Joe
*
As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.
And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
'Love has no ending.
'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,
'I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.
'The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.'
But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.
'In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.
'In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.
W.H. Auden
Once upon a time; but that time was so long ago. He had been shattered and reassembled so often the cracks showed all over him, like a dissembling egg. They had called out "murderer" after Joe's death; for Joe had loved him and he had been a heartless fool. "Murderer, murderer," and he swished his hips and pretended not to care, there in the dark spaces around the Alemain fountain, in the shadows where drug deals and soliciting, the nether world exchanges of the human soul, took place. Oh yes there were rhythms, days when it all made sense. But not then. Deeply alcoholic, Joe had fallen head over heels. His tiny frame, his effervescent personality, their moments together when he gave it away for nothing, when, drunk to the point of barely being able to stand up, they went back to Joe's little place in Ward Avenue, and in hte blur of alcoholic depravity they made love.
All was not lost, but it had seemed that way, the blur of their time together, the way their eyes and their hearts lit up when they saw each other, the way he abandoned his sugar daddy bought sports car in the back lanes of Kings Cross, failed to go home to the expensive apartment provided for him. He wanted to be at the heart of the matter. He wanted to live a life rich in meaning and experience. He wanted to understand everything, be everything, know everything. And most of all he wanted to understand, to document, the Rex Hotel, the Bottoms Up bar, the murky darkness where the fish tanks bubbled through the evening and the fish lived out their peculiar lives while in front of them we all descended into hell: another round, another round. Joe wasn't used to it. He didn't know what to make of it.
He had warned him. You can't love me. I'm working. Or if not working, surviving. I don't do it for love. I don't even do it for fun. It's never been fun. I've never actually liked it. They can make me come and get all excited, but in my heart of hearts I couldn't care less, for I was the one with a heart of stone. But Joe didn't believe him, and fell hook line and sinker. He would be there at 11am, in the bar, waiting to see him, to catch a glimpse. He would wander in with his little gang of juvenile miscreants, into that dark space where the moss hung from the wools in evil tendrils and the stroking touch of old queens was everywhere; he would sit there and wait. The others had clients to catch, tricks to do. He had already been bought; and was far more successful than any of them. He liked the idea of being a high class rent boy.
His assignations with Joe were under the table, so to speak, unpaid for, one of the only people in years he had been off with and not demanded money. Joe was from Ireland, and despite his tiny frame could drink as well as any Irishman. They would start drinking before midday and drink all day, while outside the sun passed through the sky and the office workers went to work and came back home, the city went about its duties. The day Joe drank himself to death was only a few days, perhaps a week, after he had told him he couldn't see him anymore. He couldn't see him because he didn't have it in him; to service his benefactor and service him as well, even if he was a nice bloke and he genuinely liked him, he wasn't going to give up his smart car and his smart apartment and his ready money, just for love. Bugger that. There was the rest of life to be in love, now he was handsome and ready to exploit the fact.
Joe didn't take it well. In fact was heartbroken, so he heard from mutual acquaintances. Joe had gone into the pub early that day, perhaps hoping to see him, and from all reports began drinking scotch early. They estimated he had drunk the equivalent of three bottles of scotch when he was found dead in his apartment later that day; that day when he had told everybody about his love, about his heartbreak, his longing, the boy he wanted to love forever. But why fall in love with a rent boy, how stupid could you be, that was his point. He had never given him false expectation, but in the few weeks when they got drunk together and went home together, something had blossomed which could have been profound. Emotional blackmail. They were all at it. His first lover had also attempted suicide after they broke up; and he wasn't going to let any of them touch him, his heart, his soul, were the only parts not for sale. But Joe died in dismal circumstances with a broken heart, and it was all his fault.
And when, as he walked the streets and they called out "murderer, murderer" from the passing cars, he knew he deserved it. He never went to the funeral. He would probably have been lynched.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/8122579.stm
The Iraqi authorities are tightening security in preparation for next Tuesday's deadline for US soldiers to pull out of the country's cities.
All police leave has been cancelled and extra troops have been drafted in, amid a spate of bomb attacks this week which has left 250 people dead.
Prime Minister Nouri Maliki says the attacks may be aimed at stirring up sectarian tensions.
But he says he is confident his government can safeguard security.
"[The attackers] want to sweep delight from the Iraqi people's hearts. They have revealed their real intentions," said Mr Maliki.
"But this will not bend our determination and will for what we have agreed upon - that is, to return security responsibilities to our military and police forces."
US forces have already left many bases in cities such as Baghdad.
But our correspondent says the troops are not far away, in positions just outside urban areas where they are poised to intervene should they be called on to help by the Iraqi forces.
Most of the deadly bombings this week have targeted Shia areas - leading the Iraqi authorities to blame Sunni militants from the al-Qaeda group.
The authorities have beefed up security across urban areas - with special attention given to controlling access to markets.
Militants have frequently targeted markets, hoping to inflict as many casualties as possible.
http://www.skynews.com.au/politics/article.aspx?id=346573
The federal government has dumped its once-much-promoted Grocery Choice price-monitoring website.
The announcing came late yesterday with Consumer Affairs Minister Craig Emerson conceding the website was not achieving what the government had had in mind when it was launched.
The decision came after Senator Nick Xenophon and Nationals Senate Leader Barnaby Joyce introduced a private member's bill to end geographic price discrimination.
That bill would forces supermarket chains to charge the same price for their goods in shops within a 35-kilometre radius preventing unrealistic price drops targeted at competitors in one locality.
Choice says the decision to pull the website suggests supermarkets were worried they'd lose their market power.
http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,25700275-662,00.html
NEW pictures have emerged of Kevin Rudd and members of Brisbane's 51 Club - whose president, John Grant, is the used car dealer at the centre of the Ute-gate row.
Mr Rudd has denied membership of the club, saying through a spokeswoman he had only dined with them once while in opposition.
Club member Allan Mair has said Mr Rudd's links to the club go back a decade.
The pictures obtained by the Sunday Herald Sun show Mr Rudd posing with club members outside the Cabinet Room in Federal Parliament, a highly secure area requiring special clearance to access.
Other photos show members of the club lounging in the Cabinet anteroom - also a secure area -- with Queensland Labor MP Bernie Ripoll, the backbencher who first asked Treasurer Wayne Swan to help Mr Grant access government finance through its OzCar scheme.
Another picture shows an unidentified club member obscuring the "no" part of a "No Access" sign outside the Cabinet Room.
The photos are understood to have been taken last October.
The club's website - which has been removed - billed itself as having "strong links to the corridors of power".
The OzCar row dominated Parliament during the week as Opposition Leader Malcolm Turnbull pursued Treasurer Wayne Swan over emails that allegedly showed Mr Grant received special treatment from Mr Swan and Treasury officials.
As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.
And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
'Love has no ending.
'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,
'I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.
'The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.'
But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.
'In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.
'In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.
W.H. Auden
Once upon a time; but that time was so long ago. He had been shattered and reassembled so often the cracks showed all over him, like a dissembling egg. They had called out "murderer" after Joe's death; for Joe had loved him and he had been a heartless fool. "Murderer, murderer," and he swished his hips and pretended not to care, there in the dark spaces around the Alemain fountain, in the shadows where drug deals and soliciting, the nether world exchanges of the human soul, took place. Oh yes there were rhythms, days when it all made sense. But not then. Deeply alcoholic, Joe had fallen head over heels. His tiny frame, his effervescent personality, their moments together when he gave it away for nothing, when, drunk to the point of barely being able to stand up, they went back to Joe's little place in Ward Avenue, and in hte blur of alcoholic depravity they made love.
All was not lost, but it had seemed that way, the blur of their time together, the way their eyes and their hearts lit up when they saw each other, the way he abandoned his sugar daddy bought sports car in the back lanes of Kings Cross, failed to go home to the expensive apartment provided for him. He wanted to be at the heart of the matter. He wanted to live a life rich in meaning and experience. He wanted to understand everything, be everything, know everything. And most of all he wanted to understand, to document, the Rex Hotel, the Bottoms Up bar, the murky darkness where the fish tanks bubbled through the evening and the fish lived out their peculiar lives while in front of them we all descended into hell: another round, another round. Joe wasn't used to it. He didn't know what to make of it.
He had warned him. You can't love me. I'm working. Or if not working, surviving. I don't do it for love. I don't even do it for fun. It's never been fun. I've never actually liked it. They can make me come and get all excited, but in my heart of hearts I couldn't care less, for I was the one with a heart of stone. But Joe didn't believe him, and fell hook line and sinker. He would be there at 11am, in the bar, waiting to see him, to catch a glimpse. He would wander in with his little gang of juvenile miscreants, into that dark space where the moss hung from the wools in evil tendrils and the stroking touch of old queens was everywhere; he would sit there and wait. The others had clients to catch, tricks to do. He had already been bought; and was far more successful than any of them. He liked the idea of being a high class rent boy.
His assignations with Joe were under the table, so to speak, unpaid for, one of the only people in years he had been off with and not demanded money. Joe was from Ireland, and despite his tiny frame could drink as well as any Irishman. They would start drinking before midday and drink all day, while outside the sun passed through the sky and the office workers went to work and came back home, the city went about its duties. The day Joe drank himself to death was only a few days, perhaps a week, after he had told him he couldn't see him anymore. He couldn't see him because he didn't have it in him; to service his benefactor and service him as well, even if he was a nice bloke and he genuinely liked him, he wasn't going to give up his smart car and his smart apartment and his ready money, just for love. Bugger that. There was the rest of life to be in love, now he was handsome and ready to exploit the fact.
Joe didn't take it well. In fact was heartbroken, so he heard from mutual acquaintances. Joe had gone into the pub early that day, perhaps hoping to see him, and from all reports began drinking scotch early. They estimated he had drunk the equivalent of three bottles of scotch when he was found dead in his apartment later that day; that day when he had told everybody about his love, about his heartbreak, his longing, the boy he wanted to love forever. But why fall in love with a rent boy, how stupid could you be, that was his point. He had never given him false expectation, but in the few weeks when they got drunk together and went home together, something had blossomed which could have been profound. Emotional blackmail. They were all at it. His first lover had also attempted suicide after they broke up; and he wasn't going to let any of them touch him, his heart, his soul, were the only parts not for sale. But Joe died in dismal circumstances with a broken heart, and it was all his fault.
And when, as he walked the streets and they called out "murderer, murderer" from the passing cars, he knew he deserved it. He never went to the funeral. He would probably have been lynched.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/8122579.stm
The Iraqi authorities are tightening security in preparation for next Tuesday's deadline for US soldiers to pull out of the country's cities.
All police leave has been cancelled and extra troops have been drafted in, amid a spate of bomb attacks this week which has left 250 people dead.
Prime Minister Nouri Maliki says the attacks may be aimed at stirring up sectarian tensions.
But he says he is confident his government can safeguard security.
"[The attackers] want to sweep delight from the Iraqi people's hearts. They have revealed their real intentions," said Mr Maliki.
"But this will not bend our determination and will for what we have agreed upon - that is, to return security responsibilities to our military and police forces."
US forces have already left many bases in cities such as Baghdad.
But our correspondent says the troops are not far away, in positions just outside urban areas where they are poised to intervene should they be called on to help by the Iraqi forces.
Most of the deadly bombings this week have targeted Shia areas - leading the Iraqi authorities to blame Sunni militants from the al-Qaeda group.
The authorities have beefed up security across urban areas - with special attention given to controlling access to markets.
Militants have frequently targeted markets, hoping to inflict as many casualties as possible.
http://www.skynews.com.au/politics/article.aspx?id=346573
The federal government has dumped its once-much-promoted Grocery Choice price-monitoring website.
The announcing came late yesterday with Consumer Affairs Minister Craig Emerson conceding the website was not achieving what the government had had in mind when it was launched.
The decision came after Senator Nick Xenophon and Nationals Senate Leader Barnaby Joyce introduced a private member's bill to end geographic price discrimination.
That bill would forces supermarket chains to charge the same price for their goods in shops within a 35-kilometre radius preventing unrealistic price drops targeted at competitors in one locality.
Choice says the decision to pull the website suggests supermarkets were worried they'd lose their market power.
http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,25700275-662,00.html
NEW pictures have emerged of Kevin Rudd and members of Brisbane's 51 Club - whose president, John Grant, is the used car dealer at the centre of the Ute-gate row.
Mr Rudd has denied membership of the club, saying through a spokeswoman he had only dined with them once while in opposition.
Club member Allan Mair has said Mr Rudd's links to the club go back a decade.
The pictures obtained by the Sunday Herald Sun show Mr Rudd posing with club members outside the Cabinet Room in Federal Parliament, a highly secure area requiring special clearance to access.
Other photos show members of the club lounging in the Cabinet anteroom - also a secure area -- with Queensland Labor MP Bernie Ripoll, the backbencher who first asked Treasurer Wayne Swan to help Mr Grant access government finance through its OzCar scheme.
Another picture shows an unidentified club member obscuring the "no" part of a "No Access" sign outside the Cabinet Room.
The photos are understood to have been taken last October.
The club's website - which has been removed - billed itself as having "strong links to the corridors of power".
The OzCar row dominated Parliament during the week as Opposition Leader Malcolm Turnbull pursued Treasurer Wayne Swan over emails that allegedly showed Mr Grant received special treatment from Mr Swan and Treasury officials.
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