I am lost in the Halls of Hades the screaming radio bubble gum blur of a suburban shopping centre
I must find a secluded sanctuary
Far from the mezzanine meat market (uurhh) with its madding crowds of mincing heels and strutting mascara madonnas
I seek solace in the quite lavatorial restroom
Behind closed doors there is muzac lilting softly overhead
~ Brown girl in the ring tra la la la la ~
Standing apparently normal and posed at the gentlemen's pissois
I find a talkative companion
A kindly man who precedes to quiz me regarding the whys and wherefores of the most advanced tap in the world
Yes, *%@#! that which we hold in our hands (!)
And further quizzically inquiring as to whether I think somebody would have designed such a thing
Such flowing words of wisdom could veritably become rivers of gold
And quick to catch a whiff of the lurid smell that is rising I bark 'Sir I am not a creationist
Hit with a quick retort of something along the lines of
“Then you'll go to hell”
Then my return volley of
“I won't be going to hell mate, especially not if you're gonna be there! “
And here I fantasize upon the concept of brutalising an almost complete stranger with a rather heavy volume of some religious text.
Well may you unload your extensive length of dogma
But I won't be choking on your product placement
I make my hasty way out of the corridor, fast becoming some metaphor for the halls of hell
I turn the corner ironically into the ever so conveniently placed and stylishly decorated multicoloured food hall
Almost finding myself arse up on the floor after nearly slipping on a carelessly discarded strawberry ice cream sundae
Huh. When did you last get taken out by a tasty treat ?
After all this the mere mention of a quiet cup of tea at grandmother's sounds so appealing
But the frenzied buzzing of suburban rush hour traffic being what it is I retreat to the apparent tranquility of the coast and find myself sipping a a sundae under bounteous pine trees alive with a cacophony of screeching birds as the sun sinks slowly closer to the sea
As my fortuitous luck may have it one never knows who is just around just around the next corner...
I lift myself from the dreamy bed of fine white sand near the water's edge.
Leisurely I wander along the path under the shady trees when a young man floats by in a world of his own.
A cigarette hangs in deference from his fingers.
Surfboard in hand.
He wears mirrored sunglasses with blue plastic rims. Boardshorts. Bare feet.
A hoodie tracksuit top trails behind him,
hanging only from his head,
Flowing around him almost in a swirl like a cape
As he staggers in and out of an almost aimless circle a
And nearly takes out my right nostril with the tip of his surfboard.
Ha ha …! Miles away.
I have nothing to say and continue walking
Keeping myself to myself.
“What's that ? Eh?! Too good to talk eh mate!
A bit of distance now between we two disparate individuals and from about 50 metres behind a screaming cry bellows out: “ Yeah fuck you ya fucken cock sucker!!”
Oh, stick it up yer ass like grass ! says the little voice inside my head
And seriously now wondering what I fell out of bed for
The time is nigh for that cup of tea at grandma-ma's...
* * * *
There's nothing quite so exciting as a freezer full of frozen bread
Staring within
Like the visit to the pantry
Or opening the fridge door
Searching for some inspiration
Though nowhere near as futile as rows of graves
Fork lines dragged on skin
Or modelled emaciation
I want to unleash my teeth
Or maybe explode upon you
But stand here
Night light and the cold simple lines of polished and worn floorboards
Super fatigue
Is a sub conscious self induced shut down
Here I am asleep awake
Let the machine rest
Let the mind rest
Let seas of awareness wash over the crystal sands of time
This Job is Bliss (or I trip out on msg!)
I'm going to cook up a storm in the Tinee restaurant
Cooking up my special dish of rubber band noodles and sticky tacky
plasticky prawn crackies
Mr Icky Foo Googly Goo wack me over the head so I go gong and fall
down bong
He whip me with a rubber chicken 'til my teeth stop smiling
He spy on me doing my business my recreational reading in icky toilet
He open squeaky door " meoww "
It sound like cat...
Then he throw vegetables at me for being naughty boy
"What for you doing choking your chicken in pissy room lavatory?
You think I pay you to get your jollies on the potty?
You go wash filthy dishes filthy boy!
I give you big smacky wacky so you be good!
Me no like Mr Icky Foo Googly Goo
Him nasty man with spatula
He chase me round and round kitchen 'til I get dizzy
I put Ratsack in his chop suey
Him fall over go all different colours of the rainbow
Me put him outside in rubbish bin 'til he turn pink again
Him not happy - him very aggressive
Me put super sticky tape on rubbish bin - much better!
Now me go on big holiday
Me take lots of money
Goodbye Mr Icky Foo
Thankee you very much ! ...
* * * *
I found that photograph of a tropical sunset silhouette over reef
With jet stream streaks in the sky
I turned it upside down
And got an image of sea ice beneath a clear Arctic sky
Rarefied air
The crystal blue atmospheric haze
In my mind's eye now
I see you there
Hanging from a chopper
Camera all rigged up
Warming it's battery beneath your armpit
Bringing the machine back to life
Fingers struggling to co-operate if ungloved for too long
Another captured image fills my mind's eye
Ships off the coast
In a blazing silver sun haze
Circling
Social islands...
Answers coming in between the ocean lines
You and I
Again I question the connection
Momentarily distracted by telephone canvassing
A dismembered query breaking down the phone wire …
My deeper self snarling like a cornered dog
As I cut off on the verge of saying fuck off to slam the phone
down
And bring my attention
Back to these surreal and serene images spattered on this
crystal wall
_______________________________________________________________________
POP
Your eyes were staring skyward well before your death,
laying on your bed all those years
Perhaps others saw only tones of death in you
but I sensed humour in your ways
Almost rhythmically each day around mid afternoon you would
hobble from your room to peer face on at the clock and quietly
announce "It must be afternoon tea time"
And slowly make your way with the occasional cracking bone to the
kitchen
To sit side-on at the table awaiting Nan and afternoon tea.
It was usually a quiet affair
Staring vacantly into space as you chewed on a piece of fruit cake
or slurped a cup of milky tea
Features of conversation might be acknowledged with the
occasional "Yeees..."
Your odd quirky fart would make Meghann and I giggle. Nan would
show no reaction.
I still remember you springing me leaping for joy on the lounge
room couch one day, swept up in the euphoria of Play School.
"Well, what's all this then?"
I cowered in fear. I was often scared of you.
You moved through the house almost like a spectre.
Skeletal and ghostly.
I turned back halfway through a road trip for your funeral.
I remember looking over your body.
Your face like that of a still-born bird.
Pale and fleshy.
The undertakers had touched you up to make you look more
serene.
But still, I saw little pain in your final expression.
"He died peacefully in his sleep." the others said.
Looking for your grave in the cemetery months later I found a small
plaque grouped with many others in a side garden.
Almost overlooked. Almost indistinguishable, inconsequential.
What visions had you seen in your life?
Mum said you came out on a boat from England as a little boy.
And through your life suffered the straitjacket of a Victorian
upbringing.
Up in Morawa you ran the local store with your brothers.
Later you worked as a school bus driver.
Mum said you really enjoyed that.
Your eyesight began to fade and they said you had to leave the job.
That's when your depression began, mum said.
The beginning of a steady decline.
We were visiting you once in hospital.
They were giving you electric shock treatment.
Mum said I walked for the first time.
A bizarre confluence of events.
Picturing the situation now I begin to cry.
Perhaps that's why you would make those occasional quiet shrieks
alone in your room some afternoons.
Were they aftershocks years later?
Rude awakenings disturbing your tranquility.
Punished for what? Being a human being?
We had a good talk not long before you died.
I'd been to Darwin and we talked of your time up there on the
airstrips during the war.
Thinking back now, I recall those rare moments when you would
come to life, or your humour would shine through.
Dry and cynical - not even trying to be funny.
After some visits, mum and I would laugh when we'd remember
your comments.
I see your bony features in me.
And wonder who I am.
How I verge from the family path.
Or how I could risk becoming stuck on it.
I fear my soul aging.
I wish that my soul transcends time and generations.
Not to go into the afterlife unfulfilled as yours may have.
Men fade into the Australian landscape.
You were another one.
I feel I hardly knew you when you were alive.
But a part of me thinks of you now
and understands you more than then.
