When you die

When you die, you will still be hungry.
Isn’t that a bitch?
A death like circles and rocks and gravity.

Nothing in this world can quench your thirst. Or the next world (So you can fuck off with your god bothering nonsense and enjoy the cold, the dark, the silence you tossers). I’d tell you that you’re like a circle, except you’d think I was making a crack about your weight. I’m not, but you’d still make that unimpressed face that people make when you try to share a dream and they realise that they’ve stepped in dog shit as the cosmic scales immediately compensate for real human interaction. Circles.

I was never very good at sympathy.

Do you ever wish you could go back?
You were ignorant there too; the future was a mysterious then as it is now. Time is cruellest on our faces and most forgiving on our memories. You said that once.
You can’t live in the now either, it’s all fear, tragedy and mundane desire
Do you wish you could rush forward? Diving but never falling. You didn’t say that, but I bet you would have if you had thought of it.

I wish that things would end, cleanly, like stories, or TV shows or poems with a beginning, middle and end.
But all things repeat. Rhymes, TV shows, seasons, history.
Can you name me a thing that doesn’t repeat?
Snow flakes and arseholes?

I could live around my life. Could I? Could I live my life a few feet away from my body? Maybe that’s not living; maybe it’s not even existing. You are like a rock. Hard and sharp. You said that once, or maybe I did. Or maybe it was Stacey, that girl you knew who always got drunk at parties and looked like she would cry if only she could summon up a half decent reason, but her life is bland and dull. Neither hot nor cold.

You know… Stacey. Medium height, bad skin, ok teeth. Well, not bad-bad skin. Comparatively bad skin. Maybe you stoned your ugly friends.

I’m joking. Don’t make that face. Please.

What is unique anyway? Not people. Have you ever been in shopping centre and realised that they’re all the same? Same small lives and consumer spending habits. We’ve profiled you from your spending on your crazy cash card and, for your convenience of course, decided that you might be interested in the upcoming special offers on the following items:


Act now! They won’t last! For a limited time! You need it! We need you! Happiness is impossible to acquire! You must chase it! Now! Now! Now! Just look how absorbent it is! Dry away those tears of boredom. For three easy payments of a focus group determined price we will promise you happiness for the fleeting instant you receive our over packaged semi-recyclable parcel (included in the price of postage and handling) and you will look into the face of god and find it plastic and cheap.

I know you’re tired.

I’m tired too.

Remember that time we went out for breakfast and it was sunny and everyone was out and about? It was early but so crowded. You looked at me and said
“I’m suffering”
I pretended not to know what you meant, but I did.
I am without hunger and I suffer.
It gnaws at me and weighs me down.

We are not suffering; we are merely weighed down by a burden that we can not release. Purpose is the last hunger, but you can’t buy a purpose. You can substitute with a job or children or the minutes of the regional orchid fancier and breeder association (First division). Acid for your soul. Or a relationship. You could substitute a relationship.

“What doesn’t kill me will make me stronger” you didn’t say that, or me. It was Nietzsche.
Nietzsche! Not Stacey!
You’re not even listening. Yes he was a tosser too. No I never read any of his stuff. Did you? I’m pretty sure it was Nietzsche. We’re agreed on that at least. I suspect he was never actually bothered by gravity. Lifted up on the wings of a vague feeling of intellectual superiority, until he flew too close to the sun, only to have his wings melt; and come crashing down as a badly translated quotation.

Consigned to mugs and stickers and small signs to put up in the office kitchenette “Wash your own dishes, Nietzsche doesn’t work here”. The kind you find in discount stores that sell crap you never want. Those shops where you feel vaguely aware that you believe that the bad karma of sweat shop production is bound to seep into the products and then leak their misery out into your home or workplace like a drum of toxic psychic energy. You could always go around to the new age shops and buy some pretty crystals though, to shed your karmic weight.

So this is how our hope ends.
Circles, rocks, gravity
Circles, rocks, gravity
Circles, rocks, and gravity
Not with a bang but a discount.

The school photo

I’m at the girls’ school where I did my teaching practicum, the school across the road from the all boys school I went to as a boy. Except I’m a student at the girl’s school, I’m still a boy, but no one (myself included) seems to notice nor care.

We walk all the way down to the bottom oval for a school photo. It’s an incredibly long journey, and we’re all exhausted by the time we get there. One of the girls has to pee so we tell her to go behind a nearby shed. We all agree to walk back would take far too much time, and she might miss the photo.

So she goes behind the shed and pisses. It sounds like a race horse, in fact it sounds like someone spraying a hose into a bucket. Everyone is far too polite to say anything, but it keeps going, and going, and going. We look around, trying not to make eye contact with each other in case we start laughing. She’s into her third minute and we’re all blushing on her behalf. By the fifth minute we are looking at each other incredulously.

She finally comes back. Nobody says anything, we simply look at each other raising an eyebrow discretely.
“The photographer still isn’t here” someone says “he’ll be a while yet”.
“I’m going to finish off then” says our urinater, and proceeds to piss like a race horse for another two minutes.

We were all shocked.

The high road and low road

It occurred to me today that I’ve been a lot of places in my short time as an autonomous adult. So I thought I’d share some of these observations about these places.

Ipswich is where I lived, and where I was born, but don’t hate me for it, my parents are only related by marriage. As a city and region Ipswich isn’t that bad, it’s just like a large country town that have all the interesting people sucked out of it (They’ve all pissed off to Brisbane). The motto Ipswich should have had? “Please don’t tease the local children with scraps of meat”.

Brisbane is apparently Australia’s most liveable city, I find that hard believe if you consider the commercial radio we suffer with up there, but I suppose all Australian cities are blighted with the same curse, so it’s all a relative judgement. The fact that more old people aren’t killed by the summer heat is a testimony to the refrigeration powers of large shopping centres. I suppose the worst thing about Brisbane is that it’s an early morning city. Everyone is up early, and you’re hard pushed to find a restaurant open after 10pm; or anything else for that matter. The motto Brisbane should have had? “Oh Lord, it’s hard to be humble when you’re perfect in every way”.

Cairns is in the far north of Queensland, and mostly, it’s like Ipswich by the sea. Except you can’t swim in the sea at Cairns because of the irregular visits by deadly jelly fish that occasionally kill the odd Japanese tourist group or three. Then there’s the tropical weather, fine one minute, and torrential rains the next, and then it’s fine again. Occasionally school children will stab each other here too, an event that is surprisingly uncommon everywhere else. A new motto for Cairns? “It’s not just the weather that’s bi-polar”.

Bathurst is where they apparently have some sort of car racing affair every so often. I went around the track with some semi-sane lesbians in a clapped out automatic coffin full to the brim with queer student goodness. The rest of that trip is a blank punctuated only by being flogged with, well… a leather flog by a dominatrix and scaring the radical lesbians. Radical as the vanilla pod, one might conjuncture. It was a charming little country town that actually had interesting, if some what sheltered residents. Bathurst’s motto de jour “At least we’re not Ipswich”.

Hobart was a strange, strange, and odd little town. City seems an almost preposterous word for this charming little hamlet on the apple isle. What struck me most about Hobart was the delightful Victorian style (era not the state) architecture (which was all just crying out for 10 year old chimney sweeping boys with rickets) and the almost complete lack of people. It was if the rapture had happened and all of Hobart had been taken up by decidedly hick angelic hosts. The CBD at lunch time was even more deserted than Ipswich, which is stranger still because Ipswich isn’t surrounded by water. Hobart’s words of wisdom “You got to pick a pocket or two, if you can find someone with a pocket that is”.

Adelaide is an entirely forgettable city. I’ve been there twice and each time I’ve ended up staying more or less in the heart of the red light district, which is roughly a third of Adelaide. Adelaide is notable for it’s dirty water, dust storms and ethnic gang violence. During my last trip there I had to step over not one, but two pools of blood in the street. Overall Adelaide is about as interesting as an old grey sock, even with all the porn stores. Their motto? “We’re not just violent, we’re boring too!”

Sydney is her name, but please, call her Sid-da-nee, all the locals do. I was only in Sydney for 10 hours, and in that 10 hours I learnt to hate Sydney for the nasty, snide, little uppity bitch she is. Oh how I wish that were true! Truth be told I found Sydney a complete bore, and a bore that was over priced as well. Sydney was a bit like finding an overweight, vomit covered drag queen unconscious in the gutter; at first it’s exciting and promises some exciting tales, but you quickly realise that nothing much is actually happening. Tres disappointing. Sydney’s more honest motto “I am big! It’s the pictures that got smaller!”

Melbourne is the only city I could live in besides Brisbane and Canberra. It’s a city that unlike Brisbane, gets up late and parties later still. I couldn’t turn around twice without bumping into something cultural, educational or deliciously edible. Sometimes all three. I thought their little river was a tad… modest, but that’s OK, I like quaint. The cold weather gets old fast, but, for the first time in forever my European skin was at last in a climate that several hundred thousand years of adaptive evolutionary change had prepared it for. Another problem with Melbourne is the officiousness of the local councils. I’ve had more parking tickets in my own street than hot breakfasts. “We told you we were better than Sydney, but that will be $59.95”.

Canberra is where I used to live. Live is a very strong word for Canberra. Living in Canberra is a bit like having a foot in each world. Canberra was designed by an architect into geomancy, hence our endlessly curving roads. It is entirely possibly that Canberra is locked off from the psychic ebb and flow of the universe. It would explain the strange feeling of being somewhere in 1952. Parliament house itself is built as a submerged pyramid (look closely at the flag pole!), considering the rotting corpses we call the government this seems entirely appropriate; as you may or may not remember the pyramid is a giant tomb. On the upside, there’s a lot of fountains to stop people from mummifying in the street, a tactic that is only partially successful. If you ripped the latex mask of Canberra’s motto you’d find it said “Come to Canberra and see the hordes of grey suited public servant zombies roaming the stre… Brains! Brains!”