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Bully me
By Sarah Giles Why do you think I am so different from you? My pain and my failings are no different to you. Why do you think I don’t feel what you…
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Symphony
By Kainat Azhar I am in love with a dead sage who is an epitome of death and the painter of hell. He puts his fangs in my neck, I experience a…
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Noha*
By Kainat Azhar Knife in my hand, I fight with the ravens. They visit me when I am alone, I loathe them for interrupting my mental painting of yours. My ribs…
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Kainat Azhar
Kainat Azhar is a Pakistani writer and illustrator who has never formally studied the two. She hides behind the mask of a computer science major and is interested in almost everything that…
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O, my crescent lover
By Oscar O’Neill-Pugh Swaying in the light of our crescent host, Of our utmost beaming lady, Who sings to the salmon, Who radiates through me, empowers The pitch black sky to dance…
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Quiet.
By Oscar O’Neill-Pugh The rays shrink. The sun creeps back. Quiet. The night, it clings to us all. Its long digits holding still our ears, It’s icy breath caressing our skin. Whatever…
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To your arms
By Oscar O’Neill-Pugh I can’t bring myself to believe, In a particular God. It shakes me to my very core, To know that I won’t. How I wish I had the…
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Rêves à partir de son lit de mort
By Oscar O’Neill-Pugh Turn off the machine, despite my fragility. Turn me off and allow me, grant me my sleep. I ask of you, why put off the inevitable? Let me write,…
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Death by Linen
By Oscar O’Neill-Pugh Even now the pillow case Shoves its way, into my face. Through my undertow And overhead, I gasp for air In my bed. But even now And even…
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Borderline
By Oscar O’Neill-Pugh By the time I reverted back, Back to the bastard of Babylon, For far too long had I been kept From Phineus’ feast. Claws clawing, Harpies, harridans and harlots…
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Ophelia of the Billabong
By Oscar O’Neill-Pugh Past adrift, the fruitful vine, Lost in reason, space and time. Mankind from eggs sprouting forth, From brood dear, burst I, Upon yet another swarth. But these were…
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Citizen Snips
By Oscar O’Neill-Pugh A poetry editor, Of two journals, Sits at his desk At 2am, Sunday night. He makes amends To submitted works, Even though lately He himself, cannot write. Image…
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Yours truly, the weed
By Oscar O’Neill-Pugh False glory, Lies and deceit, I’m falling in love, With things that don’t exist. But just for this one time, To me, everything is real.
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Interview with Eloise Faichney
By Tina Tsironis Eloise Faichney is an emerging writer from Melbourne, Australia. Co-Senior Editor of literary journals Other Terrain and Backstory, her work has been published in Bukker Tilibul, Stormcloud Poets Anthology and…
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Female sexuality, and telling women’s stories
By Sarah Giles Melanie rolled over and looked at her sleeping conquest. The evening had gotten away from her, one drink took her from tipsy to horny and then she met Marc…
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Interview with Yianni Johns – Artist Profile
By Skye Jenner An inspiring artist, Yianni Johns is originally from Karratha, WA, but now resides in NSW. His colourful oil paintings have been exhibited across the world, and even published in…
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Keren Heenan
Keren Heenan is the winner of a number of Australian short story awards, including the Alan Marshall award, Southern Cross and Hal Porter competitions, also 2nd in the Fish Award (Ire) 2015.…
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Editorial: Issue One
This journal is the result of the passion and dedication of a group of Swinburne students and staff who were determined to add to the cultural landscape not only of their university,…
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High-Wasted Genes
By Matthew Jones Her jacket was dancing in the wind. Out of time; off beat; sporadic. He thought she looked so beautiful. He exhaled slowly, trying not to get lost in his…
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Seven Deadly Selfies
By Eloise Faichney Lust ‘And you tried to change didn’t you? closed your mouth more tried to be softer prettier less volatile, less awake but even when sleeping you could feel him…
