52.3
ON KAURNA LAND.
Nina Marni (translation: hello, how are you?).
Empire Times acknowledges the traditional owners of the lands in which the editors, contributors and readers live, and honour elders past, present and emerging. Bedford Park is a significant site in the complex Dreaming of the Kaurna ancestor Tjilbruke. We write on behalf of the students and faculty on this land, First Nations, NonIndigenous and Immigrant, who work and learn here. Empire Times is edited and distributed on the traditional lands of the Arrernte, Dagoman, First Nations of the South East, First Peoples of the River Murray and Mallee region, Jawoyn, Kaurna, Larrakia, Ngadjuri, Ngarrindjeri, Ramindjeri, Warumungu, Wardaman and Yolngu people.
Nina Marni (translation: hello, how are you?).
Empire Times would like to acknowledge the traditional owners of the lands in which the editors, contributors and readers live, and honour elders past, present and emerging. Bedford Park is a significant site in the complex Dreaming of the Kaurna ancestor Tjilbruke. We write on behalf of the students and faculty on this land, First Nations, Non-Indigenous and Immigrant, who work and learn here. Empire Times is edited and distributed on the traditional lands of the Arrernte, Dagoman, First Nations of the South East, First Peoples of the River Murray and Mallee region, Jawoyn, Kaurna, Larrakia, Ngadjuri, Ngarrindjeri, Ramindjeri, Warumungu, Wardaman and Yolngu people.
We acknowledge that sovereignty was never ceded, and that this land is stolen.
We acknowledge that sovereignty was never ceded, and that this land is stolen.
Editors
Evangelia Karageorgos
Angel Parker
Sage Haba
Our Statement
Empire Times is a publication of Flinders University Student Association (FUSA). The opinons expressed herein are not necessarily those of the editors, Flinders University or FUSA. Reasonable care is taken to ensure that Empire Times articles and other information are up to date and as accurate as possible, as of the time of publication, but no responsibility can be taken by Empire Times for any errors or omissions contained herein.
empiretimesmagazine.com
8201 3309
empire.times@flinders.edu.au
Contributors
Nadia Metzger
Shai Wittles
Evangelia Karageorgos
Sage Haba
Angel Parker
Ella Shedd
Tannaz Mahreen
Katia Muzik
Max-Cameron Hepburn
Sarah Hyde
Cyra Sabastian
Valentine F Locket
Sabrina
Elvira
Matty T
Lucy Morden
Tom Horridge
Alex Dickerson
This edition is a love letter to the cracks in the concrete. Written from a city sinking under the weight of rent hikes, rising utility and food cost. But beneath the rot, something resists. You’ll find punk poetics, housing rage, activist, protest and protest art. We aren’t neutral. We aren’t polite.
We are standing up.
This zine is for those who still believe that ink and paper can be weapons. That art can bite. That writing can riot. Welcome to another dispatch from the ruins. Read loud. Share widely. And never pay outrageous rent hikes in silence.
Evangelia
Someone pressed their cigarette into my backpack. I only found the seared holes when I pulled the bag off my shoulders. Is it because my hair is short? Maybe it was the art I painted on the bag. Could they tell I’m Aboriginal? Queer? Questioning? Existing?
My friend gave me a pin, it’s a toilet with flowers coming out. They said it reminded them of me because I could make something good out of a shit situation. I love that pin. Now I just need to figure out what I’m going to do with it.
Tell me, what’s your burnt backpack?
Nadia
There is a lot going on with this issue, we will be exploring punkish avenues and prioritising self-expression with this zine themed issue—you are in for a ride. Before discussing what this issue should be about, I had never heard of a zine. One of our editors, Evangelia, thankfully educated me by sharing her zines with the editorial team. What a zine can be is unlimited, from what I gather centrally, it’s about self-expression in a creative and punkish way. With this issue readers, hopefully, you are inspired by the concept of zines and think it’s as cool as I do, and learn that punk is still present, and likely, relevant to you.
What does punk mean to me? Who asked that? Where are you? My fingers, stained with ink, engage in physical processes to craft my art. Aching hands, worn out from the richness of my own aesthetics. I write and I draw, and I find and I take. My sense of self has never been more solid; my reality never so fraught. I always thought that contentment lay in the hands of other people, just because my hands were empty. Now I know that it’s somewhere between people—in the immeasurable gulf we call relation. No, I don’t know what punk means. I only know what I mean.
University student media has always been an entry point for students to test their voices. Their pages are soaked with attitude, platitude, anger, truth and art. It’s where we hold those in power accountable and advocate for the less powerful. A place where we develop skills, network, and build friendships. Helping us preserve our culture and history, teaching us critical thinking and helping us find our voice. It is a vital part of campus culture and student development.
When Voluntary Student Unionism was introduced by the Howard Coalition government in 2006, student publications were starved of funding from student fees. This damaged
student media, with publications reducing is frequency and size. Covis has had a similar impact on publications, with very few students on campus, making it harder to reach an audience. With some publications reducing their frequency.
Both of these have played major roles in the execution of the student voice.
In 2024, UniSA and The University of Adelaide announced plans to merge by 2026 becoming Adelaide University. USASA announced that it would cease publication of its magazine Verse at the end of 2025 (Established in 2014). However, there has been no announcement on the future of The University of
Adelaide’s magazine, On Dit. A student magazine that has been in operation for almost a century. Nor has there been any announcement on what student media will look like within the new university.
You may think this won’t affect you, as it’s not Flinders. But when we start losing student voices, we all lose. If On Dit goes, we don’t just lose a publication; we lose a community, we lose history, we lose an important voice.
I contacted both the UniSA USASA Student President, Oliver Shephard-Bayly, and the Adelaide Uni’s YouX Student President, Merlin Wang, to gather their comments on this matter.
Both agree that student media is an integral part of University life. Playing a crucial role in the
opportunities for the student voice. However, discussions on how this conjoined student media will look are still ongoing, and the role On Dit will play is still unknown.
Shephard-Bayly stated,
“We’re committed to ensuring student media continues to thrive in the merged institution and are advocating for a model that preserves editorial independence and meaningful student engagement.”
Not everyone enters university knowing what job they will end up doing, and university should be about more than simply getting a degree.
- Elizabeth Flux, On Dit Editor, 2011.
Wang assured us that they intend to have student media up and running for the 2026 academic year.
I reached out to the 2025 On Dit editors, but they declined to comment.
I contacted some representatives from Flinders University about their thoughts on Student media and the Future of Empire Times.
I heard back from Jodie Zada (Director of Student Life) and Professor Romy Lawson (Senior Deputy Vice-Chancellor).
Both Zada and Lawson agreed that Student Media had a long tradition of platforming the student voice. And that it is an essential part of the University and Student body.
I also contacted the Flinders Uni Student President, but unfortunately, I did not hear back in time.
Some thoughts from former On Dit editors.
Elizabeth Flux’s degree was in the Sciences, and she was editor in 2011. She stated that “Student media is a way of allowing students not only to be heard, but to develop skills and interests outside the confines of study.” Adding “Not everyone enters university knowing what job they will end up doing, and university should be about more than simply getting a degree.”
Niha Gyawali was an international student who contributed to On Dit and then served as Guest Editor for the 2023 edition of ‘Elle Dit’. She said Student media “is a
like most things which add diversity and share power and voice around Australian universities [it is] fading or disappearing.
- Sam Franzway, On Dit Sub-Editor, 2000 and 2002.
common platform for students across diverse degrees to come together.” For Gyawali, participating in On Dit helped her feel a sense of belonging and provided an opportunity to connect with people who shared similar interests.
Sam Franzway was a subeditor between 2000 and 2002. For him, being part of On Dit felt like a privilege as he got to contribute to what made university culture interesting and valuable.
Sebastian Andrew was editor in 2023; for him, it meant contributing a chapter to the rich history of a longstanding University. Stating, “I guess On Dit is a tree and my time as editor is my initials carved into it.”
Among the past editors, there is a strong belief that poor management has hindered the magazine’s success, characterised by unreliable publishing schedules, weaker content, and declining interest. Gyawali added that student reps using On Dit as a political tool also contributed to its deterioration.
Franzway stated that “like most things which add diversity and share power and voice around Australian universities [it is] fading or disappearing.” Adding “…‘boring and small’ won the day when an almost 100-year-old student publication shuts down.”
Andrews said, “The On Dit of today seems like a hollow shell of what it once was”, and he fears “…that even if the new student magazine keeps its
name, the damage has been done.” Andrews was not shy about pointing the finger directly at YouX President Merlin Wang. I did reach out to Wang for his response, but did not hear back.
Whatever the outcome for On Dit, it is clear that a mass restructuring of how they vote, run and advertise is needed. These things should change and develop over time as the world around them changes. And perhaps that is one of YouX’s most significant failings with On Dit. Let’s hope that a decision will be reached soon so that the 2026 students of this new University are not silenced.
Final Thoughts:
Good student media only works when intelligent debate is allowed and critical thinking is encouraged. No voice is more important than the other (Left,
right, centre). The university community is a diverse ecosystem, and its media coverage should reflect this. Good journalism is a mixture of what the reader wants to know and what they need to know.
The divide between student politics and student media should be as sacred as the separation of church and state. The political agenda of a student council or student representative committee, the union/association and the board should always be separate. They should never run together, should never align 100%, and should not be subjected to influence or manipulation.
This raises the question: Why are Flinders’ potential editors required to run a political campaign to get elected? This should be a merit-based role you apply for, with more opportunities for sub-editors to join and grow as part of a team, ultimately becoming editors.
By Evangelia Karageorgos
Punk’sNotDead
With fascism at an all-time high today, punk rock is more important than ever. Fashion has always been radical. From the feminist 1920s to Roman protests of 20AD, fashion has been an art form first, and protective second. Your clothes can tell a person your interests, your profession, mood, and even political alignments.
Punk rock is characterised with a DIY philosophy: flannels and leather jackets, pins and anti-fascist slogans. But it’s not just an aesthetic, or a peaceful protest. It’s radical anarchy.
So why is punk inherently political?
Punk began as an antiauthoritative movement that empowered the lower classes by championing a ‘reuse reduce recycle’ mindset to fashion. It encourages its followers to question the systems, to look out for the oppressed, and to wear a lot of safety pins. Originating in a garage in mid 1970s New York, then to the UK in 1978, where the term was coined by fashion designer as she tailored The Sex Pistols. Other bands chased the aesthetic as an expression of genre. This makes the movement unique, as it’s one of the only alternative subcultures whose music came first. So yes, it is inherently political. And that’s pretty punk rock.
By Ella Shedd (she/her/they)
How the Rebellious Scene Still Rocks the Political World.
Resistance in Rubrics
When I arrived in Kaurna Yerta, one of the first things I noticed was the earnestness around “Reconciliation.” Which is probably why I was taken aback by the assessment protocols here being curiously rigid. As an Assamese woman studying in contemporary Australia, I’ve noticed a tension; how can Indigenous knowledge thrive when our rubrics demand it conform to Western academic structures?
Take APA citations. They’re presented as neutral, yet they prioritise written evidence over oral tradition. The folk tales in the lilting nisukoni geet, passed down through generations as living resistance, don’t fit the template. Meanwhile, Ngarrindjeri colleagues are asked to compress millennia of kinship into bullet points; for rubrics that never asked if knowledge could be sung instead of cited.
“I cite Audre Lorde and my aunties’ gossip. I write in Australian English and in Assamese curiosity. I give you 200 words and the weight of all they exclude.”
The irony of submitting this to a magazine with a set of guidelines is not lost on me. Still, I believe this is an issue of institutional inertia, not malice. And inertia, unlike intent, can be disrupted. So here’s my submission: compliant yet combustible. I cite Audre Lorde and my aunties’ gossip. I write in Australian English and in Assamese curiosity. I give you 200 words and the weight of all they exclude.
The sound of the dheki in my backyard made me come to these conclusions; now how do I cite that?
By Tannaz Mahreen
How sexism has led to the misdiagnosis of many females with ADHD
Female mental health is key to any discussion of gender-based discrimination, in more ways than one. Research by Michelle Leonard and fellow scholar Alba shows sexism raises the risk of disorders such as anxiety, depression and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), yet few people realise that women can also receive discriminatory diagnoses—a gap highlighted by psychologists Attoe and Climie.
A 2022 study by the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) found that boys aged 3–7 were more than
twice as likely as girls of the same age to be diagnosed with attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). Trials involving adults and adolescents echo this trend, although exact ratios vary, according to clinician-researcher C. Hopkins. The Cleveland Clinic points to three main factors driving the gender gap: differences in how symptoms present, the likelihood of coexisting conditions, and society’s expectations of women.
Of the two recognised “types” of ADHD—Inattention (ADHD-I) and Hyperactivity/Impulsivity (ADHD-HI)—women most often
present with the inattentive form, note Attoe and Climie. Symptoms such as forgetfulness, hypersensitivity and difficulty forming relationships are disruptive to the individual but tend to be viewed as nondisruptive by outsiders, the Cleveland Clinic adds. As Hopkins observes, this often means intervention never happens.
Even when these symptoms are noticed, they are frequently misdiagnosed because women with ADHD experience higher rates of secondary mental illnesses. The Cleveland Clinic lists common co-existing conditions ranging from anxiety and mood disorders to dysregulated eating, learning difficulties and, less commonly, physical symptoms such as headaches, stomach-aches and fatigue. Treating these conditions
as primary issues can steer care down the wrong path, warns psychiatrist J. Littman.
Finally, women often suppress their symptoms to fit societal stereotypes. Attoe and Climie describe patients who label themselves “different”, “stupid” or “lazy” and push themselves to “work harder” despite their difficulties. Littman argues that society’s expectations of women both mask ADHD symptoms and magnify their impact. Overall, the stereotypes surrounding women and ADHD reinforce each other and expose serious flaws within our healthcare system. Greater awareness and re-education about the signs and symptoms of ADHD have the potential to improve outcomes for women living with the condition—and, by extension, to benefit society as a whole.
Words by Katia Muzik
Spotlight on the Youth
What really happens in the quiet youth side of South Australia’s
Indie scene.
The scene is filled with bright and talented youth yearning for the chance to break it big. Through the stick of shoes on beer stained floors, to the smell of pits, the Adelaide music scene has been known to be a little dirty and grunge. However, if you look past the squelch there is a world of tiny bands aching for their songs to be heard. barely any are on Bandcamp, even less of these artists are on Spotify, the only way you can access their hits is in person. They bring in the sole of the art; to perform for others. Youth in the industry are some of the most critical to continuing the festival state as it is known to be, with some of the best current musicians being under or around 18. They are the least recognised and supported in the Adelaide music scene and it’s time to put an end to their erasure.
The top space to watch has been and continues to be
Northern Sound System, they provide low-cost introductory programmes for youth to be able to learn how to make music and perform, with multiple shows a year spanning from previously established bands, to bands created in one week, all the musicians coming out are inspired and active. Another space to watch is Carclew, with their space being a literal castle, there are sure to have some of the best up and coming in their field. With their multifaceted space providing a way for all kinds of young artists to connect.
Some of the best recommendations for supporting local young artists is to go to gigs, finding out about them on social media is a great way to get started. Also looking around, bands plaster poles with upcoming gigs, which is often a great way of stepping out of your comfort zone. Besides following places gigs are held, its critical
photos by @faultyrobotphotography
to follow the artists themselves, some of the best and worth a listen (in my opinion) are:
My Avenue (@my.avenue.adl): they started as a band at NSS, from there the original four piece band giged at several smaller venues before deciding to go in separate creative directions. With Elio and Lyric being the current members of My Avenue. They focus mainly on more soft rock, mixed with more poppunk influences they are sure to become your new go-to screamalong band.
Pomegranates (@pomegranates. adl): a self described groovy and feral band, their origins also track back to NSS, for their first performance live. This lively four piece band takes a heavy
hand in electric guitar and killer vocals, and is perfect for having a bumping night.
My last recommendation is Emerauld (@emerauld.official): She is a local solo artist who has been taking the scene by storm recently. Besides consistently inspiring smaller artists, and uplifting them through giging, this artist is a huge talent.
Between vocals and guitar, Emerauld is able to bring all the feels to her music and your ears.
By Max-Cameron Hepburn (He/Him)
In a society where casting stones is so prominent, who is really winning? And is it time to cancel cancel culture?
Cancel culture is a very suggestive phrase; we can cancel phone plans, Netflix and magazine subscriptions, so why not cancel people when we don’t like what they say? Our conversations about cancel culture are often oversimplified, with the phrase being used in various contexts and under different names, which can lead to a loss of clear meaning.
It is a complex thing. Why? Because people are complex.
Psychology Today (2019) says, “Cancel culture describes how large groups of people, often on social media, target those who
have committed some kind of ‘moral’ violation.” This is typically done to celebrities, but we also use it on everyday people when we don’t like something that they have done or said.
The #MeToo movement is a prime example of cancel culture. It went viral in 2017, and many women, not just celebrities, have continued to speak out about their experiences with sexual harassment and assault. The public nature of celebrity women calling out celebrity men on their behaviour was an eye-opener to many and encouraged people of all types to speak up, seek help
and ask for change. However, were these powerful men really cancelled?
Many still went on with their careers, only hitting minor bumps in the road.
Louis CK, Mel Gibson, Roman Polanski, to name a few….
So, who is winning in this cancel culture game?
As these examples demonstrate, bad publicity can actually be beneficial for some celebrities. Is it their popularity amongst Hollywood that “saves” them?
Even with more extreme cases like Roman Polanski involving a child, there appears to be no real cancellation taking place. Are crimes easy to forgive if a talented person commits them?
If you have committed a violent crime, a sexual crime, or any crime, you should pay the consequences. You broke the law, and you should pay for this. The court of public opinion is not real justice for any crime; it is just a temporary voice with no real consequence to the perpetrator.
Cancel culture is not justice when it comes to violent crimes.
But sometimes it’s all we have left when the legal system lets us down.
In 2025, what constitutes the use of Cancel culture?
We use it for moral crimes, for things with which we personally or politically disagree. Is there a spectrum of moral crimes that we are allowed to call people out on, and ones we are not? Is this acceptable? Is this warranted? And who decides this?
As cancel culture has evolved, so has our understanding of it.
One person’s morals are not everyone’s morals, and we now have the platform of social media to call out the behaviours we find offensive. However, this platform also means that every man and his dog can share their opinions.
We are exposed to more bad behaviour, callout culture, and misinformation than ever before. Social media and the internet have led to increased scrutiny, with people calling out others more frequently, even for minor moral transgressions, word
choices, and misunderstandings. We even bring up things that were committed a long time ago. Even if there has been obvious remorse, changed behaviour or punishment. We attempt to hold people accountable for every bad decision or choice they have ever made, no matter how minor, for the rest of their lives.
Humans are not infallible; we are constantly learning, and our beliefs evolve as we acquire new knowledge. I think it is easy for people to underestimate how simple it would be to become the people they don’t like. A different upbringing, a different culture, or any other set of circumstances could have influenced who they have become.
Our ideas change, we learn, we grow, that’s the joy of being human.
‘… this idea of purity and you’re never compromised… you need to get over that. The world is messy, there are ambiguities, and people who do really good stuff have flaws. I get the sense sometimes now among certain … people … that the way of making change is to be as judgmental as possible about other people and that’s enough. … that’s not activism, that’s not bringing about change, … if all you are doing is casting stones your probably not going to get that far…”
Barack Obama, 2019
AQUARIUS
If you smile, you will feel happier. It stands to reason that, if you pee yourself, you become wetter. If you poo yourself you get smellier!
TAURUS
You are covered in ink. It’s ink time. This is kind of like a metaphor, but still, be wary of pens.
PISCES
Double down on your most off-putting quality. This will show you who the real ones are, that is, people who are off-putting.
ARIES
Reality is a sandbox video game with difficult controls and you can only play it for a couple decades. Make something beautiful.
GEMINI
Consciousness killed the reality star. Become primaeval and roll in the mud.
CANCER
Labyrinthian tunnels exist beneath you everywhere. Intricate networks of piss and shit and rats. Welcome.
LEO
One day Walt Disney started talking in a funny voice and was like, “Hey, everyone, check this out!” (Mickey Mouse Voice) and look at him now. Frozen.
VIRGO
There won’t ever be another one of you. There are three. Three of you walk the Earth, fated to meet.
LIBRA
You can be Cain, or you can be Abel. But never try to be God. You can be Moses for an hour, but then it’s my turn.
SCORPIO
Grit teeth and sharp claws. These are the hallmarks of your enemy. Find your nearest dog and destroy it.
SAGITTARIUS
Quit using Litotes: say what something is rather than what it is not.
Invent a new word and define it. I’ll start. Ferd. It means palatable, or otherwise acceptable to one’s tastes.
CAPRICORN
Still not done
Nadia Metzger
Reconciliation is different from NAIDOC
Reconciliation started in 2000 and died in 2023
It started with a thunder of 250,000 people
Walking across the Sydney Harbour bridge
It ended with a piece of paper
Too many crosses next to ‘no’
Made you check your shoulder
Every friend, family and stranger were suspects
Statistically, most of them did
Statistically, you don’t matter
Yet too many of them fought
To be given up by some colonial ink
Statistically, most of us marked yes
Statistically, we call for more
My mother was born in 1970
Three years after tick boxes marked us human
My mother didn’t live through that promise
Just to watch those same boxes take it away
She’s worked too hard, lived too hard
For me to call it a day
Reconciliation started long before 2000
Reconciliation will end when it’s done
Right page: 'Death of the Machine': Ink, Marker, Newspaper and pencil. Alex
Above: Hunger by Alex Dickerson
Dickerson.
A Kangaroo at Bedford Park?!
(A True Story)
By Sarah Hyde
It happened on a Tuesday night. I was walking down the lakeside walk on the science side of the campus. It was dark and chilly. The sky was black—not a single star. The looming shadows of the trees petered off to my left, and there was the occasional rustle of the leaves in the wind.
Every now and then, I would walk under a lamppost. The intermittent light would illuminate the pathway for a few brief moments before I walked on and slipped into the shadows once more. The glow of the lampposts seemed to accentuate the shadows and make the darkness seem more protruding and eerie.
I had stayed at the uni late to study, and I hadn’t noticed time slipping past. It was about 9pm. I felt exhausted, and I was looking forward to going home and getting some sleep. Maybe, I thought I would even treat myself to a hot Milo before bed.
That’s when I saw it.
It was up ahead of me, standing among the trees—a big shape lurking in the blackness.
I paused in my tracks. For a
moment, I wasn’t sure if I was seeing right. I did a double take. Blinking my eyes rapidly, I looked again.
There was no doubt about it.
Standing in front of me, on the grass by the lake… was a big kangaroo.
I remember staring at it for a good twenty seconds. There was a kangaroo at Bedford Park. A kangaroo at Bedford Park?
Why was there a kangaroo at Bedford Park?
I’d seen plenty of kangaroos in my life. Some of my rellies own a property in the hills and we see them there regularly.
However, I wasn’t expecting to see one at Bedford Park. I didn’t even know they came here.
The kangaroo was ahead of me, still and unmoving as it watched me. The creature stared at me with its beady eyes, waiting to see who would make the first move. I stared right back at it.
Then all of a sudden, the kangaroo charged at me. Its
A Scouts Guide to the Non-Normal: Mirror Bugs and their Annoyance
Among salt, silver chains, and a blooming plant of lavender, the other most common item in a family home is mirrors. As we all know, nonnormals cannot be perceived in mirrors. Which will give anyone who is doing mirror photo with their best friend of four years to find out that there’s only one reflection a massive fright. Whoops!
And as always, there is an exception. For mirrors, it is Mirror Bugs. Yes, they are small, but as they build up they can do intense psychological damage.
From what I have studied (and personally experienced), they start as microscopic spores and as they slowly group together, they gain their power. Mirror bugs love to roost in small moist places, so yet again, they often group in the form of sleep (the yellowy substance in your eye after sleeping).
While simple and routined hygiene is enough to ensure you are not at their hallucinogenic mercy, they are microscopic, and horribly annoying to remove. However, a good wash with saline water often does the trick. The more saline the better, as Mirror Bugs are not very tolerant of salinity. Or acid, but don’t do that either.
If not removed, they build up, clogging the eye and are able to conjure horrific, and strange hallucinations. In weaker stages, these conjurings appear in reflective surfaces, such as mirrors and well maintained windows. Mirror Bugs aim to confuse mostly, while not all cases of hallucinations have been malign, as they grow with power they tend to get a bit insane. The more horrific and frightening they get, the harder it is to remove.
As they are often excessively tired, have poor facial hygiene, and seem a bit skittish as they are unable to tell who and what is a Mirror Bug hallucination.
I have found little ways to prevent Mirror Bugs from roosting, only a way to remove them. They only rank a Level 7 Threat on the NonNormal Removal Service spectrum, so there is no need to inform them of an encounter. Unless the hallucinations get really bad.
Enjoy your reflection! And remember, a scouts aim is to never trust the NNRS.
Valentine F. Locket
By Nadia Metzger
Our flowers are sometimes hard to come by, so we hope you enjoy your stay.
Inside you’ll find a cozy restaurant with a bar to the left and tables to the right. Our tables are made from sturdy wood fallen from old houses, their grain like wrinkles at the edge of a smile. Speckled paint being the only hint to their long life.
To your left you’ll find Poppy and Pip behind the bar, bone or beer at hand and paw. They never seem too busy, even in rush hour when the line threatens to fall out the door. But don’t you mind that, you’ll always find a plate of food before yourself when you need it. No one really knows how it happens, let alone how the image of food in your mind appears directly on your lap. Yet every time, every bite is a memory of home.
If you’re ever seeking social and warm embrace, come sit by the heart of the fireplace. There are always people sitting around the fire, its flame casting them in orange light. Somehow these people of everywhere have found themselves sitting here. On chairs, cushions, the floor, it doesn’t seem to bother them as their fingers work on whatever craft has taken their fancy. They chat softly, conversation only broken by laughter and the crackle of fire.
Though there is a sadness at the edge of their laughter, an anger kindling behind their eyes. The world hasn’t been kind. It is not a miracle, this laughter. It is powerful to exist.
When you feel it time to rest, follow the room down the corridor and through the first door you see. This room is yours, and as you enter there’s a bed waiting just for you. Gazing up as you rest, you find the stars gazing back. The window above you lack rigid and solid frames and the sky seems to melt into the room. You have taken more moments than you should to fight for this world, to fight for yourself. This time is for you to rest, recuperate, and enjoy this life of yours. For simply being you, is resistance.
From yours truly
Resistance Inn
I am Using the
Convenience of Today to Inconvenience Myself Tomorrow
On the importance of friction
We must not succumb to The Infinity Engine. That which is immediate and pocketable, containing the promise of convenience conveniently provided and controlled by our oppressors. The Emptiness Machine. Techno-Capital could just be Capital, if we all believed in ourselves.
The neural pathways that reinforce our phone-oriented behaviours are thick like girders, fortified every time we pick the damn thing up. Every time social
reality forces our hand and we must manage finances, log into Flinders Online or text a peer that insists on using Instagram. Each time, we open ourselves up to psychic attack, like the gamblers commute skirting the Las Vegas Strip.
For the ameteuer photographer, a phone seems a valid opportunity for pictorial expression, and too, platform. Unfortunately, when one develops an eye for design— begins to adopt the semiotics of the medium—they will find themselves bereft of the
aesthetic qualities that they are reaching for. Two key factors make this the case. First, The Infinity Machine is only ever equipped with a remarkably small sensor, with much of the megapixel fidelity emerging from the liberal use of filters and postprocessing algorithms before you are even able to review the image; second, the lens is necessarily near to the sensor, lending a fish-eyed effect to the camera. This means, even in more reasonable cases, there is a distortion of form, usually most noticeable around the edges of the frame. Buy any digital camera from any year and the fidelity will be better. The composition will be more sensible. You will actually see the photo that the device took.
Music is art and it should be treated with a modicum of reverence, at least some of the time. When you stream music through your Infinity Engine, you set yourself up for doom scrolling or app-switching, which distances you from the art and experience of music. Consider physical media (very cheap second-hand if you aren’t terribly picky), or find
an mp3 player. Anything that externalises your music from The Infinity Engine will make music listening a ritualised experience, which will deepen your engagement with the art. Marking your engagement as intentional will allow you to develop more fulfilling opinions, and emotionally connect with the art.
Thoughts that would otherwise exist ephemerally within The Infinity Engine and eventually be buried by literally seconds of scrolling could be all as accessible as each other in book form. Find a notebook. Make one. Collect your thoughts in a mode that will make you more likely to recall them. Writing by hand strengthens the memory of what you have written. For longer projects, incorporate typewritten manuscript into workflow. Working writers always tout the importance of writing first, editing later; but when you use a word processor that can do anything, it can be a little difficult to ignore the allure of improving your product as you go. Hence the inherent friction of the typewriter: once you have written something down, it is
permanent in ink. You can edit later; scribble a note on it with a nearby pen. Keep typing.
Social media. This is The Infinity Machine’s primary mode for being and it is the vast killer of artists. Scrolling on your apps is not respite, it is self-harm. Relaxation can be intentional— and should be—if you value your consciousness. When you ‘turn off your brain’, what else do you think there is? It is death-drive to the umpteenth degree—it is active and reversable suicide. Your subconsciousness is eating well while your actual experience of reality counts down.
Corporate interest predates on your time. As in vampirism. Less sexy, though with all the semiotics. Tantalising thumbnails; weaponised libido. There is no solution to this but to opt out. Your arguments to the contrary are defence mechanisms. Freudian. Embarrassing.
Words by Sage Haba
what is coming of age but realising your idols are only painted gold and standing, hands tied, as your towers of hopes and dreams fold plunging through wrinkles in time, growing old.
Cyra Sabastian.
There is a knot that lives in my chest, this is not me being poetic, this is no metaphor. It is a real steadfast tightening that pulses when the rent is due, pounding as the bills pile in, like leaves being blown into my yard on a windy day. They whisper flammable things, they gather, waiting to catch a spark, and engulf everything around them.
When a new lease is due to arrive, the knot tightens, and my breath shortens. Will this next rent hike leave me homeless?
My pay hits my account, but before I can take a breath, it vanishes. Rent now swallows more than
60%, more than half, more than is fair, more than is livable. And it is about to go up. The reality is that many are paying more than 70% of their income to rent, so I am considered lucky. Rent feels like theft dressed up in legalities, real estate lingo, and emails. My income stays low while the cost of living gets higher. The square footage shrinks while the price grows bigger than my bank balance.
They say the market sets the rent, I say, the market has fancy suits and well above average wages. It has sharp teeth and bites to protect its bank accounts.
Underclass, working class, we are all being pushed out of the market.
Each pay, I bargain with the basics.
Maybe the heather or cooler stays off, maybe my meals get smaller, or perhaps I eat less often. I debate with myself over which medication I can do without, or if I just don’t eat today. Buying less to afford basic health care feels like a human rights violation.
I negotiate with my utility providers about owed money and upcoming bills. Because I am still paying off the electricity from the house, I had to move out of a year ago, while also trying to manage the current house’s electricity bill.
Writing love letters to my job network provider and the Centrelink portal, hoping help will come.
Every day I wake up wondering if this is the week, the month, it all overflows. Is this the month the cracks finally break and my boat sinks?
Is this the month I break?
The future is a blur; I
make no plans, I don’t dream of holidays, of savings, of owning a house. I only dream of surviving.
Surviving the next windy day when those leaves blow in, waiting to catch fire.
There is a haunting silence that comes with this knot in my chest, this fear. Hope no longer speaks up, silenced by this worsening reality.
It’s deafening, it’s lonely, this tiptoeing between electricity, groceries, health care and a safe place to live. This isn’t living, it’s clinging to the edge, waiting for that one last crack to break.
But I still write, I still make art and poetry.
Because I have to believe that someone somewhere out there is listening.
By Evangelia Karageorgos
Rant About the City Campus: An Opinion Piece
The Flinders City Campus—a dazzling, new campus in the heart of the Adelaide CBD, a place of sophistication and opulence, a contemporary masterpiece that will expand the reaches of Flinders University throughout Adelaide, a place of resplendence, modernity and blah blah blah
You’ve all heard of it, I’m sure. The brand new, sparkling city campus.
But is it truly all that it’s made out to be?
The first time I went to the city campus was on a Wednesday, a bright and sunny morning. I had a class in the city campus, and I was looking forward to it.
However, I accidentally walked into the wrong building. This was not Flinders at all, but… Deloitte or something? Maybe it was the bank? To this day, I’m not entirely sure.
Anyway, everyone was wearing pretentious-looking suits, and I felt very out of place.
It turns out the Flinders City Campus and this other fancy place are both located in the same building, but they have different entrances. Talk about confusing.
Thankfully, one of the guys at the counter, wearing an even fancier suit, directed me next door to the entrance for Flinders. Thank goodness for that. Otherwise, I never would’ve found it.
Finally, I stepped inside the city campus. It was nice enough, I suppose. There were fancy escalators and those funny revolving doors they only seem to have in ostentatious corporate buildings. It wasn’t like Bedford Park, of course, but it wasn’t bad.
And then I got to the elevators.
Oh boy.
The elevators.
Don’t get me started on the elevators.
The elevators in the city campus
aren’t like normal elevators, not at all. They don’t have regular buttons inside them with numbers corresponding with the floors. Instead, they decided to do something totally unconventional, something utterly discombobulating.
There is a touchscreen outside the elevators. On the touchscreen, you select the floor you wish to go to from a list. Then a letter will appear on the screen, and you go to the elevator that corresponds with that letter.
I told my friend about the perplexing elevators later, and she said, ‘Oh. It’s just like that because it’s more modern.’
As you can imagine, I was highly unimpressed. Why change something solely for the sake of being modern? Why change the elevators at all? Why not just have normal elevators?
Anyway, I continued to my class without any other major hiccups. Other than those strange
elevators, the rest of the city campus was quite lovely, nice facilities and study areas, lavish desks and counters. It was all very luxurious.
However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Maybe it was something to do with the lack of trees. And greenery. And birds. And life of any kind.
But that problem with the lack of greenery isn’t limited to the city campus. It is rather a problem with cities in general.
All in all, let’s just say I’m very glad to be back at Bedford Park. Sure, maybe it’s a ridiculously long uphill walk to class so long,
in fact, that you might pass out somewhere along the way. But it’s worth it, and I’m grateful that we have our Bedford Park Campus.
(No offence is intended anywhere in this piece. The city campus is actually quite a wonderful place. Thank you.)
Sarah Hyde (She/her)
In the halls of academia, the sound of laughter eclipses the radiance of knowledge, a clamor that overshadows the light of wisdom.
I walked through these vast corridors meant for devoted learners, but I found only emptiness, not even the weight of osmium could fill the void I witnessed.
Despite myriad initiatives, conversations lack soulful bloom, resembling more the mechanical murmurs of cogs than the music of human connection.
My wounds remained open, and my memories guarded. Within the ebb and flow of my grief, I did not seek refuge, for the shallowness of these halls offered no solace.
No pat on the back could bridge the cold distance. In solitude, I
longed to lay a blanket upon your grave, offering warmth where your absence lingers.
They spoke of your eyes that were once radiant, now dimmed, darting in your final moments in search of a face only we knew. And I was not there.
As Morpheus once whispered to Lucifer, “Even in hell, people dream of heaven.”
But I, in this life, in the silence of sorrow, dream not of paradise, but of reunion. Where your soul lingers, mine follows.
(A Poem of Grief Left at the Lecture Door) by Sabrina
Forgive me, my soul... I left you behind not because I wanted to, but because the exodus forced me to. I know very well, you waited one year for me to return your home to you.
You left because He reclaimed the breath once placed so delicately in my arms, a divine gift returned in quiet wrath. He, too, held anger toward me. He took you back because He saw me throw you behind and away.
Do not worry, my baby. I know that no matter how many tears I shed, they will never fill your grave.
And crueler still, I am barred from even standing beside it, a pilgrim denied their only temple.
I see your shadows trailing me everywhere. I see your lifeless body on the roadside, locking its eyes into mine.
Guilt shall forever anchor itself in the marrow of my being, because I deserve all that hellfire has to offer. Grief shall remain my most faithful shadow, the only thread that tethers me to your vanishing light.
Return to Me, If You Can, On the Other Side of the Lecture Hall.
The Libra once said...
" Threw you the obvious, just to see what stirred behind the eyes of tragedy.
Oh well... apparently nothing.
Difficult, not to feel a little bit disappointed.
I see you, naked, but oblivious. You don't see me. You don't see me at all.”
Every day, they cradle mirrors in their palms, hoping a well-lit angle might reflect something whole.
They press color into skin, trying to sculpt away solitude. As if mascara could veil the hollow where kindness was never born.
Why do they not apply foundation to their compassion? Why is their cruelty left untoned? Why do they never exfoliate their selfishness, or cleanse the residue of apathy from their voices??
They brighten their cheeks, but never their conscience. They blend pigment into flesh yet leave their empathy untouched.
Alas, I remain, because life dealt me cards inked in false promise. The promises whose trust is constantly broken by the blade of betrayal.
I wanted to leave this pursuit, to walk away from the scrolls, deadlines and syllables, and return to you.
But choice is a luxury I do not own. And time has shackled me to this breath.
The burden of sacrifices carved into my fate by hands not my own, cling to me like quiet quicksand, slow and inescapable.
I found a bench buried in the
greenery of this limbo, too ashamed to repent. So, I do what little remains: I weep, as if each tear were a sentence I no longer know how to speak.
Our hairs were meant to turn silver side by side, and now, how am I to face a mirror that reflects only half of what was promised?
So, I dwell here, somewhere between a prayer and a pause, in this quiet place, until your soul decides to find mine again.
My Sylvester may the warmth of your love keep me until the finish line.
Thank you for the good life you gave me.
Catharsis by Elvira
Every time the last lingering light of the sun dissipates over the horizon, I become a creature reduced to weakness and I am at my most human, every time the stars blanket the velvet sky, I crave the clarifying touch of physical pain, each night sets the scene for a new battle, thoughts that are unwelcome tenants in my mind, falling over themselves to be heard in the darkness, taking up more and more space, making me emptier and emptier, tightness blooms in my ribs, my chest lost to a vacuum that pulls at my internal organs, tightness, breathless, hopelessness, pain, pain only conceptual but louder than thunder, it rises a million voices in its orchestra, thudding in the space between my skull and my brain, thudding in the arteries that pump blood to my heart, thudding in the pulling void of the vacuum in my chest, the cacophony working its way from my thoughts to my heartbeat to my breathing, louder and louder, I’m drowning as the thudding claws its way up my trachea, the world so big around me suffocating me as it closes in, everywhere, everything, all at once, pulling me, shoving me, someone, please. pain. and then stillness, and peace, and the quiet drip of liquid, and the metallic smell of rain, crimson and sticky
Matty:
I feel I am made of lines. They are many colours.
Of course, they are different lengths and widths too.
The red lines run deep.
The yellow ones wobble and shudder. They carry memories of sick weight. They make me remember. No lines can make me forget.
The red lines run deep.
The blue lines buzz in my fingertips.
They give me soft happiness. It’s like a cloud.
It’s a memory of embrace. I remember others’ love.
The red lines run deep.
Lines of green and white float and curl around me.
A shield that will never see battle. A song that can’t be sung.
The red lines run deep. They burn. They sting like wasps.
Pain through memory. The strongest embrace. But they make me feel.
No matter what they show me. I may never like them. Though they will always be.
The red lines run deep.
By Matty T.
Seasons
Endless days, the hot freedom pours in. First kisses and last fights, Books lie open on the ground. The film camera clicks, Feelings caught within the frame. Leaves fall from the sky, Forever falling in and out of feeling. But the grasp on the branches isn’t strong enough.
Never forgiving, always forgetting. Sunflowers dance in the summer breeze, Ice cream melts on the pavement. Winter begins, but summer always comes back again.
Never forgetting, always forgiving. The light in your eyes and the light in the sky. Live, love, laugh, let go.
The gift of remembering, the curse of never forgetting.
The world seems so cruel, But the sunsets are so beautiful.
Poem by Lucy Morden
Being Alive
Poem by Lucy Morden
Drifting in the stream of consciousness, Waves crashing on a cliff. Flowers burning in the sun,
Snow falling softly on the mountains. Creation and destruction, Stardust longing to feel emotion. Volcanic eruptions and explosions, Blinding lights, bright noises. Crawling and emerging, Feeling and seeing. Hoping and wondering,
Is this what it feels like to be alive?
ROTARY CLUB
Interview by Angel Parker
Have you seen the odd blue logo with a ship’s wheel around it?It belongs to Rotary clubs. My aunt, Natasha Louise Pouw-Bray, happens to be a member of one. I know that Rotary is an important club that does important things, but what exactly do they do? What are the Rotary Clubs all about?
I didn’t know, and I bet you don’t know either. I decided to investigate and interview my aunt (Tash), who is a committee member of her local branch.
If you’re interested in learning about something important or getting involved, read on!
There are multiple rotary clubs, right? Do all Rotary clubs operate the same way?
Tash: No, they aren’t all the same. Our club meets once a week, just like many other clubs. However, some meet fortnightly or monthly, allowing members to decide what works best for them. I am unsure about the meeting routines of other Rotary Clubs. Although we sometimes hold combined meetings with other Rotary clubs, which is great, and they seem to run similarly.
What is your rotary night routine?
Tash: We meet every Wednesday for our Rotary Club dinner at the Naval Air Force Club. Meeting starts at 6.15, signalled by hitting a gong from the rotary Sargent. First, we order meals. Second, we officially begin the meeting by toasting the people of Australia, then any guests are welcomed and introduced. George, the Sargent, chairs the meeting and asks the president to give a speech. The president gives opening remarks, informing us of important events and upcoming developments. We also conduct a raffle! Sargent asks if any other members have reports, allowing everyone to speak if they wish. Traditionally, there is a fines session in rotary clubs; however, my club has a general knowledge quiz and finishes with either good or bad news, and anyone can share anything they want to. I tend to talk about
“Rotary is a global network of people who provide service to others and work together to advance world understanding, goodwill and peace. Essentially, it’s a group of people who meet regularly and try to make the world a better place.”
my great niece; she is fantastic and features prominently in the good news part (writer’s note: this part was slightly coerced). We share a nice meal together, and then after we have eaten, we have a guest speaker; we almost have speakers every Wednesday. We have had a diverse range of speakers; it’s like a grown-up show and tell.
What are the goals of your Rotary Club?
Internationally, Rotary has causes and focuses to create a better world. The Rotary’s global goals are to…
Promote peace
Fight diseases
Provide clean water, sanitation and hygiene
Save mothers and children
Support education
Grow local economies
Protect the environment
A notable project for Rotary Clubs around the world, since 1979, is our effort to eradicate polio. So far, it has been eradicated in 99.9% of cases.
Locally speaking, our Rotary Club does a lot. Some of my favourite things we do are, firstly, we have regular barbeques at Bunnings Mile End, which raises money for us to donate to projects. We also create
birthing kits in collaboration with Zonta, supporting disaster relief and education-focused projects.
Why should someone join a Rotary Club?
Tash: People should join the Rotary Club to meet new people, make new friends, and be part of a global network that improves the local community and assists people in need both locally and overseas. Anyone should join a Rotary Club; there is a version for younger people called Rotaract. However, anyone can join a regular Rotary Club. Being a part of a Rotary Club makes you feel good; you are making a difference in the world.
How do you become a member?
Tash: You can go to the official website for Rotary Clubs to find one near you, then you can contact one and they will likely invite you to attend one of their meetings.
What are the responsibilities of being a part of a Rotary Club?
Tash: There is a membership fee to be a part of one, for instance, mine for this year was $275. We should also attend meetings regularly, help out with projects as much as possible, and find interesting speakers for our Rotary nights. There are also leadership roles within the Rotary Club, known as the board, which carry different responsibilities. I am the youth director for the board. My additional responsibilities include coordinating youth-focused projects; for example, I communicate regularly with schools to support this effort.
Lastly, what’s your favourite part about being a part of the club?
Tash: The speakers. Even people I thought would be boring, I’ve always enjoyed them. I love working with others and making positive change, and I have a greater impact when collaborating with people, both in my local community and globally.
**
Interested in learning more or perhaps joining a Rotary club? Check out the Rotary website: adelaiderotary.com.au
Review by Tom Horridge and Angel Parker
‘The Ugly One’ began with loud music that set the dark and corruptive undertones of the show, effectively from the beginning note.
Angel thought the acting was impressive, whilst Tom with more experience in acting had a more critical view. Tom compared Famous Last Words ‘The Ugly One’ to previous performances of ‘The Ugly One’ he thought it was good for what it was. The actors were multifaceted, seamlessly
and impressively transitioning between their multiple character roles. Character transitions were done through subtle signals that were nonetheless clear, a difficult thing to achieve. A prime example being when Virigina Blackwell showed the transition between the boss and the plastic surgeon by styling her hair up or down in a ponytail. The actors were very successful in conveying the complexities of their characters, notably their quickly changing emotional
states. A highlight of the acting are the plastic surgery scenes; the ritualistic movement pieces were uniquely mesmerising.
Tom, unfortunately, thought the plot of the performance was hard to follow. However, Angel felt like she could follow quite easily, though there were still a few moments she was left without answers. We both agree though that it was a captivating performance, clear by the fact we were engaged the entire time. We both lost our sense of time watching the performance, feeling much shorter than it was.
The set was comprised of chairs, a carpet, and handheld spotlights. The actors had several moments throughout the show where they would move chairs in a rhythmic way, as if they were one with the inanimate objects. The use of carpet gave the vibe of a fancy office which adds to the corporate atmosphere. It was set in a traverse style, the performance space was small and had the audience set on both sides, creating an intimate space which made us feel a part of their world.
The costumes consisted of suits and well put together outfits, suitable for the corporate context, exuding insincerity which intertwined well with the
themes and social commentary of this play; notably those about plastic surgery. The costumes allowed the actors the space to work within the stereotypes of the corporate world: one of them was morally grey—gaslighting as a second language —she was ridden with infidelity, obsession, and corporate greed —competition knowing no bounds. These ideas were perfectly obvious, adding to the dark humour that plagued this play. Tom thought that it was too serious at times though, whilst Angel thought it was hilarious the whole time and appreciated the serious undertones.
Sounds and lighting included the use of lighting bars, which acted as the main source of lighting for the show to illuminate the characters. There were several moments throughout where the actors used handheld birdies to light up certain characters. Sound within the show consisted of pre-recorded music for the most part, and there were a couple of scenes of the characters using a microphone in the show, including a scene featuring audience participation. Overall, the lighting and sound were used in effective ways that kept the audience engaged.
Famous Last Words stated that this play would be a combination of Frankenstein and Pygmalion,
they did not disappoint with their execution of their promise. Themes from Frankenstein was evident in the strong use of plastic surgery and the character Lettes’ transformation into a corporate monster. The conflict and loss of identity when Lette gains a new face is an experience I see resonated with Eliza Doolittle in Pygmalion. Overall, we appreciate the layers of social commentary, original and mirrored present in ‘The Ugly One’.
We are a bit divided on our concluding thoughts on ‘The Ugly One’. Angel approved of the approach and thought it was clever being situated in a corporate world and found the performance rather captivating and thought provoking. Tom thought the show was difficult to follow, Tom thinks they should have gone down a more expressionist route rather than naturalist. However, we both are on the same page when we say that we look forward to seeing their next project. We are definitely keeping posted with their socials, it’s always exciting to see what Flinders graduates can do. If you are curious too, they are working on a new project currently so make sure to check out their Instagram @ famouslastwords.theatre.
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