Wake In Fright

 Subject: A Hoy

Greetings from across the dutch.. Well we are both packed, sort of, Jason is intent on un packing as many things as i can pack cos im sure i will need them... Had a good sleep last night and am now just ready!!! Hurry up come on!!!! Got a couple of wee things to do this afternoon then to the airport at 3pm our time... Ok i'll see you Jane tonight and boys i'll call you from Jane’s tonight upon arrival… and chriso ill call you tomorrow afternoon and perhaps catch up for some lovely green tea or whatever if you are free? hugs n stuff,

Jules & Jase xx

I went to see the morning session of Wake in Fright, at the Nova in Carlton. It is a nice walk from Fitzroy, it really makes me feel somewhat free, doing as I please.

Wake In Fright has just been rereleased. For years, there was only one copy left of it in the world, in Ireland, which was of such poor quality it couldn’t be used for a DVD. After many years of searching, another copy was found in Pittsburgh and it has since been restored. 

I love the film, with what they call its sordid realism. And any film that uses a 1959 Ford to go bush bashing, is alright with me.

I went to Threshmans afterwards to eat lasagne. I’ve always loved Threshmans, such great food. I sat in the window in the sun and read as I ate. No hurry, to do anything really. Gazing out at lovely Carlton between mouthfuls and paragraphs.

I strolled home in the afternoon.

 

The Meaty Bites Diet

I bought a large bag of Meaty Bites for my two dogs at the supermarket and was standing in line at the check-out.

A woman behind me asked if I had a dog.

On impulse, I told her that no, I was starting The Meaty Bites Diet again, although I probably shouldn't because I'd ended up in the hospital last time, but that I'd lost 25 kgs before I woke in an intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IV's in both arms.

I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and that the way that it works is to load your pants pockets with Meaty Bites and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry and that the food is nutritionally complete so I was going to try it again.

I have to mention here that practically everyone in the line was by now enthralled with my story, particularly a guy who was behind her.

Horrified, she asked if I'd ended up in the hospital in that condition because I had been poisoned by the food.

I told her no, it was because I'd been sitting in the middle of the road licking my dick and a car hit me.

Stupid Rules

I drive through some red right hand turn arrows now, usually late at night, on my way back from the country. It just seems pointless to sit there when it is a green light for straight ahead traffic, at a deserted intersection when there are no cars coming from the opposite direction.

The red arrow onto the freeway at Brunswick Road. (That's on my way out of town)

The red arrow off Brunswick Road, around the back way along Park Street.

The red arrow on the big round about in front of the university, is it Princess Street?

Turning right out of Bell Street, on the bypass of Sydney Road intersection.

Some of the pointless intersections on Victoria Street.

There are clear roads in front of me, no traffic coming from the other direction and no red light camera, it's pointless just to sit there because some bureaucrat deemed a right hand turn arrow should be installed.

There is also an environmental issue too, sitting still burning all that fuel waiting for the green arrow.

It's my own small tyranny, as Mark would say.

Sign Sign everywhere a sign. Blocking out the scenery breaking my mind. Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?

 

Eamon

The virgin, did I mention that? He was shy, it was kind of adorable

Baby Poof

I went out looking for James, he remained as elusive as ever. I must get him to define, “I go out Sundays,” when I see him. Does that translate as every fifth Sunday? When I’m bored? What? Blue fucken moon? Ah bugger you, (or not) I thought at midnight, I’m going home.

Everyone was in bed, David and Shane got home this weekend, so I got on line. There was pretty Eamon, 19 years old. “Come meet me.”

Yeah, likely, I first thought. Then, well, I don’t have to be anywhere at 9am tomorrow, why not? Don’t be boring. Be spontaneous. It was getting close to 2am.

I drove over to meet him home, not sure what was going to happen. I was going to bring him back to my place, but he suggested going to his first. What the hell, save me throwing him out afterwards, hey. We had to tip toe into his place, as his housemate doesn't know he's gay.

Bright, beautiful eyes, great smile, unblemished by life. Natural ease. Floppy fringe.

"Would your housemate be cool with it?" I questioned. What was I getting myself into?

"Yeah, sure. Maybe." He shrugged. “Who knows.” You know it’s the, Who knows, that I was wondering about. He was kidding, but...

The front door squeaked like a bitch, in the still of the night. It’s funny how footsteps sound like elephants when you don’t want them to. I thought about those stories of the best friend/housemate flipping out when confronted with it. Get the axe! I laughed to myself.

But, Eamon was chilled with it, so no reason I shouldn't be. I wondered how much the housemate suspected?

Passionate. Enthusiastic. Keen as, surprise, surprise. He knew a few tricks too. Cool, I thought. Didn't want to break in a novice. And he went off like fireworks. It had to be admired.

"So, no one knows you're gay?" I asked as I slid my feet back into my shoes.

"No." He pulled on his jacket. “No one.”

Wow? Can I remember what that was like. Just starting out. I guessed I was a part of his coming out story, soon to be forgotten, no doubt.

"Well, I'm sure they'll all be fine with it."

"Yeah." Laugh. "I guess." And there was that smile again.

The floorboards went creak, as did the stairs, as we tried to silently slip out. We both smiled, but said nothing. We tip-toed, literally.

"You need to get some oil for that," I said. just before the door went Errrrrr!

We both stifled laughs.

 

The Christian Agenda

Liberal Party frontbencher Tony Abbott wants laws toughened up to make divorce harder. (Everybody, at this point should stop and ask why?) He has called for a return to the fault-based system of divorce discarded in 1975, which was replaced by a "no-fault" system.
Mr Abbott's plan, outlined in his soon-to-be released book would see a grounds for divorce reintroduced, including adultery, cruelty, habitual drunkenness and imprisonment. (Again, everybody should stop and this point and ask why?) It would be similar to the defunct Matrimonial Causes Act.
Currently people are allowed to divorce after a 12-month separation.

Speaking to Fairfax newspapers, the conservative, Catholic, politician and former Howard government minister said couples should be offered a choice of both marriage systems.

This is absolute rubbish and nothing but Christian doctrine repackaged.

"The point I make in the book is that a society that is moving towards some kind of recognition of gay unions, for instance, is surely capable of providing additional recognition to what might be thought of as traditional marriage," Mr Abbott said.

This is gobbledygook.

"Something akin to Matrimonial Causes Act marriage ought to be an option for people who would like it.

Ah, back to Christian doctrine.

"Even though (marriage) is probably the most important commitment that any human being can make, in fact there are many, many contracts which are harder to enter and harder to get out of than this one."

Back to gobbledygook.

Make no mistake about this, the Christians are trying to socially engineer society with their restrictive, outdated ideas.

The Pope is Gay

Pope Benedict XVI and his personal secretary, Georg Gänswein

A friend sent me this... (was it Sebastian?)

The Pope is gay.

Yes. Partnered to his secretary for years now. It's apparently an open secret in Rome.

Some Roman gay activists told me that they only got Gay Pride parade on in the Duo Millennium - against fierce Christian Catholic opposition - because Benedict then an archbishop gave them audience.

Fred

I have no idea if that is true, but it is interesting, none the less.

 

Remembering Personal Responsibility

Too late for Melissa I'Anson, the teenager killed in Lynbrook, say the headlines. Road side memorial is blamed. The intersection is blamed. The government’s inaction installing traffic lights is blamed.

It's funny how all my friends have said that maybe Melissa's bad driving should be blamed. You know, if you are driving a car, how about concentrating on the road.

Beautiful Eyes

 

Time Shall Weary Them

I was watching old Dick Cavett interviews on Youtube.

What?

Why not?

Productive?

Pourquoi?

Parce que.

I'd never really seen much of his work before and I found I liked him.

Oh, I don't know why, feeling a little melancholy, it was a slow day, my last month off blues. So, I was watching clips of interviews with Bette Davis. Grimace. And Katherine Hepburn. I have to admit. How gay is that? Never guess I was a fag, hey?

Anyway, there is, there was, something seriously appealing about Dick Cavett. Attractive. I can see it. Cute smile, cute demeanour.

Then I looked him up on Google, you know, just to see if he was still doing stuff. Oh? My? If you want some conformation of how cruel time is, go Google an old celebrity for a current day view.

Oh dear.

 

Hunsdorfer Blues

The New Vegemite

Ah, the new Vegemite. Very clever. They've made it look like chocolate and they've made the taste not as strong so more can be used on each slice of bread. I'm sure a regular bottle of vegemite takes forever to finish.

It now looks like Nutella and tastes like cream cheese.

They've made it more generic, taken away the unique qualities they may scare people away.
As for a name? Let me see? How about Cynicalmarketingploymite.

 

Days of Leisure

My authotics... er, um, (is that a foot writer?) orthotics are in for adjustment, a bump here, an addition there. I haven't had them looked at since I got them. Hunky podiatrist, Sean, didn't seem to think it was an indictable offence. I didn't at all mind him holding my bare feet, as he did his tests. Warm hands, even if he did have latex gloves on.

Wow, did it feel funny walking down to get my hair cut without them. I haven't walked any where sans arch props forever. I felt like a bloody cripple struggling along Smith Street, like a chick on too higher heals, or a boy having danced all night.

My hairdresser and I sat in the sun filled front window and drank tea and chatted.

We don't need to rush, he said. Do you need to rush, he asked?

No, I said.

He studied hotel management, but works as a hairdresser. I told him how I work in finance but want to be a writer. He said fiction was for girls, they like the emotional stuff. I caught myself making eyes at him and wondered what the hell is wrong with me lately. I don't think he picked up on it. We ate chocolate éclairs, the Pascals variety and not the cream filled ones.

I bought pork rolls as I drift home again in the softening afternoon light.

There's a Priceline on Smith Street? I wondered how long it had been there. Maybe, I have seen it before, I wasn't sure. It's where the dirty book shop used to be. Ah, that guy behind the counter who surprised me and some what excited me by suggesting that a fitting for a cock ring was necessary, when I was first coming out. I may have been young and inexperienced but I was sure him putting it in his mouth shouldn't have been a part of the process. Funny the things you remember. I thought I'd use the dirty book shop more than a Priceline, despite using neither of them regularly.

The trams ding-dinged and the cars tooted. The drunks were conspiratorial on the street benches. The men talked on mobile phones in languages other than English. The Greek grandmother struggled along the footpath laden with shopping bags, her chubby face flushed red. I contemplated buy some new white Bonds T-shirts, but couldn’t be bothered. All I could think of was home, the couch and my book. I'll probably regret it in a month, or so, when I can no longer walk down Smith Street at will.

Ah, days of leisure, I'm going to miss them.

Blue Chevrolet

Mum's Birthday

We took my mum to Sofia's for dinner for her birthday. It wasn't my pick and the food was quite ordinary. But, the place was like a containment field for cute wog boys. Yum. Every waiter was gorgeous. Cute, cute, cute. Every where I looked.

Dark hair. Olive complexion.

I wasn't quite paying attention as our waiter took our order and I didn't realise it was my turn.

Big brown eyes. Smooth skin. Hairy arms.

There was silence. I tuned back in. Me?

Black eye brows. Red lips. Stubble.

He looked me right in the eye and said, "What would you like?"

"Oh, um." Shake head. Like I'd just been caught out. I so wanted to say "You?" I had to think quick so I didn't, actually, say it. "Um, er."

I like 'em dark and hairy.

Southern European men, they must be the most handsome. Do you think it has something to do with the waters of the Mediterranean? Magical XY qualities?

Then, of course, he walked away from the table, my favourite bit. Dressed in black. Well, my second favourite part, to be truthful. My favourite to look at. You know those Italian boys, what their best feature is. That and their cheeky grins.

How cute is this?

How cute is this?

Oh, Bloody Advertising

The internet is now jam packed with advertising. Boggles my mind. I can't watch a video clip without an advert, I don't want or care for, popping up. I can't read a news article without something jumping out, flashing up on the screen, obliterating what it was that actually did want.

Why do advertisers have to spoil absolutely everything? Why does the corporate world have to take over everything for its own gain?

Why do we have to put up with this?

I believe the internet, as we knew it, is now in its death throes. Remember when you used to search for something and you'd get all sorts of interesting articles in response, not just amazon.com, sales.com, I want to make money.com, I want to screw you over.com.

The internet becoming a corporate sales tool is now nearly complete.

I wonder when the alternative internet will appear?

It's especially annoying when you remember that most advertising doesn't work anyway, so we are getting bombarded, almost, for nothing. Advertising is like carpet bombing, if you hit enough people with your useless information, you are bound to get enough bites to screw the money out of someone.

 

In The Garage

Thief In The Night

The house over the road has had a skip out the front for the last couple of days. It seems as though it's going to be there all weekend. I've been looking at that big, yellow, paint chipped box every time I've headed out my front gate. You see, I've had these two heavy – not very big, not toxic – pieces of junk that I have wanted to get rid of for a while. I would have put them in the bin, but they weighed a ton. Too heavy. I’ve been at a loss at what to do with them. They only take up this much room. Two fingers held in the air.

I would never do this, I never have. I don't think it's fair to take advantage of somebody else, but I just wanted to clean my attic. I'd just thought about the two pieces, coincidently, this week and, bingo, as if to order, the skip appeared like the universe was trying to tell me something.

Last night, lying in bed with Will and Grace, I was fighting off the urge for McDonalds, strangely. I never eat McDonalds, maybe once a year. I compromised on strawberry jam toast instead, surely that must be better for me, I thought. Then there was the new pizza delivery menu on the kitchen bench, as I waited for the toast to pop, as I wondered why I don’t own slippers, as my feet froze on the tiled floor. Oh, it’s passed 1am. I turned it over and it delivered until 5am. Ah, junk food city! And just like that, that skip came into my head.

Minutes later, like a thief in the night, my head appeared over my gate. All I needed was a balaclava. I grabbed my illegal booty and headed to the street. Missy had appeared through the front door and began to meow like a snitch. Last I saw her she was prostrate across my doona.

“Shhhh!” I said, which only made her reply more vocally.

Missy followed me out onto the road like a nagging boyfriend. Grrr!

Halfway across the road I heard voices and saw people at the end of the street testing the Gertrude Street light festival thingy.

“Ah!”

I instinctively turned back to flee home again. I took two steps back towards the house.

“What am I doing, being the poster boy for criminals?”

I turned back again, telling myself not to be stupid, like I couldn't have made it more obvious with my middle of the road guilt two-step than if I'd yelled out, Just dumping rubbish here, don't worry about me!

Be cool, will you.

For the second piece, I pushed Missy back into the house before I did the deed.

I’ve been waiting for someone to knock on the door ever since. I don’t think I’m made for a life of crime.

 

This is adorable - reminds me of my exhousemate Nicholas - I'm off to bed

Good Night

I want cake. I've been sitting at my computer all day and the shops are closed. Well, I guess they're not closed, but it's dark and I'm in my tracksuit pants, unwashed. And it's cold and no doubt wet. I didn't think I'd say this any time soon but, what's with the rain? So, I'm going to tuck myself into bed with Will and Grace, instead.

I still haven't smoked. I don't know how many weeks that is, but it is a lot. Yay!

Rocky

He tastes just like mango, the skin is so sweet and soft like kid leather, or is it velvet? Rub it across your tongue, it's as sexy as hell.

Why is hell sexy?

I can't walk passed them in the supermarket without having dirty thoughts explode in my head. But, that may say more about me than I should let on. Hey?

Ha, ha, not really.

I imagine that cartoon elephants would be covered in mango skin.

They are the prettiest fruit in the basket, with their sublime yellows and their muted greens. The feel, the smell and that's before you even peel the shell. Every aspect is tactile, every touch pleasing to the skin.

Hell is sexy because all the interesting people go there. Heaven is full up uptight, do-gooders in twinsets who think they know best.

(Imagine spending eternity in heaven with a clenched sphincter)

Inspecting the Merchandise

Inspecting the merchandise, touch it with your finger tips, smooth and warm, tingling nerve endings, soft to the touch. We never know what's going on underneath, as in it could be a multitude of sins, clueless is not what I mean. Pandora's box, the possibilities are endless.

Feel the pulse, feel the heart beat, my favourite thing.

My Question is why?

Have you seen the two woman who do late night, religious television. One looks like a retired air hostess and the other looks like Judy Moran who's let herself go. Laying there last night tucked up in bed watching the two of them was like gazing into the heart of insanity, as they talked absolute rubbish. Some moments appeared like satire, delivered by caricatures.

Why do we have American evangelical Christians on the our television late at night, spreading their message like a virus?

I know it's cheap, like American infomercials, but so is the late night movie.

Whatever happened to the late night movie?

 

Cute as the proverbial button

Looking for James

I went out looking for James and I found Alex. I wasn't going to hook up with anyone but James, but I waited until midnight [2009] and no James. Alex and I were like the two after last call at an all-nighter, well, not quite, but I'm sure you get the picture. We got chatting sitting back watching the passing parade. He said he was waiting for somebody nice. I said I was too. 

We sat and passed the time and, apparently, nobody nice walked past. 

"Do you want to fool around in the meantime," said Alex. Cute smile, dimples even. I'm a sucker for dimples. 

“Yeah.” You are really handsome, after all. “Sure.”

So, we did the walk to a cubicle, I call it ‘the gotcha’ walk. You see it all the time, two guys paired up, no longer looking around, just looking ahead concentrating on finding a room. 

And he was... he was... he was... good, great muscle control.

"Do you want my phone number?" he asked as we were heading out.

"Actually, the guy I was waiting for, I'm kind of keen on."

"Oh," he said, almost disappointed.

But Alex is adorable. And he just proved how lovely he is "Yeah, okay. Why not," I said. What the hell.

So, we swapped numbers.

Smiley Alex with the dimples.

 

Gotta be a Good Thing.

They legalised gay sex in India. Now that's gotta be a good thing.

The New Delhi High Court issued a landmark ruling on Thursday decriminalising gay sex between consenting adults and overturning colonial-era legislation that outlawed homosexuality.

So, if there are, something like, 1 billion Indians, lets assume half of them are male, five hundred million, so 10% of that is 50 million. Fifty million men are now legal.
Fifty million gay men to choose from... that's gotta mean a date on a Saturday night.

Ed note - actually, it is only applicable to the state of Deli, at present, but it's a good start.

My Ass Feels Like It Is Going To Fall Out.....

Shane's clearly having a good time...

OMG!!!!

I just had a full porno scene enacted with me as a participant. The leather bar closed and I got totally worked over fucked, pissed on, and in, and fisted) by my hot yank root, (quasi demon from gay underworld without drugs, also on holidays, fucking hot) And, Hot Hot Hot fucking hung Latino bar man. Over and on the pool table. Could not believe it, such a wild scene.

EVERYTHING IS GLOWING red hot.

Having a ball, so radically ecstatic and cathartic. Sorry for the graphic description, had to share with someone?

Love to you both,

Shane. x.

As for Kaine

Kaine? Shrug. Raised eye brows. Shake head. The lovely Kaine. Adorable. Cheeky. But, he seems to be busy with his stuff and I seem to be busy with mine.

We just don't seem to be getting together, unless, I call him. I'm the one asking him if he wants do to stuff, suggesting stuff. Well, most of the time, anyway. I'm kind of used to more of a two way conversation, if you know what I mean. And now that I haven't, you know, now that I've kind of pulled back, I've hardly heard from him. Bless his cotton jocks. That's just the way things go sometimes, hey?

It's something that my previous boyfriends may have said about to me, on occasions. You know, smile, if they had any complaints. And while previous boyfriends have found it a part of my greater charm, I guess, I don't find it a part of Kaines.

There kinda has to be more.

Oh, whatever. I guess it's been me just as much as it's been him.

We've kind of "been unavailable" to each other, right out of each other's lives, it would seem, if that makes sense?

Oh well. That’s okay too.

I guess it's what I've learned from being with him. As David would say, it's why the universe drew us together. One thing I've learned, I know what I don’t want.

Now that’s kinda weird, hey? I guess I do want a boyfriend. I guess maybe I should just go ahead and admit it. Not that Kaine was ever a boyfriend, don't get me wrong. Just a nice port in the ocean of life, which is what I thought I wanted all along, someone warm to touch.

Oh well, I guess it’s been a while. Now let me see, I split up with Manny July 2007. But, I guess, you can't just order those things up, hey? Think it, put it out there and then just taste them one at a time.

Today's Parents Are Crap

The children are running the world, as we know. And now they are trying to sanitise the internet, something that was never meant for kids. 

If your kids can find porn on the internet, it doesn't mean that the internet must change, it means your parenting skills need to change. The internet is not your pseudo baby sitter.

Parents can't say no to their children today and the world will pay for it one day, when all these entitled brats of guilty parent's grow up.

 

James

I was home all day, Sunday. I got up, surprisingly, early considering what time I went to sleep Saturday night. I watched Will and Grace until 5am. It's a bad habit. Ah, the week of the non-working. Back to the grind in 4 weeks though. Ah! How quickly has a year flown? I think I’m going to ask to work Tues, Wed, Thur

David's gone to Port Douglas for two weeks. Shane’s in America, dancing at The Pride party. I had the house to myself. I brewed lots of coffee and devoured all the papers about Michael Jackson. I messed around on my computer for the rest of the day, pissing my life away, tinkering with photos. The weekend flew by, I settled into vampire hours oh so easily.

I headed out to a sex club around 11pm, wondering if I’d see James. I met James a few months ago, I think I've written about him. He was nice, but got there late. I’d done lots of walking before I hooked up with him and I wanted to leave quickly after I’d spoofed on his leg. He wanted to connect, nice chatty, but I was out that door. It wasn't until a few hours after that I thought, Hang on, he was really nice. What are you doing? Do ya wanna meet nice guys?

For whatever reason, I've thought about him ever since.

Anyway, the few times I've been back since, I've kind of had him in mind. James, James.

Last night, I signed in under Josh's name, naturally, got a lemon squash and did a circuit of upstairs. Echoes and concrete. I stopped at my usual place. I called his name a couple of times, you know, just put it out there. I laughed to myself. “James. James.” Imagine if somebody heard me, I sniggered to myself. They'd be circling their fingers around their ears.

(Of course, I’m not ever telling James that and would deny it if any future reference was ever made of it) The things one does to amuse one’s self at the sight of those long, empty hallways.

No sign of Crazy Boy, who I usually stop and chew the fat with – meant in its traditional sense. I watched two guys fuck through a hole in the door. As you do. The bottom was hot. The top not so much, but huge schlong. You know how it goes.

I headed back downstairs for another lemon squash. I looked sideways as I took my first sip and, low and behold, there he was, James. Well, how about that, I think. I sneak another look. It is him, in person. The lovely James, right there.

I follow him upstairs. I don’t play coy, like I usually would and we end up in a cubicle in minutes. As he’s sucking my dick, I pat his hair and think, Are you my next boyfriend? I laughed to myself in the dark at that too. He’s nice to kiss. Cute face. Great smile!

He asked afterwards what nights I go out. I say it varies. Doh! He tells me what days he goes. He’s smiley. Gorgeous. Nice voice. He seems smart. I guess I know where I’ll be next week. I should have given him my phone number. But, he didn't offer me his, even though he kind of held his mobile phone out in front of me when we were talking and I thought I’d play it cool.

I know, stupid. It's when my shy gene kicks in, at the most inopportune moments.

So, there you go, James has been relocated.

 

Jill and Lottie and Josh

SMS. 09.47. R u home and awake? – christian

SMS. 10.07. Yes – christian

I take mum to the doctor for an 11.45 appointment. Jill calls just before I leave to say that I should take my lap-top over there and she can tidy her office as I write. I want to say, Oh yeah, like that will ever happen, but instead I just say okay. I figure I need a day off. Ha. Ha.

Mum and I have lunch in Camberwell. There are great lemon meringue pies in their cake display. I text Jill and ask her if she wants one. The “yes” return text is probably the fastest text I have ever received from Jill.

SMS. 12.57. How far away r u as I was thinking we could have chicken enchiladas – Jill

SMS. 13.16. Me and Lottie are having lunch in Camberwell. I will be there within the hour – christian

SMS. 13.18. Don’t eat too much as I have chicken enchiladas cooking – Jill

SMS. 13.18. Do you want lemon meringue tart? – christian

SMS. 13.18. Yes pls – Jill

SMS. 13.18. I bet you do! – christian

SMS. 13.20. Can’t wait – Jill

I head over to Jill’s after mums. Her first question is, where is the lemon meringue pie? I told her neither of us needed one, which was what I decided.

Jill decides we should go buy a new cat bed for her cats, in Chapel Street, one that is a few inches less in circumference than the one she has. I tell her she is being stupid. She assures me there will be a great deal of difference. Oh course, we have to stop into the local IGA to get the ingredients for a lemon meringue pie. She now can’t get it out of her head and, in fact, feels cheated.

We watch Teev. 

I head home at 10pm, as I badly need a shit. As I get in the car, I wonder if I’m going to make it, as Jill had delayed my leaving by another cup of tea, followed by another.

Subject: Sunday night at the house of stairs

Well. There's a thing.

I am looking for a flatmate situation nearish your place. But it'll probly end up somewhere north with the lesbians. But they will have no porn under the bed so I can behave myself...

Had fun in house of many?

I took drugs.

Josho

Subject: Sunday night at the house of stairs

(Josh)

Well, anywhere on the 86 tram line, would be alright. Or the Brunswick Street tram, or Nicholson Street, at a push. Just not that across two time zones by P.T, you know, that don’t connect.

I was home all day, yesterday. I got up, surprisingly, early considering what time I went to sleep Saturday night. I watched Will & Grace until 5am. Ah, the week of the non-working. Back to the grind in 4 weeks though. Ah! How quickly has a year flown? I think I’m going to ask to work Tues, Wed, Thur

David’s gone to Port Douglas for two weeks. Shane’s in America. He’s not going to Europe for a few more months, I got confused. I have the house to myself.

I devoured all the papers about Michael Jackson. I messed around on my computer for most of the day, pissing my life away.

I headed to Club 80 around 11pm, wondering if I’d see the cute guy with a big dick again, who I met a few months ago, at the same establishment. He was nice. Low and behold (is that a Jesus reference?) he turned up, but got there late. I’d done lots of walking before I hooked up with him and I wanted to leave quickly after I’d spoofed on his leg. He wanted to connect, but I was out that door. It wasn’t until a few hours later that I thought, Hang on, he was nice. What are you doing? Do ya want a b/f or not?

Anyway, the few times I’ve been back since, I’ve kind of had him in mind. 

Last night, I signed in under your name, naturally, got a lemon squash and did a circuit of upstairs.

I watched two guys fuck through a hole in the door. The bottom was hot. The top was nyr. You know how it goes. 

The things one does to amuse one’s self at the sight of those long, empty hallways until something better comes along.

Who’d have thought a sex club was an allegory for life? You know communication, boundaries, and reading the room.

Anyway, he was good. I was better, naturally. We sniffed each other’s arses, sucked each other’s joy sticks, made a mess down each other’s legs, then we were out of there.

I was home by midnight.

Got to luv a short night at The House of Stairs.

(christian)

I went to bed after midnight and watched The Last Samuri, on Jill and Mark’s recommendation. Oh, for goodness sake. Several times Tom Cruise gets beaten to a pulp and survives and at the end he faces off against a barrage of rifles and a machine gun in the end and still survives. Preposterous!

Bruno

Do you really think that the character of Bruno is doing the gay cause any good? Or am I underestimating the general public?

You know, I certainly don't want to be too precious about it, but... I mean, I don't mind people making fun of gay people, as long as it's clever.

But, I didn't laugh once when he was on Rove last night, even though the audience did. It was all just tired old stereotypes, presented in a really, I want to say overly, serious way. I can see him thinking the character all the time, and not just "being" it. He's certainly no method actor, hey?

But, the G.P. just love that camp caricature, don't they, even though now I'm sure they all know it isn't true. It's like that's what they want us to be.

I guess I'll have to wait and see the movie.

Alex Two Days In A Row

I’m home all day. I get up, surprisingly, early considering what time I went to sleep last night. 

David’s gone to Port Douglas for two weeks. I have the house to myself.

I buy the papers, and read more about Michael Jackson.

I mess around on my computer for the rest of the day.

Subject: Sunday night at the house of stairs

(Josh)

Off to 80... thinking of you. 11.11 Sunday night, as it turns out.

(christian)

I’m thinking of heading to Club 80 around 11pm, to look for James, when Alex messages.

SMS. 11.10pm. Hey, you about? – Alex

SMS. 11.15pm. I was just thinking of going to 80 – Christian.

SMS. 11.18pm. How would you feel about a really nice boy, who is quite drunk, coming over for a return visit instead? – Alex

SMS. 11.25pm. Yeah, sure, as long as that drunk boy is you – Christian.

SMS. 11,28pm. Yeah, sure it is me – Alex

Alex arrived a short time later. He’d been out drinking with a mate during the afternoon. He was pretty pissed.

Alex has a beautiful face, and a fat, hard cock. We made each other cum, then fell asleep in each other’s arms for a while, before he pulled his clothes on and left at 2am.

Mr Fun Pants

 

School reunion 2

I don’t know? I don’t reckon I’m going, anyway. I’m not that person any more. None of us are. It’s something that is over. It’s a kind of weird tradition, in away. If any of us had wanted to stay in contact, we would have, or we did.

School Reunion

I've got my 20 year school reunion invite. OMG! I even got a phone call, which, I guess, makes it important. I was in the shower, however, and missed the call. One of my best friends at school, David B and another guy Stephen S are organising the event. But, Stephen S called me. Why didn't David B call, was my first thought? Not that I've seen him since uni, in our twenties. Silly the things you think, hey?

Egads! Should I go?

For my 5 and 10 year reunions I was overseas both times. I was living in London at five years and I was spending six months in Italy and Greece for ten years. After that, I took it as a sign not to go to any other reunions. You know, the universe put me out of reach... removed me so I couldn't go. I haven't thought about them since, not really.

I don't know? My first thoughts about going could, perhaps, be construed as unkind. Well, not so deliberately unkind as just telling the truth.

You know, I spent 6 years with most of these guys and 8 years with quite a few of them. My boy’s school had the policy, at the time, of keeping us in the same class all the way through school and for some of us that meant we were in the same class our entire school life. We all got to know each other quite well, on camps. Parties. Turning 18. Uni. Engagements. Even if we haven't seen each other since, I'm sure a certain bond would be there.

So, when I tell them I am gay, I'm sure certain questions will be asked, which would bring me to Alex. I spent all my high school years with him.

Alex was the vice-school captain in Year Twelve, on the footy team, a sporty, smart, popular guy at school. I was popular too. Smart. School orchestra, school plays, musicals. He and I had an affair for the last two years of school. Private school boy lovers. Nobody knew. Hotel rooms on school excursions. Bush walking club sharing a tent on weekends away. Various places around the school. The bush walking storeroom. The public toilets at the Kew Municipal office. Alex was into it as much as me. We were daring. I'm surprised we never got caught.

After school, I went out with my girlfriend, Leah, and Alex got married. He went on to send his sons to our school, remaining active at the school because of them and popular. Everybody loved Alex.

Alex died a few years ago, my feelings about which I wrote about in this blog. Apparently, the school community was devastated. So young, blah, blah, blah. I never did find out what he died from, I would at least find that out at the reunion.

There will sure to be questions, you know, we'll all be finding out what we can of the ensuing years. I can hear them now.

So, are you married with kids?

Actually, I’m gay.

Really?

Yes.

Wow, I wouldn't have guessed that?

Would you feel more comfortable if I wore a dress?

Wow, have you always been gay?

I guess? You know, there’s that period of denial in the beginning.

But you had a girlfriend at school, that blond girl what was her name?

Yes, Leah. We went out for a number of years?

So, did you know at school?

You mean in the changing rooms with all you guys?

Embarrassed looks. Blushes. Um, er?

I think school was a part of the denial phase, you know.

So, did you do it with anyone from school?

Bingo!

Alex would die. Well, bad choice of words. He so wanted to remain the upstanding, straight, every mother’s dream son, golden-haired boy.

Even though he went on to get married, I still think that Alex was gay, just not able to come to terms with it. It was actually he who instigated our relationship. I don't know if I have romanticised it over time, but he was just like every gay boy I have ever met since. He was really keen, not just playing at it, if that makes sense. He wanted to as often as I did. He turned up with fellow student, Tom Clarke, and we had a threesome. He said he would. Did I want to? he asked me beforehand. I agreed thinking it was more talk than anything. Then he turned up with Tom. We were all nervous and not a lot happened. Oh, enough happened.

Is it fair for me to publicly out Alex when he can’t defend himself?

It’s probably true that I wouldn't out him if he was alive and was at the reunion himself.

It’s what all boys do, I hear you say. Actually, we were seventeen and eighteen when were having regular sex. We weren't kids, as such.

The problem being is that I want to do it. I guess it's not a nice think to do, but I still want to. I want to see the looks on their faces. I’m not sure why. It's kind of subversive. I think it is setting the record straight, speaking the truth. It’s allowing the real story to be told. You know, so much of the time gay encounters are clandestine, kept secret, not talked about. If every male admitted to their gay relationships/encounters the world would be a different place.

Lovely Alex

Subject: Happy, happy

(Shane)

Everything is good here. Muff’s (Shane’s pet name for David, remember they used to be boyfriends) a bit hysterical because he’s going away. He’s just taken ½ a valley and feeling fine. So, nothing has changed here. Now off to watch a god awful movie that Muff chose. You know the type. Some gay fucken musical, I had to get stoned. She says she loves you and misses you. But she’s taken pills.

How’s the U S of A? How’s the water in your ears?

Brad was gorgeous. Too much hair and not enough of gymp for Muff. She’s now in the lounge room exclaiming she loves valium and saying come on. You know how she likes her way.

Gotta go.

(christian)

I’m up around midday. I go get the papers and milk and juice. I want to read the weekend papers all about Michael Jackson’s death. Poor Michael.

SMS. 11.55. Hi, how’s your day? – Alex

SMS. 12.35. My days good. I just woke up. How about you? – christian

SMS. 12.38. Good. Would you like to treat me to a cup of coffee? – Alex

SMS. 12.51. Yeah. Sure – christian

SMS. 12.52. When and where? – Alex

SMS. 12.53. Where’s good for you? – christian

SMS. 12.54. I think it is better at your place – Alex

SMS. 13.02. Sure. That’s cool – christian

SMS. 13.03. Now? – Alex

SMS. 13.11. Sure. My housemate is home, though. He’ll be gone soon. I’ll have to go and have a shower and get dressed – christian

SMS. 13.13. It’s better naked.  I will get to your place 1 hour later. But I am not sure I can find your place – Alex

SMS. 13.18. XX [name] Street Fitzroy. 86 tram. Off Gertrude Street – christian

Subject: Poor old Michael

(christian)

No! I heard it was cos Farrah was granted one wish when she got to the pearly gates.... she wanted all children on earth to be safe.....wacko got wacked!

Now they will melt down his body & have it made into plastic toys so kids can play with him for a change rather than his request of being cremated, added to aboxes of rice bubbles & given to children so he can experience the thrill of going thru a 10 year old arse AGAIN!

(Rachel)

Alex has text me around 1pm. Shout me a cup of coffee. I find out what time David is leaving the house, soon, for a 2pm back wax. Then he won’t be back until 7.30pm.

Alex comes over and we have sex. Alex asks if he has to leave before David gets home. No, not especially. He falls asleep in my bed. I sleep for a bit, but I wake soon enough and get up for something to eat.

Alex gets up around 7.30pm and leaves.

I make vegetables and salmon and read the paper. I decide to head to bed to watch teev. Will & Grace. David comes home a short time later. I sleep until 2am. I watch Will and Grace until 5am.

 

Michael Jackson

A talented singer has a huge amount of success and makes a shit load of money, which lead to the realisation that "celebrity" was ultimately empty and a state that devours itself, which lead him into drugs. OMG! How shocking! Like that's never happened before.

And along the way a number of opportunistic parasites make false accusations against him accusing him of crimes in an attempt to extort money out of him. One group he pays off, probably as a consequence of bad advice, and the other he proves to be false in a court of law.

Why is everybody so shocked?

Or am I confusing the media with the general public again?

Feeling no pain...

Jackson was injected three times a day with potent painkiller Demerol while also receiving doses of another two painkillers Dilaudid and Vicodin.

Jackson was also taking muscle relaxant Soma, anti-depressant Zoloft, anti-anxiety drug Paxil, heartburn pill Prilosec and sedative Xanax.

The truly amazing thing here is that he could stand up at all. (if this is true)

Heading Out To Dance

SMS. 00.58. Hey chriso, I’m in India, having a good time. Wish you would come – Sebastian

SMS. 01.00. India must be amazing. I wish I could come too – christian

SMS. 01.02. So come, I’m in Mamalapuram in the “Tina Blue Resort” 😀 – Sebastian

SMS. 01.17. How r u? – christian

SMS. 01.19. I’m good! Maybe a little stoned, but fine. Sleep well – Sebastian

SMS. 01.21. Sounds good, lucky you. Wish I was there with you – christian

SMS. 09.51. R u awake? – Jill

Matt calls early and asks if I want to remaining ticket to the Market for tonight, as Mark and Luke are going. Mark and Luke haven’t told me about it, so I wonder if they want to go just the two of them and I was about to decline the ticket and I thought, fuck it, yes, thanks. I immediately called Guido. 

“Ello.”

“Guido.”

“Long time no hear, what the fuck have you been up to?”

“Not a lot.”

“Not a fucken lot, hey, you boring fuck.”

“Okay, I’ve got a new guy…”

“Receptacle for your cum…”

“Whose really nice…”

“Good for fucken you. What can I do you for?”

I mess around on my computer for the afternoon.

Beck calls again about me helping her with EOFY. I don’t answer. I have to go back soon enough, please don’t make me go back sooner. I’ll get back to her.

How do I get out of going back to work at all?

Subject: Poor old Michael

(Rachel)

Did you hear that Michael Jackson didn’t die from a heart attack. Apparently, it was food poisoning. He ate 12 year old nuts.

(christian)

Mark calls late in the afternoon to say they are coming over and that they are heading to the Market tonight. 

When he gets there he asks me if I am going to go to. 

“Do you guys want to go on your own,” I ask?

“No.”

“Okay, then I’m going. I got the last ticket.”

We watch Master Chef and So You Think You Can Dance 

SMS. 21.26. (Guido) Are you still coming? – Christian

Guido arrives with goods for all of us.

We head out at midnight.

Subject: Monday night at the house of stairs

I bought a ticket for 580 € return, Sept – Feb in good old Yackandacktrackydax.

So there.

Off to big techno camping doof after school today, so there.

7 days of school to go...

Moley (Josh)

Michael Jackson

Michael Jackson's former producer and friend Tarak Ben Ammar has denounced the late pop icon's doctors as "criminals" and "charlatans" who took advantage of his hypochondria.

"It's clear that the criminals in this affair are the doctors who treated him throughout his career, who destroyed his face, who gave him medicine to ease his pain."

"He was a hypochondriac and one never really knew if he was sick because he had become surrounded by charlatan doctors who were billing him thousands and thousands of dollars worth of drugs and vitamins

Farrah Fawcett

 

Farrah Fawcett dies aged 62. I never watched Charlie's Angels, but, of course, I knew who she was. One of the great beauties of our time. All that hair, that she was really most famous for. And all those wall posters. How many straight boys do you think, um, er, had that poster on their bedroom walls? She died of cancer.

Out in the Sunshine

I'd had enough of everybody yesterday; flat mates swanning off on holidays, demented mothers, tradesmen who never turn up, work even called and asked me to do a few days next week with end of financial year stuff, you know, as a favour, for god's sake! Ah! Bad to worse! So I grabbed my camera and headed out the door around lunch time. I thought I'd go take some photos of my world, rather than having to fit into everybody else's, something that I seem to be having to do more and more of late. Okay, yes, of course, I am an adult and I can set my own course, granted, but that being as it may, blah, blah, blah... you know sometimes everybody else just seems to be having all the fun and you just seem to be duty bound?

Anyway, it was a lovely day, the sun was shinning.

I like the idea of recording moments in time. I kind of like the idea of graffiti as art. I like the idea of streetscapes, the ones I get to see everyday. I like the idea of a collection of doorways. I so wanted to ask several interesting looking people if I could take their photo, but didn't quite have the nerve. Mostly because I haven't used my camera in a while and I was rusty on the functions. Read, I felt like a bit of an idiot, to start with, to tell you something.

I thought of parking myself on a planter box and photographing the passing parade. I like that idea of people captured unaware, but then I figured in this squeamish day and age, with a bogey man reputed to be around every corner, I'd need the peeps permission, otherwise it was, probably, a good way to get arrested.

As you can see, I'd make a lousy undercover operative. The guy in the picture was really cute, with a really sexy accent, as he chatted on his phone, not that that would have translated. I stalked him, just a little, and nearly got a shot of his hot arse, but just as I had it lined up he turned, probably only looking at the traffic, and I lost my nerve and you can see the result.

After that, I stuck to architecture and flora and wall art, until I wandered passed Readings and then Hares and Hyenas and a good coffee and photography was over for the day.

Classless Society

True class – when you know you are wrong, you apologise, when you know you are right, you keep your mouth shut.

We live in a truly classless society.

Give us a break

Stop advertising through other TV shows, it is too much. Way too fucken much!

And while we're at it, stop advertising through the credits. I don't mind watching the credits, it gives me time to reflect on what I've just seen.

But now a days it's just bang, bang, bang, no time to stop, no time to think. No time to scratch your arse.

TV stations, it is TOO MUCH!

Lowest Possible Benchmark

I think the reduction in speed on the Melbourne roads has resulted in a reduction in the ability of the drivers. It has effectively lowered the benchmark, so now the standard is down to the incompetent drivers who always drove at pensioner speeds. It has given every lousy driver permission to drive in their incompetent ways, unhindered. It has given every idiot permission to drive at 40 kilometres an hour, no matter what the actual speed limit is.

Britney, Britney, Britney

Britney Spears reportedly lip-syncs her entire concert. What sort of rubbish is that? And tickets are $150. I can't even bare drag queens lip-syncing now a days, let alone alleged pop stars, or would that more fittingly be pop drag queen?

 

Oiled Turkish Wrestlers

From One Minority Group To Another

You know, I'm all for supporting reconciliation for Aboriginals, but, how many Aboriginals would support gay marriage and gay adoption? Just sayin. It just crossed my mind.

One faces the future with one's past, jangling around ones ears like hundreds of tin cans tied to the back of the 'Just Married' getaway car.

The Passive Aggressive Problem

I have a terrible passive aggressive streak that I have to guard against all the time.