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Australian Horror One

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Australian Horror One The Lost Soldier to an Empire of Bone and Ash Under the unsparing glare of a white-hot sky, the horror does not lurk in the shadows—it bakes into the earth's surface itself. This image presents Australian Gothic Horror as a visceral, speculative dread, where the landscape is not merely hostile, but an active, devouring force that refuses to let the past rot in peace. The horror is elemental and corporeal: human history grafted directly into ancient geology. The Lost Soldier's flesh has not decayed; it has calcified into red earth, oxidized stone, and petrified khaki cotton. It has accepted the intrusion of human technology—corroded copper telegraph wire coiled into sinew, thick glass insulators staring blindly like unblinking eyes—suggesting a brutal, botched metamorphosis. It has become the physical manifestation of an unspoken colonial and wartime trauma, where the forgotten dead are subsumed, weaponized, and regurgitated by the country they sought to ta...
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Travel Lake Bennett

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It only takes the slightest breeze.
After each sunset.
Before the problems of the day are resolved.

The bludgeoned crawl out.
To reclaim some dignity.
And some semblance of affinity with living.
And their efficacy to feel beautiful.

The opportunity to refract and diverge with their whispers.
If you want to listen to them.


3am in the morning.
When the void sets in.
And all daily grinds transpire.
Stone cold awake.

Then night allows your creativity.
The force denied brilliant struggle.
By stripping away your defenses.

You wake up and feel the affinity.
The moon, stars, and clouds.
Listen to your reptilian cycle.
Before the window closes.
And you have forgotten the introspection.




Quiet conversations.
On whatever breeze chances by.
No longer demanding hardened options.
Or decisive actions.

Just being aware of stillness.
As an uncomplicated opportunity.
When elsewhere else has none.
Claim this moment.
To be within yourself.




Translucent memories.
Whispering for your return.
To childhood when nothing was an option.
Without the graveyard of divisive actions.

Drifting through the stillness.
Lulled.
Without care.
Engrossed at the moment.
As a cloud appears.
And without your permission.
Transfixes your amazement.




Lake Bennett  Water Cloud Branch 
Full Moon Reflections

When the moon finally breaks through.
And the restless breeze wanders between.
Past hatreds and future promises.
And the decisions of others who cut me down.

I just cannot stop.
And I fight with myself for my life.
Knowing others fight harder.
Never to gain even.
But I never wanted to march.
But I did.




When my thoughts don't realize.
I become restless.
I wander between what could have been.
My hatreds and false starts.
And all decisions I could never make.

My sky dreaming.
My glass ceilings.
I as the consumer.
Stoked by the genius.
Those who know better for me.
And the wasted life of never meeting promises.
But still, I follow.







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