I came home from the country to a cat with a bung eye, she'd been in a fight.
The rain is falling on the glass roof, the sky is pale grey, the light is thick.
I'm playing Mezzanine. Some people swear to it's brilliance, I've never been able to sit through it in it's entirety.
It just seemed like that kind of afternoon. Melancholy. Soft glow.
I'm trying to squash my guilt of not taking Missy to the emergency animal hospital.
Manny came over last night. He's dumped all of his other boyfriends and now it is back to me. Damn! That wasn't the plan. Go find someone else, will ya, it would make everything much easier. Let me get on with my life. I need to start screwing around, he hates that... even if he does. Go figure.
He even used the "L" word, twice. Eek! Danger, danger Will Robinson!
We went to the supermarket together. We had on matching lambswool lined jackets, just by chance. I didn't realise until he was heading up one of the isles towards me. We must have looked like a couple of stereotypical poofters. (my spell checker wants to change poofters to puppeteers - has someone from blogger been watching us have sex?) I hate that. Not sure why? Something about not fitting in and hiding the truth from the world for all those years when I was young, I guess. You know, some childhood psycho trauma, no doubt.
Good thing I live in one of the gayest suburbs in town... so naturally, my supermarket is also one of the gayest.
Anyway, I'm off to Bolago - the call has come in. With every other telecommunication device I've got, this morning. My two phones and emails have been running hot from all over the country.
So much for a quiet Saturday morning... a bit of weed, a gentle relax. I was heading back to bed. Bugger!
Shit! I've got 3/4 of an hour to shower, get my shit together and leave the house. Crap! Wish me luck.
Gotta stop writing myself off on dope every night. If someone did it on alcohol, I'd be view as a serious problem. But, Nicholas came around and harvested the dope plant he grew me, out the back. Handsome, smiley, Nicolas. He wanted some himself, of course, but, you know, that’s okay. So, I guess, it'll be pretty much the same for the week, or weeks, to come.
Oh, my head!
Gotta give up smoking.
I thought it was as true of Allah, as it is of God, Thou shall not kill. I don't get it. I thought that was the biggie.
I don't know how many people I asked today how their weekend was. Bloody hell, public holidays. What was it for again? Someone died on a cross? Someone died and got a cross? Oh, who knows?
When I look at the calendar, April has been the month of non stop nonsense, now hasn’t it.
9 Apr Sunday Palm Sunday Christian
11 Apr Tuesday Milad un Nabi Muslim
11 Apr Tuesday Hari Maulad Nabi State Holiday Cocos and Keeling Islands
13 Apr Thursday Maundy Thursday Christian
13 Apr Thursday First day of Passover Jewish holiday
14 Apr Friday Good Friday Restricted Trading Day Victoria
14 Apr Friday Good Friday National Holiday
15 Apr Saturday Holy Saturday National Holiday
16 Apr Sunday Easter Sunday National Holiday
17 Apr Monday Easter Monday National Holiday All except Christmas Island
18 Apr Tuesday Easter Tuesday State Public Sector Holiday Tasmania
20 Apr Thursday Last day of Passover Jewish holiday
21 Apr Friday Orthodox Good Friday Orthodox
22 Apr Saturday Orthodox Holy Saturday Orthodox
23 Apr Sunday Orthodox Easter Orthodox
24 Apr Monday Orthodox Easter Monday Orthodox
25 Apr Tuesday Yom HaShoah Jewish commemoration
25 Apr Tuesday ANZAC Day National Holiday ACT, Christmas Island, Cocos and Keeling Islands, Heard and McDonald Islands, Tas, Vic
25 Apr Tuesday ANZAC Day
But it makes tomorrow Thursday, hey? Got to love that.
I friend of mine, Robyn, always had Wednesdays off because it meant she only ever worked a 2 day week. You have to love that logic, if nothing else.
And another week slips by at the salt mines. Am I going to do this for the next twenty years? Funny to think.
Most of us, the vast majority, just have pointless jobs. So, by definition, we live most of our lives performing pointless tasks. So therefore, most of us waste our lives?
You think that is too harsh, do the maths on most people’s achievements?
I think it is true, we put in the hours to maintain the machine. How much of that machine, actually, maintains us?
Not much, I'd say. Faceless corporations making faceless profits for the faceless few at the top.
The rest of us? We're just the discarded lube from the engine.
I guess there is little wonder then why so many of us believe in the before mention nonsense chronicled in the calendar events, I gave you?
Don’t you think it is a pretty sad indictment on organised religion when the reason for most people joining is the fact they are desperate for meaning in their life? It kind of implies they’d believe in anything… and do.
Matt came over late. He was really nice. Sometime you just have to kiss a new guy, smell him, taste him, feel his skin, slide his jocks off over his arse. He was pretty exited about it all. He waved his legs around in the air as I pulled his jeans and then his jocks off. His big balls flopped around, his thick, hard cock bounced. It was nice to suck on, as I took it in my hand, fat and hard. I climbed up his body and kissed him some more. He was nice to kiss. Then I slid over his chest and put my dick in his mouth and he sucked it good. I tipped on to his knees and lubed him up and he whisper that he really liked big cocks in him. Then I plugged his arse good and hard, if you’re a boy who loves it in the bum as you say you do, I thought. And he settled right down there and then on his knees pulling his fat cock as I fucked his tight butt the way he said he liked to get bummed. He came in huge amounts of cum all over my sheets, as I blew deep in his arse.
He wanted to see me again, as I kissed him good bye at the door.
Nah, you are just a pitstop, buddy, I thought, as I rested my back against the inside of the door after I had closed it again. I’ve got a hot Greek boy to deal with.
Then I thought of Tom and his words. Manny is just in the way of you meeting someone else. You need to ditch him to find a boyfriend.
I wondered about Matt, and his lovely smile, and his masculine energy, and his round, hairy arse and his nice, big dick. Maybe, I wondered?
I've got to stop thinking today is Saturday, otherwise I'm going to be very disappointed tomorrow.
Angie Stone sings Mahogany Soul.
I feel like I'm in a bubble, all of my own. I guess I am, a hazy one. My eye lids are heavy.
Gotta put an end to this stoner fog, I'm always a hermit when I am puffing the weed.
I've got five messages on my mobile phone that I haven't listened to. My emails are just the same. Full marks to Tom for our holiday in May. He's had to do all the work, sometimes against a blank face from me when he was trying to discuss it. I must have seemed totally disinterest.
I just want to smoke dope on my own, it's my only escape. Otherwise, lately, it just seems to be work.
Over worked, that's what everyone seems to be saying at the moment.
Escape.
Manny last Friday night. I couldn't get it up, he was on a mission. It was the end of a long day for me. I kind of could, half on, half off. It was more like wrestling and I was fading. I was tired and starving. We lay on each other and laughed, in the end.
I drove him to Parliament Station.
But I'm taking it as a sign to go out and see what else is out there. I've got a guy lined up on the internet for sex later. Got to love modern technology. Matt.
How many truly straight Matt's are there? I ask you? Truthfully, I guess 90% of them just shivered. Is it just that there are so many Matts around? They all seem to be gay. Aren't you always meeting Matts?
Manny's jealous (just in a minor way, just a bit at the edges) if I fool around, but he's on the continual hunt for a boyfriend, since I won't commit. (one of the reasons why I won't commit) So he puts it around a bit and I never do. I think I have unwittingly lulled him into a false sense of security.
Too much to'ing and fro'ing on the internet, though, for me. I always lose interest way before any action ever happens. I'm more a meet them in the flesh kind of bloke. They need to be on-line in the next room, really, for my interest to be held, otherwise the spontaneity goes out of it.
Might as well have a cup of tea.
You know, I just realised something in the shower, when I was relaxing under the heat of the jet, living alone I can have a loufah, again. It's just one of the things that I couldn't share. If my loofah started to move around the shower, it was all over for me.
Well, I know what I do with loofahs.
You know like if someone suggests the food you are about to eat is off.
I'm starting to play music again, now that I don't have to battle with Tim's bubble gum pop afliction. Tim's cds are still lying on the carpet out of their cases and he left three weeks a go. How long a go was it?
I'm even giving Macy Gray a spin. I'd never dare to if anyone was around, after the scorn I've pour on her for sounding like Donald Duck. You know, I always thought great songs, shame about the voice. And I like black chicks.
Beginning of the week. It is for only one day. Gone. Sit back. Relax. One day on, one day off. My friend Kym has Wednesdays off, that way she never has to work more than two days and she is always a day a way from having a day off.
I was in the office alone, all day. Beck took the day off. I was just about to say I was going to... and she did. Doh! I did some writing, had a hour and half lunch and attended to all the things I had to do. And I left early. Zip. Gone.
I bought some new porn on the way home, so the sky was dark and the street lights were twinkling brightly against it, as I walked up Bourke Street; the footpath beginning to thin. The bright lights in the dark night just seems to make every thing shine and glossy. Perhaps, I'm just not used to the early nights. I've been such a hermit lately, I was always home and staying put in summer before the black descended.
Basically, I wrote myself off on dope and woke up just as the sky was starting to glow with light again. And I praised the universe for a day off, all over again.
I went out and smoked pot and snorted speed, last night. What else is there for a boy to do in Fitzroy on a Saturday night?
So, as you can understand, I'm feeling a little lacklustre today.
The Martyr Mantras play in the back ground.
I think I'm going back to bed.
I wish it was Saturday.
The day is on half light, yellow are the rays. The palms in the atrium curve into an arch, as they meet in the middle. The floor tiles are warm on my feet.
Guido told the story of how he was so out of it at the last dance party that he was upturned and spanked and fingered at the bar, by two German muscle boys.
His shorts, apparently, formed no barrier, although he kept them on through the entire procedure.
Apparently, it was fabulous.
(Guido's into fisting, so, I guess, the bar performance was just a walk in the park? A warm up?)
The open fire crackled and I felt warm and wondered what happened to romance?
You know, eye to eye.
Crystal Meth, I guess.
It's a strange kind of afternoon. Overcast. Dull. Half light. Melancholy.
R & B plays. My cat meows at my feet... almost on queue.
I took my mum out to lunch @ Georgio's in Malvern. She loved it. She loves anything that involves company, now. The widow mantel still sits uneasily on her.
The house is in shadows, just the minimum light seeping in. Everything is gentle and soft.
I'm waiting for Guido. He's in the Yarra Valley, giving his new Saab a run, (not sure if that is code for anything, you never know with Guido) but promises he'll be back by, well, now really. Must be lucrative, this Guido work, he's had a Jeep and a convertible BMW, since I've known him. I guess he can't put it in the bank, hey?
The light seeps away some more, sliding into night. Gone to darkness, as the fairy lights blink on, one by one, above us. Another day gone forever, a little more of this finite life having seeped away.
The sky is grey, silver, almost white, hanging over our heads. It chills my soul, that solid expanse of grey, makes me feel as alone as I am.
What the hell is Guido doing?
I think I'll build a fire and curl up on the couch with my blue blanket. So, I built a fire and warmed the room, and put a movie on. Come Back To The Five & Dime, Jimmy Dean, it was that kind of evening.
Guido eventually turned up in the middle of the night, as he is want to do. That boy has no idea about the normal times that normal people live their lives, not that it really mattered to me.
He was full of stories, like he always is.
My internet hasn't been working since Wednesday night. Damn thing. I wondered what to do, being the techno-whiz that I am. But then my mind got to thinking how impressed I have been with my service provider previously when my internet hasn't been working... not.
Ah, unplug the modem. Um, try unplugging it again. Er, unplug the telephone-line from the wall.
Fuck it, I can do that much, I thought. And here I am. Who said computers are difficult? Who says you need a degree?
Manny came over . He said he'd meet me after work and he arrived about 4pm. Must be good not having to work for a living and not having to worry about time. The slave time line ensnares us all, traps us all in pointless jobs working for pointless reasons.
Manny was raring to go, so we were straight into it when we got to my place. I was hopeless. Tired and hungry, so Manny had to do all the work, bless him. Sexy boy. We walked from the city to Carlton. He makes me laugh. I love that feeling of another body being close that is mine. Connected. Together.
Luke turned up a bit later, to hang out with me, as he and Mark are on the skids. Luke smokes too much dope and his withdrawal, because of it, makes Mark feel unloved and alone, even when they are together.
It's what Manny says about me. It's what Tim says about Nicholas. Stoners and non-stoners don't seem to work.
Marks at Evans Head with friends. Doing their vegi garden, just up Mark's alley. He called me a few days ago to say he was lonely.
Luke said he didn't understand what Mark's problem was, but he told Manny that he smoked too much dope. So, he knows.
It makes me feel sad. The end of any relationship is sad, but even more so with people I spend a lot of time with. I can't image Luke gone, not really.
We watched teev. We ate pizza. We smoked pot.
Luke left just before midnight. He drove Manny home as it is on his way.
I wrote some poetry.
All those men in suits, at my work; trousers that hug their arses, trousers that show the bulge in the front. Boys in boxers, whose cocks you can see moving around under the suit material. Handsome dark boys in suits, good looking blondes in suits; thick legs, tight arses, broad shoulders, shapely chests, nice smiles, gorgeous eyes. Do any of them notice me purving on them? Maybe just a few, but not many… and they’re not sure. Hot, hunks full of spoof, inhabit my building. Can you imagine their beautiful cocks all hot and sweaty tucked away in their jocks? Boy, I can.
Subject: blood Thursday
Hello Miss
How are you?
I'm off to the hospital today for a blood transfusion. I started bleeding 24 hours after starting those nasty HIV drugs, and by Tuesday had lost 2 units.
So, I've stopped the drugs again, hopefully the bleeding will stop soon too, and we'll go back to the status quo – high viral load but not transfusion dependent.
I can't stand the blood transfusion merry go round at the moment – felt like dog doodle yesterday. One or two transfusions a week is just too many steps backwards for me right now.
This bladder of mine, I tells ya!
So, that's me.
What about you?
xxxx Tom
Subject: blood Thursday
I'm good. Cruising along. Life's earnest, sing polly-wolly-doodle all the day.
Christian
Subject: Lee-Lee
There is a Leah at my work who spells her name Leeah. It looks weird.
(Christian)
Subject: Lee-Lee
You're a bad boy fletchy to drive your mother when youa re in no physical state to do so??!!!!!
Leah
Subject: Lee-Lee
Yes, but charming with it.
Christian
SMS. 15.20. I got my phone back & can barely remember how 2 use it! 6 sleeps! – Rachel
SMS. 15.21. Things that are meant to try us - Christian
SMS. 15.22. Always rains at school pickup time – Rachel
My damn internet still isn’t working. How many times do I have to pull the damn modem out of the power point to get it not to work?
SMS. 18.23. It rains every day – Christian
Hump Day. Here’s something to brighten up your morning. I love to play lift funny buggers, it always makes me laugh. It's great if you can get in the lift in the morning and close the door straight away.
If somebody comes along and presses the lift button and it reopens the door and you are battling against it with the door closed button, it is really great, if at this point, another lift opens. In this moment of distraction, when the pests attention is captured somewhere else, you can usually close to the door right in their face. Don’t know why, but I take perverse pleasure in lift shenanigans. No, I don’t think it is because I am bored. It’s more the sheep-like tendencies people have when catching the lift, follow the leader all the way. It’s their idiotic behaviour in running for lifts, which I thinks into one of the greatest fears we, as a population, has at the moment, that of being a loser.
So many dumb people, so little time.
You just have to amuse yourself any way you can to alleviate the day in day out corporate grind, that's what I am saying. It's just funny, lighten up people.
Subject: ooooooooooooooooooooooooooos and eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees
hello lovely,
i wanna seeeeeee yoooooooo sooooooooooon. and i wanna sort out my stuff in your attic tooooooooooooooooo as im going back toooooooooooooooo neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew york soooooooooooon.
Ps. i like your face
xx Aby
SMS. 15.11. 7 sleeps! – Rachel
SMS. 17.35. Why aren't I a multi-millionaire? That’s my question? What’s Paris fucken Hilton got that I haven’t? – Christian
A message from Aby, goodo.
I went to mums for dinner. She cooked me 10 chops.
I got home from mums and my damn internet isn’t working. Grrr!
So, I guess I have to write something.
I think everyone should be an organ donor, sure. Of course. What do we care about the carcass, we're dust. But I can't bring myself to do it. I don’t like the human race… I sign, not enough, just like Arnold did.
Everybody should give blood. But I fainted and had to be revived... had to be revived, the one time I tried that. I still say it was the nurses fault, if she'd only just stopped talking about it, I would have been fine. "You've got half a bag of rich, red blood, not long to go."
“Er!” white out.
"FAN! I knew this one was going to go.”
You wouldn’t shut about it. Why wouldn’t you shut up about it? If only you shut up about it.
We should all give up smoking, why can't I? The evil weed! Why didn't someone tell me when I was sixteen?
We should all make it with the same sex, to at least know what we are talking about. I did. Having said that, I could have sex with a girl, if the mood was right. Having said that, I haven't in over ten years. So I guess I talk shit.
Really. When you think about it.
Just an open mind, really. That's all that's required. Nothing is Compulsory... of course.
We should have crossed off one of the big ones, off the life's big to do list, before we die. What if you peaked early? What if we don't have a list at all? I did once, but I think I lost it.
We should exercise daily. I do. I walk everywhere.
We should all leave our cars at home, at least one time. You know, do one less car trip, for the environment. I don't use mine all week.
None of us should take more than we give. Not sure about me, reckon I'd be on the giving side, though.
Are we becoming a society of spin-doctors?
This was a conversation I heard on the tram.
How was your weekend?
well, went to see the latest Steven King movie, which was really fantastic in special effects and make-up, as you'd understand, but a little too violent for me. So that was good.
Then John had his heart set on the motor show and Sunday was its last day. Not really my thing, but on the way out, we saw that the cinema, just close by, was having preview sessions of Terminator 3 and we were lucky enough to get tickets. Frown. Um... I'm not really sure if I understood it. So that was good.
So yes, my weekend was great thanks. Yours? Big, over made up smile.
Subject: (insert adjective) Tuesday
Miss!
How are you? How was your looong weekend?
How was the wedding?
How are Mark and Luke?
When did you get back?
How's the coalface today? Not too busy, I hope.
That's enough about you! Haven't got much to say about me.
My bladder has started bleeding again – predicted with the restarting of anti-HIV meds – but nowhere near as profusely as previously – so far it's do-able, though I don't want to be leaving red trails behind me in Port Douglas, that's for sure.
Otherwise, I'm A-OK.
Hospital day today (groan, sigh). Dad's still driving me in – I think I get him to do it just for the company a lot of the time – I have my blood taken an hour before my appointment – that's a lot of time to kill!
Also, saves me a small fortune in petrol – yes, I was one of the few that filled up at 136c (premium) last Wednesday, fool that I am. Same outlet the next day – 10c cheaper again. Anyway.
So, all in all, kinda chirpy, kinda wishing things were moving a bit faster, that I was a bit stronger blah blah blah. Exercising and stretching are the pits when you have my bod, let me tell you – but, it must be done if I am to have the body to match the costume to match the mind etc etc etc.
Time flies, must be off.
Tom
xxxx
Subject: Sunny Tuesday
I'm good. The long weekend just seemed to slip away. I think I slept most of Friday... no, I did. Lay down on the couch about midday, or something and woke up in the a.m.'s. Doh!
The wedding was easy, a cocktail party, finger food and no dinner. Got home Sunday arvo sometime.
Mark and Luke are good.
Took mum to a play last night, which was really good. Mum was pleased to be chauffeured there and back, due to public holiday.
The coalface is kind of quiet today, most of my work is done for the current second.
SMS. 16.38. Don’t think Jill is talking 2 me. Sent her a happy easter text & got no reply. Rude bitch. However, 8 sleeps 2 go. & off 2 the Stokehouse 4 dinner. Jill?... Jill who? – Rachel
SMS. 17.15. She’s not good @ responding… it’s the new phone, she can’t hear it, so she claims – go’n deef? – Christian
SMS. 17.20. Want to meet tonight? – Aiden
Are yes, Aiden?
SMS. 19.01. Come over – Christian
SMS. 19.02. Ok, but I’m at uni. Almost finished, be there at 20.30. Is that okay? – Aiden
SMS. 19.08. Sure – Christian
Twenty three year olds are so polite, aren’t they?
20.30, then he’ll be ½ an hour late, no doubt, too much waiting around. Just get over here and get you pants off, will you kid.
SMS. 19.51. Hey, I think I’m too stoned now – Christian
SMS. 19.52. Ok, I won’t come over – Aiden
You seem to be giving up too easily, kid. Where’s your fighting spirit.
SMS. 20.02. We could give it a go, but I tell you my head is spinning. How horny r u? – Christian
SMS. 20.03. I’m ok. R u really horny? – Aiden
You just didn’t sell it enough, kid.
SMS. 20.08. Some other time then? – Christian
SMS. 20.09. sure – Aiden
Crap! I actually told Lottie that I would drive over there and drive her into town tonight to see a play. I must have been feeling guilty about something when I made that promise. As the crow flies, I could walk there in fifteen minutes. I can still hear my words, there is no getting out of it now.
But I'm five joints down. Crap!
Better lighten up on the green stuff, son.
Four hours to go. Five if I push it out to it's minimum.
SMS. 16.23. (Rachel) Stoned off me face taking mum to the theatre. Whoosh! Is the damn thing in gear? – Christian
I cruised over to mums about 16.00. I had been smoking pot all day, but I got clean away with it. Mum even said I was looking healthy and relaxed.
We slipped into town in the public holiday traffic; glorious, why can’t the roads be like that always? Lottie prattled away the entire trip. You know, I can see the difference in her since dad died, so much to say now, I assume, she doesn’t have dad to say it to.
SMS. 19.09. You… stoned??? Malicious scandalous filthy lies! – Rachel
The play was good, about a nun who suspects the priest of molesting an alter boy. Doubt: A Parable, an award-winning 2004 drama written by American playwright Christian Patrick Shanley. It was really well written. The head nun was great, even if she was channelling Katherine Hepburn.
It was a short play, I delivered Lottie home to her door and I was home by 21.30.
SMS. 20.41. I don’t know how these stories start. Lottie said I looked well rested – Christian
And then, of course, I smoked pot. Lots of pot!
SMS. 22.22. Have u seen James Blunt? Andrew Denton is interviewing him. My goodness he is gorgeous!!! – Rachel
So, I watched a bit of James Blunt on Denton. He’s okay.
The dope went to my cock, so I decided to see what Aiden was up to.
SMS. 23.28. Where are u? – Aiden
SMS. 23.31. Come over – Christian
SMS. 23.31. U want me to cum over now? – Aiden
I thought 23 year old uni students had a bit more of a sex drive.
SMS. 23.42. Sure. Do to you what you like? Send you home, er, you know, done. I thought you lived close. I am pretty stoned though – Christian
SMS. 23.40. I live on St George’s Road Nth Fitzroy. R u horny? – Aiden
Oh, one would assume I am horny if I am messaging you, mate. Oh, er, too many questions, not enough action, easier to just have a wank, I think.
SMS. 23.47. Actually, I think I’m too stoned, but I’d love to suck your cock – Christian
SMS. 23.43. How bout tomorrow nite? I’d love to suck yours too – Aiden
So, what happened? Mary Magdalene went down to the tomb and found her boy was gone. And hence a belief system was latched onto and the greatest piece of history was begun.
So what's with the rabbits and the eggs? Was that a five hundred year old marketing tool, for the kids, when the pews were getting a little deserted?
How come our boy died neatly on a Pagan public holiday?
(How come he was born on one too?)
So let's look at Jesus' actual words, a brave move for any Christian. This was just before he went up on the cross, so it was, somewhat, of a defining moment for our boy.
You can tell the righteous from the damned by whether they'd fed the hungry; slaked the thirsty, clothed the naked, welcomed the stranger and visited the prisoner.
I give money to the Smith family, regularly; I give money on the street, if I believe it's genuine; I give all of my old clothes to the Brotherhood; I regularly have overseas guests, due to Bolago and it's organic farm itinerant workers program. (The cute blokes, to be sure); I do volunteer, telephone counselling.
Ironic, really.
Sydney Youngblood, I'd Rather Go blind. (well, all that smoke)
I make tea, it is the natural companion to pot. Always has been. LouLou drinks the stuff by the litre, but then she is quite possibly a bigger pothead than me. Oh yes, she is.
The smoke has cleared. I close the windows and the doors.
More logs on the fire. Warm the place up.
What do I care about living on my own. I'm not sure I'd notice, anyway. Other people. You know. Who does?
Tea is the nectar of the gods, as far as gravel mouth and no spit goes.
Another joint?
I think about the ‘Life of Pi’ and ‘The Five People You Are Most Likely To Meet In Heaven’, my ex-girlfriend's contribution to my general, literary, wellbeing. I palmed of ‘Ludmilla's Broken English’ on her, after I read my second bad review.
But who can read with all this smoke? Er, smoking?
Billie Holiday, sings Lady in Satin. Oh yeah, that voice. It’s how we all feel, late Sunday. It’s like therapy for the beleaguered and the hard done by, and dare I say the, er, tired and emotional. Just hearing her struggle, torn into her very vocal cords.
I had another joint. It's hump day in the weekend, I realised. HaHa, no, I don’t even know what that means. Big smile.
And just when I want it to go smoothly, and just abracadabra be a fire, you know, when I am, shall we say, more relaxed than normal – but who is to say what normal even is? – the fire smoked out the room. I used a fire lighter and three sticks and a whole bunch of rearranged colas from a previous night. I thought I was being clever, too bloody clever.
It smoked like a bitch, (not sure from where that expression came?) as my head spun like a top. “No, no, no, no, no!”
Not enough hot air to push the cold air out of the chimney. There's a fuckin chill in the air tonight, that's for sure.
I grabbed some newspaper, screwed it up into a big ball and lit it and it flamed up forcing hot air up the chimney. Problem fixed.
The wind is blowing fast from the window to the back door. The smoke is clearing in the room. Ah, fresh air.
The music has stopped.
I’m sitting in all of this with the room being cooled down with all the windows and doors open to clear the smoke and being warmed up at the same time as the fire burns. Grrrr!
So much for a simple fire done easily.
What a carry on.
Another joint while the room clears.
I came home from Bolago early to get stoned, on my own. I'm sure this is not a good development, 'they' would say.
I came home early last weekend to get stoned on my own.
I passed out and missed all of last Friday, because I got too bloody stoned. That's clearly not a good development.
I think I need a better cigarette substitute.
I haven't smoked cigarettes, though. That's good, huh? There's an upside.
I eat chocolate, all this Xtian bullshit put it in my head, but not eggs, no not eggs, chocolate bars I got at the shop.
I type away on my keyboard until the joints start to catch up with me.
I laugh, as I lean sideways on the computer chair. Chaka Khan sings Come 2 My House. It's almost genius.
I think I should just give in and lie on the couch. But that would mean building an open fire. There is a chill in the air.
Too stoned to build a fire, might as well just have another joint then.
Crap. I've got to go to Bolago, just got the call. There is some function on, they are short staffed, something about nose bleeds.
But I'm three joints down.
Crap. Better get in the shower.
many hours later...
I can't believe how rude Luke and I were to one of the guests at the end of the night. It had been a long night; most of the boys were all footy mates, it was like the local footy team had come to stay. In amongst them was one screaming queen. He'd proceeded to get drunker and louder for the entire night. The handsome straight boys were well behaved and polite, it was like they'd really taken notice of their grandma's. But the gay guy was determined to be fabulous at all costs!
At the end of the night, Luke and I were cross-armed, against the sink contemplating a joint, when the shrieker came into the kitchen and declared she was hungry. She'd turned her nose up at most of the food, with a bitchy head-wave, earlier, if I remembered correctly... and a squeal, if any of the six-foot types were within ear shot. How the hell did he fit in? Must have been a friend of the wife's?
(I am paraphrasing the following, in real time, this was a pathetic moan that lasted for the good part of thirty minutes, before Luke asked him to leave. And you had better believe that was met with declarations of surprise, disbelief, theatrics, gushes, declarations in general, flurries, posturing, foot-stomping, waltzes, cries, anguish, embarrassment, retreat... relief)
I am so hungry, haven't you got something for me to eat.
No, you ate all the food, I said definitively.
Oh! (Hands in the air) You must have something?
No, we don't said Luke.
Their muuuuuuuuusssssssstttt be something.
Eye-lid bat. He was incomprehensibly shirtless, by this stage.
No there's not, I said, dead-pan.
Nothing?
No, said Luke.
Smile, like he gets the joke. (fool)
A piece of bread, you must have a piece of bread.
No, I said.
Whhhhaaaattttt? Sort of a posy of, what could be best described as, pirouettes at this stage. All smiling, all dancing... (if I didn't know better, I'd suspect speed consumption) Have you got any thing else to offer, he exclaimed!
Yes, get out of my kitchen, said Luke.
God Luke’s good. He doesn’t take shit from anyone.
Ah Easter. Gertrude and Smith Streets were busy. There were queues for the bars. The footpaths were full of people in singlets and T-shirts, most of them chewing madly as they headed smiling into the night. My quiet corner of Fitzroy has turned into clubbing central, like they've all discovered this brave, new thing. I can see it in their eyes. I caught a taxi outside my front door, got to love living in the middle of it all and slipped away quietly and smoothly, down Language Street, in the silky night air. I've got to marvel at how different life is from childhood, endless streets in endless suburbs all deserted and quite in the night, just shadows and trees lining all of them.
There would be parties all weekend. People wouldn't be getting home for days. Not sleeping until Sunday night. Going straight through. I used to do it, not that long ago.
The perfect drug fucked weekend. People take leave from work for them. Hell, most of the people I know revolve their lives around them. A mountain of speed and a mountain of E. Float through, zush from house to hose, venue to venue. It would all go so fast, suddenly it would be Tuesday morning and I'd be fronting up to work at 9am. But that was all a part of the fun really. We all knew we had to do it, so it became a test. You can have all this fun, we used to say and drugs are fun, so much fun, but you've got to keep your day job, to keep having fun. So that was always all of our barometer to drug taking. We had so much fun, we got up to all the mischiefs.
But, you know, after ten years, you don't get that buzz any more. You don't get the euphoric "I am the king of the world" feeling any more. And when I realised I was just taking the stuff to feel altered and not fantastic, any more, I kind of lost interest. Drugs tend to just make me feel isolated, now a days, so I pretty much don't any more. But it was fun while it lasted; free love, free dancing, devotion on the dance floor, your mouth in the DJ's beat, chewing, preening, showing off, feeling amazing. A family of fellow-minded travelers, congregating under the lights, celebrating to the house beat.
Smart people with their shit together won't have any problem with drugs, they won't tell you that. Baggage makes for a difficult journey and when you start taking them to make yourself feel better and not just for fun and only for fun - hundreds, thousands, millions of people across the globe do. That's the reality that they don't want people to know. It's like being let into the world's biggest party; the world wide party scene - you are heading for trouble. (All of my friends who started injecting had trouble with it and none of them do now)
Suddenly, we all have careers in high paying jobs and we've got to tend to those now. The party is over, well, I should only speak for myself.
I don't know how I used to do it?
I was going out for a quiet beer with mates. How times have changed. (home by 2am on the first night of 3 nights easy)
I'm so pissed. Drinks after work for Easter. Me and this guy at work, Michael, have been making eyes at each other. He's got such a great smile... and a slow eye. I find it endearing, sexy even. Handsome. His face flushed red when I looked at him, he held my gaze.
I hold his gaze and smile at him, now. He holds my gaze – momentarily, just that too much too long; the legendary gaydar, all in the eyes. It is given away in a split second, just like that.
After a few beers, Michael smiled back over the drinks table, as we all stood around and talked. Which one of you, in this vast boy's club? ... so, it is Michael, of all the disciples. So be it, Michael.
We've kind of been flirting with each other for weeks.
We were both in the last few left drinking. He followed me into the toilets, but I think that was just by chance and not by any design. I laughed to myself; at work, Jasus! He found my gaze when he got back to the circle.
Then he left. I left pretty soon, afterwards.
I staggered off up Bourke Street; giddy, smiling, floating, a surprising spring in my step. The night was busy, the footpaths were crowded. Lights on, glowing in the night. Shiny. Dark already. Whoosh, whoosh.
That walk sobers me up on the way home. It straightens me up in the mornings, clears my head, focuses my sight. Air in the lungs. My secret weapon to the working week.
People think that I don't drive to work because I'm a greenie. Nah! Well, that's certainly part of it. It's to straighten me out from the night before's joints.
I walk through Parliamentary Reserve. Opposite The Princes’ Theatre. Our theatre district.
They have cleared the garden beds, it's a sign that soon the baby Jacarandas will grow some more. They are on their way to forming the Jacaranda arch of honour, for my sunny, morning walk.
The Jacarandas are in bloom again. Such a stunning flower, albeit for such a short time. Glinting like mauve crystals in the soft morning sun. So quickly, crushed jacaranda petals on the path, like mauve snow lightly dusting my way ahead.
But first winter. Woollen coats. Open fires. Dark nights. Cuddle up and listen to the rain washing all of our sins away.
We are on the wane, that's for certain. I can feel it in the air, whenever I leave the house. The air is fresher and lighter. Crisp, clean. The hard bite of summer has gone.
It is an easy walk home. Past Princes Hill Fire Station. Past the Eye & ear Hospital. Jay walk across the vast lanes of Victoria parade, you’d never be able to do that in the day, but it is quiet now. Then I slide back into Fitzroy, and I am on home turf.
It's good to make it home, when you start out a bit giddy.
Unless, Manny gives up all his friends and gives up having sex and moves closer to his mother, where she can keep her eye on him, in other words harangue him into going to church, he is going to die alone, bitter and ill. Her exact words, apparently. She became born again xtian after Manny's older brother had a diving accident and became a paraplegic. Now she's married to Jesus and perpetually spews poison on anything that isn't xtian.
My lips hurt, chaffed to bits. Greek guy's 5 o'clock shadow. He looked sleepy when I left.
Manny just called. He was watching TV in his jocks and started to think about me.
He has been dipping into the valium. He was talking very slowly.
His mental religious-nut of a mother has been at him again, telling him he'll live a sad and lonely life, then he'll go to hell.
Then he started talking dirty. He's so sexy. The only guy who gets me going. I'm off to his place.
I broke down and started smoking again. It's the hardest thing to do, quit. That gnawing feeling just never goes away.
Pathetic, I know.
It's mind-numbingly boring too. Back to square one.
Of course, I blame it on my pot dealer, he didn't deliver when he said he would. All going along cruisy, all going along fine and then the bags empty and I just want to kill somebody.
Of course, I really just want to kill myself, not literally, you understand and truthfully I only blame myself, so there you go.
Time to rethink the strategy.
I guess the only way is to give it all up, cigarettes, dope, the lot.
Health, health, health, that's what I've got to think now. Hey?
Maybe? He thinks to himself, with a rye smile. Maybe, he says. But you know he's already gazing around, trying to think of his next scheme, even though he knows it is hopeless.
Deluded? Well, maybe just a little.
Maybe, I could drink more green tea? Maybe that would help?
Rats! He thinks. He knows there is no easy way.
Maybe, I could get a puppy, he thinks.
Maybe, I should just go for a long jog. You can't smoke while you are jogging. Well, I guess it is possible, but certainly not advisable, he thinks.
The phone rings. He jumps. He was running along the Tan, feet on a cushion of air, wind on his face.
Any time after 8, says Guido breezily.
Okay, he says. About fucking time, he thinks. He stubbs out his cigarette in disgust.
Monday morning. Oh, I so don't want to go to work today. I can't take a sickie, big day today; culmination of my month's work.
How did we all get it so wrong? Working for the machine. All our lives. I guess it keeps us under control. In out place. Stuffed down until we respond like robots and don't question the drill.
Thank god for the xtians, for all their bullshit beliefs, at least we get public holidays thanks to all their none sense. Now is it the gluttonous chocolate festival or the non-stop gift giving festival. Oh yes, I do believe it's chocolate.
Sunday night, again. Every time I seem to look up it is Sunday night. Whoosh; the week's gone, the week's starting again. The circle continually closes. What happened to the sunny afternoon in the country? Blue skies, wood ducks on the lake, just me and Mark. I rushed back from there with some urgent sense of writing something, doing something, achieving something. It's amounted to naught.
The garden show is on up the road from my place. I thought, poor, bored souls, going to the next thing on the summer calendar. As I go home to an empty house.
I looked at my latest photos. Not bad, even if it is just me saying it. I can use some of them.
(I sneaked a look at Manny, decided never to post him. I wonder what he'd think?)
The fire is burning. The house is dark. The TV is on mute. I tried watching something. Got bored. The afternoon slipped away. The days is gone.
I should feel some exhilaration, some rush. Something? The muse. The creative juices. Gone and dry.
All I feel is a melancholy burn. A low, strong sense of being somewhere, grounded, settled. Alright. Made it this far. Doing okay. I've got great stuff. I've got cool friends.
Where to now? Yeah, where to now. What now?
I've travelled the world. I've had great partners. I've laughed, loved and lived.
What now? Do it all again? Just the same; but with slightly less looks, slightly less youth. More money thought! Better stuff.
Is that how it goes? Around again, in ever diminishing circles. Around. Around. Right into the ground.
I think I'll go play the guitar piece from Zoot Allures. Black Napkins. It's fierce. Soaring. It shags the base of my soul when I listen to it play. Watch the music shoot the moon, play glockenspiel on the stars, melt the milky way.
When there's nothing left of the weekend, but a few hours, a cocky-cage-mouth and an imagination that's not cutting it. Electric guitar. Lay on the carpet. Go somewhere else. Melt into the floor.
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