LIFE IN THE LAST FANE. RIGINAL.
LIFE? The short habitual breathing experience prior to an unknown demise whereupon your heart sighs for the last time rendering all past/future responsibility to your soul? Does it waft up as the sole representative of your earthly good/not so good deeds which are then sifted sorted shelved in incremental Godly percentage then judged by the ultimate judge of afterlife? Or a life- after- death of nothingness, a blank unframed neutral canvas with nary a smudge, tick of approval/disapproval to acknowledge that you once were? Sitting on an ornate cast- iron ended faded wordstained bench in a country town in the main street hand wrestling with a soft fresh hot pie, content to travel in gravy globules anywhere about my person cept my mouth. That's why i always lick the sauce off first-hate waste. I always wonder if the filling is 'home-made' out of a bulk manufactured pie- filling tin or home-made? So many actions and reactions from people around me...the inaction of bodies trapped in battery- powered bright coloured three-wheeled mobiles, the out-of-body reaction when a friend is sighted and they laugh and gesture in animated friendship. Boredom takes a respite, sits fitful/sulking concerned it might lose its purpose...muffled by the continuing mirth and pleasure binding the two friends as they cackle and wave to other friends. The talking point is the nearby mine fire...they have been through it before. They are not greatly worried. They curse the lame brains that deliberately light fires. Much earlier a near deserted side-walk played a pitted uneven concrete host to a young strident fair- haired mohawk crested 'parrot' screeching guy. His missus,a young thin weary looking girl, is wearing a woollen cap dragged down over her long straggling black hair. Stares impassively down the street,rocking a little boy in a pusher who is yelling and waving his little fists in an effort to emulate and urge on his raging dad. A pudgy Asian looking guy is on the receiving end of the abuse which i guessed was about some sort of drug deal. "An you better be at the pub with my fifty dollars mother f.....er! at eleven oclock...no later!...no later!"he prodded the fat man's stomach with an angry finger. The young thin glaring pair scuffed off, the little boy waving his fists and doing his best to get out as many expletives as he could. Dad smiling at him with that "that's my boy" proud look on his face.. The fat man lit a cigarette,i think the confrontation was the norm, he spat out "arseholes!" Walked away not greatly concerned.
I had things to do, to renovate, a repeat asbestos course, and bit of shopping. My ex used to do it all, i worked out once that a housewife is worth about $67,000 a year when you take in all they have to contend with. And wheeling round a swearing little boy is no easy task but they must be taught manners otherwise mum could end up with a 'grown up' little boy swearing at her and remonstrating with street people over smoking grass as opposed to the awful idea of mowing it.
I started to get up to spread the pie on my jeans a bit more respectably or at least in a uniform pattern, when a little old stooped lady shuffled painfully over to me and said regretfully..." it's awful getting old isn't it?" I replied "now look young lady you've got plenty of life left in you." She grinned,moved closer and whispered, "my husband came home one day and said "i've just taken out a life insurance policy." She started to tear up. "He didn't tell me he had cancer...he died a short while later. The house was fully paid off." I said, "he must have been a wonderful husband and very brave." "Oh he was...he was...i miss him." She grimaced, smiled, "nice talking to you we're friendly here you'll like this town."
And i do...