Lovely Carl

This photo reminds me of a straight boy I used to have a thing with. It's not him - I don't know this guy - but he bares, er, bears an uncanny resemblance to the lovely Carl. The photo bought back such vivid memories. It's funny the people we let go of, as I did with Carl, for no apparent reason. I wonder what he is doing now? I guess, he is living his life happily, probably not far from where I'm living mine, as he always lived in the next suburb. It's funny the people we used to know and the lives they have probably lived.

He was gentle and sweet and really lovely, not to mention the obvious crush he used to have on me. He was my first straight boy crush. He used to seek me out at dance parties and clubs; he used to give me his jacket, if I was cold, he used to hold my hand as we walked through the crowd, he wouldn't let me out of his sight. Once, he gave me his singlet because he thought I'd look sexy in it. We used to dance the night away and he used to look at me with that look of adoration, attraction, that other boys did. I guess, I looked at him the same way.

My boyfriend didn't mind, he thought it was adorable and sweet.

His girlfriend didn't mind, she used to say to me, I don't mind if Carl is with you, he really likes you a lot, you know. Apparently, I was the only "other" person in his life, their life. She gave me her blessing, I guess, because she knew I'd always give him back. I just wanted to play with him, I didn't want to keep him. I was happy for him to go home at the end of the night, well, not always straight away, but, Annie didn't mind that either.

I like him being with you, she'd say. I don't always want to go out. (Carl always wanted to go out, he was a party boy) I know he's safe, we're safe, when he is with you.

They were both gorgeous. Enlightened people. I hope they are still together.

Woe Is Me – Or Let Me Whine, Just For A Minute, Because It Is My Blog

I went over to Manny's last night and pulled a muscle over my rib cage, on my left side. And that was just from sitting on the couch, while we were watching the Academy Awards, leaning on his shoulder. I've got this strange cold that has developed straight into a dry, persistent cough. My small toe – second small toe – still hurts from where I landed on it when fell down the stairs, a few days ago – when I turned mid-step to go back to check if I turned the iron off. My right knee is still clicking, although it's not painful – I just thought I'd mention that.

Oh, and I've got an infect sore on my left elbow, from me inexplicably (How many pots did I have?) picking at a tiny skin tag, I guess you’d call it, at the pub (That's the Laird for home sick Melbourne boys) last Friday night, out in the beer garden, which is now oozing puss, whenever I squeeze it. Great. 

I'm a wreck! How old did I say I was?

Tonight, I started the coughing thing, clutched my pulled muscle, as it hurt mid cough and kicked the single step into the kitchen, again, with my damaged toe. That hurt so much, I nearly choked on some half coughed-up phlegm – I'm sure you wanted to know that small fact – as I went to grab from my aching side to my throbbing toe, which only made me start to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. At which point, I started to cough again, which made my side shoot with pain again, which caused me stand heavily down on my sore toe, after which I nearly collapsed, completely onto the floor, seeing stars, from the pain. 

I headed to bed, after that.

Monday Homeward Bound

Ah Monday, there is a cool breeze blowing across the, not so, muggy day. People are smiling, as the heat is kept at bay. Hoorah, hoorah, they all say. Or was that just me? He, he, I think, as the blue sky curls around the fluffy clouds; wisps across the sky. The Rainbow Lorikeets twitter from the Jacaranda trees, as if in play. I watch them fly and wonder what it would feel like to be so free. The gardens have been dug for the autumn show. The agapanthus are blue, but, then again, aren't they always.

I cross between the banked up traffic going slow and out-walk them all. The drivers look hot and bothered stopped in the peak hour and I think that may be I am free. Not time-tables, no red lights for me, just one foot in front of the other. A bus turns across my path, even though I have a green man. Ah well, what does it matter?

Bike riders weave around me. The skater boy goes "clack" over the gutter. An old lady strolls with an equally old dog, as though time has completely stopped for her. She smiles back at my smile at her and tilts her head just so. I imagine her saying, How do you do? How do you do, I think in return. She has grey hair and skin like fine, cracked, porcelain and a serene demeanour.

The trams go clunk, clunk by. The elms wave their majestic branches, down Victoria Parade. I walk between them, feeling small.

The traffic snarls, but not at me. Engines roar as the lights turn green, like something depends on them being first.

The tree's shadows are dappled on the path, in my street, a gentle breeze blows, as I see my front gate.

Hot Summer

It's the first morning, for a very long time, where it has felt cool when I have walked around to the shops. There was a cool breeze down Gertrude Street, fresh and crisp. I don't think I have felt that for the longest time. It's been warm and sticky at 8am, for months.
Global warming? You don't have to tell me anything. It's been constantly hot, muggy, for a very long time. I don't think I've sweated so much in all my life. Personally, I'm hoping it's signalling the end of summer. Come on Autumn, that's what I'm saying. I can't wait for the leaves to turn orange and yellow and fall gently to the earth, floating down on a cool breeze.

Let's hear it for winter.

Anyway, I'm off to the country. Enjoy the city heat.

Life's Good

It's amazing what a couple of weeks can do. Jasus! This time last month, I was stressing about my finances heading south, big time! I thought, I was going to run out of money, for the first time in my life. I couldn't sleep there for a few nights.

My new car cost me all my savings – actually, in the end, it didn't really, but it felt like it at the time, especially, when a bunch of big bills rolled in, also.

But then, I pulled in my spending habits – although I'm still smoking - and took a good look at the state of the Christian nation and today, it's not so bad. It's funny how stress begets stress. It's funny when you are going down that path of anxiety, it all seems much worse than it really is. Lottie slipped me a couple of thou, sure, – I'm the dutiful son, after all - as did Mark – if you can't rely on your partner, he said. Besides, I've been helping him with his business finances for a couple of years without ever asking for anything in return. Usually, I'm not very good at asking for help, it's an admission of failure, in a sense. It's a pride thing, sure.

I've still got to pay a couple of thou on the car repairs, thank you crap RACV, but hell, that can be put off for the time being, a couple of months, if I'm lucky.

Life's good, I'm whistling a happy tune.

Life's good, is my mantra, as I walk out of the building after work, every night. Just say it. Life's good. It's a good, positive affirmation. I think, if you think miserable thoughts, you will be.

I feel great.

 

Dinner with Lauri

It was my ex, Lauri's birthday, last Tuesday, so I went over to his parent's place for a big wog dinner. He's in Australia, with his current boyfriend, for a few weeks. There were the parents, the uncles and the aunties, the brother's and the sisters, nieces and nephews and the friends, gay and straight. I so love those big, wog family get-togethers, they are really cool. Big and noisy and food forever. English and Italian; conversations where one person is speaking one language and the other person is answering in another.

The food was cooked outside in the kitchen in the garage and on the BBQ and laid out in side and we all ate on a big long table in the garden, between the vegi patch and the rabbit hutch. Everybody chatting, laughing and drinking, into the night.

Lauri and I got caught smoking a J when his mother and other gusts came out the front. His mother's only reaction was to call us cheeky boys. I love his mum, she's gorgeous and she always loves to see me. Then we smoked it with a few of the rels standing around, admiring the olive tree and the lemon tree and nobody seemed to care. Wog families are so carefree when it comes to some things that Aussie families would freak out about... and then they're weird about other things that Aussie families wouldn't care about. I think that's why I love my time with them, different values, different ways of living.

It's such a big, extended family, loving, melting pot, Lauri and his family. I told him he was lucky and he replied, To think I was embarrassed by them for so many years.

We ate, we drank and we all sang happy birthday. Lauri, of course, had three cakes, the prodigal son, after all, returned. His birthday is such an occasion, he just loves it.

Towards the end of the night when the guys had had plenty of wine, they started saying that nephew Carlo - Lauri's sister's 17 year old son - was definitely... I'd never thought that before, I've known him since he was four, after all. Then I caught his eye catching mine and he smiled and he kept looking, as I deliberately looked at him. He was coy and sweet and blushed a little, but mostly he smiled and sparkled. Yep, I thought. How about that? I reckon he is one for our team. Cute Carlo, who'd have thought? It had never crossed my mind before.

Then I realised he was looking over at me all the time, after that. What beautiful, big, brown eyes, he has. What a cute smile. So I kept catching his eye and he kept looking and smiling and looking away and looking back. Whenever I spoke, he seemed to be inordinately interested in what I was saying.

The siblings and the guys were the last to leave.

As we were all leaving, Carlo was standing in front of me, as we waited for everyone to get their shit together and say good bye. I was bad, I couldn't help myself. I ran my eyes down Carlo to the bulge in his shorts and then back up again. He blushed and instinctively moved his hand in front of his pants and then blushed and smiled and his eyes looked at me with a burning intensity, fixed on me. I smiled and he smiled in acknowledgment, we connected there and then, standing between the garage and the side gate, as the other's chatted in the distance. Then his mother came out with his sister and said, Come on lets go and Carlo left, looking back at me until he was around the corner of the house and out of sight.

When I got out the front, he announced, to me, proudly that he was driving his mother's new Honda. I smiled and said great and his eyes stayed locked on me. I smiled and said good bye and he did to. He waved enthusiastically, as I drove off.

Silly hey, but I couldn't get the smile off my face, as I drove away. I wondered if he had his uncle's big... well, you know what I wondered... probably, I thought, and then I smiled even more.

The Incompetence of the R.A.C.V.

R.A.C.V. vehicle inspections are not worth the paper they are printed on. Apparently, their mechanics are so easily fooled by car salesmen’s tricks that they can’t spot an oil leak when they see one.

“We can’t report on it if the car has been cleaned before we get there, said the manager of vehicle inspections.

If the car salesmen clean the oil leak before the R.A.C.V. mechanic gets there, it renders the R.A.C.V. mechanic incapable of seeing it.

“So you are admitting to incompetence?” I said. “Surely that is the job you have been paid to do?”

“If we can’t see it, we can’t tell you.”

“So you are telling me that used car salesmen’s smoke and mirrors get the better of you?”

“I don’t think you understand what I am saying?”

“On the contrary, I understand very well.”

I, literally, bought a car that I wouldn't have bought, certainly not without some repairs being done before I bought it, if it weren't for the R.A.C.V. giving the car the green light, telling me that it was free of faults that the car, actually, had.

The R.A.C.V.'s incompetence has cost me $2,200.00. Beware!

Running With G

G talked me into going running, last night. Well, it was more of a walk, my knee is still clicking badly. I’m sure I can feel bones rubbing together. Clunk, clunk. Clunk, clunk.

Come on you pussy, run, he said, as I slowed to a walk.

Na-ah!

Ah-ha!

Na-ah!

We were doing our best cheesy, American sitcom take-offs.

I can’t, my knees crap, I said. I warned you before we came out.

You girl.

You’re a girl.

Am not.

Are so…

Then he pulled down the front of his shorts and waggled his cock at me, in the middle of Fitzroy Gardens.

Not a girl!

Put it away…

So you reckon the boys would like it?

(It’s funny how straight boys, at least, want to know they are desirable, even to guys. G normally appears quite chuffed when I tell him one of my gay mates fancies him)

I remember the time he came around in a panic, his girl friend, actually, his wife at the time, had managed to stick her nail extension up his piss slit when she’d been pulling him off and he had bled every where, profusely. He whipped it out and asked me if I thought it looked damaged.

I gave him the same answer then, as I did now.

Make it hard and I'll tell you.

Ha, ha!

Sure the boys would like it…you seem to want to.

Ha, ha, said G, again.

If you waxed your back, that is.

What’s wrong with my…he looked over his shoulder, at which point he realised he had a t-shirt on. He punched me on the arm. It hurt.

You know, when I think about it, G and I almost have a teenage relationship. We’re like brothers, teenage brothers, in a strange kind of sense. He only ever had sisters and I was never close with my brother, so we have that relationship that we would have had with close brothers. We play, we muck around, we kid with each other. We talk the biggest load of shit, really. I guess we've know each other for quite some time.

He says he can mess around with me, flash his cock, ask me if I think he needs to trim his pubes, be quite intimate with hugs and kisses, he always wants me to massage his shoulders and stuff like that, because he knows I’d never hit on him…like a brother. And I would never hit on him, it would be like hitting on my own brother. Oooo! (grimace) is my only reaction at the thought of getting sexy with G.

Some of my mates still reckon G wants to have sex with me.

No, he doesn't, is always my answer.

You’re kidding yourself.

No, I’m not.

Damned if they do and damned if they don’t – being comfortable with gay guys, or not being comfortable with them. You know, at the extreme, they are either homophobic or closet cases; sometimes, in a sense, they just can’t be comfortable with who every one is. We don’t always let them, well, that’s what G says.

So we walked around Fitzroy Gardens, G complaining the whole way.

Come on, run a bit.

Walk a bit, you tosser.

I’ll never burn enough carbs at this rate.

And you've got those luv handles developing nicely too…

What! (He doesn't have an ounce of fat on him) He twisted at the waist like a super model.

I ran a bit, just to shut him up. The dappled shadows from the elms were beautiful.

Do you think I need a hair cut?

Well, now that you mention it.

And what are you trying to say with your hair? he said, in his best Queer Eye for the Straight guy voice. (I am in desperate need of a hair cut, it is true) Is long hair back in? Or are you planning the op, some time soon?

Nah, just been busy.

Well, you’ll never get a guy looking scruffy like that, he lisped. Let me tell you maaate! Turning from bitch to butch on the turn of his thick, neck muscles.

Ha, ha, I said. At least I can be faithful.

Get fucked! He punched my arm, again.

Well, have you?

Get fucked!

Well?

Yes, he said, suddenly sounding exasperated. You've taught me well.

G used to say that he could screwed around on his girlfriends because he knew it was only sex and it didn't mean any thing. But if his girlfriend screwed around on him, it meant she didn't love him and she wasn't committed to him. He could tell me that with an absolute straight face and mean it. That, amazingly, took many, many hours, years of discussion to convince him otherwise.

He pulled his t-shirt off. How am I looking?

You look great, you big poofter. He’s been doing gym 6 days a week and he really does look great.

He smiled. (He’s just been in Queensland) I put on my red speedos (he ran his hands over his crotch) and went and sun baked on the beach, up at Trinity. He smiled his broadest grin. The bitches just circled, it was fucken fantastic!

6.1, handsome, Greek, with a super gym-toned body, you do the maths, I thought.

Come on, Claudia, I said. Let’s head home.

The Trouble With Josh

Mark's giving shit to Josh. Last Wednesday, when Mark made one of his rare visits to the city to buy a new car, he and Josh were alone in the lounge room in Fitzroy.

How's the new job going? asks Mark, sounding friendly and interested.

New job? I don't have a new job?

Aren't you working? asks Mark, feigning surprise.

No, I'm not working, says Josh.

So, what are you doing with yourself? asks Mark, curiously.

Oh, laying around the house, watching TV, says Josh. I'm sure he was being smart, with that answer. You know, stamping some authority,

Well, why don't you get off your arse and clean the house then? says Mark, pointedly.

Mark doesn't like Josh, he thinks he is a user. Josh has been staying at my place since mid December and, in all reality, he hasn't contributed any thing. Mostly, he has borrowed money from me to survive.

Last weekend, when I arrived home on Sunday night, he said my bike had a fat tyre and I'd have to get it fixed. I thought about that for a couple of days, you see, Josh is really self-focused, he wouldn't just notice the tyre on my bike went flat. He wouldn't see it unless it directly involved him.

My bike tyre, I bought up with Josh. How did it go flat?

How do these things ever happen, said Josh. A nail, some glass. Who knows?

Who was the last person to ride my bike? I asked plainly. Before the tyre went flat?

Okay, he replied defensively. I'll get it fixed, if that's what your trying to say?

I didn't tell Mark this.

Josh's response to cleaning the house question, was to leave the room.

When Josh answered the phone to Mark, yesterday, Mark asked how the house cleaning was going?

Is there something you want? was Josh's reply.

A couple of my friends have commented that they felt Josh had allowed them to believe that he was me on the phone when they called. He has allowed the conversation to proceed passed what would be normal in such situations. Julien said he was kind of creeped out by it, that he felt more creeped out by it the more he thought about it, like he had been violated. Of course Julien relayed this info onto Mark.

The tyre on my bike is still flat.

Kiss Me

Early Sunday

I'm eating chocolate biscuits for breakfast, as the cockies call to each other, in the trees outside. I know, it's a great way to stay svelte, but I'm just picking, as I have my first coffee. There's a glass barrel next to the kettle, left out from the woman's retreat, where they sat around and gazed at their vagina's with hand-mirrors. Well, I'm still not smoking, although, I hit the pot with Luke and Mark pretty hard last night. But, not cigarettes, even after smoking with Lauri, Friday night. Just don't light that first one in the morning, and then I'm right.

I came up here to get away from the stifling heat of what would have been the city, last night. It was glorious, too. I was almost cold, as I headed to my bed last night. The stars were magnificent, Mark and I gazed at them, diamonds in the black sky. But, you know, I'd still rather hang with Mark & Luke than anyone, heat or no heat. They are still my favourite blokes. It looks like the two of them might be starting the long break up. I think they want different things, I think they both know that. They are going to counselling, as the two of them say, so they can have the best break up ever. I think Luke is going to go travelling, head overseas, maybe. It will be strange not having Luke around, it's been a long time, he's gorgeous. I'll miss him, if they split. I adore Luke.

The country is the only place to be when the temp is nudging forty. We lose sight of the fact that it is only man's construct, the evil that man does that heats up to unbearable temperatures, left to nature, it is always cool in the evenings to sleep, the natural universe's cooling system always kicks in when the sun goes down. The more man works against nature, the less likely he is to survive. I used to love that great big melting pot that is the city, but now I just see it as getting too big and too angry and too over-heated to really enjoy. I might think about moving to the country, one day.

That's all I wanted to say to that woman who tried to run me over the other morning, It doesn't have to be this way. But then the current governments of today are saying it's alright to go to war, it's alright to fight, so what do I expect.

I'm lucky, I have some where to go when the city gets too angry to survive in. Bolago, is only an hour away, after all, I could even commute.

I'd most likely go by train, but it would also be fun tackling the traffic in the GTI. Have I told you what a cool car it is? It sticks to the road like a go-cart and it accelerates like an F1. I came up the old road, non-dual highway, on the way up here, just to put the GTI through it's paces. I passed every thing on the road, even in 6th gear. Although, chucking it down to 5th and hitting the accelerator is the most fun. Into 4th and it's just a rocket, from 100 to 140 in seconds. It's just like my Cooper S - the real Mini variety and not the cynical marketing exercise of the baby BMW masquerading as a Cooper S - but the GTI has airbags and crumple zones for every day life. Breath taking! Its performance makes me cackle, like a man possessed, as everybody else appears as a diminishing dot in my rear-view mirror.

That's fun! Ha, ha, ha, ha!

We all play it too safe now a days. Over regulated and over-fed, we're drowning in a sea of rules and affluence. Our wealth is like quicksand and we're now up to our necks in it. 3 minutes to midnight, as they now say.

Touching

I think I'll call you Dick,

I think I'll hold onto this,

rub it like that,

watch your eyes close,

watch your face turn to bliss.

Nipples are made for sucking

Hanging Out on a Friday Night

Last night, I was hanging with Tim and Nicholas' cousin Caroline - 5 children, 3 father's, baby bonus' for all, thank you John Howard - we'd been off to see Tim and Nicholas' new house, same street, 400 and something rather than 100 and something. Caroline never stopped talking, I mean never; the twins, her operation, the car accident, never having stayed in one house for twelve months, how she didn't drink, hick, her eyes were glassy, how her father gave her her first shot of speed (I mean syringe) when she was fourteen (so it's not just the accident)... it's a good thing I like her, heart of gold, otherwise you'd just want to suffocate her with a pillow, let me tell you.

We drank wine, in the empty house, admired all the rooms, opened all the windows and doors, sussed out the spot for the dope plant and generally felt sorry for the neighbours when we realised how close they were, what with Tim's penchant for loud, bubble gum pop. Nicholas cracked the shits because the lease said "no pets." They couldn't get him to understand that was a standard lease clause, because their current lease doesn't have it. He'd decided he didn't want to move, he'd cracked the sads, "it's just another fucken house, what's all the excitement," and had gone to bed.

I was off the the Laird to meet up with my ex-boyfriend, so naturally, I didn't get there until late. I drove, which I'd never, never normally do, but I was leaving later than I had intended. My ex, Lauri, had a whole bunch of friends there, he was so pleased to see me, bear-hugs all round. He was a bit drunk and started to introduce me as his mate, but then he must have realised and he grabbed me in his arms and kissed me hard and laughed, his beautiful, green eyes sparkled and he said, My ex-boyfriend, this man is my ex-boyfriend. It was nice, sweet.

We'd both given up smoking, so naturally we both smoked all night.

Lauri kept filling my empty glass, with half of whatever schooner, whoever had just bought him. I drank slowly, but probably ended up having three schooners (collectively) in two, or so, hours and Tim had filled my wine glass several times in as many hours, before I got to the pub, so I wondered if I was over the limit when I drove home. I decided to go when I started to flirt with one of Lozza's mates and he started to flirt back. I don't know, I never think it is a good look to start hitting on friends, or ex-boyfriends, mates. How Scott filled those shorts, though, nice smile, interested eyes...

I don't think I've ever driven over the limit in my entire life, as I just don't drive, normally, if I go out drinking. I could have been, maybe? Oh who cares, I thought, when I was parked safely in my back yard. It's good to live a little, we're all "safeing" ourselves into paralysis, these days.

I've got a bit of a headache today, though, which is a sure sign of imbibing too much...

 

Lap-Dance Me If You Love Me

Love is a lap-dance

thick thighs covered in hair,

until somethings getting bigger 

where I sit down.

Kiss Me

Don't Care Was Made To Care?

People don't like it when you say you don't care, it's like we have to care, we've been conditioned to. It's, almost, our duty. World wide news, the international psycho drama, the environment, the state of the economy, the middle east, we are taught that we must care. Well, I'm telling you, I don't care about any of it. If an atomic bomb was dropped on Gaza, it wouldn't change my life. Why don't the Arabs and the Jews just fight to the death? They seem to want to. If Kim Jong Il really gave that idiot Bush what he deserved, again, it wouldn't change my life. In fact, with the rich getting ridiculously rich and the west becoming more and more excessive, while the poor are dying every day, from such things as dirty drinking water, with the inequalities in the world increasing, maybe a nice big catastrophe is what the world really needs, to shock it back into normalcy. You know, like electroshock treatment, re-scramble the thinking back to normal. Like chemotherapy, every thing re-sets... the end justifies the means. Maybe we could lose Jerusalem, or Washington, boom, gone. Maybe that would make the population sit up and say, No more, no more of this madness, let's start treating all of the people of the world equitably.

Maybe?