Australia Postmodern

In the Australia Post office, desks and people were scattered over the floor haphazardly. A girl stood in one corner looking over various envelopes. Gone are the days when envelopes are used to put things in and send somewhere. Now, they have targeted audiences and specific purposes. The girl stood there for about five minutes, looking for an ordinary envelope.

Walking through the office, by the pens and CDs and folders and pamphlets and documents and important-looking stuff was a little like walking through a maze. Try as I might, I just couldn't find what I was looking for: an electoral enrolment form, and a passport application form. Maybe one of these days you'll need to have a passport to find the passport application form.

I couldn't even find a queue. Australia Post had dispensed with such bourgeoise traditional notions as 'queues' and 'customer service', it seemed. Instead, customers were made to stand about in abstract patterns, as if they were mimes doing an imitation of the Mandelbrot set. At least the girl in front of me had a nice arse.

Later, I left.

Australia Post: Making it Even Harder for You To Find Nothing At All.

Natalia's Head Bang

No, really, I am writing a novel, because I can, and I'm posting it on blogger, because I'm mad. Here's a poem I'm going to use somewhere in it, about one of my characters. While I'm typing it up, go there and read the latest installment in my, er, masterpiece.

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Natalia the beautiful!
Natalia the fair!
Natalia has ostriches
A-nesting in her hair!

She's a bad-ass! Yeah!
She's a bad-ass!

Natalia the elegant!
Natalia the svelte!
Part Indian, Part Eudaemonian,
Part Dravidian, part Celt!

She's a bad-ass! Yeah!
She's a bad-ass!

Natalia is tricky!
For once she used a chair
In a very cunning fashion
To entrap a grizzly bear!

She's a bad-ass! Yeah!
She's a bad-ass!

Natalia is naughty!
Natalia is mean!
For once she called Professor Galt
A silly old has-been!

She's a bad-ass! Yeah!
She's a bad-ass!

Natalia is horrible!
Natalia doesn't care!
She likes to look at antelopes
In women's underwear!

She's a bad-ass! Yeah!
She's a bad-ass!

Natalia can't remember
What Natalia can't forget!
So once she left her carrots out
And they got very wet!

She's a bad-ass! Yeah!
She's a bad-ass!

If you should meet Natalia,
Then you should be aware
That she is very partial
To eating fish with camembert!

She's a bad-ass! Yeah!
She's a bad-ass!

Natalia is pretty scary,
Let me tell you now!
For she once read Euclid's Theorems
To a rather restless cow!

She's a bad-ass! Yeah!
She's a bad-ass!

Natalia once kissed me
On a most amusing dare!
My heart beat twice as fast that day
And I had to take some air!

She's a bad-ass! Yeah!
She's a bad-ass!

Natalia is wonderful!
Natalia is great!
Though once she and a rabbit
Went out upon a date!

She's a bad-ass! Yeah!
She's a bad-ass!

Natalia is jolly good!
She's more nice than you can bear!
She's a very natty dresser!
Her stockings have such flair!
Natalia the beautiful!
Natalia the fair!

She's a bad-ass! Yeah!
She's a bad-ass!
Yeah!
Yeah!
Yeah!

Not-quite-great Moments in Science

An Eating of Minds

Still Lifes: could anything be stupider?

You want to eat the fruit, and yet you cannot. Imagine if I gave you a book I had written and told you to eat it. You wouldn't do that, now, would you? But artists who paint still lifes expect us to look at them and not want to eat the fruit. Artists are stupid.

I recommend that they paint pictures of nice indigestible things. Like boxes.

Or bottles of cyanide.

To A Pair of Shoes

I know I've neglected you, shoes. I know you do the best job you can and provide a safe and happy home for my feet. I really appreciate what you've done over the months that we've known each other, truly.

But then you started leaking. Really, shoes, that was most ungentlemanly of you. The clumps on the end of my legs that I refer to as 'feet' are not particularly fastidious, as a rule, but they don't particularly appreciate a moist climate.

And of late, shoes, I have noted various biological odours emanating from within your warm and spacious caverns. This is something that my feet are most picky about. At the beginning of each working day, they do not look forward to the prospect of probing into your nether regions, especially when said nether regions have become a haven for a whole host of other organisms. Let's be reasonable about this. Imagine if, at some point in the future, one of my feet were to invite a particular lady foot home for dinner and a spot of "the delicious act": how would she react to such an environment.

We've been through a lot, shoes, you and I. Mud puddles, for instance. Walks from Brunswick through to Coburg and Fitzroy. Streets and parks in both Newcastle and Melbourne. But I'm afraid we're going to have to part ways. I have found a more capacious home for my feet, and I'm afraid we're going to be moving there at the first opportunity. From now on, you will be employed in the more informal capacity of mantlepiece sculpture or flowerpot.

I'm sorry, shoes. It's not that I don't like you, it's just that I ... I mean, you ... I mean ...

Oh God, I'M JUST SO SORRY!!!!

By The Way

I'm writing a novel.

Post For People With High Self Esteem

But then again, maybe you shouldn't. After all, you're not really that brilliant. And let's face it: people will laugh at you. They always do.

Rextastic!!!

The first time I saw Inspector Rex, the show ended with him chasing down a criminal in a park. The appeal was simple and obvious. Rex was a big mean scary looking German Shepherd and you wanted to see him catch that criminal. Catch him Rex, catch him!!!

Inspector Rex - Kommissar Rex in the German (a much better title) could be boring. Some shows had Rex doing stupid little doggy tricks, like shaking peoples hands, or moving sticks about from one spot to another. Cute, but you can't sustain a show that is screened right across Europe and in Australia on that basis. What is interesting is the blood, the violence, and murder - and the German Shepherd on the side of law and order.

The best shows always have something slightly twisted about them. The killers make interesting case studies, with mother complexes and obsessive compulsive disorders, and paranoiac delusions aplenty. It's difficult to say which are the better of the Rex shows - the earlier ones, with Moser (the dashing detective with an eye for the ladies), or the later ones (where the romance between ever-so-sexy Niki and her male sidekick is positively sizzling*).

I tuned in tonight. It was good; it could have been great. A guy who owns a candy-shop catches a little girl and murders her. Or does he really? Is he covering up for someone? His wife?
The plot twists and turns quite effectively, but what does Rex do through all of this? Nothing. The most he has to do is bark and shift a seat off the top of a kid after a staircase has fallen on him.
I long for the days when Rex chased swarthy, felonious-looking men through shady city parks. Those were good times...

Ah, Rex. What is your secret? The almost-excellent production values, the mostly-quirky plot, the relatively-capable acting, the rather-clever scripting?

WOOF!

*Hey, he lays her in the first episode, how much more sizzling can you get?

Post For People With Low Self Esteem

YEEESSS!!!!!

Five Pieces for Arnold Schoenberg

1. Yesterday I got Arnold Schoenberg's Five Orchestral Pieces on CD. The music was conducted by Simon Rattle.

"Rattle's lyricism is tender and poignant,"

reads the description on the back of the CD.

"... with a fine balance between voluptuousness and real tenderness. Rattle caresses the Violins and fondles the Celeste and brings the wind section to a climax of melodious moaning. Then he bends the orchestra over the back of the podium and ..."

Okay. I made some of that up.

2. When he wrote the music, Arnold Schoenberg was facing a bleak, modernistic world of anarchy and chaos, stripped of faith, morality, order, and meaning. Nowadays, little old ladies listen to it mostly because it is nice and soothing.
I'm not sure which interpretation I prefer. Niceness and soothingness or bleakness and meaninglessness? They sound like pretty much the same thing.

3. Speaking of bleakness and meaninglessness, I was at Parliament station yesterday. It's not something I do very often, and yesterday I discovered why. It's so boring. You get off the train, and walk to the escalator, and then stand on the escalator for what seems like hours on end. You look at the walls, at the ceiling, at the other escalators, at the passengers, and then you realise that the ceiling is more interesting.
People stand about on the escalators in deathly silence. They stare, mostly at the backs of their eyes. T. S. Eliot, or Dante, or somebody comes to mind:

So many,
I had not thought death had undone so many ...

On the whole, I think the trip out of Parliament Station could be made much more exciting if, instead of sliding onto the floor, the escalator had terminated in a gaping black chasm of nothingness. I only hope that, as I slid into the void, I would have the presence of mind to shout, like the man in The Simpsons, "I REGRET NOTHING!", before the blackness swallowed me whole.

4. All this stuff about gaping black holes of nothingness reminds me, did I ever tell you about my work?

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5. Hey, look! It's a kitten hiding beneath a dandelion!

Satirising the Satirists

It's time to play 'Ridicule the Government By Posting A Letter With All The Meaningful Bits Left Out Of It' by Name Suppressed, of ACT!

I would like to comment on Australia's role in [ Censored by Australian Government, probable seditious comment] and our relationship with [ Censored by Australian Government, probable seditious comment] will probably fail.

If Australia is to [ Censored by Australian Government, probable seditious comment] with no [ Censored by Australian Government, probable seditious comment] of the world.

The other side of the equation, is of course, [ Censored by Australian Government, probable seditious comment] without exception then the [ Censored by Australian Government, probable seditious comment] allowing no [ Censored by Australian Government, probable seditious comment] by law!
Name Suppressed (Peter Willmott, Dickson, ACT)

Gosh, what fun. And now it's time to play 'Ridicule the Person Ridiculing the Government By Substituting Random Phrases For All The Bits That Had The Meaningful Bits Left Out Of It'!*

I would like to comment on Australia's role in The Inaugural Spaghetti Eating Competition and our relationship with The Judging Committee of this most important competition. Although they we have set ourselves high spaghetti eating standards, we will probably fail.

If Australia is to eat spaghetti with no thought of the digestive consequences it could mean the end, not just of our Intestinal tracts as we know it, but of the International Spaghetti Eating Competition, and even of the world.

The other side of the equation, is of course, spaghetti is so tasty and delicious, especially with a little grated parmesan cheese and a side serving of garlic bread. But if we eat spaghetti without exception then the international organisation of Rigattoni, Ravioli, and Other Non Spaghetti-related Pastas (RRONSP) may sue allowing no alternative than to defend our God-given spaghetti-eating rights by law!

Excellent. I think I should try and get a job as an official government propagandist.
*Hey, it's all I could come up with at 11.30 at night.

A Letter To Women

Dear Women of the World,

Greetings! We are a secret*Philanthropical International Organisation devoted to subjugating and oppressing you! We are known as - wait for it - The Patriarchy! You can find us in the phone book, listed under 'P', or in the yellow pages, listed under 'M' (for Misogynist).
That's right! We are the ones responsible for negative portrayals of women in the media! We are the ones who are impeding the advancement of women into politics! And we are the ones who are responsible for the objectification of women, and the relegation of them to domestic household roles! Aren't we clever?

But lately, we've been noticing a drop off in the levels of service we have been providing to your gender and to the community in general. Try as we might, we just haven't been able to oppress you as much as we'd like.
Therefore we'd like to ask you some quick questions:

1. Have you any comments about the activities of the Patriarchy in your town/city/state?

2. Can you think of any new and original ways in which the Patriarchy can oppress and objectify you?

3. How would you rate our current levels of oppression:

a) Very good
b) Good
c) Fair
d) Not good at all
e) Very bad.

We look forward to your responses! Please hand them into your husbands and they will deliver them on to us!
Sincerely,
You Know Who

*So promise not to tell anyone about us, cross your heart and hope to die!

UPDATE! You won't believe what just happened! A beautiful young woman just burst into my house and swept a motorcycle helmet off her head to reveal long, lustrous golden-brown locks of hair. I gazed in awe as she flung her head back and the sun rippled through her hair. I was on the verge of asking her if she used Pantene Pro-V when she then slapped me twice about the face and tied me into the chair with a whip. Then she threatened to castrate me if I did not write this post! It's TRUE!
I was forced to do it, forced to, I tell you!

Do You Have Your Devices Plugged In?

I think this was meant to be an interview with Margaret Atwood, but by slow degrees, it turns into something much more gruesome - and hilarious. I haven't read a word by Atwood, but if this interview is anything to go by, she must be freaking brilliant. I found it via a link on 'Blink and You'll Miss It.' Enjoy.

Matthew Fox: I encountered it in a Victorian literature class at Concordia. I really was struck by the way that "Great Aunts," your essay, reminded me of the end of The Mill on the Floss. There's a chapter where an aunt - very much unlike your own aunts, but an aunt nonetheless - turns around from being judgemental in order to support the central character. Like that, the message I got from your essay was that you were getting acceptance from a place called "home." Do you look for that sort of thing now? Where's home now?

Margaret Atwood: I'm too old for that.

MF: You're too old?

MA: How old are you?

MF: Twenty-seven.

MA: Well, just wait.

MF: Okay.

Memo to the Busker on the Corner of Swanston Street and Flinders Street

Good afternoon, young man. Every day I catch the 109 tram from work to the city, then walk two blocks to Flinders Street station. As I reach Flinders Street, I am greeted with your dulcet tones wafting through the evening air.
Now, it is not that I am unimpressed with your enterprise or work ethic. Please understand that I have nothing against you personally, and that I'm sure you have a very nice family. However, I am not altogether sure that you have fully grasped the concept of 'Music', as it is commonly known.

Certainly, you have learned the dominant-tonic chord progression well, and play this chord progression on your guitar all the fucking time as frequently as possible. I am sorry to be the one to break this to you, young man, but being able to play this chord progression does not, per se, make you a musician. Why not throw in a subdominant chord every now and then? Or how about a diminished seventh? Go on, be a rebel.

Nor is that all, I am afraid. Dare I mention the singing? I'm afraid I'm going to have to. I am more than happy to appreciate the many and varied musical uses of the human voice, from the lusty roar of the heavy metal singer to the subdued and pious chanting of the Gregorian Monk.
However, I am afraid that your 'singing', as you might like to call it, just doesn't cut it. There exists a very clear distinction between 'singing' and 'shouting', and I am afraid your voice, very clearly, falls into the latter category.

Finally, I must take particular issue with the words of your song. I understand that you may have had a hard life, and that you have an angry social message to deliver to the masses. Perhaps you think you are delivering a powerful prophetic message against the cold, hard modern world of capitalism.
Nevertheless, I fear that the word 'Fuck' is sadly lacking in melodious qualities; and that repeated use of the aforementioned word does not add to your song in any way.
Perhaps you feel that singing,

All coppers are fucked,
Fuck, coppers, fuck ...

is a cathartic exercise. However, I do feel that if you wish to advance in the musical arts, and add something to the rich store of musical treasures which have been given to us by the likes of Monteverdi, Vivaldi, Bach, Brahms, Schubert, Stravinsky, and many, many others, then you must try to be a little less liberal with the swear words.

I am aware of a song by Frank Zappa which goes this way:

My guitar wants to kill your mama,
My guitar wants to kill your mama,
My guitar wants to burn your dad,
I get real mean when it makes me mad.

I must congratulate you, young man, for striving to live up to the words of past masters like Zappa in such a forthright and aggressive manner. Nevertheless, after being forced into your company for the past few months as part of my daily transport schedule, I must inform you that music may not be the career for you. Perhaps you should take up other, more innocent, pursuits common to those of your age, such as spray painting walls, or stealing trams and going for joy rides.
Actually, I am willing to pay you if you do not sing like you have in the past. Indeed, I am willing to pay anybody on the streets if they do not sing like you have in the past. Although I realise this may be a rather expensive exercise, I do feel that it may be necessary for the future of music as an art.
Also, I won't get so bloody annoyed every time I head home from work.

Looking forward to not hearing you in the future,
Tim

Enema Of The State

Hope I'm not bumming you out with all of this. But, you know: colons are important ...

Hare To The Throne

Sorry to rabbit on about this, but I've got nothin' else to do ...

Roll Model

Because we all need a roll model to look up to.

The Dietary Habits of Young Males

To celebrate the fact that I have just eaten a whole bag of chocolate eclairs, I shall drink a beer.

That is all.

I'm As Slightly Miffed as Hell and I'm Not Going to Take It Indefinitely

Dear Mr Howard,

Greetings. I am the representative for the SLIGHTLY MIFFED SOCIETY, a progressive goup with the dedicated aim of DOING THINGS and DOING THEM AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, unless it is better not to do them.

Recently, we performed a survey on a subject we have been hearing a lot about lately: TERRORISM. That's right, terrorism.
Responses amongst the SLIGHTLY MIFFED SOCIETY were quite wide. They ranged from Vague Unease, through to Slight Anxiety, Mild Dislike, Not Quite Rightness, and a General Feeling of Dissatisfaction That Was Neither Here Nor There. We felt Slightly Better after sitting down and having a nice cup of tea, but only just.

Terrorism, we all felt, was something that was Not Very Nice, and that We'd All Be Very Much Happier If It Just Went Away.

In conclusion, Mr Howard, we DEMAND that you do something about our Slight Concern and you do it right now. Furthermore, we INSIST that you think, and think DECISIVELY, about doing something about terrorism.

Thank you.

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feedback@pm.gov.au
Subject:	PM Email: your message has been received
To:	seamussillypoppinsmajorus@yahoo.com.au

Your email to the Prime Minister has been received.

If you have supplied a postal address, a reply may be sent to you via
Australia Post. Your message may also be forwarded to other Federal
Ministers for their consideration.

Thank you.

18 Pointless Things People Do

1. Wear sunglasses at night.

2. Have a Chinese tattoo on their neck/thigh/breast, even though they do not understand one word of Chinese.

3. Vote for the Greens.

4. Call a number repeatedly but leave no message on the answering machine.

5. Own an answering machine but never listen to it.

6. Have a piano in their house while only knowing how to play the crumhorn.

7. Make facial expressions while talking on the phone and leaving messages on an answering machine that people never listen to.

8. Wear purple underwear even though they are a nuns.

9. Sit on public transport with hundreds of other people, yet never say a word to break the funereal silence.

10. Have a third hand but hide it from sight.

11. Have three dicks but only use two.

12. Attempt to train a wombat in steeple-chasing.

13. Write something that does not rhyme, scan, or have any lines, and call it poetry.

14. Write a suicide letter and not kill themselves.

15. Write a long essay about how they are going to kill the President of America and then not go through with it because they are an Australian.

16. Attempt to masturbate a dead rhinoceros.

17. Use apostrophes with felonious intent.

18. Grow broccoli.