Tuesday, October 31, 2006

It's all about me.

I wake up and I am not beside myself, so I put some jeans on and walk out the back door. I see that I am already outside weeding the garden.

What are you doing? I ask myself.

I'm getting rid of the weeds baby, I reply. It's cathartic, it makes me happy.

Cathartic? Don't you mean, symbolic?

Yeah, I say laughing and grunting as I grab hold of some stubborn bastard, totally fucking symbolic.

The sun shines on.


When I was twenty two, I went through a secretive phone sex phase. I don't know why. I was working in a warehouse in Bumfuck West, and I would spend all day out there on my own listening to music and playing downball with myself (not an anology...yet), and reading the paper. It was when those ads first started to appear, now there are pages of the fucking things, but they no longer appeal. One day, I was misty, ("hungover" my friends call horny, to which I reply there is no better cure than the hair of the dog that bit you, or perhaps a Bloody Mary...hmm), one day I was misty and just picked up the phone and talked the sexy shit to some lady and played downball with myself in the middle of the warehouse. It wasn't hot so much, as bad. And bad is fucking hot. Anyway I kept it up for a few weeks, yes I'm talented like that...love me, until my boss received the phone bill and I slunk into his office the most embarrassed I had ever been in my life. I stopped after that. And I paid the fucking bill, hundreds of dollars. Sigh.

End confession.


Up north is a possibilty of peace. Or trouble. Up north in a big house, by the beach, in a provincial Australian town where the sun always shines and there's laughter all year round, is a chance to forget. Just walk out and forget.

Yesterday I told myself things that were dangerous to hear, things that though they were not intended that way, make me want to stay. To fight, to hold my ground in the face of danger. Everything is fucking dangerous these days. But what's important to me, is the most dangerous of all.

A few years ago I drove myself insane deciding between a girl I had loved for ten years and a girl I had been with for five. My answer at the time was ecstacy and booze puncuated with obsessive working and avoiding the inevitable. The inevitable came, but in a shape I had never expected. The most glorious shape I ever laid eyes on. Years later, the ten years calls me a coward, and the five years tells me to not give up on the dangerous path I walk. She walked straight up to the path, looked down it and took its measure before staring me in the eye and saying, it's worth it.

Would that it were that easy.

But I don't want to be a coward.


When you search for threeways and orgies and wild naughty sex, you can never find it. So now, hibernating in my Brunswick country house, I receive offers every weekend. It's the Devil, perched upon my shoulder here in Hell, whispering easy escapes and ferocious temptations. I'm trying to keep things uncomplicated. I'm trying to remember what happens when shit gets involved. I'm using the exercises that the fixing lady gave me. Visualising a red circle with a stem beneath it which leads into a patch of earth, and when the stem hits the earth it branches into a thousand roots. But instead I'm visualising THAT round shape, with THAT stem that leads to the Earth, me, and I'm thinking of a thousand roots.



Sometimes, when I look at myself, I see myself begging to leave. And I say to myself, there is so much out there, go find it. Don't stay here with me. It can only lead to more bullshit and sorrow. So I go over it in my head, this surrender, giving in, and I weigh the pros and cons, and I poke and probe every single inch of how I feel.

Maybe I'm right. Maybe I should leave.

I'm just not sure how I could live with myself.


  1. And the garden itself is a true miracle. x

  2. ah, the irony of waking up, not being beside yourself, and then seeking yourself in the garden. you were drawn to yourself. you can tolerate yourself better, when you are not beside yourself. and when you are beside yourself, it's the moment when you can tolerate yourself the least, but there you are, right next to yourself.

    i want to delete this but i hope you understand what i'm trying to say here.

  3. not to disregard the tone, but...


    as you were.


  4. I'm confused BY EVERYTHING.

    Except, of course, The music of Cuba.


  5. hello blue eyes,
    this is fucking wonderful,
    not least for the image of your good self in the garden, one i'd love to see...

    ps i also just read your links, which was also good