It's Still Dark

I woke up early, 3.30am. I needed a piss. I looked at my watch, it said 3 something. Buggar, I thought. I knew I was awake.

I rolled one way, and then the other, and then back again. It’s the other end of falling asleep on the couch at 8.30pm in front of the TV. I’ve only ever needed 7 hours, oh, since I have been an adult, as a teenager I could sleep the weekend away, oh for that stress free life again.

I got out of bed and started getting dressed. Instead of hissing from the dark about it being too early and to give smoking pot a rest, a voice said, “Nana getting up time.” That’s my joke about him always wanting to head to bed at 10.30pm. It is like clockwork. “Nan’s off to bed,” I say to him.

Sam whispered in the dark that Buddy had choked on something during the night, the chicken wings he ate for dinner under great suspicion. All I could hear was Buddy snoring contently from his bed next to ours.

I trotted off downstairs. I always walk through the house in the dark, I always have. At night, you see so many other angles you never see normally with the lights on.

I made coffee. I washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. (When kitchen duty is skipped, I just know I was dead to the world on the couch)

I roll a joint and sat in the garden.

Buggar the Apex Gang. If they were anything like the black commission boys who play soccer on Atherton Reserve, that have some fine arses amongst them. “Ha ha,” he says out loud, as he reads back over what he has written. That’s terrible. I don’t really even believe that the Apex Gang exists, I think it is more likely a vehicle used by the media, much more likely. I think there are all colours of kids in the bored little hoods, denied money by a cruel out of touch Liberal Government, who feeling like they have no other option, quite possibly, they hit out. I do think of them coming through the garden, though, when I head outside in the dark, but then I shake my head and it goes. Sign of the times in which we live, mind control works better than war, and it is cheaper too. Billionaire political media donors help out in his papers, as he’s of the same ideology.

4am. I put Beggars Banquet on my noise cancelling head phones and returned to the garden.

The noise cancelling headphones are good, the garden is noisy in the night, there are always cracks and crunches, and twigs falling.

You start with the Rolling Stones Beggars Banquet (1968) and you play right through to Tattoo You (1981), and you will hear the best blues rock ever recorded. They are the great albums, in my opinion.

1968   Beggars Banquet.

1969   Let It Bleed

1971   Sticky Fingers

1972   Exile on Main St.

1973   Goats Head Soup

1974   It's Only Rock 'n Roll

1976   Black and Blue

1978   Some Girls

1980   Emotional Rescue

1981   Tattoo You

And the Stones have four albums pre Beggars Banquet that are listed in the 500 greatest albums of all time. Between The Buttons, Now, Out Of Our Heads, and Aftermath.

They have 10 albums in Rolling Stones Magazine 500 greatest albums of all time.

357. Between The Buttons

270. Some Girls. Miss You is one of their greatest songs. The 2011 tracks included.

213. Tattoo You

180. Now

116. Out Of Our Heads

109. Aftermath

64 Sticky Fingers. Can’t You Hear Me Knocking, is sublime.

58 Beggars Banquet

32 Let It Bleed.

07 Exile on Main Street. The 2013 tracks included.

Except, of course, I would add Black & Blue. That was the first Stones album that I bought, it has to be said, so maybe I am a little biased. So, I discovered everything else before Black & Blue, after Black & Blue. I found the sixties stuff, after I was sick of the crappy eighties stuff.

I see the two beady red eyes of the security camera light up, like the devil, every time I come in from having a smoke. Sam can see on his phone every time I go out, recorded while he sleeps. He usually enters the room reciting the number when he gets up.

Milo cuddles up next to me on the couch, he does this most mornings I get up early. He'll stay on the couch until it gets dark again, so that's about fifteen hours, or so. Still, I reckon Buddy gets in a good 20 hours sleep a day. My little blue guy.

My little Blue Guy.

Easter Break, j's for Jesus

Guido dropped around, I'm sure he was off his head. He's got a Mexican Hairless dog, which does the image no favours, let me tell you. What a rodent. Guido looks feeble, just by association.

So, we got pot for easter, well, it is a long weekend after all, and we used to do far worst things to ourselves over Easter, ah, they were the days. Weed for Jesus.

Sam was none too happy. I suggested we could boil eggs and paint them, we had whined, "Is that all we're going to do every Easter?" 

"You can use stockings and food dye."

Sam didn't think it was funny. Even if he did rather give himself away last night, when I'd got all my shit together and I was heading upstairs to bed.

"Aren't you going to roll a bed time joint?"

So, it is going to be Netflix and food from now until He-Rises Again, when is that again? Sunday, or Monday, I am never sure?

No chocolate, though. Sacrilege, I know. 

We both like chilli, Sam way more than me, even though it plays havoc with his stomach. But I'm glad he draws the line at shit the bed hot sauce. He sent me a photo, I don't think he thought I believed him.

I mean, is that really a thing? I don't know, call me weird, but I kind of aspire not to shit the bed. Your arse turning into a volcano? Really?

Poetry Broken Up By Gardening

I tried to catch up my poetry blog during the afternoon. Er, why not, I'm not writing anything else. I kind of treat it as practise. I kind of succeeded. It was a slog. Turning poems I have jotted down since last November, that was the last time I posted on Urban Poet, into something worth posting. And they weren’t that good to begin with. Pig's ear, silk purse. So, there were a lot that just stayed in my poetry file.

It was a beautiful day. I did poetry broken up by spots of gardening. My Impatiens haven’t grown. I bought them as seeds from the $2, so who knows how good they were. Well, ten days later and they haven’t started to germinate. I should get some more seeds, and grown them in seed raising pots first.

I didn’t really have the poetry inspiration flowing, oh well.

De Rigueur

So, let me get this straight, the Australian cricket team sticky taped their balls together, or something, or other, really, care factor zero!

Aren't all sportsmen in this day and age cheats? Drugs, or yellow tape, or whatever it takes.

Don't they now cheat in all sports? Russian olympics, Chinese swim stars, bike riders and the rest. Isn't it now just a race to find the next undetectable performance enhancing drug to use to beat your opponent to get the million dollar payoff??

Isn't it just de rigueur?

Another rugby team has just been caught cheating on the salary cap.

Governments cheat. Politicians cheat. Big Business cheats. Banks Cheat. It is now the way of the world.

The Black Panther

We went to see The Black Panther. I liked it, it was entertaining. It was visually great and actioned packed. Sam didn't like it as much as I did, which was funny, as I wanted to see Peter Rabbit.

I will say this about The Black Panther, I'm sure that they cast it with the help of a modelling agency, as the cast is unbelievably good looking. Michael B Jordan must be the sexist man alive, despite his Cottonelle finish in the movie.

The Rain On The Roof

The sky turns grey, the day darkens, and the rain comes down. It is kind of romantic on a Saturday, to be rained in with your boyfriend, if it is anything. Or is that nostalgic, memories of childhood, rainy weekends?

It makes a change from the weather we have been having. But it is summer, just gone. I don't think I can remember the last dark, rainy day that we had? Funny how quickly I forget. Is that seasonal amnesia? You know it happens every year? (Of course, you do) In summer, winter seems a life time away, and in winter, summer seems the same. I always think that is funny.

The weather has been glorious, blue sky every day, and sunshine, but no rain. It has been dry, but then again, it is the dry time of year.

Still, it is nice to hear the rain on the roof. Always nice. (I read somewhere that it has been 2 months)

It has been hot. Humid. Melbourne never used to be humid, but it can be humid now. I wonder why? Yes, why politicians in denial. It is, actually, nice to feel the cool, the cooling temperature, it makes a change. But then again, I guess it is going to be cool from now on in, until September, or thereabouts. Winter here we come. Today is a nice build up to it, cool but not cold. We’ll be having open fires soon enough, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I do need to order a wood delivery though.

It is just nice to feel the difference, the change. Not cold yet, however. We’re still wearing shorts and t-shirts, but that is coming to an end, I can feel it now. It will soon be over. Today is the first day I have felt it.

Back On The Horse...

I started exercising today, I think, for the first time this year. I went for an hours walk listening to U2. Oh, what a lazy arse I have been. I find it hard to regain my routine once it has been disrupted, shamefully, by Xmas. 

Yes, I know how long that has been.

Anyway, it was a glorious day, the sun was shining, the sky was blue.

I read somewhere recently, that men (the article was about men in lycra) who ride bikes age slower and stay youthful for longer than men who don't. So, that was what prompted me to move my sorry arse today.

Oh yes, and David. He called me last week and he heard me smoking. "What the fuck are you doing?" he said.

"What?" Momentarily, I had no idea what I was doing.

"I can hear you smoking?"

"Oh... no... I'm..."

"Is this still your Xmas smoking?"

"Um... er..."

"Do you know what date it is?"

"Yes, um..."

"Is it going to take Sam and I sitting on either side of your hospital bed..."

So, I stopped my Xmas smoking last Friday, and I started my exercise this Friday, today.

Better late than never, hey? As they say.

I always feel better when I exercise. Healthy, Fitter. Happier. I really do. So, why does it take so much energy to do it. Mental energy, more so than physical energy. 

I have to aim for 9am every morning. Start with walking and graduate to bike riding again very soon after that. I prefer walking, walking is bliss, but riding is better exercise, I think.

Walking passed the museum and Exhibition Buildings

Pretty Boy Didn't Like My Attitude

10am. I headed to the bank to pay bills.

I went to Cash Converters and bought two T Rex tracks, a Steely Dan track and a Paul Kelly track on 3 CDs.

I was walking back up the side street to my street, there was road works and one footpath was blocked off, so I walked up the road itself. The roadworks guy said to me, “Can you please use this footpath.” He indicated what footpath I should use.

“Yes, sure,” I said. I kept walking up the road. 

He was a cute guy, nice face, red lips, sparkling eyes, manly type, short but manly, but, I guess, that is neither here, nor there.

The sun shone down brightly, the sky was a cloudless blue, he squinted, just a bit. (with that squint on, I could picture what his face would look like when he was jacking off)

He grumbled. “You acknowledged which footpath you should use, but then you didn’t use it.”

I turned back to face him, now walking backwards slowly. We faced off, he was clearly miffed to have his perceived authority flagrantly ignored. I thought he looked adorable. I smiled, I couldn’t help it. You are in the gay ghetto now, buddy, things work a bit differently here. I tried not to flirt with him. No, that’s not true, I unashamedly flirted with him.

“I think I can negotiate walking on the road.” I smiled. “Thank you.” I smiled again. “Anyway.” I stopped and pulled the attitude as if to say, what are you going to do about it. He had a role to fulfil and it was standing in that spot and directing people. He couldn’t leave his spot, he knew it, and I knew it. He had no real authority, he knew it, and I knew it.

My eyes slid down to his body, slowly. They slid back up again. That was deliberate, I know, bad me.

His pretty eyes blinked, as he tried to think of a reply. But what could he say. The bright sun reflected off his hiviz vest. He had sweat on his forehead just under his fringe.

I turned and walked away without waiting for his reply, I was uphill by now and it was unlikely that I would have heard it anyway.

He said something, I didn’t catch it. I don’t think I was meant to.

I laughed to myself, as I walked away from him. I wondered how much he would have given to see me run over right at that moment. I am sure a lot. It would have been funny, even I could see that. Instant karma and all that.

Pear Still Life. This is one of my favourite photo effects.

Pear, still life

 

Homemade Muesli

I worked out that my muesli cost approx. $6.90 per kilo. That is not terrible for homemade muesli with luxury ingredients with no added sugar. I make it myself so there is no added sugar that is the reason I started making it in the first place. When I checked all the muesli on the supermarket shelf, they all had large amounts of added sugar. 

Okay, so I don't hold back with the ingredients, and I know sultanas, and other dried fruit, are full of sugar, but I can't be too worried about that. At least I never add sugar to it.

Kidding myself? I don't care if I am. It still must be better than 16, or whatever, added spoonfuls of sugar. Surely?

I don't think $6.90 per kilo is so terrible. I've never costed it before. I was kind of pleased with that.

Lovely Zephyrs

Okay, so I didn't take this one either.

Mark was talking about enjoying the weather up in Byron, the gorgeous sun and the lovely zephyrs, so I sent him this.

Updating the Blog with Lovely Photos (Think Ab Fab)

Okay, I haven't written anything for 13 days. Why? Nyr? Er? I'm not really sure. I'd like to say I have been busy, but I haven't. Time got away, and here we are, sometime later. I haven't written since 6th March, time flies when you are having fun. 

I had some pot, I have been a bit stoned, it ran out last Friday, and no, I wouldn't say I have come too again by today, being Monday, despite what Sam might say.

Now, I am not going to try and catch up with words, no, sorry. So, I am going to fill in the days with photos I have taken.

I bought a cheap CD of Great Operatic Arias, and I have popped that on for inspiration. I'm not really a great operatic aria type, but what the fuck, why not. It is all a bit Priscilla, really. I wonder what operatic divas think being compared to drag queens? (here's a clue, who cares) Anyway, here goes (with the photos). To the photo folder!

Sam set me up with DuckDuckGo search engine, instead of Google, as DuckDuckGo doesn't log you for statistical purposes. I'm still getting used to it.

Black Balloons

We walked through the back streets of Collingwood and down Victoria Parade, to eat lunch and buy veggies. We ate Korean fried chicken. We bought veggies and fruit. I bought a new Croton. 

Black Balloons

The Croton I bought. I bought another one last weekend. $4 from Bunnings, but I love playing with plants and I repotted it as soon as I got home. I have never owned a Croton before, let's see how the two of them go. 

I like cuttings and potted plants. I have been growing some geraniums lately. Red ones, of course, plus some apricot plants. 

I'm using coffee grounds on all my plants that like acidic soil. I used to, up until just recently, throw all of my coffee grounds in the bin.

Eating lunch in Smith Street, eating Indian food. I used to eat at this particular place all the time, when it was in another guise. The food was nice, a little on the sour side, but nice none the less. It was kind of nice to be back.

Doorways

A green doorway and purple flowers walking home from the dog park with Buddy who, of course, likes to piss in the vines and sniff about in the roots, clearly because other dogs like to piss in the vines and sniff about in the roots. 

Lovely, aren't they. The door, the plants, the entire thing. 

The colours are gorgeous, don't you think?

Clouds At The Dog Park

Great clouds at the dog park when we were taking Buddy for a run in the afternoon.

Lovely, aren't they?

Don’t you love clouds? Those wonderous things that float by overhead almost unnoticed. Spectacular, aren’t they.

Look up, and they seem vast. The sense of space they give, the patterns across the sky that are ever changing. 

Pretty In Blue

She didn't notice me take a photo of her. I had my camera lined up to take shots of the street, and then she walked around the corner. 

Click. Click. 

I liked the blue of her outfit. It reminded me of the colour of the sky on a lovely day. I wondered if she was wearing a bra? I tried to imagine what that would feel like hanging off my chest? Would it be like a flesh Slinky? Or human yoyos? Or plastic bags of liquid, hanging?

She smiled. I smiled back. And then she was gone.

The sun shone.

Bedlington Terriers

Okay, I didn't take this one either. These are the dogs my family always had when I was growing up. Bedlington Terriers. We had five of them altogether. They don't shed hair, nor do they have that 'doggy' smell. Mark calls them Barbra Streisand dogs. My mum wouldn't have any other sort of dog.

Parasites

A little social commentary on the parasites who make up the capitalist system. Jeff Bezos owns Amazon. Amazon is pretty capitalist, no matter which way you look at it. Selling ever increasing amounts of shit to people who probably need it less and less.

Shopping in Melbourne Central

I love the headphones sitting on top of this guy’s head. Okay, so that might only amuse me. 

I liked the hunk in black walking towards me too, he had a cool beard and big dick energy.

Do you think that is a transporter, there in front of the guy with the head phones? Imagine is it was? Imagine the places you could go? Anywhere? Tired of life as you know it, don’t take all those pills, or string a noose over the nearest ceiling joist, hop into that contraption and punch in the coordinates and change it?

I wonder how many people would say the contraption scares me and wash the pills down with brandy anyway?

Shopping in Melbourne Central. We were there to meet some girl from eBay from whom Sam was buying another remote control robot.

Red Geraniums

I love red geraniums, they are happy plants, adding gorgeous colour wherever they flower. I stick them in all of those pots that have been left empty by plants that have died. And they just grow happily. 

Only red ones though, I can’t have any other colour. Red are the best.

Actually, I do have some of those pink and white ones that I always think of as the original geraniums, but truthfully, I have no idea if that is true, or not? I have them because they were the only flowers in my garden when I bought my house and I keep them for sentimental reasons.

I love it when the red geraniums come to the end and their petals turn to different shades of red and start to fade.

Stella

I sneaked pictures of this woman while I was waiting for Sam who was buying fruit and veg in Aldi. She was the perfect peroxide blonde, slurping on pasta as she took a break from her shopping. I thought she was fabulous. I took many photos of her. You know, as you do when you are passing time, and you have a sneaking suspicion you are one of the great photographers or, at least could be, if only you’d gone down that route, instead of the numbers path you actually did take. You’d wished you’d learned earlier that the artistic path was really for you.

Stella was a dancer in the chorus, with dreams of taking the spot light one day. That was what she was doing when she met her husband Daryl. He thought her dreams were just that, dreams, and she soon lost sight of them when she had three sons in a row, quickly, in part due to Daryl’s relentless need for sex on a daily basis. She didn’t mind in the beginning, in fact, she was an enthusiastic participant, she liked Daryl’s muscles and, er, what had down there.

The demands of full time work and three active boys soon weight her down to the drudgery of day to day life and she was the first to admit that, while she never felt she lost interest in Daryl, her lot was tiring, as her life was busy.

It made no never mind, as Daryl found that his secretary was willing to give him daily sex in exchange for a hefty pay rise and 5 weeks leave per year and eventually he left his marriage for his third secretary, who it could be claimed was, what would we call it, more ambitious than the first two girls.

Stella’s boys, Jack, Lachlan and Cooper, who all turned out to be gay – it’s my story, what of it? – Jack an AFL player who lives his life in fear of being outed, dates another AFL player who also lives in fear of being outed, Lachlan, a lawyer with his father’s libido, and Cooper, a very masculine dancer, and martial arts expert in his spare time, who dates a truck drive named Brad, are all grown up and have moved out of home.

Stella now lives in a Victorian single fronted and she shops for her and her Schnauzer.

The boy in the blue t-shirt on the left had a nice arse.

 

Dave

Okay. I didn't take this and I can't quite remember why I saved it to my desktop, other than the obvious. Something pretty. And why not, we all like a lucky dip, or the idea of one. And there certainly is promise in the photo.

He reminds me of Manny, a bit. Manny's skin was more olive. I don’t think of Manny very much anymore. I wonder if this guy goes to gym every day and lives on a diet of tuna and rice? 

He reminds me of all those guys, the names of whom I have long since forgotten, but I always knew them, it was my thing, I always asked their names. Tom always thought that practise was odd. 

“Why?” he’d ask.

I always thought it was only polite, if you were going to fuck someone, ask them their name.

All those guys who got me though a night of drinking, or a long weekend. Those boys who came home with after a night of dancing. Or, much more likely, those guys who said yes to me at the doorway to a sex cubicle. I wonder how all those guys are doing? The number of which I have long since lost count of. That question always amuses me. What is your body count? Really? Who knows that? What are we? Teenagers?

Here is the story of what is happening to the inner suburbs of Melbourne in one easy to understand shot. More and more, uglier and uglier, bigger and bigger blocks of flats are being built to make wealth fat property developers, fatter and wealthier.

Ground Hog Day

It's like Ground Hog Day here every day. It made me laugh this morning when I realised that I was doing it again.

Every day, I get my cordless headphones, I get the battery from the special zip up battery case, and I put the battery into the headphones, I switch the music on, and the day fades away. (pot helps)

Every night, Sam takes the battery out of my cordless headphones, he gets the special zip up case from the headphones case, he places the batter into the special zip up case and puts the special zip up case into the proper compartment of the headphones case. He puts my headphones away in their case and he zips up the case.

Funny thing is, I never see him do it.

Every day, I get my cordless headphones, I get the battery from the special zip up battery case, and I put the battery into the headphones, I switch the music on, and the day fades away. (pot helps)

That's a little OCD. Oh, come on, it is!

He gave me chores at the door this morning, I ignored them and wrote all day. (pot helps)

Buddy says hello

Cher

I sorted my mixed tape [an iTunes collection] of Cher in respect to her coming to Australia and singing her arse off. Oh, I have an old pile of Cher CDs, but generally I am not a Cher fan, so I have just been putting it off.

So, I figured, if she could drag her 71 year old arse halfway across the world to entertain the troops, I could put in a couple of hours sorting her tunes. (pot helps)

Editing out all the songs I would never want to hear again. Then deleting any with dated arrangements, even if they are a good vocal, the arrangements still have to be timeless, and not of a time. Unless, of course, you are doing something specific like disco, which I am not.

So, I sorted through all the Cher CDs, which have been left hear by a ragtag group of friends and lovers and she did alright, sixteen tracks that I reckon I could listen to again. That was more than I was giving her credit for, before I began.

She's got a great voice, that is not in question, some of her stuff is dated though now. I called it All or Nothing and I got some Banksy street cred artwork for the cover.

I think it makes me able to like an artist more easily, if all those tracks that jar are taken out, it makes the artist's music better.

Sam doesn't think I have enough to do with my days. I know. Rude.

I wrote all afternoon. (pot helps)

Sunrise, as the pearl of light breaks through between the houses

Sun Rise

I got up when I thought my watch, by my bedside table, me sans glasses, said 5am. Yes, getting up early seems to be my thing now. Sam snoring on one side, Buddy snoring on the other side. I tip toe out in the dark.

So, it was with great surprise, some two hours later, that I looked at the clock and it said it was 3.50am? (pot helps)

Shake of the head.

Still, it is nice to see the sun rise. That gorgeous yellow ball. The golden sun light flooding through the lead light into the front hall, a flurry in my eyes, as I open the front door to water the plants on the veranda.

Guido Swings By

It was a warm night.

Guido called and said he was in the area. Now that is a first, he must have wanted something, I thought. Sam was still asking, "What?" as I was typing "yes, drop by." I thought bugger it, why not? Sam only protested a little. He gave in with a bit of a whimper, to tell you the truth.

David dropped in after teaching Indian Philosophy.

Guido couldn’t find a car park, so we sat in his car, which is always good for me getting two bags and Sam not having to blow a valve when I do it in front of him. Oh, come one, those bags are getting smaller by the year.  Guido laughed, he just wanted to gossip. 

“That’s good, as [friends name] wanted to see me and she never has any money." [friends name] has just be diagnosed with ADHD, to which Guido said nobody was surprised. 

“That much amyl has to do damage,” said Guido. He then told me how [friends name] was colour blind. 
"Apparently, that is why she is always blind at night clubs," said Guido. "And I always thought it was the drugs."

I said that I didn’t think women could be colour blind. 
"Aren't they carriers, and it is the blokes who are actually colourblind?"

Neither of us knew for sure.

I got out of the car as the next topic of conversation started up. It was me, or Guido, at that point - oh yes, thank you so much from delivery - but I had joints to roll, and none were getting rolled in the car.

David hoovered up the leftover pasta in the fridge. He didn't care if I scraped 2 bowls of leftover pasta into one bowl and then nuke it. Then he ate the rest of my stewed apple. He stayed to watch Riot, the history of the Sydney Mardi Gras. We’d watched the first twenty minutes, before David got there, but I didn’t mind watching it again, as the pot had arrived by that stage and I was happy to roll a few joints in the meantime.