I Thought We’d Decided Not To Do That Any More

We were woken to the rubbish truck dropping the bottles into the crusher. Then Sam was reminding me that I hadn’t put the bins out. We seemed to be woken again to what we thought was the recycling rubbish being collected. It was very early for either rubbish collection, let alone both. Then I was woken by Buddy hopping up onto the bed and making himself comfortable in the pillows. Sniff. Sneeze. Sniff. Sneeze.

Sam got dressed. I pat the bulldog.

Sam called in sick. “Cough, cough. Sorry I’m not well.” I think it is the second sick day he has taken in four years.

I made coffee.

Sam put the recycling rubbish out, it hadn’t come, as yet. Usually, I do it, it is one of the chores that I get because of the premium chore of cooking Sam does. He always grumbles on the one, of second day he might have to it in twelve months.

Sam had the doors and windows open in the lounge room, as he likes to do. Cool air was seeping in. There was no breeze to blow it in. The cold air just enveloped you.

Sam was playing Pharrell Williams. He was listening to the previews of his album. Sam decided against it.



Facebook

Winter is here. What happened to the weather? Summer has been turned off. Although, I quite like it, don’t get me wrong.

Nobody comments. All the dross they talk and all the dross they respond to, and I didn’t get one comment.



The cold wind is picking up.

I put Bad Company on, but it really is a bad choice for the morning. I persist with it, I want to hear it.

Sam says, “What is this shit music?”

Sam looks at the bulldog adds online. I suggest to him that he messages Jason and asking him if he has any Buddy puppy photos.

Sam texts Jason to see if he has any baby photos of Buddy. It’s a long shot, but plans change, people don’t do the things they say they were going to do. He could still have the same phone and have photos on it and just send them.

He texted back quite quickly with a photo, Buddy doesn’t look that much different.

“Is the dog okay?”

He’s great, really great.

We sent Jason a recent photo of Buddy.

“Lol top dog wish I still had him thankx for lookin after him looks well.”

I asked Sam why he thought Jason started his message with lol.

Sam didn’t know either.

It was cold, but Sam still has the doors and windows open. I’m freezing.


We ate left over Indonesian Chicken and rice for lunch.

I continued to roll joints.

We saw that Gordon’s second house was sold. I took a photo. Well, houses are held for a long time in Fitzroy, they may not come up for sale again. SOLD. It is one for the archives.

It was a slow morning on our laptops.

I hope I am not boring for Sam, boring stoned. I ask him, he says no. I ask him what he wants to do, I’m up for anything he wants. He doesn’t come up with anything.

He keeps giving me dirty looks, which I think are just adorable.

He acts as though he is being strangled every time I head to the mull bowl. He lies on the couch with his tongue out as I roll it. I think it is funny, I hope he is being funny.

Later, he tells me I am boring, but he still doesn’t say what he wants to do.

He slept a lot, come to think of it. Bad Christian!

Sam wanted to know if I wanted to do crystal this long weekend. Suddenly, out of the blue. Me at my laptop, he sleeping on the couch behind, poked in the back. “Ay…”

I thought we’d agreed that we weren’t doing it any more. I thought we decided that it was now pointless the quality was so low?

“Do you want to do crystal this long weekend?”

“I see,” I say. “Really?” I thought we’d decided not to do that any more?

“It is a long weekend.”

I’m piss weak, we know that.

“This is you suggesting it.”

“Ah ha.

He kept reminding me, when I didn’t do anything. He kept telling me, when I still hadn’t done anything. He wanted me to order from the South Yarra Connection. His reliable guys hadn’t returned calls. I see. The process is already rolling.

He wanted to do it because we’re not having much sex. That’s why it is important. I know that, it is not meant to sound dramatic.

I was wavering.

The trouble was that I was a bit too stoned, shit faced to perform the task. I had to make myself, summand my energies, pull the rabbit from the hat. I have to do this. It is now up to me.

Finally, I psyched myself up to call, I picked up my phone and a call from David lights up on my screen. I kid you not. The ex-tina whore herself, reaching for me, as I reach out to evil.

David was hysterical about the symbolism, “and you continue to tell me you don’t believe.” I tell him it is just a coincidence, “you ring me everyday.”

"I am your conscious."

“Of course you are.”

“Walk toward the light, Carol Anne.”

"It is a coincidence."

“Is it darling? So many coincidences?” said haughtily by one of the “spiritual” who has an unshakeable belief in his crossing over to the light.

We laughed.

He wanted to talk endlessly about what we are doing, because he has only been allowed to experience it vicariously since 2004. Filthy ex drug whore.

I have to hang up on him to get rid of him.

I return to the task at hand. Breath. Breath. Breath. I search my contacts, I don’t even have South Yarra’s number in my phone.

I give it to Sam, he dials it and hands it back to me. “It’s ringing.”

“It’s ringing?

“It’s ringing.”

I do okay, surprisingly well all things considered.

“Call again Friday.”



Later, I asked Sam about the mystery of the phone number, when I check to see what it looks like on my screen, so I wouldn’t miss it again, and I still don’t have his number.

“Where’s the number? It’s not in my phone?”

“You can’t have it,” said Sam. “It is too dangerous for you to have it, you will be naughty. No, you can’t be trusted with it. I will keep it for safe keeping.

He was thinking about Easter, when he is home with his family and I will be in Melbourne on my own.

Morning Light

Get Out And Get Some Vitamin D

I had an intense moment of clarity, I did some writing, but it was done, I was literally right up to date. Motor down. Sam suddenly got back on to my wavelength some time around 11am, actually, I can look, it is all done by messages. My whole life is done via messages. It’s hand because it is recorded.

“Give me an update?”

“My blog was up to date.”

“Lovely. Get going and take the dog to the dog park.”

Well, yes, I could do that. I looked up and took in an eyeful of the day. Yes. I could do that.

So, first thing to do is roll another joint.

I put all the dishes in the dishwasher as I smoked the joint.

It was about hallway through the shower that I suddenly got the feeling of, Oh too much. I was half way through soaping up, I think it was when I plunged down to soap my feet. I stood up again, too quickly. Oh hello! Stand still. Its okay, I just have to stand under the water. Hold on to something.

It is almost impossible to stand under water stoned in the shower and have a piss. It takes a lot of effort. And then when you finally pull the stopper and start a stream, you never can really feel where it is coming from, the calamity of the too much pot state, your body is numb, it could be coming out your ear, for all you knew. All you know is it is coming out.

I had to shave. I still had to shave. I didn’t shave yesterday, so it had to be today, it would be too much for Sam and he would guess the reason in minutes.

I’d gotten to the stage where I was having trouble standing up. I just wanted to lay down. I mean, it wasn’t critical, it was just how I felt. I was suddenly very tired, as they say, and it was comfort I was wanting. Somewhere to sit, perhaps. Why aren’t showers built with seats?

So, I sat on the shower floor and scraped at my face with my razor, very slowly.

I dried myself and got into my towelling dressing gown, every thing is right with the world when you are wrapped in your towelling dressing gown.

I lay on the bed.

I got up ten minutes later. I took off the dressing gown and put on jocks and got back into bed under the doona. Too soon. It was comfortable and soft and safe. I lushed out.

I stood up ten minutes later, shields at 90%, I could push on. I pulled on a t-shirt and jeans.

I lay back down again briefly, after pulling both my socks on. I just kind of laid back and before I knew it I was comfortable again. Ah. Lying out on your bed when you know you shouldn’t be only makes the bed seem infinitely more comfortable. I stared at the ceiling and wondered if I should paint my house all the one colour, as Gordon did for his auction. I could go cream right through. All of my rooms are picked out in a multitude of Edwardian colours, although it hasn’t been freshened up in many years now. It is like an old evening gown, it was lovely when it was done, but it is many years since it was new.

Then I felt charged and got up again. Phone, wallet, keys and went down stairs. Grab the lead, out the door.

I had a what-the-hell-am-I-doing-with-my-life moment on the stairs coming down. As per usual, I have no idea what I am doing.

I thought of David and I called Jack and asked him for time off. He said take as much time as you need. Mother’s and death, boys never want to have long conversations about that, Jack was no different.

I even did it stoned. Oh, just do it now, it is a necessary evil of a phone call, I thought as I walked passed the phone. I thought of David, Think it, do it. Glass half full! Come on! I text David and told him .

I’ll call Jack in a couple of days and move the training I have organised to the earlier session, which I couldn’t because of my last assignment. That’ll get another phone call in to gauge how I am tracking in the popularity stakes for assignments.

We went to the dog park. A boy and his dog in the sun. The son was shining down just fine. I love watching him run and run, as he does first whenever he gets to the park.

We were having a lovely time. There was a French Pointer, a Maltese, some Basset Hounds, I haven’t seen Basset Hounds in ages, not since… friends of my family always had Bassets. There were Cocker spaniels. Two Weimaraners. A Boarder Collie chasing a stick.

Buddy pretended to chase the stick, for a minute, like the big dogs, like he always does. “Hey throw it to me, throw it to me, throw it to me.” All the athletic dogs jump into the air. “Okay, that’s enough, I’ll leave it to you boys. Pant, pant, pant.”

Then one of those Staffordshire/pitbull/cross maybe, the ones with those eyes, you know the ones, who tried to bite Buddy twice turned up. Bulldogs aren’t aggressive, but they don’t have boundaries either, some breeds of dogs don’t like that. And when threatened a Bulldog will never back down, they are truly fearless dogs. They don’t have an aggressive bone in their bodies, Bulldogs love everyone, sometimes with too much intensity, but they can spring to attention to defend themselves, don’t be mistaken. They look like lazy couch potatoes, but you’d be surprised how far they can spring into the air, when they want. They are all muscle.

It’s just about always one of these Stafford bull terrier/Pitbulls that bite, they are the most likely to turn into wolves.

I am sorry Staffordshire Bull Terrier/Pitbull Terrier owners, but if your dogs are aggressive then you are clearly not socialising them properly. It is not the dog’s fault, it is not the breed’s fault, it is the owner’s fault. Pick up your game.

The Staffy was fine.

We came home. It was hot and I was over it before I got home.

I put Nina Simone on.

It is a perfect summer’s day in Melbourne today. Yes, I do realise it is autumn.

I’m lighting my fags off the kitchen cook top, I feel like I am back at uni.

Here I am, here again. Monday morning

It is a dim morning, the sun is hardly breaking the clouds. The sky is grey.

Tina Turner sings, Let’s stay together.

I sip my coffee.

Buddy is lying next to me. His paws are pressed against my leg.

I program in What’s Love Got to do with it and Private dancer as the next songs. I think to myself that I must get more Tina Turner. I don’t have her singing Help.

Truthfully I’m lazy and not on a Tina kick. It is just where my itunes has opened for the last couple of days.

Buddy snores next to me.
Addicted to love plays. Live. Thank you Tina. The crowd goes wild having witnessed legend.

Randy Crawford is up next with her blues band. Everyday I have the blues.

Buddy’s snoring doesn’t miss a beat. Clearly, bulldog’s don’t snore to the beat of the music.

He’s a smart dog, though. He just seems to know stuff. He picks stuff up. If he hears the “lead” draw open he is next to you bouncing in moments. None of the other draws in that sideboard, only the one particular draw we keep the lead in.

If he hears the lead draw open for a second time in the day, he will always head to his kennel. Ah, if it is all the same with you, my walking’s done for the day.

He twigs the moment he feels the energy change in the room. He knows exactly what getting ready to leave the house vibe feels. He is on it in minutes, watching us. I see, putting on shoes. Oh, him too. The smile on his face kind of broadens.

He instinctively seems to know when he isn’t coming and he’ll take himself off to his kennel as if to say, well fuck you then, this feels like I am not coming. Boo Hoo.

If we get the car keys, but no lead draw, he knows pretty quickly it isn’t going to be a car ride for him and he heads to his kennel again, and doesn’t normally make a reappearance. You don’t see him again before you leave. He sits right at the back of his kennel so you can't even accidentally see him.

He always knows when his dinner is being prepared. Occasionally, if we are in the kitchen preparing his food and we get to chatting and get distracted, he kind of growl barks from the doorway as if to say, Today Ladies!

Workers Cottages on the edge of Collingwood

A Great Big World

I was awake at 7am. The light was brittle, golden and new. It was, actually, before 7am, and the day was milky in its amniotic veil, about to break and glow.

The bulldog slept chin buried in his pillows. The cartoons drawn of them are so apt. They are funny even when they sleep.

Anthony is coming for afternoon tea. I decided I should bake a cake. I have been so dense on such things for all of my life. That’s what “normal” people do, they give biscuits or cake if you come for afternoon tea.

I decided I should make a cake.

I had to go to the supermarket. The sun shone, the birds sing. Sam said take the “green” bags. I hate carrying the green bags. They are so uncool.

“Shopping bags for mum,” I said. “I’m not taking them.”

“Take them.”

“It is so much cooler just to waft in empty hands and then just glide out when it is all done, smoky grey bags in hand.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine.”



“Get lunch…”

“What?” I looked at the clock.

“Brunch then, I haven’t eaten.”

“What’ll I get.”

“Think of something.”

“Can’t think…”

“Sausages and hash browns. No, mushrooms. Sausages, mushrooms and baby spinach. Get a big bag of baby spinach.”

“Sausages aren’t so slimming…”

“Get the good ones then and don’t be such a tight arse."

And just to make the whole trip as ugly as it could possible be, he gave me a dog-dick red environmental shopping bag and a pale blue environmental shopping bag.

Good sausages? There is such a thing? Aren't all sausages fried death in pigs bladder? Really? The good ones? My mother always said being a tight arse was a good thing. I think I muttered all the way down the street.

A big bag of baby spinach? What makes it a big bag, I wondered? I fill it a quarter and wonder if that is enough? I pile in another quarter of a bag. It looks like a lot to me. Later, apparently not. You'd think a big bag of baby spinach would be easy to gauge. Apparently not.

The gourmet sausages were a little light on the light side on the shelf. The wagu sausages were all "with something." Herb and red wine. Garlic and rosemary. Honey and mustard. And that sort of thing. All the rest seemed to be just your standard issue sausage. You know, like a bunch of white boys at a glory hole. What to get?

We ate Wagu sausages, with herb and red wine, and baby spinach and mushrooms for brunch.

I rolled a joint I can’t deny it. Essentially, I am on holidays. Sam said very little when I suggested it. Always my green light to continue. Always my gauge. Sam hardly even made a comment in response.

Happy, Pharrell Williams plays. He is sooo cool. The coolest man on the planet, right about now.


The sun shines.


I made a carrot cake. It’s in the oven. Anthony is coming over for tea. That is if he's not too pissed, that is always the unknown. So I thought I’d better bake. I’m starting with the classics. We’ve just done banana cakes and now we’re doing carrot cakes. I guess the next one really aught to be chocolate.

I use an American recipe. It takes twice as long to cook. American recipes are never that great.


Oh, it's a relief not to have to go to work on Monday. I really do like weeks off between assignments just to recharge. That last assignment was too soon. I was exhausted. Let's see if I can pull it off. I had dinner with David last night, pho, and he said I should grovel to my boss immediately. 9am Monday morning, he reckons. He's says I have just damaged my professional career. He was even more alarmed when I said that I didn't care.


A Great Big World comes on.

Buddy is giving it his wonder-dog-pose, paws stretched out in front, legs stretched out the back, as he sleeps across the doorway. Head in the sun shining in through the north facing window. Bulldogs are sunlovers, but they can’t tolerate hot weather.

Tina Turner sings Addicted to Love. Listen to a diva sing against a saxophone and win. One of the greatest vocalist of all time, though.

The cake is finally cooked. It takes twice as long to cook as the recipe says. It stays wet in the middle right to the end. It has a strange kind of anaemic look to it, as though something isn’t quite right in its DNA. It hasn’t, quite, raised evenly all the way around. It doesn’t look like a happy cake. It looks more like something you’d have remove when it changed colour.

I sat it on the bench like we were waiting for it to learn to speak before we could judge how “special” it was. It looked like the kind of cake that would give trouble when it was turned out. I tried to ignore sitting there when I went back to my computer.

Then it was time to take it out of the pan. I ran the roundest butter knife around the inside of the tine. Then I popped the spring. The base of the pan and the baking paper just peeled right off with no drama at all.

Tina continues to sing all afternoon. Nobody sings like Tina. I heard her once say that she thought her voice was raspy kind of unpleasant. My mate David the yogi learn Buddhism from Tina Turner. They were friends in another lifetime, he never mentions it though. The most electrifying performer I have ever seen, Tina Turner. David Bowie was the next most electric. Randy Crawford would have to be the next. People from who electricity emanates.

I guess David is another. Many people seek David out because of the light that emanates from him, it is true. It is what he does, although I would never tell him this, he spreads his light and, apparently, people flock. Some people have a certain energy, that's as far as our spiritual discussions end, he and I. The Atheist up against 21st century spiritual believer, our discussions can become intense.

I can't see it, he and I are just ex-scared pups together, coming out, right through to washed up party boys, become professionals, growth and constant change, that's our history too. You know, old friends, through all of the evolutionary processes of friends who have been in each other's lives for some time.

Anthony arrived right on 2pm.


The cake was the weirdest thing I have ever eaten. You know this cake sob story has two giant flaws in it as big as your nose. It was an American recipe, American food is never good. It was called the moistest carrot cake ever, it should have rung alarm bells. And it used oil instead of butter, always very fast food. 

We ate it hot, to start with. Always a mistake, unless it is a cake that should be eaten hot, like one of those runny chocolate creations, you should always let the dam thing cool. Hot, it tasted like sweet, fruity pudding. Cold it taste like a fruity carrot brownie. It was just a little too much of the uncooked cake batter stage and not quite enough of the turned the corner to cooked cake stage.

It was the weirdest cake I have ever eaten, but then it is American and I am sure their taste buds are different to ours.

It never really got passed the gooey fruit pudding stage, so much so Anthony suggested we needed cream for it.

We ate the whole thing, it was oddly Moorish. It was like the evil desert, the touched by Satan sweet, like a car wreck you couldn’t turn away from it.

David Was Alarmed

I was up at 8am. Awake. Couldn’t sleep. Saturday, for the universe sake. Actually, I don’t care. I am resigned to getting up early now and, in fact, I quite like it.

It was a lovely day in Melbourne town. A nice day for an Auction.

We ate breakfast. We hustled out the door to Gordon’s auction. The Crew were waiting outside, Gordon’s crew. There are certain things one’s Crew turns up for. Certain preordained occurrences, funerals, 40ths, the sale of a members long owned house, they are known intuitively when you are truly a member of the crew.

Michael Swift was out the front standing with his hand over his eyes, looking every bit Aunt Michaela. “We’re here, what is there to see.” On one of my most recent skypes to Mark, he said everyone was worried about Michael, that maybe there was something wrong with him, the implication was, after years of drinking. Michael looks a bit older, but then don’t we all. He had is usual, infectious sense of place about him. Oh isn’t this fun. He doesn't look like he is dying of liver cancer to me, or anything else. Queens are bitches. His skin is a bit worby, but then his skin has always been a bit worby. Well, no, his skin didn’t always look worby. It does now. He seems fine.

Michael and (boyfriend) Duncan and Ava (Gordon’s wife. Ha ha, he’d hate me saying that) and some other girl who used to live in the small house, I assume, before Michael, I think her name was Robyn. I have never met her before. She seemed nice enough. Obese and wanting to appear cool. Apparently, she has smart children.

The crowd gathered for the auction.

I ask them all how much Gordon paid for his new house, but they all said they hadn’t asked. “I wouldn’t ask that,” said Eve.

Then there was some cute man standing in front of me, handsome, tanned, conveying some message to Eve, from Gordon.

“Who’s he?” I asked Ava.

“Oh, um that’s our someone or other…” Then she spoke about people I didn’t know. I assumed the cute guy was Gordon’s nieces boyfriend. “We’ve all been very happy with the influence cutey pants has had on nieceypie…”

Lovely, I thought. Will she ever stop talking? I just nodded and smiled.

I like Ava. I always have. I like her no nonsense. I don’t mind her bossiness, I’ve always had bossy people in my life. She’s friendly and she’s open. She has no airs.

Then, of course, we had to take a photo for the yearly calendar. Goodness me, we nearly forgot. Ava had forgotten her camera. Disaster! Sam came to the rescue with to use his iPhone. “Come on, a group of friends, the group of friends. Quick!” Ava organised us all into a group. We all stood in front of the Auction sign. Sam took the photo, so Ava was in it.

The photo of me was amazingly bad. I was horrified.

The auctioneer had a long preamble about everyone being sure about which house everyone was bidding on, because once before when he had the same sales situation, when they got to signing on the house, that purchaser thought he’d just bought the other house they had for sale that day.

The auctioneer had a very wide mouth, as though he was part Staffy. He smiled a lot, lucky for him it came across as sincere. He had very long feet, high lighted by the long, pointy, steel toe capped, western crocodile skin shoes. He had a drop earing in one ear.

Sam bid on 780K and 820K, when the interest seemed light on for the small house and it looked like the house could have, possibly been sold at a bargain price. The thing was, we only have 800K guaranteed for an investment property house loan. Sam was already at 820K when I noticed. “What are you doing,” I whispered. It wasn’t perhaps the most supportive reaction. The others were surprised, we hadn’t really discussed it with any of them. The bidding got going once we were out.

A guy, who looked to me like a property developer to me – I have no evidence for this claim – and a couple of, what looked like, thirty something year old gay boys, who looked like a couple, bid it out and the gay boys were successful in the end.

The poofs got the small house for just over 900K.

Nobody bid on the big house. The Crew reported that would most likely be negotiated at a later date. It was felt about the big house that it was a lot of money, 1.5 million, for a house in which you would have to do major bathroom renovations straight away and essentially it would only be a two bedroom house, when you took the bathroom upstairs.

Gordon was inside for an inordinate amount of time as we waited in the ever increasing heat of the sun. We were all fanning ourselves and beginning to complain.

Finally, Gordon appeared and he warmly embraced everyone who were there as if they were long lost friends, or members of the inner sanctum of the friendship circle.

He totally ignored Sam and I, which I took as a message not to go in and have drinks in the house afterwards. Michael and Duncan had waited long enough by then, they were hungry and wanted breakfast, so when they made their discreet exit, we did too. Gordon suggested Michael and Duncan stay for a drink, but he didn’t suggest it as Sam and I left.

I just felt like pot, afterwards, I’m not sure why? I felt a bit defeated. The smallness of the world because of inhospitality, on a micro level and on a greater level. I’ve lived next to Gordon for 25 years. I should have been good at the job I just had, but I found it intimidating and crumbled. I think I must have been under stress, mother in a coma expected to die. Inhospitality abounds. The world feels smaller for it. Maybe I want to feel numb.

Ironically, I don’t even really like feeling of being stoned any more. It is that love hate thing, numbed is both good and bad. Like antibiotics, the pot kills all feelings. It was fine when I was younger, I hadn’t been ground down so much by life at that stage. Not that I did it as a teenager, apparently kids that is bad, I was in my twenties before I smoked my first. Now, to tell you the truth, it is just a dreary habit. Still, nobody ever said habits had to be good. It still makes me focus to write, it shuts all distractions out, I know that much still. That’s what I want it for. The creativity just flows on weed.

Sam, Buddy and I walked to the bank in Smith Street, in the sunshine. I had to get money. I bought apple cider vinegar and cigarettes and fruit juice and bread and milk. All of life’s small necessities. It was nice, the day sparkled, the sky was bright blue. Buddy marched ahead as if he was singing the bulldog song. Tum di dum tum di dah! Tum di dum tum di dah! Bulldog coming through. We floated. I floated. It seemed like an awful lot of walking, an awful lot of feet dragging on the way back, but we did it.

I got pot delivered. Very civilised. Come on Australia, let’s do what New Zealand has done, parts of America, Uruguay, for goodness sake and parts of Europe. Stop being such a pussy-arsed conservative country and just get on with it. Admit that prohibition is a failure. I wonder if the price would go up, it hasn’t gone up in twenty years. Of course, with Mr Misogynist Church on Sundays in charge, I guess it is unlikely.

The sun shone down.

Matt dropped in. He is good. It is the first time I have seen him since his heart attack. At forty, I am sure that is not so good. He told us all about his juice diet. Lots of vegetables.

Nobody could really tell me why he’d had a heart attack, so I asked. He said he was going without sleep, eating all the wrong foods, drinking no water, doing no exercise, smoking. Then he kind of slipped in that his cholesterol was crazy high, with no good cholesterol. When I asked him how high was his cholesterol, he avoided answering that question. He said, unlike most men, he recognised the symptoms and called an ambulance.

David has been texting insults all day. He followed up all the texts with a long and rambling call where he talked and talked, he was in the car, I am sure. It is how he passes his time when he is driving. He’s lucky he is smart, because if he was the air-head that he makes out to be, he’d have crashed that car by now. What am I saying, I tell him all the time not to drive and use his phone.

The sun is shining through the back doors.

Buddy is snoring.

Sam is asleep with a slipped kindle by his side.

INX plays. Baby don’t cry.



We left to eat Pho with David. I’d rolled a j for the occasion. We walked to Victoria Street.

David insisted that I call (my boss) Jack first thing Monday morning, straighten it all out. “Tell him about you mum. Ask for time off.”

“I don’t want to.”

“What do you mean you don’t want to,” replied David. His eyes widened, he looked alarmed. “That’s what you do. Save your job first. Then think about your future later.”

“I just don’t want to think about it.”

“You may not want to, my sweet, but you have to. Do that and then you don’t have to think about it. But at least do that.”

“I don’t care.”

He looked even more alarmed.



We walked back. It was dusk by the time we were walking up the Langridge Street hill, at the dusk of our stoned-arsed-selves, dragging our feet to the front door.

We seemed to be waiting on the couch with filler shows all the evening, until Ru Paul’s Drag race final came on. I wanted Raven to win, despite her having never been my favourite in the previous season she was in. I’m glad Chanel didn’t win as she is too Las Vegas Show Girl. Having said that, in a strange kind of way, for keep something alive in a pure way, makes her an eminent winner of hall of fame, in a sense. She’s too uptight, though. Chad Michaels won. I couldn’t see it. Yeah, sure there is a great transformation, but there’s not much after that.

I think we went to bed at 11.11 to watch City Hall, in Bed. Al Pacino.



Facebook,

You do realise that Anthony turned 50 on Friday. Anthony.

Well, yes I guess. None of us are getting any younger luv, despite your constant denials. Happy birthday lovely Robert Gamble. Christian.



05/03/2014, Robert Gamble, Thanks beautiful Chriso! xx

You need to go to uni to get one of these, boys and girls. Of course, that isn't strictly true, but true enough.

Look Out For That Guy, He Wants Your Cookie

Tony Abbott, Charlene and an Asylum Seeker walk into a bar.

On the table are a dozen cookies.

Tony eats 11 of the cookies, then gestures at the Asylum Seeker as he says to Charlene,  "Look out for that guy, he wants your cookie, they think stealing is okay where they come from."

Then Tony asked Charlene to make him a coffee.

The Liberal Party On Campus

I nearly spat my lunch when I saw this at Melbourne Uni. And the most alarming thing was that there were some cute one's amongst the group. One's you'd never pick. Those you would sleep with, oblivious.

Dear God! Little Johnny. WTF? I wanted to scratch my eyes out. Well, no, I didn't want to do that, but... conservative politics at uni.

Apparently, I made myself unemployed

I threw a wobbly at work this week and I finished my assignment today. I kid you not. Over. Twelve weeks to indefinite reduced to one week.

What can I say? I'm not sure why? Well, I have my suspicions.

Mum had some kind of seizure on the weekend and the nursing home called saying they were very concerned about her, with the consensus being that this could quite possibly be it, that she could well die.

I guess that makes a boy a bit unsettled?

She had lapsed into unconsciousness and there was some thought that it was possible that she may not regain consciousness.

So we did the rush over thing. The nurse felt that we should. My brother flew down from Brisbane.

Mum was lying in her bed staring at the ceiling, when my sister and I got there. Her blue eyes were crystal clear. She was conscious, but not much was going on in there.

She responded to me when I asked if she was hungry, or if she was cold. She said no to both. She didn’t say anything else. I don’t really know what she was responding to, was it what I said, or was it just that I'd said something?

I didn't think I was stressed out but, apparently, I was. I threw a turn and called Jack and told him the assignment was no good and that he had to replace me.
Okay, he said.

Today was my last day.
And now I am, essentially, unemployed. Or as Sam said, on holidays again.
I haven't spoken to Jack since, I'm thinking he won't be thinking kindly about me.
Mum came out of her stupor yesterday, apparently, and is sitting up and eating again. Although, let's not kid ourselves, she isn't going to recover.
Shake of the head. OMG! What the fuck did I do? I have never done that at work before.
I hope I haven't blown it with Jack and ABC Finance? Imagine if Jack said to me, Well Christian, I can't give you any more work.
I didn't tell him about mum. Maybe, Bevan will tell him. Maybe.
Oh well.
I'm on holidays as of Monday. Lovely.
If Jack calls me Monday morning and tells me he has a new assignment for me, I'll be none too please. No, I'll be pleased. No, I wont. I'll be pleased to know he is going to give me work. I won't be pleased if he does, though.

What The Hell Did Melbourne Uni Do To These Terrace Houses?

I guess some idiot architect thought he was being awfully clever

Let’s Look Bizarre

Tum di da

let’s go to a bar,

in high heels and a bra,

let’s look bizarre.

We can go far 

in my big red car, 

follow a star 

singing tra la la.
Don't tell ma.

Some lovely Trees, sweetie

What is actually a crime?

I would rather Schapelle Corby got 3 million dollars for an interview than Rupert Murdoch getting 800 million dollars for paper shuffling. 

I think Schapelle doing an interview is more honest than Rupert’s complex shuffling of assets through local and overseas businesses in 1989 that netted the company an AUS2 billion tax deduction, according to The Australian Financial Review.

Schapelle is telling her story, which really can’t be considered proceeds of crime, such a classification is a very great stretch made by conservative thinkers. She is simply being paid to tell her story, there is absolutely no crime in that.


But what can you call a deliberate complex shuffling of assets to gain the biggest tax rebate in Australian history which involved taking 800 million dollars from the Australian tax payer?

Lying in the park

He always had to lie with his legs apart as he had enormous testicles

White Night

The White Night, what shall we call it, Festival, Experience, Light Show was jam packed full of people. So many people. So many people heading some where, every where, at the same time. There was a crush of many currents at every intersection, jostling for position. Old young, walking being pushed, drunk sober, they were all there. It is kind of good, getting out from in front of the TV, the computer screen. Of course, I am talking about me, more so than every one else.

So many people taking photos. So, so many photos. If a digital photo actually weighs something the planet is going to fall out its orbit under the weight of them sooner than later. Some people just hold their camera above their heads and take shots seemingly indiscriminately. It made me think of all of those photographers in history who'd pose the photo and wait hours to take the shot. We take photos at an incredible rate, as though they are important, as though all of them are worthwhile. As though we are trying to capture every part of our lives. Surely, they can't all be for Facebook?

Here's what I took.

Just a drummer in a band

White Light

People, people, people

Shiny blue balloons

A sea of people looking down Swanston Street

Religion has never been so colourful

The leader of the Australian Liberal Party mocked

Stephen King comes to Flinders Street?

Life is a side show

So many people and such a good feeling amongst them

Did you get it? Did I get it? Did we get it?

Flinders Street Station looking grander than usual

Flinders Street Station even looking a little menacing

My favourite derelict building is being restored

The amazing buildings that Melbourne has lost is gobbsmackingly criminal. Melbourne once rivalled London and Paris for its architectural beauty. Melbourne was once more beautiful architecturally beautiful than both of them. But we were to prosaic to understand that. I think, in some ways, we still are that ignorant colony down under. We let the property developers pull them down. We let the property developers destroy them to make a pathetic buck.

The idiot politicians bulldozed the Melbourne Fish Markets in Flinders Street just to make Melbourne look more modern for the 1956 olympics. That was one of the most incredible building you have ever seen. That land in Flinders Street then lay vacant until just a few years ago when that awful bronze monstrosity was built there.

So it is good that we can save one gazillionth of them. The Argus Building is nothing compared to what we have lost, but still it is good.

My Sick Mum

Roz called this morning, she was nearly crying. The nursing home had called and mum had had some kind of seizure and they were concerned about her with the consensus that she could quite possibly die.

She was unconscious and there was some thought there was a possibility she may not regain consciousness.

Roz asked the nurse if we needed to rush over. The nurse felt that we should. 

I hate this current assignment, and was keen to leave. Fuck it. Why should I feel the call of duty in a job I don't like, in such circumstances, I ask you?

I said to Bevan. “This may sound a bit dramatic, but I think my mum is about to die. And the doctor’s said we should go and see her now.”

“Yes, okay,” he said. “I am comfortable with that.”

I think he meant the exact opposite, but whatever.

Mum was lying in her bed staring at the ceiling. Her blue eyes were crystal clear. She was conscious.

She responded to me when I asked if she was hungry, or if she was cold. She said no to both. She didn’t say anything else. I don’t really know what she was responding to really.

We both chatted away. We were terribly amusing, well, we thought we were. You've got to laugh... We asked mum why she wasn’t responding when we were sooo entertaining, but she said nothing. Not a thing.


We stayed for a few hours. Then we went to have lunch. We came back afterwards hopefully to see the doctor. The nurses got the doctor on the phone and Roz talked to him. The doctor agreed with our course of action, keep her comfortable, don’t let her feel any pain, no resuscitation.

Sooky bulldog