The fog moved in during the early morning, people woke up to it. They couldn't see 30 centimetres in front of their faces. Visibility was very poor, some people said they had never seen it so bad.

Pious Ruth said it was God's work, and she crossed herself.

"There is no God, you stupid woman," said Gardener Willy. "No God who is going to work the fog to send a message."

"You watch yourself Gardener Willy," said Pious Ruth. "One day you will have to answer for the things you say."

"I'm shaking Ruth," said Gardener Willy. "I'm shaking from the tips of my hair, to my hot arse." He slapped his rump and he walked away.

Foogy, Foggy, Do

I couldn't see 30 centimetres out of the windows of my office, this morning. It's eerie when it is like that; wrapped in a cotton wool tower. The world is white, whipped up in stiff egg whites, inside a pavlova, looking out. It's like floating in a cloud, thirty stories high. We're just ice cream cake innards, looking out of the giant (blind?) marshmallow man's eyes.

It does look like you could just lick it up. Inhale the sweet, whipped sugar. (Like sucking off Hansel, once you'd got him out of his lederhosen) Sugar and spice and puppy dog's tails (Bending Hansel over and sniffing his marzipan)

The Truth

Can you guess why he is smiling? I reckon I could. I think I could give it a red hot go. A red hot go, I tell you. I reckon it is pretty obvious what is making that boy smile.

The Lies

The Liberal Party admits that we invaded Iraqi to secure the oil supplies.

Howard has to go.

(But conservatives don't care, the ends justifies the means)

The 8.30 Tram

It's funny how the 8.30 tram is nearly empty, when all the other trams are standing room only. It must be the change over time between those who make it to work early and those who squeeze in at 8.59.

It's good perving opportunities, as you may have gathered, on a busy tram. Lots of boys disarmed by the surrounding.

It was a cold day all right. Brrr!

I went to bed early. Watched teev. Fell asleep with the teev on. Woke up to some preaching Christian. Never do I enjoy my TV kerthumping off as when I push the red button on the god-botherers. I secretly pretend they blow up, wherever they are, when I hit the red switch.

 

Drifting Apart

I stayed home all weekend and did nothing. Pot is bad that way. Is it a demotivater, or what? Who'd have thought?

I took the dog back to mum, she was back this morning, my sister picked her up from the airport. I'd had four joints by the time I got to her place, my sister and two nieces were still there, nobody could tell. Or at least, I don't think they could tell. Nah, not a clue.

Tom hates me, I can feel it. I haven't spoken to him. He sent me an email saying he'd like to hang out on Saturday and I spent the day in bed. There was a call from him on my mobile. I didn't call him back.

I was going to call him to say I'd drop over for a visit, as I left my mums, half way to his place, but I decided to go home and smoke pot, instead. Well, why doesn't he live in a proper suburb? Why does he have to live across town? Last house at the edge of the suburbs, as he likes to say. I like to say.

Long Hot Weekend

We walked up Doncaster Road to Shopping Town. We'd caught a train to Box Hill from the city. We'd been out for a nervous, first time, meeting since school. We'd met in Royal Arcade.

He wore jeans, soft on the curves of his legs. Striped t-shirt. Blond hair. Trade mark smile. He looked good, just the same. Athletic. I don't know why I expected him to look different, it had only been a month? It seemed much longer.

"Hi." I sneaked looks at him.

"Hi." He sneaked looks at me.

We ate pasta at a footpath cafe. We drank coke. I smoked. Alex didn't approve of smoking. "It'll kill you, you know," he said.

"You'll kill me," I said. "Leave me out in the open, naked." There he was, so close. Did it show on my face? I don't think I'd stopped smiling since he said hi. It must have shown on my face.

"Only if you lean over and kiss me," said Alex. "On the lips, now." He just said it like that, out loud. He made me laugh with that kind of stuff. I looked around to see if anyone was in ear shot. Alex always was brave.

"You know you want to," said Alex. "Or, would you prefer this lovely garlic bread?" He smiled and made a flourish with his hand, as he passed the basket to me, with the phallic garlic roll half-wrap in a white serviette.

He rubbed my shin with his foot.

"I'd rather your basket," I said, bravely, just like that. I resisted the urge to look around to see if anyone was within hearing distance. Christian the brave.

Alex blushed, smothering a laugh by looking down at his garlic bread.

It was a hot day, the sun shone down brightly, washing out the colours of Doncaster. It was a beige suburb, in its most flattering light. The blue sky was an unblemished, sapphire tile.

It had been an expedition. We’d walked from Shopping Town.

"Your parents are still home," I said, when I saw Alex's dad's Mercedes in the drive way. Alex's parents were supposed to be down at their beach house.

"Don't worry, it's early yet, they’ll go," He lived in what looked like an ex-display home, but didn’t all houses in Doncaster look like that?

"Oh, hi Chris," said Mrs Roberts, at the front door. There was a lot of red in the Robert's house. Red velvet. Red and gold patterns.

"Christian," said Alex, as he pushed passed his mother. There was a suit case in the entrance.

"It's nice to see you, Christian," said Mrs Roberts.

"We're going to watch TV in my bedroom," said Alex.

"You don't have to spend all your time in your room, you and Christian," said Mrs Roberts.

Alex turned, big smile, floppy fringe in his eyes. "The footy's on, mum. Besides, aren't you going?"

Mrs Roberts dropped her expectant look. "Yes, yes, soon." Alex turned and headed up the hall. "When your father, finally gets ready." His arse looked hot, in those jeans, as he walked away. I looked at the mother and she was looking at me, looking at her son's arse.

"Essendon against Hawthorn," I said.

"Christian, come on," said Alex.

Mrs Roberts dropped the suspicious look and smiled.

"Well, it's nice to see you, Christian."

Alex's room had red, geometrical wallpaper, an en suite and a double bed. He had a television on a side board, facing the pillows.

Alex picked up the remote, the television made a clunk as it came on. It was the kick off. We got comfortable on his bed.

"We're going, honey," called Alex's mum from the front door, sometime later. "See you Sunday night."

"Bye mum," said Alex.

"Good bye, son," said Mr Roberts.

"Good bye, Christian."

Alex got off the bed. "Get under the doona," said Alex, stacking the pillows at the bed head. "Take your shoes off." He dropped his volume. "Take off your jeans."

"Your mum and dad gone?"

"Till tomorrow."

"Your sister?"

"She won’t come in," said Alex. "Fear of death." He smiled. "Until she hears us moving around, in the morning, hears the shower, then be careful, she could."

I held Alex in my arms and between my legs, under the doona, as Essendon kicked Hawthorn's arse. He smelt sweet. He always smelt sweet.

I loved lying with him in my arms. I loved to just hear him breath. I loved feeling him expand and constrict, with every breath.

His hair caressed my neck. He's ticklish. He'd squirmed as my fingers found his ribs.

“Don’t do that.” he’d giggle.

Our socked feet rubbed together. Alex snored on my chest, as the day light faded. I rubbed his hair with my nose. His skin tasted salty, where I kissed him, gently.

His jocks were made of soft cotton, his pubes poked through the material, in spikes. He was warm. His legs felt hairy on mine.

The light faded away, with my hand around his cock. I kissed him and he kissed me back, before we pulled each other’s jocks off and fucked each other. I came up Alex’s arse as he lay on his back and squirted wads of cum into the air. I finger painted with his cum over his chest as my cock shrank still up his arse.

We slept all night, the TV was still speaking, as I opened my eyes. We showered, together. The inner labyrinth, locked en suit door. We took turns sucking each other off under the water. I loved Alex's hard cock in my mouth. Our spoof stuck to the hairs on our legs before the running water washed it off.

Alex got out first. I soaped again.

Alex's younger sister, Mandy – Alexander and Amanda – lay on his bed, as he stood naked in front of her and dried his nuts, with a fluffy white towel. His cock flopped up and down. No locks on bedroom doors. Alex was never shy.

"Did you two sleep together?" asked Mandy.

"Down there," said Alex, pointing to the mattress made up on the floor. “Christian slept down there.”

"That doesn't look slept in," said Mandy, as I came through the en suit door, as we all looked down at the untouched bed. We'd forgotten to mess it up.

Mandy looked at Alex and then at me, both in fluffy white towels. There was silence. Alex looked at me. I looked at Mandy.

"Oh," said Mandy, as she got up and left the room.

I don't think she had ever thought of her older brother as a faggot, up until that point.

"Mandy!" Alex pulled on a pair of jeans, commando style, he couldn't have looked sexier, as he ran after her.

I walked to Doncaster Road, in the sunshine, with a smile on my face. I didn't care. I smoked a cigarette. It felt like I had all the time in the world. Bliss. I floated along.

I popped a mint at my front door. Mum was baking, Bumble Bees.

"Did you have a nice sleep over, at your boy friend's house?" asked mum.

"Yeah, he's my best boyfriend, mum."

She smiled, clueless. "Do you want some lunch?"

07.07.07

Let's get married?

I must call Manny. Actually, he hasn't been answering my calls over the last few days. I wonder what he is up to?

I wasted the day, smoking pot and sleeping. I guess I must have needed it. Sleeping, not pot.

Friday Man

Friday Man has been on the tram every morning this week. I'm not sure if he gets it, yet? I sat next to him, yesterday, it was just the seat that became vacant in an, otherwise, crowded tram. I didn't really want to sit next to him, I can't look at him if we are side by side. I pushed my leg against his, he felt warm, before he moved it away.

Today he ended up standing in the doorway, next to where I was sitting, leaning back, bulge out. All I had to do was look sideways and there was his sex ready for my gaze. He looked at me looking at him. He looked down at his wad and then looked away again. I made no secret of admiring him. He didn't seem mind, he just stood and let me look. Blankly, intense. He has a nice big lump behind his fly, slung low and prominent, curving to the right under the pin-striped fabric of his suit pants. He looked at me looking at it, with expressionless eyes; narrowed and quizzical, taking me in. He didn't flinch for a minute.

Nice cock, buddy, my eyes said.

I'm into you looking at it, his eyes said.

View From My Office Window

Silver Blue Day

The view of the bay, from my office window, was beautiful, today. Silver and grey, flat as glass. As smooth as polished stone. Shimmering in the day light.

It looked magical. Translucent. Glowing.

Of course, the rain blew in and ruined all of that.

It was Manny's birthday today. I called him, he didn't answer. I sang happy birthday into his answering machine. I haven't seen much of him, lately. 

Going on Holiday

My passport arrived. My photo is terrible. Did I mention, I'm off to Vietnam in a few weeks, with Mark and Luke. I'm going to have to starve myself until I leave. May be I could go swimming after work, to tone up? Now, if I could just cut out that muffin, every morning tea.

21st Century Blues

I have friends of mine, who are in 30's and 40's, who are all doing pretty well, who are saying they feel like they have had enough.

Even I'm saying, life used to be fun, every day was new, but now a feeling of been there done that is creeping in.

Is it our age?

Are we suffering 21st Century burn out? Is this a result of being bombarded with information, every headline being spun to the max, keep them fearful, the apocalypse is upon us, sell those newspapers, keep them spending. We're consuming ourselves with reality television, we're the ultimate consumer society?

Much nicer than me

 David is so funny. He's a really nice guy, much nicer than me, with such great integrity.

Shane and I made a pact that we wouldn't smoke Monday to Friday. Shane and Matt had gone to get dinner. David and I were chatting, then in the advert I said that I had to go upstairs and roll a joint while Shane was away.

"What?" said David.

"I'll have a joint while he's away and he'll never know." I said. (Good thing about having an open fire, hides the smell.)

"No, no, no," said David, as I exited the room, genuinely horrified at my behaviour. "I thought you had a pact?"

"We do," I said with a smile. "But what he doesn't know..."

"That's not how it works..." David's voice trailed off, as I scampered up stairs.

"No joints," I said to Shane, straight faced, when he asked me at the end of the night.

Driving down

our road

to the Bolago

front gate

Sunday Morning

Sunday morning up the country. Brrrr! It's cold.

Is that dew, or has it rained? Something is crunching under my feet, on the grass. Surely not ice, I looked around the garden, it isn’t quite that cold, must be sticks, or dried swan shit. The sky is grey and thick with clouds, not a patch of blue to be seen. I pull my jumper to me, with arms crossed and a hand on each shoulder. I hug myself warm, as I step over the last step and open the door to the fly house.

Pinch punch, first of the month, I think and I think of Mauri.

The first of July, I think and I wonder where 2007 has disappeared to? Nearly gone.

Half way through the year, more than half way through the decade. 2007 like 1907, will be forgotten in the rush of years to establish the decade. Those get going years that are over shadowed by what happened in the main body of the century. Cure for cancer. End of global warming. Everybody living in peace. Religion relegated to a psychological disorder. Once it’s over, nobody will ever again think of 2007.

Here we are, thinking we are all so smart, but we’re all just hanging on, really, soon to be forgotten. I got to thinking about my childhood and my parent’s working and how the world spun back then and I can’t help but think nothing has really changed. Sure, we’ve got computers and can locate the name of the main square in Bogata in a ridiculously short time, mobile phones and cars that can travel at twice the speed that we are legally allowed to drive them, but that’s revolution, simply maintaining the 200, or so, hundred year old status quo.

Still, one half of the world hates the other half, encouraged and facilitated by governments when it suits them. A third of the world is starving, as the other two thirds watches it shrivel and die, when they are not testing their latest pharmaceutical drugs on them, of course.

We’re still trying to beat the Jones’ at every turn. We’d use just about any justifiable method to beat our neighbour… and then some not so justifiable, but we’d deny those when push came to shove, anyway. Everybody has now got their eye on the main deal for themselves. We’ve all become stars of our very own universe. We’d sell our grandmothers down the river at a turn at happily ever after. Even global warming, we’re great at telling everybody else what to do. But Fiona is still driving little Brianna to private school in the biggest Land Cruiser she can find, because it makes her feel safe and because she can.

Funny the things you think when you are in the forest, watching the sun come up. The natural world, some thing real. Ah. Big breath in. It even smells different.