Thursday, September 30, 2004

Manny

I love your smile.
I love how your eyes sparkle
when you look at me.
I love your sweet heart
I love your body
I love your cock.
I love the way you flush red
when you want to get off.
I love your gentle soul
your simple honesty
your dirty mind.
I love the way you love sex
the passion in your eyes.
I even love the way
you don't understand.
I dazzle you
even when I'm stoned.
I want someone
to want me
like you.
You drive me mad
I get stoned
and drift away.
I'm ready for an adventure
I'm walking away
I know to now.
I've fucked them raw
I've spoofed in them
I've had that.
I want to have fun
not a care
not about you.

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

Kissing frogs

I'm bored as bat shit! Life is as boring as bat shit.
I'm bored with everything. Life is boring, no matter how I pretend.
I look around the lounge room, it is still and quiet. Tim has just left. We went to Guido's to get stuff that we get from Guido.
Manny has just called my mobile. And the house phone. And my mobile...
I've got pains in my chest from smoking too much.
The Rover is still at the mechanic, I haven't called for four months. So you know it's six, if I'm prepared to admit to that much. (Ed note - never wonder how the car got so rusty so quickly, you left it by the sea for six months)
I'm scratching around at work for things to do. Oh, I hate that. I'd rather be flat out. Boring. Bored now. Well, at least there is the view. Breath taking really, when I sit back and take notice. Such depth, such breadth, to the horizon, how much air.
Mark's broke. Luke's leaving.
It's raining and cold.
I've had a j and two glasses of wine, eating baked beans on my own.
I haven't written anything for a year.
I'm still hoping for that tattslotto win, Thursday 20 million, could you imagine. Of course, it wouldn't change a thing... except having to go to the salt mines to pay the bills, but nothing else.
I've got nobody to inspire me, nobody to make me go all gooey, nobody to make me grin.
All I've been doing is writing my stupid journal, like anyone is ever going to see that? Dripping in sin? Mediocrity comes to mind.
It's so very quiet, I feel little and small.
I think I'll go trawl the net for a prince.
Go boy! Give it your all!

Saturday, September 25, 2004

Saturday morning

Ah, lovely Saturday morning, just been to get coffee beans, cigarettes and the newspaper. The milk bar has a new scanner cash register that doesn’t work properly. The coffee shop boy is still as cute as ever. I think his name is Max. I was going to buy a stainless steel coffee-pot, but I was ten dollars short.
The day is warm, but the sky is grey.

Sunday, September 19, 2004

Faltering at the finish line

Of course, I suddenly became so interested in Peter Blazey’s biography, Screw Lose, which I settled into reading for two days. Of course. So, Sunday morning, as everyone slept and nobody made demands on my time, when I could have been finishing this fucking uni talk, – you know, it is now making me feel pathetic, even, talking about it not being finished – I lazily lay on the couch and read.
I’m more scared – pathetically, procrastinating, absurdly so – of this talk. Not sure why it has so got under my skin, but it has.

I’m faltering at the finish line. Half a semester, two assignments and one lousy talk and I'm finished. Easy.

Instead, I'm falling down. I can feel it. It feels like a train wreck already happening, from where I'm sitting.
Let’s not even talk about the fact that I didn’t even have to do this subject after all. The only alternate subject was cancelled through lack of interest when I went to enrol. But, just a week or so ago, I met my course convener who told me that it had only been cancelled for two weeks, after which support, somehow, rallied and the subject was put back on. Of course, I should have paid closer attention.
I’m drowning in this. Going down. I don’t know why. It’s a combination of a loathed subject and failing interest. This is only a ten-minute talk, for fucks sake.

I taped Idol for all of those on the last hour of Ab's film shoot.
We went to the pub for the wrap party.
I came back and watched Idol for a second time with Mark, Luke and Olivier, after the pub.
I watched Idol for a third time when the rest of the crew came back from the pub very drunk.
I went to bed at 1.30am.
And no assignment.

Thursday, September 16, 2004

Out of the blue

Donna is feeling great. The last year of gym has started to show results. She's bought that sheer sheath dress and it fits her like a glove. She checks her reflection in the shop windows for any flaws, but she can't detect any.
The sun is shining. There is a slight breeze. Why she bought the scarf too, she wasn't sure? It, actually, just covered up her best feature, so she wrapped it around the strap of her bag.
She looks great for forty. She looks around as though she was thinking out loud and somebody may have heard. So, she looks fantastic for forty five.

She sits down at a footpath cafe and orders a black coffee. She is as free as a bird, ever since Tony left. Those final years, of their fifteen year marriage, as they lived their lives in silence had finally behind her. Suddenly, she had all this time, to do whatever she felt. That was how she felt, free.

A young man comes sauntering towards her. Buff, with that rounded, muscular build that comes from young, male genes. Athletic, he looks like he's just come from training. She didn't usually look at young men, but he fixes his gaze on her, as he approaches, with such intensity that she can't help but notice.
He smiles, as he draws up next to her. Shaggy brown hair. Big, blue eyes, with darker circles around the edge of his iris - the feature she found irresistible in men's eyes. Tony had it. Now she wonders if she looks for that in a man? Big, pink lips, nearly too curvy for a boy's, um, er, man's mouth. They part slightly as he smiles, as his eyes drop to her breasts and then he is gone. Donna resists the urge to look around. How old was he? But then loses the battle and her head swivels almost despite herself.
Okay Sports Boy, I read you, she thinks, as she turns her head around, pretending to have a scratch on the back of her head.
Baggy, green shorts that mimic the outline of his perfect form. The crease up the middle rolling from side to side with each step he takes. Tanned, muscular legs, covered in hair.
She raises her eyes, to meet his looking back at her. He smiles, inquisitively, rolls his head sideways with recognition.
He slows. Stops. And turns around all without averting his gaze.
Donna lets her eyes fall, without thinking. Tight t-shirt. Nice chest. Flat stomach. The baggy green shorts were gathered at the front from the way he'd turned at the hips, showing his manhood tucked downwards in his underwear, v'd by his thighs. She could see his curved outline clearly. He's not a boy, she thinks.
She raises her eyes slowly to his scarlet cheeks and, somewhat, fearful grimace. No, not fearful, maybe shocked. Surprised. The corners of his mouth curl up, almost despite himself. Excited. Scared. Horny. All at once.
He smiles broadly.
Donna turns back quickly and sips her coffee, with a shaking hand. She sits back and takes a big breath. She closes her eyes, momentarily.

"Excuse me," she hears. She opens her eyes to see Sports Boy standing next to her. Smiling. Nervous.
"Would this be yours?" He held her scarf in his hand. "It's just that it was on the ground next to you." Was his hand shaking, just a little? "I'd hate for it to get damaged."
"Yes." She feels her hand rise up to her neck. "Thank you." She reaches up with the other hand and takes hold of the black, silk material.
"You're welcome." He smiles and remains standing gazing down at her. There isn't a blemish on his face.
"So polite, for someone so... young," says Donna. She had tried not to say it, but it came out any way.
"Already twenty," he says. So, not so young."
Donna could feel herself blushing.
"Nearly a man..." Donna says stupid things when she is nervous, she knows that. She winces, but tries not to let it show.
"Huh?" His eyes narrow.
"Twenty one..." she stumbles. "Next year. Traditionally. That's all I meant." She feels herself smile. "I can see you are..." Just stop talking, she thinks. "Thank you." She holds the scarf up.

Monday, September 13, 2004

Auntie

It's my great Aunt's birthday today. We were her surrogate children, as she had none of her own. She would have been 106. Auntie was, most likely, a lesbian and it is from who Lottie thinks I got the gay gene. Lottie read the studies which say the gay gene is passed through the maternal side.
"Fine with me," I said to Lottie. "I adored Auntie and I'd be honour to carry her gay gene for the family."
Lottie almost looked impressed.
My niece could be the next, could go either way.
It's funny how I can remember dead people's birthdays, when I forget my brother's. I didn't exactly forget, actually. I have this theory that he remembers mine if I remember his, mine being only a week after his. If it's true, then we all agree and I will never have to wish him happy birthday again.
I went to the toilet mid morning and discovered that I had my underpants on backwards.

Wednesday, September 08, 2004


Excuse me!

I was cranky on the tram on the way home. My foot was very sore, it was impossible for me to walk. The tram was empty when I got on at William Street. I got a seat to myself with my bag next to me. Very few people were getting on, it was not the packed tram as I would have expected. So I took out my MX and proceeded to read. Halfway through the city, a woman with severely pulled back hair and a fur walked up to my seat and obviously wanted to sit down. I ignored her.
“Excuse me!”
I looked around and there were many seats still vacant, so I sighed heavily, rolled my eyes at her and moved my bag. I wanted to ask why she couldn’t she sit somewhere else, but I didn’t. I actually wanted to say, you and your ugly hair and your fake fur and your cheap shoes could go and sit somewhere else. But I didn’t. She glanced at me several times, as if she wanted to argue too, but she said nothing.
I raged quietly to myself, as I read my newspaper.
My farts had been excruciatingly bad all day and I soooo wanted to drop one. My stomach grumbled at the thought, on queue. I gurgled softly, silent but deadly. I could feel it vibrate under me. I could feel it's heat in my bum crack. I was pleased.
It stank, really bad.
I so wanted her to say some thing. I was going to say I thought it was her.

Sunday, September 05, 2004

Go on, suck it, it won't kill you. Do the boy a favour

No wonder straight boys always seem a little angsty, 30% of their girlfriend's wont suck their cocks. Won’t do it. Don't like it. Won’t go near it.
"Come on babe, just a little blowie?"
"Oh Brad, you know I don't like it."
"Trouble is babe, I do."
Now, let's see if we can get a further 20% of the girls off the job - and while we're about it lower the price of beer - and us gay boys will be forever grateful... for the girl's lack of, shall we say, enthusiasm.
'Caus, let's face it, every guy could let another guy suck their cock... especialy, shall we say, if they are in need. They're not, actually, that picky about it, you know. All they won’t is those lips around their knob, close their eyes, it could be anyone.
It's what most straight guys are afraid of, they know they could do it too. A couple of beers. Cocks aren't exactly a mystery to them.

Friday, September 03, 2004

Friday night at the salon

I went down to my mate, D's, salon.
The salon is lovely and FILLED with the most beautiful wog boys I have ever seen. Y Gen wog boys, handsome and athletic who like dirty talk and be admired. And Friday night is drinking night and they are all, well, shall we say, enthusiastic. Lively. Smiley. Flirty. Sexy. They pat each other’s arses and hug, kiss and cuddle each other. And they are not intimidated by gay boys, in fact, they seem to like it. They want to know which one we think is the cutest.
And the bums on a couple of those boys? (How do you do the symbol of the tongue hanging out?) :p
“So you really think I’ve got a hot arse?” asked Nino.
“Yes.” I’d be on my knees in seconds eating you out, buddy. “Sure you have?”
He turned and looked at his arse then looked back at me. Angelic face. Big, bright eyes. Dirty grin. “Do you want it?”
Christian, I think you will enjoy having your hair cut here, I thought.
I was sure happy D could squeeze me in tonight, if not, may be one of the BOYZ might be able to squeeze me in. Big smile.
"Sure, I do."

Thursday, September 02, 2004


Beside myself with Joy

SMS. 7.36. Woman on the train with make up like a corpse! Very scary. People are pointing and whispering behind their hands. Is she actually a ZOMBIE?! – Tom
SMS. 7.43. Go over and ask her! “Now doll, what’s with the get-up?” – Christian
A little later...
“Miss! WHAT A FABULOUS DAY! I'm beside myself with joy! And I really can’t think why! *evil grin*,” said Tom. “I think the plan is to meet at Perry's around 11pm. Shall I meet you there?
“Some people would shudder in fear – Shane comes to mind,” I said. “Not sure why – and say there's TWO of you?”
Tom was attempting to role a cigarette.
“But Joy didn’t seem to mind the fact that there were two.” I said.
Tom had the cigarette paper in his mouth, retrieving the bag of tobacco.
“Maybe she was pointing more wildly than you at the freak in the make-up?” I said.
How he managed to get that tobacco rolled up like a cylinder and get a filter in, just like that, was beyond me. If I tired rolling cigarettes, everything just goes every where the minute I try to close the deal.
“Yes, let's meet at Perry’s.” I said.
Tom lit the cigarette and inhaled.
“How much money do I need to bring?” I asked.
“$150.00?” said Tom. “Fifty for me and I imagine seventy or eighty for Perry/Rob also The Peel costs twenty i think... plus drinks.” Tom smiled broadly and puffed again on his rolly.
“Now, who the gracious heavens is Joy??”
“Joy was sitting next to the both of you. She wasn't the one wearing the hideous make-up, was she?”
Tom looked perplexed. “I don't know Joy. I never saw her. I don’t know how she knows me.”
“She knows you all right,” I said. “She had some very interesting things to say about you.”
“Stop it!" said Tom. "I’m not meant to feel paranoid until Monday, surly!”
“Till Monday then!” I said.

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

Study? Play time?

I SO have to do some study on the weekend. Er! A talk to prepare, which I'm hating the thought of and an assignment.
So study Sunday, I reckon? Is that famous last words, or a considered opinion?
Would I say anything, thinking about what Tom was talking about for the weekend? (Can't be trusted and all that) He wants to play.
Study? Play? Study? Play?
"Come on... yeah, yeah, yeah, no probs, it'll all get done," said Tom. "You'll be sweet. Don't sweat."
Miss T has indeed gone back to whence she came. And we're all pleased about that. So Aby and I got stuck into the red wine as a celebration. To oblivion.
So I guess, it's time to call D's contact.
And money, Tom says. Yep, yep, yep, no prob.