Friday, October 21, 2016

Keith Haring, Collingwood

Okay, So That Was A Lie

I got up at 7.15am. I told Sam, who was still in bed it was 7.15am, actually, 7.18am by that stage, and he said he didn’t care.

He accused me of buying another bag of pot, but I said, “no, I was just good with the first one.”

“Rubbish!” a rather unexpected slap to the left cheek. But he didn’t say any more, he seemed to have bought it all too, it would seem, and I got clean away with it. (Against the greater truth that you never get away with anything)

He accused me of lying about what I ate, of all things, as there was the fried rice dinner still in the freezer. “I’m not lying, why would I lie?” I said. “What do you do, take inventory as soon as you get back?”

“Rubbish!” I ducked out of the way of the second slap. Actually, there was no second slap.

“I ate fish and chips last night,” I said. “No, the night before, last night I slept through. I ate muesli for breakfast and lunch yesterday.

It is overcast and grey.

Sam left at 8.15, with his laptop under his arm. He waved and blew kisses all the way down the street until he turned the corner and was out of sight.

8.45am. Third joint. Third coffee. The wind blows.

Aghast that Tony Abbott is trying to make a political come back of sorts, I am sure I have PTSD from his previous term as prime minster.

I'm, mildly, surprised when I learn that it is Friday.

Buddy climbs into my lap as I drink my coffee. Clearly, Sam has even found the time to poison the dog, he smells like we should change his name to Monsanto. I try to encourage him back to his own bed.

I think the lounge room smells like farts too.

I do a mental check of when I last showered.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

They are pulling down Dallas Brooks Hall to build, what else, more bloody apartments. Another 3000 in East Melbourne. Personally, I think the Dallas Brooks Hall should have been heritage listed, and the developers should have been made to make apartments out of it under those guidelines. It would have proved for interesting apartments. It would have evolved the suburb, let it grow, somewhat, organically.

Play Time Is Over

I came to at 4am and continued smoking pot. I made coffee. It was dark.

I read the Fletcher family history (brother) Will sent me. It is very interesting and I looked at it for quite a while. I am still pissed off with my brother and sister about the sale of my mother’s house. Don’t think you can get around me with obvious family history research.

6am. I go downstairs for muesli. I clean up the kitchen at the same time. It has to be done before Sam gets home, 6am seemed as good a time as any to cross it off the list.

The bedroom smells like farts, I think, when I return.

A bomb has hit the bedroom desk, I have the ice cream container, which I am currently using as an ash tray on the balcony, to shove all of the debris into, plenty of time.

6.45am. Go downstairs and make yet another cup of coffee, I don’t know, I have lost count. I take the fish and chipper rappers and the ice cream container and put them in the bin. I dry and put away all the dishes I washed earlier, while the coffee machine chugs through its sequence. The kitchen is spotless, as is required by Susan To.

I roll yet another joint. The morning is quite beautiful from my balcony. The morning sun is like honey.

I lay down on the bed next to Buddy.

10am. I wake up again.

I lay down with headphones and music.

Midday. I ate muesli.

Sam asked me if I’d done my walk, I replied that it was too cold. When I bothered to look up from my balcony chair, I could see it was a sparkling day. Grrrr!

Pretty much, after that, it was sleepy time. Right through. Out of it.

I, think, I got up at some point and fed Buddy. I propped the back door open for him, as it was a sparkling day, and whilst he looked out he didn’t go out.

I vaguely remember, Family Feud and The Project.

From what I can gather, Sam got home from Brisbane around 9pm. He woke me from a deep slumber.

It made me a fairly unresponsive target for the tsunami of criticism upon his initial return, as I was unconscious, and the initial unpleasantries were gotten through rather quickly, it would seem, with me being asleep.

Apparently, that little rat Buddy raced around in circles and couldn’t get out to the backyard quick enough, supposedly, he was holding on so badly. Of course, I got chastised for that. I could have damaged him.

Sam got to see everything, laid out bare, and I didn’t have to defend myself. And by the time I was fully responsive, he was only really interested in going to bed. Exhausted.

I said that I’d slept all day and that I probably couldn’t get to sleep, so I took my box of tricks and headed downstairs.

Sam came downstairs, after me, well, initially at least, I thought he came down to tell me off some more, but then I got the distinct idea that he came down for the joint itself. That’s my boy, I said quietly, under my breath. If only you were a pothead too, my life would be so much easier. He couldn’t really say much as Andy was in the kitchen messing around with his little bits of tat.

“Lovely to come home to be greeted by… then he did a rather unattractive impersonation of someone sleeping awkwardly.

“I didn’t know when you were coming home?”

“You didn’t care enough to ask.”

Oh that is not true, I distinctly remember finding out when he was coming home and mentally calculating what hour I was going to be in trouble?

“Oh come on, I’m sure I asked, you were just bad at replying.”

“Find where you asked me, and show me.”

I couldn’t.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Lovely factory conversions


Miss had clearly had far too many of the happy ciggies when he tried to get the bins through the front door without waking the household this morning.

Anyway, job for the day done, crisis averted, sweetie.

Sam is working in Brisbane, he left at 4am. That was quick, I hear you say. Who are your sources?

That was last week, Sam was furious. I just went and got it Thursday, it was a sunny day I was sweeping, I just needed a little lift. (Far from demotivating, I find I do stuff. Of course, Sam's take on it would be slightly different, You are a boring, fat, slop who never stops eating, and when you do manage to stop putting hand to mouth, you fall asleep. Chuckle. Nervous look. I'm sure the truth is some where in between.

What he did miss was my stealth manoeuvre, yesterday afternoon, to replenish, he failed to sense that one. Points off, I thought my boyfriend was made of sterner stuff. You are making it too easy.

As far as the days away, I have been saying all week, as I will be left under my own supervision, I shall supervise myself as I see appropriate. My supervision is my supervision. And some how I got away with that one. I said it the first time, and wasn't shot down in pieces, so I repeated it constantly and often, until became a part of our dialogue. So we had a temporary cease firs on that one.

But I'd run out yesterday morning, but I have wisely given up progress reports on the dwindling stash, that one took me quite some time to grasp. So he-who-thinks-he-runs-the-ship lost track.

I started smoking cigarettes around lunch time, and the first one was disgusting, and I just wanted to give it a garnish, but know, I was going to be good. All afternoon I was going to be good. Then at 4pm I decided, who's idea was that? And against all odds, I was sitting back on my garden chairs with a coffee and a spliff, 4.45pm, who said it couldn't be done.

Then I just played it au natural. Like taking candy from a baby.

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

I'm wondering if this was once my aunt's pharmacy in Johnston Street. I remember going there often as a kid. It didn't quite look like this then, it has been given a retro make over

The Photos Are Now Silent

I looked back over my family photos. I was looking for something, one of my mum's old photos I used at the beginning of my blog. Since I wrote whichever piece, I have rescanned all of my old prints. So now I have a better resolution image to upload.

I've just done a big revision of my blog. Yes, far too much time on my hands. I've been weeding out the draft copies. Where I once had 460 drafts, I now have 269. A lot have been things I half wrote back then and then for whatever reason I have left them and never finished them. I've gone through and finished them and published them. What I couldn't remember, I made up, all with in the spirit of what I had been writing about. There are many that I have deleted, just a few words, or something, recycled waiting as new drafts to be used again.

I realised with the death of Uncle Evan this year, the voices on my parent's generation have been silenced. The old photos used to bristle with life and stories when Uncle Evan was still around, when my mother and my father were around to tell me about the day a particular shot was taken. The photos would be stepping off points to the history that came before me, but that portal has now been closed. Those images are now set in stone, their secrets safe.

Of course there is Aunty Marie, she is my dad's side, I should go chat to her, before her memories slip from my grasp too. Before I say, yet again, if only. But, My mum's side, all the voices are now silenced with the death of my mum and her sister in the last twelve months.

Never will I know just what that smile meant in that shot.

I look at the photos differently now, I realised to day, they have all now slipped away. The photos are silent.

I think of Auntie Marie. Sixty years Evan was there, next to her, beside her, raising four kids with her, and suddenly he is not there any more. Auntie Marie has a strong catholic faith, I'm guessing that is getting her through.

What is it? "Hang on Ev, not long now." And she will get to see him in the after life. Auntie Marie is 84. I guess that is not so very long to be without him.

I make up my mind to go and see her. Get off my arse and go chat with her. She is lovely, it would be nice. Soon, I think.

Monday, October 17, 2016

Fletcher and Roberts

Me and Alex. Year eleven was a big year for me, romantically. Alex and Leah. Alex and I had been noticing each other all through year 10. We got together in year 11 assembly, Alex just asked me straight out in his usual confident style. Alex always got what he wanted.

I don’t know why I was thinking about him this morning?

Leah and I got together at the back of a youth group church hall, chaperoning fat Wendy and her first date, Hammer. My hunting grounds knew no bounds. Oh, I shouldn’t write that, it was a time of discovery.

It quickly became Fletcher and Roberts in year eleven. Only one teacher whoever, really, picked it. Mr Brock, Lachlan Brock. The rumour was always that he was gay. We found out after we left school who were the gay teachers, but I don’t think we ever really knew it while we were at school. The French teacher. The school camp master. The biology master. The bushwalking master. Oh yes, the head of music, that was the only scandal Smithton had to endure. The Group Head Master of Music left his wife and eloped to the Gold Coast with a year twelve boy, as soon as the year was done.

But, other than that, there was no funny business.

I only know that because I walked into The Peel with Alex, it was Opening Night, the day we screwed. And as if to, literally, say you cannot escape your past, all five masters were standing at the back bar. We turned on our heals and walked straight out the door again. We laughed so hard, read nearly crapped ourselves, as we fled down Wellington Street. We walked back to North Fitzroy where Alex’s car was. He got in and drove away. What are the chances, I ask you. Maybe, our old Smithton masters held up the bar at the Peel every night, who knows.

It must be 10 years ago that I read that Alex had died, in The Smithton Old Grammarian. Just suddenly like that, In Memorium. I was shocked. Ten years after we left school. I always thought we’d meet up one last time. I was ready for our ten year reunion, my ten year man, I’d learned some new tricks. I still don’t know what from? Gone.

Alex and I were Audio Equipment organisers, Mr Brock was the head of that department. Audio Visual, I guess, down the strange corridor into a world all of its own, lots of black. It even had its own smell, a black smell. Mr Brock used to live down there. He was really a senior teacher, in superiority, Year 10 Group Master, but because of his position, non-teacher, we didn’t, exactly, treat him as such. Or was it that we always knew that we were men of the same persuasion. I don’t know now. That wasn’t easy to grasp. Not that I thought in those terms back then, it was really just a feeling that I didn’t understand, and I seemed to connect with other males who didn’t understand those same feelings too. And occasionally we’d reach out to each other, and not always sexually, despite what others, who may want to bring us down, might say. Brock never wanted to have sex with me, nothing like that, but it is natural to connect on gay men alike basis. Not that I thought so clearly then, I only think this stuff now, looking back. All I knew was that he’d smiled and I’d smiled and some how we were both at ease when we did that.

Alex and I always went down together, we volunteered, we’d volunteer for everything, Alex and I, knowing the two of us, we probably made detours to the change rooms to suck each other’s cocks, you know, just on the way. The vice captain of the school and the captain of the football team and a lead batter in the under whatever’s cricket, and I was head of the debating team, yes, I know, hot, quite a smart kid, leader in the 500 competition, played in the orchestra, one of the leaders in the bushwalking club, I guess, known for having a big mouth. Well documented as a smoker in year twelve, one of the guys the year 12 group master would bot cigarettes off. He’d so deny it, and it only happened a couple of times, but it still happened, that was the era that I went to school.

This particular day, Alex was away, I can’t remember why.

It was first period, we needed audio visual equipment. As I struggled with the trolley, Brock leapt up and opened the door for me. He laughed and said, “Fletcher and Roberts," said Brock. "It's always Fletcher and Roberts. Where is your side kick?"

“He’s away, sir.” Shrug. “I don’t know why.”

“It’s always Fletcher and Roberts, isn’t it?” He looked me directly in the eyes. I felt like I had been read, his look of understanding was so strong.

"I don't know what you mean, sir." I didn’t really understand why I was blushing. Suddenly exposed.

“You two are buddies, always together,” said Brock.

I’m sure I looked blankly back at him, I seem to remember being lost for words. Did he just imply… was rushing through my mind? The first person, well, there is Rich, the first adult.

“Oh, don’t think that is a bad thing,” said Brock. “I think it is nice.”

I would have denied it, I could have, but I didn’t. I knew, that he knew, and that I knew he knew, and he knew that I knew. It was one of the most terrifyingly truthful moments of my life.

And it was okay, the world didn’t stop. My head didn’t explode, like I expected it to.

And I went straight to fucking Alex’s arse in my mind, that is really what Brock is talking about, as that’s all it could ever really have been, by that stage. I remember I blushed and smiled.

The moment froze. Just me and Brock, suddenly I grew as big as he was in my mind. I instinctively knew that Brock was gay too, in that moment, and he was a successful, reasonably good looking, gay man, telling me that life was okay.

I’m sure I would have though of a response, now we’ll never know, because right at that moment, my sparkly, sun-shining-out-of, Alex stumbled through the door, with what seemed like even more floppy hair, the strands separated with sweat, smiley faced grace. “Sorry. Dad’s car wouldn’t start. Did I miss anything?”

And then it was Brock and Fletcher and Roberts, in Brock’s office, just the three of us. Brock smiled, and as if he knew I was stuck in the moment, and needed someone to say something to snap me out of one of my first ever epiphanies, Brock looked at me and then to handsome Alex and then back to me. “No, you are just in time to help Christian,” said Brock.

And you must remember that Alex was at my shiny-new-toy stage so I was keen to keep looking at him. “No. Nothing.”

Alex looked at me, then looked at handsome Mr Brock and then looked back at me. Alex shrugged. “Good then.”

“Take the other end of the trolley,” I said.

“Nice talking, boys,” said Brock. He went back to whatever it was he was doing, I didn’t really notice.

But, I can tell you, that Alex had on what looked like his second pair of suit pants, maybe his pants were at the dry cleaners, he was clearly wearing last years pair for whatever reason and they were tight over his muscular arse, as he manoeuvred around the trolley. Grey woollen trousers, freshly ironed white shirt, green and yellow tie. Blonde floppy hair. A fringe. Blue eyes. Big, handsome smile. I can close my eyes…

“What was all that about?”

“Nothing.” I was still processing it, I told Alex in real time, as I came to my realisation. “Me. You. I don't know?"

"What do you mean?" Alex is not dumb, he's one of the smartest guys I know. I saw him withdraw, as he realised what “it” meant. Scared. New material to deal with. He looked at me. Serious eyes. Processed. The world didn't explode. Cock of the head. And there was that smile, the smile that launched a thousand deals, the smile that broke my heart.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

Eventually, one of the boys, Scotty Bug, a few years after the me and Alex, and well after he left school, a couple of years after he left school, moved in with Brock as his lover. But Brock would have taught him. Scotty Bug the athletic swim star. The champion hockey player. Who became Dr Scotty Bug.

Alex would smile, and he’d kiss me, he’d have big lips. He’d giggle when we kissed, as if we were doing something naughty, or like we were doing something good.

Sometimes, I’d sit next to Alex, in the dark, as we watched some audio visual, which the two of us would have set up, so we’d sit down the back, last to take our seats. I can still feel his woollen trousers stretched over his muscular thigh. I can still feel his hand pause just that little bit too long, as our fingertips caressed, before he’d pull his hand away, and I instinctively would pull my hand away too. Only Rich ever noticed, he looked at Alex and I in ore, I’m sure. Sometimes he’d comment, quietly, whispered, and Alex and I would look at each other, then look back at Rich, blankly, not giving an inkling away to him. But, he always knew. He knew that we knew he knew. The two of us just never gave it oxygen with him, it frustrated the hell out of him.

You know those dogs in the Bugs Bunny cartoon, the bulldog and the little dog that was always asking the bulldog what to do. Alex and I were two bulldogs, and Rich was the small yappy dog. However, where the little dog always came out tops in the cartoons, he never did in real life, not with Alex and I. The little dog never had his day and after school Alex and I did not share Rich’s rise to the top of the medical profession, to heal people, to make up for his mogul father’s lack of love in Rich’s life.

We pushed the trolley out into the quad, but still between the building so nobody could see us. Alex would come right over close, puff himself up, push his chest out, he had a good chest, and say, “Is Brock onto us.”

“Yeah,” I said all breathy, I can still hear myself say it. I nuzzled Alex’s neck. We pushed the trolley around to the classroom. Through the door into the main corridor, up the far steps, the steps travelled less often, the smokers steps. We’d carry the trolley up three flights. The smokers would look nervous, puffing away on their fags on the top floor. Alex would push the trolley in from there, I’d smack him on the arse as he went. Nobody noticed. Nobody said a word. We were the smart kids, it was probably ironic. I’d sit with Chook and MacDonald and bot a puff on a smoke. A couple of puffs, and then I’d run after Alex, managing to touch him again, before we’d get to class. He’d jump at the classroom door when I’d touch his arse. He’d give me big eyes, from under his floppy fringe. And serious face. Some times he’d lean across and kiss me as he opened the door, I don’t know how we didn’t get caught, but we didn’t. But I am sure we were always jumpy when we re-joined the others. Nervy. On edge. We were both jumpy around one another, like someone had just pinched someone’s arse, usually someone had, I’m surprised nobody noticed. But I think year 12 boys are naturally touchy, kind of exploring their territory.

It was ten years after school, that I met him again, in the street in North Fitzroy, just out of the blue, we bumped into each other.


“Hi.” He’d had his hair cut short back and sides and I wanted to shag him so bad. Who is that sexy guy. That was my sexy man. He was married by then and had two sons, maybe three. He sent them to Smithton, he was big on the dad’s committee. So what, I'd say, I was still seeing Leah, when she'd go out, and get drunk, and couldn’t find a shag, and she’d be at my window at 3am wanting to shag, I didn’t give him that much detail. I met him on the island outside Piedes. He looked hot, the short hair really suited him. I told him I had an empty house just around the corner. Which I did. What could he say, we shagged on my bed, he was very enthusiastic, like no time had passed, but all the time had passed, as we both now knew what we were doing. He was a man, he fucked like a man. There was no way I wasn’t putting my cock up his arse. Where Roberts had been the dominant figure while we were at school, the way he shut me out of his life after year twelve, after his mum pretty much sprung us. We were dressed, and we were just sitting on his back deck drinking juice, when she came home, unexpectedly early. I had just forced him to take my cock up his arse, when he told me he couldn’t see me any more.

“Come on Fletch, it’s not school any more,” said Alex. “Its time to grow up.”

I pushed him on to the couch and pulled his jeans down, and pulled his jocks down, he struggled, there was his mother’s hand cream on the table, the next thing I had it on my cock and then I pushed my cock into Alex’s arse. He thought I was just roughhousing around, right up until I penetrated him, ah a couple of 18 year olds. He struggled, I struggled, then I pushed him forward onto his hands, he was off balance, he went over real easy and I pushed my cock up to my balls into his arse. He inhaled sharply, I can still here that to this day. And I fucked him hard. He came violently all over his parent’s leather couch.

“That’s grown up,” I said. I can still see him wiping the cum from his hand and stomach, his jeans and jocks around his thick thighs. We’d cleaned up. We were very relaxed. His mother came home right after that. The air smelt of the two of us sweating. She looked at us strangely, me warily. Alex said, “This is Christian.”

“Nice to meet you Christian,” she said, like she really meant the opposite. She could clearly sense something about me. I sensed she sensed it. “I’ve heard so much about you?”

“Nice to meet you Mrs Roberts,” I said. She wasn’t supposed to be home. I stood up, I’m sure I looked and sounded guilty. “I’ve got to be going.”

“Already,” she said. She meant the opposite.

I had my mum’s Saab, it was the summer after we left school. His parents were away, my parents were away, we caught up for sex through that whole period, I was fucking Alex and I was fucking Leah. It was the only time I ever cheated in my life and it was for the entire time I was with Leah. Shrug.

Alex and I went to Tasmania. Alex and I drove to Adelaide. Alex and I fucked in hotels around Melbourne. Alex and I had sex all the time Leah and I were having sex. I was getting good at it. Screwing Leah, screwing Alex. Alex and I were going out together, that glorious summer after we left school.

Then, Alex’s mum came home unexpectedly early from the beach house. I think she’d heard a lot about Christian and her son. Alex walked me out to my mum’s car.

“She could smell your arse in there,” I said.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“A mother never forgets the smell of her only son’s arse.”

Alex looked back at the house, then looked back at me. He couldn’t help but smile. “You really are disgusting.”

I drove away off into the sunny day in the cool Swede, feeling pretty chuffed with myself, I remember. After that meeting, he told me for the first time that he could never see me again. Broke my heart. We lost track. He wanted it that way.

He said he could never see me again, for the second time in his life, as he left my house that day. His jocks would have been glued to his arse all the way back to his wife. He would have to have had a shower as soon as he got home, not to be found out. Her husband came home with another man’s cum up his arse, I’m sure he would have done anything for her not to find out about that. Well, not that I knew of. Broke my heart again? No, I never expected him to, it was over by then. Just a memory. I was discovering my new suburb and the places men go to meet each other. But it was good to catch up. One for the road. He was his beautiful self. We weren’t jumpy with each other, sparking off each other. Devoured each other for the last time. I sent him back to his real life.

“Do I say its good seeing you again? It’s good seeing you again.” He smiled, and nuzzled my neck. He hugged me passionately on my veranda in the afternoon sunshine, as if he didn’t care who saw. For the first time ever, really.

I never saw him again.

more apartments, of course

The Sun Blazes

I bought pot, last Thursday. It was an absolutely glorious day, what else was a boy to do. (Sam read this over my shoulder, and then supplied me with a rather detailed list of alternatives) I was cleaning up around the house and I thought to myself, self? It would be much nicer doing this stoned, so I got some. Sam was furious, quiet not speaking kind of, um, er, furious. (roll of the eyes, grimace)

This morning he told me not to get anymore, as he always does. Something about not showing consideration, "You are taking me down this slippery slope with you, are you aware, I hope you are please with yourself. Grit teeth fury. What can I say, the boy is no fucking fun. 

Again suggesting that he does not partake, is, apparently, not the correct answer here, just in case anybody wants to avoid the new burst of fury such a suggestion brings forth. However, Master Sam is going to Brisbane for work, on Wednesday.

Shake of the head. "Tutt tutt. You are not going to be here?"

"Do you think you are funny?"

I told him that he had a major problem with his argument, he is going to Brisbane on Wednesday, and he won’t be here.

“Left under my own supervision on Wednesday,” I said. Sharp inhale of breath threw gritted teeth. “That's where it all falls down, sunshine." I was doing my best impersonation of a Chicago gangster, I am not sure why? "I can’t be held responsible.”

He made threats to beat me. The usual Armageddon type stuff.

I wrote a whole piece about me and Alex my year twelve boyfriend at school, I have written about it before, this was the next instalment, but I decide not to publish it, its not cooked yet. It needs to say more to warrant its existence.

Sam says I eat, and eat, and eat, and get fat when I am stoned. He says I am asleep on the couch by 7pm, that's how much fun me being stoned is. And am I seriously going to give up work and become a pothead for the rest of my life. Stuff like that.

I ask him why he makes any of that sound like a problem.

He does some rather angry interpretations, that are purported to be me, I feel like I am in a scene from Absolutely Fabulous, Sam is Saffy and I am Adina.

I ask him when he is going to work?

I stumble to the door, which for some reason I find awfully amusing, I am not sure why, which didn’t build my case, I am aware. Sam is saying something to me that involves the physical description of his pointer finger and thumb being held close together, the meaning of which I fail to grasp.

The morning sun is suddenly burning brightly, every vampire got a shiver and none of them know why, as the front door is swung open. I kiss him good bye on the hearth, then wave my hand and make kissy faces until he turns the corner and is out of sight.

The sun blazes, its long shadows contrast starkly with the red brick work of the fence.

Friday, October 14, 2016

A flower in Swanston Street

Flowers in Swanston Street

Turning Into An Old Perv

I must be turning into an old perv, I think. I go for a walk every day for an hour. I think if I do an hours exercise every day, I can sit on my arse for the rest of the time. Funny, David often calls me during my walk and we chat away. He calls me on his blue days, when I am out being healthy, telling me how depressed he is. I make him laugh.

Any way, I digress...

I take my walk up Swanston Street, passed Melbourne uni, and are there some cute boys who go to Melbourne Uni. I have my head phones on, I am lost in my own world of music, and it is like a steady stream of Ford Models. (maybe, I exaggerate a little, but I am sure you get what I mean) past my eyes. I look straight ahead, steady like a galleon, but it is a cute passing parade and there is a smile on my face.

Thursday, October 13, 2016

The unnerving stare of the devoutly catholic, captured beautifully here. The determination of the deluded, some might say