Ancient apercus from February 2005

Mi'Zar + Alcor

Belvedere Jehosophat - Saturday, February 26, 2005 - 00:11:33

{watching a siren flash by the side of the road; an ambulance perhaps, or maybe a fire truck}

Cars stop when a siren bathes the world in two colours – red and blue. There is an almost demented beauty about a world that exists in just two colours. It is gratifying and reassuring to have existence, in all its multifaceted glory, reduced, even if for a short time, to this binary state: red and blue; red and blue; red and blue. It is also selfish, to be perfectly honest, and puerile too. When a siren flashes we are able to, for a second, for just a second, reduce the complexities of life to these two colours, & when we do, we crow and exult and brag and swagger and giggle insanely – we now understand everything as easily as we understand the abstract concept of ‘binary’. We are so childish, some of us at any rate – some of are relaxed and take everything in our stride.

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Hunter Stockton Thompson - Rest in Peace, you Crazy Diamond

Jimmy Weasel - Monday, February 21, 2005 - 19:00:55

Thompson is dead. Escaping the tyranny of being alive, perhaps we should be grateful it was never whatever poisons he abused throughout his life that took him down - that would be too obvious. See that as a positive.

"This had better be some kind of sick hoax" one bystander was heard to mumble. "His words have a way of getting into your head and bouncing around like some messed up pinball after you engage a zero-gravity cheat," he surrendered to whoever would listen upon further questioning.

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I Can't See [His] Face in My Mind

Belvedere Jehosophat - Friday, February 18, 2005 - 08:54:38

“I can’t for the life of me remember his name, but I’ve always been bad with names. I do, however, remember that he was from Indonesia, and that he was an artist – he was an Indonesian artist.

“He wore black combat boots and, uh, green fatigues, and... I think they’re called fatigues... anyway, green army pants. He also wore a green shirt that had, like, a red star just above the heart. On any other person it would have looked tacky and pretentious, but this dude, man, this dude pulled off the look pretty convincingly, you know? He used to ride a scooter or a motorbike or a, I don’t know, a normal bicycle or something like that. I never actually saw it but he carried an army helmet, which doubled as a normal helmet for his bike. When he wasn’t wearing the helmet – which was always ‘cause I never saw him on his bike – he had it strapped to his backpack. It was just a normal backpack, there were no, there were no, there was nothing really army about it, you know? He had... he also had aviator goggles. They were always around his neck, and I guess they served as goggles for his bike or whatever. The first thing I noticed... he said he was an artist by the way... actually, I can’t remember if he told me that or I somehow inferred it later. It doesn’t really matter, I guess. Anyway – [inaudible]… was I? – oh, yeah, the first thing I noticed was his hair, which was multicoloured, but not like greens and yellows and oranges and shit, but... [inaudible]... purple! there must’ve been about twenty different shades of purple in his hair! His hair was a fucking mess I remember that. A fucking mess! It went everywhere, just everywhere. It looked fake as well! It just looked plastic. One of the girls we were with told me that he dyed his hair so often that, eventually, he was just going to damage it permanently.

“The thing that stood out the most was his peculiar way of smoking cigarettes. He would hold a cigarette in between his pinky and his ring finger... his, uh, his third finger, and he would and he would cup his hands together tightly. And when his hands were completely sealed, he would make and suck at a gap between his thumbs and, using the vacuum created in between his hands, he would smoke the cigarette. I’m not too sure why he did this ‘cause I can’t imagine that it would further filter the smoke or anything like that, or, I don’t know, cool it down further, I don’t know. It was just odd, you know, but but cool too.

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Limber ballyhoo puff through a spacious car boot

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, February 16, 2005 - 22:38:05

Spluttering and clinging to near death, asking for that caramello flavoured exit from The Alfred Hospital, Maria Korp looks set to take the crown and throne of porcelain as the newest advertising boon. Thanks in large part to the efforts of her possibly soon-to-be-ex-husband, Joe Korp and his mistress in a dress, Tania Herman, the womping and wafting of Mrs. Korp a little too early may affect her future rank in the standings.

With her lead in the rankings now so close to that of dynamically rigid Holly Wells and Jessica Chapman, all that is needed is a certificate of death and an overpass will be for her and the internet dating/swingers site so mentioned in all news reports.

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GIRA DOUX

Belvedere Jehosophat - Monday, February 14, 2005 - 02:03:12

Let me tell you something about the pilots who burn to death in their planes.

What happens during the catastrophe is really unimportant; just know that these people suffer terribly – an insular, claustrophobic sort of burning.

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Expulsions and prepulsion, the whole notion stirs commotion

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, February 9, 2005 - 16:56:03

Conjecture and the playbook of Pope John Paul: Mark II stirs an undercurrent of unrest in the Catholic and conspiracy communities. Walking through a haze of prayer and ceremony, his Holiness is falling under the Ashlee Simpson/Madonna/Britney Spears speculation of performance. The gual of his white-robedness exacerbated by casting aside even the attempt of moving his cherry lips against the backing tape of prayer. The furore over his showing of deathly ill makes for those repetitive arguments on his dismissal ring through again.

As the religious are finding their might, locals of Australia are still looking toward themselves and their treatment of accents. Recent revelations sandwiched against a lack of understanding sees the Baxter Detention Resort Centre in South Australia regain bastard ground. The Immigration Department, after ten months of holding Austrailan resident and German accented Cornelia Rau, finally gave the woman a serving. Unfortunately for them, Rau was still alive and her identity was yet to wipe itself from all records.

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Clarity of definition is lost in the bloody wind

Ethan Switch - Friday, February 4, 2005 - 19:18:43

Straddling a corpse primed to the teeth with death over the unliving skin, a young man was pulled over by his startled schoolmates on the way to their private Catholic school. Visibly upset, a blind dog sitting by the roadside where the course pelvic work out was taking place asked what manner of God would forbid such a thing. Talking through their slashed throats, the leader of group that had pulled the thrusting boy off the other, rebutted with a silent bow, palms clapsed like an Academy Awards audience member.

Another member of the Slashed Throats, pointing toward a grassy knoll, revealed the location of a voyeur in their midst. With the latest round of constant health fears surrounding Pope John Paul II, it's believed that the man in the iron cast leg discreetly taking footage was an agent for the Vatican. Out perhaps for a day from solitary refinement or even as an excursion in learning the trials of an ordinary person's life, he's attempt at a hasty escape was thwarted by the absence of a second leg.

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Coalition smelling the times, warms up for hump of the week

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, February 2, 2005 - 18:43:08

Fearing a rejuvenation in the rank eyes of optimistic scepticism toward the Australian Labor Party, the Coalition have set themselves up for a little disharmony. Clanging around their party walls is the issue over abortion and the prospective rights and warrants to vacuum suck a near legal being into death.

Splitting legs like an eagle's wings, Senator Ron Boswell, of the hick spit Nationals, reignited the fire under the billy can when he nudged the Federal Health Minister, Tony Abbott. Talks then spilled and spread across the dinner table, the parents casting stern eyebrows at the kids playing much too messily in the public eye. Half of the Brady's were looking at the other half, one side talking, the other resigning their brains to the heap preferring to let others decide the fate of foetuses.

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