Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER

My Father’s Hat

He would wear the hat every year at barbecues. The same chef’s hat, tall but floppy with some gaudy design on it. He loved that hat. It’s gone to my nephew now the one who bears his name. Not sure if he ever wears it, but he will one day.

But I have the apron. It’s stained and those stains won’t come out, but I don’t really want them to. They are a tangible memory of what was, a reminder of times long gone, but still vivid in my mind and etched in my memory like the Aboriginal rock drawings in the Kimberley.

When I use that apron, as I often do, I can see the barbecue fired up and Dad standing around it with the long barbecue tongs in one hand, beer in another, and I see the smoke rising . This was a real barbecue, with briquettes, none of that piped gas that we all have now. There was always the effort to get it going, and the debate about how long it would take to heat up and when to put the meat on relative to when the guests would arrive. What should go on first? The chicken or the steaks or chops?

I can see the salads all lined up, covered with glad wrap, the nuts and chips being handed around , the wine in the cooler and the beer foaming in its high mugs.

Somewhere the dog would be about, perhaps one of the German shepherds or perhaps the psychotic Doberman who ran round and round the pool until finally, one day, it dropped dead of a heart attack.

The barbecue was in the back garden , which was up a steep flight of stairs behind the house. However, in the pool house adjacent to the barbecue would be set up was a sink, small fridge and a sauna and shower.

I can visualise the old plastic dishes that were used, or perhaps paper plates, as the good china was never used for a barbecue.

Dad relished being in his hat and apron, king of the barbecue, being a good host.

Sometimes of course, Melbourne being Melbourne, there was either a total fire ban or else a cool change that would sweep through dropping the temperature by 20 degrees in 10 minutes. In those cases, the barbecue wouldn’t be on and the cooking might still be done outside on a little electric grill or, if the weather really turned, we would all come indoors.

But the hat and apron always stayed on.

People these days like to declutter. Chuck it out , they say. You don’t need it. It takes up too much space. Be zen. Empty. Bare.

But I like this old apron. It evokes a time and a memory, a feeling, a sentiment like all old things do. It might be the battered old frypan that we used to make pancakes in when we were kids, it might be the old coffee table that is a relic from a beach house from 60 years ago, it might be the old leather chairs that have lost their straps but are too comfortable to chuck out. Those memories that are indelible are with us always, and when I use that stained old apron, or sit on the chair or put the mug on the coffee table I am taken back in a nanosecond to times long past- to days where there were people and drinks and a barking dog, to hot days and wet days, to a time when we weren’t exhorted to be zen and declutter..

It’s funny how he liked that hat and how often I think about it. Must be something about hats in the family.

His family made hats. My grandfather had a business making straw hats in Krakow,in Poland. I don’t know how he started in the hat business, but by 1900 when my aunt was born the hat business was up and running.

Grandfather Samuel Wiener was born in a little town called Dobrowa Tarnowa which is in the area called Galicia, at one time part of the Austro Hungarian Empire. Dobrowa(which means near to or next to) Tarnowa is about 20 minutes by car from the bigger town of Tarnow.

Grandfther was born in December 1874 to Ascher Wiener and Tova Knobloch. Great grandfather was born in 1849 in Chrzanow and Tova was born in 1850 in Tarnow. Great grandfather Ascher died in May 1875 when grandfather was 6 months old. I don’t know what killed him, but possibly some sort of epidemic such as flu or typhoid. Great grandmother moved back to Tarnow and much later, in 1898, had remarried Leib Unger and had a child, Markus, in 1898 at the age of 48. Whether she was married previously or had other children I don’t know, but no records of either have been found.

I Couldn’t Quite Get My Head Around It

The first time I opened the window and saw him lying there opposite I couldn’t quite get my head around it. My god I thought he ‘s stolen a skeleton from the anatomy lab. But why is he sitting there naked? That was my first thought. But then, thinking about it some more, I thought, with some shock, surely he hasn’t killed that old geezer who lived downstairs? Or was it some love story gone really wrong? Had someone just died in the arse and there he was staring mournfully at him?

I didn’t know the answer to any of these questions and in any event it was time for me to take the cat to the vet for her annual shots so didn’t have time to ponder it any further.

Then at the vet, they had a cat for adoption. I toyed with the idea of adopting another, but I supposed that 10 was probably enough, for the minute anyway. There was after all still the possbiiltiy of fostering the cheetah cub and I supposed really that I should think of her.

It was melting the day I met the cheetah. She was alone in her enclosure and they told me I could go in and play with her for a little bit. Her mother had died, they weren’t sure why, so she had to be raised by humans until she could be released into the wild. But, as she grew, they realised that she was much too domestic cat like to ever be released, and whilst she could never be a house cat, well not really, she also wasn’t suited to the wild. The idea was that I might be able to foster her for a little bit of time.

But then, walking down the street one day with the cheetah, this weird dog started to follow me. Of course, its not my   dog as mine would be securely at home, or on a leash, or something. If I had had a dog. So I told the dog to go home which it seemed reluctant to do.

The cheetah was quite beautiful and didn’t seem to mind being just one of a family of its smaller domestic cousins. She was quite small at this stage. And then, as soon as she seemed to be settling in, she seemed to change a little. Whereas she had purred and chirruped as they do, she adopted a different persona, almost dog like. I couldn’t really say what prompted it, whether it was that odd dog that followed us, or what.

The one day we were out and the dog joined us and walked with us for a bit, but then, in a weird way, it began to crumple as if it had heard bad news. I couldn’t say what happened to it, but it just sort of sauntered off. By then I had ascertained that it lived with the old guy round corner who used to work for ASIO. Funny old dude but harmless in his way. Well, now he was. Not sure that I could say that in the past.

So the cheetah stayed with us for a couple of months, until finally, she grew too big and had to be returned to the sanctuary. I still go and visit her, and she comes and sits on my knee as she used to do, as she observed the other cats doing, and purrs loudly. I had bottle fed her at nights and sometimes she would indicate somehow that she wanted the bottle again, so, to be prepared, I always brought one with me and had it heated up there. She particularly liked certain brands of milk.

I often wondered how many people the old ASIO dude had killed. We knew he had as he was so cagey about what he did.

Then I saw the young guy from across the way. I was about to ask him about the skeleton, when I saw him look around and go into the house of the old ASIO dude.

There were 39 steps in his front yard we had heard. Was he going up those 39 steps or was there some other in? It was only when I heard the news that I found out.

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER

For humanity to survive with its civilisation intact, there needs to be a global change to drug enforcement policy. A change in mindset is needed from majority of the population, who due to a combination of government led misinformation for decades and being affected by religious beliefs. Have incorrect and harmful ideas about ‘illicit’ drugs.

Ending prohibition will benefit the world by:

1. Fixing the Economy. It seems ridiculous and illogical to spend vast amounts of money trying to stop the supply rather than regulating and taxing the demand. Developed nations bemoaning national debt and budgetary shortfalls need to shit and get on the pot.

2. Ending the Monopoly Alcohol Exploits. Alcohol has a monopoly on private and social inebriation. By the time most are in their early twenties, drinking culture and weekly/nightly drinking habits are well ingrained. Along with the belligerence and apathy that goes with it. The experience ‘Illicit’ or recreational drugs offer is application specific. Some are good for creative tasks, some good for mediation, some good for dancing, some good for conversation.

3. Make the Industry Not For Profit. Currently the majority of the drug market operates for profit, and arguably this is also the reason prohibition is maintained. What ending prohibition offers is an opportunity to establish a manufacturing, distribution and responsible usage system that is not profit focused. Ok there’s going to have to be some profit somewhere to keep the capitalists happy. It’s not just being about harm minimisation but positively enhancing society in general, this is the aim.

4. Data Doesn’t Lie. The overwhelming story the data from regions that have made a positive change to drug policy is that it is a change for the better. Contrast this to the medieval strategies, such as those imposed by the President for the Philippines and it is obvious that zero tolerance around ‘illicit’ drug use is primarily a tool to commit genocide on a population. Both directly (executions) and indirect methods such as creating stigma and a vilified subculture around drug use.

5. Smarter People. A significant motivator and driver of demand for recreational drugs is their ability to improve cognitive function. This is a delicate element of some drug use that if managed carefully we can maximise the benefits and minimise the negative side effects. We want our brains running faster, better, longer, with less mental illness and correct dosage of some therapeutic medicine will make that happen.

6. End Scapegoating of Drugs. They are the easiest target for politicians and authorities to apportion blame to. They are often used as a stop-gap to prevent delving deeper in the bigger social issues contributing to death, crime and much more. A person dies of a heroin overdose? the response is what a shame they succumbed to the evils of drugs. Instead of who was it that abused and traumatised that person so they required a constant supply of a banned therapeutic medicine so they could function. Is someone presenting at hospital or medical clinic because of drugs? or are they malnourished, stressed over debt, don’t have enough money to survive, dealing with the realisation their religious beliefs are a bit like santa or has the illogicality of the world we live in just not compute and their brain needs help rebooting.

7. Removing the Market for Synthetics. The only reason these exist is in order to circumvent prohibition. Technically they are legal, functionally they are a bigger health risk the the natural drugs they are trying to mimic the effects of. As well as lacking the active ingredients/elements that make some recreational drugs beneficial when used correctly and in moderation. Trying to scientifically prove the health benefits is intentionally made as impossible as possible thanks to prohibition.

8. Trading Guns for Licences. The killing and death that occurs due to the enforcement of prohibition, along with the wars over territory and distribution by the existing manufacturers and suppliers. Is totally unnecessary. The only way to bring a positive change is to work with rather than against the existing players. It is in everyone’s interest to trade guns for licences so to speak, There is enough margin in these products so that producers, distributors and retailers can operate without the threat or costs of dealing with the legal system, the governments can take tax and law enforcement can be repurposed to issuing massive fines for unlicensed activity rather than trying to throw people in gaol for a couple of years.

As it stands, with what we now know. If you still support prohibition you support death and crime and poverty and suffering and an Australia wallowing in eternal debt. And you’re a sadist. The whole abstinence thing does not work, it’s a proven failure with sex. Religion tried their best and did their worst to convince people to keep their pants on. Same thing is happening with drugs, people will do it no matter how many tv shows and movies are made depicting drug dealers as evil. You realise Hank was actually the villain in Breaking Bad, that’s a whole other topic to delve into.

The vision I am working towards is one where the young adults of 2020 and beyond don’t have to buy cannabis from meth heads and heroin addicts funding their own usage and ‘pushing the harder stuff on them’. Even using those terms shouldn’t carry the murky disdain it does, because if someone wants to do that, that’s their business. What society can influence is how they are supplied, what they are supplied with and the support they get to manage what they choose to use. If we can do that better at beginning of a person’s drug use then that is when we will see less people reaching levels of severe dependence, overdosing or going over the edge.

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER

Shaking hands can hold on to things. I watched his – they were thrust forward across the table. It seemed a privilege that I was the only one to notice their slight tremor; a secret thing, not apparent to the casual observer. We were out the back in the beer garden and the service was shit, the garden smelled like stale alcohol and cigarettes. The edge of the table was some sort of metal…fucking hipsters, why do they have to go and make everything so attractive yet also so uncomfortable? Our drinks were long since drained so we were talking without the benefit of anything to sip between remarks.

His body language was persuasive. It was a congenital tremor but I couldn’t help feeling infected by anxiety when I saw that slight movement travel the whole length of his hands. A long time has passed and I’m remembering his drink seemed warm but that’s fanciful re-imagining. Really, it was just a few dregs of beer left in the bottom that were soaking up the afternoon sun. We talked about politics and women’s lib and whatever book he’d just read by Plato but his fingertips were all I could concentrate on, though they were barely visible in my peripheral vision.  Our esoterica was perfectly appropriate for this environment; the service was so bad that nobody even came to take away our empties. We spoke slowly and turned the glasses to lubricate them with the sweat of our palms.

I remember I was wearing men’s trousers that day and a V-neck T-shirt. Whenever I wear that uniform my arms feel like they belong to someone else. They are browned and weathered enough to belong to a thirty-five-year-old man. That afternoon my limbs felt sublime, actionable. I wanted to take both his hands and fold them into stillness.

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER

Trumpetta the elf, was generally loud,

But tonight her voice was cloaked in a ‘cloud’!

Intently she listened, her eyes open wide,

So marvelous a sight that she nearly cried!

The puppets had learned,

To make music and earned

Much respect, for their catchy sound

Made you want to twirl round and around!

Train Driver was first, with whistle in hand,

Behind him was Lambie, bleating rhythm in this band.

The Koala, a bit of a “star”,

‘Cos she’s been observed in UK,-that’s very far!

Parrot, controlling his squawk,

Miraculously kept rhythm, tapping his fork!

Starfish was silent, moving slowly,

No sound as she slithered down lowly.

Then Platypus, just a little bit lonely,

And perhaps… maybe… if only!

Her poor worn out bill

Could make someone thrill

With her cross rhythm beat,

Check out Josie’s Piano Lessons Plus here

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER

Sitting with a group of like-minded masterclassers who determinedly want to write something, anything really, but are unsure of how to do this at all, do it better, or do it just for the hell of it, can be very empowering, or intimidating. The chemistry of eagerness physically permeates the small room with a large table. It ebbs and flows with the stories and observations that people manage to insert into the relentless stream of knowledge, ideas and suggestions pouring from Catherine, the Head Gunna, liberally spiced with her fearless language and admissions.

You walk away with a hopefully higher level of inspiration and a lower level of excuses, and a better framed notion of how to translate those half-baked ideas lurking in the back of your skull into something tangible. A book or a blog. Writing or webpage. A relief or a revenge. And knowing that there are others wrestling with the same inspiration, demons, issues and excuses is only half the benefit. The real gain comes from sharing ways of nurturing your own open mind that brought you here in the first place, and topping this up with an enthusiasm for completion, not craft, inimitably communicated by the gregarious, multi-talented Deveny.

Seeping energy, fuelled by challenge, common sense and good food make this no waste of six hours of a life for those ready for it. Not at all a laugh fest, although laughs were to be had. Instead, an intense and generous sharing of journeys, roads travelled, techniques, tools and suggestions, laced with admitted failures, hit a cynical but fertile target absolutely dead centre. A panacea for excuses.

A much needed day away for any confessed would be Gunna who has been too long a source of ridicule and criticism by those not appreciative of the despair and frustration of having words and stories locked away, of what it really takes to put them on paper or screen, and can’t help except to exhort and sigh at the lack of anything eventuating. It renews the confidence and gives you ways of dealing with the well meaning encouragement from those we live with who have never set foot on the same road as the like-minded.

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER

We’re all searching for it, our purpose, our passion, the thing that makes us sit up every morning and want to get out into the world. I have reflected and searched for my gift for as long as I can remember. What is it that I am supposed to give back? How am I going to contribute? What do I have to offer?

Today I think I may have found it! My magic!

The thing that makes me light up inside and nourishes my soul. What I didn’t realise was that I had always had it with me. I think I may have stumbled across it by accident when I was younger but managed to bury it over with fear and self-doubt. I knew I had something there I just didn’t know what to do with it.

I have always looked at my Mum and admired her natural artistic flare and often wondered why I hadn’t found my passion or purpose when it seems to flow so freely through her. I am cut from the same cloth, where was my talent? The problem was, I think I always knew it was there but didn’t understand it. My best friend often encouraged me to pursue writing, she could see it too but I doubted myself and always felt that the timing wasn’t right or what I had to say no one else wanted to hear. That’s the problem with magic, how can you use it if you don’t believe? I didn’t believe that I had what it takes so I ignored it. I had been ignoring the little voice that had been trying to get out. Looking for something else to make my heart skip a beat.

Until today I hadn’t really understood the concept of art or having a muse, but I am starting to see why I have attachments to things or people and why I want to express myself in writing. It comes naturally to me. Not in the sense that I always have something to say, but in the sense that I am an expressive person. Having in depth conversations with the people I love and admire can send me off into a little writing frenzy and sets my ideas on fire. Sometimes it’s small and manageable and other times it’s pie in the sky. What excites me now is that I want to chase each thought, explore these ideas further, make time to make my writing a priority.

I feel like I have uncovered another piece of my authentic self and it excites me. It opens up pathways and brings with it new challenges that I can’t wait to explore. The shine and sparkle of testing out my craft is something I can’t wait to do, so here I am sharing it with you. We all have that special something in us, we just have to have the courage to look. Believe in your magic and follow your heart and there you will find your passion and purpose.