Secondment

*



The children are walking back from the beach
Sun on the sidewalk is burning their feet
Washing the salt off under the shower
And just wasting away, wasting away
The hours and hours and hours

Come on, climb over your father's back fence
For the very last time we'll take the shortcut across his lawn
Then lie together on the estuary bed
Perfectly still, perfectly warm

Sleep no more
Sleep is dead
Sleep no more on the estuary bed
Ache no more
Old skin is shed
Sleep no more on the estuary bed

I see you still
I know not rest
Silt returns along the passage of flesh
I hear your voice
I taste the salt
I bear the stain, it won't wash off
I hold you not
But I see you still
What use eyesight if it should melt?
What use memory covered in estuary silt?

I know your shape
Our limbs entwined
I know your name, remember mine

Sleep no more
Sleep is dead
Sleep no more on the estuary bed
Ache no more
Old skin is shed
Sleep no more on the estuary bed

Estuary Bed, The Triffids.



Oh, unique salvation, playing in the sand, it suddenly struck him: all his Christmases had come at once. Every step on this strange planet was profound. Moon walking, the diseased mind, they showed pictures of the Pied Piper, the child molester, Michael Jackson surrounded by hordes of children, the secret bedroom, porcelain dolls lining each step. And still the public forgave. Jackson was the worst example of someone who had never heard the words: No. Catch me if you can, that's what he was saying, the ped chaser intoned. These things had haunted all our lives. And yet the mainstream mourned his death; the stations played his music. Genius they said. This overblown character, this sad but sick transformation. There had been so many nuances. The past had been so dark. All news was bad news. If you see me coming you're having the worst day of your life, he was fond of saying, and this dark regret was all that he could muster, the vague semblance of humanity, he who had been sent to observe.

The planet was so complex, the life forms all parasitic, he had had great trouble entering into the species. Farewell to the dead, that's what he wanted to say. To lament the passing of a generation. Oh darkness, embrace me. And the chirpy little voice: hey oblivion seeker, I'm here, I'm here. You could always hear the stern voices of the zealots, the god botherers and the step Nazis, those who had nothing better to do with their lives, it's our way or the highway. He had never believed. And yet his scepticism was masked by his willingness to conform. I was effed and now I'm fabulous and I owe it all to you guys. Half of Australia sits up all night, watching Lleyton play Roddick, the nation holding its breath as every ball sails over the net. As a kid he had played at the courts at Bayview, been on the school team. How's things at your place? The journalists hovered. The politicians gave their polished, bland performances.

And he didn't believe, didn't believe, in any of it anymore. The words had played forth over the pages, over the years, dictating their own life, not just the snail trail but a record of a grander, more difficult time. Nothing had been aced, because nothing made sense, the shifting self definitions had been cycling through at such blurring speed that there was no real person left. He stood on the corner of Oxford Street as the sun came up, waiting, waiting, for a handsome love, for an intoxicating river, for something that would come along and rescue him, make sense of his life. It was not to be and was never to be and the decline was now accelerating, his path towards a street alcoholic already visible to those who cared to see. He didn't understand what was happening, didn't understand his own decline. As far as he was concerned, he was still having a great time, the party was not over.

But the dripping fear on wet walls, the tendrils of decay that now grew along the bar walls, the misshapen shapes of the bar warriors and the weird, angulated, sick, pale, evil face of the barman, that was new. He hadn't realised what was happening. He still thought he was embarked on some profound adventure, and would ultimately survive, do well. But what to others was nothing but a bit of relaxation at the end of the working day had become to him everything. He loved the characters, the stories, the personalities, the hidden tension in the air, who's going with who, who's sleeping with who. What's this, the vicious little bitch said, rubbing his fingers together? The biggest joint in the world, rolled just for you. And the bitch died of Aids, smothered by his boyfriend. And he sat drinking bourbon and cokes, his dark drink for a dark night, the black river engulfing him. "I don't know what you're like normally but you seem drunk, not your usual self. You're probably actually quite a nice person." He shrugged, he didn't care, he truly didn't care.

There was no one there to say, I love you. There was no one to warn him as to what was happening. No one to throw a friendly arm around his shoulder. To say, old friend, turn back, turn yourself in, you need to go to hospital, to detox, to change your life. The decline was terminal. Only that week he had seen dead bodies in the morgue; the puffy faces of the John Does, the street alcoholics who died without a name, without a family, without friends. And suddenly he saw the same puffiness in the faces all around him, in his drinking companions. He knew he was battling death on a nightly basis. He knew the oblivion seeking, his endless predilections, were turning on him. And yet he saw no other alternative but to drown his consciousness in alcohol, ever more alcohol. To drift still further from the normal world. To stay up all night, as if he was still a young stud instead of a man in his 30s. Drinking, drinking, that's all they did. Gathering in the afternoons at their special table at the Oxford, watching the evening turn into night, gossiping, perving at the office workers as they made their way home or stood at the bus stop outside the bar.



THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www.news.com.au/adelaidenow/story/0,22606,25711333-5015839,00.html

TWO lucky people have shared the biggest Tattslotto draw in Australian history.

Tattslotto said the two winners were from Queensland and South Australia.

Unprecedented demand for tickets blew this week’s first division total to more than $106 million - more than $16 million more than the expected $90 million first division prize pool, the Herald Sun reports.

The lucky numbers drawn were: 12, 3, 38, 21, 23, 29, 40 and supplementary numbers 43 and 22.

Tattersalls had guaranteed a minimum first division prize pool of $90 million, but spokeswoman Karen Anning said huge sales today had pushed the prize pool higher.

Queues formed outside many Oz Lotto agents yesterday and the lines of fortune hunters grew even longer today.

Many newsagents stayed open an hour later than usual tonight to handle the rush, but were required by law to shut shop at 7.30pm.

"Nationally we have had 10 million entries, close to three million in Victoria and two million in Queensland,'' Ms Anning said.

"We are receiving approximately 200,000 entries an hour in Victoria.''

NSW Lotteries Communications Manager John Vineburg said it was predicted that half of the adult population would have bought a ticket in tonight's draw.

The Oz Lotto jackpot soared to a record $90 million after there were no first division winners in the June 23 draw.

http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5hwK_CSpBxsNuVUEaDuOwmSSCiqGwD9954P1G2

Car bomb kills at least 27 people in Iraqi city

By PATRICK QUINN – 46 minutes ago

BAGHDAD (AP) — A car bomb exploded in a crowded outdoor market in the northern city of Kirkuk on Tuesday, killing at least 27 people, police said, a deadly reminder of the challenges facing the Iraqi government even as it celebrated the withdrawal of U.S. combat troops from cities.

The bombing marred what had otherwise been a festive day as Iraqis commemorated the newly declared National Sovereignty Day with military parades and marching bands. It also came hours after four U.S. soldiers were killed in combat Monday in Baghdad. Although there were no immediate claims of responsibility, the bombing and the way it was carried out bore the hallmarks of al-Qaida in Iraq.

Despite the violence, Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki assured Iraqis that government forces taking control of urban areas were more than capable of ensuring security.

"Those who think that Iraqis are not able to protect their country and that the withdrawal of foreign forces will create a security vacuum are committing a big mistake," he said in a nationally televised address.

He later appeared at a military parade to mark the day in the walled-off Green Zone in central Baghdad, with soldiers and policemen marching in formation while Iraqi helicopters flew overhead.

The withdrawal, which was completed on Monday, was part of a U.S.-Iraqi security pact and marks the first major step toward withdrawing all American forces from the country by Dec. 31, 2011. President Barack Obama has said all combat troops will be gone by the end of August 2010.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1196158/Michael-Jackson-death-foul-play-claims-father-Joe.html

Michael Jackson's father has claimed his son's death was linked to 'foul play'.

Joe Jackson said he had 'suspicions' about how the superstar could be alive one moment and dead the next.

He told California's ABC7 new channel: 'Michael was dead before he left the house. I'm suspecting foul play somewhere.

'He was waving to everybody and telling them he loves them and all the fans at the gate, a few minutes after Michael was out there, he was dead.'

In a second interview at the Black Entertainment Awards, the 80-year-old alluded to the Jackson family's fears over the singer's death.

He told a CNN reporter: 'Yes I am. I have a lot of concerns. I can't get into that but I don't like what happened.'

The Jackson family lawyer Londell McMillan then stepped in, saying: 'We cant talk about that right now - there is a second autopsy underway. We will let that process take its course, we will have more to say at a later time.'

Bizarrely, Mr Jackson then went on to use the interview to plug his record company.

The development comes after it was revealed that Michael Jackson’s aides took an astonishing 50 minutes to call an ambulance, it was revealed last night.

Their 911 emergency call was not made until frantic attempts to resuscitate him had failed.

The entire drama was witnessed by the singer’s 12-year-old eldest child Prince - who thought his father was clowning around before a doctor began pumping his chest to try to start his heart.