Lunar Brogue

Unplangent paegent

2012-01-27T15:27:00.004+11:00

A soft-footed beast approached me from behind
I sensed its breath before the opening of its jaw
It was a pantomime

Cast offs

2012-01-17T23:54:00.006+11:00

Papa was a sailor
Nana was a knitter
They loved one another
I miss them

Wallflower non

2012-01-12T17:07:00.004+11:00

On a rising tide
The moonlight is spreading
Its dance is for doom

Socks up

2012-01-12T14:21:00.003+11:00

In thrall to his nylon gods
The master puppeteer tries
His hand at everything

The genial country quitter

2012-01-06T10:22:00.006+11:00

The solar rep was once a roofer. I could tell. I watched him scramble up a 32-degree ridge with a clipboard and measuring tape. But what if he slipped, I thought. Struck the chimney or gouged himself on an errant wedge of tin. He gave up a pack-a-day habit only four days ago. Would he want a gasper?

All

2012-01-05T14:27:00.003+11:00

Boots and all
All in, or nothing
All out, in all, over
Be all and end all
Bar the shouting
All comers
Tell all
Warts and all
All told, done
Gone for all money, seasons
All saints, is forgotten
All is forgiven

Flaccid philosophy

2012-01-05T10:39:00.003+11:00

They say sake is sin
That I should watch my cojones
Give me your reasons

Divine order

2012-01-05T10:35:00.001+11:00

Desultory one
Two three four etcetera
See what heaven brings

Each line, another

2012-01-05T10:30:00.003+11:00

Enjoined to do it
Myself a twitchy voyager
Never again. Alone

Brisk breath

2012-01-05T10:26:00.002+11:00

Whenever I skip
My feet get tangled in air
The stuff I should breathe

Moodenial

2012-01-05T09:16:00.014+11:00

Dear diary.

As of an hour ago, my temperament has changed. I'm now infinitely happy. From the moment a goateed boofhead drove at me for crossing on the red man, I have been buzzing with thoughts of grace, of the out-and-out equanimity of humankind.

And of the emancipatory effect of running away from such joy-sappers as sarcasm and misanthropy.

Critical courtesy

2012-01-04T17:40:00.001+11:00

I held the man's coat
While he destroyed my life
It only seemed right

Savour your saviour

2012-01-04T17:34:00.004+11:00

Forever tasted
Good for the first thirty years
Then: tacky, odd-flavoured

Contemporary inspiration

2012-01-03T11:10:00.011+11:00

Top (contemporary) artist reveals how to find creative inspiration

Be cruel to animals. The skittish ones. High finance types.
Sit in the centre of the town square and repeat the word "love" metronomically. Do this for three days without food or water. Then repeat the word "hate" for six days while eating deep fried food and drinking coke.
Commit arson in public toilets. Without warning or fire.
Flirt with your avatar clone. Undress it with your eyes. Then erase its legs and mouth.
Go to a public library and shoot people with cliches. Fill a water pistol with milk and honey and say "for your family" (bang), "your country" (boom), "your god" (blam).
Recall all the things you wish never to remember. Call people. Ask them to help you forget.
Reach into a mall shopper's bag and place whatever you find in your mouth. Hold up a sign saying, "I'm taking it hostage; there's nothing you can say or do to get it back".
Perform a simulated sex act with a frozen tuna fish. Whoop it up among bewildered men in gumboots.
Go to the steps of parliament and jump off a 1:5000 model of the Golden Gate bridge.
Order "a life-affirming experience" at KFC and then laugh maniacally while you clumsily put on a cockroach costume.
Justify your goodwill to people who loathe you and will not listen. Ask whether this justifies their loathing. When it is clear they are not listening, give them smiles laced with strychnine.
Recreate the last voyage of the Hindenburg using a plastic bag and ewok figures. Do this on the alter of an important church (e.g. The Morning Show).
Walk around the city with a blank sandwich board. Ask people to promote themselves.
Sprinkle purified water on the tombstones of violent criminals. Anoint their troubled souls. Say things such as "I love you as a monkey" and "we were all amoeba once".

Rime

2011-11-04T13:42:00.001+11:00

Immersive barabarism – the hermeneutics of global corporate imperialism

2011-10-31T14:26:00.013+11:00

The man worked close to the pylons, scavenging tackle lost by the pier fishermen above.

One day, he was diving near the head of the pier when he spotted a lovely-looking piece of tackle on the sea bed beneath him. It was a lure. A beautiful, glinting lure.

He ducked down to get it and when he surfaced, a fisherman called out to him. It's mine, he said. That lure is mine.

The man said, how much will you pay me for it? And the fisherman shook his head.

So the man repeated: how much for the lure? How much will you pay? And the fisherman shook his head.

Then there was a long pause while the man cast a look at the fisherman and dog-paddled towards the underside of the pier.

Reaching the pylons, he released the lure and let it fall to the bottom of the sea.

Wry praised

2011-10-11T16:01:00.006+11:00

A string gent
I'm pose it hive he wars
Not Rome man teak alley
In valve (ed.) wheat earn e won
Be yon hymns elf
A rood wry praised fool

p b r

2011-09-27T09:08:00.008+10:00

Gee Regal

2011-09-09T13:29:00.007+10:00

Stands the King of Hivisistan
each foot on a tine raised in time
to the whoop of divine fluorescence

hinsail

2011-09-08T16:38:00.000+10:00

hexsail

2011-09-08T15:49:00.001+10:00

aggrovigliamento

2011-09-06T15:47:00.005+10:00

Uncertain end

2011-08-23T11:30:00.003+10:00

In the finish-er
Three options-ah
Forget forget forget

High tea at the tabernacle

2011-08-23T08:34:00.004+10:00

Temple is the word
Spoken most in sufferance
Of profundity

And the rest

2011-07-21T10:01:00.008+10:00

Vulgarian heart
Pustule reward for years of boiling anger
His kindliness had moved
Mostly to his mind
Or feet
Slow manoeuvrers of one day of one day of one
(Dead) day

Arch Angel Autocad

2011-07-11T17:06:00.001+10:00

Your wings give you loft
Yet they are made of plywood
I want to love you

Autocadge

2011-07-11T17:03:00.003+10:00

Short slats on the Westside
Catching the afternoon flare
Like a vertical patio
(A vatio)
Can I spot one?

The Church of Antithesis

2011-07-07T07:57:00.006+10:00

Computer assis-
ted design perfectly an-
tithetical 01101111
01101110
01100101
00100000
01110011
01111001
01101100
01101100
01100001
01100010
01101100
01100101*

* *

It'll be all right?

2011-07-07T07:51:00.004+10:00

Prognos Tications
The woman on the corner
Who never goes home

Another purchase my first eBay bidder has made

2011-04-22T18:57:00.001+10:00

Brand New Sexy Purple Yoga Ballet Adult Thong Leotard

(I'm selling four pieces of used brown carpet.)

Our little cosmos

2011-03-24T09:30:00.001+11:00

As miracles go
This one's worthy of the world
Our little cosmos

War correspondent

2011-03-13T10:15:00.002+11:00

A nomenclature:
Nom de plume: Lamentation
Nom de guerre: Laughter

Bourgeois Brush Work

2011-03-13T10:08:00.006+11:00

Loose-linen-wearing
Frangipani brush workers
Smeared in the good oil

Exen

2011-03-13T10:02:00.001+11:00

Toward the entrance
Spied in a dark uniform
Exiting slowly

Amaze-on

2011-03-13T10:01:00.000+11:00

The shipment arrived
Unpackaged inside an hour
A ticking time bomb

Mutual Interment

2011-03-13T09:58:00.000+11:00

She lunged at me
Hovering over a hole
We died together

Incessant

2011-03-01T19:08:00.002+11:00

The escape in flames
I call out to my maker
"I worked for your dad!"

Old men are okay

2011-01-05T16:42:00.005+11:00

Lifetimes of wisdom
In the flit of a fantail
Or it's wary eye

Rockhampton Confidential

2011-01-01T17:23:00.003+11:00

Jejune? Assuage?
We cannot know what they mean
Til the flood subsides

Idio could be your temper

2011-01-01T10:56:00.005+11:00

Another language
Explained to me in time
I'll never recall

The other tennis champ

2011-01-01T10:50:00.004+11:00

Behold the father
His incontinent rages
Signalling no end

Charity begins

2010-12-31T16:57:00.001+11:00

Then there were the ones
Who staged everything
For want of humour

They're not done

2010-12-31T16:55:00.001+11:00

Circumlocution
I'll explain what it means when
You pop round the back

Just let it. Just.

2010-12-26T21:15:00.001+11:00

When it moves forward
Don't tell it anything lest
It move back again

Multo mutlo multo

2010-11-25T18:01:00.005+11:00

Serendipity
In ripe fields of rhyme before
Tell-e-vision

Bully beef

2010-09-16T09:32:00.003+10:00

Ruminations
Ease the uneasy message
Your memory licked

Old Man Sym

2010-09-11T10:38:00.003+10:00

Fortune's grave
Raided by the grieving crowd
For purity's sake

Nothing escapes the T Man

2010-09-11T10:33:00.003+10:00

Suspense building
Not made easy with taxed
Unexpectedness

God knows

2010-05-31T21:57:00.004+10:00

Keeper of the frog
Turns brown with croaking "what what"
For all he is worth

Fermented rhymenorreason

2010-05-31T19:36:00.005+10:00

Four thousand missed calls
Gathered at a smart hotel
Daring another

Foreground noise

2010-05-31T19:34:00.001+10:00

Tired sentiment
Crawling under my pillow
Escaping the night

Market day

2010-05-30T10:08:00.009+10:00

Rain smeared stop sign
Surrenders this one morning
To five four three two

Simian song

2010-05-29T18:30:00.005+10:00

Solitarily
Inconsequentially
Mano a mano

Geelong, I suppose

2010-05-29T18:21:00.002+10:00

Forgotton tu-tu
Last spotted colourlessly
In an open drain

This man... (not me me)

2010-05-09T20:25:00.001+10:00

...is not afraid of midlife. His crisis began at 21 anyway. And his life since these difficult years? It has been a slow, inexorable transfiguration. He has become a cliche, a self-parody, a man without spiritual bearings other than those that glance at him, and then ignore him, in the timber aisle at Bunnings.

A man whose infinite ineffectualness and heavily impregnated inner
urban martyrdom make him a popular salve for middle class insecurity.

A man who would love to be addicted once more to cigarettes and dishonest hotel stories, so that his teeth might regain thier colour and his eyes their pathetic glaze.

A man who would crash his friend's motorbike and suffer Good 'Ol Boy exploitation without justice or sense. Who would fly to the tropical North to recite meaningless poetry to his father and his father's would-be.

Minestra di verdura

2010-05-09T10:35:00.007+10:00

She said he walked like a drunk, his legs were plaited
And left

Alone with him, he spoke like a hammer, his hands were thumping
He sang like a pipe, his throat smoked
He laughed like minestra di verdura!
And then left

At First Gloomily

2010-05-01T15:12:00.012+10:00

Glutenous somnolence
Tendril drags falling away from night's spine
Neither now nor then
Our accumulated algal drifting
Toward the whir of day

Kevin Andrews for PM

2009-11-24T12:44:00.011+11:00

Throughout most of his university years, Australia’s newly-elected Prime Minister was assistant to a well known Melbourne undertaker. His style was idiosyncratic. He would remove all of his clothes before dressing the day’s corpses in a variety of pantomime costumes. One of his workmates at the time alleges he tampered with the elder pauper corpses, the ones he dressed as Robert Menzies. After a lacklustre career in law and theatre restaurant acting, he made a name for himself co-designing two key Howard government policies: the Pacific Solution and WorkChoices.

Long Legs (The Reprisal)

2009-10-26T18:05:00.003+11:00

Thought I'd Just Mention

2009-07-03T19:53:00.002+10:00

Thought I'd just mention.

Gadarene Swine

2009-02-26T19:59:00.003+11:00

via Laudator Temporis Acti

In all exorcisms except one, Jesus simply expelled the demons. But at Gadara (or Gerasa or Gergesa), Jesus sent the demons into a herd of pigs. Matthew 8.30-32 (cf. Mark 5.11-13 and Luke 8.32-33) wrote:

And there was a good way off from them a herd of many swine feeding. So the devils besought him, saying, If thou cast us out, suffer us to go away into the herd of swine. And he said unto them, Go. And when they were come out, they went into the herd of swine: and, behold, the whole herd of swine ran violently down a steep place into the sea, and perished in the waters.

(The poor creatures. What did they do to deserve that?)

Softening Bishop's Landing.

2009-02-17T09:58:00.007+11:00

Oh dear. The OZ is trying to whip up a plagiarism scandal by claiming that Kevin Rudd in his recent Monthly essay used the same quotes (of Nicolas Sarkozy and Wang Qishan) as Roger Altman in January’s edition of Foreign Affairs. These quotes were, of course, properly referenced.

For the benefit of the paper's chief political correspondent, Matthew Franklin (the whipper) here is the OED definition of plagiarism: “The action or practice of taking someone else’s work, idea, etc., and passing it off as one’s own.”

Repeat: passing it off as one’s own.

(Ah, they’re up to their old tricks again, adopting the “tarred with the same brush” spoiler strategy that worked so poorly for them during the 07 campaign (their assumption being that most people can’t make the distinctions required to separate, for example, plagiarism - bad- from coincidental quoting - not bad).)

Evolving Uncertainty

2009-02-17T09:55:00.000+11:00

Interesting that a quarter of the Bulgarian population is “not sure” about the validity of evolution theory. What is it about Bulgaria that inspires so much uncertainty?

This Wiki-snippet doesn’t help:

Most Bulgarians (82.6%) belong, at least nominally, to the Bulgarian Orthodox Church, the national Eastern Orthodox Church. Other religious denominations include Islam (12.2%), various Protestant denominations (0.8%) and Roman Catholicism (0.5%); with other denominations, atheists and undeclared totalling approximately 4.1%.

But the recent emergence of “one of Europe’s most bitter [theological and political] schisms” involving the pre- and post-communist Bulgarian Orthodox Church might offer a clue.

Ho Chi Sin

2009-02-17T09:51:00.007+11:00

Good to see David Clarke is keeping the communist threat at bay in NSW. At an invite-only preview of an exhibition called Viet Nam Voices hosted by Liverpool Council on January 29, the uninvited Opus Dei operative is alleged to have thrown a “temper tantrum”. The details are unclear, but it seems a group of Vietnamese protestors, offended at a “pop art depiction of Ho Chi Minh”, asked Mr Clarke to act on their behalf and shirt front a few curatorial and council staff.

(Oh, the tawdriness!)

Look out Barry O’Farrell. If it isn’t the communists stalking around behind you, it’s David Clarke.

Recall

2009-02-17T09:46:00.002+11:00

The Howard Years should not be available to minors. An article in this month’s issue of Science cites the work of a team of Brisbane-based pediatric neuroscientists who have discovered a dangerous link between mental illnesses such as depression and dysthymia and exposure to any information related to John Howard. This is only evident among children aged between 3 and 16.

Nook

2009-01-26T21:02:00.003+11:00

Oughtn't we cross the lough?

2009-01-20T09:30:00.003+11:00

In a section titled Irregular spelling in a chapter titled How we write and spell in a book titled How Language Works, is this: "Though the rough cough and hiccough plough me through, I ought to cross the lough".

listen

2009-01-19T16:11:00.001+11:00

Joe Hockey the Barbecue Clown Part III

2009-01-11T12:46:00.038+11:00

We pick up the story of Joe Hockey the Barbecue Clown at the point where Joe, confident that the kangaroo patties he has laid out on the grill can be left to cook unsupervised for a few minutes, refastens his Deutsche Bank apron and resumes drinking from a large bottle of beer.

Joe Hockey: Well, there we go. Whooee!
Neutral Bay Battlers: ...
JH: Oh come on. Look. Take this and smash the pig.
NBB: ...
JH: It's a three iron. A Ping. Swings like a dream. Whack the pig and get a handful of shibboleths.
NBB: ...

Joe Hockey the Barbecue Clown Part II

2009-01-10T12:08:00.009+11:00

In Part I of Joe Hockey the Barbecue Clown, Joe became distracted whilst cooking some chops and sausages for his constituents. Subsequently, the sausages burnt.

Joe Hockey: Okay. We've lost them. Sorry.
Neutral Bay Battlers: Boo!
JH: More Labor taxes.
NBB: ...
JH: Carbon.
NBB: Boo!
JH: So let me see what else is in the esky.
NBB: Yay!
JH: ... (rummaging) ...
NBB: Boo!
JH: What?
NBB: ...
JH: ...
NBB: Yay!
JH: ... (rummaging) ...
NBB: ...
JH: Ah-Ha! Roo patties.
NBB: ... Y ...
JH: Eh? Oh Christ, the chops are burning.

One Angle

2009-01-09T19:37:00.002+11:00

Joe Hockey the Barbecue Clown Part I

2009-01-09T10:12:00.010+11:00

Joe Hockey: Right, the chops are on.
Neutral Bay Battlers: Yay!
JH: Yep. And the snags.
NBB: Yay!
JH: But none of that organic muck the Birkenstock crowd prefer.
NBB: Boo! ... Yay!
JH: And beer. Fifteen slabs of full-strength Avuncular.
NBB: Yay!
JH: Yeah, but none of that nanny state herbicide the fun police prefer.
NBB: Boo! ... Yay!
JH: And look - a pinata!
NBB: ...
JH: It's Karl Marx.
NBB: ...
JH: As a pig.
NBB: Boo!
JH: Full of sugar-coated Whitlam-era shibboleths.
NBB: ... B ... Y ...
JH: Lollies.
NBB: Yay!
JH: Oh Christ, the snags are burning.

The Shopping Scientist and Mr Rat Part I

2009-01-08T20:27:00.007+11:00

The Shopping Scientist: So, what do you reckon Mr Rat?
Mr Rat: About what?
The Shopping Scientist: What you're eating.
Mr Rat: I'm not eating anything.
The Shopping Scientist: Yes you are. (sotto voce) The reporters are here, remember. Is it sugar Mr Rat?
Mr Rat: No.
The Shopping Scientist: Well, if it were sugar, and you were eating it, you might be able to tell us whether it was fresh and hence a good buy, mightn't you Mr Rat?
Mr Rat: Probably not.
The Shopping Scientist: Well, probably yes that should be, actually, shouldn't it? Because sugar is just one of the thousands of ordinary shopping items we test for value and freshness.
Mr Rat: Sugar doesn't go off.
The Shopping Scientist: Oh, I think you'll find it does. As you and all of the journalists gathered here would know, each packet of sugar has an expiry date.
Mr Rat: Which doesn't mean anything. And anyway, if you're relying on the expiry date to work out whether something's fresh, why am I here?
The Shopping Scientist: You know, I'm going to end this conversation now. I mean, no one forced you to test the Ratsack yesterday ... that is all I will say.

The Defilements

2009-01-08T15:45:00.008+11:00

Poetry-wise, Arthur Rimbaud lived a very short life. As Wallace Fowlie notes in his introduction to Rimbaud: Complete Works, Selected Letters, the Symbolist prodigy's "literary work was over" by the time he was 19. In November 1891, he succumbed to cancer (a tumour, which was first thought to be an arthritic disturbance, claimed his right leg in May of that year). He was 37.

The following poem is the third in a collection of erotic sonnets called Les Stupra.

Dark and Wrinkled

Dark and wrinkled like a deep pink,
It breathes, humbly nested among the moss
Still wet with love that follows the gentle
Descent of the white buttocks to the edge of its border.

Filaments like tears of milk
Have wept under the cruel wind pushing them back
Over small clots of reddish marl,
And there lose themselves where the slope called them.

In my dream my mouth was often placed on its opening;
My soul, jealous of the physical coitus,
Made of it its fawny tear-bottle and its nest of sobs.

It is the fainting olive and the cajoling flute,
The tube from which the heavenly praline descends,
A feminine Caanan enclosed in moisture.

Doubled

2009-01-07T21:34:00.007+11:00

I approached
calmly
Like an animal
that has eaten

I took nothing
from the air
except
death

I wanted it back
the moment
before this

so painfully
I doubled
and lurched

somersaulting

into breath

or

finally

some kind of forgiveness

Eggplant

2009-01-07T21:11:00.002+11:00

Sneaky Satires

2009-01-07T18:11:00.005+11:00

According to Edmund Gosse,* John Donne's Seventh Satire "closes with an outburst of splenetic raillery against political personages in high places."

But I'm buggered if I can find any more than five of Donne's Satires. Meaning that I may never have a juicy (Jacobean) example of "splenetic raillery".

* Writing in The life and letters of John Donne, dean of St. Paul's.

Found Under the Sink

2009-01-07T17:14:00.000+11:00

Lacy Jags

2009-01-07T12:39:00.002+11:00

From Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass (the original 1855 edition):

I too am not a bit tamed ... I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadowed wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

I depart as air ... I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies and drift it in lacy jags.

The Dancing Mania

2009-01-06T19:03:00.004+11:00

The Dancing Plague of 1518:

Most of the 400 people of Alsace affected by the still-misunderstood mania died from heart attack, stroke or exhaustion. They had been dancing without rest for days.

The Dancing Plague of 2008:

Most of the traders on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange affected by the still-misunderstood mania went home rich but complaining. They had been dancing without rest for a few hours.

Key concepts:

- mass psychogenic illness
- genital retraction syndrome (or "penis panic")
- ergot poisoning

Curious observation (by historian John Waller):

"... there is no evidence that the [Alsace] dancers wanted to dance ... [they] showed expressions of fear and desperation."

Autumn Ivy

2009-01-06T15:27:00.004+11:00

autumn ivy
tickled by sleepy draughts
gathering in whorls
ingeniously
on stone
until first light

shape of man or lizard
climbing through
a window
open
partially
inviting
any deciduous invader

cool ledge
body gone
last dim slink
then rapidly
unnervingly
unseen

no one suspected
it was a bedroom

Better For the Remembering

2009-01-04T16:21:00.018+11:00

Remembering small black moons,
the burnt patches we circled with our fingers
or fingered with our circumscriptions
whenever we spoke of night
or the impermanent surfaces of home.

My skin on yours,
an overcoat stretched to meet
each suggestion of colour,
each hint of a bruise,
but covering only the flesh,
that was your birth sign,
passed from your mother and father
who also knew the circular marks
of incomprehensible Love,
the bewitching talk,
the double-dyed surprises,
and all the dark vertiginous exhilarations
it gives rise to.

Your eyes slunk against the cold,
your body a grey heap
pressed into mine;
your kisses picking and playing
a folk tune around my neck:
darkness embroidered again
without resolution
but better for the remembering.

Cocky Bridge Builders

2008-12-17T18:08:00.004+11:00

"These babies don't break."

"..."

Scaredy Cat Kevin

2008-12-15T18:24:00.006+11:00

"[Climate change is] the great moral, environmental and economic challenge of our age." Rudd address to the Brookings Institution, Apr 2007.

(… “moral” …)

"Australia needs new leadership on climate change." Rudd address to the National Press Club, Nov 2007.

(… “new leadership” …)

"Scientists – including the CSIRO – are telling us that Australia must achieve emissions reductions of 60 per cent by 2050 if we are to avert the significant economic consequences of dangerous climate change. These reductions can be achieved while maintaining strong economic growth." ALP renewable energy policy statement, Nov 2007.

(… 60% by 2050 …)

"Unless we take decisive action to tackle climate change and cut greenhouse gas emissions now, the future health of the Great Barrier Reef will be at serious risk." ALP reef rescue plan, Nov 2007.

(… “decisive” …)

"We share a vision for an ambitious, equitable, environmentally effective, economically responsible post-2012 global agreement on climate change and will work together to this end – drawing on our complementary regional and global relationships." Rudd address to the London School of Economics, Apr 2008.

(… “ambitious” …)

"Today, this generation - our generation - stands at the crossroads of history." Rudd address to the National Press Club, Dec 15 2008.

(… 5 pathetic per cent …)

Kerry the Baptist

2008-12-14T12:18:00.008+11:00

Plague?
No
Then ...?
It's the back ...
Famine?
Well, the ...
Locusts, Flood, Fiery Destruction?
No, my mouth ... it's the back ...
...
Coca Cola (gasp)!
Yes ... well, I didn't ...
We must dunk you child!

When I'd've preferred nothing

2008-12-13T21:07:00.013+11:00

Unscripted epitaphs

He was S-A-D and A-V-E-R-A-G-E ... what? ... I'm being honest!

Owed nothing, which is good, I 'spose ... what? ... oh yeah ... suppose ... hmm? ... yeah yeah, but that doesn't count ... uh ... no, he ... look, he ... I ... he returned ... not ... oh, for Christ's sake, I'm running out of space!

Never exploded.

Ran guns for the Taliban ... shut up, they'll get it.

Grew to dislike Bunnings (where I got this chisel).

A poem by Robert Frost

2008-12-13T17:42:00.006+11:00

The Road Not Taken, 1920

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

What are they doing now?

2008-12-12T17:58:00.014+11:00

Christopher Pyne's twitter:

Forgot my plastic comb!

Found one in Mrs Peterson-Smythe's bedside drawer. Between her bible and cigarettes. I'm attending a sing-a-long at the North Adelaide Centre for Demented Aristocrats.

George Brandis' twitter:

Ripped into an Asian shop attendant. Cited the Trade Practices Act. Two spring rolls at $1.50 each. I give her $5. She gives me $1.50 in change!

Told a primary school kid to tuck her shirt in. Cited the Public Nuisance Act. She started crying. Cited the Offensive Behaviour Act. She called for help. Gave her my card and cited the Get Over It Act (LOL).

Helped an old lady across the street. Cited the Good Samaritan Parable. She told me she voted Greens last November. Spat on her bonnet and cited the Self Defence Act.

Over coffee, a friend was sounding out middle names for his new boy. I said how about F--king Legacy Costs and cited the Welfare and Taxation Acts.

Ron Boswell's twitter:

Eating a pie.

And another ... these are good. Though the gravy's burnt my tongue, and some of it has dribbled on my pants, near the fly, which I haven't seen since the 60s (ROTFL).

One more. I can't stop!

I'm in the dunny now. Barnaby just texted me - he wants to know where I am. This kroger's for you old son!

Belinda Neal's twitter:

I'm giving up on this rock melon. The f--king thing broke my knife!

F--k!

Who was the c--t who sold me this piece of sh-t anyway! It's not RIPE!

Mogadon's kicked in. I'm going to watch Oprah now.

Malcolm Fraser's twitter:

I've often wondered about the interior of her majesty's bedroom (innocently, of course). What would her ceiling look like, for example?

Some gutter snipe just swore at my wife! Said she was a "hag" and a "traitor lover".

There really are too many adult book shops in this area (Mornington). They attract the wrong crowd.

Aneurysm

2008-12-12T10:12:00.014+11:00

Dull hum
A beetle's walk
Blizzard of whittle sticks
Warm noodle aggregate
My brain
Infinitesimal carrier
Clumped dying knot
Sea sponge
A maze-like ooze-athon

Rosetta Keats

2008-12-09T16:13:00.002+11:00

Traitor's Pass '47

2008-12-08T21:38:00.005+11:00

Arnold

2008-12-07T20:04:00.018+11:00

There round the dock goes Arnold,
elfin ears scanning
the morning's dark tide
on Cockatoo Island.

Walking over to the caisson,
kicking gently at its slot;
a high arm pointing out buds
of steam aft of the pumping station.

Everything as it should be,
zephyrs flashing on the brim
(his private joy); powerful suction
twisting the thickening brine

Down the scummy terraces
dawn workers pass my grandfather -
jockeying near the pit. A shouting match
ensues; bounty of doomed sea life
slithering on convict stone.

Fascist Rebirth

2008-12-01T13:56:00.009+11:00

Oh dear, Robert Doyle is planning to eliminate "badly talented buskers" and "bogans" from the CBD. He also intends to re-open Swanston st to traffic.

In a 3AW interview, he explained that he will train a squad of South Yarra tattle-tales to patrol the streets of the city judging the talent of its buskers. These women will also assess whether any smelly or dishevelled pedestrians they encounter are bogans. If an individual is deemed to be a bogan, they will be arrested, taken to the newly-established Bourke st police station, beaten with rolled-up David Jones catalogues, and have the word "BOGAN" tattooed on their forehead.

While listening to Doyle's description of Stasiland Melbourne-style, Neil Mitchell was reported to have involuntarily ejaculated in his trousers.

Home Invasion

2008-11-30T18:46:00.002+11:00

Geiger County

2008-11-30T16:36:00.002+11:00

Puppy Stones

2008-11-29T18:52:00.007+11:00

glimmer after glimmer

2008-11-29T17:25:00.003+11:00

I went to see Craig Powell read some of his poems last Wednesday night. This one is from a chapbook titled Poems For a Marriage, 2008.

The Goldfish Pond

When you gaze in as a child you wait for the fish -
the rocky ooze and then a glitter of bronze
or tangerine. A few moments only. Every one
has its own darkness to swim to. As though
you were staring into the heart of the earth.

Now like a child you sleep facing your wife
more restful knowing you could open your eyes and watch her.
In the morning you can tell her the dream you had.
You were four years old gazing in a goldfish pond,
glimmer after glimmer, one depth and then another.

Tie them down

2008-11-28T15:09:00.018+11:00

Has Rolf Harris met Gerry Harvey?* Because when it comes to casting ill-natured judgement upon the voiceless and vulnerable, they appear to be of one spirit. This is from today's Age:

"Aboriginal children were never disciplined or expected to adhere to rules until adulthood, the 78-year-old [wobbleboard virtuoso] said in Melbourne. 'Till then, they have a totally carefree life to do what they want, and that quite often involves smashing everything that they have.'"

Does the former British Paints spokesperson have any evidence to back up such a broad brush assertion? He doesn't say (or it wasn't reported); but, mercifully, he does offer us a solution to the problem of generational dispossession, discrimination and disadvantage among Aboriginal peoples: they should "get off their arses."

Interesting that he now regrets including the lines "let me Abos go loose" and "they're of no further use" in the original recordings of Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport. He appeals to historical context when he says:

"It was a mark of the times, done totally innocently with no realisation that you would offend at all … just trying to create a fun song for a bunch of Aussies who were drinking themselves stupid on Swan Lager in London at the time."

What a shame our nation's most zany royal portraitist didn't also appeal to historical context when mouthing off about Aboriginal dysfunction.

Interesting, also, that at his Melbourne appearance yesterday he was wearing a Ken Done tie. I suppose Ken is a mate of Rolf's. One of the blokes he might have clinked Swan Larger stubbies with in a London pub many years ago.

Actually, considering that he is suffering extreme disadvantage himself at present, Ken should thank Rolf for promoting some of his merchandise.**

* The billionaire land-fill merchant who recently described homeless people as no-hopers.
** Due to an overabundance of honour (or trust, I suppose), Ken, a celebrated placemat decorator with commercial interests in primary colours and souvenir depictions of someone else's Sydney, allowed his financial advisor to whittle away a $61.5 million dollar fortune over a four year period to merely $8 million.

Exciting First Lines I

2008-11-26T11:29:00.002+11:00

At once whatever happened starts receding.

(From Philip Larkin's Whatever Happened?, 1953)

Multi-story Walt

2008-11-25T20:18:00.002+11:00