Sunday, January 3, 2010

Essays on the beautiful intensity we call - Violence

The moral of this story is – Don’t react.

I can’t see any other healthy way out of the situation. The trouble is, how do you not react when something works on you so fast that you don’t have time to think, or what if you are having an off day.

I suspect 90 percent of the people in prison right now are there because of that simple problem. They didn’t want to react, but life happens too fast for most of us to realistically count to ten. Maybe we aren’t designed ‘Not to react.’ I am starting to suspect this is the truth. Unless you maybe have time to be a 24/7 Buddhist monk. I sure don’t. I have tried to do my bit; I have spent days and many long weekends meditating in Vipassana retreats supposedly learning this very art. ‘Not reacting.’ but what, for example, if a car is bearing down on you, if you don’t react you will be dead. If you react you will live, that is what it is there for. Works faster than the mind.
That’s a lifesaver and yet one big quandary for some of us.

And here is one of my shit-storm stories to highlight this moment of beautiful intensity we sometimes come across in this journey we call life. One of many, that all seems to have a worryingly similar core running through them and, worse, they definitely all have the same inevitable outcome. Its like bad roulette, and I know all about that too.


I was walking back from the Bondi lookout. I had taken a stroll to see if anyone was up there partying for the full moon weekend. They weren’t and it looked mighty like rain coming in, so I started my walk back. There is a load of stuff I could mention about that walk but for now, it wouldn’t make much sense so I wont but I write this as a reminder to come back to it later. So, strolling down the Bondi promenade and reflecting on a New Year that has been interesting, good, and shown some positive and healing developments in my life. All because of the djembe drum. It draws attention, it gets me to meet people, it bridges the various issues I seem to have with being able to initiate intelligent conversation with strangers, and it’s a damn good chick magnet. It also seems to be a way into some spiritual aspects I have been wanting to address for some long time. On top of all that, I also seem to be ok at playing the thing. It’s funny when you discover a new skill at 43. It’s like some small miracle. I am not exactly new to the drum, but walking the world drumming with it, that one I never thought of. Yet how obvious it seems now. I am only just opening up to the possibilities as I write this today. So, where was I?

My weekend had been quite a bit more communicative and full of the great meeting of strangers than the last two and a half years have been. Result. I am happy. Another result. Could have done with a good drum-off at the lookout but what the hell, this is just the beginning of 2010 and the world appears to be my oyster once again, looks like the old sea dog wont have to hang up his rock and roll wings just yet. Daughters, better lock up your mothers.

‘Hey Mister, play us a tune then’ I hear from my left.

It sounded friendly enough but I had noticed them already, the corner of the eye has a way of picking up shit when it moves, you know instinctively what is bad news and what isn’t. This was.

I had noticed over the weekend that Bondi attracts not only beautiful blondes and surfer dudes but also a fair bunch of pricks. Walking back through the Shore Thing festival carnage on NYE was like dealing with a pack of drunken Lebanese rottweillers, they weren’t quite capable of fighting but they had a lot of rudeness about them. I was in my own world and as long as no one touched the drum, or my ass, I was ok with ignoring it. I was ready for it, the pretend smile was up, the pretend neutrality, the easy gait, all the while a sense of preparedness was upon me, ready for the shit. Ready Not to react. That’s the key. Just take it. And of course it came in buckets. And I smiled and walked on. I don’t blame just the Lebanese, but their youth sure need to learn some manners and respect from what I have seen. Especially towards women. Maybe it is mutual, these things usually are. But I got through. Today though, I didn’t have any guards up. I was enjoying my stroll on Bondi promenade. I was tired after a long weekend and I didn’t feel like playing a tune, but I knew to ignore these 5 large, pumped up, black t-shirted, black baseball-capped wannabe gangsters would just incur a tirade of abuse that I didn’t fancy, so thinking I had things down, I smiled and said politely,

‘Sorry guys, been a long day and it looks like rain’ and on I strolled past the pack.

‘Well go fuck yourself then’ was the response.

And there it was, the magical fucking moment where destiny is decided in the squeeze of an ant’s rectum. I knew these guys were uppity, I could sense the pack mentality and the whole negativity of their presence, what I hadn’t expected was the depth and charge of the negativity. It was violent. I had missed it, I hadn’t prepared enough for it, and before I knew what was going on I had turned on my heel and said

‘What the fuck did you just say’?

I knew it was stupid the second it was out but where the opportunity to control that reaction would have come from I have no notion. I didn’t think about saying it, I didn’t even know I was saying it, I just suddenly noticed I was no longer walking, was no longer feeling like a nice guy, and was instead staring at 5 large angry looking wankers having just asked them to repeat themselves in a tone that wasn’t likely to score me any favors.

‘I said go fuck yourself ’ he repeated.

They shuffled a bit on the bench where they were sat, but they didn’t think I was much, I could see that, they just stared at me. One got up and beefed up. He was big. Hmmm. This was the standoff. This was the moment’s pause, the moment’s grace during which I should have thought through the whole thing, smiled, bitten the bullet and been on my way. But once that snake gets loose in me, it doesn’t like going back in the bag one bit. It wants to bite something. Big is fine, I really don’t care, ankles are ankles. I’ll chomp some fang into a fucking elephant if I have to.

You would think some part of me would learn, but it doesn’t work that way, it just gets worse. I have a litany of moments going back to kindergarten that all began with this same reaction. The one that happens way before the mind is in charge. It’s an interesting moment. It truly has the destined about it because had I not reacted then I would have walked on and all, in theory, would have been well Instead I have potentially unleashed Hell. Again.

We manly men call it the descent of the Red Mist. Women think they understand it but understand it about as much as we understand PMT and childbirth. We don’t. They don’t. Leave it.

Something has changed inside me. Fear. It is all based in Fear. I will try to kill anything that comes near me. I am now shit scared and venomous. I don’t want to be there but if I run now, I am dead, it will unleash the pack. I am struggling to think of ways out but anything that shows weakness at this point will bring about very bad things. Alternatively fighting the cunts is also likely to end the same. My survival instincts come in now, I am backing off slowly so it doesn’t seem like cowardice, which in truth is exactly how I feel right now. But mainly, I feel really fucking angry and disrespected. I mean. Where is the fucking justice? Every moment of abuse in my life is cooked down into that moment like fortified jam. Suddenly the lid is off and its there all at once, some sticky impenetrable, eternally irresolvable shit-goo. I have tried to understand it, to reach in and cure it. I can feel where it lives in me, its in my left side, down just above my waist inside of my hip, in the left of the gut, right in there, a niggling worm of hatred that creates a knife-like feeling. Bitterness. Anger. Frustration. War. I have gone to great lengths to undo it’s effect but the only time it is truly accessible to me, is now. Not the best time for self-therapy methinks. I am feeling like a very moody motherfucker and besides, the cat is out of the bag and the game is on for the dogs. Another sad truth is, that due to some kind of schizophrenic aspect to my nature, the drumming, peace loving hippy that I am normally, is gone. Replaced instead by a maniac hungry for death, vengeance and suicidal Justice. Luckily I am aware this is not a good thing on many levels. This doesn’t stop me backing off until out of reach, then walking back down the promenade, over the top by the pavilions, to the nearest bin where I collect an empty beer bottle and return towards the pack who have now sat down to laugh at the effect they just had on me. Two young guys see me go in the bin and look at me like I am a tramp.

‘It isn’t for food, you muppets, it is for this’ I say brandishing beer bottle weapon from within the bin, and they look even more freaked out.

‘ I am going to kill that fat cunt over there’ I say pointing up the road a way at the gang who have already forgotten all about me. This doesn’t bring about anything less than understandably concerned terror on the faces of these two kids.

‘Jesus!’ I say and walk on. Why did I even think for a moment they would understand.

I am losing it. I know this, but I can’t do anything about it. I am old, life sucks, and it hurts sometimes to hold it all in and just take it like a limp bitch. Ok.

I have already worked out that if I walk up nearer the pavilion, I can come down from the car park and leapfrog over the fence right onto the guy before he knows what is going on. Landing with the bottle and myself on his head, doing some kind of crazy assed roll while shouting ‘FUCK YOU FAT FUCK!’, then launching the bottle at the others, slow them down a bit, I can make my escape back up the promenade towards safety. I have also already worked out that there is little chance these lumps of muscled up lard will be faster than me, despite me being out of shape, plus I have the element of surprise as they think I have chickened out and left the scene. And when I head up into the not-to-distant park they will not be certain to know which direction I take off in afterwards until I am out of reach, at which point I can double back round the back of my house and be inside before they start driving around Bondi for the next 6 hours, days, weeks, months hunting for anyone with a djembe drum. It’s pretty good, not foolproof, but I have achieved much harder acts of wonder in the midst of mass punch-ups. I reckon I can do it. The one holdback on me is my drum. I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to leave it, and I cant run with it. God, how much like an annoying girlfriend it has suddenly become to me. Then there is CCTV. Much as the boys in blue will be impressed with my stunt work I suspect it wont work out too good for me in the long run. If I kill him, which is always a possibility and actually the fuel behind my thinking when I look into it, things will not go well with the law or the fat fucks.
And that is when I finally catch myself.
Truth be told, if it weren’t for the drum then I probably wouldn’t be writing this right now.
I am weighing up the choices when one of them turns and spots me.
They all turn and stare. The fact they did nothing before and don’t exactly come after me now tells me that I am in with a chance, they are hesitating. Individually these guys are weak. That’s a give away but for some reason I suddenly go into poser mode. I stand lolling the bottle at my side, drum over my shoulder, I am on the incline above them so some psychological sense of superiority must be having its effect on me. We really are life’s puppets aren’t we? I see my shadow, it looks kind of cool. Like something out of a scene from Warriors, I am dressed in just jeans, no t-shirt, it is tucked into the back of my trousers, it being a warm night. I feel. I feel. I feel.
I feel fucking dangerous.
I like it.

We stare at each other a while then the cowardly feeling returns and I move off slowly trying not to show it. Trying to appear tough. The pack goes back to ignoring me. It is like a scene from a David Attenborough documentary. I hover round the lions like some sad demented rogue jackal. Stalking up and over the top of the park, unable quite to let go of the pride lost in not fighting them but unable to leave it alone. Pride lost. There is a thing.

I have run from trouble, I know the song. Coward of the County. I have tried to live by it. I don’t want to die in a hail of bullets or spend the rest of my days in prison for killing someone. I have been in probably 30 fights in my life that have ended in near death. Been hospitalized just once. Twice, come to think of it. I am not proud of all these moments at all. not at all. I am scared, saddened, lost within them. Their mark upon my life has separated me from my fellow man, has given me a violent potential that people sense and fear. It’s an ugly thing. Not healthy. Violence is not like in the movies. There is nothing fucking nice about waking up unconscious and alone on a table with your head being x-rayed by uncaring, bored of seeing it all, strangers in white coats, and your nose broken all over your face with not a soul who cares about you, being around or even available. It is terrifying beyond anything you can imagine, it REALLY isn’t like the movies, you don’t just get up from your hospital bed after the adverts completely healed and step out, to go back to being a tough guy. No, you suffer for a long fucking time. You lose your pride, your self esteem,, your self respect, your job, your girlfriend, your life falls apart and on top of that you have to walk around with a stick and plaster over your face, wheezing like a dying asthmatic, looking like a loser and being treated like the cunt you may well be, for 3 months while people say things like.

‘Well it will teach you for fighting’ and ‘God you are so aggressive’

It gnaws at you for a long time afterwards; in fact it gnaws at you forever you just don’t see it doing so. And then one day when you are finally living in Paradise, escaped the carnage of a life you used to have to fight and war through, and you are minding your own business taking a stroll, it’s a pleasant evening, you feel, happy, relaxed, guard down and some black angel catches up with you, sneaks up on your back and whispers in your ear.

‘Go fuck yourself’

Then in a flash it is all unleashed and I don’t give a shit if you are the Dalai, fucking Lama you will react. YOU WILL REACT. And hell will descend upon you like a pack of hungry hyenas and tear the flesh from your bones.

Make no mistake. Death awaits us all in the shadows and strikes only when we least expect it. What is really annoying is the people who think they are above it all. Above fighting. You just have no idea what is out there. I like Ostriches, I get it. And I hope to God you never find out. Keep watching it on TV instead in the movies and make believe in the dream that you a living in peacetime and you are a good person. I do. I really do still. I fight through this shit to keep my heart open. And that is what comes next.

Sunday, June 21, 2009


‘You know what it is that bothers you?’ I said to her.
She looked at me. Didn’t speak. Just looked.
‘It is that, if you are honest with yourself, you actually enjoyed it’

Rebecca had been in my room for the past 3 hours. Dawn light was just starting to crack above the line of the houses outside my window and beyond the yard. The sound of the occasional ambulance could be heard, no doubt returning with the booty of another night of alcohol fuelled carnage in London. I was getting out finally, getting away, making my long overdue escape. I lay watching the light change, my arms behind my head. I could feel her eyes looking over my face. She touched my cheek lightly, I didn’t move, just stared out of the window, half closed eyes. There was a sadness on me, I was tired of the way life treated people. There just was no cure.

‘How was your party?’ She asked me, changing the subject to lighten the mood.

‘Ha. Yea that was something.’ I replied recalling the night. ‘I should have known everyone would turn up with cocaine as a parting gift. Most people get watches or something, don’t they?’ I turned to look into her eyes and as I did I saw that the subject hadn’t really changed at all. I smiled. She was good looking. I was so tempted. It was tough. I placed a kiss on her brow and went back to watching the light change. It was going to be a beautiful clear morning.

‘Anyway, what are you doing in my room in the middle of the night with your boyfriend away and me on the tail end of a couple of bags of coke?’ I said
‘Don’t you know who I am? I have a reputation to maintain Missy’ I finished.

She had invited herself in. I had noticed this effect in the last month or so of my being in England. I suddenly became safe ground, people seemed to open up to me in ways they never had before. I guess they knew I was leaving and probably would never return. There was an excitement in that. It allowed room for a certain honesty that normally would not be able to be present.

‘I’ve been drawn to you since we met’ She said
I paused thinking how best to reply. She spoke before I could.
‘You know I am attracted to you’ She said.
‘Oh Jesus’ I breathed out heavily. ‘Look, I have been holding that side at bay, especially given what we have been talking about for the last 3 hours’
‘I know.’ She replied. ‘Thank you.’
That almost annoyed me. There was no thanks to be had, it was fucking frustrating. I was starting to feel tired finally, the coke wearing off. Thankfully the usual drop into a psychotic comedown hadn’t been coming. I guessed I had pushed right through and out the other side, it did happen sometimes. It had been a big night. It surprised me that I was being so conservative where she was concerned. It wouldn’t have taken much. In a way she was open to it, but I knew something else was at work. She was broken and that just made it wrong to me. I actually cared.

‘Don’t tease’ I said and I meant it. I was running out of reasons to control myself.
‘You are right though’ she said. Turning over and moving a little closer to me for the warmth. We both stared out the window. The colours were beautiful and you could see a light frost on the glass.
‘I did enjoy it.’ She said confessionally. I thought that was probably a good thing.
‘That’s the part that fucks us up’ I replied and sighed.
Then she kissed me and I fought the urge to throw myself onto her. It made it worse. Desire resisted driving me crazy. Just as I was about to give up and tear into her like a savage, I heard a noise downstairs. The front door, and then a voice.
‘Oh fucking shit!’ she said.
‘Damn right’ I said. ‘ I thought you said he was away’
She didn’t reply, she didn’t need to, he was clearly back.
Footsteps on the stairs coming up. I knew they would go past my door. I held her still, she was in complete panic. I whispered quickly.
‘Look nothing has actually happened, you have done nothing wrong here, lets just chill out a bit.’ I said to her almost laughing, because it was true.
‘He won’t see it like that’ She said. Fear in her eyes.
‘What have we been talking about all god damn night!” I said. ‘If you act guilty for this you are just creating the whole drama into something it isn’t. You have a choice.’
I desperately wanted to believe myself but I knew there was absolutely no hope. As I realised this, so I realised that I needed to act.
I got off the bed. Went over to the door. Pulled a cigarette from my sideboard as I did. I pushed the door quietly to a complete close. I had left it ajar as much to advertise to others in the house that I was not taking advantage of her, as to offer her a constant sense that there was an escape route if she needed it. I could have played it all very differently. The time for being nice was over. I was starting to feel annoyed now that she had put me in this situation and with her current fearful behaviour, it was only going to make him worse when he found out she was in here. The door clicked lightly and I leant my back against it, held the lighter up to my face, lit the flame like a fuse, stared at it for a moment, and then puffed the cigarette alight.

I could hear him outside down the hallway knocking on the door of my flat mates, where Rebecca should have been staying. I heard voices. Then I realised they were not letting him in. That was pretty good of them, I thought. I then heard footsteps returning. He was leaving. The footsteps paused by my door for a little longer than was comfortable. I didn’t think he was brave enough to try, but he knew, some part of him knew she was in here. The moment was frozen, hanging on a breathless still, none of us moved. Not him, not her and not me. She sat on the bed, staring at me, looking like a kid expecting to be whipped at any moment. It was quite telling really. I shook my head, raised my eyebrows, pulled a funny face at her then sucked on the smoke. She broke into a muffled laugh then. That was good. The footsteps carried on down the stairs, I heard the front door open and shut. We were safe. But whatever came next was going to make all the difference.

She handled it badly. Told him I had got frisky with her but she had resisted my advances. All the kind of stuff I expected after seeing her reaction. Their relationship wasn’t that honest. She hid a lot of her true feelings. I didn’t hold it against her. There were reasons she was the way she was. In my defense, I had done two grammes of cocaine and copious amounts of booze that night, and still I had resisted. It was un-fucking-heard of. I deserved a damn medal of honour not the shitstorm she was likely to unleash on me with her unwillingness to admit to the truth. I wondered how bad it was going to get. But I still didn’t react or blame her. The reason? The reason was the conversation we had in those three hours. She had opened up to me and in doing so, it had opened me up too. To something I realised I had never spoken to another living soul about; childhood abuse. In talking to her I saw that, quite by accident, over the years I had somehow managed to resolve it in myself. I was cured of any malaise it might have caused me. She, on the other hand, was a total mess.
She had been through much the same experience, abused by an older man, then forced into bringing other people into the situation. The key. I had found out, was admitting to yourself that, yes, the body had experienced it as pleasure, and yes, there had been some element of enjoying it, of wanting it, of seeking it more. And it was that which grew into the sickness inside as you got older and came to understand just what part you had played in the whole depravity. You just couldn’t lie to yourself. We were guilty of sinful and sick pleasure, our bodies just didn’t know there were rules to the game. And that was the crux of the crisis. In her case, it had started to break her, turned her inside herself, made her hate herself, made her hide, made her beat herself up with the guilt. It was all very Catholic and wretched. The truth was an ugly thing and she could not bear to face it, she didn’t know how, and that twisted her all out of shape. It had all came out that night. And as a result I understood better why she was the way she was. I also now knew why she was going to act the way she inevitably would with her boyfriend. I couldn’t hold it against her under those circumstances.
In my case. Well, I was a druggie, a confirmed loser with not a lot of hope of achieving much of anything, and I certainly didn’t have any reputation left to protect. My experiences, were just that. If anything, I found them almost comical in their retardedness. I certainly wasn’t willing to have a guilt trip about it all. Fuck ‘em. I’d tried to share that lightness with her. It was a heavy subject and one neither of us had ever shared with another person before. She liked my perspective, it let her off the hook, and she had confessed to some pretty weird and honest feelings that night. I felt humbled, but I also felt wary. I knew people didnt just get better when they opened up, usually it made them react much worse later. But it had brought us close that night, so close that sex seemed inevitable and yet, and yet. My sense was that right then it would have been the most damaging thing to do. And I was right. Her reaction when her boyfriend showed up proved it. I was proud of myself for resisting. It really was some kind of small miracle. My mistake was thinking anyone would give a shit.

I was cooking dinner the next night when it came. The knock at the door. I opened it uncertain what to expect. He seemed calm but determined. The Spaniard in him came to the fore. He had dark eyes. He reminded me of a horse. I felt, well, I felt quite scared truth be told.

‘We need to talk’ He stated.

He was likely to be fuelled by the wrath of the God’s of Jealousy and I was armed with only a frying pan full of sizzling chicken. I let him in carefully and we went into the kitchen. He stayed by the kitchen door, in the shadows. I stood by the stove tossing it in the gas flame as he spoke. Keeping a careful watch on him from the corner of my eyes. The distance was enough to give me room to manoeuvre if it came to it.

‘You know why I am here’ he said in a judgemental manner but I let it slide, I knew he must be hurting. I remembered all the times I had been cheated on. Besides, I liked the guy. I felt for him. She was, in truth I felt, acting a bit of a spoiled bitch.

‘Sure I know’ I said. I’d let him vent for a bit then be honest, hopefully it would get through. I wasn’t sure.

‘I need you tell me what happened’ he said. ‘ I spoke to Rebecca. She has told me but I need to hear it from you’ I could tell then that he didn’t know we had spoken further. I’d rung Rebecca half way through the day, knowing she would be in a state. Trying to be a voice of sanity to her in the midst of her coming apart. I’d told her it was ok, whatever she told him as long as it wasn’t a blatant lie, it was ok. She had warned me that she had told him about the ‘frisky’ business. I thought she was digging a hole but so long as she didn’t cry rape, it was her problem and not mine.

‘I didn’t know what to say. I am so sorry, I am just scared, he will go crazy if he thinks it was me.’ I listened, and though a sense of anger descended on me for a moment; a hatred for all the times women had shown themselves willing to damn a man, yet unwilling to stand up for the truth. I hated them for that power, so many times I had seen it and been victim to it. But I knew I had to take it, to flow with it. What did I care anyway, I would be gone soon. I wanted to help her. This was, I felt, the way to do it.

‘Don’t worry honey, I understand’ I said.
‘Thank you’ She said. But her weakness was starting to piss me off. She was making the situation worse.

He stared defiantly at me. I stared at the sizzling chicken. I didn’t want to compromise her, but I wasn’t about to accept the Spanish Inquisition either. I felt caught in the middle of a relationship that needed to be more honest to survive. I knew where this went. I was going to end up the scapegoat. That started to fire me up. I listened to him for a while. He was hurting, I understood that. He was a nice guy. I started to feel sorry for him. It dawned on me that she was running circles round him and he just didn’t see it. I turned to look at him and saw myself. I felt more akin with him than with her then. He was a still a brother and suffering, in part because of me, but really this was his issue and he was projecting it onto me. I felt he was looking for a way out, an excuse to blame someone else.

‘Listen, Steve, I hear what you are saying and I actually know exactly how you are feeling right now. All I can tell you is this. I haven’t done anything. Nothing happened between me and Rebecca. She says I got ‘frisky’, well hell, yea maybe in some way because what sane man wouldn’t. I’d been out at my leaving party for Chrissakes, I was stoned and drunk. But. But, I resisted, and truth be told, not just out of respect to you but because need to talk to her man, you two sort this out. This isn’t about ME, Steve, it is about you two.’ I thought I had put it pretty well.
I turned back to my chicken that was starting to look pretty black but I still wasn’t sure if I was going to need that frying pan.

‘You have got a nerve mate, haven’t you.’ he said.
‘You trying to put it back on her, you are just a lascivious selfish bastard who preys on other men’s girlfriends. Don’t give me that horseshit about respect. You couldn’t give a fuck for anyone but yourself’

This was not good and, well, to be quite honest I had had enough of the both of them. I didn’t feel I deserved to be taking crap off either of them any longer. But before I could politely attempt to get him to leave, he ominously finished his sentence.

‘You want to be careful someone doesn’t knife you mate’

Tumbleweeds rolled across the room. Nothing moved in the world. All that could be heard was the subtle sizzle of over cooked chicken.

It was the way he defined the actual weapon rather than the act, that disturbed me. My hunch had been right about keeping hold of that frying pan. I wondered if he was carrying the knife he had mentioned. I turned back to him, it was time to change tack and deal with the situation somewhat differently. It had just taken an unexpected turn

‘Do not threaten me in this house Steve. That’s it mate. This conversation is over. I have told you what happened, nothing fucking happened. Got it? Go speak to your girlfriend. Go sort it out with her. Don’t come fucking threatening me with a knifing! How the hell do you expect me to react to that right now?’

I was off the leash, ready to go. I could feel it. I felt threatened and I knew what passion did to men when they were under the control of stupidity. The frying pan angled just ever so slightly towards him was enough for his senses to pick up the reality of what was brewing here. I was happy to go with it if he really wanted to. And I had to assume he was armed with a blade now. I was serious. He wasn’t the fighting sort, he just had heat in his blood. I was born rabid. He knew it. I saw something click in his eyes, and I breathed easy again. He backed off, walked to the door and left.

I stared at the cremated bits of chicken for a moment. Then just smashed the shit out of the frying pan on the sideboard. Bits of chicken flying into the air. Black oil spraying my face and t-shirt. ‘FUCK FUCKING FUCK !’ I shouted. I really didn’t need this shit off people at all.

She rang me two days later. I was still pissed off with them both. It was like being caught in a kindergarten play that you couldn’t get out of but obviously didn’t fit into. She wanted to see me. I wasn’t sure what that meant. We met on the hill. It was another sunny day. I was making the final closes on all the accounts in my life. 18 years I had lived in London it had been a wild time but had slowed down to a stop and was really becoming quite unhealthy for me in other ways too. I needed to get out for so many different reasons. The drugs, the greyness, the concrete, the anger in the people, the claustrophobia, the failures and to some extent the successes, all added up to time for me to leave. I had three days left, and I knew I may never be coming back, not in this lifetime. This was a time of goodbyes.

‘How's it going?’ I said when she reached me. I was sat basking on the grass some way up. It was a beautiful view out over the West away from London. A flat panorama. You could see over houses and across semi-woodland as the city limits ended and on a really clear day you might spot the towers of Didcot blowing smoke into the distant horizon. To the left you could see the planes that flew out in constant streams from Heathrow bound for exotic destinations. I always loved sitting on that hill wondering about the future, watching those planes flying away knowing one day it would be me. I always knew. Now that day was here. I felt freedom in my veins and it felt good. I felt young again, alive, burning with the fire from within.

‘He is so jealous, I am sick of it’ she said.
‘You going to leave him?’ I asked
‘ I don’t know’ she replied looking down. I didn’t think she would, not now. Not unless someone came along. It struck me then, maybe that was what she was thinking.
‘Have you ever had an affair?’ I asked her.
‘No, only ever been with him really’ she said.
‘Jesus, you serious?’ I was shocked.
‘Yup’ She looked at me. I didn’t know what to think. I guess I believed her.
The situation reminded me of mine way back when I had been with the same girl for 5 years and it had just become a claustrophobic lie. It was sad really. Love did that. You sank into it, gave yourself away to it in trust, only to find yourself smothered by it in the end. It killed one of you, and the one that got it would never be the same again, the devastation was total. This time, it was going to be him. There was nothing I could do, I was right, this wasn’t about me, it was about them, or rather, it was about her. Then unexpectedly she threw her arms around me and kissed me. I didn’t resist this time. I think it was the way he had been. I had tried to be honourable. I had really gone out of my way to be right, to hold off. Either way you couldn’t win. He had condemned me in my innocence. It wasn’t the first time people had done that to me, now I didn’t feel the urge to care anymore. I let the sense of honour go. And to hell with it.

I pushed her down into the long grass, pulled her belt undone, tugged at the top of her trousers to reveal her soft pink skin, it always looked so fresh and luscious in sunlight against nature. I loved that. Her kisses smothered my neck, her eyes, pupils dilated in long overdue release. She was completely open, days of this had been working on her, turning the female inside her, tempering it, forming it and now she was letting go of it all, to me. I felt like a wild animal, released, uncaged. Let loose to be what it really was; a killer, a savage. A brutal, thoughtless, guilt-free force of nature bore through me. I knelt above her. Looked around for moment. Felt like a lion pausing over its kill. I could hear the jungle drums. She looked up at me, the sunlight glistened in tears in her eyes. I smiled knowingly, then dropped upon her and tore her away from the places she had come to know as her own.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Her Body Language said it all

Her body langauge said it all as we waited for her plane. Her eyes everywhere but on me. It was as if I had annoyed her somehow. I could feel a sense, almost of repulsion coming off her. Arms crossed. Tension. I wanted so much just to touch her, feel the warmth of her body close to me, but I didnt dare try to move nearer. You just know when you know.
So this was it. The end.
I sighed and looked around the room at the empty faces, It was time to be alone again. Looking back I found she was looking at me, I looked into her eyes for something, but there was nothing. No reprieve. It was just pointless to stay here any longer.
'Look I am gonna go' I said
'ok' she replied with a smile of some kind
'Have a good flight' I said
'Sure' she replied nodding, she wasnt even trying.
Two weeks ago this girl couldnt get enough of me now she couldnt wait for me to go. I'd never understand what had happened here. There was nothing I could find to explain it. It seemed so strange, so cold for no reason. I guessed it was just something she did. There was no point asking further. I had tried to get through, but. There was just always going to be a 'but'.
I stood up, smiled to her and walked out the sliding doors into the street.
I looked back briefly from the road, she was looking across the room at some guys waiting for a taxi.
I saw myself reflected in the window, saw the look on my face.
'Dont break your heart over it, kid' I said
A poster on the wall by the window advertised a Mickey Rourke film, The Wrestler. I looked at his washed out face and battle scarred body for a moment. Then I crossed the road and took the long way back over the park to the train.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

The most beautiful woman

I was walking through town to get to work. Sydney rush hour was a pleasure compared to London. I didn’t miss London, but something had changed in me. I wasn’t at home, and I felt I might be moving on again soon. I pulled the lapels up on my black jacket, holding it close around me. The June morning could bite with a chill and a breeze was up. Sky was blue, blue, blue. I loved this. My shoes clacked just a little to high in the register for my liking. Made me feel like a mad horse for some reason. Put my weight onto the balls of my feet a little to ease it down. The river of people flowed downhill. I flowed with them. We were as one. A dark river. It felt good. The morning always felt optimistic. Maybe because no one had tried to fuck you yet, they were too tired.
I ducked right, down some steps and into my favourite coffee shop. Pammy, a pretty Malaysian girl ran it. She couldn’t be more than 25. Some days I could see the stress in her, though her face never changed, it was there. The weight of ownership, responsibility pushed on by her desire for money and security. I don’t know how I knew this, I could just see it there every time I looked at her. She knew it too and bristled when I came by on a bad day. I stood back then.
‘Hi Pammy’
‘Hi Mark’
She knew everyone’s name after the first time. It fascinated me and was one of the reasons I kept going back. She never got one wrong in the year I had been going there. I thought about asking her if I could take her to a casino to get her to play the cards, but so far said nothing. I wasn’t sure why. I guess I just didn’t like to disturb the cosmos without good reason. You never knew what doors you may be opening. I’d opened enough to know money led nowhere we any of us really wanted to be. Just take what you need no more.
My coffee came served with the name ‘Mark’ written on the top. I found this sweet. It used to be that it also came with a red love heart too. It had really touched me the first day they did it. There were three of them worked behind the counter and I never knew which one was doing it. It stopped when the gay guy left. Pammy liked that. It must have amused her all that time. I never asked, just smiled and took my coffee each morning. Played the game right through. Maybe she was getting me back for the bristle. I had that effect on people. It was why I generally avoided them if I could. The trouble was I needed them. I wasn’t like anyone I had ever met, but I needed the comfort of the flock sometimes just to remind me I wasn’t totally lost in space. Sometimes it sure felt like a big joke was being played. I wondered.
Back up the steps two at a time with coffee trying not to spill it on my jacket. Warmed me up to move quick like that, felt like some fitness work was going on somewhere inside. Felt good. A big cold gust hit me as I broke to the street so I ducked left and into the MLC centre to get out of it and to make a call.

As I put the coffee down on the table and lifted the mobile to my ear, there she was; the most beautiful woman in Sydney. I’d been waiting two years for this moment and it caught me off guard. I just stood frozen as she brushed past me and I got the briefest glance from her eyes, I could feel the sexuality break in both of us and she began to smile knowingly, then quickly shut it down. She was dangerous. I breathed out involuntarily as her scent took me the moment she passed by. I turned wanting to pounce on her but I didn’t dare move. She was incredible. I’d be done for if I ever got with a woman like that. She walked like a catwalk model, of course she did. What did I expect? Sashaying away in total presence and beauty.
Was life hard for you, princess, did you ever have to feel pain like I felt pain?
I recognised the shine in those eyes. She could murder hearts and loved the kill. A carnivore. Like me but she had something else. That thing. What women had. Their secret weapon; the licence to kill a man from within, no one could prove a damn thing. The tiny stiletto, right into the heart. The more lethal she was the hotter she was. Every time. This bitch was one of the best. I was fucked. I’d be there every morning until I could get out of Sydney. I watched her carry on and up the escalator until she was gone. After a time I turned back around, wondered where the hell I was. Remembered. Then made my call.

I met my friend a little further down on George St corner, she was up to Sydney to celebrate her birthday weekend. I was supposed to join her. We had been brief lovers but something had changed. Everything was always changing. Nothing stayed still. The trouble with it all was that it was hard to know whether to let go, or whether to hold on in the hope it may swing back up again. I guess our meeting was in part to decide that. For both of us. We hadn’t said as much, but when you had sex with someone you often knew what they were thinking after that. It was the nature of things.
I had my answer the moment I hugged her. It was a feeling in the energy between us. I felt the sadness twinge in me then. The eternal sadness. All my losses, all the people come and gone from me. There had been so many now. I felt the scene around me; there I stood alone in a crowded street, in a city I did not belong, in the arms of yet another woman I didn’t really know at all. What in God’s name was I doing here? I didn’t know, but I was tired of it. Someone once said to me that she didn’t want to meet any more people. I didn’t understand back then. Now I did. It takes so much energy to get to know someone, to really know them. And to last that course without finding some irreconcilable differences. It’s rare. Even rarer for people like me. I’ve travelled too far, too many battle scars, too many wounds. Too many strange depths and peculiarities, and now, too many years on my face.

She broke off first, gently, and stood back. Her big brown eyes were beautiful. We both knew something we could not say. About the distance that was there between us. We neither had wanted this. We wanted it to be Love that we found in each other today. Both of us had secretly hoped for it, if only because we wanted the journeying to stop, the search to be over. Maybe it never would be.

‘Good to see you’ I said
‘It's been so long’ she replied smiling at me.
‘Yea, hurts don’t it?’ I said and kind of wish I hadn’t pointed out the obvious, I quickly continued ,
‘Hey, I can get out any time for lunch no problem today, what are your plans?’
‘Yea, about that.’ she paused a moment ‘ I think I am due to be out with the girls and feel I should see them really, its such a short time I am here’

This was the start of the polite shutdown. It was a natural step really, and a woman would try to do it with grace and finesse.

At that moment a guy walked by blatantly staring at her. I stared back but he ignored me. I felt the desire to knock him straight out. I could have done it so easily, he wouldn’t have seen it coming. I did nothing. She pretended not to notice, but there was a prickle there for me now. Like something always has to go for your balls the second you are down. That’s when the kick comes. Never let the world catch you down, it will set itself on you the moment it does.

‘Sure thing, of course’ I said, regaining my composure.’ I guess I’ll catch up with you Saturday then. Look I am already late for work. I gotta go’ I lied.

Then we kissed. The last kiss and sure enough she turned at the final moment to give me her cheek not her lips.
There it was.
Right there.
The truth.

I gave her shoulders a light squeeze, breathed in. I’d text her later to say I couldn’t make it. There would be a couple of texts, pleasantries back and forth, then we’d probably never speak again in this lifetime. We’d been close for about a month. Every day talking for 3 hours until the phone bills came in. I’d taken a flight to see her. 4 days we had. It had been something. But now it was over. I knew this as I looked into those eyes one last time. It was my story. Always had been. You never got used to it. Turning, I walked away. As I made the park at the end of the road I didn’t look back, just stepped onto the pavement below the trees that were shedding leaves of autumn. I still couldn’t make sense of winter in June. I shook my head at the thought of it. Looked up into the canopies silhouetted against that glorious blue. Breathed in deep feeling the crisp life force, cool and smooth, filling my lungs. That’s when she popped into my mind; the most beautiful woman in Sydney. I was such a loser. I started to laugh out loud and crossed the road to enter into the place I was due to work that day. Was I ready for the battle? Of course not, but was there ever any choice.