Sun showers. Dripping and heaps shiny. Everything so blinding because it’s wet as and reflecting the sun which is a big ball that’s on fire a really long way away from us.
We are an ideal distance from a large ball thats on fire.
In a spot where our front isn’t being burnt but is hot enough that it offsets the temperature of our back, which faces out into the cold dark.
If you looked at someone’s bare arm from the side while they were facing a large fire you could tell the difference between their front and back because there would be a type of shadow like the one on the moon when its half-full.
I would like to stand on the half-full moon halfway-in and halfway-out of the shadow. Like standing on a cosmic state-line.
Actual state-lines are underwhelming. Mostly just something about fruit flies. Continue reading
On the way to Strike Bowling they passed Albert Street where some council workers were taking down a “Peace, Love & Joy” sign.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Mavis said, ‘why don’t they just keep it up?’
‘Because it was a Christmas thing. And Christmas is over. 2012 is dead. Besides, Campbell Newman would never foot the bill.’
They walked a bit further and passed Off Ya Tree.
‘My sister works at Off Ya Tree,’ Mavis said, ‘and you know what someone said to her the other day?’
‘Someone came in asking for the crosses with the little person wrapped around the cross. My sister said, ‘Umm, do you mean Jesus?’ and the girl said, ‘I guess.’
Charlie recalled first meeting Claudia in Biology at the end of year twelve. They had been lab partners and were doing basic titrations. Claudia had done most of the work, following the procedure exactly as the lab had been designed. Claudia had delegated Charlie the task of recording their results, which he had done, though Claudia had thought Charlie’s handwriting a bit sloppy, so she had rubbed his writing out and filled it in with her own. They had received top marks. Later, after school, Claudia had invited Charlie to her house for dinner, which had confused Charlie because it had sounded like a date. He had not known what to wear and, at home, had deliberated between a business shirt and tie, polo shirt and t-shirt. Continue reading
*read along with Oliver Mol…if you daaaaare*
Charlie was standing outside “Strange Circumstances”, a new club in Brisbane that had modelled itself on Melbourne’s “laneway culture”. He had not gone inside yet. He’d been standing under the club’s neon sign, something that was partially obscured by graffiti and, oddly, a t-shirt with the print: We’re Full, Fuck Off. Charlie, a bit drunk, had been staring at the sign and after a few seconds he thought: What? This thought was followed by a rationalisation, or an attempt at a rationalisation. He thought, maybe, the t-shirt and graffiti were filters, lenses to view the statement “Strange Circumstances”, some sort of literal Venn diagram. It made sense. He looked around. People were dressed in paisley shirts and black, skinny jeans. He had seen a blog or two. He knew how artists dressed. So this was an “installation”. This was art. But what was it saying? Charlie thought maybe the artist was arguing that “racism” showed its dirty colours–“graffiti”–under “strange circumstances”. He considered Cronulla. Cronulla was a little strange, he thought, if only because it was typical. Typically Australian. These were the thoughts–along with a voice he had swallowed, had sent down, down, down to his stomach, had tried to drown in Asahi except hadn’t entirely drowned in Asahi, that would occasionally resurface, scream, ‘DON’T MARRY THIS GIRL, DON’T MARRY THIS GIRL’–that ran through his head when Mavis came out and lit a cigarette.