Subcultural Flows
Our thirst for subculture has not been quenched, but finds new pathways to flow, as liquid as ever.
Face to Face: Portrait Exchange in Conversation
The event carves out a rare space where presence precedes performance, and where the gaze becomes a means of mutual recognition.
In Defence of RomComs
Its pessimistic parable, that modern dating is superficial (duh!), defies characterisation. Let me explain.
Don’t wear Nike TNs/Among Us
Nike TNs were a mark of swag exclusive to the disadvantaged Greater West communities of Sydney and at best a source of suspicion for the white middle-class Eastern and Northern suburbanite.
I am unsure if you can hold the weight of this.
Again, I dream that my teeth fall out (this is a dream about control).
The Allure of Ultraviolence
These works prompt a deeper question of whether our artistic fascination with violence is a glamorisation, a critique, or a coping mechanism in an ultraviolent world.
Sydney Fringe Festival: Doomers by Matthew Gasda
The doomers are stilted in that strange tech bro way, unable to understand the implications of even their smallest actions. Their voices and accents clash in soulless conflict.
Sydney Fringe Festival: ‘Antigone is existential for me’
The production blurred time in fascinating ways. While grounded in Sophocles’ ancient text, it never felt bound by it.
Poetry and Consciousness In The Present
Scholars of the Global North sometimes shelter themselves in neo-colonial positions when confronted with revolutionary praxis.
My Sanity is Ephemeral
“Something in a fragile state always seems more beautiful because you realise that they might not be there tomorrow.”
Choose Your Own Dream
“I was falling endlessly…when I landed in a jumping castle…Liam Gallagher was there and he told me to take my shoes off…but I wasn’t wearing any shoes…”
Ghost Hunter
“Communicating with ghosts is a display of radical empathy, a oneness with everything.”
Return To Sender
Dear [REDACTED],
I want to apologise for the scene that I made at The Rose last Friday.
I am writing this letter at the recommendation of Dr Celine Bertuch (my Freudian psychoanalyst).
For the past week, I’ve had a recurring dream where I find you alone in the Quad General Lecture Theatre (K2.05). Only, when I sit beside you, the scenery changes – the wooden pews turn into the firm, purple leather seats of a V Set Intercity Train. You turn to speak, but when you do, your voice is Dr Bertuch’s (she finds this detail quite fascinating).
누구의 기억 (Second Exposure)
“In dreams, memories rarely return in their original form—they dissolve, blur, skip frames,
and reassemble.”