Volume 2: Flux

MAG

VERTIGO

acknowledgement of country The University of Technology Sydney would like to acknowledge the Gadigal people of the Eora Nat ion as the traditional custodians and knowledge keepers of the land in which UTS now stands and pays respect to Elders past, present and emerging.

MAREE GRAHAM Deputy Director, Students, and Community Engagement Jumbunna Institute for Indigenous Education & Research

vertigo’s publication Vertigo is published by the UTS Students’ Association (UTSSA), and proudly printed by SOS Printing, Alexandria.

The contents of Vertigo do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors, printers, or the UTSSA. Vertigo and its entire contents are protected by copyright. Vertigo will retain the right to republish in any format. Contributors retain all other rights for resale and republication. No material may be reproduced without the prior written consent of the copyright holders.

content warning Some articles may contain themes of mental illness, suicide, body image, disordered eating, abuse, death and nudity.

If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health, please consider speaking to your local GP, a healthcare professional, or calling one of these numbers: Lifeline — 13 11 14 Beyondblue — 1300 22 4636 If you or someone you know is experiencing, or has experienced self injury or eating disorders, you can call or refer the person to the following confidential hotlines.

Butterfly Foundation — 1800 33 4673 National Eating Disorder Collaboration — www.nedc.com.au

contents

FICTION

NON FICTION

19.

28.

36.

52.

63.

66.

82.

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We Had Faces Then by Caitlin Gunst Breathe by Emily Gibbs Reunion by Ellie Carless Cotton Country by Georgia Wilde Shock Hazard by Lily Cameron Love of My Life by Ally Moulis All Hush by Michael Di lorio All of a Sudden by Josh Green Beer Garden by James Gardiner

20. ‘Things To Come’: A Lesson In Flux by Clare Doughtey 30. Declining Democracy by Alannah Daly 32. The Perils of Glow-up Culture by Katherine Rajwar 42. When I First Felt Fat by Elizabeth Green 64. we are bad at this. by Mena Basaly 89. Moving with the HiAce Highway by Rune Woodman 92. The Vines by Emma Walls 96. Sappho’s Ghost by Ali Chalmers

AMPLIFY

07.

08.

60.

78.

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Mixtape The Sound of My First Kiss by Sharen Samson Melina Marchetta by Lily Cameron Eurovision: From Kitschy To Fabulous by Lachlan Woods Saintjhn by Jason Denison

SHOWCASE

10.

23.

34.

37.

44.

53.

67.

84.

94.

102.

112.

134.

‘Camille’ by Tor Wills ‘Desire’ by Yan Martea ‘Contact Dermatitis’ by Maya Kilic ‘Wreckage’ by Grace Felstead ‘Lucy’ by Rachel Tse ‘Romance’ by Tayla Jay ‘Pink Verdure’ by Phoebe Barrett ‘Performance’ by Yan Martea ‘Entrance’ by Joshua Moll ‘Femme Fatale’ by Keya Arur ‘Sugar’ by Ady Neshoda ‘Illume’ by Jackson Elliott

OFFHAND

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Confessions To and From by Lucy Tassell Horoscopes by Jenny Cao What Kind of Kisser Are You? Chatterbox How To Submit To Vertigo Students’ Association Reports Flux Yearbook

s ’ r o t i d e letter

stop . But you can’t o g to y d a re d er’s last e reeling an dhood—summ ll swing, you’r il fu h c in k to c , a b ys a s d i’ ributors li Un asked our cont st week, to ho e la w to e, k m c lu a b vo g thinkin change, r our second es of profound g you back. Fo m in ti , aw dr ts n ls e ri m o nd m d those te oming of age’ in the past, an ‘c d e ir k e c th lo r e e s id o s n th to co lume for iddle. on. This is a vo stuck in the m ’s o h w e n o ry things in moti d eve the future, an we’ve with hope for ct and grow, so fle re to e m ti t ched and we’ve stit ter is the perfec t, es m en se em w ov ne m a d flux as istakes, an The start of out change, m ur 37 friends in o ab s in ie Jo or l. st fu ti ed u a gather ething be r to make som s to them. them togethe g of age mean in m o c t a h w undscape they explore ck into the so ba w ro th s n’ en Samso ning media oting with Shar t Kiss. Questio fo rs s Fi it y M ds f o fin d n stralian UX u FL whether the Au ence in The So c er s id le o ns d a co d n to a us cy. of 2010 nah Daly asks lining Democra an c e Al D , in cs t hi n e et m al e and dew y and politic uth engag e soft colours ever honour yo l th il y, w h t p n ra e g m to rn o minds Gove e’s fashion ph Mena Basaly re .

Ts l ve e h ha c a er R r ev ll fo in u’ Settle in pick-me-up yo h and studying lt st a te e h ee l ta sw n e e m th comes to rovision aesthetic is at this when it ng right with Eu d hi a et b m re so a t e w go t e ebe us tha assures that w l dreams, Pho ds te s oo a p W r n u la o f ch o STEM, but La traight out to Fabulous. S y h y dull day. c s it K m o in Fr to brighten an d n u o b is rk o ge w Barrett’s colla , something nd found diary a t s lo a e k li tures and at this volume glances in lec l e a tr te s to u to yo u t yo n nd We wa iliar. We want only a torch a m h fa it t w u b d e w e rm n a d , to as a kid that’s bran f the page e, each turn o , like you used s in h in c a a tr d -m e e d m w ti in cro me as a ink of this volu a bedtime. Th , another life. but still another place ntle and soft, e g t h g li e th feels, that nd new day, ’s how everyone ing up on a bra at m o th c be ’s n ay u m s t e nd enjoy Th it? Settle in a to yesterday. Bu e ck c ra ba b n m e aw t dr o n el you fe , so why e almost-now X. nostalgia for th e things in FLU th , n o ti o m e the change, th x Love Vertigo x ton, da, Susie New o h s e N y d A , n ilde izabeth Gree kos, Georgia W Lily Cameron, El fa a V a s s ri a M n, Sharen Samso

POSTCARD

06.

Picture this.

It’s 2010. You’re in a dimly lit community hall as a plus one for a thirteenth birthday party. The boy that invited you has been an MSN chat window for the past fortnight, and you have sneakily logged in and out a few times to grab his attention. You’re here, now, at the party, and you are about as shy talking to him as you are about approaching the table of snacks to your right.

This was my reality moments before I had my first kiss.

The sound of Bruno Mars and B.o.B filled the room. I was in Year 7 at the time where high school became this vast community of brand new, confused teenagers. Moving to a new school meant new friends who knew friends outside the premises. Inevitably, my circle grew into a snowball of people from the Parramatta diocese, where Catholic school kids from the area unite.

Fastrack to the night of Jena’s thirteenth and there I was, sitting on the side of the dance floor while kids around me sang boomingly to the sound of Flo Rida’s ‘Club Can’t Handle Me Right Now’, not knowing what a club looked like. The tune flowed into something slower, but still upbeat—this was the song that epitomised 2010 for me.

‘Baby’ by Justin Bieber.

As the song rippled through the community hall, he had made his way towards me, sitting by my side. The chorus had arrived and he then began imitating the teen sensation,

08.

SHAREN SAMSON

mouthing the words and reaching out for my hand. I remember smiling so hard that my cheeks hurt. I thought my face would fall off.

We inched closer in the three minutes and thirty-four seconds of this classic track. He had soft, chubby cheeks that I remember clasping in between my palms.

He had pouted at me innocently and I distinctly recall in that moment that butterflies were no longer just a flying insect.

Before I could think, he had leaned in and our lips had met. This was for roughly two milliseconds. His friends had surrounded us with a wild, adolescent uproar. I remember holding his hand for the rest of the night (until my Mum picked me up at 8:55pm.)

The song rang through my head day in and day out. We spoke incessantly on TinyChat, a historic video chat site that was a level up from MSN. He held up a sign that said, ‘Will You Be My Girlfriend?’ that I couldn’t really read because the webcam was mirrored. I said yes anyway.

This lasted for three weeks, right up until his friend had told me I was cute.

But that story is for another day, baby.

TOR WILLS

‘CAMILLE’

TOR WILLS

‘CAMILLE’

14.

TOR WILLS

‘CAMILLE’

TOR WILLS

‘CAMILLE’

18.

CAITLIN GUNST

TOM ECCLES

’

THINGS THINGS TO TO COME’: COME: A LESSON IN IN A LESSON

FLUX ////////////// FLUX///////////

ø

MIA HANSEN-L VE’S MIA HANSEN-LOVE’S 2016 FILM THINGS TO 2016 FILM THINGS COME STARRING TO COME STARRING ISABELLE HUPPERT IS ISABELLE HUPPERT AN EXPLORATION INTO IS EXPLORATION INTO ALL AN THINGS FLUX. FLUX ALL THINGS FLLUX. AS A MEANS TO AN END, FLUX AS A MEANS TO AN A MOVEMENT FROM ONE TO ANOTHER.Ø

20.

N

The protagonist, Nathalie, played by Huppert, is a philosophy professor living in Paris with her husband, Heinz. One night, when the two are asleep, a phone rings out in the pitch-black bedroom. A sound that will never not be alarming, fraught with fear and panic. This is not at all how Nathalie or Heinz react. They are disgruntled, their precious sleep having been interrupted. A hand switches on the bedside lamp, covering Nathalie’s body in a soft yellow glow. “What is it?” she asks upon picking up the phone. Her aging mother (Edith Scob) amid a panic attack has rung to ask when she can take her next Xanax. She responds impatiently and dismissively, “I have to sleep. I get up at six.”

This frames how we understand the way Nathalie has prioritised her commitments in such a way that leaves little room for emotion.

When I later read that Hansen-Løve wrote the film with Huppert in mind I am reminded that Nathalie is a character that has been written and therefore directed. Her direction of the film is considered and even-tempered. The film isn’t fast-paced by any means but it never stops, each scene flows into the next, achieved by the fluidity of each character’s movements and personal habits, and not once are you left wondering when it will all wrap up.

Hansen-Løve has a way of creating narratives that genuinely feel like they will continue endlessly whether we are watching or not. Nathalie’s students come over for tea and it seems that in the same moment she is delicately placing pastries on plates for them, she is promptly clearing their cups, and they are gone, leaving her alone in her quiet home. Aside from these moments of quietness Nathalie rarely stops moving, she walks in between classes, through the bustling parks chatting to her keen students, and she cooks for her adult children. Even in the brief moments she stops, it isn’t for long. When she arrives home from class one day to

“THI NGS ARE NOT...ENDING BUT MERELY RE-SHAPING, PRESENTING THEMSELVES TO US IN NEW WAYS ”

When she offers him her own big news she insists, “It’s not that serious. My life isn’t over.” Isn’t this the very nature of fluidity? It tells us that things are not one way, over, or ending but merely re-shaping, presenting themselves to us in new ways. The only way to experience this kind of movement is by being in it, it is not around you or happening to you, you are in it and more often than not it feels good.

Beyond Nathalie’s experience of personal change, her very environment changes. Nathalie’s arrival at work is met with students in political protest. She is again dismissive of what’s occurring around her stating, “I’m not here to talk politics, but to teach.” Watching the film, her complete disregard to “talk politics” in her philosophy classroom is surprising and I find it hard to understand how these ideas would be disentangled. She later struggles with this aspect of political revolution when she tries to understand Fabien’s way of life. His life is evolving in its own way, heavily related to his political views, arguably much more radical than her own but initially prompted by her teachings. Their mentor-focused friendship has its own challenges, especially clear when two people are moving in separate directions.

She has high hopes for Fabien’s philosophical writings, but his interests seemed to have turned less inwards and are more to do with public concerns.

Right from the beginning you get the feeling that cracks are forming in Nathalie’s life, maybe without her knowledge. The slow changes occurring to her and her

CLARE DOUGHTEY

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lie on her couch, feet up on the coffee table, her husband enters to tell her he has been having an affair and is moving in with the other woman. Immediately she slides her legs off the table, and she is upright. “And why tell me? Couldn’t keep it a secret?” In the aftermath, tokens of apologies are not accepted. When she arrives home to an abundant bouquet of white flowers, Nathalie promptly tips them into an Ikea bag and shoves them in the trash. Later that afternoon she meets up with her ex-student, now good friend, Fabien, for a coffee, he has news to share. She is shocked and can hardly believe it when he tells her he is moving from the city to a farm.

environment are disguised by pace. Her constant rushing from classes and to meetings with book publishers makes it hard to tell what she’s feeling, all part of the mystery of the film. Inside these meetings, different editors and publishers offer insight into what is to come.

“The future seems compromised,” they say, when deciding her book of essays needs an entire re-branding, but we imagine it means something else entirely to Nathalie. These cracks are riddled throughout the film, but her reactions to them are hard to find. She is busy, nothing is stagnant, change is comfortable, and pity is never suggested.

//////////

Towards the end of the film the very way Nathalie moves has changed. Less rushing, we see Nathalie more still.

When she visits Fabien and his partner in the winter at their farm house she sits comfortably by the fireplace.

When he asks whether she has met someone she is disinterested and blasé in her response. Later she sits in Fabien’s car, leaning against the window she proclaims, “I’ve never felt so free.”

As the film draws to a close Nathalie rushes home to prepare Christmas dinner for her family. Arriving home from the farm to a dark house, her ex-husband is found inside, waiting to pick up a copy of Schopenhauer he had left behind. After asking what his plans for the holiday are, he states his girlfriend has gone to Spain to visit her family and he is left alone. Revealing no sympathies, she insists, “You should go. I’m in a rush.” The film doesn’t feel as if it’s on a mission, or has a plan to tell us anything, so neither does its ending. It just plays out in front of us, no preoccupation with telling the truth, as there is little room for falsehood to begin with. For this reason, the stakes are not high for the last scene.

“IT’S NOT CONCLUDING, RESOLVING, OR SETTLING, BUT IT’S EXECUTED PERFECTLY”

It’s not concluding, resolving, or settling, but it’s executed perfectly. It’s a scene you want to live in, be in.

Her children sit down for dinner and her baby granddaughter stirs. She holds the baby close, rocking her back to sleep. It seems inaccurate to suggest that Nathalie is content, but you do get the feeling that she is happy regardless of what has played out, even if the future still feels compromised.

22.

YAN MARTEA

‘DESIRE’

CW: NUDITY

/

24.

YAN MARTEA

‘DESIRE’

CW: NUDITY

YAN MARTEA

‘DESIRE’

CW: NUDITY

breathe breathe I let myself slip below the surface, my body becoming I let myself slip below the surface, my body becoming weightless as it escapes the tight clasp of the world weightless as it escapes the tight clasp of the world above. I come to rest on the bottom. A bubble of air above. I come to rest on the bottom. A bubble of air escapes me. escapes me.

Tears met the melted lemonade mess at my chin, running down my topless torso to pool in the crevasse of my little belly button. Between sobs I had poked at the liquid curiously, watching as it trickled down to my undies, staining the fabric an even richer pink. It was a Tuesday, but I had been wearing my Thursday undies.

When you’re six, a silver coin can cheer up your whole week.

A gold sticker on your homework will force a permanent smile across your face. Back then life would allow for icy poles, a band-aid, and a kiss on the foot to compensate for the tears shed and a pear-shaped afternoon.

AA second second bubble bubble of of air air escapes escapes me, me, but but II remain remain on on the the sandy bottom. sandy bottom.

The subtle subtle current current moves moves my my body body gently gently to-and-fro. to-and-fro.

The “Ellie and Tom sitting in a tree.” The lyrics sung by my supposed best friend as she bounced in her seat on the bus into school.

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” As she rallied the other girls into song I hugged my bag against my chest and looked away in embarrassment.

Small faces peered over the back of seats, watching the older kids in admiration, ignorant of the callousness of their chanting.

“First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a golden carriage.”

Tom—brown hair, hazel-eyed neighbour of mine, with whom I’d shared numerous memories— did not want to know me when we were ten. He’d leave his house a few

minutes earlier than me in the morning and pedal down the big hill at a rate he knew I could not match.

That morning, when the girls united their out-of-tune voices in another round of mockery, Tom stood up and cleared his throat. “I never have and never will kiss Ellie Thornton,” he announced to the crowd, wobbling precariously as the bus lurched down the main road.

I could almost laugh thinking back to that now. Instead I could almost laugh thinking back to that now. Instead I focus on my breathing.

I focus on my breathing.

Another bubble escapes me.

Another bubble escapes me.

Wrapped in dense bushland, the town I grew up in sprung out from a seemingly endless wilderness, houses morphed from tree-dwelling habitats to beach bungalows as they rolled down the gradual escarpment, facing the coast with a mismatched smile.

My twelve-year-old self was passionately committed to losing herself in that bushland. After school and on the weekends I would disappear for hours; climbing trees, following streams, and running away from imaginary beings. One day I followed them too far.

Bag secured tightly on my back, by midday I’d already made it further west than I’d ever been before. Wavering slightly in the breeze, the trees towered over me, their thick trunks supporting a canopy dense enough to block nearly all sign of daylight. The darkness engulfed me as I stood alone. This would not be enough to deter me from venturing too far—I trusted those friendly giants.

Softly my lungs begin tapping at my chest, though I am Softly my lungs begin tapping at my chest, though I am not yet ready to go up. not yet ready to go up.

28.

EMILY GIBBS

“No I mean just in general, you’ve only got four dollars “Where have you been?”

Mum had stayed up for me. Sitting on the couch, balancing there.” a glass of wine on her knee, she looked up from her book. “Oh yeah, about that—” I was broke, my plans to see the world delayed by the “Next door,” I lied. absence of a couple thousand dollars. But the awkward I remember being sixteen, my mind wired to the ecstatic avoidance of the boy next door had subsided and that was good enough for me. energy ignited by every wrong decision I made and every punishment it earned me. Between irregular puffs of stolen On the weekends Tom would wait for me at the top of cigarettes we sipped from liquor bottles left unsecured in our parents’ cellars. The taste of whisky was not as the hill and we’d ride into town together. We spent summer days drinking beer on the beach, swimming till refined as it seemed when Grandpa drank it in his office during an important meeting, or when Dad brought it out the sun went down, and then dancing in abandoned boat sheds till the morning. During winter we caught for special occasions. This breaking of rules was a special occasion, but not quite enough, to be accompanied trains to neighbouring towns, met new people, and by cheese and caviar. A box of Jatz was all we could afford. explored new places. When we left school they told us that we were adults. Just when we wanted to draw ourselves back into our parents’ supportive arms, we Placing her bookmark between the pages, Mum had looked up at me, her face disapproving. My hair was wet were being pushed away. and, with a towel under my arm, she knew I’d been at the beach. And, when I woke in the early morning to kneel “It’s okay, we don’t need that stuff anyway!” Tom kicked my coins with his foot, one straying further onto the on the cold tile floor and watch the toilet bowl fill with the motley colours of my stomach contents, she also road, rolling to a stop behind a parked car.

“The beach, my car, some food from Mum’s pantry—that’s knew I’d been drinking. all we need anyway,” he said.

Ellie, for God’s sake, breathe!

Ellie, for God’s sake, breathe!

My lungs have now given up their intermittent knocking My lungs have now given up their intermittent knocking for a consistent pounding. I will have to surface in During my lunch break one day, I sat in the gutter behind for a consistent pounding. I will have to surface in three, two, one. the corner store, placing my remaining coins along the three, two, one. line where tar met concrete as I sipped on my chocolate milkshake.

I pull myself upward, the weight of my body apparent as “I thought you were saving.” I looked up from my mindless I swap buoyancy for standing. Taking in deep breaths of fiddling to see Tom hovering over me, his body blocking air, my chest heaves aggressively. Everything is a bleary the sun. white.

“It was free,” I said, slurping up the remaining drops with a harsh sucking sound, “I made it myself.”

Declining Declining Declining Declining Declining Declining In our zeitgeist, the hallmarks of youth are defined by expressions and sentiments of hope and optimism.

Glittering visions of a utopian world and a genuine belief in the ability to change our society for the better.

And whilst I do feel a desire to improve the world, I’m also imbued with a deep sense of disillusionment and cynicism, making me question the power of political youth engagement in a world where democratic change often feels unattainable.

I see so many examples where the public interest is subverted by the interests of those with excessive power. When the public pushed for a royal commission into the banking sector, the Liberal government continually refused. Yet after receiving a letter from the leaders of the big four banks, giving their permission for an inquiry but asking that it be “timely” and “thoughtfully drafted”, Scott Morrison finally agreed. The power of banks to influence the decisionmaking of politicians is seriously worrying.

The concentrated media ownership in Australia is one of the highest in the world. According to the Centre for Policy Development, 8 out of the 12 most popular news-based sites are owned by News Limited or Fairfax: the two main media companies. News Limited also controls approximately 70% of the newspaper market share, while Fairfax controls 21%. This duopoly challenges the ability for the public to make informed opinions based on diverse voices.

Australia’s inadequate political donation laws distort the ability for elections to deliver truly democratic outcomes. Donations only have to be disclosed if they are more than $13,200, and such information is only

Democracy Democracy Democracy Democracy Democracy Democracy Democracy Democracy Democracy Democracy Democracy

available to the public after the election. This lack of transparency and regulation calls into question the political equality of our democracy. The Minerals Council of Australia donated $57,345 to the Liberal and National parties and openly admitted that it did so to gain greater access to politicians and advance their policy interests. How significant is my vote when influence can be commodified by those with the wealth to do so?

My faith in our political system is also deeply shaken by our failure to address the treatment of Indigenous Australians. This can be seen in the discourse surrounding constitutional recognition. The Referendum Council, organised to consider if and how to recognise Indigenous Australians in the Constitution, asked Indigenous Australians to deliberate together and deliver a vision for recognition. In 2017, 300 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people gathered at Uluru to form a proposal for constitutional recognition, known as the Uluru ‘Statement from the Heart.’ Though this did not represent a complete consensus of Indigenous views on recognition, it was a symbolic and significant demonstration of democratic decision-making and received substantial community support. The statement asked for a constitutionally enshrined Indigenous voice to Parliament and a Makarrata Commission to enable agreement-making between Indigenous Australians and governments. The Opposition expressed support for the proposals, but the Turnbull Government rejected the recommendations, arguing that the Indigenous parliamentary voice would be inequitable and would not garner the support of a majority of

Democracy 30.

Democracy

ALANNAH DALY

Australians. While polling has indicated support for constitutional change, no specific data has been gathered for public opinion on a voice to parliament.

How can the Government represent, let alone assert, public opinion when they don’t even know what it is?

The defining issue of our era, climate change, is barely on the political agenda. There is a huge youth movement supporting climate action, a fantastic example of which can be seen in the tens of thousands of Australian students who skipped school to protest the lack of action. Scott Morrison’s response was to admonish these students, saying, “We want more learning in schools and less activism in schools.” More than 70% of Australians want high renewable energy targets to be set by the government. But according to the Climate Action Tracker, Australia’s emissions have been increasing since 2014, and if national policy remains the same, will continue to grow until 2030 instead of reducing to meet the targets of the Paris Agreement.

It is difficult to say whether this disillusionment is a sign of the times, or simply a normal part of our political system. Research conducted by Evans, Stoker and Halupka shows that satisfaction with the way democracy works in Australia has decreased from 86% in 2007 to less than 41% in 2018. This enquiry also showed that those most likely to be dissatisfied with politics were female, Generation X, and earning less than $50,000 a year.

I often feel like the more I learn about politics and the more engaged I become, the more I notice inequality and the failure of our system to not only give voice to all individuals, but to also listen to what those individuals are saying. I remember going to a protest against the treatment of refugees in offshore processing. Initially I was uplifted and filled with hope by the people around me, standing up against a government policy that causes so much suffering and which has been faced with such strong opposition by the public. The swell of indignant voices, the bold banners emblazoned with calls to action, it felt like I was part of a movement that could instil change. But in the days, weeks, months, and years after that day, as headlines stay the same and distressing stories continue to come to light, I wonder at the power of protest when the government has no intention of changing their political stance.

But there is a problem with opting out of politics. If we are silent, then the situation only worsens. If individuals fail to speak out and make their opinions heard, then the winning players in our society will face no opposition in gaining more power and influence. And there is far too much on the line to let that happen.

If like me, you’re a person who spends the majority of your time on the internet, you have probably witnessed the transformation of Kylie Jenner from the baby Kardashian into the lip-kitted, superhuman, bone-structured billionaire of today. Perhaps you rolled your eyes at the inauthenticity of celebrities, while they preach confidence and self-love.

Behold friends, ye ol’ faithful glow-up.

My ‘research’ for this consisted of many endless 2am YouTube spirals: “GLO UP CHALLENGE”, “NOT CUTE TO REALLY CUTE TRANSFORMATION”, “WHEN DID YOU GET HOT??”, “Forcing a glow-up in less than 24 hours!” At first glance, videos like these may simply appear to be a clickbait. Worryingly, the concept of a glow-up itself is somewhat damaging.

32.

KATHERINE RAJWAR

The glow-up trend is essentially social media’s repackaging of the humble makeover. One only needs to look to the myriad of makeover movie montages which saturated almost every film from the late ’80s to the early 2000s. Think: Pretty Woman, The Devil Wears Prada, The Princess Diaries (Anne Hathaway had a lot of glowing-up to do, clearly), Clueless, etc. These films, while undeniably entertaining, perpetuate the idea that ‘improving’ one’s appearance corresponds directly with the improvement of the quality of life. If only. In debt?

Get a manicure! Heartbroken? Fix your hair, sweetie.

If the cult classic film subtext isn’t enough for you, one only needs to look to how the magazines, which line supermarket shelves, hail celebrities as saints for shedding a few kilos or dyeing their hair. Still not convinced? Consider the countless weight loss or makeover reality TV shows which have dominated our screens for years.

I should, however, acknowledge that my issue is not with self-improvement. I am all for people being empowered by their own choices to make changes in their physical appearance. Not for that ‘revenge bod’ to spite your ex, not to ‘one-up’ someone else, but to simply feel confident. The issue lies in the emphasis placed around the value of the glow-up.

It is also impossible not to draw attention to the economic factor behind all of this. Going back to our Lord and saviour Kylie, a lot of the jokes made surrounding her astounding makeover speak to the fact that her glow-up was only possible because of her billionaire status. Likewise, it is almost maddening to think of the sheer amount of money that some YouTubers are spending on their glow-ups.

Clearly, there’s also a massive problem with the language used around glow-ups, words like “forcing a glow up”, or, “my ugly to less ugly transformation in 24 hours”. Yet another concern: the need to make such a stark transformation in such a fleeting period. Making changes to your appearance can obviously lead to heightened confidence, but the expectation to change so much, so instantaneously is alarming. It’s almost as if we are being expected to glow-up rather than grow up, resulting in us missing the awkwardness of navigating the world of fashion and beauty—we really don’t need to talk about my goth phase here. While such periods of our lives are excruciating, and sometimes painful to look back on, *deletes and untags old pictures of myself in black lipstick and fishnets from Facebook*, they’re certainly character building, and a part of the cliché of finding yourself.

While the very concept of the glow-up was founded almost solely for entertainment value, makeovers pose a perilous threat to individuality, as they predicate the notion that conventional beauty outweighs the value of uniqueness.

To hope that someday we’ll get over our fascination with the quintessential ‘before and after’ transformation could be wishful thinking, but perhaps we can find healthier ways to approach self-improvement.

34.

MAYA KILIC

‘CONTACT DERMATITIS’

ELLIE CARLESS

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reunion

36.

GRACE FELTSTEAD ‘WRECKAGE’

d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d d

GRACE FELTSTEAD

‘WRECKAGE’

GRACE FELTSTEAD

‘WRECKAGE’

I was seven-years-old the first time I felt fat. I can barely remember my first day of school, my first airplane ride, my first kiss, but I remember the moment that I realised the size of my body equated to the size of my worth.

I had climbed onto the school bus that day, red-faced and smiley after endless games of tip and handball. I had never wondered how I looked before that, my appearance was only what stared back at me in the mirror. I had more important things to worry about: spelling homework I didn’t want to do, keeping my Nintendogs alive, fighting with my sister. Two boys sat at the back of the bus. One was a skinny, knobbly boy, whose name I can’t remember for the life of me. He was the one who started it.

Did you see how Ellie was running today?

I heard my name, and I turned toward the back of the bus. The skinny boy had lifted his hands to his cheeks.

Like this!

He began to push his cheeks up and down, a mime of how my chubby seven-year-old cheeks bounced while playing tip. With each bounce, I felt something rise within me that I hadn’t felt before: shame. Shame about the way I looked, and shame because I wasn’t as skinny as the girls in my class.

The other boy just laughed.

From that moment on, I realised how closely my body and my self-worth were linked. I noticed at age eight how my thighs got bigger when I sat down, so I sat on my tippy-toes, not letting them flatten out. I decided to not wear bikinis at age nine, they showed off how my belly stuck out. I was ten when I decided that I would

42.

ELIZABETH GREEN

but it’s different for me, everyone thinks I’m a fat cow. I was opting myself out of body positivity and empowerment.

Although I have never been told I was overweight by a doctor, I had self-diagnosed myself as disgusting.

Unworthy. I stopped speaking up, my shyness became a part of who I was, convinced that no one wanted a friend with chubby cheeks and thick thighs. I changed and moderated my behaviour, adding on more and more restrictions for myself until I had conditioned them into my way of being.

I hadn’t eaten in five days.

I’m not alone in feeling this. The 2016 Dove Global Beauty and Confidence Report found that four in five women have low self-esteem surrounding their bodies, with 89% of those women choosing to opt out of engaging with friends and family or leaving the house because of how they look.

People like me change the way they do things, because they are ashamed of their bodies. All of this falls out of line with the feminism that I have come to embrace, and that I bombard my friends with whenever they have worries about their weight. Size doesn’t equal beauty.

Your body is your home, learn to love it. If someone has a problem with the way you look, then they aren’t worth your time. And so begins the sticky double standard; of course I would never judge another woman for her weight,

Of course, there have been times where I have lost weight, where I’ve seen my thighs shrink and felt that I was on the way to becoming the ‘right size’. I lost seven kilos at the end of 2018. Almost to confirm what I discovered at seven years old, I was bombarded with compliments about how good I looked. Your waist! It’s so small. Wow you’re looking absolutely amazing. How much have you been working out? What’s your secret?

Coming out of that cycle, to the dismay of the well-wishers of my weight loss journey, meant coming face to face with both my mental and physical health. For too long it had been a whiplash inducing seesaw between the two. It took a long time for me to start accepting those feminist mantras, something I still struggle with to this day. Slowly, I realised that my body isn’t wildly different to those around me, that no one’s body is ‘disgusting’, let alone mine. I realised that I don’t need to massively sacrifice food, or time slaving away at the gym, to be happy. It’s still a work in progress and I don’t know if I’ll ever entirely be able to stop looking at my size in the mirror, but I’m slowly starting to love the body I have.

In all, I’ve come to realise that my body is just where I live, something that gets me from place to place, and something that I used to play tip with when I was younger. I just wish seven-year-old me would have realised that.

CW: BODY IMAGE, DISORDERED EATING

only wear shorts and a t-shirt, my own ‘fat girl uniform’, because I deemed that I was too big for anything else to look good on me. My twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen-year-old selves, fuelled by an incessant social media obsession, couldn’t look away from influencers. I became convinced that it was my body which was unnatural and wrong, that a fourteenyear-old should have a thigh gap and legs the width of an arm. At seventeen I learnt how to contour, to cancel out my ‘chubby cheeks’ with the makeup to which I was now addicted.

STYLIST: KALYANI JEGENDRAN, MODEL: LUCY MARKOVIC @ PRISCILLA’S MODEL AGENCY

rachel tse

lucy lucy lucy lucy lucy lucy lucy lucy lucy lucy

44.

RACHEL TSE

‘LUCY’

RACHEL TSE

‘LUCY’

RACHEL TSE

‘LUCY’

50.

RACHEL TSE

‘LUCY’

GEORGIA WILDE

cotton untry

It was one of those relentless February days. All hot, and sticky, with no relief. The sun was unforgiving, and I could feel it seeping through the wet concrete and soaking everything in an uncomfortable warmth. One thing I knew for sure was that I wanted to leave this blistering, dusty, cotton country.

We got glimpses of him some nights, from Tommy’s second storey window, walking home at dusk. I knew you wanted to pash him. You said he was “spunkier” than any of your other boys had been. I thought he was just alright.

My eyes stung from sweat mixed with sun lotion and everything smelt like soggy, vinegar-caked chips. I looked out to the bushy expanse behind the pool—the gums were frozen in their roots, leaves not even bothering to twitch.

I could tell they were siblings, they looked so similar with their dark hair and skin that had never seen sun.

Except, unlike him, she had long, curly hair. It moved with her, bobbing and swaying—mesmerising. I could see her freckles, scattered across peaches-and-cream arms and legs, all the way from here.

I fumbled when unwrapping my ice block, not wanting to break eye contact. Dad had always said it was rude to look away when someone was speaking to you. Plus, her eyes were interesting to look at: flecks of green blended into gold and brown, they seemed to glisten and change when the light caught. They reminded me of the reeds down where the creek thins out, dense with colour at this time of year.

“You coming in?” she grinned and gracefully ducked under the water. Breaking back through the surface, eyes closed, she looked so peaceful, water glistening on ringlets now plastered in thick strands to her face.

She was glowing.

52.

TAYLA JAY ‘ROMANCE’

tayla jay

romance romance romance romance romance romance romance romance romance romance

TAYLA JAY

‘ROMANCE’

TAYLA JAY

‘ROMANCE’

58.

TAYLA JAY

‘ROMANCE’

3G

< Message (1)

7:56 PM

melina marchetta March 3, 2019 9:12am Melina Marchetta’s writing has been beloved and bestselling since the release of her debut novel, Looking for Alibrandi, in 1992. Since then, she has written eight other novels and branched into young adult fiction, children’s, fantasy, and literary crime genres. Her new book, The Place on Dalhousie, explores the way we see the past and its impact on family and belonging.

You’ve been a part of many young people’s coming of age with your young adult fiction writing, but many of your other books follow the coming of age arc, regardless of genre. Is something you focused on in The Place on Dalhousie?

I’m glad someone is attributing coming of age to someone other than a 17-year- old, because I totally agree. It’s about the growth of a character, and you’ll find the same thing in this novel, because you have a character like Martha who is 50-years-old, but her journey is as important as Rosie’s, the 21-year-old, and Jimmy. By the end, the three of them are in the same house but a different place on so many levels.

I know so many people who are younger, but sometimes I’m going through the same thing as they are with relationships, with trying to work out what your place is in the world, or what your place is as a woman. I try to make sure that my writing is not a complaint or a sermon, it’s more a matter of, this is how we exist and we can’t afford to disappear because we’re of a particular age.

And does that choice come with age? Do you deliberately write women characters precisely so they don’t become invisible?

Definitely. But more than that it’s that I don’t want to be invisible.

It goes back to that saying: you write what you know. When I was writing Looking for Alibrandi, I did not exist on the pages of books I read, and I wanted to. That was one of my motivations for writing this novel.

For me, being a woman—I’m not going to use the term ‘of a particular age’—we do disappear from the pages of books and we do to disappear from film. Even if we do appear in them there’s a lack of sexuality. I find that I’m constantly writing about people my age as I get older, in the same way that I was writing about people my age when I was younger.

But I can’t leave those young people behind, they always have a place in my life. In my life, the children aren’t in another room, the teenagers aren’t in another room. They’re so much part of our lives that you can’t just put them in another category.

Do you think your experience teaching young people and being directly a part of their coming of age affected your writing?

When my mum read the manuscript for Saving Francesca—because my mother always reads the manuscript—I remember her saying to me, “I don’t care about the fact that you wrote about [my depression], but have you been thinking about what happened to me all these years?” For her it took new meaning. Sometimes you can ponder about something that happened in the past and it’s so big in your head, and then when you speak to someone about it, they don’t know what you’re talking about.

There are so many myths out there about women, about teenagers, about depression, but this is my reality, and I like to explore that reality when I write.

You leave little mysteries in your books, leaving a lot up to each reader. What’s the significance of that for you?

I feel like it’s a secret language or a secret connection that you have with someone. I love that someone questions what something means because it hasn’t been explained. I’m always careful to leave people intrigued, but never confused.

And has that ever been a challenge as a writer?

The reaction to On the Jellicoe Road was a challenge to me, and a kind of hurtful one, because some people didn’t want to be challenged that way. I remember reading a review once where someone wrote something like, “she thinks she’s smarter than us. She made us feel dumb.” I thought: that’s not about me, that’s about you. That’s probably why you don’t write just for other people, because it will backfire on you.

Will readers of Saving Francesca and The Piper’s Son see a return of some of their favourite characters?

I promise they’re all there. It’s not their story but I couldn’t leave them out because they are the closest thing Jimmy has to family. I have these nightmares that someone out there who loved the first two novels are just going to read Jimmy’s chapters, but in doing that they will miss out on so much of Jimmy, because he’s such an important part in every chapter. I do believe that especially by the end anyone who was a fan of Saving Francesca and The Piper’s Son will feel as if they got an emotional chunk of that gang.

LILY CAMERON

I don’t know! I wrote Looking for Alibrandi before I taught, and only two of the novels were written as a teacher: Saving Francesca and On the Jellicoe Road. But once again, and I don’t know whether it comes from being a teacher or part of a very extended family, but we’ve always lived in the same world. Sometimes what you like writing is what you like living, so the way you live your life is to be part of those communities.

I could never dismiss the role that teaching had, but more than anything, it’s a terrible thing to say, but I was overwhelmed by the decency of boys. The decency and flaws of my characters exist because that’s what I experienced every day.

You’ve revisited the characters from Saving Francesca first in The Piper’s Son, and now again in your new book The Place on Dalhousie. Did you always intend to write Jimmy’s story?

In a way, but not as much as with Tom’s [in The Piper’s Son] because Tom was such a big surprise. I always say that I remember the exact moment when he came back into my life, but there was an absence of Jimmy in The Piper’s Son. I wanted that absence to be felt, and it was felt! I thought “I’m not going to force any characters back, they have to come to me.” I was asked about Jimmy all the time, and have been since The Piper’s Son, but I still didn’t want to force the story. I don’t have to write about all these characters, but he stayed in my head. I kind of knew that there’d be a Martha type in the story and there’d be a Rosie type. But for me there was just never a doubt that Rosie and Jimmy would meet. They’re both kind of drifters, and it made all the sense in the world. I always said I was going to write a Jimmy book when Jimmy came to me, and thankfully he did.

A lot of readers feel a sense of ownership over characters. Do you consider audience’s opinions when forming character arcs and story lines?

No. It sounds terrible, but no. I care about readers’ opinions but I honestly believe you cannot force yourself as a writer to write to someone else’s criteria or to someone else’s passion for a character.

At the end of the day, the biggest criticism you’ll get is from the readers who just loved a particular character and there’s a danger to that. I think that I was able to find a balance. There’s been a few times that I’ve thought of readers, and I did think of readers in The Piper’s Son where Francesca got more of a role because of her being part of the original book. Bringing Will back into that story was also for the readership, but then my biggest challenge was making sure that Will was there to be part of Tom’s story. That’s what you’re constantly doing; you’re thinking I’m going to make someone happy but the character also has to work for it.

The settings of your novels are often familiar ones for us in Sydney, what is it about the familiar that keeps you coming back for more?

Maybe I’m not a good enough writer to write about places that don’t seem familiar; I have to write about the familiar. Sometimes people complain it’s like I’m writing about their next door neighbours! Dalhousie is such an iconic street in Haberfield, but it’s also just a suburb away; I go there all the time, it feels real to me. But maybe it’s because I can’t suspend my disbelief and create something bigger than the world. I love that I’m in those familiar worlds, they bring me a lot of comfort.

Seen March 3, 2019 4:12pm

62.

Reply

LILY CAMERON KITTY CLEMENT

shock hazard hazard shock shock hazard She lies back, her spine jutting against the porcelain of the bath. The water is just too hot, moving in rivulets around her breasts and belly, steam swirling in the air. She leans her head against the bath’s lip, sweat indistinguishable from the water she keeps topping up. A little hot here, empty the plughole, top up with some cool. Her laptop rests on her knees, the screen’s blue light harsh among the flickering candles bordering the room.

can you electrocute yourself with a laptop in the bath?

She sips from a mug half-full with red wine, wipes her mouth with the back of a hand, rinses it in the soapy water.

In one tab, she opens Facebook and scrolls through old messages. Classmates, group chats, a going-away party for a woman at work, an e-vite to someone’s wedding, many opened or just left un-replied. She finishes the rest of the wine.

In another tab, she googles her own name.

About 53,000 results (0.55 seconds) Pictures of women smiling or pouting or posing, none of them her. She wonders what their nicknames are.

She minimises the tabs, jabbing the touchpad with as much force as she can without breaking it, places the laptop on the floor. Her desktop background fills the screen, the picture taken a couple of years ago when they went on holiday to Kiama. She’s laughing in it, her grin wide and unselfconscious. They’ve got their arms around each other. She closes the screen, her eyes adjusting to the gentle light of the candles. She lies back and floats, imagines herself melting into the water.

She takes a deep breath in, and relaxes.

we are bad at this.

Engineering students know how to fix things. Give us a physical problem with not much more than some intuitive knowledge and some tools, and we will bash, twist, and melt an implement until it does what we need it to do. We’re studying this shitshow because we like to take things apart, see how they work, and put them back together again—hopefully with some improvements.

We’re empowered and defined by the feeling this resolution gives us: I will bend the world to my will. It’s this attitude, this arrogance, that sets us up to fail with our own mental health, time and time again.

I think that STEM students are too often drawn into the trap of turning our studies into Everest at the expense of other disciplines. In reality, this is remarkably stupid, as ‘easy arts degrees’ would quickly foil most of us with the first lengthy essay. In writing this, I am not trying to trumpet our studies as some banner of an impossibly difficult undertaking. It’s simply a study that I examine through the lens of my personal experience, having done it for six years and currently undertaking my seventh.

Mental health is an issue that is prolific among engineering students. Whether or not the predominantly male cohort admits this, is another story. But walk into a computer lab at any given ‘crunch time’, and put your ear to the ground. “I want to kill myself” is an exceedingly common phrase. Oversized cans of energy drinks litter desks, and without fail, someone with a calculation leading nowhere or an assembly that just won’t mate is sure to be muttering expletives. I used to genuinely believe that the phrase was nothing more than hyperbole, but having experienced extremely difficult months during my time at university, I can guarantee that more often than not, it simply slips out. Students in these settings are having real and urgent mental health issues, something they are simply not equipped to deal with appropriately.

64.

MENA BASALY CW: MENTAL ILLNESS, SUICIDE

We put immense pressure on students to deliver academically. The supposed need for you to be involved in extracurricular activities alongside your degree, in order to succeed, has not married well with the implementation of self-teaching models, shortened teaching periods, and tighter deadlines. Assuming the existence of the necessary sleep that few of us actually get, roughly half of an engineering student’s waking existence is expected to be centred around study. This doesn’t include meals, leisure, exercise, or anything else.

“half of an engineering student’s waking existence is expected to be centered around study” The nature of many engineering tasks is similarly unforgiving. I can’t count the number of tasks that I’ve given hours to without result, and been marked simply on outputs, not backend work. That seems intuitive, but consider : tasks that you put 40+ hours into often barely scrape a pass. Going back to the touted self-taught models, guidance on these tasks is often minimal. Again, we’re all here because we take great pride in fixing things, and solving difficult problems. But the coalescence of these factors is dangerous when young people don’t have the resources they need to address the subsequent issues that arise.

Engineering students need training in mental and emotional resilience, and in helping their friends who reach out to them. Last year, a friend slipped some language into a conversation that was worrying and likely indicative of some real trouble they were having — but none of us were equipped to have that conversation.

That’s not an uncommon experience, and I wish more of us knew what the next step was when a friend expressed how much they’d been struggling.

I don’t think that our degrees should be made easier, or that the workload should necessarily change.

But engineering students need to know how to help themselves when it all reaches a critical mass. I mentioned that our technical arrogance is what I think drives our inability to respond appropriately. Put simply, we don’t have the skill set to respond, and it’s not a problem that can be solved intuitively.

ALLY MOULIS

CW: ABUSE

66.

PHOEBE BARRETT

‘PINK VERDURE’

PHOEBE BARRETT

‘PINK VERDURE’

PHOEBE BARRETT

‘PINK VERDURE’

PHOEBE BARRETT

‘PINK VERDURE’

PHOEBE BARRETT

‘PINK VERDURE’

PHOEBE BARRETT

‘PINK VERDURE’

EUROVISION FROM KITSCHY TO FABULOUS Drag queens, grandmas baking biscuits, and men spinning in hamster wheels. Ballads about breakups, rap songs about moustaches, and pop-opera. ABBA, Céline Dion, Loreen, Conchita. It can only mean one thing: Eurovision.

The Eurovision Song Contest (or the Concours Eurovision de la chanson if you’re ‘cultured’) is the world’s longest-running music competition, and is also known for its ability to bring people together in the name of music (and politics). It began in 1956 for two reasons: to test the emerging technology of live television, and to ensure that the cultural capital of music had continued to breathe new life into a broken Europe.

It started with just seven countries taking part, and has grown exponentially with 42 countries competing in the upcoming 64th edition of the show in Tel Aviv, Israel.

I am the only person in my family that actively watches Eurovision. When I explain that Australia takes part in the contest, so there’s a new opportunity to exercise national pride, they still assume that it’s absurd. The absurdity was what initially had me interested—it was

78.

LACHLAN WOODS

a place where eccentricity and creativity was celebrated and given a global platform. It was the first time I saw queer representation on TV (Dana International became the first trans person to be positively represented on TV, by winning the contest in 1998 for Israel.) It was one of the first times I heard languages other than English on Australian TV that wasn’t part of a racist joke. It was also the first time that I heard a wide variety of music that didn’t necessarily fit the pop charts, or whatever Triple J played.

When I discuss Eurovision with friends, they can hear the excitement—some may even call me obsessed with the contest. They are right. I religiously follow the finals that determine what songs each country sends. I even became a member of the official Eurovision fan club in Australia, OGAE Australia.

Numerous members, when asked about what got them interested in Eurovision, noted how their love comes from the uniqueness of performances, the costuming, the choreography, and the overall spectacle of the show. However, some members noted that although the show played a huge role in developing their own musical tastes, “Western music styles [are] encroaching on Eurovision.” They used the example that more English-language songs are performed now than 20 years ago. Of the 63 winning songs, 31 were in English.

Meanwhile, Eurovision has an average viewing audience of 180 million people worldwide, with winning artists launching a career off the back of their trophy. Many artists feel that performing their song in English gives them a better chance of winning across Europe, and launching their career.

Regardless of the language, spectacle, and absurdity of some performances, the thing that keeps bringing me back to Eurovision is the music. Even the weirdest of songs involve creativity and passion, and that is something that should be celebrated.

My favourite Eurovision contest was in 2016, when Dami Im sent the song ‘Sound of Silence’ to Stockholm, Sweden. Australia was in with a real chance, having won the semi-final that allowed for Dami to participate in the final. However, a unique trend began: although Australia is loved by the professional juries, we are yet to see similar love with the European public. Nonetheless, we came second overall, losing to Ukraine’s Jamala, whose song ‘1944’ refers to the Crimean Genocide, and was seen as a nod to the internationally condemned Russian ‘annexation’ of Crimea, a territory of Ukraine.

Politics cannot be disregarded in a competition between nations. While the Olympics is generally able to mitigate politics, Eurovision can’t do the same. This is primarily due to the fact that a winner is decided through voting.

The phenomenon of ‘bloc voting’—where neighbouring Eurovision is not just entertainment, it’s also an opportunity to promote artistic work to a global audience. countries vote for each other to save face—along with public responses to political events occurring at the Europe is one of the largest and toughest markets to crack, due to the expansive multiculturalism that exists. time, add a different dimension to the contest.

This aspect is evident with this year’s Eurovision being hosted in Israel. In the ongoing crises occurring in the Palestinian Territories, along with the global Boycott, Divestments and Sanctions (BDS) movement against Israel, calls were made to boycott the contest.

No country has withdrawn from this year’s contest, notwithstanding protests outside the Spanish national final, stage interferences in France, and open letters to the British and Irish broadcasters. Australia’s national final also had protests, however they were seen as ‘peaceful’ according to OGAE Australia members who attended the event.

The politics of Eurovision can be clearly represented through the treatment of the United Kingdom. In 1997, it won the contest with Katrina and the Waves’ ‘Love Shine a Light’. This was the same year that Tony Blair became Prime Minister in a landslide election, and became well-respected across Europe. Since then, they have averaged in the lower-half of the final results, and more significantly received zero points in 2003, the year that the United Kingdom decided to join the United States and Australia in invading Iraq. They even sent a song to the 2017 contest called ‘I Will Never Give Up on You’, a nod to the UK voting to leave the European Union the previous year, and still only managed to be in the middle of the leaderboard.

The simple origins of Eurovision can be complicated by external socio-political factors, however the underlying intention of Eurovision being an event that brings people together still survives to this day.

Being an avid fan of Eurovision has shaped my taste for music. One of the first rules of Eurovision spectating is to not be surprised by what you see or hear, and to keep an open mind. From there, it’s easier to digest.

There are songs in Dutch, Greek, Hebrew, Turkish, German, Spanish, Swedish, Polish, Italian, and many other languages. The multilingual nature of the contest gives me an opportunity to hear the beauty of languages, and also highlights the importance of protecting them, rather than ‘Anglo-washing’ songs.

There was a lot of excitement when Electric Fields entered the competition for the Australian national final this year. I had seen them perform live a couple of months before, and was in awe of their ability to combine electric pop with Indigenous language and music. Zaachariaha Fielding, of the Anangu people, utilises their mother tongue of Pitjantjatjara in most of the band’s songs. It was exciting to see their entry ‘2000 and Whatever’ sung by most of the audience, including the lines in Pitjantjatjara.

Another example from this year’s entrants so far is ‘Soldi’, the Italian entry by Mahmood. His song is in both Italian and Arabic, and will be the third song in the history of the contest in which Arabic has been used. His song is also one of my personal favourites, recounting his childhood with an absent father. The music is catchy, his singing floats smoothly over the instruments, and abruptly strikes into the chorus which is broody and enchanting. Keep an eye on him in the final.

Eurovision is a significant part of my life. It went from a strange program that I stumbled upon to being a fundamental aspect of my music taste, and my understanding of other cultures. It represents the power of music and language, as they come together in a beautifully weird way.

The 2019 Eurovision Song Contest is being held in Tel Aviv, Israel. The Grand Final is being aired on Sunday May 19 at 5.00am on SBS One.

80.

singing quietly with the grand old chorus.

MICHAEL DI IORIO

course. course. l be quiet as quiet is hoarse. l be quiet as quiet is calm. o no harm — m never armed, th words whimsy, waywardness.

I’ll be quiet as quiet is hoarse.

I’ll be quiet as quiet is calm.

l be jagged, a dream, wept in the stream. l be sewer pretty, casket ready, ent train and songbird voiceless. iet I will be, r quiet’s all I am, rd as time and soft as sand, lf the man in my father’s hand, d very much wholly me.

ly me. aise be. rd Jesu, Hallelu. the steeple kneeling, ck out of feelings, nday soft vibes and etceteranosaurus. l be unintrusive, a lonely tourist, nging quietly with the grand old chorus.

all hush

82.

Of course.

I’ll be jagged, a dream, Of course. swept in the stream.

I’ll be quiet as quiet is hoarse.

I’ll be quiet as quiet is calm.

I do no harm — am never armed, Of course. with words Of course. or whimsy, I’ll be quiet as quiet is hoarse. the choir, you can see me frown, or waywardness.

I’ll be quiet as quiet is calm. t so here for the praise, I do no harm — silent train and songbird voiceless. t more here for the gown.

I’ll be jagged, aam dream, never armed, Quiet I will be, swept in the stream. with words for quiet’s all I am, I’ll be sewer pretty, casket ready, or whimsy, silent train andorsongbird voiceless. waywardness.

Quiet I will be, for quiet’s all I I’ll am,be jagged, a dream, hard as time and soft in asthe sand, swept stream. half the man in I’ll mybe father’s sewer hand, pretty, casket ready, and very much wholly me. and songbird voiceless. silent train Quiet I will be, Holy me. for quiet’s all I am, Of course.

Praise be. hard as time and soft as sand, Of course.

Lord Jesu, Hallelu. half the man in my father’s hand, I’ll be quiet as quiet is hoarse.

In the steeple kneeling, and very much wholly me.

I’ll be quiet as quiet is calm. fuck out of feelings, I do no harm — Sunday soft vibes Holyand me.etceteranosaurus. am never armed, I’ll be unintrusive, a lonely Praise be. tourist, with words singing quietly Lord with Jesu, the grand old chorus.

Hallelu. or whimsy, In the steeple kneeling, or waywardness.

In the choir, youfuck canout seeofme frown, feelings, not so here for Sunday the praise, soft vibes and etceteranosaurus.

I’ll be jagged, a dream, but more here for gown.

I’ll the be unintrusive, a lonely tourist, swept in the stream. singing quietly with the grand old chorus.

I’ll be sewer pretty, casket ready, silent train and songbird voiceless.

In the choir, you can see me frown, Quiet I will be, not so here for the praise, for quiet’s all I am, but more here for the gown. hard as time and soft as sand, half the man in my father’s hand, and very much wholly me.

JOSH GREEN

MARISSA VAFAKOS

YAN MARTEA

‘PERFORMANCE’

86.

YAN MARTEA

‘PERFORMANCE’

m m m m

Highway

In January 1976 my mother drove up to our house behind the wheel of a Toyota HiAce Minivan. It was the first one of its kind ever sold in the state of Victoria. It had 15 seats, grey curtains, and a fire extinguisher. My siblings and I named it ‘The Bus’. We spent the next week preparing to drive from Shepparton to our new home in Maryborough, Queensland. When we left, The Bus was loaded with bedding, crockery, books, clothes, a barbecue, spare petrol, water, food, three cats, two dogs, one adult, my five siblings, and me. I was seven years old, and my eldest brother, Christopher, was seventeen. The others were Paul, Brett, Louanda and Marita. Mum, Paul, and I sat in the front seats while everyone else sorted themselves out in the back. The Bus was heavily overloaded, so the maximum speed limit was an unachievable dream. The 1650-kilometre trip was expected to take three long days.

We had planned to get to Dubbo on our first day, but we left late. We also lost Paul at a petrol stop. He started talking to a man who was filling a fast-looking car. He asked Mum if he could go for a ride in it. Mum said it was okay, “But don’t go out of sight.”

potatoes for dinner. We’d already washed and showered at a nearby petrol station, and as soon as we were done eating, we began laying pillows and sleeping bags across the seats. Everyone kept to their daytime seats for sleeping, except for Paul, who slept on the floor at the back of The Bus. I slept on the floor in the front, and Mum slept across the front seats. The dogs and cats settled wherever they were comfortable. Sheba, who I liked to think was my dog, curled up with me. The night was cool and we kept the windows closed to make sure the cats didn’t run away.

1133-kilometres 1133-kilometres 1133-kilometres to 1 1 go. to 33go. k i lome t r es to go. to go.

When my father died, Mum’s sister, Margaret, wanted us to move to Shepparton so we could be closer to her.

We only lived 90 minutes away, but Margaret argued that if we were in Shepparton we’d never be more than 15 minutes apart. Mum was reluctant, and after several years of badgering, Margaret sent her husband, Gordon, to convince us to make the change.

“If you come to Shepparton, I’ll take care of everything,” he said. “If you need work done on the house, help with the kids, whatever. I’ll make sure your money’s safe.

Paul jumped in the car and they raced off with a roar, up and over the next hill—immediately out of sight. A couple You’ll be taken care of.” of hours later we found them waiting for us at a burger shop on the highway outside Narrandera. I expected Mum A few weeks later our house was on the market, and we were searching for somewhere to buy in Shepparton. to lose her temper, but she didn’t. Instead she bought lunch and invited the driver to eat with us. * After sunset we stopped at a clearing outside of Parkes, On the second day of our trip we woke at 5am. We had 120-odd-kilometres short of Dubbo. Mum set up the cups of tea and bread with jam for breakfast and hit the portable barbeque and started grilling sausages and

RUNE WOODMAN

Moving

moving moving moving moving moving moving moving moving moving moving moving moving with the HiAce moving moving moving moving moving moving moving moving moving moving moving moving

road by 5:30. We played chess, read books, or talked to pass the time, but any of these activities had the potential to start an argument­, especially chess.

Christopher was the only one who knew the rules, and he seemed to change them with every game. The arguments were loud and often became physical, but it never got worse than a punch in the shoulder from Brett.

“Why didn’t I bring a deck of cards?” Mum asked after pulling over and confiscating the chess set. “You all know the rules for poker.”

and refused to sign the papers to transfer the house into Mum’s name.

“What are we going to do?” The adults sat in Margaret’s kitchen discussing the problem as heavy rain started to fall outside.

“I’ll sort it out,” Gordon offered. “In the meantime, you can stay here. The boys can sleep in tents in the backyard, and there’s plenty of room for the girls inside.”

Six weeks passed. The rain didn’t ease up and we still couldn’t move into the house.

It would have made no difference. Christopher cheated at “I’ve had enough of this.” Margaret and Gordon were poker, too. arguing in their bedroom one night.

It was still early in the morning when we got to Dubbo.

We came to a rail crossing, but the sun was so bright that Margaret stormed out and marched to the phone table at the end of the hall and started making calls. Two days we couldn’t see out the front of The Bus, or through any later we packed up the tents and moved into our house. of the windows down the left side. The crossing had no automated signals, so we waited and watched for trains, blinded by the blazing sunshine. We couldn’t see if a “How did you do it?” Mum asked. train was coming and didn’t know if it was safe to cross.

“I called around and got her number, then phoned her and asked, ‘How would you like it if your nephews and “Bugger,” Mum said. It was her only swear word. When Mum said “bugger”, it meant things weren’t going to plan. nieces were living in tents in your backyard for six weeks in the rain?’”

We waited quietly and after a few tense seconds she shouted, “Everybody, hold on!” She threw The Bus into * gear and flattened the accelerator. Excited and scared, we screamed for our lives, the dogs barked and the From Dubbo, we headed to Moree. After hearing on the cats hid as The Bus bumped and bounced across the radio that there was flooding up ahead, we stopped in railway lines. Once we were safely on the other side fear town and asked around for a safe way through. We learnt turned into relief and our screams were replaced by raucous laughter. The good mood prevailed for an hour that the water had already subsided, but there was still a lot of mud about. We followed directions out of town and or so until someone got bored and the next round of eventually came to a section of road that was covered in arguments began. thick, black mud. Brazenly assuming we’d pass through it easily, Mum slowly drove on. The mud got thicker, and 1013-kilometres 1013-kilometres 1013-kilometres 1013-kilometres to 1013 go. to go. kilometres to go. to go. to go. clung to the wheels of The Bus. They became so slick with mud they started spinning.

In Shepparton Mum bought a three-bedroom house that was 10 minutes’ walk from Margaret’s place. It “Bugger.” Mum turned off the engine and we sat quietly was small with a big garden full of fruit trees, and was in the middle of the road waiting for her new plan. But close to shops and schools. We couldn’t move in though; there wasn’t one. the previous owners were going through a divorce, 90.

RUNE WOODMAN

Eventually, a semi-trailer drove up behind us. The driver offered to help, but even his superior skills still saw The Bus slipping and sliding all over the road. When we were on the other side of the thick mud, Mum made sure each of us thanked him before he walked back through the sludge.

From Moree we went to Boggabilla, then crossed into Queensland at Goondiwindi. We arrived at Dalby as the sun was setting.

301-kilometres 301-kilometres toto 301-kilometres 3 go.

0 go.

1 k i l om et r e s toto go. go.

Two years in Shepparton passed. Gordon only ever visited with Margaret at his side, never on his own. When the garage leaked, or a tree needed lopping, Gordon wasn’t there to help. Meanwhile, Mum met a man named Ralph and fell in love. After several months of dating they visited Margaret and Gordon to announce their engagement.

“It’s too soon,” Margaret said. “Max has only been dead, what, four years? You can’t get married yet. And how many kids?”

“Five,” Mum answered. “Three girls and two boys.”

“There’d be thirteen of you under one roof. Where would you live?”

“Well, my house isn’t big enough—” “What do you think Gordon?” Margaret asked.

Gordon and Ralph had been talking about sport. “What?

Oh.” He turned to Mum, “It’s like Maggie says...” “…it’s too soon,” Margaret completed his thought for him.

Despite Margaret’s reservations about the marriage, Mum and Ralph continued their preparations. Ralph asked to start managing Mum’s finances but Gordon was reluctant to give him the paperwork. He eventually gave in. After

a long afternoon of sorting through documents, taking notes and tutting to himself, Ralph finally looked up from the pile of papers.

“Well?” Mum asked.

“It’s not right,” he said.

With the revelation that Gordon had not lived up to any of his promises, a gap formed in the relationship between the two sisters. There were no arguments, but the lies and manipulation were evident now. After a failed attempt at reconciliation, Mum called Ralph and told him, “We’ve got to leave.” * On the last night of our trip we slept at a truck stop.

There were no trucks when we arrived, but we were surrounded early the next morning. Marita and Louanda started yelling from the back, “Marmalade, Marmalade, where’s Marmalade?” A window was open. Marmalade, one of the cats, was missing. We wanted to go looking for him but Mum knew it was pointless. Rather than tell us the truth, she said, “He’s probably in one of the trucks.

But we can’t wake up the drivers to find him, they need their sleep. He’ll be fine.” We quietly ate breakfast and left the truck stop without any fuss.

That morning we arrived at the Maryborough Town Hall, as planned. Ralph had taken the train up and was there to greet us. His five children were still in Shepparton, waiting for Mum to return in The Bus and drive them up to Maryborough too. For her it would be another week of driving, while my siblings, Ralph, and I settled into the only accommodation he could find for our soon to be large, extended family: four small caravans at a local caravan park. the adventure, the adventure, the theadventure, adventure, the adventure, the adventure, the adventure, it seemed, it seemed, it seemed, it was seemed, was just it seemed, just was justwas just it seemed, was just was just waswas justwas just just was just the beginning. the beginning. the beginning the beginning the beginning the beginning

My hometown fades away. Its vines continue to snake around, entrap me, keeping up with the car as it ambles along stark yellow fields. These murmuring, thick constraints voice unwelcome observations and apply limitations. They’re an entanglement of experiences, words, and particles of people. Choices I’ve made, and choices made for me. The pervasive vines stretch long past the boundaries of my country town, but they no longer take centre stage at the forefront of my mind.

Dad’s silent in the front seat. Rigid, upright, eyes frozen on the road. It spans out in front of us, twisting sharply through the dense, memory-laden woods with which I’m so familiar.

Huddled together in an otherwise typical rural landscape, the blackened trees—thick and isolated—spread across the land to form the location for cross-country in primary school. Frenzied breaths, dusty shoes, the woods encasing our movement. Heartbreak Hill, a name I’d laughed at moments before, attempted to break my steadiness with its steep ascent. An ascent

tried twice, a grazed knee endured, wince suppressed.

Throat closing, as foreboding as an airplane door, not to be released anytime soon. I was more concerned about snickering onlookers than the dirt-coated wound.

But turning around, a landscape barren of classmates and teachers had greeted me.

I peer out the window. The proximity of the dark trunks, the space between each decreasing, as they continue deeper. Thin, gaunt, leering, they conjure the memory of my abandonment of the track.

Gingerly peering around, I’d walked off the track, bewildered at the quiet. Was I first? Was I last?

My questions hung in the air, begging for an answer.

All I knew was that I was alone. The heat had opened my skull, stirring and tending to the contents like a pot of Mum’s staple vegetable soup. Succumbing to the burgeoning urge to farewell the track, fuelled by curiosity, I’d walked further from the marked path, allowing the woods to hungrily envelope me. Shrill voices had lowered me into the ground, the vines greeted me like an old friend.

92.

EMMA WALLS

I’d fallen into a lull, during those weeks before moving.

The end of high school had never seemed within reach.

I couldn’t comprehend an end to 13 years of schooling.

I’d spent over 70% of my life there, with the remaining 30% being only partially memorable. I remembered the multicoloured plants Dad tended to, and his “porridge special” on a Sunday. The aroma of Mum’s delicious recipes slowly permeating the house, my Nan’s rambunctious honey-coloured dog. I remember innocently tucking my grandfather into bed moments after his last breath, whispering a gentle “good night, sleep tight” as my family watched silently.

Dad laughs as I attempt to justify my packing process.

I talk of orderly planning, checking the recommendations of what to bring, consulting others, how I responsibly disposed of belongings that no longer held meaning.

It was a process, I assure him. But it was clearly not a process at all. How do I pack for the next part of my life, one which I never thought I’d reach?

The lull was encumbered with such thoughts. For so long, I was like a roaming fish within a bowl, no stone unturned, with the whispering ocean miles away.

Inescapable familiarity. Plucked out, laid bare, pricked and pruned. Expectations established despite the absence of moving lips or opened mouths. I was under the impression that I would cease to exist after high school. I had reached the end of my journey, with nothing but a deep black abyss to greet me at completion. I was unnerved when the exams of paramount importance came around and then left.

I was brimming with both nervousness and bewilderment as I waited for initial results. I’d worked tirelessly into the witching hour, desperation flying across the page, reappearing in my dreams. Would this number reflect my sheer exhaustion and continuous late nights?

Dad asks when I’ll return, the approximate date of my visit. But I simply do not know. The vines constrict my air pipe too, and I need some time to breathe.

I was running erratically on a treadmill, powered by a frivolous argument I’d had at home, when I found out.

I’d been given an offer for my first preference. I looked up at the treadmill, bewildered, and then down at my phone screen once more, logging in again to ensure it was correct. My focus flicked up to my parents, identifying them amid the moving, incessant cluster of cyclists.

We’d all piled into the car for the gym, huffing with suppressed irritation.

After accepting the offer, the two months following felt unreal. There were no more panicked breaths or vines tugging at me. I went to work, I came home. I logged into my new university email, then logged off. I saw friends, hugged them politely, then left. I was lightly stepping into unmarked, unanalysed, unprecedented territory. So, of course I only started packing two days from when I was due to move out, into university accommodation four hours away. Everything had seemed like an unfamiliar dream. So, it was only natural that I was still packing the night before, with less than six hours until departure.

My phone sounds, and I peer down at the messages.

Filled with emojis, my younger sister expresses how much she’ll miss me. When I waved goodbye this morning I’d caught the glimpse of a tear. There’s a message from my mum too, telling me how much she loves me and how proud of me she is. Dad asks about the life choices my friends have made. I think about the few friends I’ll hang onto.

The vines that previously held me start to weaken and lose their power. The air already comes easier here, inhaling is uninterrupted, oxygen easily enters my nose, skimming my throat as it fills my lungs.

I love my family, absolutely. I love Mum’s crinkly, gorgeous hair, unbounded strength in tennis and absolute selflessness within her job. I love my Dad, his ability to resuscitate plants and tend to new ones and the impressive linocuts he’d created in his past. I love my sister, who’d fly in and out of my room, ‘borrowing’ dresses when she thought I wasn’t looking. I love how she pats our cat with such swiftness, that his ginger hair forms airy, orange clouds that drift lazily to the ground.

Dad’s cheer draws my attention, and I follow his gaze upwards. The university tower looms over us and I can finally draw a deep breath, deeper than I’ve ever breathed. I am ready to exist in a space I thought wouldn’t exist.

CW: DEATH

“We will miss you, you know?” His words hang in the air, they don’t feel like a question, but reassurance.

We fall into comfortable conversation, the easy, outermost layers of discourse. Switching between mentions of my sister, Catherine, to my mum and then suddenly, my haphazard packing.

JOSHUA MOLL

‘ENTRANCE’

//////// SAPPHOâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S GHOST/////////// For she who overcame everyone in beauty is the most beautiful For she who overcame thing on the black earth everyone in beauty Had she a thought? is the most beautiful on her face thing on the black earth the motion of light on Had she a thought? her face on her face I say it is her lovely the motion of light on step her face and the motion of light I say it is her lovely Her lovely step out of step the unexpected and the motion of light Her lovely step out of the unexpected

96.

ALI CHALMERS

Sappho’s Ghost is a five minute interactive virtual reality experience that I crafted during my Visual Communications Honours year at UTS in 2018. It uses an HTC Vive headset and Leap Motion infrared tracker to create an interactive virtual space where you can interact with queer digital poetry. It’s a digital landscape of slime and seduction, your body enveloped by sound, light, and movement.

You’re invited to touch and feel, to reach out and consider what you manage to grasp.

There are two spaces for you to experience: the box and the slime riot. The box is modeled on traditional reading experiences, with translations of Sappho’s poetry and diagrams explaining how I used algorithmic processes to rework it into new queer poetry. This box then explodes away to reveal the true landscape of Sappho’s Ghost: a shimmering riot of colour and reflection, shine, and slime. Big blobs of text emerge from goo to surround you, and when touched, these words stick to your hands.

This tactile, visceral interaction brings to the surface the ideas we hold about bodies and desires, how they are made and remade, and what role technologies like algorithms and virtual reality have to play among it all.

There’s my attempt at laying the introductory groundwork.

Kinda clunky, right? While I can do my best with metaphor, I can’t write a satisfying description of Sappho’s Ghost because: a) translating meaning across mediums is hard enough for skilled writers, b) so much of the meaning in VR is bodily and experiential, which I find more difficult to translate compared to visual and, c) if I could, there’d be no point in Sappho’s Ghost existing in the first place because I could’ve just written a cool essay.

“I wanted to figure “I wantedout toafqueer iguredesign /////////////// methodology” methodology” out a queer design

methodology” methodology ” I did make Sappho’s Ghost, though, and the tension of mediums is central to its existence. My goal with my Honours year was relatively simple: I wanted to figure out a queer design methodology. Particularly informative to how I worked was queer utopianism as posited by Jose Esteban Muñoz in Cruising Utopia (2009) and Sara Ahmed’s theorisation of sexuality as a spatio-temporal orientation in Queer Phenomenology (2006). They’re written texts that give close accounts of gender and sexuality as societal structures, and present models for emancipatory possibilities. It was my challenge to turn this academic theory into something concrete, using it not just as inspiration but as a way of thinking that governed my making. The uneasy tension that comes from working across mediums and academic disciplines is difficult to hold, but it resulted in something deeply weird and exciting conceptually and experientially.

The algorithmically generated queer poetry that users interact with in Sappho’s Ghost is a good example of how I experimented with manifesting insights from academic theory in my processes and outcomes. Through his analysis of queer cultural artefacts, Esteban Muñoz argues for a particular queer way of understanding space and time, in which “the past is used in the service of mapping a future.” Thinking also of Cheryl Dunye and Zoe Leonard’s work in inventing a historical archive to address voids in black queer histories, I chose to use Sappho’s poetry for algorithmic poetry experiments. Sappho’s own name, as well as the name of her home island of Lesbos, are intertwined with the histories of desire between women.

Yet only one complete poem of hers exists—the rest are fragments that have been translated differently over centuries, rewritten and reworked for various agendas over time. Sappho is impossible to untangle from contemporary lesbian identity but she also exists mostly as a what if, as a series of voids that we guess the shape of but can’t fill. Using Anne Carson’s translation of the currently existing fragments, I broke poems down into phrases that code then combined into new poems. These new poems are a strange collaboration between Sappho, Anne Carson,

98.

ALI CHALMERS

myself, and code; odd progeny of technology and women, queer ancestors remade to suggest future possibilities.

The title becoming clearer now, Sappho’s Ghost remains difficult to slot into a genre of VR. The contemporary iteration of VR is relatively nascent despite the decades of boom and bust cycles it’s gone through since it first emerged in the ‘60s. Facebook has sunk millions into it and military organisations are excited by its potential, a fact that is concerning to many, for obvious reasons. There are academics, artists, and general tech wizkids asking the tough questions and making new iterations of what virtual reality could be, but it still feels like the mainstream image is dominated by techbro non-political optimism.

Establishing the space of Sappho’s Ghost was then also about putting that context of VR in conversation with what I had been figuring out about queer design methodologies. It’s not a video game and it’s not a 360° video either, it’s a virtual space that exists on top of and among reality, governed by your physical movements, and in close conversation with the human body. There’s a cultural mythos of cyberspace as a digital heaven, where the soul can transcend flesh and be uploaded into the cloud to live out virtual fantasies. Pulling that apart was important to the work. Figuring out how to conceive of digital technologies as intertwined with us—bodily and mentally—without resorting to the coin flip of technology as saviour or ultimate evil. The goal then was to use the tension of optimism and cynicism while crafting my queer utopia, aiming for an iteration of virtual reality that suggests future possibilities for a technology like VR, while also retaining a criticality, a sense of itself as an object or experience with a moral position. Sara Ahmed’s spatiotemporal understanding of the body as a sexual subject was essential to designing with this in mind. Through understanding sexual orientation as choices we make over time, as bodies constituted by the paths they follow again and again, a politics of

movement and spatial orientation begins to emerge. This becomes a way to understand movement in virtual reality as a medium for meaning, crafting experience and interaction between bodies, technology, and space as a way to make arguments.

A lot of Sappho’s Ghost exists to be fun and pleasurable.

It’s academic, but I also want people to keep the headset on for the full five minutes. I am making arguments, and trying to convey certain knowledge, but I prefer to think of it as an experience where people can take what resonates with them back beyond the threshold once they take the headset off. The visual riot of rainbow goo is a psychedelic funhouse to some, while others see it and recognise a queer maximalist style that relies on fascination and ugliness, and the strange desires that emerge at the overlap.

When crafting Sappho’s Ghost as a queer utopia, I was thinking of utopia’s conceptual origin as a no place, as an impossible location. It acts as a mirage, a suggestion of what could be that argues against what currently is.

It was essential to me that my work was productive, not necessarily filling a void but at least putting something there. I wanted my critiques to be fruitful, so that my disruptions and destructions are soil for growth, rather than just smashing things up for fun. If I’m going to say the status quo isn’t good enough, then I should be finding ways to make it better, and to show what those methods can result in, even if the result is only five minutes long. Maybe I am more susceptible to tech optimism than I should be, but I think virtual reality could, should, and will be a fertile ground for change.

There’s this inherent vulnerability for a user in putting a headset on: they can’t see the outside world, but the outside world is still there. It speaks to a particular trust, a willingness to explore an unknown. As a creator, I feel a duty—and an opportunity—to craft the most interesting and exciting unknowns, new and revelatory experiences of futures worth working towards.

JAMES GARDINER

back in the good old days back in the good old days

species’ history

put on your VR goggles and await instruction

beer garden

back in 2020

Please put on your VR goggles and await instruction. travelled back in time WELCOME to the last remaining beer garden, which our best evidence suggests was all the rage back in 2020!

We have travelled back in time to when citrus roamed the earth, took root in the ground, or “soil” as it was gorgeously coined, and blossomed into mammoth trees.

In this age, friends would gather in the canopies of their lemon trees, said to be hundreds of metres tall, and drink beer! (How novel!) And so the “beer garden” trend took off! back in 2020 One famous tale of this time in our species’ history was Jack and the Beanstalk, which details the journey of a young man who planted a lemon seed in the ground and watched it grow into the heavens. At this point he climbed it, spurred on by loud roars of laughter and stomping of feet. At the top he found branches carved into seats, yellow lights strung around green leaves, and gallons of beer!

species’ history

Simply stare at your empty glass for three (3) seconds and it will be refilled with our lavishly concocted Root Beer, made using a recipe unearthed by archaeologists.

Root Beer in your very own Beer Garden! Live like kings.

Just like they did back in the good old days.

Think different. I’m Lovin’ it. Just Do IT!

travelled back in time

back in the good old days

species’ history

100.

put on your VR goggles and await instruction

femme fatale keya arur x ady neshoda

KEYA ARUR

ADY NESHODA

‘FEMME FATALE’

feminine ferocity

active wear meets

104.

KEYA ARUR

ADY NESHODA

‘FEMME FATALE’

feminine and fierce.

Electric style igniting athletic prowess.

Strong and poised, and enveloped 106.

KEYA ARUR

ADY NESHODA

‘FEMME FATALE’

KEYA ARUR

ADY NESHODA

‘FEMME FATALE’

KEYA ARUR

ADY NESHODA

‘FEMME FATALE’

sweet like fucking candy.

ADY NESHODA

‘SUGAR’

SUGARREPUBLIC.COM.AU

sugar sugar sugar sugar

ADY NESHODA

‘SUGAR’

SUGARREPUBLIC.COM.AU

ADY NESHODA

‘SUGAR’

SUGARREPUBLIC.COM.AU

sweets are bad for you, honey. and fuck iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m sweet.

JASON DENISON

‘SAINTJHN’

JASON DENISON

‘SAINTJHN’

JASON DENISON

‘SAINTJHN’

JASON DENISON

‘SAINTJHN’

JASON DENISON

‘SAINTJHN’

JASON DENISON

‘SAINTJHN’

JASON DENISON

‘SAINTJHN’

134.

JACKSON ELLIOTT

‘ILLUME’

JACKSON ELLIOTT

‘ILLUME’

JACKSON ELLIOTT

‘ILLUME’

JACKSON ELLIOTT

‘ILLUME’

JACKSON ELLIOTT

‘ILLUME’

2

Ve

V

V V V

2 2

Enter with caution!

22 22 Vertigo Vault 22 22 Vertigo Vault 22222222222 22222222222 22222222222 22222222222 22 22222222222 22222222222 22222222222 22222222222 22222222222 22222222222 22 Vertigo Vault 22 22 Enter with22caution!

22 22 Enter with caution!

22 22 22 Enter with caution!22 22 22 22 Vertigo Vault 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 Enter with caution! ertigo Vault 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 VERTIGO Enter VERTIGO 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 22VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO V with caution!

22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 VERTIGO 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VER 22VERTIGO 22 GO VERTIGO 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO22VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 22VERTIGO Vertigo Vault 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 Vertigo Vault 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 Enter with caution! 22 22 22 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO22222222222 VERTIGO VERTIGO 22222222222 VERTIGO22 VERTIGO 22222222222 VERTIGO 22222222222 VERTIGO VERTIGO 22222222222 VERTIGO22VERTIGO 22222222222 VERTIGO22222222222 VERTIGO VERTIGO 22222222222 VERTIGO 22222222222 VERTIGO 22222222 VERTIGO 22 22 22 VERTIGO Vertigo Vault 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO22VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 22 22 VERTIGO Enter with caution!

22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 Vertigo Vault 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 VERTIGO22VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 22VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 Enter with caution!

22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 22 22 22 22 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 22 22 22 22 22 Vertigo Vault VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 Vertigo Vault 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 Vertigo Vault 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 Enter with caution!

22 22 22 22 22 22 22 caution!

22 22 22 VERTIGO Enter 22 22 VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO 22 VERTIGO 22VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGOwith VERTIGO VERTIGO VERTIGO Enter with caution!

22 22 22 22 22 22 22 Vertigo Vault 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 Enter with caution!

22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22222222222 22 22 22 22222222222 22222222222 22 2 22222222222 22222222222 22222222222 22222222222 22222222222 22222222222 22222222222 22222222222 222 22 22 22 22 22222222222 22 22222222222 22222222222 22 2 22222222222 22222222222 222222222222222222 22222222222 22222222222 222222222222222222 22222222222 2 Vertigo Vault 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 Vertigo Vault with caution!

22 22 22 22 22Enter Vertigo Vault 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 22 with caution!22 22 22 Enter 22 22 22 22 Enter with caution!

22 22 22 22

Enter?

OK!

OMG STUDENT CONFESSIONS! Confession (1)

The worst thing to happen to me during sex has nothing to do with bodily fluids or odd sounds: it was as simple as my partner falling asleep. Not just asleep, but asleep during the act itself: he passed out right on top of me. I’m a small girl, and navigating the whole getting-him-off-my-chest-whilenot-letting-him-crash-to-the-floor thing was tough.

In retrospect, I kind of wish I’d let that happen though.

Confession (2)

A guy paid me for videos of me popping balloons with my feet.

Sleep

Go back

Confession (3)

o Vault

Once I was having sex with a guy, and after he came all over me he said the words ‘he really likes you’. He was talking about his dick.

Enter with caution!

Run

Confession (4)

Confession #3 [Vegemite dick]

I went over my ex’s house one day early in the morning. I hadn’t eaten breakfast beforehand so I ate some vegemite toast while we chatted. One thing lead to another and we ended up in the shower together. I was deepthroating him and having a wild time when next thing I know there’s mushed remnants of vegemite toast everywhere. I had to remove the penis from my mouth to clean it up. I didn’t even feel it coming it was just there. I thought it was hilarious, he, on the other hand, had vegemite dick.

Undo

146.

Confession (6)

I was hooking up with an old lover of mine who I occasionally sleep with when we’re both single.

We have a really good relationship and we’re good friends. The morning after we had sex we woke up in my bed together, and he said ‘oh no, I think my scabies is back’. I haven’t stepped foot in my room for two days and have had to boil everything I own in case I catch it.

Confession (5)

I was having sex when I was about 17 and I farted, which was the worst possible thing that could have happened as a teenager. I’ve never seen a dick go soft so fast.

Help

Restart

Confession (7)

One time I was with a guy I met on Grindr. He was younger than me and hadn’t really had much sex before. So he didn’t know that usually when you’re having gay penetrative sex, it’s best to douche and clean out your butt. We started having sex and I asked him if he’d be keen on bottoming and he was very keen. The first position he wanted to do was ‘cowboy’ (him riding me). And it was all fun and good and we were really enjoying it. But then we went to change positions. I told him to get up so we could do something else and as he was getting up, he pooped on me. I like to say it came a little like a soft serve...swirly. Clearly we didn’t continue. I went and washed up and he joined me, we had a little shower fun and then he went home. Inexperienced bottoms...please be careful and prepare if you’re going to be having anal sex.

Next

Confession (8)

Once I went to a Grindr hookup and he asked if his wife could watch. She did.

Open

sportyspice4599@hotmail.com, sadd1egal@hotmail.com, fisherfamily@bigpond.com.au, bquinn@minterellison.com.au Taylor’s 13th!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :) :) :)

Comic Sans

To: sportyspice4599@hotmail.com, sadd1egal@hotmail.com, fisherfamily@bigpond.com.au, priestley_olivia@student.stperpetuas.nsw.edu.au, surfychicka@gmail.com, xxx_do_i_dazzle_u_ xxx@hotmail.com CC: bquinn@minterellison.com.au From: tayla_luvs_jellybeanz@hotmail.com Subject: Taylor’s 13th!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :) :) :)

Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Kappas!!

Your invited to tha c00lest partay evarrrrr XD WHAT: Taylor’s 13th slumber party!!!

WHEN: 6pm, Saturday 15th of March WHERE: 12 Eucalyptus Crescent, West Pennant Hills WHO: Kappas only!! (sunglasses emoji) (PLEASE keep it 2 urself @ skewl! Not every1 is invited!!!)

Bring ur PJs, ur pillows and a sleeping bag but we wont be sleepin coz Mum said we can borrow Twilight and New Moon from Civic!!!!!!! (blingee of Edward Cullen) SEE U SOOOOOOON!!!!!!! (and @ skewl tomorrow roflcopter) TaYlOr QuInN

“And so the lion fell in love with the lamb…” he murmured. I looked away, hiding my eyes as I thrilled to the word.

“What a stupid lamb,” I sighed.

“What a sick, masochistic lion.”

—Stephenie Meyer, Twilight

LUCY TASSELL

To: tayla_luvs_jellybeanz@hotmail.com, sportyspice4599@hotmail.com, fisherfamily@bigpond.com.au, priestley_ olivia@student.stperpetuas.nsw.edu.au, surfychicka@gmail.com, xxx_do_i_dazzle_u_xxx@hotmail.com CC: bquinn@minterellison.com.au From: sadd1egal@hotmail.com Subject: Re: Taylor’s 13th!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :) :) :)

Heyyy!! So excited for dis!!!! Approximately when will we b finished on Sunday morning? I have 2 be at the stables by 9am (horse gif) Regards, Gabbi Jacobson Year 7 St Perpetua’s West Pennant Hills School Captain, Prouille, 2008 I’ve often said there is nothing better for the inside of the man, than the outside of the horse.

Ronald Reagan

To: tayla_luvs_jellybeanz@hotmail.com, sportyspice4599@hotmail.com, fisherfamily@bigpond.com.au, priestley_ olivia@student.stperpetuas.nsw.edu.au, sadd1egal@hotmail.com, xxx_do_i_dazzle_u_xxx@hotmail.com CC: bquinn@minterellison.com.au From: surfychicka@gmail.com, Subject: Re: Re: Taylor’s 13th!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :) :) :)

omg taylor when will gabbi ever shut up about horses roflmao :3 did u see her saddle club crop top after pdhpe? soooooo embarrassing xDDDD Emily Davis

“I’ve learned life is a lot like surfing. When you get caught in the impact zone, you need to get right back up, because you never know what’s over the next wave......and if you have faith, anything is possible, anything at all.”—Bethany Hamilton, Soul Surfer

Hi Lisa, Just wanted to find out your work number from you. I don’t seem to have it on the parent contact sheet and I haven’t been able to get through to you at home. Hoping to have a chat with you about Emily and her presence at Taylor’s upcoming birthday.

Kind regards, Bernadette Quinn Senior Partner – Human Resources Minter Ellison

horoscopes horoscopes horoscopes horoscopes horoscopes horos horoscopes scopes horoscopes horoscopes horoscopes horoscopes horoscopes horoscopes Aries

Performing domestic tasks becomes second nature to you as you get older. This week you will come to the realisation that perhaps it’s time to hang out your washing somewhere you can reach. You only get one growth spurt and that time in Year 9 was it chief.

Ta uru s

Since you were young, you always thought that grand romantic gestures would solve all problems in your love life. You need to understand that people want to talk and normally grab dinner on a first date. They will almost always reject your proposal of marriage and be freaked out.

G emini

With a new moon verging into your presence, you’re feeling excited and refreshed in your new adult life. Who knew grocery shopping at 9pm, so that you can buy everything in the ‘reduced’ section, could give you such a thrill. Ah, you finally feel things again.

Can cer

This week is a time of reminiscence and nostalgia.

Thinking back to your first kiss you realise that yes, there was definitely too much tongue, and yes, they definitely noticed. It still makes you cringe and physically unwell whenever the topic comes up in conversation.

Leo

The older you get, the smaller your circle of friends become—it’s just a part of adult life.

This is the time to find likeminded people to surround yourself with. Barack Obama, Roger Federer, Madonna and me, Jenny Cao, are all Leos and are viable options as friends.

Virgo

32.

150.

We get it Virgos. You got your whole life together—you’ve got jobs lined up, your bills paid, and you even go to the gym 3-4 times a week.

Looks like you have got this whole ‘adulting’ thing on lock. How many lives did you destroy to get here? How many people did you hurt?

Three things no one ever told you about growing up: - We change careers almost seven times in our lives and our labour is almost always undervalued - Our economic system is built on the theft of surplus labour - This month is a great month for revolution

Scorpio

You’ll be facing immense difficulties in your romantic endeavours this week so here are some words of advice: Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. In felis mi, dictum in mauris eu, blandit sollicitudin sapien.

Nullam convallis congue mattis.

Sagittarius

You dwell on mistakes you’ve made and overthink things that have already happened. Time to move forward! There are more important things to worry about like coronary heart disease. It’s one of the leading causes of death in men and women in Australia (ABS 2016).

C a pri corn

It’s important to stay true to yourself and believe in who you are—especially now that you’re transitioning into a fully-fledged adult.

Unless you still talk about Harry Potter. Fuck.

That was years ago. Seriously. The hype died.

Get over it. Grow up.

A q uarius

Becoming financially responsible and independent has been a big goal for you this year. Setting aside a little bit of money each week can be considered paying yourself first and investing in your future. Think of all the lollies you could buy.

Pisces

With each new day you learn more about yourself.

Your taste has matured, your sense of smell is heightened, and you’ve had frequent bouts of unprovoked aggression. We could call this a case of second puberty, but I think you might be a werewolf.

JENNY CAO

horoscopes horoscopes horoscopes horoscopes horoscopes horos horoscopes scopes horoscopes horoscopes horoscopes horoscopes horoscopes horoscopes Libra

of d n i k t a wh

R E S S KI

start!

? are you

ARE YOU A:

DREAM THREESOME:

EDWARD & JACOB

FOLLOWER LEADER

BARACK & MICHELLE EW, GROSS, NO THANKS! YOUR CHOSEN APHRODISIAC:

OYSTERS

SPAG BOWL: LADY AND THE TRAMP STYLE

PERFECT ROMANTIC GETAWAY:

BARCELONA

IS THERE A MIRROR IN YOUR PANTS? I THINK I CAN SEE MYSELF IN THEM.

PARIS

WHAT DO YOU PUT ON FOR NETFLIX & CHILL:

YOUR IDEAL THIRD DATE:

BIRD BOX

DISNEYLAND

OPEN EYE ASSASSIN

LOUD ‘N’ PROUD

Bro. What are you doing? We need to talk—this is too much. Not everyone wants a side of serial killer with their Tinder hookup.

WHICH PICK UP LINE?

You take PDA to a whole new level. You don’t care who sees (or hears)— you just go for it. Pro tip: maybe buy your neighbours noise-cancelling headphones.

ANGUS, THONGS AND PERFECT SNOGGING

CINEMA (UP THE BACK)

TOO MUCH TONGUE

HOT ‘N’ HEAVY

Your conquests affectionately nickname you The Washing Machine.

Don’t take Cosmo tips too seriously, ease up buddy!

You are steamy and sensual! You can often be found leaving a trail of bite marks and hickeys in your wake. Wow, is it just me or is it getting hot in here?

Don’t rush into arguments! Slow down, pony boi!

Watch out for falling refrigerators from the sky on the last Tuesday of next month!

You were once born, and one day you will meet someone else who was born, and you will smoosh faces and be happy forever.

Stop procastinating!

Doritos and the Real Housewives will always be there. Get off your bum and do that thing you were supposed to be doing!

I can’t help you for I am just a chatterbox.

Live your life as Meryl Streep would.

You will sit behind your crush tomorrow at uni.

In the wise words of Mike Tyson, “Don’t fade into Bolivian.”

Cut out the pink square Fold the square in half, so the bottom meets the top Unfold it

Turn the square over so the writing is facing down.

Fold the four corners into the middle

Turn the square over again and fold the new four corners into the middle Fold in half so the colours are facing out Put your fingers in the pockets and off you go

HOW TO SUBMIT TO VERTIGO

Vertigo is always on the lookou t for pitches and submissions of creative fiction and non-fic writing, visual art, think pieces tion , feature articles, news, and everything in between.

Our sections leave you space to expand. Do you have som ething that doesn’t fit into a mould? We want to see it. particular

TITLE FICTION NON-FICTION AMPLIFY

OFFHAND

SHOWCASE

PITCHES

COLD SUBMISSIONS

HOW TO CONTACT US

SOCIAL MEDIA

ABOUT Short stories, poetry, flash fiction: everything we know and love about creative writing, or something we don’t know that will surpri se us.

We want non-fiction and cre ative non-fiction writing fro m all facets of life. Anything you’re intere sted in, we’re interested in too.

Youth culture, music, fashio n, arts and lifestyle—this is Amplify’s bread and butter. Ranging fro m prolific to up-and-coming, this section will showcase individuals in their creative element throug h authentic conversation. We are lookin g to support and promote the creative scene of UTS and cover events nea r you.

Offhand is home to all the we ird and wonderful things tha t don’t quite fit inside the box. We want you r quizzes, games, playlists, satire and comics to fill the back pages of our mag, nothing is too quirky or weird!

This section is dispursed thr oughout the magazine, showc asing any design-related bodies of wo rk including (but not limited to) fashion, animation, architecture, pro duct, photography, and typ ography.

Have an idea for a piece tha t isn’t complete? Briefly ans wer the following questions: • What is the working title for your piece?

• What do you want to write about?

• How do you want to write it — what is the structure, tone, or style?

• How long is your piece goi ng to be?

If you have any examples of pre vious works please attach the m to your email.

Already have a completed pie ce in mind to submit? Send your work to submissions@utsvertigo.com .au with a brief summary of its content and which section you’d like to see it in. Ideally, you cou ld also briefly describe how your work relate s to our next theme.

Send your pitches, submissio ns, and nominations to submissions@utsvertigo.com .au and one of our friendly edi tors will get in touch with you shortly .Check out facebook.com/ut svertigo for the most recent callouts, or just send us a message to say hello. utsvertigo.com.au facebook.com/utsvertigo instagram.com/utsvertigo twitter.com/vertigomagazin e

154.

students’ association reports

Mehmet Musa PRESIDENT

The UTS Students’ Association (UTSSA) has released the student handbook and this was distributed on O’Day. It contains vital information about all the services that are offered and/or facilitated by the UTSSA. Over 1,000 of these handbooks were distributed to UTS students on the day.

Do not worry if you were not around on O’Day, the hand books are available at UTSSA stands around the university.

Furthermore, our website has been launched. In the past, our website has been rather lackluster and, in some respect, nonfunctional. It had been near impossible to update the website and upload documents such as SRC minutes due to reduced capabilities of our old website.

The new website that we have launched is not only more interactive and vibrant, it is capable of supporting documents such as SRC minutes and is able to be constantly updated. All SRC minutes will be uploaded to that website for transparency. I would like to thank everyone for their feedback on this website and furthermore thank staff and especially our marketing officer Biljana for her commitment to making this happen. The website looks great and could not have been done without you.

I also had the pleasure of attending the NUS President’s summit with Aiden our Treasurer and Emily our Assistant Secretary. This summit was rather practical and a positive experience not just for my own development, but for other Executive members who were involved. It was especially fascinating to hear from members of TEQSA, as well as those from the media who gave us students tips on how to properly engage with media organisations.

This concludes my report. Feel free to contact me for any student concerns/ questions that you may think I could assist you with. My email is: president@utsstudentsassociation.org

Llywelyn Parry SECRETARY

The Students’ Association has had a very good start to the year. We were able to meet with many of the students who came along to O’Day - and sweeten the deal of having the great services the Students’ Association provides with a battery pack! We’re looking forward to having further opportunities to engage with those of you who we missed on O’Day throughout the rest of the year.

As Secretary of the UTSSA I’m the one responsible for sending out the meeting notices, so if you ever want to find out about the SRC, or when the meetings are on so that you can attend please feel free to email me at the secretary email. I’m also more than happy to help with any inquiries about the Students’ Association as a whole so send those through to: secretary@utsstudentsassociation.org

Aiden More TREASURER

Madeline Lucre EDUCATION VICE PRESIDENT

The highlight numbers for January 2019 are the 14,862 we spent on the legal service, 1,640 on free breakfast, and we began paying the expenses for the year end auditing to be explained further below. We also spent money on conferences such as the President’s Summit the SRC exec attended, and the NEWS conference Vertigo attended. For more highlight numbers in February onwards feel free to send me an email.

Hi all, it’s Maddie. O’Day has come and gone and what a whirlwind it was, I talked to so many students passionate to see change at UTS and keen find out more about our services. O’Day, so too was the launch of the UTS 2019 handbook: my pride and joy. Over the last month I have been working on finalising off the details of the handbook with the help of the amazing designers: Joy, Megan, and Joyce. A huge thank you to Mehmet who helped co-ordinate the final stages of the handbook and all the staff, students, and SRC members who contributed.

The handbook is now being enjoyed by thousands of students who are now informed on all there is to know about UTS and the vital services the UTTSA provides. I am in the stages of setting up meetings with various stakeholders for the launch of my education campaigns and SRC campaigns next month.

In the January SRC meeting expenses were approved for auditing the Students’ Association, as well as expenses related to hiring EY Sweeney to conduct research on behalf of the Students’ Association to learn more about what students want on campus from the UTSSA. Research is important to the SRC and the Students’ Association because it allows us to leverage the time of student activists most effectively, and gain valuable insight into how to best provide the services students want and need on campus.

Last SRC meeting we also passed resolutions for the upper spending limits for the various O’Day events. Extensive discussion has been had relating to how collective events spend money and making sure that SSAF is spent wisely, making sure provisions are made for food during events rather than just alcoholic drinks.

Vertigo and the SRC executive have had extensive discussions to ensure that Vertigo can remain a vibrant and well-funded student publication, while still keeping unnecessary spending to a minimum and making sure all expenses are looked over. A shout out to Vertigo’s team this year for providing in-depth explanations for each expense related to the magazine and Vertigo welcome events.

We had the student climate strike on the 15th of March.

UTS, along with UNSW and USyd, went to the rally to support the school kids strike for climate action. It is great to see young people involved in issues they are passionate about, and climate change is the issue of our generation. I have been to the NSW Education Action group meetings at USyd to discuss the strategy around how to aid the school kids in organising the protest and showing solidarity with them as university students.

Last month I spoke at the IWD panel for UTS to discuss the issue of bystander training and how this can help eradicate and educate people about sexual violence, harassment, and domestic violence in Australia.

I am excited to see what next month has instore for me and I’m keen to see you all soon at a protest or SRC meeting.

If people would like any more in-depth facts and figures please send me an email at: treasurer@utsstudentsassociation.org or come to the SRC meetings and we can have a chat.

156.

Emily Watts ASSISTANT SECRETARY

Lily Linnert WELFARE OFFICER

March can be a chaotic time for students. With orientation just past us and the Autumn session in sight, as well as trying to stay true to those New Year’s resolutions (let’s be real, this never happens), there is a lot to balance. But don’t worry! The UTSSA has your back.

My core vision for the welfare department in 2019 is to increase visibility, communication, engagement and collaboration with UTS students and other collectives.

This is essential in order to ensure that UTS students are provided with the crucial support and services they need, and also that students are aware of the services that are available and how they can be accessed. It is integral that the services are delivered in line with what students actually need and are willing to utilise.

Summer has been a busy but extremely rewarding time for the UTSSA. Attending the NUS President’s Summit along with our president and treasurer, we were equipped with knowledge and skills which will become integral in ensuring that the Students’ Association runs smoothly and remains steadfast and proactive in its aim to support its students. The UTSAA handbook was also done ready for O’Day and turned out great! I want to congratulate all those involved in its writing and production and thank everyone for their hard work in making sure O’Day ran as smoothly and efficiently as it did.

Looking ahead into the Autumn session, I’m also hoping to establish a policy book which will cover each policy passed through the Association. This will soon be accessible to students via email. I’d also like to encourage any students that are keen to better understand what happens at the UTSSA to attend a monthly SRC meeting.

Details of these meetings will be posted on our social media and brand new website.

Best of luck to everyone as you embark on the new semester! Remember to study hard, stay safe and stay hydrated.

If you would like to contact me, please feel free: assistantsecretary@utsstudentsassociation.org

This year I aim to grow the welfare collective into a strong body that provides a voice for the often forgotten and overlooked students who are fighting to stay in university, as well as representation for the needs of the wider student body.

The primary issues that we will focus on over the coming months are student homelessness, levels of accessibility to textbooks and other learning resources, mental health awareness and support as well as student awareness and engagement with the support that is currently available.

Your welfare collective is here to help you, to help provide you with the assistance and resources that you need and to support you the best that we can. If you have any questions or want to be involved in the collective at any level please contact us via email: welfare@utsstudentsassociation.org We would love to hear from you!

FLUX YEARBOOK Keya Arur - Keya Arur is an emerging fashion designer who interrupts cultural tradition by creating an edge of ferocity and drama with classic styles.

Phoebe Barrett - Phoebe is a VisCom student with a knack for arranging existing media to create evocative new imagery. She finds joy in all things pink and/or sparkly , find her work: @phoebsalot.

Mena Basaly - Mena is a final year Engineering student but hopes you won’t hold it against him. He was born with a computer in his hand. He’s a fan of ramen , things with screens, and vehicular karaoke. You can see him shitpost on Twitter @wobblywindow.

Lily Cameron - Lily Cameron is a proud scoby parent and lover of all things written. Her blood probably runs with Jumbo Thai at this point.

Jenny Cao - I heard the pizza at @jennycaovevo is the best in Sydney so my wife and I made a booking for our weekly date night. We were absolutely shocked to find out that this establishment did not serve pizza! It’s not even a resteraunt. 1 star!!!

Ellie Carless - Ellie is a student, researcher and teacher. She is currently seeking expertise on coaching rugby after selling herself too hard on a CV, please send help.

Ali Chalmers - Ali Chalmers is a designer, illustrator, and fan of big books.

Alannah Daly - Alannah Daly is a fourth year Communications and Law student who enjoys reading . You can find her enjoying a good cup of tea or happily patting any dogs she comes across.

Kitty Clement - Kitty is an illustrator who draws with intricate and nostalgic detail. You can find her work on Instagram @kitty.clement.

Jason Denison - Jason Denison is a 20-year-old human from Western Sydney figuring shit out. You can find more of his work @jason_denison.

Michael Di lorio - Michael Di Iorio is a Journalism graduate and editor with a passion for local drama, human rights, and hushing mouths while keeping hush.

Clare Doughtey - Clare is a current student at UTS. She is mostly interested in non-fiction writing and focuses on existing texts and objects as prompts for writing about public and private experience.

Tom Eccles - Tom is in his third year of Visual Communication but still isn’t fully sure if it’s where he should be or what he’s going to do afterwards. He gets by hanging out with awesome peers.

Jackson Elliott - Jackson Elliott is a long-haired yahoo studying Visual Communications who enjoys the finer things in life: sleep , cheap alcohol and pointing cameras at things.

Grace Felstead - Grace is a graphic designer with an appreciation for type and layout, who strives to create work that is playful and engaging. She’s a bit of a dreamer with an adoration of the hand-crafted and homemade.

James Gardiner - James Gardiner is a researcher and writer in his Honours year at UTS. Proud uncle, diligent walker, and enthusiastic stylist to @esme_thegrey.

Emily Gibbs - Emily Gibbs is a Creative Writing student who specialises in starting but rarely finishing her stories.

Keen on writing and the beach, she never strays far from pen, paper, and the coast.

Elizabeth Green - Elizabeth is a Journalism student who dreams of the day her stomach doesn’t turn when calling strangers for an interview. When not writing she’s either down a conspiracy rabbit hole or feeding her sushi addiction.

Josh Green - Josh Green once self-published a whole book of sad gay teenage poetry. Actually.

Caitlin Gunst - Caitlin studied Philosophy and Creative Writing at New York University and UTS. She writes at caitlingunst.wordpress.com and hopes to put an anthology together one day.

Tayla Jay - Tayla has previously completed an Honours of Design in Photography and Situated Media at UTS . She is currently drawn towards video and film, but does also enjoy pina coladas and getting caught in the rain.

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Maya Kilic - Maya Kilic is a third year Design and Photography student whose works grapple a multitude of themes that are inspired by feminine identity and superficial obsessiveness in regards to contemporary beauty standards.

Her instagram is: @m.ayakilic.

Yan Martea - Yan Martea is studying a Bachelor of Design in Photography. She loves portraits and her cat.

Joshua Moll - This is Josh. He is a full time freelancer who recently graduated from Design of Visual Communication. Josh likes taking pictures and making videos, and loves being creative.

Ally Moulis - Ally Moulis is an emerging writer in every sense—emerging into her style, herself, and what she loves.

Ady Neshoda - Ady is a student at UTS studying Visual Communications. She likes breaking the rules in both her daily life and also when it comes to design conventions. You can find her work @adyneshoda.

Katherine Rajwar - Katherine Rajwar is a second year Journalism student who despite acknowledging her slim job prospects, will probably still argue that print/radio are definitely not dead. When she’s not writing, she’s working at a bookstore, trying to convince her boss to let her just move into the shop permanently, or listening to French pop music which she definitely still doesn’t fully understand.

Sharen Samson - Sharen is a Communications (Journalism) and Law student who enjoys smelling new books, writing about humans, and being behind the lens. If she’s not on a coffee high doing a million things, you’ll find her deep into the most recent Netflix film or at yoga.

Lucy Tassell - Lucy Tassell is a fourth year Journalism/International Studies student and wants to state for the record that she is not scared of Jenna Price any more. She has seen The Favourite three times in theatre which is probably all you need to know about her.

Rachel Tse - Rachel Tse is a third year Visual Communications student. Her curiosity in different forms of the creative process is heavily influenced by growing up in Hong Kong. Because everything there is packed and squished together, you have a sense that everything is important, interesting and interlinked. She has had experience being a photographer, illustrator, and graphic designer. Out of the three, she most enjoys spontaneous, improv photoshoots, even when she doesn’t know what she’s doing half the time.

Marissa Vafakos - Marissa’s ideal day includes enjoying a vegan picnic at the beach with her toy poodle Mani.

Emma Walls - Emma Walls moved from a regional town in the Central Tablelands to attend UTS in 2017. She is currently studying a Bachelor of Communications majoring in Media Arts and Production with Journalism, alongside a Bachelor of International Studies with Italian as her chosen language. She enjoys creating stop motion videos, playing quidditch, and teaching English to young school students.

Georgia Wilde - Georgia Wilde’s go-to bubble tea order is: a large, peach, green tea with no ice and half sugar.

Plus lychee and rainbow jelly.

Tor Wills - Tor is studying a Bachelor of Design in Visual Communication. She is currently on exchange in Seoul and, like the rest of Sydney, only shoots on film.

Rune Woodman - Rune has studied Writing and Literature at Griffith University and UTS, and is currently working towards a Masters in Writing, Editing and Publishing at the University of Queensland. He enjoys untangling the stories of his childhood and is planning a book that follows on from Moving with the HiAce Highway. This is his first published work of creative non-fiction.

Lachlan Woods - Lachlan Woods is a fourth year Communications (Social and Political Sciences)/Law student.

When not maintaining his passion for Eurovision or his shrine to Lorde, he is likely to be found debating on most social media platforms @lachiwoods.

THREE compromise THREE sacrifice THREE coming soon

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VERTIGO Front cover designed by Ady Neshoda in collaboration with Marissa Vafakos.

TWO

VOLUME