Eves of Newness

I said no to bunnies, harbour cruises, midgets & nightmares tonight.

They’re all real, the drugs, the pretty young things draped in familial riches and those wanting both.

Couldn't be fucked.

Twasn’t to keep my nasal passages virginal for New Years day or the year - but today became a day of senses regardless: land so dry the grass crumbles betwixt toes, roasting by a sun that heats terracotta brings to blister point, stained and seduced by a tree near one hundred years my senior (Mulberries. Mind out of the gutter), smoked salmon, aged riesling, full moon only double cream goats cheese and most of all saying sorry.

Not sure what sense sorrow is but basically I can be a cunt of a son.

Happy New Years, Mum. Love.

Time for a fictional interlude.

Sometimes I write. Other times I polish earlier writing. Have a taster.


Oops

9th floor.
It had seemed like a good idea. Actually, as he fell John thought it had been an excellent idea: grab a bit of sun whilst working out on the balcony.

8th floor
In fact, with that brunette in the next building grabbing a few rays it seemed almost too good to be true, there he was working up a sweat and firming up the exactly the way Katrina was always nagging him to and not only could he keep a close eye on Ms Apartment 204 but for once he had an excuse for his loitering.

7th floor
What else could he have done: taught lycra, glistening thighs, tousled locks - of course he was looking. Sun fresh from her glinting off her tanning oil gave him the idea to oil up in the first place, cos it was what you did, wasn’t it. Speed up the tan.

6th floor
Wait a minute though - those balcony railings - they were new, barely a year old. Steel, glass and aluminium powdercoated into protection, keeping us on there and all this out here. Sure, it’s a beachfront apartment (why else would you move here) but even in this environment railings shouldn’t just corrode through. There’s no way they could.

5th floor
Anyway, why was it his railing? He hadn’t done anything anyone else hadn’t done. She was...there. Katrina was out. Shopping, being a Saturday and all. Some peace and quiet, no nagging and the replay from last nights game as made his way through the sports section she’d thoughtfully left out.

4th floor
She’d looked good too, leg cocked, eyes hidden. So rarely on her balcony too since that shift change. It wasn’t that he was prying, really, he’d bought the binoculars for her mum to watch the whales with. Ok, so he’d checked out the other apartments surrounding them - who wouldn’t - out of curiosity. There were so many possibilities with all those lives squared away atop each other.

3rd floor
How was he to know that out of them all she’d be the only one that wasn’t boring. All the others seemed to do was watch TV or eat. Or watch TV and eat. They closed blinds, wrapped their rooms in curtains and never, ever, walked between rooms in knickers like she did. Nor did they wear a uniform the way she did, sexy little flygirl. Perhaps he should get stronger binoculars, read the logo on that jacket and make sure he booked the next trip down on her airline. Wouldn’t be hard, especially with that new roster being so consistent.

2nd floor
Hmm. There was that trip next week but Katrina was supposed to come. Wouldn’t be too bad though, especially as he could easily just ‘recognise’ her walking down the aisle. Better yet, she’d have a nametag on. Mmm. A quick hello, a suggestion of drinks or even a promise to go for a walk sometime.

1st floor
Woah. Wait a second: shouldn’t his life be flashing before his eyes? It hadn’t, at least so far. Although he did seem to be screaming, gauging from the figures on the balcony next door. Ooh. It was her, the brunette, upright now. God she looked good in the sun. Company too. Familiar company. But Katrina had gone shopping - and they hadn’t even met so how was Katrina clinking champagne glasses with the brunette?

Ground floor.
Oops.

Tripping on the road fantastic

Assorted notes filed randomly within my head:

1 Tis very, very hard to hear the first three quarters of the London Philharmonic's version of Bolero when doing anything above 120km. Strangely, your brain seems to pick up on it despite no discernible melody. I think it's an aural magic puzzle.

2 Deep into a sweeping right-hander is a very strange place for 120mg of pseudoephedrine to kick in. Throw in in Shuffle segueing into Shonen Knife's On Top of the World as the corner tightens whilst all there is to do is to push it that little bit harder then see if every hair on your body doesn't tingle.

3 What would happen if we inverted the wages system, rewarding experience with less money & less work, inexperience the opposite.

4 Sometimes I'm crap at saying sorry and thankyou.

5 If you ever want to see me smile, look in the leftmost rear vision mirror in the midst of corner - if the lanes merging into the distance are as clear as the ones emerging from the haze afront, I'll be asmile with eyes alight.

6 I'm starting a new exercise fad, Motorlates. You take a 44 degree day then follow it with gale force winds. Combine with leathers at high speed for a full body workout. Result: 5kg down in two days. Perfect for turkey time.


Enough for now, I've lamb, lemon and rosemary to work on. Some organic zucchinis, feta and kalamatas should do it, fresh Halva for dessert. Yep. Sometimes I pretend to be a wog.

It's snowing in Helsinki

Ever felt you were missing out on a chance with someone, that everything was against you, despite your efforts?

Well, that's me and the Eskimo. We met a year back, randomly.

Months of writing opened worlds of experience, gifts travelled across an entire continent, as it's hard to get more distance between you in Australia than the Queensland and Western Australia.

And she's gone.

Plans to meet before she left were thwarted by work commitments whilst social ones and time differentials kept our calls out of synch.

Still, tis always a pleasure meeting someone with whom you click.

Some are mediocre, others have it thrust unexpectedly upon them

Having never having held a desire to feel like some middle-aged public servant stretching out the last moments of my youth I've always ridden either fast bikes. Or noisy bikes. Or my favourite, noisy fast bikes.

Deciding a service was in order before heading out into this wide brown land, I was SORELY FUCKING DISAPPOINTED when my loan vehicle turned out to be poorly made chinese copy of the japanese homage to an american piece of shit.

Ugh.

I've run out of words now.

Numbers - The good

I wish I'd started here, for this part is simple - don't answer.

Apart from health considerations, the answer should be no one's issue but your own. If safe sex was a requirement then there's no reason this question should even come up.

But first, to recap. It's a new relationship, regardless of type. You'd conceivably like it to continue and regardles of scope you'd prefer not to hurt your partner - so I don't think you should answer if they ask how many people you've slept with.

They're asking becuase they think you're more experienced. In thinking so they're either correct, insecure or both. Spell that vulnerable.

At stake is whatever potential might lie between you, no matter your thoughts, for this is their opinion. Speaking immediately, directly, is likely to trounce them. An off the cuff, seemingly-white lie, no matter how well meant, will fester.

The result: truth hurts now, lies will hurt later.

Me, I'd go the third way: tell them to shut up and kiss you, but only if you if you care.


I told you this would be random.

Different Numbers - none of that l337 shit, just alphanumerics.

Today's the 19th of the month. I've been 32 for 14 days yet barely feel 22.

In the past fortnight one of my younger sisters has had a baby and the
other has bought a house. Me? I've helped birth another website.
Another half million pages online. Sure, it's hott and has taken a
lot of people much effort - but you can hold a baby and touch a
house.

Yet I'm rating by tangibility whilst choosing to listen to a song I didn't know
existed until a month ago and yet it gives me chills from it's intro on
through closing refrain, which brings me to what matters to me: choice.

We choose. We choose to do bad. We choose to do good. We choose to
ignore the consequences. We choose hope over despair, we choose
nefarity over benevolence, we choose Hargreaves over Potter and
obscurity over prominence or vice versa - but it's choice - we so
often have the strength to face the commitment without the ability to
follow through with the consequences. Well fuck you buddyboy, cos
there's two sides to every coin.

I've managed to change numerous lives because of my decisions, for
better and worse. Whether I like it or not, I've created.

What I don't yet understand is making choices and stepping or turning
away. How do you ignore what you've wrought?

The song is Monday Morning Gunk, Radio Birdman. It fucken rocks.

An expansion of sorts

I was right and asleep. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Right about Photographer Two - who was first date of the week. More on her later but double thanks for latte skin.

Asleep was Sunday night. Not particularly surprising considering it was my first day off in three weeks. However, being a licensed venue I shouldn't have let myself nod off. Nor should one of the lovely bouncers decided to avenge his 'roid shrinkiness with a quick left hook as a wake up. He possibly shouldn’t have frogmarched me out or ignored me either and I don't think he should have tried putting me through the wall - that's what doors are for. Food for thought as he mulls over his new found unemployment whilst I gimp around and nurse a knee that has forgotten what it's for, hence the stiffness and swollenness, at least in an ambulatory sense.

On more Date Week news, Superior Smile cancelled with good reason, so we'll see about her and Ms Options has been placed on hold. Too erratic. I hate erratic.

The Numbers Part Two is brewing and next week I start my christmas road trip. Mmm. Thousands and thousands of kilometres of asphalt leading to hazy horizons. Question is New Years on the Harbour in Sydney or Byron Bay?

More Birthdayness

Thank fuck that's over.

Positive: Crab Lasagne wars have begun, Rigo and I like the same dancers, I have oodles of great wine leftover, The Mod Couple have a beautiful baby.

Negative: I now have only one knee and we smashed four glasses.

Oh, and it seems to be date week. We'll see which category that falls in later.

Birthdayness

It's all about me this weekend and whilst it's only Saturday with the main event to come, a weekend that's already included glassings, strippers, three requests for private spa sessions (no, not the same person and not one of the strippers), old grumpy bastards and a rockstar apartment mk II seems all good. More after the minions have cleared away the debris.

Requests for inclusion in the spa antics may be emailed.

The Bad, Ugly & Good of The Numbers - Part 1

The Rules, revised, repeatedly, 2005 edition.

First in a random series of unknown length, this is an attempt to update some social moirés. In every case I sure as fuck got them wrong on a number of occasions. Each is taken from the perspective of protecting oneself and not hurting others. Written from the perspective of a 32 year male who a) learnt this shit the hard way b) stupidly thought it might be interesting to share some of the love.

It assumes a positive, powerful position is desirable for all of us, so fuck off all of you masochistic fuckswallow in your misery somewhere else.

Comment, agree, disagree and suggest or just lurk away if you've nothing decent to say - I couldnae care less.


Uno, Une, One - The Bad, Ugly & Good:
Numbers - Part 1

Firstly, don't ask how many people your partner has slept with. Secondly, don't ask how many people your partner has slept with.

The answer is guaranteed to displease at least one of you.

The Bad
Think about it: a new partner, maybe you've dated, maybe you've run from a party, maybe it's the stationery cupboard. There's enough evidence to suggest that you're about fuck or have fucked or will likely fuck in the very near future. There could even be non-sexual activities depending on the connection, but we'll keep it focussed for the moment.

Bad luck, for whosoever has asked the question has just intimated that the answerer is a) a slut and b) probably more experienced than them. Strangely enough neither of these appear to be turn-ons anywhere in the known world (no, this is not a version of Who's your daddy/call me a whore/fuck me harder-that's later) in terms of a mutually positive relationship.

The answerer might respond, with a total astronomically larger than your own, which is bad because you’re likely to feel inexperienced, out of your depth and potentially lacking in measuring up to their worldly expectations.

They might recognise your fear from their own inexperienced past, and lie - also bad.


So far we've very little joy: an insult, a learner, a bad result or a bad result.

Personally, I'd prefer none, so here's my suggestion in case it hasn't sunk in: don't ask.

Now, since it's unlikely that everyone in the world will read this as quickly as they should, you are likely to be asked, and in which case it's a simple answer: don't. It's also a question that seems to occur around about the same time potential relationships are budding which is more the reason for addressing it - this one question is a killer.

The Ugly
You cannot answer this question and achieve a positive result for either you or the fuckwit that asked. Lie, most likely rounding down, and you end up with the weight of the lie on your back. It will gloat and seep and squat. Lie too heavily and they'll smell it, slumped across your shoulders, guilt dribbling down your back.

Weirdly, four seems to be the favourite number for 30 something women to produce. Four. When the average age that virginity disappears is 17 in Australia. I'm no statistician but even factoring long term relationships, an average 0.26 partners per year seems really unlikely in contemporary society. Three or so key relationships, a fling or two; perhaps a holiday romance and already you've got 6 or 7 in the bag before you even start on one nighters. No, 4 is not the answer. But it occurs more than any other. These days, I assume it's a lie.

Tell the truth if you think The Questioner is tough enough but I say they're not purely by nature of their asking. By telling the truth they might actually figure out how dumb they are and toughen up. Eventually. Thus the slow coach that is nature plays its hand.

They might also decide you're a complete slut.


Next: The Good - How to answer

Where's the love?

The Spin has gone nuts, luvved up and high on life. Unfortunately, this guy doesn't feel the same way. After complaining of headaches, an xray shows not one but three needles embedded in in his noggin.

According to Moscow News, "people killed unwanted babies by pushing needles inside their heads — without an autopsy it was very hard to prove that the baby was murdered.
However, Varlamov claims that he was raised in a loving family and this could not be the case."

So, how was your upbringing? Ever get headaches or migraines?

Poor bastard. Imagine the conversation. Imagine the metal detectors.

Loife but not necessarily as we know it

Life's a weird one, generally changed not by our plans or hopes but by random happenstance.

Take Friday night, f'rinstance. Friday for me was just another day. Sometime during the day I'd clocked over my 80th hour for the week and whilst the weekend held the prospect of sleeping in as late as 8am, there more work to come. I'd cancelled the party, I'd cancelled my birthday and was all ready to get through it. What most interested me was that I was happy.

Anyways.

Friday night had me, tight, by the throat. I didn't need to get drunk, I didn't the company, nor did I need to get laid with Miss Going through the Motions in the wings. All I really needed was something else. An escape. A break - a rest. With a call already from the Mostess, purely social, a couple of quiet Coopers seemed perfection itself.

Coopers were had, fresh, crisp and goldeny, all the way down.

But not before Ms Motions had appeared. Now she's far from ugly or stupid but often presents herself as both, more so with alcohol. Strangely enough she was called away to attend to official matters soon after finishing her first glass. More for me. Twas a pity she left me with Ms Leftover too, for she and I always dance without establishing any clear pattern.

At that point, The Elf knocked off for a break. Now the Elf is miniaturised heaven, five foot of sinew, sharp features, dark hair, all peaches and cream. She was involved with an acquaintance at one point, an acquaintance of which I hear nothing but weirdness. Strangely enough, she stressed, emphasised and re-emphasized this when I said hello. All over, red rover. Don't know too many other girls that climb up and over a bar for a hello kiss, not to mention her lips getting closer. Fun/games. Love/War. We'll see. Every time we meet the conversations are increasingly suggestive.

Tonight wasn't any different, except that I didn't care where the girls took the talk. With both The Elf and I single it took about 3 minutes before dating came up. With Leftover's input we were well into the pros and cons of oral sex by the fourth. These girls are both younger than me but it appears I have a lot to be thankful for. So Thankyou. Thankyou to all the older women I dated in my teens and twenties, thankyou for teaching me what to pay attention to and thankyou for teaching me the pleasure of pleasuring. Things got steamier before Elf had to get back to work and Leftovers had to run of home to rack a few watch videos with her flatmate. Made sure I got Elf's number. You never know.

Nine of the clock had struck by now and I was comfy. Interesting conversation, attractive individuals and I'd only bought a single drink so far. Twas however hometime as storms were brewing and there was quiet to be had.

Rousing myself from a ridiculously comfortable fuck-you-this-is-my-loungeroom feet up position I was surprised to see Photographer Two. She and I flirt well together but it's often been a bit weird as I used to date her married boss. Meh. Things we do. We chatted and teased as she used to hermit all too often. Whatever she's done, she was looking amazing. Numbers were had.

Anyway, Mostess had called again and was actually coming. She and I have a strange relationship, bonding quickly and strongly about a year ago. Haven't seen her much as she found herself a possessive boyfriend, Mr Football. Having only just departed, she sounded in need of quiet catching up too. Now Mostess is Mostess because she makes the stereotypical air hostess look dowdy, flat chested and stupid. Mostess is the mostess - 10kg lighter than last I saw here and six months of RnR and travel with Mr Football. She was looking rather delicious. However, as a dedicated practitioner of using my head (since Writer
Lawyer) I decided a while back that Mostess and I would do better waiting, whatever happened.

Home. She hadn't seen the RockstarApartmentTM until then and like everyone else, was stunned. Pouring a digestif for the two of us I explained I didn't want to venture out but was more than happy to stay in, to which she replied "Good. So you'll be wanting some of this then."

Now, drugs and I have a great relationship. Apart from caffeine and motorbikes I've never been addicted to anything. I don't get comedowns and I don't get cravings, nor do I decide I want them and go searching or find them and stock up. If they're around great. If not, meh. All in all we get along well.

So there's the Mostess with a cheeky grin and a cheekier bag of K. Now K is an acquired taste, one many of my friends who party harder and more often steer away from. Mainstream press of course never refer to it as any more than horse tranquilliser, conveniently forgetting it's the number one anaesthetic of choice in cases where the patients heart rate cannot be suppressed. I digress. Ketamine is a dissociative. You're there but you're not. Knowing female flatmate would like the chemistry and the company I tried to call her, only to find my head couldn't get my hand to pick up the phone. Mmm. This stuff doesn't last long and I soon managed to co-ordinate those fingers into beginning what was to be a dirtily succinct invitation to Elf to join us after she knocked off. What came out was 'Morning'. Ah well, best laid plans, etc. She'll keep.

Mostess and I proceeded to sit back, catch up and watch storms, the entire place open to elements. Twas loverly.

Departing at about half one, the walk to her car took us into the storming streets, drenching me in seconds. I crawled between the sheets a freshly dried, tired & still happy boy.

Despite the noisy return of boisterous flatmates, morning was great. After shaking my head at their antics [more later] I took myself off for papers and brekky.

It was on my way that these thoughts on randomness struck me: all I'm doing, all I'm focussing on is work yet everything is falling in behind. Also bouncing round was an answer to a question I'd been bouncing around with Ms Rigo - why do drugs. In my case the answer is simple: a change is as good as a holiday and last night my brain received an unexpected holiday.

This was written Listening to: The Triffids, Radio Birdman, The Clash
Reading: Granta - Australia; Conrad - The Nigger and the Narcissus; Lawrence - The Rainbow.

Bedtime now.

I hate waiting

But don't even get me started about being another defective MTV generation, ADD suffering drop out - I'm not. We never even had mfuckingtv.

I hate waiting for peoples reactions: drink more coffee, have a shower before leaving home but wake the fuck up.

I hate waiting for reports to publish.

I hate waiting for time to talk to the people that are important to me.

I hate waiting for Australia to get the books & films that we review months before their arrival.

I hate waiting for waitstaff that have walked past five times with nary a thought for a glass of water or some bread.

I hate waiting for sleep when you know you have to awaken far too early.

I hate waiting for people that have made a commitment to a time and place.


That's enough hate for the moment.

Hi y'all, I'm new around here.