Pandora's Bin

it's been sitting there, as is, for over a week now. yesterday afternoon, i heard the story of a fellow housemate who'd tried to take it out. gary birchall was blinded when a creature flew up and lodged in his eye. he stumbled around the kitchen, knocking over pots and pans. maybe it was an act of courage, or maybe a stroke of luck, but in his stagger, he'd knocked the lid back on, and prevented the further escape of the spirits within. hours later, in the middle of the night, from his bed, he had been heard shouting at the top of his lungs all manner of gibberish. at one stage he had referred to 'the smell of a thousand dead rodents'. coming from the man who works in security by trade, it's clear that it was enough to break even the strongest of men. as i write this, he is bed ridden, and has not moved in 2 days. i am told he has turned the colour of a lime.

a few days prior, young marty carrol had attempted to address the problem. young marty, godblessim, tries to do the right thing, kid's got his heart in the right place. but goddamnit, he went in with such fervour, he squatted right down next to the darn thing. when he opened the lid, his face right there next to it, he'd copped a mouthful, they flew out like the evils escaping from pandorra's box. like a whippet, the kid darted to the door, i looked out the window to see him sprinting down the street. no-one has seen or heard from him since tuesday. i can only hope he is ok.

then there was steve, who, just this morning when making breakfast, in a momentary lapse of concentration, had forgotten to use the substitute bin we'd arranged. the plastic bag on the door handle. after cracking his two eggs, he spun around, put his foot on the pedal to pop the lid of the bin. sitting at the kitchen bench, i could see it all unfolding. i yelled out to him, but it was too late. he was out. the eggs hit the tiles. he's been wandering around the house, silent, in a deluded state for 10 hours now. i'll never forget that chirpy whistle of his. that was the last sound he'd made before the incident. just a split second lapse in concentration, but a fateful one.

which leaves just me. i go about business as usual in the kitchen as best i can, as though there's nothing to worry about. but i'm constantly conscious of it. each time i pass it. i live in fear. in fear for what lurks in there.

The Changing Working Class in Australia : Meat Pie Ads - A Case Study

The Keating Years:


The Howard Years:

Transcript from a Long Haul Journey - 100 Words in 28 Hours

at check in:

hello.

good thanks how are you.

just this one.

i packed it.

no i don't.

no i don't.

window seat would be great.

ok great, thanks for that.

at newsagents:

hi.

yeah just this thanks.

thanks.

at boarding:

good thanks.

thanks.

on the flight:

chicken please.

to the couple i'm sitting next to:

sorry, could i just get through?

thanks very much.

to the stewardess at the conclusion of the flight:

thanks for that.

at KL international airport:

hi, umm one large whopper meal please.

no thanks.

coke.

eat here.

thanks.

thankyou.

to a mother of a wayward child:

no that's fine.

at boarding:

thanks.

on the flight:

chicken please. and a beer?

heineken is fine.

thanks.

to the couple i'm sitting next to:

sorry, could i just get through?

thanks very much.

to the stewardess at the conclusion of the flight:

thanks for that.

to the immigration official:

hi.

yeah returning home.

thanks.

to the customs official:

hi.

yeah.

nothing to declare.

Meeting Robert Forster

if i was to tell you what the ideal situation would be where i met robert forster, brain behind the best australian band ever, the go betweens, i don't think it would have been set outside a burger stand at a festival. i wouldn't have had a few too many drinks beforehand. i wouldn't have had my especially drunk cousin with me.

it wouldn't be in front of a crowd of hungry burger waiters, eager for something to take their mind off their hunger. i wouldn't have said 'hey robert! … excuse me, robert'… then tapped him on the shoulder 'hi robert, i really like the go betweens and i listen to the band all the time, they are really important, really like the solo stuff too, you're an inspiration'

ideally, he would have been interested to talk, eyes wouldn't be darting around for an exit. his attempt at conversation wouldn't have been forced, wouldn't have gone anything along the lines of 'so …how … do you two know each other?' i wouldn't have spun to my right and looked to my very drunk cousin, and we certainly both wouldn't have replied in unison 'we're cousins!'

the number for my burger wouldn't have been called right then, and, at the bench, putting extra sauce into my burger, i wouldn't have allowed all of the contents to fall out of the bottom and on to the grass. but it did. that's the way it happened.

The New Year

the year didn't actually start all that well. the moment when the clock struck twelve was really all it was - a moment. all that build up for a quick 'happy new years! hey yay yeah'. was that it? the streamers, the lanterns, the bbq, the punch, the mexican hats? all for that?

fearing that the big moment of phil's barbie had passed without really ever hitting a big note, i jumped in to the huddle circle that we'd all made, and, like they do at the montecarlo grand prix, or tour de france with the champagne, i sacrificed the remnants of my melbourne bitter. i span around the huddle, shaking the bottle, arms outstretched, allowing the remaining contents of my stubby to spring forth around the circle. it was spectacular. out of the bottle, the beer frothed up and flew like the fireworks in sydney, bursting in all directions - into the air, on to phil's hawaiian shirt, back into my open laughing mouth, onto the dead grass. it was indiscriminate, and it soaked anything that happened to be in its path.

unfortunately, the stunt was not met with the appreciation i'd hoped it would receive. the finer nuances of the gag had been lost on most. least impressed was phil's new girlfriend, lydia.

her being about a foot shorter than most at the party meant that the indiscriminate attack actually left her more vulnerable than anyone else. that swivel on the back heel of my sneakers and the 360 super soaker saw a gulp's worth of ale fly right in to her left eye. she was hit. i couldn't believe it. immediately she went to ground. it seemed like the music stopped right then, cause all of a sudden everything went quiet. the mood of the whole party just changed in an instant. i felt the daggers of 36 eyes on the back of my neck. i darted over to try to help her there on the grass, but i was too late. people had crowded around her, forming a sort of wall which prevented me from administering any help. on my tip toes i peered over the shoulders of those in front of me. i could see phil was first on the scene, squatting there on the ground next to his injured girlfriend. his eyes moved from the girl, and, as if magnetised, moved around and locked on to mine. i got a shock. i'd never seen that look from my workmate phil before. the look seemed to say 'you've already done enough mate. just go'. his words were to a very similar effect, though a bit more forceful.

that night i made two new years resolutions at the gordon st bus stop, while waiting for the taxi. i saved them on my phone: 1st january, 12.19 am - resolutions for next year: 1. go to parties where you know more than one person. chances are that jokes will be met with better enthusiasm, or at least a little lee way 2. get to know partners of friends better. be aware of any pre-existing "acute eye conditions".

Big Country

Station Street Strut

Just put Emily on the train

She pressed against the window pane

Her lips

Are red

They curl up at the ends

Just put Emily on the train