Rain

Didn't it fucking rain over the weekend? Down it came. If Jesus had floated by nailed to a cross on the wrecked bow of the ark, I, well, me and all the Jesus Freaks wouldn't have been surprised.

As me old granny used to say, “Always live on the top of a hill.”

I told my young nephew that, "God's wife is taking a squat."

"Mary! Is that Mary?" he asked.

"No, she was just a receptacle for god's spoof on earth." Some preposterous story about a 13 year old denying who she was knocked up by?

"Whose god's wife then," Mitchell asked?

It all seemed so ridiculous and all too hard by that stage, as his innocent eyes gazed up at me. "Who indeed?"

"Don't fill his head full of that nonsense," said Mitcell's mum.

“So, who is god’s wife?”

“God’s wife?” asked Mitchell’s mum. “Asherah.”

“Who?”

“Asherah.”

“You are just making it up now?”

Mitchell's mum laughed out loud. "It is all made up, but the stories are interesting." 

"Interesting from a historical point of view."

"What people believed in in history," said Mitchell's mum. "Before they understood that none of it is true."

"What they believed in," I said. "Until they didn't."

"Most people don't believe it today."

"But they still go to church," said Mitchell. "And they still read from the bible."

"Maybe, a vocal minority," said Mitchell's mum. "I think you will find is the truth."

“A vocal minority?” questioned Mitchell.

“Usually, the people who don’t know much but have a lot to say about it,” said Mitchell’s mum.

“It’s just the ones who can’t let go of what their parent’s believe in,” I said.

“Childhood is an impressionable age, and those who still persist with this nonsense are free to infect their kid’s minds with the same stuff and nonsense,” said Mitchell’s mum.

“Empty vessels,” I said.

“Clang, clang, clang,” said Mitchell’s mum.

“So, god didn’t have a wife?” asked Mitchell.

“God doesn’t exist,” said Mitchell’s mum and I at the same time.

“It’s a construct,” said Mitchell’s mum.

“That got out of hand,” I said.

Mitchell’s mum and I laughed.

“Free to infect imprisonable minds,” said Mitchell’s mum. She looked from me to Mitchell.

“It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it,” I said. I looked from her to Mitchell. We looked at each other.

Mitchell’s mum and I laughed again.

“So, who made the rain?” asked Mitchell.

“I think that is a question you should ask in your science class,” said Mitchell’s mum.

“Not your religious education class,” I said.

“You want an honest answer, after all” said Mitchell’s mum. “Not the fairy tale version.

“Do you have religious education classes?” I asked.

“No,” said Mitchell. “Just a bit in history, I guess.”

“Relegate religion to history,” said Mitchell’s mum. 

“They are finally getting education right,” I said.

Mitchell’s mum and I laughed again.

“So, religion is a bad thing?” asked Mitchell.

“Oh honey,” said Mitchell’s mum. She looked at me. “Is religion a bad thing?”

“Religion itself is really just a bunch of stories made up by people a few thousand years ago to explain the things in the world happening around them that they didn’t understand, at the time” I said.

“And now we’re far more educated and we now know the scientific reasons natural phenomena happen,” said Mitchell’s mum.

“And now we don’t need religion to run our lives,” I said.

“You know how nana says wireless rather than radio.”

“Yes,” said Mitchell.

“Well, it is the same kind of thing.”

“It is just leftover from an era which really doesn’t exist anymore.”

“It just takes people time to change in their way of thinking.”

“So, religion isn’t a bad thing?” asked Mitchell.

“Oh darling.” Mitchell’s mum looked at me. We both laughed.

“It can be,” I said.

Mitchell’s mum looked at me and then looked at Mitchell. “It’s not something I want you to believe in, honey. There are so many more interesting things in the world with which to fill your mind.”

“Like what?” asked Mitchel.”

“The real world,” said Mitchel’s mum.

“How people live in the world,” I said.

“What culture means, and how it is important to people,” said Mitchel’s mum. “How the people of the world can live in harmony together.”

“And not be set against each other because of their differences, like religion tends to do.”

“That religion isn’t the most important thing in life,” said Mitchel’s mum. “There is art, and literature, and music.”

“But isn’t religion important to people?” asked Mitchel.

“Yes, it is,” said Michel’s mum. “It is important to some people.”

“But so is snow skiing, and showing dogs, and racing cars, and reading fiction,” I said. “Lots of things are important to lots of people.”

“Meditation, and yoga, and Buddhist chanting, and Thai Chi, are important to people,” said Mitchel’s mum.

“Lots of things are important to lots of people, it doesn’t mean one is more important than any of the other things.”

“I guess what is important is that you find things that are important to you.”

“Like religion?” asked Mitchel.

Mitchel's mum looked at me. I looked at her. I raised my eyebrows. She smiled nervously.

“Well?” said Mitchel’s mum.

“Um, ah,” was I think all I could manage. "We're not going to tell you…"

"No," said Mitchel's mum. "Not religion, that is not something that should be important to you."

"Really?" I said.

"Oh!" Mitchel's mum looked exasperated. "Be a deluded little Christian if you must, but don't expect to have any friends."

"Don't Christians have friends?" Mitchel asked.

"Yes," I said.

"No," said Mitchel's mum. "Not cool friends. Not with cool people. Just the cardigan wearing set."

"What are you saying?" I asked.

"Oh, we're damn if we do, and we're damned if we don't, and Christians spend a lot of their time pushing their ideas on to other people because they think it is their divine right, so why shouldn't I? I ask you."

"Is that what you want to teach him?"

"It's what Christians do pushing their ideas on to other people, so why the fuck not."

"Mum!" exclaimed Mitchel.

"Oh yes, mummy said a bad word. Mummies say bad words."

"I've never heard you say bad words," said Mitchel.

"Well, you are nearly grown up, so welcome to the real word, where mummies say bad words and Christians are losers."

"Wow!" I said.

"Erh," said Mitchel's mum. She shrugged.

She got a wine glass out of the cupboard. She got a half drunk bottle of Chardonnay out of the fridge and she pour herself a glass of wine.

Toby Tucker

Hey, Toby Tucker, one of the nicest guys around. We were friends despite our differences in life.

“Upstairs, downstairs,” we used to laugh.

He was a fee earner. I was an expense. He was an asset. I was a liability. Such is corporate law. Despite, all of this, we liked each other immediately.

We met up at work lunches.

We got drunk at EOFY parties.

We ate pies and drank beer together for the celebration for the AFL grand finale.

We danced together at work Xmas parties. Why not, it is a modern world.

He had that look, that smile, where you’d seemingly be the only person in his world when we conversed. He'd hold my gaze as we talked, always looking back, always a look with interest. Sometimes he'd, practically, buzz with excitement when he was around me, as he liked our chats, as we spoke of interesting things, funny things, all those things. We chatted with ease, he and I, and that is something to remember.

See ya Toby Tucker, with your engaging smile and your interested looks. That endearing laugh of yours and that tasty turn of phrase. I'm sorry you are leaving. Perhaps, in another life time, we might catch up again.

In your new life time, I'm sure you'll meet lots of nice French guys who will tantalise your brain, with conversation and song. Share a lovely baguette, or two, with coffee, and think of me.

Enjoy Paris... because, I'm sure, Paris will be enjoyable in the summer. Autum. Winter. Spring. Be a good lawyer, well, as good as any lawyer gets. (You knew, I'd just have to add that, didn’t you)

There are people we lose along the way, life is just like that. You just have to smile and wave good bye, wish them luck, and be thankful that you have known them at all.

Good bye my friend. Till we meet again.

Royal Naked Blue

Royal Blue velvety walls, shell pink naked skin, here is James. 

He was as dazzling as the blue velvet in his head board, that marble skin and those incredible good looks. Any of the hired help who bought his breakfast in the mornings were never the same after seeing Master James in his morning state of undress.

“Excuse me, sir.”

“Oh, no, not at all.”

“I’ve come in with your breakfast and to turn down your bed.”

“Lovely. Morning already,” he’d say. “I’m ready for a good turn down.”

“Oh sir, you do make me laugh.”

“If I can make someone laugh every day, then that day is a good day.”

“It’s a good way to think.”

“Well, feed me, and then turn me down.”

“You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes sir, just a few weeks.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.”

“Martin. My name is Martin.”

“Very good, er, Martin. Pleased to meet you.”

“Yes, pleased to meet you too.”

“Well, when you are ready.”

“Um, yes, erm, I’m ready.”

“Okay then.”

“Yes, okay then.”

“Go ahead.”

“Yes, okay.”

There was an awkward silence as the two men faced each other. James in his robe, which was open and his tartan boxer shorts, and Martin in his black and white outfit. 

It seemed clear that Martin was unsure of his next move.

“Okay then, erm, Martin, shall I give you a hand?” says James Workington the 3rd.

“Oh, er…” Martin seemed to be tongue tied.

“I tell you what, um, Martin, you go around to the other side of the bed. Yes, that’s it. Now, take the very top of the bed clothes. Yes, yes, in both hands. Now fold them over about the same width as the pillows. Yes, yes, just like that. Now, flatten them out. Yes, there you go. Now I am turned down.”

“Oh, ah, that’s, that’s excellent,” says Martin.

“Yes, yes, indeed,” says James.

Martin laughs nervously. “I thought turning down,” Martin made parenthesis in the air with both hands. “May have meant…”

“May have meant,” repeats James.

“Yes, may… have… meant…” Martin’s voice trails off.

“Meant?” James’s questions. His head tilts quizzically.

“Oh, um, you know what I mean?”

“No, no, I don’t.”

“Oh, um, er…” Martin laughs nervously.

There was momentary silence between the two men.

“Okay, then.” James breaks the silence. “If… you now take the tray from there and place it on that side of the bed, I think we are done.”

“Oh… yes, yes.” Martin moves the tray.

“Well, thank you Martin,” says James. “If I need anything else, I will call.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Martin leaves the room.

Pixelated Green and Blue

Pixelated Green and Blue, hangs over my mantlepiece in my lounge room. It is controversial amongst my friends, as it is dark and a lot of them don’t like it at all. I tell them it is Sunday morning sun rise after a night out on Saturday night taking LSD.

“Oh Jeremy, seriously,” said Imogen.

You know, down on the bay beach sand watching the whole world pixilated as the sun rises over the horizon. 

“We’ve all been there,” said Scott. He laughed.

The sea and the dark night dissipating and the golden sun just starting to break though the veil of darkness as a new beginning. 

“But we’ve all grown up since then,” said Emma.

Scott shrugged.

Truthfully, it is an abstracted image of my ex’s face, Ivy, of course they all knew her, bleeding out into nothingness so I never forget what pain she caused me. 

“Is there something familiar about it?” asked Imogen.

I just shrugged when she looked at me

So, you know, new beginning isn’t so far from the truth.

“It’s very, ah, er,” said Stephanie.

“Colourful,” said Gretchen. She stepped next to Stephanie.

“The artist is known for his bold use of colour,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Stephanie. She bought her hand to her chin. “Do we want people in the room just looking at it?”

Gretchen bought her hand to her chin. “It is over powering,” said Gretchen. “The room, really.”

“I know,” said Stephanie. “Like, is that what you want your guests to notice.”

“Yes, I guess,” I said. “It is a signature piece.”

Stephanie and Gretchen both looked at me.

“So, they say,” I said.

“It takes everyone’s attention,” said Gretchen. “Like it follows you around the room.”

“Or do you want your guests to notice, well, you?” Stephanie laughed, that self satisfied laugh of hers.

“I know,” said Gretchen.

“It’s true, isn’t it,” said Stephanie.

“I like it,” I said. Even if I wasn’t sharing the exact reason why.

“Well, that’s the main thing,” said Stephanie. She raised her eyebrows. “I guess.” She said it in the way she had of saying things that were just oozing doubt.

“I think it’s bold,” said Scott.

“Oh Scott,” said Emma. “When have you ever known anything about art.” She looked around the room with wide eyes.

Scott just kind of shrank back under the weight of his wife’s admonishment.

“I think it is bold too,” I said. I looked up at the picture and thought, fuck you, Ivy.

A Charmed Life

People say I have this charmed life, all the time I feel like I never really fulfilled my potential.

People think I have a wonderful thing going on, all the time I feel a bit like a failure.

I have met a new lover and my friends have said it to him, Josh's charmed life. I never know what to say, as it seems so far from my reality, so different to how I feel inside.

Everybody wants to be me. Apparently.

Funny, I always think. Why set the benchmark so low?

Looking back over this...sometime later

The irony is everyone wants to be me, but me. Oh, I don't mean it in a big and scary way, but don't we always want to be someone else or, at least, have someone else's life or, at least, some aspects of someone else's life? There is always someone who looks as though they are having a better life? Huh?

Having said that, I am pretty happy with mine. No complains. Well, no one cares anyway, they are too busy worrying about their own lives.

“You had great parents.”

“I think so, but didn’t everyone.”

“No. And you felt you had great parents?”

“Yes.”

“There you go, you are ahead of so many other people.”

“Oh, come on, lots of people have great parents, that doesn’t make me any more special than the next guy.”

“They were educated.”

“Yes, they were teachers.”

“And they had money.”

“No more than anyone else.”

“How many houses did they own?”

“Five.”

They stopped momentarily and held each other’s gaze.

“You have never had any great tragedy in your life?”

“My dad died.”

“But he wasn’t young?”

“He still died.”

“But you weren’t a child.”

“Relatively.”

“You were grown up?”

“I guess.”

“You’d finished uni and had your own life?”

“Yes.”

“You weren’t dependent on him financially?”

“No.”

He tilted his head sideways, I am guessing for effect. And raised his eyebrows.

“You’re smart.”

“Oh, no smarter than…”

“What’s your IQ?

“140.”

“You are handsome?”

“Well, that’s not something I see.”

“Maybe not directly, but it benefits you?”

“I don’t think I have ever thought that.”

“Come on?”

“No, seriously.”

They both smiled at the same time, probably for slightly different reasons.

“You are a nice guy, you travel through the world comfortably, you make friends easily, you are comfortable in social situations.”

“I’m shy, I am nervous around people I don’t know, I’m not at all sure I make friends easily, I find social situations stressful.”

“But not debilitating?”

“No.”

“And people tend to like you?”

“No more than anyone else.”

“You’re athletic.”

“Oh, I don’t know about...”

“You are.”

“I guess.”

“You’ve always had a girlfriend.”

“Ah? Um?”

“No, you have always had a girlfriend. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“And you have had great girlfriends.”

“So why have I broken up with them.”

“You’ve broken up with them, if I remember rightly.”

“Have you ever rented?”

“No.”

“Have you ever been unemployed?”

“I have been jobless.”

“Have you ever been jobless when it wasn’t your choice?”

“Ah…”

“You haven’t.”

“No.”

“You play the piano?”

“Yes.”

“You sing?”

“Yes.”

“How many languages do you speak?”

“Only one fluently.”

“How many languages can you speak?”

“Three.”

“Jacob, I return to my first premiss.”

“Which is what?”

“You know perfectly well.”

“I do.”

“And you are modest?”

“Not that I think that has got me anywhere.”

“It has.”

“It has?”

“Girls like you.”

“Because I am modest?”

“Yes.”

“Who knew.”

“You did.”

“I had no idea.”

“Seriously? Jacob?”

“What?”

“What is that saying about false modesty?”

“It is worse than arrogance?”

“I hope you can see the irony.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Seriously, underneath all of that, you really are a monster.”

They both laughed.

“I think I lack confidence.”

“We all lack confidence, that is the human condition.”

“Yeah, but I find it debilitating.”

“Really? When?”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said?”

“You want dates? And times?”

“Yeah, sure, if that is what it will take?”

“I um…”

“Yes?”

There was silence between them.

“It makes me anxious.”

“It makes everyone anxious.”

“My mouth goes dry.”

“But that’s not debilitated, that’s a dry mouth.”

Dirty Laundry

Miles and his friends were talking about the WA politician chair sniffer. Miles’s friends believed it was disgusting. Miles thought it's just what people do, dirty secrets and all that. The only difference here was that the poli admitted to it/was found out, call it what you like.

“The poli sniffed a colleague’s desk chair,” said Murry. “I bet you’ve done worse, hey Miles.”

Then all of Miles’ friends wondered if Miles had done any such thing? He had to think and, initially, he couldn’t think of anything, but, then it came to him. A handsome Italian friend of a friend, who Miles thought was really cute, had stayed with him 6 months previously. The handsome Italian had a mattress on the floor in the room next to Miles’s. The next morning, when the handsome Italian was out someplace else, Miles spotted his jocks, clearly from the day before, lying next to his bed.

Miles prefaced his admission with, “I never thought I would ever be telling anyone this, but I picked them up and sniffed them.”

All of friends laughed. And then came the admissions from each of them, one by one.

“The jocks, um, smelt, good, how I thought they would smell, of Andrew’s sweat, and…” said Miles. “I wished I’d got them when they were still warm.”

“Euw,” said Kent.

“Is this Andrew the hot German?” asked Rachel.

“Yes, the one and the same.”

“Did you?” Murry made a gesture with his hand.

“Yeah, sure I jerked off as I held them to my face. I’m not ashamed…”

“Maybe you should be ashamed,” said Deirdre.

“You going to sit there and act all moral, are you?” said Miles.

“I don’t know why you say that?” said Deirdre.

“Deirdre, I’ve known you since your drunk uni days. Seriously?” said Miles.

“Memory like an elephant, too,” said Deirdre.

“On your guest’s bed?” said Murry. “Did you jerk off on a guy’s stuff who, essentially, trusted you not to?”

“What do you mean?” said Kent.

“Well, it’s a part of the unwritten agreement when someone comes to stay with you, surely?” said Murry.

“What is that?” said Miles.

“That you won’t go through their things…” said Murry.

“And you won’t cum on their undies,” said Mike.

“Seriously, Mike,” said Rachel. “The disgusting things you’ve done.”

“There is an understanding about your stuff when you stay with someone,” said Kent. “Otherwise, society breaks down.”

“Oh yeah,” said Miles.

“What about Bridget’s 9 year old daughter’s knickers you creamed in?” said Rachel.

“I was a bottle of red in and bored and it was late babysitting,” said Mike. “There was nothing on teli.”

“Still hardly one for the moral high ground,” said Rachel.

“I put them in Bridget’s dirty clothes wash when I was done.”

“Bridget let you babysit Chloe tanked on red wine?” asked Kent.

“What else do you do when you babysit?”

“Kent, you used to get sucked off by poddy calves back on the farm,” said Deirdre.

“I was 16 and hadn’t met any girls who let me do it to them,” said Kent.

“What about Carl Sanders?” asked Dierdre.

“Who do you think showed me the poddy calf trick?” 

“Isn’t Carl Sanders…” asked Miles.

“Yes, yes, the one before I met any girls,” said Kent.

“Who you used to 'use'", Deidre made parenthesis in the air, "before girls came into your life,” said Deidre. 

“I’ll have you know Carl Sanders is a well adjust gay man, today, living a good life.”

“You still see him?” asked Miles.

“Yeah, sure, some times,” said Kent. “But as friends, not like that.”

“Deidre, didn’t you lose your virginity to a catholic priest?” said Rachel.

“Father Simon Smith,” Deirdre said wistfully. 

“He should be gay,” said Miles. “With a name like that.” Mile repeated the name with sibilances.

Deidre exhaled loudly. “He was not gay. And it is hardly the same thing.”

“Weren’t you 15?” said Rachel.

“Oh Rachel,” said Deidre. “I was just as keen as he was.” 

Rachel shrugged.

“What about Sally Keen’s father?” said Deirdre.

“Oh, shut up,” said Rachel. “More wine? Anyone?”

“Sally Keen’s father?” asked Murry. He looked at Mike.

Mike waved Murry away with both hands “I know all about it.”

“I never jerked off on Andrew’s jocks, anyway,” said Miles. 

“What did you do?” asked Murry.

“I jerked off with lube as I smelt the crotch of them,” said Miles. “Then I put them back next to his bed where I found them.”

“So, he’d never know,” said Rachel.

“A victimless crime,” said Miles.

 

Home Sweet Home

where I can tuck myself into bed

not a care

when it all becomes too much to bare, 

queue the stripper music, 

er, bear,

out there,

where the people

stop and stare

unaware,

or not,

if it is fair.

or not.

I've still got home.

There is no place like it,

that is not a cliche,

it is a universal truth.

(Sorry to all the people who come from an unhappy home life)

I had a childhood full of sunshine and love,

So, my home is somewhere I crave,

when I am away from it,

and out in the world.

I wish it could have been true for every one of us,

I truly do.

If I could wave my magic wand,

and scatter my enchanted fairy dust,

that is what I would wish for,

for every one of us.