OTHER STUFF
I went up to Newcastle again, although this
time I was an organiser -- which doesn't imply things were
organised.
Joel Zika, video artist, was on a forum
I ran called "Animators, Art, Industry" or suchlike.
Here he's showing us what the inside of a Harry's hot dog
looks like. It's got chili, cheese and mushy peas. Also pictured:
my friend Lada, fiddling with a camera.
At one point, comics man Kieran Mangan
whipped out a big board and bade everyone mural it up. So
they did. Here are Glenn Smith and Ross Tesoreiro
doing their bit.
On the other side, Leon and Leigh
Rigozzi.
Everybody's freestylin'. I did the gunman in
the middle.
Here's the finished (?) product. Click it for
a larger version. In case you're not sure, the "THRASH"
plane guy is also saying, "I'm your turbo-lover!".
Glenn, Ross and Leigh joined me on a panel called
"They Publish Comics, Don't They?" at which we interacted
with the audience multimediphonically using words and whiteboard
markers. It was pretty interesting, and notable for the whorish
cat that came in and sat on everyone's lap and also for the
fact that I spent much of the hour and a half hanging shit
on Christian Read for piking. Just kidding, Christian.
Joel's posse, el to ar: Joel, Hugh, Gabby,
Ross, Bec, Stefan, Lada, myself. Probably
Joe was taking the picture. Who knew Newcastle had
a waterfront?
Sunday night was a big 'un, as Ross, Glenn,
Ross Williams (the Ross pictured immediately above) and Ben
Hutchings made up the "Comics To Animation"
panel, which informed people of the solid rock candy genius
that lives in the modern low-budget animator. Following this,
we screened a bunch of animation by all of us, plus pieces
by Clint Cure. Some of this animation is even online: Ross
Williams' THE TRAITOR FRIEND can be viewed here,
Ben Hutchings has lots of stuff here,
Ross Tesoreiro's is here,
and mine is of course on this
website.
An hour's worth of this stuff blew away a packed,
appreciative audience.
Justin Heazlewood tears up the stage
in a frankly inexplicable tornado of improv comedy. Highly
impressive.
Almost equally inexplicable was my debut performance
in the Newie poetry slam. Never having performed poetry before,
I quickly wrote a disjointed ramble responding to some of
the other poets' work, which I found on my table at the Festival
Club. Yes, that's right: I cheated (kind of). I was surprised
to come second place in votes, particularly since I'd embedded
some pro-Liberals
opinion in my poem to see if I'd get booed. They didn't boo,
they just stopped laughing momentarily.
I was pleased to find that many poets do in
fact have a sense of humour. Some do write a lot of shit,
though.
New Voiceworks
editor Tom Doig poses for his editorial page photo,
wedged firmly between the buttocks of Ula Majewski
and myself. The game of Twister that made this photo possible
was brought about by poets, sleep deprivation, cheap scotch,
the letter L and the number 4. I thank them all.
And now, for your extra-special pleasure: my
awesome poem!
JOHN HOWARD'S CUNT
My love flows
An ebb
A gush
A blurp
Across the sky
(our sky)
Across the lino
(belonging to the man who owns the house I rent)
And it is pure and uncut
Unlike my penis, which is circumcised, and has been so since
I was eight days old, as is the custom of the Jewish people
LOOK UPON MY FACE
FOR IT IS RED FROM EXERTION AND UNNECESSARY THEATRICALITY
Can you... imagine
What our land might be like
If John Howard
Had a cunt
His cunt
His cunty cunting cuntox
Would be Art
And it would belong to the World
Instead of to the morally unsound yet fiscally responsible
Liberal Party
But I am only a man
and I know not of cunt
I cannot know...
because I am
John Howard
and so are you.
The End
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the happenings at NYWF 2001
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see the pics from NYWF 2002
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