2016 Edition 5

FARRAGO EDITION FIVE • 2016

WINTER • TRAMS • DEATH

COMIC BY JAMES ANTHONY HAZELDINE

CONTENTS PAGE 36 PAGE 44

PAGE 60

PAGE 28 4 • NEWS IN BRIEF 5 • CALENDAR 7 • FUCKING FINALLY • MELBOURNE METRO 8 • FREE EDUCATION 8 • POST-IT HOPES 19 • CAN YOU EVEN READ? 19 • WELCOME, BAMBI 10 • WATCH THIS SPACE 11 • PARKVILLE PRIVILEGE 12 • UNDER THE KNIFE 14 • BOOSUL SERVICES 15 • OB REPORTS 19 • THE QUEER UMBRELLA 20 • THE MELBOURNE SCHOOL OF DEATH 21 • ARTS VS THE WORLD 22 • COUNSEL IN COUPLETS 23 • UNDERGRADUALISMS (COMIC) 24 • THE DEATH OF THE HOBBY 25 • A FAREWELL TO ARMS 27 • THE FEMININE CRITIQUE 28 • FOR & AGAINST: WINTER

PAGE 42 29 • AUX CHORD WARS 30• TO PEE OR NOT TO PEE 31 • WHY DO WE GET SICK IN WINTER? 32 • RIO & EVIE (COMIC) 34 • ETHNIC IN THE CITY 36 • STRANGER THAN FICTION 38 • ONE OF US: CULT REVIEWS – THELMA & LOUISE 39 • COME ACME BRUH 40 • THE ROPE DOESN’T LIE 43 • MY SWEET PEA 44 • THE SELF LOVE CLUB 47 • BUTTOM MASHING WITH THE FADEAWAY 48 • A WHITE PUDDLE 50 • NIGHT MONSTERS 53 • E-WORM 54 • CENSUS MATERIAL 59 • NOTES FROM THE WEIRD SIDE: THE CONFUSAPHONE 60 • RED AND BLUE DAYS 62 • COLD ELBOWS 63 • HOW TO PROVE YOU’RE A SOPHISTICATED WINE DRINKER 63 • LOST NAME 64 • FLASH FICTION – UNRELIABLE NARRATOR FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 1

THE FARRAGO TEAM

EDITORS

Danielle Bagnato Sebastian Dodds Baya Ou Yang Caleb Triscari

SUBEDITORS

Bori Ahn Ayche Allouche Alexandra Alvaro Natalie Amiel Jordyn Butler Cara Chiang Ben Clark Jess Comer Gareth Cox-Martin Nicole de Souza Simone Eckardt Simon Farley Jessica Flatters Hayley Franklin Amie Green Ashleigh Hastings Paloma Herrera Emma Hollis Annabelle Jarrett Audrey Kang Rose Kennedy Jack Kilbride Eliza Lennon Jack Francis Musgrave Jeremy Nadel Kathleen O’Neill Emily Paesler Jesse Paris-Jourdan Alanah Parkin Evelyn Parsonage Elena Piakis Finbar Piper Ed Pitt Lara Porczak Lotte Ward Jenny Van Veldhuisen Dzenana Vucic Matthew Wojczys Jessica Xu Yan Zhuang

2 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

COLUMNISTS CONTRIBUTORS

Alexandra Alvaro Dena Barr Edie M Bush Frances Cannon Kye-Lee Cheong Chihyu Chou Ewan Clarke-McIntyre Noni Cole Chelsea Cucinotta Danial De Santos Martin Ditmann Scarlette Do Tegan Evans Clare Exinger Darcy Flemming Lucas Grainger Amie Green James Anthony Hazeldine Elena Heran Marley Holloway-Clarke Morgan Hopcroft Darby Hudson Annabelle Jarrett Trung Le Sheri Lohardjo Isabella Luk Sean Mantesso Eleanor McCooey Mary Ntalianis Jesse Paris-Jourdan Max PH Bec Poynton Morgan-Lee Snell Daena Teng Linus Tolliday Caleb Triscari Peter Tzimos Rachel Withers

GRAPHICS CONTRIBUTORS Edie M Bush James Callaghan Lynley Eavis Amie Green Tiffany Y Goh Adam Joshua Fan Taliza Ho Anwyn Hocking Carolyn Huane Lucy Hunter Jasmin Isobe Emma Jensen Kerry Jiang Tzeyi Koay Han Li Mabel Loui Eloyse McCall Lilly McLean Sam Nelson Dominic Shi Jie On Katia Pellicciotta Anais Poussin Kathy Audrey Sarpi Ella Shi Bonnie Smith Ellen YG Son Sophie Sun Aisha Trambas Jialin Yang Reimena Yee

Ben Clark (Online) Gabriel Filippa Patrick Hoang Thiashya Jayasekera Kerry Jiang James Macaronas Nick Parkinson Adriane Reardon Eliza Shallard Felicity Sleeman (Online) Lotte Ward Xavier Warne

WEB OFFICERS

Sorcha Hennessy Lucie Greene Allen Gu Kim Le

SOCIAL MEDIA

Jack Fryer Ilsa Harun Monique O’Rafferty Lachy Simpson

COVER

Anwyn Hocking

FINE PRINT Farrago is the student magazine of the University of Melbourne Student Union (UMSU), produced by the Media Department. Farrago is published by the General Secretary of UMSU, James Bashford. The views expressed herein are not necessarily the views of UMSU, the printers or the editors. Farrago is printed

by Printgraphics, care of the superlative Nigel Quirk. All writing and artwork remains the property of the creators. This collection is © Farrago and Farrago reserves the right to republish material in any format.

ARTWORK BY KERRY JIANG

EDITORIAL F

or most, winter break is a glorious time. Places start serving mulled wine, pants are back on the menu and no one’s shaved their legs for three months. But for us, winter break marked the start of Hell Month™ – the span of four weeks we’d set aside at the start of the year to get two editions of the magazine finished so we could go to Splendour In The Grass as one big, happy, kind of co-dependent editorial family. It was a good idea at the time because we had previously thought of ourselves as generally capable adults but planning Splendour changed everything. Here’s how it went down.

It was a balmy April day when tickets came out. Nine in the morning, all eight of our desktops and laptops were locked in the virtual queue. Who would have guessed it would be Sebastian’s phone that actually got us through to the purchase half an hour in? Four tickets secured, we were flying high.

“Let’s book our flights today, just get it out of the way,” Danielle suggested.

“Great idea. Boys, we got this,” Baya added.

Caleb threw down his ME Bank debit card, because he’s a high-roller who doesn’t have any financial responsibilities and Sebastian was passed out from the prospect of seeing The Avalanches live.

Danielle and Baya jumped onto Jetstar.com. “$99 each way!” Danielle exclaimed.

“We’re kiling it!” Baya gloated and they booked flights for June 22 then and there.

Now, dear reader, perhaps you’ve figured out that Splendour in the Grass falls in July, not June. Kudos, you figured it out faster than we did. If this doesn’t convince you of the fact that we have no idea what we’re doing, Sebastian later booked our shuttle buses to the campsite for April and then Caleb misgendered Sebastian when we booked our new flights. Thus set the tone of what would later become Hell Month™.

Our days in June/July were to be spent undoing all our mistakes and huddling around the single electric oil heater in the office as we put together two editions of Farrago, our annual creative writing anthology Above Water and organised a new season of Radio Fodder.

Our dreams of hot chocolate by the fireplace and snuggly blankets were shattered, replaced by a stress so deep and potent we could smell it upon entering the office every day (or was that just the rotting lemon under our couch? Don’t make G&Ts in the dark, kids).

Add to rotting-lemon-stress-old-oil-heater the smell of Danielle’s putrescent Bacon Lip Balm and it should come as no surprise that this edition is all about winter and death.

Thiashya Jayasekera tells us why we always get sick in winter (page 31) while Scarlett Do and Sean Mantesso debate the merits of the cooler months (page 28). An investigation into the University’s animal testing history questions the death of greyhounds for research (page 12), while Dena Barr puts her life on the line as an Architecture student submitting her final design (page 20). Linus Tolliday brings us a tale from the life of a stoic tram corpse-scraper (page 54), the basis for Anwyn Hocking’s gorgeous cover illustration. We also received our first anonymous submission and it was goddamn beautiful. Thank you for submitting ‘My Sweet Pea’ (page 43), it meant a lot to us.

But our heavy edition is made light by flashes of levity and hope: Morgan-Lee Snell gets real about movie romance (page 36) while Clare Exinger accepts the inevitable death of the hobby (page 24). Meanwhile, Jesse Paris-Jourdan looks to the sky in wonder with the University’s very own space program (page 10). We hope we’ve managed to balance the dark with some light so you’re not left weeping in the cold.

Love will keep you warm, Danielle, Sebastian, Baya and Caleb.

ARTWORK BY LUCY HUNTER

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 3

CAMPUS

NEWS IN BRIEF OFFICE BEARER SHUFFLE There have been recent changes to the UMSU Office Bearers. Hien Nguyen’s membership as Women’s Officer has lapsed and Wunambi Connor has joined the Indigenous Department.

GENDER NEUTRALITY

MT ELIZA CAMPUS The Melbourne Business School will be selling their Mount Eliza campus for a predicted $20 million.

The 8.9 hectare campus would ideally be sold and converted into hotels or an estate.

QUEEN’S HONOURS

ENTER THE MATRIX

UWA PRIDE

The first international mathematics research institute has launched in Australia. MATRIX is a joint program between Melbourne and Monash Universities and will be inititally based in Creswick.

The University of Western Australia’s Vice-Chancellor has come under fire for declining to fly the pride flag following the Orlando shootings. The UWA Guild Pride Department flew theirs in response.

ANTI-EUGENICS

ENTERPRISE PROFESSORS

In alignment with federal regulations, the University of Melbourne will be allocating 37 bathrooms on the Parkville campus as “all gender” bathrooms.

Other univerisities will be following suit.

Over 60 members of the University of Melbourne academic community received Queen’s Birthday Honours in June, with four receiving the highest honour, the Companion of the Order of Australia.

PASSING NOTES

TIMETABLING CHANGES

CAPPED PLACEMENTS

BREXIT CONSEQUENCES

The Age has reported on the popularity of students selling course notes online.

It is understood that some students earn more than $500 a month from selling notes on websites like NoteXchange.

A discussion paper presented in the Timetabling Stream of the Flexible Academic Programming working groups has recommended moving to a ‘preferencebased’ timetabling system, rather than directly choosing classes.

The Group of Eight, a body of eight elite Australian universities, has called for increased caps on university placements each year in an attempt to relieve the demand for higher education.

A report by The Australian has found that the ‘Brexit’ is likely to send European students to Australia due to a predicted increase in United Kingdom visa restrictions.

SCA MERGER Students have strongly criticised the proposed merge between the Sydney College of the Arts and the University of New South Wales Arts and Design School.

Approximately 300 students rallied outside a University of Sydney Senate meeting to protest the proposed amalgamation.

The Sydney Provost has promised further consultation with students under the increased pressure.

4 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

UMSU Education has raised concerns over these recommendations, claiming that a preference model could disregard students’ need to structure their classes around employment or other commitments.

INTERNATIONAL REVIEW A University of Wollongong review has found that its postgraduate programs discriminate against international students by not providing them with the same opportunities.

‘Richard Berry’ has been struck out in graffiti on the building named after him. Berry was involved in eugenics and advocated for the sterilisation of Indigenous Australians and sex workers.

The University of Melbourne has established a new senior “enterprise professor” position aimed at developing connections with industry bodies.

FEDERAL ELECTION: WHAT WE CAN EXPECT FROM A COALITION GOVERNMENT At the time of publication, it is expected that the Coalition will form government for a second term. However, the Coalition will have less influence in Parliament following an overall swing to Labor and Independents.

Assuming that the Coalition forms government, students nationwide can expect attempts to deregulate some courses, allowing universities to charge as much as they want for ‘flagship courses’.

The PaTH initiative will provide employers with a $10,000 payout for hiring youth who are classifed as “less job ready”.

This scheme has been heavily criticised for underpaying young employees.

Due to the national swing towards Labor, it is difficult to predict if these plans by the Coalition will have the numbers to be enacted.

UMSU

PERFORATED FOR YOUR PLEASURE

AUGUST CALENDAR WEEK ONE

WEEK TWO

WEEK THREE

WEEK FOUR

MONDAY 25

MONDAY 1

MONDAY 8

MONDAY 15 ENVIRO WEEK

TUESDAY 26

TUESDAY 2

TUESDAY 9

TUESDAY 16

12-1pm: Disabilities – Neurodiversity Collective 1-2pm: Bands, Bevs and BBQ 5:30pm: Environment – Play With Your Food

12-1pm: Disabilities – Neurodiversity Collective 1-2pm: Bands, Bevs and BBQ 5:30pm: Environment – Play With Your Food 6-8pm: FREE Life Drawing in Arts Lab

12-1pm: Disabilities – Neurodiversity Collective 1-2pm: Bands, Bevs and BBQ 5:30pm: Environment – Play With Your Food

ENVIRO WEEK 12-1pm: Disabilities – Neurodiversity Collective 12-2pm: FREE Botanic Drawing at Systems Gardens 1-2pm: Bands, Bevs and BBQ 5:30pm: Environment – Play With Your Food

WEDNESDAY 27

WEDNESDAY 3

WEDNESDAY 10

WEDNESDAY 17

1pm: Queer Lunch in the Queer Space

1pm: Queer Lunch in the Queer Space

1pm: Queer Lunch in the Queer Space

ENVIRO WEEK 1pm: Queer Lunch in the Queer Space 7pm: Activities – Olympics themed Trivia Night

THURSDAY 28

THURSDAY 4

THURSDAY 11

THURSDAY 18

12-1pm: Disabilities Collective 1-3pm: Creative Arts Collective 6-9pm: Student Theatre Launch Party

8:30-10:30am: Welfare – Free Breakfast 12-1pm: Disabilities Collective 1-3pm: Creative Arts Collective

8:30-10:30am: Welfare – Free Breakfast 12-1pm: Disabilities Collective 1-3pm: Creative Arts Collective

ENVIRO WEEK 8:30-10:30am: Welfare – Free Breakfast 12-1pm: Disabilities Collective 1-3pm: Creative Arts Collective

FRIDAY 29

FRIDAY 5

FRIDAY 12

FRIDAY 19 ENVIRO WEEK

ARTWORK BY AMIE GREEN

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 5

mixcloud.com/radiofodder

radiofodder2016@gmail.com

radiofodder.com

@radio_fodder

/radiofodder

Fun, laughter, unprofessionalism, celebrites & personal secrets.

HOSTED BY: Billie, Kit & Trung

6:00PM Sexless in the City

The meditating sounds of jazz, funk, fusion and soul.

HOSTED BY: Thomas McIntire

7:00PM Jazz & Other Sounds

Spinnin’ the freshest tunes that’ll get you grooving, jiving and vibing.

HOSTED BY: Ethan & Venkat

6:00PM Spectrum

HOSTED BY: Sonny & Oli

Featuring music from Bandcamp sadboy ditties to ya boi’s fire Soundcloud.

5:00PM Local Produce

Audio sketches wedged between witty banter & crab noises.

HOSTED BY: Jacob, James & Ben

4:00PM Mudcrabs Radio

Mapping sonic astral bodies by bumping naughty tunes.

HOSTED BY: Sebastian Hughes

3:00PM Bastronomy

They’ll take you to musio-spatiotemporo-physical transcendence.

HOSTED BY: Aiden & Callum

5:00PM Snags ’n Satellites

6:00PM Pinky Rings

Nothing better than a couple of pasty white boys chatting about rap.

HOSTED BY: Max and Campbell

Showcasing progressive Japanese music from the ’70s to today.

HOSTED BY: Brad Knight

2:00PM Japanese Bathhouse

A Jewish-themed discussion and comedy show.

HOSTED BY: Jacob Sacher

4:00PM Schmoozin’

5:00PM The Magoos

Brought to you by the UMSU Indigenous Department.

HOSTED BY: Emily & Wunambi

1:00PM Biggest Blackest Show

Dodgy panel management, dodgy song choices & dodgy vibes.

HOSTED BY: Tosh Blakley

12:00PM The Apartment

A weekly update with the creative arts at Unimelb.

HOSTED BY: Harriet & Guy

11:00AM Creative Arts News

A comedy game show with three contestants from three faculties.

HOSTED BY: Anokhi Somaia

10:00AM Faculty Feuds

Wednesday

A premier sports program to satisfy all your sporting needs.

HOSTED BY: Aaron & Jack

Music charts with a sociological twist.

HOSTED BY: Barbara, Geoffrey, Ashley & Signe

1:00PM Socbites (Monthly)

4:00PM Colour Contest

A wild selection of local releases and international oddities each week.

HOSTED BY: Charlie Lempriere

Featuring everything about East Asian culture.

HOSTED BY: Yusang & Kexin

12:00PM Melb Mulberry

2:00PM Time For K-Pop

Fall deeep into the rabbit hole of the Korean music industry.

HOSTED BY: Nicole de Souza

Brought to you by the UMSU Queer Department.

HOSTED BY: Frances Connors

11:00AM Queerly Beloved

1:00PM Shindig!

One hour dedicated to music from the ’60s – think soul, folk and rock.

HOSTED BY: Holly, Finbar & Leah

Brought to you by the UMSU Disabilities Department.

HOSTED BY: Christian & Jess

10:00AM Network Disabled

12:00PM PhD

Probably Heavily in Debt brings you interviews with antisocial academics.

HOSTED BY: Finbar Piper

Tuesday

Monday

RADIO

HOSTED BY: Cassandra Lutzko

Exploring themes in metal & sometimes featuring a fellow metalhead.

5:00PM Heavy Metal Hour

Introducing dancers, artists and awesome vibes each week.

HOSTED BY: Luke Lu

3:00PM Cypher Session

Your weekly fix of pop culture, news, reviews and discussion.

HOSTED BY: Felicity & Jess

11:00AM Spoiler Alert

Friday

RADIO FODDER now playing at the Farmers Market every Wednesday from10AM - 2PM, Concrete Lawns.

PARTY

LISTENING PARTY LISTENING

Over-analysis of Pop Culture using critical & literary theory.

HOSTED BY: Tiffany & Eveleen

6:00PM Pop Culture Disorder

5:00PM Snappy Hour

The late night banter at a sleepover – games, bitchiness & throwback music.

HOSTED BY: Trent & Monique

Tune in each week for fifteen minutes of phantasmagorical fun.

HOSTED BY: James Macaronas

4:00PM The Mr Ghost Show

It’s like Farrago but you can listen to it. Farradio.

HOSTED BY: Jesse Paris-Jourdan

3:00PM Farradio

There’ll be insights, comedy, interviews, music & to quote Oliver, “more”.

HOSTED BY: Danny Glattstein

11:00AM Curiosity

Thursday

FODDER

CAMPUS

FUCKING FINALLY

CHELSEA CUCINOTTA DECIDES WHETHER OR NOT THE NEW ARTS WEST JUSTIFIED TEARING DOWN A ONE-YEAR-OLD BUILDING

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achelor of Arts students will soon have their own student precinct again. Located along Professor’s Walk, sandwiched between the Baillieu Library and Babel, Arts West will be an interactive space for Arts students and is set to open in Semester Two of 2016.

So what should students expect from the new complex? Kylie Gillman from the Faculty of Arts says that the new building has an emphasis on interactive and collaborative learning, with a particular focus on object-based and media-based activities.

The teaching and learning spaces available also feature a digital studio, which provides support services and technology for researchers, students, industry partners and professionals working on digital projects.

Specifically designed with Bachelor of Arts students in mind, Arts West has made room for an additional 24 fit-for-purpose teaching spaces, enabling students to attend the majority of their classes in one place.

Second-year Arts student, Jane Lee, told Farrago, “I think logistically, Arts students will benefit, as classes won’t be as dispersed across campus. I still don’t think there are enough teaching areas though”.

This is not the only criticism. There has also been confusion regarding Arts West in the past. With parts of the building having previously been torn down, the new refurbishment will incorporate parts of the former Arts West, such as the building’s 1990s wing, which will become the new home for the School of Historical and Philosophical Studies.

“Rather than tear down the newly refurbished north or west wings [of the past], the new building on the north has actually been built over the top of the existing ground floor and the north wing of the building is new from the first floor up,” Kylie Gillman said.

The student informal learning area and the Kathleen Fitzpatrick theatre are other spaces that have been retained from the previous Arts West structure, adding some familiarity to the complex.

The construction itself is demonstrative of the University of Melbourne’s commitment to environmental stewardship.

Students can expect a precinct targeting a five-star Green Star Education Design rating, which, according to the fund manager of the Green Building Council of Australia, signifies that the building is ‘future-ready’.

Arts West will be open to students from Semester Two, with the official launch on 16 September.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY JIALIN YANG (LEFT) AND MABEL LOUI

MELBOURNE METRO

BEC POYNTON TELLS US ABOUT OUR NEW RAILWAY STATION

U

pgrades to the Melbourne city rail network will see the construction of a train station underneath the University of Melbourne Parkville campus. The underground Parkville Station will be part of the Melbourne Metro Rail (MMR) project and is designed to accommodate Melbourne’s growing population.

The new metro line will run from Kensington to South Yarra with underground stations stopping at Arden, Parkville, Melbourne CBD North and South and the Domain interchange.

This will require the construction of five underground stations, including two CBD stops connecting to Melbourne Central Station and Flinders Street Station. The line will pass from the west directly under Grattan Street before turning south under Swanston Street.

There will be three Parkville Station entrances, two on either side of Royal Parade on the corner of Grattan Street and one next to the campus Gate House, south of the John Medley West Tower.

It is unclear at this stage precisely how long construction will take, but it is expected that Grattan Street will be closed periodically throughout the process.

According to MMR Project Director Christine Whelehan, members of the Major Transport Infrastructure Board met with the University MMR steering group on campus. Discussion was focused on ensuring that the needs of the University are well cared for during construction and after the project’s completion.

Changes to Grattan Street and University operations are being considered, as are short and long term effects of the project on campus accessibility. A Project Control Group comprised of University staff members and infrastructure consultants has been formed in order to assess and monitor the project.

Proposals for construction methods, environmental impact precautions and feasibility reports for the stations are to be submitted by the start of July. University of Melbourne Student Union President Tyson Holloway-Clarke has expressed some concerns over the consequences of the Project.

“While we look forward to the [Melbourne Rail Project] the works will be significant and could prove highly disruptive,” he said.

Holloway-Clarke believes these disruptions should be an important factor being considered as the proposals move forward.

Currently the metropolitan rail network’s average train transports 750,000 people per day. With Melbourne’s population set to hit six million by 2031, this figure will rise to 1.3 million commuters traveling throughout the city every day. The MMR project will aid in doubling Melbourne’s railway capacity, the Parkville station alone providing access to 45,000 jobs, 14,000 residents, and 70,000 students.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 7

CAMPUS

FREE EDUCATION CHIHYU CHOU ON WTF MOOC STANDS FOR

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ith the University of Melbourne’s ever-growing digital infrastructure, students of all faculties are acquainted with multiple online resources. However, did you know there is a recent project offering online courses on Science, Arts and Medicine?

The University has been in partnership with digital education company Coursera, developing Massive Openly Online Courses (MOOCs) since 2013. MOOCs are free and open to anyone in the world who has a computer and an internet connection. To date, there have been more than one million learners from 120 countries enrolled. Social justice experts have hailed the project as a means of providing courses to students from minorities, traditionally locked out of tertiary education. For example, MOOCs are accessible to students who cannot afford university degrees.

As a pioneer in online courses, the University is the first university to partner with Coursera in Australia. According to Professor Kennedy, Pro Vice-Chancellor (Educational Innovation), the University was motivated to trial MOOCs because “it’s a wonderful opportunity to learn more about online learning and reaching students across the world.”

To boost the attraction for students, the University is cooperating with several industry, arts and cultural organisations in managing MOOCs. These include the National Gallery of Victoria, the

POST-IT HOPES

KYE-LEE CHEONG LOOKS INTO THE FUTURE OF STUDENT SERVICES

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lanning for the new Parkville Student Precinct is well underway, with the University of Melbourne and students working together to create a centre to replace Union House and North Court. Located on the corner of Grattan and Swanston Streets, the new Precinct aims to house student services, organisations and activities. Although Union House has been the ‘hub’ for student organisations for more than 150 years, its location and outdated facilities are no longer able to address student needs.

The Precinct will bring the University of Melbourne Student Union (UMSU), the Graduate Student Association and affiliated clubs, groups and collectives together, with the aim to increase student involvement and collaboration by making facilities and services more accessible. As 40 per cent of the Parkville campus is located south of Grattan Street, bringing student activities closer to this area will allow greater opportunities for students to discover what is happening on campus.

UMSU President Tyson Holloway-Clarke hopes the Precinct will provide a new ‘vibrant centre’ for the on-campus experience.

“The reality is that Union House is disconnected from a great number of students and we have the opportunity to grow as an organisation in a move south. I see my job as pushing the bar

8 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

Museum of Modern Art in New York, California’s Huntington Art Gallery and Hong Kong University. The University’s most popular MOOC is a course in finance specialisation which collaborates with The Bank of New York Mellon.

Most students give the University’s MOOCs program positive feedback. The learning design team is dedicated to provide the learning environment with an engaging social experience and peer support. The University administers a private Facebook group, which has thousands of members for many courses. It helps people who join the community practice the skills they have developed after completing the course.

A common criticism of the MOOCs initiative is that it has high enrolment but low completion rates. While on average 23,00025,000 students are enrolled in a MOOC, there is a completion rate of only 15 per cent. Professor Kennedy claims that whether this is a problem depends on if you are judging by individual or institutional standards. In terms of individuals, lots of people use MOOCs to sample courses without making large financial or time commitments. This explains why lots of students do not feel the need to complete their degrees. In terms of institutional standards, many employers consider MOOCs certificates legitimate qualifications, which makes it worthwhile for those students who do decide to finish.

More and more plans are being published by the University outlining how MOOCs will be expanded and developed. Although it is not currently available, students might eventually even get academic credit for MOOCs.

higher and trying to secure some of the best facilities in the world.

With those kinds of facilities and the students we have here, I really think we could be looking at something incredible.”

Project Sponsor for the Student Precinct program, Professor Sue Elliott, has expressed her enthusiasm for the project.

“This project is such an important investment for our community, and a wonderful opportunity to re-think the on-campus student experience. We are particularly pleased to be working closely with our students in designing and planning the new precinct.”

Throughout May, the Student Precinct Engagement Office was open to allow the University community to discover more about the project. Through post it-notes, students were able to voice their opinions about current campus culture and what would help contribute to an ideal student hub. Overall, over 800 individual post-it notes were used to convey student views.

As the Student Precinct Project team is currently in the process of figuring out exactly what they have and what they need, challenges such as capacity issues and the location of theatres or outdoor spaces are yet to be addressed.

Holloway-Clarke acknowledges that there is still a long way to go.

“Our stance for the entire project is that we will not accept any drop in quality or compromise in our services. We are working in good faith for the time being that all our requirements will be met. Our position is that we should start from scratch and have a purpose built home ready for the future and we will endeavour to deliver.”

PHOTOGRAPHY BY RACHEL WITHERS

CAMPUS

CAN YOU EVEN READ? WELCOME, BAMBI PETER TZIMOS LOOKS AT OUR POOR LITERACY STANDARDS

MARY NTALIANIS GETS TO KNOW WUNAMBI CONNOR

n international study has highlighted low literacy and numeracy skills amongst Australian university graduates, as reported in an article published in The Australian this year.

The report, issued by the OECD, gathered statistics based on testing from 2012 onwards. Among graduates aged 20-34, one in ten are seen to have poor literacy skills and one in fifteen have poor numeracy skills. These statistics are benchmarked against an international standard that include results from Japan, Korea, the US and the UK. The report claims that those with low foundation skills should not enrol in tertiary undergraduate degrees, suggesting a need for alternatives that “tackle basic needs”. However, the study includes students from non-English speaking backgrounds which questions the legitimacy of these results in an international context, especially when considering the high intake of international students by countries like England and Australia. Such students’ literacy and numeracy skills may be hindered by language barriers.

In combatting this, the University of Melbourne provides study skill guides and individual services to aid students with nonEnglish speaking backgrounds. These include language and essay writing resources and Academic Skills workshops. However, there is growing concern that these resources are unhelpful and that student support is insufficient after admission to the University.

This is especially significant in considering the financial incentive for the University to admit more full-fee paying students.

One of UMSU’s Welfare officers, Yan Zhuang, emphasised the need for greater support of the international student cohort, and better integration with students in what can be a very foreign environment.

“A lot of university services are not advertised… it’s a matter of making sure students have access to these services. The University could do a lot more.”

The Conversation Partners program, an initiative trialled this year by the UMSU Welfare Department, is a significant step in encouraging a connection between native and non-native English speakers. The program facilitates a group of students, both domestic and international, to practice English and gain confidence in academic and social settings.

However, evidence of weak literacy skills amongst graduates only highlights the difficult path ahead. With cuts to education momentarily set aside from the political agenda, this signifies a lack of support for students who may need it most.

Farrago reached out to the Provost for comment.

unambi Connor was appointed as the new Indigenous Officer for the University of Melbourne Student Union (UMSU) last month. Farrago spoke with Wunambi to find out some random facts about him, what he’s been doing so far in the Indigenous Office and what he hopes to achieve over his term.

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ARTWORK BY SOPHIE SUN (LEFT) AND MARLEY HOLLOWAY-CLARKE

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Why is the Indigenous Department important?

First and foremost, the Indigenous Department ensures that the voices of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students are not overlooked on issues that affect us. In what is historically a White institution, it is important that we recognise what issues are at play in a western education structure and that we look towards shaping effective change to create a safe space for Indigenous students.

What do you hope to achieve as Indigenous Officer?

Mostly I hope that I can create more opportunities for Indigenous students to develop their skills and pursue their ambitions while at university so that we may each become leaders within our communities. I also hope to increase the involvement of the Indigenous Collective within UMSU, in particular through the Indigenous Department; whether this be through writing articles about what affects them for Under Bunjil, playing on the sporting field at the Indigenous University Games or using grants to produce some of the amazing artwork that I have seen so far in my time at uni.

You’ve been an Indigenous Officer for a few weeks now.

What’s been your favourite part and why?

While planning the social calendar for second semester has been pretty fun, I have to say continuing my work with organising the Unimelb team for the Indigenous University Games was very exciting. Having just returned from Brisbane with some mighty achievements and a bit of a tan I am very happy having witnessed our team’s efforts#unimelbwasrobbedofthetrophy #2017isours What would be your superpower and would you use it for good or evil?

Telekinesis for sure. And I’d like to think that I would use my superpower for good, though the use of my superpower would probably turn into something out of Robin Hood, so does that make me good or evil?

And finally, what is your favourite emoji?

The hand making the okay sign – though not sure what’s up with the Facebook messenger app and changing the emoji style.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 9

CAMPUS

WATCH THIS SPACE

JESSE PARIS-JOURDAN FINDS A BUDDING AUSTRALIAN NASA AT UNIMELB

I

n 2014, Troy McCann was coming to the end of a Bachelor of Engineering at the University of Melbourne when he received an email in his student inbox.

“Dear students,” it read, “are you interested in contributing to the design, implementation, testing of a cube sat (small satellite) that will be launched into space in 2018?”

It was October and McCann was in the midst of exams.

But he kept thinking about the email. In December, he finally replied after a friend asked him to help organise the project.

He was introduced to what was, at the time, a group of around 20 electrical engineering students. They were learning about satellites together.

It turned out that there had been no exclusively Australian satellites launched since 1970. Which is strange. Space is a thriving business. Australia is the only country in the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development without a space agency. As McCann explained to me, every industry relies on space technology. Satellites are integral, for example, for defence, for monitoring the environment and for the finance sector – banks need them for ultra-accurate timekeeping.

But the regulations around space in Australia are strict. For instance, the Space Activities Act 1998 requires that satellites be insured for at least $750 million. Despite this stringency, the price of launching things into orbit has dropped since 1998. Satellites are much smaller and often they can piggyback into space on rockets already headed there for a small fee. Also, low Earth orbit is becoming more viable. The gravity is stronger closer to Earth, so satellites only stay in low Earth orbit for a short time before they fall. This was a bigger deal when satellites were the size of trucks and cost millions of dollars. Today, we can launch cheaper rockets that only deploy small satellites into low Earth orbit.

In a few years, McCann says, his team’s satellite might only cost $20,000 to launch. Insurance worth $750 million makes no sense.

Why is Australian space law so strict? There are a few reasons.

Australia is a party to the five United Nations space treaties. These agreements have provisions that place unlimited liability on the

10 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

Australian government for any damage Australian satellites cause to other countries or their people.

Some of this comes down to the relationship between Australia and the United States. At the moment, Australia gets most of its satellite data, including GPS, from the US. The US gives this data to Australia for free. In return, Australia lets the US use the Pine Gap facility in the Northern Territory. Pine Gap acts as the ground station for all US satellites for about one third of the globe.

The station is essential for a bunch of controversial American programs, like global surveillance and drone strikes. So the US has an interest in keeping Australia dependent on it for satellite data, which partly explains why these international treaties are stacked against allowing Australia’s space industry to flourish.

McCann and his team found that many of the problems with building a space sector in Australia were not rocket science. Often they came down to questions of law and foreign policy. Yet nobody was framing the debate in Australia in this way.

“Space in Australia is essentially purely academic,” says McCann.

“The government is making the argument that we get all this data for free. And the scientists are saying that we would get all this scientific benefit from satellites. They’re arguing different things.”

Under McCann’s guidance for the last year and a half, the student club has expanded to become the incorporated Melbourne Space Program. There are now over 200 people involved, including a team of law students looking at the legal framework for space activities. The Australian Government is currently reviewing the Space Activities Act and the legal team has been invited to Parliament House to discuss potential changes in the name of promoting innovation.

It is hard to know where the Melbourne Space Program will be in ten years. It could end up transforming into some kind of publicly funded think tank or even a much smaller Australian NASA. Since Australia doesn’t have anything resembling a space agency, the former student club is filling a nationwide gap.

For now, McCann and his team are concentrating on designing and building the first fully Australian satellite since 1970, which they intend to launch in 2018. Watch this space.

ARTWORK BY TZEYI KOAY

CAMPUS

PARKVILLE PRIVILEGE A FRUSTRATED VCA STUDENT FEELS NEGLLECTED AT THEIR HOME CAMPUS

W

hen I started my masters this year with the Victorian College of the Arts (VCA), the University of Melbourne’s Southbank Campus, I researched everything about student life and the services available to me. To my dismay, almost everything I had expected and wanted was not available on my home campus.

In my experience, the approach of the University of Melbourne Student Union (UMSU) to involving VCA students has been minimal at best. While it’s natural that a larger campus would have more services available, all of us pay the Student Services and Amenities Fee (SSAF) that funds student representative organisations such as UMSU and the Graduate Students Association, and VCA students seem to be getting the short end of the stick.

The VCA Student Association is the department of UMSU which represents VCA students. With a yearly budget of $20,000, it is responsible for planning events at Southbank campus and engaging with students. It offers services like free yoga classes. However I do not remember hearing or seeing much advertisement on campus for the magnitude of UMSU activities going on to include VCA in the student life loop.

There’s a massive disparity between the services and events provided to Parkville students and VCA students. VCA only has a student counsellor on campus one day a week, while at Parkville the service is available every weekday. No events were held at VCA for Stress Less Week and we’re a campus of struggling artists! We definitely needed some puppies to cuddle! The VCA campus has so many assets: our dance studios could hold a Zumba class or two and our cinemas would be perfect for Game of Thrones screenings.

Then there is the abundance of free lunches, breakfasts and coffee mornings going on at Parkville that I can rarely physically attend (sad face) and that the Southbank campus lacks.

UMSU has made attempts to engage students from nonParkville campuses, but its outreach can only go so far without input from the VCA Student Association to bring events together.

VCA is a campus full of engaged students who need an easy way to connect with their campus’ UMSU representatives.

At the VCA O Week, my classmates and I didn’t receive any information packs. We were also asked to take a group photo

ARTWORK BY ELLEN YG SON

to post online for a trending political hashtag. It was a bizarre introduction indeed.

And it’s not always easy for student representatives up at Parkville to access the VCA campus. Student representatives are keen to hold events at VCA but booking rooms is difficult. At VCA there is no direct way to book specialist rooms or know what is available. Email is the only system in place and you can only book seven days in advance. On the other hand, Parkville club bookings can be made online and most UMSU rooms can be booked two weeks in advance.

“To my dismay, almost everything I had expected and wanted was not available on my home campus.”

A motion was passed at Students’ Council in December last year stating that each UMSU department must hold at least one activity or campaign at a non-Parkville campus per semester.

Representatives from the Clubs and Societies Department did in fact turn up to one of my lectures and the UMSU Welfare Department has recently established a food bank service at VCA. However, many things must still improve. There are no advisors for international or graduate students at VCA and this strongly impacts the ability of these students to be given guidance about resources that would specifically benefit them. I’d also love to see officers from the Women’s, Queer and Disabilities departments added to the VCA Student Association for representation that it is currently lacking.

It’s clear that the VCA has a unique culture and history, and life at a small all arts campus is different to that at Parkville.

However, almost every time I’ve wanted to do something student life related I’ve had to take the tram ride up to Parkville. I’m sure that UMSU and the GSA could utilise the VCA campus utilities more, as well as spread the word about what the University has to offer if they came down to us occasionally. Oh and a free lunch sometimes sure wouldn’t hurt.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 11

UNDER THE KNIFE

A REPORT BY ALEXANDRA ALVARO, SHERI LOHARDJO AND CALEB TRISCARI ON ANIMAL TESTING AT UNIMELB

I

t is estimated that seven million animals, ranging from mice to primates, are used as research subjects each year in Australia.

When compared to other nations, Australia is the fourth highest user of animals in research in the world. In 2015, multiple organisations received funding from the Federal Government to breed and supply primates for research institutions.

Animal testing has long been conducted in universities across Australia and the University of Melbourne is no exception. It is an unspoken truth that the University relies on animal subjects to advance research in a range of disciplines.

Late last year, the University was forced to defend itself when it became known to the public that greyhounds were being used for dental research.

A study conducted in 2014 by students and staff of the University of Melbourne involved removing the teeth of greyhounds and replacing them with implants in order to observe the healing process. The greyhounds were then put down via lethal injection after a three-month analysis so that the researchers could analyse the jaw through a biopsy.

According to Chief Executive Officer of Humane Research Australia (HRA), Helen Marston, the use of greyhounds was unnecessary. Marston claims that similar studies had already been conducted on humans. Furthermore, the study notes the aesthetic benefits of the research. The HRA sees animal testing for cosmetic surgery, or as Marston puts it, ‘vanity’, as unethical.

According to a spokesperson, the University has a strict criterion that determines when animals can be used for research. In order to use animals in research, a proposal must be submitted in front of the Animal Ethics Committee (AEC), which must include a veterinarian, a scientist, an animal welfare representative and a layperson on any given occasion. The decision must be unanimous.

Animal Ethics Manager at the University, Tim Anning, says testing on animals for cosmetic purposes is technically allowed at the University, although it is highly unlikely that testing for these purposes would ever be approved by the AEC. Anning

12 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

has never seen this type of testing done during his career.

Furthermore, a spokesperson from the University assured Farrago that the testing conducted on the greyhounds does not fall under this category. They also cited the ethics guidelines that the University abides by, which stipulate that animal testing may only be used for scientific purposes. However, HRA notes in their critique that the 2014 study focuses slightly too much on the aesthetic outcomes of the implants for it to be justified.

HRA also questioned why the dogs were not re-homed at the conclusion of the study, however the research explicitly notes that the dogs’ jaws were removed, making euthanasia at this point humanely necessary.

“Testing on animals for cosmetic purposes is technically allowed at the University of Melbourne.”

Farrago reached out for direct comment from the researchers involved in the study as well as the Animal Ethics team at the University. Apart from Anning’s comments on cosmetic testing, they all declined to provide further statements. A statement provided by the University reads that “the results have the potential to enhance patient care and simplify treatment for patients undergoing such procedures in the future”.

The University also claims that the use of greyhounds in particular was necessary due to the similarity of their jaws to those of humans. Marston fundamentally disagrees with this claim and argues that the number of successful clinical trials do not justify the number of animals used.

“The [US Food and Drugs Administration] has confirmed that nine out of ten drugs that are deemed successful in animal tests actually fail in human clinical trials... which clearly means we need to reassess the way we conduct medical research in Australia,” says Marston.

CAMPUS

The rationale in the study notes that the tests were “designed to compare the effect of sub-merged and non submerged healing on hard tissue alterations at the facial surfaces of immediate implants”. In simpler terms, the test was conducted to compare the healing process after different oral implantation methods.

HRA notes that a similar study was conducted in 2010, which was not cited by the authors. The body also strongly suspects that the greyhounds were leftovers from the racing industry.

The greyhound racing industry is renowned for its cruel treatment of dogs. Racing dogs regularly sustain injuries due to being overworked and therefore, there is is an extremely high euthanasia rate industry-wide.

When contacted by Farrago, Greyhound Racing Victoria (GRV) firmly denied supplying any research institute with greyhounds.

“GRV is completely opposed to the use of greyhounds in medical training and research and anyone adopting or fostering a greyhound through [the Greyhound Adoption Program] must sign an agreement that it will not be used for experimental or research purposes of any description and that the custodian is not a dealer of an agent of a dealer,” said a GRV spokesperson.

GRV also has no knowledge of any greyhounds from the Greyhound Adoption Program being sold to research institutions.

Brokers and individuals who have sold greyhounds to medical and research institutions have been asked to stop.

Mr Anning has assured Farrago that the greyhounds are provided from “approved sources” in which the greyhounds are supplied to the University with the express consent of the original owner.

The standards by which the AEC at the University abide are listed on its website and whilst there are standards stipulating best practice for euthanising pigs, sheep, goats, mice and rats available publically, no such standards seem to be publically listed with regards to dogs at the time of publication.

In 2014, Farrago reported on the animal experiments conducted on the Parkville campus, namely in room ‘B112’ of the Zoology basement. The room does not exist on any official University plans and is ‘classified’. The room number yields

ARTWORK BY DOMINIC SHI JIE ON

no results when typed into the search bar of the online Room Search on the University’s website. However, it was reported that B112 is home to sheep and other livestock for the purpose of agricultural studies. It is not known where the greyhounds used for the dental school are kept.

“Greyhound Racing Victoria is completely opposed to the use of greyhounds in medical training and research.”

Staff have continued their hesitation to discuss the operations involving animals undertaken at the University. This is despite suppliers delivering livestock to the campus in broad daylight.

According to statistics taken by the University, the two most approved studies either fall under the categories of “understanding human/animal biology” or “understanding human/animal health”.

The greyhound racing industry has recently been under fire following an investigation conducted by Four Corners which demonstrated the use of live baiting to train the dogs. When asked where the greyhounds were sourced, the University declined to comment. An article written for The Age by University of Melbourne tutor, Marika Dobbin, notes that most of the greyhounds used by universities around the country are from racing backgrounds.

During this year’s election campaign, the Coalition promised to ban cosmetic animal testing in Australia by July next year.

The Australian Labor Party promised to do the same if elected.

The University has stated that where possible, they aim to cut out the use of animals in any medical testing researchers undertake. It remains unclear where the greyhounds are sourced, given the dogs are not sourced from Greyhound Racing Victoria. Where the greyhounds are kept and in what conditions is also still unclear.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 13

UMSU

BOOSUL SERVICES MARTIN DITMANN REPORTS ON THE LATEST CHAPTER OF THE MUSUL SAGA

T

he University of Melbourne’s troubled student services provider, MUSUL Services, has received a brief reprieve as it continues to face questions over its future.

The University of Melbourne Student Union (UMSU), one of MUSUL’s main clients, has decided against ripping up its Facilities and Services Agreement (FSA) with MUSUL, for now.

Terminating the FSA could see a major change to University services, potentially heralding the end of MUSUL. MUSUL oversees Union House infrastructure and tenancies, and provides corporate services to student organisations such as UMSU. These corporate services include finance, IT and human resources.

But UMSU has long been dissatisfied with MUSUL’s performance.

UMSU asked MUSUL to “show cause” as to why the FSA should not be terminated a few months ago.

While it was expected that six months notice would be needed to terminate the FSA, the University announced that UMSU could do it in only three months. UMSU officials have thus decided to defer any termination for now, thanks to the more flexible period.

“The long and short of it is: this has been coming for a long time.

Students’ Council is finally fed up with it and MUSUL was asked to show cause,” UMSU President Tyson Holloway-Clarke said.

“The result of that was the cause was not shown to be satisfactory.”

He said he is pleased that UMSU has more time to consider its options.

“The big kickers are some of the really massive insufficiencies.

For example, we have an entirely paper based financial system, which is absolutely ridiculous for an organisation of our size and nature in the 21st Century,” said Holloway-Clarke.

“I also acknowledge that the deferment of the decision is not UMSU taking this off the table; but I respect their responsible attitude to hear and listen to what the University may be thinking on this issue prior to committing to any final course of action,” said Simon Napthine, MUSUL’s newly installed CEO. As Farrago has reported extensively, MUSUL has been locked in a long running dispute with UMSU over questions of management and service delivery.

Senior UMSU officials have accused MUSUL of not holding up its end of the FSA around corporate services. Specifically, these officials have accused MUSUL of failing to provide up to date and accurate financial information about the state of UMSU’s finances.

A recent fraud case involving a MUSUL staff member has contributed to tensions. The staff member was let go and MUSUL has assured UMSU that none of its money has been lost.

14 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

Owned by the University, MUSUL was set up in the wake of the collapsed Melbourne University Student Union in 2003, after fraud and mismanagement accusations. The MUSUL board consists of a majority of University appointees, alongside three student directors.

Recently departed CEO Trevor White and his predecessor, Clemens Unger, had rocky tenures. Both faced heavy disputes with both staff and student union officials.

White recently retired from the organisation. Respected businessman Simon Napthine, previously General Manager of the Graduate Student Association, is MUSUL’s new CEO. Napthine says MUSUL will be reviewing its services.

“We are presently taking a range of benchmarking exercises that we think may highlight some perception gaps between how we actually operate and how we are perceived to operate, as well as identify clearly the areas of non-performance,” he said.

In particular, the issue of financial services is key. If UMSU goes ahead and nonetheless terminates its agreement with MUSUL, the options are multifold. UMSU could seek to have MUSUL rearranged, or replaced by a new but similar organisation. It could also seek to place some services in-house, have some provided by the University or some contracted to a private company. At this point, it appears that placing at least some services in-house may be a likely option.

What will happen to MUSUL’s tenancies and businesses is less clear. Both are a huge potential source of revenue, funding a large part of operations of other student unions, similar to the UWA Guild and University of Sydney Union models. The proposed replacement of Union House adds further complications.

Other questions loom over MUSUL’s funding. Over $700,000 of students’ money every year goes to MUSUL through the Student Services and Amenities Fee, which will have to flow somewhere else instead. A final source of questions is over MUSUL’s multimillion-dollar reserves and whether UMSU or the University would receive those.

It’s a big time for the future of student services.

“My own feelings are that it is always good and healthy for any place such as a University to review how it does things and ask, can it be done better and what are the alternatives,” says Napthine, but he adds that he is concerned for MUSUL staff.

“I feel for my staff at MUSUL who are living with this uncertainty.”

PHOTOGRAPHY BY MABEL LOUI

UMSU

PRESIDENT

TYSON HOLLOWAY-CLARKE Welcome back on campus for Semester Two! Lots to talk about! Keep an eye out for a comprehensive update to the Student Precinct Project coming soon. Coming to you from the past means we might A) Welcome our new Labor overlords in the feel good underdog story of the year B) Pray the minority government keeps student interests at heart C) Winter has arrived and with it the Liberals and their anti-student policies. I see some striking resemblances between Christopher Pyne and the Night King but I digress. I’m running out of words but to keep it short: bar coming soon, volunteering hub on the way, UMSU elections around the corner, other amazing things in the pipeline. Get involved and get around it, second semester is a second chance to make up for not having your life together in first semester. Make the most of it.

GENERAL SECRETARY

ACTIVITIES

BURNLEY

JAMES BASHFORD Welcome back to Semester Two! Over the break we’ve been keeping pretty busy with all sorts of projects underway. We’ve been considering the future of how UMSU receives “corporate services” (IT, Finance, HR etc.), the Student Precinct is chugging away, future SSAF allocations are being discussed, oh and there was a federal election.

I’ve been coordinating a whole lot of updates to UMSU procedures, policies and regulations, many of which haven’t been updated since UMSU was established over a decade ago. Combined with the constitutional changes undertaken this year, this has been the most significant overhaul since UMSU was established, so thanks to everyone who has contributed to the workload.

Do you want to get involved too? Well it’s not too late, it’s never too late! Never hesitate to get in touch with us – there’s something for everyone to be involved in!

MEGAN POLLOCK & ITSI WEINSTOCK Hello attentive Farrago readers and welcome to Semester Two! Here at the Activities Department, we’ve been putting on some great events during the break, like forcing Megan to go to the dentist for her aching wisdom teeth. It was an enormous success. Hopefully they should be coming out soon. Since Semester One, we’ve also seen the Uni put on one of their most popular events at the Royal Exhibition Building that draws tens of thousands of students every six months or so. Well done to them. This semester you can look forward to a few of our favourite old events, like BBQs, Trivias and ==>OKTOBERFEST <== (holy shit did someone say Oktoberfest???). We’ll also be experimenting with some new stuff like the inaugural asbestos themed Union House House Party (get in on it while Union House hasn’t been knocked down) and regular pub nights in the bar space where HJC used to be on level one, henceforth known as Stop 2!

Find us on Facebook: Facebook.com/UmsuActivities

ERANTHOS BERETTA

CLUBS & SOCIETIES

The winds of Winter are here and it’s harvest time down at the Burnley campus.

From potatoes and yams to Peruvian ground apples, we have all those earthy veggies to help build that extra body insulation for the colder season. Other than digging up high carb food to warm you for winter feasts, we will be doing our best impressions of Tarzan on our canopy climbing excursion to the the Belgrave Treetop Adventure Park coming up early in Semester Two. While there are other workshops and incursions planned, us plant nerds want to leave you with some hot tips for the next chilly months. The number one killer of indoor plants is overwatering, if you are blasting your heaters, ducts or fire hearths and your leafy friends look dry and sad, give them a good misting (every day!) and make sure the soil isn’t too wet. Stay warm kids!

RYAN DAVEY & YASMINE LUU Twas the night before Christmas (in July), when all through Union House Not a student was studying, not a click of a mouse.

The grants were approved by the office with care, In hopes that St Fiona would soon be there.

For Finance upstairs it was a nasty surprise, To spend $80,000 right in front of their eyes.

The Club elves were happy to finally be paid, But they still have to update their RSA and first aid.

The Clubsters were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of O Week danced in their heads.

But the magic all happened at the clubs stalls with flare, With friendship and good times all up in the air.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 15

CREATIVE ARTS JOSH LYNZAAT & JEAN TONG

Dear (present & future) artist(s), welcome (back)! Semester Two is upon us, and with it comes a heap of exciting activities open to newbies and oldies alike. All of our events are COMPLETELY FREE and incredibly welcoming to people who’ve never attended before. We run BOTANIC and LIFE DRAWING sessions, host the CREATIVE ARTS COLLECTIVE and administer ARTS GRANTS. Submissions for TASTINGS (original, short performances in development) have just closed but look out for auditions and production team callouts soon. This semester also sees the inaugural MELBOURNE UNIVERSITY FILM FESTIVAL (MUFF) held 23-24 September with submissions for our short film competition now open!

Whether you’ve been at uni three years or three days, it’s never too late to start your CREATIVE ARTS journey, so hop on our website and check out some dates. As the winter sets in, gather round and make some art because it’s all we have left.

DISABILITIES JESS KAPUSCINSKI-EVANS & CHRISTIAN TSOUTSOUVAS

We are starting to organise our events for Semester Two. We have decided to run a general Disabilities Collective and also a Neurodiversity Collective in response to some students’ concerns that we were not adequately representing students with a mental health condition on campus. Anxiety Support Group will be back and ideally we will run a second beginners Auslan class and a level two class. Our aim is to collaborate much more with the other departments so to this end we will be running a Disability and Journalism workshop with the Media Department, a workshop about accessible housing and communities as part of Environment Week and a disability feminism panel discussion with Women’s. We are looking into having some board games nights and/or listening parties which will hopefully be something fun and relaxing that students might like to attend. Finally, we will be continuing with our film screenings in the Rowden White Library.

EDU (ACADEMIC) TOM CROWLEY & PAUL SAKKAL I just want to tell you how I’m feeling.

Want to make you understand.

[I’m] never going to give you up Never going to let you down.

Never going to run around And desert you.

Never going to make you cry Never going to say goodbye.

Never going to tell a lie And hurt you.

EDU (PUBLIC)

AKIRA BOARDMAN & DOMINIC CERNAZ After our Budget Breakdown and May National Day of Action, we have been getting ready for our election campaign, ‘Vote for Students’. We ran, with the Welfare Department, a stall during SWOTVAC on South Lawn, handing out free coffees and talking to students about higher education policy and the upcoming federal election. We handed out free fruit, muffins and promoted UMSU’s publications from the year, which received a great response with a lot of student engagement.

We had stickers on the coffee cups and pens reading ‘Vote against $100,000 degrees, put the Liberals last’. We also ran the National Union of Students petition at this stall and had great conversations with students who were worried about the Coalition’s continuing plans for deregulation. During the exam period we were handing out our ‘Vote for Students’ score cards, which display policy areas and how different political parties are ranked according to their platform on the issue.

ENVIRONMENT ANISA ROGERS & ZACHARY POWER

Even in exam time it’s busy in the Environment Office! There has been significant discussion over different aspects of the sustainability plan, involving a range of staff and students. There are plans for big co-design events for early in the semester.

Anisa is going to the Investment Working Group meeting, a working group that is developing a report for the Vice-Chancellor and Council on how to conduct its relationship with the fossil fuel industry, focusing on investments. We have been planning for Environment Week, working with different groups and sections of the University to organise a range of events and sessions. The permanent space for the bike co-op is confirmed and a dedicated group of students are working hard to see the space organised and running on time for next semester.

16 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

UMSU

INDIGENOUS

QUEER

EMILY KAYTE JAMES & WUNAMBI CONNOR Things have changed again in the UMSU Indigenous Department! We’ve welcomed a new Office Bearer, Wunambi! Wunambi is a Gumbaynggirr, Kuwarra and Kamilaroi man from Port Macquarie, a resident at Medley Hall and an Arts student. It’s great to have the Department back to full speed and we’re excited for a new semester full of amazing events. You’ll also be able to find Under Bunjil: Volume Three on stands around campus now. We’re very proud of how it’s turned out, and we hope you all enjoy reading it and looking at the amazing collection of art. We headed off on a week-long trip to Brisbane for the Indigenous University Games where we battled it out with Indigenous university students from across the country. The Unimelb team won the grand final for volleyball and made the finals for basketball and netball.

FRANCES CONNORS & LOTUS YE With Semester One all wrapped up everyone over at the Queer Department is getting busy planning all our events for next semester! Make sure to keep an eye out for Pride Ball, another Trans Clothes Drive, all our regular events such as Queer Lunch and so much more! A few of our fellow queer students will also be heading up to Queer Collaborations, a queer student conference to discuss, learn and network with our queer counterparts across the country. Hopefully we will be able to bring back some great new ideas and tools to Melbourne Uni! We always love input and suggestions so please contact us at queer@union.unimelb.edu.au or at our Facebook page, Facebook.com/UMSUqueer. Suggest us events you would like to see happen, issues you want campaigned for, changes to our Queer Space or anything else you can think of!

VCA VAN RUDD It’s unfortunate yet not surprising that the ALP is proposing to cut $3.7 billion from higher education, reduce the HELP DEBT payment threshold and abolish the HECS-HELP benefit. It is committed to a pro-business agenda, therefore not offering much of an alternative for students and the poor more generally, to that of the Liberal Party. VCASA will be prepared to help organise more protests against education cuts as we enter Semester Two, so keep a lookout on our Facebook page: www.facebook.com/VCAStudentAssociation/ VCASA will also be moving the VCA Spoken Word event to early Semester Two because the Student Lounge renovations unfortunately have been slow. Free yoga classes on Tuesday nights for VCA students will also continue into Semester Two. Also keep a look out for the VCA Proud exhibition in August open to undergraduate VCA Fine Arts students. VCASA is once again proudly supporting this exhibition.

WELFARE

WOMEN’S

SARAH XIA & YAN ZHUANG

We hope everyone enjoyed their semester break and we’re glad to see you all back!

We’re in the process of planning some great activities this semester. You’ll also be seeing the return of all our regular events, such as free Thursday breakfasts, Monday Mingle and Conversation Partners Program. We’re delighted to announce that in addition to our weekly free yoga sessions, we will also be starting free Zumba classes every Monday 6:30-7:30pm. Keep your eyes peeled for more information! We have also expanded our food bank service down to the Victorian College of the Arts at our Southbank campus. You can now pick up an emergency food pack from Stop 1 in Building 860. Above all, the Welfare Department exists to help students with any wellbeing issues they may have and we are always happy to chat. Feel free to shoot us an email or drop by our office on Level One, Union House.

Email: welfare@union.unimelb.edu.au Facebook: facebook.com/UMSUwelfare

ADRIANA MELLS At the end of last semester, UMSU held an SGM where a number of Women’s Department constitutional changes were proposed and passed. I would like to thank the fantastic students who got involved in the process, through collectives, the constitutional working groups or on social media and rocked up to the SGM. Coming up this semester, in Week Three the Women’s Department will be running Women in Higher Education week with the help of the Education Departments. We are also working on the annual Women’s Department publication, Judy’s Punch. The amount of interest in the publication has been extremely exciting and we are looking at a Week Ten release! I have also been working on a guide for sexual assault on and off campus, promoting the services available as well as the University’s reporting procedure.

If you have any questions you can contact us at: womens@union.unimelb.edu.au

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 17

CAMPUS

THE QUEER UMBRELLA TEGAN EVANS WONDERS WHY IT’S CALLED THE QUEER DEPARTMENT

E

ven the Grade-A Straights among you should have come across the UMSU Queer Department, even if their actual office seems too much of a hike both from heterosexuality and up all those goddamn stairs. The Queer Department provides invaluable support and a safe space for anyone falling under the LGBT acronym, or the + sign that covers anyone else not straight or not cisgender.

The term ‘queer’ has been a subject of contention since it fell into use as a slur for those who deviate from sexual or gender norms in the 19th Century. ‘Queer’ has been flung at LGBTI+ people as an insult, a threat and an accompaniment to homophobic and transphobic violence in English-speaking countries the world over. It has fallen out of fashion somewhat, replaced by more hip and fresh ways to express bigotry, but in many places ‘queer’ is still a stone to be thrown.

Why, then, is it the name of UMSU’s Department for those whom that word targets? When questioned, UMSU Queer Officer Lotus explained that they and their co-office bearer are familiar with the controversy surrounding the use of the use of the term ‘queer’, and that “during official events [they] tend to use the phrase ‘LGBTI+’ due to [‘queer’s] history”. They also offered what seems currently to be the best suggestion; use queer for self-identification only and avoid imposing such a loaded term on someone without their permission. This conversation is being had passionately and frequently by those who could conceivably fall under the ‘queer’ umbrella, but there has been little information disseminated to others who continue to use ‘queer’ in the way it was intended when the Department was named.

In the 1980s, some in the LGBTI+ community began a process of reclamation. The first recorded use of the word as a neutral umbrella term for the sexual and gender identity-based communities was by New York activist group Queer Nation, who circulated a pamphlet at the 1990 Pride parade explaining their decision to use the word ‘queer’ over ‘gay’. “When a lot of lesbians and gay men wake up in the morning, we feel angry and disgusted, not gay.” Since then, ‘queer’ has been phenomenally successful as an umbrella term.

In a very practical sense, the proliferation of labels to help people pinpoint their gender and sexuality meant that the original LGBT acronym grew to the point of unwieldiness. Many people appreciate the ambiguity that ‘queer’ provides; people can separate themselves from traditional gender and heterosexual norms without getting technical about their genitals or who

ARTWORK BY TIFFANY Y GOH

they’re keen on bedding. When curious questions to LGBTI+ people can feel like fetishisation, dehumanisation or simply a nauseating breach of privacy, ‘queer’ can be an identifier that doesn’t actually identify a whole lot while still placing a person firmly within the community.

The main issue with the use of ‘queer’ as an umbrella term is that however hard people have fought to reclaim it, it’s still a slur. It is still used to harm LGBT+ people. Its frequent use in the past means that ‘queer’ still carries considerable historical weight; it’s hard to argue that the term can be truly inclusive if it excludes those who, very reasonably, feel uncomfortable rejoicing in a word that has been used to oppress them. These people are often older or living in regional areas where ‘queer’ is still a popular slur and they are already some of the most ignored and vulnerable in the community.

Some of the push-back against the use of ‘queer’ has come from those who do not believe there needs to be a common identity binding together people who experience oppression very differently. The coalition of non-hetero and non-cis people in particular has been subject to recent scrutiny, especially as transphobia is rampant in some cis lesbian and gay circles.

The structures of homophobia and transphobia function very differently and intersect with misogyny and racism in ways that makes any kind of equivalence of the struggles of different LGBT+ people a real issue. That said, however different we may be, solidarity is still the greatest tool this group wields for demanding respect and safety for themselves and for each other. Much of the world is still hostile, as we have been brutally reminded, and I feel stronger believing there is a community, however nebulous, to which to belong.

The word ‘queer’ has a well-established place in society and is unlikely to be usurped any time soon. The other contenders are deeply lacking in catchiness: MOGAI stands for Marginalised Orientations, Gender Alignments and Intersex; SGA means Same Gender Attracted, which is useful but excludes the gender variations covered by queer; ‘gay’ is fun and has the advantage of being misused already for things that aren’t exclusively gay (like ‘gay marriage’ and ‘gay pride’), but it’s specific to homosexuality.

None seem like a great solution.

This does pose a bit of an issue for the Queer Department and hopefully in time it will be addressed, although personally, I feel that whatever its name, those in the Department do invaluable work. Catch me there on Wednesdays, eating pizza and taking refuge from The Straights™.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 19

CAMPUS

THE MELBOURNE SCHOOL OF DEATH DENA BARR REVEALS THE STRESS FACING STUDENTS IN THE MSD

T

he Melbourne School of Design (MSD) building may be an undeniably beautiful edifice, yet it is also full of mystery. It is home to the latest technology – 3D printers, robot arms and hanging rooms – but what is it like being an Architecture student?

What is endured by students in their quest to obtain a degree?

You may have noticed students walking around ‘zombie-like’, carrying intricate, weird and wonderful models and rolls of paper under their arms. Or you may have ventured inside for a gallery opening or exhibition.

As an Architecture student, I’ve seen what lies beyond the perforated screens and sliding glass doors. Students dedicate every waking second to their design projects – creating not just a piece of work but more so their identity as designers.

Students work around the clock, barely getting any sleep for weeks or months as they attempt to keep up with their final submissions and simultaneously produce work they are proud to put their name to.

At the end of the semester, students present their final designs.

The culmination of hundreds of hours of work and sleepless nights is presented in five-to-ten minutes to faculty staff, a panel of guest critics and their peers. What happens in this short but significant examination forms a large part of the student’s professional identity. It is also where contentions within the architecture teaching environment lie.

During the feedback session, students may be put down as designers, insulted for their work and personally attacked. On a given day, a student might be told by a guest critic “you will never be an architect” or “this is not even good enough for first year let alone fourth year work”.

Ask any Architecture student and they will be able to tell you these stories. If it hasn’t happened to them personally, they have definitely seen it happen to their friends. Melbourne graduate Petar Petrov believes guest critics have little to offer students because of their lack of involvement in the project over the course of the semester. He says “they spend time trying to derive why and how design decisions were made, when the tutor who has been involved with the project can really provide insight in what to improve”.

Architecture graduate Eliza Tieman agrees, observing that despite their experience, industry professionals face enormous pressures to quickly understand and respond to the project. She says critics “struggled to engage with the presentations, not really understanding the objectives of the studio”.

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As a result, a long standing pedagogical culture pervades worldwide; a ‘toughen up’ teaching approach. It is for this reason that final presentations have been described by students as ‘attacks on prey’, ‘funeral parades’ or anything in between.

Despite a world class building, the teaching environment needs to transform. The faculty should educate their guests and teachers on how to give effective feedback that is focused, helpful and not damaging.

Current student Bhargav Sridhar sees the occurrences as representative of an overly critical design community where all built works are scrutinised from within the industry. Nevertheless, he believes “humiliation is not the answer… the culture of ‘weeding out the weak’ is not one that shows architecture and architects in the best light”.

I spoke to MSD faculty member Professor Donald Bates to talk about the critics. He understands students’ experiences are not always positive but concedes most feedback they receive is.

“Final presentations are an opportunity for students to actively engage with the critics. It is much more involved and participatory than an exam,” he says.

The faculty says the final presentations are an integral part of the student learning experience but at this stage they do not have a method for receiving formal feedback, as Student Experience Surveys (SES) occur prior to the final presentations.

While Bates believes excluding presentations from the SES is an issue, he doesn’t want to overregulate the system as “architectural education operates in a fluid manner”. He says ultimately the responsibility falls on the individual studio leaders.

“It is the role of the studio leader to decide who is on the panel, clarify what the focus of the studio was… and [if a negative situation arises] pull them aside and speak to them.”

The experience of being a design student can be daunting yet also highly rewarding. In my experience, presenting to a panel of external experts can be invaluable; most of the staff provide an environment that encourages learning and empowers students with skills and professional identities.

Student growth needs to underpin the purpose of the presentations. As students in the faculty seek to develop skills for improving the built environment, teachers and industry professionals should provide feedback to actively facilitate this goal.

ARTWORK BY DOMINIC SHI JIE ON

CAMPUS

ARTS VS THE WORLD ELEANOR McCOOEY ON THE ACTUAL VALUE OF AN ARTS DEGREE

P

ost high school and into the throes of first year university, I invariably found myself embodying the prototype of the Melbourne Arts student. I became the girl bringing in marinated tofu steaks for lunch after triumphantly going vegetarian. Having come from a high school that valued sport and Instagram likes over anything “artsy”, I was thrilled to find myself in a place where philosophy wasn’t a dirty word. Yet, it soon became apparent to me that outside this rosy realm, others were sceptical.

Venture beyond the boundaries of the Baillieu Library and others will ask, “what do you study?” to which you respond “Arts” and cue awkward laughter: “Hahaha, good luck finding a job with that one. I could never do that. That’s why I choose economics.” Lines such as “you’re such an Arts kids” and “Arts is such a joke, like don’t you all just smoke weed?” are also common responses.

Like the scrawny dude in second grade who has pimples, asthma and a mum who writes notes on his lunchtime banana, the Bachelor of Arts degree has long been looked down upon as the runt of the university litter. Recently, fast-food company Mr Burger ran an advertising campaign depicting burgers accompanied by the statement “better value than an Arts degree.”

On the internet, one can easily find an array of memes and satirical images that mock the lack of employment opportunities associated with Arts degrees.

Those nevertheless pursuing a BA invariably fall into one of two categories: a) the wild, unhinged “poet” whose hippie leftism is a source of continuing family shame, or b) (preferred) the more sensible Arts student planning to pursue a noble career in Law. If you don’t fall into the latter, you can pretty much keep it in your pants please because unless you become the next Damien Hirst or JK Rowling, your economic value to society remains nil and therefore, you too are worth nil.

Recent cuts made by the Australia Council have chosen to discontinue funding some of Australia’s leading arts organisations, including Express Media, Meanjin, Theatre Works and the Centre for Contemporary Photography, to name but a few.

ARTWORK BY ADAM JOSHUA FAN

Without this financial support, the future of these organisations has become uncertain, alongside the future of Australian creatives.

But if the arts were valued in society to the same degree as law, medicine, accounting or even real estate, funding wouldn’t be needed in the first place. Those who work in the creative fields are more familiar with hard work than most. We work the unglamorous jobs no one else wants because we have no choice.

We spend our weeks and weekends in call centres, cafés and fastfood chains scraping dirty plates or hustling strangers for money.

Why do we put up with this? Because we care a whole lot about people and ameliorating the passage of living in whatever way we can with our art. As Express Media editor Elizabeth Flux argues in her piece ‘Get A Real Job: Why It’s Not The Arts VS The World’, “The arts aren’t something you slot between Real Life Things That Matter. They permeate everything. They help us understand ideas in ways we might not be aware. They allow us to be less isolated, to know that others have experienced and are experiencing the same issues that we are.”

“We care a whole lot about people and ameliorating the passage of living in whatever way we can with our art.”

To deny the worthiness of an Arts degree because it isn’t conducive to capitalism is to deny the possibility that university degrees don’t have to entail secured financial achievement.

Alternatively, the blessing of any BA is that it facilitates learning for the love of learning. For this reason, we can’t put a price on the work created by artists, writers, musicians, comedians and anyone else working within the arts industry. The merits of the arts may not be measurable in tangible gold dollars rapidly falling into Malcolm Turnbull’s pocket but that doesn’t mean they are worthless. In fact, what we do remains, and will always remain, priceless.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 21

COLUMN NICK PARKINSON PRESENTS

COUNSEL IN COUPLETS A COLUMN OF POETIC PROBLEM SOLVING

FROM: MAGGIE BEER My significant other and I have been together for three months now. Every fight we have is because I refuse to share food. How do I let him know that he can’t have a bite of whatever I’m eating without him thinking I don’t love him?

Dear Maggie, I understand your qualm but think you’ve missed the boat, More than a small change is needed to keep this partnership afloat.

About something I must warn you, as your confidant — Food has changed your couple into a triple entente.

It’s no longer just you and your partner’s lip: Brownies are now part of this relationship.

Still, we’ve all been there: I feel your pain.

Why won’t he understand that it’s your quiche lorraine?

And when you do acquiesce to his “one small bite”, He gobbles up half, which leads to a fight.

So what can you say so that he does not steal The meal you got you? Can’t he see how you feel?

Try telling him you don’t want to share: honesty is key, If he wants some, he can buy his own Bircher muesli.

And if he still does not listen, then Maggie, it’s up to you.

You must compromise and realise that you can change too.

After all, any relationship is founded on sharing, Because, as the cliché goes, it shows that you’re caring.

You’ll share many things on the road ahead, You share money, the chores and even a bed.

So use food as a practice and if you want to be greedy, Buy another McFlurry: it’s really that easy.

If spilt milk doesn’t necessitate crying, Then split milk can’t be that terrifying.

So to conclude, talk to your man ’bout your attitude to food Expressing the feelings you’ve accrued doesn’t have to be rude.

But be mindful of the ways in which you can adjust, Share your sandwich… okay perhaps just the crust.

DEVELOPED A WOE THAT WON’T LET YOU GO? SEND IT TO FARRAGOMEDIA2016@GMAIL.COM

22 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

ARTWORK BY LUCY HUNTER

COLUMN

COMIC BY XAVIER WARNE

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 23

COMMENTARY

THE DEATH OF THE HOBBY CLARE EXINGER WONDERS IF CHILLING WITH THE SQUAD COUNTS AS A HOBBY

T

his won’t be the first article ever brought into being by way of Tinder musings but I’m in a contemplative mood and as I swipe my way through today’s crop I notice a pattern.

“Beers,” one bio lists. “Socialising.”

“Seeing the bros. Chilling,” another announces.

I am pleased by what I see. I, too, like to drink, chill and socialise, sometimes engaging in all three activities simultaneously. With these refreshingly honest, laid-back men, I share a total lack of any discernible hobbies.

It’s quite reassuring that things such as ‘socialising’ and ‘relaxing’ are now accepted not just as essential human behaviours but as activities worthy of defining yourself by. I really mean that.

I think we’re all chasing that elusive Well-Rounded Individual status and so for a long time, I’ve found my no-hobby syndrome to be personally embarrassing.

Examining myself, I remember that some of my pastimes do go beyond basic survival and social interaction. These include going for walks, bird-spotting and baking lackluster things while pretending I’m on The Great British Bake Off. Yet although I get plenty of enjoyment out of these activities, I won’t list them as my hobbies.

The same goes for other stuff I like – reading, watching movies, drawing. Clearly, there’s more to a hobby than simply liking it.

The concept of the Hobby brings first to my mind a Little House On The Prairie vision of sisters quietly embroidering, or some other fiddly thing. The classic hobbyist is very good at what they do and engages in their chosen activity frequently. They spend years polishing their craft, the true ideal of industrious leisure.

Meanwhile, my own interests fail to produce anything spectacular and I lack the perseverance required to take to any single activity with such determination. There is no expertise or routine frequency about my non-hobbies and perhaps that’s where all of us are being held back. Fear of commitment, with a side of ineptness.

It’s a given that no one does lacework anymore, nor stampcollecting, nor most other “classic” hobbies. Nonetheless, perhaps the true modern hobby has to be a bit wacky. I think of my friend Jess, who does roller-derby – quite possibly the quintessential

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hobby, fitting all my predetermined criteria: it’s unexpected, it’s frequent and, involving a mob of speedy people on roller-skates trying to beat one other to the ground, it definitely requires a set of skills lacked by the average person. Jess should have the dirt on what defines a hobby – what’s her secret? She says, “Having an end goal.”

A purpose! Perhaps this is what I’m lacking, not to get too real all of a sudden. In fact, I see that this is what differentiates me from friends who engage more devotedly in some of my vague pastimes. I watch a movie and say “Oh that was nice”; my friend watches one and rips it to shreds on their film blog. Most of my friends who draw do commissions; I sometimes manage a birthday card. I observe bakers honing their abilities into a veritable craft and book-readers collecting favourite passages like they’re stamps. Inspiring stuff for the mere mortals among us.

Also bloody daunting.

It’s not as if we’re actually failing anyone, since most of us aren’t robots assigned to one task. It all has to come back to personal fulfilment. We identify with what we see meaning in, which isn’t always derived from a tangible fruit of our labours or even from an obvious purpose. As a true expert in relaxing, drinking and socialising, I believe these activities really can be as personally fulfilling as any productive pastime and that they fall under an all-new, all-inclusive, modern definition of the Hobby. Or maybe I simply want this to be true, because I’m guilty of being both boring and uncommitted to an end goal.

I consult my German 3 textbook. If anyone knows how to put things definitively into boxes, it’s the Germans. I find the “hobbies” grid. Briefmarken sammeln, stamp collecting, is there, I notice with a sinking heart. But suddenly my heart lifts: here’s Bier trinken (drinking beer)! And Freunden besuchen (visiting friends)! I’m relieved. My banal daily activities are reaffirmed as hobbies worthy of special mention, maybe even an entire article.

Now I can rest easy in my inability to engage in my interests without one iota of dedication or skill. Should still get around to reading more though.

ARTWORK BY EMMA JENSEN

COMMENTARY

A FAREWELL TO ARMS LUCAS GRAINGER ON HOW HE ESCAPED THE BODY BUILDING CULT

W

hen I was 15, I used to wake up at 6am and bench press an old rocking chair in the downstairs study. This was to help me with girls, of course. Chair lifting beat the heavy lifting of introducing the opposite sex to my personality. Physical improvement was my chance to measure up to more charismatic, less acne-ravaged boys.

The chair was also a performance piece in my search for a male role model. Not my dad, who is great in all the ways that matter, but a physical embodiment of greatness. Body building was a panacea to the disempowering rat maze of high school and higher education that contemporary youth have to wrangle on their Iliad to independence.

These morning rituals were not my idea, though. I was re-enacting the woodland workouts pioneered by Arnold Schwarzenegger when he was a teenager. I was buying into the monetized myths peddled by Bodybuilding.com, T-Nation and other ‘fitness’ blogs. And at first, it worked. I was a nerd grandmaster in high school yet somehow sportiness made that okay. The dawn workouts widened my margin of social acceptability.

Positive reinforcement taught my younger self that Australian culture respects visible strength. From there on in, I was stuffed. I joined the Army straight out of high school. The cutting-edge gym they showed us around was a major factor in that decision. If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry.

In my experience, the Army is high school on steroids. I didn’t end up on steroids but some people sure did and I was less far off them than I’m comfortable with. In my circle – the third circle, for Dante enthusiasts – we emptied out pay packets into protein and preworkout powders, tank tops and testosterone boosters.

When I left the Army, I worked as a lifeguard while I studied. I also tried seriously to become a body builder. By that stage I was a card-carrying muscle cultist. My days were textbooks, protecting strange bodies at the pool and abusing mine in the weights room.

It sounds ridiculous, but this is how some people live. Orbiting ourselves, literally and figuratively. Making major decisions based on a pseudo-sport. During brief flashes of rationality, this lifestyle feels very like ‘Space Oddity’ sounds: lonely, melancholic and buffeted by distant forces beyond one’s control.

Success or failure in body building is more of a genetic lucky dip than following a blueprint. ‘Building’ is a misnomer because it implies intent; every human body reacts differently to resistance.

Forcing a massively complex organism towards a reductive ideal is cosmically self-defeating. I enjoyed the challenge of defeat though. I imputed nobility to infinitesimal improvement and

blindly discounted the daily sacrifices, of which there

were many.

I had no time. I conservatively estimate I

spent 5,000 hours in the gym over ten years, not

counting travel, online research, shopping and

preparing meals. With modern jobs slipping

ARTWORK BY JAMES CALLAGHAN

the bounds of nine to five, most people can pull off, maybe, two significant extra-curricular activities besides sleep. Serious bodybuilding takes up both slots.

I had no money. Supplements and gym memberships are luxury consumables. My ten-year body building bill was in the ballpark of $45,000. Speaking of consumables, I ate tuna, rice and porridge every day for five years straight. My night-time treat was porridge with chocolate protein powder mixed in (actually quite tasty).

Lastly, and despite the time expended, my fitness was never great. Cardio is for cowards, as meatheads aver. The weight room is a fantastic place to go if you are new to fitness or want to lose fat. After a few months of improvement, it’s just about traumatising your muscles for marginal growth. But setting aside the pointless sacrifices, by far the biggest problem I have with weight lifting are the psychoses it encourages.

Since the emergence of body building in the 1950s, young males have been progressively conditioned towards ridiculous body expectations that do not align with need, desirability or reality.

Place them in a gym – a hothouse for hyper-masculine mania – and the darker side of aspiration comes out. Every gym-goer watches each other jealously and plots to surpass their neighbour.

That’s what all the mirrors are for: to keep the rats running.

The mentality of masculine performance wormed its way into every interaction I had. I became a stereotype in my own eyes.

I’d sometimes break out in nervous sweats meeting strangers; I imagined them sizing me up the way I’d learned to mercilessly size myself up. My mind was hitting the big red emergency button.

That was the side effect that finally tipped me over the edge.

Biologically and psychologically, I was engaged in a spiralling arms race with myself. Ego has no end point, only endless growth.

By fuelling my addiction I was losing out in so many dimensions: temporal, financial, emotional and intellectual. My emerging social impediment, however, was the most blatant symptom of an unhealthy bodily relationship.

At the start I loved it all. I was the pilgrim there every Sunday morning saying prayers in the squat rack. By the end I was so, so tired of the hoary, air-conditioned room echoing with grunts. A body should not mindlessly pursue failure day in and out. If you want fitness – and you should, because the mind works best when it’s in healthy connection with the body – go for a run. Do sport, yoga, pull-ups and push-ups in the park. Buy a free-weight set and set reasonable objectives. Go for another run. I’ll see you in the park. I’m out of the hothouse now and I’m never going back.

I recount these experiences in the hope of persuading at least one person from pursuing a similarly depressing, fruitless tyranny of their body. Ultimately the arms race is cold war fought between yourself and your manufactured expectations. In life, there are so many better fights to be had.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 25

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COLUMN

THE FEMININE CRITIQUE: WOMEN AND GAMING

ADRIANE REARDON CONSIDERS SEXISM AMONGST ONLINE GAMING WITH GAMER, REBECCA DI LELLA AND PHD CANDIDATE, DR LAUREN ROSEWARNE.

R

ibecca Di Lella’s electric blue fringe isn’t the only thing that makes her stand out in a room full of gamers. Di Lella is a woman, making her one out of only eight women attending a gaming demonstration that has drawn more than 50 men.

It’s a Friday afternoon at the University of Melbourne and the Society of Electronic Engineering (SEE) has hired out a lecture room for their weekly gaming meeting. Di Lella is unfazed by the chaos as boys bustle round the room yelling at their screens and wrestling with their consoles. The video game Yandere Simulator is projected on the whiteboard as the feature anime game of the week as chainsaws, daemons and dismembered limbs light up the screen. Gore, it seems, is the perfect way to unite the sexes.

“I’ve been gaming since I was 12 years old,” she says. “I didn’t get to play games before that because I got a lot of dolls instead.”

Di Lella’s gender might make her a part of the minority in the room but her prowess as an experienced gamer provides her with social capital.

“I know gaming is a boys’ club but I have never felt unwelcome here because I am a woman,” she says.

The Science student prefers interacting with gamers in a physical setting because of the risks involved in anonymous online gaming. According to Di Lella, the online gaming space is a place where she is made to feel most aware of her gender.

“The online world is a sexist environment where players are not held accountable for their actions,” she says.

The prominence of sexism in online gaming was brought to a head in 2014 during the Gamergate scandal. The controversy began when an ex-boyfriend of popular gaming developer, Zoe Quinn, published a blog about her alleged ‘promiscuity’. The blog went viral and anonymous online users developed the hashtag #Gamergate on Twitter to harass Quinn and other prominent female members of the gaming industry including Brianna Wu and media critic Anita Sarkeesian.

Dr Lauren Rosewarne is a Senior Lecturer at the School of Social and Political Sciences at the University of Melbourne. She describes online gaming as a ‘locker room’ environment where women are subordinated through trolling and anonymous sexbased attacks.

“If I look at you, it’s a lot harder to be awful to you than behind a computer screen,” Dr Rosewarne says. “That’s why we see different kinds of abuse online than offline. It’s hard because

ARTWORK BY ELOYSE McCALL

technology moves faster than legislation can. We look for a government response but it’s difficult to police the internet.”

The 2014 Gamergate scandal prompted Zoe Quinn to create support networks ‘Crash Override Network’ and ‘Online Abuse Prevention Initiative’ to victims of online harassment. The experience also encouraged Anita Sarkeesian to explore the relationship between trolls’ sexism in gaming on her video web series Feminist Frequency. The perseverance of women who have experienced online harassment has prompted more awareness of sexism in the gaming industry.

The SEE group has been aiming to adopt this culture of open discussion by elevating its female members.

“We look out for each other,” Yen Fung says. “This club was founded by a girl. The President of the 2015 committee was a girl.

Although there are less female to male members here, we make sure that our female members are treated with respect from the guys.”

Fung has held the position of Vice President of SEE since the beginning of the year, making her one of two women holding down senior positions at the club. The three other posts have been filled by men. Although the committee is able to police sexism and gender representation amongst their regular members, preventing gender discrimination amongst online users requires greater effort.

According to Dr Rosewarne, the lack of social and cultural demand in the gaming industry hinders change.

“Women are not represented equally in science technology, engineering and mathematics” Dr Rosewarne says. “It’s difficult for women to break into an industry dominated by men.”

Di Lella echoes Dr Rosewarne’s comments by highlighting two main issues that can challenge the objectification of female gamers.

“A huge problem is a lack of awareness surrounding sexism in gaming” Di Lella says. “But also, companies like Microsoft and Steam need to make it accessible to identify gamers and followthrough on reports of abuse.”

As the SEE meeting wraps up for another week, it makes for an example of how men and women can mix easily – and equally – in the world of gaming. However, sexism in gaming remains a prominent issue across the real and virtual world. Although a blue fringe is a talking point in a room full of gamers, the gender of the person wearing it serves as a reminder of the harassment and discrimination women shouldn’t have to face when they game.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 27

COLUMN

FOR & AGAINST WINTER

BY SCARLETTE DO

P

ersephone annually sacrifices herself to Hades so that we can enjoy the harsh hail and bitter blizzards of winter. I know you are disheartened already thinking about your soaked shoes and being holed up in the house for weeks on end. But give winter a chance and hear me out. Its unforgiving conditions are what make this season the best for bonding with one another through a multitude of activities.

Imagine a Wednesday night in July when your exams are done and dusted. You’ve returned from work and it’s pouring outside.

To warm up your numbed body – and let’s face it, your frozen heart as well – you snuggle up cosy with the bae. You both smell like a grandmother, maybe because bae is wearing that adorable sweater Gram’s knitted for them, maybe because all your winter clothes inventory is Savers sponsored. Winter also facilitates the perfect cuddle sesh – there’s just enough heat between the two bodies so you wouldn’t have to worry about the sweat fest that occurs so often in summer.

With the evening free of responsibilities, you head down to Queen Vic’s Winter Night Market to enjoy all its toasty offerings. While your hands are snugged between those of your lover’s, the rest of your body is basked in the warmth from the sizzling Brazilian grill and the scorching curry vats. Pho, ramen, laksa – your favourite Asian cuisines, now westernised for easy consumption – all work miracles on that stubbornly blocked nose.

That mulled wine you purchased two stalls earlier has begun to seep into your system, filling you with notes of cinnamon and sweet oak. Heck, even ice cream tastes better in winter. You can now fully appreciate its delicious frostiness without the paranoia of dropping the slob on your shirt.

Winter is the best season for introverts, too. The miserable weather discourages your friends from going out every weekend and the damned insects from preying on you. You can curl up peacefully in your doona to catch up with Game of Thrones. Those poor bastards in the northern hemisphere can’t truly experience the series like you can. Winter is coming? Winter is here. Stock up your tea, spirits and rainy-day mixtapes so your winter blues don’t go unaccompanied.

Passenger says, “You only miss the sun when it starts to snow”.

I say winter gives you the perfect opportunity to appreciate the warmth generated by not only food but also by people. Mostly by food though.

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BY SEAN MANTESSO

W

inter. The bane of every fun-loving person’s existence.

We ring in these blustery icy months with a begrudging sense of inevitability. The intolerable cold exacerbated by our longing for better times and warmer nights.

The unbearable icy winds, the rain that hits you like tiny little icicles, stinging as you dash between buildings. The flu, the runny noses, the cold isn’t conducive to good times and good health. The sun disappears over the horizon before you even make it home in the afternoon.

We cling to our blankets on these unbearable mornings, terrified of moving lest we let even the smallest amount of cold air into our place of refuge.

Whatever hopeless attempt someone might make to tell us how much they love winter is really just a vain attempt to cope with the insufferability of it.

Only a disturbed and sadistic heretic would say they enjoy this.

The simplest pleasures, like say, going outside are taken away from us. We huddle incessantly around sources of warmth, seeking refuge wherever we can find it.

The Winter Enthusiasts will often point out that there is an alluring ‘mystique’ associated with the cold, dark months in the middle of the year.

Melbourne teeters precariously close at times to the magic zero degrees that makes snow possible. But no, we simply endure the frosty temperatures and never even get the prize of snowfall, perhaps the one and only magic of the cold.

Don’t kid yourself people. Winter sucks.

We cling desperately to those final warm months and look solemnly at what’s ahead of us come May. Many of us flee, we go north, we go abroad, some of us even make tentative plans to move to Queensland. We go anywhere to escape and satiate our yearning for the sun.

When we do finally emerge from the dark with pasty skin and a few extra kilos, we do so with a renewed vitality.

Maybe the one and only good that comes from winter is the appreciation we feel for the warmer months. The suffering, the endurance, the bitter cold and darkness make us revel in the warmth when those irresistible summer days do finally come along.

Fear not my friends. These miserable weeks will come to an end. We are but a few short months from greener pastures, sunny days, balmy nights and happier times.

ARTWORK BY KATIA PELLICCIOTTA

SCIENCE

AUX CHORD WARS MAX PH EXPLAINS WHY HE DOESN’T LIKE YOUR FAVOURITE SONG

S

cenario: Upon finally obtaining your green Ps, you and three of your besties decide to drive up to the season’s coolest, most alternative music festival (seeing as “freedom lies in being bold pooing in a drop dunny” – Robert Frost). Next to your circularframed sunnies and a bag of “vitamins” lies the aux cord through which you plan to play a new song you’ve talked up to your mates.

Amidst the chorus-induced tears of joy running down your cheeks, you glance around the car and find, much to your dismay, that your mates are disinterested – the anger and confusion invoked by their indifference invites you to question the existence of God himself; why, Lord, is this so?

Music is one of the most prominent features of everyday life – in fact, we’re exposed to music in some way, shape or form for nearly 20 per cent of our waking lives. Subsequently, it’s exceptionally easy for us to identify what sorts of music we do and do not enjoy; mere seconds is all it takes when deciding whether a song on our iPod is worth listening to or skipping.

But why do certain genres of music appeal to some but not others?

Why does music elicit different emotions in different people?

Recent psychological studies have shown that these nuances are not random but are, in large part, due to personality. A 2005 study undertaken by PhD student David Greenberg at Cambridge University drew a clear link between one’s cognitive style and the type and depth of emotion in their preferred style of music.

You may not, for the record, terminate your reading here – crashing your 14-year-old sister’s slumber party, abrasively rubbing Emma’s (for lack of a more generic 14-year-old girl’s name) nose in the above paragraph, claiming that, as per your hypothesis, One Direction fans are in fact as sharp as a bowling ball, because “science said so!”; no, keep reading, it’s a little more intricate than that.

The study split people into three distinct thinking types: empathisers – socially apt individuals who can easily recognise and react to the thoughts and feelings of others; systemisers – less social individuals who interact with others based on the notion of how they think they should act and those who are a mixture of the two. Four thousand test subjects (of controlled gender and age) elected themselves to partake in the study survey which required them to agree or disagree to a number of statements, indicative of one of five traits (including neuroticism, extroversion, openness to experience, agreeableness and conscientiousness); these traits then determined whether the participant thought as an

empathiser, systemiser or something

of both. In order to rule out predispositions to certain types of music, the participants were then

required to rank 50 songs from

26 genres and subgenres.

In comparing the

results from the study, a clear pattern emerged across the participant pool.

The study found that those participants displaying empathetic-thinking traits tended to prefer mellow music

ARTWORK BY BONNIE SMITH

(such as the R&B stylings of TLC), unpretentious music (such as the husky country music of Johnny Cash and contemporary music (such as the funky acid-jazz produced by Jamiroquai).

Participants with more systematic-thinking traits, alternatively, enjoyed more intense music (such as the punk rock of the Sex Pistols, or the heavy metal of Metallica). People whose answers didn’t immediately stand out as either empathising or systemising tended to have a mix of both music tastes.

The only thing worse than a friend unimpressed by the song supporting your will to live (a contentious statement – there are, perhaps, worse things – like a hangnail), is when that song emanates from a genre you share a mutual love for. Such hyperbole is intentionally belittling FYI; like claiming that anyone who enjoys eating beef must also crave the flesh of the cow’s distant cousin – the giraffe.

The results of Greenberg’s study proved consistent even within specified genres. However, empathising thinkers preferred mellow, unpretentious jazz, whilst systemising thinkers preferred intense, sophisticated, complex and avant-garde jazz.

As researchers continued to analyse trends in the data, further intricacies of the personality preference link surfaced; empathetic thinkers enjoyed music that exhibited less energy, more emotional depth and negative emotions such as sadness or depression, whilst systematic thinkers enjoyed almost the opposite, songs with more energy, positive emotions and “a high degree of cerebral depth and complexity,” according to the study.

Not only is this link extraordinarily interesting in terms of psychological analysis but it also opens doors to potential applications in marketing and neuroscientific studies. When considering the large sums of money dedicated towards ultimately speculative music selection algorithms within programs like Spotify and Apple Music, identifying the thinking style of the listener and applying Greenberg’s study would be highly profitable in fine-tuning the music recommendations to the individual. Me listening to ‘Rap and Hip-Hop Radio’ should not indicate some sort of rebellious, juvenile connection with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie advertisements every three songs, Pandora.

Similarly, in partnership with Greenberg’s findings, a study published in 2009 in the Neuroscience Letters journal revealed that our music preference may not only be indicative of how we think but also affect the way we perceive the people around us.

The study found that listening to happy and sad songs could change the way that people read other people’s faces; researchers had participants listen to a range of happy and sad songs, asking them to then rate the emotional status of various people’s faces.

The study showed that those who listened to happier songs were able to identify happy faces, whilst those who listened to sad songs rated people predominantly as unhappy. It might be an idea to have Outkast’s ‘Hey Ya’ playing quietly through the house speakers on results day – fails may not become H1s but frowns will (as scientifically proven) turn upside down.

Yet, despite David Greenberg’s success, psychological studies cannot explain why I used to get around 3OH!3.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 29

SCIENCE

TO PEE OR NOT TO PEE SCARLETTE DO ON WHY SHE’S ALWAYS RUSHING TO THE LOO

“Y

ou look so tired. Did you sleep well last night?” my boyfriend teased. I laughed it off. How could I tell this wonderfully healthy creature that I spent all night making trips to the toilet every two hours, that every moment awake was overwhelmed by the fear of wetting my pants? How could I tell him that I have an infection?

Many imagine hell as a pit of raging fire. My hell was a shirt soaked with cranberry juice when the 401 bus stopped abruptly and pants dampened with urine when I could not make it to the loo in time.

As a 20-year-old with no control over my bladder, I began internalising feelings of shame. I felt guilty about cancelling social plans. My ignorance of the infection led me to believe that it was sexually transmitted. Talking to anybody was out of the question. I was terrified of being judged for how often I visited the water closet or for my possibly unhygienic sexual practices. Even paranoia about my boyfriend’s fidelity appeared out of nowhere like a wild Pokémon. The trip to the GP effectively lessened my physical pains but did not relieve my mental torments… that is, until I blurted out my worries to a friend.

She confessed to having a urinary tract infection (UTI) as a child from holding pee in for too long. We then shared embarrassing stories and toilet tips. This surge of relief inspired me to then converse with my co-workers, one of whom was experiencing a recurring UTI at the time. The ubiquity of the infection surprised me, more so how it has been avoided in public discussion. Further research left me appalled at how my female guardians and high school sex-and-physical-education™ had collectively ignored one of the most common infections anybody with a vagina could ever encounter their entire life.

Now, fasten your pants, or don’t, for some hard facts on UTIs. UTIs are 400 per cent more likely to occur in females because of the tract’s location between and proximity to the vagina and anus. The symptoms include frequent urination, lack of control of urination, pain while urinating, blood in urine and lower abdominal and/or back pain.

Sexual intercourse is a major of facilitator for UTIs. 80 per cent of women with a UTI report to have had sex (oral, anal, vaginal)

30 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

in the last 48 hours. Leftover lubrication also enables bacteria to travel from the anus and vagina to the tract. Other causes include long periods of withholding urine, weak immune system caused by high stress levels and unhealthy diet, pregnancy, menopause, diabetes and dehydration.

Benign yet common bacteria Escherichia Coli (E. Coli) contributes to most UTI cases. This bacteria can be found in the anal opening. The tract’s shortness also allows E. Coli to quickly travel, spread and contaminate the area. Once sure of these symptoms, head over to your nearest GP for a dose of antibiotics and professional advice.

Looking for some self-care tips? Urine luck! Here are some ways to look after your tract.

Don’t hesitate to take a day off from work and university when you feel the infection raging down under. Staying in an environment where you can comfortably travel to and from the toilet does wonders to your mental health. Drink plenty of fluids: water, cranberry juice, Ural powder to name a few. They help flushing out the bacteria and lessen the severity of symptoms.

Drinking Ural powder and cranberry juice after intercourse is recommended to keep the tract clean. Grab your nearest pair of loose, black pants or skirt, the shinier the better. This will help disguising any patch of accidental dampness.

Prior to sexy time, wash the body parts and toys intended for stimulation. Prevent the transmission of E. Coli bacteria by ensuring that any fingers used for anal do not come in contact with the clitoris and vagina. Urinating after sex helps get rid of foreign agents. Remember that the pill is less effective while you take antibiotics. Other forms of protection will not go amiss up to a week post-antibiotics. With enough fluids and antibiotics, your UTI should be over within two weeks!

Last but not least, remind yourself and those suffering that one in five females have the infection at any given time. 60 per cent of women worldwide report a UTI at some point in their lives. Tell the people you care about that you have an infection. Better yet, inform others of UTIs to stop the stigma. Start a conversation to create a supportive network for yourself and others.

It’s amazing knowing that the people I live and work with understand why I need to rush to the loo. My boyfriend reminds me to take Ural at the completion of our fornication. At work, we even refrigerate a bottle of cranberry juice to share amongst the ladies.

Dampened pants and abdominal pains might be yours to experience alone but shame and guilt for a common infection should never be internalised. At the end of the day, those who matter will remain with you for wetter or for worse.

ARTWORK BY ANWYN HOCKING

COLUMN

THIASHYA JAYASEKERA PRESENTS A COLUMN ABOUT THE BIG QUESTIONS IN SCIENCE

T

he winter season is characterised by violent sneezes, intermittent sniffles and runny noses. As flu season makes its dutiful rounds each year, parents around the world caution their children. ‘Put on a jacket or you’ll catch a cold,’ my mother still says to me as I leave home on a chilly day.

It’s a phrase that we’ve all heard in our childhoods (some in our adulthoods too).

Semantically, this is entirely logical: ‘influenza’ is derived from the Italian ‘influenzza de freddo’, which translates to the ‘influence of being cold’ and the common ‘cold’ is pretty self-explanatory.

But how much truth is there to this old wives’ tale? Can you catch a cold from being cold?

For years, science has been arguing that the common cold and flu cannot be caused by temperature. Colds are caused by a strain of viruses – ‘rhinoviruses’ – of which there are more than 100, whilst the flu is caused by the influenza virus. Feeling a bit chilly, in the absence of these viruses, is not enough to make you sick.

However, there is some truth to mothers’ common sense – while cold may not be the primary cause, it does make us more susceptible to infection.

Ron Eccles, director of the Common Cold Centre in Cardiff, wanted to know whether cold and damp conditions activated the influenza virus. He conducted a study in which volunteers were chilled in a laboratory setting and then returned to their daily lives. Half of the participants sat with their bare feet in cold water for 20 minutes, while the other half kept their socks and shoes on and kept their feet in an empty bowl. Four or five days later, twice as many people in the cold-water group had developed a cold.

While the flu season assuredly emerges in cold and rainy conditions, there is very little understanding as to why this occurs. With this understanding, scientists could search for more effective ways to stop its pernicious spread.

Behavioural theories have some traction. In the cold wintry months, we spend more time huddled together in the toasty indoors – in other words, we’re in closer contact with potentially infectious humans.

From a physiological point of view, the cold wears down our bodies’ natural defences. As we approach winter solstice, daylight becomes scarce and we may run low on Vitamin D levels – which at normal levels boosts our immune systems. Furthermore, when we breathe in cold air, the blood vessels in our nose constrict, blocking off white blood cells (our natural germ killers).

The soundest theory has to do with the way our sneezes linger in the air. In 2007 Dr Peter Palese, a microbiologist and an expert in the field of RNA viruses, tested the spread of flu in guinea pigs. He inoculated batches of guinea pigs with influenza virus and placed them in cages adjacent to uninfected guinea pigs. The pairs of guinea pig cages were placed at varying temperatures and humidities.

Palese’s study concluded that the influenza virus spreads like wildfire in dry conditions, but struggles to gain traction in moist air. By comparing 30 years’ worth of climate records with health records, Jeffrey Shaman and his colleagues at Columbia University found that flu epidemics almost always followed a drop in humidity. According to Jane Metz, who recently reviewed all this evidence for the Journal of Infection, the overlap of the two graphs was so close that ‘you could pretty much put one on top of the other’.

A paper from the 1960s first suggested that the influenza virus has a longer survival time (the amount of time that the virus remains viable and virulent) in cold, dry air. According to the laws of thermodynamics, cold air carries less water vapour before falling as rain. So even if it is raining, although it may seem wetter outside, the air is actually drier, fostering the perfect environment for the flu virus to flourish. Every time we sputter with a cough or sneeze, we expel tiny droplets from our nose and mouths. In moist air, these particles remain large and drop to the floor. In cold, dry air, these particles break into smaller particles that can stay aloft for hours or even days. In winter, you end up breathing in a fairly unpleasant cocktail of mucus, viruses and dead cells from anyone and everyone who came into that vicinity.

So while you may want to wear one less layer than you should and ignore mum’s refrain, ‘put on a jacket!’, you should probably heed her advice. So cosy up in your thermals, sweaters and winter-wear and while you’re at it – you should probably get your flu shot too.

ARTWORK BY REIMENA YEE

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 31

32 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

COLUMN

COMIC BY KERRY JIANG

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 33

ETHNIC IN THE CITY WHAT’S STOPPING TRUNG LE FROM BECOMING A CHARLOTTE?

2

007. My hardcore, ultra-Buddhist parents made me go to a church so I could get a recommendation to get into Catholic school. They were afraid that my non-white religion in combination with my non-white appearance would be obstacles, so I had to rub shoulders with my local priest. He asked me what I wanted when I grew up. “To be in love and a husband.” I wasn’t even lying. I was an 11-year-old Charlotte before I even knew what a Charlotte was.

Flash-forward to 2014. People were obsessed with doing the Ice Bucket Challenge, Iggy Azalea was a big deal and an 18-yearold me was trying to find The One. I was sitting on Swanston Street with a friend, gossiping under the golden arches after a party. I felt so cosmopolitan. At the time I was seeing a guy who we’ll call Chris. Chris was – and still is – a man child. But he was also incredibly cute. Like he was a nine and I was a four cute. So I couldn’t wait to organically bring it up in conversation. “Hey Alistair, guess who I’m dating.” When I showed him photos, he naturally asked me what he did for a living. This was the question that I had been dreading. I confessed, “He’s… an… anime dubber.”

I knew exactly what was wrong with him but I was never going to say it to myself. So I’m glad that Alistair and his Carrie Bradshaw wisdom did. “Do you think he likes you because you’re Asian?”

A couple of weeks later, Chris told me that he was seeing somebody else, so unfortunately, we did not get married in Paris

34 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

like I had imagined. I lurked online and found it was someone also Asian – but more conventionally attractive. The dust of reality settled in. And as someone who has both delusions of grandeur and mild asthma, I hated it all. But I couldn’t help but wonder: does the ethnicity of a person affect their search for romance? The answer is always yes.

When you’re a person of colour and dating, most people will fall under two categories. The type that loves displaying their racist preferences through hateful rhyme: “Sugar or spice, no chocolate or rice.” And the other type that can’t get enough of you…r ethnicity. They like you, sure. But they love the idea of eating sushi off your naked body even more. Unlike the prejudiced people that mostly and flat out avoid you, the fetishists can fly under your racial radar. Especially if you’re me. I’m the type of person who suffers from red flag syndrome. A psychological condition I just made up for this article. It’s when you date somebody and constantly see red flags but choose to ignore them for romantic and/or desperate reasons. I’ve seen, dated and watched enough Marvel movies with these men to know the signs.

The first and most obvious are their interests. Do they love mansplaining Asian culture to you even though you yourself are Asian? If they own a kimono, just run.

Do they like your body a little too much? In a world dominated

by Abrahamic religions and pornography, circumcised penises

COMMENTARY

have become the norm. Except in East Asians like myself. I once dated a guy who was head over heels in love with my foreskin.

He treated it like a blanket on a cold winter night. I knew it was specifically my foreskin because I have the confidence to say that there is nothing else spectacular down there. But to him, it was like a refreshing change from the usual cut. A genital palate cleanser. It wasn’t circumcised but it also wasn’t too unusual. It was in that Goldilocks zone of junk. Just right.

The roommate was probably the most humiliating sign. One time I went back to this guy’s apartment to have “fish and chips” after the beach. Since we had just come back from the ocean, I headed towards the shower. As I walked to my bag and change of clothes I heard a knock at the door. His roommate was coming home. He chirped from the other room: “That’s David”. It was like that scene in Mulan where she looked at her reflection. My date had conveniently failed to mention that his roommate was also of Asian descent. His eyes were saying “another one” as I made an excuse to leave. I pictured DJ Khaled saying, “Congratulations, you just played yourself” over and over.

Having one of those red flags doesn’t immediately constitute a fetishist. But if you have a gut feeling anywhere inside of you, then you are likely right.

Exactly a year after Chris and I stopped seeing each other, I was coming from another date to Melbourne Central station. I saw

ARTWORK BY KATHY AUDREY SARPI

him again for a split second on the street. What were the odds?

This is why I keep telling people that Melbourne is the New York of Australia. It was so quick we couldn’t even wave. I checked my phone a minute later to a thirsty text. “Hey handsome.” After 12 months, I was not the same person. I sat across from him on his couch, not believing what was happening. It was obvious that I had lost a Biggest Loser amount of weight and gained the dating experience of three Taylor Swift albums. I became a sexually awakened Samantha. Chris on the other hand was not looking so great. He hadn’t done any dubbing work after his second hernia operation. Suddenly I was the nine and he was the four. And in that moment I saw the silver lining of being racially fetishised

by Chris. It woke me up to the reality of fetishism – particularly between Asian people and white men. It also taught me how to restrict my carb intake.

It goes without saying that having someone like “you” for your ethnicity is hurtful and damaging. Is it so hard to have someone love you for you and not for your skin colour, eye shape or supposed ability to do long division? The fact that this looms over every single romance I have to prevent myself from being hurt is disheartening. But this doesn’t mean I won’t stop searching. I will plough my way through yellow fevered frogs to find my prince.

Because I am of course, still a Charlotte at heart.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 35

EVER WONDERED HOW A ROM-COM WOULD PLAY OUT IRL? MORGAN-LEE SNELL KNOWS THE ANSWER

W

hen I was in third grade, I received my first love letter. It was from Timothy Lloyd, a blond haired cherub of fourth grader and the fastest runner in his class. Definitely a catch. The letter was delivered to me by a boy with purple sneakers, because the idea of little Timmy and I communicating face to face was… well, far-fetched to say the least. It read “Even though you wear glasses I still think you’re pretty. Wanna go out?” Ah, ever the romantic that boy. Of course I said yes – fastest runner in his class, remember? I scribbled out my answer on a heart shaped sticky note and gave it to the purple-sneakered boy to deliver to my new boyfriend.

As a kid, I was obsessed with teen romance movies. 10 Things I Hate About You, She’s All That, The Notebook – oh god The Notebook. In my head, my love affair with Timothy was basically the real life version of Blane and Andie’s relationship in Pretty in Pink. Our romance of four weeks was a long one, by primary school standards at least, but unlike Andie and Blane, we could not withstand the pressures of the social ladder. So the boy in the purple sneakers delivered my first break-up letter too. I read it hanging upside down on the monkey bars. “I decided you’re gross,” proclaimed my now ex-boyfriend in dark blue gel pen.

Dangling there, broken-hearted, Timothy became the first of a long line of boys to shatter my delusional romantic expectations.

Here’s a list of all the times my life was almost, but not quite, a movie moment.

Love Actually Really, what is more romantic than silently professing your love to a girl via a series of oversized flashcards? According to Love Actually, it’s silently professing your love to your best friend’s wife via a series of oversized flashcards. In my version of this Christmas classic, it’s just past midnight and I’m sitting on the loo while my boyfriend snores in the next room. My phone vibrates and for once it’s not just Telstra telling me I’ve run out of data – it’s Cedrick, my boyfriend’s BFF. I swipe to unlock and come face to face with a collection of shockingly pink dick pics. Now THAT is love actually.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s You know the final scene where Holly Golightly and her love interest Paul are searching frantically for Cat in the rain? Yeah, that happened to me. Kind of. It went like this: I was signing for a package when my dog slipped past me out the front door and off into a torrential downpour. The postman and I both dropped what we were doing and chased after him, me barefoot in a dressing gown, the postman clutching his beer gut as he ran. We found my pup, but it’s fair to say there was no passionate, rain sodden embrace between me and the forty-something postie.

While You Were Sleeping Throughout most of my high school career, I had an intense crush on a boy we’ll call Tyson. I was completely enamoured. He, of course, had no knowledge of my existence. I loved him all the same. Let me set the scene for you: it’s a backyard party, some guy’s 15th birthday. Everyone is drinking raspberry Cruisers or goon. Yeah, a real classy shindig. Anyway, I was walking around in the bushes looking for a place to piss (like I said, classy) when I tripped over a lifeless body. It was Tyson, passed the fuck out.

Much like Sandra Bullock’s character in While You Were Sleeping, I saw an opportunity and took it. I sprinted back towards the party and grabbed a girl’s shoulder; “Come quick! My boyfriend’s passed out!” She gathered a group of people and I showed them to my unconscious lover. Unfortunately, in my drunken stupor I had forgotten that when you live in a small town, everyone knows everyone’s business. “That’s not your boyfriend,” the girl said, “fuckin’ weirdo”.

The Titanic I went through a phase where I decided I would explore empowerment and womanhood by posing for life drawing classes, because I’m a 21st Century girl. One particular class, lounging in the nude, your typical shaggy art boy started making intense eye contact with me while he sketched. I walked over to ask for his number afterwards but was so embarrassed by the detail with which he had drawn every inch of my cellulite that I practically ran out of the room.

36 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

COMMENTARY

Grease

Bridget Jones’ Diary

Possibly the most watched film of my childhood, Grease gave me a lot of unrealistic expectations for life, namely that I would look good in shiny disco pants (damn you and your long legs, Olivia Newton-John). It also taught me that if things were ever gonna work out for me and the Bad Boy, I was gonna have to become the Bad Girl. Enter Mitchell Huett, my seventh grade crush. A skateboarder, a smoker, a drug dealer and a whole two years older than me. Every mum’s greatest nightmare. In my 13-year-old naivety I started wearing all black, dyed my hair and purposely got things wrong on tests because my “A” average was seriously messing with my cool factor. Thankfully, I quickly realised that, much like the unexplained flying car in the final scene, some things in Grease are just bullshit.

Miss Jones and I have so much in common – we’re both awkward, weight-obsessed diary-writers with rather rotund behinds. One thing we don’t have in common is how our lovers react to nasty diary entries. Heart throb Mark Darcy, as we all know, leaves.

A dramatic chase involving snow and animal print underwear ensues and then Mr Darcy reveals that he was, in fact, just buying her a new journal so they could have a “new start” together. Cue the swelling music and public display of affection. It doesn’t necessarily go down that way in real life. When my boyfriend read my private thoughts about his “less than satisfying” penis, he left too – not to buy me a new journal, just to go nurse his ego. He broke up with me a week later via text. The film version was so much more romantic.

The Notebook

Notting Hill

On a family vacation to Bali I met and fell in love with a boy named Noah – coincidence? I think not. Upon arriving home, I discovered he’d sent me a Facebook friend request. Obviously, I accepted, but after realising all of his profile pictures were cars, I lost interest. He, on the other hand, did not. He also had a severe lack of understanding of basic Facebook etiquette, sending me more “You up? ;)” messages than any girl should have to endure.

I, unlike Allie and her letters, got every single one of his IM’s.

Although I wish I hadn’t.

Have you ever had one of those days were you just feel so absolutely shit about yourself that you had to get on Tinder and swipe for a couple hours? Every “It’s a Match!” that pops up on your screen is another little boost to your ego. On one such day I was swiping merrily away when lo and behold, Reece Mastin popped up. I swiped right with an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm but of course my phone chose that precise moment to glitch out, Reece’s face suspended halfway off the screen. The app closed itself and when I reopened it, Reece was nowhere to be seen. We’ll never know what might have been.

As you can guess, in spite of the fact that I am the physical embodiment of the quintessential rom-com clumsy girl, I’m yet to find myself snogging Hugh Grant on the big screen. So now here I am, expectations dashed and realising no boy could ever live up to the great romance ideals provided to me by Hollywood. But all things considered, I’m pretty okay with it. Because even though my romantic dalliances don’t involve extravagant gestures of love or a well thought out soundtrack, they’re actually real. And really, no matter how many times I swoon over the boom box scene in Say Anything, waking up to someone standing outside my window blasting ‘In Your Eyes’ would actually be pretty fucking creepy.

ARTWORK BY AMIE GREEN

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 37

COLUMN

LOTTE WARD PRESENTS

ONE OF US: CULT REVIEWS FEEL-GOOD, FATALIST FEMINISM: THE CULT OF TWO BITCHES IN A CAR

“I

guess I went a little crazy, huh?”

“No, you’ve always been crazy; this is just the first chance you’ve had to really express yourself.”

Ridley Scott may have hinted at his female-led action blockbuster potential with Alien, but if you’re a woman and you like seeing women doing rad things on the silver screen, you first and foremost have to thank him for a little road movie called Thelma and Louise. Written by Callie Khouri in her screenwriting debut, the film was rebuffed by networks when Scott originally shopped it around. “It’s two bitches in a car,” an unnamed exec reportedly told him, “I don’t get it!”

Millions of women got it. Almost trebling its budget of $16 million, Thelma and Louise rose to icon status by providing for an extremely undernourished market – one that producers didn’t seem to think existed – of women who wanted to experience an onscreen escape through characters that actually resembled them. It’s a film that, in the words of an LA activist quoted in Time magazine’s (front page) piece on the film, “tells the downright truth”.

Slotting neatly into the road movie and buddy film genres, Thelma and Louise benefits from the somewhat paradoxical facts that it heavily resembles films traditionally about men and that it could not have been made about anyone but two women.

The film picks up in the southern US state of Arkansas, where Louise works in a diner and Thelma tiptoes around her domineering husband. A break from their drudging realities presents itself in the form of a weekend trip to Louise’s friend’s cabin; Thelma, knowing Darryl (“is he your husband, or your father?”) would never willingly let her go, leaves him a note and some dinner to microwave. The two then tear off in Louise’s sea green Thunderbird.

Looking for a snapshot of freedom from lives they’ve “settled for”, Thelma and Louise end up finding themselves in “Deep Shit, Arkansas” after Thelma, having had a few drinks and a line dance at a roadhouse, is violently attacked in the parking lot by her dance partner. Louise apprehends and eventually kills him with a gun Thelma brought along for “psycho killers, bears or snakes!”

“Shouldn’t we go to the police?” Thelma asks as they’re fleeing the crime scene. Lousie yells, “Who’s gonna believe that? We don’t live in that kind of a world, Thelma!” – So the two go on the run. It’s a stark portrayal of sexual assault and its aftermath, particularly for the time – and yet Louise’s reasoning makes immediate sense to current audiences.

Thelma and Louise certainly doesn’t pull any punches or treat lightly its heavy subject matter but it manages to be a feel-good movie regardless (as the genre demands). Between discussions about unspeakable things they’ve done and had done to them, Thelma and Louise have highway singalongs with their hair whipping round their faces and enjoy a kind of freedom neither one of them would have believed possible days earlier. It’s exactly this type of freedom – reckless, unrestrained and unanswerable to anyone but oneself – that excited female viewers in 1991 and that still wields enormous cathartic power.

It’s not a perfect feminist film and I doubt it was trying to be, but Thelma and Louise is pure wish-fulfilment on a scale unknown to female audiences at the time. Sure, there’s the short-term and yes, sometimes cheap satisfaction of violent revenge against initial male violence and disrespect – particularly the scene in which Thelma

38 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

and Louise, having failed to extract an apology from the truck driver harassing them, shoot at his fuel tanker until it explodes and then drive around him in circles, “hollering” in the way Thelma’s husband tells her he hates – but Thelma and Louise cuts deeper as a feminist film by acknowledging that the system, and the odds, are stacked against us.

When, in the middle of the film, Louise, previously the controlling calm in a crisis, takes one too many low blows and breaks down, Thelma takes charge, robbing a convenience store to make up money her one-night-stand J.D. (young and lush Brad Pitt) stole. It’s a change that seems sudden but has been steadily developing throughout the film. Their first crime was out of selfdefence; their second, desperation; their third (locking a highway patrolman in the trunk of his car and stealing his gun), a final, irreversible step in their only plan: don’t get caught.

Beyond any hope of appealing to its protection, Thelma and Louise find themselves suddenly unbeholden to the law; they’re living outside its borders and it’s clear neither of them has felt freer. The transformation is beautifully represented through incredible attention to detail in costuming, direction and the powerful, subtle talents of Davis and Sarandon. It’s a matter of incremental changes: the pieces torn off the girls’ clothing for comfort in the heat of the South, Louise’s trading in all her jewellery for an old man’s hat and later, her perky sunnies for their abducted cop’s aviators. It’s a matter of the vibrant, ambiguous Deep South landscapes that fade in from black-and-white over the opening credits and a particularly beautiful stretch of road Louise drives them through late in the film. Marianne Faithfull sings: At the age of thirty-seven, she realised she’d never ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair…

“I always wanted to travel,” muses Thelma, “I just never got the opportunity.” Louise tells her, “You have it now.”

When the authorities finally pin them down (following a truly excellent car chase), it’s at the edge of a gaping hole in the Earth. “I think,” says Louise, having skidded to a halt, “that’s the goddamn Grand Canyon.” Most people, at this point, will know exactly what’s coming.

Accused of defeatism or of undermining the film’s feminist message by having Thelma and Louise take the final, iconic suicide leap, Khouri called the ending “symbolic”. “You were left with the image of them flying… women who are completely free from all the shackles that restrain them have no place in this world. [It’s] not big enough to support them.”

For Thelma and Louise, it’s a final grasp at agency – the free will they’ve just got a hold of and don’t want to forfeit – when all other exits are blocked. Turn back? Trust the system? No way in hell.

“Let’s keep going,” says Thelma, indicating the void. “Go.” They kiss. The guitar riff soars. Louise floors it. They cry (no, sorry; that was me). The Polaroid they took of themselves only a couple of days ago, depicting two very different-looking women, flutters out of the backseat.

They clasp hands; they go.

“After all they went through,” said Khouri, “I didn’t want anyone to be able to touch them.”

ARTWORK BY AISHA TRAMBAS

CREATIVE

COME ACME BRUH DANIAL DE SANTOS/WILE E. COYOTE WRITES AN OPEN LETTER TO ACME

D

ear ACME,

I, Wile E. Coyote, would like to lodge yet another complaint regarding two more of your faulty products. I am a loyal customer but have been unimpressed with your inaccurate and careless labelling. However, I wish to keep purchasing your products and maintain a healthy relationship with the company. Only ACME’s custom made weapons and devices allow me to enhance my predatory skills. Although you cater well to those of us obsessed with the hunt, there mightn’t be many of us left if your products keep malfunctioning, decapitating or otherwise lethally injuring us.

I recently purchased one product labelled ‘OVERLORD RING – CONTENT: SAURON’S ONE RING’. It promised the ability to control and rule my enemies but I knew this was a lie the instant I used it. In addition, your rocket-powered roller skates quickly sent me to the emergency room when a scene cut to black. I returned to the screen with my arm in a cast propped up by a crutch. I’m all too familiar with such injuries, courtesy of your products.

The incident occurred as follows: I was at a generic canyon – think tumbleweeds, cacti and little bushes painted onto the mise-en-scène. A pale road ran through bare landscape, winding arbitrarily. I’m not sure why the roads always wind so much, perhaps it wasn’t one of those roads leading to Rome. Cattle skulls littered the side of it. There are only ever skulls, as if their beheaded bodies wandered alone into the wilderness.

Through this desert I was hunting my age-old nemesis, the elusive Road Runner (Speedipus Rex). He ran like a jet trail on the road. I had the critter’s daily schedule memorised, it was almost instinctual, like my predisposition towards ACME products. I guess it’s in my genes.

I saw him from my lookout on a cliff’s edge, then waited for him to enter my ambush. God knows where he was going.

He always seems to run on that road at nine in the morning but I’ve never been able to keep pace with him and stalk his whereabouts. It struck me that I could easily follow him home with some improvement to my mobility. It was the perfect chance to try out my new ACME Rocket Powered Roller Skates. As I put them on, I raced away from the cliff’s edge and made my way to the road. I zipped towards a path along a cliff face leading down to the Road Runner. I nearly broke the speed of sound and was only a few feet away from my prey before my feet grew hotter and hotter. My leg bones shattered and I rocketed into the distance. I don’t recall reading in the product description that the skates would actually turn me into a rocket. That screw-up is on you, dear ACME. That infuriating meep meep! rang in my ears and I knew instantly I was foiled again. When I returned in the next scene I had some broken bones, but I was not deterred. Again I waited for my quarry on another generic, pale road. As I saw a cloud of dust and the trail it left behind, I placed the Overlord Ring on my right forefinger and pointed it in the direction of my nemesis. Something hit me and left a trail of blue and purple feathers.

My nemesis had my face pinned to the ground with his scaly claws. I was conquered. His meep meep! chimed in my ears again and I lay in the dirt, utterly humiliated. I tried to move myself and look at the damage he did to me.

I saw nothing but my own shadow on the pale dust road. Your ring did nothing but turn me invisible! Come on, what kind of overlord power is that? What good does that do? I expected an Overlord Ring to do something like shoot laser beams or freeze my enemies in chunks of ice. These abilities would be indispensable for a hunter.

Perhaps the catalogue should describe your products more accurately so your customers can make informed decisions before lining your pockets with hard-earned wages. I sincerely hope you will take this matter into consideration or you may lose a loyal client.

Warm regards,

Wile E. Coyote

ARTWORK BY CAROLYN HUANE

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 39

THE ROPE DOESN’T LIE

DAENA TENG EXPLORES SEXUALITY THROUGH SHIBARI

S

he holds out her right hand, palm up. He drapes the rope over her wrist and wraps it around once, twice, three times.

He feeds the line through the loop.

In a single swift motion, he pulls.

As the newborn knot gently grazes her skin, she looks up to meet the eyes of her fellow classmates. Leaning over the edge of their floor pillows, they are watching with magnetic focus.

Scott*, head instructor at the Melbourne Rope Dojo, is demonstrating how to create a basic column tie. It is one of the array of knots students will learn as they study Shibari, a type of Japanese rope bondage. Influenced by the use of rope to safely restrain prisoners in ancient Japan, Shibari emerged in the early 1900s as a form of artistic bondage involving two people, one being tied with rope by the other. The distinctive aesthetic of Shibari has prevailed throughout the years, lending itself to works of contemporary art, performance and fashion. Less prominent on public radar is the growing practice of Shibari in its full form, by people seeking a new way of exploring their sexuality.

The Melbourne Rope Dojo teaches traditional Shibari with not only a focus on technicality but also according to Scott, an emphasis on “the strong and intimate connection rope creates between partners”. Be it a spouse or friend, for the best learning experience, Scott requests students bring a partner they feel comfortable with to class. Since the school was founded in 2011, it has experienced a steady increase in students.

“There were times when I started where I’d only have one or two couples coming to class.” Scott recalls. “Now, there are at least a dozen couples attending each class.”

The growth in the number of people attending Shibari classes parallels the increasing dialogue surrounding sex positivity in recent years. According to Anna Gabosch, a sex positive activist, this is “an attitude towards human sexuality that regards all consensual activities as fundamentally healthy and encourages sexual pleasure and experimentation”.

Sex positivity contests the harmful, regressive yet deeply ingrained social attitudes towards sex. It condemns the trivialisation of sex as a male conquest, devoid of respect, as is

40 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

tirelessly exhibited in mainstream porn; it criticises slut-shaming women for exploring their sexuality and seeking sexual pleasure for themselves, and it rebukes the dominant heteronormative view of sex that silences the voices of LGBTI individuals. With an unabashed sense of urgency, it calls for attention towards how because of these pervasive, yet misconstrued narratives of sex, the importance of consent and intimacy are being neglected.

To tackle the misconception of these topics, young people must be educated about sex. At present, schools are tasked with the responsibility of ensuring it is taught as comprehensively as possible. However, being predominantly heteronormative and focused on biology and contraception, current sex education is not only inadequate but also misrepresentative. Given its limited scope, it is no wonder many young people express dissatisfaction with sex-ed at school. At a crucial time of their lives when they are becoming sexually active amidst peer pressure towards drinking and socialising, proper sex education should be a main priority.

Simply teaching students how to put a condom on a banana and making them memorise the anatomy of a vagina neither encapsulates the reality of sex, nor prepares them to engage in pleasurable, consensual and respectful sexual relationships. This approach shortchanges young people, especially those who are also struggling with trying to figure out their sexual identity.

Unfortunately, the other primary source of information about sex that is readily available to young people is porn, which for the most part portrays sex as a male-dominated act that gives no regard to female pleasure. Needless to say, there is only so much young people can learn from porn about what it means to form an emotional connection with someone or to even have sex that is mutually enjoyable.

We need to overcome our cultural avoidance of openly talking about sex. For something that has so much relevance to many of us, the conversation about this issue is needlessly constrained by embarrassment. As such, we are unable to share the knowledge we acquire through our experiences with those who could benefit from it, particularly our youth.

Scott echoed these views. “We live in a society still where there is a lot of shame surrounding sexuality,” he sighed, “so many people push aside their desires because of this.”

The intimate nature of Shibari, with its focus on building trust and communication between partners, offers people an opportunity to fill in the gaps left by sex education in school and porn, and thereby further their understanding of pleasure and consent.

COMMENTARY

The beginner-level students meet weekly on Wednesday evenings. Under Scott’s guidance, they spend two hours practicing various ties on their partners in an airy, brightly lit dance studio.

The students share the space with the intermediate class, who work on more complex rope work in the other half of the room.

After the demonstration, Scott instructs the group to practice the column tie on their own. “Your turn,” he encourages them, “give it a go.”

The students pad over to the plain brown sack in the corner of the studio. Filled to the brim, bundles of rope spill out from it.

Each pair collects their rope and begins to unravel it. It cascades to their feet, meeting the ground with a soft thud.

Scott floats around the room, shuffling between the pairs of students as they work. He allows them to practice independently, only attending to them when they are stuck or to check their technique.

In the corner of the room, a couple sits on the floor. With her back faced towards him and her hands folded behind her neck, the woman closes her eyes. Her partner expertly maneuvers the rope, fashioning it into a web of intricate knots across her torso.

On the other side of the room, laughter erupts as another woman tries to free her partner from a tangled net of rope. Scott swiftly comes to the rescue.

“Make sure to always maintain tension in the rope,” Scott instructs the women, “as you learn more, the rope becomes an exceedingly strong communication line. Even small movements of your hands become powerful messages between you two.”

In many ways, Shibari and sex positivity overlap, complementing each other. Both place an emphasis on communicative relationships between partners.

Advanced student Jenny* says that Shibari has helped her express herself to her partner. Reflecting on the two years they’ve been tying together, Jenny says her partner and her have “really grown together”.

“I’ve learnt a lot about myself,” she marveled, “it’s been a big turning point in my life.”

“Shibari requires a lot of trust, you have to let go of your control for someone to tie you,” Jenny explains, “At the same time, when you tie someone, you have to know their limits.”

Scott reinforces this perspective, agreeing that Shibari can strengthen relationships by enhancing open communication.

“Rope creates an intense connection between people,” he says.

ARTWORK BY ANAIS POUSSIN

“The rope doesn’t lie. Between the two of you and the piece of rope, you feel and sense everything. So if you’ve got any barriers, it’ll become this big, obvious elephant in the room.”

“To be good at rope, you have to expose yourself. You have to be going ‘Here I am; this is me’. You have to put yourself out there in your unadulterated state,” Scott adds.

The sky dims outside as more people trickle into the small studio.

Couples arriving for the later advanced class greet Scott and their fellow classmates. Soon, the room is warm with the growing buzz of conversation. Students mingle while unwinding rope and exchange news about their week while binding arms. Everyone moves without hesitation, everyone breathes easily.

The people in this room play an important role in the spreading shift towards a holistic view of sex and sexuality. As they use ropes to communicate, they highlight the need for honest dialogue between partners. As they create secure knots across each other’s bodies, they emphasise the importance of building trusting relationships. They belong to a growing number of people who are ready to embrace sex positivity and endeavor to fill in the gaps left from inadequate sex education.

“In all the situations it comes down to two people creating an experience together. Whatever they’re trying to achieve, they’re working together to accomplish it,” Scott says.

“Let’s not be ashamed of our sexualities, let’s go and explore things and help each other grow.”

Just as openness and communication are fundamental aspects of Shibari, a practice that first and foremost values trust and honesty between partners, so should these qualities also form the foundation of the wider social conversation regarding sex – especially when the stakes are so high. As long as sex remains shrouded by stigma, we will continue to deny ourselves a rich enjoyment of this fundamental human experience. By helping each other shed the layers of shame and unease when we talk about sex, we might all come to feel comfortable in our own skin. *Last names have been omitted at the request of the interviewees.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 41

COMMENTARY

MY SWEET PEA

BY ANONYMOUS

S

o last week I had an abortion, exactly one week from my twentieth birthday – just in time to squeeze in a teenage pregnancy. I am feeling better now, but also fatter and wearier. I still rest my hand on my gut when I sit.

I knew before I had the test. My period, usually sporadic, had been absent for at least two months. The morning I found out, I vomited. Later on, tiny spots of blood appeared in my underwear.

That night, I stayed late at the library trying to study while sinking into a panic. I had one tab open on Renaissance art, the other on pregnancy symptoms. Like omens, Baby Jesus’ fat face sat next to prenatal care ads. When I finally snapped, I called my sister and wailed in the library foyer, my vision shrinking to a pore.

I thought I was only two weeks pregnant. My boyfriend and I had split up a month before. I remember lying in his bed, crying while he had sex with me. How could life come from that? My sister stayed on the phone with me while I crept with my swollen face concealed, into the bathroom at my house. At midnight I peed on the stick – immediately, two lines showed up. I was so, absolutely pregnant.

At first I only told three people: my sister, my best friend and my housemate. My sister, who has had two abortions, let me feel sad. She called her experience traumatic. When she found out about her pregnancy (a week before her eighteenth birthday) she punched her belly before wading through protestors at the clinic.

The doctor said, “Careless, aren’t we?” My best friend soothed me. She appeared at my door with a dressing gown at one in the morning. My housemate endured my awful pregnancy jokes. At one point, I even made a ‘dingo got my baby’ gag. I bragged about priority seating on trams and made her lift everything for me while I feigned a ‘pregnancy glow’. Yet in the quiet moments spent walking from class, I thought only of the sack of cells – the size of a sweet pea nestled under my stomach.

Here’s what surprised me. First, despite being devoutly prochoice, the phrase ‘they’re just cells, don’t feel guilty’ was useless, my emotions didn’t care. We’re all just cells, after all. Second, the practicalities – applying for discreet extensions for essays, lying

ARTWORK BY EDIE M BUSH

to my third housemate, getting a Medicare card FedExed from interstate and somehow finding $300 – all felt indicative of the guilt, shame and impurity that I almost believed I should have felt.

Third, I had no idea about pregnancy. Over the phone, the woman at the abortion clinic told me that, based on my symptoms, I was at least six or seven weeks pregnant.

But some things were also okay. I told the boy – he was nice and offered me a packet of chocolate freckles. My tutors all granted me extensions without a single question. The pro-life videos I forced myself to watch fell flat and I awoke on Thursday, certain about my decision and ready to loose my sweet pea.

I spent six hours at the clinic. For most of it, I sat with my best friend in the waiting room surrounded by bleary-faced women and their silent boyfriends. The clininc, its eerie meditation music and all of its grey and sterile surfaces, seemed to repress the existence of a bin of fetuses somewhere in the innards of the building. This disjunction pervaded the day. When I was eventually called forth, I had to wait another hour in my hospital gown. From where I sat, I watched the doors to the operating room swing open and shut – knocked-out women wheeled in and out. Nicki Minaj played in the background.

Afterwards, I sat in the recovery room with the other women.

The nurses strolled past, calling each other sweet pea. I cried, so tired and sore. They gave me a cup of tea, a sandwich, prescriptions and a plastic-wrapped cookie. I went home – dazed, relieved but also aware of an absence.

I want to talk about it but it feels secretive. On the one hand, my abortion was a big deal – it was this complex, private, emotional shit-show. On the other, it was bearable, safe and discreet. Not unlike losing my virginity. For every woman, the experience is vastly different. I don’t think, despite the perpetual debate, we’ve found the right words to articulate the process. According to my doctor I had an “evacuation of the gravid gland”. According to other people, I killed a baby. For now, I hope to mourn my sack of cells in peace – thankful I had the last say on my body.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 43

THE SELF LOVE CLUB ANNABELLE JARRETT SPENDS AN AFTERNOON WITH ARTIST & STUDENT, FRANCES CANNON

F

rances Cannon is an artist and student based in Melbourne.

She paints, draws and also works with installation art and video. Her work is centred around her experience as a contemporary woman, exploring themes like the personal relationship to the body, mental health, gender, sex and sexuality.

I met up with Frances on a chilly Melbourne afternoon in May to talk uni life, body positivity and Game of Thrones. Admittedly she was talking through the sniffles but we were both able to compare our uni woes – Frances was deep in the midst of assessment for her Honours in Fine Art at RMIT. One of the first things I’m keen to talk about is something I’d come to know her best for – the growing movement of people getting pieces of her artwork commissioned as tattoo designs. Many of the designs feature a woman drawn in simple black ink, or the text ‘Self Love Club’. With matching tattoo optional for members, much of the interest in Frances’ artwork comes from the artist’s creation of this ‘Self Love Club’.

“You must always show yourself respect, love, forgiveness and

44 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

understanding,” says Frances as she explains the club rules.

“You must show each other respect, love, forgiveness and understanding. You must be kind to your body and you must take care of your mental health.” She also tells me that the Self Love Club is for anyone who wants to join, as long as they are willing to work on their self love.

“If anyone does join,” the artist adds, “please send me photos or tag me in them on Instagram, as I am collecting the photos.”

One big theme in Frances’ work is presenting the female body in its natural and raw state. Some of the prints she’s sold in the past have featured women with the text “I am whole as I am” and “Perfection is a construct”. Though I press her on this body positivity theme, she is quick to reject this as a label for her work.

“It’s something that is important to me,” Frances tells me, “but I also do work about mental health, mental illness, femininity and a lot of other subjects, which are just as important. I don’t like being labeled as a ‘body positive artist’ because I am so much more than that.”

COMMENTARY

Reluctant to pin herself down to one particular style or influence, Frances lists a number of mediums and techniques that she likes to work with, including ink, watercolour, pen and pencil. Branching from her own work, Frances also shares with me some of the other collaborations she has done in the past. Some of her favourite partnerships include jewellers, HV Jewellery, a patch maker at Home Run Press and with sustainable sanitary pad company, Tsuno. Looking towards the future, Frances also said that she would love to work with some Melbourne clothing designers, and also Lena Dunham, maybe with illustrating a book.

I first found Frances and her artwork on Instagram and she agrees that this is a convenient way for people to get involved in a community.

“Instagram is a great platform for artists to give people quick access to their work. I’ve used it to advertise my work and my exhibitions, and I really value [its] supportive arts community,” she says. Despite some of her work and photos having a focus on much of the female body, Frances says that she hasn’t found much difficulty with the Instagram Community Guidelines.

“I haven’t got time for that drama at the moment. Maybe later,” she laughs.

When it comes to giving advice to other young artists trying to get their work out there, Frances is adamant.

“Definitely have an online presence,” she says. “Whether it’s Instagram, Facebook or Tumblr – and stay active! Also apply

ARTWORK BY FRANCES CANNON

to shows, exhibitions and group shows all the time. You will get rejected multiple times – I have, but it will be good practice.”

When we talk about her difficulties with getting started and facing criticism for her artwork, as well as from trolls online, Frances admits that it is difficult and as much as she tries not to let it get to her too much, it’s hard work trying to grow a thick skin. But for her, “it’s all part of being an artist”.

Frances opens up, admitting that she also struggles with being so open with herself and her body in her art.

“Sometimes it’s hard because at times I feel rotten about myself, just like everyone does,” she says. “It’s hard to open up when I’m feeling disheartened but I also think this is the most important time to open up, because it’s real and human to have moments of doubt and sadness.”

The last thing Frances and I discuss for the day is Game of Thrones and equally as important, its hotties. I share with her who my pick is for a night of Westerosi passion (Daario Naharis come at me), while for her it is harder to choose.

“I’d rather be Khaleesi’s lover, or Brienne’s. Or both.”

Keep in touch with Frances, her artwork and upcoming exhibitions on her Instagram @frances_cannon. Also check her out on Twitter @hifrancescannon, or get in touch about a tattoo design via cannon.frances@gmail.com or on her Instagram.

For beautiful prints, ink drawings and other products, head to her online store: francescannon.bigcartel.com.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 45

COLUMN

GABRIEL FILIPPA PRESENTS

BUTTON MASHING WITH THE FADEAWAY

BUTTON MASHING IS A COLUMN ABOUT RELATIONSHIPS, VIDEO GAMES AND GROWING UP IN A DIGITAL WORLD

S

o here I am staggering over pinecones and ostrich shit at five in the morning convinced I see a cat in the bushes. My cat.

The cat I had come home to look after. But it’s just another pile of branches. I turn and there’s a thick yellow fog surrounding me. Across the paddocks are the silhouettes of sheep, goats and chickens. I’ve left a gate open somewhere and it’s anarchy. I can hear glass breaking. My cousin is in a prickle bush trying to pry open a bathroom window. We’ve managed to lock ourselves out. He’s using wire, a plank of wood and some pliers.

It starts to rain again. I think I see movement but it’s just leaves.

Writhing in the wind or in my pupils. I feel like Lucy Westenra, hallucinating in Transylvania.

Where are you, master?

With the NBA finals season coming to a close, my cousin and I decided to rain down a few last buckets to celebrate. Four litres of Stanley’s Shiraz Cabernet, a packet of Winfield Jets and a copy of NBA 2k16, we headed to Ballarat for the weekend to fire up the consoles and make sure the cat didn’t go AWOL. We played what was appropriate – a seven-game series between the Warriors and the Cavaliers.

Five games, four hours and two litres later, Doris Burke recounts another halftime report. There’s a lot of work to be done. A better effort in the paint. More ball movement around the perimeter. A transformation needed by both players.

So we abided.

We punctured our lungs with tobacco. Our bottom lips turned purple. Teeth grey. Our hair became thinner, greasier. Lines of consternation built up across our foreheads. Our hearts palpitated and our dialogue became slurred, aggressive and confused.

References to our dicks took the place of earlier, more cultivated discourse: Cormac McCarthy. The election. The environment.

We became the depraved interlocutors to our virtual coaches.

Shouting orders to our team, demanding answers and when appropriate, bringing up the kind of personal attacks that have threatened to dismantle player’s lives. Assaults; lawsuits; prostitutes; coke; comas.

They weren’t listening. They were jogging into the crowd or head-butting the ball. Shanking threes or stepping out of court.

Even the umpire sometimes stood there inexplicably holding the ball for minutes at a time. Occasionally, the players’ mouths would

PHOTOGRAPHY BY EMMA JENSEN

drop open and their heads would slowly move from side to side.

Searching for something. Someone. They seemed on the edge of self-realisation – attempting to reject their base programming to follow our orders.

But they never quite could. And all throughout our adolescence, they never did.

Growing up in a country town, the NBA provided the kind of thrills empty malls and catholic school never could. Michael Jordan, AND1 mixtapes, NBA Live and Tracy McGrady’s shoes defined our childhood. We listened to rap music and dropped our pants. Shopped at Kickz101 and pulled our socks up to our knees. I grew out my afro. We modelled our games and our lives on players like Allen ‘The Answer’ Iverson. We self-applied nicknames like ‘Isotonic’ and ‘the Wizard’ and we appropriated others like ‘Hot Sauce’.

Whoever dominated the courts on a Saturday afternoon demanded more respect at school on Monday morning. This was more than a love for a sport, it was a love for a culture and lifestyle built on style and showmanship. Go and take a look at some NBA post-game press conferences. It makes football players look like they’re jostling for position in a Centrelink queue.

The video game that first gave us access to all this was NBA Hangtime. That two-dimensional beast of the 1990s was pure adrenaline. Players somersaulted through the air to the rim. The commentators sledged you. You could spin from opponents to the sound of car engines or score so many points the ball would light up in flames. Holding that three-pronged N64 controller, you had the opportunity to win the game for your heroes.

But, perhaps more importantly, you also had the opportunity to do other things. You could repeatedly push them to the ground.

Throw the ball from half court or hold it ‘til the siren. You could simply stand there swiping at the air for a whole quarter.

The game allowed you to hurt and degrade the players you knew you could never become.

The closest we were ever going to get to the NBA finals was sitting in front of a screen with Allen Iverson jerseys on at seven in the morning, drawing the blinds on an impending hangover and raining down threes while we waited for a cat that honestly couldn’t be blamed for never returning home.

But at least King James finally did.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 47

A WHITE PUDDLE

BY DARCY FLEMMING

T

he tennis ball pinged off the old palm tree beside the bungalow, sending it bouncing down the Wilkinson property and into the remains of the bonfire that had burned so brightly the night before. Tim stared down at the ball, nestled between the charred timbers that had formed the hull of his father’s sailboat casting his long shadow down the hill. A goose walked up to the ball, cocked its head to it, and honked and kicked at the ground.

At the sound, more geese gathered around the ball, honking and kicking. Angelo, the largest goose in the flock, stood still, facing the ball. He raised his wings high, scattering the other geese, leaned into the ball and charged. Plunging his beak deep into the ash.

Approaching from the rear, Tim held a jagged piece leftover from the previous night, pointing its sharp at Angelo. He stomped at the ground and yelled his animal call to the geese. They began to disperse throughout the yard, fearful of the boy, but Angelo remained in the ash. He could feel the blood leaking from his head onto the timber surrounding him – he didn’t care, he was not afraid. All he wanted was that fluorescent orb, that colour that he had never seen before and would never see again. The piece drove through his back, crushed his gizzard and tore at his heart.

Tim pushed the dying bird aside and lifted the ball from the ash. It was now black and sodden with the blood of the stupid bird. He lifted it toward his face and scraped at the ball’s rubbery canals before heading to the creek for washing, dragging Angelo behind him.

Up at the house Tim’s father sat on his veranda. He lifted his drink to his lips and listened to the ice cubes jostle about in the glass. The gin burned as it slid down his oesophagus and into his stomach and the ice felt like a whip against his teeth.

“Aaaah,” he called out to his wife inside, “that was lovely, June.

Lovely.” He put the glass back on the sunburnt, varnish-fried wooden table and reached for his sunglasses.

June slid the fly-wire door across and stilettoed out onto the veranda holding a tray of drinks. She set the tray down and slipped into her deck chair on the other side of the table. With a smile and a pair of tongs she picked up a large cube of ice from the silverplated bucket. The ice was melting, tearing as she brought it to her glass. The sun shone through it, splintering its beams over the veranda and catching Arnold’s right eye. June plopped the ice in with a splash and brought the gin to her full, collagen-injected lips.

48 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

The tearing block stuck in Arnie’s memory. It was not the ice or the tear or the splintering of light alone, but something about the whole that he could not forget. He took another sip from his glass, a burning, spasming, whipping sip that took him away for a moment.

He sipped. And the sipping led him into a stupid drunkenness.

Giggling, Arnie reached his arm out and pawed at the glass.

Collapsed in his chair, his arm was all that he could manage.

His fingers rubbed against the side of the glass. The glass was slowly pushed away from Arnie, closer to the edge of the table. It fell. It crashed against the slatted veranda, its contents slipping through the cracks onto the bushes, snakes and spiders that dwelled beneath. Like perfume, the juniper’s aroma drifted up and into Arnie’s brain. It was all he needed to jerk his body and pass through it, into his dreams.

The milk bar was busy that day. Two bikes rested against its glass façade. Inside, Arnie and Nick hid behind the shelf in aisle two, counting their money. They had been collecting pocket money for the last few weeks. Arnie had done a variety of tasks: he’d done the dishes, he’d done the bins, and he’d done the garden once. He’d done them all for his friend Nick. They had planned this day for a while and both were giddy counting their money and checking to see if Mr Tell-er-offa had noticed them inside his little store. They counted ten dollars. At five cents apiece they figured they would be able to get two hundred ghost drops. They approached the counter and Vasili towered over them, grinning, leaning on large forearms covered in thick black hair. Nick put the coins on the counter and pointed at the bowl of Ghost Drops beside Vasili.

“You want that much?” The pair nodded. He began counting the coins and looked at the ceiling mouthing numbers, working out exactly how many drops the boys had bought. One by one he lifted a ghost drop from the bowl, placing it in the bag with plastic tongs and going again. The two boys looked at the ice creams while they waited.

“Hey, boys, this is going to take a long time. Too long. How about you have the whole thing. I’m sure it is more than what you paid.”

Vasili handed the boys the bowl and they ran from the shop to their bikes. Nick strapped the bowl to his handlebars for the journey.

The boys had developed a system of climbs to reach the flat atop Nick’s rear brick fence. They depended on each other for the

CREATIVE

climb, as the fence was high and daunting. Only together could they enjoy the experience of sitting on that fence, looking out over the yellowed oval behind the house, watching the seniors drink beer as they hopped out onto the crease, or trying to listen to the old prune, Basil, yell “That’s not how a Saintah bowls!” underneath his stained, moth-fed, red woollen cap.

Next to his father’s shed, Nick left a blue vinyl coffee table covered in a thin layer of chalked bird poo, dried over the previous three summers. It was positioned such that the boys could use it to hoist themselves onto the shed. From there they could saunter along its corrugated roof to their favourite position on the fence.

Over time, deep footings had indented into the earth beside the table, where Nick would push at it to check its wobble. Arnie sat atop the vinyl and Nick dug in his heels. On this day it seemed safe.

Kneeling beside the shed, with his left knee at a right angle, Nick waited for Arnie, to prop him up and over the roof’s guttering. Once up, Arnie lay on his belly, letting his arms dangle over the side of the shed, waiting to pull Nick up. Nick handed Arnie the bowl of lollies and he set them down behind a broken brick. Monkey gripped, wrist-to-wrist, he jerked him up and over, where he lay for a minute, exhausted. Standing up, panting, Arnie grabbed the bowl and the two carefully walked to the fence, trying not to slip on the grooves.

As from an autumn rose, the wrappers floated down past the boys’ feet. Rocking, flipping and diving between each other in their descent, they gathered in a small pile of hyper-coloured black, yellow, red, blue and green. Nick’s golden retriever, Minnie, ran over from the cricket nets at the opposite end of the park. She scratched at the fence and hummed as the wrappers rained upon her. “Rake it up, Min.” She looked up at the boys. “Rake it up and you’ll get a treat.”

She sat.

“C’mon, Min. Rake it up. Rake it up, Min.” Arnie picked up one of the ghost drops, unwrapped it and threw it out onto the oval. “Go get that one, Min!” A groan came from her body, now lying across the grass that had been toasting all day. The dried grass was coarse to the touch, but beneath her weight and fur its impact was weak. It simply tickled at her neck and back as she rocked her way to sleep.

“Fuck her.”

“Yeah. Fuck her.”

ARTWORK BY LILLY McLEAN

Nick pressed his finger into the pink skin at the end of Arnie’s thigh. “You’re burnt.” A white puddle lingered in him. “We should go back inside soon.”

“Yeah, soon.”

Tim crouched over the riverbank, cleaning the ball with his thumb and finger. A black wake followed the ball as the ash and blood dislodged from its hairs. Beside him lay Angelo. With the ball now clean, Tim squeezed it dry and placed it in the crook of Angelo’s neck.

In front of him lay a boulder, embedded within the creek.

Checking his footing, Tim skipped over the smaller rocks to reach it. He sat. The water moved slowly, ambling toward Tim and humming as it traversed the other rocks in its path. He stuck his hand in. It was soft and cool and when he lifted his hand from the water, dripping, his fingers slid freely across each other, coated in the thick algal water. He made little rotating movements with his fingers and then wiped his hands on the coarse seat. Old trees hung above him and their bark and leaves hung closer. So close that, if he was to stand, he could reach them and pull them down into the creek. But he didn’t, he sat.

He sat there for an hour.

Back at the bank, Tim looked down at the bird. It was dirtied and stiff, not at all reacting to the flies gathering around the wound on its back. He was dead. He picked up the ball and put it into his shorts’ pocket. Cradled in his arms, Tim took Angelo and made moves toward home.

The geese were still kicking when he arrived. He placed Angelo on the ground beside the bonfire and began to remove the old wood from it, opening up a crevice in the pile. He nestled Angelo inside and put the ball beside him, under his wing. Up at the house he collected some firewood and then he searched the yard for twigs and scrap for kindling.

That night it will burn. June and Arnold’s friends will come and they will get drunk in their chairs, circling the flame. Tim will be there too, cushioned in a rug, watching the fire spit.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 49

NIGHT MONSTERS

BY MORGAN HOPCROFT

I clock off and leave work at 4:00 am on the dot, and the night monsters wait outside, crouched in each usual spot They group in twos or threes and one is lurking on his own, as I scurry down the street, my body eager to be home The night monsters sneak and prowl, they perform the same old dance, “Hey darlin’ where you goin’?” and I know I don’t stand a chance They crawl from their nooks and lairs, feast time has begun, baring their grins and fangs, as my walk turns to a run My shadow racing beside me, my only protector here, the night monsters gather closer, and begin their infernal cheer The candle-stars have all blown out, street lights flicker along the park “what’s a girl like you doing out here, so late into the dark?”

50 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

CREATIVE

The city is dull and quiet, too late for trams, too early for sun, the night gargoyles snarl and slink, they’re loose from Notre Dame I hear their nightmare howls, I see their gargoyle wings, I smell the stagnate liquor, Am I in their church? Is this their hymn?

As I approach my building, my saviour keys gripped tight in hand, the night monsters begin to disperse my flesh they no longer demand My limbs ache and screech, awaiting some form of rest, my bed begins to consume me, I’ve passed another nighttime test As my body becomes still, one thought still plagues my mind, tomorrow’s shift is nearing, during night monster hunting time.

ARTWORK BY JASMIN ISOBE

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 51

CREATIVE

E-WORM

BY AMIE GREEN

tracing eyelid folds i stick my finger in digit curving round socket i moan; that distorted sound bite of a wound-up pendulum clock ticking like that clicking electric black tic pinned in iris as squirming pupil. the roundness fits tight around finger ligaments coil sucking me in i can’t pull myself out and it aches. a wet pop the eyeball lands on the sink edge looking at me i look at it as it rolls down the basin pink and red drains it’s looking at me when it sprouts feelers its legs swivel into place and it scuttles along the porcelain curve trying not to be swallowed to the sewer. i pick up the bug rolling the bean in my palm dropping it between my teeth and my giant tongue crushes it bursting nodules of hot vinegar down my throat molars demolishing zonules uprooting arterial branches sucking the spongey pith slurping the pimpled curds teeth making the snip snip snip of tiny scissors severing the tendons that held you and eye together. i swallow and look into bathroom mirror half my face is red and hollow the circuitry inside sparkling and blood-wet.

ARTWORK BY AMIE GREEN

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 53

CENSUS MATERIAL

BY LINUS TOLLIDAY

T

he sweet smell of burnt rubber and stale coffee fades while body odour breaks over my face. It comes with a puff of red smog, similar to the sun’s naked orange floodlight. I force my shovel into a wedge between the body and the tram, and she unsticks. Mid-40s, bald, poor, perhaps homeless – my first impression. The burnt rubber and stale coffee both ease back in. The smell sort of reminds me of a leg of ham I once bought for Christmas but left out overnight by mistake. It stunk out the whole house, not that there’s much house to stink out. I cooked and ate it anyway, though this was probably a mistake on my part. I didn’t throw up or anything, but the awful cramps took weeks to subside. I always feel the cramps when I smell that burnt-rubber-Christmas-ham smell. That familiar smell. That street smell.

“Ya mind giving it a quick wipe?” the tram driver says to me.

“Just with ya sleeve – then I’ll be out of ya hair.”

I wipe the windshield with my wiper and finish the job with my sleeve. Now my sleeve will smell all day, which annoys me, but at least the company offers free laundromat coupons for our uniform.

I roll the body into a bag and carry it to my car. The tram is gone before I dump the body inside and turn around. That doesn’t bother me. I don’t usually get thanked for my work.

I load myself into the front seat of my warm car and retrieve a pen from my shirt pocket, before reaching into the glove compartment for a set of two forms and a Wellbeing Quiz. I start to fill them out. I fill out a lot of forms in my vocation. I mean a lot of forms. They always have these weird questions, like What brand of shoes was the deceased wearing? or Could you make out the dominating colour of the deceased's outfit? If so, please place a tick beside the most similar shade below.

I don't know why they ask these questions but the company once told me it was something to do with censuses. I emailed them asking and they sent back “census material.” No capitals, barely a full stop. But that's how it is. I mean, I'm just a maintenance guy really. Barely a groove in a cog of the machine. Barely a pamphlet of information in the system. And that's being generous.

They do provide the shovel, mind you, and the wiper. And every Christmas I get a pair of slippers in the mail. One year they sent me a pair of runners with the disclaimer:

54 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

OUR WEARERS HAVE BEEN INDICATED AS THE LEAST LIKELY TO COMMIT SUICIDE

Nike – we walk in your shoes so that you can walk in ours.

I thought it was polite of them to also write a nice message on the box so that I didn't have a card to feel guilty about throwing out.

But it made me feel guilty about getting rid of the box. Even though the message was probably written by a computer, or a guy who's never met me and doesn't really have the opinion that I am “an invaluable member of the company”. If he did know me he certainly wouldn't wish my family well, seeing as I live alone. Or perhaps he does know me but it just slipped his mind; though this is doubtful.

I sent in a suggestion of a choose-your-own-adventure card.

For example, “If you have a family, please refer to page seven.

Alternatively, if everyone you know is compelled to distance themselves from you as much as possible, please refer to page Go-Fuck-Yourself.” I didn't include that in the letter of course, they wouldn't get the joke. Either way, they didn't send a response to that one. I guess they'd probably heard it before. Or maybe it's the fact that all my job entails is scraping suicide victims from the fronts of the company's trams. In the forms they never refer to them as victims and they never mention suicide. It's always “the deceased”. Occasionally you get spelling errors and I think to myself, Wouldn't it be funny if they said “the diseased" rather than “the deceased". But they never misspell “deceased”.

Especially not as “diseased”. Of course I have to wonder if it would be funny if it really did happen. Probably not. Nothing is.

My mobile buzzes. “Baxter St/Sydney Rd corner Coburg 3058”.

Directions. I haven't even finished filling out forms on this woman in Tullamarine. I mean, how is Tullamarine in the Moreland district anyway? Usually they get the guys in Brimbank or Hume to sort Tullamarine, but they must be swamped even more than me.

Ten years ago, I – and everyone else – were only called in every couple of weeks. But now, before I've even finished the forms – up to Question 22 of the second form: Based on the deceased's choice of clothing, would you guess that they were a Liberal supporter, a Labor supporter, a Greens supporter or indistinguishable? (circle one) – they need me all the way back in Coburg. It's just so incredible getting two suicides in the one district in the one hour.

Normally it's a couple a day per district, but never so close together.

CREATIVE

Traffic isn't too bad and because my vocation permits speeding it takes me half an hour to drive there.

When I get out of my car I fit some gloves over my hands and sling the shovel over my shoulder.

“Took your time,” the tram driver says. "I was meant to be at Flinders Street Station ten minutes ago.”

I apologise and walk to the scene. It is even hotter here than in Tullamarine, which makes me sweat. I find this ironic because it is the dryness that makes me sweat the most. How can dryness create moisture? Why don’t I sweat in my mouth where I need that moisture? Is this a design flaw in humans or would the sweat taste bitter in any case? I wipe my forehead with my sleeve, getting the sweat, forgetting about the gore I got on it earlier. This makes me self-conscious of getting blood on my forehead, though I’m certain my sleeve is dry by now and probably didn’t leave a mark.

Standing around the tram and the body are several commuters.

I can barely see them through the sun’s cellophane glare. “Haven't got all fucking day,” one of them says, while another taps his watch looking at me.

“Yeah, yeah,” I sigh. “Won't be a moment.”

Thankfully the body's on the road and I only have to scrape a few facial particulars from the tram. I scrape it all to the ground, heaped on the body, before retrieving a bag from my pocket. I open the bag. I lie it beside the body. I roll the body in.

Because the train is not too messy, I just give it a quick wipe with my sleeve.

“There, good as new.”

“Took your time,” the tram driver repeats and re-enters the tram. Everybody follows, one old lady spitting at my feet before clambering aboard.

I wave to the driver before turning around and carrying the bag like a bride to my car.

Could you make out the deceased's sex? If so, which sex?

Female Male Could you estimate the deceased's approximate height? (Circle one) Dwarf Well below average Below average Average Above average Well above average I circle Average and then I continue to fill out the forms.

ARTWORK BY SAM NELSON

The final question is a new question: Did you recognise the deceased? If so, what was your relationship to them? (Circle one) Immediate family Distant family Friend Neighbour Colleague Sports partner Other (please specify below) I did not recognise either of the bodies today. I leave this question blank.

The next morning I report to the company office in Coburg North.

It is air conditioned. I often bring a jumper from the car into the office because of how cool it is inside. I do not today. Even if it is a bit cool, the chilly office is a nice change from the outside heat, as are the different shades of pastel blue on the walls, desks, pinup board and ceiling. I quite like Coburg North, but I preferred it when the office was in Brunswick West. Brunswick West had better coffee, even though I stopped drinking coffee, but places with better coffee are just about always nicer anyway. I haven’t come to dislike coffee or anything, but I read somewhere that the likelihood of heart problems is increased by coffee consumption.

I may have read this in a dream, I can’t remember, but I'd like to stay on the safe side. But I can smell coffee, as always in the Coburg North office. It smells fresh and mixed with Kleenex wipes. It smells clean. And productive.

“Hey, Dwayne,” says Tomas Grelm. He doesn't even know my name.

“Hey, Tom.” “Here to hand in some forms?”

“Yes, Tom.” “Wouldja like me to take them for you?”

I nod. Tom works in administration. He used to give Performance Evaluations but is now in charge of sorting the forms and proofreading them.

“Didja notice the new question, Dwayne?” he asks me.

“Yes, Tom. The one about recognising the deceased.”

“Yeah, that one.” He sits on the office couch, which I personally avoid sitting on because it affects my posture. “D'ya know why we decided to add that question in, Dwayne?”

I really ought to tell him that my name is not Dwayne. That kinda

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 55

name is reserved for rock stars, which I am not, and former wrestlers-cum-actors with the surname Johnson. I am also not that.

“No,” I say. "Why did you decide to add that question in?”

Tom leans in, grins and says quietly, “We're extending the census material.”

“Wow,” I say. “How exciting.”

“Isn't it!” Tom exclaims right into my face. “Isn't it just! And y'know, it was my idea. Mm-hm, uh-huh, my idea. And d'y'know where I got the idea?”

“No I most certainly do not.”

He leans back into the couch. “You may remember about two weeks ago, that guy Clive had to scrape his fiancé off a tram."

I remember this. It was Ivan, not Clive, who did that.

“Old Clive got to the office with the forms and did you see the look on his face? It was priceless!” Tom laughs right into my face.

“Anyway, we at the office thought it'd be a fun incentive for you guys to work if you had to try and identify the body. You never know who you could be cleaning up! That's the beauty of it!”

“Sure sounds fun, Tom.” “Doesn't it!” he sprays right into my face. “Doesn't it just. And we were thinking we might even develop a points system. Y'know, one point for a stranger, two points for a neighbour, all the way up to five points for a loved one. I'd give Clive five points! And whoever collated the most points for the month would win a small token, a prize. Like a raise, or something. Nah, screw a raise, who can afford that? Maybe a voucher, or a gift basket. Y'know. Something.”

I nod, grazing over the goosebumps on my cold arms; I should have worn my jumper.

“You've really got this worked out, Tom.” “Haven't I! Haven't I just!" His wide grin slides into a dazed grimace, before snapping back. "Anyway, Clive–” “Dwayne,” I say, correcting the wrong name.

“Ah yes, Dwayne,” he stands and shakes my hand, grabbing my forms with the other hand, "it's been good seeing you. I'd better let you get back to work.”

It's my day off but I don't tell him that. He wouldn't keep me any longer but he might want me to cover someone else's shift. So I don't tell him.

“Thank you, Tom.” I turn and leave, re-entering the orange glare of the street.

I arrive home to a mess. All of my drawers have been removed from their chests, desks and a small filing cabinet. “Oh, dear,” I

56 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

say, “burgled.” At least they closed the front door on their way out so that my house doesn’t smell like burnt rubber. Even the thought gives me a slight cramp. I pull the faded blue drapes.

They have a pattern made up of green birds almost flying into each other. This will keep the house cool and stop the glare from coming in the window at 5pm.

Before long, I have returned the drawers to their rooms in their rightful slots and the house returns to looking liveable. Not cosy – it never was – but liveable. Which is all I ask for. A roof and some room for me to walk around in. Like exercising in a prison yard.

Not a cosy prison yard. But a liveable prison yard.

The only thing that has been stolen is my bed frame, which seems an odd choice to me, but I understand that I am probably much less qualified as a burglar than whoever took it and it is not my place to comment. It is inconvenient though. And I know all about inconvenience.

As I prepare my meal for the evening, I wonder if I’ve always had this little amount of cutlery or if half of it was stolen. “Oh, well; two spoons and a fork is enough for me anyway.” I proceed to my microwaved fish fillet and peas. I may not have a bed frame nor an entire set of cutlery, but this dinner goes to show I do enjoy a few luxuries in my life.

I switch on the TV. For the last week only SBS 3 has been working. So I watch some Czechoslovakian news. Times like these make me wish my TV had subtitle settings that weren’t half cut-off at the bottom of the screen. But I’m not complaining, the Czechs have what I would call very motivational accents – very fastpaced, a little bit aggressive, frightening even to a non-speaker like me. All news is like that to me, come to think of it. Either way, I’m always inspired to give the house a vacuum after the programme’s done. Very motivational.

I wake to my mobile going off. This is common. I have come to use my mobile as an alarm, leaving it on the ground beside my mattress with the volume all the way up. Someone just about always kills themselves at dawn. That you can count on. This is one of many clichés in the business. For example, when will people learn that one word suicide notes are not original? “Bye” and “Sorry” are not short and sweet, but vague and hollow.

I never used to be a cynic about this, but I can't count how many times I've been into the office and walked past the pin-up board of suicide notes and seen that most of them are a lone word.

Sometimes a phrase. Generally just a word. If I were to kill myself,

CREATIVE

I probably couldn't muster up the effort to write a note, much less keep breathing long enough to care. In which case one word would be ideal I suppose.

“Ash Ct/Widford St one stop down Glenroy 3046”. Not too far away. I grab some cold soup in a thermos from the fridge on my way out the door and try not to spill it as I sip and drive for about five minutes. The sun is not yet high enough to encase the street, and a damp fog gives off a blue tinge.

“Morning,” the waiting tram driver says to me. I recognise him.

He's always pleasant to me. "I think this one was an accident."

I peer over with my shovel in one hand and portable wiper in the other. Glasses, a sweater vest, a cane.

“We think he's from one of the aged care places nearby.

Maybe Morisone. Must've fallen right as I was passing. Even if I’d seen him earlier, I wouldn’t’ve braked until his face flattened over my windscreen,” the driver chuckles, “like a pancake, eyes like balloons.”

I smile. “Thanks for letting me know.”

I walk ahead of the driver and yawn loudly. I think about the smell of the street in the morning. Is it less intense while it’s still cool out and sunless, or are my senses still in the process of waking? I also think about how now I will have to fill out a different set of forms, specifically for accident cases. This doesn't bother me, even though the questions are fairly unfamiliar to me.

There are fewer questions though. Which is good.

I scrape his face off the screen and it topples to the ground.

I'm able to grab the remaining body by the shoulders and give it a short tug, sending it to the ground also. This is a messy one and I return to my car to grab an all-purpose cleaning spray. As I knock the red and pink chunks to the ground and start cleaning the excess blood, I'm thankful that the guy was not driven over, as accident cases are often driven over, caught under the tram, and they're always harder to clean in through the wheels. Also, cleaning the wheels requires a rod with a brush attached to the end that I usually leave at home. Today I have left it at home. So I am thankful for him being hit and made into a pancake rather than being run over.

I am soon finished with this job and pile the body into my car. I don’t say goodbye to the tram driver as he has ducked into a public toilet. I sit and drink from my thermos as I complete the forms.

These forms have a greater emphasis on me than the deceased.

How many accidental deaths have you handled this year so far not including this one?

ARTWORK BY SAM NELSON

Zero.

Was the deceased hit by the tram or driven over or a combination of the two?

Hit Approximately how many minutes would you say you spent cleaning the tram?

12 minutes These questions continue until I reach the final question: Did you recognise the deceased? If so, what was your relationship to them? (Circle one) Immediate family Distant family Friend Neighbour Colleague Sports partner Other (please specify below) I briefly consider circling “Immediate family” so that I am in the draw to win the gift bag or voucher. I'm sure they'd have ways to confirm these claims but it is tempting nonetheless.

But I do not recognise the body. So I leave this question blank.

The tram driver emerges from the strangely futuristic concrete cube, sun coming over and finally hitting the pavement at the same time. I wave as the tram pulls away, though I cannot see through the tram’s tinted glass, and I start driving.

As the temperature gauge starts rumbling to life, I open the car vents and crack both front windows. That burnt-rubberChristmas-ham smell spills into the car as I do this but I am too preoccupied by my thoughts to notice any stomach cramps.

I think that it would be a clever idea to employ us cleaners as the tram drivers. Or train the drivers to scrape and clean the trams. I think that it would be much more efficient for both time and money. There would be fewer jobs, sure, but the ones who kept their jobs would get a raise.

I consider sending this suggestion to the company but decide against it.

They know more than I do anyway and have probably already considered this.

The sun stretches over my steering wheel like a dead cat and spits in my eyes. I wince. You’re certainly doing your job today, Mr Sun.

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 57

COLUMN

JAMES MACARONAS PRESENTS

NOTES FROM THE WEIRD SIDE NUMBER 114: THE CONFUSAPHONE

Sometime before midday, the gang entered the building. They were not stopped by security, no property was damaged and no civilians were physically harmed. By 12 o’clock they had left, taking every asset in the bank with them. Police were called to the scene not because of the activity that had taken place within, but due to the mass hysteria that manifested itself suddenly in the street outside. People collapsed, shrieking, attesting to visions of “skeletons coming out of the walls”, “the sky… burning”, “flowers in the dark” and so on. Inside the bank, customers and tellers alike had huddled together and were murmuring praise to ‘the Hollow Emperor’. At first, police assumed the perpetrators had employed some kind of airborne hallucinogen as a distraction but three independent witnesses from an apartment block overlooking the street claimed they heard “what sounded like music” before panic broke out. Looking out of the window as the gang exited the bank, one witness claimed to have seen one of the thieves carrying “some kind of instrument. Like a saxophone, yeah? A tall saxophone. But – dark. Not black, just dark. The colour of midnight.”

– Police report of The O’Nolan Street Bank Robbery, 1935.

The Confusaphone – if it still exists – is not a weapon. Lamniform, for all his posturing, for all his aggression, is not interested in conflict. We see this in his correspondence with Isabelle Zero, or his distrust of the Vrykolakas. He is, first and foremost, a scholar.

The Confusaphone is a product of that. It is an instrument, perhaps not of science, but of its oft-ridiculed precursor, natural philosophy. For Lamniform, it was a way to achieve the Empire of Unorthodoxy of which he dreamt. For all we know, the device had dreams of its own.

– Rehema Kirabo, writing about The Confusaphone in her report on meta-human philosophies for the United Nations, 1996.

ARTWORK BY ELLA SHI

It rose up out of the lake. It was walking, up out of the green water – it must have been metal but you could feel it breathe.

The air changed. Hell, e v e r y t h i n g changed. It looked down with that great, dark hollow of a head and it spoke. It spoke in wings and glass and the softness of a beating heart that’s b r e a k i n g into something verdant and alive it was alive and twined

down through your head but you could see! See the gardens of fragile reversal and the colour of midnight and feel the kisses of mordant butterflies and the ground, the lake, the world tur ne d

upside

“I remember a voice. I don’t know whose. And then the ground went red and there were these bolts of lightning. But they were walking. Walking across the red ground and singing. Singing the songs that mirrors sing. I – God. I walked with them. Over the bones and stones and eyes. I could see eyes. I don’t know whose.

Then I woke up and everyone else was waking up and the man on the stage was dead. That thing – the bit of... equipment – was gone. Funny, I can’t remember what it looked like. It spun around, I think. And there were lights. But not normal lights – the colour of midnight. Tall, I remember that. And a voice.”

– Eyewitness account of The Aldoscuri Incident (from the playbill: “Aldoscuri The Incredible presents The Confusaphone!

A Technological Terror!”) in 1967.

I can still hear it. It and only it. Like the cold touch of something out of the water. Like the white you start to see when you shut your eyes tight and won’t open them for nobody. Like the maybe sound of the TV on a morning but this time it is on and live and showing you things you know you shouldn’t see. Graveyards on the moon. Stairs that you want to go down and down and down until your feet are just nubs. Animals with the hands of men. Fire the colour of midnight. Burning in a kid’s eyes. Christ. It doesn’t show you Christ. But you can feel something like him just behind you. I still do. Just like I can still hear it.

– Found among the belongings of George “Gunshot” Anderson (1912-2007), former Depression-era outlaw.

– Remnant of a diary found at the site of the Laroughe Incident, 2018.

haddeus Lamniform, self-styled 7th Earl of Ashburnham, built The Confusaphone. That is all we can know for sure.

down.

T

Realities disguised as symbols are, for me, new realities that are immeasurably preferable. I make an effort to take them at their word. To grasp, to carry out the diktat of images to the letter.

– Claude Cahun

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 59

RED AND BLUE DAYS

BY EWAN CLARKE-McINTYRE

60 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

CREATIVE

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 61

CREATIVE

COLD ELBOWS

BY ELENA HERAN My head hurts and is full of cold elbows.

There is considerable peace in ignorance but only when you can accept you are a fool and a fool smothered in obscurity like a blanket.

I think it is like drowning and the quiet comes only when it is too late.

There’s no use in that quiet.

It’s a tyranny of inevitability.

There can be no growth no development all those cornerstones of a refined thinking.

We must go on!

But not only on also Up. Because without ascent there is no restlessness.

Where are you going if you are not going?

The plane tree is still and dies in winter.

You will die, too.

And yet there is value in the death.

It makes a space A space for better.

Polygons in blanched artichoke wither and drop soundless.

There is no dignity in the dying no sudden lapse into un-being no vanishing.

Instead the shapes grow steadily smaller.

In this exists a universality.

At the peak of the ascent [no matter how high] there is a falling.

Not a placid waft.

You will collect yourself shrieking at the edges of emptiness.

And they will crush the vessel underfoot all unknowing as they dance their love for you.

62 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

ARTWORK BY HAN LI

CREATIVE

HOW TO PROVE YOU’RE A SOPHISTICATED WINE DRINKER

BY DARBY HUDSON Line up ten glasses of cask wine and let a priest bless just a few.

Then let an alcho (me) blind taste-test the sanctity of each glass – nuanced hints of holiness, full-bodied spirits swirling in the plonk.

It would be blasphemous to spit, so swallow instead, by the tenth glass you’ll find God.

LOST NAME

BY DARBY HUDSON I call out for it and it returns straight away, my lost name.

ARTWORK BY SOPHIE SUN

FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE • 63

COLUMN ELIZA SHALLARD PRESENTS

FLASH FICTION

WHEN EVERY STORY IS 100 WORDS, EVERY WORD COUNTS PROMPT 5 – UNRELIABLE NARRATOR: A TALE FROM TWO SIDES SUN & STARS

BY ELIZA SHALLARD

I

love him, maybe. I fight for him anyway and win, because that’s safer. I’m not happy. I should be.

He’s perfect.

But something big is missing. I cry on my best friend’s shoulder and since that’s already ridiculously cliché, I let myself wonder, what if I’d had the courage to fight for her instead? *** She loves someone else. That’s okay because she’s beaming, she’s the sun.

But then she’s crying and all I want is to make her laugh. I make her laugh sometimes and she looks at me like maybe I’m her stars.

But that’s normal, right?

HOT COFFEE

B

BY EDIE M BUSH

etty was onto her fifth rendition of Chris’ promotion from office overseer to co-supervisor. Cheryl sucked her lips as if in deep thought and blinked to shift the glaze on her eyes. Adjusted her scarf against the icy mist. Only an hour in. Two more to go.

What she wouldn’t do for a hot coffee.

“Skim cappuccino, extra extra hot please, dear.

Really hot.”

“Yes, same again, thank you. As I was saying –” *** At the barista bench, Sarah’s waitress smile stretched into a ironic grimace.

“Two ‘hot’ skinny caps for a pair of old biddies.” Carl rolled his eyes.

IT COMES IN TWO

BY SCARLETTE DO

He brought me where no one could find us He made me kneel on the fallen twigs

amidst the naked trees His hand behind my head His hand between my thighs He came to the sounds I could not make He left before I could speak again I wanted him to stop. *** I followed him to the place no one knew It was the way I looked at him the way I had my first button undone I touched him there, where he liked it best I touched him where he could not resist I wanted him

Too.

64 • FARRAGO 2016 • EDITION FIVE

BRAIN VERSUS HEART

BY NONI COLE

When it comes to dealing with feelings And emotions There are two worse than a conflicting conscience They personify the duality of art and reality Combating anatomy They coexist to resist and insist Each other’s irrationality One says “go!”

The other says “no!”

Know of forgo?

We are an entity though?

Inherent deceit Competing, beating, bleeding one another Both just as greedy And neither defeating the other Of equal reliance And virtual compliance It defies all logic Synthetic apparitions of you And illusions Cause confusion We’re back at the start My brain thinks I just had a change of heart

DILATED EYES

BY ISABELLA LUK

In the water the stick is bent My eyes they deceive me But they are all I have to see I saw this with my eyes The man. He jumped The man jumped. Where did he jump?

The man jumped off the building.

The stick is straight The man made no noise And eyes lie to me I saw this with my eyes The man was pushed off the building The man fell off the building The man tripped off the building The man flew off the building What did I see?

The man jumped off the building and lived

ARTWORK BY EDIE M BUSH

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