Verse Magazine Edition #13 | November 2016 - January 2017

FREE Edition 13 | November 2016 - January 2017 Your Student Mag

Inside This Edition The Hunter Man In Orbit Sensing Seoul Bakery Hangs Handmade Tale

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Edition 13 | November 2016 - January 2017

contact@versemag.com.au www.versemag.com.au Head Editor Emmylou Macdonald Editor Jordan Leović Communications Editor Adrienne Goode Graphic Designer Nicole Scriva Contributors Connor Reidy, Joshua Lawless, Joseph Nes, Tom Edwards, Alannah Herget, Zoe Butler, Meg Bielby, Eleanor Packer, Tracey Davis, Nicole Scriva, Melina Scarfo, Nathan James Crane, Caitlyn Burgess, Carli Stasinopoulos, Frank French, Nguyet Nguyen, Paige Court, Daniel Zander, Khoa Edgecombe, Kyiandra Thanou, Rhys Stalba-Smith, Amber Elliot, Jasmine Kerdel, Pierre Fayad, Madi Lanthois, Laura Liminton, Liana Kantilaftas, Milad Nahravani, Will Ballard, Aristos Panousakis, Andrew Bradey Shannen Wilkinson, Jade Harland, S. Z. Telford, Antonietta Sergi, Abby Daly, Queen of Darts Cover Kyiandra Thanou Printer Newstyle Design & Production Consultant Georgie Smith The views expressed in this magazine are not necessarily representative of the views of USASA or the editors. instagram.com/versemagazine facebook.com/Versemagadelaide @versemag_adl Original Cover Image ▜ Kyiandra Thanou Verse Magazine is brought to you by Edition 13 2016/17

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Editor’s Letter Head Editor | Emmylou Macdonald

And just like that, Verse Magazine is done for yet another rotation.

It has been an absolute privilege to receive such a wide range of submissions and get to read through every single word as an individual and as part of a team.

Being able to experience such a variety of opinions, thoughts and walks of life has been eye-opening. It’s a rarity for anyone to get the opportunity to be exposed to such a concentration of individualism and creativity let alone represent it—to say I’m grateful is a massive understatement.

Infinite thanks to everyone who sent in a piece of their work or picked up a copy of Verse throughout the year.

We sincerely appreciate every ounce of effort you poured into supporting the mag and making sure its pages were overflowing with inspiring content.

As corny as it sounds, we couldn’t have done it without you.

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Contents Edition 13 | November 2016 - January 2017

02 Editor’s Letter

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04 The Hunter 08 Sensing Seoul 12 Propaganda Wars 14 Interning 16 Cat and Mouse 18 Handmaker's Tale 20 The Reason 21 Man In Orbit

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22 8. 9. 16 24 Ken 28 In[ter]view: Paige Court 31 At Summer's End 32 My Macchinetta and Me 34 Imag[in]e: Kyiandra Thanou 42 Donkey 46 Vox: Student Voice

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49 Tiny Gallery 50 Embrace 52 Art On Campus Competition 58 Bakery Hangs 60 Bitter Band Chat: Queen of Darts 62 Horrorscopes

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The Hunter Romance is dead.

Words ▶ Connor Reidy | Image ▶ Joshua Lawless I created my Grindr account when I was sixteen. It was an impeccable example of a profile start-up kit: shirtless selfie of a skinny white boy provided with a cheeky description and the best intentions. “Fresh Meat” was equally the perfect screen name and invitation for dick pics. His was “Hunter”—fitting for the first man with which I agreed to meet.

“It’s alright, we’ll just make out.” I try to move over and support myself while finding a comfortable position to lean across the centre console and kiss him but once again he says no.

Cut to: white girl 18th birthday party, Saturday night, first week of summer holidays. He’s a few years older than me and I agree to meet him two blocks away from the party.

I get a message that he’s arrived. Fuelled with vegetarian spring rolls and half a bottle of vodka, I stumble to his car.

“No, not my face either.”

Like all good Grindr stories, he is nothing like his profile picture. A profile that boasted gym memberships, aesthetic looks and a carefree attitude masked a man who grunted when I saw his muffin top peeking from under his singlet.

It’s an awkward meeting. At first, I don’t realise it’s him and I walk straight past the man slumped against his car immersed in a game of Candy Crush. It isn’t until he messages me, begging me to turn around, that I realise this is what I signed up for. There’s a hint of pot in his car and the squeal of Spice Girls lyrics bouncing from the stereo. A dream catcher hangs miserably from the rear view mirror above a menagerie of plush toys. We talk for a good hour about the world’s issues before I offer to get down to business.

“No,” he pushes me away. “I want it to be special when we do it. Another time,” but I’ve already decided this isn’t happening again. I apologise and sink with embarrassment into the leopard print covered seat.

I’ve misread my first Grindr experience. This time, an early-naughties Britney Spears attempts to ease the situation by gracing the otherwise silent car.

“I don’t want you to place your hand on my stomach.”

I remove my hand and continue, moving it up to his face.

The arm?

“Sorry but it hurts from my shot I got the other day.”

Like some altered game of Twister—left hand on elbow, right hand supporting the head but not too close to the ear or the face—we attempt to make out to various pop divas.

It’s short lived.

“What the fuck?” I fall back into my seat just like the final collapse that signals the end of Twister. It’s my friend returning with the pack of smokes I ordered.

“Why would you tell people where you’re going?” he questions.

In an instant, I’m pushed out of the car and listening to the chorus of “Toxic” fade into the distance.

Weeks later, the messages roll in.

They read: “Hey” “I’m sorry” “Hey” “Suck me off?”

“Hi” “How about Janet Jackson next time?”

“You like Janet?”

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Verse Magazine is looking for its 2017 editorial team!

Verse needs a passionate, organised and innovative team of students to run the 2017 mag team! This is an opportunity to gain real experience working with a specialist team, editing a variety of content and a chance to put your problem solving skills to the test. This role is high pressure but high reward!

The freedom and highly collaborative nature of the magazine makes for a fun and dynamic team!

Verse is also recruiting an Editor, Communications Editor & Graphic Designer. Find out more and how to apply at USASA.sa.edu.au/Verse.

Applications close November 3 2016.

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Sensing Seoul Words & Images ▶ Joseph Nes

The Korean city demanding your undivided attention.

It’s 1am on a Wednesday morning, you climb the endless escalators out of the subway and you are immediately knocked over by the unmistakable smells of kimchi, garlic and soju. They might not smell too flash, but they certainly taste alright.

The city is still alive with the noise of students on coffee dates, business colleagues closing deals over one more drink and mopeds whizzing between crowds of pedestrians to deliver anything from a Big Mac to succulent roast duck.

It’s safe to say that Seoul is the city to test all of your senses—you’re going to need them.

Sight: Saying that Seoul is overwhelming is an understatement. Finding a restaurant sometimes means

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that you may need to look up, look up a little bit further, or if you still can’t find it, lay on the ground and try to peer even higher at the mass of neon lights on the towers above. Crossing a road is another challenge. Even on a green light you’ll need to look left, right and behind you.

Traffic signals mean little—local taxi drivers don’t have time for rules. Once you get exhausted of the streets, head to one of 37 mountains within the city limits. Spot cute chipmunks, hikers and view the never-ending city below.

Smell: You could navigate Seoul with your eyes closed— simply follow the scents. Smell roasting silkworms?

You’re at a festival. Is the aroma of coffee wafting through the air? You’ve probably stumbled upon one of over 20,000 coffee shops within the city limits.

Is something burning? Nope, you’ve just discovered

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another incredible charcoal-fired Korean barbecue joint.

Does the air smell fresh? You’ve left Seoul.

Taste: With the freshest fish and the crispiest pork, there is certainly something for everyone. The good news is, no part of the animal goes to waste, meaning you’ll finally have the chance to try intestines and hooves. Don’t judge too quickly, they’re good. If you’re not a meat-atarian though, get down to your local supermarket and try the strawberries—they’re sweeter than a vodka cruiser with added sugar. I’ll leave you to suss out the local alcohol for yourselves. You’re sure to have a night to remember or to be reminded of.

Hearing: The only time the city is quiet is when a winter snowstorm stops the traffic. Even among the roar, there’s sure to be a few things you’ll hear again and again.

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The sound of ’jjang’ (Korean for cheers) as another shot of soju gets tipped back, the clicking of old ladies popping their bubble gum, the distant metallic boinks of the neighbourhood batting cages and the deafeningly loud spruiking of sales people down every aisle of the supermarket.

Touch: There is no better feeling than jumping on crunchy autumn leaves and creating a leaf angel, although heading down to a public spa (jimjilbang) and having your back scrubbed so clean that it sparkles comes close. If you want the touching to be a little more animalistic though, head down to a cat, dog or even raccoon café and stay ‘til you’ve been cuddled to death or perhaps visit Doctor Fish where you can stick your feet in a tank and let the fish get to work.

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A first-hand look at Vietnam’s restrictive media policies.

Words ▶ Tom Edwards | Image ▶ Alannah Herget Australia’s Fourth Estate—the journalists’ role in representing the people—operates with relative freedom and transparency. Comparatively, the Vietnamese media operates within the confines of its communist government.

Australia was ranked 25th in the 2016 World Press Freedom Index. Vietnam, however, placed fifth from the bottom at 175th.

Travelling to Vietnam for the first time, I was taken aback by the extent of government propaganda. Every street in Ho Chi Minh City had multiple billboards depicting either the city’s namesake, the Communist Party of Vietnam or the hammer and sickle.

While other countries, particularly in Africa and the Middle East, demonstrate such admiration for their leaders, I could only liken Vietnam’s propaganda to that of North Korea and China.

Such broad phrases leave it up to the government to interpret legislation and punish wrongdoers as they choose.

The communist party propaganda and training departments control all aspects of the media and press guidelines. Propaganda is accordingly not only present at the forefront of society but also in pop-culture and day-to-day references.

According to research conducted by US-based NGO Freedom House, almost all of Vietnam’s 850 print media outlets are either owned or controlled by the communist party, government institutions, or the army.

Independently run blogs are the only source of news free from government intervention. However, they are not immune to controversy.

In addition to propaganda, the government also cracks down on political dissent. The country’s criminal system prohibits speech that doubts the government’s authority.

In March this year Nguyen Huu Vinh, the founder of the well-known Anh Ba Sam news website, and his assistant Nguyen Thi Minh Thuy were sentenced to five years in prison for allegedly distorting the policies of the Vietnamese Communist Party.

In April this year, the Vietnamese National Assembly passed new media laws that are strikingly ambiguous.

Among other amendments, it stipulated that journalists cannot “publish false or distorted news about the Socialist Republic of Vietnam and provocative information that violates the country’s traditions and values.”

As I soon learnt, foreign journalists are also not exempt from the regime’s strict control. One Australian news crew that we spoke to explained that their media permits had cost them ‘a heck of a lot of money.’ If that wasn’t enough, government minders were present with them at all times to ensure that their content did not misrepresent Vietnam.

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A country’s sovereignty must be respected at all times.

Such restrictions nonetheless underpin Vietnam’s lack of autonomy and question the role of local journalists.

With growing business opportunities, including the Trans-Pacific Partnership, it will be a point of interest as to whether Vietnam’s political freedom, similar to their previously restricted economic freedom, will slowly unravel.

It appears likely that it will be some time before any significant changes are met, meaning journalists will remain under the guise of the communist party indefinitely.

Tom Edwards was part of a University of South Australia study tour that documented the commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the Battle of Long Tan. The delegation further reported on the growing relationship between Vietnam and Australia and also the educational and business ties between the two countries.

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Interning: The Good, The Bad, The Importance Internships have more to offer than you might think.

Words ▶ Zoe Butler | Image ▶ Meg Bielby I’m sure many of you have had an older person tell you, ‘You should intern! I know it’s hard, but it’s totally worth it!’ I’m also certain many of you have turned your nose up at the (mostly) unpaid experience, believing you can’t afford to live for free—time is money! But trust me, there is more to interning than free labour and endless coffee runs, despite what the movies tell you.

I’m a huge believer in the idea that your degree is what you make of it. In my case, studying a Bachelor of Public Relations and realising early on that opportunities can be limited, I knew straight away that I would be working hard to get anywhere. It’s that type of thinking that got me involved in some amazing projects from my first year such as launching a book, becoming a journalist for a magazine that reviews bands (which got me some sweet free tickets to gigs) and manning the media centre for the Adelaide International Three Day Event which eventually led me on the path to interning.

Many degrees demand some sort of work experience as part of the package of skills they teach you. Mine is no different, however the scope can vary between courses.

My best friend will spend her time in clinics and hospitals on her way to enlightenment as a physiotherapist, while I can spend my time with absolutely anyone who uses a communications team to engage with employees or the

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outside world. Obviously I have a lot more scope but that makes it even more difficult to choose.

The first excellent point I would like to make is, you get to try before you buy into a career or industry. Since I already work for the State Government, and had a taste of corporate communications through other means, I knew from the get-go that I wanted to learn a little bit more about non-profit organisations particularly in Indigenous affairs which is an area I have been passionate about since my mother studied archaeology. This led me to The Aurora Internship Program, which is who I interned through.

The program is dedicated to connecting students and graduates with internship opportunities in a wide range of Indigenous focused organisations, particularly relating to native title, advocacy and social justice. It’s all about getting students and graduates who want and need experience, matched with organisations that need their particular skill set in areas such as law, anthropology and some other social sciences—in my case, it was in communications. From the application process to the interview, it’s at the same level as applying for a job so the experience starts before you even begin.

I got to hang around with the South Australian Native Title Service’s (SANTS) communication team who are fantastic people. SANTS help to facilitate the discussion

"I didn’t get coffee for anyone.

Not even once." and management of native title between the communities and the government in addition to a whole range of other legal and service functions. While I was there I got to attend NAIDOC Week’s award ceremony, participate in the NAIDOC Week march, write for their newspaper Aboriginal Way as well as sit in on interviews with an incredible elder from the Riverland and learn how their team functions with everyone else.

Which leads me to the next great thing—you get to meet people who are already where you’d like to be.

After I landed the internship, I was working with people who already had my dream career and had to figure out how to get there too. I got to see the good (the work was so varied), the bad (communication between so many groups of people can be frustrating) and the ugly (I hope I never have to transcribe another interview).

It was fantastic to get a realistic and in-depth look at the role minus my rose-tinted glasses. I learnt so much by watching, completing work and interacting with the team.

That leads to my next point—you might find your plan for your future changes or evolves. I never had a real concrete plan for my future, but this certainly helped me decide what I wanted to get out of my degree. I now know that I definitely want to be working for a non-profit in some capacity when I finish up my undergraduate study

later this year. The work is challenging, but it is working towards a greater cause.

Don’t get me wrong, being unpaid is difficult, but If you’re really impressive, you might get asked back and if you’re really lucky, you might land yourself a job! This didn’t happen to me, but my supervisor was one of the lucky ones. She found herself employed after interning with Aurora herself, proving that it’s not what you know, but who you know. You’ll find that post-internship job offers are a very real thing which should only emphasise how important the internships themselves can be for your future career.

I believe everyone should give an internship a go, get a hands-on education about working in their chosen field and try something new. You’ll meet people who can mentor and support you into transitioning to the next stage of your post-graduate career, maybe even finding yourself with a desire to work in a completely new field.

That’s okay too.

And guess what? I didn’t get coffee for anyone. Not even once.

Check out auroraproject.com.au/internship-program for more information.

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Words ▶ Eleanor Packer | Image ▶ Tracey Davis

A high-stakes chase between predator and prey.

The cat was a terrifying tiger, a ferocious feline, a badass boss. He was not to be leered at. Mr Blobby was his name and domination was his game. He crept through the kitchen, tiptoed down the hall and positioned himself like a deadly assassin behind the bedroom door. He was waiting for that joke of a mouse to show her silly little face.

Mr Blobby licked his chops. Anticipation had become a game that never stopped.

The mouse was an athletic artist, a jailbird jester, a pesky prankster. Never underestimate the cunning capabilities, the devious designs of a tiny little mouse. Lilly was her name and silliness was her game. From the safety of a hole in the wall she peered. Mr Blobby was hidden, or so he thought. His big fat shadow revealed him.

Lilly rubbed her little paws together as she thought. A lesson in who’s really boss was now to be taught.

The canon was fired, the gloves were off, the battle had begun. Lilly launched herself from the hole in the wall.

She glided beneath the fat cat’s legs, narrowly avoiding the snap of his jaw. They rocketed down the hall and straight through the kitchen. Lilly was about to take the daring game outside.

The garden was in sight. Hearts beating, bodies tensed, things were feeling tight.

The cat was closing in, preparing to pounce, victory was near. Suddenly, Lilly veered off course. Mr Blobby was confused, then BANG—he collided with the big glass door. He’d forgotten it was there. Lilly looked up at his motionless body. She gave a rich little laugh as she continued walking on. Suddenly, SNAP. She was so distracted she’d just walked into a trap.

Now how will we ever know who really owns the house, when it comes down to a silly game of cat and mouse?

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Words & Image ▶ Nicole Scriva

A word from the Verse Mag designer on technology and the design process.

In the field of design there needs to be an appreciation for what people can do that technology can’t. As computers become better, faster and more accessible they are used as less of a tool and more as the main means in design production.

Design, from graphic to furniture to fashion, that begins and ends on the computer has a short life. It is trend driven and exists within limitations; if there is no typeface that fits your needs, one may just settle for whatever is convenient and we end up with rows and rows of shops with the same, easy to produce computerised look.

Technology undoubtedly makes our lives easier and more convenient but when it comes to graphic design and creativity it can restrict us. The faster we are able to produce work, the less humanised and creative it becomes.

Quantity is preferred over quality and we are further removed from the materials and tools we work with.

As a result, we become removed from the people we are designing for.

As a designer and human, I love technology. Instagram means people can see my work; Facebook means I can keep in contact with all my interstate and overseas friends. I couldn’t do Verse if I had to construct each page manually with a scalpel and glue; InDesign is a godsend. I try and balance out the reliance on technology in my design process by using handmade elements. My workspace is full of magazines for collage, clay for sculpting and a plethora of pens, pencils, textas and paints. I am by no means extraordinarily skilled in the handcrafts but a handwritten type scanned and tweaked on Illustrator can give the perfect contrast to a heavily computerised piece of design and add to the depth of meaning.

Throughout my design education we have been encouraged to step away from the computer; start with sketched thumbnails and experiment with mark making. Entering the final term of my degree, we are still being encouraged by tutors to bring a handmade element into our work. As a designer, my style fits with the handmade; imperfect and unconventional. But I also feel it can make my work lose its professional authority, especially when compared to a peer’s highly resolved, computerised, polished work. That’s when I realised having the imperfect connection to being human means more to me than fitting in with the style of corporate design. Looks like I’m in for some (more) years as a starving artist instead of a corporate design firm superstar.

As technology becomes more advanced, I know my position as a designer will become minimized. Anyone can choose a typeface, pick a nice stock photo and create a business card. As designers, we have a choice to make our roles indispensable. If we bring our skills and personal touch to our work, we won’t be replaced by drag and drop systems and pre-programmed tools. By creating work by hand we are also able to slow down the demand of faster production time.

If we demand that good work with a human touch takes time, we can stop creating fast work that looks like everything else out there.

Technology has made our lives easier and is essential to our industry, but too many designers use technology as the solution, rather than just a tool.

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The Reason Words ▶ Shannen Wilkinson | Image ▶ Jade Harland Every day I try to picture life with you in it How different it would be, I imagine the warmth radiating through your embrace But I feel no warmth as the tears swell.

We all have a beginning and an end Yours was too soon For you For everyone around you

If you were still here Would I be different?

Would I feel the security that a father gives?

Protection from the cruelties in life Protection from heartbreak Would it make it easier?

With you by my side.

I wish you were here dad And I know you want to be I know you are always watching over me

I know they say everything happens for a reason But sometimes it is hard to find a reason In something so painful They say the first man a girl learns to love Is her father I wish I had more time to learn, But we were given no instructions No map No direction We have to find it in ourselves.

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You push me to be better You help guide me down the right paths And though some times are dark The love you brought into my life The joy The happiness Helps me find the light You do not have to be breathing For me to know you are here Because I feel your presence In every precious moment They say everything happens for a reason And it’s the reason I am still yet to find.

Man In

Orbit Words â–ś Carli Stasinopoulos I

Never Lived in reality.

Dreaming in stars And specks of galaxies, I longed for my spaceship Wings to take me deep in the Night sky and never drop me home.

This is more than I could ever imagine.

Your beauty, your being, you leave me breathLess. I'm not even a freckle in this vast constellation, But I'm the happiest freckle in the universe.

I know But

that I’m not from maybe I do

here, belong.

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Words â–ś Nathan James Crane | Images â–ś Caitlyn Burgess

Silent encounters with writing.

I hear the beating of some words in my chest, another beat, another silent encounter with writing.

Like passing someone on a beach and exchanging a glance too momentary to capture, details - form not content.

A silent encounter with writing, is to feel it brush against your cheek, to hear its gentle touch closer than your breath.

It is a space between the rise and fall of your chest, that moment of crystalline awareness, the presence and the promise of an encounter.

The encounter doesn’t last more than a few moments, maybe, but in its hold lies the majesty of its offering.

Writing, opposed to reading is a silent encounter.

One cannot write aloud, only through its own nature is it born into the silence from whence it came.

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Ken A determined kendo fighter conquers adversity.

Words ▶ Frank French | Image ▶ Nguyet Nguyen A single lamp illuminated the swing set like a spotlight on a stage. His audience, shadows dancing in the darkness.

The wind was cold. As it brushed his skin, it left the sting of a wolf’s fang in its wake. But yet to Kenny, it felt more like a comforting love bite from a canine companion than a strike from Mother Nature. He sat on the right hand side of the swing set and grasped its frosty, ice-grey chains with either hand. The night was still and silent. But as he hung his head, eyes closed listening to the wind, he heard light footsteps approaching. A moment later, his co-star stepped into the spotlight. He looked up at the smiling face in front of him and kindly returned the gesture.

“Hey Clair,” he greeted warmly. The girl responded with a hello of her own and made her way to the empty swing next to him. Kenny’s eyes followed her as she sat down and took notice of her appearance. She still wore her hakama and her auburn hair, similar to the colour of his own, was still up in a ponytail from training.

Most of the clothes she wore were the clothes he too would wear when he was practicing his Kendo, all except for the black hooded jacket that was covering her haori.

He took this as a sign that she had just left the dojo and had come to see him straight away. His gaze fell back to his feet as he smiled. Clair was a good friend. Usually both of them would still be practicing at this time but certain circumstances were preventing him from doing so.

“How’s the hand?” she asked, ending the small silence between them. He flinched at the mention of his injury.

Kenny straightened up a little on the swing and adjusted the soft wrappings around his wrist. A sigh escaped his lips.

“It’s okay,” he told her softly. “It’s still a little sore, but it’s not as bad as it was yesterday.”

Kenny caught a short nod out of his peripheral vision but the girl didn’t say anything in response. Another silence.

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Neither looking at one another—too caught up within their individual thoughts on what they would say. This time, it was Kenny that broke the quiet.

“What did Sensei say?” he asked.

“That we need to start practicing harder to fill your position if it comes to that.”

Another sigh. Kenny expected as much. Going to Tokyo to compete in the Kendo International High School Tournament was the biggest stage he could ever hope to step on. Anyone would be honoured to have that opportunity, let alone someone like him. But he had worked hard and practiced his art endlessly to gain that chance.

His eyes fell onto the bandages once more and in doing so, a horrible feeling of helplessness washed over him. Kenny felt defeated. He hadn’t even had a chance to compete, yet he already felt like he had lost. Frustration grew within him. Like a pot of water coming to the boil. His anger burned and bubbled. But, just before the pot whistled and boiled over, a caring hand made itself known on his shoulder. His anger simmered down. Slowly, he grew calm once more. Their eyes met and his deep blues froze under the gaze of her forest greens. They were filled with so much emotion that he was unable to pick everything out. He spotted concern, worry and doubt—all things one would expect from a friend when you were in trouble.

Yet there was also anger. Not at him, but to whoever it was that caused him pain. But most of all there was understanding or, more accurately, a want to understand.

A need to know the truth about the situation her friend found himself in.

Kenny laughed a little at her stare causing it to deepen into a frown. He didn’t mind.

“I suppose my excuse for being absent at training today

wasn’t good enough?” he questioned. The girl shook her head.

“No. It might have worked on Sensei and the others but I know you don’t even play basketball.”

He should’ve known that. But it was believable enough for the teachers and at the time that was all that really mattered.

“So what really happened?” she asked. Clair already had a bad feeling about what happened but she wanted to be sure.

Kenny sighed as he looked down at his feet once more.

Unknowingly, they had started drawing circles in the bark chips that were scattered below them. It took a moment to gather his thoughts.

“I-It was her,” he stuttered, just below a whisper.

Clair, unable to hear what he had said clearly asked him to speak louder.

“It was my mother,” he said finally. “It was her again.”

He could already feel Clair about to go on a rant about how he can’t let her treat him the way she did without even having to look at her. He simply raised a hand to stop her.

“I know,” he said, not daring to make eye contact to stop himself breaking down in front of her.

“But this time her attack wasn’t directed at me. It was to Oliver.”

He heard her gasp. He shut his eyes and let the memory resurface.

The morning started out as a normal day. He carried out his usual morning routine of waking up, freshening up and making his way down to breakfast. However, as

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he descended down the stairs, a cry for help from his little brother Oliver sent alarm bells ringing in his head.

He rushed down the stairs, his mind flashing through horrible thoughts of what he might see. Panic fuelling his adrenaline, he rounded the kitchen corridor and froze. His body went rigid, his stomach sank and his breath hitched in his throat. Fear exploded inside of him. There stood the woman he called his mother, looming over his frightened little brother like a gigantic beast that had finally cornered its prey. Oliver’s eyes were flooded with tears. They coursed down his cheek, fell like waterfalls from his face and crashed onto the cold kitchen floor. The boy’s eyes had swelled to a horrible pink and his cries for help had become incomprehensible gurgles. The roar of insults and threats exploded like bombs, ringing in his ears and shaking his body to the core. He was scared. He always was when his mother was like this. She became something he thought wasn’t human. A demon. A monster perhaps.

But whatever it was, it wasn’t his mother. This time simply being scared wasn’t an option. This time it wasn’t just himself he needed to worry about. This time his helpless eight-year-old brother was in the situation he so often found himself in. Something inside of him told him to turn a blind eye. To simply go back upstairs or the lounge and let Oliver take whatever punishment the witch in front of him gave. After all, who was he to oppose his mother?

His only parent. She was the ultimate power in the household. Whatever she said was the law.

Kenny watched the scene in front of him in silence.

Flinching every time a blow found its way to his brother. His hands balled into fists. He wanted to move, to walk away but yet fear kept him still, rooted where he stood. Eyes fixed on what was happening in front of him. He knew without a doubt, should he attempt to intervene, he would simply find himself in the same position. The very thought sent sharp pains racing through the scars left from his mother’s previous attempts to educate him.

Kenny’s eyes grew wide as he watched his mother pick up a cast iron pan off the dish rack. Warning bells and alarms rang throughout his entire body. He knew straight away that his brother was in trouble. Even more so than before. The pan threatened more than a measly bruise or a scratch. His body knew instinctively he had to do 26

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something. With the fear of consequence forcibly evicted from his mind, his body was finally able to move again.

He still didn’t have control over it but he didn’t need to.

His adrenaline and internal defence mechanisms would carry out his bidding. Kenny had never moved so fast in his life. His mother raised the pan above her head and started bringing it down. He could see it all perfectly.

Time moved in slow motion. The rest of the world was a blur. Everything faded into silence. He could only focus

"Kenny’s eyes grew wide as he watched his mother pick up a cast iron pan off the dish rack. Warning bells and alarms rang throughout his entire body." on the space between his brother and his mother that he needed to occupy. Each second it took to get there felt like an hour. The pan had already passed the halfway mark of its swing and Kenny was losing the mental battle against his doubt, telling him he wouldn’t make it in time.

His eyes searched for his brother. The fear still present in his eyes. An internal mutter of “I’m sorry” became present. But, in that same split second, Kenny found himself perfectly positioned between the two.

With sense of hope re-igniting within him, he brought his arm up as shield between them and Oliver’s attacker.

The sound of metal hitting flesh echoed in the room.

“And I screamed.” Kenny told Clair plainly, her intense gaze remaining focussed on his face.

“Did you report this?” She asked almost the moment he finished, already knowing the answer. Kenny shook his head. Clair wanted to scold him but refrained. Instead, she took a breath and asked what he had intended to do now.

Kenny looked at her, with a smile and determined expression.

“Fight.”

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In[ter]view Verse Mag’s Regular Graduate Interview Words ▶ Jordan Leović | Images ▶ Paige Court

Paige Court tells us about becoming MANE, being on the charts and touring across the United States.

Adelaide singer-songwriter Paige Court, better known as MANE, has an impressive track record for a 22 year old.

Her recent single ‘Tinder’s Flame’ reached number 12 on the iTunes Singer/Songwriter chart, she’s nominated for an SA Music Award and she’s just completed a tour across the United States with much more to come.

Tell us about growing up and your introduction to music.

I always loved music growing up but I didn't pick up a guitar and start playing until I was about 16. I come from a non-musical family and for a long time I was a competitive swimmer so that took up a lot of my time. It wasn't until I quit that I had the time to really indulge in creating music.

does, but at the time it really pushed me as a songwriter.

I think she's great!

How has touring internationally shaped you as a person?

It's a really cool thing to take your music to another country and see how they receive it. I've been fortunate enough to play some really cool shows over in the US with great audiences. Two of the four shows sold out and those two shows in particular were unreal: pin-drop silence and insanely attentive crowds. It's the perfect situation when you’re playing your own music in a country you have never toured before.

Who are your biggest influences as a musician?

What has been your most memorable performance and why?

I have a lot of different musical influences. It's hard to pick one in particular because I listen to a variety of different genres but at the moment I'm really digging Montaigne and Meg Mac. The sound of White Album by Missy Higgins really blew me away when it first came out, and it still

That's a tough question. I've played a couple of cool festivals with great line-ups which is always fun but I think it might have to be the show I played in Nashville last week at the Bluebird Cafe. It’s been a venue on my bucket list for a long time!

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Did studying a Bachelor of Media Arts give you a clearer view of what you wanted to do?

Studying media arts was great. It's a very hands-on course and I learned a lot from it. Being a musician, it's pretty useful to do a course that has a lot of relevance to stuff like event management, production, sound tech and performing. It was kind of perfect, really.

If you could have dinner with one musician, who would it be?

I would have to say Bob Dylan. I think he's a wild songwriter—one of my favourites in fact. I would love to hear his stories throughout his career as I'm sure he has some pretty crazy ones!

What’s your best advice for other Adelaide artists trying to get a break?

My best advice would be to keep honing your craft, write as much as you can, network, be willing to learn about the industry and how to go about things such as releasing music. Also, be willing to invest in your career and take risks.

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Keep up with MANE at facebook.com/manemusicofficial

Words & Image ▶ Melina Scarfo you linger on the fringes of my mind, salty fingers and matted wet hair, the sunset kissing your lips, i miss the warmth. light outside with endless possibilities, you sing softly to sonic youth, on the bridge and you’re looking up, but i’m looking at you. cigarette burns and shared chapsticks, dead flowers on the sidewalk, at summer’s end i miss it all. i long for these moments, so i create new ones.

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My Macchinetta and Me. Sometimes it’s the little things that matter the most.

Words ▶ Daniel Zander | Ceramics ▶ Khoa Edgecombe

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A macchinetta (small machine) is a traditional Italian coffee maker. I have three. Last time I checked my mum has six. It’s essentially a three-part machine; a base filled with water, a filter filled with ground coffee, and a top cavity for the coffee to pass into. The pot is placed on the stove at a medium heat for several minutes where as steam in the base builds; it goes up through the filter and sprouts into the top cavity. They’re a staple in every Italian household, both in Italy and amongst Italian communities across the world. While the macchinetta was only initially released in Italy in 1933, it was transported to every corner of the globe through the Italian diaspora and symbolises much more than just a way to make a tasty shot of coffee.

It’s symbolic more than anything. Knowing that our way is the best, even if it’s not the quickest. The taste can’t be beaten—there is nothing better than a fresh coffee made with your hands rather than the push of a button.

The familiar aroma has a warmth to it that will forever take me back to childhood Sundays of waking up to a house filled with the same unmistakable scent. The happy memories of splitting a coffee after lunch with grandparents, aunts, uncles, parents, cousins, second cousins (the list goes on) are truly something special that I’ll never forget.

A practical and warm reminder of my culture; my macchinetta and me.

For myself it represents my identity as an Italian Australian. Now usually only used on Sundays when family members gather for lunch and coffee, more and more people are buying pod-based machines or cappuccino makers for their daily fix. Most people don’t like the slow brewing process and clean up involved with the traditional method. But I try to use my macchinetta every day.

When I travelled throughout Italy it was quite common for me to find pod machines in people’s homes rather than the traditional pots, which shocked me since I’d always associated them with Italian culture. I also thought it was strange Italians in Italy don’t put them on display in their kitchens. When I asked why they didn’t and explained that it’s normal to do so in Italian Australian kitchens as a form of displaying our cultural identity, they always asked why on earth we would bother?

I guess it’s a proudness of ones origins; as traditional languages fail to be passed on from generation to generation, and culture gets diluted or forgotten in our new country, the coffee and macchinetta never change.

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The art of Kyiandra Thanou

Imag[in]e Verse Mag’s Regular Student Art & Design feature Words ▶ Emmylou Macdonald | Images ▶ Kyiandra Thanou

Bachelor of Design student Kyiandra Thanou has an undeniably bold aesthetic.

Combining prismatic hues, 90s vibes and varied ethnicities, her pieces stand out for all the right reasons.

Describe the universe that's home to the people depicted in your artwork.

I imagine they come from a universe that’s a little unusual, surrounded by vivid colours and patterns. Not so much a perfect place but more so somewhere where nothing is taken too serious.

Are your characters ever inspired by people in your dayto-day life?

A lot of the time they are. I get a lot of inspiration from individual style. Usually when I’m around the city I’ll see groups of people that stand out in a different sort of way and it really influences me to recreate it with my own twist.

Tell us about your recent pieces inspired by Coogi knitwear. What gravitated you towards their colourful aesthetic and why did you identify with it?

I have a thing for the 90s. I think that’s why I really identified with the Coogi style because it’s such a unique contrast of colours and patterns that people instantly link to that era. The hip hop and soul scene from around then was a really big influence on me too as the style and talent was a real stand out and kind of set a direction for me to make art that suited that genre of music.

Who is your ultimate muse?

My ultimate muse would have to be Sara Andreasson.

Her work is insane, her use of vibrant colours and the way she depicts characters is really unique and comes as a big inspiration to me.

How important is it for you to represent different ethnicities in your artwork?

I think it’s extremely important. There is no superior ethnicity, we are all human and I think sometimes that gets forgotten amongst all that happens in society so it’s really great that I can showcase diversity and equality through art to open people’s minds a little more.

Which artist would you most like to collaborate with and why?

I would love to collaborate with Jack Marshall. He’s an artist from London and also the brother of musician Archy Marshall. I’ve been following his work for quite some time and love what he creates. He does a lot of designs for musicians and that’s something that’s really interested me also What is the perfect recipe for maximum creativity?

Pretty much zone out, listen to some good music and let your brain flow with it. Take notice of all your surroundings when you walk down the street because the most unexpected thing could spark the best creativity.

Where do you see yourself in five years?

My goals are to have my work printed onto clothes eventually and a zine running. I would love to be in London or Amsterdam creating some crazy things and collaborating with other artists over there!

Visit Kyiandra's Instagram @vivid.scribble

Left: Coogi Pattern

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Right: Sistas Top: Downtown

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Above: Coogi Vom Right: Sleepy Self Portrait

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Above: Gaz in Pink Right: Galaxy Chick

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Above: Short Lived Mockery

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Donkey You've always got options.

Words ▶ Rhys Stalba-Smith | Images ▶ Amber Elliot It’s an odd thing, the Sun. Our whole lives we’re told it’s the most powerful thing in the universe. That it’s so hot it burns our skin however far away it is and yet we’re told not to look at it. What a fuck’n tease! You wanna tell me how bloody good it is, how powerful it is, then you wanna tell me to just take your word?

A drug deal is very much the same. You all know why you’re there, and what is there, but it’s like finding out how your vacation went from looking at the pictures after they’ve been developed.

This is where I’m different—I can look. Because I’m a tester. I’m that guy that tries the heroin and tells you if it’s good or really fucking good. I’m like the piece of paper the health worker swabs on your counter to tell you how fucked you are. How much shit you’re in when the paper turns a victorious green and tells them how you’ve been prepping all your raw chicken, seafood, beef, lamb, cheese, olives, capsicums, lettuces and onions all on the same metal surface.

That’s what I do. It’s not what I’ve always done, but it’s what I do now.

I’m in a transition period of my life. Things are more colourful. Emotions more clearer, stronger… Actually scratch that, clarity is the murkiest truth barer. It’s more

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that you ‘feel’ emotions truthfully without a filter.

Like really feel ‘em. Instead of the dark corner of your brain shining with a little lamp, it’s like staring at the Sun. Dev said this was a big one—a no-brainer if we make the deal and split. Of course he didn’t mean ‘we’ as in we were partners. He meant ‘we’ figuratively. Like we were on the same team, except I was the kid who refilled drink bottles and he was the captain of the squad. The only reason I was a ‘we’, was because he needed me.

See, the seller has nothing to worry about, they’re always sure. Whether it’s dud or pure, they’re confident because they know the truth. So it’s the buyer who brings a donkey. And the thing with donkeys is this: it’s all about heart. You can have the most fantastic looking donkey in the world but the problem is he doesn’t look like he’s worked a day in his life. He hasn’t fought to keep his spot on the farm. Whereas the worn out, dishevelled, ribbaring, stumbling, emaciated, slack-jawed, out-of-breath, out-of-life, out-to-fight, lose-jeaned donkey has worked.

He’s worked real hard. He’s fought to keep his diminishing returns. He’s a worker that knows what a job means.

More importantly, what a hit means.

So I’m a donkey. Not my official tag—society would call me a junkie. But I don’t see myself as one. I mean I know,

but I don’t see myself as one. Because none of us see ourselves how we really are. I can tell you what I look like.

I can tell you where I’m from, where I’m going, and how I might get there. I can tell you that Ricky Mingus snogged my girlfriend in ninth grade behind the bike sheds and I kicked the piss out of him, but that’s all past dependent.

I can’t tell you what I am right now, because I can’t see myself right now. I can’t tell you about the cars I’ve broken into, the houses, the people I’ve mugged, my parents’ jewellery, the kids I’ve sold to, how I must look.

I can’t tell you any of those things because they’re not important. They’re blurs. It’s like meeting someone that doesn’t make an impression on you; it’s not that they’re any less real or genuine, it’s just that they have nothing for you. They were, as it is, a transition.

The buyer always rock up second. It’s an unspoken rule.

The seller gets to arrive first, set up shop like you’re arriving into their store to buy some goods, ‘Good afternoon, Sir. How are you? What may I enquire, is sir looking for today?’ That kinda pompous shit. But we’re buying heroin not pearl necklaces.

Two things often happen, as buyers, we try to act cool until it’s in our hands; at this stage, the smack is still mysteriously Godlike. But the money on the other hand? We’ve been storing for a while like fuck’n squirrels.

So we’re not afraid. And for the seller? The brick has been in their possession for so long it’s just a brown mass. It’s commonplace. But the money? It’s mysteriously Godlike for them. See? Because people lie about money, money isn’t God. It’s the things we want, that are Gods. What ever we want has that sheen of Godliness, not the money.

If money were God, we’d buy nothing, spend nothing.

We wouldn’t even eat. We’d sleep with it, and kill each other for it to have more of it, then do nothing with it but

admire it. We wouldn’t even be alive. Mankind would be dead because no one would fuck to have a kid, no one would do anything other than lie about all day with their money, their true love.

So that’s one thing, the God thing. The second is that donkey’s try the load before ascending the mighty hill in big transactions. Now unless you’re a real bottom-runger, you’ll at least get some privacy to shoot up. It makes no difference really, just like what underpants I wore on my wedding night, they were coming off regardless, but it’s the formality. It’s a nicety.

But this time was different, I had my own nicety.

See, I’m a cop. The transition thing is exactly that— transitioning from cop to junkie. And I believe, if you want success you need two things: drive, and surprise.

I had both. I surprised my colleague, who was overseeing my test of the goods, with my knife. The surprise I’m sure doubled when it entered his throat and I muffled his screams. This though, was only pulled off with drive in the small confines of the dirty piss-soaked bathroom that we shared.

Now I knew I’d have a couple minutes, it takes a bit to shoot up, see. On the other side of the door all that would be happening is vain silence and awkward posing. Some would bum a cigarette, fake personal quirks to impose an image, but nothing substantial happens. You don’t want people to know the real you, after all.

And they didn’t know or expect this version of me. I came out and put two bullets in everyone before they even knew what had happened.

Four men. Down like shit from a bird.

Now, that manoeuvre gives me all the time in the world.

And being on the edge of bum-fuck nowhere, the only

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"I’m sure he’s never seen blood before. Well, blood like this."

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way these fellas will get found is through some kids playing in the old warehouses down by the river.

So now I can look at the Sun. The glorious mother.

Her brown figure. Those tight curves and tighter dress, she’s beautiful.

Which brings me to the final point, a body is very much like the goods you wish to purchase. Because, and this is the truth, the body is the currency for what you want.

It’s the same as not seeing yourself. The body is your currency you spend to get what you want.

And what I wanted required five bodies. I wont’ say six, I’m not dead yet. So to count me in the destruction when I’m still destroying myself is illogical, so it’s five.

My argument though, is do I have a hit here, or get out?

It’s a real kick shooting up. Sometimes I wish to cut the webbing between my fingers and toes and keep expanding into space. Let my fingers peel back and reach the corners of the room. Then I could hang like a spider in a web. Cushioned on nothing but a sweet cloud of weightlessness. Just floating.

I never loaded the syringe though, so that will cost time.

Even though I’ve got plenty of it, I don’t necessarily want to waste it. I have places to be, things to do. No schedules to keep mind you, but just the fact of the matter, my time is important.

And it will become even more important now that I’ve killed my leads. My so-called leads were for my old job.

The job I believed in and fought for. Before I found out how much more fun this life was.

But time is important. And when time is important, you make priorities. Priority number one is to enjoy the time you have, why I supposedly got married and became a cop. Priority number two is to consider number one from another perspective, why I went undercover.

Priority number three is to make a decision about number

one having known number two. Number two is winning at the moment, because screw wherever I was. And priority number four… well I haven’t got that far yet.

So what I’m gonna do is this: not worry about number one. The wife will be there, and so will the Sargeant who’s awaiting a location. He’s been waiting a while.

Number two I’m living now, and have taken the required precautions to keep living. Number three’s decision was made with the echo of eight lightning strikes from my metal smiting machine. My surprise. My smoking barrel, Smitty.

All this of course, has gone through my head in split seconds as I stare at the final surprise. At priority number four.

The boy in the doorway.

He’s staring wide-eyed around the room and at me.

It’s almost like the distant lapping water is the waves of realisation hitting him. I’m sure he’s never seen blood before. Well, blood like this. Where it’s so enveloping it stains your soul as well as your shoes. Where it drips down from the ceiling and keeps you up at night like Chinese water torture, and you count the hours away with the drips and the plops hoping to find release somewhere.

But he looks about fourteen. He looks like an orphan to me. He looks like the kinda kid that can go missing and won’t be noticed. Like those people after high school you stop being friends with because they’re nobodies.

Whose existence was purely built upon the fact that they just woke up each day.

So in truth, I’m learning priority number four now.

It’s justification.

Justification enough to raise my gun, pull the trigger, and listen to the hollow click.

And know that I’m empty, and staring at the Sun.

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VO X: Student Voice UniSA students offer us their tips on maintaining a healthy study/life balance in the lead up to summer break.

Words & Images â–ś Adrienne Goode

Jasmine Kerdel Bachelor of Architectural Studies How do you maintain a good study/life balance?

Maintaining a schedule throughout the week and studying on set days. I usually study when I have uni on the same day so that I smash it out in one day.

What are you most looking forward to about the summer break?

Getting to go out, being outdoors more and soaking up the sun. Looking forward to going to the beach a lot.

Pierre Fayad Bachelor of Architectural Studies How do you maintain a good study/life balance?

I try not to work too hard and always try to come to uni at least once or twice a week because staying at home is a big distraction.

What are you most looking forward to about the summer break?

Building up my business, trying to relax a little bit and saving up for more studies and more adventures next year.

Madi Lanthois Bachelor of Interior Architecture How do you maintain a good study/life balance?

I normally study late at night because I have two jobs and am quite busy.

What are you most looking forward to about the summer break?

Not being here!

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Laura Liminton Bachelor of Interior Architecture How do you maintain a good study/life balance?

I feel like either one suffers: my social life or my uni life. I go through phases of focusing just on uni or focusing just on my friends. I guess I try to work and study during the week and then uni goes out the window on weekends.

What are you most looking forward to about the summer break?

Not pulling all-nighters because I have to pull all-nighters all the time at uni.

Looking forward to actually going to bed at a reasonable hour.

Liana Kantilaftas Bachelor of Interior Architecture How do you maintain a good study/life balance?

Usually I work during the day and if I’ve got an assignment coming up, I’ll pull an all-nighter. Usually either uni or my social life suffers and I go through phases.

What are you most looking forward to about the summer break?

Hopefully going away!

Milad Nahravani Bachelor of Architectural Studies How do you maintain a good study/life balance?

It’s mostly about all-nighters and good time management.

What are you most looking forward to about the summer break?

Relaxing, the sun and going out.

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Will Ballard Bachelor of Architectural Studies How do you maintain a good study/life balance?

I have a timetable and I stick by it.

What are you most looking forward to about the summer break?

No homework.

Aristos Panousakis Bachelor of Architectural Studies How do you maintain a good study/life balance?

I’m still working on that to be honest, I haven’t quite worked it out. I try to schedule and allocate time to study.

What are you most looking forward to about the summer break?

The beach and having free time.

Andrew Bradey Bachelor of Architectural Studies How do you maintain a good study/life balance?

I don’t—can I even say that? I do try, but a balance doesn’t always work out.

What are you most looking forward to about the summer break?

Being outside.

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Tiny Gallery

Karlien van Rooyen is a clay-slinging lass who cares little for conventional aesthetics. She enjoys pushing the boundaries of her materials and embracing the ugly.

Central to everything is an element of play—an absolute necessity to the core of her practice.

Instagram @karlien_vanrooyen

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A tender moment between mother and son.

Words ▶ S. Z. Telford | Image ▶ Antonietta Sergi “I just don’t understand,” Luke muttered as he hastily wiped an escaping tear from his face. The Sun had nearly set and a brilliant orange hue bathed the small room from the open window. He felt his mother’s hand close around his own. Luke’s jaw clenched tighter as his eyes fell on her emaciated fingers. “What’s the point of it all?” He asked to no one in particular.

His mother tightened her grip and said softly, “Tell me Luke, what’s wrong, please.” Luke let out a short laugh of exasperation.

“Life,” he answered without shifting his gaze. He had trouble looking at her gaunt face and limp hair, feeling as though he would burst into racking sobs every time he managed to work up the courage to meet her eyes.

“It’s absurd, the whole lot of it. We are born, we struggle and then we die.” Claire looked at her son with an empathetic stare. She herself had much experience over the past months with the thoughts Luke was expressing now.

“It’s not all bad,” she said and with a tug of Luke’s hand she forced him to look at her. “Yes,” she continued, “life is pain. Life is cruel and unfair. Life can seem pointless and as you say, absurd.” Luke went to open his mouth and speak but his mother silenced him with a thin finger.

“But life is also beautiful. It is wondrous and absurd in the

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greatest way. There are no promises in this life Luke, you know that.” She gave a quick glance down at her bed to emphasis the point. “What is kindness without cruelty? What is freedom without uncertainty, what is life without death?” Luke pulled his hand out from hers and straightened up in his chair.

“But such overwhelming cruelty it is mother.” He said aghast, “The slow deterioration of your body and the pain of this evil thing.” He pointed at his own chest as he spoke. “I feel pain in my heart like I have never felt before. Why would God, if there is such a thing, allow there to be so much pain?” Claire gave a shuddering cough and took shallow breaths until she was able to speak.

“Son I know it hurts. But the pain in my body, the cancer and death looming over me, it does not even begin to compare to the joy and love I felt when I first held you in my arms. Before I married your father I did not believe that life could be so amazing. The horrid things and crippling despair of life cannot stand before the highs.

You may not understand yet but—“ “Don’t tell me I do not understand!” Luke growled.

His emotions were starting to get the better of him.

Claire did not flinch or become disappointed, instead she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. Luke looked

up at her with tears in his eyes. She turned away from him and stared across the cityscape at the setting Sun, the sky now a deep pink hue.

“Life is life Luke, and death is death. We are not asked to be put on this stage and play our parts, but we must.

Life is pain, yes. But it is so much more than that. It is love in the end. Love for each other, love for the world around us and like the setting Sun love is always the most beautiful at the beginning and at the end. It is nearly my end Luke, there is no point in denying it. Just know that my love for you shines brighter than anything life could ever throw at me, even this damned cancer.”

Luke’s eyes were now also resting upon the setting Sun far off in the distance. He still felt contorted within his own heart and mind, his fury at the absurdity of life still burned in the pit of his stomach but his mother’s words had soothed the flames of his disillusionment reducing them to mere embers. He thought he understood what she had said for the most part. He stood up and kissed her on the cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow mum,” he said with a slight throatiness to his voice. “I love you.”

“I love you too, son” she said and returned his kiss.

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Vote and Win! 19 talented UniSA students entered the USASA Campus Art Competition. Now is your chance to vote for your favourite!

UniSA student voters go in the draw to win 2 x PIP (pretty important person) tickets to St Jerome's Laneway Festival!

View at the art on the next pages & vote at www.USASA.sa.edu.au/CampusArt The top four pieces will become 1m x 1.5m printed wall murals on campus in 2017.

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Terms and conditions at www.USASA.sa.edu.au/CampusArt

Meg Bielby Rad alien girl embodies the uniqueness of the female figure Alex Hall Girl|ines Maria Kharitonova Falling Wing Yi Lam Finding Gear Emma Cuppleditch Cosmic Fairy Floss Vote at www.USASA.sa.edu.au/CampusArt

Bridgette Minuzzo Salvia Tabitha Lawless Colours of South Australia Leroy Lim Bringer of Day and Night Zi Yan Lim Every Illustration Tells a Story Jay Lord Survival Guide

Vote at www.USASA.sa.edu.au/CampusArt

Hoang Nguyen Untitled Tyson Nguyen Tea Time Joe Nes Reflecting on Seoul Jodie Russian Lemon Scented Eucalyptus

Vote at www.USASA.sa.edu.au/CampusArt

Zainab Salimey Untitled Nicole Scriva Go out and hug a dog, under the moon.

It’s good for the soul, good for the mind Joseph Steed The River Oracles Taylor Summers Poor Wet Eagle!

Belinda Zanello Sleeping Beauty Vote at www.USASA.sa.edu.au/CampusArt

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A.B. ORIGINAL • AURORA • BOB MOSES • CAMP COPE • CAR SEAT HEADREST CLAMS CASINO • FASCINATOR • GANG OF YOUTHS • GL • JAGWAR MA • JESS KENT JULIA JACKLIN • KOI CHILD • LUCA BRASI • MICK JENKINS • MR. CARMACK • NAO NICHOLAS ALLBROOK • ROLAND TINGS • SAMPA THE GREAT TASH SULTANA • THE JULIE RUIN • TOURIST • TYCHO • WHITE LUNG • WHITNEY TO LANEWAY LANEWAYFESTIVAL.COM #LANEWAY2017 * EXCLUSIVE Edition 13 2016/17

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Bite-sized reviews from online pastry connoisseurs @bakeryhangs.

Words & Images ▜ Abby Daly APOLLO BAY BAKERY Ravenous after a long and tiring journey down the Great Ocean Road, our team decided to pay a visit to one of many coastal pastry outlets, the Apollo Bay Bakery. The experience kicked off well with friendly service and free tomato sauce, exemplifying some true Aussie spirit. Unfortunately, it all went downhill from there. The first blunder presented itself when we ordered a flat white which was put through as a long black. This was an honest mistake, however, the second anomaly could not be forgiven. Upon ordering what was supposed to be a Curry Steak Pie, it was discovered that in fact there was no steak to be found—only mince meat. Bite after bite, we searched for the promised steak but to no avail.

Furious with this false advertising, our team promptly took our leave and continued on our scenic route with sunken heads and broken dreams.

DUFFY'S BAKERY Impromptu visit to Duffy's Bakery, Norwood on a Friday afternoon. As soon as we exited our local supermarket and sensed that mouthwatering scent wafting from Duffy's doors, we were sold. It's a well known fact amongst pastry enthusiasts that it is often a long way to the shop if you want a sausage roll, however today this was not the case. If only the service was as inviting. It can become tiring being the recipient of adolescent attitude issues as we bakery-hop our way through town. Yes love, I know you're fifteen and don't want to be here but I need to get my chops around a pie, pronto! As our legendary baking fanatic Jack exclaimed, "You don't just shove the sauce in anywhere!" But she did. Not overly impressed today, however the food itself was not particularly at fault. Unsure if we will be visiting Duffy's again and quite frankly, we don't give a Duff!

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"It's a well known fact amongst pastry enthusiasts that it is often a long way to the shop if you want a sausage roll..."

WATTLE PARK BAKERY Crisp air and unexpected warm weather called for a surprise pop-in to the well-respected Wattle Park Bakery. Expectations were high for pastry enthusiast Jordan Leović, eager to get his chops around the renowned Chunky Steak pie (not to be pronounced ‘Stunky Cheak’). The snack certainly hit the mark with its rich flavour, but the dry texture of the steak was a slight letdown. Abigael tossed up between the Tuna Mornay and the Chicken & Mushroom pie, siding with the former and lapping up its creamy mashed potato. Service, on the other hand, was disappointingly lukewarm and we would’ve liked to see a few more smiles on dials.

PORT ELLIOT BAKERY After a brisk early morning walk along SA's Granite Island, we were feeling rather peckish and in need of a caffeine fix. Anyone who's anyone in this industry knows there's no better place along the Fleurieu Peninsula for this type of pit-stop—Port Elliot Bakery. Although previously reviewed on our page, this impeccably well-run establishment is so highly renowned amongst South Australians that it deserved a second mention. Today, with much pleasure, I stomached a Steak, Cheese and Bacon pie which was arguably the single best article of pastry I have consumed thus far in my career.

My pals also noted that their barista-made coffees were incredibly 'on point' and satisfied their need for that midmorning buzz. Whether you're simply a local, or a pastry connoisseur like my colleagues and I, you can always expect great things from this eatery.

See more at instagram.com/bakeryhangs

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Verse Mag’s Regular Band Chat

Once described as 'the most amateur band of all time', alt-rockers Queen of Darts are especially unimpressive. We sat down with them to discuss bevvies, pingas and toilet nostalgia.

Words ▶ Jordan Leović | Images ▶ Courtesy of Queen of Darts

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I’d like to start off with a personal question. Your frontman is, quite noticeably, a ranga. How do you think this will affect your chances at fame?

He may have been born a ranga but he was also born with a great voice. We think the two cancel each other out.

If you had to change your band name to either Queen of Sharts or Queefs and Farts, which one would you pick?

Queen of Sharts. It has some nostalgia to it.

West End or Coopers Pale?

West End and Coopers Pale are the twin pillars on which the world rests. To pick between them would be like picking between your children. But as a band, we lean towards West End. Which band member is most likely to join the 27 Club and how would he do it?

In all honesty, Blake and Richie may join the 27 Club together. We think it may be a pact they are working towards.

Richie would definitely pull a straight-down-the-line pinga overdose whereas Blake will surprise us and be a bit creative.

In an ideal world, which of your idols would tell you that your music sucks?

This one definitely goes out to Josh Homme from Queens of the Stone Age—a legend at writing music but he’s brutal when it comes to business and loves giving his opinion. There's no doubt in our minds he would have some harsh critique for us.

Where’s your next show? If anyone can be fucked attending…

We've got a gig at the Crown and Anchor on November 11, probably around 9pm. If you're keen for some sweet Friday night tunes definitely come past and check us out.

Keep up with Queen of Darts at facebook.com/qodofficial

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Stargazing ▶ Nicole Scriva

Summer in Australia can be perilous, so here are some beach-side forecasts to keep you mediocre.

a

b

c

March 21 - April 20

April 21 - May 21

May 22 - June 21

The smell of sunscreen will live in your nose for the whole of summer.

Seagulls will source you as their personal toilet, but hey it’s good luck.

You will find 5c in the sand at the beach, but then go on to lose $20 in the sand that same day.

g

h

i

September 24 - October 23

October 24 - November 22

November 23 - December 22

Don’t even think about flirting at the beach, no one looks good damp and sandy.

Wear thongs at all times when down by the water, spiked shells love your naked foot.

Every ice-cream you consume will give you a brain freeze. Awhhh that sucks.

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d

e

f

June 22 - July 23

July 24 - August 23

August 24 - September 23

Plain and simple; your bather bottoms will come off in the ocean and float away.

Someone will steal your shoes and you will have to walk on burning hot cement back to the car. Ouch!

You wont get that summer beach bod this year, but you will get a summer beach sunburn.

j

k

l

December 23 - January 20

January 21 - February 19

February 20 - March 20

Don't go to the beach with a love interest, a hot surfer will 100% steal them from you.

Remember: no shirt, no shoes, no entry.

Crabs. Biting toes but also maybe biting private parts? Shoes and condoms for you this summer.

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