Published in Overland Issue 215 Winter 2014 · Uncategorized Sydney Paul Giles We blunder through each business meal. to watch big business make its case A Mark so many came to feel Mark of money. Mark of place. The many claims for men he took. So many women claim his mind. The many feels: how many look. For pants-led damages we find In her killer-David claim Many other store’s agreed. That the bosses harmless name phoned the flames of Savage deed But most in daily press we claim. How her power-digger work touched unwelcome women shame And gagged in gold our Fraser-Kirk * based on ‘London’ from Songs of Innocence and of Experience, by William Blake; with text 100 per cent recycled from ‘The damage done’, by Fenella Souter, in the Sydney Morning Herald Good Weekend, 4 December 2010, pp. 16–24. Paul Giles Paul Giles graduated from a Master of Arts majoring in English Literature, and since then has spent his time teaching English and/or bartending in Sydney, Seoul, and Auckland. He now lives in Bogota, Columbia. More by Paul Giles › Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays 21 April 202621 April 2026 · Reviews Pilled to the gills: Ariel Bogle and Cam Wilson’s Conspiracy Nation Cher Tan The question that Conspiracy Nation implicitly raises isn’t why people believe in conspiracy theories but rather why people have stopped trusting official narratives. But what do we do with this knowledge? When we call something a conspiracy theory, what work are we doing? Who benefits from that designation? 17 April 2026 · Friday Fiction These old hands, they are still growing Sam Fisher It was an old house meshed in an unrelenting grid of brick and weatherboard. Its walls still stood stark, red brick. Paint like tender old sagging skin on the timber windows. A bastard of a garden surrounded it, ran up brick wall and concrete path. The lawn, dead that time of year, luminescent in the streetlight. In the center of that void, a sign, Auction.
