Too Cute

I So Don't Want To Go, But He's Having None Of My Nonsense

Sam and I walk to work. I so don't want to go, but he's having none of my nonsense.

"I'm sure I'm not well enough."

"You are just being lazy, move."

I pull sad, sick faces for the entire walk. Initially he laughs, then he looks exasperated. Finally, he says he will photograph the next tragic expression, he knows I hate having my photo taken at the best of times, very clever. It shuts me up, if not because of the perceived threat, because of the thought I have to put into the idea of him doing that.

He's funny, I've missed him. He scampered off Saturday morning and hadn't been sighted since. Oh, who could blame him, I wouldn't want to be around him either, if there was a chance that I could get the flu.

Of course, he turned up last night within half an hour of me smoking my first joint, with Shane and Sebastian. Then he looks suspicious when I say I hadn't had any for 2 weeks. It's true.

I get to work, and the first thing my new boss asks me is how I am? I think okay, here we go, my one shot at heading home again. I tell her I felt alright when I left home, but now I was going hot and cold and I could feel buzzing in my body and my limbs. Sad face.

She said that we think we are all right, but we’re not. We get sick of doing nothing and we are bored and we come back too early. She said she thought I was still sick and that I should go home.

You know, they all think they are just so important and that they couldn’t possibly get sick, today's corporate angst. So, it becomes about them and not about you. Don't give it to me. Go home.

Like taking candy from a baby.

So, I go home.

It’s a lovely day, the sun is shining, the sky is blue.

I buy smoked oysters and mussels at the milk bar and head home. 

I raid the mull bowl from last night and smoke a joint straight up. Then my ears block up and my head feels thick and I have justification for being home.

I brew coffee and brake out the Carrs water Crackers.

Bugatti four door

Beetroot Juice

You must remember you had beetroot juice, because if you don't it can give you a nasty shock later in the day.

It Doesn't Matter In What You Believe

A Polish couple have denounced their past as neo-Nazis after discovering they are Jewish.

The couple where childhood sweethearts and grew up as part of a white power gang in the Polish capital Warsaw.

The couple are featured in a documentary about Poles finding their Jewish roots after learning several years ago through the Jewish Historical Institute that both of them were technically Jews.

"It was unbelievable — it turned out that we had Jewish roots — it was a shock," they said at the time of finding out the news both were "100 percent nationalists".

"Back then we were skinheads and it was all about white power... that Jews were the biggest plague and the worst evil of this world."

Both are now members of their local orthodox synagogue.

He said while he has regrets and feels sorry for the people that he beat up, he does not "lash himself over it".

"I don't hold a grudge against myself."

From skinheads to members of their orthodox synagogue? Such an inconceivable change. It kind of goes to prove that what is important is that people have something to believe in. What it is, I think, seems to matter little, as long as there is something, probably bigger than they are, for them to place their beliefs in.

It doesn't matter what you believe in, one belief system is as good, or as valid, as the next. They all, probably, have equal truth. Whether they are the story of Jesus Christ, the history of the Absinthe Fairy,  Druid High Priest worship, or the moon god Allah, pan flutes or yukka beads, each belief system is equally valid as it is the belief that seems to be important to human beings.

There is only one golden rule after all, Treat others as you would like them to treat you, everything else is just padding.

Of course, I believe in love and the human spirit. I don't know why you need anything greater than that, but, of course, I'm in the minority with such thoughts. There is nothing greater than the here and now, a glorious day folding out before you, the marvels of the planet and the people who surround you, I think.

Jesus was probably not born at Christmas and probably never died at Easter, these were dates taken from the pagans to destroy their market share.

Now it seems that Muslims did the same thing. There seems to be the possibility that Allah was a pre- Islamic pagan deity. The hard evidence demonstrates that the god Allah was a pagan deity. In fact, he was the Moon-god who was married to the sun goddess and the stars were his daughters.

And none of this would really matter, if people took the basic message of these religions and applied it to their own lives and lived happily ever after. That's how it should work, but so often this is not the case, they so often get lost in the insignificant detail. 

I think some people are Christians by default, it's like a hereditary genetic defect. Or, would you say it's spread like child abuse, one generation fiddles with the next generation and so it goes down the line.

I think a lot of people believe in god by default. You know, parents teach heaven and hell and God, because it's an easy, no-brain way to explain difficult concepts to children. So, people are indoctrinated from a young age and a lot of those people never, really, learn to question it, never learn to change those beliefs, they never learn that it is okay to be an atheist.

That is what you are seeing now, a group of atheists who are standing up and saying it is okay not to believe in god, it's okay not to believe in this nonsense. And you know, sometimes you have to scream it out to get your point of view across. That's all it is.

I'm sure the god-botherers would have you believe it is something else, radical atheism, you know, to protect their market share, but it's not.

Now For Something Beautiful To Cheer The Mood

Getting My Blue Blanket

Oh, I thought I'd feel better today. I thought I'd take today off as an indulgence, you know, just for the hell of it, the last hurrah, just because I could, as I lay in bed listening to radio national waiting until the clock struck 9am. But no, I feel like crap. Hot, cold. Hot, cold. Headache, tired. Sweaty, like an old man's crotch. Semi blocked ears. A little dizzy, some what unsteady on my feet. Bloody hell! I'm lighting the fire and getting my blue blanket to pull over the top of me.

It's no fun being home if you really are sick. Goodness me, everybody knows that.

And oddly, I'm really hungry.

Then I went to get my muesli from the kitchen bench, where it had been soaking for a while. I picked it up, turned to come back to my computer, misjudged the kitchen doorway and the bowl smashed into the wall and my muesli tipped all down the front of my dressing gown and all over the floor.

I wanted to cry. (sad face)

I trip over going out to get wood. I bang my head on the mantel piece after I light the fire. I misjudge opening the door and bash myself in the chest. I trip on my shoe laces as I head out the front door to get lunch.

I went down to Smith Street to get a pork roll and an apple cake. Jumper, big jacket, scarf, beanie, wrapped up tight. The man standing next to me at the counter, appeared slow, simple, his bottom jaw jutted out further than his top and his nose, kind of, pushed down onto his top lip, as I gaze at him in profile. He spoke as though he had no palette, completely through his nose.

The girl behind the counter was wide-eyed at me gawking at the gimp and I turn my head.

The guy on the other side was wearing the back of his jeans low and he had two of the most luscious round arse cheeks encased in the thin cotton of his black jocks.

The same girl behind the counter brakes into a faint smile as she catches me fully checking out the other guys arse.

If I'd felt better, I may have laughed. I stare ahead until she asks me if I'm right.

As I came out of the bakery, there was a woman walking towards me with a cigarette in her mouth she was about to light. Oh ple4ase don't I thought. As I got next to her, she lit the cigarette in a cloud of smoke, then she turned and proceeded to walk in my direction, just in front of me. Oh no, I thought. I was glad that her jeans sagged making her arse look misshapen and unattractive, it seemed only fitting. The thought of the smell of that cigarette made me feel sick, so I crossed Smith Street to get away from her. And, as if instant karma for my thoughts, the next thing, she had crossed the road and was practically next to me again. Fuck it! So, I crossed back across the road. Guess what? She did too. It was like she was doing it on purpose. I was so close to standing on the footpath and screaming,

GET AWAY FROM ME!

My patience isn’t so good, when I'm not feeling so well. Fortunately, she turned off into a shop, or something. I was just plotting her death, you know, pushing her out into the traffic with a banshee scream, or something, when I looked around and she was gone. Ponder? Maybe there is a god?

There you go. I wiped my palms together, several times, slap, slap. I looked around and nodded my head. I win, real, or imagined. Filthy smokers, they should all die, you know, since I've stopped. I smiled, I felt the creases in my cheeks.

Wish Me Luck

I'm off to the doctor to get my test results. I made the appointment early, so Sam could come with me, but he went off and did it early, last week.

Did I tell you that ho-boy tested positive to chlamydia and has had to take pills and we can't have sex for a week? Grrr! Just when I was going to ravage him so completely.

He found out last Wednesday. 

"We've got to talk, the clinic has called me in."

"What?" My mind raced!

"Apparently, I tested positive..."

"What?"

"To chlamydia."

I wanted to slap him in the middle of Bourke Street. "Very funny."

"I've got to see them this afternoon," he said. "They wanted me to go in straight away."

"You okay."

"Sure."

He was horny that night, as he lay on the bed and lifted his shirt, he said,

"Don't worry, we can always get more pills."

And we did. Oh well, first day, surely the pills wouldn't have worked by then. I should tell the doctor today, I guess.

I decided to be the adult after that and we haven't had sex since, on doctor's orders. Of course, I get the pills today, so we won't be able to have sex for another week.

Sam wanted me to go in last week, he didn't want to wait another week. I've had the flu, so I haven't thought about it, but now I am. I even had Friday off, what was I thinking.

Of course, now I have to get up early on my day off. Crap. Every thing will be fine, I know that.

I Put On My Big Coat

It's a cool, quiet morning. Still.

I was awake at 7.30 and couldn’t go back to sleep. I lay there, turned this way and that, but couldn’t find my snooze again. My nose was still blocked, breathing was hard.

I thought I might as well finish off the financial work that I started yesterday, as exciting as that sounds, as I threw the doona back, reluctantly.

So, at 8am I got up.

I ground coffee beans and brewed coffee. The milk just dribbled and stopped after it covered a quarter of my cereal, damn!

Off to the supermarket at 8am. I put on my big coat... and put undies on under my tracksuit pants. (I didn't once and got all sorts of looks. I didn't think anyone would take any notice of me, undies or no undies, but they did. I learned not to do that again)

I hosed the vomit from out the front first thing, remnants of the night’s revelry. Lovely. In my state? I hoped secretly that whoever it was was suffering today. Actually, I didn’t, I just watched the chunks float away, wondering if hosing was allowed with whatever the water restrictions are now.

The street was still and serene as I walked to Woolworth's. There were car parks to spare for all those people who complain, I can never find a fucking park around here!

I’d decided what to buy before I, actually, got inside the shop, because I was thinking fat, comfort food let me tell you. I was thinking pastries, or danishes, or slices, or cakes. I could easily have had my snout in the trough, absolutely. It was a good thing, as the smell of freshly cooked donuts was pungent in the air, as soon as I walked into the place. I'm surprise, as normally when I'm sick I allow myself the freedom of whatever I want. I’m never normally sensible when I can’t breathe except after sneezing.

I was so going to go bike riding this weekend, start my summer’s exercise in anticipation of daylight savings starting next month, but because I’ve been fighting off the flu for the last few days, I feel weak and captive in the hum of my sickly body. I was even considering buying a new bike, yesterday morning, to really get into the swing of fitness.

I bought mandarins and bananas and kiwi fruit and milk. Vitamin C and potassium, good for a cold. I purved on cute Frank’s arse as I waited as he rearranged the mandarins – a nice wog boy with a goatee and a fetching smile. I was picturing him in his underpants, as he noticed me and said he was sorry and moved out of the way with a sweet smile. You don't ever have to be sorry with that tookus, I thought.

I ate the kiwi fruit walking home.

I spent the rest of the day in bed watching terrible movies. I didn't care, though, as I wanted to drift off to sleep, as I pulled the doona up to my neck and fluffed the pillow, but I didn't.

My nose dripped and my body hummed and the used tissues piled up on the floor boards next to the bed. I sipped olive leaf every three hours and drank apple cider vinegar morning and afternoon.

Oh, I have been a very bad boy. I have to go and lie down now

I Feel Like The Flu Is Taking Over My Body

I feel like the flu is taking over my body bit by bit and I don’t feel like I want to do anything. Sam sits next to me and pats me and gets me herbal tea. He leaves after midday, saying he is going to leave me on the couch. I mean, how much fun is it for him to have me saying “Er” on the couch.

I think, after he has left, that I took two Mersyndol pretty soon after waking up and I wondered if it was them that I was feeling and not the debilitating effects of the flu?

Leah sent me a request to give her three examples of when I saw her at her "best" for her Masters Degree that she is doing.

What? We have a personal relationship where “at your best” doesn’t apply, I would have thought.

Blah, blah, blah.

Oh Leah, who cares, really? More wanky rubbish to further fuel the ridiculousness of the corporate world. The further justification of the self-important elite ruling over the masses.

I have no idea, let alone not a care.

How about, all those times you drank far too much and you vomited with me holding your hair out of your eye, off your face? Or, those moments when you wanted to fuck in your mother’s bed when we were on a break from uni and your mum was at work?

I thought about my work team building afternoon tea and thought that, maybe, I wasn't the one to ask.

I lay on the couch all day, with the fire burning, under the orange blanket, all day, feeling like semi-crap. If Sam’s test hadn’t come back negative and Shane, not to mention most of his office, hadn’t had the flu this last week, I’d be feeling concerned right about now.

I flicked on the Grand Final and watch it until about half time when I fall asleep. It got exciting in the second half, apparently.

David, Shane and Leon came home in the early evening. 

David had been talking to some bisexual guy at some party he’d been to about having sex with Maggie, his housemate. The general question in the air between the two of them was should he, when some sort of mallet, hanging on the wall next to them fell and hit David in the head. David took it as a positive sign – of course, he could read a positive sign into the Third Reich for the Jews if it suited his purposes – a wake up call.

He came home here and took frozen peas from the freezer and rested them on his head. He spilled peas everywhere before I said to him, “Isn’t there an, actual, ice pack in the freezer?”

“I don’t know,” he said. Then he went off and found it.

I've been finding frozen peas all over the house ever since.

I Spent The Afternoon On The Couch

Sam and I walked to work. I bought cocktail franks and dinner rolls at the IGA in Bourke Street for our stupid team building afternoon tea. We were doing a footy theme. I was going to make a football cake, one of the R's even had a tin, but when she said it took, something like, four hours to ice, I decided I so didn't care that much.

I told the two R's that I felt like I was coming down with the flu and they both told me to go home, so, of course, I did.

Funny, they had changed the day of our morning tea a couple of times to accommodate me changing my days off for my mum. Oh, good for them, I thought, as I headed out into Bourke Street.

Shane has had the flu all week.

Sam decided he was going home too, just in case. But, as soon as he left the office he felt better. He headed home, which I was, kind of, thankful for, not really, more not wanting to make a decision. I just wanted to crawl into my cave.

I spent the afternoon on the couch watching movies feeling tired, feeling like my body was fighting off the first stages of the flu.

Sam comes over after 8pm and bought me soup. Isn't he sweet. He also brings me herbal tea that taste like sweet beef. Yuk!

Shane’s new guy, 21 year old, Leon came over and I got to meet him for the first time. He seems nice, he's little, short, cute.

We watched "The Anniversary" in our series of Bette Davis movies. Sam even suggested it, so I mustn't be boring the pants off him with them.

I Could Pretend I Wasn’t Upset About This

I took mum to, what would turn out to be, her last appointment with the Professor. He decided he could no longer see her and that her GP could look after her from now on. I guessed his job was to keep her out of a home. To tell you the truth, rightly or wrongly, I was glad as it is one less appointment I have to take her to.
Mum tried to convince him that she could go home to her own house, but he was emphatic in this not happening.
"No, it's not safe, you can't go home."

Mum was, some what, dramatic, as we walked back to the car.
“I might as well go and throw myself in the river.”
“What river? There are no rivers around here.”
“I’ll find one.”
I laughed at the ridiculousness of what she was saying. I perhaps shouldn’t have. But, really?


We drove back in silence and when we got to the home mum said,
“I’m not going to thank you.” She collected all of her belongings together in obvious anger.
“What do you mean?”
She opened the car door. “You are directly responsible for this and I never want to see you again.”
She got out and headed to the front door.

I could pretend I wasn’t upset about this, that it is just the disease, but it wouldn’t be true. I was stressed out and buzzing inside with disappointment. I decided the only thing I could do was go for a bike ride. And I did.
I decided this was the first ride of the summer with many more to come. Come on Christian, get yourself organised. You can do it.

Mark and Luke and Sam and I went to see Hairspray at the Princess. Instead of sets there was a big LED screen which filled the back of the stage. Initially, I thought this was going to be distracting, you know, like watching television, but it wasn't, I soon got used to it.

It was a great cast of singers, not a bad one amongst them, except perhaps Corny Collins.

Tevin Campbell, who plays Seaweed, can sing like a dream. What a voice.

21st Century Label For Being A Bigot

Do you think the burqa should be banned in Australia?
• 37%
No, women should have the right to wear it
• 19%
Yes, the burqa oppresses women
• 44%
Yes, for safety and security reasons

Interesting that safety and fear are the most talked about reasons. Not woman's rights, not freedom of speech, but fear. We're so conned as people now, so conditioned and trained in the, somewhat, mythical fear factor of the world that we actually believe that the world is a more dangerous place. When, in fact, the opposite is true.

But...

To be fearful as a nation is to be more easily controlled as people, is to be more obedient to the government.

Can someone explain what the safety and security reason really is? If it is the absurd reasoning of hiding explosives, what can be hidden under a burqa can just as easily be hidden under a big coat, or a rather bulky cardigan?

Isn't the safety and security reason just the nice 21st Century label for being a bigot? It's sad and an indictment on the times we live in that we can pass bigotry off as a safety issue.

It Turned Me On

I headed into the toilet cubicle right after Luke, one of the hot young accountants, came out. Sexy boy. Adorable face. Nice arse. The seat was still warm, as I sat down. 

It turned me on. Well? Gave me the slightest thrill. 😬

Is that sick? 

I Might Watch Porn

A coffee and a joint and it’s 6am. I woke up, I don’t know why. I don’t normally have trouble sleeping, it’s what I do best, as I’ve said many times before.

It’s my day off, what else are days off for? I ask you? Even if I didn’t go to my mum’s home’s owner’s sixtieth birthday party, oh spoil me, meaning that I really have to go to day. It’s why I take the days off, I remind myself. Stoned at the home, oh the pain. I’ve pulled it off before. Many times. He laughs to himself. The light is brittle at the window.

Morning television, if only you could sell it in pill form. Insomnia would be a thing of the past. Clunk goes the remote control and the screen goes black. The birds are cheeping, well how about that. I wish we had magpies though. The sound of the country morning.

Missy is on the bed purring next to me.

Don’t be a pig, repeats in my ears.

I might watch porn.

9am

My sister calls, she and my sixteen year old niece are heading off to see mum, take her out for lunch. Am I going to be there too?

Isn't it always the way. My lazy day in bed evaporates. Well, I was already feeling guilty. I could have done it, if no one had bought it up, you know.

10am.

Smoke last joint, an hour before I have to leave. Time to clean the house. It's my Monday morning ritual, well, it could be if I, actually, did it every Monday morning. I do most. Half. The intention is always there.

My sister will be a push over, she's known me all my life and is unlikely to notice any difference. She won't be looking. But, my sixteen year old niece, she's always just gunning for evidence of Christian's debauched life style. She's the one who has asked/told me I'm gay, inquisitively, on numerous occasions. I've never, actually, taken up the challenge, but some day I will. You know, I've agreed and stuff, but I've never really talked about it. She's always seemed too young up until this point. She'll notice. I better wear sunglasses.

 

He liked standing naked in the afternoon sun, feeling its rays wash all over him

Haze of Smoke

Sam arrived Friday, after the doctor. We've hung at home all weekend as the others partied around us. 

We head out to eat. He likes to go out, I like to get delivery.

"You are lazy," he says. 

We are trying a new eating house every time we go out, as I dared to suggest, once too often, the favourite I like going to. We went to Rice Queen, Asian influenced menu, not an Asian person in sight. It's kind of eastern suburbs kids cool. Nice. Fitzroy.

Sam’s never seen an old movie; pure twenty first century computer boy. So, we’re starting with my two favourites, Bette Davis and Paul Newman. Shane was still interstate working, house to ourselves.

We watched Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. Sam said it was creepy.

Shane arrived home from Brisbane, in the morning and went into party mode almost straight away, dropping his bags and heading straight out again to a new "contact". With his fingers crossed. 

"I hate leaving it this late, too dodgy." 

He was testing the stuff for the rest of the afternoon, in his room, pretty much. He was getting more and more wide eyed every time we saw him. Mark and Luke arrived. Guido stopped by and I got a little pot for a few joints. Don't know why, I hadn't planned to, spur of the moment. (despite this potentially being the first weekend that I haven't done it, therefore disproving Sam who says that I'm kidding myself about quitting, because I do it every weekend) But? Everyone else was going out partying. (Sad-eyed look, at Sam, as Guido puts the bag in my other hand) It was my reward for not having smoked for the last two weeks, I guess. What can I say? 

We made risotto for all the guys before they when to Beyond. Shane went out and bought the ingredients. Luke did most of it, even though I said I would. We smoked pot all night. Sam saw his first line, his first glass pipe, I should be proud. Yes babe, this is the Ben Cousin's doco. He laughed, wide eyed. He says he's never been exposed to this before. Trips and e's were consumed, with mutterings of them being crap now a days anyway.

Sam has never smoked anything until he met me. He'd never patted a cat, so it's not all bad.

They all went out with their arses hanging out. Big eyes, chewing.

We smoked pot and watched movies into the early morning hours.

A stoned 30 year old is a walking hard on. It started when we were fixing the down pipe and he was up the ladder and he dropped his pants. We fucked when we first woke up. I made coffee and I made him scrambled eggs, with the left over mushrooms from the risotto. That much of dating 101 I mastered. Various people passed through in varying stages of decrepitude, ghosts of evening past. We smoke pot with our breakfast with coffee. Sam gave me that look that said we'd be going to hell for this, then he took the joint from my hand. Shane disappears up stairs after breakfast and wasn't seen again. He picked up a 21 one year old version of Matt and was in love. Sam has this amazing effect when the pot hits him, he gets this particular coy smile and he gets as hard as a rock. I watched him pull himself off on the couch, in front of the open fire. He's hot. We smoked more pot and drifted back upstairs and he experienced his first butt-plug. Just dope, I swear.

I'm exhausted. Now I'm just waiting for Sebastian to come over and cook dinner. Captain Misery too, no doubt. He went to Beyond, if you get what I mean? I'm stoking the fire as I type. My head is spinning.

Sam left. "I'm sick of the marijuana, I'm going," doing his best mock-stern look. He looked at me with those knowing eyes. "Don't be a pig."

I'm going to have a sleep.

Pass out, fade to black.

Blood Tests, Marriage Certificates

Sam and I are off to have blood tests. I guess that signals marriage, hey? Today. I went this morning, he's going at 4pm. It just seemed like too much for me for us to go together. Shaking my head, just too cute.

Sam called his non-gay medical centre at QV, last week, who said they only do blood tests with letters from a doctor. WTF? What does that even mean? What kind of medical centre... oh, never mind. I forget sometimes that I live in gay world and that things operate quite differently beyond its boundaries.

As Tom used to say, not every one lives in the ghetto and takes drugs and dances the weekend away, Christian. I've since stopped taking drugs, but I'm sure you still get my point.

Sam called my gay doctor, who said just come in you don't even need an appointment. Of course, that was wrong too. You may not need an appointment for a blood test, but you firstly need the paperwork which you can only get from seeing the doctor.

I rolled my eyes and strummed my fingers on the counter.

Of course, I got there first thing. "Let's get this over and done with." So, I had to hang around for an appointment. I bumped into Mark W. and two other friends R & Z, it was like old home week. Mark was getting his nerve pills, R was getting his monthly medication and Z was having his cock swabbed, as something was dribbling out of it. We all raised out eye brows at Z's story, but we're all old friends, we've all been there. We laughed about it. Z said something about the cause being a bad tackle on too much meth. R asked him if it smelt and we all recoiled.

"No," said Z. He grimaced. "It sticks my foreskin to my boxers, though." He tried to smile. We all recoiled again.

I went in first. When I came out, I said, "Good luck." Mark looked nervous, R said, "yeah thanks for that." Z did a boy scout salute.

The Best Culinary Decisions

I forgot to get sushi. It was raining, I got on a tram instead of walking home. I was going to eat healthy all week, I promised myself. Oh well.

I was crossing the road heading off to get my fish & chips for dinner, when a jogger came prancing towards me in little shorts and a white singlet, tall and lean, as if the universe was emphasising my food choices. As I looked as his lithe limbs and small black shorts hugging his athletic arse, I rubbed my pudding-bowl of a belly and wondered if I was, actually, making the right culinary decisions?

 

Risk Aversion

Apparently, the 21st Century fear, that makes parents fret about their kids, turning them into scared spoilt brats, despite the fact that crime is generally down on what it was twenty years ago, is called risk aversion.

Translation - living your life in fear. 

Cosmo Jarvis - Gay Pirates

Ooooo!

 Oh, I'm feeling a little bonged-over, I can tell you. After a week of not smoking, I let loose last night. Oh my head? Well, it was my birthday. I'm feeling plain, the pain, oh the pain.

I might go back to bed.

Coffee.

Sunday nights, when they are special we put a table cloth on the table and set the silvery cutlery and we call them our white cloth dinners. Barmitzphers, engagements, birthdays. Happy birthday to me.

Soup, asparagus souffle, roast pork, chocolate mousse and apple and rhubarb crumble.

Sebastian cooked the mains and Luke cooked the deserts.

My favourite was the beetroot salad. (Even if I can easily mistake the effects for bowel cancer the next day)

But, back to this morning. Cough, cough! My muesli went down the wrong way, and now I can't stop spluttering. My head booms with every hack. My nose seems to have let loose with all of the activity and now it feels like I'm in the midst of a cold. My eyes are watering from all the hooking while my nose drips.

Shower.

Anything Is Possible

Ah, Saturday morning; the gentle hush, no need to rush.  Don't you just love that lazy feeling of the first morning of the weekend? Coffee, computer, anything is possible.

What am I gonna do?

Before I have time to think, Sam texts, he's just up the road, he'd just had brunch with friends, do I want him to drop in?

Yes, I say. I feel excited at the thought. It's nice? That warm feeling, like a sunrise inside. I haven't had a shower. I'm still in my pyjamas. I guess, that's not necessarily a bad thing. Big smile. 

He doesn't care.

David tells me I'm married, Shane calls him my boyfriend, so does Mark and yet I resist. I don't know why?

I don't have to call it anything. It's funny how people rush to label it. It has to be something, it has to mean this, it has to be going there, we have to be doing that. Why can't it just be? I'm enjoying the moments; a string of lovely moments.

A bit like Saturday morning, enjoy the moment, and the rest of the weekend will follow naturally.

I just like being with him, I don't try to make it any more complicated than that.

I Wish Fev Would Flash His Willy At Me

There was no talk of Fev being threatening, or aggressive, or predatory because, don't you worry, it would have been headlines if he had. It just seems like he was drunk and dopey. So, why didn't the woman just laugh it off? You know, the famous, she'll be right attitude that Aussie's once had. Put it away before you embarrass yourself. Is that as big as it gets?

Is it because every incident like this is now a potential suing opportunity. Every mistake made by the famous and wealthy, or whoever, is a chance for the nobodies to drain them of some easy money?

I think it is.

I reckon he'd have a nice one, too. Italian sausage and all. He's a big boy. (Raised eyebrows) Should we look at his feet. Thumb to pointer finger tip measurement? Direct correlation to his height? Divide by his weight and multiple by 100?

What do you reckon he did? Grabbed the waist band of his pants and just pulled down? "Here, look at this."

Or, do you think it was more casual, you know, like a wardrobe malfunction? Oops! Although, I'm not sure how you'd just casually drop it out? You know, like some people may not even notice.

I reckon it would have been boning up... although, pissed as a maggot... well, that's how I picture it, anyway. Big smile.

Come flash it at me Fev, I won't complain like a little girl.

Ice Cream Truck

Sam Has Sent Me The Latest Picture In His Car Collection. He May Turn Out To Be Perfect, Yet

Sam Has Sent Me The Latest Picture In His Car Collection. He May Turn Out To Be Perfect, Yet

Sam has sent me the latest picture in his car collection. How cute is that, he may turn out to be perfect, yet.

I'm always banging on about cars, taking him to see them, stopping him in the street to look at them. Explaining their history. You know, getting him to admire them. Teaching him the language. Broadening his horizons.

After he took a photo of a car in the street, a 1950's Wolseley 1500 to be exact, to impress me with his observational skills, I suggested to him, somewhat tongue in cheek, that he should take more and I could start a collection of his cars photos. He is now up to number 4. He has a good eye too – the Wolseley, a VW Beetle, a Citroen 2CV and a beautiful powder blue Mini 850. Gorgeous.

Beautiful, I say.

Old, he says.

Suck On That Faggots!

Oh, who cares what Stephanie Rice said on her tweet. "Suck on that faggots!" Really, how shameful. She should be put to death, immediately.

Come on guys, surely we're not that precious. Who cares? It must be obvious to all she didn't say it with hatred and spite. Technically, a faggot is a bundle of sticks, after all. She didn't say, Filthy cock suckers should die!

What a precious little bitch Ian Roberts has turned out to be. "She is an idiot ... and anyone who continues to endorse her as an athlete is an idiot as well," Roberts told the media.

What? She now deserves to have her life ruined? That's what he's saying, isn't it?

There are more important things. Stop rushing to be outraged.

Oh, stop elevating the banal to something is just isn't. Lighten up. There are people in this world who don't have access to fresh drinking water.

The Light Is Fading To Black Beyond The Windows

I should have stayed and helped Mark. He said he wasn't sure if he was going to get it all done on his own.

You know, Marks still the one who I think of when I think of getting old with someone. He's the one I think of being in my life forever. He's the one who I wonder how I'll go on living if ever he were not here any more.

You know, Sam just understood that, naturally. Not that there isn’t room for him. The fluidity of relationships, we can make, we do make, have made, them up as we go along. It’s another reason why I don’t care about gay marriage. There’s nothing wrong with love, I just think it draws the model too narrow.

I should be helping Mark when he needs help.

I have got a lot on my plate, though, you know. I'm not exactly slacking off. And he's got Luke.

But, they had guests staying, and I sometimes get antsy when there are guests staying, I'm never sure what I can do, what I want to do. It is hard to relax, despite them getting in the car and going out for the day.

Besides, Mark had got an ounce of pot for his best friend's best friend. Guido supplied it, agreed to do it in future. Mark didn't ask me, he just said he'd put it in my car and his friend Mark's friend (are you keeping up?) would call me.

Okay? Cool. Why not.

As I accelerated onto the highway at 120 k's, I wondered if  I'd feel like Shapelle Corby, if the cops pulled me over, and I dropped back to the legal limit.

Don't smoke any of it, said Mark.

What? I thought. That's like giving an alcoholic booze to deliver. I knew I could get two joints out of it, probably a bit more without causing any alarm. You know, some anal retentive withstanding. Most pot heads are just grateful to have supply returned, they don't notice.

Antsy over gusts, my arse. Who was I kidding. I wanted to leave so I could lay on my couch and get stoned by myself. Sad but true.

I got in the car and left.

Cyndi Lauper sang the blues.

Besides, I'd give someone a bud for reconnecting me to a source, I thought, as I removed a bud from bag one. He'll never notice. It looks no different. I've been stealing dope from dope bags for many years, they never notice, pot heads don't. Automatically, my self-editor kicked into action... ed note - now there's a claim to fucken fame, if ever there is one.

I built an open fire and got ripped.

I think that smoking is bad for me, as I look up bleary-eyed into the darkened room, the open fire's shadows flickering in the room, I snigger, it makes me steal and lie and become reclusive. The light is fading to black beyond the windows.

We've been smoking dope since the election. There is no correlation, it just happens to be the night we broke the drought. I bought some, then Shane bought some. And Sam has smoked quite a lot, despite declaring that he hates it at every opportunity. He still reaches out for it and he still gets a great big hard-on from the effects.

I'm just saying that's too long. I'm not complaining about the outcomes, you understand. Time to give it a break. It's hardly just the occasional one, anyway you read, you know, after two weeks. That much I know.

I eat mandarins and kiwi fruit and bananas. I haven't had a banana in how long? Oh, blush, except for Sam's. I eat yogurt with passionfruit, raspberry jam toast, cumquat jam directly from the jar. I eat honey and yogurt toast, it's like ice cream and maple syrup. Honey and yogurt is a symphony.

Gold Kiwi Fruit Rock

It was wet, it rained all the way to the country. Heading out of Melbourne was quite beautiful though, with a huge sun in the sky and the rain falling like crystals through the bright light. I had a problem seeing, though, a minor hazard, I grant you. With my sunglasses on, everything blacked out except for the bright rays glowing on the silvery bitumen in front of me. But, the inside of the car was black, I couldn't see the dashboard. Ah, but who cares how fast you are driving anyway. Speed limits are for pussies. Fortunately for me, I can just naturally drive at 100 ks by feel and instinct. I settled back in the seat and enjoyed the magical view along the silver brick road.

It was wet though, there was pools of water all along the side of the road. There was even water over the Calder Highway itself, at one point. My tyres lost grip; they both spun, the engine revved, then they bit back, the car did a small wobble, like a body flex and then were back on track.

The rain pummelled the road, turning the first six feet off the ground into a swirl of water and spray and steam, as we belted across it's surface like sure-footed athletes. There was a fershhhhhhh sound as the road slipped away underneath. I love that kind of driving, it's exciting. It feels like we are all driving really fast, except that we were all doing the speed limit, in this age where we're all ruled by legislation more and more, where we dutifully drive at the speed limit, even I sit on 100 ks now a days, 110 on the Calder.

I turned off on to the country road and instantly had to decide whether or not to drive through the half-flooded road, from a bank-broken dam, before me. Yes? No? Think of Xmas time? Oh, no, I'm going through, don't close your eyes and hope. And I made it, I'm through, such a panic over nothing. Accelerate, into 6th.

All the gullies coming down the sides of the dirt side roads were surging with water, gushing towards the intersections. Some diverted around corners, some were spreading across the road in front of me. None had spilled onto my side yet. Whoosh when the trees.

It's still good to see the rain, as I slipped gold kiwi fruit, after gold kiwi fruit, into my mouth. I took my mum shopping before I left, she wanted bananas. We bought a tattslotto ticket in my name, bought me grocery’s at Coles and bought me lunch. She was happy to go back to the home after that. I didn't go see her last Thursday, I just couldn't face it. I told her I had to work, you know, with Beck leaving and all. She bought that no problem. I think it was the first Thursday since she's been in there that I've missed, though. I'm allowed a day off, I reckon.

I flung the banana peel out the window on the wet highway, thank the universe for electric windows and automatically wondered what I was thinking? It's organic, it'll feed the birds, or some animal, and what's left will turn back into soil, it's nutrients for the land. I laughed. I'm sure we're all too uptight as a society for that kind of carry on and I decided not to throw the next one out. I tossed it into the compost bin in the kitchen when I got there. I wondered how the two actions were dissimilar? The open fire roared, golden shadows licked inside the room. The cold and the rain was a distant pat pat pat on the tin roof. I shrugged and headed for the mull bowl and didn't both with an answer.

 

Off to the Country

Off to the country, it's been a while. Wish me luck with all of the inclement weather that is covering much of country Victoria. Up Woodend way, where I'm off to, they have had masses of amounts of rain in the last 24 hours. Apparently, our little cottage, which is on lower ground, has had water rushing through it.

Time to get out of the city and to feel the freshness of an unspoilt landscape.

This rain is like Victoria of old, rather than having those heavy down pours as we've been having lately, it is raining more constantly over a longer period of time. It's nice, rain to enjoy. The gentle sprinkling of rain to watch and listen to. I think the drought may well be over. Yay, for the garden state.

Happy Ever After

Boyfriends, they are like people, you know, they have feelings you have to take account of. Not thinking for one, now, hey? It's an adjustment, I'd forgotten. I guess Manny wasn't very demanding, in a lot of ways. Some may say, a joyous adjustment and I might agree in my lighter moments. Other times, I'm left thinking, do I really want this? But, I think that's healthy... let's leave "taking for granted" for a long way down the track.

Once you are thinking about them, when they are not around, you know you are a gonna.

Sam's funny. I'm not really the type who believes in happy ever after. I suspect he might be? He just looks at me sometimes with some of the things I think. Like Shane's recent birthday when we halves in a present (my friends just buy small gifts, a token. Sebastian gave Shane a potato masher) and I decided that we should both buy a card. Two cards, one present.

It's why I don't believe in gay marriage, because I don't believe in marriage at all. Nothing lasts forever, happily ever after doesn't exist, for the vast majority. It's a virtual myth enjoyed by a very few.

So, if you like, there are no rules. You can do what you like, make them up. That's what I think is real.

That's not to say that I don't believe in love. I do. The rest is just filler.

But, it is nice thinking about someone else, I had forgotten in three years. How quickly... hey? Someone who  who fits in your arms, snugly, who smells nice and tastes good, who makes you think, who makes you laugh, and, I guess, ultimately (following the logic) who makes you cry. It's all a part of the same experience. But, that rush, that giddiness, that inner glow, that smile, nothing quite takes its place.

Not that Sam and I call each other boyfriends, we don't. But, the possibility is nice. The possibility, that's what we all dream off, it doesn't matter who you are.

It's the Monkey...

Two of my friend's have said recently they would take a drug to stop them from getting horny all the time, if such a drug existed. (funny, aren't the pharmaceutical companies trying to do the opposite?) They say it's annoying, a need, a want, an urge they could do without, each morning, or late at night.

"Hell, lunch time in the toilets," said G. "It's the monkey..."
"Every day," said S. "I get it over and done with when I first wake up. I have to."
S said he sometimes finds it a crushing urge.
G said he does it morning, noon and night. He once did it at the day time wedding of his best friend.

I remember when I was sixteen, it was every spare moment I got. Not a problem.

I was surprised when the two of them said it, within a couple of days each other. They were both serious.
G said it used to get in the way of other things he wanted to do. "Eye on the prize, buddy, that's how it was." He smiled. "But, you know, sometimes now I get sick of my dick making all the decisions."

I laughed, I thought it sounded weird. But, deep down, I knew it was true. I'd just never heard anyone say it quite like that before, not out loud. And then both of them had said it, just like that.

All that energy pulsing, isn't that what we're attracted to? What makes men men?

It's tough being a guy.