Wicky wicky wacky woo,
do as i say, do as I do,
spread disease, reject the vax,
embrace my bullshit alternate facts,
the sicker you get, the more you’ll need me,
your desperation is what feeds me,
western doctors, what do they know,
big pharma, like me, wants profits to grow.
Buy my potions, pills and prophecies,
there’s none so blind as do not see,
don’t forget your horse dewormer,
I’m your role model star performer,
freedom is my personal brand,
your body, your choice are in my hands,
wicky wicky wacky woo,
I have the snake oil just for you.
Us woo merchants are on the fiddle,
you sitting ducks are scared of needles,
this border lockdown really sucks,
burn your masks, free the trucks,
all the experts huff and blow,
let’s party like there’s no tomorrow,
wicky wicky wacky woo,
more money for me and pain for you.
Jinjirrie, August 2021
Be careful with women in a group which contains men. Many are colonised colonisers who perform shamelessly to attract male attention, neglecting to support airtime for and positions of other women.
If you call this out, don’t be surprised if you’re cast as a pariah.
Be aware you will never be appreciated by such shallow women. They are occupied, coddling the men they’re attempting to impress.
Your power to mollify these females can only be obtained by beating them at their own game which ironically reinforces the colonial paradigm. Try satire instead.
(June 2021 – experimenting with 100 written words.)
Strike For Palestine
at the magic point of writing my own stories
again joy’s stolen by Israel and its settler cronies,
how many times have the bombs of the colonizer
fallen on its sitting duck prisoners in Gaza?
now more sleepless nights tweeting, posting
attacking the flatulent zionist boasting
to stop genocidal killing in desperation
for my mates oppressed by the West’s occupation,
and what am i, what’s the bloody use,
another fucking white saviour out in the bush,
through a torrent of tears never heard,
all i can fight with are coarse distant words,
may they be sharp and hard, accurate missiles
to pierce the iron colonial carapace
for as in Israel and US, here they are present
condemning refugees to eternal imprisonment
scumbag white supremacists strut and preen
with gruesome European colonial hubris.
Jinjirrie, May 2021
Liberal hasbaroids are snide
prancing the dance of ‘both sides’
not ‘clashes’, resistance to apartheid
this ‘conflict’ is 73 years of genocide
Jinjirrie, May 2021
“The Migration Amendment (Clarifying International Obligations for Removal) Bill 2021 was introduced on the last sitting day of the last session in March.
On Thursday, in the hours before the budget reply speech, the government cut short debate on the floor of the Senate and brought the bill to a vote. There were critics on the floor of the parliament, notably Greens senator Nick McKim and independent MP Andrew Wilkie. But with bipartisan support, there was little room for dissenting voices. With Labor’s support, the bill passed quietly into law.”
Take action to end apartheid criminal Israel’s impunity – Strike for Palestine. “Silence and two-sides-ism are immoral, as they reinforce Israel’s criminal impunity.”
Tossing up whether to stay,
in trouble for needling tone
weeding out redundancy,
nervous “buts” grating,
musicians can’t get away with
bum notes, a voice singing flat,
drums out of time, violin out of tune.
In writing and painting,
does anything go?
with crafty nitpicking
dropped stitches unravel knitting.
“Art is a matter of opinion”
bleats the vainglorious fool,
“to write at all is better than silence”
yet quietude is restful and brainfarts terrorize,
crackling chip packets in cinemas,
literary abstract expressionists
demand respect for widdershin words,
the minimalist scribes for a single dot
in the centre of the page
what’s the bloody point of words anyway
if clumsy drivel is high art too,
do you feel anything at all?
do you suck or blow?
Jinjirrie, February 2021
I’m a working class bloke with a working class wife
I’m poor but they tell me “At least you’re white,
though you’re gonna be working for the rest of yer life,
by the grace of the great bloke god, she’ll be right”.
At sixty-five, they used to retire workers like me,
Now the bosses bleed us till we’re worn out and drop,
We’ll get ours in heaven, a pension we’ll never see
and the toffs whoop it up and scoff the lot.
Sleazy Scummo’s in clover, doing us over,
“No pasaran”, we cry, defying our fates
while we hold picket lines, sisters and brothers,
he mainlines to god, filling pockets of mates.
“Be your own revolution”, scream greedy bourgeoisie,
Yet we workers win over wankers in solidarity.
Jinjirrie, January 2021