From a Bunny’s Bum

29 03 2018

There have been imbeciles blubbering about the loss of the word Easter on Cadbury chocolate eggs, which is a lot of nonsense in so many ways.

Easter is religious and religion, whichever flavour is adopted, is the biggest barrow of bullshit there is.

Racism, it’s a boorish way to call out those of another faith, when yours is just as stupid. Men in the fucking sky, give me a break.

Chocolate eggs are mostly made of air, the shell is thin and the chocolate barely has any flavour in it as it lacks cocoa, you’re basically eating fat.  Buy yourself a proper bar of chocolate, something that makes your hair stand on end and makes you realise that life is worth living.

Lastly, an adult crying over a chocolate egg is utterly pathetic, I seldom use this phrase but please, grow the fuck up.

Small act of rebellion.

10 03 2018

School and I were like oil and water, I despised the experience. 

Although I agree that education is important, I felt it turned students into topiary rather than allow natural talents to bubble up.

And I never liked sports.

It is said that Australians live for sport, to me, nothing could be further from the truth, and the attempt made of forcing it down my throat only made me hate it more.

I would have rather sat comfortably somewhere and read an interesting book, non fiction, something about nature, or how things work.

I never bought my uniform to PE, and so, couldn’t join in.


But for some reason I had Sneakers in my bag a few times, I’m not really sure why, we called them Runners back then, when we sounded more Australian.

Australian High School Students wear a uniform, ours was a grey shirts, slate grey pants and a navy blue jumper… And black shoes.

One day in a Maths class, for some strange reason, I wanted to put my Runners on. Many of the People I liked on TV wore them, a lot of pop stars did, and some of the students at the school wore them instead of the ones that they should be wearing.

So, I quietly changed my shoes.

It felt as though one of my bonds had been broken, it felt wonderful.

And I have never worn black leather shoes since.

Wolfie Rankin.

Life goes on.

10 03 2018

Many of you know how big a skeptic I am.

I’m not one for conspiracy theories, dick lengthening pills, or nutty right wing theories.

I have no time for religion.

But in the 90s I was a new age, crystal wearing hippy, who was into meridians and C’hi maaan.

I did shiatsu massage and I’m a Reiki level II.

Peace, love and mung beans, baby!

But I got over most of that, at least in whether it could heal, leave that to doctors. It can however give a person half an hour of sleep, and frankly I don’t see anything wrong with a person who needs sleep, getting some.

So while I’m learning, there was this flakey story about how spirit guides come to assist, yeah well, gnomes and unicorns might appear too, who knows?

So I’m massaging my Dad who didn’t have long to live sadly enough, on the floor of our loungeroom, he was laying on a futon and I’m getting these weird ideas.

I tell Dad that Billy is here, A friend of his who I barely knew. I went to his house once, he was an old chap who collected trains.

No explanation of why, tgat I can remember.

Billy had died years earlier.

So I looked up after finishing with Dad and here’s this human form sitting on the couch, now it was about four or five in the evening, maybe a bit later, but it was still light outside, this isn’t some creepy old ghost story that took place at the stroke of midnight.

Nor was I freaked out.

You’re probably imagining a see through person with floating hair, but no, nothing like that.

Imagine a four foot version of the Men’s toilet graphic, ball for a head, simple arms and shoulders, in fact I’m not sure if I could distinguish arms from the torso.

Now imagine you’re using photoshop, applied a white shape to your image and cranked transparency almost all the way up until you have a watermark you can barely see.

That was it, it didn’t move, and I sat beside it and examined it. 

The little being was in 3D like anyone else would be.

Dad said he could see it, but when Mum came to the door clutching her dressing gown to her throat, she said she couldn’t, but the idea seemed to frighten her.

Dad and I were pleased with our visitor though, there was nothing frightening about it at all.

After a while I went into my parents room to watch whatever was on telly with them, occasionally checking on our little guest.

It sat there for about twenty minutes.

Then I checked later and it was gone.

No, I didn’t take a photo, it was the 90s, digital cameras were new and I didn’t own one. I may have had film in my camera but never thought about it.

I don’t really know what it was to be honest, But I still wonder about it now and then. 

Billy? He was a lot taller than that the last time I saw him.

Wolfie Rankin.

Community Wolf

9 03 2018









And without Marko’s support, what am I to do?




I need a community, I need to be involved.











Wolfie Rankin



So, What was it exactly?

8 03 2018

Some of you have wondered what took Marko from us, and have been content with being told that it was Leukaemia or Cancer.

But it was more accurately called Myelodysplastic syndrome or MDS.

Bone marrow makes blood, it’s born there, matures and then sends the mature cells out to do all the jobs that adult blood cells need to do. but in this case the process is upset, as immature cells are released instead.

These cells cannot do the work, and simply die.

And of course we cannot function without blood.

While the disease isn’t leukaemia, it can become leukaemia down the track.

Here’s a link for further reading.

Wolfie Rankin

Losing You

8 03 2018

I’ve always had the impression that if Marko were to die, that more people would grieve for him than any of us might imagine, as he was so well known, and so universally loved.

I watched the outpouring of love for him on social media yesterday, and I grieve with you.

Grief is what I wanted to talk about, some of you, like myself, have encountered it often, but there might be a few lucky enough to have not had their lives harmed by it, yet.

We take our cues from Hollywood, Someone dies and we cry, it’s expected of us, but it’s not necessarily what happens in life.

I am surprised by my own reaction after the death of Marko.

He and I were very close friends, He had slept in my house several times, always visited when he was in town, flew down to me when Mum died just to support me.

I consider myself extremely fortunate to have been his friend.

When My Father was dying, He was in hospital being eaten away by cancer. He was an enormous bull of a man, and the cancer rendered him skeletal.

He had become a frightened little boy, and I felt entirely useless. I wanted to fight the cancer directly, to rescue him from the threat, but could not.

And So I found tears coming freely as I sat with him in Hospital.

He was half sedated, and not entirely sure of where he was, but at least he knew we were there, which was enough I suppose.

I remember him turning up at 2am, having left the hospital to be with us, sleeping in pain all night.

Laying in bed, in hospital, is much harder than it seems. You’re worried, sick or in pain, you don’t know what time it is, you’re doped to the eyeballs and totally bored.

Dad returned to hospital the next day.

I remember the smells, they say dogs can smell cancer, no… everyone can smell it. it lingers in the air, a sort of mushroomy mustiness, you never forget it.

After Dad died, there were few tears, mostly just a numbness.

It appears I have experienced similar with the loss of Marko, I mourned for him before he died, mostly because he was suffering and I hated that he was.

When he died, there was relief mixed with sadness and a feeling of being defeated.

But last night, everything was inexplicably hilarious.

I was laughing at silly things I saw online and filling my facebook with humour, and thinking that I shouldn’t be feeling like this, that it was wrong, even a sin of some kind.

One of my best friends had just died, what if he was to walk in and see me laughing like nothing had happened.

Of course it’s just a Facade, isn’t it?

If Marko and I would have been together, we would have laughed a lot.

Marko wasn’t so much a joker, but he was a funny character himself which probably made him all the more adorable to us. When he got a joke and the bliss would spread across his face, and he’d try to smother a laugh as though it was naughty, but would let it out anyway.

And I noted how he spoke like Dr Karl, the rhythm of his words, usually when he was pointing out something important, was a close match.

As I write this I’m feeling fine, but not in a good way.

I’m aware of the hollow feeling in my belly and the slight shake in my arms.

Grief is a devious thing, it catches us off guard.

Yes we may get through days or weeks, but it hits us when we least expect it.

A dear friend had lost her Mum years earlier and thought that she was over it, but walked into a shop where the smell of her Mother’s perfume hung in the air, and she lost it right there.

I have been out in public, walking along a street on a lovely summer day and a freight train of grief hits me for no real reason at all.

So I’m fully prepared for it.

I know you’re grieving in your own way, especially those of you who were bonded with Marko, or lived alongside him each day.

Those of us who knew him were fortunate to have him as a friend.

If any of you feel the need to talk, I can be contacted easily enough, and if your grief is too hard to cope with, please seek help.

I have friends checking on me to see if I’m ok and I am grateful to all of you.

Love and Peace to All of you.

Wolfie Rankin.