Swine Issue 3 2018 by swine

ISSUE 3 JULY 2018 |ARTICLES | POEMS | PHOTOS

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CONTENTS. WHAT’S IN THIS ISSUE?

2. 5. 6. 8. 10. 11. 12. 14. 16. 18. 19. 20. 22. 24. 26. 28. 32. 34. 36. 37.

Meet the Team Contributors Editorial Mental Health: The Invisible Killer The Reality of Reality Swinburne Physics Club Film Review: Breath Dirt and Dust Endgame Shimmer and Shadow Failure Over Success A Little Ball of Fur Poetry by Rudy Rigg Poetry and Photography by Aazaad Faraz Winter Chill Photography by Patrick Curtain Spooky and Bright “A Touch of the Dramatic” Winter Word Search Sudoku

MEET THE TEAM

ABBEY THORPE.

SARAH SORDELLI.

RACHEL CHENG.

Third year student studying Media and Communications, majoring in Journalism and Media Industries. Lover of literature, film, gaming, cats and writing in all forms, from creative pieces and journalistic articles to analysis and reviews. Also, I am that person that is extremely pedantic about grammar, spelling and punctuation (sorry).

Call me Sez! I’m back as the designer for the second year!

A final year Communication Design student, interested in anything relating to arts and design. Loves photography, dogs, painting and traveling around the world while being inspired by new things, people and environments.

EDITOR IN CHIEF

DESIGNER

If it’s not leopard print or rose gold, I’m not interested.

DESIGNER

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CONTRIBUTORS

CONTRIBUTORS. Aazaad Faraz Abbey Thorpe Arihant Raidani Avi Leibovitch Emily Taylor Ishaan Mehta Jamie Chittaphu Niamh Noble Patrick Curtain Rachel Cheng Renee Chung Rudy Rigg Sam Roberts Sarah Sordelli Sophie Evans

EDITORIAL

HI FROM THE EDITOR. Hi Friends, Well, semester one is finally overâ&#x20AC;Ś For me at least that is a relief. Although it was my first semester in a while where I did not have at least one exam (God bless practical subjects) so I do not have too much to complain about. Study Media and Communications kids, there is barely any exams. As of writing this it is midyear break and I have no clue what to do with myself. I keep thinking that I should be stressed about something and then I remember that I have submitted everything and got all my marks back. So, then I look for new things to be stressed about. Whoever said being a uni student was fun has clearly never been to university. So, since I have had nothing to be stressed about I have just been wasting my time gaming, planning a very mediocre 21st birthday party for myself, visiting my parentâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s house to annoy them and just generally being a pretty useless human. I will be getting my last semester of university off to a good start when in about a month I start complaining that I did absolutely no planning for it. I hope you all had at least a somewhat enjoyable first semester and did well in all your exams, assignments and projects, whether you define that as a pass mark or as a high distinction. 6

Let us all hope that this semester is better than the last. At least for me that is certain, nothing can be as bad as last semester, I say that now, maybe ask me in about a month or two when I am complaining that it is the worst semester of university ever, like I do every semester. Also, I hope all of you survived timetable hell, two and a half years at this university taught me not to log on until that end of the day, too bad if I missed out on my classes, I would rather that to sitting and refreshing a page for hours on end. I hope all the first-year students got off to a good start at Swinburne and to everyone graduating this semester like me, good luck, I have a feeling we will need it. To finish off this very disorganised editorial I would like to thank all our contributors, there would be no magazine without you and I genuinely enjoy receiving your work. Once again there is some great articles, creative pieces, poetry and photography. Have a read to distract yourself from university life for a just a few minutes. Also, here is a picture of one of my cats looking judgemental. Because why not? See you next edition Friends. Abbey Thorpe, Editor-in-Chief

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The Swine magazine is currently seeking

content for our final edition of the year.

Send your creative work, journo articles, reviews, photography and illustrations to

swine@ssu.org.au. Written submissions should also have

an accompanying photograph or visual.

Follow our social media for more updates: Facebook: Swine Magazine Twitter: @SwineMag Instagram: @swinemag

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MENTAL HEALTH:

THE INVISIBLE KILLER? By Sophie Evans

WARNING: THIS ARTICLE MAY TRIGGER SOME READERS WITH TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCES OR MENTAL ILLNESS. At the time of writing this, aspiring comedian Eurydice Dixon was raped and murdered in a Carlton park a few days prior. Social forums and news sites exploded once again with calls for women’s safety to be improved, and for male behaviours and attitudes towards women to be reviewed. Vigils have been held in the hope for these terrifying incidents to cease. Why we are still debating this subject in 2018 defies belief. One of the first things mentioned about Dixon’s killer was his mental health disorder: he is on the Autism spectrum. It felt like an immediate explanation for stalking her down the street from the bar that she had just performed at, and attacking her before leaving her lifeless body on a soccer pitch. Is it really an excuse? The understanding of spectrum disorders can often be blurred by misunderstanding. The difference between various types of Autism and intellectual syndromes can be confused at the same time as they are accepted. We all know someone in our lives who has struggled with mental illness as it is so prevalent; whether it 8

be anxiety, depression, eating disorders or the aforementioned spectrum syndromes. Yet, time and time again we see almost forgiveness for criminals who use their mental health disparities, often seemingly faux illnesses, as the golden ticket for lighter sentences. New and repeat offenders alike claim “insanity” or that they were “mentally unfit” at the time their crimes were committed when these issues have never presented themselves prior to their punishable actions. Judicial panels and juries are continually made to reconsider cases to establish whether mental capacity was truly impaired so much as to cause damage to property or persons. Dixon’s attack scarily mirrors that of Jill Meagher in 2012, whose accused killed Adrian Bayley used his apparent Borderline Personality Disorder to defend himself. Another recent case involving the Bourke Street Mall car rampage by James Garagasoulas used mental health issues as a defence for running down tens of pedestrians, including a baby in a pram. It seems to have become a wide-ranging excuse

for male offenders of sexuallymotivated or domestic crimes, aiming to avoid long stints in prison by pleading sympathy when it’s all too late for the victims: women. This article in no way deflects from the real issue of mental health. It is a real problem facing many Australians, rising to epidemic levels. However, don’t we all grow up learning that these actions are inexcusably wrong? Don’t we all grow up knowing we will be punished for our bad behaviours, whether it be speeding through a red light, or sexually assaulting and killing someone? Has the ‘mental health card’ been exhausted? Australian Parliament House’s (APH) website provides updated laws and reports regarding mental health in the judicial system, explaining that criminals with mental disparities are “over-represented in the criminal justice system”. The government also explains that increased media attention surrounding certain cases can contribute to a higher perceived number of inmates and accused with such disorders.

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In Australia, there has been a “huge disparity” regarding the convictions of mentally disturbed persons in court, according to the APH’s reports, and often the accused are divided into one of two categories. Those “judged not fit to enter a plea, or are found not guilty because of mental disorder” become ‘forensic patients’ and are usually transferred to mental health care facilities for indepth rehabilitation. Whereas the other half, the likes of Garagasoulas, Bayley and Dixon’s killer Jayson Todd, are considered for trial and prosecution through the court system where they can plead their case. The truth remains that these crimes did have some motivation behind them, regardless of if the person deliberately partakes in them by choice or influence from an internal voice. Though the internal voice is that person. A disturbed, damaged and distorted version of themselves? Yes. A voice that often cannot be controlled? Yes. A separate voice that can be heard on the stand in court? No.

Are mental health disorders, real or pretend, becoming the invisible killer? If this article has raised any issues for you, please do not hesitate to seek help via family and friends, Lifeline (13 11 14), or Swinburne Psychology Services (9214 8483). *Lecturers from the Forensic Psychology and Criminology department at Swinburne were contacted for brief professional commentary but declined/failed to respond by the deadline. 9

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THE REALITY OF

REALITY By Arihant Raidani Physics Undergraduate, Swinburne University of Technology

Hello fellow humans! Everyone experiences a feeling of insignificance or smallness at least once in their lifetime, it’s called having an existential crisis. For me it’s a daily feeling that I have. I am in a constant state of having an existential crisis. And I believe that it is a good thing. It opens up my mind to the magnificence and the indescribable largeness of the universe. I hope, after reading this you experience the same feeling that I do. The sole purpose of this article is to make you realize that how grateful you should be just for existing in this universe. Because the probability of your existence is as small as the probability of you going through a wall. The probability is small, but it is definitely possible. People around the world have different beliefs about how our universe works. Some people think the universe was created by a God, some think the universe was started by the Big-Bang, some think that there are some specific laws that govern the universe. And the most interesting thing about this is that any one of these could be true and also, all of them could be true, we don’t know yet. But I am here to talk about my beliefs on how I think the universe works. I believe that everything there is and everything that lead to the present was just an accident, everything happens randomly. There is no mysterious force or a higher power guiding the universe, but all of this is just a big, big coincidence. For many people it may seem very hard to believe that, there is no destiny or luck. But that doesn’t make the universe any less magical if anything it makes it even more special and mysterious. There are infinite number of outcomes that can happen for even the smallest of events. If there was even a Nano-second difference in the time of your birth, you might not

be where you are right now, you wouldn’t have met the people you know, and you might not even exist. There are thousands of sperms that go for the egg, but only one of them has the perfect timing to fertilize the egg, and that results in you. Any other sperm or any difference in time would have resulted in a different person. Einstein once said that “God doesn’t play dice”, but I contradict. I think that God does play Dice, and by God, I mean the universe. As I said that there are an infinite number of things that could happen, and the thing is that all of those infinite number of outcomes are equally possible. This can be easily understood by the Multiverse Theory, which states that everything that could happen, is happening in one of the infinite universes. Anything that is real for you, might not be real in any other universe. That is why I like to say – “Reality is Relative”.

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SWINBURNE PHYSICS CLUB By Arihant Raidani

The Swinburne Physics Club is a place for all physics enthusiasts out there who want to get involved in exciting real-world physics research projects and build connections with others in the field.

Our projects involve everything in between atoms and black holes. This is a platform where you can make new friends, learn new things and nerd out doing physics! The research projects also offer you the opportunity to get your name mentioned in a scientific research paper. The project choices are made so that people with small physics backgrounds can also participate and have a great experience. The club has held series of public lectures on a range of topics, given by some of the best in the field. The Physics club is also active in promoting women in STEM. We are in contact with other physics clubs/societies from all the major universities in Melbourne, and we hold some fun inter-uni events which are a great way of networking. The Swinburne physics club encourages and supports all students by providing assignment help, so feel free to come by with problems, whether they are some tricky quantum mechanics questions or some maths that gives you nightmares. We are happy to help. After all the amazing physics fun, an after-meeting drink is the perfect cherry on top.

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FILM REVIEW: BREATH By Sophie Evans

“[Surfing] is the most beautiful, elegant, and pointless thing a man can do.” Simon Baker’s directorial debut (which he also produced and starred in) is based on the novel by revered Australian writer Tim Winton. Winton’s continual exploration of what it means to live in Australia at various ages has proved fruitful for Baker’s first film, and the end result is visually and emotionally striking. Shot in Albany, WA, the story revolves around two fourteen year old boys in the ‘70s who begin surfing with “shitty polystyrene boards” and later learn from a former surfing champion living nearby, played by Baker. It is a coming of age story like none I’ve seen; it is raw and honest, if a little unbelievable at times. Newcomers Samson Coulter and Ben Spence, who play the keen and curious young boys, are standouts as their respective and very different-minded characters. Coulter plays the affectionately nicknamed Pikelet: shy, sensitive but equally determined. Loonie (Spence) has the adverse personality: wild, daring and selfish. What the two characters have in common is the struggle to fight against the emotional expectations of masculinity, and individualism in Australia during the time period. What is it to be brave? Is it to be courageous in trying new things, or is it courageous standing back when danger presents? 12

The film seems to move rather slowly; a reflection of the chilled out influence of the surf culture depicted. There is barely a note of a soundtrack, aside from calming symphonies when the boys are out on the water looking out at the horizon, or when Pikelet experiences sex for the first time. Nature is the soundtrack: three metre-high waves crashing down over the surfers, the eucalypt trees swooshing together in the wind, or the rattling of the old VW Combi van that Baker’s character, Sando drives. The cinematography is unsurprisingly stunning. Wide angle shots of the blue expanse of the sea are captivating, as well as the underwater filming, putting viewers in a trance of beauty. The 1970s setting lends well to the raw cinematography, highlighting the unfiltered beauty of everything the lens sees. The surfing scenes are extraordinary, with the viewer feeling as though they are on their own surfboard in the middle of the Indian Ocean experiencing the savage wonder of the ocean with the young characters. The film also stars Australian actress Elizabeth Debicki (you might have seen her in The Night Manager, Guardians of the Galaxy 2, or The Great Gatsby) playing the handicapped wife of Sando. Debicki has often played the complacent, uninfluential spouse and this film is no different; staying in the bush bungalow whilst the boys went

out to the beach. Disregarding the era and this normality for women back then, it made Debicki’s character irritating to watch as she sullenly lives out her days smoking marijuana and having sex with Sando whenever he returned. Revolving around the two young boys as they grow up and experience many adult emotions for the first time, one of the main focuses is the development of their own mateship within such a short timeframe. Debates about loyalty arise, as well as whether to remain friends with someone who becomes reckless and challenging. Male friendship can be fraught with risk taking, particularly at such a young age when impressing one another seems so important. One of the most poignant scenes is towards the end, as the more sensible Pikelet refuses to go on a surfing trip to one of the most dangerous spots on the coast with Sando and his friend Loonie. The two in the car remark to stop being a coward and to get in the car. Pikelet, tears streaming down his face says: “It doesn’t make me ordinary or a coward, it’s just not for me.” The representation of a boy realising he can be and do whatever he likes without care of judgement, and become a better man in the process is a strong message that is still relevant today among Australian men.

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Issues surrounding masculinity can often be pushed to the background of a national, and even worldwide feminist conversation. Baker has addressed this issue through Wintonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s storytelling with eloquent and sometimes uncomfortably revealing reality. For a directorial debut, Baker has set his personal bar very high, as well as that of the future of Australian films. By resisting the urge to ground his first film in the US market that he has grown into, Baker returns to promote his hometown and talent with natural ĂŠlan. The film really is a breath of fresh air. 4/5 *Breath is still showing at selected Melbourne Village Cinemas locations, as well as at Lido Cinema on Glenferrie Road. Discounted student tickets can be purchased at the Swinburne Bookshop (Hawthorn).

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DIRT AND DUST By Abbey Thorpe

Stella’s eyelids hung heavy as she tried to focus them on the dusty dirt road. The tiredness and red dust that coated the front windshield did not help her already fading vision, nor did the sunglasses that were very clearly too big for her head. She saw darkness for a split second and slammed on the brakes, jolting Tamara awake in the passenger seat. “What’s going on?” Tamara asked in a slur as she turned her body in the seat. “Nothing,” Stella replied. “I just need some fresh air.” “Mmmm,” came a noise from Tamara’s mouth as her eyelids slowly closed again. Stella opened her door and walked around the other side of the car to the edge of the road. She slid off her sunglasses and sighed, squinting into the horizon (she had thought she needed glasses for a while but had ignored it, it seemed something not to be worried about now anyway). The sweat that the sunglasses had semi protected her eyes from now threated to drip into their deep blue. Stella wiped the back of her hand against her forehead in an attempt to get rid of it, all that did was transfer the red dust into her sweat creating a grimy texture on her forehead. God nothing was ever fucking simple out here was it? She thought. Why did the tourists even come out here? Fucking dirt and dust everywhere, on your forehead, your eyes, your car, your arse. She pulled at her eyes in an attempt to wake herself, and felt the wrinkles that she knew in time would spread to the rest of her face. The signs of age had already begun to show. Stella was only 28, but most times she felt much older, she cast a backwards glance to Tamara’s young, sleeping, eighteen year old body, girl didn’t know how good she had it. Stella wanted to slap herself in that moment, she was worrying about that now. She had never wanted to be one of those women who worried about their appearance even in normal circumstances. It was the tiredness and heat she reasoned, it was enough to make anyone nuts and it seemed like it would take her soon.

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They couldn’t stop for long and Stella knew that she needed to wake up quickly. She looked back in the direction that they had been driving; how far away were they now? Not far enough she supposed. It wasn’t easy to get away from that town that was isolated from the rest of the world and was riddled with everything from pickpockets to serial murderers. A sleepy mumble came from the car, “we going soon yet Mary?” Stella hated that Tamara called her that. Just as she hated looking at her driver’s license, a constant reminder of who she really was. She was actually glad that she didn’t have it with her despite the suspicion it aroused. Plus, if they were to run into other people two names would probably not look that good either, they probably should have come up with new names, she thought, but she hadn’t the energy to think about it then. Stella had wondered if Tamara was just calling her that because she knew she hated it, she had thought of calling her Tammy back, a name Stella knew she would hate, but she didn’t have the energy for pettiness. Her mother had hated it, the name Stella, she thought it was tarty. Well, Stella thought, the old bitch is dead now so it doesn’t matter anyway. She was only ten when the kids at school started calling her that, not that it bothered her, taken from her persona, Stella Star the movie star, as she liked to call her. Well Stella Star didn’t turn out to be much of a movie star but she wasn’t dead yet. Mary had nothing going for her but Stella, Stella was full of life, full of flair, the exact opposite to how she felt right now.

A girl of eight at the time, sitting impatiently at the graduation ceremony. A ceremony that Stella’s mother had sat tight lipped all the way through aside from the moment when her daughter walked out and the principal announced her as Stella Stefanberg, she would never forget the look on her mother’s face. Tamara had sat impatiently waiting for her brother’s name to be called, a fairly bright boy whose future had the promise of university (not common in the town), and a boy who now lay rotting in the ground (very common in the town). Not far off her own graduation, Tamara, as talented as she was had quite a good chance of getting out of there, just like her brother. Now both of them were out of there, just not in the way that either of them had hoped. Stella was out of there now as well she supposed, not that it mattered they were nowhere near being safe yet. In the far distance she could see the red dust being thrown into the air. She slid her sunglasses back on, slammed the door and continued down the dusty dirt road.

“Don’t call me that! And yes we’ll be going soon just give me a few more minutes would you, Jesus!” She tugged at the coarse blonde strands at the back of her head, attempting to wake herself again. Stella knew she shouldn’t have been so harsh on Tamara, the poor girl had been through enough, she still remembered the first time she saw her.

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ENDGAME By Avi Leibovitch

The main roads in the city were closed off, for the royal ceremony was taking place in honour of the King’s birthday. He stood on a tall platform as he addressed his people, a crowd that filled up the entire street. Bang! The sound of a gunshot tore through the King’s words. Screams of terror erupted from the people as they all ran in different directions, fearing for their lives. There was a small hole in the floor of the platform, a metre away from the King’s feet. Five royal guards had rushed to his side, and formed a protective circle around him. Bang! One of the guards crumpled to the ground, blood trickled down his forehead. The King winced at the sight of the fallen man, a loyal guard he had known for a long time. The four who remained tightened the circle. There was a path set for the King’s getaway, but to the guards’ puzzlement, he did not move. Looking over their shoulders, the King tried to locate the hitman.

……………………………… Years before he became King, the twelve-yearold Prince waited patiently for his mother, the Queen, to finish her meeting with her advisors. The office door opened, and three men walked out, followed by Her Majesty. The Queen said goodbye to the men, before turning to her son. “Have you been waiting long?” she asked. Ignoring the question, the Prince looked at her and said, “It seems as though the people who serve you possess a power that you don’t have.” “What do you mean?”

“Well, you can’t rule a kingdom by yourself. There are advisors to council you before a law is passed, and officials who publicise and enforce these laws to the public while you stay in the palace.”w The Queen nodded, understanding the boy. “Also,” the Prince continued, “you have guards protecting you, because you cannot protect yourself.” Without saying a word, the Queen gestured her son into the office and closed the door. She then went to a shelf in the corner, and pulled out a chess set. “I take it you know how to play?” the Queen asked, setting up the game on her desk.

……………………………… Bang! One of the four guards cried out in pain, but he did not fall to the ground. The bullet had slammed into his left shoulder, and he covered the wound with his hand. “Move forward!” the King ordered. The guards exchanged a look of uncertainty, and they all moved further away from the vehicle that would take them to safety. Bang! The shot missed, but the King felt a sharp force soar over his head. He then turned to two of the guards. “I want you both to stay here, and fire in that direction,” he told them, pointing towards a set of windows on the third floor of one of the buildings. The men nodded and aimed their rifles, before firing a torrent of bullets. The King knew that the hitman was in a different building, but he didn’t want the hitman to be aware of this.

………………………………

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The Prince made the first move, placing a pawn two squares forward. A small sound vibrated from the wooden surface. Tap! “Just like the king in chess,” the Queen said, “I have many people working for me.” Tap! “All the pieces serve to protect their leader.” Tap! “And just as you said, it appears the leader is limited in what he can do, and how far he can move.” Tap! “This is because people tend to forget the king’s true purpose.” Tap! The Prince was feeling pleased with himself, for he had used his key pieces to draw out the black king into the open space. Tap! “Checkmate!”

………………………………

Even though it was mostly covered with his pieces, the white king was checkmated; trapped by the black king and two of its pawns. “You see?” his mother said. “A leader’s strength is not in how far he can move on his own, but how well he can guide those around him.” The Prince was silent. The Queen smiled at her son. “There is something else you must bear in mind,” she said. “The king is not just a piece. He is also one of the players…” She picked up the black king, and used it to knock over the white king, before placing it in the square of the fallen. “…and the player can change the game.”

……………………………… The King held a rifle, taken from the wounded guard. The gun was aimed towards a balcony on the fourth level. Behind the curtains lay the silhouette of the assassin, slumped over his sniper rifle. “Checkmate,” the King muttered.

With most of the people evacuated, the King broke into a run, with his remaining guards at his side. Bang! Bang! The first shot missed, and had slammed into the asphalt. The second shot did not come from the hitman.

……………………………… The Prince stared at the board in bewilderment. 17

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SHIMMER AND SHADOW By Em Taylor

There was something not right about the window. There was something shimmery and strange and mystical about it. Or maybe it was the summer heat finally sneaking under my skin and disturbing my senses. A shadow disrupted the shimmer, gliding along the terrace outside the window. My blood curdled and my fingers shook. The shadow passed again from the same direction it had come before. It was not possible. The terrace did not wrap around the building. With quaking knees and thudding heart, I stepped outside into the sun. It scorched my skin and blinded my eyes as it shined off the ocean. Shielding my eyes, I looked to my right. All that stood was a rusted table and chair. To my left was a drainpipe. Everything was finally bright in the sun again. I looked out over the sea, the boats knocking against each other on the waves. The wind was warm but it was better than stagnant air. Clouds flittered over the sun and dulled the shimmer on the water.

The shadow flickered on my left. I turned to face it. It was myself. In every particular. Smiling as if it knew that I did not. It walked towards me with a mocking smile that glimmered in its brown eyes. It stopped mere inches away. Maybe, I thought, something is only real when we interact with it. I wanted to look away but this grotesque joke of the mind held my attention completely. Its smile deepened and its eyes bore into mine. My mouth fell open and I breathed in the sea salt air. It spoke. â&#x20AC;&#x153;How long do you mean to be content?â&#x20AC;? My entirety froze. The shadow, my double, stepped away and when I blinked it had gone. Replaced by the shimmer of sunlight on the sea.

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“FAILURE OVER SUCCESS” By Ishaan Mehta

Success, why is it so crucial and necessary, as in my perspective.. I guess it’s just a delicate accessory.

deal of hustle, which at one point or another puts us all in a great state of nerve-wracking puzzle.

Why is every soul on this blue canvas so damn obsessed with the brutal and never ending trail of success, while the prophecy of each soul holds plenty that can be accessed without following the trail of success.. As the mere idea of success, poisons and thrashes the innocence out, without giving life a chance to exhibit the resistance.

I guess it’s the “failures” in our lives that should receive the utmost importance from the vacuous yet considered the most superior, human race, as all I know is that “failure” creates the pace, that enables one to climb the most diminished as well as the head turning and monumental steps on the ladder to success.

Success... I guess is just a vague phenomenon that acts as a scale with no markings, which measures and questions the existence of people either on the basis of never freezing hands of time or on the doltish concept of blings and shines.

Why not to treat failure as a good old friend... As all it does is, to provide you a helping hand, to open our shut yet success seeking eyes to witness yet another breathtaking sun rise, composed full of opportunities with no accessories and vanities.

Why is success considered so immensely crucial... For all I know is, what it generates is a monumental

Why not to treat “failure” as a good old friend, for all it does is to provide us a helping hand.

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A LITTLE BALL OF FUR By Abbey Thorpe

She and her brother lazed in front of the TV, doing nothing with an absolutely uneventful weekend. Their mother had left promising to return with a gift for the daughter. A gift she was told, that she must share with her brother. Not something that the daughter was at all delighted about. When she whined about why she would have to share it, all she got was a “you’ll see” from her mother. Ever since the mother had driven away. The girl had flipped between moping over the fact that she had to share her gift and delightfully imagining what the present could be, the image that she kept in her mind was a beautiful ornate snow globe, that would then have to be displayed on the fireplace mantel, that she would never be able to touch but that everyone would have to appreciate. She heard her mother’s car pull up the driveway and promptly moved to the window to try and get a glance of her present before her mother brought it inside. The daughter sees her mother walk past and a little girlish squeal escapes from her mouth. She sprints outside as fast as her little legs would take her, shortly followed by her brother, whose excitement does not quite match her own. She runs to her mother and buries her face in the gift. Never has she ever felt happiness like this. This tiny little creature, the first thing she would love aside from her family, this little ball of fur that would change her life.

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La Petite Mort You have your place; buried six feet underneath, bow your head over a block and run crimson rivers for me. I’d take swings at you if it weren’t for the fact that you ripped off my limbs and reassembled them as you pleased. A quiet corpse laid pretty on a bed of foliage, I didn’t realise you liked fucking the dead. Why are the Gods so forgetful, fraudulent? I did nothing. Do not make me plead. You were the one who was supposed to pay for your sins, but instead you came away with your little death and left me there. Bruised, blamed, belittled. buried six feet too deep.

Running I have taken off my shoes to let my aching soles breathe. I have taken in the ground I stand on, Gladly grazing the tenderness of my heels. I have let go of the shadows That sat quivering and fragile In my dirty palms. They fly free now, A relay of whispers I once said, caught on the wind.

By Rudy Rigg

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“I’ve never been in this park before”

- A Lie, Once Told to Me While I Was on a Date. A quiet walk through the park, You made me think that I was different. In reality though, That park had been trodden by you many times. A hidden hunting ground.

Double You held me captive, Cold in the July winds. Did you realise then, What a mess you would create? Do you feel the weight of it on your shoulders Like I do mine? I sit at the same table now, And order the same drink. Except now it’s a double shot — One for me, And one for the ghost of you.

By Rudy Rigg

POETRY

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It took away the pleasure and joy Of many acts that most enjoyed A way to create happiness it was Your chase left it crippled in disgrace The honoured ones would spend set time To make a piece for the world to gaze Such creators hide in a ridiculed space Such shall be the grief and this era’s crime Bleeding hands will show pungent shame In forced pursuit of a living wage Have the artists been tied up and skewed With what face will we answer age In the coming years as those literati few Will question such an ignorant hue © Aazaad Faraz

I wanted to say a lot, You are now gone, And I cannot. Before this I have written On the same notion, was distraught, And journals 8 I have filled with blood. In the absence of ‘moonlight’ Am I now lost? In dead waters, calm, can I drown? I wanted to say a lot, You are now gone, And I cannot. © Aazaad Faraz

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PHOTOGRAPHY

By Aazaad Faraz

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Winter Chill By Renee Chung

I am going I am going to go I am going to go to the market

Closed eyed tears. Open mouthed fears. Darkness nears.

With what money? What money? With what?

But we have one less mouth to feed

Winter chill sneaks up and furls Its frosty fingers around our home The earth is empty Our stomachs are empty This land is empty

Winter chill sneaks up and furls its frosty fingers I am going I am going to go to the market I cannot pay you sir but please for my children Charity

Starving My children My children are starving

Meaty fingers, stale breath This is how you’ll pay me wench Forced up against the wall Closed eyes, grunting sighs...

Winter chill sneaks up and furls its frosty fingers around our Charity

Winter chill sneaks up and furls its frosty fingers

Darling Charity fading, dying Charity is dying We are dying for Charity

Shame. Tears. The children cannot know your fears

Please sir! My childYou cannot pay me, wench! I am poor, I know but Charity, please! I only ask for Charity…

The long walk home through frost and snow Eyes red, feet blue The fields glow under the moon

Too late. Winter chill sneaks up and furls its frosty fingers around her curls Juniper and snow blankets a mound Her eternal sleeping place in the ground She alone escapes the winter chill

In bitter cold and bitter cress A hopeful fire thaws What hope mother? Winter chill curls its frosty fingers I wonder if we’ll still be here When spring finally arrives

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SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DESIGN

DIARY COVER COMP DESIGN THE 2019 SWINBURNE DIARY COVER FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A $200 VISA GIFT CARD for more info visit : ssu.org.au/2019-swinburne-student-diary-designcompetition

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PHOTOGRAPHY By Patrick Curtain

Gordon-Frankin River, Tasmania

(Instagram: @pattywagon112)

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Cowes, Victoria

(Instagram: @pattywagon112)

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PHOTOGRAPHY By Patrick Curtain

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Princes Pier, Melbourne (Instagram, @pattywagon112)

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SPOOKY AND BRIGHT By Niamh Noble

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“A TOUCH OF

THE DRAMATIC” By Jamie Chittaphu

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(Instagram: @jammujikc)

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WINTER WORD SEARCH HARD

From www.BigActivities.com 36

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SUDUKO LETTERS HARD

T W

Z V

Z X S W

R U

R V X

Produced by Franklin Direct, Moonah 7009 Printed on FSC accredited paper that has been sourced in an environmentally-friendly, socially responsible and economically viable manner.

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