Sunday, 25 February 2007

Jason and the Infinity Tattoo.

There used to be a guitar shop
in Roslyn Street.
Just up from the Piccollo
and opposite Barons.
It was always grotty and dusty
but had some sparkling guitars
hanging on the wall.
It was run by Jason.
A short muscular guy
who was prone to wearing
leather jackets and chain mail singlets.
Jason would often work late into the night
repairing or just playing guitars.
In the morning I would often find him
asleep behind the counter.

He says to me one day ....
you know my life is fucked ....
I never leave Kings Cross,
actually I hardly ever leave this street,
or this shop. ...
He'd laugh though.
He thought the whole thing was funny
and sad.
Ok, I say. How about I work the shop Thursdays
and you can jump on your bike
and ride somewhere....
Yeah ... really ... he'd say,
.. thats a great idea.
I could ride to the Blue Mountains
He seemed enthusiastic.
He only went once.

We used to sit around on amps
playing songs all day.
He taught me major seventh type chords.
Real Burt Bacharac sounding.
Sometimes touring guitar players
would walk in to the shop mid verse
to buy some oblique looking Fender
that was hanging on the wall.

Another day Jason says ....
hey have you got a tattoo.
No, I reply.
Well you can't work here without one.
He locks the shop and drags me up to the local parlour
on Darlinghurst Road.
We scan the images on four walls.
Jason points .... what about that dragon ....
or that tiger..... oh no that skull and cross bones ... hey?
What about that star up there ...
in the corner ... I suggest.

Jason sighs, resigned to the fact that stars
are more my style.
Here's $80 .... it's todays pay
see ya back at the shop he says.

Jason was a lovely man and a good friend (RIP)
He succumbed to the black dog
a few years after the shop closed.
Ironically I moved to the Blue Mountains
for couple of years .... so hadn't seen him in a while.

When I'd heard he died I stared at my tattoo ..
An 8 pointed star
with an infinity sign in the middle.
It's no giant wizard .... sorry Jase...
But thanks .... I love it.

Thursday, 22 February 2007

say this over a crazy loop

This place will be filthy one day.
Filthy with the stench of the human race.
I am so lucky to be here today,
the water is so clear
and the air is so fresh.
I'm so lucky to see and smell these beauties.
My grandchildren will only hear of such places.
When they are old enough to do
what I am doing now
this planet will be filthy,
filthy with the stench of the human race.

The people here are friendly
and why not?
The air puts roses in your cheeks.
And when the last shop is shut
the only sound you will hear
is the wind
or maybe a few wild animals doing it in the bushes.

There is snow on the mountains,
the mountains drop into the lakes.
The lakes drift off into the distance.
When the sun rises
the cold night disappears
and there is instant warmth.
Warmth and peace in my mind.

There will be records kept of this place
for future generations.
Maybe photos with written descriptions.
But this place will be filthy one day.
Filthy with the stench of the human race.
............It's sad

by d boy meets elvis.
aka akkm
johnny .... you're a bit of a genius.

Tuesday, 20 February 2007

Position Vacant

A position for an experienced and qualified
Trader in Tears is required by the
Ministry of Emotion.

Answering directly to the Teardrop Collector
you will be responsible
for local and international transactions
in this robust and volatile department.

A concise understanding
of bereavement procedures,
broken heart and grazed knee trading
is essential.

A familiarity with tissue flicks,
such as On Golden Pond ....
or plain awful flicks,
such as On Golden Pond...
will be highly regarded.

The successful candidate
will be a sorrowfull type
with at least three years experience
in teary situations and will also hold
a diploma in simpering or above.

Here's you're chance to use your skills
in bringing others to tears
in this dynamic and community focused
government department.

An attractive remunuration package is offered.

Please forward your resume to

The Ministry Of Emotion
Department of Teardrops
in your capital city

This position is brought to you
by your Federal Government .....

bringing you to tears for a decade.

Saturday, 17 February 2007

where's my acoustic guitar?

thump thump, doof doof,
eccy roll, space pad
sustain .........

thump thump, doof doof,
dumb sentence, four four.
again .........

It's all 2 ezi.
mirrors an age.
click here for genius.
something is missing.

must .... have electricity ... thump
need elec...tricity .....doof (but fading)
more bits .... tick... need more .... power
running low....doof (hardly audible)
help ... need more ....
must..... have.....more ...tock
elec....tric .... ity


Tuesday, 13 February 2007

you're own personal jesus

Estelle is 93 and a grand old woman about town.
She lives alone on Macleay Street.
Save for a dog called Bunyip.
They walk each other regularly.
Estelle visits the market almost everyday,
sits by the fountain ...... and watches.

In winter
she still manages to venture out,
takes a cushion to sit on
and a woollen shawl
that she bought in Prauge in 1951.
She drapes it over her legs.

Never in much of a hurry...
even if she wanted to,
she couldn't be .... i guess.

Always and without fail
Estelle wears a hat,
or so it seems...
I've never known a woman with so many hats.
Brimmed,peaked,creased or angled.
With veil, feather, stone or trinket.
Laced,beaded,turned up or turned out.
Over the top and just perfectly so.

One day I say
Estelle ... you're hats.
there amazing ... and ...
I've got 364 of them she interupts intuitivally.
One for each day ..... except one.

She tells me that on her birthday
each and every year her husband
would sit her down by the window.
The view ... Elizabeth Bay ... and beyond.
He would pour her a glass of vive clicquot
(here's lookin at you kid)
Then he would wash her hair.
And brush her hair.
They would talk about the children
and that film or sometimes say nothing.

He died 6 years ago you know
and I miss that and I miss him...
Thats why I don't wear a hat on my birthday.
I like to feel the wind in my hair
and the spray from that fountaiin .....

It reminds me of him.

Sunday, 11 February 2007

of trumpets and tea

This has gotta go somewhere.....
like down to the river
to drench my thirst and temper.
whirlpool games,
swimming in currents near and dear,
your shining skin
as cool as trumpets.

I planted one for them
and grew one for them....
see how the miner swallows his sword
when the bullfrog calls to stone.
he mutes the millers tone.
lets stop and drink an ounce of warmth
like tea.

Monday, 5 February 2007

here ....... at last

A small gathering of friends
lit the earth thismorning.
I could see them from Orians' Hill.
No screens or mind blankets,
just the gap between us.
In love I will remain