Although the bright sun touches my skin & the tiny paper flowers
are shivering all around me, all over the world -
my insides feel like twisted up industrial materials & when they are
removed I will be empty. I cannot express myself.
My mind is dull from junk food & a lack of education. I am a shit-kicker
filled up with industrial waste. I am missing out on something.
But I don't know what else there is.
A feeling I can't shake. Even if I won lotto.
Could money make a difference to the life I've had?
My mouth watering for paper & the coloured paints,
I paint my portrait with blood & sweat.
My starvation for music & books, the latest preferably & my far off
dreams of travel are over. Life means nothing to me.
You go from strength to strength.
You are not strong enough yet.
The more knockbacks the better.
The more punches the wiser you'll be.
That's if you can learn from it.
That's if you survive your childhood.
Come on, get back to work.
Another hour, another day, another dollar.
Worked for 40 years
with me head down
the toilet for 2 shillings
a week, get yourself
a good decent job
in the public service
for Christs sake, or
do a bit of cleaning
for the wealthy
never think, you're
too good for that, get
on your hands & knees
& get your head down
that toilet, or don't
come to me, when the
money runs out.
The garbos went on strike from Liverpool Council.
The big moment of fame for Rose street residents.
Dale & Brendon's boof heads appearing behind the
dirty shoulders & old grey singlets of the garbos
for their first & last time on television, Channel 7.
They'll be telling their great grand kids about it.
A lot of others from the street got on television,
filmed on the steps of court, or outside the prison.@