G’day records the first example of The Worst of Perth’s favourite author doing something useful. Unfortunately self adhesive so no jokes on licking the backside. What’s wrong G’day, Colleen McCulloch sold out? 
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The Worst of Perth 
Time’s wing-ed Wintons
Dugong sanctuary in flames
Ponytail express.
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Kill me.
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Let the games begin!
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Has some over-eager Wintonphile spruuted on the envelope? I’m going to use that words all day now.
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So Tim has a sticky backside?
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The case for triage
Stymied; choicelessness prevails.
Oz lit retch at ya
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stamped his legacy
dedication to the sea
remaining hairy
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Enraptured dugongs
Cannot now contain themselves
Envelopes of shame
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The sticky dugongs
fuck linted navels
in thornbird oceans
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stamped on Winton his
bibliography remains
a good paper weight
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Tim stared excitedly down at the envelope, sitting in the milky, opalescent light of his downstairs kitchenette. Phwoar, he thought, so it’s finally come to this. Me own stamp. Not a bad shot, he considered, probably my best angle. Gut’s not in it – that’s got to be a good thing. Good smile – open, sincere – flashing like a cuttlebone in the Exmouth sun. Actually, he looked pretty good, certainly better than that fucken awful portrait in – where was it? Dunsborough. God, that had been a moment, alright – pretty hard to sustain the down-to-earthness when you’re up on the wall leering like some crucified, t-shirted manatee. He stifled a shudder. Safe here, at home. They can’t see you mate. Can’t point you out – can’t buy you a beer, or let you take that wave. God, he hated them. He shifted uncomfortably at the kitchen bench, hands fumbling for a better position, absently thumbed at a copy of ‘Your Inner Child for Dummies’. It’s alright mate.
The envelope sucked at his gaze once again. Such a beautiful triptych – perfection. The casual denim, the strident, hawksbill nose, like some latter-day Amerindian warrior loosed upon the twilit dunes. He shivered, a cool ocean breeze shifting the curtains momentarily. He was all alone. Such beautiful stamps. Such a beautiful man. Such perfection. He inhaled, powerfully, abdominally, slipping one gifted, talented hand inside the brine-crusted fabric of his jeans. Oh, yeah.. such a talented, beautiful man. A giant. A towering prosemaster, a sensitive, authentic human being. So down to earth. Oh yeahhh… so in touch… with the West… Australian… zeitgeist…
For a second, complete silence reigned. The soft ocean balm rolled in, whistling through the loose guttering of his house. Spruuut. Spruuuuut. A soft scent of sprouts.
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Masterpiece.
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I am going to dig out my copy of “Cloustreet”.
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You wouldn’t consider burning it and photographing it? (Or even videoing it?)
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It’s currently in my compost bin
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That’s fine.
As long as you are sure that there is no meat in it.
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Yes.
I have a separate compost for meat.
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There is not much meat in Cloudstreet but plenty of filler.
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And burn it in ritual scarifice?
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Spruuuuut , and a book fell out his arse. Hey that’s in accord with the leitmotif he said quietly to himself.
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heh, I’m chuckling uncontrollably at that
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‘inner child for dummies’
I think that sums up exactly why I hate Winton
he still sounds like a teenager
especially when he overdoes his one trick of juxtaposing faux-earthy Australian vernacular with some long word he just found in the thesaurus. orotund cunt.
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That made briny tears roll down my cheeks like the Indian Ocean rolling onto the porcelain sand of Dongara’s tranquil beaches.
“Cor, yer obviously a poofter, cryin’ ’bout sum fukkin’ website shit,” Andrew said, callously. Ljuke took this noble colloquialism in, as he had Pfortner’s astounding prose.
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I have to keep rereading this.
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me too, pathetically enough :0B
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Re-reading posts is like masturbation.
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and gloatingly re-reading your own post about a writer masturbating over the success of his own wank is like…
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A Dutch rudder?
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… stumbling round the backyard early on a hot November morning, draining the mostly empty Emu Export tinnies from the party the night before?
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… before going inside to kick the dog, coz Becky laughed at you last night, like she always did, and coz you can.
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nuh, it’s more like a dutch rudder- an auto dutch rudder, say you were experiencing a timeslip and ‘getting’ a dutch rudder from yourself at 12:19 pm. But your past self has Winton’s face.
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That’s two new smuttisms I’ve learnt today. Sheesh, I thought I was on the ball.
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Brilliant is it not.
But what the fuck is Tims problem? He is being branded as a charlatan and he doesn’t feel the need to defend himself? Does he not underswtamd the influence of this forum? It’s only a short drive from Curtin to Gomboc.
He MUST know about this by now, right?
Is there anyone with any contacts at Curtin?
Any of his students Lj?
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I was in the same year as Jesse at uni and he seemed embarrassed as shit to be a Winton, didn’t like to talk about it at all. YEAH TIM HOW D’YA LIKE THAT
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WTF did Jesse study?
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You still at “work” Pforts?
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…possibly
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at the risk of being called a bullshitter, I never knew. Wasn’t creative writing though :)
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Poor kid never stood a chance.
A name like that is too heavy a weight to bear.
Like van Tongeren, Kay or Chong.
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Tim’s younger brother, Andrew – an accomplished guitarist, “has been likened to a cross between Ben Harper, Sting, Kelly-Joe Phelps and Harry Manx.” That’s not music, but a nightmare!
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Just occurred to me also that Tim put the Dirt Music CD together with Lucky OCEANS. It was clearly always meant to be.
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But really, it’s all academic until the REAL Tim Winton is here, ON THIS FORUM, to defend himself in person- a la Buckels and Chong.
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Kind of related to this riff:
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Pabst Blue Ribbons?
Obtuse perhaps, but still mystified. Let me, oh let me in, on the secrets of the smartest, most veteran TWOPerthers.
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Ahh, you credit us with greater insight than we deserve. We were simply making fun of hipsters: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pabst_Blue_Ribbon
I hear Winton is the new hipster, around these parts.
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Ahh, should have remembered from Blue Velvet, alas. Is this shit available/popular in sunny Perth?
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“Although the Pabst website features user-submitted photography [AKA TWOP], much of which features twenty-something Pabst drinkers dressed in alternative fashions,[AKA TWOP?] the company has opted not to fully embrace the countercultural label in its marketing, fearing that it could jeopardize the very “authenticity” that made the brand popular [HAHAHAHAHA]”
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a nightmare coming to a park in fremantle soon
http://www.westcoastbluesnroots.com.au/Artists/default.aspx
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Fuck mez, I hope you don’t have a problem with the Araluen (Fremantle) Chilli festival as well.
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I can’t wait to see the convoy of purple faced families gasping for air as they wend their way back to Willeton
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Without opening that link, can I guess that John “The Bono” Butler is on the bill?
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Phew, just checked the site, and realized I was needlessly worried the Blues & Roots Festival was going to clash with the 2010 Perth Beer Festival.
In any case, would anyone mind babysitting my sons Butler and Winton for one or both nights? I can pay you in kind, or in clocks with golden hands and numerals on a “rough” jarrah backing, or a paper mache bust of Paddy Hannan.
On the Beerfest, I can’t work out which piece of graphic design is worse, this from the old site –
http://www.beerfest.net.au/sponsors.html
Or this, from the new –
http://www.beerfest.net.au/index.html
Photoshop craziness!!!
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No PBR? Don’t they realise the value of the skinny jean dollar?
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PBR?
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Can you get PBR here?
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PBR???
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Second try:
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would this be a good time to talk about the rising popularity of ‘Tapas & Burlesque’ nights?
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Don’t get me started.
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I’m sure Tim wouldn’t be foolish enough to respond. A dignified silence, like a hot still Perth night, would be most appropriate.
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Like the rolling sea sans roll. Deep, blue and unfathomable.
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The silence of a single broken thong, shipwrecked on a Cottesloe footpath.
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Yearning, bursting, lusting for those white tempting whore shores of Rottnest.
(a Rotto channel swim ref. in there for you)
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A saline love affair, yet again.
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Tim’s waiting to be spammed with demands for a “truce”, WAtching, which he will then laugh and ignore too, while reading “Giving dickheads enough rope for dummies.”
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I’d just like to say that I love Tim’s work and can not believe that you guys are bagging out the great man. Also, I can’t wait to start classes this semester.
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Too late fail features.
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CrimeStoppers today’s West pg 47:
“A woman took a sledge hammer to a car in a McDonald’s drive-through in Malaga last month.
Four women were in a red Hyundai Lantra sedan when the enraged woman, who was driving a blue Commodore, began to yell abuse at them about 11.30pm on Saturday, January 2.
She continued yelling at the women as she got out of her car, she then proceeded to smash the Hyundai’s front windscreen and windows.
The offender was seen earlier in the evening in a pink Lancer with a sticker,2WOG4YOU, in the back window. She is described as overweight, fair skinned with brown hair. She was wearing a dark coloured T-shirt with white trim on the neck and arms with the word ‘love’ inscribed across the chest.”
Winton-esque?
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“Bloody wogs”
I am just so disappointed she was not seen in a car with “IFKNLUVPINK” on the rear window.
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NKOTB would have been sublime.
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Josh Earle was wearing a NKOTB t-shirt at Becks last night
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Ahhhh Malaga. Such romance. Such memories.
It reminds me of Paris in the Spring.
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except that Malaga in the spring is like Vietnam in 1968
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Except with the added delights of zombies.
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Comment of the day. So nice to be laughing at genuine wit, instead of customers who get to the front counter and THEN decide it’s time to think about what they need.
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Cunts. All of them.
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i hear ya
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La Semaine Sanglante
fusilleur de la Commune
Encore quelque chose?
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Winton despisers
Expel hate in spruut like sprays
City of the damned
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Wretched albumen
Boredom’s fuselage aground
Slowly spreading stain
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Well at least the sender didn’t put Tim in a sandwich between Patrick White and Hal Porter.
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as unaccustomed as i am to public posting, i googled “tim winton piss take” images – and i proudly acknowledged TLA that your site was the first return. Well done.
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Can I just add mp, that should Tim dare to brave the TWoP gauntlet, I shall be on his side. After all, at least he doesn’t sit around all day sniggering and doing nothing. At least he’s done something.
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Too right Shazza. A multi awarded author. You cunts sicken me. Jealousy and the tall puppet syndrome.
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Shouldn’t that be…
“You WAnkers shouldn’t sit around and Winton.”
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Sorry to repeat, but
Winton despisers
Expel hate in spruut like sprays
City of the damned
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I liked An Open Swimmer but only bits of it
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I LOVED “An Open Swimmer ” but I LOVE Wintoning more.
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I hate all works that have “swim” in the title.
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I dunno. I quite liked this book.
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I feel his writing is much more suited to the short story rather than the novel. The novels seem to run out of story quite a while before they end.
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I agree
Cloudstreet ran out somewhere in Shenton Park
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Fuck you all – Winton is rubbish.
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You Quislings
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i really like winton’s writing, i think that he manages to capture perth’s sense of place. however, he does seem to have a problem in ending his novels, they just seem to peter out inexplicably in most cases.
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I think there’s a touch of the Wintons in that face no?
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i’d like to see pfort wintoning rose.
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You are dead to me vegan.
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A good example is Breath.
Virtually the whole book is locked into developing a single theme and then within a few pages the book suddenly ends with brief descriptions of how the central characters lives finish up.
It seemed like Winton himself got bored and instead of it becoming a major work, decided to end his involvement in an hours manic typing.
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but the fans loved it. Seriously, some of the ingratiating poseurs who snapped that shit up… It could have been proferred on the end of a shovel and they’d still be slavering with joy
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That may be so but that book killed any more Winton for me.
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You were the one who sent in the Clodstreet cover weren’t you?
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not me. I am responsible for ‘The Gill with the Dagon Tattoo’ though
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That was supposed to be to richarbl. Comments playing up again.
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Yeh it was me TLA although I was happy to let Pforts take the blame.
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None of you that replied to my comment clicked the link, did you?
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I clicked but didn’t comment.
Does that count?
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Yes.
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Apologies – I’m colour blind.
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so Tony Abbot’s soon to be released “I’m Going Swimmingly” would not suit?
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PL: you hate books with ‘swim’ in the title?
even ‘At Swim-Two-Birds’ ?
as Dylan Thomas said: “This is just the book to give your sister – if she’s a loud, dirty, boozy girl”.
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This is bagging shit on Winton because he’s from WA, and made it onto a stamp.
The others in the series are Peter Carey, token woman Colleen McCullough, Thomas Kenneally, David Malouf and that insufferable cunt Bryce Courtney.
Get some perspective people.
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Posers.
The bloody lot of youse cunts.
I don’t read books. I read one once. I still can’t see what all the fuss is about. Waste of time.
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Dare I ask which book it was Rolly? If it was the bible I could understand.
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I agree rolly.
I get all my information from Paul Murray.
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Who?
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Three points:
(1) skink (Feb 17, 1pm)
‘inner child for dummies’
I think that sums up exactly why I hate Winton
he still sounds like a teenager
especially when he overdoes his one trick of juxtaposing faux-earthy Australian vernacular with some long word he just found in the thesaurus. orotund cunt.
NEVER READ ANY WINTON, BUT THAT – TO A TEE – IS EXACTLY WHAT I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE LIKE…
(2) Pfortner (Feb 17, 4.02pm)
and gloatingly re-reading your own post about a writer masturbating over the success of his own wank is like…
ERRR, THAT SOUNDS LIKE ME…..
(3) Lazy Aussie on Pfortner piece (Feb 17, 12.33pm)
NOT JUST A MASTERPIECE, BUT ABSOLUTELY FUCKING BEAUTIFUL…WHO NEEDS WINTON WHEN WE HAVE THIS?
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i’m touched, ning… shucks.
You’re absolutely right, the ole chestnut about (not) judging books by their covers may have a grain of truth, but you can ALWAYS judge a book by its readership.
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LA, you are probably correct that Winton would maintain a dignified silence even if his attention was directed to TWoP. Though, should he pop in, he could justifiably claim he is now bigger than Jesus (sorry Beatles)
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nope, I’ve met Tim, and he is a shortarse. He would probably only come up to Jesus’s shoulder
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Not taller.
Bigger. Better. More talked about. Famouser.
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And noone noticed that Peter Garrett is being interviewed on ABC’s Book Club about his favourite book. Fucking Cloud Street.
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Resign!
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Trust me, that’s just a codeword used when people can’t remember if it was a Clive Cussler or a Jodi Picoult and don’t wish to confess to either
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Or if their favourite read was actually Fuck Hungry Cum Sluts.
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Yeah that’s it, uh, Clit- CLOUDSTREET!
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ClitStreet?
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Jeez the poor cunt doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut does he. What a total dud Garrett has been and THEN he claims to like Clod street.
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What do you mean no one noticed?
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Unfortunately it seems that Ljuke does nt get Tim for a tutor.
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Don’t forget it’s Garrett on Winton tonight at 10
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For those on Facebook. If you had the chance to ask Tim Winto one question…
http://www.facebook.com/timwintonauthor?v=wall&story_fbid=114561335260031
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I am ‘liking’ Winton specifically for this
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And it might give people a chance to reread this.
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C’mon JJ – you put this FB group up, didn’t you?
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Ok my question’s up. Feel a bit churlish reposting here, but so I am.
Tim – there’s a place deep in the hearts of every West Aussie, from the cloistered glades of Nedlands to the storm-swept Naturaliste bluffs, where your writing really strikes a chord of fever-pitched quintessence. We can all of us look back on those personal milestones – one’s first, hesitant delvings into Cloudstreet, for instance – with a fine, heady blend of fondness and pride. There’s just something about a Winton. Something… ethereal, yet something at the same time so very raw, so very familiar. Something that speaks not only to the hearts of every West Aussie, but very nearly from our hearts, as well. It’s like the velvet song of the sea-cow as it drifts between the blond-fibred kelps and grasses in its sand-girt womb. I remember my first reading of Cloudstreet. We were headed back from training, me and Macka, we’d stopped to take in a couple of tinnies and savour the afternoon’s soft transition into dusk. Down by the beach, gulls swept and soared like an overworked family, scrapping, rankling, roistering, yet at the same time, so calm, so interdependent. ‘Phwoar,’ I breathed, astonished at my own profundity. That’s when Macka slipped me a Cloudstreet, from under his jacket. Anyway, I digress somewhat. My question is this. We all know you’ve done us proud – after all, no dove (or let’s be dinkum, magpie) soars too high, if on his own wings – but have you done us proud enough? Or are you yet to do us prouder still?
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“The velvet song of the sea-cow as it drifts…” I’m there man.
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Sea-cows are upside down elephants.
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I hope he calls you a cunt. That’d be beautiful.
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Oh I get it – it’s another of those vicious faux-populist Penguin Books viral marketing campaigns. Do any of the nuff-nuffs actually think Winton is reading their posts?
Bronnie Hayes: Can you autograph my whole collection of your books..? If so..I will trade you yummy cakes.!
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Tim peeps in from time to time to see how many friends he’s got.
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Not as many as Bryce, no doubt much to his chagrin.
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Sea cows go big bump when you run over ’em in the tinny.
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Well as one might expect, his followers, though but simple folk, get pretty close to out-Wintoning us. No commentary, just think ‘menopause’
‘…MERCI. I’m just arrived in Australia for holidays and visiting my son and my daughter in law and everywhere I go I feel YOUR writing. I was expecting that, like a secret landscape.The one I had to meet. I would like to offer you the same joy in France. ‘
‘Can you say hi to my divine bookclub friends who have devoured and adored all you have given us’
‘How do your words manage to rip my heart out and make my eyes leak one moment and leap for joy the next?’
‘I love the mystery and fogginess of your stories, and this uncertainty is an instrument/keystone of your writing. ‘
‘Do you think that our relationship with water is the defining feature of australianism?’
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Jeezus! What?
I did put in a desultory comment myself.
The man himself was on radio this very morning telling us not to eat fish/shark and chips.
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Some awsome wintoning happening on facebook.
http://www.facebook.com/mengeloid?v=wall&story_fbid=150331944976974&ref=notif¬if_t=feed_comment_reply
+ thanks for the shout out TL. I’m thinking “Tom Wanton” would be a good handle for ripoff publications
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James Paul yeah yeah pilfer that Tom Wanton, change the spelling, tell mistruths. WHATEVER DAWG
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Bruder Pförtner Whatever dawg, he breathed, jerkily. Rough as guts, that’s how he felt this morning. Out in the cold like a discarded four-ex on the Lancelin sands. Bloody pilferers, he muttered. Pack of useless mongrels.
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James Paul That’s pretty good, he mumbled, hoarser than a crook toad. He felt good, but it was an uneasy kind of good, like the calm before a rotto storm. It was a good idea, but now it was public the pilferers were lining up, scuttling in the shadows like gulls at Cicorello’s. Cowards, the thought, bloody wet dogs.
22 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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Bruder Pförtner It was always the way – had always been the way, too, he reflected, like the glinting swell at that childhood cray-spot down by the rivermouth. Those had been the days, chasing each other wild-eyed down the whooping paths, feet muddied and bloody and carefree, hair streaming behind them. Little ferals, they’d been. Anyway it had been the way back then as well.
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James Paul yeah i was going to retort with a Conan wintoning but FUCK THAT
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Bruder Pförtner Mammaries of Ishtar, he breathed. It was too much. All around the fortress lay rent burning, the mingling odours of bubbling sap and scorched blood assailing the senses in a cataclysm of screaming grief, like the first tumbling crash of a breaker out on the silver-hued reefs where he’d landed that beaut groper out with Flynn.
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James Paul hahaha gold.
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Ben Hogan lol
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Colin KLINE Like that zen serenity, ommm.
19 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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Andrew McDonald
A Wintoning would improve Inception hugely. “The levels of the dream were as real as the layered decks of the Islander IV, the old tub the family took to Rottnest every year, even though she rolled like a keg of Emu tumbled from an old Ford… flatbed.
The moronic mumblings of his dream wife he had killed as surely as the gidgied cobblers he’d catch with his old man, the primus light hissing and dancing its way alond the sand of Thompson bay burbled on.
A hollywood blockbuster without sex scenes? The notion troubled him as surely as the pink Kokoda shirt he almost but thankfully didn’t buy from the tackle shop in Broome.
The just avoided shame of it tightened his scrotum like a piece of sunbleached nylon rope wrapped around the propshaft of a crayboat…&ceteraSee more
19 hours ago · LikeUnlike ·
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Bruder Pförtner that last simile is just sheer bloody beautiful, like the undulating sponges’ spectral shimmering off the coast of… etc
19 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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Colin KLINE MU ?
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James Paul Christing crap, Chris clumsily conceded. Cantankerous claptrapping clatter cloyed like cottesloe crays. Caw, Chis cried, (Winton) can’t concisely create concepts.
19 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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Andrew McDonald I thank you, like the mumbled thanks he gave to the prostitute who took his virginity in the sands behind the old Surf lifesaver clubroom…
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Bruder Pförtner
Phwoar, he breathed. So it had come to this. Alliteration for its own sake. The thread was floundering, like a flourbag on the barbed wire that day the willy-willy tore down the chookhouse. In a way, he still missed that hen. Millie – that …had been her name, a milky grey thing flecked with rust-brown, a battered Land-cruiser of a bird. She’d dropped ’em, too – those eggs – rich golden yolks glistening in their own steam like the innards of a fresh-cracked muddie. Dropped ’em like a camel’s turd, he mused, as wet and stinking as an asinine attempt at alliteration, auguring aught but the sickly stench of sulphur, wafting like beer suds in the near phosphorescence of the Doctor’s first stirrings, weaving its lingering trail from Coogee to Kojonup, carrying with it the dreams, the forgotten wistful half-truths, the heedless whistlings of a thousand barely significant souls… Phwoar, he breathed again.See more
18 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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Colin KLINE
A tad …
Melodramatic?
Histrionic?
Termagantous?
…Bathetic?
Pathetic?
Melpomenetic?
Euterpian?
Calliopan?
Ah .. yes, Terpsichorean !!
I shall muse some more on this.
See more
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James Paul Looks like fucking SMUT, he fumed. I can’t believe they let this shit onto the ‘net. Some net, he thought. He remembered the old shark net at Whismy Bay. Sometimes the Dolphins would try and swim into the bay, sadly mewling as they tangled and thrashed. A fuckin’ shame. It felt like the time the old cinema got sold out to that big chain, took out all the soul and filled it with garish neon. Fuckin’ smut, he sighed. It’s all just fuckin’ smut t’ me.
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Bruder Pförtner Liked it at ‘Whimsy Bay’, he typed, fingers chattering away, blithely, like a family’s first outing for babycinos under the soft autumn sun, just a trace of salt-spray hanging, like a gutted goanna, in the breeze.
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Colin KLINE
Meanwhile, until Maggie PINKNEY turns up … could this help :
http://viewonbuddhism.org/resources/zen_poems.html
PINKNEY couldn’t be the standard, could she? See critique –
…http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/592942.The_Essence_of_Zen
See more
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Bruder Pförtner ’Since I purchased it on impulse one day from the bargain bin at a major bookstore, I just keep returning to this book time and again.’ shit that *is* pretty zen
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Bruder Pförtner - he breathed.
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Colin KLINE Zen again, it could be pretty shit ?
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Graham Albrey How do I “like” a whole thread ?, or do I have to “like” each individual comment ?, like the cool respite of each shady peppermint on the track down to the beach on a February afternoon, the taste of fresh blue mannas sticky on my fingers and clinging to my lips.
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Pingback: My 2010 Best Worst Picks | The Worst of Perth
What the hell.
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