Progress

So they replace all the jokes with buildings,
All the stories with apartments,
All the songs with skyscrapers.
Dreams knocked down.
Thoughts cleared and sold,
To wise investors.

Here's My Folio.

So let's get down to it.
Here it is.
It's full of ideas, see.
I can do this job.
I'm proven.
Dynamic.
A hot creative.
But really, let's stop flirting.
I want this job now,
Not for awards,
Or to sell at the zeitgeist.
I just want money.
So one day soon,
Somebody can call me
Dad.

Two Sleepy People

Sleeping light breath,
Under my chin to throat.

I watch.
Breath cool, slight mint.

And at our toes, The Crystals sing,
"There’s no other like my baby."

Normal Service To Resume As Soon As Possible

I'm heading for a fall soon so I'll have heaps of tedious stuff to post.

Stay tuned.

Dancing Underneath The Starry Skies

Insomnia And The Man

There comes a time in every man's life,
Where he must TAKE A STAND.
And after many nights listening,
To the night become
Morning.
The man becomes
Child
To regret.


(draft)

Spring

Spring is on and wannabe lovers are taking risks.

Fuck.

That.

I'm going to tear some shit up

like a vandal.

Onward And Homeward

I drove home tonight
Without fear
Or regard for safety.

I got home
sooner
and
sadder.

Sample Phrases From A Troubled Time

How do you sleep at night?
I'm scared you won't need me.
What more could happen?
I don't believe this.
If only.
You're just not listening.
What's with that?
You're obsessed.
We need to have a talk.
It's always my fault.
It can only get worse from here.
Look at the bright side.
It's up to you.
I never thought you were capable of this.
You had to put the guilt trip on me.
We bring out the worse in each other.
There's no need for all this.
No, it's not your fault.
I can't fucking believe all this.
Don't go anywhere, I'll meet you there.

Do I Got A Chance With You?

Do I got a chance with you?
If I cut my hair and wear a shirt,
If I run round blocks and do push ups,
If I read big books and talk all nice,
If I wake up early and run home late,
Do I got a chance with you?

Do I got a chance with you?
If I wear plaid hats and dance in clubs,
If I sleep on trains and avoid the bus,
If I eat green beans and drink strange whites,
If I play backgammon and avoid pub pool,
Do I got a chance with you?

Do I got a chance with you?
If I wait.
If I hope.
If I want.
If I forget.
Do I got a chance with you?

With Friends Like Mine Who Needs Enemas

I wish my friends were socks and I could throw them all out and start again.

To Sleep

Take page from notebook.
Write the word, hope on the page.
Fold page to half the size of an apple.
Sleep with the folded page inside your pillow case.

Middle Urban Calamity #1

He said it. Once. Twice. Too many never agains and this is it, once and for alls.

“I’m going to quit this girl. She’s dumb as bat shit. I don’t care. I don’t care. I gotta quit this girl. She’s thick but fuck, she roots like fuck and wants to root all the time. I like that bit. I like that bit a lot.”

But the thick young girl was a witch and she was going to drop him in the shit like you wouldn’t believe. He’d be hung out to dry with nowhere to go, looking like a complete dickhead.

That or she’d love him.

Nothing would be worse.

There's A Rugged Road

by Judee Sill

There's a rugged road on the prairie
Stretchin' all across the last frontier
There a stranger strives solitary
Blessed is the lonesome pioneer
Roll on, roll on, roll on
Night birds are flyin'
Come on, the light is gone
Hope's slowly dyin'
Tell me how you come ridin' through
Still surveyin' the miles yet to run
On the long and lonely road to kingdom come

He can blaze a trail, though the rumblin'
Dims his guiding light to just a spark
When the hour is low, he comes tumblin'
When the moon is high he gives his heart

Roll on, roll on, roll on
Night birds are flyin'
Come on, the light is gone
Hope's slowly dyin'
Tell me how you come ridin' through
Gainin' steady till this round is won
On the long and lonely road to kingdom come

People far below chasin' pleasures
Offer him directions on the run
Prophets on the path offer treasures
Though she's mighty hungry he takes none

Roll on, roll on, roll on
Night birds are flyin'
Come on, the light is gone
Hope's slowly dyin'
Tell me how you come ridin' through
Blindly faithful but followin' none
On the long & lonely road to kingdom come

When the sun goes down at the right time
She comes windin' through the purple haze
Just a feather's touch in the night time
But it'll color all my weary days

Shinin' finer than this earthly sun
On the ragged rugged road to kingdom come
On the ragged rugged road to kingdom come

From her 1973 album, Heart Food.

A Synopsis

Hall wanders through as witness to so many middle urban calamities. Fights in pubs, domestic punch ups, cheating, begging, fist jobs, lovers, patsies, scoundrels, embezzlement and songs.

So many songs where Hall goes to sleep praying to the songs in so many keys, words, meaningless words, in meaningless songs which make sense only after he's heard the song 100 more times because he shudders and stops.

Everything means nothing to him and everything to everyone else.

Today Hall lusts for a patient. It's happened before but today is today.

The day I start to write.

A big day because Hall wonders. Is virtue its own reward? Or is it time to push virtue away and punch it again when it leaps forward at his face.

Because virtue is a cunt and Hall is tired.

Tired, foolish today and sad.

Because tonight, when virtue sobs, Hall decides tonight is all.

Tonight's the night.

Tonight's the night.

I start to write.

Recent Titles For Things I Couldn't Be Arsed Writing

When driven by jealousy your car has a tendency to oversteer.

You made your bed, now lie about it.

It it goes unchecked, I may fall for her.

On average, a man falls in love 17 times a day.
A woman, however. Doesn't.

The Mule And The Bracelet

About six years ago I found my girly a very old bracelet. This is its story.

"Where did I come from?" said the bracelet.

The little sign in the shop next to the bracelet said something like Adriatic 3000 BC. Not a lot of information but enough for some research to take place. I rang some people. I visited some libraries. I did some work on the net.

Didn't get too far at all until I received a strange little phone call.

"May I speak to a Mr Peters?"

"Yep, speaking."

"Could I meet you on the Parliament steps in an hour and a half?"

"What about?"

"The bracelet."

Click!

I meet the guy. never know how to meet strangers on these occasions. You walk around with the silliest look on your face, holding stuff in a peculiar way to get the right person's attention. Teh job was cut. A gentleman of Indian extraction, wearing cowboy gear, yes the whole lot, Stetson, boots, shirt, string tie, ushers me to the main bar of the Windsor.

Pretty plush in there, isn't it?

He tells the story.

"Back before Jesus was a boy, there was a boy named Helmut, whose best friend was Alan, his trusty old mule. Alan loved music. Every time the friends would walk past the bloke at the fair playing the lute, Alan would let out this big grin and shake his head from side to side. Helmut would blush at his mate's enthusiasm. Alan was a mate but they were not that close.

For the rest of the day, Alan would be all dreamy. Helmut couldn't make any sense of Alan. They had to go home as it was quite frustrating.

One afternoon Helmut's parents bought over a present. A grand piano!!! They dropped it in. It fit well in the sunroom. "Here's your present. Take lessons! See ya!"

Helmut was thrilled for about twenty seven minutes. He would play all these bum notes and then complain, "They got me a dud one!"

Alan walks in. "No, Helmut. You got it all wrong. it's just that you are a crap piano player. Move over, I'll show you."

"But Alan, you have no fingers. You are a Mule. Mules can only play chopsticks!"

"You have a point. Wait. I'll look for some gloves. Where do you keep them?

"You should know by now. Under the bloody stove!"

Alan finds the gloves and slaps 'em on. "Move over 'Mut."

Alan squeezes into the chair, looks around. "Did you get sheet music with this thing? Helmut passes over Liszt's unfinished symphony and Alan starts playing it. As he gets to the tricky third section, his grin loses control. His teeth begin to rattle rattle rattle. Head shakes.

His teeth are dancing!

Alan is in heaven and his teeth are dancing to the stars.

Twinkle twinkle little teeth,
Gums a dance floor underneath,
Twinkle twinkle little teeth,
Dance and fall out just like Keeth. (Richards that is. You know when he greets Mick and the boys in the I'm just waining on a friend film clip. It's a stagger and you don't know whether he'll stay up but for Keeth it's so very natural.)

"And that's the story."

"But what has that to do with the bracelet?" I asked the Indian cowboy.

"Nothing mate. I just thought you liked stuff like that."

"Oh yeah, you're right. I do. Hey, bats!"

The Indian cowboy looks for the bats behind the bar.

I scamper.

Lennox Street Stories: The First

How do you tell if the person you're speaking to is on smack? Wait two or three minutes and they will tell you.

It wasn't until our third night out when Amy told me her dad was a killer. We were walking down Lennox in Richmond, down fifty from The London when she told the story.

"First he killed the woman he was with at the time. I never liked her. She wouldn't talk to me on the phone when I used to call him. He killed her with a hatchet."

"Then he came after us."

I remember gazing into a public phone box, then her short skirt, leg, to her neat Doc Marten boots.

"He stormed into our house yelling all this crazy stuff. And then pushing at Mum. My big brother, Steve got between them and they started punching each other and Steve fell and one thing leads to another and Dad pulls out the hatchet from the shed. He swung at Mum, hitting her in the tummy and her chest and then the police came."

"And that's why I think I have trouble trusting guys."

It was our third night out.

Pink Flag

Another Friday night.
I'm strutting through The Glen shopping centre
Listening, and I'm the only one in here doing this,
Listening to Wire's Pink Flag record on the ipod.

Did the same, listening to Wire on the walkman seventeen years ago.

But tonight I'm uppity
And pissed off
With
The Three Chord Rhumba.

A Friday Night.

I took her on the Geelong train to show how we do a night on the turps in Melbourne. A simple plan. We get picked up at the station, drop our shit back at me family house, meet some mates somewhere on the Glen Waverley line, off at Spencer Street and then to the Carron Tavern. The BeeHive. A night of the coolest back then 60’s stuff dj’ed by public radio “celeb”, DJ. So fucking cool the music he plays. The Doors, The Kinks, The Stones and shitloads of Beatles. Shitloads of Beatles. I Wanna Hold Your Hand. He could even make you believe Neil Diamond was cool. Yeah, Sweet Caroline. Play Sweet Caroline for our friend Carolyn. I dare you to go up there and request it. Come on. Do it for Carolyn. Do it for me. But doesn’t the DJ try to crack onto 18 year olds like me who go up there and ask for The Doors? Doesn’t he?

And tonight was going to be special. A friend of James or someone said he was going to bring some mushrooms. Yeah, mushrooms. All nighters on amateur speed and mushrooms. Love it. Love it. We’re going to laugh so much. It might get crazy out there. I reckon tonight’s going to be the night. As long as someone’s bought some port or something. I might have to raid the cabinet.

So me and her are in the back of Dad’s car just picked up from Spencer Street. Snug back there. Hands lightly touching. Mum, Dad, this is Andrea. Nice to meet you. Yeah, lives in Geelong with her mum and we’re in the same psych class. We’re meeting Nic and Stew later.

"Glenn. "

"Sorry Andrea about this. Glenn. Matthew. Matthew Lloyd."

"Yes. What about him."

"Matthew took his life on Monday night."

"The funeral was yesterday. "

"We couldn’t call you because you have no phone in your place in Geelong. No, we decided it was best we didn’t tell you and leave it until the weekend. "

"How did…."

"He locked his garage and led a pipe from the exhaust into his car. The funeral was very sad. John and Judith were devastated."

"Sorry you had to be here for this, Andrea. Glenn and Matthew have been…. Matthew is I mean was Glenn’s closest friend since kindergarten. "

Poor Andrea held my hand tight while I watched two raindrops race each other to the window seal.

It's Hard To Kiss A Girl Goodbye When You're Wearing A Bicycle Helmet

I ride this night,
From Darley Street,
Into headwind.

Past Bellbird Cresent,
With rain in my eyes,
Crossing the creek by Tora Place.

Jeans soaked heavy,
Through Warrinda Way, Waterfall Avenue,
Singing loud.

Down Starkey Street’s big hill,
Breathless,
To Killarney Heights.

Topics Of Conversation

I have a friend and we talk about football, other sports and our families but mainly we talk about the Collingwood Football Club. I have another and we talk about music and the movies, but there’s not a movie we agree. Another friend and I talk about books, laugh and pun about our bedraggled lives. One friend and I, together we see music’s little things and share our contempt for grown ups. Another friend and I yell and joke like the best jazz you’ve ever heard. One friend and I mostly talk of the past. Sadly, with another friend we’ve spoken too much.

And there's another, I like best to listen.

Fuckwits & Strangers

Sharks swimming in their own spit,
With their mighty come-ons and hairy touch,
They look up and down,
And comment.

Loving the game and pissing on the meek,
Who wouldn't love their attention?

Rick Got Stabbed And Spent The Next Six Months In Hospital. I Met Him Two Years Afterwards On A Pier At Night.

"You write? What books? Magazines? Poetry?"

"Yes."

"Once I wrote a poem and read it to a mate who said he’d heard it before and I must have stolen it from a magazine or something so I threw it out. I must have heard it before and now I don’t remember any bit of it. I’d been on the cones, sitting with me old farm dog, Rhett here, good dog I think he likes you, and was looking into the sky and the trees, listening to the trout splashing in the almost darkness jumping for bugs like they do at that time of night. Be fucked what I wrote in my poem. It’s all lost now.”

"It’s okay because poems are in the wind."

"What?"

"And you grab at them from the wind like a trout would a nymph."

"Fuck. You just said something. I’m not trying to piss in your pocket or anything. But I think you just said something that’s true. Let me shake your hand. Shit. Hold on a second.... Yeah, you’re right. Let me shake your hand."

Brian Eno, The Lyricist

Here's lyrics to a beautiful piece which appears on his 1975 album, Another Green World.

I'll Come Running
Brian Eno

I'll find a place somewhere in the corner,
I'm gonna waste the rest of my days,
Just watching patiently from the window,
Just waiting, seasons change, some day, oh oh,
My dreams will pull you through that garden gate,

I want to be the wandering sailor,
We're silhouettes by the light of the moon,
I sit playing solitaire by the window,
Just waiting, seasons change, ah hah, you'll see,
Some day these dreams will pull you through my door,

And I'll come running to tie your shoe,
I'll come running to tie your shoe.

Wish I wrote that. It's so so right.