from Waynes Word on Web, 02.11.09

With all the talk on “the” seven deadly sins lately, I just wanted to put in a good word for Sloth and consider some other animals we may be able to malign when it comes to mascots for unforgivable sins.

Take the cat, how full of pride is that animal? Proud of its appearance, proud of where it sits and pride exudes when it brings you a mouse. I think we should call the “sin” of pride, Catfullness.

How about anger, have you ever seen anything as angry as a Maltese terrier when they just see something they don’t like, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap??? We could call that “sin” Maltese Terrierness.

Greed; just a short trip away to the sea-shore and you can witness all the greed you want in the form of the little evil seagull. Just start throwing a few chips around and before you know it, mine, mine, mine, and mine. Blatant Gullness!!!

Lust, Rabbits, need I say anymore?

ENVY, try eating a chicken in front of a Labrador.

Maybe we can lump them all together and call them Humanfullness, but then again we would have to add a few more undesirable traits before we could go that far.

Anyway about those few words in defence of that malicious three toed creature that hangs around in trees and doesn’t do anything. At least it isn’t destroying the planet or exterminating species by the dozens and if it is guilty of anything, then so is the Koala and it’s getting stoned on eucalyptus while it’s sinning. So as a final thought, I think we should give the sloth a break and call the final deadly sin Koalafullness.

from Waynes Word on Web, 22.10.09

The sea, the sea; what draws man to the sea?
A hostile environment that others would flee
Possible engulfment to an oxygen depleted demise
A red flag to a bull but some would shield their eyes

Salt encrusts every molecule, abrasion to the flesh
Unbearable cold or a mind numbing, hydrating mesh
Of incompatible elements fused into a powerful force
So closely welded to the creator or life’s infinite source

We the corruptible creatures, so soft to the touch
Are drawn like moths to the flame of oceans douche
Willingly throw ourselves regularly into the turbulence
Of a living, breathing mass of force, without sense

Of purpose and of insane lust men drown in desire
For fame or for glory, for freedom or for hire
Some even get time to complete their course
While others eternally, woefully, rock back and forth

To the sound of lapping against the normality of land
Sailors in the depths of service, pay a bleeding hand
No possible compensation could hope to reimburse
A conscientious mariner for the troubles or the curse

Of a life, or a death, lived at sea in the bowels of hell
Rotten health or immortality await those that dwell
Things cannot compare with experiences gained
In the waters belched from the earth its self, not rained

Water under the bridge

from Waynes Word on Web, 23.10.09

Is there a light at the end of the tunnel?

Or do trolls bar your way

Do fortunes favour the brave?

Or bloody idiots keep them at bay

The metaphor is completely simple

And the meaning o so plain

You can travel the path before you

Or turn and take the train

Quite often the road is narrow

And maybe fraught with travail

But on the other hand, safe carriages

Can often leave the rail

So consider this when travelling

The roads of life’s possibilities

You can’t always predict

Which dog will have the fleas!

Shatter the imagery

Is there something blocking your way?

Spirits to watch and record every move

Suddenly, things are not so clear

The isolation is not that of a grove

Changing fortunes come and go

Below the frame another picture

Offsetting, off-putting the moment

Creating an atmosphere that’s unsure

This type of feeling comes and goes

With uncertainty of safety negotiated

Allegiances, pacts made, not honoured   

Leaves one to the ravages of fate dilated

Still, no use stopping now

It’s all or nothing this far in

Whether the air is fine or foul

Only time will tell, hesitation’s a sin

Emerge and see the way

Now the path is clear and the view pristine

No need for panicking or to run and hide

Clarity in vision and a peace of mind

Looking very different from the other side

Sacred sanity, smoothing every thought

Craziness has gone from the moment

Direct purpose has taken its place

Pasts uncertainties have been spent

Here we go off towards a goal

Striking while the iron is hot

Pitching the proposed plan

Selling that which once was not

Sunrise creates the morning glow

Bringing light to the world of possibility

Shinning down on endless paths

Where there was fear now serendipity

from Waynes Word on Web, 21.10.09

As any musician knows, to be in tune with the overall soundscape at all points in the proceedings, defines whether or not you should be allowed to perform with the band/ orchestra and what the appropriate frequency is, must be agreed to before harmony can be established. Why we do not consider this when administering our daily lives is a mystery to me.

If we are ever to play the symphony “Utopia”, presuming the perfect score could be penned and the adequately trained performers gathered, then a conductor would have to define the pitch, all would tune to, before tapping the rostrum.

So, while some would say, no amount of effort could ever bring about an idealistic society. I’m sure at some point in the past someone said the same thing about producing a collaboration which eventually led to the works of Mozart or Beethoven and they would have been right if the concept of concert pitch was never established.

Let’s all back the process which leads to an agreement on the harmonic we all should play to and worry about the part we can play after the first tap of the conductors baton, later.

from Waynes Word on Web, 16.10.09

Never has a vehicle served the ocean going hordes
As well as the red motored EH, to lash the boards
With a six pack of bodies and roof rack to match
Transportation to heaven or your favourite patch

Three on the front seat and three in the back
A boot load of wetties, towels and board wax
This was one legend you surely could trust
Even when down on power and filled with rust

No track in the land was safe from this car
The end of a journey was never too far
If two ruts were carved out in the hard sand
Chances were an EH had carried its band

Breakdowns no worries cause help was at hand
Every locality had its spare parts and a man
Who’d tape it or strap it, just to get ya goin’
T’was a labour of love they didn’t mind showin’

Yep the ultimate Aussie icon was the one to have
And not a lot of money did you need to save
To get you on the road and travelling towards fun
A sixty four Holden, would get the job done!

from Waynes Word on Web, 16.10.09

When I rode my first Honda Four
Nothing like it had come before
Reliability and performance plus
Super sports, without the fuss!

It didn’t handle and wouldn’t stop
But never the less, it hit the top
Sales and popularity, exceeding all
Pride cometh before the fall

Keeping it on an even keel
Required talent and that special feel
Remove the pipes and double stand
Four into one, the best in the land

Dunlop’s and a set of Ace bars
Then you could beat all the cars
Steering damper and tweak the shocks
Now ya talking, a ride for jocks

Bigger jets and filters that breathe
In a straight line others you’ll leave
But in the corners you’ll quickly find
The European will hold the line

Not to worry they’re twice the price
Filled with problems and raw avarice
This dilemma is a rave for some
But least I didn’t buy a Harley Davidson

from Waynes Word on Web, 15.10.09

Quirky things they are, these foreign imports to our land, yet so familiar to our culture you couldn’t imagine growing up without being in one of them, now and again. They are sort of up there, on the iconic scale, with Chinese food and French brandy. I had the “privilege” of spending quite an amount of time in this older model with no seatbelts, headrests, radiator or engine under the bonnet (that’s the hood for any American readers). As an added extra, if you hit a bit of a bump in a corner, the door would spring open and that’s very exciting if you don’t have a seatbelt.

They came standard with conventional tyres, which were also quite exciting when you were attempting a quick stop in the rain; considering there is no weight over the front end. But never the less with a few modifications like radials, a sandbags worth of gear in the “trunk” and some rope for the doors, I bravely travelled from Queensland to the snow fields of New South Wales for some early season skiing. Because winter began halfway there, I stopped at Coffs Harbour and wired the heater on full. This was the only time this extra was ever used and remained on till the return a week later and I must report, it all worked perfectly.

On the way up, and into the mountains where snow begun, the other cars were pulling over to fit chains to their tyres but not us we motored on all the way to the top car park and the chalet where we were booked in. It snowed that night and didn’t stop for the whole seven days. We all got snowed in and had to wait for the roads to be cleared before the cars could be dug out. Now, in the meantime, you get quite close to the people who are cabin bound and in this case it was about six four wheel drive loads of wealthier types than I was not use to hob knobbing with.

Anyway, as conversations go, things got around to arguing over which brand of 4WD was best suited for the type of conditions we were experiencing and I had to bite my tongue because technically, I didn’t have a 4WD. It was eventually decided it would be solved by a race to the bottom on the day all the cars would be dug out and I never did find out who won, because I was half way back to Queensland by the time they had thawed out their frozen engines and adjusted their chains.

Text: The X Mrs WWW (replies to a fishy tale)

from Waynes Word on Web, 14.10.09

When my husband spent some time
With his old man before he died
Dad's wife came along for the ride
She was not much for fish or tides

They had lost touch along the way
A fishing trip needed to save the day
When the "boys" fled to be free
T’was decided she would stay with me!

We waved goodbye as off they went
I tried to ignore that hell was bent
Out came the sherries 1,2 and 3
Thought she'd be the death of me

We imagined them fancy-free
Laying comfortably under a tree
The sun shining down, the big fish biting
No women in sight to cause some fighting

Decided to jog to reduce the frustration
Along came his wife with great elation
In high heels and make-up she followed
Straining her knee and “wait” she bellowed

Missing “old teddy", she cried a loud wail
Until I thought I'd have to bail
But we hung on in and had a few laughs
With more Sherries and a couple of barfs

By Sunday arvo we were missing our men
Thought they'd arrive with Trevally for den
Boasting about “the one that got away"
And how they'd had a beautiful day

I hasten to say we were TERRIBLY wrong
There was no male bonding, not even a song
They came down the road as if in slow motion
The pair were covered in Calamine lotion

The weekend in paradise was all but lost
We were greeted with grumbles and frost
Phrases were bandied like "never again"
I guessed the experience, was not quite “Zen”

Mozzies and sandflies were never so savage
Pleased to be home, nearly saved our marriage
Teddy's gone now, so the boat and trailer
And my mother-in-law is decidedly frailer

I'm sorry now their day was marred
By the ineffectiveness of Aeroguard
And if there’s a moral to this story
It's "go and buy your next Dory".

With Love, K

William James Clough came out from England as a Salvation Army Officer to work in the Wonthaggi Mines of Victoria, sometime before the First World War, and as far as I know, brought this very boat with him or made it on the long trip out here. He was my grandfather on my mother’s side and the HMS Victory has been lost from my family since his demise.

I never knew the man; he died a long time before I was bourn. Even my mother only had vague memories and a story of how he died in a motor cycle accident. This kind of endeared me to him, for as I grew up, I began a long love affair with the deadly two wheeled beasts. So I find it amazing and appropriate that I end up with, what I assume, was his prize possession.

When he died, he left my mother an orphan to be raised by older step children whom inherited all he left. As time would have it, they all did quite well in this Australian life, except my mother who suffered from a bad case of the “Cinderella’s”. So when the wreck of the Victory finally resurfaced this year and made its way into my possession, it represented all we ever inherited and an appropriate representation it is.

On the other side of the world, while William was beginning his stinted attempts at a dynasty, Thomas Scholfield my paternal grandfather was leaving a wife and a profitable business as a Cooper, to fight for his county in the trenches of France. He returned a broken man after receiving three doses of mustard gas for his trouble and spent the remainder of his day’s unsuccessfully partitioning for adequate compensation.

Eventually World War Two broke out, my father signed up to do his patriotic duty with the British Navy and ended up in Australia after serving in every theatre of war the second had to offer, including being one the first set of allied feet on Japan’s freshly radiated soil. With boundless energy he went about doing all the dirty job’s Aussies didn’t want and he didn’t stop till Cancer stopped him, all without any recognition from the British and no repat pension from the good old Aussie Services.

Not to worry, it’s all good here in the lucky country as I, being the only surviving male heir in Australia to both my Fathers clan and Williams are here to attest. The point of telling this little tale is two fold; one to inform those that don’t know that the original wreck of the Victory has been found and is looking like being the biggest find of English Maritime treasures with heaps of brass cannons and four ton of gold coins. Here’s the link http://www.shipwreck.net/hmsvictory.php and for those that are interested, after my fathers estate was settled I had another interesting item to go on the mantelpiece with Granddads model ship; a lovely original pigskin wallet, empty of course.

It came to exist at the same time as me

And was originally called a Holden FE

My dad bought one and he called it fun

The maiden voyage, the Queensland run

First photos of Wayne were at the wheel

It was then that I knew I had the feel

For beautiful cars, and the wild life

Even though it would lead to strife

Sixteen years latter I had my own

The ancient equivalent of a mobile phone

If you couldn’t hook up, with one of these

Chances are you had mange, or fleas

My best mate had one with a back

A panel van, wide wheels and board racks

Mobile freedom and a bed on the go

We had it made with flairs and a fro

Double Jay concerts and days at the beach

No party or venue was out of our reach

Girls on the make and grog near at hand

We really were, kings of the land

No car could match it for style and grace

Even though you’d get beat in a race

Didn’t mater what anyone said

Fords were only for extreme rev heads

V8 Holden’s were for Peter Brock types

We were above that and better at nights

Rolling along with Hendrix and songs

Girls in the back were wearing their thongs

If you wanted a drag my bike would suffice

Twelve second quarters at a Honda price

Would leave them crying in my wake

With all the horse power they could rake

Yep Holden’s ruled there’s no doubt about that

Believe what you want with out knowing the fact

While you were dreaming outside in the back

We were nailing it, in the old FC hack

My old man worked twenty four seven

Which wasn’t bad, for a Westie Bevan

His quest for dollars became a mission

But that didn’t leave much time for fishin’

When times came around for taking a trip

The bugger was full of lies and bull shit

After thirty years or so, it fell to me

To invite him fish hunting, as a retiree

The prep was grand on a scale for us

Buy a fibreglass skiff and a trailer with rust

Patch it, paint it and put an Evinrude to match

Get the rods and the reels, a bag for the catch

A tent, sleeping bags, blow ups, the lot

Stacked in the boat not much we forgot

Sun cream, Aeroguard, hats and a change

Maps and spare fuel I cleverly arranged

Two hours north and a beautiful day

We were off-- to Tin Can Bay

But before we got there, I must explain

It positively pissed down with rain

Not to worry for we were in the car

And it fined up fast before we’d gone far

Only problem was the soaking of bedding

And that could dry out while we were fishing

So with tent set up and ship set to sail

We were absolutely sure not to fail

With Dad in the front and me in the back

I soon reeled in my first Mangrove Jack

Everything was going well as night began to fall

But there and then we realised mosquito’s were the call

Not your every day type, these ones were from hell

Big black bastards and our blood they could smell

I thought I had it covered though

Cause back to the camp we would go

Lots of repellent and a fully meshed tent

To enjoy a dinner that was heaven sent

With a six horse, flat strap, we couldn’t out run

Twelve thousand mossies lookin’ for fun

I went quite mental swinging my belt

By the time we got there, just one big welt

Left the boat in the water and run at full pace

Picked up the bedding, it looked like a race

Into the tent with no moments to spare

But a nightmare was waiting, when we got there

Midges had nested in all that we owned

Silence was shattered as both of us groaned

And the pest sprays didn’t work as they orta’

The mean little buggers drank it like water

To make matters worse, they come two abreast

Thought my father was having an arrest

I just needed some time to think

So back to the river and into the drink

We sat there up to our ears in relief

Bating our eyelids to stop further grief

But as time would have it we started to freeze

The plan was to run for it and head for the breeze

Out of the water and into the car

The windows were down so therefore no bar

It was full of bities so we had to get going

Down the track we went without even slowing

Bouncing around like two jumping beans

At least we were rid of those flying machines

All was lost and there was no going back

Calamine lotion was all that we lacked

Rolled into Gympie at quarter to five

Suffering from a bad case of hives

Waited outside till the chemist was open

He took one look at us and said “you’re gotta be jokin”

Sitting in the cafe with only our shorts

Covered in white stuff and listening to snorts

When a young Murri guy let rip a jibe

“I know were I’m from, but what’s your tribe.”

A meditation on top of the falls

Clear as a bell I heard the calls

To sojourn in the sea of salt

An invitation to good to fault

The nearest beach was miles away

Somewhere near our Byron Bay

But a walking track was not so far

And I finished the last part in a car

On the sand at waters edge I see

A six foot closeout barring me

From entry to the glassy rack

Forming nicely out the back

I grab the board with no leg rope tied

And paddle for hell against the tide

Under lips that were pushing me

On to the bottom of the sea

My dash for the back was almost done

When looming there against the sun

Stood a briny pyramid ten foot high

Blocking my vision to the sky

To make things worse and me quite glum

My board had gone and I had no gun

Five dolphins lay readied on the crest

To speed my way and piece my chest

I dived as deep as I could go

Only to be pulled up into the show

Opened my eyes as wide as I could

Flapped my arms and patiently stood

In the wave that was ten tones thick

I was worried I would shit a brick

Five noses coming straight for me

At thirty knots and no time to flee

One went directly over my head

And two at my hands I could have fed

Two at my feet but they quickly past

A star of energy and a memory to last

Sleep wasn’t coming easy

The radio didn’t help at all

Reports of a giant swell

Building from the gates of hell

Kept the adrenalin flowin’

And I couldn’t wait to go

Down to Currumbin Rock and see

The waves that were haunting me

------------------------------------

Mornings light was yet to shine

The wet suit drying on the line

Boards were lashed to the Holden’s rack

And nothin’ was going to hold me back

------------------------------------

The car park full at quart to five

Everything was cumin’ alive

The line up started on the rock

Bravest souls first to drop

Into the soup and paddle out

Under brine stacked like a house

By the time I took the dive

Legends were hangin’ five

-----------------------------------

The barrelin’ section in front of the rock

Was an esky lid play pen not for the lot

Diving in there was death for sure

Paddling around the back even more

------------------------------------

Pick up on the wrong one and expect to die

I’m telling you this and I do not lie

T’was getting bigger with the tide

Pick the set and you’re in for a ride

Back from surfers on the bus

Amidst the chunder and the fuss

Most of us were paddling, going nowhere fast

The BIG ones wasted, too far out

------------------------------------

All of a sudden and right on cue

The Mayor of Currumbin came into view

On the tip of the rock and about to pounce

And paddled straight out, regardless of paunch

Pulled on to the Wave of the day

Freefell ten feet into the fray

Stagger a bit and grabbed the rail

In a bottom turn not for the frail

-------------------------------------

He drove up the face with awesome force

Trimmed and stood there proud as a horse

As the barrel engulfed him we all held our breath

Cause this old guy was dicein’ with death

---------------------------------------

He looked a little wobbly

As he spat out of the hole

But it didn’t matter

Style was not the goal

Gathered speed with turns of gold

Hit the lip right on the fold

Floated sideways into place

And into Lacy’s with heaps of pace

---------------------------------------

Down the line he did go

Passed the young guns and those that know

Men like that don’t come along all time

And poems about them usually don’t rhyme

-----------------------------------------

So when I tell my stories now

I don’t forget the sacred cow

Of tales and memories fading fast

Or Ishmael, when tied to the mast

Was something most will never greet

Or someone they will never meet

And defiantly all but none will ever be

As brave and heroic as the old man of the sea

I was heading south out of Queensland and had paused to spend the coldest part of the night sucking down a bottle of Stones. This was the only way to stop the wind chill factor shakes that was preventing me from having a clean run. The bull dosser that pushed yesterday’s trees into a pile by the road was my best ally against the frozen wind because the fire wasn’t much help; couldn’t get close enough to it. Sleep finally came and it seemed only like a moment before the early morning road gang was waking me up.

On with the full face, kick the beast to life and back at it. It was a full 10 minutes before I let the tacho rise above three grand and only when the Burringbar Range was in my rear mirrors did I lift the right foot to place the segregated gear box into top gear. The touring range of my interstate tank was full and the Grafton fuzz weren’t out of bed yet, so it only seemed like a dawn breaking fart before Coffs was a distant memory. Maxville’s Iron Bridge became Newcastle’s gateway and a milkshake at the Oak wasn’t as attractive as a Hawkesbury oyster, so I pushed on towards Sydney. Just passed the Toukley turn off and wouldn’t ya know it, a creep club was blocking me. As I rounded the big right hander on to Wyong straight, I couldn’t take it anymore, I flicked on the blinker, stuck the nineteen inch Dunlop on the yellow line and before we were half way along the eighteenth fairway I was three cars behind the offending long wide load. A police escort was in front waving the on coming traffic onto the verge, when a Mac Bulldog, carting a full load of bricks, came out of the Wyong township, steered left over the railway bridge and didn’t even attempt to slow down as it turned to negotiate the verge. As it turned out rather unsuccessfully!

Here I was, perched in the middle of the road with nowhere to go and fifty ton of bricks heading straight for me, pushing a jack knifed prime mover. I had less than five seconds to live. I tapped the Mageera leaver in my right hand twice, just enough to see the tail lights of the Falcon beside me, laid into a ninety degree lefthander and gassed it off the bonnet of a Commodore up the Fords arse. As I was leaving the raised surface of the carriage way, I managed a quick look in the direction of the driver of the offending implement, visible to me through his side window, and he was ducking for cover. Boom, the fibreglass cab exploded into a million pieces as the overhanging load from the westward bound freight ripped it open like it was a can of tuna.

Back to the task at hand: I was leaving a perfectly good road surface and taking to the air between it and the wire mesh fence protecting motorists from stray white balls, I just cleared it and landed heavily in the sand bunker. That day in seventy six never left my memory, as I’m sure it didn’t the twenty odd drivers that got side swiped or the shell shocked suicide jock that crawled out of the burning wreck.

We all know what it feels like when the turkeys get ya down and the old black dog comes to town but what would life be if not a rollercoaster ride? If we didn’t have the hollows, how can we pick up enough speed to round the high points?

More and more these days I value the blue pits as life’s fibre, in so much as even though they gave you the shits at the time, you feel all the better for it later. It’s a bit like the How-odd years, while they were grumbling away telling everybody how good they were for us, we were all so glad when it was over.

So, with that in mind and looking at the big picture, September eleventh 2001 was like the world went of the platform of stable life and began to plummet into the biggest pit of despair (for the maximum number of people) regardless of your politics. At some point on the journey, depending on your position on the train, you got that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach we were going for a new low point in human history. Now I assume most of us are over that now and looking forward to seeing the pinnacle of new insights that type of ride can bring, but I don’t think we are there yet.

My big hope in life is that at some point we (the collective consciousness) shall rise above previous heights and begin to behave with the new perspective in mind.

Way back in the seventies when stepping out in a pair of flared jeans you were cool, but as the years past the only place you’d be considered cool is at a fancy dress nite. Even into the nineties, in Melbourne, you could be caught out in skin tight stubbies, supporting a mullet and still not get locked up but at some point in time, all fashion changes and if you’re not careful you can look pretty silly.

When Marlon Brando first rocked into town on a trumped up Harley and wearing black leather that was cool, now I don’t know about you but I’m a bit over it. Fifty thousand dollars of accessorized chrome and a colour co-ordinated jump-suit on a fat old man making loud farting noises, just doesn’t have the same effect.

Cars too can have a best before date, in so much as, it’s really easy to go totally over the top and end up looking like you have a deficiency downstairs or at least a bigger wallet than genitals. Never the less, every day I see all sorts go cruising down my street obviously more impressed with themselves than anybody else is (re: the little finger joke).

Now all this is fairly cosmetic and inconsequential, I mean if I want to dress up as a cowboy and ride around on a hobby-horse, thinking I’m cool, what’s it to anybody else? Well I’ll tell you where I draw the line:

* Parking cops on full race Ducati’s

* Your friendly neighbourhood beat cop looking like Robocop all tooled up

* Publicly funded bureaucrats driving around in V8’s supercars

* Top Guns playing in really expensive big boy toys (paid for out of the public purse)

* Public servants where nothing but the best will do

* ASIO types having their martinis shaken and not stirred

* Etc,etc

Anyway, if this current trends keep heading in that direction, I’m regressing back to the seventies and will start flaring up regularly.

Shape my sphere with the sacred format drawn from Euclidian stock

Divine my essence from streams hidden beneath Atlantis’ soil

Blend me into the androgynous mix poured from Aquarian urns

For that to me is the purpose of age and reason enough to toil

Give up the ghost of man’s bloated host abundance profit and greed

Become the rose and strike up the pose standing for all to see

Enlighten us now and show the way forward to the sea

Fight the war of peace for all and oceans for the free

Manifest justice and conjure a share for equality between mates

Love is a verb and becoming it is a certainty not so absurd

Today’s the day and tomorrow’s too late for second guessing our fate

Even if so and your will be slow we’ll gratefully await for the word

Sons and daughters reflect the character of parents good or bad

No thing from their loins will exceed your prodigy or seed but

Take note those who do not measure up or fail to take the lead

Your presence is required for a harvest fraught with weed

Ashes to ashes and burn nor rust, mourn for the living with no trust

In god or man and sinners or saints sallying about in vehicles of pride

Just us complaining verbosely over the beers and cheers of chatter

Incognitious of the great southern land where King’s and Queen’s reside

Gross tendencies and lies tend to fly in the face of people’s needs

Wherein the abomination of desolation stands where it should not

In the hearts, minds and desires of those whose happiness depends

On protecting ones possessions considering wife salt and Sodom’s lot

Here we are at the end of two episodes begging to blend, so

Send me your queries and lend me your ears cause he’s about to blow

Smoke up the rear and double digs on the bet but don’t forget, to let

Me be the one returned to for fun and THAT you’ll never regret.

Colour my world with pigments dredged from the pallet of artists past

Guild my existence from icons and the dross of the Vulcan’s crucible

Shatter me into a mosaic of the mandala and blow away the mundane

For you, to me, are the manifestation of creation and life’s jewel

Shed the skin of previous incarnations, wasted from abstinence

Take on a mantle and assume the stature of a presidence manifest

Send rays of enlightenment into corners of the earthly reigns

For yours is the promise of eons suffered and eternity’s zest

Rise and take form amidst mediocrity and the prevalence of ordinary folk

Done the yoke and fulfil destiny’s desire, amidst the flames of fire

Yesterdays sorrow is tomorrow’s joy and you are mine to admire

Even if my sanity fails and I am left bereft, to wallow in err

Sun’s shine and moon’s reflect, the critic’s knife is ready to dissect

No thing can they produce, save copies of your original design

Flagged and left behind, a poor substitute of the divine and

Sadly lacking in that which only you can place on the table of time

Down in the crust, the lowest of low, sing dirges of shame, no sorrow

To gods of glitter and princes of pride, only sally can take the ride

Bucking good banter to pass the years or to hide the fears of when

Finality rears up, sends a reminder and proclaims victory over homicide

Flatulence and whispers fill the halls of temporary power or parliament

Neither you nor I can hope to persuade minds bent on destructive implementation

Of grand plans laid by craftsmen of life’s mislays but when systems fall and

Nature calls, only my lord and lady can place trains at the station

Here we go on life’s grandest journey, nothing to fear except resistance to adhere

Courses for horses and whiskey for beer, you shouldn’t have come here if

Bottle is not on the menu or heart is not present, because soul is required and

Mine is on the line, Yours is up for grabs and yesterdays hero is tommorrows___!

Invisible borders are an intriguing concept; let’s shed some light on them.

Classic examples of force fields abound in science fiction. When the shields are up on the star ship Enterprise or the Klingons are using their cloaking device, I wouldn’t want to be a pedestrian crossing the galactic road. I’m sure there wouldn’t be any signs around Darth Vardar’s Death Star saying “Caution Tractor Beam in use” but I guess we’d be all right because we’ve all seem the movies. So, are there any similar applications in use around us today that we aren’t aware of?

Everybody knows that when you pass through a checkout and don’t pay for a scannable item, alarm bells ring but who cares if a perimeter has been breached in Toorak? All country houses are protected by termite barriers and electronic pest control can be purchased from most department stores. Cows are now fitted with collars that can electrocute them if they wander to far from their allocated paddocks and day release prisoners are in a similar position. Constant gardeners know how to use an herbaceous border to isolate unwanted species and DOSA’s (Designated Outdoor Smoking Areas) achieve the same objective.

Smart fellows and well educated members of the community know how to protect themselves and their property from undesirable aliens with unseen borders; this I have no doubt but what about the rest of us? If we built a border of Tobacco and abstained ourselves, we could identify the enemy by the big cloud of smoke above their heads and be confident all opposition would, sooner or later, die off. If we wanted to reinforce that barrier with alcohol, the enemy would be all the more venerable. Top it off with some particularly nasty drugs and the battle would be all but won.

Now I wouldn’t like to use those tactics myself but I am confident there are many non-smoking, teatotaling, drug company executives that would; and all power to them. OH Sh--! They all ready have that power, well then just a simple Zig-Hail might do!