If I had a dollar for every time I completely changed my mind about an item of clothing –
And I mean going from thinking I have to get rid of this thing I’d never be caught dead in it, to I absolutely love this thing
– I’d have about $20.
Which isn’t a lot, but it’s more than you’d expect, and enough money to thrift something magical.
The thing is, I’m terrible at getting rid of clothes. When I manage to get over my attachment to them, there’s the issue of physically disposing them. I can’t just bin them, knowing they’ll be rotting in landfills longer than my entire lifespan (and any legacy I happen to leave behind). Especially when they’re in good condition and could be loved and worn by someone new. Selling clothes online never works out – not many people see the ads I post because I don’t pay to promote them. Being a student, why on earth would I spend money on that? Anyone who does view my ads ignores them or reaches out only to ghost me afterwards.
I could donate my clothes to thrift stores. But after learning that most donations end up in landfills (usually in developing countries on the opposite side of the world), that lost its appeal. Plus, then I’d have to find the time and effort to drop the clothing off, which for me is a whole problem of its own.
I wouldn’t dare ask any of my friends or family if they wanted these clothes – how could I reveal the fact that I own such strange pieces? The only other option is to mail the clothes to a textile recycling facility. But being more expensive than promoting listings online, and more complicated than dropping off clothing at thrift stores, it’s just not my cup of tea.
The point is, even when I really don’t like a piece of clothing, I don’t get rid of it. Instead, it ends up forgotten and buried in the back of my wardrobe.
For years.
Until I happen to be cleaning, and rediscover it.
And fall in love.
Like good wine, my stashed away clothes get better with time.
Take my ‘Octopus Army’ t-shirt for example. When I inherited it from my Mum I thought it was hideous. Huge, and brown, with ‘octopus’ written off-centre across the chest, printed like an anonymous threat letter from a movie, letters cut from mismatched newspaper clippings. On the right sleeve ‘army’ was written in a different font, and in a colour that practically blended in with the fabric. As a basic teenager at the time, of course it didn’t suit my taste.
But when I saw it for the second time, years later, I took it in with shining eyes. I had discovered the perfect oversized t-shirt. Made of thick cotton, the colour of brown sugar. The fitted crew neck embodied a distinct 90’s vibe. It was the perfect length for tucking into a pair of jeans. And it was completely free – because I already owned it. I realised that the way ‘octopus’ was written is actually pretty cool. And the positioning of ‘army’ on one of the sleeves is a nice touch. An instant new favourite.
Not long after this, I experienced another dramatic change of heart. This time with a colourful commemorative t-shirt my Grandma gave me after an overseas trip. I appreciated the thought. But the minute I laid eyes on it, I knew I wouldn’t be walking around in a top that loudly declared ‘I ♡ Boracay Islands Philippines.’ Just not my style.
While that hasn’t changed, when I rediscovered this shirt I realised it would be super comfy to sleep in. And honestly, I just like wearing it around the house because my Grandma gave it to me.
These turnarounds aren’t rare for me. They’ve also happened with belts, dresses, pants, shoes and jackets. My wardrobe would definitely lack variety and interesting pieces if I only kept what I liked at that particular moment. And I would have lost irreplaceable vintage pieces, some that are also irreplaceable in their meaning to me.
I think that stashing and rediscovering clothes adds to their story, and the joy they bring. Being the sentimental person I am, I like that because it makes me feel more connected to my clothes, which makes wearing them even better.
So I will keep on holding onto my clothes, even if I don’t particularly like them.
And I recommend you give it a go and do the same.
Maybe you’ll find yourself a new wardrobe staple.
Maybe 80’s activewear will come back in style.
Who knows?
We’ll just have to wait and see…
Originally published in Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 5 ‘To Be Confirmed’
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on How to Seduce the Nonbinary in Your Class
It’s a new semester, you’re taking An Introduction to the Wage Gap in Child Labour, sitting bored in the cramped tutorial room. You didn’t do the reading, and a white man just walked into the room. A tote bag flops onto the table next to you. A hand, covered in rings and chipped nail polish, reaches down past the bubble-gum vape and pulls out a laptop. A laptop covered in stickers, from the Greens to BLM to one that just has a picture of Mitski captioned “I love my wife.” And nestled amongst a feat of signaling that would make Barthes proud, is a blue, white and pink flag. You’ve encountered, for the first time and up-close, a nonbinary person.
To perform a public good for this small, almost pointless-to-write about niche, here is my guide on how to seduce, and sleep with the non-binary person in your class. Take this both in reverence and with an immensely large grain of salt.
Seduction begins, as it always does, by establishing yourself in relation to them. You want to differentiate yourself from the other tote-wearing, oat milk drinking queers who normally swing their way. In seducing your nonbinary target, imagine you are the siren atop the rocks, offering to fix their relationship with their parents.
If you’re wondering, at this point, if the first step is surely to get their pronouns right, I’m sorry, but this isn’t for you.
Start with subtle but smart phrases. Compliment their niche tattoos that either have a paragraph long history or mean fuck all. Even their crustiest stick’n’pokes deserve your adoration (and perhaps later a gentle kiss to the scabbed and flaking ink). Make fun of the straight men in your class. Refer endlessly to the latest TikTok trends or your family traumas and how they led you to reading fanfiction. Make a point to overshare on something sexual, but don’t go too far. Tell them about a fetish, or your most recent hook-up and change the conversation immediately. Be casual and non-confrontational about your repertoire.
The next step in seduction is to convince them that sex with you will not induce a month-long gender crisis requiring two more trips to the therapist. (The formula for a nonbinary person’s therapy attendance per month is 1 + n where n is the number of years they lived at home.) This is probably the most crucial part of the entire process and the key is to highlight your expertise and previous experience in nonbinary forays.
Phrases to use include telling them that everyone else you’ve slept with also wears Docs, or that you liked Keith Haring before he was commercialised. Casually mention how you’re getting into crocheting, and how your pink strap-on is hot pink, not just pink, and that the silicone is ethically sourced and recyclable. Try buying your own carabiner to incite a Pavlovian response from them. Be sure to be seen reading Sylvia Plath with cum or lipstick smudges on some of the pages.
When you move from the sussing out period to the downright flirting stage, there are two strategies. Going high or going low. Going high consists of things like giving them your favourite book to read, bonding over your mutual stupol friends, lending them your overalls, and casually touching hands in the oat milk aisle at the supermarket. Going low is the more sensual avenue, such as making them a playlist, getting your septum pierced, or offering to touch up their shag mullet. Go high for the nonbinaries who were radicalised by Judith Butler and go low for the nonbinaries enlightened by jungle juice.
After you’ve successfully and metaphorically (or literally) put a leash on them comes the more immediate seduction: getting them back to your salt-lamp lit room to do it in a way my parents nor the straggot Peter Dutton could ever begin to imagine.
Inviting them over for tea, for instance, elicits an immediate response, but be sure you’re well stocked with herbal options. Offer to crochet with the more sapphic ones. Or suggest attending an erotic haiku reading at Sideway on a Friday night.
When trying to move things back to their apartment / decolonised sharehouse / the nearest bathroom, someone has to be direct. This is either you or them, and you’ll know who’s who based on who says slay more.
Now, you have them somewhere private, and it’s time to ask for consent. This can start as simply as putting on a Studio Ghibli film, discussing your most toxic ex, or sharing a cigarette.
More complex techniques include studying the number of authors of colour they have on their bookshelf, or, conversely, showing off the diversity of your own. A word of warning though. If your bookshelf is not majority second-hand or Penguin, make sure it is organised aesthetically to distract them from this failing.
If you’ve gotten this far and are wondering at which point to pull out your Lana Del Rey vinyl, stop reading.
At some point here, you’ve sneaked a first kiss and realise that you don’t actually mind the smell of their septum piercing. Assuming you have down pat the rudiments of sex, let’s talk about that holiest of holy words: climax. (No, I thought you were bringing the strap-on).
Crucial here, is the playlist you put on. Unless you’re experienced, or sleeping with them regularly, you need to have some good tunes to make them forget that their mum still mispronouns them. Personal favourites include Simon & Garfunkel’s 1981 live concert in Central Park, or a mix of Mitski/Azaelia Banks/ Hozier.
Good sex, I’ve heard, begins with foreplay. Acknowledgement of country is a good opener, as is listening to their 3-hour interactive lectorial on exactly what kind of nonbinary person they are with a supplementary reading on the infinite iterations of their pronouns or the moments and queer relationships they had through their childhood. Alternatively, if you’re looking to top, try giving head while introducing your stuffed animals.
Phrases like “oh that’s so they/them of you” are a must, and if whispered at just the right moment, can induce orgasm. So too can offering them an ointment for their infected nipple piercing and complementing the boldness of their pubic hair styling. If these fail, fuck them tenderly, so that three weeks later they’ll be convinced that you’re going to cure them of their borderline personality disorder and they’ll cure you of your cisgenderness.
Having followed these steps closely you will find yourself well-endeared to your nonbinary lover, as well as their nonbinary friends, and exes. All of these individuals will be potential candidates for bedding, but proceed with caution as you may find yourself itching for a pronoun change.
Originally published in Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 5 ‘Cum As You Are’
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on Seven Deadly Sins of Gay Dating Apps
Disclaimer: this does not detail the experiences of all Queer* people, but rather a commentary of the experiences of the authors.
Lust: hung top looking for sub bottom
Picture this: you’re 17, just come to terms with the fact that maybe you’re not so straight. You’ve heard so much about this great place for gay and bisexual men to meet up and get to know each other. The magical online realm of Grindr. You sign up, upload a cute pic of yourself to get the boys, and get excited. 5 minutes in, you get a message. OMG!? Is this the love of my life? You open the message: dick pic. Oh, well I kinda like dick I guess? Another message: dick pic. Another message: dick pic. Dick pic after dick pic. Your messages are flooded with many, so many dick pics. Is this modern dating for queer men? Sending dick pics till the end of time?
Then you have a blank profile send you a message: “hung top here, looking for sub bottom. You looking?” First off, what is a hung top and a sub bottom? A t-shirt that’s been hung up in a cupboard and the bottom half of a sub sandwich? And looking? Looking for what? Looking for love of course but I get the feeling they’re not talking about that. Another message appears: “53 year old daddy looking for younger.” *insert dick pic here*. This is all so overwhelming, you delete the app after 3 hours and go cry over how you may never find the love of your life.
Gluttony: please stop dating each other
I always forget I live in an echo chamber – that not all friendship groups are queer and chaotic. With inter-dating, constant flirting and mutual matching. On a least ten occasions I have received simultaneous screenshots from two gay friends with eachother’s dating profiles.
“Do you think we’d make a good couple?”
“You think he would be down to fuck, like casual, I know I could but…”
“You know *insert gay friend here* right? We just matched!”
WANTED: GAYS IN CANBERRA!
Don’t get me wrong I’m all for some good old hoeing – but please can more gays come to Canberra? The pool is too small and I’m stuck in hookup deja vu. My life’s complicated enough.
Greed: spicy unicorn wanted for fun loving couple
She’s beautiful, intriguing, social, academic and fashionable – there’s only one problem – she has a boyfriend – and she wants you to join. They all have one thing in common, unicorn emojis 🦄. And let’s be clear these couples are not looking for a polyamorous relationship, they are on the apps specifically for a sexual third, a girl, a unicorn. The obsession of thirds, women setting up dating apps to effectively con queer women into matching with them (and their boyfriends) is beyond frustrating. No I don’t want to sleep with your boyfriend, because surprisingly bisexual people are not walking sex machines who will sleep with anyone and anything. I don’t want to be fetishised into your relationship – there are surely apps for that. Nor do I want to accidentally match with a cute girl, only to be sent messages about her boyfriend’s sexual capabilities.
And it’s always the women who make the profiles, which is confusing in itself as what lesbian woman would want to sleep with you and your BOYfriend? As a bisexual woman (who avoids dating men), having sex with your boyfriend really defeats the purpose of swearing off men.
So leave us queers alone and go find your fetish somewhere else. And give us back the unicorn emoji – it’s cute, and gay.
Sloth: The Ghost of Insta DMs past
*ding*
A Tinder notification appears on your phone.
“You have a new match!”
Oh, here we go. Another match with some random queer person at your university, never to be talked to.
*ding*
“So and so has sent you a message*
Okay this is crazy. You’re actually messaging, and the conversation is… good? This feels wrong, something has to be up. You decide to move the conversation to Instagram… are they the one? Have I finally met the person I’m going to date?
You continue the conversation, send each other photos, tell each other “you’re so cute” while drunk on a night out. Things are going well.
Then, it stops. You barely talk anymore. Send two-word responses to questions. Don’t even swipe up on each other’s stories anymore. Then you start blanking each other on the street and on campus. Now you have to redownload Tinder and start the cycle again. This is so exhausting. The ghost has struck again.
Wrath: “We’ve run out of potential matches in your area”
“We’ve run out of potential matches in your area. Go global and see people around the world.”
Fuck. Off. I only swiped like 5 times, how have I run out of matches already?? Why are there literally no gays in Canberra?
I guess I’ll have to go back to Grindr…
Envy: To be or to be with?
The age-old question of same-sex dating – do I want to be with them? Or do I want to be them? Is there a reason I’m attracted to people who are just different fonts of me? Am I secretly harbouring a deeper desire to become them, to embody their life, to be a better version of me (which through my screen they somehow appear to be)?
Honestly I have no idea – maybe it’s just that we’re attracted to people with similar interests to us, similar life goals and values – and in a queer relationship, your identity becomes mixed with theirs. So how do you even attempt to navigate the treachery of being simultaneously attracted to and identifying with your partner?
If anyone figures this out please DM me – seriously.
Love,
Confused gay
Pride: Our bodies are our selling point
Twink. Otter. Bear. Wolf. Daddy. For those who do not know, these are terms used to characterise us… based on how much hair/muscles you have. We are literally divided into “tribes” entirely based on how we look. But more than that, those who are white twinks (skinny, petite, hairless) get most of the attention. We also have to post basically naked pictures on any app to get any attention at all. Sooooo in summary, the community looks at your body and then, only then will we get to know each other if we like how the other looks. So great. So healthy. How do we fix this? Actually dunno. Oops sorry.
Originally published in Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 5 ‘Cum As You Are’
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on Meet Her at Midnight: A Review of Taylor Swift’s Midnights
In her critically acclaimed tenth studio album, Taylor Swift examines her darkest dreams, deepest insecurities, and most secret desires through a dazzlingly brilliant return to pop.
Republic Records released Taylor Swift’s highly anticipated tenth studio album on 21 October 2022. In the lead-up to its release, Swift described the 13-track album as “the story of 13 sleepless nights scattered throughout my life.”
Working exclusively with long-term collaborator Jack Antonoff as producer, Midnights sees a return to pop for Swift. She experiments with electropop, synth-pop, dubstep-inspired rhythms and bass, and house-inspired beats, culminating in an incredibly intimate, assured, and heartfelt album showcasing the singer’s lyrical genius.
The album begins with Lavender Haze, written by various collaborators, including Zoë Kravitz. As described in a featurette video, Swift sings of the “all-encompassing love glow” associated with falling in love. She also criticises the gender roles and stereotypes that have cruelly confined her throughout her career: “All they keep asking me / Is if I’m gonna be your bride / The only kinda girl they see / Is a one-night or a wife.”
Anti-Hero is perhaps Swift’s most vulnerable and honest song on the album. She sings of self-hatred, insomnia, and body image, surmising: “It’s me, hi / I’m the problem, it’s me / At teatime, everybody agrees / I’ll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror / It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.” Confessional and confronting, Swift accurately articulates the universal feelings of insecurity, depression, and loneliness. Her relatability is a testament to her songwriting. In the dramatic bridge, Swift sings: “I have this dream my daughter-in-law kills me for the money / She thinks I left them in the will / The family gathers ’round and reads it / And then someone screams out / ‘She’s laughing up at us from hell’.” While humorously depicted in the music video, the lyrics portray the difficulty of creating genuine relationships with fame.
In the fourth track, Snow on the Beach, Swift collaborates with Lana Del Rey. However, as the internet has jokingly pointed out, Del Rey seems largely absent from the song, providing backing vocals, as opposed to the eagerly anticipated duet. Nevertheless, the lyrics are beautiful and create a romantic atmosphere that transports listeners to a winter wonderland: “Now it’s like snow at the beach / Weird, but fucking beautiful / Flying in a dream / Stars by the pocketful / You wanting me / Tonight feels impossible.”
Vigilante Shit and Karma mark a return of Reputation-esque revenge narratives. In Vigilante Shit, Swift evokes her femme fatale, singing, “Ladies always rise above / Ladies know what people want / Someone sweet and kind and fun / The lady simply had enough.” Karma has become an instant favourite due to its rhythmically pleasing chorus: “Cause karma is my boyfriend / Karma is a god / Karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend / Karma’s a relaxing thought / Aren’t you envious that for you it’s not?”
The album fittingly finishes with another love song, Mastermind, which recounts the strategic first meeting with a lover. It’s a song that makes you smile, beam, and rejoice in happiness because what’s more beautiful than love? Swift is honest and personal, and the lyrics reveal why love is so pertinent to her character: “No one wanted to play with me as a little kid / So I’ve been scheming like a criminal ever since / to make them love me and make it seem effortless.”
But that’s not all! In fitting Swift-like fashion, the album’s deluxe version was released hours later, titled Midnights (3am Edition), with seven bonus tracks. These songs reinforce the same themes of the original album, with three tracks produced by The National’s Aaron Dessner.
One of these tracks is Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve, which emphasises the power of Swift’s songwriting as she pens a track laced with regret, remorse and anger at an ex-boyfriend. Swift does not hold back: “If you never looked my way / I would’ve stayed on my knees / And I damn sure never would’ve danced with the devil / At nineteen.” She says, “Give me back my girlhood / It was mine first,” and ends the incredibly confronting song with “I regret you all the time.” Swift cleverly utilises religious imagery to depict the horrible reality of Hollywood relationships between young teenage girls and men (usually) in their thirties.
Midnights has had an extremely positive reception. It broke the record for the most-streamed album in a single day in Spotify history and received five stars from The Guardian, The Independent UK, and Rolling Stones. It also became the best-selling album of 2022 within 24 hours of release and has had the largest vinyl sales of the century. Yet, critics like the Evening Standard have argued that “it’s hard to spot anything that sounds like a smash hit.” However, this does not necessarily mean that the album is lacking in quality. In fact, Swift is at an advantage to her peers. Her clever songwriting has procured her a devout fanbase throughout her fourteen years in the music industry, which guarantees immense success with each album release. This essentially allows Swift to create records for the purpose of storytelling, as opposed to releasing a manufactured and generic pop song that may be a hit on the charts but is lyrically meaningless. As The Guardian asserts, Midnights is an album that “steadfastly declines to deal in the kind of neon-hued bangers that pop stars usually return with, music brash enough to cut through the hubbub.” Overall, the album demonstrates Swift’s versatility as an artist, as she experiments with her musicality to remain both original and comfortingly familiar. Midnights is a masterpiece, and Taylor Swift is truly a mastermind.
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on Heartbreak High: a Beautifully Aussie Series for The Teens
Netflix’s 2022 reboot Heartbreak High is practically an Aussie Euphoria with fewer drugs and musical numbers. Oh, and instead of Dominic Fike and Jacob Elordi (ironically a SKEVS graduate), we have Josh Heuston and Thomas Weatherall. Personally, I ate this show up and finished it in a grand total of one night, a skill I take great pride in. The niche references, accuracy and authentic representation were only the tip of the iceberg and if Netflix cancels yet another perfectly good, well-filmed, well-cast, diverse, accurate and relatable show I’m going to have to throw hands. The show is quasi-based on the cherished 1990’s series Heartbreak High that featured Australians from a variety of heritages and was later coined a ‘soap opera’. However, the reboot is truly a show for the teenagers of today, and I’m yet to see a more genuine representation of Australian teenage culture in mainstream media.
Creator Hannah Carroll Chapman said it best, “We’re giving this generation their own show” and give is exactly what they did. However, like anything released to public opinion, people had some negative and somewhat constructive commentary. Despite the show’s admirable inclusivity regarding race, gender, sexuality and neurological disorders (Chloe Harden being the first autistic Australian actor to co-lead a TV show), some believe the show lacked political diversity. The Guardian claimed “The new version of Hartley High feels like a school largely populated by the progressive, alternative type…”
The statement ‘new version’ in itself says multitudes about that argument. I do not believe the show was created to provide nostalgia for the once teenagers who watched the original 20 years ago. Chapman borrowed the school’s name, the foundation of some of the characters and the Aussie authenticity, but still aimed to build something completely new for a new generation of viewers. The purpose of this reboot is not to quench the reminiscent thirst of those in their 30s and 40s. It is a detailed and genuine representation of the Aussie high school experience. Perhaps critics of the show who cite a lack of realism are unaware of the norms and stereotypes that current or recent high schoolers are exposed to. I imagine that those suggest the population of Hartley High is unrealistic on the basis of its diversity are ignorant of contemporary high school cultures. This is not to diminish the fact that we as a society, including younger generations, have a considerable amount of improvement needed in regard to inclusion, but I would continue to argue that the show is predominantly realistic. Ultimately, comparing the new to the old is a futile act, especially if that was not a consideration for the 2022 version’s creators.
Nevertheless, I do agree that Chapman brushes past some confronting issues such as police brutality and STIs. However, that doesn’t reduce the worthy and commendable issues it does deeply explore. No one is claiming the show is perfect. There are a fair number of moments that are cringe or cliché, for example the uncomfortable teenage hook-ups that were a bit hard to watch, or at times maybe not the most impeccable acting. Not to mention that the students don’t wear a uniform, somewhat uncommon in most of Australia. However, overall, the ample amounts of accurate representation, entertainment and fresh Aussie TV is enough reason for you to at least give it a go.
Chapman’s audience isn’t searching for a show to run for decades or convey ‘vérité’ as The Guardian phrased it. Chapman’s Heartbreak High provides its target demographic with exactly what they want: authenticity, humour, niche and beautiful Australiana.
Anaïs Nin (b.1903) was a French-born Cuban bohemian and erotic writer. Her journals and short stories are part-truths, part-fictionalisations of her experiences in early 20th century New York. Her works Delta of Venus (1977), Little Birds (1979) and Auletris (2016) have become cornerstones of the feminist and female-erotic movements.
In her autobiographical short story, A Model (1979), Anaïs Nin retells the story of her sexual awakening. After moving to New York with her mother, Nin dropped out of high school and began working as a model for illustrators and artists. Spending her days posing for strangers, Nin explored the messy and fluid New York bohemian scene. All the while Nin privately lamented her virginity, longing to shed her ‘sheltered’ life and ‘over-delicate’ appearance.
Young and horny, Anaïs contemplates the collected fragments of her limited sexual experience. Experiences whirl around in her head: wetness between her legs after dry-humping on the beach with a boy her own age, passionate make-outs following dances. We are invited to witness, as if sitting with a classmate in the bathrooms at recess, her hormonal giggles and pops as she anticipates the excitement of finally doing it.
All the time, the shadow of her sexual fears dwells at eye line. Night-time run-ins with survivors of sexual assault haunt her daytime visits alone with male artists. Men that jovially jab at her boundaries, comment on her sexual experience – “you’re a virgin, aren’t you?” – and impose idealisations of her youth upon her. Not to mention bombarding her with unsolicited kisses, touches and flirtations. Nin’s anger at these intrusions swirls into a confused longing for them. She is not passive, not really, but she nevertheless feels the gravitational pull of this idealised self, still too young to distinguish between being conquered and desired.
It’s unnervingly relatable as a closeted boy growing up in the era of Grindr. Like Nin, I hated my baby face, inexperience, and sheltered life. I too, sought to overcorrect these shortcomings in the rooms of strangers, men who played upon a false belief of my own maturity, who I thought would show me how to be my authentic self. Men, who as I approach their age, I now strangle with angry words in the corners of my mind. But, in reading Nin, we can develop another story.
The beauty of Anaïs Nin is that, despite men’s best efforts, she is the hero of her awakening. She delights in the positive aspects of her encounters, relishes her pleasure, and then unsentimentally sheds the men she uses to achieve it, that “they now seemed like children to me.” In the end, A Model is not a story of a victim, but an adventurer. She becomes like Homer’s Odysseus, a hero enlightened by her experiences, emboldened by her survival, with the heads of her monsters left to rot in her wake. As fellow survivors of our sexual awakenings, we can smile and walk with her. Survivors of our hormones, fears and monsters.
Originally published in Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 5 ‘Cum As You Are’
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on Peter Garrett: From the Old Library Lawns to the Australian Stage
Peter Garrett called in from his hotel in Cairns. Midnight Oil (or ‘The Oils’, as Peter endearingly calls them) had a show the next night. It was one stop on the band’s farewell tour showcasing their latest album, Resist. A few days earlier, he attended Burgmann College’s 50th Anniversary weekend as an alumnus of the college and the ANU. I got to speak to him about his journey from ANU lawns to the Australian (and beyond) stage, his thoughts on the post-COVID-19 live music scene, and the significance of the Oil’s penultimate show on October 1st taking place on our very own Fellows Oval.
Born and raised in Sydney, Peter decided to venture to the Bush Capital in 1971. Like many others reading this, he considered himself an “occasional [law] student”, as self-described in his memoir, Big Blue Sky. He would become the first bar manager of Le Chat Noir, an institution that runs in the Burgmann common room to this day. It was this era of his life where his musical journey took off and so did his love of a city where he would eventually spend a decade in Parliament.
“I began my music career in Canberra as a student, right where you are,” He tellsme, “Playing pretty whacked out not altogether inspiring sort of rock and blues with synthesiser overlays – which was something we were fiddling around with at the time and trying to make work.”
Known for his passion and intensity on everything from his iconic moves on stage to activism on issues of the environment to First Nations rights, Peter spoke fondly about the music scene of those early years at the ANU.
“One of the first shows I saw was on the old library lawns of the ANU when they opened it up for a bunch of bands who travelled from other places to come and play. Their names won’t mean anything to people now, but for me, as a young student, it was eye-opening and ear-opening to hear people play music in the Australian landscape with the Brindabellas on one side and Parliament House on the other… Ngunnawal and Ngambri land…”
These eye-opening experiences of live music would spark his appreciation and dedication to performance that he enjoys to this day. Following the COVID-19-induced hiatus of the arts industry over the past two years, The Oils headlined the 2022 return of Byron Bay Bluesfest in April. Asking him what the feeling of returning to the stage was like, he said:
“… I think that people had been confined like lab rats for so long that when they eventually got out into daylight, or sunlight, or gathered with lots of others to celebrate music and being together, the feeling was quite different. We’re ecstatic, as in the crowd gathering at a festival or a spiritual experience even.”
“There’s a myth in the modern era which derives from the cult of the individual and this notion that we’re all just single individuals reaching our own destiny by ascending a ladder or buying shiny goods or locating ourselves in a cool and desirable place. But, of course, that’s just a means of perpetuating an economic system, really. We’re much more communal. We’re still hunters and gatherers; we love to hunt and gather together, and we derive meaning not ultimately from things we end up throwing away but from memories, we collect and stories we tell one another, and the experiences that we share.”
I asked Peter whether this shared musical space lends itself to activism and overcoming collective action problems like climate change. He disagreed, “The two are not really connected particularly because some people do one and some people do the other. It’s just that in our case, we happened to find a way of sometimes doing them both… We just always have existed as a band of songwriters, musicians, and activists, and that’s the way that we are.”
As a man of many potential titles – musician, activist, politician – I asked whether there have been any new identities or activities he’s found himself inhabiting since leaving Federal Parliament in 2013.
“A rediscovery of the simple joy of expression without anything else to have to think about in the day. That’s been the most important thing for me, being in this fortunate position of being freed up to be back on stage with the other members of the Oils and to completely lose yourself in the sound and in the plain. I’m sort of having a second childhood really at this stage of my life, with lots of love.”
In attendance at Bluesfest was Peter’s former colleague, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese, colloquially known as DJ Albo. When asked about the importance of having a music fan in office, Peter said, “It’s very refreshing to have someone who’s connected enough with the culture of the country and is a music fan and celebrates Australian music, isn’t ashamed of it, and doesn’t have a cultural cringe and understands it some extent.”
“I don’t think there’s any doubt that my expectation is that the current government should deliver a decent cultural policy and support the music industry. Not for a handout, but for building foundations for people’s careers, particularly young artists’ future.”
Peter and the Oils have always put their money where their mouths are in helping Australians access the arts. In the late ’70s, the band went on strike after a promoter of Sydney Northern Beaches pub The Antler returned on a promise for reasonable ticket prices at their show. For their upcoming show at the ANU, student tickets are priced $60 lower than the standard price of $149.90
“We’ve always believed that what we’re [Midnight Oil] doing should be heard by as many people as possible, and people shouldn’t be prevented from hearing or seeing Midnight Oil simply because of their income. We’re always mindful of price. We’re price-setters, we always have been, and we never charge the maximum amount of money to, as it were, try and squeeze all the juice out of the lemon.”
“And of course, we know students are not big earners; they’re students, it goes without saying. They’ve probably got HECS debt before they’ve got anything else.”
The Oils’ latest album, Resist, addresses the biggest problem facing students: climate change and the consequences of environmental degradation. The album’s opening track, Rising Seas, begins with:
Every child, put down your toys
And come inside to sleep
We have to look you in the eye
And say, “We sold you cheap.”
Peter acknowledges that Baby Boomers, who have been complacent in good economic times, have “a lot to answer for”. I asked how a person from Generation Z should interpret Resist:
“It’s in the tradition of protest albums which are calls to action. Hopefully, people will hear and feel moved to act. We think that whilst it’s completely bewildering and anger-making that we’re still heating up the planet as though there are no long-term consequences, the fact is that the climate crisis will impact younger people who’ll be around longer than we will. It’s something to look upon with a great deal of dismay… The upcoming generation has a great deal of hard work to do, and we’ve given them a soundtrack that hopefully makes that hard work a bit more palatable.”
When speaking about the issues he cared about, or the city he called home for so many years, it felt as though Peter might still be a student. A certain youthfulness sprang from the phone in these moments in our conversation. His excitement for The Oils and love for being on stage with his bandmates resembled a musician at the peak of their prowess. Not one in the closing act of a career that has spanned decades. I finished by asking him what it meant for the band to be returning to Ngunnawal and Ngambri land for their penultimate show.
“It is, without exaggeration, a bit of an epochal moment in our small world, if you like. Because we started playing Canberra… To close the circle off by doing the last big open-air show at the ANU is going to be very special for me.”
Tickets are on sale now for Midnight Oil’s October 1st show on Fellows Oval. They will be accompanied by King Stingray, Emily Wurramara and Moaning Lisa.
Comments Off on Cinema, TikTok, OnlyFans: Is There a Female Gaze, and Do Women Even Want It?
The other week I rewatched Sofia Coppola’s second ever feature Lost in Translation (2003) and was completely taken aback by the film’s opening shot; a then-17-year-old Scarlett Johansson’s bum in sheer, pink underwear.
A lot has been said about this shot; that Coppola is actually appropriating and thus ‘reclaiming’ the male gaze that would otherwise objectify Johansson. Or, that Coppola included the shot purely for its aesthetic value and thought no deeper on the subject. Allegedly, the shot is meant to replicate and subvert the works of American photorealist John Cacere, who often painted semi-clothed women voyeuristically.
None of these explanations, however, absolve Coppola from potentially falling prey to the male gaze in this moment, which is perhaps unexpected from a director said to champion the very opposite.
For those who are unfamiliar, ‘the male gaze’ as a term was first used by British art critic John Berger (yes, a man) in 1972 as part of his analysis of female nudes in European paintings. In 1975, ‘male gaze’ was coined by British film critic Laura Mulvey and it became one of the theories informing feminist approaches to cinema studies. Essentially, if a film employs the male gaze, whether intentionally or not, it centers male perspectives and positions its female characters as objects of heterosexual male desire.
One could easily assume that the female gaze, therefore, is a direct reversal of the male gaze asserting the prominence of female characters and perspectives, all while objectifying men. In reality, the female gaze is exceptionally difficult to pin down and define. The male gaze is often subverted or parodied by female directors, but even that doesn’t constitute a female gaze. Some even argue that the female gaze exists in any film directed by a woman, inherently. Television writer, director and showrunner Joey Soloway gave their own insight as to how they understood the concept at the 2016 Toronto Film Festival. Soloway argued that ‘the female gaze is really about using the presence of a female perspective on screen to emphasize the story’s emotions and characters.’ Based on this one definition alone, perhaps Coppola’s voyeuristic opening shot in Lost in Translation can be forgiven, as the rest of the film fits Soloway’s description.
Despite how murky our understanding of the female gaze is, the concept still manages to draw critique, particularly for how its earliest proposed definitions only really pertain to a narrow, more privileged type of woman. In 2004, queer philosopher and theorist Judith Butler described the female gaze of the time as ‘a pervasive heterosexism in feminist theory’. Feminist scholar and activist bell hooks, rather than expanding directly upon the female gaze, instead coined the
‘oppositional gaze’ when writing about white feminism dominating feminist film theory. In short, the oppositional gaze describes the ways in which black people are depicted on screen as repressed, or commonly not at all. The theory is also an intersectional one, which looks at how black women in particular are represented in film due to being marginalised in multiple ways. Some people, like television critic Emily Nussbaum, believe that the objectifying nature of the male gaze is intrinsic to all our screen media traditions and describes the term as:
“The notion that the camera lens, which has been trained to ogle and dominate, can change, in female hands, launching a radical new aesthetic.”
Overall, the female gaze is largely still in development and subject to debate, and as a film student I’d be very hesitant to refer to it in my own theoretical and critical essays. Yet somehow, it has become a term that many have now heard and some are even adopting.
It’s not unusual for academic or professional jargon to make its way onto social media and be misappropriated entirely. We’ve seen it happen with ‘triggered’, ‘queerbaiting’ and various other terms, whose meanings become watered down and reductive. A few months ago, ‘female gaze’ underwent a similar phenomenon despite its definition in the film theory world being heavily contested and in development. An extra layer of ambiguity has been added to an already murky term upon entering the public consciousness, and it’s actually lowering our standards when it comes to representing women on screen.
A quick search of ‘female gaze’ on TikTok yields never-ending results that attach the term to specific types of men, fashion and makeup styles, songs, films, haircuts, photographs, the list goes on.
Interestingly, the female gaze on TikTok is more often than not expressed as an oppositional binary. One video posits that certain images of a female kpop star embody the male gaze, whilst other images of the very same celebrity embody the female gaze. This seems to be part of a wider trend also used to showcase peoples’ newly evolved senses of style. In this type of content, the main difference between the alleged male and female gazes seems to be dressing in a less-revealing way, and being more bold and artistic in presentation. Generally, the new dress senses revealed tend to be equivalent to their predecessors in terms of actual gender role subversion, but are just more up to date with current fashion trends.
In many ways, the female gaze on TikTok has become an aesthetic. One Tiktok creator shares how, as an adult, they decided to venture out of their comfort zone and ‘[go] for the female gaze look’. The look in question? A short, textured bob haircut with bangs. Many comments under the video criticise the creator for their bizarre use of the term. However, the video did still manage to garner over 400,000 likes, suggesting that many others understand ‘female gaze’ similarly.
All while the female gaze has been gaining traction, prominent TikTok personality Anna Paul (@anna..paull) has been on a steady rise, now having reached a new height of stardom where she releases her own merchandise and will soon tour the country to host meet and greets. Anna Paul is known for her bubbly demeanor and exciting vlogs showing her lavish lifestyle, which she openly credits to her success as an OnlyFans (OF) creator. I won’t lie, I do enjoy Anna Paul’s TikToks, however frivolous they may be, and really respect her commitment to spreading positivity. I also recall her once mentioning that the majority of her OF subscribers are women. There is no official source available that can confirm or deny this claim, but if what Anna Paul is saying is true, then there’s a chance she may have inadvertently stumbled into a variation of the female gaze on OFOnlyFans and capitalised on it.
This is a big claim, and is thus purely speculative, but it’s important to note that Anna Paul’s OF content is not explicitly queer, and it features either herself alone or with her boyfriend. Earlier this year, she did come out as bisexual, but this was even after she made it into the top 0.01 percent of all OF creators, so it doesn’t really explain why she appeals to women.
It’s amusing to think that a concept undefinable by academics and misappropriated by TikTok users could have a stronger case made for itself in an influencer’s self-made pornography. In saying this, however, it assumes that if the female gaze does exist, it’s something women would want to consume. Maybe Anna Paul has a predominantly female OF following without rejecting the male gaze?
One theory I’ve come up with is that in sharing so much of her life with the internet, those subscribed to Anna Paul’s OF feel a more personal, intimate connection when consuming her content. Furthermore, she begins to appear so humanised in their minds that it feels more ethical to watch her content than other forms of pornography. Perhaps this phenomenon, if it’s real, is more common among women than men.
I want to cast your mind back to the Joey Soloway quote I mentioned earlier:
The female gaze is really about using the presence of a female perspective on screen to emphasize the story’s emotions and characters.
Is this not what Anna Paul does? She vlogs her everyday from her perspective, and the content and tone of each video is entirely determined by how she feels and what she wants to show her audience. The content Anna Paul uploads to OF is flavoured by what people see in her TikToks and is almost inseparable from her own, female perspective.
I’m not so naive to think I’ve stumbled upon something big here. I’m a first-year film student, not a theorist or critic, and I don’t think it’s particularly new or illuminating to say that there are aspects of what could form a female gaze in almost all media produced by women, even pornography. I think my discussion of Anna Paul and my criticism of TikTok’s usage of ‘female gaze’ should raise a point of asking ourselves why we want to define the term in the first place. Is it a matter of purely aesthetics (à la TikTok trends), or do we want to liberate and advance female storytelling? How can we claim to be sick of the male gaze when we keep on consuming media that embodies it? Can we ever escape it? Clearly, I don’t have all the answers, but maybe they don’t come from rigorous analysis and academic debate. Maybe, if we pay a bit more
attention to what subconsciously attracts or entices us infilm, or even on OnlyFans, we will then know all.
Fiction is the cornerstone of reality. It’s trite and somewhat obvious to point out that the world is the way we think it is. But if you spend enough time with this truth, it will become too comfortable, too familiar. I had become quite comfortable within it myself. If you were to tell me five days and 12 hours ago that two of the most influential men in my life were in fact stories I invented, I probably would have said “Sorry, I’m running late to a Roald Dahl movie I’m watching with my Mum called To Olivia.” But, if you had told me this fact just two hours later, I probably would have stopped and listened.
The little role my Godfather played in my life counted for a lot. It was a birthday present. A book wrapped in puzzle-piece paper. George’s Marvellous Medicine by Roald Dahl. On my seventh birthday, I was able to read independently, and I decided that I liked it. Compared to corporate author H. I. Larry’s Zac Power, Dahl’s voice felt like it was respectful of its audience. It was tender and understanding, as though the nonsensical story was really the sort of thing grown-ups couldn’t understand. I proceeded to read everything he had ever written. And then I read it all again.
My ninth birthday party was Roald Dahl-themed. I know. Still the coolest party I’ve ever been to. My parents spent money they didn’t have to bring Dahl’s fiction into reality. My Dad has a degree in fine arts, which he used to recreate Blake’s illustrations. Somehow, he found time to do that in-between looking after four kids, studying for his third tertiary qualification, working two jobs, and being married to his one wife. My Mum invented and ran the games, she always brings an indefatigable spark of wonder into everything and everyone she touches. It was her idea to replace party bags with copies of Dahl’s books wrapped in brown paper with string.
Dahl’s melody was the song my childhood sang.
My favourite book was Danny the Champion of the World. Danny lives alone with his father; they fix cars together and live an altogether simple and fulfilling life. Danny believes his life can be improved only with his mother, who died during childbirth. Danny discovers a dark side to his father, an addiction to hunting. He uses his intelligence to invent a pheasant hunting strategy so endlessly humane and ruthlessly efficient as to end the moral dilemmas forever associated with the likes of Robin Hood.
I was desperately envious of Danny. I idolised my dad. If only I could spend time with him as Danny got with his dad. I borrowed an engineering book from the library when I was 10 so that I could talk to my dad about cars. I just assumed that he liked cars, because that’s the sort of thing manly men like him liked. I studied that book and bided my time to flex my newfound automobile-relevant knowledge. I remember sucking up the courage to tap him on the shoulder and pose:
“So…what do you think of split differential systems? Pretty cool right?”
He responded:
“…yep.”
Dad wasn’t really a car guy. He does like Troop Carriers though.
Dahl’s voice guided me along a path to the classics. A path which led me to Sherlock Holmes, to my first celebrity crush Jane Eyre (Yes. My first celebrity crush was the fictional character, Jane Eyre. The very same Jane Eyre referred to as ‘plain’ ‘unattractive’ and ‘ill-humoured.’ I don’t know what I saw in her), to Samuel Beckett, Pink Floyd and the Beatles, Thomas Hobbes, Baudrillard, and to the ANU. The parts of me that love reading and writing, the parts of me which led me to write these words sometimes feel like they aren’t mine. I feel like I inherited these from him. I brought all my Roald Dahl books to Canberra. When I see the spines of his work looking down on me from my bookshelf, I feel like my essays aren’t really mine either.
A part of me is indisputably Roald Dahl. But…for all my discipleship I didn’t really know him. I didn’t know that his daughter died of measles before he published Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I didn’t know that his wife was an actor. I didn’t know that he was an alcoholic. I didn’t know that he was exceptionally good at making breakfast. In fact, these details of his life rudely found themselves in my head only recently.
To Olivia is a film about Roald and his wife coming to terms with the untimely demise of their eldest daughter. Well, that’s the plot. The film is really about looking at our storytellers as well as listening to them. That’s the part that I didn’t like. It felt offensive to see Dahl drunkenly yell at his wife and daughter. It was hurtful to see him sprawled on his bed. And disappointing to see him fail to love and care for the people he was supposed to provide for. His voice, the one I saw berate his wife and child, was the voice I had allowed so innocently into my life. The man I saw on screen seemed to be entirely distinct from the man who authored my childhood.
I was the sort of person who read books – you know the type. I was excluded, by my own apprehensions, from every team sport I ever tried. But my dad also read many books, he recommended many of the influential works in my life that I listed above. In all honesty, I don’t really know why a split differential system is cool…and if someone were to ask me if it was cool, I would probably just say ‘…yep’ as well. Falsely, I assumed that my dad was someone alien to me. But when Dahl was exposed as alien, I was better able to appreciate the similarities I had failed to see growing up.
I have always struggled with sleep. I like thinking and action too much to find rest fulfilling. I started sleeping easier during the heights of puberty, but as I mature, I feel the dregs of familiar nocturnalism returning. We were living in Wagga Wagga at the time. The summer nights were sticky and hot. You would sleep without a shirt to stay cool, and the sheets would cling to your skin. It was probably around one or two in the morning. Insects hummed outside in the way that sounds like rain.
I crept out of my room into the hallway. The L.E.D. kitchen light was on. Usually, that meant Mum and Dad were still awake, a signal to go back to bed. I didn’t go back to bed. Maybe it was to avoid the boredom of my bedroom ceiling, maybe it was because I found the silence disquieting; I don’t know what led me to the edge of that room. When I peaked in, I saw my dad hunched over the kitchen table. He was wearing a white singlet and shorts. His face was buried in his arms. I noticed the way the muscles in his shoulders flexed as they gently shook. I think he was crying.
I am now the same age my dad was when he met my mum. The pressures he bore on those shoulders are becoming more intelligible to me. I am becoming a man who, like his father at this age, may one day play the role of fatherhood. Fathers are born, dads are made. Any man can be a father. But dads are made by men possessing dignity, responsibility, and tender love. Dads can also be made by little boys who feel unalterably alone amongst a sea of people noticeably different from them. One day I may need to make a dad out of myself too.
A lot of stories go into making a person. I used to have this idea that fiction lived on the peripheral vision of reality. Now I think that reality is made of fiction. My dad was a story I told myself. Roald Dahl was a story I told myself. Deep down I know that I was the author of their story. When I felt alone, I invented a dad out of a disembodied name on the front of my favourite book. If only I knew I didn’t need another one. This pretty average film forced me to see as fiction that which I had written to be reality. Maybe that takes it from 5/10 to 6.5/10.
Originally published in Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 4 ‘Alien’
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
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It’s been two years since current indie It Girl, Phoebe Bridgers released her second studio album Punisher. It’s also been two years since I had a breakdown in the parking lot of a Service NSW building (think Access Canberra) after failing my drivers’ test for the second time. No, these two occasions weren’t related. But a large concrete parking lot would be the perfect space to sit and listen to the harrowing screeches of I Know The End.
Punisher is about finding solace during the apocalyptic and the mundane. During a natural disaster or moving into college. During an alien invasion or attending Sunday mass. During the end of the world or being overstimulated by clearance sale signs in a shopping centre. According to Bridgers, these phenomena are one and the same. On Punisher’s second birthday, I think it’s important to revisit several tracks from the album.
i.
In Garden Song, Bridgers affirms universal truths of millennial culture. She sings of moving away from a hostile hometown; “I grew up here, till it all went up in flames / Except the notches in the door frame” and attempting to navigate a complicated college experience; “Then it’s a dorm room, like a hedge maze.” These chapters are difficult. High school cliques, academic pressures, and friends and family passing away leave you bruised. Flashbacks of embarrassing O-Week activities keep you humbled. But Bridgers sings “Everything’s growing in our garden / You don’t have to know that it’s haunted” stressing that reason, and beauty, and peace, can be cultivated from all the violence. We have the ability to transform our trauma into something or someone better.
ii.
In Chinese Satellite, Bridgers attempts to find meaning in the world. She sings “I want to believe / Instead, I look at the sky and I feel nothing.” We hear the yearning, longing and desperation in her voice. She wants to buy into aliens or religion. She wants to have these beliefs handed to her on fringe corners of the internet or by a local pastor. It would be comforting to know that there’s a constant, stronger presence. In a 2020 interview, Bridgers reveals “If I’m being honest, this song is about turning 11 and not getting a letter from Hogwarts, just realising that nobody’s going to save me from my life.” I too want to believe. I want to believe that the cost of living will go down, that governments will commit to greater climate action, and that everything will be okay in the end. That a grey alien or a God has everything planned out. Bridgers concludes Chinese Satellite singing “I want to believe / That if I go outside I’ll see a tractor beam / Coming to take me to where I’m from / I want to go home” and I just know that by home she is referring to the innocence and naivety of early childhood. Before we understood all the pressures of contemporary society.
iii.
In Kyoto, Bridgers learns to live with those pressures of contemporary society. She sings “I’ve been driving out to the suburbs / To park at the Goodwill / And stare at the chemtrails / With my little brother.” She sits in a large concrete parking lot (me and her are so similar!) and considers her existence. She acknowledges that she can’t change some social and political circumstances. If our tiny little voices can’t completely overhaul the system, should we simply attempt to thrift at second-hand stores, slowly pressure governments, and enjoy time with friends and family instead? Later, on the title-track Punisher, Bridgers laments “The drugstores are open all night”. In a 2018 diary entry, Bridgers writes “Before shows, I often go for a walk. Nine times out of ten, if I see a CVS, I will go in, and nine times out of ten I will buy nothing.” Bridgers may as well find some comfort in the neon storefront lights of all night pharmacies or the colourful, laden shelves inside.
iv.
In I Know The End, Bridgers describes the end of the world. She sings of the skaters, and surfers, and other fringe groups who have all but disappeared; “Not even the burnouts are out here anymore” and little moments spent with friends and family as time all but runs out; “Out in the park, we watch the sunset / Talking on a rusty swing set.” This line evokes images of people huddled together as an asteroid or planet collides with Earth. Bridgers doesn’t care that, “Over the coast, everyone’s convinced / It’s a government drone or an alien spaceship.” No, she is “Driving out into the sun / [Letting] the ultraviolet cover [her] up”. She completely embraces the intense, raging fire. “The end is near.” “The end is here”. It is both. Approaching and surrounding. On the horizon and at the shores. We hear people screaming. We hear cymbals and horns and electric guitars. And then we hear Bridgers join in, violently screaming over the top of everyone else, fully surrendering herself, and allowing herself to feel some sort of catharsis in all the chaos.
The cover art of Punisher shows Bridgers dressed in her iconic skeleton suit staring up at a mysterious red glow in the night sky. We are left guessing the source of the light. Is it the lights of a nearby shopping centre? Is it a government drone? Is it an alien spaceship? According to Bridgers, there’s not much of a difference anyway.
Originally published in Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 4 ‘Alien’
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
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