one’s ignorance of their luxury; but Ralph’s mourning rips deeper: the aggression of humans also works from within, at the very onset of an individual becoming a value of member in the function of a group.

Other instances tend to be labelled social establishment, observable patterns claimed to form observable order. Subtle and hidden to the lazy, violence is thus realised as interruption in and hijacking of conversations, in non-negotiated division of spousal responsibilities, autocratic parenting, and autocratic leadership.

Some of us pride ourselves in exercising humility, showing camaraderie and compassion, in practising the first act of passing our personal judgements on law and morality – and some amongst us fail to grasp selective morality is pinned on the firmest foundation of naked violence. Belligerence, hostility have nowhere to go.

Some instances are prominent. Waging wars, murdering a fellow human, hunting for pleasure, beating up the spouse, the child, a friend, a stranger – all manifestations of the same vice, the prehuman heritage of physicality not yet oppressed by spirit and mind. 0.2 –

It is also realised and entwined in the fabric of verbal grooming as non-cooperative communication, abusive and prodding utterances, hijacking interactions, unbalanced listening times, unprompted opinion and advice, projected insecurities, transferred responsibilities, cynicism, sarcasm, and gaslighting. The list goes on, covering what contemporary language tags as passive aggression, wrongly (it

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is all but passive to actively overstep boundaries between parties, boundaries at equal distance from said parties); assuming to intrinsically know what and how other people think; communication through remarks and requesting by declaration.

other hand, more often than not meekness is not a state but a temporary product of progressive work; it is result manifested in practice. As such, the motivation for gaining it – continuously! – is the self-proclaimed meek’s moral imperative to become it.

0.3 –

We, the meek – yours truly is at fault in constantly fighting the only ego I regard to possess – are conceited and arrogant in submitting to the inevitable, to purely cherry picked virtues. Virtues are always personal; almost ad-hoc, regardless of the density of social saturation one is lucky (or ill-fated) to along with others constitute.

Let’s label this one the aggression of finesse. Recall, the front above states the following: (1) Ralph, who can be understood as the archetype of the meek is torn when realising his preconception of the foundation of human coexistence is not only unfounded but wrongly idealistic; (2) Ralph’s concepts are the exact opposites of his own factual reality, his self-identity had been standing wrongly upside-down – the aggression he had been regarding as the result of the very basis of human existence being swiped from under their feet is actually the bare minimum human (i.e. shared) existence requires; (3) The meek are also aggressive, doubly aggressive. On the one hand, meek is self-inflicted identity, always a well advertised one. On the

Ralph was considerably lucky. It only took him fifteen months to come to terms with bearing the chip on his shoulders: Cain’s and also Jessup’s aggression, the original sin of humankind. An epilogue would have decided whether he – Ralph – could bear the burden of the arrogance of his own pomposity. From what I know, he would have. Talk about aggression: do you guys know who Ralph and Jessup are? Right? Right.

BOOK REVIEW

A Blessed Citadel Of Eternal Feminine A review of “T he City of Ladies” by Christine de Pizan The Eternal Feminine draws us onward. Goethe, Faust

In an era characterised by patriarchy’s stranglehold on intellectual discourse, 14thcentury French court poet Christine de Pizan dared to challenge the status quo. This is how in 1405 “The City of Ladies” was born – not merely a book but also an architectural feat of thought, meticulously constructed to house women’s marginalised voices and stories. Eloquent and evocative, with each story Christine de Pizan lays the foundation for a city where women reign supreme, their achievements are celebrated, and their voices heard. This chosen metaphor of a city is not accidental. Medieval cities’ functions were not akin to the ones we are used to today – surrounded by rings of thick walls, primarily a city had to keep its citizens safe and defend them against the enemy, be it a plague or neighbour’s troops.

Educated in the best fashion since a very young age, Christine was immensely devastated and repulsed by the psychotic amount of hideous, derogative misogyny coming from every worldrenowned “great thinker” (always a man – of course) she came across. De Pizan realised that if she didn’t stand up for her kind and defend her fellow sisters, no one would. Thus, the construction of our literary citadel begins. It is guided by the triad of Virtues: Lady Reason, Lady Rectitude, and Lady Justice. These “Daughters of God” escort Christine on her journey through the realms of history, mythology, and philosophy. These allegories lead the author and readers alike through a labyrinthine narrative that weaves together tales of remarkable women, each a testament to the intellectual and moral prowess of her gender. Ancient goddesses and magnificent queens, beloved sisters, devout wives, mothers and widows, brave saints and blessed warriors – all the honourable daughters of humankind are to dwell in that beautiful city erected by Christine. De Pizan weaves a vivid tapestry of female achievement, wittingly dismantling the stereotypes and prejudices that confined women to the shadows of history.

Christine de Pizan meets the three ladies and lays the foundation of the city of ladies, for The Queen’s Manuscript, c. 1410–1414, f. 290r (Harley MS 4431, British Library)

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Frustrated as she is by those prejudices and unjust treatments, she still manages to deliver her point without a grain of spite, without turning her righteous anger against men (a skill we could all use these days, perhaps). There is an elegant simplicity in Christine’s approach: God created women and men to love and serve each other. Thus, men who slander the opposite sex go against their own nature, and so do women who let themselves grow spiteful. According to the author, virtuous women and men treat each other with love, respect, and devotion – and those who don’t are simply undeserving of their title and attention.

Christine is also notable in her usage of the word “lady” referring not to a woman of noble birth, but that of a noble spirit: she who is virtuous, she who possesses wit, courage, and goodness. Modern-day feminism opposes the notion of “lady” deeming it an oppressive vocabulary, a lingo of endless “shall-s” and “shan’t-s”. Christine’s stance that preserves the honour of the word might appear much more to your liking, as it did to mine. Once the construction of the City is complete and all the noble ladies have arrived, Christine together with the Virtues and the ladies call upon the most magnificent, to bless the city with her divine grace and become its just ruler. That would be the Holy Virgin Mary. Ilustration on the left: "Battle of the Amazons", illumination from the manuscript "De Natura Rerum" by Thomas of Cantimpré, 1290, Bibliothèque Municipale, Valenciennes.

“O my lady, who could dare even to think, let alone utter, the idea that women are vile, seeing how exalted you are!… God decided to take a member of the female sex as His bride and to choose you, most excellent lady, because of your great worth, all men should not only desist from attacking women but should hold them in the highest esteem” Carefully filtered, throughout centuries Mary’s voice has been permitted in Church – but real women’s voices were always silenced. In today’s context, the cult of the Virgin is rather emblematic of the way the church silences women and marginalises their experience and sexuality. But institutionalised, distorted Mary is not the one Christine is talking about. Mary called upon to rule the City of Ladies is the Mary of the Gospels, the God-bearer and priestly figure. A mortal woman chosen by God, she is called upon to celebrate women in their embodied humanity and support their efforts to challenge unjust structures. Christine de Pizan’s prose is an enchanting, passionate blend of erudition and eloquence. Her words leap from the pages to challenge the misogyny of her time with a fierce, unyielding intellect. And yet, the book is not confined to the century it was conceived. “The City of Ladies” is a timeless ode to the eternal feminine, an enduring monument of female solidarity and sisterhood. By Kristina Shatokhina

S H O R T S T O R Y

Cold&Clear by Kasra Karami

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He took the glass from the side of the tray and quickly turned it two or three times in his hand to circulate the water inside it. The gray and white grains rose from the bottom of the glass and moved in the created current. Jafar, before lowering the glass, shouted at the guard to summon the prison chief.

while his mind struggled to contain the smell of the food he had rejected seconds ago. He imagined devouring it, and his stomach stopped hurting momentarily. His eyes couldn’t maintain a continuous focus on the lamp due to his weakness, and the scene appeared blurry before him. He closed his eyelids. He could see a red halo of light passing through them and reaching his eyes. Focusing on this molten aura caused it to grow larger and larger, and the sensation of heat enveloped his skin. With all his strength, he shifted from side to side to escape the discomfort caused by the light.

“I demand an explanation, sir! You are responsible for this mess. Doctor Ahmadi didn’t even try to dissolve the poison in the water and hide its traces. Last week, every prisoner who tried my food got poisoned, and here we are with the same situation today. Have some honor! If I’ve been sentenced to death, where is my verdict? The survival instinct left no room for Where is my court? How can this be questioning injustice. When would the next considered a legal execution?” Jafar said. meal arrive? What difference did it make? “I am investigating last week’s issue, Mr. After he had been transferred to solitary Minister. Do not worry. I will order your food confinement, he couldn’t even benefit to be prepared and served more carefully. from the generosity of his fellow prisoners Doctor Ahmadi is only responsible for offering to share their meals. How could your well-being. The king has appointed he even assess the food’s safety? Perhaps him to take care of you until he himself has there was no way. If the only path to survival the opportunity to investigate your case. I was to consume whatever was given, how hope this problem will be resolved as soon much of the poisoned food could he ingest as possible and you will return to your without sustaining irreparable harm? And as his mind gradually surrendered, the most post”, the chief said. childlike question emerged: What might The chief nodded and the guard took Jafar’s the final meal be? With this last question, food and carried it outside. Jafar’s head a greater sorrow than all his previous ones throbbed from extreme thirst, and he didn’t overcame him. The privilege of life was feel like engaging in further discussion. taken away from him, who, until just a few From the corner of his eye, he noticed the weeks ago, held the lives of many in his prison chief departing and collapsed his hands while serving at the Ministry of War heavy body onto the bed. The bed made in Iran. He had become the oldest child in a muffled sound, and then the cell fell into the world, abandoned in the most desolate silence. corner of the planet. He drifted to sleep, He lay on his side, his eyes fixed on the pondering the taste of his last meal—the cage around the ceiling light of the cell, only thought he had left.

S H O R T S T O R Y

He jumped at the sound of the cell door opening. Doctor Ahmadi, who had tried to approach his bedside as quietly as possible, couldn’t hide his surprise at Jafar’s alertness. He placed his large leather bag on the floor and brought a hand to his face to regain his composure.

“You won’t survive without eating, Mr. Minister. I’m genuinely concerned about your health, and I hope all of this will be over soon. I won’t insist on injecting you medicine again. You know best for yourself.”

“Mr. Minister, every day I visit you; you are growing weaker and weaker. You must consume nutritious food. I’m afraid of being held responsible by the king if your condition deteriorates. His concern for your health has led him to assign me to personally care for you until your case is resolved.”

“My wife placed this orange in my bag. It will help quench your thirst. I’m not pleased to see you in this condition. Don’t forget me when you return to your position. Goodbye.”

When Doctor Ahmadi approached, Jafar felt threatened and quickly sat up on the bed, as if he had regained his lost strength. Ahmadi instinctively took a step back and clutched his right arm, which still ached from the blow he had received during his previous visit. The pain intensified with his rubbing, discouraging him from getting closer to Jafar. Jafar wasn’t prepared to attack again. There was no strength left in his body to defend himself. But Ahmadi did not know this, and Jafar, sensing Ahmadi’s hesitation, found his getaway in his threat. “Stop pretending, Ahmadi. Even the prison walls shout your fame. If you don’t leave my cell now while you still have the chance, I’ll be the last man you’ll see in your pitiful life.”

He picked up his weighty leather bag and opened it. As he reached inside, he continued:

He placed the orange on the table and walked out the door without waiting for a response. Jafar let out a hot breath. His gaze shifted from the door to the orange resting on the table. In that yellow and gray room, the orange’s color disrupted the harmony of the scene, much like an errant stroke on a painter’s canvas. Jafar rose from his seat and reached for the orange. There was no harm in smelling the fruit. He held it to his nose and took a deep breath. Suddenly, he found himself in the gardens of the south of Iran. The sun was gentle, the breeze kind, and the trees generous. He dug his fingernail into the orange’s peel. The juice moistened his skin, and its fragrance intoxicated him. He envisioned his family dwelling in the garden house, himself seated on the porch. The sounds of children, the bustling kitchen and the singing birds seemed almost within reach, beyond the door and walls of his cell.

Jafar’s roar clearly shook Ahmadi, who perceived the continuation of this standoff He rethought the question that had as a risk to his life. After a few moments, crossed his mind earlier: What might be his last meal? Would he accept this fruit, gifted Doctor Ahmadi mumbled: by death in the guise of a doctor, so that

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his final experience in this world would be the taste of an orange? Or would he opt for the gradual decline of his physical strength, declining any offer, so that in the next visit of Ahmadi, when he could no longer sit, he would suffer the same fate through a direct injection? His life in exchange for an orange, or his life for nothing? He laughed, opened the orange, and placed two slices in his mouth. It tasted sweet. “I wish it were sour,” he thought, but the deed was done, and his dissatisfaction could lead nowhere. He set the remainder of the orange aside and sank back onto the bed.

*Jafar Qoli Khan Bakhtiari, the war minister of Reza Shah’s government in Iran, died in Qasr prison in 1935. Doctor Ahmadi documented the cause of his death as a heart attack on his death certificate. *Ahmad Ahmadi, known as Doctor Ahmadi, was found guilty of multiple deaths and later sentenced to death. He was hanged in October 1944.

POEM

Unlove song let me sing you a song of a pythia: spun in the house of gods drunk on the wine of sweet vanity dressed up in her own blood how she failed against all the odds got punished with sudden clarity then I’ll sing of a sacred prophecy told as a joke of devotion in a rushed whisper stolen— with a spell of heart so addicting still stolen then cruelly twisted *** for thousand moons wanders in vain blessed with a gift of special pain beware the touch beware the eyes beware the lips beware the— Gods of Love, it’s not you I fear please tear out my heart and feed it to anyone really

poem by Kristina Shatokhina illustrated José Fernandes Maia

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S H O R T S T O R Y

Farewell to Fermi Power hums gently on the other side of the cabin plates as I swim through the fluid that fills the corridors and modules of the station. Technically, my shift doesn’t start for another hour or so, but I like to be hands-on with my assignment; it is, after all, part of the most valuable project in the history of the galaxy. I’m not the only one assigned to this task, of course, but I am the only one crewing my particular station, and my task is essential. Mine is the last line of defence against stray radio signals that might otherwise alert the Observed to the presence of the Interstellar Union. Long ago, when we first left our home planet and took to the stars, it was not long before we encountered other intelligent species. Those first years were rife with tensions and recriminations, sometimes escalating to that most hideous atrocity – war. Over time, we learnt the hard way that the path of cooperation, equity, and unity was the only thing worth calling civilisation, in the face of our baser impulses and those charlatans willing to abuse them for personal gain. Yet, a problem emerged: over time, some of those hard won lessons were forgotten, and charlatans returned to sow discord and division in the hopes of living like kings among peasants, rather than accept the mutual well-being of all. So, a project was undertaken: one planet suitable for life was singled out, and life there was given a small push. It would be isolated, not permitted to join the Union, but carefully observed and the goings-on of its peoples streamed across the Union, and therefore serve as an example of what happens in societies that do

Farewell to Fermi

by Jack Moller

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not benefit from cooperation like we do. The first round was actually a bit of a failure, with the life that evolved failing to form any substantially complex social structures in spite of their sentience. This was quickly rectified with a swift re–terraforming by mass–driver, and the second round would prove successful, with the local species that emerged eventually going on to form all kinds of social structures. Before this stage had been reached, there had been naysayers who said the project was risky, that if the life that evolved did not, in fact, proceed to war with each other and found a way to sustainably cooperate on a single planet, it would send the exact opposite message to those who might be considering striking out on their own. Of course, this could simply be countered by claiming that this showed how natural and innate the drive to cooperate is in all life. Fortunately, the skeptics needn’t have worried: the dominant sentient life form turned out to be appropriately vicious. The integrity of the great Interstellar Union was thus ensured, much to the delight of most people, and the entertainment of many more. Personally, some from my planet had hoped that the species that reached dominance would be more like us, but it was ultimately agreed that fellow cephalopods would be a less effective example for the Union. These hairless monkeys I was tasked with keeping in the dark on the other hand – now they were psychotic enough to dissuade any of the Union’s constituents from thinking about striking out on their own! I slide my tentacles across the control panel, and get to work, for the good of the Union.

VIDEO G EA SM SE AYREVIEW

THIS IS THE SECOND MOST TRAGIC THING TO HAPPEN IN MY LIFE or: DID I DO THE RIGHT THING? A Praising Glance at Austin Jorgensen’s LISA: The RPG

LISA is an interesting case. A game that many people are unaware of, yet the people that are indeed aware of it, seem loyally devoted to it – very much so. Often described as the ‘journey of a broken man’, LISA is a tiny game that speaks of gigantic themes.

Produced by no other than Dingaling Productions – the name surely speaks for itself – LISA pulls you into a bizarre, absurd, ruthless world, where the apocalypse is at its peak. Or rather, seemingly at its peak. The glimmer of hope for a world that seems long lost and abandoned is embodied by the last girl on earth, who happens to be found by Brad Armstrong. Brad, an overweight, depressed and balding man, haunted by the suicide of his younger sister and tormented by the scars an abusive father has left him with, is anything but a good person in a womanless world. Womanless? Right. You see, after an event that the characters refer to as The White Flash, all women have been magically eradicated. Sounds about apocalyptic. Following this premise, it is not only

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surprising to Brad, but also to us, the players, when he suddenly stumbles upon a little baby girl. Giving her the, more or less appropriate, name Buddy, Brad decides to raise the baby as his own, protecting her from the (literally) maledominated outside world. It is without doubt that he is therefore dooming not only humanity’s chance at reproduction, but also at developing a future at all. After all, the world of LISA is one that is devoid of women. And women are surely nothing but a mere tool for reproduction. Or are they? The premise of the game might lead some to think that the world of LISA is a fertile ground for an on-the-nose, misogynistic story – I myself felt that apprehension before playing. A landscape filled to the brim with perverted, violent men, hopeless for the future? An overdose of extremely masculine activities (wrestling, forming a Men’s Hair Club, using pornographic magazines as the main currency…) and no women in sight? Give me a break. While such an apprehension is entirely understandable, let me assure you of the following: LISA never glorifies or celebrates misogyny in any way. I would argue that LISA offers commentary on how destructive misogyny can be and how the concept of toxic masculinity is not only damaging to the ones that it concerns, but also to society at large. This game exclusively portrays sexism and misogyny as nothing but what these phenomena actually are: disgusting, yes, but most of all

V I D E O G A ME REVIEW

harmful. And it does so very subtly. Indeed, LISA uses its unusual premise to, satirically and humorously, give us insight into what sort of extremes unhealthy forms of masculinity can reach. And not only that. With the help of its ambivalence, nuance and brilliant writing, LISA shines an exposing light on various, momentous themes, such as trauma, parenthood and the undeniably human desire to make things right. Such is the beginning and end of LISA’s story, not just for the protagonist, but also for the player. Among the endurance of hardships and hurt, will Brad - but most importantly, will we – be capable of doing the right thing? There are good reasons why this game has earned a place in the golden hall of RPG Maker games. Equipped with a strong, coherent story, fun character designs, a phenomenal, eclectic soundtrack and an engaging gameplay experience, LISA could very easily be the first in line

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for the best RPG Maker Game title, as of now. What makes LISA such an important experience is not only the story it presents, but also the way it does so. In this game, you will face consequences. Repeatedly. The fact that this is achieved through gameplay, instead of mere cutscenes, makes this work of fiction all the more impactful. You will constantly have to change your strategy, adapt to new playstyles, get used to new companions and make extremely significant choices, which will keep the gameplay fresh and engaging at all times. The intertwined genres of the game only add to the freshness of the gameplay. You will experience combat, you will experience exploration, and you will be seeing comedy and tragedy simultaneously, while also being confronted with horror and action. This balance is what prevents LISA from being dull misery porn – it is a game with extreme self-awareness, allowing the player to have moments of laughter and ease every now and then, to make you cope with what’s happening. You will witness Brad’s upbringing; familiarising yourself with the abuse he suffered at the hands of his father, which resulted in his addiction to alcohol and Joy; the latter being a drug that makes you feel nothing.

And of course, you will see how he desperately tries to be a better father to Buddy than his father ever was to him or his sister. Trying to do the right thing, somehow attempting to put a band aid over the guilt he feels for his sibling’s suicide. It’s all pretty grim, sure. But there’s also a character named Bernard Buttfart. And there’s a part in the game, where a long way up merely leads to a statue of a huge middle finger. There’s also a group of people in-game who worship a fast food chain. You’ll also mistake a gasoline bucket for a water bucket, which results in you accidentally burning a whole orphanage. Will the meshing of the upsetting themes with comedic, wacky elements work for everybody? Certainly not. LISA is not a game that is easy to recommend and it definitely isn’t everybody’s cup of tea. But experiencing it just for the sake of seeing something so unique is surely worth your time. Or not. All in all, LISA is a cathartic game and it is most definitely a worthy one. By the end of it, you will be unclogging eleos and phobos in its most aristotelian sense possible. PS.: While it’s not explicitly stated, the game is best experienced after playing LISA: The First. Its atmosphere, symbolism and haunting content are key to create an even deeper understanding of Brad’s character. Also…who’s Lisa even? by Sofia Miller

“

SOUP’S ON,”

BABY!

POEM

T he Hollow King by Davide Di Ronco

There once was a king who had it all, mountain ranges n’ castles stood tall. yet his soul carried a heavy sigh, as his heart weighed heaviest at night. and it kept on wondering why it had been aching for a while. Castles claimed, kingdoms grown, yet the sweetness of home remained unknown. With tales of glory and power's might, he filled his days and ruled the night. Yet, a question lingered in his mind, why did his kingdom not feel aligned? In the echoes of his heart's lament, a thousand wars and tears were spent. Yet amidst the glories that he could see, he questioned why his heart felt far from free. He pondered why he yearned for more when he could have riches galore. In pursuit of conquest, his heart did roam, yet love's sweet feeling remained unknown. In the hollow of his kingly chest, his heart yearned for a peaceful nest. A woman, like a home so dear, a refuge in a world of fear, “I've won every battle, yet lost the war, felt like I had a home no more. Now I have no place left to leave, no place to roam, no place left to grieve, my heart longing for home.”

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A dream The king, in his tower, surrounded yet alone, longing for a heart that echoed his own. It cares not for power or name; it yearns for a love that burns the same. Yet the heart has its own mind, it has not forgotten time. Memories of her laughter dance through halls, like sunlight painting walls. Then she appeared, like a maroon ray breaking through twilight's gray, Sweeping the days filled with nothing but dismay. She looked into his eyes, saw the man beneath the crown, In her, the king found understanding, in her gaze, he did not drown. “The possibility of you would spark anew a thousand wars inside of me, yet beat any reality with someone else. So let from it emerge an endless search for torment toil and trouble.”

Now I see her in everything In nature's beauty, I saw her grace, in trees, in skies, in every wondrous place. Her memory lingered in each sunset, in every star that night beset. I chased her smile, now just a gleam, in every landscape, and every dream. In every nook, her essence breathed, in melody and art, where hopes are weaved. Now I dedicate my silence to you, lost you in the tumult of my heart, every passing second is tearing me apart. Her eyes, the windows to a boundless sky, where dreams and hopes in quiet splendour lie. now I chase sunsets to remember her by...