Laugh every day and be kind to the people you meet.
Treat others as you would want to be treated.
It's not rocket science.
It isn't difficult to understand.
You don't need doctrines, or caliphates, or apostles, or high priests, or lamas, you just need common sense and a few smarts.
(I guess common sense and smarts are the same thing, but you understand what I mean)
Be kind. There is no alternative meaning to kind, kind can only mean one thing.
What school do you think Sam should go to.”
Well, what’s at stake here, our sensibilities, or Sam’s education?
I want him to go to a free school. One that runs on more of a university model. Where the kids decide what they do. They’ve got to learn from young, to make decisions for them selves.
Is that going to get him to university and lets face it, well paid jobs?
I hope so. He’ll learn to think for himself, a good quality for university. He’ll be the master of his own destiny.
I just want him to go to the best school, whichever one it is.
What do you think? Am I just being indulgent and left wing?
Sam was always self-indulgent, for you. Why stop now?
Where did that come from?
You indulge him.
I work from home. I’m lucky like that.
Stop smoking pot around him.
I don’t.
He tells me. Dad smoked four joints. Cut it out.
You want me to lie to him?
No. I just don’t want him smoking.
He’s four.
Your point is? He sees you smoking.
So what school
Oh, I just want him to have every opportunity.
Don’t you want to see him grow up with a back bone. And feel good about himself.
I want him to have a career and all the things he wants in life.
Besides, he sees you smoking.
That’s only cigarettes, and hardly ever. I don’t smoke very much at all. Do you want him doing drug rehab by sixteen?
You always smoke when you’re around me.
Precisely!
He sees you drinking.
Are you going to be serious?
I am being serious. What school do you think?
Is there somewhere we can ring up? How do we find out these things? Is there a course we can do?
If there’s not, there’s jolly going to be one, by the look of you.
It wouldn’t help if you gave some thought you know? Unless you’ve got your heart set on no curriculum and cigarette smoking in class.
I love the way you don't cling to me
I love your uncertain feelings for me
I love the way that you don't know
I love the way that you say
that you've got to get going back to your life
and your way of going, no questions asked
I love your exasperation at my decadence
the way you don't want to look after me
don't want to tidy my room
for not wanting me to own me
I love you for not depending on me
I adore you for letting me be me
Kate offered herself to Angelo, her boyfriend Con’s best mate and Angelo eagerly accepted and unhesitatingly partook.
Angelo may not have had the smouldering energy of Con, or the cut, taught, breathtaking beauty either, but he was smooth and olive-skinned and athletic. He was as handsome and virile as any eastern prince that had ever lived. His manhood was well shaped and substantial and as eager as he was, in a beautiful and gently self-assured way.
The room was bathed in shadows, all of the hard edges had faded into the dewy mist of night that allowed the outside to sparkle through the windows with a silver grey sky, which gave the, momentary, impression of the world being inverted. Night time with in and a, kind of, melancholic day awash with an eternal dusk, beyond.
Angelo’s warm breath on Kate’s neck, beyond Con’s sleepy moan on her shoulder, his arm, and chest, warm with sticky night sweat against her side, beyond the window that appeared to view the black soul of the world beyond.
Night sounds echoed quietly somewhere outside their world; the distant clatter of cars and trams, the city making its way to the next morning and beyond.
Angelo’s lips were sweet and gentle on Kate’s. She luxuriated in their softness and their tenderness. Lips slowly exploring lips. Breath on breath. The soft profile of his face looking at hers. His skin melted into hers. His breasts brushed hers, smooth and strong. His skin slid into hers and she felt contented and beautiful and full. Loved and loving, wanted, entwined.
Angelo was gentle and slow. He caressed her externally as he caressed her internally, finger tips, hair, skin.
A ripe cantaloupe, as Angelo spooned for her seeds.
Con breathed smooth and long, at her side. She gripped his thick, hairy thigh. Angelo kissed her mouth, nibbled her neck, sucked her ear lobe.
A gentle lapping of water in the full moon’s reflections of night.
She let her legs float up on the warmth of contentedness and desire, so Angelo could push into her more easily, longer and deeper.
“Oh! Just like that.”
Kate never imagined that she’d know Angelo so well. He was beautiful, that had been tested. She’d seen that, known that from the moment Con had introduced them. Him, with his black, black hair and black, black eyes that pierced her skin when he looked at her. His shiny white teeth, as he said hello. The faint smell of garlic from his mother’s cooking. When he innocently kissed her hello, on the cheek, his broad shoulders and satin skin had all been alluring. Muscles in a demure package pulsated in its strength and appeal. A friend of Con’s, a play thing, a naughty boy, just like Con, who said they’d never met before. As strong in his reserve as Con was strong in his effervescence. Two play things, who’d have thought?
Two beautiful mates. West meets East.
But to be there in the satin, smooth light, pepped up and dreamily washed out, in whatever Con had given them in the form of those pills in his outstretched palm.
“Just take them and don’t ask questions,” Con had said. His cheeky smile preceding his air of directing the show. Do as I say, implied not said. Con could call the shots, as he liked to do. His need for domination coated with his love of a good time.
“Trust me and I’ll show you the stars.”
He took both of their hands and lead them, obediently, away.
Who’d have thought that innocent kiss would lead to such desire, such lust, wrapped up in the single candle light, the sound of Angelo’s breath so close, so intense and the sound of a sleeping Con, steady and serene.
Angelo’s tongue explored hers, gently coaxing and touching. His hair was thick and smooth and she felt like she could almost feel its shine on her finger tips.
They’d drank wine, dry and red, toasting the night. Con had asked Kate, early in the night if she’d thought Angelo was handsome. She’d blushed when she said she did.
The night pulsed and people were busy in the street, as Con pushed their way through, as he held her hand and lead them away, she holding Angelo’s.
She was sure she blushed when Con whispered, in her ear, that he thought Angelo was handsome too.
They left one bar and headed to another. Her handsome boyfriend, of sorts, was taking them on an adventure, a Saturday night out to remember.
Girls in miniskirts walking in impossibly high shoes, chewing gum. Looking from side to side, hunting in packs, with their impossibly small bags tucked under their impossibly tanned arms. Over made up, over sexed, teasingly for show. Primped and cleaned and covered in cheap perfume.
Boy’s excitedly bouncing on the balls of their feet, as they wait in the street. Impossibly confident. Shaved and unshaved showing off their chests, impossible sculpture from hours in the gym.
Whacking each other’s backs, as they tell stories of conquests, real or imagined. Gathering in groups with the air of cum and cheap cologne.
All heading somewhere hoping to be seen.
Angelo, Con and Kate danced under flashing, coloured lights, as the music pulsed, group of three. Sneaking looks at each other, as blood gushed in their eyes, which rolled in their heads. Con kissed Kate like he had many times before, except this time he was showing off, it gave him a buzz, made him blush.
Angelo weaved around them, as the night whirred, taking them in both arms, as many bodies bumped and ground, all oblivious.
The crowd pulsed, as if one, a beast in the night untamed, wild, the beat of the drums. Sweating. Gnarling. Gnashing. Pumped up on rhythm, one beat, shuffling feet. Flash white light and off. Changing colours. Twinkle. Burst of smoke.
Con’s lips leave Kate’s. She smiles, Con smiles. he looks over at Angelo. He smiles. Con smiles. The two boys look serious. Con turns his head. Angelo kisses him.
Kate makes her offer and they all go home.
Soft satin skin.
I'd like to rub my hand
across your stomach as
I feel your breath, in and out.
I'd like to touch your breast
feel the shape, curved like a
mango, as I feel your heart beat.
Boom boom. Boom boom.
The curly hair climbing your abdomen,
like gentle ivy, to your stomach
course to touch, would tingle
on my finger tips, just so.
Your flower, your well,
the soft tissue inside
I have your attention then.
Down your stomach,
warm and sweaty, wanting to be touched.
I like the bend
it is you, as you slide into my hand.
I want to watch your eyes
take your breath,
listen to your heart beat quicken.
My hand slides up again
your eyes glaze over,
I slide my finger under the skin.
The air was thick, dense with smoke, a large cloud hung over those in attendance. Chill out music played. The punters were mindless. It had been a long night, it had been a long weekend. There had been casualties, but there were always casualties - some injuries were obvious, some not so. Nobody had to seek medical advice, which was always a good thing.
Guido was holding court, naturally.
I was fucked - my head spun, my feet hurt. Guido wanted to fix me up with Max. I was keen, if it was my kind of fix up - up to his room, door closed. No annoying cameras of Guido’s hidden anywhere. But, I'm sure it was Guido’s kind of fix up, another deal to get me through the night. I didn't need any more of that, I was sure about that. I could do with a little of what Max had in his pants, but I figured that wasn't what Guido was talking about.
I lay on the bean bag and let the night, the morning, the day wash over me.
I’d kill for a joint, I thought. Then there was a tap on my right arm and Scott was handing me a joint, as he grimaced and exhaled. Then there was a tap on my left arm and Van was handing me a joint and grimacing as he exhaled. Then I crossed arms and handed Van’s joint to Scott and Scott’s to Van. They both laughed.
Then I just laid back and watched the circus, wondering, exactly, how I got caught up in all of this. It had been Guido, of course. He’d knock on my door and said come out. When I said no, he called me a boring fucking shit and somehow that spurred me on and got me out the doors.
I had a good time, sure. I was glad Guido pushed me.
Now, I'm just fucked up. I'm home, took the day off. I pashed Max, which was nice, but that was as far as we went.
The handsome Aboriginal boy read his choice to win the poem of the millennium.
He started off haunting and slow, with a cadence of wide open lands and sorrow.
Square head, beautiful eyes, fetching black hair, sensuous, curved lips and a pink tongue.
Young and vital, immediate and masculine, perched there in front on the stage.
Giving it his best.
Deep man's voice, hardly a flicker of his wonderful eyes, betraying his reading, concentrating so.
I watched them carefully for a flicker, a glance, a look, a change, there was not.
I listened to the words wanting to be inspired, taken by beauty, dazzled by meaning. I was not.
I began to shift on my seat, pull my jacket around, check for my wallet, adjust my shirt.
Not a clue.
But, if you can sell it with beauty, testosterone, good looks, you had me. I just watched his lips.
I drank in his appeal, not his words. The package was more powerful than the substance. I found myself focusing on him.
I wondered what he had hidden from view? What delights did he have hidden from sight?
I daydreamed about his velvety skin, his chocolate nipples, his curvaceous lips and the beauty he was sitting on.
Callum has blond hair and a stocky build. When he’s not keeping Louis calm and relaxed, he likes nothing more than stealing straight boy’s right out from under their girl friend’s noses.
“It’s just a look. It’s all in the eyes. High in a club, they are easy to pick.”
Joel is an Aussie boy with a winning smile. One night on a dance floor he commented to a girl that he fancied her husband. As the sun came up, the husband fucked Joel as his wife held amyl under Joel’s nose.
Louis wears designer cloths that he likes Callum to remove. Louis told his childhood mate that he was catcher, when his straight mate asked kind of awkwardly if he was pitcher or catcher when it came to sex?
Kale plays footy and perves on his team mates in the showers. “Do you know how hot it is when those guys are naked and wet all surreptitiously fiddling with themselves so they don’t look like they’ve got the smallest cock under the water!” Kale has had drunken sex with two of his straight footy buddies. That still didn’t beat the group jack off the team had night away on camp.
Trent is a mummy’s boy who is in love with Joel, who likes Trent because of how he makes Joel feel with his thick wang.
Otto has big feet with who Giuseppe dared Kale to find out if the old saying is true. Really late, or really early, depending which way you look at it, Otto slipped his enormous cock into Kale’s mouth, who dutifully swallowed.
Carmelo has a big dick and wrestles competitively with Trent. They rub hardons as they battle the each other’s shoulders to the mat.
Giuseppe has black hair and brown eyes, a wife and two kids. He has a hairy stomach and chest, which turns Otto on, who loves to run his palm down Giuseppe’s chest to the elastic on his jocks.
“I won’t stop you,” said Giuseppe the last time Otto rubbed his hand down his stomach to his briefs.
The wife and kids were down Phillip Island. Otto didn’t leave until the next morning, with a very big smile on his face.
Pissing Woman was in Gertrude Street this morning, wearing a long cream nightie with a brown fur over it, asking anyone who came with in ear-shot and then some who didn't, "Do you smoke? Excuse me, do you smoke?"
Her face was ashen white. He expression, chillingly, blank.
She was standing just by the milk bar and was even calling to people across the road.
I escaped notice as she was harassing someone who was coming the other way, as I passed by with a cigarette in hand, which she didn't see.
Monday, Monday, my head is thick. I don't know what to do? At least I'm not sick. Surprise.
Make it to my desk, sit up straight, look as though I'm there in spirit too.
Monday, Monday. Monday, Monday, I'm gonna pull through. 5.30 is all I have to do. Demise.
Keep it together enough to finish everything off and just pick up my bag and go.
I have been cursing those new 40 kilometre speed limits, but, you know something, now I'm not so sure? I think they are pretty good when you are really stoned, cruising at 40, nobody can complain. Just rolling along, steady as can be, straight ahead like a Galleon, home safe and sound.
