Books Unwrapped

First, some political commentary (in Ramon's absence) from WA...



I've started to unwrap and read the book pressies on my bookshelf. I turn the paper into a dustcover for each book. This wrapping paper classification system could revolutionise libraries everywhere



Don Quixote has been the bane of my reading life for some time now. It's half a million words and it's marvellous but PLEASE GOD MAKE IT STOP. Don Quixote is someone telling you the same joke 500 000 times. I have about 80 000 words to go. The first book I unwrapped was an illustrated and abridged version of Don Quixote. It's like Cervantes' ghost is mocking me


On average, I have to unwrap six books to find one book I want to read. The poetry books are great but, call me an ungrateful sprog, I can do without fantasy, Brian Castro, and some book about a woman buying a farmhouse in Spain

So far I've read:

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon. 4 stars. Brilliant, sad, funny

The Radetzky March by Joseph Roth. 5 stars. Very Austro-Hungarian. Just superb

Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs. 1 star. Unbelievably racist and sexist. Jane had rocks in her head. If you haven't read this, you might not know that Tarzan goes about hanging Africans from treetops for the greater part of it

What Was That Mark, You're a Dickhead?

Distracted? Bloody hell, I would be.

I hate the Grand Prix, its expense and its bombast. But that's not what this post is about. It's a tired old gripe of mine and I'm prepared to let it rest for now.

Further, I don't mind Mark Webber calling Australia a 'Nanny State'. After all, I've called it that myself occasionally. What I do object to is him lambasting the enforcement of law.

Speeding really can kill people. You shouldn't speed. It's dangerous. Also, according to the law, you're simply not allowed to exceed the speed limit. If you do, penalties apply. To suggest that penalties shouldn't apply is utterly preposterous. Why shouldn't they be? I don't think there's an adequate answer.

"But I was only doing 63 in a 60 zone!"

That's what speeding is! You know about speeding. You know there are penalties. Cop it.

"Er, I didn't know what the speed limit was."

Fuck off, twerp.

"It's just revenue raising".

No, it's not just revenue raising. Various other other penalties apply. Yes, revenue is raised, but, hey, here's an idea: don't speed and you won't contribute to revenue!

Perhaps we should call the incarceration of murderers "just prison filling".

Happy Poetry Slam Friday!

Oh! kangaroos, sequins, chocolate sodas!
You really are beautiful! Pearls,
harmonicas, jujubes, aspirins! all
the stuff they've always talked about

still makes a poem a surprise!
These things are with us every day
even on beachheads and biers. They
do have meaning. They're strong as rocks.

Friday Shoe-a-palooza

Ok, you (well, some of you) asked for it! Here are some of my latest shoe purchases:

I bought these last year actually, but they're still a recent purchase. They are extraordinarily bright, and aren't really "every day" shoes. But they do make a statement! They won't be in season for long, but I suspect the 80s will make another comeback at some stage, and when they do, I'll have my neon pink shoes at the ready! I usually wear them with a plain black dress, black handbag, and a Hermes scarf with neon colourway (Pavois, in black/pink/orange/green). I have also worn them with a jade green dress, and a bright yellow dress, to great effect.

Christian Louboutin Paquita 120

These shoes are actually black and a pale gold, though they look pale pink in this photo. They're pretty classic, and I generally wear them with a black dress, black handbag and a black/gold Hermes scarf. You could also wear them with a gold dress if you were so inclined. Cream also looks nice with them.

Fendi Suede Swirl

These shoe boots were just so cute, I couldn't resist! The heel has been decorated to resemble snake skin, but in a gold colour. I would wear them with this outfit.

Alaia Suede Shoe Boots

I own many a pair of "evening" shoes, but I just loved these. I like the mary-jane quality about them (what you call a pump with an ankle strap), and the architectural heel. Obviously, a LBD would be the best bet for these. I tend to wear all my shoes for any occasion, however, so I wouldn't restrict these to night time. I will probably also wear them with a black skirt suit to work.

Lanvin Satin & Crystal Heels

These are obviously statement shoes. I would say the same rules apply to the first pair of Louboutins. If you wear bright shoes like this, you have to make them the statement piece of your outfit. Don't try to get all matchy-matchy and wear a yellow dress and handbag as well. You'll end up looking like a banana. You could, however, wear them with black or white (or even a nice shade of grey), and pair them with a yellow/black/white/grey scarf.

Christian Louboutin Rolando 120

These are an everyday shoe and are super comfortable. They're a clog-style mule, and are a comfortable height. I usually wear them with a cream dress, and a jade green bag. It's ok to mix colours of handbags and shoes, as long as they are complimentary (usually on opposite sides of the colour wheel).

Dior Leather Clog

I bought these because I realised I didn't have any gold shoes. And what girl can live without a pair of gold heels?! Joking, of course. I'm sure many can. I have a few pairs of black and gold heels, but nothing just plain metallic. I have recently purchased a midnight-blue gown, and that is the reason for the purchase of these heels. I didn't really have anything that would go with them. But you could also pair these with an LBD, or even some more "party" colours, like pink, green, purple, etc.

Oscar de la Renta Metallic Nappa Platforms

These were purchased just after McQueen died, but I'd had my eye on them before that. I love the deep blue colour, and the heart-shaped peep toe is just so adorable! You can't wear these without a pedicure though, as there is quite a lot of toe showing. To make them even better, they have blue soles, too! You can wear these with black/white/cream or even pink or purple.

Alexander McQueen Heart Peep Toe Pumps

I purchased these about 2 days before he died, and was very glad I did, as they sold out within a few minutes of his death. Everyone was trying to buy up everything from his second last collection. They are statement shoes, so again, make them the focus of your outfit. A black dress with them is great, and if you happen to have a yellow handbag, that would also be ok. This clutch would be even better, but I doubt you'll ever find it in Australia (you can't ship skins into Australia without an import/export licence). I have worn them recently with a black dress and a black handbag with a black and yellow scarf tied to it.

Alexander McQueen Geometric Leather Pumps

I realised I didn't really have any classic black pumps. Well, I do have some cheap black pumps, but they're a fabric shoe instead of leather. I have previously not bought a pair because I always figure if I'm going to spend so much on a shoe, I may as well get something worthwhile. I mean, you can get classic black pumps anywhere. But in the end, I caved and bought these simple black pumps. You can pretty much wear them with anything, which makes them a great investment piece. You'll definitely get your money's worth from them.

Christian Louboutin 100 Jazz

I have only just purchased these, and they haven't arrived yet. I found them on a designer outlet site, and they were so ridiculously discounted, I just had to buy them. Plus, they're amazingly pretty. I haven't worked out what to wear them with yet, but black, white, cream, gold, purple, etc would be very nice with them. Even a jade green would work well.

John Galliano Leather Cutout Sandles

I don't own these, but they are on my wishlist. Sadly, I will never have them unless I move to the UK. They are python skin and can't be shipped to Australia. I just love the skull detail on the front, and surprisingly, don't own any brown shoes. I think they would work great with a cream dress, or even jeans and funky t-shirt.

Alexander McQueen Python Skull Pumps

These are also on my wish list. I love the fish scale effect of the leather, and they would look fantastic on a night out with a LBD. They'd also go amazingly well with just about everything else. You could even jazz up a jeans outfit with them, and carry a little silver clutch to take you from day to night.

Christian Louboutin Poseidon Peep Toe Pumps

These are also on my wishlist. I know what you're thinking. They're a hot mess. But I love interesting shoes, and these are certainly a statement! A statement of what, I'm not sure. But I do love them. They're sort of half stripper/half work of art. I don't think there is much you could wear them with though. It would be LBD all the way. These are definitely a shoe which would be the dominant part of your outfit.

Versace Intrecciata Metal Platforms

And now the boys can breathe a sigh of relief, as that ends today's broadcast day! This completely pointless and vapid post brought to you by the Queen of Inappropriate Shoes.

Und jetzt...

Senator Nick Minchin has announced he's leaving politics.

Well comrades, the creative juices have been flowing, the synapses have been doing whatever the hell synapses do and the pot is...errr...on the boil.

I've written half a dozen posts, each more hilarious and bizarre than the last.

But you'll have to wait for 'em, as I'm going away for a week.

Suck rocks.

Fatty

Ramon's little story above reminded me of the one punchup I was in. I was out with my mate Zigzag, we were both about 18, and we had with us his little sister Miss Model and her friend Fatty Hilton - the two girls were 16 or 17. We had all been at Rubber Soul, a 60's nightclub in Spencer Street and were about to catch the last train home. A bloke approached me and said, "What are you looking at?" and I said, "What?" and he said, "What did you say?" and I said, "What!" and he punched me in the mouth and it cut my lip and I bled. His mates had come along and dragged him away, apologising, and the two girls were screaming and Zigzag simply said, "Are you alright?". My lip was swollen for a few days. End of story.

But thinking of that story reminded me of the existence of Fatty Hilton. She was two year levels below me (same year level as Lewd Bob) and in the first few years of High School she was, well, just a little chubby. By no means fat though. There were lots of fat boys and girls at our school, just like any other, but she wasn't one of them. But, of the relatively attractive / somewhat popular girls, she was perhaps the biggest-boned, and so her name was Fatty. Come on, we were kids. I never invented the name.

Anyway, in about Year 10, she went missing for months and months. Turns out she developed anorexia. Mind you, this was about 1986, and we didn't really know much about anorexia, and schools back then did not have counselling and education about these sorts of things.

She came back to school an absolute stick-insect, though at least she was out of hospital and was strong enough to attend classes. And, well, you know how Australians have that irony thing going on where we call red-headed people 'Bluey' and short guys we call 'big fella' and all that... well, now that she was the skinniest girl in the school her nickname was, umm, Fatty.

Poor Fatty Hilton. Hitler was evil, but nobody is more cruel than an adolescent.

As she was best friends with my mate's little sister, we socialised a fair bit. When I was 19 and at Uni, I was at a party, New Year's Eve, somewhere in the Eastern Suburbs. I was a little drunk. I stared at Fatty Hilton as she was making cocktails. Despite the ravages of an eating disorder she was quite attractive. The eyes... so beautiful. I couldn't stop looking at her. I found desire. When midnight came I threw myself upon her and we pashed. I think I was the first man to kiss her in quite some time.

She became a little emotional later that night and talked to me about her disorder in such graphic terms that I felt ill. She cried. I comforted. She was messed up. I got her home safely and that was that.

It is was only yesterday, as I thought of Fatty Hilton, that I realise that I don't think I ever saw her again after that night. Not once. 21 years later I feel guilt, and I wonder what happened to her, but as Saramago says (and this is a quote I have on my fridge), "...whoever goes, goes, and whoever remains, remains."

UPDATE: I went to schoolfriends.com.au and she had a blank profile, which suggests she's alive. That'll do.

The kindness of strangers

A good-ish number of years ago, when I was at Uni, some mates and I were in a car on Saturday night, travelling down Chapel Street to a party- as was our wont in those long-gone times.

Near the intersection with Dandenong Highway our car bumped – quite gently – into the rear of the car in front. Our driver got out to inspect the damage, as did the driver of the other car.

From there, things got weird.

The driver of the other car and for ease of narrative, lets call him “Insane Psycho Lunatic” or IPL for short, took exception to our mate’s explanation of the incident and knocked him to the ground.

“Right-o” we all thought, “spirit of Gallipoli and all that”, so out we go to come to our mate’s aid.

The drawback was that this bloke was an insane, psycho lunatic and we were arts students, the result being we were knocked around Chapel Street like nine-pins. I was punched to the ground, got up and was punched to the ground again.

I remember lying on the ground thinking “well, things aren’t going so well” when there was a shout of “oi” and a passer-by came to running to our aid and gave said IPL a through and much deserved walloping.

“Err, thanks mate” we said. “No worries” he said and drove off*.

The moral of this story escapes me, unless it’s “don’t get into fist fights with lunatics if you’re a weedy arts student**.”

*We managed to track him down and delivered a slab of beer in thanks the next day.

**I suppose having Alex*** with us might have come in useful.

***I mean, of course, the surly, punching-on Alex, not the fluffy, nice Alex we’ve all come to know and love.

My boy Jack.

“Have you news of my boy Jack?”
Not this tide.
“When d’you think that he’ll come back?”
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

“Has any one else had word of him?”
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

“Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?”
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind —
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!

A very special post - for St Patrick's Day

Drink!

Drink!!

Girls!

Feck!

Arse!

Fluffy joins the 7:30 Report.

Why won't you answer my question, Mr Abbott?

Despite what you may think, I do have a degree of sympathy for political journos.

Political change within a democracy usually occurs at a glacial pace, often involving small numbers of people talking in stuffy, over-heated rooms or (less frequently) large numbers of people shouting at other people on the streets and dodging the rubber bullets and tear gas.

Unhappily for political journos, it’s more the “small numbers of people talking in stuffy, over-heated rooms” scenario, which makes it hard to write entertaining copy. After all, what self-respecting Chief of Staff or editor is going to be pleased with “In dramatic scenes in Canberra, nothing much happened and the Prime Minister Kevin Rudd had a nice cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit”?

No, far better to bang out the sort of tripe everybody else is writing. It’s easier and after a while you can write guff like “Prime Minister Kevin Rudd is standing by besieged Minister for X after a controversial series of weeks as the opposition blah, blah, blah…” in your sleep – which I believe is Glenn Milne’s preferred way of working.

Case in point.

For weeks, the Gallery has been churning out opinion piece after opinion piece about how the Tony Abbott has the Ruddster “rattled”, about how people are starting to “see through the Rudd Government spin” and endless bilge about “plummeting approval ratings”; based on nothing more than tittle-tattle and idle chat in coffee shops.

The latest Newspoll in today’s Oz has the two party preferred vote for Labor at 52 per cent (coalition at 48) – compared with the November 2007 election of…err…52.7.

Three years of bluster, bullshit and hype has resulted in three quarters of fuck-all.

Alex also asked why isn't Lindsay Tanner treasurer and why Julie Bishop?

There are a number of possible reasons as to why Lindsay Tanner isn’t treasurer, Alex. Swan is from the right and Queensland (like the PM) while Tanner is from the left and Victoria, which may be a factor but I suspect they use Tanner as the political head kicker while leaving Swan as the “calm, sensible voice of reason”.

I think we’re all still scratching our heads about Julie Bishop, though.

Weekend Wrap

Friday Night

I had my Mum staying for all of last week and I dropped her back in Melbourne Friday afternoon. I then put on a 3 piece suit, nothing new there, and took myself to Zetta Florence in Brunswick Street to buy some stationery and presents. Then to Mario's in Brunswick Street for dinner (lasagne, garlic bread, two long macchiatos, three cigarettes). I then went to an art exhibition in the same street. It was a group exhibition but one of the artists is this bloke Sparky (who is dating Artemis) and he is a great artist and I'm positive he'll be famous so I'm collecting his work. I'm prepared to spend a fortune on him so he better get fucking famous. Top bloke, too.

Anyway, he had two works at this exhibition, and there was one I wanted (the one to the left). It was advertised to start at 6pm. I was there at 5.59pm. I walked in... both were already sold. They were pre-sold! Fuck it. The rest of the exhibition was meh and there was no air conditioning. It was 400 degrees in there. I was outside by 6:10pm. Sparky, Artemis and her sister Spud arrived. I said, "You're fucking art was already sold!" He apologised for not letting me know. He then offered to sell me a print on good paper. I said yes, but it's not the same. They asked me back into the exhibition, and for a big night of drinking. I said no. I was hot.

I got in my car. Rang Obtuse, cos it was her birthday, and I had a present for her. I offered to drop it in and she said, "No! Not now!". Righto then. I drove back to the Surf Coast. Popped in to see Surfer Joe at about 10.30pm at his restaurant. He said, "I have lots of drugs on me. Should we have a big night out?" "No," I said, "I'm going home."

Went home and read William S Burroughs. Sparky texted me asking me for my postal address so he could mail an invoice for the print. A print.

Saturday

Cleaned the house top to bottom. Did eight or nine washing loads. Made nachos with enough melted cheese to feed Belgium. At 11pm, Surfer Joe called. "There's 100 hot women at the bar next door," he says. I picked him up and we walked to the bar. Yeah, hot, but of an indeterminate age between 17 and 19. So, not hot. They all dressed like $5 whores. What's with that? Surfer Joe slipped me an ecstacy pill and I took it. We stood about for a bit, then he decided he had to go see his girlfriend because she's ill. He didn't take a pill.

He dropped me at a birthday party up the hill, and left me there. Twenty five people there. Twenty two blokes, all stoned on grass. Three chicks, also stoned. They have a joint the size of John Holmes' cock. They offered me some but I haven't had cannabis since 1990. I drank a whole bottle of wine and talked rubbish to some guys. I went to the front yard to have a wee, then decided not to go back in. I walked home, downhill, took about half an hour.

I sat outside my house, drinking a cup of coffee, must have been three AM. I was approached by a young boy I know, a local boy, Backward Cap, who once, when he was on Ice, threatened to kill me. He has since apologised. Anyway, he had a German girl with him who I didn't know. He said, "This is Maria. Maria, this is Perseus... I have to go," and he ran away. She sat with me. She liked my kitten, Lord Byron. She said, "I am in Australia for two months. That boy with the backward cap wanted to have sex with me, and was a little upset with me because I wouldn't... but I never said I would. I am engaged. My fiancee is in Germany. I would never cheat on him." I offered her a coffee and she said no, but she took a cigarette. "I'm from the North of Germany," she said, "And my fiancee is from the East. Oh boy, our families weren't too happy at the start." Lord Byron jumped on to her lap. I said, "I'm going to bed," and she said, "Oh, really?" She didn't want to leave. I could tell she wanted to tell me her life story. I could tell she wanted to keep drinking. She looked like Sarah Jessica Parker. Like an anorexic stead. I picked up the cat, said goodnight and shut the door on her.

I read William S Burroughs. On the drugs, he makes even less sense.

Sunday

Up at 9am, worked in the garden until 3pm. I'm no good at gardening. Everything dies. The weeds always win. But gee I love it. Listened to Jonathan Richman as I weeded, on shuffle. Then had to work for two hours. At 7pm, I had a steak that would feed three rugby players, and a steamer full of garlic beans. It's 8.45pm. Ponygirl is an hour away. Her bed is made and I have left out guest towels, soap and a present of a burnt Neutral Milk Hotel CD. She's staying for four nights, working for me again. I'm not going to write about it this time.

No, I don't understand this either.

I returned a bag of groceries
Accidently taken off the shelf
Before the expiration date
I came back as a bag of groceries
Accidently taken off the shelf
Before the date stamped on myself

Did a large procession wave their
Torches as my head fell in the basket,
And was everybody dancing on the casket?

Now it's over I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want (now it's over)
Or, I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do

I will never say the word
"Procrastinate" again; I'll never
See myself in the mirror with my eyes closed
I didn't apologize for
When I was eight and I made my younger brother
Have to be my personal slave

Did a large procession wave their
Torches as my head fell in the basket,
And was everybody dancing on the casket?

Now it's over I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want (now it's over)
Or, I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do

(So) So I won't
(Sit) sit at home
(And) anymore
(And) and you won't
(And) see my head in
(And) the window
(And) and I won't
(And) be around
(And) ever anymore
(And) and I'll be up there on the wall at the store

I returned a bag of groceries
Accidently taken off the shelf
Before the expiration date
I came back as a bag of groceries
Accidently taken off the shelf
Before the date stamped on myself

Did a large procession wave their
Torches as my head fell in the basket,
And was everybody dancing on the casket?

Now it's over I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want (now it's over)
Or, I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do

Now it's over I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want (now it's over)
Or, I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do

Six films I'd actually pay good money to see.

Men who stare at coats.

The time traveller’s cat.

The hurt overhead luggage locker.

Malice in Wonderland.

Dear John, you’re a cunt.

The Wolfmensch.

My personal favourite though is that indie Australian film from a couple of years ago; whereby a band of backpackers struggle against a murderous psychopath armed only with their youthful vigour and a selection of medium priced Australian wines.

I refer, of course, to that terrifying film Wolf Blass Creek.

RIP Mark Linkous

Mark Linkous, the guy behind lo-fi band Sparklehorse, a band I have followed since the release of their debut album in 1995 has, sadly, committed suicide.

He collaborated with such luminaries as Tom Waits and PJ Harvey and was responsible for some brilliant songwriting and eccentric albums.

The following 2 songs represent each end of his distorted, fuzzy spectrum:

Seven Nights with Ponygirl

Where were we?

As you may recall, Love Of My Life (TM) Ponygirl stayed with me for a fortnight in late Jan / early Feb. Pulling the "I'm not ready for a steady relationship and beside I live 7 hours away" line, I sought, much to many reader's discomfort or disgust, consolation rudies (by the way, thanks Obtuse for that word: rudies).

I propositioned Ponygirl for sex and/or her hand in marriage about five times and she rejecetd me every single time. Then she offered me sex one time, and I stupidly rejected the offer. Damn ethics.

So anyway, three weeks went past and she was back again, for a week, to stage manage a rather large show I had produced. In the intervening three weeks there was one major development in her life - she decided against living on the farm, and she accepted a full time job in Melbourne, starting in a month at an entertainment agency (I went referee).

So, she's moving to Melbourne! Suddenly the 'distance' thing is not an issue.

So what happened during our week together? Will the move to Melbourne alter the dynamics of our 3 year on again / off again romance? Will she at least drop the stupid 'no sex for you' rule? Will I beg for even a chance to wash her brassiere in with my undies? Let's see...

Friday Feb 26

She arrives in Melbourne to see my band play. She is a little tipsy and spoils the band rotten by twice bringing drinks up and on to the stage as we're playing (one set of rum shots, one of beer). Always the stage manager. After the gig (an early one) I hit the iced-waters and coffee for a few hours then drive back to the Surf Coast. She stays at a friend's house in Melbourne.

Saturday Feb 27

She arrives at my house in the afternoon. We go to Surfer Joe's for dinner and catch up. We have an early night as we have a lot to do the next day. We sleep in separate beds.

Sunday Feb 28

Up at 9am. We work on show run-sheets until 5pm. Then, we spend the evening getting very drunk and playing Rummikub. We play 20 or so rounds. I win only one of them. She is very, very good at the game, even when sloshed. Bed at 1am, separate beds.

Monday March 1

Show is installed. She supervises, 9am - 7pm, while I work on future shows in my office. That evening, she comes home and re-works runsheet from 8pm - 1am, making me stay awake in case she needs advice. I sit in pyjamas at the kitchen table reading the Collected Poems of Raymond Carver, ocassionally giving advice, and making the cuppas. Separate beds.

Tuesday March 2

Show is rehearsed under her supervision and direction. She works 7am - 6pm. Then, at night, she continues to alter runsheets until her brain fries. She's stressed. I went to bed at 11pm. At 1am, she crawls into my bed, cuddles me, and we fall asleep within seconds.

Wednesday March 3

She works 6am - 7pm. Day one of show runs well. Minimal working at night, and we go to separate beds, early.

Thursday March 4

She works 6am - 11pm. Show runs perfectly. After-party for show crew at my house til 2am, we all get a little drunk. She's a bit flirty with me, but I think it is more out of relief from the show working. She's just happy. We go to separate beds.

Friday March 5

Ponygirl departs, early, to get back to farm. She's back in 9 days' time to do one more show for me before she starts full-time in Melbourne.

**

Pretty boring, huh?

I know I promised excitement and drama, but just like any film starring Denzel Washington post-Malcolm X, it was a lie.

Romeo and Juliet we were not. Jerry and Elaine would be the closest example.

If you're thinking that I have wised up and found some inner-strength and dignity in my dealings with Ponygirl, you'd be right. But if you think I found this inner-strength without some, er, assistance, you'd be wrong.

See, something else happened in the intervening three weeks.

Something very good happened.

Songstress, happened.**

As Raymond Carver so beautifully put it in a poem about driving towards his new girlfriend's house after divorcing his wife, I am...

"...moving toward whatever ancient thing
it is that works the chains
that pulls us so relentlessly on."

Wish me luck.


**If you click the Songstress link, jump to Jan 26.

A poem about swans. Not owls

Wayne Swan, not Wayne Owl. Obvs.

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.

The nineteenth autumn has come apon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon these brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold,
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?

Note; this poem is about swans, not owls.

People don’t write poems about owls* as owls are filthy vermin.

*The Owl and the Pussycat doesn’t count.

A Post About Nothing

I haven't posted anything for a little while. Largely because, right now, I have nothing to say. I seem to go through periods of complete and utter stagnation, where I am creatively bankrupt, my thought processes are abuzz with swarms of flies and I suffer writer's block. Not just here at the superior blog site know as TSFKA , but at my work where I'm required to churn out inspired proposals and stimulating scripts. As well as contribute clever witticisms, sharp retorts and shrewd observations to the bemusement and chagrin of those around me.

Nothing interests me in these periods. Not sport, politics, movies, music. Not even the alleged gender of contributors and commentators on this blog. It's not a depression thing, but rather a simple lack of motivation. It's more like a sluggish lethargy. Laziness perhaps. I'll get over it. I always do. Maybe I'll contribute four posts next week, each more breathtaking than the last. Or maybe the week after.