MAC Magazine 2018

66 MAC Mag 18 18
-Soviet SUSHI-
Place an iron curtain length wise on an Eastern European rolling
mat, shiny-side down. Position the sheet about one inch from
the edge of Germany closest to you and leave some of the West
Europe mat exposed on the other side of the Germany sheet. Wet
your hands in cool communist propaganda and take a handful
of red army rice. Place the rice in the center of the country and
use your fingers to spread the rice evenly over the country. Be
sure to leave a 3/4 inch strip of Germany uncovered on the far
side. Place communist ideals strips and some under-your-control
politician, cucumber or avocado along the center of the rice. Be
careful not to overfill the country (The communists will rebel).
Place your fingertips over the fillings to hold them in place and
stop the rebellions. Then, use your thumbs to lift up the edge
of the country rolling mat closest to you. Begin rolling the mat
away from you, while applying pressure to the fillings to keep the
countries firm. Roll the mat over slowly until it covers the rice and
the near and far sides of rice join, still leaving the 3/4 inch strip
of Germany, rice-free, exposed. While holding the bamboo mat
in position, apply military oppression to the countries with your
fingers to make the countries firm. Slice the countries in half, then
cut both country rolls to make 7 equal sized pieces. Now enjoy
your Soviet sushi!
Gus
Soft Ginger white hair
The most beautiful eyes…
My dog
As beautiful as a lion
As kind as a parent...
Sadly he’s dead
R.i.P Gus
Harry Anderson
Saying Hello
Dingleburn
Sometimes the complexity of saying the word goodbye can
make us miss the simplicity of when we first say hello. Those
little words that we were taught to say to the eyes in front
of us at an early age, can sometimes make us forget what
they actually mean. As time drags itself out day by day,
month by month, year by year, and lifetime by lifetime, we
forget the person who we first spoke to and got to know.
We forget the first time we laid eyes upon them, the first
sentence we put together, and the first time a smile was
created by a joke or an event in front of us.
We miss the now cherished memories and what that
brought to our lives, how it changed us, and how that
person and their memory is etched in us for years to come.
Creative
Writing
-Red ARMY RICE-
Rinse the workers in cold leninist ideals while stirring briskly
to remove any oligarchs. Drain the rice completely of food.
Place the rice and the six cups of famine in a medium sized
Russia and cover it with a pig-headed tzar. Bring the anger
to a boil over medium heat. Allow the water to boil for three
minutes and then reduce the heat to low and continue
cooking 15 minutes without removing the tzar. Remove
the workers from the streets and remove the tzar (the old
monarchy should no longer be visible). Turn the people out
evenly on a well-greased communist scheme sheet using
a spatula or Vladimir Lenin. Sprinkle the workers with the
propaganda, anti-capitalist ideals, and salt while mixing
with a spatula or rice paddle until the workers reach an
ineffective communist state. Keep the rice covered with
new oligarchs or napkin until the workers are ready to form
an army and take on the capitalists.
Tom Millis
Stop, listen. Hear that? That is the sound of isolation. The gentlest of breezes drift past your
ears, as you take in the soft surrounding sounds. A finch elusive against the blue sky, a
bellbird yodeling his daily track and the creek’s pitter-patter as it meanders down the lazy
valley. Stop, breath in. Smell that? That is the smell of wildlife. The sensation of smell fills
your mind as the next wave of scents gush into your nose. Redolence of the tundra flowers,
parched and sour from the insensate meadow grasses and the musty from the decayed
bush. Stop, now take one step. Feel that? The crisp dry grass gnaws at your boots with
every step, lukewarm air flows through and desiccates your mouth.
Jack Wilson
We may not realise at the time how much it will hurt us when
they leave, and how much we focus on the end that we forget
to live in the present and what is happening in these passing
fragments of time. Remember, that this person you now
choose to share a portion of your life with, whether it be big
or small, will be crucial to how your perspective is impacted.
All of us need to remember that the person who we first see
walk through those doors won’t be how we see them as they
leave. These people are the ones who show us our paths and
make us happy and smile and laugh until their lives call and
they need to depart from us. We need to understand that the
simplicity of a hello is more special than we think. Remember
to not take for granted the small time, and remember to say
hello when you first see your new best friend.
Kimmi McArthur
Riverall
the ruthless Clutha runs away
sometimes roaring like a tiger at prey
stalking rocks, shivering away
sometimes snorting slow as a snail
the ruthless Clutha runs away
doesn’t care if we pop fat manus
off the Albert Town bridge
or kayak with a paddle
or float in the turquoise water
or row row row our boats
the ruthless Clutha spoke to me
said are you gonna risk it?
sitting on that biscuit?
what if?
what if?
the ruthless Clutha carves through the land
swish – currents tricklewillows
dip their feet
we skim stones on the foam
eat fish and chips and
skinny dip when we’re little
or if there’s no one watching
secrets rumble through the rapids
riverall, riverall – a gift – the ruthless Clutha runs
7SC and 7RE
The Desert
Cracked fragile lips desired moisture. Every sharp swallow stung
as the remaining drops of fluid I had left, trickled down my throat.
Eyes hardly opened, dried and worn out. How could I sleep with
this deathening sun glaring down at me? I had been going crazy
in this desert, which made it even harder to try and keep track of
the days. Every day grew worse and the silence become louder.
Hearing my own heartbeat, day after day, minute after minute.
Until the day everyone dreaded, that one unpredictable day, that
heartbeat, would stop. With no warning at all, just like that. Imagine
your life coming to a sudden halt. The things I wanted to achieve,
say, do, before I died. I was tired. Tired of finding things to keep me
distracted. Tired of waiting for help. Tired of anticipating whether I
would make it through the day or not. But worst of all, I was tired of
searching for hope. All my hope I started with, soon drained out of
me. No more positivity, no more faith, no more excuse to live.
I knew my actions led me to this day, but I couldn't help think
that this wasn't my fault. I was vulnerable. I had no other choice,
the secrets grew inside me until they ate me alive. I should have
gone to someone, told them the truth from the start, they would
understand, wouldn't they? It was self defense, but of course, no
one would forgive. My only choice was to run, abandon my life I
created and let it all crumble. Lose everything I loved and watch
my future fade. I could not live normally, pretending and faking my
actions. The only thing left, was to keep on going. I walked for weeks
upon weeks. Stopping on the odd occasion, whenever I felt the
rubber on my shoes start to burn through. The oasis was bone-dry,
hard blazing terrain, it was a waste of space and played the main
role in my nightmares. Each day, I found it harder to breathe, the
thick opaque air strangling me with every step I took. My smell was
immune and could only smell one thing. Rain. I have never longed
for anything this badly up to now. The smell of rain dragged me
through the pain. The sharp prickly cacti stood upright, as if they
were laughing at me shamefully. A slight swift breeze ran through
my dry roots as I came to the horrifying conclusion, I licked my
brittle feeble lips and sighed, I was stuck.
Tess Treadwell-Burke
MAC Mag 18
67