2

Psychedelia at the end of our world

Bloodbath at the House of D-E-A-T-H or Economic Rationalism

Pingo could not sleep; Mrs Nolan was snoring and dreaming of dill cucumbers floating in the ether. Mrs Nelson was making lip smacking noises and saying something like "yep yep yep, aah huh, yep yep yep aha hum huh..." Outside the street lights were still on and the noise of the early garbage collection truck rumbled down the alley. Pingo tossed the blankets aside and got up. He walked to the kitchen window, opened the blinds and peered to see the first rays of the new Tuesday morning light up the street. Although awake, Pingo was tired. Today was going to be a long one, and one that he was not particularly looking forward to. In the name of increased efficiency and effectiveness there would be an announcement at work of a cost in employee savings totalling around 3534.634661346 cat dinners, 23512.616 back scratchers and chin rubs and 23.9046146 gravelly tongue licks per post dinner “thank-you’s”. This was not including payouts in bad fish breath, scratched furniture and lost whisker redundancies. This bloody global sub-prime recession was giving Pingo the shits. He could no longer afford to sniff petrol and had to rely on adding star anise to Perkins paste to get his afternoon high. A lot of staff will be walking the plank in the name of the increased savings to the arts sector (or should that be renamed ‘arse” sector) and frankly, Pingo could not see the point. It was not light enough, but that was besides another point. In the distance he could hear the garbage men playing loud music and jabbering away at each other about an upcoming football game and how some-one was going to do a “Barry Hall” to a wanker at the pub who had been asking for it for weeks. That was what was going to happen today at work thought Pingo, the Executive Group are going to do a Barry Hall to the worker bees. There is going to be a blood bath of ochre water based paint on the hallways at the Arse House of Death. With that realization in mind, Pingo thought about what he was going to wear today, something that was stain resilient at the very least. A butcher’s apron could come in handy, along with a hibiscus behind the ear.

Polanski circa 1982

Tess and Rosemary have aborted their babies
Brian Wilson smiles for free in Sydney
The low pressure system pounds the shores
There are waves at Balmoral
All hail thee Macbeth, Thane of Cawdor
Strange Bitches brew their stew
Legend of the gutter, now in stove pipes
What's wrong with your eyes?
You can't stop the music
We are all little spots on the stage

Nail in the pirates, one by one
However, Bull shit rules = O.K.

Kats in the Kitchen

Mrs Nolan moved into the kitchen which was noticably much warmer due to climate change. Mrs Nelson moved closer to Pingo which in turn raised his hackles. Pingo wore his shackles on his ankles and put his shingles on the roof. Now that was sorted, he began to open his book on the lost tribes of Newtown and pondered if there was indeed any cultural significance for a moment. Then Pingo cancelled his brain, put his emotions into neutral and headed off towards breakfast. Mrs Nolan turned suddenly when she heard Pingo shuffling with his shackles into the kitchen. "Would you like some tea?" she asked. Pingo thought of how much he would enjoy a bloody mary instead. "Yes please" Pingo replied. The kettle was put on the stove and soon there was a high pitched whistle in the air. "Should we ask Mrs Nelson if she would like some tea too?" Mrs Nolan politely quizzed. Pingo simply nodded until he started coughing up Kat dinosaurs and the kitchen was quickly filled with an ancient feline past. There wasn’t any room left for Pingo and Mrs Nolan, let alone their cups of tea... They would have to make do with historical fur balls instead.

BlondeShum

BlondeShum knocked on the door; tap rap tap rap.

Pingo woke up, though as in a haze from the noise.

For a moment, Mrs Nolan could hear this: http://www.luckymojo.com/barrett/lyrics/wordsa.html#AR

Mrs Nelson automatically filled the electric kettle and turned it on.

Cups of tea were on the way.

Thoughts

Pingo wished he lived in this world http://www.valimyers.com/

Mrs Nolan often thought about this http://www.designboom.com/trash/bse.html

Whilst Mrs Nelson had her head full of http://www.rathergood.com/

Keep on marching on...

Domes-bliss-ity!

Pingo was in food security mode, searching the kitchen cupboards for some kind of appetising morsel. Mrs Nolan looked up from the ironing board (from which she was lovingly ironing Pingo's work shirts) "Please don't Bogart that joint" she requested. Mrs Nelson stood at the door way, hands on hips, assessing the situation. "I have just been to the markets and bought some African Scones, anyone interested in cracking a few teeth?" Mrs Nelson invited Pingo and Mrs Nolan to a friendly treat. Mrs Nolan thought about how handy a glue stick could be on such occasions...

Lips floating on frost-bite

Pingo and Mrs Nolan comment on what a cold day it is today. Mrs Nelson interrupts and says that she has experienced colder days than this. There is now an icy silence, the nuclear winter has errupted...

Kiss this!

When Mrs Nolan came home from the shops she found an old friend of Pingo's playing his mouth organ. Whooo Hoooo !!! she said.