Nice to see you.




Order Lone Wolf World via Amazon or above
2018 Best New Talent - Short and Sweet Festival Sydney
2014 Pushcart Prize nominee. (more)

Books:



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Story: 37 Angel & 'Story driven' music clip


"Youth is, after all, just a moment, but it is the moment, the spark that you always carry in your heart."
- Raisa Gorbachev


37 Angel





She is beautiful.
Not a real Princess.
But a Princess to me.
I do not know her name though I have seen her before. On the train platform. This time, I want to be sure. I must find out where.
I hurry, head down, so I don’t attract attention. People only remember you when they’ve seen into your eyes.
I dress simply. I am unremarkable.
Not like her.
She’s a Glowing Star.
Can’t they see? It almost blinds me.
Of course they can’t.
Their dullness surrounds them, so much so that they become blinded. If only they knew the jewels that swim amongst them.
I keep her in view, but don’t get too close.
I weave among the people, the mushrooms. They remind me of mushrooms. I don’t know why.
I can’t see her face from here. If I cross the street, I will have to keep watch and give myself away.



I keep my patience. I am patient. A patient patient, my Dad once said, before he went AWOL. I can wait months. One time, it was years.
Not this one.
She is too special.
The crowd thins out.
She heads into the internet map of suburban streets. I back off. Just enough.
She has headphones in. Clueless. A good sign.
Her hips are thin, slimmer than the others, slightly younger but for some reason I want this one more.
A dog barks.
‘Shit.’ A yappy little rodent. Have to remember to avoid next time, but at least I know.
When I look up, she is gone.
Entered a house, but which one?
No one about, I walk faster. I must find out which. Can only be one of several, better to find out now. Save hours of risky drive-bys. I would do it though. This one’s worth it.
Please. Please.
Just need a little clue. Just one.
There. That sound. Prayers answered. A door shutting. Letterbox. 37. Done.
Got you.
Not Yet.
But I will.

end


https://www.anthonyjlangfordbooks.com/books



I want to share a song I really love that has its genesis in narrative. Listen to the lyrics. It's pure storytelling. Pulp disbanded in the early naughties but Jarvis Cocker continues to write stories in his lyrics with his solo albums, mostly regarding sexual politics and relationships.



If you're not familiar with him or Pulp, I highly recommend you check him out. Outside from the writing, the music is brilliant.

http://www.jarviscocker.net/



Poem: Moment & 'Ok Go' - Amazing clip...




Moment


We are Only One

In a Thousand Long

Series of Generations

and a Thousand More Besides

Each no more Relevant

Than the Last.

We are Only This Day's Footprints

In the Sand

Before the Tide Comes In

To Wash Them Away

Replaced Tomorrow

And soon Forgotten.

Enjoy the Grains

between your toes

And while mindful

of Your Brief Impression

Most of All,

Savour the Earth beneath your feet.



https://www.anthonyjlangfordbooks.com/books



If you haven't seen this it's a must. The designers spent six months planning it. It's simply quite brilliant.




Have you seen any amazing clips worth sharing?
Comments on poem and any feedback at all always appreciated.

Flash Fiction: Do the Bus Stop - and The Fall - Movie


The desire of knowledge, like the thirst for riches, increases ever with the acquisition of it.
- Laurence Sterne


Do the Bus Stop




The bus stop is her stage. At this, she's a pro.
Her school associates, the audience.
Passers-by get a free show.
7.55 a.m.
It’s her time.
Standing on the lip of the gutter, she pouts, she spouts, gibberish, about herself, what else is there? She knows it doesn’t matter what she says, as long as they look.
And they do. They're hooked.
Her friends divided. The beady Green-Eyed Camp.
And the Popular Wannabe like her Vamps.
Yet it’s the boys who shower her with the most power. While the geeks don’t have the courage to peek, and those with no chance don't give her a glance, the majority stare at her perfect thighs and the way she strokes her fingers high, as she helps her skirt to rise and soar, like Marilyn Monroe, once before.
7.57 a.m.
Seems to be getting busier on this trail.
Funny how they’re all male.
Let's get graphic with the traffic. She bends forward; allowing her propped up cleavage to shine.
She’s outrageous, but wants them to think, she’s mine.
7.58 a.m.
It’s her time.
And she loves it.
So does the bus driver.
Ogling, he pulls in too quick and the side mirror smacks her head.
Gunk sprays the crowd.
She goes down like lead.
Today, there’ll be no Curtain Call.
7.58 a.m.
It was her time after all.








I want to share with you one of my favourite films. It's called The Fall and was only released a couple of years ago, but for some inexplicable reason, bypassed everybody. Quite simply, it is one of the most visual films I've ever seen and is embedded in the very essence of storytelling. I predict that this film will grow by word of mouth and in years to come, will come to be recognised for what it is, a true classic.














Coming soon, poems, stories, news about my next writing project, artists that inspire me and new polls. Any suggestions/feedback for the site are truly welcome.

I really appreciate your support and urge you to come back weekly. Thank you!


Tru Luv Kills - A Novel



Having just completed work on my sixth Novel, Tru Luv Kills: A Teenage Bonnie & Clyde I thought I would give you a brief insight into what it's all about.


Tru Luv Kills


Love is a Dirty Word.

It's Looking for Alibrandi bred with Law and Order.

Catcher in the Rye meshed with Natural Born Killers.

Based on a true story of two teens who fall in love, resulting in a murder. Some people just shouldn't be together.



A frightening analysis into today's teens, told from the perspective of a sixteen year old girl. Youth crime, racism, depression, sex and pregnancy, drugs, alcohol, school yard violence, family crisis's and the education system. Being a kid is hard work.

But a teen murder is just too easy.

One plus One equals a whole lot of trouble.

Nothing can stop them from being together.



It took me exactly one year to write, the first draft exactly six months, to the day. I didn't plan it that way and I don't know if it necessarily means anything but that's how it went. It's 77,000 words. I had hoped it would be shorter but it is what it is. I'm searching for an agent for this one. It's hard to be subjective about your own work, but I'm quite happy with how it turned out. I'll keep you updated on any progress.



(2021 Update. I plan to release this book in 2023. I think it's my best book.)

Air Wars




The plane shudders, your stomach goes into your throat and you feel the emptiness beneath the carpet. You've seen those movies and those horrendous TV shows and you've prayed that it would never happen to you. But now you're actually in it. This is real. You could die.

On Saturday I had one of the most frightening experiences of my life.



I have been in other terrifying situations, including a Force Gale 5 trip in a ferry across the Bass Strait. It was so rough that people couldn't walk, all the decks were closed and the waves smashing against the hull echoed throughout the ship. We were nine hours late getting to Melbourne and suffered damage as captured by the media when we finally arrived.



This was much shorter, but just as scary, albeit packed into one crazy hour rather than twenty-two.

I left Sydney with my daypack and the sun behind me, embroiled in a new book. A recent flight had been smooth and I was looking forward to getting some solid, guilt-free reading done during the day. The plane climbed and we broke the cloud barrier, drama free.

We were due to arrive at Tullamarine at 2:35 pm. Approximately fifteen minutes from landing, having already descended, we were told that the airport had been hit by a big storm and that it might delay our arrival, but that the storm was fast moving and shouldn't be long. Great, I thought, as it had already been bumpy for the past fifteen minutes. I had tried to distract myself by talking to a elderly gentlemen next to me. He had lived a very interesting life, combating leprosy all over the world. Yet we both fell silent as the plane dipped into a roller-coaster pit and the frame shuddered as the aircraft heaved upwards. It brought a Woooaaao from the passengers, with that half excited, half scared look on their faces. I could see the stewardess, who was seated and strapped in also. She smiled at someone so I figured if she was smiling, everything must be alright.

But it only got worse. The clouds were dark, rushing past like coagulated marshmallow. Why couldn't we pull out of them? They seemed to be causing all the shaking. We were now in a cocktail shaker, up, down and side to side, seemingly all at once. The First Officer finally told us that there was a severe storm at the Airport and that we had been put into a holding pattern to wait it out. We would circle around until it was safe to land.



I sighed and tried to relax, but the plane wouldn't leave the cloud bank and part of our large circling path seemed to head directly into the storm. Our stomachs went into our throats and then back down again. I began burping, glad I hadn't eaten much. The passengers were silent though I could hear a child crying. I felt for the little tike, but I was preoccupied with my own fear. This was serious turbulence like I had never felt before. I have been flying for twenty five years and have landed in torrential rain and flown through storms with lightening filling the cabin and over mountains in Europe and around the world several times, but this was the worst I had ever had the misfortune to be apart of. The poor old guy next to me seized the paper bag and began heaving. I turned away, closing my eyes. It was all I could from throwing up myself.

It went on and on. A period of grace and it would start up again. Now the stewardess didn't look so thrilled. Okay, so now I'm really worried. I felt my body go cold. It was a strange, physical sensation that wasn't only in my head. The fear had manifested itself as a wave of icy water raging up my body. My heart was thumping and I could imagine having a heart attack. The plane rattled and groaned and I felt like I was in one of those disaster movies. I cursed those fucking Air Crash Programs. I swore, if I got through this, I wouldn't be on that return flight the next day, I'd be catching trains for the rest of my life.



Now roller-coasters can be fun, but you know you're safe and that they will end. I didn't know either of those things. After a while, you've had enough. It wasn't just a few minutes. It was sustained. The worst was not knowing what would happen. It's all fine in retrospect but at the time... It was all quiet from the cabin too, presumably busy with dealing with the conditions.

We all can imagine what we might do or feel in this situation, but I can say that 90% of my thoughts were about trying to control my fear and wishing I was somewhere else. I wasn't thinking about the things I had yet to achieve in life or of events gone by. In other words, no life flashing before my eyes. I did think of loved ones and how lucky I was to have them but generally I was preoccupied trying to fool myself into thinking everything was okay when I knew that it wasn't.

Eventually we were told that we were being diverted to Avalon, a small airport some fifteen minutes away, which I had been hoping all along as I wanted to be on the ground and worry about the rest later. When we burrowed out of the mucky sky and those wheels finally hit the tarmac, everyone clapped. Not surprisingly, some people wanted off, and I contemplated it too, but we weren't allowed to leave. We had to wait two and a half hours to refuel and then fly back. We eventually arrived four hours overdue. I could see why we couldn't land. There was water everywhere. Melbourne had been hit by a mini-cyclone, the 'storm of the century' causing millions of dollars of damage across the city. As bad as it was on the ground, I have to say it felt like we were in the worst position of all, trapped in a tube of metal in the devil's den. It was a hellish ride, one I'm not keen to repeat. We all have to go someday but no one wants to go out in a bloody plane. Perhaps we were not in any real danger, but tell that to my frayed and scattered nerves.



I had a few too many drinks that night and had to fly the next day, whereupon we encountered more turbulence as the plane flew back over the storm that still lingered around Victoria. I shook my head, grinned and wondered why I hadn't followed up on my promise and taken that bloody train.

Nude: The Rise of Spencer Tunick - The Sydney Shoot - 2010 - 2020

Take One Opera House..
Add 5,200 people of all ages, sexes and persuasions
Naked.
Mix.









Here's the story of one little ingredient...


I arrived with two friends at the designated time of 4 am. There was already a snake like queue stretching back from the Opera House, past Circular Quay to the Museum of Contemporary Art. It was insanely early but people were in good spirits. I assume most of them had had little sleep. I had only five minutes. In 45 minutes we had handed in our media release forms and were herded into two groups. One were the tickets holders, the first 2500 people either through the gate, or who had registered online. These people would be involved in the second installation which was to be inside the Opera House. Talk about bums on seats. The first installation being the one on the steps.

The rest of us were herded like proverbial cattle into the park where we huddled against the cold breeze coming off the water and wish we had brought money to buy coffee from the singular coffee van. Staying awake was difficult and yet it was too uncomfortable to sleep. We had to stay here for an hour and half and there was a cut off point at which we were not allowed to go to the toilet as we were promised that when it began getting light, we would be told to move quickly. Yet it was the first day of Autumn and suitably overcast. The sun was sluggish.

I had been through all of this once before. I was living in Melbourne at the time of Spencer's first Australian shoot in September 2001 and jumped at the chance to participate. It was attended by 4000 odd brave souls, the most ever for a Tunick shoot up until that time, (now surpassed by 18,000 nude maniacs in Mexico City). It was much colder then and wet too, but it was an exhilarating experience. Where else can you strip in the middle of a city and not be arrested? This was even more of a famous landmark and in a way, was a rebellious act, thumbing our fleshy bits at the conventions of the Opera House and the City of Sydney. However this occasion was unique in that it was commissioned by the Mardi Gras. It was a coming together of Gay, Lesbian and Straight communities in solidarity, a symbol of true acceptance from all parties.


I'm in the middle on a cold, wet tram track!



We had a plastic bag each for our clothing and finally the announcement came. Get your gear off! There was a roar of excitement tinged with nervousness and we dis-robed in record time, shoving our clothes into the bags and hoping we would find them again amidst in the sea of plastic. We joined the throng down the path towards the Opera House steps, rubbing shoulder to shoulder with strangers. You really notice the person next to you in a crowd when your both naked.

Now people who haven't been there assume you get to perve throughout, but I must say that you are too preoccupied with your own nakedness to care. And it's cold. To look at others would be to betray yourself. It's also rather creepy. Sure you do glance occasionally, it's impossible to avoid, but there's more to people than that little spot at the top of their legs. It is the face that is the most interesting part of a person. Even naked, we are still drawn to it. However I saw no perfect bodies. Everyone seemed to have qualities and flaws. This part was good but that wasn't. Had a great arse but legs were too short. You get the idea. There was every combination of body imaginable. But no two alike. I saw people with scars, obese people and people well into their sixties. All of them deserved praise.

We were put into position, so to speak, and Spencer barked awkwardly at us from his elevated vantage point. I have to say, given that he's been doing this for over ten years, his commands are haphazard. Sometimes he was even rude. The media reported that he was cracking jokes, but most of the time, we were laughing at his awkwardness. He really hasn't got any better at it. His social skills need some polishing.




The best part of the whole experience was the absolute joy of being united, a crowd as a single entity. We were without clothes and without our individual stamps. We laughed and cheered and clapped. For the first ten minutes, I could not stop laughing. My face hurt from the stretched smile. We spoke to strangers and raised our fists with the glory of the moment. As you get older, there seem to be less and less new experiences. It's more like repeating them in different places with different people. And while this was a repeated experience for me, for others, it was a once in a lifetime event. And excuse the pun, but we were stripped bare of any status or preconceived notion of who the other person was. No single person was more important than any other. We were truly equal. We celebrated ourselves and each other with cheers of euphoria. I will never forget the sense of community, of being part of a collective. Essentially, I felt the love folks. And it felt good.


Sit the fuck down!



And then the media swept in. Three helicopters from each of the main networks hovered like sleazy bees, like a scene from Avatar, drowning out the instructions from Spencer. We felt invaded. Our sense of spirit and fun dissipated. The event dragged on as Spencer could no longer communicate through his blow-horn, but was forced to use walky talky to individual helpers spread throughout the 5000 people. It almost brought progress to a halt. Time dragged. It went on over an hour. People had had enough. Not only was it cold but most had been without sleep or even food and water as they had not want to run this risk of needing a toilet break mid shoot. Some raised their fingers to the sky. Sure we signed up for a naked shoot, but no one told us we'd be plastered all over the news and live morning television. This certainly didn't happen in '01. Some people were clearly identifiable in newspapers and while most had their genitals blurred, womens' faces and breasts were there for all to see. I wonder how those women feel about it. You could argue over that point but it was the choppers that frustrated me most of all. They killed the fun and it became a chore. I saw a woman a few rows ahead start to waver. I yelled out, 'She's going to faint!' but it was too late and she staggered forward and smacked hard onto the concrete. It took a little while for help to get in. Immediately I saw another woman sit down looking dizzy and distressed. The fun was over.





Thankfully it ended soon afterwards. It had gone on for too long. I'm blaming the media for that.
Soon we had redressed while half the crowd went inside the Opera House for Part Two. There was talk of a Part Three in the Park afterwards but most were going home. I took a train to Newtown and had breakfast. Hot food never tasted so good. Exhausted, I went home while one of my friends had to go to work, (brave girl) and already the photographs were circulating on the net. A lot of the public were already denigrating us for being freaks and for wasting the tax payers money. I spent the next hour arguing online, which is always pointless, defending the rights of those who embrace the spirit of humanity, who take risks and love life. God knows it is short. I was proud of those people. They helped me to appreciate how good it is to be alive.







(2021 Update. I took part in a 3rd shoot. In 2020, it was a Nude at Home Shoot. No I'm not telling you which one is me. Okay, I'll give you a clue. I'm wearing a mask.)