NEWS: 'DANK THEMES' IS FINALLY OUT!

 

IT'S FINALLY REAL!

Yay?  Yay!

229 pages of sadness and depravity and death and bad decisions and uncertainty, finally unleashed into the world.   A whole buncha stories, plus self-reflection/director's-commentary/confused-second-guessing-by-the-author at the end of every story. 

Here's what I wrote about it for the Lulu description:

"Terrible stories to ruin your mood, from one of Australia's most-awarded so-called "writers". Depression, betrayal, smut, disappointment, trauma, anxiety, grief, unpleasant imagery you'll never quite get out of your head no matter how hard you try - this little collection of rancid tales has it all! Whether it's horrible things happening to innocent people, or horrible things happening to horrible people, Blackwell's nasty little stories are the perfect blend of puerile ranting and profound nihilism - the ultimate antidote to your joie de vivre, these queasy quasi-narratives are enough to harsh anyone's buzz. (Book comes complete with a gushing foreword by Doug Anthony All Stars frontman and baby-faced angel-man Paul McDermott, with whom Blackwell has helped craft Good News Week, Room 101, Think Tank and so much more.)"

 If that sounds like something you're into, well, feel free to click on this sadface and buy yourself a copy.

😞

 

FICTION: EXCERPTS FROM THE 2005 NOTEBOOK OF AVARIS HABACHI, UNDERGROUND DOCTOR

EXCERPTS FROM THE 2005 NOTEBOOK OF AVARIS HABACHI, UNDERGROUND DOCTOR

17/4/05: Patient exhibits signs of rust.  After descaling and polishing, symptoms greatly alleviated. 

23/5/05: Patient has severe case of wandering anus.  Worst case I’ve seen before.  Anus currently located 16 centimetres below left shoulder.  Patient experiences anxiety, confusion, and great inconvenience, but no pain at this stage.

30/5/05: Patient producing earwax from the nose.  Symptoms treated with discretion.

4/6/05: Patient claims to be from the future, thanks me for excellent work I have not yet performed.  Unusual but harmless.  Brought me large bouquet of irises, my favourite.  Perfume exquisite.

6/6/05: Patient growing roots.  Mostly aesthetic, however patient finds herself drawn towards large bodies of water.  Trimming causes much distress.  Tap root considerable, unresponsive to treatment.  Long baths appear to soothe.

9/6/05: Patient largely atrophied.  Currently fits in matchbox.  Generally content, but very very small. Difficult to treat because of typical medication size.  Note: patient’s sibling brought in, unusually large.  Can’t help but suspect.

13/6/05: Patient with wandering anus returned.  Anus now located midway up throat, patient much distressed.   Recommended scarves, turtle-necks, and breath-freshening mints.  Still no pain.  Lotion seems to do little to alleviate symptoms, very perplexing.

17/6/05: Patient has independent eye.  Attracted irresistibly to motion, green hues, and silent film.  Muscular tests inconclusive.  Symptoms treated with jade eyepatch and the works of D. W. Griffith.

25/6/05: Patient exhibiting dental outgrowths below the knee.  Useless in everyday mastication, but benign.  Recommended regular flossing.

26/6/05: Patient with post-knee dentation reports somnambulant episodes of partner-biting.   Mouthguard may be required during sleep.

30/6/05: Patient prone to fits of rice-making.  Delicious but needs more salt.

9/7/05: Patient exhibits signs of high-gloss.  Recommended dermatologist and fine-grade sandpaper.

13/7/05: Patient exhibits functioning gills.  Unfortunately, patient also has severe hydrophobia.  Poor response to lotions and medication.  Recommended increasing sessions of exposure to fine mist.

18/7/05: Patient exhibits extreme hair-loss, but not own hair.  Have not seen case this bad in years.  Treatment of tonic rubbed on proxy successful thus far.

21/7/05: Patient brought in by guardian.  Patient exhibiting quadrupedia, mane, tail, hooves.  Suspect patient may indeed just be horse.  Referred guardian to psychologist, and, should symptoms persist, veterinarian.

1/8/05: Patient with wandering anus now in extreme discomfort.  Anus now located in centre of forehead.  Hats help only so much.  Still no pain, but social anxiety intense.  Referral to dietician and specialist in curse-breaking.

4/8/05: Patient complaining of lack of adherence to regular chronological flow.  Recommended fibre, bath salts, and string.  Prognosis promising.  Asks for check-up appointment two months prior.  Made strange comment about irises in vase on desk (which just seem to be getting fresher and fresher).

FAQ: How Long Are You Supposed To Wait?

These questions are about the short story “How Long Are You Supposed To Wait?”, and definitely contains spoilers which, once seen, cannot be unseen.  For the actual short story itself, please go here.

*CONTAINS SPOILERS!*

 

This one was another one of those ten stories you wrote in ten days for the Swinburne Microfiction Challenge in 2017, right?

Yeah.  Although if I’m perfectly honest, I already had the idea for this story before I ever entered the challenge.  I make notes on my phone whenever I have an idea for a story, and this one said something like “person trapped under boulder, has to saw off own leg with pocket-knife to escape, moments before person gets rescued by large group of fit and friendly backpackers who could easily have just moved the boulder”.  It was just a twist on that “person has to saw off limb to escape” trope, something that I thought was simultaneously hilarious and brutally horrible.

What was the prompt-word?

“Lost”.  It reminded me of that idea, and so I went for it.

So what’s the appeal of making someone do something horrible for, in hindsight, no good reason?

I think it’s rooted in my own inability to ever make a proper decision.  I think, if I was in that situation, I’d always be thinking “hang on, don’t be too hasty, there might be another way out of this”, and then just end up dying of hunger and thirst or whatever.  I don’t think I’d ever be certain enough that sawing off my own leg with a pocket knife would be the right course of action.  I find it hard enough to choose something off a dinner menu.

Is this symptomatic of a bigger issue, Mr Blackwell?

I really don’t know.  It might be.  I mean, when my delightful life-partner asks me something like “would you like a cup of tea” out of the blue, I’m thrown into paroxysms of indecision.  I’m like, do I want a cup of tea?  How much desire is want?  I was fine without tea moments before, so clearly I didn’t want a cup of tea seconds ago, did things really change so drastically in the last few seconds that now I do?  I mean, a cup of tea might be nice, but do I want one?  How do I tell?  Is it based on thirst levels, or pure flavour, or just the warmth of the cup in my hands?  If she hadn’t’ve asked, I wouldn’t’ve got up and made one myself just then, so does that mean I don’t actually want a cup of tea?  Or that I do want one now?  How did things change so fast from not wanting to wanting, just based entirely on someone else making a cup of tea for themselves?  Am I really that much of a herd animal that I need to have whatever someone else is drinking?  Is that a healthy way to be?  What if she’d asked me if I want a cup of something else?  Do I really crave beverages at all, or am I just craving inclusion in a social act?  Is it about the tea, or the experience of sharing an activity?  Would any activity do?  And how much-

Does she ask you very often?

No, not any more.

I’m not surprised.

Sometimes when she asks now I just pick a random answer. “Yes, absolutely”, I’ll say, without even considering whether I actually do or don’t, avoiding the traumatic whirlpool of decision altogether.  Because, in the end, it’s just a cup of tea.  It’s not really worth all that stress of actual desire-interrogation and multi-level cravings-analysis.  The decision-making maelstrom is so much more bewildering and takes so much more energy than it does to just say a quick yes or no, and then deal with the consequences.  So I tend to do that nowadays.  Um.

So -

“Black with one sugar thanks.”  See, easy, done.  Boom!

So, the title of the story, “How Long Are You Supposed To Wait”, is really just you asking this question of yourself, isn’t it.

Yes.  Trying to get some handle on exactly what an appropriate time is.  Because if the character had just waited a few more minutes, she’d be out and safe and with the perfect quota of legs.   When are we being hasty?  When is it time to panic?  How do you panic properly?  I’ve never quite been able to get my head around this stuff.

I’m guessing you enjoyed the ending of that Steven King movie, ‘The Mist’?

Fucking best ending ever.

FAQ: What We All Wish Had Happened

These questions are about the short story “What We All Wished Had Happened”, and definitely contains spoilers which, once seen, cannot be unseen.  For the actual short story itself, please go here.

*CONTAINS SPOILERS!*

 

So this was yet another of the ten stories you wrote in ten days for the Swinburne Microfiction Challenge in 2017, wasn’t it?

Yes, and before you ask, no, I didn’t win.  The prompt word for this one was “Home”, and it got me thinking about what “home” can mean, and about people who’ve been born here being told to “go home” by other people who were born here, and about how horrible it is to feel unwelcome in your own country.

It’s a piece of magical realism, isn’t it.

I’m actually not sure what it is.  Is that the genre, “magical realism”?  I’m honestly not down with the microgenrefication of art, I’m very much a “what does it make me feel/think?” kinda person, more than a “where does this fit in terms of recognised labels?” kinda person.  But I could call it “magical realism” if you like.

“Magical realism” is basically a realistic bit of art that also is a bit magical.

Well then, maybe this isn’t that then.  Because, the point of this story to me (and yes, I know that the author’s point of view isn’t necessarily the definitive point of view, but it’s surely at least a relevant point of view) is that what is described in the story didn’t actually happen.

What do you mean?

Well, in the story a group of three racist thugs (and I don't mean to suggest they're bad people - they're kids themselves, after all, and have been indoctrinated to think this way) harass this little kid with Indonesian heritage, tease her about her most obvious points of difference, her slanty eyes and her headscarf.  In the story she then proceeds to grow dragon wings and blast them with her laser-eyes, and they run away, scared and crying, perhaps to re-think their racist ways and to at very least approach people with more caution.   But the story is explicitly called “What We All Wish Had Happened”, not “What Actually Happened” or “What Magically (and Realistically) Happened”. This story is what we wish had happened instead of what actually happened.

What actually happened?

Well, I don’t know. But I’m almost certain it didn’t involve laser-eyes and dragon wings.

That’s pretty depressing.

Yeah, I know. It’s a depressing story, really.  Because the whole situation is a depressing one.  It’s awful.  I mean, what happens in these situations?  In the very best case scenario, Syifa managed to run away and get home safe, and spent the rest of the evening shaking and crying and dealing with PTS.  And that’s the best case scenario.  There’s many worse case scenarios that come to mind, and they’re all pretty fucking distressing. 

Blargh.

I know, right?  And you know, I actually intended for the racist kids to be eaten alive, or torn limb from limb, or sawed in half with her powerful heat-vision, or splattered all over the place.  I wanted to harm them so very much. But in the end I opted for the G-rated 1980s-vibe of having them just be naked and scared (I even used the word “bums”, which I don’t think I’ve ever used before, for maximum primary-school G-rated connotation), rather than gorily eviscerated, just because, I don’t know, I thought that Syifa probably wouldn’t feel good about murdering them all, in the long run.  I mean, she’s just a kid, and is probably not actually interested in obliteration.  She just wants to be left alone.

The little coda was nice: her dad asking her if “anything interesting” had happened, and her saying “nope”.

Thanks.  Yeah, that was a twofold thing, of her kinda keeping her superpowers secret from her old man (another 1980s G-rated movie kinda trope?), but also pointing out that being hassled by fuck-knuckle racists isn’t even interesting – it’s just the norm for a lot of people.  It’s the shitty background noise of life, especially if you look at all Muslim or foreign.  Racist “Aussies” being racist is as uninteresting as it gets (and I put “Aussies” in quotes because, as mentioned in the story, Syifa was born here, just as much as I was, and so is as “Aussie” as I am, if such nationalistic happenstance actually means anything in the first place).

Sigh.  You’re totally right: without even knowing what did actually happen, whatever it was, I wish that this had happened instead.

Me too, anonymous asker of questions, me too.