http://www.enniscehic.com Ennis Cehic Thu, 28 Feb 2013 13:41:32 +0000 http://www.enniscehic.com en http://www.enniscehic.com/Songs http://www.enniscehic.com/following/enniscehic.com/Songs Thu, 28 Feb 2013 13:41:32 +0000 Ennis Cehic 3773636 We are songs, the hum of voices, emitting gist to heedful ears. Lyrics, we are stanzas full of desire, our wishes and clandestine hopes. We are desperate, all in love with expression infatuated with its coloured coat tails. And with music we journey, inside past the skin where raw meat lives and feeds on cells of emotions. We are songs all trying hard to break the spell of consistency to find rhythm a beat that can carry us to the end of the finish line. We are songs, the hum of voices, emitting gist to heedful ears. Lyrics, we are stanzas full of desire, our wishes and clandestine hopes. We are desperate, all... http://www.enniscehic.com/Panic http://www.enniscehic.com/following/enniscehic.com/Panic Thu, 28 Feb 2013 13:40:17 +0000 Ennis Cehic 3697598 Panic feeds intuition, it sides with confidence and let’s you swear with grace. Panic is wild, unthinkable behaviour that forgets you have a mind. Panic is nervousness, sweat that trickles down your spine, giving poise to your chest. Panic is fear, the kind that feeds hunger without fried or baked goods. Panic is apprehension, that builds walls in front of open prairies. Panic is goodness, in the abdomen of horror where there is no pain or feeling. Panic is a green light, that forgets there was ever yellow and red halts. Panic feeds intuition, it sides with confidence and let’s you swear with grace. Panic is wild, unthinkable behaviour that forgets you have a mind. Panic is... http://www.enniscehic.com/Manners-on-Public-Transport http://www.enniscehic.com/following/enniscehic.com/Manners-on-Public-Transport Sun, 15 Jul 2012 16:53:30 +0000 Ennis Cehic 2859348 <img src="http://payload27.cargocollective.com/1/6/197350/2859348/3955.1234175849_1.jpg" width="670" height="458" width_o="1024" height_o="701" src_o="http://payload27.cargocollective.com/1/6/197350/2859348/3955.1234175849_1_o.jpg" data-mid="19534646" border="0" align="left"/> Will you please move down so we can all fit in? You've heard this before haven't you? It's a commanding voice that is often heard on trams and trains. It is confident and brusque, asking us to move down the line so others can fit in. Many think speaking so assertively in public is not a nice trait, even though this small verbal initiative is the only imperative weapon against the growing lack of commuter etiquette in our wonderful digital age... This article was originally published by The Age on 4th November 2010. To read the full article, please click here. Will you please move down so we can all fit in? You've heard this before haven't you? It's a commanding voice that is often heard on trams and trains. It is... http://www.enniscehic.com/The-Art-of-Persuasion http://www.enniscehic.com/following/enniscehic.com/The-Art-of-Persuasion Sun, 15 Jul 2012 16:48:35 +0000 Ennis Cehic 2927610 <img src="http://payload31.cargocollective.com/1/6/197350/2927610/oldspice2.png" width="670" height="376" width_o="1280" height_o="720" src_o="http://payload31.cargocollective.com/1/6/197350/2927610/oldspice2_o.png" data-mid="19533903" border="0" align="left"/> Advertising is the art of persuasion. It can create unshakeable convictions and offer a product or service, the joy of being seen, remembered and loved. But persuasion must have a subject to persuade and this is where the consumer comes in. And in this digital age, the consumer has power as never before... This article was originally published by The Age on 10th March 2011. To read the full article, please click here. Advertising is the art of persuasion. It can create unshakeable convictions and offer a product or service, the joy of being seen, remembered and loved. But... http://www.enniscehic.com/A-Cure-For-Low-Self-Esteem http://www.enniscehic.com/following/enniscehic.com/A-Cure-For-Low-Self-Esteem Sun, 15 Jul 2012 16:43:30 +0000 Ennis Cehic 2866490 <img src="http://payload28.cargocollective.com/1/6/197350/2866490/Kanye-West-003.jpg" width="670" height="413" width_o="2048" height_o="1264" src_o="http://payload28.cargocollective.com/1/6/197350/2866490/Kanye-West-003_o.jpg" data-mid="19533703" border="0" align="left"/> Pride is considered to be the worst of the seven deadly sins. It is also considered the one sin that gives rise to all others. But today, I’m not fazed by it. My hair is slicked back and I can't stop smiling. I'm pulling looks from all sides and feeling like I'm on top of the world. My stride bears more posture than an English prince and it doesn't bother me that I'm matching pink socks with a pink shirt, because my headphones are pumping supermagic confidence from Kanye West. As soon as I turn off my iPod though and head into the cafe, my stride is no longer present. I'm a little ashamed of these pink socks I'm wearing and good God what was I thinking when I put on the pink shirt too this morning. This is just embarrassing. The mad Nietzsche noted that without music life would be a mistake. Throughout our lives, music is the divine company, healing and lifting our spirits, but all genres possess different magic elements. The voice of hip-hop for example has always sidelined with pride. Hip Hop is egotistical but it is precisely this ego which is so infective; it gets under our skin quite easily, and we just love that shit. Possessing courage to recognise one’s worth is a good way of feeling self-confident, but listening to Kanye West (especially his last album) is like injecting liquid vanity into ones blood, he gives you the best and quickest ego high on this planet and can make you do things you never had the courage to do. Just walk out of your house, press play on ‘Power’ and you’ll be strutting down the street like Master P. Next time you overhear someone listening loudly to Kanye West, pay attention to their face, their expression will undoubtedly be one of completely aroused confidence. ‘My Beautiful Dark Fantasy’, offers something strange. Listeners are smiling with assurance, biting their lower lip with their teeth, looking around themselves like they own every inch of space on the tram. It’s most remarkable seeing this eruption as the ego flies on a deviant high. For a planet that is packed with online narcissism, especially on Facebook where vanity guides most status updates, it is genuinely healthy to see these boosts of self-confidence offline. As a matter of fact, I’ve missed seeing ego maniacs on the street. On Facebook hardly anyone is ugly and it’s easy to appear awesome because anonymity is a powerful device for concealing truth. But offline, self-worth is different. As important as it is in life, it’s often difficult to attain, so when the aid to feel it is found, it’s good to keep the flames sparking. I’m even thinking of introducing Kanye West to my mother. I want her to catch some Kanyeism. She is overly altruistic person who possesses a little too much selflessness. I think playing Kanye West could help her get out of the house and do something for herself, fuel her psychological egoism and be rationally selfish just for one day. I highly recommend playing the album before a major meeting, and especially to people who are going to job interviews. It might kill off all that nervousness and sweat. If you work in the office, 'My Beautiful Dark Fantasy' is a great way to lift morale, and if you’re shy, this might get your chin off the ground. Kanye West might seem like the vainest dude on the planet who gives completely inordinate self-esteem, but what is wrong with a little momentary confidence? Beatles might’ve said ‘all we need is love’ well I say ‘all we need is confidence.’ As a matter of fact, If I didn’t possess some Kanyeism right now, I would never have found the courage to write this overtly conceited piece, let alone tell you that at the end of the day I know you're feeling this shit because I know for a fact, that I'm killing this shit. Pride is considered to be the worst of the seven deadly sins. It is also considered the one sin that gives rise to all others. But today, I’m not fazed by it.... http://www.enniscehic.com/Keep-On-Giving-Up http://www.enniscehic.com/following/enniscehic.com/Keep-On-Giving-Up Fri, 13 Jul 2012 21:02:07 +0000 Ennis Cehic 3048465 <img src="http://payload37.cargocollective.com/1/6/197350/3048465/smoking-data.jpg" width="670" height="446" width_o="1280" height_o="853" src_o="http://payload37.cargocollective.com/1/6/197350/3048465/smoking-data_o.jpg" data-mid="19534151" border="0" align="left"/> QUIT Victoria has told us about the detrimental effects of smoking for years, and advertisers have focused on communicating to the public the risks. As such, we have seen ads that are so scary, so full of brutal detail, that you cannot stomach watching and want to turn off the television... This article was first published by The Age ob 11th August, 2010. To read the full article, please click here. QUIT Victoria has told us about the detrimental effects of smoking for years, and advertisers have focused on communicating to the public the risks. As such, we... http://www.enniscehic.com/Melbourne-Fashionably-Black-1 http://www.enniscehic.com/following/enniscehic.com/Melbourne-Fashionably-Black-1 Fri, 13 Jul 2012 20:45:25 +0000 Ennis Cehic 3055293 <img src="http://payload37.cargocollective.com/1/6/197350/3055293/IMG_2443.jpg" width="670" height="502" width_o="2048" height_o="1536" src_o="http://payload37.cargocollective.com/1/6/197350/3055293/IMG_2443_o.jpg" data-mid="19492928" border="0" align="left"/> Some would say it's Melbourne's changeable weather that keeps us tightly bound to this colour, layering darker garments to adapt to the patterns of our murky weather. Others would say it's our bohemian inner-city community, who find solace in the colour of darkness and disobedience. But there must be more... This article was published by The Age on 14th Sept, 2010. Please click here to read the full article. Some would say it's Melbourne's changeable weather that keeps us tightly bound to this colour, layering darker garments to adapt to the patterns of our murky... http://www.enniscehic.com/A-Pornographic-Tale-For http://www.enniscehic.com/following/enniscehic.com/A-Pornographic-Tale-For Fri, 13 Jul 2012 19:14:12 +0000 Ennis Cehic 3049465 "An R Rated story follows - if you are under 18, piss off and go play a violent video game or something." Brentley Frazer, Editor [A Pornographic Tale] For People with no Sense of Humour was orginally published in Retort Magazine on 2nd July, 2008 under a pseudonym, Ennis C. Quillante. Retort Magazine is dedicated to the publication of innovative, experimental and cutting edge text + art in all disciplines and was selected for preservation by the National Library of Australia as a nationally significant publication. Click here to read the story on the original publishing platform. "An R Rated story follows - if you are under 18, piss off and go play a violent video game or something." Brentley Frazer, Editor [A Pornographic Tale] For People... http://www.enniscehic.com/Beating-God http://www.enniscehic.com/following/enniscehic.com/Beating-God Thu, 12 Jul 2012 23:30:49 +0000 Ennis Cehic 2927556 "Ennis Cehic's debut on New Aesthetic is a short story that takes the reader through the strange surreal mind of a young man grappling with the world around him. A story that begins with the usual expression of the angst of youth and ends in a startling manner, leaving the reader deeply disturbed." Arvind Joshi, Editor Beating God was published in the literary online magazine, New Aesthetic in Oct 2009. Click here to read the story. "Ennis Cehic's debut on New Aesthetic is a short story that takes the reader through the strange surreal mind of a young man grappling with the world around him. A... http://www.enniscehic.com/Doritos-Movies-and-Death http://www.enniscehic.com/following/enniscehic.com/Doritos-Movies-and-Death Thu, 12 Jul 2012 21:11:43 +0000 Ennis Cehic 3048184 ‘Do you believe in destiny?’ he asks me. ‘I’m not so sure,’ I say. ‘It’s one of things that you live your whole life with carrying in your back pocket and when you face difficult reality, it lands in the palm of your hands.’ ‘… I know what you mean.’ ‘Do you… really?’ I ask. ‘I think so… I mean, it’s like you don’t care about it, you don’t think of it, until you reach a certain matter that concerns it.’ ‘… I didn’t think you’d hit the spot.’ ‘I’m not always dumb,’ he says. ‘Haha!’ I look at over at Alex whilst he drives, a devoted attention is noticeable, his eyes are fixed on the curves of the road. He turns up the stereo and we listen to a Pop station. I wonder for a second why he asks me such a question, and why he asks it at a moment when everything seems rather light-hearted. He is not the kind who dwells on these matters of life or at least he never seems it. It is Thursday evening and the night feels a little swollen from the cold weather and somehow we have found ourselves within that tedium that keeps you bound from action. I think a lucid observation of such times is seen as laziness, but it was also the money – we did not have enough of it to do what we really wanted so this is why we decided to stay in and entertain ourselves with films. ‘Why did you ask me that anyway,’ I asked nevertheless. ‘You know… I’m not really sure, you know me I hardly ever think of these things but sometimes they just pop into my head.’ ‘Hence my question,’ I reply cheekily. We drive to Block Buster and park in customer parking lot. A couple of people can be seen inside, browsing through DVD’s. We walk inside and before we even approach the door, a plump Asian girl behind the counter says, ‘we close in 15 minutes.’ We both look at each other and smile. She doesn’t understand what we are smiling at, and neither do we but it sounded like a strange customer greeting. I look at her chubby face and glance over her features. Eyebrows are plucked too thin and her small lips are pursed outwards with a tiny bit of lipstick that looks like it had been there for a while. ‘So you close at ten?’ I say. ‘Yes, we do.’ ‘Well my watch indicates that there is exactly 18 minutes left.’ ‘Yeah… fine.’ She turns her back to us and goes to serve a couple who are waiting to rent their selection of movies. They have a pile of them on the counter. We look for the section with all the action films. There is a long row of them and we don’t’ think we can make a sensible choice in less than 18 minutes so we decide to get three new releases for just $9.95. The special sounds affordable. Renting films with a friend who has a totally different taste in movies is difficult. And there is no way in hell we can come to an agreement in 18 minutes. Alex would always say that I have a tendency for shit films, where as I say that his movie choices are always too shallow or stupid. ‘I’ll start from this end, you start from the other,’ he says. ‘You get one movie and I get one, and when we reach the middle we pick one together, ok?’ ‘Alright, sounds like a plan…. And no arguing about it, ok?’ The new releases are all laid out on the back wall and I start my search from the left. Alex stays at the right and starts to look through, eyes reading the titles, judging the films by the cover and about five minutes later we meet in the middle both holding a film each. ‘What you got?’ he says. ‘I’ve got a good one, and you?’ ‘… Please tell me it’s not one of those shitty art-house types.’ ‘Haha… Nah, this time I got something really funny. I got the Benchwarmers. Never heard of it, but the title reminds me of my soccer days.’ ‘I got how much do you love me, it’s a French movie. I love French movies.’ ‘No, you don’t like French movies, you like Monica Belluci.’ ‘Fuck she’s hot.’ ‘Alright, what’s the third one?’ ‘I was thinking either an action or a horror.’ ‘I don’t mind, get whatever.’ Alex picks out some horror movie called the Hills Have Eyes. I didn’t really mind and we rush off to the counter and pay for the films. ‘Now you can close a little earlier, there is still five minutes left,’ I say to the girl. She smiles and thanks me. ‘Now we have to get some munchies,’ says Alex on our way out. ‘Let’s do it.’ I look at my watch and it’s almost 10 o’clock. It’s dark and it’s getting colder by the minute. We get into the car and drive up the road to Coles. A security guard stands outside of the door with his arms crossed. He has this peculiar face. I would say he is about 30 years old, but he looks like the type of guy who works really long hours and finds them to be a complete bore, and because of the tediousness he never smiles. We walk past him and he doesn’t pay much attention to us, just a quick glance without a greeting. We get a couple of bags of Doritos, some dipping sauce and a pack of cigarettes. We pass the security guard again and his position is still the same, arms crossed. But this time he nods as we walk out. We get back into the car and drive off. ‘Is there anything else we need?’ I ask Alex. ‘I think we should be fine.’ ‘… We should have gone out tonight.’ ‘I know, but fuck... we’re pretty broke.’ ‘I know... but we don’t have to drink. We can just sip on a lemonade and smoke.’ ‘I don’t know. It’s always weird when you’re sober and everyone is drunk.’ ‘It’s terrible. Last time I went out sober, I was so confused, I thought I was drunk.’ ‘Haha.’ I take out a Doors CD from a case and put it on. Alex turns up the volume and we listen to Jim Morrison’s tales of debauchery. Our place is about ten minutes away and Alex is not much of a talker whilst he drives. I never knew why, but his quietness always arrived along with the driving. He always answered questions but never initiated a conversation. When ever he drove, I usually just smoked and watched the road in front of me. Along the road I notice a man on a bicycle about 15 meters ahead of us about to cross the street from the opposite lane. His cigarette falls out of his mouth as we drive past and he looses control and falls off the bike. We both start laughing at him. It’s an old man, probably about 50 years old. Alex watches the rear view mirror and I turn around just as a car passes us from the opposite lane. I turn around and say, ‘watch him run now Alex, he’s gonna forget his bike… haha.’ The car speeds past us heading towards the man. I turn in this instant to watch him run of the street, but I see him kneeling, probably picking up his cigarette. He looks up and the head lights of the car brighten his face. He stares into the lights and that becomes the last thing he sees. The car goes straight into him, without breaking. It throws him about a metre in front then the wheels go over his body. The car tyres screech and the man is on the other lane, motionless. ‘Oh shit,’ screams Alex. ‘Ohhh my god, did you see that…’ I say. ‘Call the ambulance.’ I grab my phone and dial 000. We turn around quickly and head over to the accident. Cars are honking and a couple of residents from the houses from the street walk out, most of them in their pyjamas. One man is signalling the cars to turn around and find another route. As we approach the body, I sense my legs start to shake. The operator is hearing me speak, but I’m not sure what I’m saying. Alex has gotten out of the car and he is checking the body. ‘Is the victim alive,’ the operator asks ‘… I ‘m not sure… He’s lying flat… there is heaps of blood.’ ‘You have to perform CPR, go check if he is alive.’ ‘… He is not moving… his, his neck is broken; he is out of shape… oh god… I can’t.’ ‘Check the pulse for signs of life, you are doing great, just check it and talk to me.’ I get out of the car as well and get closer to the old man. He is lying on the ground, motionless. I tell the operator that he is not moving and she insists on CPR. I give the phone to Alex. I keep staring at the old man’s body. He is lying on the side with his head twisted, face flat. His legs look broken and one shoe is missing, even the sock came off. I stare at this lifeless body and the only thing that is alive, the only thing that continues to progress in time is the watch that is on his wrist. I can almost hear the ticking of the seconds. More residents across the street are coming out of their houses. Lights are switching on in bedrooms and cars are turning around and heading back in the other direction. My legs are shaking uncontrollably. The blood underneath him is running slowly forming a round puddle. It’s thick and almost black. I see the bike he fell off about five metres from him. It has been run over as well, the tyres are bent and the body smashed to pieces. A distant sound of sirens is heard, the police and the ambulance. They arrive within a minute. They tend to the old man right away, but they shake their head as they approach him. I wonder to myself how many accidents like this they tend to. I wonder if their legs shake like mine. I look at Alex as he hangs up the phone. ‘Are you alright,’ he asks. ‘… I’m not sure.’ ‘Go sit in the car... Go.’ I go back into the car and watch the scene through the windscreen. Traffic is building up in the distance and a couple of police vehicles can be seen. I can see a car parked with all four lights blinking. Police officers are tending to it, observing the front, looking at the damage done - the damage that brought on the death. A policewoman knocks on my window and asks if I was a witness. Alex walks over to her and starts to talk. I get out of the car and approach them. ‘… We were driving, saw the old man fall off the bike, and then the car hit him,’ says Alex. ‘How did it happen exactly, where were you coming from?’ ‘We were coming for down that end, says Alex pointing his finger up the road. ‘The old man was crossing from the opposite side.’ ‘You were the passenger, what is your name?’ she asks me. I give her my details and try to explain to her what exactly I saw. Even though it only happened moments ago, the picture has become distorted and words try to mend it to its actual and concrete occurrence, but it becomes nothing but exaggeration with either too little detail or too much detail. ‘Is he alive?’ I ask the policewoman whose calmness reminds me of police officers from TV shows. ‘No, unfortunately he is not. He died instantly… This is all for now, we will probably need to get more details from you, so you can expect a call from us. You guys are free to go, take care and drive safe.’ I look at her as she smiles. I couldn’t form a smile to smile back at her. Neither could Alex. We get back into the car silently. About ten minutes ago our whole lives were on a different wavelength. About ten minutes ago we were talking about going out and picking up girls. About ten minutes ago I never thought that death would walk past me and take someone away. And now as silence takes over everything we continue to drive with our heads filled with the havoc of death. ‘Fuck,’ I say, ‘did you see that shit. I can’t get the image out of my mind.’ ‘… What a night.’ ‘His face, I couldn’t look at it.’ ‘I wonder who killed him.’ ‘I can’t get over this; I won’t be able to sleep.’ ‘Poor guy will go to jail. I don’t think he was speeding, but why didn’t he slow down. How come he didn’t see the old man?’ ‘… And we laughed at him; I’ll never again laugh at other people’s misfortune.’ ‘Fuck, if he didn’t fall. If he didn’t smoke that cigarette…’ ‘He would be here.’ We continue to drive in silence. The stereo is off. I watch the world in front me from a different perspective now. Happiness has faded. Fear and illusiveness arrived. I keep thinking if he didn’t, if he didn’t, but he did and now the man is dead. He will never see anyone again. The last people, the last faces he saw were ours while we laughed at him. I wonder what was on his mind when the car hit him. I wonder if his life flashed before his eyes as they say it does. My mother once told me what her father said to her when she was young. She never understood it back then. He said, ‘death is as close to you as the shirt’s collar around your neck.’ I didn’t get it either, just like she didn’t, but now that I think of it, death is inescapable and because its so, it can strike any time, so nothing in life is closer to you that your own death. I light a cigarette and tell Alex about that. He doesn’t say anything but continuos to drive carefully watching the road ahead. ... This short story was first published in the print publication, Four W (19th Edition) in November 2008. Four W is the annual literary publication from the Charles Sturt University Sydney. ‘Do you believe in destiny?’ he asks me. ‘I’m not so sure,’ I say. ‘It’s one of things that you live your whole life with carrying in your back pocket...