Flood (October)

October floods Venice. Sixteen years ago we bought a house; I stopped watching television. Television I hear about in conversation. One reason is that all day my computer can screen underwater films of Venice, not just a news flash. Piazzas are ponds. Visitors sit at cafés in their wellingtons, about to be served espresso and ice cream. Gondolas are engulfed. I replay the rising tide, Venetians smiling resignation as their passageways switch to canals. Television was a shared experience. There was one flood report for everyone. October shares notes about the deluge of Venetian replays. Heirlooms float towards the windows.

Blister (October)

October blisters open its silver foil sockets. Fenofibrates drop from their cocoons into the palm, colour-coded for the condition. The shiny packets rustle with built-in redundancy. Magnesium white for cholesterol, now Spring springs renewed temptation for the fat of the land. Get thee behind me, patisserie! Take ONE croissant daily as directed. Peach tablet for blood pressure, even if blood pressure is decidedly tidily regular. Telmisartan, chlorothiacide and other foreign terms wrinkle into silver scrap. And Panadol green-and-white, club colours of the club most everyone joins, effective on pain, gentle on stomach, resolving the aches age lets come and go.

Watch (October)

October watches from the cast iron balcony. His screensaver of wrought ferntrees and lyrebirds is (as expected) tasteful; vanishes to black with time lapse. His likes and wows and laughs and sads pass the solitary window day and night, even the odd angry shot. It is curious, watching the whole world without shifting an inch. ‘Nowhere Man’ plays on youtube loop. October keeps its cast iron alibis, was at the computer at the time in question and never left through the entire episode. He was working on his autobiography ‘Isn’t He A Bit Like You?’, his only company a mouse.   

Identify (October)

October identifies the bomber in a day. One fingerprint on a package is sufficient to dob him, inside the fingerprint museum somewhere in cyberspace. He is not the kid-gloves type. He is a living, breathing DNA sample, like the rest of us. Some of us don’t require a double helix profile. Perspiration, blood flecks, spittle? The inspectors of expectoration won’t say, but it’s there on the bomb. Or the weekend’s mass murderer, where confirmation is proof positive via his social media posts. His misspellings trip over themselves with the haste of his hate. Online detectives matched him in mere minutes.

  

Withdraw (October)

October withdraws from expectations. Withdraws from imagined roles. Here the centre is available by request. The ground disables illusions. The body withdraws from others’ demands, seeks peace where the body may rest. Shade is cool and water is fresh. Mind withdraws from world news that is broken. That is broken eventfully every minute. Withdraws to the bigger world of private thoughts and long memories. Senses withdraw that frazzled through the long haul. Withdraw to the marvel of familiar objects and nature’s colours. To sounds over which there’s some control. To touch again home charms: garden trowel, light switch, favourite book... 

Crash (October)

October, this October, crashes the website. The Duchess of Sussex sports an industrial blue outfit designed by the Australian fashion star. In the forest of cities, who will hear the website crash? The noise is a faraway suburb where our security relies on electricity. Another October crashed through the sound barrier. It coincided with the birth of rock-and-roll. The noise was heard in faraway suburbs where complaints were made to police. Some call it music, was the reply, but it’s electricity. Another October an army crashed through, or crashed. Who will hear the frontline story first? So much faraway electricity.

Wear (October)

October wears a shirt, with sleeves that cannot contain overreach. Hands burst from cuffs, their actions at odds with restraint. Everything goes digital. Its buttons help tighten the secrets the years keep in store. No amount of washing changes the facts. Trousers, that stride through the world in abstract certainty, are folded each night without illusion. The belt does its best to keep up appearances. October wears the coat of convenience and hat of notice. Shoes worship the ground they walk on, close as they can get. They’ve dealt with shit. They’ll never be famous. Socks are even more well-rounded.

Fail (October)

October fails the narcissism test. It shows no overriding grandiosity, is always 8 or 10, depending on your perspective. January has the No. 1 problem. October does not exaggerate its achievements or its imagined future triumphs. November will be along, soon enough. Unlike others we could name, October does not feel entitled to special privileges. It doesn’t claim the right to queue-jump, or dominate the conversation, like say May? It shows empathy. It does not envy August, which has a lot to be envied. It can tolerate criticism, unlike say December. October is neither good nor bad, well or unwell.

Promise (October)

October promises promises: ticket promises, booking promises, good review promises, ecstatic promises, teenager promises, middle-aged promises, elderly promises, destination promises, scenic promises, faraway promises, brochure promises, fix-it promises, in-two-weeks promises, forgotten promises, signed promises, breathless promises, unsigned promises, deep-seated promises, Dutch promises, gentleman’s promises, scoundrel’s promises, leaf promises, flower promises, false promises, teasing promises, online promises, invoiced promises, bifocal promises, vaulting promises, timid promises, shopping promises, deathless promises, lifeless promises, politicians’ promises, promises we’ve oh! heard before, promises that just make us laugh out low, promises that should be gilt-framed, promises token, made to be spoken, you must be jokin’... 

Replay (October)

October replays 1816, as if the world has just been at war. Otello is the toast of Venice, but he loves Elmiro’s daughter. So does Elmiro, and Rodrigo the Doge’s son, and his friend, slippery Iago. The awesome turn to the awful foursome, as each would punish Desdemona sooner than love her. Possession grabs her wrist. She’s most intimate with Emilia, the friend who listens. Desdemona separates the warring interests, at whose hand she will die. There she reunites with her lost girlfriend, Isaura. A gondolier laments, but in four years Italy will war with itself, once more, with feeling.

Colour (October)

October colours office windows indigo, reflecting cranes and facades. Spiky green bends and flutters over trunks fixed in the footpath. Red rear-lights take turns stopping, clouds of pedestrians dealing with the wind. White lengths of tram interrupt platform greys, fence and foyer. An advertisement does everything in its power to be orange. Inside is warmer. The bright score is open at page one, under the bright light. Brown violins warm up one fret at a time. Melbourne black arrives, chats, takes off its scarf, is seated in comfortable crimson. Rossini tonight, gold glint of horns, silver flute, about to begin.

Highbeam (October)

October highbeams into the future. His chassis joins the chase. There is one right of way, his way. Signs are made to ignore. Pedestrians witness burns in bitumen. The future is arabesques of oil. They fume invisibly skywards. It will thus expire. No one stops his world record. Windows black out plant life. There’s a top speed? Noise will be noise. Can Ocker hear the slowdown meme in his head? Will he notice the fast-approaching corner and not career straight into that lamppost? He was built to blast. It’s him and the road, taking us with him. The highbeam ups.