Glass Issue 2: Aware - 2019

Issue 02 – Aware – 2019

and the stars they dance to the beat of your heart

Why Glass?

Glass was named as such because our first bonding exercise as an editing team involved an ancestory.com test.

After sharing our saliva with the family tree trackers, we were amazed at the fact that we shared a common Great(x6) Grandfather - Jim O’Brien. THE Jim O’Brien. Of O’Brien’s Glass. So we named this magazine GLASS. O, O, O, O’Brien!

Letter from the Editors

G’day Glassies!

We truly cannot believe that a second issue of QUT’s brand new student magazine has come into fruition. Starting this magazine has been a wild, wild ride. One which we half expected to break down before the first issue. But here we are and we’re so glad that you’ve stuck around. We’re not even halfway through the semester and yet so much has happened within the QUT community. We’ve watched our fresh-faced first years settle in to the ways of uni life, feel the shock of being behind in classes by week two and fully understand the health risk that is “The Hill”. We’ve witnessed the hearts of students be played by Zuckerberg and his meddling with the infamous meme playground Stalkerspace. We’ve thoroughly enjoyed the Guild’s new Free Breakfast, which provides those unlucky enough to have 9am classes with a meal on the house, as well as the free tampon and pads initiative brought to us by our wonderful Gender and Sexuality VPs. We’re sure that the remainder of the first semester will prove to be just as exciting.

The theme for issue two is “Aware” and if you weren’t already aware of the

talent that QUT is harbouring, you sure as heck will be by the end of this issue. You will soon read stories and poems and articles either discussing awareness or attempting to bring important issues to our attention. We had an influx of very political and deeply personal submissions this time around and we’re proud to give those brave enough to wear their heart on their sleeves a platform to show their work. We’re also doing a cheeky give away this issue in the form of a photography competition! We aren’t going to make this easy for you, you’ll have to search through the mag to find more details (flip to the back page).

We were completely overwhelmed by the number of submissions we received for only the second issue of this fresh publication. We’re happy to say that QUT’s student magazine is facilitated by your student union and of course your incredible creative submissions and support. GLASS is yours. And we’re so glad to have you.

With love and mad chats, The GLASS editors

Alana Riley – Liam Blair – Lucy Czerwinski

Matthew Latter – Nikita Oliver

Liam Nikita Lucy Alana Matthew

GLASS acknowledges the traditional owners of the lands on which it is created. We pay respects of elders past, present and emerging and acknowledge the important role Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people continue to play within our community.

Glass is published six times a year by the QUT Guild. The views expressed herein are not necessarily the views of Glass or the QUT Guild, unless explicitly stated. Any issues or questions please contact media@qutguild.com

Ignorance Faded

sometimes I wish I could unsee the terrible crimes on our tvs unread the painful stories, peel each agony from my skin like so many newspaper sheets, switch the station at on-the-hours, slip on my rose-tinted glasses. how exhausting it is to be a bleeding heart to care so much. when we can’t change anything, we can’t even stop the next suicide on Manus Island

~ Amanda Thomas ~ KH

you ask why but honey you’re forgetting who we used to be in the years gone by the love that once was faded like the colour in your eyes you ask why but honey look into my eyes and tell me what this us has ever meant to you

Press your lips upon my cheek Can you feel the warmth?

My burning blood contains bitter thorns That pierce my rose petal skin. Stare into my pale blue eyes Can you see the ocean?

The waves crash against the rocks, Trying to kiss the sun. Lay your head on my chest Can you hear my heart?

It beats to the rhythm of your footsteps, Pausing at the sight of you. Hold my hand tight in yours Can you sense the safety?

Intertwined limbs become our home, The whole world at each fingertip.

Our Time The Door

~ Lily Pacey ~

Today I realised I have to let you go And for a moment My eyes stung from tears And my heart shrunk But today I remembered Who the hell I am

So I watched you walk out the door And lock it.

~ Jazmine Gee ~

Photography – Soft by Bianca Lucas

Photography by Olivia Brumm

~

Mother Earth

There is a woman gowned in green and brown, and she stands at the corner of your eye. (she’s dying – don’t look)

"Child," she crackles, embers escaping from her lips. "Child, please." (don’t look)

You turn away. There is nothing you can do for her now.

Terri

Cassells ~

Photography by Jessica Taggart

Money Makes the World Go ‘Round

Paper is priceless or at least that’s what we say, But when it’s green and processed through a machine it turns the other way,

There is a price for paper and it is written on the back, Banks collect and hoard it, and corrupt companies hijack, We believe that it can help us breathe, improve our quality of life, That it will help us see and hear, make our thoughts and dreams rife, We think that it can build us mountains- no escalators- to the sky, And when we get close it’s not enough, no money will ever get us that high,

So, we strap green paper to our arms and flap up and up and up,

So, we try to fly, despite the lies, we have no backup, And the sun burns through our wings of green, our security, our pride,

Until we consider on the descent, the truth of force fed lies, We put power in coloured paper and yet we do not see the mess, Until we’ve bought all we could buy, or we fall down from our nest,

Paper’s worth and importance lies in its colour’s numbered cry,

So, when people say that paper’s priceless, you now know that that’s a lie.

Photography by Gerard Wilkie Written Piece – Money by Ellie Taggart

While I Was Gone

“Eggs?” I ask, offering the bowl. “You still like ‘em scrambled, right?”

Jen returns a tired smile and takes the bowl from my hands. Grabbing a spoon, she begins piling the eggs onto her toast. My sister is thinner than she was when I left. Cheekbones cast shadows on her cheeks; the bones in her wrists stand out sharply through her skin. She’s made up of lines and angles now, where she used to be softer, rounder. I recall our hug at the airport last night. She fit so awkwardly in my arms—like a doll, rather than a person. It’s disconcerting, because we’ve always looked like sisters. When I left, we were almost twins. Across the table, Jen swallows. I watch the rippletug of tendons shifting in her neck and think, where I used to meet a mirror in this face, now, I greet a stranger. I take a sip of my coffee and unfold Dad’s newspaper; the fragile pages rustle.

“Where’s Mum?” Jen asks as she sets the bowl down.

“Out. Had to go into work.”

“It’s Saturday.”

I shrug, keeping my eyes trained on the article in front of me. “She said she’ll get Monday off. They had some printing emergency or something. Look, I don’t know,” I say, after glancing up to see her frown. “She left a note on the fridge,”

Jen says, “Huh,” and looks down at her plate. There’s something about the way she says it. Something that says Mum going to work on a weekend is a thing—a concept that makes a person pause and go, huh. I watch her fingers clench around the fork in her hand. Her fingers are thinner, too, and her nails are rugged. She’s started biting them again. I can’t quite figure out what’s bothering her. I’ve been gone too long.

The steady ticking of the clock fills the kitchen as much as the pale light from the window. Distantly, I think I can almost hear the whining of Dad’s radio through the walls.

I take another sip of coffee.

“So,” Jen starts, after taking a bite of her egg and toast. “How was it?”

“How was what?”

“Fiji.”

I set my coffee mug down on the table with a quiet thud. “Nice.”

She lets out an incredulous laugh. “Nice? Half a year in the tropics and that’s all you have to say? Kat went a couple years back, and she couldn’t stop talking about it for months.”

“Okay,” I say, “it was very nice.”

laccaepel int.

Jen purses her lips, but a few seconds pass, and she doesn’t resume her line of questioning. I move my gaze back to my newspaper and turn a page, but my hands still when my eyes catch the headline, Former Disney Star Checks into Rehab. Beneath it—a sprawling photograph of a tired young woman, her head ducked to avoid the cameras aimed at her. I know that girl, I think. I used to watch her show when I was a kid.

I hear a scoff and look up, realising that Jen’s seen the headline. “Shocker,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Half those kids seem to be on drugs these days.”

I bite my lip, a cold feeling settling in my stomach. Softly, I say, “It doesn’t say anything about drugs.”

There’s a beat of silence. Jen sets down her fork. I glance at her plate. She still hasn’t had more than a bite of her breakfast.

I can hear the frown in her voice when she says, “What?”

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“Sometimes people check into rehab for other things, Jen,” I say, while watching a milky bubble peruse the circumference of my mug. “Like… depression, you know. That sort of stuff.”

More silence. I look up. Jen’s blinking at me, lips parted in confusion. Then, it’s like watching the sky clear on a cloudy day. The colour in her face bleeds away, and she sits back in her chair. I hate what I can see growing in her eyes, so I avoid them and turn back to my newspaper.

“Tracy,” she says, slowly. “How was Fiji?”

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I swallow. “Just eat your breakfast, Jen.”

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~ Grace Cassidy ~

Time is not a line

Think of time as a dimension, like space that fills a cylinder of silence, then bending sharply at the end.

But there is no end, not one that you will know of. But, possibly, when this all finally finishes, you will see the unending end. A bright light is all they say there is, but no one remembers the whiff of frangipani reminding you you’re no longer breathing, or the pricks against bumps on your skin, like a pale pang of pain poised as a pretty shade of cold.

You don’t want to go down there, but they’ll push you down anyway. The metal on your buttocks burn with friction. An inner voice is channeling a five-year-old, challenging him to crawl back up no matter the bruises knees will soon know of. Alas, your shoes only have grit.

Get a grip, you know everyone’s laying in a body, time will pass and nothing can last that long. Resistance is rebellion, if you go down with a fight you won’t come out alive.

If you want to do it right you have to live and let die.

Look before you jump, they say. They were right this time, except you should be looking up and waiting, watching, for the hour is coming. The sun’s eyes never lie. And when the gates shut, you will realise I was right all this time.

~ Persis Lok ~

The Renaissance Nudes. Becoming aware of ones body and sexuality – Josephine McKellar

Tree Story

Grandma how did you meet Grandpa?

It’s a long story.

Walking beneath the tree of wrong and right, the apple dropped right into my hands. It was beautiful and red and shiny and smelled delicious. I brought it to my mouth to take a bite, but my lips only brushed the surface before it slipped out of my hands and rolled across the ground. I was already in love with that apple, so I followed and tried to retrieve it.

Unfortunately, I was not quick enough, and it rolled to the feet of a much younger woman with flowing dark hair and

eyes like liquid coal. She picked the apple up and brought it to her mouth and ate the apple down to its core. I stood in disbelief as pain hit my stomach violently and unexpectedly and the tears rolled down my cheeks. I knew that the woman would go home and that night lay the apple core beside her in bed and in the morning she would wake with a man to share her life with. The sweet apple flesh would have started a baby inside her and she was on her journey of sharing her life with someone.

I didn’t have the heart to walk under the tree of wrong and right. It obviously wasn’t my

time, so I went home and got on with the life I knew.

After a while I felt that I wanted to see more of the world. I left the country of my birth and travelled over the water to foreign lands. I explored and adventured and matured through my experiences and before I realised I was once again walking under the tree of wrong and right. This time when the apple dropped I held on tight. I didn’t rush to bite it but studied the skin. It was red with green and black flecks peeking through. There was no bruising or blemishes and it smelt divine. The time was ripe. I ate the apple to its core and marvelled at the intense flavour.

As I consumed the apple, its flavour consumed me. I was elated. I went home and that night laid the core next to me on my bed. I’m surprised I could sleep at all, I was so excited, but sleep I did and in the morning I found your Grandfather sleeping beside me. I brushed his hair from his face and he opened his eyes with a sleepy smile and then rolled towards me and wrapped me in his arms. I could feel his love and I felt safe and secure and I looked forward to our life together and the child we would raise.

~ Vanessa Smyth ~

When I was younger, I loved collecting the family mail. Around Christmas time was my favourite; here came zooming in cards from all sorts of mystical places, from New Zealand to England to Ireland. There was even some mail that never made the journey. I remember my grandmother calling on my 10 th birthday to ask if her card had come. It hadn’t— and it contained a cheque!

It wasn’t long after this that our mail began to take a different form. Slowly but surely, cards and letters were on their way out, replaced with emails and various instant-messaging services.

My parents became generally indifferent towards their mail as I handed it to them. ‘Bills, bills, bills,’ my father would say dismissively. ‘When I grow up, I’m going to get exciting mail, not just bills,’ I told him, and my parents exchanged a glance of ‘oh-look-how-naïve-and-endearing-Sonia-is.’

Fast forward 11 years, and my predictions have proved true. One week around Christmas last year I was very happy to receive multiple envelopes with my name poised on the front, and the welcome sight of a global stamp on the top right. ‘Christmas cards!’ I told my parents. ‘From my friends from Europe.’ I was genuinely very touched; while I swapped addresses with some of my close friends, I hadn’t expected Christmas cards. It was all too easy to converse via Messenger, Instagram, Whatsapp. I’m not quite sure why the physical paper copy

of well-wishes seemed so much more personal, but it gave me a feeling akin to that warm and fuzzy one people talk about.

I’d met these letter-senders last year during my University exchange to Denmark. It’s a strange thing, but after I’d been there for a few months someone asked me a question about Australia and I couldn’t think of the answer. I can’t even recall the question now, except to say it was so non-descript that anyone, by virtue of merely visiting Australia, could answer it correctly and truthfully. But my mind had gone blank; why is she asking me that? I thought. I live here, in Århus. I’d nestled into this other world so comfortably that when my exchange ended and I headed to the UK, I believed it was a little excursion that would end with me returning to Denmark. Only it didn’t, of course; it ended with me flying back to Brisbane.

For a long time, I viewed the exchange process as quite cruel. Give students an exciting, alternate life, in an entirely new country with new people, then take every last bit of it away from them after six months? I hadn’t even left Denmark by choice—rather, my lease was up, my exams were over, and I had no formal reason to stay, only a desire to. This, I thought, was the definition of cruel. The friends that I’d met were now scattered across the globe—and of course I had to live in Australia, the country that takes 24 hours to get

to, is surrounded by sea instead of other cultures, and is super expensive to travel to.

‘Post-exchange blues’ (as we informally dubbed them) are a real thing. A friend had warned me about them before I left, but I hadn’t paid much attention. ‘Everyone warns you about the culture shock you’ll have when you get there,’ he told me. ‘But no-one warns you about it coming back.’

In Brisbane, I slumped headfirst into the postexchange blues. Nothing was as good as it had been in Denmark; I ached for my friends and the easy lifestyle that emphasised socialization and little else; and I’d even picked up some Danish traits that left me frustrated with ‘culturally inept’ Brisbanites.

Most prominent was the way in which Australians approach conversation. ‘Everyone keeps asking me how I am,’ I complained to my mother. ‘Shop assistants, people I don’t know. But they don’t care how I am, it’s just a formality.’

‘You used to complain that no-one ever made small talk in Denmark,’ my mother reminded me. She was right, though I didn’t want to admit it. Somewhere deep down I was perfectly aware that I was romanticising my time in Denmark, which, while incredible, was not a perfect experience.

What I seemed to be finding so unbearable about life in Brisbane was how quickly everything had gone back to normal. As though I’d never left. As though nothing had changed, even though I’d just been through a deeply transformative experience.

It took me a long time to stop viewing my exchange through my love goggles and finally recognise that a huge part of its charm was its short duration.

When you’ve only got six months somewhere, you don’t turn down events easily. You don’t stress about the future or long-term plan. You just do. You’re guiding by whim and intuition and friendship and also Danish beer. Before you know it, you’re back home and this other world you had access to seems so distant you start wondering if it actually really exists.

Back home in the weeks preceding Christmas, I flicked eagerly through my mail. ‘Prettige Kerstdagen en een Gelukkig Nienwjaar!’ one of the cards read. This, my friend had annotated for me, was Dutch for Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Another one contained the phrase ‘Glædelig jul’ (Danish for Happy Holidays!).

And the very last one to arrive had perched on the top left-hand corner an address that read ‘8000 Aarhus C, Danmark.’

I still love collecting our mail.

~

Sonia Stone ~

Sad Snack

I’ve eaten a lot of terrible food in my life. Brownies particularly seem to have a high incidence of terribleness.

Balancing moisture in a baked good is hard, I understand.

But I’m a sucker for them. An optimist. I’ll cave to the entice of a fudgey-looking square. I’m aware that 90% of the time I’ll be disappointed.

Though I fall into the chocolate trap again and again.

A dewy glisten is all too often a veneer; just a piece of fucking cardboard.

Disgusting. I’m sick of the betrayal.

~ AR ~

Mad Chats

Campus Catchup

A Tasty Reason to Actually Go to Your 8am Classes

Semester One saw the launch of the QUT Guild’s new ‘Free Breakfast’ initiative (7:30am every Wed at GP and Thurs KG) where students were able to grab a bite to eat before their early morning classes. The menus were supplied by on-campus vendors and consisted of free muffins, chia pudding croissants and smashed avo, but it set to rotate each week.

QUT Student and ‘Free Breakfast’ volunteer Sam Ong said that “it’s a great way to start the day and get you motivated … especially for those students who already need to be at university quite early.”

“The food I saw at the free breakfast well exceeded my expectations. There were plenty of options available fo r everyone and most, if not all, dietary requirements were catered to.”

Free Tampons on Campus

Trials to provide students with free pads and tampons have started popping up in select female bathrooms across both campuses this semester. The QUT Guild run initiative allows women to take the sanitary products in case of emergency.

Gender and Sexuality VP Jazzy Gee said being caught off-guard by your period is a “very common yet unspoken issue” that a lot of women have experienced.

“The free pads and tampons are important to me because I – and a LOT of other people too - have been in that awkward situation … and didn’t have money to buy a whole pack,” she said.

“Many students live below the poverty line, so it makes sense for the QUT Guild to do something to help those students.”

Trials will run throughout the semester to hopefully transition into a permanent fixture.

Keep Calm and Get Tested

HIV and STI testing organisation RAPID were at QUT providing free STI testing to students as part of the QUT Guild’s Sexual Health Awareness Week. Short-term facilities were set up on each campus testing for HIV, Syphilis, Chlamydia and Gonorrhoea. The pop-up facility was free for domestic and international student alike and provided a walk-in consult with fast results.

QUT Guild Gender and Sexuality VP Max Fox said that “many people can feel embarrassed talking to a doctor about their sexual health, so they appreciate the less clinical environment.”

“We ran almost at capacity the entire week, with those not able to wait referred to the campus medical centres.”

Max added that the QUT medical centres are also a great avenue for students as they offer free sexual health check-ups year-round in level 4 of X Block at Gardens Point and level 2 of 44 Musk Avenue at Kelvin Grove.

QUT Medical Centre manager Leonie O’Keefe confirmed that both practices have LGBTQIA+ friendly doctors that specialise in Queer and women’s health, including the prescription of pre-exposure prophylaxis (PrEP), a medication that can prevent HIV infection.

She said that the practices are committed to having safe and trusted relationships with students regarding sensitive health topics such as contraception, unplanned pregnancies and sexual health.

RAPID will be run again in week nine of this semester and in weeks one and eleven of semester two (Mon/Wed/Fri at GP and Tues/Thurs KG).

With Alana Riley

Did you know these QUT rules? STUDENT ASSIST

Student Advocacy

We can assist you with basically anything – or at least point you in the right direction. We specialise in Special Consideration Applications, Appeals against Exclusion, Deferred Exam Applications, Defending Student Misconduct Allegations etc.

Free Legal Advice

QUT Guild offers a free legal advice assistance to the following areas; Family law, Estate law, Personal injury, Immigration law

Free Tax Help

Tax Help is a free and confidential service to help you complete your tax return.

Foodbank

We understand that times can get tough and if you find yourself in a situation that you didn’t expect and you’re running a bit short on cash, come and see us! Our Foodbank can provide you with basic food items to get you through until the next pay day. We stock non-perishable items, fresh fruit and veg and hygiene products.

CPR/First Aid Courses

Need a first aid certificate to go on prac, work around kids, or just feel like being a good Samaritan one day? This course covers theory and practical for all those sticky situations.

GET IN TOUCH

Shane Snow

Academic Advocacy 3138 1683 | 0421 486 937 advocacy@qutguild.com

Sarah McCutcheon Student Rights VP 07 3138 3706 studentrights@qutguild.com

Jessica Michael Academic Advocacy (KG) 07 3138 2349 kgadvocacy@qutguild.com

Lectures MUST be recorded

QUT policy “mandates that all lectures are recorded.” In no uncertain terms, if your lecturer doesn't record lectures or they’re not available on blackboard, they’re breaking the rules.

Unfortunately, the recording of other classes like workshops and tutorials isn’t required, though "should also be considered,” if those classes include core unit content.

Should other types of classes be recorded as well? Some units don’t have lectures, so what if you can’t attend?

These are valid questions, and students are encouraged to speak to their tutors or lecturers if they have any issues with recordings.

Feedback MUST be given within 10 working days

Assessment protocols at QUT state that feedback should be given within 10 working days after the due date.

Students in first year units must be provided with feedback on at least one item of assessment before the date that students can withdraw without finan-

By Liam Blair

cial penalty. This means that students can receive feedback and affirm their interest in the unit before they’re set-in-stone to pay.

For units other than first year, students must receive feedback for at least one assessment piece before the date that students can withdraw without academic penalty.

Do you know about the QUT MOPP?

The Manual of Policies and Procedures (MOPP) contains detailed information on the policy and procedures that govern how the University operates. Most importantly for students, the MOPP details what rights you are entitled too. The MOPP covers a lot, and not everything directly affects you as a student. Unfortunately, awareness of these rules is quite low, so this is a quick description of some important points.

If you think you’ve seen one of these rules breached, and your grades may have been impacted, contact the Guild’s Student Rights VP or Student Assist staff members at the contact info below.

To learn more about these rules, Google “QUT MOPP”.

International Hangs

On Wednesday the 7th of March, QUT Guild held their first International Hangs of the year to welcome the international freshies on campus in Aussie style—with a sausage sizzle, of course.

Even before the QUT Guild International Team arrived to set up the space at Kelvin Grove’s humble Kundu Park, there were already a couple of groups present, eagerly eyeing the team as they put up posters and prepared the paper plates. A steady stream of students flowed in swiftly, most definitely hungry after a day of uni. By 5.30pm the pavilion was pretty much packed, and the line for a free dinner fix begun.

They were ready to feed the village.

About 150 QUT friends gathered over kebabs and patties, bonding over their experiences of moving to Brissie. A few local students had heard of the event and couldn’t resist checking it out. The queue

snaked all the way up the hill to the barber’s, and the cooks went through the packs of meat—there were vegan and vegetarian options, along with salad to put on bread. The Indian Society and Singapore Students’ Association even brought some local delights for the masses to try. It was a frenzy watching the spread go out so quickly. Thankfully, the team had stocked up on sausages and had a helping hand from some of their mates from around the globe. It wasn’t even an hour later when all the food had been given out!

Some left, others lingered, but ultimately the team’s effort was all worth it. In the coming weeks the International Officers hope to carry on with International Hangs, providing a relaxed environment for students to mingle and mix over a light meal. And perhaps, there’ll be a lil’ International Bingo at the next Hangs, just to make sure every one’s making some new friends.

For updates on International Hangs, or just to say hello to your International Officers Persis Lok and Victor Daroa, visit the QUT Guild International Facebook page @qutguildinternational

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Persis

Victor

Do Re Mi: Making of a Fist is This

In 1985, the lyrics of ‘ Man Overboard ’ captured the attention of an unexpecting mainstream audience. Whilst lyrics about penis envy and pubic hair barely make a splash in pop in 2019, you must understand Australia was a very different place in the 80s. Deborah Conway’s broad vocals gave a rarely explored female perspective of heterosexual relationships. The romanticism of male-female domestic partnerships was split apart to reveal complex sordidness and vitriol. And in January I saw them in an all-female lineup, over 30 years since their formation.

Do Re Mi had a jangly, funky, often perplexingly inorganic sound which I didn’t expect to be replicated when I saw them

The Triffid 31st January Lucy Czerwinski

in January. The rich instrumentation, so true to the original recordings can be attributed to Julia Day playing eclectic percussion and Conway’s daughter, Clio Rener, on keys. Helen Carter on bass was an absolute force in black and pink, everything from her nails, to her guitar, to her hair in coloured cohesion. Her elaborate, counter-melodic basslines set Do Re Mi apart in a sea of alternative bands, sheltering from the yuppy-ism of the 80s. She was hilariously self-deprecating and witty, chiming in at just the right time to compliment Conway’s tales. There was no way to interpret that Carter was not having a ball; so starkly opposed to her pouty alter ego exuding attitude, box-stepping in sync with Conway on Countdown.

Do Re Mi only released two LPs before Conway “sold out” as Conway so satisfyingly put it. Of course, she did. Fans knew it. But it was far nicer to hear her say it. Conway had an extremely successful solo career with seminal albums like Bitch Epic and String of Pearls which feature radio hits like It’s Only The Beginning, Alive and Brilliant

Do Re Mi’s second album is so dramatically different than the first, joined only by Conway’s rich, soaring vocals and clever and cutting lyrics, cynical of the mundanity of existence. I’m not inclined to say The Happiest Place In Town was more radio friendly, but definitely cleaner, less erratically rhythmic and with far less funk influence.

Do Re Mi’s lead singer has always had a reputation of being somewhat difficult to work with. This probably means she had the audacity to have an opinion. She’s released a stomach-turning number of albums and her project Broad has shone the spotlight on so many female artists. Conway has always been my angry big sister. Someone with the guts to shout at men on buses who won’t shuffle very slightly so I don’t have to sit like a praying mantis. Haunt You flooded my body with adrenaline and cathartic rage.

Very early on in the setlist they played Man Overboard , the alternate version from an early EP called The Waiting Room.

At the time I thought this was the band’s way of giving an aging audience what they wanted; their big hit but smack on a punk time signature to make it palatable to play ad nauseum. But despite my initial disappointment, the album version of Man Overboard had been cruelly saved for dessert. We just had to eat our vegetables first; dazzlingly powerful album tracks.

The night finished with The Happiest Place In Town , the title track from the band’s second album. Easily the sweetest, most reflective Do Re Mi song with ragtime-esque piano accompaniment. Years of touring and recording (and also the fact that this stunning woman is approaching 60) were appar-

ent in the final song. Her voice crackled on the high notes, rendering the already intimate song all the warmer.

But two days after Deborah Conway reassured me in the beer garden of The Triffid that it wasn’t stalker-y to know every Do Re Mi lyric ever written, the Sydney Morning Herald published a feature on her. In

Melissa Fyfe’s piece, Conway says she believes the movement tells women not to stand up in the moment of sexual harassment but depend on a “posse of other people to ride in and rescue them sometime later”. I often but up against the cognitive dissonance associated with the “art not the artist” debate. Morrissey has said some abhorrent things. But I will always

love The Smiths. I can’t help but adore the albeit brief back catalogue of a band which paved the way for females in alt-rock. Deb may be a feminist of the past but she’s still important to feminists of the future.

Life as a Content Promoter

Content producing and promotion is like playing Russian Roulette or Texas Hold’em Poker and waiting for the river card to see how strong your hand is. However, life as someone trying to make a difference and dealing with personal challenges while playing roulette is a whole new level and most of the time you’re faced with a flop.

My name is Will and I’m also known as “Defwill”. Sounds catchy right? But the true mean ing behind the name is that I’m hard hearing in both ears and will go deaf later in life. I’m currently five subjects away from completing a Bachelor of Entertainment Industries and will finish a Diploma of Audio Production at SAE, to then receive my dual Diploma of Event Management and Travel and Tourism which I embarked on back in 2016 at TAFE Queensland.

During my time studying, I’ve become a DJ in the House and Techno scene, an advocate and

public speaker for accessibility in nightlife and festivals, a festival freelancer and a content promoter for “Là Vibrations”. You can usually find me at Capulet in the valley as a sound producer building my artist brand on years of experience.

The Australian music scene has recently been pushed back into the dark ages again for live and electronic music. The New South Wales Liberal Governments has completely discounted the opinions of content producers in favour of condemning festival culture. We saw Queensland adopting lock-out laws soon after NSW which is a total failure and has caused the closure of venues, reducing entertainment opportunities.

Since attacks on festival culture, festivals like Bluesfest, Psy-Fi and Rabbits Eat Lettuce follow by many more have hinted at moving or pulling the plug which could whip out billions of dollars from the economy from

the Tourism and entertainment sectors. Why does tourism play a huge part? Because these brands have attracted people from around the globe to inject money into the ecomomy. Rainbow Serpent in Victoria brings tens of thousands of people every year. Plus, for the first time in recent years, Earth Frequency Festival in Queensland sold out.

The demographic is changing, and these festivals formally known as “doofs” or “hippy fests” are not what they used to be. People with disabilities and parts of the mainstream is slowly changing the way they see festivals. This is according to the 2018 National Panel at the Electronic Music Conference in Sydney which was hosted by Jane Slingo, featuring SASHA and Digweed and Greg Wilson which discussed the global perspective and philosophy within the scene. These discussions about how to make small

changes to the venues, and get promoters and councils thinking to ensure that people are treated as human beings. Recently Earth Frequency Festival made the last-minute decision to promote me from volunteer to staff and take over the disabilities department as a disability manager to work with all departments within the festival. This included Operations Department, Artists Management, Medical and Emergency Department, Stage and Content production Department, Media and

Marketing and Queensland. Why the police? Well most people with challenges can’t handle the sometimes confronting nature of the police and need someone to help them to communicate to ensure they aren’t unjustly punished.

To combat the war on music, the, “Don’t Kill the Live Music” campaign has attracted over 100,000 signatures and 12,000 people attending a rally in Hyde Park in Sydney via social media. The rally had special guests like Michael Chugg (Chugg Entertainment), Murray

Cook (Wiggles), Julien Hamilton (The Presets) and many more supporting the music scene in Sydney.

My advice for all Creative Industries students, is be prepared for last minute requests and rush jobs and be prepared to be flexible. Most of all be authentic about your identity and feel free keep questioning the lecturer’s knowledge about the creative industries subject.

By William Kroger

How to Eat Cereal

Riding into school in Adelaide a while back, I saw a guy sitting on a city bench eating cereal out of a bag. I’m certain it was cereal because the bag had that shape that cereal bags have when you pull them out of the box, like they’re inflated from the bottom at an inexplicable source, and the plastic was that opaque sort of plastic.

Other revealing details: he was scraping milk off his face with a spoon, there was milk filling in the spaces between the bits of what were absolutely cereal in the curiously inflated bag, there was a bottle of milk beside him on the bench, he was delighted.

I had been riding too fast on the way into town that day, without any actual reason to be hurrying, and as I rode through the South Parklands, I remembered how my friend Jen likes to ride that path real nice and slow because the scenery is beautiful. So I had spent the rest of my commute going slowly enough to notice the trees, and now the cereal guy.

I eased off the pedals, did an awkward sort of double-take-with-too-much-brake manoeuvre, smiled, and this is when he called out, “Morning!”

By Bodhi Schier-Paine

I was far enough away that I shouldn’t really have been able to hear him over the street noise, but somehow his greeting not only reached me, but touched me in a way that left me feeling more connected to humanity than I generally feel at even the most intense moments of communion with close friends.

Somehow, I knew the greeting was directed at me, offered to me, the weirdo on the bike who was smiling at this other weirdo on the bench. I had to get eyes front and around the corner ahead, but I threw another big smile back, then wobbled around the corner and wept laughter.

This guy was not some sort of hobo: he was well dressed, well groomed, he looked fit, healthy and happy, and he looked entirely composed.

The way he called out to me seemed as though I had walked into the lounge room of the sort of share house where eating out of crockery, at the dining table, is the weird thing to do.

This brief, delightful exchange with a stranger struck a chord in me that I could not hear properly or understand until I got to school and sat down with a coffee and a cigarette to think about this remarkable fellow I had greeted on the way.

What made this beautiful weirdo so remarkable?

He was sitting on a city bench eating cereal out of a bag like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was tempting to assume he was destitute, so was eating all that he could get, but he was too welldressed and composed to be destitute. Perhaps he had run out of time for breakfast at home, but then why would he be just chillin’ on the bench with a big bag of cereal instead of scurrying like me and everyone else around me to get to work on time and eat at his desk like a good loyal robot.

What made him remarkable is he seemed to be doing this just because he could. That was the impression I got. That he was maybe experimenting with how it felt to eat breakfast on a city bench.

So next time you’re hustling for no stupid reason, ask yourself: what would the cereal guy do?

So, you can like, feel the air move?

By Isabella Webb

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a dog’s sense of hearing? Or a cat’s sense of smell? Or maybe even to see things to the intensity a Falcon might? Well there are people out there who can probably tell you exactly what it’s like. And no, I’m not talking about the mutant members of the X-Men, although I’m sure we could only dream. I’m talking about people with Autism.

I was diagnosed with Asperger’s, or Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) as it is now known, at a young age. My father has it, my half-brother has it, his sister and their parents both have it (Christmas is fun). Yet I only recently discovered the diverse ways in which it can present itself. Of course, there are different “intensities” of Autism, once referred to as High Functioning or Low Functioning, and is now referred to as Low Support Needs and High Support Needs. I was one of those Low Support™ kids, and if you met me on the street today, you would have no idea. And it’s all well and good for people to say things like “oh wow I wouldn’t have guessed! You seem perfectly normal,” I mean thanks I’ve worked very, very hard to make you think that *hair flip*. Honestly working your way out of that little Aspie shell deserves a certificate. But I can tell you, on our end, we are very much aware of what’s going on.

Regardless of your support needs, just about all individuals on the Autism spectrum receive some weird little mixed bag (I like to think of shaker fries) of either hyper or hypo sensitivities when it comes to their basic senses. Asperger’s is commonly known for hindering an individual’s social abilities or adapt ability, but this senses mix means that we are also seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling and tasting everything on a completely different level to those around us.

For myself, I am most definitely hyper-sensitive to touch and smell, however I am hypo-sensitive to spatial awareness and taste. The rest of my senses sort of sit in a middle ground that could go either way but pass as only having an average effect on my day to day life. But just imagine, being tapped on the shoulder and it feels like someone poked you with a stick, imagine seeing a person standing 2 metres away and be able to smell their breath. Imagine not being able to properly enjoy the company of dogs because they smell too strong!

A HEART-BREAKING EXPERIENCE!

Textures genuinely upset me, sometimes I wash my hands to the level of a serious germophobe simply because I can feel everything that I have touched, and it lingers on my skin. I get stressed when I ride

the bus in shorts or skirts because my legs touch the seat and the scratchy, dusty material feels like it’s all over my body. And the smell of the exhaust drives me to feel like I can’t breathe, which is often the case at barbecues or with spray on deodorant. At work I’ll catch a whiff of something (or someone) and I’ll do my best to shallow my breathing and sometimes hold my breath, whilst trying so hard not to seem rude, because it really isn’t their fault. It’s not like we can just say, “I’m sorry sir can you please take a step back? I can smell you”. It’s not the public’s job to cater to us, however that does not stop us from being just far too aware of the world. Don’t get me wrong though, it’s not ALL bad, good smells smell amazing, and nice textures can brighten my whole day (and yes, this may have led my sister and me to try to start an ASMR YouTube channel). Someone once asked me, “so you can like, feel the air move?” and I’ve even had friends of mine joke that it’s like the most useless super power, which sometimes feels quite true.

I have only in the past year or so been genuinely interested in researching ASD, I’d always thought, I have it, what else is there to know, but I’ve been realizing more and more the strengths and weakness that come along with it. I have also found a wholesome little community on Reddit, if you’re

into that, (r/aspergers) where individuals discuss their experiences, concerns or observations.

Topics on how we all feel this sense of being Alien, how we take in an entire situation and yet nothing makes sense because we perceive things for what they ARE, in a very raw form; some have claimed that WE ARE the canaries in the coal mine.

There are so many topics to discuss in relation to ASD, especially with the theme of “Aware”; this is just the tip of the asp-berg (get it?). Thus, if I leave you with anything today, remember this: please don’t wear Lynx deodorant I can smell that shit a mile away.

When you least expect it

When raw talent unsuspectingly shakes the hands of being in the right place, at the right time, singing the right song… opportunity calls.

and Photography By Katy Bedford

For Brisbane singer-songwriter Matt Burton (Elder), his big break in the music scene arrived much sooner than expected. A captivating video of him busking in suburban Brisbane went VIRAL, attracting over 50K Facebook views within the day it was posted. Ambivalent to this, Matt had quite the peculiar reaction. “Oh no, I’ve been exposed… The tortoise has been flipped on its back,” he said.

It was just like any other coffee doused Milton market morning when Matt was playing a cover of the Violent Soho song ‘Like Soda’. Little did he know, a close friend of the famous Aussie band was filming the unique rendition, which was later posted to both Facebook and Instagram. What are the odds of that?

“Thanks for jumping on our tune whoever you are,” said Violent Soho. Within 8 minutes of the video being posted someone had already tagged Matt in the video and they had found their mystery man. Cue recording and management offers.

Matt’s trepidation surrounding large spaces (in this case the world wide web) might just have trickled down into his reaction to the viral video. He’s an artist who feels quite safe in the blanket-y warm arms of the lo-fi Brisbane music scene, of which Matt and his band Elder are heavily immersed in.

His sound would be described as alternative indiefolk. It emulates the sound of earth, wood and dirt, if the three could be observed under a microscope and then personified. Gritty and soulful.

In juxtaposition to the name ‘Elder’, Matt is actually quite young. In fact, he’s only 17. This is one of the aspects of identity which he finds “redundant” to his art form. Matt discussed how his age has often been made a bigger deal of than is necessary.

“I don’t exist to fit inside of a weird static when my foot isn’t even in the door most of the time… The metaphorical door has been very evidently closed in my face many times because of age. Yet no one questions anything about me or my age until I mention it,” he said.

Matt began his music journey at an even younger age via classical training. His band Elder was formed back in high school in the small town of Narangba. It is comprised of the groovy Thomas White on bass, the bold Talia Bond on drums, and the magnetizing Matt Burton on lead vocals and guitar.

When he isn’t singing or songwriting, Matt’s other hobbies include growing fresh vegetables, making a killer cup of coffee and exploring ‘space’ as a concept. Matt is fascinated by the textures, stories and ideas that a space is able to encapsulate. This love informs everything: art, tattoos, music, visualization. There is a tattoo of a window on the inside of Matt’s right ankle and an outline of a body on the outside of his upper right arm.

This simple design represents the idea of both physical and mental space for Matt. “Tattoos can mean everything and nothing. The body represents gender and identity and also lack thereof,” he said.

Matt currently identifies as a trans man and uses ‘he/him’ pronouns. “I am more comfortable sitting firmly inside of male presentation”. He cites this as one small fraction of his entire being. “Some queer musicians write ‘queer music’ whereas some queer musicians are like- I’m just a musician who

happens to be queer. It doesn’t have to be synonymous… This is just a part of my life and my being”. His most recent tunes as Elder can be found floating around the internet or live at a local Brissy venue near you! Elder recently released their debut EP ‘Cyril’ with Valley Heat Records. This can be found on just about every music platform you could imagine, including Spotify if you fancy taking a listen.

Matt is a multifaceted musician who truly never seems to rest. There’s a raw sincerity to his music and way of life that can only be captured by the way you would dig your hands into fresh soil as a child.

After experiencing the glare of the music scene, Matt was given his ray of opportunity in the form of that viral video.

His fascination with space continues to guide the way that he looks at the world, choosing to put emphasis on this concept throughout his work. “Everyone is searching for more in a space that never offered indulgence in the first place,” he said.

Words

The News Sucks. Here’s why you should read it anyway.

Article by Em Readman | Artwork by Anthea Ellen

Knowledge is our great equaliser. Apart from our studies, the most common form of knowledge gains we experience on a daily basis is news media. It’s everywhere, on our phones, our laptops, newspapers, billboards, radio, television and word of mouth. The news keeps us in tune with what is happening in the world. But, it seems that for every piece of good news we hear, there are another three negative news stories.

Bad News: It’s hurting our mental health.

We wake up every morning and hear bad news. We hear word of a plane crash, a refugee crisis, a terrorist attack, a murder, an armed robbery. Each morning another famous person’s dark side comes to light with accusations of embezzlement, employee mistreatment or sexual assault. Studies at the University of Sussex explain that the way we consume news has exposed us to much more news, mostly negative, and the human brain’s “negativity bias” makes us search it out even more.

In epistemology terms, we are hardwired to tune in to bad news. Our brain looks for things that can hurt us; it goes back to our danger-detecting days. That’s partly why you tune in when you see an article about a pileup on the highway or a kidnapping, this could have happened to you. In addition, our news is much more graphic these

days. Back before technology revolutionised the way we consume news, a king hit out the front of a bar would get a few sentences in a newspaper. Now, we watch it happen on CCTV footage, we watch the altercation and a young man lying on the footpath in the aftermath. It’s virtually impossible not to have an emotional response to footage like that. The overload of negative and highly-emotional news coverage can give readers the symptoms of acute stress, such as shock and trouble sleeping. This news has even been found to be mood-altering for a significant period of time after hearing it; releasing cortisol, a stress-related hormone, after reading.

Personally, reading the news depresses me. I think back to hearing of the Stoneman Douglas High School shooting in the USA, waking up to find out about the killing of Aiia Maasarwe in Melbourne, or reading about disease outbreaks around the world. Those stories are difficult to read and even harder to digest, and I can’t help but feel that the world I’m living in looks more and more desolate with every story that drops.

But, what can we do about it? We could opt out and stop reading the news. Some of my friends and family refuse to because it stresses them out to listen to what the President of The United States has said or hear about the health crisis in Yemen.

Rolf Dobelli, a writer for The Guardian, agrees. He says that the news cycle is toxic and “at least partially contributes to the widespread disease of depression”. His solution is that we should disengage from the news that doesn’t directly relate to our lives because we are polluting our minds with worries unnecessarily.

I respectfully disagree with Rolf. The news is how we as young people, form our moral compass. Through reading the news, we figure out what is and is not acceptable from our perspective, it becomes our world view. When the news makes us feel despondent, it is triggering our sense of empathy. We as humans are empathetic creatures. It is normal to feel empathy for people who aren’t unlike ourselves. Beyond this, when we don’t agree with what is going on around the world, we can engage with what we are reading and enact change. Knowledge is power. When you hear about the bushfires in Tasmania, find out how you can

help. When you hear about a spike of drink driving crashes, encourage those around you to think before they get on the road.

When we tune out of the news, the connection between us and the people we are reading about severs. There is no chance for digestion or action. To be passive to bad news is to turn our backs on what is happening in the world. And it will happen, whether we read about it or not. Also, it is a privilege, not a right, to be able to turn off the news and walk away. If you can do that, then none of the awful things we read about are happening to you.

I personally suggest that we read the news out of obligation, not choice. It’s important to comprehend the world we live in and discern how to change what injustices we can.

Bad News: the news sucks.

Good News: If we are aware of the news we read, we can impact it. Read on.

Don’t Speak Over Us

By Sofia Fajardo

A big problem facing people of colour (POC) nowadays is not only dealing with racists who claim to know better about our issues, downplaying the prejudice we encounter and who are constantly attacking our culture, beliefs and skin colour, but our white “allies” who seem to be speaking for us and often over us on issues that do not directly affect them.

What I often see nowadays on online discussions and even in face-to-face conversations about issues surrounding POC are white people thinking that they are doing us a favour by “defending” us. Swooping in to put their two cents into arguments about anything and everything related to POC.

In reality, however, they are actually speaking over us and not giving us a chance to speak for ourselves.

I hear and see more comments from white progressives than I do from POC regarding our issues, often voicing their opinions on how they think we feel about certain topics relating to race rather than allowing us to tell them how we actually feel. Sometimes even arguing with POC when we don’t agree with what they say. You may think you are being helpful and supportive by speaking out for us but it actually does more harm than anything else. For you to just step in and take the mic from us when we are trying to let our voices be heard is self-

ish and takes away our right to speak up and raise awareness about our own experiences. You could even say it’s an act of oppression.

As a nursing student at QUT, I have undertaken many units about healthcare in different cultural contexts. Educating us students on how the healthcare system affects different cultures and the many stories of POC in this context. But who do I see leading the discussions in many of my classes? Not the POC that the unit is about, but white people instead. White people talking about POC’s experiences within our healthcare system, white people debating if white privilege actually exists (spoiler alert: it does) and white

people speaking over us again and again.

We do not need you to come in and save the day, we are not damsels in distress needing to be saved from the evil white supremacists and we are definitely not helpless beings.

When it comes to the topic of race and racism, make some space and let POC lead the discussion. We have a voice of our own, let us be heard.

In saying this, we do not want our white counterparts to stray from the cause. Of course there is nothing wrong with wanting to help but help in a way that enables us to take centre stage.

Do not be mistaken, your support is important in helping to put a

stop to the racism that we face. However, at the same time, know your place. When we say that we want you to just take a step back, it does not mean we want you to stop supporting us and do nothing. We just want you to respect that this is our fight and our stories are the most important ones to tell.

To be an ally is to listen!

Listen to your fellow POC and their experiences and allow yourself to be educated by them. Hold yourself and others accountable when you realise you or others are speaking out of turn. Do not hog the spotlight, recognise your own egos, because there is no shame in taking the back seat.

Aim to empower the voices of the people you claim you want to help. Listen and learn. By doing that, you are truly standing in solidarity with those who are marginalised in our society and you can properly consider yourself our ally.

An open letter to the man in Utah who is stealing my money

am writing to request a refund for the $62.48 that you have taken from my account in $6 increments over the past 10 months. did not consent to this.

noticed the first transaction around June last year while reassessing my budget, or lack thereof. I’d been experiencing somewhat of a quarter-life crisis (I’d broken up with my long-term boyfriend) and I was dealing with it by dabbling in a little bit of retail therapy (buying anything that thought might make me cry less).

I’d been spending too much money and it was time to be a Big Girl and cut down on my expenses. logged on to CommBank for the first time ever and scrolled through the previous month’s spendings. Rent? A necessary expense. A subscription to an online service promising to help me “unleash my own magic”? Perhaps could live without it (wait for Issue 3 of Glass to see if ever really did unleash my magic). “Month-to-Month Ut Usa Card”? Another subscription. But what for?

decided that I would wait for a confirmation email to come through to see what this subscription was for. No email came through. Several months passed. It is now March of 2019 and I have spent half a year watching the US dollar become more valuable as this unknown “business” charges me 4.44 USD, plus an international transaction fee, every four weeks.

finally decide to give the business name a google. No specific business comes up, but most of the results include “travel card” and “Utah”. Fucking Utah, the most inconspicuous of all the United States. Nice try.

The thing is I’ve never been anywhere close to Salt Lake City. I’ve never even been to America. I’ve never actually left the country. So why would be signed up for a US travel card? The answer is AM NOT and a man in Utah is SCAMMING ME.

You’ve done this for ten months now. You must be getting pretty cocky. You must think you’re safe, that if haven’t done anything by now, never will.

Look, maybe.

The truth is I haven’t been too stressed about this because I know I’ll get my money back. I once lost my card in a nightclub in North Queensland and found out the next day that someone had picked it up and spent hundreds of dollars getting rounds. cried on the phone to my bank and they got me every penny back. What I’m trying to say here is that The Commonwealth Bank of Australia has got my ass and we’re coming for you next.

All the best with your future fraud endeavors, Nikita Oliver

P.S. I openly admit that cannot confirm that you are indeed a man and I’m sorry to stereotype, I just don’t believe that one of my sisters could treat me this way.

An open letter to my bank

Hey Commonwealth, I really hope you read the above letter because I’m probably going to forget to call you. hope you really do have my ass, need that 60 bucks for a textbook.

Sorry I’m not good at keeping my details safe, Nikita Oliver

Member ID xxx xxxx xxx [redacted for writer’s safety]

Me, Nikita Oliver

The man in Utah who is stealing my money

Why Wage Theft Matters to Me

know how I’m going to spend my first pay check:

I am 17 and working my first job. It’s not exciting, there’s a lot of sweeping of floors and stacking of dishes. But I am so proud of myself. I had spent two months straight out of high school walking around Brisbane handing out resumes.

There’s a character reference from my English teacher: ‘Hire her! She always shows up on time! (And can do a great critical analysis of Hamlet)’. I know jobs aren’t readily available and I’ve managed to snag one just in time for university starting. By the end of my first shift I already

1. Textbooks

2. Campus coffee!

3. My best friend’s birthday

But it only takes a week before they start to exhibit the same deceitful, deceptive and dishonest behaviour I’ll come to receive from them over the next year. The wage deposited into my bank account is $50 short. I do what every 17-year-old does when faced with a problem – complain to mum. The conversation went something like this:

“Muuuuum. I’m pretty sure work has made a mistake – they’ve shorted me this week.”

“Well, just divide your hourly rate by hours worked.”

“I have! I swear they’ve made a mistake.”

“Okay, just look at your pay slip.”

“My what?”

A payslip. That piece of paper, that as a casual worker, I am legally required to be given.

Proof of my wage, hours worked, and what pay I’ve earnt.

I’m not worried about asking for a pay slip at my next shift. Why should I be? It’s the law, standard business practice. They probably just forgot to do paperwork for

the new kid! It is my boss’ reaction when I ask, that proves my naivety. There is an awkward pause, a frown and finally a “sure”. Is it shock that I see in his face? Oh yep, it’s definitely there. I feel like saying, “Why yes actually, I do know I’m owed a payslip. You can’t fool me!” (Thanks mum.)

When he hands me the slip, I’m in shock too - my hourly rate on the play slip is $2 less than what I had been told during the job offer. Goodbye campus coffee, goodbye textbook.

Next payday, there is no payslip again. This week, I am worried about asking for one. I am only two weeks into my job and I don’t

want to be labelled as difficult. This time when I ask the pause is longer, the frown deeper.

My best friend tells me about how she stopped getting shifts at work. She turned 18 two weeks ago. Her cousin’s been looking for part-time work for three months. I don’t ask for my payslip next week. By the end of my year working there I will have had my wage changed on me multiple times, without any notice or consultation. I’ll have had my co-workers tell me they get paid in cash. And I won’t have received another pay slip again. This is when you know– these acts weren’t innocent mistakes but

calculated decisions. To steal, lie, and intimidate their employees just to save money on wages.

Unfortunately, I know I am not alone in this experience. Wage theft has become a rite of passage for young people in Queensland. It has been through the Young Workers Hub, a youth organisation fighting to criminalise wage theft, I have been able to share my story. Employers will continue to exploit young people; they’ve gotten away with it for far too long to stop. So, we will continue to educate young workers on their rights at work and empower them to recover their wages.

A story on Wage Theft by a Young Workers Hub activist.

Popping Pills

I take an ever-increasing number of pillsto function, to sleep, to appear outwardly normal, if a little tired.

Pop, pop, pop, the plastic deforms as SSRI’s perforate the aluminium lining. Wash down with water. Is the headache enough to justify Panadol? Do I take the soft sleeping pill that’s calming and might help with sleep, or do I take the one that wipes me out for the next day as well but is guaranteed to work?

I think what’s tiring about experiencing anxiety, or depression, or being emotionally drained to that point is that you’re aware of how much weight you carry around. Difficulty getting out of bed? Feels like a plate of lead above the roof of your mouth. Depression? Settles in the diaphragm of your chest, and on your prefrontal cortex. Panic attacks are like having your lungs working overtime to pump electricity up to your brain, where

By Simon Perry

trying to hold onto thoughts is trying to grip a stretchy rubber pipe.

The worst part is how normalised and boring it becomes. You become used to feeling hopeless, worthless, diseased and abnormal. It’s isolating from people around you. You’re aware of how much you’re spending inside your own head.

From this point, it’s difficult to identify what happiness feels like, you just know this is not normal.

That’s the part I’m waiting for, the strange feeling of happiness. I’ve been worse, I’ve been better, I’ve been here before, many times in 28 years. You are validated in feeling this way. You should seek assistance though. Any help is good help.

The easiest ways to start are: talk to your doctor, the ones on campus are amazing, talk to a friend if you feel safe in talking to them, or call Lifeline: 13 11 14 .

Here’s how:

Post your best mobile phone photography to instagram with the hashtag #glassgiveaway, follow us at @qutglass and tag us in your entry.

We’ll post our favorites for you to vote on and the winner will receive a brand new Instax Mini 9 polaroid camera and film pack!

Details: Submissions close Friday 19 April 2019 at 11:59PM. One entry per person, photos can be edited but must be taken on a mobile phone. Winner will be announced Monday 22nd April. Winner will receive 1x Instax Mini 9 Instant Camera and 1x 10-pack of Instax mini black film.

Thomas

Smyth

Sonia Stone AR

Christopher Ayling Rachel Harris

William Kroger Bodhi Schier-Paine Isabella Webb Katy Bedford Ucellino Em Readman Anthea Ellen Sofia Fajardo Simon Perry Alana Riley Liam Blair Lucy Czerwinski

Matthew Latter Nikita Oliver

Shel Walker Lewis Holmes