Ode to an Eshay

An eshay peruses the familiar landscapes of his childhood home

From: https://youtu.be/gQWlFCHUriQ

 What is an “eshay”?

No, it is not an essay with a speech impediment. No it is not an “air show” with a Northern Irish accent. It is not either of these thing, and that is because it is something else. Something that is not either of the two things that I listed. It is neither. Not the first, nor the second. Different.

An eshay is a person; nay, not just a person. An idea. A concept. A lifestyle. A consciousness.

To be an eshay, is to have deep understanding of many things, including aesthetics, braggadocio, perambulation, and Centrelink.

They call it a subculture, but no, that does not represent the fullness of it. The eshay community is a proud one, as it ought to be. A brotherhood, a fraternity…like the monks of old, just minus the selective baldness (I never understood the tonsure), the devotion to religion, and the hygiene. But eshays have things the monks never had…government payments and Nike bum bags.

To adequately explain the glories of eshay-ness, I think I must resort to poetry

Ahem:

They take from the rich,

They take from the strong

They’ll throw you in the ditch

And steal your homemade bong

Their bumbags contain

Great treasures of old!

They’re a colossal pain

And they’ve got teeth of gold

"I’ll shank ya, I’ll shank ya"

They cry with stirring soul

And that’s if they don’t break your

Unmulleted head on a pole

Their Centrelink, it is said

Is like waterfalls of cash

KFC is their daily bread

As they sport the latest fash

The scourge of public transport

Great terror they inspire

Bunnyhopping the scooter they bought

As they set your Grandma’s house on fire

But in truth, they’re not all scary

I really must reassure you

They put the poor old tooth fairy

Out of business with their incredible dental hygiene that is known far and wide for being well-above the Australian National Standard for Dental Hygiene amongst delinquents in suburban areas.

Okay lost the plot a bit on that 

Although it really escapes me how

But heed the Eshay as he tells the world

"This is my train station now"

Well that, my friends, was a journey of the soul. Un voyage de l’âme, as those masterful Frenchies call it. But if after this soaring melody, this ecstatic ode, this transcendent wordsmithery, you still can’t figure out what the pantheistic pufferfish an eshay is…sighhhh…

I guess I’ll have to give you the simple answer.

Well:

It’s a belief system, it's a worldview, it's a religion, it’s a radical…Hey HEY Señor Upsetting Real-Time Editor!!! Leave me alone! I mean…come on…!! ArggghHh…fiiiiine.

Eshays are an urban subculture in Australia made up of disassociated, disenfranchised, disengaged, distant and dissed youth, mostly male, who patrol train stations and streets dressed in brand name clothes, often with AirPods permanently jammed in their ears. The more dedicated ones speak Pig Latin to each other, and have their own glorious little dialect. They are allergic to responsibility, and “gronks”, although no one is entirely sure what a “gronk” is (especially AutoCorrect which has already tried to correct it to two separate words). 

I think to encompass this incredible, distinct, bemulleted, kleptomaniacially inclined group of passionate young people, you would have to use a very complex Belarusian word that I learned only after much study and incredible dedication:

Bum.

Your defiant monument defacer,

Mitch