May 25, 2018
You’re never too old to adventure.
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from Brazil
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Philippines
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
You’re never too old to adventure.
Hard Ticket To Weekend Notes
Hard Ticket To Weekend Notes
Check out this write up about our next event on March 8th on Weekend Notes!
http://www.weekendnotes.com/comedy-commentary-cinema-hard-ticket-to-hawaii/
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An 8-bit version of Sade’s No Ordinary Love drifted down the line. John stretched his legs under the desk and kicked something. With the phone still to his ear, he leant down and looked into the cavernous black beneath his desk. A little way in, under what used to be Derek’s, he could make out the top of a cream-coloured dome. The staticy beeps and hums kept pulsing in his ear, and he got on all fours, holding the receiver between his chin and shoulder. The phone’s spiral cord stretched, bent against the edge of the desk, as crawled under. His hands and trousers were stained black. With one hand he reached out to the object. It gave a little, but would not come unstuck from whatever held it there. It was smooth and dry, and slightly springy to the touch, but it felt resilient, and he tried to get a better grip, pulling harder. Something snapped, or unlatched – it was like Velcro giving, and there wasn’t a word John knew for that feeling – and the object, the size and rough shape of a small beach ball rolled towards him. He backed out from under the desk, rolling the ball with one hand. He bumped his head as he resumed his seat, then leant over and picked up the ball with both hands. It was the same type of thing that had pushed itself out of the far wall. He turned it in his hand. It was slightly transparent, but in the darkened office he couldn’t see through the smoky surface. He held it above his head, in front of the fluoro. He could make out the shape inside, and he could see the tinge of colour. A faint purple blob, attached to a wriggling mass of tentacles.
“Hello,” said the voice down the phone, and at the same moment John dropped the egg, and the receiver.
The egg fell to the floor, soundlessly, bounced once, then was still. The phone clattered against the desk in a botched bungee, then swung by it’s cord, pendulum-like, hitting the side of the desk at the right-hand end of each slow, spinning arc.
On Halloweening.
Look, it's the best holiday (okay, nerd, I know it's not an actual holiday, but just fuck off, alright?). If only because of Treehouse Of Horror, the consistently excellent Community Halloween episodes, and the fact they might air Beetlejuice or Witches or maybe even Ernest Scared Stupid, if we're lucky! But this year it's especially special because the prolific, and unfailingly good-looking crew at Stilts Literary Journal has put together a SPOOKTACULAR double bill for All Hallows Eve next week. What does this mean? Two events are being held, simultaneously, in Brisbane and Melbourne on the night, to commemorate the release of Stilts Literary Journal's HORROR HOUSEMATES ZINE, featuring short (really short!) stories from a bunch of emerging writers (including ME!) from the two warring excellent friendship-having cities. What's even cooler is that I will be reading the entire script of Ernest Scared Stupid my story, entitled Plague, on the evening. To be clear, I'm reading at the Brisbane event, which takes place next Wednesday night (October 31st) at Addition Art Gallery in West End. Just click on this link to find out more information!
This is going to be super fun, and apparently we don't have to get topless for once, so that's cool.
Ryan Sim: Penjualan dan Pemasaran Ada dalam Darah Saya
Mulai bergabung sejak tahun 2001, Ryan Sim kini menjabat sebagai General Manager AMD (Advanced Micro Devices) Far East Ltd untuk kawasan ASEAN. Apa yang dikerjakannya saat ini cukup berbeda dari pekerjaan sebelumnya maupun latar belakang pendidikannya. Namun, ia sukses menekuninya. Salah satu bukti, namanya kini terukir di sejumlah penghargaan yang didapat dari perusahaan.
Lantas bagaimana kisah hidupnya selama bekerja di perusahaan produsen prosesor terbesar di dunia ini? Simak petikan wawancara langsung SWA Online dengan Ryan, di Jakarta, minggu lalu.
Read more > http://swa.co.id/profile/ryan-sim-penjualan-dan-pemasaran-ada-dalam-darah-saya
Plague (draft)
The brick façade out front declared 102 OXLADE DRIVE in tarnished brass. Part art-deco, part neo-gothic. Clouds like dust bunnies squatted above the black river. The lift was old – I’m convinced they erected the building around an already existing elevator shaft and mechanism. It groaned and echoed as it took me up to level three. It always smelled of piss from the grey elderly folk who shared the first floor apartments.
My apartment, 6, was unlocked.
“Hello?” I said, dumping my bag on the couch.
“Hey.” The word was sung, muffled through walls.
“Brad? How're you”
“Good,” he sung back at me.
I dropped onto the couch and heard a rattling against the tiles behind me. I turned.
Brad’s eyes were wide, dark rings under them, his hair mussed. He wore a pair of torn shorts and a wife-beater. He gripped the vacuum hose with both hands, hunched over, eyes darting across the ceiling.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
“I gotta get the moths.”
Black River
Girt by disease, the young and the free, Wealth buried in silt and soil that won't yield. Wherever I go, that snake's in my chest, Organs show through the tears in my clothes. Water recedes, take what is left, Pain is less meaningful than you would expect. Girt by disease, the young and the free, Wealth buried in silt and soil that won't yield. Wherever I go, that snake's in my chest, Pain is less meaningful than you would suggest. Bare your bones, black river. Burst your banks. Cough up what's left of this town.
New.
Part of a redraft. I think this passage is nice but tell me what you think:
Jennifer sat in the passenger seat, the parcel of grey butcher’s paper in her lap. Outside mountains and lakes and bush rushed by in a blur.
“It smells so good!”
She ripped open one end of the parcel and the aroma steamed out. She pulled out one of the yellow chips, glistening with salt crystals and quickly dropped it on the top of the parcel.
“Ah. Hot!”
“Be careful,” Sam laughed.
“Want one?”
“Sure.”
She reached her arm across and fed him.
“Ah, they are hot!” he said, chewing with his mouth open.
“Sorry,” she laughed
“It’s okay.”
They passed a theme park on the highway, Technicolor giants looming above the highway. It was raining heavily and Sam drove slowly. None of the rides were operating and they stood against the dismal sky in orange and green and purple like toys outgrown and disused by the children who once owned them.
Jennifer was asleep by the time they got back to her house and the chips in her lap were cold and stale.