What, me worry?

Sam Cooney I have a friend in Melbourne who is a paste-up artist. Under the guise of the moniker ‘Drab’ he creates small and large scale pieces of art, prints them onto jumbo sheets of paper and—normally in the quiet post-midnight hours—sticks them onto surfaces in...
Hans Fallada and being outside when everyone else is inside

Hans Fallada and being outside when everyone else is inside

Sam Cooney It was my birthday recently—it’s okay, you weren’t to know—and as a gift my girlfriend’s parents sent me a copy of Alone in Berlin by Hans Fallada. I had never heard of Fallada before reading this novel, and I found it quite a curious read in every meaning...
the gap between ability and ambition

the gap between ability and ambition

Sam Cooney On the 22nd of February of this year I saw a man on fire. He had doused himself head to toe in a couple of litres of petrol and had set himself alight. He flailed about and he ran straight, a human comet hurtling, looking like someone drowning in a private...
male and female and masculine and feminine

male and female and masculine and feminine

Sam Cooney When I was young and getting really stuck in to reading, I thought Enid Blyton was a man. I’m not sure why, I just did. Sure, now I know Enid is a girl’s name, but to eight-or-nine-year-old me it wasn’t. I just never bore it in mind; it wasn’t important in...
Freunde und Liebhaber, ich bin (k)ein Berliner

Freunde und Liebhaber, ich bin (k)ein Berliner

Sam Cooney Chances are the wizardry of your web browser automatically deciphered into English the title of this blog post, but in case not, it translates roughly as Friends and lovers, I am (not) a Berliner. I’m a Melbourne lad, a writer and editor of sorts, born and...