Wednesday, October 25, 2006

It's something I write, but everything I do.

I'm communicating in morse code with whoever it is on the other side of the wall. It's fun, we tap tap tappity tap at each other, and in this way kind of appreciate the fact that the wall exists in the first place. On my side of the wall there are wild horses butting up against me. They have chains attached, as though they're looking to draw and quarter me, but I just ignore them and keep tapping from time to time. When I don't tap, I take deep breaths and let it all flow through me. It seems to work.


The Fixing Lady and I have similar ideas. She believes that the universe is made of energy. So do I, I believe what you put out to the universe, you get back. Energy man. It's a good word, energy. This is my version of spirituality.

I put out to the universe: The Continental in Hepburn is for sale! Oh mighty universe, I shall buy a tattslotto ticket and win, and I shall buy this beautiful building which sits on beautiful land, and you Universe will be happy because I shall not develop it into some sort of bollocks apartments or health retreat. Surely oh glorious all powerful universe, you see the sense in that!

The universe replies by shooting particles of light across itself.

I hand it a tissue.

And later, when I'm walking down the street I think about mankind and wonder if we are truly a virus which has infected this random creation we live in. Then, scarily I come up with a twisted logic which ends in the fact that actually, George W. Bush is good. I think, well, we have infected the universe. The universe must therefore have invented war to get rid of us. It didn't work. Because we had Hippies. So then it invented George W. Bush. This way, as an agent of the universe, he will destroy us all. So in fact, in terms of the universe, he must be good.

I wish it just sent some sort of gigantic meteor to squash us and save all the bullshit.


Inside my head I am filing each issue into some sort of order. And it's fun, because following what the fixing lady said, I'm allowed to feel an emotion each time I think of something as long as I let go of the emotion afterward. I think of Issue One, I get all angry and reactive, and then I let it go. It's really cool, you should try it. It's like a carnivale! No. it's not like a carnivale at all. But I think we should have a carnivale soon.



Every time I hear tapping from the other side of the wall, I feel happy. But I don't get carried away. I don't listen for sounds of digging under the tunnel, or chipping away at the wall from the other side. I am purely happy to listen to the tapping and tap back my silly messages.

Dot dash dot. Does that even mean anything? Maybe I'm talking gibberish, but I don't care.


I still have the rock n' roll in me. Last weekend proved that. But I think sometimes with a reputation like mine, people maybe expect something wild, or if I'm in a fit of side slapping giggles, they read it as something else.

For example. Last weekend I decided to continually talk about fingering sluts. Not everyone got the joke. People are strange. No sense of humour. I said, hey don't you love it when you're like, fingering sluts and they're all like, FUCK ME and shit. And maybe I took the joke too far, but I was on a Buck's Weekend and had heard not one dirty joke so...ah well. No sense of humour.

Funnily enough, after all that, ah...never mind.


The other day I found out that every single person in the universe is standing between me and my dream. Oh, well there was one exception, but all the people in the universe minus one is still a lot of people. And I replied by saying I was very determined, in fact, I replied by saying there was no-one more determined than me. It was tough talk man. But it has a lot of truth in it. In reality, all I am determined to do is become a happy little bundle of light and energy particles, and whatever happens after that, must be the right thing.

But a guy can still dream right?



Two unfortunate business names in Sydney Road, Brunswick:

FKML accountants.

and my new personal favourite:

Fatti Tae Kwon Do
(unfortunately for those tenants below, this is on the second floor...)


  1. Maybe you should read this book "In search of happiness" (John F. Schumaker). It's sounds self-help. It's not. It's slightly intelleckshual but not bad as far as non-fiction goes. I just like the idea that people are reading the same books as me at the same time.

    BTW You are a brilliant writer, but on the one hand there's writing that can drag you down, and on the other hand there's writing that helps you climb out of the hole.

    The writing that's best for the reader is the writing that goes beyond the writer's angst.

    And for the writer, sometimes it's wonderful to load up your baggage on a fictional character and then realise it's already outside of you and floating away on the breeze...

    Or maybe you just need a good dose of intrigue and mystery in your life.

    That's my anonymous two-bob's worth. A suggestion of mystery from the mystery girl. My comments are presumptuous I know.

  2. "The universe replies by shooting particles of light across itself."


    golly, that's funny. THE BIG BANG. Our ever expanding universe is a face full of cosmic schmultz.

  3. I've been gone a long while matty b. I feel like I've come home. Kinda creepy eh.


  4. Kinda creepy, but kind nice. You're always more than welcome here oh strange anonymous heart shape. 'tis nice to have you back.