posted on December 23, 2005 at 10:45 am

more thoughts before i retire for the day
sound of drunken “kids” in the distance
laughter, screaming
theyre just having fun
but what is fun
did fun exist 200 years ago
fun is used to justify anything
aw cmon …we were just havin’ fun
let the “kids” have some fun
all i wanna do is have some fun
if sheryl crow married russell crow…..
but im raven on

childs xmas in new south wales
my dad drove me and my mum out
of wollongong
to albion park rail
where there was a forlorn church
surrounded by graves
every xmas they had a little nativity scene
my mum told my dad off
for whistling a xmas carol
should have more respect
our car had indicators that were
these little flaps that lifted out
and blinked
even then
i was plotting
all this
i used every shred of whatever i could get
to put this all together for ya
my dad told me all he used to get for xmas
in london
was a piece of fruit
i was outraged
but dad, didnt they want you to have fun…?
we didnt have fun back then son
what did yer have daddyo?
we had war
thats where you had yer funne back then
werent you frightened dad ?
i was , son
which was worse dad…the first
or the second world war…?
well, son, they say the first
was the worst…
what was they fighting over, mah daddy o?
i dunno…thatss just the way it was
ymean ya dont know what the first world freakin’ war was about?
nope, still dont…
do you?
didja know that in certain parts of medi evil france
you could get roasted ah live
dependin’ on how you happen’d
to define the trinity
(a fuckin ineffable concept)
the critics are having us on
i saw the winner of archibald prize twice now
(thats an ozzie portrait comp, for you foriegnerss)
and i tell ya
its ah tro shus
serious olde emperors clothes number going on
i dare you to say this painting is tripe
so ole sk cruises round yon gallery
puts it to the test
approaches ye olde family
who are standin’ round
and gawking at this fuckin monstrosity in brown
and i says
travesty of justice
cmon people
what do ya really reckon
and the whole fam
burst into vitriolic bile
spewed forth their spleen
on this terrible picture
that won a big prizey
they hated it
and it only needed a little goading
from your humble protagonist
the critics job
is to foist a dodgy iffy
olde piece of tripe on ya
and then explain to ya
why ya should love it
an’ then you try to
cos aftah all,
theyre a critic
they can spell juxtaposed
and who wants to be a phuckin’ philistine
in an arte gallerie,
who cares
its nearly xmas out there
remember xmas down here is warm
its gonna be 100 degrees tomorrow
imagine the gallons of beer
slurpin down them sunburnt throats
imagine the gurlss on yonder beachie
topless and g stringed
imagine the lifesavers
imagine the ice cream sellers
imagine the sea gulls
the dilapidated pigeons
the tramps among the brazilian coke deelahs
the night markets
the massage parlours
the black waves rollin’ in
imagine me
sittin’ up in c and a-ms flat
house sittin’
its very quiet
soft breezes
10 26 at nite
attitude adjusted
writing to you like an olde friend
cos i miss ya
i remember ya
and one day

9 Responses to “my head is a nightclub, with tables and wine”

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