Seed #14

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image: David Witteveen

My Father Told Me About This:

On the left, there’s the front of a building that is now a dojo - but back in the Sixties, it was a dance hall, and quite the place to go of a Saturday night.

Through the bridge, there’s a red brick building, which is a police station.

It all looks very peaceful, but back in the day, it was a pretty rough sort of a venue.  You could pretty much rely on a fight breaking out every weekend, and if you weren’t near the door, you’d have to grab onto one of the coat hooks that lined the wall, and hold on for dear life.

It was also an oddly safe venue, so you wouldn’t need to hold on for very long, though. Because each time a fight started, the management would turn off the light under the eave - and before long, the police would notice it was off and come a’running, and a few would-be tough guys would dry out in the holding cells until Sunday morning.

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image & text: Loki Carbis

When the meteorite struck Earth, most of the dinosaurs and pterosaurs and other large reptiles died out. Only a few managed to escape, finding means - lucky accidents, really - to slip away from the dust-choked surface. Like the plesiosaur that descended into the deepest of lakes, becoming one with darkness and depth and cold, cold water until there was very little to distinguish beast from loch and certainly little enough to be concerned with minor details like breathing. And the pliosaur that went in the other direction.

There isn’t much to eat in the sky; no wonder the poor thing has gotten so thin. Still, she seems to like it up there. The cirrus are sly and slippery fish and when she can catch them she snaps them up in her dolphin-teeth. Only the dense, black cumulonimbus are large enough to present much of a threat - and having evaded them successfully for the last 65 million years, it seems likely she will continue.

She is, on the whole, unbothered by cryptozoologists or camera-wielding tourists.  Only the occasional aeroplane, buzzing past her head like a fat blowfly.

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image and text: Hespa

They huddled in the trees along the banks of the creek watching the orange digger approach.  This was their creek, along which they used to play, along which they danced and sung and celebrated the turning of the seasons. 

The concrete paths got laid, the fences were built, the pile of stone and metal got larger and larger.  How shall we fight it, they cried, how shall we keep our creek, how shall we get the power we need to save it. 

The digger came closer, threatening…

They banded together and called down the strongest power they knew – they called the Sun, harnessed it, trapped it in the creek. 

Now they ask themselves – how shall we use this power.

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image: Renee Hobbes

After you left, I found the tape reel in your belongings.

I should have mailed it to you, or at least thrown it out. Instead, I threaded it through my 16 track recorder and pressed play.

Your voice floated out from the speakers, warm and close. The fidelity was breathtaking. It sounded as if you were standing right next to me. The hairs stood up on my arms. I could almost smell you.

You used to sing to me, late at night, sitting on the studio floor with half-drunk bottles of wine in our hands. It was your private gift to me.

And then you left.

I stop the tape. Rewind. Play the tape again, dubbing your voice to a second track. Rewind. Dub. Rewind. Dub. The tape warps. Static leaks in.

I repeat the process over and over until there’s nothing left of you but white noise.

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image: Angelica East

text: David Witteveen

Toby’s Career

These days, Toby had finally achieved his dream of making it big as an actor, starring in a big Hollywood trilogy. He was frequently accused of forgetting his roots, and there were those who felt he should have displayed a little more gratitude to those who sustained him in the long years of temping before his ship came in.

Of course, there were also those who said that people took this too far at times.  Like the forklift operator, the interior designer and the four office managers who all thought that his two week stints with them entitled them to a cut of the pie.

Toby’s next film will be “Batman vs Fawkner”. It will be filmed in Vancouver and Sydney.

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image: David Witteveen

text: Loki Carbis

When the money ran out, there could be no spending. The urge to upgrade, enhance and replace could not be sated.

The people sought meaning elsewhere. In poetry and song. In re-greening their city. In sitting, listening as the elders told tales of the times before credit.

And they smiled as the banks and retail palaces crumbled.

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image & text: Tim Pegler

He crosses the wide beach furtively. Foggy days like this are a gift - he can forage during daylight rather than at night - but he still needs to take care. He doesn’t want to be seen.

He stretches his hearing to the limit, but fog muffles sound as well as vision. Finding food will mean taking chances, but then, it always does.

It’s been decades since the waters of Cheviot made him their own, but the price of discovery remains the same: he can live forever beneath the waves, emerging only when he will not be seen; or he can be Harold Holt.

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image: Angelica East

text: Loki Carbis

What To Do About Them

The first thing people knew about them was that they seemed to come from bookshelves and filing cabinets. It took a while before they were discovered in papers and the pages of books. Then scientists discovered that they’re born from the creative energy expended by the transfer of thoughts to the page, but many people still have their doubts. Regardless, it still didn’t answer the question of what to do about them.

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image: David Witteveen

text: Pete Mawhinney

An Angel of Frequency

There is an angel in this park. Look hard enough, you’ll see her.

She’s bleeding, has been for years. She’s impaled, pinned to a bench by an iron sword. No one knows how this happened, and she refuses to tell anyone the story why. But she will smile at you, through gritted teeth. Her smile tells you she loves you, absolutely.

I’ve watched her for hours, and I’ve watched those who don’t see her.

Yesterday, two children were fighting over a single toy. When they got close to her, overwhelming peace consumed them both. They then sat down together and shared their toy.

Today, I overheard a businessman on his mobile phone, arguing with his wife. When he got close he broke down and cried. He told his wife he’d been having an affair. He promised to do anything to win her back. And she eventually believed him, judging by his later tears of joy.

I’ve come here every day this year. I’ve felt so much joy.

When I’m not around, I hurt, and remember why I return. You see, I sold my soul to the Devil. I want him to come to this place with me, so he will forgive me too.

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image: David Witteveen

text: David Conyers