What made you pick up this book? It is a question I myself have been pondering for quite a while. What is it that draws people in to read words, hundreds of pages worth? When said in such a way it makes reading sound quite boring, a waste of time. What do people gain? I asked my friend Margaret this as we sat drinking hot chocolates in Jupiter’s Casino on the Gold Coast. Hope, she told me. It brings out your emotions. Having never felt hope in my life, I questioned her on the ability on words to make you feel things. Think about it, she told me. Think about every time someone’s told you they love you, or they hate you, or that you make them laugh. It gives you hope, hope that they do, hope that someone else might too some day. I rolled my eyes and stirred my spoon in my drink, watching the ripples it made as it banged against the glass. That has nothing to do with the words on the page. I am not related to them, so them telling me these things would be irrelevant to my state of being.

‘Ok what about when you read about someone who is just like you,’ she said, standing in front of me and waving her arms around as we walked through the car park,’ Just a typical lost woman in their early twenties trying to find their way in life, and then they do, and the fall in love and then they become famous or some shit like that. It’s hope Gabby, its hope. You think, wow maybe I can do that too.

‘‘No, I think wow; this is the biggest amount of crap I’ve ever heard’‘

Gabby open your mind, you’re too up tight. If you keep on thinking like you do your going to be 98 and still be in the same place you are today except your only friend will be a coat rack. You have to believe in things.’ ’

I do believe in things’‘

Gabby, that’s bullshit. You stopped believing in Santa when you were seven. You refuse to even watch one Harry Potter movie and I bet you don’t even believe in true love’‘

I believe that if I can see it and touch it it’s real’‘

This is why you’ve never even been in a proper relationship, look at yourself’

Nice Mag, thanks for that boost in self confidence. I looked down at my denim jeans, black near high boots and blue long sleeve shirt. What’s wrong with me? I look good.

You look tired, you look uptight. You need to live Maggie, the way we used to. You need to start a new life, open a new book.’Oh god back to books again. This conversation is going around in circles.

 ’And what will I find in this book, oh Margaret the wise and all knowing?’

She grabbed my shoulders and looked me straight in the eye. ‘It will give you hope.’

 Margaret takes me out to a bar on Friday night after university. This is part of the initiation into the world of hope. I look around at all the people, laughing and drinking and playing pool, some in their work gear, some dressed up, some casual, all from different parts of town, and wonder what they’ve got that I haven’t. I don’t feel different to them. But then, how can you ever be sure of how someone really is without being them? There I am, being dark and…what’s the word? Analytical. Mags always says I’m over analytical about everything. I can’t understand how she can take the world so lightly.  She seems like she just doesn’t care that a certain part of a movie doesn’t make sense or that the guy chatting her up was contradicting himself.

‘Margaret, what did you mean when you said id never been in a proper relationship the other day? What has that got to do with my belief in things?’‘

Belief in love,’ she said while scanning the room for perve worthy guys. ‘Maybe I believe in love so much that I don’t need to be with a hundred guys. I just need to be with the one. That when I see him, I’ll know.’‘Yes, but not all dating has to be serious. You can have fun Gab, you’re young. And anyway, what if you know and he doesn’t? Or he knows and you don’t? You’ll be questioning your love for the rest of your life. Belief Gab.’

I can tell there’s no pleasing her. I go off to the bathroom and come back to find Mag in a deep and meaningful conversation with some random guy. I edge of towards the other side of the bar and sit and watch. She’s so comfortable and natural. He could be a raper or something, she doesn’t know.The rest of the night is uneventful. My supposed initiation to hope ended with Margaret leaving in the arms of the random stranger, and me catching a cab home alone. Fun.

Hope: the finding of freedom in the completeness of the rightful purposefulness of human nature, used as an antidote for rage when right is unreachable. “In order that the scope of power and responsibility may grow, hope is necessary. Hope maintains the intent of the character when ability is not sufficient to obtain a complete relationship with reality. Hope bridges the gap when responsibility falls short. When ability has grown to the necessary point, hope disappears and mastery takes command. …

I look for him,

In the fog of the early morn.

I know he won’t be there,

But still I wait, and hope

For a glisten of his boat

At the edge of the horizon,

For the sound of his voice

To come rolling off the waves.

He’ll smile when he sees me,

He’ll sit me on his knee,

He may even have a gift

That I will cherish every day.

There’ll be many stories to be told,

And I’ll just sit and listen

Just happy that he’s there,

But I know that will not happen.

One day he will come to me,

And when that day comes

I’ll be here waiting

In the fog of the early morn.

A crew of shipwrecked sailors, in danger of being drowned, begs for mercy to the sirens floating in the mist…. 

Circe looked out at Odysseus boat and felt a wave of sadness flow threw her. His crew was out there making the last small repairs on it, and then he would be off. She wished he didn’t have to go. She had loved him ever since he had resisted her powers to try and turn him into a pig. God knows how this would lead to loving him, but it had, and now he would be leaving her forever.

Odysseus strode into the room, looking strong and determined. He was renowned for his guile, and that he had taken more than ten years to return from the Trojan War. His wife was yet to know of his survival. He was to set sail in the direction he thought lay his hometown, but he had traveled so far and been knocked off course so many times he was not entirely certain. But now he just wanted to set sail, having been stranded of Circe’s island for more than a year, to feel the wind in his hair and the spray of the sea on his face, to feel free once again.

‘Odysseus, before you go, I must warn you of something.’

Odysseus turned to face her, as he knew her knowledge of the seas and that what she was about tell him may lead to his survival.‘On your path, you will past a small group of islands known as Sirenum scopuli. You will know them when you see them. On these islands live three sisters; Aglaopheme, Peisinoe and Thelxiepeia. Now they where friends with Persephone, daughter of Zeus and Queen of the Underworld. When Persephone was abducted by Hades, they were there but yet did nothing to help her. In a rage, Dementer, her mother, turned the sisters into sirens’.

Odysseus nodded, not wishing to interrupt her.

‘Sirens, half bird, half women creatures, charm voyaging sailors with their sweet songs and overcome all men with their enchantment. The men, unable to resist them, sail towards them. And never get seen again. Only the skulls and bones of former sailors bear witness to the true ferocity of these creatures.’

‘What do I do?’Circe turned out of the room and returned with a mound wrapped up with tissues. Odysseus looked at her curiously.

‘Beeswax,’ she replied to his look.’I want you to put this in your and your crew’s ears. That way you won’t hear them and will get passed unharmed.’Odysseus nodded. But curiosity was getting the better of him.

‘I wish to hear their song,’ he said, but even as the worlds came out of his mouth he knew that it sounded impossible.

‘Mmm I thought you would. So I have a plan. If you feel you absolutely have to hear them, get your crew to tie you up on the mast of your ship. That way you can hear their song but won’t be able to swim out or move the ship.’

‘What would I do without you?’ Odysseus asked smiling, and gave her a hug.

 ‘Give Penelope a hug for me,’ she said as he walked out the room, tears in her eyes. 

‘Ready to sail sir?’ asked Misenus, one of his crew.

‘Yep, but first boys stick this beeswax in your ears to protect you from the sirens. You must not hear their song.’

‘What about you?’

‘Circe has told me I have to hear their cries, so therefore you will tie me up on the mast. No matter what I say, no matter what I do, you must not untie me until we are safely past Sirenum scopuli.’ Odysseus had lied to them, but there was nothing dangerous about it; just they would surely protest if he had told them he had simply wanted to hear them.

They had traveled for about half a day when Odysseus saw a group of island with a huge mystical cloud which appeared to be forming in the shape of beautiful faces. He immediately got his crew to tie him up, which was a bit hard since they all had beeswax in their ears.And then he heard it. It was faint as first, but it was the most beautiful music he had ever heard. One was playing the harp, he could tell that for sure. It was so beautiful he knew that the one who was playing it had to be one of the most beautiful creatures on the earth. Then he heard singing, he had never heard singing like that before, it was calling him to come closer… 

Come closer Odysseus, draw nearer, draw nearer, and come hear our voices. Those and come to listen to us leave so much wiser, and none are disappointed with our song. Come, as we have knowledge of everything that will happen on this wondrous earth, and we will  happily tell you. Draw near Odysseus, come to us… 

 Odysseus started thrashing around like mad in his tightly bound ropes. He longed to get out; he had to go see them, to hear what they had to say. He wanted nothing more in the whole world. He yelled and screamed for his crew to let him out, telling them that they didn’t understand that they had to release him. But as their ears were full of beeswax they couldn’t hear him and even though they could see, they did nothing to help him.He could see them now. They were beautiful, with the upper half a women and the bottom half bird, they looked like angles in that mysterious cloud. His life depended on getting out, but as hard as he tried he just couldn’t.

The boat was quickly going past the island; they were nearly completely passed it, with Odysseus screaming his head off, when the sirens started changing.  They were hideous, repulsive, the ugliest creatures Odysseus had ever seen in his life. Their once beautiful white feathers on their wings had all gone a dirty brown to a black, and their beautiful faces were now plastered with evil and hatred. They were screaming, at the top of their lungs for the boat to come back, how it dare go past them, how dare they not stop. How could they be resisted? It was surely impossible! They threw themselves in the water, trying to go after Odysseus and his crew, but their wings started to weigh them down and in a few moments they were gone, never to be seen again, into the depths of the sea, with Odysseus crew watching dumbfounded.  

A stream of people come flowing

As the clock strikes five at Flinders,

And the bank tellers close their doors,

From their working and their chores.

Their faces straight and stubborn,

With bags under their eyes

Another monotonous weekday

Has passed by in their lives.

The sounds of trams and trains and carts

The pitter-patter of tired feet

Just wanting the day to be over

So they can stop and eat and sleep.

There’s only one destination

One place they want to go

They just want to get home

But then again they know

The sooner they do get there

The sooner they’ll go to bed

And so starts another day on Collins St

Filled with major dread.

Change creeps up behind you,

you can’t smell it, hear it,

taste it, see it or touch it.

It can enclose you with fear,

or embrace you in its arms.

It can hit you, kiss you,

or pretend you don’t exist.

It shows no remorse for things you’ve lost

only for what you’ve gained.