He dreamed of joining the navy and running away to sea with all the seamen

It Rained Like... Fuck Me!

Suddenly, the world was being pelted by rocks, falling from the sky. Clang, clang, clang, clang. It was weird, it reminded me of Magnolia. I looked cautiously out the window to see if the world was covered in frogs. But, they were hail stones the size of golf balls. Solid chunks of ice. Then it rained, like solid water, the sight of everything was obliterated, every window looked like the water wall at the NGV. For a while, there was more fluid than air. I'm sure if you'd gone out in it you would have been breathing liquid. Deluged. Unbelievable. Drowned.

I stopped drinking, just quit, cold turkey, finished. The every night drinking, not completely, you understand. What's hard about that?

I stopped smoking too. Oh yeah, I started again, last Friday night, the big night out. Stupid me, I'm an idiot!

But now I've quit, day 2.

We smoked pot and watched Doctor Who. Yeah, I know...

Good day to stay in bed.

Pale Trousers

Jack lay his clothes out on his bed. It was the Vietnam Vets reunion. Hobart. Saturday. He was nervous about flying. But, they were tough breed of men; made of steel, could do anything, were built to last. He'd only got interested in attending such occasions since his beloved Julie died a few years back. He wasn't sure why, it helped pass the days, he thought.

The shirts were neatly folded like they would be at a department store, two white, two blue, two gray. His toilet bag was next to them, tartan in colour, dark green. Socks. Underwear. Ties. A jumper. A dark blue sports jacket. A pair of black trousers.

Sara pulled a pair of cream pants from the wardrobe. "Why don't you take these grand pa, they'd look nice with your blue jacket, kind of navy."

"Are no." He took the pants from his granddaughter’s hands and slid them back into the cupboard.

"Oh why?" Sara protested. "I think they'd look nice."

"No darling." He stroked her hair. "Not those."

"Come on. They are much more fashionable. Don't you want to be fashionable?"

"Oh, I never went in for all of that nonsense."

"Now's your chance! Before you die!"

"I rather think I have a few more years in me yet."

"Oh come on, unless you can come up with a good reason..."

"As you age, my darling, you tend to wear pale trousers less and less." He drew in breath and bit his top lip. "To avoid the dot of shame."

Sara raised her eyebrows. She opened and closed her mouth.

 

Dreaming of Nania, of course

What's Left...

"The worst has happened," he said. He was smiling, that much was clear. "I don't need to worry now. There's nothing left to worry about." He shrugged. He looked calmer than he had looked in a long time. Funny. He'd lost it all. The business, he’d hung on tenaciously. Maybe the house, if luck really turned its back.

"You seem to be very calm about it. That's everything, isn't it?"

He laughed, almost to himself. He rubbed his chin, lost in thought, so it would seem. "It's... it's... and I know this might sound strange, but it's kind of liberating. Nothing can hurt me now. I can stop stressing, like I have been for the past...how long?"

"It's done?"

"It's done!" The stress had left his face. Suddenly, he looked his age again.

"All over..."

"I'm still standing. I'm still alive. I can still look up and see the blue sky. I can still smell the orange blossom. I can pick you one, if you want?"

"What's left? Anything?"

"I've got you, haven't I?"

They hugged, tightly. They hadn't hugged, as boyfriends do for a very long time.

"Everything will be okay." It was a whisper. There were tears sliding slowly down his face.

"Yeah... it will." 

I've Taken a Sickie

I pulled a sickie. Oh, I just couldn't face it today, nah. I know when I'm going to stay home, it always starts the same way. I'd have a shower, make coffee, pour milk over my muesli and was in my room getting my clothes together. As I am bending down to get my socks, thinking about the things I have to do, you know, in the office, ho fucken hum, invariably feeling bored at the thought of it all, a whisper pushes it's way in and says softly, you could stay home. Just like that, out of no where, like an autoimmune response. And I think no, be gone thought! Ahhh! But it’s left its mark, a stain on an otherwise normal morning. I wrestle with it, push on trying to squash it down, get dressed, with that pesky whisper floating through my brain the whole time, tapping at the inside of my skull. And when I'm ready, all done, just gotta leave the house, nothing else to do - tippy-toes on the edge of the cliff - I faulter, as I kind of know I will, it wins, succeeds, gets its way. I decided, no, I'm not going. Then there is the trade off - I'll go for a bike ride, I'll go see my mum, I'll do all the things I need to get done, but haven't. I know I won’t. But, I've done my tax this week, registered my bank details with Medicare, cleaned up my study and have fixed the leak in the roof, so I have crossed things off my list already. That must count for something?

I know, it's a bit much when I'm only working three days a week, but I have plenty of sick leave, so what the fuck. And, I never take sick days, well hardly ever, not often. I always feel guilty right about now, though, stupid work ethic. The "I should have gones" ring resoundingly in my head. It usually takes an hour, or so, past 9am before I can relax and settle into it. Up until then, I still have the getting to work anxiety of the morning. It takes a while for it to wash away, squash down, dissolve.

We should all be able to take the odd day for ourselves, it's good for us, I reckon. Or does our now more conservative moral code prevent us any longer? Well, not me. Clearly.

Really, we're all such social conformists now – the rebellious streak has been killed off in us, or is being killed off by politicians, who are so affected by their ties with business. Keep them beige they are easier to mould as industry fodder that way. Keep them working so they can't think, keep them working so they can consume more and more stuff, whether they need it or not.

Now, I've just got to make sure I don't get a migraine, my usual excuse if ever I do take a sickie. If I'm not careful I end up with one, it must be because I put it in my head, no pun intended. Is that karma? It's a good thing I don't believe in it, hey? And if I could get my writing mojo back, that would be excellent and the day wouldn't be wasted.

I know I'm going to waste it.

But now, it must be time for another coffee.

Three images of men

He's saying it, and they're doing it

See something you like?

White bunny licks his paw

The Good Son

 I spent most of y'day with my mum. I made her lunch and dinner, as I'm not sure how capable she is now.  I've kind of given into it - I'll have to spend half my life looking after her. It probably won't be for very long, not in the bigger scheme. I've just got to relax, not fight it, it's much easier. We went shopping. We laughed. We told each other stories all day, sitting at the kitchen table, all washed down with tea.

She asked me questions about her disease and I gave her answers. She told me not to be rediculous and that she would never forget me. That bought tears to my eyes. She didn't remember that we'd had this question and answer session before.

Then I headed to the country, smoked pot and Watched Sex in the City. And fell asleep on the couch.

I watched a Friends marathon until late.

I woke up after midday. Lovely.

The wind blows through the gum trees, the sun shines down. Free as a bird, that's how I feel up here.

We Were Lucky We Weren't Stabbed

We went out for dinner, Sebastian, Shane, D, Liz and I. It was Sebastian's birthday. I was promised the best food in town and I think I got it. A chef friend of Sebastian’s, degustation was the menu. South Bank. We had wine with every course, we drank a shit load, everyone was maggoted by the, six hundred and fifty dollars later, end.

It was a trip crossing the Yarra pedestrian bridge at 3am in the morning, with three drunken queens, who insisted on walking arm in arm, even if Shane did get a hot Irish boy to say his name three times, in his sexy accent. The water sparkled under the lights a gentle wind blew up the river. The sky was black and shiny over head, dotted with stars.

The Flinders Street underpass was full of drunk straight boys pissing up against the yellow tiled walls. Of course, Shane and Sebastian propositioned every one of them. There were lots of out-of-it faces, people stepping over other people, struggling through. Dragging on joints with screwed up faces, eyes rolling, looking giddy, staggering, smiling.

Then we were on the corner of Elizabeth and Flinders, bright lights, cameras, action. Suddenly, out into the open with people and cars and noise and movement. Catch a taxi, walk? There were girls and boys everywhere with the drunk gay boys hitting on anyone who looked in their direction. I can't believe we made it out.

(2023 - perhaps I should be less precious)

Beauty Queen Cites Bible for Gay Death

Another US beauty queen has caused controversy with an anti-gay rant — this time citing Bible passages that call for death to homosexuals.

Miss Beverly Hills said she would remain a virgin until marriage and shunned drugs despite partying with the likes of Paris Hilton. She then answered questions about same-sex marriage.

"In Leviticus it says, 'if man lies with mankind as he would lie with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination — they shall surely be put to death and their blood shall be upon them'," she was quoted as saying. "If God says that having sex with someone of the same gender is going to bring death upon you, that's a pretty stern warning … and he knows more than we do about life."

So, she's allowed to condone the death of gay men for being gay.

But, if I said that a vacuous beauty queen like this bitch deserved rape for prancing about in her underwear, I'd be considered a monster.

I've had a joint, can you tell? First one in two months, that's not bad huh? I'm impressed. Of course, there is the emotional come down later, but hey...

Have I Offended You?

S, my favourite employee at work, was discussing with me something I'd written on facebook.

"The stuff you write cracks me up," said S.

Of course, I kind of liked that.

S and I just had this shine for each other from the very first moment we met one another. She's cute and bubbly and funny and we just liked each other from the beginning.

Beck waded in and said to me that she was going to disconnect from my facebook page because she couldn't have other people reading what I write. She butted in to S and my conversation, saying it twice.

"Fine," I said. "I really don't care that much about it, whatever you like."

Be my friend, don't be my friend, I really don't take it that seriously. Whatever makes you happy.

And I really don't care, I find Facebook dull and boring and a complete disappointment. I think it's stupid and I only write stupid things on it. Aby and I communicate on it and we can get quite black in our humour. Ab's humour is as dark as mine.

The funny thing is that I only connected with Beck recently, kind of against my better judgement. But, she and I had talked about it quite a lot and it seemed silly after working together for nine years to be talking about it quite so much and not to hook up as friends.

However, apart from S, I wouldn't connect with anybody else from work, I was making an exception. As Shane told people at his work when they tried to connect with him on Facebook, my private life is my private life and I'd like to keep it that way.

Mostly, I find that a lot of people have a lot of really boring things to say on Facebook. There's not enough space to elaborate, you can only write so much, which usually turns out to be the equivalent of shopping lists, or something equally as boring.

But then I thought about it. I never write on Beck's page, or normally anyone else's for that matter, I write on my own and people respond to it. So, only people I have made friends can read what I have written, there is no chance of Beck's family ever reading it. So, either she is being a complete techno moron, which I doubt but it's possible, or the other conclusion is that I have offended Beck herself. Which is odd because Beck isn't a prude, she has a good sense of humour, I would never have thought she would be offended by anything I say. She thinks alot like I do.

There are two other reasons, more esoteric - the one that rules the world so well now, it has been implemented by pollies and capitalism and it has hit like a virus and infected nearly all of us, fear. I do write "off coloured" things, it amuses me and certain friends who have black senses of humour encourage me and join in. Some people are fearful of "off coloured" things today.

The other is conservatism. We're all getting much more beige and old fashioned, more so than we used to be, we're nearly back to the 1950's on that one. So writing "nice" things, I suspect, is much more excepted, people are more comfortable with that.

I told Shane and he responded with, "You know, the level at which you are offended is way different to most people's, you know that."

I was going to go in and de-friend Beck tonight myself, I'd rather she wasn’t a friend if she thinks I’m offending her, or whoever it is she thinks is going to be offended. I didn’t really want her as a friend anyway, not particularly, I just thought it was the right thing to do. See where it gets you, doing the right thing.

Anyway, I’ve come up with something really offensive now, so let’s see what that does.

Is that someone at the door? Do I need to put my pants on?

Yes, they come in blue, red and green too. I've come in all of them.

Jerry Gets Mac

Jerry grabbed Mac around the back of the neck and pushed him with all his energy towards the ground. Jerry could feel his teeth grind together and his lips pout so hard they hurt. Mac resisted at first but then he began to shake, with the resistance he was putting up against Jerry's arm. Mac groaned, as Jerry groaned, with the strain until his legs gave way and he collapsed down onto his knees on the floor with a clunk. Jerry dug his fingers into the base of Mac's skull as he pulled him along the floor towards him. Mac's kneecaps clacked on the wooden floor, as he tried to walk on them, but Jerry pulled too hard and Mac kind of skipped and tripped as he was dragged along.

"You are disgusting," Jerry spat. He rubbed Mac's pointy nose along the crack in his arse. Mac grunted in revulsion up behind Jerry.

"Go on eat it you little Jesus misfit, you piece of filth, you know you want to."

Jerry slid Mac’s face up and down. Jerry stuck his arse out like he might if he was taking a shit in a field.

Jerry was bigger than Mac, more muscular and easily dominated him. When Mac’s chin was above the top of Jerry’s arse cheeks, Jerry forced Mac's face downwards again, like cheese on a grater. Jerry ground Mac’s pointy nose down. Mac’s beak hooked the elastic of Jerry’s briefs sliding them right off him, Jerry could feel Pinocchio’s point parting the dark sea just as Mosses had done.

Jerry pulled Mac’s face hard into his crack.

“Lick you little homophobic fuck! Taste it!”

Mac whimpered as his mouth fell open and his tongue protruded like a fat, pink slug.

“This is the last time you slag off gay men for being gay men,” whispered Jerry. “The last time you make others lives unhappy with your lies... when all the time you are...”

Mac grunted in the affirmative and pushed his engorged tongue as deep as he could into Jerry’s crack, as though he was feasting for the first time on forbidden fruit, which he was.

“Fucker!” moaned Jerry. “I knew you wanted to, you little bitch.”

Mac lapped in a frenzy like a starved cat at a saucer of milk.

Jerry ground Mac's face as if he was grinding it into the dirt. He moaned loudly as Mac did his work.

Mac licked; his mouth, his cheek, his chin wet with his own saliva.

Jerry turned suddenly and grabbed Mac by his armpits and lifted him up until they were face to face. They held each other’s gaze. They both scowled, breathing heavily. Still. Silent.

Mac smiled. “I love it when you talk dirty.”

Jerry tousled Mac's hair. “I want you to be a missionary. An Amish boy.”

Jerry’s mouth was suddenly on Mac’s, kissing him passionately.

“Dress me up as Poland and invade me,” said Mac, panting.

“Where’s your boy scout uniform? I wouldn’t look so good with a small black moustache.” Jerry ran his two fingers from the bottom of his nose to his lip.

“But the uniform would make me wet.”

“You’d give me your cookies.”

Mac grabbed the sides of Jerry's face with both his hands and kissed him long and slow.

“I want you to use me as your toilet,” Mac said, imitating a vampire.

“Suddenly you sound like Igor.”

Mac pulled his arm up so that his hand was under his armpit. He contorted his face and breathed heavily and noisily. “Master! Use me as your slave boy.”

Jerry pushed Mac up against the wall and explored the inside of his mouth with his tongue.

Jerry laughed as they pulled apart. “You taste like my arse,” he said in a Cockney accent.

The 11th Doctor

Matt Smith

Did I tell you that Josh and I had a falling out?

Oh, he used my place as a drop in centre once too often, I called him on it, he didn't like it. Well, I think that's what happened? I'm not really sure now what, actually, happened. Something strange.

Now that I think about it, it was because I was dealing with David's crap all over the house and I just didn't want a house guest. Can't remember but, you know Josh, sometimes it just isn't about you.

Time passed. I went interstate for New Year. I didn't drop into see him which was on my way. I would have, I wanted to, but... I feared that he might have said that he didn't want me to, so I didn't.

There was silence.

So, I made a few moves to heal the rift, texts, email.

He said there wasn't a problem. But still silence.

The very nature of our communications, friendship had changed. You didn't have to be fucken Einstein.

Anyway, it seemed to me that he resisted my moves towards reconciliation, so I made no more attempts.

Fuck him, I thought. He had no real reason to be pissed off with me in the first place any way.

Time passed. We've been friends for years. Silence.

He, finally, text me yesterday - what 3 months later - saying he was in Melbourne and did I want to catch up for a drink, or dinner.

I text him back, Who is this? I couldn't help myself. It made me laugh.

Sebastian came over and cooked us a beef and pomegranate salad, it was fucking beautiful. Cheese, red wine, naturally. There are advantages, obviously, having a chef for a friend.

Josh got dinner too, a great way for me to bring him back into the bosom, and I didn't have to do a thing. Ha, ha. Oh yes, he text back and said I was far too clever for my own fucking good, and he made me invite him formally for dinner. So, I guess, we're friends again.

Everyone is amazed about David. Shane and I just shrug, mumble something about messy cunt and say no more.

(We have a house rule, no bitching about housemates to the outside world, secret blog withstanding, you understand)

A good lunch, a six pack of beer, and a nice smile and I'm all yours

I have to admit, if I was honest, I sat in front of my computer and looked at porn for 50% of the day. Shameful, I know. Well, not shameful in a moralistic kind of way, shameful in a waste of time kind of way. The productive things I could have been doing?

I spent the other 50% writing, but that hardly seems to make up for it. I could study for a degree in the time I waste on the net.