Issue 9, Volume 57

THARUNKA UNSW STUDENT PUBLICATION

ISSUE EIGHT

VOLUME 57

In this Issue: Troubles at Nura Gili, Non-Fiction Essay Competition Winner, Religion & Modernity?, A Trip to the Caucusus and more.

Editorial Dear UNSW, Welcome to the belated Arts Week Edition of Tharunka!

Excitement is abound in the Blockhouse about the revitalisation of our magazine for next year. Changes have been passed to the Tharunka Charter which will see three editors backed up by two paid journalists from the Journalism and Media Research Centre.

From next year, what will this mean for you, beloved readers?

- More student relevant content, with campus developments being investigated, scrutinised and debated in our magazine.

- Greater accountability of those elected to the editorship to their roles. Editorial teams will be reduced from five to three members which has proven to be the number of functional editors over the past few years.

- Guaranteed content for each edition of the magazine coming from the paid journalists, not diminishing the capacity for the editorial team to publish our student body’s best contributions.

But fortunately enough there are still a few editions to come for this year, so make sure you get your Arts Week nostalgia out this week in Tharunka. We have the long awaited winner of the Tharunka nonfiction writing competition “Do You Have Emotions?

Strangle Them” by Justin Wolfers, the winner of the Unsweetened fiction category “Janus Face” by Camilla Palmer, a thoughtful piece on religion by Andre Teh, a homage to Woody Allen by Kylar Loussikian and much more.

Read away, you know there’s not much better to do, Until next time, Tharunka Editorial

i Comments & Letters j

Contents Regulars Comments & Letters Short List Reviews Lizzette the Agony Aunt OB Reports Readings Inclusion of Staff and Students in University Governance Do You Have Emotions?

Opinion: London Riots A White Man in the Caucuses My One Regret in Life is that I Am Not Someone Else Don’t Know Much About Religion

03 05 26 30 31 09 10 12 14 16 21

Fiction Enska Fyrirlestur Janus Face

18 19

Images Lens Life The White Cockatoo Warming Cycle

08 13 24

Editorial Team Kylar Loussikian, Cameron McPhedran, Elizabeth Stern Designer Cara Mia Maritz Cover Design Aaron Anderson Contributors Joan Ross, Sue Pedley, Stella Rosa McDonald, Izabela Pluta, Patricia Assad, Suchita Mathur, Robyne Pacey, Henar Perales, Justin Wolfers, Kristyn Glanville, Leigh Rigozzi, Jack Jelbart, Kylar Loussikian, Katherine Buchan, Camilla Palmer, Andre Teh, Aaron Anderson, Else Kennedy, Irina Belsky, Tom Grant, Liz Stern, Jen Mclean Contact tharunka@arc.unsw.edu.au PO Box 173, Kingsford, NSW, 2032 Office Level 1 Blockhouse, Lower Campus.

Office Hours: Tuesday 3 - 5 pm.

Tharunka acknowledges the traditional custodians of the land on which the University now stands.

Tharunka is published periodically by Arc @ UNSW. The views expressed herein are not necessarily the views of Arc, the Representative Council or the Tharunka editing team.

No No No No No No! Words fail me, Rabbits! Doodlegate handwriting experts believe that the handwriting reveals Philip Ronald Gus Gould is intense, secretive, ambitious, and highly intelligent.

That’s basic simple stuff! That’s absolutely dis-gus-ting! I honestly can’t believe what we have just witnessed! Why on earth therefore is he wasting his time and his effort being the head National Rugby League television commentator on Channel Nine and the head coach of the Penrith Panthers “Chocolate Soldiers” National Rugby League team? Don’t start me, Rabbits! Is he after his own statue in Junee? Why isn’t Phil Gus Gould Prime Minister Of Australia? Or NSW State Premier? Why isn’t he doing good deeds for the local community like the abolition of Queensland? No, No No No No No!!

Yours on the Sideline, Jane Wallace In Australia, England is known as “The Mother Country” and not Russia.

However, England “The Old Dart” has now become “The Planet of the Apes”.

In the new “War Of The Roses”, “The Pommies” are fighting “The Chooms”.

England,”the old enemy”, is dying of old age, psychotic schizophrenia, soap deprivation, borderline personality disorder, boredom, new government legislation, and itself. The “Whore House Of Europe” is mentally ill!

Too much soap and water in summer does not make British people happy neither in Great Britain nor in the United Kingdom.

The English or “Pommie Bastards” are now living by the old Irish saying: if you meet a good “Pommie,” shoot it before it goes bad. How can Australia look up to “a mother country” like Britain or Great Britain or England or whatever ?

Australia deserves to become a republic with a new flag, a new national anthem and a new head of state right now.

Aussie! Aussie! Aussie! Oi! Oi! Oi! The 2012 Summer Olympic Games should be in Sydney instead of London. The summer either doesn’t exist or is unknown in England or its civil war season in the British Isles!

Yours Choomfully, Jane Wallace

i Comments & Letters j The world is broke and bitter. The world is just rat’s meat. Italy, USA, Spain, Ireland, Portugal, Greece and other European Countries are dead broke, dead bankrupt and debt ridden. Sports and wars are everywhere for all districts, countries and regions. Egypt, England, Libya, Syria, Yemen, and other Middle East countries have civil wars. Christianity is at war with Muslims. Conservatives are at war with liberals. The world economy, the world environment and the world’s future is dead and buried. Nothing much to worry about, really.

Yours fraternally Jane Wallace How is life treating you? Are you feeling bitter and dry in today’s world? Is it like you haven’t found the meaning of life?

Don’t even start looking for life’s meaning because life has no meaning whatsoever.

Life is an absurdity. Life is meaningless.

Life is earning, learning, and yearning.

Life is but sorrow!

All the meaningless things we do to give meaningless meaning to our meaningless lives. Who cares about whatever goal you might achieve in life.

So what??? Humans are just viruses to the surrounding world. In the end, life is all for nothing!!! Always be positive, optimistic, and futuristic in life! Never be negative, pessimistic .and backward looking! The past is dead! Enjoy the works of all the great men who have lived such as William Shakespeare, Pablo Picasso, Geoffrey Chaucer, Michelangelo, Leonardo Da Vinci, Jesus Christ, John Howard, Julia Gillard, and all the rest. Enjoy all their masterpieces.

The best thing is to make the most of what you got. Enjoy your life while you can. As long as you don’t hurt anybody, do the most to enjoy your life. You have only got one life. Life is but a blink of an eye lost in the eternity of time. Life can make you blind if you look at life wrongly in an awesome, dodgy, and extremist way!

Life is but a party. You come after it starts and you leave before it end. Life is but one male’s pinch on one girl’s bum in the swingers party of time, because, when life it is gone, is ARRIVEDERCI ROMA!!!!

When you have kicked the bucket, there

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is just an endless eternal void. That is my philosophy anyway, and my way of life. I cannot be more clear than that.

Yours fraternally, Jane Wallace Us Liberal National voters cannot understand the logic of the mass media and the Labor Party. Us Liberal Voters don’t want Federal Government currently as the world and the world economy are extremely bad news, yet the mass media continually talks up the Liberal National Party Coalition in glowing, positive optimistic terms and continually talks down the Labor Party Federal Government in pessimistic negative terms. What for?

The mass media even conducts opinion polls where the Liberal National Party continually slaughters, wallops and beats the Labor Party extremely easily.

What for? The mass media even demands federal elections to put the Liberal National Party into Federal Government by electoral landslides or huge wins. What for? Why on earth would the Liberal National Party want to be the federal government immediately or as soon as possible??? What for?

The world economic and financial outlook is extremely bleak, extremely weak, extremely negative, extremely miserable and extremely pessimistic, especially in Europe and in United States of America. Having Federal Government at this present time now would just be a pathetic booby prize for the Liberal National Party as there is no money anywhere, no common sense anywhere, no praise for governments anywhere, hard economic times everywhere, and no positive optimistic future anywhere.

Having government currently would be a waste of time, effort and space for the Liberal National Party Leave the Federal Government with Labor who will deserve to take the blame for all recessions and all depressions in this decade while in office. The Liberal National wants federal government only when economic times are good, when Labor is totally exhausted from its time in office, and when Liberal National Party can just walk in as election winners.

Yours fraternally, Jane Wallace

With only 22.7 million people people in Australia, why are all the Census 2011 electronic computer numbers twelve 12 characters long? The Census 2011Form Number, the first input number on outside of the census envelope in handwriting, has six numeric numbers, then one alphabetic character, then four more numeric characters, and lastly an alphabetic character. The other input number, the e-census number found inside the census envelope, is 12 twelve numbers long.

The output number from the computer, the receipt number is also twelve numbers long. Why are these numbers 12 twelve characters long in a country of 22 .7 million people like Australia??

Yours fraternally, Jane Wallace On August 2 2011, USA escaped bankruptcy by avoiding a defaults on its debts and its loans.

On August 4 2011, USA President turns 50 fifty years old. Is he too old for the job?

On August 5 2011, Roseanne Barr, Green Tea Party, reveals she is running for USA President in 2012. Remember her singing of the American National anthem at Superbowl on one memorable occasion?

Yours fraternally, Jane Wallace In 2011, St George Illawarra first grade National Rugby League team won its first twelve matches out of thirteen matches to be top of the NRL Competition by four competition points or by two more wins than the second placed team. Since then, St George Illawarra first grade National Rugby League Team has played nine more matches for two more wins, one more draw, and six more losses. Its now fifth!

What on earth has happened to St George Illawarra first grade National Rugby League this season 2011 Winter?

There are only four matches to go before the semi finals!

Yours fraternally, Jane Wallace

i Short List j Plans for the amalgamation and relocation of Nura Gili have caused a backlash amongst students concerned that valuable student space may disappear.

Currently spread across three locations, Nura Gili supports Indigenous education initiatives and community outreach programs. Management had recently released a five year strategy plan, aimed at doubling the number of Indigenous students, and growing the number of students enrolled in Indigenous Studies by 50%, amongst other things.

The strategic plan proposes the current sites be combined into one, meaning the Nura Gili Resource Centre would disappear and the collection would be amalgamated into the main library collection. It is this amalgamation that has concerned students and staff associated with Nura Gili, some of whom have formed the Save the Resource Centre Collective (SRCC) to oppose the changes.

According to the SRCC, “The Resource Centre is the ONLY significant site on campus that actively promotes Reconciliation, cultural awareness, and Indigenous education and knowledge.” A spokesperson for the Collective told Tharunka that consultation with students had been completely inadequate, and further, claimed Janine Schmidt, the consultant tasked with the Resource Centre proposal, specialized in closing libraries.

Fair Work Australia approved an agreement last week recommended by the Community and Public Sector Union to improve nonacademic staff conditions. The agreement includes extended maternity leave and the option of applying for permanent positions at university. The National tertiary Education Union had opposed the agreement, arguing that it was too weak and that general staff deserve the same provisions as academic staff. NTEU President at UNSW, Dr Sarah Gregson said the CPSU has the worst agreement for general staff at UNSW. “I think if general staff are in a position to compare universities on the basis of working conditions, UNSW would be at the bottom of the list.” CPSU senior industrial officer Andrew Holland told The Australian newspaper last week that the NTEU did not have general staff pay and conditions in mind when they appealed. But Dr Gregson has argued that an overwhelming majority of cademic staff are about general staff as members of the university body. She added that the two unions would be better off working alongside to achieve favourable conditions for general staff. “Management dream of taking unions and playing them against each other. The CPSU and NTEU should be working together.”

Veronika Roth, General Manager of Nura Gili, declined to comment, but stressed management were merely trying to make the most effective use of limited space. A mail-out to students in early August assured them that Ms Schmidt had years of experience in university libraries in Australia and in the United States.

The SRCC claims that during student consultation with Ms Schmidt, it became clear she was only interested in arguing that technology would soon replace traditional library services.

Student Representative Council (SRC) President Osman Faruqi told Tharunka “recent moves by the university to ‘rationalise’ the services and resources offered by the library have been met with apprehension by students. The trend towards modernising university libraries is supported by students but technological advances should be seen as a supplement to existing resources and not as a substitute.”

The SRC also believe, according to Faruqi, that “the decision to relocate Nura Gili was done without adequate consultation. Students and the wider university community should be genuinely consulted about all significant decisions.”

The SRCC has pledged to petition the management of Nura Gili, and if necessary, stage a protest to underscore their concerns.

The Australian Institute of Criminology released a study they say shows crimes against foreign students occurred mainly because of their presence in high-risk jobs such as service stations, taxis and convenience stores. Adam Tomison, of the AIC, said whilst further research was needed, there was nothing that supported the view “that Indian students have been singled out primarily for racial reasons.”

The report had been commissioned by the Government in response to a spate of crimes last January. The Federation of International Students of Australia said the study was incomplete and shouldn’t be used as an excuse to ignore racism.

Queensland Premier Anna Bligh approved the merger of the Central Queensland University with the Central Queensland

Joan Ross, Animation still, 2011.

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Institute of TAFE. The deal is significant because it is the first case of a private tertiary institution merging with a public institution. The local union warned the exercise should not focus merely on cost-cutting. CQU vice-chancellor Scott Bowman said the merger was a very positive step forward.

Tertiary Education Minister Chris Bowen announced changes to allow Indian students in Australia the chance to complete part of their degree at Indian universities. A report released on the same day found the number of international students from India had dropped by 63% on the year. The newly formed Australia-India Education Council would also encourage students to study in India.

Simon Crean opened the Gateway@ COFA project alongside Huon Hooke and others. Hooke, the partner of late sculptor Bronwyn Oliver, announced a donation of $250,000. A sculpture studio will be named in Oliver’s honour, alongside a gallery named after Nick Waterlow and another after the Sherman family, who donated $2 million in 2010.

Other attendees at the Paddington campus included Barry O’Farrell, John Kaldor and Shane Simpson. The redevelopment is of COFA due for completion in 2012.

Law Faculty academic Andrea Durbach was seconded as the Deputy Sex Discrimination Commisioner, in a role that will be to support the Commissioner and to implement to Gender Equality Blueprint 2010. Professor Durbach said the appointment was an opportunity to harness her experiences as a human rights practitioner and academic. Professor Durbach will continue her work within the Faculty.

Forbes ranked the Australian Graduate School of Management MBA Program as the leading MBA in Australia and ninth in the world amongst non-US programs. This

Stella Rosa McDonald, Second City #1, 2011.

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meant the AGSM program was the only Australian in the world’s top list. rankings were measured by financial return on investment gained by completing an MBA. Graduates only needed four years to break-even at the UNSW MBA. The Aurora Native Title Internship Program launched their intake of applicants for 2012. The program introduces students and graduates of anthropology and other social sciences to “career opportunities in native title, policy development, social justice and Indigenous affairs”. Placements can start at two months and may continue for up to one year. Applications are open on the Aurora Native Title Internship website until September 2.

EMPA will hold their Annual Postgraduate Symposium on the topic of “Contact: Borders, limits and thresholds” The keynote addresses will be delivered by Dr. Kate Fagan and Professor Julian Murphet, director of the Centre for Modernism Studies. The conference aims to ‘encourage a dialogue and dissemination of ideas between individuals, schools, and areas of research. As such, we would like this conference to be one in which contact and transcending boundaries is not only theorised, but actualized through open and multidisciplinary engagement.’ The Symposum will be held September 9 & 10. Registrations can be made with Chris oakey, Amy Parish or Naomi Riddle at the School of English, Media & Performing Arts Eastern Bloc presents COFA photomedia lecturer Izabela Pluta with an exhibit based on the idea of a reservoir. “Reservoir” deals with the reservoir as a place ‘where anything can be collected and stored, however, more commonly the term refers to an artificial lake. If the reservoir bursts, the spillage may lead to a condition of ruin’, and will run until August 21 at Eastern Bloc, 138 Evans Street, Rozelle.

Sue Pedley, Copper Ships, 2011.

12 Calendar

The Lowy Cancer Research Centre will present David Curtis in a lecture on preventing apoptosis. “Preventing Apoptosis - a novel way of beating cancer” will be held on level 4 from 3.45pm on September 7.

The Sixth Annual Brain Sciences Symposium will be held on the top of “Brain Plasticity - The Adaptable Brain”, and will include speakers from the US and Melbourne. The Symposium will ‘presents a unique opportunity to hear Australian and International experts on brain sciences tackle one of the most exciting areas of brain research: The adaptable brain.

What do we know about the brain’s ability to adapt, how do we understand its adaptability and harness it? Speakers will present recent evidence on what modulates brain adaptation, the molecules and mechanisms for brain plasticity and management of the adaptable brain.’

“Brain Plasticity - The Adaptable Brain” will be held in Leighton Hall, Scientia on September 8. The Symposium is a free event, but registration is required.

COFA alumni Joan Ross presents her latest animation “BBQ this Sunday BYO.” A sessional lecturer in painting at the School of Art, Ross’s work can be seen at Gallery Barry Keldoulis, 285 Young Street, Waterloo until September 3, Tuesday to Saturday 11am - 6pm.

Gallery Barry Keldoulis also presents a selection of COFA Honours students work. “GBK Awardees: Where Are They Now?” features works from Lachlan Anthony, Nathan Babet, Joel Beerden, Melanie Borham, Tara Cook, Rosie Deacon, Dara Gill, Shalini Jardin, Hugh Marchant, Ben Norris, Marilyn Schneider, Dan Simon and Ioulia Terizis, and will run until September 3, Tuesday to Saturday 11am - 6pm.

Izabela Pluta, Termite nest 2011

Sue Pedley will exhibit her latest work entitled “Copper Ships”, links the two island communities of Queenstown, Tasmania and Kou on the island of Teshima, Japan; ‘traditionally both places have relied on the exploitation of natural resources – mining and fishing – for survival. More recently these activities have been caught up in fierce environmental debates.’ “Copper Ships” will run from August 19 till September 3 at Tin Sheds Gallery, 148 City Road, Tuesday to Saturday 11am - 5pm.

Firsdraft Gallery will display the works of Stella Rosa McDonald, showing works from a 2 year video project ‘that aims to uncover the shape of the Sydney area and its inhabitants, past, present and future.’

“Second City” will run until August 28

at Firstdraft Gallery, 116-118 Chalmers Street, Surry Hills, Wednesday to Sunday 12pm - 6pm.

12 Staying Clean with A.J. Smoker

Dear DR Green (of Staying Green)

Findings published this week confirm what we all already knew about drugs but were too much principally preoccupied by the schizophrenia of the vacuum to realise: drugs are bad for us, like really bad. Sure people and politicians have been pushing this line for time immemorial, but now we have rock steady proof: a toke of Mary Jane will make you stupider, and not just in the moment but for months to follow.

This is for all those amongst us who flirt with the habit. The more conscientious consumer will have their minds irreparably mushed. The damage is especially extensive if cannabis is combined with teenage-hood. The study has found that it effects the development of your frontal cortex, prolifically impacting the circuits that allow you to handle difficult decisions and complex problems. Oh dear.

This puts we committed dopers in a difficult position: now that we know our developmental progress has been permanently arrested do we decide to give a damn, or forge fiercely on into the darkening night? Is this too complex a decision? It can only get harder. I think I feel a certain entitlement to my wayward destiny sure, but perhaps my destiny was destined to go up in smoke?

CONTRIBUTE

tharunka@arc.unsw.edu.au

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Lens Life

Playing

by Patricia Assad

Distractions

by Suchita Mathur

White

by Robyne Pacey

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Inclusion of Staff and Students in University Governance

By Henar Perales

T

he Vice-Chancellor of the University of New South Wales has reportedly submitted a reform plan to limit the definition of ‘University Community’, which could minimise student and staff participation on major decisions.

The University’s President and Vice-Chancellor, Fred Hilmer, is said to have signed the report proposing that the term ‘university community’ encompasses only the governing body, excluding the opinion of students, staff and alumni from future changes.

An Elected Fellow at the University of Sydney, Dr Michael Copeman, said that under the new legislation, the Senate could change the number of members appointed to the council and not have to consult the university community.

“There’s a blanket thing in there saying the university community will be defined as just the governing body and there’s no need to consult more widely if you want to change the composition of the university council.”

The changes in legislation could also reduce the numbers in university councils, according to Dr Copeman.

The Communications Director of the Vice-Chancellor’ office denied that such changes have been proposed.

“There is no proposal in the NSW VCC discussion paper to exclude students from participation in university governance. Elected students and staff would remain as members of University Councils, which are the bodies responsible for university governance.

“University Councils include a number of external members who are not staff or students. As I understand it, the proposal is aimed at ensuring that University Councils are not excluded from the definition of university community for the purposes of the legislation.”

But Dr. Copeman has argued that, though the legislation will include student representatives, “in future that could be very carefully done so that the student representative be restricted to somebody who wouldn’t disagree with them.”

“The way for any of that to be submitted to scrutiny is when any of those changes are posed within the University, it goes out to the university community, so that students, staff, alumni, etc, will have a chance to disagree.”

The politics of student involvement Since the introduction by the Howard government of Voluntary Student Unionism, the extent of student involvement in University services and changes has been questioned, and the Student Representative Council’s influence has arguably diminished.

President of the SRC at UNSW, Osman Faruqi, told Tharunka that “The SRC has a strong position on ensuring that students, as well as the wider university community, have a genuine role in decision making at this university.

“While students do currently sit on a number of boards and committees, engagement and partnership with students should go far beyond this kind of consultation. Reports that the university administration are seeking to remove the positions of elected student and staff representatives from the governing body of UNSW - University Council, are very concerning.”

An independent survey published in Tharunka last month showed that while a strong majority agreed that student unions are often political, most partakers also voted for the reintroduction of a mandatory student services fee.

“Student engagement doesn’t end with having one or two students on a committee”, Mr Faruqi added, “it’s about making sure that you take on board the feedback of students at all levels of the university and can quickly respond to student concerns.”

The Council currently includes four members of academic staff, one undergraduate and one postgraduate student, per the University of New South Wales Act of 1989.

“They may say it makes no difference to the students, but the truth is that all the things related to how a student qualifies for election could be changed to something that in effect disenfranchises people who would otherwise have a legitimate expectation of getting onto a governing council,” Dr Copeman added.

“It’s a total misunderstanding of how universities run. The whole point of having a community of educated people is that you do take account of what that broader community thinks rather than only a selected group.

What is of concern to student representation, Dr Copeman has suggested, is that changes in council could include more people with a background in business and law, but who aren’t necessary aware of what happens at University.

“Though they may be well-meaning for the University, the problem is that quite often they don’t know what is going on within. These people, unfortunately, often represent just one side of the equation.”

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Do You Have Emotions?

Strangle Them

By Justin Wolfers

The title is a reference both to Saul Bellow’s satirisation of Ernest Hemingway’s prose style and a few days I spent in Melbourne.

Everything is as I remember it.

I

t was a most tactile tooth brushing experience. The glow of the lights strung across the mirror. An anticipation, a twinkling. She, at her most majestic, eyes closed, head resting, in the bathtub. Her expression reminding him of St Peter’s Basilica. Her scent, of oats and maple.

Both moving and at rest.

Earlier, on Tuesday, he arrives in good spirits after a long train. The journey was fruitful, he is thinking seriously about the world because of the novel he has almost finished. A peck at the station, some polite and friendly talk. They have dinner at her house with her housemates, which is delicious without extravagance.

They drink tea from an ornamental pot and have some amiable conversation. He reads on her bed while she writes an article, and he retreats once it is late.

The next morning, on Wednesday, he rises, greets her, and makes plans with a friend in town. After his friend leaves mid-afternoon he has a snooze in the library. He writes emotionally charged phrases in his notebook. He waits in town, they have vague plans to go to the gallery in the evening. It doesn’t happen, and as he sits on a sofa in the gallery foyer, receiving her message that she and her housemate weren’t ready in time and could they go tomorrow, he decides not to be a bitch and makes nothing of it.

He returns to the house in the north having bought groceries, and makes a risotto with white wine and fetta and sweet potato. While he is cooking they drink more wine and discuss sexuality and monogamy. They discuss the shortcomings of their exes. She asks him if a friend of his

10 | Tharunka

is sexually available, which he is not, not really. They eat and it is very comforting and they enjoy it, and they drink some more and she suggests watching a movie later, which he says is a good idea. She asks him to look over her article on fashion and race. It is very well written, but needs some de-clunking and a more coherent ending. They achieve this over a couple of hours, with him suggesting a few word choices and grammar changes and her confidently fixing other flaws he has hesitated to mention.

They are sitting at her desk and it’s after one in the morning when they finish and they give up on the movie. As he is leaving the room she says he is welcome to sleep in here and after last night’s wispy retreat he abandons his timidity and like a modern lover says, yeah, actually, it’s quite cold in the other room, which is true. He flashes in his mind to her question, earlier in the afternoon as she made her bed, about whether an electric blanket is suitable if you’re expecting a special friend. He wonders whether she was thinking of him in that moment, or some other lover. They get into bed, lying on their lefts, with her facing out into her bedroom and him facing her.

He isn’t sure how to construe her oblique offer and so lies there. He waits, he does nothing. She gets up, ostensibly for the bathroom, and he steels himself, and when she returns he puts his right hand on her right hip, limply. A little squeeze and a little scratch. They are chatting amiably. She pulls his arm around her torso and he holds her stomach and then her left breast and she rubs up against him.

She is masterful and confident and this encourages him. Then they face each other and kiss and what ensues is a panting haze of incongruent sex. She is demon-fast, he wants to work into a rhythm, and they end

up both out of breath and unsatisfied. But then they talk about the reasons for this part failure. Talk it out, work it out, sleep together better.

The next morning is a daze and a jumble. She dresses to go out to scan an image for her article and as she is about to leave she propositions him abruptly into sex. He enjoys the feeling of violation this brings. They conversations become more intimate throughout the afternoon.

He agrees to accompany her to her work drinks, where they have gin and tonics and neat smoky whiskies. They leave under the pretence of going for dinner. On the way back north her brother who is leaving the country soon calls, and comes over, and they drink red wine and discuss their lives and after he leaves our protagonist is now enamoured enough with her to join her in a cigarette outside. Then a long bath, and later, in bed, their sexual appetites merging like maple syrup with their oat-scented skin. It is a long night but it is exquisite. He tried to intellectualise it, by saying that it’s an interesting battle between the mind wanting sleep and the body wanting sex, but she says that it’s actually just that they really like having sex with each other that keeps them up.

On Friday they rise late, she has work in the afternoon and they have a dinner party to plan for. They buy vegetables in town, and meet her ex-boyfriend who has come to pick up some books. She hides her clogged bin in the corner of her room.

They chop vegetables until it is time for her to get to work. The ex drives them down towards the city and drops them off at the bookshop where she works. Our protagonist goes to the city markets to look for sunglasses but does he really need them? He sends her a text message, telling her she is lovely, and she tells him she is

melting. He goes to the gallery to see the exhibition and it is like she is there with him. He enjoys it very much.

In his notebook he writes about how he is already trying to crystallise their relationship in his memory, even though he is still in the moment and living it, and even though he knows that when he retrieves the image he will find its likeness non-incandescent.

Getting back up to the north takes him longer than he thinks, he is disorientated, but when he returns in a hurry it turns out there is nothing to rush over. He starts making a spicy pumpkin soup with the vegetables he has chopped.

It has a lot of wholegrain mustard in it and potatoes and garlic and it tastes very satisfying once it has been pureed and thickened. Her friends start arriving for the dinner party, girls, more girls, a few that he knows, and he starts chopping bread to make croutons, grills them, drizzles them in olive oil. There is cheese and wine and by the time the soup is ready everyone is hungry and it goes down well and he sits at the table with the seven or so women who are spooning at their bowls.

There is one other man now, who is well meaning but abrasive, and this is an enjoyable dynamic for the girls who chide him. The main is a mysterious and excellent lentil dish that she has prepared.

The wine they are drinking starts to blend the evening in on itself, through smoking breaks outside for some of the party and into discussions of misogynistic authors, and then there are brownies for dessert, so soft, and talk of sex and exes, and people start to leave, in fast forward in his memory, because he wants to get her alone again. It is very late and they are both very tired but there is a lot of passion.

He says that she is lovely but she says that he is definitely lovelier. They talk about the tentative way she kisses, and she admits that she hasn’t allowed herself that intimacy, and that it is for lovers, and he makes eye contact and says that it is okay that they are lovers, and they then kiss strongly and warmly and it is good.

On Saturday she has work early, she leaves him in her bed, and he sleeps later than he meant to, until eleven. He has both a breakfast date with friends and a kitchen to help clean. The other male at the party, who stayed overnight, is being most industrious in the kitchen, but

he doesn’t know where the dishes go, so he helps him put them away for a time and then leaves the house. He enjoys a most delicious four-way breakfast with close friends of his. They order separate meals and then pass them clockwise and try some of everything. His own meal is ricotta hotcakes with yoghurt and banana and desiccated coconut. He gets a tram down to the city museum and meets other friends and they explore the artifacts but mostly watch the many other people in the exhibition, which is full. They travel down to the seaside afterwards, and eat burgers, and walk along the boardwalk, and because of the curved white roller coaster and the palm trees he feels like he is in California and everything is nostalgic and he is taking photos with his grandfather’s old camera and he feels like he is already living in the memory he is trying to capture.

It gets dark, and they go into the city to his friends’ hotel, and they have a little snooze on the bed there. He wants to go north and see her but also wants to socialise, but these are friends from his hometown and he can see them anytime.

They go into a pub and he hasn’t brought identification and so takes this reason and travels north with it. The tram he is on lingers on a city corner where there is a climbing gym, several stories high, with tall windows that face out onto the street.

He tries to take a photo of the people clambering up the walls but by the time he sets his shot the tram has moved forward.

She is having a domestic evening, with work to do, and he encourages her to work and be productive by sitting on her bed and writing. She doesn’t really seem to get anything done. They watch a movie on his laptop in her bed, and they interrupt it just the once, her reaching over to him and kissing him and then him dropping the laptop to the floor and then them twisting around for a long while. It is a very good film but it is sad and he wonders whether he should have chosen a comedy because they are both tired and now a little morose. It is past midnight and now it is his birthday. They cuddle and they want sex conceptually but are both very tired, and so decide on sleep, but he wants her to wrap him in security and so doesn’t sleep nearly as well as she.

They sleep in on Sunday, but they are late for his birthday breakfast, they fuck rigidly but considering the circumstances

it is still quite good. They go down with one of her housemates to a trendy café for breakfast and meet several of his and her friends. He has a bagel with Gruyere and caramelised onions and spinach and a poached egg and beetroot relish, and they do the crossword and he thinks that this is all very nice. A friend has made him a hand-knitted scarf, which touches him and he skips around the table to peck her and say thank you, this is so lovely.

He sits back down, and as they do the crossword together, he wonders whether their touching legs are as intimate in her mind as they are in his.

She is going to another friend’s birthday lunch and this seems like a nice last thing to do together, as his flight is that afternoon, and so accompanies her after checking if she is sure, are you sure, that it’s okay if I come? She says that of course it is, and I was asked to bring a friend, and it will be really nice.

They get the bus together and the house is spacious and nice and full of interesting and semi-interesting people, and there are baby olives and potato salads and another salad with avocado in it and he tries to eat some even though he is already stuffed.

They drink Pimm’s, and he feels pretty comfortable holding conversations with these people, being polite and amiable, talking to the birthday girl’s father and friends. She lets it slip that it is also his birthday, and so they are very lovely to him also.

The girl’s father gives them a lift home, as it is time to pack for the plane, but midway through the car ride he gets a message informing him that his flight has been unexpectedly cancelled and there will be no other flights on this airline today. He is annoyed but he keeps it together and makes some phone calls and eventually decides to buy a flight the next day rather than getting a long overnight train. He recognises that he is becoming flustered and fears crowding her space so he decides to take a bath while she does her writing. With just fairy lights in the bathroom is too dark to read in so he has a nap in the bath and it is very soothing.

He rewarms the water twice before getting out. He feels much better and gives her a kiss and she asks him if he’d like to join her for her family dinner that evening.

She encourages him and he says yes, that sounds lovely, thanks.

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Opinion: London Riots The role he is to take for her parents is that of a friend in town for the week that is sleeping on the couch, and this is easy to assume because that was the original arrangement. To him they are interesting and lovely people, and again a fuss is made over his birthday which he is bashful about but also appreciative. Cauliflower cheese is the ideal comforting dinner for the occasion and feels consummately homely. Her mother, a musician, hops on the piano and the family sings happy birthday and there is even chocolate cake with strawberries and mascarpone, and they drink full-bodied red wine, and have a whisky, and listen to jazz. Her family bickers over which jazz to listen to which he finds amusing because his family would never listen to jazz. He wonders whether his keen interest in her family and her irritation would be reversed if it were his home they were having dinner in. He knows at least that he would be irritated.

Eventually they go back home and once they are alone he becomes morose and silent and mopes around in the corner of her bed. He fails to articulate his feelings for a good while.

He is finding it hard to separate being great friends with great intimacy and great sex, with something to hold and keep, seeing that he is leaving. He remembers in his mind the proverb that if you love something you should give it away, and feels momentarily better, but sinks again, and then he gets out of bed to shake it off, feels momentarily better, and mopes more, but it is when she says that he is just indulging himself that he wakes up and gets back on the horse. He returns to being affable, kind, sexy, not needy. He laughs and mocks himself and feels good doing it and gets on top of his emotions. They talk candidly again, in deep voices, and are very kind to each other. She thanks him for being charming and polite to all her friends. He wants to have sex again, on their sides and slowly, but this time, unlike the previous twentyfour hours, it is truly fine that she is tired and he wants to sleep this time.

Instead of tossing and waiting for her he is ready to sleep too, and as they are drooping off he references an earlier anecdote she had told him and says I hope you dream of flying.

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By Kristyn Glanville

W

hile the Australian media has been remarkably quiet on the issue, focusing instead on the supposedly impending economic apocalypse, a peek at a map of London superimposed with the locations of all the riots and their spread tells a story worth hearing. The riots are everywhere, they’re dangerous for ordinary people, and they’re being astoundingly badly handled by the police.

There are a couple of different narratives for why these riots have broken out. One narrative is that these people are demanding a revolution in response to their lack of opportunities, employment prospects and affluence. The other narrative is that this is just senseless chav violence, completely opportunistic behaviour with no particular endgame other than a stolen TV and the spectacle of a burning car.

I suspect a little of both is true. The guises of revolution, in which the rioters purported to revolt in the name of the police shooting of Mark Duggan, ended a long time ago. People with no association to the man originally killed and no solidarity in protesting against police violence and overreach are ransacking the streets. These rioters aren’t revolutionaries; they aren’t heroes, they’re not even trying to be. They’re not stealing from the rich; they’re looting the convenience stores owned by their neighbours, pick pocketing the backpacks of fellow rioters, and burning down buildings with no political associations whatsoever.

It’s an uncomfortable truth to express the view that the values these young people have come to see as normal are toxic. But we must face the reality that these rioters exist in a social environment in which it is acceptable to destroy and pillage the property of others for no other reason than to ‘show the cops we do what we want’. To put a romantic revolutionary gloss on their actions is to import far too much weight to their attitudes. They’re essentially self-interested.

That said, there is undeniably a class element to what is going on. The rioters are largely people from a marginalised background, and while this doesn’t excuse their behaviour it certainly helps to explain it. Marginalised young people are often failed in a variety of ways by their families, communities and the government.

The rioters are a product of their upbringing and the values taught therein, a product of the rise of neo-liberal spending cuts to community services which improve opportunities and divert young people from crime, and a product of an education system which is often irrelevant and poorly equipped to handle students from a disadvantaged background. To put it another way: whilst the London Riots may well just be senseless Chav violence, upper and middle class people don’t become Chavs.

On the macro level, it is often said countries with McDonalds don’t go to war with one another – they have too much economic development to lose by fighting with one another. On the micro level, the same can be said. These people are brought up in circumstances of having nothing to lose by being involved in crime, because they already have nothing, and are constantly told by society that they are nothing. Perhaps in the eyes of some, that they have nothing is their (and/or their parent’s) own fault. But the neo-liberal ‘solution’ which leaves the burden of social inequality and marginalisation completely upon those who suffer from its consequences, in light of the London Riots, has been a failure.

By Leigh Rigozzi

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A White Man in the Caucuses: One antiquated soul and a fistful of Dram

By Jack Jelbart

I

flew into Yerevan via Moscow. A short but perilous trip, it was conducted under the auspices of Aeroflot’s finery. Aeroflot: formerly the world’s worst airline, no longer perhaps but to this day according consistent and considerable credence to the pteromechanophobics amongst us. I should say that I am under normal circumstances a confident and controlled flyer, but when that plane got entangled in turbulence over the Caucasian Mountains I was about as cool as a sautéed cucumber.

I became convinced that I wouldn’t make it to see the dog days of the Eurasian summer; distraught at the prospect of dying alone surrounded by Orientals.

When we landed I regretted that I hadn’t. I would at least have been spared the indignity of suffering that incredible heat. I have a prodigious pallor that says maximum sixteen degrees; I am uncomfortably warm in the sun on a winter’s day; when I arrived early in the am, too early to be awake or alive, it could have been forty degrees. These are the cards Armenia was dealt: it freezes in the winter, it drowns in the mid-seasons and it bakes in the summer. I spoke to aged Armenians who say they have never known a fine day; this is an agreeable joke that works on multiple levels.

Yerevan herself is an interesting metropolis, who after years of Russian imperialism (by whatever means) is now

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being returned to her people. I can’t say I like everything that they’ve done with her. When the curtain came down and the clocks stopped, back in 1991, many of the more opulent parts of the city proved imprudently unsustainable for financial and cultural reasons. Where once stood a statue of Stalin, atop the hills that form a bowl about the inner-wards, now presides the stern, sword wielding façade of Mother Armenia. Said my kindly guide: the bitch has our backs. I believe he meant bitch in re. American popular usage where it is almost a term of affection. Other legacies of the Soviet era have been either repurposed (more often than not as grogshops) or left to decay and look now, for the disregard and defacements visited upon them, like the ruins of some ancient civilisation. That much about Yerevan is sinister; she is a city trying to forget her past.

But there is some levity and litheness in her still. The Armenians now goosestep to a different rhythm; they are party animals; libertines; capitalist swine.

They drive the finest of Mr Mercedes modern models, freshly flogged from Germany; they have a vibrant bar culture; club culture; consumption of alcohol on the streets, at home, in cars culture; and because it is cheap they are merry.

Poor employment prospects also afford the average citizen above reasonable

allowances of leisure time for loitering, boozing and backgammoning. How pleasant to be so free. Yerevan grew on me, which is to say I was for the few days I knew her slightly less miserable than is my proclivity.

Feeling like too much happiness might have unsettled my fragile mind I set out aboard the sleeper train for Batumi, Georgia. In this I took the precaution of buying a first class ticket but upon finding my compartment, felt like I must have been swindled. The cabin was of reasonable size and an agreeable colour palate, but was furnished also with the most egregious of smells. I would later discover that this was emanating from the adjacent lavatory, a scene too ghastly to be verily conveyed.

What I saw and had to endure in that particular room was inhumane; I cannot cleanse myself of its register. This was to be a radically condensed treatment of my experience of Georgia.

My first true impression of Batumi was that it was not half as pretty as the postcards. I seemed to have arrived at what passes for a modern building in a country that thinks that running water is futuristic, which is to say the train station was stark like tundra is stark and about as affecting.

It’s also miles from the city and apparently staffed by the zombified remains of the KGB. I have never in my life been asked so many personal and pointed questions. I

am however not easily cowled. I escaped the secret police with my wallet intact, and made my way to the cab station and by cab to the city, on which ride I formed my second impression of Georgia, which was of hostility. In the Caucuses I am about as unobtrusive as a six foot lawn gnome in a Zen garden; in Georgia I have the localised misfortune of also looking Russian. The Georgians feel more poorly about the Russians than Ronald Reagon. So it may be that I look obtrusively Russian and that’s a faux pas, but there is still no call for calling a Russian looking man a penis, it’s dehumanising and offensive.

I was in fact so offended by my cabride altercation that I vowed not to take it to heart and at my accommodations set about the preparations for the sole objective that had brought me through the night to Georgia. My tolerance of the summer heat was reaching breaking point and I was determined to immerse myself in the Black Sea. The less said of the resulting sickness and cycle of disappointment and depression the better, but I would end spending considerably longer in Batumi than I’d planned, and almost none of it underwater.

Batumi, which is called by some who could not know her “the jewel of Georgia,” she was a summer resort town for the Soviet big wigs. After my experience with communistic style

apartment barracks in Armenia I was to in Batumi decide that some pigs were more equal than other pigs. To walk around Batumi you might forget for a moment that you’re in Georgia, it’s that pretty… on the surface of it. But as the mechanisms which allowed for me to find it beautiful were revealed as facile trickery I became increasingly aware of a kind of entropic socio-political self-defeatedisms, the poor little piglets. Corruption is rife, poverty is prolific and top it all off the government of Batumi years ago decided to cobblestone the streets, so that the town might look more euro-beauteous. An infelicitous decision as it transpired, because this apparently involved tearing up all of the streets at once and then promptly going bankrupt. Just two blocks back from the beach Batumi looks like the Gaza Strip; and to think, I came here for a holiday. O woe is me.

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My One Regret in Life is that I Am Not Someone Else

By Kylar Loussikian

5. Crimes & Misdemeanours

4. Manhattan

3. Annie Hall

A man in New York sleeps with a flight attendant who, scorned, tries to destroy his marriage. His brother hires a hit man to kill the mistress. He becomes despondent, paranoid and stricken with guilt. In the same city, a failing documentary maker is hired to make a film about his brotherin-law, a successful television producer.

Both the documentary maker and the television producer fall for the associate producer. A philosopher commits suicide; the documentary maker makes a pass at the associate producer, who then leaves for London and a job with the television producer. Some other things happen.

Everyone is unhappy.

Released in 1989, Crimes & Misdemeanours is the perfect Woody Allen film; morose and substantial, but cast with characters so amusing that their personal tragedies unfold naturally behind the whimsical plot. Alan Alda is perfectly cast to play smug television producer Lester, and the role of snivelling, sorryfor-himself documentary maker Cliff is well-suited to Allen’s comic ability and temperament. Sure, some reviews say the film makes the viewer feel ‘philosophical’ or ‘wise’, but they’re obviously missing the questions the film does deal with: could you live with the knowledge you’ve killed someone? Could you live a normal existence knowing someone is dead because of you? It doesn’t help that Judah Rosenthal (Martin Landau), a rich opthamologist who ends up hiring a hit man, is perhaps one of the more sympathetic characters in the film, making this one of Allen’s more complex films.

Rhapsody in Blue plays and then there are a series of images of Manhattan. Someone is writing a book on his love for New York after giving up his job as a comedy writer. He’s dating a seventeen year old girl. His friend is having an affair with a cultural snob. The comedy writer’s exwife has come out of the closet. He falls for his friends mistress; they talk on the Queensboro Bridge until sunrise. He tells his seventeen year old girlfriend to go to London to study acting. They ride together through Central Park. Soon afterwards, the cultural snob moves in with him and they begin dating, but she returns to his friend who has since left his wife. The seventeen year old has already left for London. It is too late. Rhapsody in Blue plays.

This must be, as several critics have noted, one of Woody Allen’s most personal film; the film where he most like himself “the self-absorbed, Nazi-obsessed, horny TV writer and babe magnet Isaax” wrote the Village Voice. The film examines the idea of relationships with others and also with yourself. All the characters are in some way undergoing analysis or working through it by authorship. Meryl Streep plays an early scary role as Isaac’s second ex-wife, writing an abusive novel based on their failed relationship. Manhattan is shot in black-and-white, and parts of New York look incredible; some critics complained that according to Allen, Manhattan was populated exclusively by WASPs and Jews, others said Allen was unable to endorse any sexual lifestyle other than a heterosexual serial monogamy, but the truth of the matter is that this movie is clear, witty, and the perfectly composed Allen melodrama.

A comedian is in a relationship with a girl named Annie. There are a series of flashbacks. The comedian is raised in Brooklyn where his father operated bumper cars on Coney Island. There are several arguments. The couple separates.

Annie moves to California but the comedian is still in love with her. He attempts to persuade her to return, only be be unsuccessful. He writes a play about their relationship. Some time later, they meet as friends.

A film with perhaps the most simple of Woody Allen plots has become to be one of his most acclaimed, his most recognisable film, and the one, to many viewers, that is the quintessential Woody Allen flick. To an Allen aficionado, each scene feels familiar and well-loved.

A review filed a few days after the film opened in 1977 outlined some of the ways the film almost mirrored the real life relationship between Allen, who played the comedian Alvy, and Diane Keaton, Annie. “He was a stereotypical New Yorker and she was a model Southern Californian” they write. Like Annie and Alvy, Keaton and Allen had split up after a relationship, Keaton was seeing a therapist nearly every day, just like Annie. The highlight in Annie Hall has to be Allen’s character - an enormously exaggerated version of his everyday, a character that had slowly developed over the preceding decade and had finally entered into a phase that is recognisable as ‘the Woody Allen character’. Annie Hall is a movie about relationships, again, and how they are complex, unhappy, happy and everything else.

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2. Deconstructing Harry An author releases a novel where a woman has an affair with her sister’s husband.

She is angry because the novel is based on her affair with the novelist and everyone knows it. She attacks the novelist with a gun, chasing him outside, where he pleads with her, trying to distract her with his current story; an autobiography of a man obsessed with sex, mistakenly taken

by Death. The author decides to go to a ceremony at his old university and he asks his ex-wife and his friend and others to come along with him. He asks his exgirlfriend who will be getting married that day. He invites a prostitute when they all decline. He kidnaps his son from his exwife and they stop at a fair. His friend decides to accompany them after all.

His friend dies in his car on the way to the ceremony, and the distraught author becomes unfocused, blurry. The prostitute helps him back into focus and then he is arrested for kidnapping. His ex-girlfriend bails him out of gaol and the author realises he has missed the ceremony after all.

Released in 1997, when the critics had already decided Allen’s output would be forever in decline, Deconstructing Harry has the single-most amusing scene of an Allen film; when he is shocked into being out of focus; the perfect on-screen sign of neorosis that is very much the Woody Allen character. Although Allen always insists his on-screen characters are removed from his real life, he told reporters that in this film, the author Harry Block is a “thinly disguised version of me.

I don’t even think I’m going to disguise him any more. It’s me.” Deconstructing Harry is so great because it takes the Woody Allen film and makes it just that much darker, Harry Block being perhaps the most distressing, neurotic character to grace a Woody Allen film (and that is certainly a big call). Not only is Harry Block great, but the cameo’s are hilarious also; Robin William appears, as does Kirsty Alley, Billy Crystal, Judy Davis and others. Fiction and real life mix together in what is basically a fictitious story based on a real person’s personality and with a bigger reach, this is an incredibly funny and interesting film.

1. Broadway Danny Rose A group of comedians have gathered in the Carnegie Delicatessen in New York. They begin telling stories about the legendary Danny Rose, a man known for the offbeat acts he manages; skating penguins and singing parrots, and a one legged tap-dancer. Rose scrounges up all he can for his poor talent, asking for whatever anyone can give (the old price). He has one reasonable act, the washed-up crooner Lou Canova, who had once had a hit with a song about indigestion. Canova can’t perform without his mistress, and so Danny Rose journeys across New Jersey to fetch her. She’s just had a fight with him and refuses to come, instead going to see her ex-lover, an Italian mobster. After she rejects him too, the mobster decides to go after Danny Rose, mistaking him for the new boyfriend, Canova. After a chase around town, culminating in being kept hostage in an empty mardi-gras float hangar. Finally arriving at the WaldorfAstoria, Canova has a successful show, and is then convinced by his mistress to dump Rose as a manager and try making it in the big-time. Rose throws a Christmas party for his remaining acts, and the mistress appears, but isn’t allowed in. She leaves. Danny Rose chases after her.

Less well known than Annie Hall and Manhattan, Broadway Danny Rose deals with the same love for New York

and complex relationships that characterise almost all Woody Allen films. The film, though, is certainly more farfetched; there’s a mafia chase scene through the swamps of Jersey, an enormous mafioso palace, a bunch of off-the-wall ‘talents’, and yet the film still feels natural. The film has an ever more complex bunch of relationships. The romantic Allen of his other films is submerged totally, never being the central focus of the crisis.

The adventure that Danny Rose (Woody Allen) and Tina (Mia Farrow) have to endure brings them very close, in a way only an eternity of friendship would do otherwise, and the bitterness and distress is certainly felt by the audience when cold-hearted Tina mowes across Danny’s hard-work, having nursed Lou Canova from overweight alcoholic to comeback success.

Danny Rose is not a natural Woody Allen role; gone are the dirty relationships and cultural smugness and the endless musings on New York. His neurosis is even greater, New York plays in the distance, and an actual plot (!) makes it more difficult for any one element to take over. Mia Farrow is excellent as boozing Tina; in her tight pants and dark glasses, Farrow plays the floozy from Brooklyn so well it’s perfect.

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Enska Fyrirlestur: A study in iambic trimeter

By Katherine Buchan How did it come to be, that here, in weary gloom, I sit? This darkened room, a gaol, though I be free.

If I my druthers had, I should be far away from here, and read by day the faded Iliad.

Alas, fair sun, your light that should shine through, my skin to warm, kept out, while in this room, prevailing night.

If with a little haste, the hour took its leave, I should not think to grieve its loss; but this is waste.

Yet on and on, as though

a road, and I and those kept here with me suppose there can’t be far to go.

If I, beside a brook, reclined upon the green hill, blissfully unseen, enraptured I would look.

But scattered faces yawn as if they hadn’t slept in weeks or months but kept a vigil dark to dawn in memory of days gone past, of joyous cheer and carefree seasons dear.

And I, this room, appraise.

“Enska FyrirlesturHow much must I endure?”

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Janus Face

By Camilla Palmer

F

or the past ten days you have been looking at yourself in the mirror and not just to see if your pants match your blouse or if the colour of your scarf suits your complexion. You stand side on to the mirror that leans hazardously against the only bare wall in your small room, running the pink palm of your hand up and down your belly. It has grown; surely everyone has noticed it by now. Your period is two weeks late. Your period is never late. You look at your reflection. That is me, you think to yourself, but it doesn’t feel like you. You can hear him start the car and you have to go. He is sitting there, waiting for you, his thumbs drumming a beat on the rim of the steering wheel. Probably he is singing along with the radio. You apply a slick of lipstick and take your bag, throw it over your shoulder with all the nonchalance of someone carefree, not that you are conscious of that. This has just become your routine, your performance.

That is all.

You migrated from Sydney to Paris two months ago when your husband was promoted and moved to the Paris branch of Michelin. You’ve lived in Paris before though and at first you felt excited; the prospect of old faces being real again presented itself as potential respite from the quotidian boredom. For the first month you felt nothing but light headed; a butterfly just before it leaves the diving bell. You were a snake shedding its skin, becoming smooth and glistening once more. But unlike all the others, the Algerians and Turks, Africans and Arabs, Russians and Iraqis, no one seemed to notice that you also didn’t belong there, that you didn’t fit in. So you wonder at times if it was just a coincidence that you saw Ikeke that day sitting in the square

on a bench eating his lunch or if you had not in fact been looking for him all along, willing it to happen. You remember his eyes, the way they changed as he saw you, not understanding if it was you or just someone who looked like you, his cheek bulging with food he was too shocked to chew and everything was still, the only movement being that of your body returning to his. You sat down next to him and looked him over. His hair was still close-shaven, his skin still smooth and stretched over the angles of his face like the membrane of a bat wing, his mouth so pretty it belonged to a woman. For a while, neither of you said anything. He asked you how you were, mentioned that it had been so long since you had seen one another. You told him it would be five years in September. It was only after fifteen minutes that he had asked you why you were in France and you explained and when the words “mon mari” were said his eyes dropped and you knew the smile on his face was complacent, regretful and perhaps disdainful. You had wanted to place your finger under his chin and hold his gaze in line with yours, tell him that it didn’t matter, that he still lived in your heart. Instead you had him tell you what he was doing with himself, where he was working, if he was married, was he still writing that novel. He worked across the road; he wasn’t married; he was still writing the novel. After another fifteen minutes his break was over, he said he had to get back to work and he would like it very much if he could see you again. You gave him your mobile number, told him to call you when he was free, you would like that. Two days later, a Sunday, your phone rang while you and your husband were watching TV. When you saw his name

flashing on the small green illuminated screen you pressed “reject” because you hadn’t told your husband that you had seen Ikeke. In fact, your husband didn’t know anything about Ikeke. Two hours later your husband was called unexpectedly to his office. He was so apologetic, so guilty for leaving you alone on the one day you were meant to spend together. He couldn’t have understood how happiness was growing inside you like a weed. When he left, you leant out the window, waved to him as he drove away and by the time he had reached the end of the street and turned in to the sleepy Sunday traffic you had already run to your bag, taken your phone and dialled Ikeke’s number.

You met in Le Marais and ate on the Rue des Barres, close to his apartment. You ordered the same pasta dish that you had always eaten the other times you’d been there together. He laughed at this and said ‘Rien n’a changé.’ He patted your hand and you wondered if you had drunk too much already. You didn’t talk about your husband or your wedding that had taken a year to plan and which cost your parents a hundred thousand dollars. This was not out of guilt but simply because you didn’t think to. By the time you finished your meals it was dark outside and Paris, that Sunday, moved thick and smooth, just like velvet. You walked to a club whose blood red facade you had entered a hundred times before but it was quiet inside and the one-woman act did not engage either of you. In the end though it was not the familiar taste of the pasta or the giddiness of the wine or the bad cabaret that led you back to Ikeke’s flat and into a bed that you left crumpled and moist. It was the simple force of him that you had wanted and now it hangs like a prayer inside you.

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You are sitting in a train going nowhere in particular. You have met Ikeke four times this week. You are three weeks late. On a wall at the end of the carriage someone has written “Au royaume des aveugles les borgnes sont rois.” Everything has become a cliché.

You look around at the other people on the train. A woman with her head lulling against a window, her eyes closed. A man reading Libération, the bottom of the paper creasing on top of his stomach, which is so grossly debilitating, it makes you think of sacks filled with pig fat. A young couple holding hands seem somehow separated, their heads turned in opposite directions like a Janus face. You turn to look at the man sitting next to you. He is wearing a black felt hat which shadows his face but still you can see the lines running from nose to mouth, the liver shaped sacks at the lower borders of his eyes, eyes which are in fact shrivelled oceans. Everything on his face, on their faces, is so blank it is depressing. Or perhaps you have misread the faces. Perhaps that is what peace looks like on a face. The man looks at you, silently accuses you of intrusion, you turn your eyes down and note the bag he has wedged between his legs. You decide that if in the bag he is carrying a gift for his dying wife then he is a good person. If he is a disgruntled communist carrying a bomb with plans to blow up the train then he is pure evil. All depends, you suppose, on one’s own experience of the world, of which cliché suits best. You have never met a communist before. You get off at the next stop, Gare Saint Lazare.

At the doctor’s office you sit and wait for your name to be called. You read one of the Paris Match they have piled in the waiting room, their covers stamped

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with the name of the surgery. You look at pictures of footballers’ wives standing at an awards ceremony to honour their husband’s ball skills. They are wearing dresses of silk and organza and taffeta and the fabrics writhe like seaweed over their bodies. They all have heads that are big and crowned with sculpted strands of hair as long and as glistening and as smooth as snakes. You try to philosophise; the footballers’ wives are in fact the spawn of Medusa, their husbands so rigid, as if carved from stone. Your name is called and you follow the white coat the length of the corridor until you come to a room on the right. Everything is clean, clean, clean. You are given a cloth gown to wear and left alone in the room to change.

Naked except for the gown, you lay on the table. It is cold and you feel the air rush between your legs like a swarm of bees.

You press your knees together and then you cross your feet at the ankles. You look at the clock on the wall in front of you. It is 2:53 pm. By 3:30 pm it is finished. You pay the bill and you leave the surgery.

Outside, Paris is busy. The traffic is a steady buzz and the air holds in it a certain fragile calm. You can hear the weather in the fluttering of flags and papers and posters peeling from walls.

In Paris there is a lot of stone and a lot of wood and a lot of people. You can imagine the stone crumbling and you can picture the wood rotting. Tourists stand on street corners trying to decide if this city has more to offer on the other side of the road. You walk aimlessly, almost blindly. You walk in to shops and politely exchange ‘Bonjour’, you finger the hems of silky dresses and leaf through books as old as it is possible for a book to be.

You stop at a bar and drink a coffee

standing up, overhear the conversation of the two old men in the corner who are playing backgammon and criticising each other in a way that pretends to denounce affection but does little more than flaunt it. One of the men has placed his hat on the end of the table. A feather rests between the phthalo blue felt and the silk band, silently shaking each time the door of the café opens and closes. You visit a small gallery and stand for a long time in front of a painting that shows a small girl sitting at the base of a very old oak tree.

Its roots, large and gnarly like veins on the arm of an old man, stretch to the edge of the canvas and beyond. The girl is looking up inside the tree and you follow her gaze and notice a small bird, no bigger than a pea, a raven perhaps. It sits amongst the leaves and branches, obscured and almost invisible, seen only by the girl. The bird, the tree and the girl will be there forever, you think. You return to your apartment as Paris begins its descent into night and you throw your keys and your bag on the bureau by the front door. Your husband calls out to you from the kitchen where, home early from his work, he is cooking an omelette that the two of you will sit and eat together from one plate whilst the TV chatters quietly in the other room and rain begins to fall outside. Over a bottle of wine he will talk about his day, the deals he secured and the money he made and you will complement him on the omelette.

You will not talk about your own day but instead you will tell him about the painting you saw, how nice it would look hanging in the bedroom and he will tell you to return the next day and buy it. In the mornings when you are dressing the girl is always there, watching the bird, a raven most certainly, no bigger than a pea.

Don’t Know Much About Religion

By Andre Teh

A

2008 survey conducted by The Christian Science Monitor of 7,000 youths aged 12 to 25 in 17 countries found that Australian youths were ranked as the least likely to engage in religious activity.

28 percent of Australian youths surveyed did not see a spiritual dimension to life, compared to the worldwide overall of 7 percent.

This remarkable trend of the growth in atheism was enough to warrant a mention

by Pope Benedict during his recent trip to Britain last year, in which he warned the UK to beware of “aggressive forms of secularism”. Benedict highlights the point that many atheist agendas are played in the name of a secular state. Where a secular state should allow all voices to be heard, it’s becoming more common that in the name of secularism, many people are told to be quiet for holding a religious view.

According to this false idea, he claims that freedom of speech and religion are left on shaky ground.

Besides Julia Gillard’s election as a non-religious head of government, there have been other recent events that call into question religion’s relevance in an increasingly globalised world. Protests over the construction of a mosque within the vicinity of Ground Zero in New York, an American pastor’s proposal to burn copies of the Koran, and violent protests

by Muslim extremists over the depiction of Prophet Muhammed in a Danish newspaper are just a few of the unflattering examples spread by the media of religion’s propensity to incite strong, sometimes dangerous, sentiments in their followers.

This begs the question: Are the media and religious skeptics doing justice to belief systems that have existed for centuries, by highlighting the role of individuals rather than the majority?

I consider myself fortunate to born in Malaysia, a country with a diversity of cultures and religions. My family wasn’t particularly religious, though my mother would take the family to the local Taoist temple out of customary tradition.

Growing up as a kid, religion was the

last thing on my mind when there were weekly class tests and outings with my friends to be concerned about. That’s not to say I have not received exposure; my house was situated a few blocks away from the neighbourhood mosque, which would always ring with the call to prayer every evening, and I have attended a few religious festivals celebrated by my friends. But I never felt a personal need to explore my spiritual boundaries, treating theology as superstitious lore.

Gradually, I began to see our intermittent temple visits as more of a chore than a necessary ritual, and after learning more about historical events that have been precipitated on the basis of religion, I came to the conclusion that it was an entirely unnecessary and fruitless aspect of humanity. I became a religious cynic, though I was not quite ready to give up on the existence of higher powers.

So when I discovered the concept of agnosticism, I identified with that and wore the badge with pride.

But something nagged at me. That I hadn’t given ‘religion’ a ‘fair go’. It was this and the reports on the rise of secularism that drove me to seek a clearer understanding of the three religions I’m most familiar with. I figured the best place to start was through their respective organisations on-campus, and hopefully I would be enlightened on their compatibility with a modern world.

Will Scates Frances (who was sent as a replacement by the President of the Islamic Society due to the latter being busy with assignments) has just picked up a double shot mocha after the Friday prayer session. We manage to find a clean table at the Pavillion Food Court, while a crow watches us from its perch on a nearby chair.

“I find there is a surprising amount of prejudice and ignorance about Islam. 54% of Americans didn’t know the Quran was a holy book!” he says, frustration clearly written in his blue eyes. As a Caucasian, he made an unusual sight dressed in a thawb, a traditional Arab garment, with

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an ammamah, an Islamic turban, wrapped around his head. The fragrance of his white musk perfume is enough to overpower the earthy scent of his coffee.

Frances’ father was a historian, an agnostic despite being raised as an Anglican, while his mother was of Irish descent and Catholic. He was born in Melbourne, went to primary school in Auckland, and is currently living in Maroubra with his wife from Bangladesh.

He reveals he’s planning to go on a pilgrimage to Mecca this year with her.

She’s been there once before.

“I converted four and a half years ago. I guess, everybody has an idea of what they want to be, and I found Islam to have the closest gap between the ideal and actual states of the Muslim I met.

Between what they knew was morally correct, and what their actual state was, was indistinguishable,” he says in between sips of his coffee. He credits Sheikh Naeem Abdul Walli, an American convert who studied in Turkey for eight years and who was his first religious teacher, as his impetus.

“I was a convicted atheist, anarchist, or more precisely an ‘anarcho-syndicalist’.

I was pretty hardcore, attended protests…”

He pauses for a moment, perhaps realising he may be revealing too much, before continuing.

In his search for answers, he asked his Muslim classmates about their faith, and discovered he knew more about its history than the religion itself. It was his “morbid curiousity as an Atheist” that led to his introduction to Sheikh Walli in Auburn’s Gallipoli Mosque. After attending the Sheikh’s basement classroom sessions for two weeks, he became a true believer and he credits his conversion for “mellowing (him) a lot.” He still visits the mosque occasionally, though the Sheikh no longer teaches there.

Throughout the interview, he goes on to cite Descartes’ Theory of Cartesian Relativity, the Christian theology of divine simplicity, and Kantian moral duty, demonstrating his considerable length and depth of knowledge. “Oh, I did my research,” he chuckled when I made that observation. “To me, the

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Muslim God made the most sense- there is no anthropomorphism like the Christian God. Religions like Buddhism focus on contentment, but Islam advocates not standing by and letting injustice occur.”

I asked him for his opinion on the recent prayer room protest at the Main Walkway, and here he becomes visibly disconcerted. “I know they don’t owe us in one sense, but in another, we live at their mercy. The focus of the protests weren’t for the construction of a dedicated prayer room on campus, rather they were for the allocation of regular rooms for the purpose- we don’t want them building something just for us.”

“If we were to use their own logic of a place of worship being non-essential, then I ask- Why do we need a bar? Why do we need canteens to serve food?

A university isn’t just for educational purposes.”

He also points out that 2010 Tharunka Editor Su-Min Lim’s argument that the construction of a prayer room taking funds away is not as strong as ensuring as many international students as possible feel welcome at the university.

“I know for a fact there is a mass exodus of International HECS students because of this,” he states unequivocally.

“They don’t owe us anything, but they need to ensure as many international students as possible feel welcome here. It makes financial sense.”

I met Christian Stephens, the Evangelisation Officer of the Catholic Chaplaincy in a small office at the Squarehouse overlooking the Main Walkway. Tanned and broad-shouldered, face framed by a fauxhawk and a five o’clock shadow, he greets me with a strong handshake and a broad grin.

A 3rd generation Lebanese Australian, he was baptized as a baby by his Catholic family. During his late teen years, he had a crisis of faith and investigated other religions before returning at the age of 22, saying he found Christianity “reasonable and nothing less than the truth.” When asked whether he ever questions his faith, he replied, “All the time. To constantly question is good and I encourage others to. However some

people ask questions to avoid knowing, while others ask questions through a hunger for truth. Every time I thought I had a question that I thought couldn’t be answered, and it was, the more I realized that this was the truth.”

Stephens says humans are by nature, religious beings. Since humans are by definition intellectual, people will have thoughts and beliefs about fundamental aspects of their existence, and he thinks people who claim to be non-religious say so either from intellectual laziness, subconsciously knowing their current view (or religion) does not stand on solid ground, or for fear of what they will find if they investigate. “In either situation it seems to be a moral issue more than anything. We are all religious; it’s just a matter of whether it is about the right thing,” he says.

I ask him his opinion on religion’s stance on controversial issues like gay marriage, contraception and euthanasia.

“I believe these stem from a ill or even undefined view of freedom in contemporary society. Many people believe freedom is the ability to do whatever you want.

However, freedom is only one aspect of the human person, and one must deal with other faculties such as the physical, emotional, intellect and spiritual. It’s the role of the intellect to distinguish true from false, right from wrong. In a culture where relativism is dominant, truth and goodness have lost all meaning, so all they have to hold onto is this sense of ‘freedom.’

However, an act which is unreasonable, unnatural and self-destructive is not a true use of freedom. This reveals a classic contradiction in today’s society – that is, how does inherent human dignity and freedom relate to each other. If I am free to violate my own dignity, it’s only a matter of time before some clever political leader recognizes there is no such thing as inherent dignity – it’s just an idea. That’s when the trouble starts.”

According to him, for every contemporary time in history, Christianity has the utmost relevance. “The truth is always relevant and unchanging. It’s up to each generation to grow into learning and loving it. We stand on the shoulders of

those who have gone before us. We have thousands of years of wisdom to reflect upon. To believe that simply because we are the latest, we are wiser and don’t need our ancestors would be the height of arrogance.”

He pauses and chews his lip in deep contemplation. “Catholic Christianity is the fullness of Gods revelation. Its claims are unmatched. Its direct source of revelation is the Son of God, and He guaranteed His Church would never fall into error – no other religious leader has ever made that claim. This demands that it be the first one investigated, since if it is true, it cannot be trumped by a greater claim.”

I enquire about a bracelet he wore on his wrist made of beads with religious images on them. He enthusiastically cites the name of each figure out to me: “The Divine Mercy”, “Our Lady of Guadalupe”, “The Immaculate Heart of Mary”, “Theotokos”, and so on, with little difficulty.

Stephens describes his faith as his anchor, grounding him in what is good and true. A rather odd analogy, I remarked.

“Without an anchor you can end up anywhere – you are at the whim of the ocean of fads and ideologies which have only been around for twenty years and won’t be in another twenty,” he replies.

It’s 9 pm on a Friday night. The Dhamma (Buddha’s teaching) talk organized by Unibuds, the university’s Buddhist society, has just concluded, and people are filing off for a late-night supper. A miniature Buddha idol sits on a yellow cloth draped over the side-table next to the computer monitor, flanked by two lotus flowers.

Staying back with me in the small, nondescript classroom on the second floor of the Robert Webster building are three of the society’s Committee Members.

The President of the Buddhist Society, Foh Fan Yong, is seated opposite me, dressed in a garishly pink polo shirt and dark blue jeans. Next to him is Bing Sen, the External Vice President, a heavy-set, stout person with a round face to match.

And completing our circle is the former

President, Ian Xian Yuan Ch’ng, dressed smartly in a collared shirt and a bracelet of rosary beads strung round his wrist.

All three of them come from families which practiced Buddhism, though Yong considered himself a free thinker and even went to church for a brief period during high school. He explains to me that Buddhists don’t pray to “ask for something”. Rather, they “pay respect” to the Triple Gems, which are Buddha, Dhamma and Sangha. Therefore there is no limitation on how many times they have to pray daily, though they do have chanting sessions to recite the Buddha’s teachings, and meditation sessions to train their mind.

I ask them what is the best lesson their religion teaches. “Impermanence,” Yong says without hesitation. “Nothing lasts forever. I have learnt how to deal with attachment. This really helped me.

We suffer because of things that we’d like to stay forever.” Ch’ng points to the table in front of us an example of impermanence. “This table wasn’t exactly the same as when it first arrived here.

Although it might look the same to you, it’s got a lot more wear and tear, and one of the legs is a bit crooked. The person I am now two seconds ago isn’t exactly the same person I am now. I am breathing in and out, my cells are changing and my blood is moving all over my body too!

There is no fixed self, because everything is inter-connected.”

I ask them if they encountered any self-doubts. “Yes I did,” admits Yong.

“That was during the beginning. I didn’t quite understand some of the teachings and feel they are not related to our life.

But after asking some of my friends and our Venerables, I started to understand more and recovered my faith. However, this is also what Buddha once said. He encouraged us to understand his teaching instead of following it blindly.”

“Our patron, Venerable Tsang Hui once said, ‘I you think Buddhism is for you, you’re welcome to stay. If not, you may leave,’ “ adds Sen. Yong believes that Buddhism has significance in contemporary society based on the endurance of Buddha’s teaching

since it was first passed down around 2500 years ago. He feels Buddhism is more like a philosophy instead of a religion, though Ch’ng held the opposite view. “Philosophy is more on theory, while religion is both faith and practice. Buddhism requires faith and practice to gain its benefit, otherwise it’s just theory and will not help us to improve our life,” he says. Sen, who has remained largely soft-spoken throughout the interview, merely nods his head amicably.

Yong mentions there was an experiment regarding developing happiness through metta meditation.

When a Venerable was under meditation, the equipment readings went off the scale.

Sen concurs on the scientific basis of Buddhism with a quote, “Einstein once said ‘If there’s any religion that could cope with modern scientific needs, it would be Buddhism.’”

When I ask them if they believe they were better people because of their religion, Yong laughs and says it’s up to those around him to judge. He does add though, that he enjoys the freedom that Buddhism allows. “I am never forced to do something or follow the teachings blindly, whenever I don’t understand something, I always ask.” The other two nod their heads in agreement.

In my journey of self-reflection and introspection, I have encountered many individuals who share a deep conviction and passion for their respective faiths. I am left humbled by the sheer intricacy of their doctrines, yet inspired by their simple message to their believers, to live a life that makes you a better person. I still remain unsure whether I can reconcile my skepticism of organised religion with the wisdom and benevolence I have been shown by its believers. But I have come to the realisation that by rejecting the strange and unknown, I had not been open to the infinite possibilities of life’s many wonders.

“Complexity is beautiful,” says Frances as he finishes his coffee at the end of our interview. “The deeper you get, the more complex it becomes. That’s religion for you.”

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L

Warming Cycle

By Aaron Anderson Sydney via Kansas (2005 - 2006)

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d Reviews c The Matchmaker Reviewed by Camilla Palmer Directed by Avi Nesher and winner of the Audience Choice Award for Best Feature at the New York Israeli Film Festival 2011, The Matchmaker is a film set in post-Holocaust Israel. It is the summer of 1968 and teenager Arik Burstein begins work for Yankele Bride, a Holocaust survivor who has literally been scarred by his time in the camps. Bride is an old school friend of Arik’s father and his line of work is brokering marriages and love matches for those who can’t do it on their own...with a dash of smuggling contraband goods on the side. A lover of detective crime fiction, Arik’s assistant role sees him spying on prospective clients, a job that has him venturing into the more dubious areas of Haifa’s ‘lowrent’ district.

For all his matchmaking abilities (he gives his clients ‘what they need, not what they want’) Bride is not so lucky in his own love life. He must settle for the role of friend and protector to the sultry and wise Clara, (Maya Dagan) the love of his life who, in spite of her own feelings for Bride, cannot shake the horrors of her time as a prisoner in the concentration camps. In fact, although the film is an ode to the nostalgia of youth and the joys and tribulations of coming of age, the horror of war and terrorism is always present.

The teenagers in this film like Arik and his friends, the first generation Israelis, struggle to come to terms with the legacy of their parents’ experiences in the war.

They are at once ignorant of and curious about the secrets their parents seem to conceal surrounding the truth of all they witnessed and endured. Nesher treats this generational gap with a delicate balance of humour and sympathy, creating characters that in the face of war have chosen to endure on through life, making the most of what they have to work with.

The memorable performances from Tuval Shafir as Arik Burstein and Adir Miller as Yankele Bride are central to the success of the film and provide much of the humour that softens the impact of the more challenging aspects of the film.

So too Bat-El Papura who plays Sylvia, 26 | Tharunka

one of the ‘Seven Dwarves’ who run the Bollywood cinema Bride frequents.

In fact all the characters are carefully and thoughtfully played, with the older generations living under the weight of the past, giving way to the youth who regardless of their struggle to understand their parents’ legacy offer hope and vibrancy for the future.

The film deals with challenging subject matter and does so with seriousness and a bitter-sweet sense of humour, making it a profoundly enjoyable film.

The Matchmaker, a film directed

by Avi Nesher and starring Maya Dagan, will be shown as part of the Israeli Film Festival at the Palace Verona, Paddington. Session times are Tuesday August 23 8.30pm and Sunday August 28 1.45pm.

Anima Mundi Reviewed by Else Kennedy Anima Mundi by Australian film-maker Peter Downey means ‘soul of the world’.

It is a compelling narrative of energy descent and the urgent need for change in our ways of living and relating to nature.

The film brings together an extraordinary mix of powerful and influential voices, beautiful imagery and archival newsreel and advertisement footage to paint a picture of the systemic trap that we find ourselves in and the difficulty of change.

Taking an outsiders perspective on human beings as a species, the film eerily juxtaposes our ways of living and teaching our cultures with images of nature and environmental destruction.

The atmosphere of the film is in turns peaceful, refreshing and deeply disturbing, viewing human activities and change from the perspective of the earth.

Voices narrating the film include Vandana Shiva on the seed, John Seed on deep ecology, Dr Christine James on psychology, David Holmgren on Permaculture, Noam Chomsky on activism, Michael Ruppert, author of Crossing The Rubicon: The Decline of the American Empire at the End of

the Age of Oil and Stefan Harding on Gaia, the living Earth. Through these voices a picture emerges of the current transition of human industrial civilization being ushered in by peak oil and climate change.

As Michael Reynolds bluntly puts it “the way we have been living is over”.

This film concisely and powerfully brings together diverse visions for navigating this period of change from a broad spectrum of the environmental movement.

Anima Mundi, a film directed by Peter Downey, will premiere at the Chauvel Cinema, Paddington Thursday August 25, alongside the launch of the new book “Permaculture Pioneers”.

Mabul (The Flood) Reviewed by Irina Belsky Mabul began as a short film, before director Guy Nativ decided to extend it to a feature length version which went on to win best film, best cinematography and best actor at the Haifa international film festival in 2010.

The film follows Yoni Roshko, a young boy preparing for his bar mitzvah amongst the havoc unleashed on his family when his severely autistic brother Tomar returns home from an institution.

The presence of Yoni’s brother causes the already existing tensions between Yoni’s parents Miri and Gidi to reach a critical point.

Mabul stands out because it captures human flaws without judging them. It makes a point of demonstrating that no one is perfect but that each person can be forgiven for their personal flaws.

This makes it is very easy to relate to all the characters, whose behavior often alternates between moral and immoral actions, much like in real life.

Particularly impressive where the performances by Yoni and his mother Miri because they were believable and realistic. Roni Elkabetz who played Miri, is a film maker as well as an actress, which might explain the ease with which

she portrays an immoral, yet kind and likable character. As for Yoav Rotman, who starred as Yoni, it’s difficult to remember the last time I saw an actor his age and thought “damn, that kid can act” The things that were not so great in the movie include the mediocre acting of Tzahi Grad (who played Yoni’s father Gidi) and the background music. Hearing it in every second scene was distracting, even if the music was pleasant. The one thing I was taught in media production is that you shouldn’t rely on music to create an emotion in the audience. The scene itself should do that for you.

I thought the movie did an excellent job of telling a story as it progressively revealed more and more the motivation behind characters’ actions. Like most movies, Mabul not perfect but it is definitely a well thought out, deep and visually beautiful film.

The Flood (Mabul), a film directed by Guy Nativ and starring Yoav Rotman and Roni Elkabetz, will be shown as part of the Israeli Film Festival at the Palace Verona, Paddington.

Session time is Wednesday August 24 6.30pm.

Horse Meat Disco Reviewed by Jen Mclean House and disco music of our day are certainly doing interesting things, and there’s evidently a lot more to the scene than dub-step. Not to say that dub-step doesn’t have its place, but more that there appears ample room on today’s club music scene for a variety of styles and beats. Yes, there are some wicked mash ups of contemporary artists by DJ’s like Tiësto, while others, such as Girl Talk, have a knack for combining the old and the new. But Horse Meat Disco, now releasing their third album in their seventh year of practice, epitomize a third realm of interest on the scene, leaning towards boogie and disco fresh with renditions of classic 80s legends such as Belle Époque and Suzi Q. A four-part collaboration hailing from London’s Vauxhall, Horse Meat Disco present 28 delicious tracks on this self-titled album, that brings together the best of ’80s house as well as a few, relatively unheard of newer compositions. Each track blends into the next in a smooth transition, starting with

dance-worthy tempos on the first disc and moving into early morning, sleazy sounds on the second. The collaboration does annual sets at UK festivals Lovebox and Glastonbury, and even hit Sydney at the Vivid festival this year. Let’s just hope they come back.

Horse Meat Disco, an album by Horse Meat Disco, is available now on Fuse Records.

Keb Darge & The Little Edith’s Legendary Wild Rockers Reviewed by Jen Mclean Scotsman Keb Darge takes us deep into the heart of underground ’50s and ’60s music with his latest compilation, Keb Darge & Little Edith’s Legendary Wild Rockers. It’s a funky combination of surf rockabilly and the sounds of retro that proves today’s music industry is interested in more than just electric beats and heavy bass.

Before this album, the name Keb Darge was one I was completely unfamiliar with. Turns out, he’s a pretty important guy with a fair amount of responsibility for the underground music scene of his day. The now Soul/ Funk DJ supposedly began his career as a dancer before giving up the jive for a job at Madame Jojo’s in Soho, London, running a weekly funk night that quickly became the place to be.

Today, Darge clearly has a passion for reviving and reworking some of the great music from that time. This album has a myriad of different sounds, ranging from an edgy surf-style groove in tracks such as Stormy Gale’s Flipsville to a more Elvis-esque rock ‘n’ roll found in the opening track, Prissy Missy, by Dale McBride. Every now and then, an album is released that reminds us just how good the music of this era was. Keb Darge & Little Edith’s Legendary Wild Rockers is just one of those albums.

Keb Darge & The Little Edith’s Legendary Wild Rockers, a compliation by Keb Darge, is out now on Fuse Records.

Splenderr Reviewed by Tom Grant The sun rises over a foggy mountainside where weary campers awake to dewy pastures and vast blue skies. As the native calls of “SPLENDERR” reverberate around Woodfordia, it can only be one time of the year, Splendour In The Grass.

Friday The crowd hazily starts to build in The Mix-Up where young Melbourne upstarts World’s End Press try to wake everyone up with their infectious take on late 80s disco. While nothing spectacular or different is really displayed by this quartet, their formulaic take on a tried and tested genre is hard not to dance to, creating the perfect mood for the rest of the day.

To The Amphitheatre, where British Sea Power plateaued through a set of emotive indie ballads that mixed well with the surrounds but not with the crowd.

Then entered a band that seems destined for bigger things, Jinja Safari. A lot has changed since these Sydney boys played Splendour 2010 as Triple J Unearthed winners, and the sizeable crowd gathered to see them affirms that entirely. The band rollicked through a small but punchy set that perfectly showcased their work as Paul Simon’s Graceland wrapped up in the emotional attachment that is almost required of good indie music these days.

The first of a few acts at this years Splendour that teetered dangerously on the cliff of hype was James Blake, whose unique combination of dub-step fundamentals and ethereality created easily the album of the year so far. As a result of this, the overflowing Mix Up tent greeted Blake and his cohorts with a raucous applause that was tinged with a cautious optimism, if only they had shut up as well. Blake’s intricate stylings were lost in a cacophony of sound created by a murmuring audience, and the set suffered.

That said, at many points during the set, namely Limit To Your Love, Blake washed the heaviest base lines you will hear over the audience, putting a stop to their nonsense, albeit briefly. This did create a level amongst Blake and his band, which diminished their effectiveness and poise.

One group of girls who have no doubt in their talents and power is Warpaint. The LA quartet pulsed through a set that showcased their supreme control over their pace and volume, as well as the visceral attack on the senses that their music can sometimes be. Beetles provided 27 | Tharunka

the ultimate highlight of the set, with Emily Kokal testing her vocal chords more than sufficiently.

As the sunset over the Amphitheatre for the first time this year, Modest Mouse treated us to a set that never really took off.

Sure, we all danced like idiots to hits like Float On and Dashboard, but connection between the band and the audience was nonexistent. Isaac Brock and co. spent much of their performance concentrated on the perfection of their craft, and as a result the crowd suffered.

Gotye is one of the finest musical exports that Australia has to export, the intricacy and finesse that goes into his practice is second to none, and his performance tonight only affirmed that.

Wally de Backer had the sizeable crowd gathered to see him wrapped around his finger, with current Hottest 100 favourite Somebody That I Used To Know providing the highlight, Kimbra joining him on stage with the biggest sing-a-long of the set. It should be noted, however, that after this song had played, a fair portion of the crowd left to go seem some dude headline the Amphitheatre.

I however, did not leave. Shock horror. I decided to postpone Mr. West exert his authority over me by seeing the kings of post-rock Mogwai. A small crowd had gathered to see the Glaswegians, but they did not seem phased, slaughtering the audience with their unique reinvention of loud. Unlike other post-rock bands, Mogwai uses emotional attachment sparingly, rather expanding on single themes and constructs with a far more poise. They exhibited such unbelievable control of their sound, particularly in Mogwai Fear Satan, which after 12 minutes of diminishing sound explodes into a cacophony of noise with no warning whatsoever.

Yes, he’s a bit of a dick. No, Jay-Z didn’t turn up. Oh god yes, he put on a great show. Production values were paramount as Kanye West commanded the stage amongst ballerinas, lasers and fireworks. But the main attraction was obviously he, the man simply demands attentions from his followers. In what was essentially a ‘best of’ set, West also treated the audience to the best bits of his 2010 masterpiece My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. Somehow, Kanye West has managed to become the most notorious pop star of the 21st Century, whilst still being the one that defines it best.

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Saturday On first glance, today’s line up in undoubtedly the weakest. This, which many punters will emphatically attest to, is due to the lack of a relevant and relatable headliner.

Today’s proceedings started noticeably later for the majority of punters, but those who rose early enough to see Tim and Jean would have liked what they saw.

In what can only be defined as ‘happy music for happy people’, these hip young things bounced around the stage with their falsettoladen disco-pop.

Dananananaykroyd (look it up) brought their self-proclaimed ‘fight pop’ to the Amphitheatre for the second time after two years, and not much has changed. The Glaswegians still play the same punchy and shouty brand of indie pop that while is not the most listenable of music, it’s pretty goddam fun live. Punctuating the set with the now famous ‘wall of hugs’ (you gotta try it), this rambunctious sextet won’t change many lives with their music, but they’ll sure have a lot of fun trying.

Perhaps the most underrated songwriter this country has to offer was up next in the GW McLennan, Gareth Liddiard. Although in some circles he his highly regarded because of his talents, the sometimes vicious and unrelenting nature of his performance and lyricism (both through his solo work and with The Drones) has limited his exposure. Liddiard’s humour and Australian drawl endeared him to a half packed tent, and he was quite open to that fact, stating that if he was a festival promoter “the first thing I’d do is not book me”.

As the Saturday afternoon sun began to descend, those in the GW McLennan tent witnessed The Jezabels come of age as a serious up and comer on the ever growing Australian music scene. Their brand of indie pop wrapped up in a Yeah Yeah Yeahs grunge is really making waves amongst the Australian market and the overflowing audience can attest to that.

Foster The People’s don’t really know who they are just yet. Indie summer balladeers? Madchester revivalists? The finger is not quite on the button just yet, but to be honest, all forms of this Los Angeles trio work on a live setting. Hits like Call It What You Want and Pumped Up Kicks all had the crowd moving, but for completely different reasons, which made the start of each new song like the start of a completely different set.

The ever-evolving state of The Mars Volta graced the Amphitheatre next, with all gathered maintaining absolutely no idea has

to what incarnation of the vicious Volta they were to see. It wasn’t what they wanted, but what they got, they enjoyed. Declaring immediately that they would be letting us into they’re “private rehearsal” of new material, which sees the band move further away from the Latin-based prog-jams of old and more towards a funk based exploration of themes introduced in their latest offering Octahedron. Old Volta fans will be glad to know however, that they have moved away from the shorter song structure introduced in the aforementioned album, rather deconstructing them and reconstructing into extended attacks. In the end, Cedric, Omar and co. gave the audience what the came for with Son et Lumière, Inertiatic ESP and Goliath ripping them to shreds in a quick 20 minute burst at the end of the set.

The largest problem that faced this years Splendour was the distance between the Mix Up Tent and the GW McLennan tent, or lack there of. The extreme noise and bass tremor from the former could be heard non-stop from the latter, and especially considering the boutique nature of it’s performers, they suffered greatly. This is non more relevant to Regina Spektor. Her cutesy piano pop just couldn’t translate to the surrounds, entirely because of the fact that anyone more than ten metres away from her couldn’t hear her.

One pair of Sydneysiders who know how to fill a tent is PNAU, whose infectious dance music is dumb, but so much fun.

Although they seem to be taking themselves a bit more seriously with their latest album Soft Universe, it still didn’t stop them swell a heaving mass of people into an absolute frenzy with hits such as Solid Ground and Wild Strawberries.

Sunday For a band that has only released one EP, Grouplove already seem comfortable on a stage as big as the Amphitheatre. The troupe rollicked through a set with songs from their self-titled EP and forthcoming album, all of which radiated with a summery glow that was hard to shake.

The title of The Vaccines debut album poses a rhetoric hard to answer, What Did You Expect From The Vaccines? Even with its release, and a growing live presence around the world, no one quite new the answer, but their performance today will go some way to help. Their simple guitar music was instantly translatable to the surrounds and their boyish charm made them immediately likable. Hits such as Wreckin’ Bar (Ra Ra Ra), If You Wanna and a sublime cover of The Standells’ Sometimes Good Guys Don’t Wear White.

If this Splendour is to be characterised in terms of moments, it won’t be Kanye West or Coldplay that should pop to mind, it should be the moment in time that The Middle East played their last ever show. By the time they had hit the stage, the news had spread around the entire site, as a result, no a spare patch of dirt could be found anywhere. The delicacy in which their music was created was apparent today, with such songs as Darkest Side and Blood rendered absolutely perfectly by the band. It is such a shame that a band of such majesty and grace with so much promise can be taken away from us so early into our love affair with them.

The last three acts to be enjoyed this splendour were all found at the Amphitheatre, and it seemed everyone at the site had the same idea. The sight of 15,000 people standing on this sacred hill is something that has to be seen to be believed, truly incredible. Kaiser Chiefs kicked off proceedings and did not disappoint. While nothing remarkable really exists in their music, their live presence is amongst the best in the world. Lead singer Ricky Wilson catapulted himself around the stage and into the audience much to the delight of those involved. I Predict A Riot nearly incited one and hits like Modern Way and Every Day I Love You Less And Less drawing the crowd into frenzy.

Jarvis Cocker is a god. Whilst nothing should be taken away from the merits of Pulp, there is no doubt that the lifeblood of this act lies in the skinny legs of this bearded fellow. Cocker scowled around Pulp’s set with a distinct sinister nature that is everything that those waiting over a decade to see Pulp had hoped. While those not versed in Pulp’s catalogue somewhat ruined the vibe of the performance until Common People was played, This Is Hardcore, Disco 2000 and MisShapes gelled well with those who knew them, and those who didn’t.

These days, it’s become a faux-pas to like Coldplay, so the cynic in me wants to brand them the kings of soft rock, the cynic in me wants to point out that they’ve replaced one tiresome aesthetic with another, the cynic in me wants to say that there were so many possible acts that could’ve headlined this festival, but for the life of me, I just can’t. The fact of the matter is, these guys are professionals, and they put on one hell of a good show, so remove your thinkly-rimmed glasses and have some fun for once. Coldplay played every song you would want them to play with a few new songs cheekily dispersed throughout as well. The entire hill was already in fits of mayhem after Yellow was played only two songs into the set. The Scientist, Politik, God Put A Smile Upon Your Face and an impromptu tribute to Amy Winehouse at the start of Fix You all proved significant highlights.

Whether or not this years Splendour (or Splendours to come) will ever live up to what last year provided is irrelevant. Whatever incarnation this truly special festival takes, it will always be known as Australia’s most beloved festival.

2011 Arc @ UNSW Elections Arc @ UNSW Limited (Arc) will be holding three (3) elections during August to October 2011. All the election positions are recognised on the Australian Higher Education Graduation Statement (AHEGS) and the term of office is one (1) year, beginning 1 December 2011. The elections include: Student Development Committee (SDC) The SDC is responsible for the management of clubs and societies, student volunteer programs, leadership and development programs, grants and other relevant student events.

There are six (6) positions available on the SDC (Kensington) and two (2) positions on the SDC @ CoFA. Nominations open on Monday 15th August 2011. All nominations must be received by the Returning Officer (sdc.ro@arc.unsw.edu.au) by no later than 4.00pm, Monday 29th August 2011.

Student Representative Council (SRC) The SRC represents the students of UNSW to the University administration, all levels of Government, the local community and to peak national representative bodies.

There are twenty-two (22) positions available on the SRC (Kensington), including twelve (12) Councillor positions and fourteen (14) positions on the SRC @ CoFA, including three (3) Undergraduate and three (3) Postgraduate Representative positions.

Other positions up for election include three (3) Tharunka Editors and seven (7) NUS Delegates.

Nominations open on Monday 22nd August 2011. All nominations must be received by the Returning Officer (returning.officer@ozemail.com.au) by no later than 4.00pm, Monday 12th September 2011.

Postgraduate Council (PGC) The PGC provides student representative on issues that may affect postgraduate members of Arc and the wider postgraduate student population at UNSW. There are fifteen (15) positions available on the PGC, including eight (8) Councillor positions.

Nominations open on Monday 29th August 2011. All nominations must be received by the Returning Officer (returning.officer@ozemail.com.au) by no later than 4.00pm, Monday 12th September 2011.

To view the positions available for all the elections and for further information, check out the Arc website: www.arc.unsw.edu.au (go to: About Us, Board, Elections) or pick up a copy of the election notices and the nomination forms at Arc Reception – Blockhouse Kensington.

YOU MUST BE A MEMBER OF Arc TO RUN IN THESE ELECTIONS. Contact details: SDC Returning Officer: Nitasha Prasad. Phone: 02 9385 7711 or email sdc.ro@ arc.unsw.edu.au.

SRC & PGC Returning Officer: Ema Esteves. Phone: 0432 218 026 or email returning.officer@ozemail.com.au.

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Lizzette the Agony Aunt

By Liz Stern Dearest Aunt of Agony, The winds of time do harshly beat me down, That I am such that lack the worth for youth Even to combat that haggard and vile MTV For their fulsome passing interest and fancy, and yet Like the dragonfly that drifts hazily t’ward dawn They yearn for greater meaning to be finally reach’d.

Whyfore must my tortured pen be render’d thus, That I am worth less than advert upon bus?

A Most Ardent Fan. Dearest Shakespeare ol’ pal, I think what you’re trying to say here is...that you’re sick of people not understanding your work, and then seeking meaning in the pop-culture rubbish of this world...yes? I never was quite sure that I understood you, even back in our school days together. Always with the ‘wherefore’s and the ‘art thou’s...could you ever say simply what you bloody well meant?

But that aside, my dear William – the problem with kids today is their minds are filled (or fill’d, if you must) with too MUCH culture. Every year has heap’d upon them new things to delight and entertain; I’m afraid you’ve gotten a bit passé, old chum. Yes, yes, your themes are universally relevant and the characters are eternal, blah blah; but where’s the modern zip, Shakey? Where’s the pizzazz, the chutzpah, the flim-flam-flash, the hulabalooh, and other not-words?

If you really want to teach kids about people and about deeper meaning in life, I’d suggest starting a blog, or vlog, or some other way to reach out and grab their short attention spans quickly. Maybe with a snappy name, like ‘Shaking Your Speare at Willy’. Yeah. Catchy! And you could always update your old stuff – ‘The Merchant of Venice’ could easily be reappraised to become ‘The Maccas of

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Who Am I?

Kensington’, a light-hearted take on fast food. That sounds pretty original. Also, could you get ‘Exit, pursu’d by Ronald’ in there somewhere?

Dear Miss Aunt, So I cut off my ear and sent it to this lady I fancy, and she still doesn’t seem all that keen on me. What’s the best way to get a girl’s attention?

Dutch Impression.

Dear Mr Van Gogh, Firstly, it’s Ms Aunt to you. Secondly, sending a girl decomposing body parts by mail is probably not the quickest way to her heart. Points for creativity though.

Even though you sound like a total psycho Vincent, I’m happy to give you some tips – even psychos need lady help! Girls like fresh-cut flowers, the more the better (perhaps that was your intention with the ear – something fresh?) They also like money. Also, they love giving things to people, anything from small thoughtful presents to their virginity. This is true of every single woman, guaranteed. Thus, I suggest you buy her a flower shop – all women love them; they satisfy their every need, see? Or you could paint her a picture or something, I dunno.

Dear Agony Aunt, In circa 16,000 BCE, I painted some pictures of my horse at my local cave in France, a place called Lascaux. I just thought they were really pretty, but now I see images of my paintings everywhere!

Someone is stealing my intellectual property, and I’m sure I have a claim to it legally. Can you advise me of a good local lawyer?

Yours sincerely, Ug. Dear Ug, No.

I am new at UNSW. I am shy, and almost impossible to find.

I am ‘underground’.

I come monthly.

I see only in red, black and white.

I am small, pamphletlike and cardboardy.

You probably wouldn’t notice me in the trash as different from any Socialist Alliance propaganda.

I am low on text or content, and high on mindless quotes.

I show my rebellion by using swear words. (Copy cats…Tharunka ed’s) I am also terribly pretentious, even though I’m being ‘ironic’ about it – for example, when asking questions of my readers, they are advised not to reply lest they be labelled as ‘wankers’.

I am not a big fan of contribution, because it is so mainstream.

I have my own marketing department and advertising department, but I’m still totally opposed to the mainstream.

Despite my rough texture, I’m soft, strong and thoroughly absorbent.

Who am I? I am…..the new UNSW zine, ism.

May the editorial gods help us all.

Queer Collective: Tim, Ray & Squish queer@arc.unsw.edu.au

Another plausible solution to combat environmental woes is to come along to a UNSW Environment Collective meet have fun, eat snacks and help make our campus greener. Find us on the quad lawn, 12 noon every Wednesday!

It’s been a huge and eventful past few weeks, with our cross-campus Queer Collective Karaoke Night in Chinatown on Thursday 4th of August being highly successful – we had so many people attend that we could barely all fit inside the karaoke room, and had a great time singing some all-time classics.

Last Saturday was also another big event for us – The National Day of Action Rally for Marriage Equality. We had a great turn-up of students from the UNSW Queer Collective (about 9-10 of us), and we all loved holding up the busy Saturday arvo city traffic whilst marching all the way from Town Hall to Taylor Square.

Afterwards at 3pm, we hosted a Picnic down at Hyde Park and invited folks from other unis to join. We had a wonderful turnout, with many of us staying until the twilight hours past 6pm.

Over the next couple of weeks we will be running a few activities to help build up awareness and fundraise for our biggest week of the year in week 8 – Queer Week! So expect to see us around handing out flyers, wearing t-shirts and flags and doing other crazy stuff to promote our big week that’s coming up.

We’re really excited about it and we have a lot of stuff planned, BBQs & Picnics, group discussion activities and workshops, and parties, so stay tuned!

As always, if you are interested in joining our collective, please contact the queer officers.

forced to pay many costs to complete their courses that aren’t included in HECS. This places a strain on already struggling students and can leave them with ultimatums of ‘do I buy my materials or do I pay my rent?’ These costs can include art materials, uniforms, lab coats, safety goggles and many more. Look out for events in the future and ways you can help be a part of the campaign.

I’ve been working with Kathy on investigating the policies around students taking medications into exams. Hopefully I’ll be able to expand on our findings in my next report and ensure that students are not being disadvantaged.

The free breakfasts will be on hiatus for the majority of September (on request from FM Assist) but we’ll be back up and running towards the end of the semester every Monday at 9am outside the library.

Welfare Department: Sarah Frazier welfare@arc.unsw.edu.au

Environment Collective: (Ben Gregory & Aidan Runagall-Mcnaull environment@arc.unsw.edu.au

The Fair Fares barbecue that was held in week 4 was a great success. International and domestic students alike worked together to get hundreds of signatures on the petition for concession fairs for international students. I’ll continue working with Sam and Mike in the future to make this campaign a success and achieve the best outcome for students.

In today’s doom and gloom society it is easy to feel a bit under the weather. If it’s not coral bleaching, its species extinction we have to worry about. To make matters worse, every denier and their dog is starting a blog complaining about being charged the equivalent of an extra coffee or two a week to save the climate. An alternative might be to skip washing your clothes to save the money. Protecting the planet, regular coffee and spending less at the laundrette- something we can all get behind!

Also look out for the Campus Crime Stoppers campaign that we’ll be running within the coming weeks. Students are

Women’s Collective: Kim Lowe women@arc.unsw.edu.au It has been an interesting few weeks in politics for women. First we had the Kristina Keneally hair extension saga, where male politicians decided it was their duty to take photographs with their phones in session to spread the front page news, then Penny Wong and her partner Sarah Allouache were splashed across the opinion pages for their joyous pregnancy being the root cause of the London riots, and as usual Julia Gillard was berated for her ‘unconventional’ relationship with Tim Mathieson.

It seems to me, and you might disagree, that people change their hair all the time, and I think most people would agree that same sex parenting doesn’t cause rioting (let’s just ignore the economic and political climate right?) and let’s just say that it has become quite normalised to be in a de facto relationship, yet as soon as a woman is in a position of power she is questioned over some of the most average decisions, and blamed for obscure global happenings that clearly have no relationship to them (thanks for your two cents Miranda Devine, but we could all do without it.)

So what has all of this got to do with student politics? Well let’s face it, people in positions of power effect change in society. When they propel slander campaigns based on physical appearances, sexuality, and relationship statuses it continues social values that normalise relationship types and body image that places individuals in marginalised positions. It’s time to stand up to these constructs that disadvantage women and demand that people in power start making the effort to enforce changes in societal opinions.

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