So much standing here

This is a performance I did last week in front of my uni class and lecturers, an audience of about a hundred. My best mate here in Wodonga played a bass guitar as a backing tune and I sang the chorus bit (the rest I did as spoken-word, with gestures). It felt good, cause I’d generally made a slight joke of everything this year and no one in the course knew I could be a deep, serious dude. I got the shocked wide-eyed smiles that in a previous life people gave me when I gave this one uni talk as an eighteen year-old, when I scored a goal in front of the homeys in indoor soccer and when I sang to the camp people. I liked this occasion the best though because I knew words were my thing and I was in control.


So much to say…

Grown up
With or without our expectations
And take our dreams with us
Or ditch them as we trip along
They told me: get a piece of paper or we’ll never give you a job
They said: no paper, no career
And you’ll wilt in obscurity
So I went
And participated in a dance I didn’t believe in
But life is irrespective of beliefs
That tune self-perpetuates
I had one year left with my bros
But left them to come here
For my piece of paper
I know that the real smart ones are those who work the system
And rise through it instead of snubbing it
But I dissed the way it is
A job training course hijacked by academia
I said too much
Yet acted too little
Am I a person who would rather complain than set things right?
Maybe I’ll get my piece of paper
But in the end will I rise?


I was shacked up with a fool
Who in the end made me homeless
But four trips to Beechworth
Eliminated my concerns
And gave me a place to laugh the entire year away
Ephemeral crushes
Turned to disaffection upon rejection
But I maintained what mattered
In an unlikely setting
On multiple Sunday mornings
I started to drive home
For lack of a lower purpose
And someone to do it with
But back home was I still all there?
My Mum had to fly but did I see?
My bro got a job but did I see?
My other was a dude but I kinda lost track
My Dad was my Dad
But I forgot to have his back
And now it’s ending


So much standing here
Hanging about
And then there goes the year
And we’re out


And the pracs…
Oh my God, the pracs…
Supervisors make careless misunderstandings
Moments of joy
Occur but erased as kids file out the room
And begins a new session of incertitude
Is this exhausting time
Of one thousand little battles
Something I could love one day?
Something I could talk about?
Could I talk about love?
To friends within the course or strangers from without?
I tried
But she answered no
And that love is lost
Speechless nights at Paddy’s
Were far from compensation
But suddenly I found a chance to voice
That I never used on wasteful Saturdays
I didn’t listen
Or didn’t want to
I had so much to say
But no one to hear it


So much standing here
Hanging about
And then there goes the year
And we’re out


Little kids with sniffling noses
Broke me out of my somnolence
And contaminated me
With their joy
And their colds
And their spats
Their refusal to bow
And their quick forgiveness
At high school
In theory I went up a level
Searching for some intellect
In a thousand-person package with brick walls
Instead I found crudeness
And the beginning of society’s problems
They leave high school and they become the people that I doubt
But some become the people I admire
Were they equipped to function outside of school?
Were they equipped for this world of insincerity?
Will they rise?
Will I rise?


So much standing here
Hanging about
And then there goes the year
And we’re out


Pessimistic but I’ve stopped seeing the fairytale ending. When I spat the line, “But I dissed the way it is,” it felt so exhilarating! It was pure catharsis!