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Text Content

ERIC DANDO

new writing from eric yoshiaki dando


A READING IN A CINEMA WITH DRINKS AND FRIENDS

Posted in Uncategorized on October 7, 2017 by Eric Yoshiaki Dando

 

We are doing a reading in a cinema.
Legendary LONGPLAY which has a cinema behind its bar.
Come get some bevdadddddies!
Get some community!
Take it easy!
Come listen to completed stories from uncompleted books by:

Eric Yoshiaki Dando (author Snail)
Laura Jean McKay (author Holiday in Cambodia)
Nevo Zisin (author Finding Nevo)
Oliver Mol (author Lion Attack!)
Miles Allinson (author Fever of Animals)
Romy Ash (author Floundering)

Books and zines for sale at crazy prices!

Friday October 20th

5pm – 7pm

Long Play

318 St. Georges Road, Fitzroy North

$5 entry

 



 

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SNAIL – AVAILABLE NOW ON AMAZON

Posted in Uncategorized on April 10, 2017 by Eric Yoshiaki Dando


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SNAIL EBOOK AVAILABLE SOON

Posted in Eric Yoshiaki Dando with tags snail eric dando on April 8, 2017 by
Eric Yoshiaki Dando

Cover by Mathew Revert

Big thanks to Lucas Thorn and Erin McWhinney

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EXHIBITION AT MINGUS GALLERY, HEPBURN SPRINGS

Posted in Uncategorized on February 1, 2017 by Eric Yoshiaki Dando

 

Join us for the opening of Mingus Gallery. A new community art space in the
heart of Hepburn Springs. The opening will feature comic line art by Eric
Yoshiaki Dando and mixed media drawings / paintings by Stephany Panhuysen.



76 Main Road, Hepburn Springs

Saturday 4th Feb at 6pm

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CANARY PRESS ISSUE 10

Posted in Uncategorized on May 3, 2016 by Eric Yoshiaki Dando

 

 

 

 

 



 

Issue 10 of Canary Press featuring new stories by Etgar Keret, Jennifer Mills,
Chloe Smith, Eric Yoshiaki Dando & more.

Launching 6 May at Wetlands studio. 623 Sydney Rd, Brunswick from 7pm.

or pre-order a copy here: thecanarypress.com

 

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BULLEN’S AFRICAN LION SAFARI WAS NOT IN BULLEEN THOUGH. IT WAS ACTUALLY
IN ROCKBANK

Posted in Uncategorized on January 19, 2016 by Eric Yoshiaki Dando

 

jesus

 

howie drives his new car over. it is a rusty holden and he has carefully painted
‘driving for jesus’ on the roof in big green letters. he says, ‘this is so god
can look down and show mercy in road accidents and heavy traffic.’ on the back
window is a collection of rainforest slogan stickers. it is an unusual
combination.

 

howie has started to look a little bit like jesus, with his hair all long and
his attempted beard and his hippy shirt. i plan to paint ‘jesus is driving’ on
the bonnet in big green letters.

 

he tells mary and i that ashton’s circus is on tonight in daylesford and why
don’t we all just drive there and why don’t we all chip in and buy some alcohol
for the journey?

 

our local hotel is full of animals. we’ve never been inside, we just believe
what we see through the windows. we buy island coolers form the drive-in bottle
shop, so we don’t have to get out of the car. we can roll the windows up if we
need to, howie says that it’s like driving through the bulleen african lion
safari.

 

save the bush

 

we are passing through bulleen past the actual ghost of the old bulleen african
lion sufari park, you can still see the zebra stripes on the public tiolets. my
parents took us there on trips to melbourne. you just drove your car in there
and lions would jump on it.

 

howie keeps leaning out the window and screaming the botanical names of trees we
pass along the highway. it is very unsettling for me and mary. ‘look, exocarpos
cupressiformis,’ he jabbers wildly as i grab the wheel.

 

he starts complaining about the rainforest action group, saying that they are
only ever interested in new-age hippy bullshit: rainforests and dolphins. he has
since realised that he has never swum with a dolphin, never walked in a
rainforest. ‘fuck the rainforests,’ he says. ‘they get heaps of media attention.
what about the endangered species all around us? we’re in brunswick and the
rainforests are in brisbane. what about the long-neck tortoise? the blue devil?
kangaroo grass? we should go and chain ourselves to the trees along merri
creek.’

 

he has been getting into indigenous plants, taking up their cause with a
religious fervour. he has joined a group of volunteers that protects the
grasslands along the merri creek and volunteers at the victorian indigenous
nursery cooperative at the brunswick community farm, he studies the noxious
environmental weed list in the flora of melbourne. he talks about a big privet
hedge he knows in glen iris. he spits out venom about the evil weeds invading
the whole countryside, pointing at them out the window: christmas trees,
blackberries, agapanthus, sweet vernal grass, paterson’s curse…

 

a metaphor for me and howie

 

exocarpos cuppressiformis is a native cypress with edible fruits. it has been
called the nigger plum or native cherry. the wood has a nice, tight grain and is
used by aboriginal people for making woomeras. it has a parasitic relationship
with another tree—it doesn’t harm the host. the host just says, ‘here, have one
of my roots, man.’

 

the more howie learns about the bush, the more he discovers what is wrong with
it. he realises that the world is completely fucked. that merri creek is only
one vein in the country’s circulatory system and it is dying.

 

the thing about bush regeneration is that it is like a religion to some people.
it attracts mad extremists, environmental terrorists. martyrs for the cause.

 

he rips open his second island cooler. ‘we used to buy a four-pack of these and
drink till we threw up and that was a good night, remember?’ he says between
swallows. ‘it’s a good name for it, island cooler. it’s like drinking sea water.
it gives you that sort of shipwrecked feeling in the morning, it’s like drowning
it tastes to bad.’

 

he is becoming weary, heavy-eyed, his voice breaking off at the end of each
sentence. one more island cooler and we will wind up burned beyond recognition,
twisted around some tree that howie knows the botanical name of.

 

mary is getting scared. she grips my arm urgently. ‘i need to have a piss!’ she
says loudly. ‘i want to stop off at woodend for fish ‘n’ chips.’ this sounds
good to howie. he composes himself a little and steadies the car on the road.
then he clears his throat and starts again. ‘they’re about to build a factory on
the last remaining patch of urban grassland. grasslands have as much
biodiversity as rainforests.’ he holds up an index finger. ‘did you know that?’

 

i am extremely alert, ready to grab the wheel at any time.

 

‘if the merri creek was a rainforest, we would have no worries. no worries at
all. you’d have feral hippies camped out for miles. there would be arguments
about who was going to roll under the bulldozer.’

 

circus

 

there’s a shitface selling hot dogs and all the clowns are smiling and there are
no mondays here. everything is big top, everything is saturday. there’s popcorn,
fairyfloss, fat lady on a stool. a lion jumps through a hoop of fire, three
rings and a high wire. mary eats her doughnut and says it’s really terrible what
they make those lions do and howie looks at the hoops of fire and the cogs are
whirring and the wheels are spinning and he says that it’s really terrible too.

 

and it’s a three-ring show and the lion-tamer cracks his whip and they snarl
their teeth, and he’s yelling, ‘up titan, up samson’ and he’s cracking that whip
and waving his gun. finally the show is over. howie says he’s going off to have
a piss and we say we’ll meet him at the exit. we have to wait for ages and mary
says that he must be having a shit then. she hits me over the side of the head.
she says that howie is an extremely dangerous driver. ‘i’m not going back in the
car if howie is driving,’ she says, but she can’t drive, i’m too drunk to drive
and it’s freezing. howie suddenly comes running out from behind a tent flap and
says, ‘let’s go.’

 

we follow him out the exit and jump into his car and then the lion-tamer comes
running out into the carpark like he’s looking for something. he’s holding his
whip and bending it in the middle like he wants to kill someone.

 

howie starts his engine and we roar away.

 

we speed down the highway with all the windows open. i have hidden all the
island coolers. howie looks extremely pleased with himself. he obviously has
something to tell us. ‘the lion, i let her go. i let her go, she growled her
goodbyes to me and bounded off into the bush.’

 

‘howie, you idiot,’ i yell at him. we are travelling at a tremendous speed. ‘you
let it bound into the bush? it’ll bound into fucking ballarat and some yobbo
bastard with a gun will shoot it.’

 

‘it might not go into the towns, it might live out int he bush.’

 

‘it will walk into a caravan park and eat a baby.’

 

but howie is righteous, triumphant. he points his finger up at the sky, stamps
his foot on the accelerator. ‘orders from above,’ he says in a high, toffy
voice. all debate is drowned by his preaching. he looks over at mary for some
approval but her face is dead tight and she is all hunched up against the door.
she slowly repeats, ‘slow down, howie. just keep your eyes on the road, howie.’
she shakes her head like she can’t believe she is letting this lunatic drive us
home. she’s not talking to anybody, she is not listening to howie’s sermon about
a magical universe.

 

the hedgeburner

 

the hedgeburning continues. it’s in the newspapers, neighbourhood watch is in
uproar, residents are living in fear. the television has turned the hedgeburner
into a sort of folk hero. someone has put out a hedgeburner t-shirt. now we
thrill to the sight of a smouldering hedge, as if we have caught sight of elvis
or jesus christ. this is only the beginning. soon there will be a whole range of
paraphernalia: teatowels, board games, hedgeburner cordial.

 

the newspapers have suggested, with the help of psychologists, that the
hedgeburner probably masturbates in the bushes while watching his hedges burn.
albert goldman will write his biography.

 

new tattoos

 

howie has new tattoos: a lion and some japanese letters. he says that the
letters mean ‘luck’ or something. i tell him that the letters could just about
mean anything. i tell him that they probably mean ‘get fucked’, and one day a
gang of japanese exchange students will attack him with a meat cleaver.

 

‘the lion is nothing,’ he says. ‘i’m going to get a huge one on my chest of alby
mangels and crocodile dundee.’ he gives me the thumbs-up, says, ‘you beauty,
mate.’

 

he stares at the lion on his chest, touches it. ‘no,’ he says. ‘this is
important, this means something.’

 

(from snail, Penguin Books, 1996)

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SLEEPERS ALMANAC X

Posted in Uncategorized on September 22, 2015 by Eric Yoshiaki Dando

Come and celebrate the Sleepers Almanac X

Thursday October 1, 2015: Trades Hall, Bella Union

with readings from Eric Yoshiaki Dando, Julie Koh, Melissa Howard and Stephanie
Barham.

Featuring Oslo Davis.

Really excited (but also a bit sad) about this last short story anthology from
Sleepers Publishing. It just wont be the same without the Sleepers Almanac.

My new story Space Monkeys Drink Tang! will be my seventh piece of fiction they
have published over the years.

Here is a small taste:



Hang

Sometimes we would just go and hang in the little cafe opposite Camberwell
Market and there would be these little terrariums on each table and we would
stare at the miniature figures inside while we waited for our coffee.

Inside each microcosm the little people would be frozen in perfect moments —
like running towards each other while deeply in love or fixing a tyre together
on a tiny bicycle in a terrible fog or climbing up a mossy hill to have a
romantic picnic on the other side in the beautiful sunshine with nobody else
around for miles and miles.

I stared deep into the glass and before long I saw the future, and I forgot what
we were talking about.

I was a world away.

When I looked up she was staring at me blankly.

I wasn’t sure if she had asked me a question or not.

‘That’s easy,’ I said, pointing at the terrarium. ‘I can do that. All I have to
do is find out where they get all these little people from.’

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NEWSTEAD SHORT STORY TATTOO

Posted in Uncategorized on April 23, 2015 by Eric Yoshiaki Dando

Performing some stories for Going Down Swinging at the Newstead Short Story
Tattoo on May 2nd.

http://newsteadtattoo.org/program201/

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A SHORTAGE OF SANTAS ON RADIO NATIONAL

Posted in Uncategorized on December 20, 2014 by Eric Yoshiaki Dando

I decided to work as a Shopping Centre Santa because I needed something to write
about. I had abandoned one novel and started another and I needed a writing
project that I could finish quickly.

I did not feel like a writer anymore. I was working in Red Hill digging holes
and restumping a house. I made a lot more money doing this than they were paying
me to be Santa, but I had already written a story about restumping a house in
Red Hill.

I remember being really scared about the Santa job and feeling a great
responsibility to do it properly.

I wrote the story very quickly, over a weekend, from notes I had written in my
journal. I really enjoyed writing this story because it just seemed to write
itself. I had it finished by the time I went back to work digging holes and when
I gave it to my boss to read I saw him laughing.

I imagined that I could get it published in The Age Good Weekend Christmas
edition. I sent it to them a few times, but then it was published by The
Sleepers Almanac and I was happy with that.

The photo was taken with my camera by the photographer who was bossing me around
for the day.

It’s quite out of focus so I look more like Santa than I actually did on the
day.



Last year I was asked to record my Santa story at Radio National with the good
people at Paper Radio.

It will be broadcast this Sunday 21st December at 3pm on Radiotonic, Radio
National.

or just click on the link here to hear it right now:

http://www.abc.net.au/radionational/programs/radiotonic/a-shortage-of-santas/5971384



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LAUNCH OF CANARY PRESS ISSUE #5

Posted in Uncategorized on August 30, 2014 by Eric Yoshiaki Dando

 

So happy to have my new story about a vegetarian butcher called “Coop” in the
new edition of Canary Press #5.

 

 

> Mr Potato

Miss Beardall was shaped like an apple and smelled of Lux soap and talcum
powder. I couldn’t get enough of her. I followed her around when she had yard
duty. At lunchtime I would watch her through the window of the staff room
smoking cigarettes with another teacher who was pear shaped.

Miss Beardall was the only person who appreciated how much I liked potatoes.
Everything I learnt from her had a vague reference to potatoes.

She made a point of introducing me to other vegetables. She brought a whole
bunch of them in a basket every week. Everybody got to sample a fruit or a
vegetable they had never tried before. I remember the first time I tasted my
first mango , and my taste buds just went bonkers. I had mango all over my face.

> ‘You are a fruit,’ she said.
> 
>  
> 
> Why not subscribe to Canary Press?
> 
> http://thecanarypress.com/product/one-year-subscription/

 

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 * * 


 * PAGES
   
   * Published under someone else’s name is still published
   * Rollicks like a plastic pony on my Macintosh keyboard – Oink Oink Oink,
     MA thesis
   * something was on fire / short story using hobo signs
   * Surfing with Jesus and Dead Fish


 * MORE DANDO
   
   * A animated cartoon of Snail by Carla Zapel (personal illustrator to former
     Prime Minister Kevin Rudd)
   * A review of snail and Oink Oink Oink by Marieke Hardy, ABC First Tuesday
     Bookclub
   * Beautiful Useful Things
   * Become a fan of snail on Facebook
   * Black Rider Press: The Concrete Man
   * Black Rider Press: Tiny Little Pirates
   * cartoons
   * cordite poetry review: A Man of Zombie Appearance
   * cordite poetry review: all the cats and blind puppies
   * cordite poetry review: beat
   * cordite poetry review: micro
   * Going Down Swinging #31
   * More cartoons by Eric Dando
   * New eBook on Smashwords: Tell Pitiful Story
   * New eBook on Smashwords: the moon in the pinetree was like a thin bald man
   * Red Leaves, Japanese-English Literary Journal
   * Sleepers Publishing iPhone App
   * The Birdman's Big Fuzzy Smoo
   * Verity La – A Very Big Bean
   * Verity La – man with gun
   * Verity La – three dead fish
   * Vice Magazine: Little Red Riding Hood and Blind Boy Willy the Pirate
   * X = incorrect


 * THE OTHER
   
   * A.S.Patric
   * Adam Ford
   * Adam Richard blog (fab-ulog)
   * alicia sometimes
   * Emilie Zoe Baker
   * ΠO
   * Julie Koh
   * lucas thorn – lateralbooks
   * Molly Guy
   * Neil Boyack
   * Sean M Whelan
   * Shane Jesse Christmass
   * Sleepers Publishing
   * this guy called samuel i met at my garage sale


 * RECENT COMMENTS
   
   Eric Yoshiaki Dando on snail – available now on…Wayne on snail – available
   now on…squib on snail – available now on…Eric Yoshiaki Dando on A Shortage of
   Santas on Radio…Jane on A Shortage of Santas on Radio…

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