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End of Times | Spring 2025
Light reading for a dark era
No. 1, Spring 2025
The ‘zine is printed with a Risograph printer, and the inks used are black and neon pink on a cream paper. The header reading ‘End of Times’ is in a newspaper-y font, nodding to the ‘zines satirical nature. There are some pink flowers that underline the newspaper header.
Page One
In This Issue:
Analog memes
Book report
Poetry corner
Comics
Flower seeds
A Note from the Editor:
All the poems and art and writing in this issue are mine. I hope you like them. No worries if not. I love collaborating with artists and writers! If you want to contribute, get at me. - Jenny, itsjenny.ca
Ode to: Rainy Day Activities
A transparent pink cloud floats as backdrop to the article title.
Gaming: Stardew Valley, five stars. Sims 3, four stars. Hades 2, five stars.
An illustrated steam deck in chunky marker is pictured with a photographic image of the opening title card for the game ‘stardew valley’ collaged onto the screen.
Sprouts: Starting seeds inside, four stars. Guerilla Gardening, five stars.
A terracotta pot with a sprout growing out its soil is pictured, over top of the illustration a small plastic ziploc bag is stapled to the zine itself, inside are wildflower seeds native to the Pacific Northwest area.
The Library: Romanticizing Life Admin, three stars. Check out a new book, four stars. Reading reddit drama while pretending to study, five stars
A woman wearing glasses and headphones studies peacefully behind a stack of unread books.
Page Two
How to: Cope with Social Media Withdrawal
Say no to endless trolls & scrolls!
Watercolour drawings of scissors, tape, a marker, and arms inserted into a long paper loop are illustrated in a naive style, and sit alongside the directions for a cut out activity in a haphazard way, each illustration demonstrates the step indicated.
Cut along the dotted line
Use pen to comment on memes (optional), use tape to create a paper loop, memes facing out
Insert your arms into the loop
Turn your arms around each other to create an endless feed.
The cutout loop imitates an instagram social media feed, fake ‘handles’ sit above photographic collaged meme images, followed by empty comment bubbles underneath that readers could fill in themselves. The scroll of memes reads as follows:
@periodhumours
A painting of a woman from the baroque age sits on a chair in an opulent light colored dress with her hand placed on her head in a dive-esque stressed out manner, her eyes stare slightly toward the ground, dissociating. Two OB brand unused tampons have been collaged on top of the image, the larger has text on it: “when thou drops a clot in thine springtime finery”
@earthsgold
A photograph of a box of foraged Chanterelle mushrooms is held up for admiration, behind the edge of the box, a forests edge -where the mushrooms were foraged from- can be seen.
@nowastekween
A photocollage of a parmesan cheese shaker (the glass kind you find in italian restaurants and pizza places) shakes birthday cake sprinkles into a serene MCM tiled bathtub. Magazine letters are collaged onto the image that read: “Use expired pantry items to create aesthetic bathtime”
@cheetosteryl
Feathers McGraw, the penguin villain, from Wallace and Gromit is pictured looking at himself in the mirror. He is wearing a latex glove on his head to make him look like a chicken.
@welfness
A collaged photo of ‘Legolas’ from Peter Jackson’s “The Lord of The Rings” is pictured wearing a soft hoodie with a drawing of a frog touching his toes on it while a cup of tea sits nearby, above the frog the sweater reads “elf care”.
Page Three
Book Report: Circe by Madeline Miller
A photo ‘cut-out’ of the figure Circe from John William Waterhouse’s painting of the same name appears in the background of the article. A tall woman in a loose dress looks at her reflection as she pours water from a broad shallow dish. The water falls in a stream and pools by her bare feet.
When was the last time a book made you want to dig your hands into the earth? For me, it was Circe. In this novel, Madeline Miller weaves the tale of the titular nymph, paying gentle homage to the epic form by telling the entire tale of Circe’s life. Despite Circe being born among gods, she’s distinctly relatable: overlooked by her parents in favor of her more shiny siblings, Circe haunts the halls of her sun-god father’s palace, obedient, longing for love, and dodging constant the slights and bullying of her family. In seeking company outside the palace, she falls for a mortal and orchestrates godhood for him, only to be rejected for a more beautiful nymph when he joins the house of her family. Heartbroken and furious, she enacts her revenge and is punished for it: banished to solitude on Aiaia.
On the isle of Aiaia, Circe learns to live on her own. While her immortality and her modest-for-the-gods-generous-for-a-mortal homestead provides all she needs - Circe begins to carve a meaningful life for herself, delving deeper into her power and shaping her life intentionally. She creates companions, meets lovers, and devises protection for herself from mortals and gods who might try and take advantage of her situation. It’s on Aiaia that Circe gathers around herself, thinking deeply and turning over questions about love, justice, and craft.
Circe’s craft is that of transformation magic, and her power comes from the earth. To pursue it, she becomes an expert forager, gardener, cultivator, and brewer. Her shelves of reagents, herbs, and rare substances and the journey she endures to obtain them are poetically woven into the wisdom of how she directs her power. It’s through the practice and nurturing of her craft she is able to grow her power, accept her life, and see herself as worthy of love and freedom.
Miller’s portrait of Circe is a brilliant rendering of womanhood in all its multitudes from the feral exhaustion of dealing with men and motherhood to the labour of craft and relationships. Her journey is as deserving of our attention as the Greek heroes whose stories she is often exiled to the margins of.
Page Four
Comics: Sirens
A two panel comic drawn in a sketchy style with pen and ink features a Siren, texting while sitting on a tree limb. In the first panel we see the Siren, sitting cross legged on a thick limb of a tree, her taloned feet dangling, relaxed. She has long black hair, parted in the middle, with a hair clip keeping each side neatly parted. She has dark lipstick, and her expression as she looks down at her phone is sarcastic and full of mischief. She uses her long feathered fingers to hold cell phone, the standard black rectangular device. We are looking up at her, as if spying on a private moment, through the trees rich bouquets of large oval leaves. In the second panel we look from her perspective, seeing her feathered hands ready to text, holding the phone. The phone screen reveals a conversation she has been having: She says: “I’m Bored” and her friend has responded: “want to go lure some sailors to their deaths?” She replies, “Sure. Meet at that one branch” Then her friend says: “Cool. OMG lol, the guy tied to the mast is back - Odysseus?” She replies, sharing her feelings about the mythical king of Ithaca: “lol, such a dickhead."
Under the comic, is another photo cut out image from a John William Waterhouse painting, this one features a siren who looks like a crow with the large head of a woman with hair neatly pulled into a braided low bun.
Poetry Corner: Sea Rye Sing
Sea Rye Sing
One day there will be nothing, or, scratch that
One day there will be nothing left
of us.
Some things will survive, maybe green things? Maybe slug things?
Or, more likely, creatures deep. Sheltered by bony carapace.
I am not like this, I live exposed on the surface.
“The seas are RISING” I say out loud. An example.
“RIZZING” My student says back to me, triumphant.
“RYE-SING” I call back.
In truth, I don’t believe in correcting pronunciation,
but I am not paid for my belief in everyone being a flexible listener.
“SEA-RYE-SING”
I need something to do with this thought,
my worries,
I get home late on the bus. I make bread.
In the morning, before it’s light,
I check the dough:
it’s swollen. See? Rising.
I shape the dough into a globe,
and bake it in the oven until the surface cracks and bubbles,
a deep brown crust.
When it was soft, pale and alive,
It was millions of tiny mouths digesting.
What is left of them are cryptic hollows of air.
Hollows that sing when they are pulled from the heat.