Purga Creek

Warning

Murder most foul.

Swear words.

The grey movement between branches. Continuing an eye with natural yellow eyeliner, flickered, disappearing,. Reappearing, shaking dry leaf sound of dry discoloured leaves, snap crack, then released to be airborne.

The September Spring means nesting, homes and families. The observation was joyous, void of need to control, to spy, to intrude. The observation was free.

To a hungry outdoor cat, the grey feathers might have felt like a good opportunity for a warm meal. Carefully, quietly seeing from different angles of entry- perhaps below the eucalyptus, perhaps up the rugged bark trunk, or perhaps a sideway leap, clinging lowering the stiff dying branchpositioned to leap and always the snagging claws like hook on a fishing line,

To a dog, an annoyance, a sound breaching the calm of the territory. Seeing their bone edge protruding from soil, the tweetering configuration might want to do something- something like carry it off, steal it, the paranoia does join dots, computation of unreasonable judgement causes loud bark. Trouble gone, nestles, who cares? Peace.

To a lonely old woman, the bird rescued from trapped jaws could mean an opportunity to nurture once more. To hold the defenceless, like her long gone and grown adult children. It could mean some companionship upon waking. Instead of seeing an faded picture, a veneration of now deceased husband spraying the garden hose near the camera lense. Holding son, wide open mouth of few teeth laughing, both hair stuck to their scalps, Kelpie, shaking the soak off like a blueish spin can spray.

The decaying action, now only the emotional memory and now the Mickey Bird, the life filler's, beak open to gooble small pieces of leftover bacon.

The mutually exclusive relationship desensitised the bird of fear, and human discovers the sense of what was out of reach, based on natural law, misunderstanding, fear, respect?

Surveillance, a mixed bag, right back to Roman manchurians, seeing, hearing, feeling, and spies. Later, that could be a photograph of frozen moments at some point in time and space., the seeing in silence. A written report, a recollection, a list of words with pauses, from taps. The coat hangers in your wardrobe bouncing off radio frequency from submarines, HAARP weaponary or whatever project Woodpecker did to us South Australians in the Eighties! AI intercepted emails, texts, phonecalls, a list and sequence of words, of the watched, damned persons of interest. Diversion, criminals told what words they can and cant say to disprove guilt and exonerated those useful,, back on the streets, working captured debased. Twisted phrases becoming the decanter to pour doubt on the truth sayer, as lying, dangerous outcasts.

The list could go on, really I mean, quantum entanglement. I've heard all the conspiracy theories, undercover spies, secret agencies, and deep government conspiring and tampering, to fuel mania of the awake people, who should cross the lines of coiled barbwire barriers on top of oven type cooking rack fences saying "Keep Out.

Australian Defence Property"

My job was simple. For six years, I was a serviceman, and after that, I wanted out. Back in Civvy Street, I worked in the dark. The wearing of blue cotton work shirt and tie, with Navy workman's, belt, gun, taser was comfortable and similar to past uniform without the damn polyester, my armpits thanked my new role as security guard.

My buddy. Joe, worked mostly at Richmond, ex- Airforce too! Acvording to him, he moved this way, to Queensland,, stopping the marital arguments and saving his hip pocket; his wife and kids could be closer to her family.

At first encounter, he patted me on the shoulder like a father, "All for my peace of mind!", he smiled. He placed his hamburger and coke bottle on the table, sat down, and tilted his chair, like a deliquent school kid, he held his position by his feet on the desk. He had a knack to control the swinging chair of wheel base and squashed his bread bun flat, with his huge square hands, he repeated, " It's all for my peace of mind!".

That's when I liked him. His confidence took me back. "Wheels uh - there's more to this man!" HOWEVER, I did watch, one glorious night, with great amusement. It broke the boredom! As usual, bun squashed, chomped and then the avalanche of greasy meat patty, of slippery lettuce, as usual unintentionally marinated of mayonnaise-bbq sauce and melted cheese, but for the first time, pulling the beetroot down, down, down. IF only, I had caught it on video- slow mo - the smart ass gotten! Oh the heckling triumph of a replayed video, over and over again. Played at barbecues, to his wife, to myself but most of all to him! I smirked, I would take the joke too far, he would scold me! I honed in, from my veiwing position, seeing the dark vinegar beetroot juice stains, being watered to form pink and sepia blotch spread out by a deteriorating, and pilling serviette. I then, waited over some hours, peeking as it dry to an ugly brown stain. I mocked, "Hmff, I'll have to buy you a bib for Christmas Mate!!" Joe screwed his nose, which made me laugh to tears.

Over the last year, the monitor room had accumulated Joe's body odour, his meat farts, and his lace up boot smell. It was in the air conditioning- it was in his home, the same.

Going in there was wiffy. At first, I'd go to the bathroom and sniff toothpaste to dull it. I wondered how his wife, Jen, could handle it? Then one day, Woosh, the air forced purposely out my nostrils and numbed the sense. I think a nuerochemical pathway opened up. I had a tension headache, that zinged across my forehead and then all good, thinking and numb nose.

Long before, young Joe had arrived, this room was filled with old heavy, television monotors of fluttering images and white noise. Updated, large screens occupied the adjacent walls, with curved plastered corner. All my routine actions from leaving home till now put me under and hypnotised my work eyes- they wired to the screens .Joe needed playfulness to go under, "Hey Mate, look at this." Swirling chair, my chair towards his, I smiled looking first at him, with a 'time to settle down' glare, "Well, lookie here?"  A visual of possum carrying her baby on her back in the upper left of the screen. Reacting, to my lowered glasses and flattened lips, he tensed his chest muscles, swallowed hard, to move the mouse. The close-up of the mother on telephone wire. Before laughing, I investigated with my left eye. Joe got it - he's quietening in his voice, he's stopped tapping his foot, and he scratches his cheek- I could continue interacting with him!

Next thing, a fight of two possums and a balancing baby holding onto his mothers back for dear life. Joe put on a baby voice, "Toranimo Mummy! Neeey, Boom, boom get 'em." Baby slides like a pillion on motor cycle, Mother , stops, pushes him upwards near neck and then bears her teeth her back,." AHHH." Back in the saddle- He yelled like he was at the Footy, "-Get the bustard!" Joe did aeroplane sounds, turned his cap backwards and mimicked Snoopy on top of his doghouse in combat with the Red Barron.

With the kid settled. The night seemed easy. A piece of fence had light. We could see what looked like a shadowy blanket with people under that. "Kids!" It was my turn to drive around the dingy cement buildings, the potholes, the unlevel bitumen. "Dont forget the chocolate chip biscuits and Coke!", Joe spoke with an ire of his mother's voice. I dump the drink, food and my packed dinner in a plastic recycle bag and left.

I stopped about three hundred metres away from them on purpose. I'd give them time to get the hell out of there. Leaving the headlights on, slamming the car door, I wanted to sound intimidating- if there were drugs, that is! I saw the snippered fence, heard some breathing and threw the plastic bag of goodies to the other side. "You can come out now" I shone the flash light against the bushes. A small hand attached to a grubby tattered jumper cuff, pulled the bag towards the bush. I wondered if the kid's grandmother knitted that, or perhaps he had ran away from a wretched abusive family. A degree of excitement could measured in direct ratio the plastic rustled and scrunchy. And he revealed himself, a child around ten years, "Thanks, Sir., he said in a Pommy accent.

Homelessness is a real issue in Australia. Kids are homeless. Adults are homeless. Aged people are homeless!

Older people mostly readied for night at local parks. Kids migrated to abandoned industrial estates, like ours seemed, or the Bush. They usually spent their food money on drugs and were cold, without a vehicle looking for shelter.

Purga Creek ran behind the dispossessed. "There's a shed at back of house over there used for horses - has horse blankets too -" 

"Middle Road- " pointing my torch light to the left.

"Down Greens Road -" repositioning flash light to destination. Its the only house on that road.

"Old man Klugg has one deaf dog - Be careful." Then, there were four of them vanished quickly.

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REPORT

Fence wire damaged and rusty leaving opening area 2d. Please fix.

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Joe and I hated those moments, both having kids, we could only feel compassion, and hope they would be ok. I knew a few farm owners in the area who had the same compassion and empty sheds. I called them all Mr Klugg, so if the kids were caught, or seen and said "Mr Klugg," the locals knew I had sent them and to give them shelter and safety. Leonie Kelly, a social worker, once alerted, called in on the kids, doing a welfare check, tried to settle them to foster families.

The result of referal meant static doldrum midnight of clear conscience for several months. We played the radio. Last night, a large burst of light. A round face, wide eyes, mouthing "Help me Sir!" Joe walked through the door, adjusting his cap, pushing his fringe under the brim, nudged me, "Falling asleep on the job, Mate!" Confused, I sat straight in lost time, "I don't know. " Monitors, shot gun flashes, bombs exploding,, "The Night of two thousand lighning strikes!"

The storm started normally, splitting at Cunningham's gap, the end of the ranges, atmosphere deciding one of two paths, destination, either the Sunshine Coast, or Gold Coast? The velocity turned it back on itself. Lightning hit the field beside me, as I left for home. I was dead on my feet for some reason. Ate. Bed. Swallowed sleeping tablet.

The front door bell rang. I looked at my app. It was the same boy! His face was distorted by the lense, like one of those house of mirrors. Blankets rolled in the darkness, the movement of branches, like a cat swallowing a bird, pitch black, BANG! I see more faces, their familiar. "Thank you, Sir", they said in that Pommy accent. I watched myself give directions. Running, free like children who are cherished with light dancing from them. Then, their bodies lost form, becaming sinew and dry bones. CRACK! BANG!, the skeletons exploded, propelled outwards, scattering and dropping limp and lifeless, on the moist banks of Purga Creek, where slow growing thick roots, holding boulders and burrows in place. Insect feelers stood tall from the electrical air, as the crawled on the unsettled bones.

A knock on the sliding door, sent a text warning of further activity to my app. I walked outside, mud moulded around my toes and I sunk into the lawn. I recognised the place, it was the top end of Queens Park! The stone pillars with orb on top, the electrical box covered in a black and white drawing of an eye and owl looking at me. Burning torches, yelling, heckling as men, women and children hung lynched in the Mulga and Gum trees.

A dull smell of used perfume, disinfectant and hot soup coupled by body warmth stirred me. Groggily, I rolled from my nightmare, behind a familiar body. My wife restfully commented, "You know, they say, that people only let trusted people near ones back!" I acknowledged by snuggling deeper and kissing her on her neck. "Yes-", I nuzzled her, "-three beautiful babies, my love!" The spoon position, the remembered unions, the long love making and then holding our babies. She continued, "Not now Matthew" Throwing the doona over her head. I knew Matthew meant "No!" Matt or Matty was the go ahead.

Getting i had got it, She quickly pulled the doona back from her face. She changed the subject, "I checked the shed at Old man Coopers place. God bless them, they folded the blankets, only left the plastic bag with biscuit packet and your lunch box inside..." Yawning, from her early morning duties, as a Blue nurse home care assistant she continued, "...Probably used the bottle for water. They couldn't turn off that tap again, the bucket was nearly full." I mumbled, "I'll go out there today and fix it, say hello to the old man".

A stinging hum like a group of irate, high pitched mosquitoes buzzed like speed cars in the background. She mumbled, "Bathurst is on!" I missed some of the race. In my leather reclining man chair, I would watch, hopefully dozing off again.

The thought interrupted, "Saw the blue mountains in a pan from Mt panaroma-" I knew she felt sad, reminded of her family back there and her teen years" I replied, soothingly, pushing my body even closer clenching her with my pyjama legs, and finishing her thoughts , "Yes, you went to school with Nicole Kidman. You're here now love. Go to sleep." She deep breathed and body limbered.

Putting pillow behind my back, I drank some of the soup. She started to roll again. She let out a sigh, "You know, I saw some shadows... this morning... during the storm at his shed. Having old shut in people as clients, washing their bodies, dressing their bed sores - their pressure wounds, checking their medication, all requiring touch, ignited them to their past and she would be told local stories. She mumbled, "Purga is haunted I think- She stretched, rolled back and forth, "People were hung, up that there-" , pausing, "-Ipswich paaarrk" dropping off, drifting, "bod-ies , chop up..." she tossed, her voice changed accent, " Yes sir- couldn't identify... throw them... them thrown 'n the creek right there!" She rolled back .. slurring in australian accent, "... the perfect crime."

I felt creeped. I had been living in different fish bowls all my adult working life. My service was a demountable surveillance fishbowl. My home was a joyous fishbowl. My new work a fishbowl. areas. In all my experience, seeing what is and what isn't, maybe, this new world is an enmeshed, and entangled world caused the realms of man-made electricity, biofields of our own energy, AI, net frequencies, satellites, and geomagnetic energy of Ley lines. In Australia, we dream within a dream, perhaps that was what happened!