PULP: ISSUE 05 2023

Presidential Foreword Cole ScottCurwood

Welcome to new students and welcome back to returning students! The University of Sydney Union exists to improve campus life and support our members. One of the ways we do this is by providing PULP magazine as a platform for student creativity.

In 2022, we hosted 95 live music events at Manning Bar including King Stingray, Rema, and Ruby Fields. We conducted satellite campus visits and meetings to understand how the USU can better support those who study there. Our members are at the heart of everything we do, and we’re excited to have had 40,000 members in 2022. In collaboration with the SRC, the USU funded and housed Foodhub — a free food pantry for all students - which has been expanded for 2023.

For this year, the USU Board has approved a budget with a massive $1.2 million in new initiatives. Several of these aim to formalise wellbeing support for everyone who participates in our Clubs & Societies Program. For example, we’ll be hosting a Clubs Conference to train, induct, and support club executives. Reconciliation, inclusion and accessibility, and student safety are important to the USU, so we’ve set aside money accordingly. Other initiatives for 2023 include vegan markets, a Festival of Creativity, and an upgrade of the audiovisual equipment at Manning Bar. I hope you enjoy the start of the year and this latest edition of PULP magazine!

SENIOR EDITOR Marlow Hurst EDITORS Nandini Dhir Harry Gay Ariana Haghighi Bonnie Huang Patrick McKenzie Rhea Thomas DESIGN Bonnie Huang Rhea Thomas COVER Estelle Yoon (from ‘Casse-Cou’) The views in this publication are not necessarily the views of USU. The information contained within this edition of PULP was correct at the time of printing.

This publication is brought to you by the University of Sydney Union.

Issue 05, 2022

PULP is published on the sovereign land of the Gadigal People of the Eora Nation. We pay our respects to Elders past and present, as well as Indigenous members of our creative community.

We respect the knowledge and customs that traditional elders and Aboriginal people have passed down from generation to generation. We acknowledge the historical and continued violence and dispossession against First Nations peoples. Australia’s many institutions, including the University itself, are founded on this very same violence and dispossession. As editors, we will always stand LQ VROLGDULW\ ZLWK )LUVW 1DWLRQV HσRUWV WRZDUGV GHFRORQLVDWLRQ DQG WKDW VROLGDULW\ ZLOO EH UHñHFWHG LQ the substance and practice of this magazine.

Sovereignty was never ceded. Always was and always will be Aboriginal land.

Marlow Hurst Senior Editor

$URXQG DERXW \HDUV DJR LQ -XQH RI WKH HGLWRULDO VWDσ RI Hermes, the University of Sydney Union’s bygone undergraduate magazine, penned a foreword entitled “A new Hermes.” They outlined the magazine’s foundational purpose — to “encourage undergraduate literary ability” and to be “a record of University life” — and advised that none of this could be done with an insulated editorial team and limited external submissions. Without remedying these issues, Hermes could ìQHYHU EHFRPH D WUXH UHñH[ RI XQGHUJUDGXDWH IHHOLQJ DQG DELOLW\ ú 0DQ\ HYHQ VDLG the publication was “going to the dogs” and was “dull as ditch water.”

I have good news. PULP ISSUE 05 is none of these things — it’s a vibrant display of feeling and ability from those within the University, of the University, and beyond it. Yet all the same, it is my hope and endeavour that PULP in 2023 is not hampered by insularity or repetition. So, in the words of 1923 editor A.B. Barry, “Write for Hermes PULP!”

Editorial

Editors’ Note

Aaaaaaaand we’re back! After a long and much needed break, we are feeling rejuvenated and ready to provide a revitalised PULP for the new year and a new batch of potential readers.

We hope you enjoy our latest output, which features a myriad of great articles by our pool of incredibly talented contributors.

When we accept articles, we are often interested in the niche aspects of life; the beauty of everyday objects; the things people don’t see the point in covering.

From Coke cans, to ceiling fans, from movie cameos to people watching, and even staring at piles of debris in construction sites. We believe everything has a purpose and deserves to be discussed, even the most mundane.

We are endlessly fascinated by the threads and connections our writers tend to make. Historical lineages of USyd theatres, ingredients in everyone’s food, the various beliefs of Mongolian shamans — we love a good tapestry vastly woven from various ideas, images and stories.

The photography and art of this issue foresees alternative futures – ones that forefront harmony and co-existence. These futures embrace both technology and natural ecology through biomorphism. Whether you can anticipate these utopian visions through imagination or through the tangible in your closest relationships, WKH DUW RI WKLV LVVXH DτUPV WKLV KRSH IRU WKH IXWXUH ISSUE 05 has all of these aspects and more! And if you think you have what it takes to contribute, don’t be afraid to reach us through our email or socials.

Reach us any time at pulp@usu.edu.au.

C

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P A G E _ 8 The the

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many lives of Cellar Theatre

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P A G E _ 2 4 The

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water

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P A G E _ 1 0 How to people-watch

P A G E _ 2 6 A diptych of art and empathy

P A G E _ 1 2 Ode to the ceiling fan

PAGE_28 C h a m b e r s

PAGE_14 R e m e m b e r i n g N o o k a z o n

P A G E _ 3 0 It’s

P A G E _ 1 6 Pale

blue

sky

P A G E _ 1 8 The hands that speak

tee

time

P A G E _ 3 4 The coke cans article P A G E _ 4 0 Martin and

Gregory Anthropoid

P A G E _ 4 4 Sydney will be nice ZKHQ LWâV ðQLVKHG

P A G E _ 6 2 MSG for me and you

P A G E _ 5 0 The devils in the details: The outrageous story behind Space Jam: A New Legacy’s most bizarre cameo

library P A G E _ 6 4 Sydney launches ‘Dark Web 4 seniors’ to bridge digital skills gap

P A G E _ 5 6 Mollah and It’s myself that I crave

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The many lives of the Cellar Theatre Words by Marlow Hurst Way back when, before Humanitix was even a twinkle in the eye of student theatre treasurers, what we now know as the Cellar Theatre was an HQWLUHO\ GLσHUHQW VSDFH DQG over the years, it’s lived many GLσHUHQW OLYHV The Cellar was constructed amongst a series of Holme Building extensions in 1941.

Upon its inception, it was known by another name: the Union Buttery. Butteries were originally large cellars underneath monasteries in which food and drink were stored and frequently served to weary travellers and famished passers-by. The 8QLRQ %XWWHU\ ZDV QR GLσHUHQW RσHULQJ WHD FRσHH VRIW GULQNV milk drinks, scones, cakes, sandwiches, sausage rolls, and ice-cream. Sadly, unlike the monastic butteries of old, students had to pay for these petite treats. Like the rest of the Holme Building’s new rooms, the Union Buttery was warmly received, with Honi Soit lauding it as a “very wise innovation.”

It would certainly be thought of as innovative today, considering that the radical “let’s put a vending machine in the Cellar” project has never gotten past the blue sky thinking phase.

1941, it puttered along like other Union food and beverage outlets cum venue spaces — hosting informal dances to support victims of the War, faculty society end-of-year shindigs, and miscellaneous meetings (both general, annual, and extraordinary).

But it wasn’t just an underground morning tea lounge. The Union frequently made it available for evening social events — this is perhaps WKH ðUVW JOLPSVH RI WKH VW century Cellar we know today. )URP LWV ðUVW EDWFK RI VFRQHV LQ

luncheon room returned to its Yet, even the Buttery DSSRLQWHG URXWLQH :KLOH EULHñ\ couldn’t escape the looming in the 1951 zeitgeist after the VSHFWUH RI FUHHSLQJ FRQñLFW Union Board allowed women LQ WKH 3DFLðF $V SDUW RI to use the Buttery — and the preparations made by the Uni’s subsequent brouhaha that Air Raid Precautions (ARP) followed — the space’s next committee, the Buttery was milestone would be in 1964, LGHQWLðHG DV D ERPE VKHOWHU ZKHQ DIWHU EULHñ\ ORVLQJ LWV alongside four other charming name to a newly constructed locations. While concerns room in the Holme Building in were raised about its windows, 1962 and becoming the Old the ARP determined that Buttery, it donned the name of sandbagging was an adequate Cellar. remedy. Anyone who’s been in the Cellar today can be thankful The Cellar was a hip new that Professor Stout and his jazz lounge, hosting cool cats committee colleagues decided from late afternoon to mellow not to remove the panes entirely. midnight. Dishing out espresso Bunker duty was but a brief and light meals, it was a haven sojourn for the Buttery though, for underground acts, both and with the conclusion of World OLWHUDOO\ DQG ðJXUDWLYHO\ DQG War II in 1945, the underground VKUXJJHG Rσ WKH VWRGJ\ DQG

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Images courtesy of Honi Soit

VWXσ\ EDJJDJH WKDW EXUGHQHG the name Buttery. Graced by now forgotten acts such as King Fisher and the Riverside Jazz Group, the Dave Bentley Trio, and, who could forget, the Sydney University Jazz Stars, the Cellar was a trumpeting success. The Union Board would announce plans to cease its operation as a jazz cellar later that year — I might have EHHQ ðEELQJ DERXW LW EHLQJ D smash hit. Apparently plagued by poor decor, blinding lighting, expensive initial renovations to the tune of £6,000, administrative red tape, poor acoustics, and prohibitive entry fees, the Cellar was something of a disaster.

While the music didn’t stop entirely, the Cellar mostly limped along after its glitzy launch and graceless fall: jazz and folk acts continued to perform in its cavernous depths and miscellaneous events continued to be hosted (most notably the Ski Club’s “Annual Wine Orgy”), but it was no Bal Blomet!

elephant into…something… anything really. The 1969 Reform the Union Movement (RUM) team, a member of which was much-beloved journalist and radical historian Rowan Cahill, proposed converting it into an “Italian-style pizza bar,” 1973 Union Presidential candidate Bob Gaussen thought it ought to be a wine bar and discotheque, and RWKHUV ñRDWHG WKH DJH ROG TXHVWLRQ ì3XE"ú 2I FRXUVH none of these election-induced schemes panned out, and perhaps that’s for the best, as the Cellar settled into a niche as an all-purpose Union space with a predilection for the performing arts. That was cemented in 1978 when it was renovated to be a cabaret performance space and SUDS began to perform daily lunch time productions within. Therefore, 1978 marks the beginning of SUDS’ intimate and long-term relationship with the Cellar.

With each passing year, SUDS made itself more and more What followed was the at home: staging full shows greatest indignity of all: the Cellar as well as daily lunchtime became USU Board campaign performances, dropping the fodder. Every year, the huddled name Union Cellar in favour of masses would gather around to Cellar Theatre, and occupying hear how candidates planned it more exclusively, as other to transform the Union white groups utilised the space less

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and less frequently. Eventually, this would coalesce into the arrangement we see today, with SUDS being the Cellar’s sole and exclusive occupant and the Cellar operating as the Society’s home and HQ. That brings us to 2023. While the ceiling collapsed in 2017, not much has changed in the Buttery cum Old Buttery cum Jazz Cellar cum Union Cellar cum Cellar 7KHDWUH 7KH ñRRU LV VWLOO GXVW\ the windows still grimy, and the vending machine still absent.

While it took a little over 30 years IRU WKH VSDFH WR ðQG LWV QLFKH it was well worth the wait. The Cellar is the pride and joy of SUDS, the envy of every other university theatre society, and an outstanding performance space.

So next time you’re watching a reimagining of Othello set in Edo Japan or perhaps a musical about student journalism, make sure you thank the good old Buttery for sucking so very much — it’s what made it all possible.

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How to people-watch Words by Joe Fidler People-watching is a term thrown around with reckless abandon. Used to romanticise the act of blankly observing the strangers around you in a public space for want of something to do. To that I say: have some fucking decorum you listless fucks. People-watching is serious business and if you aren’t bringing the right epistemology, you could very well be anti-social.

hurt. My internet ogling would have to settle for the people-watching WikiHow page to see if there were any well-blooded people-watchers willing to part with their hard-stared wisdom. Turns out there are rules, which I’ll abridge.

We’re hardwired to make complex critical judgements of a person from the tiniest of tells which you might not even be conscious of yourself. This is done through the brain’s person perception network.

In pursuit of an academic leg to stand on, I discovered ‘The neuroscience of people watching: How the human brain makes sense of other people’s encounters’, a Birdwatching and plane spotting research paper in the Annals of The DUH ERWK ZHOO ñHVKHG RXW DQG New York Academy of Sciences, respected niches. Birdwatching, published in 2017 by Susanne and more broadly nature watching, 4XDGñLHJ DQG .DPL .ROGHZ\Q sees this observational hobby According to this paper, our ability You also need to be unobtrusive. to judge, that is, turn perception into FRPELQH ZLWK WKH VFLHQWLðF 7KLV PHDQV ðQG D VSRW RXW RI WKH ZD\ interpretation socially, is believed method. Trainspotting has even and wear your most uninteresting transcended its niche in no small by some to be key in our evolution part to the eccentric yet pure internet clothes. Balconies and rooftops are into the self-obsessed, polluting, personality that is Francis Bourgeois. recommended. geniuses we are today. In the science Not to mention, Irvine Welsh’s loosely world, people-watching is known Take Notes and set time related heroin literary epic of the as a third person encounter (TPE) goals too, this will help make the same name. So, if birds and trains — when the subject does not know DUH VR JUHDW ZK\ QRW SHRSOH" ,W PD\ practice purposeful even if it may they are being observed. TPEs, seem goalless and/or purposeless. seem like an obvious question, and though kind of creepy, are critical in , DP JXLOW\ RI RYHUVLPSOLðFDWLRQ EXW 2EVHUYDWLRQ RI SHRSOH LV DQ HσHFWLYH WKH VWXG\ RI SV\FKRORJ\ DV WKH\ RσHU prompt for creativity. However, LW LV WKLV FRPSOH[LW\ WKDW , ðQG VR data from the subject unimpeded make sure to do so discreetly. The interesting. by the awareness found in a second candidness of your subjects is person encounter — face to face essential.

The knowledge hunt observation.

Lastly, try not to pass Naturally I tried joining a peoplePractice judgement on your subjects. watcher’s Facebook group, the This tip struck me as the most best place to really get stuck into a My original plan was to go bizarre. The psychological kick one subculture. ‘People Watching in a through all the aforementioned gets out of judgement (or rather Crazy World’ is a Facebook group motions and formalities. However, prejudgment) is for many, the with 1.2k members. The page is while trapped at home with a bout of whole point of observing strangers IURQWHG E\ D FDUWRRQ RσHULQJ VRPH COVID and staring at the young and with no consequence. This bit of vague commentary on the failings free souls of Crown Street, I realised advice, though a little misleading, of modern men. Its description to my horror, that I was peoplerather encourages an awareness of reads, “this group is about those watching: judgement. While judgement is part RI XV ZKR ðQG LW LQWHUHVWLQJ WR of the process, allowing negative It was December 11 and I started watch people and what they do prejudgement of a person’s character people-watching in earnest at 5:50. It and then worry that what we are was 28 degrees and the air smelled watching is normal..............Scream.” to enter your practice will damage your bias and just put you in a shit of an imminent storm.

My application fell through to my mood. As ‘Hannah’ from WikiHow great disappointment, and with no Despite formally renouncing any puts it: “Everyone has bad days”. discerning questionnaire I was left judgement of character, it creeped IHHOLQJ P\VWLðHG DQG SHUVRQDOO\ Yet judgement is so very human. in anyway through the back door

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Be purposeful in choosing a people-watching spot. If you want WR ZDWFK VHQLRUV" *R WR D UHWLUHPHQW home. If you wish to observe absolute anarchy, try George Street McDonalds past midnight. Note your demographic and make sure people will be there.

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essential peoplewatching kit 2

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of my mind. The Street felt rich with symbolism: The ‘ironic’ Salomon hiking shoes, the panicky late for my bus power-walk, a woman’s icy stride in front of her assumed partner suggesting that things are tense but not tense enough to cancel plans. Most people seemed to drift from bars, cafes, and restaurants in impenetrable groups. My third storey point-of-view gave me something close to invisibility. While it feels perfectly acceptable to stare at strangers, especially if they can’t see you, I found myself spotting multiple people I knew, and for some reason only then did I feel uncomfortable.

Watching someone who you’d otherwise say hi to and make small talk with from your bedroom with COVID, all the while sweating profusely, is a position I’d only put

myself in for the good of peoplewatching.

watching with intention and not simply indulging feels less like reality TV and more like a thought-provoking Pensive musings documentary on the real Crown Street, hosted by Louis Theroux. I When you watch birds and don’t expect everyone to go through planes, they can’t look at you back, all the tedious formalities, because at least not in the same way a human I certainly didn’t. It’s not even that being can. The social complexity and bad as a time-wasting activity. But even the uncomfortability may very just a bit of mindfulness makes the well be why people watching remains experience all the more wholesome. relatively unexplored.

So go forth budding people-watchers and watch wholesomely!

Although we notice all these little things about a person when ZH ðUVW OD\ H\HV RQ WKHP ZH RIWHQ feel ashamed of it, but we cannot hide from this innately human trait. It seems tragically cliché, but watching people is also a way of watching yourself. If we question our biases, judgement, and critical thinking, it makes us feel challenged. People-

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11

Ode to the ceiling fan Words by Aidan Elwig Pollock You can feel the slightly wet heat radiating upwards from the grass beneath your pounding running feet. It’s dry, patchy grass, punctuating large tracts of exposed dirt. You gulp from the bubbler, squinting from the EOLQGLQJ ñDVK RI PHWDO UHñHFWHG sun and almost choking in between huge rasping breaths.

Walking up the stairs to your Year 2 classroom – taking them two at a time with as much force as you can muster – your cheeks prickle, pink hot with a sweat icing brushed by cool-feeling air.

As your breath moves through

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your rattled-but-now-stable OXQJV LWâV OLNH ðQJHUV UXQQLQJ across a sea-anemone, soft but stinging. barbed wire pulled up and down your trachea.

After unceremoniously shoving your lunchbox and broad-brimmed hat (complete with a sopping, half-chewed neck string) into your bag, you burst sweat-soaked into your classroom. A cool darkness envelops you, welcoming your entire being into a sense of GR]\ FDOP <RX VKXυH WR \RXU desk and pull out a copy of the

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Beast Quest book for ‘Drop Everything And Read’ (DEAR), chosen because it had the most awesome creature on the cover. $QG WR FDS LW DOO Rσ WKH HVVHQWLDO element that completes this sense of tranquil tiredness on a 33 degree summer day is the soft humming of the ceiling fan, wobbling slightly on its axis to K\SQRWLF HσHFW DERYH \RXU KHDG There are many things that epitomise the early 2000s Australian childhood experience.

Bottle-Top Bill and his best friend Corky. Those Smartie ice-blocks

with the plastic container of bonus chocolate for a handle.

Scholastic book fair catalogues, sent home at the bottom of a school bag. But I think there is one thing that trumps them all — an ultimately sensory object with a sight, sound and sensation that instantly transports me to a world of nostalgic relaxation. The humble ceiling fan.

GRQâW QHHG WR ñDXQW LW 2WKHUV click loudly, scraping against themselves in an endearing grab for attention. Others drone a pleasing baritone, matching the soothing dimness of the room.

What’s more, individual What can an air conditioning ceiling fans have a character that XQLW DQVZHU WR WKDW" :LWK D air-conditioning units could never PRQRWRQH RQH VL]H ðWV DOO match. They are devices with EOXVWHU\ ZKRRVK" personalities. Not only are ceiling fans available in a vast variety of Yet nowadays, in classrooms Yes, that’s right. The ceiling aesthetically attractive designs and houses across the country, fan. The understated — in — from elaborate wooden many ceiling fans sit in sullen fact, overlooked — hero of the ðYH IURQGHG EDOFRQ\ IDQV WR WKH silence, overlooked for the easier Australian household; the saviour VFL ð UHWUDFWLQJ EODGHV RI VWXGHQW option of air-conditioning. This of the school classroom on a accommodation fans, to even is a tragic fate for such beautiful summer afternoon.

WKH KXPEOH Rσ ZKLWH WKUHH mechanical creatures, many of bladed public school fan — each which not only served us but our Most university students and every one carries unique parents faithfully on countless will be old enough to remember quirks and sensibilities. Some hot summer afternoons. One a time before air conditioning fans wobble slightly to the right can only imagine the scorn our was ubiquitous, at least in most in a mesmerising asymmetrical ceiling fans must feel so harshly; homes and public schools. A simpler time, when classrooms ZHUH ðOOHG ZLWK ZKLWH QRLVH WKDW ñRZHG WKURXJK RXU HDUV OLNH a silky ribbon waving through the air. A time when we could watch a kaleidoscope in beige — sometimes jiggling ominously — above our heads. A time when we could feel the cool tongue RI DUWLðFLDO ZLQG OLFN DZD\ WKH sweat on our arms, a sort of slobberless dog.

Don’t get me wrong. Air conditioning can be very nice indeed. There are not many experiences more transcendent than walking into the white light and cold air of a country-town Coles on a dripping-hot 45 degree day. It’s good for cooling down shopping centres, entirely FORVHG Rσ IURP WKH RXWVLGH world (a function of dystopian consumerist psychological manipulation); for linoleum ñRRUHG HPHUJHQF\ URRPV RU luxurious white-linen hotel rooms.

But these are sterile spaces EHðWWLQJ RXU PRVW VWHULOH cooling device. Where are the elegant sweeping wings of a three-bladed ceiling fan in such SODFHV" ,QVWHDG ZH DUH JLYHQ DQ XJO\ ZKLWH ER[ ð[HG WR VRPH

wall corner. Where is the soft, SXOVDWLQJ ZKLU" ,WâV QRW WKHUH in favour of a dull whooshing hum that often borders on the dreadfully annoying.

pirouette. Other fans jiggle violently as if in some frantic dance of death, threatening to launch catastrophically into a classroom full of kids, who make Rσ FRORXU MRNHV DERXW VLWWLQJ under an execution device.

Still more fans have their beige FRDWV EHDXWLðHG ZLWK OLQHV RI whiteboard markers.

Every fan sings with D GLσHUHQW YRLFH 6RPH ñXWWHU ZU\O\ PHOWLQJ LQWR WKH EDFNJURXQG ZLWK D VHOI VDWLVðHG smile — they know they’re cooling you down, and they

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the pain they must carry deep within their once-moving parts at being overlooked, undervalued and unused. Phased out and forgotten.

So next time you walk into a room on a February day, whether at university or at home — don’t immediately reach for the air-conditioning remote. Look instead for that faithful little dial, and give our underappreciated ceiling fans a spin. They deserve it.

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Remembering Nookazon: A DIY recipe for disaster Words by China Meldrum Like everyone in the conceivable universe during 2020, I caved and bought a Nintendo Switch and a copy of Animal Crossing: New Horizons Rσ RI *XPWUHH VKRXWRXW WR Marc in Gladesville). With the naive intention of enjoying a low-key and relaxing community simulation, I was shocked to discover that this cottage-core fantasy would turn into a tale of exploitation, cult worship and most surprisingly, potential animal rights violations.

missing piece of Zodiac furniture WLPH WUDYHO WKHQ \RX ñLS WKRVH WR ðQDOLVH WKHLU DVWURORJLFDO motherfuckers for 70,000 bells.” anteroom, or in my own case, Hook spoke frankly about the a delightful cafe wallpaper to insidious world of Nookazon proudly, and now somewhat drop-shipping, “Now I’m not a UHJUHWIXOO\ IXOðO P\ PDQGDWRU\ scientist but I don’t think that’s a service to cottagecore kitsch fair trade. In the span of 2 hours (remember, it was 2020 after of dedicated playing you can get all). But Nookazon quickly probably 1 or 2 million bells.” transformed into a massive, I never saw the appeal of the HτFLHQW DQG FXWWKURDW QHWZRUN Flower Garden Wagon, but I did operating through a website, encounter one such entrepreneur app, and dedicated discord in my Nookazon riddled quest to page — just about living up to acquire the aforementioned allits megacorp nomenclature. important Cafe Wallpaper. Once And many of its users were Animal Crossing: New equally of a megacorp ilk. Sellers the necessary travel details were Horizons came out in March exchanged on Discord, I began weren’t just marketing items 2020, and by June both the US the long journey to my seller’s they’d incidentally acquired and Australia were recording throughout the course of natural dedicated drop-shipping island. critical Nintendo Switch $V P\ 'RGR $LUOLQHV ñLJKW FLUFOHG gameplay, but rather crafting VKRUWDJHV D VXUHðUH VLJQ WKDW this stranger’s mercantile empire, and purchasing wares with the something crazy was happening. express intent of merchandising I spied the hostile infrastructure A sprawling online community supporting the anthropomorphic them, often on a scale even quickly formed and created capitalism of Animal Crossing’s Nintendo couldn’t have ‘Nookazon,’ an online item insidious underworld. foreseen. An Animal Crossing trading marketplace, named by entrepreneurial class was After touching down, a dirt splicing together Tom Nook, the emerging, and to understand infamous tanuki loan shark, and them, it helps to understand one path lined with barbed wire fences kept me, the lowly buyer, Amazon, an infamous hell site RI WKHLU PRVW SURðWDEOH SURGXFWV at bay. On the other side of run by notorious cowboy hat the Flower Garden Wagon. Dom these bristling defences was my HQWKXVLDVW -Hσ %H]RV $W ðUVW Hook* reached out to me with trading partner. Decked out in a Nookazon was a clunky little a tale of their Nookazon dropRoyal Crown (1.2 million bells), website where people could buy shipping empire that amassed Star Pochette (3000 bells) and and sell furniture, fruit, and just millions of bells through this Dreamy Dress (2080 bells), they about any item that could be unassuming artisanal amenity. greeted me with bubbled text — dropped and picked up again. less a request than a thinly veiled It connected organic buyers Despite the Flower Garden demand. and sellers who maybe just Wagon being a fairly easy DIY needed one more iron nugget recipe, Hook brags, “You farm “order number <3.” to complete Nook’s Cranny or a a bunch [of materials] using

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I responded, and then placed my bells on the table.

One 99,999 bag at a time. They picked them up, and I waited for my wallpaper. And waited.

And waited. But before I could even ask how much longer I would have to wait, the island was closed by the seller and I ZDV IRUFLEO\ ñRZQ EDFN WR P\ island — wallpaper-less and truly shaken to my core.

this risky enterprise.

game experience like that of the Animal Crossing series, it’s Infamous in this blackmarket hard to say what the ultimate bonanza is Raymond — species: goal is, because there really are cat, villager type: smug, countless ways to play. Despite star sign: Libra, social clout: the end credits rolling with that immeasurable and potentially ðUVW . . 6OLGHU FRQFHUW WKH LQðQLWH )RU PDQ\ RQ 1RRND]RQ game can extend for as long selling him is the golden goose as your tolerance for Tom Nook (or cat, in this case), with tomfoolery will allow. But I would Raymond going for around 10 argue that whether your vision million bells and 100 nook miles is having the perfect Cyberpunk tickets (an absolutely unhinged island, catching every shark, or I never got my million bells price point). Better yet, you demolishing the Stalk Market, back, like countless other can spend real money too! The none of our AC imaginings innocent victims, but after two most pristine Raymond can included DIY mass production, weeks my friend caved and gave sell for anywhere from $20 to a barely concealed extortion, and me the wallpaper out of pity. whopping $125 on eBay. black market furniture deals: a veritable Animal Crossing Despite my whistleblower, One could argue that the Industrial Revolution, complete Dom Hook, claiming to have surge in trading and trading with dangerous working never engaged in malicious platforms that followed the conditions, and most shockingly, behaviour as a seller, there release of New Horizons is child labour, albeit in a Discord are countless posts on Twitter simply a response to a number format. Despite previous entries and Discord detailing doxxing, of its features. With many of in the series having trading corruption, and theft that’s rife the game’s milestones being across the Animal Crossing: dependent on island decoration, networks, admittedly on a New Horizons trading scene. along with increased capacity for smaller, more decentralised, However, this trading scene customisation and terraforming, and friendlier scale, they cannot extends not just to lowly material it isn’t a surprise that people are compare to the unwholesome aspect of Nookazon’s globalised possessions, but to living, buying and selling items to take and corporatised underpinning. breathing villagers. Animal island advantage. Combined with an Despite all of this, Nookazon, companions fetch the highest improved online multiplayer, a prices on Nookazon, and for new villager acquisition system, whilst having countless ethically questionable moments and many traders, this lucrative and the rapidly ascending business is one of their most hypnotic powers of the internet, eroding a bit of everyone’s SURðWDEOH VRXUFHV RI LQFRPH New Horizons was well equipped humanity in our quest for a 5 star island, truly was a moment Despite countless instances of and almost destined to create of innovation which no one saw scams, counterfeit images, and a marketplace like Nookazon to coming. straight up lies, many people facilitate such exchanges. are drawn by love or, more likely, *Names have been changed In a meandering, slow-paced cold-blooded clout chasing to

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Pale blue sky: some aspects of Mongolian Shamanism

Words by Stanley Luk It was once believed that when dusk had settled on the blistered olive of the Mongolian tundra, the VWDUV DQG SODQHWV ċ ZKRVH ñDPHV decorated each night’s sky — would bestow people with good health and impart, to them, celestial wisdom.

The venerated constellation known to us as Pleiades was associated with their heaven. The seven stars of Ursa Major watch over them as the “seven old men”.

itself was looked after by mothers and mother-spirits. Early rituals venerating weather phenomena Each of the ninety-nine skies involved wooden totems shaped belonged to their own star. Unusually, LQWR ðJXUHV RI ZRPHQ DQG HYHQ the other remaining stars in the sky the morphology of the Mongolian all belonged to the people alive ZRUGV GLσHUHQWLDWLQJ WKH JHQGHUV on the Earth. To a Mongol, when a of shamans lends itself to a similar meteor falls somebody dies because implication. The term for a (male) their star had fallen. We infer that shaman, boo, is a homophone of meteor showers would signal some their word for wrestler, bokh. It shares massacre or disaster transpiring on a the same linguistic root as the Turkish IDU Rσ SODLQ word for ‘sage’ and the Chinese There is no concrete theory word for ‘divination’. The term This belief is rooted in the axiom for a (female) shamaness, udgan, for why the number nine was the that human beings and all aspects most distinguished above all other shares its meaning with ‘womanof the natural world were, and could numbers. Though we know that shaped spirit’, but can also mean be, controlled by a spirit’s powers.

Mongolian shamans draped nine ‘beginning’, ‘origin’, and ‘ancestor’.

As such shamans attempted to colourful strips of cloth, called Ancient Mongolian tribes remained maitkhuuch Rσ WKH IHDWKHUHG EDFNV commune with and determine the matriarchal for comparatively much wills of the local spirits that resided in longer than the rest of the world, and of their ceremonial hats and hung great mountains and in special trees. in the court of Genghis Khan, right along their sashes nine bronze In the rituals they held at those sites, up until recent history, shamanesses mirrors that clamoured percussively shamans would dance into feverish in their ritual dances. (Apprentice often enjoyed the privilege of greater trances to evoke a magic allowing shamans were only permitted to religious authority compared to their hang eight mirrors.) In shaman songs, spirits to enter their body. Their shaman counterparts. ensuing frenzy was the spirit seizing they would sing of the ninety-nine heavens or skies in the universe: their violent control of the shaman’s mind.

Mongols revered two colours word for heaven/sky synonymous the most: the pale yellow-blue of the Those special trees inhabited conceptually with the great heaven/ sky they lived under, and white. White by spirits came to be commonly sky VSLULWV 7KHUH ZHUH VDLG WR EH ðIW\ was the colour of the wandering known as shamaness trees, since ðYH EHQHYROHQW VSLULWV WKDW GZHOOHG clouds and also the colour of the ancient Mongolian society had in the cardinal direction West and moon, but most importantly.it was the always believed that the land

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forty-four evil gods who resided in the East.

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Image courtesy of National Palace Museum

colour of milk and the milk products There is an episode from the life which comprised the main source of Genghis Khan where he believed of their food. Milk had religious himself saved by the guardian spirit LPSRUWDQFH WKH ðUVW PRQWK RI DXWXPQ who resided in the great mountain was designated for ceremonies for Burkhan Khaldan. When he was the preparation of dairy products and young and still known by his birth milk was often scattered in rituals. name Temüjin KH ñHG IURP WKH WKUHH $ TXDOLðHG VKDPDQâV WDPERXULQH LV adversaries who had ambushed white. (Apprentice shamans were KLV FDPS DQG FDSWXUHG KLV ðUVW given a red tambourine.) and at the time only, wife Börte. He evaded capture with the help of the Of the Mongolian livestock, all old woman Qo’aqchin who hid him of which provided milk, horses were in her cart, and he escaped into the the most esteemed because of their boreal forests where he hid for three social and military uses. There are days and could not be found. When instances of horses being decorated he had descended safely from this in ribbons and dedicated to a local mountain, he draped the sash on his guardian spirit as their riding animal. hat around his neck; a sign of respect Such a horse becomes a living shrine towards heaven; and hung his hat to that spirit and no people could use from his arm. Then, beating his chest, nor harm that animal. he knelt nine times toward the sun.

In that moment he resolved to give 7KH YHU\ ðUVW VHQWHQFH RI The RσHULQJV WR DQG SUD\ WR WKLV PRXQWDLQ Secret History of the Mongols, the every morning for the rest of his life GHðQLWLYH FKURQLFOH RI WKH FRQTXHURU and declared that also “the seed of Genghis Khan’s life, boldly declares my seed shall know this”. Centuries that his destiny was ordained by THE later the sacred Burkhan Khaldan and heaven, the greatest spirit associated its panoramic surrounds is listed as with Pleiades above. Genghis Khan a UNESCO world heritage site. Even was the title bestowed to him, Khan today, the ceremonial cairn erected meaning ‘lord’ and Genghis believed there remains an important site for to mean ‘strong’. Genghis Khan’s modern shaman rituals. horse was white.

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The hands that speak

Words by Lameah Nayeem On a summer night in the mid 2010s, a dancer spins onto a stage.

A hurricane of red silk surrounds her. Her coy gaze pans across the audience, bewitching us all with the whiplash of her irises. Language becomes obsolete in a moment like this. The power of the written word is a suspended belief when the human body surpasses its capacity to tell stories.

It was not her face that enraptured me, not her theatrical makeup, nor the tinkling bells that shook above her ankles. It was the hands that carved tales of gods DQG VDFULðFH IURP DLU 3DUWV RI KHU ðQJHUV ZHUH VWDLQHG D WHUUDFRWWD red, accompanied by a blazing circle of that same colour in the centre of her palms. My fascination lay in the transformation of something otherwise unremarkable: a pedestrian curve of the wrist turned her hands into blooming lotuses; a careful bend RI KHU ðQJHUV WXUQHG KHU KDQGV LQWR birds. Such is the artistry embedded within Bharatantyam.

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Mudras — intricate hand gestures used by Bharatanatyam dancers — are the soul of classical Indian dance. They are the linguistic apparatus used to convey human expression and symbolic meaning through the dancer’s hands. In the way a magician might wield a sleight of hand for the dramatics, Bharatanatyam dancers wield their hands’ kinetic faculties to connect the realm of the abstract with the dizzying spectacle of performance.

Several ancient texts preside over the art of classical Indian dance.

The Natyasatra Bharata (200BCE 200CE) is often cited as the genesis of performance studies in India. It lists sixty-six mudras, twenty-four of which are single-handed — named ‘asamyukta’ — and thirteen of which utilise both hands — named ‘samyukta’.

The hands have a uniquely omniscient role, which curiously contrasts with the semiotics of Western dance. In Bharatanatyam, the hands themselves have eyes:

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they perceive things, they are the principle narrators of a story, they are eerily self-aware and are able to interpret meaning through movement.

They act as their own entities. This is in contrast to Western ballet which inscribes the entire body as the impetus of narrative. Through Western dance forms, we are all IDPLOLDU ZLWK WKH FRQðJXUDWLRQV RI human expression and how the skeletal frame tells stories. The pinpointed literature of mudras, in contrast, prescribes primary VWRU\WHOOLQJ WR WKH ðQJHUV SDOPV DQG wrists.

Mudras have multiple meanings, similarly to homonyms, and it is partly the multifaceted nature of performance that makes Bharatanatyam exquisitely impactful.

7DNH WKH SDWDND WKH ðQJHUV DUH upright, tightly pressed together without gaps. Depending on context, it may depict an act of blessing, or more organic forces such as the air, sky, or water. The triptaka is similar to WKH SDWDND KRZHYHU WKH ULQJ ðQJHU LV folded.

Figure 1. Alapadma, often used to symbolise a fully-bloomed lotus.

When combined with other movements, it may represent picking fruit or the splashes of falling rain.

Figure 2. A kataka mukha mudra which may represent a bird or woman.

PHOTOGRAPHER Nishta Gupta TALENT Prithi Ashok

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Figure 3. A pataka is used to signify a mirror.

Figure 4. A hamsasya mudra is used by both hands to represent putting on an anklet.

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PHOTOGRAPHY

Figure 5. A pataka mudra is used in conjunction with a repeated, sweeping alapadma (left hand) to symbolise abundance or giving.

Figure 6. This hand placement depicts garments and clothing. When directly following the mudras in Figure 5, the dancer can articulate Draupadi’s endless sari.

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Figure 7. The suchi (lower hand) and mukula (upper hand) mudras are used to portray Ganesha’s tusks and trunk.

This symbol may portray the king and regalia, whilst also potentially portraying a bindi, or the act of drawing a line. $ VSHFLðF VXEVHW RI Bharatanatyam dances translates myths, religious parables, and folklore into physicalised images.

‘The Clothes of Draupadi’, for example, is a popular tale from the Hindu epic, Mahabharata, that KDV EHHQ RVVLðHG LQWR GDQFH 7KH tale follows Draupadi, the consort RI WKH ðYH 3DQGDYD EURWKHUV ZKR was staked as a bet during a dice game between the brothers and their antagonists, Shakuni and Duryodhana. After Shakuni wins the round of dice, Draupadi is brought to Duryodhana as a slave, and in an attempt to humiliate her before the court, Duryodhana’s younger brother, Dhushasana, attempts to disrobe Draupadi. Draupadi prays to Krishna for protection, and through his divine intervention, Dushasana is unable to disrobe her as the fabric of her sari never lessens:

illustrious Dharma, remaining unseen, covered her with excellent clothes of many hues. And, O monarch as the attire of Draupadi was being dragged, after one was taken off, another of the same kind, appeared covering her. And thus did it continue till many clothes were seen… hundreds upon hundreds of robes of many hues came off Draupadi’s person.”

Bharatanatyam rejects the use of instruments seen in other forms of narrative dance and drama such as props, stage sets, and costumes. Instead, the Bharatanatyam dancer uses their body to illustrate multiple characters and environments, oftentimes simultaneously. Thus, the language of the dance form is inherently complex and polyphonic, though liberal. For a dancer to successfully communicate a narrative, they must exhibit a profound understanding of spirituality:

“Hearing the words of Draupadi, Krishna was deeply moved…the

“[their] body acts as a vehicle to salvation… But there is an inner and subtle quality that creates the fundamental difference between the

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PHOTOGRAPHY

expert and the artist. This quality is to achieve the technique and forget it. A truly spiritual artist is one who forgets himself and in that forgetfulness achieves the bliss which is called Ananda.”

Within this ‘bliss’, the observer must understand the conceptual journey being presented. An ideal journey is the product of contrivances ranging from the rhetorical permutations of hands to fanciful facial expressions, all of which replicate the impact of well-paced dialogue or vivid imagery in a novel.

The dramatis personae of a Bharatanatyam performance is extensive. There are the hands, the feet, the eyes, the dress. There is also the spiritual: the things we do not see, but rather experience.

Bharatanatyam seeks to comprehend the incomprehensible, to decode the inscriptions of the divine. The ‘bliss’ is shared between the dancer and observer in a communion with the gods as the heavens descend to earth through dance.

Figure 8. The kataka mukha mudra (top hand) and hamsaya mudra (bottom hand) used to show the *DQJHV 5LYHU ñRZLQJ IURP Shiva’s head.

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The water of life Words by Ella Avni A FATHERS LOVE AND SPINACH I. The sun stole the colour from my father’s face, love and loss mingled in the blue-black beneath his eyes like rivers winding through the wrinkles of sleepless skin.

I could not curse the sun for what she has done but rather Allah who allowed for this monochromatic man. as she slept through what seemed like endless summer days he stumbled through each moment and slept in the bed of another. each woman almost the same as the last, all in a desperate attempt to colour his face like she did.

But they can never paint his cheeks like the woman of carob syrup, like my mother.

II. A woman of copper skin stood in the shadow of my father, through his eyes swooped cloaked love She had a forgetful name and a face like a brick, in her face I could not see any love! +HU KHHOV PDUNHG WKH ZRRGHQ ñRRU DV VKH HQWHUHG RXU KRPH KHU QRVH walking through the door before she did.

A bouquet of spinach appeared in my arms “wash them” the nose breathed, no breath of love.

The green mingled with wrinkled hands, a gift from the phoenix. How do I FOHDQ VSLQDFK" As I washed with uncertainty and unclear water a woman approached with wisdom and what seemed to be love.

III. ì:KDW LV D FKLOG GRLQJ RXW LQ WKH VWUHHW" ú 6KH DVNHG ZKHUH P\ PRWKHU ZDV LQ P\ WHDUV the light fractured.

Her hand slipped into mine, the bouquet melting into the grass beneath it, the hand took me to my home which was fractured A breath of noise pushed its way out of the mouth of copper and rust, “where is the VSLQDFK"ú 7KH KDQG UHSOLHG ìZKHUH LV KHU PRWKHU"ú $W WKH ðQDO V\OODEOH P\ KHDUW IUDFWXUHG The hand placed bronze coins in the palm of the monochromatic man, the lustre seemed to further drain his colour.

As the metal rattled the hand constricted, Although I knew not what the rattle meant- I knew my life was now fractured.

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THE WATER OF LIFE The man let loose the rope which tied us tightly to our homeland as we drift.

Madhi holds me close as those at the shore weep with their foreheads just touching the sand, asking Allah to say their goodbyes for them. I place my chin on my knees and watch those strangers sitting next to me, what a curious sight!

They glow a sort of yellow hue, elated, I cannot tell if it’s the early dawn light refracting in the dew collected on their baby hairs or a halo forming around their scalp.

3HUKDSV WKH SUD\HU RI WKRVH ZLWK WKH VDQG\ IDFHV KDG DOUHDG\ KDG LWV HσHFW" Or the water of life has been swallow’d by us who appear to be sailing on it.

Exposed toes turn blue with the coolness of the water seeping in Sunken eyes heavy with the memories of where they left from Irises mirroring the glister of the sea as they remember where they are going.

Many sleep on deck; I assume to enjoy the sunrise Where the sun in her beauty stole what dreams they may have And moulded them into a most beautiful red apparition Shreds of dialogue peeking out when voices are unlocked from their shackles And stories shared of unlawful or pensive pasts Followed by reverie and trepidation of what might be to come.

My beloved has gifted us this water of life This ocean which has the power to create or destroy Yet in it we blindly place our trust to transform what we have once known into opportunity for us to become to take us to Falah.

FRAGMENTED I dream of my life across the river, each apparition with borrowed faces from photographs of a woman I used to call mother Her hair of dark ringlets and the thickness of her brows her body rounded, soft like the language she speaks Oh mother, my beloved, forgive me As I wake to the now homely sound of engines and horns I say “good morning” not “merhaba” How dare I commit such a crime I have robbed myself of my past, my life before falah What use is translation, is this damnation How dare I forget the meaning of the very words I was born of.

The taste of carob has not touched my lips since she was here How dare I purchase such a delicacy with a label in a language other than hers my clumsy tongue stumbling over two dialects tripping over consonants becoming singed when attempting to touch the scripture of gold my knees have scarcely touched the mat of crimson my heart severed from the sacred touch of my beloved.

How dare i, even in my clouded english URE P\VHOI RI VXFK D WKLQJ" to take us to Falah.

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A diptych of art and empathy — In conversation with Erin Shiel

Words by Ariana Haghighi She recounts a frequent episode in her girlhood with a grin. When the house clamoured with demands and stressors and responsibilities, she would slink outside into crisp air.

Hoisting herself up onto the top of her house, she’d soar from whatever was down below, and glide into the words of a book, any book. From there, she says, she had a whole view of the world in its clarifying glory. But as she gazed ahead, the corrugated iron roof dug into her hips.

book tracks her coming-of-age, as the spirit acquaints herself with the audience. “She has always been in my life”, Shiel shares. She’s unsure whether the spirit is a manifestation of herself, or an imaginary companion, or a symbol of girlhood.

Regardless, the spirit provides Shiel with the supernatural compulsion to write.

pace of paddling.

Shiel has an ardent love for art, but acknowledges its manifold inaccessibility to many people.

Particularly, she describes how JDOOHULHG DUW VXσHUV IURP DQ inaccessibility of meaning. Plaques aren’t enough, she argues. “Poetry provides an entrance”. Shiel cites poetry’s ambiguity as its best asset and the reason why it triumphs SURVH LQ RσHULQJ DQ HQWUDQFH WR DUW Its vagueness grants the reader subjectivity, allowing them to forge a personal connection with the art: she remains true to this philosophy in her ekphrastic poems. In her works alluding to art, such as “In Patricia Piccinini’s workshop” , Shiel’s empathetic qualities shine prominently. A trained counsellor, Shiel has a keen eye for observing emotion. She writes of the sculpted mother: “She is the comforter and there are no limits to her love/She is glued to a glowing infant”, an intimate exploration of emotion, a pattern of human nurturing imposed on art.

œ, UHDOLVHG WKDW LQ RUGHU WR ƂQG time to think and a view of what felt like the whole world, I had to be uncomfortable.”

Much like during her own life, Shiel chases the apparition through the pages of her book. Her mystery becomes Shiel’s frame of reference.

She is the foundation for each of the book’s sections, which cleverly delineate an arc of maturation.

Sydney-based poet Erin Shiel’s debut collection, “Girl on a Corrugated Roof”, is forthcoming in June this year with publisher Recent Work Press. The book has been decades in the making. It is a tender assortment of vignettes on girlhood, identity, and the neglected beauty RI HYHU\GD\ OLIH 7KHUH LV ðFWLRQDO fabric woven on an autobiographical loom. The thread that ties the works together is a phantom presence: a spirit of a girl, who Shiel frames as more inviting than eerie. $σHFWLRQDWHO\ QDPHG ìJKRVW JLUOú WKH

Shiel’s poetic domain is wideranging. She masterfully controls territories of girlhood, motherhood and grief, whilst infusing her poems with artistic and emotive commentary. When I ask about her attraction to ekphrastic poetry — poems which detail an artistic ZRUN ċ VKH ODXJKV DQG RσHUV XS ì, think I am a frustrated visual artist”.

I chuckle along, but her poetry is stunningly visual, derived from an Shiel’s claim that poetry may artist’s eye. Her work “Ringtail” provide an entrance to art due to its embodies a moving, lithe possum tail; ambiguity initially confronts me. It “Swimmer” visually oscillates like the is poetry’s ambiguous construction

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Image courtesy of Recent Work Press

that sometimes vexes even the most ardent prose reader. But as Shiel illuminates the beauty in inserting your own subjectivity, I am reminded of her corrugated roof motif, where we submit to slightly discomforting things to be gifted with greater clarity — much like how we must stew in the initial unease when faced with a vague poem in order to receive the largesse of literature.

RσHULQJV VKH UHPLQGV PH WKDW WKH best way to progress forward is to return to the basic element of human connection. Shiel puts her beliefs into practice — her works embody the ideology of collaboration with peers: in “Put out the light”, she inserts references to Judith Wright’s work to pay homage to female poets whilst simultaneously accentuating their undervalued position in class syllabi.

In many poems, such as “Enough fabric to make a dress”, she borrows and embeds lines from her forebears to tie together the plight of women in a parcel of timeless girlhood.

With many female poetic inspirations such as her mentor, Judy Beveridge, Gwen Harwood, Sharon Olds, Dimitra Harvey, Judith Wright, and more, Shiel’s poetry also wrestles with the forces of carefree youth and When asked if poetry is facing motherhood’s impacts on identity its demise or on the uprise, I get a and creativity. knee-jerk reaction. “An upsurge for sure!” she exclaims with reassuring Shiel speaks of the strongly certainty. New avenues of creation collaborative nature of modern such as social media facilitate only poetic creation, particularly in female more and more poetry, and allow poet circles. She’s been a part of it to be shared with larger and the same poet’s crew — guided larger audiences. Shiel’s poetry

by Judith Beveridge — since her collection itself is a testament to Masters at USyd, where colleagues the form’s everlasting freshness. meet frequently, share their work Her compassionate coalescence and candidly give feedback. “I RI DUW ZRPDQKRRG DQG DσHFW OD\V see collaboration in the future”, a thick slab onto a fast-climbing she declares when I ask about the tower of contemporary poetics — a horizon for poetry. In the midst of skyscraping reminder that poetry is so many futuristic technological closer to its era of birth than death.

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Chambers Words by Sonal Kamble 1. , ðQG LW LQ D VRJJ\ OLWWOH FDYLW\ underneath footbridge.

It rained an obscene amount last night. Turned the path into islands. I almost step on the tiny WKLQJ WU\LQJ WR ñHH WKH FXUUHQWV of my policy lecture. The heart hops. Flips over. Water lines tessellate around its veins.

There is gravel studded along the arteries, crushed twigs, and a serrated Snickers wrapper corner glued to the side. It looks messy, a little shy. Reminds me of myself after a night out. I dunk it into the pocket of my hoodie and take it home.

It stops.

DERUWHG ñLQFK 7KH OLWWOH SRRO RI blood and plasma slurped back LQWR LWV VDOORZ ñHVK

3.

“I’m sorry. Taylor Swift.”

Tuna holds my hand as we walk against the molten 5 PM commuter mass. It’s dark outside. The rain slants with WKH EUHH]H DQG ñXWWHUV LQWR RXU faces. “Piece of shit!” Tuna yells. Every stoplight wants us to drown. She tucks me deeper under her twig-boned umbrella, and the backs of her hands catch all the rain.

,W ñXVKHG ñHVK MXPSLQJ

“Um.” We walk to the brick FXUOLQJ RXWVLGH KHU ñDW 7XQD I don’t realise it then — the way it stares at my nailbeds. “Are you moves. But I will.

RQ \RXU SHULRG RU VRPHWKLQJ"ú

The heart sleeps in a tank under my bed. It used to belong to my girlfriend’s toad, but I relocated Toadette into a shoebox under my house. I draw the tank out LQ WKH PRUQLQJ ðQJHUV FOHDQLQJ ribbons in the frosted glass, and start rubbing circles into the pocket near the atrium. It’s so raw, so bleached of colour.

Frozen in a perpetual blush.

“Cute,” I say. I pull away from the muscle. Then it happens all at once.

The smell of fresh iron streams up my nose. The heart pinches into a plum-sized thing, then swells, then rolls through the motions again. And again. It beats. Squelches out a plasmic river. Red coats everything.

Crusted into my cuticles and wedged beneath my press-ons, is blood. Fuck.

“What the fuck.”

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7KH HQWLUH WDQN ñRRGHG 7KHUH was a moment, barely real, where I felt it beat in time with mine.

“Do you want—” Tuna clamps her chin down on the spine of KHU XPEUHOOD DQG ðVKHV 'HWWRO wipes out of her bag. Chin multiplying with every second she strains against the open canopy; she starts cleaning my ðQJHUV KHUVHOI “Geez, Tuna!” My heart starts beating in my ears. Something stutters in my chest. A second sound. “Stop being dumb!”

We’d been getting to know each other that afternoon. I had GUDZQ WKH WDQN RXW ODLG ñDW RQ my buzzcut carpet, and started 4. reading out the Wattpad novel I had written seven years ago. The Blatella Germanica — the heart is a bit conservative. It was roach’s courtship. static the whole time.

Tuna told me about the way ì:DV LW WKH NLGQDSSLQJ"ú , DVNHG they copulate. It’s a saccharine The heart shrunk, caught in an mating ritual. Watching them

Petit Livre d’amour, Image courtesy of the British Library

2.

“Handwritten letters. Pining.

7KH KDQG ñH[ IURP 3ULGH DQG Prejudice.”

LITERATURE

Gift of the heart. Image courtesy of Louvre Museum

, JLYH KHU WKH ñRZHUV WKDW KDYH now turned boneless.

“They were a lot more upright when I found them,” I say. ì:KDWâV WKLV"ú Tuna holds the tank up.

“Um.” ì:KHUHâV 7RDGHWWH"ú The heart wilts behind the glass, shrivelling until its wrinkles look like fault lines buried deep into WKH ñHVK “She’s just — away.” ì$ZD\ ZKHUH"ú “In the…. crawl space.”

Tuna’s expression is unnervingly EODQN ì8QGHU \RXU KRXVH"ú “…Yeah.”

on piss-slicked concrete, it’s traumatic. The male unfurls, SUHHQLQJ WKH KXPEOH RσHULQJ tucked into his wing. He’s charming. Juicing himself of maltose and maltotriose for a FKDQFH RI FDWFKLQJ KHU DσHFWLRQ The concrete is so dark. They look slimy in the night.

The cockroach curls over the RWKHU 7KHLU ZLQJV ñXWWHU LQ D dampened harmony. Every slant of lamplight resurrects them — ORYHUV EHQHDWK RQH ñLFNHU VWUD\ Mars wrappers in the next.

The thudding in my chest turns slippery. It moves like it’s discovering spaces between my ribs and lungs. Ninety minutes.

Tuna said they go for ninety minutes. My heart beats too fast. It swells unlike itself.

She’s swift out the door, leaving the weedy bouquet scattered by the doorway. Grabbing the tank, I try to yell after her, but the sound is garbage. Syllables pulped with EUHDWK DQG ZKHH]H 6KH ðQGV WKH VKRHER[ ñLFNV LW RSHQ DQG bursts into tears.

5.

It’s Valentine’s Day, Tuna is FRPLQJ RYHU DQG WKH ñRZHUV ,âYH torn from my neighbour’s garden Toadette was so slimy, so vapid. are being wound up into a purple It’s not a big deal. But Tuna cries ribbon. into the cardboard like she’s emptying out her viscera.

There must be love behind my computer screen, somewhere “It was just a toad,” I say. beyond the sliced body of the Then it happens all at once. monitor, because the heart is beating relentlessly. Or it must MXVW EH WKH GDWH WKH ñRZHUV DQG My chest caves like it’s gripping RQWR RQH KXJH EUHDWK 7KH ñHVK\ the romance of it all. partition between my trachea and oesophagus dissolves. My When Tuna comes in, she presses a jar full of paper into my airways squeal shut. I try to gag chest. “Some reasons why I love out a breath, but it’s seized by you,” she says, but the jar spans a throb. My chest is too full. My pulse is layered. A twin beat the entire length of my torso. punching my ribcage. ì6RPH"ú I look behind me. The tank is She laughs, a pretty sound, and empty.

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It’s tee time

Katherine Hamnett designs, 1985. Images courtesy of Getty.

Words by Shruti Janakiraman and Ariana Haghighi “Do you understand what’s RQ \RXU 7 6KLUW"ú $Q RσHQVLYHO\ $PHULFDQ accent cuts through the sleepy humidity of an otherwise comfortable Gold Coast morning.

on her t-shirt. His tone was conversational, not combative and yet, his interjection into our conversation is no less welcome.

3HUKDSV KH FDQ EH LJQRUHG"

“He was a great philosopher, you know. I have a philosophy degree too but they probably don’t teach you about him in school. No one knows who he is but it’s funny he’s on t-shirts now.”

“I bet you have no idea who that is”. He presses on with an XQIRXQGHG VHOI FRQðGHQFH LQ KLV Ariana and I look at each “Do you even know who that ability to be interesting, typical of other with identical pained LV"ú white men. expressions, torn between reluctance to engage with this It’s 6am on the G-Line Reluctantly we examine man and the type-A compulsion and we are being accosted the graphic tee for ourselves. to correct a statement which by a middle aged man. To his It’s a rendering of Sigmund is so plainly wrong. Even if we credit, he did not appear to Freud, painted a garish were inclined to explain that be a lecher — standing a safe VKDGH RI ñXRUHVFHQW SLQN DQG Freud was a psychoanalyst not a distance away, in unattractive accompanied by a triangular philosopher, and rather famous voluntourism pants, beady rainbow. The caption reads “Pink one at that, comprehending the eyes narrowed not at Ariana’s Freud”. Is it Freud or Pink Floyd real point of the t-shirt, the pun, chest but at the image printed KH WKLQNV ZH DUH XQDZDUH RI"

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was clearly beyond him.

tee store paragon. Each shirt encapsulates the true essence of graphic tees — garishness — despite taking on radically GLσHUHQW IRUPV 7KH DUW RI the Graphic tee is not in the composition of the shirt itself, but rather how it moulds the LGHQWLW\ RI WKH ZHDUHU DQG DσHFWV the reaction of onlookers.

sophisticated humour.

Another Jack Whoppy tee that immediately grabs my eye also fuses the past with present, so much so that they collide in Jack Whoppy a burst of colour and confusion.

Ariana On the right is a pale pink Galileo, accompanied by the Amidst drapey patterned ornate lettering: “Thunderbolt fabric and zodiac sign gold and lightning, very very necklaces lies a stark sight for frightening me”. Much like the Take it from me, a any hipster market habitué. As Marco Polo tee, this shirt’s merit seasoned Graphic tee wearer. you slowly approach the stall, lies in pop culture reference Each Graphic tee has its own squares of bright colours gawk personality, and its own objective PHUJHG ZLWK D KLVWRULFDO ðJXUH back at you like a crowd. You — much like us, there is a reason sparking amusement at its squint to read their outlandish why each Graphic tee was thrust absurdity. exclamations — “Pugs, not into the world. drugs” among one of the most Other Jack Whoppy tees damning. Psychedelic swirls and are less layered, but maintain On one Jack Whoppy lays cartoon characters all wrap you a canonical graphic tee quality a grayscale Marco Polo, his up in an acid trip gone wrong — eyes cast to the side. Below of confrontation. Printed on no, it’s a graphic Tee store. a sickening tie-dye tee is an him, in uppercase serif font: image of a skull, accompanied “Yeah, I pretty much never sit Graphic tee store Jack by a speech bubble bearing: by the pool anymore”.

Initially, :KRSS\ LV D UHSHDW RσHQGHU “I live inside your face.” Apart the nonchalance seems like a at Glebe Markets, and an from being the most colourful VXSHUðFLDO MRNH EXW DIWHU WKH occasional visitor on Eastern memento mori I’ve ever seen, wisecrack settles into your Avenue during a USU market this design is testament to the mind, you let out a guttural day. It is also a personal favourite truth that some of the best chuckle.

The tee weaves a of mine, a dreamland from which graphic tees are devoid of children’s game with a sense of I draw most of my clothing deeper meaning. Rather, they historical esoterism, punching inspirations. fashion some of life’s simplest the audience with a hit of facts into a carousel of colour. nostalgia and appreciation for Jack Whoppy is a graphic

Image courtesy of Jack Whoppy

No one understands graphic tees like we do…

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Todd Sampson Shruti Yet, despite the high brow esoterism of this medium, the graphic tee phenomenon LV QRW FRQðQHG WR WKH TXLUN\ indie market (as the most vocal purveyors of graphic tees may hope). The humble graphic tee KDV LQðOWUDWHG WKH PDLQVWUHDP ,W LV GRQQHG E\ Rσ GXW\ VXSHU models, mass-produced by fast fashion labels like Forever 21, and championed by every TVpresenter hoping to wear their personality.

Critical to this branding strategy is Todd’s graphic tee collection. For each episode he chooses or himself designs D QHZ WRSLFDO 7 6KLUW RσHULQJ a pun or some form of cultural commentary to demonstrate his relatability. And it has worked. )RU KLV HσRUWV 7RGG KDV EHHQ rewarded with hundreds of online fans (a high watermark for the ABC), a dedicated Tumblr page, and unnecessarily-detailed analyses of which of his T-Shirts “speak volumes”.

No one is more guilty of this than the ABC’s Todd Sampson, known for television marvels such as Gruen and that show where he does weird shit to test his brain. In each role, his messaging is clear: I am fun! I am unusual!

Far from being disdainful, I myself am a Todd Sampson fan. My favourite T-shirt of his features a picture of journalist Laura Tingle, with the caption “you’ve been Tingled.” It’s delightfully nonsensical. It captures the essence of what sets graphic tees apart from other clothing: their ability to

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marry whimsy with cultural icons, simultaneously signalling the wearer’s interests and sense of humour — the perfect introduction to their character.

Graphic tees do literally speak for themselves — but you must ask not only what graphic tees can do for you, but what you can do for graphic tees.

Analyse them. Celebrate them.

Wear them.

Images courtesy of https://toddsampsonstshirts.tumblr.com/

National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights, October 1979. Image couresty of Larry Butler.

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The Coke cans article

Words and photos by Harry Gay It’s a sweltering summer day, the sun beats its harsh rays on the back of your neck. A trail of sweat slowly creeps down your forehead.

The coins your mum gave you heat up in the palm of your hand. The hot concrete burns the bottoms of your feet and you prance about, trying not to stand in one spot for too long.

sweets and goodies. One such store was the Fisher Road Store, a mixed business located in Dee Why on the Northern Beaches. Whether it be some respite from the rising temperatures brought about by climate change or a last minute box of Ferrero Rocher for Mother’s Day, this mixed business store sold it.

Finally, far ahead in the distance, you see it. The sun’s refracted beams casting a large object into shadow. A can of Coke, erected via a spike.

An illusory aspect of the Fisher Road Store, and mixed business stores in general, had always been its decoration. Faded stickers from the 2000s advertising Streets ice A shop awning extends over the cream plastered on the window, length of the footpath to the edges of cracked and rusted Coca-Cola logos the street. Coca-Cola and Streets ice brandished above — these are the cream branding adorn the peripheries common sights of the average mixed of the outpost. Inside, you’re hit with business. What was uncommon, a cool breeze as you make your however, was the large Coca-Cola way through the white tiled aisles can that stood above the awning of of snacks and lollies, lit up by the this shop. Illuminated at night, this RYHUKHDG ñXRUHVFHQWV 2SHQLQJ XS can serves as a beacon of hope for the knee-height fridges, your eyes weary night-time travellers looking for scan the assortment of goodies: a quick bite, last minute ingredients Maxibons, Cornettos, Cyclones, for a late dinner, or a nostalgic Paddle Pops, and Bubble O’ Bills. In reminder of simpler times. the end, you settle for the classic Icy Pole.

For years, I had never known if there were any more like this in Outside, the ice block stripped Sydney. My neck became strained bare quenches your thirst and after years of looking up at passing relieves you of the throbbing pain shop awnings, hoping to be met caused by the heat. These were with the sight of that glorious Coke how my days in adolescence were can peering back down at me. readily spent. Trips to the local mixed Instead, I was to taste the bitterness business or corner store, spending of the worst kind of soft drink: my chore money on miscellaneous disappointment.

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That is, until I was roaming the streets of Lakemba, where I passed by a grocery store on Yangoora Road.

Here, I saw the skeletal remains of a Coke sign, exposed without its plastic covering. All that was displayed was the top and bottom outer rings, with faded tan lines of the words “MIXED BUSINESS”. They were tethered together by thin metal beams and attached to the concrete wall of the grey building. My heart was racing, elated at having found yet another store wielding this can.

Looking at Google Street View, P\ VXVSLFLRQV ZHUH FRQðUPHG $Q intact can used to be above the store, but sometime between July 2013 and June 2016 the sign was stripped naked of its Coke labelling, merely becoming a shell of its once former glory.

Speaking to Lakemba resident, Iqra Saeed, she recalled her younger years frequenting the shop. “We ZRXOG UXQ XS WKH VWUHHW LQ ñLS ñRSV and pyjamas,” she regaled. “They had these bags of loose candy that reminded me of Roald Dahl’s Boy, where they visited the candy shops.”

When showing her photos of the old Google street view, she found them nostalgic and brought back a swathe of memories. ,Q P\ TXHVW WR ðQG PRUH &RNH

cans, I ran into many close calls.

For years, Lifeline in Dee Why along Pittwater Road used to feature a large white cylindrical tube hanging above its entrance, although it ended up being made of fabric, and was installed to advertise its previous owner’s business. Images from 2008 illustrate that the location used to EH D ðWQHVV VWRUH ZLWK PDUTXHH advertising “treadmills”, “exercise bikes”, and more. The tube was painted purple and gold, and had the words “BOXING GEAR” lining it.

In Croydon, an aged mixed business and delicatessen on Coronation Parade caught my eye.

The shop front displays a fancifully written “MIXED BUSINESS”, bookmarked by Coca-Cola logos. It’s been inactive since 2008, the rusted metal and chipped paint peeling with each passing year. No evidence exists to suggest a Coke can was here, besides two metal clamps WKDW KDQJ Rσ WKH EULFNV LQ WKH XSSHU right hand side. Perhaps a plastic tube housing wires was attached to the wall via these clamps, and this is where our beverage had been housed.

The closest I got was Booth Street in Annandale, where a chicken shop has a can shaped sign displayed proudly above its awning. The words Lilydale adorn its circumferences. Travelling back

to 2008, we can see the words Pizza used to cover its cylindrical surface, with an Italian restaurant nestled below. The words ‘MIXED BUSINESS’ can be made out on the top and bottom of the can, albeit faded over the years. Unable to go further back on Google Street View than 2008, I can only sit and speculate what once might have been, but I know in my heart that this too was once a Coke can.

Reaching out to others, I was faced with many false leads, dead ends sprouting from every corner (store). That was until a second active Coke can was spotted above a supplements store along Old Canterbury Road bordering Summer Hill and Dulwich Hill. Originally a mixed business in 2007, it was bought out by Supplement Empire in 2013, but the Coke can has remained, a relic of its more humble past.

After this, another can was spotted along Georges River Road in Croydon Park. A take away BBQ joint serving up pide, pizza, kebabs, burgers, and pasta over the years has housed the cylindrical monolith above its doors for more than a decade. While the business has clearly gone through innumerable makeovers and owners – it has remained loyal to the Coca-Cola branding.

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The cans that remain hold little insights into their backgrounds. The Fisher Road store has the words “KIMS 5-9” plastered on the top and bottom of the can, while the Lakemba and Dulwich Hill shops feature “MIXED BUSINESS”, and the Croydon Park shop says “TAKE AWAY”.

I took a trip down Fisher Road to ask a few questions. Walking over the store’s threshold, I was hit with the familiar sights, sounds and smells of my childhood. Purchasing an Icy Pole, I interrogated the attendee behind the counter.

“It was made for us by the CocaCola company,” Kate* said. “It’s been with us for nearly 20 years.”

The store was initially named Kim’s, after the owner. Once it was handed down to their younger brother, they renamed the shop to Fisher Road Store, but still kept the original Coke sign.

“It’s too iconic, we can’t get rid of it. It’ll be with us forever.” As I left suckling on my frozen treat, I mulled over the new information I had been given.

If this sign has been around for nearly 20 years, this would suggest a possibility of the Coke cans existing at some point in a

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few of the locations that I suspect might have housed them, predating Google street view. At the same time, it reveals that these are not merely any old signage that they could have purchased, but something made VSHFLðFDOO\ IRU WKHP

for locals to gather, the Coke sign in spots like Fisher Road have become iconic amongst the residents who frequent its aisles.

The skeletal Coke sign that hangs above the Lakemba grocery store becomes a literal undead entity, a ghost — signifying a past that is no longer present. Similarly, the Dulwich Hill Can remains intact, but the mixed business it used to advertise is no longer alive.

Coca-Cola and shop awnings have a long and tailored history, with outdoor advertising becoming synonymous with the brand. Coke’s ðUVW RXWGRRU DGYHUWLVLQJ HσRUW ZDV done with painted oilcloth signs Theories abound as to how and placed on pharmacy awnings. In why the Coke cans are gone. For an article from Sign Industry, the author describes the link between the instance, there is the overall decline of the corner store as a lucrative outdoors and Coke. business and community hub. During Naturally a lot of outdoor sign my exhaustive search for Coke cans, acreage over the years has ballied I scoured many mixed business these themes to a thirsty public. This stores and milk bars, many of which outdoor advertising has become a have been bought out by their new signature for the company…in all owners, with any evidence of Coke kinds of shapes and sizes and neon branding stripped from existence.

OLJKWLQJ FRQƂJXUDWLRQV DOO DURXQG WKH Such is the case with the Booth world.

Street chicken shop, it’s Coke can painted over once to advertise it’s $XVWUDOLD LV GHðQHG E\ LWV LQWHQVH new allegiance to pizza, before then heat, and long stretches of idyllic honouring its new god, Lilydale. and picturesque beaches, making Some choose to honour their outdoor advertising perfect for past, however, with Dulwich Hill’s Coca-Cola’s branding. The height of Supplement Empire respecting their these cans makes them visible from a roots. distance, their size promising a hearty amount of thirst-quenching goodness There is also the overall shift on scorching Summer days. from maximalist, overly loud, colourful designs and shopfronts, The article asserts that “Cocain favour of a more stripped back Cola wall signs have come and gone and minimalist feel. At Lakemba, in America ...many becoming “Ghost the colourful awning displaying Signs” by having the signs hidden by Coke branding and cursive lettering, new building construction. Many of coupled with the iconic Coca-Cola these signs have inherited a second can, has been stripped bare in favour lease on life as they have been of the minimalist, grey grocery store rediscovered.” sign. The muted colours emphasising its supposed modernity, and the Phil Mooney, Coca-Cola over-the-top display Coke can has no archivist, says that: place in a world that takes itself far too seriously.

Nearly a month doesn’t go by where the company hasn’t been But the correct answer is contacted by some American usually the simplest, and it’s most community who is tearing down an likely that these signs are incredibly ROG EXLOGLQJ DQG LV IUHTXHQWO\ ƂQGLQJ hard to maintain. Out of reach old painted Coca-Cola wall signs. In and inaccessible without ladders, almost all cases, the town’s people when working in the incredibly see this as a part of civic pride to time sensitive business of food, have a Coke sign and want to restore these owners don’t have ample them. opportunities to make sure they are preserved well. I know that during These “ghost signs” can help my time at Pizza Hut, our lit up sign us understand the state of these that jutted out over the sidewalk was Coke signs, as lost remnants of the often neglected. Very rarely did we past. At the same time, they exist as have the time or energy to go clean pillars of the community. Much like it and the same is probably true of how the corner store, milk bar and these Coke cans. Perhaps it was delicatessen have existed as spots

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easier to either let it decay over time like the Lakemba store’s or remove it entirely.

In the years to come, much like the wall adverts described by Phil Mooney, we may uncover many more Coke cans removed from their pedestals. Who knows where they may crop up, or where they’re hiding.

Collecting dust in the backrooms of a nearby grocery store or beneath a pile of detritus in an antique store or collector’s warehouse. I just hope when they do crop up somewhere, they are held up as the pillars of the community they so rightly deserve to be crowned. *Names have been changed

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MARTIN GREGORY and ANTHROPOID Zak Kalivas As an artist, where I source my inspiration from is always changing.

However, I constantly go back to WKH FODVVLFV RU ìðUVWVú DQG VHH ZKDW they’ve done and how they did it followed by the creatives who came after them and the ongoing “timeline RI FRQFHSWVú , ðQG P\VHOI ãFKHUU\ picking’ at elements from the past and producing works that hopefully make a mark in the timeline of ideas while speaking in conversation to its predecessors.

I am obsessed with the extremes: the extreme of glamour, erotica, and EHDXW\ , ðQG D VXEVWDQWLDO DPRXQW of inspiration from the greats of photography like Steven Klein and Nick Knight, and artists of the past like Peter Sato and Pierre Molinier.

I always assumed that my artistic practice would surround itself around conceptual photography. During the pandemic, I was forced to explore GLσHUHQW ZD\V WR ZRUN ZLWK WKH ‘human body’ and its relationship with fashion - teaching myself how to use CGI programs like Blender allowed me to really work with the ‘body’ in a way that felt closer to a mason chiselling at stone and altering it in ways without any physical limit. That ideology really ðWV WKH FRUH DHVWKHWLF RI P\ ZRUN often described as a fusion between the erotic and tasteful, fashionable and conceptual. Since then, I have been blending CGI and photo media, as well as working with video art in order to produce my works.

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Sydney will be nice when P[»Z ÄUPZOLK Words by Patrick McKenzie

At 5:59pm on August 3 last year, I receive an Instagram message from my friend Laurie a few minutes before we’re due to meet up at Wayward Brewing Co. in Camperdown.

Images courtesy of State Archives and Records Authority of NSW

“I’ll chill opposite the pile.”

I reply with several messages in rapid succession: “Excellente”, “V fair”, “Catch ye there”.

Five minutes later I message again.

“My arrival at the big pile is imminent.”

He replies straight away.

“I’ve been admiring it.”

We ruminate on the Pile EULHñ\ EHIRUH KHDGLQJ Rσ IRU drinks, but emerge again later for further observation. With our wits sharpened by overpriced beer, we approach with wonderment.

Moments later we’re standing on Pyrmont Bridge Road across from the Big Pile, a ten-or-so-metres-high mountain of miscellaneous excavated material housed inside of a hangar-esque navy coloured shed within one of several dive sites for the latest extension of the infamous WestConnex tunnel.

The Pile is a sight to behold, but only for the keen observer. The shed it exists in is an acoustic enclosure built to reduce noise emanating from the excavation that was occurring within. Hidden away, the Pile scarcely makes itself known to the regular passerby. In fact, you have to stop and squint to be able to make out its silhouette in the distance.

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$ VWHHO IHQFH LV WKH ðUVW obstacle, through which the Pile may only be viewed if the veritable rocks align:

The Pile was introduced to me in conversation several weeks later, and as a resident of the area, my interest piqued and a visit was planned with haste.

The work day is done and there are no vehicles coming and Builder by day and Pile going to obscure the Pile. enthusiast by night, Laurie claims to be something of an No machinery has been expert. In an incisive moment of parked in front of the Pile. observation, he tells me that the 3LOH DSSHDUV GLσHUHQW WR WKH ODVW The guard-post at Pyrmont Bridge Road is manned and the time he saw it; bigger, Pile-er. large sliding doors of the shed “I see a lot of these kinds have been left open — exposing of piles at work, and [the Pile] the Pile; a phenomenon that looks like it’s been put there cannot be relied upon. recently. As you can see, next to LW LV D VPDOOHU SLOH ZLWK D GLσHUHQW On this particular colour,” he says.

Wednesday, we’re in luck.

“They’re setting up. I think “It’s bigger than you think” they’re making something out of Laurie says, as we enter a the pile, and they’re just laying spirited tangent on the origins of down their ingredients.” the Pile’s name.

As I would discover several As the story goes, he and a months later, this wasn’t entirely mutual friend of ours were on a untrue, but in that moment, the digestive walk when they came Pile remained confounding. across the Pile.

“Do you want to go look at “We used to do a thing WKH %LJ 3LSHV"ú /DXULH VD\V LQ where we get cooked, sort of reference to the large ventilation pick a direction, and then just tubesat the opposite corner of walk to explore,” Laurie says. the site.

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We proceed to circumnavigate the dive site to the Parramatta Road side, REVHUYLQJ WKH RτFHV WKDW DGMRLQ the shed along this path. A small complex of demountable rooms — stacked about four high and six deep — soar into the sky, we observe another entry gate and guard post, some vending machines, and a few parking VSRWV EHIRUH ðQDOO\ DUULYLQJ DW the Big Pipes.

“I never take the time to really observe these areas, even though they’re a block from my place,” I say.

“I so rarely explore these areas that when I do go out of the house, I almost have to,” Laurie agrees. *** Although my relationship with the Big Pile was still nascent, my existence in the locale predated it by several years. Relocating to the area from Forest Lodge in early 2019, my Mum, brother, and I settled in across the road when the dive site was merely a hole in the ground.

The construction site immediately became a constant in my life. I would see it every morning when walking to the bus stop and it would be exactly the same when I came home DW QLJKW :RUN QRWLðFDWLRQ documents from as far back as May 2019 show that work was conducted 24/7.

7KH VLWH VHUYLFHG WKH ðUVW RI three stages of the mammoth motorway project, which was ðUVW NQRZQ DV WKH ã0 0 /LQNâ It later became known as ‘M4M8 Extension’; eight kilometres RI WXQQHO FRQQHFWLQJ +DEHUðHOG

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DQG 6W 3HWHUV ZKLFK ðQDOO\ opened on January 20.

Although it’s an ambitious infrastructure project, WestConnex has been equally known for ardent community opposition. Despite bi-partisan party support at the state level, Sydney’s independent local government and various community organisations have opposed its various stages on multiple grounds.

Since 2017, local outlets like City Hub have reported on a lack of transparency and consultation surrounding the placement of the dive site. Last year, ODZ ðUP 'HQWRQV DQG GLVSXWH ðQDQFLHU 2PQL %ULGJHZD\ EHJDQ exploring the potential for a class action lawsuit against the NSW Government and its contractors on behalf of residents across the Inner West, who claim that tunnelling vibrations and changes in soil moisture have resulted in property damage.

of Sydney’s multivariate construction projects is maddening at best.

For every WestConnex stage that is completed, a Frankie’s Pizza By The Slice is razed in the name of a ‘We’re Building Tomorrow’s Sydney’ marquee and an eventual Metro Station.

An apt amount of NIMBY-ish Sydney Morning Herald pieces are published, tech giant Atlassian begins a $1.4 billion construction project at Central station, and the cycle repeats itself. *** Such was my fascination with the Big Pile; enough to attend a ‘Construction Site Bump Out Info Drop-In Session’ on October 13 last year, accompanied by my Mum and a friend, to hear about the impending end of the project.

At 3pm on a Thursday, we made our way to Malt Shovel Brewery — adjacent to the While I grew strangely fond dive site — eager to hear about of the Big Pile, the Pipes, and how the much-anticipated this ecosystem of a dive site, I deconstruction of the dive always wondered what would site would progress over the come after it. Would it become DQ RGGO\ SODFHG SDUN" :RXOG WKH coming months. After trying JRYHUQPHQW VHOO LW Rσ WR SURSHUW\ two entrances and waiting several minutes, we were met GHYHORSHUV" :RXOG WKH VHFUHW E\ D PHPEHU RI VWDσ IURP WKH underground legions of derelict Parramatta road shop owners transform it into a bead and/ RU ZHGGLQJ GUHVV VXSHUVWRUH" :RXOG 0HULYDOH EX\ LW" In Sydney, construction often leads to further construction.

When houses are acquired and demolished, a multi-year building process commences.

The eventual ending is just WKH ðUVW VWHS WRZDUGV DQRWKHU beginning, and to undertake a comprehensive account

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Construction and Trading arm of Samsung, one of the current contractors on the project.

The three of us were the only community members who had come to the consultation.

Surrounded by large stainless steel vats of beer and with the smell of hops lingering in the moist air, we were seated across from two contractors and one of the current head engineers. We were encouraged to ask anything and everything DERXW WKLV ðQDO FULWLFDO VWDJH RI the project.

My friend probed, “Were there any funny or memorable moments from the project that could speak to the overall tone RI WKH H[SHULHQFH"ú One of the head engineers RQ WKH EDFNðOOLQJ SKDVH RI WKH project obligingly told us that no particular memories sprung to mind, but that the Krispy Kreme GRXJKQXWV RσHUHG DW WKH QHDUE\ 7-Eleven petrol station were a favourite among the workers.

Buoyed by fond memories of the Big Pile, I asked what would become of the excavated material. With a glint in his eye,

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the engineer told me that tens of thousands of material, would be used in the construction of the new Western Sydney International Airport in Badgerys Creek, a practice common in the ðHOG RI FLYLO HQJLQHHULQJ We left the session VRPHZKDW VDWLVðHG WKH WXQQHO ZRXOG EH EDFNðOOHG DQG WKH entire site levelled — weather permitting — ideally by early 2023, but with one question left unanswered: What would EHFRPH RI WKH ODQG" We were told it was yet to be determined; even as to whether the land would be retained in public ownership.

Though the NSW government is yet to announce any plans, Inner West Council minutes from June 2022 indicate a unanimous desire among local councillors for the land to be “secured for biotechnology and advanced manufacturing uses in the innovation sector to contribute to the economic outputs of the Camperdown health and education innovation precinct of Tech Central”.

In mid-December, the same friend who accompanied

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me to the community dropin was one of 2000 people to attend a ‘walk-through’ of the new tunnel section — I had sadly missed out on tickets.

However, he recounted the day trip: Attendees were minibussed into the tunnel from St 3HWHUV JLYHQ D WRXU DQG RσHUHG WestConnex merchandise and snacks including pizza, gelato, and cookies with dumptrucks on them. A story about my grandmother came to mind.

After having moved from New York to Sydney in the early 1960s for my grandfather’s work as a civil engineer installing air conditioning in the then-brand new AMP Building in Circular Quay, she observed the skyline, Dotted with construction VFDσROGLQJ DQG VDLG WR QR RQH LQ particular: “Sydney will be nice when LWâV ðQLVKHG ú In the absence of Big Piles, at least there’ll be cookies in the meantime.

WestConnex merchandise, images courtesy of Marlow Hurst.

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The Devils in the details: The outrageous story behind Space Jam: A New Legacy’s most bizarre cameo

Words by Jim Bradshaw 51 years after its release, The Devils remains Warner Bros.’ dirty little secret, so how did one of its characters end up in a Looney Toons movie?

everyone to know it. But what about the nun who seems to be in every VHFRQG VKRW" :KHUH LV VKH IURP"

What if I told you the true story behind this cameo is somehow weirder and more fascinating than Space Jam: A New Legacy DQ\WKLQJ HOVH WKH PRYLH KDV WR RσHU" (2021) is, to put it rather crudely, a You see, this is no ordinary nun. It dick-measuring contest; more an just happens to be a character from expensive slide-show of the Warner an infamously unholy occult-classic Bros. (WB) back catalogue than known simply as The Devils (1971): a a movie in its own right, and no VHTXHQFH H[HPSOLðHV WKLV PRUH WKDQ ðOP VR QRWRULRXV WKDW WKH FRPSDQ\ that funded it still refuses for it to its climactic basketball match. After all, it wouldn’t be a Space Jam sequel EH VHHQ \HDUV DIWHU LW ðUVW KLW theatres. without one.

priest, 17 sexually hysterical Ursuline nuns, demonic bewitchments, public exorcisms, archaic torture methods, a holy war, and the plague, all culminating in a witch trial and burning at the stake.

At multiple moments throughout the game, Don Cheadle’s Al G. Rhythm is accompanied court-side E\ D UDJWDJ EXQFK RI IDPLOLDU ðJXUHV Pennywise the clown, an agent from The Matrix, the cast of The Wizard of Oz, a few Batman villains, even the droogs from A Clockwork Orange show up for a malenky bit of PGrated ultra-violence. WB sure owns a lot of shit, and boy do they want

Given Russell’s track record of boundary pushing and the grisly nature of the source material, it’s no surprise that WB were utterly KRUULðHG E\ WKH ðQDO SURGXFW WKH\ were delivered, prompting extensive edits by both studio executives and censors. Two entire sequences were cut completely, and countless smaller edits were also made. In In the late 1960s, divisive British essence, The Devils was sent out to ðOPPDNHU .HQ 5XVVHOO VHW RXW WR ZULWH die; branded with an X-rating in both DQG GLUHFW D ðOP DGDSWDWLRQ RI $OGRXV the U.S. and UK that destined it for Huxley’s The Devils of Loudun for ðQDQFLDO DQG FULWLFDO GLVDSSRLQWPHQW WB, which had itself been adapted Regardless of the headlines and for the stage a few years prior. The controversies it caused at the time, ERRN LV D QRQðFWLRQ DFFRXQW RI WKH it didn’t stay in the mainstream eye so-called ‘possessions of Loudun’ for long, and has unfortunately never that occurred in France throughout managed to become much of a the 1630s. It’s a mind-boggling story household name. that combines one promiscuous

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In the years since its initial release, The Devils has seldom been seen, due mostly to how unavailable WB has made it. It appeared on VHS three-times throughout the ‘80s and ‘90s — even more heavily censored than in theatres — and on DVD a grand total of once, by the British Film Institute in 2012. It has been available to stream only twice — once through Shudder and once through Criterion — and available for rental for a mere three days, after which time it disappeared from the iTunes store without explanation.

From what I can gather, almost 100% of illegal streams online are of the fan edit that attempted to ‘un-censor’ the ðOP XVLQJ ELWV DQG SLHFHV VKRZQ LQ the making-of documentary, Hell on Earth (2002).

Perhaps with the exception of Disney’s embarrassingly racist Song of the South (1946), I honestly FDQâW WKLQN RI DQRWKHU VWXGLR ðOP LQ history that has been suppressed as much as The Devils; not by censors

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or religious lobbyists, but by the VWXGLR ZKR IXQGHG LW LQ WKH ðUVW SODFH 7KHUH LV FXUUHQWO\ QR RτFLDO way to watch the movie outside of the British DVD, itself the result of a decade-long attempt to break through WB’s gridlock that still ended up being censored. You can’t stream RU UHQW DQ\ RτFLDO FXW RI WKH ðOP regardless of whether you have a VPN, and despite a full restoration of the director’s cut being completed 20-years ago, WB have outright refused to release it.

So what made The Devils VR VKRFNLQJ" 3HUKDSV LW ZDV WKH notorious sequence dubbed ‘The Rape of Christ’, in which a group of PDQLF QXQV VH[XDOO\ GHðOH D VWDWXH of Jesus. Or the scene involving Vanessa Redgrave, a disembodied femur, and a place where the sun GRHVQâW VKLQH 7KH ðOP LV VXUHO\ provocative, with gruesome depictions of torture, stomachchurning plague-remedies, and a few erotically charged exorcisms thrown in for good measure. There are hornets, crocodiles, giant syringes, boiling liquids, needles, mallets, and ZKR FRXOG IRUJHW KRO\ ZDWHU" ,âP not going to claim that The Devils is tame — even by today’s standards it can be a tough sit — but I can’t say it comes close to a lot of what we’re accustomed to in the golden age of arthouse horror. The answer as to why The Devils copped what it did lies solely in one thing: the religious element.

The Devils is by its very nature aggressively iconoclastic. It holds no sanctity towards religious institutions and consistently uses what many would consider blasphemy to get its point across. In a 1973 television interview on Parkinson, Oliver Reed, WKH ðOPâV VWDU VDLG WKH IROORZLQJ ì:H ZHUHQâW WU\LQJ WR DσRUG anybody proper niceties, any proper little entertainments, little asides before tea. We were showing them the bigotry that goes on or that humanity is capable of.”

fear and hysteria being weaponised against a population feels shockingly UHOHYDQW DQG IHZ ðOPV KDYH GHSLFWHG religious fanaticism in quite as disturbing a way. Indeed, The Devils still feels dangerous, regardless of its camp aesthetics and outdated HσHFWV ,W KDV WKH YLEH RI VRPHWKLQJ you happened upon by accident in the middle of the night and probably shouldn’t be watching.

If The Devils were to have been released uncut in 1971, all hell would have broken loose. You can just imagine the types of deranged lobbyists showing up in droves to condemn it, which is all very ironic considering its central themes. But still the question remains: why is it VWLOO EHLQJ VXSSUHVVHG" $IWHU DOO LWâV been over half-a-century. It’s hard to imagine anybody batting an eyelid were a company like Criterion to ðQDOO\ UHOHDVH LW XQFHQVRUHG ,Q IDFW most people wouldn’t even realise, given how niche the market for it is.

7KHVH GD\V ðOPV OLNH The Devils are no rarity. In 2021, Paul Verhoeven directed and co-wrote Benedetta, a VH[XDOO\ H[SOLFLW ðOP VHW LQ D FRQYHQW during the bubonic plague that received widespread acclaim. The Devils is, simply put, the unfortunate result of a combination of internal politics and being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps WB’s new merger with Discovery comes with a silver lining; a new team of department heads and executives may result in the next appeal to UHOHDVH WKH ðOP EHLQJ VXFFHVVIXO but I’m not hopeful. WB have taken VXFK D SHUVRQDO GLVOLNH WR WKH ðOP that backing out now would probably make them look a little silly.

For now, all we can do is embrace the fact that Space Jam: A New Legacy has somehow reignited a conversation on censorship that has stretched on for over half-acentury, which is every bit as absurd as the story behind Ken Russell’s unsanctimonious sleeper classic itself.

In a tribute to Russell posted to YouTube following his death in 2011, ðOP FULWLF 0DUN .HUPRGH GHVFULEHV The Devils DV D ðOP DERXW WKH ìXQKRO\ marriage between church and state,” one that renders uncomfortable truths about divine power in the hands of men with an unnerving ferocity. Today, its commentary on

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As a visual artist, I’ve been working closely with sound artist AnSo over the past year. This is a collection of work LQFRUSRUDWLQJ PP SKRWRJUDSKV DQG PP ðOP VWULSV Our collaborative single, ‘Mollah (ඞೡ (ඞೡ)’, )’, intertwines the traditional Korean card game ‘go-stop (ધ༺቙ (ધ༺቙)’ )’ that uses ‘hwatu (ጷብ (ጷብ)’ )’ cards and translation of Korean names into Chinese characters. ‘It’s Myself that I Crave’ utilises a 16mm Bolex camera, capturing portraits of AnSo. Self portraitures express our creative and romantic partnership and journey and the way it mingles with our identities as queer and POC couple.

PHOTOGRAPHER Estelle Yoon MOLLAH

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TALENT AnSo

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IT’S MYSELF THAT I CRAVE

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MSG for me and you

Words by Nandini Dhir Why does two minute Mie Goreng taste better than a bowl of rice and freshly sauteed YHJHWDEOHV" :K\ GR , FUDYH noodles in oil and powder from a plastic sachet, more than fresh ERN FKR\ DQG EURFFROL"

Indonesian cooking, from nasi goreng to Mie Goreng.

Growing up, MSG was just ‘Sasa ñDYRXULQJâ :KHQ , FDPH WR realise that the eminent white powder was attaining a bad rap for being a chemical additive, I thought to myself, “Bullshit, I was raised on this!”

identical chemical to “natural occurring glutamate” found in fresh produce. This chemical and DGGLWLYH FODVVLðFDWLRQ LV ZKHUH many consumers feel the need to eliminate MSG from their diet.

I have always noticed MSG in my pantry, something my mum would sprinkle into her

06* LV LGHQWLðHG DV D FKHPLFDO additive, with Food Standards Australia New Zealand (FSANZ) classifying it as an “added glutamate”, despite being an

In the decades following Robert Ho Man Kwok’s letter, this mouth watering powder has undeservingly become associated with unnatural and

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OPINION

The answer; monosodium glutamate, or more commonly referred to as MSG. YouTuber and Internet personality Uncle Roger, portrayed by Nigel Ng, surfaced to fame when he criticised an egg-fried rice tutorial by the BBC. Drawing on traits stereotypical of Asian parents — using day-old rice and a wok over a gas stove — Uncle Roger UHVRQDWHG ZLWK ðUVW DQG VHFRQG generation migrants. More importantly, he declared his love for MSG. This restarted the controversy surrounding MSG and its questioned adverse health HσHFWV However, this mouth-watering seasoning is the missing answer to many food crises.

Some early health scaremongering and subsequent bad press didn’t do it any 06* ZDV ðUVW GLVFRYHUHG DQG favours either. In 1968, Robert extracted from seaweed in 1908 Ho Man Kwok wrote a letter

by Kikunae Ikeda, a Japanese to the editor of a medical FKHPLVW ZKR LGHQWLðHG LWV IDYRXU journal where he described enhancing power. MSG is now how he “experienced a strange derived largely from fermented syndrome whenever I have eaten corn starch, sugar cane and out in a Chinese restaurant.” cassava starch, and is found in The “syndrome” consisted produce such as mushrooms, of numbness at the back of tomato and cheese. the neck, general weakness, The umami taste that MSG and palpitation (among other DPSOLðHV LV D GHSWK RI ñDYRXU symptoms). One of Dr Ho Man that goes beyond saltiness; it Kwok’s possible explanations is synonymous with meat and for this was MSG. Baseless protein. MSG has therefore and anecdotal though it was, become popular in vegetarian his letter would go on to create cooking, used to enhance dishes a media frenzy around the without salt, but with the umami glutamate seasoning and ‘MSG ñDYRXU WKDW LV RWKHUZLVH IRXQG LQ Symptom Complex’ was coined meat. in its wake.

inorganic additives, such as DUWLðFLDO ñDYRXUV FRORXUV DQG sweeteners. My concern is that people are depriving themselves of the savoury tingle, salivating aroma, and salted heaven of MSG that elevates any dish.

A number of health blogs and nutrition organisations have continued the work of Ho Man Kwok, perpetuating the misconception that MSG is a contributing factor to increased stress levels and anxiety diagnoses. Websites like the Integrative Clinical Nutrition Blog advise “to remove all forms of MSG from your cupboards,” to arguably prevent the growing ðJXUH RI PHQWDO KHDOWK GLVRUGHUV namely anxiety and depression.

Various research papers have contradicted such claims and highlight that there are no clear or consistent links between 06* DQG WKH VLGH HσHFWV LQ the ‘MSG Symptom Complex’.

To that end, FSANZ states that “MSG is considered safe and is an authorised food additive...” but also recognises that, “A small number of people may experience a mild hypersensitivity-type reaction to large amounts of MSG... These

reactions normally pass quickly and do not produce any longODVWLQJ HσHFWV ú Besides making everything delicious, MSG is the answer to reducing our meat consumption.

MSG is the answer to making your mushrooms, eggplant and tofu taste like meat. MSG is the answer to reducing salt mining in the Himalayas. And MSG is also the answer to reducing our sodium intake.

Thinking about my Mum’s nasi goreng and mie goreng, I think about the glories of ã6DVD ñDYRXULQJâ $V D ñDYRXU enhancer, MSG provides a natural element of saltiness by DPSOLI\LQJ WKH H[LVWLQJ ñDYRXUV in a dish, and making seasoning meals with salt redundant.

To quote Uncle Roger, “If you’re sad in life, use MSG. If you’re happy in life, use MSG.”

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Sydney Library launches ‘Dark Web 4 Seniors’ to bridge digital skills gap Words by Margaret Pearson

Move over youngsters — there’s a new group of computer whizzes on the block.

After a successful month-long trial run, Randwick West Library is launching its new ‘Dark Web 4 Seniors’ program to the public.

Every Thursday at 11am, seniors aged 60 and over are invited to learn the ins and outs of the internet’s most dangerous and unregulated corners in the name of inclusion and independence.

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7KLV ðUVW RI LWV NLQG SURJUDP LV the brainchild of Gavriela Princip, the new Director of Learning at Randwick West Library. “Our focus groups indicated that DOWKRXJK WHFKQRORJ\ RσHUHG QXPHURXV EHQHðWV WR WKHLU generation, Baby Boomers were the least digitally engaged of our entire population,” Gavriela told PULP in an interview. “In a world where so many services are now delivered digitally, we cannot DσRUG WR OHDYH WKHLU JHQHUDWLRQ behind. It should be just as

COMEDY

easy for seniors to renew their license, share extremist content, or procure a hired gun as it is for anyone else.”

Before enrolling in the program, -LOO ODPHQWHG KRZ GLτFXOW LW ZDV to access Government Services as an 83 year old. “Illegally, that is. I’ve found their systems are much more secure than they were 30 years ago, meaning it’s gotten harder and harder IRU PH WR ðQG YXOQHUDELOLWLHV LQ their websites.” Under Gavriela’s

supervision, Jill acquired a remote access trojan from a darknet marketplace and gained unauthorized access to the personal information of thousands of residents in her local council’s database.

“Thanks to Gavriela’s training, I’ve never felt more independent.

For one thing, my son will be pleased I don’t have to call him whenever I feel like holding an under-resourced hospital to ransom.”

“When my grandson Steven told me about his cryptocurrency investments, I didn’t quite get it,” recalled Gary, a 76 year old from Bellevue Hill. “I thought it was just another young person thing — too complex for someone of my generation to understand.”

It wasn’t until the second week of DW4S that Gary had his ‘Aha’ moment, telling PULP “when I saw Gavriela show just how easy it was to pay for ecstasy from the Netherlands with Monero, it all began to click. I started to realize just how transformative a technology like this could be.”

‘Dark Web 4 Seniors’ is the latest in a pipeline of new community training programs the library LV RσHULQJ XQGHU *DYULHODâV stewardship. Other programs include ‘MAKE!’, a two-week long school holiday course where high school students learn Computer-Aided-Design software to manufacture 3D SULQWHG ðUHDUPV DV ZHOO DV ‘SPEED and Sip’, where middleaged singles are encouraged to come along and exchange pleasantries while manufacturing amphetamines in the library’s basement.

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A zine within a -zine by Harry Gay

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ART

3vergard

Art by Marcus Langdale

Lost promises of an information-age childhood DQLPDWH WKH SDJHV RI 9(5/$1' WKH ƂUVW GLYH into a universe previously seen only in glimpses.

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The world I call 3vergard (pronounced ever guard) is a culmination of years of art practice through my childhood and teenage years. I have been an obsessive art-maker all my life, creating concept art, catalogues, lorebooks, comics, and so on, all inhabiting an ecosystem of imaginary franchises.

past year I’ve been expanding 3vergard into a musical project, scavenging the sounds of early V :LL DQG ñDVK JDPHV WR hone in on the nostalgic yet otherworldly quality of my work.

3vergard was born as digital art but moving into handdrawing and watercolour really deepened my scope for personal expression. Over the

Starting 3vergard turned art from an exercise in product-making into a way to reconnect with my inner child and give new life to all the abandoned worlds of childhood. While childhood memories certainly shape the visual language of the 3vergard world, it’s taken on a life of its own, and now I see reminders

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of it everywhere. It embodies a sense of childlike wonder and love for the world (both natural and built) that I think is necessary in lighting the way to a better future, a future beyond capitalism and climate crisis.

My upcoming book 3VERLAND is an in-depth exploration of the YHUJDUG ZRUOG WR ðQG ZKDW OLHV behind each little windowpane that my previous paintings have given. It’s been a big undertaking and has taken nearly ten months for pencilling alone, yet to be inked or painted. However, I think it will be well worth the wait.

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Enjoyer of whimsy and painter ‘of little guys @3vergard

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On a mission to get scurvy before 21 @china.thecountry

S T A N L E Y L U K

Addicted to being SUHWHQWLRXV DERXW FRσHH @stanley_luk_

L A M E A H N A Y E E M

The lactose intolerant, starcrossed lover of all things dairy @30nay.la

A I D A N E L W I G P O L L O C K

History nerd but not in a gross way @marcell__toing

J I M B R A D S H AW

Once wrestled a bear with my bare hands and won on a points decision @jim_e_brad

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Connecting her family’s disconnection and displacement through a collection of ghazals and prose. Swim the water of life with her @Ellaouavni

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Observer and commentator of nothing in particular.

Writer of big words and of little consequence @tarocash_dripp

M A R G A R E T P E A R S O N

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Z A K K A L I V A S

Known for his fashion based photography, video art and 3D Art - experimenting with blending photo media and CGI @zakkalivas

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Plant mum, lawyer*, sometimes writer. * not legally x @zimpaholic

N I S H T A G U P T A

Third year artist and BeReal fanatic @nishtaguptaart

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Korean-Australian photographer and actor, currently based on Gadigal land @estelleyoon

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