Dear collector, its been only 86 years since the release of Boris Karloff’s magnificent epic “The Mummy’. Since then face-lift surgery has made signinficant steps in halting the insidious creep of time. Fascinatingly, in two days time the only surviving original poster of the epic goes up for sale at Sotheby’s. And they’re expecting in excess of 1 million dollars. 
Hang on, wait a minute. “One million dollars’, I hear you say. That seems an awful lot of money for just a movie poster. And indeed it is. But in this world of corporate kelptocracy it’s just a drop in the bucket for a Transurban executive, an Exxon corporate or just your common or average bank executive. And what a a perfect adornment it should make. A poster that was manufactured at the time for a mere twenty cents, (two shillings in the old currency) selling for over a million. What elan you would demonstrate by putting it in your loo. And how excited your guests would be knowing that staring down upon them with those melancholic lugubrious eyes, would be the eternal spirit of Boris. Boris Karloff, the impenetrable, the soft spoken master of the ghoulish grimace.
Standing for preselection in the seat of Wentworth.
Spare a thought then for the artist. Karoly Grosz, who was probably paid a few hundred bucks for doing the ouvre, (that’s an art term for work) and cept for this one would just be a footnotes footnote in history. But we think, and we stand corrected, that this image is a presentiment, in a time of political flux. There is something unneringly familiar about this poster.
Is that not Geoffrey Rush in one of his febrile incantations? And who is the damsel? Is she swooning to the power of a mis-directed emoji? Or is it the spirit of Ming the Merciless, returning from the grave to pronouce the Liberal party as beyond dead. Imprisoned in the dubious lobotomysing philosophy of Bob of the Santamaria.
The man on the right is actually REAL!
Whatever the portentous contrivance, one thing is certain. Plastic surgery had progressed in leaps and bounds, and Boris would be shamed by the likes of Sam Newman and Paul Hogan who’ve proven that you can halt the indisious creep of time by looking like an alien. An episcene apparition from another world and be ageless. Because as something approximating a wax work dummy, all trace of humanity, experience, character, has been erased. To become the oblivion of everything that money can buy and the vacuity of it all.
Hoges. The plastic surgeons craft, a wonder to behold.
Speaking of vacuity, another state election is on. Both sides singing the chorus of boosterism from the developers songbook. To increase the population so that we may all buy more stuff and fill our lives with useless trinkets. And some amongst us will get richer. And perhaps one amongst us to purchase a movie poster, from a bygone era. To watch mesmerised, and mummy-like the craft of a painter who speaks to us from the vortex of time. Whose echo still resonates within the sarcophogus of our collective souls. Another election?
And the mummy says in an impromptu entry at the Geoffrey Rush libel case; “Dance for me Baby”.