Screaming Banshee of the Seas Over There September 22, 2008

“Mallow, you really are an idiot,” Bertrina always travelled light. Small, well secured suitcase by her side, she waited impatiently for a sweaty plain-faced man on a train platform. He had packed three cases, and had hired just as many Jousen men to carry them. The swarms of people moving on and off the carriages bustled and jolted the porters and the wide-berthed Mallow, they were ultimately moving further into the train than onto the platform, where Bertrina Humphries – and most of Malasrion’s ‘Executivery’ remained, growing ever tired.

“He’ll redeem himself somehow, he’ll take a bullet for me, or something like that,” Shrendig turned to Bertrina. She and her aide, Foolio, carried nothing. Their faces were unbound from their usual dust-cloths, their eyes still concealed behind heavily tinted goggles, their brown knickerbockers a cause for concern amongst the general public – who were these two agents? These men and women were shadows, only rumours amongst those who feared the long arm of the Malasrionese Executive Ministry, the most lethal force of swift justice. To have them sporting knee-trousers in broad daylight was a sure sign of an emergency.

**

With Mallow in his own steam-car, the other four in another, this elite group of Malasrion’s dictators moved to the front, where they could really mix this war up.

Marble Palace September 20, 2008

The old man pulled together his suit jacket, making haste down the steps outside the marble palace.

“Too many fucking steps, make me a ramp someday,” what a mouth!

–

You know, fuck this. I’m going to cut the crap. Mum’s got bronchitis – if she hadn’t've gone to the doctor yesterday, she would’ve had pneumonia in a matter of hours. She’s been sleeping fitfully for the last day, swearing constantly because she’s in a considerable amount of discomfort, and the house is quickly going to shit.

You see, one woman runs this house. One woman earns all the money, and then comes home at six, seven, ten o’clock and then cooks dinner and cleans it all. She’s resorted to cooking all the meals on the weekend because a certain man has to use twenty pots, pans, stupid fucking silicon cooking mats and five bowls of tupperware just to cook one meal, and then doesn’t wash up after himself.

One man buys three heated towelracks in the middle of spring when he’s pleaded with ALL WINTER to do something about wet towels in the morning. One man has to fill up the garage with washing machines and bicycles – hoses, wires, shoes, televisions…

One man comes home and eats six pieces of bread lathered in peanut paste and assorted fats, then spends half a thousand dollars going to sleep clinics to work out why he can’t sleep because he snores so loud. ITS BECAUSE THE FAT IN YOUR NECK PHYSICALLY OBSTRUCTS AIR TRYING TO GET INTO YOUR LUNGS. We went to Sam Dean, the family’s been going to Sam Dean for like 30 years, he knows us all inside and out – so when was it different when he told you to lose weight? When was it different when that was his first reaction?

Why can’t you take the bus to work? Why do you pretend not to understand me? You’re such a genius when we sit in front of SBS and tell me all you know about Tito – complete bullshit, I’d add, but why can’t you have that attitude about things that fucking matter? Like wasting 18 bucks every day keeping your car in a car park where it keeps getting broken into?

Endless fights with Jordan. Endless, fucking fights. Over everything.

Who’s going to give Mum her lemonade? Your exam’s on thursday, isn’t it? (“It was today, for the seventh time.”) Take photos of the broken doorhandle for me. Clean up your room.

Fights over the most inane things. Either of them could blink and they get trapped in those most fantastic power struggle I’ve ever seen. Neither of them knows when to stop, screaming, yelling, doors, clothes – I don’t know which one to plead with.

Jordan? Don’t he and I communicate marginally better? Shouldn’t he understand he’s fighting a brick wall? No, he’s just had an irrational hate for a 120 kilogram man for most of his life!

Dad? That’s like trying to reach for the stars.

I haven’t got it that bad, I don’t have to do much around here, I don’t ever really do much. Its just that this man is slowly killing Mum. When she had hernias everyone told her it was all in her head – ha! The hysterical, hypochondriac woman! She’s clearly just imagining her intenstines being shoved through the muscle lining in her waist, yeah!

“You can have a cleaner when you’re better.”

I just give up.

–

A man who will make me a cup of tea, but not butter my toast? Insists I have to get a haircut the second he sees me after I’ve woken up? Endless, meaningless phonecalls. Shouldn’t you be working? Five pairs of new Nikes, a new one every time we go shopping there. The most awful slurs at Mum when she’s five seconds late rushing down the five elevator shafts to St Georges terrace – why? Why do you get so angry? She makes ALL the money, and when she’s caught up in a 54 million dollar settlement her WHOLE COMPANY is watching, you’re jumping up and down on your hat in the five minute waiting bay.

.

Why do you stomp around at 9am in the morning, opening, closing cupboard doors – why does Mum have to get up at 9, spot on the dot when she could’ve been days away from death? Why can’t you get a better job? I read your resume to some department. You can’t because you make no sense. Words repeated, useless sentences, pointless explanations… Words for the sake of words.

.

Everything is repeated. You learn nothing. You get angry at the same things again and again, how can it possibly be our fault? Where is the world you live in? Why can’t anything be your fault?

EXAMS. DAMN COLD. September 18, 2008

What a large crappy crap crap.

<3 Seamus Heaney – what a great big soft, friendly face!

You see, the key to a “What a” sentence is saying “What a” and then just saying something after it.

Harlequin men in blue and yellow September 14, 2008

Have you ever met those beautiful people?

Those stunning men

Those gallant women

Otherworldly,

I saw some smoking cigarettes

standing outside the bank

so clean

I’m not allowed to talk to them

I’ll be locked up if I do

Uncle says they’re dangerous

Says

they shot his son

but he’s a naughty so-and-so,

took his father’s gun

and shot their best horse

I digress.

What a pity

I wear the wrong colours

Floreat Library 11am September 13, 2008

Screaming children

In my hair

Screaming children

Everywhere!

.

And then.. I can’t remember the rest, I’ll put it up later or something. Or maybe I won’t, neh.

Trial… TEE… September 11, 2008

I have a few, very small, desires.

All I require is that I get bored with homework, and spend the rest of the evening on MSN.

Like I said, a very small series of desires, not very difficult to provide for.

VERY SMALL. EASY TO GIVE TO ME.

I HAVE TO BUY A HAM RADIO OR SOMETHING NOW, JUST TURN OFF THE FUCKING MSN SERVERS WHY DON’T YOU?

Farrrrk!

Fruit Salad. September 7, 2008

Men in lines. Their boots were still clean, so I could tell they’d never been anywhere, done anything. They were from up north, they carried these ridiculuous light arms – chrome plated sub-machine guns. They were perfectly polished and I could barely see the faces of the soldiers, they were so bright!

.

The whole city had been put on alert when this task force had approached from the west. We’d seen men and women in green dashing to pill-boxes and tanks, loading rifles, hiding in bushes. Colonel was driving towards them now, that black car of his. Out he hopped, salutes all round from the men who got out before him. Gloves off. The engine’s still running and the door’s left open and attended.

.

There all the soldiers in blue and yellow all stand, being talked to by some woman … without a hat? Is it possible they’re not being briefed by even an officer? Impossible, it has to be a trick – they’re all in plain uniform as a ploy – yes! The lines of foreign soldiers then took off in a hundred different directions – God, they were fit, you should’ve seen them run! They marched off behind buildings, into post offices, shops… even straight past the Colonel, who’s in charge of the whole city! What an insult! Brushing shoulders with such a powerful and righteous man!

.

I think its almost needless to say the Colonel was furious. I saw him look back at his aide, I saw his rage for a split second – how exciting! Oh he was going to show them, I was so sure. He was taking long, impatient steps towards a small group of the foreign people still back where they’d all been – four of them were standing to attention, hands at their temples. Three had different uniforms, they had bright yellow trimmings to their enlarged lapels – unlike the one in between, who had his face wrapped up like the people on the farms, with those black goggles to match.

.

The two women addressing the four had beautiful uniforms, wonderful large white boots with miles and miles of white lacing tying them right up to their knees – those most pale of pale blue suits moving up from there on. I don’t remember either of them appearing good-looking, or young, for that matter … I’m no pervert, I swear – but they seemed to be too beautiful to be an enemy…

.

After watching these graceful people conduct themselves so mysteriously, the Colonel’s jealous march towards them seemed impetuous. There galloped he, gloves off and whip-in-hand, I remember his first words were, “Do you call this an invasion?” I was so lost in their little world of war-games I could just tell what he was saying.

She just laughed. She laughed just long enough to strip the green-suited man of all his pride, “No, Colonel. No, not at all.”

And then the faceless man second from the left produced a pistol and ran hot lead through his head.

Mister Shaw September 6, 2008

Here’s to you, Mister Shaw. You taught me Advanced Maths and GT, you’re a big reason I’ve ever done anything in maths. Although I was a great big disappointment in all of your classes, I’d just like you to know – where-ever you are now – you’re one of my heroes.

Ode to W B Yeats September 6, 2008

Where are your middle-class heroes?

Who rules your whited tower?

It becomes apparent

Through your faceless shows

Of dumb, blind power

That no-one knows.

.

It could be Johnny Howard

Or Kevin Connie Rudd

It could be just your Honda-car

Stemming the petrol flood

.

Huddle now altogether

Pats on each other’s backs

Ye bastion of the church’s tether

.

Your children out on midnight binge

What a land of double faces

This great cultural cringe

“I felt a brief reposing silence,

so I thought I’d have a winge.”

Thankyou Gentlemen! September 5, 2008

Things will disappear

Into the clouds

Into the haze

mist

whathaveyou

(HAHAHAHA:

Thank you gentlemen! Someday I will repay you! Unless I cannot find you, or I forget…! Funny, funny shit! Anyway back to being serious and cryptic)

Ah fuck this, I’m in a good mood now.