Rise and Shine

I'm always up early, these days, up early rise and shine, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise, isn't that what they say? (Or is that a just right wing plot to get us all into work so capitalism can dominate the world?) Milo purrs in my lap, soft and silky and playful, as I turn on my laptop and sip my coffee. He is a bundle of energy, lightning fast. he has lovely paws, as they grab at my hand.

I open the back door, I feel the cool air swirl around me gently, and we have, what is like, the changing of the sheep dogs on Bugs Bunny, Milo scampers outside and Buddy wanders in, snuffling his bulldog snuffle. Buddy is not the little guy any more, he looks positively huge next to Milo. Buddy sits in my lap too. That's 20 extra kilos. He is like a big teddy bear in my arms. He rests his head on my shoulder, making it quite impossible to type, and snores softly.

I Couldn't Get Back to Sleep

I was up at 5am. I couldn't get back to sleep after having a dream, the only repetitive dream I have, about being behind at uni, being swamped by assignments and study. My failing dream, again, it shook me awake. I got up for a piss and then I just lay there. Sam rolled over and snored in my ear, grrrrrrr, snrrrrrr, grrrrrr. Funny, at the early end of the nights sleep, I drift off with him snoring in my ear, no problem. And usually I just drift off again after waking early, but sometimes I don't, like today.

Milo was pleased to see me, he dashed about, he was here, then there, then here again, like only a 7 month old kitten can. They are quite mad really. Delightfully mad. I haven't had a young cat for years.

It is still dark at 5am, and cold. I made coffee. What did people do at 5am when they couldn't sleep before computers were invented? I guess they read books, or did embroidery, or chopped the weeks stove wood. Funny, we think we are so clever and sophisticated now a days and yet we are eating ourselves to death, and poisoning our nest.

It is lovely and quiet at 5am, not much of the world is stirring yet.

I'd made two coffees before 6.30am. I've got a busy day coming up. I'm just mentioning that, as it, really, had nothing to do with the number of coffees I'd made. Easter this week, chocolate for everyone. I have to get everything finished for the end of month in two less days than normal. Two less days? It doesn't sound like much and it shouldn't be much, but that's how it is. Everybody is so time poor, a nonsensical construct that really means nothing at all, other than making ourselves sound more important than we really ought, than we are.

5am is lovely, really. I hear the first tram of the day slide along the silver tracks. Clunk, clunk. It won't be long before I hear the first bird call. Buddy lies against my right thigh, like a hot water bottle.

Rupert and Paddington

I was a Paddington Bear boy as a kid. The first book I read was Charlotte's Web, the second book was Wind in the Willows and, I think, Paddington Bear would have come in after that, pretty much.

I had a wonderful aunt, Auntie Mae who read me Winnie the Pooh, but he was read to me, so he may have come in earlier before I read myself.

We watched the Paddington Bear movie last night. And while they didn't stick to the original story line exactly, it was, I guess what you'd call, they'd call, a reimagining. And I quite liked it. 

Admittedly, it has been more years than I'd care to mention since I read Paddington Bear last.

Not long after it started, I messaged Mark and told him that the Paddington Bear movie had a villain in it, namely Nicole Kidman, which I was sure wasn't the case with the books. I don't remember them being that kind of story.

Mark responded with, "I was always more of a Rupert Bear boy myself."

Rupert Bear? Who the hell is Rupert Bear? I'd never heard of him. Mark sent me some clip art of him, which I'd never seen before. He looks like a very gay little bear. (have you ever seen a gayer bear?) I reckon Rupert would have had a close mate like Big Ears.

Preston Market where we shopped today. It was also where we ate yum cha for lunch, $70 worth, which was ridiculous. We do like to have a nice lunch though. So what we saved on the shopping, we spent on food. I'm thinking perhaps we should be hitting the pork rolls a little more in future. 

I love the hubbub of the market, the noise, the smell the push and the shove. It is a microcosm of the wider world really. There are all sorts of people getting along side by side just trying to feed themselves. It struck me as the federal government exploits our differences for their own political gain, we are all getting along just fine.

Sam generally gets in their and does the bidding, I tend to be the pack horse carrying the bags. I carry them back to the car with regular drop offs.

An older Greek lady was so pleased that we'd both discovered pears at 99c a kilo, kind of in the back stalls of the market, that she went and got us both plastic bags in which to load our booty, coming back with a huge smile and bags for each of us in her hand. (I've always had late middle-aged woman charm) That's how peace treaties are forged and harmony maintained.

I'm Not Offended

A girl at work, yesterday, was dishing it out to me, telling me to butt out and to shut the F up and to F off. Then she fake smiled and said, "Oh I hope you are not offended by anything I've said." Another fake smile. "People can find me to be very direct." Big eyes, crazy smile. (Because she is just outrageous)

"No, not at all," I said. "I don't mind, you wont offend me... as long as you can take it just as well as you can dish it out."

"Of course," she said. "Nothing offends me." Laugh. Big eyes. Quirky head wobble.

"So, why don't you get a fucking big black dog up you, quite frankly," I said. I smiled. "I can be pretty blunt myself." Big grin.

She didn't get stuck into me after that, clearly she didn't want to play any longer.

People are hilarious.

You could eat a big breakfast out of the arse crack on this boy his buns were so round

The Germanwings Swiss Clinic

Sometimes I think about suicide. I don't contemplate it, don't get me wrong. But sometimes I think it is a nice, neat way to take control of you life and finish it at a time of your own deciding. It is kind of responsible, taking control of your own destiny. And with the over population of the world, maybe more people should be encouraged to do it. (That would only apply to the sane and sound of mind, of course. I'm not suggesting we should encourage the nutters to have a go, no matter how tempting it might seem)

The trouble is that there is no nice way to do it. All of the options are really terrible, which is good and a shame all at the same time, depending on your point of view. (yes, of course, we should be looking after the most vulnerable members of society, no question.)

I am pretty sure I wouldn't do it because I know my timing is always a bit off and I'd always be anticipating that tomorrow would be a great day. And it would be, as it always is. But, I am sure there are times in many people's lives when it would become a viable option, or at least, they would see it as such. (I'm not going that easily, a bad day is a bad day, but my future looks bright)

Of course, there is one good option and that is the Swiss clinic. What would you call it, the departure lounge, a motel set up for stepping off this planet in comfort. A little Enya, a box of tissues, sad sure. Now, if those who so wish could shuffle themselves off to the Swiss clinic for the green drink, I'm sure that would be a much more pleasant experience. The only way to make such an idea fly, so to speak.

I'm guessing that crashing an aeroplane into a mountain would be fairly thrilling, especially with a bird's eye view, a front row seat, so to speak. For some? (I have a barely under control fear of flying, so I would personally find it torture) For those with such an inclination. I'm imagining the pilot yodelling all the way down, (wasn't it the swiss Alps?) whooping and yahooing as the ground shot up towards him. So, I guess, one could say, he went straight to the "Swiss Clinic" so to speak. (Sacrebleu! it was the French Alps, but you know what I mean) Not the conventional way, but the same outcome, so to speak. Apparently, it was 700 k's an hour right into the side of that mountain. I'm guessing that would do it, hey?

Bugger everybody else, hey? Jesus! 150 people screaming as they realised what was about to happen to them. What would that sound like? It would kind of ruin the ambience of the final act, kind of hard to drown out with a little Enya. It would be kind of distracting to the thrilling ride down, I would have thought.

Oh, could you imagine what it would be like, to be a passenger?  No, well, I guess you couldn't, that is the horror of this story. Shake of the head. It is bad enough when something goes wrong, but to have nothing wrong with the plane, just the grey matter between one unfortunate individuals ears, who happened to be the pilot  in this case. Co-Pilot. Apparently, the pilot was trying to break down the cockpit door with an axe.

Mind boggling, as Sam would say. Unbelievable, really. As scenarios go, they don't come more nightmare than this.

This is lucky Josh

I Can See Him Melting Sam's Heart Before My Very Eyes

Did I mention that we have a new cat, Milo. He is a Russian Blue, but as we adopted him from the RSPCA, I don't know if he is a pure bred cat, but that is what he looks like. That's what the RSPCA said he is. He is 7 months old and he's lovely. 

He is Sam's first cat, you know, Missy doesn't count. She was a bit too old by the time Sam came along. Milo is changing Sam's ideas about cats. Before Sam always said he couldn't see the point of them, but as Milo cuddles up to Sam on the couch purring and rubbing his head against Sam, I can see him melting Sam's heart before my very eyes.

Lip Bad, Eye Good.

My lip is still disgusting still, all the bacteria is still pushing up and bursting out, like lava from a volcano. I'm still slopping cream on it and swallowing pills. Sam's eyes are still focussing in on it and his face breaking into a smile as he says, with a cheeky grin, "That really is awful." It seems to be like a car accident to him, he can't look away.

Buddy has to give Sam kisses for me.

Buddy's eye is getting better. He's been back to the vet and been checked over. His antibiotics and ointment are still going for the rest of the week. His pupil is still dilated and his eye green, despite the dilating ointment having been finished. From some angles from out of the corner of my eye he still looks possessed. But he seems his normal happy self.

Good morning world. There was a glorious sunrise to wake up to this morning, just lovely really. Reds and golds were bleeding through the night sky to make the morning bright.

It is the most perfect day in Melbourne today, so how can I be unhappy, coldsore and all

Where Is My Motorbike Helmet?

I've got a cold sore on my bottom lip the likes of which I haven't had in years, if ever. It is like Mount Vesuvius on my lower lip. I can't wash my face properly, I can't dry my face properly after a shower. I can't shave easily. It feels like a pin cushion, with pins inserted. Oh, damn it! Ug!

I'm not happy. I haven't had a coldsore for the longest time. I feel like John Merrick whenever I do. "I am not an animal!" 

But, I had stopped taking my lysine tablets. And last week I ate a muesli and cranberry muffin at the end of which I was picking up the crispy bits in the bottom of the ripped open bag thinking they were toasted muesli pieces and it wasn't until I popped the last piece in my mouth - don't you love that timing - I realised they were toasted almond slivers. It always seems to be toasted almonds that gives me cold sores. 

Usually, I am so careful not to eat almonds. Funny, some people think I am implying that I have a nut allergy when I say I can't eat almonds and they get all 21st Century nut allergy scared. But no, nothing so dramatic, just plain old pussy lip sores, I am afraid.

Where is my motor bike helmet?

Buddy's Eye

Buddy came in this morning and his left eye wouldn't open properly. It kind of made him not really open his other eye on the other side either when he was just relaxing, so he looked like the dog with no eyes. 

So it was off to the vet. We've got a new kitten, have I told you that? He looks like a Russian Blue, but he came from the RSPCA, so I doubt that he is a purebred and while he and Buddy get along well, one never really knows what a cat may do with his claws. So it was a nervous walk to the vet.

It turned out that Buddy had a pice of dead leaf, or bark, or some organic material, the size of a match head, stuck to his eye, which has ulcerated his eyeball. Poor him.

He now has 2 different types of drops and 2 different types of antibiotics to be administered for the next week, or so.

He doesn't look happy.

It was a lovely afternoon for a walk, the sun was shining down, the sky was blue and the clouds were charming.
They are setting up for the Garden Show so I have to take a detour  by the museum.

This guy had great legs, despite the socks. I was going on my walk and was really only changing the music on my phone when some how I took a shot of him. He was pretty sexy all over, actually. He looked like he was wearing boxer shorts, which is what got my attention initially, wondering how far the hair on his legs extended.

I love the buildings of Fitzroy

So Suddenly Summers End

It is cold and grey, the rain is even starting to fall. Summer seems to have come to an abrupt end this year, not that I am complaining. I hate the intense heat of summer. Although, I'm beginning to think that I am, indeed, hard to please, because while I don't want the really hot days of summer, there is a part of me that is a little disappointed at the sudden, early, call it what you like, cold.

It is autumn, that melancholy kind of season, where the leaves turn yellow and fall from the trees, covering the ground in a carpet of crumpled leaf bodies. Autumn, when the skies turn grey and the trees are reduced to sticks piecing the white above us.

So suddenly the cold is here. Brrrrr. I don't say that completely disappointed more surprised than anything. Hot summer, hot summer, hot summer, cold summer. Do you think the weather is becoming more unpredictable? Do you think? Has anybody said that lately? Have they?

I walked to work with an umbrella in the rain. I quite like it. It is kind of romantic, even if I was walking on my own.

Early Morning in Gertrude Street

I love the early mornings now a days

You Can't Be Offended If It Is True

You can't be offended if it is true, surely? The truth is the facts, if you are offended, it says more about you than what has been said.

I guess, if the truth is spoken with hate, you could be offended, but that is not because what was spoken was true.

If someone speaks the truth, offence is bullshit. Non-applicable. No one has the right to be offended with the truth.

People are all too ready to be outraged that they lose sight of the truth. You may not like what somebody says, but that doesn't give you the automatic right to be offended. Does it? I don't think it does.

My Poetry Blog

I dug out an old blog of mine which has had varying levels of failure over the years to write some poetry. I don't know why, but I just had the urge to write some.

It is where my writing started out when I was 13, writing poetry every day, all of the emotions I felt, one after the other, every day, so much bad poetry. 

So, that's what I have decided to do, write a poem every day for the next year, surly 365 poems is enough for a collection.

It might just be more bad poetry like I wrote when I was a teenager, I don't know, and I don't really care. I am just having fun doing it.

I have put a link to it below, Ace Poetry Blog. Go read some and be the judge. I can't tell.

If it is bad, I apologise in advance for putting you through it. But, even if it is still bad, out of the dross surly must come a few gems.

It reminds me of an old boyfriend

Mean old 21st Century Business Practises

Sam messaged me during the morning to tell me he had been retrenched. My poor baby. They had a meeting at 10am. He thought his job was safe, he thought that they needed him. He was shocked when his name was read out.

He came home half way through he day. He met me out the front of my work. We read his letter together sitting on the step out side my office.

He was upset, as you’d expect.

Sam and Buddy met me after work, we walked home together.

I didn’t got for a walk after work, apart from the current turn of events, my feet hurt yesterday and I thought I should have a rest day. I have been walking for an hour every night for weeks. Headphones on, off I go.

It was curious timing Sam getting retrenched, just as I'd paid off my mortgage. We were planning a European vacation this year. Two steps forward and one step back. Why can’t there just be a happy forward trajectory, why does there have to be the yin with the yang?

Although, Sam had paid off his mortgage last year, so I am guessing we are in a better position than most.

He was stoic, though, much better than me. I'd be pissed off and upset and sad and take a couple of months off plotting revenge on everyone just to get over it. He had his resume updated and he'd applied for two jobs online before we went to bed.

He's a cool calm and collected IT professional, where I am would be writer - I wish - masquerading, badly, as a finance type... who is more interested now a days in his poetry blog than profit and loss.

Carpet Tiles and the Bears

We have carpet tiles in our office, that alternate one way and then the other. Grey stripy kind of pattern, laid one way and then the other. (I guess I have said that twice, so I am sure you can now picture them) I try to step on the like pointing tiles, as I walk up the office, try to step on the same pattern. It is like trying not to step on the cracks in the footpath to avoid the bears, when you were a kid. But they are annoyingly placed a little too short for my steps and it doesn't work. So, I have to keep doing in between steps to stay in step.

I just do it to amuse myself. As everyone earnestly works, I am skipping on carpet tiles, because I can. Nobody notices, they are all too busy being, um, busy.

Oh well, it makes me laugh, even if it is on the inside.

Stupid Barbaric Backward Indonesia

Stupid Indonesia, proving why they will always be a barbaric and backward country. Idiots. President Joko Widodo is doing a Tony Abbott, a weak political leader using law and order to bolster his political standing. It is the sad way of the world. What are now, two good men are going to lose their lives in an attempt to enhance a politician's prestige.

Two reformed men are going to be killed despite their rehabilitation. And isn't rehabilitation the best possible outcome of imprisonment?

I don't buy that they potentially spread misery and death by their actions, that is an opinion that comes from a position of ignorance, from people who aren't realistic about drug use.

I think all Australian's should boycott Indonesia, even Bali. We should all stop going, if that is how Indonesia is going to treat Australians.

How now Browne Brown

It always amuses me when I see people with the name Brown with an "e" at the end. Browne. Is that the posh version of one of the plainest names around? 

Sarah Brown. John Smith. Tom Jones.

It's like spelling Jane with a ph, or Smith with a silent X.

A life less ordinary, all in the spelling of a name. How did it come to this, the bench mark being set so low? I blame reality TV.

Myickalah, is it?

The more ordinary the people feel, the more tripple sss's they will have. Or, I guess, the more ordinary the parent's felt the more weighed down with insanity their kids will become.

I once knew a Sssusan, I kid you not... although, she was middle aged so, I guess, her parents were pot smokers from the 1960s.

In fifty years we'll all have unpronounceable names and we'll be covered in ink. Nursing homes will be full of Rocketshipmoonunits who have been completely scribbled over. Just two blood shot eyes blinking out from a dark blue/black, filagree mask.

It's funny, the most radical thing you will be able to do very shortly is to be called John and have clear skin.

Ain't that the truth, honey

Beck and Brett love Josh

Beck and Brett love Josh was written into the wet concrete in a driveway to a service station near where I live. It is inscribed with a heart. I look  it nearly every day when I walk to work. There was no date included, which is kind of a shame, as I love things to have dates, to know how much time has passed, to see where it fits into the scheme of the world, to visualise them. 

I always think about Beck and Brett and Josh as I walk passed. Was this a thought out inscription, or was it just a whim late one day? Who were they? What did they do? What did they mean to each other? Do they still love each other? 

Do you think Beck and Brett met Josh? Out one night? In a club. Off their faces. They took him home. All of their hearts racing? 

Was Brett straight. Was Josh straight? Was Josh gay? Did Josh fancy Beck? Did Josh fancy Brett? Was Brett always bisexual? Do you think they were both bisexual? Or was this the first time for all of them? Do you think it was confusing for two straight boys? Liberating? Enthralling? 

Was Beck the luckiest girl on the planet? Were they all very lucky? Do you think Josh watched Beck and Brett? Do you think Brett encouraged Beck and Josh? What do you think Brett and Josh did? Do you think Beck encouraged them? Do you think she watched.

It fills me full of hope for the world that three people who probably shouldn't love each other, did, do. Found each other. Loved. Hugged. Touched. Kissed. Caressed each other's hair. Slept in on Sunday morning exhausted. Washed each other's backs. Made each other breakfast. Met each other's family and blew all of their minds. Stunned friends? Negotiated a relationship that worked for them and left everybody else wondering, at least just a bit.