Month: October 2014

For Alex

By Erin Rose I think for some people there isn’t a whole lot to say when someone dies. For me it’s the opposite, it’s everything. It’s everything I ever said and everything I didn’t say. It’s canyons and oceans of time that passed between us. You for me, felt like so very long ago while you were alive, but in death feel immediate, dredging my memories to build new land on which I will lay you to rest. You, Alex, you were my golden boy. I worshipped you in a way one can only do at sixteen. I gravitated around you. Those blue eyes, that blonde hair, that laugh. You were the coolest person I had ever seen, a stone fox. But it wasn’t only me. You seemed to always have a pull like this. Everyone wanted to be near you, be friends with you, be in love with you. I infamously and debatably lost my virginity to you on the leather couch in John Lopez’s basement.

A Pilgrimage to Kumano Kodo

by Christina Sunario If you enjoy travel that encompasses nature, culture and history, you will love Kumano Kodo pilgrimage. One of the only two UNESCO protected heritage pilgrimage routes in the world (the other being the Santiago de Compostela in Spain), travelling the Kumano Kodo was an amazing experience for my husband and I, during a recent trip to Japan.

You Never Forget Your First [Music Festival]: Yours & Owls, an after-thought.

by Kelsey Oke It’s in the after math, the moments post-encore: the party people lingering the streets, lazily, peacefully— skin still humming with artistic satisfaction. Aside from one rowdy car driving down the midnight street, it is just quiet. Quiet appreciation for the night that brought us here. Even the small crowds gathered on lawns and motel terraces share only soft mumbles, speaking privately to one another, intimate in the lull of night. And I am lingering lazily myself, drifting through this night like the warm early summer midnight breeze. It’s in the calm that has settled over this town, an after-effect blanket, warm in consensus that the show tonight was just right. Nothing to be upstaged or dragged carelessly through the streets. It was enough. It was fantastic.

Falling For Your Barista: A Likely Story

by Amy Galea The café opened the year I began university. I’d moved away from the western suburbs of Sydney, away from where café atmosphere only existed in franchise coffee clubs in the centre of a Westfield mall. This café was complete with a long wooden community table that had antlers resting along its middle. There was a clothing boutique up a steep set of stairs, and the lighting: swinging light bulbs. It played as an introduction to the world of specialty coffee houses for me and my new city. It was here that I saw him.