Cacophony of Silence

Eke the Meagre was facing into the wind muttering some complaint or other; for the fifth time that hour he cursed his existence.. and spat.Globular representations of his utter despair made it further than any of his other plans,

And finally he laughed.

The universe grinned at him.. as benevolent as you need it to be. “See.. nothing is ever totally pointless.”

Are you awake?

You must be.. I taste nectarines.

Mouth waters and my tastebuds leap

Libidinous excursion of memory

Bound to fade after the next leap


What is that?

Are you awake too

Are you desperate at 4.15

Did you suffer this same inner treason

I have a resinous whiff of magic


But I bet

You’re dreaming
Like I’m a dreamer too?

” eke… I keep telling you that complete positivity is a dangerous fringe science that’s going to DISRUPT the entire WORLD! That’s not hyperbole, buddy, that’s pure truth. 

I just can’t stand by and let you experiment with feeling good about EVERYTHING, then what would you need me for?”
Eke said “ugh” as unemphatically as he could manage. Enthusiasm was exceedingly commercialised these days and somewhat expensive to maintain.

He was as determined as a dissolute dreamer can be without someone else’s bankroll to exploit.

Somehow he would turn all this negativity into super-wonderful positivity and then… then his friends would all need him.

Eke was a tall man, and sober with it.

Just as a healthy adolescence had lengthened and strengthened his impressive frame; life gathered speed after puberty, as is often overlooked while experienced.. and just into manhood life had conspired to bow his hefty countenance quite by half.
Not for want of trying would his body unkink.. every lotion and potion prescription and meditation had been employed over the years by healers and charlatans alike; to no avail.
Suffice to say that Eke the Meagre was a league ahead when shit creek suddenly materialised in his sphere of reference with a raging stink of desperation.

A side serving of paddle shaped potato fries appeared from time to time but they were never crispy enough (nor large enough!) to navigate the torrent of shit. 
Eke employed his arms .. frantically ; months at a time.

Let’s just agree that a shitstorm doesn’t dissolve human flesh.. just the will to escape from our own rotting suck cesspools. Eke became Eke the Meagre.. and it was the name that assumed his being as long as assumptions are held.
Eke inhaled the swirling chaos of digested yesterday’s. He swigged deep with his precious nostrils and let that particulate matter infuse his whole being.

I’m not talking nose hairs here.. I’m mean cillia deep.. right into his lungs and out into his soul.
😈🗣 part two👁

Vengeance is sweet

Violence is true

Get your wood out mate

I’m coming for u

Muppet man muppet man 

What have you seen

I’ve sent a monkey.

To butcher your dreams

Stalling mid flight

Like a tightrope strung

Mandolin tight 

Muppet head muppet head

What have you said 

I’ll send a sonnet

To lop off your

Bled dry bone dust and fright

Look up more often

The angels do fight
Crumpet bland 

I demand

All I am owed

I will stand

Watch it grand

Eight times eight twines and ill let this thought light a way

What say you 


Or bloat?
Concrete floats I hear pretty

Life’s worth more than petty

But honour among thieves is


Gadabout waffle on all alone

Flagellate …

Sea of anonymity no more

Pretend away your suffering 

I wore mine like a champ

Muppet .. fringe.. fick le

Fancy free until I

Glimpse a flimsy whisper of your

Black don’t scare me none;

I know that gods are gluttons for agony too

I rafe them thin sliced

Debonair and delighted.

Strife returns upon itself untangled

Only in a schism of fate



Gaping trinket… testing at your stickiness

Your grasp will go straight through.


The choice was left to you

So void your warranty

I’ll grant no clemency

Scant mercy is deserved

By parasites without a clue.
And she raged. Silent, seething; paralysis but only pain to numb the fire.
Underneath the pull of grief stuffed apathy.

Cruel and crass remainders talked.. can’t do this: never could get straight enough to head on impale the competition.

Sweat traversed every crevice in her skin.
It tangoed across the surface of the earth and touched down like a packet of matchsticks through a wood chipper .
She breathed. A heart beat skipping somewhere. Along.. lightly and never frowning for longer than a micro expression .

Just that hint of sauce that never quite splatters everywhere. Only a second.

Yet she thought palely; never underestimate a shadow. It will take you down.

Some of us have a few rungs spare; some of us are just monkeys.. good at hangin tough. But it takes some tough losses to get to the point where balance isn’t optional anymore. Focus


Tantrumless little breaths; so don’t make me strangle you to make you breathe, ok!

I bloody well will if you really want.
Mortality is what makes us special; somehow theology misses this in the mainstream. The fleeting mess; the learning not to grasp at straws when you could be sowing fields… 

the future is real. It’s promise isn’t a torture neither a cage. Impactful, in the now; procrastinate at leisure but delaying tactics only pull away opportunities.

Life is not one big onion.

It’s a julienne carrot.
The End of the Beginning (saving the rain)
As the sun rose across the oceans of the jewel of Earth.. the last shining precipice was colliding with humanity’s birthplace.

The womb that had spawned billions of unique beings; unnumbered scores of innovation, evolution… 

… she was in the winter of her final nurturing, she was gasping and had lingered long beyond bearing, to save as much of her offspring as possible.

The planet was slowing.

Grinding down due to mass disruption.

The parts that had been sloughed off, the ecosystems removed, decimated; the trees had gone for fuel and heat.. 

the trenches and the war zones ; open slits on the wrists of Gaia.. mining had not been the only objective to the massive channels of grids and craters and gaping emptinesses created by draining the aquifers for transport. They were turning her carcass into an ark.

They knew they had killed our Mother;

They callously raped her and pillaged without regard. There truly were only seventy score between the internet and the digitisation process completion.

It began almost innocuously; as these things do, as a convenience.

Everything was stored. We were evaporated into digital cloud storage.

Please leave comments; share and check back for updates.

I usually write at least once a month; publishing is optional without an audience;)

If you follow the story, the story may just follow you back.

I believe that everybody is part of everybody’s story. I write what occurs to me. Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you! Upon you be blessings today and timely inspirations. T.n.


What constitutes “Publishing ” and “releasing ” in the digital age?

Who to trust more with that grey area.. hmmm fakeBook or A different kind of platform..!
Or a from scratch website hosted terrestrially which wholly encypts and secures my data so that I ALONE HAVE CONTROL OVER ITS AVAILABILITY BOTH WHILE I AM LIVING AND after I am no longer able to control its published and distributed status.

Unpublished, unreleased, apra registered work (circa 2006? I think) I used to think it’s not a bother…I’m very disorganised about my lyrics and chord sheets.

I’ve had a full book stolen from a gig in Eastwood..I think it was probably the host since there was one other player on the night!

I just dropped “letting go” in the bath.. so I’m diarising the picture so the Internet can act like a giant shoebox. Before the texta melts;) it’s stuck to my shower.. backwards.
So if I start singing it backwards you’ll know you didn’t just put your USB in upside down.!. It’s all in the wiring;)

Familiar Games

I don’t envy him, trying to spend time with his daughter should not have to mean him keeping his arse to the wall so his ex won’t be perving at it.
She doesn’t realise just how scary she has become…to my eyes little more than a psychopath, sending trouble to the baby’s family and causing strife.
He told me he was scared of her last week…some of the desperate plots she employed its little wonder he’s worried.
What will the next pass look like? Another t-shirt wrapped in a vomit-making whirl down memory lane!

He’s over you,lady…get a life.

Try getting laid, it’s about time you move on too.

Domestic Violence isn’t Bliss


​​uwe have to face up to domestic Violence in this country.. it’s not something you can sweep up and wrap in newspaper.. just wash the bruises off.. right?
Hearts on sleeves are hard to launder.
You don’t just get over it.

It can crush even the hardiest of souls…

You just live with the marks indelibly carved into your psyche.. you rebuild what you can 

Of your self esteem and say 

Never Again.

Step by step.. you get out.

Day by day

You make ways to overcome it.
But it stays with you, victims, perpetrators.. kids.. who all perpetuate cycles of violence.
Stop the despair

It’s not just a fight

It’s a damn shame.

Be a better example to our kids of a healthy respectful relationship..


Well well well

It’s a mantra, not a typo.
So October  this mental health month deal is getting me down.

I can’t not see

That its just a scam

A community basis for their

Irrational spending cuts.
Me I ended

Up locked in


Pushed over
So I’m different 

But I’m digging in

Deeper waters

Not just waterfalls of pain.


I am a mother of three sufferer of bipolar, spinner of your hands both tangible and folklorist; and where did you see Kay off I will not be far behind it.
I’ve decid

ED space to take a few days for myself to collect my head which is all over the place into my body and my brain having a big spaz oh annoyed angry I didn’t shut up argument with each other.

I wonder if the people you translate series confusion I having a big laugh at me sometimes… I know I am for sure! So this is a blog post, about me learning to post more often;less cohesively, and without regard to so much decency and political correctness that it stops me from doing anything at all.

Hope you

less cohesively, and without regard to so much decency and political correctness that it stops me from doing anything at all.
Hope you like my introductory blog liked the introductory blog
Stay June for the next instalment of chaos in Quakers Hill. I just got a lift in my coffee