The Centre Cannot Hold

Here’s a much belated addition to that first chapter I put up here some weeks back - I’ll try to keep them coming a little more frequently.

Chapter Two

The business of giving a statement was always a lengthy one in Rag’s experience, especially when the cops had nothing to go on.

When they had you, they knew it and you knew it, and the whole statement thing was pretty much a formality. When you were clearly an innocent witness, it was usually even simpler – not to mention that the cop taking your words down would be a lot nicer to you about it. But when they didn’t know what to do next, they just tried to keep you talking, hoping you’d say something – anything – that would give them something to work with.

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“She pulls their eyes out with a face like a magnet“

I don’t know about the rest of you, but this metaphor never quite worked for me.  Partially, it’s the obscure identity of the she - there seems to be one watching the detectives (on what we assume is a tv show or movie), and one in the detective show - it’s unclear which one this is.  (Come to think of it, later on in the song, Costello is suddenly the I who is watching the show.  Which brings up some interesting gender and identity issues, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Anyway, what I want to know is this: what exactly does “a face like a magnet” look like?
Is it kinda U-shaped and painted red at the ends like the magnets in Warner Bros toons always are?
Does it have a polarity, repelling that which is like and attracting that which is different?

Because if so, the face like a magnet presumably lacks eyes of its own, which is, I’m pretty sure, at the far end of the scale from the level of attractiveness that dear old Declan McManus was trying to convey…

Okay, here’s chapter one of yet another new story - as always, let me know what you think:
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I’ve been chewing over this for a while now, and I’ve finally decided: I’m going to abandon the one day for each thing format. I find it too restrictive - and also, it delays the speed of feedback for any new thing I write.   So henceforth, although all the columns will be continuing, they’ll each be a little more irregular.  But on the upside, you’ll probably get more frequent updates overall.   And I will try to avoid putting two entries of the same column one after another, for variety’s sake.

This does also mean that Friday Fictions will now be called Fresh Fictions, but I doubt that will bother anyone

As the title suggests, it doesn’t have a lot to do with agnosticism - although it does treat doubt with more courtesy and respect than Dawkins seems capable of. It’s a fascinating read, too, which again scores it above “The God Delusion” - and it has some interesting ideas about both faith and doubt, and the historical context of both.

But I feel it misses the point of its own arguments.
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“What does it take to make our world come alive? What does it take to make us sing?”

Memo to Eldritch, Andrew: they’re called lyrics for a reason, Ando. You should really look it up sometime.

Actually, that’s unfair.  It’s pretty obvious that it takes more than just lyrics to make Mr. Eldritch sing.  Inferring from the content of his lyrics, a partial list of the things Eldritch needs would includethe follwing:

• a pair of sunglasses
• cocaine
• a black leather jacket
• the certain knowledge that his mere existence pisses off Wayne Hussey
• a horde of screaming goth girls to pick bed partners from
• a lack of anti-depressants in his bloodstream.

Mentia
-noun

1. Notable improvement of intellectual faculties, such as memory, concentration, and judgment. It is sometimes accompanied by an ending or lessening of emotional disturbance and beneficial personality changes.
2. An ordinary or average degree of sanity.

Mential
-adjectival form of Mentia.

A fragment, part of a larger work (which is, in itself, part of a larger series of works). Hope you like it.

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“I’m always traveling, I love being free,
and so I keep leaving the sun and the sea”

I’ve never really understood the attractions of this song (although I know every word of the Chaser’s parody version). But I guess I’m just unAustralian or unpatriotic or something.

But seriously, does Peter Allan honestly believe that they don’t have the sun or the sea in other countries?  I mean, obviously that man has seen the inside of way too many tanning salons, but does he really think that’s where every non-Aussie’s tan comes from?

Sorry folks.

I have a lot of ideas for what I want to with this particular column, but so far I haven’t been able to bring them together in a way that satisfies me.  When I do, the column starts…