P.W.T.

mood: completely buggered.
state i'm in: bertie beetle bliss.
tune: dead silence - soothing.
achievement for the day: finding the 'king island dairy' stand.


i have just finished stuffing my stash of bertie beetle showbags into my closet, from where i can carefully prescribe to myself the little treasures, one by one, until they are all gone.

my ekka experience is over. haven't been for a few years. my feet are hellishly sore, i can still taste that german sausage, and i remain certain that i have no interest in dirt bikes.

but what i have found most striking, disturbing rather, is the sheer amount of pure white trash that lives in brisbane. it all started a few days ago...


i suppose i had been living in blissful ignorance for some time. sure, it is inevitible that one occasionaly is revolted by some shazza and her treatment of her offspring at coles, or is startled after having come face to face with the oafishness of some dazza whilst ambling down a city footpath. but for the most part, i only make contact with these people when they are on the news, normally when their uninsured, outer-suburban house has just finished burning to the ground; another attack of the evil bar heater.

but there would be no escaping it. late last week, i noticed an upswelling in the number of women in stained tracksuit jackets in the city, hurling abuse at their spouses; likewise, in the number of overgrown-goateed men pushing a screaming pram recklessly down queen street; similarly, in the number of coca-cola and mcdonalds fries-fuelled children doing their best to gain the attention of their parents at the expense of their siblings' hair. but nothing could have pre-empted last night's train ride.

'oi, daz! come down 'ere! 'ERE!' screamed one, with spectacular dark roots. 'kinda like da bus wen i was a kid' slowly exclaimed another, her face featuring multiple piercings.' 'get ovah by ya mother!' went another. one volley after another of ill-constructed sentences shot across the crowded carraige.* all of this punctuated by the sound of machine gun fire coming from a portable entertainment device resting on top of a dirty, coke-stained pram belonging to some filthy, 'ruff-ryders'-clad thing doing his best to look HARDCORE. i bet he gets respect - from his unfortunately ignorant children.

so i went to the beat last night, enjoyed a few beers, and showed a new friend around brisbane's barely palatable gay scene. got into conversation at the bar with a german masseur, and before long we were agreeing about the calibre of character of the average australian. this conversation came about after he had asked me where i was from, and was surprised when i said brisbane - apparently i don't sound all that aussie - i enunciate my words, and lack that distinctive drawl. at that time, that was one of the nicest things someone could have said to me; i was most appreciative.

roma street station this morning, ekka-bound, and suffien remarks that i am seemingly fascinated by such people as the aforementioned. i am aware i stare with a blank look of despondence. having just witnessed a round of abuse dealt to young girl, i reply: 'what really gets me fucked off is the way they speak to and treat their children - it is just a cycle. it's bad enough that they are fucked up, but must they fuck up their children too!' to drive a car requires a licence. to own a dog requires that it be registered. to have multitudes of children requires only fertility; not a licence, much less, brains.


nevertheless, my day at the ekka with suff was enjoyable. there was a wide cross section of people present from suburbanites to international students embracing a taste of queensland. i am hopeful that there exists between these many and varied groups an ability to ably mix, especially on behalf of that vast majority, the pure white trash. that these elements of society so infrequently mix has both pros and cons, and i don't profess to know whether such mixing is a good or bad idea.

my only hope is that opportunities to escape that vicious cycle exist. that there is potential for a young hopeful to 'make it out'.

best of luck kids!


*i must admit, the carnies in side show alley are worse - i swear, they have less grasp on the english language than the average three year old uzbek.