Fill Up Your Attic With Brand New Shoes

2004

first published: Oilcrash.com

Fill up your attic with brand new shoes
a pair a week until the oil-crash news
pick sizes and styles that will sell and last
because when there’s no cars shoes wear out fast

Don’t tell a soul (I intend no pun)
you can’t defend against a grim mans gun
pack some for you - you’ll need some too
and maybe some tacks and maybe some glue

and all the things that strugglers need
some axes and shovels and long-life seeds
and fishing tackle and guns and bows
and books on things that nobody knows

and needles and thread and lots of wool
and keep it up ’til your attic is full
tell no-one at all not even your kin
just store it and wait for the fun to begin

and maybe those shoes will be worth more than gold
and worth more than diamonds whenever they’re sold
and with care and with skill your attic will be
a bank for your future, just try it and see


if you liked this you might also like I can still remember the time before the crash

I Can Still Remember the Time Before the Crash

2004

originally published: oilcrash.com

I can still remember the time before the crash
when we all drove around in cars and I had lots of cash
and anything I wanted, I’d just go out and buy
I’d even drive a mile or two - just to buy a pie

but then the oil wars started and everything collapsed
the supermarket shelves were stripped before a month elapsed
and people all turned really grim and gained a hungry look
we’d steal from anyone at all we’d kill for things to cook

and everywhere disease and grief and bodies left to rot
while gangs of grim and brutal men would kill and steal and plot
and people fled the cities and countless numbers died
and everything was so so bad not even mothers cried

our house was one of many then, a normal family home
but it was stripped and burnt for fuel when we had left to roam
and I remember mum and dad, my little sister too
but they were killed and eaten back sometime in ‘22

and now I know I’m dying, I’ve left no living heirs
nobody is alive to know there’s not a soul who cares
there’s only me so damned hungry I’m gnawing at the trees
there’s no-one left to kill and eat oh God please help me please

and as I stagger on and on through burnt and plundered homes
I see the the signs of rage and ruin and countless human bones
I hear the starving pack of dogs that follow close behind
and I am now so close to death I hardly even mind

I fall and screaming dogs begin to rip and shred my life
my mind drifts back to days of oil and to my kids and wife
oh life was so so simple then and life was so so good
but all we had we wasted, we never understood


if you liked this you might also like for our sons and daughters too

pack my things and go

Song - 2002


city life has really got me down
i walk the streets with a long long frown
it's all the same when i look around
aint no happiness to be found
i guess i'll pick myself up and go
back to the mountains all covered in snow
(back to the snow covered mountains that i used to know)

i met a city girl, she was nice to me
sophisticated and so pretty
she introduced me to the big city
but things are not the way they used to be
i guess i'll pick myself up and go
back to the (quiet) mountains all covered in snow
(back to the snow covered mountains that i used to know)

i find the city pace a bit too much
seems to me that i don't have the touch
don't seem to handle all the rage and rush
i  really can not understand the fuss
i guess i'll pick myself up and go
back to the (beautiful) mountains all covered in snow
(back to the snow covered mountains that i used to know)

I know it's me and not the city folk
but really sometimes i feel like a joke
just want to play guitar and drink and smoke
i think it's maybe i'm a country bloke
i miss the mountains and i miss the snow
so i'll just pack my things and get up and go

hiding in the dark

song 2002

i'm your secret you keep me hidden in the dark
hidden lover but of your life i have no part

we have a secret code we use when you want me to be there
"roses pizza" baby means i'm standing on your stair

i'm nobody baby anybody knows about
so when the doorbell rings you have tell me to get out

i don't know just how long i can handle being someone
nobody knows about or realises that i'm so in  love with you
i'll do what you want me to
even if it means i'm hiding in the dark


we can't walk together hand in hand along the city street
we don't know who might see us or who we just might meet

we can't sit together in a fitzroy restaurant
we can't kiss and hug in public even if it's what we want

i'm your lover baby and i'm so in love with you
i'm your hidden lover baby please tell me you are true

when i lie alone at night thinking only that i want to be with you
please baby tell me what to do
to stop me crying while i lie here in the dark

Bazil

This is the story of Bazil. As stories go it is not a great story like the stories you read about in the paper. Nor is it a famous story like the story of the life of Laurence of Arabia. It may make you smile in places and it might make you laugh. But in the end you might think that it was more than just a story about Bazil - and you would be right.

Bazil came into our lives when we lived in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales. In those days we were young and we had a young son named Aaron though we all called him Chester after Chester Burnett - a famous blues singer who's picture had hung above the crib and then the bed that Chester slept in for some years.

Margaret and I were invited to pick from the litter of a fox terrier that belonged to one of our friends. The litter was a funny mixture as can sometimes occur with dogs for there had seemingly been more than one sire. One of these was known to have been Shadow - a giant of a dog and pure-bred German Shepherd.

I can see your mind wondering how such a union might have been accomplished - and we certainly thought up a few hilarious solutions ourselves - most of which placed Sloan (the bitch) on various pieces of furniture during the act.

Anyway, I was very lucky to be first to choose for Bazil was the obvious choice - he was absolutely darling. He looked exactly like a small furry fox. When I sat at the door of the garden shed where they were whelped, he immediately came to me and i picked him up and smiled. This was the one. There was no question.

Bazil was returned to the litter so that he could be weaned at six weeks. Not long after we picked him up (with many a sigh of loss by the owner who was now aware of the uniqueness of this pup). Bazil became one of the family and Chester was elated for every boy wants and needs a dog to love.

There are so many stories i could tell you about Bazil. We were living out of a bus and travelling a lot when he was a young dog - he went everywhere with us.

In Sydney, during peak rush hour shopping we could leave him at the door of a department store and tell him to stay - and we could come back hours later and he'd still be there - he would wait and if anyone tried to pick him up he would evade them. He was a cool dog.

Once we stopped at a beach and parked for a bit before moving on. Nobody noticed he was not with us when we took off and it was late and i drove for hours before realizing he was gone.

We did not see him for a long time - many weeks until eventually someone found us through the university i had gone too.

I took a train way out of Sydney to somewhere out of Hornsby. I had to walk for miles afterwards. When i got to the house where he was and walked through the door he jumped clean off the ground higher than my head and danced around my shoulders like a crazy bird yelping as if to say "i missed you so much, i'm soo happy to see you".

The people were sad too because they were hoping that he would be happier with them because well gee, he was just a special special being.

I took him back on the train in my duffle bag because it was not allowed to have a dog on the train.

Another time we were in the mountains - we took a run along a track that ran parallel to those awesome cliffs you might have seen if you've ever been to Katoomba - hundreds of feet of sheer faces. Really amazing day. We came to a place where we had to get across a gap maybe a hundred feet deep and a few feet wide - and on the other side the ground was at least 6 feet higher than that we were standing on.

There was a small but sturdy tree there that i leapt across and grabbed. Then, holding on to the tree with one hand i swung back and whipped Margaret and Chester up beside me. Leaving Basil whimpering with worry behind on the rock.

I leaned down and crooked my arm and said "Bazil you just have to jump and let me catch you and i showed him my arm and yelled "come on Bazil".

He inched up to the edge of the cliff, looked down, took a sudden few steps back and looked up at me with a look on his face that was unmistakably the dog equivalent of "are you completely crazy? Do you honestly expect me to jump over THAT?

In a very level voice i explained to him: "Bazil, there's no other way for you to get over here - you just have to jump and trust me."

He looked at me and his face fell - it was if he was saying "bummer". He inched up to the cliff edge again and looked down. He looked up at me again with a huge "please don't make me do it".

I said "Bazil. You can do it mate. You are the best dog anyone ever had. You can do anything. Now JUMP!"

Margaret and Chester called too. "You can do it Bazil - come on boy."

And he jumped. Right into the air in reach of my arm - right over that hundred foot drop.

I dropped him down beside us and he just went berserk with excitement as if to say "see, see what i done! Aren't i just the most amazingly brave dog in the world yippy!" And we were all over him with admiration too.

What a dog. What a being. He was so much like a person. So very much it was awesome.


if you liked this story you might also like "Creature" 

the cat and the sailor

Once upon a time a sailor came home from many long years at sea. he had a knarled beard and wore the scars of many close encounters. when he took up again in his old home, strange yet quietly comfortable, nestled in a sheltered cove by the sea, he discovered that a cat lived there with it's three kittens and there was an old tom too to be seen on days when he was not cataworling with the neighbouring toms, sleeping in the sun on the roof of the laundry.

The sailor was familiar with cats for there had always been one or two aboard ship. There had been a cat on his last ship who would not be tamed though he had spent many contemplative moments stroking her in the sun at the tiller.

But this cat was different for the sailor felt immediate affinity for her though she was shy to the touch and would always bound away at the moment he tried to stroke her. Nor would she let herself be caught in a room alone with him.

So they lived on for some years, the Sailor working at sails and tackle and the cat moving in and out of his life. And they learned to talk to each other. Sometimes across the old rock wall at the back of the house, sometimes in the little flower garden in the courtyard. He would talk as he'd always talked, from the heart as innocent as he was when he was a child. And she would talk to him.

Once when the sailor was deep in thought he saw the cat before him and she was waving her paw in the air. It caught his attention and for a moment he was sure the cat was actually waving to him. He saw as he cleared his thoughts that a small  butterfly was dancing tentatively before her and she was playfully pawing at it. He had not seen the butterfly at first.

Still from that day to this he called her his little wave.

A wild wind was blowing from the south one day when the sailor realised he had not seen the cat for some time. It was cold and though he left the door invitingly open to a room with a hot fire and the smell of cooking food, the cat did not venture to the door. He and the cat had in two years not shared a room but this was the wildest night he had ever known in this part of the world.

He refrained from calling to her for he felt a bit silly sometimes to think that he had become so attached to the cat. It was after all just a cat and had obviously lived here quite succesfully without him. Why need he worry?

But he did. It grew on his mind for hours and into a day and the weather grew more rough. He started looking about the house but though it be rock strong, there were not many places even for a cat to hide. He searched the roof and the old fireplace in the laundry. He looked in the small boat shed and under his upturned boat.

He looked everywhere. And then he called. At first it was quiet and self conscious "kitty" "kitty" but the was no answering wew. He became desperate for the weather was now so rough that he feared for her life.

He went back to his warm fireplace to recover from the cold numbness that he felt, and as he warmed his hands standing before the fire, contemplating where else he could look, he saw her calm and safe, snuggled in one of his old sea jackets and his heart leapt.

She was home.

with me

Nov 1998


nice girls so hard to find
though many of them blow my mind
they're always so so soon snapped up
and gone

and once or twice a magic girl
with mind and spirit
does unfurl
my mind

with song of deep awakening
and stomach gripping aching me
and yearn and yearn and find no peace in words

but i will be here patiently
and yearn alone expectantly
oh hoping soon my girl to see

so long of leg and perfectly
oh woman i want you to be
i need i need for you to be

with me

I hate him

Nov 1998

i see him quite often sometimes
across the street
he is not so repulsive from there
and sometimes i stop and look
and he looks back

we don't often speak
we have, but the words
typicallly an echo of sneery grunts
for i do not like him
nor he me

i see him up close sometimes
then i am driven almost to hate
his uglyness,
his face a mask of pent up pain and sorrow
finds no pity in me

sometimes it is many months between
our meetings face to face
and almost i do not know him
but those eyes, he can not hide form me
and i always turn and walk away

i've known him a long time
i used to think he was pretty cool
smart, good looking, quick of wit
and even good with girls
i even loved his skill with sounds

but that was long ago
his past crimes have led me to dispise his ways
to hate him to his face
to laugh at his self esteem
for i know better, ah yes i do

i wish that we would never meet again
and death to him seems to me so just
and way way late in coming
i've contemplated
yes, i've thought to take his life

but i am not so good myself
and i have never found the strength of will
or courage
to do this deed so due
so i just wait and hope

i hope it will not be long

Ode to Wild Oscar

Nov 1998


what swelling is this?
this chest that once was shrunken
super-vacuum heart-hole

what sound is this?
a pattern?
a rythem that once, yes, i know that pattern

but is this just another case of chase
and catch and scratch?
snatch?

do i let my nose lead me?
my mind surely knows where my heart has been
come out?

what feelings are these
fear
simple fear, reluctance
quell, push it down escape escape

run - do not let it happen again
fool
listen to your head it knows

listen to your head
hello?
is there anybody there? Coowee?

poor sod
he'll never learn
some poof said it best, well may he rest

מים חיים (maim chaim - water of life)

April 1999

i seek a refuge of the mind 

a haven of the soul 

that place where standing i can rest 

or sit in peace 

there are no easy places 

there seems no hidden parks 

no solace in reason 

no rest from who i am 

but here and there an island 

elusive 

calls with salted tang of green and lush 

and i am called to stroke 

verdant moist and coolness high 

promise of clean and flowing crystal sounds of light 

that break in splendour on harsh rocks 

made luring, livid - splash of freedom 

where others dwell in soft acceptance 

there i go 

and who will be there i don't know 

enormous clouds make play of my mind 

perhaps you know?

A closed and empty hall

Nov 1998

how months and years can pass me by and leave me yet unchanged

the pain an open wounded heart unburied still remains

and all the feelings flooding back that sweep and let me fall

amid the ruin of my grief a closed and empty hall

i pace the room and think of you then try and try to sleep

my wearied eyes and aching hands no task that calls can keep

and when i shake the tempest off and finally look 'round

a week or month has passed again but nothing have i found

i hate these little deaths that come without the dreams of sleep

without the end that calls to me for which i sometimes weep

the waking from them leaves me cold and lost and deep in dread

that years of this may come and go - much better to be dead

but it is not God' way i'm told and all the sages say

and so i wash my face and try to face another day

the mirror shows me growing old an empty room behind

an empty house an empty heart a closed and empty mind

these lines are all i find to lance and let my feelings out

to let my grief and ageless loss become a silent shout

this scream perhaps will echo from some distant valley wall

and find a way to break into a closed and empty hall

And praise Ha Shem

Nov 1998


i'm a dad and when i die
i do not wish my friends to cry
i do not wish my child to sit
nor enemies to think of it
perhaps each one in place of tears
or smiles that come throughout the years
might take a coin maybe a note
and to some lowly beggar quote
"rise up you lot and praise Ha'Sh-m"

I ask you all to think of them
those worlds that passed before
each world a mighty universe
that goes on dor l'dor
for they am i and we are they
and all of us belong
to All that is and All that was
so death ends not our song
rise up your lot and praise Ha'Sh-m

and when you do, hear my amen