Monopolistic enterprises are not just concerned with selling their product. They also want to impose their culture and values on other countries to establish themselves as the true north of the industry and dictate the distribution of resources like water.

spark that inspiration in me again, yeah?

wherever you are, read this letter

and come home to me.

I am on an edge, and if I tip, tip off this edge, then I will go all the way to the ground.

Our thirst for subculture has not been quenched, but finds new pathways to flow, as liquid as ever.

The event carves out a rare space where presence precedes performance, and where the gaze becomes a means of mutual recognition.

But words are futile.

So I am left with these scorch marks.

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.

Property of Luke Cusack

Again, I dream that my teeth fall out (this is a dream about control).

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.

Sure, my first-year Gender Studies lecture was like my Hinge explore feed come to life, but I wanted more. I wanted something different. I wanted… a soccer player.

Law Revue 2025: A Review by Sophie Wishart

The production blurred time in fascinating ways. While grounded in Sophocles’ ancient text, it never felt bound by it.

Scholars of the Global North sometimes shelter themselves in neo-colonial positions when confronted with revolutionary praxis.   

“Something in a fragile state always seems more beautiful because you realise that they might not be there tomorrow.”

“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…”

“Communicating with ghosts is a display of radical empathy, a oneness with everything.”

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).

“In dreams, memories rarely return in their original form—they dissolve, blur, skip frames,

and reassemble.”

“I stumbled out of bed too quickly, one morning, and fell onto my Lego sets, sending shockwaves through Heartlake City.”

“There, staring out at me, was Magritte’s Les Mémoires d’un Saint (1960). In the centre of an intangible space, a ring of rich red curtains stood upright, drawn at the middle to reveal the sky.”

“If AI can mimic our mind, the thing that sets humanity apart is the body. We must affirm the biological, the physical, the muddy and the messy.”