David O'Sullivan's Blog, page 27
July 18, 2015
The protests kill Simon
The protesters moved down the street, pinned on each side by police and police barricades. Simon stood by the Capitol waiting for them to pass but they stopped and began to chant and crowd about the building. This is where they were going to stop and Simon cursed them. All he wanted was to move from the building to the offices across the road so he could finish his work and go home.
Simon put his hand in his pocket and made sure he had his keys. They weren’t there. He could not remember where he put them.
“You…” a policeman said coming up the stairs toward him. “Do you work in there?”
“Yes,” Simon answered without thinking.
“You had better get back inside, these protests are becoming ugly. They’re looking to attack people like you.”
“Like me?”
“People who work in this building.”
‘I have to get across the street”
“You can’t, not at the moment. Look how many protesters there are.”
Simon looked out from the steps at the thousands of people on the street. Some of them were wearing masks and they looked scary.
The sun was hot and heavy in the western sky. Some one threw a bottle and it smashed on the stairs near the front entrance. Simon did not even move, it was as if this wasn’t real.
Simon turned and went back up the stairs to go inside but the doors had been closed and locked, the heavy metal doors that they use only after hours were also shut so that none of the glass could be broken. Now a mild form of panic crept into his mind. People were looking up at him, some of them were screaming abuse. A line of police formed on the steps, the crowds pushed against them. Simon turned and went down toward them. He came up close to them and he could hear the things they were saying. They were calling him a pig and a capitalist bastards.
“No, I won’t have that!” Simon screamed and lurched forward grabbing one of the protestors masks, he tore it lose. A young blond man stared back at him, the man’s face was twisted into hate. The crowd broke through the police line, four or five police officers fell over and the crowd surged forward trampling the police. They grabbed ahold of Simon and pulled him back into the massive crowd like an ocean dragging him down.
Fists and feet flew all about him, he could feel the wounds they were making, the injuries, the wet warm blood that came from his cool numb wounds.
“Good,” Simon thought, “I’m glad they hate me.” His last thoughts melted into the place sleep of a dying man.
July 14, 2015
Harper Lee’s Go Set a Watchman and Ghostbusters
A few years ago I named my pet goldfish Atticus. I grew up reading ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ and I thought that my pet goldfish was like the fictional character, a strong individual who stood up for what he believed in. After hearing that Atticus is now a racist I had to flush that bastard.*
Atticus Finch is revisited in the new release from Harper Lee. In Go Set a watch, man, (I left the space on purpose because I like the title when said in a hippy voice, man) Atticus or so I’ve heard, becomes a raving lunatic who engages in racism, immoral acts and other lewd behavior of a 72 year old.
People say oh no! this will ruin my life, or they say great! it shows he is a human with flaws and decaying brain cells. But I say, gently, it is neither. It is fiction.
Once upon a time and a very good time it was, there was a decade called the 1980s. Early in that decade, after filling myself on Jaws, ET and Star Wars, along came a movie call the Ghostbusters. It was everything I dreamed of as a young boy. Ghosts, ghost zapping guns, giant marshmallow men. I bought the dolls (i mean action figures), the toy gun, the t-shirt. I made a real big deal out of it. To me the ghostbusters was an amazing work of art, a work of genius, one of America’s classics. I wanted to change my name to Egon, I wanted to work in the ghost busting industry, I wanted to sneak down into the library’s cellar to be attacked by librarian ghosts. I was certain that nothing would ever ruin this amazing time of love.
Then years later came Ghostbusters 2.
I was interested. I bought tickets. The early scene in the court room was excellent, the movie was barely OK, the statue of liberty moving about seemed stupid. I came to realize that it is not the characters in the movie, it is the experience the movie brings to your life. Who did you see the movie with? How happy did it make you? Did you receive joy? Basing your life on what some writer or actor creates is not the best way to live. You’re putting so much into a strangers hands. If you liked something they did, then be happy for that, if they teach the world something important, then reward them with your money but don’t start saying that they’ve ruined your life. You shouldn’t be putting your life in their hands.
Ghostbusters was not ruined by Ghostbusters 2. I will always have Summer of ’84, I will always have the ghostbuster song.
If you tried to live your life like Atticus from TKAMB, then great, because he is such a great example to follow. You have probably done very well in life. If you tried to be like Bill Murray even better.
* I never flushed the bastard.
July 12, 2015
The grass along the river edge is greener than the park
I am sick as hell
my dog is hysterical because we’re not playing much
July 9, 2015
Running fast asleep
The rain had soaked the field
the grass was green but deceptive
one foot on the earth out there
and you would sink in
three, four inches
into mud
and water that rushes forward to fill your short boot.
She winked at me on the door step
or I thought she did
it may have been the low sun that flashed through the window
my eyes fall down her body
right down to her legs, thin and shapely
I imagine her breasts
firm and pointed under her purple shirt.
There is nothing to do on the afternoon
after the interview, the conference and talking to the booksellers.
So I take a walk through the city
this isn’t the city
everyone talks about
it’s a city that is hardly ever mentioned
except when the football team does well
or there’s a riot.
I wander the back lanes that look like the lanes in my home town
I see the different way they put up street signs.
—————————————————-
I’ll be on the radio, Local ABC tomorrow morning at 9.45 Australian eastern time. If you can, listen in and hear me speak about my debut novel The Bomber.
http://www.abc.net.au/riverina
July 8, 2015
July 7, 2015
Hard earth covered in stones
Bring them all back
bring them all back
I am sorry I let them go
They were young and new
and now buried in the mud of sorrow.
Like misspelled words
I have no chance of correcting
Snapshot of
He holds the letter she sent him
he folds it carefully and puts it back in the envelope
he puts it to his nose, but there is no scent
and shuts it into the drawer of his desk.
She stands on the boat
and looked out at the ocean
the waves leap like lazy fish
and she dreams of a country covered in green forests
They sit in their car and cry
their daughter died last night
today the clouds gather
and it rains
He stands in the busy city street
and looks at all the faces
he cannot stand to face the world today
but in bed his fears control his mind.
July 6, 2015
HAIKU
Little man in hardware store
watch out
I am coming for you soon
The last video store
About a year ago I would go swimming at lunch time as often as I could, I had a year pass. The road past the pool is busy and you have to wait at the traffic lights most times. On the corner opposite where I would wait stood the last video store in town. It was amazing to see it go to battle against the 21st century powers. The building, (which has housed the video store for over twenty years) has deteriorated over the years. The sign filled with dead bugs, lights had blown and never been replaced.
I remember when it first opened, I was a child and it was a place full of excitement. Televisions in three corners of the store would blast out the new releases, you had to go through two doors to enter, there was a dedicated in and out, they sold toys and chocolate near the exit, the staff all wore nice uniforms and smiled, it was like visiting heaven, where everything you could ever want to see was available. I remember the new carpet smell, the shiny video cassette covers, the excitement when the video was there to rent, the disappointment when it was out. In a corner was a children’s play area, there was an in store magazine you could take home and read. Posters on the walls smiled out at you with images of hollywood’s greats, a life sized cardboard cutout of James Dean stood by the classics isle, his fingers cocked in a strange gang sign. There was a dedicated horror section with skulls on the shelves, there was an adult section which I would accidentally walk by.
The store closed down six months ago.
It was, as I have said, the last one. I looked in the window just before it went. A fat man stood behind the counter, he did not wear a uniform, just a shapeless track suit top. He had an unkempt beard and just stared out to the back wall. No one in the store. I felt so sad for him. I watched through two cycles of the traffic lights. A woman and two small children came in, at least he had someone.
The televisions were gone, except one that was playing but it was mistuned and the picture would scratch and jump. Nothing was clean, the windows were vandalized. The return chute had something sticky smeared all over it. The business was dying dragging itself on, afraid of death.
I remember being in a video store when I was three, I remember I had my mother rent ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ for me. I was in love with video stores all my life.
During the last few years I could not stand going into them. I felt so self-indulgent, I felt ashamed. It was like masturbating in public. I stopped going, I would rather watch what I wanted in other ways, if I really wanted a DVD I would buy it online.
The death of video stores to me, was the end of the 20th century.
James Dean was long gone.
The last time I looked inside the video store, all the shelves, counters, everything was removed. The carpet was pulled up and there were strange stains on the ground. The roof had been damaged, something had knocked a hole through and the plasterboard was falling down. They covered the windows up last week.
THE BOMBER is out now
July 4, 2015
The day of the cold sun
I came home, walking past the bank
a man stopped me, he is the local holy man, nut, sage, lunatic, thief, pervert
depending on who you ask.
He pointed to the bricks in the old bank
(off North Street)
and said;
‘Following the guns and bombs, will come the trees and vines,
they will grow here and knock the buildings down. We are in the middle of a great forest.’
I passed him, nodding. I understood.
I sit in my room. My house (second floor anyway)
looks out over Mount Mary
and on top of that is the holy Church of Our Lady.
I watch the people go to church
the mass is held midday
and at night they have an old fashioned latin mass
(to which I want to go one day just to hear the latin)
The people come, wearing their best clothes
and it’s not just old people and immigrants
The church is on top of the hill and commands a great view, to its north is the city and to the south is the train tracks and
poor houses.
When it rains I close my windows tight
but dream of letting them stay open
counting the rain drops as they soak my carpet
leaving me sad
and soggy socked
for weeks afterwards.
Step into the shower and
let the water run down your back
and listen to the bells, the bells
calling.
