Monday, 31 January 2011

SLAMMATOWN - On the case

I haven’t been a detective very long. Long enough to receive an email from the editor of City News asking if I’d found the man in question and if so could he run a story on it, but not long enough to solve my first case.

I’ve always wanted to be a detective. When I was ten years old I started a detective agency with my dog and my little brother. We never had a case to solve but I made excellent headquarters in the wardrobe in the spare room. My dad wrote us a theme song but the dog never wanted to stay at HQ very long; as soon as the small dish of dog biscuits ran out she was out of there.  

Monday, 24 January 2011

SLAMMATOWN - The Final Solution

Some people say drummers can hide behind their kits, that it’s the safest place to be on stage but I don’t think a person can get much more exposed than when they’re drumming because all of them is engaged in the business. You can’t drum sitting still.

Drumming is a whole-body symphony of movement. When a good drummer is on form there is nothing left of them but beat-by-beat motion. Rhythm is the spine of music and like all good art requires at least a momentary sacrifice of self.  

Wednesday, 19 January 2011

Randomly chosen bit from today's work on manuscript for no reason

The worst part is when they change their mind, the last crumpling of courage. He always found it difficult to watch this inward folding. Sprayed spider of a human dispensing with all attempts at dignity. Sometimes he would sit beside them reciting modified respiratory movements from memory.

'Sobbing', he would exlpain, ' is a series of convulsive inhalations followed by a prolonged exhalation. The rima glottidis closes earlier than normal after each inhalation, so only a little air enters the lungs with each inhalation'.

Monday, 17 January 2011

SLAMMATOWN - The World's Biggest Bastard

Nothing happened in Slammatown last night, nothing really at all. You could say less than zero happened. I was feeling kind of seasick from marching in the sun, for the sake of Julian Assange. I was feeling kind of seasick and The Lansdowne was disgusting with flesh, heat, noise and humidity. Everyone was there, just everybody anybody has ever met. I suspect it was more to do with the buzz building up to the night rather than the bands themselves, though they were rather good. 

The Lansdowne has gone and had itself a mini makeover, neon strip lights along the edge of the awning, huge speaker stacks, an actual stage and a removal of that horrific overhead bar thing. Now it is one big room, huge sound, better bands, extra heat and more patrons. Sounds good so far doesn’t it? 

Wednesday, 12 January 2011

SLAMMATOWN - I'll take a cup of kindness yet

Resolutions are terrible things - they come hanging with ready guilt and daily obligation. I have been trying to be more kind but am discovering that where I am most unkind is silently, in my head, where there are no actions or observers. I do not like the daily obligation of trying to be more kind, it is like trying to quit smoking but without any health benefits or encouragement from friends.

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Monday, 10 January 2011

Peachette Detective Agency

Mysteries are generally quite easily solved, when you have the right people on the case, like me for example. I decided to open my detective agency some weeks ago but I've been waiting for a good case. Vanessa Berry offered me my first case but I declined due to the unsolvable nature of the mystery. It was a cold case involving private jets, telephones and Big Ben. I hope that someday the culprit will be found. If you have any information that might assist Vanessa with her enquiries please write to Vanessa at PO Box 1879, Strawberry Hills NSW 2012 Australia.

Now for the case I have agreed to take on.

Case #1: Searching for Nick of Camperdown

Have you seen this man?
  I am charged with finding a man named Nick. Nick once bought a   young woman, not me, a vegie burger in a busy place somewhere  south of Sydney. 

 Here are the known facts:
Nick ordinarily resides in Camperdown, he hopes to one day write a   novel exploring solitude and existential dilemmas, this is not what he is doing for work right now. Nick sometimes drinks at the Courthouse   Hotel in Newtown and is thirty six years old.

Distinguishing physical characteristics at time of burger purchase
  • a hat
  • a beard with one small white patch where no colour grows
If you know of Nick's whereabouts please contact Dale Slamma at The Peachette Detective Agency.
PO Box 1003, Newtown, NSW 2042 Australia, or by email.

Sunday, 9 January 2011

Important news flash of no consequence to anyone except members of the pigeon race

The cat caught a bird, I don't recall ever doing this before, maybe once when she was a kitten, but not in all the long adult years of her life has the cat subjected me to the horror of having to chases her up and down the hallway while a dying bird feebly flaps in her clenched jaw.

It was Grizelda who first heard the flutter-thump. I followed her out onto The Peach Deck to see what was wrong, this was our first mistake. The cat, seeing we were interested in her catch, ran into the house at top speed and headed straight for my bedroom at the other end of the long hall. Armed with brooms we chased the cat up and down the hallway, around the kitchen, under the dining table and then finally back out onto The Peach Deck.

Mercifully the bird was dead by this time, the poor thing must have expired from shock quite quickly. I did not have an opportunity to inspect the injuries to the bird because the cat ate it, the whole dead and feathered thing, except for the flight feathers and one foot.

I'm not talking to the cat right now but I am thinking about how much cheaper it would be if I could catch my own food in a similar manner, watch out fruit bats, here I come.

Wednesday, 5 January 2011

On a small tray place one teapot and one cup, carry to the best room for light

I think I've had my fill of people, for the year. So many parties, so many people, so much loud chatter and falling about drinking and dancing with each other. I think I've had enough of anything more than tete-a-tete. Since New Year's Eve I have not spoken to more than one person at once, I'm not counting The Peachettes because  it doesn't count as a social outing to walk down the hall and make a cup of tea in the kitchen.

I have telephoned people, people have telephoned me, I have sat at my drums while Robert instructs me in the art of deliberately moving my limbs in careful order but I have not attended one cafe, one party, one dinner or tea. I have slept late every morning and then done exactly as I liked, sometimes keeping the affairs of PAN in order, sometimes writing columns but mostly undertaking those minute to minute intrigues like examining a seashell, placing coloured pencils in spectrum order, drawing one blue line on ivory paper. These kinds of things are best done now, before proper work begins, before February drops its heavy blanket of super-heated atmosphere, before all traces of celebration have vanished and I get dragged up under the wheel arches of ordinary motion and my new desk becomes old.

This afternoon I might examine a translucent plastic cassette case, listen to the slide of plastic dragging before the satisfying clack of closure. A cassette case is more pleasing than a cd case, better to hold in the palm of the hand, proportions more similar to a book, feels more open when opened with that slim exposure of plastic return holding fast the album art. It is almost as good as sliding a key into a post office box.

Monday, 3 January 2011

SLAMMATOWN - Travel, Fight, Write

I’ve never been in a fight, not a proper punch-throwing-urge-to-kill fight, but I want to be. How much can I really know about myself if I’ve never been in a fight? I have made several attempts over the last few months to get in a fight. I tried yelling rude things at people in a pub but they just laughed at me. I tried yelling rude things at Spencer but he just laughed and yelled rude things back. I tried poking people in the back and saying, "I challenge you to a fist fight!". But they never believe me.  This is starting to become problematic. Just what does a girl have to do to get in a fist fight?

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