A burlesque beauty

The promise of a ‘quality showcase’ from an over enthusiastic spruiker had me intrigued. A show of the burlesque arts sounds downright classy on paper. I followed the direction of his extended arm down a lane to a set of stairs leading down to a dank cellar bar.
It was a hidden oasis for those who feared daylight hours and sunlight contacting the skin. No windows gave it atmosphere as well as bad air circulation, the later resulting in a potent smell and a bitter taste on the palette which lingered heavily. The dim lighting gave me an uneasy feeling that these girls would look rough on stage and even rougher on the street. I ordered a drink, scotch neat, i didn’t trust the ice in this kind of place. Whatever they were watering down the spirits with was bad enough. I took a seat at a small table jammed in an odd little corner off to the right side of the stage bout half way back in the crowd and awaited the theatrics. The lights dimmed lower than I thought possible and a burst of crackling static broke through the rustling and murmurs. “For the gentleman among us please prepare yourself for the endless talents of the young, the amazing signora Amelia Sammut.” Oh an Italian miss, this will be great. The curtains parted and a young woman with all the Italian features expected but the palest of delicate white skin. She was gorgeously unique and I felt love. The stage lights exploded to life making her just glow.
“She’s not real Italian” remarked a gentleman sitting in front of me to his associate. “Half Australian I hear” he said in a huff. They seemed t not be able to get past the misleading introduction but I had no mind to listen to their concerns. The girl of my dreams was in front of me, even though until now I’d never known to dream of her. That didn’t matter as she would soon fill every waking moment of my thoughts.
She twisted and twirled and I stared at her beautiful eyes the entire time, catching a glimpse of her looking back every so often. The curtain fell and her act was done, but i so desperately wanted to see her more, as the next act started I went back to the bar to order another glass of whatever swill they were serving me. AS my drink was handed to me she sidled up next to me for her own drink order already placed on the bar by the bartender. As she picked it up she asked without looking at me “enjoy the show did you” i stumbled through small talk and chit chat, trying hard to impress without it seeming like close range stalking. She turned glancing me in the eye as she proceeded back across the room to the side stage door. That was all polite enough I thought very pleased with myself. My eyes followed her every step, she stops at a security guard standing next to the steps up to the stage, she leans in and whispers in his ear and gestures towards me, a little smile flashed my way. My heart beats hard. The security guard starts to walk my way; a thousand thoughts rush through my mind. I can’t grasp any of them in my excitement. I stand from the bar stool I had propped myself on to hear the message. He punches me in the stomach and I fall to the ground, confused I try to get back to my feet and he lands an elbow in the back of my neck. Once again I visit the tiles. Groggily I attempt to right myself one more time. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her running to me. To my aid, to straighten out this misunderstanding between security and myself. I lift my head to thank her for the assistance in the matter. She knees me in the groin. I go down. I start to doubt our future relationship. She tells me to get out and never come back. Wow, i love how decisive she is.

Karl Stefanovic: Rise of the machines

Ever since I was delivered to my parent’s doorstep as a fully assembled boy I dreamt of being on morning TV. Just like every other child I spent every waking moment of the day solving advanced mathematical problems and spot welding car bodies in an automotive factory which left me little time to pursue said dreams. But one special day when i arrived at the factory for work my worlds met. A Channel 9 news crew were shooting stock footage for a story on the downturn in the car manufacturer’s trade and production. I was on my way to my work station on the conveyor belt when a producer spotted me and instantly saw the talent and personality I longed to be.” I’m perfect for an upcoming project he has on the boil” he claimed quite ecstatically.
I was excited but weary. I took him aside and explained that this was what I wanted more than anything but I had to tell him of my speech impediment. Clicks beeps and whirring sounds wouldn’t go well on live TV. He drew me in close and looked around suspiciously at everyone on the factory floor, then whispered in my ear “Don’t worry about that business, I’ve been working very closely with an audio engineer on exactly this problem. We have a beta version of a live audio screen filter. It’ll sought this problem out plus we will get all staff on set to sign waivers so they can’t go blabbing about your ‘little secret’.” The secret he spoke of was news to me, but the air quotations distracted me enough not to enquire further. He just stood there tapping his index finger on the side of his nose knowingly and that was good enough for me. We shook hands which wasn’t wise as my hands were still hot from the welding and I severely burnt the producers hands making him quite disagreeable but it didn’t matter I’d already signed a binding channel 9 contract saying they legally own me till I’m obsolete or malfunction.
This is it, my time to be in the spotlight. I rushed home to sit in front of the mirror and practise my insincere dronious laugh and monotone anecdotes. I became coupled on morning TV with a string of bland giggling female co-hosts. Each coming and going without a sign of relevance to individual personality. The show flowed on regardless of who filled the seats next to me. This a praise to my endless talents I can only conclude. With the spotlight now firmly on my rising star I was handpicked to go on a new reality show, ’Dancing with knives strapped to your feet’. A show of attrition where the uninjured win. I came away from the experience unscathed so declared victory and returned my focus back to morning TV. Things were doing smoothly but odd occurrences had started to gain my attention. Comparisons to fictional characters had started to be directed at me. I dismissed it quickly as jealousy. It was mainly internet dribbler of stoners and alike and didn’t faze me.
Sitting in my dressing room before the show one of the researchers handed me some material to browse and use for long winded banter on the show. I had no time to read it and decided to shove it in as an awkward interjection at some point in someone else’s anecdote, possibly during one of the on-air casts giggling fits which happen so regularly.
I glanced at the pages during the break. It was merely a Wikipedia profile page about me of all people. I had seen many other shows replace actual research or well thought out questions with just reciting their Wikipedia bio back to them or discussing obvious factual errors. Just before the break ended i flicked back through the pages to confirm that the picture they used was an authorised publicity shot. I didn’t wish to be represented at anything less than my most handsome. What confronted me was a golden silhouette of a mechanical by the name of C3PO. Oh what innestuous unnecessary conversation this would be. Job done. I’d claim the research as my own, look amazed and puzzled but not angry. I’d come out of this looking hansome yet able to take a joke.
Areal man’s man they’d say, a man of the people. I become distracted and the show had already gone back on air. Someone else was talking but I knew how to railroad the dialogue to where i wanted. So midway through someone else’s sentence I announced loudly over them, “hey I’ve just been on Wikipedia and someone has put a picture of C3PO up on my page.” Then a thought occurred to me one I assume everyone must ask themselves at one time or another in their lives. Am I a robot?
I remember at this moment feeling glitch and an overall sensation of exploding. I woke up in a doctor’s surgery that smelt allot like the factory I grew up working in. He kept asking me to refer to him as a technician not doctor which I found odd. But he was nice enough so I complied, I was fine, apparently I had just caught a bad case of self actualisation.

Dinner guests

A heavy set man with a healthy moustache and arrogant Bulgarian swagger sidled up to our table, without even a glance at any of us he sat down in the chair opposite me and proceeded to shove chicken in the general direction of his mouth with some moderate success. His girth made sit next to him awkward, with a chunk of poultry in either hand, elbows raised, his belly was pressed hard into the diners either side of him. They could feel the effort he exerted in the process of eating at it was causing a rippling affect through his weighty rolls of flab which gently caressed their sides.
A man at the table had seen enough. “Excuse me. What do you think you are doing? We don’t even know who you.....” he was cut mid sentence by a waiter who had dashed from the other side of the restaurant looking quite frantic.
He looked quite relieved when silence had returned. He motioned for us to step away from the table to hear what he had to say. The fellow from the group began to restate his earlier objections to the uninvited guest’s behaviour but once again the waiter cut short the complainants rant.
“I do apologise. He is a nuisance, this happens allot though and upsetting him is the worst thing we can do.” We have procedures to deal with him so here’s the deal. If you can finish your meals without upsetting him you will eat for free plus we shall invite you back for another free meal in our banquet hall at your leisure. Oh and we also take a picture of the group dining with him. It’s kind of a tradition. We have a wall covered in these pictures next to the kitchen if you would like to have a look. You’ll see he is very harmless if you treat him the right way”
The group talked amongst themselves for a moment and turned slowly back to the waiter. “Ok” said one of the men. “But we will need to see this wall”. “Of course, come right through, it’s just down this way.” The waiter said gleefully and spun on his heel leading off toward the kitchen doors. After a few moments of scanning the pictures before them looks of confusion started to subside an gave way to a new air of intrigue.
“They do all look like they’re having fun” remarked one of the ladies. Agreement had been reached. “Alright we’re in but we want a copy of our picture.” “Of course sir” replied the waiter, perked by the group’s new found enthusiasm for the evening. As they returned to their seats the man had commenced eating what remained of their meals.
“Oh and just a note, no sudden movement or load noises. He is extremely violent if you draw his attention” the waiter whispered into the original complainant’s ear. “What?” The man replied losing his grip and dropping his fork. It crashes to his plate causing a large amount of noise and commotion. The chicken leg drops from the Bulgarians hands and he slowly raises his eyes to the originator of the ruckus. Through gritted teeth he bellows “What?” sending spittle and chicken debris showering across the table.
The waiter looks down at the gentleman and tepidly whispers “Oh..... Dear.”

Blimp warfare

The zeppelin tore a huge silhouette in the sky. Looming ominously with its slow speed and limited attack capabilities. It seemed odd that it traveled all this way to perform a surprise attack. We had known of its coming for several days and had readied ourselves thoroughly. All strategic sites of importance heavily armed and manned. All women and children were evacuated to the old mine shaft now modified into a heavily fortified bunker. All the historic artifacts hidden in the town hall basement. We were ready.

The blimp was gunned down by the town 5 miles south. We saw it all. The entire battle consisted of a single gun shot and the blimp crashing slowly into the hillside. We felt cheated. Disheartened we slowly left our defensive positions and fox holes trailing our rifles behind us in the dirt. Those among us wearing camouflage suits and blackface feeling the most foolish of all.

The short walk back home was devastating and facing the kids would be humiliating. How do you exaggerate a war story when you missed out on the war? I reached the steps up to the front porch. I propped my gun against the wall and got one foot inside the front door when my ears perked up. A light ominous drone. I turned slowly to look out over the plains and there it was. A tiny speck on the horizon. A second even more secretive zeppelin. I grabbed my rifle back up, slung it over my shoulder and ran for the town hall.
“What kind of fresh hell is this” I screamed into the empty street as I giggled with joyous glee unable to wipe the smile off my face.

Kitchen scraps

I’d like this to go thanks I said apologetically with a much emphasized “it’s not my fault” style shrug. I stopped short of nodding my head towards the others of my group seated at our table.
But my innocent remark that was met a cold stare and a whack in the back of the head with the tray under her arm. I’d love to believe it was an accident but deep down I suspected she knew what she was doing, a lunch time diner ninja using the guise of dottering old lady as a cover for uppity behaviour to customers.
She shuffled off clearing tables of plates with my food resting somewhere in the tower of cutlery. I didn’t feel confident I would see that meal again. Our bill came but still no trace of a doggy bag. My heart sunk. I really did want the lunch. It wasn’t just an act of lip service. I would have eaten it later I promise. But my thoughts somehow didn’t register on her radar and she was oblivious to my facial emphasis on the bare table in front of me. I gave up. She had beaten me at every mind game I knew. Throwing in the towel we got up to leave and as I was putting on my coat I was startled by a low dulcet voice. “Excuse me sir, your food?”
“Oh... Uh yes thank you” I was surprised and also very embarrassed I nodded graciously and took the neatly folded cardboard box from her grasp and tucked it under my arm and we all made our way back to the office. Once in my cubicle I opened the box. Before me was a pile of scraps from everyone else from my table’s meals. She had bested me once again.

forget the circus, run away and join the trend

The phone hung loose and low, swaying at interval on the extent of the chord, beeps and crackles distorted the peace in a moderate sensibility. The door banged back and forth alerting all to the hasty exit. She was gone. The house a prison she had escaped and buried in her past. Just metres from the door she felt it. That rush of joy as freedom filtered into every single fibre of her soul. Regenerating the enthusiasm she had lacked for so many years. And she began to run. Across the front lawn, leaping over the gutter onto the black bitumen road that lead anywhere away from this place. There was no one chasing her and she knew it but she greedily looked back anyway just to satisfy herself that they didn’t care enough to follow. Her parents wouldn’t note her absence for a long time coming. Wrapped in their own little worlds, distracted by the noise and shine of the luminous appeal of the everyday mundane that was this life they lead. Running on adrenaline and short-sightedness she made it several blocks before allowing herself to procure a huge smirk to creep across her face. She was off to become a hipster, not that she would ever accept the title officially. She would contact them to inform them where to mail the checks she would live off, but first to find a loft and second hand clothes store, rebellion in the form of a fully imbedded sub culture. Tthis is what her life was destined to be. She was better than all around her and finally they would be told.

I used to to be my hero

“I think we may have lost our way.”
“Yea I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel anymore.”
We both just sat there to depressed and exhausted to be angry.
The rage we once harboured & harnessed all but dissipated.
Just our self pity left to wallow in.
Both of us still holding in audible sighs, we had surrendered
but still aren’t prepared to admit defeat .

We were both such suburban anti-heroes.
But excess lead us down this dark path
& now we found ourselves lost amongst the bricks and concrete
The two frightened children we really are
Jumping at noises & shadows

Negotiating a revolution

Near the rivers bore.
Something had to change.
All this toil for turnips.
Other peasants wouldn’t stand for this
So why should we.
I say revolt.
Over through this fat lordious ponce
& distribute the wealth.
Oh wait that’s communism
Alright something less corruptible
& rational than communism.
But inventing an entire new
System of government does sound
Rather difficult, slightly beyond
the capabilities of us farming types.
Rethink. Well.....
Let’s just demand better turnips
Yea! Job done

I think i got hit by reality

This isn’t living; this is just dying slowly with too many distractions. A world of shit with a delicate layer of bullshit sprinkled with glitter.

How to sell a nuisance

With rhythmic movements she wiped the dust from pristine gloves and picked herself up of the ground staring down her nose at that stubborn old brute of a mule. She straightened sharply ad pulled herself in close to the animals face. With pure hate flickering in her glazed eyes, she grabbed the mule by the ear and mane and delivered a discerning message “That’s the last time you ever kick me, glue factory’s gonna be a new home for you.” She screamed. The mule bucked and protested until she released the grip she had on it. That was it, She ran up past the barn and inside the farmhouse slamming the fly screen door behind her letting it reverb and shake its way back open.” I’m making the call now” she bellowed out the kitchen window.
Shortly after the meatworks truck rounded the bend. Two portly men dragged themselves from the cab and started to load the mule into the back. He kicked and complained and badly damaged a fence and the truck.
The old lady Stood leaning on the balcony railing waving a white handkerchief in a very sarcastic goodbye. Good ridence she uttered as with rhythmic movements she wiped the dust from pristine gloves.

for the simple boy

Poem i wrote while listening to 'simple boy' by Karnivool

If I could only cross the world.
I’d stay and rejoice it
The days they drag along the earth.
As the sun slowly burns it
I wish that you felt protected
I’ve failed and destroyed this
I just needed to run
Hide in the shadows
Till I’ve dug this hole big enough to be lost
Just not to face these things I know
Drag innocence down by the tail
Simple words
For everyone who lays here
Sheltered from the deluge
Sugar covered lies
So we can play sweetly

man the jetty

Roy and me had the day to waste, the boat was old and worn, majestic in its defiance of the elements should have sank many years ago. Cruising gently up the wonnie river , setting wake in the cloudy brown filth of water. This stretch lined like a suburban street with old weatherboard shanty houses slowly inching their way closer to damnation as the weathered river banks recede. Old tom Phillips sat on a tree stump near the turner street jetty simultaneously flinging abuse and advice inexcusably up the empty valley for anyone to here, and I assume in his mind everyone knew to put his words to good use. We call him old tom but he is only 43 but years of huffing paint thinners had aged his face and faded his mind. It was easier to pretend he had lived a full life and was now enjoying the rewards of dementia than to starkly admit it was all self destructive narcissism that lead him down the rabbit hole chasing a buzz. We would endure a rant, smiling and waving like idiots as we slowly chugged past, our boats wash causing old tom atop the rotting wooden boards to rock uneasily as the jetty went to and fro with the waters motions. The only good thing about seeing tom on the river was you knew he was still breathing. I dread the day this river gets peaceful.

a night of seduction and places to hide

Love is a trap, and I am a fool. Stumbling blindly towards it. The second I laid eyes on her I knew she was someone else’s and I’d need an elaborate plan to steal her away. Charm was certainly lacking in my repertoire, but i made up for it with vast quantities quiet awkwardness. I popped my collar, I’d seen someone else do it and with my new found confidence I’d gained due highly to rye and coke i approached my soon to be new lady friend. I made it no more than 2 metres away from the intended recipient of my undying affections when i was reefed backwards by my shirt. I was met face to face with a hulking jock of a man. Apparently this lady was spoken for I soon found out, and my admiration had not gone unnoticed. I knew my hopes of a wistful frantic relationship were fading. The way I see it I had no hope form the start. A woman like that is like a magnet for needy self delusional guys like me. A polite and courteous reference to where inside my own body I should locate my sexual organs was noted and i was in the process of slinking away when for unknown reason a large bikie type stepped in to defend me. As he saw it I caused no ill and was not deserved of such treatment and did himself reference the many ways of bodily adjustment he could afflict upon others. Apologies flowed fourth from my adversary yet not alot of conversation was held. It’s not what he said, it’s what he thought and everyone could see that clear as day. Gruff exteriors are fine as long as they aren’t painted on this thin. The big mountain boy was showing his colours. If I could I would’ve thrown him out on his ass. Lacking the brass balls and upper body strength to pull off such a move I hid behind a waitress and waited till he sulked off into the night. Kicking boxes and smashing bottles as he went. A successful night in anyone’s books.

Colorblind

A project to write about another artist through the redbubble website. Check out his art and writing.
http://www.redbubble.com/people/colorblind

Check out redbubble, its a good site for artists and writers


My perception of Colorblind
A rebellion not against life but those long streaking shadows that drag it down from purity, taint the world we know.
Savoring dreams of perfection as to not let his mind be enveloped,
A lover of women for their strength and minds. Attitudes so akin to ours yet so very distant in all its formality. Women, the mothers of salvation and calm.
Raw emotion the torch he holds aloft, to lead himself across the night. But with the brightness attracting the attention of all, good and bad, the light fallen across his face for the world to see the man he is. Hear the words he speaks, the words he carries, bound together page to page.
Here the rhythm with the words, the flow of language in their text.
Puzzles pieced together once scattered upon the ground. Dare to be careful, these problems not solved of force and brutality.
The love lost, pasts burning holes in fond memories. A pain written in love upon a mighty heart. Weighed heavy with longing. A heart lead by a head so wise. Knowing the heart to well, of its moods and manuscripts, thoughts so dark and lonesome, but in time lightened by joy of highs unknown. Struggle the lows and savor the highs,
The monster he sees himself, the hero he longs to be. A man wishing never to be forgotten but fighting to not live in the past. To put behind him that which has made the man we see. Horrified by war, the throwing of young men and women at each others bullets. Senseless he can see, for how do you fight for peace when there is no peace to bring. All the energy we have for destruction can he simply ask you to use this to save us all.Torn from college, short of fruition. The tears felt and shared. Cut deep by deception.
The wolf he feels Yearning for the freedoms of the wild.
The majestic world his spiritual animal. Grace and power he possesses yet still staring longingly at the birds in the sky no ties to the earth. Their shoulders unburdened, and spirits free. No mourn for them to suffer. Never to waste the day

Drink for drowning

I, a man
Made of wood
Bundled together with Lashing.
Shabbily constructed
Hastily finished.
Spindly an awkward
Thrust forward into a world
Not of his own making.
Anxiety an issue of daily concern.
Steeped in personal philosophy
Compulsive hang-ups.
Drinking the drowning.
Sinking the ship from the inside
The spirit the poison
Poured for so long now
Self destructive nature
My colours shown
Soulless existence
Never truly feeling
These bloodied hands and knees
No longer allow me to crawl
My helplessness now forces me to stand
Strength gained from the absence of it.
I strive to feel
Just to be a real person

over run, this once my village

Invaders of fury and lust
Mercy a distant second to ferocity
Blood boiling in the veins
This rage I see even with eyes clenched tight
Foot steps heavier than the hills
Clutching myself in well worn hollow
Tremble to my own rhythm
Until quiet reaches me
Drag myself from the hole I embodied
Afraid of all that lies before
All that has past withered and dying
My feet resting upon the ashes of the village
The mud clinging hard to my skin
Tight and cracked
Reaking the foul stench of cowardice
A symbol to all I ran and hid

The sound before the first step

Break the lines we walk
Paths trenched in the hillside
Trudged by all those before us
A beacon of the status quo
The reality it all reoccurs
A shiny new idea
Written in pencil
Shabbily pasted over the previous model
New and improved
Our heritage the weight staying us stead
Tradition the shackles that tie us to it
The man before and after
There to push us along the straight and narrow
Swept aside if to fall
Tumble to the bottom of the heap
Looked down upon as the masses lumber
Relentlessly towards fates inevitability
My pride, my folly
This the flag I raise
The splash of red against the grayscale
A chance of change for all to see
March not with me but for you
Steadfast feet to carry ambition
Marching now for the furthest of horizons
To concur my own mountains

running from danger can be tiring

I was frozen in a place as the lights trailed across my face. The blinds a mess in the wind battering the filing cabinet that was wedged had against it. Glimpses of the docks just beyond the window sill flutter in my vision. The fits of hysterics in my mind contradicted with the comfortable high back office chair and the bustling nightly antics of impatiently high pitched forklift sirens crowding the warehouse upon which the office sits. Perched over me with smug self satisfaction the red suited man arches across the shadows to drag a gloved hand across my extended arm down to my knuckles. The worn brown leather rough against my skin, pulling at the raised hair along my forearm, A menacing smirk as he lifted my hand aloft by the wrist. “I’m sorry sir but this was inevitable” he touted boastfully as he fumbled in the desk drawer. My eyes glanced down as the light struck the fruits of his rummaging. “Now I don’t want answers sunny, I want apologies and you aint to forthcoming.” I could see he’d managed to grasp a letter opener, not the weapon of choice but unpleasant enough to bring about my unwarranted demise. The suspense slightly ruined by an ill chosen moustache, the whole hostage situation feeling a bit to close to pantomime to be concerning. The fear once imposed slowly dripping away to reveal the startled scarecrow of a man behind the suit and eerie smile. “You leave it to me, ill have my secretary right on it” I offered. “Clerical errors and alike and budgetary constraints and council approval” words without meaning thrown feverishly before me, my stepping stones to freedom. He forgot his menace momentarily to contemplate the string of nonsense laid before him. My chance had arrived, a flying leap across the office toward the door, tuck and roll into the hallway. I’d done it, escape was mine and I lauded it up with a merry skip to my car, the red suited man lent carelessly against my driver’s door. Seem m escape blinded me t he concept of alerting authorities or even engaging bystanders for help. Oh well, lessons learnt.

The road home is blurry

The day was lazy and lingering.
A stench that just hung over the week
Clinging close to the skin
Suffocating with the irreverence
My strength devoted to tasks beyond the week,
The mindset to stay saved for the weekend
The Friday night glaze being handed out
By the armful at the tavern
Most were arriving there
But just as many leaving
With wistful goodbyes
The drink ravaged piled into their cars
An adventurous and mildly fraught ride home
Drunk before sundown
The honor in itself
A defiant look worn proudly on their faces
Gun straight road
Bordered with the precessions of oaks
Towering along either side
This the gauntlet before us
The cars danced merrily
From one lane to another
Late afternoon sun
Draping long sullen shadows
Across the windshield they loomed
The light play met with swear and squinting alike
To repeat the folly a nightly occurrence
To break the cycle a weekly battle

Aiming low is a lifelong goal

A blank stare and a cold part gave me the impression this child yearned to grow up to be a simpleton. Greeted at the door by plans for mockery and laughed about when after leaving the room. He was to fill other people’s day with momentary joy. Nicotine fingers and coffee stained teeth. Habits he picked up watching the ‘adults’ talk. Toddling through life in ignorance, a smudged and bedraggled smirk staining his face. He would get just where he was going, he just always seemed to be aiming at below average.