Random Sunday

I called Manny last week, deciding it was worse to just let it drift off into nothingness than to actually speak up and finish it, if that's what it's come to. Not that I'm saying it has come to that, considering we were never, really boyfriends to start off with. It just seemed childish, all of a sudden, not calling him, so I phoned. I left a message on his answering machine. The phone just rang then, I let the answering machine pick it up. By the time I got to from my computer to the phone, I heard that he'd been in hospital with food poisoning and that he was still recovering. Something to do with his food. I was just about to pick the phone up when I realised, what he was saying were all the reasons, there in a nutshell, why I'd decided not to call him. I rarely see him, unless I drive to his place and when I do see him, mostly, it is about him and his food/eating/health. I didn't pick up.

And considering mine and Manny's relationship is primarily based on sex, I'm not going any where near him while I'm still carrying the five, or so, extra kilos since giving up smoking. Get real, I thought.

Josh got his permanent residency in Germany, now he can finally leave, he says. Although, he does seem to be booking himself work for the rest of the year, so he can't be leaving immanently. I thought he might, considering he just got dumped recently by the beautiful Belgian.

Aby is going to stay with Josh, in a few weeks.

Tom is in Vancouver, saying he may delay his return, as it is all so beautiful. Not sure what Tom's take on beautiful is, him being a completely urban dweller, usually. His beautiful may contain no actual scenery shots.

Shane and Mark W. had the best time over seas, well, they did stumble from one drug-fuel episode to another, on two continents, with the help of a few well connected friends - connected in the sense of knowing the lay of the land, more than anything else.

Although, if I ever travel the party scene again, I want to do it with Shane's little black book, that's for certain. First night out, Shane sidles up to Mark W early in the night, who wasn't having a good time straight, and says, Come on, the head drag queen has got us coke, follow me. How do you do that? is always Mark W's response... all our responses, pretty much. And the rest of the holiday, pretty much, went from there.

Shane has a talent for it, an eye, or should I say, ear. You could drop Shane blindfolded any where in the world within sniffing distance of a ghetto and all of your, shall we say, personal needs would be fulfilled, in no time. What's not to like?

Tom says that Mark W (Actually, thinking about it, both Marks are Mark W, but this Mark will be the only one known as Mark W, from now on - gosh, that's going to be hard for me to keep up, after a smoke) still hasn't physically recovered. Although Shane denies that he landed back in Melbourne asking how long till Sleaze, while Mark W. was helped off the aeroplane by two nurses. Shane says it never happened.

When is someone going to out Ian Thorpe? Okay, I'll do it.

"I slept with Ian Thorpe. Big dick. Total bottom."

Did the Christian right take over both sides of Australian politics without anyone noticing? Or is it just me?

Don't smoke and eat at the same time, even if it is only soup, in a cup, it's bad for you.

Transmat beams, not so far fletched... ah fetched. I sat on the couch and transfered photos from Tim's phone to my phone, via bluetooth.

In the history of living in this house, I have never heard the neighbours television. What have they got in there, one of their deaf, old, fucking mothers? Well, they are lesbians.

They are forcing me to put music on? Unbeliveable! I'm listening to Christina Aguilera. I was in HMV and there was a greatest hits, of hers, for five bucks, and since she is the only one they claim, of the new crop of young girl singers, who can, actually, sing, I bought it.

It's like I'm listening to Australian Idol.

Guido came right over with the pot, I can see that was a bad connection to make, already. I didn't even feel like it, this morning. It was just habit, I was out. Bloody hell, what happened to my resolve from barely a month ago? I'm an idiot! I can't be that person, again, I'll die a failure. I'll get nothing published, no film scripts sold.

I need a new phase, in my life. In fact, I feel like I may have missed the beginning to the new phase, I reckon I should be a few years in, by now. It's like I got stuck in phase four - I can break my life up into distinct phases, all as different and as rewarding as each other. I calculate that I'm at the end of the 4th Chris millennium. (That's Chris years, naturally) But something's happened in the last few years, and I'm now beginning to feel that there has been a failure to launch with phase 5.

Maybe it's time for some new tricks? The universe forbid!

As my mate Josh loves to tell me, ad nausea, dragging himself out of a life time of otherness in Dubbo. No, you do it. You, have to do it... don't ever forget.

I've pretty much coasted through to this point on good fortune, sad but true. A happy, wealthy childhood never did any writer any good. Now I have to display some once of talent, that I'm so reckoned to be blessed with, if I'm to steer the good-ship-Chris to his, in fact, chosen, next phase.

Phase 5 awaits you, sir.