Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Thoughts on being useless


No job. Again. No job. At home.  Lounge, bathroom, lounge, bed, lounge, yard, lounge, toilet, lounge, nothing to do. Plenty to do. Mess everywhere, shit scattered from arsehole to breakfast but no point to fixing it. Always tomorrow, nothing to do then either, so I should save this for then, otherwise I’ll have nothing to do then. All I’ll be able to do is wander around the house aimlessly…lounge, bathroom, lounge, bed, lounge, yard…who needs that?

Records that have sat on my shelves for years are being played on repeat, things I picked up when high and browsing op shops are making me feel more out of time, I’m living in the late 60’s and listening to a lot of country heartache.  Country heartache is a funny thing, I once fell in love with a Johnny Paycheck album and got so depressed I wanted to leave my girlfriend. Great record.

The bits of rubbish are laughing at me. All you have to do is bend down, you can do it. You could pick us up but you won’t you lazy fuck. Lazy? I resent that! I worked my arse of in the face of constant indifference to watch my skill set be honed to a single, disposable use time and time again. I don’t have calloused hands, but the contrarian spite I’m full of and the general apathy ingrained in my existence are callouses of the soul. I’ve worked and it got me all the glory of my kingdom of mocking rubbish.  I should really clean this place up, but god damn I’m lazy.

Saturday, May 11, 2013

Mothers Day

I’d only recently come to know Marie, having met her on one of my nightly strolls through the small town and taken an immediate shine to her. Her innocent smile and playful eyes attracted my attentions and soon we were steady friends and never seen apart. As part of the many and varied courting obligations I was to go with her family and attend her grandfathers large mansion on a remote country road for mothers day, a long and mostly silent drive through thin forest and sprawling properties covering hectares and long, long driveways.

When I say "mansion" I don’t mean the “lightning bolts strike across a dark sky-two story with turrets like eyes” variety, I mean a sprawling single level country home with way too many bedrooms, Holden memorabilia in its own room of glory, two kitchens and three car garage type of mansion. No live stock, just open fields and rusting cars that her brothers and other cousins had left there where they'd failed to start. The house was now only her grandfathers, her grandmother having died some years ago, but it was a steadfast tradition that they attended the house to honour her in the evening of mothers day.

Each year they would each bring her presents and place them under a picture of her. The way Marie had described it to me prior had given it an all together dignified air, but the actual witnessing of it left me squeamish, the way they announced what was contained in the small wrapped packages and what she would have used it for left me feeling chilled to the bone. “It’s a jumper, a woollen one that I’ve knitted.” her aunt Freya announced. “She would sit at the window and wear it while she counted her beads” and I morbidly pictured them, working as a family and digging up the corpse to sit her at a window wearing her new jumper.

Making my apologies, I excused myself from the scene to go to the bathroom, following the “third door on the left down the left hall” directions precisely I found myself in a small room piled high with still wrapped gifts and a small table. The pictures on the table showed the family gathered standing around the photo of the deceased grandmother holding the pictures from previous years, and I could match some of the boxes in the picture to the boxes in the room. There was the large red one from a photo of a much younger version of Marie around age 5 with her bright playful eyes, and the round yellow one from a more recent photo of Aunt Freya. “It’s a basketball. She would sit at the window while she bounced it” I could hear her saying in my head.

Now as I turn to leave the room, I see on the wall next to the door a picture of the dearly departed grandmother, looking sick with the illness that took her of her life, her features almost racing ahead of her and taking on a slightly decayed look, like she’d already died. Maria looks positively vibrant next to her in the picture, here in her late teens with those bright, beautiful playful eyes…there’s a shuffle behind me, from a space past the boxes and there are footsteps at the door. I hear Marie’s voice from behind the door. “It’s a boy. She will consume him and live another year sitting at the window. Happy mothers day Grandmother.”

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

THE ROLE OF 21 PLATOON, MMG COY IN THE BATTLE FOR MILNE BAY

In honour of Lloyd Gregory
http://www.theherald.com.au/news/local/news/news-features/salute-to-one-of-citys-finest-lloyd-gregory/2279320.aspx

Sgt Lloyd Gregory
21 Platoon; 61st Battalion
Vickers machine gun

An account of the assault on No. 3 Srip, Milne Bay


From the very day we disembarked at GILE GILE, Milne Bay, New Guinea on Aug ’42, the Jap was very active carrying out air raids and reconnaissance flights and did not give us very much peace. It was obvious that all this was leading up to something big and it wasn’t very long before we were to find out just what the Jap was up to.

My Platoon was 21 Platoon of MMG Coy and the role of the platoon on 24 Aug ’42 was that of defending No. 3 Strip (a half-completed air strip), against a landing by enemy paratroops. We were stationed on the north side of the strip (Kalarbo side) together with rifle company platoons for support and our main work at this time was improving our north side positions and preparing alternative positions on the opposite side, or south side, of the strip.

The night of the 25 Aug ’42 is a night I will never forget, for on that night we were shelled by warships of the Japanese Navy, which had sailed into Milne Bay under the cover of darkness. The shelling, which included star shells, did little or no damage, but served as an excellent cover for the landing of several hundred Jap Marines. These marines would probably link with other Jap forces which had moved south and south-east, down the north coast. Very little sleep was had that night, as you can well imagine and quite a few of us felt very uncomfortable.

That something which we were expecting to happen was well on the way – and with a vengeance. The roles of ‘C’ and ‘D’ Coys will be found written in another part of this history and you can imagine the importance which was attached to the communication system at this stage. Reports were coming back from ‘C’ and ‘D’ Coys which were not at all favourable and which caused the movement of 21 Platoon, on the 27 Aug, to our alternative positions across No. 3 Strip. These positions were built into the debris and earth piled up along the edge of the strip by American bulldozers in the clearing of the strip in the initial stages. One section of 21 Platoon under command of Cpl Col Baird was placed in position near where the Rabi Road joined the south side of the strip and the other section under Cpl Ken Gough was positioned at the edge of a Sage Swamp and approximately half way between Rabi Road and the coat. Platoon H.Q. was with this section.

A composite section under command of Sgt Ted Kemp was in position on the north side of the strip towards the west end. This section remained in position until the 11 Sep ’42 when it was ordered to move across to the south side of the strip. Our rifle support was to be given by a Coy of the 25 Bn – depleted in strength. Rifle support was not possible on our right flank, which meant that the protection of the MG Section had to be found from within our own numbers and the coming of the night was not welcomed, as very little sleep could be had by any member. Guns had to be manned and rifle protection had to be placed out – with relief changes every two hours.

From the time the move-over from the north side of the strip was completed, the men of the Platoon were mainly occupied with strengthening their new positions – filling sandbags etc. and in camouflaging their shelters which were mainly roofed with plaited sago leaves and proved very effective against rain. The wet season, which was very depressing, was in full force at this time of the year. Mud was feet deep, clothes were damp and mildewed, boots could not be dried out and in any case, if they were dry, they would soon be wet again. Guns had to be cleaned and oiled daily and the men literally looked after them like babies. They knew that when called on to open fire on the guns, they could not afford to have any breakdown and in effect, when fire was opened, to my knowledge, only one stoppage occurred, that of a faulty round, which was immediately remedied.

Towards the end of August the moon was full and the Jap air force very active. The coming of the night meant the checking of guns on fixed lines, the checking of S.A. ammunition and grenades and the section leader making sure that all men knew the times of their sentry duty and manning of the guns.

After dusk and with the check efficiently carried out, the changing of reliefs worked very smoothly, which we could not afford to have happen otherwise. The date was the 30 Aug ’42 and there was tenseness everywhere. The moon was up and apart from the noises made by the rats and insects, everything was quiet and the air heavy.

Our call for defensive fire was to be three red flares. Something surely must happen soon and it did!

At approximately 0045 hrs on 31 Aug ’42, I heard what sounded to be a groan and then quietness again. All men were “standing to.” A few minutes later a noise was heard immediately opposite Platoon H.Q. position and on the north side of the strip. The gunners thumbs were pressed lightly against the thumbpiece of their Vickers and the men with the rifles had their safety catches off and their forefinger on the triggers. Then suddenly it happened.

Two red flares were seen to go up from the north side of the strip – not our flares and not our call for defensive fire, but flares sent up by the Jap as a signal for his forces to open fire for the attack across the strip. Open fire he did and so did we and it seemed that all Hell had broken loose. Prior to the first noise I heard from the Jap side of the strip, silence reigned supreme. The forming up along the strip by the Jap forces must have been performed with practically complete silence for no others noise was heard and the strip was only 75 yards wide. The forming up by the Jap force was apparently a carefully prepared and rehearsed operation. The actual manoeuvre was very briefly that the Jap force moved south along Rabi Road, reached the strip and fanned out left and right along the strip edge and on the pre-arranged signal (two red flares), opened fire for the attack across the strip. On this signal, as I have mentioned, both forces opened up. The Jap used the following weapons – rifle, grenade, MMG, mortar and mountain gun. Our fire consisted of rifle, grenade, MMG (Lewis and Bren), MMG, two (American manned) Bofors and the automatic weapons from an American “Half-track”, fired from the vehicle. Our fire on the strip was mainly controlled by an Arty Officer from this vehicle. The Jap S.A fire was noticeable different to our in the fact that he used tracer bullets on in every five, for his MMG. This made it very easy to pinpoint the position of his MMGs and by this means, one of the guns of 21 Platoon Section near Rabi Road is known to have accounted for at least one Jap MMG and its crew.

Apart from the noise of the weapons firing, the noise made by the Jap himself was really terrific and there were hundreds of Japs. They were screaming and chanting – possibly in an effort to break our morale, which at that time was at its highest peak, for we knew that the battle raging was more than a battle for Milne Bay, it was a battle, the result of which would affect Australia and the whole course of the war.

There were several short lulls in the firing which lasted until approximately 0400 hrs. Several attempts to cross the strip were made by the Jap, but each time he was halted. His forces could not cross the “wall of fire” which we had so effectively put down.

The Jap continued with his noise effect and to shout out orders – possibly to the mortar members and mountain gunners, in an effort to gain control of the situation. Later is established that, either due to poor Jap reconnaissance or intelligence reports prior to the landing, he had formed an incorrect appreciation of the forces he would come up against in his advance to the air strips at Milne Bay, thence to Port Moresby and finally Australia. He thought that only a small force of American Engineers would be encountered at No. 3 Strip and that the main Australian force was stationed at Samarai – which he would by-pass. It is well known now that the Jap attack was unsuccessful and in fact, the Battle for Milne Bay was the turning point of the war.

The men in the section worked with calmness and precision although a certain amount of excitement was noticeable. The Jap made repeated efforts in his attack across the strip but each time he was halted and many casualties inflicted. I cannot give any accurate figure which constituted the Jap force in this operation, but I do know that approximately 300 Japs were killed during this action. Our casualties were extremely light. From this figure it can possibly be estimated just what the strength of the attacking forces was.

As I have previously mentioned, the battle continued until approximately 0400 hrs on 31 Aug ’42, when firing ceased and all became quiet – too quiet after the noise of the battle and the fanatical Japs. A bugle call was heard from the opposite side of the strip to our Platoon H.Q. position. The call sounded to me to be anything but like a regimental call, but apparently it was a signal to withdraw. This call was followed, in succession, by three other calls which came from along the strip to the Jap right flank.

Silnce again – and then one red single flare was seen to go up from the Jap positions. This was apparently a signal from the rear of the withdrawing enemy. And so, until daylight, which was not long coming and which was appreciated in no uncertain manner for at least we could see our enemy – or so we thought, but there was no sign of a Jap. He had met more than his match and with his few remaining troops decided it best to withdraw. From that day on, the Jap suffered a series of defeats which finally led to the unconditional surrender of the Japanese Army on 15 Aug ’45.

The reason for not being able to see any of the enemt at daylight on the morning of the 31 Aug ’42 was due to the fact that strip was graded off slightly from the centre and a Jap, in a prone position, could not be seen from our side of the strip. However, I took one of the members from the Section with me and we proceeded, after advising Coy H.Qs, the cross the strip along Rabi Road. We moved slowly along the single track through the mine field and on reaching the north side of the strip, the scene that met our eyes would best be left to your imagination, if you could possibly imagine such a scene. Dead mutilated Japs were lying everywhere we looked. The majority of the bodies were lying along the edge of the strip and along the sides of Rabi Road to the north east. Equipment was strewn everywhere – RAP equipment – bandages – stretchers – little carts for carrying the stretchers away – rifles – mortars – Juki MMGs and mountain guns. The scene was one of destruction and the dead Jap – not a dead body as we would normally imagine, but appearing to be that of an animal.

We did not remain long across the strip, for a few Jap snipers had been left behind to shoot any Aussie who might venture too close to his hiding place. We did remain long enough however, to gather up a few of his weapons and some of the equipment he had left behind in his haste to withdraw. Much valuable information was gained from this material which was later sent back to Australia for closer examination.

During the next few days all precautions were taken in the event of a Jap counter attack which did not eventuate. The Nip had lost the initiative and the fight.

It has been stated that 7,000 Japs were engaged in the Battle for Milne Bay and of these only 1,800 managed to escape. However, I cannot vouch for the authenticity of this statement.

http://www.theherald.com.au/news/local/news/news-features/salute-to-one-of-citys-finest-lloyd-gregory/2279320.aspx


Further online reading regarding the battle:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Milne_Bay

Friday, October 28, 2011

Red Hot Chili Peppers - One Hot Minute (1995)

Fuck Blood Sugar Sex Magik. You wanna hear the best Red Hot Chili Peppers album you go right out and pick up One Hot Minute. Criminally, but possibly thankfully, the only album they recorded with Dave Navarro on guitar, after John Frusciante freaked out in the face of stardom and retreated into a heroin fuelled hibernation. Navarro was made for stardom, styled to within an inch of his life to be rock cool. He fucked and married Carmen Electra for gods sake. And the man can play some mean guitar. Sessions though fruitful were also apparently tense, an atmosphere that seeps into the albums sound. The artwork, a radical departure from the bands earlier covers, left the hyped up party boy image behind, it’s similarity to a children’s book somewhat disguising unease contained within.

Gone was the youthful funk energy of Mothers Milk, the highpoint of their early years that was the perfect culmination of what they’d been doing up until that point, a clearing house of those feelings and those messages and a stage setter for a new period of musical growth. Barely audible was the clean pop sheened funk of Blood Sugar Sex Magik, a semi-masterpiece containing some of the best songs the band had and has written. Navarro introduced a darker edge, metallic riffs and psychedelic overtones. Singer Anthony Keidis’ recurring drug problem had done exactly that and recurred, bringing a jaded, sombre mood to much of the lyrical content. Flea, his bass tone no longer so prominent in the sound thanks to Navarro’s dirty guitar tones (a far departure from the cleaner sound of Frusciante’s Stratocaster punch) shines in well placed bass solo’s such as the furious ending of Coffee Shop and his first lead vocal performance on Pea. Chad smith as always, played drums.

I can still clearly see in my head images from the video for first single and album opener Warped. Keidis dressed like a badly aged Madonna (pretty prophetic too, the current resemblance is uncanny) and then song explodes. Against a bright red background (the signature colour of the album, visually and aurally) the band launch into action, the jarring, almost hyper-speed Sabbath riff driving the song with Keides singing about his own world being warped by his heroin use. The way his words are drawn out to fill out the vocals lines is resonant of Alice In Chains singer Layne Stayley (RIP), heroin the common factor in both. The moment where the band comes in at the start of this song is always guaranteed to make me want to jump around, and stands as one of my favourite album openers of all time.

There’s hardly a weak moment. Aeroplane (another fantastic vocal performance and a great lyric), Deep Kick (darkly psychedelic and for me a real signature of the album) and My Friends are all great tracks. Coffee Shop is one of two towering marriages of the early Chili Peppers funk sound to the metal riffing of Navarro, the other being Shallow Be Thy Game. The aforementioned bass solo is an album highlight, powerful and dominant as the track races in chaos around it. One Big Mob (the first upbeat track of the album), Walkabout (more great performances from everyone) and Tearjerker (doing exactly what it says on the tin) lead into the shuddering, throbbing title track with it’s constant refrain of “am I all alone” and anthemic chorus. Falling In To Grace is as close as the album comes to filler, a killer bass groove and not much else, though it is a killer groove . Shallow Be Thy Game is a scathing indictment of churches and their desecration of old world cultures and traditions, and features the best lyrics Anthony Keides every sang on any song anywhere ever, sung with great passion. This song is, in my humble opinion, the greatest Red Hot Chili Peppers song ever, Flea’s bass playing rumbling along wonderfully and Navarro getting into the funk but doing it his way, with huge metallic slabs throughout. Transcending rounds out the album, written by Flea for friend River Phoenix, a moving tribute particularly with the “like no other, I love you you’re my brother” couplet.

All up, One Hot Minute is one the few albums I can always listen to from start to finish and still be emotionally, mentally and physically moved each time. It evokes memories in me of the time in which it was released, and makes me wonder what else this line up could have come up with, and would it all be so pink and mellow like the work with the returned and revitalised Frusciante.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

France to Northcote

* these pieces are from several years ago at university, presented as a way of charting the changes in my writing, and re-evaluating pieces I was very happy with at that stage.


The years travlled together
fall apart to mean nothing.

Your voice from afar
through taught black lines.

No it's not alright,
I'm here and you're not.

Distance between us
becomes infinite.

And in France they
nail your coffin.

Ocean Side

* these pieces are from several years ago at university, presented as a way of charting the changes in my writing, and re-evaluating pieces I was very happy with at that stage.


Moments captured in photographs.
You with a smile
and the sun setting behind you,
casting an eerie redness on everything

such tragedy in serenity
such serenity in tragedy

The waves roling wearily onto the sand
then gently receeding to come back later,
occasionally they come close enough
to lap at the tyres on your car
parked so close to the water.

Seagulls fly overhead with nowhere to go
and nowhere they need to have been.
The windows rolled up tight
and the engine pumping carbon monoxide into your lungs.
Your head slumped across the wheel,
the horn ringing solemnly.

such tragedy in serenity
such serenity in tragedy

untitled

* these pieces are from several years ago at university, presented as a way of charting the changes in my writing, and re-evaluating pieces I was very happy with at that stage.


She is a slut,
whenever we have sex
she pretend's I'm someone else;
The handsom millionaire,
The burly fireman,
The wild rock musician.

I, on the other hand, love to make love to her.
No imagined Playboy bunny
or inflated Baywatch babe.
Just her on the matress on the floor.

My eyes run over her,
perfect imperfections.
I taste her breath
thick with the flavour of ashtray.

Everything she can't see in me
I see in her.

She hates me, but when
she finds herself alone
she runs to me and I
smooth the worry from her hair,
flutter butterfly kisses across her forehead
and she says she loves me.

Her love, like her happiness
is a lie.
In the morning she will fly away,
my heart and wallet go with her
both to return empty.

When I close my eyes
I still see her,
life trickling from her wrists
like that time I found her.

How can I feel so much
for someone who feels so little?
Her suicide would have been painless,
the release she wanted so much.

But mine is agony,
as the steel parts my flesh
I know I'll never see her again
but it's better than the torture of loving her.