the home page of david prater

just where the instrumental kicks in i�m down at reception signing names now she�s back from hell�s other wing stirring up trouble beneath our skins clouds sown with rain seeds as down systems beyond the understanding of space entrepreneurs see their boring powers & if they want to photograph me from space they�re welcome to it just remember they�ll be dead some day too (just like walt disney�s head we�re only information conduits & if you think they�re watching you then they are if even a small part of what we suspect is true then paranoia is a justifiable state nay natural even & for those who don�t understand I�m mad & I�m dead it�s not what passes through us may be evil or the moon but for all their talk of legislating asteroid belts (some poets have no choice but to submit to the leather clampdowns clash reruns (i predict a flash of lightning followed by the numb acceleration of our particles through american airspaces despite secrecy & deniability ...

This magnificently-crafted construction, located within the grounds of the University of Melbourne, demonstrates the breathtaking potential of modern architecture, a topic upon which I have recently had occasion to reflect. The smooth, elegant and organic lines of this mysteriously artistic building remind me somewhat of a gum tree, with its attendant leaves, bark and sap. The intricacy of the "branches" elevates the entire structure to a cosmic plane, its swooping lines and fractal geometry spell-binding in their artistry and grace. Over one hundred years in the making, this building was apparently designed to keep growing until it falls over, a somewhat cheeky irony on the part of its architect. Surrounded as it is by glass and steel, this building also speaks of a new renaissance in architecture, one in which the natural world is allowed to thrive, and where the improbable decisions made by nature are deliberately fused with the perhaps more advanced methods of suspensio...

Future pranksters The In Jokes (pictured) will release their debut (in fact, only) single on the highly respected [dnrc] label some time in 2007. Find out its fate by visiting the [dnrc] site today. Or tomorrow. I mean, it'll still be there then. The picture above, taken by a [dnrc] administrative assistant at a recent bash held to celebrate [dnrc]'s fiftieth release, shows multi-instrumentalist Wu Gazer on the left and cryptic lyricist Maikiki on the right, just behind, slightly out of focus. Hat and specs were provided by the lead singer of Super Grope , who should not be confused with the lead singer of The Cosby Kids . Hair, as ever, by Brian.

                                                cigarette                                           distant                                     a                               from      ...

two hearts rushing into the freaky world busted compromised lonely to be pitied - smashed our glasses & instead went blind no way back thrashed beaten or overcome & so we attacked the world & it worked - put our divisions into place & attacked attacked their betrayals & coded silence coded our response to meet unmet demands why do you do what you do you dead people & why do you bother learning to scream - or even to fly (you know how that's okay but what the fuck's your problem anyway? two hearts thrashing at the stolen world & so we attacked the truth & it exploded fine by us we said here's another radio - scorned by some ubiquitous social scenes driven like a bus through horizontal snow they turned up a heater instead of an amp & so we attacked each other & it worked - flew into flight plans destined for death we attacked the dead & they said nothing - attacked attacked & thrashed against poles tore down maps trudg...

Last year Australian poet Cath Vidler set up a new online magazine called Snorkel , the aim of which is to showcase the best in Australian and New Zealand poets (plus I guess anyone else who's good). I submitted a couple of poems for the first issue (read them here ) and I've now managed to sneak one into the third issue. Excitingly, the poem is one of my PC Bangs pieces, entitled Dupli . While I love all of my imaginary cities as if they were my own children once, I do have a special fondness for this one, as it concerns my friendships with men in South Korea and the unique way in which men relate to each other in that country. I've also had news that two more cities will be published online soon - I'll be sure to post details as soon as they become available. In the meantime: Mokochukcha!

If anyone is in any doubt that Melbourne is the cultural capital of the known world, then the website of the St Kilda Writers' Festival 2006 should set them straight. While only in its second year, the festival boasts a pretty impressive guest list: Tony Birch, Henry Reynolds, Tara Moss, Inga Clendinnen and (ahem) Mystic Medusa will all be there, along with yours truly. I'll be reading selections from my PC Bang project as part of the "Reading Asia" event to be held at Dogs Bar, just across the road from the St Kilda Library, on Saturday 29 April from 4.30 to 5.30pm . Entry is free! Come along if you're interested in "writings from Asialink Kiterature residents who lived, worked and travelled in Sri Lanka, Indonesia, South Korea, Japan and Singapore". Other readers include Sophie Cunningham, Paddy O'Reilly, Andy Fuller and the wunderkind of ac-po (actors who write poems) Terry Jaensch. Annyeung haseyo!

& if i ever do learn a word of dutch      as in really learn it learn its body           then the only word i want to know                is kus this beautiful word for a kiss           or is it to kiss as in the verb to be      to be a stranger in the mouth of another language another way of      breathing after all isn't that just           another way of writing language                the way the mind breathes air &           creates tangible concepts like to      be as in i am or we are they're not & then to move on to know plurals ...

Recorded live at Babble by Sean M. Whelan on February 1 2006 as part of my feature set. If you listen carefully, you can hear the sound of a piano, coming out of the speakers of a very old Walkman. Sit back and imagine me pretending to play the piano while I recite the poem. Think Billy Joel. Is an arsehole. Merciful and rapid-response editing of this piece (originally over ten minutes in length) was carried out by DJ Sassy Pants. Unfortunately this means you don't get to hear me go "woof". Powered by Castpost

The towers of her private agony shut out even the night, no lamps or open windows - just two red lights on top blinking away her tears, so the airplanes won't get smashed . And who was I to be there, looking up at the dizzying heights grown crooked, in the rain, without her face? Someone called me an idiot but I'd heard that one before. More than once, in fact. Darling. There was a sign designed to dissuade youths from throwing rocks at trains but bring it on, I said to no one. She said she'd wait. Just a short journey station to station . I stepped out into a future Canton, whose restaurant signage spoke volumes of the dumpling joys to be found within. Up the stairs to a red and green-themed neobar, racing through the cocktail menu, seeking heat . April brought along its own idea of a party and in the chilly urban evening's throat-clearing ceremony I heard something more than blisters, larger than hurt, stronger than fear or getting caught in the rain . I chose to igno...

Lock up your bandannas, plectrums and notebooks, people - there's a man on the streets who's aiming to break your heart, like the way Wilco said they were trying, only this time succeeding. The man who introduced the world to Catholic Autistic Terrific , who is now in the middle of a post-Balderdash hangover to rival anything tied on by the Rat Pack, stirred the hearts, minds and various extremities of the Melbourne spoken word scene two weeks ago with his show Death To Your Dreams , featuring Sean on vocals and cool hat, and ace band the Mime Set on everything else. The performance, as part of the Emerging Writers' Festival, was actually the second one put on by Sean and the band, after their apparently barnestorming show as part of last year's Australian Idol competition. Think fab projections accentuated by moody shadow work from the Mime Set's guitarists - okay, think Rattle and Hum. Think big sound! My God, the Spanish Club PA made the band sound like a cathed...

Just in case anyone was suffering under the impression that I'm something of a man's man, here's a little image I look at every time I visit the wonderful "page 4" website of Australasia's most popular, talented and BULK ACE poet, alicia "sassy pants" sometimes! Seeing her in action on the wheels of steel last Wednesday as an accoutrement to the talents of The Bedroom Philosopher, one was struck by sassy's eclectic musical tastes ranging from Rolf Harris (his incendiary track "Sunrise" providing an eerie beginning to the night) to a German version of "Ring of Fire" that was actually about four thousand cars or bars or something. I often think of asking alicia what sustains her, but so far have not got up the courage to do so. I suspect if anything sustains her at all, it's a small nip of Bailey's and some kind of tart. A supremely dangerous poet, alicia co-hosts Triple R's Aural Text show every Wednesday at 12 no...

After the non-appearance of rumoured Irish headline act Neil, Babble punters could be forgiven for suspecting that uber-host Sean M. Whelan's response might be to rope in some amateur or half-baked talent to act as the feature performer at last night's event. Those of little faith might consider working on that aspect of their personality however as no less a performer than Justin Heazlewood aka The Bedroom Philosopher aka one half of devastating duo The Renegades of Folk provided more than half a dozen answers to the question: "what on earth goes through the mind of a twenty-something performer aka poet aka comedian aka spokesperson for his/her generation?" Because the fact is that if anyone speaks for signature drawstring jarmies, toast, songs about mum and postmodernism, then Justin Heazlewood's the man. He could just as easily be the woman, as evidenced by his appearance on stage to the accompaniment of DJ Sassy Pants' strident and eclectic selection, Dono...

Icebergs calve, plop and bomb. Great sheets of arctic pain - metaphors, forever lost. The polar bear just stand there, in mid-air, then drop. White water dreams after Greenland, or was that Hell. Whatever. It's a bit of a stretch but if they can tow one to Belfast then why not here? For some reason, Hitler comes to mind. I'm no longer involved. Ha! Sitting here, my new wife and I, on the icebreaker's deck. There's a novel in my drink, an icy cliffhanger. Whatever. Rubbing my cheeks with whale fat. Where the hell did that come from? Nick Cave's in my cabin, with the fever. Here come the northern lights, a stadium in miniature bathed in signal flares. My wife's a rose and I'm malt whisky. Arranging deckchairs, etc.

If you've ever wondered just what someone who's just spent twelve hours sitting in a series of overnight trains from Sapporo to Tokyo looks like, then look no further. As related in a previous post, in January this year I was interviewed by Keiji [O'Banjo] Minato for the purposes of an article in Subaru magazine , a literary monthly put out by Shueisha, one of Japan's largest manga and magazine publishers. The article, which is obviously in Japanese (don't even try to use Google or Babelfish to translate it, unless for some reason you'd like all of your stereotypes about cross-cultural misunderstanding to be validated), features two extraordinarily unflattering photos of me, and concerns Cordite and the place/space of e-zines in Australia. Having been present during the interview, I guess it doesn't really matter so much to me what's in it. I would be curious, however, to know what other Japanese writers and poets think of online publication. More im...

well in our short life we get into fistfights on message boards dust off the pistols why is everyone else so down on i today i being the sons of some moderate guff from my laboratory don't patronise kids mean baby jack since pilot land strikes! reach a consensus as anyone could come up with the same rote i wanna cry onto radio bust loose & turn up the musical screws know us by the trail of well maybe i don't really wanna know okay?

she's a why ----------------- in time     soundtracks erase the shutter ------------------------ myths & breakage ---- gossip ----             far-fetched 'n charming --------------- 'n speeding -----------                       on cooler breathless ----------------- 'n devoid                                     of specialist moments waiting ----- for sunset                      in a dusted carpark rustle the mongoose ----------------------- dinner & show -------------------------------- autarky ------------------ ...

we were in a secret band called 'circadia' kind of like the tantric fantasia music's b generation oh how i monitored that crush crossed my sine waves with whiplash kisses the next morning you got up early walked yr dog & sipped the hair of one showered &/or dressed then slipped back into our bed of rushes searchlights nude cameo appearances you may never know i was sleepwalking even though we found traces of glass in my feet asphalt from your faraway suburb's avenues i fell into a daytime answer to a question that was yes that was yes just in case you guessed the subtext in this imaginary mess the streetlights rhyme the drizzle happens & rainbows yer morningness never suspected