You'd Hate To Be...

You'd hate to be a Muslim, refugee, arsonist, right about now, hey?

Out Into the World With a Smile

Alex stepped out onto the street into the sunshine of the crystal blue sky day. He had to negotiate a woman on a mobile phone coming in one direction and a woman with a pram coming from the other direction. There he was between the two, doing some fancy footwork. He looked back at me and smiled and blew a kiss. Nobody noticed. Sweet.

We met online.

Shane, Mark W., Sebastian and I went out for dinner to a Singaporean restaurant. I held us all up looking for my wallet, before we left. It wasn't in any of my usual places. I never lose my wallet. It crossed my mind that Alex could have taken it. Easy, I hadn't thought about it until hours later, just as Shane found it on the mantelpiece in the lounge room. I reproached myself for the thoughts I'd had. 

Shelter

Love brings together two men who aren't sure where to fit a relationship into their lives in this romantic drama. Living in the oceanfront working-class community of San Pedro, Zach (Trevor Wright) is a young man in his early twenties who has been forced into the role of emotional anchor for his dysfunctional family; his mother is dead, his father is too ill to work, his sister Jeannie (Tina Holmes) is too busy partying to look after her five-year-old son Cody (Jackson Wurth), and Zach is the only one with the wherewithal to hold down a job and keep the rent paid. He's sacrificed his dream of attending CalArts in order to help Jeannie raise Cody. Between cooking at a diner and looking after Cody, Zach has little in the way of spare time, but as often as he can he heads to the beach to indulge his passion for surfing. While hanging out with his surfing buddy Gabe (Ross Thomas), Zach meets Gabe's brother, the struggling homosexual writer Shaun (Brad Rowe), who has taken a break from Tinseltown while rebounding from a dysfunctional relationship. Shaun goes surfing with Zach one day, and the two discover they're powerfully attracted to one another, and a flirtation turns into a love affair. As Shaun has to explain to his girlfriend why he no longer wants to be with her, Zach tries to make Jeannie and his father understand why he's come out of the closet. Shelter was produced for the gay and lesbian-oriented cable television network, though it enjoyed a brief theatrical release before its broadcast premiere. Mark Deming, All Movie Guide

Later...

I watched Another Gay Sequel. It is on my list of all time worst films. I almost turned it off before it was finished.

I opened the freezer to get some bread and a bottle of amyl fell out and smashed on the tiled floor, just as my scrambled eggs where ready. I had to just finish them, 2 minutes and they were done. The amyl stunk the whole house out. I tried to watch another movie, but eventually, I just had to get out, my head was spinning.

I went to Club 80. I haven't heard from Kane, so fuck him. Not that we have any agreements, but I think it is only polite to be somewhat exclusive to begin with. My Ex fuck buddy Stewart was there. I kind of wish he wasn't, he was so keen. He kind of took my attention... when, I was keen on giving somebody else a go. We did it, but my head wasn't really in it. He's cute, really. But... And then there was a lot of walking and chatting to Crazy Boy. I fancy him, kind of. No, I do. Maybe? He fascinates me.

But now it's 3am, and... ah, I don't know. That's my considered opinion on life. 

What?

I’m not going to defend a teacher having sex with a student, but this week a female teacher was found not guilty of sex with a male student, but was found guilty of the indecent act of hugging and kissing.

What?

We are getting a little precious, aren't we, if that's all that happened.

I don't think a boy has ever been psychology damaged from kissing and cuddling.

More likely the ensuing legal palaver that caused the damage.

Bursting Out of His Shirt

Hot February Night

It was hot, I thought, as I wash rushing along Gertrude Street late for my dinner date. I'd only remembered at the last minute, after pissing the day away. I passed two girls with their hand bags tipped out onto the footpath, as I passed them one said to the other, with an unlit, half smoked cigarette hanging from her mouth,

"Me fucken lioghta doesn't work."

I was looking at my phone wondering if I was going to make it on time, wondering if I should continue walking or catch a tram, wondering how much I was going to sweat in the process, with either option, with my eyes on the lights at Brunswick Street ready to make a run for the green man, when I heard,

"Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me."

On the third excuse me, I thought, Oh, I guess they are talking to me. Yes, I have a lighter. I was about to turn around when I heard.

"Ah, he's just a rude fucken dog!"

"Yeah, ya rude fucken dog," wailed the other scrubber.

Yeah, that's the way girl's, I thought. Winning friends and influencing people. I kept walking without any hesitation.

I went to dinner with my friend Kym. She's just been to America and loved it. She agreed the food in San Francisco was tasteless, but said New York was completely different.

Kym found Americans are much more confident and assertive than Australians. I think it's all a part of the American dream. You can be any thing you want to be in America. Thank you President Obama. Where Australian's are taught that you can only do your best.

Kym just wanted to drink American wines and was often offered Australian or New Zealand, which surprised her. Surprised me too, I wouldn't have thought she'd have glimpsed a squashed Aussie grape at all.

"Americans are much nicer in America, aren't they," said Kym. "The people who really got to me were the whinging Aussies and Poms. If something was wrong, let's say with a meal at a restaurant, Americans would take steps to rectify the problem, where the Aussies and the Poms would do nothing but bitch."

I saw Carl, the straight boy I had an affair with, walking through Melbourne Central with some girl, as Kym and I drank coffee with the last of our red wine. Jeans, dark blue Bonds T-shirt, short cropped hair, handsome face, boy he looked good.

He didn't see me. I'd have said hello, but I didn't see him until he was passing by. I was just thinking about him, the other day. It's funny how when I think of people out of the blue, often they turn up, or something concerning them happens.

I thought about that night in the spa, the night in my bedroom when he stayed, on the couch that morning after that dance party in his chaps and wondered why we lost contact?

At dance parties, he used to take his singlet off and give it to me to wear and he'd walk around shirtless holding my hand.

Sweet Carl.

Tuesday All Day

Today, I thought it was Wednesday, until a few moments ago. Oh, really? Tuesday? Are you sure? Tuesday?

My reality shifted. Clunk.

Nothing wrong with me. Nervous smile.

I tried to organise a massage, but have had no luck, so far. All booked up, apparently.

I think I'll spend the rest of the day being tranquil and still.

Monday Morning

Indication of my mood this Monday morning

So, Monday morning, ay? Broken skin around my nostrils, I can feel it ripple and sting as I yawn. A weeping eye, with unspecified crunchy gunge in the corner. Oh, such a stiff back, a walk to the shop will fix that. A wheezing chest, oh not good. A cough from hell. Could I have just one last j before I set my cough off again like a Gatling Gun. Sore knee, from bike riding, why I ask? And a Dodgy ankle, I think from the same. Apparently, problems with knees and feet are a resistance to moving forward, resistance to change, David loves to tell me, which he connects to my non-show at my writer's group, oh so pointedly.

So, you'll understand when I say I'm not feeling altogether too pretty.

Shane's gone to work, I don't know how?

Missy meowed for a second time as I was making coffee and was flung outside, with a rather incredulous look on her fat face.

I'd go back to bed, but I pulled the bed clothes off, first thing. As I was trying to doze this morning, parts of my doona smelt sour. Er!

What's that about? I'll have to get onto the cleaner. She complains when the three of us leave bedclothes out for changing on the same day, she says she doesn't have enough time left to clean properly. So I decided I could change the sheets myself... and now they smell sour.

I'm glad she's not coming today.

David has gone to New Zealand for 10 days, staying with my ex-boyfriend in Auckland. I've got the house to myself.

And I get to clean up. Fuck me! How many bombs went off in here? Everybody came over last night.

The washing machine is chugging, the dishwasher is whirring, the morning is drifting.

Excuse me while I cough up a body part. My lungs have turned into rabbits. Not feeling all together too marvellous, as one might expect.

It's just not worth it, he says with a giddy head from too much coughing. Sure, it might all seem shiny and colourful and amazing and consciousness altering, whizz, whir, bang, weeeeeeeeeeeeee while it is all happening, but when it stops...! I really don't feel so good.

I reckon I could manage a fitted sheet, then pull the doona over me, without a cover.

What Day Is It?

Nice night for a walk. Up the hill from Collingwood. There was a girl giving a boy a blowjob up a side street and he was liking it, by the way he was moaning. I'm not sure if they even noticed Shane and I, so into what they were doing, and all. It's unusual for Fitzroy, usually it's boys up side streets giving boys blowies. What were these amateurs thinking?

We thought about judging and holding up score cards, she had good technique, he had good leg muscles the way they were shaking. We thought better of it, though, I mean, they weren’t even looking up from what they were doing to appreciate our whit.

So, we moved on. The night shone and the Langridge Street hill never seemed as steep. And then you are over the hump and on Smith Street which was was pumping with twenty somethings all with googly eyes for each other. (read pissed as newts)

They now keep them in a cage at Barry Bar. The new smoking section at the front has been completed. If that's not a homoerotic picture for any self-respecting gay boy, I don’t know what is? Straight boys in cages, like picking a lobster, from the tank, at a seafood restaurant.

"No, no, the one up the back with the well developed chest and the dirty smile, have him prepared and brought to my table."

Our heads spun.

Methed, tripping, stoned, pissed? What kind of condition do you call this to be in walking through Fitzroy at 3am, young man? Shane and I giggled. Well, at least we were responsible, we didn't drive.

We went to see Howard Jones. Yeah? Well? Shrug. You know, I thought I would have recognised, at least, one of his songs, but no. He has a nice voice. He was witty and charming.

Went to Mark W's forty fifth birthday. He's still Prince Charming, Mr tall, dark and handsome.

Now, I'm going to sleep for twelve hours.

The Weekend

Pot. Piss. Meth. Now I lay my head down to sleep.

First of all I got my vodkas mixed with sweet pink stuff of varying descriptions. After I mentioned it, read complained, I got them mixed with lemon, lime and bitters mixer. I think they thought I was objecting to the gay colour. Sheesh! I was objecting to bad taste! I may well scream!

A little ice, a wedge of lime, or lemon, preferably lime, vodka and tonic water, don't drown it. How hard can it be, I ask you?

Kane's got an ulcer, so I haven't seen him. He sounded funny on the phone, could hardly talk. Harrumph! Just when I'm, shall we say, primed for a... um... er... cuddle. Grrr!

Moving Forward

I said no to my writer's group, who can live under that presure?

Even though, I got a new short story finish that I could take.

I could still reconsider. Shrug.

 

Write & Run

Well, at least I got my bike tyre fixed. I perved on the cute waiter at Red Tongue, while I waited for it to be fitted. Dark. Cropped hair. Nice jeans. Cute smile. I liked it when he grabbed for a pen in the central pocket of his apron, it really looked as though he was playing with himself. I wanted him to notice me watching him play with himself. I don't think he did.

I've been writing every day. Sit and write and it comes. A little less pot and a little more exercise and it will feel fulfilling.

It doesn't now.

 

Personal Trainer

Must put the mull bowl down, take my bike to get the flat tyre repaired and do some exercise.
The days are just whizzing by.

OMG! April is looming! Back to work? No, no, you can't make me! I need more time. I might have to take more time. I'm going to have to work on July 1st. My finances are okay. Let's face it, it doesn't cost much to be staying home pretending to write. Ha, ha.

Must get back to my short stories.

I'm not brave enough to send my script to my new writer's group for feed back. Must go and work on that. So what if they tell me it's shit? Someone needs to if it is, hey? Nothing to lose?

Call Me

Whoosh!

I just fell down the stairs, first thing I did. I'd just got out of bed. I was still asleep, rubbing my head. I was gazing out the window, at the top of the stairs, to see what kind of day it was going to be and whoosh! Out went my right foot and down I went. I hadn't even woken up. I felt my shoulder get a chiropractic correction, click, click, click, as it hit the top step. And now it hurts. I don't think I can type? Bloody hell!

Good morning world!

It must be time for a joint. Strictly for the pain, you understand.

I've joined a serious writer's group, with serious, intend to be published, women. Now I'm nervous. What have I done? I'll have to lift my game. I guess that was the point? First meeting is immanent. Shit! I'd better write something.