BOOK TITLE: The Australia Times - Life & Love magazine. Volume 2, issue 5

Choose your own
June 2014Vol. 2 No: 5
Cover image courtesy of Jilian Elena
Image Credit: http://jillianelenaphotography.tumblr.com/
Independent Media Inspiring Minds
Welcome to the May issue of Life & Love.
This month is all about the journey…
The voyage, the expedition, the mission,
outing, excursion, getaway, the escape. This
issue, we uncover what it’s like living a month
‘off the grid’ (yep, that’s right - sans
smartphone!), we take you on a memoir of a
city overowing with vibrant history and
intrigue, we delve into the art of removing
yourself in order to nd yourself, and we
discover the perks and problems of dating a
narcissist (seles and all) – plus there’s oodles
more for you to explore.
So what are you waiting for?
The adventure starts here…
Ames xx
Deputy Editor:
The Adventure Starts Here...
Independent Media Inspiring Minds4
Image Credits: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=482770991805383&set=a.350405705041913.83178.196230503792768&type=1&theater
The Adventure Starts Here...
Independent Media Inspiring Minds 5
An enigmatic place in the afterlife
Where souls were saved from the torments of hell,
Yet starved from the splendours of heaven.
Fancying this notion as strangely beautiful and poetic,
I toyed with the pleasure of ‘life in limbo’.
A delicate indulgence;
Until the truth uncovered itself.
Suffering through an indefinite state
Purgatory, a grey area - undefined.
Where clarity and certainty exist
In an unreachable impossibility.
How did I get here? My mind was made up -
I had it planned to a tee!
What I would say
His reaction; my reaction.
It was textbook perfect, prepared with precision
No chance of escape.
Life in limbo
By Amy Dorrington
Independent Media Inspiring Minds6 Independent Media Inspiring Minds6
To rebuild that trust
I needed more time,
To find out if our feelings could ever realign.
I craved the control that had faded
Like washed up denim,
Distressed from wear and tear.
Somewhere in between
Losing us, I lost the pleasure
Of life in limbo.
Once an opportunity for fresh starts
Now paralysed by fear.
Neither knowing which road to take,
Only armed with the knowledge
That we once loved,
Now at war.
To risk reconciliation;
Call a truce?
Ambiguity, hesitation and doubt
Eating away at the mind.
But the heart fancies the notion
As strangely beautiful and poetic,
A life in limbo no more.
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Image Credits: http://www.ickr.com/photos/52084674@N08/12589610204
and http://www.ickr.com/photos/49070845@N04/5934690168/
Independent Media Inspiring Minds 7
By Victoria Schladetsch
How To Survive
30 Days
"Off The Grid"
It began as an off-the-cuff remark from
my partner, who was fed up with
interrupted conversations, interrupted
meals, interrupted sex, interrupted
general ow of life, thanks to my not-so-
healthy relationship with my phone.
“You need to learn to disconnect,” he said
sorely. “All this stress you’ve been bottling
up is probably linked to your bad phone
habits. You’d be surprised how much time
you’d have if you just switched it off once in
a while.”
I’m sure I would’ve screwed my face up in
response. How could I just switch it off? My
whole life is in there - my daily schedule, my
emails, my friends’ phone numbers, my
music, my Facebook, my banking, my
google maps, my meal planners, even my
exercise videos and diary entries. I adore
having conversations with Siri in the morning.
“Siri, what is the weather today?”
“It looks like it’s going to be a nice day
today. 33 degrees and sunny.”
“Thanks Siri! Now, what does the fox say?”
“Hahaha. Siri, I love you.”
“I hope you don’t say it to those other
mobile phones.”
And so it goes. When I decided to switch off
my phone (and Facebook, that
narcissistically addictive online drug of
choice) for a whole month, I was taking the
lead from a friend who’d done the same. I
remember thinking she was incredibly gutsy
to do so. How else would you coordinate
lunch dates, Friday night drinks, share the
latest goss and petitions and life events – I
rarely know peoples’ emails anymore thanks
to Facebook Messenger, in the same way
that remembering people’s phone numbers
became obsolete with the mobile phone.
I began to wonder - what are the true
Independent Media Inspiring Minds10
repercussions of disconnecting from your
social network? The more I thought about
it, the more I felt prepared to give it a shot.
I wanted to read more, to do more, to live
more, to be more. This was my chance to
prove to myself that I am more than what is
within my phone. At 11.59pm, I slid my nger
across the screen to switch off.
Day 1.
I blame my iPhone alarm, but by default
the rst thing I do each morning is check
my phone - to hit snooze, to check random
Facebook and text messages received after
midnight, to gaze bleary-eyed at emails from
U.S. agencies sent during their otherworldly
working hours.
This morning, I didn’t, and couldn’t reach
for my phone. It was already switched off,
stored away in the back of my wardrobe.
That thing isn’t coming out for a month, I
promised myself.
Instead, I reached for my work mobile. I
couldn’t switch that off, I reasoned. I was
obliged to keep it on for work purposes.
What if someone rang from work? Or a
client? What if I got an important email? I
went straight into my work emails, feeling
virtuous that I didn’t have access to
Facebook or any of my other personal apps.
It took all of two minutes to feel guilty. What’s
the point of a phone detox if you’re just
going to use another one? It’s like an
alcoholic putting down one bottle of spirits
with good intentions and picking up another.
I made a deal with myself - I would switch
it on only during work hours, hide it in a
drawer and disable access to emails. I felt
a dull sense of anxiety throughout the day,
like something was missing. When evening
came, I was at a loss as to what to do with
myself, without the pull of Facebook or
people to call. I lay on my back on the oor
of the living room, eating handfuls of rice
crackers whilst swilling cheap champagne
and listening to Mike Patton. The restlessness
remained, but it was kind of nice to feel a
little purposeless.
Day 2.
I get to work with an urge to check
Facebook, but don’t want to face the
social embarrassment of having my online
status seen now that I’ve publicly declared
my techno-detox. I even have a eeting
thought of sneaking online in the middle of
the night just to change my status to ofine,
so that no-one could see me check in
intermittently. Sheepishly, I talk myself out of
By the end of the day I nd myself emailing
funny online videos to my friends, with the
disclaimer that I can still waste time online if I
want to…right??
Day 4.
I wake up with no real agenda, and take a
lovely walk in the Autumn sunshine with my
atmate. She asks about how the
detox is going. “I can’t explain it,” I say. “I just
feel like I have the capacity to think all of a
sudden.” I tell her how much time exactly I
spend plugged in. “Well, I wake up with my
phone in my hand to switch the alarm off,
check emails…then I’m on the train with my
headphones in, iTunes and Facebook
running simultaneously. Then, I get to work
and spend 8 hours in front of the computer –
navigating Outlook,
databases, spreadsheets, social media –
then I jump back on a train with my
headphones back in, get home and chill out
in front of the computer until bedtime.”
I turn to my atmate, feeling a little embar-
rassed. I’d just realized that I spend up to
15 hours a day in the virtual world. Minus 8
hours of sleep, that leaves me maybe one
hour of free time “in the real world” per day.
Little wonder I’d been feeling stressed.
Day 7.
I’m asked by one of my dear friends why I
haven’t been replying to his Facebook
messages lately.
Independent Media Inspiring Minds 11
“Dude. You know I’m not using it at the
moment, right??”
“Well - Facebook says you’re online! Are you
lying about your status to me?”
Because we all ultimately trust Messenger
more than the word of our friends, clearly.
I’m a bit perplexed - have I been logged in
without realising it? It’s not until I open Spotify
that I recall that I usually login via my
Facebook account for ease of
access - same as my Airbnb, Outlook,
Instagram accounts, and so the list goes on.
How entwined is Facebook into our virtual
accounts and signatures? I realise that all
these linked applications mean I’m never
truly ofine on Facebook unless I fully disable
my own account - a disconcerting thought.
Day 14.
It’s been two weeks, and the frustration of
being disconnected from my friends via the
usual communication channels starts to feel
overwhelming. One of my ready-to-pop
pregnant friends is due any day now, and
the fact that I can’t contact her directly
makes me uneasy. Would she think that I
just don’t care? I buy her a post-pregnancy
Pilates book to send with a card.
The friends who said they’d email me
haven’t, and the friends who said they’d
write to me certainly have not. I even have
to demand my partner to write me a card
because he can’t call or message me.
He writes me a little note on the back of a
postcard, and promises a longer letter is on
its way. I wonder if I will ever receive it.
Day 21.
It’s been three weeks, and whilst I don’t miss
Facebook, I do miss my phone. I make a
drastic decision - the phone is coming back
on, if only to be switched off during certain
hours of the day. In all honesty, it doesn’t sit
well. I feel like I’ve failed my quest by
caving in early.
I get the phone out of the cupboard, press
the top button and wait for that familiar
apple icon to appear, slowly loading the
contents of my past. The rst minute is a whir
of messages, voicemail alerts, call
notications. Nothing important, no-one
died, no disasters. Just a few nice messages
from friends, and a million missed calls from
mum and dad. After making a few calls to
check in on friends, I switch it back off. I
decide that maybe I don’t need it after all.
Day 31.
Logging back into Facebook for the rst time
in 30 days is exciting for all of 30 seconds.
My rst 1/2 hour is spent responding to the
myriad messages and posts sent whilst I was
away. And then I start scrolling. It’s lovely to
see familiar faces, but I can feel time
evaporate in that familiar way it used to. Is it
that easy to fall back into habits?
I make a decision. I get up. I switch the
computer off. And go outside to do
something real with my life. It seems life goes
on, beyond the grid.
Independent Media Inspiring Minds12
Independent Media Inspiring Minds 13
Image Credits: http://www.ickr.com/photos/29360156@N04/5124236832/
Jilian Elena Photography, http://jillianelenaphotography.tumblr.com/post/83348987007
is a
Photos and words By K. Felice
Mufed sounds repeated to
invade the silence.
Overwhelmed, claustrophobic-
We hide behind intimidation that
followed fear.
Afraid of losing our voice,
Terried of losing all control.
Walls form enclosure-
There’s no way in, and there’s no way out.
Inside will always remain a shadow of the
An external face, a reminder- walls that
surrender to broken dreams.
What began as scarce, now becomes
sacred. A divide built between government
empowered communism, and enforced
freedom within democracy.
This, is Berlin.
I look around, oblivious to the people around
me. Consumed in the doom that once stood
before me only decades ago.
Matching resemblance within towers of
concrete that block civil rights and torture
the weak.
Or at least they were made to feel like that.
I’d let myself believe that.
That walls had been built in order to close
out those who could potentially affect us.
I imagine as if I were looking up at the
protection id put in place to deect the
What was referred to as the ‘cold war’, in
side I had known as just numb.
Independent Media Inspiring Minds14
For those who attempted to ght back,
refused to surrender, were consequently
shot. The wall symbolised power, no one
dare look inferior.
Falling like prey.
Addicted to domination.
They did not necessarily believe in it, but it
was easier to control.
Isolated, factitious
Helpless to the eye of the storm.
Unlike the people of Eastern Europe, I stood
there looking up at the remains of the Berlin
wall, questioning the end. From WWII, the
apocalypse that was the holocaust, the
Cold War, is there a day when we don’t fear
for the next testimony?
For every day I feared the collapse of my
fortress that keep everyone ostracised, could
result in the pain and obscurity I
remember so well.
What appears like freedom can also mean
hurt. We are protected here-
This can only mean fear.
Behind these walls, can be quite lonely
Do we risk it all, for the face of dishonesty?
For speech untrue, for the faces we once
Deterioration became of the Soviet Union,
however, the destruction of its people
We fear of what we can’t control, envy
those who take the leap, and bury failure.
So willing to challenge what sight enables us
to see, but not hurt we are forced to feel.
Art became the healing of abolishment, and
with that their voice, an obscurity of rivalry
became a landmark.
My heart stops. Only for a second, and I
think, sceptical - can this be it?
Sheltered but alone
Safe but anxious
Secluded and numb.
A moment in time stuck in consciousness.
For a painted face never reveals lies behind
taunted eyes.
I turn my head away
But my heart will remain.
But my heart
will remain.
I turn my head away
Independent Media Inspiring Minds 15
Independent Media Inspiring Minds 17
Forty Eight Hours Short
By Catherine Whelan
Independent Media Inspiring Minds18
Image Credits: http://www.ickr.com/photos/19907124@N00/57532163/
Why didn’t you hold on for just two more
days? Forty-eight hours. A snippet of time in
your almost ninety two years.
I was coming to see you.
To feast on the warmth and comfort of your
withered, wizened face, to hear your
tinkling laughter as you cracked slightly
inappropriate jokes about the old geezer
down the hall climbing into bed with you. My
hands aching for the touch of your
familiar bony clasp held so often and
lovingly, my body desperately in need of
your rose scented hug.
No longer a need for you to scoot over in
your bed for me to sit close, your body so
tiny and now minus a leg you so cheekily
called Matilda.
Fond childhood memories. So many of them
revolve around you: school holidays staying
at your house so far from ours,
excitement and country freedom, walking to
the main street for a bag of mixed lollies and
shopping for you: Ford pills and
salmon paste. The magnicent blue
bedroom with frills and ounces. I still have
dreams of being in this room with my sisters.
You and I sleeping through the tornado that
tore through town. Allowing me to carefully
polish the delicate china in your beautiful
cabinet that now sits proudly in my hallway.
You sitting through all eighty-two
competitors at my dance competition to see
me announced as the winner, and your
subsequent retelling of that day for many
years after.
We shared a mutual love of books and
shufed many between us over the years. As
well as secret chocolates.
Even though you had ve offspring of your
own and a horde of grandchildren and
great grandies, you continued to be sharp
as a button and remembered their names
and what they were up to. A proud family
You were my happy place, so alike we
You had always been there encouraging
and cheering my way through each life
milestone. Never judging, just providing me
with love and open mindedness.
I knew you were not much longer to be
ours. I mentioned this urgency to my partner
whom I wanted you to meet, and love. My
desire was for you to know that now I am
happy and well-loved as you wanted.
Our visit was planned for Easter Saturday.
I bought your favourite chocolates.
The call came on Holy Thursday.
You couldn’t wait for me.
How distraught I was not to see your cheeky
grin again, to hold you in my arms as you
once held me. I wanted to tell you I loved
you before you left me for always.
I was so angry with you as I stomped down
my hallway. Why couldn’t you wait? Didn’t
you know I was coming one last time?
Something bumped into me. My accusing
glare melted away when I realised the
offending item. Your china cabinet.
You knew.
Even now you were reassuring me,
comforting me like only a Grandmother
Independent Media Inspiring Minds 19
By Daniel Walmsley
February was not a great month for me.
Summer was quickly being enveloped by
the looming university semester and the work
year ahead had already well and truly
begun. It’s times like these when life decides
to throw us a few extra stressors, seemingly
for no other reason than to make life even
harder. As if seeing ex’s repeatedly in the
street wasn’t bad enough, my gearbox shat
itself and my wisdom teeth refused to be
ignored any longer. And with nancial stress
already in the extremes, the combined total
of $3000 for car and teeth was enough to
send me into a scal crisis I may never get
out of. And the sight of one’s ex is enough to
drive anybody’s blood pressure through the
roof. It all seemed like one giant ‘f**k you’
from the universe; a person can only take so
much, right. At the risk of developing a mild
twitch, I irrationally needed to escape. So
I did what all sensible men and women do
when the going gets tough: I took a
vacation. At short notice I cashed in my
annual leave from work, booked plane
tickets, found my way to the airport and
seated myself at the bar; book in hand, I was
Sitting alone at Black Pony café in Coogee
Beach on a Wednesday morning felt
moreish and indulgent. I briey thought
about back home in Brisbane; not only
would work have been business as usual but
it was also the rst day of the uni semester.
But I wouldn’t be there for any of it. It sounds
terribly irresponsible I know, but I rationalised
that logistically there wasn’t a chance of me
making it to class, even if I caved last
minute; I was in another state. With each
liberating breath I could literally feel the
tension releasing from my body; I had
managed the great escape, I was free. It
was then that I became acutely aware of
just how handsome the patronage of the
café was. After striking up a conversation
with my friend from a neighbouring table, I
agreed to meet them for a drink later that
week. I wondered what had warranted this
simple exchange? I realised that I didn’t
have any urban armour on me: laptop,
iPhone, textbook, and there was no need
for my usual sense of urgency. Was my
newfound state of bliss emanating from my
pores? I realise that a simple date isn’t that
exciting, but even one date seemed
excessive for someone that had had no
dates for over 6 months.
If we took a holiday…
Independent Media Inspiring Minds20
If we took a holiday…
Something within me had changed. I
rationalised that by physically removing
myself from my current situation at home,
I had subconsciously changed my mental
attitude, which now seemed to be physically
manifesting itself into wonderful things. Easier
said than done, right?
Not only do we have to work, we have
to work hard (cue ‘Work, Bitch’ by Britney
Spears). If you’re anything like me, every
moment of the working week is scheduled
with our mostly mandatory commitments.
Firstly, there’s our actual occupations.
Unfortunately we need this one, it pays the
bills and keeps us housed, clothed and fed.
This one usually takes up the most time and
generally leaves you physically and
emotionally exhausted. On top of this, many
of us have some form of tertiary education,
which mainly interferes with what would
preferably be stress-free television prime
time. Then there are our extracurricular
activities, most commonly consisting of some
form of physical activity: gym, yoga, Pilates,
tribal drumming etc. All this is planned
without even factoring in family and friend
commitments. I didn’t even have time to
write this article this month, yet here it is,
published. I understand we need schedules
to methodically complete the recipe of our
Independent Media Inspiring Minds 21
lives but from time-to-time our spirit will want
to run free and attempting to keep it
scheduled is like a time bomb. And I think it’s
as a result of this that when we are given the
opportunity for rest and relaxation we don’t
use it correctly (three day bender, anyone?)
I never said that life was joyless. The miracle
of the over-scheduled work week is Friday
night. For the uber busy, Friday night doesn’t
always fall on Friday night. I’m using Friday
night as a motif for the beginning of when
we nd a break in our schedule. We all
generally get at least one day off a week;
it might happen on a Wednesday, it might
happen on a Friday but it’s a moment in
time which is characterised by feelings of
sheer-excitement and euphoria. The
problem is, it’s short-lived and eeting and
as a result we’re forced to pack an absolute
shit-load of the most fabulous, outrageous
and indulgent things that life has to offer into
a conned amount of time. I’m not
suggesting it’s as regimented and
systematic as the work week calendar, but
it’s denitely a form of scheduling
(debauchery itinerary?) and, at times, it’s
equally exhausting. And therein lies the
problem with this vicious cycle: we work
hard, we play hard and we’re not giving
ourselves an adequate break.
I know the concept of ‘the holiday’ isn’t
something new. But this wasn’t an all
expenses paid, planned within an inch of
its life, two-weeks in Hawaii with the family.
What I was experiencing was very different
and the location was completely irrelevant.
I had found myself on what I like to call a
mental holiday.
The idea of this is simply about taking some
time just for yourself, away from the stresses
and concerns of
everyday life. You don’t have to necessarily
take a physical vacation, like me, you just
need to be able to nd a place where you
can silence your neuroses and switch the
attitude from negative to positive. I guess the
rst method that comes to mind is through
meditation. Now, I’m not recommending
you sit cross-legged with incense burning
and native American ute music playing in
the background - I’m far too cynical and
practical for that. It would merely irritate me.
For me, meditation is about mentally
removing yourself from a situation and
allowing yourself to relax in an impartial
space of your own, essentially nding your
own unique form of meditation. It could
be as simple as foregoing your Wednesday
night work-out, keeping the salmon and
veggies on ice and buying that angry
whopper you’ve been fantasizing about all
week (my personal favourite). The best part
is, you don’t have to part with a single
dollar if you can’t afford it or simply don’t
want to. But you can still give yourself a
break. It doesn’t really matter what you do,
just as long as you’re doing something
unscheduled and off-the-clock just for
yourself. I’m not suggesting that this is a
cure-all for the predicaments of your world,
but it’s a way of briey alleviating the stress
associated with these problems. Physically or
mentally removing yourself from a situation
also allows you the chance to relax and
reassess (calm your tits!). Once you’ve
composed yourself, you’re more able to
rationally approach a tense situation.
I don’t think an article has gone by where
I haven’t concluded with a paragraph on
balance. And this month is no exception. I
understand that it’s not always possible to up
and leave when the going gets tough, I was
simply fortunate that I was in a
position to do so. Did it solve all my
problems? Absolutely not. I came home
eventually and my problems were still there,
waiting for me on arrival (the most f**ked-up
welcome wagon, let me tell you). I
understand that part of life is handling times
of great stress maturely and responsibly but
you are also entitled to take a break if it’s
all too hard: y to Sydney, have a KitKat, do
something for yourself that makes you
happy, just take the edge off. Burn out is a
real thing, even if you are in your fabulous
20s and it’s important to understand what
your limits are. No amount of pressure is
worth reaching your breaking point.
Excuse me, your whopper is waiting.
Independent Media Inspiring Minds22
Image Credits: http://jillianelenaphotography.tumblr.com/post/84439874174
Dating a model:
why it's not that cool
by ‘The Lucky Chap’
Independent Media Inspiring Minds24
Let’s have modesty ung right into the wind
here. I’m an intelligent fella, charismatic to
boot, and above average in appearance.
While I haven’t racked up the mighty
numbers that some of my other male
counterparts so chauvinistically boast after a
couple of beers (I’ve actually sat in a lounge
room while a mate ‘courted’ an
Oasis pick-up one cool June-noon and
racked up his ‘half-ton’ of girls), I feel as if the
quality of girls ‘wooed’ outstands the
quantity. What should be made clear -
before continuing on with this crude
language - is that I’m a gentleman, made as
such from my dastardly treatment
perpetrated by my sisters from a very young
age… Promise… This is just a little tale of a
gentleman courting a modelly-type of girl.
While I’m currently single-and-ready-to-
mingle, I was seeing a model for a little while.
She was cool, she was hot, very sexy, and
beyond that, she t every cliché. It should be
made clear that this girl wasn’t the runway
type of model, nor a hand model, nor one of
those cool models that you see wearing the
Bob Dylan hats and long jackets during their
time off from modelling in the back-drop of
a Guglielmo Coffee poster, who actually
inhale organic pseudo-meat burgers for
lunch, minced down so nely it ts a
nutritious mist, followed by a special zinc
shake reducing the toxin level of the
faux-monkey meat previously consumed,
allowing them their nightly glow similar to
that of a Chernobyl resident.
No, no, no, this is one of the oft sexualised
Zoo mag type of models, that get so close to
showing an areola that you start to suspect
they may actually be a barbie doll, have a
shelf life of 17 weeks (their modelling careers,
not their areolas), and have an
over-abundance of Monster Cans (the soft
drink, again nothing areola related) due to
their never-ending promo work to help get
them through their Arts Degrees.
They have typical sounding names, always
spelt with a random letter from the last
quarter of the alphabet thrown in after a K,
and are what blokes have dreamt of
bedding at least once during a teenage
slumber in suspiciously starchy boxer shorts,
because simply, they’re hot.
And while this particular girl did have her
snowake (see: unique) qualities, the typi-
cal (and following) model-esque behaviour
would always rear its ugly, blemish-free,
hair-extended head at some point or
another. This relationship started so suddenly
and intensely, full of vim and vigour, and it
ended knowing it wasn’t going anywhere
and realising I was being a douche bag and
NOT realising how much power my own
penis had over me until then.
Keeping up appearances
This girl got to a point in her life where she
went, “yup, I look good in photos, and
people are gonna give me money for
letting them take photos of me”. I couldn’t
think of a thing more challenging than to
have to keep up an image. Being a
professional, I realise my clients aren’t going
to want a person taking care of their matters
while looking like Wolf Creek’s John Jarratt,
talking like a meth-addict, and smelling like
a wet dog clubbed to death by a baby seal,
so to that extent, I shower, shave, and read a
book to extend my vocab a bit.
BUT, I don’t go to the extent to provoke
people to want to take snaps of me, want
my body, or want whatever blurred prod-
uct (obscured by the arse-oss I’m wearing
for the shoot) that I’m promoting. This was
a 24-hour gig for this girl, making sure what-
ever is put out into Facebook, Instagram,
Twitter is 100% quality, and it needed to be
put out there, and OFTEN. Meaning, that
a sele could take 45 minutes to take, and
destroyed any ow of conversation as any
moment of ‘fun-girl’ needed to be
captured “errrmagawddd, sooo funny...
quick sele!” Not only that, is that you see
Independent Media Inspiring Minds 25
what she’s putting out there, or has in her
archive of promo and calendar shoots, and
it’s fantastic, and while she’s showing it off
to you she’s sitting next to you, and that
enough turns you on, but once you notice
what may have been airbrushed out: a
rough case of ‘back-ne’, a webbed-toe, or
a particularly un-waxed patch on her
hamstring, it could cause a very
effective boner-repellent to be unleashed
that wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t
been exposed to the captured perfection
in the June 2010 issue of FHM, or if you were
with a ‘regular’ girl.
‘Life-Long’ Friends
She met them at a Ralph-sponsored bikini
contest on the Goldie about three years
ago, but when they nally reunite, you
suspect the girl’s sexuality and question
whether she may have just cheated in front
of you and they’re speaking at such an
octave, a Soprano in Malta cringes in
jealousy. This is yet another ‘sister-from-an-
other-mister’ (now numbering 17) that she
loved and adored. A massive spike in
Instagram likes in the weeks afterwards, but
that soon dwindles and the girl will never be
heard from again.
Typically, this girl had actually got away with
a lot and got a lot of what she wanted
simply because she made those in control
ooze into slippery warm puddles with a mere
smile. Once this doesn’t work on someone,
she would take it a step further and either
take two paths: 1, where she knew her
sexualisation or charm wasn’t going to work
on someone, crack the shits to a biblical
measure and have the capacity and
endurance to do so from years of practice
on her parents, keeping it up until she got
what she wanted, or; 2, step up the sexuality
to such a degree that she gave up a little
too much than intended and felt a little
conicted after she got what they want.
I am a new-age type of guy (I think), I do
romantic things for my signicant others,
I promote their natural growths in areas
they’ve already identied as a passion, and
am not the jealous type. However, when a
sighting of a mammary is offered to me in
part on the promise that I will be given full
access of that and beyond (anatomically
speaking), I revert to my massively primal
urges and will complete obscure means to
get to the ends. For this, I was a sucker for
the girl. Sometimes I would get tired, start to
wrap up a conversation already quoted on
umpteenth times to go home and get ready
for work the next day, then boom! I’ve been
straddled by this gorgeous woman, or she’s
dashed away to get into something “more
comfortable”, which turns out to be
underwear you thought only existed in
futuristic lms starring Ryan Gosling (cos he’s
the only guy that would be able to get girls
into something so revealing... and then out
of it again... am I right??).
Either way I went, it ended up the same.
Whether it be actually going home (rarely)
or staying for that good old-fashioned
animalistic coitus (often), a muddled
gathering of conicted feelings resulted. I
found out later that it was because she just
wanted the company. I wasn’t that
charismatic or funny to cause a
Bruce-AlMighty-like stripping of clothing
off her person, she just wanted me to stick
around and keep her company. And while
she got what she wanted in my company,
and enjoyed the sex, she didn’t get what she
was really yearning for, being that deeper
emotional connection. I would have gladly
just stuck around and tried that out because
I too valued her company, but one, she had
to amputate that f**king smart phone from
her index nger (her thumbs now started to
cramp from overuse) and two, learn to use
her words like a big girl. She was with depth,
and we had plenty to talk about, but it nev-
er went deep enough because of what she
deemed important with this need to keep up
appearances, maintaining obscure
friendships, and having a whole life online
and virtually exposed. It did not last long,
and although we had memories of raucous
sex to ll the wank-bank and a healthy
Facebook friendship page, it was all we
really had to show for it, and it eventually led
to a demise.
Independent Media Inspiring Minds26
We still chat, and from time-to-time, our
conversations over Facebook can get a little
sexualised again, but I know it’s an
unintentional trap, and I have to check
myself. I just don’t have the patience with
her unfortunately for a full-time relationship,
but I have full condence that someone
was either going to meet her every desire
however exacerbating some poor traits are
(as I deem, from my lofty ivory tower), or be
able to go through some annoyances long
enough to pull her out of those habits and
allow some genuine personal growth.
I would love to read her analysis of our
relationship in reply and maybe she already
has made one here in this very magazine,
but nevertheless, I wish her all the best and
just hope she knows that.
So this is why - to pigeonhole them all
completely and entirely unfairly - it is just not
that cool to date a model.
Independent Media Inspiring Minds 27
Image Credits: http://www.ickr.com/photos/29498428@N00/5926653642
e Magic Hour
By Jess Leech
Independent Media Inspiring Minds30
e Magic Hour
Independent Media Inspiring Minds
When the sun breaks
Brightens the grass
To crisp, blinding green.
When rays of light
Ebb and ow
Over raindrops;
Sparkling elds.
And in the distance
Black cows
Like holes in a canvas
Like shadows
Stand unchanged,
While the colour fades
To muted fog.
And one by one
Raindrops play
A melody once more.
Independent Media Inspiring Minds32
Independent Media Inspiring Minds 33
Image Credits: http://jillianelenaphotography.tumblr.com/post/38584436838
Oh Glorious
By Connie Lambeth
Leaves change and oat and settle. Life’s
kind of like that. Sometimes a good shakeup,
a degree of commotion is required before
some kind of equilibrium is restored, with
subsequent serenity. With seasonal change
so conspicuous at this time of year, I wonder
if it’s a reminder for us humans careering
along our sometimes intense and chaotic
path, to relax into the moment, take stock,
look around us and live a little more in the
present. Maybe Autumn leaves are our
trafc lights of awareness…stop, observe,
move forward. Autumn is the season to
ponder on such notions as the transience of
life, how eeting things are, ever changing.
“As we watch leaves uttering to the ground
in fall, we are reminded that
nature’s cycles are mirrored in our lives”.
(Autumn: Reections on the Season by
Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat)
After many years living in the sub-tropics
where seasonal variations are minimal, it
feels so right to be living by a distinct
seasonal calendar once more. There can be
no greater joy than outdoor musings in the
presence of seasonal contrast. I feel
changes of season ground me to the earth,
make me aware of my unfathomably
miniscule place in this world, a member of
the human race diminutive in the grander
scheme of things.
On the subject of earth, researchers say that
‘grounding’ or ‘earthing’, (our bodies having
direct contact with the Earth), promotes a
healthy immune system. So that’s why we
feel so wonderful after a barefoot walk on
lush grass or a walk along the beach! Of
course humans started out walking the earth
in bare feet and spent long periods
outdoors, much more than we do today.
Now most of us live in houses and usually
wear shoes, with connection to the earth
blocked by all kinds of man made surfaces.
So apart from purchasing the many earthing
type products on the market, we just need
to take our shoes off whenever we can! I will
endeavour to set two naked feet on solid
Autumn sublime
Elevated contemplation
Glimpse of winter beckons
Hues enchant the eye
Change always change
Independent Media Inspiring Minds36
earth next time I’m out enjoying a walk, or
perhaps a barefooted game of frisbee in the
park will do the trick!
There is something quite magical about this
time of year as I observe nature’s
magnicent displays of splendour.
“I cannot endure to waste anything so
precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in
the house”. (Nathaniel Hawthorne)
Nevertheless, all seasons have their special
qualities. Occasionally I tuck a camera in
my handbag to record nature’s beauty in its
many forms. It’s virtually impossible for me to
walk past the vivid red of an Autumnal
Virginia creeper, the stark beauty of a
Wintery deciduous tree, cherry blossoms in
Spring, or the lush Summery green of elm
trees, without taking a few happy snaps
of the garden variety! The sight of superb
neighbourhood gardens, public parks and
natural environments immediately brings
me back to the moment, heightening the
pleasure of the experience, especially if it’s
a mundane trip to the supermarket! It is just
so good to get outdoors… pure enjoyment
of a breeze brushing cheeks, a sudden gust
of wind tangling hair, or the feel-good effect
of sun kissed skin after a cold spell…some of
life’s simple pleasures.
With so many of us working long hours in
ofces and coming home to little or no
garden, we are fortunate to have a variety
of green public spaces to unwind and enjoy
our leisure hours. Most suburbs and towns
have parks and gardens for the general
public to use for all kinds of recreational
activities, with some providing free concerts
in the warmer months.
Botanical gardens in our capital and
regional cities are a must see and a
wonderful place to picnic on a sunny day.
There are also many ne historic homes open
regularly to the public, where we can
admire superb old gardens and increase
our knowledge of garden landscapes of the
past. Some of these properties feature
prominent avenues of old trees, which are
quite beautiful to stroll along. It takes effort
to partake of outdoor experiences,
however the rewards are unsurpassed.
If there’s an absence in outdoor time due to
the weather or such, then there’s my
‘nature table’ to enjoy and reect upon. I
gain great pleasure in bringing the outdoors,
indoors and displaying natural nds in a light
corner of my home. On regular walks it’s fun
to discover all kinds of interesting bits in the
natural environment, including pebbles and
small rocks, coloured leaves, gum nuts and
assorted other seed pods, moss, feathers,
freshly fallen owers, twigs and branches.
Probing through various markets,
supermarkets and orists provide an
abundance of interesting, unique and
changeable living materials to liven up my
home. The process of collecting often
exceeds the end result, though the result is
certainly satisfying and often quite stunning.
Preferring a diverse range of vase displays
keeps me seeking the more offbeat type
owers and foliage. Vases can be anything
from tall and grand to a tiny jar or glass.
Fortunately there’s a lot more imagination
out there in ‘supplier land’ these days with
such living beauties on offer as green
blackberries, branches of g and bay trees,
uffy green foliaged plants, bunches of
glossy green leaves, scented gums, herbs
such as Rosemary, plus assorted dried
owers including the fabulous yellow Billy
Boys. Ornamental Kale looks great how-
ever can attract the bugs as I discovered
one day when the sneaky little mites tried
to haul the foliage out the door! Why would
I choose ordinary everyday kind of owers
when there is such a wonderful variety of
living bits to give my ‘nest’ an individual look,
providing days, sometimes weeks of
pleasure. Some of the rmer, glossy green
leaf plants have lasted as long as a month,
with water changes once or twice a week.
I will continue to be Autumn’s number one
fan, as well as appreciating the other three
seasons for their own remarkable brand of
beauty. Staying attuned to the
environment, with an awareness of my
connection to Mother Earth, accords me a
Independent Media Inspiring Minds 37
images by Connie Lambeth
deeper level of calm, where I really do feel
centred and focused with my two feet rmly
‘planted’. Though the gardens of my past
may have been large and lush, now my bal-
cony of potted herbs and plants provides me
food and recreation, as well as a nature ex-
cursion! In a parallel world I enjoy observing
birds seeking the reward of the moistened
soil during this season of colour.
Meanwhile outside of home, there’s a much
larger world to explore. So on we continue,
me, my camera (and a pair of occasionally
bare feet!) ambling along leafy streets, stroll-
ing in parks and public gardens, in this most
striking of seasons.
“Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded
to it, and if I were a bird I would y about
the earth seeking the successive autumns”.
(George Eliot)
Independent Media Inspiring Minds38
Image Credits: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Autumnnleaves.JPG#mediaview-
Best Public Gardens and Parks
Melbourne’s 10 Best Public Gardens
(My picks: Australian Gardens in
Cranbourne/William Rickett Sanctuary,
Dandenong Ranges/Heide Kitchen &
Sculpture Garden in Bulleen)
Sydney’s Best Public Parks
Botanic Gardens around Australia
Royal Tasmanian Botanical Garden
Kings Park (Perth Botanic Garden)
Roma Street Parkland (Brisbane)
The George Brown Darwin Botanic Garden
Botanic Gardens of Adelaide
Book and weblink - Earthing
Earthing: The Most Important Health
Discovery Ever?
By Clinton Ober, Stephen T. Sinatra and Mar-
tin Zucker
Autumn and Spirituality
Autumn: Reections on the Season by
Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat
images by Connie Lambeth
Independent Media Inspiring Minds 39