Sunday, 4 December 2016

One Foot in the Underworld

The girl was on drugs. 
She wore all black to disguise the fact
that she was a colourful mess. 
To anyone who had loved her they could 
quickly see the life-force draining from her body. 
Her jaw squeaked and rocked in her face 
struggling to find the middle centre point. 
Her once beautiful pearl white teeth had begun 
to erode at a rapid rate. The cocktail of ingested 
chemicals were turning her teeth a corrosive brown colour,
they looked as if they had been stained overnight by Coca-cola.
More worrying was the state of her petit body 
and the mental diss-array of her mind.
Death was stalking her in Asphodel’s meadow.
To the untrained eye she would simply resemble 
a worthless and detestable drug addict. 
But this wasn’t always so, at one time she had been 
a cherished family friend loved by all, especially 
the hopeful adult children of a certain middle-class family.
She had even been a maid of honour at the first born
daughters wedding. The same woman accelerating towards decline 
had once been the picture of health before being ripped 
down the centre by vice and schizophrenia.
Late one night she crawled into the backyard 
and lay comatose in our purple whicker chair.
She came to our home, the only one she knew
naively offering an assortment of drugs for consumption.
She wanted to trigger off a ballroom tango of 
dopamine and sertonin in the brain of any person 
stupid enough to accept her offer. We all collectively 
refrained from partaking and also judging the wayward soul.
On the contrary the desire to plummet towards death death 
was not upon us with any urgency. Or the need to short circuit the human brain
causing irreparable damage and kaleidoscope mania.
She was in the iron grip of the vortex, struggling to 
differentiate dreams and hallucinations from unwanted reality.
The thought fled through my mind hiding behind a walnut tree
to cast the defenceless incapacitated girl into the night.
I mentally weeped for a moment then thought better of it.
This grown woman had transformed artificially into a child
and had slipped with a thud back into the agony of drugs.
Some bastard Hopper must have supplied her after 
cleaning her small rented room from top to bottom.
Despite her habitually lying haze 
I knew that she needed to be cared for. 
I made her thrice cups of tea and waited
out her long drawn out siege upon the living. 
A peppermint tea was enough to drive her out an hour before midnight.
After chain smoking ten cigarettes in a row  
she decided to wander the streets again looking desperately 
for something she would never find. 
Five hours later she posted before her ramshackle departure 
in eloquent prose:

to my sweetest of devotions. i love you forever....

Friday, 2 December 2016

The Killer in My Dreams

In front of me there’s a smashed in door
with a burnt out body inside.
The killer is scuttling around on the loose.
I can hear his feet padding around noisily.
I steal second and steady my breathing, my thoughts
racing into the recesses of my neocortex.
My desire to survive is overpowering.
This demands that I too my must become a killing machine
to escape this deadly encounter.
The hunt is on and I only know three things about
the assailant. He is male, armed
with a shotgun and has only one
shoulder. His slight of frame allows
him to hide in crevices and slide into
passages most men would get stuck in.
He may be a worth adversary only time will tell.
I will likely need my whole combined strength
mental and physical to take him down.
With a last gulp of metallic oxygen I burst through
the blood covered door shouting. I see him in the corner stunned,
everything turns to slow motion. Gun shots rattle
the walls like a child’s play toy. I am hit twice ripped flesh and blood leaking out my leg like spaghetti, but he lays motionless twitching.
As he lays dying it turns out I only knew two things about him.
He actually had two shoulders the myths and rumours were wrong.
Now he just looked like something resembling week old roadkill.
Who said hunting criminals was hard obviously never did,
the only thing tough about it was not turning into one yourself.

Saturday, 26 November 2016

A Wedding a Bouquet and a Second Marriage

My sister caught the weathered bouquet at my fathers second wedding. 
She smiled with glee as she proudly won the assortment of red and white
roses. The laughing sunlight perfectly reflected the ridiculous nature of the occasion.
My Dad was head over heels at the ripe old age of sixty-three. It was funny to see
him tumbling down and falling in love again and again.Thank god he had recovered
from his grief of losing our mother. His loving heart had found another to satisfy
his real need to be loved, he was unhappy otherwise.

On the other side of the dance floor I saw my younger sister fawning over her new
boyfriend. She was staring deep into this eyes, her head a buzz of serotonin and 
dopamine. Of all the men she had brought home to meet the family this one took
the cake by a country mile. He reeked of garlic had a stupid crooked nose and worked
at some random sewage plant. In many ways he wasn't dissimilar to Homer Simpson
except infinitely more unlikeable. Thankfully he was slightly more intelligent than the Simpson patriarch, a lesser intellect than Homer in the family would be very hard to stomach. If you could imagine a skunk run over and served up on a plate of garlic 
your almost halfway toward realising what the new boyfriend smelt like. 
I despised the man but accepted him purely for my sisters sake. I couldn't bear
to see any of my family members unhappy so I always tried my best not to judge
what made them happy. 

Even Dad's new bimbo of a wife had her good points all you had to do was block
out her gargantuan plastic tits. Dad sure was happy bless the old sod. In stark contrast
I was feeling a bit flat so I got up and stretched my rusty limbs out. Then I haphazardly
wandered over to the green punch bowl in my new pinstripe pants that coiled too tightly
around my legs like black snakes. I still couldn't quite bring myself to join a gym. 
Mildly irritated and half-drunk the raucous sounds of the wedding really started
to grate on my nerves. Next thing you know the bloody folk band starts up, God I hated
Dad's taste in music. I imagined getting a mega-phone out and screaming at the
top of the lungs to play anything but what they were currently playing. 
Somehow I managed to withhold the urge to kick the lead singer in the balls. 

To steady my nerves I had a gulp of the formally non-alcoholic punch from an unused tumbler. I was glad I had spiked the punch even if it was a sin. A strong hint of white rum rippled through the fruit juice like a dangerous crocodile. I wanted to spice up the place and 
get people feeling a bit naughty. I felt slightly bad for all the unwitting alcoholics who would unknowingly be drinking away their sobriety, but I couldn't please myself and everyone too. As fast as the guilt appeared it dissolved. I raced off to the dance-floor my spirits refreshed ready to dance with the rest of the family. 

Friday, 25 November 2016

Pangs of a Poetess

Pangs of a poetess
Afraid to love
With broken words
and fragmented sentences
She hated herself 
Always choosing a simile
Over a smile
How all her words came out wrong
In a rebellious rage
She aimed to dominate
all her ideas upon a page 
But it was useless
To no avail
How could a true poet
Give up on the quest for love? 
For somewhere
Out there
In treacherous lands
A future beloved
could be heard
singing her name 
Travelling miles
dreaming of little else
carrying only
A passionate desire
to love her
some how

Bob Marley the Forklift Driver

Crashing around Rotovegas

I went down the luge in Rotovegas earlier in the week. I had a real need for speed in the 3 wheel gravity propelled go-kart. But I took one turn too sharp at break neck speed and crashed into the barrier. My whole body jolted to the side and it felt like I was going to be thrown out of the humble vehicle with its wheels wailing. My friend Si was upahead going blatt out. He turned around at about a million miles an hour when heard the jarring crash. He thought we had a man down, but I was totally fine. Although my ego was severely deflated like a hot air ballon haha I coasted down the track for the remainder of the run 😂 Thankfully I recovered and was back to breaking the sound barrier in the next race 🏁 👌

Saturday, 5 November 2016

The Burning Pits by Joseph Hickman (2016) - How Trash Poisoned U.S Troops in Iraq

Sad state of affairs. Military bases in Iraq and Afghanistan were built on contaminated ground. Remnants of mustard gas and chemical weapons poisoned civilians in Iraq and American troops. KBR a subsidiary of Halliburton a U.S company who was paid billions by the U.S government courtesy of the tax-payer caused mass fatalities. KBR operated 'the burn pits' that burnt all the U.S armies trash in open fire dug out holes. The trash pits burnt 24/7 and the poisonous plume started causing severe respiratory problems. Soldiers and civilians lungs were all irrevocably and unnecessarily damaged leading to mass cancer outbreaks and disability. This all happened because KBR and Halliburton operated the "the burn pits" with no regard for any form of regulations or testing. 

The plume smoke and the ground dug up for the trash pits was never monitored or tested for carcinogens or adverse health affects. One particular sad story is about a very young soldier who was posted in Iraq. He complained to his commanding officers about the smoke affecting his battalion form the burning of U.S trash and was rubbished. He stood in a guard post tower for 365 days 12 hours a day. He never saw any rebels. But the poisonous smoke from the burning trash pits would cause him great distress everyday. His lungs would splutter and his throat would become inflamed and feel like it was on fire. After ending his monotonous tour of duty 2 years later he died of brain cancer with full blown respiratory problems. He had never had any bad health until shipping out to Iraq. He is one of thousands of soldiers termed 'delayed casualties' who die after going to war. He received no help or financial aid from the U.S government and the VA who help veterans with health problems. 

The U.S government has not yet acknowledged how it killed and maimed its own soldiers by allowing KBR to win the trash disposal contract without any competition. Meanwhile in Iraq the cancer tolls increased by 15% due to the invasion and war on terror killing thousands due to magnesium and dangerous chemicals burnt in the pits and breathed in by citizens. Iraqi nationals are to scared to have children now due to birth defects on a scale dwarfing Japan's problems from the fallout from the atomic bombs. Good read. Had no idea about this problem. War is never just in my opinion. Especially when the ones signing the bills into law do not fight in the wars they create. Currently only a 5th of the U.S senate have any military experience, and only 1% of U.S politicians children are fighting in American wars currently.