State Electorate Profile: Brunswick

Abbey Saxon gives you the political rundown on Melbourne's most (in)famous inner-northern suburb.

Why the Left Sucks: An Inquiry into Campus’s Most Hated Political Group

It is no exaggeration to say that The University of Melbourne is one of the largest breeding grounds for leftist thought in the country. For those of us who have been on campus–walked past the columns

The Aesthetics of Poverty – Why students at UniMelb are so keen to appear poor.

The discourse accusing this so-called ‘student aesthetic’ of fetishising poorness has surfaced within the past year on social media (especially TikTok) and in conversations between students on and off

Satire: Farrago Shuts Down; Honi Soit Now Australia's Oldest Student Publication

As of today, Farrago Magazine, Australia’s oldest student publication, will cease operations under the current four editors.

VCA Students Demand UniMelb to Commit to “Zero Tolerance” Policy

Students at the Victorian College of the Arts (VCA) are calling on the University of Melbourne to “commit to stronger policies and actions when it comes to sexual assault”, after the University ignore


News Article


the awkward dawn stretch. / the minute before when / he ain’t a man, just / a matchflame within someone’s reach.

Pink cowboy boots kick up from the bottom of the image, framed by cut ropes and pastel splashes.

Content warning: references to death, allusions to homophobia/transphobia


Here Lies Cowboy—


          put his boots on the bed, got told
                                                               put that smoke out, seen enough

                      through the window, up the veins of the mountain,

                                 got told stop smilin’ like a schoolgirl,
                                                  you all glittered up like the snake in the Garden,

holding that apple by the stem and twisting it,

                                               spinning temptation.

                                                                                 spoiled himself with new spurs,

          enjoyed the sound of them,

                                                       chiming                  like a bejewelled lady when he walked

silver, silver, dust. Here Lies Cowboy adream—

                                 not like he used to be, not twitching catlike,
                                                              no bouncing fingers, no jaw working
          overtime, no tooth-on-tooth,
                                                       no hat over his face so you can’t see his eyes

                                                                                                  are open. always

                      slept like that. used to read the sweat-

                                                                                 stains on the canvas, little
                                                       interest in stars.

dreamed of a horse and a symphony of silver,

                                                       all up his arms.

                                 Here Lies Cowboy, broke—
                      made no money keeping the best diamonds for himself.

          Here Lies Cowboy, a bad invitation.

                                               practises another pose.
          this one could say huddle for warmth?

                                                         wishes the selfie was invented so he could check.

                      barely breathes through the night, feels

                                                                    the body curled beside him and against him,
                                                           doesn’t even need a handhold.

                                 the awkward dawn stretch.

                                                                                the minute before when

                                 he ain’t a man, just
                                                                    a matchflame within someone’s reach.

          just an orange flare, tear-shaped, inside the night.

                                               so what if we died like this, out wild,
                                                           so far away we can’t be found,

                                 can’t be buried.

                                                                                ah well.

Here Lies Cowboy—

                                                                    you want a man beside you in a grave,


                                               take the devil.

Farrago's magazine cover - Edition Five 2022


Our last print edition of 2022 is here! This wild, visionary edition is filled with burning nostalgia, glittering hope, and tantalising visions of the future, past, and present.

Read online