S>M>E>G

Announcing, S>M>E>G production Nausea’s Reprieve now has a performance date and venue. Nausea’s Reprieve will be performed at 97b Little Smith Street, Fitzroy on the 20th of August 2011. Artist collective A.C.A.B will be involved along with the band Caughtship and a plethora of other artists. It will be a night of performance, face painting, vodka, bands and Nausea’s Reprieve!!!

12th May 2011

Quotidian, a script in the works

Quotidian

By James Khoo

Act 1

Lights up to a table and fridge. Samantha Golightly and Karen Sqwab are sitting opposite one another. There is the sound of dripping tap (this should be played throughout the play, except when the infomercials cut in).Sam and Karen sit at the kitchen table for several mins. Sam frets at a Metcard until she drops a small coil of cardboard on the table.

Karen: Did you just make a roach?

Sam:Yep

Karen: Shall we roll a joint?

Sam: Yeah, why not?

They go into cooking show mode. Karen gets up from her chair and begins producing the articles required to roll a blunt. Papers first, the pouch of tobacco over and then a large ziplock bag of weed. They both sit staring at the articles for a moment.

Karen: Don’t you feel like rolling?’

Sam: Not really, no, I feel like I always get stuck rolling

Karen:That’s because your so good at it dude, with great power comes great responsibility! Besides mine are mostly shit, a waste of hard chased spliff’

Sam puts a little willow patterned bowl on the table and starts making a mix

Karen: That’s a bit brown isn’t it Sam? Go on, put a bit more in, don’t worry I’m catching up with Davian tomorrow

Sam adds another whole bud and takes out a pair of dress maker’s scissors and begins to chop.

Karen: Here Sam, here’s a bit of mul I hadn’t smoked last night

Karen produces a battered blue tin and passes it to Sam, who empties it the contents into the bowl and starts rolling a two paper joint.

Karen: Hey Sam, Sam, Sammy, Sam, Hey Sam

Sam: What?

Karen: You know what we need? What we should get, it would make our lives so much easier

Sam: What?

Karen: A muller uppera

Sam: A what?

Karen: A Muller uppera, a mull machine. Sounds like a small town don’t you think? Mulleruppera. Next time someone asks me where I’m from, I’m going to say Mulleruppera and they’ll ask where that is and I’ll say, oh its fuckin up north mate, the deep north mate, fuckin north

Sam: Fuckin deep north, deep fuckin north Kazza

Karen: Too right Shazza, n ‘ow longs it take yahta roll a fuckin joint cunt?

Sam: S’all dun cunt, get ya lips n lungs round that cunt

Sam lights it, takes two long tokes, holding the smoke in and then passes it to Karen. From here the characters will take it in turns to roll joints, constantly.

Karen: Fuck that’s a good fucking two paper, pulls well, good weight in the bell end, packed just right, not too tight, I wish I could do that, shit

Karen starts coughing profusely and hysterically

Sam: It just takes practice K, like anything, do you need some water?

Karen keeps coughing, clapping a hand over her mouth blood fountaining from between her fingers

‘

Karen: No, no, that’s fine, I’ll grab myself a beer’

Karen gets and goes to the ice box. Organs fall onto the floor from behind to open fridge door as Karen continues to cough and search for beer. Sam gets up to pass her the joint, she stands behind Karen passing the joint back and forth for a while.

Karen: You got a bottle opener Sam?

Sam produces a Family Guy bottle opener and hands it to Karen. Karen flips the top onto the tiles and a grainy little fart followed by The Conceited Giggle is audible.

Sam: I’ve gotta toss that piece of shit

Karen takes a swig of her beer, which cures the coughing, she hands one to Sam

Karen: Oh Sam don’t, its hella funny and it might be worth something one day

Sam: Its a piece of junk K, tatty merch they churn out in unimaginable volumes to fill those gimmicky novelty shops you hate so much, and to add a spectre of a sense of value to the impulse purchasing of overpriced DVDs

Karen: Then why do you have it if you hate it so much?

‘

Sam: I was smashed and I stole it

Karen: Then I’m stealing it from you, I rather like it

Sam: Be my guest

Karen: Can I have your Raybands too? The torty ones? They’re shit hot

Sam: What? No, why would I give you those?

Karen: Well you stole them from Alfonso didn’t you?

Sam: Yes, but I like them Karen

Karen: So I can’t have them?

Sam: No, you can’t Kazza

Karen: How is Alfonso anyway? How are his travels? Are you going to pass that dutch you big bogart bitch or sing a song into it? Pass the mic, pass the mic

Sam: Shit, fuck knows, here take it, hey look K, 10 to go, time to shout go fuck yourself!

Karen: Is he incommunicado again? Jesus wept Sam, this is green up in this ma

Sam: You said you wanted it herbaceous bro, no he’s not answering his phone

Karen: Well you did call him at 4.30 in the am, trippin balls

Sam: And who’s idea was it to trip that night? I didn’t realise it was 4.30 there did I? Fuck he was wasted anyway, shit, fuck, ashed in the fucking mix bowl

Karen: Fucking hell

There is the massively exaggerated sound of a door creaking open and a grey, sweaty, palpitating Clovis Jones sticks his head through the fridge door

Karen: Hello Clovis, what’s shaking?

Clovis: Hello Hello

Clovis Jones, extremely twitchy and unsettled, climbs out of the fridge

Sam: How’s the come down Clove?

Clovis: The less said the better

Karen: Have some of this drugs reffer style spliff doobie and calm yourself down. BTW Nice new threads

Karen passes Clove the joint, who takes his place in the rolling/smoking order

Clovis: Yes, they just arrived

Karen: From where?

Clovis: Online store

‘

Karen: Online Store ay? Nice, nice

Clovis sits down

Karen: I like the pockets on your shorts

Sam: They’re like little bats wings

Karen: They’re batshorts

Clovis: Batman wouldn’t wear shorts

Sam: Sure he would, when he goes to hang out on his private tropical island.

Clovis: Ye… yeah, yeah well I guess Bruce Wayne might at least but they’d be like camoflaged BatUtility shorts, capable of total radar stealth, anti-freeze ball coddling, diamond tether rapine rope deloyment, anti grave…. and come with an extra WaterproofTowel.org webcapable, multi OS conversant, Protocol Tablet Towel (PTTv2.3GTR). He is superhero after all.

Enter Leslie Beauxtucks and Randolpho Krebeshocker

Leslie: That’s right Clovis, the brand new Protocol Tablet Towel is multi OS conversant, for all your OS conversational needs. Hi, I’m Leslie Beauxtucks, you might know me from such lifestyle newsflashes as The Sexcercise home fitness Jamboree! Yellow plus Blue Protein, Master Sachet Chef! And “Support our Troops, put your name on a smart bomb, live chat prayerathon!”

Randolpho: That’s right Leslie and I’m Randolpho Krebesshocker, king of Axebelt 2.0, prince of the Erinsborough Revival Baptist Real-Testament Fun Hope Faith Congress Gathering Movement and duke of Proposition 459, vote ‘Yes’ on 459!

Leslie: That’s right Randolopho and we’re here to talk to you here today about the new and improved Protocol Tablet Towel PTTv2.3GTR, a webcapable, mutli conversant, webcapable tablet built right into a large, fluffy, multi purpose towel to enhance its webcapabilities. Now I know you might be asking gee-whiz Leslie, I just went out and bought a Protocol Tablet Towel PTTv2GTR, what’s so great about this product?

Randolpho: That’s right Leslie, you might be asking that and the simple answer is, everything. Sound silly, sounds crazy but really everything is great and everything is different about this product from the webcapability to the multi OS conservation, to the light and handy towel format, this product really stands apart from all others

Leslie: That’s right Randolpho, this product is both a continuation of the great, convienent, stylish products you’ve come to expect from Protocol and a radical break from the great, convienent and stylish products you come to expect from Protocol, while contining to provide the great standards in style and convenience you’ve come to expect as Protocol customers

Randolopho: That’s right Leslie, like auto-targeting Headshot iRifle 3.0 Protocol’s parent companies are delpoying onto our nations battlefields, the Protocol Tablet Towel PTTv2.3GTR is a real game changer. Now you have a towel that is full webcapable and congenital with multiple OS

Leslie: That’s right Randolpho, now you can have a truly advanced Towel that lets you surf the web, convert multi OS and live in Protocol Cloud. And if you call us in the next ten minuets and hand over your credit card number, you can pre pre pre request that an order be made for one when it comes out in six months, shipping in nine.

Randolpho: That’s right Leslie, and not only that but for our first ten customers, we will also give you an exclusive VIP code to find out more about Protocol’s newest and most exciting upcoming product the Protocol Tablet Hanky!

Leslie: Wow, what a truly amazing offer!

Randolpho: That’s right Leslie, but you have to be quick!

Leslie: That’s right Randolpho, this offer won’t last long and pre pre pre orders are already filling out. So what are you waiting for? Pick up the phone or jump online and join the future with Protocol Tablet Towel PTTv2.3GTR!

Exit Leslie and Randolpho

Karen: Maybe Bruce is just a well prepared traveller

Clovis leaps up from his chair and runs off stage, there is a video projected of him flying out of a window to a bloody death. He walks back on the other side of the stage and sits down

Karen: You get most of your clothes online don’t you Clove?’

Clovis: Almost entirely

Sam: Fancy Clovis Jones fancy, oh yes I have a credit card, oh I’m adult, yes I prefer to shop online, I’m Clovis Jones

Clovis: Well I just get so, so anxious these days shopping at physical stores, being asked questions

Sam: Less talking to people, I like it

Clovis: Yes, and no standing… standing in that, in the fucking change room feeling like… that I look like a giant, fat, a fat giant penis

Sam: There there Clove, there there

Karen: Have you ever interrogated why your so anxious and avoid human contact with strangers so avidly?’

Clovis: No, not really, its just sometimes, I met loads of new people last night, I think

Sam: What’s your theory K?

Karen: Well Sam, I’m very glad you asked (K gets to her feet, straightens her shoulders, places her right foot forward, tucking her left hand into the small of her back and placing the palm of her right hand on Clovis’ shoulder) as I think that our dear friend Clove here is suffering most terribly from the dissociative affects and effects of our consumer society; he is a casualty of the cultural logic of late capitalism. You’re lucky you live in the first world Clove me lad.

Sam: Is there anything to be done K?

Karen: I’m afraid not because the revolution will not be televised, due to indefinite postponement

Clovis: Bad weather?

Karen: Due Clove, to the anticartographic impulses of post feminist, post modern, modern post Post™ society

Sam: Post Post™?

Karen: When was the last time you got a letter in the mail Sam? Its all email now, instant insubstantive messaging, phantasmagoria and phenomena

Clovis: What about bills?

Karen: Clove silly, Bills don’t count

Sam: I’m pretty sure that bills count as post K

Clovis:Yeah, yeah, I’m pretty sure they count, at least as phenomena, if not Post

Karen: Thank you for your vote of support Sam, well I guess (Karen leaning forward and putting her weight on her unadvanced left leg) that just shows the profit motive remaining concrete and inviolate, underpinning our after-modern disphoria’

Sam: Speaking of post, I got a card from Alfonso today

Clovis: How is he? Enjoying his travels?

Sam: Well I’ll read it to you if you like and you can try and work that out for yourselves

Sam reads the bellow to the audience, while she does Alfonso comes on stage and does something completely different

Text of the postcard:

Dear Sam, how are you? I’m well, I hope that this postcard finds you well, in health and that you find the receiving of it salubrious to your mood at the point of its reception. I hope you deem the receiving and the discovery of its various contents pleasant or even pleasurable, indeed I trust that you may derive as much positive stimulation from finding it in your postbox and then reading it, as I have already experienced picking it off the little rotating rack in a Heathrow giftshop, writing what it is I have written, affixing the stamp (this part I particularly enjoyed, I’d forgotten how pretty stamps can be and how tasty their adhesives) and posting it – with all the agreeable trepidation circumspect with the thought of it being collected, flown across the world, being conveyed to the locality of your mailbox, then you receiving it, your reaction, your reading it and your subsequent reaction. Unfortunately, this is but a postcard and I have already run out of room (I’ve already had to staple two together, as you have no doubt noticed) to relate, express or describe anything further and I shall have to include the bulk of the narrative I had planned to disclose in this happy correspondence in a later and additional one – which I look forward to penning and having communicated with more excitement and happiness than I have room to here formulate into language. Until you are reading that future missive, or rereading this one, I remain yours most sincerely

Alfonso Bagguchi

(a stagehand in neon overalls and neon feather boa brings out the following sign)

What Clovis and - (with a few subtle differences) – Karen - (neither of whom were paying attention) - heard

(black out)

Scene 2

lights up, Alfonso Bagguchi is sitting at a table in a coffee shop, Delboy B Mugwump is behind him, hidden by a broadsheet paper the headline of which decries the current trend of people turning into Girrafes as thoroughly passe

Alfonso Bagguchi: I close my newspaper and set it down next to the esspresso on the formica table, in a little coffee shop on the Strand in London. It was a bright blustery winters day, scarves and the pulled up collars of passing people in overcoats, fluttered like the pidgeons, stray plastic bags and leaves. The muffled honking of traffic, which had formed since recently a near constant feature of London’s ambient soundscape, echoed the tensions splashed in monochrome across the newspaper that I gingerly sip my coffee over.

Delboy: Shame isn’t it? Mr.Bagguchi

Alfonso: I turn to the speaker and my movement of inquiry presents me face to face with a Hitchcockesque figure of a rotund, late of middle age gentlemen in a sumptuous white velvet jacket. The man removed a large cheroot from his garrulous mouth, the smoke from which was attracting agitated attention, passive aggressive clearings of throat and sniffs from the establishment’s sniffier staff and patrones alike. Either it didn’t register or the fellow didn’t care a jot for the whirlpool of whispered fuming his fellow caffeine imbibers were conjuring between them – probably the former if not defiantly the later. He twirled the cigar in his heavy, thicker than a carbon rod fingers and a sly grin spread across his hung beefsteak features. The fat man rearranged his silk, lolly pop striped tie, picked up a jet black obsidian cane, gripped it silvery Mugwump handle and swaddled his porcine, age sagged frame from the glorified cafeteria.

Delboy: A pleasure as always Mr. Bagguchi, we’ll be expecting your report in the spring

Alfonso:I sit back in my chair place my hand on the skinny legs of my jeans, pick a spot on the floor to concertrate on and begin to probe the curious mix of feelings the rather odd conversation has inspired in my guliver. However I bearly get past begininng to wonder how the devil the fellow had known my surname and if he knew my first name too and had moved on to how much I would have liked to light up the the 420log in my pocket; when the frontage of the organic pie and mash shop next door popped, its glass glittering with delicate gilt lettering.I jump to my feet, take my coffee by the handle and go to the window.

Clouds of smoke are pouring from Tony and Karen’s and people are limping out, clutching at facial, abdominal, cranial and peripheral lacerations and contusions, trying veinly to stem the flow of blood, organs, entrail, fettid tripe and deteached limbs, limbs that have entered their bodies via the force of the explosion and were now cascading from out the glistening new rasberry orifici - as the case demanded. Now an inexplicable swarm of journalists and middle aged people waving micro phones and first aid certificates respectively are descending on the scene from their spawn points around the corner. People are running up and screaming and milling, a brutal fusilade of stuttering, endlessly crescendoeing polyphonic shutter sounds springing up from the orchestra of onlookers. People walk by in a huff, fuming internally at the garish interuption of and imprecation on their hard cultivated orderly narratives of exclusivity. oh good gracious, what a stink of mash and peas! I hung around agitated, one hand in my pocket the other giving high fives to paramedics and Red Bull promoters, again and again until the skin of my palms became soar and blistered, clinging with every ounce of strength to the lip of the coffee cup in my teeth, to a soundtrack of siren break beats to the choreographed grief before me, the dragging and pawing at bodies, fear falsetto bawling into the limelight and smoke, black smoke billowing and waving and drifting so that I imagine that it will reveal a column of cherry red coated soldiers, their drums thrubbing my ventricles, pipes whistling so jaunty through my tinitus that I pick up the tune, kick up my heels and go stark raving bonkers.

Black out

Scene 3 (back in Melbourne)

Karen: ‘Well that wasn’t very informative’

Sam: I can barely read his hand writing

Clovis: He should have been a doctor

Karen: He thinks he’s a doctor, a pharmacist at least

Sam: “Welcome to Bagguchi Paradise Pharmacies, how may I serve you today?”

Clovis: God that would be awesome

Karen: Now be sure Sam to take it with food and plenty of water, plenty of water

Clovis: He has something for every occasion

Karen: When’s he getting back?

Clovis: Got that would be SO awesome…

Sam: I don’t know, I’m starting to doubt he will at all

Clovis: You don’t sound too upset, I’m distraught, how can you be so calous

Clovis throws himself on her knees in hysterics, stopping only to take puffs of spliff

Sam: He does what he wants to do, so do I

Karen: But you usually do it in the same country at least

Sam: I thought the nation state was a class construct given reality by the ruling class, to divide the proletariat

Karen: Well it is, I was speaking geographically of course

Sam: Of course

Karen: Of course

Sam: Of course

Karen: Of course

Sam: Of course

Clovis: Do we count as the proletariat?

Karen: I think so, its a bit less set fast than it was in previous years of course

Clovis: Of course

Karen: Of course

Clovis: Of course

Karen: Of course

Sam: The overalls and coal grime used to be a dead give away.

Clovis: Are you sure there still is one?

Karen: A what?

Clovis: A proletariat

Karen: Of course

Sam: Of course

Clovis: Of course

Karen: Of course

Sam: Of course

Clovis: Of course

Sam: Of course

Karen: of course, one and many, though its a globalised division of labour now, that’s what we have to come to terms with

Sam: Of course

Clovis: Of course

Sam: Of course

Clovis: of course

Sam: of course

Karen: Of course

Clovis: Anyroad, I’m waiting for the machines to take over, they’ll sort things out, with logic and algorithms and things. There’ll be algorithms for everything.

Karen: There already are algorithms, that’s the point

Sam: And reservations for humans?

Karen: There already are reservations for humans

a phone rings, Sam answers and Alfonso enters

Alfonso: Sam?

Sam: Speak of the devil

Alfonso: What devil? There’s no devil, is there? Are you guys conjuring the devil? Am I the devil?

Sam: Nevermind, what’s up?

Alfonso: I need some directions, I’m lost

Sam: You called from London to ask for directions?

Alfonso: I’m lost

Sam: Can’t you ask someone there?

Alfonso: No one can hear me

Sam: No one?

Alfonso: There’s no one I can trust

Sam: Well where are you? Can you see a street sign?

Alfonso: No

Sam: Any landmarks I can google?

Alfonso: No

Sam: Can you see anything

Alfonso: Not as such, no

Sam: Where are you?

Alfonso: Earth?

Sam: Earth?

Clovis: Ask him what time it is there

Sam: I’m not going to ask that

Clovis: Why not?

Sam: Its fucking lame that’s why

Clovis: Oh go on, please? I’ve always wanted to the know the time in London, it must be so sophistcated to know the time there

Alfonso: Who’s that? Who’s with you?

Sam: Its Clovis, he wants to know what time it is there

Alfonso: No idea

Sam: He doesn’t know

Alfonso: Tell him, tell him, tell him I say, ‘hi’

Sam: He says ‘hi’

Clovis: Ask him if its night or day?

Sam: Is it night or day?

Alfonso: I’m not sure, its really hard to say

Sam: Is it dark?

Alfonso: Maybe

Clovis: What did he say?

Sam: Maybe

Karen: Maybe? Is he high?

Sam: I think so

Clovis: So am I

Sam: I’m so fucking high right now

Karen: I suspect we’re a different kind of high

Alfonso: Look Sam, look, I’m really, I’m really lost, I have been for hours, can you help me?

Sam: Not unless you can give me some more information Al

Alfonso: But I can’t see anything, I’ve gone blind

Sam: you haven’t gone blind Al

Alfonso: For all intents and purposes, look ok, look, ok, just tell me one thing ok?

Sam: What’s that Al?

Alfonso: Am I a good person?

Sam: Come again Al good buddy, you’re breaking up

Alfonso: Sam! Sam! Over, over, roger, can you hear me? Samantha!? Socrates Alpha Marlin, Over?

Sam: Roger Alfonso, please repeat last

Alfonso: Am I a good person?

Sam: He wants to know if he’s a good person

Karen: Yeah, he’s alright

Clovis: Yeah, he’s pretty cool

Sam: You’re pretty cool

Alfonso: yeah ok, but look, ok but am I a good person?

Sam: Yes Alfonso, you are a good person

Alfonso: Ok, thanks, look I have to go, love you

Sam: I love you too, be careful ok?

Alfonso: yeah, yeah

Alfonso runs out of the room

Sam: He’s lost

Karen: Sounds like, more beer anyone?

Clovis: Shouldn’t we do something?

Karen: What can we do? He’s thousands of kilometers away

Clovis: Is there someone we should call? Shouldn’t we fucking do something!

Sam: Don’t think so bro

Karen: The roaming would be a killer anyway, he’ll be fine.

Sam: At least he’s on earth

Enter Leslie Beauxtucks and Newt Lipsuhc

Leslie: Hi there viewers, its you’re old sally girl Leslie Beauxtucks and welcome to another segment of SMEG infotainment, our writers haven’t run out steam, we’re just so gosh darned here and so fuck gurned ravenously hungry to bring you the latest information on the best most bleeding edge technology and products! Isn’t that right Newt, Newt Lipsuhc everybody!

Wild applause

Newt: That’s right Leslie and boy have we got a segment for you today!

Leslie: That’s right Newt, now Newt did you notice the cell phones the guys over here are using? Newt? Anybody? Anybody?

Newt: Well Leslie, they looked an awful lot to me like the Life Grates 6G Ecstasy smell screen vowelphone handset

Leslie: That’s right Newt

15th Feb 2011

Ad Block 1

Pedo Biz Obstatrician Playset

(Travis W Bread and Sarah H Omogenec are amoung a scattering of toys)

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Sarah: Cunt oath Trav, 2D is shit D, maybe we should just fucking kill ourselves now

(Enter Pedo Steve in a lab coat and bloody surgical gloves)

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Sarah + Travis: Pedo Steve!

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Osmi Corp, extra utero gestation services

Sharny: I want a baby Magz but I just don’t have the time or money to go out and by a new wardrobe of maternity clothes and what about all those stretch marks and cravings?

Mags: But Sharnz, wouldn’t your mum be so off her trolley proud she’s gonna have grand kiddies and it might get Trent to stop getting pissed and smashing up your lounge suits

Sharny: Or at least make him pay some attention but I just don’t know, your my oldest girlfriend, you know I’m a bit of party girl at heart; I just couldn’t go nine fuckin months without a ciggy or coupla lines.

Mags: Fuckin oath, me niether! And don’t forget the fuckin cones

Sharny: I hadn’t thought about the fuckin cones! You wanna cone Mags?

Mags: Do I wanna fuckin cone? Cunt oath I want a fuckin cone cunt!

Enter Dirk Babbit

Dirk: Ladies, ladies; don’t fret, Osmi Corp is here to help! What if I told that you can have all the social, health and financial benefits of motherhood without the unglamorous physical symptoms or putting the breaks on your life style choices? Don’t believe me? Its true! With our new range of Osmi Corp Extra Utero Gestation Packages or EUGPs, you can be fecund without the flab! Using our new state of the art foetus fosterers and zygote zappers, we’ll not only give you a healthy baby but do it in half the time. And it doesn’t stop there, you can drop in at any time during the gestation process to visually observe your little larva’s growth and be pampered with our full bar and spa home maker hospitality package!

Sharnz: But what happen when the little fucker grows up?

Dirk: With the miracle of Ozmi Corp you don’t have to worry! Through the process you can choose to have your offspring shaken to prepare it for an exciting career in extreme sports, apply hormones to grow it to the right size and disposition, record instructions to have played to it over and over again to start behaviour training and social indoctrination earlier than ever before, have it blasted with UV light to give it that sexy healthy tan right from day 1. Its a brave new world of no fuss, no muss, fully individualised parenting and its only a swipe of your credit card away! Never have to worry about the pain of childbirth, keep your vagina tight and your bladder dependable; Osmi Corp will give you the child rearing experience of tomorrow, today!

Mags: But what about me? I doubt the fuck whether I could afford your excellent service.

Dirk: Never fear, just sign on the dotted line and you can join the thousands of women renting out their vacant womb space to Osmi Corp, as part of our Signature Surrogate Platinum Service; for the discerning prospective parent, for whom an ex-utero gestation just won’t do. You can turn that pesky, unclean, unproductive set of organs into a reproductive, socially visible goldmine! That’s right, not only will you be handsomely remunerated for the tenancy of your interior but our studies show that an overwhelming percentage of our clients reported an exponential increase in their social standing and feeling of social benevolence for the time of lease! So what are you waiting for? If you want a baby or a prospective baby wants you, call Osmi Corp for the child rearing experience of tomorrow, today!

Be all that you can be! Produce sons for the army!

(Enter Urusla Snodden of the Fecund, Engorged Motherhood Association, jaunty military music plays while she speaks)

Ursula: You! Woman! Feeling bored? Useless? Lacking direction in life? No sense of purpose? You want to make a difference but are too weak or don’t know how? Give back to the society that has fed and clothed you; the society that has formed your sense of self and kindly dictated your behaviour by producing sons for the army! Our nation needs strong, virile young men to protect and advance our ruling class’ interests! Our interests! Our way of life! Turn your feeble biology into a thing of strength for the nation! There are generous compensation packages for every woman who gets knocked up and signs up that male foetus today! Imagine the sense of importance and worth you can derive in the autumn years of your life knowing that you gave your life, so that your son’s life could be sacrificed on the alter of Justice, Freedom and Hegemony. Your weakness can engorge the nation to quivering, all conquering tumescence! So throw away those contraceptives, put down the book and place your cervix in service of the nation! Be all that you can be, produce sons for the army!

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Jim walks on stage in a tutu

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(Leslie Beauxtucks walks on)

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a bride and groom are standing before a priest, as they are about to say ‘I do’ the groom turns to the audience

Groom: We all know that weddings can be a bit dull and whats the point, you’ve already drunk the milk, what’s with the cow? but now there’s a great new reason to get married and make your wedlock REALLY interesting. Cuntastalls bets and wagers can now let you make an each way bet on how long you’ll last, including on the wedding night, if one of you’se ll cheat and with who, if you’re gonna end up cutting her into pieces and burying her in the backyard or just snapping her one in the fuckin mouth once in while; you can bet on how many kids you’ll have and even how many times you get to fuck before the sex becomes totally monotonous and you start fantasising about other people ALL the time or before you stop fucking all together or talking altogether. So get online or get down to Cunstastalls and make a bet while you’re a freeman, I know I did

he pulls at the handkerchief in his top pocket to reveal it is a betting slip

Groom: Actually, I’ve changed my mind, thats it you can all get fucked! Cuntastalls, coz life’s a dream.

Ad Block 3

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Tammy Small Draws: Daddy when you die, where are you going to live?

Father Small Draws: Don’t you worry your sweet little head, when Daddy dies he’s going to live in a penthouse suit 45 stories beneath the earth

Tammy: How many bedrooms will there be?

Father: Four, with a study that might easily be converted into a fifth

Tammy: Will there be a spa?

Father: and a shower with multi water jets and a double basin

Tammy: When I die can I come and live with you?

Father: Why sweetheart, thanks to CroakOn Posthumous Real Estate you’ll have a mansion with six bathrooms, ten bedrooms each with a full ensuite and a summer house on the shore of Styxbrook creek.

Tammy: Will there be servants entombed with me Daddy? Please say there will!

Father: My dear, that is up to you

Burger Mate Burger Wakes!

A casket is wheeled on with a large burger ontop of it, Trent and Joel wander on behind dressed in mourning black

Trent: Fuck me Joel mate he’s fuckin dead

Joel: He’d fuckin stuffed it long before he fuckin died Trent maaayte

Trent: A truer fair dinkum cunt never lied

Joel: Fuckin oath Trent maayte, e lived wrapped in the aussie flag e did, celebrated the invasion on invasion day

Trent: Fuckin oath Joel maayte an e died at a shoot out at the fuckin telstra store

Joel: What the fuck are you doin you soft cocked cunt? Blubbering like a fuckin cunt been snapped in the cunt, man the fuck up maayte

Trent: I’m fuckin sorry mate, I’m just so fuckin hungry, I haven’t had a fuckin burger or a pie or hot chips since fuckin breakfast maaayte!

Joel: Fuck oath mate, I could go a fuckin beer n fuckin all!

There is the sound of harps and angel choirs, a winged

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15th Feb 2011

ACT 3

Act 3, Do you believe in an Afterlife?

Lights up to a hair dressers. There are many pictures of offered hair styles but the models are either animals or extremely ugly humans. Instead of scissors etc there are implements of torture everywhere. =, x and ÷ sit in chairs, + is behind the counter, - is cutting = hair. For the frequent forced laughter a particularly canned sounding ‘laugh track’ might be used and mimed to, there might also be a radio playing chart hits throughout the play these hits could be parody songs of current trends, created for the performance. Three of the cast are seated in hairdresser’s chairs whenever they are sitting, ie not garroting someone, waltzing with corpses or doing the can can, each line while sitting (and addressed to someone else also in a chair) they pump the chair up a little higher, wires are used, if need be, so they may leap up and down from their increasingly lofty perches.

+: Do you believe in an afterlife?

-: Well, I like to believe there’s something more than this life

+: Why should there be more? What are you saying?

-: Well, it would be rather dull if there weren’t

+: Dull? Are you insulting me?

-: No of course not!

+: Yes you are, you’re implying I’m dull and you can’t even be honest about it

-: I implied no such thing!

+: I’m alive aren’t I?

-: I assume so

+: I like to assume so too! If I’m alive then I’m part of life, you think life is dull; therefore you think I am dull

-: Death is also part of life

+: You are beginning to annoy me

-: You’ve always annoyed me

+: So you admit it!

-: I admit nothing!

+: Maybe it’s time to test your theory!

-: What theory?

+ leaps over and strangles - to death

+: There, is that more interesting for you? I say, I said is that more interesting for you? It certainly is for me, I’ve never killed anyone before and never seen a dead body. That’s two firsts in one day, and you thought I was dull! Well whose dull now? She was never a great conversationalist but this dear theater lovers, is the limit. I think this will hurt our friendship, how can I be friends with a corpse? A corpse who can’t even make good conversation? I am an excellent conversationalist. I’m also an excellent dancer, I’ll show you, my dear would you care to dance? Excellent, I’ll lead. (+ manhandles – into a waltz pose and starts sweeping - around the room) Ah this is wonderful, just wonderful, it reminds me of Catherine the great; she used to have peasants garroted with umbilical cords, just to find a pliant dancing partner. Pity I didn’t plan ahead, I could have garroted her with an umbilical cord; that would have been ironic. She feel good though, very good, I always assumed she’d feel good, she always looked good and smelt good; even when we’d been out for days and nights and days and days and nights and days puking and pissing ourselves and shitting in parks and getting into fights and poisoning pigeons in town squares and bashing grannies in broad daylight with hoards of onlookers for their gyros. Well I guess you’re only going to stink from now on. Your smell used to make me so hard, I thought I was going to burst clean through my caudroys every time I caught a whiff of you throwing a punch, I always wanted to fuck you, no that’s a lie but I do now and you won’t smell good for long, I should hurry

+ starts kissing and pawing -

=: Hey what are you doing to that woman? Have you drugged her?

+: No she’s dead

=: Dead?

+: Yes, dead; croaked it, snuffed it, pushing up daisies, gone beyond best before date, stiffed in the cables

=: So dead then?

+: gone to meet her maker, shuffled of the old mortal coil, karked it, parked in death’s handicapped spot, expired, run out of time, died, departed, passed on, punched her temporal ticket

=: So I take it she’s dead?

+: kicked the bucket, swinging from god’s yardarm, brown bread dead, gone to longest spatchka, maggot mange tout, done the pine box plummet, totally brain dead, dead; shall I go on O thou viddying quiet groundlings?

=: How can you tell?

+: She has no pulse and she’s not breathing

=: Do you take a pulse at the vagina?

+: No and my hand was no where near her vagina

=: Are you a doctor?

+: I don’t need one to tell me where to find a cheena’s cunt

=: Then how can you be sure she’s dead?

+: Well, when she stopped struggling I just assumed

=: Assumed?! How ridiculous, we need to be sure

+: Are you a doctor?

=: No

+: Neither am I

=: Then we have a problem

+: Hang on I’ll call for one, doctor!!

X: Yes?

+: Is this woman dead?

X: Does she have a pulse?

+: No

X: Is she breathing?

+: No

X: I think I’m going to need a second opinion

=: Is it a complicated diagnosis?

X: No but then we can split the legal costs for any ensuing misdiagnosis suits

+: Why would someone sue you for misdiagnosing them as being alive?

X: You can never be too sure, that’s why we have a legal system, are you some kind of dissident?

+: No

X: Then why don’t you have any faith in the legal system?

=: I have no opinion about the legal system

X: Then you must be a dissident

=: No, he’s the dissident

X: Why?

=: He was taking her pulse at the vagina

X: That’s highly unorthodox but I thought she didn’t have a pulse

+: She doesn’t

X: That’s extremely unorthodox

+: Not if you’re dead

X: Are you a doctor?

+: No

X: That’s a shame, I thought you could give me a second opinion

=: Isn’t she the one who needs the second opinion?

+: Why the fuck should she need a second opinion? She’s dead!

(they all crack up into hysterics of laughter, they stagger into a line and begin to rhythmically slap their thighs in unison, they link arms and do the can can)

X: look here, its all very well us laughing but whose going to cut my hair?

+: I’ll do it, it would be an honour to cut the fetid locks off a doctor’s bonce

X: oh shut up and get on with it.

+ pulls out a set of clippers and sets vigorously to (and perhaps a step ladder to reach X’ hair)

+: Her smell used to drive me wild, I would hide for hours in the ventilation system shaft stroking myself, just waiting for her to come by; then I’d wank furiously

(much more laughter)

=: I’ll have you know that I have my lunch in that ventilation shaft!

+: Why would you have me know that?

=: Because that’s also where I lost my virginity

x: You’re not a virgin?

+: Of course he isn’t, we have sex in the ventilation shaft all the time

x: I thought you said you wanked in there

=: with my penis

x: Aren’t you worried about going to hell?

=: No, not really

X: I wish I wasn’t

+: Why, do you believe in an afterlife?

x: Well I like to think there’s something more than this life

+: Why should there be something more? What are you saying?

=: I wouldn’t answer that if I were you

x: Are you trying to gag me?

+: hey you said that was just something between us!

x: I thought you were straight

+: Why would you think that?

x: The way you were groping that corpse and going on about how much you liked its smell when it was alive

+: Sexuality is fluid

=: doubly so in ventilation shafts

x: Why doubly so in ventilation shafts?

=: because the pressure of tight spaces can cause usually solid sexual preferences to lose their cohesion and conform to a greater level of liquidity to compensate

x: That’s the first thing I’ve heard during this sordid little vignette, that’s made any kind of sense so far

+: Why? What did you hear before?

x: Someone wanking in the ventilation shaft

=: Well it wasn’t me

+: I wasn’t me either, I was busy strangling her

=: I don’t even work here, I wouldn’t have the clearance to be wanking in the ventilation shaft

+: Maybe it was him, he is a liar

=: and a swindler

+: and a doctor, they often have perverse sexual habits like that

=: Why I wonder?

x: It’s probably the pressure

=: What pressure?

x: Of being a doctor

=: I thought you weren’t a doctor!

x: No, I’m an actuary actually

=: that’s what he says but I wouldn’t take his word for it

+: Why not?

=: because his opinion is irrelevant

+: Why is his opinion irrelevant? Oh that’s right I forgot, you’re an actuary

=: Maybe he’s trying to say all our opinions are irrelevant

x: Please don’t put words in my mouth

=: I didn’t

x: Then who did?

+ (to the audience): an arsehole

=: that we can agree on

they shake hands with each other six times each

x: Where were we? Can any of you attractive specimens of humanity tell us?

+: I doubt it, you dim a light and they’re a bunch of vegetables. I think we were talking about you wanking in the ventilation shaft during your time off

x: You guys are crazy

=: Hey, I’m not crazy

+: denying your crazy means you’re doubly crazy, I’m definitely crazy

=: Why? Wouldn’t admitting you’re crazy mean you’re not crazy?

+: I figured it out the other day when I was having a conversation with a billboard advertising chicken; it was asking me what chicken is meant to taste like

=: What is chicken meant to taste like?

+: chicken

x: I thought everything was meant to taste like chicken

+: So what’s chicken meant to taste like?

x: You’re right, you are crazy or maybe just stupid

=: because he admitted he was crazy?

x: No that means he’s sane

+: are you calling me a liar?

X: No, I think I’m going to go with stupid

=: You shouldn’t call stupid people who don’t know what chicken is meant to taste like liars

x: Why not?

+: Because they’re often crazy!

+ pulls out a rubber chicken and garrotes x with it

+ (to the audience): now that’s irony

=: and forward planning

+: I was the leader of my boy scout troop

they leap to attention and go dib dib dib, then break down in tears

=: I was never in the boy scouts

(more tears)

+: I wish I never was!

(even more tears)

=: why ever not you ungrateful prick?

+: Because our trope leader used to put his penis in my mouth and arsehole and cane my cock if it ever got hard or I bled

they fall over themselves laughing

=: That’s really not that funny

+: Whose being funny?

they stop laughing

=: So you weren’t joking? That really happened?

+: No, I was lying, now I’m joking!

they start laughing again + a little less heartily, - slowly rises from the floor

-: wowowowowow,wowowowowo, you two cock masters, you killed me, you killed me!

=: No, no he killed you

-: My blood is also on your hands you cowardly pile of bird shit, wowowowowo, wowowowow

=: But I didn’t do anything!
-: My point exactly you cunt! And you cunts who stand by and watch and are complicit on a daily fucking basis to…. oh what the fucks the point?

+: She’s got a mouth on her, even as a stiff; I’m almost sorry I strangled her to death

-: What did you say you shit bellied, soft cocked pimp?

+: Cloth eared even post mortal huh? I said I’m almost sorry I crushed your wrinkly wee wind pipe, you saggy cunted bitch

-: Oh darling!

+: Caramia!

=: It’s not wise to speak ill of the dead

+: Fuck off please, come here my darling, drench me in your ectoplasmic embrace!

-: Come join me in death you weedy little puss gland and we’ll never be parted again!

+: Can I have you taxidermied into sex doll in the meantime? It’ll be so much cheaper than buying a skintek one.

-: of course you can you crazy fool but keep in mind that if you do I’ll castrate you from beyond the grave!

there is the sound of a fan gearing up to full speed

-: Oh my god! Someone left the fucking ventilator on

=: Well it stank of cum and rotten cornbeef, I was only trying to be polite

-: You shitful, ass biting, block-headed, pumice balled collection of vintage douches! I’m being extracted!

+: What’s your problem you rectal inflammation? I get a second chance at happiness and you have to fuck it up! If only I could have loved more than her specter, her image, her scent while I had the time!

=: I was only trying to be polite, besides now you won’t get that sinking feeling you were always complaining about

-: Fuck your polity policy! And it was more a drowning, subsuming sensation; darling come back! I’m ready to surrender to you!

(- is dragged off stage)

+: She’s gone, she’s really gone, oh wow woe is me!

=: I don’t see why you’re so upset

+: She’s gone! I’m distraught

=: You killed her

+: What difference does that make?

enter x dressed as a rabbit

x: You bastard, look what you’ve done to me!

+: What did I do?

x: You killed me and I’ve come back as a rabbit, I was at the pinnacle of Earth’s evolutionary scale and now I’m a cotton assed rodent herbivore!

+: Well, I can hardly be blamed for that, I don’t make the decisions about reincarnation; take it up with your own dirty consciousness or the universe.

There is a ringing of blow drier trumpets and a thousan pairs of scissors, clicking in unison.

Song – Hairdresser March to Victory!

A great day has dawned

that shall live in history

let every chest swell with pride!

For the hairdressers march to victory

shall never be denied!

100,000 style cuts, 60,000 colour dyes and half a million perms!

20,000 hot blow jobs, are you hearing the majestic terms

of this victory?! Comrades! Comrades!

A march to victory Comrades!

And so the hairdressers fight

and the stylists struggle, against the enemy

to fill the bags of hair and improve our collective

sense of joie de vivre!

And you thought the salon was only for the bourgeoisie?

200,000 style cuts, 90,000 colour dyes and over a million perms!

50,000 hot blow jobs, are you hearing the majestic terms

of this victory?! Comrades! Comrades!

A march to victory Comrades!

With scissors and clippers and hammering curling tongs

they snip and clip and wax and whip the hair

into shape!

For you and me and he and she and she and he

The hairdressers march to victory!

Yes! The hairdressers march to victory!

15th Feb 2011

ACT 2

Act 2, A Modest Proposal

Virgil Ovid: Hello and good evening, so lovely to see you all so lovely lovely lovely. It does my job easier to have an audience as easy on the eye as you lot in the audience. Now if I, simple simon Virgil Ovid may ask a favour of your viddyships we players are in need of your assistance. What comes next my dear double x’s and x/y’s is a piece of such instructive and elucidatory potential that only a group effort, a collective involvement in its carrying off will do justice or give it fair and full potential; and what then would be the point of you having watched at all? What I ask is no great matter, no small thing; I ask but that you read aloud whatever is here writ on these here placards that you see me carrying. Does that sound fair? Does that sound manageable? Shall we have a little trial run?

Virgil goes through a few simple words, with a few humorous turns of phrase mixed in, speeding up and slowing down the changing of cards for comic affect and bantering with the audience.

Virgil: Right, spiffing looks like were all on the same flashcard; now do keep your eye on me; it is crucial to your better enjoyment and educational value extrication from our scene. Now imagine, if you will, picture in the great cinemotheque of your reason, a crimminal. A gaunt and ghastly, gangly man with grasping, sweaty palmed hands, wild aquisitive, hungry eyes and suspicious kilter in his gait as he slinks; huddled into a hoddie or the upturnerd collar of grimy black trenchcoat, down the street, hugging the shuttered shop fronts in witching hours of the night. Why doesn’t he show his face? Why is he out so late? Where can he be hurrying so intently? What gives him the authority to so hog the footpath? Hear now, in perfect subconscious stereo a voice; uncouth and gutteral, speaking in expletive peppered dialective slang, grunted not spoken – a voice cut from from satan’s larynx to fit those eyes! Those eyes! So intense and intensely hungry, staring into the middle distance as the drool of infernal desire slips from a slack jaw. Here is a thief, an unashamed rapist, a smiling murderer, a traitor, a terrorist; squirming in the dark and the darkness of his heart and spreading fear into your life, your quiet evening constitutional, your bus ride, your air travel, your life of pride and hardwork. Does it trouble you that people have to lock their doors? That they do not trust each other? He is why we must suffer under the vigilance of a police force, an army, under control itself! Well here it comes, the source of all your anxieties, an abusive father, a neglectful mother, a bully, a rabid dog that chased you, that bit you, that cares for nothing, not even its own decay; a burlar that smashed your piece of mind, the junky that asked to use your toilet, the mugger in the underpass, the vandal, the queue jumper the stone thrower, here it comes!

Virgil steps to the side, enter Clovis Jones, he drops a cigarette and is stamping it out

Card: Hey you!

Clovis: What me?

Card: Yes! You!

Clovis: What?

Card: What do you think you’re doing?

Clovis: Nothing

Card: Can’t you read the sign?

Clovis: I was going to pick it up

Card: It says NO littering

Clovis: But I was going to pick it up

Card: Thats a filthy habbit anyway!

Clovis: Whats it got to do with you!

Card: Have some consideration for our lungs Murderer!

Clovis: Murder?!

Card: Second hand smoke kills!

Clovis: You’ve no right to call me a murder!

Card: We’ll see about that

Clovis: Oh no, don’t! Please!

Card: Officer, Officer!

Sgt Sturgid Sturgent of the municipal melding force, lopes on stage

Sturgid: Sgt Sturgid Sturgent of the Municipal Minor Misdemeanor and Malcontent Manager Force responding to the call of the citizenry, what seems to be the afray?

Card: He’s a litterer

Clovis: I am not

Card: and a manslaughterer

Sturgid: Manslaughter? Out of my jurisdiction I’m afraid the MMMMMF’s perview are the smaller though no less reprehensible tier of criminality and anti-sociality

Card: Manslaughter by second hand smoke!

Strugid: Why didn’t you say so! That’s another matter! Murder by such a tiny and tenous increment or causation of harm is right up our alley; with the littering charge it’ll be the brig for you sonny Jim.

Clovis: I can’t believe this is happening

Sturgid: I imagine that how all the expectant mothers you’ve poisoned will feel when they’re bubs are borned with cancered up bronchials and brains you black hearted benzoate breathing baby blaster!

Clovis: but I haven’t seen any pregnant women!

Sturgid: That’s niether here nor there, you just have to light a cigarrette and it’ll affect any of them in a fifty kilometer radius and any actually born child in a 100 kilometer raidus and put people off their dinners for a least a 500 kilometer radius and what about the poor bar and venue staff ay?

Clovis: What about them?

Sturgid: What about them! What about them! I suppose you think they don’t matter ay? Just want to have your fun and buggery to the people that serve you your fancy drinks and clean up after you when your sick all over the floor or wipe shit all over the toilet walls and piss on the mirrors! My father worked as a glass monkey all his life, eight hours a day he’d spend running around picking up the dreg filled glasses of the likes of you, that’s the one which weren’t smashed in drunken clamaties and fisty cuffs! You know what, he died because of that job, all those hours sucking in that smoke churned brackish air of hell!

Clovis: He died of cancer?

Sturgid: No he was hit by a bus on the way home from work;

Card: You are hereby declared guilty

Clovis: Unanimously?

Card: Yes

Clovis: Then what verdict do you have for me? Let us know and be done

Sturgid: For the heinous crime of baby killing in the tertiary degree, for exposing society to the cell corruption of cancer, for carry the affliction of addiction, for making us all feel squemish about our goodly good and proper devotion to health and long, pleasant lives, for having an excessive higher education debt and showing no sign of ever being able to repay it and behaving yourself with a general contemptuous and unsporting manner toward this court of opinion; you are here by sentenced to live export!

Clovis: Live export?!

Sturgid: and unanimously too?

Card: Yes

Clovis: Are there none that if not actively participating in my wholesale to slaughter but are silent will support me? Lend me your voice!

Card: No

Sturgid: I will now had you over to your product manager Dr. Fleischsturm of the Free Market Institute of Regulation and Processing, go ahead Dr. Fleischsturm

Exit Sturgid, enter Dr. Fleischsturm

Fleischsturm: Hello there Clovis, I’ll be your product manager my name is Dr. Fleischsturm and I’ll help you through the process of your transition into the specialty meats market

Clovis: You can’t! What about my family, friends and relations! My conversation is the light of their existance, the bon in their bon amie, the joy in their joy de vivre!

Fleischsturm: A nominal percentage of the proceeds of your sale on the open market will be credited to a nominated nominee as compensation of their being deprived of your dubious services as a friend or relative.

Clovis: So that’s it? Meat after all? Will it hurt?

Fleischsturm: Our contracts guanantee you will be slaughtered humanely

Clovis: I feel sick

Fleischsturm: You will be provided medical attention, so as to ensure a healthy product; after all our nation’s word is its bond is its product

Clovis: Why not just kill me now?!

Fleischsturm: To ensure freshness, come now Mr. Jones, Clovis, can we call you Clovis? Clovis you’ve just taken your first step into a larger world, you used to be a nothing, a criminal, a reject, a fiscal nulity at best but now, see how far you have come!

Clovis: You’re insane

Fleischsturrm: Me insane? No, no my dear Clove, may I call you Clove? Clove, see this white coat? See how brilliant, how pure, how starchy it is? This dazzling, swooshy coat means that I have a doctorate in commercial medicine and business psychiatry from Burger Mate State U

Clovis: Oh you’re a BM man?

Fleischturrm: Through and through get it in ya brain at BMU! Go Burgers! Are you a fellow frylumni?

Clovis: No, I went to Jim’s Degrees Palace and Camping Goods Emporium

Fleischturrm: A JDP man! Well then you should be able to appreciate that my qualifications mean that I can’t be insane; because I’m the person who decides where the sanity goalposts sit on the ground, in a commercial context.

Clovis: Is this a commercial context? You want to turn me into food!

Fleischsturrm: Is food not a commercial commodity?

Clovis: But you want to sell me! A human being!

Fleischsturrm: Correction, we have already sold you

Clovis: Sold?! Already! But the gavels still hot! Oh god! Oh Zoster! Krishna Krishna! Please don’t kill me! I’ll make you a better offer! How did you move me so fast?

Fleischsturrm: You’ve been sold since you were born, since before you were born in fact. Don’t look so shocked, its not you personally that had been sold but the order that you’re going to be playing such a vital part of!

Clovis: How large is this order?

Fleischsturrm: I’m sorry that’s a trade secret.

Clovis: Even to the product?

Fleischsturrm: Yes, we take corporate information security very seriously here, we couldn’t afford a ‘cannibalgate’ scandal now could we? Well we could but it would be frightfully awkward.

Clovis: Yes, I suppose it would be.

Fleischsturrm: I’m so glad you see it our way, its so much nicer, so much the better for you, us and the consumer that you do. Comply with us be reasonable and you can have it all! All of our sumptuous wealth will be at your disposal! You can relax and take advantage of our exclusive product pampering services package!

Clovis: I don’t see what kind of remuneration you could give me for my life

Fleischsturrm: Don’t be so cynical Clove, for your life we can give you a life!

Clovis: A life?

Fleischturrm: A better life than you could ever have had otherwise. You can take your ease installed in an executive luxury apartment suite, with full Louis Quartos living room and contemporary kitchenette. You’ll gorge yourself on the finest food delicacies from all the worlds Cuisines at our Bouf Buffet and have yourself titularly immortalised in the Sirloin Monolith Shrine!

Clovis: Whats the alternative?

Fleischsturrm: We slaughter you now and snap freeze your carcass and stick you in the deep freeze

Clovis: I’ll co-operate

Fleischsturrm: I’m so glad, things are so much more civilised, dignified and friendly this way; some of my best friends have been products, did I tell you that?

Clovis: You never did

Fleischsturrm: Well its true; they were all lovely individuals, once they got to the concept they had become a part of and accepted their situation we had a whale of a time together! Once they got past certain aspects of our relationship they came to see me as a friend, a confidant, a shoulder to cry on, a buddy to laugh with, and I’m not ashamed to say a lover and executor of their estates. And Clove, I’d just like to say that I hope to build a similar relationship with you.

Clovis: Don’t I hang out with the rest of the brisket?

Fleischsturrm: Goodness no Clove! We’ve learnt overtime that allowing product to associate in the pre-processing period can cause detrimentally dejectory morale and even rebelacious behaviour; which can lead to paltourory steak quality and even breakage of merchandise. No you’ll be interacting soley with accredited staff members who shall fullfill your every bodily, physical, emotional and societal need. We have prostitutes of various genders, ages, skin type, carnal predelictory speciality and body type to satisfy your libidinal urges, in fact everyone in the complex has been coached to accept or at least pander to your sexual advances. We also have personal trainers to keep you fit and ramble with you through our simulated jungle and tundra environments, the finest musicians covering your favourite songs, the best of bar tenders and cocktail shakers to provide imbibical libations of the highest and most intoxicating standards. You’ll chat and hobbknob with the most quick witted and courteous waiters, high strung and jovially rotund 5-star chefs, liturgical professionals of your choice and of course myself. You’ll sleep on satin sheets, watch only the most crystal sharp 3-D displays, eat to your heart’s content and ingestate all the pharmaceuticals you can handle.

Clove: Wouldn’t that affect my re-sale value?

Fleischsturrm: Well, all that you can tolerate within moderator declenations

Clovis: Wonderful

Fleishsturrm: What’s the hang up Clove? You sound desultorious and unaplomatic, I hope you’re not feeling ambivial or contradecisional; I would find having to decranialate you apriortemprally so opprobrobourous.

Clovis: Come again?

Fleishsturrm: I hope you’re not changing your mind, I’d hate to have to put a bolt in your skull sooner rather than later

Clovis: No, its not that, I’m just sad

Fleischsturrm: Melancholistic? But why?

Clovis: Because I’m offal!

Fleischturrm: Oh I think you’re ok,

Clovis: I’m offal! Offal! You’re going to slice me up, quarter and consume every part of me. I’m a great heaping, stinking, bloody lump of offal!

Fleischsturm: Lucrative offal Clovis! You’re about to become a commodity in the hottest new market on the planet, sapient cuisine! All your life, no matter how hard you’ve tried to deny and avoid it you’ve been a consumer, a petty, too poor to be in debt, financially dependant consumer but now your are to be consumed! You’ve reached the pinnacle of society, the heigheth of aspiration! You were a nothing and now there are millions of people out there who want a piece of you! You made it kid! You were never going to amount to much but you made it! And your sacrificial success will feed the economy, life blood of the nation and balance our trade deficit. Before you were less than a number, anonymous in a mass of anonymity but now we see you! Now we stand behind you! A nation stands behind you!

Song: a nation stands behind you

On this we can agree

that there are too many people

when its you and me plus three

but the problem is solved

when certain taboos disolve

Oh sign up for live export today!

There simply is no reason, to be afraid

because if that way that you pray

or the things that you say

differ from our view of normativity

a nation stands behind you!

Today!

If you’re depressed well here is the cure

if lifes not worth living then why not

be beef steak tartare

we’ll all feed the maggots but now you can choose

who’se going to nibble, chop, cut, soffrito

you!

Oh sign up for live export today!

Its quick, humane and modern

lucrative and solves a convenient problem

a nation stands behind you,

today!

15th Feb 2011

ACT 1

Nausea’s Reprieve

A play with ads in three parts

Characters: Megs, Sharny, Dirk Babbit, Pedo Steve

Ad Block 1

Pedo Biz Obstatrician Playset

(Travis W Bread and Sarah H Omogenec are amoung a scattering of toys)

Travis: Fuck me dead Searhz, I’m fuckin bored

Sarah: Fucking oath, I’m so bored with this this shitload of fuckin kids toys, medi-fuckin-ocre television and idle, mind numbing hours of self abuse

Sarah: Cunt oath Trav, 2D is shit D, maybe we should just fucking kill ourselves now

(Enter Pedo Steve in a lab coat and bloody surgical gloves)

Pedo Steve: Hey kids!

Sarah + Travis: Pedo Steve!

Sarah + Travis: Uh huh!

Pedo Steve: Or have they told you the truth, do you want to learn more?

Sarah + Travis: Uh huh! Uh huh!

Sarah: Radical!

Travis: Kid-tastic!

Travis: Its just like my birthing montage!

Sarah + Travis: Thanks Pedo Steve, now we can draw back the veil of mystery and fill our meaningless young lives with consumerist sex activities!

Pedo Steve: Don’t Thank me, thank Pedo Biz, where our biz is kidz!

Osmi Corp, extra utero gestation services

Sharny: I want a baby Magz but I just don’t have the time or money to go out and by a new wardrobe of maternity clothes and what about all those stretch marks and cravings?

Mags: But Sharnz, wouldn’t your mum be so off her trolley proud she’s gonna have grand kiddies and it might get Trent to stop getting pissed and smashing up your lounge suits

Mags: Fuckin oath, me niether! And don’t forget the fuckin cones

Sharny: I hadn’t thought about the fuckin cones! You wanna cone Mags?

Mags: Do I wanna fuckin cone? Cunt oath I want a fuckin cone cunt!

Enter Dirk Babbit

Sharnz: But what happen when the little fucker grows up?

Mags: But what about me? I doubt the fuck whether I could afford your excellent service.

Be all that you can be! Produce sons for the army!

(Enter Urusla Snodden of the Fecund, Engorged Motherhood Association, jaunty military music plays while she speaks)

Act 1,

Customer Relations Cyborg

Three people, Julian Koot, Nigella Delaware and Ivor Spittle are sitting in a line on swivel chairs, separated by felt dividers. There is an empty chair. They each have a set of head phones plugged into a computer in the centre. Robynne Shpoolac is stridding up and down the line.

Robynne:Alright then people poodle puddles, what have we learned so far? Anyone, anyone, anyone? No? That’s fine, not hungry then are we? You don’t want to win mints by answering questions? You’ll need them to trade at the end of the excellent training day we’ve had so far

Ivor shoots up his hand

Robynne: Yes yes yes, Ivor, you’ve noticed one of our Key Value Concepts?

Ivor: Ugh yes, ugggghhhhhHHEXCellence Robynne

Robynne: Very good Ivor, very good! Now, what’s our Corporate Key Concept Quote for that word?

Ivor: Uggghhhhh….. ahhhh… uuuuuughhhnnnn….

Robynne: They’re all written on the board Ivor deary

Ivor: I’m a little short sighted actually Robynne

Robynne: Well come a little closer then, give him a shove gang!

They propell Ivor over to the board where the 5 company key value concepts are in shrined in white board marker

Ivor: Excellence. Aim to be the best, strongest and most efficient entity in our market and market place, all markets and market places and any future markets and/or market places (hopefully in financial products or defence). Through better technology, mass saturation and more effective employee behavioural screening and indoctrination, we will increase our market share to become the dominant commercial being in the universe!

Robynne shoves him back into place

Robynne: Very good very good, now that’s Ivor’s fourth mint today; what’s wrong with the rest of you? You won’t be able to trade at the end of the session will you? How are you going to trade at the end of the session if you don’t have any mints? If you don’t have any mints how are you going to trade? At the end of the session there’s going to be a lot of trading going on and you guys’ll miss out because you don’t have any mints, to trades with.

Enter Samantha Golightly, out of breath

Samantha: Sorry I’m late, took a long time to get here

Robynne: No problem darling, though one of our key company concept values is punctuality, it comes under the aspect of Respect, you might have learned that, if you’d been here on time. Well take a seat, take a seat, take a seat deary, take a seat, take a seat

Ivot shoots up his hand

Robynne: Yes Ivor?

Ivor: Respect Robynne!

Robynne: Very good Ivor, see someone’s listening, someone’s going to have mints to trade, alright Ivor read out the concept quote for us all

Ivor: Treat our people with integrity and understanding becoming to productive engine component. Be compassionate; whenever not in direct or indirect conflict with business interests. To enable our people to work as much and as hard as we require and provide intensive behaviour and attitude coaching when our expectations are not met at anytime. Provide a fun and productive workspace to work and be productive!

Robynne: Very good Ivor, now as part of your roles here you’re going to be talking to a lot of clients and a lot of them aren’t going to want to talk to you

Ivor shoots up his hand

Ivor: Client driven Robynne!

Robynne: Excellent Ivor, now these situations can

Ivor Shoots his hand up again

Ivor: Excellence Robynne!

Robynne: Such, enthusiasm, now you’ll be talking to a lot of clients and

Ivor: Shall I read them out Robynne?

Robynne: All right, go on then

Ivor: Excellence! Aim to be the best, strongest and most efficient entity in our market and market place, all markets and places and any future markets and/or market places (hopefully in financial products or defence). Through better technology, mass saturation and more effective employee behavioural screening and indoctrination, we will increase our market share to become the dominant commercial being in the universe!

Client Driven! Believe that our products and services are applicable and desirable to any and all fiscal subjects regardless of age, health, colour, creed, gender, lucidness or level of intelligence/comprehension. To aim to be reasonably truthful with potential assets in all advantageous situations. Everyone is a potential customer, prospective clients should be treated with deference due to their serviceable needs.

Robynne: Now as I was saying, some people just aren’t going to want to talk to you; for some reason there are people out there who don’t know they want a free colonoscopy. There are even people out here who don’t even know they want a five night stay at a three star resort, with a free breakfast, for a minimum of two adults, at the reasonable price of $599 per person twin share, when booked over the phone via credit card; leaving tomorrow. I don’t know why, maybe its the fact that a thousand businesses like us are calling them day in, day out, bringing advertising and sales from the oversaturated public sphere into the little chunks of assumed privacy, we as a society have established as a zone of rest and personal time; unyet invade constantly with marketing taking those values that we’ve created and twisting them further to sell more product. Maybe they’re tired of being tricked into dodgy or superfluous insurance policies, medical exams, holidays and sets of window shutters by people trained to manipulate their fears and work on their emotions to the point where what little milk of human kindness they have, has been squashed out of them. But that’s other companies not us, we’re a caring entity providing a valuable beneficial service to the community with integrity

Ivor shoots up his hand

Ivor: Integrity Robynne! Behove in a manner copasetic with the law at a bare average. To report all wrong doing and damage to company policy or property. Be compassionate whenever practical and in business interests. Admit all characters flaws, negative personality traits, limitations and unorthodoxy when point out by the management’s benevolent scrutiny; admit personal errors, private problems –self correct and censure.

Robynne: The most important thing is optimism, without optimism we couldn’t do our jobs

Ivor: Optimism Robynne! The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, every call is an opportunity, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, every call is an opportunity, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full

Robynne: And we have to do out jobs, or what would be the point in living? Now, to get around these people, who don’t yet now they need an colonoscopy and to help you take their hands and lead them to the waters of realisation; here is the following script, hand crafted by yours truly, to embiggen my extensive experience and telemarketing wisdom in you! Now, the recruitment agency tells me you are the best, the best of the best; the best of the best of the best! So I expect the best and the best from the best, shall we run through the script? Everyone turn to the person next to you and try it out!

Black out

Scene 2

Julian, Ivor, Sam and Nigella are on the phones, still in a line, Robynee pacing back and forth behind them

Julian: And there she was

so beautiful, so beautiful

a dream made whole

wearing headphones, wearing headphones

was that, a look of love?

I hope so,

I’ll never know, I’ll never know

Ivor: How many’re you on Sam?

Sam: None, you?

Ivor: Five

Sam: Already?

Ivor: Don’t worry, you’ll make it, just remember you’re key value concepts and objections

Sam: Do they help?

Ivor: Well the mints keep my breath fresh, which I think makes me more confident, so maybe, hello

its Ivor from Globo Colon Care

Julian: Distress! Distress!

My love is in distress!

Oh how worry furrows

your brows of loveliness!

I feel so helpless

and jealous of Ivor?

Oh, how torturous, how torturous!

For me!

Nigella: Hi five Sam!

Sam: Low down

Julian: Her hand, her hand!

The feel of skin,

my heart demands!

Sam: Hello its Sam from Globo Colon Care and I’m organising Globo Colon Care, endoscopies, I’m arranging free Globo Endoscopies, I’m arranging free endoscopies!

Robynne: Remember to ask about friends or family Samantha

Sam: Do you know of any friends or family who could benefit from a free endoscopy?

Ivor: No, no, I’m not selling anything

Nigella: Hi, this is Nigella from, no sir I’m not selling anything

Sam: Its free and, oh you’d like to book one? With me? Oh that just hilarous, no I hadn’t heard one before, no I won’t be there!

Robynne: Remember Samantha, client driven

Ivor: Client Driven Robynne! Believe that our products and services are applicable and desirable to any and all fiscal subjects regardless of age, health, colour, creed, gender, lucidness or level of intelligence/comprehension. To aim to be reasonably truthful with potential assets in all advantageous situations. Everyone is a potential customer, prospective clients should be treated with deference due to their serviceable needs.

Nigella: How many are you on Sam?

Sam: None, you?

Nigella: Seven

Sam: Seven, how’d you get seven?!

Robynne: Remember Sam, optimistic

Ivor: Optimistic Robynne! The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, every call is an opportunity, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, every call is an opportunity, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full,

Robynne: Now everyone we’ve got to reach target, I want everyone to get a double on the next call, we have to make stats, each of you and as a team. Team we need to lift our game, our targets are escaping us like little birdmen of Alcatraz. Our endoscopy clinics stand operating at only 75% of capacity! I think you need some encouragement, bring out the drum!!

A man in furs and a loincloth drags on a large drum and begins beating a slow, slave galley style tattoo

Robynne: Now, remember to use your objections!

Ivor: Many people often take care of their eyes and pancreases but their colons go sadly overlooked

Niger: Its recommended by our professional proctologists that you have a check up every or even every six weeks!

Sam: You’ve got to look after you’re invalid husband? Nevermind, I understand

Robynne: Samantha!

Sam: I mean, I understand but what will he do if you develop colon cancer?

Robynne: Excellent Samantha!

Ivor: Excellence Robynne! Aim to be the best, strongest and most efficient entity in our market and market place, all markets and places and any future markets and/or market places (hopefully in financial products or defence). Through better technology, mass saturation and more effective employee behavioural screening and indoctrination, we will increase our market share to become the dominant commercial being in the universe!

Julian: Oh she perspires!

And guilt strokes the fire

That makes her clammy

Clammy as fresh washed tyres

But she’s still my dream baby

My fancy fantasy lady

Sam: No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any offense

Robynne: Control the call Samantha

Ivor: Is there anyone else you’d like to bring with you?

Sam: I’m sorry

Robynne: Remember to ask about friends and family

Sam: I couldn’t after that, Robynne

Robynne: That’s not a very optimistic attitude

Sam: Her husband had colon cancer!

Robynne: More reason why his family need check ups and he needs them all the more, you should have asked if she wanted to bring him along! Remember Samantha, we must always be Client Driven!

Niger: Client Driven Robynne! Believe that our products and services are applicable and desirable to any and all fiscal subjects regardless of age, health, colour, creed, gender, lucidness or level of intelligence/comprehension. To aim to be reasonably truthful with potential assets in all advantageous situations. Everyone is a potential customer, prospective clients should be treated with deference due to their serviceable needs.

Sam: I can’t do it

Robynne: Of course you can, you must! Where’s your integrity?

Ivor: Integrity Robynne! Behove in a manner copasetic with the law at a bare average. To report all wrong doing and damage with regard to company policy or property. Be compassionate whenever practical and in business interests. Admit all character flaws, behavioural issues and personal issues; when pointed out by the managements benevolent scrutiny. Admit personal errors and self-censure.

Niger: Your GP doesn’t know anything, our free test is much more definitive

Ivor: Its quick, easy and relatively painless

Sam: You’re a pensioner and there’s nothing wrong with your colon?

Julian: Day in, day out

I feel that I could scream and shout

Week in, week out

Infatuation does not doubt

That you’re this year’s

Source of all my hopes and fears

Robynne: Did you use your objections Sam?

Sam: But he was a pensioner, he had enough medical problems to worry about, he’d been slugged in the head, he was barely conscious

Robynne: Samantha Golightly, the client!

Ivor: Client Driven Robynne! Believe that our products and services are applicable and desirable to any and all fiscal subjects, regardless of age, health, colour, creed, gender, level of intelligence or comprehension. Everyone is a potential asset, prospective clients should be treated with deference due to their serviceable needs.

Robynne: the Client

Robynne: The client, shut up Ivor! The client is anyone, the client is everyone; if the client takes the form of a pensioner the government will pick up the tab! If it’s form is as sick as a town with the plague all the easier it is for us to market to! God Samantha, you’d almost think you didn’t want to work here, didn’t like working here

Julian: Horror! Horror! Terror, terror, fear!

Horror! Horror! Terror, terror, fear!

She is approaching too near

The firing point!

If only she’d lasted the year

I could have seen it clear

To say hello, hello hello

To say, hello!

Ivor: its Ivor calling from Globo Coloncare, just calling up to arrange a follow up exam

Niger: And is there anyone else you’d like to bring along?

Ivor: Well its recommended by our fully qualified proctologists that you have an exam every three months at least, to ensure colon health

Robynne: Come on Samantha, the team needs a double from you

Sam: I just can’t con people into frivolous medical procedures

Robynne: Can’t Samantha? Where’s your optimism?

Ivor: Optimism! The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, every call is an opportunity The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full,

The glass is always half full, The glass is always half full, every call is an opportunity, the glass is always half full, the glass is always half full, the glass is always half full, the glass is always half full, the glass is always half full, the glass is always half full, the glass is always half full, the glass is always half full,

Robynne: Come on Samantha, we don’t con people, we have integrity

Ivor: Integrity! Behove in a manner copasetic with the law at a bare average. To report all wrong doing and damage with regard to company policy or property. Be compassionate whenever practical and in business interests. Admit all character flaws, behavioural issues and personal issues; when pointed out by the management’s benevolent scrutiny. Admit personal errors and self-censure.

Robynne: What do you know about what is frivoulous from the customer’s perspective? What do you know about what the client might want?

Ivor: Client Driven! Believe that our products and services are applicable and desirable to any and all fiscal subjects, regardless of age, health, colour, creed, gender, level of intelligence or comprehension. Everyone is a potential asset, prospective clients should be treated with deference due to their serviceable needs.

Robynne: listen to Ivor Samantha, you might learn something

Julia passes a post-it to Sam

Sam: Come get high with you? Ok

They leave,

Robynne: And here are the lovely framed photographs from your free introductory employee endoscopies!

Ivor: When did you perform those?

Robynne: During the isolation tank mediation section of induction!

Niger: People look like steak inside?

Ivor: A lot like steak

Song: Biological After all

black out

End Act 1

15th Feb 2011

Nausea’s Reprieve

30th Oct 2010

Call Center Cyborg

Clovis passed a hand over his forehead and shook off the collected sweat beads. He imagined them spattering and hissing on the white baked concrete paving stones that wound white through the manicured verges of a Pakenham industrial park. He had been up for an ungodly time for the early hour of the day; the morning’s water cooled cloak was almost burnt off and he cursed the hitherto fortifying warmth his swaddling of jackets, jumpers and thermal vests provided. He surged on through the solidifying sunlight to the first day of a new job. Locked on that track of alabaster he felt a character in some mundane role playing computer game, navigating the valley of a game world to the inevitable confrontation. An image came to his mind of pixelated and flourid pink fleshiness, pornographically exaggerated breasts and thighs bulging from a jet black leather bodkin under static curls of blonde hair. Repulsed at the synthetic thrill this sent through his self abused penis he pushed the visage from his mind and turned his attention to the manufacturing bunkers huddling behind high voltage fences flanking him.

‘You’d think I were wondering through a defence complex; do trade secrets and properties warrant such grand gestures of security? There is a forklift truck, standing at rest amoung pallets stacked to defy measurement. If I were working there at operating that squat little conveyance, I might feel a little productive or at very least enjoy the rude satisfaction of openly mechanical activity.

Ray bradbury wrote the pages of books as butterflies but his books were burning; indeed though they do burn, their incandescent wings cauterising across cerebellums, a conciousness altering the preponderance of a hand, the gestures it makes. The shadow cast has the potential to add a languidity to a gait, a wryness to the crinkle of the lips, the tone of cadence. It changes even the voice of the mind, that little voice which nurtures, attacks, defends, repulses, drives you on and suppurates through one’s whole intellect in moments of solitudes; magnifies it to a howling bellow against the gale of a revelated oppression or sets it to an extent of a shiver of wind, whispering eternal verities and observations of metaphysical proportions in the the quiet of night time walks or time spent lying in grass - when it drives you to attempt to loose yourself in the immensity of a cloudless atmosphere. It is therefore of pivotal importance to take care in what one reads; a book which is propelled by consuming drama and mimetic illusion can create an insatiable and unreflective thirst for further consumption, entertainment. It is like bubblegum chewed to stodgy tastelessness that the function of the mastication has nevertheless created as end unto itself and thrust the action into reflex. I am walking while thinking now, locomotion smoothing the niggling jitters of the lower functioning brain. It is one in the morning and the moisture of the day is darkening in patches on the pavement so it appears my look is through a porthole of a lunar lander hurtling over a flattened moonscape; weather hardened circles of gum and streetlight chiaroscuro simulating ridges, troughs – the whole range of topography. In this arid and alien scape of regolith, edged with cement cracking weeds; snails have traced their glittering paths to nocturnal trysts, romantic rendezvous and secret conferences.

Working in a call centre is to be reduced to a biological component of a machine; to be made a cyborg in more complete a fashion than in any occupation I have hitherto worked at. A telemarketer is a strip of DNA pasted into a swivel chair to add the so far unreproducible authenticity of human speech to a dialling machine; to capture prospective clients with the instinctually recognised flag of conciousness that is a living voice. It is this catch and its subsequent route to the breach in a subject’s mental armour, that lays open the fortress of their attention; activates their human interest. Computer’s are not yet intelligent and not yet able to sufficiently fool a given subject of their intelligence in active conversation and so the organic component is required; acquired by monolithic recruitment entities and patched in with microphones, headphones, monitors and pointing devices. This is not where the process of integration ends however; there is further programming and sythecation to be undertaken before the union of human and machine can be economically worthwhile. One has a script imprinted on ones memory and a set of objections, so that should there be a script error or it be ineffective to solve a particular obstacle, there is still a reasonable guarantee of return. Once this system of operation has been sufficiently stabilised the computer dials numbers, wires transform, project and leap your voice as a digital sign a hundred, a thousand kilometres, where it re-materialises as sound, piped directly into the ear of a prospective customer; your task is to use the information given to formulate the correct combination of memes, inflection, mimicry and perseverance to produce a sale, a prospect of a sale - the desired outcome. You are a voice, a biological speaking clock, a mass in chair over-clocked to better performance by prowling supervisory algorithms and the threat of a reduction or the removal of the supply of additional positive integers to one’s bank balance that are required to secure a continued supply of energy. It is for these numbers that most people in the post-industrial societies are called upon to sacrifice; the work in general not being overly dangerous or physically demanding; the sacrifice is a sacrifice of time.

I myself now have a degree of choice between dribbling out my time fluttering spotted pages of second hand books or I sacrifice it to be exchanged for additions to my balance sheet required for further exchange with other entities balance sheets for water, food, intoxicants, clothes, shelter and power. I deploy my sacrifice and the affect of my subjective being so that a multi-national corporate entity can continue checking people’s hearing in the hope of selling them hearing aids and receive credits from national governments that have initiatives to provide aural aids to those receiving its pensions; so that it can continue to spread and delve its octopuses tentacles deeper and into more markets. I am an instrument of turnover, a part in the production line system of a service provider.

20th Oct 2010

The Melbourne Blues

Samantha Golightly: The Melbourne Blues

You had been sitting at the kitchen table for a good ten mins, your delicate fingers, fretting at a Metcard. You sat in silence under the milky white of a flouro tube. When a smile drifting like an errant Stratocumulus lenticularis, passed over the blue eyed passivity of your regular face. Then with the deliberateness of robotic arm, you dropped a small coil of heat activated cardboard onto the imitation marble finished Formica.

‘Did you just make a roach?’

‘Yep’

‘Shall we roll a joint?’

‘Yeah, why not?’

You uncross your legs, one hand on the waxen softness of the brand spanking new black bamboo leggings sheathing your knees, as Karen shifts her chair forward and begins producing the articles required to roll a blunt. From the voluminous pockets of her red and black polka dotted wollen overcoat, she tosses the Tally Hoes, the pouch of Bank tobacco over to you and then the little saddie bag – its plastic form a study in the effects of fidgeting in large and unruly pockets on thin polymer constructions. Before the Qie has left her hand you smell that familiar pungency, feel it tickle electric in the base of your skull, tinkling a well worn tune on the old chemical ivories – the affect of the neuro-chemical response is reminiscent of the anticipation of seeing a well loved and oft met friend, whose warm and voluminous company never tires. But you’re fucking sick of always having to fucking roll the cunting fatties all the time, and it shows.

‘Don’t you feel like rolling?’

‘Not really, no, I feel like I always get stuck rolling’

‘That’s because your so good at it, with great power comes great responsibility! Besides mine are mostly shit, a waste of hard chased spliff’

With a guttural sigh you pull a little willow patterned bowl toward you, fingernail open the ziplock of the crumpled skunk receptacle and stark breaking off bits of weed. The musky verdant scent cloys indulgently at your nostrils as between thumb and fore finger you tear and tease out chunks, disassembling buds, leaving a film coating of ganj dust and hairs in your dermis. You open the attractive maroon package of Bank and liberally sprinkle a pinch or two of the moist, chocolaty, aromatic – relatively expensive but who the fuck cares – tobacco into the bowl. You add some more dope for good measure, to taste.

‘That’s a bit brown isn’t it Sam? Go on, put a bit more in, don’t worry I’m catching up with Davian tomorrow’

With a lip corner kinked you add another whole bud and take up a pair of orange handled, stainless steele scissors – which are nevertheless gunked to the shiznit with pot resin, maybe they’re not referring to that kind of stain – and begin to chop. You take the mix between the tips of your metacarpals and cut and cut and cut and cut and cut and cut and cut and cut and cut and cut and cut and cut and cut and cut, working out the lumps. You tip the bowl on an angle and with sharp, emphatic, calous snip snip, snip snips you continue to reduce and combine the ingredients. You now have a mull. You set the green and brown mottled mix aside.

‘Here Sam, here’s a bit of mix I hadn’t smoked last night’

Karen produces a battered blue tin emblazoned with an enamelled polar bear with a toothache – evidenced by the red and white spotted handkerchief tied around its head jaw wise- and a red and black checked bindle, sitting by a desultory campfire. You open the tin, skin intrigued by the raised edges of the embossing on the reverse side – the one without the polar bear that is -, reading:

“Keen’s Mustard!, It’ll cure what ails ya!”

There is a cheeky numbers worth of mulled dank in one rusty corner and you integrate this into the larger body, there is a satisfying clinking as you tap the metallic rim of the container on the gunwale of the crockery. Setting off the little trenchard, you pull two gummed rolling papers from the Tally Ho packet. You fit one midway up the other at an angle of degrees to its counterpart and with the trial complete you gingerly moisten a short upper section of the adhesive strip of the party of the second part and then join it to the party of the first part to achieve the structure described below:

You place the roach you prepared earlier ….here, fill the other lower half of the scoob with mix and then roll it into a tube like so:

Then using the unclosed muzzle of the doobie as a shovel you scoop up more cheeba until it is full, then twist the top to seal and shake to compact the charge like so:

Then you take lighter –whose ancestor incidentally was invented before the match- and with the roach at the end of the scoob between your lilac painted and grinning lips you spark that motherfucker. You take two long toaks, holding the smoke in your lungs as long as possible between drags to allow the THC to percolate and then pass it to Karen – who has been watching intently and taking mental notes of the procedure as you hope anyone privy to the operation would have considering the mastery of its employment. She takes the blizze and after puffing the cherry to glowing life remarks:

‘Fuck that’s a good fucking two paper, pulls well, I wish I could do that, shit’

She hands the marley back to you coughing up bloody stinking organs and tripe all over the table.

‘It just takes practice K, like anything, do you need some water?’

‘No, no, that’s’ she coughs, she coughs, she coughs, she coughs, she coughs, ‘fine, I’ll grab myself a beer’

She gets up on her floral patterned flats and hacks and chokes her way to the ice box, russet ichors seeping from between the hypochondriac red fingers clamped over her mouth in a vain attempt to keep her tar and fat clogged innards, in. She opens the fridge door, heavy with avant cards, drolly amusing newspaper clippings and forests of first, second and third notices, pinned stalwartly back by novelty sex magnets. She tinkle tink tinkers behind the door and stoops to search the crisper. Karen draws herself upright and struggles at the cap of a bottle green bottle of Becks with much gritting of blood stained teeth and frumping of cheeks and lipses. You take another toke, slip a hand into the holdall of your Paddington Bear blue fleece derived duffle coat – which has smooth black wooden toggles and a hood which some cunt behind you was sick in last year at Meredith Music Festival when you were fucked up on pingers watching MGMT. Amoung sliced up Metcards, sharpies and tissues hard as the Rock of Gibraltar – Yearg! And shiver me timbers – you find your Family Guy bottle opener and chuck it to her. She flips the top onto the tiles and a grainy little fart followed by the conceited giggle of an animated retard – he really is retarded, don’t you remember that episode?- escapes.

‘I’ve gotta toss that piece of shit’

‘Oh Sam don’t, its hella funny and it might be worth something one day’

‘Its a piece of junk K, tatty merch they churn out in unimaginable volumes to fill those gimmicky novelty shops you hate so much, and to add a spectre of a sense of value to the impulse purchasing of overpriced DVDs’

‘Then why do you have it if you hate it so much?’ Queried Karen, taking a generous swing of larger, bronchial contortion concluded.

‘I was smashed and I stole it’

‘Then I’m stealing it from you, I rather like it’

‘Be my guest’ you take an extra long grimace drag on the J.

‘Can I have your Raybands too? The torty ones? They’re shit hot’ giggles.

‘What? No, why would I give you those?’

‘Well you stole them from Alfonso didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but I like them Karen’

‘So I can’t have them?’

‘No, you can’t Karen’

‘How is Alfonso anyway? How are his travels? Are you going to pass that dutch you big bogart or sing a song into it? Pass the mic, pass the mic’

‘Shit, fuck knows, here take it’ you pass the bifta, pull another skin from the Tally Hoes ‘Hey look K, 10 to go, time to shout go fuck yourself’ and start rolling a cigarette.

‘Is he incommunicado again? Jesus wept Sam, this is green up in this ma’- That’s ‘is’ with Italianate italics motherfucker.

‘You said you wanted it herbaceous, no he’s not answering his phone’

‘Well you did call him at 4.30 in the am while you were tripping nuts’

‘I didn’t realise it was 4.30 there did I? Fuck, he scitzed it’ you ash your smoke into the mix bowl by accident. ‘Shit’

You look up as the door creaks open and a grey, sweaty, palpitating Clovis Jones, long hair ala John Nance sticks his head through the jar.

‘Hello Clovis, whats shaking?’

‘Hello Hello’ He emerges with a hunted air from behind the white washed slab of door.

‘How’s the come down?’ You enquire, wry as bread.

‘The less said the better’ His fingers twitching, drumming out a well banging tattoo.

‘Nice new threads’ opines Karen passing him the Rasta Wrap

‘Yes, they just arrived’ He takes a drag and begins to relaxe into an ill defined puddle of plurred ooze, a disembodied toothy grin spreading across it.

‘From where?’ prompts Karen.

‘Online store’

‘Online ay? nice, nice’

And then I sat down and Karen said,

‘I like the pockets on your shorts’

‘They’re like little bats wings’ said Sam as she passed me a freshly rolled South African drugs reffer style spliff doobie.

I looked down and indeed the cut on the tops of my short pockets were swept cut, the effect of which signified a bat wing. With much scuffling of shorts and shoes on my part, this specifically read to the topic of Batman. I tried out the following words:

‘They’re batshorts’

‘Batman wouldn’t wear shorts’ remarked Karen as I passed her the wackey tobaccy; as your parents may have called it in the heady days of 1969, in the times of surfers, hippies, facists and hells angels.

‘Sure he would, ’ said Sam exhaling cigarette smoke ””””””’when he goes to hang out on his private tropical island.’

‘Yeya’ I said receiving an icey cold beer from Karen; who was depositing them on the crowdedly bottle littered table, its narrow and curcuitous glass glazed avenues and laneways strewn with tobacco and lqiour, papers, scraps of strudel, tiny hacked up pieces of card board, knawed at university readers, pocket books and pens, bill fragments and polaroids, dried chillis, salt, pepper, cutting boards sprayed with garlic and onion skins, bowls rimmed with age blacked guackamole pilled over unknowable and irridescant stains. ‘Bruce Wayne might at least, they’d be like BatUtility shorts and come with an extra WaterproofTowel.org webcapable, multi OS conversant, Protocol Tablet Towel (PTTv2.3GTR).’

‘Maybe he’s just a well prepared traveller’ says Karen and what feels like a marble forms in my throat and descends to my stomach, leaching every scrap of dopamine from my body.

I leap up from my chair and throw myself out the back window onto the concrete slabyard without, receiving amoung other injuries; severe lacerations to my face and upper body, breaking my nose, shattering a wrist and fracturing my skull in two places so as soon as the fatty grey matter seeps out one breach it whips around and scurries into the other, playing a deadly game of cat and mouse with the gathering crowds of circling carrion birds and the swams of chitenous, altruistic, mandible nashing insects; all inexorably intent on the sheer delicacy of the feast and the mounting of my skull and entrails in their dwellings and halls.

Detecting a destinct lull in the converstion you start rolling again - see above for instructions. As you slice the roach from the lid of cigarette packet Karen ventures into the silence.

‘You get most of your clothes online don’t you Clove?’

‘Well I just get so, so anxious these days shopping at physical stores’

‘Less talking to people, I like it’ you grin John Wayne with the roach jammed in the crook of your lips as good as any cheroot.

‘Yes, and no standing in the change room feeling that I look like a giant penis’ chokes out Clovis, tears rusting every letter of every word.

‘Have you ever interrogated why your so anxious and avoid human contact with strangers so avidly?’ Questions Karen cracking open another beer and carving;

‘Trogdor The Burninator’’

into Clovis’ skin with the bottle’s cap.

‘No, not really, its just sometimes, I met loads of new people last night, I think’ You hand Clovis the fresh rolled marajuana cigarette and he takes it in shaking, grateful hands.

‘Whats your theory K?’

‘Well Sam, I’m very glad you asked’ Said K getting to her feet, straightening her shoulders, placing her right foot forward, tucking her left hand into the small of her back and placing the palm of her right hand - spliffdog in her fingers - with illistrative lightness on Clovis’shoulder ‘as I think that our dear friend Clove here is suffering most terribly from the disasociative affects and effects of our consumer society; the cultural logic of late capitalism’

‘Is there anything to be done K?’ You wail, aghast with Jacobean melodrama.

‘I’m afraid not because the revolution will not be televised due to indefinate postponement’

‘Due to bad weather?’

‘Due Clove, to the anticartographic impulses of post feminist, post modern, modern post Post™ society’

‘Post Post™?’

‘When was the last time you got a letter in the mail Sam? Its all email now, instant insubstantive messaging’

‘What about bills?’ remonstrated Clovis, patting out a small grass fire on his shirt collar - which had sprung up from hot ash falling from the bomber as Karen whipped, whipped it good as a conductor does his baton, like so;

- which was essentially for dramatic emphasis during the dialog above.

‘Clove silly, Bills don’t count’

‘I’m pretty sure that bills count as post K’

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m pretty sure they count’ Chimed in Clovis with zero irony.

‘Thank you for your vote of support Sam, well I guess’ she began again - leaning forward and putting her weight on her unadvanced left leg. ‘that just shows the profit motive remaining concrete and inviolate, underpinning our after-modern disphoria’

‘Speaking of post’ you say, reaching down by the side of your chair, rummaging in a tote bag. ‘I got a postcard from Alfonso today’

‘How is he? Enjoying his travels?’ perks up Clovis.

‘Well I’ll read it to you if you like and you can try and work that out for yourselves’

Text of the postcard:

Alfonso Bagguchi

What Clovis and - with afew subtle differences – Karen - neither of whom were paying attention - heard as you read:

Alfonso Bagguchi closed his newspaper and set it down next to his esspresso on the formica table, in the little coffee shop on the Strand in London. It was a bright blustery winters day, scarves and the pulled up collars of passing people in overcoats, fluttered like the pidgeons, stray plastic bags and leaves. The muffled honking of traffic, which had formed since recently a near constant feature of London’s ambient soundscape, echoed the tensions splashed in monochrome across the newspaper that Alfonso gingerly sipped his coffee over.

‘Shame isn’t it? Mr.Bagguchi’ Opined a thickly jowlled voice from somewhere behind Alfonso’s elbow.

He turned to the speaker and his movement of inquiry presented him face to face with a Hitchcockesque figure of a rotund, late of middle age gentlemen in a sumptuous white velvet jacket. The man removed a large cheroot from his garrulous mouth, the smoke from which was attracting agitated attention, passive aggressive clearings of throat and sniffs from the establishment’s sniffier staff and patrones alike. Either it didn’t register or the fellow didn’t care a jot for the whirlpool of whispered fuming his fellow caffeine imbibers were conjuring between them – probably the former if not defiantly the later. He twirled the cigar in his heavy, thicker than a carbon rod fingers and a sly grin spread across his hung beefsteak features.

The fat man rearranged his silk, lolly pop striped tie, picked up a jet black obsidian cane, gripped it silvery Mugwump handle and swaddled his porcine, age sagged frame from the glorified cafeteria.

I sat back in my chair placed my hand on the skinny legs of my jeans, picked a spot on the floor to concertrate on and began to probe the curious mix of feelings the rather odd conversation had inspired in my guliver. However I had bearly got past begininng to wonder how the devil the fellow had known my surname and if he knew my first name too and had moved on to how much I would have liked to light up the the 420log in my pocket; when the frontage of the organic pie and mash shop next door popped, its glass glittering with delicate gilt lettering – ballooned out into the street and Alfonso did not have time to conclude that he never would have lit up in the coffee shop, he simply didn’t have the gumption. Instead as people rushed out into the street, I jumped to my feet, took my coffee cup by the handle and went to the window.

Clouds of smoke were poring from Tony and Karen’s and people were limping out, clutching at facial, abdominal, cranial and peripheral lacerations and contusions, trying veinly to stem the flow of blood, organs, entrail, fettid tripe and deteached limbs, limbs that had entered their bodies via the force of the explosion and were now cascading from out the glistening new rasberry orifici - as the case demanded. In a moment an inexplicable swarm of journalists and middle aged people waving micro phones and first aid certificates respectively descended on the scene from their spawn points around the corner. People ran up and started screaming and milling, a brutal fusilade of stuttering, endlessly crescendoeing polyphonic shutter sounds sprang up from the orchestra of onlookers. People walked by in a huff, fuming internally at the garish interuption of and imprecation on their hard cultivated, orderly narratives of exclusivity.

Alfonso presently stepped out of the joe slinger’s cup in hand, into the general confluence of pandamonium and what struck him most immediately was by jove, oh good gracious, what a stink of mash and peas! I hung around agitated, one hand in my pocket the other giving high fives to paramedics and Red Bull promoters, again and again until the skin of my palms became soar and blistered, clinging with every ounce of strength to the lip of the coffee cup in my teeth, to a soundtrack of siren break beats to the choreographed grief before me, the dragging and pawing at bodies, fear falsetto bawling into the limelight and smoke, black smoke billowing and waving and drifting so that I imagine that it will reveal a column of cherry red coated soldiers, their drums thrubbing my ventricles, pipes whistling so jaunty through my tinitus that I pick up the tune, kick up my heels and go stark raving bonkers.

‘Well that wasn’t very informative’ remarked Karen, waving a jade stogie in your direction.

‘When is it ever?’ you muse external, accepting the proffered green bullet.

20th Oct 2010

My Abject Short Story

Alfonso’s face puckered into a grimace, he imaged his veins popping out of his greasy countenance as the strain of shitting reached a critical mass. Was that a capillary rupturing in my eye? Or just a twitch, oh pelvic floor muscles; why did I ever abandon you to the ruin of atrophy? God what if I go blind? What if I go blind from taking a shit? The embarrassment; I can see the smirks on the paramedics stuck up faces; we save lives, you’re wasting our time – arrogant green clad angels, riding around in vans.

He felt the tightly packed mass of excrement creep, millimetre by millimetre through his sphincter; stretching the elastic band red ring of flesh. And so many times in a week, what’s wrong with me? Should a regular person have such sturgid movements of the bowel? I’m a vegetarian, you don’t see constipated deer or rabbits, just plopping sprays of blueberry shit and that’s it; I’ve seen wildlife docos, I know that thumpy little noise – how I wish I were a pellet gun.

Alfonso felt ribbed sides of the dung tapering slightly and the joy of a end in sight flooded a care worn heart. Oh thank god, hopefully that’s it and I can get out of here; I told myself I would never shit in a train station toilet but here you are – another compact broken with yourself, its emblematic of you, you flake. How long have I been in here? Its going to be painfully obvious I was taking a shit; she’s waiting out there, the disgust growing – I wonder when it dawned on her that I’m taking a fucking shit? Or maybe she thinks I’m shooting up or something; no that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Would that be worse?

The plunking drop of the stool echoing up the shit flecked ceramic cried relief, droplets of water speeding behind the soundwave; thrown up by the rippling displacement, Alfonso felt them peppering his buttocks – a lone spit of toilet water striking up his unpuckered anus. The cold sensation struck his mind like an iron bar; inspiring a wave of nausea. He shifted involuntarily, disturbing the loo-roll nest he had built before sitting; the skin of his posterior burned as it touched the naked public seat. Sweat beaded his forehead, acid churned his stomach, he wretched, he shuddered; squeezing his arsehole shut.

S>M>E>G

21st Jun 2011

21st Jun 2011

21st Jun 2011

12th May 2011

12th May 2011

Quotidian, a script in the works

15th Feb 2011

Ads

15th Feb 2011

ACT 3

15th Feb 2011

ACT 2

15th Feb 2011

ACT 1

15th Feb 2011

Nausea’s Reprieve

30th Oct 2010

Call Center Cyborg

20th Oct 2010

The Melbourne Blues

20th Oct 2010

My Abject Short Story

17th Oct 2010