Thursday, 13 May 2010

PAN magazine wants YOU. Actually, that’s not quite true. What we’re after is your submissions.

PAN Magazine is a cultural biannual with a literary bent which includes the work of emerging and established writers. Each issue, we’ll place a small selection of poetry and prose alongside our articles, essays and photography - well der, everyone already knows that  by now...
Space is, as always, at a premium. We’ll consider stories up to two thousand words and poetry to fifty lines, although nothing curls our toes like some snappy mini and microfiction. Themes are open. Contemporary short story writers we love include Paddy O’Reilly, Nam Le, Cate Kennedy, Wells Tower, Anthony Doerr and Tom Cho. We admire inventiveness, uncertainty and tension; conversely, we’re wary of didacticism, deus ex machinas and melodrama.

I'm not really sure what an albumarathon is

Sometimes the best way to find out about something is to just close your eyes and do it so here it is, my very first ever albumarathon.

65 Days of StaticWe Were Exploding AnywayListening to the nine tracks on this album is like having nine glass splinters and being locked in a tweazerless house.

Audio Bullys – Higher than the Eiffel
I love this album ten years ago, I want to go back in time. Perfect pop schlock with beats, it is possible I might bring this one back to the future with me.

Black GoldRush
Haven’t heard anything this boring since my neighbour’s grandmother lectured me on the correct method of pegging out socks on the clothesline. This one is for the mainstream people who wash their cars once a week in their driveways.

Continue reading...

This includes no Venn diagrams

I couldn't pin it down. I tried analysing the air, the temperature, the slant of the sun, my rate of footsteps per minute, none of this data helped. The problem was I was too happy, too happy by far.  I was walking down a long hill in the afternoon sunlight crammed-full of contentedness. Everything seemed in order and I was almost enjoying myself when I noticed one big thing - the absence of all problems.

The air was full of bushfire smoke but this reminded me of my youth when a bushfire suspended all ordinary business, the adults all stayed inside (once they had finished plugging up the roof gutters and filling them with water) glued to the television and radio, at the same time. I would wander about the streets marvelling at the dense and luminous orange air.

I was slightly too warm but I was cheered by wearing an electric blue cardigan and knowing if I became any warmer I could take it off and be perfectly comfortable even at a brisk walking pace. I was carrying a bag but it was light and swung contentedly in a perfect arc. I was sure that a random wave of sorrow, anxiety or misfortune would hit at any moment and return the world to order, but it didn't.

Five minutes after arriving at The Peach I was installed on The Peach Deck with tea and toast on a tray, a cat on my lap and a book in my hand but I was still far too happy. I found my book kept lowering itself to allow me to stare dreamily at the sky in a contented way. This is when I became seriously alarmed. 

It didn't seem possible for such a heady mix of cheer, goodwill and contentedness to descend on me without some serious repercussions. The extreme sense of wellbeing faded gently into ordinary after sunset but I'm still waiting to hear who died, or blew up or accidentally killed their lover whilst sleepwalking with machete. Come to think of it I had better telephone my mother and make sure she is still alive. Who knows who I could have harmed by holding a whole afternoon of happiness in my hands.