Go! This Is It!

You get to play croquet on holidays for a couple of Christmas', you have a couple of kids, (a succession of bulldogs, for the gays) they grow up, and then you are dead. Life is short. (no, it really is, it isn't just something to say)

There is that grease patch at 25 and after that it is a clear skid to death. Done. And time rolls right on as if you never existed. 

You want to leave a mark on this world, good luck with that, as 12 billion people are skidding to their end around you in a tsunami of death, every day. 

You think you are a special, unique human being? Yeah, no. You're not. (You can still have the certificate for participation, if you want) Sorry. But, isn't it better to know the truth? None of us are all that special. Like, he's-just-not-that-into-you, isn't it better to know? (No matter what your parents told you, Millennials, it isn't true?) Get in line, take your turn, like everybody else.

Go! There is no test run, this is it. We're live. And watch out for 25. You had better have your shit together by then.

Eating Lunch

1pm. I’m eating opposite my office in Collins Street, the other corner of Collins and King Streets. A big salad in a square white bowl.

I read Sylvia Plath in my lunch time, I printed her poems out during the morning. It is an odd thing to do, I agree, as would most of those occupying the seats around me – they wouldn’t know who she was, let’s be honest. Some 55 year dead tragic – desperate to go – they wouldn’t understand at all, the great unwashed, the feat-foot ninnies.

This cathedral to commerce echoes with empty sound, the way business does, so many people achieving what? Poisoned air, and denial, politicians pull their pants up high and smile, as they make policy deals with their benefactors. (It would have once been corruption before the whole world, seemingly, swung to the right, allowing corruption to flourish)

My salad is lettuce upon lettuce upon lettuce, it would seem, not enough noodles from dinner last night for me to bring lunch today. I watch a handsome lawyer discuss divorce with his client. The sun comes in the high up windows next to us. I can see the light shine across the creases in his crotch. His eyes flicker momentarily in my direction. He pushes at the blue fabric on his thigh and I amuse myself to think that I caused that. His double Windsor knot holds him together, huge on his neck, like a badge, or, fucked if I know. He seems too young to know about ending marriages and she looks too old to bother, really, get a Winnebago and take your husband holidaying, a change may do the both of you good.

Sam messages me with a “how are you, busy?” message, and I feel settled in my love.

The Golden Rule

It is interesting, when you think about it, that the entire Christian doctrine can be replaced with one simple sentence, what they call The Golden Rule. 

Do to others as you would want them to do to you. 

(Sunshine and green fields and blue skies and bright eyes and hay coloured smiles)

What's all the other fuss? The big book, the literal word of god? Crusty and old interpretation of an interpretation of 2000 year old men who were on the whole mostly illiterate. God, smod when his entire manifesto can be supplanted by one sentence.

Treat others as you would like to be treated.

Its simplicity is breath taking. Think about it? There is no escape clause in those words.

All that Gothic architecture and devotion, flowing frocks and piety, for what? (That's all just for power, nothing to do with your spiritual health, or whatever)

Performance Reviews

Performance reviews, it is that time of year again. Kill me now! I have had the email in my inbox for a month. Performance reviews, here is the timeline for completing them. I had ignored it successfully until this week when I got a reminder. Grrr. So, I looked at the time line today and they are due tomorrow. Oh, the pain.

There are three sections. Your strengths. Your weaknesses. Your goals.

So, I typed something about strengths, I had to start somewhere. It was the usual palaver. I know my stuff. I don't make mistakes. Try and get someone as good as me.

Then weaknesses, I am new and still learning the finer details of this particular job. It’s been 4 months, it is a stretch, but that doesn’t make it not true?

Goals? I’m guessing none is not an acceptable answer? Goals? My immediate goal is to write enough to get a pay rise. Can I put that? I’ve been here 4 months so it is unlikely I’ll get a pay rise. To be happy, would be my fall back goal, it is kind of the golden goal, but not so useful in a work sense. I reckon I could argue that it is more important, but, I’m guessing, they wouldn’t see it that way. I had nothing until the afternoon. We work at a fairly high standard, my goal is to maintain that high standard. Lovely.

I came up with nothing else, so at 4.25pm, I hit finalise and it was done. At most, six sentences. Do you think that is enough, Christian? Not really. Oh, but it should be. All of our goals are to keep working, not get the sack, and hopefully, get a pay rise. That is the universal goal. 

I know that performance reviews are just a way for HR to justify their existence. In my last job, the wage reviews were all completed before the performance reviews were. Go figure.

Performance reviews are bullshit, did you get that?

I left work at 4.30pm. I left work for the week. And I don't really care if I wrote enough, or not. At least they can't complain that I haven't done it. And isn't that what counts. What are they going to do, sack me. Yeah, not likely. (shrug? If they did I could stay home and write poems)

Save the World

We need to end political donations, they just effectively amount to corruption, for good to save our political system and democracy.

If you think that sounds a little dramatic, it is not. Political donations are already destroying the (political) world as we know it.

PTELLO

Now after the Wentworth bloodbath bi-election, (chuckle)

Here’s a thought, now that the Liberal leadership requirements are at an all time low – who have they got, SCUMO that singing god botherer and Hateful Lurch – Peter Costello should throw his hat back in the ring, he’d be a shoe in, I reckon. Especially now that the lying little, (don’t say the word they don’t like it), John Howard (see what I did there, I didn’t have to say the word for you all now to be saying it in your heads) isn’t there to promise him one thing and then stab him in the back, like the true liberal mate that he is.

So, then Pete could go to his grave not being the mortally wounded, not being the eternally disappointed, that he is now. And the Liberal Party gets themselves a true leader. Chuckle. (Oh, I knew I wouldn’t be able to say that with a straight face)

And in some ways, it would be like getting the band back together, Abbott and Costello. Then we’d know it was deliberate, the comedy show that is the Liberal Party.

We could have PTELLO. It sounds a bit like a chocolate biscuit, now doesn’t it. Well, it would have to be shaped like a jelly fish, remembering Howard pissed all over him for years. (Now there’s an image to rival Trump in Russia)

Wentworth Bi-Election

If you want better government, send our current incompetent government a message with a vote for Labor.
It is the only way Australia is going to get better government.

SCUMO's Website

Too funny. Our Prime Minister, SCUMO, forgot to renew his website - and you trust this guy to run the country? Shake of the head - and some guy bought it and took it over and did this. Hit the link.

http://www.scottmorrison.com.au/

Funny First Thing

8am. Sam is sitting on the ottoman putting on his shoes just about to leave for work. "What is on your to-do list?"

My to-do list? I'll give you to-do list, I thought. "Be fabulous, I believe. Just be fabulous, that is all I have to achieve today, be fabulous," I said. "Being fabulous, as, I, speak."

Sam was just looking at me with "that" look, so I assumed he wanted more. (There seems to be an on-going dialogue about the, how shall we put it, the disparity of my 3 days and his 5 days)

"Oh, yes, and relax. Put your feet up. You have worked very hard over the last three days and you really deserve the next three days off. Relax, you deserve it. Enjoy."

Sam was still just looking at me, with no expression, he hadn't said a word. (Tough nut to crack, some mornings, my boyfriend)

More, I thought?

"And of course, the standard instruction, drink more coffee." I smiled. "Coffee is good for you." I sipped my coffee.

"I put some things on your schedule to ask the vet when you take Buddy to the vet this morning," said Sam. "I just wanted to make sure you had read them?"

"Oh," I said. "My schedule?" (Damn! I thought. I miscalculated that one)

Sam looked at me with lips of string.

"A hint?" I could feel my eyebrows rise.

"Your reminder list."

"And I would find that... (I knew where to find it, but I was beginning to enjoy the game) where?"

"Your phone." Exasperated look, mate.

"My phone," I said (like it was some great god damn revelation. "Of course."

I looked at Sam. Not even a scintilla of a smile. "My... phone." Big smile. "Good... to... know."

He kissed me and headed to the front door.

Boys in Shorts

With the weather warming up, you've got to love the clothes coming off.

Walking into the city this morning there were lots of guys in small black shorts; the guy crossing Spring Street with thighs like tree trunks with which you could crack nuts, with those tight shorts that appeared to be painted on; the tradies in Collins Street, the young spike-haired blondie with a gorgeous smile and the (only one with) long shorts, and a fresh face, the strapping boss wog guy with such tiny shorts that were so small I could nearly see what he had for breakfast, and the fine curve of his butt cheek, as I gazed back, and his side kick, 2IC, with his handsome face and his puppy dog eyes, and an arse like an Italian peach.

A whistle on my lips in the canyons of the CBD. Tra la la, I thought, as I looked from one to the other, with Mick Jagger singing in my ears.

I don't think there is a bad Rolling Stones album, just by the way.

To say it made me happy, is overstating it a bit, but you know...

Abortion Laws

It was one of those glorious sunny Melbourne spring days.

At the top of Little Bourke Street there were police and police cars everywhere. I mean everywhere. There was clearly a protest on. It seemed as though every policeman in Melbourne was in Spring Street.

We wandered over for a look.

There was a small group closest to us with two rows of police and many more police on the side lines separating them from the second group who were in the Spring Street, Bourke Street intersection.

It was about abortion.

The smaller group closest to us were the prochoice and the larger group further away were the anti-abortionists.

We listened to the pro-abortion group, they said that the other group were trying to take away women’s choice. They also said there needed to be separation between church and state.

We headed through the police lines and listened to the other group, who said they needed to get the law changed to save the babies. It is all about the children. Apparently, they have only until November to influence the vote to facilitate a change in the law.

Two things. They seemed to be confident that the Liberal Party would change the abortion laws.

The second thing is a question. What exactly do the Christians think they are going to get the abortion laws changed to? What? That it would become illegal for women to have an abortion? Really? Seriously, does anybody think that law would get passed?

Or do they think that the current law would be repealed? Would that mean we’d go back to the old system that abortion is illegal unless a doctor says it is in the best mental, or physical, interests of the mother to have an abortion. In effect, no change at all? Really? Would parliament go through the process to end back at that? Seriously, does anybody think that is likely?

So, really, the Christian rally against abortion laws really just amounts to the same slow speed dummy spit the Christians have been having since the laws were changed.

Give it up people, you lost. (And stop whining about the fact that most of the population doesn't believe what you believe.)

Change Your name

A girl in the office who recently got married said she is about to change her name. "I am just finalising the paperwork," she said. The girls gathered sighed in collective joy.

"I never understand why women change their names today," I said. "It is kind of outdated, isn't it?"

"Because that is what you do," said the just married girl. "Why would that be a problem, anyway?" Her well manicured eyebrows (I imagine she had them done for the wedding) lifted pointedly.

"Well, it is always a problem when they get divorced." Oh yes, I heard the collective inhale of breath from the gathered, I'm not deaf.

She twitched noticeably. "I don't plan to get divorced."

Was I going to go there, for a split second I wondered? "I'm sure that is what they all say," I said. Gay humour? You with your good bag and your cheap shoes. I'd like to call it gay realism, personally.

Well, apparently you can't say such things. There were audible tutt-tutts from the crowd. You could almost hear the thoughts forming into words, she has only just got married, for goodness sake.

Sheesh! I am only being honest, I thought. It's not like 50% of marriages in divorce, or anything.

I headed back to my office. Oh yes, I know, but sometimes I can't help myself. It is as if I just always have to tell my truth.

Where angels feared to tread, will be on my tombstone. Oh, no, it is just nice lying here, that will be on my tombstone.

It's true though, I've known quite a few female friends who have ended up not knowing what to call themselves. Some don't want to keep their ex-husbands name, but haven't wanted to go back to their maiden name. I've known two who didn't want their ex-husbands name any longer, but didn't want their father's name who they hated. If women just kept their names, like men do, this would not be an issue. 

I see women changing their names as something really out dated, like women still calling themselves miss, or who say they aren't feminists.

Of course, you may say that this is none of my business and, you know, you'd probably be right.

Schools Discriminating Against Gay Children

So our Prime Minister Scummo says schools being able to discriminate against gay students is already the law, so tell me why is it included in Ruddock's Religious Freedom report then?

#TouchAStraightBoyToday

So, the controversy swirling around now a days is that consent is a grey area, something really tricky for straight guys to grasp. It is a problem for straight boys, so say the #MeToo movement.

So here is how us gay boys can help. #TouchAStraightBoyToday. They'll soon get the hang of consent, I am really sure about that.

Sparkling Spring Days

Sparkling spring days

no complaints

but, of course,

it means crazy hot

summer days

are on their way

Sometimes An Apology Just won't Cut It.

If the straight world apologised for the rest of time - or until global warming gets us all, whichever comes first - it will never make up for what the straight world has done to the gay community in the past. Never.

Even today, we are still discriminated against by some.

The Weekend

Buddy got two walks as it was a glorious day. Buddy got two walks today because both his owners are feeling like they need to do some exercise. Buddy is lying on the floor, I'm sure, exhausted thinking what the fuck?

It was a lovely day though. And thanks to daylight savings it is a gorgeous evening, long and lovely. You can smell the sparkling summer in the air. The freshest and the cleanliness, you can almost taste it on your lips. The summer newness somehow makes the air lighter and smoother on your body and your mind. Lovely. There is a lightness of being in summer that you don’t get in winter. Maybe it is just dryness of the air, less moisture, it doesn’t weigh as heavy.
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It has been a cold spring, but you can feel that has passed, you can feel it in the air.

It has been a sparkling few days

Beautiful Day

The weather is glorious today, it is one of those days when you just know that Melbourne is having the best weather of any where in the world.

Sublime.

Sam and I went out for lunch, we sat outside in the glorious sun. I paid for our meals with cash once we’d finished. The Millennial waiter seemed to be completely dumbfounded when I gave her this funny bendy plastic note. I’d seen her whipping out the eftpos machine earlier handling the tap and go with aplomb, but cash seemed to be foreign to her. She had to get the other millennial waiter to helper her with the cash register, with no success. They had to call the middle-aged manager from the kitchen to work the ‘whole cash thing” for them. They seemed to be most concerned that I was being inconvenienced with the delay. Not at all, I was fascinated. (and, of course, slightly nervous that I was being confirmed to be an old cash hag)

My Plot of Land

I was working up the back of my yard cutting up some pruning and putting in the bin, music in my headphones, the dappled sun all around me, I lay the secateurs down and gazed down my yard to the house.

This is my plot of land. In all of the world, this is it, this is my bit. This is the amount of land I have been able to secure for myself. If you like, this is the sum total of my entire lifetime's achievements, here, laid out in front of me in a physical representation.

I wondered what percentage of the world's surface it was? 😕 How much of the planet is mine? I imagine it is infinitesimal. Small enough to count on one hand, on a digit.

Funny the things you think with your hands in gardening gloves standing in the sun down the back yard.

The Fruit Bowl

We get a fruit bowl at work, every Monday and Wednesday. As I am one of the first into the office, I usually get the pick of the fruit. Usually, I take a couple of bananas and a couple of mandarins, which I eat during the morning, normally for morning tea, with my fifth coffee.

Just lately, I've been taking the bananas home and making banana cakes for Sam on my days off. I usually take a couple, but the last couple of weeks, I've found myself taking three bananas, as I normally need that many to make a banana cake. I've just been taking them without giving it much thought. 

Today, it crossed my mind that it was not really in the spirit of the fruit bowl to be taking the fruit home to make cake, as I took my last 3 bananas. I would just eat them anyway, I told myself. What difference does it... but, my Still Small Voice has been clearing its throat and saying it thinks it is wrong, annoyingly. A conscience is a terrible thing, no, really, it is. Oh damn. What was I thinking?

Rats.

Yes, I could just buy the bananas. How practical of you.

Worst Day of My Life

He had a wank sitting on the toilet in a cubicle at work. How many guys do you think have wank at work? Lot's, I guess. It would be a guy pass time, at work. I'm pretty sure.

Some guy came into one of the other cubicles just as he was getting going, so he stopped and waited. He took a crap, while he waited for the guy to leave, no use wasting time. See, boys can multitask. The other guy left soon enough, so he could continue.

Adam’s chest, Andre's sweet butt, Seamus's face. Licking, fingering, kissing. Andre's chest is nice too, apparently he lifts weights. Head spins, dizzy heights. Shakes. Sweats. His breathing becomes short and sharp. The universe is inverting. He squints his eyes and tugs furiously. King of the world, top of the heap, number one!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!! He was sure he could hear the Doctor Who theme, as he threw his head back and did the silent scream boys have done since the beginning of time.

It was good, very satisfying, just what he needed on a stressful morning. He basked in his post-wank euphoria.

When he was done, he stood up and pulled his pants up.

“Oh?”

He forgot he’d taken a dump.

“Oh… er… noooooooooo!”

He hadn’t wiped his arse.

“Fuuuuuuuck!”

There is no coming back from that.

“Ah.”

Couldn’t even pull his knickers out of his crack, not that he wanted to try.

“Worst day of my life,” he told me later.

Coffee Snob?

Why would you have instant coffee when there is a coffee machine in the kitchen? I saw some guy making an instant cuppa today, at work. The mind boggles. We have a great coffee machine.

I was surprised anyone drank instant any more. People really drink instant coffee? Am I a coffee snob?

Oh yes, I know, people should be able to have what they want without criticism. Live and let live. No judgement. But, really? In Melbourne too, the coffee capital of Australia.

My mind boggles.