Graham’s Newsletter

I couldn’t resist reposting a exert from a letter which popped into my inbox this morning. My Druitt, in Sydney is viewed by some in the same manner as Compton, Los Angeles. My first ever job, in fact, involved selling encyclopaedias door to door out there. A challenging task, to say the least.

 

Dear Inner Circle,

Wayside’s leadership is passing into good hands. Jon Owen and I were in Mount Druitt this week, helping to make a documentary about our succession. We stopped at multiple locations and always someone recognised Jon, embraced him and tried to catch him up on as much news as they could in a few minutes. Each time we jumped back into the car to head to the next location, Jon shared something of the story of the journey he’d shared with the person we just met. After the first couple of these, I was impressed by the compassion of a man who’d shared the worst of human tragedies with people, without for a moment thinking he’s achieved anything special. In one location, we stopped long enough to hear raised, cranky voices. A woman jumped into a car and before our eyes, ran it into the bloke at whom she was yelling. The car knocked the man to the ground and I’d wondered if he might have broken a leg. He quickly jumped up to his feet in time to kick the bonnet of the car before it sped off down the street. I was momentarily in shock. “In this part of the world,” Jon said, “that was just a negotiation.”

Ode to my Kindy Teacherl

I was reading through posts again this morning and ran across one from Cyranny the last words (or maybe all the words) of which dragged back vague memories of a kindergarten teacher of mine from another century who spoke with no apparent direction but with playfulness and love. Perhaps my memories of her have become distorted with time. But does that matter?

How I wish I had known her

And not outgrown her

words that had clattered out

like a runaway train.

And wandered about

off the tracks again and again

only to return to where she had been

to the central theme

Which was love.

How I wish I had touched her

And somehow clutched her

simple truths

so recklessly painted

with her wild word

by rules untainted

And wonder how, now

She might still be heard

Speaking from above.

Shut the door as you leave, Harvey.

Sitting in a hotel lobby (and really tempted to say ‘an’ hotel lobby to show what a dinosaur I am) without any sleep and really a bit fed up with this long life for a selfish moment.

Wading through WordPress posts from nicer people than me hoping to get a little glimpse of sunlight. And then reading a post from Lou which instead goes down a dark alley and leaves me with an urge to write something called ‘Sex and Vomit’, but fingers just freezing in the hover over the keyboard. I cannot, for the time being, do justice to the project.

But I can feel, not for the first time, a guilt about being male.

Not surprising then, that something shallow about Mr Weinstein should find its way onto the page.

I’m a man about town

Out and about

I feed like a beast

On your fear and self-doubt

What insecurity

Will you reveal

When I open your vault

And we close the deal

Over your fences

Under your skin

I’m not playing games

But I’m playing to win

Not seeking approval

Not seeking consent

Nothing has meaning

So nothing is meant.

A Question from a Narcissist

Daily Prompt…. Narcissism

B2767721-8D74-46D8-AD68-49BCA30F993D.jpeg

 

I know that you all love me true
I must admit, I love me too
But at the reading of my will
I wonder if you’ll love me still

Will you see inside the hearse
The centre of your universe?
Life’s meaning for me so unclear
If life goes on when I’m not here

The morning after my demise
I wonder, will the sun still rise?
When I’m done and dusted, dead and gone
I ponder, how will life go on?

Just how vital will I be
When robbed of my vitality?
I’m asking, how will you behave?
Will there be dancing on my grave?

Lying, dying in my pain
In horror that I’ve been so vain
A question from this narcissist
When I’m gone, will I be missed?

 

 

A Family Restaurant

I had reason to visit a ‘Hooters’ franchise in Long Beach, California recently. A friend wanted me to buy a tee shirt for his wife. It was meant as a joke and, apparently, as soon as he was released from hospital they had a good laugh about it.

I was just a little bit surprised, on the day, to discover that they were promoting themselves as a ‘family restaurant’. I had previously assumed that ‘family’ implied that there were lots of things to amuse the kids and that ‘restaurant’ implied a certain minimum standard of nutritional offerings. As far as I could tell, unless the kids were still breast feeding, Hooters were not really keeping up their end of the bargain.

Don’t get me wrong. The staff were friendly and the beer was cold. If not for other commitments I would have been happy to linger. I am just suggesting that a bit of ‘truth in advertising’ might be a appropriate. ‘Cold beer and tits’ would be fine. I doubt that it would have any negative impact on the bottom line.

Anyway …… I would have let this all pass if it were not for a post from Lou. Lou has been a bit quiet of late and it was refreshing to see him back. He has always been a monument to good taste and his thoughts on ‘Hooters’ this morning was no exception.

All this is to preface the fact that my reply to Lou was tasteless, misogynist and misdirected. But I repeat it anyway. Because, just occasionally, that can be a bit liberating.

They stand up straight

And look their best

Deliberately

Puff out their chest

But think me purile

Think me rude

That I am not here

For the food

I do not judge

I do not care

I did not see

My daughter there

I think, though

We have missed the point

If Hooters is

A family joint.

Blessed.

 F2144694-4DAC-4687-8059-F26B8A4412E9.jpeg
I did this one originally (last night) for my little girl, Kate  ,to whom I owe a great debt. And here I am handing it out to everyone else already. And so yet another character flaw is revealed in me …..
 

How blessed am I that you may see
Me naked in my misery
Unburdened of my vanity
And not what I pretend to be

How blessed upon this final day
That you don’t turn your face away
My life, my body, my decay
Embraced by you in every way

How blessed am I upon defeat
That you ignore my long conceit
As I lay dying at your feet
How blessed am I to be complete.

 

Mindlovemisery photo post #214

 

Cool World #1MinFiction

For Nortina

Yesterday, when I was at school

I quickly learned the golden rule

Don’t show your cards, don’t be a fool

Just be cool, be cool, be cool.

It worked OK with friends I’d make

The pretty girls to bed I’d take

But lying there my heart would ache

It was not cool to be a fake.

So now that I am old and grey

They care not what I have to say

I’ve had my turn, I’ve done my day

The cool ones wish I’d go away.