April Fool

“That’s not trans fat,” screeched Olive Joan, the mad witch from Warracknabeal. Her voice hitting a high note on fat. “That’s papaya.” Her wide maniacal eyes gave the impression that her eyeballs were going to pop right out of their sockets, one wanted to lean in and push one’s fingers against them to stop that happening. Perhaps we could get tooth picks and place them between her bushy eyebrows and the top of her cheek bones to keep her eyeballs in place, you know, like the bars on the windows of the mental institution in which most people believed Olive Joan should be.

“It looks like trans fat on the white plate,” repeated DodgeTruck Hullabaloo.

“It’s not! It’s not! It’s not,” squawked Olive Joan, the most hated woman in Warracknabeal, with her airs and graces and her better-than-the-rest-of-you attitude. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“You can tell me as many times as you like,” repeated DodgeTruck Hullabaloo. “But it still looks like papaya to me.”

“It’s not! It’s not! It’s not.” Olive Joan started spinning in circles.

DodgeTruck Hullabaloo leant forward and wiped the tips of his two fat fingers through the disputed orange substance on the plate before them, then lifted the two chubby digits to his mouth and sucked the orange substance right off them. “There,” he proclaimed. “Sweet and lovely, what did I say. Papaya. Papaya. Papaya. Confirmed.”

Olive Joan stopped spinning like an unhinged whirling dervish, grabbing her hair that didn’t, exactly stop spinning with the rest of her.

DodgeTruck Hullabaloo held his fingers out to her. “Go on, suck my fingers.”

“I don’t want to suck your disgusting fingers,” screeched Olive Joan. “Who do you think you are talking to?

“Someone who has just been proven wrong,” said DodgeTruck Hullabaloo. “That’s who.”

“No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!” Olive Joan started to spin again.

“Come on boys,” said DodgeTruck Hullabaloo. He clicked his fingers in the air. “Take her away.”

And the men in hats with white coats entered stage left. They wrapped Olive Joan up tightly in white material, then loaded her on each of their shoulders and carried her to the big white ambulance and popped her inside.

“So much emotional damage,” said DodgeTruck Hullabaloo. And the Ambulance started up and drove away. “Now, there’s a good job done.”

DodgeTruck Hullaballoo clicked his fingers again. Ninza, the fruit seller, pushed his fruit cart into view. “More fruit, my good sir?” asked Ninza.

“Oh yes, please,” said DodgeTruck Hullabaloo. “Do you have any more of that very fine papaya?”

“Yes, sir, good, sir, coming right up, sir,” said Ninza the fruit seller.

DodgeTruck Hullaballoo clicked his fingers again.

“Squashed any good sons, lately?” asked Ninza.

“Nah, none of note,” said DodgeTruck Hullaballoo. “But I might squash you, if you don’t crack on.” He banged his tilt-tray up and down a couple of times to make his point

Ninza handed DodgeTruck Hullaballoo his papaya wrapped in white paper.

And DodgeTruck Hullaballoo was happy. He backed himself back into the shed closest to the old sheering shed, just his white face visible as a reminder of all the things he had done.

You know Michaela Cash has a penis

Little Black Centipede

I watched a centipede crawling up my toilet wall, as I sat and, well, you know what I was doing.

Where are you going, I thought?

Mate, you are way off track, and without hope, I would guess, I thought next.

So far from the garden. And up the toilet wall was certainly not in the right direction.

So, when I was done, I knocked him off the wall onto my hand and carried him out into the garden. (Okay, I could have washed my hands first, sure)

"Now, don't come back inside again," I said sternly.

See, apex predators aren't all bad.

You Can Dance In Isolation

He is just about perfect. No, actually, he is perfect

The truth of us being all in lockdown, is that the Morrison Government got it so wrong at the beginning allowing the virus to escape, that they have been running to catch it ever since.

 

Have I told you how adorable Buddy and Brun are together? I guess I have

It Could Be The Answer

I'm loving working from home.

I can imagine a revolution coming out of this where lots of us working from home now realise we can work from home in the future? Imagine? Congestion lessens, peak hour traffic decreases, all the peak hour nonsense decreases, pressure on public service dissipates, stress levels go down, carbon emissions go down, how much time do each of us save, we all get more leisure, imagine?

It could be the answer to modern life woes? So many gains, potentially.

 

Working From Home

My first day of working from home. My boss Boris and I decided a week ago, as we were all told to work from home, but then our boss  told us the company had changed its mind and we'd be divided into two teams. I decided not to confirm what we were doing, instead I just decided to work from home any way.

Boris questioned me early in the morning, but my workplace is pretty laid back and I knew nobody would be upset.

Sam set me up in our dining room, he uses the bed room.

I connected my laptop to a second large screen. I'm not sure how I would have coped just on my laptop, and a window one at that, but I didn't have to. I was connected to everyone from the office. I communicate with my colleagues by email mostly anyway.

The day went quickly.

I like working from home.

Working from Home

So, home today, Sam and I, and Buddy and Brun, of course. Four Laptops on the coffee table, two personal and two work laptops, even if my work laptop isn't turned on. Today and tomorrow are my normal days off. We're staying home, only going to the super market to shop for food. Sam and I are kind of home bodies anyway so it isn't such a great stretch. I don't really understand people getting bored at home.

Sam's been working from home for weeks. I was supposed to be working from home from next Monday, but we had a meeting late yesterday afternoon at work where our boss told us that they have effectively changed their mind about us all working from home. Now it is two teams who will be taking it in turns working from home, one week on, one week off. Apparently, it is because the govt hasn't enforced a lock down. (roll of the eyes) 

To tell you the truth, I think is is pretty poor. We should all be working from home. I was ready to work form home. It is what the experts tell us, social isolating to slow down the rate of spread of the virus, flatten the curve, save lives and all that. But, I am working from home next week, and anything could happened in a week, let's face it. An exponential rise in cases and maybe I don't have to go back to work in a week after all.

Cross your fingers.

Walking to work this morning

What's Depressing

You know what is really depressing? Selfish fools are buying everything they need and what they can’t possibly need, and people in need, or of less capacity, are going without, being starved of things in a society where there is plenty for everybody. And you know some of those selfish cunts will be fronting up at the shops when this is over wanting refunds for the excess goods they have bought, which they never needed, without a moment of self reflection.

But you know what is depressing? You know, the experts are on every form of communication going on and on and on and on, on every channel, and every program, coming out of the wood work, lining up to gives us their learned opinion, ad infinitum, until one feels like throwing one’s hands in the air saying,

“Okay, okay, okay, I get it, I get it, I get it!”

But there are a lot of stupid people in the world, who are as dumb as a box of rocks, and the message keeps needing to be stated.

You know what is really depressing? You know, this a virus to which none of us have immunity, and sure some people will die and that is awful, but the vast majority will survive it, even if you contract it, you will most likely survive. And most likely, it will last months and not years, and probably the medical teams will come up with a vaccine and we will all be vaccinated against the Corona virus and the problem will, effectively, go away.

You know what is really depressing? What is going to happen when the effects of global warming really hit? Because you know what, the effects of global warming are not going to go away, they are going to be permanent. The corona virus is a dress rehearsal, in many ways, for the effects of climate change, and we haven’t done that well. That’s what’s really depressing.

How Do You Get A Haircut In This Post Contagion World?

Going for a hair cut. How do you keep a metre distance from a hairdresser? Do they have to develop Reed Richards, Fantastic 4 skills to stay in business. That would mean eyes out on stalks too, I'm guessing. Can you imagine, like some LSD trip, or a hairdresser from Deep Space 9.

I'm not taking this very seriously, as you can see. But, I need a haircut, whatever way this all pans out. Do I have to wait four months for a haircut, I usually go once a month. I'd look like my 16 year self if I had to wait.

Not talking it seriously? Well, there is no plan B for a haircut. Of course, it is all fun and games until you wake up with a sore throat and a fever, hey.

Peter Dutton Dead yet?

No Hope

If I caught myself praying in a bad situation, I'd realise that was the moment that all hope was lost.

OCD's hand washing death spiral

Differences

If I buy hot cross buns, I am an unmitigated pig. If Sam buys hot cross buns, it is shopping.

(I think it is outrageous, well, you expected me to think something else? Perhaps? Ha ha.)

Why Does Mental Illness So Often Mean Belief In God

We take the dogs for a walk, early.

It is a sunny, crisp, cool morning

I can see him coming from across the road, the wide eyes of the mentally challenged are easy to recognise.

Then almost on cue, in rapid fire delivery.

“I saw you in church brother.”

“No, you didn’t,” I say.

“I saw you in church brother.”

“No, you didn’t,” I say.

“Don’t you go to church, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“You don’t go to church, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you pray in church, brother.”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you pray in church, brother.”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you believe Jesus, brother.”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you believe in Jesus, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you believe in God?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you believe in God, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“You don’t believe in God, brother?”

“No,” I say.

“I’ll pray for you, brother.”

“Don’t waste your time,” I say.

“I’ll pray for you, brother.”

“Please don’t,” I say.

“You don’t want me to pray for you?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“You don’t want me to pray for you, brother?”

“No,” I say.

“I’ll pray for you brother.”

“Please don’t.”

“I’ll pray for you brother?”

“It means nothing to me,” I say.

“I’ll pray for you, brother.”

“Suit yourself,” I say.

There, he got what he wanted.

And then he was gone.

A Long Term Relationship

Permission to see your partner naked in stages of ever increasing decrepitude 

Stop your whining and wash your hands

Party Over

Sam got home early in the evening. "The party is over," were the first words out of his mouth.

It’s a shame, really, as I am a nicer person when I am stoned.

Sam doesn’t agree, of course. “You are more boring than you know,” he said.

“Oh, come on, I’m delightful…”

“Only in your head.”

The big problem, is that Sam doesn’t like it, it is clearly a character flaw in him. I have plied him with ever increasing amounts of green, and it just hasn’t taken. It is very disappointing. 

And it's Two Days Later

And now it is the 27th...


I left the house. I went and got dog food, don’t worry, I went by tram. 10 kilos of diced beef. 10 kilos is a lot to carry, on the tram.

You can’t drive when you have been smoking, they say. It is not safe, they say. I’d guess that the people who say this have never smoked a spliff in their lives.

None the less, I caught the tram. It is nice, going by tram, actually, you can just stare out the window and be chauffeured, effectively.

It didn’t take long, probably less than an hour.

10 kilos in a new age supermarket bag slung over my shoulder.

So, the diced had to be ground, and I got stuck into it not long after I got home. Well, it isn’t going to grind itself, let’s face it.

Since I don’t work Thursday, or Friday, me doing it is just fine with Sam.

I ground it all up, now we can’t trust the pet food shop bought mince. “You never know what goes into that.”

But a hand mincer. Sam did his research and this was the best one to get. But you have to crank it by hand.

I put on Boz Scaggs, it is good to be able to stand still long enough to listen to an entire back catalogue, now I have Apple music.

It was kind of therapeutic. It stopped my mind from going a mile a minute, for an hour, or so.

The smell of freshly ground beef sure bought the carnivores out, Buddy and Brun were on either side of me in a nano second, looking up.

“None for you, you aren’t getting any of this now.”

They backed off when no action was coming their way.

Everybody Gotta Get Stoned

I unashamedly took a second sick day. I emailed early. I smoked with abandon. Home alone, nobody to answer to. Just me and the dogs. We went for walks, me staggering just a bit, delightfully so, the dogs leading the way. (I have no idea if that was true, but it was true in my head so that’s all that really matters)

I wrote a couple of short stories, pot is great for the creative process. It makes me focus and once I focus all else just fades away. It’s really cool like that.

And for chat, we all know about that.

And for a laugh. Oh boy, did we all laugh.

How delicious it is to get stoned in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week, when you are supposed to be at work. I wouldn’t call it decadent, no, I wouldn’t call it that, but I do think it is good for the soul. Let go. Take a break. Take you destiny into your own hands, if only for the day.

Oh, I am just waffling now, and yes, it is really good for that.

How many joints have these fingers rolled – truthfully, snapped the lid shut on the rolling machine, as, despite everything, I have never been able to hand roll joints – well, it’s a bit like my body count, have lost track of that years ago. And I don’t see why it much matters anyway, hey. All you need to know is, on both accounts, everyone ended up leaving satisfied.

A carton of happiness, big smile

Sam flew to Sydney for work. (He tried to keep it secret from me, as he knew I’d plan a couple days of smoking, but David was asking him to go look for a new computer with him and Sam had to come clean about going interstate to work.)

I had it organised with Guido in no time. Blah, blah, blah, going to the airport early, can you leave it in the usual place.

Sure, said Guido.

(Sam usually catches a 6am plane, the night before he let it slip he was catching a 9am flight. WTF? I’d organised a 5am pick, but I didn’t get there until 7am, which was handy, in a way, as Guido had forgotten to leave it out. At 5am, I couldn’t have rung him, I would have just had to return home disappointed, but at 7am I didn’t really hesitate to call.)

“Ullo,” his voice croaked, barely audible on the other end of the phone.

“Sorry,” I say.

“Oh, give me a minute,” he says

Guido came out his roller door with an egg carton in his hand, I’m pretty sure his eyes were still closed.

“I’m really sorry,” I say.

“Not at all,” says Guido. “My fault. I’m sorry.” He shoves the egg carton at me.

“I feel bad,” I say.

“Fuck off,” says Guido. He turns and slips under the roller door as it was going down again. Dismissive hand wave.

Sam wasn't even on the plane, when I had the first blunt rolled. I wonder if he's worked that out yet? (He knew what I was doing, even if he didn’t ask for the details

I've taken two sick days from work, right in a busy time, they'll be pleased. Who cares! Oh, I might work Friday. Isn't that a good work life balance, after all, swapping days with ease when one particular day doesn't suit you in any given week... is a good thing.

Take your sick leave, people. In these days of record corporate profits, you should treat it like annual leave, it is there to be taken.

Of course, I don’t, but who cares about that. I have when I was younger, and I could again, should again. Don’t let it go to waste.

Impunity

I love my dog, he just pisses on everything with impunity.

The one legged woman in the motorised scooter said after Buddy pissed on her front fence. "I hope you are going to wash that off." She was like a Dalek jammed in under her single fronted veranda. I think I jumped a bit.

"A bit of dog wee?" It was the end of a walk wee anyway, she'd have been lucky to get any wee in her front garden, it would have been a sprinkle.

"I don't want it in my garden."

"It'll rain in the next twenty four hours," I said. "It will wash away then."

"Yes,  but what do I do until then?' she called after me.

"Die," I said, but not loud enough so that she could hear. Seriously? is all I could really think.

Mandarin Juice

I bought Vegemite in Coles, we'd run out, it was an emergency situation. We can't be without Vegemite. A house without Vegemite is like a house without a dog.

I did my tattlotto at the tattslotto shop. I won one hundred and something dollars last week, no such luck this week.

I went to the op shop to look at the CDs. I don’t talk to the guy, not since he banned Brun for pissing. I still don't think Brun was guilty. If it was him, it is the only time he has ever pee'd in a shop.

On the way back I was thirsty, so I headed to Coles to buy a drink. I bought mandarin juice. I always love a mandarin juice, I can't walk passed a mandarin juice. I opened it as I headed back out into Smith Street. I took a big sip, and it tasted awful. So then I had a 1.5 litre bottle of awful, undrinkable, juice to drink. Disappointed is not the word for it. Then I thought with my very next thought, fuck it, I’m taking it back. So I marched right up to the counter and told them the juice is off.

“No problem, would you like to get another juice?”

“Yes, I would.”

So, I get orange juice and head back out of the shop.

I took another big swig. “Euw! This juice is off too.” Then I remembered, I brushed my teeth before I left home. It was the toothpaste and not the juice. Oops, I thought. The mandarin juice was probably okay too. I head home.

Masturbating with Crucifixes

Wow! Hasn't it rained and rained. And it is still summer. It has deluged, there has been unseasonal flooding, and all. The religious types will be masturbating with crucifixes hoping it is the second coming.

Religious Discrimination Laws

You know what religious discrimination laws will do, they will make people hate Christians more. People already think Christians are lame with their lame ideas, and when the smart people see that the lame people have been given the power to legally be bigots, they are only going to hate the Christians for it. The laws are self defeating, they are going to make a situation where people have little regard for what Christians believe, other than pity and amusement, and turn it into a situation where people hate Christians for the special privileges they have unnecessarily had bestowed upon them.

What these laws really want achieve is to let Christians spout their nonsense unchecked, which is really what most Christians think they have a right to do, and to have no one disagree with them, or challenge them on their stupidity. Christians want the ability to continue to comment on anything and everything that has nothing to do with them, and have no one respond. And that, my friends, is not going to happen.

Sweating

Sweating like a bitch on my way to work. Why do bitches sweat so much? (I mean, have you ever wondered?) The back of my shirt is wet from sweat when I get to my office. It is so uncomfortable sitting in the aircon with wet cotton on your back. If only we had electric hand dryers in the bathroom, but we don't. (just paper towel, which I fully approve of, except when you get to your office all sweaty and need an electric hand drier to dry the sweat, having walked to the office in the morning)

What is with this crazy weather? Melbourne is not tropical, although you would believe otherwise with the weather this last week. 100 % humidity, or thereabouts, most day. I so get sick of being sticky. 

Oh yes, that little thing called climate change.

How can people not believe in climate change now, when you can step outside and experience it. (I know it is just an inconvenient truth for conservative commentators, but we’re not all trying to suck money out of the corporate machine?) I guess there will always be stupid people in the world. And people that a different agenda suits for various reasons, of course. But what about the sensible middle? What about those guys?

I don't really get the rich business men to which climate change is an impediment to business, they, and their children, are going to choke, fry and die with the rest of us, no amount of money is going to save them from that.

So, um, come on guys, lets save our only home before it is too late. I’m not sure why that previous sentence doesn’t ring true for more people. Our greatest threat to existence and we’re all collectively in denial, it is baffling.

 

Some mornings, half awake, you look up on the tram and you think good thing I didn't walk this morning, some times the tram has its advantages.

Don't You Hate The Pigs!

We took the dogs for a walk. We were on our way home, just crossing a street, when a car came roaring up [name of street]. I leant down and put my hand on Buddy’s harness just in case the car didn’t stop. When I could see the car was stopping, I pushed Buddy across the road in front of the car crossing next to him.

“Put your dog on a lead,” came a voice.

I spun on my heal and saw it was a copper in an unmarked car. “You should be giving away to pedestrians,” I said, the smallest part of me wondering as I said it whether I should be saying it.

“Put your dog on a lead.” He insisted, not interested in what I had to say.

Well, apparently, I wasn’t finished. “You should be going 40 kph.”

“Put your dog on a lead!” he said more forcefully. If I said he had the attitude of someone REALLY wanting to talk over me, I wouldn’t be exaggerating.

I turned away from him, thinking that I had probably said enough. His black Commodore screamed off at a million miles an hour… in a 40 kph zone.

I didn’t put Buddy on his lead, well, not for long.

Hey!

 

Hey ho! Come right in and make yourself at home

Mouse

 

Welcome. All creatures are welcome here. Come as you are, we will accept you for who you are

Dental Work

I had periodontal work done, the continuing saga of the disaster that is my teeth.

Actually, my teeth are fine, never had a filling, but my gums are crap, that must be a certain type of irony? Is it from far too many years of smoking? Maybe? Some dental professionals do, indeed, push that line. (Many years ago I went to a hygienist who I had to stop seeing because she got increasingly angrier and angrier with each visit when I continued to smoke)

The dental work was fine. First there is a numbing gell, then big needles inside and out. After that all just feel is scraping, and scratching, and hacking, and wrenching. You don’t actually feel any of it, you just experience the movement these things cause. Then the tread from the stitches fell across my face as he stitched my gums back together.

But now I can’t talk.

Sam made me a soft lunch.

I just tried to rinse my lunch out of my stitches. I took a mouthful of water from a glass, which is difficult in itself, then as I attempted to swill it around my mouth, the water shot out the side of my mouth and across the coffee table because I can't feel if my mouth is closed, or not.

Boohoo.

Three hours later, the aesthetic has worn off and it is all beginning to hurt.

Barking Dog

I'm home sick with a cold. The gay guys up the road, 4 houses away, have chosen today to leave their dog in their back yard and it has chosen today to bark non-stop.

Grrrrr!

It is barking incessantly. I am not exaggerating. I want to kill it.

I'm now lying here thinking it wouldn't be hard to get to their back yard and open their roller door. Three of our yards are open to each other, a leftover from when all us neighbours were friends, but we're the only ones left. I'd only have to climb one fence, the gay guy’s fence. It wouldn't be so hard. Push the roller door button, off you go, problem solved.

Oh, could you imagine. They probably wouldn’t ask us, but I am guessing we get to hear about it.

“You dog got out, oh that is terrible.”

“Yes, we’re distraught.”

“Any ideas how?”

“No, it is a mystery.”

Mystery, indeed.

Too Much?

I haven’t been to work for five days, and I’m kind of liking it, and I do, actually, have a sore throat, so I have my sick leave email written, “Suspected coronavirus, won’t be in.” 

Nyr. I've just got a cold. But, you know, you should always take advantage of all the arrows you have in your quiver.

Too much?

And taking a sick day - I mean, I am sick, and you, probably, should stay home when you are sick [but, am I five days sick? Um? Er?] - is a bit like chocolates, it's very hard to stop at one.

 

Flowers for Kobe Bryant. I don't even know who he is, to be honest? I know he is some kind of successful sports star, who died tragically. The people who loved him, loved him. It seems like he was pretty driven, from many accounts. Still, these flowers are pretty, and it seems like they should be dedicated to someone.

Grl!

 

Grl!

Genies and Bottles

If you do dodgy things, keep it to yourself. (my bulldog licking my elbow at this point is not helping the writing process) If there are dishonest practises in which you indulge, participate, don’t admit to them. Nobody wants to hear the tut tut tut. Such admissions only bring criminals undone, open the gates to karma. (Ha ha that is funny if you know my beliefs on karma. Same with being threatened with hell, does nothing to scare an atheist) It is just not good form. 

You are more likely to get caught, as people love to dob other people in. It panders to their inflated sense of right. (So often, though, it applies to everyone else but themselves) 

You know, if you steel money from your dementia affected grandma’s handbag, or take sweets from the slow child next door, none of which I do (sly smile), what is the point of making it public knowledge, it is only going to give fuel to some nosey narrow minded fool. Be pleased with yourself, you have made it this far, keep mum. 

I thought this the other day when I was doing one of the two things I do, with the second of the things I do in the bag in my hand. You are clever enough to get away with it, now be just as clever to enough keep it to yourself. 

I was going to write the truth of it on here, but then I decided nobody wants to be confronted with that, just calm your yap, I told myself. I mean, none of you would be in a position to do anything about me and my dodgy (it sounds so much nicer than dishonest, don’t you think?) practices, but once I have put it out there in the public domain, who knows what might happen. You know, genies and bottles, who knows where it leads?

I seldom have the urge to confess, I have the great ability to keep secrets to myself without ever having the need to tell anyone. So I don’t know what I was thinking.

Where To Look

 

It was hard not to look

The human race is fucked

A Nasty Business

Wilson Gavin and his bunch of right wing cronies stormed a drag story time imposing their warped views on everyone present, after which he received a barrage of criticism for his actions, and rightly so. Then he killed himself. Yes, that is terribly sad. But, he still stomped all over something pure and innocent. He still pissed all over a mother's right to parent her children. He still sprayed poison all over people who didn’t deserve it. Wilson Gavin is not the victim here, he is the perpetrator. He's become the victim, but let's not forget who his victims were.

The Golden Age

The zenith of human civilisation came in the late 1950s, the car fins tell the story. Take a look at the 1959 Cadillac, Chevrolet, Plymouth. 1959 was the pinnacle of everything the human race has achieved in the history of time. The golden age. (the end of the Golden Age) 1959 was the top of the mountain.

1959. Sixty years ago, when everything that glistened was, in fact, gold, you know, different to today when it is tin being passed off as something special by the marketing department.

And we have been going backwards ever since. A slow and gradual decline, to today where we have our fingers in our ears and we are screaming “LA LA LA LA LA LA,” louder and louder as each Antarctic ice shelf breaks off and disappears forever.

But, back in 1959, car fins were this big. (Arms held out as wide as one can go) mum and dad were all smiles, at least on the surface, and opportunities were boundless for little Johnny and little Jane, well Jane, not so much, when they left school and entered the world. As long as you were white, middle class and heterosexual, life was a dream.

We all left on a jet airliner, dazzled by its brilliance.

Barbie was born, for god sake.

We first see Mr Squiggle.

The Mini is launched.

Bonanza and plain paper copies are launched.

It was the year the music died.

We enter the twilight zone.

Pantyhose are launched.

Skirts were full, jeans were narrow, morals were high, or at least they were seen to be.

That was when the sun shone and the days smelled like peach ice cream.

The pinnacle of the civilisation mountain.

And, the first HIV death. Is that symbolic of society being infected…

It has been a gradual shit show ever since. The rich have seen to that. Planned obsolescence, greater inequality, starvation, famine, hate. Wars to sell ammunition. People collateral damage to the wealthier.

The golden age passed years ago, and we have been scrambling for a better existence ever since.

And now we have ever start to regress. Climate change denial, anti vaxxers, flat earth's, support for authoritarian politicians, let’s face it, even vinyl records, we're going backwards. We are going backwards. we are de-evolving. We're like the Tasmanian Aboriginals, we are losing the art of making fire. (even if the Tasmanian aboriginals didn’t lose the art of fire, it is too good a metaphor to pass up)

We are now denying our demise on a global scale. We are now at the beginning of the end.

Our parents and grandparents saw the best the world had to offer.

For the first time, future generations are going to have lesser lives than the generations that came before them.

Religious Discrimination

So, the religious discrimination laws? More flawed governing from this government, especially since, now correct me if I am wrong, their own enquiry said such laws weren’t needed. Of course, that isn’t what the self righteous wanted to hear. So, even from the outset, the perception is that these laws are coming from a place of bitterness, which comes from the place of thought that a certain group of people got privileges that go against the rules by which it is thought they should live.

So, what are these laws going to do? Laws that set the means by which one group can discriminate against another group. How well has that worked for all of us in the past? Do they (by they, I mean the people passing these laws into, well, law) think the group being discriminated against is going to say, “Oh, okay, rightio, if that is how it is going to be? Fair enough?” You know, because history is full of situations where that has occurred.

What do they think is going to happen? Is this more legislation from a government that doesn’t think? (Morrison’s, Abbott’s, Joyce’s, Andrew’s, Christensen’s, Hastie’s electorates all voted yes to marriage equality)

What are these laws going to do? Bring peace and harmony to the nation? I think not. I would suggest that can’t be found in historic events.

Smooth the relationship between the two groups, the newly legislated oppressors and the newly legislated oppressed? Again, not what I would expect.

How do you think it is going to go? The newly oppressed group has just come through a particularly difficult time in their history where large numbers of their members died, a time where the perception of the newly legislated oppressors was that a significant number of them didn’t care. And now this government is going to give that group the ability to discriminate. Couple that with the fact that the newly oppressed group ranks amongst its members some really vicious queens.

So… we’re heading towards an end well lived for all?

I have a colleague who I have found mildly annoying since she started work. And that is mostly because she is a talker. Oh. Dear god (do you like how I use god ironically?) shut up! And to a lesser extent, because she has that mindless positivity going on, you know, the type that the religiously deluded have. Funnily enough, we had a change of office, and she was moved closer to me, and I have found that I like her, not least of all because she says I make her laugh. Well, recently, she told me about her devout Christian faith and I could feel my hackles rising immediately. You know, old habits die hard when you are suddenly confronted with the enemy. I said nothing, of course. But you know, if someone like that took the religious discrimination laws as a free pass to say bigoted things, I don’t care what laws Scotty from marketing passes, I wouldn’t keep my mouth shut. At work, or not at work, I don’t care.

So logically what are these laws going to do? They are going to set us up for war, that is what they are going to do. You can’t really come to any other conclusion.

This is more legislation that the Morrison govt hasn’t fully thought through, and that is because they don’t want to think it through, because that is not the aim of these laws.

Boyfriends and Bulldogs

Boyfriends

Bulldogs

Bananas

Batteries

Beauty

Baked goods

Bitches, the clever ones

Blancmange, the non human kind

Bristols, the cars not the girls

Bonbons

Best friends

Blossom

Bicycles

Bratwurst

Bluntness

Bees making honey

Buick’s from 1950

Beetles, of the VW variety

Butterflies

Bonfires

Boardwalks

Bookcases

Backgammon

Blogs

Belgium pastries

Blue jeans

Bloke’s bums

Boggle

Brilliance

Blissful

Bohemian

Bouquets

Bungalows

Bumper stickers

Bill of Rights

Boxer shorts

Breathtaking

Bunnies

Brunettes

Banter

Best men

and

Buggery

Bush Fires vs the Conservative's Misinformation

Does it really matter how the fires started, I am sure they start the same way every year. I don't get the point of the misinformation of arsonists? The point of it being climate change is that 10 million hectares, and rising, has burned this year, and at an intensity never seen before. Fires have burned equally through load reduced areas as non-load reduced areas. Fires are starting now in winter, or the non fire season. Rain forests that have never burned before are now burning for the first time, as are other areas that have never burned before. 95% of climate scientists predicted this would happen, and now it is happening. The evidence is irrefutable, from where I am looking at it.

Joyous Statues

Can't you hear the music? Can you see them dancing? 

Purple Flower in the Morning Light

What glorious colours, just beautiful

My Present Fascinations

One of my favourite things at the moment is iced water, because ice makes water zing. It is the best thing. It is the basis of life, after all. It changes what is kind of a boring drink to something thrilling. In the summer, water and ice. You don't have to get any fancier than that. Don't need lemon, don't need bubbles. Just water the way it comes naturally, warm climate and cold climate, contained in some mineral altered sand, glass. (I still have no idea how that happens) Gulp, gulp, gulp, and it all slides down so easily. Just like that, sparkling, as in crystal clean, all the way. Gorgeous.

And lying out flat on the floor, is my other favourite thing. There is something about the firmness of the floor, the solidness perhaps, that relaxes me like nothing else can. It is comforting and chilling (as in chilling out, not a zing up the spine, you understand), it's like meditating, flat out. Maybe it is getting in touch with the plane of the earth, you know, a longitudinal thing. Infinity, maybe. It is how one feels infinity in a physical sense. As far as one can see and feel in any direction is intersecting within. Right on the spot on which you lay? Maybe? Centripetal forces of our souls. Our natural internal hum. Laid out, stretched out, chilled out, passed out, no, not passed out, relaxed… out.

My favourite things, that is, that are not my boyfriend, or my bulldogs. They always take number 1 and number 2 spots, a permanent placement, you may say, I might say.

Rose in the morning sun, which looks like it's pulsing with colour

Write Something...

So, write something. New Year’s resos. Write something every day, that’s the target. A writer writes. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, the days have been gorgeous this year, every one of them, without exception, count them. One, two, three. (Okay, so the acrid smoke smell in the air kind of spoiled it this afternoon, but it was lovely up until then) We've been blessed, with good food, fine weather, and a life many people of the world would want. (Inner city, especially, you know, where I live, the country, nyr, not so much) I so promised, if only to myself, never to use meaningless platitudes, oh well. It being ‘meaningless’ means it is doubly awful. Still, the days have been lovely. (Fires, withstanding)

We've sat around all the holidays and have done very little. We were hampered by the little guy's op and his period of confinement. Still, we took to doing nothing with great ease. More sleep was the New Year’s reso, I have done that with gusto, I am a fucken champion of the sleep, lulled good night, day or night, by the warm air of summer, close your eyes and dream.

We've taken the big guy to the dog park, of course. It doesn't seem to matter to him that the little guy isn't joining us, and I thought the two of them were buds.

I've been reading the online news, as if that wasn't a recipe for wanting to off yourself. Well, not so much death by one's own hand, as death by boredom. Just about everything is click-bait, written for its maximum dramatic affect. Not so much reasoned, sensible debate, or comment. I ache for a good story.

Laughing. Oh, I laugh easily and often. Sam and I do. Everything is the basis for humour. A dark sense of humour is a gift, something special, you can find something funny about anything and everything. Nothing is off limits. Laughter is the best medicine, you know, they say that.

Eat. Come on pig boy, or you fat slag, shove it in your mouth, you know you want to. Stuff it in, shove it down, your arse hasn't got the size of a football filed by accident, there is no mystery there. And everybody gives chocolate as Xmas presents.

Write, read, sleep, laugh, eat and a big fuck off to all the stupid people. That's 2020 in a nutshell.

Oh yes, and hope for the best. Let’s hope, because looking at what is happening with the climate around the world, all we have now is hope.

Gotta Luv the Holidays

Sam’s making a point of not (us) having any dope (this holiday season). Oh yes, how very high road of you Sam, I think. (my boyfriend is bossy, yes he is) How very morally superior. Shrug. You know he has never said no to a joint when offered, however… and that should just mean more for me, but no dope means none for me too. Sad face. Eh! It is probably best, I end up dumb-faced and retarded… oh, um, delayed, diminished. No, it’s true. Reductive, as per Madge Ciccone. Reduced. And, you know, after all these years, it feels reductive now.

But we haven’t been doing much anyway, thanks to Brun’s recovery from his operation.

The weather has been bloody glorious, perfect in every sense. You couldn’t ask for better.

I was going to ride my bike every day, but I haven’t got it out of the shed once.

And here it is nearly Friday and the holidays are nearly over yet again for another year. Sad face. The days have sparkled like diamonds, the sky has been the most gorgeous blue, everything has been fresh and alive, renewed for the new year. And life is good.

2020

2020, the hindsight year?

Or, is that, the seeing clearly ahead year?

Yeah, probably not either, hey? It will probably just be more of the same. Heading towards our predictable demise as vested interests obfuscate the truth for what end? I'm not really sure. No matter how much money you have, or how wealthy you can claim to be, the SS Human Race is on the 25 degree tilt, the orchestra is still playing, sure, but the waters of demise are lapping at the rich man's feet as equally as the poor man's feet, more and more.

New Years resolutions, I guess they are just the same as always. Read more, write more, sleep more, laugh more, eat more (Less, that one should be less) love more, and tell more stupid people to fuck off more.

Be more.

Happy New Year

We stayed home, watched the Songs of the Decade concert on Sydney Harbour on teev.

I fell asleep on the couch and Sam had to wake me up in time for midnight. 

Partay!!!!!!

We covered Buddy and Brun's ears during the fireworks.

We were in bed pretty soon after the new year began.

Happy New Year.

The World Is Full Of Idiot Drivers

I realise that I am a whiny little bitch behind the wheel.

“The only. Person’s ears you are making bleed are mine,” Sam tells me all the time.”

But how can you not be, I say in my defence, when there are so many god damn fuckwhits on the road who seem to have fluked it for a licence. OMG! So many stupid people behind the wheel of a car. Idiots.

“What are you doing?”

“It is 50 kilometres an hour, not 20, you fool.”

“This one is clearly on their phone.”

“Stop talking and drive your bloody car!”

“Go around them, go around them, I could drive a fucking bus through the space you have.

“Why have they stopped in the middle of the road. Why? It is mindboggling.”

“OMG! Your car has blinkers, why don’t you try using them.”

I blame the reduced speed limits. There are now so many different speed limits, coupled with speed camera technology, coupled with fear pervading modern society, that everyone defaults to 20 kphs just to be safe.

And, let's just note, that ever since reduce speed limits have been introduced, road deaths and pedestrian deaths have risen dramatically. I'm not saying that reduced speed limits contribute to road fatalities, but it does make it plainly obvious that reduced speed limits do nothing to stop road deaths.

Post Op

What can you do when it is 43 degrees? It is hot at 43 degrees, I kind of like it, none the less, but it is very hard to get motivated to do anything physical. An air conditioned car helps. It is time to stay indoors and keep still.

I was hungry by lunchtime, but Sam said he was still full from breakfast, so I had sardines on toast. But sometime later, not long after, Sam was hungry and he made red berry smoothy ice cream, which was followed by a mountain of spring rolls.

“This is the strangest lunch I think I have had in some time,” I said to him. Maybe it was the heat?

We were picking up Brun at 1pm, but the surgeon called and said he was still a bit puffy, so he wanted to keep him until 3pm.

We left just before 2.30pm to pick Brun up. It was 43 degrees as we approached the vet’s rooms in [name of suburb].

And then there was our little guy, his head in a cone collar, which he has to wear for 10 days. (that will be fun) The final price was the original quote minus the other two things we won’t deleted in full. The special deal on aesthetic, which wasn’t a special deal at all, seemed to have been discarded. I’m not sure why? Sam seemed to think it was my cool demeanour as I was discussing it with the surgeon, that got us over the line. With our deductions. I don’t remember feeling anything like cool. I just gave it my best shot, which didn’t seem like it had any affect at the time.

It was hot driving home. Brun tried to climb through the buckets seats as he want to do.

Buddy rushed over as soon as he saw Brun, and he and Brun sniffed conspiritually. “What happened? Oh, I see. You were taken in where? I see. Really? What on earth. By these two clowns? (head flick in our direction) They did what? Yes, yes, oh. Really? That’s got to hurt, however you look. At it.”

Brun had trouble with the logistics of his cone with his head being 3 times as big as normal. Buddy barked at him on and off. Brun is still a bit out of it really. Poor him.

We headed to the bedroom and turned on the air conditioning with both bulldogs.

Sam fed the dogs in our bedroom.

We came downstairs after the cool change around 7pm. We ate creamy pasta for dinner.

We played with conehead for a while. Buddy continued to rush at Brun barking at him. Scardy cat Buddy gets triggered by odd and unusual noises. Scrape, scrape, went the cone on the furniture, the walls, the doorways, the cupboards, the floor, our calves, just about everything really.

“Bark, bark,” woofed Buddy. “You are freaking me out, freaking me out, I tell you.”

Deluded Rantings

Barnaby Joyce ranted on about there being a higher power which we ignore at our peril.

Which bit? Not eating shellfish? Wearing clothes made from mixed cloth. The bit about drunkenness being a sin. Or not cheating on your wife?

Which bit shouldn’t we ignore, Barnaby?

So, god created the world, then he waited 800 million years before he got us to kill his son to save us from the sins that he created in the first place. (A bit like the discounted aesthetic, kind of self serving) Completely, unhinged nonsense which can best described as a kind of state sanction infanticide. Or, as is really the case, the end point of thousands of years of Chinese whispers that started off as the mutterings of illiterate cave dwellers who didn't know the world existed beyond what they could see in front of them.

You know, if Barnaby Joyce wasn't in such a position of power, dare I say hypocrite, he'd be funny. A character of mirth and scorn. If you wrote that stuff nobody would believe you.