Reads: 10

Ayers Rock resort provides slips to buy extremely overpriced alcohol in Uluru national park.

In Coober Pedy, the abos don't have no slips.


 Cohn once more relentlessly projected his seething anger at George. He rolled a smoke and savoured it, uninterrupted, at his own leisure. Eventually Cohn handed it over to George who, with great apprehension, knew he would only have so much time to take his turn, surely a fraction of the time Cohn himself had taken, before he was harassed into passing it back.

As expected it was not long before George was called out. Cohn was upset that George had 'killed it' and remarked that he himself was far more considerate in his own smoking etiquette.

Cohn's voice had that sharp, bitter scorning quality which George dreaded, but could not protest lest he be tormented with even greater intensity, for the excited narcissist could not be soothed by the pleading scapegoat.

Understanding well his own situation, ignoring the shame that naturally came with, George wisely put in his headphones and proceeded to ignore Cohn, who continued, in that characteristically shrill voice, to be insufferable, for no reason whatsoever than to gratify himself and offload some of his seemingly endless anger.

George dreaded the point at which a less angry Cohn would inevitably find some advantage in ingratiating George, and in a sickly sweet voice forget completely how he'd been, dismissing the idea that his injustices upon George were unprovoked.

Having lost his scapegoat, Cohn reluctantly directed his anger elsewhere. First it was flies and this was always the case. He spoke bitterly of the injustices cops tended to commit because of the pitiful way that they were. Some desert miners with sirens passed by and each time, due to the resemblance with police sirens, fuel was added to the fire of Cohn's anger and he cursed them. Slim emulated him in doing so.

Cohn had become merrier now. He relished in his humour, comparing flies to cops to miners and even aboriginals. But this did not last and before long he was bitter once more. He saw ahead a pictureesque salt-encrusted desert lake, yearned to preserve its image and so it was that he stopped the car. Not wanting to put in effort for something he himself desired, he demanded that Slim take the photo. Denied, he reluctantly took the camera out himself and irritatedly got out to take the picture, as if it weren't his own idea.

George sat sulkingly in the back, attempting to catalogue in writing the significance of the unapologetic injustice he had just been dealt. Slim leant back and asked George why he was sulking, received his honest answer and then became offended and dismissed George unsympathetically.

Before long they were back on the road, Slim and Cohn squabbling greedily over opals, Slim dumbly showing Cohn good pieces and Cohn covetously claiming each one because 'only he found pieces like that'. Destination in mind like a distant mirage, the trio trailed on through the barren landscape, alongside prevalent roadkill and tough desert scrubs.

(write in desert one about the cow carcass, gruesome massacre, just a stinking piece of leather, guts strewn about, the carcass ripped apart by birds of prey). Cultures (?), wedge tailed Eagles, hawks, crows. Edit: this will have to do.

After snorting ketamine George broke free of his afternoon-long depressive episode which rendered him incapable of expressing or even experiencing any joy whatsoever. The fog cleared and a burdening dam broke from where a flood of feel-good was rushing. Before George could not even look a companion in the eye out of shame and brooded resentment. He still cannot. But he is nonetheless relieved.

George wrote: Again, I've been ticked off by the embittered cynical who is happy to make derogatory telling of my poor mental health and suppose of my narcissism yet is incapable of admitting his own with any sincerity. I feel hopeless because twice now this trip I was denied desires. First swimming in Port Augusta and then skating at Coober Pedy. First the water was polluted and then he 'wanted cooking to be a combined effort', did not want to be irritated watching us skate as he cooked, sore and perceiving his own misfortune in relation to our own, so he preferred us to suffer along with him even if we did not contribute at all but simply sat and did nothing, so long as we were miserable. A good way for a domineering narcissist to drag down the general level of happiness and contentment to suit his own.


Later, George shared what he'd written to Slim as a text document. Hesitantly and after a while, Slim read it (much to George's comprehension (of course Slim expected to read something unpleasant and hence George was surprised he even read it.)) Immediately a dour mood took form in Slim and Cohn's troubled eyes and sunken brows. Their disturbed countenances expressed their having taken offensive and, in erroneously identifying George's account of the previous events as a malicious gesture, they seemed eager to reciprocate the spite.

Sparing not a shred of sympathy for George or his plight, they proceeded to attempt to coax out some form of apology for registered hurt and, Cohn in particular, swamped George with a series of ad hominem attacks. But George stood his ground and, without reacting emotionally, defended his position. He explained, to not much avail, that he only wrote what he sincerely felt and that he meant no insult by it. But his accuser persisted and, perhaps rightly so, dismissed his account as nasty, biased and distorted, and recalled instances wherein, with similar gracelessness, George refused to be woken up.

Although he too was offended, Slim took a more level-headed approach, admitted that most of George's account was as it happened, but rightfully pointed out that the story was missing some information, for example he was put up to the act by Cohn, and the fact that upon being woken up, George yelled at him to "fuck off!"

Eventually their reproach seemed to run its course, and Cohn who was leading the charge exhausted his unreciprocated spite, feeling that he was not getting through to George whose apathy and unapologetic nature were akin to that of an inanimate object.

George decided to cease projecting his suffering, returned to his bed, wrote some more, put down his phone and to perhaps drown out the sharp ache in his head, picked up One Flew the Cuckoo's nest, an action which this glum morning was long overdue.


Both resent me for unapologetic calling him a flying monkey. Rather than talk about it they've constructed a sinister dynamic, characterised by strange atmosphere, where the resulting spite is used again me.


It is convenient to inflate issues while drawing away from issues that more importantly pertain to you.

Discussion of flying monkey with both.

Taking offence to the mention of flying monkey and punishing me for it. Takes offence despite that he was not called out, perhaps because he is the supposed benefactor of the flying monkey. Despite that I did not mean offence by the flying monkey statement. Perhaps I used it as an expression of spite, and showed it for the same reason, but I see it as simply a model which complements my narrative and gives it a framework to be understood by. (narcissist, enabler, golden child and scapegoat).

 Hijacking of the conversation and emotional outbursts. The ladling in of tension and declarations made hateful and insensitive by much time of perversely distorted frustrations and the obstinate conviction to rely only on oneself as one dismisses the views of all others.

Narcissistic values projected and hidden behind humour.

I cannot take ketamine consistently but refuses to consider that he should not drink alcohol so often lest his use becomes problematic.

"mixing drugs"

  - refuses to address the importance of dose in drug effect. Stubbornly maintains the fallacious and simpleminded logic that the more drugs one takes, the worse the effect on one's health. Made the empty offer that, so long as I stick to only ketamine, and not drink or "mix" drugs, he would refrain from smoking cannabis, to not take more than one single drug and therefore to be unhypocritical. Justifiable righteousness. The reliance on self-deception, intellectual laziness and latching on to shoddy logic as fast as humanely possible to as to continue dominating the conversation because he frequently believes he is certainly right. Drunken because the main appeal of dissociative drugs (alcohol and ketamine) is that they distance one from realistic associations with the environment outside one's mind. Therefore, easier to justify unrealistic statements because one has gained unconditional confidence bare of shame.

"choice of drug"

Alcohol use often results in fuelled belligerence which I often find myself the target of.

Leads to prevailing atmospheres of discomfort which he seems to be rid out almost immediately following the conclusion of the argument whereas on myself it has a lasting effect. The discomfort is in the form of anxiety and the apprehension with which one can only expect the worst, which has occurred a significant number of times in the past, although he does not seem to recognise this fact and persists in his familiar mania. By 'the worst' I mean a culmination of violence, whether scathingly verbal or unapologetically physical or simply ostracisation, in which case I'd likely be sent back home on the train as punishment for speaking my mind and defending my values.

Inability to examine the other party's point of view

Defensiveness when criticised or accused of being hypocritical

Consistent interruption


Dominates conversation

Tone expressive of feelings

Always believe one is right and reluctant to admit fault

"you haven't responded"

Ketamine taking prole

Slim leaves

It becomes apparent it was all a show for Slim, for he lost enthusiasm.

Awkward, charged silence.

Chilling juxtaposition between oppressive tirade (bitter, hateful, and malicious tone) and interaction between curious wild parrot "hello little buddy" (friendly tone).

Symbolic of his incomprehension of the neglect he dealt me through my development and a weak, vague attempt to reconcile by pampering the bird who was not totally dependent on his support in its development (and the inability to take responsibility for his own words and actions).

Ketamine has the same mechanism of action as alcohol yet it is less pharmacologically dirty (more potent, less mechanisms of auction, not physically addictive, less liable to cause harm)

"I'm older than you so I know better." "you're being condescending."

Courtney Barnett – out of the woodwork

To seek drunkenness because one is afraid of another's words, and the potential of them, in their truthfulness, to affect. It is a cowardly act, as is the act of taking a benzo to reconcile plaguing anxiety. Except that alcohol is more sinister than benzos in that it acts on the GABA-A receptor as does a barbiturate (which as a pharmaceutical once accounted for most drug-related deaths in combination with alcohol); ethanol produces a much more potent effect than that the self-limiting effect caused by benzodiazepines.


Thrives off the atmosphere of uncontested power when I am visibly shaken, apathetic, sullen, or otherwise untalkative. Enjoys prodding me while facetiously pretending 'everything is fine'.

Starts his own drama. Boredom? Grandiose ideas. Constantly offering moral advice. Edifying. Tactical berating.

Talks the talk.

Counts the chickens before they hatch.

Holds on to grudges indefinitely.

Cohn saw I was taking a favourable position in the social dynamic, did not privately allow it and figured to promptly diminish me to have his will.

Cohn starts drama for no apparent reason. I was in an innocuous and pleasant mood. After a bit of tussle, I ask Slim to acknowledge the injustice. No discernible reaction from him.

Speaking my mind in a level, unaffected tone is sufficient to be "manipulative".

I "got some karma coming" my way.

He is acted similarly in the last two days, when Slim has been present. My feeling is that he must maintain a certain image in this dynamic to 'adjust' Slim and keep power over us both.

From bed, I go back outside to take more promethazine to sufficiently knock myself out, go back outside to retrieve it, noticed they were out of earshot and talking in hushed whispers. Slim cast a suspicious sidelong glance at me.


"oh, yeh you said you wanted to go to sleep but here you are watching something digital. Typical gen Y."

  - reliance on stereotypes.

Took some drugs and my only regret was not taking more before it was too late.

Aggressiveness and bitter tone are punitive measures. My mention of flying monkey was only a literary device. A model to meet my narrative. I was looking through the negative lens I wore at the time. Therefore, your punishments are only expressions of your frustration and resentment - an unjust appraisal.

George began to sort through the opals he had found. He kept them in his beanie. He was sore that most were of low quality because he (in hindsight mistakenly) put them into Slim's 'good bag' - he would see none of those now and had to be content with what he had.

He recalled yesterday as he sifted through the 'good bag', Cohn anxiously and fretfully looked back at him (AS HE DROVE), expecting to catch him in the act of 'siphoning opals', despite that he and Slim, but mainly he, siphoned all the 'good opals'. He recalled the bargaining, the tacit understandings between them, as he sat in the back watching helplessly, himself untrusted and disabled from handling opals. He recalled how the previous day Cohn said, "if yer keeping any opals George I suggest you hide them up your ass cus I'm gonna go through all your shit," and to this Slim laughed heartily, as usual automatically siding with Cohn.

The sour atmosphere of greed promoted mistrust and stifled what might have otherwise been merriness and sharing of joy. Unpleasant. But George sat looking rock after rock for that opalescent gleam; he examined each one individually, continually greedy for that next glittering streak.

Things lightened up briefly. Slim and George handed each other an opal each to peruse.

Cohn leant back and said ironically, "Hey George, I spose after this morning Cohn's getting a really bad rap," referring to the story George was writing on his phone.

"What do you think?" George said sarcastically.

Cohn laughed.


Stopped at a highway fish and chip shop and bought burgers and chips. Were nice. Cohn got impatient because we were 'going to be late' to a business meeting he planned as a detour in the trip home to trade rocks with another crystal dealer. He had dressed as sharply as was possible given the circumstances but on closer observation one could see he was still dishevelled by the desert.

George really wanted to snort k but it was hidden away from reach to pre-emptively thwart possible search attempts. He had also stowed away the best opals he managed to get out of his bag of random, mostly low quality, opals.


Dropped a fly off by the seaside in south Aus. Slim said "suck shit" to it. George remarked that it would have a better home here than in the desert, as it would be with sheep and trees and water. Cohn agreed.


"George's pyjamas are on the roof." - Slim said sullenly under his breath before promptly getting back into the car. Vindictive would have been if I pushed him because I was annoyed that he did not make tea. That was not vindictive. Vindictive would have been can you cunts get up and make tea for me for once but you cunts laid in bed for an hour after I got up.

Cohn continued:

"I was happy to do a few tours of stargazing.

You two cunts were just acting like total fucking cunts because of this DMT thing.

You were damaging a reason but whatever your reasons were unimportant.

You kept saying it so aggressively that it was not an invitation to sit with you.

It was just can invitation for you to be civilised.

Let me five a point because I have to respond to that fucked up comment.

I was in a really good mood.

If anything, I was really sentimental.

I was trying to open up about some of the real shit in my life.

But you responded with a fucked up ultimatum that if I didn't sit there even if I didn't smoke DMT.

You two changed it into the same nastiness that you had on the first place because I didn’t let you skate in Coober Pedy.


I am a man who is perpetually stifled by the neuroses of those he must oblige.


He is taking pictures now in the valley of a searing gorge, taking pictures at the expense of general well-being.


The Slim leant over with a wry smile and said, "hey do you think he's autistic?"


Through force of will George put forth ‘The breeze is nice!’ His face remained unchanged in gooey reservation as he said it. He merely took a quick one in with some irritation and uttered the remark. All vocal cords, no diaphragm. Very forced manner of speech.

All hot and dry and dusty outside. What are you telling me, Earth?

George drawled over welfare payments.

Cohn stopped the car. This had been going on sporadically. Seeming somewhat absent-minded, likely dazed by the glaring sun, he gathered large ironstone rocks and threw them into the trailer.

"Shiny as shit, just like meteorites. Picked up a few interesting ones."

At first George thought Cohn's head may have been cooked, but then…

"It's some wicked shit, ay? God knows how long it's been baking in the desert.

We passed by rare mountain ranges.

George's forced and nasally monotone.

George dreaded the inevitable periods of loneliness when he would not be heard, nor would he hear. He appreciated the scraps of socialising for what they were, salvation.

Meandered about. Humouring the most benign whim.

The gang trudged along the red roadside in search of treasure.

Plucked from the earth some rocks to see what it was all about. Glittering, shining, shimmering. Quartz, ironstone, calcite. What appears to be opal. But George was still proud of his kings canyon amber.

"I think that's a delivery," Cohn said enthusiastically, turning his head to meet eyes with Slim.

"It looks like molybdenite dude."

"It fucking looks like molybdenite."

Both George and Cohn were in the less desirable stage of growing their hair out. It just so happened, probably owinh to their vanity, both were engaged in the terrible habit of slicking back their hair.

Back in Massachusetts reggae.

Kanye 4 pres. Kanye would a fully make a great president.

"Oooo," Cohn said in delight, "it's another hotspot!" He was keen to meander some more.

Cohn kept singing that Massachusetts song. George said a muffled sentence: can you feel all the extra weight in the car?" He was tepid, expected not to be listened to, told himself he wasn't worth it. Very neurotic.

George sat poised by a aluminium bowl of rocks in his clandestine back seat recluse. He was comfortable in his shady nook because he felt no eyes watching him.

George's spot in the back seat aptly represented his position in the social hierarchy of the group. At the back. Behind the scenes. Only there for when you need him. Unwanted. Stringing along. Endured.

Slim and Cohn were squabbling with the air con up front.

Slim stonewalled George from any emotional interaction out of vindictive spite.


George’s thoughts went as follows:

“I sunk into my nook out of sight in my back seat and prepared to short a line of ketamine. I had to be secretive to avoid being reprimanded. I would have done it anyway, so how needlessly punitive the expected reprimand!

I promptly rendered myself retarded with a swift series of nasal inhalations of that delicious white dust, which dripped with the taste of crystal fruit into the back of my throat. A rare candy, a small nothing which inspired something. Just like the fluttering of moths my world was made dreamy. My eyes opened and closed and I stretched my neck in circles as my nose dripped and John Lennon expressed himself.

I just sort of floated on. I wondered my companions cared for me much less than I thought, recalling the previous night. We were getting into bed in our tent at the camp site when I had an irresistible urge to snort ketamine. Actually, I wouldn't have called it irresistible. More like a brief internal struggle preceded wherein my depressive 'fuck it all' attitude prevailed. As I did this, moody as I was, I expected my companions to take fault with my behaviour but at the time I simply did not care.

One had noticed but with a slight twinge of irritation and an indifferent, dismissive swivel of his head he lay down and pursued sleep. The other then entered the tent and made some comment that I should clear my nose and did the same, failing to notice how high I was or that I was literally just snorting ketamine. I lay for hours in anxious dread and wished I had also taken a sedative.

I'm convinced that I'm here to act as a buffer. Also it may be that my companion saw how depressed I was at the dismal place I call home, how I'd snort ketamine and stay up late playing video games, utterly miserable yet pursuing pleasure all the same, and took pity for me, endeavouring to bring me along on this trip which he had planned in advance unbeknownst to me. I wonder if he really wanted me to come. It could not have been based on my miserable character. He knew how it was.

So I sat back there all starry in my crystal dream state, just fine and dandy until the car was stopped suddenly and I was ordered to swap seats with my companion. As he got out of the car, losing no time, I was struck by a moment. I quickly and subtly snorted the rest of the k using my swiftly prepared thumb and nostril and shoved the k out of sight. I then got up and almost fell over, only just succeeding in hiding my staggering, and let myself plop with some relief onto the front seat.”


Stopped by Babylon yet again on way back to Coober Pedy. Fined for the second time.......


Just grateful to pass the gauntlet. Sniffer dogs. Fortunately, their attention was elsewhere. A dog sniffed all the way about a van on the other side of the road and then wanted to jump into the trailer........ (Cohn lost his wallet and Cohn and slim scrambled to find it.) meanwhile sniffer dogs continued their hunt on the other side of the road, unaware of our presence. Cops were amiable.

Cohn was begrudged. Insisted that he did a lesser speed than the officer suggested.

Officer would not budge. Was pompously explaining the details of the fine, pointing to his clipboard as he went, and made an underhanded remark about the speedometer calibration details.

Cohn suggested the officer should check his speedometer.

"Thank you so much, officer," he said sarcastically as the officer walked away.


On the systemic victimisation of aboriginals by police - cops do not even need to nod. They just look at each other in the eye and they know what to do. Discrimination is tacit.

It says nowhere in the books 'look, if you see a car full of aboriginals then you really have to pay closer attention,' they just know.

"Worst part about it is we would have lost our weed and shit. Wouldn't you say so, George?" said Cohn snidely.

Trying to get bogans coming out of Uluru, dude.

The guys were almost subjected to the full force of the Babylon.

They asked probing questions like 'how was your day?', disingenuously, as if they were chatting to mates.

One of the cars was unmarked.

Patty wagon.

There were three drug dogs, but their interest was peaked by a car on the other side of the road.

"Lady luck has blessed us on this day. So, I suggest you be less morose." Said Cohn wisely.

"Are you saying you would be less likely to be subjected to the drug dogs if you were in a Mercedes?"

After this shocking event George stopped writing almost completely.

We visited the skate park once more on our way out of Coober Pedy and Slim and George skated some. Some aboriginals followed Cohn's scent and talked with some some.

When Slim and George got back to the car it appeared a Babylon was on their trail, must have found it suspect.

He pointed out some trivial issue to do with the back window being obscured and the potential safety issues to do with that. Typical rhetoric. But he just wanted to lean in a take a good look within the car. Eventually he fucked off.

We talked about how much we hate the Babylon, how opportunistic they are out here compared to the ones in NSW. But there was a rare pleasantness in the atmosphere. It was a relatively good day.

But soon after greed started to show its sour face. Cohn claimed all the opals were his. He was not satisfied with any less than his fair share and in fact he wanted them all. And George and Slim knew he would get them. They knew his game. Slim succumbed immediately, satisfied with his rare find – a "red-on-black" – Cohn could keep the rest for all he cared.

"There’s some good pieces for you to practise on at a lapidary club," Cohn said condescendingly to George. He tried to sell the point further. "It's like 15 bucks a month there to use all their machinery and shit." Cohn said all this while handing George a bag of shitty quality opals.

Even after all this sickeningly greedy squabbling, the superior claim laid to the opals, George showed a piece he found, and Cohn insisted it were he himself who in fact found it. George sullenly recalled something he himself said as they searched for opals. It was with a certain weakness that he said to Cohn, "so if we find a good piece, we will split the proceedings between us?" "Yeh, Cohn said manipulatively, knowing deep down he'd just keep it. He talked about idealistic things. When he" got some cash into his pocket," the things they would do together. That sort of thing. He handed back another low-quality opal. "Here you go George," he said magnanimously, here is another good piece for you to practise on. But George was not buying any of it and it occurred to him that although Cohn said those opals were all for him, that the only point of them having come to this town was to find opals for him to sell at his shows, the money would ultimately be Cohn's. He felt swindled and misled, for Cohn had previously mentioned nothing of these intentions, but probably held them from the start.

Cohn continued to revel in his sour greed. With sparking eyes, he occasionally raised his voice and demanded Slim hand him over the opals he liked most, and one could see he struggled to synthesise reasons to enforce his will. He kept claiming he found individual opals as if it gave him more of a claim to them.

Slim and Cohn were up front examining and sporadically moaning over pieces of opal. Slim said firmly, "I want this piece." Cohn responded by attempting to bargain with Slim. "I'll trade you for that other piece with the matrix," he said. George sat pissed off in the back, left with virtually nothing. He managed to sneak a few nice pieces, but eventually gave them all back to Cohn because he felt bad. Sad, right? I am sure George still regrets it to this day.

Cohn made claims about his debt, attempting pathetic pleas to sympathy. "I've got Citibank trying to fuck me up the ass, so that entitles me to most of these crystals." But it seemed by "most" he meant "all". He went on: "I don't want your mum to have any of these. If I give them to you, they will just be lying around."

George knew that, just like the Babylon, Cohn had a firmly established mechanism of responding emotionally to any idea he perceived to be threatening. It was with this knowledge that George reflected on that it would be impossible to bring up the topic of Cohn's greed without in effect creating an extremely unpleasant atmosphere, by disturbing the fragile equilibrium of Cohn's vast repertoire of self-deception and delusion and his firmly held but scarcely acknowledged belief that he was superior to everyone else and owing to the perceived neuroses, insecurities, and inferiorities of everyone else, because he was infallible, he deserved more.


Stopped early for once. Celebration. Opal prizes. Well on the way back home.

Stove not working. Pulled it apart. Toothbrush to clean stove. Wanted to use George's. Sunflower oil, ran out of olive oil. Anchovies, olives. Running out of olives. sweet potato beef eggplant Capsicum onion mushroom. Peas. Cooked. All ket. Cohn headache nausea codei e water extraction, didn't drink or eat. Better after berocca. Night pleasant. Stopped early in a comfortable desert landscape, had to deal with flies but they buzzed off at sunset.

George fell asleep under the stars as he saw in his mind's eye opalescent patterns. Took longer to get to sleep. Just h he subscribes to with complicity.


On the way back through the NSW border, George noticed they were much more prepared to face the wrath of the Babylon than before. They had discarded their fruit, hidden the cannabis and took every other possible preparation to appear acceptable to the Babylon outpost men. George remarked on this and elicited a laugh from Cohn.

Murray River. It is in a sorry state because of unsustainable farming practices used by cotton farmers upstream. Dead trees in the river from years of droughts. Orchards of citrus, apricots, olives, dates, grapes, rice. Picturesque houses in amongst them and luscious trees, eucalypts, palms.

Siphoning the river. Sandy escarpments (?). Heavy machinery. Factories out back. Mounds of gravel and dirt and rocks on the roadside. An airstrip. Barren plane. Back into the great sandy desert of NSW.


Driving at night out of Mildura to NSW in the dead of night. Trying to make it back to the blue mountains. The atmosphere was dark and solemn, but it lightened up once we reached the country road, because there would not be many Babylon.

"He even gets offended that I let him know," said Cohn, referring to a driver who high beamed us.

I tell you what if I get a persistent one like that again I'll just leave it on like you did, he said to slim.

They're usually a lot more considerate than cars and more than 4wds they're the biggest cunts. They drive along like this not giving a flying shit as they drive along like this with high bems on.

See this guy drives in the country at night. Flicked them off straight away.

Before - miner cunt turned on red and blue cop lights ostensibly as a joke.


Finally, they arrived back in the blue mountains. The air was crisp and cool and carried with it a light breeze. Dense bushland presented majestically all about on the rolling slopes. Mountain tops. Pine trees and verdant grasses.


They ventured to Jervis Bay on way back. Kangaroos. Kookaburras. Beach. Slept in national Park. Woke up early, swam, Nowra, skate.

On waking George was given the short straw, to wash the pan, make tea and roll the morning cannabis joint.

The morning sun seeped foggy through the canopies of dense rainforest. Many different species of birds sang as the world turned lighter.


George looked forward to his Job services interview (not) and dreamed the following symbols:

Jobs assist office

All ceremonious

Empty gestures

Blatantly faked enthusiasm

Stale atmosphere

Tokenism - Aboriginal flag

Job assistance quotas on white board

Horrible mix of discrete unintelligent discussions in the air

Submitted: March 22, 2021

© Copyright 2021 olive tree. All rights reserved.


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