Saturday, July 13, 2013


I was talking to my friend recently and asked "did I ever tell you about the pen I found at the funeral?"
She said "not but that'd make such a cool opening line of a story"

Few months back...
 The record store I worked at was closing down. I hadn't been writing or making films.
Around this time my aunt had been sick. All through this time I had Marc Maron's WTF podcasts and I found them really, really comforting. It felt like weirdly like were bro’s since we have very similar taste in music, movies and comedy.

I thought he’d make a great interview subject. I emailed his publicist and asked for an interview for Vice. She wrote back explaining that’d be cool but he's were very busy right now but she’d what she could do

The next day my aunt passed. We drove to Newcastle with my brother and sister for the funeral. We stayed over in a shitty Travel Lodge. My sister booked the cheapest option and it ended up with her sleeping on a pull out couch and my brother and I sharing a double bed… I’m 33 he’s 45 it was slightly awkward. It was either the food or the stress but I damn I had to get up a bunch of times during the night to shit. The room was small and the ensuite bathroom was tiny. I didn't want to wake anyone up, it was fucking awful. I hate trying to shit quietly. It’s like a tiptoe shit or something.

Whilst waiting around  The morning of the funeral I decided that I’d take this break from work to focus more on writing and making movies.

I was thinking about my aunt and I remembered how cool and eccentric she was. She got me into some good books. One night when I was around 14-15 I reading For Esmé—with Love and Squalor by JD Salinger and I couldn't get my head around one story. I showed my aunt, she read it and told me it was about child abuse! ‘Yeah Steven the girls crying cause Uncle Teddy touches her at night’. It freaked me out and got me into wanting to seek out read more fucked up stuff. After that it was Burroughs, JG Ballard and Dennis Cooper.

When we got to the church I grabbed the nearest available seat. I looked down and infront of my seat was a pen – weird right? Who writes in church? Why was it there? I’m not really religious or superstitious but this was odd. I took it as a cool coincidence or a good omen.

The next day I was emotionally wrecked. I kept replaying the moment my uncle fell to his knees crying as the coffin went into the crematorium. I kept seeing the image in my head and everyone around him break down crying in reaction to him. That evening my phone buzzed and I got an email with a time and date for my interview with Marc Maron.

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