What Really Matters?

If we are adrift,

fragmented, not believing anything,

does god really matter?

Love thy Neighbour

Shag

We worship at the temple of consumerism, money wins.

We can buy freedom and individualism,

in a world where nobody wants to be different.

Lunch In The Burbs

Mum and I headed up to the Camberwell shops for lunch. There were cars every where, in the big car park, all trying to out do each other for the next car spot. Rat-faced bitches behind each steering wheel ready to kill, if you even looked like you were going to pinch their spots. They had no problem blocking the entire roadway if it meant guaranteeing their place. Invariably, in huge four wheel drives - urban tanks to keep the scared safe - they can barely drive, let alone park. I'm alright Jack and fuck you is what those cars say, as they do 12 point turns to park them, as cars gather in either direction.

We eventually parked under Safeway, where there were plenty of car parks, as it turned out. No one was venturing underground, clearly. We walked back through the asphalt maze to the rear of the shops on Burke Road, to a preferred cafe.

I stepped up onto the footpath.

"Are you quite right now, you sooky la la?" said the guy walking towards me, some what aggressively.

Huh? I thought. Who, me?

"Are you, you big sook?"

Ah, the guy from the Ford Focus? I thought. He must have found a car park without, actually, causing an accident, I presumed. Amazing.

"So, are you right? Now?" he asked.

Oh, you're not the buttoned down, cardigan wearing Christian that I thought you were? He looked quite wimpy when he couldn't wind down his car window, instead settling to say dick head through a one inch crack, as his car careered back onto the correct side of the road.

"Over your sooky out burst? Huh?"

Quite masculine, really. Who'd have thought. Slightly too fat a neck squeezed behind his tie knot, though. I turned on my heal, as he walked by. Kind a cute, really. Being quite aggressive, though. Small cock, I presumed.

"You sooky fucken la la!"

Sooky fucken la la... is this primary school? Did I insult his masculinity, as I left him in my wake, as he strained his face through the window crack? I suppressed my urge to laugh. I didn't think that would serve me well, right at that point.

"You sooky fucken cunt!" He was now walking ahead, but looking back at me.

He'd turned the corner of the car park too wide and ended up on my side of the roadway, blocking my path. I told him to learn to drive, rather, I yelled it through my, already, open window. Did you get your straight boy ego all bent out of shape with that?

"You haven't got so much to say now, have you?" he continued.

I wanted to say, You know mate, I don't really care if you live or die, actually. I opened and closed my mouth. The words wouldn't come, I almost felt foolish, but my still small voice was saying don't even engage him. We held each other's gaze. Why waste my breath, I thought, as he walked straight into a power pole, right on the edge of the footpath. I could see it coming. I thought he'd see it before he hit it, not for a minute thinking that I'd, actually, be that lucky. His head made a hollow thud, against the wooden pole. It was a complete cliche, which seemed fitting, as he was a complete cliche. Maybe there is a fucken god?

I suppressed my urge to laugh, again, as I turned back to my mother. Oh, I should have laughed, laughed right out loud.

"Who's that, darling?" she asked, bewilderedly. But then, now a days, she asks everything bewilderedly.

"Nobody mum," I said. "Just another waste of space."

"Oh, okay dear," she said. She smiled lovingly, like a mother does.

"Watch your step," I said. I'm not sure to who, though.

 

Shorter Days, Longer Nights

Wow. I haven't seen so much rain in I can't remember how long. All the flowers in the garden look positively perky. The footpaths look almost sparkling. The air smells fresh. My car looks clean. The world looks new. The day radiant.

Autumns here.

Boo-hoo so are shorter days and longer nights.

Soon it will be winter.

Yeah, for the seasons, finally. Not just the big dry.

This proves nothing

Where It's All Leading

 My name is Christian Fletcher and I am an alcoholic. Hick! (And if you think I am taking the piss...)

Ha, ha. We loved the Merlot. (Speaking about oneself in the 3rd person can never be good)

Up the country, half pissed. Lovely! How else does one spend a dreary, wet Monday?

Who the fuck cares... about anything? Hick!

The state is in the worst drought in the history of the world and I'm complaining about rain rather than sunshine. I guess I should be drinking to it. The rain, that is. Here's to you!

"Yes, I'll have another, thanks." He smiles. "Fill it up, lets not be stingy."

Cheers.

(You can leave the bottle)

Saturday Night @ the Comedy Festival

I went to see Wes Snelling's show, Kiosk, with my step daughter, Jane. I love Wes, he is so clever. He does good stuff. Funny. Original. Clever. Very Wes. There were a couple of dead spots in the production, but they were minor. I've seen a few of his shows and have loved them all.

Then we went to see Arj Barker, at the town hall. We bought tickets an hour before he went on, stayed in the queue when everyone said it was doubtful we'd get seats at all and we got some of the best seats in the house. He's so funny. No to mention handsome. We laughed all the way through.

I think stand up is my favourite form of comedy. Maybe my very favourite form of entertainment.

I wanted to see Janeane Garafalo, but, of course, she is booked out. We're going to book to see Will Anderson, after easter. And I'm off to see Dylan Moran in a couple of weeks with my mate Jill. (They say Dylan Moran and I are alike, actually Bernard and I.) 

6 O'clock News

Scandal not depth

disillusion not knowledge

tune in, get the latest

Culture

Muslim extremist.

Man is base, that we know

he loves war best.

Deep Space

Eye In The Sky

One Minute to Midnight

As we stare into the void

the only question we ask,

does it come in other colours?

 

My Favourite Television Characters

Karen Walker

Monty Burns

Pam Ravenscroft

Celia Hodes

Sheldon Cooper

Statler & Waldorf

I'm still not in the mood, ever since I have quit smoking I've had writer's block. Grrrr! I think it is the angst and the stress of quitting smoking that just takes me out of the creative mood and puts me in an anxious mood, which kills the creative process.

When will I feel normal again?

More difficult to give up than Heroin, so they say. I've always scoffed at that ridiculous statement, but now I'm not so sure.

I should just stop thinking about it. I'm not under any deadline.

David says I can't expect to feel normal after giving up an addiction (Ed note - 2 addictions) in just 3 weeks.

Oh fucken hell, kill me now!

And what if it doesn't come back, you know, like the world won't be a lesser place. Nobody is going to die if I don't ever write another word. Nobody is going to starve, cry, puke, or poke themselves for that matter.

Maybe I'll try some Haiku.

 

Out and proud

"You're not very gay," she said.

"Yes, I am. Very gay," I said. "Fully fledged."

She laughed nervously.

"Card carrying," I added.

"But, you know what I mean," she said.

"I'm sure I don't."

"I wouldn't have picked you as gay."

I'm never sure if that is a good thing. I mean, I don't really want to be an effeminate screamer, (not that there is any thing wrong with that) but I also want people to know I'm gay. I'm out and proud, why shouldn't they know.

"You are not obviously gay," she said. "You know...because..." She raised her eyebrows up, like I should know.

"I don't wear pink mohair jumpers..." I offered, almost jokingly.

"Yes," she said. "Exactly!" She seemed pleased with that.

I'm not a very forceful flag waving poofter, although having said that there is no aspect of my life where people don't know I'm gay. (is that a double negative?) But, when I have conversations like the one above, I'm never really sure what to say.

How would you like me to prove it, always seems to come to mind.

Red Wine

I've been drinking a bottle of red wine every two nights. Do you think I have swapped one addiction for another?

Ha, ha, not really. But, you know, a couple of glasses in front of the teev at night and there's half a bottle gone. I can imagine it becoming quite moreish. I sit down to Biggest Looser and I'm thinking about my glass of red grape, you know, tonguing for it before I know it.