Ancient Update

I TOLD YOU, YOU CAN GO ANYWHERE ON PUBLIC TRANSPORT! proclaimed my Facebook status update from twelve years ago. Where in the universe could I have gone that had me boldly declaring the magic of the local public transport system? Had someone told me it wasn’t possible to catch three trains and two buses to across the road from work that day? At first I couldn’t think of anything more intriguing than that.

Recalling events buried in the cobwebs of ancient history can be like trying to get hold of a mosquito that has mistaken your drink for a diving pool. If you try too hard to grip it, it retreats on a finger fueled current. Snatching at your memories doesn’t work any better than snatching at a cricket ball.

Eventually I recalled exactly what my enigmatic post was about. It was a reference to the last time I’d fallen asleep on the train and had a dream more vivid than waking life. I had rented a Back to the Future Three DVD the night before. Was that why the train had traveled in space and time after accelerating to eighty eight miles per hour? It finally came to a halt in a Martian museum, millions of years before the red planet was reduced to a deserted wasteland and intergalactic scavengers, such as Hans Solo and Chewbacca, removed all signs of its ancient civilization.

The Martian zoos were larger than their major cities and dominated by mega-fauna ranging from what looked like wombats the size of buffalo to surprisingly large specimens of Tyrannosaurus Rex. There were also hundreds of species of humanoids, some of which were amphibious. Most species lived on such large tracts of land they didn’t know they were in captivity. The tourists hovering overhead, on disc shaped viewing platforms, were their Gods.

The first hint it was all a dream was the remarkably Earth like gravity on a planet so vastly different in mass to Earth. The second hint was that English seemed to be the first or second language of most of the creatures I encountered, including the luminescent beetles that mined my ear wax and the arachnids that employed their curling antennae to fashioned afro wigs from my eyebrow trimmings.

Perhaps it was the Sydney Gay Mardi Gra that inspired the perpetual Martian street parades. There was always a ten mile long party going on somewhere. It was typically impossible to tell the cosplaying Martians from the intergalactic tourists. All the floats floated, there was nothing as quaint as wheels to be seen. Some of the participants appeared to be levitating without the aid of technology.

The ancient Martian equivalent to television more closely resembled astral travelling inside a story than the quaint virtual reality experiences of 21st century Earth. I was half way through a souvenir selecting expedition when the pointlessness of of the activity dawned on me. If I was dreaming, how was I going to take the eons old Martian coins, figurines and skull necklaces home?

By the time I awoke, the earthly train on which I was slumped over was stopping at Bomaderry Station, quite a distance south of Gosford, my intended destination. I had no memory of changing trains multiple times. My backpack was absurdly heavy, had someone filled it with bricks while I slept? It was full almost to the point of bursting. I heard what sounded like coins clinking together inside.

 

More

In the valley,
chainsaws roar like banshees lacerated by laryngitis.
“You’re going the wrong way,”
say mist shrouded cliff faces
painted red and black with torn corpses.
Landslide scarred trails
as coiled as suspension springs
guard windswept summits.
Nine inch thorns lurk in wheel ruts.
Weary travelers ascend on foot.

Before a hearth as old as mastery of fire
they mistake mischievous fungus
for a familiar delicacy.
Ceilings become floors
and the walls gateways to sensations
more familiar to bat scorpions
politely sipping the blood of platypus platoons.
The weary wanderers see the universe
through the eyes of supernovae,
and goblins on toad back
in the marshes of Merble.

In this enchanted hovel,
the five senses are merely the opening line
of an epic.

Reanimated

I felt as twisted as a plait,
as directionless as a jellyfish,
as drained as a sponge
left to rot in the dunes.
My muse had been missing for countless moons.
The girl in the library reanimated her.
She was as focused as Buddha,
as odd as Lady Gaga on LSD multiplied by three.
Every psychedelic wonderland in the universe
swims into this dimension
through her tears of mirth.

Morning Mayhem

Icy needles cease before the bucket is filled.
Dressing with eyes on the clock.
Bursting through the door like a riot squad.
Legs pumping, slipping, sliding
– rain-washed tarmac
shines like the Milky Way.
Accelerating as frantically
as a gold medal favorite in fourth.
Lungs desperately dragging oxygen
from diesel stained fog.

At the lights,
the bus is as still
as the corpse in the storm water drain.
Mercifully the doors fold open.
Aeons into the journey,
the work cancellation message arrives
as undetected as a ninja.

Gone

The kettle is hotter than lava.
and her pillow still warm.
Upon a coffee table as utilitarian as a cardboard box,
Morning Glory protrudes from a 1915 Coca Cola bottle.
Washington damning headlines
are as moist as the President’s eyes.
An abandoned chess match dominates the kitchen bench.
There’s puddles in the potplants.
The surveillance swarm can’t tell the eight ball
from the white.
Airport, bus terminal, taxi stand, car rental agency?
Which drain could could the whistleblower be navigating
like an Einsteinian rat?
Which forest swamp might she be drifting through
on a camouflaged barge?
Nobody knows which escape roulette to vet.

The Fundamentalist

There’s no time to suspect others are correct,
you’ve got common sense shrapnel to deflect
and blind assumption fueled attacks to direct.

Sharing lies beyond your comprehension,
you reside in the greed is good dimension.

According to your brain dead investigation,
democracy is lube for corporate domination.

Market forces, they’re your notion of divinity,
Rupert, Wall Street and cash are your trinity.

There’s no time to suspect others are correct.
you’ve got common sense shrapnel to deflect
and blind assumption fueled attacks to direct.

You are a moron we can’t help but resent,
you live to misinterpret and misrepresent.

An Experimental Opening

Mundane conversation starters, on online singles sites, are an underwhelming experience for women who are so burdened with admirers that they need a spreadsheet to keep track of them. Are they any fonder of extremely unusual openings? I decided to find out. Considering the sample size is one, further research may be required.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Hi, how are you? What’s your favourite means of expressing your creativity?
12/30/2019 7:45 PM

7:45 PM
For all I know you’re being bombarded with witty remarks from worldly and otherworldly men, so maybe I should try something different myself. I don’t have any one line lassos of love to launch your way but I do have a unique scenario to massage your imagination.

Which would you rather be, a species of hummingbird that cleans conjunctivitus from the eyelids of dragon synchronised flying troupes, or an ultra intelligent species of scorpion, that makes sculptures of its pets with a concoction of saliva and squid panda dung? Squid pandas look just like regular pandas, except for the tentacle skirt that makes them semi aquatic.
7:47 PM

Now I wait, to find out if the straightforward approach was better or not (-:
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

They say that madness is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result, so I tried something completely different. Apparently I over did it, at about 8:30PM I noticed the young lady had hit delete. If I was catapulted face first into the twilight zone, by a bizarre conversation starter, I’d be intrigued. I certainly wouldn’t be reflexively hitting delete. Did she believe she was being mocked, that she was talking to a time wasting joker or a mentally disturbed person? Reflexively hitting delete wasn’t the reaction I was expecting from someone who describes themselves as kind and creative in their profile.

Would I have fared better if the hummingbird was plucking the dragon synchronised flying troupe’s eyelashes instead of treating their conjunctivitis? Maybe a warrior butterfly that sculpts wizards from lava, without suffering from the slightest blister, would have been more palatable than a scorpion that sculpts likenesses of its pets from a concoction of spit and squid panda shit. If so, then maybe the young lady is too girly for my liking and being rejected by her is cause for streamers and champagne, not self flegellation and tears of grief.

Do popular women tend to prefer extremely unusual conversation openers to mundane  beginnings? I still don’t know. How does one compare being completely ignored to being as savagely rejected as a traitorous astronaut is ejected into the cold emptiness of outer space?

 

 

Images

Hopefully these micro poems will trigger creative writing of your own.

1.
Baseballs turns black in the twilight.
Earthward bound they overtake eagles.

2.
Stockings as ornate as Versailles chandeliers
cling to her like a lover.

3.
The ink cartridge is an ocean of potential.
Her diary is a temple of dreams.

4.
The sun’s farewell
is painted on the shallows
of a windswept beach.

5.
Santa’s sleigh zooms across
a ten thousand dollar TV.
Elf size viewers
scrape mold from their breakfast.

7.
Rotten watermelons carpet the yard.
Pranked basement prisoners
collapse from thirst.

8.
Politicians in chains,
staring at the bloated corpses
of forgotten political prisoners.

9.
Enough Wikileaks t-shirts
to cause a cotton shortage in Texas
bury the Christmas tree.

10.
A sinker for every Clinton and Trump lie.
Not enough fisherman in the USA
to stop them burying the streets.

11.
Forest fire embers
descend on a climate change deniers essay,
like a hawk on a rodent.

12.
Miles from streetlamps.
Headlights barely highlight.
the overgrown track.
Rocky slopes to the left,
inky blackness of dams
to the right.

Free Assange

For further information, paste the following link into a search engine.

http://www.strategic-culture.org/news/2019/09/24/theyre-murdering-my-son-julian-assanges-father-tells-of-pain-and-anguish

If you’re an Australian citizen, I implore you to write to our Prime Minister, the Minister for Foreign Affairs and your local MP, to urge the Australian Government to negotiate on behalf of journalist/publisher/human rights activist Julian Assange. If you’re a British or American citizen, please familiarise yourself with Julian Assange’s case, if you haven’t already, and politely demand justice from your government.  

Unless publishing the facts about corporate corruption, government corruption and war crimes is a crime, Julian Assange is an innocent man and should be released from Belmarsh prison immediately. The following is a slightly edited version of my email to Senator Marise Payne, the Australian Minister for Foreign Affairs. Perhaps you and your friends can improve upon my effort with letters of your own.


Dear Senator Payne

As you know, Australian journalist/publisher Julian Assange has been wrongfully imprisoned in the U.K, at the behest of the American government, for his response to the public’s right to know the truth about government corruption and war crimes. The U.S government apparently does not believe in the public’s right to know the truth about the appalling behaviour of the U.S military towards civilians etc.

If the Australian Government doesn’t strongly oppose the wrongful imprisonment and unjust treatment of Julian Assange, that will leave the public with the impression they support the cover up of war crimes and corruption. Senator, surely you don’t want Australian voters to think that about a government you are an integral part of.

If, on the other hand, the Australian Government proves it’s willing to negotiate on behalf of a courageous journalist/publisher/human rights activist like Julian Assange, that will help to restore confidence in Australian democracy. Obviously the freedom of the press and listening to the wishes of voters are vitally important democratic principles. As you presumably are aware, hundreds of thousands of Australian Assange supporters are monitoring this situation and their numbers continue to grow.

If Julian Assange’s extradition hearing is inevitable, he should at least have adequate access to his lawyers, the necessary legal documents, an effective computer, his friends, and nutritious food and quality healthcare until this nightmarish saga ends. I am of course among the many who would love to see the Australian Liberal Government do all that is humanly possible to bring that about.

 
* Paradoxically Liberal means conservative in the case of the Australian Liberal Party. They’re liberal from the perspective of deregulation for corporations etc.

* wikileaks.org contains a treasure trove of information about corporate corruption, government corruption and war crimes in the form of introductory articles, original documents and videos. If you would like to support Wikileaks, the not for profit organization founded by Julian Assange and some of his friends and associates, you can do so via wikileaks.shop or au.wikileaks.shop