Graduation Day 2002

On 14 February 2002 I stood with maybe a quarter of a million other people protesting the coming invasion of iraq and the Howard government's tacit (yet nonetheless full) support for it. I left work early and had driven in with friends joining an ocean of equally angry bemused citizens who were like me wholly unconvinced by the justification for any military action. Weapons of Mass Destruction? When was the last time you heard someone say that? If feels redundant now to even bring it up, the once sexy acronym rolling of my tongue. Terrorism? Well I could never understand how dropping bombs on a country the other side of the planet was supposed to make me feel safer. Why should I feel safer anyhow when some American 'smart' bomb detonates in someone else's living room fire and concrete... when isn't it better I feel a little bit nervous and let the owner of said living room continue watching the arabic equivalent to pop idol? Freeing the Iraqi people? From what? Saddam? According to BBC online an average of over one hundred Iraqis die now every day because of the violence. Yes we freed them alright. Freed them from this mortal coil.

Graduation Day: 20 March 2002. I woke up early to clean the house getting things in order for my little afterparty, my mum out shopping getting a few last minute supplies. The TV was stuck to the ABC watching the coverage and waiting for the expected... and when it came I stood in the hallway scrubbing brush in my hand, mouth open and tap running. The Americans were bombing Baghdad and I flooded my bathroom and bedroom.

Why did we go to war again? I'd like to say I told you so as if anyone was ever listening to me but that would denote some self satisfaction. I don't feel any. I would also like to tell you all the best way forward but I don't know, only that things look pretty fucked up and I am sorry for that.

deep-fried exorcism

The other night I witnessed (in a dream of course) the exorcism of a plate of french fries. Now I don't know the difference between one sort of potato chip from the next let alone one possessed by the devil... so I thus referred such prodding and pocking, decifering and deciding to the experts: the priest and laymen and laywomen who stood around the table that 'lay' this plate and its chips upon. I was just about to discover, truth revealed if the oil the chips were fried in had been unholy cursed when I was abruptly woken by my alarm... time to get ready for my office nine to five I said to myself, wrenching my tired body from beneath the covers.

My friend Darren who told me tonight, in response to this story that I have some of the strangest dreams around.

I tend to agree.

the last I dreamt