The cracks are starting to appear.
They made there way through the unconscious. Splintering right through a dream.
We are driving in the car through rural Bundaberg. Its pissing down with rain.
"Its nice. The way nature wanted it"
An insect is waterlogged. It cant move. Its stuck on the windscreen.
"Dont worry its nature" I thought.
Its starting to drown.
It cant fucking move.
We make our way to a little village. Basic. Just a gathering of people under two tin roofs. The people seem rough. They start throwing rocks. It was just a game. It got out of control. One girl was being targeted. Kids are coming up from close range and throwing rocks right at her face. Its fucking awful.
Mum comes up to me. I want her to go away. I need her out of my face. I start screaming 'fuck off'. I throw a rock at her face and she still doesnt go away.
I wake up in my bed screaming 'fuck off'.
Im awake and still screaming fuck off.
Mummy is still here, son....not to worry.
*
Dad, me and our visitor Jarrod, a big 22 year old ute driver from Ipswich, went down to Geoff's caravan. He's moving out, he doesnt want the caravan. We went down with a 30/30 gun to shoot the fuck out of it.
When we got there Dad fired the first shot. The gunshots echoed all over the valley, it was loud as shit. Right through the window, right through the toaster. We all laughed. We all had tears running down our face. Dad was a bad school boy from the wrong end of town once more. Jarrod took a shit. We laughed some more. His girlfriend took photos of the damage.
"Luke do you want a turn?" Dad asked me.
"Yep"
"Good boy" he said.
I put the gun on my shoulder. There was a scope with a target. I lined up the target - Geoff's cup and saucer sitting on his window pane. A flick of the trigger - in an instant the window was broken and the cup exploded.
I HIT THE FUCKING TARGET.
Dad and Jarrod pissed themselves. Ive never heard Dad laugh so much WITH something Ive done.
"Mate that was a fucking good shot" Jarrod said.
The power of a firearm is amazing. The ratio of effort to result is mindblowing. A flick of a trigger and....bam....lots of damage done.
Amongst the laughter control got lost. We fired more shots and more shots. Dad shot his microwave, his posters, his blanket, his shirt and his wardrobe.
Dad left a letter saying "it wasnt me, I was reading my bible this afternoon. I saw Luke and Jarrod on your property".
Geoff's stuff was fucked. Im not sure why he/we did it. He's our friend.
Is this how guys bond?
OR was it bullying plain and simple?
A generation ago it would have been my blanket that would have been ripped apart by bullets.
Geoff came back and he was furious. He cried. He threatened violence. Jarrod gave him money.
Mum and I went over to explain things to him.
"It was a joke that got out of hand, were sorry" I said.
He cried more. He said people always pick on him. He said people would only do that stuff to him.
He was right.
We told him we cared about him. He cheered up. He came back later that night and drunk rum with us. He doesnt have any other friends and I suppose drinking with dickheads beats sitting alone in a caravan with 13 bullet holes in it.
*
Sexuality is an issue in Bundaberg - now that's not a headline you'll see in the local paper....not for any political conspiracy, just cause its not news.
Ive prided myself in being able to put even the most homophobic straight back in their place. A couple of quick words, normally along the lines of "I wouldnt fuck u u are fat/balding/ugly" is all it takes. Straight guys are under the impression gay man are constantly horny and constantly wanting to fuck them. Speaking for myself I have eyes and ears and I wouldnt fuck the toothless redneck who says "I dont mind it as long as you dont try anything on me" - I wish I had that much self-esteem...dont flatter yourself.
Anyway, just in the past few days its occured to me that while Im not really having to tackle homophobia - apart from the balding bouncer who called me a faggot. Ha ha. What is worse is the kind of feeling that people around here are not seeing me as Luke the human as Luke the gay man.
Jarrod would not stop talking about my sexuality.
"Why dont you like women" he asked.
"Cause they remind me of you and your smelly fucking vagina" I said.
"I knew you were gay as soon as you opened your mouth"
"How so"
"I just did, your very eloquent"
Of course, in rural Queensland if your eloquent you must be eloquent.
"You walk around like a bitch"
"When?"
"In the mornings"
"Bullshit"
"Why do you walk on your tippy-toes"
"I just do"
"You walk around like a bitch in the kitchen, I felt like asking you to make me dinner"
"I would never make a fat cunt like you dinner"
"What?"
"I would never be cruel enough to give a fat yobbo cunt like you dinner. Its wrong to feed the obese"
"Im not fat"
"Well your not type"
"Why not?"
"Your far too blokey"
"Fuck u"
"U drive like a dickhead"
"Yeah and youve got flab on your stomach"
"I dont"
"U do, just like your Dad"
We got out measuring tapes. My stomach was 87cm, his was 101cm, Dad's was 108cm.
"Your closer to looking like my Dad than I am"
Game over. For now. Dont like having my defences up all the times. I know I can outsmart these guys. The problem is that I am in RURAL QUEENSLAND and I am up against the worst and severely outnumbered and Im not even talking about the guys who would actually kill a faggot if one came into to their local pub.
Then Melissa came over. Now Melissa is a young, pretty farmer girl who has just moved from the Gold Coast. She came out with us on our trip to the CENTRAL nightclub on Saturday Night. I told her about the guy I met.
"He didnt seem interested" she said.
"Well he begged me to hook with him the other day"
"Oh"
"I went on a date with him and decided he was repugnant"
Then she went on and told Mum.
Now keep in mind this girl already has gay friends.
"Luke was dancing around like a fairy"
"How?"
She then did an impersonation of me flapping my hands around.
"I liked it though"
It was vaguely correct, except without style. I had considered myself a funky dancer. Even in Townsville straight guys told me I was a 'hot dancer'. She was framing all my behaviour around my sexuality. Everything I did was gay and motivated by the fact I was gay. In those moments, I ceased to be human. Just a walking cocksucker with a pink g-string and dildo up my arse.
She went on.
"Luke was walking around cracking onto straight guys"
"Bullshit"
I never walk around cracking onto straight guys. I dont do that.
"Yeah you were"
"Fuck off I was not. I walked around talking to guys and girls, doesnt mean I was cracking onto them"
The reality of me just being a guy wanting to converse with strangers, other men for the sake of being social apparently passed her by. I was a horny faggot willing to fuck anything - especially a straight guy, yknow like all the tragic unattractive ones you see in Hollywood movies.
Piss off.
Later I complained to Mum.
"Well Melissa reckons you were walking around flirting with straight guys"
"I wasnt"
"Your lucky someone doesnt knock your head off" Mum said.
What for talking to people?????
Fuck you all.
Dumb arse country fuck heads.
I now have an excuse to leave this place. Waterloo, the beginning of the end.
Im fucking angry. I dont want to go into a 12 week program. For the first time in weeks I imagined myself back in Melbourne. In my sisters loungeroom with friends over, dancing around and snorting lines that some guy has given me. Getting dressed up, picking up twinks, going out. Falling to pieces the next day. Smoking a meth pipe. Sucking it right down through my lungs and into the depths of my soul.
When a problem seems beyond repair - IE. that I know I will always have to face attitudes like that then you stop wanting to try at life. Just a bit of relief. I cant kill the cancer, but I can get fucked up on painkillers and just imagine for a moment that things are dandy. When I take painkillers I float around on that little cloud in style.
The insect has been sit free. Im not stuck to your windscreen. I am no longer interested in nature taking its course. Pain is nature and pain can like my arse.
Oh and one more thing while I am sailing away on that little cloud I look down on you and your tractor....a very simple statement will be heard coming from the sky.
"Fuck u cunts".
Monday, January 28, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Again there was that familiar feeling. Your never alone in bed when you feel like shit. Its like some strange ghost of bizarre thinking just cannot get enough of you.
"Ease off a bit" I should have said "Im not looking for a relationship"
Yet it stayed. Depression is fucking stalker material.
I was numbed with anxiety as I lay on my bed. In the heat. With lizards scouring the walls for insects, I crumbled apart....silently....for no good reason
Get me the fuck out of Bundaberg, I thought.
Everything I did was filtered through this new state of mind. My MAJOR DEPRESSIVE DISORDER - my new hideous boyfriend - liked me too much to accept my rejection.
To occupy my mind I went to the computer. I looked at photos of myself.
JUST AWFUL. At that moment I was short, stocky, almost fat - not horribly ugly but goofy looking - unspectacular - forgettable. As boring as Bundaberg.
I had to get out. I pictured myself hanging from the back of my door.
I wanted to die
U cant make your opponent love you, I wasnt even sure what the game was or if it was worth winning.
*
The dark mood consumed me for a couple of days. I cut myself, stared at photos of myself, thought about death and boys and spent hours in front of the mirror doing weird stuff with my hair. I started fights with everyone in the house and threatened to kill the pet Kangaroo.
My company was intolerable.
It needed to stop. This fucked-up feeling. The prickly little echidna that had made its way into chest - bursting my fragile emotional poofy little balloons.
"Mum can we go for a drive, I need to talk to you"
She got dressed and we drove to the Yandaran Pub.
Yandaran Pub was known for curing existential ills. Im SOOOO glad Mum chose that location.
"Are you trying to get away from Geoff?" she asked
"No Ive been feeling off colour?"
"Still withdrawing from the drugs"
Yes, Mum its self-imposed and of course mental state is all a matter of willpower.
"Actually no, mentally Ive been off colour"
"Have you taken your tablets?"
Fuck off Mum, just because your no longer an angry bitch courtesy of Cipramil doesnt mean we all want to sell our souls to anti-depressants.
"No, Ive taken all my medication this week"
"Okay, well then whats wrong?"
"Im not sure, I just feel bad"
We drove silently for about 2 minutes.
I went on "I feel....lonely"
"Well thats just something your going to have get used to up here"
She was really ticking me off. If only my problem was as simple as missing a tablet. Have a headache, take a panadol - have suicidal tendencies, take a pill if that doesnt work just get over it.
I wanted to screech at her, I felt like demanding that she stop the car and let me walk. I'd hitch to Bundaberg and catch the next train out of here. Fuck u and Fuck Yandaran fucking pub, u cunt.
But I didnt I sat there in silence. We drank at Yandaran pub amongst an assortment of polite young country folk and bearded alcoholics who would be better off dead. We drove back. It was a useless exercise, a feeling of total helplessness washed over me.
Mum tried better on the way back.
"So when did you start to feel bad recently?" she asked.
I knew exactly when and it was embarrassing.
"Ummm. I was going really well until I met Keegan and then for some weird reason I felt terrible"
"Ease off a bit" I should have said "Im not looking for a relationship"
Yet it stayed. Depression is fucking stalker material.
I was numbed with anxiety as I lay on my bed. In the heat. With lizards scouring the walls for insects, I crumbled apart....silently....for no good reason
Get me the fuck out of Bundaberg, I thought.
Everything I did was filtered through this new state of mind. My MAJOR DEPRESSIVE DISORDER - my new hideous boyfriend - liked me too much to accept my rejection.
To occupy my mind I went to the computer. I looked at photos of myself.
JUST AWFUL. At that moment I was short, stocky, almost fat - not horribly ugly but goofy looking - unspectacular - forgettable. As boring as Bundaberg.
I had to get out. I pictured myself hanging from the back of my door.
I wanted to die
U cant make your opponent love you, I wasnt even sure what the game was or if it was worth winning.
*
The dark mood consumed me for a couple of days. I cut myself, stared at photos of myself, thought about death and boys and spent hours in front of the mirror doing weird stuff with my hair. I started fights with everyone in the house and threatened to kill the pet Kangaroo.
My company was intolerable.
It needed to stop. This fucked-up feeling. The prickly little echidna that had made its way into chest - bursting my fragile emotional poofy little balloons.
"Mum can we go for a drive, I need to talk to you"
She got dressed and we drove to the Yandaran Pub.
Yandaran Pub was known for curing existential ills. Im SOOOO glad Mum chose that location.
"Are you trying to get away from Geoff?" she asked
"No Ive been feeling off colour?"
"Still withdrawing from the drugs"
Yes, Mum its self-imposed and of course mental state is all a matter of willpower.
"Actually no, mentally Ive been off colour"
"Have you taken your tablets?"
Fuck off Mum, just because your no longer an angry bitch courtesy of Cipramil doesnt mean we all want to sell our souls to anti-depressants.
"No, Ive taken all my medication this week"
"Okay, well then whats wrong?"
"Im not sure, I just feel bad"
We drove silently for about 2 minutes.
I went on "I feel....lonely"
"Well thats just something your going to have get used to up here"
She was really ticking me off. If only my problem was as simple as missing a tablet. Have a headache, take a panadol - have suicidal tendencies, take a pill if that doesnt work just get over it.
I wanted to screech at her, I felt like demanding that she stop the car and let me walk. I'd hitch to Bundaberg and catch the next train out of here. Fuck u and Fuck Yandaran fucking pub, u cunt.
But I didnt I sat there in silence. We drank at Yandaran pub amongst an assortment of polite young country folk and bearded alcoholics who would be better off dead. We drove back. It was a useless exercise, a feeling of total helplessness washed over me.
Mum tried better on the way back.
"So when did you start to feel bad recently?" she asked.
I knew exactly when and it was embarrassing.
"Ummm. I was going really well until I met Keegan and then for some weird reason I felt terrible"
"Ok, terrible in what way?"
"I just felt really bad, its hard to describe"
"Why do you think you felt terrible?"
I hesistated, it hurt to say it.
"Cause I dont think he likes me"
"He invited you over to his house Luke"
"Yeah but Im the one doing all the chasing"
"Have you heard from him?"
"He messages me, only when I message him first. If he doesnt like me then thats it, Im stuck in Bundaberg and I dont have anyone. If I was in Brisbane it would be different. I could just go out and find someone else the next night, but I cant"
"Y'know you can go to Brisbane if you really want. I cant stop you. Im just concerned that your getting yourself in more debt"
"Mum this is not an attempt to manipulate you so I can get my own way"
"Im not saying that, Im just saying if you want to go to Brisbane you can"
Silence. We drove through the dark roads and Mum deliberately ran over the cane toads.
You could hear them splat under the tyre, Mum went on.
"The reality is Luke that not everyone is going to like everyone. Its just the way it goes"
"I know that in my head"
"It sounds like maybe you have a problem with rejection"
"Maybe"
"Its an awful, awful feeling when you think somebody doesnt love you and you want them to"
"Yeah it is"
"Ive had a big problem with rejection all my life. I actually went and saw a psychologist about it when I was living in Victoria. Once I found out that so many of my bad feelings were to do with my fear of rejection then i kind of started to get on top of it. Its about working out why you feel that way I think"
"Why did you feel that way?"
Mum took a deep breath.
"There were a couple of things. My first boyfriend when I was a teenager I loved him and we stayed together for four years. Then Ken, my first marriage, he left me. And then with my Dad when he met his second wife he just really didnt want to have much to do with me. All that was hard and made me really scared of people not loving me"
I looked at Mum. She had put herself on the line emotionally to help me feel better. To help me work it out. I looked at her acne-scarred cheeks. I thought about her alcoholic, violent father and the fact she had my Sister when she was just 16. The vulnerability of everyone when it comes to love dawn on me delicately in that moment.
"Do you have any idea why you might have an issue with rejection?" she asked.
I thought of Shea in grade 5, the popular girl who wouldnt go out with me. I thought about Katie in year 8, a girl who wouldnt go out with me....so I told everyone she was a lesbian and she had to leave school. All I wanted was a pretty, bitchy popular girl to date and it never happened. I was short, a late-bloomer, freckled with bucked teeth and glasses from grade 5 to year 9. It was an awful period. Once a girl came right up to my face and said "you ugly" and ran off laughing. I'd gone from cute, blonde hair, blue eyed child to monstrous teenager and I suffered for it. I didnt want to go into this right now, I knew it would hurt too much.
"Yeah a couple of things" I said and I left it at that.
I felt better though. My neediness wasnt because I was ugly or unlovable, its because I hadnt delt with my shadow. It hurt so much because each relationship, each fling, each rejection picked at the scab of that ugly fucking scar, when I looked at it...it could be mistaken for a lesion.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
It came all over me that night. I was its bitch once more. It was milky white, the same colour as the home-made cocktail Id been been drinking. It was vicious, out of control. It was white noise.
It didnt need much stimulation.
Just a phone call that never came.
And news of someone being more succesful than me.
And then Waterloo. The beginning of the end.
It stops being white and then it burns and crackles.
More alcohol. More alcohol. The cocktail drowns out the smoke so we can forget about it for a while. No one else noticed anyway. It still burns though, it burns like vodka in your throat. It fries the fuck out of meaning.
You are human, so at first you care. You try to stop yourself feeling like shit. You make little firebreaks, little consolations.
"Of course not everyone is going to like me"
"Im never going to be the best at everything"
You say them over and over again, just like Mummy used to say. Im sorry though these shallow little cliches dont come close to stopping the burning reality of what it means to be a human being.
When it breaks loose it jumps right over cliche and right into consciousness.
Your having an episode again.
Your picturing yourself cutting. But where you ask yourself? Where? Its sunny Queensland? Im always in shorts. Perhaps you should just suicide. Maybe, but then I have to get out of bed.
If I could be bothered which I cant, cause Im uncomfortable enough just lying here. You would cut your wrists. But maybe I wouldnt die I would just run out of the bathroom screaming and crying and run into my parents bedroom demanding to be taken to a hospital. Do you get in now you idiots?
Would be nice to go to hospital to get fixed.
Go away please.
And I wish Mum would stop telling me Im being dramatic.
Perhaps I am dramatic.
Go away drama.
Go away.
Stay.
Cause you were with me one minute.
And then you left me all alone with nothing and nobody.
I just want to sleep now.
*
And I did sleep. When I woke up in the morning the thoughts, those shitty thoughts had gone....just as they appeared with no rhyme or reason.
I was me again. The fire was out and not a singe mark in sight.
And btw, none of this shit makes any fucking sense.
It didnt need much stimulation.
Just a phone call that never came.
And news of someone being more succesful than me.
And then Waterloo. The beginning of the end.
It stops being white and then it burns and crackles.
More alcohol. More alcohol. The cocktail drowns out the smoke so we can forget about it for a while. No one else noticed anyway. It still burns though, it burns like vodka in your throat. It fries the fuck out of meaning.
You are human, so at first you care. You try to stop yourself feeling like shit. You make little firebreaks, little consolations.
"Of course not everyone is going to like me"
"Im never going to be the best at everything"
You say them over and over again, just like Mummy used to say. Im sorry though these shallow little cliches dont come close to stopping the burning reality of what it means to be a human being.
When it breaks loose it jumps right over cliche and right into consciousness.
Your having an episode again.
Your picturing yourself cutting. But where you ask yourself? Where? Its sunny Queensland? Im always in shorts. Perhaps you should just suicide. Maybe, but then I have to get out of bed.
If I could be bothered which I cant, cause Im uncomfortable enough just lying here. You would cut your wrists. But maybe I wouldnt die I would just run out of the bathroom screaming and crying and run into my parents bedroom demanding to be taken to a hospital. Do you get in now you idiots?
Would be nice to go to hospital to get fixed.
Go away please.
And I wish Mum would stop telling me Im being dramatic.
Perhaps I am dramatic.
Go away drama.
Go away.
Stay.
Cause you were with me one minute.
And then you left me all alone with nothing and nobody.
I just want to sleep now.
*
And I did sleep. When I woke up in the morning the thoughts, those shitty thoughts had gone....just as they appeared with no rhyme or reason.
I was me again. The fire was out and not a singe mark in sight.
And btw, none of this shit makes any fucking sense.
I played tennis with Geoff.
Poor cunt. He lives in a caravan, his face ripped all out of shape by acne scars, he's never had a girlfriend and he's got a wicked buck to his teeth.
Nature can be cruel. Lucky Geoff doesnt have the IQ to realise this.
He has no sympathy for me on the tennis court. Bring on those bad fucking genes I say. I beat him 60, 61, 62. I always thrash him. Ive always been good at humiliating people, at finding their sore points and weaknesses, at kicking their arse.
Ive never been quite so good with relationships. Instead of winning in a relationship you have to co-operate. The prize is to be loved and love back. Strategy can be utterly useless. Its incredibly disempowering when you finally come to the conclusion that you cant really control the way somebody feels about you - no matter how good your game plan.
My ex told me he stopped loving me when I started putting all my energy into my career. Fair enough, I did tell him once that I valued career over all other things - including love. Part of me wonders though whether or not actions ever really make a difference, if there is a time for those feelings and a time when they just wear-out - no matter what you do.
After I killed Geoff on the court I started to feel sick again. I took two Zoloft - a double dose. I made Spaghetti Bolognaise for everyone.
"I'm going to Brisbane for the weekend" I told Mum.
"No, your not u owe me money, U or I cant afford it"
"Well I'll go back to Melbourne then"
Poor Mum, I was being deliberately difficult.
"Uve got responsibilities here Luke"
She was being fair.
But at that moment all I could feel was a strange little twinge of despair.
My feelings were, for no apparent reason, out of control. I was burning up inside. I was hating myself again. I pictured myself hanging from a rafter and my Mum exploding in tears as she found me. Where the fuck did all this come from? It made no sense at all. I played with the kitchen knives and couldnt bring myself to cut. My choices were limited, I took another half zoloft and washed my face. I hated my face at the moment. I hated myself. I applied the 7-in-1 Olay anti-ageing cream, expensive cream Id shoplifted the day before.
After a particuluarly brutal dose of bad summer TV all I could think about was getting the fuck out of bundaberg. The little echidna of anxiety in my stomach was making me twitch and shake. I couldnt sit still. I wallowed. I wanted Keegan. Someone. I looked in the mirror, I'd quickly switched from self-loathing to narcissism.
'I need someone. Look at me Im gorgeous, I deserve someone. I dont deserve to be trapped up here in hick land'
I sat on the couch - smeltered in the hear - a dozen frogs looked on from the rafters. Im back here again, I thought, drowning in my own neurotic bullshit.
Poor cunt. He lives in a caravan, his face ripped all out of shape by acne scars, he's never had a girlfriend and he's got a wicked buck to his teeth.
Nature can be cruel. Lucky Geoff doesnt have the IQ to realise this.
He has no sympathy for me on the tennis court. Bring on those bad fucking genes I say. I beat him 60, 61, 62. I always thrash him. Ive always been good at humiliating people, at finding their sore points and weaknesses, at kicking their arse.
Ive never been quite so good with relationships. Instead of winning in a relationship you have to co-operate. The prize is to be loved and love back. Strategy can be utterly useless. Its incredibly disempowering when you finally come to the conclusion that you cant really control the way somebody feels about you - no matter how good your game plan.
My ex told me he stopped loving me when I started putting all my energy into my career. Fair enough, I did tell him once that I valued career over all other things - including love. Part of me wonders though whether or not actions ever really make a difference, if there is a time for those feelings and a time when they just wear-out - no matter what you do.
After I killed Geoff on the court I started to feel sick again. I took two Zoloft - a double dose. I made Spaghetti Bolognaise for everyone.
"I'm going to Brisbane for the weekend" I told Mum.
"No, your not u owe me money, U or I cant afford it"
"Well I'll go back to Melbourne then"
Poor Mum, I was being deliberately difficult.
"Uve got responsibilities here Luke"
She was being fair.
But at that moment all I could feel was a strange little twinge of despair.
My feelings were, for no apparent reason, out of control. I was burning up inside. I was hating myself again. I pictured myself hanging from a rafter and my Mum exploding in tears as she found me. Where the fuck did all this come from? It made no sense at all. I played with the kitchen knives and couldnt bring myself to cut. My choices were limited, I took another half zoloft and washed my face. I hated my face at the moment. I hated myself. I applied the 7-in-1 Olay anti-ageing cream, expensive cream Id shoplifted the day before.
After a particuluarly brutal dose of bad summer TV all I could think about was getting the fuck out of bundaberg. The little echidna of anxiety in my stomach was making me twitch and shake. I couldnt sit still. I wallowed. I wanted Keegan. Someone. I looked in the mirror, I'd quickly switched from self-loathing to narcissism.
'I need someone. Look at me Im gorgeous, I deserve someone. I dont deserve to be trapped up here in hick land'
I sat on the couch - smeltered in the hear - a dozen frogs looked on from the rafters. Im back here again, I thought, drowning in my own neurotic bullshit.
I had a dream about Keegan that night.
It was adults only.
I woke-up hard and wanked about him. Again. Keegan and me and twink in threesome. Thats it its over. Ive blown. Back to reality, back to Bundaberg, back to Waterloo....the beginning of the end.
Txt to Keegan 'How much did u charge again? Was it two drinks or two hundred an hour? I forgot. Lol'
Reply "Ha ha. A million dollars".
Me again "But Ive got a health care card now. What's the concession rate?"
No reply.
It was poison.
I started thinking thinking about going to Brisbane on the weekend. To see him. If he doesnt want to see me, find someone - anyone. Its not that hard. Gay men are easy.
Even still, I imagined going to Melbourne with Keegan taking him to my friends party and showing him off.
Every fantasy about him seemed to jettison from the intutitive truth - he's really that into it.
And I've learnt the hard way that you cant make someone love you. And I'm not sure why then if he rang me and said "come down to Brisbane, stay with me" - which he wouldnt - I would have thrown away my whole recovery process right there and then.
'Sure Keegan, Bundaberg can shove rehab up its distilled arse'
*
"Dad's still not right" I said to Mum.
"I know"
"He's a mess. He lays in bed all day"
"He's depressed Luke. There is nothing I can do about it"
She stopped and cleaned a chopping board in the kitchen that looked spotless.
And went on "when u were back in Melbourne he started acting a bit strange"
"That's not like Dad" I added sarcastically.
She started cleaning the stove-top.
"I worry about that man sometimes. I wish he'd get rid of that gun"
She took a deep breath.
"The other day he nabbed by a copper in Gin Gin for not having his seatbelt on. He was so angry he said he was going to go down to the station, ask for the officer and then shoot him right in the face"
"Jesus Mum. Do u really think he would do that though?"
"Um. I dont know. He gets so irrational I think he could do just about anything. He gets so caught up in his bullshit, he doesnt seem to. To, um, care about the consequences"
"mmmm. God"
"And I tell u something, please dont repeat this. Not even to Tanya. One day he went for a walk. I noticed his gun was missing. He was in a weird mood when he left. Y'know all doom and gloom - the whole world is terrible. He was missing for 3 hours. I thought, yep, he's finally done it. He's gone to shoot himself in the bush"
"Let me guess. He's still alive" I added being a smart arse.
"Your horrible Luke. He came back in a really happy mood. Happy as Larry. I asked him why he took the gun and he said he didnt know"
"Maybe he was looking for those wild dogs."
"mmmm. maybe. I think that his most likely cause of death is suicide. He gets so bloody irrational"
Mum stopped cleaning and squeezed the water out of the dishcloth.
"Oh did I tell u the girl who lives around the corner, Mary, her horse got mauled by feral dogs the other day. The poor thing ran straight into a barbed-wire fence. When they found the horse she was on the ground. She lost so much blood she nearly died"
"Poor thing, is she ok?"
"Yeah, we think so"
I thought about the dogs. Those fucking dogs. They could have killed something much smaller, they liked the sport of taking on a horse.
I wanted to shoot them. Dad and I on motorbikes, in tough terrain, in the QLD summer. I'd kill one and say "see I have got a dick"
An ugly brown Cane Toad caught my eye in the kitchen. I tried to stab with a knife, it was too malleable - it didnt die. I boiled the kettle and poured the water over it. It turned a strange shade of green and died almost instantly. Humanely. I picked it up and threw it outside.
It was adults only.
I woke-up hard and wanked about him. Again. Keegan and me and twink in threesome. Thats it its over. Ive blown. Back to reality, back to Bundaberg, back to Waterloo....the beginning of the end.
Txt to Keegan 'How much did u charge again? Was it two drinks or two hundred an hour? I forgot. Lol'
Reply "Ha ha. A million dollars".
Me again "But Ive got a health care card now. What's the concession rate?"
No reply.
It was poison.
I started thinking thinking about going to Brisbane on the weekend. To see him. If he doesnt want to see me, find someone - anyone. Its not that hard. Gay men are easy.
Even still, I imagined going to Melbourne with Keegan taking him to my friends party and showing him off.
Every fantasy about him seemed to jettison from the intutitive truth - he's really that into it.
And I've learnt the hard way that you cant make someone love you. And I'm not sure why then if he rang me and said "come down to Brisbane, stay with me" - which he wouldnt - I would have thrown away my whole recovery process right there and then.
'Sure Keegan, Bundaberg can shove rehab up its distilled arse'
*
"Dad's still not right" I said to Mum.
"I know"
"He's a mess. He lays in bed all day"
"He's depressed Luke. There is nothing I can do about it"
She stopped and cleaned a chopping board in the kitchen that looked spotless.
And went on "when u were back in Melbourne he started acting a bit strange"
"That's not like Dad" I added sarcastically.
She started cleaning the stove-top.
"I worry about that man sometimes. I wish he'd get rid of that gun"
She took a deep breath.
"The other day he nabbed by a copper in Gin Gin for not having his seatbelt on. He was so angry he said he was going to go down to the station, ask for the officer and then shoot him right in the face"
"Jesus Mum. Do u really think he would do that though?"
"Um. I dont know. He gets so irrational I think he could do just about anything. He gets so caught up in his bullshit, he doesnt seem to. To, um, care about the consequences"
"mmmm. God"
"And I tell u something, please dont repeat this. Not even to Tanya. One day he went for a walk. I noticed his gun was missing. He was in a weird mood when he left. Y'know all doom and gloom - the whole world is terrible. He was missing for 3 hours. I thought, yep, he's finally done it. He's gone to shoot himself in the bush"
"Let me guess. He's still alive" I added being a smart arse.
"Your horrible Luke. He came back in a really happy mood. Happy as Larry. I asked him why he took the gun and he said he didnt know"
"Maybe he was looking for those wild dogs."
"mmmm. maybe. I think that his most likely cause of death is suicide. He gets so bloody irrational"
Mum stopped cleaning and squeezed the water out of the dishcloth.
"Oh did I tell u the girl who lives around the corner, Mary, her horse got mauled by feral dogs the other day. The poor thing ran straight into a barbed-wire fence. When they found the horse she was on the ground. She lost so much blood she nearly died"
"Poor thing, is she ok?"
"Yeah, we think so"
I thought about the dogs. Those fucking dogs. They could have killed something much smaller, they liked the sport of taking on a horse.
I wanted to shoot them. Dad and I on motorbikes, in tough terrain, in the QLD summer. I'd kill one and say "see I have got a dick"
An ugly brown Cane Toad caught my eye in the kitchen. I tried to stab with a knife, it was too malleable - it didnt die. I boiled the kettle and poured the water over it. It turned a strange shade of green and died almost instantly. Humanely. I picked it up and threw it outside.
Start Sandbagging
Somehow after playing THE GAME strategically and a few phone calls I ended up at Keegans house.
It was a cute old Queenslander that sat in the foot of a valley.
Keegan was completely different. He was no longer the alpha-queen tease he was like in the club. The personality that had allured me in the first place.
He apologised for his behaviour the night before.
He said he was very embarrassed.
He showed me photos of his parents NSW country mansion (the Bronx?).
When I told him some of my ex's had been drag queens he showed me a picture of himself in drag.
He said he got really smashed because he had been dumped 3 months ago by his boyfriend of 2 years. The guy dumped him in front of their friends.
"I would have walked over hot coles for him" he said.
"Ive really gone downhill since my break-up as well. I've been suspended from work, I've declared myself bankrupt and Im going to rehab. Its hard understand why, but it hurts and we will do anything to stop the hurt" I said.
He put the cup of tea he was drinking to his cheek. He stared at me for a couple of seconds and said nothing.
He said he was going to calm down now.
"Was a cunt last night?" he asked me.
Well, yes, yes you were.
"No you werent a cunt, u were just messy"
I left after 2 hours, he hugged me when I left and kissed me on the cheek.
That's it. I know it was kind of a first date - if a man likes you - LIKES ME - wouldnt he do more than that. I quickly came to conclusion he musnt be feeling it. He doesnt have to, okay fine, it hurts though not to be loved.
*
We drove back to Bundaberg the next day.
"He's fucking amazing" I said to Mum in the car "But I dont think he likes me very much"
"Why?"
"Well we didnt sleep together which is fine. He didnt even try to kiss me though. Just a goodbye kiss, a kiss on the cheek".
In truth it was a huge relief to put that anxiety into words, Id been drowning in my little dilemma - invented or not - over the past day.
"Did u try and kiss him?"
"No, he didnt seem like he wanted to. I can tell he wasnt that into it"
"Your thinking about this too much Luke"
Only cause Im feeling so much Mum.
"Maybe if your Sisters Son hadnt fucking molested me when I was 9 I'd feel more comfortable about these things" I said, half-joking and continued with "And maybe if your cunt of a husband had shown more of an interest in me when I was a kid I wouldnt be so fucking insecure about men liking me"
"You might be right" said Mum.
"Yeah well Im not joking about that one"
The 5 hour road trip was the Keegan variety hour in my head. I pictured us going clubbing together, going to parties together, going to the movies together and laying all over each other completely relaxed on his couch. The angst came up like little pricks of pain in my stomach, like each little daydream felt like I could vomit it out - but they only made it worse. I tried thinking about something else. What's going on here? Its only been like a day - stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about him. About Keegan. Keegan. Keegan. Idiot.
Keegan.
We got into Bundaberg. It was modest, down-to-earth, familiar. The familiar landmarks came and went as we drove past.
Hinkler Place Shopping Centre
The Bundaberg Broadcast Centre
Friendlies Medical Clinic
Sugar Canes
And then finally on the way back to Waterloo - the beginning of the end of my wild adventure -
Yandaran Creek
Cockatoo Creek
Waterloo Hall, the only public building in the town - rarely used and made entirely of tin.
Dad had built the roof on the verandah it sat awkwardly under clear skies. I sat under it. I smelt the fresh, lemongrassy smell of the dry-bush.
I heard an odd scream from the bush. A Kookaburra flew over head with a dying rodent in its mouth. It took to the ground and stabbed it to death with its beak. The cries gradually died out.
I was back in nature. I was home, free from the expectation of having a lover and living day-to-day with the reality of not having a lover.
And still there he was in my mind - for no good rational reason - Keegan.
Still thinking about what I had said about Dad in the car, I was very conscious of his self-absorbed behaviour.
Mum showed him photos of the flood. They were fucking interesting photos. Dad said he was going to bed after looking at just one.
I came to the conclusion Dad found the photos boring because
(a) he was once again depressed and the medication only does so much
And
(b) the photos werent of him
He spent all afternoon lying in bed. I saw him through the crack of the door. He's terribly overweight. He reminds me of the last time I saw his mother, she was bedridden from obesity - half insane - dying from cancer - her wrinkled tits slipping out of her floral fat-lady dress. She smelt and she scared me. She spoke like a truck driver. At her funeral they carried her down in the biggest darn coffin I ever saw. Funny he should remind of her, that fat old bitch - when its much more likely he'll go the way of his Dad who hung himself in the family garage. The old man didnt just have a fat wife he'd been to war and was convinced the 'Japs were coming'. One of his 7 kids found him hanging there lifeless, swinging peacefully. A year later, one of Dad's brothers suicided in their bathroom. Dad reckons he saw his Grandad's ghost in the garage one day. I reckon Grandad's ghost is with Dad a lot and in me sometimes as well.
I txted Keegan.
"If your ever bored call me and if you ever feel like txting your ex, txt me instead"
He replied
"Ok cool, but I dont have boring moments"
Ok Cool, u cunt.
It cooled down at night. I watch a green tree snake swallow a frog next to kitchin bin. It bleed a few drops on the floor and Mel the Kangaroo looked up wide-eyed and alert as the Frog screamed like a bitch as the snake swallowed its head.
I went into my room and wanked over Keegan. I came right up to my neck line in about 30 seconds.
Someone was feeling it.
The storm was here. It was beginning to flood.
*
The next day I hated Bundaberg, I hated Waterloo....I hated being at the beginning of the end. I felt like the waters coming down were full of some kind of poision led.
Dad sat at the dining table.
"We should go looking for those dogs to shoot, Dad" I said.
He didnt answer me, he was just staring out of the windom.
Maybe, he didnt hear me.
It was a cute old Queenslander that sat in the foot of a valley.
Keegan was completely different. He was no longer the alpha-queen tease he was like in the club. The personality that had allured me in the first place.
He apologised for his behaviour the night before.
He said he was very embarrassed.
He showed me photos of his parents NSW country mansion (the Bronx?).
When I told him some of my ex's had been drag queens he showed me a picture of himself in drag.
He said he got really smashed because he had been dumped 3 months ago by his boyfriend of 2 years. The guy dumped him in front of their friends.
"I would have walked over hot coles for him" he said.
"Ive really gone downhill since my break-up as well. I've been suspended from work, I've declared myself bankrupt and Im going to rehab. Its hard understand why, but it hurts and we will do anything to stop the hurt" I said.
He put the cup of tea he was drinking to his cheek. He stared at me for a couple of seconds and said nothing.
He said he was going to calm down now.
"Was a cunt last night?" he asked me.
Well, yes, yes you were.
"No you werent a cunt, u were just messy"
I left after 2 hours, he hugged me when I left and kissed me on the cheek.
That's it. I know it was kind of a first date - if a man likes you - LIKES ME - wouldnt he do more than that. I quickly came to conclusion he musnt be feeling it. He doesnt have to, okay fine, it hurts though not to be loved.
*
We drove back to Bundaberg the next day.
"He's fucking amazing" I said to Mum in the car "But I dont think he likes me very much"
"Why?"
"Well we didnt sleep together which is fine. He didnt even try to kiss me though. Just a goodbye kiss, a kiss on the cheek".
In truth it was a huge relief to put that anxiety into words, Id been drowning in my little dilemma - invented or not - over the past day.
"Did u try and kiss him?"
"No, he didnt seem like he wanted to. I can tell he wasnt that into it"
"Your thinking about this too much Luke"
Only cause Im feeling so much Mum.
"Maybe if your Sisters Son hadnt fucking molested me when I was 9 I'd feel more comfortable about these things" I said, half-joking and continued with "And maybe if your cunt of a husband had shown more of an interest in me when I was a kid I wouldnt be so fucking insecure about men liking me"
"You might be right" said Mum.
"Yeah well Im not joking about that one"
The 5 hour road trip was the Keegan variety hour in my head. I pictured us going clubbing together, going to parties together, going to the movies together and laying all over each other completely relaxed on his couch. The angst came up like little pricks of pain in my stomach, like each little daydream felt like I could vomit it out - but they only made it worse. I tried thinking about something else. What's going on here? Its only been like a day - stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about him. About Keegan. Keegan. Keegan. Idiot.
Keegan.
We got into Bundaberg. It was modest, down-to-earth, familiar. The familiar landmarks came and went as we drove past.
Hinkler Place Shopping Centre
The Bundaberg Broadcast Centre
Friendlies Medical Clinic
Sugar Canes
And then finally on the way back to Waterloo - the beginning of the end of my wild adventure -
Yandaran Creek
Cockatoo Creek
Waterloo Hall, the only public building in the town - rarely used and made entirely of tin.
Dad had built the roof on the verandah it sat awkwardly under clear skies. I sat under it. I smelt the fresh, lemongrassy smell of the dry-bush.
I heard an odd scream from the bush. A Kookaburra flew over head with a dying rodent in its mouth. It took to the ground and stabbed it to death with its beak. The cries gradually died out.
I was back in nature. I was home, free from the expectation of having a lover and living day-to-day with the reality of not having a lover.
And still there he was in my mind - for no good rational reason - Keegan.
Still thinking about what I had said about Dad in the car, I was very conscious of his self-absorbed behaviour.
Mum showed him photos of the flood. They were fucking interesting photos. Dad said he was going to bed after looking at just one.
I came to the conclusion Dad found the photos boring because
(a) he was once again depressed and the medication only does so much
And
(b) the photos werent of him
He spent all afternoon lying in bed. I saw him through the crack of the door. He's terribly overweight. He reminds me of the last time I saw his mother, she was bedridden from obesity - half insane - dying from cancer - her wrinkled tits slipping out of her floral fat-lady dress. She smelt and she scared me. She spoke like a truck driver. At her funeral they carried her down in the biggest darn coffin I ever saw. Funny he should remind of her, that fat old bitch - when its much more likely he'll go the way of his Dad who hung himself in the family garage. The old man didnt just have a fat wife he'd been to war and was convinced the 'Japs were coming'. One of his 7 kids found him hanging there lifeless, swinging peacefully. A year later, one of Dad's brothers suicided in their bathroom. Dad reckons he saw his Grandad's ghost in the garage one day. I reckon Grandad's ghost is with Dad a lot and in me sometimes as well.
I txted Keegan.
"If your ever bored call me and if you ever feel like txting your ex, txt me instead"
He replied
"Ok cool, but I dont have boring moments"
Ok Cool, u cunt.
It cooled down at night. I watch a green tree snake swallow a frog next to kitchin bin. It bleed a few drops on the floor and Mel the Kangaroo looked up wide-eyed and alert as the Frog screamed like a bitch as the snake swallowed its head.
I went into my room and wanked over Keegan. I came right up to my neck line in about 30 seconds.
Someone was feeling it.
The storm was here. It was beginning to flood.
*
The next day I hated Bundaberg, I hated Waterloo....I hated being at the beginning of the end. I felt like the waters coming down were full of some kind of poision led.
Dad sat at the dining table.
"We should go looking for those dogs to shoot, Dad" I said.
He didnt answer me, he was just staring out of the windom.
Maybe, he didnt hear me.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Its Starting, I Can Feel Myself Getting All Muddled
It took me an hour and 20 minutes to get ready. Without being too-faggy about it, I was having accessory issues. I had more freedom when it came to fashion in Brisbane, Melbourne was at least 12 months ahead so I could be edgy and not look like a dickhead. Eventually I settled on low-strung studded belt , a blue skull-design silk scarf wrapped around my waist, white skull-design bandenna sitting out of my backpocket, dunlop volleys, my robot t-shirt and a ninja style red headband with chinese writing on it.
I looked good, believe it or not.
I walked into Beat hoping that as many people would notice me as possible. A guy cracked onto me as soon as hit the dancefloor. A girl with glasses came up to me
"If your wondering where all the hot guys are they go to Family on sunday nights" she said.
"Well there certainly not here" I said scanning the room.
"Whats your type?" she asked me.
"Young, pretty-boy, twinky types"
"I'll have a look around for"
"Thanks, I need the help"
I walked into another section of the club. The guy who cracked onto me followed, he was nice - but his shirt was awful. He didnt buy me a drink. I needed to fuck him right off.
I spotted a small, dark guy on the floor. Great hair, nice colouring. I looked at him closer to make sure he wasnt an ugly cunt hiding behind a good haircut. He was cute, very cute...I wanted him bad.
I trotted over.
He was wearing a t-shirt was a skull on the front.
"I like skulls" I said.
He smiled at me drunkenly.
"Ive got skulls here" I said pointing to the scarf and "here" I said turning around and showing him the bandenna poking out of my backpocket.
He was aloof as all shit. Guys normally tell me I'm hott......he didnt....it made want h9im more.
I ran my hand down his chest, he started dancing up to me.
The song came on....
"Fuck the pain away
Fuck the pain away
Fuck the pain away
He looked at me and mouthed the lyrics with mock-seriousness.
I laughed, grabbed him and started pashing.
Other guys were trying to meet eyes with him, I stared them down.
"Im getting a drink" I said
"Can you get me one too?"
Apparently Im paying.
"Whats your name?"
"Keegan"
"I like your style" I told him.
I was smitten, I went home to get more money so i could buy him more drinks.
When I came back I found him talking with the drag queen I had seen up the street. He was still out of drag - those eyebrows however will never be out of drag. He knew the right people. The queen shoved a pill in his mouth. The Queen came up to me and put her around me.
"Your really hot" she said.
We started pashing.
Then all three of us started pashing at the bar. I was in the middle. I was fucking loving it.
They guessed my age to be 23, they were both 24.
"Im 28" I said.
"Ive been looking for an older man" Keegan said.
I put my arm around Keegan and my hand on the Queen's lap.
"And whats your name?" I asked the Queen.
"Lexi or Tom" he/she said.
We rested our cheeks all together and started pashing three-ways again.
Lexi left with an 18 year old boy and started kissing him away from the bar.
Hooray, I was alone with Keegan.
Who was fucked-up. He had dark rings around his eyes from the drugs. It was sexy.
"Are you from Brisbane?" he asked me.
"No Melbourne"
"Why are you here?"
"I got suspended from work and I have to go to a drug rehab place before I'm fit to work again."
"Rehab sucks" he said.
"Why?"
"It didnt work for me"
"Yeah, no shit"
"Uh?"
"Healthy people generally dont have cheekbones that good"
"Actually my cheekbones always look like this"
"Well u r very pretty"
Stop it u idiot, ur not playing the game.
"I know its a curse"
He said, nearly falling off his chair.
"So why didnt it work for you?"
"What?"
"Rehab"
"My Dad's a drug dealer"
"So?"
"And my Mum was a prostitute"
"So, how does that mean that rehab didnt work for you, whats that got to do with it?"
"Well...where I grew up it was a bit like the Bronx. No-one expected me to do anything with my life and I have. My fashion designs are really starting to take off, they are in shops all over Brisbane"
"Where did you grow-up?"
"In London, I'm half-maltese, half-spanish"
I love this boy - i wasnt going to give just yet.
"And so what.....you told me about your parents because you think it makes u cool to have parents like that?"
"Fuck off"
"Want another drink?"
"Yep"
"Do u still want me to fuck off"
He looked at me through his black-ringed eyes and smiled.
"Hey do u want my number?"
"Okay"
He wrote it on a piece of paper. I saw him a bit later and he seemed to cracking onto a teenager with a face like a horse. A pit of unreasonable fury started to make its way through my stomach and into the chest. I was pissed, I'd been ditched too many times for this to happen and now to happen again, when Im actually smitten.
Fuck him. I left.
He saw me as I was leaving.
"Do u want my number?"
"I already have ur number" I yelled at him angrily.
He turned to his friend.
"Oh, he's angry with me".
I went home caught up in the conclusion that I had once again fallen for the wrong boy. A game-player, a narcissist, a drug-addict with good hair. It seemed to late, he'd stained my mind and not even a good dose of Zoloft would wash it out.
I woke up the next day flooded with anxiety. That awful, horrible feeling of infatuation with the wrong one - THE ONE WHO DOESNT LOVE U BACK. Nothing else mattered that morning as a laid in bed watching a black storm slowly drift across the Brisbane skyline. The world is fucking ugly and cruel I thought to myself.
I sent him a txt. "nice to meet u last night and btw u were fucked-up".
Mum and I walked down to the Valley. I tried telling her what happened, she wasnt in the mood.
"Cut to the chase, Luke, your stories can be so long-winded"
"Forget it" I said and walked back to the hotel.
It seemed like no big deal on the surface, but it was starting to flood inside of me. I thought of the road sign 'no standing' that had been submerged in Lismore. The snake out of place near an underwater Van. The angst in my stomach was spreading and nothing else really mattered. I wanted to cut myself.
He wont txt me back.
Im a fucking idiot.
Im going to cut myself.
Back at the hotel I took two Zolofts, put a toner in my hair, shaved my face, cut my inner thigh with a kitchen knnife and gave myself a semi-deluxe facial.
I went to bed and lay stating at the wall.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
My phone went off. It was him.
"Yeah way too fucked. nice meeting u as well"
He had pulled the plug, my anxiety drained straight away. He wasnt just using me to get drinks, I thought. The storm had made its way over. Humidity changed to straight coolness and the rain pelted down on the windows. Something had changed. I went into the bathroom and put tea-tree oil on my cut and put the finishing touches on my eyebrows.
My hair really did need that toner, it was looking way too yellow....I thought, he'll like me even more now.
I looked good, believe it or not.
I walked into Beat hoping that as many people would notice me as possible. A guy cracked onto me as soon as hit the dancefloor. A girl with glasses came up to me
"If your wondering where all the hot guys are they go to Family on sunday nights" she said.
"Well there certainly not here" I said scanning the room.
"Whats your type?" she asked me.
"Young, pretty-boy, twinky types"
"I'll have a look around for"
"Thanks, I need the help"
I walked into another section of the club. The guy who cracked onto me followed, he was nice - but his shirt was awful. He didnt buy me a drink. I needed to fuck him right off.
I spotted a small, dark guy on the floor. Great hair, nice colouring. I looked at him closer to make sure he wasnt an ugly cunt hiding behind a good haircut. He was cute, very cute...I wanted him bad.
I trotted over.
He was wearing a t-shirt was a skull on the front.
"I like skulls" I said.
He smiled at me drunkenly.
"Ive got skulls here" I said pointing to the scarf and "here" I said turning around and showing him the bandenna poking out of my backpocket.
He was aloof as all shit. Guys normally tell me I'm hott......he didnt....it made want h9im more.
I ran my hand down his chest, he started dancing up to me.
The song came on....
"Fuck the pain away
Fuck the pain away
Fuck the pain away
He looked at me and mouthed the lyrics with mock-seriousness.
I laughed, grabbed him and started pashing.
Other guys were trying to meet eyes with him, I stared them down.
"Im getting a drink" I said
"Can you get me one too?"
Apparently Im paying.
"Whats your name?"
"Keegan"
"I like your style" I told him.
I was smitten, I went home to get more money so i could buy him more drinks.
When I came back I found him talking with the drag queen I had seen up the street. He was still out of drag - those eyebrows however will never be out of drag. He knew the right people. The queen shoved a pill in his mouth. The Queen came up to me and put her around me.
"Your really hot" she said.
We started pashing.
Then all three of us started pashing at the bar. I was in the middle. I was fucking loving it.
They guessed my age to be 23, they were both 24.
"Im 28" I said.
"Ive been looking for an older man" Keegan said.
I put my arm around Keegan and my hand on the Queen's lap.
"And whats your name?" I asked the Queen.
"Lexi or Tom" he/she said.
We rested our cheeks all together and started pashing three-ways again.
Lexi left with an 18 year old boy and started kissing him away from the bar.
Hooray, I was alone with Keegan.
Who was fucked-up. He had dark rings around his eyes from the drugs. It was sexy.
"Are you from Brisbane?" he asked me.
"No Melbourne"
"Why are you here?"
"I got suspended from work and I have to go to a drug rehab place before I'm fit to work again."
"Rehab sucks" he said.
"Why?"
"It didnt work for me"
"Yeah, no shit"
"Uh?"
"Healthy people generally dont have cheekbones that good"
"Actually my cheekbones always look like this"
"Well u r very pretty"
Stop it u idiot, ur not playing the game.
"I know its a curse"
He said, nearly falling off his chair.
"So why didnt it work for you?"
"What?"
"Rehab"
"My Dad's a drug dealer"
"So?"
"And my Mum was a prostitute"
"So, how does that mean that rehab didnt work for you, whats that got to do with it?"
"Well...where I grew up it was a bit like the Bronx. No-one expected me to do anything with my life and I have. My fashion designs are really starting to take off, they are in shops all over Brisbane"
"Where did you grow-up?"
"In London, I'm half-maltese, half-spanish"
I love this boy - i wasnt going to give just yet.
"And so what.....you told me about your parents because you think it makes u cool to have parents like that?"
"Fuck off"
"Want another drink?"
"Yep"
"Do u still want me to fuck off"
He looked at me through his black-ringed eyes and smiled.
"Hey do u want my number?"
"Okay"
He wrote it on a piece of paper. I saw him a bit later and he seemed to cracking onto a teenager with a face like a horse. A pit of unreasonable fury started to make its way through my stomach and into the chest. I was pissed, I'd been ditched too many times for this to happen and now to happen again, when Im actually smitten.
Fuck him. I left.
He saw me as I was leaving.
"Do u want my number?"
"I already have ur number" I yelled at him angrily.
He turned to his friend.
"Oh, he's angry with me".
I went home caught up in the conclusion that I had once again fallen for the wrong boy. A game-player, a narcissist, a drug-addict with good hair. It seemed to late, he'd stained my mind and not even a good dose of Zoloft would wash it out.
I woke up the next day flooded with anxiety. That awful, horrible feeling of infatuation with the wrong one - THE ONE WHO DOESNT LOVE U BACK. Nothing else mattered that morning as a laid in bed watching a black storm slowly drift across the Brisbane skyline. The world is fucking ugly and cruel I thought to myself.
I sent him a txt. "nice to meet u last night and btw u were fucked-up".
Mum and I walked down to the Valley. I tried telling her what happened, she wasnt in the mood.
"Cut to the chase, Luke, your stories can be so long-winded"
"Forget it" I said and walked back to the hotel.
It seemed like no big deal on the surface, but it was starting to flood inside of me. I thought of the road sign 'no standing' that had been submerged in Lismore. The snake out of place near an underwater Van. The angst in my stomach was spreading and nothing else really mattered. I wanted to cut myself.
He wont txt me back.
Im a fucking idiot.
Im going to cut myself.
Back at the hotel I took two Zolofts, put a toner in my hair, shaved my face, cut my inner thigh with a kitchen knnife and gave myself a semi-deluxe facial.
I went to bed and lay stating at the wall.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
My phone went off. It was him.
"Yeah way too fucked. nice meeting u as well"
He had pulled the plug, my anxiety drained straight away. He wasnt just using me to get drinks, I thought. The storm had made its way over. Humidity changed to straight coolness and the rain pelted down on the windows. Something had changed. I went into the bathroom and put tea-tree oil on my cut and put the finishing touches on my eyebrows.
My hair really did need that toner, it was looking way too yellow....I thought, he'll like me even more now.
Wet Roads and getting nearer
We planned to drive from Byron Bay to Nimbin.
I never thought my first time it go to the 'alternative-lifestyle' capital was with my Mum. Stiff shit.
On the way, it continuted to rain down on gorgeous, lush countryside....I started to paint the picture of Nimbin for Mum.
"I knew a woman from around Lismoe, she was a dyke, she had facial hair and she never shaved. She used to wear bows in it and performed in a circus as a kind of bearded lady come acrobat"
Mum laughed. "Sounds like an interesting lady"
"Yeah and once an actor from Home and Away to Nimbin. He'd gone there to be a hippy, but he dressed all wrong - like some kind of bad 60s cliche. The locals laughed at him, he got back in his car, drove back to Sydney and never returned. Real hippes are filthy, feral, lice-ridden - its disgusting and you have to respect that a real hippie is a real hippie, not some fucking city try-hard."
Of course I thought the whole problem with the hippie movement was more complex than that. Where I'd grown-up in Victoria was not unlike Byron Bay. The only vestage of alternative life were the hippies who lived in a depressed, public housing area called "Cockatoo". They lived in tee-pees, in places with no rooves, with Mums who got more stoned that they did and then left their 14 year olds alone for months at a time while they travelled the countryside "on a journey". It had given me a taste of life beyond the bland, conservative, aspiring middle class house I grew up and at the same time left me, like some kids of hippies as cynical as ever about whether or not the "alternative" was ever better than the "mainstream".
There was always a gap between the rhetoric and action. One girl I knew who was in her early 20s used to go on about 'tarot' and 'intuition' and 'past lives'. She dressed earthy and thought she was princess Nature incarnate. She was actually a selfish cunt - giving up her two small children to her violent-ex and spent most of her time with a sugar daddy. She feel pregnant to some young goth guy and miscarried at a dance party, on drugs on the dancefloor. Her friend, who also believed she was 'caring' and 'free' and 'mother of all children' protested when Renee came up to her at the dance party.
"Amber I want to go home, I think Ive had a miscarriage"
"Oh Renee, please, cant we just stay for another hour...the musics getting good and Ive just had another pill"
Often, 'freedom' just means free to do what you want without considering others.
Another girl I knew thought she was so perfect she might just float away from her spiritual body and become pure-spirit. She took ACID when she was pregnant and her baby was born with deformed feet. The crystals just couldnt heal that one. Ive seen hippie girls bitch at each other in a way that make the POPULAR GIRLS cringe. Ive seen a lesbian couple with dreadlocks beat the shit out of a random stranger, a hippie guy rob houses and snatch purses off unsuspecting old women to feed their habit. Ive also never understood why eating organic food is important when your just going to pump your body full of drugs and why its ok to have dance parties in the middle of the bush just to fuck the environment up that little bit more. Many of the kids of hippies I knew grew-up and got massive mortgages and called their kids things like "Mercedes". They wanted to get out of the glorified poverty trap and now they are some of the most materialistic people Ive ever met.
Like the gay world, the 'alternative' world suffers from a lack of values and strict sense of conformity to ideals like 'vegetarianism'. At times, both worlds can be as intolerant of difference at the mainstream world from which they rebel.
We drove past a sign that pointed Ballina one way and Lismore the other. Matt, the 18 year old ex-Versace Model with a Narcisstic Personality Disorder, came from Ballina. I felt a little twinge in my stomach we turned the opposite direction. It was slightly liberating.
Part of me also wanted to go there. What if Matt just happened to be visting for Christmas? So what I nearly beat the shit out of him last time I saw him...Ive got charisma, Ive been working out.
I put HIS song on.
"Marina Gasolina....meet u after school and Ill beat u like Gorilla" (wank u off)
He sang it to me a few times. Marina Gasolina was a reference to a type of woman in Brazil who only dated guys if they owned a car. Ha. I suspected Matt had been cheating on me with a guy who lived in a penthouse and drove a porsche.
I played HIS other song.
'When I go out some like to get my drunk and wild.
But the only thing you'll get tonight is my fucking drunk tab.
Yeah Im like this hot chick that you cant even touch'
He used to say that song was about him.
Wanker.
I pined for him quietly.
When we got into Lismore it was deserted. The town was flooded. The roads to Nimbin were all cut off. A car was submerged, so was a van, a mini golf course and half a pub. Street signs were completely covered. A brown snake swam through what was once road. We stopped and took photos. Later that day I learned that someone further North had been killed in the flooding.
We werent going to Nimbin. We went back to Brisbane via Ballina. Which was dumpy, unsophisticated, out of the way. It made a big fat lie out of Matt's sexy, smooth, urbane facade. I wanted to call him and tell him I understand why he was such a dickhead now. I really only wanted to so I could hear his voice. Any boy's voice.
I slept in the car most of the way back to Brisbane. I was excited to be back. I could go out, find another Matt.
We stayed in the Valley. I walked around, it was busy, hot and humid. Aboriginals sat with horrible meth-addict bitches, there were tourists, hipsters, emos, fags. I saw a celebrity drag queen out of costume and like most celebrity drag-queens looked much better dressed as a girl
I walked around the few blocks that make up the valley and heard fragments of people's conversation.
"Do u know how much they charge me for that advice?"
"Im fucking smashed already, man"
"She reckons she used to be a prostitute, I never...."
None of this makes any fucking sense I thought. It was utterly pointless, all of it. I was ready to get lost in the madness and the meaninglessness. I was ready to go out.
There was a nice carpark waiting for me.
I never thought my first time it go to the 'alternative-lifestyle' capital was with my Mum. Stiff shit.
On the way, it continuted to rain down on gorgeous, lush countryside....I started to paint the picture of Nimbin for Mum.
"I knew a woman from around Lismoe, she was a dyke, she had facial hair and she never shaved. She used to wear bows in it and performed in a circus as a kind of bearded lady come acrobat"
Mum laughed. "Sounds like an interesting lady"
"Yeah and once an actor from Home and Away to Nimbin. He'd gone there to be a hippy, but he dressed all wrong - like some kind of bad 60s cliche. The locals laughed at him, he got back in his car, drove back to Sydney and never returned. Real hippes are filthy, feral, lice-ridden - its disgusting and you have to respect that a real hippie is a real hippie, not some fucking city try-hard."
Of course I thought the whole problem with the hippie movement was more complex than that. Where I'd grown-up in Victoria was not unlike Byron Bay. The only vestage of alternative life were the hippies who lived in a depressed, public housing area called "Cockatoo". They lived in tee-pees, in places with no rooves, with Mums who got more stoned that they did and then left their 14 year olds alone for months at a time while they travelled the countryside "on a journey". It had given me a taste of life beyond the bland, conservative, aspiring middle class house I grew up and at the same time left me, like some kids of hippies as cynical as ever about whether or not the "alternative" was ever better than the "mainstream".
There was always a gap between the rhetoric and action. One girl I knew who was in her early 20s used to go on about 'tarot' and 'intuition' and 'past lives'. She dressed earthy and thought she was princess Nature incarnate. She was actually a selfish cunt - giving up her two small children to her violent-ex and spent most of her time with a sugar daddy. She feel pregnant to some young goth guy and miscarried at a dance party, on drugs on the dancefloor. Her friend, who also believed she was 'caring' and 'free' and 'mother of all children' protested when Renee came up to her at the dance party.
"Amber I want to go home, I think Ive had a miscarriage"
"Oh Renee, please, cant we just stay for another hour...the musics getting good and Ive just had another pill"
Often, 'freedom' just means free to do what you want without considering others.
Another girl I knew thought she was so perfect she might just float away from her spiritual body and become pure-spirit. She took ACID when she was pregnant and her baby was born with deformed feet. The crystals just couldnt heal that one. Ive seen hippie girls bitch at each other in a way that make the POPULAR GIRLS cringe. Ive seen a lesbian couple with dreadlocks beat the shit out of a random stranger, a hippie guy rob houses and snatch purses off unsuspecting old women to feed their habit. Ive also never understood why eating organic food is important when your just going to pump your body full of drugs and why its ok to have dance parties in the middle of the bush just to fuck the environment up that little bit more. Many of the kids of hippies I knew grew-up and got massive mortgages and called their kids things like "Mercedes". They wanted to get out of the glorified poverty trap and now they are some of the most materialistic people Ive ever met.
Like the gay world, the 'alternative' world suffers from a lack of values and strict sense of conformity to ideals like 'vegetarianism'. At times, both worlds can be as intolerant of difference at the mainstream world from which they rebel.
We drove past a sign that pointed Ballina one way and Lismore the other. Matt, the 18 year old ex-Versace Model with a Narcisstic Personality Disorder, came from Ballina. I felt a little twinge in my stomach we turned the opposite direction. It was slightly liberating.
Part of me also wanted to go there. What if Matt just happened to be visting for Christmas? So what I nearly beat the shit out of him last time I saw him...Ive got charisma, Ive been working out.
I put HIS song on.
"Marina Gasolina....meet u after school and Ill beat u like Gorilla" (wank u off)
He sang it to me a few times. Marina Gasolina was a reference to a type of woman in Brazil who only dated guys if they owned a car. Ha. I suspected Matt had been cheating on me with a guy who lived in a penthouse and drove a porsche.
I played HIS other song.
'When I go out some like to get my drunk and wild.
But the only thing you'll get tonight is my fucking drunk tab.
Yeah Im like this hot chick that you cant even touch'
He used to say that song was about him.
Wanker.
I pined for him quietly.
When we got into Lismore it was deserted. The town was flooded. The roads to Nimbin were all cut off. A car was submerged, so was a van, a mini golf course and half a pub. Street signs were completely covered. A brown snake swam through what was once road. We stopped and took photos. Later that day I learned that someone further North had been killed in the flooding.
We werent going to Nimbin. We went back to Brisbane via Ballina. Which was dumpy, unsophisticated, out of the way. It made a big fat lie out of Matt's sexy, smooth, urbane facade. I wanted to call him and tell him I understand why he was such a dickhead now. I really only wanted to so I could hear his voice. Any boy's voice.
I slept in the car most of the way back to Brisbane. I was excited to be back. I could go out, find another Matt.
We stayed in the Valley. I walked around, it was busy, hot and humid. Aboriginals sat with horrible meth-addict bitches, there were tourists, hipsters, emos, fags. I saw a celebrity drag queen out of costume and like most celebrity drag-queens looked much better dressed as a girl
I walked around the few blocks that make up the valley and heard fragments of people's conversation.
"Do u know how much they charge me for that advice?"
"Im fucking smashed already, man"
"She reckons she used to be a prostitute, I never...."
None of this makes any fucking sense I thought. It was utterly pointless, all of it. I was ready to get lost in the madness and the meaninglessness. I was ready to go out.
There was a nice carpark waiting for me.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Happy Birthday Cunt
We drove to Miami, Florida the next day.
I mean the Gold Coast. Tacky, soulless, outdated piece of 90s shit it is.
I met with my friend Katie. We went to the gay club in town.
They had $2 vodkas.
I woke up the next morning in a car park.
A guy had nudged me and sounding genuinely worried he said
"Are you alright, mate?"
I think he thought he'd discoverd a corpse.
In some ways he had.
"Im fine" I said, and started giggling like a mad man.
I remembered straight away the drunken lot of fun I'd had and the vomiting in the rain on the way home. After trying to sleep on the beach with my head spinning, the underground car park across the road seemed so warm and cozy.
Mum woke up when I got to the hotel. It was 6am and a gorgeous morning in a cunt of a place. We could see the ocean from the room and misty rain was slowly making its way to shore.
Drunk as fuck I started yaking to Mum.
"Thanks for waking me up" she said.
"I slept in a car park"
"That's jolly good"
"Im still tanked"
"How nice 4 u"
"I was dancing on the poduim with my shirt off and this guy said he'd give me $20 if I took my pants off. I had no underwear on, but I did it anyway cause I was broke"
Mum rolled her blurry eyes.
"Then he bought like 5 drinks as well and I threw up in the toilet. Then I went outside to throw up, a cleaner told me to move. And Im like its only water vomit, show compassion"
"You fuckwit" she said "So did you end up with that guy who bought u all those drinks"
"No, I was just playing him"
"To drinks and money?"
"Yep. He was old, wrinkled and grey"
"Yuck, was he sleazy?"
"No he didnt touch me. I never let them touch me"
"Hey, did you pay Grant back that money"
"I had no intention of paying him back"
"mmmmm"
"The whole club was great. The resident drag queen told me how fabulous I was. The guys were hot. I picked up a 21 year old Law Student. I lost him, however, sometime between saying goodbye to Katie and throwing-up"
"Oh well"
"And this girl came up to me and told me how gorgeous I was. Katie had to tell her to fuck off cause she wouldnt leave me alone"
My ego was out of control.
"Did Katie have fun?"
"I think so...hey, its my birthday"
"Happy Birthday Luke"
I went bed. Mum got her revenge 3 hours later when she woke me up being a bitch.
We drove to Byron Bay and fought several times about which direction to go in.
Northern NSW was flooded. Some fences were completely underwater. It rained the whole way. It was misty so I didnt get to show Mum the lush rainforesty landscape I really wanted to her see.
We walked around Byron and it was hard to miss the new COMMERCIAL Byron. Neoliberalism had invaded hippie land and colonised with units called "Jays Jays" and "Supre". What the fuck did I care now? I buy headbands from Supre, right???
There were middle class families and trendy young couples. Mum told me she had read in Who Weekly that Elle Mcpherson had been spotted surfing there. Prosperous Australia has no alternative. Perhaps that just means its nice to be mainstream at the moment. Im not sure. The nightclub I went to 7 years ago was now a vacant building. When I did see the locals. The old-skool locals. I nodded at them, they smiled back. "We know", "we are legit", "weve seen this place change". Just like them I felt at those moments proud to be a misfit.
Two teenage girls stopped me in the street. I was wearing a ninja style red headband.
"Can we have your headband" they asked.
"Sure"
"We love it"
I laughed.
"We love your t-shirt. Its cool. Robots are cool"
They were pretty, blonde, locals not hippies more like surfie chicks with a twist. They drank UDL's.
They were the type of girl who would never kiss me at high school.
"How old are you?" one of them asked"
"Im 28 today"
"Really your nearly as old as my Mum, she's thirty. Were both 15"
"Yeah, my step Dad is 26" the other one added.
"He's hot" her friend send eying my up and down as she said it.
"I dont feel twice your age" I said.
It was true. I could have easily grabbed a can of UDL and spent the night wandering the streets and talking about Britney Spears. I could tell they liked me. Girls like that, 15 years too late. Perhaps I'll put my braces and acne back on and see what they think of me then.
It would be nice to swallow some of their mentality. Being that young, there's that little feeling that you could be either swept off your feet or annihliated at any minute.
"Sorry about the rain" one of them said "Byron is still awesome though isnt it?"
"Yeah, its great" i said and walked back to the hotel.
I mean the Gold Coast. Tacky, soulless, outdated piece of 90s shit it is.
I met with my friend Katie. We went to the gay club in town.
They had $2 vodkas.
I woke up the next morning in a car park.
A guy had nudged me and sounding genuinely worried he said
"Are you alright, mate?"
I think he thought he'd discoverd a corpse.
In some ways he had.
"Im fine" I said, and started giggling like a mad man.
I remembered straight away the drunken lot of fun I'd had and the vomiting in the rain on the way home. After trying to sleep on the beach with my head spinning, the underground car park across the road seemed so warm and cozy.
Mum woke up when I got to the hotel. It was 6am and a gorgeous morning in a cunt of a place. We could see the ocean from the room and misty rain was slowly making its way to shore.
Drunk as fuck I started yaking to Mum.
"Thanks for waking me up" she said.
"I slept in a car park"
"That's jolly good"
"Im still tanked"
"How nice 4 u"
"I was dancing on the poduim with my shirt off and this guy said he'd give me $20 if I took my pants off. I had no underwear on, but I did it anyway cause I was broke"
Mum rolled her blurry eyes.
"Then he bought like 5 drinks as well and I threw up in the toilet. Then I went outside to throw up, a cleaner told me to move. And Im like its only water vomit, show compassion"
"You fuckwit" she said "So did you end up with that guy who bought u all those drinks"
"No, I was just playing him"
"To drinks and money?"
"Yep. He was old, wrinkled and grey"
"Yuck, was he sleazy?"
"No he didnt touch me. I never let them touch me"
"Hey, did you pay Grant back that money"
"I had no intention of paying him back"
"mmmmm"
"The whole club was great. The resident drag queen told me how fabulous I was. The guys were hot. I picked up a 21 year old Law Student. I lost him, however, sometime between saying goodbye to Katie and throwing-up"
"Oh well"
"And this girl came up to me and told me how gorgeous I was. Katie had to tell her to fuck off cause she wouldnt leave me alone"
My ego was out of control.
"Did Katie have fun?"
"I think so...hey, its my birthday"
"Happy Birthday Luke"
I went bed. Mum got her revenge 3 hours later when she woke me up being a bitch.
We drove to Byron Bay and fought several times about which direction to go in.
Northern NSW was flooded. Some fences were completely underwater. It rained the whole way. It was misty so I didnt get to show Mum the lush rainforesty landscape I really wanted to her see.
We walked around Byron and it was hard to miss the new COMMERCIAL Byron. Neoliberalism had invaded hippie land and colonised with units called "Jays Jays" and "Supre". What the fuck did I care now? I buy headbands from Supre, right???
There were middle class families and trendy young couples. Mum told me she had read in Who Weekly that Elle Mcpherson had been spotted surfing there. Prosperous Australia has no alternative. Perhaps that just means its nice to be mainstream at the moment. Im not sure. The nightclub I went to 7 years ago was now a vacant building. When I did see the locals. The old-skool locals. I nodded at them, they smiled back. "We know", "we are legit", "weve seen this place change". Just like them I felt at those moments proud to be a misfit.
Two teenage girls stopped me in the street. I was wearing a ninja style red headband.
"Can we have your headband" they asked.
"Sure"
"We love it"
I laughed.
"We love your t-shirt. Its cool. Robots are cool"
They were pretty, blonde, locals not hippies more like surfie chicks with a twist. They drank UDL's.
They were the type of girl who would never kiss me at high school.
"How old are you?" one of them asked"
"Im 28 today"
"Really your nearly as old as my Mum, she's thirty. Were both 15"
"Yeah, my step Dad is 26" the other one added.
"He's hot" her friend send eying my up and down as she said it.
"I dont feel twice your age" I said.
It was true. I could have easily grabbed a can of UDL and spent the night wandering the streets and talking about Britney Spears. I could tell they liked me. Girls like that, 15 years too late. Perhaps I'll put my braces and acne back on and see what they think of me then.
It would be nice to swallow some of their mentality. Being that young, there's that little feeling that you could be either swept off your feet or annihliated at any minute.
"Sorry about the rain" one of them said "Byron is still awesome though isnt it?"
"Yeah, its great" i said and walked back to the hotel.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
New Years Eve 07/08
Meth addicts have lovely cheekbones.
Its a sad consolation to otherwise awful life.
When they're good Meth addicts have big, white, life-hungry eyes and gorgeous smiles.
And there were big, lovely fucking cheekbones at the Beat on New Years Eve.
Mum was fine. I couldn't handle the Spice Girl shit they were playing in the gay bar so went down starts to the doof-doof section.
To me that techno and those fluro pants are fucking DATED man. Mum didnt mind.
"The dancing is just amazing" she said.
The dancing was good. She started talking to a group of people. I left her on her own.
I was happy with my outfit. I wore two singlets with a studded belt wrapt around them and a bright yellow tie around my neck. As soon as I got in the place people came up to me and told me how much they loved my tie. No-one else was wearing anything like it. I developed a standard line.
"It was $4.95 from a junkshop. I stole it, it cost me nothing."
He looked uncomfortable, as I suspected he would, I knew the rhetoric of 'grant-this-is-where-the partys-at' Glover would never actually occur in the real world.
In fact he did a poor impression of somebody who actually feels like that would fit in.
Hello, army pants? Who the fuck wears army pants at the moment?
"How much?"
Please see for free.
"$35"
"Can I get tick?"
"Till when?"
"Till tomorrow, I'll get money off my Mum"
He gave me the pill and I chewed it down straight away.
XTC pills are the cheap whores of happiness. We pay our fee and in exchange we get to have our way with life for a short period of time. When its over, we know it was fake, we know she didnt really like us....it was all for the money....or was it.....was there a little moment when it was real. Sometimes fucking a whore is just a little bit easier than bothering to go out and find happiness and confidence and sexuality the old-fashioned way.
I was almost instantly amused with the situation, so tonight the brothel was happening.....the real world could wait.
I'd spent the night feeling pretty much uninterested in any bit of male around me. Before I knew I was gushing over a 23 year old in denim shorts named Brant. We spent a couple of hours together we kissed and felt each others cocks. He was quiet, I liked that. He also made me horny.
I was sitting with Brant when Grant summoned me outside.
He was grimey, the whoare had got to his brain.
"I get the sense ur a bottom" he said, with his arm around me.
"I'm not" I said.
"Oh c'mon uve totally got that vibe about you"
Grant I dont think that pill on tick gives u the right to touch me.
"Actually Grant I am not really into anal"
He looked at me with his coke bottle glasses and lazy eye.
"That adorable twink you were dating, Rhys...he's fucking hot. What did you do with him?"
I was starting to get annoyed.
"Actually we didnt have sex....I'm not that sexual and neither was he. So I think friendship was a good outcome. He's hot, but he's also someone worth having a friendship with"
And PS Im especially not sexual when youve got your arm aroind me.
"I wank six times a day" he said.
Yuck
I was now officially uncomfortable, so I started babbling shit.
"Yeah I wank once a day. Its hard at my parents. My teenage boy fantasies are normally interrupted by my Dad yelling 'Jan, the Kangaroo has done a piss again'. Suddenly everytime I see a boy in shorts I smell piss"
Grant laughed.
And took a moment to reflect.
"Intellectually I'd give u ten out of then, emotionally I'd give u eight of then. Physically, though, your not really my type"
Thank god for that.
"I'd still give u a 7."
I didnt have the heart to tell them the whoare was only doing for the money. Ur not that great Grant, life doesnt really love u....its just cause ur off ur head on pills.
"Everyone has their type I suppose" was all I said.
His tirade was sad. And offensive. Grant had crossed a line, as if he had needed to let me down gently. It was awful to see a decent mind so insulated from reality that it rendered him like an adolescent boy.
I didnt particuluarly appreciate being a pawn in his fantasy land though.
Your hour is nearly up Grant. Its back to wanking for you really soon.
The night didnt get much better after that. Brant ditched me for a 19 year old wog-boy he had gone to school with. Apparently this guy used to bully him. So, I wont hold it against him, he wanted to fuck the school bully.
I didnt really mind. The pill was wearing off and my crush on him was ending with it.
Daylight came and it drizzled lightly on the smokers patio. Half a dozen people danced liked dickheads on the dancefloor. I really felt like another pill. I was broke and there was not a dirty old man in sight - what the fuck is wrong society anyway?? The floor was covered in streamers and rubbish. I walked around for half an hour looking for money or pills that had been dropped on the floor.
I found nothing.
I walked back to the hostel.
My pill had worn off.
I was miserable. It was humid and raining. I thought about Brisbane, not the mad consumer capital like other big cities. Perhaps there was enough good weather and nature to keep people going completely nuts on money and status. I'm sure people had a good life here.
I wondered why I bother with the gay club scene. Would I happier bushwalking and sipping tea, most days???? Walking through the city in my odd outfit I was a victim. For so long I'd felt like the hip rebel, taking drugs and saying fuck to a world that demands that be sane, rational and productive without ever really explaining why. Now it seemed that I simply fallen for the idea that I could buy anything like say self-esteem and love. And that, I too, was simply a commodity with a marketing strategy and a target demographic of ugly, lonely gay men. I'd been conned. I wasnt bucking the system, I was a fucking victim. I'd used the same formula I'd hated and used it to fuck myself up.
But what's the alternative???? What's the alternative to being a bad cliche on the first day of the new year.
It was all too much to think about. I went to sleep in the hostel and stayed there for a couple of days. Nobody would be coming to this slumber party, not even the popular kids.
Its a sad consolation to otherwise awful life.
When they're good Meth addicts have big, white, life-hungry eyes and gorgeous smiles.
And there were big, lovely fucking cheekbones at the Beat on New Years Eve.
Mum was fine. I couldn't handle the Spice Girl shit they were playing in the gay bar so went down starts to the doof-doof section.
To me that techno and those fluro pants are fucking DATED man. Mum didnt mind.
"The dancing is just amazing" she said.
The dancing was good. She started talking to a group of people. I left her on her own.
I was happy with my outfit. I wore two singlets with a studded belt wrapt around them and a bright yellow tie around my neck. As soon as I got in the place people came up to me and told me how much they loved my tie. No-one else was wearing anything like it. I developed a standard line.
"It was $4.95 from a junkshop. I stole it, it cost me nothing."
At midnight people did the usual shit of throwing streamers and cheering.
"Thank god that awful fucking year is over. No repeats please" I said to Mum.
Mum left about half an hour later.
Grant turned up looking cross-eyed as usual.
He looked uncomfortable, as I suspected he would, I knew the rhetoric of 'grant-this-is-where-the partys-at' Glover would never actually occur in the real world.
In fact he did a poor impression of somebody who actually feels like that would fit in.
Hello, army pants? Who the fuck wears army pants at the moment?
"Did you get meth?"
"No"
Well clearly that was all talk, wat a surprise.
"Have you got any pills" I asked
"Yeah""How much?"
Please see for free.
"$35"
"Can I get tick?"
"Till when?"
"Till tomorrow, I'll get money off my Mum"
He gave me the pill and I chewed it down straight away.
XTC pills are the cheap whores of happiness. We pay our fee and in exchange we get to have our way with life for a short period of time. When its over, we know it was fake, we know she didnt really like us....it was all for the money....or was it.....was there a little moment when it was real. Sometimes fucking a whore is just a little bit easier than bothering to go out and find happiness and confidence and sexuality the old-fashioned way.
I was almost instantly amused with the situation, so tonight the brothel was happening.....the real world could wait.
I'd spent the night feeling pretty much uninterested in any bit of male around me. Before I knew I was gushing over a 23 year old in denim shorts named Brant. We spent a couple of hours together we kissed and felt each others cocks. He was quiet, I liked that. He also made me horny.
I was sitting with Brant when Grant summoned me outside.
He was grimey, the whoare had got to his brain.
"I get the sense ur a bottom" he said, with his arm around me.
"I'm not" I said.
"Oh c'mon uve totally got that vibe about you"
Grant I dont think that pill on tick gives u the right to touch me.
"Actually Grant I am not really into anal"
He looked at me with his coke bottle glasses and lazy eye.
"That adorable twink you were dating, Rhys...he's fucking hot. What did you do with him?"
I was starting to get annoyed.
"Actually we didnt have sex....I'm not that sexual and neither was he. So I think friendship was a good outcome. He's hot, but he's also someone worth having a friendship with"
And PS Im especially not sexual when youve got your arm aroind me.
"I wank six times a day" he said.
Yuck
I was now officially uncomfortable, so I started babbling shit.
"Yeah I wank once a day. Its hard at my parents. My teenage boy fantasies are normally interrupted by my Dad yelling 'Jan, the Kangaroo has done a piss again'. Suddenly everytime I see a boy in shorts I smell piss"
Grant laughed.
And took a moment to reflect.
"Intellectually I'd give u ten out of then, emotionally I'd give u eight of then. Physically, though, your not really my type"
Thank god for that.
"I'd still give u a 7."
I didnt have the heart to tell them the whoare was only doing for the money. Ur not that great Grant, life doesnt really love u....its just cause ur off ur head on pills.
"Everyone has their type I suppose" was all I said.
His tirade was sad. And offensive. Grant had crossed a line, as if he had needed to let me down gently. It was awful to see a decent mind so insulated from reality that it rendered him like an adolescent boy.
I didnt particuluarly appreciate being a pawn in his fantasy land though.
Your hour is nearly up Grant. Its back to wanking for you really soon.
The night didnt get much better after that. Brant ditched me for a 19 year old wog-boy he had gone to school with. Apparently this guy used to bully him. So, I wont hold it against him, he wanted to fuck the school bully.
I didnt really mind. The pill was wearing off and my crush on him was ending with it.
Daylight came and it drizzled lightly on the smokers patio. Half a dozen people danced liked dickheads on the dancefloor. I really felt like another pill. I was broke and there was not a dirty old man in sight - what the fuck is wrong society anyway?? The floor was covered in streamers and rubbish. I walked around for half an hour looking for money or pills that had been dropped on the floor.
I found nothing.
I walked back to the hostel.
My pill had worn off.
I was miserable. It was humid and raining. I thought about Brisbane, not the mad consumer capital like other big cities. Perhaps there was enough good weather and nature to keep people going completely nuts on money and status. I'm sure people had a good life here.
I wondered why I bother with the gay club scene. Would I happier bushwalking and sipping tea, most days???? Walking through the city in my odd outfit I was a victim. For so long I'd felt like the hip rebel, taking drugs and saying fuck to a world that demands that be sane, rational and productive without ever really explaining why. Now it seemed that I simply fallen for the idea that I could buy anything like say self-esteem and love. And that, I too, was simply a commodity with a marketing strategy and a target demographic of ugly, lonely gay men. I'd been conned. I wasnt bucking the system, I was a fucking victim. I'd used the same formula I'd hated and used it to fuck myself up.
But what's the alternative???? What's the alternative to being a bad cliche on the first day of the new year.
It was all too much to think about. I went to sleep in the hostel and stayed there for a couple of days. Nobody would be coming to this slumber party, not even the popular kids.
Grant claims to know "where the party's at" - I have my doubts
My sisters Christmas present arrived. They were 5 shiny new knives.
There's a serated one I used to cut through mushrooms. I cut delicately. It cut exquisitely.
I emailed my sister and told her "it was the perfect gift for people very hard to buy for".
*
There's a red sore on my left arm. I thought it was a pimple but its been there for too long. I cant remember injecting there and yet it sits right on the vein - right where I would inject. Ive picked at it a few times, it contains no puss. Before I went at it with a pin and broke the top. I had blood pouring down my arm. I cacked, it would have looked tragic. If its not gone in a week or two I will have to get it checked out.
*
Mum and I left for Brisbane.
We picked Grant up on the way. His Mum was a haggard, menthol smoking bitch just like mine.
The 4 hour trip was entirely filled with conversation. Mainly between Grant and I. No Grant talking to me. No, wait let me clarify again....Grant talking to me about what a big shot he is on the Melbourne Gay Club Scene. It was boring, but typical of any gay boy who spends too much time on the scene......they lose perspective on just what a small pond it really is.
Even still it was a nice to have my Mum hearing about all the dumb shit that happens on 'the scene'. Two of my worlds were coming together - my family world and my gay world. So often I think gay people feel like they have seperate selves - their old self, the self they show around family and at workl - and the new self, the little identity we invent when we come out and have to integrate into the vicous gay world. Here it was together. I was reminded of a dream i'd had the other night. Another dream about animals. There were wallabies and dogs. This time the dog was my pet molly and she played with the wallabies. There was no killing, no blood, no conflict....it was uncertain harmony. As we drove down the Bruce Highway through lush fields and gorgeous jungle I felt a strange sense of wholeness, as if somehow things could work out.
We got into Brisbane and arrived at the backpackers. As soon as Grant left Mum started.
"Do you think Grant is bit full of shit?"
"I dont think so, why" I asked.
"Oh some of his stories seem like crap"
"mmmm."
"And the way he keeps going on about those people on the gay scene, you'd think they were celebrities or something."
"A lot of gay guys are like that"
"Well when Grant was going on about it, I thought, you are one sad case. Who cares if you know a DJ? or a drag queen?"
"The gay scene is prententious like that, its actually pathetic. Grant's ok tho."
"Yeah I like him, I just think he's a sad sorry case. He makes out he's this really hip, popular guy who has guys falling all over him. But I have my doubts"
"Really, why"
"He's a bit dorky. And he's not just not very good looking, the guy is actually ugly"
"He's not ugly" I said laughing.
"Well I think he is"
"Mum, ur being a bit harsh"
The conversation stopped and we both started trying on outfits for New Years Eve. Mum had never been to a gay club before. I was intrigued to see what would happen.
There's a serated one I used to cut through mushrooms. I cut delicately. It cut exquisitely.
I emailed my sister and told her "it was the perfect gift for people very hard to buy for".
*
There's a red sore on my left arm. I thought it was a pimple but its been there for too long. I cant remember injecting there and yet it sits right on the vein - right where I would inject. Ive picked at it a few times, it contains no puss. Before I went at it with a pin and broke the top. I had blood pouring down my arm. I cacked, it would have looked tragic. If its not gone in a week or two I will have to get it checked out.
*
Mum and I left for Brisbane.
We picked Grant up on the way. His Mum was a haggard, menthol smoking bitch just like mine.
The 4 hour trip was entirely filled with conversation. Mainly between Grant and I. No Grant talking to me. No, wait let me clarify again....Grant talking to me about what a big shot he is on the Melbourne Gay Club Scene. It was boring, but typical of any gay boy who spends too much time on the scene......they lose perspective on just what a small pond it really is.
Even still it was a nice to have my Mum hearing about all the dumb shit that happens on 'the scene'. Two of my worlds were coming together - my family world and my gay world. So often I think gay people feel like they have seperate selves - their old self, the self they show around family and at workl - and the new self, the little identity we invent when we come out and have to integrate into the vicous gay world. Here it was together. I was reminded of a dream i'd had the other night. Another dream about animals. There were wallabies and dogs. This time the dog was my pet molly and she played with the wallabies. There was no killing, no blood, no conflict....it was uncertain harmony. As we drove down the Bruce Highway through lush fields and gorgeous jungle I felt a strange sense of wholeness, as if somehow things could work out.
We got into Brisbane and arrived at the backpackers. As soon as Grant left Mum started.
"Do you think Grant is bit full of shit?"
"I dont think so, why" I asked.
"Oh some of his stories seem like crap"
"mmmm."
"And the way he keeps going on about those people on the gay scene, you'd think they were celebrities or something."
"A lot of gay guys are like that"
"Well when Grant was going on about it, I thought, you are one sad case. Who cares if you know a DJ? or a drag queen?"
"The gay scene is prententious like that, its actually pathetic. Grant's ok tho."
"Yeah I like him, I just think he's a sad sorry case. He makes out he's this really hip, popular guy who has guys falling all over him. But I have my doubts"
"Really, why"
"He's a bit dorky. And he's not just not very good looking, the guy is actually ugly"
"He's not ugly" I said laughing.
"Well I think he is"
"Mum, ur being a bit harsh"
The conversation stopped and we both started trying on outfits for New Years Eve. Mum had never been to a gay club before. I was intrigued to see what would happen.
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