When Man Turns Bad

*



Hey, when a man turns bad
it`s a well known fact
you don`t go giving him a bucket of compliments
behind his back
you don`t go laying traps for him
you cannot detect his scent
you cannot set your dogs on him
they won`t go where he went

Though his eyes may have been scored out
and his face is full of pits
He's bloodless, still rides for you
and he`s grating at the bit
Oh

When a man turns bad
you don`t want to know a thing
you can see it in the way that his hand shakes
as he pours himself a drink
he won`t take pleasure giving you the time of day
can`t walk in a straight line
just takes him a shot of bitumen
take a shot of turpentine
Oh

When a man turns bad
you can smell it on his breath
He has to fix himself up one in the morning
just to get him out of bed

When a man turns bad
it`s written on his wrists
gets a sudden fidgetty urge to kiss you baby
but he`s eating away at his lips

When a man turns bad
he don`t want no friendly advice
phone off the hook, not available for comment
better punch out the lights, sugar and spice, now

When a man turns bad
when a man turns bad
when a man turns bad
You can tell by his hair
he looks like he`s looking at a crack in the ceiling
or a nameless point somewhere
and in fact he`s seeing him a vision
in fact it`s a kingdom somewhere
where the lamb lies down with the rabid dog
and the dog don`t care

When a man turns bad
you can see it in his stare
looks like he`s looking at a crack in the ceiling
or just a nameless point in the air
in fact he`s seeing a vision
in the back of the kingdom somewhere
well the lamb lies down with the dog
and the dog doesn`t care

In fact he`s seeing a vision
in fact it`s a kingdom somewhere
where the lamb lies down with the rabid dog
and the rabid dog he don`t care

When a man turns bad
it`s a well known fact
you don`t go giving him a bucket of compliments
behind his back
you don`t go laying traps for him
you cannot detect his scent
you cannot set your dogs on him
they won`t go where he went
they won`t go where he went
they won`t go where he went


When A Man Turns Bad, The Triffids.


Perhaps in time the so-called Dark Ages will be thought of as including our own.
- Georg Christoph Lichtenberg



Collapsed, making his way down from high mountains, clearly diseased, our fragile frames, these warnings of a pending apocalypse, coming days, these signs and portents came strong. He was shivering, hiding behind the rocks in expectation. The sky was boiling, and then strangely calm. The Hooray Henrys were more frequent now. At least one car a day made its way down the narrow road, speeding past their tiny hut without stopping, sometimes the drunken shouts disturbing their peace. And it was peace. They settled down together as if they were a long married couple. After an initial mistrust, the woman regarded him as the answer to all his dreams.

Their makeshift hut was built against the back wall of the church and invisible from the road. The Hooray Henrys never stopped, although he worried constantly that they would see something of interest in the old church, and stride drunkenly through the ruins with their guns and their pot bellies, and set fire to their hut for no other reason than that they were poor. He had seen it before, the rich with their guns and breeches striding pompously through the poor neighbourhoods, destroying things for the simple reason that they could, laughing as they watched osme simple person's life go up in flames. Appeals to compassion were always pointless.

Their own lives were honourable, and they were constantly doing things for each other. She made him tea, he gathered firewood and fixed things, built benches, repaired the chook pen where two miserable hens and a rooster scratched out a living. Water was not a problem. Once the yellow rain washed away the water in a natural spring near their hovel ran clear and cold. He grew to know the routines of the day, the sound of birds in the morning, the raucous shouts of the crows in the afternoon, as they continued to search for human flesh. But their orgy time was over now, and the stench of rotting bodies no longer infiltrated every nook and cranny of the dump.

They kept each other warm in the evenings, from that very first night, as if they both knew there was no point being coy, as if they both knew time was short and this was their destiny, they were meant for each other. Their youths could have happened to different people, so far were they from their origins. While death was all around them, in the ruined church, in the skeletons that littered the dump, in the mounds of old material that dotted the landscape, out here on the open plain, they knew they should be grateful. He kissed her toothless mouth, and didn't gag, although his head was full of images from his younger days. He hadn't meant to end up here, he hadn't expected to survive.

Weeks slipped by into months. He built her benches and a table outside the hut, and now, in the mornings, they sipped their tea as they sat on the furniture he had made. There was no longing for the greater world. His dangerously thin frame began to fill out again. His foraging expeditions, often covering several kilometres, were always successful. He always returned with a few cans of something, dug out from the burnt ruins of old houses. After a few days he located the ruin of an old suburb on the side of the town, and made trips there every day.

He was frightened of being discovered, but never saw another soul. No dogs barked. No guns went off. The stillness that settled across the dump and further a field, the ruined suburbs, spoke of infinity, of time itself reclaiming this place, of the remnants of civilisation folding up to protect them. He often thought it was a pity they were too old to have children, the return of man could have begun here, civilisation could have been rebuilt, beginning with them. Instead they tended the chooks as if they were the most wonderful pets, and protected each other with a certain courtliness, as if they were the youngest and most handsome couple on the continent. They were frightened the yellow rain would return, but the sky remained clear. He wasn't going to leave here, not now, not in this isolated spot.

And then one day he heard the Horray Henrys coming from afar, and when he went to investigate, peering out from behind the broken church, he could see three of them in large, black, open air cars, shouting, laughing, carrying guns, clearly drunk. Frightened, he ran to urge Molly to hide.



THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www.news.com.au/story/0,23599,24356910-5007146,00.html

IT TOOK Malcolm Turnbull six words to remind everyone of his humility.

After speaking of the "great honour and privilege" to lead the Liberal Party, the Member for Very Rich Voters and Harbourside Views asserted it was also "humbling".

Mr Turnbull used his news conference after his unexpected - but long yearned for - elevation to the Liberal leadership to try to retouch the public's image of him.

"I do not come to the position of leader of the Liberal Party from a lifetime of privilege," he said, just over a day after he slumbered his way back at the pointy end of a plane after attending the Venice architecture biennale.

"I know what it is like to be very short of money. I know what it is like to live in rented flats. I know what it is like to grow up with a single parent, with no support other than a devoted and loyal father."

Mr Turnbull did struggle growing up and is, as Liberal deputy leader Julie Bishop said, an advertisement for "effort and hard work, success and enterprise".

But he also is one of the richest people in Parliament with a family wealth somewhere north of $130 million.

Despite the fact Prime Minister Kevin Rudd's family - thanks to the effort, hard work and enterprise of his wife Therese Rein - is worth at least the same amount, Mr Turnbull gets pinned with the toff and silvertail tag.

This is why every now and then he hops on the local bus from Bondi Beach to Bondi Junction, strap-hanging with the commuters. We can expect to see some more of this in the weeks ahead.

Mr Turnbull spent his first day as leader, well, settling in. Probably because Brendan Nelson's "bring it on" move was so unexpected, the new leader had little to say at his news conference, other than sketch his personal story and set out his commitment to Liberal values (fairness, opportunity, hard work, empowering and enabling were top of the list). Otherwise it was business as usual.

http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,25197,24358417-5013945,00.html

NEW NSW Premier Nathan Rees has dismissed a proposal from his Opposition counterpart for a "dummy spitting tax" as a deterrent against MPs quitting mid-term and forcing costly by-elections.

Opposition Leader Barry O'Farrell proposed yesterday that MPs who quit mid-term should be forced to pay half of their first year's superannuation contributions towards the cost of by-elections in their seats.

His comments come amid a rash of resignations after Mr Rees replaced Morris Iemma as premier more than a week ago. By-elections in the seats of Mr Iemma, former deputy premier John Watkins, former health minister Reba Meagher and former independent Rob Oakeshott will cost taxpayers $1.2 million.

Other MPs including dumped ministers Frank Sartor and Matt Brown are believed to be considering their futures.

Mr Rees said he could understand people would be frustrated about MPs quitting their seats early, but said his Government had no plans to remedy the problem as Mr O'Farrell had suggested. Only a national approach could work. Mr O'Farrell said a "dummy spitting tax" equivalent to six months' super contributions was needed because MPs who quit parliament early ought to suffer some penalty.

"We have four by-elections because sitting MPs decided to bail out early, having presented themselves to the electorate 18 months ago promising to serve a full four-year term," the Opposition Leader said.

Mr Iemma will reportedly walk away with an annual parliamentary pension of $150,000 for life after he quits his western Sydney seat of Lakemba. He entered parliament in 1991.

http://www.smh.com.au/news/national/now-even-rees-rues-the-grim-reba/2008/09/15/1221330747874.html

THEY call her "the Grim" for short and Reba Meagher's haughtiness during a 14-year parliamentary career was up and running yesterday as she delivered one last raspberry to Nathan Rees, the man Labor chose to sweep up the mess she and others left behind.

Handing out how-to-vote cards in her electorate of Cabramatta on Saturday, Ms Meagher had an epiphany that NSW politics would be the better without her. And should she live until 80, say, she'd be better off by way more than $5 million thanks to her taxpayer-funded parliamentary superannuation.

Quickly she emailed the news wire service AAP to announce that she was quitting Cabramatta. Mr Rees was asked about her disappearing act on Sunday and he said she had left a message.

But scorned by the Premier, Ms Meagher was full of fury yesterday: "I would like to respond to comments made by Premier Nathan Rees … regarding the way in which I announced my retirement from the NSW Parliament," she said in another email to AAP.

"I was surprised today to learn of assertions that I left a voice-mail message, or any other message, for Mr Rees or his staff."

With the Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd, exhorting the NSW Labor Government to end the infighting, Ms Meagher made herself unavailable for comment.

But while the Opposition Leader, Barry O'Farrell, weighed in, calling the Premier "a liar", and others thought him a fool, Mr Rees preferred to think of himself as a donkey.

"I made a blunder … when I said that Reba Meagher had left me a message. She hadn't - I'd assumed that," Mr Rees said. "That reminded me of what a schoolteacher used to tell me: 'When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.' "

Ms Meagher's decampment is causing all sorts of problems. Staff at her electorate office have been told to inform constituents she is "on holidays this week" while Labor heavyweights strong-arm her into staying until the October 18 byelection that will cost taxpayers $300,000.

But Ms Meagher has been able to flout political proprieties since she entered Parliament in 1994 as a 27-year-old after winning Cabramatta following the murder of the incumbent Labor MP John Newman.

Her appointment was her reward for capturing the Left-dominated Young Labor for the NSW Right years ago with Joe Tripodi when they were lovers. They were responsible for the lion's share of Labor's gen X and Y recruitment to the dominant faction.

Her last public imbroglio was in August when she and her brand new boyfriend, the former television reporter turned Iemma spin doctor Adam Walters, went drinking and home together, leaving her parliamentary driver all night in the Governor Macquarie Tower basement with his overtime running.