Monday 31 July 2006

Sunday 30 July 2006

I'm Shagged... Literally

I had the house to myself.

Mat and I took drugs and screwed all weekend. Glass pipe packed every hour. Sitting up in the middle of the bed, the doona draped around each of us like swathes of material from a high fashion film shoot.

I'm shagged... literally. We both have sore dicks. Covered in muck, sticky to the touch. Sweating and sighing, exhausted.

Mat played sheep. I played drover.

Mat played catcher. I played pitcher.

Mat's arse can take it longer than I can give it, ain’t that the truth. He likes it face down and on his knees the best. Although I put in a few hours, so I think that is pretty respectable, um, er, delivery, and he was happy with that.

Then we both suck on the glass pipe again. Ah, that acrid smoke, I love it. Mat loves it. You can crave just the taste.

Then we can both lay there pulling ourselves for hours watching porn from the internet, in a second round, also the truth. Glass pipes being what they are. 

True of all boys, really.

And by then it is taboo porn, brother on brother, father and son… you can find any sort of deviation on the interwebs.

We’re making up stories, I can run an alternative narrative on any porn, that is what I do, after all. I’m quite the chatterer, as we lay there in the semi dark, towels all around, the sheets drenched with sweat and other fluids. The panel heater pulled into the room and set on high until we both feel we are going to expire.

We’re in our own cocoon, the outside world ceases to exist, and the hours just disappear. What day is it? How long have we been…? I have no idea. It is no longer clear. I love that. I love the drugged-out tear in the space time continuum, that is the best. Life as you know it, no longer exists. Nirvana by pipe. It is fantastically great.

(no wonder it takes the dumb people down. You have to be smart to make it out the other side)


Saturday 29 July 2006

Can You Hear It

Can you hear it? 

Are you sure? 

Listen closer? 

What can you hear if you really concentrate? 

What?

That sound.

What sound?

The sound just then?

I heard nothing.

That's because you are busy talking.

Well, how rude.

To hear, you've got to listen.


Are you saying I don't know when to shut up? Is that what you are saying? That I talk a lot? Is that what you are saying to me...


Yes.

But don't worry, you are not the only one.

The whole world, really, the whole world...

So may of us are only really interested in what they have to say.


Saturday 22 July 2006

Funeral

My mum went to the funeral of the young son of a friend. He died in a car accident. (Word is he was pissed) He'd been a great football player, a handsome, sporty guy. The apple of his mother’s eye. 

The priest said that we could all take great comfort in the knowledge that he's kicking the football around in heaven for all eternity.

“I thought they were all nuts when they said Amen,” said Mum. “Dust. The kid’s dust. That’s just life. What kind of comfort is it giving that kind of cruel, false hope?”

“It's all right mum, because daddies in heaven now,” I said. Mum knew I was talking about my father, her husband. (Surely, I don’t need to tell you that that was sarcasm?)

She laughed. “He was a good man, you father.” She tousled my hair. “He’d think they were all nuts, too.”


“Your husband for 50 years,” I said.

“Yes, 50 years,” she repeated. “It was just like it was yesterday that we were getting married.”

“Do you miss him?” I asked.

“Every minute of every day,” she said. She looked off into the distance, like her life was running through before her eyes.

“I miss him too,” I said.

“I could have done with another 50 years,” she said. “The first 50 just wasn’t long enough.” Her eyes turned just a little glassy, as she gazed out the back window.

She looked back at me and smiled. Wide eyes momentarily. “Come on, let’s get lunch ready, it’s not going to prepare itself.”


Wednesday 12 July 2006

Lunch

There is a young guy who is a waiter at the cafe where I eat lunch, with short hair and a baby face. He wears an apron tied around his waist. He wears his black pants so low on his hips that they only barely cover half his arse. With his white shirt still tucked into his pants, the soft white cotton covers the top of his cheeks, clinging like lycra. What a sexy, peach of an arse it is too. I tell you, I nearly get a boner sitting there watching the tops of his cheeks working, as he walks past with the next plate in his hands. What perfect man mounds (I can't believe I wrote that) for sure. I just know, I'd like to part them and lick him until he was nice and wet.

Too much information?

Fuck it!


“What would you like?” he asks.

“Shouldn’t that be ‘are you ready to order’?” I reply.

“Sure, if you like,” he says.

“Well, go on, say it,” I say.

I can hear him breath in. I watch he surprising taught chest expand. “Are you ready to order, sir?”

“Because, I know what I’d like?”

“Well, that’s a good start.”

“But, I am pretty sure it’s not on the menu?”

“I’m not following?”

“That is a shame.”

“Because I can only help you with things that are, actually, on the menu?”

“Are you sure about that?”

He pulls his eye brows into an adorable furrow on his forehead. “I’m… pretty sure.”

“Because I would dispute that…”

“Would you?”

“Yes, if there was anyone who could help me to what I’d really like, it would be you.”

He tilted his head and squinted his eye, his expression said I have no idea what you are talking about, which was a great shame. If I was really honest, his expression also said, I wish this guy would get on with it, I have other customers to get to.

I pictured him face first over the table, having loosened off his belt and jeans waist button, sliding his pants off his beefy butt and down over his thick masculine thighs, him looking me in the eye saying, “Would you like a piece of this…” of course, if it was really happening, he’d have a lubed finger working his hole as he said it.

He cleared his throat.

I came back into the moment and found myself staring directly at his not insubstantial crotch, that being where his sexy face had been in my mind just moments ago.

I instantly raised my eyes up to his eyes, just as he self consciously moved his left hand in front of himself.

The colour of his blushing cheeks gave me some idea that he might have twigged as to what it was I really fancied.

Shields up. “I’ll have coffee, thanks,” I said.

He turned and walked away, and there it was…


Friday 7 July 2006

Sign of the Times

Don't you hate it when people use all of your margarine and replace it with that light shit, because they think it is better for you? (I am talking about housemates here, of course)


2023 - margarine? Really? I have used butter for years. Ever since Dante showed me his blue porcelain butter dish in which he used to keep his butter in the cupboard. Genius, I thought. Butter doesn't have to be kept hard in the fridge. I think I changed over immediately. More than I can say for poor old Dante, nothing kept him fresh. After a series of strokes, he ended up living in govt housing on health benefits in a less than desirable suburb. Poor Dante. He never really made it in life, which turned out to be a series of disasters, really that is the best any of us can say now.


So many people in this world are so unaware. Unaware of anything outside their own circle. They don’t know, or don’t care, how other people live in this world.

I often find those who don't travel to be the worst

Practically, 100% of the population said that immigrants should uphold Australian values, like bloody parrots, (parroting the conservative govt who are saying it to appeal to those very people. It is a circular argument made solely to get votes) How many of them could list what those values are? (What are Australian values?)

It's funny how racism raises its ugly head in Australia, now that it is Howard Government policy. (You could be excused for thinking racism is an Australian value thanks to Little Johnny Howard and how he has vilified certain, shall we say, non-Christian races) Stop the boats! Man the borders! Fortress Australia! Stop – the most vulnerable people on the planet – refugees!

And people just accept it.

So many sheep, so few drovers. (The gay boys lament, right there. Ha ha)

Half the population could die and truthfully the other half of the population would clap. We've not evolved.

Have you noticed that people will just walk in front of you in the street, now, only focussed on what their want to achieve?

So many people are so self-focussed. (Of course, I blame conservative politicians)

Conservative politicians have used to policies of division for so long to get ahead, really cleverly blaming the other side of those tactics all along.