Archive for March, 2014

No Tall Stories

The door gave way on the third kick. I wished that it hadn’t as soon as the smell hit me. The notion of what a smell is will never fully explain what entered my nostrils that day. She had been there for three days, windows shut, in the dry Sri Lankan heat.
Her position was familiar, sitting in her favourite chair, facing the television.  Her shorts and T-shirt seemed almost inappropriate for the situation. She was there, but gone.
The arc of blood up the wall behind her was brown now. A death rainbow, and at the end of it there was no pot of gold. The air was me, and I was the air. I breathed her decomposition.
I spent years thinking that she had been murdered. The Colombo murder squad hinted at the boys from the beach. They insinuated that she was a prostitute, that one thing had…

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SMELLY TONGUES

For almost 15 fucking years now, I have been listening to one bunch of dopey bastards after another gibber and squawk about refugees or asylum seekers and boats and “illegals” and I’m fucking fed up to the fucking back teeth with it all.

There has been no discussion. There has been no debate. A conversation has not been had.

A “policy” has been Frankenstein’d into being at the behest of 60% of Australians who “want the Abbott government [and the three governments before it] to “increase the severity of the treatment of asylum seekers”, because that, and that alone gnaws at the very core of their being, day after day, month after month, minute by minute – in the home, the workplace, the pub, the coffee shop, every day is a Bad Day at Black Rock, there be strangers comin’ to town, and pokin’ their noses…

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Rising, whistling, anticipation and expectation. It was all a rush. We got in a cab, blurring and spinning through the streets. All black and shiny blue, the road streaked green, amber and red, lights sliding over the windows, and cleansing rain pushing the wipers back and forth across the windscreen. Shani’s smile and her sparkling, iridescent eyes radiated such intensity in the half-light, I felt like crying.
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