Published in Overland Issue 244 Spring 2021 · Poetry Press sec Liam Ferney Fashion ephemera until it becomes fashionable. Fascism came back this way, fauvism might. Walk away from the chan comfortable in your felicity, hide behind the fact that the meme was dank. He forgets to be cautious when the journalist rings and by the time he’s run his mouth half an hour has slipped. Nobody believes the cover up but no-one else wants the job and who is reading the Warrego Watchmen anyway? Have you ever given advice? Didn’t you wonder on what authority you wandered through the world? One Monday’s expert with a Paddy Power account offers printer side revisionism. Giddy up champ draft the balrog Gothmog Family Ties is on Netflix now. Sit Ubu sit. Good dog. Read the rest of Overland 244 If you enjoyed this piece, buy the issue Or subscribe and receive four brilliant issues for a year Liam Ferney Liam Ferney’s most recent collection, is Hot Take His previous collection, Content, was shortlisted for the Prime Minister's Literary Award and the Judith Wright Calanthe Award. His other books include Boom (Grande Parade Poets), Career (Vagabond Press) and Popular Mechanics (Interactive Press). He is a media manager, holder of the all-time games record for the New Farm Traktor Collective and convener of the Saturdays readings in Brisbane. More by Liam Ferney › Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays 1 11 April 202511 April 2025 · Poetry Final results of the 2024 Judith Wright Poetry Prize Editorial team Overland, the judges and the Malcolm Robertson Foundation are thrilled to announce the final results of the 2024 Judith Wright Poetry Prize. 4 April 20254 April 2025 · Poetry Water music Gary Catalano Even now / its black waters / are tanked ’nd / safely intact. Pour / seeds or syllables / back down that throat / and all you’ll hear / are scattered ping-pings / on an iron roof.