Satan

Ha ha, so far from satan it is not funny. Such a sweet guy

Satan's Not A Bad Boy, He's Just Misunderstood

That devilish little bloke, with the winning eyes and infectious smile, has proved a more faithful companion than God. He's the yes man, lets you decide your future, dare I say like an adult, unlike the crusty old bloke with the white beard who just instinctively says no, because, as we all know, human beings aren't capable of making up their own minds.

More honest, more real, more alive, Satan's like your fun cousin and not at all like your stoggy old grandpa. At least you know where you stand with him, unlike God's disciples with their agendas and their lies. (Lets ask Mary Magdalene, shall we?)

*Sin - read pleasure, but I'm keeping with the terminology - is more straight forward and universal, not to mention, it is what makes the world turn.

(* sin is a construct of those with faith, because to have organised religion you must have control, otherwise it can't work)

Pleasure is like sunshine, like laughter, like the sun at the end of a warm day. Pleasure is what makes your heart beat faster, makes you heart go zing and you brain giddy with anticipation.

Satan is the five muscles it takes to smile. God is the fifty two that it takes to frown. And don't forget the finger pointing as he tells you no!

Good is more subjective. For the good of who? (Those who have power in the church?) For whose advantage? (Those who collect the collection plate, every Sunday... or what ever other day that has been agreed on for convenience, like the Catholics going to mass on Saturday night. A new Sabbath, how interesting.)

Sin doesn't affect anyone - other than to put a smile on my partners face, Sunday morning in bed - like good.

It is for your own good! It is to be restricted, for your own sake. None of you can be trusted to make important decisions. No thanks Jesus, I can find my own way along the path.

Time and time again, they are doing it for our own good. Yeah, well, ta very much do-gooders, it is very nice of you to give up your time so selflessly, but I can shine my own torch, I know the way.

Doing good for other's? Please? I'm sorry, but it is in themselves that the do-gooders are trying to get the almighty to invest, from what I've seen. What a good person, you get to go to heaven and collect that $200.

Believe what you believe and do what you do, but for god's sake, call it what it is - the maintenance of a two thousand year old myth that a lot of people and powerbases and institutions depend on for their survival.

For the good of the people? No, for the good of the shareholders in the construct they have named Christianity.

Believe in what you want, I encourage you, but, at the very least, you can afford me the same freedom.

Now me, Manny, Satan and Azhrielle are off to watch the sunset. Azh is bringing the sandwiches, I've got the doobies.

What about all that black and the chickens and the blood...

Never true, said Satan. I don't even like the sight of blood. That was an invention of the other lot, you know, to scare the farmers regarding their flocks. It's all symbolic. Satan shook his head and looked perplexed.

The sun was a bright, shining crystal ball, set low in the sky, as we sat looking at it in the late afternoon.

I love this time of day, I said to Manny.

So do I, he replied, as he cuddled up to me.

I love it too, said Satan to Azhrielle, as they cuddled tenderly.

Melbourne Morning

Isn't it cold!

I was going to drive over to Manny's, first thing, to crawl into bed with him. Slip under the sheets to feel his warmth against me, feel us hard together, kiss him tenderly, as the hair on his chest tickles mine.

Slide my finger gently through the hairs in his arse, as his sleepy eyes adjust. Taste him, feel his breath, soft lips on soft lips... make him wet all over me. It's been a week. He's so beautiful when he cums.

But Tom's still asleep and his car is still blocking mine in.

Ah well, there is always the blog.

Holiday Romance

My finger disappears;

he lays face-down on the sand.

Seagulls squawk skywards. 

Far North Queensland

Palms green, fronds skywards

to the blue, is always blue.

Kids have sandy feet.

Beach

Surfer boy, sun kissed,

dripping shorts cling to his skin.

Girl's hearts soon mend.

 

Morning in the Tropics

Sea crashes near by,

crisp and clean in my lungs.

Orange coconuts grow.

Up North

I'm off to Queensland for a week. Yay! Getting away. Sun and sand. My flight leaves for Port Douglas at 9am.

Get away to some where remote, where the beach is pristine white and the water blue. Truth is, that it's all resorts now up there, so there won't be too much that is too remote, except for the Queensland brain. That's pretty remote. There's a very good reason why Queenslanders call us, from down south, Mexicans, because there is that much difference between us and them. Queenslanders are weird, small town thinking in the biggest state in Australia - um, if you don't count Western Australia, that is.

Redneckville, to be sure. A place where all the skanky religions from America get a foot-hold.

Backwards? No, I wouldn't exactly call them backwards. But nearly.

See you in a week. 

Moving the Wood

I had a ton of wood delivered. Yes, at the rear of the house, thanks. Yes, under the roller door. As far in as you can manage it, thanks. No, I'm not expecting miracles. Stock up for the winter, before I get into the habit of always buying from the servo. What a pile! Day off, time to move it.

My step son Fen arrived at exactly the right time to help.

Don't worry Christian, I'm not doing a work out today, I'll move it.

He's a powerhouse, is Fen. He can get a bit nasty on too much booze, but otherwise a delight to have around.

And easy on the eyes. He just brims with good health and cheeky smiles and sparkling eyes.

He pulled off his T-shirt.

Sure?

He looked even more cut.

Sure, I'm sure.

You been working on that stomach?

He looked down and rubbed it. Yeah. Big smile. What do you think?

I just smiled.

Is it wrong to purve on your step-son? (Oh, I don't perve on him, its just admiration) Twenty years old and as cute as a button, with the body of a, well... genetically gifted boy who has trained diligently at the gym for the last two years. What can I say? How does he fill out those jeans quite like that?

He carried down an armful, cradled in front of him, making his chest expand out. It looked sexy as he breathed in and out. Fine dark hair covered his chest. Usually, he waxes. I did it for him once. He didn't stop laughing. Bravado! He's got his mother's olive skin. He's got her eyes. His jeans clung to his hips.

Dark hair. Blue eyes. Gorgeous smile. Not a care.

Sigh!

I headed back to my computer.

I don't see much of Fen any more. He's at uni, living with his girlfriend. He smokes too much pot, according to his girl friend - I hope that's not a legacy of me and his father. But he's passing with good marks... and a few passes, he said quietly behind his hand to me, the last time I saw him. Big smile. But no fails, though. Good, hey?

Vampire Hours

I seem to be up all the night and sleeping during the day. I've been getting a lot of writing done, though. And I've been chatting on-line to friends in the Northern hemisphere.

I haven't packed anything. I haven't even washed anything. I should do it now. No one here to disturb, after all.

Missy has been up with me all the way, she's been loving it. She's been laying on the Kitchen floor, sweeping her tail majestically like it was her tacit approval, more than a passing resemblance to Leo in his jungle kingdom.

Ha ha.

And The Day

And the day drifts away... like a melancholy melody

coming to a resolve.

Wsshhhhhh... long, slow, faltering whistle.

What Morning Is It?

I woke up at 5am, on the couch. The last thing I remembered was Big Brother Adults Only. The teli was playing infomercials. The fire was dead, I tossed the logs over.

My computer was still on.

My mate Josh, from Berlin, was on line.

I chatted to him, as we both rolled joints together. He's fallen in love and it's changed all of his plans, unexpectedly.

We chatted for a while.

It may have been night time over there, but... fucken hell I'm shit-faced and it's just after 9am. Aren't holidays grand.

The fire miraculously came back to life. Thank the universe, it's bitterly cold outside. I was chilled to the nuts, literally. I only had tracky pants on, as I went out to get more wood. I think my teeth chatted.

Quite suddenly and unexpectedly, like being thrust into the Antarctic, as the house is as warm as toast.

I went outside to take shots of the day break, but I've only got my new digital here and I still don't know how to use the fucker. I couldn't get the shots to play back, or the camera was on such a low setting, it was taking black. Who knew?

I stomped back inside.

Pity. I haven't taken any shots lately.

Pity. The light this morning was lovely. 

Iconic Lincoln

Last Dance

LaBelle, Last Dance. I want it played at my wake. Followed by Patti laBelle, I Can't Complain. Followed by Tony Bennett, Fly Me to the Moon.

Actually, I don't want a wake. I want to be cremated and thrown into the breeze. I reckon that's the only chance any of us have got of any action, after... (sharp, inward breath) ah! (long, eerie, endless) Errrrrrr.......

Nothing.

The wind, buddy. The wind.

The Most Electric

Tina Turner shimmying out for the first time at the beginning of her show, was the most electrifying person I have ever seen.

1996. I was twenty.

I've never seen another human being with such incandescence. If Jesus had half of what Tina had radiating out from with in, I could understand all the fuss.

I've never seen one person burn like that, before or since. And then she smiled and, quite simply, lit up the world. Never have I seen that aura before, that they say sometimes shines out of the great.

Simply the Best

The greatest vocal performance of all time... Patti LaBelle. Live Aid 1985. No question for me.

Some people say the greatest live performance of all time was Freddie Mercury also at Live Aid 1985.

It seems we all agree on Live Aid.

So, do you think it was a great feeling of love spreading between performers? Or do you think it was good cocaine?

Patti says she has only ever drunk wine before a performance.

Freddie was a renowned coke head. 

Bed Socks

Randy Crawford is singing, Wild is the Wind. The day is over-cast, the sun isn't shining. My eye lids are heavy, like draped curtains. My feet are cold, like they are chilled.

I tried to get Missy to curl up on one of my feet, she looked disdainfully and lay facing away from me, like only cats can. She only curls around my feet when they are warm, clearly. You just gotta love a cat's honesty, some times. I love it when she uses my foot as a pillow. Warm as toast.

Where are my bed socks? The pair with the odd blue toe and the worn-out heel. One pair is so big that I really shouldn't wear them running down the stairs. Both often end up upside down wrapped around my ankles, they fit so badly.

I could easily trip and hit my head. You think those things never happen, but they do.

Patti LaBelle sings Love And Learn... what a hot song.

Sunday Night on Holidays.

Lottie cooked me a huge meal at 4pm when I went to visit. I haven't felt hungry since.

Tom and I watched Big Brother. Then I smoked a joint, turned the lights out and watched two movies. Mysterious Skin and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. The open fire roaring orange and yellow. Shadows flickering in my brain, as they flickered across the ceiling.

It rained, as dusk slid down; all the browns turned to honey and all the greens turned to moss, in the melancholy mood of the shadowy day's end.

I woke up at 9am. I slept the whole night on the couch. Feet up. Cricked neck. Can't be good?

Manny and Me

Manny and I were laughing at each other last night. We were chatting on the phone, on our respective couches, watching bad television, both dead-tired and not able to muster the energy even to hook up together, at either one's house, let alone get ourselves out on a Saturday night.

He'd been to the gym and I'd been to the um... er... shop and we couldn't manage anything else. Not even phone sex. How old did we say we were?

We were planning an expedition out to the clubs to track Tony down, but even the lure of his sexy Italian boy charms couldn't inspire us. We scared the hell out of him, I reckon, the first time the two of us were chatting to him one night in a beer garden - beautiful Greek boy on one side, beautiful Italian boy on the other, don't think I wasn't feeling like a pig in shit. I'd gone to the toilet and when I came back, Manny was on his own. He smiled his cheeky smile broadly at me and announced, with a certain sense of accomplishment, that he'd asked Tony home with us.

What? I thought. (despite myself, I couldn't help thinking, That's my boy.)

What? I said. (I'm really tending towards monogamy, now a days. It's unexplored territory and I'll take it slow, sure)

I asked him straight out, said Manny.

So where is he then? I asked.

Oh he's gone to the toilet, he'll be back soon.

We got more beer and watched the parade.

I think you scared him buddy.

No, said Manny.

The minutes passed. I didn't care, I was still out with the boy I liked the best.

He's not coming back, I said.

Yes he is, said Manny.

I'm taking you home young man, I said. Before you proposition anyone else.

But I digress...

Oh, before I do... Manny has seen Tony since and he has, apparently, warmed to M(anny) & C(hristian's) proposed exploratory.

I haven't had the heart to tell Manny that I may, or may not (you just know it's may) want to chow down on Tony, but I'd like to do it one on one, me and Tony. Although, I'd love to be a fly on the wall to watch Manny and Tony at it, let me tell you. Woof! (fucken woof! I'm getting a woody just thinking about it!)

The truth is, I just wanted Manny.

But, last night the two of us couldn't even muster the energy to get off the couch... and not even the same couch, at that.

 

My desk

Wouldn't You Know It

I'm on holidays. Me and Tom are going up north chasing the sun, in a week, or thereabouts. So, I decided that I should relax my non-dope smoking vow - I'm on fucking holidays, after all. And wouldn't you know it, my dealer is off the air. Fuck! There should be a law against it! I thought we lived in a free-trade world. The only other dealer, I know, is Rob, with his new car every time I see him, but he does that creepy, if you have sex with me you don't have to pay and that just gives me a chill and is awkward, so I'm not going to try him.

Grrr!

Of course, children, if you are reading this, drugs are bad, naturally. Just say no. You don't want the scary man down the road touching you there. Blah, blah, blah... And if you believe that, I have some lovely beach side property in Central Australia which you might be interested in...

Question your parents about it kids, next time they are emptying their third bottle of chardy.

 

Moving On

I had a date. Well, everyone... well, Tom is always telling me that I should get out and about if I want to meet someone. Tom says that Manny is second best, by my own admission and that I shouldn't settle for second best. Tom says that any future beau is going to have to deal with the relationship I have with Mark, so I shouldn't let Manny stand in the way too.

David came over and we chatted and drank red wine. He was really lovely and we talked like we’d always know each other. He was originally from Adelaide and used to belong to a group that I belonged to as a teenager, amazingly enough.

He bore no resemblance to the photo he used on-line. It wasn't even ten years old, like quite a few, it just wasn't him. But that was okay, it was just a date to drink red wine, after all.

You know, you always hope for a thirty year old who has some resemblance to twenty and not one that looks over forty. David must have dipped out on the youthful gay gene, badly. That's usually a straight boy trait, looking forty when they are really thirty. David must be spitting it.

Ben

All The Pretty Ones Leave

My favourite graduate lawyer, at work, Ben G, has resigned. The lovely Ben G. I think we flirt with each other. I'm not sure, I'm so used to being switched off in the work realm to sex, I don't think I get it. He's the only guy to stand next to me at the urinal.

Hi Chris, said his sexy, husky voice. He was smiling at me, as I looked around.

Hi Ben. (Just where I've always wanted you, I though) I'm good. How are you?

I looked down... his front. I peaked, I admit it. He wasn't trying to hide it, very well. My eyes swept across it. Nice. Thick. I looked up. Foreskin. Ben was still smiling, but his face had flushed red in recognition.

I'm good, he kind of stuttered. Not complaining.

Blonde-haired and blue eyed. Open smiling face. One sexy, husky voice. I think it's the voice that draws me to him.

I'd finished pissing. I shook my cock. Ben's one of those guys who pushes the last piss out of his cock. So momentarily, out of the corner of my eye, my view was of him stroking his cock.

I zipped up.

He looked around.

See you around... Ben.

Yeah, sure, said Ben.

Any way, I'm going to have to ratchet up the flirting with young Ben. He becomes eminently more attractive, if he is leaving the company. And I reckon he wants it.

Last Friday in his jeans, he was scratching his back, which caused his polo shirt to ride up over his stomach, which caused his jeans to pull up, with the stretch making him looked well packed. I couldn't help looking and for the first time, I kept my eyes there longer, deliberately, so he'd have to see me looking. Then I looked straight up to his face. He was smiling and blushing.

Hi Chris. Broad smile.

Hi Ben. We passed. I turned around to watch him go. Kept his gaze, kept thinking about his cock, from that day at the urinal. Thick. His red knob just poking out of his foreskin.

You're looking good, said Ben. He'd stopped. He looked back intently. He was still scratching his back, slowly, by now seductively - well, that's my take on it and I'm sticking to it. His face had changed, to kind of serious and kind of steamy. Turned on. He hesitated, I could feel it. He knew he was staying too long. We could both feel it.

Thanks, I said. I smiled.

He smiled.

I turned the corner and he was out of sight.

 

Me and Vic Laughing Through a Thick Haze

Wide Awake

I haven't smoked pot for a week. Every thing is so clear. I pay all my bills, even clean. Oh... um... I smoked with Nicholas on Thursday and I smoked with Perry and Wesley and Tom on Saturday night. The trouble is that everyone I know, smokes pot. I can't visit any of my friends without them saying, Do you want a joint?

It's just time to be clear. Ten years is a long time. But I never smoked it until I was twenty. Never touched the stuff as a teenager, which I think is good. Good to be clear when all the big changes are happening inside and out. I think I would have hated to look down and see my first pubic hair through blurry eyes.

I haven't missed it, haven't craved it, haven't wanted it, just done it to be social. I also had the smallest line of speed, just because everyone else was. Oh, don't get me wrong, I wanted to, no one made me, it's just that I wasn't expecting too. Hadn't planned too. But hey, when in Rome? Just for old times sake.

It's a good thing that with all the drugs I've taken, I've never developed an addiction to any of them. I always just took them to have fun. The only thing that has me addicted is tobacco. Bastard stuff, I just don't seem to be able to kick that one. The rest, I can take or leave.

Mark and Luke are coming down tonight to watch Big Brother with me. Having said all of that, I wouldn't mind if Luke bought some, you know, just for the buzz, now that I think of it.

I think I can hear the burble of the Range Rover now. Gotta go.

Rats!

Fucken hell! Don't you just hate it when people come to work sick? I'm always the stupid sap who catches whatever they've got. Two days sick now. Rats! I don't mind taking the time off, although I rarely do, its that feeling of 60% that I hate. Nauseous, head ache, dealing with the shakes. Bugger it! I'd rather take a day off and run free. I've got so many things I should be doing, but I can't be bothered, can't muster the energy, all I want to do is rest.

I look over at the framed picture on my desk, of the fat, middle-aged chick in a bathing suit, in a garden chair and read the caption for the umpteenth time.

How beautiful it is to do nothing and then rest afterwards.

I wonder about taking a triple strength does of my vitamins.

Life

It's about putting your head above the parapet, it's about believing in yourself, it's about standing on your own two feet, it's about discarding the shit that most people think and talk.

So many people have so many hang-ups about so many things. Like nudity, like swearing, like taking drugs, like sex. As a society, we often deflect it with violence.

Is it because they never broke free of the mould that their inadequate parents cast them in? Daddy can't talk to his young daughter about sex without baring up. You'd think, with the tendency towards older fathers now a days, that would happen less.

Kids of smart parent's, you gotta agree, have the edge. My parent's were University boffins. I couldn't image having really dysfunctional parents, it would be a bitch and put you so far behind, it would be hard just to simply catch up.

It's about thinking for yourself. I know, a novel concept for all the sheep that graze in the paddock that is our society. It's about finding your own drum and walking to it's beat. No one said it was easy.

The smartest, with the most distinctive voice, most persuasive manner, and bearer of good looks, win.

LaBelle sings Isn’t it a shame... what a huge song, it sends shivers up my spine.

Stop

Stop. Just stop. That's what Saturday is good for. Calm down, put my feet up, rest. Always busy, never have enough time, not enough hours in the day.

Do you think it is a political ploy? Keep them so busy working to pay the taxes that are lumped on them, so they'll never have time to think? Sure. Conservative politics.

It's good to have a day to rest, put your feet up and let the world sail passed. The garden turns dark green and is beautiful in the shadows, as the daylight dims to late afternoon. It is a peaceful time; gentle, calm, still. Soul repairing. Time for myself, regenerate, relax. I love the gentle ease of daylight turning to night. At such times, I love looking out my back windows and feeling peace. Nothing is so peaceful as the quiet strength of the garden. Trees grow, shrubs flower, branches move slowly in the air.

Winter's Night

It's dark when I walk home. It's the depressing side of winter. I don't mind the cold, in fact I like it. But the early darkness...

I saw two feral kids bash another as I walked up Bourke Street. The other two walked off screaming Fucking Dog, while the recipient walked towards me crying with blood dripping from her nose.

I thought, How sad. How much easier would it be to be nice to each other. They are limited, I guess. Limited by bad parents and a crap upbringing, I assume. I wanted to ask the bashed kid if she was all right, but I assumed the answer would have been no.

It sent a chill up my spine and sadness flowing through my soul.

The sky was black, the street lights were on.

I kept walking.

 

Sigh

Missy is rubbing against my ankles, purring for all she's worth. I've got to iron a shirt and go to bed. Ah, the life of a surf at the salt mines, lick, lick, lick. I'm sure it wasn't supposed to be like this. I'm sure I was made for greater things.

Sigh.

 

Nothing Much

Too stoned... but it is all gone now. So, I hope, there will be an improvement in my, shall we say, productivity. I'm working on three scripts, maybe I can get back to them.

Partner

By a partner, you mean having someone to kiss. Someone you want to kiss and who wants to kiss you. It's the eyes, as well as the sense of touch. It's the breath, it's the shiver down your spine. It's proximity; warmth, smell.

Someone you want to hold in your arms.

Taste. Sound.

Sunday Arvo

I settle on the couch about half past three. The day is cloudy, the light thin. Sunday afternoon Arts program and a blanket, with cold at the window, the garden the colour of winter. Smudgy. Impressionist. I drift in sleep on the couch, as the day turns to night. Snug. Missy purrs at my feet.

The light is brittle, it cracks and breaks. The only light in the room is the blue of the TV dancing on my face. I'm in my cocoon. I think to myself, I must be the laziest bastard alive.

I got the back yard cleaned up, despite the rain. My arms hurt. I mulched the garden, every last fucken square inch of it. That's how much shit there was; all last seasons, and then some, garden prunings.

Missy is taking the ointment in the eye graciously.

Lovely Rainy Day

Ipsy-Wipsy Spider climbed the water spout...

out into the garden I had a scout

I pulled the pile of garden cuttings about

Then down came the hail and washed poor Ipsy out.

 

Weekend

Ah Saturday, it was a potfest.

I got my haircut,

then took a rest.

De-stressed.

Face down.

I ate take away

and fell asleep on the couch.

The sun came up, I blinked,

and rolled over and closed my eyes.

And then it was done.

Whoosh, gone

as quickly as it begun.

sun on my kitchen tiles

Smoking

I went out for dinner with my mate Kym. We've changed our usual restaurant of choice, as it's become non-smoking. And then we spent the rest of the night trying to convince ourselves to stop.

Doomed

Parent's must be the biggest bunch of wingers today. It used to be farmers, but I reckon the poor hard done by, put upon, parents are now out front. Talk about breed and become the chosen few. They are pandered to by government, because if you are bare foot and pregnant you are so much more pliable.

So much so now that single people are even subsidising their tax perks.

Like the over-populated, resource depleted, rapidly suffocating on it's own excretions, world needs more people.

But it is politically expedient.

We're heading the same way as the Mayans, the Aztecs, the Romans... and rightly so. Look at the mess we have made. As I like to say whenever someone asks me about the state of the world, one million years and not a trace. 

Missy

Missy had to have surgery on her eye. She's been fighting with the other cats in the neighbourhood.

I have to put ointment in Missy's eye three times a day for eight days. I have to give her antibiotics. The other cat's claw got down next to her eye and tore her third eye lid. She had to have stitches. The vet says it is a miracle the eyeball wasn't damaged. There is some talk about permanent, physical injury. Not beautiful Missy.

Poor Missy.

Friends

I called the vet at 8am. They suggested I take her in straight away.

I've got to go to work.

The vet is here now.

I've got to... no I don't. I couldn't leave it for another ten hours. Why not now? What about all those people at work who take time off because their stupid kid is sick... like it's unquestionable. Why not?

It was raining as I drover her home; a sea of red lights, a galaxy of white lights.

Where am I, I thought, in the car cone-of-silence, in the traffic, in the dark.

My friends are being just as mysterious, just as treacherous, as they have always been. Interfering in each other's lives, for everyone's good, of course. Such intrigue, such school-like hurts. So many agendas.

But you know, I'm wondering if this is the right forum for a chronicle of my mate's lives.

Nah, I reckon not.

Imagine if one of them stumbled across it. I'm already famous for journaling their lives for the last ten years.

So maybe this should be more internal. Less of the extraneous stuff. I'll save them for a coffee table book.