Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Sunday, September 26, 2004
Saturday, September 25, 2004
So, to start this continuance of my disagreement (as it were):
- Just because public schools are in a bad way doesn't mean that it's all John Howard's fault. It could be the fault of the states (who, after all, control a lot of the funding)
- Saddam Hussein, the Ba'ath party and the Taliban were really nasty people and you'll have to work pretty hard to convince me that Iraq and Afghanistan are worse off now that they've been removed. (And the Iraqis and Afghanis have now got reasonable, workable democratic institutions in place. Prove me wrong!)
- If the Greens are so concerned about Human Welfare, then how come they are so fond of policies that would cut jobs (ending the logging and coal-mining industries)?
- Bob Brown is too a silly, pompous little man and his policies are crap, so there!
Thursday, September 23, 2004
A couple of months ago I went to see Replay, a set of short plays at the Repertory Theatre. The night was mixed - there was a brilliant short play by Steve Martin (How I Joined Mensa), a perfect crowd pleaser by John Cleese (The Silly Court Sketch), and not enough plays by local authors. But amongst them was a work of sheer genius - a work so witty, so succint, and yet so universal that it seemed to encompass everything worth saying of the human condition. Or almost everything. Since I don't even know who wrote the play, and since it seems unlikely that you'll ever see it, I am now going to tell you all about it.
The play was called Man/Woman.
The setting: a train station. The time: morning, 8.00am. A train can be heard going approaching the station. People depart from the train and walk over the stage. Then, when the train has departed, a man arrives on stage. He is dressed in a tuxedo, with bow tie, shined boots, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, and a bottle of champagne in the other. He is handsome in a roguish way, and roguish in a handsome way - slightly unshaven, with long hair, and a merry sparkle in his eye. The man approaches the front of the stage, raises the bottle and the bouquet of flowers to the audience.
And he says one word - one word only:
Now is that not poetry, dear reader? It certainly seemed to me to be so at the time. If the play had closed then, I would have thought it perfect. But it got better.
The lights dim for a moment, then a moment later come up again. The time is now 9.00am. Another train approaches the station. As it draws near, stops, then drives off again, the man approaches the stage, and looks back and forth amongst the people who now cross the stage, trying to find the familiar face... here there are schoolchildren, there an elderly pensioner, there a minister and a nun, elsewhere a guitarist. But the person he is looking for - is not there.
The man looks at the clock, looks at the audience, and raises the drink again, in dubious tribute:
Again the lights dim. The next scene is again an hour later. The man is sitting dejectedly on the seat, having taken his coat off. As the train approaches, he looks up and down the platform. But his beloved has still not arrived. He sits back down again, and looks at the ground dejectedly. He is approached by a drunk, who presses himself up against the man in that way that drunks do. The man pushes him away and continues to stare sadly at the ground.
He sighs: "Women!"
So, in this way, the hours pass, the trains go by, and the man still is not reunited with his lady-love. Instead, he gradually loses everything. He loses his sobriety (sharing the champagne with the drunk) then his flowers (throwing them in the bin) his clothes (gradually divesting himself of them as the hours go by). He even loses his sanity - then gains it again - then loses it again - then gains it again. As the scenes progress, punctuated each time by the single, mantra-like exclamation - "Women!" - the man undergoes an extraordinary emotional and metaphysical journey.
Finally, in the penultimate scene - the 23rd scene - he loses it completely. He tosses off all his remaining clothes, stands up on the platform seat, cries loudly, stares wildly, and waves his hands about as if he were balancing on a surfboard at sea. The Men In White Coats (TM) duly arrive and drag him off stage.
And the punchline? The denouement? Ah, you'll never guess - come 8.00am, a day after the inception of the play, the train arrives. A girl dressed in a beautiful, flowing dress appears on stage, looks puzzled, looks here, looks there, looks up at the clock - then looks wryly at the audience and shrugs. She says one word, one simple word:
So there you go. Not sure why I told you that really, though several reasons come to mind:
a) That was a fucking good play, and I really enjoyed myself.
b) Men are on the whole pretty dumb, but are willing to go through hell for a woman.
c) Gem is blogging again, and that is a Good Thing.
I think I'll go with option c).
John Howard is now an environmentalist or is it just another lie?
Iraq War not just based on a lie, but was illegal: UN Chief
Peter Costello Lies Too
(I'm just guessing here, but I don't think these guys like John Howard.)
And actually, it's a good thing that there are so many anti-John Howard websites. Dislike of politicians is great, in my books. But that's no excuse to resort to hackneyed arguments, cliches, depressingly unoriginal content, and banal political correctness.
In an attempt to get cheap laughs out of this list of websites helpfully provided by the Green Left, I have posted some of the URLs, but have included links and descriptions that are I think more worthy and interesting. Here goes...
This is a website about puppies and how cute they are. The featured breed at the moment? The bolognese!
Ah, flatulence. Everybody's favourite subject!
What could be more interesting than political fashion? One of those things could be poo. Which is what this website is all about.
This site is obviously part of that Vast Right Wing Conspiracy everyone talks about...
Did you know that between %1 and %2 of Americans have a third nipple? This is the perfect website to find out more about the 'triple nipple'. Includes the advice 'It is your utmost duty to give each of your nipples the same amount of love and care.' Visit this website now!
A page of quietness and simplicity on the overcrowded worldwide web - a blank page for the restless mind.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present - the singing cactus.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
It is said that the length of time between each Indonesian election is directly proportional to the length of time it takes Australian journalists to learn how to pronounce the name of their Presidents. This is expressed in the formula:
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
You are a fascinating individual with even more fascinating hair, Mr Johnson. I look forward to reading more of your ponderings and whatnot on this site.
Re: I think you are worng, but thats Okay
Hello Tim T (T=for Treacher(Jim's brother)? Or: I seeyou are from Australia / are you Tim Rogers from ``YouAm I'' (if so you ROCK (probably should wash hair atsome point however(Try Suave- the BEST)!,I'll be happy To answer your questions. Just keep inmind all answers Copywright (C)Proprietor/iraqwarwrong All Rights Reserved 2004. (Ofcourse, however in this instance for the purposes ofthis interview I am waving (not Reserving, after all,it seems) all said Rights and passing them along toyou, for the expressly written consented purpose ofpublication in you're weblog.
1) Iraqwarwrong, why was the Iraq War Wrong?
LOOL good one. Is this a joke or something, I thoughtyou were a Readership of my blog? This must be use ofsarcasm or ironic or somethintg / no way this sincerequestion. HEH I get it :::)
2) If you were a Republican, would you still think that the Iraqw war was wrong?
It doesn't relly matter because as we can see from thehistorical record, Republicans sort of have a "thing"for Wrong wars. (CRAVE them).Another possible answer: TRUE. (Statementsproceeding from False premises are True <-in Logictheory)
3) Would youy think that the Iraq war was wronbg if you were Georbge Busgh?
I actually beginning to suspect Bush knew it was Wrongall along but did it anyway. If I was George Bush Iwould have other problems first however( i.e. stupid,moron, skanky daugters, lieng then people dieng)
3) What if you were an Iraqi Republican from the 18th century? (The thing I am trying to get at here ,. is, do you think the Iraq War was objectively wrong, and so wrong even before there was an Iraq War, or do you think that the Iraqw War was only wrong in the past year. If you now what I mean)
I sort of lost you here(Hard to follow your line of /skim mostly .) I'm pretty sure 18th century IraqiRepublicans would be gauled to lern that upstart (NONArab) country "United States" (with other NON Arabcountries i.e. Britain, Aussie) will wage a Wrong waragainst them in 2-3 hundreds years from now (i.e.then). Wouldn't you? (If you was Arab, IraqiRepublican of 18th cent.) This is Arab land wetalking about after all, Arab land stays Arab LandThey don't like Wrong wars fought to take it (VERYoffensive to they're religion)(Islam.)
4) Many of ys in the righrt of the Bklogosphere are impressed by your ingetrity, even if we do think that you are wrong abouyt tghe Iraq War being wrong.
This is a difficult Question to answer (or, perceive)but I'll try. The answer is, you are right to impressby my Integrity it's all I've got in the end. If Ican't look myself in mirror who can?
5) So the questions I am getting at is, perhaps you should be deserving of a Putilzer prize?
Wow, from your fingers to God's (the God ofPutilzer's-- nhot theocratic statement here) ears. But first things first, As you know it's my dream toone day become a Professional (bonaphide) Pundit. Step by step (I have Dedication) I'ts a process
6) Is Iraq more like a Burrito, a hologram, a laundromat, or a zoo?
I see this parallels my metaphorical constructions. Ok. Well first we need to understand: Hologramreresents Iraq WAR not Iraq persay. Zoo was moremetaphor for Arab's countries (countries with ARabLand in them) in general, not Iraq in particular. Laundromat was metaphor for Afghanstian (how, we gotDistracted by Iraq and left are "clothes"(metaphorical)unguarded.) So. I have to go with Burrito. (One of my mostenduring pieces). (It seems to have a Timeless qualityto it, in retroscept).
7) Spome people *(knot me) have citicised the spelling on your blog, howe do you hope to get across the (wrong) messgae of the Iraq War's Wrongness if you keep on making spelling and garmattical mtstakes?
The error here lies with Readers who keep harping ontrivail things like "so" call "spelling" rather thanthe SUBSTNACE of my arguments. I labor greatly(intensely) to edit all posts with Webster's Rogert'setc to make finish product what you see today, butthere are Diminishing Return's here (this known Law ofnature) and at some point I have to say, as long asI've done my due diligents to make posts presentibleThe responsibility falls onto READER"S shoulders tolook past the trivailites of they're Petty "spelling"complaints and THINK (for a change) about mySUBSTANCE. So , with all do respect but, those peopleneed to grwo up.
8) Your blog has attracted a HUG4E (relly big) following, dxo you have any de3votees?
Im not sure.
As you say I have many (thousands uponthousands) followers but not sure whether any areDevotees(sp?). But then again I know very littleabout ethnic/creed/religious makeup of my Readershipin general.
9) What is your fsavorite colour?
I thought long and hard but I'm going to say green.
10) Thanky9oug for agreeing (finsgers crssoed) to speakg to me, mr Iraq War Wrong.
Again a difficult Question to answer but I'll have tosay, Yes you are right to Thank me for this. (Thatwas the question right)?
11) Adn my last questionh is, will you be making any to7urs to Australia anytime soon, bcause I would relly liuke to be met you!
How do you know I not in Australia alreddy? (As withmy Gender, I purposely (mostly successfully) keep mylocation geographically vague)(fear of retributionfrom dhingers). Well ok you can probably see from cultural context ofmy posting's that I do indeed live in the U. S. of A.(or MAYBE Singapore, or Krasnoyarsk,Siberia perhaps(just trying to keep things still vague here)) but,hey. I hear Austrlia has lots of bugs that Hit you themoment you step off the airplane. Not sure I can dealwith that(skinallergy problems(do'nt ask). It wouldbe awfully grate to Meet the one and only Tim Rogershowever. (But can you tell me why does Deliverancesuck so much compared #4 Record , Kiss me slowly,Hourly daily? Also why did the Twin Set changethey're name to Temperandce Union? They're album wasmuch better (awesome relly) when called Twin Set whythe change??) Also does Australia haves Dave's &Buster's?
And before I forget to ask:
@) Is there any hope?
WEll it relly depends on which pole you look at. Somepolls say Bush up 14 some say Kerry ties(withinerrorbar) it is relly chatoic at this point(Has to dowith whether Republicans overesampled/ Hard to explainto Lay Person). I'd have to say Yes but Kerry willrelly have to get his act together and startscriticzing Bush MORE for e.g.g. being AWOL fromNational Guard, being COWARDLY by going to NationalGuard, not sending enough troops to Iraq, havingsedcret plant o send more troops to Iraq, ect. MOREcriticism Kerry, FASTER PLEASE!But and so in the end I do still have to think thereis hope (how else to keep are hopes up?) at least Ihope so. Yes: Kerry could still win. (Le'ts hope).
Proprietor of TIWWWB
Find the links here - here - and here.
Also, an excellent piece by Phil Betts about the politics of puppy-eating.
Monday, September 20, 2004
Phwoooar!!! A Naked Negro Lesbian in a Dark Room!
Lubberly-jubberly!!! A FULLY-CLOTHED nudist!!!
Yowzers!!! An outrageous gang-bang of UNGARMENTED GERBILS!!!!
Meerow!!! Four Albino Aryans having HOT SEX in a snowstorm!!!
Time to use my awesome Power of Blog for good once more. I have decided to start up a 'White Mice for Harry Hutton' fund. As regular readers of his blog, Chase Me Ladies, will know, Harry has been seeking 300 kilos of white mice ever since its inception earlier this year. Now, Harry has promised to attach the disclaimer 'ACHTUNG! CONTAINS NUDITY!' to the web-addresses of all those who contribute mice, in an attempt to drum up hits. Who am I to object to this?
Readers of similar philanthropic zeal can send the white mice through to me via email at firstname.lastname@example.org or carrier pigeon (address, Esquire TimT, Novocastria, Terra Australis). They shall be forwarded on to Mr. Hutton post-haste!*
*If, however, Harry decides to use his animals for the fell purposes of cosmetic testing, I shall be forced to set the nude PETA protesters on to him...
Sunday, September 19, 2004
I'm still Tim Train (how about that?) and for good measure I've decided to send through another submission. I just love submitting to you, even though our relationship is still only one day old... I must be a masochist or something...
So, it's attached. It's funny, it's witty, it's insightful, brother, it's everything! It's also possibly infringing of the BBC's copyright on a well-known SF character, but I think I've found a way around that...
As far as I'm aware, my contact details are still the same.
So call me already, otherwise I'll start thinking you've been with some OTHER writer, and I'll start feeling all betrayed...
Saturday, September 18, 2004
While I think the studio audience's general conclusion was right, you have to wonder if this genuinely was a bunch of swinging voters. In a credibility-damaging bit of seating, sitting just behind The Age's Annabel Crabb as she discussed the worm results was a young man with green hair. I strongly suspect the Liberals have almost no chance of winning the green hair vote. (Catallaxy)
This audience is bullshit.
The guy with the green dye hair. Watch him. "Undecided" my arse. Undecided between the Greens and Labor perhaps. (Tim Blair)
Outrageous! Right-wingers, left-wingers, centre-wingers - green-haired people of all political persuasions, leave a note in comments and let Mr. Blair and Catallaxy know that you will not be stereotyped like this!
Friday, September 17, 2004
Why don't you go on over there and hurl some abuse at me too?
UPDATE - some of the 'best' quotes so far:
- you should have your tongue cut out for even thinking of voting
- Tim, did you do any research on the Greens from primary documents or have you based all your info on their name and the Telegraph? The massive increase in support for The Greens is a testament to their fully-developed, well thought out, and environmentally and socially responsible and sustainable policies.
- I, too, expected better from this site than this one-eyed rubbish. The Greens and many others are concerned about the future, fresh air, clean water, sustainability.... all life on this planet is a web
- You think it's gonna be funny when you're choking in filthy air, drinking filthy water and starving. Oh yeah right ... you'll be off to your job, or reading your newspaper about how strong the economy is won't you.
UPDATE 2: Still more abuse!
- i'm guessing that youare dumber than you sound... do you realise that protecting the enviornment is protecting US. Every animal on earth has tehir own habitat ...
UPDATE 3: It just keeps on keeping on -
Do the country a favour and multiply your brain cells (this may be the only case in which genetic engineering can positively contribute to the world) before casting a vote.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
Of course, I've made it much more exciting than all those other political polls. For instance, I haven't confined myself to the real candidates. Certainly not! I mean, what the hell would an American reader be expected to know about John Howard? I think that fictional candidates are much more suitable in our multicultural and pluralistic society.
Also, people will be able to place multiple votes (one a day, actually). What use is a poll if you can't rig the results?
For the record, the candidates are:
Mr. Whoop-whoop-etc-etc, leader of the Extremely Silly Party (Australian branch)
Some other generic evil person
Some other communist
So go ahead and vote - do it before Voldemort makes you!
Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Then again, maybe the day does not belong to any of us at all. Maybe September 15 is a fictional construct and we are all the warped creation of some postmodernist wankers brain. Or maybe it was a joke invented at the start of time by God (or whoever does his job).
Anyway, something has clearly gone wrong here and I wish somebody would help me clear it up. Thankyou.
PS - Obviously, this is not a happy-birthday-me post. When I started blogging, I made a commitment not to make any of those posts. That would just be self-referential, I said to myself. Quite right, I replied. Who asked you? I said. The pink elephants, I replied.
PPS - But now that we're on the subject, well done me. And happy birthday, Gem.
PPPS - Feel free to send large wads of cash to my house as a birthday present.
PPPPS (Or should that be PSSSS?) - I didn't mean to imply from the title of this post that I'm unhappy about sharing my birthday or anything. Heavens, no! As usual, I'm just confused. It doesn't take much to get me confused. I woke up this morning and was confused about what to have for breakfast. After that, I was confused about what to wear. As a matter of fact, I just lurch from confusion to confusion all my life. It helps keep me going.
PPPPPS - Wow! What a world we live in! I've just been doing some searching on the internet, and it seems the following people were born on September 15: Agatha Christie, writer, William Howard Taft, US President, James Fenimore Cooper, writer, Oliver Stone, director, Tommy Lee Jones, actor, and Prince Harry, er, prince. Also Fay Wray and Margaret Lockwood, actresses, and Julian 'Cannonball' Adderley, jazz saxophonist, and Bruno Walter, conductor, Al-Biruni, mathemetician, Joe Lyons, Australian PM, Adolf Bioy Cassares, writer and of course The Sun newspaper! All these people in the one little date!
PPPPPPS - Just quickly read over the list up there. Not many women listed, I see. All I did was copy what they had on the websites!
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
Who said the computer wasn't fun?
Well I'm sorry, Marty, but the phrase Michael Moore is a fat fuck is just not the kind of thing that we use over here. I'm just not going to post Michael Moore is a fat fuck, and that's that. Admittedly, Michael Moore is a rather corpulent individual, and I may have definite opinions about his poor writing and obsessive anti-right-wingery, but to descend to this kind of gutter language and use the phrase Michael Moore is a fat fuck just isn't appropriate. Even if Michael Moore were the fattest fucktard to have ever fucking disgraced the fucking face of this fat fucking planet, I wouldn't say it. So no, I will not post Michael Moore is a fat fuck and that's that.
Got it? Michael Moore is a fat fuck will not be posted on this website. Ever.
Sunday, September 12, 2004
ONE third of all Australians list blindness as their most feared affliction -- equal to the number of people who rank cancer as their primary fear. Their anxiety is well-founded.
Now there's a problem that needs seeing to.
Suicide, not war, is biggest killer
GENEVA: Almost one million people kill themselves each year and the number, which exceeds the death toll from murder and war, is expected to hit 1.5 million by 2020, the World Health Organisation (WHO) said Wednesday.
Disgraceful. We need to have more wars immediately to stop these people taking their own lives. What's the good of a Government if it doesn't even take your life for you?
THE therapist's couch, once the sole domain of psychoanalysis, is being challenged by email and phone consultations as powerful tools to battle mental health disorders such as anxiety and depression.
This is ridiculous. You are not going to be able to diagnose serious mental health problems over the internet. Yes you can. Who asked you? That big pink elephant over there. Hey shut up while I'm blogging. No you're not.
THE fall-out from the theft of Edvard Munch's The Scream has hit the National Gallery of Victoria.Norway's Munch Museum has decided not to lend its pastel on cardboard version of the work to the NGV for its upcoming retrospective.
Possible headline: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Plan to use surplus for super
THE Coalition has sought to counter Labor's claims of economic responsibility by proposing a "Future Fund" to invest budget surpluses to help meet the looming costs of an ageing population.
So let me get this straight. They plan to use the surplus plus the super to produce a super-superanuation?
Saturday, September 11, 2004
Around the World In Eighty Days (In Eighty Words)...
Jackie Chan Owen Wilson Arnold Schwarzenegger…
Quote: “What’s the point of hiring a corrupt policeman if he’s not even going to abuse the law properly?”
Richard Branson Jim Broadbent…
Quote: “That’s why I never leave home – you end up meeting – PEOPLE!!”
John Cleese Steve Coogan Rob Schneider…
Quote: “If you help us out, I promise not only to direct you to a surgeon who can restore your nipples, but give you a new boat too!”
I HAD A FUCKING BLAST
Please visit - topics covered include clubbing seals, penguin's livers, and taking up the harp.
Good afternoon! I represent
The Poodles of Australia,
And with regret, I must report
The systematic failure
Of parliamentary Poodlists
To make a public stand
Against the Antipoodlism
That runs throughout the land.
In many homes and many towns
Throughout this once great nation
My fellow Poodles are in chains
From Antipoodle practices
That keep in subjugation
Our once proud Poodle pedigree
(Oh! The humiliation!)
There is, before all else, one thing
Of which we must be freed -
A new and deadly force which does
Oppress our noble breed –
Barbaric barbers everywhere
Who feed our owner's passion
For that most horrible of things
(God help us!) Poodle Fashion!!
The barber snips and cuts and chops
And curls and dies and crops
And clads us in a tartan vest
And turns us out like fops;
Our owners, pleased and proud, parade
Us up and down the street,
Then sit to chat in coffee shops
And feed us meat-free-meat!
Enough! I say - it's time the world
Knows of our Poodle plight!
It's time we raise our paws and claws -
It's time to stand and fight!
And with our Legal Beagle friends,
And with Chihuahua Power,
We will regain our liberty -
Poodles! This is our hour!
So - any suggestions for Mum? Sights to see in Siberia? Delightful examples of triumphalist Soviet architecture? Leave a note in comments, and I'll be happy to pass it on to her.
Thursday, September 09, 2004
It all makes sense, people ... JUST JOIN THE DOTS!
Update - I admit it - this picture was all my own, er, 'work'. Now, all I have to do is figure out how to link to an enlarged version, preferably in the archives of this very blog.
There was a young lady, Egyptian,
Who merits a certain description...
Harry Hutton offers these first two lines in comments below, but seems to have had a memory lapse - he can't remember how it ends. Help me out! I must know the end!
If you don't know the conclusion yourself, make it up! For instance:
There was a young lady, Egyptian
Who merits a certain description:
She knew Cyrilic and Greek
And just for fun, every week,
She would indulge in hieroglyphic decryption.
This singular maiden, it's said,
Fell in love with a scoundrel called Ned
Who was lacking a mother,
And had a dog for a brother -
And the pair determined to wed.
When she turned 22-and-a-third
She took a trip on the back of a bird
To the Amazonian forest
Where she set up shop as a florist
With Ned, to whom I've already referred.
I hereby throw the comments box open to all and sundry to offer possible conclusions to this poem. Put me out of my misery. Winner gets twenty heffalumps mailed to their house!
Monday, September 06, 2004
Cogitot Ergot Margot - a song*
Gd'ay. Im sit at my computer
CapS-LOcked into place
And clouds of cigraette smoke
Waft into spac
And my computr log's on
And the keyboard notes ar pounded
As I coin new exciting neologisms
Like purjafact or trounded.
Yes, Cogito Ergot Margot
And Margot Ergot Sum
So come lern the Margot Lingot
And you never will be dum!
I am Margot, hear me tipe!
Watch me flipe my metaphors!
Admire mi tautoLogic
And my sence of effect and cause!
And I write in perfect grammar
And will be in perfect future tense
You just hav to use your wit
And sense of cromulence!
Yes, Cogito Ergot Margot
And Margot Ergot Sum
So come lern the Margot Lingot
And you never will be dum!
And Im oh-so-ever-humble
And Im' oh-so-self-effacing
And if I ever make mistaking
And if Mr' Ti.mmy Blair
And all those Fundagelists
Accsue me of being misleding
Then I BLAME THOSE ZIONISTS!
Yes, Cogito Ergot Margot
And Margot Ergot Sum
So come lern the Margot Lingot
And you never will be dum,
No you never will be dum.
*To be accompanied Allegrot ma non Troppot with Oboet and Pianot
Sunday, September 05, 2004
First stop, Redfern and Newton.
I see chalk markings all over the street - "Picket the Senate!" "Vote for a Left Leaning Student Union!", etc, etc.
Student politics - as irrelevant as ever!
Next, Pulp Books in Newtown to drop off some zines. I'm eager to see this new addition to the Newtown bookstore scene - (ah, many was the time as a penniless student that I spelt lingering in the King Street stores!) I'm also eager to meet blogger Nicholas Carvan.
Nicholas has a nice little business up and running, and he's managed to do much in a relatively little space. I particularly liked the 'One Dollar Books Shelf' - exactly the sort of thing designed to appeal to penniless Uni students. Everyone, call in and pay Nicholas money in exchange for books!
Next, on to Town Hall.
I notice on the way down this sign plastered on every post outside the University of Technology:
Marxism - Here
Is this sign:
a) Referring to a lecture series
b) The most accurate and honest description of University students that I have ever read?
Then after visiting Galaxy Books and getting a copy of Andromeda Spaceways (small-time Australian sci-fi magazine, often funny and all-round good publication) I meet up with my mate Aaron and we go off for some beers.
I notice, as I go through Sydney, that the multinational corporations are extending their reach: I spot at least four Starbucks, and one Gloria Jeans and Oportos. This means more jobs, more business, and more choice for EVERYBODY. Excellent!
On to Balmain and the main event with Aaron and his girlfriend Lucille!
Much that is interesting. But I would reserve serious criticism for the Canadian poet, who made political statements in his poems and in the process left himself wide open for political disagreement. His poem about WMD, for instance -
What Massive Deception!
Whooosh! Mash! Dash!
(every word starts with either 'W', 'M', or 'D', geddit???!!!???) was an extreme oversimplification of a complicated political issue. Some good poetry, though.
But on with the Poetry Slam finals. I'm competing against 17 others from all over NSW - including two other poets from Newcastle, several from Sydney, three from Thirroul, one from Melbourne (looking very pretentious in his bohemian glasses, beard, and hat) and one from Canberra. Five judges are randomly selected from the audience - one who turns out to be Jennifer Compton, a much-published Australian poet/writer.
I can't comment too much about the other poets performances - I don't go to much performance poetry stuff, and I have a very short attention span. Still, much that is good - one of the Citizens of Language has a witty piece on his attempts to be a 'tragic' poet, but fails to get into the top three perhaps because he doesn't end strongly.
I'm the second last poet. Herewith attached is the poem I read out, complete with descriptions of my actions. I begin in hushed vocal tones with imitation Jack Nicholson-style smile plastered all over my face :
The Madman in the Garden
“O come into the garden, Maud,”
Whispered the psychopath,
“O come into the garden, Maud,
For I am getting very bored,
And little girls can ill afford
To incur my wrath.”
(Here your faithful blogger assumes the demeanour of a Victorian child, and replies in a prim, high tone:)
“O no, o no,” sweet Maud did say,
Through the little cottage door,
“Before I come to you to-day,
Before I come to you and play,
You must first put that knife away –
Of this you can be sure.”
“Come out into the garden, Maud,”
The psychopath said then,
“Come out and see my little sword,
Come out, come out, my most adored,
Most sweet, most precious, gentle Maud,”
The madman said again.
“First you must sheathe that sword,” she said,
“Ere I come out to you:
And lay it in the garden bed,
For little girls who are well bred
Do not mean to end up dead -
It’s not the thing to do!”
“Come out into the garden, Maud,”
He said in rising tones,
“Or with this knife and with this sword
And with this axe I will maraud
Your cottage here, and be assured,
I’ll dine upon your bones.”
(That last line growled in a menacing manner. At this point I have begun to froth and foam at the mouth)
“Then do your very worst!” said she,
“The cottage door is barred,
And if you wish to come to me,
You’ll have to cut through padlocks three
And three strong bolts of ivory –
Methinks you’ll find it hard!”
Next two stanzas recited very loud, and at great speed, by your rabid poet:
He reaches down, picks up the axe,
And with an awful roar
The insane psychopath attacks!
He hacks and hews and hews and hacks
‘Till all that’s left are splinters, tacks,
Of the little cottage door!
Face twisted in an hideous glare,
He comes at her in a run!
He seems, axe waving in the air
A sight the very dead might fear!
But Maud returns a fiercer stare –
And shoots him with her gun!
I actually considered bringing in a cap-gun for this part, but eventually decided against it. As fond as I am of the Right to Bear Arms, it mightn't go down so well with the gentile folk of Balmain.
He stops – and stumbles to the door –
She shoots him once! And twice!
He falters – falls down to the floor –
She steps amongst the blood and gore -
He’s done for; dead – but too be sure –
She shoots the madman thrice!
See, girls? Violence sometimes can be the answer! But here I assume a third voice, that of Maud's father. (Imagine, for these lines, Maud perched upon her papa's knee while he of the handlebar moustache and stern countenance frowns back down at her)
When Maud was very young, you see,
Her papa said to her:
“If e’er a madman come at ye
With axe or sword to murder thee,
Then take this gun and one! two! three! –
You shoot the rotten cur!
And KILL THE SCOUNDREL, SIR!!!
The authorities had to be called in at this point and shoot me with needles before I got out of control.
Tiebraker followed - I recited another piece of mine, Unrelaxation Tape. Won't include it here (not unless you really really want it) since it's too long. But I can always mail you a copy - it's published in local youth magazine InZine. Anyway, to cut a long story short -
-100 big fat dollars to me.
Who said poetry didn't pay?
After performances, meet with Gem - you were there! - and have an all-too-brief chat about blogging and poetry. Hope to see you again soon, Gem! Also there is Henry, a one-time philosophy student who once featured in a short-film directed, written, produced, (and still unedited) by me. It's about a man-eating jelly, and Henry played the social-worker who finally got the best of the jelly.
After poetry - To Chinatown with Aaron and Lucille to get some dinner.
I fumble over a pair of chopsticks for mere seconds before Aaron gets fork and spoon for me.
Then back to their flat in Neutral Bay at 2.30 and - crash.
Sunday - Ah, 7.00am, an excellent time to go back to sleep.
Ah, 8.30am, 'tis a fine time to begin reading Andromeda Spaceways.
Ah, 9.30am, hopefully they'll be up soon and we can all get some breakfast.
Hmmm, 11.00am, for some reason I'm thinking about chocolate. Maybe it's those chocolate bars on the table over there? Mustn't take without asking! Stop it! Get back to your magazine!
Hmmmm, 12.00pm, best not wonder what the hell they're doing. And stay away from that chocolate...
12.30pm, okay, just two. Maybe four. Probably more.
1.00pm - Aaron gets up and promptly crashes on couch. Lucille comes out shortly afterwards. We can hear her slippers slide officiously on the floor, shhhhp shhhhp shhhhp shhhhp shhhhp shhhhp shhhhp as she goes about performing various homely tasks. Why yes thanks Lucille we'd love some lunch!
2.00pm - lunch, one of the four most important meals of the day! Damn, I like what you did with those mushrooms, Lucille!
3.00pm - Lucille crashes on couch finally. Yes, it is good to be lazy.
4.00pm - Should I get going soon?
4.45pm - HAILSTORM! Aaron comes out from brushing his teeth and says, 'Seegh? Haigl!' and makes himself sound like a Nazi.
5.00pm - We go out to have a look what happened, slide in the streets, etc.
5.20pm - To the bus stop. Aaron makes himself look like a Nazi again when he salutes the bus-driver. We all look out the window as we go past the parks, white with hail. It's like - well, it's like Christmas in September! There are kids, parents - there's even a couple smooching.
6.20pm - Newcastle train - and home.
Now I sit here blogging, replete with pizza and good cheer, and you have the whole story. Do with it what you will!
Update - I tell a lie. To be perfectly accurate, I scored the runner-up prize (one of two). Click here for a review.
Saturday, September 04, 2004
Anyway, he'll keep you updated...
Friday, September 03, 2004
I was on the bus the other day going up Hunter Street and I press the button to get out at the TAFE college.
The bus driver looks up at me before I step out and says,
"This is not one of my favourite bus stops, mate."
Or how about the one where...
The Blue Ribbon buses go from Newcastle to Raymond Terrace every day, about once every hour. Because they have a big distance to cover and because relatively few people use them, you have to wave them down.
So I step out on the road and wave my hand at the bus driver.
He waves back....
Plumbing New Depths...
I'm waiting at the bus stop. Lots of people are waiting at the bus stop. There's no bus.
And then I say what could possibly be the longest vulgarity I have ever uttered, a huge polysyllabic phrase consisting of 2 swear words, two colloquialisms, and one count of blasphemy.
Plumbing new depths of locrassity, that is.
The best bus drive in the world
"Looks like it's going to be a quiet one," says the bus driver to me. The rest of the bus is empty.
I've just told him where I'm working at the moment - as a casual writing reports for an investigations firm in Newcastle, about people who make insurance and workers compensation claims.
"Yeah," I say.
"If there isn't anybody on the bus when we reach Hunter Street, we might just go your way."
"I want to get home." he goes on.
At Kahiba, some people get on.
"Good. Now there are more people on the bus I can drive faster."
I tell him about my brother who worked at a piggery in Victoria.
"He stayed on his own for a long time, didn't know many people down there."
"Everybody needs to stay on their own at some point in their life."
"Well... how do I put it? At some point in their life, everybody becomes fascinated by ... evil."
"Yeah. They become fascinated with what they're capable of. And it's usually best that they stay away from others."
We reach Charlestown. Still more people get on. While he's getting some of their tickets, I look up at his photograph on the wall but I can only make out a number.
"Ah, we're all just a number, mate," he says when I mention it.
Casting about for something to talk about, I mention the election.
"Well," he says, "John Howard's already given us bread, circuses, and wars. I wonder what else people want?"
We reach Hunter Street.
"If there's nobody at this bus stop, mate," he says, "I'll drive the other way."
There isn't. Five minutes later he drops me off right where I want to be.
"Tim," I say to him as I leave.
"John," he says. "See you later!"
Update: I forgot the punchline...
Same bus trip - John mentions that he probably won't be driving for much longer, that his eyesight is getting too poor.
"So ... what will you do when you quit bus-driving?"
"Dunno. Guess I might ... take to the streets."
"Yeah?" I consider what to say to this. "Sounds like a lucrative profession..."
Then he gives me a sly look.
"Might even take out one of those workers compensation claims..."
Let me know of your own most-favourite/least-favourite trips on public transport...
Tim, your links stink, you fink!
- John Bangsund's Threepenny Planet
- Broken Biro
- Poetry 24
- Superlative scribbles
- Kirstyn McD!
- Rorrim a tsomla almost a mirror
- More Sterne
- Cam the man from the Dan.
- Too hot to Raaaaaaandallllllll!
- Erin's Excellently Everlasting Effervescements!
- Slammy Infamy
- Hail Paco!
- Baron Blandwagon, purveyor of cyberbunnies, hawker of Roger Corman, and Misruler of the Multiverse
- The Bolta. Aiyeeeeee!!!!!
- Bad Apple Audrey
- The cartoon church
- Sir Martinkus
- A Zemblanian abroad and at home
- A hodge podge of hotzeplotz
- THE SLAMMA!
- Jottlesby's nottings, or should that be Nottlesby's jottings?
- The Snarking of the Hunt
- Jazzy Hands
- David of Metal City
- David the Barista
- The Blogger on the Cast Iron Balcony
- Be an Opinion Dominion Minion!
- ... and Fel
- His brilliant career - from whale sushi to crumbed prawn
- Jo Blogs
- Yet another Tim
- Was two peas, now three peas
- ... Still Life - now with extra rotating cats!
- An Amazingly Awesome Australian Ampersand!
- Blink and you'll miss 'er
- Red in the land of the tigers!
- Wire of Vibe
- Chase him, ladies, he's in the cavalry!
- The Non-palindromical Editrix in Germanium
- Old Sterne
- The briefs...
- ... and the brieflets
- The Purple Blog
- Blairville, lair of all that is wicked and perfidious
- The enticingly acronymical CSH
- EXTREEEEEEEME WYNTER!
- Mark of California
- Silent Speaking
- Lexicon the Mexican
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