The Far Queue

RSS Feed Homepage

Articles: 1, 2, 3, 4

Good Weather Tipped to Lift Spirits*
2007-01-04 20:15:00
Well I’ve been to the crossroads and I didn’t get no dealThe devil said I didn’t have the ballsAnd Bob Dylan’s sixty-first apocalyptic dreamDid nothing to alleviate these closing in wallsThe world is a woman without any clothesOgled and pawed and taken up the noseMy heart is a damp and delicate roseA mechanical construct that don’t make house callsOn the eve of the future, in the words that I screamEch… more of the same old shit. I’ve been stoating around trying to get my head around a positive future; trying to break this dark cloud. The muse, reticent bastard that he is, has been moody and non-cooperative so I kicked his arse with a couple of beers and plugged myself into the Afro Celt Sound System in the hope of getting it all off my chest.The future is hanging by a yes/no thread of the contractual kind that caused the holiday period weather to be a vague limbo, notwithstanding the Australian sun.Back in the land of the long white faces (most of whom I don’t want ...
More About: Weather , Spirits , Spirit , Good , Lift

The Last Days in the Castle
2006-12-30 20:15:00
This red sand castle stands at waters licking; echoing halls of hollow stoned ethic and quickset theology.Its profile silhouette studded crosses and crescents and creed-cored credentials; flags that flutter in empty promise; the days of tomorrow shot through with red white and blue and power for the few.Here he set up his stall of translucent effigies for no one to worship; sharpened the knives on what was left of the grindstone of wonder; his lack of belief fell from the imperfect mould handed down by his mother on a day of dark horror at the path that she chose through the maze so delicately structured to obscure the cog wheels and machines and magicians dark sleeves.In the warm light of slumber, between the teeth of the night and the swallowing morning, he sucked down the sharp taste of every wrong turn, every sidelong glance at the faces that loiter behind the blinds of the past.And smiled as he swallowed; a grey smile for all those tomorrows unbeaten and lined up domino-spotted...
More About: Castle , Last , Cast , Last Days , Days

Dark Chocolate
2006-12-10 20:15:00
I'm going to be away for a while - recharge the batteries (using only solar energy).I'll leave you with a little something to suck on...Dip in dear readers, dip into this boxOf very expensive and decadent chocsOur overfilled soft centres won’t put up a fightYou’ll love our foreign policy; our Turkish delightBarrels of Rum for banana republicsWalnut whip crack for Falluja’s refuseniksCaramel encased security measuresNut-cased dictators plundering national treasuresPartake in the madness of a truffle berserkerOr a Strawberry surprise in a Taliban burkaPalestine Pralines for your Bar Mitzvah treatsOur Fair-trade coffee cups are clear conscience sweetsColombian gun-runner, CIA lemon drop dusterBaghdad bomber, casbah nut clusterCadbury’s heroes in desert camouflageNestle double thick with Halliburton mirageAtom bomb burgundy vanilla surpriseSweet sugar plum and history’s demiseChocolat e orange agent of evolutionary changeDNA bubbles genetic biscuit rangeAnd when the box is ha...
More About: Dark , Cola , Late

Trance Incidental Medication
2006-12-07 20:15:00
The Book of Samothrace - Barry Windsor-Smith (1977)What is it that you expect to find when you wander the halls in this house on the hill of discontent?This house of ghost echoes that sigh in the memory of passion; that cry with the voices of playing children on the shores of yesterday; that breathe the dust of unsettled hearts; that sow the seeds of tomorrow and bleed from the broken fingernails of middle-aged cliff-hangers.Do these velvet drapes obscure the answers to the questions you dare not ask of yourself?Is it the colour of truth eclipsed not by clouds of propaganda’s weather front - rain forecast for your holiday dreams of nothingness – but by the storm that brews in your teacup?What do you choose to justify your inaction: the welcoming arms of barbiturate melancholia; the flicker of cathode ray tube; the delusional optimism of alcohol; the clinical, bladed leaves of the tree of wisdom?Are these my thoughts or yours; do they still spell the same words after crossing the...
More About: Cat , Dental , Trance , Incident , Medication

View From The Treetops (6 Dec '06)
2006-12-05 20:15:00
A couple of recommendations...This lot are beautifully difficult to catagorise, but with lyrics like:If love is a bolt from the bluethen what is a bolt but a glorified screwand that doesn't hold nothing together...they're well worth a listenandIntelligent and erudite storytelling with beautiful artwork - witty and sharp.Works for both kids and adults(whatever that means).If love is a bolt from the blue...
More About: Tops , View , Tree

The Past
2006-12-01 20:15:00
Nostalgia reeks of regrets; especially when it’s linked to a smell-memory, there can be no defence against it – it goes directly to the core and swims in the maelstrom.Iskandor refused to live with regrets, knowing that to do so – given his predisposition to melancholia – was to flounder.So when the nostalgia rose in his chest that morning – a Christmas past filled with the smell of synthetic snow and flashing in his mind images of familial harmony – he was unprepared for its intensity.His fingers stopped their duties at the keyboard, the cursor flashed indifferent on the screen where the code gazed back at his unfocussed stare.Reason dictates that a man confident in his abilities is an asset to society. Iskandor felt the dark threads of disappointment, of failure, licking at his gut. He found himself standing; logging out of his workstation and heading for the door under the bemused stare of the floor manager.The sniffer at the security turnstile blinked red as he passe...
More About: Past

Limbo Terminus
2006-11-25 20:15:00
Time Transfixed - René MagritteIf my words are wings that hang on the air like winter breath; like fine blood mist that settles on my face after each pulsation, then let them take me far from here. [not back: you can’t go back when back is what got you here in the first place.]Taste blood on the tide of sun-bleached uniforms and civilian corpses; destroyed culture and gangster alleyway surprise in desert camouflage; blood on my hands and blood in my mouth – you can’t tell me this is right.If her words here on this pocketed paper that burns at my thigh; this message in a battle that once carried a faint hint of her; this mind bomb of folded and refolded and disintegrating paper; if her words still held sway, then I might yet hold that thread, that motivation to survive; to return.If words might warm my feet; might thaw my static heart.If your words were armed with justice and truth; if your self-belief were justified; then let them take me far from here; not back to the world ...
More About: Term , Limb