Tower of Babel

The weekend ahead:

Oh, fuck.

My girly legs are showing

I had a class full of meerkats yesterday. The year 8 boys are obsessed—and have become competitive. As the girls pretend not to look on, the boys shoot up and look about with their top lips raised above their teeth. They move their heads from one side to the other as though keeping a jerky lookout, put the weight on their heels, extend their necks and hold out their arms in coathanger paws.

 

I thought: okay. I’m prepared to go with this.

 

It was quite joyous, really.

 

And it’s working, too. At the lockers today I caught J— and S— in a skirted huddle, comparing pictures of meerkats that they had found on the net. They were trying to figure out which one was the best looking.

 

“That one looks more like B—,” insisted S—. (B— is the hot boy in the class.)

“Yeah, but this one’s cuter.”

An awkward pause.  Then: “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t care,” S— continued, “I still think B—is okay.”

 

***

 

And below: a loving tribute to yours truly submitted by two year tens in place of an actual essay:

 

One day Mr M. walked into class and saw M— and the F—man all by themselves, so he said, “screw this, let’s party!!” He ripped off all his clothes (except underwear…eww) and magically music came on and he started dancing to partyboy. Then magically we were zapped to Berlin and a bunch of German people started to slap Mr M.’s legs.

 

He had the hairiest legs in the whole of Germany, till the Germans slapped all his hair off!! “Oh no,” he said! “My girly legs are showing!!” So F—man said, “here have a bit of muscle!” F—man threw Mr M. muscle. Mr M. grew muscle on his legs instantly! Mr M. said, “Thanks F—man. Now I don’t have to show off my girly legs off any more.” M— threw Mr M. extra hair! Mr M. obliged and said, “Thanks, M—, my tank legs look rugged now!!”

 

Then Mr M. jumped into the Louvre and started singin I’m a Barbie Girl by acqua and showin off his tank legs in the partyboy suit. Over 25 men were by his side instantly!!

 

They were zapped back to Australia coz his singing is so bad and he went back to his girly self, and M— went back to his hairiness and F—man went back to his tankiness!!

 

THE END

From F—man and C—boy.

 

It’s a sign of affection. Yep, they’re going to miss me.

Bop and Luigi

Which are you today?

In the fog

Below: some recent samples. It was a tacky task and I feel a bit mean putting them up—but I found them entertaining in the middle of the black hole of marking that I’ve been inhabiting lately—you know: that event horizon beyond which no light escapes. The real universe is out there somewhere, but right now I’m stuck in here with Stephen Hawking and syntax from another dimension. Sorry for the overlate post.

 

I spent the day yesterday down in Geelong with my dear friends H— and P—, sitting at their kitchen table, breathing their oxygen and eating their experimental coconut agar dessert. I’d driven down in time for lunch and then sat like a lump until night; they were most tolerant and hospitable and lovely as I huffed and whined and ground away at the shredded forest of corrections in front of me. It’s still winter here and still cold, and I hid the fan-heater between my ankles and waved my feet across it, as though treading the pages while I read. Late in the afternoon, when the sun was about to give up and find a doona somewhere, I took a walk along the remnants of an old rail cutting that runs past the back of their house and off in a straight line each way into the distance. The rails are gone now and it’s a bike trail, with gravel underfoot. Deserted. I mooched along, and then it was midnight and I was driving back to Melbourne in a thick mist, all distance collapsed, with the engine in my ears and a blaze of white in my eyes. I saw vehicles that looked like animals in the fog: a train that became a screaming caterpillar; a truck with a hunched beetle-back, spewing black smoke from its carapace by its neck; another that slowly stalked through the thin trees on the other side of the divide, as though it were lurking, hunting or afraid; an old valiant limping along like a wounded hound. No people: just lights and metal shapes. Very occasionally a highwaylight burned down in a falling orange cone, and passing under I imagined my small car exposed to the scrutiny of a post-apocalyptic, mechanised invigilator. Vangelis was playing.* I kicked the accelerator and sped along the straight stretch, the little blue flicker of the high-beam light on the dash, the radio off, listening.

 

* Nah, just being fanciful. No Vangelis.

 

Samples: here you go. They’re not all bad—but not all good either…

 

Write a journal entry by Banquo after meeting the witches, in which you discuss what you have seen and your feelings about it, about your own hopes and about Macbeth.

 

Dear Diary,

 

Today was seeming to be a rather good ordinary day out running around the forest practising my fighting skills, until I met up with my good friend Macbeth. Macbeth joined me in some sword fighting and I must say that he is quite the fighter. I do really feel sorry for whoever comes across him with a pair of daggers in his hands.

 

Along with our normal daily travels we came across some witches who gave Macbeth and I some important but confusing information. They told Macbeth that he would become thane of Cawdor and then would eventually become king and that no man would be able to kill him until a forest moved to his castle. I don’t really understand how he could believe this talk. I mean how could a forest move. Last time I checked they just can’t get up and walk to him.

 

They also told me that I would move up in the line and really I’m not sure whether I should believe them after what they told Macbeth. Plus how could I believe them, they were the 3 most uglyst things I’ve ever seen.

 

And really I think Duncan makes a better king. He acts like a true hero unlike Macbeth. Lately he hasn’t been the best person. I mean he is good at what he does but I think he does it for the wrong reasons. To me it seems a bit more of a villain than a hero in my eyes.

 

Well I will just have to wait and see how all of this unfolds.

The end.

 

***

 

Write a journal entry by Banquo after meeting the witches, in which you discuss what you have seen and your feelings about it, about your own hopes and about Macbeth.

 

Student comment: The audience this is aimed at is mostly teenages and older or who ever loves William Shakespear’s novels.

19^th May 1821

Dear Diary,

 

Today Macbeth and I were meeting up with the three witches on top of the heath. It was quite weird to be honest.

 

When we arrived to the heath, no one was there. Macbeth and I started to get scared. Then all of a sudden the three witches appeard with a cauldron and started to rhyme. It was quite impressive. Macbeth started as king them “Why are we hereeth?” One of the witches replyed “Hahaha, what does ‘hereeth’ mean O wise one?” Macbeth looked at the witch and answered “Hereeth means ‘here’, you know, why are we here. It’s Olden Elizabeth talk, I think.”

 

Anyway, continuing on, I was (excuse my French) shitting myself a little bit when Macbeth and one of the hags were arguing about the word ‘hereeth’, I thought that the witches were gonna cast an evil spell on Macbeth and probably me. So I didn’t say a word and left Macbeth to do all the talking. My feelings at this point are me wanting to run like the wind and get the heck out of there, but I won’t leave Macbeth by himself with the three witches.

 

My hopes are tell me that I hope I get out of here alive and in one piece. Also, I hope I never see the three witches ever again.

 

***

 

Write a journal entry by Malcolm after the murder of Duncan, in which you put down your thoughts about your father’s reign and the manner of his death, and in which you start to work out your own plans.

 

Dear Diary,

 

It’s been a hard week. After seeing my dad reign Scotland for so long, defeating the unthinkable British soldiers, puts death to those who betray, to suddenly be murdered by a faceless coward. He didn’t deserve what he got. I grew up with him. He went through thanes, fought in famous battles, and even married a princess.

 

He was a man of his word. He would always look out for the people close to him. He grew up in a poor town, to becoming a thane, then to exploring and fighting in battles he won. He was an elderly man before he died. And I’ll never forget the day he took me hunting. We caught 4 rabbits and a fox. We shared the fox after cooking it on the fire. And when mother passed away was just as bad. She got struck by a horse and fell into a well. She was never retrieved. And my parents would fight a lot. But they always made up. God I miss them.