in the absence of war

November 11, 2009 at 6:49 pm | Posted in blogging, writing | 14 Comments
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and idling with neither provocation nor criticism, two things will result. An attempt to escape into fantasy or the creation of some utopia in which everyone can say whatever they want and everybody can listen to whoever they want. It is however a dangerous idea. It would involve making a distinction between a representative democracy and a democracy. You end up in anarchy, a temper tantrum of Shakespearean proportions, a whirlpool of emotion.

At some point self-censorship is required. This is in order to preserve the species. Morality is, at its heart, born of necessity. It does not require any God. It is a simple choice to act or to be acted upon. And the only stasis is death. Cold and brittle. There is no honour in victory he coughs, only in struggle. And the primary struggle is with the language. It is slippery and disobedient. And sometimes I do enjoy a good full stop.

Joy!

November 6, 2009 at 7:48 pm | Posted in blogging, genre isn't dead yet but it should be, portraits, video blog | 10 Comments
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The hole is more than the sum of its planets.

An Appeal to Reverse Fate

October 21, 2009 at 6:40 pm | Posted in blogging, writing | 17 Comments
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The dog is dogged in chasing pigeons, his three-legged ziggedy zag a Sack Posset perfection of tongue-waggling slobberised smiling. When I was a youngster the jacaranda’s purple bruise signalled the arrival of November, exam time and a momentary sobriety. Now, because of all the boojwah cattle cars farting fumes they have bloomed and it is just October.

So here am I, in the park, with pepperment tea and a notebook, this one here where these words are, scrawling a strange sensation, like a singularity in my centre with the dog an electron planet wildly rotating sending silly birds whirring. I want to give the pigeons names but my sense of humour is so strangely inward, exclusive to various recluses, I would most probably get sued.

I must start submitting actual poems to magazines again instead of parodies in assumed names. I mean, I must stop pretending that I have submitted parodies to every Australian Literary journal (a hoax hoax) and start actually attempting to contribute to our (ahem) vibrant and honourable literary culture again. First of all though, I must brush these crushed purple blooms from my stolen heffalump pyjamas, gather that mad beast in and see if I can persuade Huehuecoyotl to remain still enough to sketch.

The Overland Interview

September 15, 2009 at 9:53 am | Posted in australian poetry, blogging, writing | 22 Comments
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Overland is one of Australia’s oldest and most prestigious literary journals with a particular focus on the nexus of culture and politics. So I am proud as a penguin and consider it something of a career highlight to be interviewed in their blog by the incomparable Maxine Clarke.

click here – The Overland Interview

An editor’s nightmare, a wonderful world.

August 31, 2009 at 6:57 pm | Posted in blogging, links, writing | 6 Comments
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(subtitle – Letter To Betsy) An editor’s nightmare, defined as – someone who asserts that Goethe did not write enough and who insists like Shapespeare on the visual, on spelling rhythm with two h’s and wierd weirdly. Whose respect for the rules of grammar extends only so far as grammar’s respect for him.

Whose favourite words are fantabulously wonderful! My free copy of Extempore number one arrived in the mail. 192 pages of Australian writing on Jazz, poetry, interviews, graphic art and prose including an article entitled “Surrealism in Music” and a 6 track CD. And what makes me even happier is that I cannot keep a secret, I am an editor’s nightmare, in that I just keep giving it all away but Extempore pay poets.

What to do with someone whose taste in music is so odd that he prefers Nick Cave’s surprising version of What A Wonderful World to Louis?

100,000 Questions

July 29, 2009 at 6:44 pm | Posted in blogging | 23 Comments
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Pop! Fizz and champagne bubble, glug glug out of the bottle, Valentino Rossi style.
100,000 times some poor soul has ended up here, either lost or in search of some strange solace, comfort round the campfire, only to find themselves enmeshed in my wicked scheme, haha.

It does make me happy. I know it doesn’t mean I am a great poet, just that I have stayed in one place long enough. I know it doesn’t mean I am a good person, just that I am a clever pusher of buttons. I know what I am doing, believe it or not.

And so, for all 100,000 individual page views, each one of which was a genuine question and fascination to me, I say to you strangely wondrous and wonderful humans (and the occasional bot) I am having so much fun! Thankyou!

100,000 fallings down into bottomless wordwhole whirlpools pursued by irate platypi,
100,000 chasings round midsummer maypoles giggling redcheeked peasant girls
100,000 scratchings of bonces pondering hmm, whyfore that one this way comes
100,000 why hello, have you heard of redemption through hugging?

Happy Birthday Hunter S. Thompson

July 18, 2009 at 9:21 am | Posted in blogging | 14 Comments
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Hunter was a writer worth loving for many reasons. He understood that journalistic objectivity was a fraud, that everything is propoganda. And he loved whiskey and guns.
Very few writers admit to liking guns these days. William S. Burroughs also loved guns. Arthur Rimbaud himself became a gunrunner in Africa. If you know any other gun-loving writers, let me know in the comment box.

There’s lots of other things I could rewrite about Hunter S Thompson to pretend I’m cleverer than you but you can google him if you’re interested. Let’s just say that when it came to self-mythologising, there weren’t many better. (Oh and if you’re a friend of mine and occasionally tire of my bombardment by email, did you know Hunter wrote over 20,000 letters to friends?)

So crack open that bottle, pop a few little purple pills, load up that big double barrelled shottie and don’t forget your sunglasses. Let’s hear it for the late great, I want my body blown out of a huge fucking cannon when I die too, Hunter S Thompson (July 18, 1937 – February 20, 2005) Happy Birthday, Duke!

“It never got wierd enough for me.” Hunter S. Thompson.

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