Blog
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Thirty miles north of Stawell, ten west of Lubeck, a station on the line, Rupanyup was one of the new townships that had sprung up within the past seven or eight years as an outcome of land selection in the north. Roused from sleep by hysterical kookaburras just on dawn, Forster went out behind the… Read more
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To my dearest friend and comrade Mow FungMay blessings of the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginnings be upon you. As I prepared my old inkstone with a little Madeira, I was wondering what my aim was in writing this to you. I think there might be something more behind it than briefing you on a… Read more
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Humour and pathos form the pivot upon which spins Megan Twycross’s play, Stuck. Ultraviolet light, a polyurethane curtain, refrigeration that resonates as a butcher’s bandsaw, stainless steel, and two female deli employees processed by the supermarket aisle are invitations to enter a staid world, within which Old One and Young One are sandwiched between two… Read more
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Not long after I moved into the rooming house there was a problem with the hotwater service. Out of their rooms they came: The Swine, Vladimir the Caretaker, and Bruce. While the other tenants postulated, Bruce proposed a flashlight. “A flashlight…?” The Swine said. “What are we gunna do with a flashlight?” “Well…” Bruce said.… Read more
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These blasted brushes have their bristles falling out into the ink, and where the devil is the new consignment of butterfly scrolls? No, stop, it doesn’t bear transcribing all this, you nitwit, it will only have to be crossed out later. And just as we were broaching a significant point in the temporal flow: the… Read more
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