The Cat In The Crook

The midnight cat scaled the blankets and napped in the crook of her dozing master's legs. There she slept without stirring until her master did. At two-thirteen he woke with a start and rolled over with a sigh. The cat moved with him and rested a paw on his thigh. The room was cold and he watched her breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly the rise and fall of her breathing began to draw in the light, pulling it from the air. The moonlight from the window and the light from the hall sucked in mistrals into the cat's fur. Her purrs grew into long, low cello notes and her body started to glow. And lift. She soaked up the ribbons of light until she was a brilliant bright ball floating above the bed. Her master shouted out but the cello purr pushed  his voice back.

Then the cat sneezed. She sneezed and the glow burst from her. Diamonds of light sent scattering to the darkest corners of the room where they exploded like raindrops, and dripped like thick paint down every surface. Soon the room ached with a burnt golden hue. The cat licked her paw and circled in the air and sat down on the bed. The golden paint kept drip, dripping onto the floor where it pooled before draining into the carpet until the room was dark again. The cat in the crook sneezed again, and her master’s heart started to mend.

The Cattle All Have Brucellosis

Australia is not a dictatorship. So why is the government - and specifically it's Prime Minister - acting like one? No, they haven't taken over in a violent coup and hoisted their own flag. That's not the behaviour I'm talking about. I mean the obtuse policy choices that make the world (or a decent media) go What? or roll their eyes and say Oh those crazy Russians/Nth Koreans/Chinese. The kind of stuff Sacha Baron Cohen should've been lampooning in The Dictator had that movie been any good. I'm talking about: Knights and Dames, constantly being flanked by beautiful women or insisting female ministers be chaperoned, posing in gaudy military hardware, threatening violent confrontation with other heads of state, refusing all interviews except those with pro-government media and demanding all media to play for the home team, country wide simultaneous singing of the national anthem and near daily announcements of brain-fart policies that are immediately backed down on. Then there's the more nefarious stuff: Changing laws specifically for friends and family, the nationalistic Border Force, using the courts to tear down their enemies, "If you don't like the $7 tax we'll make it a $20 tax", dynamiting the country into the shape of his own head^, being pro-torture, not to mention gleefully locking people up for years without trial and giving themselves the right to summarily remove a person’s citizenship. This is in a single year. Please don't mistake this as a partisan attack. This is very personal. These, somehow elected, people ain't no good.

Then there's Labor who like burrowing owls huddle together in their pit until they're literally forced out by an LNP gaffe. Then it's Shorten in the media trying to beat the Libs on the low ground. And he's shit at it. Mad As Hell's Shorten's Zingers making that abundantly clear. This is the part where I'm supposed to say "it gets better". But much like that internet campaign, it's a lie. The whole herd is sick and should be fed into the grinder to make fertilizer.

 
(Ok. Ok. There are a few in the lower ranks of Labor and the Greens that are ok. And Mike Baird seems alright)

^Ok, that's from an episode of Duckman. Doesn't seem out-of-place in this list though.   

A Boy On The Internet

a boy on the internet is without physical form
they are mist and fog and they swarm

they are flowers and spiders and outsiders in their head
they are nice 'til they're not then they want you all dead

they are wolves hunting foxes from their subterranean boxes
they are threats and phone calls and doxxes

they open veins and close ranks and spit and wank and love you
they come and they go posting school pictures of you

a boy on the internet makes porn versions of the women he knows
a man on the internet is bones

A Final Picture of Paul McCartney

When you're an insomniac with depression* late night is the worst time. When lying in bed under the glow of some infomercial - as that's all that's on and you don't deserve good TV anyway - it's hard not to let the darkness in. The thirtieth viewing Chef Tony's Miracle Blade cannot take your mind off your mind. So you think. And think. And you think about maybe not bothering with tomorrow. And you think that, yes, self-balancing accugrip handles are a kitchen revolution. To be left alone with your thoughts, in the dark, is one of the worst experiences you can have.

Then came channel Eleven and with it The Late Late Show With Craig Ferguson. A show that at its worst was a distraction and at its best was life-sustaining. I've written a bit about the comforting effect TV has had on this lonely guy from country Australia. Like this thing on Letterman. The difference between those shows is Ferguson's was made for me.

The Late Late Show seemed specifically designed for insomniacs with a weird, dark, off-kilter sense of humour like me. And it had a way of creeping up on you, even on terrible no good days, and pulling laughter from deep inside you. It would ambush you into feeling better.       

And it wasn't a talk show. It was something else. It was a thorough deconstruction of the talk format and terribly unserious about itself. It stands up to repeated viewings; the same can't be said for any of its peers.

It was something special. And now it's gone.

The final Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson will air @ 11:30pm tonight on Eleven 

*I promise I'll think of a new opening line in the new year      
            

            

Xmas Blues

The town squares are all empty
with no children at play
A horrible bad awful thing
happened today

The air was thick with silence
'cept occasional bells ringing
Even The Bryds stopped with
their horrible singing

See all were inside with
their teevees switched on
Mouths slack-jawed open
their smiles were gone

The TV newsman took off his glasses
turned to the camera and said
the terrible news;
Santa was dead

Shocked thoughts of what
soon turned to how
Was he devoured by Rudolph?
Did the sleigh hit a cow?

But when the news spread
it was worse than they feared
A body found in the ocean
smelling of peppermint & wet beard

Twas the melting of sea ice
that did old Nick in
Seems this climate change
is an actual thing

It seemed sudden but
was not sudden at all
those rich scientists had
already writ on the wall

Still it surprised Santa
'though it was partly his fault
distributing coal at Xmas?
What a red-faced dolt!

He knows when you're sleeping
He knows when you're awake
He knew he was drowning not
swimming in North Pole lake

So when the calendar flicks over
to this Christmas Day
A solemn moment of
quiet tribute we'll pay

So turn off the clocks
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
hold on... what's this?
The estate of Auden on the phone

They shout about copyright lawyers
that will chop off my head
Good lord, don't they know?
Santa is dead!

It's The Money

With apologies to Randy Newman

Can't grip with my fingers
Can't stand on my feet
My backbone's all twisted
Can't take care of me
Food or medication?
It's gettin' hard to breathe

It's money that I love
It's money that I love

Got a ruby studded wheelchair
Crutches wrapped in gold leaf
Oxygen tank full of baby's breath
Cognac for pain-relief
Even got a wrist that itches
From its diamond twine stitches

It's money that I love
It's money that I love 

Children call me retard
The papers want me dead
Ditto the politicians
And the chemicals in my head
Whole country gettin' mean
Still gotta chase that green

And I'm dying for the money
I'm dying can't you see
It's the money that I love
The world envies me

Disabled Should Be Seen And Not Heard. And Also Not Seen.

You have a mental illness

You are pushed back into the workforce

You cannot get a job

You get no welfare assistance for six months

You can't afford meds

You have an "episode"

You ________.

This is the uncertain life Social Services Minister Kevin Andrews wants for those with "episodic" disabilities. That is disabilities whose symptoms are unpredictable or symptoms that wax and wane; like Bipolar, CFS, and schizophrenia (among many, many examples). The way Andrews' sees it if you're not in constant agony or totally mental 100% of the time you shouldn't qualify for the DSP. Only crippled 51 weeks a year? How dare you ask for government assistance, you fucking scumbag.

At the moment Andrews is focused on those with episodic mental illness, which just happens to be the group that society is most prejudiced against, the group the government can most easily attack without being seen to be beating up on crips. Mental illness is often seen to be sign of weakness. Depression for example is often derided as whinging or laziness. Mental illness is an invisible disability, episodic mental illness even more so. How can you be disabled if you don't look disabled? This is the government's thinking. And if you don't like it you can complain...
    

* * * *

A few months back, possibly to pay for the appointment of Tim Wilson to the board, George Brandis discontinued the position of Disability Discrimination Commissioner despite roughly 40% of all complaints handled by the commission involved disability. The move was widely criticized. After weeks of uncertainty Brandis this week announced Age discrimination commissioner Susan Ryan would take over the portfolio when the current position ended.

"I also expect that all commissioners, as part of their current responsibilities, will continue to address disability discrimination issues that arise within their own portfolios," he said.

The Coalition's love of one desk solutions doesn't extend to discrimination of the disabled it seems. Moving from a single commissioner to the entire board so no one knows exactly whose purview it falls under. Our one avenue of complaint is now a rat's nest of uncertainty. Slow clap all 'round, guys.