Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Part 4239: Epilogue.

Soundtrack: Swervedriver / Last Train to Satansville

In the last few weeks I have stared deep, life affirming change in the eye, and the choice was really No Choice. There was one path to happiness, one path to Truth, one path to making everything okay in the world. The forest grew thick on the edges of that path, dark tangled branches casting shadows over the future. But my guide and my map both asway my fears and assure me that on the other side is a meadow, a clearing, a sun dappled paradise where I may find peace. Where I could lie on the grass and smell and smile and giggle and explore. It is there, just ahead, we can see it, we will be there with you they said, just keep going, straight down there. Keep your eyes on the road and you will not waver, nor fail, and the enticing allure of the green, green grass will call you home.

Call you home.

As soon as I took my first step, I tripped. Tripped on a lich encrusted root that had no intention of letting me go any further. That had its evil way upon my feet and rustled its leaves its brown rotten leaves, mocking me and laughing at me. But, although I was scared, I stood up again and remembered the words of my guide and hitching my pack, took another one step two step three step down the path. I would have faith and I would hold in my heart strength and courage and warmth and determination. I would make it. I would make it.

I smiled, not a lot, just a little, at the thought of what lay ahead.

And finding my rhythm I began to feel a small amount of confidence. This guide, this map, they hadn't always been reliable, but I still trusted them, especially now. I trusted them now more than ever, and I needed to believe what they told me was true. So each step I took from then on was filled with purpose, and each time a branch reached close I sucked in the cold air and counted to ten and let it scratch my face, but that was all...just a scratch.

And a scratch would not hold me down nor block my way forward.

Further into the dark, nowhere near the clearing, but a little way in and the voice of my guide deserts me. And I reach for my map and I'm sure it was right there, but it has gone, disappeared, and without it the path looks smaller and rockier and does it fork up ahead? Which way to turn?

And the dark seems to crawl up to me from all angles. And the wind is colder and the bark of the trees no longer resemble faces of my friends, but anonymous faces screeching, fail, fail, fail. We knew that you would fail. We knew this all along. We have told your guide to turn around. And they did, turned and deserted you. We have stolen your map and burnt it. And now, you are what we have known all along. A lost little boy with no place to call home and no idea which way to turn. We have you. Finally.

And the first thing to go is this. My conduit to you all. And the second thing to go is my sense of purpose. And my pack falls to my feet. And I am in the rain. And I think, yes...you are right...I WAS always going to fail.

And there is no longer a guardian angel.

And there is no longer even a path. Just mud and dirt and dark and wood and even the moon is too ashamed to show its face, to spread its silver loving light.

So. The Dark.


This is my last ever post on this blog.


I find a cave and crawl within.


I have already shared too much.


In the cave I am too tired to cry, though inside I am burst asunder.


I have given you but one side of me, and that is the side I have always sworn to hide.

From everyone.

But what did I do?

Wrote it all out on the fucking internet for friends and strangers alike to read.


In the cave I crawl embryonic and spread my synaptic tendrils deep into my brain, my heart, my soul, trying to find the Rock within. But it is so cold tonight in the cave. So fucking cold. And already, outside I hear the Pan and the Centaur begin to dance as the news of my demise spreads through the forest.

And yea fucking yea, there is much rejoicing.

That's when I remember.

I've been in this cave before.

I sit up, and the look in my eye starts a fire in the cave.


Who the fuck spreads their shit online for others to sift through, for others to leave Chin Up comments before, when in the world there are far greater hurts, far more demanding issues, than one man's inner journey.

I feel humbled by the size of the challenges that confront US. AS A RACE. Not by one fucking individual's sorrows because they hate themselves, or cannot find their place in the world. I feel compassion for those people and I offer my hand as best I can. But the sickness that is our race is also the sickness that infects us as individuals.




Why can't we let go of these things?


Now there is fire in the cave I see it clearly and I remember how often I have been here but most importantly, I remember that somewhere close by is a WAY OUT. I can't see it right now, can't even guess where it is, but even knowing that it is there is comfort enough. And if I clear my mind and wait just long enough, a hand will reach through and lead me out.

So that is what I do. I sit with the fire reflected in my eye, and I drown out the sound of the victorious Pan and the Cynical Centaur as they dance and drink, I drown them out with the fire, I drown them out with MY fire.

And once before I proved the whole world wrong, and I loved a man who should never have been loved. And I still hold the karma points for that.

So now, I concentrate, and spin the world backwards, and I love the partying wood creatures, and they are shocked and leave me the Hell alone.


Thankyou. Thankyou. I mean it.


The time comes for me to step out of the cave. Every fucking inch of me is screaming in pain. My sense of direction is non existent, but I find the path.

And I don't know which way to turn, and I don't know if I'm walking back the way I came.

But what I do know is, I'm walking again.

And the forest, the forest, the sooner that fucking forest is far behind me and out of sight...the better. Because the very thought of it is enough to send me mad.


And now I know for sure.

Au revoir, Sayonara and Bon Voyage my friends.

Mathew James Barker.


Part 4238

Soundtrack: Shout Out Louds / Very Loud

And I wanna build it high for you
But the cost like other costs I can't afford you
But I always take the wrong way
This is why this love can't stay

And I wanna change, change the way we always have
And to make different plans and try not to make desire
But I always choose another way
This is why this love can't stay

Little by little
You gonna hear me cry (Hear me cry)

But I wanna smell, smell the way you do
And to wear those clothes, the clothes your friends do
But I always choose another way
This is why this love can stay

Little by little
You gonna hear me cry (Hear me cry)
And I know that it started somewhere
And I really like it now, Yes I really like it now
I Like it now

I got a plan
A plan to get us out of here
If we only can use your money we can definatly get get out of here
But I always screw it up someway
This is why this love can stay

Little by little
You gonna hear me cry (Hear me cry)
And I know that it started somewhere
And I really like it now, Yes I really like it now
Like it now

And we know it started yet, it started right there
And you were very loud yes you were very loud
But I really like that, very loud, like that yeah you were very loud


I speak to my fictional friend.

You were beating up on yourself way too much last week. Mister, I have seen you achieve so much and be so happy. You seem to have forgotten about all that lately, as though you're never going to find your way again. It's stooopid eh! Go easy! Remember who you are!

Haha, I know. I was being pretty harsh, but I was facing parts of myself that I didn't care for, that I wanted to change. I couldn't see any other way other than to be harsh. I had to be angry at myself in order to face them...I had to hate those parts...didn't I?

Hate is a strong word. If things aren't going well, do you think an emotion like Hate is going to fix things? Or do you think that there lies more power in the emotion of love, in the ocean of peace? Think my Jedi friend, Hate breeds upon itself, especially self hate, whereas to Love....aaaaah, to Love is to heal and grow.

And to err is human right?

And to be human and to err...well, these are beautiful fucking things. They make us, make YOU REAL BABY.

We stop talking for a moment and drink the cold beer in front of us.


People can look at a situation from the outside and cast judgment. This is what people do, this is what I do, like it or not. But Love teaches us not only to never judge, but also never to believe just what is on the outside of things. Click click turn the cube around, investigate, try it from all angles, smell it, taste it, touch it. Find the essence of something before allowing it to be judged. I believe in the essence of things. Though when I am emotional I tend to forget my own wisdom. Haha, no fucking shit.


I pick up my pot and have a long, languid sip.

Everyone has a fucking agenda I feel. I feel like, for the last year and a half, there has always been some fucking obstacle, some fucking agenda running things, like I could never relax and just loosen my muscles and enjoy it for what it is. Drama here, finger pointing there, booze blurring everything and tears wiping away any happy memories. But I believe! I BELIEVE! I HAVE NOT SURRENDERED. Not from fear of losing, not from any negative emotion, but from faith and love and belief. These are the emotions that have driven me forward, that have brought me where I am...but what if I am wrong?

Blah blah, what if what if? What if the fucking sky falls down? Living like that is boring.

Yeah, so is living in my fucking head at the moment. Beer?


I drink and sigh. I want to get this right before I move on. I want to feel as though I have done the right thing, but maybe that is impossible now. Too late. Maybe It's a square peg situation.

I can't help you, I can't tell you what is right. All I can tell you is that you're smart and your soul is strong and I have seen Love in you like I have never seen. And I have seen you Love like you have never loved. It's just...well, you're still a shithouse fucking drinker.

Yeah. I know I am.

But don't let that define who you are. You fuckers, five years ago you were far worse than what you are now and somehow you managed to start a nationwide fucking successful magazine...and you were on drugs the whole fucking time! Now? If you're sorting yourself out now...I can't imagine the sort of shit you will achieve. It scares me actually. In a mate's way...

But. But. I'll miss...

I know brother, I know... you always will. It's okay to.

But I don't want to. It's so close. It's SO CLOSE. I showed that I could do it!

Like I said, I wish I could help you. All I can tell you is that, your friends are close, and you are a good fucking guy. I fucking love you anyway.

Cold comfort right now, but comfort all the same.


To feel emotion or not to feel emotion. This is the question that I already know the answer to.

Someone gave me good advice on this blog, it was to just CALM THE FUCK DOWN. But what if I can't? What if intensity is my thing and that's how I live and that's how I work and that's how I fuck and that is HOW I LOVE.

What if calming the fuck down is like an emotional valium? I don't want to live a medicated life. I have too much faith and respect for the beauty in Rock n' Roll. The Fire, the passion and the blind tumultuous emotion.

I want to live in a beautiful green valley with a wife and a baby. But I want to get there on my own terms.

And I want to do it surrounded by people that understand me, and why I am the way I am.

And love me all the same.


And the rain outside continues to serenade us.

Monday, January 30, 2006

Part 4237

Soundtrack: Bright Eyes / Another Travelling Song



tick tick tock

The clock on my desk is the slowest clock in the world tick tick tocking with alarming torpidity.

But here in my shell I like it like that.


When the sun is behind you and the wind is at your back all it takes for you to be free is to stretch out your arms and smile. I learnt this lesson a long time ago though it slips my mind from time to time. Get caught in a downward slipstream and it's no longer your own wind you're blowin' in. Stand still with the light in your eyes and you'll find it hard to know where to put the next step.


Fuck it.

I reel my line back in off the end of the pier and read the message that is attached to the wire. I hadn't needed to use a hook, for I didn't wish to hurt the fish. The fish say: Too warm up there. Stop. Right now prefer cold dark sea. Stop. Thankyou come again. Stop.

I empty my bucket of heads and guts and blood, and what do I get?

But I keep fishing here because I am patient and because it's a nice spot to spend the day and because because because.

Once a girl I liked in High School asked me what my favourite word was, I think she was coming on to me, and I just answered / didn't think, I answered... "because"

I would like to change that moment in time. I would like to have a word that conveyed so much more as my representative in her memory bank. Though were you to ask me that question I'm still not sure I could answer it. Here is a list just for today.





Sweet Ass.


I'll get back to you soon. As you can see, my mind is on food, sex and lazing about.

Sweet as.

Monday, January 23, 2006

Part 4236

Friends Episode: The one where it's not as literary as Chandler would've liked, but they all feel just a little bit better at the end.

Toxic smoke, my ever giving friend, I thought and drew back with glee. Drew back and drew back until my fingers were burning and blistering and black. I thought, fuck man, all this Point and Click, synaptic collapse, draw and redraw...it's important, but ultimately, it is pointless and yawn yawn, time for bed, call me when you're done.

So I called myself.

Because I was done.

Don't worry, it's not another Ring Ring.


When the head doctor said to me, tell me about your mum and step dad and so I did, he took stock for the only time in the appointment. Did you pursue him, he asked? Didn't you want to press charges? Surely the forensic report...

It was my turn to interrrupt but instead I lay back a little and stopped fidgeting. You can smoke in here if you like, he said. And I motherfucking did.

Well mister, drawback-exhale-drawback-exhale, I thought about it for a few weeks you know. And eventually, I came to the conclusion that I would just leave it all behind, move on, forgive him and be the bigger man. If she loved him, then so did I...so no, I never pursued it.

There's a danger in over-rationalising things B, not that he called me B. It's a beautiful concept, this ideal of forgiveness and love, but if it's not entirely based on truth, then you could find that you still harbour deep resentment, that you have had no CLOSURE.

I understand Doc. But I still want to evolve into an all forgiving, all loving being, and if that means taking some time to digest it all, then that's the path I want to travel.

That's your trip, he said. I applaud you. I don't think I could do that.


I've tried to forgive everyone who has ever made a mistake, or done wrong by me. Except for me. I've always held the hand and dusted the back of friends and family who have fucked up. My sister kept stealing things from me and pawning them for smack. My beloved Xbox! So I thought, well, I should probably spend more time outside anyway. I love her.

But when it comes to forgiving myself, survey says NO.

Maybe it's the kinky streak in me. Spank me baby, hard and hot.


I laughed at dual analogies this morning.

I spent three hours trying to fix this here computer brain.

I walked around the site of the Big Day Out, all barbed wire and security fencing, trying to find a way in.

Got the first one sorted, the second looks daunting.


I got all concerned about the image I project, writing like this. I thought, it's not so attractive. It's not as funny as X. It's a bullshit journal and it's ghey. Except, I didn't really. I remembered one little thing that is helping me today. Courage is helpful, being open is an extremely difficult thing for people to do, especially on here, the Land of Anonymity. Being honest about who I am doesn't faze me anymore, I don't have to be anyone but me. And whoever can dig it, well they can probably relate or we can probably be friends. I don't have to be friends with someone who I can't relate to. Or I admire but find it hard to approach. I can just be the centre of myself and whoever sticks close obviously likes it here.

That's one of the points I get stuck on, trying to project things I am not. Rather than just B-ing. There's proof of that on another website, but I won't say where.

Starsign today: (Now I'm really gheying out...) Stepping back from a projected image takes courage today, but the payoff is the relief of being who you really are.

Well fuck me.


Starsign today: Venus right now is effectively causing you to pull out each kitchen cabinet and deal with the mess that lies behind it. In the short term, this is seriously compromising your ability to cook with confidence. It is, though, going to eventually ensure that every part of your world is squeaky clean. Be glad of what you are discovering. All will soon be back in place, better than before.

Jonathan Cainer, though your surname and I have issues...may I fellate you?


I'm not particularly happy about what's been happening in and around me, but I have read Machiavelli's Handbook to Hustling. And troubled little Italian man that he was, maybe he had some sort of wisdom tucked in his warped uh-oh-spaghetti-oh Public Servant brain.

So maybe the end will justify all this shit. I means it.

Know so, don't hope so.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Part 4235

"I saw your very soul naked, stark naked... I suffered the pangs of disillusionment; I saw a man in torment struggling towards inward harmony... Forgive me, I cannot feel in halves."

When I am in control I like to love with all my heart. Family, friends, partners. For them, anything. For that is what they have shown to me. Nothing felt in halves. When I am out of control I know no-one and no-one knows me. I burn, crash, fumble and fade. I thought I had tied a rope around my waist, I thought I had either secured it myself, or had someone holding it for me. But maybe there was no rope. Maybe I just fell into the black and imagined the rope. Or maybe the rope was frayed and tatty and torn and could no longer hold my weight. Could no longer tether me to shore as I washed further out to sea. And what I thought was a wave was actually a rip, a dangerous tide, and before I knew it, I had drowned. Refused the lifeboats that were thrown my way, lost in the reverie and the deep, dark, tumultuos ocean.

So I drowned.


I rode my bike to see the head doctor and the head doctor asked me, what are you suffering from? I replied, I don't know, can I just tell you some stories from my life and then you can...No, he said, I asked you what you are suffering from? I said, I don't know, I get crazy sometimes and I've lived this life for too long and I can no longer keep it up and I'm burning things, razing the ground, scorched earth, Operation Brunswick Storm and I really need to stop.

We started to talk. I told him things I do. Told him about my lack of control. Told him gory details. Cross sectioned myself on his chair and used a little pointer to highlight the internal shit. He said, that's enough for now, and turned on his computer. He said, You know, I can give you something that no-one else on the planet can give. In five weeks I can teach you exercises that can help you when you face these challenges...BUT...what you really need is THIS.

And he handed me a list of other head doctors. A long list.

I said, Holy fuck.


I had a plan. I had a plan and it was a very simple plan. I had a plan but before I knew it the plan drifted away from me. In the end my plan and what actually occured were as far away as Earth and Pluto. That's one year to travel, said NASA. Tedious. One whole year just to discover something in the furthest reaches of our galaxy, a whole year? I had a plan but all of a sudden I was a probe, a white hot streaking fast piece of metal and behind me the plan got smaller and smaller until it was but a speck, a star, a dim star and the rule of inertia states: that momentum is king. And momentum took me in its grasp and propelled me far, far, far beyond the reaches of my plan.

And there is no restaurant at the end of the universe. Just cold, dark, lonely, lonely space.

But the view is incredible.


That's a long list mister, I said. What does this mean? Can't YOU help me? I like your attitude, you seem to have the right stuff, and I'm kind of getting desperate here, CAN'T ANYONE THE FUCK HELP ME PLEASE THANKYOU.


He said, I've been doing this for a long time, and I can read you very well. You're an intelligent guy, a bright guy, the exercises I can give you may help you in the short term, but eventually you will need to come to your own conclusions about things. A brain like yours needs to find the answers, not be provided with them. These doctors, that's what they do. They're creme de la creme and I think they will provide the support you so obviously need.

I said, but can you still give me the exercises? Please, I need them NOW. I have some urgent situations here mister, and I could really do with some short term relief.

We talked some more, then he taught me the first exercise.


I was thinking about the crazy lady on one of these sites who finds pleasure in being cruel. And I realised that though I am clumsy and fucked and wasted and stupid, I will never act malicious or be cruel for cruel's sake. It was small consolation, but I am only small, so I held on to it.

But you know, shit, maybe my black heart, maybe that out of control me, maybe he does act cruel. Maybe that's why I've got to flee.


A few days ago I felt myself starting to feel strange, so I used the first exercise and it calmed me down. Didn't fix me, didn't make me better, didn't mould the world into a nice easy to swallow shape, but it calmed me down. A few days after that was when I was swept out into the dark, deep sea. I didn't do my exercise, I didn't have time to think. The storm swept me out and I became the storm and lightning was in my eyes where before there was sunshine, and clouds coloured my every move and my tongue was rolling thunder, belching and breaking the precious, precious silence.


Tonight my guardian angel knocked on my door out of the blue. We went for a walk and I told things that I needed to tell. She said, did you know that in America when there are sneakers thrown over the power lines that it means someone was shot there? And apparently in Australia when there are sneakers thrown over the power lines, it means a drug dealer lives in that street? We laughed and wondered how one would go about finding the drug dealer. Knocking on doors and asking, excuse me, are they your shoes on the power lines? Wink-wink. She said, there are a pair of shoes right out the front of my house, and they look like your old Converse.

I told her I was in a black place, I told her I wasn't sure I could continue to surround myself with temptation all the time, to keep trying to suceed when I put myself in situations that are bound to test me. I said, maybe I need to go away. She said, it's going to be ok. And I don't care how many people say that to me, I want EVERYONE to say that to me. I need everyone to say that to me right now.


As the head doctor shook my hand and sent me on my way he said, I think it might be hard for you to talk to other people about all these things. It sounds like some of the people you know may find it difficult as it holds a mirror to their own behaviour. I said, yeah maybe, but no-one goes crazy like me. It's sort of my schtick. But I don't want it to be. People called me a zombie. My eyes roll around like ball bearings and I can't control anything. I don't care if that holds a mirror, I don't think it does, I think I just need to RUN RUN RUN.

I told him I would return the next week, and he told me he would teach me the next exercise.


My guardian angel made me feel a little safer, a little stronger and a whole lot less lonely. She said, I don't think you should be doing this alone. I said, I don't wanna. I told her I still felt like a little kid, but I wanted to be a grown up. I told her, I think I've burnt my bridges, and now some people will be grown ups on the other side of the chasm, and even if I become one too, I might not be able to get back to where they are. I don't think they can wait for me, even if they want to. She said, well, whoever is still standing on your side of the chasm will be there for life.

Stupid guardian angel. But I didn't cry. Not tonight. Not here in print.


I like Bukowski. I like Bukowski and his filthy, rotten sentences. The alcohol drenched brute sensuality that lies beneath his beautifully vulgar prose. His rawness, his single minded passion for the written word.

I like him but I do not wish to be like him. Processions of drinkers beside me as dawn reignites the sky, years and years of 3am poetry and clothes tossed in the street. Fights and fucks and fashionably cheap, fascinatingly NASTY.

He's good to read, but I'm emulating him now without the talent, and that is no way to live.


If I stop typing I'm going to have to think so I keep going. The head doctor is once again far away and the ocean of me and the space in between us is crushingly close. I don't have claustrophobia, but who the fuck wants to be buried alive? Besides, this is just another story, just another tale, and in the telling of it, I begin to see the sense of it. So I want to keep typing, to keep thinking to you and you and you, but of course, none of this is for you, it is all for me, it always has been. I wish more than anything that this path was someone elses, that I was the Rock, the Mountain, the Earth. But I think I'm more fire than what I care to admit. I think I'm boiling myself alive and it's going to take a whole heap of dirt and earth to put me out.


And the way tonight is going, I may well see you again at 3 in the morning.
But if not, may our paths cross soon.

Monday, January 16, 2006

Part 4234

Soundtrack: Arcade Fire / Neighbourhood #2

I fight a lot. I fight me, you and everyone we know. I think there's a title in that. Back and forth. Forever. I fight the fact that I was born to fight. I fight the fact that nothing was ever handed to me on a platter and GOOD, BETTER, and I was told when I was a 14 year old asking for five dollars that THAT was how it was going to be. Nothing for you. Back and forth. Forever. You will have to fight for everything.

Somewhere along the way I forgot exactly where to point the fight. So sometimes, like a fire hose held by a lone Fireman, I grab a hold of the fight and spray it helicopter style, drenching those around me with fight fight fight. I didn't mean to, I could've done with more firemen.

Forgive me. I don't. And the fire still burns.


I ordered a coffee from the cafe next door and as the Coffee Lady smiled cheekily at me I wondered if she heard me having loud sex a few days before. I blushed and spilled froth on her counter. Freud would've been proud.


Fighty flighty fighty McFight. Enlist some more firemen, firemen I might. And if you rub their helmets they will spit in your eye, last night I tried and I cried and I cried, OH YEAH FUCK YES.

Is that too masturbatory Anon? I hope so. The truth is, Truth is a wank.

And occasional silliness, a joy to behold.


I rode my bike back. My new bike. My new bike that makes me look like a cool character from Stand By Me. Only a 33 year old one. I stuck a Richmond sticker on it because that's the only sticker I got and because the football excites me. When I ride my bike alone, I do it fast and feel living tickle my face, and I smile a lot and do that thing where you are on the edge of tears you are so alive. And every tree I call my friend, because some of them resemble people I know.

Mostly I smile at people I pass, but sometimes I do that thing where you just look forward as though on a mission.


I'm not nervous about seeing someone, or someone seeing me I should say. I'm impatient. I'm impatient because I know the first time they have to ask you all these standard questions and no, I've never had suicidal thoughts. Quite the opposite in fact. I've always wanted to live forever and ever until the end of time and get rich and live in a house like Christopher Lambert does in Highlander. Selling antiques that I have kept through the ages. Watching the Human Race explore space, if we make it that far. I hope we do. Why would I want to die?

That probably means I want to die. Psychology is like a Reverse Card in Uno. It doesn't make the game go faster, just sets you on a different path.


To you, I might be odd. But to me, I'm as real as they come.

Two Full Halves of a Quarter Moon

Soundtrack: Dinosaur Jnr / Freakscene

I'm going to therapy tomorrow, is it tomorrow? I don't know it might be the next day which is probably why I need to go. Do I need to go? Probably, read what you just wrote, that means you probably need to go.

I said I probably need to go, I think it's tomorrow, maybe the next day.

So I'll go.


Once I went to see a guy and I made it to the reception desk and there were people sitting around and the woman behind the desk asked me in a terse, loud voice, "and what is the nature of YOUR problem?" and I could feel all the giraffe necks behind me and their elephant ears casting shadows on my back, and I felt like saying, "people like you, you have no style lady, no tact and I will have none of you" but I didn't I just left.

Turned and left and thought, well, that's that. I've been.


Another time I went and this time it was a lady and there was no reception desk just me and her and yes I wanted her, we were in a small room up some stairs round a corner down a hall, as hard to find as what we were looking for inside me. She listened for an hour, occasionally her jaw dropped and she said things like, "REALLY?" and "Well, no wonder you've come to me" and at the end she said, "I think maybe we should make it three times a week" except I couldn't afford even that once and now she is suing me for a measly $110.

People are crazy.


Another time I did lots of coke and my head went crazy so I went and saw a doctor and a nurse and a psychologist all on the one day and the doctor poked me for two minutes in the stomach and said, "you're an alcoholic" and I said, "but doc everyone I know drinks a little or a lot" and he said, "they're all alcoholics too" and that made me feel better. He had a picture on his wall that his children must have drawn. It looked like him. With knives in his eyes and flames under his feet. That made me feel better too.

Next I saw the nurse and she was a friend of my sister and I could see her nipple. Well, almost. I said, "the doctor says I'm an alcoholic but I've just started to learn the difference between Pinot Gris and Pinot Grigio, can I still have wine with dinner? And I'm going to Meredith, can I still have half a pill?" and I thought [I WANT TO TOUCH YOUR SOFT BLONDE HAIR] because to be honest I needed someone to comfort me at this point and I thought soft blonde hair would supply that. She told me, "just use moderation" which I had been trying to do for years and which led me to her in the first place, but I wanted her to feel smart so I nodded and waited for the next lady.

She was a psychologist. She looked like one. As soon as she knew I had no parents she almost burst into tears of joy, her knowing tongue click-clicking and her sundae flurry of arms jotting down what looked like the precursor to the precursor of Heiroglyphics, some itchy scratchy kill kill handwriting style that just HAD to be camouflaging her own psychotic thoughts. Well that's what I thought anyway. She was old. She had that old lady thing where the lips take a long time to part, longer than the word she spoke, so her mouth looked like it was 10 seconds behind what she was saying. I always watch the mouth in that situation. It almost looks like a talking snail. I was fascinated, but frightened. Old ladies frighten me. She suggested Hypnotherapy and asked, suggested, that I take the FULL COURSE. I said okay lady, the full course, but can I start it next week when I come back?

I felt like I was smarter than her.

I never went back.


And now for something completely different.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Part 4233

The Doors / People are strange

(sorry, I know it's The Doors, but I just watched Lost Boys...and it kinda fits)


I stared back into my reflection, cold water dripping off my chin, lines where there weren't before, eyes that only I knew what lay hidden beneath...and smiled. The kettle ended its session on a high note and naked I walked into the kitchen.


These posts, these thoughts I've been having, they're not battles you know. Just adventures. Just a few more steps along the road. But it's a nice road, and anytime the clouds gather and the thunder breaks and BOOM I shake and shudder, it's not like I ever forget that three more steps and I will be bathed in golden light and feel the warmth again on my face.

That's what makes the darkness necessary, ying and yang, Laurel and Hardy.

Does that make me Laurel?

I like hanging by the bridge with the dark fog below, afraid of letting go, scared of dying, scared of living, scared of falling, falling, falling. I like it because it makes me human but most of all, writing about it makes me ME.


I sang the line that the Corey sings in Lost Boys...

"I ain't got a friend!"

Except here in the kitchen, it's Punk not Nanook, but the quizzical look is the same. I lean down and gently run my hands along the length of his tail. He seems to like it. Or maybe he's just hungry.


The mispelt Sherriff is a character. I never forget that. Sure, he is me, he is based on me, but he is a character nonetheless. And his past and future incarnations are both me and not me. The real me is not likely to ever have such open discussions with a friend, let alone in front of strangers, the real me is slippery as a snake and sometimes, twice as venomous, but really, I'm just happy most of the time.

Today, I didn't do much and I was mostly in a pretty happy mood.



I think I'm rewriting the song that Gen and I love. She's going to kill me, but I need to find something deeper in it. I smoke a cigarette and drink some tea and it comes flying through me, but I still can't grasp it. Guh. I need to play like the Sherriff sometimes writes, and I'm getting closer, but the structure, the structure, the hook....lkjdshfcakjnbfa


So I expand on the battles within and form feelings into words and lay them down here for you to read. And it's good to strike a chord with others, because my humour isn't something I can write down, but my heart is and my soul is and so that's what I do.

I'm excited about change this year. I'm excited because I have actually had a serious conversation with a friend about having children, not that I AM NOW, but even to talk about it was strange. An out of body, but I'm still 16 aren't I? experience. And other things are going to change too and I'll get older and I'll become my future self before I even know it.

And I will make dinner for you and we can drink red wine and listen to music and look back and laugh.

Sunday, January 8, 2006

Part 4232

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.


So I was alone again, my future self having departed for shores not yet carved of time.

Well, by alone I mean...

My friend sat quietly as I raged against myself. One, two, bang, kick...the frost between us not the Frost above, something a little more, permeable perhaps? But the sun shone down as is its want and gradually we thawed to the idea of each other. And I thawed, to the psychoanalysis of myself that was being presented.


Yes, I have forever held onto the blackness inside. Yes, I have kept it safe, a badge, a mark, an identity. An excuse.

Yes, when unleashed, it is destructive, not only to me, but also to you.

Where does it come from?

It comes from me, my Past Self appears suddenly, standing in front of me, eyes ablaze with grief and passion, ambition and confusion.

Ah. I know you. We're not that different you and I.

No, we are not. And yet often, you ignore me, hope that I have disappeared, blown aside by the winds of the present, drowned and choking in the sands of the past. But see how easily I reappear? You have not forgotten me, I am as close to you as I have always been, and I will NOT let go.

I don't like you as much as I like my future self. You make me feel, darker...afraid...angry.

You may not like me Mathew, but sooner or later, you're going to have to talk to me.You're going to have to look me in the eye, understand me. Console me.

I'd really you just rather fucked off you know? Better for us both. I'll close my eyes and count to ten and when I open them, YOU WILL BE GONE. K? K.

But it didn't happen. My broken self was still standing there beneath the sun as I opened my eyes. I knew he would be, but a guy can hope right?

I cried.

What do you want from me? I don't want to look back, I don't want to clean this up. I want it to be gone. I just don't want to think about you. Please...

It's time. It's time. You either face me now, or we go through it all again and maybe you'll make it out, but maybe you won't. Maybe on the outside no-one will know, and you will drink and party and cause trouble and dance and flirt and Wow! Look at him go! But you will have broken and smashed some things inside and some things out, and that will all stay with me, your past self, and you will run even further from me, but I will grow stronger, darker, scarier. Is that what you want?

As he spoke the sun fell silver black and I realised that I stil stood in the park hours later, draped by night. My friend had left and my heart followed my head and sank slowly forward.

Now...Let's talk.

Ok. Ok. Ok.

Thursday, January 5, 2006

Part 4231.

Soundtrack: QOTSA / Feel good hit of the summer

I met my future self at the designated locale. Sitting at the end of the bar as the smoke curled invisible and asp like around and between us. Silver ropes binding our destinies through a fantastical time chasm. I looked good for an old guy.

Then as now and in the future, I did not hesitate.

You're still waiting for something that is not going to happen, my future self spoke straight and true.

Ha, I avoided his gaze and ordered a beer, drawing lazily on my cigarette.

You're still waiting for IT. But the thing is, IT doesn't come to you. You make IT.

I'd been thinking this for a few days anyway, but it's never nice to be told what you're thinking, especially by someone who knows you well. Especially by yourself.

I rubbed my face with my open palm, finding comfort in the feel of ash on my cheek as I inhaled through my nose in an unconscious fit of pique.

You should know it's hard for me to listen to advice. You should know I don't take well to someone knowing me better than I know myself.

Well that's why it had to come from me, from you.

I hated myself, my future self. So I'm still all on the Mr Wise know-it-all trip then huh?

Matty, drop the act. You're no Rebel Without A Cause, you're me, I like us both and I want what is best. For us.

I was right. I was wearing that Fuck You like my favourite pair of Converse. Thing is, I've never admitted to anyone that actually I like the feeling of a nice pair of clean, smart, spunky dress shoes. I conceded.

Ok. I'm just feeling a bit...confused today, and I always hide that under smart arse comments.

I know, but it's okay you see? I'm here to tell you everything turns out okay. I'm here to tell you that you end up HAPPY. Fucked up I know. Mind if I pinch a smoke?

Haha, so I'm still botting cigarettes though...

Actually you give up, but seeing as though I'm back in the past, I might as well enjoy myself. I mean, it's not like we ever shed our love of Hedonism...

Nice. Very fucking nice. Okay then Me, hit me with the advice or the speech or next week's motherfucking tattslotto numbers or whatever it is that you're here for...

I'm not about to tell you your future Mr B, but the reason I'm here, the thing you need to understand, the feeling you finally need to fucking shed so you don't end up one of those literary characters standing on the edge of a pier looking out over a sunset and thinking back over your life with regret is...stop...waiting. Stop hoping. Stop living on blind belief that you will come to a pivot in your life when all will become clear and your path will open itself up to you and forward you will travel, arms outstretched as you embrace destiny...This never happens. EVER.

Well that's a cheery thought...

What does happen is, after you finish that beer and I return to the future and you get off that fucking computer and out into the real world is...you begin to FORGE a path. You begin to MAKE your own future, you begin to shape the world around you with the force of your will until it becomes what you want it to become. That's what must be done. And until you do it, you're just another piece of flotsam, tossed around by other's will, by other's destinies. And for someone who doesn't like being told what to do, well, can you think of anything worse?

I lifted my eyes off the floor and stared myself in the eye. Old bastard actually had a twinkle in there. I drew back again and smiled an honest smile. A real soul emptying smile and laughed.


I've known this.

I know you have.

I've been thinking this.

I know you have.

But inside is the weight of malaise, the weight of fear and the urge to hide, to fuck you the world.

I know.

But I want what you say, I want it more than anything.

I know you do.

I rub my eyes and feel my soul screaming at me. I feel the sadness and anger I have carried my whole life. I feel the urge to create and to make a difference. I fight the urge to order a beer. I fight the waves of guilt that wash over me. I swim deeper and deeper and 50,000 leagues deeper into the ocean of myself until finally I find that tiny island inside. That calm, that rare motherfucking calm. And on that island stands my Love and my Children and my friends and my guitar and books and books and and a house on a hill and everyone is smiling and it's green so green and all of a sudden I'm raining tears of joy and they pour down my face and down my chest and wash over my belly until I begin to float on my own emotion and inside I screeeeeeeeeeeeeam.

And when I pull my hands away, my future self is gone and instead there is me.

Just me.

Wednesday, January 4, 2006

B is for Birthday

Today I turn 33.


I am as yet to have one grey hair on my head. In fact I am still yet to have a single hair on my chest. I'm not sure what that says about my masculinity. Come and get naked with me and we'll discuss it in detail.

Anyhoo, so far every present I have received has begun with the letter B.

I'll leave it up to you to guess what they have been.

Now I'm off to eat good food and milk every last ounce of Birthday attention from every poor fucker I come in contact with.


Monday, January 2, 2006

Because I am mattyb...

Soundtrack: Kaiser Chiefs / You can have it all

Hiya. Happy New Year.

This is, has always been, a personal blog and I intend to keep it that way.

Apologies for the porn post yo, it was late in the year and I was fried. Burnt out. Broken.

And I wish I could say I am here refreshed-a-mundo Mr Kotter, and I am in a way, but in a whole lot more honest way, I remain...your shattered B.

But at least in the last few weeks, I've had a couple of chances to sit on my own, in places of unspeakable beauty, and reflect on the mistakes I made last year, and the lessons I learnt...and the goals I wish to bring forward with me into two thousand and sex.

For an independent soul, I relied on others far too much. This will change. Lone Wolf will return. Pack Time is invaluable, but unless you travel the earth alone and hunt and sniff experiences alone and open to all, then you will have nothing to share with the pack.

I'm going to hunt more. And I am going to cut down on my use of the word "no"

Hahaha. I can hear you from here.

As a Lone Wolf I tend to snarl if I think I am cornered. Instead, I will try my Wolfy Mostest to smell you first. Perhaps my initial instincts are mistaken. Perhaps Wolfie gets more wrong than he likes to admit.

I am sick of the walls that surround my soul. I wish to dismantle them, though it scares the fuck out of me. Inside me, there is a lot of...stuff. And, I don't generally share it for fear of breaking down, or fear of seeming weak.

This year, I will remove a brick or two, and hopefully this will help me love better. Friends, partners, strangers.

I will focus every inch of burning passion within me and direct it into creative pursuits. I will not change the world, but I fucking intend to change MY WORLD.

I will have one completely new experience per month. And I will share them all with you.

I just want to be happier. Every day. Happier.

I know it's possible. I know it has only been myself stopping myself. I will try my best to no longer stand in my own way.

And I will nevermore be crippled by fear, as I was so many times in 2005.

I hope yours will be wonderful.

Love love baby.