Jason turns thirty

When Jason was younger, when he first came out onto the gay scene - my how time flies - he used to get any guy he wanted. It wasn't really something he thought about at the time. It was the product of good genes, bright eyes and clear skin, he'd always had them. He always knew that that was probably more of a comment on what sluts men really were, than him, in particular. Yeah, he looked alright, handsome is what he was always told, mostly. So he had the sex life of a handsome young man. It was true. It had been fun. He partook enthusiastically.

There were thirty candles on the cake in front of him, Scott had insisted. The waiter smiled at Jason, as he set the cake down in front of him, kind of flirty.

Jason still had bright eyes and good teeth. He could probably still get most guys he set his mind on, but the problem was that he no longer wanted to. Oh, it wasn't that he had to pick up every guy that he met, back then, it was just that they were plentiful and he never thought not to. It wasn't like it was a quest, or anything, but there was always a cute man standing there saying how about it. It's like, where he had to fuck every one of them, once, for about 50% of them, now, flirting was enough. He thought that was good, grown up. Lets face it, 50% of them were dud roots anyway, it was less time consuming. He could get so one tracked about it, where he spent all of his spare time sniffing it out. He wanted to think about other things now, well, for the most part, anyway. What was it they always said about quality?

He laughed. All the faces surrounding him were chanting, blow, blow, blow.

Christian

Random Tuesday

My ex-boyfriend told me that I look like Christian Bale... we were kind of venturing into flirting for the first time since we split up.

Really, I thought? I've never seen a Christian Bale movie - although I vaguely know what he looks like - best I get myself to the video shop and get one.

Aby says I look like Andrew MaCarthy.

Mark says that if I put on round glasses, I look like John Lennon.

I never use my lap-top, it sits patiently by the side of my bed for the few occasions that I write late at night. I always use my PC. Not sure why, I guess it's habit, I guess it must be the fact that I like writing in familiar surroundings.

Stella McCartney's response to hearing Heather Mills had dragged Linda into the bitter divorce mud.
"I'll kill her," she screamed. They're feisty, them artistic types.

Do you think that ultimately the world just wants to watch David and Victoria Beckham fuck? I mean, after he gives up soccer, neither of them are talented at anything else.

Saddam Hussein is to hang. In this day and age, surely there are better ways to execute people - if you must execute them.

Stem cell technology is a very serious thing. We are, after all giving the power of life and death to human beings to control and they haven't proved too reliable in the past when they've had ultimate power. So we have to rely on our experts to decide if we can master the technology and be trusted with the responsibility. People of science and not deluded charlatans of myths and superstition. People who know what they are talking about.

But if you want my opinion. I think an embryo - at the lump of snot stage - is far less a part of a miracle, than the ability to give back the power of movement too a quadriplegic is. Even if that was the only thing the technology was good for. But, it can do the same for a multitude of injuries and diseases.

I have to admit to a bit of a crush on Adam Hills.

When I was off my chops, I got on gaydar and propositioned the world. I have no memory of any of it. I was hallucinating, off in my own head, as my hands worked in another world... apparently. I thought I was talking to Tom, when I came too in front of my computer.

One of them was Tim's hot ex-boyfriend Tony, the only person I am banned by name from hitting on. Oh the pain. I'll have to stay off gaydar for a month. I'll have to have the charm-o-metre on full blast when I see Tim again. Oh, Tony wouldn't tell him. Would he? Ex-boyfriends? I have the truth on my side. I have no memeory of ever messaging him and if I was in my right mind, I'd never message him. (who wants that trouble, be realistic?) It was a terrible mistake, I'm sorry.

Do you think that will cut it?

It's all I've got.

The Australian Government spends twice as much money on advertising itself as it spends on climate change.

Australia has the dubious honour of being the greatest per capita producer of greenhouse gases in the world.

He, He, He

Whoosh! You gotta luv long weekends.

I went out dancing at the Peel, with Tom.

I got to snog a cute guy named Harley, on the dance floor, as we danced together during the night. I could have bought him home, he had big, warm hands and red, soft lips and he was panting to be taken home.

My T-shirt was wet through, as we stood in Peel Street, at 6am, in the cold, morning air, shivering, suspecting that I could vomit at any moment. The drugs - snort, swallow and inhale - were making feel nauseous, not horny, which wasn't a good premise for hot sex. I can't multi-task at all when I'm off my head, I can even multi-task in thought, I am, absolutely, only a one-thought-at-a-time wonder, when I'm out of it.

I had to go home, I felt like shit, I had to take my wet clothes off, I had to sit down, that's all I could hang onto. My hand slipped out of Harley's, as soon as Tom said he'd give me a lift home. I headed for Tom's car on autopilot, without looking back.

When I got home, I had to lay down for an hour, quietly on the couch listening to Aretha Franklin, before that just-about-to-vomit metallic taste in my mouth would go and the sea-sickness spins would stop. I may have drifted off, nothing is very clear to me now.

I think I've been up for an hour. I'm just dazed, with a sore throat. I smoked like a bitch, all night.

I'm trying to force muesli down, you know, so at least I eat something. It tastes like shit. It's hard work. I can't do it. It's like eating sand.

Now, I want Harley! It has taken two hours for my mind to come back to him. Bugger!

Cropped dark hair. Beautiful eyes. Big lips. Olive skin. Blue singlet. Hot. If any one knows him, Melbourne area, I think, send him right over, I so want to slide my hands down his pants, finally.

Josh and Aby

I've just been chatting to Josh, in Berlin and to Aby, who is staying with Josh.

The phone rang at 3am. Initially, I thought I was dreaming it. The house had been quiet for so long. It was like a jangling interruption. I think I jumped.

It's good to hear Josh's voice on the other end. Some people find Josh really full on and hard to deal with. He's certainly his own person, he flies on his own trajectory, that's for sure. He's loud. He's a monster person. (But then, so are most of the people in my life, when I look at it) Nobody makes me laugh more.

Josh has been dumped recently and is in the process of leaving Berlin after five years, so he's got the hates on for the place and is irritable and grumpy. Aby said quietly down the phone to me, when Josh was out of ear shot, that he'd been quite a brat. Now nobody does brat quite as well as Josh when he is in a bratty mood. Ab and I laughed about it - the look, the steam out the ears, patience at zero, the sigh, the stomping... and the endless talk. Josh never does anything quietly, brattiness especially.

However, Aby found a nice, strapping German boy, named Dominic, so she's not complaining about anything too much. Quite happy and contented, is Ab.

They both asked if Manny was still around and they both seemed genuinely please when I said he was. Oh yes, they all love Manny, the boy just naturally charms every one. Without trying, it's just him.

Josh tells me he'll be home on December 12th. Bloody hell that's hardly even four weeks away. My how time has flown in my time on my own. BLOODY HELL! I like it on my own. Kind of. Okay, not really. There I've said it. But am I ready for Josh? You know, he's probably exactly what I need about now.

I should have let the beautiful Stuart move in, as he did what every beautiful boy does after he has split up, he met another boy, we'll call him the beautiful Paul. Consequently, Stuart has, essentially, moved into Paul's in Prahran, so much so that he is now going to gym with Manny over that side. Yes, yes, ever decreasing circles. Anyway, he's still paying rent on his flat in Collingwood... not that I want to make easy money out of someone who is, essentially, my friend... oh what the hell, I find easy money as appealing as every other human being on the planet, lets face it. It's just that a part time housemate would probably suit me.

Anyway, my major point is that I only have the house left to myself for a relatively short time, now. Best I swing from the chandelier with leather strapping tied around my nuts, while I can.

Look at him in his little jump suit. How adorable does he look? I'm sure everyone would have to admit, that outfit shows off all of his charms.

Early Sunday

Oh my aching head! Whoosh! Bang! Crash!

I went out with Mark, Luke and Tom, dancing... Friday night, firstly at the Glass House and then the Peel, for Throb. I remember Mark & Luke saying they were going back to the Glass House. I remember Tom saying he was going to the sauna. But that's about it. Apparently, I found out later, going back to the Glass house was 3am, going to the sauna was 6am. Just a daze now.

I think I went to bed at... um... er... in the, um... er, it's not very clear now. Morning. Mark & Luke came back, eventually. It must have been the morning. Mark and Luke left at 9am. (Saturday)
Now, it's 2am, (Sunday) I'm eating re-heated pizza, as a ACDC special bangs out on the TV, you know, just to settle the nerves. I haven't eaten since Friday lunch time, I just forgot, which is unusual for me.

I wonder how much weight I've lost. I could loose 5 kilos. My new diet strategy is lots of drugs and lots of dancing. Well, it works for everyone in Hollywood.

What day is it?

Good Bye My Friend

My mate Jesse died this morning at 2.15am. It just seems so weird reading back over that last sentence. Jesse is dead. I will never, ever see him again. It's a funny old thing death, it's like tipping over into a void... nothing! That's it, you can hold your breath until you are blue in the face and nothing will ever change.

It only seems like yesterday that he and I were dancing at the Peel K'd off our brains.

Jesse didn't die peacefully, he never gave into it, he never got tired and had that calm before the end, he fought it, screaming in pain, all the way. It was pretty awful for all concerned, from all accounts.

I probably haven't really mentioned this on here, as I haven't seen much of Jesse this year, but I have two friends with cancer, Tom, in his thirties and Jesse in his twenties. We used to call it cancer corner whenever Jesse and Tom got together.

Beautiful Jesse - I guess his physical attractiveness counts for little now, as beauty and ugly rot at the same pace in the dirt - so young, so lovely.

It's a bloody great shame, as Jesse was one of the good ones.

And yes, my friend, you really were the world's greatest dancer.

Tom turned on me like a banshee, calling me a cunt for not caring, for not giving him my time, for being a bad friend... I think a cancer death, in the family, so to speak, was too close to home for Tom.

Coupling

"Let's go dancing," said Gavin. "Take our shirts off and sweat all over each other."

"We'd have to go to a gay bar for that," said Steve.

"You say it like you don't want..."

"I'm not sure what I think about the gay scene..."

"What do you think of the gay scene?" asked Gavin.

"Too many freaks, not enough sideshows," replied Steve.

"So many guys, so little..."

"Don't finish that," said Steve. "You know it makes me insecure..."

"Insecure?" asked Gavin.

"You should only have eyes for me," said Steve. "Thoughts about me."

Gavin hugged Steve and kissed him on the side of the head. "I only have thoughts about you babe," said Gavin. "But a boys allowed to look, isn't he?"

"Just look?"

"Of course."

For My Next Holiday

For my next holiday, I'm going to the catchment areas, because it never rains there.

Money for the Poor

Manny was coming over for a snog. But then he called me and asked me to bail him out of another debt. After bailing him out of so many debts, the last time I decided that I wasn't going to do it again.

So, I said no.

I would guess now that he isn't coming over? 

Lover

The night is drawn out

for the duration

it is dark and cold.

I lie and stare

at the ceiling

without you to hold.

I think of you

on the dark side of the moon

is it crimson or gold,

or is it cheese,

with holes

like we’ve been told?

I look upon the dark side

of the night and shiver

without you to hold.

The days seem long

and empty

the nights long and cold.

I look in the mirror,

I shiver at me reflection,

I feel old.

I wonder what you are doing,

I feel lonely

without you to hold.

The Cosmic Muffin

All hail to the Cosmic Muffin! The great giver of life. The creator of the world. He made man in his own image – no wonder there is so much obesity. Muffin-tops are the chosen few. He gave his only mini-muffin to save man from his sins; born on a virgin muffin tray, never been used before. Something sweet sent down to absolve us of all our sins. A sugary treat in which we all part take.

Ixnay, on the hell and damnation, ay.