bu zheng tony and kevin

And there it is parts of an exchange on the side bar of my screen














he blows hot and cold, a daily  rhythm of presence and absence harmonizes with the comings and  goings of the sun shifting in and out of the shade, sometimes the sleek panther

Ah. To stand for now unshaded, in the sun, warming reptilian responses to activity

 then suddenly into the bark of a gnarly tree; it is he

 mmhhh most odorotic [1] Mmhhh he is ? The tree trouser panther?

Naa.  You of course,  shapes in the shadow, Hopelessly forming clichés


What me, hopelessly forming clichés! Bugger I’m offended and I feel the need to strike back at this slight upon my ramblings. “Hopelessly forming clichés” be damned!!    
  ME>  SHE>



I think it’s the policy writing and reading all this tripe; then again maybe boredom from Rudd’s posturing, either way my apologies.The feathered woman above drops a seed disturbing his image in the clear pool of reflection…….HahahaThen again . . . her feathers ruffled by the winds of her own mind. Paused in front of Rudd’s image this morning, caught a look of smug satisfaction and pride escape.He is the Kevin 07 of yesteryear. He’s so funkoquial [2], it hurts. The twisted mannerisms of a nerd gone feral, trained now to arm gesture and say

“maaattteee”[3] are cruelly ineffective.

Its personal hey…. your adjectives! To me its the physical body they have shaped and both inhabit that tells me what I need to know about their mind.

you remind me of Keating,  vipturifict [4]clever

Well that stops me in my tracks, “Keating “  Not the great man hisself? Shit Keating I read, then respire. <ME  
  ME> Thank you, maybe. I hope its just observation. I see the difference in his style and note that his boys are not featured in his ads, in the way Tony’s girls are. They know what it would say to gen W [I think that’s after gen y gen x gen?] They‘d say “Oh shit, fancy having a dude like that telling dad jokes,” then cringing. And this guy is ostensibly in charge of the economy and considering world politics with Obama in his joggers. In fact there’s nought wrong with that, save that he allowed himself to be photographed doing it. He might have been masturbating while doing it BUT we do not need to see it. D’oh
And then a response, something totally unexpected. Intrigues. I read, its clearly been lifted from elsewhere, and this is what I see … <ME  
  SHE> Then he puts the iPad on the table giving me a long look.“What do you want,” he writes, continuing the frank look.  “Write in English,” he says continuing the frank look.The unexpected turn pleases ME>, its an unusual response, in my experience.  Maybe my new practice of restraint is working.“I feel nice with you,” I type.  “I want to be your sometimes lover.”He taps the translate button.

“You want I say “I love you”?” he responds.

“No,” I write, shaking my head. “I want to bed with you.”

“Oh.” His mouth is soundless.  He nods slowly. “I afraid you will be disappointed,” he writes, his face wearing a grave look.

I shake my head.

Suddenly, he grabs my hand and places it between his legs.

“Bu zheng,” he says.  “Not strong”

His look is determined, without a hint of self-pity. “I am old,” he says.

“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “Just take clothes off. Maybe have a little kiss,” I write on the iPad.

Again he makes a sudden move, putting his hands under my shirt; he swiftly lifts my bra above.  Squeezing my breasts together with both hands, we both take a look, before he sucks one after the other with a tight latch. A rush of blood stings the capillaries in my cheeks. I look around the café, feeling I am in some delicious movie.

He undoes his belt and button and I put my hand inside. He gives me a helpless look as I feel the empty flesh. 

“It’s not a problem,” I say.

I wrap my arms around the barrel of his chest and squeeze, aware that he doesn’t reciprocate. He shakes his head when I release him.

“Where can we go?” he asks.

“Hotel,” I say.

Doubt tightens the left corner of his mouth.  He stands up and we leave.   

a light distraction….

Well that straightened you out hey, but the seriousness of the election is fighting for its place in my limited consciousness <ME  
So here it is, reflections on a flaccid bu zheng, Tony and Kevin. Enjoy!  <ME>  Kevin grasps the little of Tony’s policy as he dares. It too is flaccid. Perhaps an injection of asylum seeker or Syrian outrage will bring the blood coursing to an election. And with that the policy rises, slowly at first then pulsating hard in his hand.Its all part of a plan. Tony’s is old and true, trouser panthered in the days of yore of the Howard ministry. Kevin tho has gripped the edges of Tony’s policy only to get his pinkie jammed in the zip of the fly”Oh fuck that hurts” he yells becoming an instant hit on you Tube.He tries to tweet something but that many fucks, shit, idiots and assorted bad language can’t be uploaded in 145 character“Bugger it” he cries, and staffers ensure the airways are kept open for a 46 minute tirade on twitter tumblr, facebook etc by the Honourable Kevin Rudd, PM, MP about the perils of catching his pinkie in Tony’s fly

The rest of us have forgotten the moment as promptly as it was conceived.

hahahhahahhahah …. it will go viral when you blog it.

 Thanks, might do it. need a break from this stuff i am doing

[1] Odorotic – The smell of sex

[2] Funkoquial – funky yet colloquial, a very difficult balance to achieve, never so poorly executed as in Rudd’s 2013 election campaign.

[3] Maaattteee – the long form of the Australian form of greeting ‘Mate” , used cos you can’t be bothered recalling naME>s

[4] Vipturifict – clearly a reference to conflict ,  vile and other turgid Keating cutdowns.


Thanks for the Memory

 I read a post about a memory.

Not so much a memory but a different way to think of writing.
We all recall that we are told that the killer opening sentence is the essece of reader engagement. Why allow your reader to expend all that energy ploughing through turgid writing having been hooked by that killer sentence. The tapering off that comes to writing which disappears into itself is part of the this problem
The reponse is simple.
Start at the end.
I understood it all without having to read all the arguments supporting this brain snapping insight.
The end, written before the start is a destination, known and to be achieved. The killer sentence start, is just that, the killer sentence. Definitionally all that follows gotta be down hill to the end.

Now where was I up to?

Warning! Warning! For New Bloggers – 2

Thanks for the response to the Warning! Warning! for New Bloggers.

Its clear that there is still work to do by thehobartchinaman.wordpress.com . To clear the final remanants of ‘followers’ and ‘likers’, who do neither for the blog. Further ‘likes’ arrived at the site, strangely in twos, which showed scant details save a reference to who the author. Was more of the ‘how can I make a million bucks from my stinky sock bedroom’ type line,  “or the best system ever invented to separate you from your hard earned cash to buy a small part of a system that is going to make you a guru sometime in this lifetime.’

Following my own advice I dared not answer, in the certain knowledge that it would be merely an invitation to engagement. Since the dislike button is gone, all that can now be done is ignore. There’s gotta be some technical way to save your blog from being overpowered by this trivia. Perhaps a word recognition program which consigns the get rich quick schemes and their ilk to the trash folder of all internets.

Or maybe Wordpress stop the stupidity of making it so easy to ‘like’ a blog. Its balance. Most writers crave attention, well maybe its feedback, but to be served the tripe of peripheral acknowledgement when you sought a prime rib of real criticsm hardly seems fair.

Anyway, lets see what this blog brings.

Zen like, Nothing is a good outcome.

May the Lord bless those who respond automatically.

I won’t.


Warning! Warning! for New Bloggers

Here’s a warning for new bloggers. A new phemonena has arrived at WordPress.
It’s to do with ‘follows’ and ‘likes’.
Your first ‘like’ arrives!
Someone thinks your work is ‘awesome’ and its a moment of validation. Someone has read your work and thought it worthy of recognition.
Well is it??
Your head swells as you read the compliment. Mmhh, that feels so good.
So you turn to the ‘awesome’ blog to which you’ve been referred, better still go to the page about the author of the complimentary ‘like’.
Reading through you find its some random who has done some ‘amazing stuff’ and from this has distilled some Damascusian insight. Here’s a couple of examples.
Firstly, he’s been strugging through college, working away at the American Dream for hours on end but then realising that there’s a quicker and better way to achieve the dream long long, before he wakes. Its so damn fast. Even faster than the advertorials scolling down the sidebars alongside the article. Yes, I’m too cheap to have the ‘professional’ WordPress.
Or secondly maybe, he’s turning some leisure time activity into a phenomena where having shacked up with a group of buddies in an exotic overseas locale and filmed themselves, they think they’re going to sell you a share of the emptiness. Big Brother is the TV exemplar of such fatuosity.
They’re not following you! They’re stalking you.
All those crafted words you agonised over. Hours spent spellchecking and syntax correcting, looking for just the right words to express your dream, your feeling, your angst. All that time is now trivialised by an engine searching for prey. It’s what you are a prey! Marketable email address prey, from which someone else’s easier lifestyle is to be financed.
You’re not awesome, you’re bait.
A lure to attract prey. Is there any way to have these sharks unlike you so when you post in future they DON’T know? This slime, like doggie do do’s, sticks to your blog and is very hard to be rid of.
Worse is the fact that you’ve just wasted time, ironically time they are saying they are going to save you by organising your stressed and time poor life.
And finally, do not ever ‘like’ their blogs.

Hair Cut – the Barber Shop of Yore

Waiting for my turn, desultory I thumbed the pages of the regional newspaper. Now completed, the previous customer shook him self free of the chair and reached back for his butt residing wallet. He stood at the counter of the barber shop of yore when I heard,

“Ok mate you’re next,” The comment was clearly directed at me.

Whilst the previous customer preened, I made my way to the unswept chair and plonked myself down, wondering why it was necessary to somehow minimise the time between clients.

I’d passed this barber shop earlier, but thinking I might do better in the city, what with more choices and a less surly attitude, the hair cutting experience might be made a little pleasurable. Driving two kilometres passed the candy poled premises I had a change of heart.

“What if the city barbers are all chaired out?’ I queried myself and I’m kept waiting listening to some funky music. I shuddered at the thought, swung the car left then again left and headed back to the barber shop of yore

” So will it be a trim and like last time” he said as he collected the fee from previous customer.

“Just a trim will be fine,” I said. removing my glasses to the indicated direction.

“Not that busy today,” he intoned , “Not like Tuesday. Is it cold outside?” he asked

“No,’ I said, “It’s quite nice”.

By by the bar radiator under the vinyl chairs it wasn’t as nice inside. Seemed clear that electrical warmth was needed to maintain the blood flow to his aged fingers. “Been alright today though,” he continued.
And so I was forced to listen as he droned on ..

Uninvited celibacy

Wonderful writing Joshua. Finely self observed, a most thoughtful piece. Congratulations on your Freshly Pressed!

Soul Embraces

Veggie-womanRelax, this is not a woe is me story. It’s more of a story of discovery of what it has been like to be loverless for the longest stretch in my life since I lost my virginity. (OK, I actually didn’t lose it. I know where it went.)

Not making love for so long has given me new insights about what the experience is all about.

Celibacy is more than not having sex, which is to say that not having sex is more than not engaging in sexual activity — which is to say that sexuality itself is more than mere orgasm production. It’s a cornucopia of body, mind, heart, and spirit.


Sex combines both physical/sensual and nonphysical ingredients. There are the words that flow before, during, and after. The tender words, the hottie words, the encouraging words, the silly words.

I dearly love my female platonic…

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