From the vaults (part 4) ...circa Senior School, Year 11 - The Next Day

the next day...

What can I do?

I feel like I have done something that is too big to forget, to ignore, or cover up.

What can I do?

When everyone’s staring and pointing even though they have no idea what’s true? They don’t even suspect, nobody does, not Alex, or me.

Some guys are called poofters in the hall, as I look in my locker for things to take home. I don’t join in; it makes my skin crawl. I just want to get my stuff and walk away.

What else can I do?

I wish that it would blow over, quickly, I don’t want any blame. What can I do when my guts are aching with fear and worry at being found out?

Why did I say yes, the other day, out in the hall? He smiled and raised his eyebrows. I was as nervous as hell. He tried to arrange it before the end of the day, but I took a rain check, to settle my nerves.

Isn’t it funny that they’ll blame other guys, but never look at us? No one suspects. But I still want the fuss to blow over, anyway, out in the hall, even though I’m not even involved. I don’t want the association, even though I can’t be blamed. It’s those guys, who are “friends,” truthfully, they’re not friends at all. And their trouble, hopefully, won’t be coming my way.

I exit outside.

Boy's School

Just thinking back to my years at my boys only private school... all those memories.

I liked school, had a great time; from the moment my dad dropped me off at the front gate, he taught at a uni and it was on his way, fitted into his timetable, to when I wandered out the gate with my big bag flung over my shoulder.

I liked the boys, for sure. I was friends with all the different groups; played 500, at lunch time, with the smart boys, smoked with the rebellious boys, hung with the sporty types, laughed with the gay boys, befriended the tough kids, schemed with the geeks.

I don't know now how I did it? I can only say that it came naturally for me – that's the best I can say.

I guess, if I had to slot myself into my own school tribe, I was one of the smart kids. But I was semi-sporty and pretty good looking and intelligent – a good mix, for me, good genes, thanks mum and dad.

And if you think good looks and athletic ability (just enough to get by, in my case, don't get me wrong. But enough) doesn't make you attractive to, popular with, other boys – straight or gay – then you are wrong. Males are very sexually orientated, don't be mistaken, for a minute. In my opinion, there aren't that many males who are completely and utterly straight, given the right set of circumstances, despite what they may claim otherwise.

I mixed easily across the sub-cultures, without even thinking. I wasn't fearful as a teenager, that came later, as an adult, when I went out into the big, wide world and learned how truly fucked up it really is.

I never got it on with any of the gay boys, nah, sorry to say, effeminate men have never done it for me, they leave me cold and make me wonder why they have to be like that? (years later, I may consider this to be a betrayal of my subculture) Having said that, I believe it all comes from birth, we are born the way we are. I never stood up for them, of course, but, they didn't need heroes, they rarely got a hard time. In fact, as clichéd as it sounds, the only thing they ever got was hit on by the sporty types, pretty much. They used to confide in me, without me ever making any direct admissions. I was admitted to their secret circle – when I hung out with them, which wasn't so often, but often enough – and was just accepted. It's strange now that I think about it. There was just this unspoken understanding, that I accepted them without question and they accepted me, also, without question.

They talked frankly about who they'd been with, be it in whispers behind hands and more often than not, in a type of code, but frank admissions, none the less.

Ben, the gorgeous, athletic footy boy used to do it with Adam – even after school, when he was married. I used to drive passed Adam's place, onto my then girlfriend's house and I used to see Ben's Falcon GT with BS personalised number plates parked outside Adam's place, from time to time. I often used to chuckle about his number plates. I wondered if his wife would have seen the funny side.

David used to do it with any number of guys, if David could be believed. But, knowing David, it was probably true. I can’t remember now who he claimed to have ‘done’ but if everything he said was true, he was the school slut. He always had all the goss on everyone.

Raymond used to do it with Lucus, one of the smart boys, who had unbelievable, I guess you'd call it, Scandinavian good looks. He was one of the smart boys who I'd play 500 with, occasionally having come from the gay kids where I'd heard Raymond's latest details. I used to gaze knowingly at Lucus when he'd chat about his girlfriend, as I trumped his card. (truthfully, I never really believed Raymond, I think it was more a case of wishful thinking)

And me... ah yes, Alex. The, eventual, vice-captain of the school and the vice captain of the footy team and one of the most popular kids in the place. Alex and I were buddies from year 7 and, for want of a better expression, lovers for the last two years we were there. Blonde – against type, I know – handsome, round face, floppy hair, killer smile, great legs in footy shorts, let me tell you, smart, with more confidence than any one person should possess. Everybody loved him at school. He was universally adored.

It was his confidence that got us together. It was he who made all the moves on me. I never propositioned anyone, he did all the talking.

We did it all over the school; change rooms, toilets, empty class rooms, down the end of the oval in the gardens. How we never got caught, I'll never know. We did everything to each other – two horny school boys going at it like rabbits. I had my first threesome, organised by Alex, in the bush walking store room. I was the member of the bush walking team, so it was my responsibility to get the key and it was Alex's responsibility to get Jake. Of course, we were all too nervous and couldn't really get it up and nothing really happened, as it turned out, but I got to see Jake with his pants off.

Alex went onto get married, run a hugely successful real-estate company and have three sons who he sent to our school.

I was often tempted to go to an old boy’s function, just to sidle up to him, hopefully with his wife by his side, and whisper in his ear, How about one more time, for old time’s sake? Just to see his pretty, blue eyes squirm one last time. (I’m willing to admit that would have been the inverse of the power he had over me at school) Of course, I never did. But, I was always confidant that one day we would see each other again, just to chat, just to reminisce.

His gorgeous blue eyes used to catch my attention in class and his eyebrows would raise and his forehead would crease and he would smile in a certain way. That was his sign for how about it. I can still feel my face breaking into a smile in return, as I looked away, so no one would catch on. And my pulse would raise and being a teenage school boy, it wouldn't be the only thing. After that, my concentration would be shot for the rest of the class.

I remember, on one occasion, a teacher said to me, most accusingly,

“Chris, you haven't been paying attention. Would you like to stand up and tell the class where your mind has wandered off to?”

Well, you see, there is this boy... my mind started to think – I'm sure it wasn't quite that clearly, at the time. Of course, I said nothing.

I sneaked a look at Alex, after a safe passage of time and smiled and he smiled back knowingly.

So you will understand... a year, or so ago, I was flicking through the old boys magazine, to the back page to the news of old boys, the only bit I really read and my eyes strayed down to the In Memoriam section, which I always just throw a passing glance at, to read, We are all shocked and saddened to hear of the death of Alex Roberts... how truly shocked I really was.

I was left oddly numb, standing there in my kitchen with my coffee in my hand, strangely so removed, by time and experience, from the images and pictures that were flooding through my mind.

It was a Saturday and it was raining, as it is today, I put on my jacket and got my umbrella and went for a long walk.

Ah, beautiful Alex, despite the fact that I haven't seen you since our school days, I still can't quite believe that it is true.

If You Could Choose a Job...

 

...other than what you are working as right now/studying to be, then:

1. What would you love to be working at and why?

The two great loves of my life are writing and architecture. I, allegedly, went to one of the best private boys schools in Melbourne. When I was in year 11 and expressed a desire to be an architect, the careers councillor said to me, Oh Chris, you have always been a business student, you couldn't possibly be an architect because you have never done physics. As a 17 year old, I just accepted what she said blindly.

And despite my constant poetry and prose writing, the school never picked up on that either.

I have just recently finished a writing degree, just as a personal goal. What I am going to do with it, I'm not sure. What am I saying, I'm going to become a great, published author.

If I'd stop blogging and start writing something useful, that is. (Come on Aby, sell that damn script) I've got two novels and two film scripts at various stages, at the moment.

But architecture will always be a regret for me.

Sorry mum and dad, but I have to say you blew your dough on my education.

2. Also what is the one job that you can never see yourself doing and why?

I could never be an ambulance driver. I just couldn't stomach that potential trauma around every corner.

I'm sure it would be very rewarding, being able to help people when they are, probably, most in need. But I would end up having a nervous break down, I just couldn't handle, what I perceive, to be such a high stress occupation.

I once had a girl OD at work (An old job many moons ago - the baby-faced manager who some punters found hard to take seriously) and I had to call an ambulance to help her. Those guys couldn't have been nicer, more patient, or kinder to that girl. They won my heart that day, as I watched as useless bystander.

3. What would be the most unfit occupation for you (even though you may prefer to do it)?

I couldn't be a doctor. I am squeamish when it comes to blood. I faint at the sight of operations, I shudder if I see a scalpel cutting skin. I can feel the blade piecing my own skin, in a creepy kind of, chill up the spine, way. Broken bones make me wobbly, literally. Hurt people - physically, that is - make me nervous and uneasy. (I'm good with emotional hurt, less blood) Illness simply makes me... as much as I hang my head in shame at this admission... um, weak. A bit like vertigo - nauseous and dizzy.

Blue Ceiling

Everyone is Freaked Out

I was watching Medium, I don't usually. I don't usually watch much TV, only Big Brother. When it's not on, I often don't turn the television on for days.

Medium was about a serial killer with the same powers as Alison. A girl had just looked through a window, after being warned, by Alison, she was in danger, to see the serial killer looking in at her, about to break in to kill her. Then it was the add.

I went to the toilet, in the break. I knew I was a bit uneasy, as normally I don't have many lights on in the house when I am home. Just a few. I often walk around the house in the semi-dark, I don't know why, I've always been like that.

I started switching lights on as I walked through the house to go to the toilet.

Manny watches Medium, so I came into my computer to get my mobile phone to call him, to talk about the show. My mobile phone was flat. I was sure that I had plugged it in when I got home, but there it was unplugged. I was just wondering about it, when I turned and saw eyes on the stairs looking back at me. I nearly jumped through the fucking roof. Ahhhh! Of course, it was Missy, looking down at me, as cats do.

I started to laugh, nervously.

Manny didn't answer. He will think I'm absolutely mental from the message I just left him.

Last night...

I worked late. Everything went wrong, time was running out for a dead line I just had to keep. I was pissed off that the execs had rescheduled a meeting for 9am, to suit them, meaning I had to stay back. I got to Lottie's late, missed dinner. I had to take the dog back, I had no choice, he didn't have any food left. I had nothing to give him.

I'd just got home. Calm at last. The phone rang, I picked it up.

I like you because you don't try to control me. I like you because you don't try to organise me. I like you because you don't try and tell me what to do. I like you because you treat me well. I like you because you like who I am. I like you because you are a good person. I like you because you are normal. I like you because you don't try to change me. I like you because you don't play with my head.

It was Manny.

Apparently, the creepy Glen weirded out on Manny again. (Oh gosh, surprise me) He tried to organise Manny's life, now that they had rekindled their... thing. Now that Manny had made certain... promises.

What promises said Manny? He's seriously fucked up. (again... oh gosh, surprise me) I made no promises to Glen. I thought we'd just developed into friends. I thought all of that was over.

Glen tried to give Manny the new mountain bike, which Manny didn't want, insisted. Then he tried to put restrictions on Manny, with just about everything. When Manny wouldn't comply, Glen spat down the phone at him.

You're having a thing with Stuart? Aren't you, said Glen accusingly. (Lets me off the hook, at least) That's why you won't let me come around. Glen accused Manny of having Stuart there, when Manny said that he couldn't come around.

They all stress me out, said Manny. They all do my head in. All except you.

Apparently, Manny did have a thing with the beautiful Stuart. I mean, he did tell me they fooled around once, watching DVD's. But, he lets more slip when he's upset. Stuart wanted to get back with Manny, after they had had sex a few times. He took it as a sign. He tried to put pressure on, too.

But, apparently, they are both out now, both Glen and Stuart.

So does Manny like the drama?

He becomes reclusive when he is stressed, which is probably why he didn't answer the phone tonight.

Which leaves me jumpy and with no one to talk to, home alone. I've got to stop watching American murder shows. They are not good for me.

I think I'll call Tom. 

Lift Doors

I know this is a terrible thing, well, actually, I don't mind it being done to me, in fact, I kind have a little respect, in a sense, if someone does... come on, hurry along, we're on our way... I'd have to say, that maybe it isn't so, so terrible.

I close lift doors on people at work.

Come on, hurry up, this car is leaving.

Oh, I don't mean to mean but, people dither so much getting into lifts that it drives me mad. It's nothing for them to keep the doors open while they finish their conversation, despite anyone else. Or they file in like sheep, even when other lift doors open up, like once they have committed there's no going back.

People wanting to go down, get in the up life and then scramble to get out, before the doors have closed, once they realise. Come on, pay attention!

Or they do the opposite, they run like mad and practically fling themselves through the doors when they are about to close, like their lives depend on catching that particular lift, despite there being five more lifts. I'll never understand it.

And don't get me started on the people who catch the lift up one floor. It would, often, take them longer waiting for the lift than it would taking the stairs. The other day, when a, shall we say large, girl did exactly that, as soon as she alighted a bloke in the lift turned to everyone else and said what we were all thinking, - or is that what I was thinking - And that is why she will always be fat! (He almost spat the 't' out)

I work on the fortieth floor of a large office building - yes, the view is spectacular, as so many people like to comment when they come into my office, which overlooks Port Phillip Bay - so there is no escaping my reliance on and my dismay at, lifts and the people who use them.

But, I guess, the charge of excitement that I got at the sight of the old lady's puce, gloved hand nearly being amputated as the stainless steel slid closed... is not, um... er... snigger, snigger... a good thing.

Clueless

What is it with guys in dark suits with pale shoes? Often, black or dark blue suits with tan shoes. There seems to be a spate of it at the moment. Who told them that that was fashion/style?

Did some dill just decide to wear that combination one day, for whatever reason and that rest of the fashion cowboys felt that it gave them all a license for bad taste? Someone without a clue seems to have influenced the rest of the clueless. It's like a virus spreading in the CBD, at the moment. Now I know most guys aren't supposed to have a clue, but surely that is just a stereotype, a cliche? Come on guys get a grip!

As my granny used to say, Your complexion should never be darker than your hair. Your shoes should never be lighter than your suit. And you should never take more than you give.

So let's take it back to the politically correct thing - a set of rules designed specifically for the people who have no idea (i.e. the stupid) - in the same way that we now say monetarily challenged or follically independent or uniquely coordinated, we should say that tan shoes and a blue or black suit should never be seen.

Let's just make it a rule and be done with it.

The Best Me Is Now, I’m Sorry For What Has Been

This should be the part of the story where the good guy comes along – sparkle in his eye, a brave smile, knowing what he wants and how to get it – and steals my heart away.

I'm ready now. I’m ready to meet him. Where is he… right now?

I’m standing tall and straight, eyes open wide. I know exactly what to say. I’d recognise him now, I’d be brave. I am all of those things. I’m the best I’ve ever been. Working straight out of the box; I don’t need any more training, just loving.

I’d fall into his arms, I wouldn’t run away. The soft piano music would play. There would be angels and we could both laugh, as we chased them away, holding each other’s hands.

I wouldn’t let go, if he promised not to too. No promises though, there wouldn’t be any need for those, redundant they’d be, as they say. Rules of how to play, we’d know them already. They’d be given, easy as the wind on the ocean, or the twilight in the sky. Fingers together, eyes locked on eyes, if we felt like it we would cry. Tears of joy, for fear of touching because we’d never let go.

Who is he? Come out and play. Show me I’m good enough to be the best me. What is he doing? What would he say? I’ll close my eyes and do what I am doing. And when I look up, to see that group pass by, that man laugh, that child ask why, I’ll look the other way and there he will be.

Small Things

I love the way you don’t cling to me,

I love your uncertain feelings for me,

I love the way you don’t know,

I love the way that you say

that you’ve got to get going back to your life,

your way of going, no questions asked.

I love your exasperation at my decadence,

the way you don’t want to defend me,

you don’t want to tidy my life.

I love you for not depending on me,

I adore you for not adoring me.

The Truth

The truth is only so

depending who is looking at it,

different people

looking for different things.

It can be any thing

to different eyes

different things

with different lies.

Sand Through Hour Glasses.

Stuart kept his pants on and took the car.

I went to work and did a full day.

Glen spent the day with Manny. He took Manny shopping and they spent money, some top of the range mountain bike. Manny thinks Glen saves it up just to impress him.

Tom smoked crystal with Shane and Mark, Shane's boyfriend Mark, not mine. Matt Oretti was there too. Apparently, he and Shane are on together.

Tom got crystal from Perry, just to have in the cupboard, just last Sunday. You know, for the next night out, whenever that might be, so things didn't have to get organised at the last minute. Monday he was at the needle exchange. He lost three days. So he decided to take what was left over to Shane and Marks, last night, to take temptation out of his way.

Can't be trusted, said Tom. Apparently?

I laughed. (How many times does that have to be proved? I thought)

They played Uno and smoked the stuff through a crack pipe, as Tom likes to call it. Matt made a pass at Tom, but Tom crashed at my house anyway. Something about slops that weren't even cold not being his thing.

Tom got home at 5am desperate for valium, but without any. He's hardly slept.

We got shit-faced on Tom's pot watching Big Brother.

Dogs

Dogs! They are so uncool when you have been used to just cats for a long period of time. They are always under your feet, always wanting attention, practically prostituting themselves for approval. I didn't realise I had become SUCH a cat person, but I have.

I had a Rottweiler for ten years, who I loved and adored. He was my first boyfriend, after I moved out of home. It was nothing, on a quiet Saturday night, for me and him to lie on the floor in front of the fire, he happily acting as a pillow, as I watched TV.

He and I did everything together.

But now, I just find Fred annoying.

Missy came and slept on my bed last night, which is something that she never does. Meow, meow, meow. Thrump, thrump, thrump, straight across the bed. Purr, purr, purr, nestled into me. Do you think it is an ownership thing? Fred is outside, the coast is, finally clear. It is her time to reclaim her owner?

Ah Alex!

Getting it Together

I only got onto iprimus to straighten out my internet this morning. I've been working very long hours at the salt mine and haven't even had time to think about it. Last Wednesday, I changed my plan, as I'd been paying so much in excess internet fees, that I think I have paid the equivalent of the next two years connection. I guess I should start to open my mail, a little more regularly.

I tried not to think about it, as I do, as much as I hate to admit it, get ansy when my computer isn't working.

EVERYTHING went pear-shaped at work, this week, to the point that we are probably going to ditch the much maligned new system and the million dollars it cost us - got to love working for rich lawyers - and go back to the old system. Consequently, I've been working very long hours.

I did go out with my work buddies last night for E.F.Y (end of financial year) drinks, at which I got pretty pissed. When I was having a lively discussion with the beautiful Luke about literature and life - we often talk about such things and he'd make a really, really great boyfriend (I think I have a small crush) except for the pesky fact that he is straight - as I gazed into his beautiful blue eyes and looked upon his handsome, smiling face, as we propped up the bar, I had such an overwhelming urge to kiss him passionately, which I really had to fight. I kid you not. I blame it on the beer, natch. At that point, I decided it was truly time to take myself home and I did.

Aby emailed from Tassie today. Cold, she said - Aby hates the cold, having grown up in Queensland. But, she did move to the coldest part of Aus, after all. I'd knit her some mittens, if she was staying there.

But she's off to New York, any minute, with our feature script, to find us fame and fortune. She can have the fame, I'll share the fortune. She'll be popping back to Melbourne on the 21st. Cool. I must keep it free. It'll be good to see her, before she heads off on her big adventure.

Aby wanted me to redirect her mail. Bugger! I had to apologise and I hope she won't be too, too cross with me, but I had a whole pile of mail here, for just about everyone of my flaties, from the beginning of time and only yesterday, I kid you not - damn iprimus - I sent it all back return to sender. I'm really sorry, but I didn't have an address for her.

I was feeling as though my life was getting weighed down from my inaction to fix things in my life, nothing to do with any one I have lived with, all to do with me. You know, selling cars, fixing the guttering so the balcony doesn't rot any further, the lights in the atrium haven't worked for years, paying my credit card, doing last years tax, changing my internet plan, dealing with the possum that has taken up residence in my roof, cleaning the pile of newspapers and dishes, off the kitchen bench etc, etc, etc, etc and I had an uncharacteristic wave of, must get things done so I can stop worrying about them. I hadn't even opened my own letters for a month, or so - much to Tom's amazement... even more so when another friend said he was doing the same thing.

"They are all bills, Tom. There is nothing even remotely pleasant in any of those envelopes."

So I went through every thing like a tsunami and it is all cleaned up now.

The beautiful Stuart will be over to get the car soon. I said no to him moving in, much to Tom's chagrin. And I quote "Don't you know how much Stuart wants to be my boyfriend! How could you say no?"

Ah, the beautiful Stuart. I do hope that will all turn out okay, as the road worthy may take some time, consequently, he'll be driving the car around in my name for a short time. Fraught with danger, do I hear you say?

I must go and get dressed, have a shower, wash everything for Stuart - kidding. But I must go and get out of my bunny jarmies before he gets here.

I emailed Tom to say Stuart would be here in 38 minutes, his answer was,

shit!

not even I can make it over that quickly!

stall him.. do what it takes..

tell him i'm bringing over drugs to share if that helps...

Boz Scaggs sings, Pay day

Cats and Dogs

Lottie has gone away to my sister's house in the country, so Fred, mum's dog, has come to stay with me for four days. Missy is outraged! The look on her face as Fred came trotting through the door last Wednesday night was priceless.

"WHAT THE HELL!!! is going on."

Her fur stood on end, her tail lay flat on the ground and her ears slammed down on her head, as she took her retreat.

Fred has a cat, Spook, who shares his bed at night, and he is perfectly cat-friendly, but Missy isn't hanging around for a minute to give him a chance. He doesn't understand why she is soooooo snarly towards him.

She has now taken up residence on the stairs, with a hugely miffed look on her face, from where she stares down at him with absolute disdain. 

Bloody Hell!

Bloody hell. I change my internet plan and bang, thank you very much, my internet no longer works.

Don't you think the sales staff could have informed me of this little fact when we made the deal? I've been working twelve hour days and had no time to call and straighten it out until till this morning.

Thank you technical support, you, at least, were great.

Did I Get That Straight?

The beautiful Stuart wants to buy my car. Great! Finally, I can start to sure up the finances by being fiscally responsible by cutting my expenses.

He came over on Saturday and we drank tea and discussed it. I've known Stuart for quite a while, but I haven't seen him so much of late and I'd forgotten just how beautiful he really is. Big blue eyes, dark number 1 hair cut and the way those jeans fit him, well, you'd just have to see them really, words will do no justice.

He's an ex-boyfriend and a gym buddy (sorry Earl) of Manny's. He's got everything in all the right places, believe me.

There does seem to be a problem with a road worthy and the few patches of rust that are bubbling through the paint work on the car. Oh for goodness sake!

However, I'm working on that.

So Stuart called me after work to say he was going to drop around with a deposit, not really necessary as I'm not inundated with offers and I want him to have the car. He's had two just like it, he'd love it the way I have. Although, the rust may speak otherwise.

Stuart laughed and said, You know how you were talking about getting a cleaner who'd vacuum and dust in his underwear?

No, I thought. (But it's a mighty fine idea... well, maybe. I'm not sure I've ever even thought it before) But I agreed, while I was wondering just how bad my memory really was.

I laughed. Oh really, who?

Me, said Stuart. He laughed. I know you're not looking for a flatmate, but I really have to move out of here - he's still living with Angelo, despite them having split up a few weeks ago. Still sleeping in the same bed, apparently. Unhappily.

Naturally, I was picturing Stuart in his underwear. Woof!

I'd be good at it. He laughed a sexy laugh. I thought, maybe I could convince you.

I'm sure we never mentioned anyone in their underwear, I thought. Really, I said.

2xist. He laughed again. White.

I didn't know quite what to say after that. I had to head over to Lottie's for dinner, I was, actually, just walking out the door when Stuart rang. I did manage to say come over after work tomorrow, I'll be home.

Cool, he almost purred down the phone. I'll be looking forward to it.

Awesome

Do people know the meaning of the word awesome? Everybody is using it now. It is the latest "in" word, clearly. I had the most awesome time! Oh man, that is so awesome.

Awesome is Hayley's Comment flying over head. Awesome is the tsunami hitting the Indonesian beach. Awesome is a tornado coming straight at you.

Awesome is not finding that pair of shoes that match your handbag. Awesome is not hooking up with that cute boy. Awesome is not the fun you had on the long weekend.

I suspect it is America's fault - but then again I love to can America (is that an Americanism itself?) - where everything just has to be bigger and greater.

I imagine Texas would, indeed, be awesome. (to match the president(s) it has produced)

Agendas

Nearly all of us human beings find it impossible to be objective. I think it's a sign of the "self"-proclaimed society we all live in. The problem with most arguments against, well just about anything, is that the argument is, so often, all about the protestor and not about the object, hence objectivity. Human beings can't help but make arguments subjective, about ourselves, of course it is in our nature, but it is also a bi-product of the ever increasing selfish society that we live in.

Objectivity is impossible for Christians and politicians - used car salesmen and real estate agents. Well, may be only difficult for the last two.

I think it is, actually, okay not to have an opinion. We're all taught, have it drummed into us, in this information overload age that we must have an opinion, on just about everything. And you know what, sometimes, we just don't have to have one. It's okay not to. Besides, as I've said above, we only make it about ourselves, a lot of the time, anyway.

Screwed up World

We are getting screwier and screwier about sex as the years go on. We need a sexual revolution like the 60's to kick start the normal world again.

Surely, the very basis of sexual assault is if the alleged victim feels as though they have been sexually assaulted? If they don't, no matter what anyone else thinks, or what anyone else's particular childhood psycho drama is, there was no sexual assault.

Camilla didn't feel assaulted, so there was no assault, no matter how much the Christian Queensland senators may wish it to be.

Camilla felt worse about the two boys being evicted than the alleged incident.

The fact that a man tried to molest me when I was thirteen caused me less pain that what people are now trying to do with that fact. (You can read my previous blog) It didn't affect me.

What did someone say today, that the television station was irresponsible because it aired someone getting asked, Was his wife good in bed, in a 6.30 time slot. Their three year old turned around and asked the husband if the mother was good in bed. So what? What is it with parent's willingness to shirk their parental responsibility at the expense of the rest of society. They are your kids, raise them yourselves.

Big Brother Uncut has been forced off air because it dared to show adult content in an adult time slot. How fucked is that?

All sexually explicit material on the internet was questioned and threatened to be removed because parent's can't supervise their kids whilst on the internet. The whole of society was going to be denied because kids might see it.

When did kids start to rule the world?

When did the puritans take control of the asylum?

 

Humanity

Art is a light on the world,

expression is the power of thought,

dignity is everyone's freedom of speech.

Humanity is all of those things. 

The Best Cat That Ever Lived (sorry Missy)

He was the most gorgeous cat, everybody loved him

He was a cuddler

He'd jump up next to me rolling joints, then he'd be this

My Stars...

Are you feeling caught between a rock and a hard place? Here comes a bulldozer. It can't squash the rock or even soften the hard place, but it can help you chose which side you want to be on. Once Mercury changes direction, it won't be possible to keep wishing your choices were broader. You'll have to work with what you have. Make a commitment and stick to it. You won't like being pushed, but you will be glad when you see what you've been pushed into.

Interesting. I felt like they were talking directly to me. What to do?

 

Rain

The rain comes down, pitter pat on the tin roof, washing all our sins away.

I catch the drops on my tongue, as they slide across my face, splish, splash.

They catch on my eye-lashes and the world blurs and I feel so alive.

Clean the world Heuy, clean it today, for all of us to survive there is no other way.

Ten Seconds to Midnight

The fat lady is about to stop singing. She can't hit the high notes any longer because the air she breathes is too poisoned.

What to Do?

Tom told me I had done nothing wrong.

I know that, I said. This is not really about me.

So why are you shaken by this?

I'm not shaken. I'm somewhat amazed that something that happened years ago, in another life time, something that I dealt with at the time and subsequently forgot about, should come back in a very serious and real way. This is very serious and I am being caught up in it somewhat against my will.

So why the conflict?

All of my dealings with the police, although it has been a while now, have never been good. From my early driving convictions for speeding, to the whole bank robbery nonsense, to having the car searched by the police on the way home from Mardi Gras that year when we were all high as kites and the car had left-over party drugs in the boot, none of which they found, luckily...

You don't have a criminal record, from all accounts, you are an upstanding citizen. You are a good person, Chris and it is time to step up...

I don't want to get involved in this. Oh, I don't know, maybe I've just watched too many stupid American police shows, but I've been a promiscuous poofter who has lived in unusual relationships, as far as "normal" society is concerned. He'd have lawyers defending him, ready to grill me, pull me a part, who needs it.

Yes, I think you have been watching to many police dramas. So, if that is your decision why the quandary? It's obviously affected you today... and it's obviously affected somebody else...

My quandary is lying to the police, if I tell them that nothing happened. It didn't affect me and if it effected someone else, well, really that is his story and not mine.

So that's it then, said Tom.

I guess the only fact that I can't really reconcile now, as an adult looking back, is the fact that we were, after all, quite young. That's the only twinge I have about it all.

What I want to say to the detective is that whatever happened back then, which is a very long time ago now, after all, never had a negative impact on my life. I haven't thought about it in years, so I really have nothing to say on the matter. And it didn't. And I don't. Joe was nice to me, he treated me well. He never forced me to do anything and when I told him I didn't want to, that was it, he never tried it again.

But he did try. He was a teacher. I was never scared. I was never made to feel fearful, in fact, the only reaction I had was that he was being a silly man. I'd be unwilling for my small context to be used in someone else's bigger context to send a man to jail. I'm sorry, but my story is one of a minor detail, long since forgotten. A learning experience, the stuff life is made of.