NEW BOOK #2 STUFF, #1 MY ODD PREFACE. Generally, a Preface is customary in written works. The author writes it, and it will outline the contents there in. I am reticent to analogize, (operative word). However, to put it in A nutshell, this book of crappy poems is hugely self-indulgent. The writings and "Bushy" stuff is derived from, and emanates into, a rhyming Aussie vernacular. I understand absolutely zilch about writing poetry, full stop. Sometimes I cogitate this is good thing, if one gets over awed with the science of correctness, one may despair. My speaking voice will quite often stray into this slang, be that as it is, I am sometimes known to speak "proper". It is important for me to "tell it like it is’’. Essentially and importantly, the impetus to write these world-shattering snippets came from a particularly tragic accident in January 2008. Motivation to write a poem came from this sad event, it happened on (our) patch. Within a matter of weeks I had penned several other hugely received works of great note. And yes, I say all this with ‘tongue in cheek’. I had never written a poem before. The format is largely chronological, but regrettably you will have to work out the time frame. You will ascertain that the poems sort of follow an Aussie young blokes life, but are alphabetical, (bugger), from the City to the Bush, and back again. Writing becomes an obsession, I am obsessed, (sometimes), the works are not brilliant, and they will irritate and antagonize some. The term; "cultural cringe" springs to mind, I too sometimes have this feeling, but change? No way. Constant editing and re-arranging words is my scene, but never altering the essence of the poetic narration. It is important to note that all my poems are based on factual experiences, and while some may stretch the imagination, or seem stretched, the essence is / will be; "been there, got the T-shirt". And you know what? I’ll tell you what, don’t care who you are, where your from, I’ll bet my left knacker you can relate to the inert and sometimes poignant hidden stories. My web pages are full of narrative from a 70 year old bloke, lots could have come from a 70 year old Sheila, OK, I’ll bet my bet my right one that you will be wondering if I am actually 120. (Intentional "typo"), it’s called old timers syndrome. Read well these incredible propinquities, I am just a bloke sitting at the table in the corner. I am just a grain of sand on Brunswick Beach. I am just a no-body. I live the life of a bachalar, every brick in my flat has a name. But I wager you will see right through me, regards john f. PPS: Don’t worry about the bet, I have had a vasectomy. Regards John D. Farley. PPPS: So don’t hold the stakes in your mouth. FROM THIS POINT ON CLOSE YOUR MIND, YOU WILL HAVE BEEN THERE, CERTAINLY SOMEWHERE SIMILAR, AM I CONCEITED? YOU’RE THE JUDGE. THE GOOD TIMES ARE FLEETING BUT PRECIOUS. OK. THIS IS YOUR INDEX, dont worry about the progression, skip this and read on.     6 DEGREES OF SEPARATION. A bit of a skip on the; 'who knows who' enigma.  18 METRES OF SAND. A young un-employed man. A LITTLE PLACE CALLED MILTON. Her name was "Mooseface", you pricks. ARAGUNNU BLOKES. And NGRIGO BLOKES, (did I see the "dreamtime)? ARAGUNNU BLOKES, MOON BAY. Misty visions from a (9) year old bloke. BLOODY EMAILS. Wannta win a million, want to lose weight, pissoff. BLOODY TORPEDO. Outback of Avalon Beach, Pittwater. BORN IN THE BUSH 2. BORN IN THE CITY 3. BOTTLIN’ PLONK, AVALON STYLE. A pisspoor yarn. BRUNSWICK HEADS, "ROCKY BOARDWALK, SOUTH". A little village, come and visit. BRUNZ, DID I SEE YOU. I wandered a bit here. BODY SURFIN’. A bit of a drug. DUNNY’S AND CHOKOS. What can I say, you had to haved lived then. But join me anyway. THE DUNNY AND THE CHOKO VINE. I recon' this one's my favorite. HOW IT ALL CAME ABOUT, FISHEN’ THAT IS. BRICKIE’S LABOURER. Little kids, dont you love them? HOW WE SURVIVED, A LOAD OF HELP FROM THE WETTIES. I WAS A FENCER. (WANNA BUY A WATCH?). ODE TO THE FLOODED CAUSEWAY. And this my friends is where it all started, read between the lines. BABY LOST, LITTLE CHERRY. Take yourselve back. ME DOG PANCHO, PANCHO ME DOG. He knew he was on a "good thing". LITTLE MATE KAI. MUMMY DOLPHIN AND THE BUB. Come and see, we got three mummies now. MY NAME’S PETAL, LOVE ME. My head is busted, did I write this. BLUES SONG, STUFFED. Goin' down hill, stuff that plonk. OLD WALL EYE AND OTHER SHARKS. Another, "you had to have been there" anology. ROW YA BASTARDS. And we did. SHIRLEY AND THE BOYS. Boy she was a cutie. ME MATE JOE. S.E.S stuff. BLOKE FROM MULLUMBIMBY. This blokes is a 'Bushy'. THE GRAND MAN FROM THE BUSH. Australia rode on the back of this bloke. THE GRAND RAM, (My Man the Ram). THE GUSUNDER. OH shit. THE GUSUNDER FROM DOWN UNDER. Cringe, cringe. PEOPLE I’VE MET. THE R.E.D. SCHEME. Labor V liberal. VOLLEYS AND ME, ANY AUSTRALIAN. WHITEBAIT. MAHOMMAD AND THE FISH.   OK, YOU HAVE PROGRESSED FROM THE FRONT PAGE, YOU BRAVE, BRAVE PERSON. Please forgive my glib comment(s), essentially, it come from insecurity, who is I? What am I, what right have I to seek you indulgence? WASTE your precious time? "YOU BUY, I EAT", that’s it. WAIT A BLOODY SECOND, I DO HAVE AN AGENDA, HOW’S THIS;  JUST AN ORDINARY BLOKE, THAT’S ME.   My aim is to establish a common ideology, to establish the fact that we are all equal. If you relate to some of my crappy narrative, if you have led what some call; "an un-eventual life", think again. I will bet you can share and compare. Inside us all is an ordinary story, cretins we are not. All authors make reference to / patronize people who have; "made this book possible", so here they are; My Mom, my Dad, (who ever he was), my Grandma Isabella Lovegrove, my Uncles, Grace and Bill Snowdon, Clive, the Clarkson lushes, (sorry, girls), the Clarkson blokes, and their Sheila’s, their (my) children. The big blokes, Victor, John, Kerry, Peter, Lindsey. My precious nieces and nephews, ugly, but have given me hope for humanity. Finally but never ending; Shirley and me boys, (that’s David and Michael), all Manly supporters, Belinda and the two little blokes, Zack and Kai. And finally; SHIRLEY, you gave me-------------- AT THE RISK OF REPEATING MYSELF LATER; Here are some facts and ground rules for you to contemplate; The entries are largely "lifted" from my web pages. This self indulgent and egotistical chronology is not chronological. Every word, every Poem is as near the truth, as I will let you get. Some trivia; I have been an Emergency Service Volunteer for 34 years. More trivia; Love me kids, me extended family, (they brought me up). Me bike, me camera, Brunswick Heads, anywhere I have been. Still more trivia; My Mum’s ashes reside with me. She has asked me to scatter ‘Her’ at her birthplace, (‘Woolun’, New England), and Bega / Tathra. Her problem was; "will my parts ever join up", her words not mine!! As mentioned; my grammar and ‘Aussie’ strine and vernacular are intentional. As mentioned; my poems are traditionally "Bushy", sometimes obscure and cryptic. I was 67 years of age before BDM discovered my original Birth Registration, and at considerable cost. Thank you MARTINA from BDM for your diligence and friendly and helpful participation, love ya. I HOPE YOU CAN MAKE SOME SENSE FROM THE FOLLOWING RAMBLINGS AND RUMINATIONS, regards john d farley. ANOTHER EXCERPT FROM MY EARLY DAYS OF SYDNEY, VIZ A VIZ WOOLLOOMOOLOO. WHILE I GET MY HEAD AROUND ALL OF THE PREVIOUS I FEEL A START ON "BORN IN THE CITY" IS IN ORDER, OK WITH YOU FOLKS? IN THIS SECTION I WILL COMPLETE SCHOOL DAYS.(14 schools, no less). As the remaining two schools I attended are dead set in the city, that’s Sydney no less, let me commence with the inimitable Plunkett Street Primary School, Woolloomooloo, line of sight three kilometers, OK 4 klm to Sydney’s CBD, and arguably the closest school of any importance in "My Town". Boy will that cop some flack. ME FIRST SCHOOL. I am suggesting that "Plunko" was my initial introduction to greater intelligence, and not the least to becoming streetwise and City oriented. For those of you familiar with Sydney the "LOO" is the area roughly bordered by William St. to the south, the Loo docks and Garden Island to the north, (Cowper Wharf Road), Lincoln Crescent to the west, and Brougham St. to the east. The area was not what you would call a playground for the innocent, we are talking about a population of struggling citizens doing stuff to get a meal on the table, and some took short cuts while the majority was salt of the earth working class. At no stage would you have got any impression of my political leanings so you may as well know I am center left of the middle of the right dead set Social Democrat, I can’t be all bad because I follow Manly RLFC and before that South Sydney, regrettably both teams are now known as the "silver tails". Grand final time has arrived and both my teams are in tight combat for a place in the final, go the "Eagles", go the "Rabbitos". 　"PLUNKO", WELL WHAT’S A GOOD DESCRIPTOR? OFTEN QUOTED, NEVER DISPUTED, 15 NATIONALITIES, AND THEN SOME. Non but multi-denominational, racial but multi racial, ethnic but who gave a rats, blacks whites yellows and that was only the day wear, blacks whites yellow and they were the original colors, religious but who gave a rats, working class kids, now your talking, co-educational that’s good. Our parents never discussed quasi-political and religious uneasiness in our presence we all came from the same womb and lived in the same country, what has happened out there parents? My school friends must be pondering the same question, there were many cultures and creeds but　we hung out together, played sport together, visited each others homes. Some of the kid’s parents had little or no English but there was always a smile and Shalom, G’day bloke, Bon Journo, ‘Ella mesa’, or other suitable greeting stuff. As a boy growing up, "you can take the boy out of the city but you can’t take the city out of the boy", and in my case of course the reverse applies. PLUNKETT STREET PRIMARY, WOOLLOOMOOLOO. I can’t remember the exact year of commencing at the dock side school, guess 1944 is close, and we would have been traveling back and forwards from god knows where and at this stage lived with Grandma Lovegrove at 112 Palmer Street just up the road. Probably visited Plunko a couple of times before being introduced to Darlinghurst Junior Technical School, mind you all of the other schools are interwoven. Now "Darlo" had the misfortune of being similar to the previous, the big difference was some of the boys (and girls) were shaving. In relation to the girls, "Darlo" was a segregated school and we were separated by a low fence and we were subjected to home science experiments in the form of lock jaw. And well you might ask! Wait, must relate the first day at Darlinghurst, you see somewhere between primary and high school, when we arrived back in Sydney and although I had progressed to the upper level mum had enrolled me at the "Tech". The big day arrived and my thoughts revolved around, "no way, not another bloody school", soooooo I wagged it. DARLINGHURST JNR. TECHNICAL SCHOOL, THAT’S NEAR KINGS X, OOOHER. So here I am sitting in a park just off William St, near College St. down from the Museum and I am minding my own business and quietly contemplating the hole I have dug, "bugger me I’ll run away can’t she give me break, there’s bound to be bullies only now there getting bigger". Remember street wise? This bloke sits down on the bench alongside and attempts a conversation, "no school today son? You must be on holidays lucky boy", now I know where he’s coming from, bloody pervert. OK, I can out run this guy so why not string him along, "no mister, just waiting for the other school kids so we can go the Museum", replies, "and what school do you go to son? Seems your teacher should be here", yes well he was getting pushy. Well anyway the conversation continued and retreat was imminent, UNTILL this dude says, "I would like you come across road to the Child Welfare Department for a little chat", and here I live locally, how did I miss that? oar more got, (say it phonetically). This man really was a Truant Inspector and the long and short was being marched all the way to "Darlo", met the Head master, reprimanded and led to my new classroom where we were greeted by Mister……., he was the biggest bully who drew breath. However, more later. So here’s the more later, as I took my first step into the confines of year seven my cynical impressions of "Darlo" were shattered by several voices; "its Farls, hey where yer been" and " Plunko rules, great to see you". Yes you good thing, many old friends from Woolloomooloo made up the class of 1952 and here’s the rub, logic is my strong suit, it never dawned on me that the nearest High School in location to "Plunko", IS, and as dramatic as it seems my basic impressions indicated I did have friends. No hesitation existed during the ensuing three years in returning to Darlinghurst Junior Technical School. BLODDY LOCKJAW OK the girls of "Darlo". You will remember reference to girls during my journey, there’s always a girl in there and well there should be, you see girls can be an important element of society if you let them view their opinions. Many girls of the opposite sex will have progeny as is their wish, sometimes a boy child slips out there, that is an operative phraseology! To all of the girls in my life let me inform you that at the special time where you let me be a part of your existence I gave it my best shot, AND NOW I have dug the biggest hole in this foray of life things. Some girls that have shared my life have names similar to Shirley, Robin, Alison, Cerise, Denise, Dana,　Lorna, Julie, Hinemoa, Jillian, Charlie, Capuchin, (fair dinkum), all you girly’s, (that’s for Robin), will hopefully respect that nomadic ways breed insecurity issues, all we ask for in life is acceptance of the being. Why do I seek the presence of girls in relation to　the society sense, be my guest I am open to discussion. 　Lockjaw is a nasty thing, the reference first came about from the girls and their Social Sciences, and means Home Sciences, read; "how to look after the home ‘cause that’s your lot". "Darlo" was being wound down from a segregated school to eventually being a girl’s school and the young ladies would experiment on the boys using various recipes. THE RECIEPE, RECIET, RECIEEPTE, BUGGER, HOW IT WAS MADE. The most notorious being a compilation of sugar and flavorings to form a toffee encased in a party cup, AS an excuse to chat up the girls, boys would gladly accept the incredibly rigid sweet and politely sink their teeth into the mess, first problem, the opposing molars would meet separated by a film of unbelievably adhesive vacumatic　qualities, this my readers formed the basis for "The lock jaw Syndrome". I know that further description is not necessary, later I formed the opinion, largely accepted by the greater medical fraternity including Orodontists, (stumped the spell checker), as a conspiracy to silence boys and promote a "spin off" to the generation of income. Incidentally I sat next to　a boy of Asian extraction his name was Arthur Yip, you out there old friend, remember the racial thing?　Sports days are following. SPORTS, AUSSIES ARE GOOD AT SPORTS, WE ARE GOOD SPORTS TOO. Playing sports was mandatory at all of my schools;　at least　it was in the sense you got out of the classroom. We had a choice of many activities, soccer to rugby,　rugby league, cricket, and swimming in the warmer months. There was baseball, basketball and　rounder’s and athletics, most sports were team oriented but allowed for individual excellence. Me?, I was a team player then and I am a　team player now. Regrettably I carry into my senior years with less than attractive feet, you see a lot of football has past water in my time, and I am the average player, if a try was awarded its because Farls fell over into the in goal area with the ball, my feet? Never wore football boots for most of my career couldn’t afford them. Managed to have a go at most sports, about average in the main. RACIAL INJUSTICE, WOGS AND CHINKS, ETHNICS AND REFFOS, PISSOFF REAL WORLD. I　maintain the comments made about "Racial Things"　came from sports participation and nowhere better place to start than my City Schools; an example will be the　team game of rugby league. Sometimes when the　ethnics allowed me　I played "hooker", please forgive　memory loss, George was prop and Greek, Nick was prop he was Greek, Sergio was Lebanese and resided in the second row, Tony was Italian and was a ditto. The lock was Jewish, the wingers were Jewish, 'cause when they got the ball they could run fast and find two other balls, (bugger), the inside backs were sometimes Asian,　selected for their ability to manage. And so it goes, on and off the field we were friends.　OH, on the bench　were guys with excellent suntans, these were the original AUSSIES, at an appropriate time when the opposition seemed to have the upper hand their job was to re-address the status quo.　Plunkett Street　Primary and Darlinghurst Jnr. Tech. won some games but　mainly we lost　because the other schools had bigger ethnics and black blokes. There will be somebody out there who can substantiate my claims, (15) nationalities at one time were enrolled at "Plunko" and probably as many up the "hill", whatever, where did the acceptance for who you are get to, it really can't be that bad, can it? DON’T PISS IN THE POOL. Now swimming for public school　was a buzz for us city kids　regrettably we found the environment less than Spartan, our pools were largely unfiltered, un-cleansed, un-sanitized, un-homogenized, unheated mistreated　and were downright nasty places to co-habit, never the less the LOO BATHS, ROSE BAY BATHS, (Red Leaf), RUSHCUTTERS BAY, and BALMAIN BATHS while leaving a lot to be desired were the venues for swimming sports. We are talking about the greater SYDNEY basin, correctly described as the cesspool then for everything that　lived and died. These harbor side pools had a protective barrier of wire mesh allowing the swimmer to negotiate a shark free course while dodging the flotsam and jetsam from this great place; I will leave your imagination to the likely objects that could be encountered, not preety, any body from a big city harbor? I guess that if I had an Olympic medal you would　have to put up with bragging rights, and I don't so you are spared. As close as I came was in the noble art of fencing, saber/SABRE was my forte'. HOW I STUCK IT UP THEM. Saint Mary's Cathedral is a splendid edifice not far from our place; a school friend introduced me to the fencing school situated in a　hall on the eastern side of the great church. Our fencing　coach was a teaching Brother, he was an excellent exponent of the art, I very quickly learnt the skill of attack and parry and the rules of engagement, and a short time later became　school champion using sabre. I found an aggressive streak in me and applied it vigorously, that is until a visiting　team of Austrian champions were invited to demonstrate their skills to the assembled school. These men and woman were thermodynamic, my word for; they would not stand still long enough for you to get a strike, most of us　got one or two　in and then they were gone. Their favorite pastime was to allow you to have the attack position, that’s when you have　the right to cut and thrust. Very deftly your attack was dodged exposing your back to the full length of their saber, they struck fast and hard, boy that smarts. Looking resplendent in my white canvas coat and long sleeves, a long glove to protect the entire arm, my fine mesh helmet and my prized sword, white thigh length pants and "Volleys" you addressed your unfortunate adversary. THE GREAT DUNLOP VOLLEY. (A worthwhile digression). I was way down the track in my yarn, about 1968 in fact, when I realized some people use another word to distinguish their personality. My description of the fencing saga included the term "Volleys", some people associate this word as ‘footwear’, they will be very wrong, it is a term that donates a being, a symbol of how you ‘stand’ in society. You have no right to live on this earth if you have not had the pleasure of being a "Volleys" person. Nobody will enjoy the peculiar and personal aroma of their person unless they are a "Volleys" identity, you will have moments of pleasure with your body that only the "Volleys" can unlock. OK, this may seem like nepotism and a parochial approach to life, you are bound by certain laws of society, I will tell you if you want recognition and acceptance, if you want to be seen and the essence of your being graciously accepted by all concerned be a "Volley". Remember my words of wisdom; He who says, "what’s that smell down under?" should vote Labor, or should wash their feet, it not the "Volleys", it’s the person". READ ON, THE SABRE CHRONICLES. Standing with one’s leading foot pointing at the opponent and your other foot at right angles, one addressed the assembled group. At about ten paces stood the antagonist with his seconds on either side, your seconds stood beside one. NOW are you ready for what follows? RULES OF ENGAGEMENT, MY IMPRESSION, AND I WERE GOOD AT IT. You acknowledge and salute the fencing party thus; one held the saber in an upright position close to your face. Pointing your saber downwards you addressed the opponents second on your left, he is the second on the right of the opponent, secondly you acknowledge the opponents second on your right, he is the second on the left of your opponent, right? Thirdly you address your own second, on your left first and your second, you are on his left, next, right? Fourthly, one addresses the only person left, he is the one directly ahead, the one in the middle of his left and right seconds, you know that he is the one because he has a sword, you raise your saber to an upright position in front of your face then point the sharp end at his face and gallantly sweep it away making a "Zorro" sound. And finally if he is still awake the unfortunate does likewise, now if you are left handed? I continued with this sport for some time and just like most things found other interests. Alarmingly, I have an idea I may have plagiarized, these can’t be my thoughts! I AM A CRIMINAL, A THEIF, A DESPARADO AND A CRAPPY SPELLAR. I must relate a final school story, and while I intended to include this experiment into "criminal activities" later, it seems that it was clearly educational. You see a warehouse on the dockside contained comics, and hundreds of them, they were rejects from the printing presses with over run colors and other defects, however they were readable simply awaiting re-pulping. A small gang of local boys became aware of this goldmine and on occasion relieved the legal owners of the reading matter, OK the front door was by-passed, but, no damage was caused by our incursion and only good value literature was removed. Sold at "The Tech" for a half penny each the gang slowly prospered from the sale of comics very popular at the time, THAT IS UNTILL GANG WARFARE breaks out in Woolloomooloo. We believe a rival gang had also discovered the bonanza; unlike us they were prone to pinch stuff of value like tools and useless things like kerosene lamps. One of the members who attended "Darlo" came to the attention of the police and fingers were pointed in the direction of my gang. AS such this person "Dobbed", imagine all the boys in school lined up with the local Sergeant from Darlinghurst Police Station walking up and down in the company of the informer. Looking down the line I could see this little bugger pointing to some of the kids, now as my gang mates are slowly being ID’ed the penny drops, we are in trouble. Finally, there are six or seven boys being addressed by the Sergeant and being told to appear at the Police Station that day. We did, and convinced the Duty Officer of not stealing useless stuff, we were asked to return to school and control the mob, end of story except that tolerance to informers is unacceptable. PS: This little narration is lifted from, johnfarls.COM, many more ‘crappy’ and exciting stories await you, go on have a go. Some poems from this era; "DUNNYS AND CHOKO VINE", "VOLLEYS", John f.