Let us speak of the problem of excessive alcohol consumption. It’s not an isolated issue, it’s a lot more widespread than that. The West Australian booze hound in its native cream brick environment, sporting a jacaranda ensemble.
That semi-regular waking up to the desire to run into incoming traffic.. ready to traverse the cold hard rock splat from the cliff face jump. The urge to rip out your eyes and feed them to a black swan because the tragic beauty of the world is just too much to bare right now…
“Who was I last night?”
You know what you were last night baby.. spiritually possessed by the transparent remnants of old coping strategies. Yet, of course, there are always pros.. but here I am…
I am a whale. I am floating here in whale’s waters.. I am carrying tons. I am a whale. I am an aggressive female. I am an aggressive female whale that is carrying tons. I am an aggressive female whale wearing a pigeon mask.
I am weightless here.
I am guided by the currents here. I am an aggressive female whale here unaware that I am carrying tons. I am ready. I am in my prime and I am ready. Ready to propel myself forward, through soapy crash’s bubble white entourage. Through water’s satin sunshine stain.
I am 5kms off the coast and I am ready for the game. Offal triasic, dogmatic and emphatically ecstatic to the core. Where it seems like everyone’s out to score.
There is a rudimentary sediment forming on the surface of the water.. as you ask yourself…
“What have I really achieved here?”
“What am I really looking for here?”
In the distance, a maritime diva screams out in a rough and golden hue “I don’t know why.. I’m so hard to satisfy!”
… and you blink and the frame receeds into a single particle pirhouetting across a black naked sky. The stars, speckled there are salt jewels, doused in a fog ethereal. Where the brown dog tick is wild-eyed.. chewing rhythmically into, through and out the other side of you. Gently releasing a precession of seedpods blue. That glow from the centre. All in a straight and narrow row.
The kookaburra and the crow.
Where you gunna go? Home?
Where the fucking wind blows?