The Wiretap Scars (Keeper Of The Chaos)

- This is a rough draft of part of introduction to a novel I have been working on, please tell me what you think. You guys are a very creative community. Please note it is a little dark, as is a lot of my work. Cheers -Wire -

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‘Pulling the plug’ is commonly used as a metaphor for abandoning a situation that has become useless or unrecoverable. But when you are literally staring at a powerpoint in a hospital room its true origins are much more significant.

You see, when faced with a decision such as the neurons in your brain all start firing different messages, some tell you ‘that’s murder!’ some advise you that it is merciful.

And I guess it is a little bit of both, you are giving up hope for saving this person. Losing faith in the hospital system for turning the situation around.

Dr. Masterson’s expression was stony, like he had just been dealt a winning hand of texas holdem and there was no way in hell he was letting on, beside him the nurse nervously clicked a ballpoint pen and watched the son proceed with what he had decided.

‘She won’t feel anything, right?’ he questioned without looking away from the socket.

‘I can assure you she is in a chemically induced coma… there will be no pain experienced’ the doctor receited, it’s obvious he has been in this situation before.

The Son swallowed and looked over at the body lying on the bed, a mess of wires and tubes hiding the frail figure of the lady who raised him. Why she was in this situation seemed of little to no consequence at this point.

It’s not like she was a rampaging bitch or anything, but to the Son it felt like the teenage angst that most kids go through he never actually grew out of.  And being an only child only amplified the helplessness of this situation, at least if he had a brother or a sister maybe he would not have to be the one to flick the switch. He could pass off responsibility to another. Procrastinate until somebody else solved his problems for him.

‘If you prefer, I can have one of the orderl…’ The Doctor was cut off mid sentence.

‘No… this was her wish, I need to do this’

The doctor slipped a document into a file he was holding and tucked his pen into his pocket, staring intensely down at the man kneeling next to the socket.

The son took a deep breath and focused all his strength into four words and a motion.

‘I love you mom…’ he whispered.

He  reached out and in one swift, brutal flick of his finger, killed his mother.

She started as a simple wife with baby at her breast
When illness swept away her life, and put the child to rest
Packed her things, severed her ties and left for London town
“To Start again” the only thought, as she began to drown

Apon Working for the publican, coin for a place to stay
The leering eyes with bulging purse, the heartstrings she did play
Apon one evening behind the taps, with consumption of the ale
He offered gold, he offered wine, and thus she made a sale.

For some was hope, and some was pain, a mistress of the night
And like a forest fire flame, she set mens souls alight
To the lost and lonley, rich and wild she offered salvation
A Public princess, A private whore, known all across the nation

Eventually lived among the rich, by every man adored
Had her fill of a paupers life, to poverty she said “No More”
She lured men with fruits of body, skin, cigars and beer
And when her sinfull time was through she sliced them ear-to-ear!

She lived with gold and bathed in jewels, lathered in the blood of men
From Kings Cross to Mayfair dear, a message she did send
The public eye never opened much until she prayed apon the law
The magistrate was no match for this crafty little whore

A witness spyed apon this crime and set apon a plan
With tricks and lawful conivery they tried to push her hand
Apon that eve, in alley dark she made her last mistake
A diplomat with an eye for flesh, a crafty planted fake

Forced apon by the men of law, and ambushed from nearby shadows
When the sun tore apart the dawn, she rode towards the gallows
‘Your art will be the end of us, you sinfull wicked wretch!”
They chanted while the withered rope was fastened ’round her neck

“The Interviews over…” croons Daniel Johns over a flurry of keys and sonic manipulation on the opening track of the new offering from the Australian lads Silverchair, their fifth studio album to date.

Now I won’t beat around the bush here, Silverchair have been a bit of a punching bag for myself over the last few years. After loving the dirty grunge of the 1995 debut ‘Frogstomp’ and it’s followup ‘Freakshow’ I was confused by the shifting and changing of the band into its more grand scale stadium band that they are today. Now dramatic transformations of bands can effect people in different ways, take Radiohead for example. The change between O.K Computer to Kid A redefined the band in a way that the orginal fanbase embraced the change and it seemed almost natural. But as for Silverchair, I feel that they have become ‘The Daniel Johns Experence” and less of a combined effort. Ben Gillies thunderous drumming and Chris  Joannou’s hypnotic baselines almost feel synthetic and manufactured throughout Young Modern.

By now I am sure you would have heard Straight Lines somewhere amongst your FM/Music television adventures, and this track sets the scene for the journey to come. I cannot help but be a little infuriated by the inclusion of John’s quasi-lover Paul Mac and the insessent keyboarding on almost every track. And it’s not just keyboard tinkering it is the consistant DUH DUH DUH DUH DUH DUH jazz-keys. It was recently stated by Johns on a Channel V broadcast of Silverchair’s Homebake performance that Mac is his ‘musical soulmate’ and he finds it difficult to perform without him” and that Silverchair becomes a ‘Supergroup’ with his presence. Daniel… what happened to you?

But all gripes and thoughts of the past aside Young Modern is a brave album, taking the style that they started to develop from Neon Ballroom and bringing it to fruitition. ‘All Across The World’ brings memories of the similarly titled ‘Across The Night” from Diorama. ‘Those Thieving Birds/Strange Behavior” tinkles along its seven-minute course harmlessley ‘Mindreader” brings the rare rock moments with the frantic chorus declaring “Don’t know what you want, No I’m not a mindreader baby” while ‘Low’ sounds like a B-Side from The Sleepy Jackson.

If you can look past the “Silverchair” title. And just take it in as a Daniel Johns/Paul Mac cuddling-on-the couch affair and you will discover some well produced music. But as a Silverchair album it is bitterly dissapointing.

5/10

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After some initial trouble with the setup of this I am finally here (thanks to Trev and my wonderful Lady Chaos).

Reviews, blogs, poems and rants to follow.

Testing 1,2,3