Love And Sedition, Aussie American Style

Please God, let me hate.
Let me hate and plot in good faith.
Let me plan vengeance and fire,
For I promise to target only those on the fringes,
We know you only help those who pray,
And for that I thank you.

I Guess I'm Using The Wrong Bait

And she said
don't you worry
there's plenty more fish in the sea.

And I fish
and I fish
and I never catch nothing.

And I said
but I do worry
you were my only porpoise.

And I fish
and I fish
and I never catch nothing.

Check the bait.
Not even a nibble.

And I fish
and I fish
and I never catch nothing.

My Gambling Problem

Lucky I don't gamble
Because
I'm the most unlucky

Man alive.

You Know Where You Pick Up A Barracouta?

Grimy, tanned and wearing a FUBU wind jacket. Very low St Kilda.

"I'm 44 and haven't worked for over three years. I used to work at Fawkner Cemetery. I was a landscape gardener."

"Yeah, I dug graves. What do YOU reckon?"

He didn't look 44.

"I got a redundancy. You know what a redundancy is? Now I go fishing. What else is there to do?"

The two fish in his bucket were drastically undersized. He said he was going to eat one and the other, he would give to his mother.

"I've got no friends."

I thought he was talking about bait and he wanted bread. "You've got no bread? I've got some. Want some pipis?"

"I've got no friends."

Instead he was setting the bait. "But you have family," I said. "What about your sister, your mother?"

"My sister? She's gone years ago. And you know what my mother says? What she said to me this morning? Why don't you go fishing? And where do you pick up a barracouta?"

Back to fishing talk. I've heard him give the tip already five times. His look was stern as if I'm the bad son."No, where do you pick them up?"

"The GILLS..... The GILLS. You pick up barracoutas by the GILLS. Anywhere else is too dangerous."

A Poem By Spike Milligan

Welcome Home
by Spike Milligan

Unaware of my crime
they stood me in the dock.

I was sentenced to life....
without her.

Strange trial.
No Judge.
No Jury.

I wonder who my visitors will be.


From Spike's 1979 collection, Open Heart University.

A Prayer For Parties

I'm so tired. I had a big night at Tommy from Leigh's band's party on Wednesday night. There was this guy there who kept following me around all night.

He wouldn't stop touching me. My shoulders. My hips. His fucking slimy paws all over me.

I really wish I didn't wear that skirt.

He wouldn't take a hint and I got really sick of it so I told him - if you don't get out of my space I'm going to fucking glass you.

I mean there's rules to flirting and I wasn't having a bar of him. I might have laughed at one of his jokes earlier in the night but that doesn't mean I want to fuck him.

I hate guys like that.

I was only at the party because Leigh's drummer was going to be there.

And he didn't even show up.

He told Tommy he would.

I hate guys like that.

Vitamin D On My Arms

The sunny day’s laugh grates like showbiz conversation.

I'm Forever Flowing Troubles

blowing bubbles, originally uploaded by mrfink.

Photo taken earlier this year in Mozambique by good friend and World Vison bloke, Adam Valvasori.

Love Is Bad

It's got so bad,
You're making me want,
To hate,
John Lennon.

Loving is living,
Living love.

It's got so bad,
You're hurting me so,
By doing,
Nothing.

Love is needing,
To be loved.

A Poem I Try To Recite When I'm Drunk But All Ways Get A Little Bit Wrong, Enough To Make An Arse Of Myself

Arse of myself? Who recites poetry? Who do I think I am? Stephen Friggin' Fry?

The Red Wheelbarrow
William Carlos Williams

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

Together

"Triangles make me stronger" the bridge boasted to the amoeba.

"But you are me now," the amoeba replied.

"No I'm not."

"You always were."

You Are Who You Meet

And I read somewhere that The Who live in Leeds.

Running Out

Running out of patience.
Running out of time
Running out of petrol.
Running out on time.
Running out of you.
Running out on me.
Running out.
Running out of ideas.
Running out on me.
Running out of me.
Running out.
Running.
Out.

The Magic Chord

She was as pretty as a D-Chord. But like the note she was played only when he had nothing better to do.

Collins St, 5pm by John Brack

Collins St, 5pm. John Brack, originally uploaded by glennpeters.

Public Telephone Coversation #9

Holmesglen?
Come home, Glenn.

That's What He Said

That's what he said,
He was always right,
Jasmine smells best,
At night.

Insomnia We Trust

The seventh doze off was peeved by the thought I lost her completely.
Check what's on.
A music clip.
A song she loves.
Does that mean anything or is it just mean?

The Art of Whining

If you really wanted to win lotto, you would be trying a lot harder.

And Then I Shot Him

There's nothing nice about prison except that it makes you stop running.

Hall's Gap

Hall was stuck holding up the Totem Pole. The pole faces were stern kitsch. Not hip kitsch. More hop kotsch, screaming, playful Martin Denny camp and as dangerous as a street juggler's autistic minder.
"You're either with us or against us!" cried the pole faces.
"What? You want me to join you freaks?"
"You must. You're one of us."
Hank Williams' Kawliga and Tennessee Williams' Mitch squeezed to give Hall some room.
Hall, confused, refused.

Let Me Eat Your Badly Packed Kebab

Sweat and fat. Ash tipping while you cut the tomato. I said I wanted garlic sauce. Why do you ask me again? What do you think I am. One of those guys who wants the chicken with no onions, no sauce and could you please cut that in half? I want it normal.
I'm really drunk and a little bit stoned but I'm not your bunny. I gave you a twenty, now I expect change.
Where is everybody?

To Sleep

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

My Weak End

It was a long weekend. Longer without Pretty.
Saturday morning I woke up with a bad back. I said to the bad back, "I can't remember bringing you home last night."
Bad back said, "But you did, Sir. But you did."
I went to the city. Bad Back insisted on coming.
Went to a party. Didn't see Pretty there for the first half hour. Everybody was awkward and wanted to talk about 'football' with me.
They weren't really talking about 'football'. There was a whole new conversation fluttering above.
Weak End ends.