Darwin

Memories are ephemeral and these digital memories have already corrupted

Marie Munkara - on Recurring Dreams

Your Memories

  • Driving by
    When I was a child I frequently dreamt of crashing our family car. It was always the same. I was in the drivers seat, my little brother in the back. The crash was never violent, more of a slow bump into a wall. Looking back I see that this dream probably represents the lack of control I felt as a child over our family situation. My parents were …


  • Drowning by Derek
    I was in my early teens and spending Christmas holidays at my grandparents' place when my uncle phoned. His faltering words came down the line like uncertain gusts of air lost in some dank underground cellar. My five year old cousin had drowned in their pool, unseen, surrounded by family and friends. They had been celebrating the festive season on …


  • Betrayed by electronics by Lois Spangler
    It's a theme, more than a specific dream narrative with cast and setting. I'm usually waking up (in the dream), but sometimes I'm in the kitchen; what matters is that I'm near every-day normal run of the mill electronics with digital readouts. And these things, these deeply familiar things, begin misbehaving. And it's not the kind of misbehavior th…


  • Wolves by Barbara McKenzie
    When I was three, we visited my mother's elderly aunt. I had to sleep on a convertible armchair, its mahogany arms menacing beside me in the semi-dark. Slavering wolves pursued me. I could hear them panting, see their cruel eyes, vicious fangs, dripping tongues. I tried to run, but panic transfixed me and my legs refused to move. The beasts were…


  • Fools Gold by
    I have a recurrent dream of finding money. Its always coins, and when I find one coin there will be more, until I find myself following a trail of coins. I have been sent into a spin in my non-dream state (ie. awake) when I have found some coins on the ground. Is it a dream, or is this real life? This odd sensation of not knowing where I am might o…


  • Rusty Dreaming by Georgia Lejeune
    I've always had incredibly vivid dreams. When I was a child there was a certain dream that would wake me up in a panic. I’d pad down the hallway barefooted and nervous to knock on my parents' door for comforting. The dream was always the same. There was a river, clear blue and full of huge boulders. I would travel up the river with my cousins—s…


  • Dream death by Meg
    As a child, I could fly in many of my dreams. In each recurring version, I would sprout gorgeous cream leathery wings from shoulder blades to wrists. A common dream was to hover with a triumphant smile, rising ten feet above a crowd of schoolyard bullies. Sometimes I would take off from the top of the old SGIO building, where my Dad worked, a…


Marie Munkara

About Marie Munkara

Marie Munkara is of Rembarranga, Tiwi and Chinese descent and has extensive family throughout Arnhemland, the Islands of the Top End and Darwin. Born on the banks of the Mainoru River,  Marie spent her early years growing up on Bathurst Islan…… read more

About This Project

Memory Makes Us is a live writing event that challenges writers to create a new work using as their inspiration collected memories from the general public. The project seeks contributions from anyone both online and in person during each event in a… read more

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Levin Diatschenko - on Family Tree

Your Memories

  • A girl with a father. by Rachael Cain
    It was in that house where I was able to fully be a child, those few precious years that I was naive and innocent and took for granted my family and home, because it was perfect and because I was really too young to have to know anything different. It was before he left and I had to grow up way too quickly. It was rainy. It was just after 5. My mot…


  • Living on the edge by Kathrine Carver
    I learnt go swim before I could walk. Untaught. Except inspired by creatures of the reef upon whose edge we dwelled. It was an idyllic place to dwell. Mostly. Smoke curled from the hill near our home. It reached hungrily to join it's cloudy counterparts. Daily. Every week, or so it seemed, in my 3 year year old mind, the earth shook. Sometimes a tr…


  • Daddy’s and Mommy stories by
    My Dad and mom used to be a story tellers. Every Sunday after church, we had a brunch at home. We could stay on the table hours even after we were done eating. It was always funny stories about how Cameroon used to be, how their parents used to do this or that, how they fought to be the one playing with one of us when we were just babies. They love…


  • March by Becky Higgins
    One of my dad's favourite phrases is to quote, usually in reply to my unending existential crisis', is the ever optimistic "you'll be dead anyway", which I guess means that in the end, none of it means shit, so why spend your life in anticipation of making the 'right' choices instead of just saying 'fuck it' and throwing off your shoes and running,…


  • Abbu by Farah Shah
    1998: My dad teaches me how to ride a bike without training wheels. He runs behind me, hunched over despite his aching back, holding on to the back of my seat. We spend hours like that every day. He has the strong arms of a mechanic, with rough callouses adorning the insides of his palms. He is the picture of good health. 2000: My parents buy thei…


  • mom by G. B.
    now my mom is a therapist for kids but she was really terrible with her own children. she used to be really intense, abusive. i remember throwing a popsicle away and she pulled it out of the trash and made me eat it. maybe i was four years old or so. i remember it was an orange creamsicle and i haven't touched one in the twenty years since.…


  • If things were the way i wondered. by
    I just want him to speak up. Everything I know about him people have told me or I have asked. Why cant I hear it from you. Shes particular, it kills me. Inside & out. Shes judgemental, that kills me too. The exchange of no words but through me for 19 years. These past 2 are unfair, stop going against me together. He finally picks me up after th…


Levin Diatschenko

About Levin Diatschenko

Levin A. Diatschenko was born in Sydney, and raised in Alice Springs. Though he has lived in most major cities in Australia, he resides in Darwin. His work has been referred to variously as magical realism, hard-boiled Surrealism, an…… read more

About This Project

Memory Makes Us is a live writing event that challenges writers to create a new work using as their inspiration collected memories from the general public. The project seeks contributions from anyone both online and in person during each event in a… read more

Latest Tweets

  • What a fantastic project. Standard Ebooks are making beautiful and readable public domain ebooks.… ,

Kamarra Bell-Wykes - on Smell

Your Memories

  • In the dark by Sofia N
    I remember my parent's bedroom as a dark place. My dad worked shifts so he regularly slept in the daytime with the shades down and I would have to be extra quiet if this occurred on weekends. The room would be warm smell like new sweat and tobacco. My mother had migraines at least once a month. She had it for what felt like days on end sometimes, n…


  • White Rabbits by Clare Bizley
    I was 16 & my mum had gone on holiday & left me to house mind my childhood home. She had a large sunflower patch which she loved because they grew tall & have happy flowers. One afternoon the dog kept barking at something within the sunflower patch. I investigated and found a small clear patch, with 4.5 dead white rats in it. They were …


  • From ‘In Harm’s Way’ by Claine Keily
    I remember the blood of the neons, the whorehouses, the dingy bedsits I lived in, scratching out my youth, mouthing out my name. It was easier then to be without a future, to return home to your mother on the weekend and cook up a cake full of fruit and grains of wholemeal, and then smuggle this back to the city and live off it for weeks. It was ea…


  • Fish by Kalinda Griffiths
    He had prepared a platter, had opened the wine and organised the music for us. It was a 1997 cab. sav., and the music was a mix of slow r&b. I stood on the verandah and looked across the ocean. Breathing in the salt. We smiled at each other as we met in the lounge room, glasses in hand. I closed my eyes and felt the wine warm me in the dry seas…


  • Vinegar by Polly Jude
    Pain carved through my skin to stab into my head as the tentacles wrapped around my leg and took hold. Goodbye Mum. At first it was horrendous, and then it was worse. Until I wanted to die. Goodbye Sister. I was in the car, swerving through the traffic and heading, too slowly, towards hospital. Tick, tick, tick. Time passed. I was…


  • Dad by Michelle Kmon
    Waking up on a Sunday morning to the smell of a summer's day, freshly mowed grass, polish sausage cooking in the kitchen, cigarette smoke coming from the lounge room and stale beer from the night before.…


  • Chicken noodle soup & honey biscuits by
    The smell of chicken noodle soup and baked honey biscuits reminds me of my Gradmothers home when I was a child. The smells take me back to memories associated around meal times, my family, the house, the games, the laughter. When I am sick or missing family I cook these dishes and I feel comforted.…


Kamarra Bell-Wykes

About Kamarra Bell-Wykes

Kamarra Bell-Wykes is a descendant of the Jagera and Butchulla people of South East Queensland. Kamarra's  first play, Shrunken Iris was produced when she was twenty-two. With four works since then, Crying Shame, <…… read more

About This Project

Memory Makes Us is a live writing event that challenges writers to create a new work using as their inspiration collected memories from the general public. The project seeks contributions from anyone both online and in person during each event in a… read more

Latest Tweets

  • What a fantastic project. Standard Ebooks are making beautiful and readable public domain ebooks.… ,
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