Swine Issue 4 2018 by swine

ISSUE 4 SEPT 2018 |ARTICLES | POEMS | PHOTOS

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CONTENTS. WHATâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S IN THIS ISSUE?

2. 3. 4. 6. 8. 10. 12. 14. 16. 18. 20. 22. 24. 26. 27. 28. 30. 31. 32.

Meet the Team Contributors Editorial Things You Can Do To Make Yourself An Extra Buck The Kardashian Kontradiction Opinions from an Austen Fan The Wizard of Belgrave Blinded by the Sun The Manor Part 1: Winter Lion Heart Poetry by Dennis Green Poetry and Photography by Aazaad Faraz Photography by Jacob Calcaterra Photography by Amy Sutton Photography by Edward Foo Photography by Patrick Curtain Artwork by Zoe Papatheohari and Fiona Gardner Maze

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!

Last issue of the year guys. This is it! I just want to give a big THANK YOU to everyone for giving me the opportunity to design for the Swine magazine, it has been an absolute honour. I have gained so much from it, both in designing a real massproduced magazine (even if it is just for uni), and in gaining new friends and meeting people from the Student Union. Special thanks to Abbey and Sarah for being good team mates and for your hard work! You guys are awesome! Group hugs!

EDITOR IN CHIEF

DESIGNER

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

DESIGNER

Till we meet again! xoxo.

CONTRIBUTORS

CONTRIBUTORS. Aazaad Faraz Abbey Thorpe Alison Vella Amy Sutton Dennis Green Edward Foo Elizabeth Damrow Fiona Gardner Jacob Calcaterra Nicholas Ward Patrick Curtain Rachel Cheng Sarah Sordelli Sophie Evans Syed Saif Zoe Papatheohari

EDITORIAL

HI FROM THE EDITOR. Hi friends. So, I guess this is the editorial where I am supposed to get all sappy and thank everyone. Oh well I may as well. It certainly has not been easy juggling this edition, assignments, internships, a very mediocre 21st birthday party and the new World of Warcraft expansion. Honestly Battle for Azeroth could not have been released at a more inconvenient time for me. This is the last edition and all I can say is “wow that went quick.” Yes, I know that it is a cliché and all my journalism teachers tell me to avoid clichés, but whatever this is not being marked. Regardless of that, it did go quick, I think I was working so hard on the magazine (as well as other things) and so set on making the deadlines that I did not get to appreciate how I felt about working on the Swine. On reflection and with all of the work done, I can safely say that I loved every second of it (another cliché I know, sorry future employers). I had no clue what I was doing when I started working for this magazine, I was terrified and thought “I am going to do a horrible job, I should just quit before it starts,” but now that it is coming to a close, I cannot bear to leave. I hope I did a somewhat decent job for you all, I did manage to get four editions out, so that is something. Now, obviously I did not get all four editions out by myself and I would never suggest that I did 4

or even could (I highly doubt anyone would be capable of doing that). So here comes the sappy part. First of all, thank you to the Swinburne Student Union for this opportunity, without you there would be no student magazine and I know I, as well as several other students are grateful to have the opportunity to have our work published and to read other students’ work. I have collected every single copy of the Swine Magazine since I started at Swinburne and I know several other students have done the same. Also thank you so much for handing out the magazine during O Week, Open Day and Welcome Back Week, it sure saved me a lot of work and gave the magazine a lot more awareness on campus, particularly among new students. Thank you to all of this year’s contributors, you may not think that you did much but you have no idea how happy I would get when we received a new submission. I would almost always yell out in joy when someone emailed me their submission, much apologies to my friends, I was usually in your presence when it happened. One time that stands out was when my housemate and I were sitting in the ugly red beanbags in the unfurnished lounge room of our house. We were watching ‘Footloose’ whilst shoving the Classic Spud from Spud Bar into our faces (pathetic, I’m aware), that had been delivered by a really grumpy UberEATS driver. I was filing through the submissions trying to get them

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all edited and organised by the deadline the next day. As I was stressing about the fact that I did not think we would not have enough content, one of our regular contributors sent through two written pieces of work, complete with photographs, and I practically screamed with joy. I would say that it scared the shit out of my housemate, but she had been living with me for one and a half years at that point and was used to me being completely insane by then. I also absolutely loved the evolution of the content this year. We went from having barely any visual content in the first edition to having five photography submissions, two art submissions as well as other photos submitted with articles in the one magazine. I will not pretend to know anything about photography or visual art but to everyone that submitted visual content this year, I found all of you work beautiful to look at. To the people that submitted written content, I must say that I loved spending hours on end reading and editing your diverse range of content, both in content and writing style. It also gave me an excuse to procrastinate all of my uni assignments, so thanks for that. Thank you to my parents for putting up with me this year, I know I have been annoying you for twenty-one years straight now, but I feel like I was particularly irritating this year. Also thank you for putting up with me while I threw each edition at you and would not leave you alone until you had

at least finished reading my editorial. Thank you for listening to my insistent jabbering down the phone about the magazine, I know you didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t care, but thanks for pretending that you did. Thank you to my friends for putting up with me whining about everything and just being generally irritating. Thank you for letting me constantly plug the magazine in our group chat and for picking up a copy when I demanded that you did. I am sure that you are all sick of me by now and I am grateful that you have stuck around. Love you all. And last but certainly not least, thank you so much to the designers, Rachel and Sarah. This magazine would be absolutely nothing without you and I hope you know that all the work that you do is appreciated, thank you for handling all of the stuff that I have no clue about. I know the deadlines where tight and that things were stressful, but you guys managed to turn it out every single time. I will never forget stressing about the fact that we had very little visual content for the first edition, you then sent me the first draft and I was absolutely blown away by what you guys had managed to do and how good you made it look. I thought that there was no way you could top that but then you sent me the draft of the second edition and once again I was amazed at the quality of your work. I really appreciate you guys and the work that you have done, I cannot stress that enough.

Well, that is the end of the sappy stuff, I have been going on forever at this point so I will try to wrap this up, honestly if anyone made it this far I would be surprised. Whilst I panic about graduation, doing my Masters degree and whether or not I will get a job, I hope you can enjoy this edition and the many editions that are hopefully to come. Whether you want to check out the photography, read the poetry or read my rant about Jane Austen adaptations, I am sure you can find something for you. To everyone graduating with me this semester, particularly the other Media and Communications students, good luck. I hope your degree was worthwhile and that you go on to do everything that you want to do. To finish off here are two final pictures of my cats, because why not? One of my editorials wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be complete without at least one. Their names are Fluffy and Tink by the way, I am not sure why I have never mentioned that before, I certainly mention it and everything else about them to everyone in my real life. Goodbye friends, Abbey Thorpe, Editor in Chief

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Things you can do to Make Yourself an Extra Buck By Alison Vella

I’ve always been insanely entrepreneurial. Both my parents run their own small businesses, so I’ve been surrounded by people who make their own living since I was a kid. My dad always said that the key to making money was having multiple streams of income. He said that I should have one job to help me save and another to generate money I can splurge. The second had to be something I truly enjoyed, for me that has always been coaching tennis on the weekend. Aside from the laughs and fitness drills, it gives me a couple of hundred dollars to pay for my phone bill, board and petrol, and with those costs covered, I can easily put away up to $3000 a month. As a university student, I know what it’s like to be strapped for time but if you are passionate, driven and ready to work hard there is no limit to how money you can make.

Here are a few ideas to make a little extra cash or pay off your debts in 2018: Capitalise on People’s Laziness: A great way to earn an extra buck is to put your hand up and do something people are too lazy or time-poor to get done. From ironing to mowing lawns and from sorting cupboards to cleaning cars, there are hundreds of domestic tasks you can do and get paid for. Dog Walking: People love pets, but a 9 to 5 job isn’t exactly conductive to life with a Border Collie. Most dog owners feel terrible about leaving their canines home all day and are happy to give you $100 a week to take their pup around the block. It’s the perfect way to get to the recommended 10,000 steps a day and who doesn’t love a bit of puppy time! Teach: If you graduated from high school with a half decent ATAR, love kids and know your “then” from your “than”, you are probably qualified to tutor primary school English. If you got a study score over 40 for a subject and still have your notes, you can charge up to $50 an hour to tutor a student in the year below you.

If you’re no good in the classroom, you can run a couple of group classes at your local park or oval. From yoga to basketball and from a PT session to tai chi, people are always willing to pay for fitness training. “Sweat it out team.” Babysit: As someone who spent five years babysitting, I can confidently say that it is the easiest money you will ever make. You spend a couple of hours making cookies, chuck on a movie and before you know it the kids are asleep and you’ve made $80. Pick Up A Weekend Shift: If you’re not into starting your own business or freelancing your skills, you can pick up a shift or two in retail or hospitality. A boutique clothing store or local café usually have full time staff working Monday to Friday and are happy to give a student a regular gig on the weekend. Voice your opinion: Have you ever participated in a survey or contributed to a focus group? Organisations are always on the hunt for consumer opinions and are happy to pay up to $150 a session for you to partake. You can sign up to mailing lists or keep an eye out for them on Facebook if it’s something

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you’re keen to do. There are plenty advertised on the back of the toilet doors at uni too. Sell your crap: Whether it’s electronics, PlayStation games, old text books or the clothes you’ve been hoarding for years, you can get onto eBay, Gumtree or Facebook and exchange them for money you can use to buy something you really want. If that’s not your thing, hire a stall at a local market and get rid of your preloved belongings there. Selling it for half, or even a quarter of the price you bought it for is still better than chucking it in the bin and getting nothing. Sell your art: Etsy is an awesome creative outlet and a place where your artistic talent can make you money. From résumé templates to cake toppers and jewellery, I have bought it all. I get such a kick out of supporting local creatives and knowing that my contribution will help them continue doing what they love.

Freelance your skills: If you’re studying social media, help a local business with their digital marketing, if you’re an accountant, do some book keeping for a local café and if you’re into music, DJ at your mate’s party around the corner. Freelancing your skills is a great way to get experience alongside your degree and earn money to support your smashed avo addiction. Instead of being a student who lives on 2-minute noodles and can’t afford to go interstate, take control of your finances. Use your initiative and be proactive about making money to do more of the things you love. Keep killing it, Ali xx Read more: http://alivella.com

Cryptocurrencies: I have absolutely no authority here. All I know is that the tech heads at work have multiplied their investment by ten or twenty in the past year so maybe trading cryptocurrencies isn’t such a bad way to make a quick buck. 7

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THE KARDASHIAN KONTRADICTION By Sophie Evans

After fifteen seasons of ‘Keeping up with the Kardashians’ and the Kardashian-Jenner family being in the spotlight 24/7, you will have more or less decided whether you love or hate them. You may have not watched a single episode, but you’ll know. I think I can count on one hand how many episodes I have seen, not even in their entirety. Squabbling, screeching and one hundred utters of the word “like” between nepotistic siblings in a single forty-four-minute episode is not my idea of entertainment. It is undeniable that their influence and outreach has been nothing short of extraordinary, if not revolutionary. Youngest sister, Kylie Jenner, earns $1 million USD per Instagram post advertising a brand’s product. In-between her lucratively popular cosmetics business and collaborations, she has become the youngest self-made billionaire at just 21 years old. The effect that the family has had on young followers has also been astronomical, impacting them in positive and negative ways. What I cannot seem to wrap my head around is the recent 180° of the Kardashian-Jenner family’s public image. Are they suddenly turning from trendsetters to trend followers? Kim and Khloe used to be curvaceous in all the expected places, showing off their wide derrières in skimpy bikinis, and their big busts in the front row at fashion week. They were, without meaning to sound insensitive, probably overweight from a clinical standpoint (or perhaps the plastic surgery and fillers contributed to that appearance).

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Kourtney was always slimmer and less attentionseeking, though all the sisters use photography apps to “perfect” their female proportions and complexion. In a roundabout way, they were actually promoting a “healthy” body image; one where obsessed followers didn’t have to try to live up to the unattainable supermodel physique. They could see themselves in certain ways in the Kardashian-Jenners. There in plain sight were the curve lines like on any regular girl wearing a bodycon dress, the not-quite-perfect skin, and the lounging around in tracksuits without makeup. Since the cosmetics industry exploded three years ago, with contribution from Kylie’s eponymous range, the Kardashian-Jenners have morphed into figures of design, literally sculpting and creating their bodies through more surgery and makeup manipulation. Contouring and “baking”, lip fillers, waist training, Spanx… all time-consuming and excessive methods to portray an image of supposed perfection. In recent months, the Kardashian-Jenners have begun to advocate fitness and health, with Kim and Khloe losing a substantial amount of weight to be the slimmest they have been in a long time. Meanwhile, Kourtney has been holidaying in the Mediterranean, flaunting an enviably toned midriff. Kylie surprised her followers on July 9th by announcing she had dissolved the chemical fillers in her lips, which was a quick reversal after the years it took to craft the voluptuous fake ones that garnered plenty of criticism. Perhaps it was the birth of her daughter Stormi that flicked a switch in her brain to be a little more au naturale as a mother.

What kind of message does this turnaround send to young followers? And what does it say about their real commercial influence? It could be believable that the TV show’s producers are analysing trends in order for the sisters to be relevant. With gossip magazines, TV entertainment channels and fashion commentators reporting on and criticising their every move, how hard must it be to keep a shred of their own identity? Who are they, when one minute they are all about loving their curves, and the next they are removing any shred of them? In a time when social media and selfie culture is the norm (largely thanks to this family), and body image issues for teens and young adults are still ever-present, it is simply dangerous for “influencers” like the Kardashian-Jenners to swing their views and change their minds so quickly. Isn’t it quite the kontradiction?

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OPINIONS FROM AN AUSTEN FAN By Abbey Thorpe

Dear Hollywood, and everyone else for the matter. Stop trying to imply that Jane Austen was a romance writer. She wasn’t! Did her novels contain romance? Yes. Sometimes as the main plot? Yes. But were her novels purely about romance? No! She merely used romance as the main plot of her novels as a way to get her satire and social commentary across. And believe me, I like Elizabeth and Darcy’s romance as much as the next Austen fan, but it bothers me that many people seem to believe that it is all ‘Pride and Prejudice’ is about. Back when I studied Creative Writing and Literature as my second major, I remember telling the class that my favourite novelist was Jane Austen. I saw some people roll their eyes, now this could have been just because they found her overrated (I would disagree) but I also think it had to with the fact that they thought that she was a pandering sappy romance writer. The possibility that literature students of all people could think this, still bothers me to this day. I think the main culprit that gives people this idea is the horrible 2005 Hollywood film adaptation of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ (harsh I know, but let me explain), starring Kiera Knightly and Matthew Macfadyen. I personally do not think that you 10

can tell Austen’s story in an hour and a half film, but that is not why I dislike it so much. The reason that I don’t like this film. It’s Hollywood. This is best summed up by the kiss that was added at the end of the American version of the film. My least favourite scene in the film along with the scene where they are touching foreheads and the scene where Darcy proclaims his love for Elizabeth in the rain. Elizabeth and Darcy barely touch and never kiss in the novel, they didn’t need to, the chemistry, passion and sexual tension between them was all the reader needed. In the 1995 BBC ‘Pride and Prejudice’ mini series starring Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle (a much better adaption in my opinion), like the novel, they barely touch, their chemistry comes from their dialogue. They kiss once at the very end after they are married and it is simple and sweet, not a Hollywood kiss like the film. Having Elizabeth and Darcy kiss like they do in the film is treating the audience like idiots, as if they cannot understand that these two people are in love unless one of them proclaims it while standing in the rain (true Hollywood style), it is insulting to the audience and quite frankly to Austen and her work as well. Now, let’s discuss why the BBC adaption works so well. Darcy and Elizabeth are not supermodels, they do not look

like the 21st century heartthrobs that the film depicted them as. While both Firth and Ehle are clearly two very conventionally attractive people (don’t get me wrong), they are depicted in such a way that would have been considered attractive in their time period, not in ours (props to hair, makeup and costumes for that). The only thing in this adaptation that comes anywhere close to being like the scenes in the film is the famous lake scene with Mr Darcy and his wet shirt. There is a reason why this scene is so famous compared to anything in the film version. Aside from the fact that it is somewhat book loyal in that Darcy and Elizabeth don’t touch and communicate their feelings through their dialogue. This scene actually has a reason to be there! Unlike the film scenes, it was not added to dumb down the adaptation for the audience, it was added to give context to a character that Austen herself was not willing to give. Austen would not write a scene that depicted a man by himself or two or more men together without a woman present, as she wouldn’t know what that was like. The miniseries contains multiple scenes with only Darcy and Bingley together as well as several scenes with Darcy by himself. These scenes, particularly the lake scene, allow the audience to sympathise with Darcy in a

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way that they cannot in the novel since it is told entirely from Elizabeth’s point of view. Aside from all the romance scenes, there is one minor change made in the film that sums up my feelings about it entirely. The absence of Mr and Mrs Hurst. Usually two minor characters such as they would not be a glaring omission from a film adaptation, but their absence illustrates my whole point. Two of the most satirised characters in the novel are absent from the film. Clearly showing the disproportionate amount of emphasis placed on the romance as compared to the satire and social commentary. Is all of this subjective? Of course. I know that not everyone interprets everything the same way and I know many Austen fans that love the Kiera Knightly film and that think it is

the best representation of the novel. I just do not want it to be some people’s only experience with Austen’s work. If you haven’t seen the 1995 BBC miniseries, please go and watch it, it is the best screen adaptation of a novel ever in my opinion. It also made me fall in love with Jennifer Ehle for her excellent and BAFTA winning portrayal of Elizabeth Bennett (don’t worry we don’t have to talk about your role in Fifty Shades of Grey, I still love you). Also, please go and read Austen’s work if you haven’t, do not be fooled into thinking that they are simply stupid romance novels, you might be pleasantly surprised to see the amount of satire and social commentary (especially about the place of women in her time) that you will find. Keep reading and stay passionate friends. 11

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THE WIZARD OF BELGRAVE By Nicholas Ward

The mist hangs low over the primordial rainforests of Melbourne, eucalyptus trees tower above, their pale trunks create a ghostly visage, everything is silent, the plants sway silently in the wind. The quite is broken by the sonorous tapping of heavy wood on concreate, and a slow measured tramp of soft leather on hard ground. Heavy green robes rustle with the trees and he emerges, his white hair blends with the tree trunks, his robes with the canopy, his fingers glitter with silver and gold, only his eyepatch stands out from the forest. This is Baba Desi, a man of another world. Every morning for the last decade Desi, dressed in his finest turban, and robes, staff in hand, and eye patch on, has walked down from his forest home to protest at a local McDonalds. After his morning protest, he strolls over to ‘Desi’s spot’ at a local café. Where he wiles away the day talking to anyone and everyone. Desi is a local feature, and that’s how he likes it. “Everything he does he has the local community in mind,” says Alex Lowes, a local documentary maker. “He is always thinking; how can I support the local community.” Lowes followed Desi for his documentary ‘Baba Desi’ which premiered at the 2017 St Kilda Film Festival. Lowes has seen Desi in his suburb since he was a child and jumped on the opportunity to tell his story. Many in Melbourne know Desi as the mystical Wizard of Belgrave. Desi wears his myriad of hats with pride; pirate, healer, wizard, eccentric. But people who know him see a different side. “I was surprised at how normal he was, he was just a regular guy,” says Lowes, who was shocked to find that the wonderful wizard, while extraordinary, was a kind, laid back man, who spoke with a thick ocker accent. Desi is an activist at heart and uses his eclectic clothing to bring attention to issues he cares about, especially indigenous issues, which are an important part of his life. Lowes recalls an Australia day protest he attended with Desi. 12

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Photos by Edward Foo

“That was intense, it was thirty degrees… Everyone there was twenties, full of energy and he’s there nearly ninety and still full of energy,” says Lowes. Born Desmond Bergen in the small Australian town of Wangaratta, on the 22nd of October 1929, his early life was markedly normal. He went to the Christian Brothers College in the small town of Warrnambool on the Great Ocean Road. He moved to Melbourne as an adult, settled down, got married, had children, and got a wellpaying job as a floor manager at the Georges Department store. Then he got divorced. “I never involved myself in politics until my divorce, it helped me… to fill up the hole that was within when my children and wife weren’t,” Desi recalled in the 2017 documentary ‘Baba Desi’.

Desi made a life changing trip to India in the 1980s. It was during this time that he took on his new name, Baba Desi, which means international father, according to Desi. After two years of soul searching in India, Desi returned to Australia moving to the Melbourne suburb of Belgrave. In the primeval rainforests of the Dandenongs he found his home. He wasn’t initially welcomed back home, but his tireless local activism and laid-back good nature, won him friends and admirers throughout the town and around the world. “Everyone in Belgrave knows him, and he knows everyone,” says Lowes of his time with the wizard.

He sat on the South Melbourne Council in 1987 and later ran for Victorian Senate, getting 26,000 votes. During his run for senate he designed his own Australian flag, combining the Commonwealth, Aboriginal, and Torres Strait flags. He was so proud of his design he had it tattooed on his right hand. It was after this that he began to dress flamboyantly. “It went quiet for a while, then I discovered colour,” Desi recalled during Lowes’ documentary. Desi recalls initially using his unique style in his run ins with law enforcement at the Melbourne docks, while protesting American uranium shipments. “We worked against the American ships… the police were beating people up, I wore leather I covered it in oil, and the police couldn’t catch me,” he laughs fondly remembering his past indiscretions. Despite his surprising youthful vigour Desi is beginning to show his age having lost his left eye to glaucoma in 2013.

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Blinded by the Sun By Abbey Thorpe

I rubbed my eyes and looked out across the horizon. I squinted into the sun and shielded my eyes in an attempt to see how far away we were now, I could only see a dot in the distance which I presumed was the old farm house. Why on earth was it this hot already? I leaned back again in the back of the Ute and cringed when my head hit the edge of the metal a bit too hard. I could have tried to have a quick nap, but I knew that I would just be awoken again by dad jolting the Ute to a stop. Six in the fucking morning why the fuck did he think that I wanted to be fixing a fence at six in the fucking morning. I supposed I was the only farm hand he had left since my brothers pissed off and they defiantly weren’t coming back until the old man carked it and they came back to inherit and inevitably sell the land. That was if dad had not taken them of the will, god forbid if he put my name on the damn thing. The ute was jolted to a stop and my head banged against the metal again. I heard the door creak open and then slam shut, “Last stop Courtney.” “Fucking hell.” I murmured as I rubbed the back of my head, feeling for blood. “What was that?” “What? Nothing.” I jumped off the ute onto the ground and as the dust flew up around my feet I looked down to see the cracks in the dirt. Glancing back, I saw Dad who was trying to shield his eyes from the sun, staring proudly across the paddocks, completely oblivious. I leaned down and picked at the grass,

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barely any of it was green. The grey coloured sticks cracked in my hands and floated to the ground. If I was who my dad thought I was I am sure that I could give an educated reason as to why the grass and soil was the way it was, but unbeknown to him I was not, nor had I ever been that person. Even if the place was in top notch I would still want nothing to do with it. I hadn’t told him about the scholarship yet, he probably wouldn’t believe me considering his head was so far up his own ass, I barely believed it myself but apparently living in the middle off fucking nowhere had its benefits. I looked back towards the ute and saw dad lift Millie from the passenger seat and place her on the ground, she stretched her legs and once her eyes adjusted to the sunlight, she saw me and slowly wandered over. She pushed her head into my hand and after receiving a few strokes on her course scruffy fur she flopped onto the ground and let out a sigh. “Come on Court,” Dad called, “let’s get moving, this fence won’t fix itself.”

I saw him wearing his broadbrimmed hat, illuminated by the sunlight which came from the direction of the newly painted farmhouse, I could see the bright blue even from here. I heard myself giggling as he swung me through the air. I saw my brothers running around his feet and shoving each other into the wet green grass, while Millie chased them, barking enthusiastically. I opened my eyes and was brought back to the reality that was now. I looked down at Millie, the brown dust kicked up as she wagged her tail, she looked at me with longing eyes, too tired and sore to get up. I leaned down and whispered to her, “you would be the only thing worth coming home to.”

“Neither will we,” I muttered under my breath. After two hours of Dad making unfunny jokes and being far too optimistic, and of me holding back curse words and fighting the urge to strangle myself with the fence wire, I was finally allowed to take a break. I walked over to Millie who was lying in the shade cast by the ute, I looked back at Dad, still working away at the fence that didn’t need to be fixed. “Surely it wasn’t always like this,” I whispered to myself. I closed my eyes and tried to remember.

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THE MANOR By Abbey Thorpe

The lovers lay in a luxurious claw foot bath, alone in their grand manor, as they typically were. The brown haired girl of nineteen years, rested her head on the porcelain, her eyes closed, thinking of the events of the day. Her lover lifted her leg out of the water to rest it on the edge of the tub. The girl picked up the pink loofah that they had been using to clean each other for the last hour, she lowered it onto her lover’s skin and scraped the blood off of her leg. The red melted away from her snow white skin into the already crimson water. The girl continued to clean her lover’s leg as she rested against her chest. Before she was able to finish, her lover turned around to face her, her thick raven hair falling onto her shoulders, she caressed her face and kissed her lips. The girl dropped the pink loofah into the water as her lover continued to kiss her, the blood from her mouth dripping down her chin. --------------------------------------------------The manor had been Charlotte Lockwood’s home all her life, she had watched the members of the Randall family come and go for many years, the family whom at one time her own had rivalled with and had ‘shared’ the manor with for years. However, the Randall’s had resided alone in the manor ever since the downfall of her father and consequently her family. They had owned it uncontested ever since, or at least that is how it seemed to the outside world. Charlotte remained, known only to the Randall family. By the time that Thomas Randall owned the house, the family had owned the manor for over three hundred years, however the family was mostly never present, they spent the majority of their time in the city, only staying in the summer months and sometimes in the weeks around Christmas and New Year’s. Often the people that visited the house, attending the lavish balls, parties and dinners that would be held there were the rich from the city.

Charlotte had a deep hatred for Thomas Randall, he reminded her of her father. Charlotte often fantasised about his downfall, how one weak man could bring down an entire family, much like her own father had done. Even as a boy she disliked him, but her hatred would not begin until Thomas’ own father introduced him to her, when he was just a boy of sixteen, she would never forget the look on his face, the shock that she was actually real, a shock that he would never willingly share with his own children. A week later she would witness him lure a girl away from his father’s summer party and take her behind a desk in his father’s study. Charlotte watched from the shadows as the girl cried. Many years later Thomas’s wife would learn about Charlotte but would never meet her, however his children would never find out until much later. Watching the Randall children as they grew up Charlotte mainly focussed on William, the son. His death would kill Thomas she knew, but she was above killing children. It was not until the children grew into their teenage years that Charlotte would begin to focus on Lillian, the daughter. She came to realise that Lillian was just like her, in all her years there not one girl had stepped foot in the manor that was like her, there were men, but they were of no interest to Charlotte. This information led her to curiosity, her curiosity continued only until she managed to become infatuated with the girl. The first time that the lovers met Lillian was but sixteen. She had been lured into the room in which Charlotte typically resided. The room that her father had always forbade his children from entering. It had an air of beauty about it despite its run down state. When she entered, there sitting on the crimson couch was the most beautiful woman that she had ever seen, wearing a black full length dress that matched her thick, curly, raven hair. Lillian was so breath taken that her body lowered into a chair in the

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middle of the room. The raven haired woman smirked, glided toward her and kissed her so softly it almost seemed as if it was in the air. The woman would then turn her back and Lillian’s legs would take her from the room. As the door closed behind her, a single word would escape from her lips, “Charlotte.” In the years that followed Lillian often wondered in the whole thing had just been a dream, a delirious, joyous dream. The lovers would not see each other again, face to face for another three years. After the first encounter with the woman that she already considered to be her lover, Lillian could not begin a relationship with anyone else, when she looked at them all she saw where those blood red lips and raven black hair, as she had given way to the same obsession that had already overtaken Charlotte. When Lillian returned to the manor once again for Christmas in her nineteenth year of life, Charlotte decided to reveal herself to the girl again. At first only flashes here and there, at the other end of the room at breakfast or hiding in the corner at a party, eventually almost letting the girl convince herself that she was going mad. Finally, she would appear in her bedroom one night, catching her just before she went to bed, she would slowly walk towards her, push her against the bed and keep her awake until morning. On the day of Thomas Randall’s Christmas party, Charlotte decided that the time was right, she brought Lillian to the room where they had first met. She pulled her lover’s body into hers and began to kiss her neck before she sank her teeth into her skin. Lillian gasped, half in shock, half in pleasure as her skin turned colour, the white creeping over her creamy skin like a weed. Her pale pink lips became red, her eyes darkened and she could feel a pain where sharp teeth such as her lover’s were beginning to grow. As Charlotte withdrew her teeth, blood dripping

from her mouth Lillian would turn towards her in her new body and would smile as their lips came together in passion. This was where Thomas Randall would find them, running into the room and falling through the door in desperation, believing the worst that he could of his daughter. He stared in horror and shock and eventually anger as he laid eyes on the women. Who would stare back at him and laugh. The Christmas Eve party was the same as usual, at least until Thomas Randall’s only daughter arrived, something not quite right with her, followed soon after by a woman whom all the guests has assumed was a myth. The first scream came from the son of Thomas Randall, the second from his wife, the third from one of his sisters, after that the order could not be determined, for the other screams would come all at once as the crowd realised what was about to happen. The lovers looked out at the crowd, eyes filled with joy at the sight of fear. People would run for the door. No one would make it. Their bodies and blood would coat the ballroom floor. Those that managed to smash the windows would not make it more than ten metres before their blood stained the snow. When it was over, the two women would skip through the scene joyous, hearing the moans of those still dying, the blood red lips of the lovers would come together in the joy of murder and chaos. The manor would once again be ruled by a Lockwood and a Randall, forever the mistresses of the manor.

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PART ONE: WINTER By Elizabeth Damrow

You left. You slammed the door behind you in the middle of a cold winter’s night. You were unafraid of the bitter cold night air or the drunken strangers lurking in the darkness, cat-calling beautiful women in their own slurred dialect. You had told me not to run after you. Not to follow you. That you needed space, as if the distance you had created over the last few months had not put enough space between us. Resentment. I guess that’s why you left. I was a storm threatening to strike at any moment and you were the ship in search of calm water. I made you feel like you were walking around on egg shells. You couldn’t handle me anymore or maybe you couldn’t handle your guilty conscience. Maybe you resented how good I was to you. How forgiving I was. Or maybe it was just because you were sick of me. That all the things about me that you had fallen in love with in the beginning had become flaws that had hindered your ability to love me now. “I love you,” I whispered the words out to you in the darkness. Words that you would never hear. Words that didn’t mean much to you anymore because he said them to you too. He was calm water. Your escape. He was everything you had been searching for in your treasure hunt for Pandora’s box and once you found it there was no going back. I bought you flowers. Your favourite ones. Sunflowers. Roses. Tulips. I bought you jewellery. Showered you in presents. I tried to change myself. My hair. My clothing. My entire being. I ran a thousand miles. I climbed mountains. Made monuments with my words to show you how much you meant to me. It was no use. He was intoxicating. He became your drug and when you couldn’t have your fix you would lash out at me. You needed him. You wanted him. I was a habit. A routine. I was vanilla. I was conquered and now you were in search of new conquests. I was everything you had, and he was everything you wished you had. I opened my phone and called you for the tenth time since you had walked out the door. Not that I was expecting to hear anything other than your pre-recorded voicemail message each time. I should have stopped calling you after the first time but part of me was holding on to the hope that maybe if I called you one more time you would answer. I was desperate. Desperate to hear your voice tell me it was all a joke. That emotion had clouded your judgement and you loved only me. That the fight was over. That everything between us was okay. I guess life doesn’t work that way though.

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I’d known about him for quite some time. Long before you finally decided to confess your sins to me like I was some kind of priest that could lift those feelings of guilt that had been weighing down your soul. I knew he’d won you over the moment your smile had lit up when his name popped up on your phone screen. The same smile that had greeted me the moment we had met. “He isn’t anything to worry about,” were the words you had uttered to me in bed when my eyes were green with jealousy. Jealousy that you told me was unnecessary because I was the only one you’d ever love. That those long lingering looks at parties you both shared were nothing. That him calling you up late at night was to be expected because you worked together. Blindly I trusted you, having faith in the declaration of love we had made under the stars the night we decided to be together. The night that I thought I had found my forever. I guess that was all a lie. I didn’t know how long you had been sleeping with him for. How many hours he had occupied your mind. How long you had known you were in love with him for. All I knew was that the thought of you kissing another man tore my heart apart. Time stopped when you confessed to me what you had done. Not that it should have come as a surprise since I had known for quite some time. I guess reality is a bitch. It smacks you hard in the face no matter how prepared you think you are. I remember sitting on our couch silently, our television blaring in the background as I processed what you had told me. We sat in silence for what seemed like hours that night as I tried to comprehend how our relationship had gotten to this point. A million and one questions raced through my mind. Did you love him? Did you even love me anymore or were you just saying you loved me because you knew it was what I wanted to hear? Had everything leading up to this point in our relationship been onesided? What had I done wrong?

You told me that it would never happen again. You assured me that you had no feelings for him. That it was something that had just happened. That it was completely out of your control. That you had been unhappy and had gone to him for emotional support because I was unavailable and never listened like he did. I believed you. You convinced me that I was the problem. That I had instigated your cheating and so I forgave you. I let you back into my heart and put my time into being a better boyfriend. The boyfriend that you made me feel like I had not been. Yet it wasn’t enough. Now here we were at 2am in the morning. Liquid courage swirling through your veins as you stood in front of me, arms hugging your chest. I knew what was coming. “I don’t love you.” You had said it a million times before. This time was different though. Maybe it was the churning feeling in my stomach. That wave of nausea that rushes over your body when something you don’t like is happening. Maybe it was the look on your face - cold and aloof, like you didn’t care about me anymore. Either way this time I knew you meant it. You challenged me to give you a reason to stay but wasn’t I meant to be your reason to stay? I was still there. I was rooted to the foundations we had built together over the years, desperately trying to hold onto you as you slipped through my fingertips. I guess it really didn’t matter what I said. I could have gotten down on my knees and begged you to stay but I knew I had lost you the moment you had said you didn’t love me anymore.

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LION HEART By Syed Saif

Let my words speak to the girl with the fearless heart of a lion Deeply introspective, possessed by the emanating spirit of the five rivers Don’t give up and please refrain from talk of doom and dying Your misery breaks my heart and gives my soul shivers This world is too beautiful, you must remain in the fray The life you have been gifted, Brahma’s meditative bliss Nature and it’s mysteries, a colourful array Look to people who love you, should things seem amiss Staying strong, standing tall is something to which you must acquiesce Life and it’s struggles akin to a crumpled parchment, an age old test Problems and hurdles and the agony of their inevitable residual mess In those times just whisper in your heart of hearts, “I’m the best.’’ The souls of the long lost and departed, guide your lonesome heart The words of fellow travellers like me give you company in this sojourn For your soul is eternal and a piece of divinity setting it apart These growing pains of life, endure them and persist their slow burn Heed these words and turn to them in times of need and despair Be the girl with the heart of a lion and in fearless doughty revel For I shall always be by your side, but if I can’t my words shall be there No one is invincible as even the mighty Lucifer from grace, he fell Stay strong as it does not have to mean being invulnerable and godlike All you must do as we all must is to live out this bedraggled life Knowing in your heart, this hill that is life you must alone hike Be ever-patient even when this world is so full of suffering and strife Your story is an inspiration to me and if I say otherwise it’s a lie I may be awestruck by your story which is why I sometimes seem prying Death’s icy grip and the great nothing before its time you must defy For you are Taran, the girl with the heart of a lion

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monash.edu/pharm/magazine 21

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POETRY By Dennis Green

What does my lofty quest entail this esoteric goal, to reach beyond the mortal veil and touch your perfect soul.

LOSS AND LOVE

Were I to pray with all my might to lay these wishes bare, could all the world be set to right and would I find you there. Wherein this most desirous place where I am rendered free, to light the contours of a face that once smiled back at me. Yet dreaming offers scant relief from painful human truth, while clues may point to loss and grief in love is found the proof. For risk remains the hardest part of hope and trust and faith, rewards maintain within the heart and itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s there Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll keep you safe.

For you I light the brightest torch will place a candle at my porch or by my window gladly wait when you are gone, and time is late. Without you I feel somehow smaller when at your side am lifted taller there is no risk I would not take for you, no sacrifice too great. Although in dreams I call your name and my eyes may search the world in vain I promise this, I swear itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s true: my love, the greatest gift is you.

THE TECHNOLOGY POEM

THE GREATEST GIFT

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Living by diminished measure in twice the pain for half the pleasure while sifting trash to search for treasure but growing poorer yet. What happens when a human being is drowning in the google stream reduced to pixels on a screen held captive by the net. Does this techno world regress with every random keypad press will true connection matter less into the coming years. When there are apps to hug and kiss and avatars feel grief or bliss should mankind ever come to this weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll need a chip for tears.

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A Search Let us answer all these questions complex And all those too that I have knowingly left What would you think of when faced with death In a few minutes aware of the platform next For whom would you cry, the most, loosing breath Who would you think of in those moments few Would you recall all those hours spent Conversing with a haunting cosmic moonlit hue What about all those frozen frames Which held moments imprisoned and cherished games Where would you picture meeting for the last time Would it feel like the sweetest bottle of wine With whom would you share an existential crisis All those open wounds and closeted vices © Aazaad Faraz

Losing Control The feeling of losing control A glass of whiskey to the side Enlightened the senses ever more Your scarlet cheeks in the cold wind hide My palm rests on your locks amber blowing When our lips touched, submerged, laying on the floor Conversations without words in each second kept flowing A relief it was giving in to breathing chaos to the soul In this submission, in each other’s fruition Holding tight to each other’s body, a pleasure Clinging to tangents and wayward succession Falling down together an abyss forever This dark spiral, when we would be together, heightened Anarchy and said pleasure to the chained mind frightened © Aazaad Faraz

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@aazaad_faraz

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PHOTOGRAPHY By Jacob Calcaterra

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PHOTOGRAPHY By Amy Sutton

@alsuttonphotography

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PHOTOGRAPHY PHOTOGRAPHY By Edward Foo

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@edfoo_photos

SWINEISSUEFOUR South Wharf, Melbourne by Patrick Curtain

@pattywagon112

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ARTWORK

Zoe Papatheohari, Take Care Of Yourself @zoepapatheohari

Fiona Gardner, Little Rabbit Heart @gardner.design

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MAZE Start Here

End Here

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Swine Issue 4 Published September 2018 ÂŠ Swinburne Student Union 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.