Crumbles was stale, 'I need a change of scene man.' he said to me as we shared a joint on the shoe girl's desk. I dont remember how i made it to the desk, my last memory being a little white pill fed-exed to me by jefferson aeroplane, a white rabbit pointing and laughing at me. i swallowed the pill and the rabbit with the last swallow of vodka in my bottle. i shrank like a sheep in a washing machine. i followed crumbles to the carpark, located by a barbie doll's house. she stood in her doorway with glazed eyes. i whispered in her ear and she slipped some acid into my eye. the world wobbled and crumbles and i drove to far drove to fast. "We're we going?" i asked. Crumbles started singing Neil Young songs, i decided to sing Lynard Skynard songs. My blackberry buzzed and the shoe girl was lost among bikini wearing papyrus print. Crumble Young was singing cinnamon girl. We drove through a wall, stopped at deed poll. "I'd like to change my name' i told the lady. she rolled her eyes and snapped her gum, crumbles giggled at her oversized bum. "what to?" she asked, noticing crumble's roving eyes.
"Apple" i replies. she waved her magic wand and it was so. Crumble and i walked back to the car,
"Apple Crumble on the road again" we chanted to the tune of cinnamon girl. "I see televisions" said the shoe girl. "Are you a cinnamon girl?" asked crumble. She shook her head despite the fact we were using telephones. "It reminds me of ads" said the cinnamon shoe girl.
"Like minuses?" i asked in my bakers apple tone of voice.
"Like minus is negative"she said, or something similar.
"I've never been good with mathematics. But three acid tabs and two acid tabs equals crazy apple crumble with cinnamon on top...right?" we all agreed. Crumbles, sick of being a biscuit decided upon a suitable disguise for our entry into bikini wearing papyrus print land. he dressed himself as a bfg, a big fucking german. i bought a bikini from the opera house in darwin. we were set. we asked the cinnamon girl for directions. "what'd she say?" asked the crumbling bfg. "We go straight till we get to a fork in the road"
"I have a fork in my pocket" said crumble as he pulled it out. i snatched it off him and stabbed him numerous times. he died on impact, completely forked. but thats how the cookie crumbles.
i dropped a whole sheet of acid in my left eye, my right one was broken, a tattoo gone terribly wrong, and continued, chewing small bits of stale crumble cookie. the first sign i was in bikini papyrus was a noticable increase in the number of bikini wearing papyrus letters. i brandished a freshly baked muffin in much the same way as an angry african kid would brandish an AK-47. they raised a white flag and i rescued the cinnamon shoe girl. together we turned over, apple and cinnamon turnover. then we lived happily ever after until jefferson aeroplane asked me what happened to a certain white rabbit who was still giggling in my guts.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The Drunk, The Smile & The Song
Time out there is spent trying to keep it together. The three of them stuck together, just mates in a different world. You could spend all day trying to analyze them, but one could smile, one drunk to much and dreamed of a little sea side cottage and one sang 'Lemon Tree'.
Time, a lost cause in a place like that, though most can see the end. Drinking provided a means to an end, for the boredom at least, and some of the shit they got up to! Mate...
I only met them once, I was just a traveller, making my way to the mines, like most people who'd heard of WA, a bit like a modern day gold rush. They were drinking to a friend, an American who'd left the day before. "It's just the way it is out here cobber", said the one who drank to much. He opened another beer, offered one to me then walked out the door for a smoke. The other two followed him, two German girls, one with the smile, one with the song.
The drunk one was comfortable were he was, 'resting' he said. More like hiding i thought, but then there was not much point getting involved in a serious discussion, anyway, I had a suspicion the girls had said similar things to him before.
We drank till three in the morning, though the three were still going, i could hardly see in front of me. As we cleaned the table of empty stubbies and overflowing ashtrays, we sang Lemon Tree.
'I wonder how,
I wonder why,
Yesterday you told me 'bout the blue, blue sky,
And all that I can see is just a yellow lemon tree...'
*For Julia & Elli*
Time, a lost cause in a place like that, though most can see the end. Drinking provided a means to an end, for the boredom at least, and some of the shit they got up to! Mate...
I only met them once, I was just a traveller, making my way to the mines, like most people who'd heard of WA, a bit like a modern day gold rush. They were drinking to a friend, an American who'd left the day before. "It's just the way it is out here cobber", said the one who drank to much. He opened another beer, offered one to me then walked out the door for a smoke. The other two followed him, two German girls, one with the smile, one with the song.
The drunk one was comfortable were he was, 'resting' he said. More like hiding i thought, but then there was not much point getting involved in a serious discussion, anyway, I had a suspicion the girls had said similar things to him before.
We drank till three in the morning, though the three were still going, i could hardly see in front of me. As we cleaned the table of empty stubbies and overflowing ashtrays, we sang Lemon Tree.
'I wonder how,
I wonder why,
Yesterday you told me 'bout the blue, blue sky,
And all that I can see is just a yellow lemon tree...'
*For Julia & Elli*
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Round Corners
He was a gentleman, a proper old english Toff. What he was doing in Maylands was anyone's guess, but Maylands is a bit like that.
He lived in a little two bedroom house, i used to mow his lawns with an old hand mower. Afterwards we'd sit in his living room, he owned no TV, just these big leather arm chairs, befitting of a man like himself, and a record player he bought brand new in 1983. We'd sit in the arm chairs and he'd play classical records, you know, Beethoven, Bach, that kind of thing. We'd just sit, with the volume turned up full and sip our drinks, enjoy the serenity.
Although I didn't mind the music, I could never understand the attraction. One day, unable to hide my curiosity anymore, I asked him, "Why classical?"
"It takes you round corners."
One day, he died, like old men may. Asleep in his chair, the needle at the end of his favourite record. I came round to mow his lawns, when he didn't answer the door, I found the spare key.
He was sitting in his chair, his eyes closed, a single cigarette end in the ashtray by his right hand. I lifted the needle and played the record right through, Moonlight Sonata in D, merely the name of a song for me, I have no musical talent, but I sat in the chair, sat with my gentleman friend, and the music took me round corners.
He lived in a little two bedroom house, i used to mow his lawns with an old hand mower. Afterwards we'd sit in his living room, he owned no TV, just these big leather arm chairs, befitting of a man like himself, and a record player he bought brand new in 1983. We'd sit in the arm chairs and he'd play classical records, you know, Beethoven, Bach, that kind of thing. We'd just sit, with the volume turned up full and sip our drinks, enjoy the serenity.
Although I didn't mind the music, I could never understand the attraction. One day, unable to hide my curiosity anymore, I asked him, "Why classical?"
"It takes you round corners."
One day, he died, like old men may. Asleep in his chair, the needle at the end of his favourite record. I came round to mow his lawns, when he didn't answer the door, I found the spare key.
He was sitting in his chair, his eyes closed, a single cigarette end in the ashtray by his right hand. I lifted the needle and played the record right through, Moonlight Sonata in D, merely the name of a song for me, I have no musical talent, but I sat in the chair, sat with my gentleman friend, and the music took me round corners.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Ist Mitten Im Nirgendwo
The twenty-ninth November, 2007.
The day started much like any day would. Finished work at five am, chat with the girl, smoke with Ma. Open a beer. Serve the odd customer.
"You must get a few accidents out here", asked the customer.
"Nah, I've been here five months today and we haven't had a single one." I said.
The customer left, I grabbed my smokes and moved towards the door.
The door flung open just before I reached it.
"Get an ambulance quick! There's been an accident... an ambulance... one's dead..." the bloke was white.
"Whats going on?" asked Ma. I walked out the front, lit my smoke. I still had no idea what was happening.
We all fell into various roles like we'd done it a million times, I joined the boss, jumping in front of trucks hurtling toward Norseman at a hundred kays an hour. "We've gotta close the road, been a fatality up ahead." we'd shout.
Five months, not a single accident. Did I jinx it? Afterwards we drank, like we did every night. We were Balladonia, we were fucking awesome, we would last forever.
The twenty-ninth November, 2008
The leader leaves, moves on down the road. Ma hopes for the best.
We're all worried, we still drink, but seldom together. The only ones left are Ma, Boss, Boss's wife and myself. We bicker often nowadays. No accidents though. The future's uncertain, depends on the new leader. Sometimes, maybe while we're standing out the front, the last minutes of light for the day, smoking, thinking, someone will mention the Balladonia of old. But it's gone, the magics been lost and we're only chasing our tails.
*For Half-a-laugh & The Balladonians '07*
The day started much like any day would. Finished work at five am, chat with the girl, smoke with Ma. Open a beer. Serve the odd customer.
"You must get a few accidents out here", asked the customer.
"Nah, I've been here five months today and we haven't had a single one." I said.
The customer left, I grabbed my smokes and moved towards the door.
The door flung open just before I reached it.
"Get an ambulance quick! There's been an accident... an ambulance... one's dead..." the bloke was white.
"Whats going on?" asked Ma. I walked out the front, lit my smoke. I still had no idea what was happening.
We all fell into various roles like we'd done it a million times, I joined the boss, jumping in front of trucks hurtling toward Norseman at a hundred kays an hour. "We've gotta close the road, been a fatality up ahead." we'd shout.
Five months, not a single accident. Did I jinx it? Afterwards we drank, like we did every night. We were Balladonia, we were fucking awesome, we would last forever.
The twenty-ninth November, 2008
The leader leaves, moves on down the road. Ma hopes for the best.
We're all worried, we still drink, but seldom together. The only ones left are Ma, Boss, Boss's wife and myself. We bicker often nowadays. No accidents though. The future's uncertain, depends on the new leader. Sometimes, maybe while we're standing out the front, the last minutes of light for the day, smoking, thinking, someone will mention the Balladonia of old. But it's gone, the magics been lost and we're only chasing our tails.
*For Half-a-laugh & The Balladonians '07*
Daytime Night
You'd never have known, the only clue being the lack of light. The cool air slapping our drunkeness away as we slip out for a smoke, only to have the stomach do a backflip as you light the cancer stick, take the famous first deep draw. The music seeps from every crack in the wall behind you, the ground moves, people dance regardless of the cabs and coppers crammed along the road. A fight breaks out, someone lays motionless, a girl crying, screaming, sobbing, "You killed him", quiet at first, the sobs wrack her body, the police move closer. "YOU KILLED HIM", louder know. A gentle english cop lays a hand on her shoulder, the scene is serious. "YOU FUCKING KILLED HIM! YOU FUCK! YOU CUNT! HE'S DEAD! YOU FUCKING KILLLLLEEEDDDD HIIMMMMM!".
"He certainly looks dead.", I comment to my new friend, whom i've known for maybe twenty minutes. My friend nods his head in agreement. We watch the cops lead the girl away, her night, and possibly her life, ruined. Two cops begin CPR, three or four stand around, trying to look official, trying to move the crowd along but more people spill out of the club. The only sound is the music coming from the club, an occasional cop muttering into their radio. Every know and then we hear a grief stricken wail from the back of the police cruiser we guess the girl is sitting in.
Across the way, in the darkness of the park three solid policemen tackle a big kiwi to the ground. The struggle lasts about five minutes before the New Zealander is tasered. He shakes and rolls like he's been possesed, the kind of thing you see in one of those crazy, happy-clappy new age churches. He aint being saved though.
The siren of an ambulance drowns out the screams of the girl. "You'd a thought they'd have taken her away by now." says my friend. I nod my agreement.
They close the club, my old friends join me and my new friend. We walk past the prone body, paramedics doing there thing, though from what we can see, there's really no point. There's a dark pool of blood round his head, a flap of skin dangling from his chin, his eyes are closed and his chest only rises when they little green men force oxygen down his throat.
The next day we read about it in the paper. "One punch hit kills loving fiance". No wonder the poor girl was wailing, they were getting married a week later.
"He certainly looks dead.", I comment to my new friend, whom i've known for maybe twenty minutes. My friend nods his head in agreement. We watch the cops lead the girl away, her night, and possibly her life, ruined. Two cops begin CPR, three or four stand around, trying to look official, trying to move the crowd along but more people spill out of the club. The only sound is the music coming from the club, an occasional cop muttering into their radio. Every know and then we hear a grief stricken wail from the back of the police cruiser we guess the girl is sitting in.
Across the way, in the darkness of the park three solid policemen tackle a big kiwi to the ground. The struggle lasts about five minutes before the New Zealander is tasered. He shakes and rolls like he's been possesed, the kind of thing you see in one of those crazy, happy-clappy new age churches. He aint being saved though.
The siren of an ambulance drowns out the screams of the girl. "You'd a thought they'd have taken her away by now." says my friend. I nod my agreement.
They close the club, my old friends join me and my new friend. We walk past the prone body, paramedics doing there thing, though from what we can see, there's really no point. There's a dark pool of blood round his head, a flap of skin dangling from his chin, his eyes are closed and his chest only rises when they little green men force oxygen down his throat.
The next day we read about it in the paper. "One punch hit kills loving fiance". No wonder the poor girl was wailing, they were getting married a week later.
Instinct Kicks In
When I was only very young, after I had run away once more, nine days on my own, my father told me to always trust my gut, my instinct. Call it 'Benny Intuition'.
As the days tore into months and the months ground into years, my instinct kept me hoping, living, smiling.
When the man driving the dusty XF Falcon didn't seem right, my instinct told me to run. I ran till I hit the sea, by then there was no need to swim.
When the girl dropped hints she wanted a big shiny diamond ring, i knew it was time once more to run, at eighteen I was in no position to marry, settle down for the long haul. I ran, one day she saw me, with someone new.
When the feeling in my bones told me all was not right, told me the knife was soon to be slicing, I sat still, feigning ignorance... till at the last second I ran.
Now these wheels keep on turning, stomach keeps on rumbling. I'm making my way to our favourite restaurant, to a table set for one.
Lighting ladies cigarettes outside neon lighted public spaces, instinct disappears, drowned by not enough scotch's, a feeble attempt at luxury portrayal, background betrayal.
Hail the new king, the old one abondoned us, lured by the safety of numbers. I'll no doubt still be late in the morning, but time is of the essence as the place is moments away from turning to shit, a far cry from the home we knew a year ago.
A rare disease, never seen before. Be wary of the andistollfootitis, it's a killer from the ground up. How do you run when your feet fell off in Africa? When instinct kicks in, you fly on a jet plane to safety.
One day, you get a call, from a pretty little lady, with electric eyes. Instinct tells you no...
Dinner's kinda crazy, feet tapping music drifting down the slick night time streets. Crowds passing by, don't look in her eyessssss...
Later, instinct having left for home, left you to the evils awaiting, your sitting in a smoky room. She reaches for your hand, the coolness sends shivers down your spine.
"Just relax", says she, as she ties the blind fold behind your head. Blackness overwhelmes, every hair stands on end, skin so smooth, breath so warm.
As the sharp steel razor begins it's journey across your throat, instinct kicks in....
As the days tore into months and the months ground into years, my instinct kept me hoping, living, smiling.
When the man driving the dusty XF Falcon didn't seem right, my instinct told me to run. I ran till I hit the sea, by then there was no need to swim.
When the girl dropped hints she wanted a big shiny diamond ring, i knew it was time once more to run, at eighteen I was in no position to marry, settle down for the long haul. I ran, one day she saw me, with someone new.
When the feeling in my bones told me all was not right, told me the knife was soon to be slicing, I sat still, feigning ignorance... till at the last second I ran.
Now these wheels keep on turning, stomach keeps on rumbling. I'm making my way to our favourite restaurant, to a table set for one.
Lighting ladies cigarettes outside neon lighted public spaces, instinct disappears, drowned by not enough scotch's, a feeble attempt at luxury portrayal, background betrayal.
Hail the new king, the old one abondoned us, lured by the safety of numbers. I'll no doubt still be late in the morning, but time is of the essence as the place is moments away from turning to shit, a far cry from the home we knew a year ago.
A rare disease, never seen before. Be wary of the andistollfootitis, it's a killer from the ground up. How do you run when your feet fell off in Africa? When instinct kicks in, you fly on a jet plane to safety.
One day, you get a call, from a pretty little lady, with electric eyes. Instinct tells you no...
Dinner's kinda crazy, feet tapping music drifting down the slick night time streets. Crowds passing by, don't look in her eyessssss...
Later, instinct having left for home, left you to the evils awaiting, your sitting in a smoky room. She reaches for your hand, the coolness sends shivers down your spine.
"Just relax", says she, as she ties the blind fold behind your head. Blackness overwhelmes, every hair stands on end, skin so smooth, breath so warm.
As the sharp steel razor begins it's journey across your throat, instinct kicks in....
The Day I Left
The day i left the koala capital the sun was shining. The girl's little yellow car was disappearing over the hill. i sat on my bag and sucked down a ciggie. The future was opening up in front of me.
Ants were crawling over the ground by my feet. I had as much idea as they did.
A car came over the hill my girlfriend had just disappeared behind and i was whisked further into the unknown. It was enjoyable, five days moving west, meeting people, dwelling on the threshhold.
The day I arrived in Perth the sky was overcast, but i was optimisitic.
It lasted three weeks, weeks full of sun, drinking, new experience, phone calls to a middle class angel on the otherside of the country.
When, one night, she asked if I minded that she was going out drinking i replied i didn't. Why should I? She never had a problem with me going out and having fun. Trust was overflowing.
She never returned my calls. The truth came slowly at first, then quicker. Soon I was drowning, gasping for air, a pain like I'd swallowed a plate full of razor blades. Naturally i drank, a bit more than usual. Soon enough I sobered up and began putting the pieces together, life dragged on, slower now there seemed to be no reason.
The rope broke and the leg snapped. A fancy plaster cast to haunt me.
Ants were crawling over the ground by my feet. I had as much idea as they did.
A car came over the hill my girlfriend had just disappeared behind and i was whisked further into the unknown. It was enjoyable, five days moving west, meeting people, dwelling on the threshhold.
The day I arrived in Perth the sky was overcast, but i was optimisitic.
It lasted three weeks, weeks full of sun, drinking, new experience, phone calls to a middle class angel on the otherside of the country.
When, one night, she asked if I minded that she was going out drinking i replied i didn't. Why should I? She never had a problem with me going out and having fun. Trust was overflowing.
She never returned my calls. The truth came slowly at first, then quicker. Soon I was drowning, gasping for air, a pain like I'd swallowed a plate full of razor blades. Naturally i drank, a bit more than usual. Soon enough I sobered up and began putting the pieces together, life dragged on, slower now there seemed to be no reason.
The rope broke and the leg snapped. A fancy plaster cast to haunt me.
Watching Those Fingers
She's sitting upright, the rest of us slouch. She's making music man, while the rest of us drink. She's got her eyes closed as we all imagine.
And when they ask why, I told them it takes me round corners. Few understood, most just shrugged and rolled their eyes. But then thats the whole point, i don't need understanding i just need a giggle. I glance over to her, she's lost in another world, I finish my drink and order another.
There's something special in her song, something sad, something heavy. She launches into something new, something with lyrics, something crunchy. A song from Australia, a song to get the crowd singing. It's after hours, staff only, I light up a smoke. She's just like the others, a few weeks, maybe a month tops and she'll be heading down the ever present highway, that ugly black ribbon bordering my existence.
I tried leaving once, though i seldom go into details. Plenty of drinking, a burning car and an ugly trip to hospital. But as she sings it, the curse stops here I suppose. Out by the trees, making coffees and cooking burgers. I make muffins, sell them for a profit though I'm told I'm wasting creative talent.
Soon the songs blend into one, the night grinds on and I'm left there, drunk, perched on a stool by the piano, just watching those fingers dance.
And when they ask why, I told them it takes me round corners. Few understood, most just shrugged and rolled their eyes. But then thats the whole point, i don't need understanding i just need a giggle. I glance over to her, she's lost in another world, I finish my drink and order another.
There's something special in her song, something sad, something heavy. She launches into something new, something with lyrics, something crunchy. A song from Australia, a song to get the crowd singing. It's after hours, staff only, I light up a smoke. She's just like the others, a few weeks, maybe a month tops and she'll be heading down the ever present highway, that ugly black ribbon bordering my existence.
I tried leaving once, though i seldom go into details. Plenty of drinking, a burning car and an ugly trip to hospital. But as she sings it, the curse stops here I suppose. Out by the trees, making coffees and cooking burgers. I make muffins, sell them for a profit though I'm told I'm wasting creative talent.
Soon the songs blend into one, the night grinds on and I'm left there, drunk, perched on a stool by the piano, just watching those fingers dance.
You wish you wrote it
You could tell what he felt was more than just lust. You could tell it was more than some shit kicker crush. Heart Of Gold, by Neil Young. He wished he wrote that song. He wished he wrote it for her.
In the end, as it happens, they didn't stay that long. Circumstance had them moving on down the line sooner than anyone would have wanted. One night in the bar she came up in conversation, two days before they were due to leave.
The words stung him like they'd been fired from an air gun, a Telemarksman II with two springs. Whatever that meant. It hurt but he couldn't let on, not the done thing round these people. Emotions? Bah, for fucking pansies mate, for the real world. Yeah, not the done thing out here, among the trees and the kangaroos. He bit his tongue, didn't say the angry words that brewed within his anger. He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to act nonchalant.
The words floated round his head, the scotch dimmed his perception, for a little while at least.
He felt guilty, maybe he should have battled harder for her honour. But she's a tourist and he's a shitkicker. There's not much point nowadays anyway, everyone's corrupt.
Walking past her place he saw the dimmer blue glow of her television set, wondered what it would be like to see that smile every morning. But he'd said it himself in an earlier time, 'there's to many people in the world to get that hung up on just one of them'. But he couldn't help but think, the worlds to scary, she's to special, he's to spineless.
She left on the monday with her friend, just as had been planned. He said goodbye, quickly and quietly. Goodbyes out there were always hard, harder even still when she flashed him that smile. The truck pulled out, gears crunching and he thought to himself, "I've been here before, I dare say I'll be here again."
In the end, as it happens, they didn't stay that long. Circumstance had them moving on down the line sooner than anyone would have wanted. One night in the bar she came up in conversation, two days before they were due to leave.
The words stung him like they'd been fired from an air gun, a Telemarksman II with two springs. Whatever that meant. It hurt but he couldn't let on, not the done thing round these people. Emotions? Bah, for fucking pansies mate, for the real world. Yeah, not the done thing out here, among the trees and the kangaroos. He bit his tongue, didn't say the angry words that brewed within his anger. He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to act nonchalant.
The words floated round his head, the scotch dimmed his perception, for a little while at least.
He felt guilty, maybe he should have battled harder for her honour. But she's a tourist and he's a shitkicker. There's not much point nowadays anyway, everyone's corrupt.
Walking past her place he saw the dimmer blue glow of her television set, wondered what it would be like to see that smile every morning. But he'd said it himself in an earlier time, 'there's to many people in the world to get that hung up on just one of them'. But he couldn't help but think, the worlds to scary, she's to special, he's to spineless.
She left on the monday with her friend, just as had been planned. He said goodbye, quickly and quietly. Goodbyes out there were always hard, harder even still when she flashed him that smile. The truck pulled out, gears crunching and he thought to himself, "I've been here before, I dare say I'll be here again."
Feeling Awkward
When the rain brings the flood, and the sun dries the mud.
When the laughter rings, though the jokes are dull.
Whe a pretty girl smiles but the lads cheapen the moment.
When alcohol dims the lights.
When you hide from lonliness, only to find him standing behind you, grinning.
When the moments gone before you know it.
When theres a candle lit but the feeling isnt mutual.
When they come and they go,
When they love and they lose,
When they laugh and they cry,
It leaves you feeling awkward
When the laughter rings, though the jokes are dull.
Whe a pretty girl smiles but the lads cheapen the moment.
When alcohol dims the lights.
When you hide from lonliness, only to find him standing behind you, grinning.
When the moments gone before you know it.
When theres a candle lit but the feeling isnt mutual.
When they come and they go,
When they love and they lose,
When they laugh and they cry,
It leaves you feeling awkward
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