The Light Is Fading To Black Beyond The Windows

I should have stayed and helped Mark. He said he wasn't sure if he was going to get it all done on his own.

You know, Marks still the one who I think of when I think of getting old with someone. He's the one I think of being in my life forever. He's the one who I wonder how I'll go on living if ever he were not here any more.

You know, Sam just understood that, naturally. Not that there isn’t room for him. The fluidity of relationships, we can make, we do make, have made, them up as we go along. It’s another reason why I don’t care about gay marriage. There’s nothing wrong with love, I just think it draws the model too narrow.

I should be helping Mark when he needs help.

I have got a lot on my plate, though, you know. I'm not exactly slacking off. And he's got Luke.

But, they had guests staying, and I sometimes get antsy when there are guests staying, I'm never sure what I can do, what I want to do. It is hard to relax, despite them getting in the car and going out for the day.

Besides, Mark had got an ounce of pot for his best friend's best friend. Guido supplied it, agreed to do it in future. Mark didn't ask me, he just said he'd put it in my car and his friend Mark's friend (are you keeping up?) would call me.

Okay? Cool. Why not.

As I accelerated onto the highway at 120 k's, I wondered if  I'd feel like Shapelle Corby, if the cops pulled me over, and I dropped back to the legal limit.

Don't smoke any of it, said Mark.

What? I thought. That's like giving an alcoholic booze to deliver. I knew I could get two joints out of it, probably a bit more without causing any alarm. You know, some anal retentive withstanding. Most pot heads are just grateful to have supply returned, they don't notice.

Antsy over gusts, my arse. Who was I kidding. I wanted to leave so I could lay on my couch and get stoned by myself. Sad but true.

I got in the car and left.

Cyndi Lauper sang the blues.

Besides, I'd give someone a bud for reconnecting me to a source, I thought, as I removed a bud from bag one. He'll never notice. It looks no different. I've been stealing dope from dope bags for many years, they never notice, pot heads don't. Automatically, my self-editor kicked into action... ed note - now there's a claim to fucken fame, if ever there is one.

I built an open fire and got ripped.

I think that smoking is bad for me, as I look up bleary-eyed into the darkened room, the open fire's shadows flickering in the room, I snigger, it makes me steal and lie and become reclusive. The light is fading to black beyond the windows.

We've been smoking dope since the election. There is no correlation, it just happens to be the night we broke the drought. I bought some, then Shane bought some. And Sam has smoked quite a lot, despite declaring that he hates it at every opportunity. He still reaches out for it and he still gets a great big hard-on from the effects.

I'm just saying that's too long. I'm not complaining about the outcomes, you understand. Time to give it a break. It's hardly just the occasional one, anyway you read, you know, after two weeks. That much I know.

I eat mandarins and kiwi fruit and bananas. I haven't had a banana in how long? Oh, blush, except for Sam's. I eat yogurt with passionfruit, raspberry jam toast, cumquat jam directly from the jar. I eat honey and yogurt toast, it's like ice cream and maple syrup. Honey and yogurt is a symphony.

Gold Kiwi Fruit Rock

It was wet, it rained all the way to the country. Heading out of Melbourne was quite beautiful though, with a huge sun in the sky and the rain falling like crystals through the bright light. I had a problem seeing, though, a minor hazard, I grant you. With my sunglasses on, everything blacked out except for the bright rays glowing on the silvery bitumen in front of me. But, the inside of the car was black, I couldn't see the dashboard. Ah, but who cares how fast you are driving anyway. Speed limits are for pussies. Fortunately for me, I can just naturally drive at 100 ks by feel and instinct. I settled back in the seat and enjoyed the magical view along the silver brick road.

It was wet though, there was pools of water all along the side of the road. There was even water over the Calder Highway itself, at one point. My tyres lost grip; they both spun, the engine revved, then they bit back, the car did a small wobble, like a body flex and then were back on track.

The rain pummelled the road, turning the first six feet off the ground into a swirl of water and spray and steam, as we belted across it's surface like sure-footed athletes. There was a fershhhhhhh sound as the road slipped away underneath. I love that kind of driving, it's exciting. It feels like we are all driving really fast, except that we were all doing the speed limit, in this age where we're all ruled by legislation more and more, where we dutifully drive at the speed limit, even I sit on 100 ks now a days, 110 on the Calder.

I turned off on to the country road and instantly had to decide whether or not to drive through the half-flooded road, from a bank-broken dam, before me. Yes? No? Think of Xmas time? Oh, no, I'm going through, don't close your eyes and hope. And I made it, I'm through, such a panic over nothing. Accelerate, into 6th.

All the gullies coming down the sides of the dirt side roads were surging with water, gushing towards the intersections. Some diverted around corners, some were spreading across the road in front of me. None had spilled onto my side yet. Whoosh when the trees.

It's still good to see the rain, as I slipped gold kiwi fruit, after gold kiwi fruit, into my mouth. I took my mum shopping before I left, she wanted bananas. We bought a tattslotto ticket in my name, bought me grocery’s at Coles and bought me lunch. She was happy to go back to the home after that. I didn't go see her last Thursday, I just couldn't face it. I told her I had to work, you know, with Beck leaving and all. She bought that no problem. I think it was the first Thursday since she's been in there that I've missed, though. I'm allowed a day off, I reckon.

I flung the banana peel out the window on the wet highway, thank the universe for electric windows and automatically wondered what I was thinking? It's organic, it'll feed the birds, or some animal, and what's left will turn back into soil, it's nutrients for the land. I laughed. I'm sure we're all too uptight as a society for that kind of carry on and I decided not to throw the next one out. I tossed it into the compost bin in the kitchen when I got there. I wondered how the two actions were dissimilar? The open fire roared, golden shadows licked inside the room. The cold and the rain was a distant pat pat pat on the tin roof. I shrugged and headed for the mull bowl and didn't both with an answer.

 

Off to the Country

Off to the country, it's been a while. Wish me luck with all of the inclement weather that is covering much of country Victoria. Up Woodend way, where I'm off to, they have had masses of amounts of rain in the last 24 hours. Apparently, our little cottage, which is on lower ground, has had water rushing through it.

Time to get out of the city and to feel the freshness of an unspoilt landscape.

This rain is like Victoria of old, rather than having those heavy down pours as we've been having lately, it is raining more constantly over a longer period of time. It's nice, rain to enjoy. The gentle sprinkling of rain to watch and listen to. I think the drought may well be over. Yay, for the garden state.

Happy Ever After

Boyfriends, they are like people, you know, they have feelings you have to take account of. Not thinking for one, now, hey? It's an adjustment, I'd forgotten. I guess Manny wasn't very demanding, in a lot of ways. Some may say, a joyous adjustment and I might agree in my lighter moments. Other times, I'm left thinking, do I really want this? But, I think that's healthy... let's leave "taking for granted" for a long way down the track.

Once you are thinking about them, when they are not around, you know you are a gonna.

Sam's funny. I'm not really the type who believes in happy ever after. I suspect he might be? He just looks at me sometimes with some of the things I think. Like Shane's recent birthday when we halves in a present (my friends just buy small gifts, a token. Sebastian gave Shane a potato masher) and I decided that we should both buy a card. Two cards, one present.

It's why I don't believe in gay marriage, because I don't believe in marriage at all. Nothing lasts forever, happily ever after doesn't exist, for the vast majority. It's a virtual myth enjoyed by a very few.

So, if you like, there are no rules. You can do what you like, make them up. That's what I think is real.

That's not to say that I don't believe in love. I do. The rest is just filler.

But, it is nice thinking about someone else, I had forgotten in three years. How quickly... hey? Someone who  who fits in your arms, snugly, who smells nice and tastes good, who makes you think, who makes you laugh, and, I guess, ultimately (following the logic) who makes you cry. It's all a part of the same experience. But, that rush, that giddiness, that inner glow, that smile, nothing quite takes its place.

Not that Sam and I call each other boyfriends, we don't. But, the possibility is nice. The possibility, that's what we all dream off, it doesn't matter who you are.

It's the Monkey...

Two of my friend's have said recently they would take a drug to stop them from getting horny all the time, if such a drug existed. (funny, aren't the pharmaceutical companies trying to do the opposite?) They say it's annoying, a need, a want, an urge they could do without, each morning, or late at night.

"Hell, lunch time in the toilets," said G. "It's the monkey..."
"Every day," said S. "I get it over and done with when I first wake up. I have to."
S said he sometimes finds it a crushing urge.
G said he does it morning, noon and night. He once did it at the day time wedding of his best friend.

I remember when I was sixteen, it was every spare moment I got. Not a problem.

I was surprised when the two of them said it, within a couple of days each other. They were both serious.
G said it used to get in the way of other things he wanted to do. "Eye on the prize, buddy, that's how it was." He smiled. "But, you know, sometimes now I get sick of my dick making all the decisions."

I laughed, I thought it sounded weird. But, deep down, I knew it was true. I'd just never heard anyone say it quite like that before, not out loud. And then both of them had said it, just like that.

All that energy pulsing, isn't that what we're attracted to? What makes men men?

It's tough being a guy.

Adorable

I love his broody face the best, that’s when he looks his most handsome. Smiling is nice especially when he is smiling at me. Blush. But, no, it’s the broody, or thinking, face where his face becomes triangular and his ears point... it is adorable.

Haiku

Grey wet cold dark,

the expressions on faces;

life's peak-hour bleak

The beating of the earth.

Faces peer through bus windows;

it's a modern world.

The grey coastline

wanders by the silent sea.

Dip toes in life again.

Come join me, let's see where kissing takes us.

He Just Seemed Like A Privileged Brat

The Cousins documentary wasn't that shocking, it wasn't very confronting, no matter how many times the television station says it for publicity, it doesn't make it so.

He just seemed like a privileged brat who enjoyed his drugs and his money and his good times, which the powers that be didn't like.

Mark came over while I was watching it and said, Do we have to watch boguns with money?

It was just a PR exercise, anyway. Ben's now left football and he's drumming up interest in him as a brand and it is the only story he has to tell. It's an act of contrition for whatever is in store for him in the future.

Then we have to have another panel of "experts" giving their opinion, towing the line of perceived societal views. It kind of dawned on me that the panel's kids, if the not the panel itself, have probably done the same thing, just that they don't have a high enough profile, or weren't pretty enough, for anyone to be interested, or they haven't been caught.

It was pretty dull to tell you the truth. We turned it over and watched something else.

He did look pretty dancing in his undies grabbing his cock. They all looked like they were having a good time in the home movies.

The crime that isn't a crime. The victimless crime because everyone partaking are willing. Ben had to act contrite because he was trying to save his income, his career.

How many of the AFL players do you think take recreational drugs? 50% 80% I reckon it wouldn't be far off.

Pumpkin

I use all the cute names for Sam. Pumpkin, sunshine, it gives me perverse pleasure. I say it ironically. It makes me laugh and makes me feel alive with the world.

Sweetie.

Well, perhaps not alive with the world, more laughing at it, ha, ha.

He smiles and his eyes sparkle and he tilts his head. I love it that his expression still has some of the you-are-mad about it, still. Forever. He doesn't usually respond. He just looks at me and smiles.

But, sometimes I hear myself say it. Off  guard, automatic, off the cuff. Not deliberate. And I sound just like every revolting couple who I've, mentally, chastised every time I've heard them using the same, cutesy, names. May a house fall on your mother.

And, then I reassure myself that I'm not that person and I vow to fight against it in future. Say it, but say it when you mean it.

I don't want you to become a cliche. I want you to stay as fresh and exciting as you are now.

... pumpkin.

 

More Crazy Talk

I said to Shane. "You know, the next best person for Prime Minister, let's face it, is Malcolm Turnbull." There's hardly an excess of talent in the political arena. "So, the Libs can have a shot next, with him at the helm."

Shane thought for a minute, then shook his head. He backed away from me, as his eyes opened and took me in. "A Liberal govt... that's what you are saying?"

How much difference would you say there is between the two major political parties?

"We need Julia as PM this time around, if for no other reason than for the impersonators who are going to pop up. I've heard some who have just cracked me up already."

Not that I'll be voting Liberal any time soon. But, you know, if the people who actually matter in our elections, those in the marginal seats, want to throw Labour out, do it at the next election, when Big Ears hasn't a hope of ruling.

I live in the electorate of Melbourne and we've already spoken. Well done guys. You know, I don't really care about global warming, I don't have any kids. The first fifty years of this century will, by all accounts, probably be okay, but increasingly it's not looking too bright for the second half of the century. But just thinking logically, it is clearly the most pressing problem the world faces today. Making more money for the small number of people who own all of the wealth is becoming less important. The people are going to have to speak up on this issue, and in Melbourne they have. Come on the rest of the country, catch up.

But, I think Malcolm Turnbull is a good guy. That's all I'm saying.

Poor old Julia, huh? Minority government? Seems to be a trend around the world. Tasmania. England. The people are speaking, they are tired of not being listened to. They are tired of the political spin. They are tired of politics by numbers. Let's face it, The Rudd government was elected on environmental issues as one of the hot political topics. And what did they do with it? They gave it a shot, at best. They dropped it when it got to difficult, as they veered to the right in their leaning.

Nothing else is going to matter, if the planet dies. That much I do know.

But, did you hear Kevin Rudd's electorate win speech? He did go on... and on. Buddy, that's why we dumped you as leader. What are you saying?

David, who is absolutely clueless when it comes to politics - couldn't, once, name the Prime Minister or what political party was in power - said, "Oh it was fine. There was a sex party, so I voted for that."

The Face Of Insanity

Stop This Crazy Talk

Oh, my dirty secret about Tony Abbott? The one I admitted to Shane one night late on vodka and pot. 

"You know, sometimes, when I look at him, I find I can have dirty thoughts about him, before I check myself, before I pull myself up."

"What?" slurred Shane, from his slumped position on the other couch.

"It just happens, before I know it, first sight and all."

"You fancy..." he looked like he'd rather vomit than repeat what he, incredulously, took my point to mean.

"He's a good looking man."

"Tony Abbott?" Big eyes and expression.

"Funnily enough, only in his suit, never in the Lycra business. He looks a dick on the beach. But shirt and ties, in a suit, some of them fit him mighty fine, he looks healthy, physical, as they say, fit."

"He is Satan personified!"

"He's got big dick attitude."

"May I remind you of his political theories."

"Cute smile, even if, oddly, I find his laugh quite distracting."

"You must stop this crazy talk." Shane sat up on the couch and gave me his full gaze. "Tony Abbott is not cute and you must never talk of this again."

"I'd like to be staring him in the eye, as I undid the fly to his suit."

Just to see all of his catholic guilt well in his eyes. I'm sure it's suit, school uniform, school days, welling guilt. Most likely.

"People have been asked to leave this house and live else where for such heresy." Shane said. "By you... but it's your house."

"I'd like to slide his suit pants down over his arse. He's super fit. Great body."

Shane had put his fingers in his ears.

"Of course, the moment he spoke, it would be all over. That voice, that laugh. There is something slightly insane about it. It's not hot. He'd tell me what he thought, I'd go soft."

Shane had his fingers in his ears and was making la la noises.

Shane's the only person I ever told. Just sometimes, when I look at him, caught off guard quite possibly. You know, that oo! in the pit of your stomach. Shane grimaced.

I tried to broach it with Sam, but the look on his face even at the merest suggestion, was enough to tell me not to proceed. He looked like some one had just taken a crap on his hand, at the suggestion that Tony Abbott might be sexy.

I Think I Know What I Want, No Big Ears!

Sam is funny. "I can't even look at Mr Big Ears, he hurts my eyes. So, I could never vote for him."

"Don't you want to see him in his speedos, just one more time?" I flickered my tongue like a snake.

(I have a dirty little secret about Tony Abbott, but Shane has made me swear never to speak it out loud again)

"How can you be worried about one more time in those things? If he wins, I have to deal with his ears for 4 years. I will go crazy 😧"

So, I emailed him a picture of Big ears in his speedos

"Euw, that pic so distracting. That needs to come with a health warning! I have to think of Daniel Craig, James bond, in his, sexy! when I look at big ear's photo."

So, I emailed him a photo of Daniel Craig grabbing his crotch.

"Love it!! Sexy! You see, good ears and a body to die for 😀"

He likes to play games. He likes to play dress ups the best. Anything in the dress up box is okay with him.

After he kisses him, they went all the way without uttering a word. They did everything. They sealed the deal, so to speak

Will You Turn Into a Little Shit Every Time I Upset You?

Oh, you know, they are great while they are great, still fresh enough to do as they are told, but when they turn, grrrr!

Sam and I had a fight, over a stupid thing really. I said no to meeting him after work, after his haircut, when he has waited for me on various occasions, for varying length of time. I said I'd meet him at my place, not that I wouldn't meet him at all. It's an easy walk, it's just that we normally do it together.
I apologise not ten minutes later when he voiced his displeasure. Said I was sorry and that I would meet him. But no, that wasn't good enough, the injury was committed, it would take a long time to forget. It gives him a greater insight into the sort of man that I really am. No, too late.

He just hung onto it for twenty four hours, until I asked him if he was going to turn into a little shit every time I upset him, because I probably would lots of times if he and I are heading any where. That seemed to bump him out of his anger.

Bristol 401/403

Nice Counter Move, He’s Given This Some Thought

Sam and I have lunch at the Korean restaurant in Lonsdale Street. It's a favourite. It has tacky pop star, beauty model, game show type videos playing continuously on the large screen on the wall and Laminex tables, but the food is great.

“Spicy Pork, please,” I ask.

Sam looks at me as if to say what else would you have? I always have spicy pork. I can be a little bit, shall we say, "settled" in my culinary choices, some may say unadventurous, but, you know, when it ain't broke...

He rolls his eyes after he’d asks me to get cutlery, as he gets the water, when the only thing I came back with is chop sticks. Well, it’s an Asian restaurant, I think. You know, when in Rome... Seoul. Apparently, even they use spoons and serviettes. (icon with a wink) He has the cutest way of rolling his eyes, some may say that I is deliberately remiss in my accoutrement collection just to see that. (grin) Oh, I don’t know, there is something gratifying about being fussed over, even if it is as a result of an, apparently, mindless omission.

While we were eating, Mr Temperance League himself makes the startling admission of, actually, feeling the effect of the joint I personally fed him at dinner Sunday night at D’s. He tells me deadpan with a slight, coy smile just curling into the corner of his mouth. The usual story of not feeling anything followed with finger waggling, apparently, gave way to wanting to suggest that we headed upstairs for a moment, or two.

“Really?” I say. (Big smile) “So it does get in, huh?”

He smiles coyly, again, as though he’s said too much, let the genie out of the bottle that he knows he won’t have a hope of returning to its dark chamber. He knows that much with this line of conversation.

“So, you’ve changed your tune,” I add confidently, as we leave the restaurant. “So, I’m not going to get dumped any time soon for the gunger I might consume.”

"So you think that means it's okay?"

"Sure do, sunshine." I pull my cheekiest look. "Pretty damn confident."

He smiles.

“Welcome to the dark side, babe.”

He looks mock exasperated, but I catch the twinkle in his eye.

“And to think I felt guilty about influencing you to smoke it.”

“You know the problem I have with it is the health issue... you know, the smoking thing.”

“Oh, you’re lungs will still be shell pink...”

"But where will it lead to..."

"Spoken like the words were lifted directly from the Liberal Party fear pamphlet."

“And the cost... all that money.”

I raise my hands in the air. “Just occasionally.”

“It’s been every week for you.”

“Better than every day.”

He rolls his eyes again, but is still smiling. I get a little twinge at the utter cuteness of the facial movement and I can tell by the look on his face looking at me that he knows he has now lost on this issue. I put my arm around him in a self congratulatory show of affection to him, the looser. He smiles at me lovingly in recognition of his defeat.

We turn into Queen Street and are heading towards Bourke. I look at the time.

“Come on.” I take his hand.

“Where are we going?”

“You have to ask?”

“Oh,” he says.

We push through the revolving door. The foyer is busy with people, I do hope none are going to get in the way.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I say, gazing at its unblemished green paintwork.

“It’s old.”

“No, it’s beautiful.”

Smile. “It’s old.”

“Just say it’s beautiful and we can leave.”

Eye twinkle. “It’s old.”

“You had better come around to the back and look then.”

He smiles and looks at me with his handsome face. “To see her fine lines.“

“The best vantage point to view her from... just like you.”

He smiles his warm smile, kind of looks at me through the tops of his eyes.

“You have to admit she’s beautiful.”

He tilts his head. “It’s old.”

“You’d better come around to the front then.”

“To pay our respect.”

I take him by the arm.

“To pay our respect, now you understand?” 

He smiles again.

I gesture with my hand, like a game show hostess, towards the front of the car, as we stand in front of it. I try to imagine that stylish front whirring along a sunny country road sparkling in the 1950’s sunlight, the sweet hum of the 6 cyl engine, the fine burble of the exhaust note as the trees waves at its passing, as the fallen leaves scatter across the bitumen behind it.

He smiles, as he stares straight ahead.

“Say she’s beautiful.”

“She’s old.”

I take him by the arm and guide him back towards Bourke Street.

“You have to admit it is beautiful. How can you not?”

“It’s...” the revolving door seals him into his compartment and spins him towards the street and I don’t hear the end of his sentence.

He is waiting on the foot path for me, I turn towards the office.

“Now, you have to come with me,” he says.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

We walk to the edge of the RACV building and turn down the lane way next door. 

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

We walk down the gentle incline to Little Collins Street, and turn right.

“Just along here,” he says.

“Where?”

“Along here.”

We come to a stop in front of the French bakery, with exquisite delights in the window. Beautiful cakes. Gorgeous petite fours. Dazzling pastries.

“Now, look at these,” he says. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

I’m impressed. Nice counter move, he’s given this some thought. I look at him, he smiles. I think I like him even a little bit more.

Miracle, smiracle!