Coolibah: Two Women, A Man And A Boat.

He gets up from under his piss reeking hollow beneath the coolibah. Reaching his hand out, he moves towards me, stumbling, gurgling, hocking… Briefly I think he might just pass out before he reaches me, but with all the awkwardness of a drunken stupor he manages to intersect my path of travel.

‘Excuse me mister,’ he begins and lunges forward in an instant of awareness, trying to shake my hand. But I’ve learnt that this is a ploy in which he uses to iron glove your hand, letting go only when you have become too exhausted with his stench and hand over the coin.

‘Do you have two dollar for me brother?’ he adds seeing his window closing when I ignore his plea to hold hands and do his dance.

‘Yeah mate,’ I reply digging my wallet out, I pass over two bucks.

‘Excuse me mister, but you haven’t got some more do ya,’ he continues after he secures the first coin in his stiff grip.

‘No,’ I say, but I see him pointing to the five dollars stick out of my wallet.

‘Well what the fuck am I supposed to buy with two dollars,’ his tone becomes aggressive. CPI index must be a big concern around here!

‘Fuck off,’ I stop him here, I’m rude and I don’t give a shit. I already know every possible situation, none of which will be a thank you.

‘Arh fuck you cunt, you stole my country, fuck off!’ he begins to shout, but I carry on walking to work. He follows for a few steps with his fists clenched, then tires and turns away.

The Drive Of A Nation

Words inspired by the film 'Bombora'

We had been driving for days, weeks or even years. Nobody it seemed minded much. We were unanimous content in the feeling of our serenity. Tiresome obligations chewed up by the plied firestones of many miles , left to die on a long stretch of road. Separate us, separating them. It is true that the road will calm all anxieties.

We had gone, unplanned, spurred by our restless dreams, the idea we could live, not by rule, not by reason, but exactly the way we were destined. Free to be Gods children amongst his gardens, baring the fruits of a free man, a smile, good health, and a mind empty to the worries of the world. I watched Casey sleeping. Curled up across the bench seat, her body bounced as the car dived across the pitted road and her hair danced in the gentle breeze. Bleached by the sun, it was no longer than shoulder length. She often wore it down, it suited her. Well I thought it suited her, she was indifferent. I always thought it was an interesting contrast against her tanned complexion and vivid hazel eyes. The road abruptly turned to a dry red dust and the car sunk into the soft earth, momentarily slowing before finding the firm ground beneath. I turned my attention back to Casey. She stirred a little adjusting a crocheted blanked across her legs. She wore a low cut white bikini beneath a delicate cheese cloth dress. As if she had sensed I was watching, she gently laid her hand on my legs, giving it a brief stroke, and then, as slow and as gentle as she had touched me she tucked her hand back behind her head.

The long grasses pushed up against the car as we passed through on the two skinny tracks, my eye’s watched the grass in the middle fold under the heavy front bumper, but my mind drifted along to the music, Pink Floyd’s meddle. It was Todd’s new album. We’d played it continually on his request, I looked up at him apparently aware of my own thoughts, his eyes were closed but his lips followed the smooth lyric’s showing he was awake. The afternoon sun baked the scene a hazy golden brown and the warm wind which drifted though the window carried with it the smell of the arid dry earth. At first the heat had been too much, oppressing almost, it dried my lips and burnt my face. Now though it was much cooler, I smiled as it blew the hair into my face. Home, I started to think, I’m not sure why. Was it the road and its vast openness that conjures up the past to dwell, giving time to the most insignificant details of my consciousness. It wasn’t Melbourne, no it was England. It was never this hot back home. Actually it seemed unfair calling it home. It was now so distant I’d hardly have thought of England as anything other than a place where my Dad was from. Like a past which I’d had no part in. Do I really remember it being cold, or had I just been told that it was cold? If there was a home this was it, this moment, this place, it had become my home. Nomadic days, all spent with friends sunning ourselves on the various pearly white beaches we had found. We living in a large tarp and torn blankets. The thin steering wheel jumped though a loose grip. The wagon juddered for a moment then realigned itself with the track. We had been trying to hold fifty miles an hour but some patches were deep and the motor tired quick. Macca was keeping his distance, if not because of the way the car would suddenly slow but because of the dust which exploded behind us like the scenes from Nam.

Stupid fucking thing that was! Pointless, dishonest political bullshit and they had wanted me to take part. ‘You’re fucking kidding me right,’ I jeered as Dad passed me the letter stamped with the federal insignia. I’d be out that door before I’d even had a chance to open it, there was no chance, no, not me. Dad watched as I secured the board too the roof, his hands in his pockets, a steady expression. He passed a few bob through the window as I went to leave. ‘Stay safe son,’ his words lingered, I tried to smile, but instead got caught on a look which confirmed the stiff terms. He knew I wasn’t coming back any time soon and I’d watch him disappear in the rear view with an unsettled look on his face. This was final, ‘good bye dad,’ I mumbled.

The letter, now aware of it was still resting on the dashboard unopened where I had left it. Suddenly the car bedded in, we had hit a particularly soft patch, I dropped the lever on the column, and the car jerked. I’d thought we were good and proper fucked when the car was within an inch of its life. Thankfully the rev’s started to pick up and we were pulled out to safety. We had already been bogged earlier that day when we stopped for lunch. The girls, Casey, Heather, Lucy and Amber had made a small shelter in the bent and twisted braches of a lonely Eucalyptus. The tree lay almost flat, pushed as if by an unseen wind stirred up by the ocean. It was around midday when we pulled off and the wheels sunk beneath us. We hustled with the heavy girth of the wagon as the girls spread pickles on lovely fresh bread. It was a wholesome meal and after we sat in the field smoking dope, admiring the vast nothingness of a continent shivering in the tender breeze, with it, carried the faint sweetness of the ocean too which we longed.

Wow... Just wow.

Soft drinks only $1.20!

"Um yeah, sorry hun, yeah... So you know how you keep telling me to save money and all that, well, yeah, um, you see, the soft drink was so cheap and um yeah, thats why Jed saw me leaving .. Yeah'

Midwest Depravity - Carnarvon Part 4

Peta is a little young, seventeen actually. She is wearing a modest red bikini revealing luscious tasty curves, all bosoms and bum. She didn’t look seventeen at all, more like a lady in the mid twenties, exquisite, full and well supported. Marvellous, yes, breasts full of grandeur, big enough to have their own gravitational pull.

The foot ball drops beside the group of inconspicuously alert girls, landing with a light splash. For a moment they make no movement, stalling and huddling like a surprised school of bait fish, it was a well practiced defensive exercise. A move we, the salmon hunters had expected. In an instant our general chatter, which up to this point has been voluminous and playful, dimmed to a noticeably new level which would have scared any parent within earshot. I looked at Twon, he was standing in the shallows with a greedy smile, his eyes transfixed on the play.

In the car park, some two hundred meter’s amongst the sand dune which hugged the bay, Daisy laughes beside his car. From where I was sitting in the water, I could just make out his body jerking with his laugh and he lifts his hand over his eye’s blocking out the warm midday glare, he gazes down amongst the scene like an elite, watching the game from a corporal box.

Like most weekends in the salmon shack, we, the degenerates, wake late with hands supporting our frail minds. Today by all accounts was Sunday, and like all Sunday mornings, it is not a time to engage in political debate, not that I think we were actually capable of a political debate. Anyway today being the morning of a Sunday was no exception. I’m not sure what started our tradition, maybe it was out of boredom, out of habit, out of pure curiosity, but as usual we had slipped into our cleanest unclean shorts, grabbed the football beside the tatted door and marched off towards the beach.

It was beautiful, actually alarmingly beautiful and if I think back now it is the sort of moment which makes you miss a place, or miss a time. It was a warm and languid afternoon. The sea was looking like a glassy flat field of tranquil blue. People all over the beach moved about, adjusting the occasional hungry bum or rearranging the loose bikini strap. We watched on with undignified fascination. While the bay had become our local hang out, local pick up pocket, it had never been this calm, never this festive, and never with this much pure fleshy pink skin. We jittered about with excitement.

She broke from the pack with a sudden movement, premeditated as if she had always intended to fetch the ball, moving like she had always been part of the game. Although, I think she would have liked us to have thought she had never seen, never heard, or ever known who had thrown the well calculated throw.

She grabbed at the ball while treading the deeper water. As she turned to face the shore I stared at her, engrossed by her soft delicate face. Innocent, pretty, symmetrical with wide brown eyes and curly dark hair. She drew a smile and looked about not dropping the unknowing façade and then met my eyes with affirmation. Weak and unconfident I returned the smile. ‘Hi,’ I sputtered and shyly wiped the back of my head almost forcing a wave.

This is when I noticed the Parasite. I hadn’t been watching him up until now. He was just a few meters to the left of her. All I could see was half of his head, from just below his eyes, drifting through the water like a vicious crocodile ready for an attack.

A good centre fielder will always read the play before the balls left his boot. In most cases, he will read three plays ahead from when the tough leathery exterior connects with his highly strung laces. The centre so meticulous in his ways, so sure of his foot work, swings across the goal square, he is open and he is ready for the mark.
Meanwhile the wing man dodges an opponent, fake right, lung left. As he has practiced many times before, just as the coach has drawn it on the chalk board, he snaps a heavy right foot towards centre, not knowing, yet sure his kick is well placed.

The centre throws his arms into the air, the camera pans in, the crowd cheers and the score sheet is marked beside his name. The wing man, uncelebrated, taps his team mate on the shoulder then jogs towards his position on the outer field. This is when I felt the frown break the smile.

‘We’re on schoolies,’ they blathered amongst the table of countless empty Cruiser bottles. Schoolies if I remember correctly is in November. Let’s not drew on all this too much, her friend was equally proportioned.
…………………………………….

It is now February and I’ve just finished adding the Algae solution to the bigger outside tanks. Ensuring they are getting well ventilated, I drop in a weighted hose which is plumbed to the roof. It is part of a bigger, much more intricate and complex system which feeds the entire Oyster farm with oxygen. Checking the covers are over the spat tanks, I clear the room of loose hoses, pumps and filters. As I’m about to turn off the light I notice my phone is flashing, it’s a message.

Mum said I can come up. Peta

I stop, almost forgetting to switch off the light and fall into another incorrigible day dream. Day dreaming, as I have quickly learnt, is a great way to waste the long dry Carnarvon days. It reminds me of Cashback, it isn’t hard to stop time. Usually all it takes is to leave the nest of grotty sheds and stare out over the desolate plains. Nothing moves apart from the silent breeze which stirs within your ears, for a moment, a timeless moment, I would believe that time had actually stopped. Then, maybe I would catch the flick of a fish tail down beside the creek or the call of a bird in the distance. I would be thrown back into reality with a regrettable forcefulness. It’s not hard to know what I’m thinking about this time, a man can only spend so many days out here in this sort of heat.

I can’t be bothered thumbing a reply so I dial her number.
‘Hello.’
‘Hey, how you doing.’ I reply, it’s an easy opener.
‘Good.’
‘Cool, so she said yes?’
‘Yeah, I told her your dad would be there.’
‘Really, why?’
‘I don’t know she wanted a parent to be there, you know so someone was there.’ She didn’t need to explain anymore than this. I was actually surprised her mum had said yes in the first place.
‘Yeah I guess, you are only seventeen!’
She laughed. Peta was always shy about her age, saying things like, ‘I know,’ as a way to ignore that she didn’t know and would go on to say things like, ‘I was thinking’. I didn’t mind so much, I felt like she enjoyed being around an older person, someone she could bounce idea’s off. Ultimately though, I couldn’t make the mistakes for her.
‘Yeah, so she is going to give you a call to confirm a few things.’
‘Like what sort of things,’ I questioned.
‘Well she wants to get to know you a little and just check that your dad will be there.’
‘Oh, okay well that’s cool by me.’
‘Really!’ Peta replied almost surprised.
‘Yeah, for sure, I can’t wait for you to come up.’
‘Cool.’
‘Zac said something about coming up also?’ I questioned.
‘Really,’ she replied, this time acting surprised, but I had already spoken to the Parasite and I knew she knew.
‘I thought you already knew.’
‘Umm, kind of.’ She didn’t need to elaborate on this and I cut her off.
‘I hope that’s not why you’re coming up,’
‘No, I’m over him, don’t worry,’ She stressed.
‘Cool, Well I’ll give you another call when I finish work.’
‘Later Juice.’
I hung up and proceeded down the corridor checking the hydrogen levels on the laboratory as I past. It was midday and it was getting hot outside, some droplets of sweat had formed on my forehead and I passed out into the opening beyond the sheds. The creek was low, must have been low tide I assumed, I watched it for moment thinking about the conversation, only coming to again when the boss emerged from the Lab….

To be continued….

Note: All photo's by: Colby Elliot

Save The Territory... Seriously!

Darwinians are bracing themselves today as reports of an imminent attack approaches. Yowies of various sizes have been rumoured to be converging on the eastern bank of Adelaide River, some 50kms from the town centre. Amongst the nervous, some townsmen armed with pitchforks have been reported to be rallying outside parliament building today, holding banners which read;

‘Feed them the homeless, save the dogs’.

NT self proclaimed Yowie expert, David Doubelivtis has urged Darwinians to stay vigilant, but claims the Yowie may have been misrepresented by the press, ‘They are not here to kill our dogs, just snack on the occasional head’, he has claimed. Later in a press conference with Animal Rights Groups he agreed a clean up of the undesirables may be beneficial too the wider community and may also help save young Baxter, the cheeky G-banger munching pooch and others like him.

One txt to the editor read:

‘50km ban on Yowie’ name withheld

A proposal already being considered by the NT government for the bewildered crocodile, a ban could be extended to the Yowie. The ban, another knee jerk reaction to the two tragic deaths of Territorians who, late last month were taken by large reptilian creatures from the fourth dimension.

These deaths were not so much a surprise as it may seem. One victim, a 20 year old father of two was taken late one night after being warned that drinking other people’s alcohol was bad. Two men, one being the late victim, were reported to have witnessed ‘a big black crocodile stalking them along the bank’ before entering the water in an attempt to swim the gauntlet.

It has been recommended by professional experts that some well placed makers could be the solution to the Crocodile and Yowie epidemic. ‘These markers will be placed amongst the river systems and land marks at the 50km line with large crossed circles. Within the cross, it has been proposed that two well illustrated figures of the Crocodile and Yowie will be placed.’ One expert was reported saying. A Politian of questionable ethic’s confirmed, ‘Darwinians have been around much longer than the crocodile and Yowie alike, it has been a shame to see Darwinian’s forced out of the waters and the focus is to make a safer territory where Darwinians can swim once again’. ‘Just think’, he went on the say. ‘Young lovers will be able to picnic amongst the mangroves once again without fear of the Crocodile or Yowie’.

The public eagerly awaits the decision likely to be passed at the next upcoming election. Meanwhile it is recommended to drive the homeless towards the Crocodiles and Yowies.

MAKING THE TERRITORY A CLEANER SAFER PLACE TO LIVE.



PS. Note for Frank.. what ever did happen to the one with a suggest black swimsuit?
PSS. Note the awesome braid!

Your living in a small place when...

A question to the reader’s, have you ever sat there with a report in your hands, flicking through the countless pages of drab information and thought, who was this nut bag who wrote all this?

I’m thinking this myself as I re-examine my position in life. My title, if I should be titled something other than an office bitch, is a Technical Building Officer.. But before you ask, a technical building officer is one who, refer above, writes tediously long technical reports relating to the legislative requirements one might come across when building a home, a set of stairs or a gargantuan monstrosity in the centre of town.

Someone once told me that I’ve been doing this job for too long (6 odd years), it’s all over for me now, every scent, every itsy bit of creativity, all zapped up by the ‘Creative death ray gun of technicality’ – a mouth full to say the least. All the same, sometimes there seems to be some truth in it. That’s when I come here, the humble blog, with it’s few readers I write ridiculousness in a bid to over power my shame.

So let’s play….

‘Dog Killed By Yowie' - NT researcher says Big Foot beast mauled pup’ ~ Front cover NT NEWS, 21st April 2009

Darwinian’s today are warned of the risk posed by the invasion of the illusive Bigfoot, aka Yowie. Standing an impressive 3027mm tall, covered in a light brown fur with equally large feet, the Yowie is a beast with an inexhaustible appetite for our beloved pet, the dog.

“The way the guy’s dog was killed was typical of a Yowie”, self proclaimed NT Yowie expert is reported to proclaim. “I know it sounds fanciful but over the past 100 years, dogs get killed or decapitated and people report feeling watched, having goats stolen or seeing some tall hairy thing in the days beforehand.”

Alarmed by the sentiment raised by the threat of the Yowie, yours truly, Rambo’s protégé, took it upon himself to undertake an exhaustive investigation to bring an end to this aging mystery. Using state of the art photo identification processes and a marked paddle pop stick, the findings are conclusive.

Bigfoot frolics in the cool cascades of Litchfield

Something tells me this reignited interest in the Yowie story comes at a suspiciously close time to when stoner flick, ‘Strange Wilderness’ a film about a failing film crew who embark on an epic adventure to find the legendary Big foot, was released in Territorian video stands. Coincidence, I’ll let you decide?

Meanwhile, it would seem that the beloved pooch has been up to it again.

“Our Dog Ate My G-String” ~ Front Cover NT News, 15th April 2009

After a serious rescue operation, as reported in Easter Sunday’s NT News, poor pooch is lucky to be alive after he greedily engulfed a ‘ladies black g-string’. The report goes on the say that the cheeky spaniel named Baxter is ‘a real guts and will eat anything’.

From the Crew With Crab's and a wooden chicken.... Peace!

The 'Last Frontier'

So dear readers after many posts in a row that lack a good amount fun, I have decided, rather then bore you, I would compile a few things which are happening around the Northern Territory.

“KILL THEM ALL Victim’s Grandad calls for every croc to be shot dead” ~ NT News Cover 2nd April 09

Despite a late season tropical monsoon, the gang embarks on a lovely picnic. The day after swimming in the lake at said picnic area, some two hundred metre's from the croc infested ocean, the local news reports wondering croc's captured in area. In my defense, I really needed to pee and swimming was easier than public facilities.


“DUI mum was breastfeeding at wheel” ~ NT News, Cover 6th April 09... Nuff said.

Israeli special forces troop spotted in the top end, or is that Jesus himself?

“14 people bashed in NT each day… and that’s GOOD NEWS – last year it was 15” – NT News Cover 7th April 09

Gone are the days of global domination and evil axis, no it would seem modern Germany is much more concerned with Australia’s well being and financial future as thousands arrive by boat. Squandering great riches of delicious Euro’s, young Germans arrive on Australian shores with only one prerogative. With them they bring various cassettes labelled ‘Nena’. But be warned, these dubbed tapes generally do not contain the once loved classic; 99 Luftballons, instead, they are encrypted with various beats played in rhythmic regularity known to cause severe cases of insomnia. Once played, usually by sheer trickery, a German will reach maximum disco within minutes. Such symptoms to look out for are: violent body convulsion, eye’s rolling back into there head and a parched mouth. Australians are advised that it is extremely difficult to diffuse a German once in 'trance', and are advised to feed infected patients with copious amounts of cheap beer whihc they will consume feverishly… Eventually the patient will become restless, fall over and hopefully pass out. If symptoms persist, or you grow impatient with the treatment, users are advised that a gentle ‘clonk’ across the head with a semi weight love stone should speed recovery.
Below is a demonstration of what a patient should look like after treatment…(Note: Bottle used to speed recovery - Improvise)

“Croc Bait anglers put new spin on stupidity” ~ NT News page 5, 7th April 09

"Hopa hopa"