sojourns long silence - chapter 1

It was around 6.30pm at night so having a knock at the door wouldn't have been too unusual for any family on any suburban street in any city. When Sojourn heard the noise of a knock at the door a shudder went through her body and touched a part of her that some would refer to as her soul. Sometimes things happen and you really can't explain what that thing is in normal everyday terms, you have a supernatural or intuitive experience that connect with whatever it is thats bigger than you are out there in the expanse of our universe. Immediately, she knew that knock would bring devestation to her life and she felt afraid to answer the door but did reluctantly, staring at it for quite sometime before opening.



The policeman was kind. He offered to call someone if needed, he explained that her husband had not suffered before his death and that when she and the children were ready that could come to the hospital and spend as much time as they needed with him. Again. Sojourn had once lived with a terrible death in another life.



She had been a struggling single mum in public housing when her only daughter had died in front of her eyes in an accident in her home. Once again she could feel herself leaving her body and heading into outer space. An auto-pilot started up as soon as she floated into the Milky Way and she took care of all the matters at hand. "you sound so calm, are you alright?" "My brain is flooded with endorphins, its just chemicals keeping me calm".

Family and friends surrounded Sojourn and her sons. They wrapped around them so tight that nothing could get in or out, the devestation was suspended, almost like the pause button on a DVD and she clung to this pause for as long as the humans around her were able to continue wrapping them, but as she already knew from experience, life keeps ploughing on through second after second and though she wanted her life to pause for ever to avoid the terrible journey ahead others had to get on with theirs. Seeing this change coming, where she would soon be left alone to manage without her husband she made decision that would confound all who knew her. She decided to take a vow of silence for a year as a physical manifestation of how deeply she grieved for the loss of her beloved husband.



When her daughter had died she had lived with an insidious unquenchable grief that came in waves that felt like she was being physically held down on the bottom of the ocean floor, dying, in pain, desperate for a short reprieve; it would come finally, she would be dragged up to the surface like a ragdoll to catch one small breath then shoved down to the bottom once again. These waves came without any warning. Day or night they came, for months and months.



During this terrible grief she had made it to a supermarket buying food when her friends mother came up to her gave her a hug and said "you're doing so well" and walked off quickly without having to hear anything upsetting about what it really is like when your only child dies and your on your own. This tiny little moment in time had a profound impact on Sojourn. She was stunned that someone could make such a shallow statment and slip away like an eel, probably patting herself on the back for showing kindness to such a weary burdened woman. Sojourn had actually thanked her. She had always hated herself for that but understood that people are weak at times and forgave herself.



The grief would be just as severe, she knew this path ahead, but no-one would be allowed to say any bullshit comments this time. She knew her decision would divide her friends and family but she had to do this. She had to honour him and sacrifice something that made her who she was.



Sojourn was a skilled communicator. She would attend parties and meet everyone and know at least one personal story about them before she went home. She would have couples telling her how they met, how they came up with the name for their second child. Her whole childhood adults had confided in her and would say "you're so mature for your age". No-one could keep secrets from her and fortunately for her confessors, she was very faithful with these secrets, never telling another. To give up her ability to communicate verbally would sacrifice a big part of how she viewed herself and how her community saw her. This was how she would physically show her grief. There would be no carrying on as normal this time.



She told her sons. They were so young they couldnt possibly understand. She imagined they would survive her silence intact later reflecting on "that time you didn't talk" when they were older. Her last words to them before her year of silence were words of love and encouragement and explaining in the simplest terms why she was going to do what she would do. They were crushed with each day that came as it dragged them further away from when their dad was able to hold them and listen and be a presence in their everyday life. They were being held underwater by grief and suffering as much as she had. She would hold them in silence, in love through it all.



She sent cards to the people she loved most with her announcement. Then an email to all the people she knew. Funnily enough people rang immediately. Her years silence began.

Back Home - bye bye California

Praise the Lord I'm back home! The conference was awesome! I was just so tired from my pregnancy that I was too tired to blog when I got home to my 5 Star hotel! All I could do was have an in-room massage and order some room service.

Everyone at the conference heard about my miracle pregnancy, people were thanking Jesus and praying for me, I really felt the spirit moving. One woman was quite shocked when I told her that I was 47. I look really good for my age so I have always just told people that I was 10 years younger, I really do look it, awesome! She asked me if I knew positively I was pregnant. I told her the whole story, how I felt the actual miracle take place. She looked at me with real concern when I told her I hadn't had a positive pregnancy test. My sister in law, she always knew when she was pregnant and she once gave a negative urine test at the doctors! She still insisted she was pregnant and sure enough, her son was born 37 weeks later!

That woman, Angela, she asked me if I had other children. I told her how my husband and I had never had the Lords blessing when it came to children. She kept close to me after that. I didn't really like her like I would a friend, but she gave me her home phone number and asked me to call her when I returned back to Oz, some Christians are a little fruity but I'm sure her hearts in the right place!

My doctor was so surprised when I told him the whole "miracle" story! He just sat there taking notes quietly with a serious look on his face. I used this opportunity to tell him about the salvation that Jesus can offer, I can witness for the Lord with the best of them. He took some blood and told me he would have the results the next day.

Can I tell you how shocked I was when the result was negative! I ordered another blood test, that test was negative too! I know a miracle had happened, I mean I was there! When I had my ovaries removed at 26 I was told I would never be able to have children but Jesus offers hope and miracles, Praise the Lord!

I went home and did some research and read that you must not have hot baths and soft cheeses when your pregnant. I did both of those things so I can only assume that's why the pregnancy didn't stick. I'm sure the Lord forgives me for being so foolish and not avoiding things that could destroy his miracle.

My husband took the news really well. He was very supportive and even had a special memorial plaque made up for our little girl (I just new I was having a daughter). I feel sad some days but I know its all part of the Lords plan.

Prayer Points -

Angelic Visitations

Dreams and Visions

Declarations, Visitations and Devine Manifestations

Blessing and increase

Expenses decrease

Blessing and increase

Thankyou for your prayers, we got the new Lexus! We also manage to offload 10% of our employees and push the workload up slightly for our staff who were lucky enough to keep their jobs. My husband and I really take our roles as community leaders very seriously.

Were back to California soon to attend a "prosperous soul" conference, all about Jesus blessing you financially, AMEN!!

Yours in Christ

Suzy

Meringue of despair.

It was with some trepidation I put it in my mouth. Turned out to be nothing so much as a meringue of despair and angst. Light, fluffy, just a bit crunchy, but ultimately unsatisfactory. A total waste of the money used to buy ingredients.

Luckily I had the 1ooth installment of VM to sooth my shattered nerves, and smooth over that that metaphorical furry toothed feeling and appease those who had loved me.

In the future I recommend not taking up the opportunity to share the kitchen with anyone who wears a holocaust coat and folds sugar into egg whites with a scythe.

Day 1 at the conference

Hi all,
Well Praise the Lord I am here in California and have just finished day 1 of the "Hem of his garment" healing conference. It has been a truly uplifting and healing day indeed! The food is incredible! They have flown in a bunch of chefs from a 3rd world country to give them a great opportunity for well paid work. Who would have thought Mexico was poor, I had no idea! The chefs are earning $7US an hour, triple what they would earn in Mexico, I bet they are thanking God for this blessing! They didn't serve anything organic :( I'm sure I can survive 5 days of non-organic food can't I!

I really felt the presence of the lord today, awesome! We began the day with an awesome prayer meeting. I prayed really hard for unexpected gifts in the mail and debt reduction for my husbands business, I felt the Lord confirm the need for us to expand without introducing new staff, hello new Lexus 4WD!

We then had a break for morning tea. God bless Bethel Church! Not only do they employ Mexican chefs they also employed Mexico waiting and cleaning staff. I tried to speak to them and tell them I was from Australia, but they didn't seem to understand me, I think they speak another language in Mexico, not English.

We had another great section after morning tea with a bible teaching about the blessings and healing's God has promised us through the bible. I claimed those blessing as rightful child of Christ! Then it happened!

Pastor Danny Silk asked those of us to come forward who needed healing and prayer. I went straight up to the front and began weeping with excitement. Danny and his prayer team laid hand on me and I felt something warm and electric exactly where my womb would be. I closed my eyes and raised my hands and just praised Jesus for his healing powers, I thanked him for my unborn child. I knew a miracle had taken place. The whole room of people were overcome with emotion, everywhere people were receiving prayers and miracles were taking place. Just awesome!!

Prayer Points:

Repentance from poverty, small thinking and envy.
Courage to recognize opportunities and make wealth.
Abundance to bless the world and prudence to save and invest.
Revelation to pass on our wealth to our children's children.

So we declare that when the righteous prosper the city rejoices!

That first prayer point is so me at the moment. I feel that perhaps allot of my friends envy me. If this is you and you're reading this right now, its OK! Just confess your sin and God will forgive you. Awesome!!!

The first thing I am going to do after finishing this blog entry is have an hour long massage and a soak in the jacuzzi in my penthouse suite. I am really going to have to put myself first now I'm carrying a baby!

Next update tomorrow!
Yours in Christ
Susie

Not Long Now!

Hi there everyone,

I am just preparing myself for my journey and I just wanted to give all my partners in prayer out there some specific prayer points to cover before I head out to California. Some of you may have heard the joyful news that I am off the the "Hem of his garment-Pastors and Leaders" conference held at the Bethel Church, CA next week. To keep you all in the loop, I will be blogging about my experiences, the Holy Spirit has directed me to do this to bless all of you, awesome!

As you know, I have not been able to conceive a child despite many medical/spiritual interventions. My husband and I have been praying now for 17 years and despite the difficulties we have encountered, I just know this trip will be the blessing our hearts desire. God will bless me with a pregnancy.

The signs that God has been manifesting in both our lives are awesome! I was sitting in my lounge room on my Santander Leather Lounge absorbed in my new DVD "Furious Love Deluxe Edition", it looked so great on my 127cm panasonic flat screen. I was just sitting there, and all of a sudden, the DVD switched to the TV, free to air which we never even watch, and there was a commercial advertising discounted Baby Hermes products! I got down on my knees and praised God for his mercy and love.

This sign alone was amazing and I was moved to tears. I got online to my favourite christian forum and told some of the other women out there and one of them mentioned she was going to conference in California. Can you believe it! Bless the Lord! I thank God that I can hear him clearly when he wants to give me direction, I will always submit unto your direction Lord.

My pastor was happy to give me a reference as required by Bethel Church and I just donated my "benevolence offering" via the churches website straight after Pastor Mike and I finished skyping. Sam, my beautiful husband, is unable to attend the conference with me due to business but I know that doesn't matter. I will become pregnant at the conference. God has made it clear that a miracle is to be expected and I will be blessed. It has all gone so smoothly, like domino's falling one after another.

Prayer Points

- Gifts and surprises in the mail

- Finding money

- Blessing and increase

- Angelic visitations

- Provisions and resources

- Favourable settlements (especially as I will be claiming my trip as "business")

I am busy packing my Louis Vuitton luggage, new clothes to be organised, hair, nails, you can imagine, I have been flat out! Will begin my blog next week so look out for it.

Yours in Christ

Susie

Ten of Fifty-Two: French Poodles

With the amount of pride some people show parading their miniature poodles around all shaved up like Dennis Rodman you'd think it was a major feat to pin a small dog down and shape its fuzz into Gucci logos. This is especially so when those folk whine about the selfless sacrafices made to do it. Sacrafice? Really? From my first hand vouyeristic experience it never looked so hard.

My wife has, for some time, been manicuring her Bichon Frise into something that is pleasing to the eye and stimulating for those with an artistic bent. Once a groomers client, she is now doing her own grooming. I can't believe there is a giant poodle grooming industry. (Or an industry grooming giant poodles, for that matter.)


Now don't get me wrong: I can appreciate the contrast of shaved/fuzzy patches on an Airedale, and being able to pick out the curves and intricate folds of a Shar-Pei, but I also love the look a bitch who is as shaggy as hell.

Anyway, to test my theory tonight I groomed my Luzerner Laufhund (or Lucernese Hound) in to a funky little configuration. The result: I am happy to concede that a bold hound such as the Laufhund doesn't suit poncy groomage. This was supported when I showed my wife and she gave a catagorical "hmmph... OK, whatever....". Underwhleming.

Anyway, I proved my point. If you want to shape your pet all you have to do is put up with a little pain and the horrible anticipation of doing the dog to your dog. It's not that hard, and ultimately it's probably for your own satisfaction, so don't come to me whining like a Weimaraner if you feel the need to groom.

Magestic horse

Im straddling you like a majestic horse
Riding you with wind in my hair
Blood pulstating through our veins
Enjoying this wonderful burst of great energy
High in the precious green hills
Taking each breath as if its our last




Lets run naked
Naked through the fields
The fields between my thighs
And the swelling of your manliness
My heart is racing, in time with yours
To another world of a timeless floating mass
Pulsating skin, swollen with afterglow and
Gratitude as we escape into deep infinity

Behold

Thou shalt behold
The order of the day
Bear witness
To the flicking of tongues
Traversing of pliant hands
Skillful in their giving of pleasure
Lips upon thy heaving breast
Commensing of a great pumping
Panting and a thrusting
Sturdy member driving into thy moist chasm
Hands firmly around thy waist
Until bountiful cries
Proclaim the zenith of our passion




Hello to my heart
My heart that is open
To swallow up this beautiful feeling
Soaking up the intensity
Penetrating my body
And through my veins
My heart that is pumping
Lust for you my friend
Trust in this
For all is real
Alive and wanting

Sweet Sensation

Skillfully circumnavigating my body
With tongue, teeth and hands
Kisses confirming our mutual wanting
Your throbbing member
Girating hard and fast
Then slow
Rythemic motions
Heightening to a mind blowing sweet sensation!


Tea for just wont do it
Beverage of the alcholic variety
No way!
Coffee = copulation
Many flavours available
Morning, noon and night
Whatever takes your fancy
It's sure to be an absolute delight!

sparrow

She was a girl,

just like a sparrow.

crush crush crush.

He was her God,

soothing her soul.

hush hush hush.

she knew why,

her brain it felt like

mush mush mush.

slow it down

little sparrow, dont

rush rush rush.

Nine of Fifty-Two: Dance Floor Inferno

Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's man: no time to talk. Music loud and women warm, I've been kicked around since I was born. And now it's all right. It's OK. And you may look the other way… Actually, I’d prefer that. I’m all those things when I’m in my room, or in the shower, in any other place where there is nobody around, I have some sweet dance moves. I’m part Danny Zuko, part Michael Flatley, part some of those campy young elastic hopefuls you see on that abomination So you Think You’re a Twat… But that’s when I’m alone.

Philosophically, if a man lifts one foot and pushes the other backwards in a forest, does he really moonwalk? No, not really, because philosophically dancing is as much being watched as it is moving, apparently.

The thing is I have a wee phobia of dancing in public. In effect I have a small window of opportunity somewhere between about six drinks and when I fall down (which is very shortly after six drinks) when I can get out on the floor and tear it up. The problem is my dancing window is the same as my obnoxious and immature window. It’s a dangerous place to aim for. Innocent people can get hurt.

But dance I did. The last time was quite a few years ago, but a combination of hanging with my favourite in-law clan and being at a wedding where I did not have anything to do, and being surrounded by people I either loved, didn’t know or didn’t know and loved was an intoxicating mix. Was the D-Floor in danger of spontaneous combustion, Daughter of TJ style? No, but dance I did.

It wasn’t pretty, I’m sure. My partner, a fine, sexy, lithe young thing who’d been making eyes at me across the mandatory six or seven drinks provided confidence boosting/sapping direction… “Keep your arms down… Lower your center of gravity. Don’t sing. No, really, DON’T SING…”

So, phobia conquered. Friends made. Friends lost. Will I be doing it again? Maybe, but probably not for a bit. I hope you all enjoyed the show. Either way, thanks for the opportunity, Liam and Veronica, and congratulations and apologies...

Eight of Fifty-Two: Solo Building

My old man is a man of mystery. In my childhood, right up to when my one-day-to-be-wife told her parents about him, he was thought by some to be an arms dealer. I had friends at school who thought he was a spy. I had one girl believing he was a karate-equipped rogue agent, but considering the girl that probably doesn’t reflect on him, but her.

The truth is my old man is an aeronautical engineer and mild-mannered man of integrity. So, despite what I may have told the odd sexy but dim-witted girl in a bar in an intimate moment, he never taught me how to kill with my bare hands or escape from an orbiting satellite. In fact, when it comes to practical, he didn’t teach me much at all. (Unless you consider being even-handed, obeying rules and not taking unnecessary risks handy, that is.)

No one understands moralistic and well adjusted people, so like I say: man of mystery.

Anyway, he didn’t teach me to change a washer or build a cubby house. Hell, he didn’t even teach me to shave. He might have taught me to build an effective radar system for military aircraft, but oddly, we never had to so we never did.

So when it comes to using power tools and building stuff, I have never felt all that comfortable. It was with trepidation that I’ve been picking up practical skills over the last few years. Finally, a few weeks back, I finally felt like I could take on a project by myself. A solo mission.

And here it is. It may not be much, but it did it all by myself without help, and without any input form so-called experts (except the guys at Bunnings who tried to redesign my project, circumvented a range of fuckups and took a hefty wad of cash in return). This boardwalk goes from the backdoor to most of the way to the washing line, where my budget would go no further.

And you know what? I may not have a Mick Jagger swagger, but somehow I see in other men’s eyes – even men who I don’t know and who can only know of my conquest by the tell tale band aids on my office worker hands - a glint of respect.

characters

I have just walked through my door after a marathon drive (13 hours over 2 days). During said drive I had a few moments to contemplate things and this got me thinking to writing about characters. The ones you will want to tell stories about. The ones that you can think back to something they did or told you and you laugh out loud at the memory.

Now I collect characters. I love to meet new people with the offchance of meeting a true character. Outrageous antics are one of my favourite drawcards. Sexual debauchary combined with a big mouth is another of my faves. Im also very fond of someone who has a great druggy/rocknroll past, is now a parent, and is slightly puzzled by some of the stuff that goes on in middleclass Australia.

As I previously mentioned, I have just returned from the big drive. I was in Adelaide (Radelaide as some say) to photograph a friends wedding. Adelaide is my home turf and I managed to catch up with a bunch of my old homies on a cool autumn night out.

One of the lasses I caught up with is a true character with all of the abovementioned top 3 character traits plus some. Outrageous antic: So we were at a pub called The Gov, bit of an institute in Adelaide. Sadie is pretty pissed by the time we arrive at 7.15pm. We were sitting down to order dinner and happened to have a piano nearby. She walks past, pretends to sit down sticking her ass out, starts banging on the keys and does a rendition of "Eels up inside ya" Mighy Boosh style. Quite hilarious; the whole tables laughed, goaded her on and applauded gratefully when the rendition was finished..

Now Sadie is quite a newy to me. We bonded over a love of shoplifting and loads of white wine at a New Years Eve party 2 years ago. Sadie is also a vintage clothing fiend, an alcoholic, someone who has sex and then tells everyone everything that happend, a middle class mother, previous rocknroller and a professional. Summing up an amazing character probably my current favourite.

My favourite movie character would have to be "the dude" from the Big Lebowski. I think if I were truly left to my own devices completely and utterly, I could be the dudes twin sister. Now when I was younger I was pretty happy being stoned, walking to the supermarket, walking back, listening to music in my room, eating. That "phase" possibly did last a little bit longer than it should have, but, if I really was left to it, I could be the dude.

I loved how he wore out of fashion clothes designed for sheer comfort. How he had this simple existence bowling, white russians, smoking dope, making excuses to his landlord for not paying the rent. A classic character. Most of us have known, or know (I can tick both boxes) the dude. He is currently being played by one of my family members.

This member announced his "year off to do nothing" in January. No coaxing from his mother or father or aunty of grandparents can stop his course of nothing. No job, no responsibilities whatsoever. He watches metal videos on You Tube. He stays up all night with his friends driving and giggling. He watches The Simpsons. He is definitely smoking Adelaide's finest. He writes witty updates on facebook. Basically, he is the dude.

Maybe its some kind of genetic predisposition? Like I said, left to my own devices....

Summing up, characters are the best. Its worth all the effort it takes to get to know someone to meet a great new character. Best of all, even if they turn out to be someone quite annoying or socially retarded, you can atleast talk about them to the other characters in your life. So to all the characters out there, thumbs up from me. True characters are the best.

R.I.P Disey (pronounced dyezee, short for Dianne)

One of the most outrageous fucking characters ever. Always some type of shenanigans going on with her and her sort of oblivious to how outrageous a character she was. A classic character missed by all that loved her.

Seven of Fifty-two: Rock'n'roll Myth Busted

Danger: 1/10

Excitement: 5/10

Satisfaction: 5/10

To be repeated: 8/10

Firstly, a big thanks to my brother for sending me the excellent book ‘Fifty Dangerous Things (You Should Let Your Children Do)’. I’m proud to say that my kids had already survived a number of the things listed in the book.

In honour of this fine publication, this afternoon my boys and I ticked off another thing from the list, and simulataneously debunked a myth I have been wondering about for a long time:

• Dangerous Thing: Dismantle an electrical appliance.
• Myth: TV’s implode when you kick them in. I don’t know where I heard that. Maybe it was one of the rock’n’roll myths I heard as an impressionable teen. Regardless, who wouldn’t want to find out if that was true?

So, first the boys and I carefully pulled an old TV apart, just to see what was inside. As I suspected the TV was full of wires and computer chips and stuff. I would liked to have shown the boys how it worked but I was only able to point to the on off switch, and a spring. The rest was a mystery to me, really. Maybe if the tele was working and the light wasn’t fading we would have put it back together again.

But it wasn’t and it was, so we chucked stones and hard objects that can be thrown by tuddlers at the screen until it smashed. And that was fun, too.

Incidentally, TVs do not implode when you hit them with a paving stone. Now I know.

(The other question I have always wondered about was why wee seems to do a 90 degree twist and then another 90 degree twist back on its way to the toilet. Maybe that’s a guy thing. Maybe someone can tell me if the same thing happens when women wee. If anyone knows the answer, feel free to leave a comment below.)

Six of Fifty-two: Negligent Parenting

Danger: 7/10 – I was in serious danger of getting a matrimonial arse-kicking.

Excitement: 5/10

Satisfaction: 2/10 – it was nice to find the little bugger.

To be repeated: 1/10 – what can I say? I’m vague: it’s probably inevitable

It was a hot day in my city. IT was a birthday party. The city’s party. We’d spent all the money we had on pony rides and icecream. My wife and I had a slight edge on the kids in the exhaustion stakes, but only just.

The Roary Stage show was just a distant memory. Spark and Plugs, the dancing bimbos brought along to entertain the three year olds, had looked vaguely familiar from the Ben Ten stage show at the local mall from the last holidays. Roary, the Prima Donna, had put in disappointing performance which involved moving his eyes but remaining stationary otherwise. (The main banana my arse.)

The kids were semi-undercover following a run-in with the facepainting fairies. What a bunch of bitches. By the way, “Petal”, despite what you heard his aunt saying to unbreak his little heart, that was a bullshit Batman you put on Kai’s face. I’ve farted better batman masks. I tried not to believe in you but you didn’t disappear, so I don’t think you’re even a real fairy.

In a last roll of the family-fun dice we took one of the kids to the free skateboarding lesson. It seemed to consist of putting on pads and a helmet and standing Leroy stationary in a half-pipe. I guess that’s start. Maybe next year they’ll let him try moving a bit.

Meanwhile my other son went a-wondering. We found him quite a long way away, weeping like a fountain (although thankfully improving his clown facepaint). It must have been fifteen minutes before we noticed he was gone. How do I know that? Because when I found him he’d managed to try to break into every side-show ride, only to be turned away. Why? Not because he was a two year old without a parent but because he was a kid without a ticket.

It was a scarey few minutes. Thanks to the Qball family for dropping everything to cover the exits and thanks to the bloody carnie fairies who alerted us to whereabouts by making him howl.

This is one event to be avoided from now on. Highly not recommended.

Five of fifty-two: The Tuffster

Danger: 1/10

Excitement: 5/10

Satisfaction: 7/10 – long term itch scratched

To be repeated: 1/10 – customized and unique

Since in 1985 it was generally accepted that owning a fully functional light sabre or Corvette Stingray was unfeasible for average eleven year old, the ultimate in cool was to own a BMX bike with Tuff Wheels. Back in ‘85 failed to achieve any of these things. Tuff Wheels, for those of you who were not even cool enough to know this, are those plastic spoked stylin’ wheels which make their metal- needley cousins look like technology so old they may as well be triangles carved of stone.

Now, I’m aware that “coolness” has more skeletons in its closet than the British Museum and Tiger Woods combined. Who’s so-hot-right-now moments aren’t now their most embarassing cringe-worthy Polaroids? (fingerless gloves and leg warmers for me.) Who hasn’t secretly looked back at a horror fashion moment with revisionist warmth as the look swings back into fashion and your cast offs become ebay hot-cakes after years in the St Vinnies wilderness?

Given fashion is so subjective, I would like to think that I can suspend my sense of vogue to embrace an opportunity that never presented itself to me in its in-fashion window. In 2010 my bike now boasts Tuffs.

The bike in question was given to me for my 30^th birthday. It’s a Repco Santa Cruz. I proudly used to get around the community I lived in at the time. Yeah, it was a try-hard Raleigh Chopper, but what they heck: it had red-wall tyres and a sparkly seat. It was so cool riding it could lead to frost-bite of your inner thights. In the height of summer people would chuck into their pools to lower the swimming temperature. But there was still something missing: the spirit of ’85.

You can imagine my joy, then, when I noticed on the work classifieds, a BMX with tuff style wheels. For hardly anything. “Don’t you think we should buy this for our son,” I said to the wife. “It looks like a good bike and we can put it away until he grows into it….” I already had a picture of the dragster, bedecked with tuff wheels, in my mind. Was it wrong of me to hide behind the future bike-needs of my four year old boy? Yep, but no more wrong than forcing him to live out my childhood fantasies. Besides, he’s too busy studying for his law degree to be playing with bikes.

It didn’t take me long to pull the bits off the BMX to Frankenstein up the Santa Cruz to be street worthy. Nay, catwalk worthy. Now, it looks awesome. I can’t wait to unleash it on the world. However, before I unleash the ultimate cool and bring premature winter to my street, I would be honoured to present to you… the Tuffster.

One of my best mates in 1985, Mark Rickert, died on 20 February 2010. My memories of him are old, but they’re all really happy, and he was undoubtedly a contributing factor to my fantastic early years. My thoughts go out to his family and friends as they come to terms with his loss. RIP.

"we're in unchartered waters"

Phone Conversation:
"fucking boring, it did nothing but rain all bloody weekend. I was supposed to be going to someones house for dinner on Saturday night but she rang up in the morning at 8.30! yeah I know WTF, who rings that early? Anyway she cancels dinner because she know she will have 8 kids in her house because of the rain and doesnt want her house trashed. So, I FUCKING UNDERSTOOD! Jesus Christ, my Saturday night plans are now cancelled because kids might mess up a house and I understand, is this really my life now? Is it? If my husband calls you looking for me tell him I abandoned family life, headed to Nimbin to become an elder! You said it
we're in unchartered waters! Indeed!

four of fifty-two: Synchronised Jiggle

Danger: 4/10 (heart attack)

Excitement: 2/10

Satisfaction: 4/10

To be repeated: 8/10 (a la ‘Bring it on’)

Ever felt like an imposter? I just finished my first ever aerobics class, and I can’t help but feel I may have stood out somewhat. I was the wrong gender, the wrong shape, out of time and usually doing something completely different to the perky pixie running the show and her campy offside. It was ugly, man. I think my gut was still jiggling an hour afterwards.

But FUCK, it was some work out. I was left completely wasted. I would have posted this earlier, but every muscle from the souls of my feet to the tips of my fingers has been stiff for the last six days. If I wasn’t completely incapacitated I’m sure I would have felt much fitter for the work out.

Still, at this point I’d like to send a shout-out to my mates Dels Gherkin, who should have been named Dels Beetroot for her superb body-attack efforts, and Lexi Criddle, who has never ever looked so good in a pair of flesh-toned stubbies. High-five ladies.

In all seriousness, there are plenty of clichés and stereo-types I’d love to make the butt of some jokes, but I can’t do it. They out jumped, pumped, grapevined, push-uped, pliared and can-canned me for a grueling sixty minutes. Respect.

Three of Fifty two: Goji Berry Enhanced Free-snaking

Danger: 2/10 (amended to 7/10)

Excitement: 2/10

Satisfaction: 4/10

To be repeated: 3/10 (Unlikely)

Back in the day when I was just a sapling of a boy with access to a couple of well thumbed T’n’A publications, I got my hands on a Penthouse magazine dedicated exclusively to readers letters. It was gold. Not only did it demand a developed imagination and therefore possess a power ten-fold over the glossy photo versions, it was small enough to fit into ones school bag or to smuggle in the elastic in your pants if required, and it was very easy to slip under the ol’ mattress.

I know it was a quality publication because it was the only such magazine I remember from those heady days. (Except for a couple of really rank ones which I’ve been trying to forget for decades). And the stand out letter in this weighty tome o’ smut was about a guy whose new girlfriend convinces him to go out to dinner… WITHOUT UNDIES. It seemed very exotic at the time. Oh, the outrage! The sheer cheek!

I know that the concept of ‘going commando’, ‘free snaking’, ‘dangling’ or whatever you want to call it is hardly the radical concept it was then… Hell, there is barely a Saturday goes by when I don’t find myself picking up a coffee dangling happily in a pair of track-pants with my bum crack and morning breath keeping people as a safe distance. So, it was barely an afterthought when I put going to the office in a free-snaked state on my list of potential new things to do this year.

Basically, it was only on the list to make up the numbers, if need be. I mean, how hard could it be? My office is hardly the kind of place where anyone would notice a man without jocks. (Unlike the restaurant in Penthouse Letters June 1987, let me tell you.) And I was right.

What I hadn’t counted on was the Goji Berry factor.

My boss is a mountain climbing, yoga-embracing type. On Commando Day she wandered out of her office with a strange packet of berries in hand. She was grimacing, cussing and challenging anyone to try her latest health-food. The Goji Berry: the world highest know source of Vitamin C (more densely packed in than matter in a black hole apparently) and a miracle cure for dogs with baldness, cancerous cysts and/or smokers cough. With a rap-sheet that long you know it tastes like crap. But aint afraid of no health-food. “Bring it on, Boss-Lady.”

It tasted as bad as it sounded. To use viniculture parlance it has something of a rank nose with a mid-body that reminds one of pub ashtray and leather, followed by an aftertaste of shite.

Yet it wasn’t the taste that had me worried.

The medicinal qualities of the berries clearly took effect quickly. IN a matter of moments there was a gurgling and spluttering in my lower bowl that murmured ‘flatulence’ to anyone within a couple of feet. But there was more. The gurgling began to sound like… danger. I’d forgot that I’d removed the safety net. And there was movement at the station.

It was a bad place to be, but the free-snake factor made the whole issue doubly risky. The rest of the day was spent praying to the bowel gods. Lord, give me solidity.

You’ll be glad to know that this story has a happy ending. Was I taken by surprise in the backroom by a couple of cougar waitresses? No. However, nor was I taken by surprise by a cornflake and goji berry concoction suddenly appearing in my backroom. A good compromise.

I have since appreciated the peace-of-mind my favourite Bonds Sport Briefs provide, and thank the lords I am not an unhealthy dog who needs to continue on the Goji Diet.

two of fifty two: mystery activity #1

Danger: 4/10

Excitement: 8/10

Satisfaction: 7/10

To be repeated: 6/10 (Good chance - I hope so!)

There are some things a man shouldn’t reveal on the internet. Things that should be kept between himself and the relevant parties, stakeholders and emergency services. (Of course, if men were to do that the internet would be about a fifth of the size it is, and there would be plenty of IPv4 addresses available for good things, like internet sites promoting harmony and health services.) Some things are best left to the imagination, and yet not welcomed by most imaginations when they are left there.

Two of fifty two is just one of those things, so this entry is intentionally vague and abstract. I know that this probably isn’t the best way to go with the process of documenting my fifty two new experiences, in particular when this is so soon in the process, but you’ve just go to go with the universe and take advantage of opportunities. You should thank me. If only you knew how much!

It was a funny taste. Like a herb of some kind but a herb that had been heavily treated to be given a new lease of funk. If this taste was a guitar it would have a whole lotta whammy pedal on it and run through a bass amp, recorded in a bathroom and played by a man hung by his feet and swung around the recording device. Not uncool, but strange enough to make you wonder what the fuck it actually was rather than to concentrate on the pitch.

I did like the feeling of absolute power it provided. I was amazed that the others were so eager to conform to my will, in particular given the strange taste. I would have guessed before hand that any discomfort would also add to the reluctance of the others to fully participate – to suspend their natures and let me get away with the half of it.

I’d like to thank the participants. It was a fine way to celebrate the birthday of Angela Maria "Geli" Raubal, Austrian nude model, and Hitler’s lover. Particularly the nude model bit of her, and no so much the Hitler thing. Happy 102 birthday, Angela.

one of fifty-two: Ebay Profit

Danger: 1/10

Excitement: 3/10

Satisfaction: 7/10

To be repeated: 9/10 (Almost certain - kerching!)

Mountaineering is hard. Especially when you have no experience, are pretty much unfamiliar with the processes, and don’t have confidence in your ability to pull your sorry saggy self up the sheer face of an ice wall. You’d have to be nuts to load yourself up with gear and walk into the path of danger and fear. You’d have to push your middle aged paunch into unknown areas, across the very history of the planet ensconced in an ancient glacier, you crampons digging into ice that may not have felt the feet of anything since the days of Saber-toothed Narwhale domination of the planet, or whatever. For most balding suburban desk cowboys, that would be too much.

For me, too. That’s why the first of my fifty two new experiences for 2010 was not mountaineering. That’s why its mountaineering is unlikely to be any of the other 51 new experiences, either. Let’s just keep it real and get a few easy experiences under the belt, eh?

So, selling on eBay... It was really much easier than I’d expected. Take a couple of photos (Check), upload them to eBay (check), write a funny but descriptive, um, description that is accurate enough not to get negative feedback (not really, but close enough, so check) and push the button.

And then wait for a very boring ten days. Yeah, you get to monitor the number of people watching your auction, but that is hardly riveting stuff. I thought I’d get a sense of satisfaction knowing that my crafted description so wonderfully matched with my instamatic camera handiwork had lured in schools of hungry bidders, like barramundi to juicy fresh-water crayfish. But no. My pedestal fans got a handful of watchers and bidders, while the 1977 TV with the hilarious description was an unfailingly ignored. So, no relationship between cleverness and profit there, then.

Anyway, after a boring ten days there was a flurry of action at which time an experience bidder appeared and snaffled the fan, ignored the tele and was on his way.

I felt a bit used, actually. I feel like the hook from which the monster barra came from nowhere to steal my bait without getting snagged.

Oh well. Maybe next week’s new experience will more satisfying…

In the mean time check out my auctions here

#4 Lies

On my shoulders I carry our burden of lies

Loudly speaking of qualities of us unsung

The echos of slumber in your chocolate eyes

With the truth of last night under misguiding tongue

Like an acrobat strung over a net of thread

Falling back on a known sordid hotel mattress

With a team of advisors hold truths all unsaid

Many fingers in dykes holding back the distress

Your faults are the seeds that grew fed on self loathing

But those faults now seem sadly dwarfed by my own

Now exposed to words or a photo exposing

A wide world of disgrace like there’s never been known

I have lied to the world and I have lied to you

But my shame is I can’t say I lied to me, too

#3 Red Tide

Move, move, move like a red tide crashing all around

Blood red rose red crimson flames flick under flood light

To dart to duck to thunder through like love unbound

An undying phoenix rushing on in delight

Feeding on the baying howling crowds mad salute

With its throaty stamping clapping applause

Many faces and moods bound by a common cause

How to respond but with everything absolute?

While all exists in the shadow of a doomed clock

on turf pressed by boots of warr’ors legendary

The air pure inspiring of the awesome and shock

To turn the wrist of the fickle fate arbitrary

Forever muscles renew lax memories fold

Dividends to brave rewards grand to the bold

#2 Love The Beast

Two tones of metal rubber and menace,

The adrenalin whitened knuckled speed,

Low chrome wing-nutted fury in your face,

Red mist transforming into desperate need,

Everything tuned to break gravity's pull,

Like the shoes of the gods with wings of light,

The burning chemicals and grunting cool,

The checkered flag is Targa’s new delight,

Two million year urges in the fingers,

fiery lightning command at my foots soul,

The taste of a chicane burns and lingers,

Evil rocket combusting Rock'n'roll,

Bring yourself wholly indulge in the feast,

Strap yourself in, wrestle and love the beast.

#1 The Vulture

The vulture’s wrinkled and scowley glower

Is the winged marker of slow demise

Frankenstein design to make you cower

alive to survive hot amongst your cries

The powerful legs with maladroit claws

gait ungainly loping crooked intent

Black feathers reflect unnatural laws

Red ringéd eyes to be blind to repent

No more efficient machine ever built

Dirty worker of nat’ral selection

Smooth skin to revel in the blood that’s spilt

Hooked beak that will not stoop for reflection

Awesome efficiency in its function

Between life and death a creul conjunction

Stoush's Seven Sonnet Challenge

one person

Seven sonnets

thirty one days

fourty nine rhymes

Ninety Eight lines

nine hundred and eighty syllables....

The seven sonnet challenge is on for anyone who has the poetic testicles to join me!

A time has passed

I am loathed to express the depth I feel.

Not only depth, but too the breadth of loss.

Some days tis such a weight I can just bare

but secrecy my refuge. Blessed mask.

A mask of continuity, of grace.

Which, with thus mask, I walk through day and day.

Each day one more away from precious love.

A love so rich, but true, had just unfurled.

Reflect I do on why and how tis so.

The mysteries of life remain just that.

So on pour days, so on my mask, so on.

I fill each day with cheer; the task at hand.

As do all mothers in this day this age.

A mother to a daughter who has passed.

the junkies joke

All my spoons were bent and black,

Both my arms, they bled, were hacked,

Just one more little taste of smack,

I smell my death a calling.

I scam I steal I lie I live,

Don't let me in I take to give,

My veins, just one big fucking sieve,

for money, drugs and liquor.

A nasty junkie, living proof, come take a breathe of my pure truth, no bills no ties no love no roof.

A Narcissist forever!

I met him once

When my alarm goes off at 4am I guess it only takes around 33 seconds for me to start loathing all those tarts out there. They get up and smear that shit all over there faces trying to make themselves look like the fucking sluts they are but none of those bitches even fucking notice me. They dont even look at me, you'd think I was just fucking invisible. I said to one once "dont fucking act like you dont want to talk to me, like you're too good for me, just fucking look at yourself...". That was another pub Ive been asked not to return too, again. I try and not let those thoughts start off but once they're off I cant fucking stop em.

I deliver milk to the people. They need the milk and they can count on me. Every day I get up, whether its freezing fucking cold or too hot to sleep from the night before, I get up and I deliver. Me and my old man have been doing this milk run since I was 15. I left school then. I kept falling asleep in class and my fucking teachers told me I had to make a "choice" about my future. Can you fucking believe that! Make a fucking "choice". What choices are out there for blokes like me?

I could never fucking get my head around reading, all the words jumped all over the shop, the bigger they got the more they jumped. And those girls. You tell me how the fuck a young kid is supposed to "study" when those bitches turn up to school, short fucking dresses, I mean some of them were so fucking short you could see they're fucking knickers! All I could think about was what was under those knickers. What was snug against those knickers. I could fucking taste it in my mouth, even though I had never tasted any. My dick would be rock hard nearly all day. They laughed at me then. Some of them even prickteased me. They soon fucking learnt not to do that again. I fucking left school. I took up my milk run and Im proud.

My dad and I we run the milk run with clock work precision. I get up at 4am, I dont have to get changed because I wear my milk run clothes to bed to save time in the morning, pretty fucking smart of me. I then drink my warm milo, I warm it up in the microwave over 2 settings to get it exactly how I like it. I brush my teeth and head out the door at around 4.14am.

We, dad and I, pick up the milk from the depot and begin the run. We dont even need to talk anymore. We each know what we have to do so theres none of that bullshit, chitty fucking chat going on between us 2. We just do the job. Reliable and on time. Not that that counts for much these days.

While I sit there driving the van in silence I just think of all those bitches and what they will do when they get up. You know, I just think of what God must think of those disgusting bitches, the secretarys are the worst offenders. Whores, the fucking lot of them. I pray to God to destroy these vile bitches, I pray but to be honest, I dont see God doing much about things.

I spoke to my pastor at church about my true feelings about secretarys once. The stupid cunt prayed that God would help soothe my anger and reveal the seed of my hatred! How the fuck he got his job! A fucking joke! I smiled politely and walked off. I go to church for God, not to fucking make friends or fit in. Thats the truth, I know that I dont fit anywhere.

Sometimes, I head out at night on my own and I just run and run and run. I never know where I will end up but I always find someone interesting to watch at the end of my run. Some people out there live good christian lives. They dont fucking let there little kids sit there while there mum smashes all the plates in the cupboard and then makes there dad clean it all up like it was all his fault. I watch families who get along. They can sit together. They can talk.

I know I never will. Its all those bitches, those fucking secretarys with their lipstick, their blusher, their mascara, their high heels. Whores. The fucking lot of them.

Red Dress

She walked into the room like a sea battle. It was unsteady rhythm. Rocking to and fro in uncertain violent charm. I felt the desire to stay afloat in dark and murky waters, with temptation and shattered, splintered integrity threatening to bring me down. The hem of her red dress, brushing the back of her knee, waving like a flag in the wind. An invitation to the depths.

It was that red dress that I noticed first. It was like a beacon. Unpredictable soul I am not: it’s all written in the stars. Every sailor knows the call of port, and the joyful swooping flight of the welcome swallows. Every man knows the draw of a red dress. Or something like it. Worms on a hook. Burley in the water. A red dress over hips, held taut like sails. And hips like a gentle, salacious breath of wind.

But I have an advantage. I have no crew to loose, and no obligation to land anyone on the sand. If I chose I can follow storms, and court the 200 foot breakers. If I dare.

It’s a matter of courage. Sometimes I’m full of it. Sometimes, not so. Sometimes the glass is half full. Sometimes it’s half empty, and the full half is full of rancid piss. But the though of the red dress is Dutch courage in of itself. Rum before battle. The taste of hate on the end of a bayonet. Conviction and sin.

Destiny entwined but never joined. Ships passing. Cannons out, or is will it be signal flags again? Each pass is different. Red. Dress.

Deep brown eyes and smiles. The perfect storm.

A ship-wreck? A mermaid. Both.

Memoirs of a Teenage Goth: the Cafe Months

A strange teenage twilight exists, a betwixt and between period, a purgatory between school and pub; I shall call it ‘the café months’. And it is literally only a period of months, basically until you work up the balls to approach the pub door. Until then you are sentenced to sit around a café table sharing a cup of hot chocolate with four other povo waifs much to the disdain of the establishment’s owner. But this period can be looked on as a formative one, and it certainly led to many exciting adventures in my later life.

There were two venues of choice during my teenage twilight time, both in the Rundle Mall locale. One was an upstairs nook lined with booths where a friend of a friend worked. This friend was obviously somewhat embarrassed by the freaks the cat dragged in and generally gave us fairly short shrift so inevitably we drifted to choice number two, the open air café in the middle of the mall.

I don’t know if open spaces make it less obvious that you aren’t spending money but there seemed to be less chance we would be moved on from this location. And so we gathered, the hippies, the punks, the goths, the mods, and anyone else who didn’t fit in anywhere else. Basically there were no separate scenes in those days; there were so few people interested in any kind of scene that we all had to hang out together. There were no clutches of emos skulking around in the shadows, or marauding bands of skate punks tearing up the sidewalks. There were just a few sad misfits huddled over a brew and a couple of crumbs.

It was here that I met one of my most constant teenage companions Johnny. He was my first major crush, which was unfortunate since he was obviously gay. Still didn’t stop us fucking each other at the end of the night if no-one else was around, but more about that later. Johnny could be described as an extreme mod I suppose; when I first met him he had a black bowl haircut and was wearing a pair of purple stovepipe pants and a white shirt with a purple pyramid print. This would later be supplemented by a fluffy purple waistcoat that somewhat resembled a 70’s toilet mat.

I was in semi-mod mode myself at the time, just before the transition to goth took place. My uniform consisted of a black skivvy with a paisley mini skirt, black boots and big silver hoop earrings. What a marvelous pair Johnny and I must have made! He eventually followed me in to goth mode and I still have photos of us camping it up at the Austral with our dramatic black locks and talcum powder enhanced white makeup.

Another character to become familiar with from this time is Josie. She was basically a bogan with punk pretensions but we hit it off immediately due to our shared propensity for cheap wine and outrageously stupid antics. Clubbing in gorilla suits, pot plant stealing frenzies and interpretive dance at grunge gigs were just a few of our specialties. Our little crew was completed by the twins Tracey and Shelly, gorgeous and totally twisted. One of Shelly’s crowning achievements was falling off a toilet at Le Rox and breaking her elbow. Naturally she just got up and hit the dance floor again and dealt with it all the next day. One of my crowning achievements was tripping over in the beer garden at the Toucan Club and burning my hand on the pot belly stove. Naturally I just got up and hit the dance floor again. Occasionally the pain would break through and I would dash in to the toilets to run my hand under the cold water tap and then dash back out in time for the next song. I slept with my hand in a bucket of water that night and made my way to hospital the following day. I re-emerged later that week at a Wall of Voodoo gig with a bandaged mitt protruding from my vintage leather jacket.

Tracey, Shelly and I eventually ended up sharing a house together, a hovel frequented by Johnny and Josie and other unhinged alternative types. It became one of those notorious share houses that people loved to visit and then loved to leave again for the safety of civilization. Future installments of the memoir will doubtlessly feature the further adventures of this hallowed abode.

And to think all this germinated in a coffee shop. From a caffeinated but otherwise drug and alcohol free venue evolved a seedy sub-culture of teenage angst, lust, insanity and general joie de vivre. Let this be a warning to all you parents out there; when the kiddies say that all they do on a Friday night is hang out in a coffee shop beware! As the song goes, ‘from little things big things grow’.

Haiku poo

I don't really like Haikus....so I wrote some... :)

Work haiku....
I am at my desk.
I have lined up all my pens.
I should do some work.

Existentialist haiku….
What is with haikus?
Are they valid forms of art?
Or do they restrict………….......expression.

Post Modernist haiku....
True, this is not art.
But to not be art is art.
Or just more bollocks.

Surealist haiku....
Golden bum leg smells.
Wardrobe on my head is round.
That's irrelevant.

Nothing's private these days. That is all.

notes

I liked X's last note.

note = note

I keep stuffing those two up. Poops.

Huh??? I guess it did seem bad but I had an explanation if anyone should care to listen.

Oh no oh no oh no. Fortune telling, never did anyone any good m' laddy.

Riddled with insecurities and codes!!!! Manipulative. Stuffed her up for good. Was real quiet, and then came out of my shell, like. Some of it was beautiful. A beautiful picture, show you how beautiful you are. And then WHAM. Cut you down to size. All the capitaliSation done for you. Man, too easy. No excuses. Man. Have you been on the grass? 'cos seriously man, you smell. You have no sense of civility about you, and yet you don't care. Fascinating. You really are rather fascinating: a fasssssscinatingspecimen.