I will let my friend speak for himself despite my general dislike for music made by hippies.
I am the forest activist who was chained to the ground through a car in the Styx Rd.
At 8:30am three police officers arrived in two police cars. I jumped into the car and locked myself into the pipe. Within moments my police liaison team were arrested without warning and put to the back of a paddy wagon by two young police officers. I was left alone with the senior officer who asked if there was anybody in the car. I said yes and asked for him to talk to my liaisons. The same police officer then attempted to smash the windows of the car with his elbow and on failing this smashed through the back driver's side window with a large stone. He opened the drivers side door jumped on top of me stating "I'm sick of you greenie c*nts". He then proceeded to hit my face repeatedly, stuck fingers up my nose, gouged at my right eye, pushed my head into the steering wheel with his knee, twisted my neck and verbally abused me. I was yelling, "This is not right, you are being filmed", to which he replied, "That's why I didn't break the other windows."
Around twenty contractors, obviously aggravated at the valley being blockaded, arrived soon after. The contractors began threatening me, intimidating me, throwing cold water on me and filming me. Had the police officer not been so volatile in his initial contact with me I would have considered unlocking myself at this point but felt safer being attacked by one police officer in side the car than locking off and being left alone with twenty angry contractors. I was inadvertently put in a position where it was both unsafe and unwise to unlock myself from the ground. SES and police rescue were called due to their experience in these situations, however, they could not come until the next day. Instead I had volunteer fire brigade and ambulance officers who were in no way equipped to handle the situation. I was given the option of staying locked on for another night or having some of the boys dig me out. I explained that I would happily wait. They chose to dig me out. The contractors started working towards my release, not with professional tools such as the Jaws of Life, oxy torches and grinders. They used an axe, screwdrivers, a shovel, a car jack and a rock to dig at the concrete. Unprofessional tools wielded by unprofessionals in a situation where my wellbeing was not their priority. The car was jacked up, stretching my arm to expose the concrete. I questioned my safety and in response was hit with the butt of the axe in the arm. This turned into somewhat of a sick game where I talk, I get hit and my 'rescuers' laugh. It was announced by one of the contractors that a reporter for the Mercury had arrived and I thought this would help my situation. However I was told to keep my mouth shut and the car door was closed so as not to see me. The door was opened around fifteen minutes later after she had gone. When the door was opened there were some wives of contractors present getting told, "Take a look at this ugly stinking ippy." A blunt object hit my arm once more and when I screamed and swore in agony I was told "Don’t swear in front of the ladies" and was hit again. The digging and hitting rescue lasted about three hours. I released my clip when it became blatantly obvious that my arm was in danger, once a contractor drove up in his machine to lift the car up. This would have meant my arm would be suspending four bags of concrete. I collected belongings, some of which were soaked by logger’s urine and was driven away uncuffed in the front of a police car with country and western playing through the external speakers of the car.
Throughout my ordeal my civil liberties and basic human rights were stripped of me. The police officer and others abused me both physically and mentally during my 'rescue' for standing up for my beliefs that old growth should not be logged and that Tasmanian forestry practices are poor and unsustainable.
Recommended by Madam Squeeze
Are good things such as bad robot dancing in a goth club, Gary Numan and spicy beef wonton noodle soup. Everybody knows that Thursday is Happy Chef day. Oh yes it was a good day.
Things I recommend listening to Madam Squeeze and her amazing accordion next time you walk down King St. I also like to hug her while she wearing her accordion because of the joyful noise it makes but I only do this because she is my friend.
Walking up to Newtown from the office in the fading light I was headed straight into the clear twilight blue that arched into indigo. Sometimes all that you need is your own steady footsteps and rhythm of your heart.
Things I recommend listening to Madam Squeeze and her amazing accordion next time you walk down King St. I also like to hug her while she wearing her accordion because of the joyful noise it makes but I only do this because she is my friend.
Walking up to Newtown from the office in the fading light I was headed straight into the clear twilight blue that arched into indigo. Sometimes all that you need is your own steady footsteps and rhythm of your heart.
D is for Dale who took life by mistake
So I went hunting poets and I did nab one. A famous one but by nabbing I mean a thing for work. I walked up to Glebe Point Rd, a nice half hour from the office and listened happily to tunes by Spencer on my mp3 thingy. Spencer recently revealed that he does most of his song writing whilst walking around with that long particular stride of his. This explains the biological pulse that drives his music. When he was explaining it to me in the Courthouse one evening his spoken words took on the same rhythm and just for a moment I was invited into his mind, into his creative well. That was a spectacular moment but that was two weeks ago.
Tonight in Sappho's reading the fucking brilliant beginning of a$4 book, The Deep Field by James Bradley (I feel bad about buying second hand books because the author does not receive any royalties, sorry James) and sipping a fucking brilliant soy latte I thought this is alright. I'm rather enjoying myself and I have the words words words of poets to keep me company later if I start to feel lonely.
I took a little wander around the place and chatted with the poet who once called me gracious and the organiser of the event who resembles a demented muppet when in front of a microphone. I was just considering a second chocolate croissant (I am allowed to eat as much cake as I like this week as long as I stay alive in a kind of temporary Faustian pact) when in walked the man from SeeSee. He is lovely and young and brilliant, he introduced me to his friend who had heard about me, woo hoo for people telling other people about me, there should be more of it. They joined me at my little round table and before long in came The Spatula and the poetry began. Most of the poetry was dire but being but recently reacquainted with the joys of being alive I cared not a fig and filled the space expecting resonance with idle chatter and the good accidental bumping of shoulders. At the beginning of proceedings the MC gave me a mention and point, getting me to raise my hand for identification, that was fun. It was along the lines of And Dale Slamma from (my work) is here this evening, raise your hand Dale, if anyone needs advice on stuff something else blather whatsy and then... people clapped. That was unexpected but I am rambling. I am the Captain of what I post.
Ah now I need to thank two people for cupcakes, firstly Damo who kindly baked me a virtual one and to Giselle on Facebook who sent me some sort of Facebook cupcake (I didn't know you could do that). Hooray for cupcakes and goodnight Australia its time to let the pillows do the stylin'.
Tonight in Sappho's reading the fucking brilliant beginning of a$4 book, The Deep Field by James Bradley (I feel bad about buying second hand books because the author does not receive any royalties, sorry James) and sipping a fucking brilliant soy latte I thought this is alright. I'm rather enjoying myself and I have the words words words of poets to keep me company later if I start to feel lonely.
I took a little wander around the place and chatted with the poet who once called me gracious and the organiser of the event who resembles a demented muppet when in front of a microphone. I was just considering a second chocolate croissant (I am allowed to eat as much cake as I like this week as long as I stay alive in a kind of temporary Faustian pact) when in walked the man from SeeSee. He is lovely and young and brilliant, he introduced me to his friend who had heard about me, woo hoo for people telling other people about me, there should be more of it. They joined me at my little round table and before long in came The Spatula and the poetry began. Most of the poetry was dire but being but recently reacquainted with the joys of being alive I cared not a fig and filled the space expecting resonance with idle chatter and the good accidental bumping of shoulders. At the beginning of proceedings the MC gave me a mention and point, getting me to raise my hand for identification, that was fun. It was along the lines of And Dale Slamma from (my work) is here this evening, raise your hand Dale, if anyone needs advice on stuff something else blather whatsy and then... people clapped. That was unexpected but I am rambling. I am the Captain of what I post.
Ah now I need to thank two people for cupcakes, firstly Damo who kindly baked me a virtual one and to Giselle on Facebook who sent me some sort of Facebook cupcake (I didn't know you could do that). Hooray for cupcakes and goodnight Australia its time to let the pillows do the stylin'.
I'm wearing a tie and I've chosen my crazy
Wearing a tie renders an everyday outfit respectable unless you are a schoolboy with the amazing ability to make everything appear shambolic. This is a new and interesting fact about me wearing ties and now for the crazy.
4:15pm this afternoon I went outside to the office courtyard to have a cigarette, by this time I was seriously considering plotting a way out of this damn planet, for good when something shifted and a long forgotten sentence scrolled in. What you think is what you feel. Simple stupid. This is something I already know, if I pay attention to what I am thinking I can start to change the way I feel. Simple stupid. So I lined up the troops for battle and what do you think happened?
A tilt and a shimmer, the upstairs window nearly jumped out of its frame and in an instant the beast unhooked and was lost. The SMH called it the mystery of shaking houses but I know what it was. I'm wearing a tie and my black dog shook the world in retreat.
4:15pm this afternoon I went outside to the office courtyard to have a cigarette, by this time I was seriously considering plotting a way out of this damn planet, for good when something shifted and a long forgotten sentence scrolled in. What you think is what you feel. Simple stupid. This is something I already know, if I pay attention to what I am thinking I can start to change the way I feel. Simple stupid. So I lined up the troops for battle and what do you think happened?
A tilt and a shimmer, the upstairs window nearly jumped out of its frame and in an instant the beast unhooked and was lost. The SMH called it the mystery of shaking houses but I know what it was. I'm wearing a tie and my black dog shook the world in retreat.
Who's breaking your heart while I'm breaking mine?
Point ridiculous. When you are in the kitchen and a housemate comes home from work and asks you how your day was you can say Fine thank you and carry on chopping the giant mushroom or you can throw yourself on the floor and try to stop your heart beating and hope that the ambulance arrives too late. I chose the mushroom. This is what I do. I always choose the mushroom and I'm sick of it. I want a go of the crazy.
I want to wake up on the floor all the way through a bottle of vodka and know that nothing else matters because I can drink another one today. I want to run out of the house screaming and leave everyone to pick my pieces while I sit sheltered and responsibilities bounce off my shell. I want to lie under the doona and not come out, no matter what. I want to waste away my brain cells one at a time until the government pays for someone to come to my house every day and feed and bathe me. I want to smash the computers in my office and set fire to the place, I want to walk out of there in tall boots with broken glass crunching under my heels.
But I am the one who carries on. I am the one with the silent screams and the calm busy hands. This is boring, even for me. I'm sick of being only shadow.
I want to wake up on the floor all the way through a bottle of vodka and know that nothing else matters because I can drink another one today. I want to run out of the house screaming and leave everyone to pick my pieces while I sit sheltered and responsibilities bounce off my shell. I want to lie under the doona and not come out, no matter what. I want to waste away my brain cells one at a time until the government pays for someone to come to my house every day and feed and bathe me. I want to smash the computers in my office and set fire to the place, I want to walk out of there in tall boots with broken glass crunching under my heels.
But I am the one who carries on. I am the one with the silent screams and the calm busy hands. This is boring, even for me. I'm sick of being only shadow.
Cross stations
Or battle roads, I don't know. Artboy phoned, it was business, he is putting money into my account to try and pay off the terrible debt he left me with but he said its good to talk to you. I didn't know what to say, I kept repeating myself and thanking him for paying the money to me even though its not enough to cover the debt. I don't know what I'm doing. I didn't feel anything while I was talking to him. Not a damn thing and I still don't. This is curious. I wonder if I have become an unconscious master of blocking him out. I wonder if some silent night I will once again start sobbing and be unable to stop or if this is it, the end. What a piteous end to a love that restrung my dna, turning red into blue. A polite conversation about banking, the click of the phone, two beats of my heart then nothing.
I am furious with myself for over-complicating things with Elliot when there is really no need to. He is a good friend. He is possibly the only friend that understands almost every corner of my heart. He always knows precisely what I mean, sometimes before I do. There is no need for this stupid head of mine to try and fast forward through time and space. He is a good friend and nothing has happened to change that. I have not done anything wrong, I have not attempted to manipulate things, I have not uttered a false word, I have not held his hand to the fire and I don't intend to. One sentence keeps running through my mind. It was there when Grizelda was chattering something while my electric toothbrush whirred, it was there when the man in a queue stood too close to my left elbow, it was there when the cat purred on my lap, it is here now. I do not wish to be disturbed. But what does that mean and why is it running dot matrix through my head?
I am furious with myself for over-complicating things with Elliot when there is really no need to. He is a good friend. He is possibly the only friend that understands almost every corner of my heart. He always knows precisely what I mean, sometimes before I do. There is no need for this stupid head of mine to try and fast forward through time and space. He is a good friend and nothing has happened to change that. I have not done anything wrong, I have not attempted to manipulate things, I have not uttered a false word, I have not held his hand to the fire and I don't intend to. One sentence keeps running through my mind. It was there when Grizelda was chattering something while my electric toothbrush whirred, it was there when the man in a queue stood too close to my left elbow, it was there when the cat purred on my lap, it is here now. I do not wish to be disturbed. But what does that mean and why is it running dot matrix through my head?
Tea Party
I decided to throw a tea party on the deck to celebrate my housemates returning home. We are a diverse trio. When our household divided in three yesterday evening we took determinedly different paths.
Grizelda went west. The couple she went to stay with quarreled and they left the pub as soon as they arrived only to find themselves locked out of the house. A window was smashed and tempers frayed though Grizelda maintains it wasn't entirely a write off.
The Spatula arrived home from a night of high flying that included being on the guest list at Zeta Bar, using shampoo to make bubbles in the Hilton penthouse spa bath and waking up next to a toy designer. To my absolute delight The Spatula managed to stuff her handbag full of Crabtree & Evelyn goodies from The Hilton's bathroom. Nice one.
And as for me, well I think you already know, I may have left out the part where I watched The Bill, that June Ackland was getting proposed to again. She knows how to bag them that June.
Grizelda went west. The couple she went to stay with quarreled and they left the pub as soon as they arrived only to find themselves locked out of the house. A window was smashed and tempers frayed though Grizelda maintains it wasn't entirely a write off.
The Spatula arrived home from a night of high flying that included being on the guest list at Zeta Bar, using shampoo to make bubbles in the Hilton penthouse spa bath and waking up next to a toy designer. To my absolute delight The Spatula managed to stuff her handbag full of Crabtree & Evelyn goodies from The Hilton's bathroom. Nice one.
And as for me, well I think you already know, I may have left out the part where I watched The Bill, that June Ackland was getting proposed to again. She knows how to bag them that June.
Damn him
Almost immediately after I pressed publish post on the last post the internet went down and the phone rang. It was Elliot phoning 'illegally' from the rehab to make sure I was ok, to demonstrate his ability to hug down the phone, to say all the right things. How is it possible that I have let him become so ingrained that every second thought is of him? This is going from shit to fuck in a hurry. I need a new solution. I need a Dale distraction. I need to be the Captain of how I feel.
Shaking Elliot
Dale I would rescue you if I could but I can't. That is I want to rescue you but I'm not in a position to right now. I'll call you this afternoon and see how you are going, see if you've managed to find someone to keep you company this evening and then we can talk on the phone tonight if you're lonely.
Yeah right, good thing I'm not holding my breath waiting for that phone call seeing as its 10pm, I left a message for him at five and he hasn't called me back. This is the shake I've been needing, Elliot is by definition a fuck up and it doesn't matter how I bother to think of him in my head because the cold hard fact is that he doesn't love me, doesn't mean what he says and I'm wasting head space imagining the impossible.
Yeah right, good thing I'm not holding my breath waiting for that phone call seeing as its 10pm, I left a message for him at five and he hasn't called me back. This is the shake I've been needing, Elliot is by definition a fuck up and it doesn't matter how I bother to think of him in my head because the cold hard fact is that he doesn't love me, doesn't mean what he says and I'm wasting head space imagining the impossible.
Bring on the night
Loose end. That's me. Usually I would delight in the turn of events that will leave me with the house all to myself tonight but this week I have been curiously flat and filled with the evil seeds of loneliness.
Desperately seeking Dale. I need to be sought out, I need someone anyone just one person to seek my company but its not going to happen. Everyone I know is filled with busy plotting plans for the night that do not involve me so I will sit here in this house and bat away my demons, one at a time until it is late enough to attempt sleep. In the meantime I might try and tire myself with menial tasks and pointless wandering, I am uninterested and uninteresting but I'm hoping its only temporary.
Desperately seeking Dale. I need to be sought out, I need someone anyone just one person to seek my company but its not going to happen. Everyone I know is filled with busy plotting plans for the night that do not involve me so I will sit here in this house and bat away my demons, one at a time until it is late enough to attempt sleep. In the meantime I might try and tire myself with menial tasks and pointless wandering, I am uninterested and uninteresting but I'm hoping its only temporary.
Wow!
I was just undressing for bed when I realised I might be a bit cold, that's where the wow comes in. How great are pyjamas! It is possible that I may have been smoking something. This might have lead me to believe that taking alternative bites of coconut cake and toast with salami was as close to heaven as you're going to get.
The evening began with a ritual stroll to Guzman Y Gomez but took on a variation when The Spatula and Grizelda took me to a cocktail bar. I am in love with a drink. This must remain top secret. The whole drink was divine from bottom to top, everything about it was perfect including my deft picking up of maraschino cherries, chopstick style, using two straws. The drink was potent enough for me to part with fifty dollars at the record shop and leave smiling despite this being a very stupid thing to do. I didn't even mind when The Spatula and Grizelda barred me from the sorbet shop and then the cafe. I happily walked all the way home without looking at anything, standing on any street corners imagining dead poets or even bothering to look about me or think about things in any way at all. I didn't even eat one thing made from figs.
The Spatula took me for a drive to pick something up from someone and I ended up sitting at the most enormous kitchen table I've ever seen drinking seriously good red wine, smoking some things whilst dipping bread in oil and trying very hard to take seriously the people telling me that the government puts fluoride in the water to sedate the population. You never know what's going to happen next when you walk up the street in Newtown, I'm still trying to work out if this is a good thing.
The evening began with a ritual stroll to Guzman Y Gomez but took on a variation when The Spatula and Grizelda took me to a cocktail bar. I am in love with a drink. This must remain top secret. The whole drink was divine from bottom to top, everything about it was perfect including my deft picking up of maraschino cherries, chopstick style, using two straws. The drink was potent enough for me to part with fifty dollars at the record shop and leave smiling despite this being a very stupid thing to do. I didn't even mind when The Spatula and Grizelda barred me from the sorbet shop and then the cafe. I happily walked all the way home without looking at anything, standing on any street corners imagining dead poets or even bothering to look about me or think about things in any way at all. I didn't even eat one thing made from figs.
The Spatula took me for a drive to pick something up from someone and I ended up sitting at the most enormous kitchen table I've ever seen drinking seriously good red wine, smoking some things whilst dipping bread in oil and trying very hard to take seriously the people telling me that the government puts fluoride in the water to sedate the population. You never know what's going to happen next when you walk up the street in Newtown, I'm still trying to work out if this is a good thing.
We sold our clothes to the state, I make a lot of mistakes
I need to add smoke and mirrors to the room of lamps and shadows analogy of Mr X. He is man-shaped toxicity. Walking away from one coke, one shandy and half a bowl of chips at the Courthouse with Mr X I closed my eyes and wished for an industrial chemical emergency shower. I wanted to tear off my clothes and blast away all thought of him using the fire hydrant on King St. Mr X is a man to be avoided.
He peppers his conversation with invisible suicide dives and lines every damn thing with bile. He smiled over his beer and talked of things meant to disarm whilst sliding across the table propositions of malice. He wants me to think ill of Elliot, even dragging out the ridiculous 'did you know Elliot is afraid of jelly?'. I'm well aware of Elliot's feelings towards jelly, this is unlikely to have any serious side effects. But he was sinister and nasty amidst the ridiculousness and I am dying to phone Elliot and tell him he was right all along. I urged him to contact Mr X, to maintain the friendship despite all of Elliot's objections. Elliot thought he was negative and toxic and I stupidly would not believe him because he formed this opinion before going to rehab. I was dying to phone Elliot and tell him but now I'm not so sure.
Yesterday walking down Botany Rd in Waterloo I stopped dead outside the supermarket and stared stupidly at a clay tile set into the pavers. Help make this a chewing gum free zone. I don't think so. Chewing gum is related to bubble gum and I love bubble gum. I went in to the supermarket to buy some but again stopped in my tracks. Artboy was in the chocolate, floor cleaners, soft drinks and pet food aisle. I followed him around the supermarket for five minutes before he turned around abruptly and sort of stamped a foot in my direction. It wasn't him. It obviously wasn't him and I don't why I thought it was. I left without bubble gum.
Sitting on the brick wall outside the supermarket I smoked a cigarette and scrolled through my phone looking for people to call [There's a Troy in my phone, I don't know any Troys this is very odd]. I phoned Ron and after niceties and listening carefully to Ron's news of the day he told me something that my brother had said. My brother said "Dale thinks that Elliot is her boyfriend. She must have had him lined up before Artboy went mental." All that resulted from this knowledge sits heavy and silent. I think I might need to have a lovely biscuit with a cup of tea. I've got some people to cross off my Christmas card list.
He peppers his conversation with invisible suicide dives and lines every damn thing with bile. He smiled over his beer and talked of things meant to disarm whilst sliding across the table propositions of malice. He wants me to think ill of Elliot, even dragging out the ridiculous 'did you know Elliot is afraid of jelly?'. I'm well aware of Elliot's feelings towards jelly, this is unlikely to have any serious side effects. But he was sinister and nasty amidst the ridiculousness and I am dying to phone Elliot and tell him he was right all along. I urged him to contact Mr X, to maintain the friendship despite all of Elliot's objections. Elliot thought he was negative and toxic and I stupidly would not believe him because he formed this opinion before going to rehab. I was dying to phone Elliot and tell him but now I'm not so sure.
Yesterday walking down Botany Rd in Waterloo I stopped dead outside the supermarket and stared stupidly at a clay tile set into the pavers. Help make this a chewing gum free zone. I don't think so. Chewing gum is related to bubble gum and I love bubble gum. I went in to the supermarket to buy some but again stopped in my tracks. Artboy was in the chocolate, floor cleaners, soft drinks and pet food aisle. I followed him around the supermarket for five minutes before he turned around abruptly and sort of stamped a foot in my direction. It wasn't him. It obviously wasn't him and I don't why I thought it was. I left without bubble gum.
Sitting on the brick wall outside the supermarket I smoked a cigarette and scrolled through my phone looking for people to call [There's a Troy in my phone, I don't know any Troys this is very odd]. I phoned Ron and after niceties and listening carefully to Ron's news of the day he told me something that my brother had said. My brother said "Dale thinks that Elliot is her boyfriend. She must have had him lined up before Artboy went mental." All that resulted from this knowledge sits heavy and silent. I think I might need to have a lovely biscuit with a cup of tea. I've got some people to cross off my Christmas card list.
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