Given a Big Serve

David has an older divorced sister, C, who has some divorced guy who comes over and gives it to her when she's feeling the itch. Apparently, he's good at it. So much so that afterwards, she feels so good, so pepped up, so full of the verve for living she gets into that kitchen and she cooks up a storm like a mad thing. And she sends it over to us. Home made Greek cooking, none of us are going to turn it down. Dolmades, moussaka, lamb, I'm sure you get the picture. (There's only one thing I like more than Greek boys...)

Now, we're trying to eat healthily. Sensible diet. No deserts, as Mark W would say. Shane and I, that is. David eats anything and everything.

David arrives home with a giant platter, Saturday night, held out with both hands.

"It must have been a marathon," says David. He whips the tinfoil off...

"Carnage!" I say. "Jasus Xist!"

"Lucky to walk again," says David.

"Fuck me!" says Shane. "Can I have this guys number?"

We stare down at a platter covered in rocky road slice, cheesecake and poppy seed cake. Food for fucking days!

OMG! We've been eating it ever since.

I'm heading to the toilet nightly to practice my Bulimia skills. Three fingers right down and there's no gagging.

 

Green [01]

Ivy, moss, snot

rancid meat.

Parsley, lime, peppermint

mowed grass.

Inebriated. Jealous. Mould.

Slimy feet.

Bottle. Glass. Sea.

Poisoned world.

Country side. Maple. Deciduous.

Verdant void.

Inexperience.

Gone.

Austin Atlantic

Yeah, Great

We danced at The Market until 3am, when I didn't want to dance any more. Kane didn't want to leave, some of his friends were there dancing with us, so I left on my own.

Yeah, great, I thought, as I stood in Commercial Road in a wet t-shirt with my hand in the air on my own. That's, actually, not my idea of a night out with a guy I like. Maybe, I'll go see the movie, He's just not that into you, today, 'cause that's how it made me feel. Childish, I guess, but that's how I felt in the back of the taxi as it raced up Hoddle Street in the cool night air.

I was thankful I had one of those maniac taxi drivers who dodged and weaved through the traffic and got me home in record time.

Borgward Isabella

I'd Be Ending It

I’m feeling that depression that I felt last time I quit smoking pot. I asked my doctor about it back then and he said it would pass. And it did, a week or so.

It just makes me feel like life is worthless and there’s not really any point continuing. Nothing is important, every thing is a drag. It’s an awful feeling really. Luckily, it will pass, like it did last time, actually, this time last year. But how do the people cope who suffer from this continually? I’d be ending it, I can tell you, life isn't that special to always be feeling like this. It’s quite horrible. Debilitating. I can understand depressives leaping off bridges.

Now, I'm going for a bike ride to try and get whatever poison out of my system. Make my lungs gasp for breath, make my breathing rasp in my throat. It's the only way to feel normal again.

Then I'm off to Milk with Kane. Then dinner.

They don't make 'em like this any more

Bristol 402

It's amazing what the thought of a D series Citroen, a few posts ago, has lead to. It sent me off on an all consuming car craze, yesterday. But, I am a car nut, always have been since I was a little boy, so, maybe, it is to be expected. Don't know why, I was born with the car gene and the gay gene and, I guess, the writing gene. I'll see how many other beautiful cars I can come up with before I get tired of it and head back to photos of semi naked men. Sometimes, I just have to do photos that just aren't so gay, if you know what I mean.

Bristol 402

Some where I've got some cartoon sketches of me that were done by a very talented artist I used to work with. I'll see if I can dig them out and scan them too.
Now, where would I have put them?
And for anybody who is the slightest bit interested, the blue convertible is a very rare Bristol 402.
Below, is a red Bristol 401 sedan. In my opinion probably the most beautiful rear design on any car ever. Preferably, minus the GB initials for purity of design, but I couldn't find a rear photo without them.

Below that is a black Corvette Stingray.

Return to Work... I Don't Think So

 I got home from my mums to a message on my answering machine from HR @ work wanting to know when my return date was? My head spun toward the machine like Linda Blair. I'm sure my eyes would have glowed green at that moment, if you'd been quick enough to catch them in that millisecond. Maybe, a growl like a wolf. They thought I was returning on March 2nd. Monday? This coming Monday? Jasus fuck! Body shiver. Apparently, Beck is sick with some allergic reaction to penicillin, or something. Spots all over her body. They thought I'd be back to cover for her. Green vomit across the kitchen walls... diarrhoea dribbling down the backs of my legs! Shuddering!

"Call me back when you have a moment," said our HR manager.

I told them it was April 1st, when I was supposed to be returning, not the beginning of March.

And then I sucked in breath and bit the bullet and ignored all of my procrastination regarding the safety of a wage and said that I now wanted to take 12 months off, which would mean I wouldn't return until midway through August.

"Oh... okay," said the HR chick. "You know we want you to come back, don't you? You know we don't want to lose you."

Yeah, yeah, tell it to the judge, I thought.

I told them I was looking after my mother, whose mental state is deteriorating, which it is. And which I am - I spend every second day with her. I guess, I don't, actually, talk about her that much. My beautiful, intelligent, gorgeous mother. She is going down, it is terribly sad. Heart breaking. Awful. She's not my mother any more, some strange, demented old woman has taken her place. And then, of course, she is my mother. Soon, I'll be going to see her every day and not long after that, I guess, I'll be moving in with her. It's inevitable. She's not going into a home, I'm going to make sure of that.

She's had a great life, travelled the world, lived, loved, had children in her 40's, been happily married, had a privileged and happy life. She's had it all.

But the up side is, no work until mid August.

May be I should just throw caution to the fucking wind and resign and be done with it? Then I'd have to take this writing gig seriously, hey?

Late in the Night, Like a Dirty Secret

I had a joint, so kill me. 5 days of not smoking and I had a joint like a dirty little secret after David and Shane had gone to bed. Bad Christian!

A bottle of red didn't cut it.

I'm not admitting to anything, you understand.

Bristol 401

Back in the Group

Okay, apparently the writer's group is pretty relaxed in its organisation. And since I copped a caning from all concerned re declining of the invite, I've now said yes.

The meeting is Sunday week.

Count me in, I wrote nervously.

I have one shitty short story to take. What with meth come down last week and nicotine withdrawal this week, I haven't written a word for 10 days.

But, I guess, I only need one piece, hey?

They welcomed me back. Yay! They all hoped I'd change my mind. I'm shitting myself. Fuck! I've got nothing good to take. But, I guess, that's the point of a writer's group, hey?

Now, I'm going to ride my bike over to my mums, exercise is one of the best cures for the ciggie screams.

Chevrolet Corvette

How Does It Feel

I'm half way through a bottle of red wine, I figure that's all that's left for me now. My last addiction, which was never really an addiction at all. Booze is a poor man's drug.

Shane bought down a bottle of Valium, saying they mix well with red wine. You won't care about anything. Smoking. Nothing. Take two.

I'm waiting for the apathy to kick in, as G arrives.

I tried to plug the cord for my lap-top into my A drive. Clearly something is working.

You've made a life time of trying to plug your end into the wrong hole, says G.

Unless it smells like shit when it comes out, you are just not doing it right, I say.

G grimaces.

Change the world!

Change it to what, though?

G shrugs.

An egalitarian society where everyone is treated well, I ask?

No, nothing that fucking radical, says G.

I'd make all the straight boys crave man on man sex...

In your dreams, says G.

You should see what you do in my dreams.

G smiles nervously.

Would you accept Jesus into your heart, for this new world?

Jesus is just my type, I say, dark, swarthy. I'd accept him into my bed. Suck his cock! Divine spoof.

Jesus is the saviour.

I'm the devil with the pitch fork and the horns, I say. It's a much cooler part.

G drinks from another bottle of wine and scoffs 2 v's, but his pants still don't come off. (you know what straight boys are like on alcohol)

Do you want to see me naked? G slurs.

No, that would be like perving on my brother, I say.

We finish our bottles of wine and wrap ourselves in blankets and sing, He ain't heavy...

We think we sound grand.

The phone rings and there is just heavy breathing on the other end.

Say something obscene, says G.

Fuck off cunt, I slur and G laughs. That's obscene?

Your mother sucks on dead bitch dog's cunts in hell, yells G, after he snatches the phone from my hand. Pulling the dried, deteriorating vaginal skin from her lips in sheets. He makes slurping noises with his mouth.

I quietly take the remaining red wine away from him

G and I both watch, "I'm not there" and neither of us get it.

You do look like Christian Bale, though, Christian, says G.

Get fucked!

But you do!

I've heard it all before, I hear myself slur, as my head spins on the wine. I can't see it.

The only drug left to me, I say. And it's the worst one of all.

That's cause your a pig.

Am not, I say.

Piggy, piggy, piggy, piggy, piggy, piggy, piggy, says G. (which sounds strange coming from a straight boy's mouth)

And a D series Citroen comes on the screen, Heath Ledger drives away in it, and G loses me completely.

The most beautiful car ever designed, I say.

You're the most beautiful guy ever born, slurs G.

No more wine for you, I say.

yOU GOT ANOTHER BOTTLE AND i'LL DO ANY THING...

Promises, promises, I say.

Suck me off...

I'm calling your girlfriend, I say.

Kate Blanchett sucks on a cigarette and I hate her guts... big time! I want her killed!

You got it bad, says G

Have not.

I saw you inhale when she did.

Get fucked, I say. I chug on my red wine, totally unconvinced.

G puts his arm around me.

I lay my head against his chest.

Bob Dylan sings, How does it feel.

Neither of us say anything.

What do you think Jesus' bum crack would smell like? I ask.

Shit, says G.

What does Valentina's cunt taste like, I ask?

Piss, says G.

I take another Valium, washed down with more red wine.

The Dreaded Day 3 - Shake, Rattle and Roll

Am I hungry, or just withdrawing? Do I have the shakes, or am I just detoxing? Is my central nervous system packing it in, or is it just the addiction?

Every cell in my body is quivering! Like low level panic. Like electricity being leaked into my system. Zzz! Zzz! zZZ!

Harder to give up than heroin? Personally, I found heroin much easier to quit than tobacco.

Ha, Ha.

Kane called, he's coming over to give me a massage, smooth me out, tide me over, relieve the tension. He's been finishing and submitting his thesis. Oh? I see? Well, that's a pretty damn good excuse, I thought. Hmm?

I've got 4 short stories written, I'd better get on and write some more. But, who can work with these shakes and this foggy head? I just feel like watching movies.

a few hours later...

I pulled my tax together for the last 2 years, that must count for something?

An organic cherry muffin cheers me up... not unlike that buzz-cut wog boy in the lime green t-shirt with the nice smile could have...

I'm giving up now and I'm going to watch "I'm not there."

I haven't seen too many Heath Ledger or Cate Blanchett films to decide if either of them are any good. The few Heath Ledger films I've seen have left me thinking that he is way overrated. The Dark Night, it seemed to me that Heath was on some trip of his very own, kind of separate to the rest of the cast. Brokeback Mountain, for most of the film Heath was unintelligible. Call me old fashioned, but I like to be able to understand what my movie characters are saying. Candy was okay. I switched A Knights Tale off before it was finished. Awful.

I've seen Cate in The Talented Mr Ripley and Lord of the Rings, but I can't remember seeing her in any thing else.

 

Screaming Silently into the Void

I feel like crap, on the edge, staring down from the precipice, want to scream, yell, lay very still. Burn! Kick my arms and legs. Explode.

Every cell in my body is humming. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! But I've had no cigs, no joints, no evil tobacco and now I'm crawling into my cave. Pull the doona over my head and stop breathing! Scream silently into the void!

I bought mangos to eat, but instead drank 3 glasses of red wine. Hick! Now I'm light-headed on top of it all.

I'm ready for day 3. Really day 2 because last night I, well, you know... Bring it on!

I should go walking, riding, running, something?