We’d run out of petrol returning from Mildura. Mobile phones were an invention of the future. We couldn’t even see a house light in the distance, let alone a public phone.
Clawing for the echoes of what was; an ode to imperfect romance...a short film by Jesse Maskell
I’m standing at the end of a long queue talking to a complete stranger. We both agree we never do this sort of thing. Myself, I’ve generally abided that warning about meeting your heroes.
You mention Stevie. ‘Did you know,’ you begin, ‘that Stevie was addicted to Klonopin?’ How random this statement is. How randomly cool. How swiftly the ice melts.
We’re on a bare mattress on the floor. The living room is strewn with sleeping bodies, toppled bottles, and sauce-smeared paper plates. I can’t look at him. I can hardly move or breathe. I’m still, concentrating on the TV.
This is pure Zen, a meditative state that is what the sunny season is all about, and what fuels people through hardships and difficulties. This is the art of healing and revelling.
I was like another brother to Jessica. She fancied my band mates more than me, so that was bit of a drag. We did share a love for one particular song, though.
Is Mr Brightside really “one of the most seminal pieces of music of this century"? Hugh Jones dares to dampen the Richmond premiership celebrations.
My Wurlitzer piano had evolved from designs from 1954. The Wurlitzer ‘electro-mechanical’ Electronic Pianos ceased production in 1984. However, original instruments are now considered retro and funky.
It was, for the moment, their song. They liked it because they’d discovered it, because it wasn’t whatever the rest of their classmates were tuning in to. Because it wasn’t U2. ‘Wo-ah, we’re halfway there!’ The lyrics echoed their own desperate fixation on the future.