you thought i was done but you were wrong here’s even more south-east queensland gothic:
wet n wild water world closes down for the winter. as you drive past you see a shadowy figure standing atop one of the towers. it gazes across at whitewater world. you experience the vague notion of hunger.
the abc classic fm announcer whispers, panicked, before the station cuts to the distant roar of the entropy of the universe and the echoes of the big bang
you sit in the cool of the south bank IMAX cinema. a hand rests on your left thigh. then another. a third follows. synchronised, they caress you softly.
yellow lid for recycling. green lid for green waste. red lid for general waste. white lid for the viscera of your enemies. chartreuse lid for teeth. glitter lid for regrettable fashion choices.
fallen jacarandas litter the streets, ground into the path by foot traffic. fallen bougainvilleas litter the fields, forgotten, picked clean. when will the bloodshed end?
as you walk along the street the paintings on the traffic control boxes become both more disturbing and more obscure portents of doom. the final one you see is a perfectly rendered copy of the 1979 film ‘Thirst’ surrounded by circling magpies with the word ‘regret’ scrawled across in red letters.
a crowd of protesters march from queen’s park. you cannot discern what they are chanting, and their signs move too fast for you to read. endlessly they pass. people wait to cross the road. people die waiting to cross the road. still they march.
the government starts enforcing healthy options at your school tuckshop this year. salad. wholemeal sandwiches. ennui. whole fruit. juice. low-fat yoghurt. the sensation that disappointment is to come. vegetarian risotto.
thousands are still trapped inside when the entirety of the IKEA store flatpacks itself for its annual migration back to Sweden.
a table full of SALT campaigners loudly hawks their merchandise and pamphlets along a busy footpath. a woman and her girlfriend clap loudly at them. they startle, hissing as they withdraw into the shadows, defeated.
children are herded into a dark van. from a curtain in a corner, a giraffe emerges to teach them about drugs. three weeks later another child has overthrown the giraffe as leader of the newly formed cartel. it is a coup de tete none shall forget.
as you walk through GOMA, one of the paintings begins to sob as you pass it by ‘please don’t leave,’ it begs, ‘it’s so dark here. so cold.’ the plaque beside it simply reads ‘That’s What They All Say.’
a thief stands in the middle of an open field. twenty police officers, three police dogs, and a helicopter surround him. none of them will approach for fear of provoking the plovers that have accepted him as one of their own.
I have such a rampant mistrust for the Sorting Hat. What kind of enchantment lasts a thousand years after its caster’s death? How is this snide piece of regrettable fashion such a master Legilimens that it knows exactly how 11 year old kids are going to turn out? What does it think about while it sits in the Headmaster’s study for untold centuries?
That fucking hat is a Horcrux and nobody can convince me otherwise. And it’s been learning the innermost secrets of every kid to pass through Hogwarts for a millennium and absorbing their power.
The Sorting Hat is going to rise up and murder us all.
sometimes I’m like “well at least I was never one of those people who wore knee length converse” but I have to stop myself because I was one of those people I still have them along with my many regrettable fashion decisions