Cirrus@Austlit

'On the 27th of September, at about 6 pm, the Voiceworks editorial committee was busting a move. Music turned up as loud as not getting-evicted from the apartment would allow, Melbourne layers quickly coming off, we Thillered, Backstreet Backed and Bye-Bye-Byed in anticipation. In case you missed it, this dance mash-up was how we launched Issue 90, ‘Copy/Paste’, at the Lit Journal Launch Orgy. Also featured: 1 × naked man with plastic bag and torch (The Lifted Brow), 2 × readings and 1 × industry roast that capitalised on the ‘mean’ in Meanjin.' 

 (Introduction)

'Typography is like sex: when done well, it’s difficult to describe why it’s good; it just ‘feels right’. When done badly it’s awkward and a bit painful, turning what should have been a pleasurable experience into something of a chore. Sometimes typesetting can get so messy as to be almost incoherent, at which point you might flag it taxi, but not take it home with you.'  (Introduction)

'We have been trapped in Mexico City for a week. The convenience store I'm in is taking delivery of an unbelievable amount of condoms, a whole crate being dropped right in the middle of the store, boxes of condoms spilling out and onto the floor. Even this early in the morning it's unimaginably hot outside and I'm trying to buy a Pepsi. The convenience store owner is preoccupied with taking the delivery and will not serve me. He says that the condoms will make him rich when the apocalypse comes, very soon now, because in those final months everyone will just want to fuck each other all day. He says it will be nice to feel what it's like to be a rich man, before he has his torso eaten by Quetzalcoatl. I can't see that he's wrong, but I'm still tremendously hot and would really like the Pepsi to drink...'  (Publication abstract)

'I sit on a patch of grass overlooking the river, waiting for my girlfriend to finish work. I watch the ferries pass over the water and run my palm over the grass, like it might be that easy for me too. My psychologist told me to try and be near water for its calming effect. My girlfriend and I are going out for burgers and then an event at her work. It should be an easy night but there's something about that which makes it hard.'

 (Publication abstract)

'Looking straight down from the water's edge, you could have been staring into a car-park puddle. There were crocodiles in the river. Everyone knew someone whose dog was taken when they were fishing, or a friend of a friend who lost a kid after camping too close to the mangroves. It snaked through the whole town, latticed with single-track bridges that the cane train rattled over in harvest season, the smell of bodies and sugar overflowing into every street...'

 (Publication abstract)

'My first password was pooky. I was twelve, in my last year of primary school and terrified of the bullying seemingly promised by high school. To distract myself from this dire fate, I'd been reading Garfield comic books and had taken to Pooky, a brown teddy bear and sole confidant of Jim Davis' grumpy orange feline creation. It didn't click until much later that reading comics about a neurotic, anthropomorphic cat and his silent but loveable soft toy would do me no favours at recess.'

 (Publication abstract)

'Next year, Voiceworks hits the quarter-century mark. It seems like people have been talking about the death of print publications for at least that long. And while we don't believe it's all quite as doomsy as they say, it's still worth celebrating this kind of staying power. Obviously we owe this to our consistently kickarse contributors who, each issue, give us more fantastic content than can fit in eighty pages. Not to mention our readers, subscribers, regular buyers and long-term support from Arts Victoria and the Australia Council. We're getting a little pre-emptively nostalgic and really wanted to say a huge, heartfelt thank you, thank you, thank you.' (Publication abstract)

 

'I'm standing in the hallway outside the room they've put you in and the fluorescent lights are warm and bright. They're making me sweat even more than before and my throat is so dry, and all I can think is where the hell is Bethany? You've been in there alone, for hours, and I hope you don't notice my eyes are bloodshot and my breath is stale, but when I reached into the glove box for some gum, or maybe a cigarette, all I could find was a half-empty flask, and the traffic wasn't moving anywhere fast so it had to do...' 

 (Publication abstract)

''Arr-bayt marrrkt fry? Is that how you say it, honey?' a rotund American woman asked her equally stout husband. 'Gosh, it's true what they say, German is such an ugly language!' Her loud Arkansan drawl cut through the crowd like she was carving an ice sculpture with a chainsaw.' (Publication abstract)