Thursday, November 24, 2005

I want to ride my bicycle

Boys on bikes for a cause. Team Dave (and only one of us a true Dave) went 210km Around the Bay in a Day in October. Port Phillip Bay, that is, the big loopy thing reaches two big claws out around Melbourne. 110km to Queenscliff on the Bellarine Peninsula, then lunch, a 40 minute ferry (packed with pushies) to Sorrento, and then another tough 100 back to Melbourne.

At the end, beeline straight to the Docklands beertent where this photo was taken. Weary, happy, Radmeisters all

Dec 31, 1999
This pencil struggles, quivers and refuses to unleash its lead
as I cross-examine in the Supreme Court of my head
let no stone be unturned in defence
describe my whether before the fog gets too dense
We want the unvarnished story of the night before
before its harnessed truth descends into lore
Please tell us, did you enjoy your countdown time
were there two thousand ways to leave 1999?
on how many levels did you engage
was it worth the 1,700 km pilgrimage?
did you recover from your huffy party start
when you turned down the role of the starring tart?
unready to drink from this party cup
no imagination left for the group dress-up
in tokened effort hesitantly down the stairs
taking despondent steps between distracted prayers
But in spite of wishing you’d never therebeen
you risked the sceptred wrath of the gilded queen
your pointless effort to blend at the back
but majesty demands you be put to rack
you were released on bad behaviour from your party prison
a witness protection scheme of inspired girlish vision
Aided by alcohol and becoming teethkeen
you smiled up from under the guillotine
“give me the head of the Barry Pissed” she cried
who painted your crown in multicolours well-supplied
though others chanted a faint disgust
as your hooligan hair became crimson rust
the identikit mugshot of party photographs
will take its place in memories library of laughs
not the bastard offspring of asylum and penitentiary
but clowning to the music of the end of the century
worshipping at the floor of an alcoholic tabernacle
awaiting the visitation of oft-spoken tackle
their double daring drinking game wove its spell
and sextruth peeped out from under its shell
then the sudden arrival of an unwanted intruder
stops the party faithful from becoming lewder
and apart from a whimsical visit of the talking buttocks
lock and key were kept firmly on all jocks
but now the unknown ones had made their call
we were suddenly placed in an upside down ball
and to escape the outsiders, they fire-blazed a diversion
which inevitably led to alien conversion
they knew all their tactics were in vain
and surrendered to this parasite pain
reluctantly accepting this insidious encroaching
they turned their thoughts to midnight approaching
with champagne fluters and flares set off in the dark
for a private party in a public park
a caravanserai of wandering Turks
bowing to the Great god of Fireworks
fighting a curious foreboding as a city poises
then a twelve o’ clock eruption of war-like noises
eerily blasting off loud-silent shadows behind city buildings
shone fleeting shapes, disappearing blues, diaphanous rings
as it ended, excitement was assuaged
the beast of ennui became uncaged
a blanketing sense of misplaced importance
flagrantly fed a gnawing impotence
the book overshadowed by its glowing cover
gleefully shouts “thats all folks, its over”

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