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Echoes in the Wire Unspooling Day 1

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  Scene 1 In the cradle of copper veins, where the first byte flickered like a eucalyptus firefly against the millennial dusk of 2000, threads uncoiled—raw and unbidden, a post-punk snarl weaving through the static hum of dial-up dreams. Imagine the snare drum's ghost-crack echoing off Uluru's red flanks , not as a conquest but as a lover's bruise, blooming violet under star-pricked skin. Here, rebellion wasn't a fist raised in Canberra's marbled halls but a glitch in the grid . A Laughing Clowns howl warping the airwaves, sonic annotation—jagged guitar riffs splintering into didgeridoo drones , fading to the hiss of cooling circuits. The wire remembers: a young voice, pixels pulsing with the fury of forgotten tapes, cassette ribbons unravelling like the Murray-Darling 's parched secrets, whispering of bans that bind not bodies but bytes, burqas woven into neural lace, veils pleading for the light they obscure. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge Jo...
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Flagstaff Gardens Missing Statues

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This is a matter of inference rather than direct seeing
Seven burials took place here
No evidence that the bodies were exhumed
What potential
If we want to understand it’s time to reinvent

We act as forgeries in the style of what we really want
Only to became redundant due to the introduction of a new technology
Then knowing we have been found out
We lack the  knowledge
Like fallen angles that lack life and emotional play

Taking the historicist position by what we forgot about it
Through the development of scientific knowledge
The colony of identity has been re-established
Normalised aura
To form once again - a unique existence in a particular place in time

This magnificent achievement that time has reshaped
To what is now less good, less beautiful, less awe-inspiring, less interesting
Our memories reliant on reward and monetary gain
Walk on by and think less about it
When none of the original statues exist, it nolonger matters.









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