Palestine, a renovators dream.

Howdy Neighbour

Hey ZIONIST!,
next time use the door bell,

Short Story // Rows of columns // Stain your own carpet

A Leap into the sun

‘The head is the heaviest part of the body’ my grandfather once said. ‘The brain matter is so dense it tries to hit the ground first during a fall.’ My grandfather was a storyteller; if this fact had any scientific validity it was going to need proof. When kids at school got pushed or tripped their heads disproportionately gravitated to the ground, except the fat kid, his bum would be first to impact. The notion of brain density had me perplexed, further proof was required.

Louis and I often played on the swings footing our high-rise commission flats. I still remember the pain in my hands as they gripped tightly at the chains, every time my bum inched off the wooden seat during the backward swing. I wasn’t the bravest kid but I wasn’t going to wince in front of my best friend. Louis was the toughest kid of all four High Rises in the block. His father was shot before his eyes by secret police during the early days of the Chilean Military Junta, he and his mother escaped to Australia and still occupy a flat on the tenth floor. By no means a bully, my friend made it his duty as my blood brother to toughen me and, frankly, I’d sooner have flung off the swing than lost his respect. So I held back the tears and gripped the chains tighter as he pushed harder. Just as my fear had peaked and the pain became comforting, my mother peered over the 14th floor balcony, warning Louis to stop or someone was going to get hurt. We were pretty rogue kids with little respect for authority but we never crossed each-other’s mothers, that was part of the unspoken code we all followed.

My heartbeat began to normalize as the swing lost inertia; I jumped off, landed on my feet facing my friend, defiantly seeking approval, and got it. At that point we noticed small groups of people moving towards the other side of the flats. Knowing what that meant we walked arm over shoulder to see the show.

A large crowd gathered in silence at the base of the towering High Rise. The police had already arrived. A man stood on the edge of the balcony of the 18th floor, any thing above the 12th floor was taken seriously, below that was usually reserved for attention seekers and most people didn't bother. We took a position at the front of the growing crowd, silently we looked at each other excited but confused. Excited because the firemen began to unravel their net and confused as to why we were really there. We dared not say anything to break the silence of the mob. My heart raced again as I gazed upwards.

About half an hour later a breeze of murmurs broke out amongst the crowd. Who was this jumper? No one recognised him, he wasn’t local. They never were, none of the people who lived here had any reason to jump. We had nothing to lose and dreams of moving away to fulfil. Those flats were our jumping block to a better world; a point of which to take a leap into greatness in a land of opportunity. I was going to be a movie star and Louis a gangster.

An hour later the crowd began dispersing; small groups had taken the opportunity to picnic together around newspapers full of fish and chips, the police got agitated and began harassing the winos and the black-fella's. The fire brigade sat around their net chatting. ‘I’m bored now' sighed Louis as he left to go home for dinner.

My Gaze remained fixed on the building that towered over me, even after the jumper was talked down and taken away by the police, after the crowd had completely dispersed.

I stood there watching the sky turn dark past the 18th floor.

For a few brief seconds between dusk and dark my imagination was lost, the night had stolen the shadows from the tower of dreams. Then windows began to light up, sprinkling across the building, I wondered if it's natives would fulfil their dreams; or would return to take that place on the 18th floor.

For a moment I was starring on TV, looking at myself from the 18th floor. Waiting for the director to call action.

So this is why us kids weren’t allowed out after dark, the night was for dreaming, not for seeing a world without light.

Sirens rang out as the first star began to appear, a couple of drunks began yelling in the distance. Fear struck me when some glass smashed nearby and I remembered where and who I was.

A hand snatched my arm trying to jerk me away. 'Come on', It was Louis. I looked at him, he must have been hanging around keeping an eye on me. His piercing eyes shocked me when I wouldn't budge.
'Come on' he repeated smiling warmly as he punched me in the arm.

'Race you home to watch Prisoner'

Thirty years later; the notion of brain density still perplexes me.

The scribbler

HAARP, not Lilith's

Whose enemies have had natural disasters lately?

Bono is God

A SHORT STORY ABOUT "FUCKING MACHINES"

Fucking Machines
‘Fucking machines!’ Tony whispers spitefully at the top of his voice.
‘Fucking machines!’ he repeats to himself quietly.
The passengers listen intently as he kicks the ticket machine. ‘Gimme Back my fucking money… You... piss neck.’
He stands in front of it, looking for ways to retrieve his ticket.

‘Excuse me mate. I’m in a hurry.’ I say.
‘Tony.’
‘Excuse me’ I say.
‘Tony.’
‘Tony. Your name’s Tony.’
‘Tony.’ He repeats with a nod.
‘Hi Tony, why don’t you move to the side and let me try and get your ticket.’

I give the poor tacker a little shove and he takes his frail body back a step to the left, looking over my shoulder as I step in front of the machine. It’s really unnerving having this guy breathing down my neck but the poor wog's a bit demented.

The machine appears normal. I spend a few moments pushing some buttons, it appears to work just fine. No money in the change-return.
‘How much did you put in mate?’
No answer. I turn to look him in the face, so close I could feel his breath.
‘Fucking machine took my money.’ He repeats with great velocity as we both take half a step back, butting me right up against this ticket machine. He got quite a scare because his gaze went inwards and he walked away.
‘Fucking machines.’

‘What a fruit loop’ I mutter to the near by passengers.

I dial in my destination, put in the right change and the ticket pokes from its slot. No problems what’s so ever. Then from out of nowhere Tony’s hand snatches my ticket waves it in the air and he begins singing. ‘My ticket, my ticket’.

‘That’s not your ticket mate.' ' I paid for that ticket’. I say, quite patiently considering this nut case was half my size and I could snap him like a twig.
‘Come on Tony... give it back.’
‘It’s my ticket. I paid for it.’
‘Give it back.. Tony.’
‘My ticket, its my ticket.’
Angrily I hollered at him ‘Give it back or I’ll fucking well deck you’.
The poor sod broke into tears and began wincing. The whole tram was fixated on us. For three dollars and ten cents it wasn’t worth the head fuck.
‘Just keep the fucking ticket mate.’ I say.

I punched in the destination, put in my money, and no ticket pokes out. Just at that moment I hear some one yell ‘Tickets please.”

‘Fucking Machines!’

Shadow of a Minister

More racist scare mongering from the liberal Party with shadow Attorney General George Brandis claiming that signing the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples will elevate Aboriginal law over State law. Does he even know anything about the Native law?

This Shadow minister could probably learn a thing or two from a law who’s principles guided over 500 nations for many thousand years, or does he still believe the lie of Terra Nullius.?

What about the failings of his own government to uphold Australian law by suspending the racial discrimination act to pass the NT Intervention. Lets not forget The Weapons of Mass-destruction, the then Deputy Prime-minister John Anderson’s roll in the AWB scandal and so on.

Its no wonder that George Brandis prefers to be governed by a law that doesn’t hold politicians accountable in preference to a law of true natural justice.

Eat pigs or love them, there has to be another choice.

Another white man taking the lead....

Jesus, the sun shines from his ass..

Santa left some truth about xmas in your stocking this year,

Some say jesus was a good guy, sorro for you again:

Full Screen

Can I have some freedom for Xmas Santa..

NO!

Happy Pass Over.