Thursday, March 30, 2006

Our time in the house

The human race is not going to survive. Everyone's god given right to drive a four wheel drive in the days that the environment is crumbling, is pretty much testament to that. We're not smart enough to stop warring with each other, we're not smart enough to stop polluting the skies and the seas, we're not smart enough to look after each other. We're just not smart enough. I don't really see a problem with it either. The aborigine's lived here for forty thousand years and the earth remained in tact and pristine. In a few hundred years, we've fucked the planet.
Mother nature will take over and in a few thousand, million years - a blip in the earth's history - all trace of human beings will be gone. Probably how it should be, given our disgraceful history.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Monday, March 27, 2006

Call it what it is

Don't you love the Christians? Their whole belief system is based on 2000 year old myths that they think has some relevance to today. I mean, other than for starting wars.
Christmas and Easter are Pagan rituals that they stole in a political attempt to undermine the Pagans, which pretty much worked.
If you read Greek mythology you can see where most of the bible came from; virgin births, the father, the son, big floods, etc, etc all the mythologies have them.
Lovely myths for the deluded, something to live their lives by, which is great, people, apparently, need something to believe in.
As for intelligent Design? Arrogance, that's all it is. The magnitude of nature and space needing to be controlled by man, or an image man has built of himself. The universe can't be so intricate that man didn't have something to do with it's construction. Just fools, really.
So believe in what you want, Christianity, Buddhism, star gazing, the universality of rocks, if that's what gets you through, but call it what it is, a belief and not the ultimate truth.
The ultimate truth is, we live, we die, just like fish and leopards and blow flies.
So why is it then that Christians have such an influence on issues like abortion and gay marriage, especially when Christianity represents such a small percentage of the community, lets put it at 10%. The truth is that most people don't object to having a bit of snot removed that is only going to grow into an unwanted child. And love is love, surely more people getting married strengthens the old irrelevant institution? If they want to, why not? Basically, it just boils down to the same old thing, Christian bigotry.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Saturday, March 25, 2006

Love Life

A girl at work asked me how many sexual partners had I had in my life.

Don't know, I said. I've lost count.

Just a ball park figure, she said.

Don't know, I said. I really don't. I remember one month I counted them up and it was twenty. But, I didn't want to tell her that.

Come on, you must have some idea, she said.

One a month, I said. But I knew sometimes it was one a week. I knew sometimes it was one a night. But the look on her face at one a month told me not to go any higher. She looked shocked at that.

Over how many years?

Five, I said. Trying to do the additions in my head, as I said it.

Friday, March 24, 2006


Manny's been calling, trying to fit me into the gaps in between Alex. I don't think he gets it that I'm happy for him to see Alex, I'm happy to hand him over to Alex. I'm quite comfortable with the fact that Manny and I will always be friends who have sex. Friends with benefits, as they say and nothing more.
He asked me again, to confirm, if you like, that I wasn't into commitment. I had to answer that I'd been with two people who I believed I would be with for the rest of my life, so I really don't know what commitment means, not sure what it entails. I'm happy with our relationship this way, it seems to me to be the most honest. No promises, just being together when we are.
Of course, Manny wants a full time lover. Them Greeks, their mother's have a lot to answer for.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

The party is over

Everybody has moved out. The house is quiet. As I look around, I can't help but think that the party is over. The once big party house is still. The fun we all had over the years, all gone, all silent, all finished. At the height of all our shenanigans there were ten people living here. Ah, happy times.
We all had fun, all right. The family. Our family, we used to call each other.
Some are dead. Some have moved inter state. Some moved to the country. One went insane, in fact, I think I need to take the picture of him off the wall now. I find it a little depressing. One disappeared to Greece never to be heard from again. Of course, quite a few live just down the road.
Just me and the cat, Missy. Everyone else has moved on? Have I been left behind, with the now silent rooms? Some days I can't help but feel it. Or, is it just the way of life?

Wednesday, March 22, 2006


Nothing to say. Out of pot, I designed it that way. Time to get my head together. What must it feel like to be clear? I'm looking forward to it. It's been ten years, that's the time I'm talking about.
Of course, I scraped the coffee table for the last of the spilt mull. I got one last joint out of it. Something to say goodbye with.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Fat Chicks

Fat chicks?
What do they see when they look at themselves full length in the mirror?
Years of taunts that cut to the bone - if in fact, you could get to their bones.
School yard loneliness that only a donut could satisfy.
Never being picked by the boys at school.
Hatred for the pretty girls who scored so easily.
A mountain of rage, where their stomachs aught to be,
cascading over their privacy that nobody wants to see.
Knock knees, swollen ankles and stretch marks,
and a bikini line that hasn't seen the light of day,
since puberty,
being their prettiest aspects.
A belly laugh as big as, well, them,
that hides all their insecurity.
mum and dad on holidays

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Living life

I'll never see you again. It's one of the sadness' of life.
We have our moment up on the conveyer belt that is life. Those who get on before us, leave before us. But, we're like the ducks at the shooting gallery, while we are up on that conveyer belt, so it is not only those that come before us who are promised to leave first.
Disease, accident, war. By their own hands.
Empty spaces. Black holes in reality. Shadows where people used to be. Gone forever, beautiful friends and people we have loved more than life itself. Nothings going to change it. Finite. Inescapable. Unchangeable.
Hold your breath until you are blue in the face and it won't change.

I'll never see you again

I was just wiping the bench, leaning over a glass of water, as I did. I stopped and moved the glass before I knocked it over. My father's words don't ring out in my ears any more, I do it automatically now, without thinking. But I think of him, every time I do it. It was the one piece of parental information that comes directly from me as a little boy and him as the father. If ever I put something close to the edge of the table, or in a stupid place. He's been dead nearly four years now. I miss him, you know. I don't think about him all the time. I think about him at the oddest moments. Suddenly. Out of the blue. And that's the time I miss him. He was the greatest man, the only one who will ever love me unconditionally... and I'll never see him again.

What do I care

It's a gorgeous sunny day. I've had two joints. Aretha is singing. I have the house to myself, Tim and Nicholas have moved out. I've just driven down from the country, bathed in crisp sun light, covered by a blue, blue sky. What do I care?

Monday, March 13, 2006

mum and dad on holidays

summer, autumn, winter, spring

Gotta love the rain. Gotta love summer and winter. Gotta love the seasons, the differences, the way they change.

Friday, March 10, 2006


I suggest we all stop watching the news and buying the newspapers, so we all stop buying into the world psycodrama that the politicians and their wealthy friends want us to so we live in a state of fear, while they make money. As tragic as all of those events are, how many of them have actually, personally, touched your life? None.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Wednesday, March 08, 2006


Why are there so many cunts in the world? So many people are so self-focused to the detriment of all those around them.

Monday, March 06, 2006


An inflatable pupil goes to his inflatable school and is having a really bad day. Bored in his history lesson, he gets up and walks out. Walking down the corridor, he sees the inflatable headmaster walking towards him and he pulls a knife out and stabs him. He runs out of the school.
As he gets outside, he thinks again, "I hate school" and pulls his knife out and stabs the inflatable school. He runs off to his inflatable home.
Two hours later, his inflatable mum is knocking at his inflatable bedroom door with the inflatable police. Panicking, inflatable boy pulls out the knife and stabs himself.
Later on that evening, he wakes up in an inflatable hospital and sees the inflatable headmaster in the inflatable bed next to him. Shaking his deflated head, more in sorrow than in anger, the headmaster gravely intones:
"You've let me down; you've let the school down, but worst of all, you've let yourself down."

Sunday, March 05, 2006


Until the sun set

Camine and I flew his kite late in the afternoon, in the park. I lay on his chest, as we watched the bird soar high above us in the blue sky. He used to fly kites with his father, his father was mad about them, about the only thing he used to do with Camine.
The wind whistled in our ears, so we didn't talk much, just listened. We just lay there and enjoyed the snow-dome-effect from that view from the centre of the oval. It was just like we were looking up from the inside, for a change.
We hugged. We kissed. We lay all over each other. Camine is nice to pash. The dope made our heads fuzzy and our bodies heavy on the green grass, We were disturbed by an old couple, the only people who walked by, all afternoon, and it must have looked like we were a couple.
Camine said he hadn't had physical contact in... he couldn't remember how long.
We took the old couple as a sign that we shouldn't do it again. We laughed about the pinched faces, if only they knew and decided to head in doors to continue further.
Camines's is single, big, boofy Italian. Manny would have been cool.
The grass stretched away from us as far as we could see.


I drove up to Bolago in the afternoon, after smoking pot and writing for most of the day. Although, I did drive over to Lottie's and cut her lawn. I left late and forgot she was going out in the afternoon, so I cut the grass, ate her cake and got the hell out before she got home.
Then I farted around in the arvo before leaving for the country.
I must remember to drive to the country and then smoke pot, not the other way around. Although, smoking pot and driving is easy, not like alcohol. If you relax and trust you senses on pot you'll be fine, where if you relax and trust your senses on alcohol you'll drive off the road .
they've got a couple staying with their mother, a self confessed chatterbox. The woman never stops talking. Last night, she'd just walk up to me talking, prattle away and then wander off still talking. When I came out for breakfast she was propped up chatting with a cup of coffee in her hand. I just wanted to put a pillow over her face and hold it there until her little legs stopped kicking. She's old, it wouldn't have taken much.
So here I am, I wouldn't normally be writing this up here, but I had to escape.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Saturday morning coffee

Time to get a couple of joints in, trawl the net, have a wank and then go see Lottie. The sun is shining, it is a beautiful day. Bliss.
Ah, Saturday morning in Carlton, off to the coffee shop to get beans for the week. Smile nicely at the coffee boy, who looks at me with a blush in his smile and a look of anticipation in his eyes - it could all be in my head, to be sure.
Yes, I'll have one of your muffins too, I said. Knowing which muffins I was talking about. He blushed again. Which one tastes better? I said. Oh, um, he said. Cherry, I said. I'll have your cherry... one. He fumbled getting the brown paper bag.
There's a new guy started at work, Matthew, kind of cute in a conservative, private school boy kind of way. As I looked through his CV, I noticed that he put down as his next of kin Justin Forte, partner. I know who I'll be sidling up to at the next works drinks. I've never had an affair with a guy from work, always just not thought that way, could never do that, so unprofessional. But lately I've decided it is one of those things I must do before I die. You know, like the list of books and the places to see. So Matthew, let's see what your made of. Besides, lately I've been tuning into the grapevine at work, something I never normally do, but the new HR manager is so tuned in, I find out everything. It's a worth while tool, one I've been clearly oblivious to all these years... and everyone is up everyone else, it's unbelievable, so I'm relaxing my attitude around that issue, I've decided.

Friday, March 03, 2006

The Bar

He walked into the bar and ordered a drink.
The bar stretched halfway along one wall, plain and old. Soft elevator music filtered through the smoky haze that sat in the air. The dark d├ęcor seemed to be chipped on all its edges; dark wood panelling covered the walls to head height. There was clever lighting that did not seem to shine on anything above the top of the panelling. Round drop shades, like those found above grand full-sized pool tables, hung down in a straight line in the middle of the room.
There were booths, one after the other, along two walls curving in a horseshoe at the very end of the room. Square heavy tables fixed to the wall at one end and square heavy, bench seats with high backs and faded studded red leather upholstery, around them. There were high back chairs separating each table, giving each area a sense of privacy.
An old, and once prestigious, men’s club, now suffering like the old members’ arteries and liver sclerosis, as faded as their wives complexions.
He selected a seat in the corner of the dimly lit room. He sipped his scotch, straight, a double, no ice. He sat, rested his head against the high-backed chair. His hair needed hair cutting, he could feel it on his ears. He ran his hand through it, the hair gel had let go, he was damned if he could master that stuff. His face twitched. He exhaled loudly took hold of the glass in his, leathery, hand and downed half of its contents. He put the glass down with a clunk when he was finished. With a weary struggle, he took a packet of cigarettes out of the pocket of his black woollen coat, which he was sitting on awkwardly. He felt a pain in his hip as he twisted around to free the black wool. He selected one of the filterless cigarettes and tossed the packet onto the table. It slid across the wooden tabletop, for a moment, he thought, it was going to slide right off the other side. He lit his cigarette tossing the lighter after the cigarettes. He sucked hard on the brown filter, rested his head against the back of the chair again, closing his eyes once more, as he blew a thick stream of smoke towards the pressed metal ceiling.
It had been a busy day, time for peace, time for quiet contemplation. The bar was empty, as it was most nights. He dissected the day with a few chugs of the best, before he headed home. People came here to drink alone, mostly, or perhaps in pairs, but always in privacy, which the booths allowed. He finished the last of his drink and ordered another by clicking his fingers in the air to signal the waiter.
The red-haired woman picked up her drink and began moving toward him. A checked skirt, grey blouse, blue jacket, no stockings and a pair of those strapless high heals that look near on impossible to stand in, let alone attempt to walk. Her red curly hair was clearly died, post menopause henna. Her sagging breasts were exposed, more than she would have liked. A button that had come undone on her blouse, she was oblivious. Her fat rear wobbled, as her thick, white legs, with tortured ankles and flaking skin on the heels, took short, staccato, steps. Her ankles miraculously kept their position a top of the high shoes with no visible means of support, as she moved across the room.
He heels clicked across the wooden floor; handbag, carry bags and coat all bunched up in one hand, leading with her drink in the other hand. Her blouse separated more, with the struggle with all she was carrying. The faded cream lace bodice of her slip, exposed.
“Is this seat taken?” Her voice squeaked slightly as she spoke. She blew the fringe out of her eyes.
He rubbed his face, opened both eyes wide, as if he needed two eyes to take the complete vision of her in. They eyed each other in silence.
“Um…no,” he said, as he realised that an answer was required. He grunted more than he spoke. There was an unwillingness in his tone, even he could hear that.
“Do you mind if I sit here…then?” She sounded tired.
“No…no I don’t.”
She flung all she was carrying sideways across the seat next to her, as she sat heavily. She rummaged in her bag, pulling out a Glomesh cigarette case and lighter. The top snapped open and she took out a cigarette.
“Would you like one?”
The case clunked on the table top, when she put it down. She puckered her lips, with the cigarette sticking straight out from the middle of her mouth, as she flicked the lighter. It wouldn’t light. Flick, flick, flick, flick, flick. She rummaged in her bags, with the sound of shimmying plastic.
“Sorry.” She pulled another lighter from her bag. “I’ve got another one. It’s okay.” Flick. Flick. The flame glowed yellow. She puffed fiercely.
She smiled. She glanced down. She turned sideways and buttoned up her blouse. She turned back. She clutched her throat.
He again closed his eyes; he was retreating from her, he was retreating from the world.
“I’m not disturbing you… am I?” she said, more as a statement than a question. His eyes cracked open again, almost despite him. “Tell me if I am.” She smiled nervously. She puffed her cigarette, blowing the smoke in big gestures.
He gazed at her, rubbed his eyes slowly and exhaled. He didn’t want to engage, but felt he had to say something. She reminded him of his wife. He couldn’t help but smile.
“I’ve been married for thirty years.”

Thursday, March 02, 2006

While the cat is away

Manny went out last Saturday night and he has had a sexy Italian, Dean, chasing him ever since. I told him to stop running, a sexy Italian is a sexy Italian, after all.
Did I mention that Manny wants to marry me, wants to live happily ever after with me. But I don't want to. To be truthful, I just don't want to with Manny.
Actually, I reckon I'd like to fall in love. I got devotion from Manny, it felt good. Now I want the real thing.
The deal is that if Manny goes out with someone else, he can't see me. (I can't speak for visa versa) I'm his back stop until he meets someone who will settle down. Oh technically he could see me as a friend. But we're hot for each other, so it doesn't work. He doesn't see me, he knows that. I'm not cheating on someone, even vicariously. Nah, it just isn't cool, if you know that a third party believes they are in a monogamous relationship. If some one potentially gets hurt in the process, it isn't real. It's not creating beautiful energy for all concerned. Have the style to pick a single one who really is yours, otherwise it just isn't going to work. It's just bad energy.
You're certainly far too self-focused and unaware, if you are pulling that shit.
All ex-partners and significant ex-relationships of friends and ex-partners are forever off-limits. I mean, this can't be an iron-clad rule, of course, you can never say never, absolutely.
But I would never actively pursue the ex-partner of a significant other. Or someone who's got a partner. That always seemed like a losing bet to me, so I never did it. It's just tacky and opportunistic. It's predatory.
The truth is that if I fell for someone else, Manny wouldn't see me for dust.
Mostly now a days, I say I'm too stoned when he calls. He doesn't drive, that's his excuse. But it never seems to stop him getting about to other places.
He has to go past my place to get to Dean, whose cheating behind his partners back, with Manny.
I'm thinking monogamy, these days. They can put up or shut up, that's my new thinking. I mean, it would be the most liberal of meanings for monogamy, lets be honest. They'd be allowed to if they wanted to, but my monogamy would mean they just wouldn't want to.
You know, as long as they aren't looking for it.
If it just happened along, out of the blue, sure, you'd be mad not to. As long as it doesn't break into my time, as long as they still turned up to where they'd previously agreed to turn up, if they had. Didn't go missing for twenty four hours, arriving back three hours after your sister's wedding, smashed, with beared burn, claiming to have got lost.
No way.
If he actually made it to the wedding, on time, when he said he would, off his face and with beard burn... that would be different. Bottom tolerance, bar lowered to it's absolute lowest, but would be acceptable. As long as, and it's a big as long as, he could pull off what he had been sooo cheeky to have thought he could. Lottie and crew would have to be none the wiser. He would have to make it to the end of the reception being charming and dashing and standing. That would win me. Quite possibly gain points. If it was the exception and not the rule, if you know what I mean.
Quietly withdraw, that's my plan now.

All Aboard for a lovely ride

My mate Julien might becoming down from Darwin, where he is working with disturbed kids, many of who suicide. Gordon, my next door neighbour used to do it too. Gordon got out for exactly that reason. Eventually, it just got to me, said Gordon.
Maybe it’s because you are sixty and you’ve been doing it for forty years.
So I guess Julien has a way to go.
You know, as hard as it must be, you can only be there as a facilitator, you can only show people the better way, give them better options, but in the end you can't really stop any one from giving themselves the chop. I mean, of course you can. It's giving them things to live for, that's all you can really do.

I remember the few times, when I used to do telephone counselling, when the person on the other end of the phone said they wanted to kill themselves, it sent chills up my spine. And they weren't even serious about it, just using it as a figure of speech, as it turned out each time, so I can't imagine what it must be like. It would be fascinating, I suspect. Better than the over-pampered, over-paid, over-confident, incompetent, lying, back-stabbing bitches, I have to battle with daily.
Julien has given up drugs and is living healthy. (I must give it a go. No, I really must.) Oh yes, all that energy I used to feel just from giving up cigarettes. Sometimes I used to think I could just run every where because something intangible inside was beating at a million beats per minute. Lots of, what felt like, nervous energy. Oxygen. Air. Breath. It spun my head... in a good way.

Oh I am bored. Happy. Stoned. Fat. Pissed off with work. I quit two weeks ago, but they want to sort out the problems so I stay. Looking for a new adventure. Maybe a new boyfriend... if I could be bothered. That's out hunting for one and, someone who is a joy to be with. Falling in love. I want to fall in love. But truthfully, I'd need to get out and move my fat arse in a pair of gym shoes for that particular idea to be successful. Shed five kilos.
Thinking about buying a dog, much to Mark's dismay. Apparently, we'll fight when I take it up to Bolago... No. I'm easy to get along with. No, really I am. But probably not, as I'd decided on a British Bull Dog until I read what the inherent defects in the breed are. Bloody list as long as your leg. So I think I've lost interest again.

Lottie is okay. (She thinks I should have a dog) It's like I'm in an episode of Mother & Son, some days now with her. I scanned all her photos onto computer, a few months ago and then bought her over to my place and showed them all to her on my computer. A few days ago she rang, as she wanted a photo of my great aunt for a tribute to her, the dental school is doing on her. They say she was one of the first female dentists in Victoria. They say she may well have been the first, but they couldn't prove or disprove it. So I reminded her of the photo scanning and the fact that I still have the albums, to which mum said, Oh Christian, I forget things now a days.
But that's good, she said. I've got to go. See you tomorrow night. Don't forget to bring the photo albums.
I stewed on this a bit. My god, this is worse that I thought. She'll be ga ga in months. Jesus!
When I went over there I was determined to have a word with her. I launched into her, with gusto, hugely stern voice, Mum if you can't seriously remember the fact that I scanned all of those photos and if you can't seriously remember that I took you over to my place to see them on my computer, there is something seriously wrong and I recommend, no encourage, you to go to a specialist and have it damn well checked out! Can you seriously not remember all of that!
She'd stopped still, frozen, with the peas in her hand. She looked at me, cocked her head and replied, Of course, I can remember you doing all of that, what's wrong with you? I just don't remember if there was a photo of Auntie Ada. Is there?

I haven't been up to Bolago since Mark and Luke got back from New Zealand. But I think I'm going to go this weekend. Except, I told my mum I'd see her this weekend. And I lied and said I went up there last weekend, cause all I wanted to do last weekend was smoke pot and do zip, which I did very successfully, actually. (I'd had a HELL of a week) I got caught out too. On Wednesday night she asked me if the new car was going any better with the new tyres on it. I relied, No, because I haven't been up to Bolago since I had them put on. There was an ugly pause, until I stumbled on with, (badly) I went up with a friend, last weekend. (nervous smile) One of the reasons I realised long ago that lying doesn't work. I only ever lie to my mother, now, only about whatever reason it is that I'm not visiting her for the weekend. And, apparently, I'm not even good at that.

Tim and Nicholas move into their own little love nest in Park Street on the 13th March. Then, I shall be a man of me own manor, living on my own for the first time in ten years, this year. When I first moved out of home in 1996, I wanted to live on my own, but couldn't afford to. It has taken me ten years, but here it is. Truthfully, I shouldn't ever live on my own, I know that from the few months between Tim and Aby, or was that Aby and Tim, I can't remember. I'm enough of a hermit when I do live with people. During those months, I used to scurry home like a little mouse, slam the door shut, ignore the phone and not come out for anyone. But I knew Aby was going to move in, so it wasn't like an open ended thing, more of a treat. But this time, it's just me baby. So, I've decided it's going to be liberating. Own place. Own life. Get a routine. Healthy living. Only food with the dirt still on it, sweetie. I'm going to be out and about, well, you know, Friday night at the pub, some weeks. Saturday out dancing, other weeks... You know, make a conscious, fucken effort. I think it will be good.
And my partner in crime is getting better.

Speaking of which, I'm off to Broome with Tom in a couple of months. He's still really thin, but now on the mend, from all reports. Every test he's been having, just lately, has been good. So here's hoping.
Ah the solitude of the top of Western Australia, I can’t wait for that battery charge.

And with Nicholas, the pot head, gone – I say that with the highest admiration for pot heads, don't get me wrong – not that I'm blaming him, not for a minute, I take full responsibility for my own pot habit, but, if I don't have any pot in the house, Nicholas offering me bongs included, I really don't miss it. Then the smokes.

You know when I worked in Sydney for those three months, I'd stopped the pot, given up the smokes by the end, was eating practically a vegetarian diet and I was jogging around the harbour twice a week. But I mean, if you have the harbour to jog around, you'd be jogging too. I lived in The Rocks, a beautiful part of the city world. It was bloody beautiful. Breathtaking really.
Carlton just doesn't quite stack up.

Mark picked and me up at the airport, drove me to Bolago, Luke rolled a joint, handed it to me... Yes, cheers, sweetie, thanks a lot.
So is the 13th of March the weekend you are talking about?
Julien’s new boyfriend’s name is Angelo? Shorter than Julien and hairy? He must be a chimpanzee?
Orretti. Angelo Orretti. He has to ask him his middle name and then just say it that way, always, whenever he talks to him. Italian's love that.
One with a life and things to do and places to go. That's the one.
Clipper him if he must, but... oh, I don't know. How they come, that's what I say.
Now I'm off to make coffee.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

sun rise


Rob had tried to kill himself a number of times, each unsuccessful, to varying degrees. The last time, he did it outside on the gum tree that shades the garden in the afternoon. He did it on that bottom branch, the one that used to jut out on an odd angle. He leapt into mid air, the rope went taught on the branch, and snap. It fell after him, landing on top of him.
That could have killed me, he thought.
It hit him on the head with one of those blows that took his breath away, momentarily. He thought, he may actually have seen stars, before the pain took his concentration away completely.
“Jesus,” he said, as he rolled over in the long grass. He rubbed his head with one hand and pushed the limb away with the other.
He rubbed his head as though the very act of rubbing was the antidote. He stared at the blue sky above him and watched the clouds as they drifted over head, as he drifted out of consciousness.
For a split second he marvelled at his own survival.
He sat up with his legs straight out in front of him. Khaki shorts, tanned skin, explorer socks and work boots. The grass was damp.
“Ah, ah, ah, ah,” he said, as he rubbed his head. There was a huge lump on the back, like an inflatable bladder under the hair and scalp tissue. If he pushed down on it, it was soft and squishy. He did not push down on it again though, as it hurt too much.
The noose was still around his neck and it was still attached to the branch at the other end. He tired to get up, the noose & branch pulled him back.
He grabbed the noose with both hands and pushed it up over his head with one thrust, with one long hard breath out. He made a kind of guttural growl deep in his throat when he’d got it off. His world spun, momentarily. He opened his eyes wide and then closed them again. He blinked repeatedly. He burped pure bourbon.
“Jesus,” he said as he rubbed the back of his head with both hands, rhythmically and slowly.
He crossed and uncrossed his eyes, as he tried to focus further away. Blacking out and blurred vision is not something to be taken lightly, he thought, as he covered and uncovered each eye with his hands, just to test.