I can’t wait until another year.
Another year is all it will take.
I want to tear you down and walk amongst the rubble.
One more year.
I’ll be so new and nice.
You won’t even know me no more.
I can’t wait until another year.
Kathy always thought she was the forest floor without the movement.
Birds and various other creatures would scratch and pick at her skin but never really knew her intimately.
Kathy often wished a foal would desecrate her, anything that gave way to a moment between her and a living creature – a warm, loving moment between her and something real.
Hidden from the outside world underneath a blanket of damp muddy leaves Kathy longed for the light and warmth.
Time and time again Kathy was left wanting as chimps descended from the canopy only to relieve themselves in the Ghioug river.
Creatures of all sizes gathered at its stern bank to trade and groom. She watched from harmless distances as they washed in its consuming waters.
Oh how she dreamt of being the river. The mighty Ghioug river!
It’d been a terrible day.
George had hit on her again, this time in the staff kitchen.
She thought about Grima, the one man in her office she did fancy.
He had a broad chest which forced his shirt to strain at the buttons.
She imagined ripping the shirt open.
She didn’t give a damn about the buttons.
She wanted him to violently throw her onto his desk and suck selfishly at her breasts.
Her lip slid slowly from under her teeth.
Passengers opposite were staring.
The fire’s creeping up on the west side of the property; it’s roaring like a steam train.
The horizon’s a deep orange, dark and fierce as I’ve ever seen.
Above the cracking and splintering of the flames I hear the door open.
“Would you like a cuppa?” she asks.
I lean back in my boots, stretching out my arms.
“Trev” she repeats raising her voice “would you like a cuppa?”
The porch creaks under her feet.
She puts a hand on my shoulder as she’s done many times before; I tense up like an old bull.
More often than not I’ve sat on this porch wondering what runs through the woman’s mind. Sometimes a bloke needs to be left alone.
Down the back corner some roos jump east towards Barks creek. The fire must be scaring the shit out of them.
“We’ll have to leave soon” she says.
“That’s the bleeding obvious, isn’t it?”
Shrugging free I head down to the shed. I hear Ed’s collar and claws scrape the deck.
The northerly’s blowing ash into the yard. Can’t be too far away now.
I’m gunna be sad to see this lot go up. These gums must be 100 years old. They’re tall bastards too; in strong wind they’re real dangerous. One night one of them gave way, dropping right next to the shed. It’s lucky the cows were in the paddock or there would’ve been meat everywhere.
“Trev” she yells, running towards me.
“Fucks sake woman, what is it now?”
“We have to go” she says, catching her breath.
“Just calm down”
“Trev!” she squawks.
Ed and I jump with fright.
She begins to sob and falls to ground, her dress pulling tight against her knees and waist. Hair drops over her face like an upturned mop.
She’s just like an old gum in the wind.
Ed jumps excitedly around her.
“Fuck off” she screams, slapping his two front legs from underneath him.
He yelps and bolts for the porch.
“I can’t do this anymore Trev”
I stub my smoke and look down on her.
“What the hell do ya mean?”
“This.” she says impatiently. “Everything. I’m not doing this anymore.”
She slides her hair behind her ears looking me in the eye.
Turning away, I notice the black horizon.
She must’ve seen it too.
“We have to go” she says standing up, brushing herself down.
I stare at her, unmoved, shaking my head as she passes.
“Come on Ed!” I yell, signalling the ute’s tray.
I start the engine and light a smoke.
She gets in and shuts the door without saying a word.
She doesn’t look at me.
Rain crashes; puddles forming where the sewer can’t handle the immediate flow of water. The reflecting traffic lights are broken by a wading businessman.
Greyscale faces are framed by beanies and scarves. Each face lonely and disinterested. Steam rises from their gaping mouths. They cough and splutter mucus on every immediate thing.
Tyres hiss as they pierce the sliding water. The bouncing lights dance and shuffle their way down the rush and into the sewer.
Horns sound in the distance.
Biting southern winds lift the trailing mist and blow it across my face.
Closing my eyes, I leave the moisture to run down my face and drip from my chin.
Minutes pass. I slowly emerge from a cold wet trance.
Across the way stands a department store; its gaping mouth sucking at everything that dares pass its lips.
Inside, neon lights fuse with the constant beats bulging from each store.
Dancing, sidestepping, I narrowly miss hoards of made up women.
I imagine maggots crawling from their skin.
Thousands of maggots falling from the pores of made up women.
Each step sounds like the bite of a crunchy breakfast cereal; deafening, uneven, uncomfortable to hear.
Each step killing a thousand pores.
I picture them dancing to soulless music, applying make up to their decaying faces, swinging their heads; flowing hair falling over their shoulders.
Spurts of giggles explode from their throats.
Clumps of lave spew into the sink.
A night in the muck suits me much more than another second here in the lights of the beast. I want to burst out of its belly and feel the oily water splash and soak on my jeans as I run from thought.
Torrents of filth engulf the streets. Smells wash through the sewers, carrying me, making me unfathomable to other living souls.
Baptise me in the filth.
It sits alone in a pool of salty grease.
It looks good, real good.
I watch her hands fold and gesture as she speaks.
What would she do if I picked it up with my hands?
Would she think me uncouth?
She studies it, looks back at me, and bites her nail.
I pour another glass of water.
She begins talking about work.
Placing both elbows on the table, I lean over it; guarding it.
“Can you please get some more water?” she asks.
I peer at her suspiciously.
Hesitantly swinging around, I gesture the waiter.
Turning back; she’s smiling, blinking slowly.
Like a cat in sunlight, she looks warm and content.
“I love you” she says sliding down into her seat.
“I love ……”
The plates empty.
“It was good” she says.
Johnny lay back on the grass.
The air was humid, his singlet stuck to the small of his back.
The view of the stars was blocked by the tall wild heads. They swayed and danced in the breeze, not settling on any god damn angle.
In his mind he’d been here before, alone, pondering thoughts and actions from the past.
The past happened over and over. Over and over it ran through his mind.
He swore he was going crazy.
Three damn weeks he’d been feeling like this and that was after the torn, worn out saga of painful jaggered communication.
He hated her. He hated himself for loving her.
He was falling out of love with her.
A little of what they shared died inside of him each day. It fell like ash onto his soul. He was sick of the torment, of feeling guilty, of feeling something for her that she didn’t share, that she didn’t return.
Time apart – initially while he was away, and then while she took leave.
Different paths they had taken far away from one another.
All her words of kindness lingered on like a bad smell in a lift.
How dare she do this to him, how dare she do this?
Cut contact 100%. Cut contact 100%.
A week’s stay at the Royal Woman’s hospital changed Tina’s life forever.
After being date raped by a former partner and admitted into emergency, it was Nurse Wade Douglas who looked after her.
“She was smitten right from the start.” explained bridesmaid Jenny.
Tina looked stunning in her black wedding dress with matching Jim Beam purse.
Wade was not to be outdone in his tailored muster uniform and Bunderburg cufflinks.
“We had to get ‘em specially made mate.” boasted Wade, “It took us 3 hours of searching ‘round Highpoint to finally realise they weren’t an off the shelf number!”
Tina’s father Jimmy was as proud as punch.
“I finally reckon she’s gotta good. Wades a great bloke, really down to earth and he cooks a mean curry” explained Jimmy to confused onlookers.
Wade’s father Craig was equally as proud and showed it by driving Tina to the Reservoir chapel in his restored 1991 Holden Clubsport.
The couple plan to spend their two week honeymoon in Bangkok if Wade’s drug eviction can be overturned in time.
It started at Jim Morrison;
lead to Jack Kerouac;
lead to On the Road;
lead to Hunter S Thompson;
lead to Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas;
lead to Gonzo;
lead to Jimmy Carter;
lead to Law Day address;
lead to this:
“The other source of my understanding about what’s right and wrong in this society is from a friend of mine, a poet named Bob Dylan. I grew up a landowners son. But I don’t think I ever realised the proper interrelationship between the landowner and those who worked on a farm until I heard Dylan’s record, ‘I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more.”
“In general, the powerful and the influential in our society shape the laws and have a great influence on the legislature or the Congress This creates a reluctance to chance because the powerful and influential have carved out for themselves or have inherited a privileged position in society, of wealth or social prominence or higher education or opportunity for the future.”
“Dr.Martin Luther King, Jr., who was perhaps despised by many in this room because he shook up our social structure that benefited us, and demanded simply that black citizens be treated the same as white citizens, wasn’t greeted with approbation and accolades by the Georgia Bar Association or the Alabama Bar Association. He was greeting with horror. Still, once that change was made, a very simple but difficult change, no one in his right mind would want to go back to circumstances prior to that juncture in the development of our nation’s society.”
It’ll take the shine right off your shoes,
the bedroom blues.
The Stones sung it, let it loose, let it all come down.
The bedroom blues.
Let it loose, let it all come down.
I’m not in love, I’m not in love.
It’ll take the shine right off your shoes,
these bedroom blues.
Hank Moody weather.
Shirt right off ya back.
These bedroom blues.