YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO DEAL WITH US, OKAY
We’re really just two kids who don’t know shit
You’ll Just Have To Deal With Us, Okay
We have no idea as to why exactly we created this, but we did. So deal with it. Orignally we we’re gonna make a quaterly zine (small unusual magazine) but seein’ as we are about as disciplined as a rowdy dog with a leg, that never happened. So what the fuck is this right? Well, we decided that we better at least get one issue out before all creativity was lost and Think.Sans was left burning in a stinking heap behind us. Essentially, this solitary zine contains tid bits of people, places, or things that are close to us, or just things we think are rad. And because we don’t want to leave empty handed either, we will shamelessly self promote our own work throughout. Again, deal with it.
mind and find nothing
Daniel Prentice - 3 Whip Photographer - Oscar Fehlberg
Oscar Fehlberg - Cave Man (Photographer - Joel Mackenzie)
Joel Mackenzie - Fuck you (Photographer - Oscar Fehlberg)
Sometimes I write things when im tired Writen by Oscar Fehlberg Illustrations by Justin Achamaer
If Gregory could have a clue, he would. Because he knew that it would lead him
to the water. Whether or not he would drink was not important. It was the journey. Gregory once ate a staple that was in his sisters Pizza and he has still not recovered from this most traumatic experience. He needed to be ﬁxed. He needed a release. An old piece of parchment lay on the ground. Maybe this was what he was looking for. A small light of hope glowed in his eyes. Alas however, it was his sisters Pizza recipe which infact deepened the wound and made him feel light headed. Stumbling, he turned around to his camel Smeloch and groaned. Smeloch slid across the sand to catch Gregory. This was not a good start to his healing.
Once he awoke from dreams of torment, Gregory realised that he needed to leave the kitchen. This mean't leaving Smeloch behind but he had always felt he needed to do this by himself. The walk out of the kitchen was treacherous, but Gregory had done it many times over during his paper route days. Those were the days when staples merely held the pages of his papers together. Alone, Gregory trudged on through the winds of the outside world, dazed by the bright desk lamp that hung in the sky. It called him names. Told him he would never make it. The harsh, unforgiving nature of the land didn't help. It all looked the same. How could he be sure he was not walking in circles. There was no point turning back to a certain death though. The pain was getting sharper and he needed the ﬁx. It was six hours 12 minutes and 43 seconds later that something remarkable happened. By this stage his state of conscieceness was questionable and his
body had withered to almost nothing. He wondered if it was worth it. He could have survived on for days if he had stayed in the kitchen. The wind was picking up and Gregory was getting buffeted around badly. A sudden gust threw him on his back and he stared straight into the glare of the desk lamp. Was this ‘the end?’ he thought. But then. As he drew in what he thought was his last breath, a shadow drew across the light. A dark, mysterious being bent overtop him. It wore a cloak with a hood that concealed its face. Gregory could not feel fear for his senses were numbed by the pain, but the being was not of favourable ora. It spoke to him in words of whisper that Gregory's ears only just picked up. His eyes dilated as if a realisation had hit him and he turned his head to see that less than a kilometre away sas an oasis. He turned back to ask of the beings help, but it was gone with out a trace, just as it had arrived.
One handful of sand and rocks after the other he slowly dragged his limp body further closer to the oasis. He didn't know how his body was still abled, but he worked on. It was not far now and once again a glimmer of hope appeared. The wind across the water of the oasis teased his nose and he worked quicker now. His hands touched the grass on the fringe of the oasis. The ﬁrst real vegetation he had come in contact with since he was much younger. His energy was re-emerging and he could crawl now. The shimmer off the water was entrancing, as now he could see it, in all its turquoise glory. Now only meters away he crawled faster and faster until he stopped abruptly at the waters edge. He looked down and saw his reﬂection. He looked tired and worn. Yet undefeated and digniﬁed. He cupped his hands and placed them in the water. It was cool and refreshing and his heart began to beat for the ﬁrst time today. He spooned up the water to his mouth and drew in a swift gulp. He waited. And still he waited. Nothing. Pain still wrapped his body and
mind. Anger came over him. The strange being had promised the ﬁx was in the water at the oasis. Gregory looked back down at the water and saw that very same pizza that caused him so much pain looking back at him. Laughing, taughnting him. It was too much. The pain was too great. Furious, he raised his ﬁrst to punch through the pizza. His clenched left hand was on its way down as the pizza rippled away into nothing. A catﬁsh bobbed its head up in the pizza's place. Gregory stopped his ﬁst as the catﬁsh spoke in kind words of help. Gregory was upset. How could a catﬁsh help. Gregory said thanks and decided he should try somewhere else. As he turned the catﬁsh lept onto his neck pushing him to the ground and turning him on his back. Terriﬁed, Gregory tried to wrench the catﬁsh off of him. But he was too weak. The catﬁsh made its way quickly up to his face. The pain was the worst it had ever been and the catﬁsh dived at the centre of the source. This is it Gregory thought. This is it. He then vommitted and passed out, his body convulting without consciencness.
Eyes open. Oasis in front. Gregory was seated against a tree overlooking the water. Trying to focus his foggy vision he saw Smelock on the other bank across the water. Confused he looked down and written in the sand was a note from the catﬁsh 'The staple is gone. Your pain is no longer. You are free. The oasis is yours". Gregory smiled and he felt alive. He just kept smiling and shaking his head for days on end. It was over and he was ﬁxed. He was released.
>Olympic Doughnuts - Footscray station
(that fucking dolphin!)
>Yelling: “Spotswood” (or “Spottie”), “Moorabin” or “Donald” in conjunction with “yehhrrr”, “bruz” and “dorg” in the public arena
>’Those Who Make’ Vimeo Channel >Using words that sound right, but are really wrong
>Sleeping in ‘till 11:58 am
>Book - ‘Street Photography Now’
>Giant Anteaters and Sun Fish
>Light-painting photography >Reverse tie dyeing shirts with bleach in the bathroom late at night >Waving at strangers on trams from the sidewalk >Chilled Milo’s
>Luke Thompson Photography >Drinking beer in the shower sitting down with the bath plug in
(This Zine is infallable. Your hair is excruciating)
>Tall glass - crush mint into a sqeeze of lime,1pt brown rum, 1pt dry gin, ice, top with ginger ale
>Hemely Skate Shop
>Hand crafted objects, made in the traditional style
>Random, insane and obscure thoughts
>The swing set glitch in GTA IV
>YouTube Channels - Bragic, PerroPro
Things we like >Things you should check out
Jacob Cruden Photography
Fellow roomate, West Aussie and photographer shows you in which ways he likes to let light glance upon chemical ribbons. ¬Words by Oscar Fehlberg¬
Jacob introduced me to the concept of street photography about a year ago, and to be honest, I was a little confused and underwhelmed. Most people i’ve introduced to the genre since, seem to have felt similar. And fair enough too. Its a weird style at ﬁrst glance, “yeah, you basically wander ‘round taking photos of strangers without their permission.” But when you delve deeper it really is an awesome way of viewing the everyday world around us that we take for granted. Jacob moved to Melbourne at the start of 2012 with the realisation that he needed to get out of the sleepy world of his West Australian home town, Two Rocks, but also with the intentions of persuing study in photography at RMIT. While he’s changed tack and transferred to a business degree, his photograpy work is still in my books, a viewing pleasure. He showed me the ropes of street photography around the hustle and bustle of the big city and documented some great candid moments along the way. Restless feet are now driving desires of travel, and documenting the places he visits with his Leica minilux and rolls of 35mm Portra 400 are now his focus. Here are some of my favourite shots of his from the past year or so. Mostly his Melbourne CBD work, but I had to include his shot of the balinese boy ﬁshin’, as I really like the silky texture of the water and the overall ballance. Drunk Guys In Heaven - Melbourne Jacob Cruden
Fishinâ€™ For Dinner - Bali Jacob Cruden
Business Man - Melbourne Jacob Cruden
Rowdy Bunch - Melbourne (Jacob Cruden)
untitled - Melbourne (Jacob Cruden)
urinal etiquette for the common man ≈ Words and Illustration by Justin Achammer ≈
Restrooms, the Can, the Pisser, seeing a man about a dog; all terms used to describe a safe haven for men alike to take thirty seconds out of their day from nagging partners, children, or mates and to just relax and drain the main vein.
Urinal etiquette is how one acts inside the Can, and is possibly the most important set of unwritten rules in the world and luckily, (thank fuck) it’s normally followed by the majority of men. Notice the term men, and not the term young adult, teen, scallywag, dickhead or some variation of; that’s because generally only men seem to follow these rules. Please note when I say men I mean they’re normally over 25 (albeit some of us mature more quickly than others), with some semblance of a life goal and not some 19-year-old dickhead with a neck tattoo that’s half pissed off 2 or 3 pints and thinks he’s the toughest bloke at the pub. Even though they’re unwritten rules, I’m going to go over them for some of you that are stoked they have there ﬁrst fucking chest hair and who are still confused about it all. Here’s how to go about it; Walk in, ﬁnd empty pisser with at least one space either side, piss, wash hands and then you fucking leave! It’s that simple. You don’t stand there afterwards, you don’t shake it more then three times, you don’t have a conversation with your mate, you don’t admire your vintage cardigan in the mirror and you never, ever take a peak at the bloke next to you! Unfortunately, some of you fail to uphold to this code, thus enforcing an overly unpleasant experience for the rest of us. There is nothing worse then hearing you slur about how you’re talking to this chick but your Centerlink money hasn’t come in so you’re unable to buy her a drink. Or having someone pick the urinal right beside me, WHEN ALL THE OTHERS ARE EMPTY. Not only is this so uncomfortable, more often then not, depending on
proximity, some splash back can occur which basically makes you want to slam their head into the urinal until they stop moving. That’s honestly all there is to urinal etiquette; Don’t ever choose a urinal that’s next to one in use, no matter how bad you need to piss, don’t talk to your mates, and don’t spend a second longer then necessary in the bathroom. Yeah, we get it, its basically a nice quiet area free of all of lifes hassles so do us all a favor and don’t ruin it for the rest of us.
GET A SAVOY
IN YOUR BEER
Also Try Cracked Pepper!
Getting tired of your beer tasting so bland and boring? Sounds like you need to Get A Savoy In Your Beer! Two beautfully crafted Australian delights in one glass! Never go hungry while on the piss, as youâ€™ll always have this savoury sidekick alongside your barley rich beverage. For more info head to www.savoyyourbeer.com.au
Despite Camel’s being manic street fighters, their name infact stands for ‘beauty’. So here are some nice photos my sister has taken along her travels. Photos by Zoe Fehlberg
Opposite page Camel in Rajistan This page (top left) Friend, with the local forces - Gulmarg (top right) Buildings in Jaipur (middle left) Rajistan (bottom left) Touring van - Mongolia (photo by Lucia Savini) (middle) Street market in Mumbai
WEST SIDE STORY A
~ Writen by Joel Mackenzie ~ - Photos by Oscar Fehlberg -
When talking to my Melbournian friends about the western suburbs, they usually react something like, “Hah, gonna get stabbed”, or my personal favourite, a simple, “Fuck that.” Dirty, unkept streets lined with deshelved houses you walk by fearful of being run down by a stolen Commodore VE. But surely the west can't be that bad, right? It began on a windy Wednesday, with easter approaching, and a few free days oﬀ from uni, a day trip was deﬁnitely in order. However, easter wasn't the only thing that was coming quckly. A brutal low pressure system was sweeping in from the north west, with relentless winds, sporadic showers and some truly horrible conditions for skateboaring. However, our hopes were high that on Thursday, the sun would shine. Waking up to some patchy skys, it looked like we might just get away with our trip. After the morning routine of breakfast, social networking and general fuckery, we started sussing out some potential spots. With Olympic Donuts in Footscray in mind, we had a starting point. Although you can't skate a donut van (subject to change), these artery clogging delights seemed like the perfect place to kick oﬀ the trip. After looking into some of the parks on the Sydenham, Weribee and Williamstown lines, we decided to head from Footscray to Altona, then work our way back towards Melbourne, possibly hitting up Newport if the weather was generous. Camera in the bag, decks in hand, we rolled out.
The skate to Melbourne Central station is indeed a chill one – A moderate downhill slope with basically no pushing needed all the way and a few tree root humps in the path are a bit of fun. I'm not sure if it was the fresh air, or the fact that the footpath was dry, but it felt good to be outside. Rolling into Melbourne Central station led us to run for a train which we narrowly missed, but a nine minute wait did not dampen the spirits. The short train ride to Footscray only made us hungrier. Coming down the station stairs, the smell of donuts wafted across the strong breeze, making mouths water. Olympic donuts is run by an older couple out of a re-ﬁtted trailer home which is always parked close to the station; twelve donuts for $9 was great value for money, and the hot jam donuts did not dissapoint. We decided to sit across the road in front of the tram stop to devour the deep fried, sugary balls of goodness. The main street, in front of Subway, wasn't out of place for a young, skinny mother to smoke a ciggie. Her young son rolling about on a scooter, while she and another ratty looking gentleman(?) drank 500ml cans of Woodstock, swearing and ranting loudly. This was the west, after all. Donuts demolished, we grabbed a drink from the local asian mart, passed a couple of young men in full 1930’s drag and then headed for the station. The weather looked like it was improving, and after sprinting for another train, we were on the way to Laverton. The train ride was interesting, with a lot of large,
obscure, industrial yards such as oil reﬁneries and power stations littering the atmosphere with pollution. We took note of how quickly the city can turn into empty, baron land, with suburbs scattered between. The countryside wasn't the only thing that was changing though – water spilling down the side of the train window marked the beginning of a short storm. Perfect time to arrive at our destination. After more running, this time from the rain, we took refuge behind a wall at the station as the rain drove in horizontally. It was only a brief storm, but it was enough to completely soak
the concrete. Feeling a bit disappointed, we kept our hopes up and decided that we would check the park out anyway. Once we could see the skatepark, there was only one thing in our way – a meter deep creek running over the footpath, where the sign read “Trail subject to ﬂooding.” Luckily, a footbridge was only 100 metres further up the creek and we arrived at the park soon after. Skating in the wind is challenging, but we hadn't travelled for no reason. The sun was shining and the concrete was drying. “Good day for it aye” the locals remarked. We started to skate a mellow bank to warm up, which is where most of the session took place. A few little shuv variations and a lot of wind later, a game of skate seemed like the best idea. Rock-paper-scissors (or paper-scissors-rock, or any of the other 4 variations of the game name) decided the setter – 2 decent games later, and Oscar had won both – SKAT to SKATE, and SK to SKATE – a good set of scores for the conditions. After a chill session, we decided to follow the clearer weather back toward the city and hit up Newport park. Back at Laverton station, the Flinders train was still 20 minutes away, so we wondered round the station looking for a drink and a myki top up machine. Must have been fate, because it was then that we noticed a brand spanker of a train sitting at the other end of the station, going direct to Newport. Problem was, it was in the dreaded ‘Departing in 1 Minute’ time frame - “Shit, reckon we'll make it?” “Yep, leg it.” Some more sprinting for trains resulted in a swift trip to Newport. With no ticket inspectors at Newport station, we were in luck. Spirits were high upon leaving the station; Singing the Saddle Club theme song through the sea of commuters was one of my most enjoyable parts of the day. With no idea where the park was (except that we knew it was near the enormous smoke stack that belonged to the power plant) we decided to follow our noses and 'wing it' so to speak. After 5 minutes of skating, I decided I'd try to check that we were headed in the right direction. ‘BEEEP’. I look up to ﬁnd Justin and Oscar in the middle of the road, and a car trying to weave past them. With google maps crashing on my phone, we kept following our noses, which lead us to a large park. Knowing it was more than
likely to be here, we checked it out. Past an athletic track and up a few hills later, we had found Newport skatepark. Rolling into a park for the ﬁrst time evokes a few emotions for me – Excitement, curiosity, and in this case, fear. The ﬁrst part of the park that we came across was a huge, concrete bowl, probably 5 ft shallow to 9 ft deep. Transitions aren't the groups strongest skating area, so we headed further in – A small half bowl, a few banks, a large bank hip and a metal see-saw ledge (with a brick under one end) were more appealing. A few of the locals were chilling out and skating the bowl which was cool to see. After a quick skate, Oscar was conﬁdent to try some stuﬀ out on the see-saw. I assume that he didn't realise he was as tired as he was, because on his ﬁrst run in, he ollied about two thirds of the height of the ledge and hung his truck up, right on the back. This lead him to a hefty fall onto his side, slamming his knees and neck simultaneously as the metal ledge made a terrible metallic 'bang'. Ouch. While Oscar was recovering from a serious case of knee pain, another local rolled in – A young man, maybe 16 or 17 years of age. Snapback, red jeans and a hoodie. After greeting his homies, he produces what looks like a beer and starts skulling it. Is this what people are talking about when they claim the west is 'ghetto?' If so, I'm sure they exaggerate – The kid was drinking a Hahn premium light. He then got a jar of Nutella from his bag and started devouring the sickly sweet hazlenut spread oﬀ of his ﬁngers. Drugs of choice – caﬀeine and alcohol. Another storm front blew in, and it started to rain. Deciding to wait it out for a little was a hopeful choice, but it didn't pay oﬀ. It was just too cold to dry the ground in the early evening. Not even the wind whipping across the park was helping the multitude of puddles in the street section of the park. Cold and tired, it was time to call it a day. Warm, hearty spaghetti bolognaise and a quiet beverage or two were lingering in the back of our minds and calling us home. All in all, we had pretty reasonable luck. We weren't shot, stabbed, injured (seriously, anyway) or somehow involved in gangland activity in our time out west. Good donuts, good skating and a day well spent in my opinion. Top that oﬀ with some wonderful spagbol and a few rum and cokes in the evening, and I don't think the day could have gone any better.
Wild Man Guy - Justin Achammer
Elephant & Bat - Justin Achammer
This is a contact sheet of a roll I shot recently. I used fairly dodgey 100iso “Lucky SHD” black and white ﬁlm. This roll is mostly ﬁlled with street photography, but there are also a few drunk shots of friends in there. - Oscar Fehlberg
For any feedback - suggestions, loves, disgusts email: firstname.lastname@example.org