Scribble & Scribe Issue 2

26

RABBITS FOREVER Short Story

5 THINGS YOU MISSED THIS MONTH

Unessential Reading HANNIBAL (2013-)

14

TV Review

11

PIXLE DUNGEON Game Review

21 FOODLINK Student Recipes

24 5 THINGS YOU MISSED THIS MONTH Unessential Reading

Editor-In-Chief M. R. Williams

Creative Director Jake D. Gomizelj

Photographer Navin Samuel Regi

Senior Editors Jasmine Henni Rosie Morley

Contributors

Kyle Barrett; Renae Grinlaubs; Jake D. Gomizelj; Callum Hornsby; Jasmine Henni; Manasi Jiwrajka; Cheyenne Langan; Sean Mackenzie; Kathy Mei; Mitchell Metcalfe; Rosie Morley; Edward Paxton; Hugh Rayner; Navin Samuel Regi; Emma Simpson; Taarun Sinnai; Michael Williams; Bradley Wilson; Memphis Wilson.

Copyright: Scribble & Scribe magazine Published by UQ Writers’ Club Website: www.uqwritersclub.com Literary articles in this magazine: All places, events and people depicted therein are fiction and not meant to resemble any actual places, events and people alive or dead unless otherwise specified.

Letter from the Editor

Dear Treasured Reader,

We sincerely apologise for the antagonizing wait that was between our last release and this one. You must know that we are a small operation that has little to zero funding. My fellow Scribblers and I worked tirelessly to get our content reader friendly, and here we are with a new format and a new set of stories, insights and opinions for you. I know you must feel impatient to see what is in store from our writers, but bare with me I have a house keeping things to get through first: Firstly, I would like to thank the businesses who were willing help us fund a print version of this magazine.

The businesses were: Casson IT, a local IT business, Zagyoza a West End dumpling house. Thanks guys for showing faith in us, unfortunately that wasn’t the direction we decided to go in.

Secondly, I would like to address the re-election of Reform. I am very glad the team with the least amount of sexual assaults won.

Thirdly, the end of Semester ‘MMMyes’, I sincerely hope all you silliest of female dogs are getting krunk.

Finally, to my wonderful writers who are getting better with each effort. Get better you lazy slogs.

From here on out Scribble & Scribe will be purely an online entity. This will allow us more flexibility on our content, and more for you. You can access our work via uqwritersclub.com.

Scribble & Scribe Editor In Chief Slow Loris Paul

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COMEYSATIRE

November Issue 2

Conflict on the St Lucia peninsula: UQ Union now authorises use of force in selfdefence Kyle Barrett Rising tensions between humans and birds on the St Lucia peninsula stepped up a gear overnight, with the UQ Union (UQU) now authorising heavy-handed tactics to shoo away members of the extremist fowl network, Independent St Lucia for Ibis and Swans (ISIS).

Students are being warned not to take the issue lightly, with ISIS now thought to control large swaths of land in and around the campus.

A statement from the union released earlier today authorised the use of heavy-handed tactics to counter a fresh assault by the network late last week.

“We are urging students everywhere to use whatever means necessary to protect their sandwiches or other loved ones in their lunchbox. This is a clear and direct signal from the flying rats that they would rather be shooed away violently than go in peace,” said an unidentified spokesperson from the union.

“We do not negotiate with terrorists.”

More reports from the front line have claimed that Plovers (the “North Korea” of the bird population) are also throwing their forces behind ISIS. While it is still not clear whether they do, in fact, have poisonous spurs as many believe, last week four College Bros casting a gridiron ball on playing field six came under “significant attack”, in which one of the beef mountains “ran away screaming like a girl.”

His friends later confirmed they made a lot of fun of him after the incident.

And on Tuesday the fields behind the Forgan Smith building became the latest battleground. Since the fighting broke out it has become almost impossible for overzealous teenagers to lie on the grass and make passers-by feel uncomfortable with public displays of affection.

Alarmingly, an engineering student and his girlfriend on the frontline were dive-bombed by Miner birds, another faction to throw their weight behind ISIS. “Me and Lucy were lying down. She had her head in my lap, and I was kissing her head because sometimes I like to do that as I stroke her thigh. ”Suddenly these little fuckers were all over us, man. I told Lucy to get down. She was a bit confused because I’ve never asked her to do that at uni before. As a result they almost clipped my cheek.”

The engineering student was too afraid to be identified but he did say Lucy kissed his cheek better after the attack, “just in case”.

For years ISIS have been fighting to establish a tropical bird paradise near the lakes region of the campus, saying it is a natural extension of their habitat from the bank of the Brisbane River close by.

The extremists uniformly refute UQU’s claim that the lakes are man-made.

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TIMELINE OF FEAR:

1991

A marauding pack of geese calling themselves the “Gaggle of Fear” begin hustling international students, tourists and first years for food

1994

Growing in size and boldness, the geese start actively targeting anyone deemed to be in their path

1996

The UQU orders the first retaliatory manoeuvre, pushing through policies aimed at disturbing the geese, including allowing small children and dogs to actively chase them around in an excitable manner

1999

Furious with the exclusionary policies, the geese start recruiting ibis to rummage through bins and walk on refectory tables

2000

ISIS is formed and begin tearing down “do not feed the birds” signage all over the campus

2006

Isolated attacks become frequent throughout the entire peninsula

2008

A front is established in the lakes region; ISIS controls all walking paths and college roads on the top of the peninsula

2010

Casualties mount on both sides. UQU reports record amount of “pissed-off students”

2012

The birds now fly around attacking anyone with complete autonomy

2014

UQU finally authorises the use of force in defensive posturing around the campus

The union has since issued a comprehensive safety protocol for students engaging with the birds: 1) If protecting the contents of a lunchbox (bag of food), students must forcefully shoo away an avian aggressor by means of waving their hands erratically and firmly shouting, “Please get the fuck away from me.”

2) If protecting food that has been paid for at the cost of five dollars or less, than that student has the permission to chase the bird, and if by means of catching it, whisper in its ear, “You are my next Christmas fowl.”

3) If protecting food that has been paid for at the cost of five to twelve dollars then that student has the permission to forcefully relocate the animal by means of knocking it unconscious.

4) If protecting food at the cost of twelve dollars or more and/or student’s life is at risk, than that student has—under law—the permission to engage with and destroy the animal.

Professor John Keats, a lecturer of biological sciences at the university, has said activity like this in wildlife found anywhere is unprecedented.

“It’s like something out of that Hitchcock film I can’t remember the name of,” he said.

I asked him if it was the 1963 classic, “The Birds”.

“No,” he replied.

The union is asking victims to report incidents to the student centre. The wounded are being treated for distress and mental trauma in the School of Psychology.

More updates on this story to come.

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SCIENCETALKS

November Issue 2

Ebola Oũtbreak Manasi Jiwrajka

The news is flooded with the recent Ebola outbreak in West Africa. Thus far 1711 cases have been laboratory confirmed with 932 confirmed fatalities. This 2014 outbreak is the largest outbreak of Ebola virus on record and with a case-fatality rate of 55%, the danger of this epidemic is dire. Below are answers to some questions you might have about the Ebola outbreak.

1.

may be sudden onset of fever and chills, and a skin rash. This is usually accompanied with general weakness, nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea, and pain in the muscles, head and abdomen.

There are bleeding problems in the Ebolaaffected individuals, and they describe ‘bleeding from all orifices’ with bleeding primarily in the eyes, and in severe cases bleeding in the urine, stools and internal organs.

What is Ebola?

3.

Ebola is a genus of viruses, meaning that it is classified into five different species or types of viruses that have different virulence in humans.

Some of the types are found only in animals while others can cause severe signs and symptoms in humans.

Yes, especially for the individuals who are infected with it, as well as areas that are experiencing outbreaks, as their health systems are quite overloaded in these countries.

4.

2.

Is it bad?

How does it spread?

What does it look like?

Ebola virus is a type of filovirus. The name comes from the Latin, filum, or thread-like. Under a microscope, Ebola looks like a thread.

(CDC Public Health Image Library)

In a person infected with Ebola, there may not be any symptoms for about a week or two. During this time, the virus is in its ‘incubation period’, which means that it is in the body actively dividing but has not reached its threshold to elicit symptoms yet. After the incubation period there

Ebola can spread through direct contact with bodily fluids such as the blood, urine, feces and vomit of someone who has the signs and symptoms of the illness. Healthcare workers and family members may become infected if they are caring for a patient with the disease without adequate protective methods. The virus can also spread by handling corpses infected with Ebola virus. Some types of Ebola virus have been transmitted from human contact with infected bats, gorillas or chimpanzees due to hunting.

Although studies have indicated that in laboratory animals the virus can spread via aerosols, in humans there is no evidence to suggest an airborne transmission is possible. The virus also does not spread through mosquitoes or other insects. The transmission data does not show an exponential spread, which would indicate airborne or insect-driven transmission but rather a linear progression. If

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 Ebola did spread in an exponential manner, it would be very difficult to control the outbreaks.

Bottom line: you cannot get Ebola by being in the same room as an infected person. Just avoid touching someone who has signs of Ebola.

5.

What caused the recent outbreak?

The 2014 outbreak is the largest in the history of Ebola outbreaks. The first few cases were found in Guinea in late 2013, and the World Health Organisation confirmed the outbreak in March 2014. The problem in West Africa is that Ebola is not usually diagnosed very quickly; this is because Ebola presents with a terrible hemorrhagic fever that is quite similar to many other infectious diseases that are common in that region, and is especially similar to the Lassa virus or yellow fever. As such, people who are affected with this virus do not get picked up and isolated immediately, and if they end up going to the hospital for treatment without accurate diagnosis, they may end up infecting the carers and health workers.

6.

How is Ebola treated?

Most of the management of Ebola is through supportive therapy—making sure the bleeding is in control and the blood pressure is maintained.

No drug therapies have been shown to work in humans yet, although a drug cocktail of antibodies does seem to have an effect in some

animals. An experimental drug, ZMapp, has recently been tried in two American health workers, but the efficacy of this treatment is not known.

At a larger scale, management of this outbreak requires the support of the international medical community and systematic interventions that enable the identification and diagnosis of Ebola by the local healthcare workers to take effective infection control measures.

7.

What does this mean for Australia?

Australia has agreed to contribute an extra $1 million to the WHO to assist with the Ebola outbreak, in addition to the annual $20 million to the WHO. While this virus has spread to many West African nations and has affected individuals of many different nationalities (for example, the American health workers mentioned previously), the chances of the virus spreading to Australia are quite low. However, even if the virus did spread to Australia, given the strict border control rules and rapid public health response, Ebola does not have a chance of spreading quickly.

There is an ongoing race with how quickly Ebola spreads and how quickly diagnosis and immediate isolation of the affected individual can be achieved. If we can catch it before it spreads, half the battle with Ebola is won.

References Epidemiology, pathogenesis, and clinical manifestations of Ebola and Marburg virus disease- UpToDate

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MUSICTALKS

November Issue 2 Michael Gira and the Swany Swan Swans play a new album, which is good.

by Michael Williams No Wave, Post Punk, Drone, Ambient, Post Rock, Industrial—if you hate it, Swans have covered it. Hailing from the same No Wave era that gave us Sonic Youth, Swans have developed their sound industriously to cover everything that is noisy and uncomfortable in order to become one of the most ambitious acts in contemporary Alternative Rock. You can divide the band’s discography into three sections: No Wave, Post Punk and Post Rock, and their reunion. Their earlier work coincided with New York’s No Wave scene, includes the albums Filth and Cop which are claimed to be some of the most aggressive in history. This is means a lot for band working in that movement Before their break-up, the band also worked in Post Punk and eventually in Post Rock. Their album Soundtracks For The Blind was lauded by many critics. On a hypothetical graph with ‘x’ being the challenge of the album and ‘y’ being the rewarding experience, Soundtracks For The Blind would be on the far end of both. After Soundtracks, the band broke up, possibly thinking they had achieve everything they were supposed to... Which brings us to the third part of Swans’ discography—their reformation, from which the band has gone on to make some of the most mesmerising music in recent memory. My Father Will Guide Me A Rope To The Sky (2010) picks up where Soundtracks left off. The band brought in new elements of Folk and Metal but didn’t manage to match the intensity of Soundtracks. However, their two most recent albums have been true spectacles.

The Seer (2012) If The Seer has not exceeded the intensity of Soundtracks For The Blind, it has at least matched it and separated itself from comparison. The 32-minute track located in the middle of the album is as close as music comes to horrifying beauty. The instrumentals are heavily distorted by a wall of drone that could be horns, but it’s hard to tell. When Michael Gira’s vocals come in, he embodies our fear. “I see it all,” he chants.

The song is like being chased through a forest at night by a demon or some unfamiliar beast. This isn’t the only song on the album that reaches for new heights, even for people who comfortably listen to Post Rock.

However, the length of the tracks feel organic more than ambitious, and the band stated that they grew out of live improvisation. The two and a half hours in this album is justified by the band’s creativity.

To Be Kind (2014) To Be Kind is the first time that Swans truly break away from Soundtracks For The Blind, thematically as well as sonically. There is no immediate sense of evil in To Be Kind, and if there is any villain in the album, it is the listener. Throughout the album Michael Gira lists things that humans do and the situations we keep finding ourselves in, as well as things that we need. Gira brings the album an overall sense of eternal existentialism.

With the uncharacteristic amount of lyrics in the album, one question is whether this is still Post Rock or whether it has moved into something entirely different. Keeping in mind that Talk Talk were a Post Rock band that made many songs with full lyrical content, I should also note the catchy-as-hell grooves on this album, which are exemplified in the songs Oxygen and A Little God In My Hands. These songs may make the band a bit more mainstream with their catchy hooks, but they will also please old-time Swans fans.

With their return, Swans have reinvigorated a genre that has been left wanting. Bands such as Alcest and Explosions in the Sky and other third-wave Post Rock bands have not matched the ambition and experimentation that went into earlier bands like Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Slint or even the beauty of Talk Talk or Dirty Three. Even if you don’t consider Swans a Post Rock outfit, I wholeheartedly believe contemporary artists of the genre should look up to them as inspiration.

P.S. Don’t head nod at their concerts—Gira will assault you.

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MUSICLIST

November Issue 2

Scribble’s Top 40 of 2014 1. Abuse - Abuse; Nail Bomb 2. Adult Jazz - Gist Is; Spook 3. Alt J - This Is All Yours; Hunger of the Pine 4. Andy Stott - Faith In Strangers; Violence 5. Aphex Twin - Syro; Minipops 67 6. Arca - Xen; Thievery 7. Ariel Pink - Pom Pom; Put Your Number In My Phone 8. Botanist - VI: Flora; Leucadendron Argenteum 9. Busdriver - Perfect Hair; Ego Death feat. Aesop Rock, Danny Brown 10. Caribou - Our Love; Our Love 11. Chad VanGaalen - Shrink Dust; Lila 12. Death From Above 1979 - The Physical Word; The Physical World 13. Deerhoof - La Isla Bonita; Paradise Girls 14. Earth - Primitive and Deadly; Torn by the Fox of the Crescent Moon 15. FKA Twigs - LP1; Two Weeks 16. The Flaming Lips - With a Little Help From My Fwends; Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds feat.

Miley Cyrus, Moby 17. Flying Lotus - You’re Dead!; Never Catch Me feat Kendrick Lamar 18. Foxygen - ...And Star Power; Cosmic Vibrations 19. Grouper - Ruins; Lighthouse 20. iamamiwhoami - blue; fountain 21. Iceage - Plowing Through The Field of Love; Lord’s Favourite 22. Julian Casablancas + The Voidz - Tyrrany; Human Sadness 23. Kimbra - The Golden Echo; Madhouse 24. Low Roar - 0; Half Asleep 25. Lucianblomkamp - Post Nature; Help Me Out 26. Mick Jenkins - The Water[s]; Martyrs 27. Milo - A Toothpaste Suburb; Salladhor Sean, Smuggler 28. Pallbearer - Foundations of Burden; The Ghost I Used To Be 29. Panopticon - Roads To The North; Where Mountains Pierce the Sky 30. Parquet Courts - Sunbathing Animal; Instant Disassembly 31. Perfume Genius - Too Bright; Queen 32. Pharmakon - Bestial Burden; Body Betrays Itself 33. Rustie - Green Language; Attak feat Danny Brown 34. Saor - Aura; Aura 35. SBTRKT - Wonder Where We Land; NEW DORP. NEW YORK feat Ezra Koenig 36. Scott Walker + Sunn O))) - Solaris; Fetish 37. The Smith Street Band - Throw Me In The River; Surrender 38. Spoon - They Want My Soul; Do You 39. Wildbirds & Peacedrums - Rhythm; Keep Some Hope 40. Wolves in the Throne Room - Celestite; Turning Ever Towards The Sun

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MUSICREVIEW

November Issue 2

Angus & Julia Stone - Angus & Julia Stone Indie Folk EMI To start, I want to say that Rick Rubin has made bad albums, a lot of bad albums: Ed Sheeran - X Lady Gaga - Artpop Linkin Park- anything ...the list really does go on.

Angus & Julia Stone are an ARIA award-winning Folk duo from Sydney whose work has been well-received here and overseas. One of the reasons the duo have been so successful is that they’ve been able to blend elements of Folk, Americana, Australian, and American Country with pop sensibilities, similar to many other bands in the late 00’s. The band is influenced by Belle and Sebastian in their first album Book Like This, but tighten up their songs and bring in lush instrumentation like Arcade Fire in Down The Away. Aside from a handful of singles, I have never seen Angus & Julia Stone as anything more than run-of-the-mill indie folk. In their first album Book Like This, I found the lyrics idiosyncratic but was turned off by the instrumentation, while in Down The Away the instrumentals picked up, and the lyrical content didn’t necessarily get technically, but I couldn’t help but criticise the obvious and uninspired Americana influences. They also stretched their choruses for way too long in Down The Away After this, the band broke up with no plans to get back together.

After hearing their work, Rick Rubin (of whom I’ve already expressed my opinion) contacted the duo to make this album. Like the band’s previous efforts, Angus & Julia Stone has strong single power but isn’t all that impressive as a whole. Aside from A Heartbreak and Get Home, the album’s experience is very flat. A Heartbreak kicks the album with a hell of a groove, the vocals have an insanely erotic and in your face attitude, but I can’t look over the lyrics, “I met your parents they were dying / about falling in love”-- this does not make any sense. Why couldn’t they just repeat the word “lying” like in the previous lyric? This is my only grievance with the song. The song expertly sheds light on what it’s like to be the older man. And it’s very catchy. The second song features many of the same themes, and it becomes apparent that Angus & Julia Stone is a concept album - destructive relationships aren’t new to indie rock albums (see the entire The Antlers’ discography), and the duo aren’t bringing much that’s new to the table.

The verses on My Word For It are lovely, but the hook gets tired very quickly. They sing: “Don’t take my word for it/ I do”over and over again, and, I was hovering over the skip button. The track Grizzly Bear just reminds me of two bands I’d rather be listening to. Grizzly Bear and Destroyer’s 2011 album Kaputt is reflected (or ripped-off) by Angus & Julia Stone, though they cannot match the sexuality or the pain of those bands. I will say that Angus’ does do a great Dan Bejar impression, but it’s ultimately distracting.

I really want to like this album. Julia, especially, brings forth provoking and painfully beautiful verses but there are just too many flaws in this album to look past. The choruses are redundant and repetitive. This is a grab for a mainstream sound, but for me it spoils the emotionality of the album. There are exceptions like the song Get Home, which is my favourite, where Angus sounds like the old Angus. The song seems to be about a dog that has run away but the owner believes it will make its way home. This may be a metaphor for a relationship, but either way I can’t help but ask: why aren’t more songs like this? For Death Defying Acts I like the idea behind the song, but I feel that it doesn’t reach the heights it was hoping to.

Like a lot bands that have come back from a break-up this year (Pixies), Angus and Julia Stone probably shouldn’t have. I have to commend them for changing their sound up, but the resulting album isn’t all that special.

5/10

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MUSICVIEW

November Issue 2

INTERVIEW

WITH ABUSE This is Abuse, also know as Connor…

Connor Fenton Would you like to start by saying something about yourself?

I’m Connor, 18, I do Audio Engineering at JMC. I make harsh noise.

Did you grow up in Brisbane?

I did, oh, I was born in Tazzy, moved here when I was like 2, so Brisbane yeah.

So tell us about the name ‘Abuse’.

Umm, that’s a good question actually. Harsh noise always has these kind of dark themes to it, you know like hurt and there’s a lot of sexual themes as well. I just went, what’s something that’s not super graphic but is in like with these dark themes as well: Abuse.

You had a previous name: was it Satan’s Feast?

Oh, Satan’s Feast. Satan’s Feast was my old Black Metal band. Me and two of my mates went “You wanna start a black metal band?’ So we did, and I did the intro track and the vocals for it.

And that was where you started using Horror film samples?

Uh, yeah? I kind of just went to like samples and went ‘woman screaming’. I assume it was from something.

It sounded like a zombie film.

Yeah.

So why underground music?

Specifically Noise.

It’s fun. It’s really, it’s fun to make. I’ve always been into the undergroundy-stuff and I started listening to noise a

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couple of years ago and I thought ‘I can do this’.

What are your main goals as an artist?

What was your introduction to Noise?

Honestly, I don’t have many goals. I wanna play a show, I think that would be fun. Make money… 2 dollars. I want make any kind of monetary gain, “people are paying for my music, that’s awesome.

Do you know the band Sun O)))?

Sun with the O)))?

So they got me into the droney sort of stuff and I saw that they had collaborations with a band called Boris, and Boris kind of got me into noisey stuff, and merzbow and hanatarash and which is other crazy noise.

Is their any other genres you’ve worked in? I’ve noticed you’ve jumped from a droney sound to a atmospheric sound.

So my first release, was really harsh and buzzy and I thought I can make droney sort of chlley atmospheric stuff. I’ve obiviously done Black Metal, done a little bit of Hardcore Punk which never got released, but yeah that’s pretty much it, every thing on Bandcamp is what I’ve officially done.

What was the name of your Harcore Punk band?

Ha, The Dickholes Great name So you would list your influences as Sun O))) and Boris, any other influences you’d like to list?

Hanatarash, definitely Merzbow a mate in Brisbane called Aural Bile who kind of got me started and thinking I can do this.

As ‘Abuse’, what is the project’s mission statement?

better samples than it is a movie. It’s kind of one of those ones that you gotta watch when you’re on something.

But, I just I watched it recently and I went that’s a really really good section that I could use.

And I think it was like my first one with like a proper movie sample. I went that’s the section I gotta use, and I just started playing around for noisey parts of it.

Where do you get your samples from otherwise?

Be loud.

How do you work your compositions? How do you form and idea and build on it?

Alot of the time I just do it on the fly, I just have the laptop open and I’ll be like… do something! Other times I will see something or I’ll say something and I’ll be like I can make something out of that.

Other times I’ll be fiddling around with my synthesisers and I’ll think I can make that noisey.

The song nail bomb. I love the echoes at the end.

Where did that come from?

Nail bomb. nail bomb nail bomb nail bomb. I’m pretty sure that was me dicking around on pro tools. I was just playing with it. I had the microphone and I just pressed record and blew into it.

I fan boyed out on this one: Hate All Life 9000, in which you sample the death of HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey. Tell us about what you think of the movie, and how that influenced the song?

I do like 2001, I believe that it’s probably got a lot of Scribble&Scribe

I get alot of my samples just from youtube. I got I want a crowd screaming sample, I want a gunshot sample, I want this sample and I jsut pick one that I find that’s good, again the thing with noise is it’s dark, I want a scary sample I want a dark sample. so.

What constitutes a dark sample?

Something that makes you go erghl. The first track on the self titled It’s Not Murder If It’s Art there’s two gun shots and then the screaming starts.

Obviously when you’re listening you think it’s just a song but if you heard that in real life you heard pew pew and then the screaming, it’s an uneasy feeling you know.

The difference your earlier EP and your self-titled you moved from a atmospheric sound to a more repetitious sound. Why the move?

I dunno, I just have a bunch that are spacey and atmospheric and chill. And I went back to my very first and I said this is harsh noise and I haven’t really put out anything harsh for a while I should 9

definitely go back. Harsh noise is much more fun to make than the atmospheric stuff.

Atmospheric you just record it and space it out. Noise you get to pay around and stuff.

What would you call Aphotic / Cancerous?

A drone or a dark ambient.

Which do you prefer to listen to Noise or Ambient?

Listening to? I prefer to listen to the Ambient stuff, but overall I really prefer Harsh Noise Wall which is like Detestation.

Japanese characters, they are in your titles and artwork? Where do they come in?

Noise kind of started in Japan and there is a lot of noise coming out of Japan. I dunno it’s a kind of throwback to the sound’s roots. I guess, that sounds reall dooshy. I’ve stopped that right now, I just I dunno people see the symbols and they say ‘What is that? I don’t what that is” the symbols say Abuse so I just changed it to english now.

How would you describe your sound?

Just noise I guess. I try an kind of space out into the different kinds of noise their is you know the dark noise the

ambient noise the harsh noise the harsh noise wall, just noise I guess Could you describe your collaboration with Damage?

Do you have any plans to collaborate in the future? Or do you look to collaborate with someone else?

Damage is actually a really good friend of mine. He heard what I did and went I can do that and I say hey man wanna do a split then? and so we did a split, I’m not sure if he’s gonna continue making noise but if he does I’d love to collaborate with him again. I also want to collaborate with my other firend Aural Bile, he’s fantastic. I want to do a split with him. I definitely want to do more splits, probably with Damage if he’s keen.

You are very prolific with your output , you have already three albums this year. Do you have any plans to make a more significant body of work which would take a lengthier period of time to make?

Yes. Yes I do, because I have just been churning them out recently and it’s just a mess of sounds really. I was actually working on the self titled for a couple of months before I put it out and I wanted to put more in it, I wanted to put more in it, I just wanted more, but I figured I had been

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working on this for months.

I’m pretty happy with what I got here so I just put it out, but there will probably be a couple more quick outputs and then I’ll work on a big lengthy one.

What are you thoughts on other Australian artists that use elements of noise and have gone on to be acclaimed around the world, like Ben Frost or Idylls?

I dunno, I really like Idylls and I really like the noisey stuff that they’re doing. And they’re a lot of other bands for Australia that are really noisey, hardcore noisey whatever they are. See I don’t really have the musical talent to branch into a noisey something else, so I will probably just stik to noise and I don’t think I will go into something else.

What does improvement mean for ‘Abuse’?

Longer songs, maybe I’m not sure. Better recording, right now I just stick my laptop in front of an amp. Yeah definitely better recording, more mastery just better you know.

What is your favourite colour?

Blue

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GAMESREVIEW

November Issue 2

Pixel Dungeon Review Watabou

Pixel Dungeon is a Rogue-Like turn-based RPG for Android. To the uninitiated, the RogueLike is a genre of game with randomisation at its core; every play through is different with procedurally generated dungeons and a large variety of magical items with special effects. The game’s real killer is that death is permanent: when you die you must start the game again. This makes for a very difficult game, which in turn is far more rewarding than most other (admittedly basic) mobile games. Players need luck on their side and decent items to advance deep into the dungeon, as the enemies grow dramatically stronger with each level.

The most intuitive aspect of Pixel Dungeon is how it meshes somewhat traditional and difficult game designs with touch screen ergonomics in mind. Buttons, menus and inventories are appropriately proportioned no matter what screen size you play on thanks to UI Scaling, which can be toggled on or off. The tilebased graphics also have an excellent retro feel to them (who would have guessed with a name like Pixel Dungeon?). The only real criticism I have here is that looking at the same stone walls and wooden doors every time you start a new game gets a little bland after a while. Perhaps a future update could implement different environments such as caves or jungles instead of the default sewer theme.

When beginning a new game, you select one of four classes: Warrior, Mage, Rogue, and Huntress.

Each of these classes has strengths and weaknesses depending on how you equip them,

Sean Mackenzie

as well as some bonuses such as being able to identify magical rings automatically. Once you have made your selection, it's straight into the game: no screwing around with character creation or anything of that nature. The gameplay will vary greatly depending on what class you selected. This helps to keep the game fresh, even after a considerable number of attempts.

Personally, I found the Mage to be the easiest class to play, provided that the rooms you entered were big enough for you to pick off as many enemies as you could from a distance.

There's an equally good chance, however, that you could enter a room and get gnawed to death by a trio of sewer rats..

Level design in Pixel Dungeon mostly consists of various sized rooms linked directly to each other by a door or narrow corridors. Initially the map is shrouded in darkness, and you can only see a short distance around you. You have no idea whether or not you could be stepping into an ambush when you open a door and reveal the contents of the next room. Sometimes the enemies are pitifully easy to kill; other times, they'll finish you off in two blows. It is occasionally possible to find the stairs to descend to the next level only a short distance from the previous ones, but to advance without trying to find as many items as you can on the current level is foolish, since you'll need these improved items to stand a chance against the next tier of foes.

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FILMREVIEW

November Issue 2

Burn After Reading (2008) Relativity Media, StudioCanal, Working Title Films

Bradley Wilson Burn After Reading is a conspiracy-thriller parody by the Coen Brothers, starring George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Frances McDormand, John Malkovich, Tilda Swinton, Richard Jenkins, and a well-known supporting cast. It is clever, comical, and as a parody should, turns the conventions of the genre it’s mocking against itself.

Burn After Reading employs four tightly interwoven storylines (mainly because the characters are crawling all over each other). It begins with Linda Litzke (Frances McDormand), an aging gym trainer aiming to get cosmetic surgery, whose application is rejected by her medical insurance. By chance, she and her coworker Chad (Brad Pitt) find a disc copy of memoir notes belonging to Osbourne Cox, a recently fired CIA analyst. They mistake it for “highly classified shit,” and Linda sees it as a golden ticket to get her surgery money. In the meantime, Linda has been meeting men through online dating, one of which is Harry (George Clooney) who just happens to be sleeping with Katie (Tilda Swinton)—Osbourne’s wife. It’s painfully funny knowing that the characters are one step away from realising that everything is blown out of proportion. As the movie progresses, the audience knows exactly what’s going on, creating both suspense and humour simultaneously. This goes to show just how complex and stimulating the Coen Brother’s script is.

The casting for this film is perfect. Frances McDormand portrays Linda superbly. When Linda’s boss (Richard Jenkins) asks her why Chad hasn’t been to work, I can’t imagine anyone else delivering the superficial line “Just give me twenty-four hours to solve this thing!” so idiotically, yet believably. Brad Pitt’s character, Chad, is the complete opposite of the macho, sharp, and deadly persona with sex appeal seen in his other films like Mr and Mrs Smith or Fight Club. Here, Pitt is a ditzy gym trainer with a terrible bleachblond dye job who constantly chews gum and pumps his fists shamelessly to music. George Clooney’s role is clearly a commentary on his reputation too. Clooney is well known as a confident, handsome, bachelor who breaks hearts left and right. Here, Clooney plays Harry, who bumbles anxiously to keep his mistress Katie happy with rapidly delivered lines like “I’ll do anything for you—I love you, baby.” John Malkovich, on the other hand, is just there to do what he does best—explosively yell at people.

Carter Burwell’s score is a powerful element throughout the movie, and is almost a character itself.

It includes masterfully orchestrated, eerie, suspenseful, and paranoid pieces, which accompany ridiculous exchanges between characters who believe that ‘the government is out to get them.’

Emmanuel Lubezki’s cinematography is ironically typical of a thriller, and deserves commendation.

It is typical of a thriller to go to the extreme at moments, such as the heavily oblique angles used when Harry is working on a mysterious project in his basement (which turns out to be a mechanical sex toy!). A couple of symbolic shots involving Katie Cox also stand out. One shows Katie applying make-up and looking indirectly at her husband through two ganging-up reflections, and another shot shows her side-on, hunching over Harry, who looks disproportionately small in the background. These shots marry Tilda Swinton’s performance as an intimidating, cold woman. Apart from the occasional treat that eager film buffs find hilarious or delicious, the camerawork mostly uses standard shots to carry meaning.

Burn After Reading is strong as a film because its directors, actors, composer, cinematographer, and a long list of production people I haven’t mentioned, truly thought through how to make their element as funny as possible. The film is not only entertaining, but also thought provoking for film junkies and gossip magazine readers (I am not in the latter group, to be clear). Burn After Reading is a classy, one-day-to-be classic, parody, and it will make your brain and mouth laugh together.

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TVREVIEW

November Issue 2

Hannibal (2013-ongoing) Dino De Laurentiis Company, Living Dead Guy Productions, AXN Original Productions, Gaumont International Television Bradley Wilson

Hannibal is a stand-out crime thriller. It is an adaptation of the novel Red Dragon by Thomas Harris, though it’s not the only one: there’s also the terrific Hannibal movie trilogy starring Anthony Hopkins and the dreadful Hannibal Rising prequel (don’t go there, I beg you). The cast and crew for Hannibal clearly considered this context, and how they would make this adaptation fresh.

The main cast includes Hugh Dancy, Mads Mikkelsen, Laurence Fishburne, and Caroline Dhavernas. Mads Mikkelsen gives a splendid performance as Hannibal. Mikkelsen wears a meticulously human mask over a deadly face, occasionally letting the audience have a peek at the sadistic smile underneath. Hugh Dancy portrays Will Graham, a man with “a unique cocktail of personality disorder and neuroses” which makes him “a highly skilled profiler.” Will can take the perspective of anyone, allowing him to step into a killer’s shoes and relive their murders in a dream-like state. Dancy’s performance as Will is good, but not flawless. I particularly find his autistic behaviour unbelieveable and neglected in comparison to his other disorders. But still, Dancy pulls off a tricky, borderline insane character quite convincingly at times and mimics an American accent perfectly (boy, was I surprised by his British accent when watching an interview). Laurence Fishburne (aka Morpheus from The Matrix) is outstanding in his role as the head of Behavioral Sciences at the FBI, as is Caroline Dhavernas, who plays Dr Alana Bloom.

Hannibal is well written, though not without its faults. Bryan Fuller, who had previously developed Heroes, now writes for Hannibal with a recognisable style. Minus the melodrama of Heroes, Hannibal is similarly fast paced, unpredictable, and puts characters in profoundly strange social situations (all of which places the show high up on my to-watch list).

However, the dialogue at times is cluttered with

pretentious, vague, metaphorical language. For instance, Hannibal describes Will as “the monk who hides under the house while the snakes slither by.” What does that even mean.

Furthermore, when Will re-creates a murder in his head, he adds the catchphrase “This is my design.” Apparently all killers run that thought their heads while in the act. This line has been pushed for popularity on the Hannibal Facebook page with the quote attached to pictures, but it is too stark and worn out for my taste. But of course these few moments don’t represent the entirety of the dialogue, which for the most part is compelling.

I have to give the show’s cinematographers James Hawkinson and Karim Hussain a standing ovation. Their contribution makes the series brilliant with symmetrical shots of the exquisitely crafted settings and carefully picked angles. The show’s animators also display talent, as seen in Will’s imaginings which have disturbingly nightmarish living-metaphors (after seeing Hannibal’s copycat victim of The Shrike, who hoists girls up onto deer antlers and harvests their organs, Will dreams of a deer with Shrike feathers). Like other quality television shows, impressive camerawork is an important characteristic of Hannibal.

Hannibal is one of my favourite currently running shows - despite my criticisms - as it successfully thrills, confronts, and entertains its audience. In comparison to the Hannibal trilogy, Hannibal the show takes on a new approach to adapting Red Dragon by opening with the story of Will and Hannibal’s newfound friendship. From the start of the series Will doesn’t know that Hannibal is the very killer he’s chasing, and so the audience comes to fully realise the extent of the betrayals that follow. I recommend watching the films and then the show – because the anticipation of a showdown makes the payoff worth so much more.

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SAGEPAGE

November Issue 2

Living Out of Home Bradley Wilson It’s easy, in fact; it’s very rewarding. If you’re worried about not being able to support yourself, usually you’d be able to get Youth Allowance from the government (unless your parents earn too much money, as Centrelink considers youths dependent until the age of 22). Whatever your financial situation or age, if you do choose to find your own space I have some tips to offer.

I moved to Brisbane to get closer to UQ in my first semester. I was travelling from my family’s house in Ipswich into the city, about two hours in and two hours back. By the mid-semester break I had enough of that, and explored my options. I was lucky. Moving from another town meant that I was definitely able to receive Centrelink’s Away From Home rate, which came with an over-the-top bonus every semester for buying textbooks. I knew that I would be moving into a shared accommodation, so I searched Gumtree. I contacted Garry in Carina, and inspected the house that week. The room was average sized and cheap (ridiculously) so I agreed to move there in two weeks.

Here are some things that I’ve learned since that decision: •

You don’t need a mover to move. When you’re a teenager, unless you’re a hoarder, you really don’t have that much stuff. I asked a mate who had access to a 4WD and a small trailer. We drove up to Brisbane with everything I owned, and in return for his help I gave him some cash and bought him lunch.

•

Housemate politics are confusing to grasp at first, and when it’s strangers you move in with it’s more difficult. You have to trust them. At first I stored some of my dry goods under my bed instead of the kitchen, but stopped that after a few days. If someone touches your food, ask your housemates, find out who it was, and let them know that it’s not okay without asking. Secondly, don’t be anti-social. These aren’t just people you have to share a space with - you’re sharing a home.

Chat with them occasionally in the kitchen when you run into them, and sometimes have a drinking sesh. Still, you have to respect their privacy. A lot of people come home because they want some time alone after a long day at work, so it’s important to be able to pick up on these vibes.

•

Budgeting. I totally disregarded this for a long time when I shouldn’t have. Groceries are a good place to start. Get a hold of simple recipes for meals from the internet and cook books. I have wasted so much on pre-packaged meals that aren’t nearly as appealing or healthy as a simple dish.

Look out for specials too, and always check the bakery section because baked goods have a short self-life and become dirt cheap regularly (loafs, rolls, donuts, cakes, lamingtons). Avoid impulse

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buys. Be aware of your money and what you do with it. Yes, indulge in snacks and cool things; just don’t buy gimmicks that offer temporary happiness. Textbooks. I recommend not buying them brand new unless you really have to. You can buy them second hand on campus or online. Hell, make a trip to library and borrow the books that you don’t think you’ll need in the future, because typically, you don’t.

Why spend money on books that will just sit on the shelf and gather dust?

•

Exercise improves the quality of life (duh). How often you exercise is up to you, but try to fit it every once in a while even if it’s not for you. Instead of driving or catching the bus for a short trip just walk, save the money, and bump up your endorphin levels. Make it fun – go to the beach with friends for a swim, go to Bounce at Taringa (an awesome arena of trampolines), play a sport, or learn a martial art. If you’re keen on exercise but can’t afford a gym or want to save up – buy your own equipment. A set of dumbbells, an exercise ball, and running shoes are all that you need. Take the stairs instead of the elevator or escalator.

•

Being thrifty is good for the “poor university student.” Second hand goods are just as useful as new ones. I buy my clothes from op shops now and my wallet is better off for it, plus you can find a bigger range of items and quirkier things there.

If you have the co-ordination, cutting your own hair is a great way to be thrifty. Just search the internet for instructions – cutting hair is not as hard as you’d think. If you want an undercut, invest in a pair of hair clippers for the cost of a haircut. Store brand groceries aren’t necessarily worse because they are cheaper (in fact, some come from the same factories as big name brands but are packaged differently to target low income earners). Recycle things yourself. Take-out containers can be kept and re-used, as well as water bottles and jars. Old clothes can be cut into rags and handkerchiefs. Handkerchiefs are great, and buying tissues is such a waste. Handkerchiefs are thicker than tissues, and all you have to do is chuck them in the wash. Plus, they are classier.

I hope that helps. I remember when my friend Peter had left me at my new house amongst a pile of boxes. I remember a moment of panic knowing that it was finalised, and then, I unpacked and organised my new life. Leaping out of a bed of twigs, hair, and lost property is confronting, but exciting. We all want to fly, and the thrill lasts longer than any other.

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How To Not Be A Massive Jerk All The Time Jasmine Henni

Hello friends.

I’d like to preface this article by saying: it’s okay. IT’S OKAY. Sometimes, you just don’t realise how much your behaviour irritates other people, but I’m here to help. You see, courtesy is a simple concept that allows us to co-exist without excessive violence or enraged weeping. It is particularly important to enact thoughtful behaviour at university. Many of the people around you are already experiencing a great amount of inner turmoil, whether it be from advancing deadlines, financial despair, or just being terribly hungover on a compulsory uni day. It can be easy to forget the unwritten rules of social conduct, so let’s break down some of the most important elements together.

1. Attending lectures.

Firstly, you should know that many people attend university because they would like to learn. This means that during lecture time it’s important to be able to hear the lecturer in a non-distracting environment.

Bringing your laptop to a lecture can be handy for taking notes or viewing the lecturer’s powerpoint in real time – but be aware that viewing social networking, celebrity gossip, or shopping websites while conversing with your friends about the content may upset those around you. I’m afraid nobody cares about your tagged photos, nauseating devotion to celebrity culture, or obscene shopping cart. Do it in private.

2. Using the stairs.

Stairs are a great way to move between floors in buildings, and many of us are already familiar with how to use them, but we’ll brush up for those who are unsure. Walking in groups of two or three up the stairs is unacceptable, as this obstructs the optimal flow of foot traffic. I know it’s vital to be able to walk in a line with your friends, but sometimes a compromise is necessary.

Another important thing to remember about stair usage is that stopping suddenly in the middle of a staircase to check your phone is a safety hazard. Your Facebook notifications are important, but people walking behind you may not be so understanding when you cause them to fall down a flight of stairs.

3. Taking the bus.

Ah, yes. Buses, those noble beasts, transporting us from A to B without the stress of parking or flipping people off when they merge without indicating.

Here are a few things to remember to keep bus trips pleasant, for yourself and others around you. Sometimes, when you arrive at your bus stop, there will already be a queue of people waiting to board the bus. At such times, it is appropriate to join the back of the queue. Skipping to the front under the guise of checking the bus schedule is generally frowned upon.

It is also customary to leave the seat next to you free for others to sit down – your bag counts as a friend in your

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heart, but not in the eyes of fellow commuters. One more thing: wearing deodorant wouldn’t hurt.

4. Buying coffee.

The lifeblood of students worldwide: coffee. It’s a huge part of day-to-day life. This tip is specific to those of you who buy your coffee from Merlo, so listen up. You may have noticed that customers line up directly across the footpath into the SS&H library, blocking the way for many people who like to use that path by foot. I tend to employ a deceptively simple solution: stand a few paces back from the person in front of you in the line, leaving a gap for people to walk through. Whenever I cross the threshold into Merlo I look excitedly behind me to see if the next person has picked up my tactic; but predictably, each time, the line has once again filled the gap to become one solid unit.

This is one of the many reasons why I cry myself to sleep at night.

5. The grand finale.

This last tip is very general and can be applied to all aspects of your life. The best thing to do in most situations is to look around you. Paying attention to your surroundings is a common theme in this article, and indeed, could prevent many of the negative scenarios above. Ask yourself: Are you impeding somebody from walking freely?

Are you giggling and discussing your vapid, mundane personal life during a lecture?

Are you wearing sunglasses inside?

Are you eating loudly in the silent study area?

Do you come to lectures or tutorials late with no attempt to quieten your entry?

Do you practise questionable personal hygiene?

Are you perhaps attracting passive-aggressive glares from people at an alarming rate?

If the answer to any of these questions is yes, then you are a massive jerk. Start making the necessary changes to your jerk lifestyle now, before it’s too late.

I have taught you all I know. Don’t be a jerk, bump the fist.

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TRAVELGUIDE

November Issue 2

BucketLust: the insatiable desire to complete all 297 items upon one’s Bucket List before turning 30.

Renae Grinlaubs Before I jump into the story of another item on my Bucket List, let me explain my situation. I was bitten by the travel bug at the ripe old age of four when my family moved to Thailand and I started school there. Since then, I’ve struggled with an insatiable hunger for ALL the quirky places the world has to offer. So I compiled a list of 297 travel items to be completed by the time I turn thirty.

Game on!

Bucket List Item #52: Get chased by a wild rhinoceros in Chitwan National Park, Nepal.

Most people think of the mighty Himalayas, yak cheese, and Sherpas when I say ‘Nepal’. Not many people think ‘subtropical tiger palace with wild elephants, rhinoceroses, and crocodiles just chillin’ on the banks of rivers that run through golden prairies’. But it’s true—the Chitwan National Park is one of the lesser-known gems in the crown of Asia that is Nepal. Chitwan is one part of the triangle of national parks across 2 northern India and southern Nepal that constitute the Tiger Conservation Unit across more than 3,500 km .

According to the locals, this conservation unit exists because hundreds of years ago the park was a royal hunting ground for an Indian prince, who supposedly killed over 800 tigers during his reign. Poaching is illegal nowadays, of course, and income is generated from tourism and agriculture in the area.

It started out much like any other safari; Chitwan is known for its big animals, but we only spotted some small deer and a couple of baby boars escaping a young crocodile on the banks of the river (by running directly in front of our jeep). We bounded along rough dirt tracks in the 30+ degree heat getting more sunburn than sightings from the back of the battered jeep. After an hour of seeing nothing more than Caiman crocodiles sunning themselves, and many frantic boars careening across the roads, we were beginning to lose morale. We were tiger hunting, after all. I mean, there were supposedly wild elephants and rhinoceroses in the park, but we hadn’t seen those either and elephants in Asia are kind of like sangria in Spain—exciting the first time, but after that, it’s just tipsy tourists using them to take selfies.

Eventually our group of wannabe Indiana Joneses decided that the jeep was creating too much noise and tiger hunting on foot would increase our chances of finding one. There was some debate about this course of action between the driver and his co-worker, who conversed furiously for a few minutes before reluctantly beckoning for us to get out of the jeep. We clambered out of the car, inspiration kindled by the change of transport until a cry came from up ahead.

Someone had spotted something. I’d taken to measuring the coolness of whatever this person had spotted by the speed with which the cameras came out. For example, a deer was generally spotted and photographed with sloth-like intensity. But in this instance, the cameras were out quicker than those baby boars who didn’t want to be a meal. It turned out to be a deer carcass up a tree. The locals informed us that a tiger had dragged it up there. It had eaten some before leaving to hunt again, and would

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return to finish it later. The sighting was anticlimactic, grisly, and more importantly, it was proof that tigers really did exist here. The group debated pitching camp and waiting for the tiger to return, but we eventually reached the consensus that if the tiger returned to find a group of humans guarding his dinner, he probably wouldn’t be too pleased. So we continued onwards across embankments barely higher than the crocodile kingdom, hoping they’d caught one of those dear, little boars earlier and didn’t have an appetite left for humans.

We hiked for about four hours through subtropical forests, prairies, and wetlands—a wild concoction of scenery that typifies the natural splendour of Nepal. As the sun turned the plains a corn-field gold, the sky became finger-painted by childlike swirls of pink and blue. We were giving up hope for spotting this jungle’s king, but the sunset was worth the hike. A few people began to shuffle uncomfortably, muttering about impending dusk and how far we had left to walk back to civilisation—I was too busy watching the sunset to notice. And then our local guides disappeared. Just like that. A gust of exasperated sighs echoed through the group. How on earth were we going to find our way without the guides? The park spans between India and Nepal—without a guide, we could be walking to India for all we knew. After a solid five minutes of their absence, people started questioning each other, instinctively moving closer to each other as a wood-chopping sound cut through the dusk. The sound continued a few times, followed by a roar, and that was when I saw our guide. He was hanging from a tree branch a few hundred metres away, making strange gestures in the air. Apparently the other local was somewhere further away and understood the communication, because the next minute, he was back with us and frantically ushering us along the embankment above the prairie to see something. He held a finger to his lips as the woodchopping sound became louder, and we crept closer to the tree. ‘He fight!’ the guide said, ‘There! See fight!’

On the plains below, bathed in the day’s last rays, two male rhinoceroses were clashing horns in the long grass. We’d arrived just as they finished the fight—a massive push from one sent the other barrelling back into the long grass, and the winner stood snorting and staring as his foe left. It struck me then how unrealistic the zoo is. Those animals are well fed, their armour is immaculate, and I suppose their fights are contained because this fellow was battle-scarred and beautiful. He was dirty and his armour was like dishes that hadn’t ever been done, but he was proud and strong, and clearly at home here. Most of us were tourists that had never seen a rhino outside of a zoo, so naturally we had a zoo-like reaction.

We flocked down the embankment to get closer and take better photos, heedless of the local guide shouting, ‘No! Must not! He fight!’ We got about a hundred metres away before the rhino saw us. Our guide had sprinted ahead of us and was desperately gesturing at me to move away, though I didn’t know why me specifically. Turns out, rhinos can see the colour red very well. And I was the only one wearing a red jumper.

‘Go! Must. Go. NOW!’ the guide shouted, and finally his message got through to a few people as the massive male rhino turned to smell us on the warm breeze. He stomped and lowered his head, and the difference became deadly clear between the plains and the zoo. This was his home, and there were no fences to protect us. We were on his territory, and he’d just fought off another challenger. He was angry, and I was the only one he could see properly with my red jumped tied to my waist. I turned and began to run back to the embankment, the group running ahead of me as the rhino began to charge. I could feel his hoof beats vibrating through the ground as I ran. Thanks to that hundred-metre lead, we scrambled up the embankment before he reached us. He stood at the bottom, staring and snorting at us, offering the same threat that we’d just watched him send to his last opponent. Forget rollercoasters; this adrenalin rush was better than anything I’d done before.

The rest of the Chitwan trip was uneventful,despite stumbling across wild elephants (and a herd of sleeping female rhinos the next morning), but the moral of the story was clear: there’s a lot more to Nepal than trekking in the Himalayas (Bucket List #23). Or maybe it was that rhinos literally ‘see red’ and act upon it. You’ll just have to travel there for yourself to find out.

Next stop: Bucket List Item #110: AmsterDAMNED

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FOODLINK

November Issue 2

Centrelink Gourmet – Roasted Tomato Soup Cheyenne Langan This soup is the best thing ever. With complete and utter confidence, I can tell you that it will change your life. Even if you don’t like tomato soup, you will LOVE this soup, it is that good. This soup is my favourite soup because it is so cheap, so delicious, and so easy to make. It is so simple that it is my absolute go-to recipe when I have a cold and am too sick to cook, and all I want is something warm and yummy and delicious. Tomatoes are also packed full of antioxidants and vitamin C, so this soup will also actively help you get better. It’s basically magic.

To have this glorious soup in your life, you will need: •

8 fresh tomatoes (Roma tomatoes are my favourite, but any fresh tomatoes will work, and in a pinch, canned ones will work too – just skip the roasting)

•

Two tablespoons of olive oil

•

A head of garlic (more or less depending on how much you like garlic/how sick you feel)

•

4 stalks of celery

•

2 carrots

•

1-2 onions

•

2 teaspoons of white sugar

•

Vegetarian or chicken stock (you can buy cubes, the gel-packs, or ready-made cartons depending on your price range/interest level. Just remember that the better the stock, the yummier the soup, and also the more stock you add the more soup you will have)

•

Dried oregano

•

Fresh and/or dried basil

•

Two tablespoons tomato paste (optional)

•

Salt

•

Pepper

Method: Turn the oven on to 180 c, and give yourself a high-five for completing step one. Cut the tomatoes in half and place with the intact head of garlic on a baking tray, coat everything in olive oil (I find the olive oil spray works best here), and sprinkle some salt, pepper, oregano, and basil over everything. Move everything around a bit to make sure everything is well covered, then place in the middle rack of your oven. Bake for 30 minutes, and then remove garlic, leaving tomatoes in for another 15 – 20 minutes.

While you are waiting for the tomatoes, finely chop the carrots, onion, and celery and place in a large pot along with olive oil, basil, oregano, and sugar. Cook everything on a medium heat until golden and translucent, and generally yummy looking. When the carrots and celery are soft, you’re there. When the garlic is done, peel it, and add it to the pot.

When the tomatoes are finished cooking, remove from heat and add to the pot with the vegetables, give everything a stir, and then add the stock. Stir everything again, and leave to simmer on low heat for 20 minutes. At this point you some options. You can take it out, and blend it to make a super smooth and thick soup, you can blend half and leave half as is for a smooth soup with chunks of vegetables and tomato, or you can eat it as is. This is really down to preference, and whether or not you own a blender/food processor/strong fork. After you have overcome the blend or not to blend debate, you can either eat it, or let it simmer for longer. The longer you leave it the better it will taste, just keep adding stock if it gets too thick or starts to dry out, and remember to stir frequently.

Garnish with fresh basil leaves, grated Parmesan, cheddar cheese, goats cheese, or feta cheese. Any kind of cheese really. Eat with toast, crusty bread, melted cheese sandwiches, or a salad.

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Serves: 2 Cost: Roughly $12-$15.

Super Duper Yummy Recipe Edward Paxton It was said in D Ream's 1993 hit "Things, can only get better." Well guess what, they can get a whole lot worse as well. (If you didn't know already renowned English physicist professor Brian Cox plays the keyboard in this song.) After the gruel of breakfast you thought perhaps life would get a bit better? Wrong. But anyway, I will delight in telling you a few sorry truths.

It is important to get to get your daily energy to get you through the day. This you must do on the cheap. Forget Merlos for a quick coffee break; it is only the cheapest of imitation coffee granules from Woolworths for you (because we both know Coles is out of your reach). Instead, stick to water. Zero calories;) Water goes well with your packed lunch of two white slices of bread, unbuttered.

If you do however have the craving for fresh bread, or perhaps something more sweet, there is a way. Take a walk into your nearest bakery and smell the freshly baked goods. Perhaps even take a few gulps of that lovely air. It's the next best thing, right? If you are truly lucky they will have some free samples. Eat them all.

This may also be applicable to fruit and veggie stores. It won't be enough to run a marathon, but it will see you through your lectures that drag by at a depressingly slow rate. You may, though, find yourself staring intensely at things in your fit of crazed hunger. Making other students feel uncomfortable, or perhaps throwing off the lecturers rhythm with your manic appreciation off his class.

So you get home. Maybe you don't. What's for dinner you ask? Let me tell you about thin magical food called rice. For proportional size it is gold for food, and it fills you up so much you don't need an extortionate amount. Here is what you do: •

Rice

•

Water

Steps 1. Put rice in saucepan with water and leave to boil on cooker.

2. Nah, that's actually about it really.

3. Yeah, all done.

On its own it may taste a little bland, so season with tomato sauce. Tomato sauce is another magical food product; it has the power to make any meal taste bearable. And there you have it, your day planned out. Maybe after three years of this ground hog day scenario things can truly get better.

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HORRORSCOPES November Issue 2

Horrorscopes Quentin J. Cobbler Aquarius (20 Jan – 18 Feb): You will find yourself feeling more competitive than usual this month, Aquestrians. Try not to take it too seriously, or you may be banned from Timezone – again.

Pisces (19 Feb – 20 Mar): A number of long-term plans will pay off for you soon. If you are not planning anything major, begin now while Mercury smiles upon you…unless you’re planning on parking your car on campus. If this is the case, you should disregard this horoscope and choose one more to your liking.

Aries (21 Mar – 19 Apr): Be mindful of accidents this month, as Jupiter stumbles into your star sign’s metaphorical china cabinet. Remember: you break it, you bought it.

Taurus (20 Apr – 20 May): It seems that you’ve become bored with your appearance recently. Consider growing a beard. Ladies and gents alike will flock to your rugged visage.

Gemini (21 May – 20 Jun): New work, study, or relationship opportunities may make themselves available to you this month, Geminis, as the moon of sweeping generalisations encompasses your sign.

Cancer (21 Jun – 22 Jul): Look to your dreams when you are in need of answers. Like that one dream you had where you were running late to an exam, then looked down and realised you were naked.

Leo (23 Jul – 22 Aug): Rocky times in your personal life may leave you feeling let down in the coming weeks. This is a common occurrence in everyday life, but now that you have read it in a horoscope it will seem more poignant and relevant.

Virgo (23 Aug – 22 Sep): The moon has rolled into your astrological field and may encourage reckless decisions, like spending the last of your fuel money on a kebab. Try and remain level-headed in tricky situations.

Libra (23 Sep – 22 Oct): Libras, your patient nature can only take you so far. It’s time to learn how to say “No”! For instance: “No, I’m not interested in your handfuls of pamphlets.”

Scorpio (23 Oct – 21 Nov): You may experience some doubt about a relationship this month when a particularly aggressive game of Monopoly tests your compatibility with a significant other.

Sagittarius (22 Nov – 21 Dec): The asteroid of slight embarrassment collides with your star sign this month. Try to avoid tripping in public, but if you do, immediately look back at the ground behind you. It ought to spare some of your dignity.

Capricorn (22 Dec – 19 Jan): Your creative mind will awaken as Neptune enters your astrological passage.

Take a photo of your takeaway coffee cup and post it on Instagram (perhaps it's finally time to use the 'Kelvin' filter) as everyone you know is probably interested in how the barista spelt your name.

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UNESSENTIALREADING November Issue 2

5 Things You Missed This Month

Jake D. Gomizelj

3

According to New York surgeon Dr Kenneth

Hansraj, texting and emailing adds pressure to your back. When looking down at your phone the weight pressing onto the spine increases. When flexing the head in different degrees the force on the neck can pressurise 12kg at 15 degrees,18kg at 40 degrees, 22kg at 49 degrees and 27kg at 60 degrees.

So why don’t you lie down on the couch and send an email for a change, there is no better way to relax in bed whilst checking Facebook.

1

4

Indian Council of Historical Research believes that Indians were flying aeroplanes, were carrying out stem cell research and may even have been using cosmic weapons 5,000 years ago. Rao has been critised for this works, but he convinced that there is hard evidence to prove the existence of this ‘so called’ futuristic past. The proof that Rao is confronted with is the Hindu epics that are believed to be written only 2 millennia’s ago by historians, but Rao argues that the concept of fiction was not educated upon 5,000 years ago.

It must be true, just ask Noah and his Arc. Just like some religions this can be a misinterpretation, or an over analysis. It’s like linking a poem to peanuts that is clearly not about peanuts. Yet people seem to accept it without question.

John Abarr and the newly reformed Rocky

Mountain Knights, Klu Klux Klan had managed the unthinkable. This month they have announced their change of heart. The KKK is well known for racist acts towards Jews, black people and homosexuals; and is also often parodied in Hollywood blockbusters. John (KKK Leader) states that he has rebranded the Klan in Montana. He claims that they will not discriminate against anyone. A member also said, "I thought it was a really good organization. I don't feel we need to be separate. [From other races or people of different sexual orientation.]" However they are not separating themselves from the traditional attire of the white masks, pointed hats and wizard robes. At least they upgraded themselves from pillowcases with poor visibility.

Jaquie Lambie has also come forth and announced that she does not allow those who support the Muslim faith to wear mask to cover their identity, if only the KKK didn’t agree to the sudden change they may have still be accepted into society.

2

Professor Y Sudershan Rao, the head of the

5

Norway police were called-in by a neighbour

reporting loud screaming from next door. Upon arrival the man who answered the door was found to be alone in the house, leading to suspicion.

Once entering the house the man explained that he was playing Chess with his PC and “was devastated when it outmaneuvered and beat him, several times.” The officer later tweeted: "We’re at the place. Just a chess player frustrated by

constantly losing against his own PC."

The summer break is upon us, and if you

have 2,000 friends on Facebook you can stay in the luxurious Nordic Lights Hotel. NLH are accepting social networking followings as currency which allows you seven nights depending on how many friends, followers or likes you have on Facebook or followers on Instagram. So if you want to enjoy a relaxing carefree holiday go to Stockholm the city of the overly obsessed.

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SHORTSTORIES

November Issue 2

WORD WAR W Short Story Contributions

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Rabbits Forever

Callum Hornsby

Ghosting between the tightly packed trees, Rabbit could see her prey grazing in a clearing only a few meters away, oblivious to her approach. She nocked her bow and drew, tip aimed straight at the hapless animal.

She steadied, evened her breathing, and then: twang. The shaft glided effortlessly between the tree trunks, burying itself deep into the creature’s skull. The beast let out a shrill wail, before collapsing to the ground, completely still apart from the occasional twitch from its six legs and pincers.

Rabbit crept up to the animal and pulled the arrow from its head, wiping the viscous green blood on the creature’s hide, before placing it back in her quiver. A twig snapped behind her. She whipped her bow out, aiming it at the source of the disturbance. A boy stood before her, his arms raised in surrender.

“Woah, hey, d-don’t shoot, it’s only me.”

“Dammit Dez, do ya wanna get an arrow in the neck? I thought you were one of Them,” Desmond looked past Rabbit and whistled, impressed by what he saw.

“That’s a big’ne. How the hell we gonna get that carcass back Home but?”

“I’ll call Pa. Wait here.”

She pushed her bow into the arms of Dez, before flying off towards one of the colossal arbour sentinels.

Rabbit scaled the towering tree in record time, swinging and climbing with astounding agility. Up through the thick, emerald canopy she emerged, and the world spread out before her. A world of rolling, verdant hills and matted thickets of forest. A new world.

She sounded her horn and the low, rumbling call reverberated across the land. In the emerging yellow light of the Alpha Sun, Rabbit could see a small brown smudge on the hill to the north standing out

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against the endless green. Home. But something darker caught her eye; a black plume of smoke curling up from behind the hills in the east. An ominous shudder rippled up her spine. She blew into the horn once more, and dipped back into the forest below.

••• Conrad sat atop his thoroughbred, watching the choking clouds billow from the burning homestead. His face was pale in the dancing fire light, contrasting against the ruby red war paint smeared from forehead to chin. Henry Jenkins rode up next to him.

“We found Willy, Con. He’d been scalped and gutted and God knows what else. Not a pretty sight.

And you don’t wanna know what they did to Anne. What happened to the kids, though?”

Conrad replied without looking around, his voice quiet but quivering with fury.

“Windmill.”

Henry looked to hill where the towering windmill stood and gaped in horror. From the highest sail hung three small lifeless bodies, as red as the paint adorning Conrad’s face.

“They were flayed, Hank. Not a shred of skin left.”

Henry recoiled, suppressing the urge to vomit.

“What’re we gonna do about this, Con?” “We’re going to destroy ‘em. We do nothing – nothing – to provoke those animals, and they do this?

It’s not acceptable, and the vermin are going to pay.”

There was a calmness in Conrad’s voice that Henry knew to fear.

“Ride Home, Hank. Get every man, women and child who can hold a rifle and-” “Children? Why children?”

Conrad turned, and looked Henry dead in the eye.

“How old is your kid Desmond?”

“Th-thirteen, I think” “Same as my girl. Thing is, Rabbit – Rachel – has never even seen one of these beasts. Now what happens if she finds some out in the forest? Or worse, what happens if a pack of them find her? You want them to end up like that?

Conrad’s hang swung up to point at the windmill corpses.

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“No. God no. I-“ “No, I didn’t think so. So go get every man, woman, and child together, because they are about to learn a very harsh lesson. This world ain’t fair, so we gotta teach ‘em to fight tooth and nail for what’s theirs.

They can’t be rabbits forever, Hank.”

••• When Rabbit’s father entered the clearing, Rabbit could tell something wasn’t right. Behind her father rode a legion of armed warrior, their painted faces locked in a determined expression. Even the children that rode with them looked stoic and battle-ready. Rabbit didn’t know why, but she knew they weren’t going Home.

Among the battalion of adults and children, she rode behind her stone faced father, holding her tongue. She knew better than to ask stupid questions when he was like this. Deeper into the forest they rode, until they arrived at the top of a steep leafy gully. At her father’s command, the party dismounted and surrounded the valley, rifles in hand. Rabbit peered through the trees, curiosity seizing her. Her heart froze as her gaze lowered onto… Them.

Rabbit had seen the native warriors before, in her silent hunts through the forests near Home. They sat astride their six-legged, pincer jawed beasts, their grey skin naked and proud. Their bodies and arms were thick and muscular, their heads bald and tattooed. Three-pronged hands held spears and clubs menacingly as they patrolled the forest. And, if Rabbit ever slipped, or stepped on a particularly loud twig, she would see their faces turn towards her, their nose-less slits flaring, their vertical blood-red scanning the trees for the source of the noise.

But whatever she was looking at now were very different from the brutes she had seen before.

Yes, their skin was the same ashen grey. Yes, their eyes were red, and each hand held only three fingers. But they were not warriors. No spears or clubs, no fearsome tattoos, no tremendous beast-mounts.

The small ones, children, played around their animal-skin tents. Larger ones, mothers perhaps, watched them scurry through the undergrowth. They clicked in some foreign tongue, and… laughed? Rabbit couldn’t be sure. But she knew instantly that this was no roving band of warriors. The camp stretched throughout the gulley. Rabbit felt a pang cut through her stomach.

•••

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Conrad glared down into the vermin’s infestation. The beastly brood mothers tended to their spawn, with coarse clicking and guttural cries - It revolted him. Corpses hanging from the windmill flashed before his eyes as he watched the things, and anger welled up in him. He drew his rifle, and aimed, his sights locked on the head of one of the larger clicking creatures. He squeezed the trigger, and a satisfying explosion issued forth, shattering the quiet serenity of the forest. Where the animal’s head had been moments before, now stood an empty, bleeding stump. Rich red blood smeared the walls of its nest. Cries of anguish rose up from the cubs, followed by shouts of alarm. Conrad smiled as his allies charged into the fray, firing on the murderous fiends.

••• Rabbit stayed close to her father, trailing his descent into the gully. Every shot from his rifle was met by screams of pain and terror. She gripped her bow tightly, watching native after native fall to the ground. Her eyes fixed upon one of them, a young one she could tell. It lay in a glistening crimson pool, writhing and moaning in agony. It’s shoulder, a tattered fleshy mess. It gave one last gasp, and was still. Rabbit went numb.

Something whistled past her head, and there was a dull thump behind her, followed by a gurgle.

Rabbit whipped her head around, and was greeted by a gruesome image. Dez, her friend, the boy she had grown up with, the boy she had stolen her first kiss from under the light of last year’s harvest moons, lay in the brown, crumpled foliage, dying. A long shaft of obsidian black jutted through his soft, pale neck, and torrents of red gushed from the wound. A few pained chokes, and he was still.

The natives began their counter, rushing the settler’s with their makeshift, tribal weapons. Screams from both sides filled the air. Amidst the chaos, Rabbit pinpointed the one who had thrown the missile that had killed her friend. His deep, crimson eyes met Rabbit’s, and for a second everything was still. A furious cry shattered the moment, as Rabbit’s father screamed, “Kill it.”

The grey-skinned native fled, away from the settlers and into the dense thickets behind, as arrow after arrow flew off Rabbit’s bow, towards him. A single bolt pierced his thigh, but still he disappeared into the forest, with Rabbit hot on his trail.

•••

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Ghosting between the tightly packed trees, Rabbit could see the native hunched over in a clearing only a few meters away, oblivious to her approach. She nocked and drew, tip aimed straight at the hapless tribesman. She steadied, evened her breathing, and slowly walked into view. The boy saw her and stiffened.

He clutched his red, weeping leg gingerly. His run had been reduced to a hobble; he could go no further and he knew it. He looked Rabbit dead in the eyes, and drew himself to full height, his stance one of pride and defiance. He was not one of the large ones Rabbit had seen in gulley, and he definitely wasn’t one of the tattooed warriors she had seen in the forest. But neither was he one of the children, small and playful.

But it didn’t matter to Rabbit.

The shaft glided effortlessly across the clearing, burying itself deep into the creature’s neck. The beast let out a shrill wail, before collapsing to the ground, completely still. Rachel stepped toward the body, over the red-stained waters of the creek that snaked its way from the chaos behind her. Whose blood, man or animal had coloured it, Rachel couldn’t be sure, but neither did she care. She touched her fingers to the mortal wound of the thing she had just killed and spread it across her face, forehead to chin. Just like her father.

We can’t be rabbits forever.

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A World Await Hugh Rayner Clet ducked as a holowork exploded next to his ear.

‘Scoria,’ he swore, gesturing rudely at a brace of laughing boys.

‘Watch where you code that firework,’ Strom warned.

One of the boys waved the omniputer that straddled his wrist like a watch in the air. ‘What’s a firework? This is just light and sound, old man.’

Clet’s eyes narrowed. ‘You little—’ Strom grabbed Clet’s arm and forced him to keep walking. ‘Don’t listen to them. You’re in the prime of your life, and we have to get a move on. I won’t be able to hang around for long as it is, and you’ve already taken enough time setting up your damn digitatts.’

‘Should I change them?’ Clet said. He rubbed his hand along a depiction of molten iron flowing down his left arm into a sizzling stream on his wrist. ‘They’re a bit extravagant.’

‘We won’t connect with Earth again in our lifetime. I think you can afford to be extravagant.’ Strom checked his watch,furrowing his permanently creased brow. ‘I knew we’d be late.’

‘Exactly! What if I always remember today as extravagant? What if once we make contact, the Earthers look at me and go, “ridiculous! We don’t want that back. That’s too much.”’

Strom ran his hand over his shaven scalp and hurried his step. ‘I think you’re worrying too much.’

‘Well, I think you worry too much.’ Clet wiggled his fingers at Strom’s utilitarian digitatttoos. ‘And what’s all this? Dull lines and circles. I get that you’re shorter, you don’t have as much to work with, but you can still try.’

‘What do you think the point of tonight is? Just to watch the pre-show? I’m the one checking the Comms tonight, you know that. I don’t want to risk getting stuck at work with some silly tatt of metal falling into a pond.’

Clet’s eyes opened wide and his hands dove for the omniputer on his wrist.

Strom caught Clet by the wrist. ‘I was kidding. They’re fine. Don’t change them now.’

The two walked through one of a million steel alleys lined with a forest of plate-metal buildings. Like vines, buzzing pipes and gangways wove through the structures of New Paris. The two suns fell, one each at their back and front, pulling back the soft purple dusk to reveal dark night.

Clet’s omniputer beeped loudly and the two drew up outside a generic building.

‘Are you going to knock?’ Strom asked.

Clet stood with his fist raised toward the door. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go to the celebration instead?’

‘Our friends are here,’ Strom said, slightly annoyed. ‘You can party some other time.’

Strom banged his hand against the scarred iron door.

‘Scan in,’ a deep voice boomed from within.

‘It’s Clet!’

There was silence from inside.

‘And Strom.’

The door retracted noisily and a large man appeared. He swathed Strom in a fierce hug. ‘Maki and I have been waiting patiently for you to arrive. Come on in!’ He looked at Clet blankly.

‘Not tonight, Jat. I don’t have time for games,’ Strom said. He shrugged off his jacket and walked inside.

Jat patted Clet on the shoulder.

‘Much appreciated,’ Clet said, head peering over Jat’s broad shoulder into the gloom beyond.

‘It’s good to see you, old friend,’ Jat said, voice thick with the deep-miner accent that made every word sound both harsh and warm. ‘You managed to take Strom from his screens at last! Your tatt, it is good.

Mine, not so much.’

Clet inspected the power drills twisting around Jat’s forearms. ‘No, it’s good. It’ll show the Earthers what you’ve been doing.’

Jat grinned and ushered Clet inside.

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‘Hi, Maki,’ Clet said.

A pale girl held up a hand in greeting and brushed a dark sheath of hair from her eyes. She lay entwined with Strom on a couch and didn’t seem to want to move any more than she had to.

A couch slid out from an empty wall as it sensed Clet and Jat entering. Jat sat heavily, absently pulling most of the cushions onto his side. Clet perched on the arm furthest from Jat until the big man pulled him down.

‘Quite done there?’ Strom asked from across the room, his eyebrow raised at Clet trying to disengage himself from Jat’s enthusiasm.

Jat settled. ‘It seems we are not the only ones wrestling tonight!’ he observed in a stage whisper to Clet.

Maki rolled her eyes at him and opened her mouth to say something, but Strom shushed the room.

‘It’s almost time.’ He raised his hand in a strange dance of deft finger rotations and rolls of his wrist. A hologram sprang up in the middle of the room.

Sound exploded from a hologram as it flowered in the centre of the room. ‘And the countdown continues as festivities grow wilder…’

‘Let’s get some drinks, eh?’ Jat suggested. ‘House, please!’

A robot limped into the room, sparking softly.

‘House, a few drinks for my friends and the rest for me. Please.’

‘You say please too? It’s bad enough with Clet doing it,’ Maki said, rolling her eyes.

‘It feels weird if I don’t,’ Clet defended. ‘I drew a face on mine, and he rubs it off and redraws a sad one if I’m not nice to him.’

‘He shouldn’t do that,’ Strom said. His cheeks creased with a frown.

Maki nestled into Strom’s arm. ‘He’s having you on, dorogoy.’

Clet shot to his feet, jabbing a finger into the hologram’s particles. ‘Look! We should be there!’

A giant clock floated in the centre of the room, surrounded by a dark sea of people and shifting digitatts. Every now and then a holowork plumed upward, briefly illuminating the crowd in a flash of coloured light. A presenter loomed over the scene.

‘We break from our coverage of the City Central festivities for a look at just why today is so special…’

The hologram swirled, reforming into a model of planet Bastion.

‘A location almost unlike any other…’

The hologram zoomed in on lush jungles beneath the Bluesun and raw mines by the Redsun.

‘Bastion was to be humanity’s first reach into space. At last, we’d found a planet that was just the right temperature, just the right atmosphere and with more than enough land to share.’

Clet waved his hand, sending the hologram spinning to the roof. ‘Enough of that. History is boring. Is the party on another channel?’

Jat fixed his gaze on Clet. ‘It is our history. It stays on.’

Jat brought his hands up and awkwardly repositioned the hologram, tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth.

‘But then something cataclysmic happened, something completely unforeseen. The magnetic poles reversed and a charged shield cut us off from the universe.’

The hologram exploded and reformed in a diagram of the dual core of Bastion. The simplified magnetic poles joined and a wash of waves crashed from the screen.

‘And the rest, as the Earthers would say, is history. Nothing could leave the planet and nothing could enter.

Not even a simple mining ship, let alone a Comm. And so we waited. Up next, we have a few experts on the Earthers here to speculate on just what’ll happen when the poles realign for a few hours tonight.’

‘I’ve already seen that twice today,’ Clet complained.

Jat wiped a tear from his eye surreptitiously.

‘I’m worried that the Earthers won’t even want us back,’ Maki said, her voice overriding the murmur of the hologram.

‘What do you mean?’ Strom said, brushing a wild strand of dark hair behind Maki’s ear.

‘It’s been three hundred years since the first generation left Earth,’ she said. ‘Imagine how many other colonies there could be by now.’

‘300 years isn’t so long in the run of things.’ Strom slid lower on the couch, almost knocking Maki off.

She pushed herself back up, lying along the curve of his body. ‘Look how far we’ve come in 300 years!

We didn’t have omniputers back then, or even digitatts. Imagine where the Earthers could be.’

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Jat poured the last dregs from a can down his throat and threw it at House. The can clanged into House’s open hand, drawn by a focused magnet. ‘They will like the digitatts.’

‘At least, that’s what the scholars say,’ Strom said. ‘We have no idea if they ever actually wore them.’

‘And by now, they’ve probably stopped,’ Maki said. ‘Do you see what I mean?’

‘Can we even call ourselves a part of the Earthers? We’ve left the mires of Earth behind. Do we even want their struggles? Their wars? There has never been a war here. We’re our own people now and I say we appreciate it…’

Jat threw his head back and laughed. ‘Do we want the Earthers? Better to ask, do they want us?’ Jat laughed again. ‘This fool thinks us better than them!’

‘It’s something to consider,’ Strom said, sipping his drink. He wiped a drop of liquid from the thin line of hair on his upper lip. ‘Who knows what’s happened since we left?’

‘Aliens,’ Clet put in confidently.

Strom quieted the hologram as the room stared at Clet.

Clet held his hands up. ‘Hey, don’t shoot the messenger! What if the first Comm is from an alien? Like, they’ve been watching us, waiting for the magnetic shield to drop.’ He wiggled his fingers menacingly. ‘So they can pounce.’

‘You’re scaring Jat,’ Maki giggled.

‘I am not afraid of anything!’ Jat declared, jumping to his feet.

‘Sit down, now you’re scaring Clet.’ A smile tugged at the corner of Strom’s mouth.

‘Who’s to say that humans haven’t evolved? What if, as Saacas theorised, they actually have put their consciousness onto a digital platform?’

‘Then so will we. We have the technology ready to do it, if need be.’

‘Let’s take a break from our team of experts,’ the anchor returned. ‘Half an hour remains until our very first Comm window, so let’s have a look at what the people of New Paris have been up to tonight…’

‘That’s my cue,’ Strom said, extricating himself from Maki’s arms.

Maki groaned. ‘Can’t you stay? I don’t want to be left here with these two.’

Clet looked indifferent. ‘He has a pretty important job to do.’

‘Clet’s right. I’m going to be the first to check the Comms in hundreds of years,’ Strom said, hands moving animatedly.

‘Please don’t go through the backlog in order. Send us the best ones,’ Maki said.

‘Of course.’ Strom pulled on his jacket. Metallic inlays gleamed down its sleeves, coiling like the roots of a tree—a pattern chosen to resemble predicted Earthtrends.

House guided him to the door, which opened when Strom neared. He stepped into the street. An orange ball of light dropped from above and illuminated his path.

‘To the Commcentre,’ he told the light. It bobbed slightly in acknowledgment.

Strom’s boots rang a steady beat, set against a cacophony of human delight rising from the city centre. A bouquet of lights shone into the night sky, reflecting against the invisible magnetic shield far above.

A rumble tore through the night air. Strom stared up at the source in shock. The First. The first ship to land on Bastion, repaired and still functioning enough to give the world a show. The planet’s oldest relic shook New Paris and disappeared over the horizon.

The hololight stopped abruptly and pulsed blue. Strom slotted his arm into a cavity by the door of a building like a giant, chrome domino. He felt his arm grow warm as a laser worked over his omniputer.

‘Analyst Strom Jacon recognised. Enter—’ Another voice broke over the VI’s. ‘Come in, brother! We have drinks!’

The door slid open. Strom waved his hand and the hololight followed him into the building, picking out a path through cluttered desks and forgotten projects. It led him down the corridor to the right, pausing as he stopped outside a door. He took a deep breath and pushed it open.

A room of analysts welcomed him with cheers.

‘You’re a bit late,’ a small Indian man said. ‘We almost ran out of alcohol.’

‘That’s all right, I’d rather save my drinking for once we’ve pushed through the backlog of Comms.’

The man turned to the analysts. ‘Serious Strom says he doesn’t want to drink! What do we say?’

The dozen or so people in the room turned and booed simultaneously.

‘Suit yourself, Strom. It wouldn’t hurt to relax every now and then.’

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Strom grinned. ‘I’m too excited, Patan. We will be the first to hear a voice from the Earthers in centuries.’

‘I know what you mean, brother,’ Patan nodded sagely. He raised his arms. ‘To stations! Comms open in a few minutes! You all know your assigned order to listen through them, so get to it. Make sure you note the important Comms so we can send them through to Bastion once we’re done.’

Strom walked to his predetermined station. He blew dust from his chair and sat, looking around.

Pillars with various blinking lights played from the floor to the roof. It was ancient technology—there had been no use for the centre since the magnetic shield rose, and no one had bothered to update it.

The hololights above lit the room with a green wash, quietly signalling the fall of the magnetic shield.

Strom’s fingers burst to life, speeding across the glowing keys in front of him. He opened the oldest log, the first in his sequence.

‘You didn’t respond to our last Communication, Bastion. Everything okay out there?.’

‘Boring,’ Strom muttered, cycling through a trove of messages. ‘I’ll go back and do them in order later.’

‘Bastion, this is Home. Please respond.’

He sighed, pushing onward. ‘Come on.’

‘I don’t know what to say, Bastion. Things… are tough here. We’re looking for somewhere to go. You’ll be getting a new generation soon. We just can’t take any more here. I hope you get this.’

Strom kneaded his brow.

‘What am I supposed to say? I’ve never talked to any of you. My dad is sorry he couldn’t be here to talk to you, but he’s sick. I… hope things are okay there. We’ve identified a few other worlds, but they’re a while away.

We’re running out of a lot of things. Space, time, resources, patience. I don’t know what’ll run out first, but I hope I’m not here to see it happen. Good luck.’

Strom put his head in his hands and kept flicking through the Comms. His exuberance waned as he read on, noticing as the time between each message grew longer. He skipped to the end, finger pausing above the play button. He looked around at the other analysts. They were still smiling and drinking. Strom rolled the date back.

‘I think this is it, Bastion. I’m leaving, at last. I got a flight on a ‘rate rigger off this junkworld. I just hope I make it past the blockade. They aren’t letting anyone out until “the situation is resolved”. We’re trapped like rats on a sinking ship.’

The next recording was the second to last. A new voice.

‘This is Commander Peters. Bastion, it’s been sixty years since we last heard from you, a couple hundred since you left. If you’re still out there, I’m sorry. It’s costing us too much to keep this line open and we need every resource we have to keep the lid on things here.’ A pause. ‘You’re on your own. I’m sorry.’

One recording remained, almost one hundred years past the last. Strom ignored an incoming message from Maki on his omniputer and closed his eyes.

A child’s voice: ‘What’s this?’

Someone older: ‘I’m not sure, James. We need to keep moving.’

‘I want to play.’

‘It’s just an old Communicator. I don’t even know where it’d go to.’

‘Fine,’ said the child.

Strom stared at his omniputer as the last recording faded into a crackle. He looked up, fingers rubbing his temples. The other analysts were looking grimmer than before, but still very pleased with themselves. Patan released a holowork that swum around the room and exploded near a female analyst, revealing his number glowing in the air.

‘Very funny,’ she said, rolling her eyes. She pressed in a pair of ear plugs.

Strom clenched his fists, taking a final furtive glance at the room. Then he deleted the last two messages.

His fingers danced without conviction. He leaned into his omniputer.

‘Bastion, things are getting better here,’ he began. ‘Repairs… have been slow to say the least, but they are being made. One day, we hope to meet in the stars, but for now stay where you are. You’re your own world.’

Strom leaned back in his chair, his eyes wet. He thought of his friends. He thought of the planet, waiting. He thought of another planet burning, one he’d never seen. He held the omniputer to his lips.

‘We’re proud of you, Bastion.’

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Grand Southern Hounds Mitchell Metcalfe Foot placement faltered; one step caught up behind another. He’d fallen off the edge. 1,000 feet diving into a granite-sandstone abyss, toppling over boulder chips and small trees—encouraging erosion, filling the pit.

Taking it all down, back into its godly crater. Inheriting carnal foresight of the exotic deadly dance; hurtling towards certain death; the gorge consumed another body. It was the last anyone saw of him. *** Reserved and shy, Cain occupy’s his own attention, biding the time. Regularly caught lolling on, mumbling nonsense expressions, attempting to contribute to otherwise busy conversations. Often, his speech patterns sway with varying emotion. Some think it to be a sinister glint of underlying murderous intention; most dismiss it as odd and awkward behaviour. Short of comfort, daring to expand the zone in which he laid for so long. An opportunity to finally do something great and seek adventure was finally within reach.

Mustering sordid courage, arriving at the Southern Rim entrance was an eventual completion of the long haul,. Coming to a stop at the glass booth barricade, he was greeted kindly by the park’s ticketing officer.

Smiling, his reservation papers were returned, and again came the roaring of the broken-down engine. As he careened back onto the forest-track lined road, blinded as the sunset reflected off the car’s dash.

Put off by galloping elk alongside. The asphalt moved into a 45-degree bend, hiding the car jolting in the opposite lane, crushing the side panel and sending its wheels askew. Unknowingly, the blackout occurred and like a surgeons blade a Sequoia’s trunk opened up the rust bucket of a vehicle’s bonnet down the middle.

It was some time until he awakened to the alarming voice of an EMT.

Slight padding from the back of a hand nestled his cheek. A slap caused a rush of blood and pain to wake the nerves and regain consciousness. Reviving in the back of an ambulance, mere feet from the crash site, Cain mulled over its incidental reality, not knowing if the blackout occurred before or after. Both dangerous outcomes.

Pain rocked up his left collar-bone, but the attending nurse assured him it was nothing more than a bruise.

Death had been cheated, brushed aside, with a pushing desire to carry on.

Politely reluctant, he refused. Too much was at stake. Time and money had been poured into this weekend adventure. He’d now left behind a rudimentary life, something others always blindly believed he had purported. Backing out was a cowards option, something he wasn't willing to take.

Police services were now on scene. Courteously, they escorted Cain to front reception, checking him into his cabin. Strung up in a sling with assorted pain meds in pocket, and feeling lucky to be alive, he collected the printed reservation papers, making headway for cabin B14. Promised to be within walking distance, the road quickly made its way off-track onto a dirt path towards a beaten bungalow. Isolated and surrounded by dying flora, Cain got spinal chills from the uninviting vibe and eerie forest draughts. Arriving closer into better view, a light shone briefly through a dirtied glass window. Opening the door and moving inside, he found bags scattered around one of the double beds. Occupied, somebody was already inside.

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Surely reception would have notified him of a roommate? His sonorant mind explored the idea of a mistake on the booking. He laid his tattered duffel bag down on the second, naked mattress. Scantily rummaging while scanning the knotted planks of the rafters, he hastily glared beyond the rooms to confront who or what dwelled within. Convinced, he decided there was no sign of any residents. Tired, beaten around the head and run-down from the day, Cain crawled onto the bed with no further hesitation. If a roommate were to return, potential dilemmas that arrised would be debated then and there.

A creak came from rusty door hinges, followed by a slam. There stood a man, with a woman cradled in his arms. Passing the nonchalant sleeper, the two newcomers stood in silence. With growing intensity and becoming intimate; the two began making noises that only two pairs of lips could make. Interrupted, before the scene escalated, both were startled by the loud clearing of Cain’s throat.

He had made friends indeed. A restless problem upfront. Doubt stirred in his mind, and Cain knew that sleep for the next week would be somewhat confrontational and disturbing. Embarrassed by his intrusion, Abe left the cabin with the no-name friend, mending peace with his soon-to-be roommate.

Morning arrived, eliminating the previous night’s awkwardness. Dissuaded yet determined, Cain decided to remain static around the National Park's scenic gorge, but he was muzzled by the realisation that an entire day and a half had eventuated in what seemed like so little time. A burning sensation of embarrassment sunk into Cain's forehead for wasted time, and he was persuaded to make the most of what was left.

Then came the contemplation of breakfast. It seemed a logical and sensible nutrition idea. He headed onroute to the Lodge’s Buffet, with everything included. Nothing resplendent or atypical of this area beset him as paying it forward. Disappointment stung the air. Isolated in a crowded environment, flicking through his phone, moseying through lifeless Facebook feeds. A situation arose and coiled up inside him, ailing as an odd predicament. Abe had sent him a friend request. Strangely enough, a last name wasn’t given to him.

Perhaps reception had notified him beforehand? Or he’d noticed it on one of his luggage tags? The bunking situation was awkward enough, things needn’t to be any worse. What slim choice did Cain have but to accept it?

Taking in the day’s events, spending most of it alone wandering through forests and exploring the gorges, it was inevitable that he would run into Abe and his friend, revealed to be named Melissa. The young couple playfully grabbed back and forth, intertwining hands. Unbearable to a modest gentleman, but they stood there young with smiles, drunk on each other. Both declared they'd ventured through a hiking trek and were on their way to see the sun set on one of the cliff's viewing platforms. With nothing better to do, Cain followed along.

Along pristine ridges, the sky had begun to dim. Clean air was plentiful and the altitude heightened their altered reality: on top of the world. It was but one of seven natural wonders, and being in company was comforting as they chose to drink deeply from it. Picking footsteps became tricky, dark skies enveloping coincided with an ever-increasing roughness of the rocks. Grand foliage moved the group outward.

Occurring with frequency, dangerous steps became difficult. As balancing along the cliff's edge, the slipping of shoe soles were become far and few. Vividly, it then happened.

Out of nowhere, without hesitation or warning, the sound of tumbling rocks coupled with the inhuman screams of Abe falling deep into the gorge below. Feeling useless, both did nothing but watch on in horror as he fell. ***

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It took hours for rescue services to arrive. Cain was unable to comprehend why it took them an additional 10 to have answers on his missing roommate. After all, the cliff-face was an almost dead drop. Perhaps he'd rolled into a river nearby. Thoughts of potential survival raced, questioning decisions—had he influenced this horror? Unsure what could be done, and checking off with police questioning, he made his way back to cabin B14 in pitch black to mull things over. With physical tiredness and little peace, the small chance of sleep eventually came.

Morning greeted him with the sounds of wildlife around the site. Strange, Cain didn't recall ever falling asleep last night—and in retrospect it was for the best. Yet, the shock of yesterday's fiasco still lingered cruelly. Almost mockingly. A day of discipline behind solid walls was necessary. After all, his phone had enough reception to provide some entertainment.

Flicking through Facebook feeds that remained untouched for mere hours, curiosity rose as to what profile notifications awaited. Did his family or friends know? A search performed in the friends list turned up nothing in results. Abe's profile had disappeared altogether.

Was it intentional? Could this be an explainable coincidence? More questions ran thick, and spread over the course of that night. A conclusion came to mind. The friend, Melissa. She must know something. There must be a record of her staying here.

Hurriedly, Cain made his way over to front reception, to interrogate the clerk behind the counter.

"I need to know if you have a resident staying in any of the lodges by the name of Melissa? I... uh... don't have a last name."

"Sir, I can't reveal this information. It violates our clientele confidentiality."

"You don't understand. This is a matter in which the courts could be involved. That man, who fell over the cliffs yesterday. Abe... again... I don't have a last name."

"Sir, if this is in relation to an investigation, then the order needs to come from the proper authorities."

"I need to speak with your manager now. Do you what you have to do and call them down here."

Rolling her eyes, assembling a half-exaggerated and sarcastic expression, she left the front office unattended to make the requested phone call. An inconvenience for her, but an opportunity to strike arose.

Ensuring that no eyes were on guard, Cain rapidly flicked through what spread of evidence was available. It was all too easy. A folder of all current room bookings lay on top. Running his finger down the list, her name was there: “Melissa”. cabin 42D. Acting quickly, he dashed from the lodge and immediately made way for her location to start the inquisition. Spying just further ahead, he scanned to ensure no one had followed. Approaching the door, its handle spun slightly and opened before he extended his own hand. An unrecognisable woman emerged.

"Yes? Can I help you? You looked rushed."

"I... uh... no..."

Impossible. She was not the woman he was looking for.

"Is your name Melissa?"

"Yes..."

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Anxious and sweaty, hesitating, his feet shuffling among leaves. Stumbling out of there - as fast as possible.

Not looking back on the confused woman. A piece of this picture was missing. Nothing added up. Confusion surrounded every new corner.

Attempting to suppress a panic attack, Cain felt faint, and grabbed a tree trunk, gasping for air. Now swaying towards the earth, a hand followed by a stranger’s arms reached out to hold him. Too late.

Blackness encroached. *** He was rudely awakened by a knock on the door. Morning light filtered through linen curtains, creeping onto his chest, edging to answer the stranger’s request. Realising he was back in cabin 14B now, he slowly moved towards its entrance. Perfect morning tranquillity evoked the reality of a dream.

Cautiously opening the wooden door, a man turned around. It was Abe. “Hi! I... ahh... was looking for my cabin. They said I would have a roommate. You must be Cain!”

In shock, he felt as though he was waiting for someone to step in and stop this cruel prank. He had to get out of here—the spacious wilderness was driving him mad.

Pushing past the man who shouldn’t be there, he darted for a rental vehicle in designated car parking. Just his luck: a car’s door was open, and a small window of time while it was temporarily vacated. Its keys were tucked away in the visor. This was the movie cliché getaway of the century. There was no time to gather belongings and check out. One’s gift of sanity was priceless. Pulling out of the driveway and howling back down the track. Finally, he’d found a sense of freedom. Like things could go back to the way they were.

Being able to get away faster, with every increasing mile on the speedo, panic shed from his worrisome soul.

Along a familiar bend leaped out an old friend: the elk. Instinct kicked in. Swerving to avoid another death, the bonnet hit oncoming traffic. *** “Officer Chiffres, do you have a moment?” called the onsite EMT. “Yes, how’s the driver? Will he make it?”

“He passed away five minutes ago, but it looks like the victim in the car he hit will pull through just fine.”

“We’ll gather details to notify family. Did you manage to get an ID on the one in recovery?”

“We have a wallet right here. It’s a… Mister Abe Meredith.”

“It seems he was headed for a five-day cabin retreat at the Bright Angel Lodge further up.”

“Strangely enough, he was also to be bunked with the one who didn’t make it.” The EMT pawed through the reservation papers.

“Odd things happen in odd ways,” replied Officer Chiffres, turning back towards the body to see what sense could be made of the horrific crash.

The World’s Best Story Hugh Rayner Once upon a time, in a village so far away you wouldn’t believe me, there was a child. Now, you might be wondering what exactly is important about this child. Did he grow up to do great things? Was his village special? Was it burned to the ground, and did he set out into the world for revenge?

The answer to most of these questions is no. His village was so like every other village ever that it hurt the child. However, the child had a single respite from the tedium of life - the village story-teller. This hoarder of knowledge was called Graeme.

The first time he met Graeme, the boy was but six years of age. He walked straight into the middle of Graeme’s story-ground and planted himself there like a curious thorn.

He asked, ‘What is your best story?’

Graeme smiled a sly smile. He had stories that would make a boy cheer for joy, or cry to his mother.

He had a story that would make the boy afraid of the dark, another that would make the boy laugh. With all these and more, Graeme knew he could entertain the boy. He told his simplest first, but the boy just nodded and left.

The boy came back the next day and Graeme told another story. The boy considered it, chewed his lip and left. For a year and a day he visited Graeme, until the story-teller had but a single story left. Graeme had meant to keep it to himself, for it was his greatest story and he didn’t want to share it. Yet, he was impatient with the boy and so he told it.

The boy tapped his finger against his chin. ‘That was good. But I think there is better.’

He turned his back to Graeme and put all the things he needed to live in a pack. He travelled the world in search of the best story. He had his inn burned to the ground while he slept. He was shipwrecked, robbed, stabbed. The boy fought in a war for a king he didn’t know, wandered the land and asked all he happened upon for the best story they knew. Yet, everywhere he went, he was met only with great stories.

After long, lonely years on the road the disheartened young man sat by the side of a crooked dirt track by an old man with a great beard of white.

The story-seeker turned to the old man. ‘Do you have a story for me?’ he said without hope. ‘I have been searching for many years for a story beyond all others.’

The old man grinned a cracked and sly grin. ‘’Tis yours that is the greatest. The boy who travelled the world in search of the story.’

‘You’re wrong,’ the young man said, shaking his head. ‘I’ve thought on this, and that isn’t the answer.’

The old man nodded wisely, as though expecting this answer. ‘In that case, think on the stories you’ve heard the most. These are surely the greatest.’

‘No, grandfather,’ the young man said sadly. ‘For those have become boring.’

‘Then,’ the old man smiled again, ‘you have been misled. You have been searching for a story that is the best, when what you should have been looking for is why a story is.’

The young man’s face became cast in depression. ‘If what you say is true, old man, then I am more worried than ever. I have wasted the best years of my life in search of false hope.’

‘No, not false. Just misplaced. The greatest story is the one that we carry with ourselves. It is the human story, the threads of which you have spent your life collecting. The stories you have heard the most are thus because they hold the greatest truths. Those that resonated with you did so because they spoke of human nature. Each story is a part of the whole, and you know all the stories.’

The young man sat silently for a moment, considering what the old man had said. The day turned to night and still neither spoke. At long last, the young man stirred from thought.

‘Then I must write the greatest story.’

The young man leapt to his feet, hoisting his pack and thanking the old man. He set off for the second time. Graeme waved until the young man was gone over the hill.

He stroked his great beard. ‘What else could you do?’

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SAMUELSSAPIENS

November Issue 2

Samuel’s Sapiens Written by Kathy Mei

Photography by Samuel Regi

Disclaimer: Samuel's Sapiens with Kathy Mei is not a space that credits the fashion sense of the high flying fashionistas, (There are too many people already doing that). The personification that makes our everyday space unique, is the mundane sense of style of normal people.

There's something unique about every person. Through these photos we’re trying to shed some light on that uniqueness lost in the midst of all the mundanity. The description is entirely based on the moment; personified by the image; the stance, the pose, the attire, the attitude, even the background plays an important role in our the storytelling process. The whole story is likely false. A confident lady could be a very shy creature, but by illustrating a bold flash of her life we're highlighting a moment. A moment in which she's an upbeat person, and that’s what’ we’re about.

For this issue, we’re tackling great boots at UQ.

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“Hey, are you taking a photo of me?”

Just another casual day sitting by a tree in the great court. We spotted her in a tee and some trackies. This woman may seem merely ‘casual’, however, the backpack and the boots suggest that she may be into hiking and outdoor sports.

The French beret gives the outfit a feminine touch whilst the shades make her just a little more mysterious. One may think that she doesn’t like the idea of having her photo taken, but I think she’s just taken by surprise.

If you want to go for a mixed look, this is your gal!

Why hello there, Little Miss Cheeky, care for a photo?

Look at her, instantly smile or giggle. The pout and the pose – so confident! She chooses to opt for the cuddly, wise considering the freezing weather. Who said UGG boots are slippers and aren’t meant for outside wear? Clearly they haven’t seen this girl yet. The denim jacket adds an edgy touch to the otherwise relaxed attire, and the accessorised glasses give her look the winning touch.

Very sassy!

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Just due in from the beach there, Sir? I am loving this deliberate dishevelled look.

The run down tee, crinkled jeans, and worn down leather boots match with the finishing touch: a draped plaid shirt hanging over his shoulder bag. But the socks are what stands out in his outfit most and it provides the focal point - needed in any outfit – one hell of a combo! His hair suggests that he could’ve just gotten up out of bed or almost like he doesn’t give a hissay, or has he just rolled off an exotic island.

Either way, bravo!

Back in black (lightning symbol) Looking very studious indeed, it’s hard to pull off looking cool and chill while studying like this guy. Dressed in all black, I am guessing it’s his personal preference, which is a great choice black is a never dying shade, just like white. He definitely isn’t your average looking student: the earphones, the hair, the moe, and even the tattoo make you think he may be into rock music, or old cars and stereos, however the boots really do suggest more to him than clichés.

An effortless and polished job, Mr. Black!

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Lonely Hearts with Lady Catherine and The Night-hawk *Real name withheld so as not to compromise current or future missions. Especially not the Geneva incident.

Dear Lonely Hearts, I love my boyfriend Reginald, but I think he is stealing from me. Every time he comes over any cash I have in my wallet or anywhere goes missing, and the next day he turns up with a new polo shirt from Ralph Lauren. I think he might have a Ralph Lauren addiction, and I’m starting to feel like a personal ATM. What do I do?

- Suddenly Poor Dear, Suddenly Poor Darling, let’s take a minute to assess here. While polo shirts are a necessity, you should be with someone who is buying you Ralph Lauren. Out of curiosity how much cash do you have in your wallet? I’m not sure if you’re aware, darling, but Ralph Lauren polos are not bought with the spare change you find at the bottom of the couch. Perhaps there’s a bigger issue at hand here. Stealing or not, there are two major flaws in your relationship: the first being that he obviously doesn’t dote on you nearly enough; the second being, and here we get to the real crux of the matter, that there is of course the possibility he’s sourcing his income from somewhere else—how much time does he spend digging around in other ladies couches, I ask you? My advice, take a moment to reassess if he is the kind of man that can bring home the bacon at the end of the day.

- Lady Catherine

-

Suddenly Poor: Sounds like you’ve managed to bag yourself a grade A douche there. The polo shirts should be your first clue that this guy is not worth your time – do polo shirts hold up well in a knife fight? No they do not. Will they provide sufficient protection while running through a Guatemalan jungle? From personal experience I can tell you that is a hard no. This “man” clearly doesn’t deserve your time. You have only one option open to you: Steal back your money, cut off all contact, and vanish from his life. The best way to do this is to gain access to his house while he is sleeping, take back your money, delete all evidence of your time together (photographs, emails, text messages, EVERYTHING), move house, and vanish from his life (Bonus points: cut the Ralph Loren logo from each of his shirts and scatter them over his sleeping form). South America is excellent at this time of the year, and has a sensible policy on multiple gun-ownership.

- Night Hawk

Dear Lonely Hearts, My boyfriend has had to move to Minsk for science. I love him, but he will be gone for two years, and I’m finding a long distance relationship really hard. Can long distance relationships work, or should we end it now before we both get our hearts broken?

Russian to Him Dear, Russian to Him Your title seems to suggest that you’ve already made up your mind here: you’re determined to be with him no matter what, but regardless of long distance relationships and all that hassle, allow me to come at the situation from a more practical standpoint.

When we’re young life is all fun and games, roses, rainbows, and butterflies. I know that my experience Scribble&Scribe

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with my own doting husband was always thus—but let’s face it, dear, not everyone can experience the kind of all-consuming passion that we do on a day to day basis. Ask yourself, darling, is this the life that you foresee? If not, then let me tell it to you as straight as I can: are you prepared to live a life of relative poverty? Science does not the millionaire make, my dear. Imagine your life in dreary Minsk as you slave away looking after your seventeen children, all the while he comes home at the end of a long science day, only to tell you that his grant has fallen through. Are you sure you can handle that kind of commitment?

Lady Catherine

-

Russian To Him: Russia is an excellent choice for any up and coming young person at the moment. With a glorious and strong leader (not to mention in possession of a raw, masculine, sexuality), a sensible government model, and a “can do” attitude, this is the country for you. Forget the relationship, this boyfriend will only hold you down on your rise to the top of the Russian mafia. This is an opportunity for you. Pack your bags, prepare your liver, and get over there.

- Night Hawk

Dear Lonely Hearts, I’m really short on money, and have just been offered a job at a reputable exotic dance parlour in the city. I never thought I would be a stripper, but the pay is really good, and I am about to run out of money, and I can’t find any other job. What should I do?

Could be Candy Dear, Could be Candy My dear, I feel it comes to down to me to set you upon the true and righteous path—exotic dancing is not the life a lady of luxury leads. On your feet all night, likely to catch hypothermia from your lack of attire, terrible skin control from wearing cosmetics, all of these are detrimental to the health and position of a true lady. Of course it’s exciting and presents the possibility to find yourself as an independent woman in the world, and certainly it’s a path we’ve all at least considered once or twice in our lifetimes, but is it what is right for you, my dear?

Ask yourself, what does it mean to be a woman in this day and age? What position should we rightfully acquire? Certainly, yes, the parlours present a certain mystique, a certain excitement that we all crave in our lives, and who can say they haven’t on occasion given in to such temptations? Who hasn’t taken to the stage with their cosmetics and their lack of clothing, hypothermia be damned!? Who among us can truly assert that they haven’t felt the thrill of performing live for money? Who hasn’t felt the desire to keep raking in the cash, exploiting the desperate whims of others? But, alas, my dear, this is the world we must shy away from. These are the temptations to which we must truly say, “not today!”, turning our backs to those that would entrap us in positions so lowly of our birth. For we are women of the modern world, and we must act as such! We must, after all, at the cost of dear life itself, be respectable.

Lady Catherine

Could Be Candy: Pole dancing is an excellent way to gain core and upper-body strength. Combine this with weight lifting, martial arts, and protein shakes, and you will be a force to be reckoned with. Also, dealing with seedy people and knowing your way around a strip club is always good preparation for life.

Keep up with your studies, focus on the gains, and let the money roll in.

- Night Hawk

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Dear Lonely Hearts, My parents have always wanted me to be a philosopher, and pushed me to make it my major, but I have always dreamt of doing a business degree. How do I make them understand that my heart lies in the world of numbers and mergers, and not with Aristotle or Plato? I know they are really concerned for my artistic soul, but I just want to make money and have a stable future. How do I tell them?

Get me out of the Cave Dear, Get me out of the Cave My darling you’re making the best possible decision for yourself! In the words of ABBA, “Money, money, money, must be funny in a rich man’s world”. Are you a rich man, my dear? Don’t throw away all your chances of a stable adulthood on the mere whims of a philosophy degree! How will philosophy feed you, clothe you, make you fulfilled? Will Aristotle himself rise from the grave in order to give you shelter and comfort? I think not! And how will you make any kind of living in this line of work then? What real practicality can there be to a degree that deals in fancy and abstract ideas? Did Plato work the 10 hour Christmas shift in retail? Did Aristotle ever have to re-shelve the toy aisle after hordes of screaming and sticky children tore their way through it? Ask yourself these questions and see all that a business degree can lend to your future! See yourself as the CEO of a multi-million dollar company! Envisage the indoor Jacuzzi and the gold chandeliers hanging from your high-ceilings which are miraculously spotless though you’ve not cleaned a day in your life since you graduated university! See all these things and more which you can accomplish with a real, and truly practical degree! Free yourself from the bonds of the old, archaic way of your parents! Do what you must to survive and thrive in this cruel world, and let not the temptations of those that do not know the modern world dissuade you! From the lips of Madonna herself: we are all material girls, and we are indeed living in a material world.

- Lady Catherine

Get Me Out of The Cave: Neither of these is a viable option. Don’t follow your heart, don’t follow your parents, follow the lead of your gun-sights.

- Night Hawk

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Dear Lonely Hearts, Last month I wrote in for advice on how to ask a girl in my engineering class out. I took Lady Catherine’s advice, and sang “If Tomorrow Never Comes” while strewing rose petals, and playing a slide-show of our baby-photos (I even had one of what child would look like if you merged our faces!). I was worried it might be a tad over the top, but after I was forcibly removed by security, questioned by the school psychiatrist, and banned from attending that class, she told me it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and now we have a date! Since your last advice worked so well, where should I take her on our first date?

She’s My Only One Dear, She’s My Only One Well done, my dear! I’m so glad to hear that everything is rosy for you! Now that you’ve snapped up the love of your life, there is just one sure-fire way to keep her: you have to give her the most spectacular, incredible, and life changing first date she’s ever experienced. If you need a little help, darling, here’s what I suggest: first of all, we know from every romantic film ever, that the best setting for a first date is in a restricted garden. Steal keys, climb hedges, say “whoopsy-daisy” if and when you fall—she’ll find you both exciting and adorable.

Never mind if you get arrested for trespassing, today is the day for true love to prevail! Next, set up the most stunning picnic she’s ever seen. Lots of chilled wine, floating golden orbs, violinists (one of whom should have the illusion of being on fire, if possible, a metaphor for your burning desire), “engineer” some way of releasing doves at the perfect, strategically planned time. It should be just as you lean in for that fateful first kiss! The sky is no limit for the first date, my dear, go above and beyond!

Make sure there are millions of colourful pillows and rugs, the stars should all come out to celebrate your love, and if all goes well you’ll be able to count the shooting stars together. You’ll toast to your future happiness, laugh and then look coyly into each other’s eyes, and at the end of the night you’ll leave each other so unsatisfied but wanting more. This is the perfect first date, my dear, follow my formula here and you will not fail! Good luck!

- Lady Catherine

She’s My Only One: NO! ABORT! ABORT! Lady Catherine is crazy, and I am concerned about you. This is an insane plan, and somehow worse than your initial proposal.

You need to take a hard look at your life. People don’t bring happiness, skill with a gun brings happiness. Do you know how long the average life span of a glock 22 is? A hell of a lot longer than the average human life. A gun will never give you up, will never let you down, can’t physically run around, or desert you. This girl is clearly also crazy if she was willing to associate herself with you after your ludicrous display, and you need to be moving away from the crazy, not running at it with open arms and a ridiculous smile on your face. Forget restricted gardens, burning violins, and throbbing hearts. What you need now is distance, a shooting range, and a long hard look at your life.

- Night Hawk

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RAGESPACE

November Issue 2

Etticut with Sampson the Goat Edition 2: An open letter to Sleezy Samantha a woman who breathes too heavily.

Dear Sleezy Samantha, DON’t don’t DO not with your bad odor get into my personal space again. Never ever breathe on me like that again. No one should ever have to feel the gentle caress of the steamy breath of someone else on his or her face. Your mouth wind should stay in your mouth. And if you must exhale please vacate a radius between yourself and I in which you are not breathing on my goddam neck. What’s that I should respect my elders?

You’re 39 and you’re in an undergraduate degree. Which is fine. But, don’t come smothering me just because you’re 18 year old doesn’t love you anymore because of your crooked teeth. Maybe if you brushed once in a while he might hug you. So stay out of my personal space. Maybe the reason you haven’t experienced love is because of your inability to keep your distance. Spitting and breathing on everyone.

Have you ever wondered why the goat sits on the other side of the room?

That’s right it’s me, I’m the only goat in your tute. Every tute I’m going to sit on the opposite side of the room, I’ll sit next to the tutor if I have to.

Anything so I don’t have to be in your group. I’ll be in her group; maybe I’ll learn something. All I know is I’m not going sit next you, puff the asthmatic dragon. Nuh uh.

Sleezy Samantha, why don’t you brush your teeth either? Why are you so absent of consciousness that on a day when you didn’t brush your teeth you went breathing on people? I’m a goat, I get it, we don’t have toothbrushes. But, I brush my teeth on some bristles and then I don’t go breathing on people. Even if a person with white fucking teeth were to breathe on me, I’d say “don’t fucking breathe on me”. If the Colgate yeti was to breathe on me, I’d be like “could you fucking not, Colgate yeti”. Yet here you are with you exasperating your herpies you probably caught in the 80’s, and looking upset when I ask for some personal space. I hope you cried. I hope you went home, and your three kids didn’t even care cause they were too busy with their iphones.

BAH! MUTHAFUCKA!

Sincerely, Sampson the Goat.

Scribble&Scribe

47

COMICS

November Issue 2

 Scribble&Scribe

48

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