Aperçus of Paranoid Times

(Unknowing saviours & the inadvertently saved.)

Belvedere Jehosophat - Sunday, 16 January, 2005 - 18:21:26 - print it raw

osculate; to kiss.

Hundreds of people, maybe as many as 39, line up at a bus stop waiting for a bus that is long overdue. They begin to rock back and forth slowly like trees swaying gently in the wind, but, because of their breeding or maybe because of an indefinable trait of the species, they cling to the ground, backs bent ‘til breaking, withstanding the ever-increasing winds. By all rights these people should snap in half, but they never do. It’s bizarre, to say the least, but it’s still OK, you know?

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half the time we act all numb

Belvedere Jehosophat - Saturday, 1 January, 2005 - 19:47:26 - print it raw

Two ghosts sit at a bar, each with their own drink. The only sign of their existence is that the volume in their glasses gradually gets smaller and smaller.

The first ghost speaks:

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Ukraine on the brain, this campaign needs a drain

Ethan Switch - Tuesday, 14 December, 2004 - 17:50:10 - print it raw

Shapeshifting pros con and cough in the rubble of dubious elections. Watching the charades of recent misgivings, Urkraine humps the notch to show what for and "what the hell is going on?" in the political bowels. Climates push votes, leaning the left to the right and back again for the sake of an agitated bowel.

Opposition front runner, Viktor Yushchenko, unhappy with a face that looks back in the mirror, returns to Kiev from the Rudolfinerhaus clinic in Austria. Bearing results and confirmation of a clubber's dose of dioxin in the system, the man is a little unwell and haggling for a refund from the ice rink of death. A thousand times over limits of sanity and safety—and with a spiked soup expected in the interrogation array—the dosage left Yushchenko's face in crumbles, barely recognisable.

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Notes from the Palace of Exile

Belvedere Jehosophat - Sunday, 28 November, 2004 - 00:22:14 - print it raw

A fat man stands on the edge of a cliff, the ringmaster of this sick parade. He totters and sways drunkenly, appearing many times as if he’s about to topple over the edge. However, he never falls.

[I can't remember yesterday, today it rained.]

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The Days Were Loveable. The Nights Were Loveable.

Belvedere Jehosophat - Monday, 8 November, 2004 - 00:19:20 - print it raw

Two breeds, hunter and hunted, circle each other, contemptuous, leery, but at the same time dancing in unison, born for symbiosis. Tribal drums thump & thump and the procession starts. Things are confused. The consumption of intoxicants doesn’t help.

Scavengers drink the blood of those who fall behind, they rise out of the woodwork, bitter + resentful at having been forgotten. They only exist now to bring the others down, to disrupt the proceedings – let’s drink to them!

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Howard wins another term, terrorists disappoint crowds once again

Ethan Switch - Sunday, 10 October, 2004 - 12:00:43 - print it raw

Drunken masses, tree felling Tasmanians and well greened Australians thumbed their brown noses to Mark Latham and Labor by returning John Howard to government for another indeterminate stay wielding his brand of trust and disclosure for an historic fourth term.

Watching on from the sidelines were coroners and criminal investigators and hijack nuts who had already conceded the Coalition return a few days out from polling day. Their insight into the result was clouded by references to earlier elections held in Indonesia and Spain. Taking lessons taught by the terrorists, the pundits knew full well the stay of the Howard eyebrow juggernaut when in the lead up, no bomb blasts or massacres occurred on Australian soil.

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