and disappeared into the velveteen-warm night

Via CORE – the National Toilet Map. What a brilliant idea, what a wise and shrewd use of gumment money (honest! I’m not being sarcastic). In fact it was just the other week when i was walking down the main drag of 1968-72 aka Colac and wishing to myself that I was some kind of super-hero who had x-ray vision for toilets. I’d scan each side of the street and toilet bowls would gleam through walls here and there at the backend of buildings.
Doing tests of Nucleus and just automatic writing stuff without thinking the other day and writ, “expo 2000
A class excursion on a bus — a big red bus along a highwigh in the overcast bright grey mutant day hot and humid just trying to fill in time – a big buzzy fly banging on the window — and I go to touch it with my finger fully expecting not to becuase that the way the ayre – hard to tuoch. But I do and instantly regret it.
Getting sunburnt but not being able to see the sun. Always needing to take a slash but there never being a toilet anywhere. The twenty first century, man nature technology — and never a toilet when you want one.”

Maybe the Federal Bureau of Toilet, the National Closet of Water could give me a job. I could travel the country with a PDA in one hand and a GSM compass in the other (and maybe one of those microphones that you wear on your head so I could talk to central command).
{Y.S. takes slow, quiet steps backward, devices held in hands outstretched in front of him. CUT TO shot of Central Command computer monitor displaying dark blue grid with small white mass pulsing brightly, apparently moving toward the centre of the grid.}
CC guy: Oh my god, it’s coming up right behind him!

{From CC end over intercom Y.S. says:} It’s alright. It’s alright, I found it…. {slightly more distant sounding} Ahhh… {sound of tinkling} …

And so on and so forth.

….Maybe it was the extry spicey nachos in combination with the 30degree celsius evening but I dozed off and had this intensely humourous nightmare. There was all these kids – one after another – and they were singing and jumping around, dressed outlandishly — and I tell ya, I couldn’t understand a word of it. But there was this vein of clever knife-sharp satire running down through it, because these pint-sized performers parodying the whole adult manufactured, pre-processed, hyped-up, dumbed-down, shink-wrapped Music Industry.
There was a surface meaning of ‘Oh isn’t it cute they’re dressed up just like grown-ups and doing all the moves’, but it’s like it was these kids who were having the last laugh and the joke was on us.
what have we become?
The name of this disturbing little dream was Junior Eurovison.

the spork
date: 2003-11-30-15-38
Brilliant stuff Mr Sox .. as always. Though in my scene I would have included Sigourney Weaver and some comment “3m…2m …what the ? oh my god it’s above us”.

name: yak sox
date: 2003-12-02-09-08
ah thankyee sir. I see the toilet people tracked the core link back.

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