the home page of david prater

Jet Moon doesn't have a ticket but she'll ride on to the next station. She'll get off, ride the escalator upwards and emerge onto the street. It's raining in Tokyo tonight. She'll pass by a comic book stand, plastic meals in a window. Rain sluices down the window. There is a bar on the street. Jet Moon doesn't have any money but she goes into the bar. Jet Moon supersonically eyes off the window. She'll be watching the rain sluicing down the window. She'll be seeing exactly what she saw a moment ago outside, only in reverse. A woman entering a bar. Neon-coated raindrop on her brolley, thick clasp in her hair. A small mist of water released from there, when she turns. The bar slowly filling up with women. Women who sit themselves at the bar, stare out the window and watch as the next one comes through the door. From the door to the bar, then the window. Necks creak. Jet Moon won't notice it at first. She'll be watching the window. She'll...

Once upon a time in Japan, there was a boy named Karappo. He was empty. One day, Karappo met a girl named Okesutura. She was an orchestra. Okesutura filled Karappo's emptiness with music. She engulfed him with sound. Karappo fell madly in love with Okesutura. He asked her to stay with him forever. He wanted to hear her perfect sound forever. But Okesutura feared Karappo's emptiness might prove too big to fill. You are so empty Karappo, she said. Okesutura, I know, answered Karappo. But you sound so beautiful inside me. Yes, agreed Okesutura, there is no sound in a vacuum. Your sound is safe within my emptiness, he said. Your emptiness will decrease, she said. Then I can make sound too, said Karappo. Then we can both make sound forever, said Okesutura. So Karappo and Okesutura came together. Then they had a baby. And they called her Karaoke.

While [d/dn] looks on in grief as his popularity slips on the mp3.com.au artist charts, the exact opposite is true for the track "Foggy Dew Edit" from his barnstorming Recognition of Prior Learning LP. This kick-arse piece of noodling sits at present at #5 on the lo-fi charts, despite not possessing any lyrics or song structure. Sounds familiar, doesn't it? For the record the song is described on the site as follows: "Believe it or not, this is the end bit from Davey's recording of a traditional Irish song called "The Foggy Dew" which deals with the British occupation of Northern Ireland and other examples of historical stupidity the Easter Uprising of 1916. Check out the false ending half way through. Pogue mahone!" Help [d/dn] make his political statement by downloading the track as many times as you can over the next week. That way, it'll get to number 1. Alles klaar?

Thanks to KL and STW for this link to some astonishingly bad 80s Haiku .

I seem to be having problems with comments. Could people please try and post a comment so that we can see if it works now? Thanks.

Last night I was walking along Queens Parade when along came an old green tram. I think it was of the kind that they refer to nowadays as "W-Class": like the City Circle trams, only green. The tram was going very slowly, heading along Queens Parade towards Westgarth. I began to worry for the tram, due to the huge hill just the other side of the Westgarth shops. I could just picture the tram chugging all the way to the top, only to slide back down again. Then I saw a truck coming along behind the tram. Unlike the tram, the truck was all white. On its side was painted in black letters: "TRAM RECOVERY VEHICLE". My first instinct was to ask why the truck was behind the tram instead of in front, pulling it up the hill. Then I saw the huge bulldozer style front bullbar on the truck and understood: the TRV's job was to push , as well as (presumably) "catch" the tram should it lose its brakes. Kind of like a parent pushing a child on a swing. Well, not rea...

meddling kids with their internet pop-ups planting jitches in those unexpected drum /fill up my crevice moments inevitably doomed to fall between their terminals of thunder & the beginnings of the jaundice / plague its down on hands & hips & back to feeling aghast my baby lives on a pop-up page we shudder tho my slax stained with mustard tell me sadder tales - its possible avoid computers made entirely of mould dont mention mousetraps in this house a typewriters warm key tapped a la morse plastique i dont know french but i louvre what youre doing with that jim & please consider joining me for a snack yes or a mid-morning TV advertisement you know at least they dont pop up like some brat on amyl well i could go on but i dont want to mention the names now that my password has been hijacked by a kid with two brains