LETTER FROM THE EDITOR.

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

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

teaching at Stevens Institute of Technology.

STAFFexecutive board

minor board

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

head of layout - stephen vargaschief artistic editor - uliana dorogokupetschief writing editor - joe brosnanwebmaster - olivia martindaledistribution - gabriella green

Dear Readers,

I’m making this one brief! I want to start off by mentioning this semester’s theme, “Stuck in Time”,

which attracted many different perspectives in forms of both writing and photos. The submissions

showed the genuine talent of all of our contributors, and it was the most successful of our themed

sections so far! I sincerely hope you enjoy looking through it.

The Iron Artist section is back for its second semester! I am writing this before Iron Artist this

semester, but am looking forward to another fun and successful event! I would like to thank Art

Installations Club for their help with the event this semester. They were a large part in the effort to

make this event even more professional and as similar to the real Iron Chef as possible by offering to

film the event and stream it live as it happens!

My piece in this magazine, “Degrees of Freedom”, represents the scope of options that people have

to choose from every moment of their lives. These decisions represent the right to choose our own

paths and there’s ultimately nothing anyone else can do in that moment. The spectrum of these choices

I chose to represent by a series of antonyms ending and beginning each line in the poem, the moment

of hesitation. I chose to represent these choices by a series of antonyms bridging the gap between each

line.

Lastly, I would like to thank Student Life, the judges of the Iron Artist competition, Professor Moriarty,

Dr. Digrius, and Professor Vinsel, and the newest members of RedShift for their help on the Fall 2013

magazine! I’m so happy to have new ideas and perspective on the layout and design of the magazine.

Have a great holiday, everyone. See you in 2014!

Halie J. Holmes

contact info:redshift.submit@gmail.com

Sincerely,

CONTENTSCONTENTS

32

Find Me Some Justice Teja Jonnalagadda

Make haste towards my dark abode.Stand quiet with little hands in tow.The patter of unscathed flesh upon stone floor,Cracking and stomping beyond my door.

Promise of joy and sweet tidings for all.Not a whisper of question throughout the crawl,Sugar and spice brings laughter and squeal,While each young mind is enamored with zeal.

My stomach churns at the uncanny sound,Little feet guided swiftly upon the ground.The loyal giggle as they guide the march,Inching closer till sweeping under my with-ered arch.

Inviting snarl, the trigger of fearNumerous ruddy cheeks made pallid by tearsMake haste towards my dark abode.Stand quiet with more little hands in tow.

- Kyria Johnson

Fairy’s March

Jaclyn Knori

54

Look across at what stressRelief brings you to the other side.Main events swim past,Futures calling them as the other side calls.Ignore the temptation to cross,Parallel to other pathways,Closed to the successiveSporatic flow of traffic.

Degrees of Freedom From the highest mountainI heard the bear-man cry.

I could not see what plauged himAnd I, too scared, to help,

Waited for the wails to pass.The crying dimmed to moaning;

The moaning dimmed to groaning;And finally, the silence came.

I climbed the highest mountain,But no man-bear did I see;

But there stood the shining shade,Finally invisible,

Finally to see.

A Shining Shade

Jaclyn Knori

- Halie Holmes- Philip Barresi

76

amigo, amigaI don’t know

why a change in vowelsconstitutes a change in gender

or how wearing skinny jeansis so girly

yet so manlyat the same time

don’t get me started on hairbecause I’m either a coffee shop hipster

or a K-popper with metro airI don’t care

but I docall me he

not that I’ve anything against shedown with the patriarchy!and fuck social construct

I just want to strutpretty boy me

down the streetso flamboyantly

without being catcalledwithout fitting a standardhaven’t you ever heardof going with the flow

much less respect to showwe can blame precomposed dispositions

but how difficult is it to listenafter repeated exposureto oppressed resonance

Indifferent Aggression

- Sean N. BalanonKorey Edwards

98

Weeping Angel Noelle Scanno Blue Gabriella Green Reflux Kangyi Zeng

Jaclyn Knori

1110

I had been fed up with the way school and society ran things for a long long time. So one day, I didn’t get up out of bed, and things were never the same. The doctors don’t know how to describe what happened to me. One psychiatrist described it as a nervous breakdown, but that doesn’t cover the full un-derstanding I had going in. Another wondered if per-haps I wasn’t suffering from delusions, or post-trau-matic stress disorder; admittedly, there were reasons to suspect the latter, but I won’t go into them. What I call it is “memory sickness” – a peculiar disease that affects those acutely sensitive to the passage of time, where the mind is locked in a certain place and can’t escape for hours or days on end.

I remember lying in bed, unable to do so much as reach over to my laptop and pause the jazz music that woke me up every morning. Usually I enjoyed the col-orful cacophony, a prelude to a day of adventure and friendship. Today it was just distracting – Distracting from what? From lying here crying into your pillow? Pull it together, man!

“I enjoyed the colorful

cacopho-ney”

Dilation by Andrew Quinn

I don’t want to pull it together, “man.” I want to lie here and let out all the pain that’s been filtered through the fine coffee grounds of my ever-developing personal morality. People have been telling me to keep it together for seventeen years. I’m sick of it. But you have to go to class. Oh, really?

So I stayed there, huddled up on my ratty mattress, breathing the same furnished basement air that I had lived in since I was five. I felt safer under the quilts – I don’t know why, I didn’t have anything in particular to be afraid of. And for five hours, punctuated by the occasional worried visit from my parents, I relived every awkward moment I could remember in stark detail, yes, I remembered the first time I made a friend, the first time a girl asked me out, the first time I told a teacher I didn’t like their methodology, the first time a guy asked me out, the first time I failed a test because I employed the wrong studying methodology, the first time I lost a friend, the first time I really questioned my sexuality, the first time it finally made sense why people could feel so betrayed by kissing the wrong person.

Well, it’s always awkward your first time. But for a first time missing classes because I couldn’t bring myself to face this absurd, cruel world, I did a surprisingly good job. So good, in fact, that I repeated the performance for nine months, and returned like Ulysses harmed and forgotten by all but the most loyal friends, but still, at heart, a wise and cunning king of men.

...cont’d

“Well, it’s al-ways awk-ward your first time. “

Korey Edwards

Back To The Basics | Ecclesiastes 12:1 Samuel Thomas

1312

Time apart is time to heal.A wasted year,

Full of hope and betrayal.Star-crossed lovers perhaps?

No, something more…A friendship forged in the hottest heat;A fire that could never be extinguished.

In life and in death,In sadness and in hope:

I was there. You were there.The world was safe.This world was safe.

By The Pale Moonlight

by David Adam Perez

“A fire that could never be

extinguished.”

But now the bandage is used and crude,Your decisions are the ones that, Split our once strong bond;A wooden stake through a California Redwood.Severed cells and splinters fly in every direction,And now you paint me as the lumberjack.When all I wanted was to never fall.When all we wanted was to never fall.

So now your life is set.You chose the world over safety.I commend you, I respect you,But you and I are far from done.The ebb and flow of our worlds are not so different…You and I are the sun and Moon.And we only exist,By the pale moonlight.

Un

titled

Da

vid J. D

’Ag

ostin

o

Foggy Cityscape Josue Robles

The city lights paint a tapestry on the river;Faraway lights shimmer, applauding.

- Nicholas Choi

Nighttime

1514

“Photography takes an instant out of

time, altering life by holding it still.”

- Dorothea Lange

Teja Jonnalagadda

10th Doctor - David Tennant Kyle Dekarski

10th

Do

cto

r -

Da

vid

Te

nn

an

tKy

le D

eka

rski

A myriad of gilded gears encased.Indicating hours, circle hands of time.Both hands pointing up, hear the church bells chime.Function, beauty and design interlaced.

Tethered to time, restless tourbillons spin,Protecting time from gravity’s effects.What a mind that invents things so complex.What hands construct intricacies within.

Complications

- Benjamin Jepsen

1716

Na

viga

ting

Thro

ug

h Tim

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livia M

artin

da

le

The Middle of Past and Future Dana DeSantis

Buried AliveTimeby Kyle Dekarski

Time: the endless abyss, the final frontier,That mystical ocean that we can never get near.We see it as our home, we see it as something to fear.It is the invisible wall that cloaks all we hold dear,The actor that always fills us with cheer,For those who are willing and able, show.

It dances majestically across all we can see.It is the flawless assassin, the rowdy young child, The angels and demons that enter from night. You come without warning, you pilfer and plight,You give us a fright when it’s perfectly right.You grow with each lesson, never ceasing to thrive in the universeWhere nothing truly seems to keel over and die.You make men wonder, make them cry,Keep them captive until it’s their time to die.

However, you are not all evil; you are also quite kind. You bring us good tidings, and bring us new life.You waver for no one, you teach no despair,For your only option is to keep all life fair.You try your best to keep up the light,But sometimes get tired and have to say goodnight.

But, do not fret this is only a temporary darkness, For those who see the heavenly light, Know that good tidings will soon come upon us.So what does Time do, does it act on its own, Can anyone claim it to be all their own?From what I can see Time is free, No master, no teacher, or shackled down knee.You flow on your own, no man can control thee.

You shake the heavens, make oceans erode, You cause kingdoms to fall and ancients to flee,Not even the gods can touch unto thee.Power unlimited, you’re as unpredictable as flame.Burning our cities and shifting the blame.With power almighty is there really no limit to what you can do, or even admit it. For some-times it seems that even you have your limits,And that’s when it feels like nothing will finish, That Time has gone stagnant, immobilized, And forgotten by those who reside in it.

Though you are not here now,I know you are there, you always come backIt’s never a permanent fair.But until then take care,And I will resideIn the time forgottenBy these blinded eyes.

Motionless, thoughtless, trapped in this hole,Confusion vacating into this hole, smothering me with anxiety,My breath is starting to take a toll.

Why am I the one in this ditch?Trying to find a path, trying to find a glitch,Is there any explanation, any reason?Did I do something? Violence, greed, treason?

The confusion is not letting up,Filling up this hole like a cup,

Non-stopping, everlasting.

Then there was a pause,Suddenly a flash of light arose,A rope had flung down with no cause,Climbing up blindly to where it goes.

Pulled myself up to see the light of dawn,But at the end of the maze,The clear path was gone.

- Guido Porcelli

1918

Berli

n B

ike

Pa

th U

lian

a D

oro

go

kup

ets

This September looks so different from the lastTwelve whole months have passed

As time tends to doWhen least convenient

I think she has my sweatshirts still

And now my full attentionTen weeks to the day

What’s a guy to sayWhen he’s already said too much

The Post-It Poem

by Thomas DiMeo

And in four days, twelve months becomes a yearI’ve ruined it all my dear, dear, friendBut this is not the endWe’ve still got time Time to laugh, time to longTime for me to write a songOr at least cover a few But even Gatsby couldn’t pull it offAnd I’m less than half the manI’m all out of plansAll out of time.

Clockwise Top LeftTime Honored

Allison DumandanNo Title

Sean N. BalanonPause and Replay

Dana DeSantis

2120

Amsterdam Canals Uliana Dorogokupets

Yet soft, those eyes that burned into mine And set asunderMy wistless blunder. Those eyes I perused With so much tenacity I thought myself amused with new muse.

I knew the case of it all -I saw the Underlying, foreshadowing, premonitionIn those eyes that rocked my Soul like waves upon the shore.

But all I could think ofWas the fantasyI saw in my mind’s eye,That aura that wafted off that bodyLike mustard-gas swallowing every manIn no man’s land while every man soughtDying breath whilst in their trench.

Grasping at air, fighting for life And country and life.And yet I stood there, Gazing into those beautiful, wonderful,Awe-inspiring and fantasticalEyes.

Brunette or blonde or red or black or blue or white.That hair that flowed from on highCaused a high that raised my low.

Raised me, pulled and grabbed as highAs the altitude those eyes bring me to,As my wings catch flight, trying to riseInto the great heights of her beauty – Only to plunge into the depths of herEyes.

And as the gravel slowly grows and multiplies Into mound on greater moundI look into those eyes as the last time,For at last it is the last.And as my hands tremble, shovelingGravel on those eyes, my soul dies.My soul dies. My soul dies. My soul dies.

Yet Softby Rob Ranalli

Small Town in Deutschland Uliana Dorogokupets

Jaclyn Knori

2322

Be Still | Psalm 46:10 Samuel Thomas

Lifelineby Joseph A.BrosnanAmidst my life of roaring waves, I have but merely one lifeline. She’s a mighty ship, though she doesn’t look it, far out beyond where I can see. I couldn’t tell you where she is, be it north or south, port or starboard.

But I know she’s there.

I’ve been stranded out here for quite some time, longer than most imagine. The seas are rough, but I can swim them; I am stronger than most. The raging tempests blow around me, typhoons and seas of drowning de-spair. But I can stay afloat; because she is my lifeline.I don’t know how she’s doing most of the time, because I seldom see her. Often, it’s just a light in the night, when the seas are calm and the waves subside. But I’m sure she’s there; that light off in the distance, just beyond the horizon.

Because when I am being blown about by the hurri-canes of day to day life, I know what to do: hug onto that lifeline tightly, and never let her go.Jaclyn Knori

180 Jesus Monegro

2524

IRON ARTIST

2726

Breaking the Negation Chris Chiu

Diamondback Rattlesnake Matthew Daw Clarity | James 1:5 Samuel Thomas

Jaclyn Knori

28