Appendix Scar

He got his Appendix Scar from being a pig-headed kid.

He pulled a sickie with his mother one day going to school, saying he had a pain in his stomach. “Go to school, stop trying for a day off."

But he insisted he was in pain. 

So his mother said, “Well, if you are sick we’d better see the doctor.”

And, they were at the doctor’s an hour later and the doctor diagnosed appendicitis. And he was booked straight in to have his appendix removed.

“We can’t mess around with these things,” said the doctor. “There is nothing to be gain from waiting.”

“Okay doctor, said his mother. “Whatever you think.”

But, it was all made up, he had no pain in his side, but he was too far into it by that stage.

That afternoon he went under the knife and had his appendix removed.

Ever since, he has laughed to himself whenever someone mentioned his appendix scar.

I Started Smoking Again

I started smoking (cigarettes) again. It's a curse, one that you love and hate in equal measures.

Okay, I can see now I was a little rash about the hope to die remark if I relapsed, that I made recently. Yes, hasty. Yes, obviously. I was getting a little carried away hoping to die if I smoked again, I admit that now. Clearly, that is not something I want as a consequence, of having a fag. No siree Bob.

Not, that kind of fag. No, I mean the non insulting kind. No, it’s not a trigger, it is a cigarette.

I guess, I’ll be avoiding black cats, or popping the button on my fold up umbrella, inside the house. You know how that happens, sometimes, just mysteriously. No, I don’t know why. Clearly, it is the mechanism. Well, I’ll be vigilant about that for a while. Or walking under ladders. Not that I have ever made a habit of walking under ladders.

Is that salt? Is that the salt container? Could you pass it to me? Thaaank You.

Nothing. I did nothing. No, really nothing. You saw nothing. No.

Okay, okay, I threw some of the salt over my left shoulder. Are you happy.

Do, I think it works? No, I am just in the habit of useless actions, what do you think?

Yes. I said yes, didn't I. Safe than sorry. Yes, it's better to be.

Graffiti Wall

 

Whizz Goes The Alphabet

all over the wall

in Hieroglyphics

only certain people know

those who are in on it,

you know, on the whole damn thing,

who can read the tag,

see what it says.

Foe, or friend,

it doesn't seem to depend.

A confluence of terms?

just get it done!

“Yeah, we’re friends, what of it?”

“All of you, as a community?”

“I wouldn’t say that, but some of the guys and I are mates.”

“So, you all know each other?”

“Kind of.”

“You know who everyone is, you know, in the town?”

“I know their tags more than I know their faces.”

“But, you’re mates, the guys who make up the community?”

“I don’t think you know how many taggers there are,” says Microbe.

“It’s hard to know everyone…” says Dondi.

“You know, personally,” says Microbe.

“Oh okay, so it is more of a disparate group?”

“Nobody is desperate here, mate.”

“Disparate, I said disparate.”

“Dunno,” says Microbe.

“What he means, is he doesn’t know what that means,” says Dondi.

Microbe punches Dondi for his honesty. “Nah, what he said.”

“All different.”

“Yeah, sure,” says Microbe.

“We’re all individuals,” says Dondi.

“We’re all different.”

"That's what the tags mean."

Damage 2000,

Deface Universe,

Trash Boy,

Base Unit,

Shepard,

Dondi,

Lady Black,

Future K,

Goose,

Microbe,

Archer,

Side Winder 01,

Killer K,

Yikes 123,

Halo,

Is it information passed on? is it directions to the next tag-a-thon? Is that what they call it. Is it just simply saying I was here? The equivalent of toddlers banging their chests through the perceived lack of attention. Is it mindless scribble over everyone’s world because those with the spray cans, Archer, and Arse Pounder, have no discernible talent to speak of, except for a propensity to scribble all over all of our lives?

Is it a continuing conversation? You know, the next instalment of what came before this? Microbe and Killer have some of their, they call them tags, I call it their shit tattooed to their faces as if continued property destruction just wasn’t quite enough for them, they had to go in for personal desecration

There was that unfortunate business about Percy The Seal and GooseNeck going to jail for 6 months for what he did.

There was the protest of mass tagging after that in camaraderie for a fallen tagger mate.

“All the guys went out the following nights.”

“All the guys?”

“Girls too. Girls are guys in the collective.”

"They all went out?"

"They all went out and hit whatever they could."

"With Graffiti?"

"Tags."

"Tags."

"It was, I guess you'd call it, a revenge attack, for what they perceived as unfair treatment of GooseNeck.

Microbe and Dondi met on the top of the big hill in the suburb in which they both lived just as the sun was coming up the day after GooseNeck’s sentence.

“Did you hear what happened to Goose?”

“Yeah.”

“It fucken sucks.”

Yeah.”

“They can’t do that?”

“It’s not right.”

“Next time it could be me, or you.”

“Well, yeah it could be, we know that.”

“Yes, of course, but jail, 6 months in jail.”

“That sucks.”

“It’s too much, what is this, a police state.”

“Well, yeah, again, we know that.”

“Fuck ‘em!”

“Yeah, fuck ‘em!”

“I’m angry, you should be angry, we all should be angry.”

“I’m gonna hit the court house.

“I’m gonna hit the town hall.”

“I’m gonna hit the cop shop too.”

Microbe threw his skateboard onto the road and skated away. Dondi did the same and skated after Microbe down the long sweeping hill in the fresh morning light. 

Microbe let out a whoop! Doni yelled out too.

Dondi holds his arms out to balance himself. Microbe crouches down and skates squatting.

Archer and Halo and Shepard joined them tagging the court house. Microbe drawing his beetle. Dondi tagging his face. Archer tagged big A’s. Halo tagged circles. Shepard tagged what looked like sheep all over the façade of the old court house.

Lady Black and Martha joined the guys at the town hall where they tagged also.

Justice is not a judge with a grudge, said one wall.

Eat the judiciary! said another wall.

Long Weekend

It was the Queen’s Birthday long weekend. Mark and Luke invited us up to the country. 

“Come up, come up, we’ll cook great food and relax, it will be great,” said Luke.

“There is no one we’d rather spend the long weekend with,” said Mark.

Lovely. Ah, three days in the country, just what long weekends are made for.

“I’ll bring the pot,” I said. I’m not stupid, I want to smoke all the pot I wanted to.

We left Friday, so we had four days away.

I smoked pot all long, lazy weekend, lying on the couch for days, up the country. All day, like a jelly having been removed from its mould... wobble, wobble, wobble, I didn’t move much more than that, other than to grab at the mull mix and roll another.

Well, I mean I ask you, what else does one do on the Queen's Birthday long week end? I ask you? 

I was lying on the couch on my back with my legs over the arm of the couch with my head on Matt’s knee, as he was looking at his iPad, stoned off my face yet again, when Mark suggested that he and Luke might want some time to themselves.

“Oh? Okay then. Sure,” I said. “Would you like us to go to the cabin?”

“I was thinking more permanent space,” said Mark.

“More permanent…” my brain was just a few moments behind my mouth. “Oh.” My mind pulled out of relaxed, stoned, jelly, fabulousness, my pupils contracted to focus on Mark’s face, which I could see was serous. We were being asked to leave. “Yeah… sure… I see.”

I can't say I wasn't, er, um, hurt would be way overstating it, taken aback, shocked, maybe. I went into auto pilot to gather up all of our things, unexpectedly.

We left not long after, late afternoon. 

I think Mark found me too lazy (ha ha) and too stoned to cope with. (pot calling the kettle, but it is their house, of course, what can you do?) 

I even bought all the pot for the weekend and the cigarettes with which to roll my joints and still they weren’t happy. The deal was that Mark would give me half the money. So, right at the end, feeling a little bad about it all, I said, 

“You don’t have to give me any money, but give me what’s left of my half.”

Mark wanted to keep it all for himself. He turned into the middle child and snatched the dope bag away from me, when I pulled out a too bigger bud to take, he snatched the dope out of my hand.

“Seriously?”

Mark can be like that, so no surprise. He is, literally, the middle child in his family, after all.

Matt looked at me with his cheeky face, as I slipped the car into reverse and looked over my left shoulder in readiness to back up.

“I think we got kicked out, darling.” Devilish grin.

"We got kicked out, honey." I couldn't help but smile. I kissed Matt. Team Us! We didn't care, what the hell! It was probably true, after all. Just far too relaxed.

Ex-boyfriends, there is no counting on them. Ha ha.

Matt and I kept looking at each other all the way home and laughing. “We got kicked out, honey.”

Giving it some thought later, they’d probably organised for some ‘trade’ to come over, some country guy with floppy hair and a big dick. Some 20 year old farm boy named Lachlan who gives it and takes at the same time. Oh yeah, there is something in that alright. I get it. As his jocks come down and his semi bounces into view. 

"I've never done this before," he says. That’s moments before he shoves himself up Luke's arse and starts riding Luke. And Luke wails out for more being the total bottom that he is. And the farm boy works his thick thighs faster. Then the farm boy gets speared in his own arse by Mark, letting out a huge yelp as he’s never quite been pinned like that before. Yeah, I get it.

It's still rude, guests are guests. A 'better' offer doesn't quite cut it. But, yeah, I understand, ex-boyfrends are what they are. Would I do that to them? No, probably not, quite frankly, I wouldn't. But, whatever, who cares.

And all of that disappears into the back ground as Matt and I giggle all the way home about being kicked out. I role joints when we get home, wishing Matt enjoyed pot way more than he does.

Oh, about my fitness to drive, I know the nanas amongst you are thinking? Well, getting thrown out of somewhere sure sobers you up in a hurry, let me tell you. All that adrenaline expelled sweeping one’s belonging together trying not to feel personally pissed off with what had just transpired, takes you back to a very definite sense of normal, I can assure you. 

The real truth of the matter, if you are drunk and you relax and trust your instincts, you will drive off the road. If you are stoned and you relax and trust your instincts, you will be just fine. It is a universal truth.

I Headed To The Country

I headed to the country, Friday morning. It was my long weekend. Marty and Leah were expecting me. 

Monty came with me, of course, he was in the car before I was. He has a 6th sense about any car journeys that may be in the offering. He sat on the passenger seat looking out the window panting for the whole trip.

I picked up bakery on the way, you know, as you do. Fresh crusty bread and fruity fruit buns. Up the country with the universe's fresh air what more could you want, I ask you? Fresh bread, perhaps some salami I had bought last night, and good coffee. Leah is a coffee snob so that was sorted. And Marty churns his own butter.

It is just nice to get out of the city and its closed in feel, out to the wide open spaces. The blue overhead for as far as the eye could see, the green stretching out to the horizon, and everything in between. The free flowing space, the expanse above us all, beautiful and complete, without being compromised by property developers selfishness.

The sky full of stars at night, as far as the eye can see.

The fresh air that you can taste on your tongue, that you can feel on your skin, that feels fresh and clean all around you, the perfume of the earth and the trees. And the depth of being you lose in the city.

I love the crunch of stones under my tyres on Marty and Leah’s long driveway.

Marty and Leah came out and met me on the drive.

“Welcome,” said Marty.

“Welcome, welcome,” said Leah.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hello Monty,” said Marty

“Come inside, warm yourself by the fire,” said Leah. “I have made soup for lunch.”

“I have bought crusty bread,” I said.

“Oh, lovely, we’ll get that buttered up in no time,” said Leah.

“Come on Monty, we have a spot by the stove just for you,” said Leah.

Monty hopped out of the car and walked inside like he owned the place.

“Let me take your jacket,” said Leah.

“Can I get you some wine?” asked Marty.

“Can I butter the bread?” I asked.

“I’ll get you a knife and chopping board, and then we should all be ready,” said Leah. “Sit up, and you can cut the bread at the table.”

“I’ll get some glasses,” said Marty

“I’ll get the soup,” said Leah. “Sit up, sit up. We should have a place for you at the table, Monty.” Monty grinned his big grin then sat at my feet under the table.

Marty poured the wine. Leah ladled the soup into the bowls. I cut the bread into thick slices and then slathered each slice with butter.

We all sat at the table, we lifted our wine glasses and chinked them in the middle of the table.

“To good friends,” said Marty.

“To a lovely lunch,” I said.

“To peace on earth,” said Leah.

“You don’t really think there is ever going to be peace on earth, do you Lee?” Marty asked.

“Oh Marty, of course I do.”

“You have to be careful of this one, Julian, she can lie with a straight face.”

“Anyone who makes soup this good can lie all they like.”

“Oh, smooth,” said Marty. “You have to be careful of this one, Lee, he will say anything to get into the good graces.”

“Have you ever met a bad Grace?” ask Leah.

“I have,” I offered. “Grace Tubbs..." 

“We went to school with her,” Marty butted in.

“She poisoned her mother and was taken away,” I said.

“Oh, poor Grace Tubbs,” said Leah.

“Except the truth was far more prosaic,” said Marty.

“Her mother died of an overdose,” I said.

“And Grace Tubbs was taken into care.”

“Poor Grace Tubbs,” said Leah. “No father?”

“Her father was a drunk,” said Marty.

“He ran down poor Mrs Beasley in the street,” I said.

“And was sent to jail,” said Marty. “For drink driving.”

“And Mrs Beasley?” asked Leah.

“Dead,” said Marty and I in unison.

“Oh, dear god, now that I am totally distraught,” said Leah. “I better have some of that bread and butter.”

“Elspeth Beasley was in our class,” I offered.

“Oh, poor Elspeth, left without a mother,” said Leah.

“Veered right off the tracks…”

“Drugs… 

“The entire footy team in a motel in Drouin.”

“Allegedly?”

“Allegedly.”

“And then dropped out of school to have twins…”

“From the encounter in the motel room?” asked Leah.

“Allegedly,” Marty and I said in unison.

“Dear God, poor Elspeth,” said Leah.

“She won 5 million in TattsLotto a year, or so, later,” said Marty.

“Then doubled it investing in property,” I said.

“Allegedly,” both Marty and I said in unison.

“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” said Leah.

“Oh laugh,” said Marty.

“One of the twins is Jacki Jospeh.”

“The pop star?” asked Leah.

“The very one,” said Marty.

“That’s what she used the lotto money for,” I said.

“Setting her kid up to be a star,” said Marty.

“Elspeth is now a pop stars manger,” I said.

“Well, good for Elspeth,” said Leah.

“I’ve heard Jacki Joseph is unhappy with her lot, though,” said Marty.

“I’ve heard that too,” I said.

“Well,” said Leah. “What happened to Grace Tubbs?”

“She was hacked to death in front of her kids on the central coast by her partner Xmas morning,” said Marty.

“Oh, so no happy ending for Grace Tubbs,” said Leah.

“Nor her children?” said Marty.

“Happy fucken Xmas kids, hey,” I said.

“There’s a day they’ll be looking forward to for the rest of their lives,” said Marty.

“Ho, ho, ho,” I said.

Marty and I laughed.

“You two are going to hell,” said Leah.

Monty put his paws over his ears.

 

Infinite steps to forever. Count them if you can.

Ever increasing number of silver bands stretching around the circumference of the world, around life as we know it.

Reflection stretching to the end of time. Infinity is a giant concept. 

On the steps to enlightenment. The pot of gold at the pinnacle of human thought.

Shimmering in the breeze of human existence.

Blow Up Doll