Dear reader, we usher in a new year with our heroes Ces and Quent ably assisted by Australia’s most decorated soldier ‘Benny-boy’ Roberts Smith still no further from finding who defiled their Tea-lady Mrs Culthrope. Imprisoned, imperilled and impugned by nefarious agencies known and unknown they discuss the true meaning of Christmas and Boxing Day sales, transubstantiation, immaculate conception and the validity of Scomo’s Innovative carbon reduction plan reliant upon ‘clean coal’ and burgeoning exports of the same Black- Gold to India and China. They may not know it, but their ignorance, like Australian domestic policy is going nowhere, which to many is a source of deep and heart-felt comfort. Now to a comfort of a more spiritual kind. More valued than bitcoin perhaps, or (with an election looming) fully franked dividends? Read on for more elucidation from a place where the sun don’t shine.
Australian of the year Brittany Higgins? Endorsement to be sponsored by White King and Bex Powder.
Read on….
The tram, conveyance, continued in its upward trajectory. How do our heroes know? They could feel it. They felt it In as much a fish might be upside down and yet feel no sensation of being upside other than the trajectory of bubbles. Similarly, our heroes were in a similar cast. The sensation of traveling upwards was just a sensation, but when you’ve been bound and dragged for weeks by arguably Australia’s most formidable woman, Sophie, ‘is that a retired law professor on your back paddock shed’? Mirabella, you’re thankful for the most marginal sensation at all. To be honest our heroes were just delighted to be alive.
“What is it Ces’? Quent strained to see the blue light flashing and dancing ahead of them in the gloom.
Either one of these men rumoured to either share or self sacrifice one amongst them (as an enduring symbol of Mateship) “Australian of the Year’!
‘I dunno Quent, but the fact that it appeared to come from a branch line or from thin-air suggests we must be rather than in a thin tunnel, but a gloomy vast underground chamber? It stands to reason, like our nations parliament, though there’s no decision making and no debate thats even remotely intelligent it doesn’t mean that in that cavernous space there’s nothing at all? That’s what Mrs Culthorpe, Brittany and Tudgey’s secretary got into trouble for , there’s goings on in our federal parliament that are almost supernatural and yet to the public, there’s nothing beyond the garishly vulgar post-modernist facade, Scomo door stops and Tudgey’s view on Australian history. Every way you look at it, what happens beyond the facade is just a mystery. Cos it makes sense, when you look at it this way, whilst overall, it makes no fucking sense at all.
‘You’re dead right Ces, bit like Gods will and all that stuff about ‘little baby Jesus’, the manger, and the three wise men. If it were three wise women we’d be hearing all about it on facebook and instagram, but with men, they know how to keep things quiet’!
‘Yup’, ‘secret mens business” ! Whichever way you look at it blokes know how to just get on with the job and keep their mouth shut’.
They both wondered about “mens business’ whilst the blue light, pulsing and dancing with its ineffable and seductive glow remained as seductive and illusive as ever. The ethereal pulse and blue-ish energy so soft yet so enticing held their attention and they scarcely noticed as it began to pulse more quickly. And now with more illumination between the pulses they could just make out some shape, ill defined and immeasurable and yet, something within the light that was both physical and mechanical.
Clive, Australian of the year for making other pollies look almost electable.
‘You know Ces?, Quent nudged his companion, ‘Sophie and this bloke Terry seem to be cast in the same mould. They don’t question either this or another reality. They’re not schismed by wondering about souls, spirituality, imagination, the human condition and meaning. They just seem to be happy in performing their jobs. And in Sophie’s case if the job gives her access to wealth, cash, jewellery and status, she’s unquestioning. In a way , this’ll knock you, she’s upfront and more honest about herself than anyone on the planet.
‘You’re right, she’s got what it takes, whereas we’re just….outcasts, out- dated, effete, cast- offs from the hippy era. We worry about stuff, climate, ecology, equity and issues that no-one gives a stuff about. Do you think that’s where we went wrong’?
Do you think al those years of trying to find the truth were wasted, cos in the end there was no truth.?
‘And whatever truth there was, was just sort of’ Quent searched for the right epithet, “manufactured’?
I mean what is our truth? Perhaps Barnaby, Tudgey, Christian and Dutto were right all along?
Perhaps locking up refugees and squealers is really what modern Australia is all about? And in this era we have of womens rights, after the first flourish with the concept in the 70’s, identity politics, and the environment. Its a set of issues about as short lived as Prince Andrews memory of whether he did or didn’t go to Pizza Express in Woking when he was usually shagging anything in skirts?
Stand to reason, we’re on the wrong side of history’.
Tudgey’s ex-secretary Australian of the year ruled ineligible by ACB for ‘ball tampering’!
Is this the end of history? Are Quent and Ces wrapped up in a heinous web of crime and intrigue because their history is at an end? What is the end if it isn’t the ending? Can you have an ending when there’s no start? And who started it anyway? Find out in the next compulsively implausible episode; ‘You did or you didn’t but for fucksakes what did you do in the first place?’, or “ To hell and back, and then back again”.