Imagine, if you can, this lost soul, sitting out on a motel porch, sucking back cancer sticks, sipping cheap scotch, watching three out of place palm trees sway. He's listening to music you see, losing himself in memories of days gone by, back when they laughed at what could make a decent human cry. So there's this lost soul, sitting, thinking, smoking and a song begins in his ears, strikes a chord deep down in the space where a fella's heart oughta be. So he lights another smoke, stands and looks towards the road heading east, and quite a major road it is too. The only major road round these parts anyway. So he puts one foot in front of the other, not really knowing when he's gonna stop, not really knowing where he's going. He could just be going to the shop, to get a bottle of coke, or he might be walking all the way to Sydney, he just wouldn't be able to tell you if you were to pull him up and ask him.
So thats how that single lost souls journey began right? As it turned out he didn't stop at the shop, no, he just kept walking. Made it five kays up the highway, heading east, in the middle of the night, when this car pulled up and the driver offered him a lift. The driver himself was heading to Sydney, and the drivers girlfriend was going with him, so long as things remained peaceable. So the lost soul, drifting through the country, rode with the two all the way to central New South Wales. They parted ways at a small country pub, the driver kept on driving and the girlfriend kept on loving the driver. A few days later the news showed pictures of a car crash in Sydney. The driver was no longer driving, the girlfriend would love for the rest of time.
This lost soul, this drifter that he be, he bumped into an old friend, they'd smoked the odd spliff back in those crazy old white washed days when the sun took forever to disappear. The old friend was on the ice pretty bad these days, the crystal meth controlling his existence. They chatted, the lost soul and the meth head, having grown distant, seperate lives since they'd parted ways, the only thing they really had to talk about were memories, but the meth heads face was as fucked as his mind and the lost soul had trouble concentrating, want more and more to get out, make tracks, maybe north this time, and see a girl, an old friend Sara. The barman called last drinks and the meth head made his way to one more fix, just one more fucking whack man.
After resting tired feet, the lost soul, our humble drifter friend, he made his way north, up to Queensland, up through the inland way, crossing the border at Heble, where the emu stands staunch in the little general corner store. He hit the coast at Rocky, kept heading north till he passed the shell servo on the southern edge of a town he once knew well enough.
Sara, like everyone else, had changed, though the years had been kind to her. They'd had a little something back in the day, the first time the lost soul had returned to Mackay, way back before his soul was truly lost, back when he was just a confused kid hitching round the traps. Sara remembered it too, but nowadays everything was slower, no whirlwind romances any more.
She asked him to marry her one night, a Tuesday night I think it was, after a feed of fish and chips from the shop by the gooseponds. The lost soul explained he couldn't bring anything to such a situation, he was tired, lost in thought to often, never sure what day of the week it was. He'd found himself a job at a local petrol station, but simply because he'd never studied further to land a job he'd really appreciate. Sara soothed him, told him it was alright, that love'd get them through, but thats where they hit a real snag see? Cause love had nothing to do with it, and both of them knew, to be sure. It was just the fact that comfort had grown over years, many with a distance spreading the width of the sunburnt county, right, and you know what effect distance has on the heart. So they knew each other, had this trusty kind of bond, maybe at best an uneasy friendship, but a wild passion when their seperate minds combined. It was just that with the years speeding by, they both were getting on a bit and who wants to spend these earthly years all alone?
But the lost soul couldn't do it, no, he was too tired, to confused about where everything went wrong, and Sara, being the lady she was, well he just couldn't do it, ya know. So he rolled up his bluey and once more set off, headed south again, then no doubt he'd be off west before to long.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x5-sPJSX2hg
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
He Never Got The Girl
He never got the girl, and a lot of his friends found that rather sad. It wasn’t that the girl didn’t want him, no, she was there for that final obligatory scene at the airport departure. Yeah, she was there but he was already sitting on the plane wiping sly tears from the corner of his tired eyes. She cried too, watching the big jet roar up the runway, watching that last chance slip from her fingers. But what would have happened if she had of made it to the airport, would it be just like it is in the movies? No probably not. Probably a few awkward moments, uncertainty filling the air with intensity, creating speechless movements of their lips. She’d be clutching the paper onto which he poured his heart and he’d be in shock that she’d turned up at all. Now he sits on his flight to the east, no idea that she’d gone to see him and she’ll be sitting in her car, wiping flowing tears from her face, reading and rereading the letter he wrote her.
Soon though, she makes an effort, asks his friends where he is, finds contact details, phone number, address, that sort of thing. He’s been slipping, sliding into a place not dark but not altogether full of light. She sits and taps the ten numbers in the right order, pauses, deciding whether to hit the little green button to call him. She has a glass of water, tries a cigarette to calm her nerves. What will she say to him? What will he say to her? Will he even remember who she is? At that exact moment he sits in a dingy coffee shop, sucking down a long black loaded with way to much sugar. Funnily enough he’s thinking of her, wondering what she’s doing, if she remembers him, what she thought of the letter he wrote her. He’s craving a smoke but he spent his last four bucks on the cup of coffee intended to keep him awake. His pay goes in at three but he’ll be fast asleep on the queen sized mattress on the floor of his scungy bed sitter flat. she’s sitting on the other side of the country, clutching her mobile phone in one hand, stubbing out her last smoke with the other. On her lap lies his letter, slightly crumple from being folded and unfolded, read again and again. She pushes the ashtray to the other side of the coffee table in the lounge room of the furnished flat her parents organised for her cheaply. She rests her thumb on the little green button, feels like she’s being mocked by a button on her phone. She takes a deep breath and pushes her thumb down, her phone beeps and she moves it to her ear.
His phone vibrates in his pocket though he doesn’t notice till it vibrates a third time. He lets go of his coffee cup and moves his hand towards the pocket of his black trousers. By the third ring she’s starting to have doubts, on the fourth he answers, “Hello?”.
“Hey… Daniel? It’s Michelle.” she sits on the edge of her chair, every muscle in her body taut in expectation. He’s standing, walking towards the door of the little café, making his way outside to the cool night air of an east coast summer. He knows exactly who it is, “Hey, how are you?” he says, he doesn’t know what else to say. Neither does she, “I’m good. What about you?” she’s hating this small talk, she just wants to burst out and tell him how she feels, tell him she needs him by her side, demand him to return to the west. He’s not in a positive frame of mind, he feels like there is shadows following him, his trip east has not gone according to plan. He decides not to beat around the bush, “Pretty shit to be honest.” he laughs quietly then continues, “I live in a crappy bed sitter in the worst suburb, I earn a quarter of what I did in Perth for doing twice the work and I have no friends over here.” then there’s silence, though not an awkward silence. She’s relaxed now, now that the politeness has ended and the nitty gritty has been brought to the lime light, “I went to the airport. I’d read your letter and I went to the airport. You’d got on the plane three minutes before I got there, I stood at the window and watched your plane take off.” it felt good to tell him. His world turned upside down. Knowing that she’d gone to the airport changed everything. “I meant everything I said in the letter. I wish I never got on that plane.”
“Come back” she said.
He went straight home, packed the suitcase he arrived with and made his way to the airport, via an atm. His pay had gone in, enough to buy a ticket to Perth and buy a couple of packets of smokes. He waited in the airport lounge, clutching tightly the four hundred dollar piece of printed paper, he had a two hour wait ahead of him but he had the patience. every time he closed his eyes he saw her standing there, just beyond his eyelids. After she‘d hung up the phone she smiled, her heart beating faster, he messaged her the time he‘d be landing in Perth, she‘d told him she‘d pick him up. She undressed and lay in her bed, unable to sleep, imagining how it would feel to hold his hand, kiss his lips. She closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep. He paced up and down, bought a cheap cup of coffee with the change in his pocket and walked outside to have a smoke. He was going back to Perth, he’d get his old job back, enjoy a decent pay cheque again, he’d crash on a friend’s couch till he found his own place, or if he was lucky he might be able to move back into his old flat. most importantly though he was going back to her, she knew how he felt and she felt the same way, she’d told him so herself. Eventually he boarded the plane, settled into his seat and quickly fell asleep, dreaming of her.
She woke with a smile, feeling refreshed though she’d had only a couple of hours sleep. She tidied her little flat and went for a shower, she wanted look her best when she picked him up. Somewhere over WA he looked out the window and smiled, he would be with her soon. She jumped in her car, an old Ford hatchback. She drove through a drive through coffee shop, buying a latte with no sugar. She turned onto the freeway. Daniel needed a smoke, his flight was almost over but he was growing impatient, he really needed a smoke. With a sudden suprising jolt the whole aeroplane lurched up, and then down. The pilots voice came over the intercom. As michelle roared down the freeway she carefully studied her mirrors and checked her blind spots, indictating she was moving into the left lane she steered gently. The plane began to bounce around even more violently, the air hostesses had strapped themselves into their seats and suddenly the plane dropped dramatically. As the little yellow hatchback steered into his lane the truck driver put his foot on the brake, pressing down hard. The plane kept shuddering, though Daniel was not worried, no one was. It was only minor turbulence, the pilot had said so himself, they would be through it in a few minutes. Despite the fact the truckie had braked his bull bar, followed by his cab crashed through the tender metal of the little yellow ford. The truck jack knifed and threatened to tip over, a ‘P’ plater didn’t react quick enough and slammed into the back trailer. Michelle screamed once. Sure enough, the plane was again flying straight and level. Michelle took her last breath. The pilot reassured his passenger that everything was okay and daniel leant back in his seat, excited at the prospect of seeing Michelle. But he never got the girl, and a lot of his friends found that rather sad.
Soon though, she makes an effort, asks his friends where he is, finds contact details, phone number, address, that sort of thing. He’s been slipping, sliding into a place not dark but not altogether full of light. She sits and taps the ten numbers in the right order, pauses, deciding whether to hit the little green button to call him. She has a glass of water, tries a cigarette to calm her nerves. What will she say to him? What will he say to her? Will he even remember who she is? At that exact moment he sits in a dingy coffee shop, sucking down a long black loaded with way to much sugar. Funnily enough he’s thinking of her, wondering what she’s doing, if she remembers him, what she thought of the letter he wrote her. He’s craving a smoke but he spent his last four bucks on the cup of coffee intended to keep him awake. His pay goes in at three but he’ll be fast asleep on the queen sized mattress on the floor of his scungy bed sitter flat. she’s sitting on the other side of the country, clutching her mobile phone in one hand, stubbing out her last smoke with the other. On her lap lies his letter, slightly crumple from being folded and unfolded, read again and again. She pushes the ashtray to the other side of the coffee table in the lounge room of the furnished flat her parents organised for her cheaply. She rests her thumb on the little green button, feels like she’s being mocked by a button on her phone. She takes a deep breath and pushes her thumb down, her phone beeps and she moves it to her ear.
His phone vibrates in his pocket though he doesn’t notice till it vibrates a third time. He lets go of his coffee cup and moves his hand towards the pocket of his black trousers. By the third ring she’s starting to have doubts, on the fourth he answers, “Hello?”.
“Hey… Daniel? It’s Michelle.” she sits on the edge of her chair, every muscle in her body taut in expectation. He’s standing, walking towards the door of the little café, making his way outside to the cool night air of an east coast summer. He knows exactly who it is, “Hey, how are you?” he says, he doesn’t know what else to say. Neither does she, “I’m good. What about you?” she’s hating this small talk, she just wants to burst out and tell him how she feels, tell him she needs him by her side, demand him to return to the west. He’s not in a positive frame of mind, he feels like there is shadows following him, his trip east has not gone according to plan. He decides not to beat around the bush, “Pretty shit to be honest.” he laughs quietly then continues, “I live in a crappy bed sitter in the worst suburb, I earn a quarter of what I did in Perth for doing twice the work and I have no friends over here.” then there’s silence, though not an awkward silence. She’s relaxed now, now that the politeness has ended and the nitty gritty has been brought to the lime light, “I went to the airport. I’d read your letter and I went to the airport. You’d got on the plane three minutes before I got there, I stood at the window and watched your plane take off.” it felt good to tell him. His world turned upside down. Knowing that she’d gone to the airport changed everything. “I meant everything I said in the letter. I wish I never got on that plane.”
“Come back” she said.
He went straight home, packed the suitcase he arrived with and made his way to the airport, via an atm. His pay had gone in, enough to buy a ticket to Perth and buy a couple of packets of smokes. He waited in the airport lounge, clutching tightly the four hundred dollar piece of printed paper, he had a two hour wait ahead of him but he had the patience. every time he closed his eyes he saw her standing there, just beyond his eyelids. After she‘d hung up the phone she smiled, her heart beating faster, he messaged her the time he‘d be landing in Perth, she‘d told him she‘d pick him up. She undressed and lay in her bed, unable to sleep, imagining how it would feel to hold his hand, kiss his lips. She closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep. He paced up and down, bought a cheap cup of coffee with the change in his pocket and walked outside to have a smoke. He was going back to Perth, he’d get his old job back, enjoy a decent pay cheque again, he’d crash on a friend’s couch till he found his own place, or if he was lucky he might be able to move back into his old flat. most importantly though he was going back to her, she knew how he felt and she felt the same way, she’d told him so herself. Eventually he boarded the plane, settled into his seat and quickly fell asleep, dreaming of her.
She woke with a smile, feeling refreshed though she’d had only a couple of hours sleep. She tidied her little flat and went for a shower, she wanted look her best when she picked him up. Somewhere over WA he looked out the window and smiled, he would be with her soon. She jumped in her car, an old Ford hatchback. She drove through a drive through coffee shop, buying a latte with no sugar. She turned onto the freeway. Daniel needed a smoke, his flight was almost over but he was growing impatient, he really needed a smoke. With a sudden suprising jolt the whole aeroplane lurched up, and then down. The pilots voice came over the intercom. As michelle roared down the freeway she carefully studied her mirrors and checked her blind spots, indictating she was moving into the left lane she steered gently. The plane began to bounce around even more violently, the air hostesses had strapped themselves into their seats and suddenly the plane dropped dramatically. As the little yellow hatchback steered into his lane the truck driver put his foot on the brake, pressing down hard. The plane kept shuddering, though Daniel was not worried, no one was. It was only minor turbulence, the pilot had said so himself, they would be through it in a few minutes. Despite the fact the truckie had braked his bull bar, followed by his cab crashed through the tender metal of the little yellow ford. The truck jack knifed and threatened to tip over, a ‘P’ plater didn’t react quick enough and slammed into the back trailer. Michelle screamed once. Sure enough, the plane was again flying straight and level. Michelle took her last breath. The pilot reassured his passenger that everything was okay and daniel leant back in his seat, excited at the prospect of seeing Michelle. But he never got the girl, and a lot of his friends found that rather sad.
Lunacy
It wasn't until i gave up drinking that i realised, though the signs had always been there i just blamed it on the grog. As my body dried out, the poisons were flushed, the realisation hit me...
YzArC m'I
I asked around town. First stop was dinner's. "Am i crazy?" i askedthe dusty fluff ball. "You're talking to a sheep aint ya?" he replied."People do that all the time, talk to animals and shit." i defended myself, lighting a smoke but sticking it my mouth the wrong end so i had to smoke the filter first, oh well, cheaper than weed. "But how many of the animals talk back?" replied dinner, after pointing out i'd lit the wrong end of my ciggie. "Maybe your just really fucking clever dinner?" i asked, hope fading, like my sanity. He shook his head, had a piss, baa-ed and walked to the other side of the yard, looking back at me with contempt. "Stupid fucking glorified bloody jacket" i swore as i latched the gate behind me.
Asking humans about my mental state was going to require much more tact. "It's true, if ya don't cook it right, camel meat can give ya syphillis." said ma as i joined the conversation in front of the bar. "That's good then, i thought i might have got it from that chick on saturday night." i said, having just finished a big plate of roast camel. i thrive on these awkward silences, then everyone breaks out in laughter. "Hitler had syphillis" someone informs us, "syphillis in the brain"."It's true" said the voice, definately not funny, definately not crazy. they certainly weren't going to survive out here in the jungle. well the oldest, largest woodland forest tract in the southern hemisphere. "enough about syph, does anyone know anything about herpes, i know i caught that off that chick" another awkward silence, i fucking love it. "Benny, your fucking crazy!""Hey! I hadn't even asked yet." but all i got were weird looks. someone offered me a drink, as much as i needed it, i declined. my liver would one day thank me, or maybe i would thank me, or maybe i would thank me, or maybe me, or him, who is me, or you, who may be me..... whatever, someone would thank me, but not a bunch of mexicans who until i had quit drinking had been enjoying record export sales of Corona.
the conversation at the table veered towards politics, not my favourite subject, nor mine, nor... nevermind. i stood, lit another smoke and walked towards the highway. a road train came hurtling toward me, as it passed i contemplated if you'd even have time to realize you'd just became a hood ornament on several fucking tonnes of kenworth aerodyne. but i only do shit like that for a laugh, and maybe a bit of money, hey, we all do crazy bets when we're pissed and floating on a few tramadol.
So far all i had were answers to the affirmative, but these were either camel eating syphilliods or arrogant sheep, certainly not the expert opinions i was searching for. I decided to ask the new girl, thus far uncorrupted by the sweet allure of balladonian rainwater, a common ingrediant in Madura Acid. i staggered, despite the fact i was sober (i guess it had just become habit to stagger everywhere), to the new girls door. she was irish and i was unsure whether i'd understand her, which would then make her crazy and me sane. three knocks, three is a lucky number.
"Hey samantha. it is samantha right?" "Sorry, hey emily. i was just wondering, right, if, um, err.... everything is okay."she nods, jabbers away in irish. smiles. "Sorry? could you speak a BIT.....SLOWER" another laugh, always a good sign. a bit more irish jabber then she pulls out a sawn off 22. and kneecaps me.
I'm a bit surprised right, as was i and also me, that i know found myself in a crumpled pile on the floor, bits of benny bob leg spread around like joy and love. there was an awful lot of blood but the look of surprise on emily's face had me giggling like a bitch. "Sorry." she said."No wukkas mate. happens all the time." i was lying of course but it was only her first day and staff were hard to come by. i bid her farewell, told her she owed me a beer and dragged myself to the shop.
"What happened to you?" asked ma as i approached the table out the front of the bar. "I ate some camel. Man, that syphillis really cripples ya dunnit?" nobody got the joke, but i didn't care, i passed out from loss of blood.
i woke up to the sound of loud knocking. I jumped out of bed and opened the door. "BENNYYOURFUCKINGLATEFORFUCKINGWORKAFUCKINGGAIN"As paul said this i noticed i had to wonderfully intact kneecaps. "Sorry Boss" i said. "Maybe you should drink less Benny" suggested the boss"No fucking way. I'm much nicer drunk." said Me
"So am i" said myself
"Same" said I
YzArC m'I
I asked around town. First stop was dinner's. "Am i crazy?" i askedthe dusty fluff ball. "You're talking to a sheep aint ya?" he replied."People do that all the time, talk to animals and shit." i defended myself, lighting a smoke but sticking it my mouth the wrong end so i had to smoke the filter first, oh well, cheaper than weed. "But how many of the animals talk back?" replied dinner, after pointing out i'd lit the wrong end of my ciggie. "Maybe your just really fucking clever dinner?" i asked, hope fading, like my sanity. He shook his head, had a piss, baa-ed and walked to the other side of the yard, looking back at me with contempt. "Stupid fucking glorified bloody jacket" i swore as i latched the gate behind me.
Asking humans about my mental state was going to require much more tact. "It's true, if ya don't cook it right, camel meat can give ya syphillis." said ma as i joined the conversation in front of the bar. "That's good then, i thought i might have got it from that chick on saturday night." i said, having just finished a big plate of roast camel. i thrive on these awkward silences, then everyone breaks out in laughter. "Hitler had syphillis" someone informs us, "syphillis in the brain"."It's true" said the voice, definately not funny, definately not crazy. they certainly weren't going to survive out here in the jungle. well the oldest, largest woodland forest tract in the southern hemisphere. "enough about syph, does anyone know anything about herpes, i know i caught that off that chick" another awkward silence, i fucking love it. "Benny, your fucking crazy!""Hey! I hadn't even asked yet." but all i got were weird looks. someone offered me a drink, as much as i needed it, i declined. my liver would one day thank me, or maybe i would thank me, or maybe i would thank me, or maybe me, or him, who is me, or you, who may be me..... whatever, someone would thank me, but not a bunch of mexicans who until i had quit drinking had been enjoying record export sales of Corona.
the conversation at the table veered towards politics, not my favourite subject, nor mine, nor... nevermind. i stood, lit another smoke and walked towards the highway. a road train came hurtling toward me, as it passed i contemplated if you'd even have time to realize you'd just became a hood ornament on several fucking tonnes of kenworth aerodyne. but i only do shit like that for a laugh, and maybe a bit of money, hey, we all do crazy bets when we're pissed and floating on a few tramadol.
So far all i had were answers to the affirmative, but these were either camel eating syphilliods or arrogant sheep, certainly not the expert opinions i was searching for. I decided to ask the new girl, thus far uncorrupted by the sweet allure of balladonian rainwater, a common ingrediant in Madura Acid. i staggered, despite the fact i was sober (i guess it had just become habit to stagger everywhere), to the new girls door. she was irish and i was unsure whether i'd understand her, which would then make her crazy and me sane. three knocks, three is a lucky number.
"Hey samantha. it is samantha right?" "Sorry, hey emily. i was just wondering, right, if, um, err.... everything is okay."she nods, jabbers away in irish. smiles. "Sorry? could you speak a BIT.....SLOWER" another laugh, always a good sign. a bit more irish jabber then she pulls out a sawn off 22. and kneecaps me.
I'm a bit surprised right, as was i and also me, that i know found myself in a crumpled pile on the floor, bits of benny bob leg spread around like joy and love. there was an awful lot of blood but the look of surprise on emily's face had me giggling like a bitch. "Sorry." she said."No wukkas mate. happens all the time." i was lying of course but it was only her first day and staff were hard to come by. i bid her farewell, told her she owed me a beer and dragged myself to the shop.
"What happened to you?" asked ma as i approached the table out the front of the bar. "I ate some camel. Man, that syphillis really cripples ya dunnit?" nobody got the joke, but i didn't care, i passed out from loss of blood.
i woke up to the sound of loud knocking. I jumped out of bed and opened the door. "BENNYYOURFUCKINGLATEFORFUCKINGWORKAFUCKINGGAIN"As paul said this i noticed i had to wonderfully intact kneecaps. "Sorry Boss" i said. "Maybe you should drink less Benny" suggested the boss"No fucking way. I'm much nicer drunk." said Me
"So am i" said myself
"Same" said I
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Stuck (Wishing For A River)
A few people, those that know what happened and are comfortable enough to talk about it with me, have asked if I sometimes wished I was there, you know, when it all happened. I never really answer, never give it much thought, just brush them off with a trademark subject change ya know? But now, well I'm not so sure, what, with everything happening, changing, the world moving on and me just wanting to run out to the scrub and build my little kero hut by the trans-line. Truth is I miss you, thats obvious though. But whether I wished I was there when, like, it all happened, I dunno. Maybe I'd be much worse off, but to share those last moments, maybe it's why I'm such a mess nowadays, never having the chance to finish it properly, you know, the 'never saying goodbye' kinda bullshit. I wonder if I was there, would the story have ended differently? Would it have even happened at all? But these are the questions that shouldn't be asked, at the end of the day, what happened happened and now life is different, not an exciting roller coaster ride, but not a steady routine existence. Maybe it's akin to being dead, stuck in limbo, as a friend put it, "living a groundhog day in the aussie outback".
I miss you, no doubt, but time is dragging on and I'm sitting in a motel room, all Pat Malone. But the memories we forged have been slipping away, no longer mini movies playing behind my closed eyelids, just this fucking hollowness with your name banging around inside it, like a ping pong ball going up a vacuum cleaner hose. The time to move on, well that was almost two years ago, but I'm as stuck emotionally as I am physically. Dedicated to a company I really know nothing about, dedicated, despite the fact I'm only a lowly shit kicker. To scared to rejoin the world, instead easing myself back into society through fucked up lonely outback towns full of STD's, petty junkies and dole bludgers. A mining town where even that even the mine has turned it's back on. So I drag my way through eight hour shifts at a glorified petrol station, sit in motel room, think of you, think of others, write, smoke, and wish there was a river I could sit next to, contemplate the future next to, but Western Australia's a fucking desolate place, just ask any old scrubber mate.
I miss you, no doubt, but time is dragging on and I'm sitting in a motel room, all Pat Malone. But the memories we forged have been slipping away, no longer mini movies playing behind my closed eyelids, just this fucking hollowness with your name banging around inside it, like a ping pong ball going up a vacuum cleaner hose. The time to move on, well that was almost two years ago, but I'm as stuck emotionally as I am physically. Dedicated to a company I really know nothing about, dedicated, despite the fact I'm only a lowly shit kicker. To scared to rejoin the world, instead easing myself back into society through fucked up lonely outback towns full of STD's, petty junkies and dole bludgers. A mining town where even that even the mine has turned it's back on. So I drag my way through eight hour shifts at a glorified petrol station, sit in motel room, think of you, think of others, write, smoke, and wish there was a river I could sit next to, contemplate the future next to, but Western Australia's a fucking desolate place, just ask any old scrubber mate.
Friday, December 26, 2008
The Faceless They
They did it, wasn't me, no way mate. I swear mate, it was them, they without the faces, without the fingerprints of toes or hearts. Dead set mate, wish I never met them to be honest, but then I never really had much say in all of that did I? No mate, not my choice at all.
It'll all started a long time ago, a long long fucking time ago, back when I thought girls were sweet and men were honest, back when I thought the whole world was a solid staunch kinda place where everyone looked out for one another. But then they walked onto the scene.
I was sitting on a log, or maybe it was a stump, or maybe it could have even been a chair. yes, yes I remember now, it was a chair, a cheap plastic one in the courtyard of a church, not an old church, not a grand church, not even a very churchy church at all. So I was sitting there, I was a bit younger than I am now, like I said, this all happened a very long time ago. I was so young in fact, that I hadn't taken up smoking yet, though I did take the cancer sticks up maybe a little later than most, being fifteen when I commited myself to one of the worlds most hated sub cultures. Seeing as I hadn't yet taken up smoking I was sitting there quite awkwardly, twiddling my thumbs, feeling very obviously like an outcast among these jesus freaks. I could see them walking up the busy road, a world away from the not so churchy church I felt trapped in. I jumped over a small brick wall and felt freedom punch my face, hard gravel kiss my feet. I joined the masses of them walking along the streets, eyes bloodshot, breath carrying a tang of grog, lit ciggies dangling from bottom lips in a very trendy rock star style. I walked among them, smiling like only a goofy fouteen year old could, they couldn't see me, back then I was the faceless one.
After my first encounter with them I didnt see them for a very long time, though the time was approaching, everyone could tell. Then one day, I lost it, my innocence, did it proper good style, real like horrorshow, drank till I was drunk, smoked a ciggie, then another then another till it was just the expert thing to do in the situation, then through what I guess was luck, found myself in bed with one of them. she had a pretty face, though her face was the last thing on my mind. In the morning she laughed when I explained to her the importance of the previous night. They were gaining a hold of me. She left a little while later, and though we tried to keep in touch, we drifted, as they often do. Sometimes I wonder if she's still one of them, though there's no way of knowing.
After that evening, I found the only people I spent time with was them, they of the positive negative kind of influence, they who can educate like no school or book or training program ever thought of. Though at times I'm sure we wonder if we really ever needed an education such as they provided. But experience is the key one of them once told me.
After many years of knowing them and their kind as associates, I one day awoke to realise I was one of them! Alas, no longer was I the young thumb twiddling outcast sitting in the courtyard of a not so churchy church, I was them, they were me, we were one and the same, one for all and all for one.
And some claim it's really living to be able to smell the stench of the human condition, others talk about optimism, pessimism and cynicism, still others blunder round blindly telling the deaf how fucking wonderful the world is. But at the end of the day, it's simply the way I was born, sure, I may have avoided all the information, but I'm an inquisitive soul I suppose, maybe thats what made me jump that low brick wall back in the day before I ever lit a gasper. I know for sure though, they did it to me. Just the same as I'll do it to the next generation and so on and so forth, a never ending cycles, a vicous circle of coming to age, losing innocence and staying alive despite the odds.
It'll all started a long time ago, a long long fucking time ago, back when I thought girls were sweet and men were honest, back when I thought the whole world was a solid staunch kinda place where everyone looked out for one another. But then they walked onto the scene.
I was sitting on a log, or maybe it was a stump, or maybe it could have even been a chair. yes, yes I remember now, it was a chair, a cheap plastic one in the courtyard of a church, not an old church, not a grand church, not even a very churchy church at all. So I was sitting there, I was a bit younger than I am now, like I said, this all happened a very long time ago. I was so young in fact, that I hadn't taken up smoking yet, though I did take the cancer sticks up maybe a little later than most, being fifteen when I commited myself to one of the worlds most hated sub cultures. Seeing as I hadn't yet taken up smoking I was sitting there quite awkwardly, twiddling my thumbs, feeling very obviously like an outcast among these jesus freaks. I could see them walking up the busy road, a world away from the not so churchy church I felt trapped in. I jumped over a small brick wall and felt freedom punch my face, hard gravel kiss my feet. I joined the masses of them walking along the streets, eyes bloodshot, breath carrying a tang of grog, lit ciggies dangling from bottom lips in a very trendy rock star style. I walked among them, smiling like only a goofy fouteen year old could, they couldn't see me, back then I was the faceless one.
After my first encounter with them I didnt see them for a very long time, though the time was approaching, everyone could tell. Then one day, I lost it, my innocence, did it proper good style, real like horrorshow, drank till I was drunk, smoked a ciggie, then another then another till it was just the expert thing to do in the situation, then through what I guess was luck, found myself in bed with one of them. she had a pretty face, though her face was the last thing on my mind. In the morning she laughed when I explained to her the importance of the previous night. They were gaining a hold of me. She left a little while later, and though we tried to keep in touch, we drifted, as they often do. Sometimes I wonder if she's still one of them, though there's no way of knowing.
After that evening, I found the only people I spent time with was them, they of the positive negative kind of influence, they who can educate like no school or book or training program ever thought of. Though at times I'm sure we wonder if we really ever needed an education such as they provided. But experience is the key one of them once told me.
After many years of knowing them and their kind as associates, I one day awoke to realise I was one of them! Alas, no longer was I the young thumb twiddling outcast sitting in the courtyard of a not so churchy church, I was them, they were me, we were one and the same, one for all and all for one.
And some claim it's really living to be able to smell the stench of the human condition, others talk about optimism, pessimism and cynicism, still others blunder round blindly telling the deaf how fucking wonderful the world is. But at the end of the day, it's simply the way I was born, sure, I may have avoided all the information, but I'm an inquisitive soul I suppose, maybe thats what made me jump that low brick wall back in the day before I ever lit a gasper. I know for sure though, they did it to me. Just the same as I'll do it to the next generation and so on and so forth, a never ending cycles, a vicous circle of coming to age, losing innocence and staying alive despite the odds.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Norseman Nights
So the stab in the back arrived, but the pain didnt spread until it was all over I suppose. Eighteen months, eighteen fucking months of dedication to a tiny little road house hundreds of miles from anywhere and all i have to show for it is a shitty relocation to a town even the locals dont like. Norseman began life as a gold mining town, continues life as a gold mining town, though the mining seems to have very little to do with the town. Most of the shops are boarded up and falling down, there's a little supermarket and a hardware store. and then, right on the edge of town, there's the BP, where I am now employed. I stay in the motel, run by the same people, eat at the BP and don't ever seem to drink. My evenings spent sitting, lonely, cold, outside the door to my room, sucking back cancer sticks and listening to music softer than a girl I once met. A song, a memory, reminds me, but while at first it caught me off guard, I know realise the message hidden in the lyrics, hidden in her eyes when we sat together sharing tunes. But now she's gone, and I'm in Norseman, Balladonia just another bad memory. The benefits are nice, mobile reception, wireless broadband, it's good, makes a bloke feel apart of this spinning world. But no more bush bashing, no more shooting rabbits, no more target practise, snake charming, digging, building, blowing shit up. These people around me are strange, weird, sober, gay and crazy, real people, and I just dont get them, struggle at times to keep normal conversation flowing. These Norseman Nights are nothing like I expected, but the peace is comforting, the sobriety, sharpening. The technological advances exhilarating.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Another Day, Another Beer
I read a piece of writting today, all about memories. How they're something to hold on to. I suppose it's true, but not all roses are thornless. So I awake, past noon. Stumble around, my mind a playground for the heavy footed. I think about, about making my way to her door, through the cane,, to her door. But today I pack, remove my wall of memories, shove it all into a suitcase. Tomorrow I leave, move to a town, pretend to live a normal life, after so much strangeness. Time grinds on, till the hour says drink. I open one more corona, just one more beer. There'll be a carton gone before my head hits the pillow, of this I'm sure. I really ought to pack, really ought to clean, really ought to look to the future for these answers, the questions haunt me. The race is long, and in the end, it's only with yourself.
With tomorrow's sun, comes a fresh new song, a song that makes sad ones smile, happy people cry and crying people sing. A chance to change the world, from a brand new setting, the chance to wake up in a different bed. New people to make me see new things, new nights to provide new memories. But despite all this optimism, it is only another day, ending with another beer, just one more.
With tomorrow's sun, comes a fresh new song, a song that makes sad ones smile, happy people cry and crying people sing. A chance to change the world, from a brand new setting, the chance to wake up in a different bed. New people to make me see new things, new nights to provide new memories. But despite all this optimism, it is only another day, ending with another beer, just one more.
Friday, December 19, 2008
The Marriage
I met her Easter Sunday, 2006. Eighteen, living in the city, life was pretty good. I went round to a friend's place after work for drinks. She was wearing a red jumper, we were both pissed.
"I need to marry an Australian!" She declared. I smiled, had another slug of my drink, lit a smoke and smooth as I could managed replied, "I'm an Aussie.". And so it was I found myself engaged on Easter Sunday. We all saw it as a bit of a joke but it was an excellent reason to drink through to the wee hours of the morning.
The next afternoon I woke up feeling like shit, which was understandable as soon as I lifted my head and saw the amount of empty stubbies strewn about the place. Then things got worse, "Hello aussie boy. We getting married today?" I looked up and saw the source of the voice, a thirty something English girl with short blonde hair, she was beautiful, but I was pretty certain we'd BOTH been joking about the whole marriage thing. I told her that and she shook her head, "Nope, I'm serious. It'll work out well for both of us. I'll get us a house, you can have a car, money, whatever and I'll get to live in Australia. Get up and come out to the balcony." she turned on her heel and walked out the door. "Benny's got himself in the shit now." muttered one of my friends from behind a cloudy hangover. "Shit shit shit. What am I gonna do?" I asked.
"Fuck it, get married, it'll be good for a laugh."
"It's against the fucking law though innit?" I asked. My friends laughed, why should the law stop me, it's not like I was robbing a bloody bank. I stumbled out to the balcony, thankful I'd grabbed my sunnies as the sun was blinding. "So your fair dinkum about this eh?" i asked as I sat down and she passed me a lit ciggie. She just nodded, going through bits of paper strewn on the table. I noticed a little ring box by her smokes and groaned. "Is that a...." i started. Again she nodded, "Yep, tonight we're going out for dinner with a big group of our friends, between the main and dessert your gonna pop the question. Make it look real. I'll give this to you to read, it's basically how this is going to work, a grand a week, no rent, no bills etc. You just have to pull it together, make it look real. I dont mind if you shag other people, but keep it discreet okay? We get married on the 2nd of June. Then it's at least two years before we get divorced.Okay?"
"Yeah. But um... one last thing, er... what was your name again?" i tried not to laugh as I asked it. "Michelle." With that she handed me a pile of papers and left, after giving me a kiss on the cheek. I was starting to feel worried, it was against the law, I'd heard people could go to jail for this kinda shit. But then, a grand a week was an awful lot of money, I wouldn't have to work, could just kick back and enjoy myself for the next two years. The papers she had handed me was basically a plan of how it was going to work, a cover story on how we met, what she was going to do, what i was going to do and a little back ground on her. She was the daughter of some rich english toff, the kinda girl who always got what she wanted, she hadn't worked a day in her life. In England she spent most of her time with minor celebrities and fancy cocktail party people. Now she was gonna marry me, a drifter from the outback salt bush scrub of australia. Oh well, i thought to myself, I'll make the most of it, enjoy it even.
Over the next two months my life changed, I went from working the nightshift at a taxi call centre to wearing expensive suits and eating at flash restaurants. Michelle and I would spend hours and hours giving each other as much information as we could about our lives. It was obvious she was a bit uncertain about my past, I couldn't blame her for that, but it was her that wanted to get married so she'd just have to live with it. A few of my friends raised the issue of age, I was eighteen and she was thirty one, but Michelle would just tell them that our love was stronger than our age difference. It was hard at first, but slowly I got used to the charade, at some times I wondered if I could maybe even come to truly love her, an idea soon squashed as soon as she opened her mouth. She was beautiful, no doubt, but she was thick as pig shit, maybe an english version of Paris Hilton.
So on the 2nd of June I woke with a shocking hangover, after a mighty bucks night thrown by my mates. I rolled out of bed, started dressing in the suit Michelle had bought for me and lit a smoke. As soon as I'd finished dressing my phone rang, it was my Dad, I hadn't spoken to him for about three months. "Hey Dad, whats going on?" hoping I could get the call over quickly.
"Not much son, you?"
"I'm a bit busy, I'm getting married today."
"YOUR WHAT?!?!"
"Getting married. Don't worry, it's only for a couple of years."
"Benny, your getting married? Why?"
"because this bird I met wants to live in Australia."
"She paying you?"
"Yeah"
"You know it's illeagal?"
"Yeah."
"Then why are you doing it? Your eighteen, wht are ya gonna do if you meet someone you really want to marry one day? How are you gonna explain that?"
"I dunno, look, I'm not exactly sure about it either okay. I'll call you in a couple of days old man."
With that I hung up and made myself a coffee. A mate of mine pulled up out the front and we drove into the city, it was going to be a small affair, a few mates, michelle, her mum who'd flown over from england and we were gonna do it at the registrars office. We stopped at a maccas for some breaky and i turned to my mate, "Simmo, I'm not doing it man. I'm to young. It's illeagal." he just nodded.
We arrived at the building just as michelle and her mum turned up. "Michelle, I'm backing out. I'm just to young. I can help find someone else for you, but I'm not marrying you today, or ever." It felt good to say it. She slapped me. Her mum slapped me. I crossed the road and walked to a cafe in Hay street mall.
I'd thought about Michelle on and off through the past eighteen months. Most of the time I regretted not getting married, as it turned out, life handed me out a few challanges I wouldn't have had if I'd been married. Sometimes I comforted myself by thinking I'd done the right thing. But at the end of the day, even if I'm not a materialistic person, money makes things happen. I ended up getting a job at an outback roadhouse, slaving away for less money than Michelle had offered me and having no social life. A few of my friends heard the story, told me that I'd done the right thing. Then tonight, drinking with the crew from work and a few people out of the motel it again came up in conversation. "You'd be getting divorced next June Benny" said Pete.
"FFFFAAAARRRRKKKK!" I replied, not so calmly. At the time, I felt like two years was a long time, now I know it passes in the blink of an eye.
So, if anyone wants to live in Australia, let me know, we'll get married and live happily for two years.
"I need to marry an Australian!" She declared. I smiled, had another slug of my drink, lit a smoke and smooth as I could managed replied, "I'm an Aussie.". And so it was I found myself engaged on Easter Sunday. We all saw it as a bit of a joke but it was an excellent reason to drink through to the wee hours of the morning.
The next afternoon I woke up feeling like shit, which was understandable as soon as I lifted my head and saw the amount of empty stubbies strewn about the place. Then things got worse, "Hello aussie boy. We getting married today?" I looked up and saw the source of the voice, a thirty something English girl with short blonde hair, she was beautiful, but I was pretty certain we'd BOTH been joking about the whole marriage thing. I told her that and she shook her head, "Nope, I'm serious. It'll work out well for both of us. I'll get us a house, you can have a car, money, whatever and I'll get to live in Australia. Get up and come out to the balcony." she turned on her heel and walked out the door. "Benny's got himself in the shit now." muttered one of my friends from behind a cloudy hangover. "Shit shit shit. What am I gonna do?" I asked.
"Fuck it, get married, it'll be good for a laugh."
"It's against the fucking law though innit?" I asked. My friends laughed, why should the law stop me, it's not like I was robbing a bloody bank. I stumbled out to the balcony, thankful I'd grabbed my sunnies as the sun was blinding. "So your fair dinkum about this eh?" i asked as I sat down and she passed me a lit ciggie. She just nodded, going through bits of paper strewn on the table. I noticed a little ring box by her smokes and groaned. "Is that a...." i started. Again she nodded, "Yep, tonight we're going out for dinner with a big group of our friends, between the main and dessert your gonna pop the question. Make it look real. I'll give this to you to read, it's basically how this is going to work, a grand a week, no rent, no bills etc. You just have to pull it together, make it look real. I dont mind if you shag other people, but keep it discreet okay? We get married on the 2nd of June. Then it's at least two years before we get divorced.Okay?"
"Yeah. But um... one last thing, er... what was your name again?" i tried not to laugh as I asked it. "Michelle." With that she handed me a pile of papers and left, after giving me a kiss on the cheek. I was starting to feel worried, it was against the law, I'd heard people could go to jail for this kinda shit. But then, a grand a week was an awful lot of money, I wouldn't have to work, could just kick back and enjoy myself for the next two years. The papers she had handed me was basically a plan of how it was going to work, a cover story on how we met, what she was going to do, what i was going to do and a little back ground on her. She was the daughter of some rich english toff, the kinda girl who always got what she wanted, she hadn't worked a day in her life. In England she spent most of her time with minor celebrities and fancy cocktail party people. Now she was gonna marry me, a drifter from the outback salt bush scrub of australia. Oh well, i thought to myself, I'll make the most of it, enjoy it even.
Over the next two months my life changed, I went from working the nightshift at a taxi call centre to wearing expensive suits and eating at flash restaurants. Michelle and I would spend hours and hours giving each other as much information as we could about our lives. It was obvious she was a bit uncertain about my past, I couldn't blame her for that, but it was her that wanted to get married so she'd just have to live with it. A few of my friends raised the issue of age, I was eighteen and she was thirty one, but Michelle would just tell them that our love was stronger than our age difference. It was hard at first, but slowly I got used to the charade, at some times I wondered if I could maybe even come to truly love her, an idea soon squashed as soon as she opened her mouth. She was beautiful, no doubt, but she was thick as pig shit, maybe an english version of Paris Hilton.
So on the 2nd of June I woke with a shocking hangover, after a mighty bucks night thrown by my mates. I rolled out of bed, started dressing in the suit Michelle had bought for me and lit a smoke. As soon as I'd finished dressing my phone rang, it was my Dad, I hadn't spoken to him for about three months. "Hey Dad, whats going on?" hoping I could get the call over quickly.
"Not much son, you?"
"I'm a bit busy, I'm getting married today."
"YOUR WHAT?!?!"
"Getting married. Don't worry, it's only for a couple of years."
"Benny, your getting married? Why?"
"because this bird I met wants to live in Australia."
"She paying you?"
"Yeah"
"You know it's illeagal?"
"Yeah."
"Then why are you doing it? Your eighteen, wht are ya gonna do if you meet someone you really want to marry one day? How are you gonna explain that?"
"I dunno, look, I'm not exactly sure about it either okay. I'll call you in a couple of days old man."
With that I hung up and made myself a coffee. A mate of mine pulled up out the front and we drove into the city, it was going to be a small affair, a few mates, michelle, her mum who'd flown over from england and we were gonna do it at the registrars office. We stopped at a maccas for some breaky and i turned to my mate, "Simmo, I'm not doing it man. I'm to young. It's illeagal." he just nodded.
We arrived at the building just as michelle and her mum turned up. "Michelle, I'm backing out. I'm just to young. I can help find someone else for you, but I'm not marrying you today, or ever." It felt good to say it. She slapped me. Her mum slapped me. I crossed the road and walked to a cafe in Hay street mall.
I'd thought about Michelle on and off through the past eighteen months. Most of the time I regretted not getting married, as it turned out, life handed me out a few challanges I wouldn't have had if I'd been married. Sometimes I comforted myself by thinking I'd done the right thing. But at the end of the day, even if I'm not a materialistic person, money makes things happen. I ended up getting a job at an outback roadhouse, slaving away for less money than Michelle had offered me and having no social life. A few of my friends heard the story, told me that I'd done the right thing. Then tonight, drinking with the crew from work and a few people out of the motel it again came up in conversation. "You'd be getting divorced next June Benny" said Pete.
"FFFFAAAARRRRKKKK!" I replied, not so calmly. At the time, I felt like two years was a long time, now I know it passes in the blink of an eye.
So, if anyone wants to live in Australia, let me know, we'll get married and live happily for two years.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
The Touch of Julie Jane
There's a big day, only a matter of hours away and I know I really should sleep. I take deep breaths, try to relax my mind, think about sleepy thoughts and count about three sheep. My mind drifts and I know I wont be sleeping anytime soon, I think about what's gonna happen next, when I move, leave what's become home and go to a place I've only ever viewed with contempt. I leave on Saturday, today is Wednesday. Once I finish work I better make a start on packing. I wonder if I'll do the job okay, I wonder if the people I'll be working with will be nice. Naturally, I wonder if I'll meet a nice girl. Then Julie Jane walks into my mind and sits down.
"Hello Benny"
"Hello Girly"
"Been alright?" she asks. I look at her, her eyes tell me that she already knows the answer.
"Nah, a bit off and on lately." I say smiling, looking away. She walks out of my head. She walks into my room, but she's not real, we both know that. She sits on my bed. "Promise me you'll be fine yeah?" she says, reaching for my hand.
"What do you mean?" I ask, wondering how she knows me so well.
"Even if you miss me, your gonna do great in Norseman." she says, so sweetly I could almost cry. I don't know what to say, she summed it all up. I sit there feeling dumb, wishing she was real, wishing I could sit up and touch her face, but she's just a figment of my imagination I suppose. She leaves the room, walks through the wall. I sit up and lean over to the light switch. I know there'll be no sleep for me tonight. I walk through to my other room, my eyes roving over my scattered belonging, dreading the thought of having to pack it all up. I sit at my computer and check my emails. One new message. From Julie Jane.
Dear Benny
How are you? Miss you heaps.
I just had my final exam today and had a few drinks with the girls. Haha, feeling a bit tipsy, think I may have had to much to drink. I heard your moving to Norseman, to work with Paul. I wish I could follow you, you'll be fine where ever you go Ben. I'd like to quit my school and go and see you, I really miss my life in Western Australia, over here I'm just like a studying machine, its like.... crazy! I feel like I'm dead at the moment, all I do is just go to Uni, I've lost a bit of weight, I'm 51kg, Mum says it's disgusting, says I need to eat more.
Anyway, I think I have to drink lots of water, have some Panadol and go to bed.
But promise me you'll be okay Benny
I miss you
J:J
I sit stunned, looking at the screen of my computer. We promised each other we'd stay in touch, promised we'd keep the bond we'd forged among the gum trees, but time wore on, work demanded more, people come and go and though we kept in contact, it became sporadic, sometimes an awkward phone call, maybe the odd email. And then, one night, I think about her, hallucinate about her even and then there's this email. My mind spirals dangerously out of control, I have a smoke to calm myself, swallow a quick nip of whiskey.
I think I need to buy some new threads, for my time in Norseman. Became something of a sharp dressed man, hang out with a better breed of people. Maybe I should get into shape, start walking or jogging, nothing extreme, I don't want no six pack or anything, just maybe a little less gut, a little less flesh hanging over my belt. I certainly need to see a doctor, need to straighten my head out, but there's no way I'll be talking about the shit, hopefully they make some magic kind of pill that just erases all the dark past, makes the future seem brighter, ya know, makes half empty glasses look half full. Maybe I'll cut down the grog, but then it's only ever been the enviroment around me making me drink, everyone out here's a bloody piss pot. Maybe I'll make some classy friends, have dinner parties, go to back yard barbeques, join a darts team.
I look at the clock, it's three am, I really ought to get some sleep, even if I only get three hours. I shut down my computer, turn some music on, light a smoke. I sit on the edge of my bed, going over Julie Jane's email in my head. I stub out my ciggie, turn off the lights and lay down. As my eyes close and my breathing slows I feel her hand on my face. She whispers something, and even though I dont hear what it is, I know what she said.
"Hello Benny"
"Hello Girly"
"Been alright?" she asks. I look at her, her eyes tell me that she already knows the answer.
"Nah, a bit off and on lately." I say smiling, looking away. She walks out of my head. She walks into my room, but she's not real, we both know that. She sits on my bed. "Promise me you'll be fine yeah?" she says, reaching for my hand.
"What do you mean?" I ask, wondering how she knows me so well.
"Even if you miss me, your gonna do great in Norseman." she says, so sweetly I could almost cry. I don't know what to say, she summed it all up. I sit there feeling dumb, wishing she was real, wishing I could sit up and touch her face, but she's just a figment of my imagination I suppose. She leaves the room, walks through the wall. I sit up and lean over to the light switch. I know there'll be no sleep for me tonight. I walk through to my other room, my eyes roving over my scattered belonging, dreading the thought of having to pack it all up. I sit at my computer and check my emails. One new message. From Julie Jane.
Dear Benny
How are you? Miss you heaps.
I just had my final exam today and had a few drinks with the girls. Haha, feeling a bit tipsy, think I may have had to much to drink. I heard your moving to Norseman, to work with Paul. I wish I could follow you, you'll be fine where ever you go Ben. I'd like to quit my school and go and see you, I really miss my life in Western Australia, over here I'm just like a studying machine, its like.... crazy! I feel like I'm dead at the moment, all I do is just go to Uni, I've lost a bit of weight, I'm 51kg, Mum says it's disgusting, says I need to eat more.
Anyway, I think I have to drink lots of water, have some Panadol and go to bed.
But promise me you'll be okay Benny
I miss you
J:J
I sit stunned, looking at the screen of my computer. We promised each other we'd stay in touch, promised we'd keep the bond we'd forged among the gum trees, but time wore on, work demanded more, people come and go and though we kept in contact, it became sporadic, sometimes an awkward phone call, maybe the odd email. And then, one night, I think about her, hallucinate about her even and then there's this email. My mind spirals dangerously out of control, I have a smoke to calm myself, swallow a quick nip of whiskey.
I think I need to buy some new threads, for my time in Norseman. Became something of a sharp dressed man, hang out with a better breed of people. Maybe I should get into shape, start walking or jogging, nothing extreme, I don't want no six pack or anything, just maybe a little less gut, a little less flesh hanging over my belt. I certainly need to see a doctor, need to straighten my head out, but there's no way I'll be talking about the shit, hopefully they make some magic kind of pill that just erases all the dark past, makes the future seem brighter, ya know, makes half empty glasses look half full. Maybe I'll cut down the grog, but then it's only ever been the enviroment around me making me drink, everyone out here's a bloody piss pot. Maybe I'll make some classy friends, have dinner parties, go to back yard barbeques, join a darts team.
I look at the clock, it's three am, I really ought to get some sleep, even if I only get three hours. I shut down my computer, turn some music on, light a smoke. I sit on the edge of my bed, going over Julie Jane's email in my head. I stub out my ciggie, turn off the lights and lay down. As my eyes close and my breathing slows I feel her hand on my face. She whispers something, and even though I dont hear what it is, I know what she said.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Alcohol Dims Everything
Back in the day huh, you remember what used to go on? What's the difference between now and then? Now, right here, we can change, but what happened is a solid as a diamond, as beautiful as a blood red rose, as dangerous as that girl Johnno picked up at the club. Yeah, you know the girl I'm talking about, the one with the long blonde hair and those fucking legs that never seemed to end. I wonder if he could sue the doorman for what happened?
At times I guess it just seems to be an endless procession, they come and they go and every now and then there's one you really, really like but she never stays for long. So its a sad drink that night, avoiding eye contact, or if possible, avoiding all contact, but then it never stays that way for long. Another one comes and conversation fires up and your only in trouble if you think back to the one before and the smile and those eyes and... fuck it, pour another drink. And another. And another. We'd probably be better off playing mushroom, but this is no longer your playground, its been taken over by some kind of accented, english speaking parasite and all I ever get is funny looks and scowls when I flutter off a bit of quiet linguistics. Give it another few weeks, another few bottles of hard liquor, of throwing up and sleeping miles and miles from your nice warm bed. Time dims all but the most vivid of memories, alcohol dims everything.
*YOU GOT A FRIEND IN ME ;)*
At times I guess it just seems to be an endless procession, they come and they go and every now and then there's one you really, really like but she never stays for long. So its a sad drink that night, avoiding eye contact, or if possible, avoiding all contact, but then it never stays that way for long. Another one comes and conversation fires up and your only in trouble if you think back to the one before and the smile and those eyes and... fuck it, pour another drink. And another. And another. We'd probably be better off playing mushroom, but this is no longer your playground, its been taken over by some kind of accented, english speaking parasite and all I ever get is funny looks and scowls when I flutter off a bit of quiet linguistics. Give it another few weeks, another few bottles of hard liquor, of throwing up and sleeping miles and miles from your nice warm bed. Time dims all but the most vivid of memories, alcohol dims everything.
*YOU GOT A FRIEND IN ME ;)*
Leaving
Every word I'll ever say, I say for you. Every tear that moistens the dust by my boots, falls while I think of you. I walk down these familiar highways, moving forward but never moving on. I'm leaving on a jet plane, one day soon. Going to other countries, seeing strange smiles and hearing foreign accents. You'd be proud of me, I hope. These days I wake, and miss your smiling face, no matter how hard I tried, I never woke before you, perhaps it's something to do with me watching your dreaming face till the grey hours of the night. A feeling I couldn't escape, a girl I couldn't live without.
But I had to leave, had to spread my wings and you sent me away smiling, but sometimes I wonder if you knew you'd lose me to the world. Surely you did, and that makes you so much more than anything I could have called you. It's not often my eyes spill over nowadays, I spend most of my time drunk. But once in a while, sitting out the front of work, early in the morning as the light spreads slowly over the eastern horizon, my thoughts turn to you, wondering if your much the same, or has this bastard world warped you as much as it has me? I hope not, your the epitomy of sweetness and innocence. I used to escape in your eyes, I loved the way you listend to the stories we'd tell of darker times.
If I had just one hour more with you, alone in your front yard, like it was when we first met, I think I'd only say one thing, and just sit and enjoy the other fifty nine minutes. I'm sorry, truly I am.
But I had to leave, had to spread my wings and you sent me away smiling, but sometimes I wonder if you knew you'd lose me to the world. Surely you did, and that makes you so much more than anything I could have called you. It's not often my eyes spill over nowadays, I spend most of my time drunk. But once in a while, sitting out the front of work, early in the morning as the light spreads slowly over the eastern horizon, my thoughts turn to you, wondering if your much the same, or has this bastard world warped you as much as it has me? I hope not, your the epitomy of sweetness and innocence. I used to escape in your eyes, I loved the way you listend to the stories we'd tell of darker times.
If I had just one hour more with you, alone in your front yard, like it was when we first met, I think I'd only say one thing, and just sit and enjoy the other fifty nine minutes. I'm sorry, truly I am.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
All that needs to be said
I suppose it's a bit like the straw that broke the camels back, or maybe the last four simply opened my eyes. A bottle of scotch, not even a whole bottle, on an empty stomach was enough to start the wheels turning. But it's kinda hard to drive a manual, finding gears can take time, but once your moving where to next? The truth is that freedom means I'm stuck, it's given me to many options, disabling my ability to make decisions. When i wake in the morning it'll just be easier to stay and keep treading the same eighteen month old water. Drinking started as a past time, became something of an obsession, now it's daily life and the sickness in my stomach lets me know i'm still breathing. There's people around me but I can't be fucked trying to explain the way i feel, I've done it to many times and all that happens is a repeat of what happened before.
There's methods of extracting one's self from certain situations, but for the most part I'm happy to spend the rest of my time dreaming of a sea side cottage, playing eye spy and drinking my liver to an early resignation. If I cannot quit this burden my body can quit the game.
There's methods of extracting one's self from certain situations, but for the most part I'm happy to spend the rest of my time dreaming of a sea side cottage, playing eye spy and drinking my liver to an early resignation. If I cannot quit this burden my body can quit the game.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Here's To Us
There's really no need to analyse these situations so much. Just concentrate on hitting the right letters, just put one foot in front of the other and the biggest way to draw attention to yourself is to stare at the ground, just tell everyone your tired. Which, of course, you are, even if you refuse to admit it to yourself. There's nothing anyone can do about, maybe one person has the appropriate calming affect but like the dire strait's song, they're so far away. Just remembering dancing fingers and knowing its not only to music that they dance but to some unheard rhythm of life that seems to pass us mere mortals by. It's certain settings at certain times, when the sunlight hits the dust just right, and you look over there and see the entire world lit up. When it's naturally known the right moments for jokes and the right moments for tears. when nothing seems to be said but words are required to set the concrete of the time we want to capture.
Find yourself discussing matters that once never interested you, find your IQ rising simply because of who your sitting next to, its the great rise to fame that all the richest paupers experience. Then, just like in the movies, there's that drama, that great big conflict that ends badly. You learn your lesson, pick your shit up and rise to a level thats comfortable. You'll always remember where you come from, you'll always remember the dangers of rising to quick, but fuck it man, the world is yours and that pretty girl is calling herself yours. Just giggle like a bitch and remember the bad old days when we drank way to much goon and talked shit and only dreamed of suits like the one your wearing as you sit here laughing at the directness of such bollocks. Cheers old mate, here's to you, and here's to me. The ones we left behind and the lucky bastards that get to meet us in the future. But most importantly mate, here's to having it all and losing most of it.
Find yourself discussing matters that once never interested you, find your IQ rising simply because of who your sitting next to, its the great rise to fame that all the richest paupers experience. Then, just like in the movies, there's that drama, that great big conflict that ends badly. You learn your lesson, pick your shit up and rise to a level thats comfortable. You'll always remember where you come from, you'll always remember the dangers of rising to quick, but fuck it man, the world is yours and that pretty girl is calling herself yours. Just giggle like a bitch and remember the bad old days when we drank way to much goon and talked shit and only dreamed of suits like the one your wearing as you sit here laughing at the directness of such bollocks. Cheers old mate, here's to you, and here's to me. The ones we left behind and the lucky bastards that get to meet us in the future. But most importantly mate, here's to having it all and losing most of it.
Friday, November 28, 2008
crumbles the acid dropping desk dwelling stale old cookie and the search for the cinnamon shoe girl
Crumbles was stale, 'I need a change of scene man.' he said to me as we shared a joint on the shoe girl's desk. I dont remember how i made it to the desk, my last memory being a little white pill fed-exed to me by jefferson aeroplane, a white rabbit pointing and laughing at me. i swallowed the pill and the rabbit with the last swallow of vodka in my bottle. i shrank like a sheep in a washing machine. i followed crumbles to the carpark, located by a barbie doll's house. she stood in her doorway with glazed eyes. i whispered in her ear and she slipped some acid into my eye. the world wobbled and crumbles and i drove to far drove to fast. "We're we going?" i asked. Crumbles started singing Neil Young songs, i decided to sing Lynard Skynard songs. My blackberry buzzed and the shoe girl was lost among bikini wearing papyrus print. Crumble Young was singing cinnamon girl. We drove through a wall, stopped at deed poll. "I'd like to change my name' i told the lady. she rolled her eyes and snapped her gum, crumbles giggled at her oversized bum. "what to?" she asked, noticing crumble's roving eyes.
"Apple" i replies. she waved her magic wand and it was so. Crumble and i walked back to the car,
"Apple Crumble on the road again" we chanted to the tune of cinnamon girl. "I see televisions" said the shoe girl. "Are you a cinnamon girl?" asked crumble. She shook her head despite the fact we were using telephones. "It reminds me of ads" said the cinnamon shoe girl.
"Like minuses?" i asked in my bakers apple tone of voice.
"Like minus is negative"she said, or something similar.
"I've never been good with mathematics. But three acid tabs and two acid tabs equals crazy apple crumble with cinnamon on top...right?" we all agreed. Crumbles, sick of being a biscuit decided upon a suitable disguise for our entry into bikini wearing papyrus print land. he dressed himself as a bfg, a big fucking german. i bought a bikini from the opera house in darwin. we were set. we asked the cinnamon girl for directions. "what'd she say?" asked the crumbling bfg. "We go straight till we get to a fork in the road"
"I have a fork in my pocket" said crumble as he pulled it out. i snatched it off him and stabbed him numerous times. he died on impact, completely forked. but thats how the cookie crumbles.
i dropped a whole sheet of acid in my left eye, my right one was broken, a tattoo gone terribly wrong, and continued, chewing small bits of stale crumble cookie. the first sign i was in bikini papyrus was a noticable increase in the number of bikini wearing papyrus letters. i brandished a freshly baked muffin in much the same way as an angry african kid would brandish an AK-47. they raised a white flag and i rescued the cinnamon shoe girl. together we turned over, apple and cinnamon turnover. then we lived happily ever after until jefferson aeroplane asked me what happened to a certain white rabbit who was still giggling in my guts.
"Apple" i replies. she waved her magic wand and it was so. Crumble and i walked back to the car,
"Apple Crumble on the road again" we chanted to the tune of cinnamon girl. "I see televisions" said the shoe girl. "Are you a cinnamon girl?" asked crumble. She shook her head despite the fact we were using telephones. "It reminds me of ads" said the cinnamon shoe girl.
"Like minuses?" i asked in my bakers apple tone of voice.
"Like minus is negative"she said, or something similar.
"I've never been good with mathematics. But three acid tabs and two acid tabs equals crazy apple crumble with cinnamon on top...right?" we all agreed. Crumbles, sick of being a biscuit decided upon a suitable disguise for our entry into bikini wearing papyrus print land. he dressed himself as a bfg, a big fucking german. i bought a bikini from the opera house in darwin. we were set. we asked the cinnamon girl for directions. "what'd she say?" asked the crumbling bfg. "We go straight till we get to a fork in the road"
"I have a fork in my pocket" said crumble as he pulled it out. i snatched it off him and stabbed him numerous times. he died on impact, completely forked. but thats how the cookie crumbles.
i dropped a whole sheet of acid in my left eye, my right one was broken, a tattoo gone terribly wrong, and continued, chewing small bits of stale crumble cookie. the first sign i was in bikini papyrus was a noticable increase in the number of bikini wearing papyrus letters. i brandished a freshly baked muffin in much the same way as an angry african kid would brandish an AK-47. they raised a white flag and i rescued the cinnamon shoe girl. together we turned over, apple and cinnamon turnover. then we lived happily ever after until jefferson aeroplane asked me what happened to a certain white rabbit who was still giggling in my guts.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The Drunk, The Smile & The Song
Time out there is spent trying to keep it together. The three of them stuck together, just mates in a different world. You could spend all day trying to analyze them, but one could smile, one drunk to much and dreamed of a little sea side cottage and one sang 'Lemon Tree'.
Time, a lost cause in a place like that, though most can see the end. Drinking provided a means to an end, for the boredom at least, and some of the shit they got up to! Mate...
I only met them once, I was just a traveller, making my way to the mines, like most people who'd heard of WA, a bit like a modern day gold rush. They were drinking to a friend, an American who'd left the day before. "It's just the way it is out here cobber", said the one who drank to much. He opened another beer, offered one to me then walked out the door for a smoke. The other two followed him, two German girls, one with the smile, one with the song.
The drunk one was comfortable were he was, 'resting' he said. More like hiding i thought, but then there was not much point getting involved in a serious discussion, anyway, I had a suspicion the girls had said similar things to him before.
We drank till three in the morning, though the three were still going, i could hardly see in front of me. As we cleaned the table of empty stubbies and overflowing ashtrays, we sang Lemon Tree.
'I wonder how,
I wonder why,
Yesterday you told me 'bout the blue, blue sky,
And all that I can see is just a yellow lemon tree...'
*For Julia & Elli*
Time, a lost cause in a place like that, though most can see the end. Drinking provided a means to an end, for the boredom at least, and some of the shit they got up to! Mate...
I only met them once, I was just a traveller, making my way to the mines, like most people who'd heard of WA, a bit like a modern day gold rush. They were drinking to a friend, an American who'd left the day before. "It's just the way it is out here cobber", said the one who drank to much. He opened another beer, offered one to me then walked out the door for a smoke. The other two followed him, two German girls, one with the smile, one with the song.
The drunk one was comfortable were he was, 'resting' he said. More like hiding i thought, but then there was not much point getting involved in a serious discussion, anyway, I had a suspicion the girls had said similar things to him before.
We drank till three in the morning, though the three were still going, i could hardly see in front of me. As we cleaned the table of empty stubbies and overflowing ashtrays, we sang Lemon Tree.
'I wonder how,
I wonder why,
Yesterday you told me 'bout the blue, blue sky,
And all that I can see is just a yellow lemon tree...'
*For Julia & Elli*
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Round Corners
He was a gentleman, a proper old english Toff. What he was doing in Maylands was anyone's guess, but Maylands is a bit like that.
He lived in a little two bedroom house, i used to mow his lawns with an old hand mower. Afterwards we'd sit in his living room, he owned no TV, just these big leather arm chairs, befitting of a man like himself, and a record player he bought brand new in 1983. We'd sit in the arm chairs and he'd play classical records, you know, Beethoven, Bach, that kind of thing. We'd just sit, with the volume turned up full and sip our drinks, enjoy the serenity.
Although I didn't mind the music, I could never understand the attraction. One day, unable to hide my curiosity anymore, I asked him, "Why classical?"
"It takes you round corners."
One day, he died, like old men may. Asleep in his chair, the needle at the end of his favourite record. I came round to mow his lawns, when he didn't answer the door, I found the spare key.
He was sitting in his chair, his eyes closed, a single cigarette end in the ashtray by his right hand. I lifted the needle and played the record right through, Moonlight Sonata in D, merely the name of a song for me, I have no musical talent, but I sat in the chair, sat with my gentleman friend, and the music took me round corners.
He lived in a little two bedroom house, i used to mow his lawns with an old hand mower. Afterwards we'd sit in his living room, he owned no TV, just these big leather arm chairs, befitting of a man like himself, and a record player he bought brand new in 1983. We'd sit in the arm chairs and he'd play classical records, you know, Beethoven, Bach, that kind of thing. We'd just sit, with the volume turned up full and sip our drinks, enjoy the serenity.
Although I didn't mind the music, I could never understand the attraction. One day, unable to hide my curiosity anymore, I asked him, "Why classical?"
"It takes you round corners."
One day, he died, like old men may. Asleep in his chair, the needle at the end of his favourite record. I came round to mow his lawns, when he didn't answer the door, I found the spare key.
He was sitting in his chair, his eyes closed, a single cigarette end in the ashtray by his right hand. I lifted the needle and played the record right through, Moonlight Sonata in D, merely the name of a song for me, I have no musical talent, but I sat in the chair, sat with my gentleman friend, and the music took me round corners.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Ist Mitten Im Nirgendwo
The twenty-ninth November, 2007.
The day started much like any day would. Finished work at five am, chat with the girl, smoke with Ma. Open a beer. Serve the odd customer.
"You must get a few accidents out here", asked the customer.
"Nah, I've been here five months today and we haven't had a single one." I said.
The customer left, I grabbed my smokes and moved towards the door.
The door flung open just before I reached it.
"Get an ambulance quick! There's been an accident... an ambulance... one's dead..." the bloke was white.
"Whats going on?" asked Ma. I walked out the front, lit my smoke. I still had no idea what was happening.
We all fell into various roles like we'd done it a million times, I joined the boss, jumping in front of trucks hurtling toward Norseman at a hundred kays an hour. "We've gotta close the road, been a fatality up ahead." we'd shout.
Five months, not a single accident. Did I jinx it? Afterwards we drank, like we did every night. We were Balladonia, we were fucking awesome, we would last forever.
The twenty-ninth November, 2008
The leader leaves, moves on down the road. Ma hopes for the best.
We're all worried, we still drink, but seldom together. The only ones left are Ma, Boss, Boss's wife and myself. We bicker often nowadays. No accidents though. The future's uncertain, depends on the new leader. Sometimes, maybe while we're standing out the front, the last minutes of light for the day, smoking, thinking, someone will mention the Balladonia of old. But it's gone, the magics been lost and we're only chasing our tails.
*For Half-a-laugh & The Balladonians '07*
The day started much like any day would. Finished work at five am, chat with the girl, smoke with Ma. Open a beer. Serve the odd customer.
"You must get a few accidents out here", asked the customer.
"Nah, I've been here five months today and we haven't had a single one." I said.
The customer left, I grabbed my smokes and moved towards the door.
The door flung open just before I reached it.
"Get an ambulance quick! There's been an accident... an ambulance... one's dead..." the bloke was white.
"Whats going on?" asked Ma. I walked out the front, lit my smoke. I still had no idea what was happening.
We all fell into various roles like we'd done it a million times, I joined the boss, jumping in front of trucks hurtling toward Norseman at a hundred kays an hour. "We've gotta close the road, been a fatality up ahead." we'd shout.
Five months, not a single accident. Did I jinx it? Afterwards we drank, like we did every night. We were Balladonia, we were fucking awesome, we would last forever.
The twenty-ninth November, 2008
The leader leaves, moves on down the road. Ma hopes for the best.
We're all worried, we still drink, but seldom together. The only ones left are Ma, Boss, Boss's wife and myself. We bicker often nowadays. No accidents though. The future's uncertain, depends on the new leader. Sometimes, maybe while we're standing out the front, the last minutes of light for the day, smoking, thinking, someone will mention the Balladonia of old. But it's gone, the magics been lost and we're only chasing our tails.
*For Half-a-laugh & The Balladonians '07*
Daytime Night
You'd never have known, the only clue being the lack of light. The cool air slapping our drunkeness away as we slip out for a smoke, only to have the stomach do a backflip as you light the cancer stick, take the famous first deep draw. The music seeps from every crack in the wall behind you, the ground moves, people dance regardless of the cabs and coppers crammed along the road. A fight breaks out, someone lays motionless, a girl crying, screaming, sobbing, "You killed him", quiet at first, the sobs wrack her body, the police move closer. "YOU KILLED HIM", louder know. A gentle english cop lays a hand on her shoulder, the scene is serious. "YOU FUCKING KILLED HIM! YOU FUCK! YOU CUNT! HE'S DEAD! YOU FUCKING KILLLLLEEEDDDD HIIMMMMM!".
"He certainly looks dead.", I comment to my new friend, whom i've known for maybe twenty minutes. My friend nods his head in agreement. We watch the cops lead the girl away, her night, and possibly her life, ruined. Two cops begin CPR, three or four stand around, trying to look official, trying to move the crowd along but more people spill out of the club. The only sound is the music coming from the club, an occasional cop muttering into their radio. Every know and then we hear a grief stricken wail from the back of the police cruiser we guess the girl is sitting in.
Across the way, in the darkness of the park three solid policemen tackle a big kiwi to the ground. The struggle lasts about five minutes before the New Zealander is tasered. He shakes and rolls like he's been possesed, the kind of thing you see in one of those crazy, happy-clappy new age churches. He aint being saved though.
The siren of an ambulance drowns out the screams of the girl. "You'd a thought they'd have taken her away by now." says my friend. I nod my agreement.
They close the club, my old friends join me and my new friend. We walk past the prone body, paramedics doing there thing, though from what we can see, there's really no point. There's a dark pool of blood round his head, a flap of skin dangling from his chin, his eyes are closed and his chest only rises when they little green men force oxygen down his throat.
The next day we read about it in the paper. "One punch hit kills loving fiance". No wonder the poor girl was wailing, they were getting married a week later.
"He certainly looks dead.", I comment to my new friend, whom i've known for maybe twenty minutes. My friend nods his head in agreement. We watch the cops lead the girl away, her night, and possibly her life, ruined. Two cops begin CPR, three or four stand around, trying to look official, trying to move the crowd along but more people spill out of the club. The only sound is the music coming from the club, an occasional cop muttering into their radio. Every know and then we hear a grief stricken wail from the back of the police cruiser we guess the girl is sitting in.
Across the way, in the darkness of the park three solid policemen tackle a big kiwi to the ground. The struggle lasts about five minutes before the New Zealander is tasered. He shakes and rolls like he's been possesed, the kind of thing you see in one of those crazy, happy-clappy new age churches. He aint being saved though.
The siren of an ambulance drowns out the screams of the girl. "You'd a thought they'd have taken her away by now." says my friend. I nod my agreement.
They close the club, my old friends join me and my new friend. We walk past the prone body, paramedics doing there thing, though from what we can see, there's really no point. There's a dark pool of blood round his head, a flap of skin dangling from his chin, his eyes are closed and his chest only rises when they little green men force oxygen down his throat.
The next day we read about it in the paper. "One punch hit kills loving fiance". No wonder the poor girl was wailing, they were getting married a week later.
Instinct Kicks In
When I was only very young, after I had run away once more, nine days on my own, my father told me to always trust my gut, my instinct. Call it 'Benny Intuition'.
As the days tore into months and the months ground into years, my instinct kept me hoping, living, smiling.
When the man driving the dusty XF Falcon didn't seem right, my instinct told me to run. I ran till I hit the sea, by then there was no need to swim.
When the girl dropped hints she wanted a big shiny diamond ring, i knew it was time once more to run, at eighteen I was in no position to marry, settle down for the long haul. I ran, one day she saw me, with someone new.
When the feeling in my bones told me all was not right, told me the knife was soon to be slicing, I sat still, feigning ignorance... till at the last second I ran.
Now these wheels keep on turning, stomach keeps on rumbling. I'm making my way to our favourite restaurant, to a table set for one.
Lighting ladies cigarettes outside neon lighted public spaces, instinct disappears, drowned by not enough scotch's, a feeble attempt at luxury portrayal, background betrayal.
Hail the new king, the old one abondoned us, lured by the safety of numbers. I'll no doubt still be late in the morning, but time is of the essence as the place is moments away from turning to shit, a far cry from the home we knew a year ago.
A rare disease, never seen before. Be wary of the andistollfootitis, it's a killer from the ground up. How do you run when your feet fell off in Africa? When instinct kicks in, you fly on a jet plane to safety.
One day, you get a call, from a pretty little lady, with electric eyes. Instinct tells you no...
Dinner's kinda crazy, feet tapping music drifting down the slick night time streets. Crowds passing by, don't look in her eyessssss...
Later, instinct having left for home, left you to the evils awaiting, your sitting in a smoky room. She reaches for your hand, the coolness sends shivers down your spine.
"Just relax", says she, as she ties the blind fold behind your head. Blackness overwhelmes, every hair stands on end, skin so smooth, breath so warm.
As the sharp steel razor begins it's journey across your throat, instinct kicks in....
As the days tore into months and the months ground into years, my instinct kept me hoping, living, smiling.
When the man driving the dusty XF Falcon didn't seem right, my instinct told me to run. I ran till I hit the sea, by then there was no need to swim.
When the girl dropped hints she wanted a big shiny diamond ring, i knew it was time once more to run, at eighteen I was in no position to marry, settle down for the long haul. I ran, one day she saw me, with someone new.
When the feeling in my bones told me all was not right, told me the knife was soon to be slicing, I sat still, feigning ignorance... till at the last second I ran.
Now these wheels keep on turning, stomach keeps on rumbling. I'm making my way to our favourite restaurant, to a table set for one.
Lighting ladies cigarettes outside neon lighted public spaces, instinct disappears, drowned by not enough scotch's, a feeble attempt at luxury portrayal, background betrayal.
Hail the new king, the old one abondoned us, lured by the safety of numbers. I'll no doubt still be late in the morning, but time is of the essence as the place is moments away from turning to shit, a far cry from the home we knew a year ago.
A rare disease, never seen before. Be wary of the andistollfootitis, it's a killer from the ground up. How do you run when your feet fell off in Africa? When instinct kicks in, you fly on a jet plane to safety.
One day, you get a call, from a pretty little lady, with electric eyes. Instinct tells you no...
Dinner's kinda crazy, feet tapping music drifting down the slick night time streets. Crowds passing by, don't look in her eyessssss...
Later, instinct having left for home, left you to the evils awaiting, your sitting in a smoky room. She reaches for your hand, the coolness sends shivers down your spine.
"Just relax", says she, as she ties the blind fold behind your head. Blackness overwhelmes, every hair stands on end, skin so smooth, breath so warm.
As the sharp steel razor begins it's journey across your throat, instinct kicks in....
The Day I Left
The day i left the koala capital the sun was shining. The girl's little yellow car was disappearing over the hill. i sat on my bag and sucked down a ciggie. The future was opening up in front of me.
Ants were crawling over the ground by my feet. I had as much idea as they did.
A car came over the hill my girlfriend had just disappeared behind and i was whisked further into the unknown. It was enjoyable, five days moving west, meeting people, dwelling on the threshhold.
The day I arrived in Perth the sky was overcast, but i was optimisitic.
It lasted three weeks, weeks full of sun, drinking, new experience, phone calls to a middle class angel on the otherside of the country.
When, one night, she asked if I minded that she was going out drinking i replied i didn't. Why should I? She never had a problem with me going out and having fun. Trust was overflowing.
She never returned my calls. The truth came slowly at first, then quicker. Soon I was drowning, gasping for air, a pain like I'd swallowed a plate full of razor blades. Naturally i drank, a bit more than usual. Soon enough I sobered up and began putting the pieces together, life dragged on, slower now there seemed to be no reason.
The rope broke and the leg snapped. A fancy plaster cast to haunt me.
Ants were crawling over the ground by my feet. I had as much idea as they did.
A car came over the hill my girlfriend had just disappeared behind and i was whisked further into the unknown. It was enjoyable, five days moving west, meeting people, dwelling on the threshhold.
The day I arrived in Perth the sky was overcast, but i was optimisitic.
It lasted three weeks, weeks full of sun, drinking, new experience, phone calls to a middle class angel on the otherside of the country.
When, one night, she asked if I minded that she was going out drinking i replied i didn't. Why should I? She never had a problem with me going out and having fun. Trust was overflowing.
She never returned my calls. The truth came slowly at first, then quicker. Soon I was drowning, gasping for air, a pain like I'd swallowed a plate full of razor blades. Naturally i drank, a bit more than usual. Soon enough I sobered up and began putting the pieces together, life dragged on, slower now there seemed to be no reason.
The rope broke and the leg snapped. A fancy plaster cast to haunt me.
Watching Those Fingers
She's sitting upright, the rest of us slouch. She's making music man, while the rest of us drink. She's got her eyes closed as we all imagine.
And when they ask why, I told them it takes me round corners. Few understood, most just shrugged and rolled their eyes. But then thats the whole point, i don't need understanding i just need a giggle. I glance over to her, she's lost in another world, I finish my drink and order another.
There's something special in her song, something sad, something heavy. She launches into something new, something with lyrics, something crunchy. A song from Australia, a song to get the crowd singing. It's after hours, staff only, I light up a smoke. She's just like the others, a few weeks, maybe a month tops and she'll be heading down the ever present highway, that ugly black ribbon bordering my existence.
I tried leaving once, though i seldom go into details. Plenty of drinking, a burning car and an ugly trip to hospital. But as she sings it, the curse stops here I suppose. Out by the trees, making coffees and cooking burgers. I make muffins, sell them for a profit though I'm told I'm wasting creative talent.
Soon the songs blend into one, the night grinds on and I'm left there, drunk, perched on a stool by the piano, just watching those fingers dance.
And when they ask why, I told them it takes me round corners. Few understood, most just shrugged and rolled their eyes. But then thats the whole point, i don't need understanding i just need a giggle. I glance over to her, she's lost in another world, I finish my drink and order another.
There's something special in her song, something sad, something heavy. She launches into something new, something with lyrics, something crunchy. A song from Australia, a song to get the crowd singing. It's after hours, staff only, I light up a smoke. She's just like the others, a few weeks, maybe a month tops and she'll be heading down the ever present highway, that ugly black ribbon bordering my existence.
I tried leaving once, though i seldom go into details. Plenty of drinking, a burning car and an ugly trip to hospital. But as she sings it, the curse stops here I suppose. Out by the trees, making coffees and cooking burgers. I make muffins, sell them for a profit though I'm told I'm wasting creative talent.
Soon the songs blend into one, the night grinds on and I'm left there, drunk, perched on a stool by the piano, just watching those fingers dance.
You wish you wrote it
You could tell what he felt was more than just lust. You could tell it was more than some shit kicker crush. Heart Of Gold, by Neil Young. He wished he wrote that song. He wished he wrote it for her.
In the end, as it happens, they didn't stay that long. Circumstance had them moving on down the line sooner than anyone would have wanted. One night in the bar she came up in conversation, two days before they were due to leave.
The words stung him like they'd been fired from an air gun, a Telemarksman II with two springs. Whatever that meant. It hurt but he couldn't let on, not the done thing round these people. Emotions? Bah, for fucking pansies mate, for the real world. Yeah, not the done thing out here, among the trees and the kangaroos. He bit his tongue, didn't say the angry words that brewed within his anger. He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to act nonchalant.
The words floated round his head, the scotch dimmed his perception, for a little while at least.
He felt guilty, maybe he should have battled harder for her honour. But she's a tourist and he's a shitkicker. There's not much point nowadays anyway, everyone's corrupt.
Walking past her place he saw the dimmer blue glow of her television set, wondered what it would be like to see that smile every morning. But he'd said it himself in an earlier time, 'there's to many people in the world to get that hung up on just one of them'. But he couldn't help but think, the worlds to scary, she's to special, he's to spineless.
She left on the monday with her friend, just as had been planned. He said goodbye, quickly and quietly. Goodbyes out there were always hard, harder even still when she flashed him that smile. The truck pulled out, gears crunching and he thought to himself, "I've been here before, I dare say I'll be here again."
In the end, as it happens, they didn't stay that long. Circumstance had them moving on down the line sooner than anyone would have wanted. One night in the bar she came up in conversation, two days before they were due to leave.
The words stung him like they'd been fired from an air gun, a Telemarksman II with two springs. Whatever that meant. It hurt but he couldn't let on, not the done thing round these people. Emotions? Bah, for fucking pansies mate, for the real world. Yeah, not the done thing out here, among the trees and the kangaroos. He bit his tongue, didn't say the angry words that brewed within his anger. He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to act nonchalant.
The words floated round his head, the scotch dimmed his perception, for a little while at least.
He felt guilty, maybe he should have battled harder for her honour. But she's a tourist and he's a shitkicker. There's not much point nowadays anyway, everyone's corrupt.
Walking past her place he saw the dimmer blue glow of her television set, wondered what it would be like to see that smile every morning. But he'd said it himself in an earlier time, 'there's to many people in the world to get that hung up on just one of them'. But he couldn't help but think, the worlds to scary, she's to special, he's to spineless.
She left on the monday with her friend, just as had been planned. He said goodbye, quickly and quietly. Goodbyes out there were always hard, harder even still when she flashed him that smile. The truck pulled out, gears crunching and he thought to himself, "I've been here before, I dare say I'll be here again."
Feeling Awkward
When the rain brings the flood, and the sun dries the mud.
When the laughter rings, though the jokes are dull.
Whe a pretty girl smiles but the lads cheapen the moment.
When alcohol dims the lights.
When you hide from lonliness, only to find him standing behind you, grinning.
When the moments gone before you know it.
When theres a candle lit but the feeling isnt mutual.
When they come and they go,
When they love and they lose,
When they laugh and they cry,
It leaves you feeling awkward
When the laughter rings, though the jokes are dull.
Whe a pretty girl smiles but the lads cheapen the moment.
When alcohol dims the lights.
When you hide from lonliness, only to find him standing behind you, grinning.
When the moments gone before you know it.
When theres a candle lit but the feeling isnt mutual.
When they come and they go,
When they love and they lose,
When they laugh and they cry,
It leaves you feeling awkward
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