Even when you're black, you're still a sheep.

Hollow wood disintegrates on the touch of a fingertip
Dishevelled twigs splinter,
cascading in quiescent chaos.

in the crepuscule: you and I wait.

Perhaps it is the endless benches,
the corridors that clang in death's silence.

in the crepuscule: I wait.

We are nothing.
I am nothing; they are something.
There is grey.

in the crepuscule: I am.

I am Sorry.

Today, Australia Apologised:



The tale of Australian colonisation and oppression is long and harsh. Terra Nulius, the principle which refused to recognise the humanity of Aboriginal People, was the starting point of massacre, eviction from land, abuse, and loss of identity. Followed by Protectionism and Paternalism, Indigenous Australians were subject to forced removal from their homes, a Christian indoctrination, and a loss of identity. Along with these ideas, children were taught to believe that their cultural heritage was wrong, their language was barbaric and their black skins made them scum. With a blatant attempt of cultural genocide, does anyone wonder why they remain at loss? It was only in 1967 that they were recognised as 'people' and placed on the census.

John Howard refused to apologise on behalf of Australia while he was in government, as he felt that it was not his responsibility. This is not a matter of personal responsibility, but an official recognition of the wrong that was caused. An empathetic gesture that recognises that these oppressive actions should not have occurred, and should not occur again. Thank you, Kevin Rudd.

I am sorry.

There are some answers that need to be answered still. Will Australians continue to celebrate the arrival of the first White Australians ('Australia Day')? Will the government act in trying to improve Aboriginal Housing, Health and social conditions? Will the Aboriginal Community have more of a role to play in Australian culture, rather than being a form of cheap tourist entertainment*?
Or are these just empty words?

In commemoration of this day, I attach a poem by Oodgeroo Noonuccal:

Song of Hope
Look up, my people,
The dawn is breaking,
The world is waking,
To a new bright day,
When none defame us,
Nor colour shame us,
Nor sneer dismay.

Now brood no more
On the years behind you,
The hope assigned you
Shall the past replace,
When juster justice
Grown wise and stronger
Points the bone no longer
At a darker race.

So long we waited
Bound and frustrated,
Till hate be hated
And caste deposed;
Now light shall guide us,
And all doors open
That long were closed

See plain the promise,
Dark freedom-lover!
Night’s nearly over,
And though long the climb,
New rights will greet us,
New mateship meet us,
And joy complete us
In our new Dream Time.

To our father’s fathers
The pain, the sorrow;
To our children’s children
The glad tomorrow.

*I refer here to the 'So Where the Bloody Hell Are You?' Tourist campaign, which had the lines "And we’ve been rehearsing for over 40,000 years" attached to a group of Aboriginal People leaping.

time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana

Time stood there in a Blue Long Hat, not a cape, I assure you.
And in his long outstretched hand, the fingers curling ever so slightly, nails stretching into the oblivion, and coming back, in perfect infinity, he held a Staff! But this was not Any staff. It was not any staff at all! (Most staff are rather dull personages who dress in stripy shirts and drool over time, time and time again...) No, this was the Staff of Time. And from the depths of darkness, Time would echo time, and all would be understood (except why Time had a Blue Long Hat...).

He actually doesn't do much. He does actually just stand there. Nobody really interrupts him, except maybe Augustine, but then Time just used his pink fluffy bunny rabbit shoes (the one called 'left') and tickled 'ickle Augustie's ear and sent him spiralling down through a timely abysm.

I like Abysms.