tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40305932011-04-22T06:32:32.586+10:00gleanA found object paired with an unrelated writing exercise.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comBlogger381100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1175217192356113752007-03-30T12:04:00.000+10:002007-03-30T12:13:12.366+10:00Bucket of PissMaggie is worried about Olivia - so far away.'Don't you get scared when Andy is away?' she asks. Olivia is always upfront with Maggie. There's no point not being.'A bit,' she admits, 'but I have a plan.''A plan? What?' asks Maggie.'I keep a bucket beside the bed,' admits Olivia, 'that I wee into if I need to go in the middle of the night.'The toilet is a long way away, especially inmcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1174387518665404802007-03-20T21:37:00.000+10:002007-03-20T21:45:18.676+10:00Memorial PeopleThey spend a day in the Botanical Gardens. The sky is blue. There are leaves, both falling and fallen. What Olivia notices though is all the memorial chairs. They are just normal park benches, but seemingly every one has been inlaid with a copper plate, etched with the name of a deceased person, their birth and death dates open and closed brackets below.'What will they do if they mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1173572951282512552007-03-11T10:22:00.000+10:002007-03-11T10:29:11.293+10:00Bananas in PyjamasOlivia sometimes turned on the television in the afternoon to the children's shows. B lay on her mat, staring at the venitian blinds, so it was definitely more for Olivia's benenfit than hers. Often it seemed to be 'Bananas in Pyjamas.' Olivia watched it, thinking about how it seemed that the bananas had been reinvented since she was a child. The next time she called Steph she mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1172659374300530062007-02-28T20:40:00.000+10:002007-02-28T20:42:54.310+10:00Every dayAndy goes through an intensely annoying period of 'living every day like it was his last.' It seemed to involve getting up early, running around the park until he came home, streaming with fluid.'We are supposed to be 90 percent water, you know, Andy,' Olivia had warned him. 'Maybe try to keep it that way.'He caught up with people he hadn't seen for yearsmcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1172630026854119322007-02-28T12:27:00.000+10:002007-02-28T12:33:46.856+10:00AndySometimes when Olivia looked at Andy she was struck by how different he looked now. Now that he had a 'real' job. Now that he was no longer just making money for their next overseas adventure. It wasn't just the suit either. Something had shifted about his face. Something had been folded up and packed away. It was like a protective covering had been shaken out over the top. 'You look mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1172629500060308872007-02-28T12:13:00.000+10:002007-02-28T12:25:00.070+10:00NotesOlivia has friends called Jane and William. Jane has a baby the same age as B.Olivia lived for some time as a student in a London squat. There were a number of travellers who stayed there, included Marguerite. It is because of the travellers that Olivia became interested in the idea of travel.It was through Marguerite that she met Andy - he was M's boyfriend originally.I think perhaps M mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1172195672559071352007-02-23T11:41:00.000+10:002007-02-23T11:54:32.573+10:00HouseThey could've chosen something fully renovated, of course. Andy's company was happy to pay the rent on a number of extravagant places in the area that Olivia had decided would be good to live. (Her choice of suburb had been based on such varied sources as Home and Away and Google Earth. Somewhere not too far for Andy's work. Not too far from the city. But close to the beach. Why else would mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1171960402707231182007-02-20T18:26:00.000+10:002007-02-20T18:33:22.706+10:00CopiesOlivia has trouble remembering the kids that she and B meet in the park. It's not that Australian children look so very different to English ones, either, although in this suburb they share a similar colour palette. At home she never had this trouble. In fact, she excelled at it, remembering that Ruby had the teething blush and Sebastian had the gleaming white front teeth ('all the better mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1171959966987009512007-02-20T18:21:00.000+10:002007-02-20T18:26:07.000+10:00Infested Part 2And then she discovers the lice. In fact, it's Andy who first spots them, when they're washing B together in the sink. 'Is that something moving?' he asks, and Olivia is ready to mock and deride - he's always finding things that don't exist - but then, she sees it too. Where have they come from? The playpark? Someone on the park? Gymbaroo? She can't help but feel under siege - mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1171883043514951382007-02-19T20:51:00.000+10:002007-02-19T21:04:03.526+10:00InfestedIt's not long before she feels that they have been infested, outside and in. Firstly, it's the cockroaches that she discovers when she staggers downstairs to use the bathroom in the 'wee small hours'and puts her hand right on one near the light switch. She's horrified by the size of it - it seems so much more monstrously large than the ones she remembers from back home. She finds the mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1169605747818026392007-01-24T12:27:00.000+10:002007-01-24T12:32:16.633+10:00ThisThis is the site for Brian Cronin; the illustrator who did the cover for The Inheritance of Loss. The site doesn't really match the style of his work, but I love a lot of his stuff.There are also some sweet designs on Paulina Reye's site.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1169463328576566032007-01-22T20:51:00.000+10:002007-01-22T20:55:28.586+10:00EatThe weird way I eat now! Tonight for dinner, this: two roast potatoes, left over chicken from the baby's dinner. Yoghurt. The stone from a mango (the baby having eaten the flesh from the cheeks earlier, scored, then carved out in cubes). And chocolate. So much chocolate! I never really liked it that much before. But now - every day.I ferret through the cupboards late at night, rustling quietlymcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1169360014726314202007-01-21T16:08:00.000+10:002007-01-21T16:13:34.736+10:00SandalsFinally, finally, she gets a chance to buy new sandals. The old ones had taken to whimpering and snarling when she approached. Even the baby, with her fetish for returning shoes to their owners, avoided them. The last pair had been the two strap model but this time, she buys the three straps. After two months of summer the tops of her feet have taken up their sun-tattoo; there is a dark mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1079647456000819922004-03-19T08:04:00.000+10:002004-03-19T08:07:31.356+10:00Lavender
It's her grandmother who introduces her to the art of flower pressing. On walks together they collect pansies, lavender, daisies then put them between the pages of thick books. "The bible is best" says her grandmother "Although poetry anthologies can do nicely as well." One day she finds a rose on the footpath and puts it in the Old Testament. When she checks on it several weeks later a mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1073282796967243732004-01-05T16:06:00.000+10:002004-01-05T16:08:14.936+10:00Volcano
She's bored.
It's late afternoon now and she's here under duress anyway (his friends, not hers) and the promised timeframe of one hour has long since passed. She plays with the sugar dispenser, loosening the top. She imagines the next person to pick it up, turn its snout towards their coffee cup, and pictures the avalanche of sugar that will pour forth, leaving a white volcano melting mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1072219835762312282003-12-24T08:50:00.000+10:002003-12-24T08:51:56.890+10:00The Construction
He wasn't really sure why he started to build it, and afterwards, all he could say was that in his mind, it had been something very small, something that could fit in a matchbox. He had never expected that once he started to build, it would grow until he had to wheel it out of the workshed and continue working on it in the backyard under a plastic canopy, to keep the rain off.
mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-1072130974176903792003-12-23T08:09:00.000+10:002003-12-23T08:10:54.543+10:00The Lake
Two small school boys were the first to notice the change to the lake, as they ambled to school. Other people had been in the area before them that morning - a street sweeper, for instance, doing the rounds of the suburb before light had passed withing metres of the lake, but hadn't registered the change. A homeless man had even spent the night on the lake's bank. He had lain there, mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-921341262003-04-07T17:01:00.000+10:002003-04-07T17:02:31.000+10:00Reluctant
This is what it comes down to, in the end. The reluctance of a mind to admit that it is ageing, the body pretending that everything's just fine, just the same as always. But it's not, of course, and it won't be long before your mind is like a malfunctioning photocopier, firing out blurred or even blank pages that go straight into the recycling box.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-917551072003-04-01T14:33:00.000+10:002003-04-01T14:33:17.560+10:00Action
She knows how she is going to die: an accident while crossing the road. No fortune teller has told her this, no near-miss has given her a pre-emptive feeling. She just knows it. But she does not know when and because of this each crossing carries with it a flick-knife sensation of uncertainty.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-916702262003-03-31T09:03:00.000+10:002003-03-31T09:03:12.716+10:00Sabotage
They are standing in the bookshop, face to face.
He is holding a book on Thai Cooking, she has one on Military Sabotage.
"No" she is saying "No I don't think so. I don't think that's a good idea at all."
He doesn't say much at all, his face a ripe tomato, battered with papercuts.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-914384402003-03-27T08:25:00.000+10:002003-03-27T08:27:22.000+10:00Sleeve
She takes the record out of its sleeve. It crackles slightly with static electricity. The disc is black and perfect. Shiny. No, glossy. "How delicious it looks" she thinks. She wants to take a bite out of it, can imagine how crunchy it might feel between her teeth.
mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-900269672003-03-03T12:49:00.000+10:002003-12-23T08:11:44.420+10:00Listen
It was weeks before they found me, and even then I'd changed so much they could not believe at first that I was, in fact, the same person.
And so they pressed ears against my chest (now downy and soft), looked into my pupils (now hard and black)
Their faces folded inwards like swinging doors as they listened to my bird heart pulsing away below.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-877720152003-01-21T17:12:00.000+10:002003-12-23T08:12:06.246+10:00Smile
She hates it most of all when people pass her on the street and say "Smile darling, it won't hurt you."
It makes her want to yell "But my brother just died. Why would I want to smile?"
(She doesn't actually have a brother so it feels safe to lie like this.)mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-874971452003-01-16T07:58:00.000+10:002003-12-23T08:12:41.543+10:00Sin
There is something very sad about a city with no fountains. "Water, decoratively delivered, hides a multitude of architectual sins" he said to me one day. He had a knack of making me feel the stranger in my own town. "Without water.." he said, confidentially, " ...a city is bleak and desolate.To continuously turn corners without that potential promise of a fountain is a calamity."mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-874051082003-01-14T16:38:00.000+10:002003-01-16T07:58:37.000+10:00Dragon / Symbol
He is a tram driver and yet he is lost.
Believe it- this is not easy to do.
(especially as he does this everyday)
(especially as trams cannot deviate from their tracks)
A fog has covered his thoughts like a houndstooth jacket on a shyster and subsequently the street signs no longer make sense to him-
meaningless symbols, arbitrary geometric arrangements.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-873277072003-01-13T11:11:00.000+10:002003-01-14T16:43:35.000+10:00Plane / Flash
The morning streets are deserted except for me, the old and the insane. There is one woman I pass each morning while the light flashes and glints on newly-hosed pathways. She feeds old cake to the pigeons and argues with her dead mother, who contacts her through the patterns and sounds made by the birds. The birds/dead mother eat the stale offerings but do not bother to argue mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-872056992003-01-10T16:11:00.000+10:002003-01-13T12:59:27.000+10:00Hair Clip / Weight
It was nearly fifteen years before I saw her again. Funny thing though. As we sat there, in that nothingy, convenient cafe, it was as if I could see all the frames of her life that had occurred in my absence flicker in front of me: the hair-style changes, the fluctuations in weight, the flirtation with (and eventual dismissal of) current fashion.
Timelapse. I thought.
The mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-871319092003-01-09T08:04:00.000+10:002003-01-10T16:09:53.000+10:00Hair Clip / Shell
"Give me a word in your shell-like" he says, leaning in. Red, damp face, gut spilling over his straining belt. His hand is lurching towards your shoulder.
Drop everything.
Run.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-870785092003-01-08T07:56:00.000+10:002003-01-09T08:03:10.000+10:00Sultana Box / Smoke
It's not a relationship I would wish to emmulate. She is the cigarette, tall, straight, burning bright, while he is the smoke that wafts along behind her- annoying and rather smelly.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-870283642003-01-07T08:59:00.000+10:002003-01-08T07:55:43.000+10:00Cookery Card / Halo
They are a young couple and they are arguing on the street. It's kind of a mock fight, I realise. She turns away from him with a "Hunf" noise but I see her smile. He waits. Sun behind his head makes his ears glow red. His hair a halo.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-869755882003-01-06T08:09:00.000+10:002003-01-07T12:51:19.000+10:00Cookery Card / Frame
She stroked my hair:
"Oh she's so lovely, so lovely!" she said over my shoulder, as if I wasn't there at all, as if I were something flat and framed on a wall, or a small, soft animal, trembling on the hearth.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-868475682003-01-03T08:40:00.000+10:002003-01-06T08:09:24.000+10:00Cookery Card / Hatch
Bold as brass that pigeons was. I sensed its beady orange eyes glaring down from the top of the cupboard. Pigeon intruder in our kitchen. It'd built a nest and intended to hatch and raise a family. Its home in our home.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-868163532003-01-02T15:58:00.000+10:002003-01-03T08:39:44.000+10:00Car Note / Settle
Now I think of it, her face reminds me of a Panetone- round, speckled with fruit. She grabs my arm. Tight.
Says
"sit in the chair, ok, just settle down
and we'll see. Maybe there'll be time, maybe there won't.
No promising."
As if.
Her forehead leaks moisture, insistently.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-864088042002-12-23T08:19:00.000+10:002003-01-02T15:55:31.000+10:00Globe bugs / Burst
This is how he feels: like a big bag filled with water (or some similar substance) that is about to burst. He bulges in a most alarming manner. The others move away from him and snigger from the back of the bus.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-862884632002-12-20T07:57:00.000+10:002002-12-23T08:16:14.000+10:00Drip Poster / Ladder
So she says to him:
"You are ladder-like in your ways;
expandable, contractable
and always in the shed when I need you"mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-862382472002-12-19T08:02:00.000+10:002002-12-20T07:54:59.000+10:00Mental Mints / Indentity
She slodders across the restaurant towards me, like jelly in an avalanche, her identity-kit features further blurred by the diatribe of her makeup.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-861851862002-12-18T07:48:00.000+10:002002-12-19T08:04:43.000+10:00Spanish Paprika / Shallow
He is as shallow as a wading pool and his warmth is just as suspect. "Has your tan been sprayed on?" I ask. "You look a little orange."
mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030593.post-861311482002-12-17T08:05:00.000+10:002002-12-18T08:23:35.000+10:00Wiggles Juice Box / Spotlight
The spotlight is broken- and the beam splutters across his face like milk shuddering from a frozen bottle- spurts, then stops, then starts again.mcbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com