eleanor catton just won the man booker prize. she went to school with some of my friends, is 28, just won the world’s top literary prize and close to $100,000. here i am working in a glorified factory, selling my life and soul to hollywood haha holy shit what am i even doing with my life?
it was my grandad’s funeral yesterday. it was sad. the most gut-wrenching moment was when the coffin was carried out, and seeing most of Napier’s firefighters there, dressed in uniform, standing to attention and lining the walkway between the church and the hearse. i couldn’t handle it.
I was just reminded about the time I was doing some heavy over time at Workshop making some feet or some silicone shit. I went to have dinner and came across Richard, a tableful of designers and two other dudes having some food. I sat down next to one of the guys I didn’t recognise, and Richard introduced us, his name was Duncan. Due to chemical inhalation and over-tiredness I basically just glanced up, said hey and scoffed my food.
I was walking back to my room with a co-worked after eating, and he says “Man, Duncan sounds just like his dad when he laughs”, or something like that.
I’d been sitting next to Duncan Jones, David Bowie’s son, and I’d been too fucked with over time and chemicals and hunger that I didn’t even realise.