I.
It was this Jabawockeez dance back in ’09
where all the members had red
tracksuits, and white masks.

They, popping and locking their way through
to the hiphop world title, a rhythm all their own:
a tight mesh of violins and dropped beats.

II.
Your evenings wake up like their dance routine -
all fuzzy, late edges and hard, sideways locks -
you the trapped light from an old photograph.

Your limbs are a tangle of red tracksuits and gloves,
sterile-white boots, but yellow masks: its sounds full
of their bedtime violins, your heavy beat sunrises.

III.
You take these pills to keep the mornings asleep.

Tracksuits and Nike
a pub filled with the lost
**** wet skies
and punctual misery
fill every seat
of the bus that was late.

Cigarette butts
and blood stains
line the outskirts
of every sordid town
hidden in plain sight
of feigned ignorance.

The old are begotten
with fears of their death
and how they took part
in preserving a culture
of barbaric vices and pleasures.

Ambition shot down
and petty dreams
spat on
by Oxford and Cambridge
who wallow in their pride
of a reputation held
in the 1800's
and duly lost
in the face of the East.

Presumably the next big thing will be soles — socks with holes. Or maybe zits — pants with zips.

It’s made me wonder what else is ahead for us this season, so I headed to the mall to find out.

Topshop proclaims the return of triple denim (noooo!), the corset and coats worn as dresses. The latter should be worn undone to the waist and half falling off in order to “create a cold-shoulder silhouette”. Doesn’t make such sense during a Melbourne winter, I must say.

Topshop also has a very worrying item called a “monochrome gingham flute tie sleeve top”, which looks to me very much like a chequered table napkin worn backwards with ribbons at the elbows keeping the sleeves on. I’ll pass on that one.

Over at H&M;, winter’s “new mood” is all about “sustainable style” containing recycled materials. That means a simple flannel top is reborn as “conscious fashion” and a blue worker-style singlet becomes a “lyocell vest top”.

What would they call hi-vis? Apparently, the fash pack call it “haute reflecture”. Yes, really.

Most concerning is a shirt with “trumpet sleeves” so wide they’d need a separate seat at a restaurant. Even then they would end up dipping into the dinner of the person sitting at the next table. It may help you work out what to order, but it’s not likely to win you any friends.

At Zara it’s all about a “limited edition ballet dress” that will look perfect under a “moto jacket” Did they forget the r? Or are they too cool for correct spelling?

There is also something very strange called “over-the-knee high-heel sock boots”, which are $100. Give them to someone you loathe this Easter.

Zara also wants us to wear “Mum-fit jeans with side stripes”, which will no doubt just draw more unwelcome attention to the dreaded maternal hips. Who needs that?

They also have a velvet sack-style dress with a drawstring at the mid-thigh. It’s the style that doesn’t discriminate — it’s guaranteed to look unflattering on everyone.

So what other trends should we be running away from this season? Fashion insiders tell me “street-chic utilitarianism” is all the rage. That seems to involve wearing a flak jacket 10 sizes too big in a rotting-flesh colour paired with floral leggings with built-in shoes.

There’s also “new shirting”, which looks to me like the same thing as “old shirting” but has the added disadvantage of being just about to fall off your shoulders at the most inopportune time.

Trust me, you don’t need that and you don’t need an ironic-slogan T-shirt that tells the world “This was not a gift” or “This is a white T-shirt”.

I am also quite interested to know that “bra out” is apparently a trend and I wonder if that means I should stop tucking my daggy mum-bra straps into my tops.

Now, as someone who spent most of Wednesday this week at work with a large shop store label hanging out of the back of my skirt, I’m obviously not a huge fashionista.

But even I can see that never before has there been such a gap between clothes the fashion-conscious labels are promoting and everyday pieces we actually want to wear. You know, clothes that are well priced, well made, last more than a few seasons and aren’t made by five-year-old Bangladeshi orphans.

THERE’S no doubt something very weird is going on when there’s a waiting list for Yves Saint Laurent’s $10,000 jewelled boots and jewellery made of real succulents is being tipped as the next big thing. But really, who wants to have to remember to water their earrings?

Wandering around Zara this week (from where I bought the $89 skirt I forgot to take the label off), I was interested to see sale racks packed with off-the-shoulder tops, summer denim and lots of body suits. When are they going to learn women don’t want press studs up their privates?

I know that in fashion everything new is old anyway and that’s what really concerns me.

I’ve been around long enough to remember all the best worst fashion disasters such as pooh-catcher pants, velour tracksuits, trucker hats and platform sneakers.

Frankly, there are some items that don’t deserve to be wheeled out again. They include leg warmers — because your ankles don’t get cold when you work out, do they? And let’s not revisit male crop tops, because a hairy muffin top is something we don’t need to see.

Back to jindows. Just because Topshop tells us they’re “globally trending in the denim space”, it doesn’t mean you need a pair.

Remember. You didn’t need jeggings, coatigans, skorts or flatforms. And you sure as hell don’t need jindows.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses

How hard it is to breath when streetlights flicker across the faces of brick houses
and how lucky you must be to sleep below the stars, a new patch every eve
To the girl with high heels clacking on paving slabs, remorseful ears hear all
and with a shimmering bow in your hair the birds do sing in distant trees
- a song of you
What sort of feelings are these, when hedgerow heroics are ignored
and the tin can roofs in some shanty town are rusted, with babies sleeping below
The man with lackadaisical swinging arms is singing to the fruit bats, nighttime solitude
and disabled on his scooter, the obese man sells basketballs at cut prices to teens in tracksuits
- a deal for two
When hydrogen gambling men in suits blow holes in the world and sit back laughing
and when brown eyed rebels sing Allah hu akbar in mountainside dole drum, cavernous bedsits
The seas of some eternal land will rise with cleansing attributes to wash away the ******
and intoxicating blues men sing ballads of the end, with delectable imperatives, scorned by it all
- I will think of you

I hate it when my biscuit commits suicide
in my cup of tea.
I hate that TV is about celebrity, banality
and reality.
I hate that even though I have a job, money
still alludes me.
I hate being woken up and going to
bed in a bad mood.

I hate adverts on the radio.
I hate stupidity
facebook debates and vanity.

I hate people who think I'm a traffic light
and those oblivious to where they're going.
People who can't stop relentlessly moaning!

I hate that learning's on the decline
I hate shopping , boredom
and "being dolled up to the nines."

I hate that everybody just waits for
things to get better.
I hate that a 'good' hair day depends
on the weather.

I hate assumptions, non-conclusions
and skin ablutions that don't work.

I hate that the art of conversation is
adrift in this technological generation
I hate time-wasters, calories and kid with
no respects for elders.
I hate that journalism's no longer 'cutting edge'
or about the truth.
I hate profound sayings about too many cooks
and spoiled broth.
That I'm incapable of telling people with clipboards
to *******!
I hate martyrs , can't be ****-ters,
ignorance, arrogance and man-made disasters
The non-stickiness of plasters!

I hate public transport, rush hour
and being stuck inside.
I hate people who wear tracksuits but
never exercise.

I hate queuing and clichés
I hate opinions on mental health
and those who just can't help them-self.

I hate people who relentlessly moan
who can't stop trying to sell stuff over the phone.

But most of all I hate it when

....

                                                         ­           Ah! Forget it .

Spice saves you from the cold
Scrambling desperate for heat
Hands out with head back twitching
Begging at my feet

In shop doors on the floor
Never seen a higher street
Zombies with good manners
Trying to catch a nights sleep

Sparking fires in cans inhaling dark
Warming hands by freezing hearts
In sight of prams out in the park
Laying wasted on a landmark

Their minds, bodies and money is all spent
Nasty habits got them here
Nothing for food, nothing for rent
Nights spent on streets in constant fear

Stumbling blind side into me
Old tracksuits combating crisp cold
Not searching for cheap silence or throwaway sympathy
Not trying to fit a societal mould

Like a dear in the headlights they stare
So startled, so close to the ending
A thinking mans ******
I’m the ignorant man stood, pretending
That I can’t see you there

Craving synthetic highs
Because if it’s natural it’s not aloud
Packaged up in labs and factories
Down the supply chain to customers who sleep on cobbled ground

I didn’t know you
until I ripped you
from your family
and tore their world apart.

It only took seconds.

You, average and easy to miss
yet shining still, still shining
in a blur of tracksuits and hoodies
makes it harder still to see you every time.

Would I give my life to not miss again.

An ‘accident’ they say
As I am bathed in their contempt.
You must not feel ‘guilty’ but they are liars;
They, whose pain is so much bigger than mine.
But  I cannot hold the mourners’ hands
Still only grieve within

I didn’t know you
until I became consumed by you.
The dark deep hurt I am not allowed to release
no comfort in precedent or in faith
that teaches evil can be redeemed.
Only deep regret for no crime committed

The seconds it took to take our lives.