In another breathtaking departure from tradition. The “Other Australian of the Year” individual has been nominated.

Previous ” Other Australian of the Year”, Mr. Mathew Guy for ” Services to Real Estate”

In a recent statement the P.M for innovation the Rt. Hon. Mr Malcolm Turnbull announced his plan to recognise the ‘ordinary Australian’. A spokesperson for the P.M, defined this innovative turnaround in a brief sentence, when questioned by reporters outside the lodge; ‘The P.M gets the fundamentals” Asked where the P.M for Innovation was, he replied; ‘in keeping with the spirit of Australia, he’s moving house”.

” Other Australian of the Year ” Award winner 2011, Jacquie Lambie, representing the eternal flame of Anzac, Women and Dressing up for Australia, and being paid to be exceedingly heroic and noble in the event of war with another impoverished Middle Eastern failed state.

Asked for clarification he paraphrased the P.M’s important position. ‘Most average Australians don’t get the significance of the honours list, for them they’re never going to be in the first eleven, will never have the annointment of a ‘captains pick’, and will not grace the front pages of those popular magazines still in print. Some believe that the honours system is all about the status quo rewarding the status quo. This indicates a deep cynicism within the Australian Body politic. And for the vast majority, those with foreign-sounding names and aboriginal australians, the Australian of the year award is more or less meaningless. Almost, and I hazard to use this term; ‘Tokenistic”. We need to breathe new life into this award and recognise they whom we do not see also serve. And this, (with emphasis) includes those amongst us who are WOMEN!* Indeed the P.M wants to put a new light in Australia Day Awards, and desperately seeks to invigorate the principle of Australian of the Year with nominations sought from those who don’t receive the due recognition, for the things they do on a daily basis to reinforce and nurture the Australian way of life.

Stating that recognition was double edged, the P.M sought to clarify his position; ‘None of us get true recognition were it’s due, and most of us just accept the burden of being a citizen without any consideration of how they, (the unrepresented the unwashed) contribute to the main driver of this economy, Real Estate’.

Standing at the podium of the REIV, the P.M, beamed; ‘For years we’ve talked about tax reform, the clever country and innovation, when we have it here right amongst us. I’m proud to say that we now rank with Hong Kong as the least affordable place in the WORLD. Also, and this should not be forgotten, we have closed our borders to POOR PEOPLE, and will soon take the mantle as the least educated, innovative and forward thinking country in the OECD. Our private debt is astronomical, and as a consequence, we truly understand ourselves as remote, insular, dis-connected, and yet maintain a Simulated, Mental Unitary Grouping, (SMUG) happiness co- efficient that is on top of the list.

Winner of the ” Other Australian of the Year Award”, Mr and Mrs Wes Dullard. Mrs, Shirley Dullard, holding her award for the cameras.

‘The Dullard House. Purchased in 1952 for two hundred guineas, three pence halfpenny and a farthing as a war service loan, and now worth over three million dollars’, Other Australian of the Year Award Citation.

As a consequence it is my great privelege to announce this years winner. From the vast pile of quiet achievers, non-achievers, and non-persons it is my great pleasure to nominate Mr and Mrs Wes Dullard from Glenroy. Since buying their war service weatherboard in 1952, they have seen the price of their land increase by several thousand percent. I put it to you, without doing a thing to upgrade, renovate, or augment their small holding, not even, installing a granny flat, they have accumulated vast wealth. This is the spirit of Australia at work. It demonstrates once and for all, by not taking foolish risks and developing new ideas, you can be an absolute front- runner. Also their children, have made significant contributions by buying real estate in the new suburbs beyond the urban fringe.

They encapsulate the spirit of the Pioneer, in converting under-utilised, unproductive land into real estate. It’s the cautious “can-do” spirit of doing nothing that has catapulted Australia into the lead. It’s recognition due of our strengths. We have space, and ready access to real estate. We’ve seen what our athletes can do, and what the manufacturing industry failed to do. It’s also a reminder to our health and education sectors what can be done if they consistently fail to perform, as real estate they are bankable, dependable and represent the true future of this mighty nation. It’s in recognition of the fundamentals; “Real Estate”.

• We wish to remind the reader of the great steps being taken in acheiving gender equality in Australia. An entire one third of Order of Australia recipients are female, and the Order of Australia Council comprises fourteen men and  three real women.

Tomorrow, another exclusive; Indigenous Australia and Australia Day.

An Australia Day Exclusive

The P.M. Breaking with Australia Day Honours Tradition. Announces the; ‘Golden Starfish Award”

Cecil accepting the “Golden Starfish Award’, whilst maintaining his complete and absolute anonymity.

Dear reader, It is with breathless excitement , and some heartfelt anticipation that we break with  the extraordinary news that we believe, from ‘authority unquestioned and certainty unblemished’ that one amongst us has been annointed with the highest honour bequeathed in the land. I know , as you do after reading about the exploits of our aviation pioneers that it may be Quentin Cockburn for ‘Services to Aviation’, or you may think it is Ira Maine for sterling service in the ‘Pursuit of Poetry and the enlightenment of ‘Man as Machine’. But, we have it in a form more tangible than a rumour that it is none other than Cecil Poole himself who this year will take on the mantle, the responsibilty, the gravitas of Australia’s highest honour, the Order of Australia, “Golden Starfish’ award.

Speaking briefly at a hastily convened press conference, Cecil breathlessly remarked, ‘this has come as quite a surprise, I had no idea this was coming, and I’m exceedingly humbled’. The ‘Golden Starfish’ is an entirely new award, above all the lowly OA’s OAMs and AM’s that have flourished since the Whitlam government dispensed with the puerile, forelock-tugging, royalist. self-seeking gongs that were so characteristic of the sub colonial mindset of Knighthoods and Dames.

Indeed since the Tony Abbott ‘Phil the Greek knighthood fiasco’ last year, the current ‘Prime Minister for Innovation’, The Rt. Hon. Malcolm Turnbull has been hard pressed to breathe new life into the Australia Day Awards scheme. Indeed he’s been hard at work breathing any life at all into the corpus, the moulding residue of “honours” and it was only on the suggestion of the Minister for Innovation himself, The Rt. Hon, Christopher Pyne, that the honours should be given new life by establishing a new, higher strata of award. ‘Something beyond the back slapping, toadying, sycophantic immaturity associated with people being gonged for stuff they do for a living’.

‘Our Man In London’. Lynton.

Proposed new ceremonial uniform to be worn by order of Australia ‘Golden’ and ‘Chocolate’ Starfish Award recipients. Uniforms tastefully designed by the Minister for Innovation, The Rt. Hon. Christopher Pyne. (from his personal collection)

With considerable self effacing elan, the P. M has departed from tradition, and decided to develop a new awards scheme that truly demonstrates Australia at the ‘innovation azimuth’ of contemporary thought. Ignoring suggestions from the former P.M, and the recent Minister for Defence, Kevin Andrews that the new award be the absolute highest, as a ‘Super V.C’, the P.M. deferred and brilliantly came up with a fauna based award scheme to outclass and re-define Australia as truly innovative. ‘The Golden Starfish, (Crown of Thorns first class) the Golden Cane Toad and the Golden Feral Goat, recognise ‘exceptional endeavour’ from these not usually acquainted with patronage and special status’. As the P.M stated in his live address from Canberra; ‘few can have changed the shape of this country more profoundly than the ‘Crown of Thorns Starfish’ and the Cane Toad, how fitting then, that we establish this award to celebrate the unexpected, the quiet achiever, and the challenge of dealing with change and innovation into the Twenty First century’.

In recognition of his tireless commitment to boards, (his house is made of timber), his compassion for poetry, (he has had one live in his house), and literature and the arts, (he’s both literate and artistic), both the Australia Day Council and the Australia Council who include amongst them, some members from outside Sydney have nominated Cecil Poole as their Inaugural Golden Starfish Award winner. And in recognition of his service to this country, will be receiving both a Chocolate Starfish, Order of Australia award, and a REAL Golden Starfish medal from her Majesty the Queen and Lynton Crosby in Buckingham Palace, next week. We are told that the dress code will be smart formal. Who wouldn’t be?

Our poetry Editor Ira Maine has lost his wife.  These are his thoughts.

All the World.
I REMEMBER-
Your glorious fried-egg bosom
And the way you danced,
Out of your head, oblivious,
As if you had become the music
And all melody depended
On your giving it life.

I REMEMBER-
How you held me and tried
To make me move as you moved,
Patiently coaxing, drawing me out.
But I was awkward and clumsy,
Hopelessly lacking your grace.
How could I not love you then?

I REMEMBER-
How fiercely you held me, made me listen,
Made me aware that even I,
Miraculously, had my own music,
Even if it wasn’t in my feet.
How could I not love you?
I remember  so many things…
But this above all-
Since that first day in Islington,
When you walked down those stairs,
I have been enthralled, captivated,
Enchanted by you.
You have been my life, my love,
My compassed world,
Where I am rich beyond imagining.
Richer, little flower, by far,
Than all the world.

Ira Maine, January 2016

Hola, que tal amigos, bienvenidos a 2016, ojalá será mejór que el quince,

 This Dispatch is being written on the 6^th of January. On this day Spanish speaking children are visited by the three Kings and showered with gifts (if they’ve been good and their parents can afford it).

In 1971 on our return to Australia from Canada, we drove through El Salvador. I was told by a local that 97% of land in El Salvador was owned by 3% of the population.

Whilst some “take me to Cuba” airplane hijackings had taken place, two years were to pass before Chile experienced its “9-11” and three more decades before it was North America’s turn. Access to San Salvador’s airport was unhindered. No metal or explosives detectors and no sniffer dogs. No heavily armed guards in black Ninja uniforms nor service personnel in bright yellow fluorescent jackets, lest they be run over.

A small group of Salvadoran airport workers in white overalls gathered in a café on the periphery of the airport during their lunchbreak. Just as the best value roadside food can be found where truckies take their meal breaks, so it was at this café. Simple fare, at the lowest price imaginable: brown beans with tortillas and generous dollops of sour cream, prepared con cariño, just right.

Our budget did not stretch to staying in motels, so we were grateful to be able to make use of the free airport bathrooms.

A brass plaque at the entrance to the building informed us that North American foreign aid had provided the airport for the people of El Salvador.

Apart from the white-overall brigade polishing the floors or lugging luggage, and a sprinkling of Latin looking men in business suits, the majority inside the building, also in business suits, spoke loud English with North American accents. Presumably these businessmen had come to San Salvador to make deals with the 3%. The Latin looking gentlemen presumably were the brokers and real-estate agents and interpreters doing their bit for their country to move forward.

Too much monkey business (Chuck Berry)… .  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O8Y3ONAbaC0

In all fairness to those who convinced the U.S. Congress to approve the gift of an airport to the lucky denizens of El Salvador, some consideration had been given to the trickledown effect. Couples whose loud North American accents were matched by their loud clothes were sparsely distributed among their business suited compatriots, elderly men in Hawaiian shirts, palm tree motif, and Bermuda shorts, generally accompanied by younger women.

The trickledown effect was also very evident at the café of the brown beans, tortillas and sour cream. Where the runway crossed over the main road, the traffic dipped down to a short tunnel to get to the other side. The whole complex was located on a level playing field (such a one as the Trans Pacific Partnership rests upon).

All Salvadorans we spoke to, unprompted expressed their gratitude to the U.S.A. Government for having gifted them such a magnificent airport complex.    

Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane

Ain’t gottime to take a fast train

Lonely days are gone I’m a goin’ home

My baby, she just wrote me a letter

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=95v7R67to-I (Joe Cocker-The Letter)

It is simply uncanny. Back to the future. In Yuendumu we are reliving this experience. Often Warlpiri residents stop us, unprompted to express their gratitude to the Government for having gifted us such a magnificent $7.6M police complex.

When discussing gifts, a friend rued the fact there hadn’t been three wise Queens instead of the three Kings. He speculated that three wise Queens wouldn’t have got lost, would have assisted with the child and no cabe duda (undoubtedly) borne more sensible gifts.

We three Kings of orient are,

bearing gifts we traverse afar…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VrsWF3JlScw (We three Kings-Dolly Parton)

Que los tres reyes les hallan traido suerte, amór y felícidad… y risa, mucha risa (Mirth not Myrrh)

Franklin

Dear reader, theres been quite an upset at PCbyCp.

Bowie and Jagger. Pure Gold. And not bad acting either.

The David Bowie ‘Bad Art, Murals and ABC’ letter went just a little bit too far. We apologise for the vein of the missive and have decided to print just one of the vast pile of angry, aggrieved and inconsolable letters sent in rebuttal. In the interests of bipartisanship and fair-mindedness we have printed this letter in full and have sent a copy to the Bowie Estate as a sign of true contrition.



’Dear Sirs, I would like the opportunity to vociferously complain about the improper and coarse tone of the diatribe directed against Rock-God Bowie. Clearly the author is utterly ignorant of the vast body of Bowie’s work and thus is blinded, ‘Abbott-like’ by the scientific facts I shall bring to bear. Bowie sold quite a few records since 1983. And his latest, published when he was still quite warm is set to be record-breaking, (excuse the pun) in Sales. “Vomitron” if that’s his real name insists that his character and artistic output suffered desertification in he early 80’s. Just for the record, he couldn’t be more utterly and completely wrong.

The ABC is quite right in playing hours and hours of Bowie nostalgia, honorifics, and quite correct in trawling the nonentities within, outside, and on the absolute fringe of the ossified and destitute Sydney music scene, (for that is where the ABC is stuck) in gaining an insight into BOWIE’S GENIUS!!.

Bowie rediscovered MAKE-UP

Bowie’s best work was as an ACTOR. Though in Nicholas Roeg’s “Man who fell to Earth’ which was really very very good, In ‘Labyrinth’, he was both a goblin, a singer and a star. And he, “chameleon-like’ revisited on the big screen an innovative use of make-up.

A true pioneer.

Not since Lloyd Webber composed ‘Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat’, ‘Cats’ and ‘Jesus Christ Superstar’ have we seen such consumate talent on display.

A momumental talent.

Bowie performing ” Let’s Dance”, allegedly a tilt against racism, but actually filmed in AUSTRALIA!!

And sadly, unrecognised at his untimely death by a knighthood, O.B.E or, as has been allegedly proposed by our Federal Arts Minister a posthumous Order of Australia. For such is the depth manifest in the “Let’s Dance” film clip that was a actually filmed in Australia. Fitting then, and sad, though Bowie is dead, he was quite strident in letting some of us know how much he liked Australia. He was here for that brief time in the 80’s and left, but we know that he would’ve lived here for ever because this country knows how to nurture a successful and famous overseas artist. How wrong then for the Ill-informed to accuse the ABC of wallowing. What errant self indulgence. Bowie’s output from 1981 onwards took us on an entirely new trajectory.

What began with ‘Space Oddity’ went in another dimension when he teamed up with Mick jagger in ‘Dancing in the Street’, and then who could forget, his duet with Freddie Mercury, in ‘Under Pressure’, pure gold. Unrivalled since Macartney teamed up with Stevie Wonder in ‘Ebony and Ivory”. In music terms that’s recognised as; ‘breaking the sound-barrier’. And then, on top of all that, MTV came along, and Bowie was everywhere doing voice overs for commercials, infotainment spots, and when he wasn’t hanging around Sydney and Los Angeles and London, and New York, Paris and Berlin he was just…. Hanging around.

Bowie;’Did I die so that pollies and radio announcers could wallow in the bathos of their own fart derived sense of self’?’

Dear reader, we usually don’t like publishing disrespectful letters, but we recently received this one from a Mr Choken-Vomitron Destiny. And although not quite cogent, gives an insight into how some members of the listening community may feel about the recent demise of David Bowie. In the interests of journalistic integrity we have kept the transcript in its original form and must apologise to readers and children for the profane and bellicose language.

‘Dear PCbyCP I write to you after listening to a week of ABC Bowie Broadcast.

Christ what if Macartney died! Or even worse Andrew fucking Lloyd Webber.

John Lennon was so lucky!! It’s the Phil Hughes death industry at work again.

And leading the triumphalist, maudlin, pack are the cheerleaders within our national broadcaster. And why I ask? Bowie stopped being creative in 1980. You do the math. It’s now thirty six years ago, since then. Macartney, (arguably) last did good stuff during the White Album, that’s 68. Do the math, that’s 48 years ago. Ever since, Pure shite. All this should’ve happened in 1983. We should’ve been mourning the death of Bowie’s creative nerve then. It happens in the arts. ‘Let’s Dance’(1983), played ad-nauseam cos of the “ Australian connection’ was pure shite!!.. What is it with these people? I can’t talk. Haven’t had a number one hit nor written anything, and been a complete and utter nonentity. In music terms I’m a self described non person. An abject non person. A failure. A compete Zero. But if I Had… If I had’ve done something as brilliant as ‘Young Americans’, I’d say; ‘That’s a bloody good day’s work, cant better that, and like Nick Drake, go off and kill myself’. That’s what Mozart said as he was composing his last movement, “ Fick mir todt, Ich habe genug”, (Fuck me dead, i’ve had enough) and he karked it, simple. Pure as art can be. Or what Hendrix said as he was choking on his vomit. What Jim Morrison did when he forgot to pull the plug, and what Ian Curtis did when he thought about critics praise for Joy Division. Kill yourself now and avoid the rush.

But it’s just not on being a ‘late-deader’. You can’t become a rock god if you die years after. Jeff Buckley knew how to do it, took a plunge in the Mississippi and ol man river called in his debts. It’s pop. Pure and simple, it’s only meant to last a moment. These days with facebook, twitter and the whole metadata fundament of easy access, information overload, ‘look what I had for breakfast’ pseudo-celebrity shite, it’s all just so much hyperbolic drivel under the bridge.

And we have our memories, if we’re really egregious it’s ‘hits and memories’, and you get played to death. Yet the ABC is interviewing a public art artist about his Bowie street mural. A MURAL!!

This is not music. I HATE, detest and loathe murals. (excepting some of the very attractive ones in the city). Murals are public art. Public art, as Masaccio said to Alberti ‘is fucking crap’. Graffiti is vibrant and in your face. It’s Now!!! It’s exhilarating just like Pop Music.

Long-term Princess Di mourners ‘confused’ at the Bowie Mural in Brixton

Public art is dead, morose and pure shit. Public Art is like canning a fart derived from the great madras curry you had at an exotic trendoid restaurant, and every year, you open the lid and savour the thing that was. Pure self indulgent twaddle. That’s why we have records, so we can wallow in self absorption any tick of the clock. Which gets me off to the ABC. Cos radio national has junked thoughtful insightful challenging programs for talkback, the ‘spirit of things’ and pure shite. They’ve gone into a Bowie induced hiatus, playing his stuff, getting reverential, and doing what I HATE even more, the trite, drawn out funeral parade, of “ and what did Bowie do for you”?  To whit Bowie is unable to answer; ‘Did I die so that pollies and radio announcers could wallow in the bathos of their own fart derived sense of self importance’.

Bowie on the ABC has been made ‘Anzac’.

Dear reader another grippng instalment. Hold on to your hats, this is quite a tale. ( or so I’ve been told)

Fl Lt. William Cranfield “Dices with death” above the Western front in his Mk. 11 Bristol Boxbiter. April 1915.

The Bristol Box Biter

The Bristol Company is famous for developing one of the very first functioning fighter and reconnisance aircraft, the now legendary Bristol Box Kite. Developed as a trainer and obsolete, it was nonetheless rushed onto the Western Front and made an Important contribution to artillery observation. The type was immediately recognisable for its unusual engine sound, described as ‘slurping’ due to the sleeve valve pistons and wet sump lubrication. As a reconnisance aircraft it achieved some success in observing enemy deployment and troop dispositions in those important days following the stemming of the Hun onslaught, immediately after the battle of the Marne in 1914. However the utility of this aeroplane was short lived. The appearance of the eminent german fighter aces Oswald Boelke and Max Immelmann spelt DOOM for the sturdy but vulnerable Box kite. Unable to respond to the volley of Spandaus equipping the Focker and Albatross fighters, the Box Kites in the words of Immelmann, ‘vere easy prey’.

In an effort to maintain an offensive edge Box kites were adapted unsuccessfully with the then trusty Lee Enfield, and then in desperation a Stokes mortar mounted on the upper wing in an effort to blast the Hun from the sky. In a famous engagement, The Fighter Ace Oswald Boelke surprised a RFC officer above the trenches at Lille when he swooped down in his Focker eindecke. Flt. Lieut. William Cranfield RFC, fired his Stokes Mortar in frustration only to find the concussion blew a hole in the wing which allowed the Enfield to fall harmlessly through. Unarmed and slightly wounded he succeeded in countering the german attack by shouting in schoolboy german, “VE HAF VAYS OF MAKING YOU BAULK’, and ‘FOR YOU THE WAR IS OVER’, and when that failed, he pretended to suffer an epileptic fit before pretending to be dead. He knew that a German Officer would not condescend to shooting an unarmed lunatic English Officer, as such behaviour demonstrated the likelihood of nobility in his adversary. The wily but chivalrous german pilot circled round the unarmed stricken aircraft before performing a couple of Immelman’s and returning to base. Later in the day he returned and dropped a bottle of Bollinger addressed to “my gallant foe” Ft Lieut Cranfield RFC in appreciation’, Cranfield opened the bottle to find it was full of flat champagne. Inside a note in german, “Our recent encounter has left me flat, in tribute I share with you in the anticipation we meet again. Yours Oswald’. Such were the rights of chivalry.

Undaunted Cranfield set about upgrading his aircraft. This ambitious project became nothing short of an obsession, as he completely reconfigured the wings and fuselage, adding a reinforced cupola and strengthening of the Box Kite configuration. Famously he requested of the armourer; ‘I want to give this Box kite more bite’. The Armourer proceeded to upgrade the engine and installed ‘real bite’ with a brace of triple mounted Vickers guns attached to a ring mount above the engine. Adapted with a special flight control lever, the pilot was required to climb up onto the upper wing and maintain flight by strapping the lever to either right or left foot, whilst giving play with the machine guns. The act though requiring considerable skill and nicknames, “Toe in the Hole” was mastered by the pugnacious Cranfield.

Thus the ‘Bristol Box Biter’ was ready for service, nicknamed the ‘Lunging Licker’, with flames painted to the sides of the fuselage and the inclusion of red marker flags as the ‘Red River’ or in reference to the large engine air intakes, ‘The Flying Flange” it was truly a Box with Bite! With other conversions to the Box Kite the Box Biter squadron formed late October 1914 coined the motto; ’Will give the Hun a good lickin’!. Cranfield waited for the return, this time determined to settle the score for the honour of his squadron.

In due course Boelke returned in an Albatross. An immeasurably superior aircraft. Cranfield waited, fired and surprised himself when the weight of fire and subsequent recoil from his triple mounted vickers plunged him through the wings and to a heroic flyers death. In tribute Boelke dropped upon his rivals airfield a real bottle of Bollinger and the note, inscribed to my gallant foe, Flt. Lt. Cranfield RFC who whose bark, though feared was worse than his bite.

Bristol Boxbiter Specifications General Characteristics Crew: 2. Range: 150 miles Powerplant: 1 x Gnome Omega rotary piston engine, 50 hp (37kw) Performance Maximum speed: 86 mph,

Range: 150 miles Service ceiling; 4,500 ft

Rate of climb; 100 ft

Armament 1 x .303 Lee Enfield through wing 1 x Stokes Mortar 3 x .303 Vickers Gun on traversable mount

Operators RAAF, RAF

More often now, when young women walk past I hear older men comment thus: Aha The Dragon awakes!  –  no, he just yawned and went back to sleep. (This poem was first published here in May 2015)

Imperfect Enjoyment

A poem by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester(1647-1680) in which he admonishes his Dishonourable Member for twice failing a lady in her hour of need.  Comments by Ira Maine, Poetry Editor after the poem

Comments:
To begin with Wilmot and Corinna are in bed where her nakedness, her arms, lips, legs, her nimble tongue all combine to bring John Wilmot to the point where, he is now rigidly resolved-

‘…to throw the all-dissolving thunderbolt below…’

[does this adequately describe a chap’s entry to the Promised Land?]

And then, as is usual to the etiquette in these matters;

‘…her busy hand would guide that part…’

It would indeed were it not for young Wilmot’s over eager acquiesence to the demands of her softly guiding fingers.

Alas and alack, he is undone…

Before even the portals of the Promised Land are breached he confesses;

‘..in liquid raptures I dissolve all o’er,

Melt into sperm and spend at every pore…’

Come, come, Mr Wilmot…

Then, having survived this little death, this little disaster, not unreasonably, the young and sexually aroused lady, noticing Wilmot’s failure to produce a second ‘thunderbolt’, asks the question;

‘…is there then no more?… all this to love and rapture’s due,’

[The intensity of his love caused premature ejaculation the first time, but now?]

‘Must we not pay a debt to pleasure too?…’

Surely, Rochester, you can raise another thunderbolt?  Surely we can have another crack at it?

A not unreasonable request, and one a chap of Wilmot’s young age might easily supply, but then the point of the poem would be lost.  The point being that Wilmot finds,on this occasion at least, that he cannot, like Zeus or Thor, produce thunderbolts at will.

I sigh, alas! And kiss, but cannot swive…’ [swive; perform sexual intercourse]

Wilmot’s analysis of the situation;

‘…eager desires [ejaculatio praecox] confound my first intent.

Succeeding shame does more success prevent,

And rage at last, confirms me impotent…’

Embarrassment, shame and rage all combine to render him impotent.

Pitifully, hilariously the poet tells us that despite having conquered countless ‘…balmy brinks of bliss…’  in the past, right now, at this very moment;

‘..a wishing, weak, unmoving lump I lie…’

Thus far, dear reader, John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, has confessed to both premature ejaculation and impotence. What else might be in store?

Well, whilst talking of his Honourable Member and of where it has found itself in the past, he does say that;

‘…stiffly resolved, ‘twould carelessly invade

Woman or man, nor ought it’s fury stayed:

Where’er it pierced, a cunt it found, or made-…’

But now it is;

‘…shrunk up and sapless like a withered flower…’

Well, lah-de-dah, bless my soul and sundry other breathless expressions…

We now become aware that Prem. Ejac. And Impotence were simple appetizers. The Earl of Rochester also enjoyed a stroll on both sides of the street.

‘…woman or man…a cunt it found, or made…’

Finally, the poet sets about wishing all the pains of hell on his Dishonourable Member in return for this awful betrayal.

Why he asks of his old fellow, are you so eager and upright a citizen when it comes to ‘stews’ [brothels] and yet, when love is involved, do you fail me utterly?

‘…so true to lewdness, so untrue to love?

What oyster-cinder-beggar-common whore (17th century parlance for ladies of easy virtue in whose company his Honourable Member has never in the past failed to stand for re-erection)

Did’st thou e’er fail in all thy life before?…’

He compares his member to an unprincipled swine who is always the first to volunteer;

‘…when vice, disease or scandal lead the way…but if his King or Country claim his aid, the rakehell villain shrinks and hides his head…’

Wilmot in the end wishes on his deflated companion all of the painful horrors it deserves for failing him in love.

‘…mayst thou to ravenous chancres be a prey…’[ulcers]

Or in consuming weepings waste away…’ [ unstaunchable weeping sores…]

‘…may stranguary and stone thy days attend…’ [painful urination and gallstones]

May urination itself be denied you because you failed absolutely when I most needed you.

Then the dismissive insult that;

‘…ten thousand abler pricks agree

To do the wronged Corinna right for thee…’

That other more able members would be infinitely better able to satisfy Corinna than you, you;

‘…treacherous, base deserter of my flame, 

false to my passion, fatal to my fame…’

The Restoration in England threw off the bonds of Cromwellian Puritanism and celebrated the pleasures of the flesh in no uncertain manner. What Rochester was doing in verse, Congreve, Wycherley, and a host of others were doing on stage with plays like ‘The Country Wife’ and ‘The Way of the World’.  People flocked to the theatre in great numbers to celebrate the loosening of restrictions. Respectability and ‘seriousness’ crept back in the early 18th century but not before some of the most splendidly rude Restoration comedys were written and performed. They are still being celebrated today.

Sadly, John Wilmot contracted syphilis, a then incurable disease, where blindness, madness and unbearable pain must be endured before death.He was 33 years old.

His work is well worth hunting out and reading. I commend him to you.

First Dispatched 2 December 2013

Egun on nire lagunak

My family arrived in Australia in 1958 . As I’ve mentioned before, we were part of the first post-WWII wave of boat people. We initially lived in Moe, pronounced Mah-oo-wee, in Gippsland (Victoria). Not far from Moe there was a chicken farm said to be “the biggest chicken farm in the Southern Hemisphere”. A plethora of “ best, biggest, longest, thickest, weirdest and so on, in the Southern Hemisphere” kept being referred to in newspapers and discussions. In a humorous book on post war Australia that I can’t recall the title of, there was a chapter titled “The Southern Hemisphere” illustrated by a George Molnar cartoon of a fellow sitting in a large halved globe (the bottom half in case you’re wondering). The book was published around the same time as Nino Culotta’s ‘They’re a Weird Mob’. Having arrived in Australia from another Southern Hemisphere country (via my Northern Hemisphere country of birth), I had my serious doubts about these claims , I would not have been at all surprised if Argentina or South Africa for that matter boasted an even larger chicken farm. The Great Australian Cringe was alive and well. We ‘New Australians’, as long as we retained a trace of a wog accent, were forever being asked how we liked Australia and any hint of criticism in our response, however well intended or naively delivered was not very graciously received. I soon learned not to argue with such unproven boasts: If Australians wanted to feel good about having the largest chicken farm in the Southern Hemisphere, who was I to deflate their supercilious  pride? It’s not good to be a wet blanket. It earns you no gratitude. The ‘go back to where you came from’, or its less polite form ‘If you don’t like it… fuck off’ mentality were much in evidence then and sadly remain with us today. A bit problematic and somewhat ironic when many want to apply the same sentiment to those that have been here all along.

Some years ago on the RFDS (Royal Flying Doctor Service) radio network, after 5 p.m. when normal ‘traffic’ ceased, there was what was known as the ‘Galah Session’. People on cattle stations used to socialize on their short wave radio, whenever there were no occasional medical emergencies being dealt with. During the period of self determination suddenly a large number of radio licences were obtained by Aborigines who joined the Galah sessions (mostly in Pitjatjantjarra). On occasions radio conditions were such that you’d hear those people whose boats were going to be purchased by the present Australian Government. A large number of Indonesian fishermen could be heard talking to each other in Bahasa Indonesia. Their signals were rather weak. The Pitjatjantjarra signals on the other hand were loud and clear. A ‘cow-cockie’ was famously overheard to say to his friend on another station: “Geez Bob, can you hear them foreigners?”

When we returned to Australia from our much enjoyed two year sojourn in Canada in 1971, as Wendy was walking down the ship’s gangplank carrying a guitar, a wharfie sang out “Gissa chune on ya banjo luv”. That’s when we knew we were back home. Many Australians have experienced a return from exotic and amazing places overseas to feel that they’re back home and that Australia isn’t so bad and really a great place and that there is absolutely no need to claim the largest chook farm in the Southern Hemisphere in order to be a proud Australian. It’s a nice a place…..
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sFacWGBJ_cs

Mind you in 1970 the Canadian Government paid for a television advertising campaign promoting tolerance and multiculturalism. The advertisements featured Canadian singer Buffy Saint Marie….
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tqaEdk4Jsko

In Australia the mining industry spent around $20million to convince a majority of Australians that taxing the super profits of large multinational mining companies was a bad idea
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CREUOpaVYJQ

Fair enough I say, how could we ever expect foreign investors to invest in the largest chook farm in the Southern Hemisphere, if their super profits are liable to be subjected to extra taxes? As for multiculturalism and tolerance, we’ve got to get our priorities right, we certainly don’t want to see a reason for the revival of the Great Australian Cringe. Nah, what we want the most is the largest chook farms in the Southern Hemisphere, then truly will we be The Lucky Country, The Country of the Fair Go, The Clever Country. The greatest country in the Southern Hemisphere, the land down under…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYR4rM6Y4v4

Australia often ‘punches above its weight’. In sport, in medicine and many other fields.
Some great music has emanated from this sunburnt country….
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWwVRxixrXw …Pigram Brothers ‘Saltwater Cowboy’
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gRdl60MfTBY … Powderfinger ‘These Days’
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NZGQd1KR8xY … Billy Thorpe ‘Rock me Baby’
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HbqH4FjiXac ….Black Sorrows ‘Chained to the Wheel’
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxteU1qWLDA ….Buddy Knox Band
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3kpc1tlZlGg …. Lajamanu Teenage Band ‘Wiyarpa Wanti Jalu’
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rmLVxRS_Sxs ….Wildflower ‘Galiwn’ku’
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhgDqY7_RGs ….Gurrumul ‘Gopuru’

We have much to embrace, much to celebrate. Why can’t we extend this to include the first Australians? And not by Closing the Gap, but Bridging the Gap.

How much richer we’d all be? How much less likely our cause to cringe? How much lesser the need to invoke the largest chook farm in the Southern Hemisphere to be proud to be Australians?

Zergatik egin behar da, beraz, esan nahi dugu?
Hurrengoan arte,

Frank

(won’t keep you in the dark…. Google translate from Basque…. Just tried it, is never quite the same when you translate anything back)

Serious reading for summer.

Dear Monthly, We at Cockburn and Poole would like to most sincerely congratulate you on your perseverance, consistency and diligence in putting together this fine magazine. Without your input this journalistic landscape in this country would be barren. We applaud your indefatigable thoroughness in searching and upholding a counter to the mainstream. And we cheer in unified chorus when we read from your stable the thoughts and words of our luminaries, deep thinkers and commentary. Without you, the conversation in this country would be moribund, monochromatic and motionless. Each month we yearn for further input from the cleverest, the most incisive and thought provoking. You are more than a thought bubble upon the subconsciousness of australians, you are a thought dirigible. And you fly above us with correctitude and unswerving deliberation towards the target of moral ethical and spiritual authority. Without you we are directionless, cut asunder, lost and impoverished. You sustain and enlighten us. Speak to us and we shall listen. Enlighten us so that we may grow. And direct us so that our inner selves are nourished. Oh monthly, you are all these things and yet, we feel just mildly disconnected. There is just one other thing that we ask of you so that we may be complete. Could you have a ‘funnies’ section? Though having ‘First Dog on the Moon’s’ beautifully incisive description of Karen Silkwood and her death from radiation was most thought provoking on the back of the Summer Issue, it was not FUNNY!!

Imagining the ‘thought dirigible’

Being astute, socially conscious and instructive is all very well, but we need to laugh just occasionally. Indeed wasn’t it the Cardinal who said to the actress ‘trust me , I’m working for God, and I won’t tell provided you don’t either’. All good magazines have a cartoon, or at the very least a light fragment of comedic input. ‘Smith’s Weekly’ was a tremendously good read, (so I’ve been told) and in Archibald’s time the top tier of cartoonists graced the pages. The ‘New Yorker’ is not a bad read, and even, the Womens’ Weekly had ‘Mandrake the Magician’ to adorn its middle section.

Perhaps incorporate the Mad Magazine back page fold-out section?

Mad Magazine. An exemplar in combining wit with erudition.

We could elaborate and list all the papers, magazines and periodicals that have prospered and flourished over the last century as a consequence of light-heartedness. Indeed even Pravda, and its namesake in Australia, ‘The Truth’ excelled in illuminating their pages with ‘funnies’. Now you may think that a ‘funnies’ section may not be weighty enough, but we have it on good authority that the very authors you employ would be exceedingly gratified to have the odd cartoon appended. We have it on good authority that Robert Manne is an ardent enthusiast of Mad Magazine, and we also have it on good authority that ‘the Don’ himself Don Watson is crazy bout Tintin. And there is a rumour that Richard Flanagan is a rusted on Vampirella fan. Don’t think that such levity devalues the stature of these celebrated thinkers, the New Yorker is brimming full of them, and besides, we believe circulation would go stratospheric if you adopt the Mad Magazine foldable back cover. Flicker cartoons in the tradition of the cinematograph and posters for things other than worthy but dull exhibitions would make the magazine a visual pleasure as well as an intellectual one, and you‘ll find these well-meant suggestions may represent a turning point in your publications fortunes.

Yours most enthusiastically; one of the editors, Cockburn and Poole.