narratorAUSTRALIA Volume Three
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The blonde (whose name I hadn’t bothered to learn,) swiped a golden card through her hotel room’s electronic lock. The door produced a digital beep and clicked open. The space that met our eyes was as elaborate as it was immense. A hallway of rich mahogany opened out into a semi circular room twice the size of my apartment. The curved extremity of the room was made entirely of window, providing us with a panoramic view of the city. White pillars rose from the white carpet, supporting a white roof. To the left was a bar made of the same wood as the hallway. It was flanked by two doors, one leading to a deluxe bedroom and the other a bathroom of pearl-toned tiles. On the opposite end of the room was a dining table that looked impossible to lift. In the centre sat an overzealous coffee table and a pair of, curiously enough, beige couches populated with red and white cushions.
Edgar waltzed in like he’d been here before. For all I knew he had. Margaret and I made a few obvious remarks about the quality of the room, tip toeing around like intruders and not wanting to touch things. Despite the splendour of our surroundings my interest remained with Margaret. It was all I could do not to stare. Desire and etiquette made a compromise: I cast sporadic glances her way as the blonde showed us things of note around the room. By this stage Edgar had infiltrated the bar. He took obnoxious swigs of whiskey from the bottle, which I felt was inconsistent with his Edgar Symonds persona. The blonde eventually ran out of things to show us. She trotted excitedly in to the bedroom with music in mind, leaving Margaret and I alone near the window. Those hazel eyes were set on me once again. They seemed to express so much at that moment. I felt like a giddy teenager in her presence. What was happening to me? We had barely spoken since leaving the bar so it is hard to explain, suffice to say that there was something in my heart, in my gut even, which simply knew she was the one. No longer would I hold myself back. I wanted so badly to kiss her lips. My arm stretched out to touch Margaret’s pale cheek, and was interrupted at the last second by Donald at the bar.
‘Yo, Smits, come over here a second.’
I maintained my cool and strode across to the mini bar. Donald was clearly impressed with himself, for he spoke with more smugness than usual.
‘I have something for you, Mr Smits.’
He removed a small bag of white powder from a pocket and placed it in my hand. Sensing my curiosity, he answered my question before I’d had a chance to ask it.
‘Enrique,’ he said.
I was about to pour some out on the bench before us, when I was halted. Donald placed his hand on my forearm, shaking his head. He gestured for me to use the bathroom. Apparently he was not in the mood for sharing. There was a kind of bloodshot mania in his eyes. This was common with Donald; the moment he feels he has conquered his prey all illusions simply evaporate. As I made to shut the bathroom door my eyes fell again upon Margaret. She had made her way out to the balcony, through a glass door that blended in seamlessly with the surrounding windows. I never thought I’d be the type to swoon over an elegantly dressed woman standing alone amidst the backdrop of neon lights and skyscrapers. Perhaps it was my assumption that she didn’t really belong here which made the image so endearing to me. I shut the door and – whilst serving myself the largest line of coke I could possibly handle – wondered if perhaps we couldn’t just duck out of here and into a north side dive. It would feel like home after this superfluous penthouse. Donald would get to fuck his blonde bimbo with a gang of monumental twentieth century spires as his audience. I opened my wallet and took a lone five dollar note from within. Ludicrous eighties music played from outside. I’m fairly sure it was from the Scarface montage with the tiger. I put the note to my nostril and breathed in a volume of wafery snow. It is strange how something as simple as powder can change one’s direction at right angles. It was almost instantaneous, my new resolution. Once I had washed my face and given the coke a minute to settle in, I would go out to the balcony and explain to Margaret in the frankest of terms that it had all been a charade. I would ask politely that she say nothing of it to her high school chum, for I had no desire to ruin Donald’s fun. Finally, I would suggest we exit the tower immediately and cross the river en route to a more comfortable place where we could get to know one another. It was that simple. I cleaned up, gave myself a predictably intent stare in the mirror and returned to the living area. This is what I saw ...
Donald had the blonde bent over a beige couch with her dress hitched up above the hips. He was pumping away at her steadily and methodically. This much I could have predicted. Laying face up on the back of the blonde however, was a stark naked Margaret. Donald held her by the knees, drowning himself in her pussy like a bearded wanderer in an oasis. The blonde’s moans were stifled, as were Donald’s. It was Margaret’s that permeated the air. She squealed deliriously, as one might if their feet were tickled incessantly with a goose feather. I stood in the doorway, aghast, wanting desperately to flee yet completely incapable of moving. I had not even conceived of such an act; a fact which to this day I consider evidence of my inferior sexual nature. It was as if I had uncovered a bestiary of grotesque humanoids from distant galaxies. It was the perfect living machine, self sufficient in its limb shaking pleasure giving and taking. I’m not sure how long I spent with eyes plastered on this monstrosity, as it wriggled, writhed, moaned and groaned. It seemed Donald did not require air to survive. I felt unevolved. He would let out occasional growls from the realms of Margaret’s clitoris. To this she produced sounds, which I am ashamed to admit made me semi-erect. At some point Donald remembered me. He lifted his head from Margaret’s nether regions and regarded me quizzically, as if I were a member of the hotel staff there for room service. All the while he continued his absent minded thrusting of the blonde.
‘Mr Smits,’ he announced ponderously.
He wrapped his arms around Margaret and carried her gently to the opposite couch. The blonde turned her head and made a puzzled groan that seemed to say, ‘What’s wrong? Why’d we stop?’ Donald returned to the blonde, with his rod facing west, and gave her a hearty slap on the ass. He wasn’t wearing a condom.
‘Let Mr Smits get some.’
The blonde complied unquestioningly. Without so much as a peep she repositioned herself on the couch and bent over with her rear end facing me. Donald strutted back over to Margaret, who was slumped in the couch with her legs wide open, awaiting his return. I still hadn’t moved. It became apparent to me as I observed the multiple holes on offer – one pink and vertical, the other circular and surrounded by short bleached hair – that my throat had gone numb. In the background Donald had mounted Margaret and to my infinite horror was passionately kissing her. They had stopped fucking; now they were making honeymoon love. I could no longer bear watching. As the cocaine swirled through my bloodstream, as Donald and Margaret stared deeply into one another’s eyes, I stared at the blonde’s asshole. It was wrinkled in a way that made me shudder. I could swear it opened up and started breathing air, expanding and contracting like some kind of deadly rainforest plant that had been filmed over the course of a year and presented to the masses in fast forward, much to their delight. Inside was bleak darkness. It seemed endless; an inner city subway that continued forever before finally opening into daylight. Assuming that I was deliberating on whether or not to ram it, the host wriggled her hindquarters invitingly. Enough was enough. I floated to the balcony like an apparition.
When I first moved to Melbourne it appeared to my naive eyes a vast metropolis, packed with infinite potential. I measured the height of towers in comparison to those I’d been more acquainted with, thinking this a measure of the city’s cultural relevance. Not once did I consider the fact that I do not belong in such towers, nor ever have. My fruitless search for meaning in those immense skyscrapers became apparent to me that evening on the twentieth floor of Crown Towers. I observed them from across the slimy waters of the Yarra River. They were made of steel, concrete and glass. Their proportions varied slightly, and that was all. I wa
s reminded of a prominent tower in my home town which frequently passed from owner to owner. The fluorescent name atop what was then the largest building in the city would change accordingly. We were too smart for such tricks however. It was clearly the same combination of steel, concrete and glass. Only the name had changed.
Wednesday 8 May 2013
Lady Rachel – the Downfall of a Moral Empire
JL Warren
Leura, NSW
Lady Rachel of one generation
idol of confident veneration,
not one in all those hosts
could prophesy murderous ghosts.
The scene of wars to come
a breaking of the little one:
his mind, his moral, his all
one lone ewe coveted sure
bled on altar priestly ruin.
Rich embellishment too soon
the riding hero in his affair.
Lady Rachel, oh virgin stare,
the face frozen deathly awe
made loud the rustle of your
gown. Each secret in the bosom
rent. Lady virgin fallen
to their mocking tones secrets
on display for them to reap it.
My lady a mystery vainly tries
their genius and insane cries
in the street echo to her bed –
Lady Rachel of the pure is dead.
Wednesday 8 May 2013 4 pm
Homo Animal
Andris Heks
Megalong Valley, NSW
I am an animal! No, I am not insane,
I am a human being, but hardly humane!
I gorge on other animals’ flesh, I like it rare,
Sizzling and oozing with hot red blood; what do I care?
All sorts of flesh is grown, fattened and butchered for my delight,
I eat the eggs of battery hens that never see daylight!
But out of sight is out of mind, after all, I am civilised!
Mesmerised, I buy my meat from supermarkets, well sterilised!
Half of the Earth’s people starve, but that’s not my problem,
As long as I am well off, why should I feel rotten?
Yes, I am an animal! Their loss is my gain!
I am a human being, but hardly humane!
I’m well domesticated; yes, I am pretty tame,
Though when I am frustrated, I could kick, spit and maim!
But, of course! I am part of humanity’s brave history:
The holocaust and Iraq are both from the same story!
None of this puzzles me much; I know my terrain:
The world of human animals; that’s my domain!
The newspaper headlines read: ‘THE SEVENTH GRANNY BASHED, ROBBED AND RAPED!’
And: ‘FIFTEEN YEAR OLD KILLS PARENTS, CLASSMATES!’ – More murders, again: aped!
Well, I am not too shocked, shall I say it again?
The world of human animals; that’s my domain!
Oh, I’d just love to become humane … But … not yet!
Meanwhile, I feed on the blood let; lest I forget!
Thursday 9 May 2013
The World that Comes Third
Irene Assumpter
West Perth, WA
I am told you are going to the world that comes third; the road to nowhere.
Let me prepare you. You can trust that I know; I was born there.
Forget what you watched on TV: it is a mixture of exaggerated truths and lies, both real and imaginary.
Rest assured, the roads will be something else. Be prepared, my friend.
Without your consent, the power company will decide when you will have a candle-light dinner.
You will invest in a generator.
Do not worry, not everyone will be begging for coins or food on the street, or posing for photos that will end up on World Vision without their knowledge or consent. There will be people going to work, trying to make ends meet (and hug each other). Not all of them will be crying ‘serikali, government, help me.’ They have children to feed and take to school. Under a huge umbrella or in open air, raining or not, you will see them polishing muddy and dusty shoes, roasting corn and peeling watermelons. Truth be told, the government is no place to put your hopes in.
That, you should know.
I promise you, dust and traffic jams will be the order of the day, but neighbours will say hello every now and again, because it is rude not to murmur a greeting. Remember to show your dental stuff for a few seconds. Now, now, don’t you ever overdo this. You will be asking for trouble.
You do not want trouble around here.
If your world stops, giving relatives may take your child to school if they can, but you will be reminded about it every single minute of your life, and it will be a recurring announcement at weddings, funerals and all other get-togethers. Beware, proof such as fee structures and receipts may be exhibited.
You will talk to more people than necessary. Prices of items will be fixed for the sake of labelling; someone will talk his or her way out of those labels. Unless you are strictly in a supermarket, a ‘let’s talk’ price will call it a day.