It is a truth universally acknowledged that the most thought-provoking, soul-searching and gut-wrenching art is found on bathroom walls throughout the world.
If we add the angst of undergraduate students and the incel vibes of Chifley enthusiasts at the ANU, we arrive at some truly existential stuff to look at while shitting.
With nothing better to do, our brave team of photographers sought out the best and the worst of ANU’s bathroom graffiti. And here it is, in no particular order, and dissected to an extent that God never predicted.
The one that started it all, the OG. I, for one, am obsessed with the idea that a whole period of Banksy’s works are ensconced in bathrooms all over the world.
However, all good things come to an end. You either die a hero or live long enough to become a villain. Et tu, comrade graffitist? Whereas once you could mediate peacefully on the meaning of art and the over-hyped nature of modern art, now we are greeted with a sack of hairy testicles, absent of the penis. So, no change really?
Moses walked down from the mount with ten commandments. But lo, one was lost to time. Many philosophers have searched far and wide for it. Keith Dowding and Ben Bramble spent many a night competing to unlock this hidden truth. But they are no match for this bathroom vandal. Don’t beat it dry kids.
They say more is less. Direct and straight to the point, this artist knows what they want. They’re not about beating around the bush. How exactly we get such pics to them, is a whole other question, possibly worth a few good meditative poos to figure out.
Rumour has it that mushrooms with psilocybin used to grow on the hill of Parliament House and that entrepreneuring ANU students could pick them. I think this artist uses such intertextuality to create a postmodernist critique of the transience of modern life; placing it in a locale where the viewer is both vulnerable but already participating in a natural, non-capitalistic exercise, forces them to consider the unsustainable tempo of modern life. Yes, this is definitely true.
Some of life’s most beautiful creations grow in its darkest places. Just as nature reclaims the nuclear wasteland of Chernobyl, we have here, a figurative tulip growing in a literal shithole.
Ah yes, the most heinous graffiti of all. Gendered bathrooms.
We are all bozos. Living in a bozo world. Life’s fantastic.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that the most thought-provoking, soul-searching and gut-wrenching art is found on bathroom walls throughout the world.
Comments Off on Not Confident Talking Dirty? History Helps!
As someone who makes a habit of verbally degrading those around me, I find dirty talking effortless. If a partner asks me to, I can pretty much just improv it. If they like to be shamed: “you’ve got terrible financial management and you spend way too much on online shopping” or maybe, “your grandma has been such an important person in your life and you don’t call her nearly enough given everything she has done for you.” Or if they want me to put myself down… “I only ever won the participation ribbons in little athletics, never a real one” or perhaps, “I once accidentally gave a homeless man slightly more money than I intended to and I awkwardly asked for some of it back.”And then, 99% of the time, they orgasm explosively.
But not all of you are as lucky as myself, a sage and sensual wordsmith. So to make the most of your sexy times, I have compiled a short collection of my favourite naughty whisperings from famous historical figures, to get your creative and other juices flowing. There’s a line for every sticky situation you could possibly end up in!
“I am the punishment of God… If you had not committed great sins, God would not have sent a punishment like me upon you.”
— Genghis Khan
Great way to set the tone when you know they want to be punished like Daddy Genghis punished the Khwarazmian Empire for killing his emissaries.
“Preparation, I have often said, is rightly two-thirds of any venture.”
— Amelia Earhart
Ever had a sexual partner get a little excited and rush past the foreplay? Next time, bring out this gem of a quote to gently steer them back in the right direction. For bonus points, if you ever find yourself in a premature ejaculation type situation, “Anticipation, I suppose, sometimes exceeds realization.” Thanks Amelia!
“Here I fuck, for I can do no other.”
— Martin Luther
YASS, sex positive Reformist king!!!
“The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.”
— Nelson Mandela
Do you or a partner have trouble staying hard? Remember this great line for when a quick pep talk is necessary.
“Finger lickin’ good.”
— Colonel Sanders
If you say this to someone whilst performing oral sex on them, they will cum so hard they cry.
“Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson
Forget to put a towel down and got period blood everywhere? Use this quote to lend the whole thing a vague air of meaningfulness.
“Life is trying things to see if they work.”
— Ray Bradbury
We’ve all sucked someone’s toes and then had to sit there awkwardly afterwards with the obvious fact that neither of us were actually into it. Now, you know exactly what to say to explain yourself, freak!
“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
— Maya Angelou
Had a one-night stand and in the morning one or both of you can’t remember the other’s name? Hit them with this one on the way out to lend some grace to your exit.
“Hey, don’t look at me. Eat my tits!”
— Borat Sagdiyev
Sometimes in the bedroom, it’s best to be direct!
“Nothing is impossible, the word itself says, ‘I’m possible!”
— Audrey Hepburn
Unsure how to get that big mac truck parked in that little garage? Spruce up your willpower and determination with this handy quote! And lube.
“It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.”
— Confucius
For when your partner is getting tired and you need to whisper a little morale boost to keep their ocean in motion.
“If you’re offered a seat on a rocket ship, don’t ask what seat! Just get on.”
— Sheryl Sandberg
For when there’s some hesitancy about the strap on.
“I would rather die of passion than of boredom.”
— Vincent Van Gogh
For when you’re chasing multiple orgasm glory and your partner starts voicing concerns about your hydration levels.
“Dreaming, after all, is a form of planning.”
— Gloria Steinem
Unsure how to explain your wet dream to the person who woke up next to you? Turn this embarrassing incident into some raunchy foreplay with one simple quote!
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So, throw off the bowlines, sail away from safe harbor, catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore, Dream, Discover”.
— Mark Twain
Anal.
Originally published in Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 5 ‘Cum As You Are’
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Woroni TV wants to hear the best zingers you’ve been subjected to when on the dating scene for an upcoming video ‘Weird Sh*t People Say on Dates’! If you’ve heard anything great, hella cute, random or one-liners which you think would make students gag enter it below ??????????????????????
‘We need to have an argument.’
‘Hmm?’
‘An argument.’ She does that thing where she sighs at herself, blinks a few times towards the distance, searches, decides, yes, those are the words that she will say: ‘A fundamental disagreement. A difference of opinion. I say something, you say something else, we raise our voices, and then there’s a difference of opinion and then maybe we agree to disagree.’
‘Oh. Okay.’ He chews on nothing.
‘I’m serious. Before tomorrow. Before midnight, hopefully. That is tomorrow. Okay, well the sun’s already set. How about before ten? No, that’s too close. Eleven. We’ll aim for before eleven.’
‘Oh, I agree.’
‘Good.’
‘Before eleven. That’s good. Then we can get eight hours of sleep if we sleep at eleven-thirty.’
‘Yes, but at the same time I need you to stop doing that.’
‘Doing what? Eight hours is recommended by the majority of medical professionals. Maybe seven, now that we’re getting older-‘
‘Yes, dear.’
‘Can you call me that yet?’
‘I like calling you that. Makes me feel prepared. So it’s not too strange when I have to formally start doing it tomorrow. Take it as practice.’ She runs her hand along his arm. Her fingers feel brittle, delicate, like shards of melting ice. He feels strong.
‘Okay.’
‘But I need you to stop agreeing. Just, before eleven. We need to have an argument.’
‘But what are we going to argue about?’
‘I don’t know. I was hoping you’d think of something.’
‘What about, what about…’ He isn’t going to think of something, and she knows it. Maybe this is what they should argue about. She settles for something else.
‘Politics. People always disagree about politics.’
‘Okay, okay. Well um, I voted yes. Yes, that’s what I did. Of course. How did you vote?’
‘I said yes too.’
‘What do you think of the current Prime Minister?’
‘Margarine.’
‘What?’
‘Well, he kind of looks like butter, but you know it’s not when you taste it.’
‘Oh. That makes sense. Did you know that margarine is actually black without colouring?’ He used to work in a margarine factory.
‘Yes. You’ve told me, dear.’ She called him dear again. Practice, that was what it was, he reminded himself.
‘But so is the other one. The opposition leader.’
‘Oh, of course. I guess there’s nothing worth disagreeing about. It’s all the same whichever way you take it.’
‘Okay, okay. What if we – like a debate.’ He had done debating in high school. They had lost the regional semi-finals. He remembers the feeling of wanting to intensely squeeze something in his hand that he got when the adjudicator told his team they’d lost, and the acrylic smell of the table. ‘Like, I take one side, you take another.’
‘This could work. So I can be Weet-Bix. And you can be muesli.’
‘Do you want to start?’
‘No, after you.’
‘Okay. I am far, far more varied. You’re a brick of wheat and your most interesting flavour is the milk you’re paired with. Sometimes people pour Milo over you because they’ve realised how bland you are and they’ve had enough. Sometimes honey. They poured milk and honey over people as torture in Ancient Egypt until their victims drowned in their own vomit and faeces and they do the same to you, this is because you are so bland that they should do the same as you. Now you go.’ She had studied Archaeology in university, which he thought was very attractive.
‘Wow. Okay well let me first communicate my respect and congratulations to you. There was a formal way of doing this in high school, but I’ve forgotten so I’ll move on. You are muesli. I am Weet-Bix. Now, you have said many things that I am. Let me continue. I am utilitarian. I am simple. Above all I am Australian, and I am the breakfast of champions. There are many types of muesli and many ways of eating those many types. But I am simply Weet-Bix. Milo, honey, yes, but underneath, I am the same. I am singular, I am unified, I have direction and I am purposeful. Everyone knows who I am. Those who do not subscribe to me only reinforce my dominance as they confirm that they are the exceptions to the rule. I am the rule. Now, to you. You are many, you are multiplicity, you are legion. Barley connected. Your diversity will tear you apart. Soon there will be in-fighting from your multi-polarity. Nuts, no nuts. Sultanas, no sultanas. Bran, no bran. Each one of your components is merely waiting, biding their time to establish their superiority. But I am one. I am, and always have been. This is why you are inferior. Thank you.’
‘Okay. Do you want to have a rebuttal round?’
‘No. Formally, I think we’re a bit messy. It’s okay.’
‘I don’t think that was an argument.’
‘You’re right.’
‘It’s almost ten thirty.’
‘We’re running out of time.’
‘Tomorrow we’ll be married.’
‘Yes, but we need to argue first, dear.’
‘See, it’s good practice, isn’t it? Soon it will feel normal. If we let it seep into our vocabulary now it will only make the transition easier.’
‘Yes, but you’re still right. We need to argue first. We’ve never done it before.’ He drums his fingers against his thigh. They are like the rapid presses of a stamping machine. It is no longer almost ten thirty because it is now ten thirty.
‘I am worried though.’
‘You suggested it.’
‘And I hold by it. But now that I’ve thought about it for a bit – what if we start something? Something that sits away, but then boils, grows, comes up again in a few months, something we can’t just share, and it puts itself there, every day, in, and out, whenever I see you, I see it, there walking on its own two legs, forming a mind of its own, babbling and speaking, this disagreement, placing itself in the middle of the house and marking it like it’s all its own and, oh… maybe it wasn’t a good idea. Maybe we should wait until afterwards. Until it comes organically. I was talking to Linda before, and couples are having disagreements later and later in their lives. Maybe it’s just best for it to happen, maybe when we’re not even trying.’
‘It’s okay. We still have more than twenty minutes. We can do it now. I won’t let that happen.’ He looks at her, expecting her eyes.
‘I know. I think I know. I guess what I’m trying to say is… did you bring protection?’
He sees the clock flash as it changes to ten thirty-three.
“Is it weird to talk with your reflection?” I guess not. With growing age, we come across several challenges and many unanswered questions about our future. The play Fading, directed by Katie Cawthorne and written by Laura Lethlean, aptly presents before us the turmoil of emotions that an individual experience when they turn 18 years of age. It is that time of life where you feel the daunting pressure of adulthood. As the moments from childhood begin to fade away, one begins to realise the expectations and the choices that come with adulthood.
Left – Right (back row): Elektra Spencer, Jett Chudleigh, Aram Geleris, (standing), Alex Castello Left – Right (front row): Jemma Collins, Yarno Rohling, Jamie Johnston, Taylor Geoffroy
On Wednesday night, I had the pleasure of being in the audience for Fading presented by the Canberra Youth Theatre at the Courtyard Studio. It was a delightful experience altogether. The opening imagery of the cast in “plaid shirts and jeans”, lamenting about the pressure that they are currently experiencing in their lives, sets the serious and solemn mood of the play. Laura’s writing is wistful and full of dream-like imagery. I was majorly taken aback by the powerful performance of the cast, which consisted of eight individual characters. As this group of people cross the line of childhood and step into being an adult, like butterflies from a cocoon, they have to maintain and balance their own bank of water and not drown under the pressure of expectations and choices they have to make in life.
Fading recreates the different dreams and thoughts that a child has: honest, truthful and innocent, and suddenly transforms into the chaos of adulthood. At certain time the play takes a satirical tone, with sudden spurts of laughter when the characters even go on an elaborate ‘bear-hunt’. The play even mocks the people who are “so-called perfect at work” and “know what they are doing in life”. Often in life, we begin to compare ourselves to our friends and co-workers and pretend to be exactly “what the society expects of us” and often forget our own voice in this crowd. The play recreates these moments of life, where an individual is unsure of what they want to achieve in life, and often drown under the burden of such pressure.
The stage was small, and simply had a swing hanging from the top. It was utilised at several times in the play to recreate the nostalgia of childhood. Apart from the impactful performance of the cast, the music used aided in recreating this dreaminess and romanticising of childhood memories along with the chaotic state of adult age. Particularly, the song ‘Green Light’ by Lorde was featured in the play to highlight the pop-culture of today’s generation. The sudden outburst of the cast dancing to the tune of the ‘Green Light’, creates a disc-atmosphere that just makes you want to dance. The play touches every single aspect of the thoughts and emotions that an individual experiences as they transition from a child to an adult. Among all these chaos of making the right career decisions, choosing the right path in life and working hard to reach the target without wasting time, we often forget to listen to ourselves, our own voice, our dreams and passions.
Left – Right: Jemma Collins, Jamie Johnston, Elektra Spencer
Fading truthfully presents these emotions before the audience – the pressure that one feels during adulthood. I thoroughly enjoyed the whole 90 minutes of the play. In my opinion, Fading perfectly captures the turmoil of emotions and pressure that one feels growing up as young adults. It is an apt and complex production that presents the audience with the different flavours of life, the transition from a child into an adult with satire and humour.
So I’d just finished a day of volunteering with kids-
Yeah, I work(ed) with kids. Volunteering too. I’ll show off while I can, ‘cos I’ll need it.
-and, you know. I’d crashed at home: had a ten-minute nap and a tetrapack of something with ‘liquid breakfast’ on the side – then, well. I’m obliged to go to the gym a few times per week, aren’t I?-
Oh yeah, I gym too. Look at me.
-So I’m in my car, off to campus in the holidays, still wearing my (very) colourful volunteering shirt, wondering if any of the PTs I know will be there, whether I’ll be home before seven p.m.-
I mean, not technically my car, but we’ll say it was my car.
-and then this horrible song comes along in my shuffle. Maybe only horrible in retrospect now, but anyway, this compilation album – underdeveloped, overproduced, saccharine lyrics amalgamation, telling me something about living a happy life with a loved one or whatever and, ugh, I am not. Feeling. It.
Up a little circular ramp, and I’m greeted by a smattering of red taillights – it’s that time of the day. Usually this would be when I’d crank my music up and start headbanging, but – no, not this time.
So I stop. I’ve stopped. In a 70 zone, I’ve stopped. I’m stopped.
Go. Stop. Go. Stop.
Go.
And maybe this one’s it. Up to 70, almost at my destination (not really), the song’s almost over, second gear, third gear, and—
The song stops because the aux chord has been jerked out my phone. My heart stops because I pressed on the footbrake too late and the whole car’s shaken but I’m stopped again. In the silence that I wouldn’t have minded not so long ago, you would’ve been able to hear my gut drop.
Two syllables, and there goes my PG rating for the day’s events.
And in Road Ready we were meant to be talking about collisions rather than accidents because accidents suggests that no one was at fault, so did that mean this collision was my fault?
But now I’m driving off to the side of the road, so I guess at least the car might be okay?
Probably won’t be able to get to the gym though. And might not be home before seven pm.
And what is that smell? It’s as crap as the song was. I’ve smelt it before. Although it wasn’t so thick last time. And oh boy I’ve stepped out of the car and the front grille’s become – well, what has it become? I used to think cars had little (or rather, huge) faces, especially this one, since it’s been in the family for twelve years or so now. I guess this is a disfigured face. Disfigured because it’d taken a towbar to the nose. I look to the front, and the car ahead looks kind of okay. Crap.
But they were the nicest people I could have crashed into. The guy two cars in front was fine but he even stopped to help us. We traded names and numbers like a proper group of new friends. And my dad, who Ubered over about an hour afterwards, snagged a picture of me sitting in one of the camp chairs we had in the car, miserable in my (very) colourful volunteering shirt next to my – well, his – disfigured face of a car, and he never fails to bring that one up on his phone whenever the conversation with friends turns to my driving.
So yeah, there’s my memory. P-plater life, uni life, life in general, I suppose. Shit happens, y’all.
Jeremy wrote off the old family car. He has only had one other accident since.