Activate Transmat Beam

SMS. 7.55. Okay, I’ve had a joint and coffee and now it’s time for some morphine. How will I get through the day? – Tom

I woke up late. I caught the tram. No wonder I’m getting fat. No, actually that’s because I’m eating chocolate bars and muffins and Neenish Tarts. Michelle’s down stairs makes them, the Neenish tarts. They are good. I can never go back there.

SMS. 9.11. Miss, u sound like u r coping admirably – Christian

SMS. 9.46. I do try – Tom

Subject: 11.11

(M&L)

Morning.

Christian

SMS. 11.28. Another joint I think – Tom

SMS. 11.54. Stop! U r just teasing. Clearly, u r feeling better – Christian

SMS. 11.54. I’m in pain! That’s one of the points! Evil chuckle – Tom

SMS. 19.49. Hello – G

SMS. 19.53. Hi buddy, how r u? I’m sorry to hear about your dad. It’s a bitch – Christian

SMS. 19.53. Sucks, life’s tuff. Hate everything – G

SMS. 19.57. It gets better, but it takes a while. He wouldn’t want u to be hating life – Christian

SMS. 20.13. How? – G

SMS. 20.18. U get used to it, I guess. It becomes your life – Christian

SMS. 20.37. So we learn 2 live with it? – G

SMS. 20.43. No, we just live with it. My dad had a happy life, he did all the stuff he wanted to do. I just think about that – Christian

Subject: hello

Merle

Goodness me! Vipers everywhere. Now Doll, do ya really want to continue this unarmed combat with these snivelling, repugnant, parent types who are clearly putting it on you to make up for the lack of parenting that they, obviously, have had with their little horrors? For the universes sake, it’s like a bad script from Neighbours.

Take the packet of Red-heads in one hand, strike the match against the box firmly and lean down to the most flammable pylon of that bridge and BURN BABY BURN! Don’t look back. You are being offered nirvana, on the proverbial plate, and yet you seem to want to hang with the bile and the puss. It seems like a fairly straight forward decision… flap those wings, leap into the air and if you can defecate on the bastards as you fly to your private school, all the better. FLEE LIKE THE FUCKING WIND! I’m with you all the way, babe.

So evilry unknown… it’s known where you are now! Could it be worse? “Excellent lesson” is a good indicator.

Five years is long enough in one job… um…her hum? (This would be point 2)

Who cares if they are fat or thin, live or die, ever take breath again, once you have jumped ship? (I hope they go down like the Titanic)

I guess, in the struggle for balance – always been a wholly overrated thing in my mind – you are probably learning more where you are than you will where you are going. Too easy. No challenge. But doll, you’ve been on your knees with your face in the doo-doo for how long? (refer to point 2)

And I quote… screw the Germans, screw the school, screw them all… you can’t go on in this fashion!

Does giving up a permanent job mean something bigger in the scheme of things in Germany than it does in Australia? Can you never go back? Does moving to a private school mean your name is forever besmudged from the public system? If the answer to all of these questions is no, as I suspect it is – as long as there is no nazi like fascist-state-shit stuff to crossing over into the private sector, which I wouldn’t know about – start typing you resignation, baby. Is that clear enough?

Activate transmat beam…

Dorothy

It’s my busy week and I’ve been smoking bongs nightly with the lovely Nicholas. My head is spinning. Dead line tomorrow. Another joint, perhaps?

I think I’ve given Manny the heave ho, pretty much. So it’s time to get out there. Note to self, must leave the house more often.

Having dinner with my mum for my birthday. Well done, you’ve finally got it. Or at least, I can only assume from the email I received. It just naturally fell on her night for dinner. It seemed mean to change it, somehow. I don’t think forty (it looks much kinder written than in numbers) is that auspicious, anyway.

I’m having the full operation on my guns, cleaning wise, Thursday. Pyriodontist. She anaesthetises me and digs it out from deep under my gums. I might have stitches, she causally added. But they are of the dissolving type. I can’t begin to tell you how much better that made me feel.

I’m off to see Renee Geyer on Friday night, with the Melbourne Symphony, in the concert hall, what’s more…with Mark & Luke and quite possibly the lovely Sebastian.

Still haven’t seen much of the lovely Sebastian.

G’s dad died suddenly. Unexpectedly. G was overseas, on the trip he’d been planning for years. He had to come home and do the full Greek morning thing. He’s very sad. He’s sms’d me, for the first time in ages, tonight. I’m stoned. I have no idea what I’m saying to him.

He, he, he. Oh, not about G, just my head spinning wildly. It’s making me laugh, every time I move; I feel a little like I’m going to throw up, but in a funny kind of way, humorous. Dizzy. He, he, he. It’s a bit like being on a roller coaster. That feeling when you change direction. I get it every time I move my head. Less G forces, natch. It’s making me laugh. Do you think I have been working too hard?

Tom is still in hospital. This week marks the first occasion that I’ve heard him talk about taking drugs. Still, that’s like two months, longer. I think that is pretty much a record for Tom.

Busy week. I might need a pill by Friday. (Not with Tom, you can be sure of that) It’s a thought.

Jackie-Oh! (Too Chinesee?)

Maud.

PS. You’ll see Emilio the next time, in Australia.

PPS. I think I need a sweetie. I turned down ice cream earlier, gallantly. In the name of… fuck it, I’m having some.

Subject: hello

(Josh)

Late item, apparently Australia applauds the death by firing squad sentence handed down for one of the Bali Bombing Crew. Remind me, what country am I living in?

Christian

Subject: Hello

(Raymond)

Oh yes, get back to work you slacker. If I have to you do too. I think that’s how it went. Goddam! What I’d give to give up work.

I was outside my building having a cigarette yesterday, when an, not unattractive, Aboriginal guy came towards me.

“Hello beautiful.” At the top of his voice. “I saw you from over the other side of the road and I just had to come over and ask you out on a date.” He smiled widely. He didn’t seem mad or pissed.

I smiled widely. “I don’t know if my partner would be too happy about that.”

“I bet you…while I’ve got your attention, could you spare a dollar?”

“No.” I laughed. “I only came down for a cigarette.“ He laughed.

“I tell you one thing though.” He looked me up and down, still smiling. Still at the top of his voice. “When we go out on this date, or have a relationship, I’d give you the best blow job you’ve ever had.” Big grin. Then he was gone.

I looked around sheepishly, no one about. I didn’t care really. But what made him think I was gay, anyway?

It’s my busy week and I’ve been smoking bongs nightly with the lovely Nicholas. My flatmate Tim’s boyfriend. My head is spinning. Dead line tomorrow. Another joint, perhaps?

Having dinner with my mum for my birthday, its tomorrow. It just naturally fell on her night for dinner. It seemed mean to change it, somehow. I don’t think forty (it looks much kind written than in numbers) is that auspicious, anyway.

I’m having the full operation on my guns, cleaning wise, Thursday. Pyriodontist. She anaesthetises me and digs it out from deep under my gums. I might have stitches, she causally added. But they are of the dissolving type. I can’t begin to tell you how much better that made me feel.

I’m off to see Renee Geyer on Friday night, with the Melbourne Symphony, in the concert hall, what’s more. With Mark and Luke and quite possibly the lovely Sebastian. (Gorgeous Italian woofa, you should hurry back)

I’m sitting here with my idiot grin on… can’t imagine why. My head is spinning wildly. It’s making me laugh, every time I move; I feel a little like I’ve just got off the whizzy thing, in the park; but in a funny kind of way, not in a falling down type of way; humorous. Dizzy. He, he, he. It’s a bit like being on a roller coaster. That feeling when you change direction. I get it every time I move my head. Less G forces, natch. It’s making me laugh.

Note to self, must leave the house more often.

Tom is still in hospital. This week marks the first occasion that I’ve heard him talk about taking drugs. Still, that’s like two months, longer. I think that is pretty much a record for Tom. (Not that he was talking about drugs, don’t get me wrong, it was more of a reminisce… looking toward the future)

Busy week. I might need a pill by Friday. It’s a thought. I have to do something to shift those pesky winter kilos. A few Friday nights dancing, works wonders. It’s just the lost weekends that I hate. Kind of. He, he.

Christian

PS. Late item, apparently Australia applauds the death by firing squad sentence handed down for one of the Bali Bombing Crew. Remind me, what country am I living in?

PPS. I think I need a sweetie. I turned down ice cream earlier, gallantly. In the name of… fuck it, I’m having some.