Olive (the) Python

Back to the Saltmines

The irony is that I had a worse head ache today than I did yesterday - as I didn't, actually, have one yesterday. What the? Hurting behind my eyes, annoyingly so. And, I am out of mersyndol, too. Great! I guess I've got to go to work with pain with no relief. Life is sooooo unkind. Everybody should get relief.

After I had left, yesterday, my work colleagues thought they could smell gas in the office, so they called in the maintenance man. They decided that was probably the reason for my headache, that I was, seemingly, overcome by toxic chemicals, of some sort. Ha, ha!

Everybody was asking me if I was all right, when I got there today. Everyone was asking if I felt okay.

I do lead a, somewhat, charmed life. Where yesterday's head-home was just a stomp out the door, the universe acted to give me an alibi for my lie. Not that I needed one, but there you are, I had one anyway.

 

He's Just Beautiful

He stood in front of me in the black jocks I'd bought him. Sexy as. Just beautiful.

"New jocks make me horny," he said, as we started to kiss.

I couldn't help myself and I had my hands in his new briefs in no time. He'd made a mess in them in no time after that.

Sexy boy.

Another Sickie

I felt like a joint and felt like not being at work, so I pulled a migraine and went home, around lunch time. I just suddenly felt antsy at the thought of sitting there all afternoon. I didn't even try for any pretence. I've got a head ache, I'm going home.

David and I had a laugh about it. "To tell you the truth, I felt like pot and not work." I tried to call Shane, as David was threatening to tell him that I'd skipped school for a joint, but David called first and got a rather dour Shane saying, "I’m in a meeting, is it important?" on the other end, which, somehow, seemed funnier than David telling him anything. David & I both broke up laughing.

"What the hell was with you too?" said Shane when he got home.

I had a little nap for the afternoon.

Blue-Blooded Barbie Doll

I sometimes look around the lift in the mornings and think, cunts, every one of you. Often, it's just me and the girls, all shorter than me, like being buried up to my neck in sand. Regularly, I am the only male in a lift full of females, all clutching their bags, all gazing up at the floor numbers, with a thick, fresh face on - spak filled and lacquered. I think my cock retracts at the thought, realisation, observation xx the stronger sex - feeling like a pelvic floor exercise as the turtle retreats back into his shell. (Even red-blooded boys do - they may not want to fuck us, but they sure want a healthy dose of Y around to remind them of their pack. Boys like boys around them. It's true. Mates. Buddies. Give us a hug!) How many pelvic floor exercises does it take to make a man grow a clitoris?

I cast my eye around the lift and wonder how many have a little spoof burn at the backs of their throats, from the mornings au voir, or have a wet itch in their lingerie, from frisky boyfriends who just couldn't be dissuaded? All those beavers tucked away behind lace and nylon; pink, lemon and white. Sprayed and dusted; lavender, musk and orange blossom. Plucked and manicured; poked at and pushed at to be perky.
I glanced up at the floor numbers changing slowly on the green digital display and breathed in deeply, holding it on full breath.

The longer I stayed in that lift with those woman, the closer I became to being a Barbie doll, all smooth down there.

See ya

There is a guy at work who suffers from clinical depression. Last week, he had a bit of a melt down, at work and had to be sent home. There he was crying, sitting on the floor, by the lifts, when I got to work. All he needed was a big nappy to complete the picture. Now he's off on a few weeks of stress leave.

Today, I found out, that he has been scaring some of the girls, of late, by looking at guns on the internet. Yay!

Guns? What the? He's a nice guy, I like him. But, I hope I'm gone before he comes back, to tell you the truth. I'm hoping that he is off on quite a few weeks stress leave.

The Pencil...

Little Margaret Mary was not the best student in Catholic School. Usually she slept through the class.

One day her teacher, a Nun, called on her while she was sleeping.

'Tell me Margaret Mary, who created the universe?'

When Margaret Mary didn't stir, little Johnny who was her friend sitting behind her, took his pencil and jabbed her in the rear.

'God Almighty!' shouted Margaret Mary.

The Nun said, 'Very good' and continued teaching her class.

A little later the Nun asked Margaret Mary,

'Who is our Lord and Saviour?'

But Margaret Mary didn't stir from her slumber. Once again, Johnny came to her rescue and stuck Margaret Mary in the butt with the pencil.

Jesus Christ!!!' shouted Margaret Mary and the Nun once again said,'Very good,' and Mary Margaret fell back asleep.

The Nun asked her a third question. 'What did Eve say to Adam after she had her twenty-third child?'

Again, Johnny came to the rescue. This time Margaret Mary jumped up and shouted,

'If you stick that fucking thing in me one more time, I'll break it in half!'

The nun fainted.

KISS

THIS

Mr Kennett!

Sunday Sunday

I decided to build a fire, it is a cold, wet Sunday. The red wood woodpile looks beautiful wet and glowing orange and red, like a beautiful sunset, or driftwood. Flames. Or molten, amber glass. I think there was even steam. It seemed such a pity to burn any of it. But the ground was freezing and I had gone out there with no shoes on, what was I thinking? It was like standing on ice, as I admired the hues of the lumber, jumping from one foot to the other.

Toes commencing sensory shut down. Balls of feet freezing over.

A lazy day at home. Washing. Writing. Looking at a few blogs.

Max still hasn't made contact. Grrrr! And I've smoked the entire packet of mixing cigarettes I bought in anticipation. Rats! How quickly it all slides down the toilet.

I love rainy Sundays, they are some how soul satisfying. Hopeful in their quiet reassurance. A pause. Stop. Maybe, they take me back to childhood. Maybe, they are unpressured in their very nature, nothing has to get done, other than sustenance and warmth. Like being in the womb? The day the pressure is let out of the balloon, if just for a moment.

Some hours later...

Max called. Crisis over.

Swagger. Black hair. Big, brown eyes. Cheeky smile. Confidence for days. Nothing is a problem. Turns up when he turns up, no excuses. "I got caught up with Stella and her brother George." He pulls his hands back towards his crotch, several times. "Friday night." Smiles. Handsome. Flawless, olive skin. The whites of his eyes glow, seemingly, with his smile, as he winks his goodbye.

Who wouldn't have sex with Josh Lawson? Thank God you're here, I'd say to him.

I realised that I could, actually, run my life from my bedroom, judging from this weekend, such is the state of my social life.

 

And Rugby Players

The Rest of Saturday

I took my mum to the movies. It was either Batman, which I wanted to see, The Savages, which David and Margaret gave good reviews to, or Mama Mia, thinking mum might like it. Mum said she'd be fine with Batman, but some how I didn't think it was, really, her kind of movie. The Savages won, it was the first movie to start after I got to her place. A discerning film goer, I realise. It was okay. Bleak, might be a good word to describe it. Interesting, maybe? And funny, black. It made me laugh out loud. Dark, though. It's about a brother and sister, who have to take on the care of their father with dementia. It was a bit like playing Airport 79 as in-flight entertainment, though, as my mother has the beginnings of alzheimers.

Followed by a home cooked "early tea." - chops, 3 veg, ice cream, chocolate biscuits for days, pot of tea.

The day was overcast, the traffic busy. The rain was just starting to sprinkle to the ground. I hot-footed it home. I felt like driving fast, not sure why? Maybe, it was the dim lit afternoon?

I wasted the rest of the day on You Tube. Zap. Gone. Patti Labelle, Some where over the rainbow, Live Aid 1985, do yourself a favour, one of the greatest vocal performances ever. Chaka Khan, Whitney Houston. Enrique Iglesias singing to a gay fan, in London. Very cute. Gay Chicken. Straight boys doing gay for pay. Some young gay guy, Prophet something, really engaging. Coming out stories. The day was over. Fuck me, I thought, as I watched the clock tick nearly over to Sunday. How did that happen? That would be like 6 hours.

Oh yes, I ran out of pot and started smoking cigarettes again. Weak as fucking piss, I also realise. Max never answered - I'll smack his hot, Greek arse for him... I was texting him as I was saying good bye to my mum. Nice, huh. I even made some comment about getting petrol - before I realised what I was doing, I swear - and I scored fifty bucks out of her. I won't need to buy petrol before I see her again, I knew that as the words fell out of my mouth.

That's it. Good night. Saturday night, into bed by midnight. I'm going to have to seriously re-prioritise my life. 

Hey, it's Saturday. 9am Means Shit!

I could go an work as a writer in Cambodia, on a newspaper. Luke met up with the editor, who is crying out for writers. Luke just text me. All I'd have to do is turn up, pretty much. It's really tempting. Even if I did it for a year, it would be fantastic. A year in Phnom Penh would have to be amazing, even if Luke, pretty much, hated it. It would be pushing the boundaries, you have to say that. Something to open my eyes... and not just choosing the safe option, all the time.

What is it with cats? Do they have some sort of perverse sensory detector? I go up stairs and there is Missy, who isn't often in my room, curled up on my favourite black jumper, which I would never leave on the floor, this is probably the first time, ever.

My eyes welled up and a tear ran down my cheek as I read about the hole tearing in the side of Qantas QF30, and the heroic drama that ensued to an emergency landing in Manilla. We're all turning into drama junkies. Life is just one crisis after another, thank you CNN.

It's funny with these high profile drug cases. Those not familiar with drugs would gasp as chemicals with funny names were read out. Those familiar with drugs think, Well, he was having a fine old time, now wasn't he. Meth and K...

Ah coffee, the newspaper, Saturday morning.

Green House Folly?

Why, exactly, is the Rudd government going so full on into carbon emission prevention, when the three biggest polluters of the world's atmosphere, China, India and America have no interest, what so ever, in doing the same?

Australia's carbon emissions are 1.5% of the worlds emissions and any change we make, even if we stopped emitting carbon all together, it would have no impact on the world's climate.

Mr Rudd please don't lose sight of reality, for all the shit politics is. I have absolutely no interest in paying more for everything just so you guys can look like you are doing a good job.

Why does this just suddenly feel like a whole bunch of new taxes?

Time off

Okay, I've got six months off, they jumped at it, said they were very pleased I wasn't leaving. Yeah, right. Pleased not to have the recruitment costs, more likely. I have to work for a month for my boss, in November. I got back, if I go back at all, on April 1st, I thought it was, kind of, fitting.

It's not nearly as adrenaline pumping as quitting and walking out, but I can always do that in six months. No, it wouldn't be quite the same, I grant you, although it would, ultimately, have the same effect.
Okay, this is the soft option. Safe. Yes, safe. I took the soft option. I know, I rail against safe. Call me a marshmallow, see if I care. Stick you hands in your armpits and wave your elbows about whilst clucking, it, actually, becomes you.
What do I care, in a few weeks I'll be able to do anything I want. Get up? Sleep in? Breakfast in the Fitzroy Gardens? I already have a growing pile of books I want to read.
Bye, bye salt mines!

Cold Wednesday

Only one seat vacant, I spy, as I turn away from the ticket machine, freshly minted ticket in hand. Boy in a beanie. Cute. Ipod. Handsome, from what I can see. I head straight for him. He's encroaching a little onto my seat. That's okay, I like that in a boy. Warm leg, I love it, I don't miss an opportunity. Mine fitted nicely into the concave of his thigh - you know, on the side, just behind his knee. I pushed it right against his, as I sat down. I held it there. He didn't flinch, didn't move. He was nice and warm. Strong. Comforting. It reminded me of having a boyfriend, what I miss. I was tempted to rub his leg with mine, but I resisted.

Do you know that people thank the tram driver, as they get off. It's a funny, old fashioned notion, now isn't it. "Thank you driver." I suspect it's all the Christians trying to worm their way into heaven, indiscriminate acts of kindness, making up for the non-Christian lives they, actually, lead. Or is it the obsessive compulsives marking off their mental check lists. The terminally disliked desperately attempting to shore up some favour. The sexually addicted trying to get a cheap, morning thrill? Even a suggestion. Titillation - the sexually addicted come cheap.

I grunt, if that, like all good commuters should. Yeah. Cheers. Thanks a lot. There's a job well done. Good onya mate.

I feel good walking down Bourke Street - cars hungrily taking up as much room as they can on the road. CBW is nearly finished, so soon I won't have to walk down the middle of the road because the footpath is blocked off to pedestrians because of the continuing construction work. I wonder how they get away with such a safety breach.

It's the first time, in a number of years, that I haven't felt miserable in this proximity to work. I've felt happy ever since I resigned. I'm getting a hint of freedom and I want to taste more. Today, I've decided to go for the 6 months Leave of Absence option. Against my better judgement, really. Then I'm not changing my life, just having a break. (My still small voice thinks I have wimped out, but I'm ignoring it) Maybe, aim for another 6 months off, once the first 6 months is up. Maybe never return, at all. But first, I am going to convert the resignation to a L.O.A.

There is a whistle on my lips and a skip in my step, as I saunter down Bourke Street.

you tarzan

Wet Tuesday

David appears at the study door, this morning, with a zoosh sound effect and a hand flurry, just as I'm turning my computer off. He says that is the sound of Siberia, it is so cold.

I'm heading along Gertrude Street and it is freezing. I call David, to confirm with him that it is, indeed, Siberia outside.

"The wind is like razor blades cutting through my clothes."

He laughs. "I told you."

"It really is Siberia, out here," I said. "You won't want to leave the house."

"I don't intend to."

8.33am. A tram is on its way up Gertrude Street, from Smith. Is it the empty one, I think. Is it the empty one? I always aim for the empty one, without so much luck. It glides in next to me and I see, pretty quickly, that it is, clearly, not the empty tram – there is a tram around 8.30 that will appear empty amongst the busy trams. Don't know why, it is a phenomenon. The 8.30 tram syndrome – must be something to do with coming between the tail-end of the early people and the beginnings of the late people. The empty tram must be the eye of the storm.

This should have been the empty one, I think, the time is about right. I would have got on. May be it was the tram before? I look back down Gertrude Street. I remain on the footpath, slack-jawed, but not moving toward the open tram-car's doors. They are in there like sardines. Jesus! I'll walk instead of fighting with the morning punters. 8.35am, what do I care if I am late. It makes no never mind, any more.

How many more sleeps?

I catch the tram at Spring Street. As I turn the corner into Bourke, I could run for the 86 sitting at the stop, ready to go, but decide not to be hypocritical. I'm often critical of the morning punters who just keep running for trams at tram stops; eventually they have to think of the other people, whose rides they are slowing down, just so they can be the one-more-person squeezed on. I steady myself and wait for the next tram.

The next tram is one of the very new yellow, borrowed from the French, trams and I'm secretly pleased about that. I purve at the hairy chest on the pretty boy in a suit with no tie, standing by me, until a seat becomes vacant and I forget all about Tarzan's chest... stubble. A seat that wouldn't be a seat at all, in the other new trams. Standing space only. So, I'm secretly pleased about that, too, getting to sit in a completely new seat on a Bourke Street tram. You don't get to do that every day.

The Gay Agenda

A conscious vote on gay reproduction? A political debate on gay adoption rights. The federal government said they would veto any move by the ACT to introduce gay marriage.

Who do our, predominantly Christian, politicians think they are?

Like our future is dependant on their whim? Belief system?

I say...

Fuck their husbands. Suck their brothers. Kiss their fathers. Wank their sons. Until we get what we want - we'll settle for equal rights, thanks. But, whatever it takes. The end justifies the means, as they say.

I love the way they say the "gay agenda" as though we want something special.

We already have the power to recruit your straight boys, with the tried and true method of a couple of pots too many down the pub. By the time we're finished, they'll be lucky if we don't make it compulsory.

Hello HR

OMG! At 16.27, 6 days after I resigned, HR finally came and did what HR are meant to do.

A HR manager finally came to see me, today. She said I was absolutely a valued employee. She said that I would be terribly missed and asked why I was leaving. She then said, Why don’t you take 6 months off without pay. I had thought of it. I could still resign after 6 months.

The problems with that are, there is no real psychological break, where it is all over and I have to think about what I want to do in the future. Leave without pay is just an extended holiday, when it all comes down to it. I would be in real danger of ending up 6 months in a pot bag – after all, I’m not really unemployed, just on a break.

But, you know, what’s actually wrong with that? (if it really came to that. I hope not, but I've worked hard for the last five years.

But also, if this does turn out to be a hissy fit, it wouldn’t turn out to be a complete loss, I could just head back to work, come February.

Is a leave of absence wimping out and not making a decision?

Weekend Football

Kiss me, you mad, impetuous boy!

So You Think You Can Dance

We went out to Rod Laver Arena, to see, So you think you can dance, stage performance. David organised it. I told you he was addicted; addicted to the show like a teenager. It was once crystal meth, his addiction of choice. But, now it's spirituality, yoga, and his original love, dance. It's spirituality cards and dance programs and everything to do with So you think you can dance. So we all tagged along.

Not that we hadn't watched the show. We all have.

David and the guy he has been, seems to be sneaking in quietly, seeing, Charlie. Me and Mark. Shane and Matt. All us boys went. Mark and I, Shane and Matt walked. David met us there with Charlie. We left half an hour to walk it, which got us to our seats just as the show was starting. Literally. (I like to catch aeroplanes the same way, just for the record) David looked over at us, just as the lights were going down and smiled broadly and clapped his hands.

The show was good, all our favourite performances were recreated. Mark cried at his favourites, I think David did, too.

I want to lick Henry, marry Jack and slide a well lubed finger up Graham's arse.

The place was full of girls, lots of girls. Gaggles of girls. All hair product and make up. Lots of peroxide. Then there were girls and their boyfriends, in the next most popular demographic. Some cute boy friends too. They looked like they were enjoying it too; Y gen.

I forget what looks a group of gay boys get in a, predominantly, straight audience. Warm smiles, really. And laughs, apparently, when Shane said, "Well, it was all worth just to have seen Henry's arse." You know, just like you do, as you are heading out.

Big arena. Lofty ceiling. Bright lights. We all herded squinty-eyed out into the night.

“Let’s go home for joints,” I told David. “I broke down and bought some pot.”

David grabbed me by the shoulder, concerned. “But that’s the beginning of the end,” he said. "We all know that, if you are giving up work."

David and Charlie drove - there's no secret to why those two are the fattest. We walked home in the shiny black night. The MCG was lit up like a space ship, rising up over the elms. The shadows broke across the footpath through the gardens, soft under the moon's white light.

The morning. Oh, my aching head. Whose idea was the pot? Idiot.

There is a bird sitting on top of my bedroom roof that is repeating the same call over and over and OMG! over again. I was just fantasising about how it would be if I was a rock star.

"Sweetie, sweetie. There is a bird on my bedroom roof. Annoying!" I would whisper into my mobile phone to my PA. from under my doona. "Far too out of it this end to do anything about it. Can you take care of it? Please?"

The thing is driving me nuts! It's like hooty-Owl. Seriously, about now, I'd like a Blackhawk Helicopter to descend and take it out with a machine gun. Remind me to kick Missy when I see her fat arse skulking around the kitchen next.

Stations of the Cross

My boys, said Jesus. You came to save me.

It was an honour, said Branco. My lover...

My honour too, said Nico.

My friend Nico, your touch fills me with , love... as always.

Branco found you, said Nico. He drew in breath. Branco is big, and strong.

We'll be together soon, said Banco. It's not far, now. We can lay down with you... lick your wounds.

They both laughed, deep, manly laughs, as Nico began to lift Jesus' robe. We know how to sooth you, master.

You make me hard at the thought, said Jesus. Nico, Branco. My strong, faithful men.

Jesus shivered with pleasure, as Nico's hand touched him, soothingly.

Good Marketing

Time for a saint, it's good marketing. To keep the faithful with us, when their numbers are in decline.

Sickie Friday

I took the day off sick. May be, not such a great thing to do when you are into your notice period. But, I really did have a sore throat, have had one for a week and I thought I should seek medical advice and go have it checked out. Get some pills, or some potion, or something to remedy it with.

Then I spoke to Mark, who said stop being a fucking hypochondriac and don't blow your fifty dollars on a doctors appointment. It's winter, he said. Sore throats happen. For fucks sake.

So, I didn't go to the doc and I didn't go to work. And my throat is, actually, feeling better.

Diflam, it's good stuff. The bitch chemist gave it to me, the one who always says I should go to the doctor. I think I'll miss her.

I was home on my own. There is only so much masturbating you can do. No, really. I got despondent, in the afternoon, got a little housebound. Could I really spend my time at home writing? Have I really made a mistake, work wise?

I decided to go to Bolago, around 3pm. I called Mark, but he wasn’t answering. Decided I just couldn’t run up to Bolago, every time I got blue. Besides, he had guests.

I went for a walk, when I didn’t hear back from Mark. I walked down Gore to Johnson, along Johnson to Young. I went north down Young to look at some interesting apartments that seemed to be covered in graffiti. Along Kerr, over Brunswick, south up Nicholson, over Elgin and then directly right into Carlton. I forgot my camera, I meant to take it to shoot a pictorial, of my walk. The light was on full winter’s glow, colours on deep and smudgy. Time for high-collared coats wrapped tightly around you. Sometimes you just have to walk your troubles off. I think it is the steady rhythm of your feet that help steady your thoughts.

I walked along Barclay, up Faraday. I co so move to Carlton; nice wide streets, lined with trees. Left into Rathdowne, up to the Carlton Gardens. I walked along the gardens path with an old couple with multiple King Charles Spaniels, the type my Rottweiler ate, to the museum. I sat on the bench outside the Imax and contemplated The Dark Knight, it’s just been released, yesterday. There was a 5.50pm session, it was 5.10pm. I couldn't make the decision to wait forty minutes, it seemed like an eternity in the half dusk light.

I was walking back down Gertrude from Nicholson when Mark called and said, yes come up the guests had gone. I’m working in the cottage – putting in a new bathroom – you can watch TV and keep me company. I was at Brunswick Street. I quickened my step and powered home. My stuff was already packed from 3pm.

I got my computer, my camera, my phone charger, unfortunately not my toothbrush, fed the cat and left. It was 5.38pm, as I turned left into Johnson.

There was a sea of red lights in front of me, up Royal Parade and onto the freeway. As far as the eye could see, under the glow of the street lights on a shiny, black night. But it all moved surprisingly well, and I was in the country without delay.

I watched Rome and smoked pot, as Mark concreted the walls and added wood trim.

I was falling asleep, by the time Mark said, time for bed it’s 1.30am.

Delirious

I have no idea what changes are within, said Rachel. The external is just a prompt. Window dressing. Change your job, change your car, change your mind. Do you feel changed yet, at your end?

After changes it all becomes much clearer. But, I guess, that is always the case, huh? Clearer and dearer and down right amazing, too, I said. Changes make changing everything easy and everything brighter and everything cleaner and everything nicer, and greener, and peachier and lemoner and iceier-clean, don't you think? Don't you reckon? Don't you just have to say yes? Yes, is the word. Yes, it is. Indeedie do. Much more alive at the zoo. Much happier and much more lively and much more impressive, with your face in a sieve. But no use in straining, no use in complaining, no use in looking down, like squint-eye lepers do. Upward and outward and changed, as you can see.

Is that the lyrics to a song? Otherwise I might start to worry you've lost your mind, but I did laugh at the thought of trying to sieve my face, ha ha ha ha ha, said Rachel. What's for lunch?? Can't decide myself. Might have prawn Spaghetinin with extra chilli & lemon... I need a night of good sex...tired as I am, its always invigorating, comforting & comfy... unless its with my husband, of course...

No, not lyrics. Maybe I'm just delirious. Can you see faces pushed through colanders coming out in cubes, I said. For lunch? I had tuna pasta and a chick pea salad. Oh yes, and a few (cold) roast potatoes, just for my waist. I think I need a night of rumpy pumpy and not with my husband either. I made vague promises about seeing Jill's renovations, but I might blow her of for a boy I can... um... well... do the same thing to.

Blow him off for me too, said Rach.

Morning Milk Run

I Match You, and I Raise You x

The CFO said that he was willing to go back and look at the figures surrounding my ranking and my payrise. He wasn't involved in them initially, but he'd be happy to go back and look at them more favourably, if that's what it would take.

(As Shane said, willing to go back and look at, is a very different statement to, here's another twenty thousand dollars to stay)

I said, that the fact that they now had the threat of recruitment costs to replace me hanging over their heads enticing them to do a more favourable review didn't make me feel any warmer about my potentially revised ranking.

So is there nothing I can do to persuade me to stay?

I think that the company had that chance and I think that the company blew it.

He said he was very disappointed.

As I am, I said. I'd held the problems in the department together for a number of years, which was being repaid by the classification of an effective worker and not an outstanding worker.

He said he understood what I was saying.

Day 7

That's a whole week off the fags and feeling fine. So, what's that, 140 cigarettes not smoked. I think it gets easier every time I try. That's $70 not spent. You just have to get it into your head that you can stop smoking, and then you can.

There is one quit add that sticks in my head.

The patient says, I can't quit.

The doctor turns back from the xrays and says, I can't operate.

Don't know why that has stuck in my head, but it has. I guess it is simple. I guess it is succinct. I guess it's to the point. I guess, I never want to hear a doctor saying that to me.

David laughed tonight and said, Do you think you would have quit your job if it hadn't been the first week of quitting smoking?

I laughed.

He said, No, seriously. I don't think you would have.

I laughed, again. Don't cross a queen when he's come off the fags, hey?

I think it's absolutely true, chimed in Shane.

 

That Winter Feeling

I QUIT!

I didn't get the ranking or the incentive bonus that I felt I deserved, this year. I was okay with it, as I was under the impression that all rankings and incentive bonus' had been cut because profits were down. Stupid me. Filthy rich law firm. What was I thinking?

Anyway, I was looking through financial reports today and I saw just how many people got high rankings and bonus'... the usual suspects. The pets. The favourites. HR and marketing, look after their own. It's not what you know, after all, now is it.

With all the politics being what it's been, (see entry 26th June) I thought, What do I have to do to get a higher ranking? I concluded, nothing, because I'm already doing it. I'm holding two badly matched departments together, capturing all the mistakes made by bitch HR managers who just don't give a shit. I'm holding together flawed software - yes, we will replace it, we will replace it - that only I, actually, know how to use.

I am performing functions, very well, even if I do say so myself, that only I know how to perform.

Fuck you guys, I thought. And, I cracked the shits and resigned.

It's being referred to the C.O.O. who I will no doubt have to see tomorrow, something to look forward to, huh. My boss thinks I'm having a hissy fit and I'll change my mind, as, no doubt, the C.O.O. does too. But I'm not going to. The firm had their chance to rank me according to importance to the company and achievements and I feel they blew it. It’s a principle thing. They will be shocked, no doubt, when I tell them tomorrow that I'm not changing my mind.

But sometimes, enough is actually enough!

Wish me luck.

But truthfully, all I can think now is, one month off, or two? They'll never get me to reconsider, I'm like a shark who has smelt blood in the water, except it's freedom on the sweet winds of time.

Fathering a Child

I have a female friend, LouLou, with who I have had a long standing agreement that if she doesn't meet a man by the time her eggs are ripe, then, I would donate the sperm, be the father, whatever you want to call it, to help her to become a mother.

Not uncommon between a straight girl and a gay man.

Well, guess what, she has just split up with the last straight candidate for the role. All over. No hope of a reconciliation. And she is rapidly approaching that age where she has to make a decision, as she is just about to turn 40, in a couple of years. So, we are rapidly approaching the time when this agreement becomes very (fucking) serious and, apparently, according to Mark, it is now, potentially, the time that LouLou may want to collect. Apparently, Mark and LouLou have been chatting, in a roundabout sort of way and we are now at that time where I, suddenly, have become very much "in focus."

You know, when I first agreed to this, I didn't think I'd care. I thought it was a nice thing to do, help out a friend. I could have as much, or as little input into the kid’s life, no problem, no skin off my nose. Easy as...

But, as the time (apparently) approaches, it seems, more and more, that this is not the decision to be made lightly that I had, somewhat unthinkingly, thought it was. It's not just a matter of coming in a cup and handing it over. There is an innocent person's life we would be dealing with. I reckon it would be much easier if I donated my stuff and she went away and I didn't see her again. That would be easy. But, that's not how it would work. LouLou is a part of my life, so any kid would be too, no matter what agreement LouLou and I had to begin with. This would be a kid, who one day, will, most likely, call me on my decision. Us on our decision. If we (it, feels like, it would have to be we) didn't do a good job, do our best for him/her. We'll be as accountable as any parents. 150% for what, twenty years, minimum?

This is a kid who, potentially, sometime down the track could say, to me, You have been a very great disappointment to me. I so don't want that to be the case.

If I agree to this – and, I kind of have already, a number of times, over time – I would be agreeing to be a dad. I'd have to, we'd be in each other's lives.

The funny thing is – funny, as I thought this would be one of the biggest problems - that I can afford to do it. But, do I have the time? Inclination? Patients? Selflessness?

There's a part of me who says, just do it and worry about the consequences later. I do get clucky, from time to time – even if I only ever imagine having a son. There is a part of me who thinks having a kid would be really fulfilling, more so than anything else. I can see that. And, there is a part of me who can see that empty part of my life created by not having a child.

It's weird, but if I was going to do this, I'd want to do it the best that I can.

I told my mum about the proposal, a few years ago, just to get a bit of sanity and experience on the subject. She thought for a minute and then looked at me and smiled.

"I think you should do it. You'd make a great father and your brother and sister have had beautiful children," she said. "I think you'd make a better father than your brother."

Worst case scenario, I guess, is that something happens to LouLou and I would become sole parent to a child, to raise, love, guide and nurture.

Could I do it?

Fuck me?

Would I (want to) do it?

I don't know.

The most likely scenario - I'd help raise him. I'd have to do dad things? The thought of that is appealing and terrifying, all at the same time.

The interesting thing is that LouLou has the same name as my ex-girlfriend, about who I used to have a recurring dream – although, I haven't had it for some time now – that we were the parents of a young boy named Sam. Over the years (perhaps, once a year) that I had that dream, Sam grew up from a toddler to a 10 year old. Maybe, I just had the wrong mother in the dream.

Weekend Football

The Boss Apologises?

So, Pope Benny is going to apologise for the sexual abuse perpetrated by catholic priests.

So, is that for past abuse, abuse that is continuing, as I type, or is that for the abuse that will occur in the future?

Sexual abuse perpetrated by the moral guardians of society? It's a strange concept, huh? Trouble with credibility?

It's the whole celibate thing. I was reading recently that the vast majority of catholic priests are not celibate - not only alter boys, but young men, girls, young women and, an apparent favourite, women who have been widowed/left alone in their parish, for whatever reason.

I've written about Father Patrick, most recently. He's sexy and sweet, don't get me wrong.

I'm sure I've written about my Auntie (through marriage) Ruth, the nun, who has had a thirty something year relationship with Father Murphy. They now live together in retirement and have had a relationship longer than most marriages.

The parish priest from Daylesford, who certainly wasn't celibate, or straight, who came to comfort my friend Philip when his boyfriend Steve died; who ended up comforting Philip physically right into bed.

And this is knowledge that comes from someone, me, who grew up Anglican.

How many Catholics get divorced? How many Catholics use contraception? How many Catholics have abortions? How many Catholics are gay? - other than the priests. After which, the Catholic message has disintegrated.

The Catholic Church is adhering to perception, which has very little to do with reality. They are trying to sell a story that is no longer true.

Just because... the Olympics are next Month

Friday Night

It was a cold night, in Melbourne town, but, not in Myer, no sir. I went there for a rare turn at retail therapy, to cheer myself up from quitting smoking. I thought a pick through the sales tables would distract me for a moment. But, it was one hundred degrees and I was sweating, seemingly, as soon as I stepped foot in the place. I had my eye on a dark blue Tommy jumper, but how could I get enthused to find the right size when my clothes were sticking to me. The sales girl said that it wasn't the first time she had heard that.

"If you hadn't been at this counter," I said. "I would have just dumped the t-shirt here and headed out that door."

"You are not the first person to say that."

So, I headed up Lonsdale Street and stopped in at the porn shop. But, there was, unusually, a couple of gay boys who were looking at the DVDs, who, kind of, pushed me out.

So, I headed home, I didn't want any, anyway. A psychologist would have a field day looking at the number of DVDs I have stuffed in my bedroom cupboard.

I was on my way past the fire station, heading towards Victoria Parade, when a cute, dark skinned boy, headed towards me. His eyes picked up on mine - round, handsome, face, big brown eyes, an adorable smile. He looked back, so did I. Keep walking, don't look back, I told myself, with one voice. Look back, be more involved, what is he doing, I said to myself with another voice.

I stopped, I was looking back too, apparently. He headed over to me.

"What’s going on?" he asked.

"I’m just heading home," I said. "What’s going on with you?"

"Just heading home, too." He smiled. He looked me up and down. "I can't do anything now, I have to go to a bbq."

Straight to the point, I thought. A newbie? I could see the excitement on his face.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"Fitzroy," I said. "Just up the road."

"Oh Fitzroy," he said. "Who do you live with? Do you live alone?"

"Two house mates," I said. "I live with two guys."

"Both gay?"

"Yes."

He smiled broadly. "Are they butch, or young guys?" he asked.

I wasn't exactly sure what he meant. "They are two normal gay boys in the 30's," I said.

"So if I came over to your place would I be walking into a um... er... sex den?"

"Ah, no," I said. "No, you wouldn’t."

"I suppose you go to the saunas?"

"Not so much now a days," I said. "Sometimes."

"I've never been to a sauna," he said.

"Really. I should take you." I think I was beginning to tease him, by this stage. Couldn't help myself. Momentarily, the thought of breaking in a newbie at a sauna appealed to me. Especially, one with such an engaging smile.

He laughed. "Yes. Maybe," he said. "Are you looking for a relationship?"

"Maybe," I said. "I guess. Whatever happens."

"I hear everyone has open relationships now a days."

"I used to," I said. "But now I'm not so sure. I kind of think someone special sounds more appealing."

He looked me up and down. "I can see you have an erection."

Not in this weather, buddy, I wanted to say. That's just wishful thinking. Too cold for a hard-on. He had on cream coloured pants, which seemed to bulge out in the right places. Some people wondered by, I wondered if they had any idea that two guys were picking each other up. I wondered how relaxed with it all, he was.

"Your bulge looks good enough to grab," I said. I watched the couple go. "Right here. Right now."

He laughed and took a step away from me.

I laughed. "I didn't say I was going to. Just that it looked good enough."

I gave him my number and told him to call some time.

His name was Neesha. He was originally from Sri Lanka, via NZ and Queensland.

He said he lived with his family, in the far outer eastern suburbs. When he told me that, I assumed he meant that he lived with his parents, or siblings, but as I left at Eastern Hill, heading down Victoria Parade, I wondered if he meant his wife and kids. Don't know, could be either. Now I'm just fantasising, I thought.

Got sozzled on red wine, with Shane, as the open fire crackled and Big Brother played. Went to Victoria Gardens to watch Get Smart with Shane and Matt. It seemed okay, but as I fell asleep for 1/2 an hour, near the beginning, maybe, I'm not the best judge. Oh, Friday night, end of the week, I was tired. It seemed to be more serious than the television series. And they seemed to make Max a rookie, where in the TV show he was a master spy, which was part of the irony. I liked the way they incorporated the cars he was famous for, the Sunbeam Tiger and the Karman Ghia and the shoe phone, for that matter, even if I missed what the significance of the, what seemed to be a, museum display was.

I also woke with a tickle in my throat, which I couldn't clear, which must have been a treat for the punters sitting around me, as I coughed for ten minutes. Damn cigarettes!

Day 3 though and feeling okay.

Big Brother - Ben Would Make a Great Gay Boy

Okay, Attempt #?

Okay. Second day of not smoking - oh here he goes again, I hear you all sigh! Seventh day of no pot - not that pot has ever been my addiction. No, I can take it or leave it. Tobacco is my downfall.

I feel kind of warm and buzzy. Warm hands, warm feet, comfortingly so. I feel edgy, but calm. It's like slipping straight into the eye of the hurricane; while it, actually, feels calm, I feel like it could all come apart at any moment. Something is raging far away. There is the ever present threat of destruction.

I've had a cough for a week - you know that means a month, if he's admitting to a week - so, I decided something had to give. So, I gave my cigarettes to David on Wednesday night, so I couldn't wake up and light one straight off. If I just delay that first cigarette in the mornings, I can stop.

I gave up New Years Day, or around about. A few days later, as a belated New Year's Resolution. I had my last puff on a joint Jan 20th, or thereabouts, with Luke.

I started again with the bride, at that wedding, when she wanted a joint, at Easter. With Catholic priest Father Patrick, who wanted to get into my pants. "You should come and sleep over, one weekend, my son," he said, as he ogled me." He used to touch me, inappropriately, on the arse. Not that I minded, I used to play up to him, just a touch. It kind of turned me on in a perverse way, watching his vows unravel.

So, Easter was early, so that's 3 months off, 4 months on; so that's, actually, not so great.

Okay, day at a time. Let's see how long I can stay off them now?

World Youth Day

My favourite quote for World Youth Day - It is supposed to result in 100 new priest entering the seminary, but it will probably, actually, result in 1000 unplanned pregnancies.

 

Green Days

Finite growth,
Finite planet,
I saw graffiti'd on a billboard, from the light rail, on my way back from St Kilda, from the dentist, last week. One second to midnight, all but done.
Environmental issues? Who cares? I think we are screwed! It is simply too late.
We're going down! Hang on!
The last hurrah.
The ice caps are melting, as is the perma-frost in Siberia and we are still pumping more carbon into the atmosphere every year. We're screwed because to save the planet we have to come between man and money, which has never been successful in the past.

I told one of the women at work that I couldn't care less about environmental issues, as I didn't have children. Oh, she raged about it being my responsibility for mankind. Blah, blah...
Why? I asked. Which one of your daughters is going to look after me when I'm old?
She looked holier than thou.
You'd better trade in your Landcruiser, in which you drive your 2 tiny little daughters around, if you are serious, I said. Not to mention the air-conditioning you had installed last summer.
I need that car, she said. It's the only one I feel safe in.
Which you drive to work on your own, I said.
And the summers have been so hot, she said.
Yes, that is, actually, the point, I said... for not having air-conditioning.
I walk to work and I drive my four cylinder car infrequently. I don't consume just for the sake of it. I've switched to renewable energy to power my house, I said. And, I don't have children, which is most of the problem. The government pays a baby bonus for political reasons when, in fact, the biggest threat to the planet is that there is simply too many human beings for the planet to sustain, now.
I say, let the breeders save the planet. Let us gays party like it's 1999... er... 2009?

Luke in Cambodia

Luke says he can't wait to get out of Cambodia. Sure, the work he is doing is rewarding, helping build villages for locals who have been thrown off their land by the government who wants to build resorts in the place of their villages, resorts, the main developer for which seems to be the minister of tourism. He says it's very sad and the people are very poor in the wreck of a country.

However, he goes back to Penong Peng where he stays in a hotel in between working with the villagers. It is there that makes his skin crawl. The paedophiles bring their 10, 11, 12 year old conquests to the breakfast table, showing them off as a badge of honour. Fat, old, ugly, drooling, Aussies, Germans and Americans, he says the place is rife with them. He can't sit with them and eat his cereal, or whatever, he has to get up and leave. He prefers to eat on his own, otherwise his stomach churns at the sight.

"You want a 5 year old to give you a head job Chris, he says to me. No problem. A couple of dollars."

The poor people are so poor, they send their children out to earn money for the family. He says it is so pitiful, it is unbelievable. Surreal.

"It's just awful," says Luke. "Really awful!"

He leaves in a few weeks for the relative civilisation of Vietnam, to meet Mark and he says he can hardly wait.

That's My Boy

Pornography or art? What would you say if I told you he was 15?

Lazy Days

I spent the weekend with Mark. We went for walks, gazed at the stars, cooked a roast and a bread and butter pudding, chatted lots, baked a banana cake, watched some of the DVD, Rome (which was okay, watchable) and watched Sunday Arts, before watching Big Brother. It was a lazy, carefree couple of days. Mark heads to Vietnam, in a few weeks, to meet Luke, who is still in Cambodia.

I did call Manny, on my way back from Bolago, he was pleased that I had remembered his birthday. He asked me if I wanted to meet his new boyfriend Vinnie. I said, May be one day. He said he would invite me to the wedding. I said I'd come, meet Vinnie then. 

That Beautiful Greek Boy

Manny's birthday, today.

Should I call him?

Should I?

Someone I once loved. Still love. (You've got to say those things) Went out with for 4 years. His big heart. His eyes just for me. His soft lips. That blush to his face when he was turned on. His sexy nipples, the direct way to his complete attention. His beautiful soul.

But what did we talk about? His gym, his health issues, his phobias, his money problems.

I miss him physically; holding him, hugging him, sitting on the couch with him, resting my head on his shoulder, holding him in front of me with my arms around him.

I guess, I got back what I gave him, no commitment. A fuck buddy who morphed. We could have renegotiated, but, I just could never see it.

Sweetest boy I ever met, though.

I don't think I'll call.

Andy Lee - Legends Game. Nice Buns, Andy!

After the Work Party

I was pissed off my brain, after the work party.

Charlie and I left the work party together. As we approached Swanston Street, he said, "Which way are you going?"

"Straight ahead," I said.

"Will you be all right?" he said, looking up Lonsdale Street and then looking at me. "You won't come to any harm?"

"No," I said. "But, you can come with me, you know, if you are concerned."

"No," he said. "That would be too dangerous."

Too dangerous? What did that mean? Shrug. "Okay," I said, as he gave me a big hug. "See you Monday."

"Yes, see you Monday."

And I left him on the corner of Swanston and Lonsdale. It was a long walk home from there, you know, staggering. 

The Trouble With Charlie

I went out for lunch with Charlie. I don't know, I don't think I get him. He smiles and his eyes sparkle at me, whenever we chat.

He asked if I was coming to Friday nights EOFY firm party, big piss up. He said good and smiled when I said yes.

Later in the afternoon, he said he enjoyed lunch, as we made coffee, in the kitchen.

That's good, I said. It must have been with someone nice.

He smiled and said, "Yes, with someone nice."

"So did I," I said. "Had lunch with some one nice."

He blushed and smiled and headed back to his desk, looking back and smiling.

But the couple of times I've suggested going out for a drink together, he just smiles and doesn't answer.

It's just nice to have a gay friend at work.

Whose Morally Disordered?

The Pope – homosexuality is an intrinsic moral evil and gay people have an objective moral disorder.

This is something that demands a rational response.

Fuck off, dick head!

What Free Speech?

It is outrageous that laws have been passed that anyone caught wearing a T-shirt that is deemed offensive to the Pope, or Catholics, will now be charged and fined.

Did you want any more evidence that the conservatives are in charge?

Did you want any more evidence that free speech is dead in this, once great, country?

I, personally, wouldn't wear such a t-shirt, and I am not really sure why someone would. Live and let live, that is my motto, even if it doesn't seem to be the churches.

Tuesday Night

I went to Club 80 and had a shag. I’d been feeling apprehensive, don’t know why, guess... um... er, I was feeling out of practise. But as Tom used to always say, they are not going to come knocking on your door. There weren’t many people there, but it would seem I could have had my pick of them. I had four of them after me, as soon as I was in the door. And I like to get a lay of the land first, stand back and observe for a half hour, or so.

I hooked up with Lionel, Leon, how quickly they forget. He was sexy. Blokey. Nice voice. Muscley. Good kisser. Fat cock. Nice nipples. Hairy chest.

Two guys in the dimmed light, kissing.

Afterwards, he asked me if I went there regularly? He asked me if I, usually, went on a week night. I walked straight out. I'm slow, (sometimes) I don't always pick up on the signs. I guess, I should have stayed and chatted. That's how you get to know someone, hey? Didn't think. I was done.