A bloke had a vague notion. The Williamstown Literary Festival turned it into a reality.
It is a source of quiet pride – and privilege - that nearly a dozen contributors to Stereo Stories have entrusted their accounts of mental health with us.
Greensleeves is the sound of anticipation. The sound of promise and summer. The sound of hot days. The sound of ice-cream on your tongue, melting over your fingers, dripping onto your toes.
No shaking shoulders and no audible sobs for this public crying needs to be invisible for the grief mask to be effective. "Don’t let the sun catch you crying", sings Gerry with his Pacemakers.
A rollercoaster through yourself. The rain monotonously pounds on the floor-to-ceiling window, obscuring the twinkling lights of the city. Murmurs disperse across the room...
Given the literary aspect of Stereo Stories and the embracing, innovative nature of libraries, one should not be surprised that libraries have hosted quite a few of our concerts
His closest friends at the time were those people who excel at throwing those parties that spill out of an artist's canvas of a house and should only exist as an amphetamine slideshow held together by ragged descriptions in Brett Easton Ellis novels.
It would be overstating it to say that we came to Melbourne because of Vince Jones. But it didn’t hurt that you can find performers of his calibre there.
In that final hour, I felt compelled to dance. I’ve never been a dancer, nor have I ever truly felt the inclination, but suddenly, I felt the desperate need to stand up and flail around my bedroom like a madman.
Dreaming made the emptiness I felt less demanding, but there was a hole inside of me. The Trophy Eyes song helps me find my way.