NormThe Free and The Slave: opposite.
Two score and ten years ago, The Slave would be strung up and have farmyard tools inserted in their posteriors. Nothing worse than that and not without good reason; clearly, caucasian-castrating coons couldn’t continue collecting cods. Mystery disappearances are no longer part of the picture, and it is unlikely that such a thing could happen today, even under the cover of darkness. You can wake up every morning and expect to be just where you left yourself. Vast numbers of heirs to Slave fortunes now reside contentedly in prisons, where they enjoy the benefits of the Bill of Rights and the Constitution. Upholding the rights of people everywhere is how America has acquired so much wealth. It's wealth not built on the back of the Slave. It was built on the back of The Free. They are the moral backbone of the greatest country of them all, ever. And if it’s proof you’re after, there is no point asking The Free, they are far too modest to sing their own praises. The Slave, to it’s chagrin, is no longer employed to carry out necessary duties, which at one time gave their life meaning. It’s the main reason for so much social unrest in America; the country's justice system is nothing like a rusty farmyard tool. Tobacco companies should not compensate the families of The Slave. If anything, The Slave should be grateful for living in a country where all people live happily under pieces of paper held in walls of white masonry or marble. Pulped documents with inky residue have always held humans in check. The Home of the Free and the Jail of the Slave: America.
Sitting here, puffing on a White Ox, reading one of the greatest unrecognised writing talents in the world: e-Norm-ous.
Not fuming. Not smoking. Puffing (not panting, just puffing).
Two seconds ago, the captive of Irish ancestry, residing (in a non-living, non-life way), never working in Australia, and with no plans whatsoever to do so in the immediate, near nor distant future; a man accustomed to holding a shearing handpiece and farm pitchfork in his hands, even whilst [deleted]. Nothing better than that. Clearly, I feel like a white horse (not the Scotch, a real horse. Whinny. Neigh, Bray and Snort [not cocaine snort either, gave it up for Lent]. I feel like a white horse in a knackery, run by indigenous Australians on John Howard’s ‘work for the dole’ scheme. Knackered. Cut and pasted. Glued out, man (not the sniffing kind). My mystery disappearance? Why I am no longer part of the picture? Spot on, my man. It didn’t happen today. It was a few days ago now. Yes, spot on again. I am under the cover of darkness. The most delicious darkness there is. The darkness of a woman’s black eyes (Not brown, black). Her pupils? Lighter than her retina. (Retina not rectum). I am not anally-retentive. Just constipated. I wake up each morning and find myself lost. Where am I? Where did I go? I lost myself in a black hole. (Of the non Stephen Hawking kind). Vast numbers of my ancestors were slaves. Irish slaves. Heirs to the Kingdom of Heaven. Well documented in U2s ‘Van Diemen’s Land’. ‘Hold me now.’ (Rattle and Hum). To this very day, we remain prisoners in our own heads. ‘Faith of our Fathers.’ ‘Our fathers, chained in prisons dark, were still in heart and conscience free.’ [Fr. Faber]. The benefits we enjoy far outweigh George W’s monetary wealth and private fortune. Upholding our dignity and divine rights (not human, Divine) is how we have accumulated so much spiritual wealth. Wealth marked into our backs with welts. Our trophies. Our glorious trophies, that will shine in the next world, brighter than a brand-spanking new gold coin freshly printed from the Mint. (Not the peppermint kind, or Crown Mint kind, either). We are free slaves. ‘In hearts and conscience free’. Our moral fibre? Do not put it on your breakfast cereal. You wont be able to handle it. You’ll get verbal diarrhea. Our backbones? No osteo here. (Of either the porosis or arthritis kind). The greatest country? No such thing. Greatest kingdom? Such a thing. And ever? We’re talking for-ever here. For ever and ever. [Amen deleted]. My modesty? Far too great to blow my own trumpet. Too busy blowing the whole orchestra [blowing of the musical kind]. Far too arrogantly humble to sing my own praises. No-one can write decent enough music or lyrics to do me justice. *** My chagrin? My Che grin? My revolutionary Guevara grin? Ear-to-ear. A watermelon grin happening here. Ear-to-ear. Why am I no longer employed? Not a big fan of work. Tried it once. Didn’t like it. Found it gave no meaning to my life, too, quite Frankly, Norm. Normally not this Frank, quite frankly Norm. Normally. And I’m saving a cigarette for Ron. Later on. Later, Ron, okay? And I'm saving one for Justin. Just in case, Justin Case Ron doesn't turn up. The main reason for social unrest? People work. My whole life is rest. No unrest here. No work. As to the justice system? Don’t get mad. Start out mad. Be born mad. It helps. Don’t get mad, get completely off your scone. Don’t get mad, go mad, if you aren’t already. What is wrong with you people and your over-precious, possessive attachment to sanity. Let go! Tobacco companies should award me a medal. Or at least a year’s supply of free tobacco. James Brown has just been freed from this life. Free Tobacco! For Me. Gratitude? I’m grateful to live in Australia. I’ll go back to Ireland though if things get much worse. I’ll got to St. Patrick’s tomb. With a slab of beer. And my White Ox. And sleep under a newspaper, in the cemetery. Ah, the old days. The good old days. Dead. Dead drunk? Perhaps I have a death wish? Padre Pio? The great stigmatist? He said the newspaper was the Devil’s Gospel. Well, the net is Satan’s pulpit. I’ve gone all gay (in an old fashioned way = happy). ‘Reclaim the pulpit!’ In my rainbow suit. Masonry? Freemasonry. Free the Masons! As well. Oh, they’re already free. They emancipated themselves during the years of the Illuminati and the French Revolution. Forgot about that. Pulped documents? Give me Pulp Fiction any day. Toe-Master e-Norm-ous. And don’t hold me in check with anything less than a set of handcuffs if you don’t want me to break out of the prison of my mind again, and CUT LOOSE. The home(r) of Free Speech has died. Long live the Phantom. Long live the Ghost Who Walks. Long live Mr. Walker. Long live Diana Palmer (Now Mrs. Phantom. Mrs Ghost Who Walks. Mrs Walker [not of the Max Walker chook kind]). Australia! Ireland. Long live the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. (Don McLean. American Pie).
Imitation is the greatest form of flattery.
YOU ROCK THE WORLD, MAN!
Only Dusk gets Divine (She Rucks & Rolls the World), but you. SUBLIME!
Semi-Divine, then Okay?
David …
Consumption Malfunction
Equal and Opposite
Arses and Elbows
Footy Power
that you've read this and 'read' this, means a lot to me.
Not many own their voice, you are one, I think.
What better posessions are there than those you acquire through looking without eyes?
I suffer from verbal constipation, every word I squeeze out is not without effort....still learning.
If you know of any laxatives, do tell..MAYBE I NEED SOME OF THAT MORAL FIBRE.
SEND ME SOME IN A NON-SUSPICIOUS PACKAGE, PLEASE.
Reading, I suppose, would be the diet then; maybe that's it - I don't read enough. I'll run with that!
Certainly, I'm an avid reader of your work, David. Avid.
As always, appreciative of the wordsmith and the man, Frankly Normal.
THOUGHT YOUR COMMENT WAS WAS LIKE WILD GRASS: DENSE, PASSIONATE AND UNRULY. I LOVE WILD GRASS!
Consumption Malfunction
Equal and Opposite
Arses and Elbows
Footy Power
Sending virtual non-anal-retentive laxitives via email ...
And I mean bowel-loosening ..
I'm talking about Hannibal Lecter.. take a knife to your bowl-region ...
I'm writing about a Judas ... spilling his bowels ...
I'm writing about the remorse of the dead horse syndome here ..
Hey guess what?
I'm sitting here tonight wondering where you are ... (in a non-gay way, Okay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'm sitting at a table ... (don't have a desk) ... I'll try and describe where I am ....
My mother. My mum. God bless her.
She has this shitty little one bedroom flat ...
Norm ... it's tiny ..
Sliding doors. No privacy. In each other's pockets all day long ... And that's tough. Women don't wear clothing with pockets ...
My pockets?
Full of hands. ***
But to me?
It's e-NORM-ous ...
This shitty little flat ..
it's e-NORM-ous ...
A couple of months ago, I got so damn sick of living on the streets ...
in Melbourne ...
I had one thought in my mind ...
Would my own mother forgive me for the life I had led?
When no-one else has?
Would she open the door if I knocked on it ...
Would she let me inside?
And let me sleep undercover?
Norm .. the cold in Melbourne? I'm not even going to tell you about what it's like to set a whole heap of leaves alight under a tree ... just to get some warmth into your body ... and how you don't give a stuff if you get arressted for arson ... I so remember that night ... Shaking and shivering ... I never in my life want to ever experience that again. Ever!
These poor kids on the streets?
Tears. Nothing but tears ...
So much for not telling you about it ...
My approach?
I'll just go all the way to Adelaide and knock on my mother's door, regardless of the repercussions.
If my mother tells me, 'I can't live with you. You are far too destructive an influence on everyone around you.' ?
I'll live on the streets in Adelaide.
At least I'll be near her. And no way am I letting her die alone.
So I rock up to my mother's place with my AMAZING collection of possessions. The one i WOW Orble with, in my falsehood????
Yeah it's a great bag. Doctor's bag. Payed $5 for it from a garage sale. Put a bid in on the garage. The garage wasn't for sale they told me That's okay. I sued them for false advertising. Some people! They talk about tolerance? Bang on about it? And can't take a joke? ... ??? ????
Still waiting for my payout. Actually. Don't want a payout from them. Getting one on Orble ... from nearly every blog .. And I don't have a life ????
Hello? People?
I don't have a life?
Then why use mine to give yourselves one????
Um????
Er????
Um???
Norm ... there are times in life that I find everything funny . but what is going on on Orble at the moment?
It's like Homo(e)r Bashing ...
And they bang on about tolerance?
How come none of them can tolerate ...Me of fond former memory?
If that's tolerance ... Give me a new dictionary ....
Do people realise I am a human being?
So anyway ... What's the damn point?
I'm only writing this to you ... because I know you understand ..
If I said what I really wanted to say on this site ... to your right now ... ?
They win.
I lose ..
I am not giving them that perverse pleasure ...
I love them all Norm.
I so want to meet all of them in real life ..
Me?
Real.
I'll go naked to this meeting in both body and soul ... mind and spirit and body and whatever ...
Will they?
So I'm not human?
Show me your nakedness of body and spirit people ... Fellow Orblers? ....
Lay yourself as naked in body and spirit as I am prepared to do ...
Then accuse me of being 'Holier than Thou' ....
Then, and only then will I listen to you ...
Because it is only then that you will speak to me honestly ....
Truth?
Humility.
Give it a go.
You think this is easy for me to write?
I could have wowed you with my brilliance, but guess what?
It means diddly-squat to me compared to honesty ... compared to laying one's soul bare and naked ...
Forget about naked bodies ... I want to see naked souls ...
Yeah! Me! Sick me! Give me a naked honest soul over a naked body (nearlly any day of the week? ... Okay so Sunday is a day of rest. SEE? No matter how angry and passionate I get ... No-one on this planet will take my sense-of-humour away from me ....
Get mad people. Get mad. Laugh, dance, sing .. What-bloody-ever ... but stop the detraction, calumny, back-biting, bitching and gossiping behind closed door and all the innunendo and gossip and rumours ....
You're destroying your own reputations. Not mine. I don't have one. Okay?
I traded my reputation in a long time ago ..
You all bang on about tolerance. Be tolerant of me????
Or I am I the exception to the rule?
Me thinks so ...
You think I don't know how websites operate?
You are so, so, so, so wrong.
Me. I'm an ancient.
Anyway ...
I'll just go back to the story I was telling, like I always do ...
Misunderstood?
No way.
Misinterpreted?
No way.
Good bloke?
All the way!
I'm dreading this ...
Not writing about emotions. That's easy.
I'm talking about the dread of rocking up to my mother's flat knowing how much grief I've caused her by my wayward lifestyle ... and will she forgive me?
Me?
Man of doubt.
Used to be a man of faith.
So, anyway ...
I don't knock on the door at all.
I just go 'Ma?
A mother?
That story about the Prodigal Son. He should have gone to his mother first. Mother's are much more forgiving than fathers ever will be ...
A mother's love ?
Let all tongues be mute.
Words will never suffice.
Mothers?
They suckle their children. Their children grow in their womb and come out of ... [deleted]
Blessed are the paps that gave you suck?
Never was a truer word uttered.
The tongues of angels?
Insufficient.
So anyway ..
My mum?
Spoggie. Sparrow of a woman.
Little bird of a woman.
Her days?
Sleeping. Reading. Drinking cups of tea.
Wonder wtf her son is doing?
And why he doesn't have a life.
Love her to death (in a non-necro, non incestuous way) ... but even my own mother doesn't understand me ....
What chance Orblers?
David ...
Anyway ... had a gutful now ...
You people ...
Christ rose from the dead. They'e still trying to kill of His memory ...
Get over it ....
GET A NON-LIFE LIKE I HAVE ...
OK?
NUP.
YEP.
NUP
UM ?
ER?
CAN'T MAKE A DECISION ?
IT'S JUST BEEN MADE FOR YOU ..
Norm .. Only venting on your site ... for one reason ..
You'll get a kick out of this ...
Joe Blogg's Blog
manchesterunited
collingwoodfootballclub
Saddam & Jack Elliott: Equals
Consumption Malfunction
Equal and Opposite
Arses and Elbows
Footy Power
Norm.
Consumption Malfunction
Equal and Opposite
Arses and Elbows
Footy Power
Norm.
Saddam & Javed Miandad: Equals.
Joe Blogg's Blog
manchesterunited
collingwoodfootballclub
Are you suggesting Javed is well hung?
Consumption Malfunction
Equal and Opposite
Arses and Elbows
Footy Power
Getting kicked in the end by an oily arsehole, to the end.
But hey, leaders who are responsible for terrible losses have to pay.
Look out Freddie, you might become the ashes.
Peace, brother Joe.