Indigenous Japanese Minority and WW2 'Comfort Women"Granted Full Land Ownership of Fukushima District in Land Rights Breakthrough!

The current Japanese Prime Minister, Mr Abe, said he was sorry about the past but hoped that the Land Grant of Fukushima District in someway made up for past crimes against the somewhat disgraced and disreputable old women, and the Japanese indigenous minority as well.

"Fukushima District is a place of profound, glowing spiritual power, and will remain so for thousands of years. We should have done this a few years ago....that's my only regret." Mr Abe's voice then became a whisper, choked with emotion.

Mr Abe noted that, with the Land Rights Grant would come the construction of a spectacular National Sea Amusement Park, with one hundred boutique restaurants constructed from environmentally safe non-toxic tsunami rubbish surrounding a very large off-shore Whale Sanctuary with large nets to keep the whales safe in Fukushima Bay.

Hacked ASIO Blueprints for sale on E-Bay and Weibo Websites for US$19.95 + postage and handling! Other News: Funding for Gonski and NDIS finalised! And... Why No One Likes Bill Shorten Much

Today's Headlines:

• The Small 'Enemy Combatant' Female Asian Property Developer being investigated by ASIO, ASIS and Defence Signals Directorate said today that she hacked into the ASIO database using a very tiny machete... & that Bill Shorten told her to do it; and that she did so because he was "...so scary and mean. I just don't like him!" She said, and then ran off, skipping. ASIO noted that they were baffled.

Photo of Enemy Combatant at large:

• Leaked Documents from the Australian Prime Minister to the Treasurer note that the National Disability Insurance Scheme will be funded by a tax on School Children, and that the Gonski Education Reforms will be funded by a tax on Disabled People at University. Developmental Funding Grants to Gina Reinhart will be funded by a new tax on people with dementia using her ATMs.

The First Few Pages of My Thin Gaunt Yet Great Novel: The Matter Stream

The Matter Stream

John Wang-Fitzpatrick

 

 

 

 

 

 

For Phil of Luxor

______________________________           

 With thanks to Mr Kawabata

 

Note:

I couldn’t have finished this story without the direct intervention of a much more reasonable Jesus; and also without Toyota; especially their large range of well-priced and trouble-free small commercial vans.

• The Very Reverend Dr Father John Rush PhD.

 

The cover photo needs to be one that isn’t copyrighted, but it’s the kind of photo that would be best.

 

Part One

 

 

 

“I want to go to Brussels!” He sprouted.

That’s what I wanted the first line of the book to be; but not this book. In light of what happened I guess it makes some sense now to have it at the start of The Matter Stream book simply because I was considering the line, and chuckled, when the cross-bow ‘went off’ and I killed the priest.  

It wasn’t my best day as a kids’ book writer, but then, it wasn’t my worst day either. For the priest I suppose it was a cunt of a day but we’ll get to that day, and to him, all in good time.

The thing that takes up a lot of my waking time, and even sleeping time now, is my home, the Orange Gate house. It’s a place where I am happy and comfortable. Everyone I’ve ever known, at all their different ages, comes and goes. I live here from Monday to Friday, mostly.

I know every inch of this home; I know all the rooms, all the light and the shade. I know the floors, the cupboards, and every large and even every small space in the kitchen. I have my thirty year old convertible car there in the single garage, and my new motorbike, and my ageless bicycle. They all just fit.  

I like German, Japanese and Italian machines, although the bicycle is Chinese. It’s the famous Flying Pagan brand, made last year in Shanghai from Argentine iron fuelled by Australian coal and perfected by the cool Cantonese artisans of Southern China. I’ve always liked China and yet I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because they make such good bicycles.

The Flying Pagan bicycle is black and shiny and has chrome bits, and mud covers; one gear, and a tray at the back, and a bell, and dynamo lights, front and back. It’s heavy and perfect and it is the tallest, most righteous and most proper of all bicycles. It’s what I like to call ‘irrepressible’. It is the People’s bicycle.

Should there ever be a nuclear attack here, which is highly unlikely, it will not be the cockroach that survives it all, nor will it be me, or Phil, but I’m pretty sure it will be the Flying Pagan. After the nuclear attack, you just put on a couple of new tubes and tyres, and off you go, riding along with your blue strontium halo.

I like to have these vehicles of delight but hardly ever use any of them especially during the week because I prefer to just go for small walks in the yard. I like to see how my orange trees are growing every day.  Sometimes I take Phil for a wander around the writer’s block of seven small houses here.

All the house yards are very small. They are all separate houses but they are really more like townhouses, I guess, but they are all on ground level. They are on narrow blocks with a sizeable front courtyard and very small back and side areas only around five feet wide. Most of the neighbours’ houses have tropical yards full of tall palms and are totally over-stuffed with flowering shrubs, hanging baskets of ferns, and all the natural fertility and rushed, passionate, exuberance that comes with living in the tropics. The whole place just goes crazy in spasms of warm wet joy for months.

My front yard is different. It is mostly a terracotta flat expanse (and there’s a good reason for that). When looking into the front yard from the house step, towards the gate, there’s a small swimming pool on the left, squeezed between the front of the house and the garage, with orange trees around the perimeter of the whole yard. It’s un-tropical; I guess; almost dry-Spanish/Arabic.

Inside the house I have the hefty Sumo air conditioner set to 23 degrees, and, it’s silent. It’s great. The air conditioner is a big one and is in the roof, piping down those 23 degrees into one room or into all rooms dependent upon a small dial in each, just near the light switch. It’s a very modern house, and squat, but it’s good in the way that some modern things can be good. Being kind of new, it has not been lived in for aeons so, of course, it has no abiding soul or presence, but it will do. Phil, Andromeda and I lend our presence to it for now. If you had to give the ‘space’ a modernistic architectural style-name you could call it Post-Mexican/Concrete Tibetan-Drivel Block. Fortunately it would only take ten years for the unrestrained rhythm of the jungle to take it all back.

During the hot humid days Monday to Friday I am usually in my Orange Gate house either busily editing manuscripts or sleeping or wondering what to eat. So if you ask me where I am in my mind, and what I am doing with my life, it may take me a minute or two to come back and answer. You are in my home too but in my home we do not need to speak to each other about such things.

Shocking Act

Love is the only shocking act left on the face of the earth.
Sandra Bernhard

A Remarkable Quote from Lawrence Durrell.

“What are stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?”
― Lawrence Durrell

A few beautiful lines of perfect prose by Lawrence Durrell from the first Book: Justine, from The Alexandria Quartet

I am thinking back to the time when for the four of us the known world hardly existed; days became simply the spaces between dreams, spaces between the shifting floors of time, of acting, of living out the topical . . . A tide of meaningless affairs nosing along the dead level of things, entering no climate, leading us nowhere, demanding of us nothing but the impossible—that we should be.

I Don't Like Bill Shorten

I don't like him. It's nothing personal. I've never met Bill but when I look at him and hear what he has to say the image that comes to mind is that of a nasty little toad. A queue jumper. Someone who would go around being rude to a girl in a pie shop because she didn't realise how important he was. Just some kind of prize prick, really. I just don't like Bill Shorten. Enough said. I'm not going to make a big issue of it, or even a shorten issue...I just don't like him. I think he's odious. Anyway, I just felt I needed to say that..