James has asked me to write about the Pilgrims that are visiting Sydney for World Youth Day:
It seems that a lot of people are making comments about these visitors to our city. At training last night I overheard Pete (coach of First Grade) talking to Grub (#8 for Seconds). Their conversation:
Pete: Fucken' pilgrims. Mate, I don't wanna make a big go of it, 'cos I know some of the boys are Catholic.
Grub: Yeah, like Legsy...
Pete: Yeah yeah, Legsy and quite a few of the others too. But I'm pretty sick of these chopper cunts in orange backpacks."
Grub: Thommo's one too I think, and his brother.
Pete: Yeah, Thommo and Hollywood. Marist boys.
Grub: But those boys are always rootin'!
Pete: Exactly mate. The religion's bullshit!
Pete and Grub are good friends. They often have a cigarette together next to the sheds before training. Grub's brother is in gaol (jail), I'm not sure why, but once Pete punched a Blue Mountains bloke in the throat for making a joke about it.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Monday, July 07, 2008
It used to be about being funny, then I went to University.
It used to be about being regular, then I went to University.
Intertextuality was something I dabbled in, but never cried about. Then I went to University.
It didn't matter that I hadn't read Anna Karenina before I went to University. I still haven't, but now this is a thing I should have done.
Here is an excerpt of something new. It is the introduction of Frank's new book, 'A Haiku by Frank Sartor - Published and Edited by James Ross-Edwards'. It is mostly Frank's own work, but was glad to lend my deft touch to the introduction.
-
Note from the publisher (and mastermind) on the second edition:
As a scholar, raconteur and man of letters, becoming blasé at the sight of brilliance is an occupational hazard. My inbox overflows daily with manuscripts to peruse, speaking engagements, interview requests – usually someone from (the) sydney magazine wondering where I get my coffee.
With such a busy schedule, deciphering understated genius from glorified mediocrity is increasingly difficult. As is true to literature as it is to life, the greatest gifts are usually presented in the most unlikely ways.
During a particularly cold April morning, I was sitting in bed, browsing the papers and the morning mail, enjoying a pre-prandial cigarette and cup of tea courtesy of my PA, Jeeves. I was particularly dreading the day, a gauntlet of meetings with my difficult agent and her gaggle of incompetent geese, and a pre-recording of an interview for some sort of digital television channel – horrible, hollow. Such was my foul mood, I could hardly force down my eggs benedict, and felt a little guilty later for shouting at Jeeves. The poor thing didn’t deserve that. Not now. Not from me.
After recollecting my thoughts and freshening up, I ventured out into the breezy Sydney morning, on my way to the first appointment of the day. As I wandered down the street pondering the pathetic state of literature in Australia, I felt my mobile phone vibrate against the soft cotton lining of my trousers – I had received a text message. It was from an acquaintance of mine, Frank Sartor. He was known to me only as a simple man with a pleasant demeanour. I had acquired his phone number by mistake, as he shared a name with a powerful man that I had several problems with. The message read as follows:
“Hello James this is Frank Sartor, the one who knows you. I hope you like this Haiku…”
What followed is, of course, history, as this second, collector’s edition, copy of A Haiku, by Frank Sartor – published and edited by James Ross-Edwards will attest. The moment I read this efficacious piece of verse, I felt a dark numbing feeling inside my chest – and I simply knew I must publish it to tell Frank’s story, all of our stories.
Our critics were ever present throughout the development phase, slamming the concept of a seventeen-syllable poem being sold as an entire book. “Who does James Ross-Edwards think he is?” They said. “Pompous, talentless, nobody. Ross-Edwards has manipulated and used a talented – and obviously naïve – young writer to make a few quick dollars from a market that should know better.” Despite this initial criticism, the first printing of AHBFSP&EBJR-E was an astounding success, and this second edition, featuring supplementary material including press coverage of The Haiku, guest author’s interpretations, and a diary entry from Frank, promises much to satisfy even the most insatiable Sartorialist.
Please enjoy this short work of astounding brilliance.
When I asked James what this all meant he threw his hands in the air, then paced around rubbing his temples and clicking his tongue. “Don’t you see, Frank? Can you not see what we have done here!” I told him that I had written a Haiku, and he didn’t need to go on about it so much.
“Frank, my friend. We have created something out of nothing! We have written a book about a three-line poem, and not even included the Haiku. This is postmodernism, Frank! This is art!”
“But you don’t actually have a PA named Jeeves.”
“It’s intertextual and it’s brilliant! I am engaging in a ‘wink-nudge’ dialogue with my readers, and we are all utterly satisfied.”
I also thought I should clarify that James’ desk is not actually mahogany, it’s laminex.
It used to be about being regular, then I went to University.
Intertextuality was something I dabbled in, but never cried about. Then I went to University.
It didn't matter that I hadn't read Anna Karenina before I went to University. I still haven't, but now this is a thing I should have done.
Here is an excerpt of something new. It is the introduction of Frank's new book, 'A Haiku by Frank Sartor - Published and Edited by James Ross-Edwards'. It is mostly Frank's own work, but was glad to lend my deft touch to the introduction.
-
Note from the publisher (and mastermind) on the second edition:
As a scholar, raconteur and man of letters, becoming blasé at the sight of brilliance is an occupational hazard. My inbox overflows daily with manuscripts to peruse, speaking engagements, interview requests – usually someone from (the) sydney magazine wondering where I get my coffee.
With such a busy schedule, deciphering understated genius from glorified mediocrity is increasingly difficult. As is true to literature as it is to life, the greatest gifts are usually presented in the most unlikely ways.
During a particularly cold April morning, I was sitting in bed, browsing the papers and the morning mail, enjoying a pre-prandial cigarette and cup of tea courtesy of my PA, Jeeves. I was particularly dreading the day, a gauntlet of meetings with my difficult agent and her gaggle of incompetent geese, and a pre-recording of an interview for some sort of digital television channel – horrible, hollow. Such was my foul mood, I could hardly force down my eggs benedict, and felt a little guilty later for shouting at Jeeves. The poor thing didn’t deserve that. Not now. Not from me.
After recollecting my thoughts and freshening up, I ventured out into the breezy Sydney morning, on my way to the first appointment of the day. As I wandered down the street pondering the pathetic state of literature in Australia, I felt my mobile phone vibrate against the soft cotton lining of my trousers – I had received a text message. It was from an acquaintance of mine, Frank Sartor. He was known to me only as a simple man with a pleasant demeanour. I had acquired his phone number by mistake, as he shared a name with a powerful man that I had several problems with. The message read as follows:
“Hello James this is Frank Sartor, the one who knows you. I hope you like this Haiku…”
What followed is, of course, history, as this second, collector’s edition, copy of A Haiku, by Frank Sartor – published and edited by James Ross-Edwards will attest. The moment I read this efficacious piece of verse, I felt a dark numbing feeling inside my chest – and I simply knew I must publish it to tell Frank’s story, all of our stories.
Our critics were ever present throughout the development phase, slamming the concept of a seventeen-syllable poem being sold as an entire book. “Who does James Ross-Edwards think he is?” They said. “Pompous, talentless, nobody. Ross-Edwards has manipulated and used a talented – and obviously naïve – young writer to make a few quick dollars from a market that should know better.” Despite this initial criticism, the first printing of AHBFSP&EBJR-E was an astounding success, and this second edition, featuring supplementary material including press coverage of The Haiku, guest author’s interpretations, and a diary entry from Frank, promises much to satisfy even the most insatiable Sartorialist.
Please enjoy this short work of astounding brilliance.
When I asked James what this all meant he threw his hands in the air, then paced around rubbing his temples and clicking his tongue. “Don’t you see, Frank? Can you not see what we have done here!” I told him that I had written a Haiku, and he didn’t need to go on about it so much.
“Frank, my friend. We have created something out of nothing! We have written a book about a three-line poem, and not even included the Haiku. This is postmodernism, Frank! This is art!”
“But you don’t actually have a PA named Jeeves.”
“It’s intertextual and it’s brilliant! I am engaging in a ‘wink-nudge’ dialogue with my readers, and we are all utterly satisfied.”
I also thought I should clarify that James’ desk is not actually mahogany, it’s laminex.
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