Friday, November 17, 2017

Bring them to Australia because it is the right thing to do, it is the humane course of action, the current system is a huge waste of money, refugees shouldn't be used as political footballs, and Australia can stop being looked at as the country that shirks its responsibilities.

Thursday, November 16, 2017

I went walking in the rain, it was that sort of day

Wednesday, November 15, 2017



I bought a bottle of red wine for the risotto I am going to make for dinner. I put the bottle of red wine on the kitchen bench when I got home from the supermarket.

I got the fan out of the cupboard last night using it for the first time since last summer. The fan was covered in dust, so I leant over to the power point to unplug it, so I could take it outside to brush the dust off it.

My arm moved as far as it takes to pull a plug out of a power point. How far is that? A few centimetres. My elbow just caught the edge of the top of the bottle of wine. Looking over my shoulder, I watched the wine bottle rock one its base, in slow motion, backwards and forwards. Then it rocked back, and over it went.

I watched the neck break off the bottle as it hit the granite bench top.

As though the jugular vein was severed, it was suddenly a crime scene, blood seeping quickly out from the body. I had wine going in all directions. Away from me, heading to the far side of the bench and the carpet in the lounge room. And it rushed back towards me. One water fall, two waterfalls, three waterfalls, as I caught one, another started to flow, down the kitchen cupboards and onto the kitchen floor.

I grabbed kitchen paper towel, unravelling huge strands, and dumping it in clumps on the kitchen bench to stem the flow of wine heading towards the carpet, as the water falls gushed over the kitchen bench pooling in great lakes on the floor at my feet. Looking back now, I think the ‘great lakes’ stopped the flow of wine onto the carpet.

“Ah! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Buddy ran to the back door thinking I was yelling at him.

I madly started lifting things out of the sea of blood. My phone, the wooden garlic bowl, the onion basket, envelops, jars with pens in them, tea tree oil, bills, biros, tweezers, scissors, air freshener, my wallet, a plate with Buddy’s red meat defrosting. I pushed the red wine paper machete towel dripping mess towards a supermarket bag I had grabbed, it clumped together as if it was clotting. More paper towel, more murder scene bandages.

The cupboards were streaked and I scrubbed them madly with a sponge so they wouldn’t stay that way.

The base of the wine bottle still contained wine, and it was cracked down all sides. I picked it up and it crunched and ground, like a body with all of its bones broken, a bag of skin threatening to let go of its remaining bodily fluids at any moment. Then there were the splinters of glass, shattered fragments spread across the bench top. I picked at them one by one. I got the vacuum and sucked them all up, once the fluid was gone.

Our bins hadn’t been collected by then, so I was able to take it all out to the street and have it taken away. Just as a side note, when I was out at the bin disposing of the mess, these two hot guys approached me, dressed in singlets and shorts. Hello, I thought, who are you? They were the rubbish guys. We have really hot garbage collectors in Fitzroy. I watched them collect the bins, momentarily… with a whistle on my lips. A silent whistle.

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

White roses on my morning walk. It was hot today, 35 degrees. I had to walk early, then I hid inside. I only ventured out to get cherry pie, for my afternoon coffee. Tomorrow, I will have to walk twice as far.

I Stayed up Late

I stayed up late and wrote poetry until just after midnight.

Monday, November 13, 2017

I've been walking every day. The weather has been great. I walk for an hour every day, that way I can sit on my arse for the rest of the day. That's 5 hours per week, sometimes more, like I walked last Sunday, but I don't think I walked every other day, now I think about it. But it must be good? Surely?

Sunday, November 12, 2017

Out on the street. Is that a tragic story of loss? Or is it just rubbish put out for the council? Is that someone losing their money, their family and their home? Or is it just trash?
Hard to know?

Apparently, you aren't supposed to walk across here, there are a plethora of signs telling you not to.

Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?



Walking through Carlton, crossing Swanston Street by Melbourne uni.

Wednesday, November 08, 2017

How Many Hands?

I saw a guy walking towards me on Gertrude Street with a white stick texting on his phone.

That is not something you see every day, I thought.

He had a take away coffee, and a violin, and his white stick, and, of course his phone in his hands. I didn’t really notice until the last minute. I had just started walking, and I was just settling into my music choice, and I was just waiting for the pain in my right foot to subside.

As I passed him, I looked at my hands, how many hands did he have? Stick, phone, violin, coffee. Waving the stick and texting, all at the same time. What? How many hands? (Was he a blind octopus in disguise? How do we know they are not hidden amongst us. Momentarily, I saw through his disguise.)


I didn't want to look back, I thought that would be rude. Then I laughed to myself, he was blind. He was out of sight by the time I looked back.