Monday, May 01, 2006

Each to their own and I am one and we are all together

[post self censored]

I pack my stuff, take the Do Not Disturb sign from the door and hand my key in.

I'm done here. See you in Hell.

Sunday, April 30, 2006

I'm staring at the fireplace and the familiar flicker of fire

The dream was of Giant Frogs who raced to cure the sick. They were call Amphibulances and wore large white smocks with large red crosses. Of course. They did not require sirens, for they were able to employ their ample Frog Leaps to soar over the other vehicles.

[these other vehicles I assure you were all automotive, completely NON frog related, though the occasional one was green or had those pop up headlights which I always envied as a child and believed to be thoroughly frog like. the porsche 911 too resembles a frog. i always liked that car.]

I can't remember if paramedics rode in the frogs or on the frogs or if the frogs themselves were able to administer the cure, all I can remember is that these Amphibulances were present when they were needed, or present at the scene.

Perhaps they are more sinister than I originally believed, I thought in my dream, and as I pushed the curtain aside and looked out onto the street the frog, to look at me, and said, "........................................"

I woke up.


I am awake, I am asleep and never the two shall meet. Or was it Twain? Who rode his caboose all the way to Ballarat and proclaimed, that's enough practice for now, better get back on board before I lose my...thought pattern?

Weirdo. That's what runs beside my bed when I open my eyes on the floor of the Hotel. So I pull the blanket way overhead, and pull the emergency lever, screeching straight back onto the dream....


There are no frogs this time. Just ring pulls and pulleys and push me pull you with three other girls. Perhaps it's best not to go into this one, I think as I type, but my dream self sweats and grunts and ignores me, cold biting on hard hot shoulder and melting into that soft marshmallow of...the sea, spit, drown, salt, crash land on the beach, and WAKE.

[the beach features almost every night in my dream. i do not know what it symbolises. when i was younger and in love with a cancerian, we used to gaze into each other's eyes and say that it meant her water crashing on my earth. this sort of talk was usually followed by my dirty earth hands parting her red sea. moooooooses yeah, is exactly how barry white would say it i'm sure...]


This time I'm out of the dream for good because I can hear the automatons outside clambering and scratching. I make cars, I clean rooms, I feed your children, I am in charge of air conditioning filters, I cure people, I can't cure myself, I make pictures, I make words, I am your destiny, I ain't yours, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, and the replies....Oh, oh, oh, Oh, OH, Oh? Oh! OH! oh...oh! 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0....

And that's what we're becoming, and that's all I am here. Don't you fucking see? Our children dressed in all their binary, a spare button once sewed beneath the collar, now marked:


I press it, and realise I hadn't left the dream at all.


I think the way out is back through Hell, and I ain't afraid at all.

Aural be right

Just had to stop by quickly and tell you something exciting.

Work was typically work, I cleaned H-Pie things in front of drinkers. Vibe.

And then my world was changed.

I walked home with it in my hands. I walked faster than normal, dizzy with excitement. I saw horizons shift, I saw night after night of pleasure and bliss. I foresaw my new love and I falling asleep together, every part of me lavishing attention, dripping, soaking it all in. I AM IN LOVE.

I have been given a BOOK ON A TAPE.

I grew up falling asleep to Dark Side of the Moon. Music has been my constant. My companion and my inspiration. The soundtrack to my life long before the Walkman let alone the trendoid iPod.

But now I have a real, true friend. A connection so exciting I have climbed from my bed-on-a-floor TM to come and tell you of it. I HAVE BEEN LISTENING TO A BOOK ON A TAPE.

It's amazing. It's beautiful, SO beautiful. WHY HAVE I NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE?

To quote a song and a blog, this could be the love of a lifetime...

Friday, April 21, 2006

Part 19: I was watching, with one eye on the other side.

If I am humble, quiet and ponder life as it parades before me, I am trampled by over the top personalities and agendas.

If I am loud and stake my claim in the world and fight for what I believe in, I am seen as a mess and too much hard work.

Goodness me, there's a cheery opening. Where's the party?

I am beginning to know exactly what I want from life. Or should I say, I am beginning to listen to myself, and understand.

I am not a Take What I Want sort of a guy, though I believe in mental projection. Put it out there and it will come. Fuck you Kevin Costner. Go hit a baseball or something. A potato perchance.

And on the internerd it is written that I am an ass. And yea, the truth is spoken. And there is a fine line between being an ass and being a dick. And walking a tightrope sometimes brings out my ass.


I haven't written because instead of taking time to reflect and share, I have taken time to actually DO. To work on myself and to work hard at my jobs. To right wrongs, financial and emotional. And I have accepted the humble pie and eaten it. Eaten it good. And the voice, the ego, it's not as loud anymore, and it's easier to ignore when it speaks. Though, ying pong tiddly I po, it's not fucking dead man. Because you need it every now and again. For drive reasons. For the AMBITION and self belief. And for PROTECTION.

But here I be, and I don't know, I'm thinking of heading back into Hell. I'm thinking about where I've been and where I'm headed and while I think, I lower my thumb and the headlights scream past in the rain. And I don't want the first lift that comes along, I want the one that's headed where I'm headed. Just means I'll get rained on for a while.

Coming down is a curious thing. It seems like the end of the cycle, you've been up and now you come down. But the cycle never ends, and tomorrow, I'm ready to start curving skyward. A fire proof Icarus baby. Headed for shiny and grinning with every beat of my wings.

And there are people who can never look at me the same, and that's a shame. But that goes both ways too, for there are people who can never look at me the same, and that's fucking cool.

I had to take a break. But I've missed this, and I'll make sure I find the time to return, because my brain, twisted little fuck that it is, says to me, that someone has got to be themselves on here. Warts and all. Normally sober or not.



I hope that you are happy.

Saturday, April 15, 2006

And I forget and am reminded...

[this post isn't particularly well written, as I am purely trying to relate facts not emotions. so stick it.]

Last night I was invited to Japan to help negotiate with a dubious dealer of antiquities for the return of some stolen buddhist scrolls.

Excuse me?

It's true. Weird huh?

Well, the thing is, many years ago I was sent to Nagoya at the bequest of Western Mining Corp to immerse myself in the culture and become fluent in the language that I could become their representative in Japan. I stayed for three years and became, Japanese.

Being Japanese is not a concept that is really understood by anyone who is not particularly Japanese. It can get very confusing, but it all made sense to me.

So I studied Yagyu Kendo, and Go Rin No Sho, the Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi. I studied Feudal Japanese History and discovered that although it was Tokugawa Ieyasu who eventually became Shogun and began a dynasty that lasted 200 years, it was really the work of his predecessors, Oda Nobunaga and Toyotomi Hideyoshi, that enabled Japan to unite. Meiji Restoration? Well that interested me, but not as much as Sasaki Kojiro understanding the flight of the swallow in order to perfect his swordsmanship. Need to know more? Try Musashi, by Yoshukawa Eiji. Great story, and all true.

You with me? Cool.

Of course, I also studied Sake, Kirin and Sapporo beer, and having sex in Love Hotels with beautiful Japanese girls who cried out, "I'm GOING, I'M GOING" at the time of the Heavenly Opening.


But besides all of that, I secretly studied how to become Japanese. Without a doubt, this was my yearning to leave my fucked up Australian life behind and just become someone else. A whole different set of rules, of beliefs...and there was just something perfect for me in the understated discipline that Japanese society offered.

Long story short, after ten years of studying and three years of living there, I returned to Melbourne, started a band, started smoking pot, got laid, got heartbroken, and got lost. Again.

But Japan is never far away.

Three years ago I met a guy called John Gunn. We were both barflies at a pub called the Rob Roy. Except, one day over our fourteenth beer, we started talking about Japan. We'd lived there the same time, for the same amount of time, and each knew things that no-one else would know. DO YOU KNOW WHO CHIYONOFUJI IS? AAAAAAAAAAH!!!! THE BLUE HEARTS? AAAAAAH!!! NAGABUSHI TSUYOSHI! AAAAAAAHHH. ASANO YOKO!!! HOT HOT HOT!

And shit.

We became friends and have remained in touch ever since.

Last night he was at my work and ended up sitting with me after close telling me the following story and asking my advice:

His mother owns some sort of multinational corporation, I didn't ask which or what they do, suffice to say, there seems to be large sums of money involved. Now, three years ago his mother decided to purchase for her PRIVATE LONDON MUSEUM, a series of scrolls originating from Japan c. 1500AD. Buddhist scrolls...hang on one tick...



Anyway, being the astute collector she is, she decided to first ascertain the origin of the scrolls by carefully shipping them to an expert in Osaka. A... procurer of rare antiquities. He was able to help discover the temple from which they came, and also made a promise to restore the scrolls to their original condition. Or close to.

After a month or so, he sent back two of the five scrolls, perfectly restored. However these two were the lesser scrolls in comparison to the three that he retained.

Which he promptly confessed to losing. Somewhere in his house.

John was called in to fly to Japan and find out what the fuck had happened.

From his mother's description, he assumed he was meeting some Japanese Julius Sumner Miller looking cat in a dusty Top Secret style Book Shop filled with antiques and books.

The night before the meeting John checked into an inn and was asked his business.

I'm meeting an antique dealer, Morimoto-san.

Morimoto-sama? He is very famous, John was told.


Yes, but aaaaa, he has a reputation. Please be careful.


Turned out Morimoto-San acquires Japanese antiques for museums all around the world. He lived in a four story mansion which was the converted headquarters of the old Bank of Japan.

He was serious. But John was on a mission. And resolved to be...inscrutable.

The negotiations did not go well. John's gaijin approach could not move Morimoto-San and eventually he returned empty handed, with vague promises that Morimoto would "shuffle through his house" in an attempt to find the "misplaced" scrolls.

Which leads us to the pub.

Now, as Pat from Dallas Crane would say, I'm humble AS FUCK. Great sentence that. But there are a couple of things in life that I am confident about. My ability in bed, my ability to read other people, and my ability to negotiate with Japanese Antiquities dealers. It's very much a game, and there are very defined, set rules.

1. Morimoto will NOT lose face by suddenly turning around and admitting that he really doesn't want to give back something so instrinsically Japanese, and incredibly valuable, as these ancient scrolls.

2. Any show of emotion from John, will be seen as a weakness and a very Western response, which will only serve to strengthen Morimoto's resolve to keep the scrolls.

3. Japanese like to make deals, and they like to win. I understand this applies to every businessman in every country of the world, but I also have incredible respect for the way in which the Japanese do business. Note I'm not saying I AGREE with how they do things, but I do RESPECT their strength.

There are more rules, but I'm cooking Party Pies right now and want to eat them, so I'll get to the end of the story.

After John had filled me in on all the details, I sat back and thought about his problem. I did not speak, I emptied my glass of Canadian Club and Dry, and drew back on my cigarette.

What you need to do is, choose your words, very carefully when you next speak to him.

For example:

Morimoto-San, we both understand the heritage and importance of these scrolls.

Translation: Dude, we both know you want this shit for yourself, and that's fucked.

Everything that needs to be said, needs to be not said. THAT is Japanese. Wakarimasu?

Eventually I came up with this solution:

John was to go back to Osaka and after making the chit chat with Morimoto he was to say something along the lines of:

I understand it might be difficult for you to find the time to search your house for the scrolls, so after consulting with my Mother, we have decided that it would appropriate for you to lend us an object of similar value from your own personal collection, that we may exhibit it at our Museum until such time as you are able to locate them. Then we would be honoured to return your piece in exchange for the scrolls. Our Gallery patrons will be most excited that they will be able to view a piece from the personal collection of someone such as yourself Morimoto-San. Thankyou for this opportunity.

It's a simple hostage exchange, and believe me, that was basically the basis of Japanese Government for over 800 years. The guy is going to understand, and he's going to have to play ball. It's an honour thing.

Come with me to Japan in August. Believe me, my mother will pay you a handsome reward if we can get these fucking scrolls back, said John.

I polished off my drink, put my jacket on and said, let me sleep on it.

And that's what I'm doing.

Hey, it's nice to have something else to write about from time to time.


Monday, April 10, 2006


I'm so far away from spilling myself on here I can't even remember how I have done it in the past.


Today I was riding my bike along Brunswick Road and I saw a bumper sticker that read:

If you are reading this in English, it's because of a soldier.

Funny, I thought it was because of a teacher.

I needed to know more, so I rode as fast as I could but just as I pulled up to the window the Volvo sped off.

I hope to see this car again and either

a) learn more about the driver and their patently peace loving mentality
b) piss on the car
c) offer some vaguely witty alternative which should get me run over such as:

If you are reading this in braille, get your hands offa me duco!

I'm sick. That's all. Hope you're well.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Part 17: Becoming a man




I'm going to discuss what it means to be a man. Y'all might lose me, but that's okay, there are some things that I see and understand that I am going to try and write down, and we'll see how we go.

I never had a father. Well, I have one somewhere, but I never knew him. The only real Father Figure I ever had in my life was a drunk and a rapist and a murderer, so I try my best not to emulate him. Though in a lesser sense, I have.

But on and off, throughout my life, I have spent time trying to understand the meaning of being a man.

And tonight, I found myself coming close to understanding.

I'm going to randomly start to write, occassionally list, it's for myself you must understand, though voyeur that you are, feel free to browse. Lurk.

I think being a man is different to just being an adult.

I think being a man is a conscious decision, and yet cannot be just decided upon and acted upon. You can't just choose to be one, and it is so. You must be sculpted into one. Hardened maybe. But in my eyes a man is not an impenetrable rock. He is so much more.

I think being a man when you look like a skinny pale rock kid is difficult, because who will take you seriously? How can anyone possibly see that underneath that exterior lies wisdom? Well you can read it here on occassion that I hit the mark, but I guarantee, stand in the same room and your expectations of me will drop. He's a kid, and a shabbily dressed one at that. But it's all about the eyes kids, it's always about the eyes. And frightened; mine are not.

This is as close as I can come to the thoughts that lie within, and even then, now, words are not enough. It is not enough to know the meaning of being a man, it must be acted upon, it must be burnt in, branded into your daily habits until every single fucking hour, you are ten feet tall.

Please, please, do not mistake this for either ego or machismo. Surely you, the reader, are smart enough to understand the difference.

Being a man means living with the knowledge that this is all there is, understanding the universe, but helpless in its grip.

Knowing that your path is made by you alone. And bearing whatever burden is cast your way without tears, without suffering. Grin that grin fucko, sweat it out and keep on keeping on. Laugh in the face of death, of heartache, of pain. Take it, learn from it, move on.

Johnny had June, but June did not make Johnny. June softened Johnny, held his hand and gave him a fireplace and a home, next to which they sang songs and ate dinner and entertained. But I think June understood Johnny. And let him be. And in return, found the truest friend that could be found.

A soulmate.

But the simple fact is, no-one NEEDS their hand held. It's just nice. It's more than nice, it's beautiful. It's the motherfucking meaning of life, whatever you believe. And if you believe differently, well then, let's disagree. Because you're wrong.

But it's not a need.

Sometimes, I think, to grow I have to leave everything behind. Well, everything but my two, three best friends. Who know more than my exterior, who patiently let me be, and understand me, and stay close even when I falter.

But more often than not I think, I don't need you. In fact, if you have seen me down, then best I get the fuck away from you. I don't need to be reminded. Don't need to be looked at with disappointment...

Because, deep inside, further than even I can go, is a man. And when the day comes for my cocoon fucking kid to be shed, I will stand tall and do anything, everything for you, my friends.

It's easy to write this shit, it's easy to write it and understand the theory. It's harder to wake in the morning when all you want is a word, a reassuring word, but all you get is life. POW.

But that's the fucking test isn't it?

Bring it.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

The catharsis of Part 16

The dream was about the man who invented monopoly. Played by Morgan Freeman. He told the story of inventing the game as a young boy in his lounge room. He became known as BAR123. [it was a dream, I don't know what that means] He built a nationwide society of players, an underground game, until finally he sold the rights for a pittance. Monopoly went on to become huge, and he was forever embarrassed by its success. People would whisper behind his back, and would travel for miles to tournaments to play with him, so that they might laugh at his failure. Eventually, having secured himself as the all time champion, he retired to a jetty by the bay and began to attend detective school.

I don't understand it either.


It is six am and the hotel is cold and dark and empty.

There is a girl in my head, a long forgotten girl, a girl I once knew. I'll tell you the story.

A long time ago I went out with this girl. It was a desperately intense Love. Deep and frightening. I looked at her and saw Venus herself. However, we were both broken and raw, smashed by life and messy inside and out. We had serious problems, she would battle the temptation of men who found her beautiful, while I would battle the demon Drink. We would fight incessantly. I would grow jealous and drink, which would in turn, lead my Love astray, wishing to escape me.

One day she finally broke, and opened her heart to me. Told me her darkest secrets, and I held her close and together we cried and found true love. She began to grow, from that day forth. She began to blossom.

I was out of work and began to secretly fight my inner depression, my sense of worthlessness. I would try and fight the urge to drink, the craving for easy release and complete numbness. I kept failing. I would last three weeks and seem to find my way out, only to falter if I grew complacent, and all my good work would disappear in a night. Leaving a bitter taste.

I could sense her impatience, and it frightened me. I could see my Venus tapping her foot and beginning to glance from side to side. A new boy arrived in town, I grew nervous, but she stayed by my side.

Finally, I found work, and smiling began to see a brighter future, grew in stature, felt as though my demons grew weaker, the taste for alcohol grew further away. I began to become a man, well, a little man...I'm proud of you, she said. And I of you, I replied. I love you. And I you.

And then, she left. I'm sorry, Venus said, it's too late, it's not enough. Goodbye.

And I never saw her again.

And tonight, she haunts me.


Never work for another, I mean, inside. For you can never meet the expectations of anyone but yourself. I've been awake all night going through some things in my head, and I've come to realise that though some may look down upon me, others might see me in a more positive light.

The reason this blog has been so damn fucking serious is because I've been going through a really intense internal battle now for so long I can't even remember my life before it began.

And an hour ago I lay in my bed, and I was really fucking down about it. Really bone fucking tired of having to THINK. To fight.

And then out of the blue, catharsis. Zen. Just, relax. Just let whatever fucking happens, happen. And you might lose some battles, and you might even lose some Loves along the way, and sometimes you're going to have a really fucking crap day, week, month. But pretty soon, you'll be on the road, or holding someone's hand, or eating amazing food, or laughing out loud [guffawing...I like the word...] and this moment right here, right now, will be long gone.

I'm in love with the girl from that story. I even wrote to her tonight, out of the blue, two emails. One way tickets. Time hasn't changed that, and it may never. But there are a thousand loves and a thousand lives to live, and I'm really, really fucking glad that I decided to stay and watch the sun come up.

Because with it came a new day. And I am reborn. For the millionth fucking time. Hahaha.


Welcome to the next day in the rest of our lives.