scenic footscray m8

scenic footscray m8

some day i will write very important documents about the colonisation and co-opting of entheogenic cultural practises by the white supremacist capitalist patriarchy and It Will Destroy U 

blackhistoryalbum:

TANGLED ROOTS BY PHILLIPE FARAUT | 2008
Earthenware clay sculpture by Philippe Faraut, 2008. Click Images to Enlarge

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grammage:

beard update: NO BEARD

mex 

grammage:

beard update: NO BEARD

mex 

approximately50snakes said: that story was so beautiful and made me Feel Things so i did some googling and it's by someone called nathan besser and it was published in "the best australian stories 2004". thank u for sharing it <3

OMG thank u so much i knew the name was nathan someone!! i will edit it now!! and yeah i read it when i was 15, they had it at the p mod library and it was like the most beautiful thing i’d ever read ;_; i only just got a copy of it back from my friend after not having it for years so you are v welcome i am v glad to be able to share it!! 

letter to the drowned

You have become part of it. Part of the water. Our last time together, you were surrounded by water. It became everything, became you. The thick, weightless calm it gave your body. I remember your arms floating beside you, and a snake of bubbles leaving your mouth, approaching the surface. I can’t drive the image from my mind.

I’d watch you smoke on the back step. Your eyelids wincing as you pulled smoke into your mouth. The crackle of burning tobacco and the simultaneous glow, illuminating your face. You only smoked once a day. It was always on the back step, alone. Usually around 11 p.m. Sometimes on weekends, it would be when the sun was rising. You seemed happiest in summer, when the cicadas buzzed, and the air was tepid. Did you know I watched you every time?

I remember our first meeting like it was yesterday. We spoke for half an hour about how much we hated parties. We were at a party. You were wearing a white skirt and a blouse. Your hair fell around your shoulders. We escaped and swam together in Gordon’s Bay.

The water was cold and we shivered and laughed. I remember thinking that such serendipity was only reserved for drunkenness. Was I right? Perhaps the last fifteen years were drunken. Now that it is gone, that you are gone, that I am gone, I consider it possible.

On the days that I noticed it, I never mentioned it. But I wanted to. The sea was rising, but you wouldn’t have believed me. Or even worse, you would have dismissed it as unimportant. I felt the rising tide most intensely when you went to the toilet in the middle of the night. I always woke up. Your flat feet on the carpet.

The twisted, creased sheets which marked your empty space on our bed. I always wondered what you did in the bathroom. Sometimes you were gone for half an hour or even more. It was at those times I first felt the tide. The sound of the waves growing louder beyond our window.

The spreading white of a broken wave reaching closer and closer towards us like tentacles. And when you returned to bed, as you always did, it felt like part of you was left behind. If you noticed I was awake, you put your hand on my forehead. You had renewed energy to touch me. But it didn’t last long. You kissed me as a mother kisses her child and then fell back asleep. I asked you if the waves seemed louder, but you said no, they didn’t seem louder.

I woke up each morning with a strange feeling. It felt like I had crushed something delicate in my sleep. I woke up scared to move. Scared to make further damage. And each night I fell asleep, wary. I was lying on a bed of glass. What could I do? Do you know how awful it was to feel powerless?

I don’t know why these things come to mind. They are scattered, living things. They are not memories, because they still breathe as living things do. And now you will read them, and the pages will become part of the water. The pulp will emulsify into nothing. I sometimes wonder if it’s the same water that we swam in, the first time we met. Maybe I began drowning then and failed to see it?

At first when I took my daily stroll along the beach, I thought the tides were simply in high cycle. But then, I found myself retreating further and further towards the base of the escarpment. I didn’t think much of it – it was normal for these things to happen.
Wdiscussed it one morning when we swam together. Once again you said nothing had changed. I presumed you were right. Often, I thought you were right. You used to wear that straw hat when you worked outside. It lasted so long, that hat. The meshed, white straw made an arched shadow on your face. There were sparkles of light mingled amongst the shadow.
You were good to those children. You built a child-care centre out of the back of our house. I thought that was a good idea. When I occasionally left my work to help you with the children, I was always amazed at your kindness. It was effortless.
The way you stroked their heads and took them by the hand and lifted them onto your hip. I wished I could have brought you children of your own. I can’t imagine how much you wanted your own child. You said it didn’t matter. I didn’t believe you.
It was not long after that when the ocean climbed even higher. I had to jump off the rocks to swim. The beach had disappeared. I didn’t really mind. The feeling of moss and barnacles under my feet pleased me. They became brown and calloused. I opened my eyes under water when It was clear, and swam with the fish. I guess I made the most of it.
You didn’t want to swim very much anymore. When your mother died, I didn’t understand how deeply it affected you. I just supposed your grief lasted a long time. But I think, maybe, you were grieving for more than your motherHer funeral was small. There was only a handful of people. You and I, and your brotherfamily.
You stayed up all night talking to him. You sat on the couch with your legs curled under you. It was nice to see you with your family. There were faint bags under your eyes, and redness in your cheeks. I remember seeing strands of your curly, dark hair sticking to your face from tears. Your lips were swollen from crying. I thought you looked beautiful.
You came to me for comfort. I held you and you trembled in my arms. Why did I enjoy that so much? Soon after, the water was only a few metres from our home. It had risen up the escarpment, where our house was perched. The one thing we equally loved. The sound of children playing in the back.
The weather boards that we repainted every five years. That old tyre swing in which your brothers children loved more than the both of us put together. The weathervane that became rusty from the sea air. Our red front door. It really was a beautiful home. I couldn’t swim anymore and you closed the day-care centre.
The water was lapping at our backdoor. Think, rising swirls of sea foam against our window. I didn’t want to mention it. I figured you were still grieving. We lay in our home, silently. You smoked in the loungeroom. The wisps of smoke climbing over the bookcase.

Water started trickling through the roof, and between the cracks of the walls. It dripped from the ceiling in solitary beads. The sound reminded me of your feet on the carpet. I tried holding you, but you just lit another cigarette. You never told me to leave you alone. I felt like a fawning pet nagging at your leg. I said we needed to leave to survive.

You didn’t agree, but you didn’t disagree. All our time, I had wanted your loyalty. And now, I could only have it in death. I tried holding the water in pots and pans. It was a last desperate attempt to contain it. But it didn’t work. They overflowed quickly. The popping sound of water on water was deafening. I could see thick currents churning against our windows.

Seaweed washed past, and rocks rolled underneath our foundations with the sound of an abacus. I threatened to leave. I wanted us to leave together. You said you wouldn’t. We were drowning, I said. You said it didn’t matter. I wanted to take you, but you wouldn’t come. 

You were indifferent. I broke through the bedroom window as the water climbed towards our ceiling. Your hair was swimming around you slowly. It looked like the seaweed at our window. Light filtered through the water.

Your pale skin was blue, almost transparent. You were looking at me as I swam towards the surface, my lungs burning. You wouldn’t move. Our eyes met. You looked away and I broke through the surface, gasping.

— 

Nathan Besser, Best Australian Stories 2004 

artwork from Let Love In - Paola Balla (Footscray Community Arts Centre, Gabriel Gallery)

artwork from Let Love In - Paola Balla (Footscray Community Arts Centre, Gabriel Gallery)

brntsienna:

 

Cesar Chavez (2014)

(Source: sans-noctis, via lastrealindians)

babeobaggins:

someone has to kill me

po says if we knew drake he would definitely have a crush on me and i’m just going to cling to that fantasy world forever until the end of time 

(Source: wordonrd, via foxxxynegrodamus)

(Source: chapstyk, via nickjonasstillhasdiabetes)