Got some stuff up at blink-ink.com, check out the site, some very cool fun stuff there.
Each piece has to be fifty words or less, and writing anything of any resonance that long proved to be a shit-load harder than I thought it would be...
It won't blow your mind or anything, but I feel I didn't embarrass myself.
Check it out, then check out some of the other stuff, cheers!
Sunday, July 19, 2009
The second book by Jason Starr I've read (fifth if you count the Max & Angela books he co-wrote with Ken Bruen - and you REALLY, REALLY should), Starr seemed to really be finding his own voice with this novel.
The first time I read a solo book by Starr, TWISTED CITY, I was struck by its resemblance to Bret Easton Ellis' work, specifically, AMERICAN PSYCHO, and founded it an equally worthy, if more entertaining version of that. So it's only appropriate that HARD FEELINGS sports a handsome quote from Ellis on the cover. And Starr deserves it, too.
HARD FEELINGS slowly draws you in, making you like and relate to its lead character just enough so that when he starts to unravel, you feel you just might along with him.
The book, though, is not without its flaws. There is a slight feeling of drag in the middle section of the book as the character's guilt and paranoia overtake him, which, while effective, interrupted the flow of the story a bit.
I can only imagine if I had read HARD FEELINGS before any of Starr's other work, the impact it would have had, because, as it stands, the similarities with it and TWISTED CITY are too large to overlook, yet, TWISTED CITY defied its more conventional tendencies, while HARD FEELINGS allows them to a degree. Although no fault of Starr's, it is the undeniable comparison to his later, more sophisticated and refined work that ultimately hurt the book for me.
That isn't to say it's bad, far from it, I tore through its pages greedily, and was left with what felt like a film of grease and shame upon finishing it.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
I've been helping with the GetUp! anti-internet censorship campaign for the last few months, helping bounce some ideas around, and here is the final advertisement they've developed.
They're a non-profit, community-based grassroots organisation that isn't affiliated to any political party, but has put together some pretty cool stuff.
I particularly support their anti-censorship campaign, and love their plan to get this onto all QANTAS flights to and from Canberra in the coming months.
Have a look, and, if you're so compelled, donate, or give your time.
The link is FUCK CUNT POOP PORN DICK VIOLENCE here
(Image from the banned cover to the TISM album 'AUSTRALIA THE LUCKY CUNT')
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
IN A TELECAST seen the world round, Michael Jackson, entertainer, experiment, brother and sex offender was filmed today, one final time, in a solid gold coffin.
"He's going out the way he lived," said a distraught fan, "looking like a corpse and eccentrically entombed within his vast wealth, whilst surrounded by undulating minors and overage enablers."
Al Sharpton was at hand to yell a few randomly selected words at mourners in his own wistful, aurally offensive manner, "Vanilla! Toast! Rhapsody! Functional! Leaf! Onion!" he said, then pausing, raising his hands to the lord above, before repeating, in his own, still-kind-of-loud, reverent way "onion."
The 7th place holder of Britain's Got Talent then tried consolidate his minimal fame by appearing on stage, although honestly, I wasn't really paying attention by then. I'm pretty sure he was demonstrating how Jackson liked his omelets.
Although, there was only one person who truly captivated the hearts and minds of the audience that day, who brought the crowd to tears and allowed them to grieve in the manner to which they're accustomed - this person who was, perhaps, personally closer to Michael, having, in a way, been brought up by him, and that, of course, was Trey Lorenz, former back-up singer to Mariah Carey. When asked for some words, Trey looked visibly confused as to his whereabouts, and screamed upon turning around and seeing the seventy-foot effigy of Jackson projected overhead.
A sentiment surely shared by all those present.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
After the fucking brilliant DEAD MAN'S SHOES, starring the man I'd turn for, Paddy Considine, and the equally impressive THIS IS ENGLAND (which, tonally, oddly reminded me of Alan Moore...) writer/director Shane Meadows is making a fucking horror movie.
I think I'm going to die of happy.
Apparently it will "mak[e] Dead Man’s Shoes look like Play School". Sign me up!
And I'm not sure I'm reading this right, but I'm getting the impression that Considine will be in this too?!
Don't read all of this is you wanna avoid spoilers.
To be fair, he has given me an unreasonable amount of entertainment for a number of years, but, as comic readers are wont to do, I feel some sort of sense of personal entitlement when he upsets me.
I just did a huge binge of the awesome INVINCIBLE, his creator owned series through image.
Then I read the latest, issue #63... and without resorting to hyperbole, it exploded my skull with the force of being punched with a thousand orgasms that somehow became corporeal and flew jets.
Simultaneously heartbroken, intrigued, outraged and dying for the next issue... you prick, Kirkman.
Kirkman loves killing his characters, as we've seen in THE WALKING DEAD, where the it has become apparent that the rotating cast is doing so because they're actually trapped in some sort of meat grinder, but certain characters are ones you just don't want to lose. And now, killing Atom Eve... well, not to get creepy about it, but I kind of considered her my girlfriend. We'd be going steady a while, I suppose, and sure, she didn't return my calls, or accept my demands of marriage, and may have issued a restraining order... and sure, even in my deluded fantasies I may be getting court orders... but Atom Eve, Kirkman?!
If I didn't love you so much I'd actually sign the waiver my hitman requires before he takes up the contract I put on you...
NOTE: Liam José and (most) known associates do not condone the killing of Robert Kirkman, and are probably able to actually have a point to their ramblings at 1am. If anything, they're only calling for a vigorous slapping.
This week has given me a special kind of buzz, the kind that only comes with a trifecta of win (and a receding hangover) - those being, not failing uni, offered a waged position at the company I've been doing contracts for, and now got a piece up at The Flash Fiction Offensive.
It's called BABY FOOD, it won't show you God, but I think it's kind of fun...
Check it out and shoot a comment. It's short, sweet and a little sexy.
While you're there, scroll through - some great stuff.
Flash Fiction Offensive