A format mistake
opens to etymologies new and false.
This is no matter of State,
the state of things being matter,
peoples and nations.
Combinations of figures,
figuratively configured
in deeper imaginations.
Be it Mont Blanc, Plato’s cave,
a haunted house or an armchair,
these lines project shadows, thin air,
cautious delineations of uncomplete projects.
Images on images, not yet imagined,
not fully consciously integrated,
form not forms, not shapes, but lines,
thoroughly forming nations.
By Natalia Messmer
Until recently I was a fan of typical “women” series such as Desperate Housewives and Grey’s Anatomy. Yet a couple of months ago I joined my husband when he started to watch new series on cable TV. The first episode was quite shocking and I was not sure I wanted to see another one: there were crime scenes with lots of blood and a young creepy forensic technician who looked pretty much excited when it came to blood pattern analysis. However, that was the first impression. After the third episode all I wanted was more of Dexter.
By Alan Mattli
WARNING: This review contains major spoilers.
Continue reading “Review: “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child””
By Gabriel Renggli
There’s a tall building. Some people live at the top. Some at the bottom. Do you get it?
If you don’t get it, don’t worry, director Ben Wheatley has you covered. Before long, the people at the top will dress up as French aristocrats for a party (and where’s a guillotine when you need one?). If that’s still too cryptic for you, there’s an excerpt, at the very end of the film, from an actual speech by the Iron Lady. Which is silly, because very few people will be moved by this of all films to exclaim in genuine surprise: “You know, I think Thatcher may actually have been wrong! Well, I never!”
by IlluminatedToast
Jump! Jump! Jump!
The crowd shouted rhythmically.
Jump! Jump! Jump!
The ultimate freak show, nationally televised every other Sunday, was always well attended. Ticket prices had been persistently too high. Still the event would sell out within minutes after tickets went up for sale as would the official logo jerseys – black, anthropomorphic shape, limbs sticking out at unusual angles, on red ground.
Jump! Jump! Jump!
The ultimate freak had never backed out in the history of the event, despite contractual obligation stipulating the inclusion of such an option. Nobody really understood the reasons behind the existence of such a clause. Insurance purposes were most frequently speculated about whenever the topic was brought up in conversation which on the whole only very rarely happened. After all, the ultimate freak had never backed out.
Jump! Jump! Jump!
Standing high up on the highway overpass, the ultimate freak would often remain still for a moment, look down, and sway a little before ending the show to the swelling clamour of the crowd; releasing people to buy spicy, roasted MisteriMeatz-on-Stixx – usually something cloven-hoofed; or, as annually resurfacing rumour had it, anything that had crawled close enough to the site to die. Continue reading “Flight (Ultimate Freak Show)”
a word that reekly strikes admits no nay
it touches every bundle in the wood
the cortex of life the core text of man
coral is far more red than her lips’ red
it vexes t’wards th’aporia block in stock
contiguous entities share no unity
but that exposed forbidden liaison
of form reformed from frames unfreed
unmasking the danger betwixt the metaphor
which seems the only figure on the ground
elevating but for saliences but for silences
of an underscored aphasia
something missing
quoth the peremptory adventurer!
whom did you see did you enjoy whom?
what is missing now what is lacking
in the time you think you need a blast
come again my gentle folk sing
about the myths in ancient greece
I forgot I forgot forgotten
lines of black cars darkened men
aligned by them light and vanished by time
forgot I, I, I guess I
forgot also procedural understandings
of how this alienated language works
never have I ever understood
never have I ever truly dreamed
to understand or even thought of mastering
my thought
belief drags me always on
certainty that all these maddened bloody corpses
unbodied by coarse actions engendered now
on virgin sheets on feeble stains on
and away, on on the lawn of today
by IlluminatedToast
Your voice is not representative or relatable.
Real writers can do that. You shouldn’t.
You sound like a character in a postmodern novel.
You can’t write about emotions. You don’t understand them.
If you have to make it public, it becomes a dishonest and selfish cry for attention.
Nobody is interested.
Keep it short.
Shorter.
Don’t be silly.
I did not read your answer.
I don’t care.
tl;dr
I am not a good writer.
I am not even average.
Everybody can do it. Why should I?
Nobody is interested. Nobody cares.
It’s pointless. It won’t do any good to anybody.
I don’t have anything to say.
STOP
You have stopped writing for this student newspaper quite a while ago. You have stopped writing altogether. It was probably the single most stupid thing you have ever done and, as the person who regularly swims out too far, gets lost in the woods at least once a month and who once tried to sell her baby brother to her childless neighbours, I can safely say that you have done your fair share of stupid things. Continue reading “Write!”
Disclaimer: this text is not an academic treatise of a serious topic. So, if you complain about emotional and unreasonable arguing – “lavabo in innocentia manus meas”! Continue reading “The Self-Involved Talker”
By Raph al Guul
Despite my own departure from the group last summer, I will always have a soft spot in my heart for The Blueprint Masquerades; this is why this review, even more so than any other, could never be at all above suspicion of personal bias. But in the past years, no one has taken the time to review the premiere of The Blueprint Masquerades’ productions and so I will take this heavy duty upon myself as I finally have some distance from the very heart of their production cycles.
Continue reading “Review: “The Tempest” by The Blueprint Masquerades”
lulled in an awe i feel
an unsubstantiated presence
now manifest.
i recollect myself and recollect
the point of referentiality
triggering unordinary calmness.
wishing the Wished
wished the Wishing
augury of bonds so distant from
everything
that can be produced.
this lull remains
and there it stays
retrieved by unretrievable unfactual
knots.
The Zurich English Student 