This Place Is A Zoo

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Born Sandy Devotional
Such a sweet girl to me
I'll do what I can now
To love her to dust
For dust is what we all shall be

Born Sandy Devotional
All that I ever knew
Don’t know the wrong of that
Don’t know the good
Sticks like hot tar to the sole of my shoe

On yellow hood of her car with salt knots in her hair
And some cards and some chicken and beer
We can’t mess about
We kiss until...
Kiss until she has to leave

We’re born Sandy Devotional
All that I ever knew
Don’t know the wrong of that
Don’t know the good
Both of them ugly, both of them true

I don’t want to hear no gossip or chat
No Bill or Pete, Kevin or Sam
They were just poison
They don’t mean a thing
Burn up in my spit
Like the fat in the pan

Born Sandy Devotional
Born under alternate stars
Born to be Sandy’s confessional
Burning like that to be trapped in her eyes

We go for a swim
And we wash it all off
And hope that it leaves us alone
But with each fresh kiss
Blood wells up again
Dries on top of skin
And eats into the bone

Born Sandy Devotional
Bound for an all sunless star
Bound to be Sandy’s confessional
Born Sandy Devotional
Feather and tarred

Born Sandy Devotional
Bound for an all godless star
Headed for trouble, looking for grief
Born Sandy Devotional
Feather and tarred
Yeah, feather and tarred
Feather and tarred

Dust is what we all shall be….
Dust is what we all shall be….

Born Sandy Devotional, The Triffids.

"This place is a zoo," he shouted, keeping out the expletives because no doubt they were used to being yelled at. He had made an appointment, but of course doctors are the only one in this community who regard your time as worthless and leave you waiting in their cramped foyers for hours without so much as a blink. No one worked around here. The right wing curmudgeon lurking inside was alive and well today, sick of the smell of the unwashed, sick of the dysfunction, sick of all the lazy bludgers rorting the system while all the suckers get up and go to work, paying extortionate taxes for nothing. He had said it before and believed it even more today; wipe out 90% of the government, local, state and federal, and we'd all be better off. This bloated government, these useless paper shufflers, these he spat the word bureaucrats, these useless bureaucrats were destroying everything he had once held dear.

There wasn't a word of English spoken on the train. The anglosphere in which he grew up had been thoroughly and completely destroyed. Arguments still raged over the taking out of Christian symbols from the hospital prayer rooms, in case they might offend other faiths, which of course they don't because most other faiths embrace Christianity as part of the pantheon. But instead of the sterile, Godless place the ideologues had dreamed of, instead they had invited the most demonic, rigid and fascist of all fanatics into their midst. And his head roared and soared and he couldn't bear it anymore, he just wanted to escape. There was no pleasure to be had in anything. Love starved. He glanced up at the hideous crowd in the waiting room, thought he heard his name and went to ask.

If you weren't paying so much attention to your computer you might have heard your name being called, some smart arsed gronk who hadn't worked in a generation said. It was just the wrong thing to say at the wrong time, as his head pounded and the pressures of work drove him to the edge of tears. Some of us have to work, he snapped back. Not all of us are bludgers. The bloke rose, his manhood offended. They were working class, they prided themselves on being working class, even though none of them had held down a job in their entire lives. Brief weeks at factories to comply with Centrelink requirements was the only thing in their lives that had ever passed for employment.

But it didn't matter. The bludgers had won. He was so sick of parasites, so sick of pain, could hear and fear the calling crumble of a decaying city, the collapsing brickwork, the subhumans that infested the gateways, their eyes filled with ill intent, yellow slits, the darkness of cliches. Because nothing could portray what he now felt, the complete disconnection from his fellow humans, the horror of walking past shadows, knowing anything could reach out at anytime, grab him by the ankle and haul him screaming into the shattered building. His training told him the man was about to attack. His nostrels were flared. Everything was in darkness. He could smell the sour smell of the unwashed. Why did these people never bathe?

So he crawled through unexpected side alleys and he twisted to escape the coming punch. Security guards were already appearing, trying to quieten the man down. So he said it again: eff off bludger. And that was it. The guy whacked him. There was an immediate bubble of activity, as if violence had cleared the air. After all the femninist claptrap about violence and passivity had turned righteous anger into a heinous, masculine crime, while some of the biggest bullies in the country paraded around on anti-bullying committees and everything was shattered, every shred of decency, common sense, decency above all. They pulled into a station called Seven Hills. He could have been anywhere. Nearing Blacktown. Nearing the grungiest places in the city.

And what amazed him the most was how so few of these people worked. You could tell by their trackies and their cigarette lined faces, by their casual no-hurry attitude and their slack stance. There was no pride. There was no decency. There was no dignity of labour. There was no hard work. He looked at the graffiti and he looked at their life-battered faces; and he looked at the slack fat faces of the useless security guards, so he said it again: eff off bludger. And then he cowed as the blows rained down and the place erupted into turmoil, with kids screaming and women clutching babies and blokes bayed at this smart arse city bastard who had dared to tell them the truth: they were a zoo, they were bludgers, they were a complete and total waste of space, a drain on the public purse. And so it was that the few remaining tax payers, those evil servants of capitalism, those evil neo-liberals as the left had labelled them disparagingly, grew more and more angry as they watched the country collapse around them. Nothing could be saved. Nothing would be saved. This was the future. If only he didn't care.

THE BIGGER STORY:

http://uk.reuters.com/article/marketsNewsUS/idUKN1551506920090415

WASHINGTON, April 15 (Reuters) - President Barack Obama promised Americans his administration would reform the "monstrous" U.S. tax system as millions faced the dreaded annual deadline on Wednesday for filing income tax returns.

Obama used Tax Day, a national ritual of public frustration due to the confusing tax code, to underscore his drive to cut taxes for many Americans while increasing spending to jolt the United States out of its worst recession in decades.

Opposition Republicans seized the chance to rail against what they see as wasteful spending by his new Democratic administration, and some of Obama's grass-roots critics staged "tea party" protests in several U.S. cities.

Obama is pushing a $3.5 trillion federal budget plan that Republicans and some Democrats say carries too much deficit spending and too few tax cuts.

"My administration has taken far-reaching action to give tax cuts to the Americans who need them, while jump-starting growth and job creation in the process," Obama said at a White House event with a group of workers and business owners.

http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,25197,25340483-5006787,00.html

THE South Australian Government is drafting new, tougher anti-bikie laws to create organised crime offences and higher penalties for those carrying out crimes for outlaw motorcycle gangs.

State Attorney-General Michael Atkinson last night told The Australian he would seek cabinet approval within weeks to amend the Serious and Organised Crime (Control Act).

The move to create even tougher anti-bikie laws in South Australia comes as eight Gypsy Jokers, including the chapter's president, Scott Thomas, and sergeant-at-arms, David Shannon, were arrested yesterday during eight simultaneous raids on houses across Adelaide.

A meeting of the country's attorneys-general in Canberra today will consider a national approach to anti-bikie laws to crack down on organised crime and prevent tough laws in South Australia and NSW from pushing bikies into other states.

The attorneys-general also will ask the Rudd Government to change telecommunication-interception laws so police can use evidence gathered in telephone intercepts to charge gang members with participation offences.

The country's police commissioners yesterday met in Western Australia to discuss anti-bikie laws and strategies.

Under Mr Atkinson's proposed tougher laws, there would be a new offence of participating in, or contributing to, a criminal organisation's activities.

It would be an offence for members of an organised criminal group to instruct others to commit offences for the benefit of, at the direction of or in association with the criminal organisation.

Mr Atkinson will amend the current law to allow for mutual recognition of laws enacted by other jurisdictions, enabling him to ban a chapter of a gang in South Australia if it exists or relocates there and is banned interstate.

He will present the proposed changes at today's meeting of attorneys-general.

http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/la-et-jackson-auction15-2009apr15,0,3010212.story

Sorry, Michael Jackson fans. The crystal glove worn in the "Billie Jean" video -- and many more artifacts from his years as the so-called King of Pop -- is no longer up for grabs.

An auction of Jackson's assets from his Neverland estate near Santa Barbara was canceled Tuesday, after Jackson and a Beverly Hills auction house reached an agreement that the items would not be sold.

Jackson's representatives had filed suit in Los Angeles Superior Court to stop the sale, claiming the singer had never signed the auction contract and that certain items listed for sale were irreplaceable. A hearing on a preliminary injunction was scheduled for this morning.

But a joint statement from Jackson representative Tohme R. Tohme and auction organizer Darren Julien on Tuesday announced that Julien's Auctions would cancel the sale but extend its exhibition of the items through April 25, after which Jackson would get them back. Specific terms of the agreement were not disclosed.

A separate statement from Tohme said that "there was so much interest from so many of Jackson's fans that instead of putting the items in the hands of private collectors, Dr. Tohme and Julien's Auctions have made arrangements that will allow the collection to be shared with and enjoyed by Jackson's fans for many years to come."

What that means exactly was not clear. Julien would not elaborate and Tohme could not be reached for comment.

The eclectic collection -- which includes the gates of Neverland Ranch and elaborately beaded jackets Jackson wore in concert -- is on view to the public at the former Robinsons-May building in Beverly Hills. It is loosely organized into three categories -- stage wear and music memorabilia, toys and "Disneyana," and furniture and decorative arts. Tickets are $20.