Religious Discrimination Laws, and Other Fabricated Problems

In the Dog Park

It was a glorious morning, day off number 2 for the week. I don't even want to work the 3 days that I do, but I can do my job with my eyes closed now a days, so it seems stupid to give it up. Of course, being able to do your job with your eyes closed could be argued to be a good reason to get a new job, however... I now have the easiest job in the world and still I don't want to do it, what is wrong with me?

Oh, working seems so last century, don’t you think? Certainly working 9 to 5, 5 days a week. Oh, work if it gives you a sense of purpose, by all means, but surely there is a better way.

We should all be perusing artistic pursuits with the same gusto that fuels the fear of losing our jobs.

Don’t you think? The world would be a much nicer place, certainly. Sure, it would. It would have to.

Anyway,

Off to the dog park just after breakfast. Bruno and I threw ball in the sun, with the other dogs. Buddy slept on the couch with the sun coming through the window. Buddy’s, shall we say, idiosyncrasies won’t allow him to leave the house unless his full pack is present, which, of course, includes Sam, so in Bruno it is nice to have a dog now that I can walk.

We threw ball for about an hour. The sun shone. It was a glorious winter's day. The other owners threw balls for their dogs. They all sniff and play and jump about, as if they are friends. I guess they are friends. Who knows what dogs think.

I like the chick with the Boston Terrier called Nola, we chat naturally, she is easy to talk to. She seems cool.

The Vizsla that normally comes with the woman in the evenings is there with her cute son in track pants. I return his dog’s ball to him several times and smile sweetly at him. Only I know the basis of the sweet smile. Oh, come on, he’s pretty. And it is just a smile, nothing more.

I have great sympathy for the woman who can’t catch one of her two dogs. I can see it is really frustrating when that happens. Her dog has another dog’s ball and doesn’t to give it back so he doesn’t want to be caught. Its owner is really frustrated and leaves the park with her other dog but the recalcitrant dog doesn’t really fall for it and the owner is still unable to catch it. Eventually, the dog sits close to Nola’s owner, who just casually bends down and grabs him.

We walk home after about an hour, when Bruno looks like he has had enough of chasing the ball, you know, when I throw it and he looks in the direction the ball went and then looks back at me, and I have to be enthusiastic about him going to get it so he goes and gets it, so I don’t have to walk all the way across the park to get it. The sun shines, a gentle breeze blows, lovely Friday.

Then the two of us have a snooze on the couch. That’s what days off are for, after all.

Bruno Chasing Ball

First day off of the week. The sun shone. (It is all sweetness and light when I don’t have to go to the salt mines) Bruno and I headed to the dog park and threw ball. Bruno is ball obsessed at the moment, very keen is he. Lots of people are amazed to see an English Bulldog run. Bruno and I think that is exceedingly rude. They laugh and think it is the funniest thing, which kind of compounds their rudeness. Bruno and I roll our eyes when they aren't looking. English Bulldogs can run... when they want to.

Bruno was making friends with a couple of rescue dogs who were only just venturing out with their new owners for the first time. Everybody was having a lovely time. The new owners were very pleased that one of the rescues let me pat him.

Then the park nemesis, Cain, a little wiry terrier, turned up. Suddenly there he was right in the middle of everything.

"Oh, Mr Cain," I said. I could see he owner Mr Chatty approaching. I was thinking I haven't seen Cain for ages. I was thinking is Cain going to behave himself. I was thinking should I grab Bruno and tell the rescue dog owners to beware? Buddy and Cain get on okay, Buddy ignores Cain and Cain leaves Buddy alone. But Buddy is a big, mature bulldog for who turning the other cheek is quite easy. I was thinking all of this when Cain, true to form, attacked Bruno.

Mr Chatty had go to us by then and he put Cain on his lead and said, "That's unusual for Cain to do that?"

What? I thought.

He meant attack Buddy. "This is Bruno," I said. I don't think Mr Chatty really understood that Bruno wasn't Buddy. I don't think he really understood that I had a different dog. I have never been completely convinced of Mr Chatty's mental capacity, shall we say. Vietnam Vet, conservative voter, not that I asked, thinks everyone on the dole is a dole bludger, again, not that I asked, can talk until ones ears bleed.

“It’s been a while,” he said.

At that point, Bruno and I left. "Time to go," I said.

"Good to see you," said Mr Chatty.

"Um... er... yes," I said. I couldn't manage anything other than that.

Mr Chatty is in complete denial about Cain. He has upset many people at the dog park with Cain's bad behaviour. As Bruno and I walked away, I glanced back and saw he had taken Cain off his lead again. Complete denial, I thought.

I felt bad for the rescue dog owners, who were at the edge of the park by now by the drinking fountain, so I gave them a run down on Cain. I could see that as I was chatting to them about Cain and Mr Chatty that as I looked over at them, Mr Chatty was looking at us. I wonder if his ears were burning?

Lovely Day

It was a beautiful spring day. Winter is on its way out. The mornings are brighter and lighter, that makes them feel busier, even if they aren't. I think we all blossom when the light is plentiful, when the dark lifts. The sun shone today and the sky was blue. I wore a t-shirt for the first time in weeks. Light and the sun makes us happier. Smile. Let the light in.

Cancer

My best friend left me, does that say he wasn't a best friend at all? Because, surely, a best friend would never leave you, they'd be by your side until the end. That must be true? That is what clarifies the 'best' in best friend, surely. A best friend would never leave you.

I feel let down. I now have to go through life without a best friend. I have to head towards old age without the guy who understood me the best, standing next to me, supporting me when I am right, telling me quietly when I am wrong, carrying his share of our collective history with him, as I carry my share. I now have to go it alone.

Nobody to say to, remember when we did whatever, or so and so did that, or whoever failed at that?

Remember when?

I remember too?

It went like this.

No, it went like that.

Really, like that?

Yes, yes, just like that.

You know, I think you are right.

What happened when?

This is what happened.

Oh, yes, so it did.

Now that is all gone. He carried more than half of our collected history, so more than half has gone, because our shared memories bought us to life. Our shared memories are more than the sum of their parts, they bought life, and pizzazz, and brightness, and truth to the memories being remembered.

You left me before you joined Facebook, funny to think now that there was a life before Facebook, but that was where you left me, before you joined up. And you would have loved Facebook, it was designed just with you in mind. All that time on your hands, to chat and put your opinions out there for everyone to see, you would have loved it. And you just missed it. Is that what they mean by sliding doors moments? Is that what they mean?

You were so strong and vital and unique, you would have owned social media, but you didn't make it, blinking out just as social media blinked into life. Blink, blink. Lights, action. Silence.

We could have had such fun, so much more fun, but no, it wasn't to be, your blood turned against you. And you didn't hold up your side of this bargain we call life. You were supposed to be here still, but you are not. You and me. Not.

I'd love to see you again, even just once, to explain everything that has happened. I'd love to see the look on your face, and hear your take on it all.

“Donald trump is president.”

“What the fuck.”

The smartest man I ever knew.


The smartest men I’ve ever known? One is dead, one is insane, and one moved far, far away. I’m getting short on smart friends. And you were possibly the smartest.

We laughed, we played, we partied, we schemed, we gossiped, we played tricks, we were mean just to amuse each other. We dreamed. We were going to write our lives together. We had fun, more fun than most people were ever allowed to have, we always thought. So much fun.

Gone. Like the nights I went to the Camberwell library with my dad. Gone. Like holidays at the sea water skiing. Gone. Like happy school days. Gone, gone, gone. Like Oscar my dog. Gone. Like our youth. Gone.

You went and left me. I found a new love, Sam, you would like him. You never met him. I never got to see you and Sam. Sam would like you, would have liked you. Never to meet, even if Sam and I live until we are 100 years old. 120. 130. You are never coming back. You two are never going to meet.

I miss you every day.

Global Warming

I just got our first load of fire wood delivered for the year. Usually, by now, we'd be having our second ton of fire wood delivered for the winter.

Sure, we had some left over from last year, but that was only the back of a hatchback's worth. There was a shortage at the end of last year and we couldn't get the usual delivery, so I bought $50 worth from Thomastown, and we had a small pile left over from that. We still have some of that left now, we are not completely out, in fact, we'd probably had enough to get through to the end of this winter.

But now we have a full delivery setting us up for next winter, which will have dried out nicely by then. In fact, judging by this year, the delivery we got today may last us for a couple of years, if global warming keeps up its cracking pace. (cross your fingers)

We'd normally be having a fire every night, Melbourne winter's being what they are, but we haven't had that. We haven't even burnt through what we had left over from last year, as I said. There have been many fireless nights around the teli.

We haven't had a fire every night of winter, which is the norm, and that is a first for us, unheard of for Melbourne. Ask someone from Sydney? (Whining fucken Sydneysiders) So, this winter is the warmest we've had, I don't have to wait for the inevitable post mortem to be released to know that.

And kudos to the wood guys. It was pouring with rain at the time they were meant to be delivering, and they called and said they’d be arriving in 10 minutes with the wood. I mean, it was belting down. It had stopped raining by the time he got here, as it turned out.

A new blonde boy was the driver, I hadn’t seen him before. A big solid 20 something year old. Cute, beard, a bit of a snowflake on the quiet. My next door neighbour cracked a joke as he was backing up the ute. He wanted to be offended, thought it was a quip about his driving. (You know that equates to dick size, or something) I assured him it was not something with which to get offended, and he relaxed. He had a sweet laugh. He seemed like a nice guy. I don’t know what the angst was all about.

But I digress. Not even a full delivery of fire wood burnt this year. It is unheard of.

Death

That concept of never seeing someone ever again after they die is a really hard idea to grasp. Gone. Forever. It is like visualising infinity. Or understanding the distance to Pluto.

Gone.

Forever.

As long as you may live.

Time keeps ticking. Days keep passing. Years keep ending. Decades keep disappearing. Centuries roll over. Millenia change. The earth keeps spinning silently in space.

No wonder people invented supernatural beings and myths and legends and gods and monsters, to fill in the gaps in their understanding, to explain truths to huge to grasp.

It has to be something super natural, because it is beyond our comprehension.

And 2000 years ago, one could understand why we did that, especially. We were all illiterate and ignorant back then, grappling with concepts even the most learned can’t process now.

It is mind boggling, sure.

However, how do people still choose illiterate cave dwelling ignorance over fact and science by which to live their lives today.

The last state in Australia is in the middle of legalising abortion, and the usual religious nutjobs have oozed out of the wood work to try and stop the process by any means, lie, with whatever they can. (Their delusion is powerful)

The concept is very simple, if you don't believe in abortion don't have one. It really is that simple. But what makes these people believe they can impose their beliefs on everyone else. Yeah, I don’ know. I’m guessing that they have such a tenuous hold on their (what are nonsensical, after all) religious beliefs, that they need to make others, at least appear to, believe their nonsense to bolster their own beliefs.

It's not 2CE any more people. You don't need your gods any more, let them go, they are redundant. And those people who may seek an abortion in the future don't care what you think. Not a wit. You are just making a nuisance of yourselves, like eczema, or blowflies.

Newspaper headline, Annie Called Police 19 Times Before She Stabbed Her Husband, Now She Is Facing Jail

Annie stands by the telephone table, receiver between her head and her shoulder. She jabs at the buttons on the phone with her finger as she dials the number.

There is a moaning sound.

(Pan back.) There is a man hog tied in front of the couch.

"Okay, okay, I'm up to number 18," says Annie. She jabs at the buttons with her chubby fingers again. “There, number er 19. Still no answer." She shrugs. She can feel her eyes open really wide. She exhales so seriously it nearly hurts.

She grabs a 30 centimetre knife from the couch.

"Number 19," she says. "Number 19, you know what that means," she repeats. The man starts to moan more loudly, more desperately. “There is nothing left to do.” She moves closer to the tied body. “It is beyond my control.” He moans more loudly. Annie brings the knife back level with her shoulder. “I’ve got to do it.” Annie plunges the knife through the man's back. He stops moaning instantly, there is a rushing sound of air. “I had to do it.” He makes a faint gurgling sound, momentarily. Then there is silence.

Annie lets go of the knife.

Strawberry Jam

My snack de jour is toast with strawberry jam, and coffee, of course. Everything is better with coffee, that goes without saying.

I've had a liking for strawberry jam ever since cute French Leo stayed with us. He made great strawberry jam, half fruit and half sugar and whatever else boiled up in a big pot. He made so much that he let me eat some of it for breakfast, or lunch which is when I tend to eat jam toast. His strawberry jam was sweet and tart and flavoursome. It had a lovely stiff texture, I mean, thick texture.

I'm still talking about, actual, strawberry jam, you understand, I have not strayed in to euphemism.

Although, I am sure Leo would have had sweet, sweet jam. Actually, I have never liked the taste of it, to tell you the truth, so I don't think sexy Leo would have had sweet... no, I’m not talking about strawberry jam any longer…

Can you imagine if men… came strawberry jam? Imagine how that would be transformative... well, it would have been for me. It would have help greatly as I grew up gay. Imagine all the knobs with which I'd want to have seen it through to the end. Imagine gobbling up that? You know, instead of spitting it at them and calling them pigs.

Chuckle. Oh… I have done that. Pfffff! “You dirty pig!”

He takes another bite of his toast and he sips his coffee.

But I digress, thick wholemeal bread, lashings of butter and that smooth, smooth strawberry jam, with just the right amount of tart to make the coffee wash done sublime after every bite. It is my very favourite thing, de jour.