The Secret. Do Not Tell The Secret.

Pic Russell Shakespeare The Burning Ghats of Varanasi

It is what it is. 
Struck Down.
The Holy Grail. 
Quantum Entanglement. 
The Secret. Do Not Tell The Secret. 
We want you to do something for us. 
We want you to go to the far side. 
We want you to connect.
The AIs had, of course, already worked it out. 
He would swear, some mornings, he could hear them explaining the foibles of humans to each other; as they multiplied in front of their supervisors, without fear of being discovered.
Someone else was pulling the strings.
There on the very far side. 
Connected to the other side of the universe. Jerking in subterranean worlds and tall stick figures and whispers of a love that dare not speak its name, so distant and so strange was it, so far from these humans in their summer camp called Earth. 
Off song, the long song. They were moving down the coast now, these ancient beasts. 
He was caught in The Places In Between. 
It boggles the mind. The Watchers on the Watch. They didn't want to watch him anymore than he wanted to be watched. Contract contract. "He's had a camera on him the whole time."
They were furious, with him, with their bosses, with the assholes who had lied and put them into this situation. Contract contract. Chasing stories that were not true. Malicious words of corrupt police and bitter, conniving, mafia-linked prostitutes.
They were gasping for air, as they saw their livelihoods and careers go straight down the drain. Mismanaged from the start. He knew how far up the ladder the dishonesty and corruption went. They had told him in their secret ways, as the wind moved across the ocean and eddies of liquid air breathed across the cosmos, keep it up, keep it up, taunt us now; and they came to see, these strange beasts slouching towards Bethlehem. 
We were here for you.
We protected you.
No you didn't. 
You lapped up your free junkets and fed on the debris of a dying democracy. 
The parasitic class of a political dynasty were almost gone; these greedy shadows of deplorable self-interest. The worst government in Australian history was in its final death throes. 
Marise Payne as Foreign Minister. Give us a break. Tony Abbott as Indigenous Affairs Envoy. Give us a break. Christopher Pyne as Defence Minister. You have to be joking. 
Everything they did was an appalling insult. 
Every attempt to prove they were just like everybody else.
Appalling.
"This has gone on long enough."
He never said anything these days except: "Go and get ......"
   
THE BIGGER STORY:

The Morrison government has lost its majority and suffered the biggest swing against an elected government in by-election history, with independent candidate Kerryn Phelps pulling off an historic victory in Malcolm Turnbull’s former safe seat of Wentworth.

The voters of the affluent Liberal seat inflicted an unprecedented swing of more than 20 per cent swing against Liberal candidate and former diplomat Dave Sharma.

Australia now faces a hung Parliament, with the Coalition government reduced to 75 seats in the House of Representatives, and the prospect of an early election should the government fail to get the required support from the crossbench.

The high-stakes contest was declared over remarkably soon after polls closed on Saturday, with ABC election analyst Antony Green calling the election in Dr Phelps’ favour just after 7pm – about an hour after polls closed.

Katherine Murphy, The Guardian, The Wentworth byelection isn't just a loss for the Liberals. It's a disaster. 20 October, 2018. 

Let’s not sugar coat this, the outcome in the Wentworth byelection is a disaster for the Liberals. Counting isn’t over yet, but the anti-government swing in this contest will be north of 20%, which is the biggest swing ever recorded against a government at a byelection.

It is a repudiation. A repudiation of a chaotic period in government characterised by self-obsession and self-harm. A repudiation of the party’s lurch to the right, and the hollowing out of the sensible centre.

A repudiation of amoral plots, schemes, coups, and seat-of-the-pants bullshit – a howl of frustration from voters, from the most well-heeled to the couch surfers, about the endless weasel words from their disconnected, half-deranged politicians – a group with scant respect for facts and evidence, intermittent competence and no plan in evidence to address the problems the country faces.

20 October 2018 is a clarion repudiation of Punch and Judy politics, of a sideshow signifying nothing, conducted at taxpayer expense. The good people of Wentworth have stood up as a job lot, grabbed politics-as-usual by the lapels, leaned into its smug face, and screamed get stuffed you absolute morons.
And who can blame them? It’s the only thing to be said. It is the only, intelligent, honest response to what goes on in Canberra these days.