Paint Me a Picture

Listen to this and tell me how you feel...

Sorry

I dont know about you but every time I walk into the cinema, I walk out of it a different person.
It started with Back to the Future, walked out Michael J Fox...Ive walked out as a dude who just sunk in the ice
after my gorgeous girlfriend opted to let go of my hand, Ive walked out as the gorgeous girl who opted to let go of my spunky
boyfriends hand cos he'd frozen to death.

Ive asked for my hair to be cut exactly as Fox's only to be told mine was to thick, but they could work on my brother's do....
Ive run flat knacker down a street after seeing basketball diaries to see if I could summon some junky tears, and I almost got their.
Knelt down in a sandpit and looked up at the sky and screamed the incomprehensible as I hear the news my beloved's taken her own life back in the ci....

Hang on....It's just Michael J Fox and Leonardo I do this with..What the? I cant think of when else Ive done it?
I think I love them. Both. And I dont care if it's skinny Leo or chubby Leo. I love him, So lay off him you gu...

I digress.

What Im saying is this: Im highly affected by what Im seeing and hearing from one minute to the next.

So Im sorry for the last post.

Im alright now.

Mummy?

Mummy?

Im so scared. Im so scared of strange faces. Deep voices. Dark clothing.
Cold studios. Loveless songs full of industrial soundscapes, confessing to
just that...Love!!!

Why have we as one half of the world sought inspiration from such cold
cold confessions? And why do we question those who get up in the morning,
pop RAGE on and delight in it's airbrushed existence?

Im with my cousins on this one.
Girls pinned up against walls confessing their confessions.
Men with aftershave pleading their case to the girls pinned up
against the wall.

No more of this please. It hurts my feelings.

I see dark clubs, unusual people, licorice, cement floors, and no mummy's anywhere....

Blind man/Lost dog

Today I helped a visually impaired man to cross the road. He reached out and placed his hand
on my arm. We began to cross the road.

As we did so, he apologised for having 'shit on his hands'

I tried to sneak a peek at what and how much of said shit was
on his hands and to what portion was being placed on my person.

But one of us had to keep our eyes peeled on the road ahead so i couldnt catch a glimpse.

I said to the fella, Oh mate. You couldve told me that before you popped your hands
on my arm. What do you mean youve got shit on your hands? I picked up the pace a little.

I work at the lost dogs home he says.

Oh bloody hell. He really has got shit on his hands then. You're just about on your own here Charlie
lest you fess up as to what the turd is on your clammy little mits or let go and Ill guide you by voice.

Nooooooo, he says. Not really shit. Not real shit. Not dog shit.
I slow down a notch.

Ive just been patting them all day and grooming them. You know...? Just dog all over my hands
Did no one guide you to a sink? Did you ask?

We reach the other side, I make sure he's right to be on his way and head to the nearest public
dunny to wash my wrist. I hate dog on me. Especially lost dog. That's why they've been let go and lost in the first place.

They bloody stink.

Tonights the night

Graaaaaavy waaaaaaavy 2am-6am 3RRR FM 102.7 FM

This and that

Potato Cakes

Potato cakes. Ive eaten old ones and enjoyed them.
Ive eaten them straight out of the deep-frier and had a great time.

Ive put soy sauce on them and really wished they wouldnt end.
Ive over sauced them with tomato sauce and still found something to enjoy.

Ive licked down over 8 in one sitting at St Andrew's market whilst being so stoned
the whole world felt it was on a tilt.

Ive dribbled vinegar over them only for it to soak through the bag and just loved it.

Ive rung up Bombed Village and said do you wanna hook up just under the Westgate
and have a bag? He says yes and we do.

I had it bad at TAFE. I was knockin back hash-pipes and inhaling potato cakes in every
break.

There's a photo of me asleep on the train, Lilydale line and I look like a
mentally ill beached whale.

So it came time for me to pull my head in. No more brown little bags for fatty.
Held back on the Toobs and Egg Flip Big M's as well.

And all Im sayin is......every day is a fight. Ive taken to the whole cafe thing. How can you not
when they are everywhere? Yes please, Ill have the ham off the bone with goats cheese roll with
special sauce, or maybe Ill have the 2 minute duck eggs and a side of pork belly.....whatever...

All I really want, all i ever think about are potato cakes. Eating them in the car park of wherever I
bought em. I know where every milk bar is in my area and I know what they serve. I keep a photo
of me as the beached whale laminated in my wallet when I get weak and walk in one. I eye em off.
I can tell right away how long theyve been there and how old the oil they were cooked in was.

I love them even when other people dont. Potato hard in the middle, crispy batter, soggy batter, it dont matter to me.

I fuckin love em.

Im going to get one now.

Fire

Dichotomy.
Purification.
Destruction.

If the Lord came down and demanded an explanation
as to why one would set him/herself on fire
id give It the above explanation and stare straight back
in Its beady little eyes and tell It to fuck off back up to
heaven.

You heard me.

Git

Mooroolbark

Tell me why you think it is?

Me and my 3 mates did these things amongst other things.

1. Did a poo in a court designed for a new estate. No houses around. No witnesses. Nothing, 'cept mapped out driveways and weeds...It was a Tuesday night about 9.47pm

Did a poo in the Yarra and watched as our mate tried to swim away from it.

Ate pizzas out of the Pizza Hut bin way before it was popular and it had nothing to do with avoiding waste. We'd come-a-cropper of $1.15 for a stick of garlic bread. Instead of doing the sensible thing and finding that $1.15 we searched for the unthinkable. Bin-bread. And when we found then unfindable, we did the unthinkable. We ate it. It was filthy.

Knocked on a random door and yelled at the poor woman who opened it and then sped off
only to get rung by the police and bought down to the station for questioning. Let off on account of the police deeming the prank to senseless to be charged with an offense. Ill always remember that sergeants disgust and my lack of shame. I wanted to say to him, hey....this is definitely my fault, but dont blame me.

I cant make sense of any of it from this vantage point yet it all seems perfectly reasonable....still. Intuitively.

Sexually frustrated? Delinquency? A product of bad parenting?
Nope. Not at all. We all come from fine families. Not particularly visionary families but loving ones all the same. Actually upon reflection possibly the first option holds a little water....but still Im pretty sure the reason is.....

We grew up in Mooroolbark.

I know...I know you all have similar stories of getting detention for weeing in a bin in P13 but did everyone have the same senselessness pervading every act and every thought behind every act? And if so, do you still connect with that sense of senselessness? And if yes....then why dont you tell me about it? Why when I say to you I spent Saturday night at a 7/11 and enjoyed it, why do you look at me like Im a fuckwit? I had a really good night.

Which is it? Me or you?

Please. Is it me or you?
Me?

Oh dear. Like I say. It's my fault but dont blame me.

The ol heart strings

I do. I like a tune that pulls on the ol' heart strings whilst being completely self indulgent and exclusively of no interest to the common people.

Id never been on tour before. 'Til I heard this one.

I have now. Heaps