Harold the banana sat on the pillar high above the town square of Atlantis, and sighed. Well, he would have sighed if he could have. But he was a banana. And bananas are unable to evoke such a desolate sound. Which is unfortunate, because if there was ever a time to sigh, it was now.
Harold had known his life would be short and dramatic from the first moment he could remember. Being the only banana living in Atlantis, it was bound to be an interesting and turbulent affair. And that was before all the flooding started
Harold felt pretty bad about this. As he should to be honest. It was his fault. But at the same time, who in their right mind would employ a banana as guard to the flood gates? A mad man, that’s who,. and this mad man went by the name of Jeremy.
While Harold had done the best he could do, he was woefully under qualified for this job, having no opposable thumbs, no arms attached to these non existent thumbs and no mouth to shout a warning of ‘Oh God, There’s Blue stuff coming through’ (Atlantis had never correctly named water…one of the many reason Gigomond, lord of this world decided it was time to end the crazy façade).
All in all, it had bene pretty bad day for Harold. He had to sit there, watch his home wash away, and then go brown and manky at the bottom of the ocean.
It’d been a shitter
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
my rules
Always Do Something Interesting
The 2 years before coming out to Melbourne were…well, terrible. I had grown very boring, depressed, and unmotivated. When I looked at why, it was obvious. I sat around doing the same things again and again. I’d watch TV shows and Movies I’d seen before. I’d read books for a second, third, or tenth time. And then I’d have the gall to complain that nothing good was out there. So I made it a rule. Rather than sitting back to an old Family Guy episode, or Harry potter. I’d get something new. Always do something more interesting than something you’ve done before.
Never Pointlessly Complain
This was made after being so annoyed by English and Irish travellers. All they do is complain. It’s too hot, it’s not hot enough for Australia, they don’t have money, the beach is too far away. I hate that level of complaints. I’ll take a rant happily at any time. But don’t just complain for the sake of complaining. And I noticed I did it. When I felt awkward, like the conversation was slow, bad silences, I’d complain about something to fill the gap. And what a terrible way to be.
There is always something to do
the worst words in the English language are ‘There’s Nothing to Do’. Utter nonsense. There is ALWAYS something to do. I hate when other people say it, I hate it more when I say it. I have hundreds of things I could do at any given time. I just choose not to.
This is happening Now
Kind of a way of saying ‘Appreciate the moment’. This is the only time this moment will ever happen. Are you enjoying it? If not, why not? Don’t wait for tomorrow, or keep thinking about the past. This is Happening Now.
Honestly Promise, Honestly Deny
Had a really annoying situation with an Irish Girl who said she’d look into something for me. And never did. I called her, texted her, and went to her place to check on it, and she just ignored the calls, and ‘Oh, I couldn’t get round to it’. It was obvious she never intended on doing it, but it sounded nice to offer. And we all do this. How often have you said you’d come to a party, or a gathering, with no intension of going? You say yes, then ‘something happens in the last moment’, or you ‘forget to check your phone’. And when people do this to us, it infuriates us. Yet we do it to others. So don’t. It’s nicer to say ‘Sorry, but no’.
Open Your Eyes
Again, appreciate the moment, but in a different way. Right now, open your eyes. Look around at wherever you are. Really look. It’s quite wonderful isn’t it. It’s best to do this outside. Whenever you’re stressed and annoyed by something, just Open your yes, look around, and relax. It’s pretty great out there.
Energy is Inspiration, inspiration is Energy
You ever noticed how the plans you make when in bed are a lot easier and slower than the one’s you make in the shower? I realised this, and extended it. I noticed that when I’m walking around, I have more ideas than when I’m sitting (pacing is a big part of writing). And When I have ideas for stories and characters, or just general thoughts, I have more energy than when I’m thinking about boring things. So it became obvious. If I woke up feeling low. Get out of bed immediately. Go for a walk. The more energy you have, the more energy you’ll get
If you say it, Be it
This one has become tricky, and was one of my big reasons for leaving Mildura. I’m a pretty opinionated person. As you may have realised already. I have my thoughts and ideas, and I will say them out loud. But, in Mildura, in that situation, I found it very difficult to stick with my principles. On one of my jobs, digging holes to put wires down, I worked with a lot of tradies. Tradies talk about girls, about coloured people, and why they are both stupid in various ways. I hate racism. It’s stupid, it makes no sense, and I want to argue with anyone who is a racist, to attempt to stop their idiotic thought process. But I couldn’t. Not there. I wanted to keep my job, to make friends, to not cause a fuss. So I let it slide. I listened and smiled along while this freakin’ morons went on and on about scoring with fat girls because no one else would sleep with them, and about how the blacks were lazy, and ugly, and idiots. I hated myself, because I couldn’t stand up for what I believed in. And I should. If I’m going to claim I’m for things, or against things, I should stand up for it.
The 2 years before coming out to Melbourne were…well, terrible. I had grown very boring, depressed, and unmotivated. When I looked at why, it was obvious. I sat around doing the same things again and again. I’d watch TV shows and Movies I’d seen before. I’d read books for a second, third, or tenth time. And then I’d have the gall to complain that nothing good was out there. So I made it a rule. Rather than sitting back to an old Family Guy episode, or Harry potter. I’d get something new. Always do something more interesting than something you’ve done before.
Never Pointlessly Complain
This was made after being so annoyed by English and Irish travellers. All they do is complain. It’s too hot, it’s not hot enough for Australia, they don’t have money, the beach is too far away. I hate that level of complaints. I’ll take a rant happily at any time. But don’t just complain for the sake of complaining. And I noticed I did it. When I felt awkward, like the conversation was slow, bad silences, I’d complain about something to fill the gap. And what a terrible way to be.
There is always something to do
the worst words in the English language are ‘There’s Nothing to Do’. Utter nonsense. There is ALWAYS something to do. I hate when other people say it, I hate it more when I say it. I have hundreds of things I could do at any given time. I just choose not to.
This is happening Now
Kind of a way of saying ‘Appreciate the moment’. This is the only time this moment will ever happen. Are you enjoying it? If not, why not? Don’t wait for tomorrow, or keep thinking about the past. This is Happening Now.
Honestly Promise, Honestly Deny
Had a really annoying situation with an Irish Girl who said she’d look into something for me. And never did. I called her, texted her, and went to her place to check on it, and she just ignored the calls, and ‘Oh, I couldn’t get round to it’. It was obvious she never intended on doing it, but it sounded nice to offer. And we all do this. How often have you said you’d come to a party, or a gathering, with no intension of going? You say yes, then ‘something happens in the last moment’, or you ‘forget to check your phone’. And when people do this to us, it infuriates us. Yet we do it to others. So don’t. It’s nicer to say ‘Sorry, but no’.
Open Your Eyes
Again, appreciate the moment, but in a different way. Right now, open your eyes. Look around at wherever you are. Really look. It’s quite wonderful isn’t it. It’s best to do this outside. Whenever you’re stressed and annoyed by something, just Open your yes, look around, and relax. It’s pretty great out there.
Energy is Inspiration, inspiration is Energy
You ever noticed how the plans you make when in bed are a lot easier and slower than the one’s you make in the shower? I realised this, and extended it. I noticed that when I’m walking around, I have more ideas than when I’m sitting (pacing is a big part of writing). And When I have ideas for stories and characters, or just general thoughts, I have more energy than when I’m thinking about boring things. So it became obvious. If I woke up feeling low. Get out of bed immediately. Go for a walk. The more energy you have, the more energy you’ll get
If you say it, Be it
This one has become tricky, and was one of my big reasons for leaving Mildura. I’m a pretty opinionated person. As you may have realised already. I have my thoughts and ideas, and I will say them out loud. But, in Mildura, in that situation, I found it very difficult to stick with my principles. On one of my jobs, digging holes to put wires down, I worked with a lot of tradies. Tradies talk about girls, about coloured people, and why they are both stupid in various ways. I hate racism. It’s stupid, it makes no sense, and I want to argue with anyone who is a racist, to attempt to stop their idiotic thought process. But I couldn’t. Not there. I wanted to keep my job, to make friends, to not cause a fuss. So I let it slide. I listened and smiled along while this freakin’ morons went on and on about scoring with fat girls because no one else would sleep with them, and about how the blacks were lazy, and ugly, and idiots. I hated myself, because I couldn’t stand up for what I believed in. And I should. If I’m going to claim I’m for things, or against things, I should stand up for it.
mumble
i find myself sitting bored at my computer. i'm unemployed. if i wasn't, i wouldn't do anything anyway. i go through post secret to see what people have said, hoping to find some amusement/motivation/care. but i don't. not in this mood. maybe i'll watch another dexter and hope to be entertained. this is why i smoke. cause i'm lazy. because on or off, i feel this thought slipping through. don't do anything. there's nothing to do.
but there is...there always is
but there is...there always is
Sunday, March 7, 2010
surrealist erotic fiction
while at my last job I had much free time, and during some of that free time I started writing surrealist erotic fiction to my girlfriend. Here is one of the last one's (in a moment of panic I might have lost the original, but I'll find it and post it later)
Reginald lay back on the crumpled haystack and sighed the long beautiful sigh of post coital joy. It had been a magnificent ejaculation, even if he did say so himself. He gave a brief look at Holly, who seemed to have also enjoyed the experience, for she was staring at the barn ceiling with the vague look you get when you seem to have forgotten how to use your legs.
‘Wow’ she said between the heavy breathes, to confirm Reginalds suspicions that her knees were certainly a quiver. ‘Wow’ she repeated ‘Thanks’ he smiled back without looking at her, smiling up at the rivets and internally giving a high five to his quite unbelievable penis.
He remembered how, as a child, he was mocked in the locker rooms of his local swimming pool. ‘Oooh, it’s all bumpy’ cringed the girls ‘It looks like an old sausage with warts’ giggled the boys It was amazing how ashamed he once felt. But it wasn’t until he was thrust into the obscure damp world of puberty, that the true mastery of his trouser package proved its true wonder.
He was watching his favourite afternoon show in his favourite chair with his favourite banana, peanut butter and leek sandwiches.
Suddenly upon the TV he saw a magnificent creature. Her golden hair flowed onto her blue dungarees like a curly waterfall of lemon jelly.
He felt something in his Batman underwear he had never felt before. A Longing A desire A Hardening Looking around nervously he considered calling for his mother, but he knew she was busy with the Shrimp. His father was at work, and his sister was never of any help unless it involved calling him obscure names. He decided it was best to investigate this new predicament, and pulled down his trousers. His penis, once lumpy and looking like an elongated mouldy potato was suddenly transformed. It now resembled a zombie hand, plunged out of the earth, ready to reek it’s brain ravaged vengeance on the world. The young Reginald stood awed at the change that had occurred in his nether regions. And wondered what else his body could show him. He dared to touch the newly discovered phalletic wonder, and investigate the height depth and girths of this beautiful monstrosity.
To his astonishment his man sausage was no longer the spongy fleshy floppy appendage his hand was used to holding. It was somehow defying gravity and hanging in mid air, like an autumnal branch, devoid of leaves.
He held it is his hands and a sensation like never before rippled through his whole body It was as if his testicles had been given a marshmallow to toast. A new Toy car to play with A new ant to mutilate under a magnifying glass It felt fantastic. It was as if his penis had been given a puppy, and then discovered after hours of playing and getting bored with the puppy and now hungry, it was in fact made of chocolate.
He was bewildered by these new thoughts rushing through his head like salmon through a bear infested river. Suddenly Linda, the pigtailed girl in his mathematics class was a siren of magnificent beauty.
Olivia, the bakery assistant was no longer simply the hands that held the tongs that held is jam doughnuts. And had somehow transformed into a vixen of heaving bosoms and winks.
All thanks to one tug of his bulging rod of wonder. To his absolute astonishment his fleshy truncheon of desire was still moving, growing of its own accord. With each pull and grip upon his gracious shaft, it changed, manoeuvring, like an obscure blow up mattress with a hearty blower with their mouth around the nozzle.
More images flooded his mind. His best friend Jimmy’s sister Sophia and the way she walked with a wiggle and a shake The weather girls his father always grunted about while drinking beer His teacher Miss Wanderslice and the way she collected crumbled paper from the floor Reginald opened his eyes and looked down at the full brilliance of his manhood. It was as long as the 9 inch mark on his ruler, and to his utter disbelief, it was an exact replica of Nelsons Column. He delicately caressed every bump and crevice of the statuesque appendage and felt his knee’s considering their usual stance of rigidness.
Suddenly he felt a pleasurable cramp in his sweaty, bald personal fun bag and without even thinking his eyes rolled back, he bit his lip, and before he could stop it, Nelson Head exploded in a shower of sticky white wonder all over his mothers newly bought rug.
The next day he ran to school so excited. Eager to learn if his friends had discovered their own personal trouser monuments.
As the bell rang for their first break, he quickly rounded up as many people as possible to inform and show them of the testicular miracle his underwear hid.
In a small circle behind the bike sheds he dropped his school shorts and fondled the flesh package with thoughts of his new favourite soap opera star.
The boys looked on in petrified admiration as the bumby pink tube slowly became a towering pole of love. The girls felt their hymens quiver and tense. And just as Reginald was about to complete the moment, Mrs Russlemouth, the school Librarian entered the circle, to see his Column throb with pubesant delight to an adoring crowd.
‘REGINALD BARKLEY MASSACUSES!” she shrieked in that voice that only old Librarians are capable of The throng of young admirers scattered like rice dropped onto the kitchen floor in a drunken moment of munchies, and all that was left was a sweating young Reginald, shorts around his ankles, and a throbbing flesh pole stick out from his beneath his pale blue uniform shirt.
He gulped his fear down as Mrs Russelmouth stood open mouthed at the sight in front of her. She had only read about Penis’s in books. Yet none of the respected medical journals had ever noted upon the contusions and shapeliness of this…majestic creature.
Her mind raced with thoughts and desires. She had not been so excited since she first discovered the vibrate feature on her mobile phone (she enjoyed both silence and vibration)
‘Pull up your shorts and come with me young man!’ she sternly shouted. Embarrassed and quickly blushing he followed her instructions and trailed behind her to the intrigued and giggling looks of the schoolyard throng.
Behind her he scampered and considered his fate. Would he be expelled? Would he be forced to tell the evil Headmaster Mr Serganhoose what he had done? Would it be chopped off? He considered a life without his newly discovered ability. That was not a life he wished to live. Should he make a break for it? Should he dramatically leap out of the open window they were about to pass, head for the woods and start a new life among the squirrels and badgers?
Would they too exclude him for his strangely shaped manhood? Do forest creatures also have strange dongs? While in the midst of considerations upon the penetic qualities of woodland animals, he didn’t even notice that they walked straight past the Headmasters office, down the corridor, up the stairs, and all the way to the Library.
Ms Russellmouth knew the Library well, having worked there for most of her life. She knew that for the next 2 hours, no student would enter. No teacher would come through. No prying eyes would be upon them.
But just to be safe she locked the door. Reginald stood there petrified and confused at what was happening. Ms Russellmouth slowly turned around to face him, intrigue in her eyes, and while Reginald would have no concept of this for many years, her vagina was moistening like cheese left out on the counter on a hot day
‘Reginald…what were you doing out there for the other children?’ she asked with her normal crisp pronunciation Reginald looked around nervously and could only produce an ‘Erm’ ‘Come on now Reginald, tell me’ ‘I…I’ ‘You had your penis out, didn’t you’ her eyes burrowed into him like a mole on speed ‘Erm…yes’ he felt like a frog on a hot plate Like an alien on an autopsy table Like the final Brussels sprout in a roast ‘Show me’ Reginald was a simple boy who had never been told much in the way of sexual education. So he done as he was told and whipped it out
The walk and fear had returned his member back into the squidgy squashy Quasimodo of an appendage it had been for so many years.
Ms Russellmouth looked at it with vigour ‘Play with yourself’ she told him over her glasses
Reginald lay back on the crumpled haystack and sighed the long beautiful sigh of post coital joy. It had been a magnificent ejaculation, even if he did say so himself. He gave a brief look at Holly, who seemed to have also enjoyed the experience, for she was staring at the barn ceiling with the vague look you get when you seem to have forgotten how to use your legs.
‘Wow’ she said between the heavy breathes, to confirm Reginalds suspicions that her knees were certainly a quiver. ‘Wow’ she repeated ‘Thanks’ he smiled back without looking at her, smiling up at the rivets and internally giving a high five to his quite unbelievable penis.
He remembered how, as a child, he was mocked in the locker rooms of his local swimming pool. ‘Oooh, it’s all bumpy’ cringed the girls ‘It looks like an old sausage with warts’ giggled the boys It was amazing how ashamed he once felt. But it wasn’t until he was thrust into the obscure damp world of puberty, that the true mastery of his trouser package proved its true wonder.
He was watching his favourite afternoon show in his favourite chair with his favourite banana, peanut butter and leek sandwiches.
Suddenly upon the TV he saw a magnificent creature. Her golden hair flowed onto her blue dungarees like a curly waterfall of lemon jelly.
He felt something in his Batman underwear he had never felt before. A Longing A desire A Hardening Looking around nervously he considered calling for his mother, but he knew she was busy with the Shrimp. His father was at work, and his sister was never of any help unless it involved calling him obscure names. He decided it was best to investigate this new predicament, and pulled down his trousers. His penis, once lumpy and looking like an elongated mouldy potato was suddenly transformed. It now resembled a zombie hand, plunged out of the earth, ready to reek it’s brain ravaged vengeance on the world. The young Reginald stood awed at the change that had occurred in his nether regions. And wondered what else his body could show him. He dared to touch the newly discovered phalletic wonder, and investigate the height depth and girths of this beautiful monstrosity.
To his astonishment his man sausage was no longer the spongy fleshy floppy appendage his hand was used to holding. It was somehow defying gravity and hanging in mid air, like an autumnal branch, devoid of leaves.
He held it is his hands and a sensation like never before rippled through his whole body It was as if his testicles had been given a marshmallow to toast. A new Toy car to play with A new ant to mutilate under a magnifying glass It felt fantastic. It was as if his penis had been given a puppy, and then discovered after hours of playing and getting bored with the puppy and now hungry, it was in fact made of chocolate.
He was bewildered by these new thoughts rushing through his head like salmon through a bear infested river. Suddenly Linda, the pigtailed girl in his mathematics class was a siren of magnificent beauty.
Olivia, the bakery assistant was no longer simply the hands that held the tongs that held is jam doughnuts. And had somehow transformed into a vixen of heaving bosoms and winks.
All thanks to one tug of his bulging rod of wonder. To his absolute astonishment his fleshy truncheon of desire was still moving, growing of its own accord. With each pull and grip upon his gracious shaft, it changed, manoeuvring, like an obscure blow up mattress with a hearty blower with their mouth around the nozzle.
More images flooded his mind. His best friend Jimmy’s sister Sophia and the way she walked with a wiggle and a shake The weather girls his father always grunted about while drinking beer His teacher Miss Wanderslice and the way she collected crumbled paper from the floor Reginald opened his eyes and looked down at the full brilliance of his manhood. It was as long as the 9 inch mark on his ruler, and to his utter disbelief, it was an exact replica of Nelsons Column. He delicately caressed every bump and crevice of the statuesque appendage and felt his knee’s considering their usual stance of rigidness.
Suddenly he felt a pleasurable cramp in his sweaty, bald personal fun bag and without even thinking his eyes rolled back, he bit his lip, and before he could stop it, Nelson Head exploded in a shower of sticky white wonder all over his mothers newly bought rug.
The next day he ran to school so excited. Eager to learn if his friends had discovered their own personal trouser monuments.
As the bell rang for their first break, he quickly rounded up as many people as possible to inform and show them of the testicular miracle his underwear hid.
In a small circle behind the bike sheds he dropped his school shorts and fondled the flesh package with thoughts of his new favourite soap opera star.
The boys looked on in petrified admiration as the bumby pink tube slowly became a towering pole of love. The girls felt their hymens quiver and tense. And just as Reginald was about to complete the moment, Mrs Russlemouth, the school Librarian entered the circle, to see his Column throb with pubesant delight to an adoring crowd.
‘REGINALD BARKLEY MASSACUSES!” she shrieked in that voice that only old Librarians are capable of The throng of young admirers scattered like rice dropped onto the kitchen floor in a drunken moment of munchies, and all that was left was a sweating young Reginald, shorts around his ankles, and a throbbing flesh pole stick out from his beneath his pale blue uniform shirt.
He gulped his fear down as Mrs Russelmouth stood open mouthed at the sight in front of her. She had only read about Penis’s in books. Yet none of the respected medical journals had ever noted upon the contusions and shapeliness of this…majestic creature.
Her mind raced with thoughts and desires. She had not been so excited since she first discovered the vibrate feature on her mobile phone (she enjoyed both silence and vibration)
‘Pull up your shorts and come with me young man!’ she sternly shouted. Embarrassed and quickly blushing he followed her instructions and trailed behind her to the intrigued and giggling looks of the schoolyard throng.
Behind her he scampered and considered his fate. Would he be expelled? Would he be forced to tell the evil Headmaster Mr Serganhoose what he had done? Would it be chopped off? He considered a life without his newly discovered ability. That was not a life he wished to live. Should he make a break for it? Should he dramatically leap out of the open window they were about to pass, head for the woods and start a new life among the squirrels and badgers?
Would they too exclude him for his strangely shaped manhood? Do forest creatures also have strange dongs? While in the midst of considerations upon the penetic qualities of woodland animals, he didn’t even notice that they walked straight past the Headmasters office, down the corridor, up the stairs, and all the way to the Library.
Ms Russellmouth knew the Library well, having worked there for most of her life. She knew that for the next 2 hours, no student would enter. No teacher would come through. No prying eyes would be upon them.
But just to be safe she locked the door. Reginald stood there petrified and confused at what was happening. Ms Russellmouth slowly turned around to face him, intrigue in her eyes, and while Reginald would have no concept of this for many years, her vagina was moistening like cheese left out on the counter on a hot day
‘Reginald…what were you doing out there for the other children?’ she asked with her normal crisp pronunciation Reginald looked around nervously and could only produce an ‘Erm’ ‘Come on now Reginald, tell me’ ‘I…I’ ‘You had your penis out, didn’t you’ her eyes burrowed into him like a mole on speed ‘Erm…yes’ he felt like a frog on a hot plate Like an alien on an autopsy table Like the final Brussels sprout in a roast ‘Show me’ Reginald was a simple boy who had never been told much in the way of sexual education. So he done as he was told and whipped it out
The walk and fear had returned his member back into the squidgy squashy Quasimodo of an appendage it had been for so many years.
Ms Russellmouth looked at it with vigour ‘Play with yourself’ she told him over her glasses
Friday, March 5, 2010
Question of the Day
Seeing that Jesus is no longer relevant in today's society, who's birth should we now celebrate and exchange gifts in memory of?
the vomit isn't so bad
all you can hear are you own thoughts running around your head
WWWAAAAGGGHHHHH
between lumpy liquid pounding porcelain
HU HU HUUUAAAAGGHHHH
what the fuck do you say to something like this.
Ka- he huuh hu h Huuu...
Do you scream and shout at them, try to get them out of it?
HHHHAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHH
Do you sympathise, pat them on the back and tell them it's all gonna be okay?
hu hu hu hu
Then just lots of silence. He hasn't died has he
Plugh. Ploooop
No. Thank fuck
Do i go in? do I stay outside? Does he come out? What the fuck do I say
Eventually i decided to go in. And Alfonso is sitting cross legged and lurched against the bathroom wall. Vomit dying on the side of his mouth. And the only thing that came to mind was
How you doin' Champ?
He looked up at me and smiled.
Awesome.
Strange thing was he meant it. You could see it in his eyes. He was actually okay. My whole plan was out the window.
Great...so
Don't worry man. I've had an Epiphany
oh here we go. Why can't people have epiphanies without there being slight poo stains coming through their jeans thanks to vomiting?
Sitting here...this is the worst position I've ever been in. Look at me.
He was pretty pathetic
I look like I'm an 80's metal reject covered in the regurgitated remains of two microwaved micro pizza caffeinated vodka and 20 vitamins. I have no job. I have no girlfriend. I have nothing. I'm a waste of fucking space
No...dude...come on...
No...No
He stuck his finger out, it must be important
No. This is who I am. And this isn't good enough. I need to change
Oh Fuck it. This is not what I need right now to be perfectly honest. Alfonso having a break though. Don't you enjoy having those friends who are utterly useless? Makes you feel so much better about your position. And then those bastards go and change things and become one of those arseholes who demands to tell you what you're doing wrong with your life. I'm perfectly happy with my boredom thank you. So this puts me in a position.
Is it wrong to reverse this break though? Put him back in the box?
WWWAAAAGGGHHHHH
between lumpy liquid pounding porcelain
HU HU HUUUAAAAGGHHHH
what the fuck do you say to something like this.
Ka- he huuh hu h Huuu...
Do you scream and shout at them, try to get them out of it?
HHHHAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHH
Do you sympathise, pat them on the back and tell them it's all gonna be okay?
hu hu hu hu
Then just lots of silence. He hasn't died has he
Plugh. Ploooop
No. Thank fuck
Do i go in? do I stay outside? Does he come out? What the fuck do I say
Eventually i decided to go in. And Alfonso is sitting cross legged and lurched against the bathroom wall. Vomit dying on the side of his mouth. And the only thing that came to mind was
How you doin' Champ?
He looked up at me and smiled.
Awesome.
Strange thing was he meant it. You could see it in his eyes. He was actually okay. My whole plan was out the window.
Great...so
Don't worry man. I've had an Epiphany
oh here we go. Why can't people have epiphanies without there being slight poo stains coming through their jeans thanks to vomiting?
Sitting here...this is the worst position I've ever been in. Look at me.
He was pretty pathetic
I look like I'm an 80's metal reject covered in the regurgitated remains of two microwaved micro pizza caffeinated vodka and 20 vitamins. I have no job. I have no girlfriend. I have nothing. I'm a waste of fucking space
No...dude...come on...
No...No
He stuck his finger out, it must be important
No. This is who I am. And this isn't good enough. I need to change
Oh Fuck it. This is not what I need right now to be perfectly honest. Alfonso having a break though. Don't you enjoy having those friends who are utterly useless? Makes you feel so much better about your position. And then those bastards go and change things and become one of those arseholes who demands to tell you what you're doing wrong with your life. I'm perfectly happy with my boredom thank you. So this puts me in a position.
Is it wrong to reverse this break though? Put him back in the box?
Thursday, March 4, 2010
the silence is killing me
That silence is what kills you. That hum of nothing. They say time stands still, but it doesn’t. it stretches. Hearing the movement and noise from the other room. The silences in-between just destroys you. All you can wonder is what you’ll say afterwards. What can you say? What can you do?
Alfonso decided to kill himself at 10.46pm on a Tuesday Night over a loss of a girlfriend. He made the choice to swallow an entire bottle of the medication his flatmate had left in the cabinet. He used some old vodka bespeckled with coffee grounds that remained from the last party they threw. And at 11.06pm he called me to tell me what had happened.
The barely audible slurring voice told me no one loved him. He couldn’t carry on. It was all over. He’d put his phone on private, so I thought it was prank call. And I told my suicidal best friend to leave me alone; I had work the next day.
He started crying and my attention peaked a little more. Jodie’s name was garbled through the receiver. It’s over man…all over….no point…fuck it.
When I arrived he was on the couch in a contorted position usually restricted to magician’s assistants. Droll dribbled from the side of his mouth. The empty vodka bottle sprawled on the floor. I ran to his side in a panic. Wake up, God please Wake Up, Please God Please.
And he did. He came too quickly, and with bleary eyes he recognised me.
You Fucking Idiot
It was all that came to mind, I reached for the phone to call the ambulance, get him some help when I noticed the bottle on the floor. I picked it up
I just can’t take it man, I just can’t take it
Dude…you tried to OD on Vitamins?
His eyes locked into mine and that look ran over them. That look where you thought you’d hit rock bottom. Only to realise you’d done it with your fly open.
Fuck it
Turns out you can have all the effects of an Overdose with a placebo. If you want it enough.
It also turns out that 20 Vitamin D pills make your mouth taste like ass.
So Alfonso was locked in the bathroom dry wrenching the pills into the toilet bowl, while I sat outside trying to work out exactly how you deal with someone too stupid to even attempt to kill himself.
And the silence in between heaves was killing me.
Alfonso decided to kill himself at 10.46pm on a Tuesday Night over a loss of a girlfriend. He made the choice to swallow an entire bottle of the medication his flatmate had left in the cabinet. He used some old vodka bespeckled with coffee grounds that remained from the last party they threw. And at 11.06pm he called me to tell me what had happened.
The barely audible slurring voice told me no one loved him. He couldn’t carry on. It was all over. He’d put his phone on private, so I thought it was prank call. And I told my suicidal best friend to leave me alone; I had work the next day.
He started crying and my attention peaked a little more. Jodie’s name was garbled through the receiver. It’s over man…all over….no point…fuck it.
When I arrived he was on the couch in a contorted position usually restricted to magician’s assistants. Droll dribbled from the side of his mouth. The empty vodka bottle sprawled on the floor. I ran to his side in a panic. Wake up, God please Wake Up, Please God Please.
And he did. He came too quickly, and with bleary eyes he recognised me.
You Fucking Idiot
It was all that came to mind, I reached for the phone to call the ambulance, get him some help when I noticed the bottle on the floor. I picked it up
I just can’t take it man, I just can’t take it
Dude…you tried to OD on Vitamins?
His eyes locked into mine and that look ran over them. That look where you thought you’d hit rock bottom. Only to realise you’d done it with your fly open.
Fuck it
Turns out you can have all the effects of an Overdose with a placebo. If you want it enough.
It also turns out that 20 Vitamin D pills make your mouth taste like ass.
So Alfonso was locked in the bathroom dry wrenching the pills into the toilet bowl, while I sat outside trying to work out exactly how you deal with someone too stupid to even attempt to kill himself.
And the silence in between heaves was killing me.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
a Letter to kings of Leon
Dear Kings of Leon,
How are you? I hope you are well. I felt I needed to write to you, and discuss a few things on my mind. I don’t want to sound horrible, but I needed to get it off my chest.A friend of mine went to the Reading Festival this year, and he told me that you…well, that you weren’t very good. Maybe this was just his opinion, he does like strange things at times (he doesn’t grate his cheese when having a cheese and cucumber sandwich for Christs sake. He slices it!). But this piece of news made me worry.I’ve been a fan of you guys for some time. I was at my friends house party when I first heard you. Milk came on the stereo, and I was a fan instantly (probably helped by my rather attractive friend Mel slowly drunkenly dancing to it). Bought your album the next day, and got any others as soon as I could. I’ve listened to your songs on my various travels, and had smiles many times because of it (the whole Youth and Young Manhood album got me through some tough nights in South Africa, and I had a really great sexual fantasy to Milk some time later in Singapore)But then this last summer came around. The ‘Sex on Fire’ summer. I first listened to the album, and I liked it. Sex on Fire and Use Somebody were good songs, and there were a good few more on the album that I really liked. I thought that given a few more listens, I’d come to love it (your albums always get better the more you listen). But I never got round to listening again, because from that day onwards, I couldn’t go anywhere without those two songs being played.Now, it’s not your fault it became so popular. You obviously wanted some fame, you finally wanted some recognition for your brilliant music, I understand. After years of not releasing the best song on your album (Milk, Fans, Joe’s head…) and going under the radar because of it, you wanted people to stand up and say ‘Hey, those guys with the beards are pretty good’. I get it.But here’s the problem, now, you’ve built yourself up. When you hid away your good stuff, it was only people who actually liked your music who heard them. We bought the albums, listened to them a lot, and learned the LYRICS. Now, thanks to THAT song, a bunch of idiotic normals have got hold of you, and think they are fans because they can scream the YEEEEAAAAH part of Sex on Fire, or the OO OO Oh part of ‘Use Somebody’. Some people think this means you’ve ‘made it’ finally. But a bunch of bleached blonde drunk Irish People screaming to a very simple lyric at a music festival they went to because it’s an excuse to drink beer all weekend and not shower is not making it. Irish people will cheer anything (U2 for example)And this is where my worries come. You’ve shot out albums pretty quickly, and they’ve been great. But if you don’t take your time, to find your genius again, you’re going to be one of those crappy bands that get really famous and sing pop records. Look at Green Day. While they were never actually that good, they had some decent punky records that gave them a good fan base of people who liked that music. Then they went and realised American idiot. Which, again, wasn’t actually that good, but it made a point, and a point that lots of people could relate to. Had some catchy lyrics, some nice sing along sections, and the MTV crowd ate it up (thanks to some clichéd magazines telling them that this was the most important political statement ever).Then the pressure was on. How could they follow up this brilliant album? What could they do? For a while we all wondered, and then we forgot about it. Then we remembered and wondered what they were planning, and then we forgot again and got onto better things. Then they finally released it. And wow…I almost broke my jaw yawning. Rather than try something different, new and clever, going back to what made them have fans in the first place. They released American Idiot all over again, only this time with much less of a point, repeated singalong parts (while not actually doing the math, I am fairly certain Billie Joe repeats the same line at least 50 times in one song) and really terrible rifts.Don’t let this happen to you. You guys have talent. Please God take a breather, drink some moonshine, write some good songs and bring out an album next year that knocks us over again with its simple brilliance. Listen to your own music and tell me, honestly, if Sex on Fire is anywhere close to what you are capable of (if you’re confused and not sure, go and listen to the whole Aha Shake Heartbreak album, and I think the answer shall come)
Yours in Intervention
Marku
How are you? I hope you are well. I felt I needed to write to you, and discuss a few things on my mind. I don’t want to sound horrible, but I needed to get it off my chest.A friend of mine went to the Reading Festival this year, and he told me that you…well, that you weren’t very good. Maybe this was just his opinion, he does like strange things at times (he doesn’t grate his cheese when having a cheese and cucumber sandwich for Christs sake. He slices it!). But this piece of news made me worry.I’ve been a fan of you guys for some time. I was at my friends house party when I first heard you. Milk came on the stereo, and I was a fan instantly (probably helped by my rather attractive friend Mel slowly drunkenly dancing to it). Bought your album the next day, and got any others as soon as I could. I’ve listened to your songs on my various travels, and had smiles many times because of it (the whole Youth and Young Manhood album got me through some tough nights in South Africa, and I had a really great sexual fantasy to Milk some time later in Singapore)But then this last summer came around. The ‘Sex on Fire’ summer. I first listened to the album, and I liked it. Sex on Fire and Use Somebody were good songs, and there were a good few more on the album that I really liked. I thought that given a few more listens, I’d come to love it (your albums always get better the more you listen). But I never got round to listening again, because from that day onwards, I couldn’t go anywhere without those two songs being played.Now, it’s not your fault it became so popular. You obviously wanted some fame, you finally wanted some recognition for your brilliant music, I understand. After years of not releasing the best song on your album (Milk, Fans, Joe’s head…) and going under the radar because of it, you wanted people to stand up and say ‘Hey, those guys with the beards are pretty good’. I get it.But here’s the problem, now, you’ve built yourself up. When you hid away your good stuff, it was only people who actually liked your music who heard them. We bought the albums, listened to them a lot, and learned the LYRICS. Now, thanks to THAT song, a bunch of idiotic normals have got hold of you, and think they are fans because they can scream the YEEEEAAAAH part of Sex on Fire, or the OO OO Oh part of ‘Use Somebody’. Some people think this means you’ve ‘made it’ finally. But a bunch of bleached blonde drunk Irish People screaming to a very simple lyric at a music festival they went to because it’s an excuse to drink beer all weekend and not shower is not making it. Irish people will cheer anything (U2 for example)And this is where my worries come. You’ve shot out albums pretty quickly, and they’ve been great. But if you don’t take your time, to find your genius again, you’re going to be one of those crappy bands that get really famous and sing pop records. Look at Green Day. While they were never actually that good, they had some decent punky records that gave them a good fan base of people who liked that music. Then they went and realised American idiot. Which, again, wasn’t actually that good, but it made a point, and a point that lots of people could relate to. Had some catchy lyrics, some nice sing along sections, and the MTV crowd ate it up (thanks to some clichéd magazines telling them that this was the most important political statement ever).Then the pressure was on. How could they follow up this brilliant album? What could they do? For a while we all wondered, and then we forgot about it. Then we remembered and wondered what they were planning, and then we forgot again and got onto better things. Then they finally released it. And wow…I almost broke my jaw yawning. Rather than try something different, new and clever, going back to what made them have fans in the first place. They released American Idiot all over again, only this time with much less of a point, repeated singalong parts (while not actually doing the math, I am fairly certain Billie Joe repeats the same line at least 50 times in one song) and really terrible rifts.Don’t let this happen to you. You guys have talent. Please God take a breather, drink some moonshine, write some good songs and bring out an album next year that knocks us over again with its simple brilliance. Listen to your own music and tell me, honestly, if Sex on Fire is anywhere close to what you are capable of (if you’re confused and not sure, go and listen to the whole Aha Shake Heartbreak album, and I think the answer shall come)
Yours in Intervention
Marku
more forum forays
Another evening of magic and wonder, one that only an intrigued mind and a city of wonder can give. I arrived from work at the Forum, an excellent looking building on a Melbourne street, and collected the tickets from a haggard looking punker who informed me he was happily looking forward to his cigarette break. I waited outside for my friends and wrote an amusing journal entry about the hilarity and insanity of the night before.Manek and James soon arrived, and we entered in a search for beer.The forum is a beautiful venue. Made up like an outside courtyard, with classic statues lining the walls. A blue ceiling above us pretended to be a night sky, and while we saw right through it’s façade, we appreciated it all the same. We grabbed an overly priced beer and sat in a booth where we regaled each other with various tales of amusing conquest while the resident DJ spun the wheels and evoked feelings of wonder and brilliance with various eclectic tunes from around the world. Kev and Fiona soon joined and we all conversed upon the joy of the impending night.The first band appeared; a straggly bunch of misfits by the name of Barons of Tang. Like a pirate battalion marooned at a folk festival they warbled and shouted away on stage, strummed a double bass, thrashing away at the drums, fiddling away like they were in Georgia and their soul depended on it, and a curly haired well braced huff of a man lurched around the boards raucously pumping away at an accordion. The crowd mingled around, some dancing, some swaying to the hypnotic rhymes, as the band slowly welcomed them in to the wonder of a whimsical evening. Their style was classical and rapscallionesc with a hint of punk (one of their songs was named ‘Even with No Fingers, you can still make a fist’) but never fleeing too far from their singsong shanty style.By the end of their brief sojourn into the surreal the crowd were barking and screaming along, and happily joining in with the sing along anthem, which, to the best of my recollection went ‘la la la’ in a deep baritone.The Barons of tang left the stage with waves and applause and I went back to our booth, happy that my plan to skank had been successful.We briefly talked between ourselves and exited for a cigarette before the lights were once more dimmed, and Paprika Balkanicus entered to forayAs they waved to a cheering crowd, I realised that the 4 gentlemen onstage would not look out of place hunched in a small pub behind a table, awkwardly eyeing, but never talking to, the 40 year old divorcées that only a Wednesday night happy hour can produce. But onstage, behind their various instruments, they were Gods. They beamed their smiles and explained to us that, now, it was time to dance.In a flurry of Balkan magic they got the crowd cheering, clapping, spinning and laughing. To my left was a metrosexual pirate (though I doubted his actual nautical prowess) bopping and ‘hey’ing to the frantic beats. To my right a dreadlocked and corseted vampress was hoeing down with the best of them. And all around, various attractive Melbournites smiled and boogied away.They moseyed decadently through a collection of eastern European countries and styles invoking curious passions of gypsy dreams and exotic nights. The music slowed and accelerated through various lands, showing the wonderful abilities of the band, fast hands on strings, wonderful fingers on accordions and a violinist who could bring even the most fervent of sailors to tears. The wide eyed watchers of this fiendish collaboration couldn’t help but be whisked into wonderful turmoil and beautiful music. The band made sure everyone got involved, shouting for us to clap, stomp, join hands and dance as often as possible. And the assembled clique did do with gusto, do-si-doeing, kosaking, jiving, skanking and partying like refugee’s celebrating their pagan gods and being damn grateful for the opportunity.I did get to hear, what I consider to be, the greatest heckle I have ever heard. The lead singer, or, at least, person who shouted into his microphone the most, asked the crowd what we would prefer to hear Polka, or Rumba.The crowd called their answers into the air resulting in a strange obscure mishmash of language, and the singer shook his head‘See? Democracy doesn’t work’ From the back of the floor came a shriek and then a loud Spanish cry of “Communista!” Simply wonderful
Only when the music ended, the applause had died down and the crowd began to part, did I realise that I had been dancing with strangers, frantically grabbing their hands and swinging them round, slapping their backs and laughing hysterically while arm in arm. Sweat poured down my face and I smiled. I’d had a freaking brilliant time. I continue to simply adore my life. Hungarian Polka on a Thursday night in Melbourne. ¡Viva!
Only when the music ended, the applause had died down and the crowd began to part, did I realise that I had been dancing with strangers, frantically grabbing their hands and swinging them round, slapping their backs and laughing hysterically while arm in arm. Sweat poured down my face and I smiled. I’d had a freaking brilliant time. I continue to simply adore my life. Hungarian Polka on a Thursday night in Melbourne. ¡Viva!
Monday, March 1, 2010
Erindalese
through the magic of emails between myself and the Harbinger, we created a new language to keep ourselves sane (snort).
Dénouement - literal German name for the button on the back left strap of the lederhosen one wears only on January 27th (the feast of Saint Angela Merici).
Tribbicle - the piece of sweat that refuses to drip off no matter how much you sway Swathe - a dance move that can only be performed in very tight trousers.
Chocottle- the chocking sound made when you are caught eating pet food.
Faradiddle - the strong yet fine hair located above the 2nd knuckle on a man's index finger.
Kaas - a fizzy drink burp that tastes strangely more like the competitors drink
Bombardment - that curious sensation you get after your 5th chocolate biscuit when a 6th biscuit seems both inevitable and will possibly taste like strawberry.
Kuroops - small pieces of potato on your plate that have soaked up the gravy and/or sauce turning them a slightly murky colour
Filigree - the bits of clay leftover after a large ewer and basin have been made. NB can be any colour except rose.
Peiwinkle - an box of non descript size used for amusingly shaped almonds
Fuente - a companion to whom one owes a large tin of loose leaf spearmint.
'Cashmanov!' literally- 'Wow, I am surprised that there is a tiger (or any other large feline) under my desk'
Coovee Bataar - the shrill shriek a metrosexual makes when surprised by a marsupial
Shirk - the feeling when one wishes to pretend to be a horse but lacks the confidence to be more than a pony.
Koof Koof - a low warbling sound you make to advise oncoming pedestrians of coquettishly cut grass
Yashmak - a type of butter only found in a very remote mountain range 1 month in every 7 years that tastes curiously like licking the underside of an indoor tap.
Cubbie Ruze- the wavy imprint on the side of your face after a night spent sleeping on a cow.
Ramen - the feeling that one is wearing the exact same outfit in a dream as a leading news anchor was wearing 2 nights previously in someone else's dream.
Oblixitor - the awkward silence that ensues after a Swedish gent mentions
Madonna Curlicue - the exact spot on a cat's paw that pressure is applied to to make the claw come out and disembowel a dishcloth.
Zubiop - the lollipop of consolation given after a failed leapfrog attempt
Barbican - the moment one realises one is no longer wearing paisley ironically but in earnest.
Mylombe- puffy fingers as a result of Milo overdose
Bindle - the feeling of bewildered shame one experiences when, having been stared at all day, one finds there is only one red mark left from one's spectacles, not 2.
Peccadillo - the moment you realise it's not possible for the sausage you're eating to be kosher pork, then reread the packet to find it says 'khoser prok'.
Gooblim- a rash gained from listening to Billy Idol
Flagella - the moment of panic one experiences in the bathroom, just at the moment of no return, when one realises there is no toilet paper.
Kabertow- an ache in the small of the back from doing the funky chicken for 6 hours straight
Shamjew- a coloured gentlemen who pertains to Jewish ideology
Shamwow- that same coloured gentlemen who pertains to Jewish ideology wearing rainbow spandex and earrings.
Shenandoah - a damn good excuse for a party.
Huglum- a cough that sounds suspiciously like Muddy Waters early work
Sorghum - the ability to simultaneously identify several types of cheese in one blind taste testing.
Rushmumba - the dance you do when you think no one's looking and you and you finally got that piece of corn out your teeth
Flagella - the moment of panic one experiences in the bathroom, just at the moment of no return, when one realises there is no toilet paper.
Koomblah - sores of the foot that appear after your chemically imbalanced housemate stored cashews in your shoes
Dénouement - literal German name for the button on the back left strap of the lederhosen one wears only on January 27th (the feast of Saint Angela Merici).
Tribbicle - the piece of sweat that refuses to drip off no matter how much you sway Swathe - a dance move that can only be performed in very tight trousers.
Chocottle- the chocking sound made when you are caught eating pet food.
Faradiddle - the strong yet fine hair located above the 2nd knuckle on a man's index finger.
Kaas - a fizzy drink burp that tastes strangely more like the competitors drink
Bombardment - that curious sensation you get after your 5th chocolate biscuit when a 6th biscuit seems both inevitable and will possibly taste like strawberry.
Kuroops - small pieces of potato on your plate that have soaked up the gravy and/or sauce turning them a slightly murky colour
Filigree - the bits of clay leftover after a large ewer and basin have been made. NB can be any colour except rose.
Peiwinkle - an box of non descript size used for amusingly shaped almonds
Fuente - a companion to whom one owes a large tin of loose leaf spearmint.
'Cashmanov!' literally- 'Wow, I am surprised that there is a tiger (or any other large feline) under my desk'
Coovee Bataar - the shrill shriek a metrosexual makes when surprised by a marsupial
Shirk - the feeling when one wishes to pretend to be a horse but lacks the confidence to be more than a pony.
Koof Koof - a low warbling sound you make to advise oncoming pedestrians of coquettishly cut grass
Yashmak - a type of butter only found in a very remote mountain range 1 month in every 7 years that tastes curiously like licking the underside of an indoor tap.
Cubbie Ruze- the wavy imprint on the side of your face after a night spent sleeping on a cow.
Ramen - the feeling that one is wearing the exact same outfit in a dream as a leading news anchor was wearing 2 nights previously in someone else's dream.
Oblixitor - the awkward silence that ensues after a Swedish gent mentions
Madonna Curlicue - the exact spot on a cat's paw that pressure is applied to to make the claw come out and disembowel a dishcloth.
Zubiop - the lollipop of consolation given after a failed leapfrog attempt
Barbican - the moment one realises one is no longer wearing paisley ironically but in earnest.
Mylombe- puffy fingers as a result of Milo overdose
Bindle - the feeling of bewildered shame one experiences when, having been stared at all day, one finds there is only one red mark left from one's spectacles, not 2.
Peccadillo - the moment you realise it's not possible for the sausage you're eating to be kosher pork, then reread the packet to find it says 'khoser prok'.
Gooblim- a rash gained from listening to Billy Idol
Flagella - the moment of panic one experiences in the bathroom, just at the moment of no return, when one realises there is no toilet paper.
Kabertow- an ache in the small of the back from doing the funky chicken for 6 hours straight
Shamjew- a coloured gentlemen who pertains to Jewish ideology
Shamwow- that same coloured gentlemen who pertains to Jewish ideology wearing rainbow spandex and earrings.
Shenandoah - a damn good excuse for a party.
Huglum- a cough that sounds suspiciously like Muddy Waters early work
Sorghum - the ability to simultaneously identify several types of cheese in one blind taste testing.
Rushmumba - the dance you do when you think no one's looking and you and you finally got that piece of corn out your teeth
Flagella - the moment of panic one experiences in the bathroom, just at the moment of no return, when one realises there is no toilet paper.
Koomblah - sores of the foot that appear after your chemically imbalanced housemate stored cashews in your shoes
cookie considerations (continueing from the bells)
Broadly smiling I walked back into the city, where the bridge had been revamped and all the lights now had lamp shades hanging over them. I smiled. This truly is My City.My friends were in a bar called Cookie, which I had heard of but never entered. The large Mauri gent at the door did not enjoy the look me, and refused my entry, but Manek used his gift of the gab to gain me entry, and I walked up to the establishment. Michael Jackson played as I walked through the door and I simpered the smile of disappointment. I got myself an expensive and not that nice beer and joined those that I knew, weaving my way past the suits and make up.The Friday night crowd is a scary one. The suits finish work and decide that a drink is their right. They hit the most expensive and badly put together place they can find and then attempt to make drunkern friends with other suits, eventually culminating in a pelvic thrusting dance next to any girl drunk enough to care, in a vein attempt to score, and have a story to tell their smirking colleges on Monday.I found my friends in the smoking area, which was a small balcony overlooking the active Swanson Street. We talked merrily and awkwardly, they were just drunk enough to not make a whole lot of sense, I was sober as a Wednesday, and recent issues bubbled under the surface resulting in silences and strained smiles.There was james and Manek, both friends, and a blonde girl I didn’t know sat in the corner. She announced obvious blonde clichés into the conversations, giggling about how drunk she was, how often this happens, her love of sex in the city, and how she normally begins a day with vomiting up the previous nights brightly coloured alcohol. I could barely care to make conversation with such a normal, and soon after Manek took her to the dance floor to boogie.I stayed with James were we talked about things and stuff. Soon we joined them on the dance floor. I can dance, I make no qualms about it. I got skills. One day those skills may pay my bills. Unfortunately, I care not for the boring obvious chart music they push out there in leiu of real beats. I shuffled and smiled like a good plebe, and started to feel that age old voice in the back of my head. Yes, the cynical wizard was back.The normal (who’s name was Carol or something, we never found out) did a normal dance, pretending to be a stripper to Beyonce, doing that straight legged dip that all good hookers do. Manek seemed drunkenly impressed and I foresaw the upcoming one night stand. The girl attempted to ‘show me how to dance’ which didn’t impress me. Cause I got moves.She obviously wanted Manek that eve, and attempted to pair off both me and James so she could tongue wrestle. She was too drunk to hear me say ‘I have a girlfriend’, and her first attempt to ditch us was with 2 lady boys. Or two women who looked scarily like men. I was texting Heidi at this point begging her to come and not be allowed in, so I could leave. Amazingly, and annoyingly, the bouncer let her in. She was wearing Birkenstocks for monkey’s sake! But she came, we danced, and when the 3rd Michael Jackson song of the night came out, I decided enough was enough. The nameless blonde and successfully paired James with another skank, and had subsequently jumped on Manek. It was time for me to go.I told Manek I was going, and he asking why I was leaving. I told him this wasn’t my kind of place, and I had no money. He launched into a tirade, how I was only leaving because of Heidi, and this used to be my kind of place. Which annoyed me. But I took it as a drunk rant, and plan to make sure he hasn’t totally got me wrong later. Heidi and I walked home and bought ice cream, while I spilled my vitriol about pretentious w.a.n.k.e.r.s.We awoke together on Saturday and had the wonderful Saturday morning spoon and surrealism. Heidi and I are very much alike in humour and thought, we just talk nonsense and it makes sense, and makes us laugh. It’s….brilliant. We listened to Bob Dylan, and I once again realised that my life kicks it old school. Eventually we went to the market and then to her friend Sam’s. Sam reviews toys of an adult nature. And is very funny too. I sat on her couch and watched Heidi and Sam look through various websites. Ever seen two girls one cup? You know the reaction videos? It was just like that. Seeing two girls stare at the screen going ‘Oh…oh.OOH OH OH OW’ was quite funny. And the lines that came out of it were genius. ‘Why is HE wearing a strap on?’ ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t care how sensual it is, it isn’t good footwear’. ‘No, a d.i.l.d.o shouldn’t be attached there’. ‘Oh, it’s his arm.’ And my favourite‘I’m all Donged Out’I left on that one, no way I was gonna peak it.I took Heidi to see the Bells, and we made a beautiful salad to take with us. We also got a tea set and bought some vodka and orange. We arrived, set up, and my friend Claude came along. We talked, and the performance started again. It was brilliant once more, Heidi and Claude were suitably awed and a great old time was had.Manek joined us after and we chatted ad jested upon the simply wonderful life we lead. Then Heidi and I returned home and continued the brilliance. A truly epic day of wonder. A great old time.
mysterious bells
So Friday I decided to walk home from work with a smoke by my side. I can walk along the Yarra river into the CBD from my office. About half an hour walk, beautiful views, and had some darn funky music playing too. As I came near to town I noticed a lot of people moseying and remember it was the start of the arts festival. So following the crowd like any good sheep I was whisked to Alexandra Gardens, a place of many a smoke and hackey sacked day, where a crane stood high and platforms circled. Many sat and awaited and I awaited the show, with very little idea what was happening.Two old French clowns wandered through the seated audience, babbling in nonsensical French (I found out later that they were basically saying things like ‘Carwash Carwash, I go job said Frank, are you French, have you cheese?’). Wearing typical clichéd French clothing and drinking from red wine bottles. The fawning crowd giggled and gabbed at them and warmed to their wonderful charms. Soon they found their way to the stage where the eldest slowly and dramatically climbed a robe ladder on the crane, leading to a bell. He struck with much gusto, and the show beganAcrobats in tight attire ran through the crowd cawing and singing with flames held aloft, they reached the centre stage and began to alight the performance stages that circled it. Once the flames were lit, they showed the stages to be Bells, an obvious theme for the evening. The centre bell was rung aloud again and caterwauling and hollering from the far off tents could be heard. Eight fantastically dressed performers weaved out through the crowd, each with various bells, cheering and rallying the crowd into applauds and generally whooping. Their costumes were medieval and theatrical. Something tragic, yet whimsical. The used the bells to answer the centre stage’s call, and slowly made their way to the stages.With another ring of the bells and a joyous laugh, they began their performance. There was a sense of classic comedy to it, mimery and buffoonery, they whisked up the crowd into clapping and cheering, signing and laughing. And upon and strike of the bell, they changed places, and began again. Slowly they started syncing the stamps and claps into a frenzy of tap dancing mayhem until the bell rung again, they turned excited and ran to the centre stage. The bell rang against and again as the acrobats climbed the structure into the air to an awed crowd. As the main bell stopped, the real music began.The clowns and performers had attached themselves to elaborate contraptions of bells and drums and began to play this beautiful haunting and magical music. And as the rhythm increased they were slowly raised into the air, like a surreal living mobile, and at 50 feet in the air they were twirled and spun into a mesmerizing cacophony. The crowd (and myself) sat and stood opened mouthed and astounded at the sight. The lights flashed and changed, shining bright white and subtle amber in time with the music. The performers were raised and lowered in a brilliant dance high above the adoring masses as the acrobats started their piece, twisting and twirling, stretching and swirling high above the ground and into the starlit sky.A truly amazing event. Broadly smiling I walked back into the city, where the bridge had been revamped and all the lights now had lamp shades hanging over them. I smiled. This truly is My City
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